Convulsive Box Set

by Marcus Martin

  “What even is it?” said Lucy.

  “No idea. One of our group found we could eat them, though, and they’ve done us alright since then. If you know which trees to look for, they’re not too hard to find,” said Jay.

  The kitchen was only marginally warmer than outside. A dozen people sat around on chairs, eyeballing the new arrivals.

  “I’mma plate up, we feeding the outsiders too?” said Ada, doing little to hide her contempt.

  “They’re not outsiders, Dee, they’re like us,” said Jay.

  The woman mumbled as she tore the leaves up in a large mixing bowl, then distributed them among smaller plates and bowls which the onlookers received readily. Some members were too weak to feed themselves, so others ground their portions into a paste and spoon-fed them. Lucy leaned against the counter awkwardly. Lopez walked pointedly to the far side of the room and hovered by the defunct fridge.

  “No sign of the doc?” said Jay, chewing.

  “She came. We all cured,” said Ada.

  Another resident snorted.

  “You gonna eat that?” said a lesion-covered man, leaning towards Lucy’s untouched plate.

  “Uh, I think so, yeah,” said Lucy.

  She pinched a bunch of leaves together. They were soggy, and deeply unappetizing, but she was starving. She pressed them into her mouth, catching the juice as it dribbled down her chin. She winced as she chewed. The taste was pungent and vinegary, but not unpalatable.

  “All done,” said the woman with painted eyebrows, licking her bowl clean.

  “Then someone better get more,” said Jay.

  “I ain’t going nowhere. Not in my condition. Your stranger folk look like they can still walk, though,” said Ada, pointing at Lucy and Lopez. “How’s about they earn their keep.”

  ***

  Feb 27th (est.) - It’s been two days since we arrived at the sick house. No sign of the doc. One person died yesterday. Others are looking weaker. Lopez looks like hell, and is barely talking to me. He’s still mad we’re not in DC, and mad that he’s infected at all. It doesn’t seem to have occurred to him that I’m in the exact same boat.

  We’ve slept almost continuously since arriving here. I dreamt about Dan again. I dreamt we were in San Francisco, heading out on a date. It was bliss. I’d say waking up is the most depressing part of the day, but that would be a disservice to the rest of the day. The first two or three seconds of the day are pristine – my brain is slow, and for the briefest of moments, I’m awake, but I’ve forgotten everything. It’s like I’ve got him again. Then I remember he’s dead, and every day it breaks me a little more. The second thing I remember is that I’m dying of an unknown disease. And the third is that I might not get to see mom before it happens.

  The community here is pretty bleak. It’s a house full of sick, dying, hungry people, most of whom are mourning their loved ones who either died before them or, worse, sent them into exile. We all share the same room to keep the warmth up, and each stay wrapped in five or more layers of clothes. People only wake up to eat more leaves, which seem to grow all around the area. Jay took me and Lopez to gather some yesterday. He showed us where to look and which ones to take. It’s gotta be the big ones – the smaller ones are poisonous, apparently. A different man left this morning to get more food but he’s not returned.

  I’m feeling weaker. It’s getting harder to think. My skin is sore, and the lesions are covering almost the entirety of my back and arms now. I’m dizzy much of the time.

  Today I tried to tell Lopez more about my mom – sorry, my estranged mom – and how the agency tracked her down to Boston. Telling him like that, well, it wasn’t how I thought the conversation would go. It wasn’t a conversation. That would’ve required him to speak. I’m trapped, and my only real company is socially incapacitated by his own denial about the collapse of his precious army. Jay listened, at least. He told me where Mom’s street is. It’s across town, around six miles from here. If I ever regain strength, I will go. If I don’t, I wonder if she’ll ever know how close I got.

  Heaven knows what Dan would have said. I should’ve told him about Mom. I was going to. I never thought he’d be stolen from me. But here we are. Five months on and now I’m the one dying. Maybe we’ll meet on the other side. We won’t though, will we? It would just be another lie to tell myself. If I believed in another side, I’d be there already. But I don’t. And neither did he. Which breaks my heart, because the closer to death I get, the closer time gets to forgetting him.

