Samantha Sharp Chronicles 1

by C C Roth

  There seemed to be a brief eternity of silence then Mike’s voice cut through the icy barrier that had taken me hostage.

  “Jesus Christ, Sam! What did you do? What the hell did you do?”

  I turned and looked at my brother and it was like he was staring at a stranger. His expression was horrific. He shook his head slowly in disbelief or disapproval then he bolted to the other side of the car where our parents were. I followed him, still clinging to the rifle with a grip so violent I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to let go. Then I saw the most horrible scene my eyes have ever beheld. It was an image that would haunt me without end. My mother’s body sprawled on the pavement and my father next to her, doubled over in pain. He was bleeding from his abdomen. I went to them and knelt down, afraid to touch her. Mike was doing chest compressions on Mom and sobbing. He kept calling out to her over and over again, trying to get her to respond but she was motionless, her eyes glassy and vacant.

  “Dad? Dad, are you okay?” I asked, shocked that I could still make words.

  He didn’t look at me but shook his head. “She’s gone, Mike. Let her go. Mike!” He grabbed Mike’s arm. “Stop. Let her go. She’s gone.” His face twisted in pain as he held Mom’s hand to his face.

  “Dad, what should we do? Where should we take you? I don’t know what to do.” I was starting to feel panicky again, a sign that my cold friend had retreated for the moment and I was back in the driver’s seat.

  My father had lost a lot of blood and more was gushing out of his wound. Mike appeared with some gauze from a first aid kit in the car and started pressing it to the source. “You’re going to be okay, Dad. Just—"

  He winced in pain and shook his head. “I’m sorry guys. I’m so sorry. This is my fault. Your mother wanted to keep you safe. That’s all she ever wanted.”

  “Dad, can you walk? We need to get you to a hospital. There must be a hospital or something set up nearby.”

  He smiled a little but it was sad and painful. “No baby. No hospital for me. The nearest one is in Bloomfield and it’s not safe there. I won’t risk you both again. Not just to save me. We can’t go there.”

  “But, Dad—" Mike tried.

  “No! No hospital.” He shouted at me then looked back down at Mom and cried. “No, I won’t fail her again. I can’t.”

  I looked to Mike, desperate. “What do we do?”

  His eyes were darting frantically. “We can take him back to Frank’s. Maybe he knows someone, somebody that could help him.” He wiped the tears off his face. “We can’t leave Mom here, Sam.”

  I shook my head. “No. I wouldn’t do that.”

  We quickly lowered the seats in the back of the car and laid Mom down as carefully as we could. We both took Dad under an arm and helped him into the back as well. He lay down next to her, his wife of 20 years, and cried. We all cried. Mike drove and I stared at my father, watching his breathing slow then turn to sharp gasps.

  “Mike, where are we going? Are we really going to Frank’s?”

  He looked as panicked as I was. “Yeah. Dad said, no Bloomfield. So we can’t do that to him. Maybe Frank can help, I don’t know. I don’t know what else to do.”

  I looked down and my hands were shaking. What happened? What was going on? Mom. My mom was gone, lying in the back of our car and not breathing. Her heart would never beat again while mine was ready to jump out of my chest.

  “Sam,” my dad’s voice was strained. I turned to him in the back of the car and crouched as close as I could. The blood had seeped through his bandage and his face looked pale.

  “Sam?” he said again.

  “I’m here. What can I do?” I asked helpless.

  “I need you to be strong, baby. Promise me, you’ll be strong?”

  “I promise, Dad. But we need to…we’re going to get you help.” I couldn’t stop my tears.

  “That’s alright. Remember what I told you? About not being a victim. You have to fight.”

  I didn’t know what he meant, not really, but he looked so desperate I didn’t know what else to say. “Okay, I will. I’ll fight.”

  That seemed to calm him a little. He let his head drop back towards Mom and stared at her, his face twisting in pain as he absently wiped a spot of blood from her cheek. He said something to her but I couldn’t make it out, his voice was too strained and soft to hear.

  It was only minutes away but by the time we reached the relative safety of Frank’s parking lot, it was too late. Dad was gone. He lay with his hand on Mom’s face, almost as if they had fallen asleep together. Twenty years of marriage, a lifetime of love, and I erased it all with a single pull of my trigger.

  Everything that followed was foggy as if I was in a dream. Mike jumping out of the car and yelling for help. Frank and a group of people gathering around. Mike slamming his fists on the car door over and over again as he realized Dad was gone too. Frank gently opening my door and offering his apologies. I couldn’t hear him though. I was frozen and his words couldn’t penetrate the cold. He talked to Mike briefly and put his hand on his shoulder to comfort him. I don’t know how long we were there, I couldn’t register time. I couldn’t move. Suddenly the car was driving again and then we were back at the cabin. Alone. They were gone. My parents were gone.

