Tainted Mind

by T J Christian

  “It’s all gravity-fed so no need for electric pumps.”

  “Amazing,” says Chris, truly feeling it. He has distant memories of the family home before the end—the running water, the switches that turned on lights throughout the house to chase away night shadows, and even the thousands of vehicles used to shuttle them from place to place. Now, except for what Chris has witnessed here, the thought of running water feeding every home is no more. Shadows overtake the day with regularity, and the only relief is a flame—which can be dangerous by either starting a fire or attracting the dead.

  And the vehicles— nothing but rusted shells that trapped the dead inside. They litter the streets and ancient highways, forever a reminder of the past that is no more.

  “What’cha thinking about, son.”

  Quincy’s voice brings him out of the memory. “Nothing…everything…” He shakes his head to clear it. “You’ve brought back memories is all.”

  Quincy pats Chris on the back then squeezes his shoulder, “I know what you mean.”

  Quincy turns to Karen. She’d followed them through the entire tour but had remained several steps behind and quiet as a mouse. “Karen, darling…would you mind heading back to the house and firing up the stove?”

  “Yes, sir,” she says. “What about you?”

  “We’ll be along shortly. I have something else to show our new guest. Now run along.”

  Before turning to go, her eyes drift to Chris and a crooked smile sneaks across her face. Then she’s gone, rushing away, quiet as a breeze.

  “I think she has a liking for you.”

  Chris feels his face redden. “She’s very pretty, sir.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing. I’m glad.”

  “You…you are?”

  “Yes, son.” He pauses, lifting his chin to the sky as if to take in the rapid approach of dusk. When he continues, it’s with the voice of a man that’s seen a lifetime of pain—and no sense of relief in sight.

  As he continues to speak, Chris realizes this line of thought couldn’t have been closer to the truth. “I have a confession to make…I really have nothing else to show you. I wanted to have a moment alone…I’ve been hoping someone like you would come soon.”

  Quincy moves toward a curb at the side of the road and lowers himself to sit. He exhales loudly before continuing, “Karen doesn’t know this yet…although, I have a feeling she suspects something is wrong.” He takes another deep breath as if it’s a real struggle to put into words something that seems to have been on his mind for quite a while.

  “About a year ago, I began having…issues,” he says, even though Chris thinks that’s not quite the word he was looking for. “I’m dying, Chris. And I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to last.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Quincy waves the question off, “It doesn’t matter…what does matter is that whatever’s eating at me inside is progressing.”

  Chris sees where this is going. “And you want me to take care of Karen?”

  Quincy laughs. “Oh, heavens no. Karen is perfectly able to take care of herself. My fear is that she’ll not know what to do with herself if she’s left alone…” His voice trails off, “…we were never meant to be alone.” He faces Chris directly. “How long have you been on your own?”

  Chris has to think. It had been four years since Father died and about another year since the brief encounter with Austin and Remy. Knowing where Quincy is going with this, he settles on, “Too long.”

  “Then you know…being alone is the pits. After a time, you might as well be dead…or wishing for it.”

  Chris nods, “Yes…I’ve felt that way on more than one occasion.”

  “So, what made you keep going?”

  Chris pauses to think. What did keep him going? He shrugs, “I guess because I’m stubborn.”

  Quincy shakes his head. “No…I doubt that’s it. Know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I think you’re searching for something.”

  “Oh? And what might that be?”

  Quincy spreads out his arms, “Why this, of course…community…acceptance.”

  Chris chuckles, “I don’t see much of a community here.”

  “I think you know what I mean. This is just the illusion but haven’t you thought about it…don't you think there’s someplace out there where people have come together as a society?”

  Chris nods, “I’m sure of it.”

  “That’s what I want of you, Chris. I need you to get Karen someplace where she will not be alone. Would you do that for me?”

  “Yes, I think I can do that for you.”

  * * *

  Quincy is quiet for a time and they both watch the fading sun setting behind the houses.

