by Tara Brown
“This is real?” Her eyes widen and my stomach aches. “Is this back home?”
“I can’t tell how close it is, but it’s everywhere else. Europe, Asia, Africa, and eastern US.”
“Holy shit!” she whispers and turns, lifting her own phone and running away. I don’t know what’s happening, but it appears she is leaving us alone in the dark. In the middle of a field. In Canada.
I’m about to panic too when she stops on the grass a ways over, illuminated by her phone. I can barely make out what she’s doing besides pacing and talking animatedly, shouting even. She keeps touching her face and shaking her head, making the glow of her phone’s screen flash back on and shine a light on her for a moment. The Canadians around her are staring. She’s causing them to panic. More phones begin lighting up.
“Uhhhhh,” Mitch says loudly, giving me a look. “Ms. Mara?”
“Come on, we have to go!” Louis starts running after her. We all follow, leaving the blankets behind.
None of us except Louis knows why, but we chase her as she runs in the direction of the bus. She’s going faster and speaking louder to whoever she’s on the phone with. The streetlights begin to cast her silhouette, making me worry more.
The Canadians around us are acting weird too. Voices are becoming panicked and louder. People are running, leaving behind blankets and chairs. Kids are crying as they’re carted off or dragged away.
Faces with glowing phones are popping up around us. They’re hurrying and having rushed conversations.
I’m so lost.
My stomach aches.
Ms. Mara ends the call, pausing in her sprint to pace and call someone else, again shouting and panicking. She does this three times while we follow her, all of us visibly confused. We stop when she does and run when she runs.
“Guys!” Louis shouts back, keeping pace with Ms. Mara, “You need to call your parents, everyone! Tanya, call your mom. Tell her to go home and take your brother with her.” I’m following the glow of his phone but not his words.
“Why? Is it war?” I gaze down at the video on Facebook still showing on my screen. “What’s happening? Is the zombie video real? Louis?”
“Zombie?” Vanessa asks, huffing breath and walking closer to us, tapping her phone to life.
Louis doesn't answer any of our questions. He’s rushing and texting and talking to someone on speaker, ignoring us.
“What’s happening?” I ask, checking my Facebook feed again. Everything in Billings seems normal. No one is posting anything, which isn’t crazy. My friends don’t really use Facebook anymore and my grandma hasn’t posted anything either.
Glancing around at the glowing phones of my classmates, my heart is in my throat. “Does anyone know what’s going on?”
“Come on, everyone, keep moving toward the bus!” Ms. Mara shouts. I’m pretty sure she wiped her eyes.
This is serious.
Other kids are gasping and shouting and making calls as they see what Louis saw.
I go back to the CNN article, noting it’s hours old. There are no updates. Going back to Facebook and Instagram, I see the same thing. All the posts are old, by hours. I tap back to the news, which appears to be just one video of a man attacking another man. As I scroll, I find it’s more; it’s dozens of videos of people attacking each other. And weird videos of hordes of people standing together, covered in blood but frozen.
There’s a video of Barcelona where someone films from a condo as the city street below goes crazy. Explosions and car accidents and people running.
I end up on YouTube watching a horde of them, people, running after a couple of men. They catch one. I look away, disturbed by what’s shown.
My fingers tremble as I text my mom, assuming she’s at the hospital working. Hey mom, you guys okay there?
She ignores my question and asks her own. Where are you?
Victoria, BC. Still in Canada, is everything okay there?
No, don't come home. Stay in Canada. I stare at her response, lost on what she means. Stay in Canada? Why does she want me to stay?
Stay in Canada? Is Mason okay? I ask.
She answers but doesn't explain. He’s here with me at work, he’s fine. We’re staying safe. We won’t go home. I spoke to your dad. He’s fine too. I love you so much but don’t come home unless you have to. Try to find somewhere safe to be. But if you have to, come to the hospital. Come find me.
What kind of parent tells their kid not to come home?
Not my mom.
