INFECtIOUS

by Elizabeth Forkey

  He shakes his head and looks at his feet. His embarrassment is cute, so smitten with my Aunty. He seemed so lost when he got here a few months ago; still deeply grieving his wife. The first time I met him, he looked desperate. I think Aunty must remind him of his late wife or something because he fell hard and quick for Aunty the moment he saw her. In recent weeks he's looked happy every time I see him, like a man who suddenly has hope for the future. I wish I knew the feeling.

  "Well, I'll see ya around Ivy. You be careful now ok?"

  He meets my eyes and stares hard into them with his friendly warning. His gaze has a fatherly feel. If Aunty ever caves, I guess he'd be like a father figure to me. I would like to take comfort in Chuck’s kind words, but the serious look in his eyes reminds me how much trouble I'm in and an involuntary chill runs down my spine.

  "I hope you feel better soon," I call after him as he walks quickly away from me, his bald head pointing the way towards his apartment. "I'll pray for you!” I call out.

  I hope he's not too sick. There aren't a lot of medicines left at the clinic and the government shipments that come to Toccoa don't have anything more than what you'd find in a first aid kit. Things like Band-Aids, Tylenol, gauze, and rubbing alcohol. The sorts of things people with oozing, open wounds might need.

  We've cleared out all the local abandoned pharmacies—there were two of them within our gated sanctuary—but Aunty says we are running low on everything. A trip out of town will be needed again soon; and, in light of my recent debacle, the Elders won't want to send anyone out unless it's extremely necessary. I hope Chuck doesn't need more than some rest and some Tylenol. Maybe Aunty and I should make him some soup with the left over fat and trimmings from the venison.

  I know it's not my fault that we were attacked, not my fault that it's not safe to leave town, not my fault that the compound is low on medicine, not my fault that Chuck is sick. But I feel like it all is, every bit of it. I feel like making Chuck soup will somehow make me feel better; assuage me of some of the responsibility. I don't know why I always feel so burdened. I would call it a God thing, blame it on convictions or something, but I don't think it is. No one else tries to make everybody else's problems their own. If anything, thinking I'm the answer to everyone's problems is prideful. I think it's called a savior complex. I wish Tylenol could fix it.

  A minute later, Aunty comes out of the front doors with a bundle in her arms. It's a man's winter coat.

  "I got this from the clothing bank," she looks at me as though it's obvious, but I look blankly back at her.

  "That's a man's coat, Aunty. Do you need another new coat?"

  "Oh Ivy, it's for Matt. Didn't you notice how cold he was? I guess you have a lot on your mind right now dear, huh?"

  I am ashamed because I did notice that Matt was cold and I didn't much care, so I say nothing. I'd rather she think I was self-absorbed than know the truth of it. I'm down-right mean.

  "Why don't you leave it with the Elders? Won't they be seeing him soon? Which one of them is taking him to see Thomas?"

  "Oh." Long pause. "Didn't I tell you dear? We are."

  She rushes into her reasoning, knowing me well enough to know an argument is coming.

  "I mean, I feel responsible for the boy and I genuinely like him. I think he's a good man, you know, all things considered."

  I'm about to voice my most recent rant about zombies and how much I don't want anything to do with them, when she blurts out her next reprimand.

  "Oh and by the way, I can't believe you called that man a zombie right in front of the Reverend! Ivy, I've told you so many times not to call them that! I should've reminded you again I suppose."

  She shakes her head in a loving, "tsk tsk, shame on you" kind of way. Silly, sweet, dumb Ivy. I feel myself getting more depressed by the minute. I accept my fate and slump after her towards the gate to pick up her new pet.

  I remember reading a Bernstein Bears book about strangers when I was a little girl. Sister Bear goes to the park with Brother Bear and the whole world is her friend. The birds wear happy faces, the old ladies on the park bench are sweet little grannies with big smiles, and even the bunnies in their holes are smiling sweetly at her. "Hi!" she calls out to everyone she meets. Brother Bear runs home to tattle on her for talking to strangers. Mama Bear tells her that even though someone looks nice on the outside, they can be rotten like an apple on the inside. The next day at the park, Sister looks around and sees only scary faces. The birds have evil grins and dark eyebrows and they are perched in sinister looking trees. The old ladies on the bench are scary and wicked with sharp pointy knitting needles. Even the little bunnies in their holes look like they'll jump out at any moment and chew off her foot. Sister Bear runs home terrified.

