A New World: Untold Stories

by O'Brien, John

  Salerno, Italy

  Andrea and Felisa huddle around the antique oak dining table. A late afternoon sun shines through partially opened curtains hanging limply over a window. The nice day outside, coupled with a scenic view across farm fields and vineyards, is in direct contrast to the somber mood within.

  Seated along the other side of the table are two of their children, Donato and Mirella. Mirella just turned nine with Donato a year younger. As she unenthusiastically ladles beans and rice out of an iron pot, Felisa holds on to Davide, their baby son. Andrea takes a sip of water, the liquid still warm from being boiled, as he waits for his meager helpings.

  The electricity went out some time ago, but thankfully they have a wood burning stove as that’s what Felisa likes to bake her bread with. Each day, Andrea heads out to gather wood that has become quite the chore lately, sapping most of his energy just to bring in a few of the split pieces. Thankfully, they have a large amount of wood already cut as he doesn’t know if he could swing the axe more than a few times. Everything anymore seems like a chore...even eating.

  Andrea looks across the table toward Donato and Mirella, his heart sick with worry. They’ve all lost weight in the past weeks and their faces are gaunt, but that’s not what is causing his greatest worry. It’s their sunken eyes, black circles forming underneath. And their eyes, once filled with joy and laughter, look haunted with very little life left. He looks at Felisa next to him, her hair once thick, dark, and beautiful, now thin with clumps missing. The most sickening part is that he doesn’t know what to do for them.

  The illness, dubbed the Cape Town virus, had taken its toll in the cities, but it didn’t seem to affect them in the countryside, at least at first. He’d heard the stories of the masses in the surrounding town sick and many not showing up for work. The huge death toll the news had been reporting seemed unlikely to Andrea. He just hadn’t seen that and had a biased opinion of the news. However, that didn’t stop him and Felisa from taking the kids out of school until the pandemic eased. That was up until a few weeks ago when the exodus started out of the cities.

  He watched out of the windows or from the fields as the normally empty highways running along the edge of his farm began filling with vehicles of all types. They were coming from the larger, inland cities and heading west toward the coast. All were packed with possessions, some tied to the roofs, trunks stuffed and tied down, pickup beds filled to the point of tipping over.

  When the jams became so heavy that traffic stalled to the point of becoming a parking lot, Andrea put down his tools and walked to the fence line to gather a little information about what was going on. There, several families told him that a new strain of rabies had hit the towns, apparently stemming from the virus. Those infected had turned on the others and started attacking, which resulted in numerous deaths. Overnight, many of the cities had been turned into ghost towns with the dead lying in the streets.

  Andrea had said nothing, thinking the stories ridiculous and more than likely either fabricated or embellished with their having been handed down through several parties.

  I mean, how do you get rabies from a flu virus? There’s only one way to get rabies and that’s from a carrier, he thought at the time.

  However, there must be something drastic happening for so many to be fleeing. Talking with several families that were stalled adjacent to his land, he noted several ill in the cars. For the most part, they only leaned back in the seats listlessly and stared out of the windows. When asked where they were heading, most mentioned that they were heading to the coast. They hadn’t a clue what they would do once they arrived except wait for whatever was happening to blow over.

  “At least we won’t be in the city,” one driver had said.

  Some talked about heading to Salerno and taking one of the ferries out of there. Andrea had listened and naysayed suggestions that he and his family also pack and head west. Most of the things that happen in the cities don’t affect them in the county, so he wished them well and went back to work. The traffic jam slowly resolved itself and moved on, the road clearing and becoming empty once again.

  That was some time ago and, except for the occasional family slowly heading past with carts full of belongings, and the very rare car passing by, they haven’t seen anything since. For several days following, he expected the exodus to reverse itself with everyone heading back into the cities. That never happened. The TV and radio programs went off the air, and then the electricity failed. Andrea and his family went about their business like they did every day, with Andrea in the fields, Felisa minding Davide, and spending some time teaching the kids to keep them up with their studies.

