Night Plague: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (2 page)

Chapter Two:
A World without Hope

Mason slammed the door and bolted it shut. He jiggled the handle, just to assure himself it wasn’t going to budge, and peered through the living room window. Nothing. A dark, empty street. No girl with bloodstained teeth. He closed the curtain after checking the lock.

It was quiet – he knew he was the alone in the room without turning around. The only noise came from Molly’s lolling pants, but the dog seemed to sense his tension, watching him with perked ears instead of
offering her usual enthusiasm.

He sucked in a deep breath, trying to gather his nerves and still his shaking limbs before surveying the rest of the house. Like always, the lights were off in every room but the living area, and the shadows painting the corners seemed less inviting than usual. His skin prickled while he made his way to the kitchen, checking the back door
and locking every window he passed.

“You’re late.”

He jumped, before his muscles stiffened with irritation. Martin. “So?” He grimaced, not in any mood to deal with the twenty-six-year-old brother who stood waiting behind him.

Martin ran a hand through buzz-cut black hair. “You can’t keep doing this. You need to be back before dark, and if you aren’t, I need a phone call.”

Something accusatory in his voice ground Mason’s teeth together. “I’m an adult. I can do what I want.”

“An irresponsible eighteen-year-old kid is hardly an adult.” Martin stared with those glowering blue eyes of his. “You live in my house; you live by my rules. It’s not a hard concept.”

Mason watched the wall. If only Martin would just go away. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to argue. He wanted to go to his room and lock his door. But Martin was always there when he wasn’t wanted, like an itch that he couldn’t quite scratch. His head told him to consent and let it go, but his mouth moved almost on impulse. “This isn’t your house.”

Martin’s hand closed around Mason’s shoulder. It was a tight grip, the older brother’s nails digging in through the younger’s t-shirt. The touch sent chills down Mason’s spine, echoing the feel of bloodied fingers and evening rain. He fought the urge to shove his brother off.

“Tell me, then, whose house is it? A dead woman’s?” Martin leaned closer. “I’m the one who works to pay the bills while you waste away in your room.” He laughed. “Adult, my ass. I’m not sure how someone who stares at a screen all day can call himself that.”

Mason’s nostrils flared. It was Mom’s house. It always would be Mom’s house. “She never gave it to you. I go to school. I don’t get into trouble. It should be mine as much as yours.”

“Do you really think you and Merril would’ve survived these last four years on your own?” Martin chuckled. “Get enough money to pay off half the rent. Then we’ll talk.”

Mason said nothing, staring at the same white wall. “Let go.”

Martin heaved a long sigh, and then finally relaxed his grip. “You’re shaking. Why? Where were you?”

“Nowhere
,” Mason spat almost too quickly. “I stopped at the store to pick some stuff up for Merril and lost track of time. It was nothing!” Nervous fingers covered the rip in his jacket.

“The store?”
Martin’s brow arched over icy irises. “Forget your bags, then? I don’t see any.”

Mason tensed. What a stupid oversight. He’d always been a terrible liar, and that he could barely hear himself think didn’t help. His heart pounded between his ears and blocked out the contents of his head.

“Where were you?” Martin demanded, pointed features firm and creased. There were times when he looked much older than twenty-six.

Mason didn’t answer. He couldn’t deal with his brother, not now. He turned and headed for the stairs.

“Hey, you can’t just –” A callused hand reached for his sore left arm.

“Let
go
!” He shoved his elbow into his brother’s ribs, using the moment to break free and dash upstairs.

“Mason!”

He didn’t stop, the carpeted steps creaking beneath his feet.

“
Mason
!”

He threw himself into the bathroom and locked the door. He did the same to the shower window before collapsing against peeling wallpaper. His legs shook, aching with weary heat that sent him slipping to the blue linoleum below.

Pound. Pound. Pound. Martin banged on the cheap wood door. “Mason, get out here now, or you’re not going anywhere this weekend! Do you hear me?”

He ignored the noise. Images of red and gray darkened the corners of his eyes and the beat of swift footfalls echoed in his ears. He held his knees to his ribs, fighting to catch his breath.

He was fine. Everything was fine. If she were going to break in, she would’ve already. He must’ve lost her. He’d made it. He was fine.

His lungs slowly
subdued, muscles relaxing with each deep breath he forced through them. The struggle got easier and easier. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that before the world came back into focus. He dragged his head from his jeans.

Martin had surrendered. The clock ticking in the hall and the relentless dripping of the faucet colored the otherwise quiet room. The damn sink had been broken for years. A drop fell into the basin with a small splash and crawled towards the drain.

Liquid. Red.

He straightened, forcing himself to his shaky feet. No. It was only water. He walked to the faucet and splashed his face. His features were nearly as pale as hers when his eyes caught the mirror, red and bloodshot.

Blood.

He shook his head, scratching at his brow with sweaty fingers. If only he could just yank the memories out.

He’d witnessed a murder. That was the simple fact of the matter. He’d witnessed a murder outside the general store, the killer had given chase, and he’d managed to lose her and make it home. There was no point in exaggerating or exasperating the affair. That was the situation.

He gasped in another deep breath.

What should he do? Should he call the police?

He shook his head to no one but the quivering figure in the mirror.

No – the police didn’t care about alleyway murders anymore. It was over. Letting it stay that way would be for the best. He needed to pretend it’d never happened.

That’s right. He forced himself to smile and watched his lips curl in the glass.

He’d never witnessed a murder.

****

Mason waited until he could breathe normally before leaving the bathroom. His first instinct was to dash off to his room before Martin noticed, but… His eyes wandered to the door nearest the stairs.
Merril’s room.

