by Lee Dunter
With much effort, he managed to gather everyone back into the cafeteria. Once they all settled on the floor in a circle, Ryan, standing in the center, took a deep breath, feeling nervous. He felt like he was giving a presentation without practice. On impulse, he opened by telling them that he felt confident they could survive whatever this was. He told them the new rules, and before he knew it, he was talking about Deborah. As the details became more personal, he tried to shut his mouth, but once he had started, he couldn’t stop. When he finished, he stood there, surrounded by everyone, their eyes intense upon him, Ryan feeling dumb for losing control of his emotions.
“All right,” Ryan said. “I guess that’s it.”
Ryan prepared for bed, checking that the classroom door was locked two times before he lied on the tile floor and prepared for another night of nightmares. Kyle spoke: “We made the right choice you know. You’re a good leader.” Ryan turned to Kyle and propped up on his elbow. “This morning, you ran to the screams without thinking about yourself. And the story you told. You probably didn’t notice, but it was a relief to everyone to see you open up.”
Ryan offered a thin smile. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It just kind of slipped out. I feel like an ass for saying it, really.”
Kyle frowned and remained still for some time. He removed his glasses and placed them to the side, his eyes now looking tiny without the magnification. He rubbed his stump, wincing at the pain. “I wanted you to know that I heard you screaming about Deborah in your sleep. I’m sorry for what I said in the backyard. I was trying to provoke you into leaving me behind.”
Ryan nodded. He looked out the window and noticed the grey clouds sliding over the moon. There were more stars here than back at home, and he briefly wondered whether the stars still hid from the night sky in Atlanta, the stars afraid that the lights, though now gone, would reappear and chase them away with fervor. “Ya, I figured. It worked pretty well.”
“Also,” Kyle continued, tenderly poking the area around his stub, “I never got to officially thank you for saving my life. So, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. I couldn’t just sit back and watch them kill you. Does it still hurt?”
“Only occasionally,” he said, but Ryan had the feeling that he was lying. “But it’s better than being dead. Albert did a great job keeping it healthy.”
As the clouds slipped past the moon, the eerily empty room lit up with its glow, and for the first time Ryan noticed beads of sweat standing out on Kyle’s forehead. He was a large man, so it was possible that he was simply sweating, but Ryan knew he could be showing signs of infection.
There was another long pause. Kyle rubbed his finger and thumb together on his remaining hand, staring blankly at the motion. He looked up. “I was never married. I came close a few times, but it never seemed like it was God’s will for my life.” Ryan sat up, curious. “I don’t know. The apostle Paul said that some people were blessed with the gift of remaining single, and I guess I’m one of them.” He chuckled. “Not because I meant to but because every relationship I’ve ever had was, well, they were shit.” Kyle chuckled, and Ryan grinned, looking down at the floor, now understanding what Kyle was doing. “I’m not the relationship type. It’s supposed to make you better, be a mirror to show you your own sinfulness, but it never was that to me.” Kyle brought his hand up to his face and rubbed it. The sound of skin against growing facial hair sounded course and rough. “All of this to say that I could never understand your loss. But I wish I could somehow. I’ve always held a bitterness in me towards God for not allowing me to keep love. Now, I know I’ll never get the chance.”
“Trust me, you don’t want this burden,” Ryan said. He turned as his eyes began to feel hot, knowing any minute he would finally get the tears he had been waiting for.
“I don’t mean to belittle your pain. I know it hurts, and I’m sorry. But I still envy it.”
“Kyle?” Ryan paused, looking straight at Kyle. “What’s going on here? I mean, really, what’s going on? Is this Armageddon? Has God finally written us off?”
“I don’t know,” Kyle answered, tears now forming in his eyes. There was a long pause. He spoke slowly, carefully, afraid that his words would slip too quickly into blasphemy. “I wonder what would have happened had I told God to go fuck himself, not listened to him and married Patricia. I think I really did love her, no matter how bad we were together. Now, I’ll never know what we could’ve been. Would I still be here with you now? Would I even be alive?” He began to sob heavily. He turned away in shame. When the sob quieted, he whispered, “See, therapeutic wasn’t it?”
