Chapter 17
Scooter drove the cart straight to the hangar. He had thought about turning around several times
.
He really should have gotten the girls something to eat and drink. He had said that he would
.
But he hadn't gotten them anything and he felt bad about that
.
Guilt
y
was more like it.
He supposed that if they really wanted something, he could go back out again. Right now, he just wanted to get back there and make sure that they were still okay. Plus, he wanted to show them what h
e
ha
d
got. Although it wasn't food, he thought that they'd like it.
He kept driving. The cart hummed underneath him. It was actually a pretty good machine. He tapped the steering wheel with his fingers and pressed harder down on the accelerator.
However, when he came into sight of the hangar, he slammed on the brakes.
He couldn't believe what he saw.
The woman from the shuttle bus!
With the lights from the cart, he could see her blood-soaked hair flap around as she banged on the hangar door. If that hadn't been enough, he could hear her horrible screams as well.
Scooter kept his foot on the brakes. He didn't know what to do. He knew that the girls were safe. Th
e
thin
g
hadn't gotten in there. But how wa
s
h
e
going to get inside?
He took a few seconds to think about it. Though, as soon as the woman saw him, he knew he had run out of time. She stopped banging on the door and ran toward him.
Scooter still wasn't sure of what to do, but he pressed on the accelerator and surged forward anyway. The two approached each another quickly. They screamed. Both out of anger.
He could see the blood around her mouth, the darkness of her eyes.
He crashed the cart into her and sent her flying through the air.
It hadn't been a fatal hit, he knew. Not the way that she had landed. She rolled on the ground and would be up again soon.
He drove the cart up to the hangar door and jumped out of it.
He turned to look at the woman. She was standing now and he wouldn't have time to get inside. Not unless Julie was standing at the door, waiting to open it for him. He couldn't take the chance.
He reached into the cart and pulled out the axe. It felt good in his hands again. Except he wasn't as confident as he had hoped. He held it out in front of him and faced the woman. She was charging toward him, screaming.
Scooter waited. Not for very long. The woman was fast and nearly upon him.
As she approached, Scooter could feel his adrenaline rise.
This would work. I
t
ha
d
to.
The woman got closer.
He raised the axe over his head and waited.
When she was within reach, he brought it down heavily against her. She didn't even try to avoid it. She was so consumed with trying to get at Scooter that the blade connected with her head without much difficulty.
Scooter felt a big thunk. He felt a burst of blood spray across his face. None of which stopped her. The woman continued to attack him. Hands raised. Screaming.
Scooter tried to turn and run as the woman jumped onto him and brought him to the ground. She started to tear at him. He tried to push her off. He tried to punch her. He started to kick.
Then the woman simply stopped. She slumped down on top of him, dead.
Scooter didn't know what had happened. He also didn't stop to think about it. He pushed her off and stood up quickly.
He looked down at himself and tried to brush himself off. Unfortunately, he wasn't covered with dirt. He was covered with blood. And all that he managed to do was smear it into his clothes.
He looked over at the woman. She had nearly killed him. That in itself was unbelievable. But he had managed to kill her instead. Another unbelievable thing. He had never killed anyone before.
Though maybe he shouldn't think of this thing a
s
anyone, he told himsel
f
.
Scooter knelt down beside her. The lights from the cart shone against them both. He could see the blood covering his hands and shirt. He chose to ignore it. He could deal with it later. Right now, he was interested in the woman.
He looked at her face. It was split open by the axe. Blood and mucus were pouring out of the wound. Scooter had never seen brain matter before, but he was sure that some of that had to be in there too.
"What happened to you?" he asked her.
The woman looked angry. Even in death. Her eyes were filled with hatred.
"What the hell happened?"
Eventually, Scooter stood up. There wasn't much he could do out here anymore. He needed to get back into the hangar. To make sure that the girls were okay.
He stood over the body. Then he grabbed hold of the axe. He would never leave that behind again.
He pulled at it. It wouldn't budge. It was dug in deep.
He placed his foot on the dead woman's shoulder and pulled again. This time he had better luck. The axe came out. With it, Scooter heard a soft sucking sound.
He placed the axe blade against the woman's clothing and tried to clean it off. It didn't help much. Her clothes were covered in blood already.
He could clean the axe in the morning.
Scooter walked over to the hangar and knocked on the door.
"Julie," he said. "It's me."
