Fate

by V. A. Brandon

  The great thing about being twins was the uncanny ability to read each other’s minds.

  “I’ll tell you all in good time,” Casey said with a reassuring smile. “Anyway, let’s finish our dinner; it’s getting cold.”

  The truth was, she was going to share what she’d read on the “We Are the Voice” board, especially the rumors on a supposed vaccine, and Vlogman’s firm belief that it had originated from Deen & Blatt Pharmaceuticals. She was certain Cain would put two and two together and realize her connection to the rumors since he knew about the clinical trials she’d undergone for money.

  And once he found out about the “vitamin shot” she’d received from Miriam? Those fantastical rumors were going to start sounding a lot more like possibilities.

  But she wanted to discuss this with Cain while Ashley wasn’t around. Not because she didn’t trust her, but because she was going to propose an idea so preposterous even she was still coming to grips with it.

  Come morning, Casey was going to dunk herself in the lake to see if the contamination affected her like it did so many others. And to do this without hindrance, Ashley had to stay ignorant to said plan.

  Ten minutes later, as the twins lay on their sleeping bags and peeped through the attic window, Casey quietly explained what she’d read on the message board and her suspicions of the vitamin shot actually being the vaccine mentioned online. Cain nodded, as if in agreement.

  So far, so good.

  After taking in a deep breath, she told him about her “plan” in a calm, rational manner.

  Cain’s whole body stiffened, then he dropped the edge of the curtain and rolled over to face her under the silver beam of moonlight.

  “I’ll knock you unconscious before you can even attempt to do something so stupid.”

  “It’s stupid, I agree with you,” she said, heart thumping wildly. “Fact is, it’s practically suicide. What if it turns out it was just a simple vitamin shot, after all?” A desperate chuckle rose from her throat. “But what if it’s not? What if this elusive vaccine does exist?”

  “Pretty sure it doesn’t,” he growled.

  “That’s not what you thought before. You nodded at me!”

  “Because I was only half listening.”

  “Aren’t you curious to find out, though?”

  He leaned closer, and Casey stared at his blue eyes that were so identical to her own. “I have no intention of losing the only family I have left because of curiosity. And I’m certainly not going to act rashly based on posts uploaded by some attention-seeking Internet troll.”

  “So you’re not going to help me?”

  “Not only am I not going to help you, my eyes will be on you 24/7. You’ll have to pee with me standing just two paces away.” He cocked a brow, as if daring her to protest. “It’ll be like when we were five years old all over again.”

  “Fun times,” she said, laughing softly, recalling how he’d always followed her around when they were kids. It got to the point where some people described him as being attached to Casey’s hip. As they grew older, his friends accused him of having a “sister complex,” and the second he found out what that meant, he began distancing himself from her and grew sullen and irritated whenever she was around.

  “I mean it, Kay, so don’t even think about going behind my back –”

  “Shhh!” Casey ducked, indicating Cain should do the same. She’d just seen a shadowy figure moving between a copse of trees to their left. “Did you see that?”

  “The curtain’s in the way, and it’s also too dark to see anything.”

  He was right, and Casey was frankly a little surprised at herself for having noticed it at all. She’d always had excellent eyesight, but this seemed beyond what was considered normal.

  The dark figure emerged from the trees, then paused under the moonlight, its head tilted as if listening for something.

  Suddenly, it was gone.

  Casey sat up, dazed. “Where did it go – damn it!”

  “What? What?”

  The tiny squeals that soon followed gave away the intruder’s new location. They were coming from a distressed wild rabbit, caught in the intruder’s bloodied hands and mouth.

  The figure crouched near the lake and began tearing into the small animal.

  “I see it now,” Cain whispered, his voice filled with awe and disgust. “Can’t believe it only took a mere second to catch his prey.”

  And that was the crux of why nighttime was the absolute worst. How could they escape from a predator that moved as fast as a striking cobra?

