Or would have been. But now, in the world of After, who would care? Even the few remaining scientists and professionals would be more concerned with the Plague than with some new race of humans, however fantastic and unprecedented, and the rest of humanity would care even less than that. Most likely, all most survivors would be interested in would be how to most effectively kill them. There was no more time for curiosity, let alone scientific method. The greatest find in human history would, when the Plague finally won, go unnoticed, lost even to the memory of the survivors. What a waste.
Another dark and deeply troubling issue also came swimming up in his consciousness and no matter how he tried to dismiss it as absolutely frivolous, given their situation, it kept nagging at his thoughts. Because the fact was that Teresa’s behavior through the whole ugly event had shown him a side of her that he wasn’t at all sure he liked, an essential callousness toward the sanctity of human life that, while not unexpected in a hardened survivor, appalled him to no end.
Back to the way she’d gunned down the man at St. Alferd’s and then glibly written off poor Greg the orderly, right up to when the poor captive woman had been slaughtered by Johnson, she seemed to regard brutal murder as a casual thing. At Baron Zero’s farm, she’d actually enjoyed it! When she’d been busily beating the stuffing out of a mutant, she’d had a grin on her face like a kid on a swingset.
And when it had been all over, each time, she’d shown no more concern for the wounded and dead than she would towards simple inanimate objects. They were broken, of no more use. In short, her brutal unconcern for things that would drive many people into shock or insanity had put a few dents in the smooth veneer of his admiration. Maybe she wasn’t so wonderful and perfect after all, like an appealing piece of fruit with a nasty green worm just under the skin.
Of course, she’d been raised in a world where this callousness would be not only necessary but an actual boon, a world he couldn’t begin to fully understand, where death was common, even casual, and kindness seen as weakness, but still, this part of her personality was nothing less than disgusting. Could he really love someone who could sit and watch someone be brutally murdered and not bat an eyelash? He would have expected it of someone like the Small Man, or even himself, after what he’d seen and experienced, but her? It was disappointing.
Well, maybe he’d just been kidding himself; maybe he was attracted to her for simple, obvious, even biological reasons, and had been ignoring her obvious faults and defects out of sheer need and infatuation. Not to mention the sex. He was like the Kid, tagging along at her heels like a puppy. And then there was the age difference.
He was deep in this pit of murky thoughts, sinking lower by the moment, when he heard the gunshots. Echoing down the tunnels with a strange clarity, there was a series of bangs and cracks, some quite close together, before silence quickly descended. The noise brought Justin to his feet, as well as Barb Cass, while Erin and the Old Man stopped talking and looked about.
Cass, eyes wide and poorly focused, wheeled on Justin. “Oh God!” she said, terrified all over again. “They have guns! Those things have guns! We have to get out of here, Doctor! We have to get out of here right now, or those things will come in here and they’ll shoot us and then they’ll—”
“Barb, stop!” said Justin harshly, cutting her off. “OK? Just take it easy and get a grip, because all you’re doing now is making yourself hysterical. We’re all still in shock, alright? Just try to get a hold of yourself. And besides, we don’t know that these creatures use guns. I mean, have you seen one with a gun? Even one?”
Cass frowned and shook her head tensely. “No, I guess not,” she said, sobering a little. “But can’t we just leave? Please?”
“Not until Teresa comes back,” Justin said. “We just have to wait.” Cass whimpered a little but took a seat and went quiet.
The Old Man patted Erin gently on the hand and then, leaving her for the moment, came over to Justin and whispered, “So, uh, if that ain’t the monsters, who’s doin’ the shooting?”
Justin scowled at Lampert. “I don’t know,” he said stonily. “Presumably, Teresa or one of the others. At least I hope so.”
“Yeah,” said the Old Man. “That’s what I was thinkin’, too. Thing is, though, Teresa didn’t have a gun. Not the Mexican guy or the others, neither. And unless I miss my guess, those weren’t shotgun blasts, anyway. Those were some kinda rifle, maybe a machine gun.”
Justin had heard enough. He turned to the Old Man and shook his head. “Mr. Lampert, please,” he said. “I’m worried enough as it is, alright?”
The Old Man nodded contritely and went back to Erin. Justin, his guts churning anew, paced back and forth and chewed a cuticle, but there were no new noises and no sign of Teresa. He was getting very nervous, envisioning legions of armed freaks, when, startling him no end, the Small Man suddenly stirred, groaned, and sat up from his place on one of the long party tables. Hurriedly, Justin went over to him and was about to ease the man back onto the table by the shoulders when he saw the sharp, steely look in the man’s eyes and stopped short.
“You uh, you should stay still,” he said, more than a little wary despite the man’s abused condition; after all, he had murdered Cornell, kidnapped the Old Man, and stolen all their things. “You’re suffering from a number of injuries. Please, just lie back and try to rest.”
The man stared stonily at Justin for a moment and then fell onto his back and gave a shuddering sigh. “What happened?” he croaked weakly. “What about the monsters?”
“Gone,” said Justin. “For the moment, at least.”
The man nodded gratefully. “Good,” he said. “But what I mean, why are we still here? With them things gone?”
“We’re waiting,” Justin said. “We, uh, didn’t know how to find our way out, so CJ and Teresa and a couple of others went to have a look around.”
The man nodded again and grunted. Slowly, he turned his head and regarded Justin sharply for a moment. “Why you doin’ this, Doc?” he asked. “Why you helpin’ me? After what I done, I mean.”
Justin sighed and shook his head. “I honestly don’t know. Some sort of anachronistic sense of duty, I suppose. By all rights, I should leave you to these creatures.”
“What I’d do,” said the man.
“Yes, well,” said Justin, “I guess I’m just not that callous. Not yet, anyway.”
The man smiled thinly and closed his eyes. “Lucky for me,” he said, his voice going faint. “Just lucky…”
In another minute, he’d fallen unconscious again. Justin checked his vital signs, found them all normal, and covered him with a few garish tablecloths. He was about to return to Lampert and the others when suddenly, from one of the wider tunnel mouths, a whole gang of people (not Teresa and the others, as he’d first thought and hoped) came running and dodging into the Birthday Chamber. Dazed, barely able to apprehend any new strangeness or even mild unexpectedness, thinking NOW what?, Justin blinked and cast about as they rushed in and took up strategic positions.