Mass Extinction Event (Book 1): Days 1-8

by Amy Cross

  "Come on," says one of the others. "We're already late setting off."

  "Goodbye, Elizabeth," Kendricks says, coming over and shaking my hand as the others start walking away. "We're going to hopefully be somewhere on the south-eastern shore of Lake Ontario. If something happens and you end up leaving New York, please consider coming out to find us. With any luck, we'll be able to get ourselves set up pretty fast. The journey should take about a month, but we're gonna be able to go to Rochester for supplies. That's the plan, anyway. I know it's as hell of a long-shot, but you'll be welcome." With that, he smiles and walks away, following the others across the park.

  "I'll be there in a minute!" Mallory calls after him, before taking my hands in hers. "Elizabeth," she says, adopting a serious tone, "I know we've only known each other for a couple of days, but I guess in this type of situation, you kind of form bonds pretty fast. I really just hate to see you throwing your life away like this. You've got an opportunity to get the hell out of here, and you're pissing it away just 'cause you think you can save your brother. You can't. He's made his choice, and you're letting him drag you down too. Do you really think your parents would want you to do this? They'd want at least one of their kids to make the right choice, wouldn't they?"

  I nod, but I can't say anything. A tear rolls down my cheek, and my bottom lip is trembling.

  "You can't be a hero," she continues. "You can't sacrifice yourself like some kind of martyr, just because you think you've got a duty to save your brother. He's old enough to make his own decisions, and so are you. You've gotta let him go sometime, so why not now?"

  "I need to help him," I say, my voice trembling as I try to stop crying.

  "You can't," she replies. "So why not be the one who does the smart thing? Let Henry do what he wants. Let him sit around with that Bob guy. You need to do what's best for your own life, Elizabeth. You can't just follow him around. His head's not right. If he really, truly thinks he's better off staying here with that fucking asshole Bob, then there's nothing you can do to change his mind. Just wish him luck and head on out of town."

  I nod again, feeling as if I can't actually get any words out.

  "Come here," she says, stepping closer and giving me a strong hug. "I wish I could change your mind," she says quietly, her mouth just a couple of inches from my ear. "I wish I could drug you or something, or go and get your brother and drag him along with us. I wish I could go to that building, find Bob and smash his fucking face in. Seriously, nothing would give me greater please than to take a baseball bat to that fucker's face. Are you sure there's nothing I can do or say to make you realize that you should -"

  "I guess this is goodbye, then," she says eventually, stepping back a couple of paces. "Remember where we are, okay? The south-eastern shore of Lake Ontario. Somewhere around there, anyway. It might take a bit of time for us to find a good plot of land, but we'll manage it eventually, and then... Well, you know what I mean, right? We're gonna find a way to grow our own food, and we're gonna start all over again. It'll be like when people first came to America all those years ago. If there's any chance you can make it out there to join us, any chance at all -"

  "I'll get Henry," I say, taking a deep breath in an attempt to hold back the tears, "and then maybe we'll come after you some day."

  "Okay," she replies, with tears in her eyes. I can tell she doesn't believe for a second that she'll ever see me again. This feels like a permanent goodbye, even if neither of us can quite admit the truth.

  "Just go!" I say firmly, forcing myself to smile. "Go! You're gonna get left behind if you wait much longer!"

  She turns and walks away, hurrying across the park until she's caught up with the others.

  I stand and watch as they leave. After a few minutes, they're just little dots in the distance, and finally they disappear one by one through a gate and out the park. Once they're out of sight, I turn and look around at the emptiness. Sure, there are probably a few people still alive, scattered in the city, but I know I've just turned down my last and best hope to get out of here. There's a part of me that wants to run after Mallory, Kendricks and the rest, and take up their offer, but I know I can't leave Henry behind. He's my brother, and I'm going to stay here until I can make him see reason. He's not an idiot; I'm convinced I can show him the truth, if I can just get him to see past Bob. Whatever else happens, I have to stick close to my family, because Henry's all I've got.

  Turning, I make my way back across the park. I feel as if I have to go back and talk to Henry. I've just put my life on the line for him; if he doesn't come through for me in return, I'm dead.

