Mass Extinction Event (Book 2): Days 9-16 (23 page)

Today

Elizabeth

Pennsylvania

"How's she doing?" Patricia asks as she walks quietly into the room.

I nod, not wanting to disturb the baby as she sleeps in my arms. It's about 6am and the sun's first rays are starting to lift bring light to the farmhouse. Having cried for most of the night, the baby has finally fallen asleep and seems to be absolutely content in my arms. I'm terrified to move, though, in case I wake her from her slumber; she looks so peaceful and happy, and there's a part of me that thinks she's better off sleeping. Every time she opens her eyes, she seems upset and troubled, almost as if she senses that there's something horribly wrong with the world.

"Did you change her?" Patricia asks, sitting next to me on the edge of the bed.

I nod again.

"And you used talcum powder?"

I nod again.

"And did she sleep okay?"

"It wasn't too bad," I reply. "She cried once, around two in the morning, but that was because there was another of those booms in the distance. Did you hear it?"

"The windows rattled," she replies, and it's clear that she's worried.

"It was the fourth one this week," I point out. "What do you think it is?"

"Probably nothing."

"It's
something
!" I reply. "It comes from different directions at different times. It's like..." My voice trails off for a moment as I realize that I don't quite want to say what's on my mind.

"Like the end of the world?" she asks with a smile.

"I just wish it'd stop," I continue, "or if something's going to happen, I wish it'd hurry up and just happen. I'd rather get it over with." As the baby starts to screw her face up, as if she's about to cry, I lean down and kiss her forehead; she seems to calm down, and she reaches up and touches my nose with her wrinkled little fingers.

Patricia smiles. "You're a natural." Looking down at the baby for a moment, she pauses. "Some people have got what it takes to be a mother, and some haven't. It's genetic."

"I'm just doing what anyone would do," I reply uneasily.

"She bawled non-stop when I held her yesterday," she points out. "Face it, Elizabeth. You've got the gift."

I take a deep breath. I keep telling myself not to get too attached to the baby, but the truth is, I already feel as if she and I have some kind of bond. After all, no-one else has paid her nearly so much attention. Somehow, I seem to have fallen into the role of her carer, and although I'm wary of taking on too much responsibility, I can't deny that this role seems to be coming to me very easily and naturally.

"Do you think she knows?" I ask after a moment, keeping my voice down. "About her mother?"

"I have no idea," Patricia replies. "Not on a conscious level, obviously, but maybe..." She pauses. "No," she says eventually. "I guess that's a conversation she'll have to have later, when she's older."

"Was it hard?" I ask. "I mean, you had to make a decision right there and then, whether to save Shauna or the baby... Was it hard to choose?"

"Not at all," she replies. "The choice was between a fully-grown woman and a new-born child. I chose to prioritize the child, even though I knew it meant the mother would likely die. I think that's a perfectly rational decision. The child, theoretically, has more years ahead of her. It's simple math."

"But you can't look at it like that, can you?" I reply. "You can't reduce it to logic and numbers?"

She nods. "Yeah," she says after a moment. "I can, actually. It saves a whole lot of time. If I'd stopped to debate the ethics of it, they'd probably both be dead." She pauses for a moment, staring down at the baby's face. "So has anyone decided on a name for her yet?"

"I guess that's Eriksen's job," I point out.

"He doesn't give a crap," she replies. "Does he even bother to hold her?"

I shake my head.

"She needs a name," she continues. "Maybe you should choose?"

"Me?"

"Why not? If Eriksen isn't going to do it, you seem like the best-placed person to -"

"I'm not her parent," I say, holding the baby out and trying to get Patricia to take her. Suddenly filled with a kind of panic, I feel as if I'm in danger of being installed as a substitute mother, and that's not something I'm ready for. "Why don't you look after her? You're a doctor, aren't you?"

"She cries when I hold her," she replies, pointedly refusing to take the child. "You're doing a good job with her, Elizabeth." She pauses, and it's clear from the look in her eyes that she's amused by my reaction. "What's so bad about choosing a name for her? Just pluck something out of thin air. It doesn't have to be anything special. Make something up. What was
your
mother's name?"

"I can't use that," I say quickly, feeling as if I'm about to hyperventilate.

"Why not?" She puts a hand on my arm. "Jesus, Elizabeth. It's just a baby. You're not tied to it for life."

"I know," I reply, "but..." I take a deep breath, trying to calm down.

"So isn't there a name you like?" she continues. "Don't think of it as some kind of chain, binding you to the baby forever. It's just a name. Don't you think she needs a name?"

I stare down at the baby. I know Patricia's right, but at the same time I also feel as if, by naming her, I'd be accepting even more responsibility. This isn't my child, and I don't feel as if I can handle the job of looking after her.

