Immersion

by J M Hart

  Kevin looked at the adults, wondering if they thought Tim believable. What was the part about drinking his urine? He is mind-blowingly nuts.

  Kath spoke first. “So why did you take the bikes?”

  “That’s not important,” Tim said.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Kath said.

  “Now you two, stop your bickering,” Tim’s mom said.

  Kevin wondered why the hell Tim was making up a story. He looked at his friend and raised his hands slightly as if to say, what gives?

  Daniel cleared his throat and shook the officer’s hands. “Well, mate, it looks like all is accounted for and then some. My wife obviously knows the girl. We’ll see she gets home safely.”

  The policeman pulled his leather gloves from his pocket and turned to Kevin and Tim. “You guys are right to stay off the streets. The infected are outnumbering us these days, but stay close to home. Don’t go hiking till this is over,” he said, tilting his head towards the street.

  Daniel and the policeman walked out of the room. “I’ll be off then. A word of advice — The army will be moving tomorrow and there will be roadblocks in all capital cities to prevent people from leaving. Sixty-mile perimeter north, south, east and west and the docks are staying closed. Most people won’t even know they have been boxed in. Orders are, shoot to kill. You didn’t hear it from me.”

  “Seriously, that bad, huh?” Daniel said.

  The policeman pulled out his sunglasses. “Well, it’s happening. All the action at the moment is over at the hospital, which you’re probably well aware of. So many people infected. It’s crazy.”

  “Any sign of a vaccine?”

  “No. No vaccine, no antivirals, and antibiotics are useless. The suicides are the worst. Heartbreaking — whole families sometimes. The world is going to hell. This job is getting harder every day. I am tired of meeting people when they are having the worst day of their lives. I’m glad it has turned out well on this occasion. You take good care of yours, keep your boy on a leash for a while. I think it’s time I put in for some leave, if you know what I mean.”

  “Thanks, officer.”

  “Call me Bill.” They shook hands again.

  *

  Kevin wondered when his mom would let go of Jade, then Callie pulled back and held her at arm’s-length. Jade started sobbing.

  “Jade, how did you get here? You’re safe. It will be alright.” Callie pulled her back into her arms.

  A waterfall of long, black hair fell forward and hid Jade’s face from him. Kevin watched his mom protectively putting her arms around Jade again. How did his mother know her name, and how does Jade know my mom? He had so many questions. He went over to Tim. Before he could say anything Tim’s mom shuffled him out of the room and to the front door.

  “Home with you, boy,” she said.

  “You stink,” Kath was saying as she passed Kevin. “Where have you been? I don’t believe a word of your story.”

  Tim blurted out. “Ah, we were really helping Shaun. Mr D said to steer clear of Shaun. That’s why we didn’t say anything.”

  Kevin didn’t know what to do or say. What the hell was Tim up to now?

  “Who?” Tim’s mom asked.

  “Shaun, a friend of ours.”

  “Yeah, right,” Kath said. “Since when has Shaun Grady been a friend of yours?” She placed her hands on her hips. She cocked her head and raised her eyebrows, daring him to answer.

  Daniel walked over and tilted Kevin’s head slightly back so their eyes met. He couldn’t look away. “Is that true? You should have called. We were worried. Don’t ever do that again — is Shaun alright?”

  Kath looked confused as she watched Daniel speak to the guys as if he knew what they were babbling on about.

  “He, his head …” Kevin wasn’t as quick as Tim in coming up with compelling stories and felt uncomfortable. “Shaun’s head was hurting pretty badly and he didn’t want to go back to hospital. We stayed until his dad came home. I thought Tim called his mom and she called you guys.”

  “That’s right,” Tim said, grinning at Kath. “But I thought Kevin called you, Mr D, and you called my mom.”

  Kevin tried to keep his emotions under control and he knew his dad was doing the same, knowing they were playing him. He was just as confused as everyone else about Callie and Jade. Kevin felt something was going on; he sensed it, and he knew someone would have to explain eventually. Right now, he was grateful they didn’t question him any more.

