Ophelia

by Briana Rain

  His head snapped up when he heard the curtain rustle. His eyes were narrowed and dark, almost black.

  We were both silent and boy did it creep me out. I double-checked to make sure that a small part of my face was the only thing he could see. He checked, too.

  At last, he cleared his throat. “Roger said to give you this.” He held out a clean looking towel.

  I switched the hand I was using to hold the curtain back with the precision of a surgeon, and reached out for the towel. Just as I was about to touch it, he jerked his arm back several inches towards him and away from me. Like an older kid on the playground teasing someone by waving something right beneath their noses, and when they actually went to grab the thing, the older kid held the object far above their head.

  A sly grinned crept onto his face.

  “Just kidding.” He plopped the towel into my outstretched, shaking hand, took one more leering look to see if the curtain had inched open anywhere, and the left the room.

  I looked under the stalls and watched his shoes leave and the door close.

  I did not like this.

  Chapter 21: Trust

  I listened to the sound of water dripping off my flannel and onto the tile as I braided my hair in front of the bathroom mirror. I could not stop my hands from shaking, no matter what I did. I kept finding more knots, so I’d comb my fingers through my hair again and again and start the braid over.

  At the very least, my clothes had a lot of time to dry.

  I noticed that the hand dryers had stopped again, and I punched the buttons again, a lot harder than necessary, and it resumed again. I had dragged one of the benches under the dryers, and that was where my flannel was, and the rest of my clothes.

  My breathing was quick, and my eyes burned.

  I had balanced my bat against the door, so that no one could surprise me over the sound of the dryer. Above, I heard something I hadn't heard in awhile— laughter. A large group of people, having fun and enjoying themselves.

  It only reinforced my want to stay down here. I was starting a list.

  I didn't want to ruin the party.

  I wanted my clothes to dry.

  At least one of those guys completely creeped me out.

  If things happened to me sooner rather than later, I'd rather be away from everyone left that I cared for.

  Even though I smelled food, I wasn't that hungry, and even if I was, I didn't want to take food away from anyone here.

  Once again, I did not want to make an appearance in wet to moderately damp clothes because it was uncomfortable and I didn’t want to get water everywhere.

  The dryers stopped again. I reached over and hit all the buttons again, then felt my clothes, which were slowly but surely going going from wet to damp. It was a start.

  Finally, after hitting the dryers on several more times, I was able to get my hair in a decent braid. Immediately after, I put on my clothes, jumping a tad when the cold hit my skin. The laughter up above had quieted down slightly.

  When jumping spastically into my jeans, I realized that I had exaggerated the condition of my knees earlier. When I was in the shower, I got an actual look at them. They weren't good, but they weren't too bad either. They'd ache. I'd live.

  No, you won't.

  I felt my socks, and came to the conclusion that they were dry enough to put on. I threw the paper towels out of my boots and quickly laced them on as tight as they would go. I've seen too many movies where there's at least one idiot who walked around with no shoes on and got a foot full of broken glass. Nuh uh. Not me. Not today.

  I was cold, and damp, but at least I was clean.

  For a moment, I considered pushing the bench against the door to keep others out, and barricade myself in.

  Things were getting to me. The stress. I wasn't meant for this. Nobody was meant for this. Any of this.

  I puffed up my cheeks and let out as much breath as I could, as slow as I could.

  Was I freaking out? Yes. Yes I think I was. My thoughts were near manic, my heart was pounding in places that I didn't have a heart, and I had a headache.

  A headache.

  I looked at myself in the mirror, I mean really looked, and there was not a thing different. Sure, I'd acquired a couple of scratches and a ripped ear, but other than that I was the same. There was no “dramatic difference” or change that affected my face. I was still riddled with stress and anxiety. I still had the same amount of freckles. My hair was still the same color and length. I was still me… but the things I’d done made me… not me. Like a hard boiled egg. It was still an egg, and still looked the same as before it was boiled, but was different. I still felt like me, but with some slight differences.

