Eventually, Brady flashed a pack of cigarettes signaling that he was going to step away from the beds for a smoke. Chris nodded and Brady slowly tiptoed away. Despite his efforts to remain quiet, not wanting to wake, Nan, or Stephanie, he stepped down on a thick fallen branch snapping it under his feet. Surprisingly, the girls didn’t stir and Brady continued to work his way toward a tall oak tree at the far side near the wishing well. Chris’ stomach turned with an unsettling motion. He wondered if it was from hunger or a dread of the last day and a half hovering over him like a praying mantis waiting to strike its prey. He was exhausted, yet Chris was starting to think he would never fall asleep. Eventually he did. He fell asleep dwelling on what had happened to Mark and the woman that he had bludgeoned with Nan’s baseball bat.
If he had dreamed, he didn’t remember. What he did remember was simply wanting to know if he would be a winner. All any of them wanted to do was survive.
* * *
The next morning, Chris saw exactly what Nan had been talking about. In the far corner of the courtyard on the left wall, across from the wishing well, hung a large stained glass portrait of an old priest, half covered by rotted sheets of wood and two by fours. The parts of the stained glass he could see were quite intriguing.
Nan and Brady were already up and moving about the yard and Chris didn’t see Stephanie anywhere. Chris brushed a few loose leaves off of his clothing, and then made his way over to where Nan and Brady were. They were standing near the hallway that Steve had been taken through speaking with the Hispanic Priest from last night.
“…and most everyone else, with the exception of yourselves came in well before the epidemic worsened. More than a handful of them are the homeless who actually lived here inside the school buildings. You and your family are very lucky to have survived,” the priest was saying as Chris walked up. “Good morning, my boy. You must be Chris. Nan and Brady tell me good things about you. That was a noble thing you did for them, getting them down from that roof like that.”
“It was nothing.” Chris blushed, and then shook the priest’s hand. “Sorry, I’m terrible with names, and you are . . . ?”
“Father Garcia Clark. I am…well…I was in charge of restoration here at Anderson. We were supposed to get started on it in just a few months,” he said with a hand gesture to the rubble that was the schools courtyard. “You can call me Clark if that makes you more comfortable.”
The handshake ended.
Chris nodded at Garcia, and then quickly diverted his attention to Nan and Brady. “Have you seen Stephanie anywhere?”
“She’s inside checkin’ on your pal, Steve.” Brady pointed toward the door leading to the hallway of medical gurneys and the severely injured. “She was already up and gone when me and Nan woke up. Figured she was checkin’ on ‘em.”
Chris’ eye darted to the nearby doorway. Until now, his mind had completely slipped away from Steve and his gunshot wound.
“No need to worry, my friend. I checked in on him early this morning. He’s bruised up pretty good, but he’s going to be fine.” Father Clark walked a few paces away from the others and opened the hallway door. “Come on, Chis. We’ll go check in on your friend together. I believe Stephanie is there now.” The short Hispanic priest in his black catholic suit stepped through the door ushering Chris to follow. His suit told a story of struggle and courage. It was covered in dirt and what looked to be dried blood. At first, the blood was hard to make out against the black fabric.
Nan nudged Chris forward. “Go ahead, sweetie pie. Brady and me are fine. Goin’ to mingle with some of the other survivors for a bit. See if we can’t get an idea about what’s happenin’ around here.”
Chris gave Nan a big hug and then walked away following Father Garcia through the door. Chris looked back on Nan and Brady just before closing the door as he walked through. When he thought about it, he didn’t really know Nan and she was nothing like his mother at all. But for some reason she gave him a sense of comfort that a mother would. Something about her personality and demeanor simply screamed wholesome nurturer. He liked that and knew he needed it.
Chris’ stomach tightened as he stepped into the hall and the makeshift medical bay.