  “Is there anything else you want to tell us?” Daniel said.

  “Sorry,” Kevin said. Daniel gave him a look of disbelief.

  “Come on, Tim, let’s get you into a bath.”

  “I’m fifteen, Mom. I don’t do baths.”

  Callie let go of Jade, but kept her close to her side as she said to Tim’s mom, “Sally, if you like you are welcome to join us for dinner. Kath has the magic touch with Molly.”

  Kevin looked at Molly sleeping soundly in her playpen.

  “Thanks, but we’d better head off. Don’t want to be out after dark. The storm clouds look nasty. Lord knows we need rain, but those clouds don’t look ordinary. I’m just glad the boys are back.” Callie followed them to the front door. Moths were dancing around the porch light.

  “By the way love, the smell of the lemongrass and sage,” Sally said. “Very humbling, nice choice under the circumstances.”

  Callie smiled and nodded in thanks, waving and closing the door behind them.

  Tim shoved his head around the doorframe and shouted to Kevin, “Call me,” then quickly pulled his head out of the way of the closing door.

  “I don’t have any aroma oils in the house. I’m assuming that’s what she meant.” Callie shook her head in confusion. “Anyway, Daniel, can you get dinner ready for Molly and Alex. We can have dinner and talk once the little ones have gone to bed. Kevin, go shower. You can use the main bathroom and Jade can use my en suite.”

  Kevin and Daniel looked at each other, not knowing what was going on or why she was being so nice. They both replied, “Sure.”

  Kevin looked at his mom fussing over Jade. How does she know Jade’s name? I didn’t tell her? Jade hasn’t spoken. He was aware that his mom’s behavior had nothing to do with him. He walked upstairs to his bedroom to get a fresh set of clothes when there was a knock on his door.

  “Kevin, can Jade borrow a shirt and your green cargoes, please,” his mother asked.

  “Sure.” Jade stood behind his mom and it was difficult for him to make eye contact with her. Her head was lowered, her eyes were swollen from crying. “Is Jade alright?”

  “She’ll be fine,” Callie said.

  “Mom, how do you know her name?” He passed her some clothing.

  “Get yourself cleaned up and then we’ll make our own pizzas and chat.” She closed the door.

  He heard his mom say, “Let me get this straight. You were swimming, knocked out, drugged and kidnapped? And you’re wearing short shorts? That’s not like you, Jade.”

  3

  Pestilence’s fusion: Sophia. Scotland.

  The time had come to travel south. Hiding in the highlands and meditating was over, although it had given Sophia and Casey time to connect while the universe aligned the stars. The essence of the forest was comforting, the sound and the freshness of the stream healing, and the view of the valley from the cabin was enlightening, but it was time to go. They were lucky to have stumbled upon it. Father McDonald and Sophia said their goodbyes and the eagle circled above them as they walked out of the forest.

  Worn denim jeans, a beard, messy hair, a black t-shirt and a sports coat helped to disguise Father McDonald. He no longer wore his collar. He carried his Bible in his inner-left breast pocket. The days were still warm, the evenings cool, but summer had begun to fade. Ten o’clock at night and the sun had finally settled over Scotland. Depression hung over the city of Glasgow. Under the darkness of night they entered the town, and took a seat in the corner booth of
a small cafe, keeping their heads low.

  They watched the television, seeing angry protesters in London demanding the fall of the monarchy. The next images were angry protesters in Rome surrounding the Vatican, demanding the removal of the Pope. From his balcony he appealed to the people before him to help each other, to love their neighbor, and promised they would find peace. They ignored his pleas, demanding he perform a public exorcism, claiming their loved ones were possessed by the devil. He tried to reassure them, advising them to stay in their homes and not to travel; the government would find a vaccine. Ceremoniously he released two white doves, the sign of peace, and the crowd went silent as the birds took flight. Then suddenly a burst of cheering rose from St Peter’s Square as a crow swooped in and attacked the dove, dislodged white feathers drifting on the wind. A seagull joined the crow to attack the second dove. The cheers grew louder as the doves started to fall and the crow continued to peck at the Vatican’s symbol of peace.

