“Take it back.”
“Take what back? You look in a mirror lately? ’Cause you’ve got the face.” The man wrestled himself free and out of Mason’s reach. When he was far enough away, he turned and started walking back toward the main road. “But maybe I am lying. There’s a very good chance. Or maybe not. If you’re desirable, they’ll come for you.”
Mason turned and hurled the shovel as hard as he could. It bounced off a tree and fell to the ground several feet away. The hole was deep enough.
Back in the room he went straight for the bathroom. He didn’t want to touch Chickadee when he was this filthy. Stripping off all his clothes, he poured some bottled water into the sink and unwrapped one of the mini soaps. Grabbing a white cloth, he began to wash away the sweat and dirt.
Halfway through it dawned on him that he hadn’t looked at himself in the mirror. He paused, the soapy cloth against his chest, and stared blankly at the sink.
What’s wrong, Mason? Why won’t you look at yourself?
He was just spooked, he told himself. The guy outside tried to freak him out because he was too tiny to take Mason on. It was his only form of action, his way of hurting Mason, because he was too cowardly to do anything else. The guy was probably collecting his friends now, aiming to bring them back to the motel to finish Mason off. And to guarantee Mason would stick around, the monster had tried to scare him into going back to the room and spending a bunch of time in the mirror.
So if that was the case, then why couldn’t he bring his face up to look in the glass?
This was stupid. There was no logical reason for him to be scared. He hadn’t done anything wrong and he certainly wasn’t about to go on a killing rampage. Sure, he was angry, but it was justifiable. Who wouldn’t harbor a lot of hate when everyone and everything he cared for was taken away?
“One.” He began his countdown. “Two.” Grabbing hold of the sink with both hands, he clung tightly until his knuckles were as white as the ceramic.
“Three.”
He brought his eyes upward and straight into the mirror. His own face glared back at him, looking both surprised and frustrated at the same time. Sweaty brown hair stuck wetly to his forehead. Blue eyes were tired and bloodshot. What was he supposed to be looking for? Horns? Bloody tears gushing down his hollow cheeks? How about fangs? Nope. The answer was (D) None of the above.
His expression gave him a relieved grin. Suddenly the entire thing seemed ridiculous. Rolling his eyes, he returned to trying to clean the blisters on his hands. He’d have to put some bandages on them before he went back to bury Chickadee. The last thing he needed was an infection.
Grabbing the towel off the rack, he began to dry his body. Caught his full reflection in the mirror. He should be eating more. He’d obviously lost some weight over the past few weeks. Kinda hard to be healthy when the only edible food came in cans or packages.
Pulling a fresh shirt out of his backpack, he dressed quickly. There was a good chance that the lying guy was still out there waiting for him or was on his way over. He needed to get out of here. Get some fresh air. Calm down. Once he cooled off he’d be able to think more clearly.
But he wouldn’t leave Chickadee. He’d take care of her first.
He carried her outside and tenderly lowered her body into the grave. Even though he’d wrapped her in the sheets, he could still see how small and fragile her body was. When he tossed the first shovelful of dirt over the clean white cotton, the tears began to flow freely. He ignored them, concentrating on the job instead. He kept thinking he should say something out loud, anything, to celebrate her life and the time they’d shared. But his mind remained blank. There were no words good enough to describe her, anyway.
When it was over, he turned and walked away. He didn’t go back into the room to grab his backpack. He no longer wanted it. The road was the only important item he needed.
He’d allow himself to worry about all the other details later while he headed to Vancouver. He had a long road ahead of him and plenty of time to consider his options.
He still had an ocean to feel.
CLEMENTINE
They walked into Seattle. There were no more roads to lead the way. The intricate spiderweb of highways, overpasses, and tunnels were gone, leaving nothing but piles of asphalt and abandoned vehicles where they once were. Glass was everywhere. The city was covered in it. The buildings above were nothing but hollowed-out rebar and ghostly shells. The smell of smoke was strong. Several buildings were still on fire, presumably from where looters had been at work.
