We travel through the tunnel. Occasionally, he swerves around cars that are stopped in the middle. Some have their door open, and some do not. My curiosity asks me to look inside, but I am afraid as to what I may find. More dead? People who died from the disease, or worse, people who were killed after?
The car begins to approach the other side of the tunnel. More light begins to pour into the car as the entrance gets closer. I look over toward my brother. He has both hands firmly on the wheel and a dead stare locked on the road ahead.
As my eyes adjust I wonder why I am not a mess over this hostage thing, but then I see something that wrenches my attention...
Mud.
It's on the center console, and I don't remember it being there when my brother reached for a gun behind it. And I remember that moment very well. I turn my head toward the backseat. There is nothing there except for a little more mud that seems to drag up on the back of the seat. Those are footprints. Someone is in the car. I glance over to Jon. His eyes are still fixed on the road ahead. He is slowing down since we are about to exit the tunnel. I guess he is afraid of any surprises. I can feel my heart begin to beat through my chest as I look toward the back seat.
Whoever it is must be hiding behind the seat in the cargo space. Someone really quiet, too, if he or she managed to slip in without us noticing at the bridge. Probably someone smart. Maybe someone deadly.
“Jon can we pull over up here, I am not feeling well now.” He gives me a frustrated look. The area looks pretty safe. There are only a few vacant cars on the side of the road and some paper flying in the wind. “Please Jon, it's really important.” I squeeze his right arm and our eyes meet. His jaw loosens, and his eyes tighten; he now knows something’s amiss. He pulls to the side of the road and lets me out. He follows beside me. We both shut the car doors.
“What's wrong?” he whispers as he grabs my shoulders.
“There's someone in the back...” I mumble through my teeth. Instantly, Jon digs back out the gun. I go for the knife and keep my hand in my pocket clutching the handle. We walk slowly around the car, hunched over so that we’re below the window line.
“Get behind me.” Jon commands, quietly. He prepares the gun in his right hand as he reaches for the trunk handle with his left. He looks at me and mouths, “One, two, three…”
He throws the trunk door into the air and points the gun into the back. Someone huge is hiding back there. Someone filthy. I inhale air in fear. As my eyes focus, I realize that everything I’ve just thought was wrong, except for the filthy part. It is actually two girls. Both of their blue eyes meet mine. They are quivering. I exhale relief and I feel all my muscles release. I reach to pat Jon's arm down, but he already has the gun dangling toward the ground. He drops it. His right hand shakes.
I study the two girls and how tiny they are. Both had the same blue eyes and dark hair. Maybe it’s black but they’re both so covered in dirt that I can't tell. They are the most pathetic looking creatures I have ever seen, apparently homeless and hungry, with sunken cheeks and cracked lips. They must be twins. I feel awful. How many other children already look like this?
One of them finally breaks the silence, talking quickly, just like a little girl might if she knows she’s in trouble with her parents.
“Please help us, we have no one. We didn't wanna scare you, but we didn't know what to do. We are sorry. We didn't want you to leave us too!” I guess they are around ten or eleven years old. Jon looks at me; his eyebrows show more concern than I normally see on his face. The right side of his face smiles.
It isn't long before Jon is giving the girls as much of our food as they can eat. One is making peanut butter crackers while the other washes down her granola bar with some bottled water. Their faces glow with happiness as they fill their stomachs. We all sit in a circle on the side of the road with some food in between us. I keep anxiously looking around us but it seems to be a pretty safe spot. The one girl offers me my own cracker with her dirty hands. Normally I would want my hand sanitizer, but I eat it anyway, and it tastes even better in front of their smiling faces. I hear a crunch to my left as Jon bites into two crackers on either side of his mouth, making a goofy face that pulls a bunch of giggles from the twins. I sigh again, this time with a little bit of happiness.
Still with a smile on his face, Jon clears his throat after swallowing the crackers and wiping his hands on his jeans. “So now that we’ve given you half of our food, what are your names?”
