Plague Book: One Final Gasp

by Druga, Jacqueline

  Matt had to get up.

  He tried to lift his head, but it wouldn’t move. His neck and chin were glued to the floor, and as he pulled he could feel it pull against his skin.

  The blisters on the rash must have popped and the ooze dried, creating an adhesive.

  One good try and Matt not only felt it, he heard the rip of his skin.

  The grunt he released was raspy and be barely recognized his own voice.

  He sat up and felt the warmth of fluid. Flowing across his collarbone. Bringing his fingers up, he touched his neck and pulled his fingers back. They were covered with blood.

  He lifted his shift over his head and used that as a bandage, then Matt tried to get up.

  Barely making it upward, Matt’s legs collapsed beneath him. It was as if he had no muscle control at all. His whole body felt weak, not only was he dizzy, his head pounded. It was reminiscent of the days when he would get a hang-over.

  He had to be severely dehydrated. He knew it.

  Every sensation he experienced told him he had been out at least a few days.

  He had beaten the virus. At least he believed he had.

  He couldn’t really comprehend everything. He was still in the fog. After several attempts to get up, Matt did. His legs moved like a newborn calf, wobbly, trying to find his way. He used the wall as support and inched his way toward the kitchen.

  Water.

  He needed water. Instinctively he walked to the sink, dropped the shirt he held against his neck and leaned on it for support as he turned on the faucet.

  The water blasted out, then the water stopped and the pipes squeaked as it pushed out air.

  Turning, he spotted a half bottle of water, Matt grabbed it. When he was a scout he always remembered his leader telling him and the others how to quench thirst and it wasn’t to gulp.

  He took a mouthful of water, swished it around his mouth, tilted his head back and slowly let it slip down his throat. That first drink, taken correctly was enough lubrication for Matt to drink faster without injuring himself or feeling that lump of water in his esophagus.

  Still it was far from enough and he didn’t see another bottle.

  His entire being needed water. Matt was a dried sponge that needed submerged.

  There was no way he could decipher if he was still sick and what he needed to do until he had water. He moved in a fog, weak and confused. Yet, he knew what he had to do.

  He swiped the dish soap from the sink and staggered to and out the back door.

  It was even hotter outside and the ground burned his bare feet. He stepped off his back porch into the back yard. Being out in the open made things worse, Matt felt vulnerable. He knew at any time he could fall over.

  He only needed to go two houses.

  Matt didn’t notice that there was no noise. No birds, cars or people. His entire body hurt and his skin felt as if it crawled.

  He could feel his open wound on his neck pulsating in the sun as it seeped.

  When he reached his destination, Matt undid the draw sting on his shorts, pulled at the waist enough for them to drop down and he stepped from them.

  He argued relentlessly with the Belsterlings. Every summer he fought with them about securing the gate on their property. Every year Matt feared one of his children would be a story on the news.

  City codes weren’t enforced, despite Matt’s complaints, and now a weak Matt was grateful they didn’t secure their pool.

  Naked, Matt walked to the edge. It didn’t bubble, there was no power to the filter. The large, underground pool was still blue. Despite a few floating leaves, the water wasn’t green.

  After setting down the dish soap on the edge of the swimming pool, Matt stood and stepped off the ledge into the deep end.

  The water wasn’t cold, it was warm from the sun and Matt allowed himself to sink.

  The water burned his neck, but the rest of his body was so starved for liquid, his skin tingled, as the water encompassed him.

  He wasn’t able to hold his breath for too long and he knew he couldn’t tread water for any length of time either. He pulled himself to the surface and took a breath. Though a part of him felt instantly refreshed, he knew he had to stay in there longer, clean up and outwardly rehydrate.

  Rid his body the best he could have the remnants of sickness that had taken over him.

  Matt needed to be of sound body and more so, of sound mind to figure out what the hell was going on and what he had to face.

  He didn’t know much at that moment, but knew, what was ahead for him probably wasn’t good.

  29 – REALITY

  Franklin, PA

  His head was a little clearer and his body felt better. Matt wasn’t a hundred percent, but he knew he wasn’t dying anymore.

  He was one of the few they spoke of who recovered. He walked across the yards without clothing, making his way back to the house. At first his body was chilled, but the hot humid day quickly warmed him. Stepping back into his home was a different story.

  Upon awakening, he was confused and focused on each ache and pain he felt. Now, he thought of his children.

  In the quiet of his home his losses registered.

  His father, his mother, his oldest daughter ... gone. Matt had just lost them and within twenty-four hours he was sick and wondering how he was going to save his last surviving daughter.

  All he thought about was Emma. How he didn’t want to die while she sat on the other side of the plastic crying and starving.

  What would happen to his child?

  In his maddening sick state he had made a decision. As he got dressed, it was a decision he oddly didn’t second guess, even now. He knew Luke was helping out and waited on him.

  There was no other choice. He could have asked Luke to keep her close, but that was taking a chance Emma would get sick.