  I heard footsteps. I suppose that now the water wasn't running, I could hear the clacking of those metal steps. I ran for the door. It didn't lock, I had checked earlier, but my bat was there. I quickly grabbed it, trying not to make a sound as I started hearing voices down the hallway.

  I still had my shirt and tank top drying. All I could do was stuff them into my pack.

  “Plan 4. Are you listening? Plan 4…?” The voice was deep, and radiated authority.

  It belonged to Roger, for sure.

  “But we've never—“ The second voice was interrupted, mid-sentence, by something I could not hear. Maybe a gesture, or something?

  All voices stopped after that, but the footsteps continued.

  I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulders, then tightened the straps.

  I gripped my bat, and went to hide. Yes, I hid. I was a girl with a metal bat against at least two, but probably more grown men. Even if I was the only one with a weapon, I wouldn't stand a chance. I was a math tutor for crying out loud, not a character that Charlize Theron’s played.

  My socks were in worse condition than I originally thought. A tip for those in the apocalypse: pack extra socks. Or else you'd end up like me, cringing at every step taken, because your feet were all squishy.

  There was a knock on the door, which was unexpected.

  “Darlin’? You decent?” Roger’s voice was clearer when he slowly opened the door.

  I leaned around the metal stall to see Roger, half-in, half-out of the doorway, with a hand over his eyes. When I didn't respond, he peeked through his fingers.

  “There you are!” He took his hand off of the door, and used his foot to open it more, and push it against the wall so that it stuck open.

  The hand that’d held the door open had something in it. He stood in the doorway and looked me over while messing with something behind his back. After a few seconds, I noticed the empty holster on his waist, and I realized that it was a gun.

  What… was plan four?

  He took a step into the room.

  “Maybe… you should take a seat.”

  It wasn’t a suggestion.

  He put his boot up to the end of the bench and pushed it sideways, so that it was now parallel to the sinks and other benches that lined the wall, the pulled another bench across, so that the two were facing each other. I did as I was told, and sat across from him.

  He sat forward, but his bench was far away enough so that he wasn’t near me, and rested his elbows on his knees, then his hands clasped together. His hands were empty, and his gun was back on his hip, but I knew that that could change in a second.

  I slipped my backpack off and put it on the bench. I sat criss-cross applesauce and balanced my bat across my lap.

  “Let's cut to the chase, okay darlin’?” I thought it was weird when people called each other darling, and never liked it when I was called that, and especially didn't like the name when Roger used it on me.

  “We're both on the same page here. No one can deny it. Everyone saw the same thing, and we've all come to the same conclusion, even yourself. You're infected.”

  He was no fool, and also no optimist, which were basically the same thing. I was just glad that I had my flannel was on, and my other shirts were out of sight, out of mind.
The other shirts held the evidence of my greatest crime yet— being scratched by an infected. My flannel didn't have any holes in it.

  Buddy, you have no idea.

  “Wha— what are you going to do?” I think I surprised him. Being female and looking younger and all of that probably helped with the belief in his mind that I would lose it. Breakdown and cry and puke and just completely lose my mind.

  Been there, and done that. I’d accepted that I would die.

  That I would be gone from this earth.

  That I would leave my family behind. My mommy. My little brother. My little sister.

  “I'm gonna offer you a proposition. You can stay here, and the rest of your group, if you let us watch you.”

  I blinked, rapidly.

  Watch me? That's it?

  “Wires! Get in here!”

  I was glad he’d shouted for the one that creeped me out the least. Actually, he didn't creep me out at all. He was very nice, from what I could tell from the accumulated ten or fifteen minutes I'd spent with him.

  “Wires here is gonna ask you some question and take some notes. Make sure you answer them.”

  The two did that nod-thing that guys do, and Wires took Roger’s place on the bench. Roger stood by the open door, hands behind his back. I noticed that Wires had gloves on, the kind that we used in anatomy class for dissections, and that he’d changed shirts. He had a pencil and a pocket notebook in his hands, which weren't shaking, unlike mine.

