In a night where I’d begun breaking patterns, for the first time in months, I had a hell of a time drifting off to sleep.
Nothing new, except this time, I had images of a living dead girl stuck in my head.
Chapter Four
Past
“L.O.V.E. Machine” – W.A.S.P.
TIME HAS A way of muting our memories, of dulling our senses, and sometimes when I look back on the past, I realize parts of memories have grown blurry. A scent of something I haven’t smelled in years might trigger an emotion I’d long since forgotten or a song from the past might flood my brain with a memory that had been lodged deep in the mine of my soul.
So, when I think back to that fateful night, there are details I can’t remember. I can’t recall whose idea it was to party up in the hills, for instance, and I can’t recall if that was how Kevin and I eased into “dating.” Those details wouldn’t really help me, because I can’t go back and fix anything, and remembering it in a painstaking blow-by-blow fashion would likely only cause the ache to grow deeper. That, perhaps, is the best part of how memories fade…wounds heal, embarrassing moments become bearable, tragedies are absorbed into life until the numbness dissipates and we find a way to go on.
All this might sound melodramatic, and I suppose it is, but something inside me decided I loved this boy. It wasn’t until after we’d noticed each other and decided we liked each other that we both realized we were on the track and field team together. We often practiced together on the same field but never close to one another because we practiced for different events. It afforded us the opportunity to keep in touch, though, and somehow he got invited to a theater party out in the boondocks. I’m sure I’d done the inviting, but the details are fuzzy.
I was driving. I had the car my friends affectionately called “The Battleship,” a gray station wagon. Yeah, it was a car that was super uncool for an eighties high school kid to drive, but it was all I had, a hand-me-down from an uncle who’d given it to my dad for next to nothing. My friends didn’t mind, though, because only a few of them had cars at all, and—back in the days before seatbelt laws—I could cram ten kids in my car easily, and while they might have had to recline their heads back a bit, they weren’t quite into sardine territory.
There were three or four cars heading to a makeshift campground way above our town in the foothills off a county road. I’d never been up this particular road before and didn’t know what to expect. When we got there, I saw that it wasn’t an actual camping area—there were no parking spaces or metal barbecue pits or leveled areas for campers. It was just a small meadow off the road where it was evident that cars had parked before.
The full moon had a few more days before appearing that November, but it was bright out nonetheless. One of my theater friends, Jeff, stood outside his car, waiting for all friends to assemble. There were about ten or fifteen of us, and there was a charge in the air. I was excited and happy to be there amongst all these wonderful people who had, thus far, made my senior year the best ever. We’d had a lot of fun preparing our play and would be ready for audiences the first week in December, but we’d bonded in rehearsals and classes the weeks before. Kevin and a few other kids were along for the ride, invited by some of us in the drama group, but we Thespians were the glue.
Jeff led us down the side of the hill to show us a spot where, he said, there was evidence of werewolves or some such nonsense. When we got there, he showed us supposed tracks and other traces of evidence, but in the moonlight, the silly crap he pointed out could have been anything. It was all a big set up for a cheap scare, because—near the end of his story—one of his close friends jumped out of the bushes, making all manner of noise, trying and succeeding in getting some screams and frightened yelps out of the teenage girls in the group.
I might have jumped, but I hadn’t been invested in the story. Instead, Kevin had said something to me right before Jeff’s biggest, scariest moment, distracting me from getting deeply involved.
Soon, we began walking back up the hillside as a group, Kevin and I lagging behind, when I felt his arm wrap around my waist…and, if my legs hadn’t already been in motion, I would have frozen in place.
Everything else disappeared and faded away as my mind zoned in on that one spot on my body. I was wearing a coat, because it was cold outside, but I felt like I was no longer undesirable by the male portion of the species, and it confirmed to me that I wasn’t alone in my attraction. So, what would happen next?
We continued our trek back to the area where we’d parked our cars, and I was excited and happy and in love. I can’t remember if we talked or if we were quiet, but I looked forward to the rest of the night. Chances are we didn’t talk and Jeff kept up with his spooky stories, because if Kevin and I had talked…
Strawberry lip gloss. Yes, I remember that detail, because I’d put it on earlier that evening, and it was still on my lips. Unlike other lip glosses and lipstick and lip balms, this stuff tasted good, and I was so glad I’d worn it. That, and I was chewing that bubble gum I loved so much. I was ready for my first kiss, and I just knew it was going to happen later that night.
I was calm on the outside but giddy—liquidy and a gooey mess—on the inside.
Once we got back to the clearing, things happened quickly. Jeff pulled out a bottle of Everclear and promised us that it would clean our personal carburetors, grow hair on our chest, and get us drunk fast. This was one of those moments when I was glad I was a designated driver, because I was a good girl and wanted to remain in my parents’ good graces, so I passed on the alcohol.
