Ophelia

by Briana Rain

  I did my best to suppress the weird noises brought about by pain that my mouth tried to make by trying to keep my teeth glued together and lips sealed shut. I did this for the sake of not attracting Crazies to our location, and to not look like the weakling I was. I had a feeling that the latter was not achieved.

  Addeline and Mom rearranged the trunk, pushing all of the bags to one side, yet keeping them low so that other people wouldn’t want to get a closer look at this particular vehicle. Clyde helped me get into the clear, flat space so that Mom could check me over.

  “Tell me what happened.” Juliet Astor commanded, on a mission.

  So Clyde, his accent thick, told the story how it was: how we climbed the bridge, the bungee cord, the close call on the stairwell, the closer call in the hallway on the 11th floor, my ear, Addeline, and the wall. Addeline interrupted to tell what happened after the southern man jumped out of the window, and how I held back the door. The story finished with the fire escape, and, finally, the rusted stair.

  Mom poked and prodded me as the events were explained, and afterwards informed me that my knees weren’t broken, but bruised to hell. She also went to unwrap the expertly placed duct tape from my ear, but there were several consecutive explosions coming from the middle of the Big City and working their way outwards before she could do so.

  We weren't exactly in range of them, but we also weren't far away enough to be completely out of the woods. We could feel the vibrations of some of the larger ones, like earthquakes shifting the ground.

  We needed to leave. We needed to check my ear. We needed sleep. We needed to get to Washington. And I needed Google because suddenly, I really wanted to know the largest magnitude of an Earthquake ever recorded. I missed Google.

  “We’ll just have to clean that later.” Mom sighed angrily, glaring at the collapsing skyscraper as if the signature “Mom Look” would make it stop falling, or at least think twice about it next time.

  Everyone ran to different sides of the car, and piled in, with the twins and Clyde sharing the back seat, Addeline in the front next to Mom, and me laying cramped in the trunk, with, like, a handle or something poking into my side.

  I guessed Mom put Addeline in passenger seat to keep an eye on her, just as she did with Clyde when he’d first arrived... yesterday. Yesterday? Wow. Yesterday. It was just yesterday that I was opening the garage door and picking up what was now my go-to weapon. Yesterday, I was responsible for the death of a non-infected man and I met Clyde. Yesterday my mom shot a guy. Yesterday...

  It felt like weeks ago.

  I thought about time. About how it was really messing with my head and how it should stop doing that sooner rather than later. I thought about it while I watched Chicago fall through the back window. Eventually, there was nothing left to see, not because it all was gone, but because we’d driven too far away. Even with the distance, I could still hear the booms of the once tall buildings hitting the ground, or explosions, or both. Yeah, it was probably both.

  My adrenaline wasn't doing its job of keeping me sharp, or tricking me into feeling less pain than there really was. So I, like any person would, forced myself to catch some Z’s, and take a timeout from everything that's going on. Because everything that was going on was sucked.

  Chapter 16: Mud

  My dream was actually going pretty well before my mother ever so rudely interrupted the never-ending blackness of my unconscious mind. In the past week, it had been rare to catch some winks and avoid being haunted by everything you’d experienced while awake.

  I sat up, only to find that the thing poking my side, was not the handle of something, but the barrel of the handgun from the creeper I’d met on the side of the highway. My pack laid beside me, one of the pockets slightly opened in all of the craziness. Great.

  I also found that Clyde's blanket had somehow covered me. It fell off of my shoulders, and pooled in my lap when I sat up.

  I was so invested with the ache in my side, and the blanket, that I stupidly didn't realize Mom taking out a bottle of disinfectant and pouring it on my ear, until it was poured on my ear.

  I said several words that one should never, in any circumstance or at any age, say in front of their mother, or any member of their family, but mostly their mother.

  But, in my defense, it burned! I couldn't believe how much that stung. Maybe, if she would have warned me, then maybe I wouldn't have been so shocked and it wouldn’t have hurt so much.

