by Ann Christy
When I opened the door, they smelled so strongly of something sharp and herbal that I stepped back, waving my hand in front of my face. Paul laughed quietly, but handed me a brown bottle and told me to douse a shirt with it and be ready to tie it around my face. While the scent was so strong it made my eyes water, it wasn’t long before I was incredibly grateful to have it.
The stench. I simply can’t find words for it. It wasn’t just overpowering, it was something else altogether. It was so thick and strong that it felt greasy, like a syrup made of decay. Seriously, just writing this down made me gag.
We used wheelbarrows and thick rubber gloves meant for doing dishes, but there was no way to stay clean. Our clothes are piled by the barricade and all three of us returned to our homes in our underwear. Yes, I walked down the street in my underwear, my artificial legs exposed and humming as we walked. I never could have imagined doing such a thing a month ago.
But, the job is done. We left the field bodies where they were since there’s no way to safely move them. Plus, they seem to do the job well enough as it is. Several from our pile by the cars made it to the area around the service road, some a bit back into the woods in a rough line. Basically, any path to us now has its complement of rotting and stinking bodies.
I’m supposed to go to Fred’s as soon as I’m cleaned up, so we can figure out what’s going on with the stumbler, but I don’t feel clean yet. The well water hose comes all the way to my deck, so I can easily get more, but I have to boil it before washing and I’m out of previously boiled water. I’ll have to do that today.
Oh, and of note, Paul said that he can probably hook my well water up to my house intake, at least partially. A direct line to the hot water tank or something like that. If he can, then life will get a whole lot easier, so I hope that’s something he can do. If I turn up the temperature on the tank, then I can skip boiling for washing. That would be good.
I’ve begun to dream of hot showers.
Day 27 - Afternoon
While Fred was tending to Linda during the day, he also kept watch on the back of the houses and the field so we could work in the yards, pulling up sod and turning the earth. After work, we gathered at his house. He reported that three monsters came out of the woods over the course of the day, but each time, they backed away once they got within sniffing distance of the stumbler. One of them apparently even appeared as if it were panicked by the presence of the stumbler.
We were all very, very curious about the stumbler after that.
Peeking through field glasses, we all took a look. When it was my turn, I focused on the face. It really does seem blind given the way it lurches about. And it doesn’t scream like the others either.
What I saw was just a big nasty mess. Blood and ick covers its face, but I saw the hint of an eye even so. What struck me was the foamy blood coming from the nose and mouth. I think it’s not blind so much as sick.
And sick is something we’ve never seen in one of the monsters.
The discussion was halting at first, because really, what can we do? We all agreed it looked sick, and for whatever reason, it might be that sickness keeping other monsters away. Once the conversation started, it was like a snowball rolling downhill. Everyone has ideas.
Martin thought we should try to figure out what disease it had. He said that if we can infect other monsters and somehow secure them to trees at our perimeter, then we might create a more permanent and effective barrier. Paul thought we should simply let it stay where it is, because it seems to be doing a good job already. Fred thought we should kill it, because any disease like that is one we don’t want to infect us. He had a point there. Gerald and Susan both felt like we shouldn’t get anywhere near it, and agreed with Fred about the killing part.
What did I think? Well, I think they’re all right to some extent. Fred was right that we can’t leave it roaming. Eventually it will stumble the right way and wind up close to our fences. Depending on what the disease is, we might get it from simply breathing the air or touching something it touched. Paul is right that other monsters are steering clear, so leaving it in place might be a good enough defense for the field. Martin is right too, because the field is only one of the paths to our houses. A few more like that along the other paths would do wonders for our ability to sleep, but only if we could place them safely.
So, I was torn, and I said so. Basically, I said what I just wrote. I think that made each of them less certain of their own ideas. We decided to think about it tonight, then revisit the topic in the morning.
Before I left, I helped with Linda. This time, everyone else stayed too, under the totally transparent guise of a visit. She’s not very coherent and she’s in a lot of pain. Martin frowned hard when he saw that her fingertips were turning a vaguely purple shade. To me, it seems Fred is in denial. He kept saying she looked better and was improving.
She’s not. She’s quieter, yes, but that’s because it’s getting worse, not better. She’s septic. I know what that looks like and she’s septic. The smell alone should be enough to make that clear. Septicemia has a smell. I remember from my many stays in the hospital.
After we finished with her, we went back to the living room. The awkward silence was probably because all three of us were trying to figure out how to talk to Fred about the reality. Instead, we asked about watches and organized the evening.
I don’t want Fred there alone with her all night, but he says he got some sleep and he’ll be fine. Deep inside, I think he knows she’s going to die. I think he wants to be sure she’s with a loved one when she does.
Gerald and Susan hurried away to catch a nap after volunteering for the worst of the night watches. It starts at one in the morning, so whoever has that watch gets only interrupted sleep. A nap helps. Paul, Martin, and I left last. We stood just off the yard, in the street where we could see anything coming. None of us wanted to be the first to broach the topic.
