Grayland Read online

  After running a block and a half, she stops and tries to catch her breathe, exhausted from the activity and the cold. A thick blanket of fog is rolling in from the beach, and she’s having a hard time seeing the buildings in front of her. With another quick glance behind her, she sees the man is still following her, and seems to be gaining ground. He’s moving faster than she thought any of them could, and with no sign of slowing down.

  With her lungs screaming for rest, she begins running again, and finally reaches Forrest street just as the fog becomes so heavy she can barely see the pavement under her feet. She slows down some, afraid that if she continues at this pace that she might run face first into a building or a street sign — or even worse. Her only hope now is that the man following her can see as poorly as she does.

  Confident that the restaurant is to her right, only two blocks north of her current location, she turns and walks down the sidewalk, hoping he doesn't realize that she's changed direction.

  After only a couple dozen more steps the fog becomes unbearable. Not only is it difficult to see through, but it’s now managed to block the faint moonlight that’s been her savior tonight. She's being forced to walk agonizingly slow, with her arms held out in front of her to guide her along, and after several minutes she begins to wonder just how far she's come, or even which direction she’s facing. Desperate to find her bearings, she stops, hoping to see something familiar around her, or anything at all — and while she can't see anything, she does hear something in the distance. It’s behind her, like hard shoes walking on the concrete sidewalk. The gait doesn't sound right though, like they’re slightly dragging one foot. She’s almost certain that it’s not the same man, since she doesn't remember his shoes making any noise at all. Then there’s more noise coming from even further away, a chaotic mixture of countless feet against the pavement, and the moans and groans of the infected that she’s been hearing night after night outside of her bedroom window.

  Still blinded by the fog, she searches for the curb, and for the street below it. Finding it, she walks to the sidewalk on the other side, her legs wobbly from the extreme stress and chronic lack of sleep, then she waits for a moment and listens. She can still hear them moving closer, but she can also hear something in front of her — the sound of graceless and unsteady footsteps, like a drunk that's close to passing out. Closing her eyes and holding her breath, she backs up against the building behind her — waiting for them to pass by. As the steps get louder, she wonders if she'll be able to continue holding her breath — praying that they’ll move on before the crowd catches up. Just when she thinks she’ll either pass out or gasp for a breathe, she feels the air move as they pass by, and the low rattling sound of someone struggling to breathe. The smell is also familiar, it’s the same putrid odor they all seem to have. After what seems like an eternity, they finally reach a distance where she feels safe enough to take a breath.

  The building behind her is made of either concrete or stone, she can't tell which, with what feels like elaborate etching in the surface — she can't remember a building quite like this one in town. Seeing the fog start to clear between her and the group of people, she walks away from them, hoping that something next to her will feel familiar. About twenty steps later she can feel something, a doorknob. She still has no idea where these people go during the day, and whether some of them might stay behind at night. In the past few months she'd seen dozens of them in front of her house, and she can't imagine how many others are roaming the streets throughout the rest of the town. Beyond this door could be a crowded room, but right now that really didn't matter — if she stays out here she’ll be dead by morning.

  Giving the knob a twist, the door opens silently, and she almost lets out a sigh of relief when it does. She closes the door behind her and locks it, then feels her way along a wall. Tired and exhausted, she decides to lie down on the carpeted floor beneath her feet, closing her eyes and trying not to listen to the commotion outside. She tries not to think about Aaron, and the fact that he’s now alone in their house with nobody to talk to. Within a few minutes she falls asleep, escaping into an unconscious world full of vivid nightmares and horrible memories — all of them preferable to her reality.

  CHAPTER 1

  COHASSETT BEACH: DAY 1

  In the distance, past the dunes and crashing waves along the shore, Sarah can see yet another weather system approaching — its dark gray clouds churning as the high winds push the front closer to land. By nightfall it will be over them, leaving behind even more wreckage on the beach, and more difficulties for her family and friends as they struggle to stay safe in a home that’s surrounded by tall fir trees.

  Although she spent a fair amount of time camping with her family along the Washington and Oregon coastlines as a child, she keeps reminding herself that those trips were always in the warmer months of summer, when the occasional rain and dense fog used to roll in from the ocean on a gentle breeze.

  Winter storms, however, are anything but gentle.

  As much as she despised the cabin when they first moved into it, her respect for its structural integrity has steadily increased with every passing windstorm — many of which have toppled trees and sent branches crashing onto their roof as they tried to sleep through the roar of the gusts. She’s wondered on more than one occasion why the original settlers stayed in such an inhospitable place, or the native tribes that were here long before them, where the constant cloud cover obscures a sun that’s only around for a short period each day. To call this season depressing would be an understatement, but Curtis tells her on an almost daily basis that when spring comes, she’ll understand why they’re here instead of the warm, fertile grounds of the Willamette Valley which was waiting for them in Oregon. As the endless series of rain clouds move overhead though, filling each day with the same dreary color to the sky as the last, she’s beginning to have her doubts as to whether even he believes it.