  Chapter Six

  Oklahoma

  "Fuck!" Joe shouts, as the spanner slips and slices a small cut on the side of his thumb. "Fuck!" He steps back before aiming a hard kick at the side of the truck. "Fucking thing!"

  It's been a couple of hours now since we burned our father's truck. We spent a while looking for another vehicle, but no-one in Scottsville seems to have owned anything much bigger than a pick-up, so Joe's decided he's gonna have another try at fixing whatever's wrong with our original truck. To that end, he's spent the past half-hour tinkering with things under the hood and getting increasingly annoyed. For a guy who's always claimed to be good with engines, he seems to be coming up blank right now.

  "You okay?" I ask, sitting in the doorway of Clyde's house.

  "Yeah," Joe mutters. "I'm fine. I had too much blood anyway." He sucks at the cut on his finger. "Fuck this," he says eventually, hurrying around to the back of the truck and grabbing a jack. He comes over to my side, sticks the jack under one of the front wheels, and starts pumping it up.

  "Now what are you doing?" I ask. It's hard to escape the conclusion that Joe's running out of ideas, and he seems to be randomly and angrily attacking the truck from all angles, as if he's hoping to fix the problem my accident.

  "Fixing the fucking truck," he spits back at me. "What does it look like I'm doing?" He keeps pumping the jack, until finally he's got the front part of the truck a few inches off the ground. "That oughta do it," he says. "Tommy boy, you're gonna have to pass me stuff as I ask for it, okay? I'm gonna get this fucker sorted, if it's the last thing I fucking do." With that, he gets down onto the ground and wriggles under the truck, until all I can see of him is his legs poking out the side. "Spanner!" he barks.

  Getting up and wandering over to where the tools are laid out, I grab the spanner and take it over to him. He snatches it from my hand and carries on working, leaving me to just stand there and wait for my next order. I swear, sometimes Joe treats me like I'm just a slave. It wouldn't be so bad if he could actually fix the damn truck, but I can't help feeling that he's just gonna spend all day tinkering and then he'll give up and get pissed off. We're still gonna end up stealing a new vehicle, so this whole 'fixing' charade seems like a total waste of time. If our father was here, he'd know how to sort it all out...

  "Wrench," Joe calls out.

  "What?"

  "Wrench!" He sighs. "You paying attention up there, or is it time for your daily jerk-off?"

  "Fine," I reply, turning and walking away.

  "Hey, where are you going?" he shouts.

  "To look for something," I say, making my way quickly along the street.

  "What?" he shouts.

  "Fuck you," I mutter under my breath.

  "Get your fucking ass back here!" he yells. "Thomas! Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

  Ignoring him, I turn and head into the next street. There's something about Joe that's driving me crazy right now. I can't stand the way he thinks he can spend days and days drinking and being nothing more than a drunk dick, and then suddenly he thinks he's in charge of everything. I swear to God, if he could actually fix the truck, I'd be willing to put up with his crap, but I know damn well that he's not gonna get the thing working, even if he spends the rest of his life fiddling around under there. Still, he acts like he's our fucking savior and like everyone's supposed to be
grateful for his amazing skills.

  Reaching another intersection, I turn and look along the deserted streets. I swear to God, Scottsville is the most depressing town in the world. Even when there were people here, it was bad enough. Now that it's a creepy, empty wasteland, it's worse than ever. Part of me wants to smash own a load of doors and see if there's a load of corpses piled up in the buildings, but I figure the best thing to do is just to hope we get out of here as soon as possible. I can't stop thinking about that cop I saw back at our farm; Joe doesn't take it seriously, but I keep thinking the cop was a sign that there's something seriously fucked up going on here. What if there are other 'things' like the cop? What if -

  Suddenly I hear the loudest, most agonized scream I've ever heard in my life. I stop dead in my tracks as the scream continues, and after a moment I realize it's coming from near Clyde's house. I turn and race back around the corner, and I immediately see what's happened: the jack seems to have slipped out from under the truck, and the vehicle has come thumping down straight onto Joe. He's yelling for help, and as I race over to him, I can already see a pool of blood seeping out across the ground. Whatever's happened, it's bad.

