Days 5 to 8 (Mass Extinction Event Book 2) Page 11

  "I'm sure he didn't suffer," Clyde says.

  "Of course he fucking suffered," Joe spits back at him. "The guy died in his truck, probably coughing his guts up. Probably a pretty painful way to go, if you ask me". With that, he turns and starts walking away. "Let's get moving, people!" he calls back to us. "We still need to find ourselves a vehicle so we can get out of this shit-hole!"

  "Your brother's an interesting guy," Clyde says, turning to me.

  "That's one way of putting it," I reply.

  "I'm sorry about you father".

  I shrug.

  "If you want to talk about it -"

  "Why would I wanna talk about it?" I ask. "Joe's right. We've gotta get on with finding a truck or something, so we can get moving. This isn't a good place to be". In order to avoid having this conversation drag on any longer, I turn and start walking toward the main street, and after a moment I hear Clyde's footsteps following me. By the time we get to the main street, I can't hear the fire from the parking lot; glancing back, though, I can still see the smoke as it rises into the sky. For a moment, I feel like I want to mark the moment in some way, but then I realize that there's no point. He's dead, and that's all there is to it. Anything else would be a waste of time.

  ELIZABETH

  Manhattan

  "You've got one hour to change your mind," Mallory says as she walks past me, carrying one of the backpacks.

  It's almost midday, and for the past few hours I've been watching as the others prepare for their journey. They seem to have it all figured out: their provisions are packed away neatly, and they've even managed to get a map from a nearby bookstore. They're organized and efficient, and I feel like a total spare wheel, wandering around behind Mallory, offering to help but generally being rebuffed. I should have left at sunrise, but the thought of being left alone again is too much to handle.

  "Having second thoughts?" Kendricks asks as he studies the map.

  "No," I reply quickly.

  "Then you're even more insane than I thought".

  I turn to him.

  "You know what I mean," he continues with a smile. "Think about it, Elizabeth. In less than half an hour, we're all gonna start walking out of here, and we're not gonna stop until we get to this spot just north of Chicago". He points to a location on the map. "It's crazy, and it's dangerous, but it's less crazy and less dangerous than just sitting around".

  "I know," I say firmly, feeling as if I'm about to get the same lecture I was given by Mallory last night.

  "I have a wife," Kendricks says. "We've been married three years. Her name's Debra and she's a teacher over on the west side. She's pregnant, actually. Three months gone. We were gonna let our friends and family know this week, but..." He pauses for a moment. "Last week, she flew to Miami to see her parents and tell them. I was gonna go, but at the last minute work kept me behind. I love her, and I miss her, but I know she's not coming back".

  "You don't know that," I say.

  He nods. "I do. I really do. The odds of her surviving are almost a million to one, and then the odds of her making it here are even lower, and the odds of me finding her in Miami are tiny. I just keep telling myself that she wouldn't want me to sit around in New York and wait for her while the rats get bigger and the whole fucking place becomes a disease-ridden cess-pit".

  "Then why don't you go to Miami and look for her?" I ask.

  "Because it'd take years, and because Miami's not gonna be much better than New York in the long-run". He pauses. "To be honest, Elizabeth, I've surprised myself. I've managed to be kinda logical and hard-hearted about the whole thing. I keep thinking I should be irrational, but it's just not in my nature. I'm accepting the situation as it is, and I'm moving on. Does that make me a bad husband? In normal circumstances, yes. But these aren't normal circumstances. We have to do what we can, and I don't believe that any of us has a duty to die just because we feel this need to demonstrate our loyalty to someone else. Do I sound like an asshole?"

  I stare at him. "A little," I say eventually. "And logical".

  He smiles sadly. "You know the worst thing? I know you're right. But the world has changed, and we have to change with it. Family ties from the old world are irrelevant now. I could head on down to Miami on some crazy junket to find my wife, but do you know what'd happen? I'd die. It's as simple as that. All I can do is try to survive, and try to rebuild, and hope that she's doing the same thing. If you're smart, you'll do the same thing with your brother. He's old enough to make his own decisions. If he wants to stick around in New York with some power-mad nut-job, let him. I just hate to think of you in a couple of weeks, dying on the street while your brother's dying in that building".

