Mass Extinction Event (Book 8): Days 109 to 116 Read online

  When she still doesn't say anything, I turn to her.

  In the darkness, I can just about make out her figure slumped on the floor. She has her back turned to me, and after a few seconds I realize that she doesn't seem to be moving at all.

  “Hey,” I say finally. “Do you think Patterson just wants you to note down a few more calculations for you? 'Cause I'm pretty sure he's chomping at the bit to have you killed. He must have a pretty good reason for leaving you in here.”

  Usually she's be all over that suggestion, coming up with some dumb-ass retort, but this time she doesn't even move. I wait for a moment longer, and then I crawl over to the bars and reach through. As soon as I touch her shoulder for behind and give her a slight nudge, I realize that she's completely unresponsive.

  “Hey,” I continue, “can you hear me there? Carter? Are you okay?”

  I wait.

  Nothing.

  “Carter!” I shout, shaking her again. “Wake up! Carter, you have to wake up!”

  Elizabeth

  “I'm so glad you were willing to come and speak to me,” Charles Bloom says as soon as I reach the doorway. “Please sit down, Elizabeth. I haven't been entirely straight with you so far, but that was because I couldn't be sure we were alone. There are things that... Well, let's just say that I can't risk being overheard.”

  “What do you want?” I ask. “Why did you tell Ringcroft that you wanted to see me?”

  He stares at me for a moment, before reaching into his pocket and taking something out. Something small, something that I can't quite see.

  “I remember the first time I met you,” he says after a moment. “Alison and I came to meet you as you arrived by helicopter. My first impression of you was that you were... lost. Confused. Scared, even. I don't blame you. A lot had gone on by that point, and a lot has gone on since. You did remind me of your father, though, right from the beginning. Something about the look in your eyes.”

  He pauses, as if he expects me to thank him for that comment.

  “You didn't want to use the wheelchair I provided for you,” he continues. “I respected that. You also agreed in the end, because you saw there was no point arguing. I respected that even more. I remember Alison told you that the nightmare was over, that things were going to get back to normal. Once we were out of the room, I told her that she shouldn't have said that. It was wrong to give you false hope.”

  “I'm pretty sure I didn't believe her,” I reply.

  “Good girl.” He smiles, before looking down at the item in his hands, which looks like a piece of dark, maybe greenish fabric. “I don't know about you, Elizabeth, but I feel I've changed so much since that time. It was only, what, fifty days or so since we first met? I can barely remember who I am anymore, and you certainly look more... confident.”

  I bristle at his use of that word. Confident is the last thing I feel right now.

  “I have been struggling to work out whether I should show this to you,” he continues, before holding the piece of fabric out toward me. “Eventually I came to the realization that, no matter what is happening, we all deserve to be told the truth. We all deserve the chance to make our choices, when faced with reality. We might make the wrong choices, we might need help, but it would be wrong of anyone to deny you your right to decide for yourself.” He pauses again, with the piece of fabric still held out toward me. “You need to see this, Elizabeth,” he adds finally. “If nothing else, it might help you to understand who and what we're up against.”

  I hesitate, before limping forward and taking the fabric. At first I see nothing but a bare, dark green strip that seems to have been torn from something larger, but then I turn it over and see some letters printed on the other side:

  OHN MA

  I feel a flicker of fear run through my chest as I realize that this is a section of my father's name, which means it must have been ripped from his uniform. And I remember him wearing a uniform, just like this one, on the night when I last saw him.

  “I told you that I don't know what happened to your father,” Bloom continues. “That was a lie, but it was a lie I had to tell because I didn't know who might have been listening. The truth, Elizabeth, is that your father died right at the end of the battle. I kept his death to myself, because I was the only one with him at the time. He'd been injured by a gunshot wound to the chest and -”

  “No!” I say firmly, with tears in my eyes as I stare at the fabric. “You're lying!”

  “I'm not, Elizabeth.”

  “You were lying earlier, and now you're lying again!” I snap, dropping the fabric and glaring at him. “It's all you do! You lie to everyone!”

  “I wish that were the case,” he replies, and now he too seems to have tears in his eyes. “I had to make a fuss about searching for your father, because otherwise Patterson would become suspicious. The truth is that I found him, and he was dying. With his final breath, he told me that if I ever see you again, I must tell you that he loved you and that he was proud of you. I waited with him until he was dead, and then I buried him myself, in order to make sure that his body wouldn't be desecrated by the rampaging mobs.”

  I shake my head, refusing to believe that this is true.

  “The grave is not easy to reach at the moment,” he explains, “but perhaps there will come a time when I can take you there.”

  “You're lying!” I snarl.

  “I took that scrap of fabric in order to show it to you some day,” he says, “even though I had no idea that I'd ever see you again. And the truth is, people still talk about your father. They act as if he might come back to liberate the city. He's the only member of the Council, of the main leaders, who wasn't publicly executed by Patterson's grunts. That's why he inspires hope still, Elizabeth. I pray that you understand why I haven't allowed that spirit of hope to die. Not yet. Not until it's replaced by some other hope.”

  “My father...”

