by Tara Brown
Mrs. Milson swallows hard. “Okay. Sure. Your father would know how to survive. He’s been military for over twenty years.”
“How bad is it down there?” The words slip out, even though I don't actually want the answer.
She looks at the ground but Mr. Milson replies with a quiet tone, “We saw a lot of little kids. They were scared and running. Jack, our old neighbor attacked Bernie, his wife, right on the lawn. He bit her and then fell dead away to the grass. She got up and acted funny and then walked off, leaving Jack there. I went out to see if Jack was dead but he wasn’t. He was just weak and sick and acting really odd. Didn’t seem to recall a single thing.” He nods at his wife. “Betty brought him in and gave him some soup and he slept for hours. When he woke up, he was groggy and disoriented, but he seemed like he might be all right. He headed off to find Bernie, the poor thing.”
Trying to keep up with the way his story differed from mine brings a scowl to my suddenly numb lips. “He got up? He got up and walked around and was fine?”
He nods. “Yeah. He was in some kind of bad shape the day before. Said the only thing he recalled was a great white light, like God was there. It was so bright he couldn’t stand it.”
“Did he find Bernie?” How the hell was he fine after all that? Could my mom be fine?
He shakes his head. “Not sure. We left. The power was out and the city water shut off and there was no reason to stay. We could hear them out there in the yard, screaming.”
“Who?”
His eyes go dark as he lowers his heavy brow. “The ones that didn't seem to come back after the bite. Jack was the only one we saw who seemed fine afterward.”
Blood is draining from my face. I can feel the loss of it in my head. It makes me dizzy with confusion.
“Oh honey, do you want to stay with us?” Mrs. Milson says, no doubt judging by the panic-stricken look on my face. I force my eyes to hers, taking in the severity of her overly dyed, frizzy red hair and shocking amount of red lipstick for the situation we are in. She gives me a teary smile. “Bring the girls over here and I’ll make you a proper meal.” Neither of us takes a single step toward the other.
I nod, taking a step back. It’s a great feeling, knowing there are at least two other people here and they’re adults, but it’s going to take a minute to trust their health and my safety. Especially since I have three little people depending on my discretion.
“I’ll get the girls. I have Gus too, is that okay?”
“God, yes. If anyone will keep us safe, it’s that great huge hound.” She smiles like a grandma would—like my grandma would.
Oh snap, my grandma.
I wonder if she’s all right in Florida—her fall and winter home away from home. My stomach sinks a little as I crunch my way back to the house, less cautious and more disturbed. I don't even make it back to the house, and the three of them are already in the window waving at me. I sigh, wishing they would at least listen to me. I wave for them to come, even though it’s getting to be dusk and the world is considerably less safe at night, in my opinion.
The three of them come barreling out of the front door with Furgus hot on their heels. “Are they safe?”
I nod. “Mrs. Milson wants to make you guys a proper meal.” Gus is already running for their house, leaving us in the dust.
“Oh, thank God,” Joey shouts, running past me to the cabin next door, following the dog completely. I almost tell her to stop and wait for me, but I can see Mrs. Milson running toward them. She has her hands out, taking the three of them into her arms. Furgus rubs against them all, bounding about the yard and barking happily at Mr. Milson.
They all cry—the girls and Mrs. Milson. Why do we do that? Why do we cry when we see someone we hardly noticed before?
She dotes on them like they’re her grandkids, dragging them inside and instantly offering food. I can’t help but smile, watching them eat the snacks she’s offering as she makes dinner. Their little mouths are moving a mile a minute, regaling Mrs. Milson with tales of sixth grade and the adventure they’ve had so far. Furgus sniffs about, scouting out the house for himself.
Mrs. Milson loves kids, always has. When I was little and the cabin was ours, she made me lunch all the time. My mom hated the cabin and never came up much, but my dad and I did. When Joey got old enough, she came up too.