The door opened. Julie was standing there. He could see concern on her face underneath the moonlight.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
Scooter nodded his head.
"What about the woman? Did she hurt you?"
"No," he said. "She didn't hurt me. Sh
e
attacke
d
me. But she didn't hurt me."
He pointed over to where she was lying on the ground. A big pool of blood had already begun to spread underneath her.
Julie looked. Then she turned back to him.
"Come inside," she said.
She reached out her hand and grabbed his shoulder. She led him in. Scooter followed, forgetting all about the clothes that he had gone to get.
Julie took one more look at the woman lying on the ground outside and shut the door.
Day 3
Chapter 1
Marianne laid with her head against her arm. She was in the playhouse and the sun had started to shine through the tiny window. A beam of light tickled her face.
She woke up and looked around. She knew where she was. And that she had survived the night. A smile came to her face.
She sat up and stretched.
She was surprised about how good she felt. After all, she had been sleeping in a little curled ball on the floor of a playhouse.
She made her way over to the window. Her legs scraped against the tiny rocks again as she went. She looked outside.
She could see the park much better now. In the light, it didn't seem so frightening. It remained littered with dead bodies (most of which were children). But she had seen enough death yesterday to prepare her for such a thing. Not that it was nice to see. Only that she wasn't much shocked by it anymore.
She continued to look around. Not at the bodies. She was looking for one o
f
the
m
. One of thos
e
thing
s
. She remembered the screams yesterday. They had gone long into the night.
None were in sight.
She continued to look and tried to listen.
Nothing.
She took a deep breath and decided that it was time to leave. She couldn't spend the whole day in the playhouse. She had to get moving. She had to look for other survivors, for help.
If they existed.
She grabbed her purse and put it over her arm. Then she began to inch her way toward the ladder, the gravel scratching underneath her once more.
Before she got there, she changed her mind.
She looked over to the slide
.
That's where she wanted to go. That's what she wanted to use
.
She wasn't sure why.
She passed by the little window and got to the top of the slide. She stuck her legs out over the edge.
"What am I doing?" she asked herself. She didn't bother with an answer.
Marianne pushed herself further and further onto the slide. She looked down the length of it. It went straight down. No bumps, no turns.
It ended up at a ditch in the ground where hundreds of little feet must have stomped.
Her feet would be next.
She smiled, feeling that this was going to be fun.
Marianne raised her head to look at the sky. The sky was blue with bright white clouds. A beautiful day
.
Picturesqu
e
.
She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. The air was wonderful too.
"On the count of three."
She started to count. As she did, she felt herself getting excited. It seemed like such a silly thing for her to do, but she couldn't help it.
Once she reached three, she pushed herself from the edge. For the second it took her to get down, her hair blew back over her shoulders, the wind pressed against her face. She let out a little scream of delight.
When she got to the bottom, she planted into her feet into the ditch and came to a stop.
She started to laugh
.
It had been so much fun!
She thought about going again, sure that she could spend the next few hours here. Of course, it probably wasn't the best idea. She needed to find food and water. She had to keep quiet, stay out of sight.
But the slide…
She stood up and looked back at it. It shone underneath the early morning sun.
Just once more.
She started to move back toward the ladder.
Though, as she did, Marianne saw something out of the corner of her eye. A little girl. She was lying underneath the playhouse.
Marianne hadn't seen her last night. Yet today, there she was. Her long blonde braids were scattered over her face. Her pretty blue dress had been torn and was covered in blood. Part of her arm had been torn off.
Marianne looked back at the slide.
She wouldn't go down it again. Not with the little girl lying there.
"I'm sorry," she said to the slide. "You were a lot of fun. Thank you for that."
She smiled at the slide, then turned away from it. She slung her purse further up over her shoulder and, without looking back, walked away.
Chapter 2
John and Alice had spent another night in the basement. John raised his head off of the table and looked at his wife. She hadn't moved.
"Alice," he said.
He knew that his wife wasn't going to respond, but he had to keep trying. He reached out and grabbed her hand. He felt a sharp pain run through his body as he did. He supposed that sleeping a couple of nights on the workbench would do that to him. Even if he fell asleep on his nice chair upstairs, he usually got a sore neck.
Oh, his nice chair...
He wished the he was upstairs now, sitting on it, reading a book. Except he couldn't leave his wife alone downstairs.
