“Unless someone stabbed her to death and then stole it from her.”
“Jeez, Cain!” Rattled, Casey aimed her growing frustration and fear onto him. “Could you try to be more tactful? We’re talking about my best friend here. And your ex,” she added, although she knew he wouldn’t appreciate it.
“Just think about it logically, okay?” he shot back. “She was vacationing at a freaking lake house, where the lake is contaminated. If she wasn’t infected like all the others, then she could’ve been attacked by one or someone desperate enough to steal her things.” He paused, trying to calm his erratic breathing. “Even someone like Dad didn’t stand a chance. So what makes you think a spoiled girl – who’s never faced any kind of hardship in her life, by the way – would’ve fared better?”
Damn him for being right, Casey thought, feeling a migraine coming on. What he’d just said was all true. Maybe it was because Ashley was their only grandchild, but her maternal grandparents had doted on her like she was royalty or something. As such, even though her background was mostly upper-middle class, Ashley had grown up with the ego of an heiress and the unwavering belief that nothing in this world could ever touch her.
Casey reached for the electronic door lock and punched in the password. “For now, let’s just get inside and settle in.” The lock glowed blue, then beeped twice before the door swung a few inches open.
“How did you know her password?”
“She texted it to me and said I should drop by when summer camp was over.” Blushing, Casey hurried into the foyer, remembering that Ashley had wanted to introduce one of the frat guys to her because he was exactly Casey’s type.
Without missing a beat, Cain quickly followed behind and shut the door. “It’s so pitch-black in here you can almost taste it.” He tripped over something heavy, cursed loudly, then fell silent as he felt along the walls for a light switch. To their relief, warm, yellowish light soon filled the spacious living room. But their relief was short-lived.
The place was a shocking mess. Bar stools strewn across the marble floor, magazines ripped to shreds, a broken lamp in the far corner …
And blood. There were dried streaks smeared across the floor, the walls, and even on the landscape paintings hanging near the fireplace.
“W-Who’s there?” a trembling voice called out from the direction of the kitchen. “I-I’ll call the c-cops and have you arrested! I have a hunter’s knife that I’m not afraid to use as well, so … so … you’d better g-g-get out of here!”
“Ashley?” Cain said, incredulous. “Is that you? You’re alive?”
At the sound of his deep voice, a wretched wail pierced the air around them, and before the twins could react, a dizzying blur of pale skin and dark hair flung itself at Cain.
“What took you so long?” Ashley cried out, roughly pulling at his shirt as she buried her tear-streaked face in his broad chest. “I was so scared that I’d have to spend the night here all alone!”
Cain exchanged a glance with his sister, who was standing back to give her friend some space. He looked slightly panicked, but at least all this hugging was better than a fierce kick to the groin.
“What happened here?” Casey asked softly. “Where did your friends go?”
It was hard to get the whole story out of her best friend – the hiccups and tears had only gotten worse – but the gist of it was this: one of the jocks had gone for an early morning dip in the lake. Upon his return to the house, all hell had broken loose, resulting in two severely mauled frat boys who’d tried to stop the raging lunatic. In the end, they’d all squeezed into Ashley’s jeep, including the critically injured, and after making frantic promises to return as soon as possible, they had driven off to the nearest hospital just before nine o’clock.
They hadn’t been back since.
“And they’re never coming back,” Cain interrupted, frustration stamped on his face. “I can’t believe it took you this long to figure that one out.”
“Cain,” Casey warned, drawing closer to place a comforting hand on Ashley’s shoulder. Truth be told, it seemed like her friend hadn’t actually figured anything out.
“Of course they’ll come back eventually.” Ashley’s tone was filled with denial. “I mean, why wouldn’t they?”
Carefully, Casey pulled her friend away from Cain to put some distance between them. “Listen, they could’ve had an accident along the way; it was pretty chaotic this morning. But it’s likely that they chose to return home to their families. That’s what Cain and I did.”
