Solstice: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse (32 page)

“I want to ride on a boat, Daddy.”

Tomas reached back and squeezed Christopher’s small hand. “Not tonight, okay?”

“Tomorrow?” Christopher asked.

“Maybe so,” Tomas said, sounding dejected. He glanced at Melanie, and a sad grin touched his lips. “This sucks.”

Melanie laughed. “That’s it? We’ve come all the way across Europe, and that’s all you have to say?”

“Right now, it is,” Tomas answered, putting the car into gear. They pulled away, cautious of the slippery pavement. Sanctuary vanished behind them, a useless mass of rubbish sinking slowly into the bay.

***

They left the hidden dangers of the city behind, but quickly became hopelessly lost. The snow made everything so indistinguishable, and ice had covered the last road sign they passed. Tomas had never had an interest in the GPS system Leila had given him for Christmas a couple of years ago, and it wouldn’t have been any use, anyway, with the satellite communication gone. He remained outwardly upbeat for Christopher’s and Melanie’s sakes, but in his mind, he wondered if it wasn’t time to give up.

He was so tired, and their only glimmer of hope was gone. The gas tank was getting close to empty. With the snow, if they were to keep moving, he would have to find another Land Rover or something similar. But the fact was, he was sick of moving, tired of chasing the ghost of a future when in his heart he knew there wasn’t one.

There was only survival, and that was as good as it was going to get.

Melanie touched his shoulder, dragging from his thoughts. “I think there’s a house over there. Look, there’s the driveway. Why don’t we check it out? Maybe get some sleep.”

“Sounds good. We can regroup and decide what to do next.”

March 7

Chapter 49

Owslebury, England

Melanie had stopped believing things happened for a reason when her parents died, but maybe leaving London had been a good thing. Not only had they found a house, they had found a great house. Like Finn and Colleen’s place, it was well hidden, but the house was a modern spin on a log cabin, tall-walled with large storm-glass windows from the floor to the peaked ceiling along the front. The inside was homey with walls lined with shelves filled with books and DVD movies, and there were more books stacked on the floor in the corners. They found canned and boxed food, some liquor, and best of all, a generator. They had found their safe house, at least for the time being.

It appeared the occupants had simply decided to step out for a moment. A P.D. James mystery lay open on the arm of one cushy reading chair. A chessboard was set up on the large, double-drawer coffee table, a match in progress. Wood had been placed on the hearth, along with long fireplace matches. The faint scent of some kind of perfume hung in the air.

More than once, Tomas muttered, “This can’t be real,” while wearing a sweet, bewildered expression.

They settled in and made themselves at home, pretending life had some sense of normality again. They fell into a routine that felt almost perfect, watching DVDs of old comedy programs, making dinner, and teaching Christopher to read and count. Every two weeks, they went out for supplies. They found a village about ten kilometers west, and the pickings were easy. The small market had plenty of non-perishables. They encountered no Ragers and no survivors. It was as if the three of them were on an island surrounded by nothing, as though they were the only people left in the world. Tomas managed to dump the Cooper for a larger, four-wheel-drive Jeep.

Perhaps they had found their Sanctuary, after all, Melanie thought.

***

Tomas had been drinking, and he liked to sing when he drank. The problem was that he just didn't have the voice for singing, but she loved him most when he let down his guard. He put a vinyl LP on the turntable in the main room. Amid the cracking and popping came the first strains of “Golden Slumbers.” Paul McCartney’s mellow voice filled the room.

“Come here.” Tomas pulled Melanie from the sofa, and they began to dance.

“What’s wrong with it? It sounds broken. Let me get my iPod,” she said.

“Nonsense. This is the way music was meant to be heard.” He spun her around, then pulled her back against him and nuzzled her throat, sending a delicious chill through her. Watching them, Christopher giggled and hopped to his feet. He began dancing around them, circling them in a quick little march. Bo followed, wagging his tail.

Tomas pressed his lips to her ear. “When Christopher goes to bed, you’re mine.” He squeezed her ass and then let her go, but she didn’t want to be away from him just yet. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him deeply, loving the taste of the ale on his tongue and the scent of his skin.

