Solstice: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse (7 page)

“Something’s going to happen to all of us,” Leila replied.

Melanie glanced over to where Christopher slept on a pallet in front of the fireplace. A little boy didn’t need to hear such things from his mother.

Leila stalked over to the sofa and plopped down. “The only thing we need that gun for is to finish us off.” She picked up her glass and sipped the last of the wine. “Who wants to go first? Melanie, how about you?”

“That’s enough,” Tomas snapped.

Another of Leila’s moods. When things weren’t just so, she took it out on everyone, and things definitely weren’t right. Worry creased Tomas’s brow. They would have to leave the house soon for food and warmth, he’d told Melanie, but Leila was going to be a tough one. She wouldn’t leave her home without a fight. Since killing the old man yesterday, they’d seen others like him milling around along the road out front. Luckily, Bo had kept quiet, and the windows were covered enough to hide the fire’s glow. Apparently, the…
things
didn’t have enough awareness to notice the smoke billowing from the chimney.

Leila laughed bitterly. “Why don’t you just open the doors and invite those creatures inside? Let’s be done with it. For all we know, we’re the only ones left, anyway. Eventually, they’ll come. I don’t want to watch them kill my child. We need four bullets, Tomas. Four.”

Her words chilled Melanie to the bone, but she knew better than to confront Leila. Besides, Tomas would take care of things.

Tomas kneeled beside Christopher. “You’re talking about killing our son, Leila.”

“I know what I’m talking about.”

“No. I’ll never allow that to happen.”

Melanie had heard stories of how polar night and polar twilight affected the people of the villages much further north, and everyone was experiencing polar night, without a promise of it ending.

Tomas had mentioned being worried that depression would hit them due to the lack of sunlight. Christopher. He and Christopher had spent so much time outside in the sunshine, no matter about the cold. Christopher was a real child of the sun, but perhaps children could adjust easier than adults.

Christopher had once asked Melanie how long the night was going to last. She had no answer, and Christopher had not asked again. Instead, he played with his men or flipped through picture books in front of the warm fire.

“I would like to learn to use it,” Melanie whispered.

“Little lapdog,” Leila muttered. “Haven’t you gotten past that silly schoolgirl infatuation yet?”

“Shut up, Leila,” Melanie said, moving away from Tomas, as if she had been caught doing something wrong. Her cheeks grew red.

“Enough, Leila,” Tomas said flatly. “We’re all we have left.”

“That’s not very much, is it?”

“I think it’s more than enough.” Tomas stroked his son’s hair. The expression on his face made Melanie’s heart ache.

Chapter 11

London, England

Stu dreamt of home, the beaches of Wrightsville Beach and Maddy running along the gorgeous unspoiled sand, small feet leaving perfect prints, her laughter like a bell. The salty, puckering scent of the ocean deepened into something rotten, decayed. The sweet scene dissolved as the warm sun vanished from the sky, and the world became night. No, something murkier than night. Maddy screamed. Stu reached for her hand, but she continued up the beach, growing smaller and smaller in the gloom. He tried to run after her. His legs felt leaden and didn’t work right. She quickly left him far behind, her hair spilling out behind her in the wind. The icy Atlantic washed up against his feet and legs, and he looked down and realized the tide had risen. He couldn’t get out of the water. He cried out for Maddy, but she didn’t even look back. In a moment, the water was up to his waist. Then it touched his chest, and he flailed, trying to swim toward shore.

Stu jumped awake, his daughter’s name on his lips.

Tana touched his forehead. “You were having a nightmare.”

“Don’t you ever sleep?” Stu sat up and struggled out of his sleeping bag.

“Not so much, lately. I keep seeing Aidan’s face—what it had become. I lay awake, wondering…”

Candles burned around their makeshift campsite. Tana had strung a small pup tent between two aisle shelves, and Davis slept soundly inside, wrapped in a sleeping bag emblazoned with the Star Wars logo. Only the top of his curly head was visible.

Tana took a drag on her cigarette and let the smoke seep out between her full lips. “I shouldn’t be smoking. I’d stopped, you know. Almost a year.”