  "I can't leave," I say.

  "He's just your brother," Mallory continues, wandering back over to join us. "Not even a good one, either. He seems like an asshole. I know I shouldn't say that, but it's true. There's a darkness in his eyes, Elizabeth. Maybe you don't see it 'cause you're too close to him, but the way he looked at me while Bob was... You know what I mean. Most people wouldn't be so easily led. There's something wrong with Henry. He's not right in the head, and I don't think you can continue to treat him like he's a normal person. It's not worth dying for him".

  "Come on," says one of the others. "We're already late setting off".

  "Goodbye, Elizabeth," Kendricks says, coming over and shaking my hand as the others start walking away. "We're going to hopefully be somewhere on the south-eastern shore of Lake Ontario. If something happens and you end up leaving New York, please consider coming out to find us. With any luck, we'll be able to get ourselves set up pretty fast. The journey should take about a month, but we're gonna be able to go to Rochester for supplies. That's the plan, anyway. I know it's as hell of a long-shot, but you'll be welcome". With that, he smiles and walks away, following the others across the park.

  "I'll be there in a minute!" Mallory calls after him, before taking my hands in hers. "Elizabeth," she says, adopting a serious tone, "I know we've only known each other for a couple of days, but I guess in this type of situation, you kind of form bonds pretty fast. I really just hate to see you throwing your life away like this. You've got an opportunity to get the hell out of here, and you're pissing it away just 'cause you think you can save your brother. You can't. He's made his choice, and you're letting him drag you down too. Do you really think your parents would want you to do this? They'd want at least one of their kids to make the right choice, wouldn't they?"

  I nod, but I can't say anything. A tear rolls down my cheek, and my bottom lip is trembling.

  "You can't be a hero," she continues. "You can't sacrifice yourself like some kind of martyr, just because you think you've got a duty to save your brother. He's old enough to make his own decisions, and so are you. You've gotta let him go sometime, so why not now?"

  "I need to help him," I say, my voice trembling as I try to stop crying.

  "You can't," she replies. "So why not be the one who does the smart thing? Let Henry do what he wants. Let him sit around with that Bob guy. You need to do what's best for your own life, Elizabeth. You can't just follow him around. His head's not right. If he really, truly thinks he's better off staying here with that fucking asshole Bob, then there's nothing you can do to change his mind. Just wish him luck and head on out of town".

  I nod again, feeling as if I can't actually get any words out.

  "Come here," she says, stepping closer and giving me a strong hug. "I wish I could change your mind," she says quietly, her mouth just a couple of inches from my ear. "I wish I could drug you or something, or go and get your brother and drag him along with us. I wish I could go to that building, find Bob and smash his fucking face in. Seriously, nothing would give me greater please than to take a baseball bat to that fucker's face. Are you sure there's nothing I can do or say to make you realize that you should -"

  "I guess this is goodbye, then," she says eventually, stepping back a couple of paces. "Remember where we are, okay
? The south-eastern shore of Lake Ontario. Somewhere around there, anyway. It might take a bit of time for us to find a good plot of land, but we'll manage it eventually, and then... Well, you know what I mean, right? We're gonna find a way to grow our own food, and we're gonna start all over again. It'll be like when people first came to America all those years ago. If there's any chance you can make it out there to join us, any chance at all -"

  "I'll get Henry," I say, taking a deep breath in an attempt to hold back the tears, "and then maybe we'll come after you some day".

  "Okay," she replies, with tears in her eyes. I can tell she doesn't believe for a second that she'll ever see me again. This feels like a permanent goodbye, even if neither of us can quite admit the truth.

  "Just go!" I say firmly, forcing myself to smile. "Go! You're gonna get left behind if you wait much longer!"

  She turns and walks away, hurrying across the park until she's caught up with the others.

