Tim Waggoner: The Last Mile

He opened the bedroom door, stepped inside, then closed the door behind him with a soft click.

The curtains were drawn, but the room was illuminated by the blue-white glow of the television set atop Caroline’s dresser. Despite the fact that they had no power, the TV still worked. It had turned itself on a couple hours after the Arrival, and no matter what button Dan pushed, it wouldn’t turn off. He’d even pulled the plug from the outlet, but it made no difference. The screen displayed nothing but dancing white-and-black static, but instead of the loud crackling that usually indicated the lack of a signal, a susurration of whispers filtered out of the speaker, sibilant, liquid syllables spoken in a language that Dan didn’t recognize, but which hurt his ears to hear.

Caroline lay naked on top of the mattress, pillows stacked beneath her head so that she could see the TV screen. Lying next to her was the utensil drawer from the kitchen. When she had first seen the flickering static and heard the whispering voices, she’d stared at the TV for several moments before going to the kitchen, removing the utensil drawer, and bringing it back to the bedroom. Dan, having heard the clattering of metal as she pulled the drawer free, had followed her down the hall to their bedroom, asking her what was wrong, what are you doing? But she hadn’t answered. She’d placed the drawer on the bed, taken off her clothes, then climbed onto the mattress, slid her feet toward her ass to raise her knees into the air, let her knees fall to the side to spread her vagina, then reached for a fork.

Dan had yelled at her to stop, had rushed forward to grab her hand, but she turned on him, snarling like an animal, and jammed the fork into the back of his wrist with surprising strength for such a petite woman. Blood welled forth, he shouted, “Fuck!” and cradled his wounded hand against his chest. He stood in shock for a moment, staring down at his wounded wrist, while Caroline put the fork to another use.

Now Dan watched as his wife furiously masturbated with a pie server. She thrust the spadelike object in and out of the ragged ruin of her genitals with sickening moist squelching noises. She hadn’t removed the comforter when she first lay down several days ago, and the bottom half of the bedclothes was covered with blood both old and fresh—wet crimson splashed over a layer of brown crust. She should’ve died soon after beginning her masturbatory marathon, Dan knew that, but no matter how much she injured herself, how much blood poured from between her quivering legs, she grew no weaker, no paler. Despite the copious amount of blood she’d lost, she didn’t appear to be in danger of death, which was good since Dan doubted that, even if they had phone service, anyone would respond to a 911 call. At least, not anyone they wanted to respond.

The horror of Caroline’s condition was more than ample proof that the rules were very different in the World After… if there were any rules at all.

The bedroom stank in a different way than the hall bathroom, but the stench was no less rank: the sour-gamey odor of blood, sweat, and cunt, mixed with the burning ozone smell of hot electronics. But though the stink should’ve sickened him, for some reason he found it less offensive than the bathroom. His stomach didn’t roil, his gorge didn’t rise, and—most disturbing of all—his penis grew partially erect.

This was the reason he didn’t want Lindsey to see her mother… that, and the fear that she might succumb to the awful whispering coming through the television. Like mother like daughter, right? Why he should be resistant to the foul influence coming through the set, he didn’t know. Maybe it was because he was male. Or maybe it was because whatever force that was behind Caroline’s self-mutilation required that she have an audience. (He had yet to learn about the Masters, though he would, and soon.)

“Caroline? Sweetheart? Is there…” His gaze strayed to the utensil drawer, and he saw that the spoons, forks, and knives were all neatly arranged in their proper slots, and they were all covered with blood. Some of it fresh, most of it not. His bile did rise then, and he had to swallow to keep from throwing up. The fact that he’d eaten little the last few days helped. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he finished.

She hadn’t responded to him before, and he had no reason to think she would now. But he had to ask, had to try to make contact. Whatever had happened to Caroline, whatever had possessed her, she was still his wife, and he loved her. He waited several moments, but she continued to ignore him, staring at the snow on the TV screen and stabbing the pie server into the ragged ruin of her sex.

He turned to leave, but as he reached for the doorknob, Caroline spoke for the first time since she’d taken to their bed.

“Owwwww…”

He turned back to face her, hope and fear surging through him in equal measure. Hope that she might at last be coming out of her awful trance, and fear of what she might say.

She didn’t take her gaze off the TV, but the hand that worked the pie server slowed, as if she couldn’t talk and mutilate at the same time.

“Owwww… siiiiiide.”

Dan frowned. “I don’t understand.” He took a step toward her, intending to climb onto the bed and lean close to her mouth so he could hear her better, but then he stopped himself. He loved her yes, as much as ever, but he didn’t know if he could bring himself to get that close to her the way she was. And what if she decided to put that pie server to another use? Like stabbing him in the eye or slicing his carotid artery? Hating himself for it but unable to do anything else, he remained close to the door.

Caroline’s face twisted into a mask of frustration, and for the first time since she’d taken hold of that first fork, she stopped violating herself. Her brow wrinkled as she concentrated. With great effort, she forced the words to come.

“Go… owt… side!”

An icicle of fear lodged in Dan’s spine as he realized what she was saying. Go outside.

“I… I can’t, sweetheart. If you knew… if you saw …”

Caroline turned her head a fraction toward him, and he could tell from her eyes that she was looking at him. More, she was actually seeing him.

“Outside.” She spoke through gritted teeth, as if the effort of speaking clearly was almost more than she could bear. “The Masters… wish it. Help us. Help… ME!”

This last word came out as a shrill cry, and Caroline’s head snapped back to face the TV once more, and she yanked the pie server out of her bloody cunt, sending an arc of blood splattering onto the screen. Then with a howl she plunged the pie server back into herself and returned to ravaging the red-raw hamburger that Dan had been inside so many times, the gateway through which Lindsey had entered the world. Even if the rules were different now, how much of this could Caroline withstand before her body finally couldn’t take anymore and her mind shattered into a thousand screaming shards? Assuming, that is, the latter hadn’t already happened.

Dan opened the door, stepped out into the hallway, then closed the door softly behind him. Moving with slow, deliberate motions as if he were a robot on autopilot, he headed down the hallway and turned left at the foyer. A few steps more and he was standing at the front door.

From the living room, Lindsey called out, “Dad?”

Dan wanted to answer her, but his voice wouldn’t come. He kept hearing Caroline’s words echoing through his head, the horrid whispering of the television serving as an eerie background chorus.

Outside. The Masters… wish it. Help us. Help… ME!

Dan reached for the deadbolt, turned it. Unhooked the chain. Gripped the doorknob. Started to turn it.