  Horrified, Sophia and Father McDonald continued watching images from across the world of people lining up outside the churches, synagogues and mosques. “The people claim their loved ones who have been infected have become possessed by demons,” the reporter announced from behind the safety of his desk, then broadcast the next set of horrific images across the screen. Homemade bombs hurtled through the air, exploding on the White House lawn.

  Father McDonald looked over at Sophia. Tears were streaming down her face.

  “Let’s leave here,” he said, holding his hand out to her.

  They shuffled out of the booth as a picture of a younger Father McDonald and a young Sophia was splashed across the TV screen. The reporter accused Father McDonald of being a pedophile who had kidnapped Sophia, a young orphan girl, after shooting his parishioners.

  They were both horrified and hurried from the cafe. The streets had become scary, so they looked for another place to eat and hide. The last cafe had stolen a little more of their light, and Sophia could see Father McDonald was weakening. They moved on, looking for a decent place that was open. They walked down dark narrow back streets that stank of urine and alcohol. Sophia kept away from the building walls, staying in the middle of the roads afraid of what might reach out of the shadows. A light was switched on up ahead, revealing three steps to a back door. They looked for a place to hide. Sophia stumbled over a pair of legs; the owner didn’t flinch, not a sound. Sophia picked herself up. The door opened beneath the light: a silhouette, then a tall man emerged carrying a bag of trash, cigarette dangling from his mouth. He put down the garbage, inhaled on the cigarette and as he puffed, the smoke floated up to the light and the moths. He looked down into the alley, stepping in their direction.

  Ducking behind a dumpster wasn’t an option. Father McDonald’s legs were liable to snap, so they kept walking. The man watched them go by. Father McDonald’s hands were casually stuffed into his pockets and Sophia’s hoodie was pulled up over her head. They kept their heads down, and cautiously passed him by.

  “Hey, you two,” the tall man said in a thick Scottish accent. “It looks like you could use a good meal. Come on in.” He chucked his smoke to the ground and ground at it with his heel. He pulled the door open and held it for them.

  The duo looked at each other, as if having a conversation only they could hear.

  “Thank you,” Father McDonald said. They walked into a kitchen, entering the back of a cafe. “You and the wee hen can sit here.” The man showed them to an empty table away from the others; no TV screen, low lighting and hardly anyone was in the place. Perfect.

  “I’ll be back.” He came back with a coffee, a milkshake, hot fish and chips, toasted club sandwiches and a bottle of water.

  “Thank you,” Sophia said, pushing her sleeves up to her elbows.

  “You’re welcome, hen. It’s a slow night, what can I say? It’s mayhem out there. Where are you two headed? Trying to get out of the city, or did you just come down from them hills?” He couldn’t help looking at Sophia. Strange young lady, he thought. Her eyes were constantly looking past him and over his shoulder as if he had something on his back. He turned and looked behind him, but there was nothing. She looked above his head and he too looked upwards. But there was nothing.

  “We’re heading south,” Father McDonald said.

  “What’s south, that’s not north? This whole country is about to be put to sleep and under lock and key.”

  “Why are you open? Why aren’t you leaving?” Sophia asked.

  “No point running, hen. The virus is everywhere. No purpose in leaving. What do you keep looking at, young lady? You’re giving me the creeps. You’re making my skin crawl.”

  “Seeing if you have the virus.”

  “You can tell?” He took a step forward and looked her square in the face.

  “Yes,” she said.

  He glanced at Father McDonald. They didn’t look like a pair of hustlers. “Well! Let’s have it.” Feeling uneasy, his heart started to race. His stomach boiled and churned, as if he had eaten a bucket of hot peppers. He was scared; he didn’t want to be one of the infected. Last week he was elbow-deep mopping up the blood of his dear brother, an infected. They had shared the restaurant for twenty-five years and his brother had never missed a day, not even when his kid was being born. Last Wednesday, he didn’t show. He didn’t answer his home phone or his mobile. So, for the first time, Joe had closed up shop, went to his brother’s house and banged on his door. Silence. He checked around the back, took the spare key from the top ledge and let himself in. The old black-and-white checked linoleum floor was now red and black. A bloody axe by his brother’s side and a gun in his hand. His baby brother had removed his wife’s head before shooting his son and biting down on the barrel of the gun.

