My Dead World Read online

  I stepped outside and waited by the pump, getting the hose ready. My father walked in and spoke to the person at the register for a few moments. I watched as he looked up, maybe watching a television before he walked away.

  Pump authorized.

  I put the hose in the tank, selected the grade and flipped the auto switch.

  That was when my phone rang.

  “Bobby,” I sighed out in relief.

  “Are you out of the city?”

  “Yeah, just outside of Cranberry. We made it out safely.”

  “Good,” he said. “As soon as I’m out of here, I’ll head up to join you. Are you guys okay?”

  “Yes.” I paused. “No. Paul. He was at work. There was violence. He tried to break up a fight and he … he got bit.”

  “Bit?”

  “I know it sounds insane …”

  “How bad?”

  I hovered my hand over the phone as if someone would hear. “Bad. I super glued him back together. But he has an infection. I think. He’s fevered.”

  “Did he say if the person that bit him was ill?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Good. It may just be an infection from a human bite. But if it’s the virus, know he has a chance of not getting it. He may have immunities.”

  “Bobby, cut the shit,” I said. “I need to know what this is. My husband is bit and burning up with fever. I watched a car crash and the guy got out of the crash and attacked people. You always said we can’t run from a virus, yet you want us to go to the cabin and wait this out. Get ammo, fortify the cabin. Be straight with me, is this a zombie apocalypse?”

  Bobby laughed.

  “I’m serious, Bobby. I watched movies.”

  “Nilie, for real? Are you seriously asking me if the dead are rising and eating people?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know how medically and biologically impossible that is?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is not a zombie apocalypse. This is not the dead rising … this is … about as close as you can get.”

  I sighed and backed up against the SUV.

  My father walked from the station and to the vehicle. “That Bobby?”

  I nodded.

  “Let me know what he’s saying. Gas is done.” My father pointed.

  I lifted the hose and hung it, then replaced the gas cap. Once my father was in the SUV, I stepped a few feet away. “What are we dealing with? Be honest.”

  “Something I have never seen.”

  “Jesus, Bobby, leave the melodramatics behind. Give it to me straight.”

  “The infected eventually die. It takes about ten days. They succumb. But it’s best to kill them so they don’t infect more. The more they infect the longer the outbreak will last and the longer you have to wait it out.”

  “Kill them? Meaning shoot them in the head?”

  “Fuck, Niles, they aren’t zombies. They’re people. They don’t need shot in the head to die. They’re already half way there, they just don’t know it,” Bobby said. “This thing is everywhere. Without a bite, say you’re exposed through getting spit or blood on you, it will start like the flu. Aches, fever, headache. It’s like a hemorrhagic fever. Bloody vomit, diarrhea. The virus hits the brain like rabies causing extreme, violent behavior. While all this happens, the virus causes nerve and tissue death, necrosis sets in. It spreads. Your heart beats, lungs breathe, but every ounce of your flesh is dead. Peeling, splitting. You’re so out of it, you have no idea how close to death you are. You just attack. Maybe out of pain, out of rage. Who knows? Their weakness, like with rabies, is hydrophobia. Fear of liquids. They stop drinking, stay away from water. Dehydration and the virus kills them.”

  “But we should kill them first?”

  “Remember how we used to look at all the stories of bath salt killings. How maddening those people were and unaware? That’s what we’re dealing with. Imagine them in a group. Imagine how much damage a group of infected can cause.”

  I closed my eyes. “How about someone that got it through a bite? What happens?”

  “There’s a chance they won’t get it. We have seen immune people. They die from the wound and never catch the virus. But if they do, all those symptoms just happen faster.”

  I turned and looked in the SUV, Paul was sleeping. “Is this how it’s being handled? Kill the sick? The CDC is just shooting them?”

  “We’re trying to beat this, Niles. But in the meantime it’s the only way to stop the spread. They may be alive, they may look like someone you know, but they are a shell.”

  “How will I know if Paul has it?”

  “Before he gets violent, before he turns, you’ll see bruise like marks on his body. Particularly on limbs he hasn’t moved. That’s the tissue dying, gravity is drawing down the blood. He’ll start throwing up, stop drinking. He’ll have violent outbursts that will come and go until they eventually stay for good.”

  “What should I do?”

  “For the sake of the girls, end it for him before he can hurt anyone. It’ll be hard, but it has to be done.”

  End it? Seriously? End it like killing him?

  He delivered his advice with a coolness that I never heard in my brother’s voice. My father impatiently wanted to get moving, but I didn’t want to speak in the car for fear the girls or Paul would interpret what was being said.

  We ended the conversation and Bobby reminded me to charge the satellite phone.

  Wait it out, he said. Give the infected time to die out. It could take weeks, if not longer. Monitor the radio and the news while it’s on. He assured me he’d be there long before that.

  I put the phone in my pocket and got back in the car.

  “What did he say?” my father asked.

  I connected with his eyes as he looked in the rearview mirror. After pointing to the girls, I said, “I’ll tell you when we get there.”

  My father accepted that and pulled from the service station.