  On more than one cold night, the wind has become too strong to have a fire burning in the wood stove, as gusts of wind drive the smoke back down the chimney and into the cabin, sometimes with such force that it actually puts the fire out. Even the short walks around the property, which have helped her avoid the madness of cabin fever, have proven to be difficult at times, with the torrential rains soaking through several layers of weatherproof clothing in mere minutes.

  On the rare pleasant days, however, which are so few and far between that you can probably count them on one hand, she has to admit that there’s likely no other place on earth with such beautiful scenery. It’s on those days, for that briefest of moments, that she forgets the struggles and hardships that come with living on the coast.

  It’s been six months to the day since the Lockwood family first arrived at the cabin in Cohassett Beach — and as agonizing as those first couple of months were, the last few have been the most challenging of their lives. Having four people sleeping and living in the same cramped space was bad enough, but adding two more adults to the cabin in the middle of winter was starting to create an impossibly difficult situation.

  Sarah can’t help but feel resentful, of not only the world around her, but also the relative strangers that have invaded her home and her family. She knows it’s not their fault, and she feels guilty for ever feeling that way about Larry, but she feels even worse for thinking so negatively of Beth. The two of them have become inseparable, learning to lean on one another on the most difficult days, both of them knowing full well what it feels like to lose someone to the horrors of this last year.

  In her heart, she knows that her daughter, Annie, is likely dead — and in some selfish way, she’s actually comforted by the idea of her being gone. The concept of living in a world without people seems terrifying to her, but knowing the gut-wrenching truth of their reality is even worse. The thought of Annie still alive, yet hundreds of miles away and surrounded by strangers, was too much for Sarah to bear — and although it went against all of her maternal instincts, her stres
sed out and burdened mind had grown used to the thought that Annie was no longer suffering like the rest of them. She also knows that the odds of the entire Lockwood family surviving a worldwide apocalypse would have to be astronomical.

  The absolute worst scenario though, the one that hasn’t entirely made it’s way into her consciousness, is the thought that Annie could be one of the infected — her mind traumatized by the same virus that wiped out the rest of the human race.

  She can see the same look of loss on Beth’s face too, the look of someone incomplete and lost in the world around them. Larry has tried to be a comfort to her, but his loss is different — he knows exactly what happened to his wife. It’s the mystery, the not knowing, that truly tortures you.

  As Sarah walks down the pathway behind Beth, with the early light of the morning sun on their backs, she looks back at the cabin, feeling strangely guilty about leaving the place for the first time since being reunited with her husband and son — but she reminds herself that it was Curtis who convinced her to get out of the house and try to do something normal for a change, just as long as she was willing to take a gun along. Along with their guns, her and Beth are carrying small, narrow shovels that are made specifically for digging in the sandy shore, both of them looking forward to having razor clams out of season and without a license.

  “Do you ever see anybody on the beach anymore?” Sarah asks, as she walks beside Beth.

  “Sometimes, but not very often. Don’t worry though, they always keep their distance.”

  “My family used to come here on mornings just like this,” Sarah says, as they reach the top of the dunes and look out at the wet sands of the low tide. “You’d have to practically push your way through the crowd of people to find a clam, even this early.”

  “I remember that too. Not really a problem anymore I guess.”

  Sarah looks in both directions at the long stretch of beach in front of them, seeing only seagulls and the now familiar scene of shipwreck debris washed up on the high tide line.

  “Have you ever dug for clams before?” Sarah asks, as they both reach the edge of the water line.

  “Not since I was a kid.”

  “Just look for the dimples in the sand — the bigger the dimple, the bigger the clam.

  “Do you face away from the water when you’re digging?”

  “Some people do, but it’s also a good way to get caught by a sneaker wave. Trust me, you don’t want that — there’s a hell of an undertow here.”

  They place the fresh clams in a sack as they work their way down the beach, feeling the cold spray of saltwater that’s carried by the wind from the ocean.

  “Do you ever wonder what it’s like in other places?” Sarah asks, as if the subject were smalltalk.

  “You mean in other countries?”

  “Yeah, or even other states. Do you really think everyone is dead?”

  Beth stops digging and stands up, letting the clam she’s digging for get away while she rests her back and stretches. “You guys haven’t really seen much besides this area, have you?”

  “Curtis saw Aberdeen, but that’s it. Why?”

  “How much did he tell you about it?”

  “He told me everything.”

  “Even about the people?” Beth asks.

  “Yes, we don’t keep secrets.”

  “I’m sure that’s true — but Curtis was also watching from across the harbor. He wasn’t in the city.”

  “What was in the city?”

  “I’m sure there’s plenty of people around the world that are still technically alive, but if they’re anything like the ones that I’ve seen along the coast, they might as well be dead.”

  “I know, I’ve seen a few of them up close.”

