Exodus (19 page)

The children sat quietly in the backseat; Rhiannon stared directly ahead and Ben cuddled up to Thor. The dog’s head rested in the boy’s lap.

Shock. Disbelief. Horror. Each time Emily glanced in the mirror above her head, she would see a new emotion on one of the children’s faces. If things had been normal and something of this emotional magnitude had occurred, there would be people to turn to, experts to help. Someone would know how to deal with the turmoil these kids were about to experience. Emily had no idea how to handle their feelings. God! She was only now beginning to get a grip on her own. What was she expected to do? She couldn’t stop, couldn’t hole up with them and try and explain what had happened. A storm was coming. A storm unlike any other ever experienced on this world. What was she supposed to do?

The trees disappeared, and Emily found herself bumping over a graveled road that followed the contour of the ridgeline; in the distance she could see the glow of the lights she had left on in the house to help guide them back.

She focused on those lights as they grew closer and brighter; this must have been how sailors felt. Lost on the sea, with only the stars to guide them until they found the light of some distant port to lead them back to safety.

She had to prioritize. There had been more orbs hanging from that tree, unopened; each one would contain one more of the creature she had just killed. They could be out there now, waiting, watching. Commander Mulligan had said they had twenty-four hours maximum before the storm caught up with them if they stayed here. The choice was obvious, she supposed, she had to get the kids out now and run. Right now. Run to anywhere that was not here.

Emily drove all night and into the next day, stopping only when the children complained they needed a bathroom break, then ushering them back into the vehicle and speeding away again. That evening, exhausted and barely able to focus on the road ahead, Emily had finally pulled the SUV over to the side of the road.

They spent the night in the vehicle, camped in the breakdown lane of Route 90. Emily had tried to sleep, but the occasional whimper from one of the children and a pounding headache had all but ensured she got little rest.

Emily woke in the morning to the storm Commander Mulligan had warned them about—it had arrived with a vengeance. The sky ahead was masked by normal clouds. But the sky behind them was choked with red and pregnant with foreboding. The storm had already consumed most of the eastern horizon. Thick tendrils stretched across the sky ahead of a main bank of billowing red that filled an entire third of the visible eastern hemisphere from
horizon to horizon. An occasional flash of lightning lit up the interior, illuminating the clouds with thick bands of white light.

With the children still sleeping, Emily pulled the Durango away from the shoulder and headed northwest. They had been silent for most of the headlong flight out of Stuyvesant, the mock disdain and sniping between the siblings forgotten as Rhiannon had silently consoled her brother, cradling him in her arms.

Clots of alien trees lay in almost every direction Emily looked as she cruised up the freeway. These weren’t the half-finished variety, either; they were fully constructed and already giving off a red fog of dust that hung above the skyline like smog, scintillating in the early morning light. It was almost as if the construction had sped up in anticipation of the approaching storm. Here and there, along the tree-lined grass embankments on either side of the road, Emily would spot stretches of red where the indigenous foliage had been converted to something not of this world.

They had plenty of supplies—despite her fear, Emily had circled back to Simon’s house before they’d left. She’d thrown boxes and boxes of food into the back of the Durango, along with the children’s bags. But there were other worries. The SUV was down to under half a tank of gas. Emily had no idea how much they had started out with, and she wasn’t sure how far what was left would get them. She was keeping her speed down to fifty, but even so, the needle on the fuel gauge quickly slipped sufficiently close to the quarter-tank mark that she decided now would be as good a time as any to start looking for gas. If she could fill the tank up, that should give them enough to get them close to Flint, Michigan, their next major goal.

A few minutes later, she spotted a Hilton Garden Inn ahead. Perfect. She hung a right at the next junction and pulled around
back of the roadside inn. There were a couple of cars parked in the back lot, but otherwise the building looked empty. She was sure the kids would appreciate using the facilities despite the fact there was no water; kids appreciated their privacy. She followed the driveway around to the front of the building and pulled up outside the entranceway. There were a couple more vehicles parked in random spaces out front, and she could see the occasional evidence that the inn had not been empty when the red rain struck; she counted seven windows that had near-perfect circles cut through their glass.

She surveyed the terrain through the window of the SUV—it looked clear—then turned off the engine.

Emily undid her seat belt and turned to face the children, feeling the bones in her stiff back pop as she twisted. Rhiannon was already awake, but Ben was still asleep.

“Are we staying here tonight?” the girl asked, looking out at the hotel.

Emily had intended to try to get a couple more hours of driving in before calling it quits, but the storm was now just a distant collar of red around the eastern horizon, and this seemed like the perfect place to spend the night. Besides, Ben did not look right to her. His face looked puffy around the eyes, and he looked paler than when they had first set off that morning.

“Sure,” she replied. “Looks nice, doesn’t it? How’s your brother doing back there?”