He cracked the door open and peered inside. It was dim, like usual. For whatever reason, she’d always felt most comfortable in low light. He squinted.
“Merril?”

A silhouette stirred beneath the blankets and sat up with a tired smile. “It wouldn’t hurt to knock first, you know.”

“S-sorry.” He scratched the nape of his neck and stepped inside. “I was…distracted.”

He knelt by her bed and forced his mouth into a grin. Something about her casual, quiet voice put him at ease. “How are you feeling?”

“The same.” She answered simply, meeting his eyes through unkempt strands of long blonde hair. Her rounded features gave her an almost child-like appearance that was especially noticeable when she smiled. “Did you get the apples and milk?”

An apple slipped from the bag and landed with a dull splash, rolling towards the gutter.

He flinched, quiet for a while. “Sorry. I got sidetracked, and…”

“It’s okay.” She released a small sigh. “You don’t need to apologize so much, all right? It gets old.” Her disappointment was obvious, but she didn’t voice it. “I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow, so come with me to the store then and we’ll get some.”

Mason forced another grin. “Sure.”

He found his eyes wandering to the room’s sole window. It was locked
, good.

Merril blinked, studying his torn sleeve. “Did something happen?”

He stiffened, covering the rip and shaking his head. “N-no. It was raining pretty bad out there. I slipped and caught my arm on…err, something.” Real convincing. “It was dark, so I’m not quite sure what it was.”

She tilted her head, like she didn’t quite believe him. “Was it Martin again?”

“No.” He flushed. “No, just a stupid accident. It was nothing.”

She frowned. “You look awfully shaken for nothing.”

He grimaced, not sure how to argue. Merril was the one person who could read him. Sometimes, he was glad there was someone out there who could, and other times, he wasn’t. “It’s fine.” He insisted louder than he’d meant to. “It’s fine, all right?” His mind swam, searching for a convincing story or excuse. Why wouldn’t she just let it go? “Just…a hard day at school.”

She smiled sadly, eyes skeptical. “I’ve known you since second grade
, and lived here for two years now – do you really think you can lie to me that easily?”

He stared at the floor. “Wow. It, uh, really has been two years, hasn’t it? It doesn’t feel like it.” When all else failed, it was time to change the topic.

She sighed, eyeing the tear a few moments longer before giving up and looking at the wall. “It’s going way too fast. I can’t believe it’s been two years since I last saw my parents. And the farther I get away from them, I…”

Mason tensed. Okay, maybe that hadn’t been the best topic to shift to. “Memories are memories. They don’t get farther away.”

“I just don’t get it, I guess.” Merril chewed her bottom lip. “I’ve been sick since I was born, but Mom and Dad were always healthy, much healthier than me. So why did the plague take them first?”

“Aren’t you glad it did?” He stiffened. “Erm, not that your parents died, I mean!” He corrected quickly. “Just…aren’t you glad you’re still here?”

“Yeah. It’s just…” Something sad darkened her emerald eyes. “I wish we didn’t have to spend our last years like this. I wish we could get away, you and me. Without Martin. Without these stupid sicknesses. I wish we could just…live.” She swallowed. “This room feels like a cage.”

He stared, quiet. He knew he needed to say something, but he had no idea what. What
could
he say? She spent so many hours tucked inside that room with colds and flus and every seasonal illness that it sometimes did seem like he was visiting her in a hospital. It was a shame, but that was simply how it was. She’d been born with a weak body. That the plague hadn’t taken her yet was a miracle in itself.

“Hey, I waste all my time in my room too, you know.” He reminded with a forced smile. “What else is there, really? You aren’t missing much.”

She frowned, opening her mouth to speak, but what emerged instead was a series of ragged coughs.

“Hey, hey!”
He leaned closer. “Lie down again – you don’t want to overdo it.”

“No.” She heaved another cough. “I’m sick of lying here. I want to get up!”

“Doesn’t matter – you still have to rest.” He insisted. “After all, we’re going out tomorrow, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right.” She slowly lay back down, resting her head on the pillow.
“Seems my memory isn’t much better than the rest of me.” She exhaled a weak laugh.

A meow answered from somewhere near her feet. It was Tilly – one of the few things she’d brought with her from her old house. The cat climbed atop her lap and let out a purr when she scratched behind its ears.

Merril grinned fondly at the lithe black shape. “Hey, what do you think will happen to them – Tilly and Molly – when we’re gone?”

Mason stammered, not sure how to answer. “They’re still animals. They have wild blood in them. I’m sure they’ll be fine.” He didn’t believe that at all – they’d likely starve to death or get picked off by larger predators – but he told Merril what he figured she wanted to hear. She was much closer to the family pets than he was.

For a while, the only sound was the quiet motor of the cat’s purr. It lifted its tail as she stroked its spine.

Merril smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Do you think animals know? What happens after death, I mean. They see everything so much more simply than we do.”

This time he didn’t say anything at all. What could he say to that? Sometimes, she said the oddest things.

He watched her face. Her eyes were dim and red, bony edges pressed against her round cheeks, her blond
e hair was a stringy mess, and her skin sat sunken on the fingers running through the cat’s fur.

He grinned as confidently as he could. “It’s not like we’ll find out anytime soon, either. Don’t think about those things so much
.”

Her green eyes shivered.
“Soon enough. If two years have gone by fast, so will four. And I…I’ll probably be finding out a lot sooner.”

“No.” He assured with the firmest voice he could manage. It wasn’t a tone he used often. “You’ve lived this long. There’s no reason to believe it will get you any sooner than anyone else.”