  “No. No, you don’t have the virus,” Sophia said and smiled.

  He dropped to his knees; his hands clasped in prayer, he raised them to the ceiling. “Thank God!”

  “Do you want to know why?”

  “Sophia!” Father McDonald warned.

  “Sure, maybe I can prevent someone else from getting it. Maybe it’s my blood type or something.”

  “That’s why. Because you think of others first, and you think that there is good in everyone. Last year you were in a motorbike accident, weren’t you? Drunken joy riders lost control and cut you off. Your leg was crushed between your bike and their car. You freed yourself and, dragging your crushed leg along the road, around to the other side of the car, you checked on the others. The driver was breathing. You smelt fumes, but you didn’t stop. You reached up, opened his door and dragged him out. Seconds later, the car exploded, scorching your face. You lost your leg. You have a prosthesis attached to your knee, and still you don’t hold a grudge. You believe there is a reason for everything. I could go on, but I think you get the message.” She smiled gently. He was standing with his mouth open in amazement. He wasn’t sure what to say or do; everything she said was correct.

  “Who are you, a psychic? What’s my past got to do with me not catching the virus?”

  “The virus affects the brain. It is a small evil parasite that feeds off negative thoughts. When we get angry or scared, we create a different energy. They feed on fear, rage, pride, jealousy, envy and anger. Simple.”

  “The Evil Eye. That’s why I wear this,” he said, pointing to the string around his wrist. “My mother put it on me when I was a wee ’un and every time it fell off she would put a new one on. I continued to put it on after my bar mitzvah. I always wear my watch over it. I made the choice to keep wearing it even though we stopped going to the synagogue. My mother was asked to leave because she refused to stop studying her father’s way of teaching, which was reserved for men over forty. She told me it was what her dad’s father taught him, and he taught her, and they had continued to study even after they left Israel. The string is a protection, a reminder to be good — not to judge others or bring shame upon them, and to look towards God for guidance. Treat others how you would li
ke to be treated, she always said. ‘Life is too short.’ So I always wear the red string. Wait, I have some for you.” He pushed his way through the swinging door and they watched it move back and forth. Within a few swings he emerged with a tiny packet. He opened it up, mumbled a blessing, and tied it to Sophia’s left wrist. He did the same for Father McDonald. He then held their hands together and prayed.

  “Thank you, you’re very kind,” Father McDonald said. “God bless you.”

  “If you like, you can stay the night here.”

  “Thank you, but we don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  “Shouldn’t you be telling someone in authority what you know about the virus?”

  “It won’t save people from themselves,” Father McDonald said. “The authorities will just think she is a crazy young girl, some religious nut and lock us both up. I’ve learnt to let God guide Sophia — as much as I’ve wanted to end her pain and confusion.”

  People in the restaurant were looking at them suspiciously — or was it his paranoia? “Wrap that up and bring it with us,” Father McDonald said.

  Sophia unfolded a napkin and wrapped her unfinished sandwich, sucked back the rest of her milkshake, and stuffed her hot chips into the empty waxed cardboard cup, putting it under her jacket.

  “How much do we owe you?”

  “Nothing. It’s on me. Call me Joe.”

  “Thanks, Joe, and may God bless you. Come on, Sophia.”

  They flipped up the hoods on their jackets and stuffed their hands in their pockets. They stepped out of the cafe to hide amongst the very thing that was seeking them out in the dead of the night: the dark, swarming invisible mist. It moved amongst the motorists, floating through open car windows, circulating amongst the passengers, up nostrils and into open mouths. Sophia watched in horror. Families began to argue as the virus impregnated their bodies, spreading across the brain, killing off neurons and consuming their souls.