Ophelia

by Briana Rain

  I really had to stop throwing up if I was going to survive this. Like, not even as a joke. I’d thrown up more in the past week and a half than I have all of high school. This was going to dehydrate me, or something.

  I heard the footsteps of someone coming back from the other section of the basement. A napkin was thrust into my field of vision, and I accepted it wordlessly, and gratefully.

  The smell of it was overwhelming, and just really… gross. The taste of it made me wish I’d grabbed some gum at the drugstore. There was crying from the next room, most likely coming from Viola, but I wasn't going to rule out Lucky just yet. All I could do was brace myself against the wall and wipe the blood of the dead off my face.

  “We're not safe here anymore Ophelia.”

  I nodded. I barely acknowledged my mom as I swallowed down whatever else threatened to come back up. I took some deep breaths and turned to face her. She had her back to me and was looking at Kevin.

  He’d been shot somewhere in the chest. I couldn't tell exactly where, because his blood was splattered and pooling everywhere. On him, the walls, the floor, the boxes, my collector’s edition Belle from Beauty and the Beast doll, which I never took out of the box, on Mom, and on me.

  “Do I have to be quarantined again?” I hoped not, even though I did feel grossly disgusting and disgustingly gross. She turned, in the process of removing her own KevinCoat™ from her face and arms. I tried to keep my face calm, and not let her know how terrified I was… I think it was of her.

  “No. No, I think it's time we start for Washington. If one can come, then so can others.”

  If one can come, so can others.

  Others.

  So… Our position had been compromised.

  The thought terrified me more than my mother and what’d just happened combined.

  “What are we going to do about…?” I couldn't take my eyes off him, his body draining blood onto our cheap basement carpet.

  Speaking of blood, did you know that you could lose, like, forty-five percent of all your blood before you die? Or was it forty… Thirty-five? I didn’t know. Mom would know. I just remembered a bit of that fact from last year’s anatomy class.

  But people didn’t die from losing blood, I mean, they do, but it was what was in the blood specifically. It was what the blood carried, or lack thereof, that was fatal. The oxygen. So, like, they'd die from blood loss, but more specifically, it was the organs not getting that O2. If the oxygen didn’t get to the organs, then you’d die. Your organs, like, flip out without it. Like, Woah, dude! Like, what's happening here!?

  That factoid was also from anatomy class.

  “O! Ophelia, I need your help here!”

  Mom had apparently been talking to me that whole time, and had to shake my shoulder to get my attention. Whoops.

  She grabbed the corpse under the arms and gestured for me to grab the feet.

  And I definitely did not want to touch the feet of the corpse.

  Because that was gross. So, so gross.

  But I did it, because if I was going to survive this, I was going to have to force myself to stop puking. I was going to have to force myself to toughen up a bit (or two).

  So I grabbed the ankles of the dead man, preceded to move, and then bury him in a grave of mighty cardboard at the back of our basement.

  Chapter 7: Rattle

  We didn’t collect anything from our rooms before we left. We were all too terrified that we’d left a window uncovered and that our shadows would bring a hoard of screaming Crazies upon our home. So, we sacrificed comfort for safety. I'd admit, I did vote to change clothes. The twins and Mom got to change, because they’d kept some extra clothes down here. But I, on the other hand, wore the same set of pajamas all weekend, if I could. I didn't have enough clothes to keep down here, and none of Mom's fit me, so I was stuck with what I had on, which was relatively clean, except for the specks of blood here and there.

  But, yeah. Totally worth it.

  At least we didn't have to completely sacrifice comforts. Vi found one of her lost stuffed bunnies in a box, had refused to part with it ever since. I knew for a fact that Mom tore apart the album box, looking for just the right picture of us with dad, and then the perfect one of the four of us when she thought the rest of us were asleep. Lucky had a little rubber ball from the dollar store to keep him busy, I guess.

