The Virulent Chronicles Box Set

by Shelbi Wescott

  These are the regrets of the living.

  Grace struggled and sputtered, blood began to creep and crawl down the corners of her mouth, and Darla, unconcerned about the deadly germs that gathered in that blood, wiped it away with her bare hands and then on to her jeans.

  “I’m sorry for getting sick,” Grace said.

  And that was when Darla began to cry. She sobbed once. No tears. It was a loud wail, like a horn honk, and then silence. She took Grace, gathered her into her body, and held her against her chest, just like she had held Teddy a few minutes before. She rocked back and forth as Grace went limp in her arms. There was one deep sputter, a gasp, and a cough, and then Grace was gone.

  Darla ran her hand over her wife’s neck, searching for any sign of life, and then she raised her head to scan the crowd, hopeful for anyone to notice her loss and come to her assistance.

  What surprised her more than anything was the nonchalance of those quarantined inside the terminal with her. She was holding a dead person, and yet people averted their eyes or offered only pitying glances. This was her wife, a human, and yet the disbelief, the denial, outweighed the panic. A stranger, a woman in a headscarf, put her hand on Darla’s shoulder and clucked her tongue. The old lady with a child made the young one look away.

  “Sorry, so sorry,” the woman in the headscarf said on repeat. Then she wandered away, her hands fiddling with a fraying Kleenex.

  Darla lowered Grace’s body to the floor and stared at her face. Even in death, she was beautiful and perfect. She touched a few of her favorite freckles—the big one right on the cheekbone, the faded one to the left of the smattering of darker ones that looked like Andromeda.

  Someone else, young, blonde, and stoic, unfurled a napkin from a Wendy’s fast food stand and placed it over Grace’s face. An elderly woman ripped out a page from the Bible and set it on Grace’s lifeless torso. It was a page from Song of Solomon, which made Darla feel better about the bizarre act of kindness. Darla didn’t stop these strangers from their rituals—she knew they must have assigned themselves to these things to cope—and yet, she wished to bat them away. If she had the energy, or a full understanding of her loss, she might have.

  When Grace and Darla had first gotten married, Darla used to lay awake at night and run her toes over Grace’s legs under the sheets. It was a simple act of intimacy born from a need to make sure she could still feel her lover’s smooth skin whenever she needed to—it reminded her that she was adored; she was coupled. There were many times in Darla’s life when she questioned if that uninhibited, passionate, deep-abiding love of marriage would ever find her.

  But sometimes, in the dark of night, while her toes wandered, she’d think of Grace dying. She imagined reaching her big toe all the way over their sateen sheets and discovering nothing but air.

  It was fleeting, like a sigh, but Darla couldn’t prevent herself from letting her mind travel to a moment where she was utterly alone. During those flashes of morbidity, she could imagine a life without Grace’s physical body—she’d miss the legs under the covers, the certain lushness of her lips, which always tasted like Burt’s Bees honey chapstick—but she could not mentally fathom a world without Grace’s voice.

  The voice. Her voice. The one that woke her in the morning or asked her how her day was or sang to their son.

  She didn’t care if anything happened to Grace; she just wanted to keep her voice forever.

  And now the waves and throngs of good Samaritans were ushering her away from Grace, gathering her things, beckoning her into the crowd of survivors. This was happening all over the terminal as people were encouraged to leave their dead behind and join in congress with the living.

  Darla stiffened and felt pure rage boil in her chest. Her entire body burned, ready to explode. And it was in that moment of unadulterated anger that she looked to the garbage can where she had left Teddy and noticed that the space was empty.

  Teddy was gone.

  Seconds felt like hours. Minutes, days. For Darla, fear replaced her grief and her anger over Grace was dissipated by the immediate realization that she might have left her own child alone to die without her. She berated herself for thinking she was saving Teddy by not inviting him to bear witness to his own mother’s passing. Clearly, she was wrong. She had left him alone—albeit no more than twenty feet away—and she had asked a child, amidst death, destruction, and fear, to stay by himself. Hand on a trashcan, rooted in place, unable to say goodbye.

