DCSForerunner
Coal
- Joined
- May 12, 2013
- Location
- Baltimore, Maryland
I'm not looking for feedback. I'm just sharing what I wrote because I felt it was time. Dont nit-pick things, just read it. It's not finished, I know there are mistakes, and it's probably not even that good. But thanks for reading anyways. <3
It’s been six years. Six long years since the infection took root. I was fifteen and still trying to figure out if I liked boys or if I’d rather hit them over the head. The infection was pretty anticlimactic. First just one classmate was out. I didn’t really know who she was. She was just one of the girls that sat at the front with the thick glasses and bad complexion. We’d been in the same class for the last two years, but I never said anything to her. I didn’t stand up for her when she got bullied either. I suppose I should feel remorse or whatever, but I don’t have time for that.
Then another kid stopped coming to class. I saw her mom in the office as I waited for my dad one afternoon. I wasn’t really paying attention until that mom said something about black vomit. She said it looked like oil was coming out of her kid’s mouth. That she didn’t know what to do and the doctors don’t know what is going on or how it could be happening. I told my dad that I loved him.
Slowly more kids in my class stopped coming. The first girl, the one with the glasses, never came back. We had an assembly after the sixth kid stopped coming to class. I could hear the teachers whispering about how many each was missing. The freshman P.E. teacher was missing fourteen kids from her first period class and seven from her eighth period class. Those are the only two classes she taught. A substitute from the district over said whole classrooms were out, that all of the kindergarten through eighth grade was excused for the rest of the year. Rumors were wild about if someone’s died from black vomit sickness.
The assistant principal stepped up to the stage and told us how sorry he was for pulling us from class. A few kids laughed, but really we just didn’t care. I whipped my head around to see if the principal, Mr. Sharp, was watching from the back of the auditorium, like he would normally, but I didn’t see him. It only struck me as a little odd that some teachers were wearing face masks. Like the kind that doctors use or the ones you see Chinese people wearing all the time.
The assistant principal went on about stopping the spread of germs and that this is very, very important. I stopped paying attention when he started talking about proper hand washing. One of my friends sat in the next row down, so I kicked her seat and she giggled. Rolling my eyes, I kicked her seat again. She giggled again, but this time she broke out in a cough. Putting a tissue to her mouth, she coughed hard for a long minute. It was so long that the assistant principal stopped talking and motioned for one of the teachers to help her. No one moved very quickly. When they got her out of her seat, her coughing turned to wheezing.
She made it out of the auditorium to vomit in the hallway. I heard the teacher who helped her cry a little and I saw her cover her mouth with her sleeve. My friend didn’t come to school the next day and I heard the teacher quit that afternoon to move back with her mom and dad. When I got home from school that afternoon, dad told me mom was going to be working a lot of hours at the hospital. Something about a weird strain of the flu. Glassy eyes, molten temperature, black bile and vomit. My mom called everyday at the same time, right before the news started. One night, she told me she loved me very much but that she was going to keep working and that the doctors were close to finding out what was going on.
I still went to class every day. I don’t know why. Maybe just to confirm what I’d already known. People were sick and they weren’t getting better. Rumors around said that people were dying in fits of raging fevers in pools of black oily vomit.
News reporters said that doctors were calling it a coagulant disease. That something was causing the blood inside our bodies to thicken. That’s what was making everyone sick. They expect a cure in a few weeks. I told dad that I’ll believe it when I see it. The next day, Erich, like my bestest friend in the whole world, was acting strange. He couldn’t focus on things I was saying about my mom and how I thought that it was just a stupid waste of time. That the doctors need to stop holding out on the medicine so my mom could come home. First time in my life, I tried to open up but Erich wasn’t listening. He was just staring off into nothing.
There were less than fifteen of us now. Out of thirty-five kids, only fifteen came back to class. I stopped keeping track of how many were home sick and which ones were too scared to come. The next thing that happened I will never forget. Erich started rocking in his chair muttering stuff about darkness. Then he started chanting about making the screaming stop. I laughed at him, telling him no was screaming and that it was all in his head. He stopped rocking, like the sound of my voice was soothing to him. He looked at me and as I looked back, his face changed. I saw his face change from a round, pale, freckled to sunken, grey, and empty, like someone just took the entire colour from him. Even his reddish brown hair was graying.
