Thank you everyone, for all the reviews and favorites and follows! I know this is a dark story, and not your usual Austen romance, so believe me, I appreciate every reader willing to give a chance to this tale.
- XX -
The sun blazing, hot and harsh on the mountains.
Elizabeth walked, limping slightly, forgetting about the pain in her foot. She didn't have her red coat, it was Belle's now, keeping the girl warm. The child liked to huddle in it, as if it was a protection armor, or a nest. Without her red coat, Elizabeth was not Little Red Riding Hood, she was—no one, free, floating. Nature. Nature did not care about her latest hurdles, nature was striving, the stream, water icy and bright, hypericum, gorgeous and thick, hawthorn, rosehips, whitebeams, the fragrances of wild mint and crushed dandelions under her feet. Zombies were enjoying the scenery, breathing good mountain air, and so they should, with the electricity down the barriers were down, falling one by one, heaps of creatures entangled in barbed wires scattered on Elizabeth's path. Other, free pack of zombies were roaming the place, six here, another three there and two behind her, keeping their d, for now, but did it matter really, if she never came back?
Everything, everyone was so far away.
Elizabeth stopped. This zombie here on the right, strolling toward her. Did he read the reports?
She closed her eyes. The sun, caressing her skin. That's what she had done, closing her eyes and standing idly by, while the worst was happening. This, this was such a better way to go, the heat on her eyelids, her inner universe turning orange and warm. In colors, a beautiful way to end it all. When she lazily opened her eyes again, the zombie was ambling closer, a man, he had been a man, fifty something maybe, her father's age when—not in Elizabeth's d still. If she resumed walking they would miss each other by a mile, not really a mile, the mile was a metaphor—but—you get it. Elizabeth was standing still.
The creature was getting nearer.
The slope, a wave, bright green, perfect. No obstacle. No tree, no bush. Nowhere to hide. Just the grass and the open sky and Elizabeth and death.
The zombie was in her d now. He felt her, he reacted. A beeline, right at her.
You should move. She really should. But she was stuck, frozen in her glass coffin. To die in the blue. Better than she deserved.
The zombie stopped.
He stopped. He stopped, against his will, or so it seemed, projecting his body forward before retreating as if he was prevented by an invisible barrier. Except there was no barrier, and sure, Elizabeth was a tad irrational right now, slightly mad, but come on, she was not that mad. There were no—no aliens. No forcefield, no magical technology suddenly appearing to save her—but—something bizarre was happening—and brutally her mind was clear again.
What was she doing?
The fog had lifted.
What the hell has she done?
She had…wandered inside the Center and waltzed with zombies. Now she was outside, in the mountains, while ALL the fences were down, and— What— Was it— She had gone crazy—
A psychotic break, by any other name. She threw a quick glance around. Many, many other creatures, far and unbothered. For now.
Leaving Belle alone in an empty building with Edwards. What on earth had come over her? Could she get out of this? Could she get back to their apartment and the girl? Could she—
The zombie had calmed down. His, its—please, not that debate again—his gaze was still focused on Elizabeth. Brown eyes, no glasses. A piercing look, right on her, saying, "I'll get you, I'll get you, I'm so hungry, but."
But. But what? Elizabeth irrationally extended her hand. Maybe aliens had landed after all, but no, no—no forcefield, nothing separating her from the creature except daisies, a flowerbed of daisies, a—
Daisies. Waves and waves of them and they were very white.
Elizabeth had switched to science mode. It had saved her, she realized. It had pulled her out of—the abyss.
Years of studying in her own time, to catch up with the education she never had. Suicide by zombies could wait—curiosity had won. Several hypotheses, dancing and morphing. The environment mutations, Mary and the Vantablackberries. Oh, Elizabeth was awake now, acutely so, waves of flowers, bellis perennis, white, too white. The density was wrong too. More flowers by square inch that there should be. A compact, tight carpet.
The zombie was following Elizabeth's moves with a ravenous look. She took a step uphill. A small one first—whatever fragile equilibrium of circumstances was at play here, let's not disturb it too much. The zombie took a step in the same direction, on a parallel path, fifteen feet of daisies between them.