  Matt wasn’t even sure if Emma remained healthy.

  There was no way to find out.

  No phone. He gave Luke his truck and even if he found a means of transportation, he never bothered to look at the address. All he knew about it was a lake house in Dubois. Not an impossible task, just until he got his strength up, it was one he couldn’t take on.

  In the meantime he had to see what remained of his street and eventually his town. For all he knew, things were not as bad as they seemed.

  People did go into hiding, self-quarantine, and some people may not have gotten sick at all. The only way for Matt to find out was to venture out.

  He finished dressing and checked out his neck and face in the mirror. He was a hot mess. The rash had subdued, but scabs had formed and where he had ripped them open, it was a simmering fresh wound.

  There was no way to bandage them. He just had to let it be.

  No doubt he lacked strength, how far and how long Matt could do anything remained to be seen. He wouldn’t be any good searching for his daughter if he wasn’t healthy.

  One thing he needed to do before doing anything further was get water, he still suffered from extreme thirst.

  A single juice box remained in the kitchen and Matt downed that, grabbed a handful of cereal and tossed it in his mouth. The box had been left open and the cereal was stale. But it was enough for the moment. Matt needed to eat.

  He had nothing in his house that hadn’t gone bad and Matt needed to find more food and water.

  When he stepped from his house and pulled the door closed behind him, that was when he saw the painted marking on the house next to the door.

  A circle with an X in the middle, with writing. He recognized the top as the date, August 5, the word ‘bio’ was to the right and below he figured out the 1-1. One was Emma … Alive. The other Matt … sick.

  Had Lucas really gone to each home and marked them?

  He could see the house across the street and the clear marking on it. An older couple lived in that home, the date was the same as on his house, August 5, and the markings at the bottom, theirs read 0-2.

  They both were
sick.

  Of all the homes, Matt was certain the house across the street probably had food and water. He made his way there knocking on the door.

  After giving it some time, he opened it. The second he did the horrendous stench wafted to him. He jerked back, took a moment to debate whether to go in or not, then covered his nose and mouth and went inside.

  It was like nothing he had ever smelled. Sour and rotten, it burned his nose, causing his eyes to water and even though he breathed through his mouth, he still could smell it.

  It could only be one thing … bodies. Bodies baking in the August heat.

  The layout of the home was the same as his and Matt walked directly to the kitchen.

  An open case of water with three bottles remaining was on the counter. Matt grabbed a bottle and opened it, taking a drink. He tossed it back in the plastic pack and opened the cupboards. There was food there. He didn’t want to wipe it out, he could always come back. He grabbed a couple cans of soup and jar of peanut butter, tossed it with the water and quickly lifted the plastic carrier.

  He just needed to get out of there, away from the smell.

  Turning quickly with this items he made his way down the hall and as he passed the living room he stopped.

  He was so focused on the kitchen when he walked in he didn’t see. One of the couches faced the living room archway, on it was a body. It was covered head to toe with a blanket. Matt turned to look in the room and that was when he saw the other couch. On it, another body.

  It was the couple that lived there.

  Strangely, both were covered with blankets.

  Someone had taken the time to cover their bodies. That someone had to be Lucas. Seeing them covered made Matt realize they were already dead when Lucas marked the house.

  The reality then hit him,

  The two numbers on the bottom. They didn’t mean the number of people alive and sick. It meant the number of alive and dead.

  Matt’s house was marked 1-1.

  One alive. One dead.

  Lucas had written him off, and rightfully so. Matt shouldn’t by all accounts have survived.

  Yet, he did.

  With Lucas believing him to be dead that could make finding his daughter even harder. There was the possibility they didn’t even stay at the lake house. That they moved on.

  He couldn’t think that way. Because if that was the case, finding his daughter was going to get even harder.

  30 – Cinnamon

  August 10

  Franklin, PA

  Matt’s journey to find answers lasted until the Peterson house. Nine homes, Matt searched nine homes and finally he collapsed on the outdated carpet of the corner house.

  He was searching for people. Someone alive. Two homes were empty and marked as such. Six other homes showed those who lived there thought they were safe with sealed off windows and plastic over doors, but the virus made its way in.

  The Peterson home ... he didn’t know. There was no marking on the house, Luke must not have gotten there. And once inside, everything spun and Matt found himself face down on the carpet. He woke to complete dark and no answers. He made his way home down a street lit only by the moonlight, and he went back to sleep on his couch.

  He was on the path to recovery, but far from better.

  When he woke again the emptiness of the house hit him.

  His heart immediately ached for the loss of Hannah, and Matt wanted to crumble and cease to exist. His child, his oldest child was gone. Somehow the loss and pain was more tolerable when he believed he was dying and would see her shortly.

  Even in his grief, he knew, he had to get moving.

  He thought about the homes on the street and which ones were marked, which still had cars in the driveway. If he could find the keys, he could use one of the cars for his search. There were many of them parked there.

  Matt needed to know what all happened not just to his daughter, but to his town.

