Mass Extinction Event (Book 2): Days 9-16 (24 page)

Elizabeth

Pennsylvania

"Aren't you going to ask how your daughter is doing?" Patricia asks, sitting at the kitchen table and watching as Eriksen takes a swig of water.

"She doing okay?" he asks, wiping his mouth.

"Why don't you hold her?" Patricia continues. "Find out for yourself."

He pauses, before letting out a burp. "Later," he mutters.

"What's wrong with now?" she asks.

"Later," he says again, more firmly this time.

Sitting over by the window, with the baby in my arms, I instinctively bristle at the mere suggestion that Eriksen might hold the child. For one thing, the guy's clearly either hungover or still drunk, probably a little of both, and he'd probably just drop her; for another, I can't deny that there's a part of me that just wants him to go away and never come back. I know I should probably be trying to get him to grow more attached to his daughter, but I'm convinced he'll be a terrible parent, so what I really want is for him to turn around, walk out of here and leave the farm forever.

"She'd just cry," he says after a moment. "No point setting her off again. If there's one thing I can't fucking stand, it's the sound of a baby screaming its lungs out."

"Have you come up with a name for her yet?" Patricia asks.

"I figured I'd let her grow up first," he replies with a grin, "and then she can pick her own. I want her to be free, not saddled with some random name I pick out of my ass for her."

"In other words," she replies, "you don't give a damn."

"If that's your interpretation of my response," he mutters, "go ahead. I really don't give a shit what you think."

Taking a deep breath, I force myself not to respond. It's hard to believe that Eriksen could be so uninterested in his own daughter, and there's a part of me that wonders whether he's scared of getting close to her. If that's the case, then it's fine by me, although I'm still worried that I've started to be seen by the others as the natural choice when it comes to caring for the baby.

"Hold her," Patricia says after a moment. "Elizabeth, come and -"

"No," I say quickly, although I immediately realize that I probably sound a little too defensive.

"Maybe if Eriksen holds his -"

"She's settled," I reply, hoping that she'll shut up and stop pushing. "She's asleep."

Patricia stares at me with a cautious, amused expression. It's as if she's started to suspect that I'm getting attached to the baby, which I guess might be true.

"See?" Eriksen says with a sniff. "She's fine." He pauses for a moment, before a leering smile crosses his lips. "So have you two ladies discussed which of you might try to breast-feed the kid?"

"She's making do with the last of our milk," Patricia replies, clearly not amused.

"Yeah, but -"

"Don't," she says firmly. "Carl, just... don't. Leave a little dignity to the whole thing, okay?"

"Stop giving me a hard time," he replies. "In case no-one's bothered to think about it, I lost the love of my life the other day. Fuck, Shauna might not have been perfect, but we were gonna head out west together and start a new life together. I had all my plans and dreams built up on her, and now everything's been rudely snatched away." He pauses. "It might do you good to remember that I'm in mourning. It's only natural that I should get a little funny. Since Toad's got his feet up, I'm commandeering his share of the beer supply. I need to think and mourn, and beer helps with both those things."

"You've been wasted since you got here," Patricia replies darkly. "How's the thinking been going so far? Come up with any great ideas yet?"

"How's the patient?" he snaps back at her. "Unless Toad comes wandering down the stairs in the next few hours, I think we've got a much bigger problem than whether or not I hold that fucking kid, okay?" He pauses for a moment, and it's clear that this is a subject that has been bothering him. "Toad's a fucking liability. Someone needs to just go up there and finish him off. Humanely, of course. I mean, I like the guy and I don't wanna torture him or nothing, but something's gotta be done. What if he's got it? What if he spreads it to the rest of us? We can't take that risk." He turns and looks at the baby. "My newborn daughter can't be exposed to no disease. She's the future of the human race. We've gotta prioritize her needs."

"Don't you think you're jumping the gun?" Patricia asks, as Bridger enters the room carrying a tray of what appears to be some kind of leafy crop from the garden.

"What do you think?" Eriksen asks, turning to me. "No, wait, you'd never agree to hurt your boyfriend, would you?"

"He's not my boyfriend," I say firmly.

"What about you?" he continues, turning to Bridger, and then to Thor as the latter comes through to the kitchen. "What do you two think? Come on, the pair of you usually keep your mouths shut, but there's gotta be some kind of activity in your brains. You've gotta have opinions, haven't you?" He waits for an answer. "Well? Don't wait for someone else to tell you what to think. Speak your fucking minds!"

