by AJ Powers
The possible alternatives made Malcom cringe, filling his head with the noise of hundreds of theories as he tried to make heads or tails of everything. Since the media outlets had just been focused on what the disease was, and not how it started, Malcom had come to his own conclusions that it was likely a careless scientist playing God while trying to find a cure to a disease that wasn’t meant to be cured. But, after what he just saw, he was starting to believe there was a sinister motive at play.
If Malcom found out that this disease, or virus, or whatever the hell it was, was an act of war by a foreign aggressor—an act of war in which his family was among the massive toll of casualties—then he would be tracking down the nearest Army recruiter to sign his name on the dotted line. He wouldn’t flinch to break every rule in the Geneva convention to ensure the guilty parties slowly suffered for unleashing the bowels of hell on hundreds of millions of innocent people.
The thoughts and ideas were getting Malcom worked up, which wasn’t doing his mind or body any favors. He forced himself to eject the unfounded theories from his head and stood from his chair, attempting to work out some of the knots hounding his back. It was safe to say the last sixteen hours of his life had been among the most stressful he’d ever endured, and his body had soaked up every last moment of it. His back ached, his feet throbbed, his hearing was still muffled, and his eyes were getting heavier by the minute—and the sun wasn’t even directly overhead yet. Oh, what he would give for a hot cup of coffee and a handful of ibuprofen.
Cruising at about ten knots to stretch their limited fuel supply, the boat came around a bend in the river. The startling image ahead of Malcom put him on high alert. He eased off the throttle, allowing the boat to drift with the current of the river. Up ahead was the I-275 bridge connecting Indiana to Kentucky—what was left of it, anyway. The blackened remains of a military vehicle dangling from the edge still smoldered with devastation. The carnage was not terribly old. Trees near the banks on both sides were splintered into thousands of pieces, and a logjam had developed between the Indiana bank and the first bridge support dropping into the water. Sadly, the sight was hardly a blip on the radar compared to everything he witnessed earlier.
“Why’d we stop? Everything okay?” Tessa asked, climbing up to the steering deck. Malcom pointed ahead as Tessa got to her feet. She cupped her hand over her mouth and gasped. “What the hell is happening to our country?”
Malcom deemed the question rhetorical and didn’t waste time with a reply. Instead, he enlisted Tessa to help guide him through the dangerous waters. She stood at the bow and kept a close eye on the water, looking for any indication that destructive debris might be lurking beneath the surface. Though Malcom assumed the river was fairly deep, there was no way for him to know for sure. He continued to let the current carry them while keeping his hand on the throttle, ready to reverse course upon Tessa’s signal. After a few breathless minutes and a couple minor collisions, they drifted past the bridge and Malcom opened up the throttle again.
Tessa tried to blot out the images of the numerous dead bodies she saw tangled in the debris building up at the columns. Being a cardiac surgeon, she had been around her fair share of corpses before, many of whom were her patients, but this was not a hospital, and those people weren’t sick. Well, at least they weren’t a couple of months ago.
Overwhelmed with emotion, exhaustion, and far too many questions, she climbed back up and sat down next to Malcom, pulling her knees to her chest as she decompressed.
“How are your kids?” Malcom asked.
“They just fell asleep before I came out here,” she said, leaning back against the half-wall surrounding the platform they were on. “They’re both pretty shaken up. But who wouldn’t be after the morning we had?”
Malcom nodded, keeping his eyes on the water in front of him.
“Thank God neither of them saw what happened back there. I mean…” she paused as she let out a heavy sigh, “how do you explain all this to a three-year-old? How do you tell him that his own country just bombed the hell out of the city he was born in, in hopes to kill tens of thousands of people sick from a disease that makes them act like cannibals?” Tessa shook her head, still in denial about it herself. “I just don’t get it,” she said, leaning her head back and staring up at the patchy blue sky overhead. “I just don’t fucking get it, Malcom. Why did this happen?”
Tessa’s expression begged for comfort, making it impossible for Malcom to ignore her this time. “I don’t know, Tess,” he said, the shortened nickname coming naturally as he spoke. “I’ve been asking myself that question ever since I became a widower, a childless father.”
Tessa looked down at the floor, thankful that she only knew half of Malcom’s pain. “How old were they?”
Malcom’s expression remained unfazed for several painful moments. His lip trembled as he clenched his jaw before reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and handed it to her.
Tessa opened the leather tri-fold and saw there was nothing inside except for a single family photo.
“Mackenzie was twelve. Melissa and Colleen were six. And Donovan was just a few weeks away from turning three,” Malcom said, his words choked by his suffering.
Staring down at the happy family inside the plastic sleeve, Tessa said, “Your wife is absolutely beautiful.”
“Yeah… she was.”
Tessa frowned. “I’m sorry about your family, Malcom. I can relate.”
Malcom nodded a thanks, clearing his throat and coughing a few times as he buried his emotions back into the black pit deep inside his soul. “So, uhm... what happened with your husband?” he asked, escaping his own torment by having Tessa relive hers.
“Well, he was a news anchor at—”
“Channel Nineteen,” Malcom interrupted, putting the pieces together.
