Ravage: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel(72)

Shawcross entered the room. He was carrying a fan heater in his hands. “I found this in one of the offices upstairs. I’m thinking it might get pretty cold during the night so it might help to keep us all nice and snug.”

“Good idea,” she admitted. “But if things are as bad as they seemed on the news, then I figure it isn’t long before the power goes out.”

“Shit, I never thought of that,” said Mike. “How long do we have, you think?”

“There’s a backup generator,” said Shawcross. “They built it to keep the heated exhibits like the reptile house functioning even during a power cut. I don’t know how much juice they keep in the batteries, but I think we’ll get at least a couple days.”

“How do you know about that?” Annaliese asked him. “I didn’t think you had anything to do with the zoo.”

“I was here when they installed it. It’s buried in the woods behind the zoo where guests can’t see it. Thing makes a terrible racket up close, but thankfully it’s only been put to use once before.”

“Well, at least we have a little bit of additional grace if the electrical grid fails,” said Mike.

“Or we’ll be lit up like a beacon. The only place with power for miles.”

“A beacon to whom?” asked Shawcross.

Annaliese shrugged. “I don’t know. I just think our biggest asset right now is anonymity.”

“I think the opposite. The news said there are still rescue operations in place in some places. Tomorrow we should light a signal fire and let people know we’re here. Smoke from all the way up here would be seen for miles around. We have a better chance than anybody at being rescued.”

“I think that would be a totally dumb idea. We have something that everybody in the world will be looking for: a defensible position. The last thing we want to do is advertise what we have to a desperate population.”

“She’s right,” said Mike. “What if we light a fire and a hundred people turn up on this hill. What food we have left would be gone in an hour. And what if some of them are bitten on their way here? We could be crawling with infected before the day is through.”

Shawcross thought about things for a moment, but then shook his head adamantly. “If we still had access to Ripley Hall then I might be inclined to lay low, but we’re all doomed if we try to stay here indefinitely. We’re too exposed. Rescue is our only priority, and tomorrow that is what we must work towards.”

Annaliese went to argue, but stopped herself. She didn’t have the energy. She put her hands on her hips. “Fine, whatever you say. I’m going to get some rest. If the world stops ending then you have permission to wake me.”

Without waiting for a reply, she ambled over to the staffroom sofa and collapsed onto it face first. The slumberous feeling that immediately washed over her was heavenly. The blood in her body seemed to stop moving and settle in her veins. Her muscles turned to jelly. Within seconds, she felt sleep coming to snatch her away.





Chapter Twenty-Three

Every time Annaliese went to sleep without having drank alcohol first, she dreamt about her baby. She dreamt about the baby she never knew. The little boy that never was. She dreamt about Baby.

She saw her son’s face. His closed eyes and tiny nose. Eyes that would never see and a nose that would never take a breath. She only got to hold her baby boy once, and he had been dead.

Once upon a time, Annaliese had given birth to a baby boy with no name. Every time he crossed her mind she thought of him as Baby. She thought about what Baby would have looked like now, ife he had lived to see four years of age. She wondered if Baby would have looked like his dad. She wondered if Baby’s dad would still be around.

Then she would wake up in tears. Every night the same.

Until she found alcohol.

Then the dreams stopped. But the headaches and nausea started.

Tonight, though, she could not escape her dreams. They kept a hold of her and twisted and tore at her soul. Tonight she dreamt of Baby as a ghoul, back from the dead to come and drag her down to Hell where she belonged. Baby had died in childbirth, murdered by his mother who was too weak, too inhospitable to bring him to term. He was denied the most basic gift of life, while his wicked mother lived on. Now Baby was back. His tiny teeth were bloody, and coming for Annaliese’s flesh. They would tear her apart, chew her up slowly until there was nothing left but her disembodied screaming.

And as she screamed, so too did Baby.

Baby screeched like the infected people. It hurt her ears and she begged for it to stop.

Stop, she cried.

Please, Baby, stop.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

I wish it was me who had died.

I wish you were alive and I was dead.

Please, Baby, stop screaming. I’m begging you to stop.



Annaliese woke up in darkness. Something covered her face. She shot bolt-upright and clawed at her neck, trying to get free of whatever clung to her.

It was a coat. Someone must have covered her with it.

Annaliese’s kicked out with her legs and found the floor. Then she remembered that she had fallen asleep on the sofa in the staffroom. Then she remembered, with oily sickness in her belly, all of the other things that had happened.

All of the death.

Everywhere, death.