“How bad is it?” Shelia is hovering over Marxx like a mother with a wounded child. She even holds his other hand, either in the attempt to give him comfort or to find it for herself. Marxx has gone past caring to refuse her as Paula cleans and tends to his wound.
“It’s pretty deep. A lot of muscle damage.” Paula’s voice has lost that playfulness. I guess stitching up a human’s bite on another human’s arm kills the mood for “girl time”.
“Is he going to turn?” Aimes’ voice is small and nervous from risking her question. I have forgotten about her with my own issues. She is being cradled in Rhett’s thick arms and their size difference resembles more of a Father and Daughter than two adults. I am annoyed with how they treat her. I am mostly annoyed that no one is holding me, but I am not going to admit it.
“Turn to what?” Paula is half listening to us around her as she concentrates on repairing the damage to Marxx’ arm.
“He’s been bit.” Hurrah for Captain Obvious with her pink streaks of perception.
“I can see that.” Paula answers with the same tone I am holding mentally for their conversation.
“So is he going to turn into one of them?” The question sets the room at unease. Even Marxx now opens one of his eyes to gauge Paula’s response.
“If a raccoon bites you, do you turn into a raccoon? You’ve watched too much T.V. girl.” Have I mentioned how much I like Paula? No? I like Paula.
“It doesn’t work that way?” Marxx’ nerves make his voice weaker than its normal deep gravel.
Paula gives him a reassuring smile, stopping her stitching long enough to look at him. “No, it doesn’t work that way.”
“How do you know?” J.D. has been silent this whole time in his normal “watch and see” fashion and to give Shelia room to recover from their encounter. His concern for Marxx keeps him from being too close, unwilling to risk showing his emotions.
“I just do.” She is back to being annoyed now. Apparently, only Marxx gets a free pass to talk to her.
“That’s not good enough.” Rhett is watching every inch of the thread pulled through Marxx’ wound. Each stitch is serving as another memory for him in his own locked chamber. It is a chamber different than mine and it unsettles me with his fascination. As much as I feel I know the man, it is moments like this when I see a different light in those eyes, reminding me how very little I do actually know.
“Didn’t think it was going to be.” She answers. Her deep sigh tells us there is a story to be told. Our stilled breathing lets her know we are waiting.
“I used to be a nurse at a drug clinic. I had a little girl of my own. I thought I was going to help change the world for the better for her. I went into the research of vaccines. I thought I was helping to stop the spread of illnesses. So noble.” Her voice is bitter. She is focusing on Marxx’ arm like it’s a raft in a storm. He winces with the needle now more than before.
Something about the words she said tries to spark a fuse of a memory. It sputters but goes out before the flame can catch. At least for me, Chapel though seems to be remembering something with how he stares at her.
“Years of research went into this new vaccine. It was supposed to be the wonder and cure all of the many different strands of the flu but also many other winter aliments in one dose. Think of it, the common cold, strep throat, and pneumonia being nothing more than another mention in history books. It was supposed to be amazing, ground breaking even. It was. It has broken all sorts of new ground.”
“It was fully tested on all levels. Some levels that I was not even cleared for but documented the passage. No one had any clue to what was about to happen. We were offered the option of having one dose for our own private use. I wanted my little girl to have it. I wanted her to be healthy just like every mother does. To avoid the many illnesses that winter seems to bring with it. How could we have known?” Her voice has fallen in its pitch with each word as a new emotion comes forth from her. It almost sounds like shame, but I can’t imagine why.
All eyes are on her now with her weakness so exposed. We all stare at her with confusion over where her story is taking us. All of us, that is, but Chapel. He is not confused. He is torn between anger and grief. That spark keeps sputtering for me, but it has caught fire for Chapel.
“It was the children first. All of them. One by one. We thought maybe that was because they received most of the vaccines, but we will never know. There was not enough time for testing. The results varied depending on how it was administered. The shot had the fastest onset, doing the most damage to them. The inhalant still had the same effect, just a few days slower, and a longer timer of degradation of their minds once the fever took hold. Once again, not enough time for the research.” Her voice is neutral now. She might as well have been giving a lesson of studies with the lack of feeling she now has.
“Not feeling well, fever, and then death. Then they become what they are now.” Chapel has put the pieces together and he is calling her out with them.
“Not exactly, but yes those are the basics of it.” She does not flinch from his anger. She has faced her own anger over this and survived it. Chapel’s does not frighten her.
“The shots put the children into a feeling of unease within minutes. Their bodies are telling them something is not right, but their inexperience makes them think they are just ill. Nothing really stands out as being wrong so it is ignored. Within hours, the vaccine takes hold of the host. The antibodies react, causing a high-grade fever as it attempts to fight it off. This somehow feeds the vaccine, allowing, what we thought of as the weakened virus, to mutate. This new mutation attacks the brain. It shuts down all normal life supporting activity allowing the host to appear dead. They aren’t. They never really die. The vaccine literally becomes alive. It becomes the host.”
Her words leave more questions than answers. They cause more panic than comfort, but she is not finished yet.
