by Samie Sands
Mike laughs. “What do you mean? You ate all that, I only had that one.” He points to the smallest can. “You just kind of went wild, eating really fast without stopping…” He trails off when he sees my bewilderment. A range of strange emotions cross his face—confusion, denial, anger, and then a kind of smooth acceptance.
I gulp down the fear that’s risen in my throat. I’ve got no idea what to make of all this. All I can really think about as I lie down is my itchy, itchy skin.
So, so itchy.
The sun brings a strange kind of relief in the morning. I don’t think I’ve slept at all, and I ache right down to my bones because of it. I can’t wait to get moving again because just lying here seems pointless, but first I need to eat, and I’m craving bacon badly!
Mike chatters animatedly as we walk, but he gets no response from me. I couldn’t care less about a single word that comes out of that stupid guy’s mouth. I think the pain in my joints, the lack of sleep, and the constant starvation is making me cranky, and unfortunately for him, there’s no one else to direct it at. The more he tries to engage me, the more I purposely ignore him. It’s as if I’m asking for a fight with him, as if an argument will give me the opportunity that I need to blow off some steam.
I keep my eyes fixed on my feet, being awkward, so I have no idea how long we’ve been walking, how far we’ve gotten, or where we are. For some reason, being stubborn has become much more important than knowing all of these things.
I’m constantly on the knife edge of utter starvation. I’m convinced that it must be time to eat again, and that Mike is keeping me ravenous on purpose. It gets so bad that I force myself to glance up to actually demand food, but before I get a chance to speak, a weird zinging sensation crops up in my stomach. I hold my breath, convinced that I’m hallucinating. I feel like I’m in some bizarre cartoon, where people turn into hot dogs or ice cream because you’ve let yourself get that hungry. The smell of him, it reminds me of pork. I’ve never been aware of the scent of another person before, but now it’s all I can think about.
“Are you ready for lunch?” Mike is completely oblivious to my insane emotions as he turns around to face me.
I nod, remaining tight-lipped. Maybe I can get past this madness when some food is inside me.
As we eat, I instantly start to feel better. Though I can’t help but notice that it doesn’t seem to matter how much I eat, I never feel full or sated, I’m noticeably less stressed, so that’s something.
While we’re stopped, I decide to check on my wound once more. I’ve been taking painkillers and antibiotics regularly, trying to keep the infection that’s clearly within it at bay, but it feels like it’s getting increasingly worse, not better.
As I tug my top to the side, I’m faced with a revolting, pus-filled, leaky, extremely bloody mess. It’s not normal that it’s still bleeding this much. I roll my eyes to the sky, trying to keep the tears away. As I move my head, I spot Mike looking at me with pity in his eyes, which fills me with such a burning, passionate rage that it takes all I have not to punch him.
***
Time is all starting to roll into one moment. We keep up the same routine without failure: walk, sleep, eat. What other choice do we have? I’ve got no idea how long we’ve been going. Sometimes, when the exhaustion really gets to me, I can’t even remember where we’re going. What all this is for.
Everything aches—my joints, my muscles, my organs. I’m acutely aware of every single bone inside my body rattling away agonisingly. Mike doesn’t talk. Sometimes I look up and I can’t even see him. I don’t panic though. I know he’s there. I can still smell his odd, overly familiar smell, so I just keep on walking.
This must be what madness feels like. All consuming. Sometimes I want to laugh at how ridiculous this all is, but I know nothing is worth laughing at. There’s nothing funny about what’s going on now.
Food is starting to taste disgusting. The meat that I craved not so long ago now tastes rancid and it doesn’t quell my hunger. Everything I try to force down just tastes like cardboard crap. On top of this, with no warning at all, the awful bursts of rage keep cropping up. It’s overwhelming when this happens; I feel like I could just tear everybody and everything to shreds. Including myself.