  Paul was restless, I grabbed his jacket to cover him. That’s when I saw his arm. Almost afraid to look, I lifted him by the wrist and spotted the black bruising on the underbelly of his forearm. A weird spider web of dark veins extended from it. I set down his arm and covered him.

  “Everything’s okay, though, right?” My father asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Everything is fine.”

  It wasn’t. It wasn’t going as planned, and not as my mind envisioned. Yes, as a family we were going to the cabin to escape it all. But in a sense we were bringing it with us.

  No matter how much I didn’t want to believe it, my heart and gut screamed to me that Paul was infected. My heart broke.

  Bobby had given brotherly advice that was medically sound. Spare Paul, spare us all before he got worse. Like a dog, put him down and out of his misery.

  Even if within the depths of my soul, I knew what had to be done, the mother, the wife and human being in me, was sure I didn’t have the guts to pull it off.

  NINE – UPHEAVAL

  The rain had a soothing effect in the vehicle and I was glad that Paul had fallen asleep. I kept reaching over, touching his skin, hoping that it would cool down. It didn’t. Nor did the spreading black bruises on his arms stop. I felt guilty for the continuous squirts of hand sanitizer I used.

  The cabin was located a good two hours out of the city if traffic was good and we took the highway. I noticed that the farther we got from the city, the more traffic there was. Some cars sped by us, belongings tied and packed on the roof. Where were they going? Where were they rushing to?

  Because of that, my father opted to exit the highway and take back roads. We took our time. The rain would make it slick and we needed our vehicle, the last thing we wanted was to get into an accident.

  Katie napped, as she always did on long trips. I was so thirsty all I kept thinking of was that ten dollar Starbucks gift card I never used it.

  “Mommy?” Addy called me. “How long will we be at the cabin?”

/>   “I don’t know. Until all the sick people are better.”

  “Will they get better?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why did we not help Mrs. Green?”

  “In case she was sick,” I replied.

  “Are the sick people dangerous?”

  “Some. Yes.”

  “Why do you keep looking at Daddy’s other arm? That’s not the one he hurt.”

  It was then I realized I had gone into auto pilot, lifting Paul’s arm, watching it increasingly turn black. Comparing the uninjured to the injured arm, I could see that the bruises on his bitten arm went deep, and had become covered with skin that had a grayish hue. My stomach knotted and churned.

  I peered up to see Addy had turned a little in her booster seat. “Turn around, sweetie.”

  “What’s wrong with the other arm?” My father asked.

  “Nothing, um …” I sat up. “Dad, any chance you can pull over? I think I’m gonna throw up.”

  “Are you sick, Mommy?” Addy asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Addy screamed. It was loud, long and shrill.

  “Jesus Christ!” My father blasted. “What was that for?”

  “Mommy’s sick and she’s gonna get dangerous.”

  “No.” My father said. “It’s car sick. There’s a big difference.”

  “Okay. Whew.” Addy said.

  My father pulled over and as soon as he did I climbed over the seat, opened the rear door and jumped out.

  The moment the outdoor air hit me, my head spun. I felt dizzy, almost as if I was going to pass out. As I rushed to get further from the van for privacy for my impending expulsion, my foot slipped on the mud. I slid some, catching my balance, but while doing so my body rejected the contents of my stomach.

  I sat there half bent over, hands on knees, while my body just projected everything I had consumed that was in my stomach. My body shook, my stomach felt as if it folded in half. I panicked. What if I had it? What if I had this virus? I could have caught it from Paul. No, it was three days from exposure to infection. That was what Bobby said. Then again Bobby also said it could take up to thirty days. I argued with my mind as I continued to fight the dry heaves. I didn’t have it. I didn’t have it.

  “Well,” my father said, then cleared his throat. “In all these years this is the first time that I can recall you ever throwing up over something you saw, or for being emotional.”

  “How do you know?” I asked still struggling. “How do you know it’s just me being emotional?”

  “Your husband is sick. You’re worried about that. He has a raging fever. The whole world is falling apart. Yep, it’s emotional.”

  “How do we know it’s not the virus? Throwing up is one of the symptoms.”

  “We can’t be sure, but I can say I’m pretty certain you don’t have it.” My father said. “There are four types of things that make a person throw up.”

  I looked over my shoulder at him as if he were nuts. “What?”

  “Yep. I’m going to educate you. The four types: One, pregnancy, which is not your case. Two, drunk or a hangover. That’s not you either. Unless you tied one over last night and I don’t know. Three, some sort of illness.” He peered forward and took a look at the mess I made on the ground. “Doesn’t have the smell of sickness and … look, I don’t think you got the virus. I don’t think it’s that fast. And four, emotions. The truth is, for the last month or so you’ve been bottled up with this project, hoping and believing with your heart and soul that it wasn’t going to happen, and when it did, it took you by surprise. All that craziness when we were leaving didn’t help.” He extended a water bottle to me. “Here, have a drink.”

  I took the bottle and had three big gulps before I choked. “Oh my God, that’s vodka.”

  “Shit.” My father cringed. “I grabbed Lisa’s bottle by accident. Drink up anyhow it won’t hurt.”

