by Tara Ellis
I remind myself of this, as I get ready for school. Emerging from my room, I can hear sounds in the kitchen and assume that Mom is already up. She came home last night when she had said she would, and we were already in our rooms. Turned out I didn’t need to worry about avoiding her. She pretty much went straight to her own room, stopping only long enough to tell me she would be going back to work at eight this morning. Her TV turned on, the bath water ran in her bathroom for a while, and she never came back out.
I’m pretty sure she knows I never really got sick, but for whatever reason isn’t calling me on it yet. I have a feeling that she’s waiting for something and I want to make sure I’m long gone before it happens. I don’t know if she believes Jacob. Maybe.
Sneaking into his room now, I gently shake him awake. He looks at me sleepily and then startles awake. “What’s wrong?” he gasps, looking wide-eyed at the door, like one of the aliens from his video games is about to come crashing through.
“Nothing Jake, I’m sorry if I scared you. I just want to let you know that I’m leaving for school. Chris and I decided to wait until later to go to the duck blind; we have to be careful not to get anyone suspicious. Did Mom say anything to you last night?”
Shaking his head, he lays back down, obviously relieved. “Nah. She poked her head in and stood there for a while, but I pretended to be asleep. Even made sure my breathing was really slow and stuff. She finally left. Is she gone yet?”
“No. She’s in the kitchen. But she said she has work at eight so she should be leaving in less than an hour. Will you be okay? Can you pretend to still be asleep?” I ask him, feeling now like this wasn’t such a good idea.
“I’m fine,” he says reassuringly. “I have Baxter. Will you leave him in here instead of putting him out back? Please?” Baxter raises his head at the sound of his name and looks at me challengingly, daring me to even suggest it.
“Of course he can stay in here,” I tell him, patting Baxter. He chuffs at me approvingly and then stretches, spreading out the whole width of the bed. Tucking Jacob back in, I put a finger to my lips as I back out and silently close the door.
Mom is sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of oatmeal, and watches me solemnly as I grab a bag of pop tarts and get my backpack. “See you later,” I say neutrally, opening the garage door. I don’t look back, knowing that she is still studying me. I have no desire to look into those cold, dark eyes again.
I meet Chris at our spot before class but we keep it brief. Everyone is behaving more and more like a hive mind. We don’t think they can actually read minds or anything, or else we would be in big trouble. It’s more like an ant or bee colony. They seem to have a collective conscious and any behavior outside the normal routine is sure to bring unwanted attention.
We must walk in an orderly fashion without talking or looking around, go straight to our assigned seats and take out our assigned material and begin studying. When the bell rings, everyone stands together and leaves in the same order. Everything that is done, every motion or look or gesture is with a purpose. It is all extremely efficient and sterile, without emotion or individual thought. It’s just plain creepy.
We agree to watch for any of the kids taken from the gym yesterday and then follow our plan later to look them up and find out where they live. We’ll meet after school at the end of the main hiking trail I told him about. We figure it’s best to go separately so we’re less likely to be seen together.
It doesn’t take long before I get an idea as to what happened to some of my classmates that were taken. In first period, Tim and Matt obviously weren’t Shiners yesterday. Tim is now gone, but Matt is slumped in his desk, quite sick. It’s the same in the rest of my classes too. I estimate about half of the kids from the gym are gone, so around fifty. The rest of them are here, but sick. The small list of names I had from yesterday is shrinking. Their symptoms aren’t horrible, but definitely more pronounced than Mom’s were the day after the meteor shower. It makes me wonder what was done to them. It makes me nervous.
A sense of urgency builds throughout the day and I find it really hard to sit still in my last period. Time is running out. They’ve found a way to infect those of us that were initially immune to the virus. They are turning us all into Shiners. We have to get away.