  ***

  The kitchen door crashed open, waking Lucy abruptly.

  “She needs help!” cried Ada, her eyes wide and her painted eyebrows arched in earnest.

  Lucy staggered to her feet, swaying as she rose.

  Jay sprang to the doorway and bent down, scooping under the newcomer’s arms. He dragged her fully into the kitchen while Ada resealed the door.

  “Does anyone know first aid?” cried Jay.

  Lopez stumbled towards the incapacitated stranger – a woman.

  “Stop the bleeding,” mumbled the newcomer, clutching her arm.

  “Get her coat off – we need to bandage the wound,” said Lopez, steadying himself against the counter. His speech was slurred, and his usually warm-bronze skin ghostly pale.

  Jay fought the woman’s zip, freeing her from the thick coat. The lining was shiny and wet with blood. Others residents appeared with tea towels and rags for bandages. The newcomer’s shirt sleeve was torn across her upper arm, where her skin and muscle had been ripped apart by a bullet. Her wound was raw, and the flesh contoured. Blood oozed between the woman’s fingers as she tried to clamp the bleeding.

  Lopez knelt down to tie the bandage but his fingers were trembling.

  “Shit. You gotta do it,” said Lopez.

  “Me?” said Jay, aghast.

  “You’re strongest here. Tie the damned knot as hard as you can,” slurred Lopez.

  Jay obliged, wrapping the bandage around the wound as tightly as he could, and tying the knot hard like a boot lace. He knelt back and watched as blood continued to seep from the wound.

  “It’s not gonna work – we need a tourniquet,” said Lopez.

  He grabbed a long wooden spoon from the counter.

  “Tie another bandage above the wound – high, near her shoulder. Do the first part of your knot then stop,” said Lopez, his eyelids dipping.

  Jay obliged, clamping the upper-most part of the woman’s arm with a tea towel and crossing the material over itself once, firmly. Lopez knelt down and place the wooden spoon over the center of the knot.

  “Use the ends to tie a second knot over the spoon,” said Lopez.

  Jay did, so, securing the center of the spoon handle, smearing the light wood with blood as his hands worked.

  “Now twist it around,” said Lopez.

  Jay twirled the spoon around like the needle on a compass. The woman moaned in pain.

  “More – it’s gotta be tighter,” grunted Lopez.

  Jay wound it around several times more – causing the woman’s arm to bulge under the pressure, as twists of fabric wound themselves beneath the spoon and crushed her arm. She pounded the floor with her free arm, as the agony only increased.

  “That’s enough – now hold it steady,” slurred Lopez.

  He took a rag and tied it above the tourniquet, pulling it as tight as his trembling fingers could manage, into a firm double-knot.

  “Under there,” said Lopez.

  Jay tucked the thin end of the spoon under Lopez’s knot and released it. The tourniquet held. The stream of crimson subsided.

  “Someone write the time down. We need to try and release the pressure in increments. Fifteen minute intervals,” said Lopez, pointing to the kitchen clock.

  “Who is she?” whispered Lucy, to a fellow resident.

  “Charlie,” he replied without taking his eyes off the blood-soaked woman on the floor, “She’s the doctor. She’s all we got.”

  ***
>
  Jay rummaged through the doctor’s backpack and retrieved a packet of tablets, which was met with feeble cries of relief. He distributed them among the group. Each resident swallowed eagerly, then returned to their sleeping. He reached Lucy last.

  “What are these?” said Lucy, struggling to focus on the pill in her cupped hands.

  “They’re what you need. This dose will last you a few days, then you take another. That’s how it goes,” said Jay, stowing the excess tablets in his deep violet, oil-stained boiler suit.

  “Yeah but what is it?” said Lucy.

  “I don’t know, read the label,” said Jay, handing her the bottle.

  “This is chemotherapy,” she said, translating the drug’s pharmacological name.

  “If you say so. You should sleep now – they work best if you sleep right away. Your boy’s got the memo,” said Jay, gesturing to Lopez, who was out cold.

  “He’s not my boy,” muttered Lucy.

  “He tells it different,” said Jay, his eyelids heavy, and his expression as deadpan as ever.

