by A. R. Shaw
“You’re what?” he asked, stunned.
“I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby, and it’s way too early. It’s not part of the plan. Now I won’t be able to get my Masters.”
He pulled her towards him even though she struggled, going from utter fear to glee in a matter of seconds as he kissed her swollen red lips. “You’re so silly, Nelly. We’re going to have a baby! It’ll all work out. I love you,” he said to her.
But none of her plans worked out, of course. The pandemic had taken her and their unborn child from him.
Now that he was all alone, he wondered how many in the neighborhood were still alive and how many would, as his father had warned, have “evil intent.”
He noticed the pelting rain had dwindled to a light mist. He retrieved his slicker and shovel from the garage, and his rifle from beside the door. It felt as natural to him now as carrying his keys. Anytime he ventured outside, he had it slung over his shoulder or within arm’s reach inside. “At all times,” as his father had insisted.
Graham knew it was time. His throat tightened as he tried to suppress more tears. He was heading out to dig the final family grave and he leaned the rifle within reach against the garden shed. The wind picked up as he stood and listened before he began the chore. He and his father made a practice of this early on. The act of listening became a survival ritual. The silence should be filled with familiar sounds—very few now—and the total absence of them could mean trouble.
No distant train could be heard, nor planes overhead. No lawnmowers or cars’ squealing belts or the always-present roar of Highway 90, passing through town. Neighborhood chatter and children at play were sounds only in memories past. Those sounds were the only ones he missed since they were gone from the ever-pursuing silent world.
The reverberations he did hear were often met with the natural instinct of fight or flight. Like the howling of a dog, or was it a wolf? The noise of dogs fighting over prey was as feared as any distant gunshot. An occasional scream, which in recent days had become less frequent, replaced that of children squealing happily in a distant yard. These were the thoughts Graham chose to distract himself with while bending over the soaked loam next to the mounded grave of his mother. They were ruminations of a world gone silent.
As sweat dripped from his nose, he heaved each shovelful with vengeance, using the activity to release some of his anger. He continued to toss shovel after shovel, ignoring the pain in his back and shoulders.
Then he could not help it. He broke down again as an image of him and his father tossing a ball in that very spot crossed his mind. He dropped the shovel and put his hands on the back of his neck. He crouched down to his knees in the damp grass. “No, this cannot be happening,” he cried, lifting his face toward the sky.
At that moment, out of the corner of his eye next to the barberry bush, he spotted a form in gray, one that did not belong. It was so slight, he nearly missed it all together. In one fluid motion, he quickly retrieved his rifle and cursed himself for not spotting it sooner.
Graham leveled the rifle and aimed. “Get back! I will shoot you!” Grief fueled his anger and at his harsh tone, the shape slipped back around the corner, but he knew it hid there. He could sense the presence. He had no idea of who or what it could be.
“There is nothing for you here, so please leave,” he added after a second.
Then a muffled coughing signaled someone around the corner. He knew it was not his imagination or his mind playing cruel tricks on him. He took several wide side steps to view the hidden space. He adjusted his aim to get a visual of the intruder on his private grieving.
A slight form stood against the house, hooded and bent over in a futile attempt to restrain the persistent coughing spasm. When it lessened enough, she lifted her head to gaze at him. Her eyes pleaded with him as she raised her hand up in a gesture to show she meant no harm.
The frail woman limped forward, stopped and raised her hands again. Graham could tell she was weak with the disease, and after a couple more steps, could clearly see she would not last an hour. Her face showed all the signs he’d seen before. The fact that she was able to stand was a miracle alone. Her whole body vibrated with the endless coughing. He walked within fifteen feet of her and lowered the business end of his rifle. He met her pleading gaze with his own, knowing her dying breath might come at any minute.
She must be one of the few still alive with the virus. But not for long.
“I am Hyun-Ok,” she said, barely audible, the voice of a woman weakened and scarred by the virus. She gestured vaguely behind her. “This is my son.”
Graham took several steps back and held up his hand, knowing right away what she wanted from him. He shook his head. “No, I can’t take on someone else.”
She shuffled forward a few steps and pleaded again. “I have watched you. You’re a good man, please, you’re the only one. He is immune, like you.”
Before she could explain further, she stumbled on the rocky driveway, falling to her knees and coughing again. The boy ran to her side.
Surprised at seeing such a small child, Graham slung his rifle over his shoulder and warred with himself as he took several steps closer to her. He took no notice of the danger the virus could cause him. Hell, he’d even tried to catch it once Nelly had passed away.
He lifted the dying woman’s small frame into his arms while the boy watched his every move. The child followed Graham close behind as he went to the house.
Graham had few choices here. Once the crisis began, his father implemented a no contact order and these were the first people Graham had encountered since. He could not watch this woman die right in his driveway, especially with her child there. He doubted his father would have either. He opened the sliding glass door with one free hand while the lady continued to cough in his arms. He could not see the boy, but knew he was close behind him. He laid her down on the living room sofa and heard the boy slide the door closed. Graham pulled his mother’s red floral quilt down from the back of the sofa and laid it over the tiny woman.