  My voice trails off as I try to think of a reason why he isn't dead. I feel it in my heart, I know that he's alive, but then I look down at the piece of fabric. I pick it up and take another look, and I start to realize that maybe I'm wrong.

  “He's alive,” I whisper. “I swear he's alive. I can feel him out there somewhere.”

  “That's simply not the case, Elizabeth,” Bloom replies, before coming over and placing a hand on my shoulder. “But you can still help to carry his spirit onward, if you help me to overthrow Patterson. Then we can establish a new Boston, in your father's honor, and we can make sure that humanity marches onward to peace and prosperity.” He squeezes my shoulder slightly. “Don't you think, Elizabeth, that that's what your father would have wanted?”

  I pause for a moment, still staring at the scrap of fabric, and then I slowly start shaking my head.

  “I think he knew you'd come back,” he continues. “I think he sensed it somehow, and he knew that you'd have a role to play. He knew that you're strong, Elizabeth, and he knew that you'd find yourself at the heart of this fight for what's right. That should make you feel so much better. Your father was a wise man. He wouldn't have had faith in you unless you'd earned it the right way.”

  “I want to see his grave,” I stammer.

  “When this is over, I'll take you there.”

  “I want to see it now!” I shout, pulling away from him.

  “That's impossible. Patterson's men are all over that area. Try to control your anger, Elizabeth. Channel it, and use it. That's the only way. It's what I'm doing, and it's what all those other brave men and women are doing as they stand with the red badges on their chests and prepare for the fight that's coming.” He moves the front of his cape aside, showing that he too is wearing one of the badges. “People need symbols, Elizabeth. Maybe they shouldn't, but they do. And if we're going to fight the tyranny of General Bill Patterson, we need all the symbols – and all the people – we can get. We all have a job to do in this fight.”

  I stare at the badge for a moment, feeling as if I want to scre
am. At the same time, I can't help but notice that Bloom's words sound eerily similar to something my father said when I last saw him.

  “Everyone has a job right now” his voice whispers, echoing in my memory, “and most of them are having to do their jobs alone. That's just the way things are. And you have to get going right now, because there isn't much time. I know it's scary. In some ways, it's scarier than picking up a gun, but I'm begging you to do this for me. For all of us. For the future.”

  “Can we call count on you, Elizabeth?” Bloom asks, and he places another hand on my shoulder. “For your father? In his memory?”

  “We have to do this,” I whisper, as I feel a tightening sense of dread in my chest. “For the future.”

  Thomas

  “Hey, Carter, come on! I need you!”

  Straining desperately through the bars, I manage once again to grab her shoulder. With two fingers, I'm just about able to take hold of the fabric of her shirt, and this time I'm really careful as I try to slowly roll her toward me. This is the fourth time I've done this, and so far my fingers have slipped each time. Now, however, I managed to hold on a little tighter, and finally she rolls flat onto her back.

  I open my mouth to ask again is she's alright, but in that moment I see her dead eyes staring up into the darkness.

  “Carter?” I whisper, still not quite able to believe what I'm seeing. “Carter, please say something. I can't believe I'm about to admit this, but I need you to wake up. If this is some kind of sick joke, it's really not the time!”

  I wait, but deep down I already know the truth. Her mouth is slightly open, as if she was gasping for air as she died. I didn't hear anything like that, but I guess I was too busy muttering and cursing to myself as I continued to work on the door. While I was doing all of that, Carter must have been going through her final moments on the floor, and now it's clear that the zombie infection must have taken its toll.

  She's dead.

  I pull away, still staring at her corpse. I know it's crazy, but I think I was still secretly convinced that Carter was going to come up with some sudden, brilliant plan to get us out of here. Instead, she's dead and I have no idea whether I'm ever going to get out of this cell. What if Patterson forgets about me? What if he just leaves me here to starve? Sure, he claimed that he was waiting for me to turn to his side, but that might have just been a load of hot air. There must be some crazy stuff going on in Boston right now, so I doubt I'm much of a priority. What if the plan, all along, was just to leave Carter and me in here and let us waste away to nothing?

  “I'm sorry,” I whisper, still staring at Carter's dead face. “I should have found a way to help you. I'm so sorry.”

  And then, filled with panic, I stumble to my feet and run toward the bars of the door, and I start shaking the metal furiously.

  “Let me out of here!” I yell, hoping that someone – anyone – will hear me and remember that I'm in here. “You can't leave me trapped in here like this! Let me out!”

  Elizabeth

  “These are your guns,” Natalie says as she continues to hand out weapons to the assembled, red-badged figures. “You're only supposed to use them in defense. Remember, this is a peaceful operation, and our aim is to inspire others to join us. You don't have much ammunition, either, so use it sparingly.”

  She reaches me and hesitates for a moment before placing the rifle into my hands.

  I reach out and take the weapon, but Natalie holds onto it for a few seconds.

  “Are you actually gonna be able to shoot straight this time?” she asks. “Because from the way I remember it, you were never much of a -”

  “I can do it,” I say firmly, pulling the rifle away from her. “We all have a job to do, right?”