“Yeah, well. We all need something right now.” Stu reached for a bottle of water, wanting something stronger. The store was freezing. He could see his breath rise in front of his face. The propane that ran the emergency generator was low, and they needed to conserve as much as possible, which meant few lights and only a few hours of heat during the day to cut the chill. Their voices sounded very loud in the silence. Everyone else was sleeping. Funny, he thought, how they seemed to keep somewhat normal waking and sleeping hours, although it was impossible to tell if it was day or night.

“I suppose so,” Tana agreed.

Stu offered her the water, and she laughed, holding up a half-empty bottle of Riesling. He placed the water aside and took the wine. He pulled a long drink, liking the little sting it left in the back of his throat.

“I dreamed about my daughter,” he said. “I dreamed I was trapped in a rip current and couldn’t get to her.”

“Kinda like how it really is,” Tana said.

Stu took another long drink and placed the bottle on the floor beside him. “I wonder if it’s possible to drown in darkness rather than water.”

Tana squeezed his arm, then reached across him for the wine bottle. Her nearness made his breath catch for a moment. Several times, he had found himself wondering what she would look like in sunlight. The candlelight and the occasional glow from a flashlight didn’t do her proper justice and only deepened the hollows beneath her eyes.

“I hate the dark.” She stood and started toward the front entrance of the store.

Stu followed, wincing at the stiffness in the small of his back. Sleeping on a cement floor wasn’t agreeable to him at all, and he had found he needed to get up and moving for a while before the aches worked themselves out.

Tana spent too much time peering through the front windows, as if waiting for her younger son to reappear, to return to her as he was before he fled into the darkness, covered in a dead man’s blood. Stu had given up looking already. Figures darted past the window, unrecognizable, inky silhouettes against the backdrop of swirling night sky.

A few nights earlier, Stu had discussed the sudden appearance of the Northern Lights with George Edwards, the older fellow who had been an employee of the market. Fires had popped to life in several spots, the largest surrounding the downed airliner. It must have crashed several days ago. Stu thought he saw stumbling figures emerge from the wreckage. He’d been drinking, but he wasn’t that drunk. One loping shape appeared to be missing a leg. The figure hopped a few yards, then down he went. Stu didn’t mention it to anyone, not even George.

The enormous tail section had pointed to the sky amidst a sea of boiling orange flame. Later, explosions rocked the building, driving Davis and Stu’s four remaining students into fits of loud weeping. On the verge of exasperation, Stu reminded himself that they were only children—big, petulant, manipulative children—and he was determined to keep them safe until they made it back to the shores of home. The ear-shattering noise had even brought the dock workers, or “Dockers” as George called them, from the warehouse.

Everyone had forgotten about the three holdouts but George, who insisted it was best for everyone that they remained locked away. Nevertheless, everyone finally had access to the employee locker room showers, extra stores of canned food, bottled water, and most importantly, the crates of wine and ale.

Shaking the memories off, Stu mentioned again how unsafe it was to stand near the glass, but Tana only shrugged, drank her wine, and smoked. He was about to say something else when a rather broad man materialized from the shadows and ran headlong into the glass. The man bounced backward several feet and landed on the pavement. A spiderweb appeared where the man had hit, then began to blossom wider and wider until it consumed that entire framed section.

“Holy hell!” Stu grabbed Tana’s arm and yanked her away from the entrance.

Stunned, he watched the man get up and make another run. His wrecked face smashed against the window, and the pane bowed inward. Blood painted the glass and seeped into the cracks like macabre etchings. Another blow and the window would give way.

George rushed by, a cricket bat in his fist. He fished a set of keys from his trouser pocket, jammed it into the lock and opened the front door just enough to squeeze out.

Stu made a step to follow the old man, but Tana held him back. “No, you don’t!”

George made quick work of the crazed, would-be intruder. After three blows, the big man’s head vanished in a pulp of gore and crushed bone. George stood over the body a moment, breathing heard, bat poised for another go, but the man lay still.