Until a year ago when Mom made him sell it. At least it was only my mom’s brother who bought it, knowing full well what a spoiled brat his sister was being. My Uncle Gary always knew what his sister was like. He was the good kid and she was the diva.
I walk to Mr. Milson, taking several bags from the back of their truck. He glances at me before passing me his pocketknife. “Here. You never know when you’ll need it.”
“Oh, that’s okay. You’ll need it.” I don't want to tell him that the last weapon I took was used on my mother.
He shakes his head. “I won’t. I have two. Just take it.” He picks up some whittled arrows. My dad used to try to teach us about whittling but I sucked, hard. Mr. Milson’s look just like my dad’s did. He’s quite good at it. “So when did your dad say he was going to be back?”
A soft sigh escapes my lips as I look out at the silent woods around us. “He said he was coming home the night it all started. But he never came. We left in the middle of the night and came here.”
“Ya poor things. Must have scared the heck out of you. I’m a grown man and I know I nearly took a stroke when we saw those things and what was going on.”
I can still feel that fear lingering in my belly. “We were terrified.”
“Did you catch the president’s speech? The one about how the CDC thinks this is something called CJD and it’s some form of mad cow for humans?”
I shake my head. “I missed it.” I don't like to think about that moment when I should have been watching it and not peeing on the bench at the front door.
“Well, that's what they’re calling it. And I guess, we’re on our own. The world is gone. Europe has bombed the hell out of itself, trying to kill off the biters. That’s what they were calling them. The biters—they bite and die.”
“That's what I call them too.”
“It’s a fitting name.” He sighs. “They said in Europe a fog came. They don’t know if it’s from the bombs or not. After the fog, no transmissions were coming out of anywhere in Europe or Asia—anywhere. The last thing the president said was that the infrastructure was going down, but that it would be back up as soon as they were able. He said we were to be kind to one another and remember our humanity. He said they were looking for a cure to the CJD thing.”
I smile to stop tears from falling. “Well, you know it’s bad then.”
He looks the same as me—a fake smile and terror in his eyes. “Did you see that thing a couple weeks ago about the red rain in India? I thought then that maybe we were screwed, but the scientists said it was a particle in the rain. But I was worried for a half a minute. You know ‘cause it’s predicted in the Bible, Revelation and all.” He continues picking things up and making a pile to carry in. “Minus the biting of course. I don’t recall the pestilence and plague involving eating each other. It’s an ironic choice of plagues, for our generation. Everyone is so damned obsessed with zombies. Maybe it is God and maybe he has a sense of humor about these things.” He laughs softly, shaking his head. “I’m rambling.”
“I think this is science, not God. I don't know much about God. I’m agnostic. My mother is a Catholic and she has never once done a single thing from the Bible, ever. I have seen her walk past starving people on the streets and not even bat an eyelash. To me Christians seem like the most selfish people on the planet. They’re so worried about getting into Heaven, they don’t think about the fact that their actions are what get them there. Not how many times they say sorry to God. To me anyway. Sorry, are you a Christian?” I instantly realize I’ve said too much. We are both rambling and not making much sense.
“I grew up Catholic, but afte
r a while I realized I didn't need anyone to tell me God loved me—I knew it all along.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “I have a relationship with God that is private. I know he’s there and he wants us to be good people. I can feel him in the air and taste him in the water. And I believe he wants us to live the way Jesus had, giving and helping. I think Jesus was a possibility. God sent him here to show us our potential. Of course, we were foolish and worshipped him, instead of just trying to be like him. He never would have been so vain as to demand worship. Vanity is a sin after all.” He looks up at me with the kindness in his eyes again. “I believe God wanted us to be the best we could. I believe in Heaven and I believe I will hopefully go there when I die, because I have truly tried as hard as I could to be like his son. If I don’t make it, because of one sin or another, I won’t feel bad. I tried as hard as I could. That’s all you have at the end of the day.”
