Mass Extinction Event (Book 2): Days 9-16 (25 page)

Elizabeth

Pennsylvania

Trudging through the forest, I stop for a moment and glance back at the farmhouse. I know it's dangerous to be out here, but at the same time I feel as if I'd rather take that risk rather than sit around in that place with a bunch of assholes who think they've got some kind of right to sit in judgment over other people. Besides, I can't bear to watch Eriksen holding his daughter; I know it's his right, but I still hate to see that poor child being rocked in his arms.

The forest floor is a little damp as I make my way between the trees. There's a light mist in the air, and after a few more paces I stop and stare into the distance. For a moment, I allow myself to consider a truly horrific possibility. If Eriksen wasn't part of the group, I'm convinced that Bridger and Thor would be much more willing to listen to Patricia, and I could probably get them on my side. It's so tempting to imagine the ease with which Eriksen could be forced out of the way. After all, the guy's drunk half the time, and it's not as if anyone would really miss him. After thinking for a few seconds about how easy it'd be to kill him, I realize with a shiver that I'm contemplating cold-blooded murder. It's hard to believe that I could even entertain the possibility. What the hell is happening to me?

Taking a deep breath, I decide that it's time to go and talk to Patricia. There has to be a way for her to help Toad. She's a doctor, and it's not as if he's suffering from some kind of mystery illness. It's an infected wound; she
has
to be able to think of something.

"Who's there?" a voice calls out suddenly, as I'm turning to head back to the farmhouse.

Looking back over at the nearby clearing, I suddenly realize that I've come close to the pit in which Patricia has been keeping one of the creatures captive. For a moment, I consider turning and running, but I can hear the creature struggling down in the pit and I realize after a few seconds that there's no reason to be scared. It's not as if he can get up here and hurt me. In fact, given the intensity of events back in the farmhouse, I can't shake the feeling that the creature in the pit might actually be the sanest person I can talk to around here right now.

"It's you," he continues, his voice sounding gnarled and ravaged. "I recognize the sound of your footsteps. Elizabeth's your name, isn't it? I've seen you before, in New York and at least one other time."

I stand completely still, my heart racing.

"What are you doing out here alone?" he asks. "Do you know what that bitch is planning to do to me next? I can't feel pain, but I can feel boredom. I suppose I should abandon this body, but I'm still curious to see what that woman wants."

Taking a deep breath, I glance around to make sure that we're alone, before walking over to the edge of the pit and staring down at the creature. He looks a little worse than when I first saw him a couple of days ago, as if his body has continued to rot. That's one of the things I don't understand about these creatures; if their bodies are rotting away, aren't they going to just die off eventually? Pausing for a moment, I start to feel as if maybe I have the upper hand here.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "Something's bothering you, isn't it? You wouldn't be out here alone if everything was honey and roses." He pauses. "The look on your face is priceless. What's wrong? Are you starting to realize that other humans aren't necessarily all they're cracked up to be? Believe me, I can sympathize. Before all of this started, back when Joseph was just a laboratory technician, he hated humans too. That's why he created us, to wipe them all out and replace them with something better. Our progenitor had some good ideas."

"I don't hate humanity," I say firmly.

"Just the ones around you?"

"It doesn't matter," I mutter.

"Humans are scum," he continues. "They kill each other constantly. They hate and they spew venom and they don't care who they hurt. Sure, there might be a few exceptions, but the vast majority of humanity is a huge cesspool of evil and cruelty. This planet is going to be a thousand times better off once the last of them have been wiped away and replaced by..." He pauses. "You know what I am, don't you? You understand what's coming next? There's no way to stop it, no way to hold back the new order that's coming to take control. You might as well just go with it. Hell, maybe there's even a place for one of two of the old humans to still be around. Does that sound like something that might appeal to you?"

I shake my head.

"Think it over," he continues. "I heard a baby crying earlier. What if I offered you a deal? Take the baby and get out of this place. You know there'll be more of me soon, and we'll rip this goddamn farm apart until everyone's dead. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life running from me? I promise you, it'll be a short, painful and uncomfortable existence, not only for you but also for that baby. On the other hand, if you agree to become one of the select few who stay behind in the new world, I can promise you a long life, and the same goes for that baby."

"You're trying to make a deal with me?" I ask, stunned by what he's suggesting.

"Are you up for a deal?" he replies.

I shake my head.

"What do you say?" he continues. "Come on, I know it's probably a bit of a shock, but it makes sense. Those assholes in the house, arguing about democracy and voting rights... They're just the last dregs of a dying civilization. They're already turning on one another. Once they've picked off your friend, they'll turn on someone else, and then someone else again, and finally as the resources start to dwindle they'll just collapse completely. It's not exactly much of a survival strategy, is it? Don't you want that baby to have a better chance in life? Don't you want her to have a proper future?" He pauses. "You can give that to her, Elizabeth. You can give her a future. Just accept my offer, and all the pain and fear and doubt can go away."

"I'm not making a deal with you," I reply, my voice tense with fear.

"You think I'm a monster?"

"I think you're a..." I pause as I try to find the right word.