  5- No More Tears

  It was days before I spoke to Mike. There just weren’t any words that felt like they would help and so we moved around each other in silence. We buried Mom and Dad on the east side of the cabin where the ground was level. There was a good view of the lake below and Mike said they would’ve liked that. I couldn’t stop replaying everything in my head. I lay awake at night and I would see Mom’s face falling away from me as the bullet hit her. I would hear the screams and gunfire. I tried to play out a scenario where I didn’t fire her rifle and none of this happened. Maybe we could’ve all made it out safely if I had just done nothing.

  “It’s my fault they’re dead.” I finally said to him.

  We were sitting at the kitchen table four days after it had happened, staring at our food. It just came out of me. “It’s all my fault. I’m sorry, Mike. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  I wanted to beg for his forgiveness, but I had little emotion left to give. I had cried all my tears and my body was exhausted from grieving and lack of sleep. All I could manage was an uncontrollable shudder of sadness that boiled up from my truest self.

  He gave me his sweet smile and did the best thing a big brother could’ve done. He lied.

  “I know you didn’t. It wasn’t your fault. Those men weren’t going to let us leave. He attacked Mom. You didn’t have a choice.”

  I could barely stand to look at him as he said it because I knew if I did, his face would give him away. He must blame me too, there was no way around it. I would never forgive myself and to say I deserved otherwise almost made me ill. But that was the difference between us. I would never stop punishing myself and he had already let it go.

  “Sam, it’s not your fault.”

  I nodded because that’s what he wanted me to do but I just wasn’t ready to hear those words yet. I was a monster and I didn’t deserve his forgiveness.

  We moved through the next month slowly and methodically. We gathered wood, fished, planted, weeded, ate, slept, repeat. Gradually our minds turned to other things and so our conversations started to come back. Soon he didn’t have to remind me to eat or to take care of the day’s responsibilities. I was almost functioning like a real person again. Mike was kind and didn’t bring up Mom and Dad for fear it would shut me down again. He only mentioned them once when he found me standing at their graves one day.

  “We keep going, Sam. That’s what they both would want. They had a plan and they wanted us to live. That’s what all this is about.” He gestured to the cabin and surrounding woods. “So, we keep going.”

  “What if I can’t? I don’t feel… I don’t know what I feel.”

  “You’re doing fine. There is no normal for thi
s. There is no right or wrong. We just have to keep going. They wanted us to be strong for each other so that’s what we do.”

  “I don’t feel strong. I just feel numb.”

  “It’ll pass. We can do this.” He gave me a hug then steered me away from the graves. “C’mon. I need your help with inventory.”

  He didn’t need my help, but I went anyway. We had done well rationing our food but we would need to find some canned goods to get us through the next winter or in case our planting didn’t take. It took all my strength to stare at Mom’s yellow legal pad and recalculate our stock for only two people. The last tally was in her writing and had obviously been counted for the four of us. I checked my math twice and even with the surplus we would end up falling short. Part of me didn’t want to worry about it since we had almost half a year to stock up. But Mike was right, the time would go quickly and we wouldn’t be the only ones preparing for winter. It was best to solve it now so we wouldn’t be stranded in frigid temperatures with no food.

  We listened to the radio in the evenings but things weren’t stabilizing the way they should. There was a government in place, but that was constantly changing. There was talk of our capital being temporarily reestablished but in an undisclosed location for safety purposes. Not that it mattered. The entire U.S. was still divided into three zones. The East Coast was still considered the Black Zone, uninhabitable and lost. The West Coast was still a Safe Zone with most of the states united and trying to work together. California had even managed to set up some sort of temporary housing for displaced people fleeing hazardous areas. Texas had kept its borders closed and continued to operate independently as if the rest of the country just wasn’t their problem. The Midwest, or Red Zone, was a damn mess. All of the states around us seemed to have created their own militia and systems of operating. Some safe, some not so much. Local government leaders had stepped up and were communicating with each other, doing their best to create normalcy but armed, organized groups were taking over certain regions in an attempt to build their own new world. Groups like the one near us. There was even a report about a mayor in Kentucky who had been shot and killed by a local group who wanted a different political party in charge. Travel was still strongly discouraged but some states bordering the Safe Zone were offering safe harbor to those caught in the Red so it was tempting for a lot of people to make a break for it. After listening to our local updates it was sounding tempting to me too.

  Local safety warnings, as if we needed more of those, were being aired throughout the day reminding people not to travel. There were reports of people in our area going missing or being taken. People weren’t supposed to go anywhere alone if they could help it. One radio show we listened to was aired by some guy named Ted who was operating out if his basement. He was kind of a nut but that didn’t make him wrong. He claimed there was a government funded operation in place trying to find a cure for the virus. Rumors said they were taking people to be used in vaccine trials and that local militia was rounding up test subjects. Just plucking people up as they happened upon them. Mike said that was ridiculous and not to worry about it. People were going missing because they were moving to the West Coast, plain and simple. He said it with such certainty it didn’t occur to me to argue. In his mind these were just ghost stories designed to keep people from traveling and spreading the virus. So, I ignored it.

