INFECtIOUS

by Elizabeth Forkey

  "I fit in better with them on. I'm not as sick as most people."

  "Yeah, I noticed. Is it because you didn't get the shot?"

  "That's one reason," he replies.

  Vague as usual.

  After another minute of silent trudging he surprises me with more info, "I went a long time without ever taking them off. Thomas was getting so bad, and he had to wear gloves. He was so sick, and I wasn't and I hated it. I wanted him to think my hands were as bad as his. Now that he's better—" He doesn't finish the sentence.

  "Aren't you thrilled?"

  "Yes. I'm happy," his voice sounds empty and casts suspicion on his professed happiness. "Tom was near death before he ran away. I was gone. I had left him alone."

  He sounds so angry, and I don't have the courage to speak words of encouragement. His dark tone in this inky black tunnel makes my heart hammer against my chest and pound out a warning in my ears. So much darkness.

  I shouldn't be here!

  I instinctively slow down and put tension between Matt and I as I slightly pull against his hand that is clamped with Goliath-like strength over mine.

  He must take my fear as reproof because he holds tighter to my hand, making me wince, and pleads with me, "I had left him because I was trying to find some way to help him!" He sounds like a man on trial, and I know it isn't me he needs to convince. He's defending himself against his own inner demons.

  "How could you have helped him?" I ask, successfully hiding the tremble in my voice this time.

  I am intrigued by his secrets, but I also want to calm him and pull him back out of his self-inflicted prison.

  "There are ways."

  "Don't tell me too much about yourself." I say sarcastically.

  After a silent few seconds, he chuckles and we resume our march. My senses heightened in the dark, I feel him relax and it relaxes me. He gently strokes my hand with his thumb, and new sensations take over. Fear is swallowed up in anticipation, excitement and attraction. He chuckles to himself again, and I listen as the pleasant sound bounces up and down through the tunnel.

  That's one difference between him and Tim. Tim is so sincere. So intense. Anytime I'm sarcastic with Tim, he looks hurt and confused. Matt has my sense of humor. I find conversation with him to be—easy. Even in this awful place. He doesn't want anything too serious out of me. He likes to laugh and have fun. He won't look down on me if I'm not perfect. It's very exhilarating, spending time with him.

  I realize that I'm comparing them as though they are both options. So strange how fast life changes. A few weeks ago, Tim was a creepy nerd and zombies were terrifying. Now—I feel differently about both of them.

  We only walk a minute more before reaching another juncture. Matt shines the flashlight up above our heads, and I see another ladder leading up. It starts about four feet up, around chest level for me. I don't have the upper body strength to hoist myself up there, and I'm not about to be picked up again. Matt jumps easily and catches the fourth rung up. He walks his feet up the wall until finding the bottom step with his foot. Then he lets go with one hand and leans down to offer me a hand up.

  I'll give it a shot. I've come this far.

  It's probably not going to look very smooth though. I give Matt my hand, and he pulls me while I step up the wall and pull myself up the lower rungs with my other hand. It's easier than I thought, thanks to Matt's strong arms; and, with minimal embarrassment, I'm quickly climbing the ladder behind him.

  I expected to come out somewhere outside; but we come out indoors in a dark room. Matt shines the flashlight around, and I see we are in a cellar of some sort. It's a small bare room, cement floor and walls, with nothing in it but some old pieces of garbage. Off to one side is an old wooden staircase leading up into sunlight and more mystery.

  "Where are we?"

  "You are out in the real world, Ivy. Past your fence. You’re in my kingdom now," he says with a wicked smile.

  If he hopes to make me nervous—it's working. I hear the warning of my conscience telling me again that I shouldn't be here. Instead of obeying that inner, wiser, voice, I try to muster the bravery Matt seems to think I'm capable of. "How did you find this place? Does anyone else know about it?"

  "No one else knows."

  He sits down on the cement floor and I join him, relieved that we aren't venturing out of the supposed safety of this room.

  "I knew Tom was in Toccoa. I had tracked him that far. He left only hours before I got back from my run, and I was on his tail the whole time. Just never caught up to them until they got here, and then I was stuck. I did try just asking to come in," he says with mock politeness, "and when manners didn't work— I spent a few weeks studying the fence, looking for weaknesses, asking around about who you people were. How well armed, that kind of thing.