  She didn't say one word. There was no yelling because of what I said, or the “it's gonna be okay” thing that parents say, as she hurriedly wiped off my ear, and my neck where it had dripped. I breathed and hissed through my teeth when she put on a fresh coating of this gauze/bandage stuff and a new duct tape layer to secure it in place.

  We were at another pile-up, which there seemed to be an abundance of in the Apocalypse. There was screaming, whether it was human or not was unknown to me, in the distance, close enough to put us on guard, but far away enough so that we felt somewhat safe staying here. We had driven for a while, apparently. Like, hours.

  Since we were here, and since we were low on gas, and since the sun was setting, we, as in Mom, decided that we would stay here, outside of Mauston, Wisconsin, on the I-90 for the night. There was still some light left in the day, so we, as in Juliet Astor, thought that a look-around was required. Because, you know, these kinds of unnecessary things just couldn't wait until morning, where there was no risk of the sunlight running out.

  I think her reasoning was something along the lines of, time is precious, especially in the Apocalypse, and/or mother knows best.

  “I'll go.” Of course, Clyde offered to go. Of course.

  But Mom shut him down with a quick, but firm, “No”.

  “Clyde, I want you to stay here and guard the Jeep. Addeline and I will go.” She paused after she said the word guard, as if she was going to say something else instead of our vehicle. And guard my kids. My children. Offspring. Fruit of my loins.

  Okay, she probably wouldn't have said anything passed that first sentence, but the word ‘loins’ has always been funny word to me. It made me smile, even if it was just a little bit.

  Addeline looked like she was going to protest, but a quick look from her brother shut her down.

  The look that the two siblings shared, like an entire conversation in a glance, made me suspicious.

  So maybe the whole backstabbing thing was still on. I decided I’d need to spend most of my time watching Clyde. He was even more dangerous now, with his family here to lose, and the strap of his rifle no longer loose and distracting.

  For some reason, my fingers, on their own, with no permission from me whatsoever, picked up the small gun that’d been poking my side the whole ride, and shoved it in my pocket. The others weren't looking, thankfully, and technically it was mine since I, you know... killed the guy.

  CrackSquishBangThunkRipWhooshScream

  The thought made me physically flinch.

  From my position in the trunk, I could see Clyde take Addeline aside, put his hands on her shoulders, and say something very to her with a serious expression. With his voice so low, it was mission impossible to try to eavesdrop like I did back in Chicago. I did catch the word careful at the end, though.

  Addeline nodded, and the southerner— well technically they were both from the south, but Clyde’s accent was thicker and I met him first— dropped his hands. I looked away quickly before he could find me listening in. Then I focused on Mom and the twins, who were having the same kind of serious conversation.

  It made me feel bad that I was left out.

  What if I don’t need one? No serious conversation for me, because I'm that good.

  No. I wasn’t getting a serious conversation because I was on the sidelines. Retired. No one was saying anything to me because I wouldn’t be doing anything but sitting here.

  The wind picked up, violently shaking the nearby trees. They swayed and bent, exactly like they had before this
whole apocalypse thing started. The wind and the leaves and the rest of nature combined for one moment, and in that moment, the Apocalypse didn't exist. A moment of nostalgia and beauty and peace.

  But that moment only lasted for, well, a moment. Then a hideous shriek of a nearby Crazy rose over the sounds of nature. An infected farther away joined it. And then another. And then another. Ah, the new sounds of nature.

  “Ophelia.” Mom snapped me back to reality.

  I felt guilty for being distracted, but distraction meant forgetting about my damn knees and how much they hurt. Stupid fire escape. Extra stupid apocalypse.

  “Be careful. You… Just be careful.”

  Yes. Very touching, Mom.

  She put the keys to the treasured Jeep in my hand, trusting me, the absolute worst driver from Indiana, with them. Fool.

  Then she reached past me, into the bags, and pulled out my trusty bat I’d dropped back in Chicago. How in the world did that get there?

  “Clyde’s sister picked it up.” Mom said.

  Oh. So, that's how that got there.