I could feel my mouth drop open and before I could say anything or call the teacher, he began to fall toward me. Instinctively, I reached my hands up to grab him. No point in him hitting his head on the floor, right? I’d save the teacher a mess to clean up. No. Big hands grabbed my shoulders and yanked me from my seat, sending the chair to it side. I heard another classmate scream as Erich stopped mid fall, his eyes still fixed on me. I could hear my heart in my ears, but nothing prepared me for the curdling scream that rose from inside Erich.
It was like a monster that you’re parents told you about when you were a toddler, just to make you stay in your bed at night. Those screams you imagine from those made up monsters. That’s what it sounded like. Erich’s body shook. It was all twisted in the seat. It looked like he was trying to balance, but he didn’t get up. His green eyes stared at me. Stared through me. I could hear the vomit before it actually spilled passed his lips and made a loud smack on the tile. Those big hands pulled me away and others scattered away Erich to the edges of the classroom.
My teacher was passing out facemasks and ordering kids to open the windows. I heard her call the man who grabbed me Harold. Harold? I think that’s the assistant principal’s name. She must have realized what was happening to Erich long before I did and called the assistant principal. Lucky he ran or I’d have gotten covered in the vomit. Probably put in a quarantine unit in the gym. Probably never see my mom or dad again.
My teacher, a beautiful blond bombshell as the boys in the class called her, stepped over to me and guided me into the hallway. She immediately started checking my arms and legs and all the random marks on my shirt. If she was saying stuff to me, I couldn’t hear it. My ears were still filled with Erich’s inhuman scream. Apparently, I was crying because my teacher opens a pack of tissues for me to use. She doesn’t touch them, but shoves them in my hand. She still has her facemask on. I asked her what was up with the doctor crap. She answered back with that she hasn’t been feeling well and she doesn’t want us, the kids in the class to catch it. I’m not blind. I can see the fear in her eyes. She just witnessed what was going to happen to her if the doctors couldn’t fix it.
Erich was pronounced dead on arrival. My mom called me to tell me, but she didn’t sound good. She didn’t seem to focus on anything in particular. Just told me over and over how much she loved me and how sorry she was for Erich and his parents. That we should pray for them. Yeah right, like God’s got anything to do with this. I would have been a really sick and cruel joke.
The next day at school was my last. My teacher didn’t show up and the assistant principal came in to tell us that we didn’t have to stay anymore. There was a shortage of substitutes so class was cancelled until further notice. He told us that if we wanted, we could still come for a hot meal at lunch time and another one at dinner time and that my parents were welcome to come along. He said that he’d be setting up an information exchange for people who were still unsure about what was going on.
Dad came to pick me up, but we stayed for lunch and he talked with the assistant principal for a long time. I didn’t really pay a lot of attention. They were just talking about grown up stuff. I guess my mom and the assistant principal’s wife work together at the hospital. The assistant principal hadn’t heard from his wife in a few days, but he was sure she was alright. Dad agreed, saying that mom calls every night to check on us. Make sure we don’t burn the house down. This makes the assistant principal laugh, but is sounded forced.
On the way home, dad held my hand and looked like he was about to cry. I didn’t ask him why, but I felt like I knew why. The assistant principal’s wife was dead just like Erich. Eventually, mom ended up like that too. Her calls started coming every few days then once a week, then none at all. Dad started calling the hospital every day, but they just said she wasn’t available. Finally, after a week of calling and asking for her, dad just went. He came back with a face so empty I thought he had caught this infection too. But he just sat on the couch and patted the spot next to him.
As I sat, he put his arms around me and I could feel the tears starting. Mom was gone. She was gone and it was all those stupid sick people who couldn’t stay home and die quietly. Because of this, my mom was gone and I didn’t even get to say good bye. Dad told me that they were burning the bodies as fast as they could because if they sat too long they started doing strange things. Like getting up and walking around or spewing that oily black fluid from every orifice or screaming that horrible curdling scream. Dad said he could hear it as he walked into the hospital but the nurse at the desk just ignored it. He told me that she said mom died a few backs but since she was one of the last from the original crew, no one knew who her family was or really what her name was. She said mom was a fighter, that she fought for weeks against the screams and the whispering voices and the fevers. That’s what they called her, Miss Fighter. She fought until the night when she vomited up. By then she was so exhausted from fighting, she just didn’t have any fight left.