The hallway was narrow and long and smelled of mothballs. The walls were covered with old, color-faded posters from when the school was still active a decade ago. Holes in the ceiling exposed large portions of the second story floor. At the end of the hall was a large, busted out oval shaped window letting in plenty of light to fill at least half of the hall. Beyond the oval window, Chris could see the fence line. Past that was too hazy, even for his twenty-twenty vision, but he could make out a number of figures scrambling around in the streets. He didn’t have to ask, knowing that it was the undead. He wondered how long it would take the school’s fences to be crowded ten bodies deep with those things. Although the hallway was rather lengthy, there were only four doors, two on each side half way down. Father Garcia mentioned that the rooms were old classrooms. Chris imagined that they had to be pretty big rooms for how spread out each door was. Lined with five or six gurneys on each side, all of the metal bed tables were occupied by the dead and dying. At first, Chris panicked as they walked past each gurney knowing that it wouldn’t be long for these poor people to turn on the living. However, upon closer examination, he concluded with the priest’s confirming comments that these people were all dealing with natural, yet fatal wounds. One man lay on a metal table moaning in agony from third degree burns that covered more than half of his body. Most of his face and all of one arm was blistered with red pulpous lacerations that seeped creamy fluids. The priest mentioned that the dying man had been rescued from a burning wreckage of cars near the school grounds early on. The rescue had been when news first aired reports of the epidemic. Father Clark also continued to point out that the local rescue efforts were very rushed, leaving medical supplies lower than low. Most of the people would spend their last dying days without adequate care to ease the pain. The burn victim continued to moan as Chris walked past him in the hall.
The power was on, which surprised Chris. One small emergency light in the center of the hall filled the rest of the room with illumination.
“I was surprised to find that the emergency generators were still in running condition, too. It took some tinkering, but we eventually got them running. I don’t know that the fuel for the generators will last very long. I give it a week at best.” Father Garcia Clark jerked his head toward the light in the middle of the room.
Chris figured the short man must have read him well enough to know what he was thinking. What priests are paid to do, I suppose. Be good at reading people, he thought.
“Well, this is it.” Father Cark smiled. “This is where your friend will be staying until he is well enough to move about on his own.” The priest stopped at the last door on the right near the end of the hall. Reaching for the knob, he said, “If there is anything you need, anything at all… I will be right outside.” He opened the door and stepped aside for Chris to enter.
Chris’ assumption had been right. The classroom was huge.
“Hey, Chris,” Stephanie called out with enthusiasm from across the room.
Although the room was fairly big, it was pretty empty. School chairs and desks had been neatly stacked at one end of the room near a teacher’s desk and chalkboard. Dust and cobwebs covered everything. Across from that were Stephanie and one of the nurses tending to Steve who was lying down on a cot similar to the ones outside. There were five other cots in the room, not including the one Steve was on. Four of the cots were vacant and the other supported a very old man who was sleeping.
“See… I told you he was coming sooner or later, Steve.” Stephanie’s voice sounded playful.
Chris’ heart lifted with the sound of her voice. Maybe Nan was right. Maybe he should tell her how he was feeling. But was it wrong to take advantage of her possible vulnerability? If he actually had a chance now, he hoped it was for being himself
and not because of the circumstances. He began to doubt, and he didn’t want to risk playing with her emotions.
“How’s he holding up?” Chris walked up wanting to ask how she was more than anything. “He’s going to be back in action soon?”
“Doctor says he needs bed rest for at least a few days. Something about not wanting the stitches to rip.” Stephanie smiled at Chris as he walked up.
He wasn’t sure if he was reading it right, but he could have sworn she was reaching out for a hug. He went for it, but right as his chance presented itself, the nurse spoke up, interrupting him.
“That’s right. He needs at least three more days of bed rest. We don’t want those stitches coming loose. That and he’s very weak right now. Your friend here is one lucky S.O.B.! If he had lost any more blood, he would have been a goner. So take it easy, Mister.” The nurse pointed sternly at Steve who smiled with compliant wide eyes. “I’ll be back to check in on him in a few hours.” The nurse turned away, nodding at Chris, before attending to the old man on the other cot. “How are you doing this morning, Mr. Hamill?” Her voice faded to muffled chatter as she walked across the room toward the old man.
