by D.R. Johnson
Becky wasn't doing so well. Things got really rough after we were first bitten, but the fever seemed to have leveled off some. I never watched someone turn and had no idea how long it would take.
So many thoughts had crossed my mind since yesterday morning. I thought about trying to find a way to end Becky's pain and not let her become one of those things out there. I didn't want to think about her turning into a dead-brain. Focusing all my thoughts on her made it easy for me to not think about what I was going through. I could forget that I was turning also.
I wasn't able to find anything suitable enough for the task, and instead I bandaged up her arm as best I could. I wished Jeremy would have ended it for both of us. The only thing left for me to do was make sure she was as comfortable as possible while her mind died.
After pulling out a table from one of the private dining nooks, I was able to rig a bed for us both to lie down on comfortably. The booth cushions came out easily, and I wrapped tablecloths around them to hold them together. I even found some actual blankets in the kitchen that I covered her up with. Throughout the afternoon, she lay there sobbing while I made what preparations I could before the fever left me too ill to continue.
We had plenty of water near us, buckets to throw up in if we needed them, and some uncooked spaghetti noodles. I figured that was safe to eat, and if it wasn't safe, it didn't matter anymore anyway.
By that evening, I was too exhausted to go on. I lay on my pallet beside hers and the hours slipped by. At one point, her muffled sobs stopped and I panicked, thinking she had turned. After a nervous inspection, I found she had just fallen asleep. I lay back, feeling the fever moving through my body. Somehow, I relaxed enough to drift into an uneasy sleep myself, not knowing if I would wake up in the morning.
The restaurant was dark when a shriek woke me. I sat up frightened, wondering why I wasn't in my bed at the Powell's when the memories seeped in through my fevered haze, settling heavy in my nauseated stomach. Becky was sitting up, hunched over her blankets. The whites of her eyes shown in the dark restaurant and she was panicked. She still hadn't turned.
I grabbed one of the empty bowls as quickly as I could and got it underneath her bowed head before I collapsed. The sounds of her retching filled the silence, and I tried not to let my own groan escape. I wasn't successful.
"Joss?" Her voice was weak, and I did my best to sit up and guide her back to her pallet.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, trying to get us both rearranged.
She groaned and I could barely hear her. "I don't feel good."
I reached out a hand to her, and she found it in the darkness. "Me neither,” I replied. "Are you cold?"
"A little. I'm okay," she whispered back. "Are you sure we're dying? Maybe we're just sick."
I sighed, wishing that were the truth.
There was silence again, and I listened to her wheezing. I had only seen a few people get bitten and they had all turned. I decided it wouldn't hurt giving her that hope, though. If it would ease her last few hours and days of conscious thought, I would do it.
"Maybe we are just sick. I haven't seen that many people get bitten,” I finally said.
"I haven't seen anyone get bitten,” she said, "But I helped take care of Julie when she got the flu. We didn't have any medicine, and she never was very strong. Mama had her too early." She paused at that, drifting back into painful memory. "Mama was head-sick for a while too after Julie died."
I sighed again, partially from the weight of it all and partially to get my breath. I wondered what this would do to Mary. She was so adamant about not letting Becky come with us, and the horrible thing she feared would happen had actually happened. Finding the energy to talk was difficult but I struggled through it, not wanting to give in to the silence.
"Who is Seth?" Her soft, seeking voice brought up my own painful memories. "I heard you calling out for him in your sleep."
I wondered now if this is what Seth went through. I figured it didn't matter what I said anymore, and there was no reason to hide my memories from Becky. "He was my brother,” I finally got out. "We lost him a little bit before Ali and I found you guys." I swallowed the lump in my throat.
Becky asked, "Did he get bitten?"
I nodded in reply before realizing she couldn't see me in the dark. I couldn't bring myself to answer out loud, but I think she sensed my movement. She squeezed my hand tightly in response.
"Seth and I grew up in a little town in Oklahoma. I was only nine when all this started and Seth was graduating high school that year. We were lucky for a bit. The world was collapsing around us, but we lived out in the country and nothing reached us for a long, long time."
The effort it took to talk was draining, and long pauses separated my sentences. I could tell Becky was patiently listening by her hand that held mine. She was gently caressing my thumb with her own and would lightly squeeze my hand in response to my words.
