Without looking back, I obey and stagger to the small kitchen.
“What happened to you?” Nurse Jennings touches my arm and I wince. “Let's get this jacket off. She stands back, examines me for a moment, and then smiles. “You look good in a tux.”
I'm in pain, but I force a flat smile anyway. As she steers me out of my left sleeve, my right arm feels like it's being ripped apart. I groan, fighting the curse I want to scream.
Once my hand is free, she peels away the jacket and examines me. “You're bleeding,” she says. “Is your condition getting worse?”
“Yes and no,” I answer. I wince again as she lifts my right hand. “Someone hit me with a crowbar.”
She gasps and shakes her head. “Lean down. This is going to hurt.”
The warning isn't soon enough and I yell as she grabs my right elbow and presses against my back. I hear and feel the pop. Suddenly there's feeling in my fingers again, though the pain from my shoulder has shot down my arm. I'm happy to have use of it again, but fire an injured glare back at Nurse Jennings.
“That's how we do it,” she says casually. She opens a closet and pulls out a plastic case. “But for the blood, we'll need something practical.”
I pull a chair from the dining room table and sit. “It's crazy outside,” I say.
“I'm surprised the hospital let you go.” Nurse Jennings sprays something on my right arm that stings. Then she sprays my injured hand. “The news is saying this is the worst outbreak yet. They may suspend the vaccines for a few days.”
I nod and hold up my arm for her to wrap it. “The hospital didn't let me leave. I broke out.”
Nurse Jennings gasps, but I don't let her say anymore. I immediately tell her what's happened since I left school yesterday afternoon. She's wrapping my arm and nodding as if she understands what's happened, but I don't think she realizes how desperate I've become.
“I need a ride to Cottonwood Heights,” I tell her. “My date won't go to the dance with me unless I pick her up. With all that—” I pause as a siren blasts past the house.
Nurse Jennings runs to the window and peers through the curtain. “I've never heard so many sirens.” She returns to the kitchen and starts to work on my left arm. She makes a face I don't think she intends for me to see and turns to look away. Then she grabs a wide bandage from her plastic crate.
“I know I'm getting worse,” I tell her.
She looks at me. I see she's fighting off tears. “This is bad, Ryan. You need to get to a hospital.”
I shake my head. “They're not treating the Virus anymore. A cop told me. They're letting everyone infected purge themselves. The hospital is on lockdown.”
“Then they're?”
“Yes.” I nod. “It's chaos in the streets. I had to fight to make it here.”
“And why did you come to my house?” she asks. “If it's as bad as you say, why bother with this dance?”
“Because it's all I have left.” I stand as soon as the open flesh on my arm is covered. I wipe my face with my palm. “Look, I know I'm dead. In a matter of weeks, or days, or hours, there's going to be nothing left. No hospital will treat me and the cops will shoot me on site. They've already shot at me. If the zombies out there don't tear me apart, anyone afraid of me will.” I take a deep breath and shiver as the realization hits me. “I want my last night alive to be something great. That's why I want to go. That's why I came here.”
Nurse Jennings is crying now. She's holding her face in her palms and sobbing, refusing to look up. She cried like that at Adrian's funeral. I remember friends crowding around her and holding her and offering tissues. I'm not sure what to do, so I press a hand onto her shoulder. She shudders and doesn't look up.
“Please help me,” I whisper. “I want one night, one moment before fate consumes me.”
Nurse Jennings shakes her head. “I can't,” she tells me. “I can't send you out to become like those monsters.” Now she looks up at me. “Not you. Not after all you've done.”
“I don't think there's anything that can stop that now,” I say. “But maybe doing this—maybe going to this dance—will show everyone, including us, that there's some hope in all this pain.” I shrug. “I don't know.” I place my hand back on her shoulders. “Please, Nurse Jennings. There's a girl out there waiting for me. You helped me get this far. Now, won't you please help me finish what I've started?”