  “I couldn't come up with a good way in, and I didn't want to involve anyone else. I could've probably gotten a lot of them to storm the fence with me; but I didn't know what I'd find when I got in here. Didn't want to put Tom in any danger. One day, I found this place." He points upstairs. "It's an abandoned house, Kudzu grown all over it. It sits all alone near the railroad tracks. Quite a ways from any of the Pravda compounds.

  “I was just looking around for a good place to sleep for the night and I found this hole down here. I followed the tunnel in to your side that night. But I didn't know where Tom was. The irony is he was only a few houses down the street from where I came out. So, the next day, I explored around and saw you getting out of the car. You did that little spider dance in your high heels, and it made me laugh. You seemed real enough, so I thought I'd give asking another try. You know the rest."

  I remember that day with clarity. He scared the crap out me. I hadn't realized he saw me scream and jump in spider terror. That's pretty embarrassing. I'm glad it's too dark in here for him to see me blush.

  "You smelled terrible." I say playfully.

  "Sorry to have offended you, your highness," he retorts with a smile.

  "I distinctly remember the smell of cat litter. Am I going to smell like cat poop now that I've spent the morning with you?"

  "One can only hope," he says feigning animosity.

  "I have to get back. Tim and Rosa will be back at the house soon."

  "Tim sleeping over now?" he asks with a surprising amount of irritation in his voice.

  "Why? Are you jealous?"

  "Who's Rosa?"

  "I'll tell you about her on the way back."

  When we emerge from the tunnel, safely back inside the compound, Matt turns to take my hand again, and I look up at him in confusion.

  "Ivy, I hope you know that things aren't going to last much longer here. If you're ever in trouble, meet me here in the tunnel. I'll be there."

  "Are you going to live in there from now on? Should I knit you a housewarming gift?" I ask sarcastically. "Why aren't you heading back to Atlanta like you said? Your place, your job, your Jessie?"

  My turn to sound blatantly irritated and suspicious.

  "Jealous?" he mocks, the shoe on the other foot. "I'm not leaving until Tom is better, and I know he's safe. You'll all have to move soon."

  Ben has already insisted we aren't safe. Now hearing it from someone on the other side too, I'm worried that they are both right.

  "How long do you think we have?" I ask.

  "Not long."

  That's incredibly vague and unhelpful.

  "Ok. Well, uh, I guess I'll be going back home now."

  He doesn't offer to walk me back.

  So chivalrous.

  I'm almost home when Mr. Terrell emerges from an apartment building right in front of me. He is holding something under his arm, wrapped in what looks to be a tablecloth. I wonder who he could've been visiting during the morning meeting. I know this isn't his apartment building. Maybe someone is sick and he was making a friendly house call during the service? I can’t picture Marcus Terrell doing friendly visits.

  There's no wa
y to turn around or hide, he's seen me already. I almost made it home, too. Why couldn't he have been at the U.R. with everyone else? The Homecoming meeting and the dinner should last at least another hour or two, even with the day shortened due to only two of the missionaries coming home.

  I expect Mr. Terrell to question me about why I'm out of the house, but he surprises me and puts his hand out to kindly squeeze my shoulder.

  "I'm so sorry for your loss, Ivy. Colleen was an incredible woman. I respected her, perhaps more than any woman I've ever known. "

  "Thank you," I mumble still caught off guard by his gentleness.

  "Ivy, I hate to bother you today, but we need to speak privately as soon as possible. I will gather the other Elder's after the meeting. Can you meet us in the Elder's room around 3:00?"

  "Sure," I say, now more confused than ever. "Just me?"

  I remember again that I'm all alone now. No one will sit next to me at that imposing table or squeeze my leg with reassurance.

  "Yes, I'm sorry. Just you." Then Mr. Terrell says softly, "You aren't alone, Ivy. We care for you. We are the Body. We care for each member. The Bible says, "The eye can never say to the hand, 'I don't need you.' The head can't say to the feet, 'I don't need you.'" He leans over to look into my eyes and says emphatically, "You will never be alone."

