State of Grace

by M. Lauryl Lewis

  “Well double crap,” said the woman. “I’m real sorry to hear that.”

  She was a funny looking lady with thick coke-bottle glasses and wiry hair that fell just short of her shoulders. The ends were black, the rest silver. She seemed sincere and very comfortable in her own skin. She wore a black sweater that was big enough for her to swim in and pulled a walkie-talkie out from somewhere within its depths.

  “Doc, you there?”

  The hand held device crackled as she let go of the button and waited for a response.

  “Doc, come in,” she said.

  Still no reply, she sighed heavily.

  “Damn fruitcake is probably off sitting on the crapper again. He goes in there just to read. He doesn’t think anyone is on to him.”

  She looked at her walkie and scowled at it.

  “Doc, answer your call. We have someone down in the parking garage who’s injured. Get your ass down here STAT.”

  The device cracked again, but was cut off by a deep voice.

  “For Christ sake Olga, I’m coming.”

  She looked at us and smiled awkwardly.

  “I’m Olga. Let’s get you all inside.”

  Hoot spoke first. “I’ll stay here to help with Sam. You guys go ahead and I’ll meet up with you later.”

  The thought of splitting up didn’t sit well with me. From his posture beside me, I could tell that Gus felt the same.

  “We’d rather stick behind until we’re sure Sam’s okay,” said Gus.

  “Oh geez,” interjected Olga. “We’re not evil and your friend will be fine. Doc will be down and Ernie can help. Chanel, you can come up with us and break the news to the rest of our group. Damn shame we lost those three,” she grumbled. “They were all real good people.”

  Olga said what she felt and certainly didn’t sugar coat anything.

  “Let’s go,” I said to Gus. “No offense, Olga, but we’d feel better if Hoot stays with our friend.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said with a bit of a sigh as she turned and began to walk away. “Follow me.”

  Gus took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. We followed the quirky woman across a short expanse to a concrete stairwell. Several vehicles remained parked along one side of what was clearly a sub-level parking garage. Gaps in the concrete walls were reinforced with wire fencing. Wild plants sent roots in through cracks, attempting to lay claim to the structure. We ascended a short set of stairs and ran into a man who looked as quirky as Olga as we got to the first landing.

  “Oh, hi,” he said with an oddly chipper voice. “You must be our new friends. I’m Doc.”

  Gus held his hand out politely. “Gus. This is my wife, Zoe.”

  The man pumped Gus’ hand enthusiastically.

  “Nice to meet you both. Olga and Chanel will take good care of you but I must be off to help your friend. What’s his name?” he asked as he turned to Olga.

  “Sam. He looks pretty banged up.”

  Gus cleared his throat. “Sam has serious wrist injuries; it’s been crushed twice.

  “Right-o then. Off with ya.”

  As Olga turned to continue up the stairs, the man slapped her playfully on the butt before continuing on his way. She grumbled something unintelligible. I glanced at Gus, who winked at me. The gesture was out of place, not matching the graveness etched on his face. I knew his thoughts and heart were buried beside the road a long way behind us. I knew because mine were too.

  “Olga, can you get these two to one of the empty units? I’ll gather the others in the meeting hall to tell them about the others. Let them get settled and we’ll make introductions over dinner.”

  “Yeah, yeah, no problem. Want me to set them up on the north or west side?”

  “I think Dill wants to fill the north side first. There’s four empty units.”

  “Alrighty then. Follow me,” she said with a wave of her hand.

  The door at the top of the stairwell was like any generic metal door of any generic building’s stairwell. Metal painted dark brown with the number “2” on a small plaque.

  “What is this building?” asked Gus.

  “It was going to be shops below and apartments up top. It was still under construction so the units above us aren’t finished. They work, though. We’re slowly finishing off the living spaces and we’ve converted most of the office spaces into open areas for social stuff. Meetings. Game night. A movie once a week. The foundation was already in and we just had to close off the open areas in the garage with wire fencing and clear the office spaces of the dead. Luckily it was a weekend when this shit happened so not many people had been here. Just the janitorial night crew of three. One got caught outside when the shit hit the fan. Got back inside before it died and came back”

  We continued up the stairs with Olga in the lead while Chanel branched off.

