Despite their apparent disinterest in me, by the time I reach the half way mark between the fuel pumps and the MegaMart, anxiety overtakes me and I find myself running the rest of the way, slamming and locking the door behind me once I’m safely inside.
For the moment, I ignore the fuel that I worked so hard to attain, too lost in thought to concern myself with the generators. I remove my helmet, then the knee and elbow pads, and finally the wrist guards, setting them all down beside the loading dock door in case I need them again. Right now, what I need is answers.
I find myself running across the store and up to the Tops where I left the journal. I flip quickly to the tab marked ‘Vaccine’ and stare down at the doodled picture of the syringe. V1-HT1. I trace my fingers over the doodle, and then bring them up to my shoulder.
I was given a shot like this... a mystery serum. But that had been some months ago. Since then, every time that I even thought about needles, or about Dr. Ashmore and everything that he’d been trying to do here, I find my hand rising up to my shoulder, to the place where the needle had pierced my skin. I can still remember the feel of it... of the... the serum under my skin… seeping into my veins, forcing its way through my body. Despite the horror that I felt at the time, I know that it’s the only reason I’m alive today.
I roll up my left sleeve and run my fingers lightly over the jagged scars that run roughly from the inside crook of my elbow onto my forearm. Individually, they aren’t much to look at, and have no story to tell, but if you take them in as a whole, it isn’t too hard to see that they are, in fact, a gnarled impression of someone’s teeth; someone who bit me. A flash of the Aggressors pushing through the crowd creeps into the forefront of my mind, and I shake it away quickly.
I stare down at the journal, at the picture of the syringe. I know that at least one version of the vaccine works; that’s fairly evident by the fact that I’m still here, uninfected. But what I didn’t know, and what I still can’t be quite sure of, is if the vaccine did more than simply prevent me from becoming a mindless monster, endlessly circling the parking lot. What if it made me invisible to them? They’re attracted to the noise - to the movement - but not to me.
I’d better go and eat something, then fill up the generators and settle into the Tops for the night. I have a lot of reading to do.
Chapter 4 – Just a Walk
I awake the following morning in a lazy stupor, something hard and crumpled resting under my cheek. The journal. I pick it up, wipe the drool from the page I slept on, and then place it on my nightstand.
Last night I had tried hard to read as much of the journal as I could, making notes in the back as I went along, until I had apparently conked out right on the spot. Now, my mind is busy trying to process all the new information that I have stuffed into it.
The most important thing that I need to figure out is what exactly the mystery serum is and how it works. Obviously, it’s a vaccine of sorts - I figured that out when it was administered to me so many months ago, and entirely without my permission. And it had obviously worked, but it had never occurred to me to wonder exactly how it had worked. The idea that it might offer some function other than simply preventing me from becoming infected is entirely new.
But this might be the key to me leaving the store, to staying safe out there, amongst... them.
This was the thought that kept me motivated last night. I pored through page after page, section after section, in search of details about the vaccine, but, curiously enough, there didn’t seem to be any record or mention of that function at all. It was as though the Passives ignoring me was an accident. No... not an accident, more like a side effect.
But, of course, having found no actual proof to back up this theory in the journal itself, I can’t be one hundred percent certain that it’s accurate. After all, my only evidence is the events that took place in the parking lot. Still... it seems promising.
A very large percentage of the more recent entries in the journal are devoted to Dr. Ashmore’s vaccine research, although it wasn’t all happy lab work. It seems that most of the trials had been human, and many of the participants had been the unknowing kind. Like people in this very store. People who we thought had got infected. People who had strange symptoms. It had made everyone crazy with panic, quick to judge. Quick to exile. This store had seen dark times back in the early days of the lockdown.
I derail that train of thought quickly.
