by Maira Dawn
She lifted one foot, then another. Gooey, wobbly bands clung to the soles of her feet and held her to the earth. In her nightmare, she became obsessed with removing the slime. With flailing hands, she scraped at the ooze on her feet. She forgot about the malevolent monsters behind her.
The evil was soon upon her. Their vacant eyes staring at and through her at the same time. Rooted to the spot on weak, shaking legs, Skye watched as they came at her. Her own hands raising to claw at her face in distress. The monster's mouths opened wide, dripping blood-tinged foam, as they moved closer and closer and —
Skye's screams woke her.
She lay on the couch with her hand to her thumping heart. Unsure if hours or days passed, it was daylight now. About the middle of the day, she thought. The house was sweltering, and she was slick with perspiration.
Her mind was fuzzy as if she were dream-walking and full comprehension seemed just beyond her. The strange mixture of reality and illusion bewildered her. She reached out a hand to touch an object, but her thoughts couldn't grasp it as something substantial.
Through her haze, Skye pushed herself up from the couch. Her weak arms scarcely up to the task. Her small, faltering steps moved her into the bathroom, then to the tub. She could do nothing about the sludge that coated her lungs, but she would not lay there drenched in slimy sweat.
Removing her clothes took immense effort. She groaned as she peeled each item clinging to her sticky skin. Once she pulled off her last piece of damp clothing, Skye dropped into the half-filled tub of water.
Exhausted from her efforts, her last coherent thought was that she no longer burned with fever.
The next time Skye woke, she was choking.
Her body tightly convulsed. Skye gagged and retched, not from the water surrounding her, but from the flood of ooze that had been building in her lungs throughout the day. She rose to her knees and clung to the sides of the slippery tub for support.
There was no thought, only instinct. This was a fight for breath. Any breath. The smallest one would suffice.
The sound of her racing, thumping heart pounded in her ears. Her body jerked and thrashed, begging for air.
So intense was the struggle that had she the breath to yell for help, it would not have entered her mind to do so.
Sky's body curled around her starving lungs. Sweat again coursed down her neck, back, and chest. Her arms and legs shook without control as her terror-struck mind cleared. Sharp and aware, one bleak thought came to her.
I am dying.
And in that moment of clarity, Skye knew she didn't want to die. Ever. Let alone of this horrible, disgusting disease. No matter what this world was like now or later.
Memories crowded her mind. There is always something to live for.
All her doubts, worries and fears faded away. Determination grew until it filled up all the weak places within her.
She. Would. Not. Die.
One more small effort to clear her airway was what she had left in her depleted body. A cough was all she could do. A little one. Her slack form hardly moved with the strength of it.
Although it took enormous battle, the effort was puny.
Yet, it was all she needed.
Mucus streamed from her nose and mouth. At first, thick and tough then thinning out to a slimy, runny phlegm. Dark green streaked with red. It kept coming. A broad, never-ending stream.
Unable to pull in a breath against the outward tide, she swayed, her vision blacking. Hands clenched, legs trembling, she continued vomiting the disgusting mass.
At last, it stopped. Slow and careful, she inhaled. At first, the air burned. It seemed almost foreign to her lungs. Skye wanted to gulp the pure sweetness but instead inhaled with as much care as she was able. She did not want to start another avalanche of mucus.
Skye took one, then two shallow, beautiful breaths.
I might make it a little longer.
Skye sat on her knees in the cold, phlegmy water. Her head bent to the arm which draped over the edge of the old-fashioned tub. She wanted so much to get out of that bath, but she hadn't a single shred of power left to do so. So, she lay there.
After a time, Skye gathered enough energy to haul herself out of the tub and pull the drain. She refilled it with clean water and bathed the sickness off of herself.
All her strength sapped, she wrapped a towel around her body and tottered to the couch. She downed one of the three glasses of water left sitting on the coffee table. She laid down, pulled a blanket over herself, and in an instant, fell into a deep sleep.
