Somewhere In The Middle

by Lucas Coon

  "Well, Lilly, my name is Mitchell, but you can call me Mitch if you'd like. It's a pleasure to meet all of you." He smirked as much as he could through his exhaustion. It was a delight to see a happy family after all he'd been through. "And the couple down there?" He pointed in the direction of the other light. He guessed they could hear them talking, though they hadn't even perked up to see who the new resident was. Maybe they weren't as happy as this couple, but he decided that they still deserved to know that there was a new guest.

  "They holed themselves off over on that side of the floor. Feel free to go speak with them if you want, but I haven't gotten much out of them. They showed up two days ago and haven't spoken much since." Darren's voice had lowered to almost a whisper at this point. It was obvious that he didn't want to offend them, just in case they were listening. "His name is Abram. I don't know her name, if that tells you anything."

  "Alright, I'll at least go say hello, let them know there's a newcomer." Mitchell started his stride towards the back end of the office. He once again noted the markings of a previously thriving office environment. There were still laptops and various office supplies still littering several cubicles. He didn't look too far into it just in case he would upset himself again. He wanted to hold on to the little of joy that Darren and Lilly had offered up a few moments ago. He walked with a swift pace, hoping to get the introductions over with. It wasn't that he didn't want to meet these people, or get to know them; he just wanted to find a spot and go to sleep. It felt like eternity since he'd last had a good night's sleep, and tonight might actually offer some rest. He turned the corner to the entrance of the couple's makeshift room. The couple was asleep in a corner, holding tightly onto each other. 'That makes sense as to why they weren't interested when I came in. Even if they don't want to mingle, you'd think they still would've wanted to make sure I wasn't infected.' He thought silently. 'I guess I'll just introduce myself tomorrow'.

  He turned to walk away and noticed a picture hooked to the wall. It was obviously a family photograph of the couple that was lying on the floor. The only difference between the photograph and the current scene on the floor was the number of people. The photograph had two children in it, both boys. One looked to be in his teens, probably a freshman in high school, and the other was younger, maybe ten. Mitchell assumed the worst possible scenario, and it made sense why they weren't exactly talkative to Darren and his family. They'd lost their sons to the monsters. He walked away and went back to where the original three were chatting. He heard his name and paused for a moment. Based on what he'd heard they approved of him staying. 'Well, at least they won't kill me' he thought before he walked back into their cubicle.

  “They were asleep. I'll go ahead and wait until tomorrow to introduce myself.”

  "Alright, fair enough. Well, Mitchell, feel free to choose anywhere to set up shop. We're going to go to sleep for the night, that way little Lilly here doesn't get fussy." He patted his daughter on her head jokingly.

  "I don't get fussy Daddy!" This was an almost ironic statement with the tone of the little girl’s voice. Yet again they had offered up a bit of joy. If it was what he'd get for now, he'd take it.

  "Well, not to be rude, but I'm actually going to take the office in the corner. It looks like it's good sized, and this way I don't get in the way of you guys or the other family over there."

  "That's not rude at all. If we hadn't chosen this cubicle, we would've gone with that office. We only stuck with this because we could easily get to the door, and had a clear view of the street to see any emergency vehicles." Darren gestured that Mitchell had made the right choice. Mitchell nodded. They said their good-nights and he walked over to the office. He turned on the small desk lamp, but left the overhead lights off, much like the families outside. He shut the door behind him, but he didn't lock it. Within the time that had passed between him walking in the door, to saying goodnight, he'd developed a sense of character for the family. He had no reason to lock it, as he had no reason to worry.

  He put his backpack under the desk and looked around the office for a few moments. Shelves, a computer, a sturdy wooden desk, a decent leather office chair, and some motivational posters. Nothing out of the ordinary for an office. He walked over to one of the shelves and looked at the trophies that lined the top shelf. "Manager of the Year; Richard Patrick." He mumbled to the etchings on the base of the metal. There were several of these, all with consecutive years going back half a decade. "Largest Donor, Charity Golf event of Corporate Offices." This was one of the different trophies, and was the only one made of glass. He guessed that the man that worked in this office was a good man. One that cared about his employees and obviously cared about his community. He also probably had more money than Mitchell would ever know what to do with. That being said, he seemed to enjoy giving it to people that needed it. Mitchell continued peering at the other shelves. There were books about golf, no surprise there. There were books about how to be a good manager, and the effective habits that successful people typically had. The odd one out was a fiction book about an alien invasion and them enslaving the entire human race. Mitchell took it off the shelf and tossed it onto the desk. It looked like a good read and he didn't want to miss out on it. He spotted a notebook on the third shelf and pulled it off. He opened the front page. "Looks like Mr. Patrick was monitoring his blood pressure. Well, at least for a couple weeks. He didn't get past the second page." He tore the pages that had writing on them out and put them back on the shelf. He then tossed the notebook onto the desk beside the science fiction book that he has previously decided to keep. Nothing else seemed to catch his eye on this shelf, so he walked over to the desk and sat in the chair. He eyed the laptop. It was a good quality computer, not top of the line, but it definitely wasn't of low quality either. "It may come in handy at some point. Well, if not I can play solitaire before I die." He put the book and the computer, as well as the power cable to the system, into his bag. He grabbed several pens off the desk and put them in the bag as well. He thought about writing in the notebook

