The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™
Page 6
We weren’t sick in ways that would kill us, but because of the awful
things that we had seen. Yet difficult as it seemed, he insisted that
each of us should try to count our blessings .
PALLBEARER, by Robert Reed | 48
The garage had no blessings . There weren’t any toys and the only
gas can was empty, and even before the world ended the car wasn’t
worth much . Dust lay thick on its windshield, and I spent most of
a minute writing the words I knew into the gray grime . I wrote my
name and “dog” and “cat” and I don’t remember what else . Then
Dad came out the house, looking back at me .
“Wait there,” he said . “Don’t go inside .”
I’d seen bodies before . They didn’t scare me .
But Dad was worried about something . He walked up the drive-
way, aiming for Mom, and he started to talk and she looked at the
house as he said something else, and then she was shaking her head .
“It’s not our business,” she said . “Don’t .”
That’s when I slipped through the side door .
The lady was in her thirties, and she used to be pretty . I found
her sitting in the middle of the dining room . She was naked . Walls
of cardboard boxes were stacked on three sides of her, each box cut
open so that she could reach inside whenever she wanted . Empty
cans of applesauce and spaghetti and condensed tomato soup and
plastic water bottles covered the rest of the filthy floor. She sat with
her naked body propped up, soft ropes around her chest and rubber
handles dangling from the ceiling . Her chair belonged in a living
room, except somebody had used a chainsaw to cut through the
cushion . The hole was nearly too big for her scrawny bottom . Later,
thinking about the situation, I realized that somebody must have cut
a matching hole through the floor, leaving it so that the lady could go
to the bathroom whenever it was necessary . Food and water in easy
reach, and she could have lived for years eating from that stockpile .
I whispered, “Hello .”
Her face was jumping, but her eyes were steady . She could see
me well enough to react, though her words didn’t make sense . Her
ingenious, desperate system had worked until she was too weak to
unseal the cans and bottles . Openers and barely punctured cans lay
at her feet . There wasn’t any strength in the emaciated legs . Her
stick-like arms were covered with sores and red blotches . Months
had passed since I had seen somebody living with the Shakes . It
PALLBEARER, by Robert Reed | 49
amazed me that she had survived this long . But some people pos-
sessed a natural immunity . It wouldn’t save them, but it was enough
to make life into something worse than dying .
With all of the dignity she could muster, that naked starving and
helpless woman sat on her makeshift toilet and looked at me and
said nonsense . Then her eyes moved, and she stopped talking .
A hand dropped on my shoulder .
I waited for my name to be said . I waited to be in trouble . But
my father knelt and looked only at me . Then with a careful solemn
voice, he said, “Go outside, Noah . Go now, and I’ll be right behind
you .”
My first thought was that Dad was going to open up some cans
and bottles, giving the lady a feast before we moved on .
Then I saw the pistol tucked into the back of his pants .
I hesitated .
Again Dad looked at me . This time he said, “Go,” with God’s
own authority, and I went outside as ordered . I didn’t want to run . I
told myself just to walk . But I was suddenly in the bright sunshine,
my legs churning, and the shot came and was gone and I barely
heard it .
Mom called my name, but she didn’t try to stop me .
I ran past her, sobbing and making my own nonsensical sounds .
* * * *
On the brink of giddy, the old woman says, “Oh, my . Winter?
Well then, we did it, didn’t we? Winter came . We saved the world .”
Few people pay attention . A few notice her voice and maybe listen
to the words. But everybody is talking. Everybody wants to find the
fun in something new and unexpected . Just slightly, the noise inside
the big room dips, and then Grandma is finished and blank-faced
again . Maybe she didn’t speak . I thought I heard everything, but
I’m not sure what I heard. There might be a thousand fine reasons to
ignore whatever leaks out of that lady . And that’s my intention, right
up until I glance at May .
PALLBEARER, by Robert Reed | 50
She and her father are trading looks . Less than comfortable,
there’s this weird long moment where bolts of electricity seem to be
flying between them.
And then together, at the same moment, they laugh .
Nothing could be funnier, their cackling says . May lowers her
pad and pen, patting her grandmother on the back while casually
studying the other faces in the room . Settling on the person most
puzzled by this outburst, May uses a smile that couldn’t feel any
sharper . “Grandma has troubles,” she mentions .
I nod amiably, seeing no reason to disagree .
“Gets confused,” she adds .
“It’s all right,” I say .
But that doesn’t satisfy her. She needs to touch me. Her fingers
curl around my elbow, and her face is close enough that I can smell
dried meat on her breath . “The poor thing tells the most amazing
stories,” says May, her voice quiet, just short of a whisper .
