by Kadin, Karri
Allison opened the fridge and pulled out the milk. She then went to the cabinet where she had seen chocolate powder earlier in the day. She combined the milk and chocolate powder in a glass, then sat down at the kitchen table. Her mother had made her chocolate milk when she came home crying during third grade because the boy she liked had told her he didn’t like her back. Her mother made her chocolate milk the day her parents told her they were getting a divorce. Her mother made her chocolate milk the day her grandmother died. Chocolate milk was her mother’s answer to every problem, and it soothed Allison’s soul. Drinking chocolate milk made her feel loved, protected, and at peace.
Allison couldn’t stop the tears. She watched hopelessly as one fell into her chocolate milk. It didn’t matter. It was tasteless without her best friend and her family. What had happened to them in this new and horrible world? Allison pushed her milk away. It held no magic without those she loved.
Allison was numb to life. Breathing took everything she had. Flashbacks took over her waking moments. Nightmares plagued her sleep. There was no escape, no relief.
Her mornings were always the same. Waking before dawn, before even the rooster would crow. Images of blood-splattered walls, a cabin in the woods, and the cries of a girl fresh in her fuzzy memory. These thoughts echoed in her mind throughout the day and night. Fresh information would come in bits and pieces but never enough to truly remember, just enough to grow the knot of guilt that was now a permanent fixture in the pit of her stomach. This memory was important. Allison clung to it.
She pushed herself to contribute to Dave and Sandra’s home; it was the least she could do for them. She helped Dave take care of the livestock and the vegetable garden. She enjoyed dropping little kernels of corn and watching the chickens go wild for it. Dave did not talk much, but she often caught him looking at her with grief-stricken eyes. He would quickly turn away once caught and then make an off-the-cuff comment about how good the tomatoes looked or how blue the sky was that day. Allison’s heart ached every time she caught Dave staring at her. She knew that her presence reminded him of his daughter’s absence.
Dave made occasional trips into town and Allison tagged along sometimes, but she never left the truck. Sandra never left the farm. She hated going into town now. Everything had changed in their little country town since the outbreak. Most familiar faces were long gone. The few that remained were full of sorrow. The central square, once full of school children every afternoon, was empty, overgrown, forgotten. The cafe on Sixth Street that had fifty-cent coffee on Tuesdays was a pile of burned rubble. The only beauty parlor in town, once full of gossip and girl time, now sat silent. Seeing the town she loved shattered broke something inside Sandra. She often wept when she spoke of it. Allison had no desire to go into a town, to be around other people, to have to act normal, like she wasn’t part of the blight on society. Dave brought news and gossip home with him after every trip. The Collectors in their all-black uniforms with automatic rifles slung over their shoulders had been through town multiple times looking for Infected or former Infected. They were becoming increasingly hostile to the town’s residents, intimidating, demanding. This was unusual, as prior to Allison’s arrival the Collectors rarely visited their town. The whole community was made nervous by this unexpected change.
“The last time they were here this often was around the time Billy disappeared. It isn’t good news, Sandy. It isn’t good.” Sandra nodded every time Dave said this and continued her chores, always avoiding the subject. Allison never asked who Billy was.
Allison helped Sandra wash clothes by hand, prepare meals, and keep the house in repair. They chatted about their families and interests. Sandra had always wanted to be on one of those amateur baking reality shows and had even applied for one on cable right before the outbreak occurred. Allison told Sandra all about her love for everything fashion.
Every morning and every night Dave walked the electric fence surrounding the property checking for weak spots, broken areas, anything that could make them vulnerable to the threats that lay on the other side. Allison had once been one of those threats. They never saw any Infected. Sandra told her the area was pretty much clear, almost infection-free. However, no one felt safe enough to remove their electric fences yet. Maybe they never would. Electric fences surrounding every home would be considered perfectly normal, even listed as a plus in real estate ads. Top-of-the-line electric fence included with every purchase of a new Timson Construction home! The thought made Allison shudder.
At night Allison flipped through the same old magazines looking at the people with their snow-white smiles, designer clothes, and botoxed faces. When she first found the magazines on a bookshelf in the living room, Sandra gasped at the sight of Allison holding one of them. The realization that these had belonged to Sandra’s daughter rushed over Allison and filled her with guilt. She quickly placed them back on the shelf, turning to walk away, when Sandra’s gentle touch stopped her.
