by Hamrick, R M
That’s not the way it felt.
She slipped into the hallway and followed the light of the lobby. The sounds of her feet were deadened by the rough nylon carpeting. The coolness of the tile floor preceded her escape out the door. There, cold air bit into her face. Outside, she heaved as if she’d been holding her breath for the moonlight and dew.
Maybe she had.
The ragged concrete felt cool on her feet. Weeds wrestled through the cracks and tickled whatever they could reach. Satomi walked from the sleeping quarters toward the center of the industrial park. The park’s fence and laboratory had been invaluable at the start and the scattered one-story buildings had been re-purposed for their community. When Satomi had first arrived here with the other scientists, she was filled with hope. Now her hope had dried up like the cracked fountain sitting in the plaza.
Satomi sat on the ground against the fountain’s walls. Her arms began to prickle, her jacket unworn beside her. Her olive skin had paled and yellowed with the winter, and the moonlight reflecting off the orange-hued limestone walls gave her an odd glow. She couldn’t see the osprey statue in the center of the pool from her spot, but she imagined it diving down for its kill.
* * *
“These systems didn’t work last time,” she had urged while she and Ryder squared off in Osprey Point’s laboratory.
The aging fluorescent bulbs flickered with the solar power illuminating the linoleum-lined floors and aisles of counters. The front lobby’s door was closed, as was the door to the windowed conference room. The coldness of metal and glass waiting for scientific work usually pleased Satomi, but with doors closed and Ryder threatening to leave — the laboratory felt more like a prison than a sanctuary.
Satomi had seen it before — the terror of outbreaks in a large populace. Even though she hadn’t entered the medical field at that time, she surmised any protocol short of complete isolation of healthy and complete extermination of the sick was no match for the infections that avalanched into cities. And even then.
“We know things we didn’t know then. We’re better prepared,” had said ever-optimistic Ryder. “We will make it work. We have to make it work.”
Ryder’s supply of hair gel had finally been exhausted and her ash-brown hair was now being groomed into a flat pixie cut. Little silver rings lining her ears, pale pink skin, and an upturned nose validated Satomi’s suspicions that Ryder was an otherworldly, mystical beauty. However, Ryder currently sounded more like a politician than any fey entity, combating reality with a determined positive attitude. Satomi expected her to stand on the counter and chant slogans at any moment.
Ryder had been nestled in Lysent Corp for the outbreaks. She didn’t understand that the supposed cure had allowed survivors to regroup just to break down again, sending waves of infection out into the world. Ryder could remain optimistic, here at Osprey Point.
“You’re not sick. Please just stay where you’re safe,” said Satomi, her dark eyes flashing darker under her tresses. “Dwyn is going. He’s more than capable of caring for them.”
Ryder shook her head, silver jewelry swaying underneath her ear.
“We don’t know if Dwyn’s cure will stick either,” Ryder replied in a hushed tone as if speaking the possibility of failure at full volume made it more probable. Then more loudly, “but maybe you’re the one that should be going — they need a doctor.”
God, it was like talking to someone from a different world. On Ryder’s planet, apparently the sick population she had irrevocably failed would welcome her continued medical expertise. In the real world, Satomi didn’t even consider the possibility that Lysent’s results were equally short-lived. No one had even heard rumor of reversion before Satomi’s antivirals had been spread far and wide. And although it remained unspoken, Satomi knew they all blamed her. It was her fault. She knew it. They knew it. She had developed the temperature-stable antiviral. She had declared it safe and effective.
Satomi had doomed all the people in her community. The treated would turn, then consume. Precious Ryder would be torn apart by Satomi’s deluded efforts to save the world. The defeated doctor settled in her stool and buried her head in a text book. A thick curtain of hair separated her from Ryder. Perhaps it would be easier if she couldn’t watch it all fall away.
* * *
Satomi donned her jacket, but the goosebumps remained. She rubbed the offending extremities with her hands, but it wasn’t just the cold wind or the wet dew on her bare feet. Her body was rebelling against her. Her head felt hot and stuffy, like it might explode. Nothing seemed in sync. Nothing made sense.
