INFECtIOUS

by Elizabeth Forkey

  “Before The Lord came back for His own—leaving all of us here and changing the world forever—people used to watch television and movies about zombies. Zombie movies were one of the most popular ways to pay to be terrified.

  The undead.

  The walking dead.

  Reanimated corpses crawling out of their graves.

  And what did zombies do? They ate the living. Hits us close to home doesn't it?

  The comparison is easy to make. The world out there is getting sicker. And I don't mean the disease. Murder is commonplace here in Toccoa. Babies are being aborted and sold as delicacies to the rich. Pravda is harvesting and selling stem cells and umbilical cords from aborted babies, promising healing and rejuvenation to people desperate enough to buy and eat them. Such dark times," he says with tears forming in his eyes.

  Out comes the hanky.

  I listen and silently beg God for my name to not come up in this sermon so pointedly meant for me.

  Rev. Depold continues and clears his phlegmy throat, "They have lost all respect for human life. In Roman's Chapter 3 verse 10 we read:

  There is none righteous, not even one.

  There is none who understands, there is none who seeks for God;

  All have turned aside, together they have become useless;

  There is none who does good, there is not even one.

  Their throat is an open grave, with their tongues they keep deceiving,

  The poison of asps is under their lips;

  Whose mouth is full of cursing and bitterness;

  Their feet are swift to shed blood,

  Destruction and misery are in their paths,

  And the path of peace have they not known.

  There is no fear of God before their eyes.

  “I'd say that's a pretty fair commentary on our neighbors. Some of you have been sheltered within our community, but many of you know well of what I speak. We live in dangerous times my friends. Our missionaries are out there, on the battlefield, seeking to save that which is lost.

  “But the word zombie isn't only for the lost. It's for us too. How you ask? How can I compare Christ's beautiful bride, the church, to a decaying reanimated corpse? We are Living, but we have the same disease. The curse of sin waits in our members looking for an opening to strike. We are not as safe here, inside our fence, as we would like to believe.

  “Romans Chapter 7 verse 14 speaks about the Living, not the lost. Paul is talking about the church in this passage. Paul is speaking about our sinful nature. When the scientists test the Living, what do they find? They find the same LS in our blood. No less of it than anyone else. We have been healed, but we still fight the sickness. We still need our Healer on a daily, hourly, minute by minute basis. We read:

  ...I am flesh, sold into bondage to sin. For that which I'm doing,

  I do not understand; for I am not practicing what I would like to do,

  but I am doing the very thing I hate.

  “This is Paul, the great apostle, speaking! Paul who wrote much of the New Testament. Paul who saw our Savior on the road and was struck blind at the sight of His glory. He says:

  For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh; for the

  wishing is present in me, but the doing of the good is not. For the good

  that I wish, I do not do; but I practice the very evil that I do not wish.

  But if I am doing the very thing that I do not wish, I am no longer the one

  doing it, but sin that dwells in me.

  “Paul is almost calling "sin" a thinking, sentient being that lives in us and exercises its own will against us, causing us to sin. That old phrase, ‘The devil made me do it’ could find defense in these verses.”

  Rev. Depold pauses and scans the faces of his congregation, “I want to be perfect for my Lord. Don't you? If you could somehow never sin again, whatever the cost, wouldn't you take it? I would. Or at least my heart, my brain, my belief would. But my friends, it's not to be. We still live in these bodies for a while longer. And these bodies are married to sin.

  “Our hearts are alive in Christ, but our bodies are dead in sin. We are zombies. What does that look like for us?" Rev. DePold stares straight at me.

  I swallow hard and look down.

  He looks away and continues, "Zombies are committed to the fulfillment of one desire—eating the living. When our zombie comes out, we are that irrational. We are selfish, with only ourselves in mind.

  “Zombies disregard their own well being and the wellbeing of others to get what they want. They would dive off the side of a hundred foot cliff if they smelled human flesh at the bottom. And we can be that careless with our own lives and each other."

