by Cross, Amy
Turning, I see that he's returned from checking out his own room.
“They took Polly to be with some kids on one of the other floors,” he continues, stepping into the room with his hands in his pockets. “I figure that's probably better for her.”
“Something isn't right here,” I reply.
“Lots isn't right here,” he points out. “What specifically are you thinking about?”
I pause, before heading to the door and looking out into the corridor, to make sure that we're alone. Then I shut the door and turn to him.
“Charles Bloom was never my favorite person,” I tell him, “but one thing I knew for sure was that he was pretty high up with the Council. Or whatever they were called. Last time I saw him, he was getting pretty gung-ho about the battle ahead. Like I told you before, he always seemed to me to be kind of a chameleon. He changes to suit the circumstances. And now here he is, apparently pretty high up with the people running this city.”
I wait for him to realize what I'm suggesting.
“He obviously switched sides,” I continue. “During the battle, I mean. I don't know exactly how, but he's weaseled his way into the good books of the new regime, and that alone is enough to make me distrust him a lot.”
“I get that,” he replies, “but I'm sure he's not the only one.”
“Sure, but then he claimed to have no idea where my father is,” I point out. “I'm not being funny, but my father was pretty high up in the command chain here before the battle began. Don't you think it's suspicious that Bloom and the others apparently aren't interested in finding out where people like my father have gone? And Diane Clark? I've never invaded and taken over a city, but I'm pretty sure that straight after I'd want to know where the enemy leaders have gone.”
“Maybe they just escaped.”
“Then why not say that?” I ask. “I think he's hiding something.”
He pauses, as if he's not entirely convinced.
“Fair point,” he says finally. “So why did he offer to put us up like this? I mean, it's nice of him and all, but I get the impression most people are having to rough it out there in the streets, or in gutted buildings. And here we are, getting a pretty good deal.”
“Exactly,” I reply. “It's almost as if he wants to keep tabs on me.”
“Because of your father?”
“I can't think of any other reason,” I tell him. “I need to look for Dad, but I also need to try to find my friend Natalie. If she survived lookout five getting blown up, which she might have done, she'll be able to fill us in on what happened here after the battle was over. There are a few other people I could ask, too. First thing in the morning, when the sun comes up, I have to get out there and figure out what's going on.”
“Where are we going to start?”
“You don't have to help.”
“Sure, I know that.” He pauses again. “Listen, I don't even quite know how I ended up here. To be honest, I have no real reason to be in Boston, but while I'm here, I might as well do what I can.”
“Don't you have any family to go looking for?”
“I have a sister,” he replies, and now he seems a little cautious, as if he doesn't want to be talking about any of this. “If she survived, she's a long way from here. I was going to set out and try to find her a while back, but things kind of got in the way. And now...”
His voice trails off.
“Now you're scared to know the truth?” I ask.
He hesitates for a moment, and then he nods.
“I know the feeling,” I tell him. “But I can't just sit back and hope for the best. On the way to Boston, I was terrified, but now I have to get to the bottom of what happened here. My father would want that.”
I wait for him to reply, but it's clear that mentioning his sister has made him a little downbeat.
“How about a deal?” I ask, stepping toward him and reaching out a hand.
“What kind of deal?”
“You help me find my father,” I continue, “and then I'll help you find your sister.”
“There's really no point looking for her,” he replies. “Martha was in California when things went bad, by now she could be -”
“You want to know, don't you?” I ask, interrupting him with my hand still outstretched. “Even if it's bad, don't you have to know?”
“It's been over a hundred days. The odds of her still being alive are pretty low.”
“And maybe she's standing somewhere right now, saying the same thing about you.”
He hesitates, and then – finally, and perhaps still a little reluctantly – he reaches out and shakes my hand.
“Cool,” I say. “That makes me feel a lot better about you helping me out. Plus, I figure I owe you, seeing as how you kind of saved me from turning into one of those zombies.”
“You kind of were one for a day or two,” he points out. “How's that going, anyway? Are you feeling totally better now?”
“There's some itching,” I tell him. “The dandruff was really bad right after, but I think it's under control now.”
He smiles, and then he lets go of my hand.
“I'm going to come up with a proper plan,” I continue. “Tomorrow morning, we're going to hit the ground running. Bloom might try to get in our way, but I'm going to figure something out. We're not going to just wander around aimlessly, the way we did earlier. We're going to have a plan, and we're going to stick to it.” I pause for a moment, trying to figure out something – anything – that might make it sound a little more like I actually know what we're doing. “One way or another,” I add finally, “tomorrow we're going to find out what happened to my father.”
Day 110
Thomas
Morning sun streams through gaps in the ruined buildings, shining bright in the spaces where whole chunks of floors were blown away.
“Are you sure you can remember all of that?” Elizabeth asks, having finally finished explaining her grand plan. “Meet me here at -”
“Here at noon, I get it,” I reply, before glancing around the rubble-strewn square and seeing a few lonely souls wandering along the street. They look lost, as if they don't have a role to play. “Don't worry,” I continue, “they weren't the most complicated instructions I've ever been given. I'll be fine.”