  Finally, Chris breaks the silence. “That’s not all is it?”

  He lowers his head. He sniffles, not at all ashamed to be crying.

  “No…that’s not all.” He stops there, taking a few minutes to gather his thoughts. Finally, he says, “I’ll need to you kill me. I don’t want to wind up like one of them.” He cocks a thumb toward the nearest house—the number two written on the outside.

  “You mean the Tainted?”

  Quincy stiffens. What did he say? The Tainted? The name is familiar, and he’s certain he’s heard it before, but can’t quite remember where.

  Chris notices the abrupt change in his demeanor, “What is it?”

  “Nothing, nothing…just a memory trying to rear its ugly head…Let’s go back, shall we?” He pushes himself off the curb. It is getting late and the sun is just about gone. As they walk, he tries to make his next questions sound more conversational and not investigative. But something about that name, Tainted, has him reeling inside. There’s a mystery here and maybe some additional information might bring it to light.

  “So, you call them the Tainted?”

  “Actually, my dad called them that first.”

  Perfect, Quincy thinks, Chris is opening the door. “Oh? And what was his name?”

  “George.”

  Quincy stops and Chris almost barrels into him. “What is it?”

  “What’s your last name, son?”

  Chris stares at him, eyes furrowed with concern. “I…I, don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember?” Quincy asks.

  Chris is silent, searching his memory for something that has been long lost. He shakes his head.

  “Cartwright,” Quincy says, watching Chris for a reaction. He sees exactly what he expected. Chris’s eyebrows rise in recognition.

  He stammers, “H-how did you know that?”

  “I’ll show you, Chris…but I don’t think you are going to like it.”

  “Show me.”

  He continues walking, this time with purpose as if the shadows of the night will come alive and take them once the final visage of daylight gives way to darkness. He bursts into the house and makes a beeline for a seldom-used bedroom. It’s more of a storage room now—full of books and periodicals Quincy wanted to keep close at hand. Most were purely for entertainment. Books and stories that he’d grown up with and that he shared with Karen as a means to pass along the enjoyment and wonder that only the written word can bring. He takes pride in his ability to teach her to read. If survival was the main subject of today, then reading was a close second in maintaining at least a semblance of the world that came before.

  He bypasses a shelf-full of classic hardback books—the likes of which include Shelley, Poe, and King. A large table sits in the center of the room and on its surface are thousands of magazines. Each stack is organized by entertainment value: The larger ones contain the photo journals, smaller stacks are the literary and poetry magazines, political and economic, and finally the tabloids. These latter ones are a mystery to Quincy why he felt the need to keep them. Initially, he kept them only for their ability to burn as the pages, when balled up, ignited quickly. But as time went on and he began to read them for their far-fetched
entertainment value, he ended up keeping many of them.

  Looking back now, he’s glad that he did. He flips through the first few issues, searching the covers for something that will spark his memory. It’s here, he thinks. I know it is.

  About half-way through the stack, his hand freezes as his eyes lock on the cover’s headline. This was one of the last to be distributed as the plague occurred just a couple of weeks after the issue date. On the cover was a blurry image, a city parking lot with towering buildings on the horizon, a light-colored sedan, and both passenger-side doors open. In the front, a woman, clutching a small child to her chest, her body only half-inside as if she’d just sat down or was in the process of getting out. Standing at the back door, face turned toward the camera, is a man. Even with the image’s fuzzy quality, the look of panic on the man’s face is clear. By his side, he clutches a young boy by the upper arm. Using only the photo as a visual reference, this family looks as if they are in the process of escaping something frightening—as if the sooner they get in the car and leave, the better.

  The caption below the photo states: The Last Known Photo of Infamous Doctor in Flight!

  At the top of the magazine, taking up nearly half the page is the headline: “Inside Dr. Cartwright’s Tainted Mind.”