  That is precisely how I feel at this moment.

  Leaving the meeting and the safety of the U.R. building and walking down the familiar streets of our small community, I feel as though the world has never looked so frightening. The sky is the same winter gray that it was yesterday, but today it looks ominous. As I look up at the windows of the buildings that neighbor our Inn, I feel sure that nefarious enemies are hidden behind the opaque glass, staring down at me with their scheming plans as I walk around the town that used to feel like a haven to me. I wonder if I will ever feel safe here again.

  I'm walking slowly and looking all around in guarded unease. Aunty grabs my hand to pull me along. She starts talking, trying to cheer me up.

  "It's all going to be alright dear. The Elders are smart men. Mr. Terrell may be rough around the edges, but he cares for the people. He cares for us—"

  This is news to me. I've hardly spoken to the man.

  "—and I bet he'll be the one who works the hardest to sort this all out. Even if it's partly because he'd love to prove me wrong."

  She winks at me. She has an unending spring of faith in God—and in His people—bubbling up out of her. Sometimes it's very encouraging. Right now I find it nauseating. So I change the subject.

  "Do you know how Thomas is? Is he nervous?"

  "I haven't heard anything about him yet. Jose and Ellen simply agreed to meet with Matt. To tell you the truth, I'm not one hundred percent certain they've told Thomas yet. When I mentioned Matt's name, they already knew that to be Thomas' brother's name. I guess he's had terrible nightmares about Matt and has had guilt about leaving his family. I don't know how they'll handle this, and it is up to them how to handle it, for Thomas' sake."

  We walk in silence for a minute before she speaks again.

  "You could help the situation a lot, Ivy. You could treat Matt with care and concern and a smidgen of decency. I think that might defuse a lot of the tension. Hmm?"

  What I think and what I'll say out loud are two different things. "Mmm hmm. I'll try Aunty."

  "I'm praying for you honey. I know you have a lot going on in that adorable head of yours."

  "Mmm hmm."

  What I'm thinking about is the rekindled hope that he won't be waiting at the gate. I don't see him anywhere as we approach the gate. In fact, I don't see anyone at all, even the guards. As we walk closer to the gate, I hear laughter and music coming from the security building next to the gate. The door is open; and, as Aunty and I arrive at the door, we see the guards, Tom and Anthony, playing cards with Matt. They look like they are having a great time, drinking Coke and laughing like they've been friends forever. Elvis is blaring on the CD player in the corner. I've heard that Tom has quite an extensive collection of CDs.

  Al must have gone home after his shift. Anthony, Al's daytime replacement, doesn't seem as grossed out by zombies as his predecessor. In fact, Aunty's request that they treat Matt kindly has indeed been respected. Anthony has his arm around Matt and is pretending to whisper something insulting about Tom.

  We all hear him clearly say, "Tom's got a wife who's a...well, one of you guys."

  It's an awkward moment, punctuated by
Elvis starting into the chorus of "You Ain't Nothin But A Hound Dog." Aunty and I stand quiet, witnessing this strange exchange. I am cringing inside at Anthony's lack of wisdom when I realize that I've been just as tactless. I'm ready for Aunty to clear her throat like she does when she's about to start "putting things right."

  Tom laughs Anthony's ignorant words off, calloused to his friend's careless banter, and makes a horrible corny joke about how he left her—for Jesus.

  I'm embarrassed for all of us.

  Right on cue, Aunty clears her throat to make our presence known. The guards jump up and both talk at once about entertaining the guest and waiting on us. Their simultaneous explanations are all jumbled together, but we get the gist of it.

  Matt stands up to follow us out of the door; and, to my great surprise, turns to thank them each by name for the game of cards and their hospitality. He tips his Coke can towards them in thanks and follows us out. Respect and thankfulness is not normal zombie behavior and it definitely isn't normal Matt behavior. It makes me nervous. He is good at his game—I'll give him that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Zombies Just Want Hugs

  We have a longer walk this time, but everyone walks these days. The half mile to Thomas' new house doesn't feel strenuous and won't take us more than 7 or 8 minutes. The Inn is only a little over a block away from the Western security gate and Thomas lives on the other side of our community near the Northern security gate.