Chris just stood there feeling awkward. He wondered if Stephanie realized he was about to try to hug her.
“Well, are you going come and say hey, or what,” Stephanie asked.
“Chris, what’s up, dude?” Steve lay on his back looking up as the curly haired singer stood next to him.
“You look like crap, Steve.” Chris laughed.
“Come on, man. I’m totally going for the distressed look. The chicks freakin’ dig it, for sure.” Steve fought back a mild cough. His chest was bandaged up heavily. Just above the armpit, his shoulder was soaked red through the white gauze. Other than the bloodstain, his eyes were sunken back just a little and his skin was unnaturally pale.
Considering what Steve had said, Chris noticed that Stephanie was holding Steve’s hand. He was terrible at reading people, but if the priest was in here, he could probably tell whether it was a hand gesture of love or just for emotional support. The question burned inside of him. “Haa . . . I can tell,” Chris said, doing his best to laugh it off without expressing his true feelings; at least not yet. “So how does it feel to get shot, man?”
“Like a freakin’ massive snakebite, dude. I think it scared me more than it actually hurt, though.”
“Do you remember anything from the gas station at all?”
“Honestly, no I don’t. It comes to me in fragments, but it’s not enough to really put any pieces together.”
“You didn’t miss much. Trust me,” Stephanie smiled.
Chris could tell that she wasn’t as strong as she tried to lead on. She hated to see Steve like this and it was wearing her down. Chris stepped next to her, trying to offer comfort, like before in the Bingham house after she had shot that little boy. He put his arm around her and was surprised to find that she leaned into him. To him, her embrace felt warm and natural. “He’s going to be fine, just like the doctor said. He’s just playing his cards. One time, when we were in high school, can you believe that this punk had the nerve to get a dozen different girl’s numbers over a scraped knee? I’m telling you, he’s the master.”
Steve scoffed at Chris right as Stephanie glanced away for a second.
Sure, Chris might have come across a little hard on Steve’s game, but he felt threatened by Steve’s charm. He had seen the hipster punk work his magic for the last three years on tour and now was Chris’ chance; he didn’t want Steve messing that up. Chris wasn’t sure if Stephanie had picked up on the slight tension between them, but she suddenly mentioned the need to go check on Nan and Brady.
“I think I am going to go see what the Bingham’s are getting into. Maybe there’s some food somewhere, or even a shower.” Stephanie smiled, leaving the two men to be boys.
“Dude!” Steve muttered in disgust.
“What?”
The sound of the classroom door opening and closing reverberated off of the high walls. The large room echoed with a gust of wind as the door shut behind Stephanie’s straight blond hair.
“Dude, you know what. You totally just did a tremendous cock block on me, man.” Steve crossed his arm, immediately regretting it, wincing with agonizing pain. “You like her, dude. I can definitely tell, for sure.”
“Man, Steve. Just drop it, all right? I don’t know how I feel about all of that just yet.”
Steve grinned wide.
“Seriously, Steve . . . Don’t go doing me any favors by talking to her. I will when I’m ready, when the time is right!”
“Anyway, what the hell are we going to do now, boss? The tour van has got to be a hell of a ways away by now.” Steve changed the subject and Chris was thankful.
“I honestly don’t know, Steve. I know one thing for sure though. We need to get home.”
“You mean back to Tennessee? You’re still on that kick?” Steve jerked violently on the cot. A fit of coughing came out of nowhere.
Chris waited for it to stop. Steve pointed to the floor beside him. Chris saw what he had pointed at. Picking up the bottle of half consumed water, Chris gave it to his injured friend. Steve chugged a mouthful, then settled back into his bed. He dropped the empty bottle to the floor.
“Yeah, I’m still serious about going home, man. Aren’t you?”
