The Penance of Leather (Book 1): Ain't No Grave

by S. A. Softley

  I walked back into the shop, locking the deadbolt behind me. I could hear a pot of water boiling and the constant hiss of the various gas heaters and stoves that we ran.

  “Megan,” I called too softly, as though my voice rebelled against my mind, wishing not to be heard. “Um, Megan?” I said again, my voice quavering but audible.

  “Look, if you’re here to apologize, just drop it. It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not that,” I replied and then realized my mistake. “I mean, I am sorry, but it’s something else… something I need to talk to you about.

  “Ok,” she said, but didn’t turn away from the stove where she slowly stirred a pot.

  “Can you leave it for a sec?”

  She turned the burner down and turned to face me, her face unreadable. “Isn’t it a little dark for sunglasses?” she asked dryly, an eyebrow twitching.

  “Yeah… about that. Listen, promise not to freak out…”

  Her face remained impassive. “About what?”

  “Remember that I told you I was in a coma? In the medical centre?”

  She shrugged and nodded looking mildly impatient; as though I was keeping her from something she felt was more important than whatever it was that was currently concerning me.

  “Well here’s the thing. I was on a flight south; a flight that made an emergency landing here. January nineteenth.”

  “You were on that plane? I remember hearing about that. I can’t remember what they said caused the emergency landing…”

  “It was the guy I sat next to,” I said, “He was infected. He was sick when he boarded. Died, I guess, and then came back.”

  “Jesus,” she breathed. “You were next to him?”

  “I tried to save him, did some CPR but it didn’t help.” I hesitated a long while over how to tell her the next part of my story. “I don’t remember much after that… I know he bit me,” I said bluntly. “He bit me and I don’t remember anything else until I woke up in the medical centre. They’d left me behind. Probably ‘cause of the quarantine.”

  “You were infected?” she breathed, her voice barely audible.

  “Look… Something stopped it. I don’t know if it was a natural immunity or something they did; some kind of treatment, but I woke up ok. It’s been weeks and I’m not dead. I’m not one of them. Whatever it was, it passed.”

  I told her all that I could remember, all except the strange sensations I’d been feeling; the constant feelings of hunger and the nerve damage. I also left out the part about waking up in a morgue drawer. Why they would have put me there, I would probably never know, and I didn’t want to speculate. I also didn’t want Megan to speculate. I suspected that I’d barely been alive when they evacuated, and knowing that I’d been bitten, I doubt they could have evacuated me even if I’d been awake and speaking. I guessed that the morgue was the most secure place they could find for me on short notice, given that they expected me to turn into one of those creatures at any moment.

  I didn’t want her to leave me; didn’t want her frightened of me, always watching her back around me as though I could transform at any moment. And yet, couldn’t I? How could I know what to expect? No one knew what to expect from this… thing… this affliction, whatever it was. Perhaps I could turn at any moment and perhaps it was best if Megan treated me with suspicion. I’d told her, anyhow, and it was now up to her to decide how to react.

  “Why tell me this?”

  “You’d find out soon anyway… tonight, actually. There were… side effects.”

  “Side effects?”

  I removed my sunglasses and let her see my eyes. She peered into them carefully, as though trying to spot any signs of the microscopic particles that might have caused the illness. After a while, it seemed instead that she was trying to look past my glazed, scarlet eyes into my soul, as though trying to decide if I was still human.

  She grasped my hand for a brief moment. “Ok,” was all she said, but her eyes were filled with understanding, acceptance and, perhaps, pity. She returned to the boiling pot. My heart swelled. We never spoke of it again.

  Later that night she sat across from me eating dinner. My taste buds were still dulled by my illness, but the steak was delicious and satisfying, the flavour and texture cutting through the gritty dust that seemed to coat my parched mouth. Although delicious, the steak hardly made a dint in my hunger. I’d left most of the baked potato and asparagus, which still tasted strongly of ash, only having enough potato to sop up the juices left from the steak. Meg had devoured everything, her plate practically licked clean. I knew she hadn’t eaten well for a while. I watched her, disapproving, hoping she wouldn’t make herself sick by eating too much too fast but again decided that after the rollercoaster of a day we’d had it was best not to start a fight.

  I still felt a strange weight in my stomach after eating, as though the food sat undigested and solid in my gut and the sense of terrible hunger was only dulled by the meal. I wondered absently how long it would take for my metabolism to get back to normal after going so long without solid food. Still, despite the strangeness of feeling both full and hungry at once, the meal hit the spot.

  In the center of the table, Megan had placed a gas lantern, preferring the softer light to the bright white of the LED lamp. I sat quietly staring into the lantern’s flickering flame sloshing my wine glass in slow circles. I’d only had a sip or two. It did not taste very good to me and it caused my mouth to feel dry and cracked and sour.

  “You gonna drink any of that?” Meg asked. There was the faintest trace of a smile on her face. She looked about the happiest I’d ever seen her. I was still a little bitter that she had ruined my plans to present her with a hot bath. I hadn’t mentioned that I’d readied one for her partly out of childish spite and partly, deep down, because I still hoped to surprise her with it. “And you should eat your veggies.” She mock-scolded. I chuckled in spite of myself. I looked from her wine glass to the bottle. There was still a lot left. She was drinking slowly; drinking normally. A good sign, I decided.