Dad still has plenty. That night he collected himself and went shopping. He brought back enough supplies and canned food to feed us for six months. The next day, he bought enough water to fill one of the pools at the school. The day after that, we stopped using the lights at night. Dad said it would attract too many people when looting started. Sure as sunshine, looting began the next night. Dad has moved everything we would need to the cellar and everything he thought would be of value when all the craziness died down. That night we pulled all the curtains in the house shut and any without curtain has a towel nailed in front of it. I could hear people rattling the doors and trying the windows. Dad was right to nail them all shut that first night.
The news was never good. Just speculation about when a cure was going to be available. The death toll was still rising slowly. People still had hope. After a few weeks, the death toll around the nation was jumping. Rioting and looting was getting worse. People were shooting other people who they thought were infected.
Dad went out to get medicine in case we caught a cold or something. He came back with an ashen face. He told me that the high school was burning and that the medical treatment center in the gym was a mess. He did find lots of ibuprofen and cold medication. He even brought some Benadryl. He said that he’d try to call grandma tomorrow if the phone weren’t still busy.
That night, dad caught a fever. He took six ibuprofen tablets and two benedryl. He didn’t kiss me on the forehead before we laid down, but he did whisper I love you. They next morning, he was coughing up black phlegm. He told me to pack a bag. He said he heard on the news that there was a relief station set up by the military for anyone who wanted to get out of the city and into military care. I told him I didn't want to leave him. Dad got angry and said some things he didn't really mean to say.
I stayed with dad until he started vomiting. Then I left a few cans of food and a gallon of water next to his cot. This infection was taking away everything I loved. It took my best friend, my mother, and now my father. Right then, something clicked in my head. It felt like my heart turned off. I looked at my dad, lying still now. In a few hours, he’d end up like Erich. As I went up the ladder to the basement, I told my dad that I loved him and that I was sorry for having to leave him alone to die.
I heard him vomit again, spitting into an empty can. He called me baby and told me to go as far away from this infection as I could go. To run and not stop. His voice was pleading with me now, unable to gather any more strength. He told me to leave the door unlocked, that if looters wanted to come and take everything, they’d have to find it. And if they managed they’d fall into a room filled with this infection.
I softly shut the trap door to the hidden cellar. I covered it with the rug that I had played on for many years and set out to gather a few personal items from my room. My favorite hoodie was still slung over my chair and my leather bound journal was still under my mattress. I stuffed both into my backpack. I grabbed my supply of girl stuff, stuffing that in the farthest bottom part of my bag. As I started to leave, the switch came back on and I tried not to run back to the basement, throw open the trapdoor and jump on my father, begging him to take me with him.
Instead, I steeled myself, knowing that if I did that he’d be more upset and probably die right there, in my arms. I stepped out into the early morning light, grabbing my bike from the shed next to the garage. Everything seemed perfectly normal on my street. My house was the only one boarded up and nothing looked to be ransacked, but as I started to pedal down the road, I noticed a couple of black masses on the ground.
I stopped at one, making sure my facemask was secure. I kicked it with the toe of my boot but it didn’t move. I recognized the jacket. It was Mr. Harrowitz, the man who owned the Border Collie. The next mass was his twenty something year old grandson, Adrian. When I was little, I had a huge crush on him. Guess that dream went up in smoke. I decided not to stop and look at anymore dead bodies so that my switch wouldn’t click on again. I pedaled with invisible blinders on as I rode passed the school and the office center. The closer I got to the edge of town, the more bodies seemed to be piled up.
By late afternoon, I could see the military barricade. That switch I was talking about before sparked hope inside my chest. Maybe they’ll have a cure for this and maybe it won’t be too late to save dad. As I got closer, the hope swelled inside my chest. I could almost feel it bursting out of my chest. Then, it hit me, this black haze that sent me flying off my bike. It hit me so hard the wind left my lungs. I was cough and wheezing as I sat up. My bike was mangled and one tire was completely gone. A small whimper left my lips as I tried to get back to my feel. The world wobbled and I crouched to stay balanced.
I screamed for anyone. No voice answered me. I screamed again. The shadows on the road were getting longer and I was out in the open. I took off at a dead run toward the barricade and grabbed onto it. I screamed out for anyone, but was only answered with eerie silence. I heard the haze before it got to me and I tightened the grip on the barricade. The force was so strong it picked me off my feet and threw me to the ground. My grip was shattered.
The haze moved in on me again and I guarded my face from impact. Then, my body lifted off the ground. I tried to put my feet on the pavement, but my body would not obey. I was slammed into the ground and the world around me went black.