The journal contains detailed results from over twenty trials using a dozen distinct vaccines. I was right about the ‘V’ standing for ‘vaccine.’ It seems that V1 all the way through V12 had been designed and tested by Dr. Ashmore. I still don’t know what the HT1 and HT2 part means. There are results from HT2 trials that correspond to all of the early versions of the vaccine. But the later ones, the ones that were tested here in the store, catalogue results for HT1 only. And there’s nothing in the journal – at least nothing that I can understand – that explains why that is. Whatever HT2 is, I guess there wasn’t any of it here to be tested on.
I decide to disregard that little nugget of information and focus on the part that has to do with me. The only vaccine catalogued in the journal that lacks results is V12-HT1. So, I have to assume that I was immunized with the V12, the very last vaccine that Dr. Ashmore developed. That really doesn’t mean much at all right now, but I’ve marked it down in the journal anyway, along with my odd discovery about the Passives yesterday.
The last thing that I marked in the journal last night was, ‘Taking a Walk,’ which is my plan for today.
Taking a walk, I repeat in my head, and have to suppress a tiny morbid chuckle. Just a little walk, no big deal. Easier said than done.
Finished with my breakfast, I jog upstairs and quickly locate Dale’s backpack, the one he arrived with on Lockdown Day. I carefully empty the contents onto the bed, and, finding nothing of value, leave it all there and carry the pack downstairs with me.
The only thing that I want to bring on my walk is the journal, but I figure it wouldn’t hurt to have a hands-free way to carry anything I may find. I return to the loading dock door where my safety gear awaits me. I contemplate leaving it behind out of sheer embarrassment, but know better than that. Besides, how embarrassed can I really claim to be when there isn’t anyone around to see me. No one who counts anyway.
I pull on the knee and elbow pads, adjust the helmet, and then add the wrist guards. Putting on the gear, I feel like a little kid again, getting ready to strap myself into a pair of roller skates and venture outside for the first time. Mostly excited, with a hint of nervousness. Actually, it’s more the other way... more nerves and easy on the excitement. But it’s still in there, I can feel it... excitement.
Excitement at the thought of going outside again, at the very idea of being safe out there... somehow. Or maybe I’m wrong and it’s just misplaced adrenaline. Either way, I take a deep breath and unlock the staff door.
The sun is high in the sky and bright. I blink my eyes against it a few times before taking in the scene before me. The side of the store is no longer in shadow, as it had been last night, but I’m still stricken with an odd sense of déjà vu. That same old man, the Passive who looked like he could use a walking cane, is heading in the same direction as the last time I saw him. I find myself wondering if he’s completing some sort of a circuit around the building, or if he simply stopped on the spot and is only now continuing on.
I decide to ignore the man, and close the door behind me before making my way to the edge of the building. I peek carefully around the corner, once again assessing the state of the parking lot. The Passives are scattered around, as usual, and just as numerous as before. But this time, instead of simply assessing the Passives themselves, my eyes scan the parking lot for a means of escape. It wouldn’t hurt to have an exit strategy if I’m to be proven wrong in a minute.
The parking lot’s vast and open: no narrow passageways to bottleneck them into, and no cars to drive away in. T
here’s a single tree, at the far end of the lot, but I really don’t want to go over to it... I can’t face what waits there, not yet.
At least in the store there are lots of places to hide, lots of doors to close, lots of aisles, and chain link to scale. Even if the front doors were wide open, allowing every last one of them to wander through the store day and night, I would still feel safer in there, up high on the Tops, than I do right now, out here in the open. I feel a powerful urge to go back inside the store, and work hard to mentally fight it off. There’s a word for this, when the inside feels safer than the outside... agoraphobia, I think.
Social disorders aside, a small test is probably in order before I go antagonizing a pack of bored zombies. I turn back to the old man. He seems slower than average, judging by his current rate of movement. If this were a normal situation and I wanted his attention, I would simply walk over and tap him on the shoulder, but as it stands, I'm not quite ready for that. Instead, I scour the ground for something that doesn't require the proximity of a shoulder tap. A pointy stick would probably be best, but the first thing I spot is a small pebble.