  "Joe!" I shout as I scramble down onto my hands and knees next to him. The wheel of the truck has crunched into the side of his chest, and I can see a sharp piece of bone sticking out from his ribcage. For a moment, I'm completely frozen with fear and I can't work out what to do. Seconds later, I hear movement over by the door.

  "What the hell happened?" Clyde shouts as he runs over to us.

  "I think the jack slipped," I say, as Joe continues to scream.

  "We need to get it back up," Clyde says, grabbing the jack and shoving one end back under the wheel. "This is gonna hurt, but it's the only way." He starts pumping it up, and Joe lets out a gurgled cry of pain as the wheel slowly moves up to reveal that the right side of his chest has been crushed. There's blood pouring out from the wound, and several pieces of fractured and broken bone are jutting out from beneath the flesh. The whole side of his upper torso looks like a mess, and there's damage to his shoulder and the top of his arm.

  "What the fuck?" I say, feeling a cold chill rush through my body. It's as if my skin just tightened, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. "What do we do?" I shout, turning to Clyde. "What the hell do we do?"

  "We, uh..." he says, his eyes wide open with shock. "We... We get him inside," he splutters, clearly making it up as he goes along.

  At that moment, Joe lets out another scream, and this time blood erupts from his mouth.

  "I've got a first aid kit," Clyde says.

  "We need more than that," I say. "How are we gonna move him?"

  Clyde shakes his head.

  "If we pick him up, we might make it worse," I continue, starting to really panic. "Look at his arm! It might fall off!"

  "We can't just leave him here!" Clyde shouts back at me. "His arm won't fall of. We need to stabilize him and clean this shit up!" He pauses for a moment. "I'll take the legs, you take his shoulders. It's the only way." He stares at me. "Thomas, if we leave him here like this, he's gonna die!"

  Shuffling around, I reach under the truck and do my best to support Joe's shoulders as Clyde grabs hold of his feet.

  "It's gonna be okay," I say, looking down at my brother's face and seeing his features contorted by pain. "It's gonna be okay," I say again, even though I'm not sure that there's anything we can do to help him.

  "Okay," Clyde says. "You ready? Three. Two. One." He starts pulling, and Joe screams as we ease him out from under the truck. I've never heard a human being scream so loud, not even in movies.

  Grabbing Joe's shoulders, I lift him up and we carry him up the steps and into Clyde's house. Blood drips down from the wound as we hurry over to the kitchen table, which Clyde brushes clear before we carefully set Joe down. More blood is flowing from his wound, and Clyde quickly grabs a towel and holds it against the wound. It seems so futile and pointless, and I can't shake the thought that there's no way we can do anything to fix this.

  "Now what?" I shout.

  Clyde shakes his head. "We have to stop the bleeding," he says, "but I don't know how. We have to make him clot somehow. He's already lost too much blood."

  "How do we stop it?" I shout.

  "Hold this," he says. "Hold the towel firmly against the wound. Really hard, okay? Don't worry about hurting him. Hurting him's good. At least if he's hurting, he's alive. I think we just have to keep the hole plugged until the bleeding stops."

  As I take the towel and apply pressure to the injury, Joe lets out another scream of pain. There's blood dribbling down from the corner of his lips, and he seems to be struggling a little less, as if he's losing consciousness. I can feel ragged, splintered bone on the other side of the towel.

  "I can't stop the bleeding," I say, as blood soaks through the towel and onto my hands. Looking over at Joe's face, I see that his eyes have closed. "Joe! Wake up!" I shout, but his eyes barely even flicker. With blood pooling all over the floor, I'm starting to think it's too late to save him. The towel is now completely soaked, and blood continues to pour out every second. "Joe!" I shout, desperate to keep him awake. "Joe!"

  Chapter Seven

  Manhattan

  5th Avenue is deserted. So are Madison Avenue, East 59th Street and the whole of Midtown. The whole city. I don't know why, but I can't shake the hope that maybe this is going to turn out to be a dream; I keep thinking that I'll turn a corner and suddenly all the noise and light and craziness of New York will be switched back on, as if it's never been away. No matter how many times I tell myself that this is all real, I just can't seem to let go of that thin, fragile hope. The evidence in front of my eyes, however, is brutal. The city is dead and bare. It's as if no-one has ever been here, even though it's only a week since I was walking these streets and struggling to get through the huge crowds. There's nothing around but an ominous, oppressive silence that makes my footsteps seem louder than ever.

