The Last Mile (3 page)

The thorn-stalks’ poison began to go to work immediately. The deer-thing’s gray hide become mottled black, as if the creature were afflicted with rapidly accelerated gangrene. Its sides swelled like a balloon attached to a helium tank with the nozzle turned wide open. The deer-thing wasn’t dead, though, not yet. Its glossy black eyes darted back and forth in confusion, as if it couldn’t bring itself to believe what was happening. And then the creature’s gaze focused on Dan, and there was no mistaking the utter hatred that now blazed from those previously dead eyes.

Dan smiled grimly. “Fuck you, too.”

And then the deer-thing’s sides burst open as it popped like a red, wet piñata.

Instantly, scores of thorn-stalks writhed forward and covered the grisly remains of the deer-thing, so numerous and so tightly woven that they made a domelike covering over the carcass. And then loud, greedy slurping sounds filled the air as the thorn-stalks began to feed.

“Jesus Christ, are they
eating
that thing?”

Startled, Dan turned to look back at the Olds. For a moment, he’d forgotten about the woman. He walked toward the passenger-side back door, moving slowly so as not to excite any more of the thorn-stalks. Those stalks surrounding the car that hadn’t joined the others in feasting on the deer-thing’s corpse quivered with what seemed to Dan to be excitement, as if they were eager to get in on the fun, and he didn’t want to draw their attention. He leaned in the front and saw the hunting knife and the 9mm on the floor of the car. He grabbed both, sliding the gun into the back of his pants barrel-first and holding on to the hunting knife with his left hand. He turned and cast a longing gaze at the machete, but it lay too close to the mound of feasting thorn-stalks, and he wasn’t about to risk retrieving it. He’d make do with what he could salvage.

He unlocked the back door, opened it, then stepped back just in case the woman should get any cute ideas about trying to attack him. But she just sat there, staring up at him with an expression that was equal parts fear and irritation.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Cut me loose and let’s get the hell out of here before something else tries to kill us!”

* * *

“Daddy…is it still out there?”

Dan knelt on the couch and pushed the blinds open a crack so he could peer through the picture window. All that remained of his lawn were scattered patches of dead grass; otherwise, the ground was bare and lifeless, the soil gray as potter’s clay. The yard was far from empty, though. Bone shards, tufts of fur, and bits of rotting flesh were scattered across the ground, the remains of those animals that had died during the Arrival—birds, cats, dogs, rabbits, squirrels…It had only been a few days, but little was left, thanks to the predators that inhabited what Dan was already coming to think of as the World After. Predators like the misshapen thing standing on the other side of the picture window, watching him with eyes that shone with far too much intelligence.

It was part bovine, part human, a woman’s head hanging upside down where an udder should’ve been, her tongue lolling, matted black hair dragging the ground. It possessed a long serpent in place of a tail, the head curled underneath the main part of the creature’s body so its forked tongue could taste the udder-head’s ear. The cow body was scrawny, its dry, leathery brown hide stretched tight across bone, so tight that the flesh had torn in numerous place, revealing glimpses of the yellowed skeleton beneath. The cow head looked as if it had been dipped in acid, for it was nothing but a skull—except for the eyes. They remained untouched, and they stared at Dan with what he interpreted as malign amusement.

He took his trembling hands away from the blinds and let them fall back into place. It did no good, though; he could still feel the creature’s gaze upon him whether he could see it or not.

“I’m afraid so, honey.” He got off the couch and walked over to the chair where his daughter was sitting. He sat on the arm and looked at her. Lindsey was almost twelve, and she resembled her mother so much that it brought a lump to his throat whenever he saw her. Curly black hair, round face, full lips, lean torso, long arms and legs, a heartbreaker in waiting for sure. She sat with her legs drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around them, gently rocking back and forth for whatever slight comfort the motion might bring. She wore the same clothes she had on during the Arrival: black soccer shorts and an Eeyore T-shirt. Yesterday, he’d suggested she might want to change into clean clothes, but that had set her to screaming at the top of her lungs for the better part of an hour. After that, Dan had decided to let her go grubby for as long as she wanted.