Tessa nodded. “Yep. The face of WKXI.”
Malcom grunted out a laugh. “I actually met him five or six years ago when he was covering the union strike at my plant. Even when the cameras weren’t rolling, he seemed like a pretty down-to-earth guy. Very supportive of our efforts.” Malcom looked down at Tessa, who had her eyes closed, allowing tears to stroll down her cheeks. “He seemed like a good man.”
Playing with her engagement ring, Tessa forced a smile and nodded along, deciding to remember him as the husband he’d been in his final days. “He was,” she said softly. After taking a moment to collect herself, Tessa continued. “Anyway, the day after everything went to hell, we realized just how little food we had in the house. Neither one of us was big into having canned food for dinner, and we usually only had a week or two of groceries in the house at any given time, so Trent decided to make a trip to the store before the shelves went completely empty.”
Tessa reached into her pocket and pulled out the pack of cigarettes, lighting one up. She extended the pack to Malcom, but he waved off the offer. She let out a sigh, smoke temporarily filling her vision before continuing. “He came back with a trunkful of food and a smear of blood on his neck. He said he wasn’t bitten or scratched, but, as it turns out, he had had a couple of nicks on his neck from a dull razor earlier that morning…”
“Shit,” Malcom whispered, spinning the wheel to avoid some logs drifting into his path.
Staring blankly out at the water, Tessa took a long, hard drag on the cigarette as she grudgingly recalled the memories that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Her eyes, entranced with the choppy waves of the river, filled with sorrow and remorse. “It didn’t take long before he started scratching at his scalp. And by midnight he made me tie him up in the pool house.
“When I went to check on him a few hours later, he had already turned. The rope didn’t even slow him down; he nearly took a chunk out of my arm before I was able to close and lock the door.”
“That’s… that’s terrible, Tessa. I can’t imagine,” Malcom said, realizing just how fortunate he was that he wasn’t forced to watch his loved ones succumb to the
infection.
“It took me over two weeks to work up the nerve to do what I’d promised him I’d do as soon as he’d turned. Thankfully, by then, his body was so weak from malnourishment and dehydration that he wasn’t even able to stand.” Tessa’s voice wavered as she began to cry. “I shot him… I shot him right in the head.”
“I’m sorry you and your kids went through that,” Malcom said.
Tessa sniffled a few times before grunting ironically. “The kids don’t even know about it,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I was barely holding it together as it was. It would have sent me over the edge to see the expression on their faces when I told them their father had become one of those… those things. I just couldn’t do it,” she said, guilt permeating her voice.
“It’s a hell of a spot to be in.”
“Yep,” Tessa replied sharply, pulling on the cigarette one last time before flicking the butt into the water.
“What’d you tell them?”
“I told them their Uncle Allen picked him up to go check on their mother in Wilmington. When he never came home, I acted just as surprised and worried as they were, all the while knowing he was just fifty yards away, slowly starving to death as he waited for me to end his suffering.”
The smothering guilt plaguing Tessa over the last two months finally reached a crescendo. Her whimpers and sniffles transformed into a mournful breakdown as she got the emotional release she desperately needed.
Malcom pulled back on the throttle, halving the boat’s speed, and got down on the floor next to Tessa. He allowed himself to be a shoulder for her to cry on, or a punching bag to strike—whichever she needed. It was uncomfortable to console a woman who wasn’t his wife in that way. And it was painful that, for split seconds at a time, he relished her warm embrace as she buried her face into his chest, weeping away her grief. He didn’t know what to say to her, but the silence was exactly what she needed. Tessa cried. He listened. She squeezed him, and he reciprocated. And though he felt guilty for it, he couldn’t help but savor his first intimate contact with another person in over two months.
After the good, long cry, Tessa pulled away from Malcom, keenly aware of just how vulnerable she’d allowed herself to be with the man she just met the day before. Without saying anything, Malcom returned to his seat and took them back to a cruising speed of ten knots. They sat in silence for the better part of an hour as he absorbed everything she’d said.
Suddenly, Tessa broke the silence. “I’d give my left arm for a glass of pinot noir right about now,” she said, her eyelids slowly closing as fatigue won the fight, and she slipped into sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
18 – Near Carrollton, Kentucky – May 27th
“How long do you think you’ll be?” Tessa asked, a trace of worry in her voice.
“No clue,” Malcom replied as he picked up his rifle and pulled back on the bolt just far enough to see the sunlight glinting off the chambered cartridge. He scratched at some dried mud caked up near the bolt, blowing away the residue with a strong puff of air. He only had the one spare magazine in his back pocket with fourteen rounds and the full magazine that was seated inside the rifle. He was still in pretty good shape with the 9mm, but a sidearm could never replace a reliable battle rifle. So, besides food, water, and gasoline, finding some ammo to feed his hungry FN FAL was at the top of his list. “Hopefully I won’t be gone more than a few hours, but who knows how long it will be until I find what we need. If I’m not back by tonight, then don’t wait to cast off in the morning,” he said a little too casually for Tessa’s taste.
“We’re not leaving you, Malcom.”
