And that could have only one outcome.
Jeremy sat against a tree, watching his father care for his brother. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. Not anymore. He had cried so much already he was now completely spent. He just stared ahead, watching his father clean the wound and tousle his brother's hair. Just trying to make him comfortable until the end came.
The wound was nasty, but not fatal. Even Jeremy knew this. The virus, however, would be. Not directly, but he knew that his father would have only one choice available. He couldn't allow Zach to turn, so he would have to do what he did to their mother after she got sick.
What was worse is that he knew his brother was aware of this too. The thought of it all brought more tears where Jeremy had felt there were none left.
Trish watched Ed and the boys from a distance. She sat along with the others in their makeshift camp, sick to death with sadness and overwhelming grief. She knew how much the boys meant to Ed and how hard he'd tried to always protect them. They were his babies. Zach was such a wonderful kid too. What happened was nothing short of devastating.
She knew Ed must be blaming himself. She knew because she did too. She replayed the events again and again in her head as she sat, trying to determine if there had been something she could have done differently, but the thing had been so quiet no one heard it approach. In her rational mind she knew it wasn't her fault, but that didn't change how terrible she felt.
She continued watching Ed and boys until she felt a tear stream down her cheek. She turned away, closing her eyes. Mitchell walked over, then sat on the ground beside Trish, across from Tammy. All were somber and quiet. Dave was gone, fetching more water from the stream he'd found earlier. They sat this way from some time, unsure of what to say or do next.
Mitchell then spoke softly. “I had a daughter once,” he mused. “This is the worst thing he'll ever go through.”
Trish began to cry. She leaned over to him, placing her head on his shoulder. He held her, patting her back as she sobbed. Tammy was lost in her own thoughts. She had already suffered such a significant loss that day; taking on another tragedy so soon was proving too much for her to handle.
Dave eventually reappeared with the rest of their canteens, all now full of water from the stream. He saw Ed cleaning his son's mortal wound, and Trish sobbing into Mitchell's shoulder. Tammy was completely gone.
How did things get so fucked up so fast? he thought to himself.
He had no answer.
Ed awoke flanked by both of his sleeping boys. At first he was disoriented, as often happened to him right after awakening. They always rotated sleeping, so how had they come to all fall asleep at the same time? It was then the memory returned; hard, cold and unflinching.
The bite from the carrier.
His son was going to die.
His eyes filled with tears, the full realization drenching him in a horrible, unjust reality. He attempted to subdue it, trying not to wake the boys. They couldn't see him this way, especially Zach. Their time was so short now; they had to remain strong and get all they could from it. Just as he had done when Sarah got sick.
He couldn't help but feel that he had failed Zach. He was supposed to protect him, to keep him out of harm's way. Now the virus was incubating in his son's body, dividing and growing as he slept, and would soon override everything that had made Zach who he had been. It was the worst thing about the virus; rather than kill outright it stole one's humanity first, leaving the animated corpse to walk about and repeat the cycle.
Zach would soon become a raving lunatic, bent on killing and eating them all, even his own father and brother. The thing he would turn into would be nothing more than an animal masquerading as his son, devastating his body and corrupting his brain. It would then be Ed's responsibility to end his suffering, just as he had for his mother.
He sat up, being careful not to disturb the children. They rustled a bit in their sleep, but they didn't wake. He had told his son a lie; he told him it was just a scratch and they couldn't be sure he'd contracted the virus. Zach had accepted his lie, but whether or not the boy actually believed it Ed didn't know for sure. He had his suspicions though. Once the virus took hold and started to change him the fantasy would collapse under its own weight. There could be no more lies then. They would bide their time together, but the sand would eventually run out of the hourglass.
And when the last grain had fallen through, Ed would have to put him down.
He wouldn't do it tonight though; there were too many things left to say. They still had some time remaining, possibly a couple days, and they were going to make the most of it. Then, when the time came, he'd do it while the boy slept.
Just as he had with Sarah.
The following morning they all awoke around daybreak. Ed stayed with his sons, still positioned away from the group. Everyone gave them their space. Trish offered them some food and they took it, thanking her. She then left them alone, weeping silently as she walked back to the others. Mitchell placed his hands atop Trish's when she returned. She was too sad to respond, or to even look at him. They stayed this way for a while.
Eventually her tears dried up and she regained her composure. He released her hand and she took a seat on the ground next to him.
“I brought coffee,” he told them, and they chuckled at his attempt at mild humor. All except Tammy who sat expressionless, staring blankly into the dense forest. Mitchell noticed, but said nothing about it. He figured she had a lot of her own mourning to do.
He heated up some water, then prepared coffee everyone but Tammy, who refused. He sat back down with his cup of hot coffee. He took a sip, blew on the steaming liquid, then looked thoughtfully at Tammy.
“I'm sorry about Brenda,” he said. “She seemed like a great girl.”
Tammy turned to him, nodded, and then replied. “She was.”
“Daddy, will I see Mommy again soon?” Zach asked.
Ed felt his heart sink. After so much sorrow he thought he could feel no more. That apparently wasn't true; sorrow showed no kind regard to limitation.