  Interesting.

  Throughout the whole conversation, I hadn’t said anything. Not on purpose, but talking right now was just, well, hard. I didn't feel like doing anything but nodding and shaking my head. I've never been a chatterbox, but with everything going on, I was somewhat afraid that if I opened my mouth too much, I'd either be too loud, and attract Crazies, or I'd start screaming and never stop, which would also attract Crazies.

  So I nodded.

  Now that there wasn't anything going on for the first time since we’d left our basement, the panic was starting to set in. I'd always been sleeping, or on watch, or waiting for a hoard to clear, or scavenging. Doing something.

  Watching my mom walk off in search of supplies with a woman I’d just met did not count as something. It counted as nerve wracking.

  Now I really started to panic. My mind filled with countless ‘what if’s’. My mouth felt dry.

  When was the last time I had water? I used to drink so much a day. How much did I drink now? Would my body shut down from the drastic change? Why was I focusing so much on water?

  “How you holding up, Ophelia?” Clyde hopped into the space next to me, all smiles. A complete 180 from what I just saw. He also emphasized my name when he said it, as if there was pride in now knowing the “secret” I wouldn't tell him earlier.

  I shrugged, watching Vi meticulously pick at dirt and those fuzzy things off her bunny, and Lucky bounce his ball, and catch it. The wind rustled the leaves loudly again.

  He was probably waiting for a real answer, which was probably why he wasn’t looking away. I continued to watch Lucky lose control of the ball, and Viola toss it back to him after it luckily rolled by her. She had a good arm, and good aim, hence the reason she played softball. The leaves were still making noise. I looked up at the sky, and saw darker clouds in the distance. A spring shower was on its way.

  “My knees hurt like hell.” Great. The one time I open my mouth, it’s to complain. Good job, O. I bet I do sound like a sixteen-year-old to him.

  I probably sound like Jamie.

  But Clyde just laughed, like we were old friends just hanging out and he wasn't worried at all. With his skills, and his strength, he probably wasn't. Not as much as I was, at least.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I figured that. Hey…” He paused, not for very long, but it was there. He folded his fingers together, and looked away.

  I took the chance to look at him now, because who wants to make eye contact with anyone? Not me, that's who.

  “I heard what you did back there, from Ads. Holding back the door and everything Well, thanks. You could've just ran, but you gave her time to jump, and… thanks.”

  And... by giving her time to jump, you didn't have a chance to see where you were jumping to, and almost broke your kneecaps.

  I shrugged again, feeling good about him thanking me, but still bitter about the pain in my knees, which I was trying to ignore, but my god it hurt. Less than it did in Chicago, but still a good amount. The handgun I’d picked up because of him burned a hole in my pocket, my leg literally feeling warm.

  We were silent for a minute, side by side, his leg touching mine while nothing could be heard above the hundreds of dancing leaves around us. Viola and Puck were now bouncing the ball back and forth, challenging each other to see who could put together and complete the most complicated sequence of bounces, claps, and turns before the other lost. If it weren't for the two cars smashed into each other, with their windows shattered on the other side of them, I could’ve almost pretended that we all hadn’t almost died a dozen times in the past forty-eight hours. Almost.

  “So where did the name Ophelia come from?” Clyde had been watching them as well, but turned to face me again.

  I took my eyes off of the twins, and focused on my stained jeans, the left leg with a very small tear at the knee where I’d hit that railing on the fire escape. The right cuff was torn from where I got stuck going through the hole in the wall. I inspected the flaws in the fabric as I answered.

  “It's from Shakespeare. All of our names are.” I laughed through my nose, because, honestly, it was a bit ridiculous. Juliet. Ophelia. Puck. Viola. All from good ol’ Will’s plays.

  “Really?”

  Why did he smile so much? The world had ended. Knock it off, Clyde. I mean, what was there to be that happy about?

  “Yeah. It's kinda dumb, when you think about it.”