"A what?" he continues. "A zombie?" There's a pause, and a smile crosses his rotten, decaying face. "You've got things the wrong way round, girl. Humans were the real zombies. Mindless, groaning things, swarming all over the planet and causing endless harm and destruction. It's precisely that kind of behavior that I'm trying to get rid of. Sure, I've been learning how to control the bodies, and the rotten ones might look a little alarming, but I'll get there soon. Once I've got a handle on these things, and once I've found the progenitor, we'll start a whole new society, filled with harmony and peace."

"And they'll all have the same mind?" I reply.

"At first," he says, "although I've come to think that over time, some degree of variation might be permitted. Variations on a theme, in a way... Different versions, rooted in the same basic personality. Variety and similarity, all at the same time, and I'm offering you a chance to be part of that world. You'd be separate, in a way, because you'd still have your own mind. Does it really sound so bad?"

I stare at him. The truth is, part of his argument kind of makes sense to me. I can see how someone might want to change the way society works. What I
don't
see, however, is any reason to think that these creatures are the answer.

"Come on," he continues. "Carl Eriksen? Bridger? Patricia? All those people are just examples of the worst kind of humanity. They're scum. Eriksen doesn't even care about his own child. Out of him or me, which one do you think would be better off contributing to a new era of life on this planet?"

"He -" I start to say, before suddenly a moment of realization hits me. "What did you say?" I ask after a few seconds.

"Carl Eriksen is human garbage," he replies. "He's a repellant piece of trash. You know it, and I know it, so why not -"

"I know it because I was there with him," I say, interrupting him. "I talked to him and I listened to his bullshit. That's how
I
know it, but how do
you
know it?" I take a step back as my mind fills with different explanations, until I realize that there's only one that makes sense. "You were in there," I say. "You were in there with us."

"I'm staked to the ground in a pit," he replies. "How the hell could I have been in there? I just heard your voices arguing. I'm not deaf!"

"You're too far away to have heard everything," I reply.

He stares at me for a moment, and the smile has left his lips, replaced by a look of concern.

"You were in there with us," I continue, "because you're in the mind of one of the people in the farmhouse, aren't you? You've already infected someone, but you've managed to pass unnoticed."

"You're a smart girl," he replies after a moment. "Instead of running off in a panic, why don't you sit down and talk to me properly, like two intelligent individuals."

"Who is it?" I continue. "Bridger? Thor? Patricia?" I take a deep breath, trying to think back to anything over the past few days that seems out of place. "It's Patricia, isn't it?" I say after a moment. "No, wait, she wouldn't have kept you down here. It must be Thor. He's quiet, doesn't say much, but sometimes..." I pause again as I realize that I have no idea which of the other people in the farmhouse might have been infected. Hell, for all I know it might be more than one of them. "Eriksen?" I ask.

The creature doesn't reply. He just stares at me, as if he finds me amusing.

"It's not Toad," I continue. "It can't be Toad..."

"How do you know it's not you?" he replies. "How do you know I haven't already infected you? Maybe I'm looking out through your eyes right now, and you don't even know I'm in your head?"

"I'd know," I say calmly.

"Would you?"

"I'd
know
," I say again, this time with more confidence. After all, if there was someone else in my head, I'd definitely be able to feel or hear them. "It's one of the others."

He smiles. "Good luck finding out. I could tell you, but then there wouldn't be any fun, would it? The best part is, while you rip one another apart and your little community collapses into fear and suspicion, I'll have a perfect, ringside seat for the whole thing."

I stare at him for a moment, before turning and starting to run back to the farmhouse. I can hear the creature calling after me, but all I can do is keep running. By the time I get back to the front door, I have to stop for a moment and work out what to do next. I can hear the others arguing inside, so I push the door open and slip into the kitchen. At first, no-one seems to even notice that I've arrived, but finally, one by one, they glance over at me. As the room falls silent, I realize that they've recognized the look of horror on my face. Patricia, Bridger, Toad and Eriksen are all waiting for me to tell them what's wrong, except one of them already knows.

One of them is already infected.

Thomas

Missouri

"What?" Joe asks, following me down the stairs. "Seriously, Tommy, what the hell's wrong with you now? You're acting all, like, fucking priggish and superior. You know who you remind me of sometimes? Mom. You remind me of Mom. How do you feel about that particular compliment, huh?"

Heading through to the kitchen, I stop for a moment, trying to work out what to do next. All I know is that that old woman can't just be left up there. She's clearly lost her mind, and it'd be inhuman and cruel to just head on out of here and leave her to rot in that bed. Still, as I hurry over to the drawer and pull it open to look at the knives, I realize that there's no way I can just go up there and kill her. I'm not that kind of person.

"You want me to do something about her?" Joe asks from the doorway.

"Like what?" I ask, trying not to let him hear that I'm scared.

"I know what you're like," he continues. "You're always banging on about doing the right thing, and I reckon this is right up your holier-than-thou creek, isn't it?" He pauses. "You want to put the old bitch out of her misery, but you don't know if you can actually do the deed. You talk the talk, but you can't actually do anything, can you?"

"We can't just leave her here," I reply, turning to him. "We have to do the right thing."

"Which is?"

"Ending her suffering."