“Don't talk like that,” Ed told him. “We don't know anything for sure yet.”
“Will I, Daddy?” Zach repeated. “Tell me the truth.”
He looked at his son lying in the sleeping bag, the spitting image of his mother. His face was honest; afraid but unflinching. The boy's strength was immeasurable and it made Ed feel ashamed. Lies held no water and contained no merit with him. Brutal honesty was all they had left now that everything else had truly been stripped away. They were all emotionally raw and naked, completely exposed to one another as never before.
“If Heaven's real, then you definitely will,” Ed told him.
Zach smiled. If Ed could have switched places with him he wouldn’t have hesitated to do so. The universe, however, was horribly indifferent. Nothing at all was ever fair.
Tammy sat, staring into the distance. She had no appetite, and no desire for water despite her pounding headache. Her world was in upheaval. What will I do now? she wondered to herself. Her best friend was gone, the only person who ever really understood her, killed in a second by maniac with a gun. Pointless, all of it. She felt numb and distant; completely dead inside. The world had turned so ugly and horrible after the virus; now it was even worse.
Then, on top of it all, the boy was infected. The virus knew nothing of compassionate discrimination. An innocent child robbed not once, but twice. Robbed of his mother, and now robbed of his own life.
She was an outsider in this group, just as she'd been an outsider in the world before the virus. Maybe she hadn't given Dave a chance; maybe he wasn't such a bad guy after all. But the way Brenda had sidled up to him, leaving her best friend behind to tow the line, made it feel as if Brenda had been taken away from her twice. Why did she feel so badly about a person who would ignore her best friend?
It was all just so hopeless, so pointless, and so brutally painful. And ultimately so fucking meaningless.
Suppose they did reach this so-called “safe” city? Suppose it was virus-free? Suppose she could live there for the rest of her life? What did it change? She was still an outcast, even among the few survivors left. What could possibly change that?
Nothing, really.
Nothing at all.
That evening Ed remained with Zach and Jeremy. It had been almost twenty four hours since Zach had been infected. Ed knew, as they all did, that he had at the most not even a day left. The virus was fast, too fast. Nobody made it past forty-eight hours before showing symptoms.
Ed and the boys talked. They didn't mention the virus anymore; it was pointless. The spoke of the good old days, the days when they'd all been a family. The days when their mother was still alive, before the world as they knew it had ended. Trips to the art museum, grocery shopping, the zoo, the first day of school, birthdays, Halloween, and Christmas. All the things that made up their lives together, the strands of experience that connected them so much closer than genetics ever could.
Ed continued to check the wound periodically; it seemed no worse than the prior day. He could see no excessive swelling or discharge, nothing to indicate bacterial infection. But the viral infection had no doubt found its way in all the same, he knew. It would only be a matter of a day or less and the signs would start to show.
It started with fever. It got much, much worse from there.
They napped sporadically. Ed held his son most of the day, as if their closeness would allow him to absorb the essence of his boy. He care nothing of infection anymore; what would be, would be. Jeremy sat with them, acting brave. He watched his father and emulated him. The thought of losing his brother, with whom he'd spent so much time and relied so heavily upon, was devastating.
There was no guard duty for them. They didn't watch for carriers. Ed didn't care anymore; the virus had won. If its minions showed up to deliver it to the rest of his family then so be it. It was a fitting end.
Later that night Ed awoke again, surrounded by his sons. He lifted his head to look around and saw Dave on guard duty, staring into the woods. The rest of the group lay on the ground, asleep.
Ed looked at his two sons in the dim moonlight; two beautiful, broken creatures. They'd suffered enough, hadn't they? Hadn't they all? And where was their relief, their blessings from on high? Nowhere to be seen. They were on their own, and only Ed could bring an end to that suffering.
He reached down and removed his pistol from the holster. He would make it quick; Zach would never know it was coming. He would handle Jeremy's grief after it was done. How, exactly, he would do that he didn't know. It was a bridge to cross later. Ed wasn't sure his younger son would ever be the same again.
He moved slowly so as to not wake the children. He placed the barrel of the pistol near Zach's temple. The chamber was loaded; all it would take was a squeeze of the trigger. He flipped the safety off and placed his finger carefully on the trigger. One squeeze, one trivial little movement, and his son's suffering would never occur. He would go quickly and painlessly, without knowing the hell his mother had known before she died.
He watched his son's chest rise and fall in the dim light from the sliver of moon high above. He thought about all the things Zach should have been allowed to experience. He thought about the man his son should have become. Ed remembered holding him right after he was born, and in that instant he saw his son's life pass before his eyes. None of that would come to pass now. It was just a ghostly vision, an imagined screenplay of a life that would be cut well before its end.
Ed began to sweat, and his stomach seemed to twist into knots. His face became hot and flushed. Adrenaline poured into his bloodstream. Emotions he hadn't felt in years rushed in, reminding him of Sarah. Killing his infected wife was the hardest thing he had ever done. The time had come for Zach to die; did he have the fortitude to carry it out? Could he pull the trigger and kill his own flesh and blood?
