Dead Woman's Journal

by Ann Christy

  When it got close enough, Paul looped a rope around its neck—and what a comedy of tragic errors that was—and brought it close enough that I was able to stuff a giant rag in its mouth with a broomstick. We shouldn’t have done that.

  Martin examined it as closely as he could, muttering names of various diseases, then discarding them. Through all the rips in its shirt, we could see swollen black bulges under the arms and around the neck. Bloody snot bubbled out of its nose with every breath. It was only when I felt the fine spray touch the hand I had on the broomstick that we realized it was spewing tiny droplets everywhere. With me closing off its ability to breathe through its mouth, it was blowing hard out of its stuffed up nose.

  That was enough for Martin to hiss in a panic that we should let it go. I yanked out the broomstick, but the rag stayed in place. When I released that broomstick, it took a big, angry breath and spewed bubbles and blood and snot all over us. Paul let go of the rope and Gerald tossed a chunk of meat. Then he kept tossing them, each one a little further away, until the thing was on a path toward the middle of the field again.

  We all washed like our lives depended on it, which it very well might. As to what disease the thing has, we can’t be sure without advanced medical equipment, but Martin told us all in a very worried tone that it could be many different diseases, including plague.

  Plague. As in, the Black Death that emptied Europe. Yes, I just wrote that.

  Apparently, plague in this part of the country isn’t entirely unheard of, though it’s more common in the Midwest. Mostly, it’s spread through squirrels, of all things. And given that the monsters have cleared out most of our impressive squirrel population, and they certainly don’t cook them or practice safe butchering, it’s not impossible that the plague has infected our stumbler.

  Of course, he went through all his research files and came up with a list as long as my arm of other things it could be. While we’re waiting to see if what the stumbler has is contagious, we’re trying to match up disease symptoms from the list. The problem is, how do you match up symptoms when the nanites keep healing part of the symptoms, but not others? It’s clear that the stumbler should be dead, but it’s not.

  If it’s plague, then we’re toast. Or maybe we are. Who knows. Martin said that plague isn’t nearly as catching as the movies suggest, but there are multiple types of plague and some are more easily passed than others. Some of them can be transferred through droplets, like the ones that fell on us from the stumbler. Given the many wounds on us in various stages of healing, there’s a real possibility we got those droplets inside open scratches and bites. Even all the bursted blisters we’ve gotten from yard work might be enough to trap the disease. We’re not sure what we should do.

  It could be the flu, a really bad one. It could be tuberculosis. It could be cancer. It could be none of those things and simply a brain injury of some kind that’s messed up his facial bones enough to cause bleeding from the ears, nose, and mouth. It could be anything.

  Even so, everyone made sure there was enough flea medicine for the dogs and applied a dose just in case. Plague can spread through fleas. Can’t be too careful at this point.

  Day 31 - Late Morning

  Yesterday I didn’t write, because it was a busy day. I barely sat down. Martin told us we should all remain separate from each other for a few days, just in case. That’s all fine and dandy, but we’ve got a lot of new seeds planted in the ground and more ground only half prepared. Given the situation, we tended only the yards nearest us. I waved at the others, but shouting would have been a bad idea, so it was a fairly silent day.

  In a way, it gave me the creeps. It was like a preview of what it would be like to be alone after the end of the world. I really don’t want to experience that.

  Rather than do the things we would normally do together, I did something that might be considered stupid. It was after I’d done my watering and hoeing for the day, burning up my morning with labor until it got too hot. Actually, now that I think about it, it might have been the heat that made me think of this.

  Given when I planted the watermelons, the earliest ones should be ripening. I know, watermelons? Like I wrote before, they’re basically nature’s sports drinks. We need the seeds. The idea that we might have sickness to deal with made easily digested electrolytes a little too hard for me to pass up.

  If I save seeds, then we can plant them here next year. Or they can. Or you can. Whatever.

  Anyway, I let Gerald and Susan know from across the street. Neither thought it was a good idea, but after I explained, I could tell they wanted those seeds too. Yes, I’d love to eat some fresh watermelon, but what I care about are the seeds.

  So, yeah, I went into the forest.

  Now, I didn’t go through the field or anything stupid like that. Instead, I went out through the barrier and down our road, then into the forest at the trailhead. Holy mackerel, what a nightmare! There weren’t that many monsters, but there were some and they were nasty. I think there must have been some sort of military action nearby, because most of the ones I saw were wearing camouflage. They were also carrying their fair share of bullet wounds and wide-open torsos.

  I don’t think I’ll mention this part in too much detail to the others.

  You might wonder how I can simply run out there without backup yet have so much trouble near our houses. It’s simple. I wasn’t fighting these monsters. I was running past them, and I didn’t have to worry about anyone else that might be attacked. That narrows the scope of my problem. And I was running very fast.

  Once on the trail, I slowed some because I didn’t want to be loud. I wanted as much time as possible with the melons too. I saw only one monster near the trail and that one was in no shape to do much. It didn’t have a face. I heard more of them, but nothing came close to me. The trail I was on is the shadiest of all the trails, so sheltered by the dense treetops that it seemed no more illuminated than any other part of the forest. If light draws them, then this trail isn’t one that will attract the monsters.

