Bird Box - Josh Malerman Page 0,70

a wave of light-headedness. She brings a hand to her belly.

The baby. She shouldn’t have taken the cellar stairs. But she’s as concerned about Don as anybody.

“What for?” Don finally answers.

“I don’t know what for,” Tom says. “It might do you some good to be around the rest of us for a night.”

Don is nodding slowly. He licks his lips. He looks once around the cellar. To the shelves, the boxes, and the stool Malorie sat on, seven weeks ago, when she read the notebook in Gary’s briefcase.

“All right,” Don whispers. “Okay.”

Tom puts a hand on Don’s shoulder. Don begins crying. He brings a hand to his eyes to hide it.

“I’m sorry, man,” he says. “I’m so confused, Tom.”

“We all are,” Tom says quietly. “Come upstairs. Everyone would love to see you.”

In the kitchen, Tom pulls the bottle of rum from a cabinet. He pours a drink for himself and then one for Don. The two clink glasses, softly, then sip.

For a moment, it’s like nothing has changed and nothing ever will. The housemates are together again. Malorie can’t remember the last time she saw Don like this, without Gary crouched beside him, the demon on his shoulder, whispering philosophies, discoloring his mind with the same language she found in the notebook.

Victor rubs against Malorie’s legs as he heads back into the kitchen. Watching him, she feels a second wave of dizziness.

I need to lie down, she thinks.

“Then you should,” Tom says.

Malorie didn’t realize she said this out loud.

But she doesn’t want to lie down. She wants to sit with Tom and Don and the others and believe, for a moment, that the house could still be what it set out to be. A place for strangers to meet, to pool their resources, gather strength in numbers, to face the impossible, changing world outside.

Then, it’s all just too much. A third wave of nausea hits and Malorie, standing, stumbles. Jules appears, suddenly, by her side. He is helping her up the stairs. As she enters her bedroom and lies down, she sees the others are in the room with her. All of them. Don, too. They are watching her, worried about her. Staring. They ask if she is okay. Does she need anything? Water? A wet cloth? She says no, or thinks she says no, but she is drifting. As she falls asleep, she hears a sound, coming through the vent, the sound of Victor again, growling, alone, in the kitchen.

The last thing she sees before closing her eyes are the housemates in a group. They are watching her closely. They look to her belly.

They know the moment has come.

Victor growls again. Don looks toward the stairs.

Jules leaves the bedroom.

“Thank you, Tom,” Malorie says. “For the bicycle horns.”

She thinks she hears the bird box, banging lightly against the house. But it is only the wind against the window.

Then she is asleep. And she dreams of the birds.

forty-one

The birds in the trees are restless. It sounds like a thousand branches shaking at once. Like there’s a dangerous wind up there. But Malorie doesn’t feel it down here on the river. No. There is no wind.

But something is disrupting the birds.

The pain in her shoulder has reached a level Malorie has never experienced before. She curses herself for not paying more attention to her body these last four years. Instead, she spent her time training the children. Until their abilities transcended the exercises she came up with.

Mommy, a leaf fell into the well!

Mommy, it is drizzling down the street and it heads our way!

Mommy, a bird has landed on the branch beyond our window!

Will the children hear the recorded voice before she does? They must. And when that happens, it’ll be time to open her eyes. To look at where the river splits into four channels. She’s to pick the second from the right. That’s what she was told to do.

And soon she’ll have to do it.

The birds in the trees are cooing. There is activity on the banks. Man, animal, monster. She has no idea.

The fear she experiences sits firmly upon the center of her soul.

And the birds in the branches directly above them are now cooing.

She thinks of the house. The last night she spent with the housemates, all of them together. The wind was loud against the windows. There was a coming storm. A big one. Maybe the birds in the trees know it. Or maybe they know something else.

“I can’t hear,” the Girl suddenly says. “The birds, Mommy.