Days 101 to 108 (Mass Extinction Event Book 7) Read online

  Copyright 2019 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.

  Kindle edition

  First published: February 2019

  Having finally met for the first time, Elizabeth and Thomas soon find themselves in mortal danger as the Mass Extinction series continues.

  Having encountered a strange little girl they found at the side of the road, Elizabeth and Thomas follow her to a seemingly abandoned old hospital. They soon discover, however, that something deadly lurks in the shadows, and that the little girl is hiding a terrible secret.

  Beneath the hospital, a horrific experiment is being carried out, and a familiar face is involved. While Thomas tries to understand Sarah Carter's aims, Elizabeth finds herself being drawn into the experiment and soon faces a fight for her life. A cure for the zombie outbreak is tantalizingly close, but sacrifices will have to be made if humanity is to have any chance of survival.

  Days 101 to 108 is the seventh book in the Mass Extinction Event series. The book ends with a cliffhanger, and readers are advised to start with the first part of the series.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue 1

  Prologue 2

  Day 101

  Day 102

  Day 103

  Day 104

  Day 105

  Day 106

  Day 107

  Day 108

  Days 101 to 108

  (Mass Extinction Event book 7)

  Prologue 1

  10 years ago

  Waking up in the dark apartment, he stars for a moment at the wall before realizing that he heard a noise. He waits, telling himself that it was just his wife murmuring beside him in bed, but then he hears the noise again and he recognizes it instantly.

  He turns over and sits up, and sure enough there's a small figure standing halfway between the door and the bed.

  “Elizabeth?” John Marter whispers. “Lizzie, is that you? Did you have another night terror?”

  There's a pause, and then the silhouette nods.

  “That's three nights in a row,” John continues with a sigh, before shifting to the edge of the bed. “Do you want to come in with Mommy and Daddy for a little while?”

  Another pause, and then another nod.

  “Come on, then.”

  He waits, but she doesn't come any closer.

  “Can Mr. Fairfax come too?” she asks finally.

  “Yes,” John says, “Mr. Fairfax can come too.”

  Running forward, Elizabeth clambers onto the bed and crawls toward the top end.

  “Careful,” John whispers. “Try not to wake your mother.”

  “Is Mommy sleeping?”

  “She had a long day at work,” he replies. “She's not the only one.”

  “Henry's still asleep,” Elizabeth says as she climbs into bed between her parents and sets her stuffed bear on the pillow. “Why doesn't Henry ever get night terrors?”

  “I think he does sometimes,” John tells her. “Just not as often as certain other people.”

  Elizabeth settles back on the pillow and stares up at her father.

  “I think I feel better now,” she announces.

  “No kidding.”

  “Why do I dream about bad things?” she asks, as her father settles next to her. “I don't want to dream about them. I just do.”

  “I don't know,” he replies. “What was it this time? Vampires? Werewolves? Ghosts?”

  “No, it was something different.” She pauses. “It was people.”

  “People?”

  “People who looked bad and smelled bad. Like they were dead but they were still walking around and they could chase me.”

  “You mean zombies?”

  “What's a zombie?”

  “Something that's not real. There's no reason to be scared.”

  “So I can go anywhere, and I'll never meet one?”

  “That's right.”

  “Are zombies make-believe, like vampires?”

  “They are. Now try to get some sleep, okay?”

  “What if the zombies come back?”

  “They won't. I promise.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “I just do.” He closes his eyes. “If the zombies ever come back, you can wake me up and I'll help you chase them away. But I promise, they won't come, because they're not real in the first place. And if you keep telling yourself that, then you never need to be scared again, do you?” He rolls onto his side, facing away from his daughter. “Just remember that,” he adds, his voice already starting to dip into sleep, “and you'll be fine.”

  He mumbles something else, but within seconds he's out.

  Flat on her back in the middle of the bed, staring up at the ceiling, Elizabeth Marter tries to focus on her father's words. She hates the nightmares, and she's worried that they'll come again. At the same time, what her father just told her makes a kind of sense, and she's starting to feel a little better.

  “They can't hurt me,” she whispers to herself. “They're not real.”

  She waits a moment longer, and then she closes her eyes.

  Prologue 2

  48 days ago

  “Hello!” I shout, grabbing the microphone. “Who are you?”

  “Hello?” the voice replies, sounding garbled and distorted but still human. “Did someone say something?”

  “Yeah, I'm here!” I shout, stunned that I've actually managed to make contact. “My name's Thomas Edgewater and I'm right on the shore of Lake Erie! Who am I talking to?”

  “My name's Elizabeth,” the voice replies, rising through a ripple of static. “Elizabeth Marter. I'm... I'm in a farmhouse somewhere in... Pennsylvania, I think. Are you anywhere nearby?”

  Day 101

  Thomas

  “Hello, Thomas Edgewater,” she says with a faint, trembling voice. “My name's Elizabeth Marter, and I've had one hell of a day.”

