“I’m starting to think…” he said after a moment.
“No,” she said. “Please don’t say it. Something is preventing us from starting these cars. Just like it cut the power and killed the phones.”
“I think so.”
“Todd,” she said, and moved in as if to hug him again. He brought her closer…then felt a rush as her lips touched his. She tasted like sea salt and felt very warm despite the cold all around them. If he could, he would have stretched this moment in time out to infinity.
A mechanical tone sounded from his pants pocket just as Kate pressed her thigh against his. She flinched at the sound, startled. “What was that?” she breathed directly in his face.
“Looks like you’ve activated my cell.” He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and ran his fingers along the keypad to activate it.
“Please tell me that’s an incoming call,” Kate said. Her hands slid slowly down the lengths of Todd’s arms until they were no longer touching.
“No such luck. You just leaned against the keypad. Still no signal.”
Then a notion seemed to strike them both simultaneously. In the dark cave of some stranger’s garage, they glanced briefly at each other, their faces illuminated by the cold glow of Todd’s cell phone.
“Other cell phones,” Kate said.
“Might get different reception,” Todd added.
“Might have closer towers,” Kate finished. It was like an epiphany.
“There must be some around the house,” Todd said as they stormed back into the kitchen. “Lying around on tables, on phone chargers, maybe upstairs in one of the bedrooms—”
Kate rushed over to the kitchen counter where a small flip phone sat in plain view. She flipped it open and beamed. “Battery works!”
Todd rushed to her side just as her face fell. “What is it?” he asked.
Kate held out the phone so that he could examine the display screen. “Look at the numerals. Look at the time.”
“I…” But then he saw it. When he looked back up at her, she had the face of a frightened child.
“How’s that possible?” she said.
According to the cell phone, the time was currently F9:KA.
He took the phone from her and scrolled through the electronic phonebook. “Jesus Christ, will you look at this…”
The first entry was nothing but gibberish: SH%AMSA <, TWSWSV 102873460128374610973917
“It’s like the goddamn thing got scrambled,” he said, flipping through more names. Each one was in some similar form of hieroglyphics. “Let me see your phone.”
“I don’t have it. It’s still in my coat, back at the Pack-N-Go.”
Todd looked around. He began going systematically through the kitchen drawers until he located a ruby red cell phone with unicorn stickers on the casing. He powered it on and the screen blinked with the following cryptic missive: DWELLDWELLDWELLDWELLDWELLDWELL. Todd scrolled through the rest of the phone, each of the alphanumeric entries comprised of similar nonsense. Frustrated, he tossed the cell phone back in the drawer.
“Our situation just got worse, didn’t it?” Kate said. “None of the cars in this town will start, will they? All the electrical shit is out and all the battery-powered things have gone to shit. Everything’s either dead or scrambled.”
“Kate,” Todd said, suddenly backing up behind the kitchen counter with his gun drawn. “There’s someone behind you.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Upon waking, the first thing Shawna was aware of was the pain in her leg. The bandages had come loose in the night and the wound had reopened, soaking the left leg of her sweatpants in fresh blood. She sat up with much difficulty, utilizing the wall behind her for support, and managed to grab hold of the pant leg in one fist and slide her leg out straight in front of her.
The pain was like a thousand holocausts.
Gritting her teeth, she adjusted her leg and slid one hand inside the waistband of the sweatpants, then farther down her thigh until she felt the swollen, tender tissue just below the knee. Her entire calf had swollen to twice its normal size.
That’s because it’s infected, she thought, instantly miserable. One of those fucking snowmen took a chunk out of me and now I’m infected with whatever malignant diseases those fucking things carry.
Miserable.
She reached down into the nearest cardboard box in hopes of finding a fresh pair of pants and another bandage to tie her leg. Instead, she wound up planting her hand firmly in the still-warm vomit from last night.
“This is certainly not one of my better days,” she muttered…and the ruined, parched sound of her own voice nearly frightened her as much as her injury. It was as if she were becoming less and less herself…changing as everyone else in town had changed…
I won’t let that happen, she thought, her eyes shifting to the rifle that had remained by her side all throughout the night. I’ve still got Old Blue here.
The next thing she realized was just how hungry she was. Her stomach caterwauled. Holed up in the Pack-N-Go, it had been easy to take food and drink for granted—she’d had all she could want at her disposal. Now, out here in no-man’s-land, she was on her own. Was it possible old Rita Tubalow had some food stowed away down here?
Sure, she thought, her misery increasing. Everyone keeps food in the basement!
It briefly occurred to her that she was losing her mind.
Anyway, there was sure to be food upstairs. In the kitchen. If anyone were up there, she’d let Old Blue do the talking. If, of course, she was actually capable of climbing the stairs…
Using the rifle as a crutch, she hoisted herself up amid a fog of pain. It was all she could do not to scream when she straightened out her leg and actually set her foot down on the floor. She’d kicked off her shoes in her sleep and now the cold concrete of the basement floor radiated up through her sock and into the depths of her bones. Her sock was dark with dried blood…
Come on come on come on come on comeoncomeoncomeon—
She stood, and let out a meager cry. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Climbing the stairs would be tantamount to climbing Everest. Hell, just making it to the stairs would be an incredible feat. Nonetheless, she proceeded, crutching along with the rifle, limping and in excruciating pain. Each time she put weight on her injured leg, she swore she could feel the wound separating and tearing farther up her calf, straight up to her kneecap. Was it possible for kneecaps to come undone, to fall out and clatter like dinnerware to the floor? A hideous mental image of plastic Tupperware rolling out of a gash in her thigh suddenly filled her mind and it was all she could do to keep herself from breaking down into uncontrollable laughter. Tupperware containers full of frozen meatballs and lasagna, of fruit salad and leftover green beans…
Think of Jared. That’ll sober you up, you imbecile. Think of how you shot Jared, then shot him again, then shot him again until his head split down the middle and that ghostly thing came flying out of him. Think of how he’s frozen solid right now under a heap of Glad trash bags back at the Pack-N-Go, just a few yards away from poor George Farmer, who fared even worse. Not much left of poor George Farmer, who used to hand out the really big candy bars every Halloween, do you remember? You remember, don’t you, Shawnie? Of course you do. My little Shawnie…
Somehow, she made it to the stairwell. Looking up was like staring into a mine shaft. It would take an eternity plus two extra days to hoof it all the way to the top. Glancing down, she saw that she’d shed a lot of blood on the concrete floor in her trek across the basement. As she looked at the bloody smears, she felt her bladder let go and warm urine traced down her inner thighs, soaking the sweatpants.