The Bath Salts Journals (Volume 1)

by Alisse Lee Goldenberg

  * * * Xuân * * *

  I miss watching cute animal videos on YouTube, but now we have a bouncy baby goral! Eeeeeeeeeee it’s sooooooo cute! I’m squeeing! He’s so sproingy!

  But Crypto is cuter. Who’s my fuzzy little wumpkin?

  November 24

  There has not been that much to report here. The plants are growing well. Dog has made friends with both Sebastian and Crypto. Xuân has let her cat finally venture from the inside of the trailer. Today is Loren’s birthday and we had a lovely chat with him, where we all sang him the birthday song and other requests. He claims he got his laptop up and running with the generator he found next door. He’s working his way through my DVDs to prevent himself from getting bored. We had a celebratory dessert here in his honour, and he helped himself to some scotch we’d left behind. Fair trade.

  This morning, David and I awoke to an odd surprise. The triplets had learned how to open the door to their room and climb our ladder. We woke up to them climbing all over us in our bed. We then promptly set to work building a railing across the front of the loft in case this is a frequent occurrence. Knowing our children, it is sure to become one.

  Today, we also embarked on the wild and crazy journey that is toilet training. We don’t have an infinite supply of reusable diapers, nor do we have the patience to keep washing them multiple times a day. Fingers and toes are crossed that this will work. So far, they are resisting, but it is only the first day of this experiment.

  * * * Xuân * * *

  I never talk about my family to the others. I wonder sometimes if they think I’m like a sociopath or something, but no, it’s just—kind of hard to explain. Asian cultures emphasize the community over the individual, the needs of the many over the one. I was the black sheep. I just didn’t fit in. I couldn’t deal with the sciences, the math, or the computer crap. I went to the library. I read books. I wanted to go to the theatre, concerts, art galleries, museums, and the like. I didn’t play computer games, I couldn’t program for the life of me, and I couldn’t fall in with the traditional Asian idea of womanhood. I tried—I did—but it ended disastrously. I think there was some relief for my parents when I left and went out east. I didn’t want to marry young, have babies, and live five doors down from my parents. It was drilled into me that my duty was to my family, and that I shouldn’t have a life apart from them. When the shit went down, I called them. I talked to my sisters and my brother and tried to explain what was going on, what they had to do. I, being a crazy bitch, had envisioned what was to be done in this kind of scenario. I told them to go to my dad’s shop, make the second floor their base and destroy the staircase. It made sense to me, but they laughed it off. I think my younger sister listened, but I know the other did not. My brother, not being an idiot, was already going with his family to their cabin in northern Alberta. My mother explained to me, again, that the (single) life I was leading was not “right” for a woman and these “sick fantasies” were the result of me “corrupting the natural order of women.” Well, zombies corrupt the natural order of life, so what the fuck?

  I warned them. I did. There was nothing else I could do from out here. I try not to think about Alberta because I’d go crazy with worrying. You can’t move back, you can only move forward.

  November 25

  I have actually had to put my limited first aid skills to use. I don’t think I did too much damage in the process. Today passed by peacefully. Ethan, Benjamin, and Samantha spent time outdoors, running around with the gorals, using their sled. All seemed peaceful. There was much laughter among the children and the adults. I did some harvesting in the garden shed, and we milked Doogoo. Our first attempt at cheese is in process. Everything seemed to indicate that today was going to be a good day.

  Evening came, and we had ourselves a lovely fish fry with our first salad in weeks. Then Olivia and I went to check the perimeter before we all went to sleep for the night. We were both halfway through our sides when I heard the screams. I hadn’t heard anything like it since our travels through the cities on our way here. I took off at a run to go and find my friend; I found her being held by the arm through the fence by two zombies who were trying to pull her through to the other side. They had a death grip on her and she couldn’t get free. Her machete was discarded a few feet away, and she was completely unable to get to it. I pulled my weapon and severed one of the zombies’ arms, then proceeded to do the same to its partner. Olivia fell hard to the ground, clutching her arm to her chest. I turned to the armless ghouls and swiftly dispatched them, before turning my attention to Olivia. I cautiously pried the half-frozen fingers from her arm, hearing her cry out in pain as I did so. Her parka was not torn, and there appeared to be no bite marks anywhere that I could see. I pushed the severed limbs back through the fence and escorted her inside her trailer. Xuân was told everything that had happened and she immediately grabbed her rifle and went to get David. The two of them set off to destroy the corpses, while I was left to care for Olivia.