She’s a curfew freak and obsessed with my location services on my phone. My stomach burns as I try to understand. Louis, who doesn't seem much better off, has that confused and frightened stare when he meets mine. Mitch is just as bad.
“Did you guys reach your parents?” Mitch asks, his expression lit up by the cell phone in his trembling hands.
“Yeah. My mom said not to come home.”
“Yeah.” Louis swallows a lump in his throat. “Mine said shit’s gone downhill fast. She just saw one of the neighbors go nuts on one of the others. Same weird rage as the videos. She’s in the house, everything’s locked, and she and my sister are hiding.”
“Uh, that’s not rage, dude.” Mitch points at his screen. “That’s a zombie, bro. And that’s not all.” His tone is one of disbelief. “Check out this video.” He holds his phone up and plays something I struggle to understand. It’s a video of what looks like Atlantic City, on the beach by the pier. People are running like mad, some chasing and others fleeing. The bloodbath is real and crazy. And then a drone flies through the air, gas shooting out of it. The gas becomes a thick mist. A horde of bloody people running down the beach freeze, then twitch and shake as if they’ve been electrocuted. When they stop, they remind me of motionless figures in a wax museum. Some fall over but they don't move or relax. Their bodies are stuck in whatever pose they were in when the fog touched them.
“What the fuck was that?” Louis takes a step back.
“I-I don’t know.” Mitch stares at it. “I don't understand.”
“What was that fog?” I don't believe what I’m seeing, and my brain has no answers to possibly explain this.
“Skynet,” Louis whispers as if I should know what that means. “Or maybe it’s a terrorist attack.”
“Can’t be. It’s the whole world, dude. What terrorist attacks the whole world?” Mitch has a point. “They lost contact with Asia first, right after videos like this leaked out. Then Eastern Europe. Western Europe is silent. The last transmissions coming out of everywhere have been about the biting and the mist. Now, apparently, the Eastern Seaboard has been taken over. One vlogger said we’ve completely lost New York. He was there when the people started to turn. He said it looked like they were rewiring themselves, just like in Terminator when a new terminator takes over the body.” Mitch seems to agree with Louis on something. “He said they’re coming West. It’s coming West. And his last update was hours ago. No one has updated in the last five hours. On anything.”
“Are we safe here?” I ask, not sure what the hell we’re talking about. Not sure of anything. I don't have a response for this moment. My phone is filled with images and videos of people attacking and eating other humans, and explosions and accidents and madness, all over the world, but my brain screams that it’s a lie. It’s impossible. “Will it come here?”
“I don't know.” Mitch shakes his head but his eyes answer with worry.
Stepping from our little huddle, I dial my mom’s cell as my stomach clenches into tighter knots.
“Tanya?” my mom whispers.
“Mom?” I whisper back, not sure why I’m whispering.
“Stay there, baby. Stay in Canada.” Her voice is so low I barely hear her. “The city is going crazy. Your dad is safe at home. I have Mason and Buster here at the hospital. We had to lock up the doors. We can’t take any patients. There’s a broadcast telling people to stay home, lock up their sick and leave the dead. Don't go outside or engage, there’s so
me kind of virus. But it’s the emergency response, just repeating itself.”
“Mom—”
“The blood moves on its own, like a parasite is in it, crawling toward you.” Her voice trembles and cracks and she just keeps talking, “Just stay in Canada until we figure this out. I promise, we’ll be okay here. No one can get us in here.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“Your brother. I don't want him to know. He’s just a kid.” She sighs. “I have to go. Me and some other staff are taking turns doing watches, making sure the doors are secured and the windows are covered.”
“What is it, Mom? What is happening?”