  I know what Rev. Depold is saying. I know I'm guilty of selfish moments. But so is everyone else in this room. As guilty as the whole congregation is of their own zombie tendencies, I feel certain that everyone else is thinking just of Aunty and I and our shopping trip. Our focus on fashion has seemingly brought a new danger home to them. If they knew the whole story, they'd know it was a danger that was already here. I didn't bring it to them. It lives here among us. If anything, our going out brought that danger out into the open. Mine and Aunty’s run-in with Oscar the Grouch has prepared our whole compound for what could be coming.

  We did them a favor.

  Lost in my inner rant I've missed some of the sermon. I pick it back up on Rev. Depold's final point on zombies.

  "More than just scary, zombies make you sad. They are someone's mother or brother or husband or daughter. They are a shell of what they used to be. Back then, watching a zombie flick, you could feel sad about the little girl, alone on the screen, a lonely zombie. I ask, brothers and sisters, maybe we could come up with that for each other? Be more patient with each other's inner zombie?

  “And, more importantly, could we find the same heartbreak that Christ felt for the lost? Yes, they hate us. Yes, they long for our blood. But Christ died for those who hated Him. They screamed for His blood, the blood that bought our healing. I'm not asking you to die for them; though God might ask that of you.

  “What I'm asking is for you to fall in love with them. To see in them the potential that God sees. To ask yourself, 'What can I do to reach them in the little time we have left?'

  “My friends, we need to become infectious to the infected. Our lives should draw them. Our love should be obvious, setting us apart and making them want what we have. Someone who belongs to God should walk in a way that makes the lost want to have what we have been given. It is a gift we could never deserve. Are we behaving as those indebted, or have we had the gift so long we have begun to think it was our right all along?

  “Let us pray,” Rev. Depold bows his head; and, wordlessly, the congregations follows suit. “Father, may we be honest enough to face the zombies within, and may we have the courage to forgive the zombies around us. Lord, give us compassion for the dead around us and grace for the dead within us. Amen."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I Can't Handle Any More Markowitzs

  I can't believe how relieved I am to be back in the Inn. After ten minutes of strained, post-sermon conversation and a short reflective walk home, I am back in the house for at least the next week. I know I have permission to go to meetings; but, after the debacle that was this morning, I don't know if I want to go for awhile. Maybe time will heal the rift between me and the rest of our people.

  Aunty and I are only home a few minutes when the door bell rings. We are cooking lunch together in the kitchen when the melodious chimes send Aunty scurrying to the front door, leaving me up to my elbows in flour, kneading biscuits.

  Within seconds, Aunty reappears in the kitchen, her face lined with the concern of some new disaster. She barks, "I have to go, I'll be back."

  "What happened?" I yell after her as she heads out the back door, but the only response I get is the back door slamming shut.

  She's gone with no more explana
tion.

  Curiosity and suspense eat at me while I wait for her to come back. I'm not allowed to leave the house to go find her. I pace back and forth in the foyer; staring out the front windows for clues of what could be happening out there. Is someone sick? They sometimes call for Aunty when Dr. Markowitz and the two nurses aren't enough. Aunty has no real medical training, but she's calm and cool under pressure—and not afraid of blood—so she's helpful in situations where they need more hands. Maybe something happened with the zombies?

  Yes, I'm still going to call them that.

  Is there some new development in the Outlet Mall Stalker investigation? Has there been another attack?

  *****

  I finish cooking lunch. And eat. And send up countless prayers. And wait. I wish life was perfect. I wish that all that rejuvenation and great time with my Bible had left me with nothing but joy, but I'm only human. I'm already struggling with renewed feelings of hopelessness. I’m mad about being trapped here. I’m afraid of what is hunting me out there. Why is it so hard to trust Him?

  The big house is empty and unsupportive. Even though it’s still sunny outside, the nerves that usually only come over me at night begin to creep in. I feel painfully alone. I was hoping that Harmony would visit me a lot; but, after the cold shoulder in class this morning, I'm not getting my hopes up.