They sat in silence for a long while, Steve thinking hard about what Chris had said. Chris just didn’t get it. Why wouldn’t Steve want to go back home? Of course, he wasn’t nearly as close to his folks as Chris might have been with his, but the poor dude almost died last night. Somebody back home had to care enough about him to want to see him make it back safe and sound. Regardless, if that was what Steve wanted or not, Chris was going to see to it that they both made it back together, alive.
“You know, Chris . . .” Steve’s voice was soft and stern, a tone Chris had never heard before from the scrawny drummer. “I get it, I really do. You want to get back home to the people that you love. Back to the people that love you.”
Chris acknowledged that as truth and then continued to listen. He had never heard Steve sound so serious in all his life.
“But… me, man. I envy you. I always have.” His voice grew even softer, his eyes focused. “You’ve got people back home that want you there. And if I had that, I might want to get back just as bad. But I don’t. No one there misses me or loves me. Now, don’t get me wrong, my parents have supported us by fixing the tour van and what not . . . but that wasn’t love, dude. That was just a buy out.”
Chris looked confused.
“See, I told you, you don’t get it.” Steve continued. “My folks did all of those things, not because of love, but because keeping us out on tour kept me out of their hair, man!” Steve’s eyes swelled with tears ready to break free, but the floods never came.
“That’s not true, Steve.”
“Yes it is and you can’t tell me otherwise, because you don’t know! You don’t have my life!”
“Come on now…”
“You don’t know what it truly feels like to get burned. You don’t! Are you really eager to find out, though? Well, go ahead. Try your luck with the blonde college chick. But the second Stephanie burns you, man, don’t come crawling back to me.”
“What the hell is your problem, Steve?”
Steve sighed and then settled down to a low heavy breathing pattern.
“I’m sorry, dude.” Steve finally calmed down again. This time his voice was so low that Chris had to struggle to hear him. “I guess…I guess I’m just scared, man.”
Chris reached down to comfort Steve, while wondering what he should say, but before a single word could come forth from his lips, shots rang out in the distance. It was close enough that it might have come from the courtyard, but he wasn’t sure. A few screams followed. One sounded like Stephanie.
“What the hell was that?” Chris gasped. “I’ll be right back!” Chris left Steve’s side, dar
ting for the only exit.
“No…Chris…wait…I’m afraid. Don’t leave me in here alone!” Steve shouted.
It was no use.
Just before the classroom door shut behind Chris, the nurse joined him to investigate the shooting. Steve was left alone with an old dying man; both too weak get up from their cots.
Chapter Eight
Chris, Nan, Brady, and Stephanie all sat together with their belongings, each seated right where they had all slept the night before. Their spirits low, as if they were on the brink of falling into a bottomless chasm. Noon had come and gone, finally bringing forth the first meal. With supplies sparse, food was rationed to two small meals a day. Chris hadn’t eaten yet, but didn’t think that the sparse looking plates of food everyone had looked filling. The portions were almost nothing, and with more than half of his plate devoured, he was still starving. They probably would have eaten much earlier had that poor bastard not stirred everyone up by committing suicide.
The hard thing for everyone wasn’t that the man had gone with such a dramatic exit, two self-inflicted shots to the chest, but that he left someone behind. While Chris and the others quietly went about eating their meals, the overwhelming sound of sobs and mournful pleas from a grieving woman echoed throughout the courtyard. Almost immediately, after the man’s unexpected suicide, several of the uniformed officers covered the body and took it deep into one of the school’s classrooms. Blood still stained the brick walkway, a reminder to everyone as to where the man had taken his life. His wife hadn’t left it all morning. She just sat sobbing and staring at it as if she hoped somehow that it would form back into her husband. It was a reminder to stay strong, to stick together, and to pray you didn’t succumb to a hopeless depression like that man had done. Chris wondered what would have driven the man to kill himself. Maybe, he had become depressed and wondered if all life would have left for him was this fear and pain, this constant struggle to live. What use did he have for life? Maybe, he had been a father and lost his son or daughter. Worse, like Chris’ parents, maybe the man had no idea where his child was in all of this and he feared having to kill his child for a second time.
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