Ok. This—this phenomenon, the Vantawhite Daisies, this wasn't in existence the last time Elizabeth had wandered outside—arguably, she had been quite distracted, whether by Edwards rambling about guilt, or by Beige Shirt Zombie in her picnic area trying to eat her, but still. Elizabeth would have noticed such a change in the statu quo. It was her job to notice such a change in the statu quo.
Things were changing fast. Elizabeth got such a rush from this idea, such a hunger for knowledge, equivalent to the zombie's desire to eat her, that— Ok, ok, let's experiment—safety measures first. Not the gun, no need to alert every undead creature in hearing range, including Edwards.
Z-knife.
"Hey," she murmured to the zombie. Sound, zombies, attraction. "Hey, come here, kitty kitty kitty. Come on."
The creature got a little crazy trying to reach her, but nope. See, colors. Colors are not only pretty things that cheer you up when you are down, colors are wavelengths. And zombies' vision range differed from humans'. Their senses worked differently, for instance, the Call, and please notice that Elizabeth's own experimental subject was not Calling right now, although he had every reason to. Whatever affected him affected this capacity also. The wavelengths, repelling him? Confusing him? Blinding him? The flowers patch was thinning uphill, Elizabeth prudently advanced toward the dangerous, greener zone; at first the zombie only followed but then some threshold must have been reached, the density of white not high enough to stop him, he almost leaped into Elizabeth's direction, she instantly retreated, back into the white zone, the creature stopped again.
Got it.
She crouched down (her foot, ouch), keeping an eye on the creature, and began to frenetically unearth some of the flowers with the Z-knife—she needed to get those to a lab, any lab, people had to study this—on a spectrum, how important was this discovery? Anecdotal? Game changing? Was there a future of the human species where every house was surrounded by bright white daisies? Flowers pots on every windowsill—no, that would not be enough, Elizabeth's science brain provided, as the low-density green patch from a few moments ago proved. But—if they could isolate the characteristic, reproduce the phenomenon—Elizabeth removed her sweater, delicately wrapping the flowers in it, careful not to damage the roots.
Noise—on her left—the group of six zombies was descending toward her, not in her d yet but soon, and if she advanced deeper into the flower zone she would get too close to Mr Brown-eyed zombie here…
Fine.
Tactical retreat.
Elizabeth slowly walked away, hugging the sweater with the flowers close. Her heart was racing, first the fire of intellectual discovery, and then—belated, justified fear. Because, her situation, right now. Not good.
She had to think. Limping downhill. Finding a relatively safe zone nearer to the building. Far from the zombie pens, they still seemed to hold, by the way, their fences solid wood. Elizabeth stopped, a solid concrete wall behind her, open land all around. There she took stock of her situation.
Night would fall soon. The mountains would be freezing and full of zombies. There was no easy way to climb back up and into the Center, no obvious one at least, and her ankle hurt like hell. The only way to get back inside was through the transparent tunnel, leading into the lower levels, which would be—freezing and full of zombies.
And…
And suddenly, something in Elizabeth's mind clicked.
What was she waiting for?
What had she been waiting for, all this time?
She had been lost, walking in fog, not only now, not only these last hours but for days, weeks maybe. What had she been waiting for, huddled in a bedroom with Belle, trapped in smaller and smaller spaces?
The Witch would not come for them. No, the Witch should not come for them, because, whatever happened to Karima—don't think about it—no, no, do, do think about it. No more fog, no more—avoidance, whatever happened with Karima meant the Witch did not like witnesses. Belle was a witness, if the Witch came she would be killed. So. No rescue. No helicopter. One day soon they would be out of food, or Edwards would find them, whichever happened first.
They had to leave. Elizabeth and Belle had to leave the Center. In theory, there were no vehicles left but Elizabeth had not checked, had she? What were the chances the evacuation had been complete and thorough? There were probably science vans abandoned somewhere, or even a car, they would need food and gas, and sure, 84 000 zombies on the slopes, but this was the only way.
A serious, dangerous expedition. It had to be prepared and Elizabeth could not—she could not gather food, water and munitions and search for gas and necessities while an evil human with evil intelligence was hunting her, while the Wolf was hunting them, and there was only one solution to this predicament, and Elizabeth knew, Elizabeth had always known but she had shied from it as she had shied from everything else, the solution was there, weighing in her backpack, with munitions and a trigger.
