Solstice: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse (33 page)

Then the rise and fall again, but it was different. And Christopher awoke long enough to whisper, “Daddy? I'm hungry.”

His eyes.

His beautiful eyes had gone as pale as a frozen lake.

The weight of the gun was a dreadful thing, and Tomas wondered if hell was ice rather than fire. Was he there already? He lifted the pillow and placed it beside the child's head.

“Daddy, what are you doing?”

***

Melanie had made tea just to have something to do, and it sat on the table, growing cold and forgotten. The sound was a dull thud. She started, upsetting the cooling tea, and it spilled on the leg of her wool slacks. Random thoughts flooded her mind. She remembered watching Tomas bathe Christopher, the tub overfilled with bubbles. The soap spilled onto the floor, making a mess that Leila would complain over later. Pirate men lined the edge of the tub like centurions. How they had laughed. Nothing bad could ever happen to people who laughed like that, she’d thought once upon a time.

The sound that followed was a more horrible thing—the cry of a brokenhearted parent. It deepened into a roar of terror, frustration, and anger. She wept for Christopher, her adopted brother or adopted child.

Tomas threw open the bedroom door, ripping it from the hinges at the top, and he stormed out, down the stairs, not seeing her, not seeing anything, so blinded was he by grief. He fled into the yard and collapsed to his knees in the snow, the gun still gripped in his fist. Melanie ran after him, afraid of what he would do next.

For one terrifying moment, she watched as he pressed the gun to his temple.

Melanie sank to her knees beside him. “No, Tomas,” she whispered, weeping.

She grabbed his hand, pulling at it with all her strength, but she was no match for him.

He grunted and shrugged her away.

She grabbed at him again, pressing her face to his. “Damn you, if you want to do this, you’d better kill me first.”

After a moment, Tomas relented. She took the gun from his hand and set it aside.

“Oh, God!” His sobs rocked his big frame.

Melanie held him, and he pressed his face against her chest until her sweater became wet with his tears. She held him, and on the icy ground, they cried the cries of the hopeless and the lost.

If it was possible to die of heartbreak, Tomas was in danger of doing so, and she didn’t know what to do. God, she was so helpless. So useless. Was that the same feeling a mother had when her child was ill? Was that what Tomas had felt all those weeks since the Solstice? That bone-deep helplessness?

She could only hold him and utter nonsense. “We must keep on going. For him. For those that might be out there, those like Christopher.”

“There’s nothing left out there, Melanie. There’s nothing else left to save.” He looked up at the blank night sky. “Look at this… shit. No sunlight. No warmth. We're all dying, anyway. I'm so fucking tired. I want it to happen. I welcome it.”

His words struck her like a fist to the gut and reaffirmed what she already knew in her heart. She didn’t mean anything to him. Not really. She probably never did.

Fresh tears stung her eyes. She crawled to the gun, snatched it up, and shoved it at him. “Take it, you bastard! Do what you want with it!”

Then she climbed to her feet and ran back to the house, slamming the door behind her.

***

She wrapped the tiny body in a sheet. His blood had seeped through the pillow. She avoided looking at his baby face. She didn’t want her last image of her beloved little “brother” to be one of staring death. She bound him tightly and, through the sheets, kissed where she assumed his forehead was. She cried until she fell asleep on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Sometime later, Tomas returned to the house. He lay down on the floor and curled himself tightly behind her, his big arms holding her tightly to him. She sighed, loving his touch, but wishing it was not like that. She could have loved him in silence for the rest of her life, until at some point she might have given up and married some wonderful man and had her own children. The world was ending, and there she was, feeling sorry for herself.
Selfish wretch
, Leila had called her once. Maybe she was right.

Tomas kissed her tear-dampened ear. “I'm sorry.”

When she turned to murmur some reply, he was already asleep.