“I can believe it,” I answer .
“Don’t make anything out of her noise,” her father suggests, of-
fering up a nod and wink . “She doesn’t even know where she is .”
Maybe not, but the woman in question giggles again—that same
odd girly giggle—and once more her eyes regain their depth and
clarity . She turns and looks at us, engaged enough with the conver-
sation to open her mouth, the beginnings of some new statement
emerging .
May cuts her off .
Nothing about the act is rude, but the girl is determined . “I’m
sure your tired, Grandma . Wouldn’t you like to lie down? A little
nap, yes?”
Grandma blinks, struggling with the abrupt shift in topics .
Her son turns to the mayor, his voice louder than necessary . “My
mother needs to lie down . Do you have any guest quarters, a spare
bed…?”
“We don’t have guests,” the mayor confesses . “And the beds are
all upstairs .” But after giving the situation careful study, he charitably
PALLBEARER, by Robert Reed | 51
adds, “There’s a comfortable couch in the next room . With the door
closed, I think your mother could relax .”
That’s good enough for this suddenly devoted son . “Come on,
Mom . Let me help you .”
He and the old lady follow the mayor out of sight .
I watch May, and she smiles . But when I pretend to look else-
where, her face stiffens and the smile turns into something harder .
Old Man Ferris is talking about winters past and current . Butcher
Ja
ck is beside him, but he throws me a questioning look .
I ask May, “What are you writing?”
She lifts the notepad, apparently surprised to find it in her hand.
“Oh, I just like to write .” But is that enough of an answer? Maybe
not, which is why she closes the pad and slides it back into the tight
pocket . “When we started out, I thought it would be nice to keep
a record. A journal. Maybe I could even finish a book about our
travels someday .”
“A book?” I ask doubtfully .
Jack has drifted closer . “Of course a book,” he tells me . “Don’t
you think someday, somewhere, there’s going to be enough people
to make it worth printing new books?”
May nods enthusiastically . “That’s going to happen sooner than
you might guess .”
Jack watches me .
I move my gaze from him to May and back again, saying nothing .
Silence bothers the girl . She pretends otherwise, but I get the
strong sense that she feels nervous, intensely aware about this room
full of strangers . The mayor emerges from the adjoining room, but
May’s father remains behind . “I want to go check on my grand-
mother,” she announces . I don’t get an invitation to join her, which
pricks me somehow . She tries not to look like a person in a hurry, but
that’s exactly what she is, slipping between other people and past the
grinning mayor, entering a room that she doesn’t know and making
sure that the door is latched behind her .
I stare at the door while trying to make sense of my thoughts .
“You know what’s really odd?” Jack asks .
PALLBEARER, by Robert Reed | 52
“The old lady’s babbling .”
“Not in her state, it isn’t,” he says . Then he gets beside me, say-
ing, “She could talk about aliens and horned dragons, and really,
who would care?”
“The girl’s reactions were peculiar,” I mention . “And her dad’s
too .”
My old friend takes a deep breath .
“What else?” I ask .
“Do you see Winston anywhere?”
A man of his proportions would be obvious, but looking across
the sun-washed room, I don’t see him .
“The old lady was talking her nonsense,” Jack says . “You know,
about saving winter, saving the world? And that’s when I happened
to look at her grandson .”
“So?”
“You should have seen his face,” says Jack. “Bonfires don’t get
half as red as those cheeks of his .”
“I don’t see him now,” I say .
“Red-faced,” Jack repeats . “Then all at once, the kid turned and
practically ran outdoors .”
* * * *
Our history teacher wanted to show us more of the old news re-
cordings—dispatches from the ends of the earth, tearful accounts
of American hospitals being filled with the sick and dying. But too
many kids went home crying after that first day. Too many of us
didn’t sleep that night . So on the second day, the new mayor and
my mother and several other important bodies sat in the back of the
class, watching with us while shaking bodies and military convoys
filled the television screen. I didn’t remember any of this from my
own life. When the Shakes began, my father filled our van with food
and drove us north to a lake and isolated cabin . There wasn’t any
news or Internet for us, which meant that Mom was seeing these
horrors for the first time too. When I felt sick, I looked at her. But she
just sat there . Stone has more emotion than her face showed . Then
PALLBEARER, by Robert Reed | 53
came a long story about riots, mobs trying to break into pharmacies
and gun shops, and the reporter—a smug fellow with a big cross
dangling around his neck—explained how people were hunting for
pills and bullets to kill themselves and their loved ones . “Suicide,”
he said, “has become preferable to a slow miserable death .”
