by Anthony Puyo
“What does all that mean, General?”
“It means, we need tons of more data and testing.”
“I understand, General, but your scientists have to have some idea, even if it’s just a theory.”
The General sighs, he sounds uncomfortable. “We speculate there might be an imbalance of electrical charges within certain organs, mainly the brain, possibly causing distortion, if you will, of thoughts and perception. The how and the why; if we are correct, we don’t know.”
“That’s interesting. How about the voices? Why do they sound distorted?”
“The voice box is capable of infinite sounds according to how the lungs pass air through it, the way you make your mouth—and so forth. It’s just a theory, but we feel it’s like a hunting mechanism, sort of like a duck call a hunter would use, except, this one is meant for us, possibly to cause fear—to bring us out from hiding.”
“I want to touch on something you said earlier. You said there are reversible properties in the brain. Does that mean there could be a cure? How about for the chemical imbalance?”
“Perhaps down the road. Far down the road. It’s a tall order to ask while we’re in the state that we're in. We don’t have the resources to invest in that sort of solution. Though, we would if we had one. As I said before, we need more data and testing. We could be months, possibly years away from understanding this completely.”
“So we can likely reverse some properties of this disease.”
“First of all, I wouldn’t call it a disease. And the reversing in the prefrontal cortex, comes about after death . . . Right now, we don’t know how to reverse it in live subjects. If we did, the war would be over.”
Reporter moving papers, disappointment in her voice. “I see, General. Well what do you propose we do then? Does the government—military—have a plan? What do you suggest the citizens of this country to do while this is sorted out?”
The General sighs with no response.
“Is there a plan, General?” The reporter badgers.
“The government, military . . . all branches have sustained huge losses. We are in the process of getting our footing—stabilizing. When we are able, we will be setting up camps along major cities, and with the recruitment of citizens, we will treat the situation like any other war effort. We will cleanse the land of the enemy.”
“Are you proposing genocide, General? On our land, on our own citizens?”
A scoffing reply from the General, “Let’s be clear about this; this is war. One we are losing by the way. And time—time has decided to side with the enemy. If action is not taken harshly, and swiftly, we may never have the opportunity to debate any issue, let alone this one.” The General takes off his mic. His voice fades off the set, “That is all I have to say—I have important business to attend to.”
“General, these people you call enemies are our loved ones! We can’t do this; we need to focus on a cure!”
The reporter gathers herself, mumbling things off the mic. She comes back on, calmer. “Sorry everyone, the General has left. We have nothing more to conclude on this program.” There’s a crack of sadness in her voice, “Until further notice, this will be my last report. We here at the station, will be searching for safety. To all of you, we wish you the best . . . God be with us.”
Charlie, feeling disappointed, turns the radio off, shaking his head. He looks over to Craig, “At least we know what we’re planning.”
Craig feels the same, but says nothing. Death is all we’re good for—how sad are we?
“I think the phone is charged if you want to call your wife. Thank god this guy was into his technology.” Charlie says, referring to the multiple charging outlets and USB inserts the diesel is equipped with.
Craig grabs the phone. It has an enough charge for a short call. He dials Melissa.
“Honey, is it you?!”
Craig hears the excitement in her voice. “It’s me, baby! Is everything alright with you and Ryan?”
Melissa sighs deeply. “We’re okay, but we had to leave Jessie’s.”
“What! . . . Why!”
“The infected broke into the house, got to us in the basement.”
“God, Is everyone okay?”
“I’m fine, Ryan is fine . . . but Ruben . . . he didn’t make it.”
No! You have to be kidding me? “Jesus . . . Baby, I’m sorry to hear that.”
Ruben was good friend to Craig and good uncle to Ryan. It’s hurtful to hear the news, but in these times, it is to be expected.
Jessie, now Ruben; life has lost all normalcy.
“Yes, I know. We couldn’t be trapped there, Craig. I couldn’t risk losing Ryan.”
“Where are you now?!”
“We got a ride from some survivors. Don’t be upset please? They told me downtown was a mess. I had to make a decision. It was really terrible on the streets, and I didn’t know where you were, or If you were alive. I just wanted to protect Ryan. I felt that’s what you would’ve wanted me to do . . . I’m sorry, honey—”
“Don’t be. You did the right thing. I’m just glad you two are okay. Where are you?”
“They wanted to leave town, head towards Caruthers, but we got a flat in the industrial side of town. We’re staying in an old warehouse till they can figure out what to do next.”
“Is Ryan feeling better?”
Melissa's voice gets solemn. “He’s got me worried. He’s still sick with a fever, and an earache he won't let me see. I don’t have anything to give him.”
“Poor kid,” Craig sighs, “I should have never volunteered for the Kesburg sale. I should be there for you . . . for Ryan.”
“Don’t you say that; you didn’t know this was going to happen! No one did. Just get to us like I know you will. We’re fine for now. The people we’re with are good people, and they can handle themselves.”
Craig’s phone makes a beep, warning him of low power. “I need you to tell me exactly where you’re at? I’m near downtown, which isn’t too far from the Industrial area.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you remember seeing anything, a landmark, something I would notice?”
