Mass Extinction Event: The Complete Fourth Series (Days 54 to 61) (2 page)

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 -”

“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.

“He
must
be breathing in there,” she continues, scrunching her scarf up and then laying it over the vent, “and conducting the usual bodily functions.” She takes several rocks and places them on top of the scarf, holding it in place until the entire vent is covered. “I don't know what kind of set-up he's got, but whatever it is, I doubt it'll work very well if it can't vent heat or steam or whatever else he needs to get rid of.”

“So you want to trap him and kill him?”

“Oh, it won't come to that,” she says, turning to me with a smile. “He'll have to open the door and come out to fix it eventually, though, won't he?”

***

By the time I get back to the camp, people are already starting to stir in their makeshift tents. I duck down and creep through the shadows, until I'm far enough past the boundary to stand up straight and start mixing with the others. No-one's really saying much as they haul themselves up and start heading off to work, so I'm able to move more-or-less unnoticed until I get to my tent and crawl inside.

The first thing I see is the radio I was using last night, and suddenly I remember that Elizabeth girl. She sounded so scared, so alone...

“Well?” Melissa says, bursting into the tent.

“Jesus!” I shout, pulling back.

“What did she want?” she continues, keeping her voice low. “You were gone all night! Don't worry, I know you said to tell Mark you'd be back soon, but I didn't say anything to anyone. What happened, though? Did you...” She pauses for a moment, as if there's a hint of fear in her eyes. “Did you do it? Did you kill Quinn?”

I shake my head.

“Why not?”

“It's complicated. She didn't kill Kaylee, though. I'm sure of it.”

“So what
did
you do out there all night?”

“I just want to get to work, okay?” I tell her. “I don't want Mark to know that I was up.”

“Take me with you,” she replies. “If you leave, I mean. You have a truck, don't you? If you're planning to split, I want to come. I have a daughter, but we'd help, I swear. I can work and -” She starts coughing suddenly, and it takes a few seconds before she manages to catch her breath again.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She nods, but it's clear that something's wrong.

“I just slept badly last night,” she tells me. “I didn't really sleep at all, actually. My shirt was wet and I didn't want to risk taking it off, so -”

She stops suddenly as we both hear footsteps passing next to the tent.

After a moment, she turns back to me. “At least think about it,” she continues. “We won't be a drain, I swear. We'll contribute, and I know the area. Well, sort of. I remember a few of the maps I saw and...” She pauses, clearly a little desperate. “Just promise me you'll think about it.”

“I'll think about it,” I tell her, “but I don't really know whether -”

“Thomas!” a voice suddenly calls out.

“It's Mark!” Melissa hisses. “I don't want him to see that I'm here!”

“Stay inside, then,” I mutter, grabbing some tools before crawling out of the tent to find that Mark is making his way over. “I'm sorry,” I tell him, “I was just getting up, I swear.”

“That's okay, buddy,” he replies, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Did you sleep okay?”

I nod.

“That's good to hear, because I need your help with something very important.” He steers me away from the tent and over toward the main working area. “I'm starting to trust you, Thomas,” he continues, “and with trust comes greater responsibility. A lot of the people here... Well, it's a ragtag bunch of folk from all walks of life, and the thing about life is that different people operate on different levels. You've got your workers, you've got your thinkers, and you've got your drones. Which of those categories do you think men like us fit into?”

“I don't know,” I reply cautiously.

“Yeah, I think you do.”

“Which category do
you
think we fit into?” I ask.

“Well we sure as hell aren't drones,” he replies with a smile. “Mindlessly following orders, thinking only about the next meal on our plate... It'd be tempting to be like that, to descend from civilized society to savagery, but there are already enough drones at this camp. We have something of the workers about us, but at the end of the day that's still not what we are. We're thinkers, Thomas, and if you ask me, that's the best thing to be. Thinkers are the ones who really change the world.”

He stops outside one of the tents, where a group of people are already gathered.

“Bring her out,” he says finally.

