I definitely get the pain part.
Chapter Forty-Four
How Many Pints for A Pair Of Pink Mittens?
I finally slip into a deep sleep, alone in my bed at the Inn.
I'm awakened sometime later by the sound of rain. As I become more aware, I realize it's not rain hitting my window. Something else is tapping. I suddenly know it is Matt. Throwing on my shoes, I hurry to the back door.
Matt is standing by the back door when I open it. How he knew I would open it at that moment amazes me.
"I saw you there," I say appreciatively. His intense stare makes me look uncomfortably at my feet.
"I came to make sure you were ok. It looked like you had all the comfort you needed, so I didn't stick around to shake hands afterward."
"Tim is a friend," I say defensively.
"That's not what he thinks. I need to show you something," he says, changing the subject with his typical abruptness. "We'll be out a little longer this time."
Matt and I walk in silence. It's a comfortable silence between us but also a necessary one. There is no U.R. meeting to ensure we'll have the streets to ourselves like last time. We watch carefully for anyone who may be out this afternoon. Our route to the hidden tunnel takes us past Harmony's apartment. I watch her windows closely and feel nervous when I see her curtain flutter.
Matt grabs my hand. and I forget my nerves and think about the freedom I feel when I'm with him. A block later, I glance behind us and see someone turn quickly into a side alley. Are we being followed? Chuck is safely behind bars, and he assured us that no one else in the community is a danger to me. I'm just being paranoid. At the entrance to the tunnel, Matt disappears down into the hole. I take a quick glance around to be sure that no one is watching; and then, without hesitation, follow him into the darkness.
We feel more free to talk when we’re underground. Our conversation is lighthearted and I'm surprised to find myself capable of smiling. He holds my hand again and leads me through the cramped tunnel. I am less nervous this time and don't really need his hand, but I don't tell him that.
"You were pretty dressed up today," he says with strange humor in his tone. I feel certain he's making fun of me somehow, but I can't figure out why.
"Funeral?" I say perturbed, an obvious given for my attire.
"I just thought since it was a special occasion you'd be wearing those pink heels again."
He is mocking me.
I can't see him well enough in the dark of the tunnel, but I'm fairly certain he is laughing silently at me. I should be offended at how light he makes of my loss. He has no sympathy for what I've just been through. But honestly, it's a relief to smile. I find myself giggling with him. I don't want to be low when I'm with him.
We haven't known each other long, but I have already stored up plenty of embarrassing moments with him. I acted like such a naive pouting princess that day we met. I must have looked so ridiculous—the heels, the myriad of necklaces, the mismatched new clothes. I blush just picturing my three weeks ago self.
Intent on not being that girl again, I respond to his antagonism with playfulness. "You are awfully fashion conscious for a guy. Most guys I know are too masculine to pay attention to a girl's shoes. I guess you're more in touch with your feminine side," I say sarcastically.
"Touchy," is his response. Of course, do the guy thing and act like I'm hormonal.
Trying to turn the conversation back to him I ask, "Don't you dress up at a funeral?"
"Haven't been to one since I was a kid."
"You're fortunate not to have lost anyone lately." I think it's a little strange that he hasn't lost anyone, especially out there where zombies are dropping like flies.
"I've lost a lot of people," he says matter-of-factly, "we just don't do funerals anymore. Too many people dying. No place to put them all. Most people have evolved, Ivy. They are smart enough to know that it's just a dead body and there's no point in being sentimental or emotional about it. Life goes on and soon it'll be me and that's just how it works."
When we get to the other side, he once again easily pulls me up out of the hole and into the basement. There are piles of stuff all over the place. The piles seem to be organized into food, clothes and guns. The gun pile makes me nervous. I'm not at all comfortable with weapons. There are large ones that look like military guns and small ones that would fit in a man's pocket. I stand on the other side of the hole opposite of the intimidating pile.
"Why is all this stuff here? Are you moving in?"