  “Bridgid was the only one who survived. She managed to hide in the air duct for a few days. When we found her she was near death from dehydration. It took her weeks to recover, mostly emotionally,” explained Chanel. “You’ll like her. She’s really funny if you can get her to loosen up.”

  “This is the first floor, of four. The top two we’re using for storage. Food, necessities. The roof has a garden for smaller things. Tomatoes, herbs, stuff that’s easy. We’ve expanded behind the building. There’s cargo containers around the perimeter with a large garden and a small orchard. Well, the trees are only two years old. But in time we hope to have peaches, pears, and apples,” said the older woman.

  Soon we got to the residential hallway. The wall to our right was bare and on the left were doors spaced about every twenty feet. Exposed studs peeked out every now and then and the walls were a patchwork of oriented strand board and sheet rock. Each door was labeled with a number. 101-102-103-104. Once we got to 112, Olga stopped. “This is the first vacant one. There’s not much inside,” she said as she turned the knob and opened the door. “But we’ll add more as time goes by, assuming you decide to stay.”

  “We’d like to see our friends,” said Gus.

  “They’ll have taken Sam to the Real Estate office downstairs. It’s where Doc set up shop,” said the quirky woman. “

  “Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable. We have a water tank rigged on the ceiling, so there’s running water for showers It’s just not heated beyond what the sun provides. I’ll have someone set some fresh clothes in the hallway for you but you’ll find soap and towels inside. There’s bottled water in the kitchen and we’ll feed you in a bit. Don’t drink the water from the shower.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Feel free to move about the building. Not many rules here, just common sense. We do ask that you mind rationing, don’t fight, and always check weapons out if you need to use them.”

  “Got it,” said Gus.

  “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  “Thanks.”

  Olga turned and walked back down the hall. We watched until she turned the corner. Gus and I walked through the door into a dimly lit room. It was small but quaint, if not bare of furniture. Our footfalls echoed on the concrete floor. The exterior walls had exposed studs on our side. To our left was a small corner kitchen. It was the only corner that had sheet rock lining the inside. The walls that joined with the other units were much like the hallway walls; a patchwork of materials.

  “We could make it homey,” said Gus quietly. “Finish the walls. Paint. Maybe add a couch?”

  “You’re thinking of staying?” I asked.

  My voice sounded empty of emotion.

  “Maybe. I’m so tired of running, Zo.”

  “She’s gone,” I barely whispered.

  Standing close to my side, Gus wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him.

  “She’ll always be with us.”

  I buried my face into his chest and leaned on him.

  “I feel like the biggest part of me has died with her.” My voice was muffled against his chest.

  “I have n
o words, darlin’. I wish I did. I think she took a huge part of both of us with her.”

  “I need to know what happened,” I sighed heavily.

  “We’ll talk to their doctor. See if he has any insight. I’d like him to look at your arm, too.”

  I didn’t answer, but rather closed my eyes and let him hold me. After a long moment he loosened his arms and looked down at me.

  “Let’s get cleaned up, then go check on Sam.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  He used the pads of his thumbs to caress my face. His eyes held the deep sadness that I felt deep within my soul. I could also see worry and uncertainty reflecting back to me. He carefully helped me undress since my arm was still bandaged and hard to move.

  “You’ve lost too much weight,” he said in a sad tone.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “We really should think about staying. Even if it’s just for a little while. Let your arm heal. Regular meals. Time to catch our breath.”

  “Maybe.”

  By that point it was hard to trust anyone but my husband and Hoot. I had known them the longest of anyone left alive on earth.

  “Let’s go find the shower.”

  He took my uninjured elbow and gently led me to another corner of the large room. A rudimentary bathroom took up a corner of the only bedroom.