Ok. Ok. First things first.
The generator. The generators, plural. Sure, she had been seized by a bout of temporary madness, but, think about it. Making the trek down for electricity was too risky when she was upstairs—she had done it though. She was there now, the risk-to-benefit ratio had changed. A generator meant—warmth, food, computers, electrified fences, what was left of them anyway, it meant light in the sublevel parking zones where possible vehicles were waiting. And yes, Edwards might shut the power down again, but he also might not even notice the change—who knows how this inhuman mind of his was working now.
Yes, first step. And then…
It was getting darker. A cold breeze rose; Elizabeth shivered.
Karima walked to her, she sat down in Coulson's chair.
"Eight minutes warning," she said. "Let's go."
- XX -
The skies, shades of gold and purple. Elizabeth circled the Center slowly, getting a tactical read of the place, as Coulson would say. The mount of sand leading to the unfinished glass bay was riddled with undead creatures. In an unnatural way—Edwards had done something to draw them in.
So this was a no-go. Oh, and, remember the C-17 door, the one that had started this whole mess? The one Elizabeth had noticed from the roof, the one which was not energy protected anymore? The C-17 door was open. Someone, guess who, had played with the controls inside and opened it wide, presumably when electricity was still working.
Elizabeth had worried so much about the missing blue sparks at the time, and you know how important all this "energy protection" turned out to be? Answer, not at all, not when the metallic panel was up and zombies had poured inside, a crowd of them still loitering near the entrance. Elizabeth had been right on one thing though. The slopes led the creatures right to the door. As time went by, an important percentage of distracted zombies in the vicinity were naturally finding their way there by following the lay of the land, great architectural design here guys, wonderful, just peachy.
Edwards had been busy. Five of the other big metal doors were also opened. Zombies liked them less than the glamorous, 'four out of five undead would recommend' C-17 though.
The zombie pens. Three of them were intact, but as Elizabeth finished circling the Center she found some fences had fallen, maybe thanks to Edwards' intervention, maybe just because of time and faulty design. Then, her goal. The transparent tunnel, the one she had walked through so many times, the one that went through the zombie pens. She studied it from a respectful distance. On the left side the pen was empty; the zombies had escaped and slowly drifted toward C-17. On the right side, the usual crowd.
Night would fall soon. To access the tunnel Elizabeth had to go through an underground passage first. Without electricity or light. She limped toward the entrance, it was protected by a metallic gate, still closed, even without the electrical lock.
She took a deep breath. If Edwards had not tampered with the gate on the other side there was no reason for creatures to have wandered inside. Another deep breath. Opening, yelling inside the dark depth of the passageway, making as much noise as she could to lure anyone and anything out of it—no reaction. Nothing moved. Z-Knife ready. Walking in and hastening through the obscurity was the only strategy, and hasten she did, because she was terrified and because zombies were slow creatures after all.
Light at the end of the tunnel (literally). The other gate. Elizabeth opened it, found herself in the transparent tube. On her left, nothing. On her right, hordes of ravenous creatures euphoric to see her again, hitting their bodies on the glass and Calling—ah, two other important pieces of info. One, there were fissures in the glass, serious, deep cracks, like someone had a go at it with an axe, and two, there was a zombie waiting for her—one of these was a more urgent problem than the other, no time to think, the zombie was in Elizabeth's d and she was still hugging the flowers so she just ran, screaming, she violently pushed the woman away and made her way to the other side, another gate, passing through, closing it behind her, why on earth has she screamed do you remember zombies are attracted by noise—she was inside, back in the Center—Elizabeth ran through the huge and apparently empty hall.
A sort of waiting area on the left. Nothing and no one around, she stopped near a reception desk to catch her breath.
Her hands were trembling. This game of hide and seek, much less fun when you were conscious of the danger.
Step by step. Don't panic.
She found a big, comfortable office with dead plants. Securing it. Then, first order of business, repotting the daisies. A year-old bottle of Gatorade in a drawer was used to water them. These flowers were important, more important than her life, she thought with dark amusement.