  I helped her carefully take off her parka; when I still couldn’t see her arm properly, I helped her ease out of her shirt. Only then was the damage clear. Her elbow had been pulled right out of its socket. Olivia winced as she looked at her injury, and quickly looked away.

  “You’ll have to pop it back in,” she told me.

  I was terrified. What if I did it wrong? She talked me through all the steps, and I took a deep breath. I grabbed her lower arm with one of my hands, and the upper with the other. Using my weight as leverage, I pressed hard until I felt a pop. Olivia gritted her teeth, and I could see her choke back a scream. I left her momentarily to run to the storage shed to grab fabric for a sling. Soon, she was wrapped up as best I could do for her.

  Tomorrow, we’ll see if I did all right. I’ve never had to do such a thing before. Somehow, that made me feel queasier than slicing off those zombies’ limbs.

  Xuân and David returned and reported that they had seen no other zombies roaming around when they were off destroying the two I killed. I suppose this was just a freak incident. Lucky us.

  November 26

  Olivia woke up today requiring some pain medication. Luckily, we have a bit of an assortment here. Other than that, she can move her fingers; there’s no numbness or tingling. It seems as if I did an adequate job fixing her up. She has declared us even. She saved me on the road, and I saved her here. It only seems fair to agree with her.

  Ethan seems to have a small case of the sniffles. It was only a matter of time before someone got a cold out here. This doesn’t surprise any of us in the least.

  I thought I heard an engine in the distance. Part of me feels nervous that it may be more bandits coming, or even those guys’ friends coming to look for them. Xuân says I’m being silly and shouldn’t worry so much. Guys like them probably don’t have any friends.

  It’s been two days now since I last heard from my brother. I tried calling him today, and couldn’t seem to get any reception to put the call through. It could mean anything, like the phone lines are down, or the satellite isn’t receiving, or some other such nonsense. I shouldn’t read too much into it. It will just make me crazy.

  Today’s good news is that our goat cheese is actually pretty decent. It’s a nice change from meat and vegetables all the time. The children are delighted. I think they miss cheese a lot. It’s amazing what one ends up missing when away from home. We had a whole conversation about it today while sitting around at supper.

  “I miss pizza,” Xuân said. “Not good pizzas like you get at a real Italian restaurant. I’m talking about the disgusting, puffy, greasy stuff you get from one of those delivery places.”

  “I miss baths,” Olivia replied. “When we get back, I’m going to soak in a big jetted tub for hours. Fill it to the brim with bubbles and scented crap and just lie there.”

  “I miss theatre,” David added. “I miss sitting in the dark waiting for the show to start wondering if it’s actually going to be any good.”

 
“I miss a real barbeque,” I said. “I miss hearing and smelling the hamburgers sizzling on the grill, with everyone hanging out in the backyard in their t-shirts and shorts.”

  “Girl cheese!” Ethan piped up.

  David laughed and corrected him to say “grilled cheese.”

  “’Nanas,” Benjamin said, with a smile.

  “Bubbies,” Samantha added.

  At that point, we all fell silent. That was what we’d been avoiding. Samantha missed her grandparents. Out of the mouths of babes. Not a single one of us wanted to admit to missing our families out loud. She did, though.

