Days 46 to 53 (Mass Extinction Event 11) Read online

  "Not..." I pause as a group of children come running to join the man, although they stop a little further back, as if they too are nervous of me. "I had no idea there were people here," I tell the man. "We were just up here looking for something else, and we spotted movement over here. We didn't know anyone was going to be here, but then we saw someone from a distance."

  "What were you looking for?" he asks.

  "A -" I pause as I realize that maybe I shouldn't tell him everything. "It doesn't matter," I add finally. "It was just some crazy idea."

  "Then I guess I should be the first to welcome you," the man says, stepping forward and holding out a hand for me to shake. "My name is Mark, and I'm one of the founding members of the community here. There aren't many of us, but we're working together to try to survive and so far we're doing okay. The land around here is good and we've managed to get hold of some animals from a couple of local farms, and now we're trying to get things set up for a good harvest next year. We don't have much, but we're happy to share our resources with anyone who's willing to dig in and help us. Even if you don't have any special skills, I'm sure there's something you can offer. Are you alone?"

  I shake my head.

  "How many of you are there?"

  "Three," I reply. "Well, more like two and a half, really. One of the others is kind of -"

  "Thomas!" Quinn shouts, suddenly sounding much closer. "What the hell are you doing? We don't have time to -"

  I turn just in time to see her scrambling up the hill, with her laptop balanced in her hands. As soon as she sees Mark, she stops in her tracks, and I have to admit that I'm quite amused by the look of utter shock in her eyes. For a moment, it looks as if she might turn and run. Seconds later, Kaylee arrives as well, and she looks equally shocked.

  "Welcome," Mark says, not missing a beat. "We're glad to have more people here to join our community."

  "There are people here," I continue, turning to Kaylee. "Look at them! Real people, and they're actually organizing themselves! They're making things work."

  "Huh," Quinn says. For the first time since I met her, she seems genuinely lost for words as she turns to me. All the old certainty and arrogance seems to be been drained from her face, replaced by an expression that almost looks like panic. "This wasn't part of the plan, Thomas," she says finally. "What the hell have you gone and done now?"

  Elizabeth

  "Henry!"

  Sitting up in the dark, I stare straight ahead, looking for my brother. Seconds later I hear movement nearby, and I turn to see a figure coming closer. I reach out to him, but something's wrong. He's taller than my brother, and as his face becomes visible in the light of the moon, I realize that it's Toad. For a few frantic seconds, I genuinely can't work out what's happening. It's as if two completely separate parts of my life are colliding.

  "Henry?" I continue, turning to look across the clearing.

  "It's okay," Toad says. "You've been dreaming."

  "Where's Henry?" I ask, turning back to him.

  "Your brother..." He pauses. "Your brother's dead, Elizabeth."

  "I know he is," I reply, still trying to make sense of the dream I was just having. It felt so real, so vivid, and Henry was there, talking to me and telling me that everything would be okay. The dream is already fading, but I can picture Henry so clearly, and I can feel him holding my hand. My heart's racing as I sit and wait for the sense of panic to subside, and as Toad puts an arm around my shoulders, I realize that I've started to shiver.

  "It's okay," he says, kissing the side of my head. "You were talking in your sleep a lot. I almost woke you." He puts a hand on my forehead. "Your fever's already going down. I've got to admit, you're already doing a lot better than I expected."

  "I thought he..." I start to say, before my voice trails off. Suddenly I feel so stupid, like a child who's woken screaming in the middle of the night and who now has to be comforted by Mom and Dad. I want to push Toad away, but at the same time his arms are so warm. Finally, I lean in to him a little more.

  "I'm here," he continues. "For what that's worth."

  Nearby, in the dark, Rachel lets out a brief cry.

  "She's here too," Toad adds. "I guess she doesn't want to be forgotten."

  "I don't want to dream," I tell him, staring into the darkness. "Not ever again. Not if he's going to be there."

  "You don't want to see your brother?"