  “It would have made a cute apartment, huh?” I asked, not really expecting an answer.

  “I’m sure we can fix it up a bit.”

  “If we stay,” I added.

  “If we stay.”

  The shower in the bathroom hadn’t yet been installed when the dead rose, but there was a drain pipe in the floor that had been rigged to a plastic kids wading pool. Plastic sheeting hung loosely from exposed studs, the ends falling into the kiddie pool. A hose dangled from the ceiling, the end capped with a shut-off valve. Nearby sat an old kitchen chair that was topped with several folded bath towels, hand towels, and washcloths. A bar of soap and bottle of shampoo were tucked under the chair.

  We showered together, using the least amount of water we could.

  CHAPTER 15

  As promised, a pile of clean clothing waited for us in the hallway. Someone had guessed our sizes rather well. Everything was new, still with tags intact. Underwear from Target, sweat pants, leggings, and t-shirts from Walmart. The slippers left for Gus were a size too small, but manageable for inside use.

  We dressed quickly. My arm was oozing after the shower and we had no bandages with which to dress it, so decided to find the medical area in search of Doc, Sam, and Hoot. Gus wrapped a hand towel loosely around my arm to avoid contamination and infection. As we walked to the door to the hallway, a knock sounded.

  “Delivery,” called out a male voice.

  “Hold on,” Gus called back while shrugging his shoulders at me.

  “Hurry up, Gus!” called out the unmistakable voice of Hoot. “This mother’s heavy!”

  Gus rushed forward and opened the door inward. Hoot was on the back end of a mattress, the man in front unknown to us.

  “Olga came down and said you’d need this in here. You’re helping me carry one up for Sam later on. They’re putting me and him next door, number 113.”

  “How is he?” I asked.

  “Not great. Doc says he should live, but he needs to amputate.”

  “Oh my fucking God,” said Gus with a tone of distress and a look of fear.

  “He says it’s infected, that gangrene has set in. He has him started on an IV drip with antibiotics and wants to operate in a couple hours.”

  “Fuck,” said Gus as he ran his hand over his chin. “Poor Sam.”

  “Doc wants to see you both ASAP,” said the stranger. “Name’s Ed.” He held his hand out and I shook it, followed by Gus.

  “Just tell us where to go,” I said.

  I was beginning to feel the exhaustion that I knew would hit. I was anxious to see Sam and anxious to eat. My arm was also throbbing.

  “We’ll just carry this in then take you downstairs to them,” said Ed.

  “Chanel said she’d come back up and get a few things set up for you in here,” said Hoot.

  We stepped aside while the two men lifted the mattress across the threshold and carried it into what would become our bedroom.

  “Let’s go,” said Ed.

  Once we were in the hallway, Hoot draped an arm across my shoulders and pulled me close. He didn’t say anything, but I knew his gesture was meant to comfort me. Meant to let me know he knew I was hurting deeply.

  ***

  Doc’s office was anything but traditional. He directed me to an exam room in the back corner of what had been a real estate office. The exam table was actually a professional folding massage table covered in a sheet that could easily be changed between patients. A single shelf held basics: rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, Band-Aids, cotton swabs, a jar of gauze pads. A blood pressure cuff was mounted to the wall with a stethoscope hanging beside it. A small wall-mounted cabinet with glass doors held several bottles of pills. It was padlocked shut.

  Hoot waited in the larger room, where three twin beds were set up for sicker patients. Sam occupied one of them. I requested that Gus stay at my side.

  “Your friend Hoot says you were shot,” Doc said to me.

  He looked like an old version of “Data” on Star Trek the Next Generation. And crazy. At the moment, though, he was very serious and I instantly felt like I was in good hands.

  “Yeah. My arm.”

  “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Not at all. Thanks.”

  I held my arm out and he unwrapped the towel.

  “Hmm, looks pretty gruesome,” he said, followed by an out of place chuckle. “Who patched it up?” he asked, looking between me and Gus.