Ryan rolled over without a word. This was information Kyle had never shared with anyone, and Ryan felt privileged to hold it. No matter how selfish it was, knowing Kyle’s pain somehow made his own easier to bear. For the first time since the incident, Ryan’s dream wasn’t about Deborah.
Ryan was nine again. It was night, but the humid air penetrated into Ryan’s house. He was lying on the living room carpet and facing the television, resting his head on his hands, a portable fan blowing his hair back as it turned his direction. It hummed softly underneath the noise of the television. His dad was sitting in his favorite chair, and his mom was lying on the couch. Ryan glanced at his parents. They smiled at him. He had no idea how lucky he was.
Suddenly, the front door opened. That’s weird, Ryan thought. No one ever uses that door. It’s always locked. He remembered he had left through that door that morning because he had been running late for the school bus. He grew scared of being in trouble, and felt icky in his disobedience. But it was just his parents’ friend Mr. King who walked in. There was no reason to sound the alarm. As he entered the house, stepping into the living room, his parents stood up. Mr. King had a gun in his right hand. Ryan thought it was cool, but his parents told Mr. King to put the gun away or they would call the police.
“Tell the fucking kid to leave,” Mr. King screamed.
Fuck? What’s fuck? Oh it’s that word Mom and Dad tell me not to say, even though actors say it in all the movies. He’s in big trouble now.
His parents told him to go to his room, lock the door, and go straight to bed. Ryan obeyed. The night light in his room lit up his neatly arranged toys and children books, and Ryan briefly admired all that he had, imagining what more toys the following months would bring, and he closed his eyes. But there was too much yelling to sleep. He opened his eyes. Mr. King must be in a lot of trouble. He rolled away from the door and closed his lids again. Ryan heard a loud noise, a scream, and then two more loud noises. Ryan sat up, peering into the dark. What was that noise? Had Mr. King fired the gun? It’s louder than in the movies.
Everything was quiet. He could hear the crickets chirping outside. He lay back down, but kept his eyes on the door, for a little sliver of fear was in his belly. A shadow appeared under the door, scaring Ryan further. Why was it so quiet, and whose shadow was that? The person banged on the door and it rattled. Ryan’s legs went numb. The person banged on the door again, and his toys fell from the shelves. Ryan got up, now terrified, and, crouching on all fours, hid under the bed. Another bang burst the door open, and Mr. King stood there. Ryan could see his pants, and shoes, and the gun in his hand, all painted red with blood. Ryan tried to sink into the floor, but it wouldn’t work.
Mr. King dropped the gun, and the noise made Ryan freeze in terror. He listened to Mr. King’s footsteps against the wooden floor, until they stopped right in front of Ryan’s nose. Mr. King growled and pushed the mattress. It flew away, and Ryan could see the monster through the springs. He screamed. Mr. King’s skin looked like it was made of silly putty, hanging in places and scrunched up in the face. Mr. King reached his hands through the springs and grabbed Ryan by the throat. The pain was excruciating. He couldn’t breathe. His vision blackened.
There was another loud sound, and blood splattered over Ryan, though none touched him. Ryan turned and saw his grandfather standing with his lever-actio
n rifle. He was wearing blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a red-checkered shirt. He fired again, and, walking forward, kicked the zombie, ripping it in half, its upper portion falling onto the springs and its legs collapsing to the floor. Ryan, still screaming, was dragged from under the bed. He fought against it on instinct, but his grandpa overpowered him and pulled him into his chest. Ryan waited for the bite to rip his flesh. Instead, he was hugged.
“Shhhh . . . It’s okay, son. The bad man is gone.” His grandpa’s smoky voice was soothing.
“But Mom and Dad,” Ryan said.
“Yes, I know.” He patted Ryan’s head and pulled his sobs into his shoulder. “You can stay with me. Would you like that Ryan?”