Also… The Center had not failed. Wasn't that ironic? They had found something after all.
She had found something after all.
Time to leave the daisies behind. Elizabeth walked away with regret, but—her agenda was busy now. Cars to find, people to kill. She felt nauseous. She could not do it—hunt Edwards and kill him in cold blood. She could not do it. Could she? And also, could she? What if she missed?
Step by step. Like those people in the movies who freaked out when they were getting married. The best friend telling them to take it one step at a time, first, shower, 'see, James, you can shower, now get dressed,' shirt, tie, start the car, go to church, get married, same here, except—you know.
The security plans were pinned to a wall in the entrance hall; the generators were not that far, but—noise. On Elizabeth's left. A strange hiss, like the murmurs from a faraway crowd, like people waiting in line in a cinema somewhere.
Z-Knife, in her pocket. Gun, in her hand. Do not use except in case of Edwards.
A first door, Advance-Retreat-Advance strategy. A series of sitting rooms, another large hall—the noise was becoming clearer, and Elizabeth saw it—the horde. Yes, it was the right, technical term. When more than a hundred zombies gathered together, they well, they vibed—scientific story short, they began to move together, following the same path, attracted by the same stimuli, Calling and inviting more and more of their peers—a spiraling effect. And yes, here they were, the C-17 crowd. Three hundred of them at least, now filling the business center zone, stuffing the conference rooms, flooding the corridors, crawling into the bathrooms and the technical spaces, moving like a slow wave, like the tide, like a swarm of slow insects.
This here—the business center, this was where Elizabeth had met Duy for the first time. Where she had met Coulson for the first time. They had interminable, boring meetings there, they ate pizza, just the two of them, preparing the annual report of the Nature Watch Committee, talking for hours into the night. They had played cards together here, the whole group—Churchill got them inside after hours with a card he 'borrowed' and Coulson disapproved but he came along anyway—and he did not need Churchill's card to get in—they had a game night and drank a lot of beer, and now, around the tables, around their table—
Nausea, again.
Ok.
Maybe not this way then. Another tactical retreat.
Despite the necessary detour, making her way to the generators was easy after all. The horde acted like an undead magnet, drawing in every creature in the vicinity—leaving the rest of the level monster free. The depot Elizabeth was looking for was huge, full of dust and crates, the rapidly descending light filtering through the dirty windows. No zombies, but no food either, instead chemical products, forgotten scientific apparatus, medical supplies, and—bottled water! Entire pallets of the stuff—this was, this was literally life-saving—two bottles went directly into the backpack, no more, what if she had to run.
Water. Stocking a car with enough provisions for a journey was beginning to become like an actual possibility—a real plan—except for the still nonexistent car, but—details.
One sleeping zombie in a corner. Far enough away to not be a pain. The generators, two of them. Dusty. The first one. A big red button—no, seriously—Elizabeth pressed it.
Light.
Huge neons coming alive, flooding the depot, illuminating—nothing particularly interesting, but still. Everything began to buzz. You don't hear them anymore, the low electrical songs of the lamps, of machinery, computers, screens, electrical radiators, security systems, they just become the background of life, auditory fog. But Elizabeth had been without long enough that she heard it now, she heard it all, and this music was gorgeous—almost as good as colors or daisies or a cup of coffee—hey, a cup of coffee!—all things in due time, the second generator, pushing the button, and then Elizabeth realized her plan had a major flaw, because, of course—
Because Edwards was on his way to her right now.
Her heart began to race. Edwards was smart. He knew about the generators. It meant the second the lights flickered on, he knew exactly where Elizabeth was—or he just had to glance at a plan—
Edwards was running. Towards her. At this exact second.
Elizabeth had to flee, she had to hide, except no, no—deep breaths—panic—deep breaths again—do not freeze—this depot, it was a huge space, one door, far away from her, she would have all the time to see him coming, breathe, breathe, this is an opportunity, this is the opportunity you've been waiting for, she got into position, facing the door, her two legs firmly planted on the ground.
As soon as the wolf had finished eating the grandmother's tasty flesh, he climbed back into bed, fell asleep, and began to snore very loudly. But a hunter was passing by.
Elizabeth raised the gun.
She waited.