“They no longer need their organs to sustain them the way we do. They can go months without food or water. Their bodies in essence die, but the vaccine turns the brain into a self-sufficient machine, only functioning at the level it needs to for its survival. They still have their basic logic and function. They can still hold on to some piece of their personalities. Some can even have memories and can recognize people from their past. There is no cookie cutter mutation. It seems to all depend on who they were in life as to what they will become. Leaders are still leaders. Followers are still followers.”
The image of another school comes to mind. A room full of tiny bodies matching up into smaller groups. It was not a game of “Follow the Leader”. It was not a game at all. They really were following clues and commands from another that took the lead as their socializing had taught them to do. But, why had so many transformed at school to begin with?
“Why wasn’t it pulled? Why did they release it if they knew?” Chapel’s voice shakes with his emotions. He is remembering two small children that might have been saved.
“It was too late by the time we were aware. It was fully tested and ready for use. Something fatal happened when it was mass-produced. Something we didn’t have the time to correct. All we could do was alert the proper people about a possible reaction. Schools all over the country pulled students into localized locations to wait and see. They were told to be prepared for reactions ranging from illness to extreme rage. How do you tell people to watch their kids go through what was really going to happen? What they were going to become?” She is looking to us as if we could offer her any answers.
We have none. We have not had any for a long time.
“One by one we were getting reports of whole school’s being wiped out. Elementary seemed to be the first to report symptoms. The shots were part of a school government health wellness program. Parents were asked by the school nurses to keep their kids in school “under the weather” because there was nothing really wrong wit
h them. We have been told as parents to expect certain off behaviors after shots. It didn’t raise any parental alarms.”
“The fever would hit after the shots that morning. School nurses did the best they could, but they were not prepared for this. Whole schools were transformed and disappeared from the grid before we could offer any help. It’s why I am here at this school. This is the school I was sent to.” She is silent with the thought.
I do not need to wonder what it may have been like. I was there. I wish I could forget.
“If it was just the kids, then why the others, too?” Shelia asks. I guess this is the first time Paula has shared the story.
“Because not only the kids received the vaccines. Every medical professional, Moms, Dads, older siblings, the elderly as is the normal routine.” She is watching me as she talks now. She has finished with Marxx’ arm as best one can do in this facility. I almost squirm under her gaze wondering what it is she is seeing.
“There should be a set number of them then? If we just wait it out, we can make it through this?” Shelia asks with hope radiating through her voice.
“Did I forget to mention the military was also signed up for the first round? Which means the whole government, as we know it, also was going to be included. So yes, if we find a few groups of people willing to go out and fight who knows how many of the transformed that are out there, it could happen. That is, if those groups do not become food, chicken out, die of basic injuries, run out of supplies, or just stop giving a shit.” Her cold tone pours icy water all over the hope Shelia held.
All we need is a little pixie dust, and flamethrowers. It could happen. I am not volunteering, but it could happen.
“How do you feel Helena?” Paula asks me. I feel as if I have been caught doing something naughty with the way her eyes are watching me.
“Like I need a flamethrower.” Is what I hear come from me. It is not what I told my mouth to say. My confusion must show on my face, making her come over.
Why does every medical person have one of those tiny flashlights with the retina burning light? And why do they never warn you before waving it in front of your face?
“Let’s lay you down. “ She tells me as I am helped onto my own crinkly paper bench.
With how disobedient my mouth is being, I simply nod. I want to tell her how cold I am. How I keep missing pieces of time and facts. How tired I am. How I should not be feeling this much confusion and this agitated. How I never meant for Marxx to get hurt. How very sorry I am for everything. I do not trust my voice, so I say nothing.
“She didn’t get bit.” It is Lawless who comes into my view. He holds himself apart from me, but close enough that I can see his distress.
“Shock.” J.D. comes over and pushes a stray piece of hair from my face. “She seems to be coming out of it though. Not so bad now. She’s tough, aren’t you Barbie?”
“You promised me a nap.” I close my eyes to refuse the scene before me. His tenderness will undo me.
“You go right ahead.” Paula tells me. The blanket is warm. It lulls me to the sleep I have been fighting against this whole time. I give in to my weakness and escape the pain.
“What was her name?” I ask Paula before I finally slip into the comforting arms of sleep.
“Emily. What was yours?” She is tucking the blanket around me, sealing in its heat.
“Lilly. Ashley. Conroy.” I let their names escape from me like a whispered prayer. I let their images form behind my closed eyes from happy memories long gone. I let my tears fall like a river of regrets from which I now bathe.
Chapter 38
“How does it feel?” I cautiously approach the subject with Marxx. He and I have been making a normal routine of our morning coffee. Some mornings we talk to each other. Other mornings we just enjoy the sunrise in silence. It is our silent way of daring the dawn with the fact that we are both still here, even with all that has been thrown our way, and with what it still plots for us.
“Worth it.” His voice is strong again with its deep gravel pitch. Just to see him slowly healing, and regaining pieces of himself, makes the dawn easier for me.