This time when Skye woke up, birds were singing. She smiled. The melodic whistles had never sounded as sweet as they did today.
Her good spirits shattered when she sat up and gagged again. Skye grabbed a planter sitting within arm's reach. She dumped the plant onto the coffee table and coughed some remaining phlegm into the container.
Still fatigued, the rest of the day she spent between bouts of choking thick saliva and sleeping. But she was alive. Alive! Even in her weakened state, Skye glowed, wanting to shout and scream for joy. Tears of appreciation came to her eyes.
Maybe she was one of the fortunate few with a second chance. Those so rare, they were only rumors. She vowed that, from here on, she would help anyone she could.
Other than the uncomfortable and revolting way the phlegm broke up and left her body, it surprised her how quickly she felt better. It was as if the disease, deciding it could not beat her, had slunk away like a frustrated cat.
Skye dozed on the couch most of the day in silence until the television blared at her when the electric kicked on. Sure the hallucinations had started again, she stared at the TV in disbelief when the reporter told the story of the Atlantis Cure. Really? Where is this cure than? Skye snapped it off. After falling to sleep a second time, she woke around dinnertime and almost felt like herself.
That night she slept more sound than she had in a long time. When Skye opened her eyes, she drew in the deepest breath she could and felt the elation of lungs filled with air. She had only a slight cough, and her fever was still down.
Skye quickly checked her lips, fingers, and toes for any sign of blue and found none. The tight band of anxiety and fear that had been wrapped around her chest for a while loosened.
When Skye woke the next morning, she was astonished to find she was healthy. It was only then Skye let herself feel it. That lightness, that indescribable joy that comes over a person when the absolute impossible has suddenly become possible.
With a grin from ear to ear, Skye skipped through the kitchen. After pulling out all her best food, she ate a huge breakfast. The first real solids she'd swallowed in days, she shoved the meal in as fast as she could. Then using her iPhone, she turned on her music.
And she danced.
Chapter Sixteen
Up to Me
Skye hummed a jaunty tune while cooking spaghetti on her orange camp stove for lunch that evening. When the phone rang, she startled. It was such a rare sound nowadays. Service had become spotty enough that when one of them worked it almost seemed surprising. She raced to the phone and answered.
"Hello!" Tricia said, the relief in her voice apparent.
"Hi back!" Skye almost bounced in happiness as she turned off the gas to the cooker.
"Oh my Lord, Skye, I'm so grateful to hear your voice! We all been callin and callin you and there ain’t been an answer! What've you been doing?" Tricia started out anxious but ended on an angry note.
Skye had a vague recollection of the phone ringing when she had been in the throes of her feverish delirium. She hurried to reassure Tricia. "I'm fine, don't worry. Really, I am. I was..." Her voice trailed off as she raised a hand to her cheek. "Well, you won't believe this, but I was Sick. I got over it though, like, actually over it! I am totally fine now."
"Skye," Tricia whispered, "No."
"I'm fine, Tricia! I am."
Tricia was quiet for a moment before saying, "How can that be?"
&n
bsp; "Well, I'm not sure, but I am. And there has to be more than me, and I wonder how many. Two days before I got ill, I drove to Fenton for my final appointments and groceries." When Tricia uttered an exasperated sigh, Skye ignored it and told Tricia everything she'd learned at the hospital, and her frightening experience on the street outside her office.
"Oh, Skye! I can't believe what happened! You should've called us."
"Well, I got home fine, and when I got sick, there was nothing to do. I didn't want you or Tom to come over here and become exposed," Skye said. "Please understand that I couldn't have that on me."
"No more going into the city! Ya hear me?" Tricia scolded Skye. "And I'm sending Tom around to make sure you're okay."
"I totally agree! No more Fenton for me. It's a whole different place right now." Skye shuddered as she remembered the empty buildings, and the streets deserted of almost everyone but the Infected. "And it isn't necessary, but it would be nice to see Tom." Skye asked Tricia how some of their friends in town were doing before inquiring if she had any news of Jesse.