  So much for BFFs.

  I remember that Rev. Depold said someone would come set up a computer for me and bring me work to do. I guess it won't be that much different than working in my little office. It's not like I'm surrounded by people there either. I doubt anyone will come today though. It's Sunday. Tomorrow is the earliest I can expect to be back to work in full swing.

  *****

  I'm napping in the comfy chair in the Parlor—or, as Aunty would say, “resting my eyes”—when the doorbell scares me to death. I jump up, and it takes me a second to remember where I am and what's going on. I hurry to the door and see Harmony pressing her face against the glass. I unlock and open the door, grabbing her arm and pulling her inside.

  "Do you know what's going on?" I demand a little frantic, "Where is Aunty?"

  "Ok. Just don't freak out ok?"

  "What?!” I freak. “What is it?!"

  "They're back," Harmony says darkly.

  "Who is back?!"

  "Thomas and his brother. And, Ivy, Thomas is hurt."

  "Matt?! Matt is back? Is he ok? Oh my gosh, he's back! What happened? Is Matt hurt?"

  "Huh?" Harmony is looking at me like I'm crazy. "Ivy, Thomas is hurt. Who cares about his zombie brother?" She pauses and stares hard at me, "I'm confused. You are worried about him?"

  "Is he hurt?" I grab her by the arms and shout the question in her face.

  "I don't know," she answers with quiet anger in her timid voice.

  Harmony pulls away from me. I let go of her arms, and she rubs at them like I bruised her.

  "Is that where Aunty is? Did they need her? Thomas must be hurt pretty bad. Of course that's a big deal," I say to show her I get it; and that I'm not, despite her worries, insane. I mean, of course I care about Thomas being hurt. I can prioritize.

  I start again with forced calmness, "I wonder what happened. Do you know?"

  "I know less than I realized," she says with a sour twist in her full lips.

  "Please Harmony, I'm sorry. Please?"

  "Ugh." She sighs and starts to spill what she knows. "I know they showed up at the North Gate some time this morning. Matt," she enunciates his name with disgust and a glare, "was carrying Thomas and demanded to be let in. The guards didn't know what to do. Your boyfriend told them to call Ellen and Jose or Miss Colleen, but they refused.”

  It sounds like Matt is ok, and I feel a guilty sense of relief.

  Harmony continues, “Anthony was the guard on duty at the West Gate. I guess he overheard what was happening on the radio. He came to the North Gate and escorted Matt and Thomas straight to the clinic. Thomas is really badly hurt." Harmony takes a gulp of air before saying, "I think he maybe lost his arm or something. Jose and Ellen are really upset. Matt," the scornful way she says Matt’s name is getting old, "is being held somewhere until the commotion settles and they can figure out what to do with him."

  "What to do with him? What do you mean they are holding him?"

  "I don't really know anything else."

  "Harmony, I'm sorry. I just—of course I'm super worried about Thomas. I just, I mean, I care about Matt a little."

  She looks at me with a mixture of confusion and disgust, and I know this will change our friendship. We've never talked about boys because Harmony has held onto her childlike disgust for boys and crushes. I’d never even told her how I felt about Jamie Crest because I knew she’d think it was weird and gross. And now I've fallen for someone way off limits.

  "Do you know where Matt is?" I ask. "I really need to see him. Please Harmony? You must have some idea where they have him?"

  "First of all, you aren't allowed to leave the Inn, remember?" she says with a scowl on her thin, freckled face.

  "Ugh! What's second of all?" I ask, not caring one bit about Rev. Depold’s restrictions.

  I'm pretty sure Harmony will have to sit on me if she knows where Matt is and expects me to sit here and do nothing.

  "Second of all, you aren't going to like where he is,” she says with a look on her face that promises that her next sentence will be bad news. “That guy we didn't know, you know the guard you ticked off? Turns out, he's the new head of security. He's Tim's older brother."