  Hindsight afflicted her, and Darla doubled over in anguish. She let out his name like a roar. “Teddy!” she cried. “TEDDY!”

  People stared at her with such sadness and empathy. Clearly, they assumed her child had died and she was calling out for him in vain.

  “Have you seen a young boy?” she asked a woman hunched in a crouch by the garbage can. “He’s four. Dark hair. Curly. Freckles.”

  The woman blinked.

  “Have you seen a boy? A boy? My little boy?” she repeated to three, four, five, six people who were in a position to have seen him wander away.

  “I’m missing my son!” she yelled, and she heard her voice swallowed up in the other noises. “Can someone help me find my son?”

  “Honey, honey,” someone whispered behind her and she turned. “They’ve moved some of the bodies—”

  “No,” Darla said and she cut her hand in front of her body. “He’s…he wandered away. He was right here and then he wasn’t.”

  “Oh, honey,” the person continued and the lady shook her head. “I’d be happy to say a prayer with you.”

  “I don’t need a prayer. I need—”

  Darla didn’t finish her sentence. Instead, she wandered away from the prayer-happy stranger with her sad eyes.

  The guards didn’t move from their positions; they held their guns against the crooks in their arms, poised and ready to aim and shoot. Sweat dripped down their foreheads. Darla knew that it was only a matter of time before one of them tumbled to the ground and dropped their gun. There would be a mad scramble to retrieve it from the other agents, but it was quite possible an opportunistic civilian would be the first to get his or her hands on the loaded weapon.

  Darla rushed through the unmanned doors of the Delta Flyer’s Club. She sprinted up the steps and explored every cubicle and stall in the private bathroom. Bodies accumulated there, too. The dead were spreading. Hopping back down the stairs two at a time, she flew back out into the crowded gate area. She rattled on the chains of closed shops, and she launched herself toward several children who looked similar to Teddy in age and size.

  Five minutes. Ten minutes. An hour.

  She had no idea how long Teddy had been missing.

  Maybe he wandered away the moment after she put his hand on the can or maybe he waited until later. Or maybe someone grabbed him, snatched him. Or maybe he had died. Maybe he had bled out of his eyes and his mouth, and some good citizen had carried his body away. The thought was worse than anything she had ever though—worse, she realized and hated herself for thinking it, than Grace dying. Grace was dead. Gone. But Teddy. She couldn’t live without them both. She wouldn’t even try.

  “Darla!” a voice called. She heard it, she was sure. Clear and penetrating, like ice water through her veins. She spun and listened, her hands in the air poised to catch the sound. “Darla!”

  Emerging from a throng of people huddled against the outside gate of the Made in Oregon store was a teenager and keeping pace alongside him was her son. Teddy held this stranger’s hand with ease, but his face was stained with tears. Darla ran. She pumped her arms and her legs and slid on her knees toward her son, enveloping him in an immediate hug.

  “Mom,” Teddy said and he gulped.

  “I’m glad we found you. Look, I’m not one to judge…but maybe you shouldn’t leave children sitting around—”

  Without waiting or talking or processing who the man was, she rose to her feet and took a swing at the young man’s jaw.

  Whether it w
as her grief or her tears that impacted her vision, Darla would never know, but her punch landed nowhere. She failed to make contact with the baby-faced monster who had taken her son away from her and then dared to call her own parenting into question. And when she raised her arm to try again, the boy dropped Teddy’s hand and put his hands up in defense. It was then she could see his fear and panic mirroring her own, and she dropped her fists and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  “Okay, okay. Look, he… he… wandered away,” the young man stammered. “I’m the good guy here. I asked him his name… your name…we’ve been looking…”

  Darla knit her brows and assessed Teddy from top to bottom. He was unharmed and alive, and he clung to her legs and refused to budge.

  “You’re never supposed to walk around with a child to find their parents. You’re supposed to stay in one place. Haven’t you ever heard that? That’s like the most basic rule of lost children in the universe,” she spat. “We could’ve kept missing each other for hours…and then what?”

  “But we didn’t,” the accused kidnapper said in a soft voice. “We found you.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Darla asked Teddy. She crouched down and looked her son square in the face. “Are you hurt?”