“You can have them,” she said. “There is no reason you can’t enjoy them; someone should.”
Since then Allison had flipped through the same pages every night. She caught herself imagining that the world was still normal, still the same as she had always known it to be. But then the nightly news would come on the radio, reminding her that nothing was the same anymore. Dave always sat in his big recliner, leaning back, quietly listening to the newscaster. Allison noticed that anytime the government or Collectors were mentioned he would clench his fists or get up saying he needed a glass of water. Sandra would sit on the couch looking nervous and wringing her hands together for the entire broadcast. Allison would listen intently to everything being said, slowly piecing together the last few years.
The world was in chaos after the virus hit. Mothers attacked their own children, firemen attacked those they were sent to rescue, NFL players attacked each other on the field during a live television broadcast. The list of occurrences went on and on.
In 2050 a Dutch scientist discovered a vaccine for N87. He became an international hero overnight, but it wasn’t in time to save the millions already dead or infected. The vaccine was a success eighty percent of the time, causing newly infected rates to plummet to all-time lows. The lower numbers of Infected resulted in smaller infected areas, which meant more area for the healthy. People resumed normal-ish lives. Scientists continued to work on a cure, although it was speculated that one was impossible to make.
The radio often portrayed the Collectors as the average man’s protectors. They gathered up Infected, escorted supplies to towns in infected areas, and offered medical care to those who needed it. But to the average citizen they were friends who stabbed you in the back as soon as it was in their best interest.
One evening Dave was quieter than usual. He had been in town, but had not spoken of the visit. Allison could tell his silence was bothering Sandra. When he heard the radio host spew his admiration for the Collectors he stood from his chair. “Sandy, the damn Collectors hit Mt. Kline for supplies again. They took over half of their food supplies. It’s just getting worse.”
“Oh dear. That is awful. Did anyone get hurt?” Sandra asked.
“Not this time. Thankfully, everyone cooperated. We all know the Collectors shoot first and ask questions later.” Dave looked at his wife. “Sandy, if they ever come here we aren’t going down without a fight, ya hear? We aren’t cows at a slaughter-house,” he snarled. He turned to Allison. “And you run like hell. If they show up you don’t hesitate, you run.”
Sandra said, “Well, if it comes to that, I’m taking as many of them as I can down with me. You remember what happened to Bill. We play the long game and protect ourselves.” Sandra reached over and squeezed Allison’s hand.
“Poor Bill. God rest his soul. He was a brave man.” Dave bowed his head.
“Have you heard anything else about that rumor from a few weeks ago? The Collectors selling Infected?” Sandra asked. Allison’s stomach dropped.
“No one ha
s proof. But they say they sell them off to the highest bidder. I can’t imagine anything good happens to those poor souls.”
Allison sat and listened quietly, afraid if she spoke they would clam up and stop talking. They always stopped talking when she showed an interest in the gritty details of the dark activities that occurred in his new world. Billy was still a mystery to Allison. She never had the courage to ask about him.
“I’m sure it’s true,” Sandra said as she flipped a page in her Betty Crocker cookbook. “I bet Dr. Neff has something to do with it. Ever since the CDC assigned him here, he’s been nothing but trouble.”
“That man is an evil liar!” Dave shouted as he stood up and trudged back to his and Sandra’s bedroom. Sandra watched Dave walk down the hall and waited until the door closed before she looked at Allison. “I know you’ve been listening to us over there just like you do most nights. Dave wants to spare you the details, but if you want to ask me something, here’s your chance.”
“Who is Billy?” Allison asked. Sandra sighed and closed her book.
