Surviving When the Dead Have Risen

by Jeffrey Littorno

  “For purely medicinal purposes,” I grinned as I stuck the cans in the sack.

  Lawrence chuckled and said, “It may be just what the doctor ordered.”

  We ransacked a few more apartments and gathered up a good supply of food and some clothes. While the pants I found were a little too big, I cannot express how nice it was to change clothes. We even managed to find a DVD player with a collection of movies that would keep Taylor and Christina entertained. Fortunately, we did not see any other people or shells.

  Before we knew it, the sun was going down and it was just after five. We hurried back down the stairs to the relative comfort and safety of our new home. Taylor and Christina appeared to have passed the day easily and appeared to have hardly realized that we were gone.

  The sound of a radio playing caught me by surprise. Taylor had brought a clock radio from the bedroom into the living room. So far he had only found stations replaying a recorded message from the Emergency Broadcasting System advising people to stay indoors and await further instruction and a couple with music on a repeating loop. I blushed at the foolishness of not having thought to check the radio for news.

  As expected, the DVD player was a big hit, and the two of them were immediately digging through all the movies to decide which one to watch first. I was happy to see Taylor acting like a normal kid. The grin on Lawrence’s face made me believe that he was thinking the same thing. I quickly hooked up the player to the television which was still filled with little besides static. Apparently, Christina won the argument about what to watch first, because the selection was an animated story about a princess who would rather fight than act like a girl. I have to admit that it was not bad. Judging by the interest of Taylor and Lawrence, they enjoyed it as well. It was certainly nice to get lost in a movie and forget about the state of the world. We even enjoyed a dinner of eggs, apple wedges, and toast. If one’s thoughts did not venture outside of the apartment, it was a very nice evening. After dinner, Lawrence broke out a couple of beers, and we sat at the kitchen table discussing plans for the next day. The only plan we settled on was to leave earlier and to search more apartments.

  I guess the tense activity of the day had worn me out, maybe the tension of dealing with death combined with a couple of beers. In any case, I was wiped out by eight thirty. I trudged off to bed, leaving Taylor and Christina playing cards on the floor in front of the television playing another animated movie and Lawrence dozing in one of the big stuffed chairs next to the couch.

  Chapter 3

  The dream swallowed me as soon as I closed my eyes.

  I was back at home, sitting at the long dining room table. It was the table we only used for special occasions. An assortment of dishes filled the table, so I decided that it must be Thanksgiving, Just after reaching that decision, the aroma of roasting turkey filled the room. I heard Bonnie singing an old pop song in the kitchen. Somehow, in the next instant, I found myself standing in the doorway of the kitchen watching her unnoticed. She did a heartfelt rendition of the ballad with a wooden ladle serving as a microphone.

  “Baby, baby, baby, I’m sorry. No need to treat me so bad!”

  “Pack up the car! We’re heading for Nashville,” I exclaimed and startled her.

  But she never stopped her singing as she slowly turned toward me. I gasped at the sight of her bloody face. Her wide eyes and full smile merely added to my horror. Then I was no longer standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

  I was back sitting at the head of the dining room table. The dishes in front of me had grown, and there were now other people seated around the table. To my right sat Jerry Clark and the waitress from the airport coffee shop. On my left, I found the policeman Lawrence had shot in the station and Glen. Bonnie sat at the far end of the table and next to her was the smirking Principal Thomas. All of my companions around the table displayed their mortal wounds, from the assorted chunks of flesh missing from Glen’s face to the exposed brain tissue of the cop. Still, they all acted as if nothing was amiss.

  “I think it would nice if we all join hands and say what we are most happy for this Thanksgiving,” Bonnie announced cheerfully as she took the principal’s hand.

  My rage filled every nerve of my body. I tingled with fury and felt absolutely drenched with anger. I attempted to stand but was immediately aware of the unbreakable grasps of Glen and Jerry Clark had on each of my hands. I looked from the hideously grinning face of the airport customs agent to the revoltingly happy expression of the young preacher. I tried to speak but my mouth refused to form words.

  “Oh, looks like Kevin wants to go first,” Bonnie said in an exaggeratedly sweet teacher voice. “But someone’s just going to have to learn not to be such a Pushy Patty and wait his turn.” She looked directly at me, and I was not able to maintain eye contact. “I think it is only appropriate that Principal Thomas go first.”

  The young principal smiled at Bonnie and said, “Well, I certainly thank you for the honor, Mrs. Turner.” He turned toward me with a clear smirk on his face. At the same time, I noticed that the broken mop handle was still protruding from his chest. Now it was my turn to smirk. “This year as always I am most thankful to the devoted and talented people around me to make my job so much easier.”

  Bonnie and the others began to applaud like the principal’s words were the most insightful ever spoken. The ovation seemed to go on for an hour. Just as I was no longer able to contain my scream, Bonnie spoke again.

  “I’m sure that all of us are truly humbled by such an eloquent expression of thanks, but who would like to go next?”

  “I just want to say…well, I am thankful for the time I had protecting the families of the community,” the police officer was clearly overcome with emotion at his own words.

