Days 54 to 61 (Mass Extinction Event 12) Read online

  Copyright 2015 Amy Cross

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.

  First published: March 2015

  as Mass Extinction Event: The Complete Fourth Series

  This edition: September 2018

  Having been rescued from the forest, Elizabeth is shocked to find herself living with a small group of survivors. But when she's plunged into an unlikely reunion, she begins to realize that the task of saving humanity might require difficult decisions.

  Meanwhile, Thomas discovers the truth about another group of survivors. Old alliances are destroyed and new alliances are formed, but finally Thomas is forced to make a stand.

  Days 54 to 61 is the fifth book in the Mass Extinction Event series, continuing the story of a worldwide apocalypse seen from the eyes of two very different people in two very different parts of the US.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Day 54

  Day 55

  Day 56

  Day 57

  Day 58

  Day 59

  Day 60

  Day 61

  Days 54 to 61

  (Mass Extinction Event book 5)

  Prologue

  Fifty-four days ago

  “It always takes ages for the bags to come through,” he says, checking his watch. “I'm going to run to the bathroom, honey, okay?”

  “Sure,” she mutters absent-mindedly. “I'll call the kids.”

  Fighting his way through the ill-tempered crowd, Doctor John Marter finally manages to reach the bathroom on the other side of the arrivals hall. He slips inside and joins a small queue waiting for the urinals, and for several minutes there's nothing he can do except wait impatiently. Finally, just as he gets to the front of the queue, he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket.

  Checking the screen, he's surprised to see that a colleague from Boston is trying to get in touch.

  “Hey Chuck,” he says as he answers, “that isn't really a good -”

  “We have a situation,” Chuck says, sounding worried. “It's Joe Aldred, we think he might be up to something.”

  “Who's Joe Aldred?”

  “Some asshole from one of the labs. He might have... Look, it's kinda crazy, but we need to be careful 'cause things could spiral out of control. You're at the airport, right?”

  “Yeah, I told you yesterday, Pattie and I spent a few days in -”

  “I've already sent a car to pick you up,” Chuck continues. “It should be there in ten.”

  “Pick me up? To go where?”

  “I need you to come to Boston.”

  “Chuck,” he says with a sigh, “I just want to get home and see my -”

  “This is serious!” Chuck hisses.

  “Okay, okay,” John replies, starting to worry. “What the hell am I going to tell Pattie? She's not going to be happy about this.”

  “Tell her anything. Tell her space cows just landed from the moon for all I care, but be at the taxi pick-up spot outside the terminal building in ten minutes' time, okay?”

  “But -”

  “You've been telling her little white lies for years,” Chuck points out. “Just nudge that up to a full-on whopper, there's really not much of a difference. Seriously, John, I wouldn't be pulling you in if these wasn't important. I've also got Diane coming from Buffalo, we need all hands on deck, just in case this turns out to be something serious.”

  “Fine,” John tells him. “Just... Chuck, on a scale of one to ten, how -”

  “Nine,” Chuck replies, interrupting him. “At least. I've gotta make a few more calls, I'll get in touch when you're on your way. It might be through the emergency system, though. That's how bad things are looking right now. We might be turning off the normal phone coverage.”

  “Turning of the cell network? Why would you do that unless -”

  Before he can finish, John hears the line go dead.

  “Buddy,” says the guy behind him in the queue, “are you gonna go or can I take your spot?”

  And that's when the power cut hits.

  ***

  “What the hell?” John mutters a couple of minutes later, emerging from the bathroom just in time to see a group of soldiers racing through the crowd.

  Pushing through to reach his wife, he gets to her side and finds that she's still on the phone.

  “It's a miracle no-one got hurt,” she's saying, clearly annoyed. “They just came storming through here as if they own the place. Jesus Christ, you put a uniform on a man, Elizabeth, and he thinks he can do whatever he wants.” She turns to her husband and rolls her eyes. “If they were just a little more considerate, there'd be -”

  Stopping suddenly, he looks at her phone's screen.

  “Bullshit,” she says after a moment. “My coverage just died!”

  “Are the kids okay?”

  “Oh, they're making a fuss about things as usual. I swear, that girl doesn't even know how to work the bottle-opener.” She looks up at the ceiling. “The lights are off too. What the hell's going on?”

  “I have to go to Boston,” he replies.

  “Excuse me?”

  “It's an emergency,” he continues, glancing at the static conveyor belt that was supposed to have delivered their bags a few minutes ago. “Listen, I don't think things are going to be running normally for a few more hours, so why don't I put you into a taxi and we'll get the bags sent straight to the apartment? I'll fix it, I swear.”

  “Why are you going to Boston?” she asks. “John, is something wrong?”

  “There's nothing to worry about,” he replies, taking her by the arm and leading her through the sea of people. “They just want me on-site to deal with a potential problem.”

  “Jesus Christ,” she mutters, “if they're panicking and calling you in, there must be something seriously wrong!”

