We turn off of the back road and onto the freeway for the last few miles of our drive. It's the 85 interstate and it cuts south through Georgia towards Atlanta. Atlanta is a dangerous place and it is only an hour south of Commerce. Atlanta is one of the largest cities left in the nation and perhaps the most important one.
On the larger highway, we are more cautious and we keep a vigilant watch for any other vehicles. Highways are much more likely to have supply trucks, army vehicles, med units, or government officials. If we encountered any of those they would probably continue on without bothering us. However, that kind of traffic is valuable and bandits are also prevalent on the highways. The pirates who patrol these high traffic roads wouldn't let us pass in peace. The route we took to Commerce only puts us on the freeway for a few tense miles. Fortune smiles and we don't encounter a single vehicle. I relax a little as we take the exit for the Commerce Outlets.
"Where to first?" Aunty asks, sounding as relieved as I feel.
"The Gap!" I announce with a smile.
Ok. I'll admit it. I'm excited to be here.
Chapter Three
Spiders, Zombies, and Rapists Oh My!
Aunty was right. Being out of the house and out of Toccoa for the day is rejuvenating. The reinforced, guarded fences around our mile-wide compound are there to keep us safe. But the freedom I feel here makes home feel like a prison in comparison. Yes, our fortress keeps the monsters out; but it also keeps us trapped in our made-up world. Stepping out of the car and into real life, I take a deep breath of cold air. Is it just my imagination or does the air smell cleaner and fresher here? Healthy fear and excitement are weaving their way through my limbs, sending shivers through my muscles. I can't remember the last time I felt this alive!
My bubbling energy is in stark contrast to the eeriness of the empty stores. The shopping mall stands like a decaying monument to America's wealthy past. Not that long ago, healthy men and women filled these parking spaces on a daily basis to come add to their collections of superfluous belongings. Today, the parking lot is devoid of life and those crowds are long forgotten. Only a few old cars remain as evidence—rusting islands on the sea of gray concrete. We are completely alone. We have the whole world to ourselves.
I think Aunty and I are the only women to leave the compound in the last year. A lot of our men come and go through the fence every day to hunt or fish. Another group leaves to maintain the city's power and water, not just for our people but also for the rest of Toccoa. Which is the only reason we are still living somewhat safely "out in the open." Most of the Living that are left on earth are in hiding now.
Toccoa is a small town, overlooked by the rest of the decaying world. We've found unexplainable protection and ambivalence in her quiet streets. Our men are healthy and able to do things that the infected can't. The zombies in Toccoa need us, so they put up with us. It's that simple. Our men put their lives on the line—working in close contact with the infected—to provide us the normalcy we still have. Running water, a refrigerator, a furnace in the winter.
But none of the guys in our compound would care to spend the day here. I get this picture in my head of the macho guys from the U.R. going through the mall looking for ladies shoes and bras, The comical scenario makes me snort out loud, drawing an inquisitive glance from Aunty.
Our men are busy doing manly things, leaving the cooking and homemaking to the women. They are all more than a little chauvinistic. Except for Tim. He's probably studying something he'll never need to know and helping his dad inventory the medical supplies. I wouldn't be surprised if he knew how to sew.
I shake my head to clear away unwanted thoughts of Tim Markowitz. The best thing about being out of Toccoa for the day? No possibility of seeing Tim. Anyway, our men don’t shop and our people need clothes as much as they need fresh meat and water. Aunty and I are doing the community a service. We'll bring back as many clothes as we can for the clothing bank at the U.R. And our bravery means getting to pick out some nice things just for ourselves.
Aunty opens the trunk hatch and hands me a bundle of empty bags, some recycled plastic shopping bags and some fabric duffle bags. I situate a few on each arm and with a "here goes nothing" glance at each other, we walk cautiously towards The Gap. A cold breeze blows up my sleeves and I cross my arms tight against my chest. Aunty notices that I’m cold and we pick up our pace, speed walking towards the store.