  Lucy was about to correct him and defiantly explain that Dan was her ‘boy’, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. The words felt hollow. She thought the crippling loneliness she’d endured over the winter would abate now that she was with people again, but these people didn’t know her, and their unfamiliarity was an amplifier for her darkest sorrows.

  Jay clearly sensed the question had caused some trouble, and moved the conversation on, albeit without mustering an alternative expression or tone.

  “So the doc’s stable – for now,” he said.

  “Right, uh, that’s good,” said Lucy, swiftly dabbing her eyes dry on her blanket.

  “The tourniquet’s off but she’s still lost a lot of blood. I’ll keep an eye on her. Your b- the Major told me what to watch for,” said Jay.

  “Great. Thanks again for the meds,” said Lucy.

  “Sleep. You need it. I’ll catch you on the flipside,” said Jay.

  Lucy pulled the duvet around her while Jay set about mopping up the doctor’s blood. She wanted to grab him, shake him, make him understand. She had a boy. She had Dan. Her soul mate. But he was gone.

  ***

  “Quit eavesdropping and go do your damned homework,” her dad yelled, pressing the phone into his shoulder.

  Lucy scarpered back to her room with a “Sorrrrrryyyyyy!” and slammed the door with flare. She immediately crouched down, below the handle, and cracked the door ajar again – just wide enough to hear her father’s voice.

  “Apologies, that was my daughter. Carry on,” he said, into the phone. Lucy watched him pace around the kitchen table, in and out of sight of the doorway. “Whaddya mean not covered?” he growled. Lucy cracked the door a little wider. “I know it’s expiring, that’s why I’m calling you to renew,” he said, jabbing the air with his finger.

  “How is it a pre-existing condition? Last week I didn’t have it, this week I do. I don’t see how that- Yeah, no kidding they’re expensive, that’s why you- To hell with that! Oh, you think? We’ll see about that – I wanna speak with your supervisor,” he barked.

  He vanished from the doorway. Lucy listened as a cupboard door opened, and a glass clinked onto the table. A bottle was unscrewed, and liquid poured.

  “Yeah, speaking. Your operative’s telling me I’m all of a sudden ‘ineligible’, and I fail to see what- No, I haven’t read that particular- And you expect me to pay for that how? Exactly! Oh, sure, you’re positively heartbroken, I can tell. God dammit you people are the worst! Oh I’m sorry if my language is colorful, but fuck. You. I’ll have to sell everything because of this. Everything!” he growled, slamming his glass down on the table.

  Her father looked up and made eye contact with Lucy, who gasped, spotted. She tumbled backwards into her room, pulling the door shut and closing her eyes, bracing for the inevitable barrage of parenting.

  “God dammit girl, what did I tell you about eavesdropping!” he cried.

  She darted to the window and swung her feet onto the ledge, dangling her legs over the side. The sea air was bracing. She looked into the dark waters, as waves crashed against the rocks fifty feet below. Her sandal fell off and tumbled downwards, vanishing into the turbulent ocean. A slick of yellow spores bobbed across the rolling water’s surface, and extended right out to the horizon.

  “Hey, missy!” growled her father, bursting into the bedroom.

  Lucy gasped and slipped from the ledge, plunging towards the foaming mass below.

  ***

  The dream had recurred several times since Lucy took the first tablet. Even now, it was occupying her conscious thoughts as she escorted the doctor across the city. It was four days since Charlie’s bloody entry into the safe house, and two days since they’d cauterized her wound. That the doctor was even walking such distances was nothing short of a miracle, although she’d been well fed for the mission. It had become clear early on that Charlie couldn’t stomach the residents’ diet of leaves, so Jay had scavenged some tinned gnocchi for her. Lucy suspected he had a secret stash, but he refuted this.

