by Tara Ellis
Under the watchful eyes of the whole class, they walk slowly through the room and sit down, a bit dazed. “Tim. Matt. Come and get your new reading assignments,” Ms. Easton says evenly.
They obey without a word and to my relief no one lifts their heads to observe them. “What the hell?” Matt says, disgusted. I cringe at his voice but then quickly recover, trying to see him without moving my head. He’s holding the book out to the teacher, obviously upset about the change of subject matter.
“Matt, you will remove yourself immediately to the nurse’s office,” she tells him, snatching the book out of his hand. “You’re obviously not feeling well.” She was on her feet and standing in front of him before I even realized it.
Matt was taken by surprise by her speed too, because he stumbles back several feet and then leaves without another word. Tim goes to his seat and starts reading, having decided it was best to blend in.
The next three classes are much the same but without any outbursts. It was easy for me to pick out the other students that were like me, because they didn’t know yet what was at stake. Most of them were complying, but noticeably concerned. I saw several kids trying to leave the school in between class, but they were being stopped at the doors by staff and led to the front office.
I have been trying to find and talk with some of my friends throughout the day who are normal. In art class, there are three girls from my soccer team. Two of them I know well and as soon as I determine that Lisa isn’t a Shiner, I start planning on how I can slip her a note. I manage to get a message scribbled down and am waiting for us to be told to get our clay projects out. As I’m working up the nerve to do it, she walks over to one of the other girls that is a close friend of hers and makes the disastrous decision to plead with her. I watch in despair as Lisa starts crying and the teacher quickly intercedes, ushering her out of the classroom.
I try not to think about where she went and just make it through the rest of the class. Ten minutes before the bell is to ring for lunch, my art teacher hands out a simple questionnaire. There are only three questions; have you been infected with the super flu. Have your family members been infected with the super flu. List the names of any family members that have not been infected yet. My pulse quickening again, I answer yes to the first two and leave the last one blank. I don’t want to get sent to the office too.
We’re handing them back in and the speakers chime, indicating the first announcement for the day. I have a bad feeling about this.
“All students and staff will report immediately to the auditorium for a mandatory assembly,” Principal Sailor states with authority.
Without a word, everyone stands at once as if on cue and I join them, walking single file through the halls towards the gym. At the entrance, we are held up as my teacher hands the stack of answered surveys to someone standing there. After a few minutes, they call out three names. I watch as they fall out of line and hesitantly move forward. They are ushered over to another door and the rest of us continue inside and into the bleachers.
Once seated, I copy those around me and place my hands loosely in my lap, back straight, eyes straight ahead. There are already several hundred of us here, but the large room is eerily quiet. There are a few coughs and a random sneeze but no talking, no shuffling of feet.
Across the gym and on the other end, the kids whose names are being called out gather. While quieter than usual, they are still much louder than the rest of us. They are sitting in groups and talking amongst themselves, some hugging, others are crying. I long to be with them, one of the normal ones. I need the physical contact and comfort that they are giving each other. But at the same time, I have a very bad feeling that’s getting worse by the minute. This can’t be good.
A few minutes later, the last class makes its way into the stands and I’m relieved to see Chris with them. They sit several rows below us and as soon as they settle in, Mr. Sailor strides out to the center of the room.
He stands there for a minute, surveying us, and I’m convinced he’s going to call out my name and send me to the other side. However, he simply clears his throat and addresses us all. “Thank you for your co-operation. Class is dismissed for the rest of the day. It will resume at its normal time tomorrow.” He turns to the normal kids. “You will stay here.” Then back to us. “That is all.”
As he begins to walk away, four hundred students stand as one and we quietly leave the gym in the same order we entered. Caught up in the tide of motion, I take a chance and turn to look back at the group still seated on the other side.
I can see teachers with their hands up, holding them back and telling them to stay seated. As I reach the exit, I notice Heather mixed in with them and her eyes meet mine. I will never forget her fear and my inability to do anything about it.
SIXTEEN
Chris pretty much follows me home and I’m glad for the company. The whole scene has left me a little shaken. All I can think about is what’s going to happen to them. Breaking a rule, I turn my phone on as I’m driving. I try calling one of the police officers that’s stayed close to our family, but when he answers, it’s clear that he’s changed. I don’t know who else to turn to. I claim to have dialed a wrong number and quickly hang up.
As I pull into the driveway, it dawns on me that if Jacob hadn’t made a fuss about it, he would have been at school today, and I’m pretty sure that something similar happened there. The thought causes me to panic and I literally run from the truck and into the house, needing to make sure he’s all right.
“Jacob!” I yell, heading for his room.
“What! What’s wrong?” he calls out from the family room. I spin around and go back the other way, having missed him in my rush. He’s lounging on the couch and has been playing video games, but he’s dropped the controller in alarm at my voice.
“Oh!” is all I can say, kneeling down next to him and giving him a hug. I fight back the tears and manage to smile instead. “Nothing is wrong, I was just afraid you might have left the house again after I went to school. Things are weird and I don’t want you out there. You were right to stay home today.”
