The Reverse of Everything

by Tara Brown

  “Celeste—” Roz paused. “I’m sorry I used you as bait,” she spoke softly. “I didn't mean to scare you like that. I figured you realized what I was doing. That they would see you and forget about me. Finding one was better than none. Ya know?”

  I didn't know. I hadn’t realized I was bait. But I nodded anyway because it made sense. “It’s okay. That should have been obvious. I saw you take the gun into the closet.”

  “Next time, I’ll be the bait, okay?” Roz offered me the gun that was still in her hands. “I’ll teach you how to shoot.” It dropped into my grip, weighing far more than I’d expected. She held it so comfortably, I’d assumed it weighed nothing. But maybe I was adding the weight of killing with it.

  “Where’d you learn?”

  “One of my foster families, one I liked actually. They hunted and loved guns. They taught us how to use and handle and respect weapons.” She furrowed her brow. “It’s weird these people had a silencer though. No one has these.”

  “Maybe they were spies.” I cracked an ironic grin as if there weren’t three dead bodies down the hall.

  “Or assassins.” She smiled too. “Virginia Beach does seem kinda hard.” She chuckled bitterly, her eyes nervously flickering to the hall.

  “Let’s get out of here.” I stood, helping her up. She took our haul of stolen goods and walked to the front room, removing the chair out from under the handle and unlocking the door. With a deep breath, she opened the door to the setting sun.

  “Maybe we should head west.” I knew I’d feel safer there.

  “Okay.” She didn't sound convinced, but once she saw how great my parents’ house was, she’d change her mind.

  “Let’s see if the neighbors have guns too. We should stockpile some weapons. And we need a new car.” She walked across the grass to the next house and knocked on the door, waiting for someone to answer. When no one did, she opened the gate to the backyard and strolled in like it was no big deal. Their back door was unlocked too.

  I picked up the key fobs in the small dish on the back counter and started to press “unlock” on them until one made a noise.

  We hadn’t heard noises like this since the power went out. It had happened as we got out of Philadelphia. We crossed the state line into Maryland around eight and the power shut off shortly afterward.

  The highway hadn’t been bad, not a lot of cars with bodies. The smaller towns seemed to have more of those.

  As I loaded food and water into the car, Roz came out with two shotguns, a hunting rifle, and two more handguns. She had boxes of weird-looking bullets.

  “These people hunt,” she said as though it was a casual fact. No big deal. “We’ll stop somewhere along the line, and you can practice shooting and loading and handling.”

  “Okay,” I said, but I wasn't sure how that would go.

  I wasn't sure about anything anymore.

  My mind whispered, but it wasn’t my mother’s voice this time that said, Welcome to the new world, on repeat.

  10

  SWAT style

  Zoey

  Westley and I sat in the barely lit playhouse, staring out at the darkening street in silence; ours, not the world’s. Our little town was getting noisier. People were coming out of their houses, scared and hungry. The lack of power was taking us back to a place where when people screamed in the distance, no one ran to it. Instead, they stopped moving and hid, waiting for the screaming to end. And the screams were different. I’d never heard how desperation sounded before last week. Now it was a sound I might never stop hearing, even in my dreams.

  “What was your bucket list, Zo?”

  I contemplated Westley’s question for a moment before I smiled. “So there’s this scene in Persuasion where Anne Elliot is running around like a chicken with her head cut off. And she has this pale afternoon dress on and a silly bonnet and she’s desperately trying to find Captain Wentworth. And the houses are all in a row, but they’re curved. Built in a half-moon sort of shape on the inside, to follow the road.” I turned my face to his and grinned. “I wanna see that. It was the one place I wanted to see. I wanted to get a pastry and a tea or coffee and sit on a bench and read the scene and imagine it. I like the movie’s portrayal of it better, which almost never happens but—” I paused as my cheeks heated with embarrassment. “Sorry.”