Ashley’s head whipped up, her green eyes blazing. “What? You’re saying you stopped over at your house before coming to rescue me?”
Judging by Cain’s stormy expression, this back-and-forth was going to end in the worst possible way, maybe even in physical violence. But Casey knew said violence wouldn’t come from her twin. She watched Ashley, observing her stiff posture and splotchy skin, the way her breath exhaled in hitched gasps. Without a doubt, a barrage of slaps was coming for him.
“We did,” Casey said firmly, wrapping her arms around her friend. “We had to. Are you saying it was wrong of us to go home, to make sure our parents survived this madness?”
“So … did they? Survive, I mean.”
If Cain was angry before, he now resembled an active volcano on the verge of eruption. “You are unbelievable, you know that? To think that I actually dated someone as apathetic as –”
“Cain, that’s enough.” Casey jerked her chin toward the door. “Go rest in the truck for a bit. And while you’re there, try to stay as quiet as possible.” She paused briefly. “I’m sure this area isn’t as tranquil as it appears.”
He looked more than eager to leave. “I’ll be spending the night there, so don’t wait up.” And without a second glance at Ashley, he strode toward the front door and slammed it on the way out.
Ashley slumped on the floor, her dark hair covering her eyes. “He hates me.”
Can you blame him, after that hideous performance? But Casey chose to say nothing. Instead, she went into the kitchen to prepare a late dinner for the three of them.
As expected, the kitchen was filled with all kinds of ingredients, fresh and packaged. Since the lake house used solar power, this meant they wouldn’t have to worry about the food, especially the fresh ones, going to waste. She’d also be able to recharge her cell phone –
My cell phone. Shocked that she hadn’t realized it sooner, she dropped the knife on the cutting board. She’d left her phone at the campsite, but Ashley would have hers. Not only that, she remembered that there was a freaking LCD TV in the master bedroom.
She hurried out into the living room, where Ashley was reclining on the couch with her eyes closed. It was the only clean spot that didn’t have broken glass, torn magazines, or dried blood.
“Have you been checking the news on social media?”
“No.”
Casey quelled the frustration rising in her chest. “Why not? Weren’t you curious about what’s happening out there?”
“I didn’t want to know.” Opening her eyes, Ashley sat up and glared at her friend. “To be honest, I was quite happy hiding in the kitchen, not making a sound. I didn’t want to go get my cell phone and wait for it to recharge. I didn’t want to go into the master bedroom and watch TV. I didn’t want to move from my hiding spot, okay? It … It’s the only place that doesn’t have glass windows.” Her lower lip began trembling. “I was frozen with fear, and the irrational part of me thought if I just stayed still, I wouldn’t be detected by those … things.”
With a sigh, Casey plopped down beside Ashley. “While I understand your feelings, I can’t allow you to bury your head in the sand forever. You need to know what’s happening; we all do.” She rose to her feet, stretching her hand out in invitation. After stalling for a bit, Ashley took her proffered hand and, together, the two friends strode into the master bedroom to turn on the TV.
Finally. As Casey sat on the comfy, queen-sized
bed and reached for the remote control, she only hoped that most of the major news outlets were still broadcasting live feeds, and that there was instruction on evacuation routes and nearby shelters that hadn’t yet been swamped by desperate survivors.
* * *
*Static*
Click.
“We are experiencing technical difficulties … please stand by”
Click.
“No signal”
Click. Click click.
*Static*
Click click click click.
“… the smoke of their torment goes up forever and ever; they have no rest day and night, those who worship the beast and his image, and whoever receives the mark of –”
CLICK.
Casey turned to Ashley, who was facing the floor-to-ceiling glass windows in fear. “Go get your cell phone for me. Fingers crossed the Internet still works.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Fine, I’ll go.” Stifling a sigh, Casey hurried into her friend’s bedroom and rummaged through the designer shoes and dresses flung all over the four-poster bed and faux fur rugs. It took a while, but she finally found it partially hidden behind a wooden jewelry box.