  “They're just trigger-happy.” Leading her out the front of the terminal, he takes her over to join the back of a small queue waiting for taxis. “Go home, help Lizzie with the bottle-opener or whatever the hell she's struggling with, tell Henry to stop doing whatever he's doing, and I'll be with you guys in twenty-four hours, maximum.”

  “Twenty-four hours?” she replies incredulously.

  “It's not my fault,” he mutters, as the queue moves forward. “They're sending a car to pick me up in a few minutes.”

  “From here?” She stares at him for a moment. “John, don't bullshit me. This has to be something serious! What's happening?”

  “I'm sure they're just taking every precaution,” he replies. “Seriously, Pattie, this time tomorrow we'll be laughing about the whole thing, I promise, and I'll take you out to dinner to make up for it all. We'll take the kids, too. It'll be a proper family night out!”

  “You're scaring me,” she tells him.

  “You can pick the restaurant. We can see a movie, too.”

  “Tell me everything's going to be okay.”

  He sighs.

  “Tell me!”

  “Everything's going to be okay,” he replies. “More or less. In the long-run.” Leaning forward, he kisses her on the forehead just as a taxi pulls up next to them. “Give my love to the kids, okay? Tell Henry that whatever he's doing, he should stop right away!”

  “Yes, but -”

  “I'll be home tomorrow, I promise.” Opening the taxi's rear door, he gently eases her into the back and then pushes the door shut. “I love you,” he adds.


  “I -”

  Before she can finish, the taxi pulls away, leaving John standing along and watching as the vehicle disappears into the distance. Checking his watch, he leaves the queue and checks his phone again, noting that it has already switched automatically to the emergency communication network. Glancing back at the terminal building, he spots more soldiers hurrying past, and he feels a knot of tension starting to build in the pit of his stomach as he realizes that only the most serious of situations would necessitate a vehicle being sent to take him all the way to Boston without any warning.

  “Mr. Marter?” a voice calls out.

  Turning, he sees that a black car has pulled up nearby, with the driver already heading toward him.

  “That's me,” he says, shaking the man's hand.

  “I've been told to get you to Boston, Sir,” the driver explains, as they head to the car. “With the way the traffic's looking, it might take a little longer than usual.” He opens the door and stands back to let John into the back seat. “I know I shouldn't ask, but... There's nothing to worry about, is there?”

  “No,” John replies, forcing a smile. “Nothing at all.”

  Day 54

  Elizabeth

  The first thing I hear, somewhere far off in the distance, is the sound of a machine steadily beeping. I can't really focus, though: every time I try to think about the sound, my mind wanders and sinks back down into unconsciousness for a while, and the dreams return.

  Dreams about family.

  Dreams about home.

  And then finally, after the hundredth or maybe the thousandth time, I finally manage to open my eyes and the light is blinding.

  As my eyes adjust, however, the light fades and I realize that the room is dark. Pitch black, in fact, and for a moment I stay completely still. My first thought is that maybe somehow I'm home, that all the events of the past couple of months have been part of a nightmare. As soon as I try to move, however, I realize that I'm wrong: my body is wracked with pain, not only from tired and stretched muscles but also from my right foot, which is burning with the same intensity that I remember from before. When I try to sit up, I find that not only am I far too weak, but I also have plastic tubes running all over my body.

  “Toad,” I whisper, but I'm immediately shocked by how rough my voice sounds. It's almost as if I'm dying.

  I hold my breath and try to find the energy to get up, but finally I let out a pained gasp.

  “She's awake,” says a female voice nearby.

  Footsteps.

  Hurrying toward me.

  “Toad,” I whisper again, more softly this time. I'm not getting stronger; if anything, I'm already getting weaker.

  “Another dose?” the female voice asks.

  From the distance, a man's voice replies: “Sure. There's no point doing anything until he gets here.”

  “Who?” I whisper, trying to turn my head.

  In the darkness, all I can see is the faintest silhouette of a woman standing by my bed. She's reaching up to some kind of machine above my head, and a moment later I hear a mechanical hiss, followed by the sensation of something ice-cold being fed into my veins. I try to pull away, but I can barely muster the strength to let out even the faintest of groans. Once again I try to sit up, only to this time feel a human hand being placed against my chest and gently forcing me back down. I try to fight, but I don't have a chance.

  “Not yet,” she says calmly. “Try to get some rest.”

  “Toad,” I whisper, before suddenly remembering: “Rachel...”

  “You're just going to sleep some more,” the voice continues.

  “Where's Rachel?” I gasp.

  “Don't you worry about a thing, okay?”

  “Where's Rachel?” I ask again, although I'm already starting to sweat and when I clench my left fist, I realize that my skin is wet and clammy. “What are you doing to me?”

  “And down you go,” the woman continues. “Deep, deep down for a little while longer.” With that, she leans closer and suddenly plants a gently kiss on my forehead. “Count down from ten with me. Ten. Nine. Eight...”