  Matt accepted the new coat from Aunty with minimal fuss. Probably just didn't want to deal with her nagging. I can sympathize. The coat fits him well; a dark navy blue wool coat with wide lapels and big buttons. The coat is heavy and warm, and Matt’s cheeks get pinker and his lips lose their blueness as we walk. I guess it was nice of Aunty to think of him. I think the clothes at the clothing bank are supposed to stay in the community, and this coat will be leaving soon. I guess if anyone here needed a coat they would've picked it up by now. It is January and winter is hopefully wearing down.

  As we walk, Aunty continues to try to coax conversation out of Matt; though she doesn't seem to be as good at it as the security guards were. Maybe women make him uncomfortable, who knows? Who cares? I'm still trying not to see danger around every corner.

  I keep repeating one of my favorite verses to myself in my head:

  At what time I am afraid, I will put my trust in thee.

  I've chanted that verse to myself many times since my healing four years ago. Aunty taught it to me the first week that I lived with her—when my parents didn't come for me like they were supposed to. There has always been something for me to be afraid of or worried about. You'd think I'd be tougher by now, but there is something so personal with this fear. It's different from all the countless fearful possibilities that have given me cause for worry over the years. Different from the one million things that a logical thinking adult would have to worry about on a daily basis in a world run by zombies. This is only happening to me.

  I'm lost in my head again when we arrive at Thomas'. The little, white house with a green roof sits not far from the chain links of our security fence. Just beyond the fence, no zombies are in sight—just old railroad tracks and a broken down train car that is probably rusted to the tracks by now. We walk up the narrow sidewalk, single-file, and stand beneath the green awning over the front door. Jose and Ellen's house has a storybook cottage feel about it. I can't help thinking that we've just escorted the big bad wolf right to granny's door.

  We ring the doorbell and the door is opened by Jose, Thomas' new dad. Jose and Ellen are only in their early twenties and are too young to have a kid Thomas' age. They met and married here in the community just a few years ago. When Thomas came to us just before Christmas, he was traveling with a missionary named Harvey. Harvey insisted that Thomas stay here in Toccoa. Before Harvey left, he asked the Elders to care for Thomas and find him a home. Thomas stayed at the Inn for a few days while the Elders looked for the right family.

  The poor kid cried a lot those first couple of days. I think Thomas thought he'd be sticking with Harvey and traveling around with him. Missionaries live a very dangerous life. Harvey left him here to keep him safe. I'm sure Thomas was missing his family a lot too. Matt, supposedly.

  Aunty and I were really considering asking him to stay with us when Jose and Ellen asked for him. They are easygoing and seem really happily married. Jose is Hispanic, handsome and athletic. He is very involved with the youth at the U.R. and is in charge of all things athletic for the teens and little kids. Kind of like a Youth Pastor/Gym Teacher. Thomas isn't very talented athletically, but it doesn't seem to matter to Jose at all. He loves the kid already. Thomas is so easy to like.

  Thomas’ new mom, Ellen, is a nurse at the U.R. clinic. She is a petite, Chinese lady who loves to cook. She also loves to jog. I often see her and Jose jogging past the Inn together early in the morning. Ellen is very motherly, and I love how she dotes on Thomas. He looks so happy every time I see him lately. With both of his new parents working in the U.R. building, I get to see Thomas almost every day. He comes to visit me in my little office and sometimes brings me a cup of tea. Jose winked at me last week when Thomas brought me some of Ellen's cookies. I think maybe I have a twelve year old stalker.

  Jose welcomes us into their home and Ellen is standing with a smile on her face just inside. The wonderful smell of baking hits us instantly, and I realize how starving I am. I don't see Thomas anywhere. I glance at Matt; his face exudes disappointment and frustration. His green eyes flash as they roam the small house's open floor plan, searching for his brother. As Aunty makes the introductions, it's obvious he could care less about meeting Jose and Ellen.

  "Where is Tom?" he demands gruffly. "Tom! Tom!!!" he calls out louder in hopes of an answer.

