The Last Virus

by Caleb Adams

  “Oh my God,” she said after pulling it back out.

  “What?”

  “It’s him.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I said, thinking she was just messing with me.

  “No, it is. I’m not kidding. When I shined the flashlight in, he turned around for a second. Anybody would recognize that face.”

  “What was he doing?” I asked.

  “It looked like he was painting.”

  “In the middle of hell?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know. What did you expect him to be doing?”

  “I’m not sure. But painting certainly wasn’t one of them.”

  “Come on, we’ll just say hello and then go.”

  I gave her a look that said I was still thinking it over when she suggested that I should at least have a peek for myself. I agreed to it and took the flashlight out of her hand. He was standing with his back to me. He had on yellow parachute pants and a matching suit coat. He was painting on the clay wall with oil pastels I think. From what I could see, he already had drawn a moon, earth, and sun. I was just about to pull my head back out when he turned to the side and spoke to me.

  “One flash of light means you might have been mistaken. Two flashes now makes me think you meant it all along. Please go get the one who is your other half and stay for a while.”

  We had no other choice now but to become interlopers. He was lighting more candles when we entered. He pointed to an arrangement of Moroccan-styled throw pillows for us to sit on. Hell knows where he had gotten them from. Two teacups were placed in front of us, and then he poured. It was like we had wandered into a restaurant and the proprietor himself was tending to us. When all had settled, and he had taken a seat across from us, she spoke.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Gilly,” she began, “we didn’t mean to take you away from your painting.”

  “It is I who should be sorry,” he answered. “The earth has fallen on hard times and I have no rocket ship to offer you a way out of here.”

  She glanced at me with a smile. I smiled back. It was exactly what anyone would have wanted to hear from this iconic rock star. We stayed there for about two hours or so I think. He was hospitable and gracious. He was humble but still larger than life. We said little and just listened to him. He spoke on Japanese fashion and German art. He talked a little on the mysticism of Aleister Crowley and then went straight on to astral travel. He gave us a primer on Homer’s “Iliad” and the flaws of religion. The only thing he didn’t speak about was what he had been made most famous for.

  When we left, he said for me to take her hand in mine and keep it there while walking back. He said to make the best of every moment. He said you understand we’re not evolving and we’re not going anywhere. We didn’t speak a word to each other, neither on the trip back nor when we returned. We kissed to the taste of peppermint schnapps. We made love facing each other. We just had our best day since being sentenced here. So, both of us understood, why fuck that up by rehashing the past when we could just keep moving forward.

  Mad, Mad World

  If I had to guess, I would say that a good third of our population here have completely lost their minds. How could you blame any one of them? Insanity I am guessing can be a wonderful retreat. After being here, it’s actually probably the sanest thing someone can do. There’s this woman, one of the pacers, I see her all the time on the way to the excavation site. Her face tells me she’s somewhere in her mid-forties. Her hair though has run all the way on to eighty. It is snow-white, thin, and frayed in every place. She walks up and down the tunnels with a briefcase in her hand and a cell phone to her ear. A lawyer or executive at one time I am assuming. She is constantly on that phone barking out orders or arguing with the dead airwaves. Her mannerisms are still condescending, and her walk still cocksure. Sometimes I wish I was her. Sometimes I wish I could dial up the past and keep it on the line. Then there are the wall talkers. These are mostly comprised of the elderly. Day and night they stand in the same position, whispering to the concrete tunnel walls. When they speak their hands are animated, gesturing all about. When they are not, they are catatonic head to toe. They piss and defecate at will, so it is necessary to have dog walkers. Those are what we call the people who volunteer to watch after them. I don’t have that in me. I can’t see spending my free time looking after the undead.

  This is just fucking insane. This is like being placed on hold waiting for death to get back on the line. They’ll find us. That I’m certain of. They’ll dig us up from our living graves. We’ll die twice. We’ll die in a fashion worse than the first. All I want before that is one walk outside, her hand threaded through mine. Just one stroll in the sun. The heat on my face. The sunbeams on hers. For that, I would sell my soul if just somebody was buying. Nowadays, it doesn’t seem like anyone is buying. That makes me a seller with no takers, a fool without any listeners. Sometimes my entire body is paralyzed with fear. Sometimes it’s only my lips so that I can’t seem to speak. All I know is that if I didn’t have her, I would have found an easy way to check out a long time ago.

  I’m An Asshole Most of the Time

  “I need to talk to you,” she said after I had come back from my work at the south excavation area. It had been another 12-hour day, and I just wanted to lay myself down. When she closed the bible in her hands, I knew it was serious.

  “Yeah, sure. Let’s talk.”

  “Private.”

  “Okay,” I said and sat down cross-legged across from her. We both leaned in and put our cheeks side-by-side the way giraffes embrace. It was the way everyone here communicated when they wanted their exchange of words not to reach those of the others around.

  “Please don’t be mad.”

  “I won’t be mad. Just tell me.”

  “I think I’m pregnant.”

  “Fuck,” I said and pulled away from her.

  “I knew you would be mad.”