Dear Heath, I’m almost there. Have you waited for me? I hope you were somewhere safe when all this happened. Did they teach you earthquake safety when you got here? Remember how Mom used to warn us about what to do if a tornado ever came? I’d be both terrified and excited at the idea of one actually happening. I’m babbling now. Remember how you used to tease me and call me Empty-Head Barbie? Seattle really looks trashed. I’ve never seen such a mess. I’ll be there in a few hours. I hope you get this message somehow. I’ll send all the good vibes I have your way. Maybe you’ll feel them the way Mom felt us. Either way, hang on tight. I’m coming.
Everything was quiet. Eerily quiet. Dead bodies were everywhere. Some were obviously victims of the earthquake, rotting and stinking from weeks of decomposition. Others were more recent, Bagger prey, still bloody and fresh. In places, they’d been tossed into piles, some of which had been burned. Clementine looked away when they came across the first bonfire. By the time they reached the eighth or ninth she stopped counting, and sometime after that it stopped making her nauseous.
What a strange thing to grow accustomed to.
“Smart,” Michael whispered. The smell of decay was strong, almost overpowering, and both of them had their shirts pulled up over their faces. “They’re cleaning the place up. They may be crazy, but I guess even Baggers worry about hygiene.”
“Why would they do that?” she asked.
“Lots of reasons,” he said. “If they plan on sticking around, they’ll want to fix things. Get rid of the smell. I’ve heard that some of them are still pretty smart. They’re not all random killing nut jobs.”
“I guess that makes sense,” she said.
Michael shrugged. “Maybe they’re planning on rebuilding civilization. I’m not complaining about a little maid service. I’ve seen enough dead bodies to last a lifetime. If they want to clean them up, that’s fine by me. Maybe they’ll fix the roads next. Start up the power. Would be nice to have electricity again. Heat too. It’ll be cold soon.”
“You make them sound human.”
“Aren’t they? A lot of monsters are human.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
They turned the corner cautiously and came across an entire city block demolished by the earthquake. It reminded her of pictures they showed in history class of war-torn Europe after World War II. Such destruction. Hard to believe Mother Nature did that.
“I wonder how many died during the earthquakes,” she said. Strange, she’d almost forgotten about the natural disaster. But in a way, the quakes started it all. That’s when the killings began.
“Probably a lot here,” he said. “I’ve never seen a city so shattered before. Look at all that glass. I wouldn’t want to be underneath it when it fell from the buildings.”
She shuddered. People would have been cut in half. Fortunately the Baggers had tidied up this area.
“Any idea how far the university is from here?” he asked.
She pulled out the map she’d taken from a gas station a few hours back. Opening it, they spread it out against the hood of a car, and Clementine tried to figure out where they were while Michael kept watch. They ended up having to walk several blocks until they discovered a street sign. Most of them had been destroyed or had gone missing. Once they established their location, they found the University of Washington on the map.
“Not bad at all,” Michael said. “We should be able to get there
in a few hours as long as we remain Baggerless.”
They didn’t reach the campus until nightfall. Not because of the Baggers but because many of the roads were no longer passable. Several times they had to backtrack and find new routes when they came across entire skyscrapers brought down by the quake. The city was now mountains of rubble.
Things got a little better once they reached I-5. There weren’t as many buildings and they were able to pick up the pace.
When they finally reached the university, they stopped to look at the gigantic campus map.
“What dorm is he staying in again?” Michael asked.
“Mercer Hall,” she said. In the corner of her pocket she still had his address written on a piece of paper. She’d looked at it so many times over the course of the past few weeks; the paper was worn thin from being constantly refolded. She’d ripped the page from Mom’s address book, and she often pulled it out when she was depressed and lonely. It was the last thing she had of her mother’s. Her only family heirloom.