I fight back the rising panic and almost run from the building at the end of the school day. Hurrying to my truck, I lock myself inside and take long slow breaths while listening to some music. After a couple of minutes, I take out my cell phone and call home. When Jacob answers on the fourth ring, I almost cry with relief and ask him if everything is all right there, and if Mom went to work. Yes, things are fine and yes, she went to work. He sounds so relaxed that it’s tempting to believe this is all a dream, but I know better than to fall into that trap.
It only takes me ten minutes to drive out to the trailhead. The small parking lot is empty so I pick a spot and get the other backpack I had put in the backseat last night. It’s got water, snacks, and my good hiking shoes in it. Putting the shoes on, I sling the bag over my shoulder and set out at a brisk pace. It will take close to two hours to reach the blind so I’ll be getting back home barely an hour before Mom does. I have to make this fast.
A mile up the main trail, over half way to the end of it I look up at the blazing sun and notice a column of dark grey smoke off to the left. That’s odd.
While I catch my breath and take a drink of water, I wonder at what it could be. It’s too dark for wood smoke and there aren’t any houses out this way. As I watch, the column thickens and the hairs on the back of my neck start to stand up. Shifting back and forth on my feet, I debate whether to wait here for Chris or take ten minutes to go investigate.
We had agreed to meet at the end of this trail, and he was going to start out about ten minutes or so after me. We decided to leave our phones in our cars, just in case the GPS in them can be tracked. Not much of a signal out here anyway. After a slight hesitation, I step away from the path and head into the heavy woods.
The only other thing out this way is the old City Dump. It hasn’t been in use for two years, ever since they built the nice new one on the other end of town. If I’m right, it should be right over the next little rise, a couple hundred yards away.
In only a few minutes, I reach the top of a long slope, and spread out below me is a narrow, green valley. At the bottom, about a football field length away, are the remains of the dump. What should be an abandoned field surrounded by old barbed wire fencing, is instead full of activity.
Instinct tells me to stay hidden and I listen to it without hesitation. Dropping down to my stomach, I hide behind some shrubs and peak out cautiously, squinting to make sense of the scene below me.
In the middle is what looks to be a freshly dug pit, the bulldozer still idling alongside the far edge of it. The smoke I saw is rising from this hole and a gray haze has settled over the small valley.
Several pick-up trucks and a couple of long white vans are scattered around the field. I recognize them as city vehicles and I wonder if maybe they started using this site again for whatever reason. A handful of people are milling about, and it looks like there’s a bunch of garbage or bags piled up in the hole.
As I watch, two men walk up to the edge, carrying something between them. With some effort, they toss it into the pit and then walk back to one of the vans that sits idling with its back doors open.
In a minute or two, they are back again, this time with a lighter load. My brain can’t quite wrap itself around the image, and I’m struggling to understand what I’m seeing. Then, as they swing their arms back, readying to toss it in, I recognize the tie-dyed shirt that Heather had been wearing yesterday at school. I’d thought it was rather bold, because in the center of all the random color was a great big yellow smiley face and the words “because I can” written under it. That same smiley face now flashes at me as it flies through the air … as she flies through the air on her way to the bottom of the pit. Her
long brown hair flows out as her body rolls a couple of times, coming to rest up against Tim in his distinctive, bright blue and white letterman jacket.
Vomit rising in my throat, I scramble away from the edge, away from the horror going on down there. Slapping both my hands over my mouth, I’m desperate to muffle the scream that I know is about to escape. Looking around at this suddenly alien landscape, I try to figure out which way to go but in my panic, I’ve become disoriented.
Stumbling a couple of steps backwards down the slope, I happen to look to my left and catch a glimpse of Chris huddled behind some trees not more than a hundred feet away from me. He must have seen the smoke too and gone to investigate the same as me. His face is pale and he’s looking at me wild eyed, his finger raised to his mouth, the other hand gesturing urgently to me to get down.
With a tunnel vision brought on by my terror, I focus on his hand and follow its command, dropping down on all fours. Once on the ground, I lose sight of him, and stare momentarily at the leaves under my hands, my heartbeat pounding in my head, filling my world.