"How's Toad?" I ask, hoping to change the subject.

"He had a difficult night," she replies, with a hint of concern in her voice. "The infection isn't spreading, but it's pretty well rooted. I've tried everything in my kit, but it's not like we've got a plentiful supply cupboard. I have to balance his needs with the importance of keeping some stocks in reserve." She pauses. "He's feverish and he's not responding as well as I'd have liked. In normal circumstances, I'd have shot him off to hospital, he'd be pumped full of drugs, and he'd recover without a doubt. As it is, he's..." She pauses again, and it's as if she's debating whether or not to be completely honest with me. "It's fifty-fifty whether he'll get through the day without deteriorating further. If he gets much worse, I don't think I can continue to throw the last of our dwindling medical supplies at him."

I stare at her for a moment as I realize what she's saying. "So you'd rather let him die," I say eventually, "than keep trying to help him?"

"I can't throw good drugs after bad," she replies. "If I make a judgment call that he's unlikely to get better, I need to keep those drugs back in case someone else needs them some time."

"You have to save him," I continue, starting to panic once again. "We need him!"

"You seem very attached to Toad all of a sudden," she replies, with a hint of a smile. "Tell me something. If it was Bridger or Thor, or me, in the same situation, would you be quite so concerned?"

"Of course," I reply, even though there's a heavy sensation in my belly that makes me realize I might not be telling the whole truth. "Is it really so easy for you?" I continue. "First Shauna, now Toad. Can you just quantify human life like this and make calm, logical decisions about whether someone lives or dies?"

She nods.

"Really?"

"Really." She pauses. "I've always been able to take the emotion out of a situation. Even back at medical school, other people would get all tied up in knots, and I'd be able to just stand back and make a calm, calculated decision. Believe me, as a doctor, it helps to be able to take a step back. I don't know whether that makes me a good person or a really bad one, but it's just how things have been. Always."

"I wish I was like that," I reply after a moment.

"It might not be up to us anyway," she continues. "The others have got wind of Toad's condition, and they're starting to worry that..." She pauses. "There's been some talk about his condition, about what might really be causing it. Some of the others are starting to worry that maybe he's infected by the same thing that's causing those creatures to keep showing up."

"He's not," I say firmly. "It's the wound in his shoulder.
That's
what's making him sick."

"I know that," she replies, "and you know that, but... we're only two people. Bridger, Thor and Eriksen are three people. If it came down to a vote -"

"No-one's voting," I reply, starting to feel as if things are spiraling out of control. In my arms, the baby wriggles a little and lets out a gurgle, as if she's picking up on my sense of panic. "This is about someone's life," I continue. "You're a doctor. Your decision should be the one that stands."

"We try to do things democratically around here," she replies. "One person, one vote. Sure, I'd expect the others to listen to me, but that doesn't mean they'll blindly do what I say. Anyway..." She pauses again. "There are other politics involved, Elizabeth. One less mouth to feed means more for the rest of us, and that's certainly one viable way of looking at things."

"This is Toad's farm!" I point out.

"So what?" she replies. "It's survival of the fittest, Elizabeth. The strong survive and the weak die. No pack prospers by spending precious resources on the needs of the weaker members. Sure, it'd be nice if we could look after Toad and do everything in our power to keep him alive, but in case you haven't noticed, we're hardly living in an ideal world. Toad was one of the strong ones, but he got unlucky and now he can't really look after himself. The weaker members of a pack always have to die, otherwise they slow the group down."

"But Toad's going to get better!"

"I'm just saying that people are worried," she continues. "There's a plan to discuss it later. You can say what you need to say, and I'll certainly give my opinion, but if the others insist on a vote, I can see things going against Toad. I'm not saying that's what I want, but..." She pauses, before getting to her feet and walking over to the door. "It's democracy," she says, glancing back at me. "The vote carries the day, Elizabeth, and if the others ask me whether Toad might be infected with something dangerous, I'm going to have to give them an honest answer."

"And what would that be?" I ask, even though I'm pretty sure I already know what she's going to say.

"That I don't know," she replies, before leaving the room.

In my arms, the baby starts to wriggle again. I look down and see that her eyes are open, and she's staring up at me with a look of wonder. I want to tell her that everything's okay, but I know that'd be a lie. Instead, I force a smile and wipe away a tear from the corner of my eye. This is no world for a child. I want to believe that things are going to get better, but the truth is, everything seems to be going to hell. I can't even begin to imagine the world that this child will inherit, even if she somehow manages to survive until adulthood.