“I’m Sara.”
“And I’m Caitlyn.”
Hearing their lighthearted voices distracts me for just a split second, and I realize that I’ve already forgotten which is which. “Jon, this is going to be difficult…”
A warm laugh comes from my left as both of us look from one identical face to another. “Yes, yes it will Jo.”
No matter how close I look, I can’t find an obvious physical difference between the two. Sara tells me their story as Caitlyn continues to eat. Sara seems to be the more outgoing of the two. We sit for another ten minutes and eventually Jon picks up the food. The girls look so sad and stare at him longingly.
“You can't eat much more or you will both get sick.” he says through a laugh. “Don't worry we will keep you full of food.”
They both smile at him. I had never seen Jon so good with children before, especially considering what I remember when I was younger. I don't know how much longer we will be with these girls, but they quickly brought him a serenity I have not seen in a long time. I smile as the two follow him to the car and pile in the backseat as he finishes putting the food in the trunk.
He looks over at me with a grin, “Looks like you can sit with them.” I chuckle in response and nod. He makes his way to the driver’s side door, intentionally stepping over the gun still lying on the pavement.
I pick up the gun. He wants me to have it now.
Chapter 7: Jocelyn
As I sit with the twins in the backseat, I remark how quickly they’ve warmed up to me. It isn't long before the one has her head resting on the side of my arm. They both look exhausted. They are still awake, but their eyelids are fluttering. I put one arm around each of them. The one to my right, maybe Caitlyn, looks up at me with a gentle smile. It soon fades from her face and she falls asleep. The other one follows right behind her.
The car pulls up to a red light and I look out both windows. The streets are still empty. We had passed a car or two and seen the occasional movement behind houses, but things are generally quiet out of the city. I reach up to the wound on my neck, careful not to wake the twin on my right. The cut reminds me how careful we have to be. Jon turns around to me speaking quietly.
“Well this has changed things.”
“Yea, I mean, how much harder is this going to be now? But we can't leave them.”
“I never even considered that,” he whispers. He changes the subject. We both knew they were staying. “So we still want to head to the ole' campground?”
“Yea that sounds like the best choice. Maybe we should think about stopping and getting some more food– especially with these girls with us now.”
“Yea. There's a supermarket on the way there. We should be there in fifteen.” Jon puts his foot down and our car continues on the path.
While we were still in the apartment Jon and I talked about what we would do as we packed. With every adult dying, it would not take long for the power and water to go out. Waste wouldn't be collected and people would scavenge for food in the worst of ways. Jon came up with the idea to go to an old campground from our weekend family vacations. It had a water pump, cabins, and electricity (as long as it lasts). Our plan gave us comfort. It gave us hope. It still does, but all the chaos has really dampened our idea of simply living a few weeks camping until the country pulled itself back together. I am afraid that a few weeks could be much, much longer.
I look at each girl and then continue to stare out the window. The buildings of the city are replaced with trees on b
oth sides. I think I like the trees more. The car comes to an intersection and Jon turns. Then, up ahead, I can see the supermarket at the corner-and a car coming straight down our side of the road.
My heart sinks as a red blur bolts toward our car. Jon swears and begins to pull off the road. The red car seems to see us and gets in the correct lane and races past us. They almost killed us. Why weren't they paying attention?
Then I see it. I tell Jon we need to turn around, too.
Now.
Chapter 8: Jonathon
I move my head close to the windshield and squint. Slowing the car, I try to make out the chaos up ahead. My sister yells something, I don't know what exactly; although the hundreds of young people up ahead may have something to do with it.
The supermarket is a beehive. The windows in the front are shattered and the hungry were hopping over them. It looks like a riot on TV. I bring the car to a stop at the entrance to the parking lot. Other cars fly past us out of the exit. A few groups of people carry bags of food and bottles of water. Some are running. Some are bleeding.