It makes me smile. “I think so too.” ‘Course I leave out the fact I’m sure I haven’t tried my hardest. I could have been a better sister. I could have been a better student. I could have been more understanding of my mom. If it is the end of the world and God is testing us, I’m screwed. So I guess I have to try my hardest to stay alive. That’s a bad feeling. One I can’t cope with. I want to feel sorry for myself. I want to ask why me. But I know I can’t let myself slip into that. That’s what my mom would do and I need to stick with what my dad would do.
“I was only kidding anyway. I think we all know this isn’t God. This is a man-made problem. I just can’t tell what kind. Is it a sickness or is it actually a weapon that got away from them?”
“I think it’s a sickness but then everything they do after they get bit is weird. Julia’s dad,” I nod toward the house where the three little girls are laughing and chatting loudly with his wife, “he came to the house. He talked but he looked really funny. He had a bite and yet he was coherent. He asked for Julia but I could see he wasn't right. So I don't think they’re zombies, but once the sickness takes them, they’re not right. Like how a high fever would disorient someone.”
“It’s a chemical or viral warfare that's gotten away from them. That's my vote. I think when your dad comes he’s going to have an idea what this is.”
I nod, taking the bag into the house. The conversation is a muddled mess of confession and speculation. “I really hope so.” I don't care if he knows anything—I just want him to come here.
“Well, whatever it is, we need to gather our resources and wait this out. Lucky you’re good at hunting and fishing, Lou.”
“Better than most girls my age, I guess.” I glance at Mr. Milson and nod. “My dad taught me a lot of things I didn’t think would ever be more than a weekend activity he liked to do. Things I was getting tired of, if I’m being honest. Camping, hunting, fishing, and hiking. I guess we can stay up here for a while and not worry about much.”
He shakes his head. “We’ll need to go and get food rations, as much as we can carry. Winter is going to be here any day; these little flurries are nothing. I think it’s going to get much worse, and we’d do better being stuck up here for the winter than down there.”
His words make my insides crawl. “We shouldn't go back down there yet.” Even if I do want to see if my mom is okay.
He nods at the cabin full of people we love. “They can’t go down there yet. You and I can, quite easily.” He lowers his voice even more. “What if one of us gets hurt? Or terribly sick. We need antibiotics and bandages. I know we all have enough to last a little while but we need to be able to last the winter. The biters won’t last the winter here, maybe Washington on the coast or California, but the rest of this side of the country will be frozen in a few weeks. Canada is probably already frozen. Trust me, Lou, we need to do this and we need to be fast about it. Before anyone else starts thinking it’s safe to go out and they get all the things we need. Now I need you to think about the fact we won’t be the only survivors, and soon the other survivors are going to be the problem we face, not the biters.”
He’s right. I want to vomit at the idea but he’s completely right. I look at Mrs. Milson with the girls and nod. “We go tonight?” I ask quietly.
“We will go and be back in a few hours. I think we can do a one-stop shop. The pharmacy is probably ransacked but the clinics might be okay. I know where the warehouse storage spot is for the local grocers too.” He pauses, giving me a funny look. “What else did your dad say when you spoke to him about coming home?”
“He said they didn't know what it was but they thought that maybe it was viral. He said it’s everywhere and not to go near anyone.”
He nods. “Where is your mom?”
“In the closet under the stairs.”
His thick wooly brows lift but he doesn't say anything so I do, “She might not have turned. Like your friend Jack, she might have been genuinely sick but we couldn't tell. Joey shot her in the side, scared to death.”
He winces and I can tell it’s not because we shot our mom but because we had to. “Jack turned, kiddo. We saw him bite.”
“But he came back?”
He nods, shrugging bags over his shoulders. “That he did, but we cared for him. We fed him.”
“I locked her in the closet with water. She won’t die in the two days it should take Dad to get there. I know she was bit on the shoulder at some point and never told me, but maybe she’ll be like Jack. I left a note for my dad so he can find her when he gets there. He’ll care for her.”