I awoke to screams like the one that Erich gave. The air was hot and I could taste metal in my mouth. Blood, I could taste blood. I rolled over and spat on the ground. Black flecks. I started to retch but the bile came up normal. As I wobbled to my feet, I looked around. All around me, there was a haze. But it wasn’t shadowing anything. In fact, the haze was phosphorescent and glowed brilliantly. I could make out shapes of new bodies on the ground, but I didn’t stop to look. I took off for the fence.
That’s when the screams filled my head and I started to panic. It took me hours to get away from the black haze and the glowing haze and the screams. The terrible, horrible screams. I wandered until I found a small house. I holed up there for weeks, until what little food I could scavenge was gone.
Why am I telling you all this? You see, I was like you are now. Lost, alone, scared, confused. Everyone and everything you hold dear and love with all your heart is dead and gone. All you have left is you and whatever humanity you have left. Let me tell you, it might not be a lot. I know, I have very little. Six years ago, this infection took root on the world and it’s not going to stop until all of us are dead or little pawns in its game of life. It’s a lose-lose situation. What matters now is that you’re alive and that you continue to do so. Now, you can’t do that on your own right now and that’s where I come in. I’m going to help you and set you up with the skills and decision making you’ll need to survive the things your loved ones became. No, I don’t know what they are. I haven’t had contact with anyone from the military of the government since I found the barricade. Yeah, I’ve heard some of the broadcasts, but who knows how accurate those are anymore. I’ve heard the same three for six years.
If anything, head east or head west. You could try to go north, there are less of the dragonlings, but you have to survive the winters and, right now, even I’m not equipped to do that. Go south to warmer weather and you risk running to packs of them. You don’t survive a pack unless you can run fast. Thing is, these things can die, but they take a part of you when they do. It’s like they reach inside your head, putting in memories that aren’t yours that make you feel hallow and empty for killing it. Crafty monsters, indeed.
So, if you stay you’re screwed. If you go, you’re dead in a night. I’d like you to stay. I haven’t had decent company for a few years now. Don’t mind Joe though, he harmless. He’s the one who pulled you out of the tree. Funniest thing he’d ever saw, he says. A kid your age tied to a tree branch like you knew what you were doing. Except you used the wrong knot and forgot to cover yourself. Lucky Joe found you before the dragonlings did.
So what do you say? Stick around for a little while?
It’s been six years. Six long years since the infection took root. I was fifteen and still trying to figure out if I liked boys or if I’d rather hit them over the head. The infection was pretty anticlimactic. First just one classmate was out. I didn’t really know who she was. She was just one of the girls that sat at the front with the thick glasses and bad complexion. We’d been in the same class for the last two years, but I never said anything to her. I didn’t stand up for her when she got bullied either. I suppose I should feel remorse or whatever, but I don’t have time for that.
Then another kid stopped coming to class. I saw her mom in the office as I waited for my dad one afternoon. I wasn’t really paying attention until that mom said something about black vomit. She said it looked like oil was coming out of her kid’s mouth. That she didn’t know what to do and the doctors don’t know what is going on or how it could be happening. I told my dad that I loved him.
Slowly more kids in my class stopped coming. The first girl, the one with the glasses, never came back. We had an assembly after the sixth kid stopped coming to class. I could hear the teachers whispering about how many each was missing. The freshman P.E. teacher was missing fourteen kids from her first period class and seven from her eighth period class. Those are the only two classes she taught. A substitute from the district over said whole classrooms were out, that all of the kindergarten through eighth grade was excused for the rest of the year. Rumors were wild about if someone’s died from black vomit sickness.
The assistant principal stepped up to the stage and told us how sorry he was for pulling us from class. A few kids laughed, but really we just didn’t care. I whipped my head around to see if the principal, Mr. Sharp, was watching from the back of the auditorium, like he would normally, but I didn’t see him. It only struck me as a little odd that some teachers were wearing face masks. Like the kind that doctors use or the ones you see Chinese people wearing all the time.
The assistant principal went on about stopping the spread of germs and that this is very, very important. I stopped paying attention when he started talking about proper hand washing. One of my friends sat in the next row down, so I kicked her seat and she giggled. Rolling my eyes, I kicked her seat again. She giggled again, but this time she broke out in a cough. Putting a tissue to her mouth, she coughed hard for a long minute. It was so long that the assistant principal stopped talking and motioned for one of the teachers to help her. No one moved very quickly. When they got her out of her seat, her coughing turned to wheezing.