"It's hard to say," Bridger mutters, although it sounds as if he's carefully trying to avoid giving an opinion.

"Hard to say?" Eriksen replies with a laugh. "Bullshit. Why don't you fucking say what you're thinking, man?" He waits for a reply, but Bridger seems to be completely focused on arranging the food on the tray. "I know why," Eriksen continues after a moment. "You don't want to rock the boat, do you?" He turns to Thor. "What about you, man? Come on, I know you're more of an individual. What do you think we should do about the weaker members of our little group? Should we continue to divert valuable resources to their possible survival, or should we just accept that there's nothing more that can be done?"

"It's not quite as bad as that," Patricia replies. "He's suffering complications from the wound, and there's an infection that -"

"Don't bullshit me," he snaps. "I overheard your little chat with Elizabeth. You can't guarantee that Toad isn't infected, and even if he wasn't, you still don't think you can do much to save him. You said it just an hour ago. You can't say one thing in private and then come in here and say something completely different. You have to be honest with us all."

"Is that true?" Thor asks.

Patricia opens her mouth to reply, but it's quickly clear from the look on her face that she can't lie. "If we had proper facilities," she starts to say, "we could focus on dealing with Toad's problems -"

"We don't have proper facilities," Eriksen says, interrupting her. "We've got, what, a little medical kit bag and a few old cloths?" He smiles. "That's fuck all, really, isn't it? Face it, if any one of us gets more than a scratch, it's curtains. We're not exactly living in an age of medical miracles. Not anymore."

"Can you keep your voice down?" I say firmly, as the baby starts to grumble. She looks upset, as if she's about to cry, and although I'm trying to calm her down by rocking her gently, it's clear that she's picking up on the bad vibes in the room. It's been less than forty-eight hours since she was born, but I can't help worrying that she's already been exposed to enough shouting and arguing to last a lifetime.

"You don't agree with me, do you?" Eriksen asks, stepping over to me.

"I think -"

"It's fine," he continues, "I heard what you said earlier." Reaching down, he clumsily takes hold of the baby and pulls her from my arms. "It's nice of you to wanna look after her and all," he adds, "but if you're not on my side, then you're not on my side, and that's all there is to it." He rocks the baby back and forth for a moment. "She's fine with her Daddy, right?"

"Maybe you should let Elizabeth hold her," Patricia says calmly.

"Maybe we should take a vote on Toad," Eriksen replies. "We're all here, so let's get on with it. Who here thinks we should give Toad the benefit of the doubt and continue to let him fester in bed, potentially spreading his disease to the rest of us?"

There's silence in the room for a moment. It's clear that no-one wants to be the first to show their hand.

"Who thinks," Eriksen continues, picking his words carefully and with an amused expression, "that for the good of the group, and especially the children, who need to be protected the most, we should bite the bullet and find a way to humanely and quickly put poor old Toad out of his misery?" After a moment, he balances the baby in one arm while raising a hand in support of his own motion.

I look over at Bridger and Thor, and it's painfully obvious that they're on the verge of agree with Eriksen. If that happens, there'll be three of them, which makes a majority.

"Come on," Eriksen continues. "If everyone just votes the way they truly think, we've got a functioning democracy. I'll ask again. Who here thinks we should humanely put Toad out of his misery and protect the group from the possibility of an outbreak of whatever fucking disease is causing all of this bullshit?"

Slowly, Thor raises his hand.

"What about you?" Eriksen asks Bridger. "What do you think? Don't be scared. There'll be no recriminations. Just vote with your head and your heart."

Slowly, Bridger starts to lift his hand up.

"Twenty-four hours," Patricia says suddenly, turning to him. "A compromise. We'll wait twenty-four hours, and if there's no improvement in Toad's condition..." She pauses. "If there's no improvement, I'll vote for a humane end to his suffering. There are a few drugs in the cabinet, I can put something together that'll knock him out completely and then we can finish the job. He won't even have to know. As far as he knows, he'll just go to sleep."

"You can't do that!" I say, shocked that she'd even consider such a possibility.

"It makes sense," she says. "It's logical!"

"I don't care about logic!" I reply. "You can't kill someone just because -"

"Hush!" Eriksen says firmly, as the baby starts to cry. "Jesus Christ, Elizabeth. See what you've done? For God's sake, can't you keep your voice down?" He grins as he starts rocking the baby roughly in his arms. "Come on, little girl. Ignore the nasty shouting voices. Everything's okay. Daddy's here."