  It wasn’t until recently that things began to slide downhill, and quickly. At first, Andrea noticed more hair in the sink where they washed up. With the electricity gone, the well pump failed and he had to cart the water in by hand, heating it on the wood stove. Then the lethargic feeling began to steal over him. Tasks which he once did without effort or thought left him feeling spent and exhausted. Over time, that had only worsened.

  The clink of a ladle against his bowl drags him out of his remembrance. He looks to Felisa and gives her a smile, or at least what he thinks of as one. He feels stinging sensations as his dry lips crack with the effort. He also knows his smile isn’t what it used to be with a couple of his teeth having fallen out. Felisa stares at him, her tired eyes reflecting the fear and worry that Andrea holds within.

  They have plenty of food and a well. The canned food, they rid themselves of some time ago after figuring out what was happening. That wasn’t difficult to determine once their hair start falling out in clumps. Andrea gathered up the cans and buried them in an adjacent field. Since then, they’ve been eating from the sacks of beans and rice they kept on hand, along with some preserved food that Felisa made. She also baked bread, but that has become rare. Several times, they’ve all headed out to harvest from a few nearby orchards and vineyards but that, along with everything else, has become a chore that saps much of their meager energy. There hasn’t been any meat as the only livestock in the area are rotting in the fields.

  Not feeling remotely hungry and worried about losing another tooth, he forces himself to slowly chew the meal. Just having his mouth full of food makes him nauseous. He forces it down and runs a tongue along the inside of his mouth to check that he hasn’t lost another one. There isn’t a word spoken throughout. There’s just the late sun shining in a ribbon of light across the table, the scraping of plastic spoons in the bowls, and the clunk of a water glass being set down.

  Andrea’s heart freezes at the sight of Mirella’s glass. As she sets it down, there is a little redness to it that mixes and fades. A pinkish drop of water slowly dribbles down the side. His nausea and worry increase. If there was just something he could do, but he doesn’t know where to go that would be safe. They have food and water but he knows it’s the air that’s poisoning them.

  How can you live when the very air you breathe is poison? Where could we go? Andrea thinks, staring at a spoonful of rice and beans, dreading having to put it into his mouth.

  “Andrea?” Felisa says, as if reading his mind and laying an arm on his. “We can’t stay here. We have to leave.”

  Andrea looks from her hand on his arm, into her worried eyes, and down to his sleeping infant son. He’s like that most days anymore, sleeping. Only waking long enough to eat and then he’s back out. His cries that once kept them awake at nights, or echoed through the small house when his world wasn’t perfect, are now only whimpers, and weak ones at that.

  Felisa stopped breastfeeding a short while ago knowing that her own body was poisoned. It may not help overall, but it was the only thing she could think of. Luckily, they had a lot of formula, at least until it expired, but that wasn’t for some time.

  “I know,” he replies dejectedly. “But where do we go? You’ve head the tales from the cities and saw the traffic. We haven’t seen anyone returning from the west. What if the infe
ction is still out there?”

  “It’s not about that, Andrea. We may not have seen anyone in some time, but we can’t stay here. It’s certain death if we do. Davide and the kids need clean food and water…they need clean air. You know what’s happening to us here. If we don’t leave, we’ll all die. Please, Andrea, we need to leave,” Felisa says, pleading.

  “You’re right. We need to do something. Even if things don’t turn out well, it’s certain death here. Okay, hon, I’ll go see if the car will start. We’ll head west to the coast. Maybe some of those who passed by have set up camps and the air is clean there,” Andrea tiredly says.

  “Thanks, Andrea,” Felisa says, attempting a smile and removing her hand.

  A small bead of blood forms from Felisa’s cracked lips. If Andrea had the capability of crying at this point, he would have.

  “You and the kids finish your dinner and start packing. We’ll leave in the morning.”