He wasn't all that worried about the crazy people anymore. He hadn't heard them for a while. Maybe once or twice yesterday. That was about all. And none had come into the house. He thought that he'd be safe so long as he kept out of their sight.
But, no, he wouldn't leave his wife.
"Alice," he tried again.
Nothing.
John moved his neck and arms around to stretch them. After that didn't work, he tried to massage them. His fingers pressed against his sore muscles and he winced at the pain.
He stood up. Along with the pain, his whole body felt groggy. Which was strange. John usually had no trouble getting up in the morning. Actually, he loved it. He was one of those get-up-early types of people. Then again, he had fallen asleep on a workbench, so he couldn't be too surprised.
He stretched out once more, then turned back to his wife. He placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Alice," he said. "Come on."
She kept still.
He lowered his head and let out a sigh.
He knew that his wife had been up all night
.
She wouldn't have slept, not sitting up like that
.
And he knew that she needed to. He wasn't sure if people could die from lack of sleep, but he wasn't willing to find out with his wife.
"Alice," he said once more. "Listen to me. You've got to move."
His wife didn't seem to notice. Though that didn't matter to him anymore. He needed to get her moving
.
He had to get her into bed.
"Come on, Alice." Her shook her.
Again, she didn't respond.
John thought more about their bed upstairs. She'd be comfortable there. She'd be warm. And he was pretty certain she'd be safe.
"Let's go!"
He placed his hand under her elbows and tried to lift her up. She felt stuck to the chair.
"Alice," he pleaded. "Com
e
o
n
!"
He wrapped his arms around her and tried once more.
This time, she moved. She lifted up and got her to her feet. John was surprised, but he wasn't going to stop to wonder about it. He encouraged her.
"Great job, Alice. Wonderful!" He took his arms out from around her. At first, he thought that she might fall to the ground as soon as he let go, but she just stood there. He smiled. "Come on."
He placed his hand underneath her elbow and led her toward the staircase. She did as he wanted.
"Good work!" As he spoke, he felt like he was talking to a baby. Though, in a sense, that's what his wife had become. "Keep going!"
He brought his wife closer toward the stairs. She took little steps that scraped along the floor. It wasn't long before they arrived.
John looked upstairs and could see light shining out from underneath the door. "We're almost there, Alice. Just a little bit more."
He got onto the first step and tried to guide her onto them. She took a step forward. And then another one. But stopped after that.
"Come on, Alice," he said. "We're almost there!"
She wouldn't budge.
He looked back up the stairs. It wasn't the shortest staircase, but it also wasn't that all that long. He knew that his wife would be able to do it. Even in this stupor.
Except she wouldn't move.
"Alice, please!"
He turned back and glanced into her eyes. In them, he thought he saw fear - worse than he had ever seen before.
"It's okay," he said. He reached down and put his arm around her shoulders."Everything up there is fine. They're all gone. You've nothing to worry about."
He could feel her trembling. Her breathing was starting to get more frantic as well.
"It's okay," he said again. "Really. I was up there yesterday. We'll be safe."
He took his arm from his wife and tried to lead her onto the stairs once more. She didn't move. He could tell that her fear was getting worse.
John didn't know what to do. He didn't want to keep her in the basement
.
It might be safer down here, but it couldn't be health
y
. She'd die. Especially if she didn't snap out of it. He couldn't have that. He wanted to get her into bed.
Though he also didn't want to frighten her to death. He hated her being worried. And this was bad. He coul
d
se
e
her shaking now. Her teeth had started to clank together as well.
It wouldn't work. She wouldn't go up there.
He gave up.
"I'm sorry," he said. He wrapped his arm around her again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
He led her back to the workbench. As they went, her trembling started to ease, her breathing went back to normal. He sat her down in the seat.
"I'm so sorry."
John felt horrible for putting her through that, even though he hadn't known that she was going to react that way. He had just wanted to make things more comfortable for her.
It hadn't worked.
He grabbed her hand. It had stopped trembling and felt as it had before. She had gone back to staring at the wall as well
.
Beyond it.
"I know what I'll do," he said after a moment. "I'll go up and get you some blankets and pillows. I can make a bed for you over there on the floor."
He hoped for a smile or some kind of recognition of his idea, but again there was nothing. Just that blank stare.
"I'll be back in a bit," he said. He couldn't worry about that look of hers. He needed her to get some sleep. And for that he had to make her a bed.
He took his hand from his wife's and stood up. Then he hurried back to the staircase and went upstairs.