She made it out of the auditorium to vomit in the hallway. I heard the teacher who helped her cry a little and I saw her cover her mouth with her sleeve. My friend didn’t come to school the next day and I heard the teacher quit that afternoon to move back with her mom and dad. When I got home from school that afternoon, dad told me mom was going to be working a lot of hours at the hospital. Something about a weird strain of the flu. Glassy eyes, molten temperature, black bile and vomit. My mom called everyday at the same time, right before the news started. One night, she told me she loved me very much but that she was going to keep working and that the doctors were close to finding out what was going on.
I still went to class every day. I don’t know why. Maybe just to confirm what I’d already known. People were sick and they weren’t getting better. Rumors around said that people were dying in fits of raging fevers in pools of black oily vomit.
News reporters said that doctors were calling it a coagulant disease. That something was causing the blood inside our bodies to thicken. That’s what was making everyone sick. They expect a cure in a few weeks. I told dad that I’ll believe it when I see it. The next day, Erich, like my bestest friend in the whole world, was acting strange. He couldn’t focus on things I was saying about my mom and how I thought that it was just a stupid waste of time. That the doctors need to stop holding out on the medicine so my mom could come home. First time in my life, I tried to open up but Erich wasn’t listening. He was just staring off into nothing.
There were less than fifteen of us now. Out of thirty-five kids, only fifteen came back to class. I stopped keeping track of how many were home sick and which ones were too scared to come. The next thing that happened I will never forget. Erich started rocking in his chair muttering stuff about darkness. Then he started chanting about making the screaming stop. I laughed at him, telling him no was screaming and that it was all in his head. He stopped rocking, like the sound of my voice was soothing to him. He looked at me and as I looked back, his face changed. I saw his face change from a round, pale, freckled to sunken, grey, and empty, like someone just took the entire colour from him. Even his reddish brown hair was graying.
I could feel my mouth drop open and before I could say anything or call the teacher, he began to fall toward me. Instinctively, I reached my hands up to grab him. No point in him hitting his head on the floor, right? I’d save the teacher a mess to clean up. No. Big hands grabbed my shoulders and yanked me from my seat, sending the chair to it side. I heard another classmate scream as Erich stopped mid fall, his eyes still fixed on me. I could hear my heart in my ears, but nothing prepared me for the curdling scream that rose from inside Erich.
It was like a monster that you’re parents told you about when you were a toddler, just to make you stay in your bed at night. Those screams you imagine from those made up monsters. That’s what it sounded like. Erich’s body shook. It was all twisted in the seat. It looked like he was trying to balance, but he didn’t get up. His green eyes stared at me. Stared through me. I could hear the vomit before it actually spilled passed his lips and made a loud smack on the tile. Those big hands pulled me away and others scattered away Erich to the edges of the classroom.
My teacher was passing out facemasks and ordering kids to open the windows. I heard her call the man who grabbed me Harold. Harold? I think that’s the assistant principal’s name. She must have realized what was happening to Erich long before I did and called the assistant principal. Lucky he ran or I’d have gotten covered in the vomit. Probably put in a quarantine unit in the gym. Probably never see my mom or dad again.
My teacher, a beautiful blond bombshell as the boys in the class called her, stepped over to me and guided me into the hallway. She immediately started checking my arms and legs and all the random marks on my shirt. If she was saying stuff to me, I couldn’t hear it. My ears were still filled with Erich’s inhuman scream. Apparently, I was crying because my teacher opens a pack of tissues for me to use. She doesn’t touch them, but shoves them in my hand. She still has her facemask on. I asked her what was up with the doctor crap. She answered back with that she hasn’t been feeling well and she doesn’t want us, the kids in the class to catch it. I’m not blind. I can see the fear in her eyes. She just witnessed what was going to happen to her if the doctors couldn’t fix it.
Erich was pronounced dead on arrival. My mom called me to tell me, but she didn’t sound good. She didn’t seem to focus on anything in particular. Just told me over and over how much she loved me and how sorry she was for Erich and his parents. That we should pray for them. Yeah right, like God’s got anything to do with this. I would have been a really sick and cruel joke.
The next day at school was my last. My teacher didn’t show up and the assistant principal came in to tell us that we didn’t have to stay anymore. There was a shortage of substitutes so class was cancelled until further notice. He told us that if we wanted, we could still come for a hot meal at lunch time and another one at dinner time and that my parents were welcome to come along. He said that he’d be setting up an information exchange for people who were still unsure about what was going on.