  Andrea rises and shuffles out of the door. They’ve all tried to keep as clean as possible, but Andrea and Felisa have forgone their baths, allowing the warm water they heat to be used by the kids. At best, they’ve both cleaned with a cloth at the sink, occasionally washing their hair as well. The odor that follows him out tells of his lack of bathing. However, there is another smell underneath…more rank.

  Opening the front door, the outside, although still warm, is almost refreshing. When they figured out what was happening, Andrea put towels along the window ledges and on the floor by the outside doors. This and the fact that they kept the windows closed at all times led to a stuffy environment inside. However, the interior atmosphere wasn’t only the result of the closed doors and windows.

  Stepping off the porch, Andrea knows the pleasant air is a lie. The sun shining across the fields, the majestic view of the hills around them, the freshness of the slight breeze…all a lie.

  His legs feel rubbery as he crosses the short distance to the open garage next to the house. Dust covers the top of their older model car, partially hiding the blue paint. The door creaks as Andrea opens it. Built up heat pours from inside and the seats are hot as he slides in. Being surrounded by so much metal worries him, but he can’t imagine that any of them have the energy to walk far. They’ll have to take the risk and abandon the vehicle when they reach an encampment, or someplace safe. He has to hold onto that ideal.

  Fumbling with the keys, almost dropping them to the floor several times, he finds the right one and inserts it into the ignition. Turning it, nothing happens. There’s not even a hint of juice trying to turn the starter. The battery, weak to begin with, is now nothing more than an oversized paperweight.

  No, it’s not even a paperweight. At least a paperweight has a function.

  Pulling himself out of the car, the very action tiring him further, he shambles to the hood latch. Raising the hood, he stares at the motor and wires hoping that something obvious shows itself. From what he can see, it looks fine. Wiggling the battery cables, he tries to start the engine again with the same result. They aren’t going anywhere in the car in its present condition.

  Lowering the hood but not latching it, he ambles back inside. The kids stare listlessly into their half-eaten bowls. Felisa, trying to wake Davide to feed him some formula, looks up. Andrea shakes his head.

  “The battery is dead,” he comments without emotion.

  “Paolo up the road has a few vehicles. Can we go see if he has any to spare? I’m sure he won’t mind,” Felisa says, waking Davide to the point of him whimpering.

  “That’s a mile away,” Andrea says, tired just thinking of having to walk.

  Just a while ago, that wouldn’t have seemed like anything. He had worked his fields every day, walking everywhere. He had been in shape in a wiry, conditioned kind of way. He rarely tired from exertion. Now, just the thought of exerting himself beyond sitting is exhausting.

  “I’ll take the wheelbarrow, but it’ll take me a while to get there and back. Let the kids finish eating and then start packing,” Andrea continues.

  “Okay. And Andrea…thank you,” Felisa says, getting Davide to finally take a bottle of formula.

  Andrea nods his reply and exits.

  * * * * * *

  The wheelbarrow is immeasurably heavy as he trudges down the dirt road toward Paolo’s. Even with nothing in it, it seems like he’s pushing a square boulder down the lane. Andrea’s shuffling steps kick up dust and the sun shining from the west seems overly bright. He focuses on one step at a time, knowing that each one is getting him closer to his destination.

  He has to rest frequently, sitting beside wide ditches on both sides of the lane, the fields beyond filled with overgrown grass bending slightly in a small breeze. His progress is so slow that he wonders if he’ll make the two-mile round trip before dark. The walk to Paolo’s is one that should only take him fifteen minutes at the longest, but he’s already been on the road for far longer than that and he doubts if he’s halfway there. Needing a rest and with a sigh, he sets the wheelbarrow down. Now that he and Felisa have made the decision to leave, he wants to be gone. He shouldn’t have waited but really, who knew?

  With an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion, there’s nothing he’d like more than to just lie down on the road and nap with the sun shining on his face. So far, he hasn’t seen a soul or anything moving. There aren’t even any birds cruising through or circling over the fields. It’s utterly quiet and, knowing that the very air is poisoned, the warmth streaming down from the afternoon sun feels wrong.