“I’m glad you didn’t lie to me,” Lindsey said. She stared straight ahead, not looking at him. She hadn’t made eye contact since the Arrival. “Adults always lie to kids to try and protect them. I’m glad you’re not like that.”

Dan wished he
could
lie to her, but how could he possibly convince her that everything was going to be okay? They had no electricity or water, but he could come up with any number of lies to explain that. But how could he ever explain what Lindsey could see for herself simply by looking out the goddamned window? How could he explain what had happened to her mother? He didn’t tell Lindsey the truth out of any moral principle; he didn’t have any other options.

“How are you doing, honey?” he asked. “You hungry or thirsty?” His daughter had barely taken any nourishment since the Arrival, and what little she did eat or drink, she did so only because Dan forced her.

She shook her head. “No. But even if I was, it’s not like we have anything.”

“We have food.” But even as he said it, he knew it was, if not exactly a lie, a refusal to acknowledge the complete truth. They’d been in need of a grocery run before the Arrival, and since…well, once Dan had made it back to his house, he hadn’t unlocked any of the doors, let alone set foot outside. He doubted any of the stores were open anymore, or ever would be again, but even if they were, he knew he wouldn’t survive long enough to cross his yard, not with that abomination standing out there watching. For the foreseeable future, they’d have to make do with what they had, and that wasn’t much. Some stuff in cans that they couldn’t heat up and a couple liters of diet soda that they couldn’t chill. And once that was gone…How long could a person survive without eating or drinking? A couple weeks without food, but only a few days without water. He planned to ration the soda, but even if they could survive on a drop apiece each day, he knew it wouldn’t last long enough.

He leaned down and gave Lindsey a kiss on the top of her head. She flinched as his lips touched her hair, but she didn’t pull away, and for that Dan was grateful.

He stood. “I think I’ll go check on your mother.” He didn’t ask Lindsey if she wanted to come. He didn’t want her to. She hadn’t seen her mother since a few hours after the Arrival, and Dan intended to keep it that way.

Lindsey didn’t reply, didn’t do anything to acknowledge he’d spoken. He considered telling her not to peek through the blinds, but she rarely left the chair since the Arrival, and he didn’t want to remind her of what was waiting outside. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile but felt more like a grimace. Not that it mattered since she wasn’t looking at him. Then he turned and left the living room, and though the blinds remained closed, he nevertheless felt the cow creature’s unsettling gaze upon him as he walked past the couch.

They lived in one-story ranch. A nice home, nothing fancy and not huge, but big enough for the three of them. While it was the most house they could afford, they wouldn’t have been happy with anything bigger, for they were a close family and liked spending time near each other. At least, they used to.

Dan walked down the hall, his nose wrinkling as he passed the closed door of the hallway bathroom. Without running water, they had no way to flush the toilet, and since it wasn’t safe to go outside—or even open a window to dump the contents of a makeshift chamber pot—the stink was starting to build up. He knew he was going to have to do something about the toilet soon, but he didn’t know what. Plus, there was another problem. The filthy toilet was beginning to draw insects. Roaches, Dan figured, though he hadn’t actually seen them. The last time he’d opened the bathroom door, he’d shined a flashlight inside and heard the scuttling of what seemed like hundreds of tiny legs as the scavengers fled the light. Shuddering, he’d kept the flashlight turned on while he pissed, but when he finished, he’d heard a soft ululating sound, as if a multitude of tiny voices was singing. The tone had struck Dan as one of gratitude, as if the singers were thanking him for providing them with more nourishment.

Dan had rushed out of the bathroom, slammed the door, and hadn’t opened it since. The next time he’d had to urinate, he’d gone out into the garage and pissed in a corner.

He thrust the thought of the roaches’ singing from his mind—he was getting real good at not thinking about things, especially
bad
things—and continued down the hall to the master bedroom. This door was shut, too, though it wasn’t locked. Across the hall, the door to Lindsey’s room was open, just as it had been on the day of the Arrival. Lindsey hadn’t been back inside since, but Dan had gone in once to get a sleeping bag out of her closet. He slept on the couch at night, and he spread out the sleeping bag on the floor for Lindsey, though she preferred to remain in the chair. Whether she slept, he didn’t know. She was awake when he nodded off at night and awake when he opened his eyes in the morning. Dan slept in the living room to keep an eye on Lindsey, but mostly because he couldn’t bring himself to sleep next to his wife. Not anymore.