  * * * Xuân * * *

  Oh, pizza. Pizza, pizza, pizza. And steak. And cupcakes. And chocolate. And ice cream. Who I wouldn’t kill for a fucking bacon cheeseburger. With a side of poutine. And the good pizza, like you get out west. The toppings are under the cheese and the cheese is baked to this golden brown crust with oozy cheesiness under it. Mother of fuck.

  November 27

  I don’t think it’s a cold. Ethan woke up in the middle of the night crying. He let himself out of his room and stood at the foot of the ladder wailing until I went down and got him. He was struggling to breathe; his nose was so stuffed up. I heard his breath wheezing in his chest. He definitely had a fever. I sent David into the kitchen for a cold compress and some baby Tylenol that we keep in our trailer. I did my best and held him as he went back to sleep. My sleep was done. I spent the rest of the night cradling my son.

  Today he doesn’t seem any better—in fact, he seems worse. I boiled a kettle of water and poured it into a bowl, letting him inhale the steam. He has a bit of a hacking cough, and his fever doesn’t want to go down. If we were back at home, and the world was normal, I’d be in an emergency room with him. His fever is 102 degrees. Xuân and Olivia have taken the other two children into their trailer. As of right now, they don’t seem to be sick. We’ve decided we’d best keep it that way.

  I can’t make him eat. Ethan seems to have lost all semblance of an appetite. He’s back in his diapers today, after all the progress he’d been making, but I’m not going to push this issue. We sat up in the loft together while David tried making different foods to try to get him to eat. We watched several cartoons on my laptop. I am so scared. I don’t know what to do. Xuân came in at one point with a toddler cough suppressant. I don’t know if I should try it, it’s not recommended for children under two years of age. We’ll see if he gets any better overnight.

  I haven’t felt this worried since the day he and his siblings were born. They were seven weeks premature and had to spend a month in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. That first day, seeing them with their IVs and feeding tubes (Ethan and Benjamin both had oxygen masks on), it broke my heart into tiny pieces. I was terrified for them. There was nothing I could do to help them. I thought I would never have to feel that way again. Today, I have been proven wrong.

  November 28

  Ethan isn’t getting any better. The good news is that he’s not getting worse. I haven’t left his side. He sits in my lap, looking at me with these fever-bright eyes, and my heart breaks. I feel so helpless. It’s a God-awful feeling. I love him so much, and I couldn’t bear it if he doesn’t pull through. He has to pull through! If only I could just cure him by my force of will. David has spent a lot of time by my side, but Ethan only wants to be held by his mama. Olivia came in today, arm still in her sling. She had brought a pot of stew that she and Xuân had made from something they had hunted. Ethan still refuses to eat. I did get him to drink some lukewarm tea. I consider that a small victory. At least he’s staying somewhat hydrated.

  His fever still hasn’t broken. There’s this unspoken fear in everyone that somehow he’s contacted the zombie virus. No one has mentioned it to me. I think they’re afraid of what I might do to them if they say it out loud. However, I can see it in their eyes. I can’t let Ethan out of my sight. David understands how I feel. I believe we’re on the same page about this. No one is putting a bullet in my son. I will not allow it to happen, ever. I keep on bringing up the fact that he has no bite marks; in fact, he has no wounds of any kind. He and his siblings have been kept carefully away from any zombie activity. I don’t know where he could have picked it up. They’re crazy if they believe that’s what’s wrong with him. I won’t hear another word on the subject. Not one.

  * * * Xuân * * *

  We have a sick member of the sprogs. Ethan isn’t feeling so good. His fever is really high and he’s babbling. I know we’re all pretty sure the zombie shit travels by bite, but what if it’s mutated?

  What will happen, will happen.

  November 29

  I am crying as I write this entry. Ethan’s fever broke last night. He woke up in a sweat, alert but shivering. His forehead finally felt cool to the touch. After days of feeling his burning skin against my fingers, this was a welcome change. My prayers have been answered! He sat up in bed and touched my face, asking me for water, which I gladly gave him. David and I then took him down the ladder and gave him some warmed up stew, which he actually ate. I have never felt so thankful and happy in all my life. I sincerely hope that this is no calm before the storm and that my son is truly on the road to recovery. If this is indeed the case, Samantha and Benjamin could probably come back from their extended sleepover with Xuân and Olivia in a couple of days.