Ryan nodded his head. His grandpa scooped him up in his strong arms and carried him across the street to his new home. The cops arrived a few minutes later, but Ryan wasn’t allowed to go out and see them, had to sit in the living room with his grandmother and watch television.
In the room on the cold tile, Ryan slowly opened his eyes and then sat up in nostalgia. The dream had been violent, but so had the scene in real life. He had not thought of that night in probably fifteen years, when he used to have reoccurring nightmares of the incident. But whenever he woke, screaming and terrified in bed, his grandmother always rushed in with soothing words and loving embraces.
How did I not end up more fucked up than I am? Ryan wondered.
Kyle’s snoring stole his attention, and Ryan looked his direction. Ryan felt the weight and the relief of having others with you in the storm.
Chapter 12
Ryan woke peacefully. Only once more had a nightmare woken him during the night, after which he slept deep and dreamless. He had forgotten what it felt like to be well rested, to wake to silence, not to screams, his or others, not to cold sweats or the smell of blood.
He rubbed his eyes as he stood, feeling refreshed. Kyle still snored in the corner, and Ryan left him there, unlocking the classroom door and stepping out. All the doors in the hallway were closed. Good, at least we got that one down, he noted optimistically. The hallway still smelled of disinfectant, a bitter reminder of the day before. As Ryan walked down the hall, the sound of his feet unsticking from the cool tile, he looked into each classroom and found that only Albert was unaccounted for. Ryan found him the cafeteria, so deep in thought that the he did not notice Ryan enter. Albert was sitting cross-legged, dark purple under his eyes, and his face was pale, as if on the verge of sickness. He hadn’t slept, Ryan knew. Ryan sat across from him and Albert slid back, scared and muffling a scream. He quickly regained his composure, pretending like it didn’t happen.
“Oh, hello,” Albert said.
“Good morning. Were you up all night?”
“No. I got up a few hours ago. Just doing some thinking.”
Ryan could sense something wrong, besides Albert’s pale complexion: he was upset that Ryan was there, wanting to be alone. The two men were not the closest of friends, due to a lack of common interest, but Ryan felt the need to intervene. He needed all members of the group psychologically sound.
Pushing past the awkwardness, Ryan said, “Keeping secrets won’t help. I know something is bothering you. You were acting odd yesterday, and today you look like you haven’t slept at all. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Such forcefulness was out of uncharacteristic of Ryan, so much so that even Albert was taken back. Ryan had always heard that the end of civilization would bring out the worst in people, but looking at Albert’s surprise, Ryan thought, I seem to be changing for the better. I’m so far out of my comfort zone here. A bit of bravery doesn’t seem too bad when considering the worst.
After a long pause, Albert said, “I’ve had many things on my mind lately. So I’ve done what I do best: think.” Ryan smirked. He was scared of his thoughts, while Albert sought refuge in his. “I’m just not sure if I’ve them figured out yet. I hope I have.” He looked up with an obviously fake smile.
Ryan wasn’t satisfied with Albert’s evasive nature. “You look like hell. Talk to me, I can see you’ve overexerted yourself.”
“Well you look like gold,” he said, chuckling. “Better than I’ve looked in years.”
Ryan shifted closer, staring at Albert.
Albert met his gaze and must have realized that Ryan wasn’t going to back down. He sighed, his face darkened. “They lied to us,” he said. “They told us we were the special ones, the smart ones. Science could take us places, let us see the world, make us tons of money. What a load of crap. That may be true for medical doctors, but nothing could be further from the truth for those of us who live in a lab. I feel like I’ve been under arrest since I’ve started grad school. And all for the greater good of the scientific community.” He shook his head. “It should be illegal, the hours I’ve worked! But the government excuses it because it’s all in the pursuit of education.
“And all for what? Tenure runs three steps ahead for every one I take towards it. I’ve given my life to something that now seems useless . . . ” He calmed himself. “But what can I do? All I have is my thoughts, and now the only thing I have ever found interesting has betrayed me. I haven’t felt like myself in years. I feel like a . . . ”
“A zombie,’ Ryan interrupted.