March 16

Chapter 51

Owslebury, England

Tomas worked at gouging the icy soil with first a shovel and then a pickaxe until his gloves were torn and the palms of his hands were bloody. He cried as he dug, his salty tears freezing on his face and in his beard. Later, after the body was buried, Melanie led him inside, where she cleaned his hands.

Tomas told her he could no longer stand to stay in the house.

“Do you want to come with me?” he asked, packing only a few items into a small duffel bag. His photos of Christopher. Guns. Ammo. He didn’t bother with his precious music, the laptop, or the transistor. He no longer had any use for those things.

For the first time in her life, she didn’t like being given a choice. Did he not care if she stayed behind? Was her presence so insignificant?

Of course, she agreed to leave with him. A familiar emptiness reemerged inside her, the same feeling she had gotten after the loss of her parents—a stupid, dreamlike desperation. She wanted to pray for impossible things.

***

They traveled the snowbound roads back toward London. She didn’t bother to ask why. Tomas was a broken creature, as was the dog. Bo rode across the backseat of the Jeep, his head down, staring into darkness. The animal wouldn’t eat. Tomas didn’t eat. They were all dying of grief as she watched. She wanted to tell Tomas she believed she was pregnant. It was so difficult to keep it to herself. She was so afraid of what would happen when the baby came, if she managed to make it that far. But she was more frightened of Tomas’s reaction. Would he hate her for it? Would he hate their child?

More of London had burned since they had left Tana and the children behind. Tomas navigated the dead streets. There was no indication of life. Perhaps she had assumed correctly; maybe they were the last of the living. White-eyed faces peered at them from the shadows, but there were no attempts to stop the Jeep.

The Tesco where they had met Tana and Stu had been partially torched like most of the other buildings on that block. When the headlights brightened the front of the store, it was covered in soot, the windows shattered, the pull-down gate chewed back. Tomas parked the Jeep and left it running. He took Stu’s pistol and climbed out, Melanie following tentatively. She had the other pistol in her coat pocket, but hoped like hell she wouldn’t need to use it.

Both of them carried flashlights, but inside the market, some of the lights still worked, at least intermittently. The humming of the fluorescents buzzed like flies, and the lights blinked on and off like lightning, illuminating the carnage. The bodies of the children lay frozen on the floor. Some were ripped apart, others barely touched except for gashes and teeth marks at the throat. Blood covered the floor in inky, frozen pools. The stink of old meat rose into the air, and Melanie’s stomach, already becoming sensitive, churned. She covered her nose with the back of her hand and tried to avoid looking at the horrified expressions of the dead. Something told her she should feel something, but there was nothing left inside her.

Melanie and Tomas stood, silent for a moment. There was nothing to say. A thump echoed through the empty store, making them jump. Tomas spun, shinning the light in the direction of the sound, his gun raised. A scrawny figure emerged from the darkness and approached with slow, juddering steps, her hair frizzed out crazily, her boots crunching the dirty floor.

Tomas aimed the light on her Rager’s face. Tana stared back at him, white-eyed, her cheeks rent at the edges of her mouth in a permanent, lunatic grin.

Everyone froze. Melanie’s breath caught in her throat. Tomas raised the pistol, the red sight coming to rest on Tana’s pale forehead, but the Rager didn’t move. They seemed to be sizing each other up. Finally, Tomas lowered the gun. Tana fled back toward the stockroom, leaving the two of them alone and confused.

March 18-May 8

Chapter 52

London, England

Melanie used to believe that Man made the world in which he lived, but she realized that the world made Man. Tomas had become an unknown, a man of his world of darkness and violence.

They moved into an apartment building built following the Blitz, and indeed, the streets around the area looked as though they had been through the Blitz and never repaired. Fire damage marked most of the buildings. Some of the parked automobiles were nothing but burned-out hulls, like the husks of molted insects. There was ancient tile flooring in the bathroom, a radiator that sat silent and cold, and furnishings that belonged to people of another generation. Even the books were ancient—war journals, some classics, novels of Ian Fleming. After the luxuries of the safe house, she felt they had moved into a cave. The only luxury in the place was the large fireplace and the woodstove. Tomas had considered her enough at least to try to keep her warm.