His finger squeezed the trigger slightly. He held it there for a moment, feeling the firing pin on the very edge of striking the cap of the shell. One click, then oblivion; a tiny scrap of lead to send him on his way. He had brought this human being into the world, now he would take him out of it.
His finger tightened slightly, then relaxed. Had they spent all the time they could together? They still very likely had another twenty-four hours. The virus hadn't shown any signs yet, so time was still available. It would come of course, but there was still precious time left. How could he end his son's life if he still had just a bit more to squeeze out of it? Was that fair to Zach? Or to Jeremy?
Ed released the trigger, and reapplied the safety. Not tonight. He placed the pistol back into its holster, then lay back down. Tears leaked from his eyes, his chest convulsing as the sobbing wracked his body. He held his doomed son closer. Jeremy stirred in his sleep, then reached out and hugged his father.
After some time Ed fell asleep; his face still covered in tears. He slept through the rest of the night, sleeping the fitful yet dreamless sleep of the damned.
Tammy awoke the following morning before the rest of the group. She opened her eyes and saw Dave, his back to her, finishing up the tail end of his guard duty. She closed her eyes again. Her best friend was still dead. That knowledge was like a dull ache, affecting every part of her mind and body.
It was all meaningless; all their effort, all their struggle, all their successes and failures, they all amounted to nothing in the end. None of it mattered up until now, and none of it would matter going forward. Another day of pontification and consideration hadn't changed that. It never would. She was sick and she was tired. She saw only day after day of the same worthless grind, only to ultimately become food for the deadwalkers, or to catch a bullet from a sniper as Brenda had.
She opened her eyes again, then sat up. Dave heard the movement behind him and turned around.
“Morning,” he said.
She grunted a response, too lethargic and apathetic to provide much more than that. She looked over and saw Ed sleeping with his two sons. It was only a matter of hours before the oldest one would start turning. And, after Zach was dead, how long could Ed expect to protect the younger one?
She stood up, surveying the camp once more. Everyone else was asleep, blissfully and temporarily unaware of the pain that permeated through each one of them. They'd remember it when they woke up, and they'd suffer through until sleep could bring more peaceful relief.
She looked at Ed and his boys once again. How could anyone expect Ed to carry on after the death of his son? Would he allow his son to turn into one of those...things? Surely not. And that meant he'd have to do the job himself. How could a father live with killing his own son, even if it was a mercy killing?
She knelt down, then picked up the rifle.
He shouldn't have to find out, she thought.
In his dream Ed was home. Sarah was there, healthy and happy, sitting on the couch of their living room. Bright light streamed in through the picture window behind her, nearly blinding in its intensity. Zach and Jeremy sat on the floor, playing with toys together. They were seven and five respectively, as they had been just before the virus struck.
Her face was obscured by light that grew brighter and brighter every second. He tried to speak to her, but found he couldn't. Her mouth moved as if to say something to him, but he could hear no sound. She was smiling, her mouth turning up into a slight sneer on the right side like it always did when she was happy. They'd often called it her “Elvis” smile as a joke.
He tried to run to the couch, to his wife, but his legs were nearly frozen. It was as if his feet were trapped in deep, wet mud and his legs too weak to lift them out. He tried to speak again without success, then he tried to scream. No sound came out.
Sarah then began to drift away. Ed looked down in his hand. It was filthy, stained with years of travel, and in it he held his pistol. He raised it, pointing it toward his wife, and the expression on her face changed. Her brow furrowed, her smile turne
d into a frown, and her eyes seemed to lose focus. She bared her teeth like and animal, then opened her mouth to scream.
Suddenly Ed was jolted awake by the sound of a gunshot.
“Tammy!” Dave yelled. He turned to the rest of the group. They were wall awake by then, jolted upright by the sound of the gunshot.
“That was Tammy's rifle,” he told them.
“Where is she?” Trish asked.
“She went to the woods to pee.”
“With her gun?” she asked.
“Of course with her gun. We gotta go check it out; she might have run into a carrier.”
Trish looked at Dave. “Honey, I don't think she took a shot at a carrier.”
“What do you mean?” he asked. Then a look of sick realization passed over his face. “Oh, no.”
“I'm sorry,” Trish replied.
Dave sat down for a moment, lost in realization. The rest of the group waited, aside from Ed. He was numb to most everything outside of his children anymore. Dave stood up, drawing the pistol that had once belonged to Brenda from his front pocket.
“I'll take care of it,” he told them, then promptly disappeared into the woods. “She's my responsibility anyway.”
He found Tammy lying face down on the forest floor, her rifle lying beside her lifeless body. A large exit wound had destroyed the back of her head. He felt he should have been more shocked, but things were happening so quickly he barely had the time to feel anything anymore. First Sandy and Jim, then Brenda, then Zach. And now Tammy too. Just another horrible thing in the course of another horrible day.
And life went on all the same.
He recovered the rifle from the scene, then walked back to camp leaving the body where it lay. There was nothing else he could do for her.
Into the Badlands Page 22