  “I’m not mad. How could I be? It’s half my fault.”

  “It’s not a fault. It’s a gift. I know it is.”

  “These gifts are death sentences,” I said.

  “For us?”

  “No, for the child.”

  “I want to keep it.”

  “Do we have another choice?”

  “Yeah. There’s another choice. I’ve seen them do it in the infirmary.”

  “You never told me that.”

  “Wasn’t something I wanted to talk about. It kind of twists your stomach when you see it up close. Makes you rethink what you thought before.”

  “How far along are you?”

  “I think about three months.”

  “Shit. This was the last thing I was expecting. I mean we must have done it about five fucking thousand times without any protection and nothing.”

  “I know. It’s odd, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it’s odd, alright.”

  “I think I want a boy.”

  “I think I want a drink.”

  “See, you’re not excited.”

  “I am excited. I really am. It’s just so much to think about and my head already has no room to spare.”

  “Isn’t that a lyric from Gilly?”

  “I guess. I wasn’t thinking about it. But yeah. That’s probably where I got it. I know. Most of the time I’m so unoriginal. Everything I say is stolen off a lyric sheet. How pathetic, huh?”

  “I love that guy, though. Always have. He makes me feel like home. I loved him since he was just a boy and God I love him even more now.”

  “Same,” I said and wrapped my arms around her.

  She was holding me tighter than I was holding her. I knew she had already closed her eyes and was thinking far ahead. I had mine open and was staring at the clay wall in front of me. It had a heart on it, and inside our initials she had drawn. I was thinking about the rocket ship in the park, and the first time I watched her draw the very same heart in black permanent marker. I was wondering if it was still there or had they repurposed our love for another one
of their war machines. I concluded most likely it was gone as so would be this one when we were found.

  Entry From Her Diary

  Nothing to write today. Can’t get my thoughts together in any coherent way. They all seem to be radiating out so fast that I can’t seem to collect any one of them. Normally I would just stare at the top of the page and wait for another day. However, she was late for the infirmary this morning. It caused her to rush and forget to put away that lined notebook she had started writing in last night before I drifted off. So I thought, why not. Why not just copy from hers and place it into mine. I had plagiarized enough of her papers when we were in high school and in college so really what the fuck would it matter now.

  He lies beside me asleep. I can hardly breathe much less close my eyes. I am so tired of watching everyone around me die. Death here is indiscriminate, not a soul exempt. The dead they are children whose blue bodies and blue faces make me want to scream. The dead they are old women and old men in which I see my grandmother’s and grandfather’s faces. The dead they’re soldiers, bodies bullet-ridden and missing limbs. Then there are the suicides who are brought in here in an assortment of ages. They just ran out of hope and how can you really blame them. Hope certainly isn’t an infinite well. It can run dry when you’re constantly drinking from it. I tremble day and night. My teeth I find chattering even when I’m not cold.

  I really shouldn’t complain though. I have it better than most. I’ve been given two extra hearts to keep me alive. That’s certainly more than most of those around me can say. I have the one that just started beating inside of me and the one that seems as if it has always been there for me. I’ll take that any time. I’ll take that any place even here. It’s funny, I didn’t realize until tonight that you can be blessed even in the worst of times and circumstances.

  She’s Sick

  She’s been sick for the last two weeks. A cough that she tried to dismiss, but I started to have my concerns about. I was thinking pneumonia, and she was thinking just a cold. I told her as a precaution she should grab some antibiotics from the infirmary. She said they were bone-dry at the moment. I thought of trying the black market. However, down here antibiotics are gold, and we have nothing at all to barter with. I started planning on going above ground to perhaps steal a few things for which we could trade. One of the soldiers I had become friends with said he could let me follow him up on their next reconnaissance mission. He said he could get me a weapon and possibly point out a place to hit. After that, he said I would be on my own. What the fuck would that do? I’ve never shot a gun before, could never even get myself back to start in a corn maze, and in all probability, the only feat I would accomplish would be to leave my child fatherless.

  I just want to hit rewind. I’d even back it up fourteen days when she was asking me what I thought of the names Michael and Jacob. She looked so radiant and alive when she said that. Motherhood I’m starting to realize begins well before the delivery. I’m fucking worried, though. I’ve seen this plenty of times before. I’ve seen death sentences handed down for the stupidest of fucking things. I’ve seen sepsis from scratches, raging fevers from body lice, and anaphylactic shocks from ant bites. Fuck, I can’t believe any of this. I just want to yell up I quit, you win.

  Panic and Dread

  As had been the case for the last five days, I got permission to work only a half shift at the excavation site. As had been the case for the last five days, I skipped the lunchtime food line and went straight to the infirmary. My hunger had already been fed by panic and dread. She was on the makeshift cot by the wall. I switched places with the nurse who was sitting by the head of her bed. She patted me on the shoulder and nodded over to a table where a bowl of water and cloth rag lay. A blanket was pulled up to her neck. She was asleep, and in the middle of her body, the blanket was slowly rising and falling with every labored breath she took. I put my palm on her forehead. It felt like I had just set it down on the hood of a running car. Then I reached for the cloth rag, dipped it in, squeezed it out, and placed it on her forehead. She opened her eyes like it was a kiss from Snow White’s prince.