Aunty parked the SUV a few rows away from the store, just a short walk or run depending on what we encounter. The parking lot is surrounded on all sides by stores. The mall is a big rectangle with the parking lot on the inside of the box. Three sides of the mall are connected to each other, a long C shaped row of potential goodies. The fourth partition of stores is shorter and parallel to the middle of the C with access to the highway on either side—the only way in or out of the parking lot. If we stay on the C shaped side, we are able to see if anyone enters the secluded lot.
My memories of when the world was right are few and far between, but one thing I do remember is this outlet mall in all its glory. My mom brought me here to do my school clothes shopping a few days before I started the first grade. We bounced from store to store and she bought me almost everything that made me smile. I remember eating lunch, just the two of us, and sharing a milkshake. It hurts to recall her face and her smile and our happy life. That ache in my heart, that comes so rarely these days, flares up in full strength. I still miss her so much. My time-traveling nostalgia adds to the haunted loneliness of the mall.
Aunty, always watching, always able to decipher my private feelings, notices my sudden decline into depression as we stop just outside of The Gap.
"I'm sorry, Ivy. I just thought we could still have a nice time together. I had hoped once you got here you'd enjoy being out. I suppose I shouldn't have forced you to come."
"No, I'm happy I'm here."
Aunty raises her eyebrows in obvious disbelief, her mouth sagging with disappointment.
"I just was remembering my mom," I say with an apologetic tone.
I feel bad for missing my mom. Aunty tries so hard to fulfill that role. I try not to let on when I'm lonely for my parents. I'm afraid it somehow insinuates that I'm unhappy with her, that she's inadequate. She's an amazing aunt, friend and fill-in mother. She just isn't my real mother and that isn't her fault.
I don't want to ruin our day before it's even started. I meet Aunty’s worried blue eyes and I make my face smile, working hard to push away the sad thoughts. I want to be happy here with her. Today. Right now. I reach for her thin hand and, clasping it tightly, we walk cautiously into the store.
Today's weather is perfect for shopping. There isn't a cloud to be seen in the cold, blue sky, and the sun is reigning overhead—offering its vitamin D filled beams for the needy world below. Those golden rays are our only source of light once inside the store. We have small flashlights with us, but batteries are scarce and for emergencies only. The door to The Gap hangs open on broken hinges behind us. Of the store's two front windows, one is shattered with not a piece of glass left in place. A good amount of light is pouring in—enough to see the color of a shirt and check the size on the tag.
The merchandise closest to the front of the store has been ruined by time and the elements. The floor is littered with garbage and the decaying remains of fashion. Dead leaves, reanimated by the winter breeze, roll gently around the clothing racks. The store's thin industrial carpeting has rotted. The cement floor beneath the gray carpet shows in patches; as though the disease that ate away at humanity ran out of victims and came here to ingest this place as well.
Winding my way through overturned racks and unrecognizable piles of decomposing clothing, I wonder if we'll find anything worth bagging here. Towards the back of the store I'm relieved to find clothes that are still in good condition. Most of them are still hanging on their hangers and folded in neat stacks. My heart beats harder in the unsettling shadows, the sunny front windows too far awa
y to help much back here. I'm really careful with each thing I pick up because I'm sure that whatever I touch will, inevitably, have a giant spider on it. I hate spiders. Zombies are worse; but spiders take a close second on the list of things that freak me out.
Aunty Coe stands watch at the door, fingering the Taser strapped to her wrist. The Gap isn't her style. She watches the parking lot to make sure we are safe and alone here. I find a really cute pair of jeans; so I strip off my ripped ones and kick off my old shoes to try the size eight distressed flares on. We are alone and the whole store is my private changing room. You couldn't pay me to go in the dark changing rooms at the very back of the store. Not even if you had a whole package of Kraft Cheese Singles. Pitch black dark and a breeding ground for all types of carnivorous spiders, the changing rooms are the epitome of my worst nightmares. You may think I'm being a little paranoid on the spider thing; but you are wrong. Spiders are really that horrible.