I finally get to the point where I can pick out individuals instead of observing just a mob. Most of them are Jo’s or my age. I see a few children crying off to one side of the entrance and some people fighting directly in front of them. A body lies on the ground– dead. In the middle of the fight before the door, a single boy emerges, yelling. He raises his arm, and fires a handgun into the air. The piercing sound of the gunshot doesn't seem to surprise anyone other than us. The looting just continues. I feel a hand on my shoulder and my heart jumps to my throat. It is one of the twins: Sara. She speaks softly, her eyes gazing at the crowd.
“Are they all fighting for food?” she asks nervously.
“Yes,” I respond. They’re doing more than fighting; they’re dying for food. I don't know what to say. Another gunshot rings through the buzzing air.
I throw the car in reverse and before I know it I am flying away from the mass of people. My father's warning echoed in my ear. That could have ended worse. I should have listened. The rear-view mirror shows Jo soothing both of the twins by running her fingers gently through their hair. Our eyes meet in the mirror and she mouths, “Let's just get there.” I couldn't agree with her more. I nod and we take off down the road, wondering how long it took for the supermarket to go from busy to a complete riot.
The campground is far removed from the city, but it doesn’t take too much longer for us to get there. That market sits on the outskirts of town, so the rest of the drive is primarily highway. Some daylight still remains as we approach the park entrance.
As we pull into the campground, it seems empty. A steel gate blocks the access road and I see the lock hanging from the chain binding the gate’s entrance. Going around it isn’t an option because of the deep ditches and densely packed trees on either side of the road. The ranger station is just beyond this obstacle. The key should be inside.
“I’m going to go see if there’s a key,” I quietly say to Jo and the girls. “Stay here; I won’t be long.”
The sun is going down and the trees cast eerie long shadows against the station’s walls. I walk up the steps and knock on the fading burgundy door of the silver trailer.
No answer. I knock louder. “Hello, is there anyone in there?” I shout into the trailer as I turn the doorknob. The light on the porch projects into the dark room. It seems empty. I feel the wall for a switch. My hand finds the toggle and the lights come on. It's relieving to know the power was still on in some places. Nothing. The room is empty.
I exhale a sigh of relief. Then, I feel a hand grab my ankle.
Chapter 9: Jonathon
A scream exits my mouth for the first time in years. I look straight down and see a man sprawled out on the floor. One hand is around my leg and the other is stretched out beside him. The floor around him is smeared with blood. The man looks up at me, his face swollen with a blistering rash covering its side. This is the worst case of the infection I have ever seen, and it’s the most horrified I’ve ever felt. I can’t help but silently pray that I will never end up on the ground gasping for air and soaking in my own blood.
My fears are interrupted by a pleading groan from the ranger. His bloodshot eyes look up at me, and they beg for help.
I feel bad that I screamed.
Without much hesitation, I bend down turn him over and carry him into the main room. He is very light and his ranger uniform is noticeably loose; there is almost nothing to him. I set him down delicately on the couch. As I pull away, I pause at the blood stains that are now on my own clothes. He looks up at me with grateful eyes and manages a small smile. I guess he is around forty years old, but now he seems more like a helpless child. I notice his right hand hanging over the side is shaking. A blanket rests on the chair beside him and I throw it over him. His eyes again show thanks. I can tell he is trying to speak, but he fails and quickly gives up.
The door to the trailer flies open. My sister walks in with the gun at the ready. She heard my scream. It only takes a second for her to see the ranger. She immediately looks at me, her eyebrows show an immediate empathy. She kneels beside him, at a lost for words.
Then she musters up the courage and delicately says, “What can we do?” His bloodshot eyes stare back into hers. His chest expands as he gasps for air. After a moment, he changes his gaze to the kitchen.
“Medicine? Painkillers? Water?” Jo questions the man. He manages to shake his head just a little. Jo looks back at me. “Go to the kitchen and see if you can find anything.”