Rhiannon gave her brother’s shoulder a gentle shake. His eyes fluttered open—they were a little bloodshot, Emily noted—and swept around the interior of the SUV as if unsure of where he was before finally settling on Emily. She gave him a broad smile. “How you doing there, kiddo?”

“I wanna go home,” he croaked, his lips dry and cracked.

“I know you do. I know. But we’re going to spend the night at this motel, and then, in the morning, we’ll talk some more, okay?”

Ben nodded from behind a pout.

They found a room on the second floor. With the power out, the electronic locks had all automatically failed to the locked position, but they lucked out. The room they would spend the night in had been occupied. Whoever had been staying there had died and transformed into one of the spider-aliens, but instead of chewing through the window, it had exited through the front door. The hole it left was large enough for Emily to reach through and use the internal handle to open the locked door.

There were two queen-size beds in the room, both empty, thank goodness, but Emily found the desiccated husk of a pupa behind the love seat at the opposite end of the room. When she tried to pick it up to move it, it crumbled to dust between her fingers, leaving nothing but a black shadow of powder on the carpet.

They were all still wearing the same dirt- and alien-gunk-stained clothes from the previous night. Both the kids looked like bedraggled street urchins, their faces spotted with mud, their clothes dirty and stiff with sweat. Emily tried the faucets in the bathroom, but nothing came out, just a deep rattle of empty pipes. They would have to make do with the baby wipes tonight.

Emily caught a glimpse of the old Rhiannon’s petulance when she handed her the packet of lemon-scented wipes and suggested she might like to grab her bag of clothes and head into the bathroom to clean herself up. In the meantime she would help her brother, Emily told her. She smiled as Rhiannon snatched the
wipes from her hand, grabbed her bag, and stomped into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

Ben was lying on the second bed, his back to her. She made her way to the opposite side and knelt down beside the boy. His face was bathed in the gray sunlight flowing through the room’s only window.

“How are you feeling, Ben?” she asked softly.

“My tummy hurts,” the boy said weakly.

Emily smiled reassuringly. “Would you like a little water?” The boy nodded. “Let’s sit you up then, and I’ll bring you some, okay?” She slipped her hands under Ben’s armpits and raised him upright. The kid weighed about as much as a sparrow; she was going to have to make sure he ate regularly if he was going to stay healthy. She pulled a disposable cup from its wrapper on the side table and poured it half-full of water from her bottle. Ben took it and gulped it down in three swift swigs. He held the empty cup out for more, and Emily happily obliged, pouring in the remainder of the water. It disappeared almost as quickly as the first time, and Emily thought she saw a little color returning to the kid’s face.

“Hey, Ben,” she said as he handed the cup back to her. “How about we get you into a change of clothes?” Ben raised his arms above his head and waited for Emily to pull his shirt over his head. He unbuckled his belt, kicked off his shoes, and wriggled out of his jeans. Emily pulled off his socks, holding her nose in mock-disgust as she deposited them into the trash can at the side of the bed, which elicited a brief giggling fit from Ben.

“Okay, big guy. Let’s get you cleaned up.” She pulled a fresh towelette from a second packet of baby wipes and began to methodically clean the dirt from his face and his neck, then down his arms to his fingertips. She gave his chest and legs a quick
once-over. “Up you get,” she said when she was done with his feet. “Let’s get your back next.”

Ben stood and turned.

The bruise on his back from where the creature’s whiplike tentacle had hit the boy was ugly; a mix of angry purple-and-black blotches overlapping each other around a raised bump of skin. Emily carefully probed the area with the baby wipe, cleaning the wound as gently as possible. The wound looked a little inflamed to her. She’d need to disinfect it.

She finished cleaning the boy up, then led him over to where she had set her backpack down. She opened a side flap and pulled out the first aid kit, then opened it and unwrapped an antiseptic wipe.

“That itches,” he said as she used the wipe to go back over the welt and bruised area beneath his shoulder.

“All done,” replied Emily, balling the antiseptic wipe and tossing it in the trash. She pulled out fresh clothes for him from his backpack and helped him into them. By the time she was finished, the kid looked a lot more like the little ball of energy she had come to adore over the past couple of days.

She stared into his eyes for a moment, pushing an errant lock of hair from his face. There was so much sadness behind those young eyes. She was about to ask him how he was feeling when Rhiannon flounced out of the bathroom dressed in bright-pink sweats.

“Your turn,” she said to Emily, tossing the half-empty pack of baby wipes to her.

Emily pulled another antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit and headed into the bathroom. The gash on her forehead was ugly looking and inflamed. She cleaned the area with the antibacterial wipe. By the time Emily was done wiping the grime from the rest
of her body and slipping into her fresh, if rather wrinkled, clothes, the kids were sitting together at the small table. They had helped themselves to a can of fruit each and were happily spooning the contents into their mouths. A third can sat on the tabletop, a plastic spoon resting next to it.

Emily pulled the lid off the can and joined them for dinner.