She shudders again. It's a long, drawn out shake that tells me she's at the end of her emotion. She wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and then grabs my tuxedo jacket from the counter. “You look good in this,” she says.
“Thanks to you.”
Nurse Jennings shakes her head. “When I bought this I kept seeing Andre in my mind. I imagined what he would look like now. I think he'd look like Carl.”
“It's because he lived that we have such great memories,” I add. “I never had a better friend, and no one ever will.”
She nods and wipes fresh tears from her cheek. “So this is the end for all of us.” She dusts off my jacket and holds it up for me. “I suppose the school won't want me back after I do this.”
“It's only a ride,” I tell her. “You don't have to stay or anything. No one will know you've been helping me.”
As I slip my arms into my jacket, she tugs on the tail. “They'll know,” she tells me. “But I'm not coming with you.”
After cleaning blood from my face, Nurse Jennings hands me a stick of mint gum and leads me to the garage. She flips on the light, revealing her little blue car and a shiny red mustang parked on the opposite side. I know this car. Adrian's dad used to spend hours in the driveway, waxing it and working on the engine. Sometimes he'd let us shine the chrome with a towel and then he'd take us on a ride to Pace's for ice cream. I never knew Nurse Jennings had kept it.
She holds out a key attached to a ring with a leather Ford emblem. “Go have your night,” she tells me, pressing the key into my palm. Her hand is cold. “And if the morning finds you safely, come back here. I'll find a way to help you.”
Her words are honest, but we both know the truth. I probably won't see daylight again. I feel the change affecting me. I'm anxious, a little dizzy, and hot.
“Thank you,” I say. I pull her into me and squeeze a lifetime of good memories between us.
We stay frozen in the doorway. I don't want to pull away because I know it's the beginning of the end. I'm sure she doesn't want to pull away from me because she knows the next time she sees me she'll be mourning. Finally, the garage door opens, breaking up our farewell. I look up as I step away. Her hand is still on the button that activated the door.
I weave between the little blue car and the garage wall and then grip the handle of the mustang. Adrian and I used to spend entire nights dreaming about that day when we'd get to take this car out. We thought about cruising downtown, or heading to the university, or even taking a daring weekend trip to Las Vegas. Now I was taking the car to prom.
There's a mechanical click as I open the door. It's heavy. Not like the fancy Mercedes door of my lawyer. I take a deep breath as the scent from the interior reaches me. There are traces of the Armor All that Adrian's dad used to smother on the dashboard. I slide into the seat and sink into the soft leather. The chair cradles me and I catch myself grinning. With careful strokes of delight, I caress the shift handle. Stick shift. I don’t think they make cars like this anymore.
I grip the steering wheel with my left hand and laugh. This is power at its finest. A car built in the day when the world feared the apocalypse I’m living. Pure muscle. Pure protein. This car is like me in so many ways. I look over at Nurse Jennings and she's smiling back at me.
“I run the engine a couple times a year,” she says to me. “And imagine that Carl's still here; that he's working in the garage, and that everything's perfect like it used to be.”
I insert the key and the engine roars. For effect, and because the rumble in the seat is exhilarating, I press the gas hard a coup
le times. The sound is deafening and satisfying at the same time. White smoke fills the driveway. Nurse Jennings comes to the door and I release my foot from the pedal.
“Have a good time, Ryan.” She starts to close the door and then pauses. “Hey,” she asks, “do you have a license?”
I smile back at her. “Nope.” Then I pull the door shut and shift the car into reverse. Before she can change her mind, I release the break and give the car a pedal full of gas.
The wheels squeal and I'm backing out faster than I planned. I try to steer, but I haven't driven in two years. The car swerves and smacks the mailbox, shooting it over the hood and onto the grass in front of me. I slam on the breaks. I'm suddenly full of adrenaline.
I yell an apology but Nurse Jennings is shaking her head and laughing. She waves goodbye and smiles. I shift into first and release a squeal from the tires that's even deafening inside the car. With another roar, I aim the car forward and off toward the freeway.