Tricia reluctantly spoke. "Well, that's one thing I called about. Mom saw him the other day roamin the woods at her place. She tried to get him to sit a spell and have some pie, but he wouldn't. Wouldn't even get up close to her, she said. It's not like him. Not with them, it's not. She saw marks though. Near as she could tell, Frankie's been beatin on him pretty hard."
Skye felt the color drain from her face, and she drew her lip between her teeth. She sank onto the marble countertop, propping her elbows on it and scraping her hair back with one hand. No! No, no, no, no!
This was the news she’d feared. She imagined the fear on Jesse's dirty little face as he peeked out from behind the trees not knowing where to go. She thought of her list of regular support systems before, one by one, discarding them as useless.
Skye tapped her lips with her forefinger then covered her mouth with her hand. Who is available to help? All the offices are closed. And if by some miracle, I reach someone, and they get him, where will they put him? Somewhere he will be exposed to the AgFlu?
"Skye?" Tricia said, reminding her she was still on the phone.
"Oh, Tricia, what are we going to do?"
"Well, mom’s gonna be lookin out for him. If he comes around again, she'll try and get him to come into the house. If he does, Dad will bring him here, and Tom will get help for him. Dad's aching to go on over there, but we're worried Frankie’d be, well... too much for Dad to handle. You know how he gets."
Skye hated to turn down anyone willing to help Jesse, but she agreed that a drunk Frankie was often dangerous. In a bad mood, he could easily overtake Tricia's dad. Her brows creased. "Why can't Tom get him?"
Sympathy and worry filled Tricia’s voice. "It's a fair ways out there. He's been working almost 20 hours a day and can't keep up as it is. He hardly lays his head down at night anymore. Things are crazy, just insane, and he needs to care for the worse cases first. I'm sorry, Skye."
Skye nodded. Her cousin always did his best, and if even half the news was true, she wondered how Tom was getting any sleep at all. But where does that leave Jesse?
Tricia continued, "Tom agrees what's happening to Jesse is bad, but he has to prioritize, and it's not life and death. Tom doesn't like it, but he has to. He says if he gets any kind of time, he's gonna head straight over there."
"That may not be enough. And I disagree, I think it is life and death." Skye's voice hardened as she tapped one painted fingernail on the countertop.
"Skye, don't be gettin any wild ideas. That ain’t like you. Let the system handle this. It's there for a reason, you always say."
"True, Tricia," Skye said. She wished it was like her. "But even on a good day, I had to babysit the system, and these aren't good days. The system is gone."
Tricia continued to throw out objections. "Frankie's dangerous. Remember that fight he got into a few months ago? The other guy was a mess."
"That's exactly my point. Jesse can't hold his own against him. The boy needs to be removed now."
"Jesse's gettin beat on, and there's no doubt it needs to stop. But Frankie is gonna hurt someone else more than his own kid."
"Tricia, you're assuming he's a normal father with normal fatherly instincts. He is not. Especially when he's drinking." Skye walked to the large window beside her dining room table and looked out on the empty street.
"I understand what he is. I was raised up with him."
"You know a part of him. And I know a different part. I treat what is left of his child." Skye set her hand on her hip. She would allow no argument on this point.
"Please, Skye, don't make me sorry I told you this. I reckoned if you saw Jesse wandering around town, you could, ya know, keep him at your house."
"No, don't be sorry." Skye’s gaze strayed from one house to another, most of which were showing signs of abandonment. "It's just there's no one. Jesse has no one. I'm the closest person he has that can help him. And believe me, he hasn't let me all that close. He's so guarded, it's like he's in a dark cave, and he swipes out at anyone coming toward him. Jesse won't reach out for help. He wouldn't even grasp how to do that." Skye let out a long sigh. "I'll watch for him. Please tell me if anyone sees him again."
The women said goodbye, promising to call the next day again if their phones had a signal.