Dad came to pick me up, but we stayed for lunch and he talked with the assistant principal for a long time. I didn’t really pay a lot of attention. They were just talking about grown up stuff. I guess my mom and the assistant principal’s wife work together at the hospital. The assistant principal hadn’t heard from his wife in a few days, but he was sure she was alright. Dad agreed, saying that mom calls every night to check on us. Make sure we don’t burn the house down. This makes the assistant principal laugh, but is sounded forced.
On the way home, dad held my hand and looked like he was about to cry. I didn’t ask him why, but I felt like I knew why. The assistant principal’s wife was dead just like Erich. Eventually, mom ended up like that too. Her calls started coming every few days then once a week, then none at all. Dad started calling the hospital every day, but they just said she wasn’t available. Finally, after a week of calling and asking for her, dad just went. He came back with a face so empty I thought he had caught this infection too. But he just sat on the couch and patted the spot next to him.
As I sat, he put his arms around me and I could feel the tears starting. Mom was gone. She was gone and it was all those stupid sick people who couldn’t stay home and die quietly. Because of this, my mom was gone and I didn’t even get to say good bye. Dad told me that they were burning the bodies as fast as they could because if they sat too long they started doing strange things. Like getting up and walking around or spewing that oily black fluid from every orifice or screaming that horrible curdling scream. Dad said he could hear it as he walked into the hospital but the nurse at the desk just ignored it. He told me that she said mom died a few backs but since she was one of the last from the original crew, no one knew who her family was or really what her name was. She said mom was a fighter, that she fought for weeks against the screams and the whispering voices and the fevers. That’s what they called her, Miss Fighter. She fought until the night when she vomited up. By then she was so exhausted from fighting, she just didn’t have any fight left.
Dad still has plenty. That night he collected himself and went shopping. He brought back enough supplies and canned food to feed us for six months. The next day, he bought enough water to fill one of the pools at the school. The day after that, we stopped using the lights at night. Dad said it would attract too many people when looting started. Sure as sunshine, looting began the next night. Dad has moved everything we would need to the cellar and everything he thought would be of value when all the craziness died down. That night we pulled all the curtains in the house shut and any without curtain has a towel nailed in front of it. I could hear people rattling the doors and trying the windows. Dad was right to nail them all shut that first night.
The news was never good. Just speculation about when a cure was going to be available. The death toll was still rising slowly. People still had hope. After a few weeks, the death toll around the nation was jumping. Rioting and looting was getting worse. People were shooting other people who they thought were infected.
Dad went out to get medicine in case we caught a cold or something. He came back with an ashen face. He told me that the high school was burning and that the medical treatment center in the gym was a mess. He did find lots of ibuprofen and cold medication. He even brought some Benadryl. He said that he’d try to call grandma tomorrow if the phone weren’t still busy.
That night, dad caught a fever. He took six ibuprofen tablets and two benedryl. He didn’t kiss me on the forehead before we laid down, but he did whisper I love you. They next morning, he was coughing up black phlegm. He told me to pack a bag. He said he heard on the news that there was a relief station set up by the military for anyone who wanted to get out of the city and into military care. I told him I didn't want to leave him. Dad got angry and said some things he didn't really mean to say.
I stayed with dad until he started vomiting. Then I left a few cans of food and a gallon of water next to his cot. This infection was taking away everything I loved. It took my best friend, my mother, and now my father. Right then, something clicked in my head. It felt like my heart turned off. I looked at my dad, lying still now. In a few hours, he’d end up like Erich. As I went up the ladder to the basement, I told my dad that I loved him and that I was sorry for having to leave him alone to die.
I heard him vomit again, spitting into an empty can. He called me baby and told me to go as far away from this infection as I could go. To run and not stop. His voice was pleading with me now, unable to gather any more strength. He told me to leave the door unlocked, that if looters wanted to come and take everything, they’d have to find it. And if they managed they’d fall into a room filled with this infection.
I softly shut the trap door to the hidden cellar. I covered it with the rug that I had played on for many years and set out to gather a few personal items from my room. My favorite hoodie was still slung over my chair and my leather bound journal was still under my mattress. I stuffed both into my backpack. I grabbed my supply of girl stuff, stuffing that in the farthest bottom part of my bag. As I started to leave, the switch came back on and I tried not to run back to the basement, throw open the trapdoor and jump on my father, begging him to take me with him.