I looked over my shoulder again . Mom’s face had changed . Pale
as milk, she stared at the screen with her eyes narrowed, her mouth
set but her body struggling to hold inside whatever she was feeling .
It was the rarest sensation, feeling sorry for that woman .
Another news story began. Instead of people fighting for pills,
one man was sitting in the middle of a long table, talking into a
microphone . Several old men and old women were sitting behind
another long table, listening carefully . Ignoring his own shaking
hands, pushing past his sloppy voice and the drool, he was trying to
explain his company’s role in the ongoing catastrophe .
“My people used standard methods to produce our vaccine,” he
said . “Attenuated viruses have been employed for years . Success-
fully employed, yes . Mumps and chicken pox and measles have
been conquered with these proven techniques . Our mistake was to
believe that the wild virus was genuine . Which was everyone else’s
mistake too, I should add .”
A woman at the other table held up her hand . “Where do you
think the virus came from?”
“We have evidence,” he began . Then he hesitated . Two assistants
showed him pieces of paper, and he started to read, offering long
words that might have been technical or might have been mangled
by his failing mouth . Then he stopped talking, gathering himself
with one deep breath before adding, “This bug is an ingenious mon-
ster .”
“Is it military?” the woman asked . “Maybe the Chinese built it?”
“Certainly not . That’s absurd . The Chinese are dying as fast as
the rest of us .”
“Then who is responsible?”
“Private hands,” he said mysteriously .
Nobody was happy to hear this .
PALLBEARER, by Robert Reed | 54
“Evidence,” the woman demanded . “We need hard evidence .”
“I wish I could offer some,” he confessed . “I have to assume…
what the scant evidence shows…some group with skills and a qual-
ity laboratory produced the virus and infected a few people . Those
were the original epidemics . But those events were just to get our
attention . These plotters understood that we would…that someone
had to…generate a quick cheap vaccine in response…”
A man at the end of the table began to stand, one arm clumsily
swinging at the sky as he shouted, “Prion .”
The witness quickly corrected him . “This is something else,
Senator . Something we have never seen before . Prions manipulate a
different protein . This particular agent…well, it’s a natural compo-
nent of the phage’s protein shell . It was hiding in plain sight, and we
never imagined that it would have such devastating effects on the
human nervous system .”
The room buzzed with voices .
Someone called out, “Quiet .”
Then the woman leaned forward, hands shaking . Voice shaking .
Into her little black microphone, she asked, “This is a great con-
spiracy . Is that your explanation?”
“Yes, Senator .”
“And your com
pany is blameless .
The dying man hesitated . Then his face dropped as he admitted,
“I’m not sure how to answer that, madam .”
More voices, more pleas for silence .
“This was a crash program,” he continued . “We hired consul-
tants, experts from around the world…and it is possible that some
of those people were part of a secret group…”
I looked over my shoulder again . The coldest woman in the world
was weeping, moping up tears with a handkerchief cut out of one of
my father’s left-behind shirts .
“You’re blaming…” the woman began . Then her voice failed her .
An ancient man was sitting beside her . The Shakes didn’t kill
the elderly as quickly as most . Maybe that’s why he didn’t have
symptoms . His voice was level, his mind clear . With a rich voice, he
PALLBEARER, by Robert Reed | 55
pointed out, “Conspiracies demand goals . These people must have
had some purpose . What do you think it was?”
“I can offer nothing but guesses,” the witness replied, looking
down at his own hands . When they stopped trembling, he looked up
and said, “Power is one possibility . The survivors of this nightmare
will be left with the entire planet at their disposal . But my better
guess…what seems more reasonable and even more awful to me…
is that an environmental group might have take these steps . If they
felt that human overpopulation and pollution were putting the earth
at severe risk . If they convinced themselves that this was for the
best…”
“How many would it have taken?”
“Excuse me, Senator?”
“This shadow organization you’re describing . I want to know
how many of criminals we should be chasing today .”
“I don’t know, Senator .”
“Dozens? Hundreds?”
“Perhaps hundreds,” he said . “But keeping an enormous secret
would be difficult. A handful of likeminded individuals could prob-
ably achieve the desired results, if they were clever enough .”
“In your company, sir…”
“Yes?”
“Who didn’t receive the vaccine?”
An assistant leaned close, whispering a few words .
The advice was waved off . “No, I want to answer this .” The wit-
ness leaned close to his own microphone . “I’ve asked myself that
same question, sir . I have . But my company has almost vanished .