He watched as the little guy ran to his mother’s side. She reached for him and once she regained control, she reached for Graham’s hand as well. She looked at him with a desperate plea.
“Please, Graham, you must take him, there is no other,” she said.
He wondered how she knew his name. “Let me get you some water,” he said, trying to stall the conversation. It dawned on him how cruel her plight must feel, knowing she would leave a young child alone and helpless in that new world.
“No, there is no time now,” she mumbled.
After witnessing her ordeal, Graham no longer felt so sorry for himself. He knew the boy’s predicament was much worse than his own, but he felt unprepared to take him on as a responsibility.
She grabbed his hand to keep him close.
Before she could get out another word, she brought her son’s small hand to his with a desperate plea. “You need him as much as he needs you. Please take him,” she continued, crying.
Graham found himself nodding as he became more aware of her desperation. At any second, she would perish right there on the couch in front of her son. He could not take any more heartbreak. He gave in.
“I’ll take him. I’ll take care of him.”
To bring her peace, he lifted the child onto the couch to join his mother.
As the child cried, Graham’s voice cracked. “It’s okay. I promise to take good care of him.”
He wanted to give her this gift, even though he did not want the responsibility. He’d had no control over the loss of his loved ones, but he could at least give this stranger peace. He wanted to be humane and show her humanity in her dying moments. In spite of it all, he missed humanity and the kindness of the living.
Hyun-Ok looked up at him. The same peacefulness had come over her as Graham witnessed earlier in the morning with his father. And it happened again, as her face softened and she managed a weak smile, moving her eyes from him
to her son. She blinked away tears, her smile faded, and her mouth fell open. The spark of life was gone just like that. She died, having completed the transfer on borrowed time.
Graham stared at her for a few silent moments. He heard a low muffled cry starting deep in the boy who remained curled up next to his mother. Graham could not blame him for his sorrow. He stroked the boy’s head as he clung to his mother’s side, sobbing. The boy, too, had seen too much death, and so early in his life.
Spent of emotion, Graham lowered his head and somehow felt defeated for not staving off the Reaper for this young child. He closed her eyes and laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said trying to reassure him. The boy pulled away from him and clung to his mother.
Graham stepped back. He shook his head, cursing himself for the promise he’d just made. He walked away and left the little boy there. He now had yet another grave to dig before sundown.
3 The Dark before Dawn
Graham dug the dead woman’s grave next to his beloved Nelly’s. Somehow, he knew the two would have gotten along in the living world. They both loved children and he didn’t think he wanted this brave little lady to be alone. It just seemed like the right thing to do.
Already exhausted, he trudged back inside, stomping his dirty boots off at the door. The boy lay at his mother’s side. Graham knew this wasn’t a good sign. This is just great! Graham thought, shaking his head. What if I can’t get him away from his mother’s dead body?
Graham walked over to the boy and shook him awake. Little almond eyes, just like his mother’s, rimmed in red, looked up at him.
“Come on, kid, I need your help,” Graham said.
The boy closed his eyes and hid his face in his mother’s side.
“Hey, come on. We have work to do,” Graham insisted and pulled him away from his mother and off the couch. The boy began to kick and scream, landing a lucky strike against his shin.
“God dammit, kid!” Graham raised his voice out of frustration but held the boy firmly by one arm. He pulled the distraught boy kicking and screaming into his father’s room.
“Look!” Graham said, pointing to his dead father, yelling over the crying. The boy quieted and looked up at Graham, terrified. His eyes and nose were running all over as he tried to stop his sniffling.
“We have to bury him, and then we’ll bury your mother,” Graham said in a stern voice. “But right now, you have to help.”
The boy took hold of the dead man’s sheet and Graham let go of his arm. Graham took a deep breath. He put his hands on his hips, turning his attention to his father.
“All right, Dad, here we go,” he said. He worked his arms under his father’s lifeless body. It had already begun to stiffen just as his mother’s had. The body was easier to lift than he expected, and he cradled him against his chest.
“You follow me,” he told the boy. He didn’t expect him to be happy, or even quiet. He only wanted to give him a part in the task to keep him busy. He followed Graham through the house and out the door.
Graham struggled with his father’s weight and by the time he got him outside, he had to readjust his hold on to the body. He stopped for a minute and buried his head into his father’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Dad,” Graham said, wishing he knew of a more dignified way of transporting him.
The gray late afternoon sky meant more rain was on the way. Graham laid his father on the edge of the grave. Graham jumped down into the hole and looked up at the boy. Somehow, he’d quieted, maybe because he had something to do, or maybe he was stunned with so many dead people around. Whatever the reason, Graham was grateful.
“Okay, you help me get him in here,” Graham said, struggling to hold back his own emotions. “Try to give him a little push.”
Graham dragged his deceased father over toward him. The boy helped to push as much as he could, which was barely at all. The body started to sink to the bottom too quickly and it ended up in more of a controlled fall. Graham couldn’t help but cry. He arranged the man neatly and started to climb up out of the hole by bracing one leg against the edge. As he climbed out, the first thing he noticed was that the kid had disappeared.