"Just trying to be prepared," he says simply. Like having this many weapons is a normal part of everyday life. "Here, put these on."
He tosses me a black ski mask and a pair of pink mittens. I didn't realize he intended to leave the cellar. Nothing he could say will convince me to go out there on the other side. I am regretting coming with him. He just doesn't get it. I'm not safe out there.
I shake my head "no" and take a step back towards the hole.
While I'm standing there, strongly considering jumping back in and running home, a loud noise echoes beneath. I shriek and jump away from the hole.
"Jumpy." Matt says condescendingly. "It was probably just a big rat."
"A rat?!"
"There are lots of 'em down there. Huge ones. Look, if you could walk through the rat filled tunnels with me, I think you can handle a leisurely stroll to see something magnificent."
He says the word "magnificent" with mysterious excitement, and I find myself wanting to know what it is he has to show me.
I don't like either of my options. I don't want to go down there with whatever large creature made that noise, but I don't want to step out into his world either.
"It's completely safe," he says confidently. "No one comes out this way; I've never seen anyone over here." Then with a manipulative pout on his face he says, "I had to look 10 different places to find you those pink mittens. And they weren't free. Come with me?"
If they weren't free, it means Matt had to pay for them. He had to give his blood for them. I'll never get used to the new currency. I wonder how much he had to give to buy these for me.
It's so wrong.
And so romantic.
I pull on the ski mask, and it feels strange to be covering my face. I look like a bank robber from an old movie. I actually love the mittens, but I plan on giving the mask back as soon as possible. I feel like a traitor to my people. Chuck mentioned putting on a mask when he left the community. I hope God won't be mad at me and take away my healing. It's just a walk. It's probably not my wisest choice, but I don't think it's actually sin.
We walk up the old wooden stairs and through the abandoned house. Old moldy furniture is strewn about, and there are scary blood stains on the walls. Something bad happened here. Through the jagged holes in the dirty windows, yellow sunlight pours in and tries to pretend that this is a cheerful place, but I'm not fooled. An involuntary tremble of nerves runs through my body. Matt kindly pretends not to notice.
Once outside, I can see why no one has found this place. It sits in the middle of an overgrown clearing, completely surrounded on all sides by trees. If there was a driveway leading to the house in the past, it is gone now, covered by trees and Kudzu and thorny blackberry bushes. I think this house was abandoned long before the disappearances and the disease.
I walk behind Matt as he picks our way through the brush. We come out onto the road and the nervous warning in my heart hammers even louder.
It's still daylight.
Anyone could see us.
I have no protection out here.
My face is covered by the traitorous mask, but I feel even more vulnerable with it on. As though I'm denying Him by wearing it. He said if anyone denies Him, He would deny them before his Father. Will He let me get caught because I'm wearing the mask? I should turn back and go home. I feel a panic attack coming on. My steps slow and come to a stop. I am looking frantically around and over my shoulder as I take my
first step backwards to retreat.
Matt sighs and turns back to see me wussing out. He doesn't wear a mask; and, though it's a little hard to see out of the holes in mine, Matt’s green eyes suddenly fill my view.
"Ivy. I promise you are totally safe. It really isn't that bad out here. Your whole experience is based on what happened in Commerce and the sickos who hang out near the fence to scare you. Not everyone is bad. Am I a monster?" he asks stepping closer to me.
My pulse is racing, but not from fear. Matt is so close to me and his eyes—oh his eyes! They do things to me. I breathe short little breaths as he reaches out to take my hands. I think about what it would be like to kiss him. The mask and a few inches of space are the only thing between his lips and mine.
"Can we please enjoy our second date?" he asks sweetly, stroking my pink mittened hand with his shiny black gloved thumb.
Our second date?
I didn't realize we'd had a first date. I guess anytime I walk down the tunnel of love with him he's considering it a date. I've never been on a date, and I already missed enjoying my first one. I will enjoy every moment of my second date. I nod, and we resume our walk in the sunshine. Still holding hands.