***

Later, Melanie lay awake, staring into the darkness, her heart racing. Stupid, damned nightmare. In the dream, she had been with her parents on the day of the crash. The dream was so vivid she felt the heat scorching her skin, searing her hair. For a moment after waking, she wondered if she had really died, and everything was a dream, just like those stupid movies that played on cable television. She reached over, touched Tomas’s face, and stroked his hair, wanting to reassure herself that he was there, that he was real. That
she
was real.

She breathed deeply, in through the nose, out through the mouth. She tapped on her thigh through the covers, counting silently, hoping to calm herself before she needed to use her inhaler. Suddenly, another troubling thought popped into her head. She wasn’t sure when she had last had her period. Something told her she was late by at least three weeks. Of course, trying to avoid being murdered and devoured tended to make a girl lose track of mundane things like the time of the month. She ran her hand over her stomach, which of course, was as flat as ever. She had no symptoms… yet. She sighed. Maybe stress could screw up the cycle, she reasoned.

Tomas stirred and turned toward her. “Are you awake?”

“Yes. I had a nightmare.”

“Want to talk about it?” He put his arms around her, and she snuggled against his warm chest.

“Not really. It was stupid, anyway.”

He kissed her ear. “Anything else on your mind?”

I’m afraid I might be pregnant.
“Do you wish we had stayed back in Folkestone with Colleen and Finn?” she asked instead.

“Sometimes. Hell, sometimes I wish we’d never left Sweden. But we had to try, didn’t we? We couldn’t have given up. We still can’t.”

“I suppose not.”

“I’m sorry things didn’t turn out like we’d hoped,” Tomas said.

Melanie laced her fingers through his. “Who says they didn’t?”

March 15

Chapter 50

Owsleburg, England

Christopher bounded upstairs to his new bedroom to find his great new cars Daddy had gotten him last time Daddy went to the village for supplies. He wished Daddy would take him next time. He missed going places with Daddy. He missed going out in the sunshine and playing football. But at least they had lights and TV, even if they only had movies and old shows to watch. He missed his cartoons.

The room had belonged to a little boy who must have been around his age, and had even looked like him some, with blond hair and blue eyes. His photos had been all over the place until Daddy put them all in a drawer in the kitchen.

Bo padded into the room, panting contentedly. Christopher patted his buddy’s head and then began sorting through a shoebox full of Matchbox cars.

“Blue ones here. Red ones here. Look, Bo, this is a Jeep like ours.” He held the silver Liberty in front of the dog’s face.

Something tapped on the window. Christopher ran over, the car still in his small fist, and peered into the darkness. A face appeared, and Christopher jumped back, startled.

Tap, tap, tap.

A little boy stared at Christopher. He looked sick and cold. Maybe he needed to get warm. Maybe he would like to play. Christopher never had anyone to play with anymore. It was neat how he’d climbed all the way up to the window.

A growl rumbled from deep in Bo’s throat, and the dog’s lips wrinkled back in a snarl.

“Stop it, Bo.” Christopher swatted at the dog’s nose.

In the corner was a faux pirate chest/toy box filled with all sorts of neat things. Christopher pushed it to the window and climbed on top of it. He looked out at his new friend again. Although the boy looked pretty scary, Christopher recognized him from the photos. Maybe he wanted his room back.

Christopher didn’t mind sharing.

Bo growled louder and stalked toward the window.

Christopher unlocked the window and shoved it open. “Do you want to play?”

His new friend’s white eyes flashed, and when he smiled, the edges of his mouth bled.

***

Tomas was helping Melanie prepare a dinner of boxed mac and cheese and a can of spinach when Christopher’s howl erupted from upstairs, accompanied by Bo’s rabid barking and growling. Melanie cried out, startled, and Tomas took off, sprinting up to his shrieking child.

When he saw Christopher, panic took over. Christopher came to him, screaming with tears streaming. Blood poured from a wound in his small hand. “The little boy, Daddy. I thought he wanted to play, and he bit me instead.”