“And don't draw too much attention to yourself,” she says, “because my father -”
“Your father's a big name, I know,” I reply, interrupting her. “I'm not going to go running around, shouting my mouth off. Now, instead of going over and over the same plan, how about we stop wasting time and start getting on with things?” I wait for her to reply, but she seems momentarily frozen, as if maybe she's once again scared to find out the truth. “Or we can stick together,” I suggest, “and -”
“No!” She takes a step back, as if the very idea is shocking. “Let's just stick to the plan. I'll see you here at -”
“Noon, I know,” I say. “Sounds like a great plan.”
She hesitates, and for a moment I fully expect her to start explaining the whole thing for a fifth time. Finally, however, she takes another step back.
“Noon,” she says. “Whatever you do, don't be late.”
With that, she turns and walks away, leaving me standing all alone.
I wait until she's out of sight, just in case she turns back and comes to talk to me again, and then I glance at the various street corners and try to figure out which I should take first. I'm supposed to strike up conversations with random people and then start mentioning Doctor Marter's name. The idea is that eventually someone will offer some information that'll lead us to the second stage of our search, although so far this grand plan – the one that Elizabeth was up all night concocting – doesn't exactly fill me with confidence.
Then again, what do I know? I'm no genius. I should definitely give her the benefit of the doubt.
Figuring that I should just pick a street and start, I turn to my left. At that moment, however, I spot a fa
miliar figure hurrying across one of the other intersections, looking very much as if she doesn't want anyone to notice her.
***
“Wow, it sounds like the pair of you really landed on your feet,” Doctor Carter says as I follow her along another, almost entirely deserted street. “That seems strangely typical for both of you. Congratulations.”
“So where were you last night?” I ask.
“Around.”
“Around?”
“It was my first night in a new city,” she replies evasively, “so I had to get my bearings. Not all of us can luck into five-star accommodation.”
“It wasn't exactly -”
“So has anyone mentioned me?”
“Mentioned you?”
“You didn't talk to anyone about me, did you?” She stops suddenly and turns to me, and I almost walk straight into her. “I don't want people to know that I'm here. Not yet.”
I open my mouth to tell her that there's no need to worry, but then I'm struck by the realization that she looks really sick. Her entire face is discolored, with a yellowish hint, and there are small, bloodied cracks on her lips. It's clear that whatever method she's using to keep herself alive is not working.
“Stop staring,” she says suddenly. “It's rude.”
“I haven't heard anyone mention your name,” I tell her, “but -”
“That's good,” she says, looking past me and then glancing over her shoulder. She's clearly paranoid. “You can't be too careful, Thomas. You never know when someone or something might crawl out of the woodwork.” She turns to me again. “By the way, how did you find me? And don't give me that garbage about happening to spot me.”
“I was telling the truth,” I reply. “It's not that odd. We're still in the first area of the city that we arrived in.”
“I guess that's true,” she mutters, still looking around, her eyes constantly darting from one sight to the next. “I still need to figure out exactly what's happening. I need to talk to someone who's in a position of power, but first I need to understand who's who and how things might change. There's no point offering my services to someone who might be overthrown within a day or two. I need to find something that's increasingly rare, Thomas. I need to find a selfless human being. Someone I can trust.”
“Well...”
“Not you,” she replies dismissively. “It needs to be someone who can help me gain access to certain facilities. I still have some work that I need to get done.”
She glances around, and for a few seconds she seems very agitated.
“Are you okay?” I ask finally.
She turns to me.
“What?” she replies.
“I mean, you're sick,” I point out. “Have you got any more ideas about how to make yourself better?”
“I didn't come here to get better.”
“I know, but -”
“So don't ask such stupid questions. Listen, Thomas, has anyone mentioned me?”
I furrow my brow.
“It's not a difficult question,” she says frantically. “Has anyone talked about me?”
“No,” I reply, “but... You asked me that already.”
“No, I didn't.”
“Yes, you did, about two minutes ago.” I hesitate, but I can see from the look in her eyes that she's worried. “You keep worrying about people asking about you,” I continue, “but honestly, I haven't heard your name mentioned once. I'm trying to help Elizabeth find her father, but we don't really know were to look. Have you heard anyone talk about John Marter?”
I wait, but now she's simply staring at me with an expression of disbelief.
“I don't have time for this,” she says finally, taking a step back. “You and your little girlfriend can do what you want, but some of us have more important things to do. Stop bothering me, okay? You're taking up my valuable time.”
“Seriously?” Figuring that she seems to be completely up herself, and that she might just be losing her mind, I realize that maybe there's no point to this conversation. “Whatever. See you around. Good luck finding whatever facilities you're after, but I can't help you.”
“Then leave me alone,” she replies.
“Gladly.”
I turn and start walking away.