Then something in me snaps and I’m scrambling frantically on my hands and knees down the hill, whimpering as I go. Nearing where I left the trail, I slide sideways into a hollow and roll the rest of the way to the bottom. Curling into a ball at the base of a tree, I put my hands over my ears, trying to block out a wailing sound that surrounds me and won’t stop.
I become aware of hands gripping my arms and fight to get away, kicking and screaming. “Alex!” Chris yells, and his voice breaks through my blind panic as he wrestles with me there in the pine needles and leaves. “Alex!” he yells again, his own emotions making his voice thick but still recognizable.
I finally calm down enough to realize that the wailing is coming from me, and that I must stop. I have to stop. Reaching out frantically, I cling to Chris’s shirt and bury my face in his broad chest. His hands go to my back and he rocks me slowly, murmuring into my hair much the same way I did to Jacob that night we were told that Dad had died.
Through the haze of fear, I’m aware that we are in a dangerous situation and as much as I want to have a complete breakdown, I can’t. Not if I want to survive, not if I want my brother to survive. I will not let him end up in that pit!
That thought brings me around and I pull away from Chris, gasping at the sharp contrast of emotions raging through me. Now I’m mad. So mad I could spit, or hit something or start yelling again. Instead, I sit on my knees and look intensely at his face. I imagine mine looks similar; much older than our sixteen and seventeen years … and determined.
“They killed them, Chris,” I whisper hoarsely, my hands balling into fists. “Heather, Tim, I think I saw your friend Kevin … down there. There has to be over two hundred bodies. Why? Why would they do that? Kids from school, people from town. Because they didn’t get sick, didn’t change into Shiners? I don’t understand.”
“I know, Alex. You’re right. It’s beyond understanding. They’re gone, and we can’t help them now,” he says, gesturing back towards the dump. “But we might be able to help millions of others. If there’s a way to stop this before it spreads, we have to do everything possible.”
“We have to stop them,” I say with desperation.
“Then let’s go,” he says, pulling me to my feet.
As we stumble back out onto the trail, I struggle to regain the strength in my legs, which are threatening to turn to jelly. Chris takes my hand in his and leads the way, holding on tight. As we push ahead, I look up again at the rising smoke … the ashes of our friends.
EIGHTEEN
We walk in stunned silence until we reach the end of the marked trail. My tears have dried but anger burns hot in my chest, pushing me on. When we’re done here, I plan on making an anonymous call to 911. I don’t care what the risks are. We have to try to let people know what’s happening. I move ahead past a “No Trespassing, Private Property” sign, and briefly survey the overgrown game trails. “This way,” I say sharply, pointing to our left.
As we trudge through the long grass growing stubbornly in the gaps between the evergreens, Chris moves up alongside me. “Alex, I’ve been thinking about the numbers involved in all of this.”
I look sideways at him, not sure what he means. “What numbers?”
“The earth’s population is roughly seven billion. If your friend on that message board was right and this virus targets our DNA based on purity, then we can assume the U.S. is going to have one of the highest infection rates. It has one of the most diverse populations in the world and inner-racial births. So if we drop it down from eighty percent to seventy percent for worldwide infection, that gives us almost five billion initially infected. We’re basically ground zero though. It seems like it took about four days for it to spread to the East Coast of the States and I would think the rest of the world is one to two weeks behind them. That means we can assume the Shiners will be infecting those left and then killing anyone who’s immune everywhere else too, but we have a little time.”
The full meaning of what he’s just said slowly seeps in and I stop. Chris takes a few steps before he realizes I’m no longer beside him. Looking back at me, he must see the knowledge of his statement in my eyes because he immediately looks regretful and doubles back.
“No,” I say, putting out a hand to stop him, walking backwards into a tree. “No. You can’t be right. I’m not very good at math, but even I can figure out what half of two billion is.”