  And I slid my phone into the smallest space inside my backpack before we left. Stupid, I know, but we’d find power eventually, and my phone had all my music on it. All my pictures. Even that stupid essay Mrs. Kirks made me write.

  Oh man… I did those seven pages for nothing. Great. I wasted my final days before the Apocalypse typing ‘til my fingers cramped up.

  That was a really sucky thought.

  Oh well.

  I zipped up my backpack and joined the others in the garage, and grimaced when I saw the state of our “bug out” vehicle. All the supplies we had were just thrown in chaotically. There was no sense, no order, and no organization. If I could just get, like, ten or twenty minutes…

  Wow. That mess really bothered me.

  It looked like the car was overflowing. Water, food, medical supplies, weapons, and other stuff, like maps. I mean, my mother's 2021 Ford Fusion was nifty and all… but I didn’t think it was gonna cut it. I mean, it was the Apocalypse. Go big, or go home.

  “We need some new wheels.” I said.

  Mom agreed with me, and so another plan was made.

  There was only, like, one part of this plan that I didn't like. I mean, the others didn't like it either, but I disliked it the most, since it involved me.

  According to the twins, since I barely remembered it existing, when Mom fired the shot, the bang was deafening. I just remember a ringing in my ears afterwards.

  And because of the loudness, the area around our house was crawling with Crazies. We could hear the roaring, howling, shrieking, and things being knocked over by the brainless infected.

  So, back to that part of the plan that I hated. To get the car out of the garage, someone had to manually lift the door open as the car shoot out, with the electricity gone. When going to the drugstore, I had no problem doing it the first time. I even had time to pull the door back down.

  But a lot had changed in the past eleven days. Back then, there weren't that many of the infected, let alone any near our house. But now, I wouldn't be surprised if someone told me that they were on the verge of outnumbering us.

  In that case, I wasn't going to take the time close it, not unless the coast was absolutely clear.

  And with the luck I'd been having lately, that garage door would probably stay open. Open for a long, long time.

  I’d accepted that we were most likely never coming back home. After all, there was a freaking dead body in our basement. Where Lucky and I had wrestling matches and where Vi and I gossiped about who was where when her classmates were released into the metal jungle of almost certain death. Also known as: the playground.

  That house was where the twins had grown up. Where I’d spent most of my life. I thought about the homework and projects piled high on my desk, waiting for something that will never come: completion. I wondered if someone were to use this house as a pit stop, or maybe even a temporary base, if they would know anything about the deadly labyrinth of Calculus.

  Viola, Luck, and Mom were in the car. Whether or not they were wearing seatbelts was unknown to me, because I was outside of the car.

  Okay. I just had to do this one thing. This was all I had to do, and then we'd be home free. Mom would take over and get us to safety. Just this one thing.

  There was a demonic sound from outside. I waited, squatted under one of the several windows in the garage door.

  Mom would wait for the signal to turn on the car and go. She would have to be fast, and I would have to be even faster.

  I’d asked if we could just throw the car in reverse and bash through the door, like they did in the movies, but Mom gently sho
t the idea down, as that was in the movies, and our car was so old, that she didn't want to take a chance that could really damage it.

  The screeching slowly but surely faded down the street. I risked peeking up.

  There was a Crazy, right there. If there was nothing separating us, I could’ve reached out and started braiding its once beautiful head of hair. It was the first time I’d seen one up close since Toothless in the unlit store and— crack— the bodybuilder at the Clucket Bucket. But this one wasn't fresh. This one wasn't turned hours ago, but days. Its skin was rotting and, in some places, I could see bone. The holes and boils on its face paired with the thick, hot string of saliva hanging off of its chin was disturbing at the very least. It was standing perpendicular to the door, and my movement from the window caught its eye and caused it to swivel terrifyingly fast to face me. In the same nanosecond that I registered it start to move, I dropped my whole body to the floor, not making a sound, as if I did this often. I was on my stomach, sucking in a breath, but couldn't feel it get to my lungs.