  Quincy lifts the magazine off the stack and faces Chris, who is standing just inside the room. Voice quivering, he tells the young man, “I know who you are.”

  Chapter Six

  “Where are we going?” Bob asks, head swiveling around to look at the tree line to their left, where Poker Jack and Harvey took cover during the rainstorm. The rain had stopped; the only remnants of its passing were diamonds of moisture glistening on grass and scrub brush. Thunder still echoed in the distance as the storm moved away from them and to the north.

  Cowboy shrugs, “I’m not sure. Have any ideas?”

  Bob watches the retreating line of clouds, “I passed through a small town about a day’s ride north of here…there’s an old man and his granddaughter that might give us a hand with our former companions. And we can resupply.” He pauses, deep in thought.

  “What?”

  “I think that’s where Harvey and Jack are headed.”

  “Yeah? Why do you think that?”

  “I met up with them just after leaving that town. I think they had been following me. To my knowledge, they never met the old man.” He snaps his fingers. “Quincy…that was his name. Anyway, Harvey grilled me for days about Quincy. When he found out there was a granddaughter, it took all my effort to keep him from going back.”

  Cowboy ponders the information for a few minutes, continually scanning the tree line for any sign of Harvey or Jack. He saw nothing. “Well, I guess if that where they are headed, we’ll catch up to them. If they are following us, we’ll be able to warn Quincy.”

  Bob nods.

  Again, Cowboy scans the way ahead and the tree line. He wouldn’t put it past Harvey to set up an ambush. The ground cover is so thick they could be right on top of trouble with little warning. He really didn’t think Jack had it in him to plan something like that, but Harvey might. He wasn’t about to let his guard down until he knew for sure he has eliminated the threat.

  “See anything?” Cowboy turns to Bob, who shakes his head. Voice quiet, he adds, “I fucking hate this.”

  “Uh-huh,” is Bob’s reply. “We can do something about it now,” he says, gesturing toward the trees.

  The horses take them over the next hill and into a shallow valley before Cowboy answers. “Yes, we could…but they’d still have the advantage.” His gaze turns back to the trees even though he’s trying not to be so paranoid. They just seem to keep drawing his attention. “I’m sure they are watching us right now. Any aggression on our part and we’d be going in blind. No…I’d rather wait till we have the advantage over them.”

  They remain quiet for the rest of the day, the only sound is that of the gentle thud of horse hooves on the ground, birds, and the wind through the grass. It’s so quiet Cowboy has doubts the two idiots are even still there. But he knows better—they won’t let go. Too much pride—or stupidity. Either way, one is the same as the other because Cowboy has no intention of allowing them to get the drop on him.

  With that thought as inspiration, he kicks his heels and doubles their speed. Without question, Bob matches his pace.

  * * *

  “What are they doing?”

  Poker Jack shakes his head, “Not sure…trying to get a few more miles in before dark?”

  “Maybe…” Harvey lets his voice trail away as the two riders increase their speed, crest a hill, and disappear.

  “One thing’s for sure, they’ll get way ahead of us if we stay in these trees. With all the underbrush, it’s already tough to keep up.”

  “That’s okay,” says Harvey, spiting a piece of straw from his lips. “I think I know where they are headed.”

  “Oh? Do you now?”

  Harvey cuts his eyes toward Poker Jack, making him stiffen nervously with just that look. “It’s time to put all kidding aside now.” He nods towards the others. “They’ve drawn a line in the sand and I mean to cross it if just to shut that bastard Cowboy up.”

  “Fine,” says Jack. “So, where are they going?”

  “Remember when Bob first joined us? He’d just come from a town that we had also been through. He claimed there was an old man and his granddaughter there but they never showed themselves to us.”

  “Chickens,” Jack says.

  Annoyed at the interruption, Harvey cuts his gaze toward Jack. “Anyway…It’s not too far from here I think. We should head there and see if we can find the old fart.” He grins. “And maybe get out dicks wet if that granddaughter is still around.”