  “I did,” said Gus.

  “Did you get the bullet out?”

  “Ayup. And stitched it.”

  “Looks like you did a fine job. You have medical experience?”

  “Yes, sir. US ARMY Nurse Corps, four years.”

  “Good man. I imagine you got a lot of experience, well beyond most RNs.”

  “Ayup.”

  “Your friend Hoot said you gave her blood?”

  I was beginning to feel a bit talked about while sitting there

  “Yeah. She lost a lot. I’m O-negative, universal donor.”

  “Good thinking. You likely saved her life.”

  “Ayup. I think she needs antibiotics, though.”

  “Any allergies, young lady?” the doctor asked me.

  “No. Well, just shrimp.”

  “We have some ampicillin on hand. Let’s say two IV doses and then we can switch to pills.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” said Gus.

  “Hoot told us about Sam,” I said as the doctor gently inspected my arm more closely.

  “He’s sleeping right now. He’s on some pretty heavy pain killers. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do to fix the break; we just don’t have the resources or facilities.”

  “And you see signs of infection?” asked Gus.

  “I do. He’s also got a fever. I want this dose of antibiotics to go in before we prep him, but it needs to come off soon.”

  “Does he know?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” answered Doc.

  “I should go wake him and tell him,” Gus offered.

  I looked up. “Let me?”

  “Darlin’, you don’t have to do that. It won’t be easy.”

  “I need to.”

  Gus sighed in clear disapproval.

  “You’ve been through enough the past couple of days.”

  “Well,” I said. “Time to go through one more fucked up thing.”

  “Hoot told me about your little girl. I’m really sorry to hear it,” said the Doc.

  I held back tears.

  “You’re both infected?” he asked for confirmation.

  “Ayup.”

  “And the little one?”

  “Hope,” I sa
id as clearly as I could without breaking down.

  “Hope,” repeated Doc.

  “She had albinism. Rapid growth,” Said Gus

  “Hoot said she touched you, Zoe, and caused you to collapse.”

  I nodded.

  “When Hope touched me, it burned us both,” Gus added. “She died shortly after.”

  “Had this ever happened before? The burning?”

  “No, never,” I added quickly.

  “I may know what happened. We’ve seen it once before. Not exactly the same, mind you, but I delivered a baby here. She seemed fine. I handed her to her mother. She was adjusting to life well, until her father picked her up. He had trouble catching his breath all of a sudden, to a point where Olga had to take the baby from his arms. He lived, but in the turmoil we hadn’t noticed the infant struggling. Olga set her in a bassinet and the next time we checked on her, she had passed.”

  “Hope had been telling us not to touch her all of a sudden,” I said.

  “She knew,” said Gus with a shaky voice. “She tried to warn us.”

  “It’s possible the blood transfusion was a deadly combination,” said the kooky old man.

  “But she was part of both of us,” I said, my voice barely a whisper “Why all of a sudden?”

  “Once Gus’ blood mixed with yours, it might have had an effect on her.”

  “But I held her. I slept with her after the transfusion.”

  “It’s just a theory, but it may be like an allergy. Repeated exposure can eventually cause a reaction.”

  “So it was my fault,” said Gus.

  “Nothing like this is ever anyone’s fault,” Doc said. “If you want to blame anyone, blame the bastards who started this war.”

  Gus looked up. “Yeah if we only knew.”

  Doc looked surprised. “We’re running off the terrorism theory. We had a guy come through here about a year ago. He was a journalist for CNN, taking a vacation in Seattle for his baby granddaughter’s birth. He’d been hearing rumors through his contacts that radicals in the Middle East had developed a bio-weapon. Our paths crossed and he was with us for about a month. He didn’t have hard facts, just rumors, but most of the puzzle pieces fit.”

  “Is there anywhere left? Anywhere safe” I asked.

  “No one knows for sure. Society collapsed so fast. We have to assume the earth has been lost. We’re just holding on the best we can. Hoping we can make it through somehow.”