"It's okay," I lie, leaning down and kissing her forehead. "Everything's okay." And that's when, for a fraction of a second, a name flickers into my mind. I force it out. I'm not naming this child. If I name her, that means I'm taking responsibility for her, and that's not what I want. Someone else can give her a name. Someone who's actually going to be around while she grows up.

Thomas

Missouri

"This place is creepy," I say, standing in the hallway and staring up the stairs. "Seriously, Joe. It's like something out of a horror movie." I wait for a reply, but after a moment I turn and look back through to the kitchen, where Joe is still sitting at the table. "You okay?" I ask.

After a few seconds, he nods.

"What's wrong?" I ask. "Is it happening?"

"I'm..." He pauses. "I'm checking something," he continues after a moment. "It's okay, I'm just... Following him."

I wait for him to continue, but he seems lost in thought. "Following who?" I ask.

"The guy who's been inside my head," he replies. "It's like, he can move from body to body, seeing out of different eyes all over the world, and I think I can..." His voice trails off again. "I think I can follow him," he adds. "He's searching for something. He's getting pretty frantic about it, too. Whatever it is, it's bugging the shit out of him. It's kind of a mind-fuck, but I can see people in all these different cities."

"What's it like out there?" I ask, even though I'm worried about the answer. "Is the rest of the world like this?"

He pauses. "Yeah," he says after a moment. "There's not many people. They're scared of the creatures, but the creatures are just focusing on..." He pauses again, as if his mind is far away. "They're definitely looking for something," he continues eventually. "It's not like they're rampaging through the streets or nothing like that. They're trying to find a..." He pauses yet again. "I think it's a person," he adds after a moment. "I think they're looking for a guy."

I open my mouth to ask another question, but finally I realize that there doesn't seem to be much point. It's hard to understand what Joe's going through; he seems to be in another world entirely, and every time I try to talk to him, the conversation is punctuated by these long periods where his mind wanders.

"I'm trying to find out what's causing those booms," he says after a moment. "You know the ones in the distance? I can't work out what's happening."

"It's nuclear power stations," I reply. "Isn't it? Each boom is another one blowing up."

"You've been watching too many shitty films," he mutters. "It's not nuclear fucking power stations. Whatever it is, it's something bigger. Something deeper in the ground."

"I'll be upstairs," I say after a moment, turning and starting to make my way up the narrow, rickety wooden stairs that lead to the upper floor of the building. To be honest, exploring some kind of messed-up, remote old house isn't exactly my idea of fun, but I have to do something while I wait for Joe to... get to where he's going. I can't kill him, and I can't leave him, so I just have to stick around for a day or two longer, and try to distract myself from the inevitability of what's happening to him.

When I get to the next floor, I realize that there's a pretty foul stench in the air, like rotten eggs mixed with vinegar and ham. Seeing as that old guy was a goddamn psycho, I wouldn't be surprised by just about anything I might find in this place, and there's a part of me that just wants to turn around, go back downstairs and not go poking my nose around. Then again, I feel like I want to know more about what happened here. Hell, in all this time, I never even learned the guy's name. The sick asshole tortured me, almost killed me, and then tried to get me to kill my brother; I figure I should at least know his goddamn name.

Taking a step forward, I -

"Sara?"

I freeze.

From one of the nearby rooms, there's a creaking sound, as if something's pressing on the floorboards. I take a deep breath, but my heart is racing. It never occurred to me, after the old man died in the basement, that there might be anyone else here. I never heard him talking to another soul, but I swear to God, I just heard a woman's voice coming from one of the rooms. I wait, terrified in case she speaks again. I want to believe that I imagined it, that it was just some crazy sound that popped into my head for a moment; to be honest, I'd rather believe that I'm losing my mind than that there's someone else up here.

"Sara?" the voice says again, sounding old and frail. "Help me. I need something to eat. This food is moldy and your father won't bring me anything fresh."

I stare at the doorway, with the door hanging halfway open. Whoever's in there, it seems they're trapped somehow. Did the old guy keep someone else prisoner up here? I'm starting to think that he was more than just some old Nazi; it's as if he was a complete psychopath, and I just happened to stumble upon him at the worst possible moment.

"If your father around?" she asks suddenly. "Sara, answer me. I know you're out there, girl. I need food!"

Turning, I run down the stairs and head through to the kitchen, where I find Joe still sitting at the table. I open my mouth, trying to tell him what just happened, but no words come out; it's as if my brain has seized up and I can't even believe it myself. As I wait for him to acknowledge me, I hear another creaking sound from upstairs, almost as if something or someone is trying to move. Whatever this thing is, I don't think it's a ghost; I think it's a real, live human being.

"What's up with
you
?" Joe asks after a moment, turning to me. "Jesus fucking Christ, Tommy. You look pale as shit. You crapped yourself or something?"