I'm 16, almost 17, and there are 20 other teenagers between the ages of 14 and 17 in the youth class with me. Our teacher is Mrs. Sherry LaFakis, a gentle, devoted woman in her early forties. I used to pretend that she was my mom, which I've outgrown but would still love to be true. Sherry's daughter, Harmony, is the closest thing I have to a best friend. Harmony is genuine and honest and sort-of like a sister to me. Though we are very different, I can always count on Harmony to understand me when no one else does.
The young adults study under Ms. Julia Scott. There are about 50 of them, which is a lot for her to handle so I help her a lot administratively. I'm still not sure why she goes by Ms. She doesn't talk much about herself and I'm not sure if she was ever married or if she had kids or anything. I would guess her to be about 40 years old.
The other 110 members of our community are old like Aunty. They have two different teachers, one for the men and one for the women. Mrs. Ruth Manof leads the ladies—though sometimes I'd swear Aunty was in charge—and Dr. John Talmurf leads the men. With the older groups, the leaders are more like administrators. They teach on occasion, but there are several others who are equally capable and learned and they all just switch around and take turns. Dr. John Talmurf is also one of the Elders.
The head Elder, Rev. Ralph Depold, is both the Pastor of our church AND mayor of the community. A pudgy, older man in his late sixties, Rev. Depold leads us with gentleness and—more than occasionally—tears. Intelligent and faithful, he reminds me of my grandfather; but sometimes I have a hard time respecting him on account of the frequent crying. It's probably genuine, but sometimes it seems kind of—manipulative.
As Aunty and I sit outside of the Elders' door and wait to be called in, I muse about how all these great people managed to get left behind. They are such leaders, so godly and obedient; their deep love for The Lord is evident. I've heard them stand up on Sunday morning and tell their stories. Almost all of them came from churches and Christian communities. Most of them had husbands and wives and children and grandchildren who all disappeared that awful day. They knew immediately what had happened, but it was too late. They had known God with their head but not their hearts. Even Aunty was a Sunday School teacher for twenty years before He came back. But they all missed the point. It wasn't a passion, there was no deep love. It was a job, a requirement.
And He knew.
So one by one they each grieved their losses and shook their fists at God and reminded Him of all they had done for him and how great they were. And one by one they all realized their great mistake and fell under His wing and finally clung to Him. And it wasn't too late. The fact that we don't have the disease proves that we belong to Him, even though we're still stuck here for a little while. He's giving us a second chance. He's giving all of humanity one last chance. My thoughts are interrupted when Heidi, the Elder's secretary, calls us in to our meeting.
Chapter Thirteen
Aunty Uses "The Force"
There are ten Elders in total. Nine of them are here this morning. Only seven Elders need to be present during a meeting to make a large enough group for a vote to be taken. Even though I see these men on a daily basis, I feel nervous about being the object of their judgment. I feel like I'm on trial for something.
The room the Elder’s use for their daily meetings is inauspicious; a small room with gray walls and industrial carpeting. The ceiling is tiled with those large lightweight white squares that are common in public buildings. Several of the squares are missing a corner or sporting ugly brown water stains from leaky pipes upstairs. The small room feels too warm, probably because there are so many of us in here. I feel sweaty and itchy. I scratch self-consciously at my face. With my luck, the heat and my nerves will give me hives.
The elders sit in a semi-circle around a large meeting table made up of two long folding tables put together to make a square. From left to right they are: Mr. Davys, Mr. Phillips, Mr. Terrell, Dr. Talmurf, Rev. Depold, Dr. Harvey, Dr. Allison, Mr. Hunter, and Mr. Todd.
Rev. Depold, sitting in the middle, welcomes us heartily. He is leaning back in his chair, fingers crossed over his wide belly, telltale hanky sticking out of his pocket. I hope there's no crying in today's meeting. After taking off our coats, Aunty and I take two chairs that are close to each other—across the table from the Elders. They all stare expectantly at me as though I should say something. Aunty gives my leg a squeeze under the table.
"Well, Colleen, tell us what happened," Dr. Talmurf says kindly, his eyes twinkling with energy despite his old age.
I know Dr. Talmurf the best since he's one of my bosses. My favorite thing about him is that he always seems excited. About things that should be boring, like theology and the Bible. And his enthusiasm is catching. I love listening to him as he prepares his U.R. lessons. My little desk is just outside of his office. He always leaves his office door open just a crack when he rehearses and I'm sure it's for my benefit. He's my favorite among the Elders. The other Elders don't seem to mind that Dr. Talmurf has taken the lead.
Aunty clears her throat and begins.
"We left early, as is our custom, yesterday morning. The drive was uneventful, the car in perfect working order, and after leaving the community we didn't see another living soul for the rest of the drive. We found the stores just as they were six months ago, completely devoid of people. If my memory of six months ago serves, I'd say it didn't look as though anyone had been there since the last time Ivy and I went. We were careful none the less. We went in each store together, and we took turns watching over each other and gathering supplies."
When she says "supplies", I can't help but think again of my frivolous choices—the jewelry, the zombie shirt, the pink shoes—and I blush at how unnecessary some of my shopping was.