“I thought you’d ask about him. When Dr. Neff first started demanding mandatory health checks, people weren’t too keen on the idea. Some even skipped the appointments altogether. Those who missed their appointments, Collectors would show up at their doors and take them away. Some did not return.” Sandra closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Billy questioned Dr. Neff about a family we knew that was taken for missing their health checks. Dr. Neff said they had become Infected and had not survived. Billy insisted he had seen the family the day before they were taken and none had shown symptoms of infection. He told everyone he could that Dr. Neff was up to no good. Billy went all around the county trying to convince people to stand up to Neff. He wanted that man gone. He even held a town hall meeting about it. Dr. Neff showed up and sat in the back just watching, surrounded by his Collectors. People got all riled up and went to whooping and hollering. Demanding Dr. Neff explain himself. Instead of confronting the crowd, the Collectors escorted him out the door and back to the medical camp. The people took this as a sign that Billy was right. More people spoke out about Dr. Neff and how something should be done.” Sandra took a sip of her tea. Allison watched the tears gather in Sandra’s eyes. “Billy arranged a secret meeting with many prominent locals to discuss forming a militia to take the medical camp and remove Dr. Neff from power.” Sandra wiped the tears away before they rolled off her cheek.
“That took some guts,” Allison said.
“When Billy didn’t show to his own meeting, some of the others went to his house to look for him. His door was unlocked, there was uneaten breakfast on the table and fresh coffee on the counter. They walked around his property and his animals had not been tended to that morning and his truck was still there by the barn. But Billy wasn’t anywhere. He never showed up again. Officially he was declared a missing person. Billy’s disappearance ended any talk about overthrowing that son of a bitch doctor.” Sandra finished her tea.
“That’s absolutely horrible. He sounds so brave. Like he was really one of the good guys. Did you know him well?” Allison asked as she moved near Sandra to sit at her feet. Allison placed her hand gently on Sandra’s.
“Yeah, I did. He was my brother.” Sandra grasped Allison’s hand and let the tears flow.
Chapter Seven
Dr. Neff
The former Infected boy lay quietly on the exam table with his eyes closed. His little body battered, bruised, and tired from too much blood loss. Tubing carrying his blood extended from him into a dialysis machine before exiting into tubing on the other side. The line of tubing disappeared behind a curtain. Dr. Neff stood by the boy, watching the instruments that tracked the boy’s vitals. They weren’t looking good.
“That’s enough for today. Take him back to his room. No other tests are to be conducted on him until further notice. Make sure we give him the post-donation meal and supplements,” Dr. Neff said.
Dr. Samuel came out from behind the curtain and pulled it aside to reveal Christopher in his electrified cage, curled in a ball, fast asleep. Dr. Samuel turned the power off on the cage and opened the door, leaving it only slightly ajar. He expertly removed the IV and tubing from Christopher’s arm before securing the door and turning the power on once again.
“How is my perfect patient?” Dr. Neff asked.
“He is doing well. No reaction to the blood this time. Maybe this is the—” A scream erupted into the air, cutting off the man as he spoke.
Christopher’s body heaved in the cage as he convulsed, white foam spewed from his mouth, and his hairline was damp from the sweat forming across his brow. The cage rattled and buzzed as his body made contact with its sides. His eyes sprung open as his body stilled. He rolled to his side and vomited a black ooze that leaked onto the clinic floor. His eyes fluttered shut as his body went limp. Dr. Samuel ran to the cage and injected a sedative into Christopher’s arm before opening the cage back up again and examining him. Dr. Neff paced, his eyes locked onto his son.
“His blood pressure is a little low. He’s tachycardic almost to the speed it’s at when he is in predator mode. He has a fever.” Dr. Samuel pressed a cool rag to Christopher’s head.
“Something isn’t right. There is a capability factor we are missing. This former Infected won’t work as a donor for Christopher, but I have other uses for him. Have him taken back to his room. I will stay with my son,” Dr. Neff said as he kneeled down next to Christopher’s open cage door.
Dr. Samuel patted Neff’s shoulder before wheeling the boy, still strapped to the table, out of the room. Dr. Neff filled a bag with ice from a cooler near the cage and rested it across his son’s forehead as he tenderly brushed his hair behind his ears. He leaned down and pressed his lips to his son’s forehead, and the boy stirred. Dr. Neff administered another dose of sedative and the boy’s body stilled once more. He left the ice pack on Christopher’s head as he shut the cage door and turned the electrical current back on before he walked out of the room.