  I stand and watch as they leave. After a few minutes, they're just little dots in the distance, and finally they disappear one by one through a gate and out the park. Once they're out of sight, I turn and look around at the emptiness. Sure, there are probably a few people still alive, scattered in the city, but I know I've just turned down my last and best hope to get out of here. There's a part of me that wants to run after Mallory, Kendricks and the rest, and take up their offer, but I know I can't leave Henry behind. He's my brother, and I'm going to stay here until I can make him see reason. He's not an idiot; I'm convinced I can show him the truth, if I can just get him to see past Bob. Whatever else happens, I have to stick close to my family, because Henry's all I've got.

  Turning, I make my way back across the park. I feel as if I have to go back and talk to Henry. I've just put my life on the line for him; if he doesn't come through for me in return, I'm dead.

  THOMAS

  Oklahoma

  "Fuck!" Joe shouts, as the spanner slips and slices a small cut on the side of his thumb. "Fuck!" He steps back before aiming a hard kick at the side of the truck. "Fucking thing!"

  It's been a couple of hours now since we burned our father's truck. We spent a while looking for another vehicle, but no-one in Scottsville seems to have owned anything much bigger than a pick-up, so Joe's decided he's gonna have another try at fixing whatever's wrong with our original truck. To that end, he's spent the past half-hour tinkering with things under the hood and getting increasingly annoyed. For a guy who's always claimed to be good with engines, he seems to be coming up blank right now.

  "You okay?" I ask, sitting in the doorway of Clyde's house.

  "Yeah," Joe mutters. "I'm fine. I had too much blood anyway". He sucks at the cut on his finger. "Fuck this," he says eventually, hurrying around to the back of the truck and grabbing a jack. He comes over to my side, sticks the jack under one of the front wheels, and starts pumping it up.

  "Now what are you doing?" I ask. It's hard to escape the conclusion that Joe's running out of ideas, and he seems to be randomly and angrily attacking the truck from all angles, as if he's hoping to fix the problem my accident.

  "Fixing the fucking truck," he spits back at me. "What does it look like I'm doing?" He keeps pumping the jack, until finally he's got the front part of the truck a few inches off the ground. "That oughta do it," he says. "Tommy boy, you're gonna have to pass me stuff as I ask for it, okay? I'm gonna get this fucker sorted, if it's the last thing I fucking do". With that, he gets down onto the ground and wriggles under the truck, until all I can see of him is his legs poking out the side. "Spanner!" he barks.

  Getting up and wandering over to where the tools are laid out, I grab the spanner and take it over to him. He snatches it from my hand and carries on working, leaving me to just stand there and wait for my next order. I swear, sometimes Joe treats me like I'm just a slave. It wouldn't be so bad if he could actually fix the damn truck, but I can't help feeling that he's just gonna spend all day tinkering and then he'll give up and get pissed off. We're still gonna end up stealing a new vehicle, so this whole 'fixing' charade seems like a total waste of time. If our father was here, he'd know how to sort it all out...

  "Wrench," Joe calls out.

  "What?"

  "Wrench!" He sighs. "You paying attention up there, or is it time for your daily jerk-off?"

  "Fine," I reply, turning and walking away.

  "Hey, where are you going?" he shouts.

  "To look for something," I say, making my way quickly along the street.

  "What?" he shouts.

  "Fuck you," I mutter under my breath.

  "Get your fucking ass back here!" he yells. "Thomas! Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

  Ignoring him, I turn and head into the next street. There's something about Joe that's driving me crazy right now. I can't stand the way he thinks he can spend days and days drinking and being nothing more than a drunk dick, and then suddenly he thinks he's in charge of everything. I swear to God, if he could actually fix the truck, I'd be willing to put up with his crap, but I know damn well that he's not gonna get the thing working, even if he spends the rest of his life fiddling around under there. Still, he acts like he's our fucking savior and like everyone's supposed to be grateful for his amazing skills.