Kevin, though…he took a long chug and then, when Jeff and his buddy had built a fire, they poured some of the alcohol on it to grow the flames. It was sometime after that that Kevin told me he needed to go home. When I asked him why (hadn’t things been going so well?), he gave me some vague reasons. I was more than disappointed. I was crushed but remained my optimistic self.
It wasn’t until after the damned play production that it dawned on me that I was no longer a love interest, but, being inexperienced in all things love and courting, I thought it was all part of the cycle.
It wasn’t until years later—when, for some reason, that memory flitted through my mind while I sat on my goddamned porch—that I knew exactly what had happened. I hadn’t put my arm around him too, letting him know the feeling was mutual.
What if I’d done that? What if I’d made that one simple move? What would have happened then?
Only God knows, because I suspect my life would have turned out very differently…but then this would be another story.
Chapter Five
Present
“Welcome to the Jungle” – Guns N’ Roses
HALLOWEEN WAS A bit subdued. The little kids still came out in droves, accompanied by parents, but older kids didn’t seem to take as much pleasure in the day, and it was, no doubt, due to the new virus slowly popping up in isolated pockets here and there. The biggest problem was that the nation’s citizens were beginning to doubt the folks in control had any clue about what the virus was or how to control it. It had seemed to happen so fast that people couldn’t even wrap their minds around it.
Even I, self-proclaimed news hater, found that I couldn’t avoid the onslaught of information about new happenings, any more than the virus’ victims could avoid contracting it.
What made it worse, though, was that news was slow in getting out. I’d never been one for conspiracy theories or believing in Big Brother, but there was no denying that updated news about the virus was hard to come by. In fact, according to Larry, there was more to be found on alternate and underground news sources online than there was available from the usual places.
Folks had begun calling it “the zombie virus,” mainly because its victims all seemed to arrive at that spot eventually, where they had an undeniable hunger for human flesh. I hadn’t heard yet that one of them had attacked a cat or dog or a steak or…a tree. It seemed to manifest itself in eating
human flesh at some point.
Details were sketchy: patients suffered a high fever at some point after contracting the illness, and they vaguely “felt bad”—muscle aches and pains, swelling in joints, experiencing diarrhea. The one thing I heard consistently was that sufferers often complained of neck pain, and sometimes they suffered bleeding from one of their orifices. The bottom line, though, was that authorities were nowhere near finding a patient zero, and I wondered if they ever would, especially considering new cases over the past month had popped up in Dallas, Mobile, Alabama, several cities in Florida and South Carolina, and three people in New Orleans came down with it in the last week. I was no medical expert, but it seemed very clear to me that whatever it was was spreading, and I and most of the nation were beginning to wonder how we could protect ourselves. It was also unclear if people were being treated prior to their flesh-eating tendencies manifesting themselves.
The second week in November, cases popped up in Mexico and then there was no denying it—we had an epidemic on our hands. Finally, the government saw the prudence in addressing it publicly and the Surgeon General, along with a representative from the CDC, decided that they needed to quell fears by telling folks what they knew.
Only they didn’t ease people’s nerves; instead, they seemed to confirm what folks already felt they knew—there was almost no way to be safe, because no one knew what they were fighting. This virus—at this point, they finally confirmed it was a virus, although they weren’t saying if it was airborne or not—was highly contagious, and they were suggesting that people wear masks in public, but they were hesitant to urge people to stay home…yet. The online call of underground news sources was to do just that—stay home unless absolutely necessary—and it was evident that many people who feared for themselves and the lives of their families were beginning to do it. School attendance dropped nationwide, but patterns began to emerge. At first, people weren’t sure if it was just the way people traveled, but we all began to notice that the virus was contained, thus far, in the south, and it was spreading below the border rapidly.
As far as I was concerned, I was relieved that both my kids would be coming home for an entire week for Thanksgiving break. I hadn’t requested the entire week off from work, but I was only working Monday and Tuesday of that week. Not only was I looking forward to hugging my kids and enjoying their company for several days, but it would be a bit of a relief to have them under my roof, away from hundreds of other people in a tight environment where the spread of disease wasn’t unfathomable.
I reminded myself that we hadn’t seen any cases in Colorado as far as I knew. Yet. We appeared to be safe for the meantime.
That was part of the problem with the seeming lack of news flowing out, though. Many people believed that the outbreak was worse than any of us could imagine, and they theorized that there were lots more cases than the news was reporting.
The buzz was that it was taken overseas via airplane too—but, again, no confirmation.
I tried to avoid the broadcasts, reminding myself that there was nothing I could do about the illness and that it didn’t directly affect me. The problem was that it could. It seemed almost imminent. Every day, it seemed to get closer and closer to my little world, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
I might not have wanted to live anymore, but I sure as hell didn’t want to die. Not like that.
I talked with the kids over the phone, and they planned to come home Friday afternoon of the following week. They would stay with me from that weekend through the next, heading back to school on Sunday afternoon to finish up the last two weeks of classes before Christmas break. Tanner attended the University of Colorado in Boulder and his sister Kyleigh attended the School of Mines in Golden. Tanner would leave school and pick up his sister on the way home, and just a few hours later, they would be back in my nest where I could watch over them like the overprotective mother I was.