  "Tim Markowitz?" My turn to look disgusted at the mention of a boy.

  "Yeah. So, I guess he was leading a group of the Living near Atlanta and the Doctor asked him to come home. His name is Andrew. He's only been here for like a week and they put him in charge of all our security. He's keeping Matt at his apartment. He lives in one of the apartments they made in the old police station."

  Harmony was right. Second of all was worse. I already had "apologize to no-name" on my recent list of things to do. I can't go barging into his apartment when he knows I'm supposed to be at the Inn. First of all, because it's not respectful of the Elders or of no-name—I guess I should call him Andrew now. And secondly, because that kind of behavior isn't going to get me out of my house-arrest any sooner. The new head of security already thinks I'm trouble. I'm going to need to prove I'm not if I ever want out of here.

  My thoughts are running a mile a minute. Matt is back. Will he stay? What if he leaves again before I'm allowed out of here? I will die if I don't at least get to see him and say I'm sorry. He's independent, not to mention sneaky. I know he won't like "being held" anywhere by anyone. He'll probably be out of that apartment by tonight and back through whatever hole he's been using. Apparently, it’s a hole that he couldn't carry a hurt Thomas through, forcing him to use the gate.

  Will his love for Thomas keep him around? Maybe he'll stay to make sure Thomas is ok. What if Thomas isn't ok? If Thomas dies, I know for certain I'll never see Matt again. I sink back down into my napping chair; full of worry and questions. Maybe God is giving me a second chance with Matt. I will do better this time. Please, God, let me have another chance to show Matt the Truth? Harmony is back by the front door. I look up to see her leaving. Just like that. With all of the wreckage still smoking between us. Life is so complex all of a sudden.

  "Harmony, wait! Please don't leave. I don't want to be here all by myself," I finish quietly.

  "I guess you should've thought of that before you got us into trouble."

  "You got in trouble? Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! Forgive me?" I ask in a small pleading voice.

  I feel terrible. Harmony is practically perfect in every way. I can't think of a time she's ever been in trouble. She considers my apology while looking down at her feet. She kicks the toe of her brown boot back and forth along the fringe of the Oriental rug just inside the door.

  Her face is softer when she meets my eyes again. "Yeah. It's ok
. I know you didn't mean to."

  She lifts her little matching cross necklace from inside of her coat and says, "Best friends, no worries," with her full lips spread in a smile.

  Her smile looks a little forced, but I'll take it.

  "I gotta go,” she says apologetically. “I'm not allowed to be out alone for more than an hour now. I still have to go to the library."

  "Oh. I'm really, really sorry. Can you come back tomorrow? Maybe you could get permission to study here part of the day?"

  "Maybe."

  "Well—thanks for coming. I'm sorry."

  "I forgive you. Really. You don't have to say you're sorry again. It's really ok. Nothing to do around here anyways, right?" She smiles at me and turns to leave.

  "Yeah. But even Toccoa beats house arrest," I say glumly, standing up to see her out.

  "I'll be back," she says as I close the door behind her and lock it.

  I'm alone again. If Thomas' injuries are that bad, Aunty could be gone all day. Now that I know Matt is back, and being held right across the street, being trapped in the Inn feels unbearable. I stare out the front windows at the old police station, searching each window. Where is he? I have to see him again! Is he staring back at me from behind one of those dark windows? I see no sign of him and my heart sinks low.

  In an effort to fight off the crazies, I look for something to do. I decide to run up and down the stairs for some exercise. Exercise gives you endorphins and endorphins make you happy.

  The expansive Inn has a front staircase and a back staircase. The wide front staircase winds and turns up four different levels, twenty-one steps in all. The front stairs are honey colored oak with a patterned red carpet running up the middle of the steps. At the bottom of the stairs is a beautiful carved oak post with an antique, three armed bronze lamp built into the top of the post. The globed lamppost looks like something you'd see in an old train station. At the top of the stairs, a spindled oak banister looks over the drop at an 8 foot tall arched stained glass window.