  "Please sit down and talk with us for a minute," Ellen says with stress in her voice. Ellen's tone makes me wonder if maybe Thomas isn't here. I don't think Matt will handle that well at all.

  "We just want to speak with you before we get Thomas, ok?" Jose says as he sits down and reaches out to pat the chair next to him in an invitation for Matt to sit.

  Matt does his normal stubborn thing, looking at the chair then at Jose with raised eyebrows and a stormy face that plainly says, "I don't think so buddy."

  "What do you want, a copy of his birth certificate? I don't need this! I think you are holding him here against his will in your sick cult community, and I demand that you let me have him. He doesn't belong here with you! He's my brother! I'm sorry I didn't bring any baby pictures with me to prove who I am. Go get him. Now."

  I'm nervous about what Matt is capable of as the threat of violence grows in his angry gestures.

  Matt continues, his voice loudly echoing around the little living room, "He knows me. I'm his brother. And, let me be clear, I'm here to bring him home. I will bring an army here to tear this place apart if I have to. You have no right to keep me away from him!"

  I have no giggle for the tension of this situation. Matt is scary when he's furious—so much angrier than he was during the little standoff at the gate earlier this morning. His green eyes pop with rage and his face is contorted in a mask of dark threats. He waves his arms as he rants and paces around the room. I'm ready for him to start throwing things when we hear a quiet voice behind us.

  "Hey, Matt."

  Thomas is standing in the doorway looking meekly at his big brother. Thomas’ blond curls have grown out, covering the telltale black spot on his forehead. I'd say he's filled out a little since arriving here, the results of his new momma's good cooking. He is wearing the Steelers sweatshirt he had on the day he came to town. I'm sure he wore the familiar shirt for Matt's sake.

  Matt’s flashing green eyes are angry, staring at Thomas. Then, suddenly, Matt is bounding across the room towards Thomas. My stomach lurches in fear that Matt will hurt Thomas and I see Jose hurling himself after Matt. I hear Aunty gasp and Ellen cry out in fear. The next
moment, Matt is on his knees in front of Thomas wrapping him in a desperate hug. We all stand speechless and staring at this unexpected display of love.

  "Why?" Matt says angrily, but you can hear the tears in his voice. "Why did you leave me? I've been following your trail, asking everywhere, looking everywhere for you!"

  He shakes Thomas by the shoulders gently. Then quietly, with awe in his voice, he asks, "You're better?"

  He has suddenly noticed the lack of disease. Matt’s description last night of Thomas’ condition before he came to us was heartbreaking. I can’t imagine watching a loved one wither away before my eyes. Matt looks amazed and thrilled at the changes in his little brother. There is no doubt that Thomas has been completely, miraculously healed.

  "Yeah," Thomas looks like he'll cry any second. "I got cured and I didn't want to be trouble. I didn't want you to have to take care of me and defend me. I knew they'd send me to get tests and needles so I went with Harvey cause he was cured too and he knew all about God and why I was better and—"

  Thomas dissolves into tears and Matt continues to stare at him. Turning Thomas around, Matt looks under Thomas’ shirt and behind his ears, even parting his hair and checking his scalp. Matt inspects Thomas top to bottom, like a mother cat that just got her kitten back. Matt gently brushes Thomas' curls aside and stares at the black spot on his forehead. The black spot is the only evidence left that Thomas was ever one of them.

  Matt turns to us with the softest face I've seen on him and whispers the words, "He's cured? How?"

  Chapter Sixteen

  I Spy a Shred of Decency

  I can't get over how loving Matt is with Thomas. He keeps Thomas—he calls him Tom—in his sight at all times. If Matt smiles any bigger, his dried out zombie lips might start bleeding. I wouldn't have guessed he was capable of this much happy. I can't keep my eyes off of him. This new behavior is so bizarre, so unlikely—like watching a pig fly.

  We spent the first fifteen minutes of Matt and Thomas' reunion trying to talk about God—explaining why Thomas is better. Matt didn't seem to care much about the mechanics of it all. He listened with poorly restrained impatience and kept interrupting us to ask Thomas something totally unrelated to whatever we were saying. At that point, Aunty signaled a halt to the heavy conversation.