Stage 3: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (22 page)

"Not always, but sometimes. Doctor Walker had squeaky shoes. I didn't really notice until we were in the sewer, but then the squeak echoed, and I could hear it plain as day."

Mason looked back to the good doctor, noted the muck-covered loafers on his feet and shook his head in astonishment.

"Yes, it's him," he admitted with a heavy sigh, "but I don't know how you do it. I can barely hear them at all."

After all, how does a ghost sound?
….he wanted to say, but he kept his nightmares to himself.

"If I could see, I might not hear them, either," the girl said emotionlessly, "but I can't, so I do."

Christ.……
He had been so hell-bent on keeping his head above the waves of shit that he'd forgotten not everyone can swim. He rested a gentle hand on the girl's knee and asked her sincerely, "Are you scared, Mack?"

"Well, duh!" She howled a scoff, then one corner of her mouth turned up in a sly grin, and she put her hand on his. "But I was
scareder
before."

"Me too, Mack. I'm glad we're together."

"No one wants to be alone, Mace," Mackenzie said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, sometimes they do," Mason had to tell her honestly, but he quickly added, "Not me, though, Mack. Not me, not now."

One of the creatures threw itself against the window, and a gold watch on its wrist hit the glass with a sharp
tang! 
Mackenzie turned her sightless gaze toward the sound and cocked her head curiously.

"Okay, so I get why the angry ones..……uh…..the wild things…..the
wilders?
... ….anyway, I get why they chase us. We make noise and they hear it. But the other ones..……the, uh…..the
creepers
…..how can
they
hear us? I mean, they're dead, right? How can they hear
anything?"

Ah, the resilience of youth. Where a grown man might be overwhelmed by this whole fucked up situation, here was this little girl, fully accepting that a corpse could be reanimated to hunt humans, and bothered only by the mechanics of it. Maybe, Mason figured, it was because children knew all along that monsters were real.

As to her question, ever since the poor bastard in the coffee shop, all full of holes and still coming, Mason had pondered that very issue. Now, he offered the girl the only answer he'd been able to hobble together.

"I think it must be the virus itself steering the dead ones….. the
creepers
. They can't hear, and they can't see, so that's the only thing I can think of. It makes no sense, but I've given up trying to make sense of any of this."

Again, she utterly disregarded the ludicrous and drew from the hypothesis the one thing that mattered.

"So we can't hide from them?"

He looked to the swarm beyond the glass. "It seems not."

"Well,
that
sucks," Mackenzie grouched.

"Yes, it does, Mack. It truly does."

He watched the gathering swarm and suddenly found himself given a front row seat to a scenario that must be playing out in every corner of the world by the thousands and millions. One of the wild things…..one of the
wilders
…. was clearly growing weaker and weaker as he flailed about against the glass. It was a middle-aged man clad only in pajama bottoms and with his guts hanging like cordage from a gaping tear across his belly. With dwindling strength, the creature clawed and pounded at the glass, and then, as the last of his life's blood drained out onto the sidewalk, he collapsed. He fell first to his knees, pawed at the glass one last time, and at last fell face-first onto the sidewalk. Such was to be expected. All of this insanity was, by now, the new normal. The same wound that had infected the poor man had finally ended his life. But then, scarcely more than a minute passed before the man stirred again and picked himself up off the sidewalk. He stood awkwardly, then turned toward the window and pressed against it. He no longer pounded and scratched at the glass, but his mouth gaped open and closed like a landed fish, and he edged himself awkwardly sideways until he was directly opposite the glass from where Mason and Mackenzie sat.

"The wilders are still human," he said aloud, as much to make it all clear in his own mind as to explain to Mackenzie the nature of the threat they were facing, "The virus makes them crazy, but their bodies are still like ours. They have the same senses we do, so we can hide from them and distract them, and we can hurt them."

"Or
kill
them," the girl threw in.

"Or kill them," Mason agreed dispassionately, "But they don't stay dead for long. And once they come back as creepers, the virus is in full control and steers them to the closest human."

"So, the virus can hear us?"

Mason shook his head, then caught himself.

"No, Mack. A virus can't hear. It's not really even alive. But somehow, it knows where we are, and it sends them after us."

"To kill us," Mackenzie added pointedly.

"Well," Mason considered the problem logically, "a virus never sets out to kill a host. Their whole reason for being is to reproduce and spread from one body to another."

"Like Doctor Walker?" the girl offered.

"Just like that. It must be that the virus taps into some ancient, primal part of the brain that drives the person to hunt. Like any other wild animal, they bite and they scratch, and if they break the skin, the virus has a way in. With creepers, I can only assume that some part of that primitive brain remains active, and that's why they can be brought down for good with a hard enough shot to the head. But they still carry the virus, so the same rules apply. Doc Walker got too close to one of them, and he was infected when he was scratched."

Mackenzie was silent for some time, lost in thought. At last, she spoke again, but her tone was morose, and she never lifted her eyes from her lap.

"
I'm
infected," she said grimly.

"So am I," Mason reminded her, "So is
everyone
. But Walker himself said that a healthy body can fight it, so we both have to take care of ourselves and stay strong and healthy enough to let our immune systems fight it."

"Doctor Walker was pretty healthy."

"It must be a different kind of infection," Mason offered honestly, "Clearly, the kind of infected
you
are and the kind of infected
I
am is different from the kind of infected
he
was. He was scratched by someone who was already changed, so it must work differently. Does that make sense, Mack?"

She shrugged, offered a quiet, "None of it makes sense," then she remained quiet, and an awkward silence fell over the pair. One of the creatures outside slammed a knuckle against one of the windows, and a ring clanged against glass. Mason watched the girl abandon her drink and simply sit there, idly wringing her hands together.