When did I become like this? I must have cracked up somewhere along the way, without even noticing it happening. I guess the pressure and grief of everything must have pushed me over the edge. I suppose people don’t spot a breakdown creeping up on them until it’s too late. I never thought I’d be one of those people who’d lose it. Yet here I am, crazy as anything. What other explanation is there?
If I could stop the itching, things might be a little easier for me. I’m so, so itchy all the time. This itch has now spread all over my whole body and it’s so bad now, it’s difficult for me to pick out where the original wound is. I keep trying to scratch this itch, to solve it, but nothing’s working.
It’s all I can think about.
Until suddenly, Mike is gone.
I stop dead where I am as this realisation hits. I don’t know how I know it, but I’m just abruptly aware of the acute loneliness. I’m alone. Everything in my sight is crystal clear for the first time in a very long time. I can see every dew drop on every blade of grass. But not Mike. Mike is no more.
Chapter
Thirty-One
Mike.
Mike.
Mike.
Every step I take, all I can hear is his name lodged into my brain. I can even taste him on my tongue—a sensation I know should be weird to me, but isn’t. The fog has been lifted. I wasn’t in my right mind earlier, that much I know. But that was preferable. I wish that crazy would take me again. This right now, this is the hard part.
My skin is grey. It’s been greying for days and I’ve been desperately trying to ignore it, trying not to notice the pus dripping down my back and the rotting smell that’s becoming me. My mouth feels like sandpaper and my throat is raw. My insides are calling out for something, but I’m not sure what. Or more likely I’m trying to take no notice of it. If I can just make it home, I can get sorted. I can feel a pull in the right direction, so I know I’m going the correct way without even lifting my eyes off the ground. I’m just moving, moving, moving.
The moans of the infected are constantly ringing in my ears. I’m sure that they’re all around me—in fact, I’m positive they are. I try to recreate the fear that I felt before, just to connect myself to the earth, to who I was, but it’s nowhere to be found.
Who I was.
It’s funny that I’m thinking of myself in that way—in the previous. I really need to stop that. It’s all going to be okay in the end. I try to refocus my thoughts, to get off this subject. I think about what I’ve lost and what I need to achieve because of that. Faces swirl around in my mind, and I’m certain that I know who they are, but I can’t place them, I can’t think of any of their names.
A new noise.
This thought jolts through me. What is it? Is that a car engine? It must be. Hide. I need to hide, don’t I? I’m not sure how to. Out of sheer confusion, I stop and wait for death. If it’s going to happen, then there’s nothing I can do to stop it now. I listen, trying to hear the familiar sound of gunshots ringing out, but instead I’m met with a horrible, long, ringing silence that seems to last forever. After a few seconds, I give in, leaning back against the brick wall behind me, and I weep.
***
I open my eyes. When did I fall asleep? I have no idea where I am, but a building lies behind me. Is that a school? My brain always takes a while to connect in the morning, especially when I’m in a new place, so this familiar grogginess is actually comforting. But really, how did I end up here?
I force myself into a standing position, even though it hurts like hell to do so, and take a look around. There are definitely more infected than there were yesterday, I’m sure of it. Why are none of them bothering with me? They aren’t even acknowledging a human in their midst
. Do I look so much like them now that they totally ignore me? I try making a lot of noise, just to experiment—admittedly a very dangerous experiment—but I get nothing. A couple glance my way, but just barely. I must be so disgusting and grubby now that I’m not even worth eating.
The next thing I’m aware of is ice cold running water pouring over my head. Why am I standing here, under this gush, like my legs are made of lead? Maybe I thought it would be like a shower? Was I that desperate to clean myself? It’s absolutely freezing; what was I thinking? And why can’t I remember what led me here? Is this a side effect of the exhaustion or the wound? I really need to get it together.
I suddenly realise that I’m dry again as I walk. Time must have passed once more without me noticing. I think I’m just walking because I don’t know what else to do. This has been the sole purpose of my life for so long; I can’t even remember how else I used to spend my time. I can feel that pull again, deep in my stomach, and I follow it because I know it’ll lead me to where I’ve got to go.