  I shake my head.

  "I'd have thought it'd be good to see him from time to time," Toad continues. "A lot of people would like it if their loved ones came back to them every so often."

  "Would you want to see people in your dreams?" I ask, before turning to him. "Do you have anyone?"

  "Like who?"

  "Anyone you miss? Anyone from the old days?"

  He pauses, and I can tell that the answer isn't going to be simple.

  "No," he says eventually.

  "But you must have had -"

  "There's no-one," he adds, before gently settling me back down on the blanket. "You still need to rest. We'll assess the situation in the morning and see if it's okay to move you. For now, try to get some sleep. I can't help you with the dreams, but I hope you can learn to take some comfort from them."

  As he heads back over to comfort Rachel, I try to catch my breath, but I feel completely awake. Finally, I try to sit up, but it's not an easy job and I feel as if my body is suddenly strange and unfamiliar. Looking down at my legs, I try to make sense of what I'm seeing, and that's when I remember everything that happened earlier. There's just about enough moonlight for me to be able to see my left leg, but my right leg ends at the knee, where a large bandage has been wrapped around the stump.

  "Toad..." I whisper.

  "Get some sleep," he replies.

  "Toad!" I shout, reaching down and trying to pull the bandages away. Toad rushes over, but it's too late and I've already managed to expose the bloody stump with thick wire stitches holding the flaps of skin together. "What have you done to me?" I shout, with tears streaming down my face as he tries to comfort me. "What the hell have you done to my body?"

  Part Six

  Day 51

  Thomas

  "Fishing is easy," Mark says, as he attaches a brightly-colored lure to the end of the line. "You just have to know what your target likes, and offer it to them."

  I watch as he attaches a small piece of meat to the lure. There's something strangely reassuring about the way Mark works, and after the craziness of the past few days I feel as if I can finally relax. It's a little after sunrise and we're out on Lake Erie, just the two of us in a small boat. One of Mark's jobs each day is to come out here and catch fish for his group, and today he's after salmon. He's already spent a few minutes explaining how to pick the perfect spot, and how to move with the currents and anticipate where the fish will be. Now he's showing me the more intricate details of the job, and I can't help but feel that he's training me so I can contribute tomorrow.

  "In this case," he continues, still working on the lure, "it pays to be aware of the kind of thing that attracts salmon. A brightly-colored lure is a must, along with something to add a little scent. In this case, I'm using sardines. Salmon are attracted to this kind of thing, and if I've picked a good spot..."

  He lowers the rod and smiles as he turns to me.

  "We're on the edge of survival out here, Thomas," he explains. "We can't afford to make mistakes, or to just go blindly searching for food. We have to learn, fast, what works and what doesn't. If I don't manage to catch anything, I need to find something else for people to eat tonight, and that's gonna be a problem considering I'm supposed to be fetching wood after lunch. There's no margin for error here."

  Turning to the shore, I'm stunned to see that everyone seems to already be up and working. It's a strangely tranquil scene, with everybody apparently knowing exactly what they're supposed to be doing, and I can't help but feel impressed by the way things work around here. Chicago was chaos, but here on the shor
es of the lake, these survivors have adapted remarkably quickly to the new world.

  "And here we go," Mark says.

  Looking back at him, I watch as he casts the lure into the water.

  "Now what?" I ask.

  "Now we wait."

  "How long?"

  "As long as it takes," he replies, "but hopefully not more than a half hour or so. As I explained earlier, the community here is divided into ten groups, each of them with about twenty people. For each group, there are designated roles, and in this case I'm the fisherman. I need two salmon, ideally, to feed everyone in our group tonight. If I only get one, I need to find something else to bulk up the meal, and that's going to take resources from other areas. We've got a pretty efficient system running here, but only if everyone plays their part." He holds the rod toward me. "Here. Try it."

  Wanting to seem keen, I take the rod and stare down into the water, waiting and hoping for something to bite.

  "So what skills do you have?" Mark asks.

