by Gwynn White
Dozens of other vignettes emerged from the crowd. Wounded men. Coughing and hacking women—danger! Small children walking rudderless. The aged. The feeble. The mentally challenged. And pets of every stripe. No one wanted to leave without their pets. Dogs were the most visible, but small pet carriers were prolific as well—probably holding back the cats. There were even some big birds on people's shoulders. He couldn't identify many, though he did recognize a Macaw when he saw one.
“I wonder where all these pets go to the bathroom?”
Grandma might have heard the question, but if she did, she kept the answer to herself.
It wasn't far before the path revealed the larger scene beyond the park and well beyond the Arch. The Mississippi River, 2,000 feet across, was a disgusting brown that churned wildly as it flowed under the downtown bridges at high speed. Small boats flitted about in all directions like water bugs, their purpose unclear. Several aircraft buzzed above. Most were military, though some helicopters were probably reporting traffic—an easy job when no cars moved throughout the city.
The spectacle distracted him for a full minute until a weak voice pulled him back.
“I need to get in the shade, Liam.”
He obliged, and hastened back from the crest of the sunny hill toward one of the many tree-lined and shady paths through the park. All the benches were full, but some space remained on the concrete; most people chose to sit under trees in the grass off the walkway. He scanned the trees to find one best suited to Grandma's needs. Some had large groups of scary-looking men under them as if entire biker gangs agreed to meet there. Some had distinct family groups. One had a score of priests and nuns below it. He searched for one with enough free space so Grandma could get the shade she needed without asking people to move. He knew it was a tall order given the size of the crowd, but he was patient.
He settled on an ash tree that shaded a couple of young families, one with a baby stroller, as well as a woman sprawled in the grass near the path. She appeared to be sleeping, which was just fine. She wouldn't give them any trouble.
“Here you go. Shade as promised!”
Grandma didn't say anything.
She has to be exhausted.
As he situated her under the tree, he couldn't help but notice the sleeping woman was closer to his age than he first thought. She wore an elegant black dress, completely out of place in the sweltering heat and humidity of this park-turned-refugee-camp. The knee-length skirt had hiked high up her thigh as she lay on the grass, revealing more than his grandma would consider appropriate for a fifteen-year-old boy to see, for sure. Embarrassed and feeling like a voyeur, he tried to focus on pushing the chair into position, but with the distraction, he drove the wheelchair off the pavement. He felt it drop off the small edge and immediately knew what he'd done wrong.
So did the girl.
“What. The. HELL?”
The girl yanked her hand back and sat up to take stock. She looked like she'd been sleeping a long time. Her long, brown hair was a ratty mess, managed only by the grace of a black headband. Her face, as pretty as it might be, was covered on one side with misplaced locks of hair, dirt, and grass. Her makeup had been smeared, giving her the appearance of sunken cheeks. The green eyes were striking—he had to look away, a decision reinforced by her yelling.
“That was my hand! Who the he—” She broke off, noticing a little old lady in a wheelchair.
“Oh, sorry, ma'am. I meant no disrespect. This wasn't how I expected to wake up.” Looking around, she continued, “Though seeing all these people now, I don't know what I was expecting.”
Grandma was magnanimous. “Please, child, Liam just lost control of my chair—it was an accident. We've been on the road all morning, and we're just looking for some shade.”
“I'm very sorry for running you over.” He pretended to attend to Grandma as he apologized.
As the young woman stood up, he could see she was about his height, maybe a little less than his five-foot, eight inches, and she had an athletic look about her. Her calves had real definition—not that he was looking at them. Her profile reminded him of any number of girls on his high school track team. Something about how they carried themselves gave it away. It was an intangible quality, but he had seen it many times in runners. Was she short or long distance? He'd have to—
“Hey, Crash Cart. You finished?”
Just shoot me know.
“Yeah, I'm uh, just wondering why you're dressed up like that?”
Good save.
She gave him a disapproving scowl but asked a question rather than address his.
“Do you have spare water or anything? I've got nothing but what you see here.” She held out her arms and swished them down and in front of her, as if presenting her clothes as her only possession.
“Grandma has the only water, and we're saving that.”
“Nonsense. Here you go, dear—please take a little.” She pulled a water bottle out of his backpack, which she kept next to her on the ample seat of the wheelchair.
He wasn't surprised. Grandma would try to help anyone she met. She couldn't help the thousands of other people in this park, but she could help this girl.
“Thank you. My name is Victoria.”
“Victoria, huh?” Grandma paused, just for a couple of extra seconds. “My name is Marty, but you can call me Grandma like everyone else seems to do. I'm 104, by the way. You were going to ask. This is my rescuer and great-grandson, Liam.”
He gave her a nod, trying to stay relaxed, but he was deathly afraid he'd say something stupid, or look at her minimal but sufficiently curvaceous chest—
Oh, crap!
He found it impossible not to look. The dress wasn't even low cut, but it was a dress, after all, and it complimented her figure. She adjusted a mobile phone inside her bra. It was too much. He sat down on the pavement next to the wheelchair, kept his eyes forward, and looked at people walking the wide path next to him. But he turned back as she spoke again.