  “What are you...”

  My voice trails off.

  She looks completely crazy, staring at me with wide-open eyes. She's drenched, like me, and her hair is matted and sticking to the sides of her face, glistening in the moonlight. This anti-contamination suit, or whatever it is, looks to be about two sizes too large for her, making her head seem kind of small as it pokes out the top. Her hand is still reaching out toward me, however, and after a moment I realize that I have no choice. I reach out and shake her hand, while trying to work out exactly what just happened. She looks – and, frankly, smells – like she just crawled out of somewhere pretty nasty.

  “You came out of nowhere,” I stammer finally, looking back toward the road as rain continues to come crashing down. “You had no lights on!”

  “Neither did you!” she replies.

  “I know, but I had a reason. I was going somewhere, I was following some people. I mean, I am following some people. I kept the lights off so I couldn't be spotted by anyone, but that only works if other people have their lights on so I know to avoid them.”

  “I didn't want to be seen either,” she replies, and she grips my hand tighter for a moment as if she's struggling to stay up. In fact, she seems to be swaying slightly. “We wouldn't have crashed if you'd had your lights on.”

  “We wouldn't have crashed if you'd had your lights on!” I point out, trying not to sound annoyed. “That's what caused it, you were driving along without any lights at all!”

  “So were you.”

/>   “But I was only doing it because I thought everyone else would have their lights on! I had a reason!”

  “Where were you going,” she asks, “that you were in such a hurry, and you didn't want to be seen?”

  “I don't have to explain myself to you!” I point out, although I immediately realize that I'm maybe being a little too defensive. I'm about to tell her a little more, however, when I realize that she's whispering to herself.

  I wait, but I can't quite make out what she's saying.

  I lean closer. The rain is still loud, especially as it taps against the girl's contamination suit, but I think I can just about make out her words as I lean even closer.

  “My name's Elizabeth Marter,” she whispers, “and I've had one hell of a day. My name's Elizabeth Marter, and I've had one hell of a day. My name's -”

  “Why do you keep saying that?” I ask.

  She stops and stares at me.

  “Are you crazy or something?” I continue, although I guess that's not a very nice thing to say.

  She opens her mouth and almost answers, but then she simply furrows her brow.

  “I was going to catch up to some people, okay?” I explain, figuring that I should at least make an effort. “I'm heading toward...”

  I look over my shoulder, and I can still just about see a glow in the distant night sky. I don't know how far behind the convoy I am now, but I definitely spent a while changing the tire and then dealing with McGuinness. I wouldn't be surprised if it's past midnight already, which means the battle for Boston must have been raging for a couple of hours. And if it's still going, that means the battle wasn't the quick, easy affair that some of the others were expecting. Which means more deaths.

  For a moment, I can't help wondering how Toad and Taylor are doing.

  Suddenly Elizabeth's grip on my hand fails, and I turn back to her just in time to see that she's collapsed at my feet.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I ask, crouching next to her in the darkness and tapping the side of her face. “Hey! Can you hear me? Are you hurt? What's wrong with you?”

  Elizabeth

  I open my eyes, and in an instant I go from a dark and dreamless nothing to the bright light of morning.

  Gasping, I sit up and feel a pulsing ache in the back of my head. I reach around and slip my fingers into my matted, drying hair, and I flinch as I realize I must have taken a real hit just behind my right ear. That's when I remember the crash, and the sensation of being slammed about as the car veered off the road. And then...

  I spoke to someone, didn't I?

  I got out of the wrecked car and I spoke to some guy.

  “Damn it!” a voice hisses nearby, and I turn to see that there's a decrepit old truck a little further along the road, with its front down in a ditch.

  I freeze, as I try to piece together some more moments from last night. My head feels really groggy, as if I can't quite think straight, and I'm really having to focus in an attempt to work out exactly how I ended up sitting here. The rain has stopped and the ground feels wet beneath me, and I can't help thinking that I'm forgetting something important. It's as if the whole world is spinning all around me and I'm struggling to figure out exactly where I'm standing.

  Where's Mom?

  Where's Dad?

  Where's Henry?

  “Damn it!” the voice shouts, and I hear a brief, loud banging sound.

  Looking down, I see that there's an old blanket on my lap. I think it was covering my chest, too, until I sat up. I've never seen this blanket before, so I guess someone put it over me while I was unconscious.

  Why was I unconscious, again?

  Where are Mom and Dad and Henry?

  Getting to my feet, I feel cold water running down the insides of my clothes. I look down and see that I'm wearing some kind of large rubber suit, and I think I vaguely remember stealing this thing from a storeroom in Boston. I don't remember why, though, or what happened next, and the pain in my head is starting to throb a little as take a couple of tottering, limping steps forward.

  And then I remember.