Melissa gets excited, she remembers something. “There was a big advertisement sign that had a saying on it . . . something like ‘A strong mind, a good heart equals’ . . . something. I don’t remember exactly, but it’s close to that.’’
“Good enough, honey. I’ll find you . . . I promise.”
Melissa’s stomach sinks. Every time she hears his voice it could be for the last time. “Okay,” she says, with trembling words.
Craig feels hopeless. He can’t ease her the way he wants—the way he should. His feelings are deep for his wife and his son, and the time away has only heightened those feelings, but now is the time to be strong—confident. He had to lift Melissa’s spirit. He needed her to have hope.
“I love you,” Craig says, with more feeling than he can remember ever saying it with.
She replies, “I love you more.”
They hold on to each other's last breath before hanging up.
Melissa’s, I love you more response, triggers a long but not forgotten memory for Craig.
It was ten years ago. Melissa and him had been dating for three months. Craig was twenty-five years of age, Melissa was twenty-three. They were young—aspiring. Melissa, a free spirit, and Craig; very simple and friendly.
Craig invited her over for a romantic dinner he had planned a week in advance. He remembers how they sat at his small, round, dining table dressed with a beige tablecloth. In the middle of the table was a purchased bouquet of colorful flowers. By their seats were burgundy napkins that matched the velvet colored wine in their glasses.
The room was well lit, showing the mostly brown decor and furniture in Craig’s apartment. He didn’t know till a few months later, when she moved in, that she couldn’t stand his over use of the color brown.
After they had finished their meal, which consisted of
El Pollo Loco, her favorite, and a nice cobb salad, also her favorite, the power went out, Craig remembers how they both got quiet for a second when it happened. The outage occurred on the entire block that night.
“Don’t worry,” Craig remembers saying, “I got candles.”
He helplessly looked through the dark cupboards of the kitchen, not able to find them. Melissa being Melissa, always cheery, always wanting to help, went into the kitchen. She found a lighter and flicked it. The soft little flame gave enough light to help Craig find two vanilla candles that he had for over a year.
Craig turned to Melissa with the two candles in his hands. She’s beautiful, he thought.
He hadn’t had a sexual thought up to that point of the evening. It was her sexy eyes that had galvanized him the first time they had met, and it was her eyes this night that brought on that sudden feeling.
They stood a foot apart, discussing the situation at hand but other things were on their minds. The yellow light center-staged them from the chest up.
Her auburn hair, pixie-style, fit her well; the warm glow exposed her neck. Craig had and still has a thing for necks, and hers certainly did it for him, giving him a slight movement in his underwear.
He remembers her glistening brown eyes, her diamond nose piercing that sparkled from the flame glow. He was never big on piercings, but possibly from the wine, he found it unusually sexy. Her white smile only heightened the look.
Immersed in his memory, Craig sees her dark-red lips shine, as if he were there all over again. He remembers wanting to feel them on his.
With a lit candle in each hand, he stood there—she stood in front of him. She gave him a certain look. The one that a woman gives that lets a man know the front door is unlocked. Her face: innocent with sexy undertones.
Craig walked right in. Their lips came together—gently. Their minds blocked out everything, causing them to feel the smallest of sensation: the warmth from their breaths, the softness, the dampness of their kiss.
It was Melissa who led him to the bedroom, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, while he held the candles apart.
Once on the bed, they explored each other’s body for the first time. The foreplay was exciting, but kept sensual. They let the night dictate where it went.
Soon, they found themselves bare and slipping into the covers. The caressing and kissing continued till it was time.
They laid covered by the satin sheet, stomach to stomach, Craig on top. The candles burned, the small flames flickered, casting dim shadows on the walls and on their naked skin.
Eyes closed and in deep focus, they kissed passionately, concentrating on the feeling and rhythm of the moment.
Melissa moaned delicately as Craig went in. The sheets moved over them, silhouetting their moving bodies. His toned abs contracted and retracted as he went in and out softly. The small circular hairs that lined around his navel brushed up and down on her delicate, white skin—making their sweat mingle.
Craig’s left arm cradled her, easing her, in that moment, she was his. His hand made its way to the back of her head. He crossed strands of her hair in between his fingers. It was soft and smelt beyond pleasant.
Craig’s right hand crept up to massage her breast.
Melissa's arm went around his waist—sweat bonded it there. She slid it up him, her palm on his back, fingertips grazing his spine.
Craig found her spot—she got closer—gripping him tighter, clinging her legs around his calves. Her hand moved up as she felt more ready. Her hand finally made it to the back of his neck, where she squeezed gently, then firmly. As she got deeper into her pleasure, her nails unknowingly went into his skin.
Feeling it, Craig wasted no time, he moved faster—harder, grinding into her hips. Melissa was melting inside, her moans got louder. She opened her eyes then bit his cheek. Craig felt her body quiver. His breaths became fast, then harder, and harder more.
Closer to orgasm, he jerked his hips again and again, the next one harder than the next.
Almost there. One more time.
Then . . .