Yes, with the panic spreading over the U.S., this mama bird was feeling restless and glad my kids would be home soon. I talked with my parents over the phone as well—they’d made their annual winter trip to Arizona, where they would stay until March, coming home only for a week at Christmas to celebrate. They were already settled in the little community where they parked their fifth wheel every fall to enjoy the warmer temperatures, while the rest of us snowbirds stayed home to brave the cold. It was something my parents had earned and something they enjoyed doing, and until they could no longer travel, I wanted them to do it. This year, though, I was worried—the virus, after all, had spread to Texas. Arizona was only cushioned by New Mexico, and the spread seemed impossible to avoid. Both my mother and father, though, assured me that “if it was their time,” they couldn’t do anything about it. They also both spouted a couple of religious sentiments, forgetting that I’d said sourly years ago that my god had abandoned me, so I’d felt inclined to do the same.
My brother and sister-in-law in eastern Nebraska weren’t concerned about it either. In fact, my brother was fairly certain the CDC had created the damn thing and was using us all as guinea pigs. That was the sentiment of a lot of people, and I just let him talk. He couldn’t see my expression over the phone. I just wanted him to know I loved him…in case something happened. I’d never been a worrier, but the situation was becoming worrisome.
Honestly, watching the spread of the virus put me in the mind of a higher power that wanted to wipe the population clean and start over. Why flood the planet when you could pick people off one at a time, dragging it out instead of drowning them all in one fell swoop? Why not let all the people live in panic and fear first before succumbing to an illness that would make them harm the ones they loved?
Oh, yes…the people who survived the attacks—that is, the friend who’d taken the ill woman to the ER in the first place—usually wound up contracting the illness as well. The virus might not have been airborne (although no one at the top was admitting that, either), but there seemed to be no way to avoid it though contact with bodily fluids, and everyone watching at the sidelines was convinced—with or without proof—that that was a sure way to contract the disease. In that regard, many folks compared it with AIDS and other similar viruses, but the rest of us just sat around, watching and waiting…and worrying.
How long would it be before it came to our neck of the woods? It seemed inevitable.
It was just a few days later that rumors were flying that people in Colorado had the virus. The buzz was muted, but it was there. There was no confirmation with news stations, but people—people—were talking. I was hearing about poor souls in Pueblo and Colorado Springs coming down with the virus, and there was some story about a biter—what people were starting to call the infected who were attacking other people—running rampant through the halls of St. Mary Corwin hospital until a cop gunned him down.
It was a rumor, of course, but it sounded plausible. Plausible enough to worry me.
Colorado Springs was less than thirty miles from Winchester, the mountain town where I lived, the place where I’d been born and raised. If it truly was on my doorstep, it was fucking real, and everything and everyone I loved was in danger.
Yes, it had also continued its spread west, with confirmed cases in New Mexico, Arizona, Southern California, and Nevada. It was moving north too, though, and Missouri, Oklahoma, and Kansas had reported cases as well.
I decided then and there that I would go to work and straight home, avoiding any extra stops unless absolutely necessary from this point on. I called my kids and urged them to do the same. I had to make a plan to get ready for our little Thanksgiving, though, and I loved spoiling my kids with their favorite foods and drinks when they came home. I figured I’d go to the supermarket late one night, around ten PM, when there were hardly any other shoppers. That way, if there was a biter, I’d have a better chance of escape—and of spotting the infected person in the first place. The supermarket was usually way too crowded right after work, and I wouldn’t stand a
chance. As much as I hated giving into the fear, I felt like paranoia was the only way I’d have a chance to survive.
The kids assured me they’d be as safe as possible, but I wasn’t stupid. I’d been their age once, and I remembered that feeling of being immortal, like nothing could touch me.
I had a feeling that they might not feel so confident when all the dust settled. It was a strange new world…and no one was sure of anything anymore.
Chapter Six
Past
Cinderella – “Long Cold Winter”
NEW YEAR’S EVE, a seeming fulcrum between the first half of the semester of my senior year in high school and the second. A lot of my buddies that had formed around my theater group were heading over to Jeff’s to watch movies and ring in the new year. I didn’t realize until I arrived that Jeff’s parents were elsewhere—it was a teens only party, and Jeff was an only child.
My heart started thumping in my chest when I saw Kevin there. I hadn’t seen nor spoken with him since the night I’d driven him home from the party out in the middle of nowhere—the party that seemed to escalate our relationship or whatever it was to the next level…but hadn’t.
And he was distant. He only looked me in the eye when I got up close and said hi, but he acted as though he had a million other things to do. I was certainly not a pressing issue.
Friday the 13th played in the background, and I pulled my best friend aside to ask her what was going on. Like me, she was inexperienced (although not as badly as I), but she wasn’t sympathetic either. “What’s going on with Kevin? Last time I saw him…” She knew. We’d since talked about it.
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