  Harvey cocks one side of his face up in a crooked grin and in all the time Jack’s known him, he’s never seen him smile quite like that. Harvey, like Jack, enjoyed kidding around—having fun. What the hell else is there to do but live life to the fullest? The only wants they have are food and water, and so far, they’ve had little trouble finding either. Lakes and streams are plenty. And since this entire area was once farmland, there are hundreds of old homesteads—about twenty percent of them have the remnants of overgrown gardens. Just a few days ago, they’d topped a hill to discover a plot of land full to overflowing with ripe watermelons. Insects or wildlife ruined most of them, but they could scrounge up eight that were untouched. For Poker Jack, the only thing that had been missing was a dash of salt.

  He smiled at the memory. He also smiled at the future. In his saddlebag was a felt pouch with a drawstring. It once held liquor, but now he used it to store seeds—seeds he would one day plant and grow himself, once the bug of exploration went away and he decided to settle down. As yet, though, he hadn’t found that perfect spot—the place that he’d want to call home.

  Seeing the change in Harvey has him thinking more about these things. There was something dark now in Harvey’s laughter and the general good humor was almost nonexistent. He saw it usually at night when the campfire dwindled to coals, the moon cast an eerie glow across the earth, and the night birds and insects shared their melodies with anyone that would hear. This is when Harvey would grow quiet and when he thought Jack was asleep, he would pull his knife from its scabbard and stare at the silvery glow along the blade’s edge. The laughter left his face, replaced by something that tormented him from within—a secret that he’d never shared with anyone. Not even Poker Jack.

  This was that same look Harvey had now. Jack knew with no doubt that this was the true Harvey now. That other Harvey, the one that kidded around and had jokes by the hundreds—that Harvey was gone, replaced by something that tainted the man he’d once been. He even saw it affecting Harvey’s body: the twitchy shoulder, the lazy eye, and the sudden downward turn of the lips. It wasn’t a frown—it was more like something was pulling the skin, something beyond Harvey’s control.

  Jack, more than anything, wanted to talk reason to his
only friend. They didn’t need to do this. There was no reason to go after Cowboy and Bob because of some minor disagreement. Well, maybe not so minor, but shit—Cowboy had let them live. That said something, right? Cowboy and Bob want to go that direction? Well, let's turn our back to them and go the other direction and maybe we’ll never meet again. We’ll all live to tell about it that way.

  As much as he wants to say these things, Poker Jack holds his tongue. There’s nothing he could say to sway Harvey’s determination. And if he does, he might only bring the man’s demons to bear on him—and he didn’t want to deal with that. Not at all.

  He brings himself back from his thoughts and his heart skips a beat—Harvey is looking right at him.

  * * *

  It’s like he knows what Poker Jack is thinking. He’s seen the look before—like a startled doe about to bolt into the shelter of a forest before the hunter can unleash his arrow. “If you run, you might as well consider yourself dead already.” His voice was flat, emotionless—and it had just the desired effect. Jack’s look turned from that of fear to that of confusion.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m tired of fucking around. Now, you’re either with me or your die…right here…right now.”

  Jack's eyes lower, only recognizing at that moment that Harvey had drawn a large knife and had placed its tip just below his sternum. “Do I have a choice?”

  Harvey shakes his head slowly but says, “Just two…life or death.”

  Poker Jack, realizing he’s at an impasse, nods sadly—who is this man that used to be his friend?

  “Good. Now let’s get going. We’ve got a hard ride ahead of us.”

  * * *

  “Any sign of them?”

  Cowboy turns from scanning the horizon behind him and focuses on the town sprawled out below them. Martinville. He really never thought he’d come back this way again. West then North—that was where he’d wanted to go. Find some place just on the edge of the mountains in what was once New Mexico or Colorado—some place cool in the summer and relatively warm in the winter. Looking at old maps of the area, a week’s ride could put him in either place, however, the desert might be less than ideal for food during the winter months.