First concern and then hope crosses his face. “Does that mean I don’t have to go tomorrow?” he asks.
“Definitely,” I tell him. The sound of footsteps causes me to look up and I see that Chris has come inside. “Hey, Jake, do you think you could give us a few minutes?” I ask. “We need to talk about … school.”
“Sure,” he says good-naturedly, jumping up off the couch. “You made me fall into a pit anyways.” Tossing the controller onto the couch, he calls Baxter to him and goes out the back patio door after saying hi to Chris.
“He’s a good kid,” Chris comments, watching Jacob and Baxter run around the back yard.
“I know. I can’t stop thinking about what might be happening to him right now if I had made him go to school.”
“Maybe nothing,” Chris counters, sitting down next to me. “We just don’t know. They could all be back at school tomorrow.” We look at each other silently, neither one of us wanting to put into words any other possibility. It’s just too hard to contemplate or acknowledge.
I tell him about my failed phone call, afraid I might have drawn more attention to us. He also admits to calling his friend’s parent.
“I saw Kevin over there in the gym, Alex. I had to do something. His dad answered and when I explained it to him, do you want to know what he said? ‘Don’t worry Chris, he’ll be okay now. How are you feeling?’ I hung up.” Silence settles over us, the atmosphere heavy.
I take out the sheet of paper with my dream’s description on it, and we start to talk about that instead. For some reason I focus on caves and if there are any in the area, while Chris is convinced the stream and rifle are key elements. After less than an hour, his cell phone rings and to his surprise it’s his mother.
“Hello?” he says hesitantly, while shrugging at me. His expression changes from uncertain to bewildered. “I’m at a friend�
�s house. They had a schoolbook that I need.” He listens for another minute, his frown deepening. “Oka—” But apparently the call is cut off, because he doesn’t get to finish.
“What was that all about?” I ask, as he sits staring at his phone, deep in thought.
“I’m not sure. She asked where I was and wanted to know why I wasn’t at home. This is the first time since coming back that Mom has even showed an interest in me. She’s acting like there’s something planned that I know I’m missing, but there isn’t. I don’t even know why she’s home this early. The office doesn’t close until five.”
“She hung up on you?” I press, a little worried about his situation. Maybe Kevin’s dad called her.
“Kind of. She said to come home now and hung up before I could even answer. I don’t know, Alex. I should probably do what she says if I don’t want to raise even more suspicion.”
“Yeah, I guess. But leave if there’s anything too strange, okay? And will you text me later and let me know you’re all right?” I feel silly after saying it, but I’m finding that my friendship with him is part of a very thin thread holding me together right now. It wouldn’t take much to break it.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m not going to stick around if I feel threatened. As far as texting, I don’t think we should do it anymore. I was thinking about that earlier today. If there is some sort of mass organization happening among the people that are infected, they might have the ability to track or monitor us.
“Maybe I’m being a little paranoid, but I haven’t seen hardly anyone using their cell phones or any other electronics. Have you? Maybe computers, but none of the hand-held devices. It’s almost like they’re already synced and don’t need to text or communicate that way anymore.”
His comments remind me of the thread I read, so I tell him about it while he gets his backpack. “So I don’t think you’re being paranoid, it’s probably a smart idea.” I comment as he goes out to his car. “Can you just call me briefly then on the home phone?”
Smiling, he gets in his Honda and starts it up. “I’ll call you, don’t worry. We’ll see each other tomorrow, and we can compare our lists after school. We need to start contacting other normal people over the weekend. We have to figure out what to do and where to go. Let me know if you interpret the dream or message, because I think that’ll be the key to it all.”
Nodding, I wave as he drives away and go back to the house. As I get to the door, I notice Jacob and Baxter standing nearby. Jake’s looking at me strangely and it makes me wonder how much he overheard.
He follows me inside and hovers as I go to the fridge. “What were you guys talking about?” he asks, sitting at the kitchen table. “What dream?”
Getting some water, I turn to face him. He’s looking at me expectantly, and I’m conflicted over whether to involve him in it or not. A pressure on my foot gets my attention and I look down to see Baxter sitting on it. He’s looking up at me with such wide eyes that it startles me. A low, back-of-the-throat growl builds in him until he barks once at me. He’s never behaved this way.
“Okay,” I whisper at him. “I get it.” Satisfied, he moves away and goes back to Jacob, lying at his feet.
Jake doesn’t quite know what to make of it and is looking back and forth between Baxter and me. “Get what?” he asks.
“Jacob, I have a question for you. That dream we were talking about? I had it last night. I believe that someone is trying to tell me something in my dreams. But I’m having a hard time figuring it out.”
“Tell you something about what?”
“About what’s happening with the flu and Mom and why people are acting so weird,” I try to explain.
“Oh. All right. So tell me about it.”
His ease at accepting what I told him makes me envious. Why can’t it be that simple for me? “So, Jake, you know what hieroglyphics are, right? The ancient picture words that Dad told us about?” When he nods, I continue. “So if Dad were to draw out a series of hieroglyphs meant to tell me something that basically said: Chosen, go out or leave, mountains, forest, archer, duck in flight, burial. What do you think it would mean?”