The damp January cold has fully infiltrated The Gap. I'm freezing and nervous as I stand barelegged and stocking foot in the dark, pulling on the new pants. The jeans fit great and make me feel thin; so I grab another pair in my size. I stuff the old pants I was wearing into my shopping bag and then fill the bag with several more pairs of the cute jeans in other sizes for the girls at home in Toccoa. I squeeze back into my ugly tennis shoes and continue searching The Gap for treasure. Lord willing, by the end of the trip I'll be wearing a whole new outfit, shoes and coat with a lot more clothes going home with us as well. It will be fun to walk into the U.R. on Sunday feeling pretty for a change.
We move from store to store, taking turns keeping watch. After a store or two, we walk our bags to the car and dump them in the back. Rather, I would dump them if it was up to me; but, since I'm with God's neatness police, we fold them all in nice organized piles in the back of the car. An Ivy pile, an Aunty pile and several piles of clothes for everyone else. I'm surprised she doesn't make us color coordinate the piles. Re-situating our once again empty bags, we move the car further down the strip and head to a new store.
Some of the stores have been picked over and are not worth bothering with. The jewelry stores look like they've been through a bombing. The glass counters are smashed to pieces, littering the floor like sparkling diamonds. Any real gems that the store had are long gone. Six years ago, when a couple million people disappeared from the face of the earth in a silent instant, all hell broke loose. People did what you'd expect: they panicked. Panicked and rioted and looted in fear-filed desperation to survive.
The jewelry stores were turned over in the search for tradable currency. The sporting goods stores were next, for survival gear and weapons. You can't really blame humanity. We've been programmed with an innate will to survive. It is human nature to care for ourselves and our loved ones at any cost. Fathers became murderers. Children became thieves. The world turned upside-down and survival was all anyone could think about.
That was before we knew about the disease. Though survival is still a common desire, pleasure has become priority one for most people. They know they are dying now.
It's inevitable.
If death is right around the corner, and you can't do anything to stop it, might as well live it up. Enjoy as much pleasure as possible in the time you have left. I guess I can understand why they are the way they are.
As we pass a recessed area of the outdoor mall, I notice the three stores tucked back into one of the corners of the big C shaped strip. One of them is a toy store. I've long outgrown toys and games but I can't help thinking of our new little friend.
"Should we grab some toys for Thomas?"
"Well—I guess we could." Aunty is cautious and the hesitation in her voice tells me she isn't sold on the idea. Staring into the corner's dirty gray shadows, she murmurs, "Oh Betty."
Her perfected mask of pleasantness slips, and her face morphs into someone I don't recognize. A heavy sadness has puckered her lips, and her brow is furrowed and wrinkled. I don't know why this place has made her think of Aunty Betty. As I study her expression, suddenly ragged with emotion, I can't help but notice how much she has aged lately. I hate how frail and small she looks. We were having such a fun time together; it figures I'd ruin it.
The loss of her sister is one of the few heartaches that she doesn't cover up with a good attitude and her normal game face. Aunty Betty has been missing, probably dead, for years now. She disappeared without a trace one sunny spring day only a few weeks after I came to live with them. That was before the fences were built. Aunty Betty and Aunty Coe were very close. Sometimes I think that I’ve filled that hole in Aunty's heart; but I know I can't replace her lifelong best friend, her big sister. Nor would I want to.
"What is it Aunty?" I ask in a reverent whisper as she stares into the darkened stores.
"We used to shop here together." Aunty's voice is garbled and distant and it makes me glance nervously over my shoulder. "We were vigilant, watching each other's backs and carefully going through the stores. There were still some people in Commerce then; before everyone got so sick. It was safer then. We didn't worry too much about the other people scavenging. You were home with a babysitter and I thought it would be nice to bring you some toys. You were so sad and still missing your mom so much. You've always been a serious girl."