Walk.
Walk.
Walk.
I know that others are walking alongside and behind me, but I don’t know if they’re infected or healthy. I’ve become weirdly desensitised to it all. Logic would dictate that there are no other humans out here, but as I’m not in direct trouble right now, I’m not too bothered about figuring it out.
I spot a girl, maybe six or seven years old. She’s fallen over before me, in the middle of the road. I need to help her. That’s what people do, help children, isn’t it? Others are just stepping over her, ignoring her. But I won’t do that. I’m going to help her. There’s a tight knot of anxiety forming and twisting in my chest. I need to help her.
I try to pick up the pace and get to her before anything bad can happen, but my sluggish body can only do so much. As I get nearer to where she lays, I feel the familiar rage overtaking me. I’m suddenly angrier than I’ve ever been in my life. How can people just leave this sweet innocent girl like this? In the middle of the road, potentially injured, definitely in a lot of danger! God, the human race is so fucked up. I can’t be the only one who can see that she needs someone to look after her.
That’s when I realise, with a sickening crunch, that she hasn’t fallen. Both her legs have broken. And not just broken, snapped off her body. And she’s growling. Moaning and growling just like the others…
***
I look up. How long have I been asleep? Did I pass out? Did the sight of all that blood from a small innocent child cause me to faint? Was it her disconnected legs? The fact that she was infected? The shock? But no, I’m nowhere near where I was before. Where the hell am I? The sun is coming up, which means a whole lot of time must have passed. I must have simply gone to sleep at some point. I’ve been so tired, it’s very likely that I just don’t remember that part of the day happening. I’m relieved to have an explanation for my behaviour. I even smile to myself, feeling pleased that I’ve solved the mystery.
I suddenly hear a man shouting, scared. Where is he? Is it Mike? I can help him if he’s in danger. I flick my eyes wildly around, desperately looking. Finally I can see him! I wave, trying to get his attention, trying to separate myself from the rest of the herd surrounding me so he’ll know that I’m okay, that I’m not like them. But I quickly find that I can’t keep my arms up for very long; they’ve grown tired already. I decide to shout, but nothing but a low cry comes out from my mouth. I haven’t used my voice for so long, it must have gone. Or maybe it’s because my throat is so damn dry.
He’s running, racing straight past me, sheer terror plastered across his entire face. He’s ignoring me? But I can help him, I know I can. Why can’t he see that? I can help him flee from these monsters so he doesn’t meet the same fate as the others. So he can escape the fate that met all the other people I’ve been with. I run after him, as fast as my ailing body will let me, but I’m finding it really difficult to reach him. How can he run so fast? He’s like lightning. It’s not normal!
A moment later, I’m stopped dead in the road. Why did I stop running? When? Where is the man? I look around, trying to reconnect with what’s happening. That smell, it’s so…I look down at the ground. There are about twenty infected, all tearing at something and feasting. I need to get away from here before they notice me and I become the next meal. I just need to move.
But the smell…the smell draws me in. I can’t remember the last time I ate, so I must be starving. I look closer, no longer scared, curiosity taking over. Is it an animal? Would that be so different from eating meat? I know it would be raw, but surely that’s better than nothing. A rush of revulsion takes me over entirely when I realise that it’s him. That man. I recognise his green t-shirt from the blur that ran past me before. I didn’t get to him in time. I didn’t save him. Again I’ve failed and now they’re eating him.
I back away, shaking my head vigorously. This is awful; it’s the worst thing I’ve ever witnessed in my entire life.
No.
No.
No!
But the next time I’m conscious, I’m alongside them, pulling out his intestines and organs and stuffing them into my mouth as if they’re the most delicious things that I’ve ever consumed before.
I push myself backwards, disgusted at myself. I try to vomit but can only dry heave. What is happening to me? I’m revolting. I’m worse than the infected. They don’t know what they’re doing. I do. I’m nothing like them, so why am I behaving the same?
Why was I eating the remains of a human being?