  He asked me when the drool had gotten on my face and about my ear. He asked if I had anymore open wounds, to which I lied, and said no, but I mentioned that my knees were bruised.

  It helped that my hands were already shaking, and that everyone was pretty sure that my death was just a tad closer than the rest of them. They didn't suspect a thing.

  The questioning continued.

  “Do you feel unwell?” He asked.

  “Yeah, but just from a crap-ton of stress.”

  “Understandable. Any headaches, vomiting, blurred vision, anything like that?”

  “A headache, but I haven't eaten since yesterday morning and water’s been scarce.”

  It went on like that. I didn't tell them about throwing up, either, because that was unrelated. It seemed like they didn't know what they were looking for, and just wanted to observe me. It looked like no one knew just how this thing spread yet. Knowledge was power.

  “How do we know she's telling the truth?” A gruff, unknown voice mumbled from outside the door.

  Roger, quicker than I thought a man of his size could move, reached out and backhanded the guy.

  “We're in a police station.” I said. “You can just use one of those lie detector things and…”

  I leaned forward as I talked to see if I could catch a glimpse of whoever said that. Wires uncomfortably shifted so that he was farther away from me.

  It was a bluff. A complete bluff. I'd never once in my life played a game of poker, but I hoped and prayed that this was a good bluff.

  Sure. I had nothing to hide. Hook me up to the thing. Look at me! I'm trustworthy. I'm cool. I'm Trusty McCool. Cool McTrusty.

  “That won't be necessary.” Roger quickly replied, as he glared at the man outside of the room.

  “I think that's all the questions I have for now.” Wires awkwardly, but quickly stood up and took a step away from me. He stopped and looked at Roger, as if asking, or possibly pleading, to be given the go ahead to get out of here.

  “Just one more question.” He looked at Wires as he talked to me, “Have you had any contact with anyone after you were infected?” He looked me in the eyes.

  “No— well, I mean no one except for Wires, of course.”

  From his chin to the top of his bald head, Wires paled. He was facing me now, and was in no hurry to turn around and look at his boss.

  “Hm?” Roger said.

  The curiosity in his eyes had turned lethal, and was aimed at the back of Wires’s head.

  “Yeah. I had to hang on to him when we were on the four-wheeler, but my arms didn't leave his waist.”

  Wires exhaled and visibly relaxed when I didn't mention shaking his hand.

  I didn’t know what his excuse was, but during all of the commotion, I must have forgot.

  Roger laughed it off, and said that they already knew that, and had burned the shirt, just in case. Then, he did the unexpected, and invited me to dinner.

  Chapter 22: Spaghettios

  There was laughter up ahead. Like actual, not totally forced laughter. It sounded like Vi and Lucky were having a blast. I found the two groups smooshed together in a break room. Wires had gone ahead, almost running away from me, or maybe Roger. The twins were begging him to continue whatever he was doing before he had to leave. He laughed, and continued some sort of sleight-of-hand magic show, making jokes about his baldness while he was at it. He looked somewhere around forty. About Mom’s age.

  Once I’d left the bath room, I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw my mother. She had been there the whole time, listening, but not able to do anything. She had tears on her cheeks and in her eyes, and her hand covered her mouth, so that she wouldn't make a sound. I wanted to hug her. I wanted her to hug me. I wanted her to tell me that everything would be okay.

  But it's wasn’t. Death was coming for Juliet Astor’s oldest daughter, and there was nothing she could do.

  Roger stopped me from going in, and told me that if anything started to feel off, I should inform him immediately.

  Someone handed him a can of SpaghettiOs, the food of the Apocalypse, apparently, and a beer. The can had a plastic spoon sticking out of it. He handed it to me, making sure not to touch me, and kept the beverage for himself. He nodded inside the room and took a swig out of the bottle.