He looked all around the yard.
“Shit,” Graham said, followed by, “Hey, kid!”
Graham ran to the backdoor of the house, thinking that perhaps he’d gone back to his dead mother’s side. However, looking through the glass door, he couldn’t see the boy. Then he heard a yell and a dog barking from the front of the property.
Graham grabbed his rifle from where he’d left it. He ran around and found the boy running down the street with a pit bull on his heels. He yelled and ran toward the dog, startling it enough to turn in his direction. Graham aimed and fired, killing the attack dog instantly.
Knowing they had caused a commotion enough to attract other predators, Graham didn’t delay in retrieving the boy. He ran and picked him up under one arm and returned home, closing the gate behind them. The boy cried and kicked him the whole way.
Graham sat him down on the grass and knelt down with him.
“Okay, okay, be quiet! It’s done now. The dog is dead,” Graham said, then picked him up and carried him inside.
He felt guilty for forcing the kid to behave, but he needed him to quiet down. He went to the front windows and looked out toward the gate for more dogs. So far, there weren’t any. He went back to the boy and rubbed his head.
“You need to be quiet or the other mean dogs will find us,” he said. The boy tried to stifle his crying. “Are you okay? Did he bite you?”
The boy shook his head with tears streaming down his face. Graham took a rag out of his pants pocket and wiped the tears and snot away. The little chest heaved with the child’s effort to hold back his sobs.
“I know this is tough, but you can’t run away from me. Your mom wanted you to stay with me so I could take care of you. I promised her,” he said. “Don’t do that again.”
“Come on, let’s get our job over with,” Graham went on. He got up and headed back to the graves, taking his rifle with him. He watched the street carefully for more dogs. If he were lucky, the dead dog would attract predators, and not him or the boy. Keeping his distance, the boy followed slowly behind him. “We need to be quiet out here, okay?”
Graham kneeled down on the edge of his father’s grave, still trying to come to terms with his death. He stood up and grabbed the shovel. The boy walked over to the pile of dirt behind Graham. Graham handed him a smaller shovel.
“Here, you can use this one,” he said, but the boy wouldn’t take the shovel; instead, he started shaking his head and crying again.
“Fine,” Graham muttered in frustration. “Just sit down there, then.”
Graham reluctantly picked up a shovelful of dirt and slowly swung it over the hole. He started at his father’s feet and carefully dropped in the soil. He grabbed another and another, but was reluctant to cover his father’s face. He didn’t cry but shook with grief.
He could see the boy watching him work. The next thing he knew, the boy shouted out as a dog snarled close behind. Graham looked up and saw two more. He reached for the boy just as the dog bit into the kid’s jacket. Graham pulled him away. He flung the boy behind him towards the edge of the grave. The boy scrambled away from the edge, bawling. Graham swung the shovel at the attack dog and smacked it in the head.
He had a moment and grabbed his rifle, putting a bullet into the skull of the stunned dog.
“Get out of here!” he yelled at the other two.
With its teeth bared, and its head down, another dog came at him. The third tried to edge around him toward the boy. Graham shot the closest dog squarely in the forehead, so close that he felt the misty splatter of blood on his face.
The last dog tried to take advantage by lunging at Graham, but it was too little too late. Using the gun barrel as a club, he knocked the dog to the side. He had just enough time to squeeze off a shot, woundi
ng the dog in the hip. He cocked the rifle one last time and fired.
Nothing happened. He was out of ammunition, right when an enraged and wounded beast was coming after him. He tossed the rifle down and grabbed the shovel again, slipping in the mud and falling to his side. The injured dog locked its teeth in his pants leg.
Graham swung the shovel with all his might. There was a clang and a yelp, but he still felt the dog pulling on his pants. He swung again and finally heard silence. He scrambled to his feet.
The boy just stared at the dead animal. The growling had stopped, but the boy’s bawling did not. By then, the kid was nearly hysterical. Graham dropped the shovel and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Shhh, be quiet or more will come,” he told him in a harsh tone.
Again, the kid tried to quiet down. Graham could only see anguish on his small face. He left him there and quickly filled in his father’s grave, mounding the dirt deeply and looking all around him as he did.
He tossed the dogs’ bodies in a wheelbarrow, and then went back and knelt down by his father’s grave. Though Graham had never been a religious man, he hoped now that all of his loved ones were in a better place. His heart ached with suppressed grief. He smoothed the mounded dirt with his rough hands to level it out.
“It’s so hard to say goodbye, Dad. I don’t know what I’m going to do without you,” he choked out to the grave. Then he remembered what his father would expect of him. He stood, grabbed his rifle, and led the sobbing boy inside the house.
With the boy’s mother to bury still, and dusk quickly falling, Graham knew he had to hurry. The boy immediately ran to the body. Graham could tell her burial was going to be a battle.
He used a rag to wipe mud from the rifle quickly and reloaded it. “We have to bury her now,” Graham said when he was done.
“No!” the boy cried.
