by Stevie Kopas
I almost drop Mr. Quigley on my way out the window. It’s really dark out here and even though it will only be for a second, I don’t like to be outside without Mommy. When she drops from the window, she takes my hand and we go down the street away from all the sick people. I’m glad Mommy can see because I can’t. She must be feeling better from where she got shot because we’re moving a lot faster now. I can see really bright lights up ahead and I wonder if that’s the evacuation zone. We’re still really far away, but I’m starting to feel better.
The street we’re on now is really wide and all the cars have been pushed off to the sides. There are a lot of sleeping people in the road and Mommy helps me so I don’t trip over them. It’s too dark to tell if they are sick or if they are like me. We’re closer to the bright lights now and I can see the tall fences and really big blocks surrounding the evacuation zone.
All of a sudden I hear somebody yell something and Mommy stops walking. She squeezes my hand really tight and then somebody fires a gun from near the lights. Mommy makes a sound like pain and falls. She pulls me to the ground with her and I scream. We crawl away behind a car really fast to hide. There’s lots of smelly black stuff coming from where they shot her. They don’t know she’s not like the other sick people. They don’t know she’s my Mommy.
I hear the other sick people yelling in the distance, back from near the store we left. I also hear men shouting from near the evacuation zone. Mommy is starting to make the crazy noises again.
“Mommy, it’s going to be okay. We just need to tell Dr. Miller we’re here.”
She tries to stop me, but I peek out from behind the car. I see four people dressed all in black running toward us with really big guns. One of them points a gun at me, but I’m able to get back behind the car when he shoots. This makes me scream and I’m crying again. I don’t know why they want to hurt me. I hear one of the men tell the others to stop.
“Are you infected?” a man yells out.
“Please don’t hurt us!” I beg the man.
“Is that a child?” one of the men asks.
I peek my head out again and I see them all looking in my direction. They are wearing masks on their faces and I think those masks can help them see like Mommy’s shiny eyes because one of them points at me.
“Little girl, are you hurt?” The man asks.
“No, but my Mommy is. We are going to see Dr. Miller. He worked with my Daddy.”
One of the men says something into a radio, while another points his gun down the wide street. He can hear the sick people screaming and getting closer.
“What’s your name, honey?” the man with the radio asks.
“Rosie,” I tell him.
“And your Mommy?”
I look at Mommy, her shiny eyes are scared. She squeezes my wrist. She doesn’t want me to say anything else, but I know Dr. Miller can help her.
“My Mommy’s name is Anna.”
The man repeats our names into the radio and the sick people’s screams are getting louder. I hope the men let us in before the sick people get here.
“Confirmed,” the man with the radio says. “It’s Dr. Lockhart’s wife and daughter. Bring them in.”
Two of the men closest to me move really fast and it’s scary. I try to get away but one of the men picks me up and starts to run toward the evacuation zone. I thought that would make Mommy angry, but I don’t hear her.
“There’s no one else here,” one of them men shouts.
When I look under the car I see Mommy’s shiny eyes. She’s hiding.
“Mommy!” I scream for her and I see so many sick people running up the wide street.
The man with the radio tries to shoot them, but there are too many. He yells for the man next to him to retreat, but they’re too slow and the sick people jump on them before they can get away. I keep screaming for Mommy and punching the man carrying me. A sick person comes out of nowhere and knocks us over. I fly out of the man’s arms, and me and Mr. Quigley hit the ground really hard. I turn around and see Mommy running to me. When I look back at the man who carried me, the sick person is eating his neck and he’s choking. There are more men coming from the evacuation zone and there is a lot of gunfire. It’s so loud I can’t hear anyone screaming anymore.
Mommy helps me off the floor and points at the evacuation zone. I pull her, but she shakes her head and pushes me.
“I’m not leaving you!” I scream at her.
She squeezes my hand and nods. I hug her so tight, I never want to let go. She might be different now, but she’s still my Mommy.
One of the other men from the evacuation zone is yelling and grabs me from Mommy’s arms. He puts his gun up to her head and Mommy closes her shiny eyes. I scream, but he doesn’t listen. He makes the back of Mommy’s head explode. I don’t know who’s screaming louder — all the sick people or me.
I can’t stop crying and I can’t stop looking at Mommy laying there in the street. I know she isn’t sleeping. I know that nobody has been sleeping this whole time now.
The man who shot my Mommy trips and almost drops me, and this makes Mr. Quigley fall out of my hand.
I scream for my best friend in the whole world. “Please get Mr. Quigley!” I beg them, but the men following behind us step on him and act like they don’t even care.
The bright lights of the evacuation zone hurt my eyes and just before the men behind us are about to close the big heavy door, I see the big crowd of sick people get set on fire. I won’t stop screaming. The man hands me over to somebody scary in plastic yellow clothes. I can’t see their face. I’m so scared. Even when he speaks and I realize it’s Dr. Miller, he doesn’t ask me where my Daddy is or tell me a silly joke. The man who carried me is staring at me like he doesn’t even care that he just shot my Mommy.
I don’t even have Mr. Quigley to make me feel safe anymore. I’m glad he burned in the fire, though. I don’t like to think of him alone out there with all the sick people. He would be too scared without me.