Two of the other men grab hold of a pair of legs that are sticking out of the tent, and a moment later they heave a woman's body out into the morning sun.

“Her name was Jacqueline,” Mark explains, his tone of voice suddenly changing: he sounds more somber now, as if he's sad, but at the same time there's something very fake about the way he's talking. “She was a good worker, an excellent disemboweler of fish, but she was also quite ill by the time she came to join our little community. Unfortunately, she died some time in the night. As far as I can tell, it was a heart attack.”

I stare down at the dead woman's face. Her eyes already look to have sunk a little into her skull, and she seems pale.

“See this?” Mark continues, crouching down and tapping a piece of wood that's tucked under her chin. “Do you know what it's for, Thomas?”

I shake my head.

“It's so that when her body stiffens after death, her mouth isn't left hanging open. The first thing we must do with a body is put a piece of wood under their chin. Do you know why it's so important that their mouth isn't left hanging open when they're dead?”

I shake my head again.

“Dignity,” he continues. “We must maintain our sense of dignity at all times.”

“Okay,” I reply, still not really sure why he's explaining all of this to me.

“And then we must dispose of the body in a respectful manner,” he adds, “and that's where you come in. Dignity isn't easy. Bodies are heavy and awkward, and while human civilization became somewhat adept at covering the realities of death, now we have to face these things head on.” He gets to his feet. “Thomas, today I want you to help me move Jacqueline's body. It'll be just the two of us, and it's quite possibly the most honest and worthwhile job any man can perform.”

“I thought you wanted me to -”

“Come on,” he says, patting me on the shoulder. “We'll get started immediately. Just you and me, carrying Jacqueline beyond the trees on the point.” He turns and indicates the line of pine trees a little to the east of the campsite. “That's where we take all our dead, Thomas. You'll understand why when we get there.”

Elizabeth

“Toad,” I whisper, as the dream starts to clear, “Rachel, where -”

Gasping, I sit up suddenly and feel a crunching pain in my shoulder. Crying out, I grab the metal railing that runs along the side of the bed and I hold myself steady for a moment, but the pain is slowly passing. When I turn and look at my left shoulder, I see that thick bandages have been secured in place, with a hint of blood already starting to seep through.

And that's when I remember the soldiers.

They burst into the farmhouse during the storm and shot me. For a moment, I can hear the echo of their shouts in my mind, and the sound of their guns firing.

I blink a couple of times, and the memory dissipates.

With light now creeping into the room through the blinds, I look around and realize that I'm in some kind of hospital. The beeping machine is still making its rhythmic noise next to me, attached to my chest with a series of wires and seemingly monitoring my heart-rate. I look over at the door, expecting to find that I'm being watched, but the whole place seems strangely silent and I can't even hear any sounds in the distance.

I open my mouth to call out, but at the last moment I decide to stay silent.

Sitting up properly, I pull my hospital gown open and look down at the various wires that are connected to my chest via adhesive pads. Feeling a twinge of pain in my right ankle, I reach down and find to my surprise that the bandages wrapped around my foot are bulky. One end of the main bandage is trailing loose, so I pull it aside and discover that some kind of gel-filled pouch seems to have been attached to my leg. Peering closer, I'm shocked to see the faintest hint of a few toes poking out from inside. I lost my right foot several days ago, so I can only assume that the people at this hospital have begun to transplant something new to the stump.

Looking over at the door again, I realize that there's no point staying silent. If these people wanted me dead, they wouldn't have brought me here.

“Hello?” I call out.

Silence.

“Hey! Can anyone hear me?”

I wait, but the silence if deafening. After checking that none of the wires on my chest are attached to the wall, I take a moment to steady myself before slowly and painfully swinging my legs over the side of my bed. Taking care not to put any pressure on my right leg, I ease myself up and take a moment to rearrange the various wires connecting me to the machine, before giving the cart next to my bed a tug and finding that it's on wheels. I take another moment to make sure I'm steady, and then I start to make my way to the door, pulling the machine on the cart behind me.