“One more thing, Thomas,” she calls after me.
Sighing, I turn back to look at her.
“You haven't heard anyone talking about me, have you?” she asks. “Mentioning my name, that sort of thing?”
Elizabeth
“As far as I'm aware,” the guy says as we stand in a bombed-out building that's now being used as some kind of recruitment office, “all the leaders of the Council either died or fled. I don't think any of them are being held anywhere.” He leans back in his chair and narrows his eyes as he stares at me. “Remind me why you wanted to know.”
“I'm just working on a theory about something,” I tell him cautiously. “Never mind, thank you for your time.”
With that, I turn and hurry out of the building before he has a chance to ask any more questions. I've been to a few places already this morning and so far I'm really not having much luck. Nobody knows anything about my father, or about Natalie, and I haven't spotted any familiar faces. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, since it seems that the invading army overran the city and took charge of everything, although I was hoping that there might have been at least some gossip about the former leaders.
Stopping on the street, I look first one way and then the other, and I try to come up with a better plan. What I'm doing so far – going from building to building – definitely isn't working.
And then I feel it again.
Turning, I look over my shoulder and watch for any sign that somebody's following me. I haven't actually seen anyone tailing me this morning, but every so often I get a sudden and very clear feeling that I'm being watched. It's as if there's someone coming after me, and they always duck out of sight just a fraction of a second before I turn to look. At first I was worried that I might be about to suffer another hallucination, that Bob might appear again, but now I feel as if this is something else.
I watch for a moment longer, and then I turn away.
I'm just being paranoid.
I take a deep breath and tell myself to stay strong and stick to the task at hand.
Figuring that I might as well continue asking around, at least until I come up with a better plan, I head past the next corner and make my way along a narrow, deserted street that seems to have been left completely abandoned. I can't shake the feeling that there's a better way to do all of this, and that I'm just not smart enough to figure out what I should try next. As I get halfway along the street, I'm trying to work out what my father would do in the same situation, but I guess he might -
Suddenly I feel a rush of nausea in my belly, and the ground seems to pivot and tilt beneath my feet.
I reach out and steady myself against the wall, and I wait for the sensation to pass. Instead, however, I feel a kind of pressure building in my belly, as if something's trying to force its way out. I stay completely still, hoping that the sensation will pass and telling myself that this is just a lingering side-effect from my recent sickness. Deep down, however, I know that this feels completely different, and now I can feel a kind of tugging sensation in both my shoulders, as if some hidden force is trying to pull my bones up and out of my body.
Sweating profusely, I turn and slowly slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the ground. I feel as if millions of tiny, icy pinpricks are dotting my face, and I can barely see a thing as I open my mouth and let out a faint, pained gasp.
And then everything changes.
In a flash, I find myself sitting on a clean white plastic bench in some kind of sterile room. I look around, but all I see are hundreds of wires and tubes running into and out of my body. Trying not to panic, I turn the other way and see row after row of readout screens filled with information that I can't quite make out. There's a loud beeping sound som
ewhere over my shoulder, like a kind of alarm, and a moment later I realize I can hear someone screaming.
I look around, trying to see who's in pain, but there's no sign of anyone else here in this small, cramped space.
I try to call out, but I can't quite manage to make my mouth move.
Wait, am I the one who's screaming? I try to work out if it's my own voice I'm hearing, but the nausea is already getting stronger and now the air feels thicker, as if there's some kind of gas all around me.
I try again to call out, but the scream seems to be filling my mouth.
I try to pull away from the table, but the cables and wires are holding me in place. As I set my hands down and try to turn, I feel that the table is vibrating slightly. In fact, there seems to be a faint hum running through the entire room.
Slumping down as the gas starts to overwhelm me, I feel myself slipping into unconsciousness. I don't know where I am or what's happening, but sheer terror is filling my chest and finally I manage to turn onto my side and I cry out, and in that moment I realize that the scream has always been mine.
I blink.
And it's gone.
Staying completely still, I find myself back on the ground in that deserted, narrow street. I'm on my side, and there's a strange taste that lingers in my mouth for a few seconds before fading to nothing. I feel really weak, as if I can barely move a muscle, but somehow I manage to slowly sit up and lean myself against the nearby wall, where I take a moment to try to get my bearings back.
What just happened?
For a few seconds – maybe a minute at most – it was as if I'd gone to some completely different place. I've had hallucinations before, of course, but nothing that felt so real and so all-encompassing. It felt like I'd been transported somewhere, but I know that's impossible. The only other possible explanation is that my hallucinations are getting stronger and more vivid, in which case there might come a point at which I won't know the difference.
What if Doctor Carter was wrong?
What if I'm not completely cured after all?
What if there are some side-effects from the period when I was a zombie? I haven't told anyone about the vivid dreams I experienced, but while I was zombified my mind seemed to go to some other place where I was being chased through a maze. Maybe I went so deep into a dream-world that I can't fully come back.