  When she’d shown up that afternoon with wine, I had worried that she’d end up on another binge. Frankly, I was surprised that she could stomach any alcohol at all after the previous night. She caught my eye and smiled wryly.

  “Don’t worry doc… officer… whoever you are,” she said in a mild but sardonic tone, showing that she’d followed my thought process. “I’m taking it easy. I can be a good girl.”

  “I just… don’t want to be alone,” I said, surprising myself with my honesty.

  “So it’s not out of concern for me, just pure selfishness,” she said accusingly. I stammered for a moment not knowing what to say. I was about to admit that she was right when she interrupted my embarrassed noises. “I guess it’s lucky for you I’ve decided to stick around. For now,” she added pointedly as before, although this time there was less bite; less seriousness in the comment.

  “Good,” was all I could think to say.

  “Thank you, by the way,” she said, her face now serious and earnest. I had seen her in despair, I’d seen her mocking, I’d seen her trashed, I’d seen her with seething rage toward those creatures outside, but I’d never seen such sincerity in her eyes until that moment. They shone with it as though she was using every fleck in her dark iris, every muscle and line on her face to express the veracity of what she was saying. Her eyes flashed, reflecting the blue and orange gas flame and I was unsure in that moment which flame burned brighter, hers or that of the lantern.

  In that moment, she was fiercely, dangerously beautiful. “I didn’t really want to die,” she admitted so quietly that I couldn’t be sure I heard her. “I just didn’t know what else I could do. It was all I had left. All I could control,” Her voice became louder, “then you showed up and took that away from me too…” she laughed nervously. “I’m sorry I never thanked you. It took me a little while to change my mind; to forgive you.”

  I nodded. I worried that my voice would crack if I s
poke on account of the lump that had formed. I swallowed hard and took a sip of the wine I didn’t want. She took a gulp from her glass as well.

  We sat for a long time, each of us looking into the flickering flame that danced before us on the table. Gradually, I became aware that she was humming softly to herself. The sound faded in around me like a warm blanket, comforting and encompassing. I thought I recognized the tune.

  “What’s that?” I asked. She looked up as though startled I had heard.

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was doing that,” she said.

  “Don’t be. What song is it?”

  “Just a hymn. Johnny Cash recorded it once.

  Ain’t no grave can hold my body down

  Ain’t no grave can hold my body down

  When I hear the trumpets sound

  I’m gonna rise up out of the ground

  Ain’t no grave can hold my body down,” she sang softly. She had an excellent voice. It was smoky yet soft and smooth like well-cured tobacco. It sounded like fine wine and good bourbon all at once. Raw and potent; mellow and oaky. I felt that I could have happily lived off of that voice and needed no other sustenance.

  “I remember that one.” I murmured at last. “One of his last, right?”

  “I think he recorded it not long before he died,” she nodded. “Seems to fit now, don’t you think?”

  I nodded. The lump was back and I didn’t dare speak. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing upright and I felt a chill run up my spine. It was both eerie and beautiful listening to the last female voice sing while flames lit a last supper at the end of the world.

  “Did you save room for dessert?” she asked.

  “Dessert?”

  “I found some pie. Saskatoon berry. The bakery made great pies…” she trailed off. “Made with local berries…” I could see the sadness in her face as memories came back to her of how her town had once been.

  “Why don’t I warm it up on the stove,” I said. “I’ll put on tea. Or coffee?”

  She held up her wine glass and sloshed it around.

  “This’ll do for now,” she said, taking the pie out of the box. I took it from her and placed the foil tray on the stove, flicking the starter switch. I turned on another burner to boil water and measured out a few spoonfulls of instant coffee into a mug.

  “Actually, make me a cup. I’ll have it in a bit.” She said airily, her voice sounding far away, only partly present.

  I was beginning to like the girl. Whether the result of a good meal, the warm light or her breath-taking voice, I was fully content, satisfied just to know that she lived, that she was near.

  As we ate our pie and sipped our coffee, we chatted lightly about the past; nothing personal, nothing that would be painful, just unimportant little things. Small talk. The sorts of things that two people who are chatting for the first time might talk about. Getting to know each other, though superficially. Although trite and cliché - ‘what’s your favourite colour? What was the last movie you saw? Have you lived here long?’ - the shallow and unimportant conversation was exactly what we needed.

  It was normalcy; it was a conscious refusal to succumb or break under the pressure of the abnormal and terrifying situation in which we found ourselves. At another time, the conversation might even have bored us; it was so scripted; so ordinary, although I doubt very much that I could have ever been uninterested in such a melodic and beautiful voice. She could have said anything and I would have listened to the music of her speech with rapt attention. As it was, the simple conversation between two people getting to know one another was exactly the right therapy. It was right and good that we should mourn for humanity; for all we’d ever known, by carrying on; by forming a relationship and starting with the basics. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to us as we sat alone by the light of the flame.