  Reaching another intersection, I turn and look along the deserted streets. I swear to God, Scottsville is the most depressing town in the world. Even when there were people here, it was bad enough. Now that it's a creepy, empty wasteland, it's worse than ever. Part of me wants to smash own a load of doors and see if there's a load of corpses piled up in the buildings, but I figure the best thing to do is just to hope we get out of here as soon as possible. I can't stop thinking about that cop I saw back at our farm; Joe doesn't take it seriously, but I keep thinking the cop was a sign that there's something seriously fucked up going on here. What if there are other 'things' like the cop? What if -

  Suddenly I hear the loudest, most agonized scream I've ever heard in my life. I stop dead in my tracks as the scream continues, and after a moment I realize it's coming from near Clyde's house. I turn and race back around the corner, and I immediately see what's happened: the jack seems to have slipped out from under the truck, and the vehicle has come thumping down straight onto Joe. He's yelling for help, and as I race over to him, I can already see a pool of blood seeping out across the ground. Whatever's happened, it's bad.

  "Joe!" I shout as I scramble down onto my hands and knees next to him. The wheel of the truck has crunched into the side of his chest, and I can see a sharp piece of bone sticking out from his ribcage. For a moment, I'm completely frozen with fear and I can't work out what to do. Seconds later, I hear movement over by the door.

  "What the hell happened?" Clyde shouts as he runs over to us.

  "I think the jack slipped," I say, as Joe continues to scream.

  "We need to get it back up," Clyde says, grabbing the jack and shoving one end back under the wheel. "This is gonna hurt, but it's the only way". He starts pumping it up, and Joe lets out a gurgled cry of pain as the wheel slowly moves up to reveal that the right side of his chest has been crushed. There's blood pouring out from the wound, and several pieces of fractured and broken bone are jutting out from beneath the flesh. The whole side of his upper torso looks like a mess, and there's damage to his shoulder and the top of his arm.

  "What the fuck?" I say, feeling a cold chill rush through my body. It's as if my skin just tightened, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. "What do we do?" I shout, turning to Clyde. "What the hell do we do?"

  "We, uh..." he says, his eyes wide open with shock. "We... We get him inside," he splutters, clearly making it up as he goes along.

  At that moment, Joe lets out another scream, and this time blood erupts from his mouth.

  "I've got a first aid kit," Clyde says.

  "We need more than that," I say. "How are we gonna move him?"

  Clyde shakes his head.

  "If we pick him up, we might make
it worse," I continue, starting to really panic. "Look at his arm! It might fall off!"

  "We can't just leave him here!" Clyde shouts back at me. "His arm won't fall of. We need to stabilize him and clean this shit up!" He pauses for a moment. "I'll take the legs, you take his shoulders. It's the only way". He stares at me. "Thomas, if we leave him here like this, he's gonna die!"

  Shuffling around, I reach under the truck and do my best to support Joe's shoulders as Clyde grabs hold of his feet.

  "It's gonna be okay," I say, looking down at my brother's face and seeing his features contorted by pain. "It's gonna be okay," I say again, even though I'm not sure that there's anything we can do to help him.

  "Okay," Clyde says. "You ready? Three. Two. One". He starts pulling, and Joe screams as we ease him out from under the truck. I've never heard a human being scream so loud, not even in movies.

  Grabbing Joe's shoulders, I lift him up and we carry him up the steps and into Clyde's house. Blood drips down from the wound as we hurry over to the kitchen table, which Clyde brushes clear before we carefully set Joe down. More blood is flowing from his wound, and Clyde quickly grabs a towel and holds it against the wound. It seems so futile and pointless, and I can't shake the thought that there's no way we can do anything to fix this.

  "Now what?" I shout.

  Clyde shakes his head. "We have to stop the bleeding," he says, "but I don't know how. We have to make him clot somehow. He's already lost too much blood".

  "How do we stop it?" I shout.

  "Hold this," he says. "Hold the towel firmly against the wound. Really hard, okay? Don't worry about hurting him. Hurting him's good. At least if he's hurting, he's alive. I think we just have to keep the hole plugged until the bleeding stops".

  As I take the towel and apply pressure to the injury, Joe lets out another scream of pain. There's blood dribbling down from the corner of his lips, and he seems to be struggling a little less, as if he's losing consciousness. I can feel ragged, splintered bone on the other side of the towel.