  I mutter something else, something about Rachel and Toad, but it's too late: I'm drifting again, losing my grip on consciousness and sinking deeper into a thought-free void. I can hear the woman still counting, but her voice sounds fuzzy now, and it it's coming from an entirely different universe.

  “I hope he gets here soon,” is the last thing I hear the female voice saying, getting further away again. “She really can't take much more of this.”

  Thomas

  “Have you got it?” Quinn asks, watching over my shoulder as I try to get the panel loose. “Thomas, have you -”

  “Hold on,” I mutter, trying to dig the screwdriver's flat end further under the edge of the metal. It's not an easy job, not with the only light coming from the moon. “I think there must be more bolts on the other side. Is there any sign of him?”

  As I continue to work, I hear her scrambling over to look at the glass panel in the door.

  “No,” she says finally. “Still nothing.”

  “This damn thing is...” I hold my breath, pushing as hard as possible with the screwdriver in an attempt to get the panel loose. “Almost...”

  Suddenly the screwdriver snaps, sending me tumbling back until I land hard against the rocky ground. In the process, I manage to jab the screwdriver's broken tip into my hand, digging into the flesh with enough force to make me cry out for a moment. I pull the screwdriver out and mutter a few curses before scrambling back to look at the panel, only to find that I've barely made a dent.

  “Well,” Quinn says, coming back over to join me, “someone definitely doesn't want any company, does he? Is your hand -”

  “It's fine.”

  “You need to be careful. With the world the way it is, even a small cut can -”

  “It's fine,” I mutter. “Stop fussing.”

  Still annoyed, and stung by the pain in my hand, I make my way back over to the door. Cupping my hands around my eyes, I try to see through the window.

  “I tried that,” Quinn continues. “Couldn't make out a thing.”

  “There's a room in there,” I reply, squinting a little as I'm just about able to make out a wall, as well as another door several meters back from the opening. “I can see... shapes. Maybe furniture or something?” Trying to make out a little more, I finally stand back. “What the hell is he doing in there?”

  “Hiding,” Quinn suggests.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He didn't look too pleased that we'd found his little bunker,” she points out.

  “Yeah, but still...”

  “He obviously knows we're trying to get inside,” she continues. “I guess he's waiting for us to give up and leave. He must be very confident that we can't force our way through the door.”

  “Oh, I'm forcing my way through, alright,” I tell her, still staring at the small round window. “Even if I have to go and find a jackhammer from somewhere, I'm getting into this thing.” I pause for a moment, trying to come up with a better idea, but I know that I don't have any equipment that would be strong enough to break through what appears to be a fully reinforced door. In the back of my mind, I can't help wondering if I'm butting my head against a brick wall. “There has to be something,” I mutter.

  “It'll be dawn soon,” she replies. “You need to get back to the camp.”

  “I need to keep working.”

  “If you do that, Mark will send people to look for you. At first light, he'll realize you're gone and you'll have to explain yourself.”

  “So?”

  “So I don't think you fully comprehend how dangerous he is.”

  I turn to her, but I can see the fear in her eyes.

  “Those women killed Kaylee,” she continues. “Please, Thomas, you have to believe me... That's not some utopian community they've got going on there. Mark saw me as a threat, probably because I'm so charismatic and popular -”r />
  “Yeah, right,” I mutter.

  “So he had to get rid of me,” she adds, ignoring my comment. “He manipulates those people, I doubt there's any limit to the things he can make them do or believe, and you'll be next if you get on his bad side. I just wish poor Kaylee hadn't had to pay the ultimate price.”

  “What do you think we should do, then?” I ask, turning back to look at the little window. “Are we supposed to just leave this thing alone?”

  “I'm think we should keep it to ourselves,” she continues. “I can't come back to the camp anyway, I'd be killed on sight, so I'll stay out here and see what I can do. Meanwhile, you have to go back and act as if nothing has happened, and then come back out here again tomorrow night.” She pauses for a moment. “You trust me, don't you?”

  Staring at her, I realize that I honestly don't know the answer to that question.

  “Besides,” she adds, suddenly untying the scarf that was around her neck, “I've got an idea.”

  I watch as she scrambles up over the rocks, making her way past the door.

  “What are you doing?” I call out.

  “Come and see!”

  Sighing, I start climbing up until I'm up on top of the small rock formation that covers the bunker. With the first hint of sunrise starting to show on the horizon, I watch as Quinn's silhouette darts around, almost as if she's searching for something. She still seems completely insane, but suddenly she stops and kneels down, and finally she waves for me to go and join her. She's definitely acting like someone who has a plan.

  “Whatever you've found -” I start to say.

  “Everything needs to breathe,” she replies. “Even a bunker.”

  Looking down, I realize that she's found some kind of small air-vent, with steam slowly rising from beneath the metal grill.

  “What is it?” I ask.