There are no decorations, and the only appliances are a tiny stove and a fridge. Between them is a table big enough for one. On the table is a vinyl tablecloth and a handwritten note sits on top of that. That won't help him.
“Ask him if it’s in a cabinet or something.” I start to open drawers. I hear Jo speaking to him, but I don’t hear a response. I go through drawer after drawer and find nothing aside from some aspirin. The fridge has some food but nothing helpful. I walk back over and kneel beside my sister.
“There isn't anything I can find. What do you need?” I calmly ask. I want to help him more than anything. Again, his eyes go to the kitchen then back to mine. Then his eyes drop to his hand. With his hand he presses two fingers together with his thumb and slowly moves it back and forth. I begin to run through all the things he could be doing. What does he...a pencil. He is writing. I look around the room for a second. Maybe a prescription. Then I remember the note.
“The note?” I curiously ask. He nods a fraction of an inch. I hurry to grab the note and bring it back to him. He sees it and nods again. I hold it out so my sister can also see it, and we both begin reading.
Chapter 10: William
Never before have I experienced pain like I bear now. It has been nearly a week since I first showed the signs and somehow I have managed this long. It began when I noticed my chest was a bright red color in the mirror. Then the rest of the horrors followed. However, none of the pain I physically dealt with prepared me for what was to come.
It was the day after I had become ill that I saw my wife succumb to the same illness. When I first saw the rash on her back, I walked into the bathroom and cried my eyes out. The disease at that point was all over the country. I thought we could avoid it if we secluded ourselves at the ranger station in the woods.
I was wrong. It infected me and she refused to leave.
A month ago, I had held my wife's hand as she fought against cancer. Those tears and long nights seemed to be worth every minute when the doctor told us that it had gone into remission. I had never felt so happy as we held each other in tears of joy. It seemed we had managed through better or worse. Things became much worse. A month after her remission, we were in the middle of the woods trying to fight another disease. It all seemed futile.
The plague was much harder on her. She was bedridden that night and needed to rest constantly. I think it was my love to take care of her that helped me to hold on so long
while fighting my own symptoms. She died the following night in my arms as I sat in bed. I prayed that I would just die at that moment too, but I knew I wasn’t going to get any breaks. I kissed her forehead.
The virus had quickly changed her face, but she was still beautiful to me.
I wanted to take care of her body properly. I took a shovel from the shed and I buried her behind the station. The sores became worse and each time I drove the spade into the earth-I ripped more skin open. After lashing together two pathetic looking crosses the job was finished despite the debilitating pain. I carried her in, buried her, and read what prayers I could remember from church. I doubted God was listening, but it is what she would have wanted. Then I stuck in the one cross. The other, I hoped would be mine one day- right beside her. When I finished I realized how exhausted I was. My shirt stuck to my body with sweat and blood. I fell to my knees twice on the way to the ranger station alone. I didn't have anything left in me.
I walked to the bathroom, stripped, and turned the shower on. I tried to remain standing, but it was not to be. My knees fell to the floor, and they stayed there. The water turned pink as it washed off my body. I was in pain all over. The campground relied on a ground water source and should keep running for a long time. I stumbled out of the bathroom and changed into my uniform- the last clean clothes. In the kitchen, I tried to eat some food, but I threw it back up into the sink. The only thing that I could manage was a few sips of water. I fell into a chair at the table. A tablet and pen rested on it from when my wife and I planned to make a shopping list just a few days before. I saw her handwriting. Milk, marshmallows, strawberries... It was too much; sobs erupted uncontrolled from my throat. Each item brought up the simplest of memories that I couldn’t repress. I told her I didn’t need my lactose intolerance pills as I ate a bowl of cereal. I was up that entire night, and she never said I told you so. I once had teased her about how terrible she was at roasting marshmallows, as I pulled my own pathetic, sticky, black blob on a stick out of the fire pit. The sweet strawberries were her favorite on the hottest of days and blackest of nights.
Humanity Gone: After the Plague Page 3