Satomi looked behind her toward the gate. The two figures standing on the scaffolding, watching for outside threats, ignored the threat that remained inside the fences. The one who had damned them all. Her eyes followed the chain links down to the sedans lining the inside of the fence. Rebar windows flashed in her mind and sent her stomach spiraling.
Satomi turned back around and tried to fight the rising tide inside her. Cold, damp air in her lungs to cool the frustration and shame. She would win against it, at least tonight she would. Satomi stared at the trailing cracks in the concrete and pretended she could count the invading blades of grass in the soft moonlight.
Some time later, Satomi caught sight of the sun peeking the tiniest pink rays, shadows on stars. She retreated back to her room, ducking into the darkest shadows, so no one would know her crime of sleeplessness. Her pant hem was soggy on the tile and back onto the carpet. She crawled into bed, which lay directly on the floor. The pillow pushed her long hair around her. It was wet from the morning and created a small cool environment around her racing mind. She imagined Ryder lying next to her; her soft skin pink with sleep. Satomi almost rolled over to caress the imaginary face before closing her eyes. Sleep was good. Ryder was good. She only wished she could be there, and not lost in the dew.
* * *
Satomi sat in the small two-room building that served as a mess hall and adjoining kitchen. An eclectic collection of tables, chairs, and benches had accrued in the space, but almost all were empty in the early morning hours. While Satomi hadn’t been able to recognize the guards on the scaffolding in the darkness of late night, Branson and Tess had now been relieved from their shift and sat at a picnic table for a small meal before napping through the morning.
Branson’s pearly brown hair was tied back with elastic. His blue eyes twinkled with every laugh from Tess. Even sleep-deprived, they had no trouble keeping up with their constant flirting. Tess flicked her white blond hair off her shoulder, only for it to return again. While Satomi hadn’t the energy to keep up with the latest gossip, it seemed Tess was still keeping Branson at arm’s length, if only to protect her two young children from possible confusion and heartbreak.
Satomi appreciated their self-absorption. They made no mention of her nightly wandering and her subsequent status as a lump on a log. She tried to ignore the fact that they were sitting where Katie had lashed out at her weeks earlier. Katie’s girlfriend Lisa had been the first to turn and attack her friends. Before Katie was sequestered at the motel for her own potential to revert, she had told Satomi it would have been better if she and Lisa hadn’t been cured at all. They never would have found each other and lived in false hope.
Satomi wondered if Tess’s and Branson’s relationship and her own would suffer the same ends. Not wanting to be bothered with starting the communal fire, Satomi ate her serving of soupy grain corn and beans cold. Corn and beans weren’t her favorite, but she knew they’d be eating foraged food before long. Watercress and mushrooms if they were lucky. Pine bark after that.
The mess hall door opened and someone took the long way around Satomi and her table. She hid underneath a frame of hair and eyed her half-full bowl. She couldn’t just up and leave. Branson and Tess halted their banter.
“Hi,” said the man, standing in front of her table, hand on chair.
Another swallow of food. This one had a bit of crunch. Sat
omi looked up and stared at him without saying a word. An invitation to sit down wasn’t coming. She understood having Pete Jr. — or Jack as they’d taken to calling him — stay was Osprey Point’s best strategic play, but it didn’t mean she and he needed to be on friendly terms.
Even if Satomi had stood up, Jack would still tower over her, his blue eyes constantly looking down to speak to others. In response to the dwindling supply of hair gel at Osprey Point, he had shaved his hair short — an odd decision as winter came rolling through. It emphasized the strong angles of his face, something he got from his father and had shared with his sister.
Jack and his family had controlled a hybridized infected army, brainwashed men with the resilience afforded to those sick with the z-virus. With their army lost to the Lysent Corporation, Osprey Point couldn’t afford Jack joining Greenly’s ranks. His potential to command the army under Greenly would secure Osprey Point’s demise. Their only option was to welcome him into the fold. And he seemed to have a lot to contribute. However, he had also previously held Satomi captive for several months.