Aunty continues to recite, "In the last store of the day, after much success and no incidents, we were frightened by a noise in the back of the store. To be safe, we hurried from the store to the car. We did have our Tasers with us and we are both capable with them, having taken all the safety courses required by security to carry one. When we got into the car, we were immediately assaulted by a diseased man who had been hiding in the back seat on the passenger side."
I'm squirming nervously and hoping no one will ask, but Mr. Terrell interrupts Aunty and asks the obvious question.
"How did the man get into the car without you noticing? Was the alarm not working properly?"
"We had mistakenly left the car unlocked after a trip to the car with some of our bags."
She squeezes my hand under the table to comfort me as she takes responsibility for my mistake. I am thankful to not be on the spot yet, but I still feel the blush of shame on my cheeks.
Mr. Terrell, a very businesslike man who doesn't often show his feelings, frowns and reprimands Aunty. "So carelessness is the reason for this meeting?"
Aunty points her blue eyes at Elder Terrell with a calm, even gaze and clears her throat.
"Unfortunately, I believe there would have been an incident either way. The man attacked Ivy from behind and—"
Mr. Terrell cuts her off mid-sentence, "I'd like to hear about the attack from Miss Ivy," he pauses and then adds, "please."
Aunty nods, mild irritation showing on her almost perfect face, and looks over at me with expectancy.
I start by saying "Yes sir," but my throat is dry and scratchy and my words are quiet and unclear. I have to clear my throat twice and say it again, "Yes sir. I got into the car and knew right away that a zombie was in the car because he smelled awful."
The nine men before me all suddenly look appalled and "ahem" a lot and clear their throats.
Rev. Depold, concealing a smile, speaks up for the first time since greeting us.
"Ivy, we do not refer to the lost as—zombies. That is a very derogatory term and we will gain no ground with them if we think of them as monsters. They are just as we were before grace. They are to be pitied and loved with Christ's lo
ve or we are no better off than they."
He nods at me while staring into my face with his gentle reproof and indicates with a wave of his hand that I continue with my story.
I'm embarrassed at how immature I must sound. I need to be more like Aunty, professional and calm. In my opinion, the story oozes drama and should be told as such. But, for the sake of credibility, I'll be business-like.
"He reached around from behind my seat and locked his arms around my neck. He was choking me, but I don't think he wanted to kill me."
Mr. Terrell interrupts again, "It is strange that he didn't restrain the driver first, isn't it?"
Rev. Depold says softly, "Let her tell the whole story Marcus, then we'll make our comments."
Mr. Terrell nods and they all look at me again.
"Anyways," I'm trying to keep my train of thought, "I struggled and Aunty quickly Tased him several times. I think he was unprepared for us to fight back and didn't expect us to be armed. He let go of me when she shocked him and fell on the floor in the back seat. Aunty pulled away from the shopping center towards the road to make sure no one else came to his aid. Presumably whoever—"
Aunty quietly cuts in and corrects me, "Whomever."
"Yeah, whomever made the noise in the back of the store." I take a deep breath, "So we drove a good ways away and then Aunty jumped out and came around to help haul him out of the car. She shocked him a few more times and we pulled him out and dumped him on the street. He was wearing a silver Pravda bodysuit, zomb—uh—shoes that they wear, and an Oscar the Grouch mask. You know, from Sesame Street?"
This gets another little grin from Dr. Talmurf. Blank stares from everyone else.
"Um, so I jumped back in the car, but it took Aunty a little longer because she was looking at something the man had and when she got back in she showed me that he had a Portaroid picture of me."
"Polaroid" Aunty corrects.
At this piece of news, they all get pretty animated, turning to look at each other and exchanging scowls.
"Do you have the picture now?" Rev. Depold asks kindly. His smile is forced now—its genuineness questionable when paired with the heavy scowl of his bushy eyebrows.
"Yes sir. Here."
I pull the photo out of my coat pocket and push it across the table to him.
"This was taken of me just last week. I remember the day that I wore that shirt. But I don't remember seeing anyone with a camera."
I can't think of anything else to tell them. There's a long pause with everyone looking at me with concern.
So I add, "Then we drove home."
I sit back in my chair and look at Aunty. I'm very ready to be done talking.
"Anything you can add to this account, Colleen?" asks Rev. Depold.
She looks sad and says, "Only that after much thought, I am very confused about the nature of the attack. I can't imagine something with any planning, which obviously there was because of the photograph, being so easily thwarted. I'm afraid it wasn't their intention to take Ivy and I'm therefore quite worried about what their intentions really were. I can't help but feel less safe here in the community. Someone here took that photograph. I don't think an outsider would've gone completely unnoticed in broad daylight and I'm worried that there is someone here in the community who can't be trusted. Unfathomable as that seems."