  I quietly, entered the room.

  There were conversations going on around the room, all of which stopped when I walked in. A lot of people were standing along the back wall and sitting on couches. Like, almost twenty more guys that I hadn’t seen before.

  All of them stared at me and about half of them reached for the weapons on their hips.

  Carefully, I walked past the men and sat down at a table next to Mom with my half full can. The southerners also sat across the same rounded table, their chairs moved closer together than to the rest. Clyde was doing that weird secret serious-talk thing with Addeline, but stopped and stared at me with pity when I approached.

  Mom was done with whatever had been in her bowl, probably the other half of my SpaghettiOs and was watching the twins crack up at coins mysteriously appearing from Wires’s nose. I started eating the SpaghettiOs, a name that I'd always found funny. Ha. SpaghettiOs.

  I remembered seeing multiple cans of the stuff at Addeline's apartment. This can was just the ringed noodles and sauce. No meatballs. Which was good, I think, because I didn’t think my stomach could’ve handled weird canned meat at the moment.

  Viola seemed to almost have a handle on how Wires’s disappearing card trick worked, and demanded for him to do it again so that she could figure out that last piece of the puzzle. Wires glanced at me, still pale, then repeated the trick.

  I finally looked Clyde in the eye, only for him to drop his metal spoon. It clanked off the ceramic bowl and dove onto the floor, attracting a lot of glances. He excused himself to wash it, his eyes locked on the carpet. Even he wanted nothing to do with me.

  I went back to watching the twins and eating, taking a lot of care to pace myself. At first I wanted to take the high road and not eat, because what’s the point if I’m already dead, right?

  But, man, I was hungry.

  Roger, who was now on a can of beer, strolled over and confidently took the seat Clyde had occupied, sauce in his mustache. He did that relaxed alpha male sit, throwing his arm back around the chair, spreading his legs as wide as they could painlessly go, and leaned back. The effort made me uncomfortable.

  Though, with their leader acting so relaxed around me, many of the men decided th
at staring at me wasn't worth it, and went back to their conversations that were happening before I arrived.

  I kept my eyes down at my spoon. It was a short spoon. I had to keep my fingers on the very edge of the plastic to make sure I didn’t get any sauce on my hand. I didn't want to lick my fingers, like an animal.

  “Hey, Needles! Get over here!”

  The suddenness of Roger’s booming voice made me, and the other two at the table, jump. I followed where he was looking, and saw an unfamiliar younger man standing at the back wall. He raised an eyebrow before peeling away from a quiet conversation, obviously not excited to come over here. Roger, who I believe had a little more alcohol in his system than someone in the Apocalypse should have, pointed out my ear to him. He told him how it happened, which he’d found out from my interrogation earlier, and found it amazing that I was still alive.

  “Why do you still have the other one in?” Needles, which was an odd nickname, pointed out to me.

  I had completely forgotten about the opposite earring until now. I took the metal out and looked at it. A faint smile tried but failed to appear on my face, as my earring was a turtle. I never took out my earrings, unless it was to change them or clean them, but I never did either of those things nearly enough before this all happened. I stood up, shoved the turtle into the same pocket as the gun, and excused myself. My can was empty and Roger’s red-faced laughing was getting too loud for me and my headache.

  I noticed the Addeline also was taking her hand out of her pocket, and that her ears were now bare of their several piercings. I also noticed that Roger had moved his chair even closer to her, which was saying something because her and Clyde were already sitting pretty close.

  I walked through the second doorway, the one I hadn’t entered through, hoping that there was a kitchen. I had to pass both the men on the couch and the ones leaning against the wall. They stared at me as I walked past, making me feel uneasy.

  The kitchen was where I’d guessed it was, and I saw the back of Clyde's head towards the back of it. I felt a little better, knowing he was there. I tossed my can and spoon into the garbage, regretting it for a second because these guys might do something with their cans, but there were others at the bottom of the bag, so I guessed I was okay.