Martin finally went first. He said, “She has too many nanites. She’s going to die and if she does…”
All I could do was nod, because I was thinking the same thing. Paul asked exactly what kinds she had. None of us are entirely sure, but I know she has the ones for “ladies of a certain age” and Chol-Erase for cholesterol. Martin volunteered that he knew both Fred and Linda got the smoking cessation protocols, which includes Nico-Term nanites that work with the receptors that cause nicotine cravings. Along with that, they get the repair protocols, including Pulmo Two, which helps regenerate lung tissue and get rid of the gunk, and AirPlus, which is common for older people and former smokers. It helps with oxygen transfer and uptake. It’s sort of like a nanite version of a little oxygen tank.
That’s a lot already, but Fred and Linda had great insurance, so they’ve probably got more than that. What we don’t know is if any of those are the types that have gone haywire and will cause the post-death awakening.
Paul and Martin don’t have watch tonight…a first in a while…so they’ll be able to get some sleep. The way they spoke tells me they might not take advantage of that. They’re afraid that Linda will die and be reborn, so they’ll be ready.
It’s time for me to get some food and get ready for my watch. I have the first one tonight, which means before the sun sets I have to be in the room upstairs with my glasses. Until Gerald and Susan come on, I’ll be roaming the upper floor, going from window to window, waiting for whatever bad thing comes next.
Because I’ve learned that there will always be a next bad thing.
Day 28 - Morning
Gerald and Susan took the watch from me a few minutes early. From the next house over, where we have our shooting nest, they shined a flashlight at the window. Since it’s a side window, it lights up my entire upstairs hallway. The flashlight seemed brighter tonight, lighting up the whole upper floor, the light blue-ish and odd, like something from those bad alien abduction movies on late night TV. It’s amazing how used to darkness I’ve become.
I fell into bed like a stone and I don�
��t think I rolled over even once. When I woke up, I could feel the itchy tingles starting. It’s like hot threads under my skin, inching along the nerves and heating up everything in their path. I haven’t felt this in a long while because of the blood tests. My doctors always seem to know exactly when I should take my next nanite injection.
Rather than think too much about it, I shot the activation solution into one vial of nanites, shook it hard, then filled my syringe. My fingers were shaking a little as I aimed the needle towards my skin, but I got the job done.
It was incredibly difficult to inject myself with nanites knowing what I know.
On the upside, I know that my nanites aren’t persistent. They don’t have little factory nanites inside me creating new nanites. Yes, that means I’m going to die, but it also means I’m very unlikely to wake up again once that happens. It’s that second part that makes the first part acceptable.
Of course, I’ve been bitten now. From the monsters we’ve seen, we now believe that bites transfer nanites. Maybe that’s why they want to bite us so badly. Who knows? It’s entirely possible I will wake up again. I hope not.
It’s an irony really. Most humans spend their whole lives hoping that there’s some kind of life after death, or else afraid of death because they can’t bring themselves to believe in an afterlife. Now, we do have an afterlife, but it’s terrifying and no one in their right mind would want it, so we hope for simple death when our time comes.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
I’m writing while I have my cup of coffee and waiting for the itchy feeling to go away. When this happens, the doctors always said not to move much because inflammation will build quickly once it starts, and I shouldn’t make it worse. Instead, I keep movement to a minimum and wait. In the hospital, that meant reading in bed or playing a game on my tablet. Here it means an hour with the journal.
I’ve started to like this journal. I dreaded writing in the first one after I lost my legs, but this one feels more like a shoulder to lean on than a stone around my neck. It’s become something I can use and tell all the things I can’t easily discuss with others. It’s no longer a weight that forces me to think about what I’d rather not think about.
Of course, the more I like it, the more drivel you have to read through to get to the good stuff, like the helpful tips. I’ve started another section in the back—which you probably already found. It’s the tab labeled ‘Helpful Hints.’ All the stuff I’ve peppered through this text, I’m putting there for quick reference. Plus, more as I think of it. That’s why there aren’t as many in my entries.
It’s funny, because I already had to cross out some things and put in others, like the water situation. That one has two crossed out sections and will likely get more. First, the well water and boiling, now the lovely addition of water straight from the tap! It’s only the hot water, but who cares. I’d rather wait to let water cool than boil it and haul it upstairs. Out of habit, I tend to touch the cold taps first, so I’m going to put duct tape on them. I hope I remember to add that in the back of the book.
I just heard a weird bang. I looked around, but I don’t see where it’s coming from. I’m going outside to check it out.
Day 28 - Evening
It’s hard to pick up this journal tonight. I almost don’t want to write any of this down. If I do, then it’s real. I don’t want it to be real, for what I’ve seen to be the truth. I’d like to hold my hands over my ears and hum nursery rhymes and pretend none of this happened.
But it is real. Fred and Linda are dead, this time for good. It was Fred I heard banging, but he wasn’t Fred anymore. Why did Linda never scream? When they become monsters, they always scream. Was it because she had someone right there, a person either asleep or ready to become food.
I know why Fred didn’t scream after he changed. His lower face and neck had been eaten away by his one-time wife. There was nothing left to scream with. But why didn’t he shout for help before she laid her teeth on him? Why did he let it happen?
