First Light

by Kody Boye

  Here, in this bed—in this room—she felt everything.

  This couldn’t be a dream.

  This was real.

  “How,” she started.

  “You’ve been out for three days,” the young woman said, gesturing for Rose to drink before she continued. “Erik and Ben were out on a scavenging run when they heard something strange and decided to investigate. They weren’t sure what it was at first, because, well... zombies don’t usually make much noise. They thought someone might’ve been in trouble. So when you ran up there like you did… they had no choice but to help.”

  “Ben?” Rose asked, gasping as she drained the last of the water from the bottle.

  “Yeah. Ben. The one who pulled you in. He said you were real out of it. Wouldn’t give him your gun or anything even though you were passing out. Poor guy was afraid you’d shoot yourself.”

  “But I don’t understand. How… where—”

  “Everything all right in here?” a pale, skinny old man said as he walked in.

  “Everything’s fine,” the girl said, taking the empty bottle from Rose. “I just came in to check on her.”

  “You’ve been through a lot the past few days, miss,” the old man said. “Cindy here’s been checking on you every day—practically every hour, now that I think about it.”

  “Thank you,” Rose said, reaching out to take the young girl’s hand.

  Cindy smiled, but quickly shied away.

  The older man in the white scrubs began adjusting a knob along the drip. “I’m going to put you out for another few hours,” he said, taking note of the machines at Rose’s side. “Your body’s been under a lot of stress. You need to rest.”

  “But I—” Rose started.

  Her urge to fight dissipated.

  She lowered her head to the pillow and closed her eyes.

  “You’ll wake up in a few hours,” the older man said. “Get some rest, miss. You’ve earned it.”

  No sooner had he finished than Rose fell asleep.

  “Ben said you came by ship,” Cindy said, bouncing a beanbag between her hands as if it were the best thing since sliced bread. “Is that true, or was that just something he pulled out of his ass to try and impress me?”

  Still disoriented from lack of nutrition and what the elderly doctor had described as a concussion, Rose found it hard to make sense of what the girl was asking. “Yeah,” she said, then blinked, the swimmy feeling returning as she lifted herself up. “I did.”

  “How long were you out there?”

  “A while.”

  “Where’d you come from?”

  “England.”

  “England?” the girl laughed, the beanbag falling to the floor when she failed to catch it. “You’ve got to be joking.”

  Rose said nothing. She only stared.

  The smile now lost from her face, Cindy watched Rose, as if expecting her to expand upon her reply, before reaching down to grab the beanbag. The tension in the air was evident, the joviality long removed. Upon lifting her head, the disbelief in the girl’s eyes was so clear that she appeared a ghost of her former self. Gone was the teenage practicality. It was replaced by the survivor—the horrors told only in the eyes, around the mouth, within the firm set of a jaw.

  “You’re not kidding,” Cindy said. “Are you?”

  “No,” Rose replied. “I’m not. I wish I was, but I’m not.”

  “How did you make it? I mean… all that way… all this time—”

  “I had a friend. Lyra. She was pretty, like you, except she didn’t have the streak of pink in her hair or the cotton-candy lip gloss. We ended up with a bunch of other survivors on a private yacht… then the virus got out and killed everyone.”

  “Shit.”

  “And we killed them,” Rose continued, “just like that. Ate what little we had on hand, fished when it ran out. When we hit Ireland we saved a man just as the government started opening fire on the people along the coast. He got us out of there. He knew how to drive the boat. But after a little while it just seemed useless, and when we knew we couldn’t do anything, that was when…”

  Rose sighed. She pressed a hand to her forehead in an effort to still her swelling emotions before resuming. “We spotted land, thought we could beat the hurricane, ran out of gas, tried to row our way here… then it just… hit and—”

  “You don’t have to say any more,” Cindy said, climbing off her chair. “Really. You don’t.”

  She struggled to keep from shrinking from the girl’s touch—so much like Lyra’s when Rose was upset, when she’d had a hard day, when she’d bombed a test.