  "I don't know."

  "There must be something."

  As I watch the surface of the water gently rippling in the morning breeze, I try to think of a skill that might set me apart, but the truth is, there's nothing.

  "Don't worry," he continues. "You're young and strong, and I can tell that you're reliable. Those are useful qualities. We'll set you to work. For one thing, I'm getting a little tired of coming out here at the crack of dawn every day. If you learn fast, you could take over the fishing job from me, at least for every other day. Then we'll put you to work chopping wood or maybe fetching water. There are a million things to be done. What's important is that you're able to put aside your ego and work for the common good of the group."

  I nod.

  "It's harder than it sounds," he adds.

  "I want to help," I tell him. "If you just tell me what to do, I'll do it."

  "But for how long?"

  I turn to him.

  "How long are you gonna stick around?" he asks. "There's no point in me teaching you things if you're just gonna drive off in a week or two."

  "I've got nowhere to go," I point out.

  "Doesn't stop people from getting itchy feet," he replies. "Your friend, for example. Quinn. I'm worried about her. She seems like the kind of person who won't fit in around here. She's noisy and disruptive, and I could already tell yesterday that she might slow things down rather than contribute."

  "She's just..." My voice trails off as I realize that I can't really defend her. For the past couple of days, I've become increasingly annoyed by Quinn's behavior, and I genuinely can't see her contributing to the community. I know she's been through a lot, but there's a part of me that already appreciates the set-up here at the lake and I don't like the idea of Quinn causing problems.

  "We'll give her a chance," Mark says after a moment, "but if she doesn't pull her own weight, we won't carry her. We'll have to ask her to leave. If it came to that, how would you react? Would you go with her?"

  "She's not really my friend," I reply. "I don't even know her. We only met a few days ago."

  "Acquaintances can be fleeting.”

  "If she doesn't work out," I continue, "then I guess you have to do what you have to do. I understand."

  "She can always drive off and look for somewhere else."

  "It's my truck," I tell him. "She's not taking it anywhere."

  "Then she has no choice," he replies. "She has to fit in. Either that, or she'll wander off and..."

  I watch the line for a moment, trying not to imagine Quinn wandering through the landscape and eventually collapsing. I guess she'd probably go off looking for the source of that goddamn signal, but there's no way I'd go with her, not now. After everything that's happened over the past few weeks, I just want to -

  "You've got something!" Mark says suddenly, as the line goes tight.

  Panicking slightly, I start to pull the rod up, but Mark immediately grabs it and holds it in place.

  "You don't want to move too soon," he says, staring intently at the water for a moment as the line continues to tremble. "Let him really get caught on the lure first, so there's no way he can slip off, and then..."

  He pauses for a moment, before hitching the rod back. Seconds later, he raises the lure and pulls a large salmon out of the water, before depositing it at the other end of the boat. With lightning reflexes, he grabs a knife from nearby and slides the blade into the fish's head, severing it cleanly as dark red blood pours out onto the floor of the boat. The fish twitches a few times, but finally it falls still.

  "And we're done," he says eventually, turning to me. "That's one hell of a salmon we've got, Thomas. In record time, too. We just need one more and then we can head back to shore. Why don't you try to set the lure this time. See if you can remember what I told you, huh?"

  As I get to work, I'm very aware that Mark is watching my every move. I want to impress him, to show him that I was paying attention and that I can be trusted, but it's a little difficult trying to remember everything he told me. Still, after working slowly for a few minutes, I finally manage to get the lure in place, and although it's not quite as neat as Mark's effort from earlier, I'm pretty pleased with what I've done.

  "Not bad," he says as he examines the lure. "That should do nicely. Now cast off."

  Once the lure is in the water, I sit with the rod in my hands and finally I feel as if I'm doing something useful. For weeks now, I've been traveling without a real destination, and I even ended up eating worms at one point. Finally, for the first time since this craziness started - hell, maybe even for the first time in my life - I feel as if I've got a purpose, and I feel useful. Filled with a sense of pride, I wait for the line to twitch again. I want to catch the fish this time, and to land it as well. I need to show Mark that he can trust me.