  “Where is it?” he asked, disregarding my apology.

  “Bath, in the UK. They don’t call it Bath like we do, they say Bath,” I added an accent.

  “The UK. We’ll never make it there now.” He sounded saddened by it, joining me in the sentiment.

  “What about you?” I tried to move on from my sadness.

  “I have things I wanna do before the end,” he said but didn’t specify.

  “Fine, keep your secrets,” I joked and turned my head back up to the darkening sky.

  Westley gave me a look. “We should go somewhere.”

  “What?” I scowled, not sure what he meant. “Go inside? Are you cold?”

  “No, anywhere but here. I want to see the West Coast. We should go and drive and see. There must be somewhere you want to see before—before.”

  “I guess, besides Bath I want to see the Cheyenne Mountains. I want to see the bunker they made.” The words surprised us both. I couldn't believe I was sharing these ideas, and to make it more embarrassing, he was laughing at me. Though it was his turn. I’d laughed at him more than enough these last couple of days.

  “Bunker?” He chuckled.

  I didn't get to explain about the ham radio and the bunker and the man with the gravelly voice because Owen stalked across the grass. He was carrying several grocery bags, appearing sweaty in the fading light of the day. “I got canned and dried food, but we’re going to have to start raiding homes of the dead if we want to last the rest of this. The store shelves are bare and the townspeople are getting feisty. They think the owners of the stores are hoarding food. Never thought I’d see the day when the good folks of Marion would turn on each other but it’s arrived.” He glanced back as another scream tore through the air somewhere in the distance. His Scarlet Hurricanes tee shirt had a rip in the side and his arm was red to match it. Someone made the mistake of touching Owen, and I suspected they were sorry.

  “Maybe we should consider leaving.” Westley jumped down and took some of the bags. “We could load up my dad’s RV and hit the road and try to see some awesome shit before the end.”

  Owen, obviously not caught up on our conversation, asked in confusion, “RV?”

  “Yeah, you know that huge thing my dad got. It’s fully loaded. Zo and I were thinking maybe we should take a road trip for our last few weeks. She wants to fly to England, but I said maybe we could go west.” He gave me his cheeky grin.

  “Head out there?” Owen turned toward the mountains behind us, skeptically. I thought for sure he would say no, but he nodded. “Yeah maybe, huh? Leaving town might not be a bad thing.” He sounded funny.

  “What’s wrong?” I didn't beat around the bush with him.

  “Nothing.” His eyes flashed with something—something he wasn't sharing.

  “Owen?” Westley cocked an eyebrow, clearly seeing it too. “What’s going on?”

  “The big fence at the correctional center. It’s cut wide open.” The dread in his tone crushed me.

  “What?” Westley scanned around the yard. “Holy shit! We need to get in the house.”

  Marion was known for a few things and being home to a correctional center for the criminally insane was high on that list. We had a mental institute and a prison right next to each other.

  “I don't know if any of them got out. I think the troopers were there, fixing the fence. But if a few did escape, we need to consider that. And if they haven’t gotten out yet, they might still, especially after the forties die.” He motioned his head toward the colorful mountains. “So maybe we should go.”

  “It’s better than waiting around here for the psychos to escape and murder us in our
sleep,” West agreed. “And exploring America before we die would be awesome.”

  Owen walked the groceries back to the car and put them in the trunk. “Let’s load up what your mom got you and take it to the RV. Grab some clothes and stuff, Zo.”

  He didn't have to say it twice. I turned and ran inside to fetch the few things I needed. Murderous psychos were motivating. As was the prospect of seeing something worthy of a person’s last few memories.

  My packing started with underwear and tee shirts and groceries but ended with me staring at the note on the fridge, still neatly folded.

  My shaky hand lifted and before I could stop myself, I moved past it and grabbed the picture on the fridge of the two of us, me and Elaine. I shoved it in the bag and left the note.