Dr. Neff stood in the woods leaning against a black van flanked by Collectors with matching buzz cuts. He glanced at his watch. She’s late. He walked to the back of the van and swung open the doors. Christopher lay asleep in his cage, his chestnut hair neatly combed, face scrubbed clean, dressed in Batman pajamas. Wire wrapped around each cage bar hooked to the battery beside it. Battery at 60%. That should get him there. The boy shifted in his sleep. Dr. Neff leaned forward and checked the IV attached to the boy’s arm. He took a syringe from the case nearby and injected it into the port on the IV line. Must keep you asleep, my boy.
A white van appeared on the road between the trees. It drove slowly, cautiously. It parked near the black one, and three Collectors exited. Two flanked the van, nodding greetings to the buzz cut twins. The third opened the back door, extending his hand to the occupant. Out came a woman, her brown skin, black hair beautifully complimented by her powder white blouse and olive pants. Stunning.
“Hello, Nick,” she said pushing her curls from her face before walking to the rear of the black van.
“Hello, Natasha. It’s good to see you,” he said. She nodded.
“How did Christopher handle the trip?” she asked.
“Everything went smoothly. I just gave him another dose of sedative so he should be good until you make it home.” Home. She was his home. Her and Christopher.
The aroma of her perfume filled his nostrils. Vanilla and lilac. She had worn the same scent since medical school. He leaned in, wanting to feel near her, to breathe her in. She took a step back.
“He looks well.” She gestured to the Collectors near her van. “Let’s move him.”
“I’m close, Natasha.” Dr. Neff turned off the battery connected to the cage.
“You always say that,” she said.
“I truly am. I have a fresh lead. I will cure him.” Her icy stare met his pleading eyes.
“I will hold on to him until you do. Your sector is not safe for him.
You have a Resistance problem,” she said. Four Collectors gathered around the boy in the cage, lifting in unison. They carried the cage to the back of the white van. Natasha followed.
“Everyone has a Resistance problem,” he said as he trailed behind watching her hips sway as she walked.
“Not like you. Pay attention. Don’t dismiss them so easily.” She held up her hand, stopping the Collector next to her from turning the battery back on. She slipped her fingers through the cage, caressing Christopher’s hair. “It’s as soft as it ever was.”
Natasha’s eyes rimmed with tears as she stroked her child’s head. She pressed her head against the bars and stared at him as he slept. She squeezed her other hand between the bars, resting it on his cheek. Tears fell from her eyes. Nick placed a hand on her lower back, pushing his body against hers. He felt her tense under his hand.
“No, Nick.” She pulled her hands from the cage and distanced herself from his touch. “No.” She walked back to the open van and climbed in before slamming the door. Her Collectors followed.
The white van drove back down the dirt road and out of sight. Dr. Neff stared down the road until the haze of dust trailing the van faded. He brought his hand to his face, smelling the hint of her perfume left on it from their brief moment of contact.
“Sir, are you ready to go?” The Collector shifted uncomfortably.
“Yes. Let’s go.” Dr. Neff climbed into the van with the buzz cut twins. He reclined in his seat and rubbed his temples, letting his eyes close. The van sped over the uneven terrain. Each bump and jolt added a stab of pain to his throbbing head. If I can cure him, she will have to forgive me. He took his wallet from his pocket and removed the picture from the worn plastic window inside the flap. A smiling Natasha as she cradles toddler Christopher close to her chest. Christopher’s mouth covered in chocolate, the last trace of the ice cream he had devoured from the vendor on the boardwalk. Natasha’s eyes gleam of happiness. Her red one-piece swimsuit hugging all the right curves. He remembered her struggle between the bikini she loved or the one-piece she felt was more age appropriate. He tried to convince her to get the blue bikini she couldn’t stop adding to the cart every time she shopped online, just to remove it later. He almost bought it for her. But she came home with the red suit before he had the chance. He frowned. That’s not true. He had time. He could have bought it, surprised her, made her feel beautiful. But he was working. He was busy. He was always busy. He had even been too busy to go on with them on their annual family vacation to the beach that year. The one thing he promised to never miss. The last family vacation he would ever have a chance to go on and he blew it. He chose his career over his family. Then the outbreak happened. He somehow managed to get busier. Home less, working more. Then Christopher got sick, and he lost everything. She left me with nothing.