  He ventured out again, eventually going back to the house across the street. Only this time Matt thought ahead. The packaged yellow protective clothing Stew had left for him was still in the house, and Matt took the mask from that. He carried a can of Smell-eze Air Freshener and doused the mask before going in the home.

  The keys were in the kitchen on the counter, and Matt claimed their four door sedan.

  It was impeccably clean inside, no kids to make a mess in the back seat. The gas tank was near full as well, and it would not only get him to Dubois, but afford him extra gas to search the area.

  He pulled from his street and headed toward town, hoping he’d see another car or another person.

  Just before the main part of down town Franklin was Holy Angel Church, two doors down was the police station. Matt slowed and pulled over.

  It looked as if a small version of a tent city had been erected on the grounds around the church. He’d leave the car there and go the rest of the way to town on foot.

  Walking would give him answers more than driving through.

  After parking near the police station, he stepped out of the car, lifted a canvas carrying case placing it with the strapped crisscross over his chest. He brought that in case he found anything he needed. He also brought the can of Smell-Eze. It was a good thing. Matt heard the buzz of flies before he even got hint of a smell and the camp area was still a half block from him. After giving his mask a good spray of the orange smelling stuff, he aimed in that direction.

  The huge white tent, the one they used for church fairs was set up and connected to the side of the church building. Surrounding that were numerous smaller tents and tables.

  The marquee board outside the church read, ‘Don’t wait it out alone. Wait it out with friends. All are welcome.’

  What about ‘self-quarantine’ did people not understand? The entire point of recommending that people stay indoors and stay away was to keep them safe. Being around crowds was a sure fire way to invite disaster.

  The community that stayed together during quarantine, died together.

  Matt didn’t need to get a close look to know there were a lot of bodies. It was obvious many people came to the church. Remnants of campfires and charcoal grills. Yellow and orange water buffalos, the type used at sporting events were perched on tables.

  The sun hit the big tent at just the right direction and he could see outlines of bodies on sleeping bags and cots. The opening of the other tents flapped in the wind, giving him an occasional glimpse of the carnage inside.

  It would have been quiet had it not been for the loud buzz of flies that created a steady hum.

  Matt doubted that he would easily find on the church grounds the date or when it all ended in Franklin. The police station would give him better answers and he turned around and headed back that way.

  There were four houses across the street from the church. They each had markings and a different date. August 6. Someone else besides Luke was marking homes, unless, Luke came back after taking Emma.

  Three of the houses had zeroes on the bottom, indicating no one was in them. Did they leave town? Or did they race across the street to be part of the crowd that chose to not only share food but germs as well. One of houses was owned by the church and rented out at a low cost. Matt knew that because of his mother’s work with the church, and Matt had done handyman jobs for the tenants there. The markings on that house showed Matt the residents stayed inside. They followed the self-containment. But it didn’t make a difference. The bottom number indicated five. Five people were either sick or dead in that house.

  It made Matt sad. He knew it was a single mother and her four children. She probably tried so hard to protect them, keeping them in and away from people. A futile attempt when across the street was a virtual ticking, viral time bomb sending waves of germs her way every time the wind blew.

  Matt didn’t expect to find anything positive at the police station, but he went inside anyhow.

  It was dark and the smell wasn’t as bad in there as outsid
e.

  There were no officers, no indication that anyone had been in there recently. He walked around the desk and looked at paperwork. Nothing was dated before August 3. No reports, no tickets or citations.

  He probably would have just turned and left had he not heard the calling noise of the flies.

  Usually in the summer there was never a second thought about the pesky insects. In the dead silence of the virus aftermath they worked as a honing device. Matt took a couple steps back and looked around. The fly sound came from the back and he walked toward the sound.

  The door to Chief Nash’s office was slightly open and Matt placed his hand on the door and gently pushed it open.

  He groaned out with a heavy breath. “Oh, man.” Matt said.

  The black insects darted about, dashing at Matt and he swatted them away. Chief Nash, like the captain of a ship, went down with his vessel.

  The lawman lay on his fake leather couch near an open window. Still in uniform, he lay extended on the couch. Head back on the pillow, his body was discolored from decomposition. He had the tell-tale rash on his neck. The pustules were large and his neck was engorged. Flies swarmed around his mouth.

  It was all too much.

  Hurriedly, Matt raced from the police station.

  He felt his stomach twist and knot as the back of his mouth filled with saliva from the instant gag reflex.

  Outside he just wanted to get fresh air, but there was none. Not in that area. There were too many bodies in that section of the block.

  Moving as fast as he could he aimed for the main street in town. The portion where the small business were located and those who lived there were in apartments.

  A block, Matt thought, a block away would get him at a distance where he could take a deep breath without vomiting from the smell.

  His legs started to give out and weaken, forcing Matt to stop and catch his breath.

  He looked at some of the businesses. Doors were open, windows had been broken and paper and other items littered the area.

  What the hell happened to his town?