“What? What little boy?” Tomas swept Christopher into his arms, his mouth dry, his throat threatening to close.

The window stood wide open. The room was already growing cold. Tomas carried Christopher over and looked outside. A spindly, jerky, miniature silhouette lurched across the lawn. In a moment, the figure would vanish into the trees.

Melanie joined him. “There it is.”

“Goddammit!” Tomas cried. He thrust Christopher into Melanie’s arms and took off back down the stairs. He had to catch that little bastard before he went into the trees. He snatched the pistol from the high shelf in the living room and flew outside, not bothering with his boots or jacket.

For a moment, he thought he was too late and the tiny Rager was gone. Tears of rage and horror blurred his vision. He wiped them hard with a fist, then followed the shallow grooves in the snow.

There. He spotted him.

The little creature had just taken everything Tomas ever had with one stupid little bite.

Tomas leveled the laser sight on the kid, creating an evil red eye on the back of the boy’s head and squeezed the trigger. The shot broke the near-silence, and the figure dropped.

Tomas sprinted toward it, his gun raised. He plugged five more shots into the little bastard’s skull, until there was nothing left to indicate the motionless body ever had a head at all. Dark, rotten blood seeped into the ice.

Melanie had calmed Christopher down to a few soft whimpers by the time he returned to the house. Her face was the color of the ash, but she didn’t cry. She was a good girl, Tomas realized. She wasn’t going to frighten Christopher any more than he already was.

She cleaned the wound and wrapped a length of white gauze around it. Her eyes met Tomas’s, questioning.

“He was a mean kid. I wish I’d never let him in. But I saw his picture downstairs.” Christopher started to cry again. “I thought he wanted back into his room.”

Tomas picked him up and hugged him tightly. “It’s okay, Christopher. It’s not a very bad bite.” He held Christopher’s hand up and shook it playfully.

“No. It’s not too bad. It just… he scared me. Are you angry?”

Tomas kissed his son’s cheek, loving his smell and his warmth. “I’m not angry. Okay?”

Christopher nodded and then rested his chin on Tomas’s shoulder.

“I love you, son.”

***

Tomas lay beside Christopher, unmoving except to take the boy's hand in his and kiss it softly from time to time, or to press his face into the silken, baby-fine pillow of the boy's sun-colored hair and breathe in his smell. He knew he should check the windows and door locks on the rest of the house—the gunshot might have alerted more Ragers—but he couldn’t leave. Every moment of seeing the child's small chest rise and fall was precious. He would not miss it. He had gotten up only two times—to piss—although Melanie had spoken through the door to tell him to eat something or take some water or cocoa at the very least.

On the other side of the door, Melanie sobbed softly, helpless as a child, and he knew he should go to her. Hold her and tell her it would be okay.

Who was he to lie to the poor woman? He had failed them all.

Even in the shallow haze of sleep, he prayed the prayers of a non-believer grasping at a final straw. He whispered his pleas against his sweat-dampened pillow or Christopher's cooling skin.

His son grew paler, and Tomas knew that prayers of faithless people never worked. Why should they? God had abandoned them all, those with and without faith alike.

His heart ached. The rise of the small chest had slowed since he had dozed the last time. He was unable to determine how much time had passed since Christopher had gone to sleep. Hours? Days?

In the other room, Melanie played some mellow folk music. Was it Nick Drake or someone from her generation? He didn't know and wondered if Christopher heard. Did he know his daddy was there? Did he understand?

Perhaps it was not even dark where he was. Maybe he was playing on the shores of Böda Beach, and the sun was as warm as a kiss or his father’s embrace.

The boy sighed as softly as the coo of a little dove, and Tomas kissed his hair. “I'm here. Don't be afraid. I'm right beside you.”

***

Everything was darkness. Tomas imagined it as a thing that flowed like some hateful sludge into their eyes and mouths. He imagined them drowning on darkness. The rise of the bony chest almost imperceptible, and then the next moment, ceased. Tomas waited, his own heart like a broken-winged thing in his chest, lungs forgetting to work for a moment. He shoved his fist to his mouth to catch the sob, a weak and anguished sound.