  As I make my way through the Bowery, I spot something in the distance. At first, I think it's just a pile of garbage, but as I get closer I realize that it's a bunch of rats, massing in a doorway. I make sure to give them a wide berth, even though they seem to be totally focused on whatever they're doing. After a moment, some of the rats move down to the ground and I see the skeletal face of a person, its bones picked clean by the rats. I stop for a moment, stunned by the sight. I should probably run, but this whole thing is starting to feel like such a nightmare, it's almost as if I'm trapped in some kind of trance. I stare and stare at the dead face and -

  Feeling a sudden pain around my left ankle, I step back and look down to see a rat scurrying between my feet. Just as I start to wonder whether he bit me, he attacks my other ankle, tearing off a piece of flesh. I turn and run down the middle of the street, until finally I get to the next intersection and I look back to see that the rats have all returned to the dead body. Looking across the street, I see the entrance to a subway station, with more rats scurrying in and out; they're probably feeding on the bodies down below. Suddenly, I start to panic about the rat bite, in case it might have infected me. Sitting down, I spit on the injury and try to wipe it clean; eventually, I hold my ankle up and start sucking on the wound, hoping that I can clean it before it becomes too serious. Finally, I give up and take a deep breath, staring along the empty street and realizing that Mallory and Kendricks were right: the rats are going to take over soon.

  Hauling myself back up, I continue my journey back to the building. It's far too late to consider changing my mind, and I know I could never have actually left Henry behind. For better or worse, I've made my decision and now I have to see if I can find some way to make this work. It's not impossible that I might be able to talk Henry around and make him see the truth about Bob's influence. Together, we can still strike out from New York and make our way somewhere new. I might even be able to get him to come with me to Lake Ontario, and we can find the others. It sounds c
razy, and the odds are slim, but at least it's something that might work. With all the rats starting to show up on the streets of New York, it's a better idea than just doing nothing.

  "Hey!" says a voice nearby.

  Almost jumping out of my skin, I turn to see a man coming toward me from a nearby intersection. He looks to be quite a bit older than me, maybe in his forties or even his fifties, and he's wearing a shabby-looking business suit with no shoes. To be honest, he's the kind of guy I'd usually cross the street to avoid, but in a situation like this I guess that's not really an option.

  "What do you want?" I ask, starting to back away.

  "Nothing," he says, smiling. "I just saw you and thought I'd say hello."

  "I don't have anything," I continue, backing away a little further. "If you want food -"

  "I don't want food," he replies. "I don't want anything. Honestly, I was just passing and I saw you, so I figured I'd say hello. It's been a while since I saw a friendly face. I've been walking nearly two days non-stop, and you're the first alive person I've run into."

  I stare at him. To be honest, I want to just get away from his as fast as possible, but at the same time he seems friendly enough and I don't feel like I have the energy to run. There's even a part of me that worries I might have started hallucinating; maybe I'm just standing here alone, talking to thin air?

  "You're scared," he says after a moment. "That's okay. I understand. I'm scared too. Only a fucking madman wouldn't be scared at a time like this. Planes falling from the sky, dead bodies piling up. Everything's so calm and quiet. I've been walking around for a couple of days, and I swear to God, this place is fucking creepy. I mean, it was creepy before, but now it's off the scale, you know what I mean?" He turns and looks into the distance. "There's supposed to be people in a place like this," he says eventually. "New York's supposed to be full to the brim with people bustling and hurrying all over the place, but..." He glances back at me. "I just saw some people. A bunch of them, heading over the bridge. Looked like they were heading out of town. Maybe they're the smart ones. I think I'm gonna get out of here myself. I guess I should have run and caught them and maybe gone their way, but I waited too long and now it's too late. Still, I've got legs. I can get out under my own steam. Too many rats around these parts for my liking. I fucking hate rats."