Paul was working in his yard, trying to beat the heat by working during pre-dawn twilight, so he made it to Fred’s yard before I hit the sidewalk. The bang came again, so we both knew it was coming from their house. I think we both also knew what it meant.
We knew we couldn’t just barge in and we needed to stay out of the way of the windows. Fred lurched past the front window as we stood there, his gait unnatural and jerky. It was the walk of the newly risen. Now that we’ve seen it, we know what that looks like. There’s awkwardness at first, a confusion in the body as it tries to do what it should no longer be able to do. He didn’t see us, which is good. While the monsters don’t seem to understand doors, they will walk right through a window.
Unluckily, Fred had most of the guns inside his house. Paul and I ran to get what we had, as well as the others. It would take all of us to figure this out. You might wonder why we didn’t at least try to help, try to get Linda out in case she was alive. The banging could have been her trapped in a room or something. We knew it wasn’t. We knew the important things. All that was missing were the details of how it happened and in what order.
And we needed to take care of the business that needed taking care of.
I won’t go into the details, because they were horrible. Not the details of dealing with what was left of them anyway. Those are for me to try and forget. You’ve been out there, so you know.
We did try to suss out what had happened. It wasn’t easy, not like on TV where the clues are all neatly laid out in a line. There was an open book overturned on the floor next to the bed, and an afghan crumpled by the chair, as if someone let it fall as they stood up. Fred’s favorite gun was right on the floor between the bed and the door, a round chambered, but the safety was still engaged. Whatever happened took place in the bedroom where Linda was. Our best guess is that Fred fell asleep and Linda died, woke again, and went for Fred where he slept.
We’ll never know with any certainty. It’s only a guess. Perhaps it’s the one that makes us feel better, the idea that he was asleep and didn’t see it coming. It’s a better vision than him allowing it to happen. A better one that him fighting for his life against his wife.
I’m so very tired now, though with fresh nanites inside me, I feel physically wonderful. And hungry. It seems wrong to be hungry, so instead, I think I’ll sleep. Paul and Martin are taking the watches tonight. I simply can’t.
We are down to five people.
Day 29 - Midday
As strange as it seems, when I woke up this morning, I simply went about the business of the day. That’s all. Just did what I normally do. Wake, wash, dress, coffee, tour the upstairs windows.
With Gerald and Susan well on the mend, they’re back at work. They’ve both got tender, barely-healed wounds on their hands, so hard labor is out, but they were able to man the gun room while the rest of us did some early work in one of the yards. We put seeds in the ground today. They’re mostly things we can harvest in late fall, like greens of all kinds, collards and the like. Carrots, beets, and other quick growing things are also in the ground. We can get several crops of those before winter freezes put an end to it. We’re working on warmth boxes we might use to keep things growing all winter.
Why am I concerned with winter? After all, out of everyone here, I know I’m the one person who will definitely not be here to harvest. I think it’s because I have hope for them. I want the others to survive and it makes me feel better to know I’m doing something useful. So, I know why I did it, but I wasn’t the only one having thoughts like that. I could tell by the way Paul and Martin sighed or looked at the plot of tilled earth.
No one said it, but I could tell we were all three thinking the same thing while we patted tiny seeds into the ground. What’s the point? At this rate, none of them will be here by the time any of this is ready. Not the way we’re going. But, since none of us said anything, we kept working and soon enough, we were done.
We’ve all gone in
for a wash and some food, but this afternoon, we’re going to see what we can of that strange stumbler in the field. Overnight, more monsters came out of the woods, but cleared out as soon as they caught a whiff of it. It has spread its smell all over the field, so it’s working better now than before.
Helpful Tip: I’ve left a chart in the back of this book with all the plantings and what days we put them in the ground. Also, the tables for harvesting and what to look so you’ll know when they’re ready. Just in case.
Day 29 - Evening
Well, that was surprising and in getting that surprise, the rest of us might die.
That sounded dramatic, so let me go backward and explain. The stumbler is, for all intents and purposes, both blind and very hard of hearing. It was hard to lure it over given those restrictions, but it can still smell at least a little through all the bloody snot dripping out of its nose.
We’re running low on meat, but the big chest freezer at Fred’s contains most of what we’ve scavenged. We thawed a few chunks of meat, threaded it onto a fishing hook, then Gerald—our expert in the fishing arena—cast the line out toward the stumbler. It took forever, because it was far from us and we had to wait for it to stumble in our general direction.
I have to say, I’ve seen that kind of line casting on TV before, but watching it in person is a sort of ballet. Whipping it back and forth, the line paying out, the final swing, and then the line flying so much further than I could imagine something so light could fly. It’s beautiful to watch. Eventually, we caught the sick monster’s attention and it sniffed the ground like a dog, seeking the morsel of meat. It was horrible to see, a startling contrast to the beauty of the line casting.
As it got closer, we could see claw marks on its face. It was a young man once upon a time, but I have a hard time assigning the word he or she to anything that looks like that stumbler. It was clear that it had tried to claw its own eyes out, or maybe another monster had. Long trails of crusty brown also ran from its ears to its chest. Something dreadful had clearly happened, but did that thing happen before or after it became a monster?