The car is too much for me. I know it right away. I swerve back and forth across the road, slipping onto curbs and through freshly planted flower gardens as I try to work out the coordination between shifting and steering. I try to remember driving rules. I know the stop signs, but can't find the signal switch on the car. I give up after the third or fourth turn, deciding that breaking a few traffic laws are the worst offense that'll come from this zombie tonight.
I want to listen to music, but trying to steer and work the gears keeps me busy on the little roads. Once I'm on the freeway; however, I reach over and hit the stereo power button. Colored lights fill the car and sparkle against the dark interior. It takes a second, but then I'm surrounded by crazy, base pumping, adrenaline filled music. I yell my thrill as the song fits the moment. I press on the gas, steer around a slower car, and race down the freeway.
I don't care about the speed limit. I don't care about rules. I don't care about anything. If there was any other name for freedom, it would mine at this moment. The rumble of the engine, the pounding of the bass, and the yells from my voice as I sing along are more independence than I've known in years. I am in an island of liberation; I can do what I please and go where I want. I'm going to prom.
Sooner than I wished, I arrive at the Cottonwood Heights exit. The clock shows seven forty five. I don't know how long it will take me to get to Jessica’s house, but I imagine I'm doing okay. As I drive along, more comfortable with the gears now, the traffic slows. Then it stops. Ahead of me, flashing red and blue lights bounce off the coming night. Cops are looking inside cars. This is some sort of checkpoint. As the seconds tick past, I see shadows moving from the trees and I know we're in trouble.
Like probes at dusk, the first zombies crouch low while creeping around the cars. A few frantic drivers honk their horns, most likely trying to get the attention of the police, but the flashing lights are too far ahead. One zombie leaps onto the hood of a minivan. He pounds at the windshield. I can't see exactly what's going on, but I don't think he's getting in. Another group of dead people dash from the trees. These guys are smarter. They pry their fingers into the door gaps and tear open the metal to expose their screaming victims.
I remember the hospital and watching the attacks on the road below my window. There's no security here; not close, anyway. The cars here don’t have any chance for help. I swerve out from the line of and gun the engine, aiming for the other side of the road.
Bad move.
The noise draws three zombies after me. I'm speeding away, but they're chasing. One of them dives onto the hood of the car. He grabs the windshield wipers and pulls himself to face me. His face is bloody and he's lost an eye. I swerve violently and he swings across the hood and disappears. Another one is in my rear view mirror. He's holding onto the spoiler. I try swerving again, but he’s still there. He punches the rear window that tries to shatter, but the tinting holds it together. I slam on the breaks and the zombie tumbles over the hood. I gun the car again and run over my attacker.
I'm at the roadblock now and a cop is waving a light, motioning for me to slow down.
“Move!” I yell, though there's no way he could hear me.
He leaps out of the way. I hear a pop and expect the window to break, but the bullet never hits the glass. In the side view mirror, I see a zombie flailing on the ground. There's a flash and another pop, then a cop is standing over a dead man.
Everything is spinning and I can't think strait, but I know I need to get out of here. I squeal around a corner, weaving between several stopped cars. I strike one in the side, sending a shower of sparks into the air. I don't care; I'm leaving. After a frantic course through unfamiliar streets, I'm far enough away that I dare myself to slow down and try to figure out where I am.
~ O ~
The clock on the stereo shows eight twelve when I finally arrive at Jessica's neighborhood. I pull around the corner and stop the car in front of her house. I'm panting and sweat is dripping into my eyes. The day hasn't been what I had expected, but I'm here. I'm alive. And I'm dizzy.
It's almost five minutes until I can see straight. A curtain in the front window moves. I know she sees me here. My fingers tremble and my hands clam up. I wipe them on my jacket. This is nothing like I've done. Not for a long time. When I was a sophomore, I went to a few dances, but it was never like this. This is Spring Prom. This is the last date of my life.