  We didn’t laugh much or loudly, humanity's wake was a quiet one with no place for loud noise, but we laughed from a deep place, a well that needed to be drawn from.

  I couldn’t help but think to myself that it was turning out to be an excellent first date. The absurdity and audacity of the thought struck me immediately and I almost burst out in laughter. A chuckle escaped me and I took a quick sip of coffee in an attempt to cover it.

  “What?” Meg asked.

  “Nothing really,” I muttered, not wanting to explain. The situation was strange enough without making it awkward by admitting to Megan that I might have considered dating her at a time before all this had happened.

  It wasn’t safe now. Not while we were the only two survivors. The last thing the two of us needed was to complicate things by dating. Dating. How could we even begin to date? What was dating now? Taking her out to scavenge for food? Holding her hand while we strolled down the empty streets, shotguns slung over our shoulders? Laughing and gazing deeply into each other’s eyes as we fired our weapons at the poor pathetic creatures that ambled mindlessly in the streets? The thought nearly made me chuckle again. No, it was not the time to go starting some sort of romantic relationship.

  Besides, I really wasn’t interested in her or anyone else in that sense, or at least that’s what I told myself. The feeling I felt was simply the result of a nice normal-seeming dinner in the midst of an entirely abnormal time. It was comfort I sought and I would have looked for it in nearly anyone at that moment. It was a feeling loneliness, uncertainty… it was all psychological.

  “Go on,” Meg said, one eyebrow raised and her sarcastic half-smile returning to her face.

  “I was just thinking about how ridiculous the situation is,” I said at last, trying to think of how to put my thoughts into words that would come across the right way. “Here we are eating a nice steak dinner by candlelight. I almost forget that we’re in a ghost town with no fucking clue what’s going on in the outside world. It’s all just so bizarre.”

  “I was thinking about how this would have been a better first date than most I’ve been on, if it wasn’t for the whole apocalypse thing,” Megan said, grinning.

  “Me too,” I admitted. Meg laughed sharply, narrowing her eyes and pointing as though she’d caught me in some conspiracy.

  “I knew it!” she said accusingly, but her eyes twinkled with amusement. “I knew it all along. It’s Armageddon and even now all you disgusting men can think about is sex.”

  I knew she was joking but I’m sure my face looked comically hesitant as I searched her face for clues one way or the other.

  “Kidding,” she said, laughing again as the accusation melted from her face. I rolled my eyes.

  “Just like a woman,” I retorted. “Last man left and you still have to play mind games with me.” I had entirely forgotten to be angry or frustrated with her about disappearing earlier in the day. The feeling had melted away, replaced with pleasant contentment.

  “How’s dessert?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Delicious,” I lied and forced down another mouthful of dry, ashy pie. She looked to be thoroughly enjoying her own.

  “So… did you have anyone before… all this?” She asked, her tone softer and more serious once more.

  “No, not really,” I replied. “I worked on the rigs up north. Half the time I was totally alone, sometimes with one or two guys going from site to site in the bush. Didn’t go to town much and didn’t get to meet many women on site.”

  “And before that?”

  “I guess there was a girl back home. A long time ago. Didn’t work out.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “North Carolina,”

  “I thought your accent was a little too thick for you to be the usual cowboy types we get around here. What brought you up north?”

  “Money. And space. I liked the space.”

  While she nodded thoughtfully, I decided to jump on the pause in her questioning. “What about you? Did you have anyone before all this?”

  “No one in particular,” she replied shrugging. We sat in silence for a few moments.
“There was this one guy… we’d just started seeing each other. We weren’t exclusive or anything. I met a lot of guys, singing in bars, and it never lasted long.

  “I sang with a couple bands,” she continued, “nothing big. On Thursdays I sang with a jazz quartet at the steakhouse. Just background music; all the standards. Fridays I sang with a country band at the saloon. All the top forty country hits, oldies mostly, a few of the new ones but the folks around here don’t think that’s real country music. Saturdays I hosted Karaoke nights at the saloon. Anyway, I met a lot of guys that way but no one I really cared to keep around. Just… company once in a while, I guess.”

  I nodded. I might have tried to be one of those guys if I’d have come to this town during one of my weeks off. I would have complemented her, bought her a drink, chatted after the show and then I would have tried my luck inviting her back to my hotel. The affair might have lasted a night or a week or the better part of a month, but at the end of my time off, I would have headed back north and probably wouldn’t have called again. I wasn’t a great player of women, but I’d resigned myself to being alone. Commitment felt too much like crowding. It did get lonely up north, though, much as I liked the space and freedom. Everyone needed someone sometimes.

  “We should get a radio in here,” Megan said after a few moments of silence.

  “We should,” I agreed. “We need to keep monitoring to see if anyone is out there. We need to keep checking to see if there’s any more information, any messages people are sending out. I found some battery operated ones with a hand-crank to keep it going when the batteries die.”

  “No I mean a stereo. We need music in here.”

  “Music? Guess I never thought of that.”

  “I’ll look for something tomorrow.” She said. Her voice was becoming low and thick; her eyes heavily lidded.