Oh, how his heart ached for this precious child. True, Walker said that she might very well overcome the virus, but he'd said it for the same reason that Mason had repeated it. It was all for the benefit of this sweet little girl. Despite all assurances to the contrary, Mason had no doubt that in time he would have to…..
attend
to this incredible girl. He'd known it all along, but now it wouldn't simply be a quick demise meted out by a gentle hand. Now, as he fingered the kid's pistol stuck in his waistband, he knew that her death would only come when it was met by his own. There was no way that he could imagine ending her life without ending his own. The two were entwined now, for better or for worse. He wasn't just fond of her anymore; he
loved
her, genuinely and completely. He loved this sweet, adorable girl as much as any father could love a daughter, and more. If one of their lives came to a close, so would the other. Truth be told, he couldn't fathom going on living in a world that demanded the sacrifice it was sure to force him to make.

As they sat in contemplative silence, he took the cop's revolver from his waistband and ejected the clip, then he thumbed out two rounds from one of the kid's extra magazines and inserted them into the empty clip. He snapped the magazine closed and made sure the safety was on, then he lifted one leg of his jeans and used the last of the duct tape to secure the weapon to his calf. That would be his failsafe. No matter what happened, those two rounds would be held in reserve. If everything went to hell, it would be a quick way out for Mack and himself. But until that last horrible moment, he would fight. Be they crazy-eyed wilders, dead and shambling creepers, or something still vaguely human, he would fight. In whatever guise the monsters came, he would fight. He would fight to the bitter end, no matter what.

He made certain the other pistol was fully loaded and tucked securely in his waistband, then he drained the last of his beer.

"So what do we do now, Mack?" Mason asked the girl with barely a hitch in his voice.

"We keep going. What else?" Mackenzie said almost casually. "Keep calm and carry on."

Mason smiled in spite of himself. "I love the fact that you know that quote, young lady, but it's not really an answer."

"We stick to the plan, Mace," she rubbed her eyes sleepily and yawned. "Right?"

"Alright, Mack," Mason saw the girl's eyes closing, and he faked a yawn of his own, "But I suggest we hang out here for the night. It's been a long, tough day, and the sun will be going down soon. And I could really use some sleep."

At the mere mention of sleep, the girl yawned again, this time stretching her arms as high as she could reach.

"Yeah, I'll bet you could."

Mason smiled. "Okay then, it's decided. We stay here for the night, and get a fresh start in the morning."

"To find Sarah?"

"Of course," Mason said, thankful that Mackenzie couldn't see his drawn lips and bowed head, "To find Sarah."

The kid wrapped up in the chair stirred again and mewled something indecipherable under the tape covering his mouth.

"What do we do with
him?"
Mackenzie asked idly.

"We'll leave him where he is for the night. He can't get loose."

"And tomorrow?"

Mason harrumphed and kept his answer purposely vague, "We'll figure that out tomorrow."

The girl shrugged noncommittally and allowed Mason to help her to her feet. She kept hold of his hand and followed him to the back of the room near the kitchen, then she deposited herself in a chair while Mason gathered as many tablecloths as he could find in the linen closet. Once they were all piled together, Mason collected the girl in his arms and lowered her gently into the middle of the makeshift bed. Immediately, she rolled onto her side and curled into a ball. Seconds later, her breathing grew slow and regular, and Mason knew that she was asleep.

He left her there and padded quietly back to the kid. The monster had begun struggling against his bonds as soon as he'd heard the others leave, but some little sound gave Mason's presence away, and he stopped all movement, even lolling his head backward as if he'd somehow fallen asleep.

Mason didn't buy it for a second. He took the kid's throat in his hand and leaned in close to his ear.

"You're only alive because a little girl thinks I'm good," he hushed, "Think on that and wonder what I can do to change her mind by tomorrow."

The tape was more than enough to hold the kid, but Mason didn't want to take the slightest of chances. He cut several electrical cords free from a number of floor lamps, dragged the kid's chair to a nearby pillar, and tied a cord around around the pillar so that it was tight against the kid's throat. Another cord went around his waist, then another around his base of the chair, and yet another connected both of these to the one around his neck. Once the trussing was completed, Mason stepped back and admired his handiwork.

"If you struggle," he hissed into the kid's ear, "…..you'll die."

The kid shifted an inch and the cord about his neck tightened like a snake. He forced his body to go limp and the cord relaxed, but just enough. The kid could breathe again, but he would only continue to do so if he remained absolutely still.

"Sweet dreams," Mason hushed, then he threw one last glance at the creatures lined up along the glass front quickly being lost in the thickening twilight, flipped them a raised finger, and retired back to the makeshift bed.

Mackenzie was unconscious, but her sleep was clearly less than peaceful. She was tossing and turning and mewling quietly even as Mason lowered himself down to her side. He gently swept back a mop of hair from her face and cooed softly, "You're okay, babygirl.….. It's all good, Mack."  The mewling stopped, and she curled up against Mason's chest, mumbling sleepily, "….all good, Mace…..," then she descended into a serene, contented sleep. 

Mason lay there for some time, feeling Mackenzie's little chest rising and falling and listening to the sounds of the night. The creatures at the door were still active, but not nearly so much now. There was the occasional growl or thud against the barricade, but they seemed to diminish by the minute. Mason had counted on the swarm losing interest once all activity within the building ceased, but it brought him little peace. Once they arose in the morning, the tumult would return, and the struggles would resume. But for now, for right this minute, they were safe and he was content. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the slow, rhythmic breathing of the girl beside him. He folded an arm across her body, tucked her big mop of curly hair under his chin, and quickly fell asleep listening to her purr like a kitten.