Everyone sits stunned and quiet at this pronouncement. This is a terrifying new thought, and I'm as shocked as they are. I wish I could think of a hole in Aunty's logic, because then I'd feel safer, but I can't. I thought we had escaped our attacker and made it back to the safety of our home and our people. But if Aunty is right, I'm still in real danger and nothing is simple anymore. I know we had already talked about who had taken the photo and the possibility of not being able to trust someone. But she hadn't told me that she thought we were meant to get away. That something worse than the attack was still going on. A plot of some sort that involves me. Rev. Depold and Aunty are looking at each other across the table with a mirror image of sadness and understanding on their faces. I wish I knew what they were thinking.
Mr. Terrell says, "What about the boy who spent the night at the Inn last night. Do you think that was smart? Is he possibly involved in this in any way?"
"I don't believe he is related to our shopping experience in any way. He is here for Thomas, as you know. I think it was coincidental that he showed up at our door yesterday and I truly believe he is in no way involved."
Aunty seems to put force into these words; like she's Obi Wan Kanobi, wielding "The Force." Like she can simply speak with conviction and these men will believe her and repeat back, "these aren't the droids we're looking for." Sometimes I suspect that she uses these powers on me. The other elders look pleased to hear this, but Mr. Terrell seems to be immune to "The Force".
"You likewise convinced us that shopping was safe, against our better judgment, and you were wrong about that. Be careful that you don't think yourself wise Colleen and put us all in danger with your trust of this young man."
Aunty simply returns his gaze. She has always been a strong woman. Standing on her own without a man. I think she has a hard time submitting to the entirely male board of Elders. If women had been allowed to be elected, I'm sure she'd be on the board herself.
I suddenly remember the other thing I need to tell them.
"Wait! There is one other thing. Matt, Thomas' brother, I don't think he came in through a gate. He doesn't look much like a zomb—" I catch myself again, "like one of them because the disease isn't very advanced on him, so I guess someone could've let him through carelessly. But there should've been an escort right?"
The men all nod in the affirmative like bobble-head dolls.
"Well, he didn't explain, but I am pretty sure he came in somewhere else. And I think someone should check the fence for holes. Or maybe a ladder or a tree branch he could've used to come over it?"
"Thank you Ivy. You are a bright girl; which is why I'm glad to have you as my secretary," Dr. Talmurf says with a kind smile and a conspiratorial wink.
"We will need to discuss all of this and consider how to investigate further," says the always calm Rev. Depold. "I am very thankful to have both of you back safe and sound; and, for now, you are excused. Please don't leave the community for any reason until further notice. Also, please be available to answer more questions should we need to call you back again. Thank you."
That's our cue to leave I guess. I thought we'd have more involvement in their discussions. I don't really want to be talked about and decided on without my knowledge; without some input on my own fate. We are standing up and leaving, but I'm not happy about it.
Rev. Depold, still holding on to my photograph, calls out "God bless!" as the door closes behind us.
I hope He does. I could use some blessing for a change.
Chapter Fourteen
Sister Bear and the Evil Grannies
Filled with frustration, newfound fears, and a million questions all fighting to be heard and answered in my weary brain, I walk quickly to the front door. I just need to go. I don't know where, but I need to go. My legs need to walk. I yearn for some distraction. My emotions are raw and I don't want to cry. I wish I had somewhere to go other than the Inn.
I reach the front doors of the U.R. and realize that Aunty isn't with me. I turn around to see her heading the other direction, and she calls out for me to wait for her outside. I don't know what other business she has here this morning, but that isn't surprising. We don't feel the need to run every detail past each other. She must be coming out any minute because she would've told me to wait inside where it's warm if her errand had any potential of keeping her long.
I wait for her out on the front steps in the frosty cool air. I'm trying to process everything and the hugeness of it threatens to overload my already frazzled emotions. I want to feel afraid, but I know I need to trust. I want to cry; but I've done enough of that in th
e last twenty-four hours, and I've resolved to be done with weakness. I take deep breaths of the freezing air and it burns my lungs. The burn feels good; the stinging pain in my lungs somehow lessens the pain in my stomach. It's weird that pain feels good. I breathe deeply again and hold the cold air in longer—relishing the distraction of my lungs being on fire.
Last year, a girl in our community lost her whole family in a fire. It went around the community that her new guardians found her cutting herself. I remember how badly I thought of her, how judgmental I was. I remember thinking, "Doesn't she know that was God's plan for her? Why doesn't she just trust Him? He'll obviously take care of her." She killed herself not long after that. I judged her for that too. Now, I desperately wish she had made it through. If she couldn't handle life, maybe I can't either.
What if Pravda comes for me and I die in a lab as one of their experiments? As the door swings open behind me, I turn expecting Aunty but run right into Chuck Fox. His eyes bulge at me like they might pop out of his head and his normally cheerful face looks yellow and sick.
"Chuck! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to block the door. I'm waiting for Aunty. Are you alright? You look terrible."
Foot in mouth as usual. I meant that he looks sick, but I don't know if he took it that way.
"Oh—Ivy—uh, yeah, I was just seeing the Doc. I got a little bug or something. I'll be fine. How ya doing kid? I heard you had a close call yesterday."
I guess the news has gone all around. I wish everyone didn't know. It's so embarrassing.
"Good thing your Aunt is quick on her toes, eh? What a woman."
INFECtIOUS Page 9