Melanie had slipped an early pregnancy test into her pocket the last time they had gone to a market for supplies. Secretly, she took it and waited for the results, though she already knew what she would see. Sure enough, a small pink plus sign appeared.

Tomas became set on avenging his son’s death. He had made it his business to clear the city of all the Ragers, it seemed. He left Melanie alone for hours and sometimes days at a time, only to return exhausted, his clothing stiff with blood that was not his own. His eyes had grown crazy with anger. Although he had never raised a hand to her, she was frightened of him. He rarely spoke to her. She ached for his touch, but when she got it, it was passionless. Sex was a function of the body only. The heart did not play a part. Bo became her only true companion. The animal had changed, as well. He had lost weight, and when she petted him, the bony ridges of his ribs rose and fell under her fingertips.

They sealed off the windows in order to be invisible from the street below. Taking a cue from
The Diary of Anne Frank,
a book the two of them took turns reading aloud to pass time, Tomas created a false wall in the main hallway. Once, while Tomas was out, Melanie thought she heard someone prowling the corridors. The dog had lost his mojo, which in hiding was probably a good thing, as he didn’t bother to raise his head or bark.

Pressing her ear against the door, Melanie waited, her heart beating so hard she imagined whoever was there being able to hear it through two layers of wood. Footfalls grew louder, closer, and then after a moment, softer and more distant until silent once again.

***

“Our blessed radio. It gives us eyes and ears out into the world.” Melanie looked up from the book. Tomas stared into the fire, his eyes wide and vacant. She pondered where he was, at what moment in the past, what wonderful moment he was sharing with Christopher. She reached over and stroked his hair.

He forced a smile. “Sorry. I’m trying. I really am.”

“I know, Tomas.”

His smile melted into a sob, and he hid his face behind his large, weather-beaten hands. “Something is broken inside now. I don’t know what to do, but go out there and slaughter as many of those things as I can. I have to make them pay.”

“They’re stupid animals. They don’t know anything.” She moved to him and hugged him tightly to her. “Can’t you pretend to care for just a little while, Tomas? Even if you don’t really?”

Tomas looked at her. “Put on that black dress for me. Could you?”

***

Melanie awoke wretchedly ill to her stomach. She stumbled to the bathroom, sank to her knees, and vomited into the toilet. Tomas kneeled beside her. He stroked her back and then held her hair as another wave of nausea hit her. When she felt ready to stand, he helped her to her feet. She washed her face with the cold water from the faucet, and as she dried off, she watched him in the mirror. He knew.

By the time she returned to the bedroom, he was gone, back into the darkness of the streets to kill as many Ragers as he could. As if that would bring Christopher back to him.

***

When he returned, she confronted him. “You’ve known for a while. Why do you act like it hasn’t happened?”

Tomas removed his coat, hat, and gloves, and laid them on the dining table they never used. He placed the pistol and the rifle on top. “What are you talking about?” He poured himself a drink of vodka.

“I’m talking about our child, Tomas.”

Tomas slammed back the drink and quickly poured another. “My child is dead.”

“Maybe this one could be a substitute. You’ll grow to love him.” She reached out to touch him, but he moved away from her.

“You have no idea what you’re saying,” he said, snarling. “There’s nothing to love in… this. Take a look out that window. A child doesn’t need to be brought into this.”

“There are others like us out there. There must be. We can’t give up. Not now.”

Tomas sighed. “I no longer care about fighting. I’m tired. I’ve nothing left.”

“You are pathetic.” Melanie had never been so angry with him before. At that moment, she hated him for everything he had ever done for her. She hated herself for caring about him. How had she ever thought of him as strong? He was nothing but a weak, selfish child.

Tomas drank until he finally shambled into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, still in his clothes and boots.