He opened the bedroom door, stepped inside, then closed the door behind him with a soft click.

The curtains were drawn, but the room was illuminated by the blue-white glow of the television set atop Caroline’s dresser. Despite the fact that they had no power, the TV still worked. It had turned itself on a couple hours after the Arrival, and no matter what button Dan pushed, it wouldn’t turn off. He’d even pulled the plug from the outlet, but it made no difference. The screen displayed nothing but dancing white-and-black static, but instead of the loud crackling that usually indicated the lack of a signal, a susurration of whispers filtered out of the speaker, sibilant, liquid syllables spoken in a language that Dan didn’t recognize, but which hurt his ears to hear.

Caroline lay naked on top of the mattress, pillows stacked beneath her head so that she could see the TV screen. Lying next to her was the utensil drawer from the kitchen. When she had first seen the flickering static and heard the whispering voices, she’d stared at the TV for several moments before going to the kitchen, removing the utensil drawer, and bringing it back to the bedroom. Dan, having heard the clattering of metal as she pulled the drawer free, had followed her down the hall to their bedroom, asking her what was wrong, what are you doing? But she hadn’t answered. She’d placed the drawer on the bed, taken off her clothes, then climbed onto the mattress, slid her feet toward her ass to raise her knees into the air, let her knees fall to the side to spread her vagina, then reached for a fork.

Dan had yelled at her to stop, had rushed forward to grab her hand, but she turned on him, snarling like an animal, and jammed the fork into the back of his wrist with surprising strength for such a petite woman. Blood welled forth, he shouted, “Fuck!” and cradled his wounded hand against his chest. He stood in shock for a moment, staring down at his wounded wrist, while Caroline put the fork to another use.

Now Dan watched as his wife furiously masturbated with a pie server. She thrust the spadelike object in and out of the ragged ruin of her genitals with sickening moist squelching noises. She hadn’t removed the comforter when she first lay down several days ago, and the bottom half of the bedclothes was covered with blood both old and fresh—wet crimson splashed over a layer of brown crust. She should’ve died soon after beginning her masturbatory marathon, Dan knew that, but no matter how much she injured herself, how much blood poured from between her quivering legs, she grew no weaker, no paler. Despite the copious amount of blood she’d lost, she didn’t appear to be in danger of death, which was good since Dan doubted that, even if they had phone service, anyone would respond to a 911 call. At least, not anyone they
wanted
to respond.

The horror of Caroline’s condition was more than ample proof that the rules were very different in the World After…if there were any rules at all.

The bedroom stank in a different way than the hall bathroom, but the stench was no less rank: the sour-gamey odor of blood, sweat, and cunt, mixed with the burning ozone smell of hot electronics. But though the stink should’ve sickened him, for some reason he found it less offensive than the bathroom. His stomach didn’t roil, his gorge didn’t rise, and—most disturbing of all—his penis grew partially erect.

This was the reason he didn’t want Lindsey to see her mother…that, and the fear that she might succumb to the awful whispering coming through the television. Like mother like daughter, right? Why he should be resistant to the foul influence coming through the set, he didn’t know. Maybe it was because he was male. Or maybe it was because whatever force that was behind Caroline’s self-mutilation required that she have an audience. (He had yet to learn about the Masters, though he would, and soon.)

“Caroline? Sweetheart? Is there…” His gaze strayed to the utensil drawer, and he saw that the spoons, forks, and knives were all neatly arranged in their proper slots, and they were all covered with blood. Some of it fresh, most of it not. His bile did rise then, and he had to swallow to keep from throwing up. The fact that he’d eaten little the last few days helped. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he finished.

She hadn’t responded to him before, and he had no reason to think she would now. But he had to ask, had to try to make contact. Whatever had happened to Caroline, whatever had possessed her, she was still his wife, and he loved her. He waited several moments, but she continued to ignore him, staring at the snow on the TV screen and stabbing the pie server into the ragged ruin of her sex.