“I don’t know about that.” My guilt still tints my voice with the hues of my remorse.
I feel the knuckles of his hand float along my cheek, pulling my eyes from the various shades gracing the light blue sky. His smile is so unlike Rhett’s mischievous charm, or even J.D.’s bold grin. Marxx’ smile is filled with a gentle touch as soft as his fingers that are on me now. These past few mornings have shown me a side of him I have never noticed before as he slowly pulls further away from the cold, dark shadow from which he has been living.
“I do. I just wish you would see it again. I miss your smile, Hells.” Such tender words he whispers, and I feel nothing with them.
“You and Aimes better?” He asks me, already knowing exactly how she and I are doing. Not a day goes by without every one of them asking me with hopes of a change in my answer.
“Haven’t seen her.” There will be no change today. Since recovering from either true shock, or just the shock of that morning, Aimes and I have been tiptoeing around each other. I have finally moved into my own room, unable to take the tension building between us with all the unsaid words. From what I have seen of her, she is receiving plenty of comfort over our fall out. It does nothing to entice me to “make nice”, and forgive her for what has befallen us.
“She needs you Helena. She is not strong like you. It was always your strength that strengthened her. I don’t know what all was said. I really don’t need to. I know her and Lawless are now ghosts with it. Don’t push them away when they are needing you.” He tells me, and I have started to notice a trend of the men only using my full name when they want me to do something. It is almost the same way a parent will call a child’s full name when they are out of line. Apparently, I have been out of line a lot lately.
“There are questions in your eyes. Questions you need to ask so you can finally nail this coffin shut. You won’t be able to get past it until you hear it all. You can’t forgive what you don’t know.” He continues, using my silence as encouragement.
“Maybe I don’t want to know. I get the idea. I don’t need the graphic novel of it.” I hope my honesty will end this path of counseling he has decided to travel down today. I am starting to prefer our silent mornings.
“Don’t you?” His eyes meet mine with that simple question of damnation. I cannot hold his stare, and it gives him his answer.
Yes, a part of me wants to ask every detail. The truth of why it happened. Truth has been so tormenting as of late though, I am too afraid to touch its barbed answers. I may be unable to deny that it happened, but I can still hide from the details. Once truth is invited in, there will be no more hiding. There will be no more white lies to help me sleep at night.
“What do you know?” I ask him, thinking that baby steps will be better than a full ambush.
“It is not mine to tell.” He is the one staring at the sky now. Look Marxx, pretty blue lights.
“…but it did happen?” I ease into the sentence with as much grace as a child asking if Santa is real.
“Did what exactly happen?” He is going to make me fight for this. So much for his whole “I need to know” advice he was pushing down my throat moments ago.
I let my silence carry the conversation as I brace for him to answer me.
“Yeah, it happened. That is all I am telling you. You need to get your answers from Lawless. You two need this conversation. Not you and me.” His voice seals his statement as the sun reaches past the many bright shades of the sky.
“Was Leslie with anyone else?” I am pushing my luck. It is one of my many talents it seems as of late.
“She tried.” He slips from our conversation as the room starts to fill with other voices. Life is stirring in the hallways. Other residents begin to fill
the tables in the cafeteria with the start of their day. Their timing saves him from my growing bravery, or maybe it saves me.
He leaves me with my thoughts and the stares of strangers. The sheep, as J.D. calls them, have noticed the change again in our group. It causes more of their soft whispers and hidden stares. It is not just the alteration to our group that is scaring them, though. Shelia is now just as shy with hers as I am with mine. Together, we have reformed a thousand times, trying to figure out how the puzzle pieces work now. The ends do not match as well. The corners are too sharp to connect it all. Yet, we keep trying. Like a three year old with a peg game and a hammer, we keep trying.
I would be content to sit here all morning in my little corner, watching the many go about their mornings, as I avoid mine. I have almost gotten used to the taste of basic black coffee now that it is the perfect diversion to the morning start. Sip. Watch. Sip. Return a shy smile. Repeat. How simple could life be? Not my life, but how simple it could be. My life just keeps rolling ahead like a roller coaster built by a sadist. Why, is that another hill I hear us climbing? Yes Sir, yes Sir, three times more.
Aimes glides through the double doors with Rhett and J.D. on either side of her. Her eyes are focused straight ahead, but theirs are not. They find me right away with one scan of the room. Both men share a simple sign of greeting with me. It is slight and goes unnoticed by the female they appear to be escorting, like guards, through the room. My bitterness creeps up my throat, leaving a sour taste in my mouth, watching her.
Part of me wonders how she and I have fallen so far from where we once were. Another part of me is cherishing this. It gives me a new pool to swim. This water is warm and feeds me, unlike the uncharted river that was pulling me under before. That is not to say that there are not moments when I turn to share a laugh with her and I forget that she will not be there. Sometimes, when the night is at its darkest, I crave her laughter to chase away my loneliness. To admit to any of this out loud, would be more truths I would have to share. The truth of them surrounding her, while I sit alone, is enough sharing for one morning.
The Risen: Dawning Page 25