  Tossing the remains of the rabbit into the lake, the infected being stood up and turned in the direction of the house. Something about its prolonged stillness sent a shiver down Casey’s spine.

  “It knows,” she said, lowering herself onto the floor.

  “Knows what?”

  Tasting blood in her mouth, she realized she’d unconsciously bitten her lip in fear.

  “That thing knows we’re in here.”

  Chapter 9

  With the arrival of another guest, the cramped conditions of Mike’s apartment grew to stifling levels. But as if that wasn’t enough, he’d graciously offered his bed to Mr. Rothstein and Trey and taken temporary refuge on his old, lumpy couch.

  If only he could get some shut-eye.

  “Damn leather,” he muttered, unsticking his sweaty skin from the upholstery. The eerily quiet night accentuated every creaking noise from the building, even their soft exhalations. It was surprisingly worse than the unrestrained din of a boisterous Friday night.

  “Care for a drink, young Mike?”

  He eagerly sat up in time to see Mr. Rothstein reach for a bottle of bourbon and glass tumblers. “Good idea.”

  “We’ll have to drink it neat. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Mike strode over to the rickety table, where Mr. Rothstein had already seated himself. “Not at all.”

  The two fell silent as they nursed their drinks, lost in deep thought. When Mike reached for the bottle to refill his tumbler, Mr. Rothstein finally stirred in his chair.

  “After what happened last night, I’m afraid to look outside. But I still think we should.”

  “There’s no point. If anything, it’ll only increase our chances of being seen by them.”

  “I want to observe what they do. Not knowing makes it so much worse.”

  “Well, this will be our last night here before we leave tomorrow morning. I don’t know how much you can learn by then.” Mike tossed back his second drink, savoring the sweetness on his tongue.

  That statement seemed to make Mr. Rothstein wilt a little. “You’re right, I suppose. The best thing to do is give ourselves some solid rest before we depart –” He suddenly cut himself off mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing.

  Mike mouthed, What’s wrong?

  Mr. Rothstein pointed at the door, then using two fingers, pantomimed a person walking up a flight of stairs.

  Nodding, Mike quietly rose up and tiptoed to the door, making sure not to bump against the barricade. On the other side of the studio, Mr. Rothstein returned to the bed and sat beside Trey in case the boy woke up and started mumbling out questions.

  Slow seconds passed, then the motion sensor light lit up in the corridor, indicating that someone’s presence was near.

  Someone … or something that didn’t belong.

  Sweat beaded on Mike’s forehead as he glanced down at the yellowish light seeping in from the thin gap beneath the door. Except for the motion sensor light turning on, nothing seemed amiss so far. Maybe a filthy sewer rat had entered the premises and was currently darting around the fifth floor; the old building tended to attract all sorts of critters.

  His shoulders relaxing, he told himself to stop overreacting. He waved to Mr. Rothstein with a relieved smile and gestured that everything was fine on his end.

  Turned out he should have waited a bit longer. His smile vanished as something on the other side swiftly blocked most of th
e light under the door. Holding his breath, Mike silently crouched down on his knees and, resting the right side of his head on the floor, stared at what little he could see through the gap.

  Bare feet, dirtied with open flesh wounds. They paused inches away from Mike’s flared nostrils, their presence a stark reminder of how flimsy the front door was, how ridiculously pointless the barricade seemed. Could that thing outside smell the sharp tang of perspiration running down his armpits? Was the freak toying with him by being so damn still?

  Seconds felt like excruciating hours as Mike lay there, every muscle petrified with fear. Damn it, move already, he thought, unwilling to give in first. Both hands were starting to go a little numb, and he knew they would soon be riddled with prickly sensations crawling up his arms.

  On the other side of the room, Trey stirred in his sleep, releasing a breathy sigh into the still air. In the maddening silence, the unexpected noise felt as loud as a forced cough.

  Mike squeezed his eyes tightly. Don’t start hyperventilating, he told himself. Not now.