*****
"Leisurely stroll" was a bit misleading.
We are literally walking around the small city of Toccoa, following the path of our fence from several blocks away. As we start down a huge hill, I realize where we are. We are only a few hundred feet from the West Gate. Not far at all from the Inn. This is the direction that Matt went the morning that Aunty and I walked him to the gate. The day he ate most of my syrup. I smile at the memory now. I was so disgusted with him that day. I hated him. I would gladly give him my last morsel of food now.
As we walk down down down the huge hill, I think it's strange that I've never been this way. After all these years of living only a half mile from where we are now walking, I'm on an adventure. I could be home in five minutes if I walked directly to the Inn, but I might as well be in another time and place. The route we are on feels that new and foreign.
My world has been too small and sheltered for too long. We pass an old cemetery, and its run down walls and gravestones remind me of Aunty. The grand tomb stones and little marble temples draw my thoughts back to this morning and the rough wooden cross marking Aunty's resting place. No marble angel watches over her. Loneliness fills me again as we walk in silence.
"I saw you that day," he says.
I have no idea what he's talking about.
"When Tom and I left."
I remember that day with its sadness and regret.
"We didn't go straight to the tunnel. We had to walk towards the gate so you wouldn't figure out my way in. When we came around the bend, I made Tom hide in the bushes with me."
"Of course," I say jokingly. He loves a good shrubbery.
He laughs and then continues. "You came around the bend not two seconds after we were hidden. You had that coat," he pauses then adds softly, "and you were crying. I've thought about that day a lot. You looked so sad that we were gone. Were you sad about Tom leaving? Or about me?"
I blush under my mask, glad he can't see my face. "Well I had just met you," I say, hoping he'll assume that means my answer is Thomas. "And you were really irritating."
"So it was me. That's what I thought," he says, full of egotistical confidence.
"I didn't say that!" I punch him in the arm.
"Yeah, you did," he says smiling. "And who taught you how to punch? That was weak! We're going to have to work on your defensive skills."
I'm glad my horrible fighting skills have turned the subject away from my vulnerable display of emotion that day. I'm not comfortable with him knowing just how interested I am. He can't know how much I want to be with him. The small amount of wisdom that I possess warns me to keep my feelings to myself.
When we reach the bottom of the colossal hill, there is another hill rising ahead of us. My muscles are starting to burn, and I'm nervously wondering how long this "stroll" is going to be. Matt and I exchange jokes and sarcasm and meaningless flirtatious banter while we walk. He has never let go of my hand, which I am thoroughly enjoying.
Now that we're walking up hill, I'm letting him pull me along. I don't have his stamina. Only part way up the next hill we turn to the left. Walking down a side road, we enter an old compound of some sort. I look curiously around, and Matt answers my thoughts.
"It's an old college campus."
"Oh. Why are we here?"
"You'll see."
"You're sure it's safe?"
Matt smiles and pulls me a little closer. It has the necessary affect, banishing my worries and leaving me reveling in his closeness. We pass empty dark buildings of different sizes. Each of them seemingly built in different eras. Some buildings look relatively new, and some are very old. Most of them have a plaque or sign, naming them after different people from the college's past. Probably the names of the rich people who paid to have them built.
Matt weaves through the buildings, confident of where he's going. After a short walk through what proved to be a small campus, we stop in front of a decorative iron gate. It hangs, rusted on its hinges, partway open. Matt leads me between the tight gap in the open rusty gate and down a path that runs beside a brook that babbles cheerfully alongside of us.
I haven't seen a stream in years; and the sight of this place, tucked away from the world, is awe inspiring. We are surrounded by forest on all sides as we follow the shallow, gurgling creek that flows steadily over rocks and around bends. Ahead, I hear the water getting louder. I don't really know what to make of it.