“Thanks for the water. Hope neither of us has the plague.” She followed that with some nervous laughter. She used just a splash of water on her face, and made a desultory effort to untangle her hair, then took a seat opposite him on the far side of the wheelchair. It took everything he had to avoid looking at the legs now stretched on the grass.
“You asked about the dress.”
She breathed a long sigh.
“I'm from Colorado; I came here a month ago. I just graduated from high school and got picked for a pre-med summer internship at a local medical school. I felt lucky they took me, you know, because things have been getting bad for the past several weeks. Fuel shortages. Food shortages. Stuff like that.”
“But when I arrived, they put me right to work. The hospitals are worse than you can imagine ... ” She paused, as if seeing it in her memory. “They're just awful.”
“Anyway, after weeks of things getting worse and worse I had to get away. So two nights ago, when some of my new friends said they were going out to a place downtown, I invited myself along. I'm not twenty-one, but nobody cares anymore.”
He noted she just graduated from high school, so she couldn't be much older than he was.
“We ended up in a place down here,” she pointed north of the city center nearby, “and inside was wall-to-wall packed. I hung with my colleagues and spent a couple of hours dancing, talking, yelling—you know, stuff girls do out on the town. At least in normal times ... ”
Her voice was clear but distant.
“There were tons of drugs and alcohol right out in the open, but that wasn't for me—I don't do either. But the fun and loud music took my mind off things for a while, and when I came up for air it was already two in the morning. I was done.”
Victoria stood up and stepped a few paces away from the tree, then turned around to face them both. She conveyed a nervous energy and seemed to brace herself for the next part.
He got a better look at her, almost daring himself to gaze in her
direction. He had next to no experience around girls in a social setting. He steered clear of them in school. There weren't many girl gamers who enjoyed the types of video games he played, and none of his friends had girlfriends either. He had too many other things to keep himself occupied.
With Victoria, he willed himself to play it cool and actively listen and nod, wondering if his embarrassment showed. However, he was struck by her silver chain with a small cross hanging around her bare neck. He couldn't define the reaction to it, but he found himself less intimidated, and could look at her without most of the usual awkwardness. He tried to understand where the feeling had come from as she continued her story.
“So, several of us were preparing to leave when we heard a 'pop pop pop' over the blare of the music. We saw the front security guy stagger-step our way, his gun still in his hand. He was being chased by ... some very sick people. Then things got out of control.”
Victoria seemed shaken as she recalled her tale, but it was already familiar to him after his morning. The plague victims had gone insane—become zombies, if you fancy that term, he thought—and had found a nice cache of fresh meat inside the noisy nightclub.
“I saw those sick people come in, so I ran the other way—out the back door. No way I was going to touch those bat-stuff-crazy infected; they had the double-Ebola already.” She hesitated. Her voice was a broken whisper. “I didn't tell anyone. I just bolted. I left them.”
She spoke with real sadness. “And outside was no better. A few people stood around smoking as the first of us tumbled into the alleyway. I got there just in time to see a couple of infected harass them, too. So I kept on running.”
She pointed to the north again, then motioned toward the central part of downtown. “I headed that way. I broke the kitten heels off these shoes so I could run even faster.” She looked down to her black shoes, now covered in scratches and road grime from her escape.
“Nearly all the lights were off here in downtown at two in the morning. It was eerie, to say the least. The lights of the Arch were still on, so I joined a small group also trying to get here. Along the way, plague victims continually seeped out of the darkness to attack us. Guys tried to fight them—to protect us girls, I suppose—but they always ended up getting brought down. Since we had no weapons, all we could do was run.”
She got quiet once more. “God help me, I ran. I left all my friends behind. I kept running. I betrayed everything I believed about being a good Christian. A good person. I didn't try to save anyone but myself. How selfish am I?”
He didn't know how to respond. He wasn't religious, but he could respect the devout of any faith. She had taken her desperate running as a sign of weakness in her faith, while most people—including him—would see her actions as just the opposite. It wasn't like she could carry the slower people on her shoulders.
He looked up at Grandma, suddenly aware of the implications. Would he be forced to run and leave her behind? Could he leave her behind? The thought had crossed his mind a few times, though Victoria's plight made it all the more real.
“I'm not sure how long I kept going. It felt like a bad dream. I ran all the way to the river's edge before I stopped. I wanted to jump in and just float away, but after what I'd seen in the shadows, the black water scared me too much. I began to wish I would have made even a token effort to save someone else.”
She shook her head, as if tossing out the bad thoughts.
“I was so amped up that first night, I was scared to be alone. I got away from the water and walked around aimlessly in the small crowds under the Arch until dawn. Eventually, I found myself staying close to the police officers near the edge of the city. At least I knew they had guns and could protect me. Several times they did.”