Jack held out a palm in half surrender. Satomi fought the urge to recoil. Without his leather armor, he was less intimidating, but she still connected his scent, his voice, and his mannerisms to the man who sat on a lawn chair throne and allowed his sister to be fiercely cruel to her and the community he now lived in.
“I’m sorry. With so many gone to the motel, I’ve only got so many people who will even acknowledge me…” he started.
Satomi wasn’t surprised her cold stare was considered an acknowledgment. Jack and Jill had launched their army into Osprey Point upon first meeting. Satomi glanced over to Branson. His clenched jaw and vice grip on his spoon revealed he had not forgiven Jack for the death of a fellow guard, Lionel, during that proceeding.
“…My dad’s refusing to eat. I’m at my wit’s end,” said Jack, his voice scratchy as if he too hadn’t gotten much sleep.
“I’m not responsible for your father not eating. That’s on you.” Her voice tensed.
When she had first met Jack’s father, Peter, she thought he suffered from some neurodegenerative disease. She worked to help him regain lost mental function until she learned he was involved in the development of the z-virus. He had manipulated the virus to create his army, and even his dementia had been triggered by one of his own experiments gone awry.
“Totally agree,” he said hurriedly. “It’s just he keeps asking about you… Evelyn and Eli too.”
Sharp pain burned at the edges of her chest and throat at the mention of Eli’s name. Her jaw clenched. Eli wouldn’t be coming to see him. Jack’s sister — Evelyn, Jill, whatever — had bled Eli out after he tried to protect her. Eli had been their loyal companion as they convoyed through the eastern states, and she killed him in anger. Shortly thereafter, Jill was killed by Larange Greenly’s men.
“He’ll forget. He always does.” She brushed him off.
“No, he remembers you. And it doesn’t help that Evelyn is gone. It’s just me and he finds me boring.” Jack grinned.
Satomi wasn’t sure what was funny.
Jack sighed, giving up on the humor. “You don’t have to be OK with me. I get it. But my dad doesn’t understand his circumstances. He just knows he’s sad and he misses you.”
The man was suffering. Given his hand in the global mass extinction, maybe he should. However, Satomi’s responsibility as a doctor tapped her on the shoulder. Satomi sighed. More than clear ethics for medical care and experimentation, she wanted Jack out of her face.
“I’ll think about it,” she conceded.
Jack breathed a thanks and left the mess hall without breakfast.
“You don’t owe him anything,” Branson announced.
Satomi said nothing, her spoon scraping the sides of the bowl to finish her meal. Another unsettling crunch as she chewed. She didn’t blame Peter one bit for refusing to eat this gruel.
CHAPTER THREE
QUARANTINE
Sunlight scattered through the skylights before Audra stirred. That stirring quickly brought to her attention an ache emanating from her tail bone. Cracked linoleum over concrete was not a forgiving surface. Audra assumed she’d be paying penance for the rest of the day. She arched her back and listened to the satisfying pops before twisting laterally for the same results. On her way around to her left, she glanced at the cot in Haleigh’s and Eliza’s cubicle. Just a small lump, barely moving the covers. A swath of dark hair peeked from the blanket’s edge.
Audra stood up quietly and calculated the odds of being able to leave without argument. Haleigh’s bag remained on the ground, half full. At least she hadn’t continued packing. On top of the rotting cardboard box sat a thick sheet of handmade paper. Audra attributed its color and texture to food containers, something a grocery store would have in abundance. One side presented a monochromatic stick figure drawing. She turned the paper to find thinner ink, letters looping and curving. Haleigh’s letter.
Audra averted her eyes. It was none of her business.
She pulled a large-mouth bottle from her bag and made sure no water still settled in it before she gently rolled the art for its protective sleeve. She did scan the contents of the box underneath the letter. Along with spare socks, a pair of eyeglasses, and the crayon she saw two more pieces of fruit leather. A jar of flour. And a cup of unshelled pecans.