  I felt embarrassed now, on top of everything else. I mean, I knew my name was weird. For over eighteen years, I’d known this. I'd been through all the English and theater classes in some way or another pointing it out. But telling Clyde that my parents went through a really hardcore Shakespeare phase made me feel extra weird. Like, maybe I wasn't supposed to tell him? I don't know.

  I looked back up at the twins, only to see Viola was back to grooming her doll. I felt cold, and it wasn't because of this stupid, never-ending wind.

  “Vi? Where's Lucky?”

  I didn't see her twin or the ball anywhere, and it wasn't likely that he just went around the other side of the Jeep.

  “He didn't jump high enough to catch the ball, so he lost, and the loser has to get the ball.”

  She saw nothing wrong with this. Why would she? She's eleven. Barely into double digits. A child.

  “Where did the ball go, Vi?” Clyde asked, reading the situation for what it was seconds after I did. For once, I didn't want to be ahead of him.

  “In the trees.” Those words had the same effect as there was a school shooting or a bomb went off or your brother just died. It was hard to breathe. I felt numb.

  I was on my unsteady feet in the same second Clyde was, only I didn't think of just how bad of an idea that was. I could only think of my baby brother, and how the only weapon he had was that pocket knife Clyde had suggested giving to him, which Mom quietly did when Vi wasn't looking.

  I cried out in pain, because, well, it was painful. But some things you just had to do. No matter the cost. No matter what pain came with it. It had to be done.

  “Ophelia, you need to stay here.”

  I leaned on my bat for a moment, wasting time. Clyde picked up his shovel, which had been leaning against the side of the car, and looked at me sternly, like I would at Lucky.

  “Like hell I will.” I spat at him, with just a bit of too much venom, but that could easily be blamed on my knees.

  I felt bad, but not that bad, because over the roar of the wind and the chatter of the leaves, shrieks sounded. A human one. A Crazy. Another Crazy. Another. Another…

  “Viola. Listen to me.” I sucked in a quick breath through my teeth at a pulse of pain from my left knee. I shoved the keys that Mom bestowed to me into her small hands. “Get in the Jeep. Close all of the doors, and lock them. Hide. Don't open them for anyone but your family, Clyde, or his sister, okay? Now, go.”

  I'm pretty sure I aced my ‘mom voice’, but there was no time
to celebrate. I left my pack in the trunk, so with only a bat in hand I started limping/running down the steep grass on the side of the road. Clyde was right behind me, but he had the sense to bring his backpack before recklessly diving into the unknown. The backdoor of our car clicked shut, and I knew Viola would be okay. She had to be.

  The trees were thicker and greener up here than they were in the neighborhood I grew up in. They were more inviting. More wild. More dangerous. There were more places to hide, and more shadows to hold who knows what.

  The wind had become quieter, but the volume of the leaves compensated for that. The plants and bushes brushed against and reached out for my jeans, some having enough weight and height to hit my knees, making me make those weird noises you make when you're in pain. (Hisses, mostly.) Which was happening to me. Right now. I was in pain and feeling pain. Lots of it.

  There were roars ahead of us that definitely didn't come from the wind. For as much as I was breathing in and out, I couldn't seem to get any oxygen into my system. I was going to die of asphyxiation, right here, right now.

  I was so wound up from the sounds and seeing faces of the infected in every shadow, that when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I almost screamed. I mean it. It was in my throat and about to come wailing out, stupidly giving away our position. But Clyde’s hand pulled at my shoulder, turning me around to face him, and I was somehow able to keep it in.

  And then the heavens opened, and we were soaked. Those clouds I saw earlier must have either been closer than I had thought, or came in quickly, because it suddenly started raining and raining hard. A true spring shower, soaking us to the bone within the first ten seconds. I was glad I’d left my flannel in the trunk, so that I'd have something dry-ish to put on when we all got back.

  What a sight I must've looked like. He was covered in dirt, soaked from the rain, and had leaves sticking out of his hair that desperately needed a trim. I must've looked like an ugly, wet sewer rat, with the wild eyes to match.