“In the late morning, tornado sirens began to wail. The panic they caused down here was incredible. People scattered in all directions. I watched as some jumped in the river only to get washed away. Many people left the park; others came in. I was one of those who left. I tried to get back to my dorm, but it only took a few close encounters to realize I'd have to wait under the protection of the police down here, or I'd end up dead. By the time it got dark, I was safely back inside the park. I tried to find someone in charge so I could ask what to do next—but that person doesn't exist, apparently.”
A soft laugh.
“The last thing I remember was collapsing next to this tree, right here. I sat down to lean myself against the trunk and fell asleep instantly. I woke up when you ran me over.” She pointed at him, but without much hostility this time. Maybe even a wisp of a smile.
“I'm sorry. I'm unloading on you. I just needed someone to talk to. A confession, I guess.”
“That's OK, dear. Liam and I are good listeners.”
Victoria looked around again, as if getting her bearings. “How did all these people get here? Where are they going? Is anyone helping the sick? Is anyone rescuing those still trapped in the buildings downtown? Where are the medical teams?”
Grandma answered, “Sweetie, I think you know more than we do.”
Victoria crossed herself, “Then God help us all.”
Grandma responded with a similarly solemn, “Amen.”
They settled in after Victoria gave them a little more backstory. He also told her of their adventures, up to the point where they reached the Arch. She seemed impressed he was able to get his great-grandmother safely to this point, which made him feel proud, despite all the doubts he'd had along the way.
Grandma fell asleep as they traded details of their stories, and the afternoon crept on. He and Victoria sat in the grass, a bit away from Grandma so she could rest and recover in relative peace. The crowd was thick everywhere now but was very subdued, given the situation. From time to time, they heard gunshots on the periphery of the grounds. He assumed it was the police cordon being tested by the infected. He couldn't see anything nearby to suggest zombies were in the park … yet.
“So what are you guys going to do next? Are you going to try to get over to Illinois?”
He looked out through the line of trees and could barely make out the two bridges that bracketed the Gateway Arch grounds. He didn't see traffic moving in either direction. He was pretty sure they were closed. He hadn’t mentioned that to Grandma as he didn't want to worry her with all the other problems they were wrangling.
“I don't think the bridges are open anymore. That could make getting to Illinois difficult, especially for her. I don't think she's ready to swim across.” He laughed a bit at his joke, but the truth was he did wonder how they could sneak across. He didn't want to admit he may have come downtown for nothing.
Victoria gave a wan smile. “I had hoped to get back to my dorm room to at least get a change of clothes, but then I want to try to get to the airport and get a flight to Colorado.”
He hadn't even thought about airplanes since this whole disaster started, but he had a feeling getting a flight wouldn't be that easy. One recent news event broke through his gaming-fueled information isolation; the Ebola crisis from the previous summer. He remembered how they stopped all flights from the affected countries to prevent the disease from spreading to the United States. It worked, or so they were told. The disease never broke out in America, despite a few isolated cases. “No cordon is ever 100% effective,” the news had said.
But was there some parallel with this new disease? He'd heard it described as both flu and “Ebola-like” by people over the last couple days. Did it simmer somewhere overseas only to explode at some point because the proper protocols weren't in place? Something to chew on, though he knew it was unlikely he'd ever get the truth.
The talk of Colorado jogged a memory of another family member, his dad's mom. Liam's minor claim to fame—actually he was more embarrassed than anything—was being related to a politician. Grandma Rose ran for, and won, a seat in the US House of Representatives the year before. She wasn't around much—she lived in Colorado—so he knew very little about her other than she sen
t $100 bills for birthdays for as long as he could remember. His dad mentioned her once recently, while talking to Grandma Marty on the phone.
I wonder if she'll survive in the Rocky Mountains?
He imagined Colorado would be safer than most places, with its remote mountain ranges and sparse population. He doubted Grandma Rose—a rich politician—would be out in a tent in the mountains staying safe, but if Victoria ever made it home, he might at least ask her to look her up.
Although he had his doubts about Victoria's travel chances, he opted to say nothing to dampen her spirits. As with the boy earlier, he felt the pang of jealousy, because he didn't want her to find refuge while he labored in the chaos of this city. The ill-feeling passed faster this time. He knew he would be happy for anyone who escaped, especially this pretty girl conversing with him.
She continued to talk about the details of her life, but he wasn't listening anymore. His mind was in overdrive to answer the only question of consequence.
What are we going to do next?
He snapped back to the present as a priest hovered over Grandma, mumbled a prayer, and put ointment of some kind on the backs of her hands. Her head was slumped over.
With a bolt, he was back by her side. “Excuse me; my grandma's not dead.”
I'm 99% sure.
The priest was an old black man, with white hair and sad eyes. He was in black pants with a black shirt, with only a white collar to give him away.
“Hello, my son. This is just a precaution. She doesn't have long with this plague going around.”
There was an anger building inside Liam he didn't quite understand. No matter how well-intentioned, he didn't like the idea of this priest essentially giving up on Grandma.
He stood there and watched the ritual, not knowing what to say or do.
The commotion must have jostled Grandma awake, and she took things in stride. “Father, please. I'm not dying!”
Thank God!
The priest looked at her for a moment, finished his prayer, and departed with a final “Go with God.”