  Glen reached over and put his hand on the cop’s shoulder before saying, “Well, I think I speak for all of us in saying we are thankful for having had such dedicated servants of justice as yourself. In addition, I am thankful for being allowed to serve the Lord in helping the weakest among us to see the righteous path to heaven.”

  The words were followed by a few moments of clapping.

  “Very touching words indeed,” Bonnie commented. “Now who’s next?”

  There was a moment of silence before the waitress said, “I guess I am most thankful for my son. When I gaze into his eyes, I see that he is really gonna be something in his life, really change the world. Every mother thinks stuff like that about her child, but I know my boy is really gonna make his mark…I…uh…” She tried to say more but was not able as she looked down to cry.

  The awkward tension that the emotion created was broken by Jerry Clark exclaiming, “Okay, then! Well, I am thankful for a world in which the lies of the government can be uncovered and revealed by true patriots!” He looked around the table for signs of support but found only blank stares.

  “Okay, Kevin, now it’s your turn,” Bonnie said and looked at me with a slight smirk. “Please, tell us what makes you feel thankful.”

  I started to respond but stopped as I saw the look exchanged between Bonnie and Principal Thomas. I also did not miss their hands tightening their contact. As if she suddenly realized that I had stopped speaking, Bonnie turned to me and said, “Well, don’t keep us waiting for your profound insights on being thankful.”

  The chuckling of those around the table momentarily filled the room. When it died away, I said, “I’m not sure what the hell you people find so funny. You may not realize it, but the world has gone to hell, and there’s nothing to be thankful for!” My voice echoed through the room and was met by angry expressions.

  Glen was the first to speak. “Are you saying that you are not thankful for the blessings God has given to you?”

  Now it was my turn to laugh. “Blessings? You cannot be serious! My life and everyone I cared about is gone. What a fucking blessing! You want me to be thankful for that? I know that people like to say ‘God works in mysterious ways’ whenever they don’t understan
d how He would have allowed some terrible tragedy to happen, but this…this is just too much. This is too much to believe that any sort of god could have played a hand.”

  “I’m sorry Bonnie, but I can no longer keep quiet,” Principal Thomas said. “In answer to your question, I think I speak for everyone here in saying ‘Yes, we expect you to be thankful’. You may not consider yourself fortunate. However, a look around ought to change your perspective. You are the only one here who fate or destiny or God has allowed to survive. And I for one sure cannot figure out why the heck that should be. I mean, just a glance around this table shows people who certainly seem to have more to offer the world than you do. In all honesty, do you truly think you can make a more worthwhile contribution than a minister who looks to the health of the soul or educators who work to improve the intellectual abilities or a waitress who serves the hungry? The way I see it, the question you should be asking yourself every second of every hour is do I really deserve to be alive when so many better people have died.”

  The words pushed their way inside my brain. I could not escape them as they echoed all around. Do I really deserve to be alive when so many better people have died? It boomed over and over in my ears. Do I really deserve to be alive when so many better people have died? I looked frantically around the table for anyone who could help to silence the words. Do I really deserve to be alive when so many better people have died? I looked from Glen to Bonnie to the cop to Jerry Clark to the waitress, but all I found were glares as if to confirm the answer that I already knew. Do I really deserve to be alive when so many better people have died? The question continued to explode through the room. I clamped my eyes shut as tightly as I could in hopes of squeezing away the words.

  When I opened my eyes again, the question remained, but the dream was gone. I stared at the white acoustic ceiling above me for a few minutes playing the dream and the question over again in my head. Do I really deserve to be alive when so many better people have died? Of course, the only possible answer was NO! But along with the obvious answer came something else. It was the notion that the answer really did not matter in the least. Deserve to be alive was just an abstract idea that had no place in this reality, in this world. The only thing that mattered was that I was alive and that I did what I had to do to stay alive. Perhaps, the deserve part could come later when, and if, I helped others as well.

  I rolled out of bed to find Lawrence already in the kitchen drinking coffee. The clock on the stove said it was a little before 5AM.

  “You get any sleep?” I asked as I grabbed a coffee mug out of the cupboard.

  “Not too much. Christina was up crying a good part of the night. Taylor was the only one who could get her calmed down enough to sleep again.”

  “They’re lucky to have each other,” I observed. “He acts like a protective big brother.”

  “And she reminds him what it is like to be a kid again,” Lawrence replied. “I just hope her bad dreams will end after a while. Anyways, I notice he hasn’t mentioned trying to get back to his little sister since that first day.”

  We were both quiet as we thought about this as well as the things behind and in front of us. Finally, the detective broke the silence, “We never talked too much about the woman who shot herself.”

  “Well, other than the fact you can now say you have seen one of the shells talking, I don’t know what there is to say.” I was still dealing with the images of my dream and was not yet prepared to concentrate on anything else. “Maybe it has to do with how long since they changed or something else.”

  He looked at me as if recognizing my preoccupation and asked, “So how about you? Did you get much sleep?”