He looks at me with a blank expression. “It says what?”
Trying not to get discouraged, I get the paper from the family room and place it on the table in front of him. “Here, these are the pictures. I wrote out beside it what it means. Maybe it’ll help if I tell you my dream?”
He studies the pictures, his brow knitted in concentration. “I think you should just tell me your dream,” he says in agreement.
I explain it in detail, everything I can remember. When I’m done, I can tell that something has caught his interest. “Why did you say that this was from Dad?” he asks.
“I don’t understand it all myself Jake, but I found an old book of Dad’s that had a message in it for me. That’s how I found that note. So I believe that he’s trying to tell me something. Chris thinks that it will only make sense to me. That it’s a personal reference between Dad and me. You were always a part of our time together too, though. So what do you think? How is an archer with a gun, shooting a duck, relevant to us?”
His face brightens and he jumps up from the table. “I know!” he says excitedly, grabbing my arms. “It’s totally obvious!” he yells, hopping up and down.
My hope’s rising, I can’t believe it was that easy. “What?” I demand, his energy rubbing off on me. I can’t help but jump around with him.
“The duck blind of course!” he says, spreading his hands in a “duh” motion. “He wants you to go to the duck blind!”
Yes! That’s it, he’s right. Relief sweeps through me and I understand now why there was something familiar about it all. I hug Jacob and pick him up off his feet, spinning him around the kitchen, both of us laughing. Baxter gets excited too and starts prancing around us barking.
“How could I have been so stupid?” I ask no one in particular. “And why didn’t I ask you sooner?” I say to Jacob, his smile making his pride apparent.
Several years ago, after Jake was born, my dad built this incredibly good duck blind. He took Jake and me hunting there many times over the years, but neither of us has gone back since his death. Mom hates hunting, so she’s never seen it. I don’t think she even knows what it is, let alone where.
One of the now retired lieutenants on the police force owns the fifty acres of hunting land a couple of miles from our house. To get to it, you drive to a trailhead and then hike or bike another mile to a less worn trail. This takes you back to a stream and wetland area. From there it’s another un-marked trek into the woods and the duck blind. It’s built from surrounding material but very solid. We spent many hours huddled in there, waiting and watching for the ducks. There must be something buried there, hence the burial hieroglyph.
Filled with hope and urgency, I start to reach for the truck keys. I’m ready to go right now and find it. I stop myself though, realizing that no matter how much I want to get to it as soon as possible, I have to be really careful. It’s already nearly four thirty. Mom will be home in another hour or two and I would never even make it there before dark. It’s been years since I walked those vague trails and there aren’t any houses for miles. I would be sure to get lost. I’ve got to be smart about this.
Tomorrow morning we’ll go. Tonight, when Chris calls, I’ll fill him in and we can meet early in the morning. “Thanks, Jake. I’ll have to sneak out there tomorrow during the day. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it right away. I promise to tell you what I find though.” I focus my attention back on my brother, thankful for his help.
“I’m not a baby anymore you know,” he says quietly.
“I know you aren’t, Jake. I’m sorry if I treat you like one.” I mean it, too. He hugs me again, accepting my apology and then asks what’s for dinner.
Grateful for the distraction, I get out all the ingredients to make spaghetti. It’s one of the other few dishes I can manage. Looking at the clock, my s
tomach knots up again as I realize I’ll have to face my mom soon. I start moving faster, hoping to be done and hidden away in our rooms long before she gets here.
SEVENTEEN
Friday morning comes quickly. Rolling out of bed, I am both excited to finally be doing something but scared at the same time.
Chris called me last night like he had promised, but we were only able to talk briefly in whispered conversation. Sitting in my closet, I told him Jake had figured it out and we needed to meet up early to go for a long hike. I was hesitant to give too many details over the phone, his paranoia rubbing off on me.
Chris immediately pointed out the big flaws in my plan. Both of our mothers weren’t leaving for work until around eight a.m. so if we failed to show up at school and they called, our bluff would be up, and we’d be out of time. I feel like it’s already borrowed. It’s becoming obvious that we’re going to have to leave and it’ll most likely be this weekend. I don’t know what will happen to Jake or us if we stay, but I’m not willing to hang around and find out. Before we leave though, we need to get to the duck blind, contact as many other non-Shiners as we can, and of course come up with a plan on where we’re going to go.
One possibility is an old hunting cabin Dad took us to a few times that usually sits vacant. I’m not even sure who owns it, or if it’s still standing. It’s in the middle of nowhere deep in the Cascades and not many people know about it. There’s a creek nearby with fresh water and a big fireplace in the main room. Both Jake and I can hunt and fish so I think we could at least ride out the summer months there if we need to.
I reluctantly agreed with Chris to wait until after school. One more day of trying to carry out this charade, but it’s necessary. We can’t run now. If what we find at the duck blind leads us back to my house, and something in my dad’s possessions, we’ll need access to it. Never mind the fact that Jacob will be at home and we can’t take any chances with him either. Just one more day.