Albert chuckled in earnest. “Ya, you could say that. Quite ironic, huh?”
“Well I don’t think you’ll have to worry about any of that anymore.”
“That’s true. We won’t have a need higher education anytime soon.”
Ryan looked down briefly before nodding, frightened that they had just made a silent agreement that the world would never be the same again.
Ryan still felt like Albert was dodging the true source of his distress. He had spun a sad tale, one that was most likely true, but it was also irrelevant. How do I get the truth out of him?
Surprisingly, he didn’t have to do a thing more. “Okay, Okay,” Albert said clearing his throat. “I’ll tell you. I probably should tell someone. But don’t tell the others yet. Not until I can . . . confirm it.” Ryan nodded, mouth dry with anticipation. “I’ve just been trying to separate fact from fiction . . . on how the virus is actually spread.”
“What do you mean?” Ryan paused, thinking over Albert’s words more closely. “ Do you mean you think the virus isn’t spreading through bites?
Albert nodded, excitement making his features more mouse-like. “Precisely.”
Ryan wondered if Albert was misleading him again, for he had expected–well, something different. There wasn’t an ounce of humor on Albert’s face, however. “I don’t know,” Ryan said. “Everything else fiction has told us about zombies seems spot on. Why would this be any different?”
“I think fiction has provided a good base for what we know too. But true science isn’t determined by the majority opinion. Religion and politics may operate that way, but it is the definition of bullshit when it comes to gathering data. Remember, this is just my hypothesis, I still need to gather the data, and then analyze it.”
“I know,” Ryan said, frustrated that Albert felt the need to explain basic science to him. “What gave you this idea in the first place?”
“I have my reasons. But, don’t you sense it too? Haven’t you felt like something is wrong, like something is missing from the equation?”
Although worded differently, Ryan knew he had thought that exact sentiment the previous day. If it were true, Ryan reflected, and the infection spread through another medium, then Deborah’s death could easily be explained. But wasn’t this an easy way out, to just decide that the virus was an anomaly because “the data” was too difficult to work out? He shared this thought with Albert.
Albert shrugged, saying, “Maybe you’re right. Wouldn’t be the first time my theories were wrong.” He sighed. “Let’s sincerely hope I’m not wrong this time, though.”
Cam walked into the room, yawning and stretching his arms into the air. Ryan and Albert turned from each other and looked up at Cam
.
“I am so tired,” Cam said. “I don’t know if Jaden or the zombies are more exhausting.” As he approached, Cam examined Albert’s face with concern. Ryan tensed.
Then Cam said, “Damn Albert, you look like you didn’t get any sleep. Did you two fuck all night or something?” He wagged his finger at the two of them.
“No, he’s not quite my type,” Albert said.
“Ah, of course not. You’re a professor. You creep a little lower up on the age scale.” Cam put his hands on his hips and pushed them out, and in a high-pitched southern-bell voice, he said, “Professor, I’d do anything for an A.”
Albert chuckled. “That’s more my cup of tea.”
Cam sat down, leaned back on his hand, and looked down at his belly as it let out a loud rumble. “Gentleman, we have got to get some fucking food today. I eat way too much for this.”
Food, of course, Ryan thought, how could I have forgotten about food? Ryan stood and walked to the window. The zombies had dissipated, either losing interest or pursuing other prey, and the streets were now clear enough to leave the school. We’ll be able to go get some real food. No more pop-tarts, potato chips and cafeteria food. Ryan’s mouth filled with saliva at the thought of real food: steak cooked medium-well, a bowl of chicken fried rice with extra veggies, a plate of spaghetti and meatballs–the milder the sauce the better. Well, maybe the first two weren’t possible, he thought, smiling
“I’ve got good news for you, Cam,” Ryan said. Cam and Albert came to the window and looked out.
Cam jumped, throwing his hands into the air. “Hell ya! Looks like daddy is gonna have a full belly tonight!”