  It all comes rushing back in a massive flood, all at once. Mom and Dad and Henry and Bob and Toad and Rachel and Natalie. I take another step forward, only to feel my right foot almost give way, at which point I remember that I don't even have a right foot anymore. For a moment, I still feel like the frightened kid who stood at the apartment window and watched planes crash; and then, in a flash, I'm me again. One hundred days later.

  “Piece of crap!” the voice yells, followed by a thud.

  Despite the pain, I manage to make my way along the road until I reach the rear of the truck, at which point I look down and see that the guy is trying to fix something under the front section. His legs are sticking out and I can hear him muttering angrily under there. I open my mouth to ask what's going on, but at the last moment I hold back. After all, I have no idea who this guy is and I don't have a weapon on me.

  Suddenly there's a loud thud, followed by a few curse words, and then he wriggles out from under the truck and winces as he rubs a patch on the side of his head. Then, after a moment, he glances this way and sees that I'm watching him. There's a pause, as if neither of us quite knows what to do or say.

  “Hey,” I manage finally, not really sure what else I can say right now. “Um...”

  “Hey,” he says, clearly still in pain. “I was starting to worry that you might not ever wake up.”

  “Thanks for the blanket.”

  “It was nothing. I had it with me anyway and I wasn't using it.” He pauses, before getting to his feet and coming up the side of the verge to meet me. He pauses again, as if he's a little worried, and then he holds his hand out toward me. “Maybe we should try the introductions again,” he continues. “My name's Thomas.”

  “Elizabeth,” I reply, before shaking his hand. “I -”

  Before I can finish, I realize that his hand is covered in some kind of sticky goo from the underside of the truck.

  “Oh, sorry,” he says sheepishly, pulling his hand back. “I forgot about that.”

  “It's okay.” I try to remember what I was about to tell him. “Oh, right. My name's Elizabeth Marter and I've had -”

  Stopping, I suddenly turn and look around. For a moment I worry that I might spot Bob, but he's nowhere to be seen. I know that doesn't necessarily mean that he's gone for good, that he's left my thoughts, but I guess it's an improvement. For now, at least. Still, the mere thought that he might reappear is enough to send a shiver down my spine, and I hate the idea that Bob could just pop up out of nowhere without any warning.

  “My name's Elizabeth Marter,” I whisper, trying to keep myself strong, “and I've had one hell of a day.”

  Those words make me feel better. It's stupid, but they've become a kind of mantra, so I immediately whisper them again.

  “Are you okay?” Thomas asks.

  I turn back to him.

  “You look like you've lost something,” he adds. “Then again, who hasn't lately?”

  “I had a...”

  “Elizabeth Marter,” he says cautiously. “That name rings a bell.” He pauses. “The radio.”

  “The what?”

  “The radio. Did we speak over a radio, a month or so ago?”

  “How could we have -”

  Stopping suddenly, I realize that he might be right. I did speak to someone a while ago, and I think I remember that his name was Thomas. He was somewhere out near -

  “Lake Erie,” he says. “And you were in...”

  “Pennsylvania,” I reply. “But that's crazy. It's too much of a coincidence.”

  He furrows his brow.

  “Then again,” I add, “I guess that's how coincidences work, isn't it? There are thousands of potential coincidences every day, so it stands to reason that eventually one or two of them hit the target.” Still shocked, I think back for a moment to that brief random conversation. “Natalie would definitely read way too much into this. She's already
starting to go a little nuts.”

  “Who's Natalie?”

  “A friend. Never mind.”

  I hesitate, and then suddenly I remember the note. Reaching into my pockets, I struggle for a moment before finally finding the note and pulling it out. In that moment, everything comes rushing back to me and I remember Dad giving me my orders last night, right before I left Boston and set out for...

  “Philadelphia,” I whisper.

  “Huh?” Thomas replies.

  “Philadelphia,” I stammer, suddenly panicking as I realize that I must have been unconscious for hours. “I have to get to Philadelphia. I was supposed to be there already, I can't stand around here chatting to you, I have to get there!”

  For a moment, I consider opening the note, but then I remember that the contents are supposed to be secret. I don't want to get Dad into trouble. I just have to do what I was told, and then everything'll be okay.

  I turn and start hurrying back toward the car, before suddenly stopping as I see that it's completely wrecked. I can be an optimist sometimes, but even I know that there's no way that particular car has any chance of going anywhere, which means I'm stranded here on the road with no transportation. I pause as I try to think of some kind of solution, and ten I turn to Thomas again.

  “Can you fix cars?” I ask.

  “I know a few things.”

  “But can you fix them?”

  “I know what I'm doing.”

  “Does your car work?”

  “It's a truck, and yeah, it does. I mean, almost.”

  “Can you fix my car.”

  “I don't think that thing's getting back on the road any time soon.”

  “But if all the parts are still attached,” I point out, trying not to panic, “can't you just fix them back together?”