  Taking a deep breath, Rose used her free hand to dab the tears from her eyes, then looked up at Cindy and asked, “Do you know if they’re here? A tall black man and a black woman around my height?”

  “I don’t know,” Cindy said. “So many have come in the past few days it’s just…” She paused, the hurt escalating into horror. “Oh, Rose. I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

  “It’s ok,” Rose replied. “Really. It’s fine. It’s… there’s nothing anyone can do anyway.”

  Slowly, Cindy rose and withdrew her hand. “If you need anything,” she said as she started for the door. “Just yell. Someone will come. Ok?”

  Rose nodded.

  With one last look over her shoulder, Cindy walked out the open door.

  Seeing her leave—it was a blow unlike anything Rose expected.

  The girl was her only companion.

  The only one who seemed to care.

  “All right,” said a nurse wearing scrubs that were far too large for her. “I think you’ll be all right to wander around from here, but just remember—” she freed the IV from Rose’s dorsal and gestured to her to apply pressure “—don’t overdo it. If you start feeling sick, lay down. And if you feel like you’re going to faint, try to get someone to help you to the infirmary.”

  “All right,” Rose said. “Thanks.”

  “We’ve brought some clothes for you. Hopefully they’re enough.”

  Nodding, Rose pushed her feet to the floor, took hold of the brass footrest as she pulled herself up, then waited to make sure she wouldn’t collapse before giving the nurse a short nod. The woman left shortly thereafter.

  The simple pair of jeans and a snug T were beyond any luxury she’d experienced throughout the past few days. The socks were insulated, the boots firm, the underwear unflattering, but nothing she’d begin to complain about. She wandered to a makeshift washbasin and went to work scrubbing herself as clean as she could before stepping back to examine herself in the mirror.

  The woman there wasn’t the one she’d expected.

  While she’d been thin before, she looked absolutely terrifying now.

  Skeletal, she thought as she traced the hollow of one gaunt cheek. Emaciated.

  “Dead.”

  It took a moment to realize she’d said the word.

  She turned before she could scare herself further, dressed, and wandered into the hall.

  Nothing could’ve prepared her for the chill.

  Are we underground? she thought.

  Frowning, Rose tried to decide her course of action.

  She hadn’t been given instruction. The only offer of help had come from Cindy.

  Where is everybody?

  Most of the rooms were empty, stripped bare of medical supplies, and in some cases even sheets and pillows. The few occupants were hidden from view with closed doors and shuttered windows, offering no indication as to who might be within. Even the room she assumed was an office when she passed it as she started up the hall was deserted—not a nurse or physician to be seen.

  Unsure how to proceed, Rose continued until she encountered a pair of heavy double doors. With no other options, she pushed one open.

  She ran into someone immediately.

  She stumbled into the wall on uneasy legs, then slid to the floor.

  “Oh God,” a person Rose immediately recogn
ized as Cindy said. “Oh God, oh God. I’m sorry. I should’ve been paying more attention. I—”

  “I’m fine,” Rose said, blinking. “Really, I—”

  “Rose! FUCK!” Cindy hauled Rose to her feet with more effort than necessary. “Shit.”

  “It’s ok, Cindy. I’m fine.”

  “You’re just starting to recover and some dumbass who isn’t paying attention knocks you down. That’s not fine.”

  “Cindy.” Rose pressed her hands to the girl’s face. “I’m ok. I’m tougher than I look.”

  “That’s what Doctor Armstrong said,” the girl mumbled.

  Rose frowned as the girl’s frantic expression was reduced to a sigh.

  After letting her hands fall to her sides, Rose craned her head around Cindy’s shoulder and peered out into an expansive room. “Where are we?” she asked.

  “We’re at one of the only remaining checkpoints on the east coast,” Cindy replied, turning to give way to the sights behind her. “This is Newport Private Academy—initially a private school for the rich and esteemed, now the living quarters of the general public.”

