Dark Inside (31 page)

“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.

She just had to find him.

Michael handed back the letter, and she read it again before folding it and putting it in her pocket. Picking up Heath’s ring, she placed it on her middle finger. It was a little too big, but she didn’t think it would fall off.

Then she pulled on Heath’s shirt. Go Goblins!

“I’m going to Vancouver,” she said.

“I thought you might say that.” Michael smiled.

“You don’t have to come.”

“I have this far. Do you really think I’d leave you now? I’d probably get lost trying to find my way back home. You’re stuck with me.”

We all die alone.

No matter how many friends we think we have. No matter how many toys we own. No matter how many lies we tell each other.

We all fall down.

We’ve all been silenced. There are no more stories to tell, no people to listen. I could send this message in a bottle in the hopes that one day someone might find it, though. I wouldn’t even have to write a story; all I need is six numbers.

There are six different types of killers in the world.

1. Those who kill quickly. Efficiently.

2. Those who enjoy making each murderous moment last forever.

3. Those who kill the soul and leave their victims alive.

4. Those who kill accidentally or in self-defense.

5. Those who hunt to feed.

6. Those who hunt for the game.

The Baggers fall into all categories. I’d like to believe I’m a one or a four, but I’m really more of a six. It all depends on the day.

Game begins.

Game ends.

So quick.

Would you like to play a game of hearts?

The evil that infects us has always been around. Since the dawn of time, before names could be named, before words were written down—they have always existed. There are no records because they leave behind no trace. How do you chronicle something you cannot see?

Once upon a time an ancient civilization grew. It prospered. The people were happy and intelligent. They created cities and erected great monuments. But something always happened. They grew greedy, perhaps, or maybe they took more than the earth was willing to offer.

And that’s when their downfall began. The darkness that lies beneath started to stir.

It always notices. They always come.

They kill.

There are ruins all over the world, testaments of the atrocities, and burial chambers of the lost souls. But the facts are always misinterpreted. History is inaccurate.

Things are different today. We are all connected in one form or another. We build things in China and pay for them in America. When our computers break, we talk to people halfway around the world to get them running again. On one continent millions of people go hungry while on another they grow fat.

Because of these connections, now they will destroy us all.

We are all together in this game.

I’m talking in riddles again. I’m sorry. It happens sometimes. My brain is broken and I don’t know how to fix it.

When it’s time for me to die, promise you’ll be the one to stop me. No mercy. Let me die alone.

She was wrong. She’d figured it out before she got halfway back to the apartment block. She never should have allowed Daniel to talk her into leaving. But even though she knew she was wrong, she didn’t turn around.

Instead she went for reinforcements. But that turned out to be more difficult than she imagined.

“We have to go back.”

She stood in the middle of the room; surrounded by all the people she’d risked her life protecting. They had followed her from the very beginning, but this time around they wanted to stay put.

“Think about what you’re saying,” Jack remonstrated. “They’re in the store and you want us to go there? That’s like asking to die. We’re not fighters, Aries, we can’t take them on.”