  Yesterday Charlie had insisted she needed to move on. She was nowhere near recovered enough, but she’d been adamant – there were people depending on her. Of course, there were complications. She was weakened and unarmed, having lost her gun during her last encounter with the Faithful. The residents immediately looked to Lucy and Lopez, as soldiers, to step up. Neither wanted to escort her. Lucy wanted to find her mother, Lopez wanted to get to DC. But neither wanted to donate their weapon to another resident, either, and they owed the doctor their lives. Thus, a deal was struck. While Charlie was in a weakened state, they were to escort her across the city so that she could continue her distribution rounds to the other diseased communities. Lucy’s hope was that Charlie would be recovered enough within a week or two to go solo again, or better still they would find suitable replacements to protect her. There was one key return for Lucy and Lopez: extra medication. The doctor knew where to find the remaining drug stockpiles across the city. Not only would the pair get regular treatments without delay, but Lucy and Lopez each stood to amass a personal stockpile.

  That was a strong incentive. After just two tablets Lucy looked and felt completely revitalized. The pills had worked quickly and her lesions had vanished. Her strength and focus had been restored – further bolstered by regular leaf meals. She had even grown used to the taste of the putrefied leaves, which were proving to be an incredible source of energy.

  Lopez’s resentment of Lucy, however, remained palpable, contrary to Jay’s interference. The Major’s favorite hobby during break periods was to loudly recalculate the distance to DC, and the route he would take there alone. Lucy ignored him, and chose to focus on Charlie. She pressed the doctor for every detail she could glean on the disease, and the cures she’d been trying.

  “The drugs work fast, but they wear off fast, too. That’s the problem I’m trying to fix – find a longer-acting solution, or at least a way of producing more of them. At the moment, I’m raiding hospitals and pharmacies, and trying to recreate some in my lab, too, but I’m woefully short of test subjects,” said Charlie, as they crept through the suburbs.

  “You’ve got a lab, then?” said Lucy, optimistically.

  “Sorta. The Faithful trashed my actual lab at MIT, so I’ve been working in one my friend used to run. It’s a small, private outfit, so no-one really knows it’s there,” explained Charlie.

  “How did you know to use chemo?” asked Lucy.

  “It kinda made sense. I threw a few samples under the microscope and saw the sort of rapid cell division you’d expect in a cancer. So mitotic inhibitors made sense,” said Charlie.

  “But they’re not a cure?”

  “No, it’s a band aid,” said Charlie

  “What happens when they run out?” said Lucy.

  “Then you’ll wanna be in DC. Because they’ll have a cure,” grumbled Lopez, chipping in.

&nbs
p; “Assuming they’re working on it all. Even then, it could take decades to find an actual cure,” said Charlie.

  “I’ll take those odds,” said Lopez.

  “He’s obsessed with DC. Talks of it like it’s the freakin’ promised land,” said Lucy, still astonished at the way Lopez’s bitterness was festering.

  “The only way we will ever climb out of this cesspit of a situation is through a coordinated, technologized effort, and that requires a centralized military operation,” Lopez snapped.

  “He’s not wrong,” said Charlie.

  “I’m not saying he’s wrong, I’m just saying he’s being an asshole about being right. Either way, he’s a god damned hypocrite,” said Lucy.

  “I’m the hypocrite?” said Lopez.

  “Yeah, you are. The guy who professes to be all about the army, and all about reclaiming the nation, and yet who turned his back on every civilian we met since the ambush. You’re only helping Charlie now because you need the meds,” said Lucy.

  “This is rich, coming from the woman whose rescue missions kill more people than they save,” said Lopez.

  “Can we not do this right now?” said Charlie.

  “Fine by me,” snapped Lucy.

  “Whatever. Let’s say you’re right, doc, and it takes DC ten years to find that cure. Do we have a decade of chemo drugs lying around?” said Lopez.

  “I doubt it. Not the right type, at least,” said Charlie.

  “So we’re screwed,” said Lopez.

  “Technically mitotic inhibitors are plant alkaloids, so there’s a very outside chance we could grow long-term treatments for this disease. Assuming no-one kills us firsts,” said Charlie.

  “You say ‘us’ like you’re infected too,” Lopez noted.

  “I say it like we’re all human,” snapped Charlie, bristling.

  “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good thing,” added Lopez.

  “That really came across,” snarked Lucy.

  “I wish everyone shared our views about humanity, Major. The people I left behind the wall are deeply protectionist. I’ve ostracized myself for this cause,” said Charlie.

  “Was it hard, leaving your community behind?” said Lucy.