“There it is,” he said, pointing to the northwest corner of the map. “We can either go straight through, or be more careful and stick to the edge and go around.”
“Let’s go straight,” she said. “It’s dark enough and I’m tired of walking.”
“Your call,” Michael said.
As they moved into the campus, Clementine noticed that the damage wasn’t nearly as bad as earlier in the streets. Hope rose in her thoughts, and she tried to shove it back into the corner of her mind.
Dear Heath, I’m trying hard not to get too excited. You may not be here. You may be dead. I’m almost at the end of my journey. I’m not sure what I’m going to do if you’re gone. I haven’t given things any thought past finding you. Where will I go from here? What will happen if I no longer have you to talk with? You’ve been so helpful to me along the way, even if you don’t know it. Please don’t be dead.
When they arrived at Mercer Hall she almost turned and ran back in the other direction. Her heartbeat was off the charts, and her palms were sweaty. She hadn’t felt this way since a year ago when she waited for Craig Strathmore to pick her up for their first school dance.
“You look like you’re going to throw up,” Michael said. “Do you want to wait for a bit? We don’t have to go in right away. Probably smarter if we sit back for a few hours and scope the place out. Anyone could be in there.”
“No,” she said. “I have to go now or I’ll lose my courage. You’re welcome to stay out here if you think it’s unsafe.”
“I never said I wasn’t game,” he said, giving her a reassuring grin.
The walkway was surrounded by trees and bushes. Mercer Hall was old and made of brick; it stood against the night, quiet and foreboding. Together they made their way up to the front. The wood-and-glass door was smashed and held open by a battered chair. Not a good sign.
Clementine gently stepped around the seat, wincing as the door squeaked and a piece of glass fell from the frame. Nothing came running around the corner to attack. No voices shouted out at them. She turned on her flashlight, and a circle of pale light struck the floor.
Inside, the vending machines were pried open by crowbars. Change littered the floor along with dented cans of pop. A few candy bars, stepped on and squished, and some empty wrappers. Michael picked up a can of Coke and opened it, taking a drink.
The elevator was jammed open, and she could see the wires leading down into the darkened shaft. They found the stairs and headed up to the third floor. Dried bloody palm prints covered the fire door as if someone had attempted some abstract art.
They could hear music when they reached the top, faint, coming from one of the far back rooms on the right side of the hall. It wasn’t a good sign. Michael put one of his fingers up to his lips, and she nodded, almost offended that he thought she might start calling out her brother’s name. She wasn’t that stupid.
There were a lot of overturned chairs in the hallway. Piles of clothing and other sorts of personal items were tossed haphazardly in piles on the floor. Some of the doors were open. They walked farther inside, turning left and away from the music, Clementine counting the door numbers until they came across Heath’s room.
The door was wide-open.
Her heart instantly dropped into her stomach. But she’d come this far. She would check out his room, even if it meant finding his body.
Michael reached out and took her hand. His fingers were warm and soft and she instantly felt a little stronger. Holding her breath, she closed her eyes tightly and stepped into the room.
When she found the courage to take a peek, she saw the room was empty. She immediately spotted the Glenmore High sweatshirt lying on the bed. Next to it was the brown sweater that Mom had bought Heath last Christmas.
Picking up the sweatshirt, she touched the fabric with her fingers. Her vision grew blurry as she fought back the tears. It wouldn’t do her any good to cry. She still didn’t know anything.
You’re not dead yet. Not a memory while there’s still hope. I won’t believe it until I see your dead body.
She scanned the room; it was hard to take everything in at once, especially since the place had been obviously ransacked. The drawers were open on all the cupboards, and clothing was strewn across the floor and bunk beds. A computer monitor had been smashed against the wall. Something green and extremely moldy sat under the desk. There were socks everywhere. She looked for anything of value. A clue.
A note.
Someone walked right past the door, a guy with a towel wrapped around his head. He froze the moment he realized he wasn’t alone. Turning carefully, he stared at them apprehensively. Wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a Batman shirt, he hardly looked threatening.