  The guys were done packing the car when I got out there. I didn't look back at the house as we drove away or try to imagine what would happen to it when I was gone. It would be looted. There were embarrassing things like my underwear and bras and photos of me naked in the bath in my empty house. But who would see them and recall me?

  The week I would die was the week everyone who’d mock an orphaned girl died too. My generation was the worst for shaming people.

  We slowly drove to Westley’s house, each of us noting the difference in our town. Houses with broken windows and kicked-in doors were everywhere. Cars were left with bodies in them, dead people who seemed to be sleeping. But the difference was in the parking job. Some were on grass, others were crashed into houses or other cars. A few were fresh-looking from the deaths that had taken place a week ago. The forties would be dead soon, adding to the numbers. The dead would outnumber us soon.

  Body collection had stopped.

  That much was evident.

  Order was on its way out.

  Eyes peered from windows and shadows, people hiding and watching us skeptically, as if we might hurt them. Faces I’d known since I was a small child. Eyes I believed to belong to people who loved me.

  I hated this world.

  I hated what it had become, or rather what it tricked me into believing it was before this all started.

  We packed the RV fast, stuffing it to the brim with food, water, and supplies. Westley’s dad had filled a bunch of gas jugs and put them in the backyard by the shed. West and Owen carried them to the RV, filling it up until it wouldn't take any more gas.

  They loaded the jugs into the back storage where the extra propane tanks were and locked the door to it.

  “You got your mom’s letter?” Owen asked as he climbed into the passenger seat, a huge comfy captain’s chair.

  “No,” I said with a little attitude suggesting I didn't want it or to talk about it.

  “Oh come on, Zo. I’m not driving all the way to wherever the hell we’re going—”

  “The Cheyenne Mountains,” I interrupted.

  “The Cheyenne-fricking-Mountains just to have you freak out because Elaine is dead, and you left the letter behind like an asshole.” He turned to West. “Go back to her house.”

  “Owen, I don't want it—”

  “You might, dick.” He was done talking and West didn't meet my gaze as he started up the RV with a huge rumble.

  We were going back to my place and that was that.

  When he parked the huge vehicle in my driveway, I sat at the table and waited for him to go back inside. But he didn't. With a weird expression, he stared at the house for a moment before speaking, “You guys see that?”

  “What?” I asked with instant dread. Was it the psycho insane people?

  “That shadow in the house?” He narrowed his gaze. “Turn the RV off.”

  West listened, nervous too. He pulled out the key, making the lights go off as well.

  “Lock the doors.” Owen pushed his down. I scrambled to the big door right in front of me and pushed the lock.

  West got up and went to the back, opening a cupboard and pulling out something I’d never imagined seeing in his hands. A handgun. He grabbed a shotgun and closed the cupboard, walking back to Owen. He handed him the shotgun and gave him a questioning stare.

  Owen nodded.

  I didn't know what was happening.

  “Stay here, Zo,” Owen said.

  “You guys, it’s a stupid letter. I don't need it.” I started to panic. My insides were tight like a drum.

  “Shhhhhhhh,” West held a finger to his lips, not taking his gaze from the house. He and Owen got up and crept to the side door, listening. I watched the house, not seeing any shadows or movement. I wished there were lights and electricity and the sounds of normal society to make this dark silence seem less creepy.

  Owen and West spoke with their eyes, staring and flashing emotion the other person somehow understood. I was lost and scared as they unlocked the door, silently cracking it open. They climbed out, guns out. Owen closed the door, leaving me alone in the dark. I locked it, not sure it was the right thing to do.

  My body was so tense it hurt, though I barely breathed.

  Shadows moved around the side of the house, one going to the back door and the other hiding in the carport. West was the one who hid there.

  I was frozen until I saw the shadow in the house move.

  Then I gasped, holding my breath.

  The person had a handgun. They had it up in the air like they were a police officer or something from a movie.