“What’s your password?” she yelled.
“I’m not telling,” Ashley yelled back.
“Woman,” Casey thundered, “if you don’t give me your password now, so help me God I will –”
“C.A.I.N.4.E.V.A! All lowercase. Happy now, you bullying biatch?”
Cain4eva. Cain forever. The poor thing was still head over heels for him. Then again, she’d been in love with him ever since junior high.
“Much obliged,” Casey said, her mouth twitching at the corners. Seriously, those two were so damn cute sometimes.
The Internet seemed to be working, at least for now. She logged into her social media platforms and quickly scrolled through the breaking news articles and current updates, holding her breath in anticipation.
Her thumb paused on the screen. The latest posts had been uploaded almost three hours ago. Since then, there had been no news to speak of. Zilch. Nada. She didn’t want to believe it, but this could only mean one of two things.
The people working at these media corporations had been infected, like everyone else … or media censorship had gradually been placed into effect.
The former made sense; the infection had to have spread beyond the borders by now. No one, no matter his or her status, was exempt from an epidemic of this scale. But the latter was inconceivable, especially at a time like this. Revealing the truth to the public … this was their bread and butter. Yet nearly all the breaking news from varying platforms had ceased to update at around the same time.
Why? What the hell is going on?
Feeling nauseated, she tapped on the message icon and saw a flood of urgent texts from her mom.
–Are you okay, sweetie? You’re not picking up your phone.
–Casey, your brother’s not picking up, either. Are you both safe?
–Please honey, tell me you’re okay.
–People are saying the water’s contaminated. Try to avoid it as much as possible.
–For the love of God, where are you? Please pick up your phone!
And then her final message:
–DON’T COME HOME. I LOVE YOU.
Those six little words undid the flimsy defense she’d built around herself since she and Cain had left the campsite. Pressing the phone to her forehead with both hands, Casey wailed for her parents, remembering the horrific state of their remains, and wished that she’d never left home for her stupid summer job.
Chapter 6
It wasn’t the rays of sunlight shining through the curtains that woke Mike up in the morning, but piano sounds coming from below his apartment.
Blinking groggily at the ceiling, he listened to the melancholic performance downstairs. Was it Chopin? Or Mozart? Philistine that he was, he could never tell them apart. Not that it mattered to him. He preferred rock music over classical any day of the week.
Yawning, he flung the blanket off and hopped to his feet, debating whether he should have fried sausages and scrambled eggs for brunch or a simple bowl of cereal.
His lighthearted mood slowly ground to a halt as frenzied snarls rose above the tinkling piano passages.
“Mr. Rothstein,” he said, horrified as memories of the previous day began filtering into his addled brain. “What are you thinking?”
The barricade they’d placed in front of the door had been shifted slightly. After pulling on a pair of worn jeans, Mike squeezed through the open door and peered down the corridor.
“He’s certifiable,” he gritted through his teeth, listening as the piano notes grew louder and more passionate. If he didn’t put a stop to this madness, there was no telling what might happen in the next few minutes.
Barefoot, he padded down four flights of stairs in record time and stopped on the first floor, his hand on the railing. The foyer was filled with the stench of death and flies buzzing around the mutilated bodies littering the checkered linoleum floor. Wrinkling his nose, Mike hurried down the last flight of steps and headed straight for Mr. Rothstein’s apartment, whose door was slightly ajar. He slipped inside and quietly closed the door behind him.
“Took you long enough,” Mr. Rothstein greeted, staring out the window as he ended the piano piece with a grand flourish. “How are you feeling today, young man?”
“Murderous,” Mike replied, trying to contain his fury. “And you, Mr. Rothstein? Would ‘suicidal’ be an apt description for how you feel?”
The elderly gentleman let out an indulgent chuckle. “On the contrary, my dear fellow. I came here to celebrate the life still left in me. Did you enjoy my rendition of Debussy’s Deux arabesques?”