I toss it gently, the pebble bouncing off of the man's back. This yields no reaction, so I try another pebble, this time throwing it a bit harder. Still nothing. I look around, wishing again for a stick. When none appears, I sneak up behind the man, jab him in the back with my hand, then skitter back a few steps and wait.
He turns around to face me, leading with just his face at first before the rest of his body catches up. He is still favoring the one leg and it scuffles around, following his good leg, until he’s facing me fully. I mentally root my feet to the spot, refusing to retreat quite yet. He glances at me, or at least in my direction, but does not advance. His eyes are dull and expressionless, and I notice that as he looks for me, he moves his whole head instead of just his eyes. Maybe he's like a T-Rex and he can't see me if I stay still. Feeling a bit silly, I wave my arms around to test the theory. The old man's head bobbles slightly as he takes in my sudden movement, but again he does not advance.
Mustering every last ounce of courage that remains in my body, I take a step towards him, then another. I pause just two feet in front of the man, knowing that if I can't complete this test now, with only one Passive in my vicinity, I should just go back into the store and stay there forever.
Contact - real contact - is necessary to fully test my theory before I take to the parking lot like an unsuspecting chicken dinner. I take a deep breath and hold it, then lift my arm up and place it on the man's shoulder.
The man turns his head ever so slightly, and inhales sharply through his nose a few times. I suck in even more air as I realize that he is smelling me.
“I am not a chicken dinner, I am not a chicken dinner,” I whisper over and over again, so quietly that I’m sure he can’t hear me. I bite down on my bottom lip with unnecessary force as the man reaches up with his own arm, placing his hand on top of mine for a moment. Suddenly, he drops his hand, turns away, and continues his walk.
I let out my too-full breath in a loud huff, bending down to rest my hands on my knees and drop my head for a moment. I take a few more steadying breaths, ensuring that I can still remember how to breathe both in, as well as out, then stand up straight again.
I pull off the backpack and reach inside, pulling out the journal and flip quickly to my ‘Taking A Walk’ page to jot down a few notes,
My first test was definitely a success. Obviously. Since I am writing this. Anyway... it was weird though, he definitely saw me, knew I was there, even touched my hand. So, I guess that tosses the ‘invisible’ theory out the window. Maybe ‘unappealing’ is a better theory.
So far, this is all I know for sure: he saw me. He smelled me. He touched me. Then he turned and walked away.
Slightly encouraged by my evident success, I pack up the journal, and then sling the pack back over my shoulders. It’s now or never. Without even a moment of hesitation, I turn and head for the corner of the building, then walk around into the main parking lot. As anticipated, the Passives take little notice of my arrival. I begin my walk at a casual pace, weaving my way around the parking lot almost as aimlessly as the Passives themselves. As the minutes pass, my confidence becomes less of a façade and more a reality.
Over the week, I venture further and further out, making my walks longer and longer, until I am absolutely certain that it is safe to be around the Passives. I observe them daily, and even go as far as to begin interacting with them after the first few days. I tap them on the shoulder or follow them around, all the while making notes in the journal.
It’s not until early evening on the seventh day, when my feet touch down onto crunchy, frostbitten grass, that I realize I have followed a Passive to the edge of the parking lot. I slide the journal back in my bag, then stand there, alternately pressing the right and left toe of my boots into the grass as I stare out towards the edge of town.
A smile finds its way onto my face because this is officially the farthest that I have been from the store since Lockdown Day. The farthest that anyone who was a part of Lockdown Day has been from the store. With the exception of the Ims of course, who left for Middleton some months ago; also, of course, the ones who are now infected, because I really don't know where they all are, so I guess that means they could be farther away too. Before I have the chance to ruin my good mood, I take the first step out of the parking lot and towards Carnassey.
It doesn’t take long to get to the big cliché ‘Welcome to’ sign that marks the edge of town. The sign is plain: black writing on a white board, without any pictures or anything to announce what’s great about this place, or what we’re known for. Or maybe that’s the message… that there’s absolutely nothing special about this town.