  She eyes me with a hint of suspicion for a moment, before slowly nodding and taking a step back.

  “You all heard what Lizzie just said,” she calls out to the others. “We're never going to take Boston back by going out and shooting people, but we can do it by winning over the hearts and minds of the people we meet. You all have a rifle, but more importantly you all have those red badges, and you have spare badges to hand out. Get people to join us, and meet at the central square when the sun comes up. We want this army to have grown overnight. We need the element of surprise. Now let's move out!”

  Everyone starts filing out of the building, but I linger for a moment as Ringcroft comes over to join me.

  “I hope this isn't as suicidal as it seems,” he mutters under his breath. “Because it seems very suicidal right now. I'm worried that maybe -”

  “There's no time to be worried,” I reply, stepping past him and following the others out the door. “We've got to see this through to the end. For the future, and for all the people who died to help us get to this point.”

  ***

  “It's so quiet,” Julianna says as the pair of us watch the dark street ahead. “There aren't many people who'll dare to break curfew.”

  “There are always a few,” I point out, staring intently at the darkness and watching for any sign of movement. After a moment, I turn and look the other way, but there's still no sign of anyone. “The soldiers can't be everywhere. At night, they rarely bother coming this far from the central cluster of buildings.”

  I wait for a moment, before stepping out from cover and starting to make my way along the deserted street.

  “Hey!” Julianna hisses. “Are you sure that's the right way to go?”

  Ignoring her, I keep walking, and sure enough I soon hear her coming after me. Since Natalie introduced me to her and paired us up, I've come to realize that Julianna is even more timid than I've ever been in my life. It's coming to something when I notice that someone holds a gun wrong, and so far she seems to be willing to follow me pretty much anywhere I go, albeit with the caveat that she keep asking me whether I'm sure we're making the right choice. I mean, if she's really that worried, she could always go off on her own.

  “I heard something!” she gasps suddenly.

  I stop and listen, but there's nothing.

  “There's someone up ahead,” she continues. “What if it's a soldier?”

  “A soldier would have a flashlight,” I point out. “There's no-one there.”

  “But I heard something!”

  “It was probably just in your head.”

  “I'm not crazy!”

  “I didn't say you were, I just -”

  “There! I heard it again!”

  This time, I think she might actually be right.

  Staring ahead, I see nothing but darkness, but I think that maybe – just maybe – I heard a faint shuffling sound. A soldier would have a flashlight, which means that this late-night curfew-breaker is probably just someone who's out scavenging for a little extra food; which, in turns, means that he or she is probably scared, and very keen to avoid making contact. Of course, if Julianna hadn't been talking so much, we probably wouldn't have been heard.

  “Just stay calm,” I whisper to her, before taking a few steps forward. “Hey!” I call out. “We're friends! We're not going to hurt you! We just want to talk to you!”

  I wait, but I don't hear anything. In my mind's eye, however, I'm already imagining some scared kid cowering in a makeshift hiding place.

  “We want to help!” I continue. “Can you at least say something, so that I know I'm not talking to myself?”

  I wait.

  Silence.

  “Maybe there isn't anyone after all,” Julianna whispers behind me. “I suppose we could have been wrong.”

  “I don't think we were,” I whisper, although as I watch the darkness I know that there's no way to know for certain. Not unless I can get this person to say something.

  “If they don't want to talk,” Julianna whispers, “then we can't force them. If I was in their position, I don't think I'd want to talk to us. No offense, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” I reply, before taking a couple more steps forward, heading in the general direction
of where the sound seemed to be coming from a minute or two ago. “I get it!” I call out, hoping against hope that someone can hear me. “You're scared. You're not the only one. People are scared all across the city. That's why we're here. There's no need to be scared, not anymore. Not when everyone stands together.”

  Again I wait, and this time I realize I can hear a faint sniffling sound coming from the darkness, almost as if someone's sobbing.

  “We can help you,” I add, stepping forward again. “We're not -”

  “They're all dead!” a male voice blurts out suddenly. “All of them! They're gone!”

  “I want to -”

  “Can you bring them back?” he snaps.

  “No,” I reply, feeling completely useless, “but we can...”

  My voice fades to nothing.

  We can what?”

  “They were killed in the fighting,” the man continues. “We were all just trying to stay safe, but stray bullets hit them. And do you know what? I have no idea which side was responsible. The armies were all going from street to street, firing at each other. I lost track of who was who, it didn't even seem to matter by the end. We were just trying to get to safety, and then Monica...”

  I wait, but I think he's sobbing again.

  “I know it's hard,” I say finally, “but -”

  “She was seven years old!” he says angrily. “Someone shot her in the back!”

  I feel a shiver pass through my chest.

  “Jennifer went back for her, and she was shot too,” he continues. “I ran to them both and dragged them to safety, but by then it was too late. Why couldn't it have been me? Why couldn't I have died, and they lived?”

  “I don't know,” I tell him, with tears in my eyes.

  “I went back out there and told them to kill me as well,” he explains. “I was screaming and yelling like a madman, but no-one shot me. They must have moved on by then. I was waving my arms, I was doing everything I could to attract attention, but they didn't do it.”