I switch off the car and everything succumbs to an eerie silence. My heart pounds at a thundering rate, but I cannot breathe. There's no air. I open the door. The cold stings. I'm still shaking. I examine myself.
A few hours ago, this tuxedo was crisp and new. Now there are blood spots on my shirt and the sleeves are torn. I can feel a hole in the back of my pants, where the air is biting my leg. There are streaks of dark blood all the way down to my shoes.
I examine my face in the side view mirror and press my hair back before taking the nervous walk toward Jessica's front porch. With a gulp of courage, I press the doorbell and wait. The door opens and I'm facing Dr. Snow.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Beautiful
People have an instinct that urges them to run when they're scared. That's exactly what I want to do. Every part of my DNA—the pure essence of human survival—screams to me to flee. My enemy, Dr. Snow, is staring down at me. He's judging me, examining me with eyes that have lied to me before. I take a step backward.
“You're late,” he says, closing the door behind him and advancing toward me.
“I'm sorry, sir.” My voice shakes. “I had to find a ride.”
“Did you steal the car?”
“No, sir.” I try to appear confident, but I can't. I see the clinic and the tests and the walls. I feel the needles. I see Jessica through the window behind him; once again, we're separated by glass. “I've come to take Jessica to prom.”
“Sit down.” Dr. Snow points to a white porch swing.
My body is still telling me to run, but I don't. I obey the man in front of me. The swing rocks backward as I sit. Dr. Snow leans against the porch railing, a few feet away. He folds his arms and stares at me, searching.
“What happened to you?” he asks. There's ice in his words.
“I was attacked on the way here,” I tell him. “Someone broke my window, too.”
He glances back at the Mustang and then turns to face me again. “Your kind?”
I nod.
“I suppose you think it's my fault,” he says.
“No, sir,” I lie.
“You keep glaring at me like I'm the enemy, Mr. Moon. I'm trying to help people. I'm trying to help you in ways you don’t seem to appreciate.”
He isn't helping me, but I don't tell him.
“This dance isn’t a good idea. If I had my way, you wouldn’t be standing on my porch tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” I say. “I understand.”
“You will have my daughter home by midnight,” he tells me. Before I can respond, he's pointing at me. “At twelve oh one, I'm ordering the police to shoo
t you. Midnight.”
I stare at Dr. Snow. It can’t be this way. He needs to know about me. He needs to know what he’s done to the world. I swallow my fear of the man in front of me and take a chance at changing my fate. “I have a condition,” I say.
“Still making demands, Mr. Moon?”
“It’s not about me, sir. It’s about what you’re doing. It’s about the vaccine.”
For the first time, Dr. Snow seems interested in my words. His brow rises and he leans forward. “Oh?”
I take a deep breath and continue. “I don’t know what you’ve done with my blood,” I say, “but it’s no good. Whatever you’ve used it for, it won’t work.”
“And why is that?”
“I’m getting worse.”
The crease in Dr. Snow’s forehead deepens. “I’ve examined the samples, Ryan Moon. You are the one we need.”
“No!” I cut him off. “Don’t give my blood to anyone. You’re killing people,” I say. “Don’t you know what you’re doing?”
“I know exactly what I’m doing. The question is, do you?”
I’m shaking and hot. “Please, sir. For Jessica. Don’t give her the vaccine. Nothing good can come from it.”
Dr. Snow’s face reddens and his hands clench into fists. I know I’ve upset him, but I had to say what I did. I have to stop this. The world won’t end because of me.
“I know you hate me, sir. I’ve known it all along. And I don’t blame you.” I wipe away tears forming in my eyes from the pressure in my head. “I’m not good for anyone. I’m lucky to know Jessica. But I’m here, and I’m trying to do the right thing. Can’t you see I’ve been trying to do the right thing?”
The front door opens and a woman steps onto the porch. She's tall and slender with long dark hair. She could be Jessica's sister. “We’re ready,” she tells Dr. Snow. She turns to me. “You must be Ryan. I've heard so much about you. I'm Jessica's mother.”
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