  I nod at him, feeling awkward and having nothing to say in return. He squeezes my shoulder one more time before letting go and walking quickly away. He turns down the street toward the U.R. building and calls over his shoulder, "Don't be late! 3:00!"

  As I walk the last block to the Inn, I wonder to myself which part of the Body I am. Aunty was the hands. She was always helping, ready to serve. I decide I'm quite possibly the appendix. My life is rupturing and the Body can live just fine without me.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  To Catch A Predator

  Tim and Rosa arrive at the Inn within minutes of me. The Sunday Morning meeting was short, and Tim skipped the meal to come make sure I was ok. It's a good thing I was back before they got here. Tim wouldn't have understood my need for a walk. Or approved of my companion. While I was out with Matt, in another world, I somehow stepped away from the sadness. Now that I'm back home, it hits me again in full force. I wish I could just walk away from here and not ever come back again.

  After getting Rosa a snack and laying her down on my bed for a nap, Tim and I sit on the hallway floor outside of my room each with our own Gov. Bar. Tim has talked to his dad and they've decided how to handle Aunty's passing. I'm not surprised or offended that I wasn't consulted. I'm relieved to not be responsible for her body or her funeral.

  "Some men will dig the grave this afternoon,” Tim says quietly, filling me in on the basic details. “My dad is coming here in about twenty minutes with a gurney to take her over to the clinic. He'll keep her there overnight. Then tomorrow morning, there will be a viewing and a funeral for the community. After the funeral, only those closest to her will meet at the grave for a few words and the burial. Jamie's dad is making her a casket."

  They've thought of everything I guess. Jamie Crest's dad is an excellent carpenter. Aunty often commented on his workmanship. We have a beautiful oak bookshelf that was made by him. It's strange to think that she'll be buried in his craftsmanship. I guess she would like that.

  "Ivy?"

  "Sorry. Yes. Thank you. That all sounds—good." It all sounds terrible really, but I'm sure nothing could sound good.

  "If you are up to it, we should go get her ready before my dad comes."

  I look up at Tim in surprise, a deep frown on my face.

  "If you can't, someone else will do it. They'll completely understand. I just thought you might want to be the one."

  I don't know what I want. What I can handle. I don't want to do it, but I don't want anyone else to either. I want her to look like her. I don't think anyone else could do her hair the way she did. I think about seeing her tomorrow, done up with makeup by someone else, looking wrong. It should be me. Somehow, I have to make myself do it.

  "Will you help me?" I can barely get the words out before the tears come again.

  He nods and stands up to help me up from the floor.

  *****

  I cry the entire time. Fixing Aunty’s hair, putting color on her cheeks and lips, picking her favorite dress; it’s the most painful thing I’ve ever done. Her closet smells like her and I want to hide in amongst the clothes and smell her and pretend everything is ok again. I don't have what it takes to undress and redress her. It's just too creepy. It was hard enough to stare at her lifeless form and try to make it look lifelike again. I just can't rob her of her dignity. Someone else will have to put her dress on. I find jewelry, stockings and shoes to go with the dress. And then they take her.

  My heart feels like it's being ripped in half as Tim's dad and Ellen wheel Aunty out of her room and away from me. Tim holds me again and I let him. We sit on the edge of her bed, and I lean into his shoulder and cry for a long time. I sob and shake and Tim holds me, and I feel him crying too. My stomach hurts, and my tears finally run out. Still we sit there. Tim finally stands up and helps me to my feet. It's time to leave her room, and I don't want to come back in here ever again. I look around, searching her sanctuary for something to remember her by.

  My eyes wander around the room, stopping lovingly on each treasured item. On the nightstand is a silver picture frame with a photo of her and Aunty Betty when they were young. Slung over the carved bed post is the red hat that I picked for her on our first "shopping trip" together. On her dresser, there are antique glass perfume bottles that belonged to her grandmother and the bracelet that I made for her last Christmas.

  I spot her Bible lying on the floor by her bed. These last two items are what I choose. I slip the bracelet on my wrist; it's simple, but she had acted so thrilled when I gave it to her. I pick up her Bible from the floor and walk quickly from the room. Tim follows behind me and shuts off the lights. My heart feels dead inside me as I hear him pull her door closed.