Her eyes are soft and tender and she speaks with so much love in her voice that I can't help but reach out and hug her. She feels fragile in my arms as I cling to her. I loosen my grip, afraid I'm being too rough with her. She kisses my cheek and a tear slips down her cheek as she continues with her story.
"I wanted to cheer you up, and I practically ran into the toy store when I saw it there. Betty was talking to someone further down the strip and I didn't wait for her to stand watch at the door. I figured I'd only be a second. Just grab a toy or two and maybe some art supplies for my creative Ivy." Her voice gets distant again as she dredges her memories, reliving something I don't think I want to hear. "I wandered into the second row of toys. I remember tripping over something on the floor; and the fear I felt when I realized it was a body. I fell forward and felt someone grab my legs and climb on top of me." She pauses and then stares into my eyes as she admits, "I’ve never been so terrified."
I want her to stop telling this story. I regret mentioning the toy store. I feel cold and nervous and too alone in this big abandoned place. It is with fear and unwanted responsibility that I realize that I am the stronger one between us. If anything happens to us out here, it will be up to me to get us out of it. Aunty is older than I thought. Aunty is more breakable today—how did this happen? When did she go from my protector to this gentle old lady? I think we should call it a day and go back home.
Aunty doesn't notice the affect her story is having on my nerves and she continues, "I tried to call out for Betty but he had his filthy hand over my mouth."
I can see disgust and loathing on her face for this man of the past. Her mouth screws up like she can still taste his dirty hand.
"Thank the Lord, Betty saw me disappear into the toy store. She was almost through the door when she watched me fall behind the row and not get back up. She was always wise, a quick thinker. Instead of running in to help me, she found a young man in the parking lot to help her and they came in together. The helpful dear had a gun and he shot it over his head as he came barreling through the door.
“The man on top of me cursed at me and hit me." She holds a hand to her cheek over the ancient sting and leaves it there as she continues, "He jumped up and ran into the shadows at the back of the store. They pulled me outside into the sun and checked me over; then the man who helped us went back in to find my attacker. He searched the whole store but didn't find him. We could only assume the horrible man had somehow slipped out the back service door of the store. It was—," she pauses and then finishes her thought, "traumatic."
"I'm so sorry Aunty. I didn't mean to make you sad. I forgot you and Aunty Betty used to come here, too."
"I think I wouldn't have cared if I ever had anything new again."
We both know that's true. I'm only here because she insisted. I'd be wearing old hobo clothes with everyone else if it weren't for her proprieties.
"Life always goes on Ivy. You'll learn that. The hard times come and make you think you can't possibly move forward, but then you do."
She stares at me with wisdom and knowledge in her eyes and instead of feeling encouraged, I feel afraid. I don't want any more “hard times” to come. My life is already hard enough.
"Let's just get what we need from the rest of the stores and go home," I recant my toy store idea, no longer enjoying our adventure.
I'm nervous. I keep twisting my head to look all around us, feeling like her story will conjure up the scary man from the past.
In a quick change of mood, Aunty brightens. "We'll have to go fast and use our flashlights. Let me pull the car right up front, just in case. I let that go years ago, and I won't let it haunt me again. Thomas needs a toy or two just as much as my sweet Ivy did when she was his age."
She smiles a mischievous, devil-may-care smile at me. Her adventuresome side has beaten her cautious old-lady side. We are going in the toy store.
Chapter Four
A Killer Pair of Pumps
As Aunty pulls the car close to the store's entrance, her words are still ringing in my ears. I know what the "just in case" is. We won't find creepy bums and rapists in the store today. Something worse could be haunting the once happy aisles of the Toys R Us outlet.
The toy store's doors and windows are still intact and thick with dirt. The sun sends little light through the film. I wonder how long it has been since anyone has gone in there. Maybe Aunty and her heroic entourage were the last ones to go through these doors.
INFECtIOUS Page 3