  “Where’s Mama?” Teddy asked, and his lower lip quivered.

  “Mama Gracie is… She needs to rest by herself.”

  “I want to see Mama,” Teddy repeated. “You left me.” He stuck his bottom lip out and appeared poised to burst into tears.

  Darla gulped. She kissed Teddy, and then hoisted him up and held him. “Who are you?” she asked the young man. Then she shook her head and started to walk away. “Never mind, I don’t need to know. Just don’t take any more kids away from their parents today.”

  “I didn’t take—” the boy started. He stopped and shook his head. “Never mind. Whatever. Have a good day.” The young man started to walk away.

  “No!” Teddy screamed. “NO! Ethan needs to find his SISTER!”

  The terror in her son’s voice caused Darla to freeze and she turned back to Ethan, who hadn’t moved, his feet planted on the blue and purple patterned carpet.

  “You looking for someone, too? You lost someone?” Darla asked. Everything inside her loathed even considering helping the stranger. She’d just watched her wife die; she’d thought her son was gone, too. “Ethan?” she asked when the kid didn’t answer.

  “Yeah, Ethan,” he repeated, and he put his hand out for a shake. Then thinking better of it, he tucked it into his jeans pocket.

  “How old is your sister?” Darla asked.

  “Four. Like Teddy,” he said.

  And Darla closed her eyes and pulled Teddy closer. “When did you see her last?”

  “This morning. We had a flight to catch… but…”

  “You’ve been stuck at the airport since this morning? How early? Were you through security?”

  “No. I mean—” Ethan ran his hand through his hair. “She left for the airport with my mom and—”

  “You didn’t lose her here at the airport?” Darla was already tired of the young man and his story. She felt pulled to walk away. Everyone on earth that day had his or her own issues, and Darla wasn’t sure she could emotionally bothered to do anything besides sit in a corner and weep. “I can’t help you.”

  “Well, I’m glad you and Teddy—” His voice broke, and Darla turned, her face scrunched into confusion.

  “Right. Thank you. Anything could’ve happened to him…”

  “My sister and my brothers… and my mom—” Ethan continued. She didn’t think he was talking to her anymore.

  He looked so lost and young, and Darla knew that if Grace were alive she’d be the first one to stop everything they were doing to help him. That was Grace—she was the heart. Teddy reached out after Ethan, and Darla sighed.

  “Do you need my help?”

  “They are on a plane.”

  “Sweetheart,” Darla replied, and she tried not to sound condescending. “There are no planes outside with people on them… alive. You know? No planes are leaving… arriving.”

  “You can think that.”

  “I was out there. They’re ushering everyone back inside. No one is leaving on a plane now or even, maybe, ever.”

  “They are on a plane and they are leaving now.”

  “Look, I can’t argue with you. But you’re wrong and you’re wasting your time. If you really want to find your family—”

  “It’s fine,” Ethan replied, and he waved her off. “I can’t explain now. I don’t really have the time and, honestly, it’s probably not even worth it. Just, your son, he reminded me of my family, that’s all. I wanted to help him. But I am wasting my time. I need to keep trying to find my way out. So…”

  “You did. Help him. So, thanks. I’m sorry… did I not say thanks? Thanks.”

  “I need to get out to the tarmac. I need to find the plane. Bye Teddy.” He took a step away from her. Waved his hand like a goodbye or a hello; Darla thought he seemed flushed.

  “You think we can just go outside and search planes? I can’t help you.”

  “I wasn’t asking for your help… I’m sorry…” He seemed flustered. “Look, I just need to find my family.”

  “Yeah. Everyone needs to find their families. Good luck, okay? I need to find some food to feed my kid. He’s hungry and thirsty. So. Bye.”

  Ethan turned and started to walk away, but then he turned back and stared right at Teddy. He looked conflicted, pained.

  “I can help you with that,” Ethan replied in a whisper and Darla had to lean in to hear him. He took a step back toward her. “I have food. And water. I can help you get out of this place and I can help you with food and water. If I can’t find them… I can—” He trailed off. “If I can’t find them…maybe I can help someone today. Make it right.”