  To someone who had been in darkened quarters, the fluorescent lighting was almost blinding, to the point where dark spots formed across Rose’s eyes and prevented her from seeing anything. As she adjusted, though, and as her foggy mind acclimated to the world, she slowly began to realize just what she was looking at.

  My God.

  “We’re in a ballroom,” she said.

  Emergency fixtures took precedence over glass chandeliers and beautifully-stylized sconces. Tables pushed to the edges of the room offered places for tribute or notation. What appeared to be a billboard displaying typewritten paper rested over one table on each side of the room—all, it seemed, with the same information. Others held personal artifacts such as clothes, toiletries, and books either salvaged from the conquered depths of a library, or so underappreciated they’d been left untouched.

  As Rose took note of this, allowing her eyes to sweep over the display—from the tables to the perfectly-aligned rows of cots to the few people who were sleeping and even the chained doors at the far end, she swallowed a lump in her throat and tried to process it all.

  Was she dreaming?

  Was this really where she was?

  “I’ve got to be dreaming,” she mumbled. “This is too good to be true.”

  She yelped when a sharp pinch nipped her arm.

  “Sorry,” Cindy smiled. “Not dreaming.”

  “Guess not,” Rose said, blinking. “Cindy… when this all started… they said New York was being hit hard. Did they—”

  “You didn’t hear?” Cindy asked, her face paling along with Rose’s. “New York’s gone, Rose. They dropped a bomb to try and contain the infection.”

  No, she thought.

  Mom, Dad—

  It wasn’t as if they’d been there. It wasn’t set in stone—marked within a mountain by some pale god. Surely they’d been smart enough to leave, to pack up and get the hell out when the violence got bad and the criminal media revealed themselves to be frauds.

  It wasn’t madness, like they’d been saying—rogue chemicals that made people go berserk. It was an infection that killed, then raised the dead. Her parents weren’t stupid. They would’ve left at the first signs of trouble—the first sight of another person’s face ripped off.

  Wouldn’t they?

  She couldn’t know. Fate had declared communication possible. And even if she could know, would she really want to?

  In the past four weeks, she’d come to peace with the fact that her parents were most likely dead. Why she was reacting now was beyond her comprehension.

  Because I know? she thought. Because I question?

  Cindy—who’d not moved an inch since stepping aside to let Rose see the ballroom—reached out and pressed a hand against her arm. Rose instantly jerked away, as if snared in the grasp of one of the unholy dead.

  “Sorry,” Cindy said.

  “It’s ok,” Rose replied. “It’s not your fault.”

  Neither said a word. The bearer of bad news, Cindy merely glanced at her spotless white tennis shoes and stared at them for several moments before returning her attention to Rose. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “Hungry?” Rose frowned.

  “They’re about to serve lunch. I figured you’d be hungry, after hardly eating anything for three days.”

  Rose nodded. “Yeah,” she said, the shiver crossing her spine only just maintained. “That sounds good.”

  Cindy stepped forward, then reached back to take her hand. “Come on,” she said.

  Rose locked fingers with the girl.

  She followed, silently.

  The gruel was something she’d expect from a pantry. Mashed potatoes pulled from the depths of an enormous tub; a mixture of stew, most of which appeared to be vegetable broth and very little beef; a pair of sweet rolls, so fresh the steam still evaporated off them—the lady behind the glass display took one look at her and doubled her portions, prompting that Rose ‘looked just like the dead’ and needed ‘all the food she could eat.’

  She wouldn’t complain. Even the sight of the food made her want to throw up. She’d never imagined eating like this again.

  “At least now you won’t be hungry anymore,” Cindy said as she led them through the bustling cafeteria and toward an empty table.

  “Are you sure she’s allowed to do that?” Rose frowned.

  “Emily?” The girl settled down across from her and idly nibbled at her roll. “They don’t care. They know who she feeds—know who’s just come in and is starved out of their mind. I doubt they’d even bat an eye at what extra she gave you.”

  Rose looked down at the modest if impressive meal and nodded. “All right then.”