  Luckily, I also knew exactly where the clearings were, and the melon clearing was closest.

  I didn’t pop out directly, because the clearing would be a natural place for them to congregate. It turns out there were monsters there, but not so many. One monster was tripping over the melons, falling down then picking himself back up, then falling again.

  The entire clearing was awash in flies, broken melons, and the sickly-sweet smell of fruit fermenting in the sun. I could have cried. Also, I wasn’t sure that the monster might not be another sick one. That’s a concern now. Given the tripping and falling, I had to consider it. Was it blind also? I tried to see if there was any hint of those strange, blackish marks on its skin, but it was too filthy for me to tell.

  The field was awash in ruin, but I could see dark green pieces of substantial size, which means at least a few of the melons might have gotten ripe before being smashed. That would mean seeds. I needed seeds.

  I guess my clearing gardens weren’t so smart after all. Not for the long season crops, anyway.

  While it’s usually not too much trouble to take on one monster, the field complicated things. As I watched, I realized the monster was slipping and falling, not just tripping. The same would happen to me, more than likely. That’s my weakness. I can’t feel the ground like those with feet can, even through their shoes.

  Slipping is the one thing I don’t seem to be able to overcome. I don’t even leave my house when it’s icy without those spiky things for ice on my shoes. Seriously. This could be bad.

  My arms aren’t any stronger than anyone else’s and when I fall, it’s harder for me to get up because I have to do it more with my head than my body. My legs are awesome, but I don’t feel them like people feel their own legs. I get sensations, yes. The feedback is transmitted up to my brain so that I can use my legs, but that’s not the same as truly feeling them.

  The thing in the field looked hungry. Gaunt and thin, it wa
s in no better shape than any other monster. It was too risky for me to go out to the field, but what if I lured it out? If I simply stood up so it could see me, then it would scream for food and I’d have a lot more visitors, so that was out.

  I looked around and what I saw were pinecones. Hundreds of them litter the area here. It’s always like this, because these trails are nature trails. Most get kicked into the brush, but they’re everywhere all the same.

  I’ll bet you can guess what I did. Yep, I did. I grabbed up a few and started chucking them into the field.

  The first couple didn’t draw any attention, but the third made a sound against a watermelon rind and that monster’s head whipped around like a shot. It was a little unnerving, to be honest. Very predatory looking. I almost gave up the idea right then.

  Eventually, I led it toward my position, but it wasn’t smelling me yet. I think the rotting fruit overwhelmed its sense of smell. It was covered in it, head to toe. When it got close, I detected the change, that slight hunching and shifting that precedes them working up to a scream and a hunt. I knew it had gotten something of my scent. It was out of the field, no more than ten feet from me.

  It was do or die. So, I did.

  I jumped out, kicked straight up and heard its neck snap. It was horrifying. After that, I did what needed doing so it would never get up again. I know I’m glossing over things, making it seem easy, but it wasn’t. There’s really no point describing it. You’ve been out there. You know.

  With the tripping monster now gone and the rest of the field clear, I crept out to the edge of my small field of melons and tried not to puke. The smell of rotting fruit in such numbers is really gross. And the insects! Everything was covered in bugs.

  I found two broken melons close to the edge that seemed ripe. The pale-yellow spot was visible at the bottom of the dark green fruit, the flesh remaining inside still red and shiny. Needless to say, I didn’t hesitate. I pulled out my big plastic bag and scooped out every bit of the red fruit bearing seeds that I could. I wish I would have brought rubber gloves. I didn’t want to ruin my leather ones, so I had to go with bare hands for this job.

  My bag turned out to have almost as many bugs as seeds. Actually, it was probably more bugs than seeds, but whatever. By the time I got back and waved at Gerald to let him know I was home, it was late, well past dinner. I had to be very cautious on the return, so I didn’t draw monsters after me.

  And, I was exhausted. That kind of stress saps every bit of energy out of a person.

  Even so, I have seeds. I plucked out every seed from the mess. Right now, they’re drying and with luck, can be planted next spring. That’s good, right?

  I checked on everyone and so far, so good. We won’t be in the clear for a couple more days, but this is good news. I feel fine too, so I’m counting that a win.

  Day 32 - Midday

  The first thing I did this morning was go and check on the others. I felt fine, but I couldn’t bear waiting around for everyone to get moving. It was early, but manners about early knocks on doors are a thing of the past.

  Gerald and Susan were fine, their dogs as well. Her finger stump itches like crazy she said, but it barely hurts anymore. It’s probably the stitches. The line where the tissue was pulled together and stitched looked very clean and pink to me. The fact that the bite she suffered was through thick work gloves and severed the bone entirely was probably a good thing. Had the mouth of that monster touched flesh instead of a thick glove, it would have bitten her finger off and contaminated her in the process. Given the infections we seem to be getting from the monster mouths, she might have been as bad as Linda.

  She’s in good enough spirits to joke about it, which to me, speaks volumes. The very first thing to go in such situations is a sense of humor, though once the crisis is past, it’s also the first thing to return.