  Its hot breath fogged the glass of the window— it was undoubtedly breathing out of its opened mouth, as it peered into our dark garage.

  Then it screamed, and it took all I had not to pee myself. I hoped the others had enough sense to hear the scream and be quiet. I didn’t want to find out if these things had the brain or the brawn to punch through windows. Or work a door.

  Come to think of it, they probably didn't need brains to punch through a window. They could just dive through and shatter it in an instant at the most minuscule possibility of “food”. That wild, animalistic instinct probably gave them enough brawn to do anything.

  I was gulping air in like a fish out of water. I couldn't fill my lungs up enough. I wondered, for a split second, if my throat had a hole in it.

  Or if it wasn't there at all.

  There was painful wailing in the distance. Human. The sound filled me with dread, and the air with a chorus of inhuman, blood-curdling shrieks. The Crazy in front of me responded enthusiastically, and left to join the block party.

  I forced myself on my feet and crouched under the window again, blocking out the screams of the Crazies and the non-crazies. I peeked out and saw figures, arms by their sides, sprinting towards a group a couple of streets down. And by the looks of it, it definitely wasn’t prayer circle.

  I whispered for Mom to get ready, and when the Crazies were the minimum distance away that I deemed as safe, it was go time. We had to go now, before more rounded the corner or came sprinting out from one of the neighboring yards.

  The car started. The garage door lifted with a rattle so loud that I’d be cringing for the next ten years, and the car sped out, now free of its barrier. I ran towards it, and Mom reached across the seat and threw open the passenger door. It was then that the plan started to go wrong, and a slobbering Crazy came into my field of vision.

  This… was absolutely not part of the plan. This was not part of the plan at all. But even the most well thought out things still had those unforeseen variables, and this was not even close to being well thought out.

  I had three options.

  Option one: Keep booking it to the car, but with the speed of this Crazy, it would either be nanosecond close, or impossible.

  Option two: Redirect myself, and run away. Either back inside or around the car like duck duck goose. Either one of those could result in my family getting all hell rained down upon them.

  And they need you.

  So I was left with option three: Stay and fight and kill the damn thing.

  I mean, it sounded a bit crazy, fighting off a Crazy. But what about any of this wasn't crazy?

  So, crazy was what I was gonna have to be.

  Don't ask me how, either somewhere deep down inside I remembered it was there, or I saw it out of my peripheral vision somewhere between second one and second three of this thinking process, but I reached forward, mid-stride, and wrapped my hands around Viola’s purple softball bat. It had been left there the day before all of this started, when Mom had called us all into the kitchen after the pizza had arrived. The only reason I knew the twins were practicing, was because the ball hit the side of the house, and I had to cover for them with Mom by saying that the noise was just a book falling off my desk. It was a close one, and they knew it.

  The way I stepped to get it, plus the slight redirection of my body, meant that I had to turn to grab it. By the time both hands had wrapped around it, I was coming back up and completing my three-sixty. I moved my fingers closer together, tightened my sweaty palms, and brought the metal stick up with as much force as all 157 pounds of me could muster.

  I caught its cheek, the bats momentum keeping it swinging upwards. I saw an excess amount of spit follow the bat, and disappear somewhere that wasn't on me.

  The thing crumpled onto the dead grass and I dove into the car.

  Mom sped off before I was even seated properly. I knew we had to put some distance between us and that horde, so I didn't say anything as I braced myself on the dashboard to stay in. Mom waited until I had the door closed before she started talking. But before she could complete her first sentence, I rolled down the window, and puked.

  Don't worry. You'll get used to it. You'll adapt. You have to.

  I told myself, but on the other hand,

  This sucked.

  Chapter 8: Beep

  Who knew that there were that many dealerships around here. I mean, I knew that there were a ton, but this seemed a bit excessive. I told Mom to just pick one already, but she still insisted on driving around to each and every one. Picky.