***
A lady in yellow plastic clothes checks my body all over for bites and then washes me in a weird plastic tub. She puts me in a room and tells me to wait for Dr. Miller. I’m so scared and I’m so sad, but I stop crying because I know that’s not what brave girls do.
I hear Dr. Miller talking to some man with an accent outside the room they put me in. I sit up on the metal bed. It’s not comfy and it’s cold in here. All I want in the whole world is to have Mommy and Mr. Quigley back.
Dr. Miller comes into the room and he’s in his regular clothes again. His hair is big and messy and his glasses are crooked on his face.
“Hi, Rosie.” He smiles, but it looks sad, and he doesn’t tell me any silly jokes when he sees me this time either.
“Hello, Dr. Miller.”
He sits down in front of me in a metal chair and places a big metal suitcase next to me on the uncomfortable bed.
“You’ve had quite a journey these last couple of days, haven’t you?” He opens the suitcase and I see a bunch of tubes and needles inside.
“What’s that for?”
He smiles at me again, but he doesn’t answer my question. That makes me angry.
“Why don’t you tell me about how you got here?”
I think about Mommy dying again and I want to cry, but I decide not to. I decide to tell Dr. Miller about coming here instead.
“Mommy took me here from the house. We had to walk so it took us a long time.”
“What happened to Anna?”
“The man in black shot her.”
Dr. Miller’s eyes look sad. “Why did he shoot her?”
“Because she was sick. I thought she was going to come inside with me to see you. I thought you were going to help her get better.”
I can’t help but cry now and Dr. Miller looks confused. He says he’s sorry, but I don’t think he really is because he’s paying more attention to the needles and tubes than me.
“I lost Mr. Quigley, too. The
other men in black stepped on him and crushed him, then the fire outside the door came and he was gone.”
“Who’s Mr. Quigley?” Dr. Miller makes a funny face.
“My stuffed cat. He was my best friend.”
Dr. Miller laughs and I don’t think it’s funny. I don’t know why he’s being so mean.
“I will see to it that you get another Mr. Quigley, young lady.”
It makes me really angry that he thinks he can get me another Mr. Quigley. Does he think he can get me another Mommy, too? Dr. Miller has never been mean to me like this before. He tries to take my arm, but I pull it away from him and almost fall off the metal bed.
“Please don’t be scared, Rosie.”
“I don’t like needles. And I’m hungry. They took my candy bars.”
He looks down at the long needle in his hand and nods. He sets it down back in the metal suitcase and places his hand on mine.
“I need you to be a big girl for me right now, Rosie. I’m going to ask you a few questions that are very, very important. Can you answer some questions for me? And then I promise, I will get you all the candy bars you want.”
“Are we playing a game?”
Dr. Miller nods. “Yes, and if you win, you can have whatever snack you’d like.”
“But what if I lose?”
He laughs at me again. I wish he would stop doing that.
“Even if you lose, I’m sure I can find a candy bar somewhere.”
I always win all of the games. I don’t think Dr. Miller knows that.
“Did you see your Daddy before your Mommy took you to come see me?”
“Yeah, he came home. He was gone for a few days. I was really excited to see him.”
“Good. He sure did miss you when he was stuck at work, Rosie. Now, do you remember your Daddy bringing anything home for you and Mommy?”
I nod. “The shots.”
“Those were very important shots, Rosie. Your Daddy made something very special called a vaccine. He took the vaccine from our lab, Rosie. He wasn’t supposed to do that, but he did it anyway.”
Is Dr. Miller saying my Daddy is a thief? If it wasn’t for those shots, Mommy would have been just like the other sick people and I would have been eaten. Daddy saved us.
“Rosie, did your Daddy give these shots to you and your Mommy?”
I don’t answer him right away because I feel like Dr. Miller is talking to me like Miss Jill does at school when we misbehave in her class. He’s making me feel bad and I don’t like it.
“When Daddy came home, he was sick. How did he get sick?”
Dr. Miller looks at the floor like he doesn’t want to answer me. When he looks back up, his face is different and he doesn’t look funny anymore. He looks old and mean.
“Rosie, honey, your Daddy stole those vaccines from our lab. The lab was safe, so when he left, he put himself at risk. If Daddy didn’t steal the shots and go home to you, he would still be alive.”
I start feeling angry inside. Daddy was only trying to protect us.
“Remember the game, sweetheart. I’m going to ask you again. Did Daddy give you and your Mommy a shot?”
I almost want to cry, but I don’t. I think about his stupid game. I don’t want to play anymore and he’s not very good at it. I want my Mommy back, but his men shot her. I want Mr. Quigley back, but Dr. Miller thinks it’s funny that Mr. Quigley is gone. I want him to stop blaming my Daddy for doing something wrong when all he wanted to do was help me and Mommy.
“Rosie, answer my question.” His voice sounds angry.
I think about this one time that Daddy caught me cheating in a game. He told me “cheaters never prosper, Rosie,” but Daddy is dead and I don’t even know what that means.
I decide to answer Dr. Miller’s question. “No.”