  “I’ll have to show you around after we’re done here,” Cindy said, allowing Rose time to begin her meal before starting the lecture. “Just so you know where to go, how everything works, where you can and can’t go—that sort of thing.”

  “You have the authority to do that?” Rose asked.

  “I’m the governor’s daughter. It kinda comes with the territory.”

  “Wait. Cindy Harroldson? Governor Harroldson’s daughter?”

  Cindy nodded. She caught what little stew threatened to drip from her mouth on one hand before reaching up to dab it away with a napkin. “Yup. That’s me.”

  “Why Newport, of all places?”

  “Island,” Cindy said. “Only three ways out, two of which were blown up.”

  “What about the third?”

  “138? Blocked off—mostly by cars, a few semis, that sort of thing. They’ve got explosives tethered to the bridge in case anything happens, but… well… let’s just say dad’s a dreamer and thinks somehow, someone or something’s going to eventually help us out.”

  “Something?”

  Cindy pointed up. “God,” she said. “Not, like, aliens or anything. Dad’s not a nut. But at this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if little green men beamed down and got us out of this.”

  “Me neither,” Rose offered.

  Cindy laughed and leaned over to slug Rose’s arm—a gesture not exactly like Lyra’s, but enough to where the action triggered a flood of memories.

  “Hey,” Cindy asked when she settled back down in her seat. “You ok?”

  “Yeah,” Rose said, bowing her head to avoid the eyes of those streaming in. “I’m—”

  Someone dropped their tray directly behind Cindy.

  “Ruh… Rose?” a voice asked.

  Rose looked up.

  The next thing she knew, she was in a pair of arms, trembling uncontrollably, as the person clutched her in a death grip.

  “Oh God,” the person said, her long dark hair falling into Rose’s face. “Oh God, oh God, oh God. I didn’t know where you were. We looked everywhere we could. I swear. Oh God, Rose, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I—”

  Lyra? she thought, struggling to b
reathe.

  Rose pushed the woman away.

  Through the face of grief, the streaks of mascara, and the utter despair that wailed from her lips, Rose saw someone she thought she’d never seen again.

  “Lyra,” she said.

  Her lifetime friend threw her arms around her again.

  Though she saw someone else draw near out of the corner of her eye, she barely took note of them.

  It wasn’t until she raised her head that she saw E.J.

  By then, there was little use of holding it in. She lost it.

  “We tried to find you,” Lyra said through their tears. “I swear… I woke up and you weren’t there and I just started screaming. I lost it, Rose. I didn’t know where you were. I screamed and screamed for you to come back and then E.J. woke up and slapped some sense into me. He’d said we’d look… and we did… but we couldn’t find you. Then we went into town thinking you might’ve wandered off, and that was when we ran into these guys.”

  “They had people looking for you,” E.J. said, opening an arm as Rose leaned into his embrace. “We wanted to go back, but Lyra was too sick and my arm—”

  Rose recoiled instantly as she noted the sling.

  How—

  “What happened?” she asked.

  E.J. looked down at the bandaging along his left arm. “I got pretty tore up on the way in,” he said. “Must’ve hit a bank or something. Can’t really say. After we lost you, everything was a blur. Swimming, breathing, surviving. The only thing I can remember is Lyra dragging me ashore before I blacked out, and even that’s still fuzzy.”

  “I know a broken arm when I see one,” Lyra said. “Thank God I was able to splint it. It’d been any worse and I—”

  “Shh,” E.J. said, wrapping his free right arm around her shoulder. “It’s all right.”

  He tangled his fingers through her hair as he bowed their heads together and pressed a kiss to her forehead, his eyes closed in memory of the hell they’d experienced the past few days. Rose saw Lyra’s body fall against his and thought of all those exchanges on the yacht—all those glances, all those talks. The barrier then was great—comparable to the Great Wall. But seeing this…

  Rose blinked as Lyra opened her eyes and offered a smile. “You don’t know how good it is to see you,” she said. “Both of you.”