"Twenty-four hours," Bridger says. "That sounds reasonable."

"I agree," Thor adds.

"Fine," Eriksen mutters, "we'll give him twenty-four hours to get better. Not that it's gonna make much difference anyway." He glances over at me. "It doesn't matter what you vote, Elizabeth. There's four of us already in agreement, so democracy carries the day and we've made a group decision. If Toad isn't back up on his feet in twenty-four hours, we'll end his misery."

"And you're okay with this?" I ask, turning to Patricia.

"It makes sense," she replies calmly. "It's logical."

I want to argue with them all, but it's clear that I'm in the minority. Looking over at Eriksen, I watch for a moment as he tries to calm the baby's cries; the sight of him trying to be a good father is completely grotesque, and finally I realize that I can't be in the room any longer. Turning, I hurry to the door and out into the gloomy mid-morning yard, where a gray sky promises a hint of oncoming rain. The truth is, I know deep down that Toad's condition is unlikely to improve in twenty-four or even forty-eight hours, but that doesn't mean I think it's fair to kill him. This is his farm, and we've been using his resources and his supplies, and now the others are using the pretense of democracy to get rid of him. It's completely unfair, but at the same time, I can't see a way to help. He's doomed.

Thomas

Missouri

"Holy fuck," Joe says as we get to the top of the stairs. "It stinks up here."

"Who are you?" the woman's voice calls out, sounding terrified. "Where's my husband? Where's Sara?"

Joe turns to me, and I can see the look of amused shock in his yellowing eyes. "Who the fuck is that?" he whispers. "Have you had some woman stashed up here all this time, and you weren't gonna tell me?"

"I've got a gun!" the woman shouts. "I'm warning you right now! I've got a gun and I'm not afraid to use it! If you come into my room again, I'll blast your brain across the wallpaper!"

"Bullshit," Joe says quietly. "If she had a gun, her old Nazi husband would have come and taken it to use on me the other day. She's bluffing." He smiles. "She's probably just frigid. She probably think we're gonna go in there and have our way with her." Pausing, he glances over at the door. "Is she hot? I don't mind if she's a little on the mature side. I mean, any hole's a goal, right?"

"What if she's isn't bluffing?" I ask, my heart still racing as I try to ignore Joe's dumb comments. "We don't need to go in there, Joe. Let's just leave her!"

"Where's your Christian spirit?" he replies. "Anyway, I'm not scared no more. If she blows my fucking head off, it's a favor." With that, he limps over to the door and heads into the room.

"Oh my God," the woman says, her voice filled with fear. "Dear Lord, protect this house from -"

"Never mind any of that crap," Joe says with a grin, before turning to me. "Tommy boy, come and look at this. I've found the source of the stink up here! Forget what I said about giving her a whirl, though. Some holes just ain't a goal after all."

I shake my head.

"Come on," he continues. "It's like a fucking freak-show in here."

"Get out!" the woman yells, although she sounds too weak to put up much of a fight.

"Where's that gun you were yapping about?" Joe asks. "Come on, I dare you. Pop a cap right in my head, right between the eyes if you can manage it. I could really use the favor, actually, on account of my little brother not having the guts to finish me off twice."

"Beau!" the woman screams. "Sara! There's a strange man in the house!"

"Beau?" Joe replies with a smile. "Is that the old Nazi's name, huh? Beau. Well, at least now I know. It's always nice to be able to put a name to a grizzled old face." He turns to me. "Isn't that nice to know, Tommy? The old bastard who almost killed you was named Beau. Beau the fucking Nazi prick."

"When my husband gets here," the woman continues, "he'll wipe that smile off your face. As God is my witness, your trespass won't go unpunished. My husband isn't the kind of man you should ever dare to cross. He was in Korea. He's killed men with their bare hands. He'll put a bullet between your eyes and hang your corpse out for the jackals."

"Your husband's dead," Joe replies. "He's down in the basement, along with the bones of someone named Sara. Does that make any sense to you?"

"My Sara is not dead!" the woman shouts.

"She -"

"She's not dead!" she screams. "Don't you dare speak such untruths! My Sara is a good girl and she's... she's... she's not dead! She'd never leave me!"

"She's dead as anything I've ever seen before," Joe continues. "There's nothing left of her but a few stained bones and a couple of scraps of skin and hair. She's down in the basement right now. Your husband, as it happens, was keeping my little brother locked up in that very same fucking basement. Damn near starved him to death, too. I mean, seriously, without being too harsh, that old guy was a complete fucker. A real old Adolf, if you know what I mean. The guy clearly had a few screws loose."