Dr. Miller’s eyebrows move and it makes a lot of lines in his forehead. “What do you mean, no?”
“He didn’t give us any shots. I told you, I don’t like needles. My Daddy knew that.”
Dr. Miller’s face is getting red. I have to pinch my leg to keep from laughing because he looks funny again. He definitely doesn’t know how to play this game right, because I’m not telling him what he wants to hear, and it looks like I’m winning.
“Rosie, let me make myself very clear. That vaccine is the only thing that’s going to save the human race. If your Daddy didn’t give you the shots, where are they?”
“Mr. Quigley has them.”
I know I’m not supposed to lie, but Dr. Miller is being mean and I want him to lose the game. I don’t care about his stupid vaccine. Daddy gave the shot to me, not him. If Daddy made the vaccine, how could he have stolen it? It was already his. Dr. Miller is just jealous and wants to take the vaccine out of my blood with his stupid needles. He laughed at Mr. Quigley earlier, I bet he wishes Mr. Quigley were inside with us now.
Dr. Miller hits the metal suitcase with his fist and it goes flying across the room. I have to cover my ears because he’s screaming bad words and yelling at me. This is better than when he tells me stupid jokes. At least I don’t have to pretend to laugh now.
The lady with the plastic clothes comes back in and she and Dr. Miller start yelling at each other. She makes him leave the room and I pretend to cry so she doesn’t know I was laughing at him. She hugs me and leaves for a couple minutes. When she comes back, she has some ice cream and a cold soda. Cold soda is much better than warm soda.
“I’m sorry for what happened with Dr. Miller,” she says to me. She’s really nice. Earlier I thought she was mean, but she’s okay now.
“What’s your name?” I ask her.
“Dr. Blanco. But you can call me Dr. B.” She smiles and she’s pretty. Not as pretty as Mommy used to be, but I like her. “We’re going to be leaving soon, Rosie. Would you like to go with me?”
“Where are we going?”
“Someplace far away and very, very safe. That’s why this is called an evacuation zone. It’s just temporary until someone comes to take us someplace better. They’ll be here soon and my team is going to be leaving first.”
“Is Dr. Miller coming with us?”
Dr. B smiles again. “No, honey, not right now.”
“Okay.”
I take her hand and follow her out of the room. The hallways are bright and clean and smell nice. I see the men in black with the big guns down one of the halls. Dr. Miller is screaming at them. He’s using big words and keeps saying “find that effing cat.”
That makes me giggle.
Dr. B asks me what’s so funny, but I tell her it’s a secret. Maybe one day we can play a different game and I’ll tell her.
Trevor
A note from the author:
While the following story of Trevor is laced with sarcasm and dark humor, I felt that it was important for me to address a few things.
Suicidal and homicidal thoughts are not funny; they’re real issues that should be taken seriously, and this story in no way makes light of either of those subjects.
This is a work of fiction, and just like Trevor and his journal, writing fiction is an important way that authors are able to vent their frustrations with the world or deal with personal issues in their own way. I hope you enjoy the story, but remember, if you or someone you know ever have thoughts of hurting yourself or others, please reach out to someone. You’re not alone. There is always someone out there who will listen, there’s always someone who will care — even if you don’t think so.
The number for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline in the United States is 1 (800) 273 – 8255.
It’s also important to remember that while it’s fun to think about zombies, we are all, in fact, human beings. Real, flawed, human beings. So remember that the next time you interact with a stranger, you never know what they’re going through, and your actions have the capability of making or breaking a person.
Thanks,
Stevie
It’s funny how when life isn’t going your way y
ou can feel so small and insignificant.
Your problems carry the weight of the entire world and rest upon your chest like a boulder, holding you down and slowly stealing the breath from your lungs, at the mercy of your very own personal catastrophic train of thought.
That’s how most of the world must have felt the day they woke up and found out that the dead came back to life. Me on the other hand… well, I was just pissed off that I’d woken up at all.
I was up to my ears in student loan debt, my car had recently been repossessed, I had three days to vacate my apartment, and my girlfriend had just run off with my so-called best buddy. The only thing I still had going for me was the fact that I was still employed, but was my job really worth my sanity?
Day in and day out I joined the rat race. Wake up, go to work, come home, go to sleep. It was a lackluster routine that screamed “Somebody put me out of my misery!” What made it even worse was that I spent more time at work than I did at home, but I suppose most of us did that anyway, didn’t we?
Work. Ha. What a joke. Work was the place where I made just enough to live paycheck to paycheck. It was where I made just enough to keep me from blowing my head off at the end of a long day in which I’d been subjected to customers publically berating me and cutting me down; and I did it all with a smile plastered across my face. I had no choice. Customers were even more of a joke than the job itself.
The self-entitlement of the average American consumer was outrageous and created delusions of grandeur for these people. They were on the right side of the counter, not me. They had the right to an opinion of me and my company, not me. They were the customer, and the dated phrase ‘the customer is always right’ somehow held up strong in this day and age. No, the customer is not always right, but if I wanted to keep my job I had to force myself to swallow the bitter pill and thank them for the shit storm of insults that they’d shove down my throat on a daily basis.