Mike let out an inarticulate grunt.
“Hmm. Then let me repeat my earlier question. How do you feel? Has your so-called fever gone down?”
“My fever?” With a start, Mike remembered drinking the glass of tainted water, and his sleepless night fearing for the worst. And yet here he was, feeling … well, pretty great. As Mr. Rothstein had predicted he would.
He attempted a flippant tone. “I haven’t started attacking you,” he said, shrugging, “so I guess I must be okay.”
“That is indeed excellent news.”
Mike ventured closer to the window, staring at the infected people across the street. “I don’t understand it. Couldn’t they hear you playing the piano? I thought for sure they’d have crashed through the glass pane by now.”
Mr. Rothstein rose from his piano seat and joined Mike at the window. “That might’ve been true yesterday, especially in all that chaos. But I have a few theories on why they appear quite sluggish right now.”
“Care to share your thoughts?”
Squinting his eyes, Mr. Rothstein pointed toward the midday sun. “Notice how bright it is? This is probably the time when the infected beings are most inactive during the day. Their senses seem rather dull, compared to how intense they were yesterday.”
Mike shook his head. “I’m not following.”
“Oh?” Mr. Rothstein looked surprised. “I thought I’d mentioned it previously. Well, no matter.” His voice fell to a theatrical whisper. “They’re nocturnal and thus hunt best at night.”
“Then shouldn’t they be hiding somewhere and sleeping now?”
“If only. But these beings don’t need rest.” A hesitant pause. “I suppose they’re similar to a battery – they’ll keep going until they run out of energy or something stops them.”
“That doesn’t bode well for us.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Mr. Rothstein agreed, “but at least we’ve learn a few things.”
“That they’re better hunters at night? Are you even sure about this?” Mike recalled how Tommy and his cronies had tried to attack him in the woods, and the brute strength of his former classmate’s grip. “I don’t know about you, but I escaped by the skin of my teeth yesterday. There
was nothing sluggish about them while the sun was out.”
“Yes, you’re quite right. But consider the circumstances then.” Mr. Rothstein returned to his beloved instrument. “Let me sit down first. I tend to think better when I’m seated at the piano.”
Mike waited, watching with some amusement as Mr. Rothstein fussed over his pants for about half a minute.
“Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the circumstances that led to such frenzied attacks during the day. It’s rather self-explanatory, wouldn’t you say? Think about it. Crowds of people were milling outside, not to mention countless students and workers inside libraries, schools, office buildings, and restaurants. As soon as you were infected, you’d turn around at all the noise, and there sitting just inches away would be a large slab of human meat screaming at you. To the infected, it was an All You Can Eat buffet beautifully laid out for gluttonous consumption. You didn’t need sharpened senses to know there was easy prey frozen right in front of you.
“Now consider the vast difference today. No sane person is walking around outside; we can only hear the infected. They grow noisy during the day because their senses are woefully impaired. It’s probably why Debussy didn’t attract them too much – the notes dissipated into the background, drowned out by their own snarls and hisses. But once the sun sets …” Here, Mr. Rothstein cleared his throat in discomfort. “That’s when the real hunt begins. And we won’t even know they’re standing there quietly until the sound of our intestines spilling wetly onto the ground reaches our ears first.”
Unsettled, Mike yanked the curtains closed. “You’re making that last part up.”
“I wish I were.” Mr. Rothstein’s hands trembled on his lap. “Last night, after you fell asleep, I stood at the window and watched carefully from behind the curtains. Their silence disconcerted me, you see. It was like I was being lulled into a false sense of security. Turns out that was exactly what it was.”
“What happened?”
“It was a middle-aged couple. They were carrying backpacks and had baseball bats in their hands. Maybe they thought it would be easier to escape at night? I simply don’t know. One second, they were holding hands and running across the street, and the next, they were surrounded by four infected beings. They didn’t even have time to react. My own eyesight couldn’t catch up fast enough, although I could hear the infected moving.”
Fate Page 4