Clementine immediately knew he wasn’t a Bagger. There was no way he could be faking that kind of fear. She held up her hands carefully, reassuringly—letting him know they weren’t a threat either.
“Um … can I help you?”
“The guy who lives here,” she said. “Heath White. Have you seen him?”
The towel dropped to the floor. “Heath? Yeah, he’s gone, man. He split.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“Him and his roommate took off somewhere. No idea. They asked me along, but I wouldn’t go. I ain’t leaving this place. It’s much safer than being out there.”
“You keep playing music like that and it won’t be,” Michael said.
“Nah,” the guy said. “They’ve come and gone. Cleaned out the building. And I’ve got a good hiding spot.”
“What if we were Baggers?” Michael said. “You’d be dead.”
The guy looked puzzled. “Baggers? Is that what you’re calling them, or is that what they call themselves?”
“What does it matter?” Michael said. “Their name or ours, you’d still be dead.”
The guy shook his head and shrugged. “They said I wasn’t worth it. They came and left and said I wasn’t good enough to die. They took Stebbins and killed a bunch of others, but they left me alone. I doubt they’ll come back.”
“Why would they do that?” Clementine asked. “Why not kill everyone?”
“I dunno. Maybe they thought they were useful? They went after the tech students. Computer programming. Could be they want to get all the computers working again. How the hell should I know? I think there were some chemistry and premed guys, too.”
“Rebuilding,” Michael said softly. “By force.”
“Who did they kill?” she asked.
The guy ignored the question. He was too busy studying Clementine. “Are you Heath’s little sister? He talked about you sometimes.”
She nodded. “Did he leave a message? Did he give you anything for me?”
“Nope.” The guy picked his towel up off the floor. “Hey, do you want to go out with me sometime? You’re seventeen, right?”
“You do realize you’re not wearing any pants, right?”
“Whatever.” The guy scratched at
a pimple on his neck. “But I think he left a note somewhere. Maybe. I can’t remember. If it’s okay with you, I’m gonna go back to my room and check out my hiding spot. With my luck you probably led them right back here. Baggers. What a stupid name.”
The guy turned and disappeared down the hall. Clementine and Michael exchanged looks, trying very hard not to laugh before the weird little guy was out of earshot.
She turned and started examining the room. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for.
There on the desk, weighted down by a ring, Heath’s school ring to be exact. The blue stone looked black in the darkness.
She picked up the paper and opened it.
Oct. 15
Dear Mom, Dad, and Clementine,
I don’t know if you’ll ever see this letter, but I pray that you’re alive and well. We’ve been hiding out at the school for the past few weeks, and Aaron and I have decided to go someplace safer. There are attacks at night. People have been searching the dorms and killing the survivors. Most of the students on my floor are already dead. I’ve been lucky.
We’re going to head north to Vancouver, Canada. We heard some people transmitting on the CB radio. They said it’s supposed to be safe there. No monsters. The university is taking thousands of refugees from America. I don’t believe it, but Aaron wants to try. Safety in numbers, right?
I hope you’re well, and if you find this, I wish I could offer more. I wish I could head east, but I don’t believe I’d make it alive. And the others won’t come with me. I already asked. Please don’t think I’m a coward, but I can’t make that trip alone. So I’ll head north with them.
Clementine, stay safe. Stay well. Sometimes I feel like you’re here with me, whispering in my ear. Call me crazy, but I think some of Mom’s intuition is rubbing off on me. I’ll keep that faith that you’re alive and well deep inside my heart.
Love, Heath
The tears were so bad she almost couldn’t finish reading the letter. When it was over, she handed it to Michael and picked up Heath’s sweatshirt again to dry her face. It wouldn’t do her any good to cry. According to the date, Heath had written the letter a little more than a week ago. He’d survived the earthquakes and the initial attack. He might still be alive. She didn’t have to mourn him yet.