"Get out of my house!" the woman shouts.

"Why don't you climb out of bed and make me?" Joe replies.

"You unholy brute!" she yells.

"Tommy," Joe says, turning to me again, "you have to at least see this. It's fucking disgusting, but you've really gotta see it to believe it!" As he speaks, a book flies across the room and hits him in the chest. "You can throw your Bible at me all you want," Joe continues with a grin, "but it ain't gonna make any difference. You can't even get out of bed, can you? Jesus..." He turns to me again. "Tommy, are you gonna drag your ass in here and take a look at this? It's fucking unreal what we've got sitting here shouting her head off at us. She looks like that puppet off that fucking TV show about that haunted crypt and shit."

I want to tell him to go to hell, but something compels me to walk toward the door. I guess I feel that I can't afford to shy away from things anymore; with the world having completely collapsed, I need to grow up and be a man, especially now that Joe's not going to be around for much longer. Even though I want to turn and run, therefore, I step through the door and look over at the bed on the other side of the room.

"Fucking Christ..." Joe whispers with a smile.

At first, I don't see what I'm supposed to be looking at. There's a bed, sure, and it's messy, but apart from a bunch of crumpled, dirty sheets, all I can see is some kind of gray mass, thin and straggly as if...

And then I see the eyes.

"Take a closer look," Joe says enthusiastically, before catching me by surprise and pushing me across the room.

Stumbling, I land on the corner of the bed, and when I look over at the other end I see a horrific, shriveled gray face staring back at me, with skin so tight that its eyeballs are almost completely exposed in the sockets. It's just about possible to determine that the figure in the bed is a woman, thanks to the huge, frilly pink nightgown covering her gaunt, withered frame, and there's a thin straggle of white hair on her head, but she looks more dead than alive and it's hard to believe that her heart could possibly still be beating.

"Who are you?" I ask, unable to stop staring at her.

Slowly, she reaches out to me, and I see the skin clinging to her bones, with not an ounce of fat anywhere. Her bony hand pushes against me, and finally I realize that she's trying to get me off her bed. She obviously has very little energy left, but she's filled with panic and fear. It's hard to believe that she's alive, and she looks worse than some of the creatures we've encountered, but something about her seems different.

"Sorry," I mutter, getting to my feet. "I..." My voice trails off as I realize that I have no idea what to say to her.

"Look at the crazy old hag," Joe continues, still standing by the door. "Fuck, Tommy, did you ever see anything so fucking wretched in your entire life? Jesus Christ, that dried-out old prune looks like something you'd dug up in a pyramid in Egypt. I bet you any money in the world that a cloud of dust comes out her pussy every time she coughs."

"Don't talk like that," I reply, seeing the hurt, shocked look in the woman's eyes. "What happened to you?" I continue, kneeling by the bed. "How long have you been up here?"

"Sara stopped bringing me food," she says slowly. "After that, Beau stayed downstairs. I had to eat whatever I could find. I had..." She turns to look over at a pile of mold on the bedside table; as she moves her head, there's a faint creaking sound, as if her bones are grinding against one another. "I had one sandwich left, and a bowl of soup. Over the years, the mold kept growing, so I just ate the mold and left the sandwich and the soup."

"Fucking brilliant," Joe mutters from over by the door.

"Where's Sara?" the woman asks, with tears in her eyes. "Fetch Sara! I need Sara!"

"There's no-one called Sara here," I tell her. "Not anymore."

"Don't you lie to me!" she hisses, her eyes filled venom as she lashes out at me with a weak, bony hand. "Bring my Sara to me! You bring my Sara to me right now, do you hear? I won't have strange men in my room! You bring my daughter here and then you leave, do you understand?"

"What do you think?" Joe asks, clearly amused by the whole thing. "Should we do what she wants? Should we bring what's left of Sara up to see her? Hell, we could even drag the old man up too and orchestrate a good old-fashioned family reunion."

"Let's just leave her alone," I reply. "Joe, we should just get out of here."

"And miss the fun?" he asks with a grin. "Fucking hell, no way. If this old bitch has been bed-bound for most of her life, which seems to be the case judging by the fucking stink in this place, I don't see why we shouldn't have a little fun. What do you think? Should we bring the other two up here to join her, or should we carry her down to the basement?"