  “But you haven’t seen the vast number of them. We’ve seen thousands, in Sequim, Port Angeles, Westport, Aberdeen — and yet the six of us, our small group of survivors, we’re probably the only ones in all of those places who are truly still alive. I can’t imagine what it’s like in Seattle or New York…”

  “So you don’t think there’s any chance of people rebuilding again?”

  “Not after this amount of time, no.”

  “It’s only been a few months.”

  “Yeah, it’s been six months, with no signs of anything. No airplanes, no cars, no radio signals, nothing.”

  Sarah starts digging again, surprised at the negativity she’s hearing from Beth. As odd as it seems, especially given their extremely close living conditions, the two of them have never really talked about the possibilities of life returning to normal again.

  “So you don’t hold out any hope at all?” Sarah asks, giving her one last chance to respond with something other than pessimism.

  “Hope can be dangerous, Sarah.”

  “I know, but not when you have kids.” She looks up at Beth, trying to gauge her reaction, but it’s obvious that something else has caught her attention toward the dunes.

  “What is it?” she asks quietly, trying to keep her fear from showing.

  “There’s someone up there, on the other side of that nearest dune. I saw their head just a second ago.”

  Sarah watches, but sees nothing at first, then she notices a quick flash of black appear over the top of the sand. Leaving her shovel on the beach, Beth pulls her pistol from the side holster and begins walking in that direction. Sarah bends over and picks her shovel up, then follows her into the soft, loose sand of the dunes, where only the strongest of ocean currents ever reach. Her mind is conflicted as to whether or not she should have her gun ready as well, and as Beth starts climbing the first rise on her hands and knees, she finally places the shovels quietly on the sand and pulls out the .357 revolver that Curtis gave her before she left. Seeing Beth at the top of the mound, just lying there and watching whatever is on the other side, Sarah slowly makes her way beside her and aims her gun down into the ravine of grass and beige sand.

  What she sees surprises her, since it’s the first time in nearly four months that anyone has even gotten a glimpse of the girl that nobody likes to mention. They’d even questioned whether she was still alive — but here she was, wearing a heavy black winter coat and kneeling down away from them in the side of the next dune, letting her fingers run lazily through the soft ground in front of her. Then suddenly, she looks up, still facing away from Sarah and Beth, then turns her head partway in their direction before standing up and walking away — her movements carefree and relaxed as she casually strolls down the pathway to the north. Once she disappears from their sight, Beth starts sliding down the sand toward the area she was in.

  “I’m guessing that was Amanda?” Sarah asks quietly as she follows her.

  “Yeah, that was her.”

  “Aren’t we going to follow her?”

  “No, she’d just lose us anyway. I can’t believe she’s still alive.”

  “Do you think she saw us?”

  “Definitely.”

  They come to an area where the sand has been heavily disturbed, piled up in an intricate pattern that contains strange symbols and a seemingly random arraignment of numbers and letters. Beth hands her gun to Sarah, then starts digging into the pile.

  “Shouldn’t we head back and tell the others?”

  “Not until I see what she buried here.”

  Scooping away large handfuls at a time, Beth suddenly jumps back, startling Sarah enough to make her drop her own gun. As she reaches down to pick it up, she sees what scared Beth so badly. Buried just beneath the surface is a woman’s face, with the name ‘BEN’ scrawled out across her forehead in a crudely made wound.

  “What the hell is that?” Sarah yells out, her body now shaking as her mind starts to absorb the shocking image.

  “It’s the crier.”

  “The what?”

  “We call her the crier. We’ve seen her around the neighborhood before on dark days, and she’s always crying.”

  “What is Ben’s name doing on her face?” she asks, he
r voice on the edge of hysteria.

  “Sarah, you need to calm down… I know this is scary, but we don’t need anymore attention that we already have.”

  “Did she do this? Did Amanda carve that into her?”

  “I think you already know the answer to that…” Beth stands up and looks around, wondering if Amanda is watching them from a distance. “Come on, we need to get back to the cabin, but we can’t go back the same way.”

  “Don’t you think she already knows where we live?”

  “She probably does, but I don’t want to risk it.” Beth climbs to the top of the next dune and surveys the area with some binoculars from her pocket. She can see Amanda’s footprints winding through the sandy ravines, then disappearing altogether in a large cluster of pine trees. “Do you still have the radio?”

  “Yeah.” Sarah climbs up and hands the radio to Beth. “Are you calling them for help?”

  “No, I’m calling to warn them.”

  CHAPTER 2

  COHASSETT BEACH: DAY 2

  The beaches of Washington State have never been famous for their contrast in seasons, and judging from the weather alone it would often be impossible to guess what time of the year it actually is. The endless months of cold, wet conditions are only occasionally interrupted by the rare days of full sun in the summer, and the even rarer days of snow and ice during the winter. The locals, who have somehow managed to become accustomed to it, are well-known and quite proud of the fact that they view umbrellas as a sign of weakness — an object that should only be used by those with delicate sensitivities to an otherwise harmless natural phenomenon.