Instead, I steeled myself, knowing that if I did that he’d be more upset and probably die right there, in my arms. I stepped out into the early morning light, grabbing my bike from the shed next to the garage. Everything seemed perfectly normal on my street. My house was the only one boarded up and nothing looked to be ransacked, but as I started to pedal down the road, I noticed a couple of black masses on the ground.
I stopped at one, making sure my facemask was secure. I kicked it with the toe of my boot but it didn’t move. I recognized the jacket. It was Mr. Harrowitz, the man who owned the Border Collie. The next mass was his twenty something year old grandson, Adrian. When I was little, I had a huge crush on him. Guess that dream went up in smoke. I decided not to stop and look at anymore dead bodies so that my switch wouldn’t click on again. I pedaled with invisible blinders on as I rode passed the school and the office center. The closer I got to the edge of town, the more bodies seemed to be piled up.
By late afternoon, I could see the military barricade. That switch I was talking about before sparked hope inside my chest. Maybe they’ll have a cure for this and maybe it won’t be too late to save dad. As I got closer, the hope swelled inside my chest. I could almost feel it bursting out of my chest. Then, it hit me, this black haze that sent me flying off my bike. It hit me so hard the wind left my lungs. I was cough and wheezing as I sat up. My bike was mangled and one tire was completely gone. A small whimper left my lips as I tried to get back to my feel. The world wobbled and I crouched to stay balanced.
I screamed for anyone. No voice answered me. I screamed again. The shadows on the road were getting longer and I was out in the open. I took off at a dead run toward the barricade and grabbed onto it. I screamed out for anyone, but was only answered with eerie silence. I heard the haze before it got to me and I tightened the grip on the barricade. The force was so strong it picked me off my feet and threw me to the ground. My grip was shattered.
The haze moved in on me again and I guarded my face from impact. Then, my body lifted off the ground. I tried to put my feet on the pavement, but my body would not obey. I was slammed into the ground and the world around me went black.
I awoke to screams like the one that Erich gave. The air was hot and I could taste metal in my mouth. Blood, I could taste blood. I rolled over and spat on the ground. Black flecks. I started to retch but the bile came up normal. As I wobbled to my feet, I looked around. All around me, there was a haze. But it wasn’t shadowing anything. In fact, the haze was phosphorescent and glowed brilliantly. I could make out shapes of new bodies on the ground, but I didn’t stop to look. I took off for the fence.
That’s when the screams filled my head and I started to panic. It took me hours to get away from the black haze and the glowing haze and the screams. The terrible, horrible screams. I wandered until I found a small house. I holed up there for weeks, until what little food I could scavenge was gone.
Why am I telling you all this? You see, I was like you are now. Lost, alone, scared, confused. Everyone and everything you hold dear and love with all your heart is dead and gone. All you have left is you and whatever humanity you have left. Let me tell you, it might not be a lot. I know, I have very little. Six years ago, this infection took root on the world and it’s not going to stop until all of us are dead or little pawns in its game of life. It’s a lose-lose situation. What matters now is that you’re alive and that you continue to do so. Now, you can’t do that on your own right now and that’s where I come in. I’m going to help you and set you up with the skills and decision making you’ll need to survive the things your loved ones became. No, I don’t know what they are. I haven’t had contact with anyone from the military of the government since I found the barricade. Yeah, I’ve heard some of the broadcasts, but who knows how accurate those are anymore. I’ve heard the same three for six years.
If anything, head east or head west. You could try to go north, there are less of the dragonlings, but you have to survive the winters and, right now, even I’m not equipped to do that. Go south to warmer weather and you risk running to packs of them. You don’t survive a pack unless you can run fast. Thing is, these things can die, but they take a part of you when they do. It’s like they reach inside your head, putting in memories that aren’t yours that make you feel hallow and empty for killing it. Crafty monsters, indeed.
So, if you stay you’re screwed. If you go, you’re dead in a night. I’d like you to stay. I haven’t had decent company for a few years now. Don’t mind Joe though, he harmless. He’s the one who pulled you out of the tree. Funniest thing he’d ever saw, he says. A kid your age tied to a tree branch like you knew what you were doing. Except you used the wrong knot and forgot to cover yourself. Lucky Joe found you before the dragonlings did.
So what do you say? Stick around for a little while?
