Chapter Text
A distant, screeching sound rumbles the walls of the house.
Jillian’s stomach knots itself once more, a feat she would have thought impossible before… god, when did this all start? She remembers, a bit against her will, that first day… standing in the doorway being greeted by her husband, looking forward to a relaxing night after work. The calendar on the wall said it was a Friday.
Eight days then, if she’s been counting correctly. More than a week of the apocalypse.
She sighs through her nose, jolting at another unidentifiable noise outside. Next to her a body stirs, and gently she rubs her son’s back to soothe him back to uneasy sleep.
It’s bad enough that she had to be around for the end of days. If she’d known her kids would’ve been right in the middle of it... they should be in school, not curled up against a bunch of blankets in a closet wondering if they’ll wake up in the morning.
They will. Jillian tells herself in her head that Charles will, and that Madison will, and that she will do whatever it takes to keep them safe.
They’re spending the night in the closet in the first place because one of the living room windows is broken. He broke it a few days ago, in a half-aware haze trying to get the rest of his family to look. Jillian has been trying not to think about it much. About the way that his twitching body collapsed under the heavy weight of the frying pan. About the way that parts of him stuck to her palms as she hauled his body to their bedroom and barricaded the door, and about the way she nearly rubbed them raw afterwards.
It had been smashed through the curtains. She didn’t look. She did not look. No matter how many times she reiterates this to herself in her internal monologue, the fear doesn’t go away. She thinks it’ll stay there for the rest of her life actually? Right next to the fear of death that’s lived in her core since she was a child.
Maybe the fear of looking outside is equivocal to the fear of death, and that’s why she’s so afraid.
She carefully leans against the wall, taking in another quiet breath so as to not disturb her children. She’ll have to figure out what food they have left tomorrow… who knows when this will end? She can’t go outside to find more food while the mysterious Thing is there. And what if something else gets inside? She has no idea how the Thing works. Cameron barely got a glimpse of it through the door and he still lost it. Is it an eye contact thing? Would just being outside do it? Could it be blocked by clothes? What if there isn’t any way out of this?
NO
No.
Spiraling, she’s spiraling, get it together. Jill shuts her eyes tight, watching the darkness swirl in on itself over and over behind her eyelids.
Charles will wake up in the morning. Madison will wake up in the morning. She will wake up in the morning.
Waking up, however, requires falling asleep.
Jillian drifts off in the darkness of the closet, her world at her sides.
–
“Mom…?”
Jolting awake in a way that absolutely does not agree with her back, Jillian whirls around towards the thing that woke her. After a moment of her eyes adjusting to the dark her mind comes back down to Earth. Right. Children. They tend to do that.
Madison is sitting on her knees, hands up and a worried expression on her face. With a soft sigh Jillian repositions herself, reaching up a hand to try and assuage the knot in her shoulder. No noise from outside, so she feels safe whispering back. “Hi sweetie… did you get some sleep?”
Madison gives a slight nod, pushing some of her hair out of the way- it’s all frizzy from such an awkward sleeping spot and Jillian makes an internal note to check the travel bags in here for detangler. “There was a- a noise, earlier. Not close, but…” She thinks for a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she tries to figure out what exactly she heard
With a stifled groan Jillian gets to her feet, Charles mumbling as he’s roused from next to her. “I’ll check the house and see if I hear it too, ok?” Taking a step towards the closet door, she stops just before resting her hand on the doorknob. “You two are not to come out of here until I come get you.”
Madison shifts, pulling some of the blankets that had smushed up against the wall over herself. She nods in understanding, rubbing some sleep from her eyes. Just before Jillian shuts the door behind her, she hears her daughter murmur something quietly.
“Please come back.”
…
Ouhhh. She pauses to wipe the tears welling in her eyes, before turning towards the dark hallway. They’d been taking refuge in a closet under the stairs to the small, loft-like second floor. Any noise she could’ve heard had to be loud but far if it wasn’t enough to rouse her or her son.
Something is immediately off as she starts to walk down the hall. It’s about the lighting. If she had to guess, it’s somewhere around 7, maybe 8:30 in the morning? And the way the light filters through the curtains makes it actually look the part. A far cry from the multichromatic hues that had been dappling her floors since this nightmare started, no matter the time of day. Could something have changed outside?
Probably got worse, if she had to guess.
Avoiding the exposed living room, she instead chooses to lurk in the kitchen, stilling in her effort to listen for anything beyond the house.
There’s a muffled sound somewhere between a screech and the croon of a morning bird, closely followed by yipping and snapping layering over itself more times than she can discern. Very good choice to avoid the living room, it seems! If there’s some little… things, out there fighting, she can only imagine it’ll draw those that are bigger and hungrier-
Something else. Something else hits her ears, and she knows in that moment that has to be what her daughter heard.
It’s definitely not close to the house, the sound carrying over the wind and snaking its way into her abode. Whatever it is, it has got to be very, very loud. Something whistling in a tone so shrill and sharp she wouldn’t be shocked if this entire half of the globe heard it.
She waits for the whistle to pass, and waits for a few minutes after that to ensure its genuine departure. Once she is reassured of this fact she cautiously opens a cabinet, pulling out two granola bars from a stash she’d been keeping to try and make the kids eat something before heading to school. While she’s here, a phone is also retrieved out of a different drawer. Her phone’s barely hanging on battery-wise, but she’d rather keep Charles’ safe for emergencies.
Cameron’s phone is in there.
She. shuts. the. drawer.
With the same caution she approached the kitchen with, she returns to the hallway closet, opening the door to hand the granola bars to Madison. She doesn’t miss the way her little girl’s shoulder sag with relief when it is in fact her mother opening the door and not something else. It makes Jillian’s already heavy heart ache.
Charles is awake now too, reaching out for one of the bars as Madison unwraps hers and mumbling a subdued ‘thank you’ for the food. Jillian leans against the door, waiting for the phone to power on. She’s been trying every day to call people she knows. Work colleagues that might’ve been stuck at the vet office when this all started, a friend or two from college that she still talks to, and especially her siblings.
Caleb’s down in Florida, with his son Arven. She has faith in her heart that they’re both ok- he’s got plenty of friends if his social media posts have anything to say about it. She’s choosing to ignore the idea of what the Thing could have done to marine life, because frankly anything she comes up with will be unpleasant and stress her out.
Sam might be dead.
She doesn’t think she could handle that.
Just as the phone screen shifts from that pure white and to the unlock screen, all three of them jolt at noise from the house. Close noise. ‘Inside the house’ noise.
Jillian practically shoves the phone into Madison’s hands, reaching around the doorframe to grab the frying pan leaned against the wall. She puts her hand up to her lips to indicate silence to her children before once again shutting the door.
Apparently, whatever was close and outside had not been chased away by the whistling. At least that’s what she’s assuming. Trying to yank her sleeves down over her arms further is a futile attempt, so Jillian just hopes that whatever sounds like it’s scrabbling at the window isn’t partial to biting.
There’s some muffled noise from around the corner leading into the living room accompanied by the sound of splintering glass. Is the thing chewing on it? This is so bad.
She takes a deep, trembling breath, and steps through the doorway.