Skye tried to put Jesse out of her mind, but as the day wore on, she became more and more agitated. She tried reading, using her bit of remaining battery on her iPad to watch a downloaded Friends, and even resorted to cleaning but nothing worked. Her thoughts kept wandering back to Jesse and Frankie.
All her other kids had someone to turn to when the mistreatment became worse, somewhere they went to get a break from the intense pressure of living with an abuser. But not Jesse. He was a child, alone, with no way out. Skye was that person for him, the person he could talk to when he wanted, the person who helped him see things could be better. Now, when his life had improved for possibly the first time, Jesse was lost again, this time with no hope of rescue.
How am I supposed to just sit here knowing what is going on in that household? The boy needs help. He needs me. Who else will stop what is happening to Jesse?
Thoughts rolled through her head. Anna Lynn telling her the world would never be the same. Estimates that seventy to eighty percent of the population would be dead within the year. That Tom couldn't make it to Jesse. Frankie's past violence, even against his own son.
There was no longer any structure to take care of these kinds of problems, and who knew when it would be in place again.
In an unthinkable world, you can do unthinkable things.
The thought flashed through Skye’s mind almost like a neon sign. It both terrified and exhilarated her, but she closed her eyes against it. Still, it wouldn't go away. Unlike others, she could use the lack of structure for good.
Skye shook her head. Never before would such an idea have formed to a solid conclusion. To illegally take someone's kid, even from someone like Frankie.
But now... with things the way they are… it leaves it up to us. Up to me. Can I do this? Skye looked at her pampered hands and her designer jeans and t-shirt. She scoffed at her anxiety-ridden self. I'm hardly the savior type. But I’ve got to, I’m all Jesse’s got.
Frankie had been given every chance. He had proven what kind of man, what kind of father he is, a long time ago. He was not a man to raise a child—even if that child was his.
Skye looked down at her hands. They shook causing her bracelets to lightly jingle as they tapped against each other. Are you actually talking yourself into this?
Jesse isn't safe with him, Frankie will go too far one day, and in a drunken rage, kill him. No one may notice one small disappeared ten-year-old boy with all the chaos going on. And if they did, all Frankie would have to say is he got Sick. Who would question him?
The unthinkable was no longer so unlikely, but plausible, even reasonable.
Skye squared
her shoulders. It was time to save Jesse.
Chapter Seventeen
Way Too Much
Known for making calm and deliberate decisions, Skye now decided to do something that was neither of those things. But once she’d made up her mind, her rational manner took over. For success, a plan was required, and she took her time to devise it.
The best course of action was to leave the area once she rescued Jesse. She didn't want a vengeful Frankie searching her out. Leaving her home meant packing. Skye walked the house choosing what she needed, and wanted, to take with her.
She packed up all her jewelry in a large, black travel case. Skye added her extra cash too, then decided she shouldn't keep all her treasures in one place and moved her money to a small bag that held her tablet, a couple of books, and a notebook. She took that out to her jeep.
As she walked back through the living room, the electricity came on, and the room sprang to life. Lights flashed on and off, then back on again before they settled. The radio flickered and steadied then its sound strengthened. Earlier, Skye had dialed into local news, and now someone was reporting. She stopped and leaned a jean-covered hip against her couch to listen.
The AgFlu had infected the regular DJ at the start of the outbreak. Since then, whoever passed by the station would step into the box, state their name and whatever information they wanted to share. Unfortunately, the news most often consisted of the number of the Sick and a list of those who died. But Skye forced herself to listen, crossing her arms over her green, short-sleeved t-shirt. At least, I'll know what happened to my neighbors even if it is the worst. And perhaps they'll announce the delivery of food. Then I could pick some items up on my way out of town.
A familiar voice said, "Uh, this is Bill Riley from Riley Funeral Services here. And I, uh, been over to the feed store. Bob and Alvie was over there. This is the news we have." He listed names of Sick families. If one person in a family had the AgFlu, everyone assumed they all would have it soon.