  The thing standing outside tapped its nail against the door – once … then again, as if to confirm its presence to the occupants inside. On the third tap, it slowly dragged its nail down, splintering the door’s wooden surface.

  Immediately, muffled voices rose in the apartment next to theirs. Snatches of “Did you hear that?” and “What was it?” bled through the thin wall dividing Mike’s group and those poor souls who’d foolishly chosen this moment to open their mouths. Why now? They hadn’t even revealed themselves during the day when Mike had traipsed up and down the stairs.

  Stop talking, he thought in desperation. But it was far too late for them now.

  The digging stopped, followed by several seconds of terrifying, ear-ringing silence. By now, Trey was wide awake, his small frame pressed tightly against Mr. Rothstein as the two quaked beneath the blanket. Mike wished he could unfreeze his body and join them.

  Why won’t that raging psychopath leave us the hell alone?

  A loud, tearing sound assaulted his eardrums, and terrified screams rippled through the hitherto still night. Using the noise as a shield, Mike scrambled to his numb feet and stumbled toward the bed, where Mr. Rothstein had thrown himself over Trey. The boy was curled into the fetal position, his hands desperately clutching his ears.

  The second Mike collapsed on the mattress, ringing silence fell over the building once again. He winced as the springs in the mattress squeaked under his weight, reminding him of a badly timed joke before an unwavering audience. As he stared helplessly at Mr. Rothstein, the older man reached out and gripped his shoulder, the tips of his bony fingers digging into the flesh.

  It’s gone, he mouthed at him.

  Mike was still sweating bullets. “You sure?” His voice was low and hoarse.

  Releasing a shaky sigh, Mr. Rothstein rose to his feet and peeped through the curtains. “There it goes,” he whispered to himself. “As nonchalant as an innocent bystander taking a midnight stroll.” His head suddenly jerked up, his eyes glistening in the dark. “We have to do this quickly.”

  “What now?” Mike muttered wearily.

  Mr. Rothstein shuffled over to the kitchen and grabbed a fruit knife. “As gruesome as it is, we don’t have an alternative. Let’s act now before it’s too late.”

  “Sorry, but I’m staying right here.”

  “Then I shall accomplish the task on my own.” A pained expression flickered across the pianist’s features. “Should anything befall me, I trust you will fulfill your new role as Trey’s full-time guardian and –”

  “Oh, would you just” – shaddup already – “just … lead the way, then,” Mike finished in resignation, knowing full well Mr. Rothstein had only said that to goad his butt into action. With heavy reluctance, he stood beside his eager companion, then paused to glance down at Trey. “And you,” he said in an unnecessarily stern tone, pointing a finger at him. “Stay here and keep out of trouble.”

  The boy let out a whimper of agreement, his arms now hugging his folded knees.

  “Hurry,” Mr. Rothstein whispered a moment later as Mike shifted their barricade to the side. “I can hear one of them starting to move around on the floor.”

  Mike still wasn’t entirely sure what Mr. Rothstein had in mind, but a terrible suspicion began gnawing deep in his gut.

  “Tell me we’re not going next door,” he gritted out.

  “It relieves me to no end that you already know what must be done,” came the muffled reply.

  “Seriously, Mr. Rothstein, this is no time to joke around. Why do you always do things that put your life in danger?” The pianist’s relentless curiosity would be the death of them all.

  They tiptoed out into the corridor, their bodies physically recoiling at the coppery tang of fresh blood hanging thick and heavy in the air.

  Mr. Rothstein breathed sharply through his nose. “As I’ve reminded you before, young Mike, it’s because I value the life still left in me that I do this.” And on that note, he raised the fruit knife and stepped through the ruined doorway to their left.

  Letting loose a string of expletives, Mike quickened his footsteps and did the same.

  The sight was ghastly to behold. There had been a total of five occupants inside the apartment, probably middle-aged couples and friends. A decapitated head stared up at them, its eyes at half mast and gaping mouth sagging at the corners. One side had been smashed in.