  "I should keep a journal. I always said that if my life was interesting enough, I would keep everything documented to look back on." He chuckled under his breath at the thought of ever being able to look back at today in the future. He opened the notebook to the blank page at the beginning and touched the pen to the paper. He wrote 'Dear Diary' on the top line. He then quickly scribbled it out. "No, that's how a twelve year old girl starts their journal. Come on Mitchell." He then wrote 'To Whom it May Concern'. He paused. "No, wait. This isn't a memo; it's supposed to be a personal chronicle of what may be the last days of my life." He scratched that out as well. He sat there staring at the page, now complete with scribbling over words that were too impersonal. He thought about what he should open his journal entry with. It had to matter to him. It had to make him want to write the story of what was happening. If it was too plain, he may write plain. It had to actually touch him in a manner that would encourage him to write his internal most emotions and thoughts. Something that would make him muster up the desire to fill the blank pages. There was only one thing in his life that would give him the encouragement to fill an entire page, and that was her name.

  He steadied the pen at the first blank line, the one under the scribbled out headers, and wrote out her name. 'Aria'. Her name had a Latin origin. It roughly meant "Beautiful Melody" and it was a name that held true to her. Her voice was like music when she spoke to him. She was the only woman he'd ever loved, that's why he made her his bride. They had been married for three years prior to all of this happening, and were together a total of five.

  They always told the story of how they met because it was the self-proclaimed "Funniest Story Ever". While they were both in college, they had attended the party of a mutual friend that was about to be deployed overseas. As with every unruly group of twenty-somethings there was alcohol and loud music involved. Mitchell was standing on the back wall watching her socialize with her friends. H
e was trying to muster up the courage to go over and introduce himself. He had few drinks, but, by his definition, wasn't drunk. After watching her for what felt like forever, the song changed over to one he knew. It could have been hormones, or maybe it was the alcohol. It could even have been a combination of the two, but, at that instance, he pushed himself off the wall and started walking straight over to her. They locked eyes and she smiled; a good sign. He got as close as he comfortably could and began to introduce himself.

  "Hey!" He said that louder than he meant to.

  "Hi." She replied.

  "I love this song!" Real smooth.

  "Me too. It's a good rhythm."

  "Yeah. My name's Mi-" His introduction was cut short by possibly the most unfortunate event that could happen at a party when you're trying to introduce yourself to someone you're attracted to. Another party-goer, one that had drank much more than Mitchell had that night, was dancing very aggressively and stumbled, smashing into Mitchell in mid-sentence. Mitchell fell forward and slammed, quite hard, into Aria, knocking her into the table that was laden with party foods and drinks. He attempted to catch her, only to end up going down with her. By the end of the whole ordeal, the longest ten seconds in recorded history, they were both covered in alcohol, what appeared to be a fruit-punch like drink and cheese flavored tortilla chips.

  Mitchell laid there staring at the ceiling. The room seemed to be spinning at this point. Aria stood up and helped him get to his feet. He turned his head from left to right to analyze the situation, and the analysis was that the party had essentially stopped because everyone was too busy staring at the two soaked strangers. They worked their way through the crowd and out to the front yard. Aria gestured for Mitchell to follow her, and they slowly trotted to her car where she handed him a towel. He dried his face off and opened his eyes to see her giggling at him.

  "That went well didn’t it?" She was somehow able to mutter this sentence without breaking into uncontrollable laughter.

  "For me, that was actually quite impressive!" He was able to make a joke, again, a good sign. What wasn't a good sign was that he started to feel a pressure in his stomach. His smile slowly turned into a frown. Aria noticed the change in emotions and immediately knew what was going to happen. Mitchell gestured that he needed a moment with his hand and he turned around. He had apparently turned too quickly because the motion caused him to expel his last meal onto the sidewalk. He remained motionless for several moments just in case it was going to continue.

  "Are you OK?" She seemed genuinely worried.

  "I'm….I'm fine... What was your name?"

  "It's Aria.”

  "Well Aria, my name is Mitchell. I'm going to have to ask you for a favor."

  "OK…."

  "I just threw up all over my shoes, and I don't think I'm good to drive. Do you think you could take me somewhere to get new shoes?" Aria burst into laughter.

  "Put your shoes in the trunk. We'll get you taken care of." They had known each other less than 5 minutes, and already he had made a complete moron of himself. Why was he worried about his shoes? He loaded his shoes into the trunk and that was the last thing he remembered doing. Aria would always finish the story from here because she hadn't been drinking that night, so she had a clear memory of the whole thing. She would always go on to tell the rest of his foolish actions.