“I don't know. I don't know.” She sounds desperate. “I was at home this morning and the mailman attacked Mr. Hokusai right in front of me. Ate him. And I thought he was dead. But he got up and he attacked his wife—his own wife. He ate her. Bit her until she bled to death. She died right in front of me. I was still screaming when she came back to life. She died in front of me and then snapped back. And she did this weird crawl and head jerking thing and got up and turned. She stared at me and I knew. She was going to eat me too. I ran back into the house, and she tried so hard to get in, I thought she was going to break the door down. I got the dog and your brother in the SUV and we drove here. I smashed through the garage door. And we came here and hid.” She doesn't sound like my mom. My ER-nurse mom who is prepared for every possibility. My mom isn't scared of anything.
But this woman is terrified.
And she’s scaring the shit out of me.
“Stay safe, Mom.” I don't know what else to say.
“We will. I’ll call again later if I can. How’s Canada?”
“I don't know. Nothing’s happening here yet. Maybe Canada is safe. Maybe you can get to me and we can hide here.” I don't want to be alone. I don't want her there and me here.
“I don’t know, sweetie. I’ll keep us safe and you stay put. I’ll message you when this is under control. The military should be here soon, I’m sure,” she lies. She’s the worst liar. “I love you.” That is the truth.
“Love you too.” I sniffle in the darkness of the field with the erratic crowd around us.
“Love you more,” she says and the phone cuts out.
2
I stare at my phone as it goes back to the screen it was at, my contacts.
What did she say? What did she mean?
He ate his wife?
I contemplate phoning Lou to see if Laurel is bad too or if maybe her dad’s home and can go get my mom and Mason and Buster, our beagle. Billings is close to Laurel. Or maybe I should call my dad . . .
“Tan, did you just call your mom?” Louis distracts me.
“Yeah.” I lift my head, wiping my eyes. “She’s hiding at the hospital with my brother and our dog. They’re locked in, not letting anyone in. The staff are there, all hiding. Dad’s at home safe.”
“I just saw the emergency broadcast telling everyone to stay inside. They’re not saying anything, just that there’s been a breakout of some sort. I don't know—” He bites his lip, cutting off in the middle of his thought. “It’s just repeating and repeating like the system was put on emergency and they left.” He pauses again.
“Louis?” He’s rattling my nerves more.
“I think it’s here too,” he whispers, his eyes darting around our group, all on their phones or crying or pacing or all the above. “It’s in Canada.”
“What?” My insides tighten with an unknown type of fear.
“It’s everywhere, Tan. Nowhere is safe. Plagues back in the day could travel fast, even with horse and cart. Imagine how fast they move now with international travel?”
“Oh my God. How do you know?”
“I checked other Canadian cities. Toronto, Calgary, and Vancouver. They all reported attacks, each of them hours old with no new updates. Same as Seattle and LA. They’re saying zombies. There was mention of some bombs. I think they bombed LA.” He says it like he doesn't believe he’s saying it. Or that it’s possible.
I don't believe it. “Is this—is it some hoax maybe?” I ask, not really thinking the question through. Of course my mom wouldn't have seen actors, and Mr. Hokusai is the gentlest man I’ve ever met. He wouldn't pretend to kill his wife. He’s a kind and sweet man, and she’s a lady, an old-fashioned lady. Watching them garden is relationship goals. He picks flowers and brings them to her, smiling bashfully. And she rubs his sunscreen on his bald spot.
And now they’re gone?
Because he ate her?
And she tried to eat my mom?
I don't know what that means.
I can’t comprehend it.
Bombs in LA.
Mist that makes you freeze up.
“Kids!” Ms. Mara shouts into the darkness, waving her phone flashlight back and forth as if she’s at a concert. “Come here!”
We all hurry forward, rushing to her.
“It seems we have something of a situation,” Ms. Mara speaks, shining her flashlight on her face like she’s about to tell us a campfire story, except she’s crying. “A problem—” She sniffles and wipes her eyes as she tries to gather herself. “How many of you have been able to get ahold of your parents or families?”
I lift my phone in my hand as several wide-eyed teenagers join me. She scans the crowd of us with the light from her cell.