  It's almost 3:00, and I have to ask Tim for yet another favor. I need a babysitter for Rosa while I meet with the Elders. He, of course, agrees and I hurry out the front door with no clue as to what this meeting could be about.

  *****

  It's a short lonely walk to the U.R. I watch the bushes for movement, some sign of Matt, but I don’t see him. At the U.R., I am ushered right into the Elder's meeting room as soon as I arrive. All of the Elder's except for Mr. Terrell are already here. Even Frank Hosch, who was absent at the last meeting, has put aside his honeymoon to be here. Instead of the formality of last time, this gathering seems confused and chaotic. I don't think any of them know why we are here either. For once, I'm not out of the loop.

  We are all waiting for Mr. Terrell to arrive and explain why he called this emergency meeting. In the middle of the table sits whatever Mr. Terrell had under his arm earlier today. I have no clue what it could be, still wrapped in the green checked tablecloth. Is anyone else dying to peek inside that gingham wrapped mystery? I sit in the same chair I sat in last time and try to catch the Elder's whispered conversations to each other.

  Several of them walk over to me and give heartfelt condolences over the loss of Aunty. She was a very important part of this community. Though she often ruffled the feathers of the men in this room, I'm touched that every one of them liked and respected her. Rev. Depold comes over and sits down next to me. He starts to offer his condolences, but he is interrupted by an angry shout from outside of the room. Everyone looks up in confusion; and, at the sound of approaching feet, we all turn towards the door expectantly.

  Mr. Terrell enters first, followed closely by Captain Andrew Markowitz and the guard Anthony. The two guards have a squirming Chuck Fox handcuffed and locked tightly in their grasp. When Chuck sees me, he tries unsuccessfully to pull out of the strong hold the guards have on him. I'm completely confused.

  "I'll get right to it," Mr. Terrell anno
unces.

  Direct as always.

  "Mr. Fox has been with us for only a short time. In recent weeks he hasn't been feeling well, and he started seeing Dr. Markowitz. Unfortunately, he didn't realize that what he was suffering from was a recurring of LS. Hale shared his concern over Mr. Fox's condition with me. The loss of his Healing gave me more reason to suspect him. His behavior and demeanor had already seemed odd to me. He made no secret of the fact that he was interested in Colleen from the first time he saw her. Then today when her death was announced in the morning meeting, I watched him. He didn't shed a tear. He smiled and visited with people during the greeting time. He didn't seem like a man who had lost someone he cared about. I left during the sermon and inspected his apartment."

  At this Chuck shouts, "You had no right to go in there! This is still America! I still have rights! How dare you trespass on my property! You can't stand there and condemn me of sin when you're a trespasser and a thief!"

  Andrew pushes a Taser into Chuck, and Chuck shakes violently in his chair, his muscles locking and his face stretched in pain and fear.

  The entire room erupts as several Elders call for some explanation, and others shout for Andrew to stop.

  Mr. Terrell ignores their shouts and walks closer to the table, leaning over and lifting the tablecloth off of his mystery item to reveal a black—something. I don't really know what it is. It looks like a black and gray box with a flashlight on top. Or maybe something they used to film old movies?

  The Elders all look shocked. They seem to know what the small black box is and what it means. No one says anything; they just look sadly at Chuck.

  The room is still when I ask quietly, "What is it?"

  Mr. Terrell looks woefully at me and says, "It's a Polaroid Camera, Ivy."

  I'm slow to process that. Trying to understand what Chuck Fox has to do with the camera that took a picture of me that was given to a zombie. My stomach plunges painfully when I realize Chuck is the one who did it. Chuck is working with the zombies to hurt me. Mr. Terrell said Chuck didn't even care about Aunty. Chuck was trying to get to me from the beginning.

  I am filling up with fury. I feel it boiling in me, rushing quickly to the surface, about to pour out in rage and words that I shouldn't say—especially in front of the Elders. All of the last few weeks of fear and sadness have somehow morphed into one big storm of anger. My hands are shaking as I glare with hatred at Chuck. He looks cowardly and despicable, handcuffed and slumped in the chair. Still recovering from the Taser’s shock, Chuck shivers and starts to cry.