Leaning out into the corridor, I find that there's still no sign of anyone.

“Hello?” I call out.

I wait again, but as every silent moment passes, I start to become more and more worried.

“Is anyone here?” I shout. “I just woke up!”

I limp out into the corridor, but with the heavy machine still attached to me plus the need to look after my right foot, I can only move at a snail's pace.

“Toad?” I shout, even though I know the chances of him being nearby are low. “Anyone?”

I look one way along the corridor and then the other, before spotting a desk nearby. Making my way over, I find that there are various items of paperwork laid out, as if someone was in the middle of some work and then suddenly stopped. I turn a piece of paper around and see my name written in pen, along with a list of times and various medical observations. Most of the data makes no sense to me, so after checking the other papers and finding nothing else that I can really understand, I leave the desk and start making my way along the corridor.

“Hello?” I call out. “I heard you earlier, I know you're here!”

Reaching a set of double doors, I push them open but find that they only lead to another corridor. Up ahead, however, there's a window with bright sunshine streaming through, so I limp slowly onward, trying to ignore the increasingly-annoying squeaky wheel of the cart I'm having to drag along. The journey to the window, which would take a normal person just a few seconds, takes me several minutes, but finally I'm able to lean against the ledge and peer out.

This isn't a hospital.

It's some kind of military facility.

"It's a military base," I remember Toad telling me recently, when we saw the place from a distance. "They used to fly training programs, mainly, although there were always a few crackpot conspiracy theorists who insisted there was other stuff going on there. You know the kind of thing. Strange flights at night, loud booms...”

“Where are you?” I whisper, feeling a rising sense of panic at the thought that Toad might have been caught up in the storm. Outside the window there's some kind of yard, with a hangar nearby and several jeeps that seem to have been abandoned in the sun. Further off, in the distance, I can see the forest, which I guess is where Toad and I were the other day.

And where he might still be now.

"We should go and see if anything's happening there," I remember telling him when we were watching the military base from afar.

"There'll be no-one there,” he replied. “Anyway, even if there is, they're the last people we want to get involved with. I wouldn't trust them, not even for a second."

“It's better than nothing,” I mutter, looking along the next corridor and seeing no sign of anyone. “Just about, anyway.”

Picking a direction at random, I start dragging the cart along another corridor. I figure someone has to show up eventually; after all, I remember people standing by my bed the last time I woke up, and someone has clearly been working on me. At the same time, I guess they're not exactly operating with a full complement of staff, so I shouldn't be too surprised that they're not swarming all around me.

Stopping to catch my breath, I realize that I'm starting to feel weak again. Still, I have to keep going. After two months of thinking that almost no-one else was left in the world, I desperately want to speak to someone who can tell me what's really happening.

Suddenly I hear a scream. It's a woman, and she sounds as if she's not too far away. Turning to look back along the corridor, I hear the scream again, but this time something seems to start muffling her and she falls silent, although I can hear a faint bumping sound. I stay completely still, my heart pounding as I try to work out what to do next, but seconds later I hear the scream again, and this time the terrified woman is able to shout a few words:

“Help me! Help -”

Again, however, something cuts her off, and I hear more banging.

Instinctively, I take a step back.

Seconds later, I hear people running in the distance, followed by the sound of several doors being slammed. A moment after that, I realize I can hear the woman again, but this time she's not screaming: she's sobbing and moaning, as if she's in terrible pain. I can hear other voices now, too, shouting in the distance.

“Hey!” another voice shouts suddenly, from one of the other corridors. “She's gone!”

More footsteps, and someone running.

“The Marter girl's gone,” a female voice says. “Tell them to seal the doors. Jesus Christ, wasn't anyone watching her? We have to find her before he arrives.”

Panicking, I take a few steps back before reaching out and opening the nearest door. Finding what appears to be an abandoned room, I pull the cart inside and then shut the door. Moments later, I hear footsteps racing past, and shouts in the distance and then, finally, I look up at the ceiling as I hear a helicopter approaching overhead.