“So you clearly know the state back—back home,” her voice cracks as she puts the flashlight under her face. “I don't know if we can go back there right now, while this emergency is going on.” She swallows and stares out, not really at any of us but maybe through us into the dark. “I don't know what to say.” She admits the delicate truth, “We don't have protocols for a moment such as this. I honestly don’t know what to do. The principal has no advice. We’re on our own.”
“Maybe we should get back to the hotel and try to figure out a game plan from there. We for sure can’t go home. I mean, the border is likely not letting people back in,” Louis offers. Everyone starts to give each other looks, perhaps grasping the possibility that we might not be able to go home, at all. But for how long? And what will we find at home when we do go back?
“What if we head for the mainland and try to cross the border closer to Montana?” Mitch suggests. “So at least we’re close to home.”
“Yes, we might be able to do that.” Ms. Mara nods. “We might be able to.” She is lost and not leading us.
“Okay, everyone back to the bus!” Louis shouts, taking over completely. He’s obviously onto what I’m seeing. Ms. Mara is not okay, and we can’t afford our leader to lose her mind.
Not that any of us are okay. I’m numb and overwhelmed at the same time.
What I saw on my phone isn’t anything different from what I’ve seen a hundred times on TV, so it doesn’t feel real. Zombies are a scary movie with friends, eating popcorn and jumping when the monsters come out of the shadows.
This is something else.
The tone in my mother’s voice was something else.
Something I don't have the ability to cope with.
Following Louis and Ms. Mara to the bus, I try to feel scared or something. But I’m numb. I’m stuck in disbelief, with everyone else around me losing it.
A couple of kids are crying.
Vanessa hugs one of the girls, whispering that it’s going to be okay. I didn't expect her to be cool in a moment like this. She’s always so annoying.
The parking lot is different now too. People are hurrying to the vehicles, checking their phones and shouting at their kids. The fear in their voices is different too, not like on TV. It strikes a bone or a nerve or whatever the stupid saying is. They’re terrified. It reminds me of a movie scene, fireflies in the shape of cell phones bouncing about in a panic.
I shiver in the damp cold and wonder how this will end.
“Let’s go, Tan, move your ass.” Louis pushes me up onto the bus as the doors close.
I find a seat as everythin
g becomes a sea of panic. It’s darker here on the bus, and somehow colder. Everyone is talking, too fast and too much, all at once. They begin making calls again, speaking in hushed tones into their phones to people who are panicking somewhere else. Our teacher is whispering to Louis. And I’m numb.
The parking lot empties as everyone flees, speeding away from us, lights getting smaller and smaller. Leaving us more in the dark.
“We need to take a vote. This isn’t a decision we can make on our own.” Louis stands as he speaks, shining his flashlight on his face like it’s his turn to tell the camp story. “Everyone needs to be quiet and pay attention.” He glances back at our teacher before he speaks again, “Who wants to try to make it to the mainland on the US coast and find a way to get home, even though we know home is under an attack of some sort?”
He scans the crowd with his flashlight, no one raises their hand. It’s the dumbest question we’ve ever been asked. Why would we go to America when America is under attack?
“And who wants to try to make the mainland, not go home, just make our way through Canada and get as close to home as we can and wait for this to be taken care of by the military?”
A couple of kids raise their hands but not close to half. Mitch is one of them.
“And who votes we stay here in Victoria and wait this out?”
The rest of us raise our hands.
It makes the most sense to me.
The mainland has zombies.
America has zombies.
We should stay here on this island and wait it out.
“Okay.” He sits back down and continues talking with Ms. Mara.
“Where’s the bus driver?” I lean into their conversation and ask.
“Gone,” Louis answers softly. “He left us.”
“So how will we get back to the hotel?” I lean forward, lowering my voice, “We can’t walk, we shouldn't be outside. Just in case.”
“Tanya’s right.” Mitch leans forward too. I didn't realize he was sitting with me. “If this is some kind of virus, we shouldn’t be near big populations. Victoria is a major center. We should leave the city.”