I want to cry. I need the tears to pour down my cheeks to prove to myself that I feel bad about this, but it’s as if my insides have completely dried up and there’s nothing there. This is madness. This is insane. How have I let myself get this hungry?
In the end, I accept that no emotion is coming, so I decide to do the only sensible thing and start walking once more.
I’m near home now.
This thought keeps bubbling up inside of me, pushing everything else aside. Home. I don’t know how I’ll face my family after what I’ve become, but I can only hope they’ll bring me back to myself. I’m praying that being among the familiar faces and surroundings will help me return to the Leah I once was.
I won’t be able to hide the massacre I’ve created, though. It’s all over me. I’ll have to explain that away and that isn’t going to be easy.
***
I wake. I stand. I’m surrounded by the infected, hundreds of them it seems. They’re all banging on a door. A building. The church. Huh? Seems weird to me. Why the church? What could possibly be here? Then, before I know it, I’m with them, hammering on the door, the smell of flesh emanating from the inside becoming too much to bear.
Suddenly, I’m at the end of the street. If I squint, I can see my parents’ house. I’ve finally made it where I need to be. I wait for the happiness that I expected to feel to occur somewhere within me, but I remain stoic and numb.
I walk. Just keeping on moving until I’m there, at the door. For a long time, I haven’t expected this moment to ever happen, so I don’t know how to process the fact that it has. I stand across the street, just staring into the window. Just waiting. I’m weirdly uneasy, unsure of my next move. Do I try and get their attention or just walk forward and open the door, act normal as if this is just another day? Why am I so awkward with this?
Before I can make a decision, my brother Felix spots me. He stands up, moving towards the window, distress etched across all of his features. He waves frantically and beckons me in, and my feet gladly obey. I realise now that I just didn’t know how they were going to react to me and my appearance. I must look exactly like one of them now, and I was afraid they wouldn’t want me like this. I’m absolutely covered in blood and I must be so dirty by now. It’s so comforting to know that despite everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve done, my family will still accept me and help me heal.
As I crash through the door, I fall readily into my fat
her’s arms, relief and warmth rushing through me. I’ve never been so happy in my entire life. When he pulls me back to get a good look at me, the smile on my face is the biggest and brightest I can physically manage. I can see the worry in his eyes as he scans my features and it suddenly hits me hard what I must have put them through by disappearing during the Lockdown the way that I did. I try and convey my apology in my expression because I know that as soon as I open my mouth to talk, the tears will start, and once I open that floodgate, it’ll be a long time before it shuts again.
I eventually tear myself away, desperate to see my mum. She’s the only face I haven’t looked at yet, and as soon as I do, all will be complete. Everything I’ve been through will finally having meaning and make sense. My eyes finally meet hers and my instant thought is how much older she looks. Shock reverberates through me as my brain recollects a memory of her telling me she was unwell. How ill is she? Or is this all because of me and the stress I must have put her through? Happiness rapidly gives way to guilt as I move towards her, desperate to hold and comfort her. I’ll never be able to say sorry for everything I’ve done wrong. Nothing I do will ever be enough, but I need to try.
She immediately backs away as I near. I’m confused by her reaction; is she mad? She’s never really been angry at me before; I’ve always done as I’ve been told, never given her any reason to yell. I’ve never been forced to witness this side of her, and I really don’t like it at all. I walk towards her until she ends up cowering against the wall, I can’t understand what I’ve done to cause such an adverse reaction from her. She’s actually trembling.
“Please. Stop.” She whispers so quietly I can barely make out the words, but she may as well have screamed them for the pain they cause me. “I know what you are.” I try and get closer, just so I can hear her better, but she recoils so forcibly that I think better of it and just attempt to strain my ears. “I wish you weren’t, you’re my only daughter. I hate this.” She stops and tries to catch her breath. She flicks her eyes between Dad and Felix. “We can all see it, just look at her. She’s infected.” She spits these words out, as if they’re impossible to say.