  Ethan seems lethargic, but happy and alert. He petted Sebastian and accepted puppy kisses from him. He now seems content to let either David or me hold him. These are all very good signs. He is still congested, but even this sounds better. All of this gives me so much hope.

  So far, no one else seems to have picked up whatever made Ethan sick, but we’re all keeping a very watchful eye on each other. Maybe it’s just a fluke. Kids get sick all the time for no rhyme or reason. Maybe we shouldn’t let them play outside so much when it’s so cold out. I don’t know what the answer is here.

  November 30

  We brought Benjamin and Samantha in this evening to see their brother. They’ve been asking for each other. They haven’t spent a single day apart since they were born, and this whole separation was very difficult for them. David and I watched them as both Benjamin and Samantha approached Ethan and gave him gentle hugs. We feel secure that he’s not contagious at this point. I spent the past few days holding him and caring for him in close quarters and I feel fine; David does as well. Watching the three of them together was beautiful. Two days ago, I was unsure this would even be possible. Even Xuân got a little teary watching all of this unfold.

  There was laughter between the three of them. They reverted to their baby talk for a bit. They have their own language and have had it since they were about nine months old. David and I can’t understand a word of it, but they certainly understand each other. I wonder what they said to each other. But whatever it was, it caused Ethan to smile and laugh like he hasn’t in days.

  I realize now that it’s been nearly a week since I’ve heard from my own brother. I don’t know what this means. As secure as our house was, it wasn’t ideal. That’s why we left it. I have a horrible feeling that he’s gone. I think they’re all gone. All we have now is right here in Nunavut.

  December 2

  This time it was my turn to go fishing with David. I was concerned leaving Ethan so soon after his illness. He’s doing so much better, but it’s only been a few days. He’s still weak, and tires easily, but we were assured that Xuân and Olivia would take good care of him. I still have this almost irrational fear that they think he’s infected with the zombie virus. I should know better at this point.

  It’s been so long since David and I spent any real time together without anyone else around. To go fishing with him was nice. It was almost like a date, a date with some zombie killing. When we got to the lake, we got out of the car and set up a couple of folding chairs we had brought from the trailer. We sat by a small hole in the ice and just talked for a while.

  David told me that he respects all I have done for u
s. I knew he was grateful for my plans and how we got out before things got really bad, but it was nice to hear him say these things out loud. We discussed whether we think we’ll ever get to go home. I have to think we will at some point. Nunavut was never a forever plan. There’s no real future out here. Eventually, we’ll run out of clothes that fit the children. Eventually, Xuân and Olivia may want to start families of their own. Eventually, the triplets will be too big to fit a double bed all together. We will have to find our way back.

  David agrees with all of this. The only problem is that neither of us knows how we’ll figure out if it’s safe or not. I suppose one of the adults will have to go back and send word. But when do we feel this is an appropriate gamble? In two months? Three? There are no easy answers.

  Jokingly, David promised me that once we get home, he’ll take me to a movie with a big bag of popcorn and some soda. I’m going to hold him to that promise.

  While fishing, David caught a couple of large fish, and I noticed a dark shape drifting towards us under the ice. I figured it was a seal or something similar. I pointed it out to him as we watched it get closer. It grabbed my line and I reeled it in. The zombie broke through the water line; David was already standing at the ready and sliced through its frozen skull. I didn’t realize it was possible for them to live underwater like this, although, in retrospect, I don’t suppose they live at all.

  We headed back with our catch and found the kids all playing together with some blocks, building tower after tower, and ruthlessly knocking them down. I told Olivia what we’d seen at the lake, and she just shrugged as if it was nothing new. Maybe she’d already seen something similar when she’s been. I don’t know why she wouldn’t have told me.