Rounding a bend in the path, we come out into a cove surrounded by cliffs and winter bare forest on all sides. Straight ahead is the most beautiful waterfall I've ever seen. The grandeur of it takes my breath away. True, I've never seen any other waterfalls in real life, but I'm sure this one must be one of the prettiest He made. It's taller than the tallest trees, reaching up into the blue sky like a skyscraper. White water falls in long tendrils that weave in and out of each other, racing each other, until finally splashing down into the gray pool at the bottom.
The cliffs on either side of the majestic falls are orangy stone with gray patterns throughout. Standing still, drinking it in, I have this wonderful feeling of steadfastness—despite the changing world outside the cove. The waterfall stands in its place, always moving but never leaving, showing the beauty and power of God's creation.
I've been staring, lost in thoughts of my Creator, when I realize Matt has disappeared. My eyes sweep over the secluded area anxiously. Matt suddenly reappears high on a boulder that juts out near the pool at the base of the falls. I pick my way around the smaller stones near the bottom and find a path up to where he sits.
At the top, another glance around dispels all fear. From this height I can see the entire cove easily, and we are completely alone. I take my mask off and use it for a pillow as I lay back and look up into the sky far above the falls. We lay there together, resting and admiring the spectacular view.
This is definitely better than I could've imagined for a second date. The sun is starting to sink, and the first colors of sunset are showing behind the cliff at the top of the falls. It's not yet dinner time, but the tentacles of evening are already starting to wrap themselves around the day. The clear blue sky is starting to take on orangish hues near the horizon. Tonight's sunset is going to be beautiful.
The best part of the date has just begun, and I realize with a twinge of sadness that it will be the shortest part. We shouldn't stay here long. The hike back will take time, and I need to be home before dark. Tim will be bringing Rosa back to me sometime in the evening. I don't want to think about Tim or how mad he would be if he knew where I was.
"What do you do in Atlanta?" I ask. I want to know more about Matt, and I'm also hoping this question will lead to some explanation of the illusive topic that is Jesse. I've been hoping she is someone he works with, not
someone he lives with. I know how different we are. Nice as he may seem, he doesn't believe the way I do. He wouldn't see anything wrong with living with Jesse, loving Jesse, and being on this date with me. I'm desperate for him to not have someone else, but it's probably foolish of me to hope. I don't think there are many virgin zombies.
"I'd rather not talk about that," he answers cryptically.
"You are the most mysterious zombie I know."
"Zombie?"
Shoot!
I sit straight up. I can't believe I let that slip! "Oh, yeah, sorry. That's what I call you. I mean them!" I'm cringing at my stupidity and hoping he isn't offended.
"Where did you come up with that flattering name?"
"Harmony and I found a movie once, in one of the abandoned apartments in her building. It scared me to death and—well, I couldn't help but make the comparison. You know, eating people and rotting body parts—"
"You watch movies in God Town?"
"Yeah. The kids mostly. The adults don't really have time for them. Do you ever see movies?"
"I do.”
I can’t help but assume that the movies he watches aren’t old Disney movies. I’m afraid his kind watches the type of movies that Aunty thought I didn’t know about. Naked people and all that stuff.
“Seen anything good lately?” I ask nonchalantly.
“Nothing you’d like,” he says with a strange look on his face.
I like it that he's uncomfortable talking about it with me. It proves there's a conscience buried somewhere in that handsome body.
"What do you do in God Town?" he asks, changing the subject.
I don't love the title he's given our haven, but I suppose it's less insulting than what I call him. "I'm a secretary. And I clean the Inn. And pretty much anything anyone needs me to be. That's how we work. We all take care of each other."
"Sounds nice," is his halfhearted reply. "I help people too. For a small price. Pravda isn't interested in the poor, only the rich have a future in this country. My occupation evens things out a little."
"So you're like Zombie Robin Hood?"
He laughs out loud at this new title, his smile promising me that he likes the connotations of my new pet name.
"Something like that."
INFECtIOUS Page 27