    "So I took Mitchell back to my apartment so he could sleep it off, and when he got in the door he immediately asked why we weren't at the shoe store. When I told him that they were closed, he looked like he was about to cry. I told him that we would go in the morning and that he should sleep it off. He starts walking towards my bathroom and taking his clothes off and I ask him if he's going to take a shower. He says "No, I'm going to sleep." I asked him why he was stripping in the bathroom then, and he said that he wanted to sleep in the bathtub. So I'm standing in my living room watching this man that I've known less than twenty minutes strip naked and lay down in the tub and ask me to turn off the light for him. I asked him why he had stripped naked, mainly because I had a feeling he was going to have a good answer, and he simply responded, "Do you normally wear clothes when you get in the tub?" I couldn't argue that logic, so I turned off the light and closed the door. My roommate asked me who he was, and I told her the story. She laughed. Then she said the craziest thing I'd ever heard. She looked me dead in the eyes and said "Aria, you realize you're going to tell this story at your wedding." I have no idea why she said that, I had just met him and had no intention on marrying him. Three years later we were married and she was right." This was the part that always made Mitchell grin from ear to ear. The fact that her roommate was somehow clairvoyant enough to know that this was the beginning of a relationship that would blossom into a great marriage was always entertaining.

  He looked back at the blank page. He could feel his eyes welling up as he thought about how it all started between them. She was the sweetest woman in the world. The fact that she took in a drunk stranger and took care of him exemplified how kind she was. She had no idea who he was, or his past, but because of a few corny jokes and drunken antics, she had started down the path that led them to what was supposed to be a lifetime of love. It really was a funny story.

  He kept his eyes focused on the page. He couldn't keep his mind straight at this point in time. Too much had occurred in less than a week, and he had no idea where he was going from here. He knew he wanted to live, there was always the possibility that it could all go back to normal, but, at the same time, he wanted to die with the possibility that it wouldn't. He knew every day from here on out would be a struggle to keep going. The name on the page would have to serve as the reason to continue. He would have to do everything for her. He would have to move forward, and do anything he could to try to get back, to try to find her. There was a possibility that she was still alive, but he wouldn't know unless he stayed strong and lived to find out. That was that. He would stay here for a while to help the families that were here, but he would have to move on eventually. Maybe the military would see the sign that he saw on the window, and maybe they would come rescue them. He could tell them that he needed to go find his wife, and they could escort him to where she was. Maybe, just maybe, he would find her there, and find her safe. No, he couldn't deal in possibilities, he would find her. She would be safe. Life would go on. He felt his confidence rising, like he had a newfound strength within him that would force him to keep going. This was the boost he needed.

  He began to glide the pen across the notebook page. He could only think of one thing to write for now. While it wouldn't be a full page, and it wouldn't be an incredible detail of the events that had occurred prior to that exact moment, it would be enough to let him sleep through the night. He finished writing his thought and looked at the page, now complete with a simple message.

  "Aria,

  My Beautiful Melody.

  I miss you.

  -Mitchell"

    It was simple and straight-forward. It was the only thing he felt at that exact moment. He would chronicle the last few days later, until then this would suffice. He closed the notebook, and pushed the pen into the metal spiral for safe-keeping. He placed the notebook in the front pocket of his back pack; it was the only thing in that pocket at this point. He pulled a bottle of water out of his bag. He looked at the label for an address. The closest thing he could find to a location was a small tag that was marked "Bottled Locally". That was no help, he needed to know where it was bottled, an exact location. He unscrewed the cap and took a drink. It was warm, but it was water. He tightened it back on and placed it back in the side pocket of his bag. He had decided that all of this was enough for one night. He glanced at his watch. Ten-thirty PM. He then pulled the phone out of his bag. He held the power button to try to turn it on. Nothing happened. 'Don't know why I even bother…. The battery is dead.' He grumbled at himself. He left in a hurry, so he really couldn't blame himself for forgetting to grab a charging cable. 'Sometimes, it's
the little things you forget that make the most difference….'

  He threw the phone back in the bag and placed it back under the desk. He took his shirt off and balled it up on the floor. It was the closest thing to comfort that he would achieve given the circumstances. He lied down, placing the shirt under his head and glared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours, but eventually he began to feel the grasp of sleep begin to overtake him. It came down to a fight between his thoughts and his eyelids, a fight that he didn't understand why he was fighting. He eventually gave in. There was no more time to think, he was gradually drifting into a world of unconsciousness. His eyes rolled back and his eyelids covered his vision in darkness. The day was over and tomorrow would come soon enough

  Chapter 3 – Good Morning

  "Where are you?" A sweet voice echoed emphatically. There was a sense of desperation in the inquiry, almost as if the person on the other end was asking it in an attempt to save their own life. Mitchell could recognize the voice, but the words were muffled to a point that he couldn't fully determine who it was. He opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't seem to muster a response. It was as if some force was wrapping its hands around his lungs and squeezing the air out. He could still breathe, but the words refused to escape from his lips. He tried repeatedly to announce his whereabouts, but every attempt was failure. He began to feel exasperated.