  “I’ll pass but thanks.” I handed the bottle back to him. “So when did you become such a regurgitation aficionados?”

  “About the same time you learned those big words from television commercials.”

  “So you think I’m okay?”

  “How are you feeling now?”

  “Better.”

  “It’s not the virus. Not sure, but I’d say, if you had the virus, you don’t feel better right away. How about telling me now what Bobby said? What threw you over the edge?”

  I looked to the SUV, then to my father. “Basically, the thing is you don’t always get it if you’re exposed, but if you do, it’s flu like symptoms. They can take up to thirty days to show. But if you get it, you get those symptoms and your skin starts to die … as Paul’s is, then you turn.”

  “Turn?” My father leaned closer to me, as if he were trying to hear me better. “Turn like the undead?”

  “That’s what I asked him and he laughed at me. Then told me that it’s about as close to being … the undead as we can get. They are shells of themselves, from what I gathered, running on rage.”

  My father whistled. “What do we do?”

  “He said put them out of their misery.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Dad, what am I supposed to do about Paul? I can’t just put him out of his misery.”

  “I’m not expecting you to. Putting him out of his misery, well, it’s a lot easier said than done. Isn’t it? This is family and we’ll take it one step at a time, one moment at a time, we will not jump the gun, because we just don’t know. We’ll handle it. It’ll be all right.”

  I nodded.

  “That’s not saying we don’t take precautions if he has it. Okay?” He put his arm on my shoulder. “We’re close to the cabin. You ready to get in and go?”

  Before I answered I took the water bottle from his hand, had a sip of the vodka, then gave it back. I was ready to hit the road, but I certainly wasn’t ready for what was ahead of us.

  TEN – ABANDONED

  Half way through the second round of Neil Sedaka’s greatest hits, we hit the main strip that led to the campgrounds. Mountain Road. If we stayed straight, we’d hit Big Bear. Just before Big Bear property was a slight turn, if you didn’t know where you were going, you’d miss the single lane, unnamed road that went to my father’s cabin. The entire property, including that road, was my fathers. Forty feet or so after the turn was a gate, then a thick, tree lined drive to the main portion of the property. It was hidden, private and I believed safe.

  As we drove up Mountain Road, it became evident we weren’t the only people with the run, hide and wait it out plan. Many cars, loaded with baggage and camping supplies headed to the hills. A part of me was worried, the more people around, the more chance of infection. We left the city to be away from that.

  It was habit to make that turn off of Mountain Road and not think twice about it. My father did, then slammed the brakes.

  “Son of a bitch,” my father blasted.

  “Pappy why is that car there?” Addy asked.

  Parked by the gate was a car. It was unusual because no one but us came up that road.

  “Is the gate still closed?” I questioned.

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean anything,” My father replied. “How you feeling right now, Niles?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Come with me.”

  “Earl,” Lisa grabbed his arm as he reached between the front two seats. “Who knows about your cabin? Maybe it’s someone you know?”

  “I gave no one permission. We can’t be too careful. Lock the doors” He instructed Lisa, then opened his door. “Niles.”

  Stepping from the back seat I gave Addy a reassuring look, then opened the door. As soon as I got out my father handed me the handgun.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Someone is in that car,” he said and pointed.

  I could see movement in the small compact car.

  “We need to know why they are here. They may have sent someone ahead, jumped the gate. Just watch
my back.”

  That was almost laughable. Watch his back? My father was an expert marksman. He had two weapons, both Remington’s, a rifle and shotgun. The rifle, he had for decades, the other maybe seven years. He favored the rifle. It was loaded and I heard the hammer click onto place. He truly wasn’t taking any chances.

  I flipped off the safety on the pistol and followed.

  We walked slowly and cautiously. From the outline of the figure in the car, it appeared to be a woman. Immediately, my thought process went to what my father had said. They probably parked there and someone ran up to the property. They couldn’t drive through, the gate was locked.

  My father walked up directly behind the car, took a wide step out, and swung forth his rifle directly at the car. He was going to scare the person, find out what was going on. Neither him nor I expected the person in the car to lunge violently at the window.

  It was a woman. Her hair was matted and she wore a super hero tee shirt. She was probably really pretty at one time, young too, maybe twenty. Her face was pale, the skin on her cheeks seemed to split, as if outraged she slammed her hands against the driver’s window each time she flung herself violently forward. She had a bloody bandage on her forearm.

  My father stepped back.

  The woman was relentless. She tried with diligence to get us.

  “I don’t think she can get out,” my father said. “Or she would. Look at her eyes, Niles.”

  I did. The woman’s eyes were red, and a stream of bloody tears rolled down her cheeks. She wasn’t saying words, but her mouth moved. Over and over she charged for that window. On the third time, she opened her mouth, and it looked like chocolate syrup seeped out of her mouth.

  “This is what happens.” My father said. “This is what your brother meant about putting them out of their misery.”

  Immediately, I looked back to the SUV and thought of Paul.

  “What should we do with her?” I asked.

  My father looked around. “There might be more. Let’s get everyone to the cabin, get them secure and then you and I will come down and deal with this. If she gets out we don’t want her near the cabin.”