  I did look at their other bites, the smaller grazes and marks of teeth dragged across skin. They all looked good to me, either scabbed over or pink from newly grown skin. Mine are the same way, so I think we’re all on pace to be healed very soon.

  So, just to put things into perspective for you, I was in a good mood when I turned away from their house toward Paul and Martin’s. Hopeful almost. That may seem odd, given the sheer number of graves we’ve had to dig, but I was.

  And then I saw the two pieces of tape in an X on their front door.

  I ran the rest of the way, but stopped at the street. I heard their little dog, Buster, barking as I got near. A curtain upstairs twitched, then the sash went up, and there was Martin. I knew even before he said anything. His face was rounder, puffy almost, and as pale as cream.

  His voice was harsh and croaky when he called out to me. “Don’t come any closer!”

  I stopped where I was, because I understood as well as he did. “Paul too?”

  He nodded, but the way his head hung made me think he might be crying.

  I asked what I should do, what I could do, how I could help, but of course, he said there was nothing. So, I asked him if he knew what this was. What he said made my blood run cold.

  Plague.

  Freaking plague. I now live in a plague neighborhood on a plague street and forty percent of the remaining people in my world are infected with it.

  “Can you survive this?” I asked him, because really, that’s the biggie.

  He shook his head and held up his arm. I had noticed he was wearing a tank top, which is not Martin’s style at all, but when he held up his arm, I understood. Purple marked the skin around his armpits and it looked swollen to me even from where I stood.

  “Buboes,” he said, then winced as he lowered his arm. “We don’t have much time.”

  I had a thousand questions, but most of them would have sounded hard-hearted or selfish, so I didn’t know how to ask them. I wanted to know how to stop the spread, how do I bury them after, and how do I get rid of the disease covering that field? And what about the dog?

  He must have seen those questions in my face, or perhaps his profession simply forced his mind to think of all the what-ifs in the situation. He leaned heavily on the window frame and told me what to do in such matter-of-fact tones that I began to get cold, even though the day was already heating up to be a scorcher.

  I don’t know if I can do it. I’m afraid. And I risk losing the entire neighborhood if anything goes wrong.

  As for now, I have to wait. Waiting is the hardest thing of all.

  Day 33

  Paul has died, and Martin is fading fast. He’s propped himself up in a chair by an upstairs window, so we’ll know when it happens. The dog isn’t barking anymore, and I know what he did. He said it’s not safe to bring him out. I think that’s why he wanted me to toss him the bottle of hydrocodone from Linda’s house. I don’t think he took it. He’s in too much pain for the meds to have been for him. I think he gave the pills to the dog.

  I did the first part of what he told me to do, firing from the shooting room next door at the stumbler. It took a lot of shots before it would stay down. I sprayed the fences with bleach and water, using one of those weed sprayers from someone’s garage. It’s all I can do, but we won’t go near the fences for a long while.

  Day 34

  Martin is dead. Still at the window, but dead. He closed the window at some point last night, for which I’m grateful. His face was grayish-green, and I could already hear the buzzing of flies bouncing off their downstairs windows. Gerald and Susan won’t leave their house at all, so I’m alone. If I catch the plague and die, it doesn’t matter as much. I’m going to die anyway. They aren’t in that boat though, so I’m not mad at them for staying inside, only lonely.

  There’s too much breeze today for doing what needs doing, but I feel like rain is coming soon. A nice summer downpour is what we need, so I’m ready.

  Day 34 - Early Evening

  I just saw the strangest thing. I’m not sure what to make of it, so I’m writing it down. I was dozing in a chair when I heard a noise,
so I got up to look out the windows at our field. One of the monsters was out there, but it was dragging something behind it. Like all the others, it didn’t like the way our field smelled at all, so it crouched and did that sniffing thing they do.

  The weird thing was that it seemed different from the others. It was wasted looking, like it hadn’t eaten, and it looked dead. The only word I can use to describe it is dry. It looked dry, almost desiccated. Through the field glasses, I saw it sink to the ground like it was tired, but then it pulled whatever it was dragging close and started gnawing on it. With the grass so high it was hard to see at first, but I heard clanking.

  Eventually, as the monster sat up and pulled the thing to its mouth, I saw it was a chain. Just a regular old chain. It was licking at it, almost sucking at it, then biting like it was a teething ring. I have no idea why it would do such a thing. Is it trying to break the chain and get free? Perhaps, but it seems to be happy just gnawing at the chain. I have no idea what any of this means. I wish I could ask Martin.

  Day 35 - Morning

  The day is heavy with dark clouds. I didn’t sleep much last night, keeping watch as best I could, dozing off whenever my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. When the stars disappeared, and the air grew oppressive, I knew the clouds were building. I wasn’t surprised to see the sky like this when I woke. I think today might be the day. I can feel the rain waiting and ready to fall.

  The dry monster is still out in the field, still sitting with its chain. I can’t see what it’s dragging clearly because of the high grasses, but I think it’s a railing of some kind. Perhaps it was chained to something and broke free. A shower railing? A safety bar? I don’t know.