An explosion of peace and love. Craig lifted up, let out a large gasp, and fell back onto her, not moving a muscle.
Melissa, underneath, eyes half closed, laid limp with sweat on her forehead, neck, breast, and all the way in between her thighs. She rested, soaking in the moment.
Craig felt strong feelings for her, and it showed in his love making.
Melissa opened her eyes minutes later. Craig’s face had a delicate caring look. She smiled intimately. She combed her fingers into his hair, feeling his tight-curls. She was satisfied, and so was he.
Craig remembers whispering in her ear, “Hey?” His warm breath circling her cheek and ear.
In the same fashion, she replied, “Yes?”
The time was right, not because he thought it to be, but because it was natural. He whispered, “I love you.” It was his first time saying those words to her.
Melissa knew how he felt before he even said it. He had told her already through his actions and now through his body. It came from his heart. She had never felt it before from any other partner, nor did she feel that way towards any of them. But now she did, she felt it for Craig.
“I love you more,” she said, in a whisper that was as sweet as honey.
Charlie Bodine notices Craig’s having a moment. He taps his shoulder, letting him know it’ll be okay. Craig gives a modest grin at the honest gesture.
“So where are your boys held up?” Craig asks.
The truck is bouncy from the broken pavement and debris.
Charlie looks over at him smoothly. He points to his cigarette pack on the middle of the dash. Craig reaches over and pulls one out for him.
Charlie keeps his eyes on the road while he lights it with the diesels cigarette lighter. He takes a few drags. With an inhaled voice he answers. “They're at Van Ness First National.”
Craig replies, “A bank? That doesn’t seem to be the safest of places.”
Charlie lets out his smoke. “The boys happened to end up there. Chased in there by those crazies.”
“They must be good with the barrel to last that long in there, huh?” Craig asks, as he looks out his window from his side. He didn’t want to see Charlie’s face when he answered, he only wants to hear his voice.
Charlie looks over at Craig, seeing the back of his head, but notices the reflection of his face in the window. He takes a hit of his cigarette before answering. “My men . . . they are that. Very handy with the barrel.”
There’s a smooth calm in Charlie voice. Craig detected it.
“How did that conversation go with your wife? Is there a reunion in your near future?”
“They had some trouble. They fled from her sister’s, but they're not too far from where we're headed.” Craig responds, the change in topic also noted.
“You know I’m really grateful for your help getting that chest back. My men and I will be well armed now, maybe make a difference out here—”
“Not like the bad guys, they were only going to look out for themselves, right?”
Charlie pauses, sensing an undertone of sarcasm. “That’s right . . . they wouldn’t of cared for nobody.”
“But you do? . . . You and your men?”
“Well, yeah, done cared our whole life,” then he talks under his breath, “Don’t have anything to show for it.”
“What was that?”
“Oh nothing. I just want to say I’m grateful for what you did back there and what you’re doing now. I owe you—we owe you—”
“You don’t owe me anymore. You’re taking me here, where you promised.”
“No, we’re not done. To show our appreciation we’re going to get you to your wife and son. What do you think about that? You like?” Charlie smiles with his whole face.
“Charlie, the breaks!”
Charlie’s looks ahead, his face surprised, “Shit!” He slams the brakes, screeching the tires hard.
They ne
arly hit a barrage of vehicles, too many to move through. For every vehicle that can be seen, there seems to be double that in corpses around.
The men gape. “Jesus,” Charlie expels.
The carnage here was worse than had seen since the beginning of the whole thing.
“Unbelievable, Charlie.” Craig utters. “We have to get through this?”
“I’m afraid so, friend.”
They’re one city block from the bank, and Charlie’s men. But one block can feel like a mile when you're traveling heavy and cautious.
Charlie scopes out the place while sitting in his seat.
Craig asks, “What’s our next move?”
“There's a path through that park over there, but it’s accessible only on foot,” Charlie replies, pointing with a crown of his head.
Craig gazes over to where Charlie’s talking about. He notices the ten-story, brick court building that resembles a chimney as black smoke drifts from the top. It lies in the center of the park. Other smaller municipal buildings surround it, all leading to where Craig and Charlie have to zip through to get to where they’re going.
The large city-park looks like a cemetery where they forgot to bury the bodies. The city's bus system, use to makes its pickups and drop offs on the west corner, but now the busses have stopped, the vessels of death stay parked on the park’s grass along with many other stalled vehicles. It doesn’t take much imagination to know how they got there.
It must have been pandemonium here when the event hit, Craig and Charlie think.
Downtown—the life blood of a city. Filled with all kinds of people of many cultures and races with as many reasons why they’re there. Business, pleasure, vagrancy to name a few. When the incident happened, it was one of the hardest hit places in Fresno. It could only be imagined what was seen here through the eyes of the now deceased.
Back in Time:
A man sitting in his car, waiting for a green light switching radio channels, thinking of his next meal; he peers into his rearview mirror seeing a city bus approaching with no intentions of stopping and him no time to react. Before he can utter any words, his chest crushes against the steering-wheel, and his car is pushed into the cross street, causing a devastating pile up.