I continued. "Dad taught us both how to hunt, and there were streams nearby. We had a few neighbors and we all banded together to get a farm going so we could eat. We had a nice little community, just like at the farm. Life was not the same, but we were surviving.
"It lasted like that for a few years. All it took was one dead-brain to come along and ruin everything. It caught Mom out in the garden and," I couldn't go on. I had seen her body even though Seth tried to keep me away. It was such a bloody mass of flesh there was nothing left of her to recognize. There wasn't enough left of her to turn either. At least she didn't have to go through what I was going through now.
I didn't want to cry, but the tears were running down my hot cheeks. I heard Becky sniffle too and wondered if I could remember a good time to talk about, but I couldn't. All the good memories belonged to the dead now. All except Ali, and I would never see her again. I determinedly wiped away the tears.
"Can you keep going?" Becky asked. "I've only lived here. I don't know what it's like anywhere else."
"Yeah, I'll try,” I answered, not feeling at all like talking, but I continued. "After what happened with Mom, we started putting up perimeter fences. It was hard since the houses were so far apart. I remember we used all the wire fencing at the local hardware store, and a few of the men had to run to town to get some more.
"They came back with candy, canned goods and tons of other stuff. It was great for all the other families, but Dad wasn't ever the same. He did what he could for a while, but it ate at him every day. I didn't understand it back then, but I know he was losing his mind.
"One morning, Seth and I woke up and he was gone. Seth thinks he went out to kill as many of those dead-brains that he could find. Revenge for killing Mom, ya know? We decided we were going to follow him, and there was no one there to stop us.
"We never did find him, but we didn't stop moving, either. That was a couple years ago." I had to stop then. Talking was exhausting, and I needed to take a break. The silence seeped back in, more oppressive than it was before. It was unbearable, but I didn't have a lot I could combat it with.
"Becky?" I asked into the darkness.
"Mmm?" she answered. She was exhausted too, but I hoped she could give me one good memory.
"Do you have any happy stories?" My request was met by a few minutes of silence before she started talking, her voice low and weak.
"Christmas," she said. "Every year, Papa makes sure we get a good Christmas. He goes out to find us a tree, even though it's not always a good tree, but he gets us something. Even if it is some straggly looking loblolly pine sprout, he brings it in and we decorate it with whatever we can make.
"At first, I thought it was stupid that he was trying to hold on to that old tradition. It was Kevin that helped me realize what Papa was doing. When I pitched a fit about having to decorate another tree, the look on Kevin's face made me realize why Papa always did it. He made sure we stayed a family. He made sure we had hope.
"I never said anything bad about Christmas again after that." She had to pa
use, and I heard her take in a few deep breaths. I feared she might be done and was grateful when she kept going. "On Christmas Eve, we would make sure we got what presents we could together. We put them under that old tree and on Christmas Day, Mama would make as big a meal as she could. We ate until we were full and then opened all our presents. Kevin made me a stick doll once. It wasn't anything but two sticks tied together with some string and he'd poked at the wood with a knife to make a face. It was such a horrible little thing, but I loved it. It's still sitting on my dresser under my mirror.
"After dinner, we would sit in the living room and sing all the Christmas carols we could think of. Every Christmas, Papa made sure we always had good memories." As her voice trailed off, I realized that was the most I'd ever heard her say at one time. The idea of Christmas was beautiful, and the pain and longing inside me brought more tears. I thought she was done, but in the silence, her voice wavered from a whisper and bloomed into the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard.
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
I knew these words. I did my best to join in with her, hoping I wasn't destroying the beautiful sound of her voice.
Round yon virgin mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Our weak voices faded away, and the silence boomed loudly in my ears. I stared into the darkness, completely drained. Too weak to continue our conversation. Becky must have sensed it because she moved close and slipped her arm around my waist, snuggling against my shoulder.
I had never been this close to a girl before, and this felt really nice. It was the comfort I needed, and I didn't want her to let me go. I reached my arm around her and she settled down against me. The heat from both our fevered bodies was stifling, but I didn't care.
I closed my eyes and let sleep overtake me, all the while thinking that this was a good last memory.