  Forcing himself to continue, Andrea grabs the handles and lifts. Pushing is an effort and the food sitting in his stomach feels like it may not stay there much longer. He fights against the nausea, knowing that he has to keep his meal down for strength. There is only the crunch of the dirt and small rocks under his feet, the occasional squeal from the front wheel, and the swish of the breeze blowing through the grass. If it wasn’t for everything else going on, it would be a peaceful walk and he might end up miles away from his intended destination, just enjoying the day.

  From their position across the ditch, the shadows from the nearby fence poles stretch almost to the road by the time Andrea finally reaches Paolo’s driveway. He immediately gets the impression that no one is home. The place has the feeling of emptiness.

  Calling out, his throat hurting from the shout, Andrea waits by the end of the drive. With no response, he wheels the wheelbarrow up the driveway and sets it near the front end of Paolo’s truck. From his vantage point, he can see the front door partially open, which in itself is not unusual. Most out in the country don’t have any form of air-conditioning, so it’s not uncommon to leave doors and windows open to create a breeze through the house.

  Steeling himself for the effort, he calls out for Paolo again, with the same result. There’s only the soft sound of the wind blowing through several rows of grape vines along the side yard. Although not really believing there was an outbreak of some new form of rabies, Andrea still approaches the front door cautiously. There’s not really much he can do in his present condition if someone attacked, but there’s the possibility that they may also be in a weakened state. If so, it would more than likely end up like two tired fighters leaning against each other on the ropes.

  Climbing the steps to the overhung porch, Andrea peeks inside the crack in the door. Several beams of light stream inside from open curtains, illuminating the interior. Except for dust covering the tops of the furniture, everything looks as it had during previous visits. However, there is an underlying odor of decay that drifts out through the opening. Hesitating to enter, Andrea walks to the edge of the porch to search the fields for Paolo. It’s the same scene as his long trek – there’s nothing moving.

  Standing at the front door again, he wonders if Paolo joined the exodus westward. The truck sitting in the driveway says that he should be around somewhere, but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t find a ride with someone else – a relative perhaps. Thinking of his family and not wanti
ng to have wasted the trip, but hesitant to just take a battery, Andrea pushes the door open farther, the hinges creaking.

  Stepping cautiously into the room, Andrea stops with a start, his breath catching in his throat. Lying on the couch, unseen from the doorway, a body is stretched out. A pale gray head faces toward the interior with clouded eyes staring at something unseen. Even through the decay, Andrea makes out the unmistakable face of Paolo. Beside the couch lies a pool of dried…something. Feeling his dinner churn in his already nauseous stomach, Andrea backs out of the living room and onto the porch where he stands taking in deep gulps of air: One, to still the nausea and, two, to calm himself.

  Restoring a degree of composure, he reenters the house and begins searching for the keys to the truck. It’s obvious that Paolo won’t be able to give his permission and won’t be using the vehicle anytime soon, so Andrea thinks of just using it himself if he can get it to start.

  This will save time getting back and we’ll be able to load more stuff, he thinks, ignoring the stench and body as he heads to the kitchen area.

  Hoping to find the keys hanging or on a counter rather than in Paolo’s pocket, Andrea starts his search. The radiant sunshine streaming through the curtain gaps lets in enough light so he can fully explore. His own ailments make him numb to the fact that his friend, really more of an acquaintance that being neighbors means, lies dead on the couch nearby.

  With the light taking on an orangish cast, changing from the bright yellow of the day to the glow of early evening, Andrea finds a set of keys lying next to the sink. Feeling fortunate, he palms them and shuffles to the front door. He pauses thinking he should say something for Paolo, but doesn’t really know what to say. He mentally shrugs and heads out the door, leaving it open.

  In the truck, he turns the key. The starter cranks over without the engine coming to life. He tries again. The weakened battery barely turns the engine over and then begins a series of rapid clicks. With a sinking feeling, Andrea leans his head against the steering wheel, sorting through his thoughts.