"In other words, cutting her throat."

"No!"

"Then what?" He stares at me. "Come on, Bambi, enlighten me here. Tell me exactly how you reckon we can resolve this fucking situation in a way that doesn't hurt, upset or even mildly perturb anyone. I'm all fucking ears, kid, 'cause I don't reckon you've got any fucking clue!"

I take a deep breath. I know he's right, but I hate the fact that he seems to be so goddamn pleased with himself. I guess people never really changed: even after he's died and come back to life, my brother is still, deep down, an asshole. The biggest problem, however, is that even when he's at his most annoying, he has a habit of being right about things.

"Sometimes you have to do the wrong thing," he says eventually, "to do the right thing."

"That's bullshit," I reply.

"Killing's wrong," he continues. "I get that, I really do. Maybe God's up there in Heaven, watching down on us, and he's all, like, pissed off and angry that we'd even consider killing someone. Hell, maybe God's gonna turn green and start smashing stuff. Maybe all this crap that's happening, maybe it's God's way of saying everything's fucked up, and maybe by killing that old woman, we'd be making him even more mad." He pauses. "I figure it's worth the effort. If God's real and he's pissed off at me for saving some old hag from suffering any longer, well, I'm willing to take God's wrath. I'll sacrifice my good standing with the Lord in order to help another poor bastard out in her time of need."

I stare at him.

"Can you do that?" he asks. "Can you overlook your need to be a good boy, and do the right thing? Or are you gonna let that old bird suffer in pain, just so you can tell yourself you've still got a good relationship with the Lord? Are you that fucking selfish, Tommy?"

"You're good at killing people," I say after a moment. "It seems to come pretty easily to you. Remember that cop? Was that the right thing?"

"He had it coming to him."

"No-one deserves to die," I point out.

"Cops do."

"That's a bullshit answer and you know it," I reply. "You've always liked killing. Even when we were kids, you used to catch squirrels and mice in the barn and torture them. There's something wrong with you, Joe. There always has been, and there always will be."

"I'm dead," he replies. "It's a bit late for me to turn over a new leaf."

"The worst thing," I continue, "is that any time anyone actually points this stuff out to you, you just make some crumby joke and act like it doesn't matter."

We stand in silence for a moment.

"That cop was half-dead anyway," he replies eventually. "I mean, fuck, I basically just ended his suffering. My personal feelings don't come into it one way or another. Hell, the guy was probably grateful to me, just like..." He pauses. "Well, just like I was grateful to you when you bashed my head in. It's not your fault that things didn't quite work out as planned, but..." He takes a deep breath. "You know your problem, Tommy? You fucking think things through too much, and while you're doing that, you end up letting bad things happen. That old bitch should be dead by now, except she's gotta suffer a little longer while you go through some kind of fucking moral debate with yourself."

"I'm not a murderer!" I shout.

"You murdered me," he replies, fixing me with a determined stare. "I mean, how do you know I wouldn't have pulled through? How do you know that, in a couple of days, I wouldn't have sat up with a bit of an ache in my shoulder, and been absolutely fucking okay?"

"You
wanted
me to kill you," I reply, close to tears but determined not to let him see any emotion in my eyes. "You said it yourself! You were grateful!"

"Still," he replies coldly, "you were able to do it. So here's what I wanna know, Tommy. Help me out and tell me why I shouldn't be offended. After all, you were willing to bash my head in, but when it comes to some random old woman neither of us have met before, you're too timid and holy." He pauses. "I can't help thinking that maybe you wanted to do that to me," he adds. "Like, maybe you got a kick out of it. Maybe, after all these years, you wanted to do it."

"Don't be stupid," I reply.

"Huh." He pauses. "Fine. I'll sort the old dear out." Limping over to the drawer, he takes out a large steak knife. "That should do the trick. Don't worry, I'll make it quick and painless. Well, as quick and painless as possible, anyway." He pauses for a moment. "Or are you gonna try to stop me?" he asks. "After all, if you've got a moral objection, then you
should
try to stop me, shouldn't you? Or are you relieved that I'm gonna do it, so you don't have to?"

I stare at him, but I don't know what to say. He's right, even if I can't admit it.

"What the fuck are you gonna do when I'm not around?" he asks with a smile, before turning and limping toward the door. "Stay down here, Tommy boy. I'll be back in a few minutes. Just gotta go and do the right thing by a scared old woman whose entire family seem to have popped off prematurely."

I wait in the kitchen, listening as he slowly makes his way up the stairs. After a moment, I hear him walking into the old woman's bedroom, and seconds later she starts to call out for help, begging Sara to run up and save her. I take a deep breath as I hear a loud creaking sound, as if Joe is getting onto the bed, and finally the old woman lets out an agonized scream that cuts off abruptly. There a heavy thump, and then I hear the floorboards creak again as Joe leaves the room. By the time he's making his way back down the stairs, I feel as if my mind is completely blank and empty.

"There," he says as he reaches the doorway. "There wasn't even much blood. The poor old hag was dried out like a fucking prune, but it's done." He pauses. "So out of the two of us, Tommy, which is the one who did the right thing today and which is the one who was weak and cruel?"