  Mike hurriedly turned away, but found himself slipping on a puddle of blood instead. “Damn it!”

  “Shh! Not so loud.”

  “Let’s get out of here.” What if that night freak came back, like a fox returning to its cache to consume its buried food? What then?

  “In a minute. Now, where’s the victim who was moving around – ah, here he is.” Mr. Rothstein knelt beside the dead man, whose body hadn’t been torn apart like the rest of his friends. But the deep gash in his throat had cut through the major veins and arteries on both sides.

  “It’s too late; he can’t be saved.”

  “That’s not why we’re here.” And without preamble, Mr. Rothstein arced the knife in a downward motion.

  Mike reflexively caught his arm in mid-air, sending the knife clattering across the blood-splattered floor. “I’ll do it,” he offered, his stomach churning at the idea of a mild-mannered retiree performing such a violent act. “Just tell me why we have to do this.”

  “Do you see the others?” Mr. Rothstein nodded at the strewn body parts and crushed heads amid the red streaks of blood. “They’re irrevocably dead and thus of no harm to us. But this man here will soon become one of them if we don’t act first.”

  “I see.” Mike released Mr. Rothstein’s arm and reached over for the small knife. “Then one stab should do the trick, correct?”

  “Done rightly, yes. But …” Mr. Rothstein trailed off, his face growing pale. “It appears we need to leave. Right now.”

  Judging by the sudden shift in his demeanor, there was no time for questions. Both men scrambled to their feet and hauled their asses back into Mike’s apartment, quickly pushing the barricade against the door. Just as they reached the bed, where Trey was staring wide-eyed at them, a slithery sound rushed past their door.

  Mr. Rothstein raised a shaky finger to his lips. Not a word, his eyes warned them. Just stay perfectly still.

  Next door, low hisses and wet, ripping noises filled the otherwise quiet night. Mike and Mr. Rothstein crouched beside the bed, stiff and anxious. As for Trey, he had buried himself under the blanket, his body quivering in abject fear.

  There was still about five hours left before the break of dawn.

  It was going to be one hell of a long night.

  Chapter 10

  It amazed Casey that they had somehow survived the night, spared from calamity and certain death. After consuming its meager meal, the infected jock had disappeared into the woods as quickly as it had appeared. Something must have caught its attention �
�� perhaps there’d been prey that was closer and more vulnerable than the occupants inside the lake house. Whatever the reason, Casey felt both guilt and relief for the bigger distraction that had led the jock away.

  But their luck was surely running out, like the last grains of an hourglass flowing down the narrow neck. They had to find him during daylight and end his existence, or pack their bags and seek another place of refuge.

  She sighed, rubbing her temples. Her best friend was just going to love that.

  “We’ve run out of bread,” Ashley grumbled, rummaging around in the kitchen. “We’ll have to make do with canned soup and saltines for breakfast.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Casey surreptitiously grabbed the cell phone and slipped it into her back pocket. “Uh, think you can handle that by yourself?”

  “Oh, please. Even I can reheat something as simple as soup.” Ashley made an impatient, shooing motion with her hands. “Begone now. Go do your girl scout thing.”

  Casey shot her a bemused smile before heading up the stairs, toward the attic where her twin was still sleeping. He’d anxiously kept watch the entire night, and had fallen asleep right before dawn. She herself had managed only a few hours of fitful slumber, too.

  The second she entered the attic, she saw her twin slouched on the floor with a woolly blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was staring out of the window, still as a statue.

  “Good, you’re awake. We need to talk.”

  He offered no reply, but simply continued staring.

  “We have two objectives today.” Casey leaned in, lowering her voice. “First, I need you to send a private message to Vlogman. Ask him to elaborate on his posts and, if possible, see if you can arrange some kind of meetup.” Meeting a complete stranger would be highly risky, especially in the aftermath of the epidemic. But there was also safety in numbers, and sharing information might increase their chances of survival and provide initiative for their next step.