  "You're doing a really good job there," he says eventually. "I'm really impressed, Thomas."

  I keep my eyes on the water, but I can't help smiling slightly.

  "See?" he says, keeping an eye on me. "It's easy to get something on the end of your hook. You just have to offer it what it wants."

  Elizabeth

  "It's not too bad," Toad says as he examines the stitches. "You shouldn't have pulled the bandages off like that, but at least you didn't damage the stitches."

  All I can do is stare at the bloody stump just below my right knee. I'm trying not to let Toad see that I'm panicking, but the truth is I'm still not sure I can believe what happened yesterday. The worst part is, I can still feel my right leg, all the way down to the foot. It's like there's a ghost attached to me, and I have to keep staring at the stump in order to make myself realize that the lower half of my leg is really gone. To test myself, I try moving the toes of my right foot, and I swear I can feel them wriggling, but they're not there. It's like I've got a phantom foot.

  "How's the pain?" he asks.

  "Bearable," I reply, which isn't quite true. The pain is intense, although it's more like several different pains: there's the torn flesh, and then there's the meat, and then there's the bone, and each of them is hurting in its own way. Although Toad has given me some basic over-the-counter tablets to take the edge off, I'm not sure I can handle this for much longer. Still, I almost feel as if I'm too dazed to really process the pain signals that are being sent to my brain. It's as if I'm observing myself and noticing the pain without really letting it get through to me. My biggest worry is that suddenly everything will change and the agony will take over.

  Also, I keep reliving the moment when he started sawing through my bone. I can hear the sound of the saw cutting through me, and even though I know it's not helping, I keep thinking back to it. It's like I'm in shock.

  "There's still a long way to go," he says after a moment, as he starts to wrap a fresh bandage around the stump, "but you're already doing a lot better than I expected. At this rate, the worst thing you're gonna have to deal with is a butt-ugly scar in a few months' time." He smiles, but I don't smile
back at him. "You know I had to do it, right?" he continues as his smile fades. "You'd be dead by now, Elizabeth. I didn't want to hurt you, but I had no choice."

  Instead of replying, I continue to just stare at the stump as he finishes wrapping the bandage around it. Already, a small amount of blood is starting to soak through the fabric. This whole situation feels hopeless.

  "I'll change it again in a few hours," he explains. "I don't have too much spare material left, though, so we're gonna have to be careful."

  "Can I see it?" I ask suddenly, surprising myself. My voice sounds harsh and damaged, and I had no idea I was going to say anything until the words left my mouth.

  "I don't have a mirror," he replies.

  "Not that." I pause for a moment, trying to work out if this is really what I want. "My leg. I want to see it. What did you do with it?"

  He stares at me, and it's clear that he never expected me to make this request.

  "I want to see it," I say again, despite the fact that I know I'm being totally macabre. "It's still mine, even if you took it away from me. What did you do with it?"

  "I buried it," he replies.

  "Why?"

  "I was worried about it attracting animals. While you were resting, I buried it nearby. It was the best -"

  "Then dig it up," I say firmly, trying not to cry.

  "Elizabeth -"

  "It's my leg," I continue, interrupting him. "I'm not saying I want to carry it around with me or wear it as a goddamn necklace, but I want to see it one more time. I have that right."

  "I don't think it would help -"

  "Screw you. Get it."

  He pauses, and I can see that he's reluctant.

  "You cut my leg off," I continue, "and you did it while I was screaming for you to stop. It's not like I can make you put it back on, but it's my leg, my flesh and bone, and I want to see it one more time." I wince as I feel an itch on my right foot. Reaching down to scratch it, I watch as my hand passes through the air where the foot should be. I can still feel the itch, but there's nothing to scratch. "I need to see it," I continue. "I can still feel it, so I know it's gone."