Ignoring my pleas, he steps in front of me and takes me by the shoulders. “Maybe I am wrong Alex. There could be others out there that know more than we do and are trying to stop this right now, too. We can’t count on that though. The bodies in that pit, as horrible as it is, are nothing compared to what could happen if this isn’t stopped.”
Seeing the truth in his eyes, I close my own against it. Taking a deep breath, I draw strength again from the fire burning in me and for the first time in over a year, say a silent prayer; God, please … please, if you can hear me, give me the strength I need for this. I can’t do it by myself. Please help me.
Feeling a sense of peace and resolve that defies explanation, I push away from the tree. “We need to keep moving then,” I say to Chris, confidently meeting his gaze. I see a mixture of grief, compassion and something I can’t quite define before he lets go of my arms and turns away.
Looking up at the sun that’s now making its way to the horizon, he starts off at a brisk pace, almost jogging. I do my best to keep up. Within fifteen minutes, we emerge through some foliage and find ourselves on the edge of a large marshy area, full of cattails and frogs.
“It’s not much farther,” I tell him, turning right and walking along with the shoreline on our left. There is no trail now, just the water to guide me. The familiar smell of moss and pond water surrounds us and I know we’re close.
Hopefully nothing has happened to our secret hunting spot, and my pulse quickens at the thought. Any number of things might have destroyed it, from falling trees to rising waters or vandals. Just when I’ve convinced myself that all I’ll find is wreckage, I catch sight of a distinct structure. “There it is!” I shout, excited.
Running the rest of the way, tripping over roots and scratched by vines, I finally reach the duck blind. Seeing it brings back a rush of emotions and tears start falling before I can stop them. Kneeling down in the dirt, I reach out and run my hand over the smooth boards that line the floor of the three-sided enclosure. Its partial roof barely qualifies as one, and is covered by a camouflage net that is tattered and faded, tendrils of fabric flapping in the slight breeze. The walls however are solid, its posts set deep into the soft ground.
When we would come here to hunt, there was just enough room for all three of us to sit inside, and then Dad would pull the netting down to cover the open backside, sort of like a tent. There are three small window-like openings in the front, water-facing side. We would lean our rifles through them and wait for the ducks to come in. It w
as a good spot, and Dad had been very proud of it.
Looking at it now, I begin to scrutinize it in a different way. I hadn’t given much thought as to where something might be hidden. I find myself anxious again at the realization that we might not find it. I look around at the lowering sun and start urgently running my hands over the boards of the floor.
“The last hieroglyph was burial,” Chris says, kneeling down beside me. “Do you think it might be under the floor? Maybe we should start pulling up the boards.”
I’m about to agree with him when I reach the far left corner and my fingers encounter something different in the wood. Leaning my face down closer, I squint to see in the murky light. “Do you have a flashlight?” I ask Chris, “I forgot to bring one.”
Digging around in his backpack, he comes up with one and hands it to me. Shining it in the corner, my heart races again, but this time in excitement. Etched clearly, deeply into the floorboard is the picture of the vulture. I turn to look at Chris, and he already has a large screwdriver in his hand. I move aside and he quickly wedges it under the edge of the plank and pries it up. The wood protests only briefly and gives way with a loud pop. Chris crawls back and I shine the flashlight into the space that was under it.
“There’s something there! Hurry Chris, pull off another plank.” I slide over again as he pulls off the next board, and then another one. Underneath is a large space nearly filled by a big burlap sack, over a foot in diameter.
Reaching down, I try to lift it up and find that I can’t. It’s too heavy. I let Chris take a shot at it and with some effort, he works it out of the tight space and up onto the floor.
Sitting there, we look at each other, the bag between us. So much depends on what’s inside. Now that the time is here I’m afraid of finding out that there’s nothing we can do about the infection. “Open it,” Chris says quietly, and I draw confidence from him.