  My eyes widened, straining, as the shadow crept forward to the window, peering out the front of the house. I didn't move, hoping I blended into the dark RV.

  They crept to the pantry which had a door to the carport.

  I wanted to shout at West they were coming, but he was hidden in the shadows. I’d probably make it worse. Where was Owen?

  The door to the carport opened, the shadow was there, staring out.

  Something attacked, another shadow. They mixed and I couldn't tell who was who, but the commotion and screaming was loud.

  I rushed the keys, turning them and flicking on the lights, shining two spotlights onto the garage where Owen, West, and the man who had been lying on the road that day, the week the seventies died, stood gripping one another.

  Owen froze as West punched the man in the stomach and took his gun. The guy put his hands in the air. His nose was bleeding and I couldn't be sure, but he might have been crying.

  I turned off the RV and jumped out, losing them in the dark again.

  “What the hell, man?” Owen shouted.

  “So-sorry. I-I came to m-make sure you guys were o-okay,” the man stammered.

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s been an escape from the prison. Six got out. They killed some of the guards. I work there. I’m a guard. And there’s not many of us left. I’m going to die tomorrow, so I thought I’d make sure you were okay and tell you to leave town.” He sounded normal again, breathing regularly, and he lowered his hands.

  “Damn, you scared the hell outta me.” Owen sighed too.

  “Who the hell is this?” Westley wasn't over it.

  “Lance McHale.” He offered his hand to West.

  “This is Lance, easily the most depressing guy I’ve ever met.” Owen gave me a side-glance. “You okay?”

  “No. You guys scared the shit outta me,” I snapped and turned back to the RV in a huff. I grabbed the keys and locked it up.

  I stormed inside and grabbed a soda from the stack in the pantry. I sat on the floor in the dark and cracked it, taking deep breaths before I took a drink, needing to find my zen.

  “You all right?” West asked as he followed me in and sat next to me on the floor.

  “No. That scared me. This whole thing is scaring me. Escaped prisoners and all the adults dying and you two acting like you’re some kind of secret SWAT team. Maybe we shouldn’t go anywhere. Maybe this is a bad idea.”

  “It’s gonna be okay, Zo.” West slid closer, pulling me into the crook of his arm. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, and I’ll always be here to take care of you.” He offered me an empty p
romise disguised as comfort.

  But the military-style takedown in the carport was just the start.

  Even I knew that.

  The next four weeks were going to be the worst ever. And I had to survive three of them.

  11

  Fear

  Celeste

  I never understood the expression “pain changed me” before.

  While I’d heard it, mostly from people who likely didn’t know what it meant either, I didn’t get it.

  But now I, along with those of us left, knew the sentence and knew it well.

  Pain changed us. All of us.

  Like the knife that whittled the wood to make the spear, she sharpened and hardened and cut us to be something more than we were. Trimming the fat, the excess, the emotions. Every day, maybe even every hour, we lost another layer, a little more humanity. I’d started out with excess, so I was slower to lose myself. But we gained things. My ears heard clearer, or I listened closer. My eyes spotted movement. My silent choking breaths became enough when I needed them to be.

  And no matter how slow it went, I was different.

  Pain had changed me.

  Catching a glimpse of my reflection in the dark glass of the SUV next to me, I saw it, a girl staring back who I didn’t know. Not yet.

  She was stronger than I was, and quieter.

  Holding my breath, I tried not to make a sound as I crept between the cars, listening for anything resembling people or the things they did that hardly made a noise anymore. Everyone tried to be silent so they could be deadly. It was amazing how beings who had come from such a noisy world could turn it off. I had never been quiet a whole day in my life, until we left New York.

  And once we did, there were two driving forces left in our world that could create such a need in a person they would do such things, fear and love. And we were in short supply of love. In fact, I wasn’t certain there was a single person left on earth I loved. I wanted to say my niece and nephew, sisters and brother were still alive, but I couldn't be sure. Not anymore.