DEAD IN BED By Bailey Simms: The Complete Second Book

PART 13, SECTION 13

The route to Ruben's place was longer and lonelier than I'd remembered. Nothing but miles of scrub pines flanking a bumpy dirt road. Ian drove as fast as the pickup would go over the rough terrain. He didn't say much. He just clutched at the steering while and kept his eyes on the road.

We'd had to leave Chris's body in the park. It had broken my heart to see him lying there beneath the table, still slumped over awkwardly, as we sped away before the infected gasses were released from the newly-dead bodies. I'd been through so much with Chris that I couldn't really bring myself to accept that he was gone. He'd become like a brother and best friend all at once, and now he was simply absent. Ian, who'd known Chris longer than any of us had, shook his head and softly whispered "fukkadillo" as he wiped his eyes.

I realized that out of all the people I'd lost, I missed Chris more than anyone—with the one exception of my dad. But then that made me think about how my dad had died in vain, and that our big noble plan to save the world may only have destroyed it, so I tried to force myself not think about Chris or my dad or anything in the past at all. Now, it seemed, the only chance for human survival was to hope that Chris had been wrong and that there were still remote pockets where the airborne parasite hadn't reached.

"I know it's a long shot," Ian said, "but we have to at least find out if Ruben's alive. It's the only way we'll know for certain."

As he accelerated faster and faster along the dirt road, I kept looking at him, terrified of detecting signs of illness.

"How do you feel?" I asked him.

"I feel fine," Ian said. "I promise."

"Do you feel better than fine, though? Like, euphoric?"

"No. I feel normal."

"Are you hungry?"

"Ashley." he shook his head and glanced at me before returning his attention back to the road. "No. I'm not hungry. Not at all, in fact."

I trusted Ian. But I couldn't quite bring myself to fully believe him.

Ruben's house was completely dark.

The front door was locked. Ian kicked it in.

"Ruben!" he shouted.

There was no answer.

I flicked on the light, but the room stayed dark. There was no electricity. Ruben's generator must have burned the last of its fuel.

I went back to the pickup to get the flashlight from the glove box.

Ian and I stepped into the small house very carefully.

"Ruben!" I called.

There was still no answer.

I shone the light into the makeshift kitchen, then into what most closely resembled a living room.

The light passed over the Lazy-Boy chair that Ruben had sat in when we'd last visited.

I caught my breath.

There he was.

Sitting in the chair.

Ruben's eyes were closed. A faint smile played across his lips, which were smeared with pale honey and traces of pink, fleshy fluids.

His arms were completely missing. Both of them.

He'd eaten them.

It was obvious. He'd eaten each of them down to the elbow before he'd died.

His provisions were down to almost nothing when we'd left; in fact, we were supposed to bring him food when we returned the pickup.

But the world was different place when we'd left.

Ruben must have contracted trace amounts of TGVy even from this remote mountain air, just like Chris had said he would. After eating through the last of his meager provisions, he must have been driven crazy by the hunger that the parasite instilled in him. With nothing left to eat, he'd consumed himself, bones and all, before drifting away to die.

"Crap." Ian turned and slowly walked out of the house.

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