  I’d been struggling without Mom and Dad. We both had even though we didn’t talk about it. There would be a moment, I’d trip or drop something and I could almost hear Dad’s voice teasing me and making jokes.

  Alright, that’s it stumble-bum. No knives for you at the dinner table, someone’s likely to lose an eye. Ally, get the sporks out for Sam!

  I missed them so much and we needed them so badly, needed their guidance and encouragement. My soul ached for how terribly I’d taken them for granted, just one more thing to punish myself for. I was sleeping less and less and had taken to roaming around at night. Not intentionally, my body just wouldn’t shut off even though my brain felt like dead weight. Mike even found me wandering around outside the cabin after he thought I’d gone to bed, which had scared the crap out of him and prompted him watching me even more closely.

  One night I lay awake listening to the sounds of nighttime echoing around me; chirping bugs outside, a rustling in the leaves I knew was a raccoon or possum, and Mike’s steady breathing from across the loft. I supposed he would want to move downstairs into the bedroom that was empty now. It only made sense for us not to share anymore but we hadn’t talked about it yet. He was probably waiting for me to say something first or maybe just until I stopped acting crazy. I pictured my parents’ faces and wished for the millionth time for them to be there with us. I’m not sure how it happened but before I knew it, I was headed downstairs and standing in front of their bedroom door.

  I took a deep breath as I reached into the dark and switched on the light. We had left their room untouched and so all of their things were just as they’d left them. A shirt on the floor, Dad’s favorite hat sitting on the dresser top, and Mom’s backpack in the middle of the bed. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I needed something, anything of theirs to cling to. I sat on the edge of the bed and my hand lingered on the zipper of the backpack for a minute before opening it. What if I didn’t like what I found? What if it wasn’t what I wanted?

  I pulled out some clothes, plastic bags of random toiletries and first aid supplies, a flashlight. She was so flipping organized, not at all like me. I reached in again and this time my fingers grazed leather, like the spine of a book. I pulled out her journal and knew I had what I was so desperate for. I had only just learned of its existence and now it would become a vital part of mine. A piece of her to carry with me forever. It was her voice and her story. Some of it I knew but most would be a surprise and a guiding light in the years to follow. I should have known she wouldn’t have left us empty handed. She planned for everything. After all, she was the one who saved us. She’d done it all.

  I opened the journal slowly and flipped through to several months ago when we were still home in Humble.

  November 30, 2021

  The kids think I’m acting insane and Jack is only tolerating me for now. The news reports say the virus is nothing to worry about and people should be cautious if they feel ill and report to a hospital. They say the deaths in Boston are only an isolated fluke. Be cautious and report to the hospital so you can what? Infect more people? This isn’t a flu and it isn’t a normal viral outbreak. All the signs are there and no one is paying attention or else they know that it’s already too late. We’ll all know soon enough. In a couple weeks it’ll spread or it’ll be gone. Either way, there is no chance in hell my babies are catching this. Jack laughed at me today when I told them they weren’t allowed to leave the house. He laughed and looked at me like I was an idiot. He actually had the nerve to suggest I might be overreacting, that my job has forever poisoned my brain to think the worst. I politely reminded him thinking the worst is literally my job. Sam is furious. She won’t say it but she’s mad. One day they’ll get it, I hope. One day they’ll have their own babies to keep safe and then they’ll know that nothing else matters. Even if I’m wrong and they hate me for it, nothing matters as long as they’re okay. Sam is only talking to Jack right now. Silently punishing me for putting us all on house arrest. I’m still so jealous of their relationship sometimes. I wish I knew how to reach her the way he does. I wish she knew how much I love her. God, I hope I’m wrong about this one. I’ve followed protocol and given them my analysis, but I haven’t heard anything back yet. I’m assuming that means they’re still deliberating which isn’t a good sign. Or they have their answer and haven’t figured out a next move. Also, not a good sign. Either way, I’m following our plan and proceeding as if I have confirmation. It’s the safest play.

  I closed the journal and hugged it close to my chest as if I were hugging her. I could almost smell her on the pages, that almond scented lotio
n she always used. This was all that was left of my mother. Her thoughts, fears and hopes for her children’s safety. Words that could only brush the surface of who she was and who she would have been. She had tried, I supposed. Tried to stop it all from happening. That must be what she meant by following protocol. She must have assessed the risk of this happening and turned the information in to a team of agents with the CIA. I hated myself for blaming her for the D.C. explosion. It had been such a careless accusation. Of course she would have stopped it if she could. Of course she couldn’t have known we would be attacked. She succeeded in saving her family but the weight of all those deaths must have been tremendous. Why did I have to do that? How could I have thrown that in her face?

  Simple, you’re a monster.

  I cried on the bed, clinging to that journal and wishing one last time for it all to be over. But like I said earlier, wishing gets you nowhere.