  I, on the other hand, just wanted to get out. All the seats except for the drivers’ were as cramped as a whale in a fishbowl.

  And it seemed that every other person in this stupid city had the same idea as us. Congratulations Jerry! You've won a brand new car!! And that comes with your very own, very stylish, brand new apocalypse! Enjoy!

  Mom finally chose a dealership and sped into it, which left the three of us with strained seatbelts. I mean, I guess she could go as fast as she wanted, since there was no one to stop her, but that didn’t mean that she should.

  This one was the only one that didn't look looted, and she took her time prowling through the unmanned rows of sparkling new cars before settling on a badass looking, totally not eco-friendly Jeep Wrangler. It was black from its huge tires, to its bar covering the grill that I didn’t know the name of, to its tinted windows. It was freakin’ awesome. And perfect. I wondered what would happen if we plowed over a Crazy in that thing. It probably wouldn’t break down 0.2 seconds later, like the Fusion would.

  “O, Luck, you guys guard the cars. Vi and I are going after the keys.” Mom went around to the trunk, 100% serious.

  It was go time. Again.

  I'd like to say what she did next surprised me, but I’d had my share of surprise for the day. I’d reached my limit, and am immune.

  She slid out the .22 rifle from the trunk and handed it to my eleven-year-old brother.

  Well, technically he would be twelve in like, wait. What day was it now? I checked my watch and… it was April 13th. Wow. Time flies in the Apocalypse.

  I looked at my little brother, who’d suffered all his life in a house full of women, and didn't see someone excited for his twelfth birthday and being that much closer to being officially branded as a teen. No. I saw a child soldier; holding a gun that was far too big for him, awkwardly trying to figure out where to put his hands since he had never touched one before. When the twins hit thirteen, Mom was going to let them hold her guns, provided that they wanted to. At least, that was what she did for me. Over the years, I’d shot that same gun only a handful of times, because it had, like, zero kick and wasn’t as scary as her other ones.

  So, with two knives lining her waist, extra magazines in her belt, and a tiny handgun at her ankle, Mom nodded once at us before heading off with Vi through the already broken glass doors. I saw Mom point to something on the grou
nd and say something to Viola, who nodded, and used her tennis shoes to kick out the jagged, potentially life-threatening pieces of glass that were still hanging on to the frame for dear life. Mom nodded, probably telling Vi what a good job she was doing, before heading inside with her.

  I looked down at Luck, who was staring blankly at the spot where his other half and his mother had disappeared into. There was a scuff of dirt on his cheek from somewhere.

  Child soldier.

  We were left alone, leaning against the 2021 Ford Fusion that desperately needed some cleaning, but was never going to get it. Neither of us talked, or asked how the other was doing, because we both knew the answer: pretty crappy.

  I showed him how to hold the gun, so that was exciting. But other than that it was calm. Quiet.

  It was actually pretty nice.

  I heard the Wrangler in front of us unlock, and I would've cheered, if being outside wasn't putting me so on edge.

  I was really excited for this car.

  Luck and I loaded the truck while Mom and Viola headed our way, not a scratch on them. Good news, good news.

  And then I got a bright idea. And when I said bright, I meant, dim. The dimmest idea I've ever had. Dimmer than that one time I… well, never mind that. Let's just say that it was really, really stupid.

  I let Lucky get the last couple of things as Mom and Vi approached us. It was a long way from the entrance, across the parking lot to us. Plus, all the cars they had to weave through on the way to us.

  So I started on the stupidest idea that I had ever thought of in my eighteen years of thinking, or, not thinking.

  I decided I wanted to hotwire a car. It was a practical skill to have in the Apocalypse, or so it was in the movies. But the practicing of this skill went horribly, horribly wrong.

  First, I tried the handle of the car next to our Jeep. That wouldn't budge because, of course, car dealerships locked their cars! Who knew??? Note the sarcasm.

  And I only knew of two ways to break into a car: that coat hanger thing I’d seen in countless of movies, or breaking the window.