George then tossed the bat to the pavement and nodded to Stu, who shoved the door open to let him back inside. Stu glanced back at the mess that had been a human head only moments ago. A scatter of bloodstained teeth glinted wetly from the icy ground. For some reason, those teeth seemed enormous.

December 27-29

Chapter 12

Trollhättan, Sweden

The snow flew at the windows, and Tomas was reminded of those old science fiction flicks, featuring ships traveling at light speed through space with the stars a near miss. He’d started packing the things he wanted to take and had instructed Leila to do the same. She refused to cooperate, as usual, instead complaining over leaving her home.

“There’s no food here, Leila. We’re running out of things to burn.” Reasoning with her wasn’t a simple thing to do. “We have to consider our son.”

“I’ve considered him, Tom. And I’ve told you what I think should happen.”

“You were drunk when you said that.”

“I’m not drunk now.” She shoved some sweaters into a small case. “This is so pointless.”

“What?” He was suddenly angry, fighting to bite it back. She was afraid, and arguing was her way of coping, he told himself. But he also thought she was just a spoiled bitch and always had been. Maybe his love had blinded him for most of the years of their marriage, but it was true. He grabbed her arms. “What’s pointless? Trying to survive? Trying to keep Christopher safe?”

Leila jerked away, her mouth drawing into a hateful snarl. “You’ve always been so weak.”

Tomas stepped back from her. “Tell you what. Stay here if you want. I’m taking Christopher, and I’m leaving.” He stormed out of the bedroom.

“Don’t forget to take your little dog,” Leila called. “All you have to do is call her.”

***

There were things Melanie knew she should not think of, like the mad ones from the train, like the old man who still lay dead at the front door. Something had eaten at the flesh of the body while they slept. When Melanie ventured to look later, chucks of flesh were missing from his thighs and torso, and his clothing was shredded. The chunks appeared to be in the shape of human bite marks.

No, Melanie. Don’t think about it.

Several candles burned around Tomas’s office, giving off a wavering glow. Overhead, the skylight was a square of black peppered with silver. Melanie sat on the floor with Christopher on her lap, both of them wrapped in a woolen blanket.

Christopher watched his father, wide-eyed. “Can I take my toys in a box, Daddy? Like you?”

“You can take as many as we can carry,” Tomas said. “But remember, we’ll only be gone for a short while.” He kneeled and looked his son in the eyes. “Think about it like a holiday.” He kissed Christopher’s head, his face lingering in the little boy’s curls a moment too long. Tears glistened at the corners of his eyes. Melanie fought to hide her own tears.

“Mommy says we’re going forever,” Christopher said gravely.

“She only meant it’ll
feel
long,” Melanie offered.

Christopher put his first two fingers into his mouth and crawled into Melanie’s lap. Shelves and drawers contained a life. Tomas was about to condense that life into one small box because that was all he could to carry.
If you wish to travel far and fast, travel light.
Who had said that? It didn’t matter, Melanie supposed. On the floor were stacks of vinyl record albums, most which Tomas had on compact disc or as audio files stored on his iPod.

Melanie remembered asking him once if his idyllic fantasy life would be to live inside a Springsteen song. Purely American—boys in leather jackets and girls who worked as waitresses and lived to look pretty for their guys. Did he imagine a life in some small, blue-collar American town where gangs of toughs fought it out over turf and died pretty deaths?

Melanie liked those songs, mainly because they reminded her Tomas. Unlike Leila, she didn’t begrudge him his musical taste. But then, Leila seemed to begrudge him anything that didn’t center on her. The lyrics were poetry, which Melanie appreciated, having tried to write poetry in her late teen years. The rhythm and the rhyme—it was no easy task.

Contemplating Tomas’s favorite American music, she started as a surreal thought entered her mind. Christopher, asleep in her lap, stirred, but immediately settled back down, slurping on his fingers.

Was there a United States anymore? Frantic images raced through her head. Springsteen, their president, and movie stars she knew by name and face better than people in her own town. She thought of the cute guy she watched on the American television show about the supernatural. She had sometimes caught the show on an Internet stream when she had nothing better to do. Were those people dead? Were they alive and afraid of never seeing the sun again? Were they… changed? Mad?