  “Make it right?” Darla repeated.

  “Yeah,” Ethan said.

  “Make what right?”

  “The attack.”

  Darla was stunned. She bit her lip and looked between Teddy and Ethan. Her eyes wandered down to the gate where she left Grace, and she shook her head. “Look, I don’t know you… and I’m not comfortable with this. Call me a bitch or whatever, but I’m not exactly getting an altruistic vibe—” She avoided saying serial killer vibe, but certainly, the kid was luring out a young mother and her son to sudden death, that was clear. He didn’t know her, but he wanted to help her. He just suddenly had food and water to spare in the middle of the apocalypse. Maybe he was simple; maybe he was in shock.

  “I don’t think you’re a bitch. I just… I don’t want any kids to die. It’s not fair for kids to die. I don’t want your son to die.”

  “Screw off,” Darla spat angrily, and she pulled Teddy in closer to keep him away from the crazy young man. “You go die, okay? If you haven’t noticed, that’s what we’re all headed for anyway. Instant death. So, go save someone else’s kid. Or go find a nice quiet place…and say a prayer, if you do that thing, and make peace with whatever comes next.”

  It was an awful thing to say and Darla regretted it immediately. She didn’t honestly feel like Ethan was a threat, but she was bothered by his knowing look, his stern expression, his mentioning the attacks like he was intimately involved. He was assessing her; she could feel him wanting to stay by her, not wanting to leave. He’d been a kind stranger in a crowd, and didn’t entirely deserve her distrust, but Darla didn’t feel like she owed him kindness in return. When was she allowed to grieve? She wanted to shake him and ask him that: Stop this. Stop talking to me. When can I cry? When do I get to cry?

  Ethan’s face contorted, and he shook his head. “Go die,” he repeated and Darla knew she had been too harsh. He looked up at her. “I won’t,” he whispered. Others might have made that revelation with cockiness or as a flippant declaration, but Ethan said it softly, like it made him sad.

  “You won’t die? Okay, um, look—” Darla said back to him in a cal
m voice. “Leave me and my kid alone.”

  Ethan nodded. He seemed to check his phone for messages, and then he shook his head again and took off running. Darla watched him as he zigzagged through the throngs of people and toward a far exit door at the end of the terminal. She watched him as he got smaller and smaller, and then she couldn’t see him anymore. When he was fully out of sight, Darla felt calmer and more secure.

  “I’m hungry,” Teddy whined.

  “Did that man hurt you?” Darla asked again.

  “He was nice. His name was Ethan, and he has a sister named Harper. She likes Strawberry Shortcake, and she’s here at the airport, too. And he misses his mom, too. I was crying, and he found me. He said that he would protect me. And I’m hung-ry.”

  Darla kissed Teddy again, unable to keep her lips off his forehead. She thought she imagined some burgeoning fever, and her stomach flip-flopped. She didn’t know what to wish for. She wouldn’t be able to bear Teddy’s death, but she didn’t want the child to be alone in the event of her passing before him. It was the first time that scenario had passed through her mind. What if she died before him? Then no one would be there to protect him from the psychopaths; no one would hug him and tell him it would be okay. For one quick second, she pondered taking matters into her own hands, but then she quickly banished the idea and was angry it had involuntarily passed through her mind.

  No, they were survivors.

  They, like the weird kid Ethan, weren’t going to die in an airport surrounded by strangers, and that was that.

  Shaking and disoriented, Darla began to walk the terminal.

  The virus was accelerating.

  The dead began to fall: off seats at the gates, while riding the people mover, in the bathrooms, facedown on the iconic PDX carpet.

  Darla reached the far end of the terminal and sighed. She’d walk back and walk down and back and down and back just to keep moving, just to feel like she was doing something. But before she could work her way to turn around, she heard a scream and then a gunshot. She ducked to the floor with Teddy. A guard was down, and then two. People were pushing their way past the previously blocked doorways and spilling toward the exits. Her assessment of what would happen when the guards fell was prophetic, and Darla knew things were going to escalate quickly.