Genesis (23 page)

The Wells Fargo Center was one of Boise’s largest buildings.  Wedge-shaped, eleven stories tall, hundreds of offices.  Ken had no thought of what to do beyond going to the Wells Fargo branch office that he knew was in the far corner of the first floor.

He ran into the lobby, trying hard to convince himself that he was running this fast because he was about to find his family.  Trying hard to believe they had a chance at life.  Trying hard to believe it was excitement and not pure panic that was driving his heart against his ribs in machine-gun bursts.

Failing in all of those attempts.

Something buzzed.  The sound reminded him of the bees that had died as one while he and
Dorcas
cowered in the car outside the CPA’s office.  He dropped down, almost going to hands and knees as though his body were determined to burrow right through the floor if necessary to get away from another cloud of the things.

It was not bees.  It was an elevator.  The doors slid halfway shut with a tired whirr before stopping against the body of a man laying facedown half in and half out of the elevator.

It registered on Ken that there was still power in the building.  How much longer that would last, he had no way of knowing.  The grid was failing in huge swathes, that much was clear.  And equally clear was that Idaho Power was not going to be sending out teams to deal with power failures anytime soon.  Perhaps ever.  Power fled from an area was power likely gone forever.

He heard feet behind him.  The others.  They caught up to him now, easy enough since he was no longer moving.  Just standing.  Just staring.

Not at the man.

Not at the elevator, opening and closing and opening and closing with the restless action of an ocean tide.

Not at the other bodies that lay every few feet throughout the lobby and hall.  Not even at the ones who had been pulled viciously apart and whose innards painted the walls like a grotesque mockery of Christmas garlanding.

“Ken?” 
Dorcas
’ voice was soft.  She sounded worried.  “What is it?”

Ken didn’t answer.  He just walked to the elevator.  Stopped in front of it.

Knelt down.

Ken was very much of the opinion that mommies and daddies served very different purposes, and nowhere was that more evident than when he and Maggie went to Babies “R” Us looking for something for one of the kids.  It didn’t matter if it was a pacifier or a crib: Ken looked for the cheapest one.  Maggie looked for the one that had the highest safety ratings, preferably achieved while the product was submerged in lit napalm in the middle of a nuclear reactor that was suffering a core meltdown.

They usually came down somewhere in the middle.  Ken would remind Maggie that he didn’t have the money to purchase the blanket that could also be used as a parachute in case of forced landings during supersonic flight, and Maggie would remind Ken that children were more important than things like having a nice TV or what the neighbors thought of their car.  Ken would shift his budget priorities, and Maggie would eventually admit that having exceptionally-protected children wouldn’t matter much if they didn’t have money for food while sitting in the middle of a crib equipped with changing table attachment
and
capable of warding off evil curses.

The stroller Ken was kneeling beside, the one only inches from the bloody hands of the dead man wedged half in the elevator,
had
been the subject of a particularly lengthy compromise session.  The school district had just informed Ken and the other teachers that budget freezes would keep any raises “at current levels” (meaning nonexistent) for the next two years, and he thought that baby Liz might just have to make do with being
Velcroed
to a skateboard or something equally cost-effective.

Maggie did not care for that concept. 

They argued.  Divorce was out of the question – it was never an option, not ever – but he thought a few nights on the couch loomed large in his future.

Eventually, Ken caved in.  Because he loved Maggie.  Because he recognized that, yes, the stroller was going to be used for years and should be a good one.  Because he hated sleeping on their second-hand couch.

The stroller became the newest, nicest thing they owned.

Of course, that didn’t last long.  Babies had a way of casually destroying things.  They had a lot in common with earthquakes and rabid dogs that way.  It wasn’t long before the once-pristine light-green body and plaid seat became blotchy and stained.  Grimy beyond recovery, no matter how much Maggie washed and wiped.

Ken knew every spot and stain.  He knew where many had
come
from, and thought that was an indicator he was a good dad.  He cared enough to be there for the spills, to try to help with the cleanup.  Even when he wasn’t there, he noticed.  He asked about the stories, he found out what had happened.  He wanted to know.

But now… he didn’t know if knowing would be good for him.  The old stains were still there, were still familiar.  But there was one more: a large, bloody handprint across the back of the stroller’s chair.

Right where two-year-old Liz’s head would have rested.

Keep it together
.

Liz was the first baby he was able to enjoy.  With Derek he was too terrified about screwing it all up to properly revel in the experience of being a new father.  With Hope he was terrified anew – already projecting forward to her teen years and wondering if he was equipped to deal with the contradictions inherent in protecting a Princess and teaching a girl to be her own strong woman.

He finally settled in and learned to have fun with Liz.  With the little girl who smiled so wide.  Who growled and jumped on his back every chance she got.  Who sat and watched cartoons in a little chair he made her for her first birthday.  Who fell asleep in his arms the way none of the others had ever done.

And there was a bloody print where her head had been.

Keep it together, Ken
.

Blood.

Keep it together.

That’s a lot of blood.

Keep it –

They’re dead.

No.

Dead.

Not yet.

The baby, the kids.

You don’t know –

Maggie.

NOT UNTIL YOU SEE THEIR BODIES.

He realized he was rocking back and forth, his arms clasped tight around each other. 
Dorcas
’ hand was on his shoulder.

“We should go,” she said.  Her voice was soft.

Ken nodded.  He looked at the tray that snapped into place across Liz’s lap.  There were some Goldfish crackers in the cup holder.  Liz always tossed her
sippy
cups over when Maggie put them in the cup holder, so that nook had become an impromptu Goldfish sanctuary.

The orange crackers were flecked with blood as well.

Ken stood.

Dorcas
’ hand was still on his shoulder.  Aaron and Christopher waited a few paces away.  They both looked at their feet, like there might be comfort somewhere on the blood-streaked floor, if only they could find it.

The elevator whirred.  Closing on the dead man.  Opening again.

Whump. 
Whirrrr
.
  Whump. 
Whirrrr
.
  Whump.

Ken looked at the corpse.

Dorcas
moved away, as though giving him space to commune with the dead – both the ones whose bodies were present and the ones whose bodies were not.

Ken stood still and silent for a long moment.  Then his face knotted, becoming a tight mass of confusion.

He took a step.

“Where you going?” said Christopher.

A moment later,
Dorcas
said, “Ken?”

Ken didn’t answer either of them.  He didn’t dare.  He just kept walking.

Ken felt like if he spoke, if he did anything other than
breathe
, then it would fall apart.  It would disappear and be gone.  Just a vivid dream dashed upon waking into the nightmare of his new reality.

So he ignored the others.  Just kept his eyes locked on what he had seen, kept his heart locked on hope, and kept his mind locked away from the impossibility of what he was hoping for.

Whump. 
Whirrrr
.
  Whump. 
Whirrrr
.
  Whump.

If the elevator doors had been closed, he wouldn’t have seen it.

If the elevator light had been extinguished, the interior dark, he wouldn’t have seen it.

If he hadn’t been kneeling next to the stroller, he wouldn’t have seen it.

If, if, if….

But he did.  He
did
see it.

Just beyond the dead man’s legs, trailing limply into the elevator, there was a small pile of color on the brown floor.

Goldfish crackers.

That might not have been enough.  Might not have been enough to spur Ken to movement.  They could have come from anywhere, after all.  Or they could have been flung there after the zombies… did what they would have done to his baby.

But next to the goldfish was another item.  A
sippy
cup.  Purple and pink.

And above both, on the mirrored back of the elevator, someone had written something.  The lettering was tan, a color he recognized as well: Maggie’s lipstick.

“Ken: 9th Fl.”