  “Hey,” she said in a strained and whispered voice.

  “Hey,” I replied.

  “I’ve been missing you.”

  “Me too. How are you feeling today?”

  “I’m okay,” she said, and afterward tried hard to stretch her face into that infectious smile she always gave.

  “That’s great,” I replied, trying hard myself to give her back a smile of my own.

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “When you come back after school today, can you grab my geometry book from our locker?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Thanks, I think we have a test tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for reminding me,” I said.

  “You know what I was thinking about before you came?”

  “No, what?”

  “The rocket ship we ended up in last Saturday night.”

  “Yeah, that was pretty cool.”

  “It was more than pretty cool. It was our first time, and I’ll remember the way you loved me my entire life.”

  She just had time to finish that last sentence before she went into a coughing fit. I lifted her up and laid her head on my shoulder. When it finally stopped, I set her back down. And at the corner of her lip, I could see that a small trickle of blood had started to run down her chin. It looked so bright and full of life, sort of like a melted rose petal. I wiped it away with the sleeve of my U of I sweatshirt, and now it was colored white, orange, blue and red.

  “You should probably close your eyes and get some rest.”

  “You’re right. I feel so tired. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  “Just a cold,” I said, “you’ll be back at school in no time.”

  She closed her eyes, and I had just started to dip the cloth rag back into the water when she opened them again.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.”

  “What?”

  “I wrote you another love letter.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s not here, though. It’s in our secret hiding place. I’ll give it to you when you come back over after school.”

  “Okay, I can’t wait.”

  And then just like a switch had been thrown, she was back in the same state I had found her when I walked in. I was glad for that. I didn’t want her to see all my tears falling out. It was actually the first time I had cried since all of this shit had happened. I don’t think I held back because I didn’t want to seem weak. I think it was more because I was just so fucking angry at all of this. Now though, it was easy to break down. Finally, I had come to understand that I was near to losing a love that could never be replaced. And like she had already known, it didn’t matter where that love was. As long as we had each other, that place was always the best place.

  Float On

  I took her home from the infirmary after they said there was nothing more they could do for her. They said maybe another twenty-four hours. I told them they didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. I said what a fucking waste of a space that only knows how to care for the dead. I lifted her into my arms and told them in a few days she’s going to be walking back in here on her own two feet.

  I screamed at everyone in our quarters when I returned with her. I told them to give me all their blankets so she could have somewhere soft to land. She was fading by then, like Christmas tree lights with a loose connection. Sometimes she would be off and sometimes on. The last thing she said, she said, “Don’t be sad. You know I loved you here and I’ll love you again. Our love, it just repeats no matter where.” Those are the shittiest final words to leave someone with. No one should give those lines on their way out. I sure the fuck wouldn’t. I would be more goddamn considerate. I would have said and half-plagiarized, “I guess I’m going to float on now. I sure hope you understand.”
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br />   The old man was there beside me. He had that leather mitt of a hand up to his face. A thumb in one eye and his index finger in the other. Neither were large enough to plug those water holes. Sometimes they dripped. Sometimes they ran like a full-open tap. When she drew in that last breath, a part of me wanted to hold him for his loss. The other part, which I let stand, just asked if he minded leaving us alone because after all, I knew her a lot fucking longer than you.

  Her head was in my lap when she died. I fell on top of her like someone had just blown a hole in my back with a shotgun. My tears were wetting her face when I realized that I was mourning for one when it should really be for two. I immediately slipped my hand under her sweater and placed it on her belly. It then dawned on me that he was probably still alive. It wasn’t possible that the child inside dies at the same time the mother expires. There must be a few minutes of lag time so I decided to say just a few words.

  I told him I was so fucking sorry for all of this. I said I wish there was just some way I could get you out of there. But right now, I feel like I’m standing over a well and you’ve fallen two hundred feet down. Listen, anyway, the situation isn’t as desperate as I’m making it out to be. Your mother is only a few moments away. She’s going to reach down with arms longer than mine and rescue you. And let me just tell you, don’t shed a tear for this place because there’s nowhere else you would want to be than where she’s taking you. And there’s no one else you would want to be with other than your mother. She’s got a love greater than the universe. She’s got hearts to place yours and her initials in. She’s got this way of making you feel that even sometimes sadness can be a friend. Oh, and just one last thing. When in bed she tucks you in, you’ll still be lying awake for another hour because once again, it’ll be the best day you’ve ever had. I love you. Tell her I love her too.

  Love Letters Make Me Want to Die

  Two men came for her body yesterday. They were from the group that we call the Lime Line. It’s a group that buries the dead in an extended tunnel that’s on the far northwest side of the sector. A priest was waiting when I arrived there. He said a few lines to me and then to them. I wasn’t really listening. To me, it was just all background noise. They’ll go where they’re going and not because they had been blessed. I had already condemned all religions after the invasion had hit.