This couldn’t be everything. Some had been packed.
But still.
Audra wondered what they had traded for the paper. There was nothing else like it in the box.
“Mom said you could have another piece of fruit leather,” Eliza’s lilting voice escaped her rough blanket.
“Oh, no, I’m not hungry,” Audra lied.
Straight arms protruded from the top of the blanket and came crashing down to the girl’s sides, flipping the blanket off her face.
“Everyone’s hungry.”
Audra was almost sure that was true. Eliza was still younger than Audra was when the outbreaks occurred. She still remembered the oak dining room table, matching plates, and her mother’s soft voice chiding her for spooning out more than she could consume.
“Where’s your mom?” she asked. Surely Eliza wasn’t left here by herself.
“Running. She has to do it now. Now that Kayle’s gone.” Of course she was left by herself. What else could her mother do? “Maybe Gordon could come and do the runs?”
Audra really hadn’t dealt with such innocence and youth in a long while. Not since Belinda, who although older, was more like a child than a supportive figure.
Eliza climbed off the cot. Her shirt rode up, too short for her thankfully growing body. She grabbed a dented tin pail and walked out.
She hadn’t expected an answer.
Audra left as well, returning after trading a couple wares in her bag for a few days’ rations. Neither of the space’s occupants had returned. Audra wasn’t sure how long this community’s runs were. Could be hours, days, even weeks.
Audra slipped all the newly acquired food into the family’s box. And after searching their bag, tucked her tent in its main pocket. How safe was leaving these things unattended? Audra scanned the produce section’s population. Several older women huddled together on a mat, knitting and mending.
“Looking for someone?” a woman with wiry hair and an equally wiry voice asked.
“No, I have something for Haleigh and wasn’t sure if I should leave it or just wait.” Audra didn’t even want to say it was food, although anyone could look into the box and know.
“Thieves don’t last long here,” the woman laughed, transferring her darning needle to her other hand before brandishing a butterfly blade.
Audra could find no reason to doubt her.
With her pack a little lighter, she abandoned Haleigh’s cubicle. Bodies stopped and eyes stared as she headed toward the front of the store. They must not see too many venture out solo during the winter months.
The woman who patte
d her down was by the door again.
Audra addressed her in a hushed voice.
“I’m not sure how this place is still here, but you need more guards on duty.”
The woman cocked her head and raised her eyebrows at Audra.
Audra had a million other things to do before raiding a camp of families. “No seriously. Your cart wall out there is a flashing neon sign that people live here.”
“That’s how we trade, dear.” The woman’s condescending tone was clear.
Audra also had a million other things to do besides argue with a stranger over safety concerns. She promptly rolled her eyes and exited the damp grocery store.
Yesterday’s overcast had been replaced with sunny coolness. Audra kicked herself for waking so late. It would throw off her entire journey. At least she didn’t have a woman and her child clinging onto her legs, trying to prevent her escape.
Audra weaved her way through the maze, feeling the exterior guard’s eyes on her back. When she reached the entrance, she marveled once more at the grocery cart wall. The bottom had been staked down deep. Ties and supports had been twisted through to keep them from toppling.
Use what you have, she guessed.
Still, she felt a little unsafe under its shadow. They were metal carts on wheels after all.
The edge of the asphalt crumbled as she stepped onto the faded road. Wide, sweeping cracks filled with tall weeds encouraged the deterioration. This main street once had a quiet life. Now it was even quieter. The rusted gas station’s pumps had been wrenched over. The pharmacy had been clearly raided many times over, its windows broken and nothing standing upright inside. The neighboring bank appeared untouched. Although maybe it was missing its chained pens and paper slips.
This was hardly a town. Why this chain grocery store had been placed here in all its magnificence was a mystery. And why it still stood now with just two guards taking most shifts was another. Not her problem, her mind recited. Still, she feared for Haleigh and her daughter.