The bottom of the sign states that the population is 3,216. That’s obviously not entirely accurate anymore, although I doubt that it was perfectly accurate before, either. I certainly don’t recall anyone running out to change it when I moved here, only eight months before this whole mess started. That was a choice move. I wonder where I’d be if I hadn’t transferred here to help open the new store. Probably living in the MegaMart in Middleton.
I take one last look at the sign. Maybe I should bring a marker on my next walk and correct the sign. Welcome to Carnassey, it could read, Population: Katie.
After another ten minutes of leisurely walking, I reach the small downtown core. As I go, I pass a decent number of Passives, but not as many as I was expecting. Most of the local residents must have been evacuated after all - that is, assuming that none of them are still living here. Although, if anyone were still living in town, it stands to reason that they would have had to try and reach the MegaMart at some point to gather food or supplies, seeing as we were the only place receiving stock before Lockdown Day.
I stand in the middle of the street in the very center of town and spin a slow circle, taking it all in. It looks like a ghost town, only... cheerier. The sun is finally making a comeback, warming the afternoon breeze, and brightening the already colorful little signs and window paintings in storefronts that border the street on both sides. If I didn’t know better, I might think it was simply a lazy Sunday morning, and the stores had yet to open.
It occurs to me suddenly that I have no real plan here today. In fact, I hadn’t really expected to get this far, and now that I’m in town, the only thing that I really want to do is go and see my apartment.
Of course, I haven’t brought my keys, but I figure that getting into my actual apartment should be a breeze. I wasn’t in the habit of using the deadbolt, and I’m sure that I can either jimmy open the door, or failing that, kick it in. The main door, however, is another story. It’s a relatively secure building and breaking a window, or the glass of the big front door, feels wrong somehow, even in a ghost town, so I begin searching for an alternative means of entry, saving senseless destruction as a last resort.
I start with the apartment to my immediate right, climb
ing over the short fence and pulling on the sliding door. Nothing. I climb over to the next apartment and do the same with the same result. By the fourth door, I have to fight the urge to feel discouraged, reminding myself that there are twelve ground level apartments to try out before I have to start looking for a big rock.
”Is there no trust?” I ask a small bird chirping in a nearby tree. It offers no clues as to whether any of these doors might be unlocked. “Never mind.”
A passive man seems to be stuck in the patio of the sixth apartment. I skip to the seventh. I’ll check that one only if I really need to. The seventh door rewards my prudence by sliding open when I pull on it.
“Hello?” I call into the empty apartment. Stepping inside, the first thing that I notice is the smell. The air’s stale and dusty, and although it’s not terribly unpleasant now, it’s on its way. The next thing I notice is the state of the apartment. Although not entirely ransacked, it’s pretty obvious that someone had been looking for something in a hurry, leaving cupboards and drawers open and a smattering of personal possessions scattered on the floor. The fridge is wide open, its door adorned with children’s magnets, but no photos. I decide that whoever lived here must have been evacuated and simply had to pack up in a hurry. This assumption comforts me only slightly.
I make my way quickly through the small living room, out the front door, and into the main hallway. Running up three flights of stairs and down to the end of the hall, I finally make it to my own front door. I twist the handle and roll my eyes as it opens immediately. Apparently, I hadn’t even bothered to lock it the last time I was here.
The last time that I was here… wow. I think back to that day, back to the last time that I closed this door, thinking I’d be gone for such a short amount of time that I hadn’t even bothered to lock it behind me. If I’d known what was coming - if I could have known how thoroughly life would change that day, Lockdown Day - would I have gone? Would I have chosen to go to the store, to take in all the bad with the good? All of the horror and loss alongside the joy and love? Or, would I have holed up inside this place... maybe wedged myself into a cupboard so that no one could find me or make me go. If I hadn’t gone that day, I may have been evacuated with the other residents from town. Then where would I be? In Middleton, I suppose. At least that's what the Ims had guessed when they left.
Population: Katie Page 4