“If I’m not back by then, I’m probably not coming back. Don’t wait for me.”
Tessa conceded outwardly, but he didn’t change her mind. “Then just make sure you get back here by tonight,” she said, squeezing his hand.
Her soft skin caused Malcom to flinch from guilt left over from the intimate moments yesterday. He covered the rejection by acting like he needed the rope inside one of the cabinets. Of course, he didn’t actually need the rope; it was the apocalypse, not rock climbing. Nevertheless, it bought him the excuse to walk away from Tessa. After securing the rope to his pack, Malcom looked around the cabin. “Am I missing anything?” he thought aloud, more for show than asking for advice.
“Got something to eat and drink?”
Malcom was glad that he asked. He managed to overlook food and water for his trip. Though it was likely he could have scrounged up something along the way, he had no idea what he was walking into. For all he knew, the small town up ahead was completely overrun by infected, which meant he’d have to expand his search for, at the very least, more fuel. The needle was flirting with ‘E’ when he tied up to the barge station a hundred feet off the banks last night. He guessed there wasn’t much more than a gallon left in the tank—if that. They could survive another day without everything else, but they wouldn’t last without more gas. “Uhm… guess I forgot about that.”
Tessa laughed. “There’s some food and water left in my pack. Help yourself.”
As Tessa went out onto the deck to check on Naomi and TJ, Malcom clicked on his flashlight and opened her backpack. He rooted around inside, awkwardly moving a pair of black panties out of the way to reach the protein bars below. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help but envision the lacy material wrapped around Tessa’s hips and began to blush. Glad that no one was around to see his reddened cheeks, Malcom opened the middle pocket of the bag and grabbed a single bottle of water, leaving just eight to last Tessa and the kids until he got back with another source of water, which would, hopefully, come in the form of a filtration system. He could carry ten to fifteen bottles in his pack no problem, but they needed a better solution to long-term hydration.
As he opened the cabin door, Malcom pressed his back against the wall as Naomi stormed inside, stomping over to the couch-bench, cocooning herself inside a pile of blankets. He took the hint that she didn’t want to be talked to and walked outside. “What’s going on with her?” he said, tossing his thumb over his shoulder.
Tessa held her hands up and shook her head. “I asked her if she was hungry, and that was her answer,” she said with a puzzled look on her face. “I don’t know, maybe she’s about to start her first period or something.”
Malcom’s neck stiffened as he visibly recoiled from her words. “Ohhhhkay,” he said, tightening the shoulder straps on his bag. “And on that note, I’m ready to go fight some zombies.”
Tessa gave a half-hearted chuckle. “With everything we just went through, it’s the naturally occurring process with the female body that makes you cringe.”
Malcom ignored the comment and walked over to TJ, who was playing with a monster truck on the floor. “Hey, dude, I’ve got to run out for a bit. Can you make sure everyone stays safe while I’m gone?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Malcom.”
“Good man,” Malcom replied, holding out his fist.
TJ bumped his fist before returning his attention to his toys.
Malcom looked over at Tessa and dipped his chin. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, reaching for a crossbar and pulling himself up to the platform the boat was tied to. A short time later, he disappeared from view.
“TJ,” Tessa said, “why don’t you come inside and get something to eat?”
“Good! I’ve never eaten until a long time,” he said making a beeline for the door. His grasp on the English language often made Tessa smile, even in such dark times.
Tessa followed the boy inside, and after searching her bag, she located the last pack of peanut butter crackers for her son to enjoy. Setting him up at the small table in the center of the room, she tore open a granola bar for herself before cracking open a bottle of water.
“Naomi?” Tessa said cautiously. “Do you want something to eat, kiddo?”
Naomi didn’t move for several seconds, then she whipped the blankets off and stomped
outside, slamming the door behind her.
Tessa let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed a coloring book and crayons for TJ, putting them on the table in front of him. She powered on an LED lantern and hung it from a hook on the ceiling. “TJ, can you color Mommy a really pretty picture while I go talk to sissy outside?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said enthusiastically, spraying orange crumbs and chunks of peanut butter onto the book and table in front of him.
Tessa followed Naomi outside, finding her at the front of the boat. “Look, I don’t know who pissed in your Wheaties this morning, but this crap needs to stop right now. Understood?” Tessa said sternly.
Naomi responded by turning her back further toward her mother.
“Naomi,” she said, softening her tone, “I don’t understan—”
“Just leave me alone,” Naomi barked.
Returning to her initial tone, Tessa yelled, “What the hell did I do to deserve this?”
Naomi spun around on her heel and gave Tessa a death stare. She clenched her jaw and took in a deep breath through her nose as her seething eyes locked onto Tessa’s. “What the hell did you do to make me so mad? Gee, let me think for a minute,” she said mockingly, her eyes drifting upward as she pressed her finger to her lips. “Oh yeah,” she spat, “you killed my father.”
Tessa felt as if someone just punched through her chest and tore out her heart. Tears clouded her vision as her hands instinctively covered her face. She took a moment to recover from the scathing attack from her daughter. Defeated, she finally spoke. “You heard me talking to Malcom last night.”
“Ya think?” Naomi shot back.