  I shook my head. “Not good sleep. Let me ask you something,” I paused for a moment as I tried to frame the question in the best way possible. “Do you ever ask yourself why you survived this whole shit storm when so many other people didn’t?”

  “Hmm, sounds to me like you’re wondering what makes you special, you’re standing and not others.” He chuckled as if the whole thing was somehow amusing, which did not please me. I started to say as much when he continued, “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing, because anything’s funny about this. I guess, I’m laughing, because it beats crying. The thing is I’ve been hearing versions of the same question for longer than I can remember. Usually, it’s something like Why me? How come I never catch a break? or What about all the other guys who did the same thing as me? I’ve asked some of those questions myself. The thing is everybody gets breaks and busts throughout life, and the only thing that makes a difference is how you deal with them. The only thing that matters is whether you take advantage of the breaks and pick yourself back up after the busts.” He chuckled again. “Sorry, I don’t usually get into such deep shit this early in the day.”

  I had to chuckle too. “Thanks for the pep talk. I guess, we don’t have much choice about it. Whether we deserve to be alive even when other good people are dead, doesn’t really change the fact that we’re here, and we can’t just give up.”

  Lawrence gave me a confused look as if he had not realized that this was the question.

  I took a quick shower and had a bite to eat and by six thirty we were heading out for a full day of apartment hunting.

  Chapter 4

  The routine of going out and searching the apartments for food and supplies never got routine. In fact, Lawrence liked to lecture me on the dangers of getting too comfortable with anything.

  The anecdote that I heard numerous times during our days together involved a former rookie on the police force. The guy’s name was Castillo, and he had been the top of his class all through the academy. The young cop showed great enthusiasm and quickly revealed the reason for his excellent scores at the training. Castillo never hesitated to step up and do whatever needed to be done. Unfortunately, the same enthusiasm that made him stand out from the other rookies also led to his demise. Over time, seems that Castillo got too confident and failed to take care when stopping a suspect. The result was that Castillo ended up with a bullet in his spine and his partner ended up dead. The young cop never made it out of a wheelchair and never returned to the force. Of course, the story served as reminder to be careful to cover every step in staying safe.

  An important lesson to keep in mind given the work Lawrence and I needed to do. No matter how many places we found empty or containing motionless bodies, it was crucial to stay ready for anything waiting around the next corner. One of the most common things we came across in our exploration were shells that were extremely weak or had just stopped moving; to say dying would have meant they had been alive. Thanks to Lawrence’s repeated warnings, I stayed keyed up but careful most of the time we ventured out.

  The detective even went so far as to lay out a set of guidelines to be followed. First of all, we never went out alone. In addition, upon entering an apartment, we would explore the entire place to reveal any hazards. Hazards served as a euphemism for shells that wanted to kill us. Next, we would keep each other aware of our location and what we saw at all times. Of course, I reflexively mocked Lawrence’s guidelines as ridiculous and over-protective. However, the practical-ity of having such procedures as well as the danger of not paying attention revealed itself in couple situations.

  One such situation occurred as we made our way through an apartment on the third floor. It took place near the end of a busy day of gathering food, and we were both tired. Not a good excuse, but it is the best one I can provide.

  “Looks like we might find some good stuff for Christina here,” Lawrence said, just after we broke through the door.

  The reason for his comment became immediately obvious. The living room and kitchen contained an assortment of toys. A red and white tricycle sat next to the door. A huge stuffed blue bear stood on the couch. To the bear’s right, a plastic baby doll in a bonnet and diapers rested. On the glass-topped coffee table

  in front of the couch, a stack of numerous coloring books and a pile of crayo
ns stood. A semicircle of stuffed animals and dolls had been arranged in front of a large television as if they were enjoying a program.

  “Anything good on?” I asked the gathered toys.

  The television showed the same screen full of snow. The hiss of the static poured out. As I searched for a remote to turn off the television, I realized that Lawrence was no longer in the room.

  Any nonchalance that I had been feeling vanished in an instant. My heart began pounding, and my breath came in gasps. I found it difficult to concentrate as well as to stop from screaming for Lawrence. The absolute panic that had overcome me days earlier in the airport had made a return visit. In the next instant, I found myself charging through the apartment.

  The charge came to an abrupt end as I crashed into the big cop’s back. My crash barely moved his big frame. He turned to regard me with slight irritation. The smile that stretched across his face faltered for just a second. “Looks like we hit the jackpot for little girl stuff!”

  I stood there trying to catch my breath and slow my heart rate as I looked around the bedroom. We stood next to a big white canopy bed with matching pink-purple top and bedspread. An assortment of pillows, dolls, and stuffed animals shared the unmade bed. On the nightstands and the dressers, I saw a wide variety of figurines, candles, and lamps. The place made it impossible not to smile.

  “Well, are you sure we can get all this downstairs?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but it might take some time,” Lawrence answered as if he were already planning how to move the room’s contents.

  At that moment, the small hand reached out from under the bed and dug into Lawrence’s ankle. Whether it was from the shock of the contact, from his attempts to move away from the hand, or the force of the thing under the bed, he fell to the floor. The thing under the bed scrambled out and toward him.