“If he comes.” He sighs, shaking his head. I don't want to think that way.
When we get inside, Mrs. Milson makes us pasta with tomato sauce, salad, and garlic bread. The smells make my mouth water but the tastes almost make me cry. The girls eat like I’ve never seen them do before. They gobble. It’s the only way to describe it.
“Do you have a lot of food?” she asks, smiling down on the three girls hovering over their plates.
I shake my head. “Not a ton. I had been thinking about going back down and stocking up when Dad came, but now I think we should go before he gets here.”
Her eyes reveal something. It’s a hidden something, a secret maybe. She nods along, sipping her wine. “You should just go tomorrow and leave the girls here with me. You could both go and see if the kids are back at our house yet.”
Mr. Milson nods. “We were discussing this already. It snowed down there, just a dusting but it’s cold. They will have exposure. Most will be frozen, dead, or dying. Either way, they’ll be moving a lot slower.”
My eyes dart to the clueless little faces. He catches my drift, nodding. We don't speak of it again. I don't want Joey to realize I’m planning on going down there without her.
“You guys should sleep here tonight.”
The girls’ faces lift, covered in sauce and grins that tell me they want that. I know I do too. Normally I’m not one for sleeping at other people’s houses—my friends make fun of me for it. But tonight I think sleeping in a house where I’m not responsible for everything under the sun sounds divine. It will make it easier to slip out in the night too.
After we eat I hurry back to the cabin to lock up properly and grab the stuffies. When Songa is in my arms, I feel like a kid again. I tuck my gun in the back of my pants, wishing I had a holster for it. I really don't want to shoot my ass off like I shot my foot with the arrow.
I hand the stuffed animals to the little girls and nod at the stairs. “Bedtime.” Gus gives me sniff as I pass him Monkey. They saunter up the stairs, pausing and looking back at me—even the dog.
I nod. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
Joey swallows hard but she turns and climbs the stairs to the loft.
I turn and walk into the living room to sit across from Mrs. Milson. “What else did you guys see down there? Was there military or police or anything?”
Her eyes narrow. I can see them trying to conceal something again. But Mr. Milson isn’t as deceptive. He shakes his head from the kitchen. “There were not a lot of
regular people. Anyone we saw was running scared or hiding out. The streets were slowly filling up with the bitten. Once they turned they just stood there, like they were waiting to be started up or switched on. When we drove past them, they jerked three times to the right and then started chasing us.”
My stomach sinks. “Mr. Milson was telling me about the president’s speech. Did you see it too? We missed it.”
She snorts. “Fat lot of good it did watching that. I voted for him and everything. He’s a moron. He was all God bless us and grant us the chance to start over when the dust settles. What dust? The dried blood? Where the hell is the military on this?”
Mr. Milson chuckles at his wife’s rant as he joins us in the living room. “The speech was less than impressive. He truly had no advice. He was as emotional and devastated as the rest of us.”
“Except he has an army of men to keep him safe,” Mrs. Milson utters boldly.
“Great. So we are on our own.”
She nods aggressively. “My thoughts exactly. I feel like there is no way the government was oblivious to this. But then I can’t help but wonder why was most of our military not brought home? If they knew, wouldn't they have brought them home? Or were they trying to keep the military safe and letting the rest of us get sick? I don't even know. My whole head is full of contrary thoughts.”
Her words make me think of my dad’s, words I had forgotten about. “They knew. They knew this was happening. Dad said they thought it was terrorism and banned any news on it until it was too late.”
They both stare at me blankly. I don't know what to say to add to what I’ve said, especially not when they’re looking at me like I’m guilty of something.
“They knew and they never warned anyone?” Mr. Milson looks disturbed.
I nod, not understanding how a warning would have helped anyone. We’re alive because they never warned anyone. This mountain would be full of people—sick people—if anyone had warned us.
Mrs. Milson shakes her head, still not speaking.
