The Way We Fall

by Megan Crewe

  “No, no,” she said. “Don’t leave! I just want someone to talk to.” And then she started crying—sobbing and coughing at the same time.

  I realized right then that I could do something. I could get out and talk to her, and I’d be almost as safe as if she were healthy.

  “I should take her to the hospital,” I said. “I think I can get her to walk there. I’ll meet you back at your place.”

  Tessa shook her head. At first I thought she was going to tell me not to bother, but then she said, “We can drive her. We’ve both got masks—it should be okay, right?”

  To be honest, I didn’t really want to spend an hour or more cajoling this woman into coming with me as far as the hospital. I decided I’d get her into the back of the car and stay with her there, and put my mask over her face so the virus stayed more contained.

  As I got out of the car, I heard another engine somewhere behind us, and I figured it was one of Gav’s group taking food around. The woman turned toward me, scratching at her scalp above her ear. A few strands of hair drifted to the ground.

  “What’s your name?” she said, beaming at me. “I’m—”

  The air crackled, rattling in my ears. I flinched and ducked my head. When I looked up, the woman was falling. A circle of blood was spreading across her forehead. She crumpled onto the pavement.

  Her body twitched, and then she was still.

  A door slammed. I spun around to see a guy a few years older than Drew striding toward us from a pickup truck, a shotgun dangling from his right hand. He was wearing a face mask with the words “survival” and “strength” scrawled on it in blue pen, but I recognized him by his white-blond hair. He used to help out at the MacCauley’s apple orchard, where we picked up a basket every fall.

  Then Tessa called my name, and it occurred to me that I had better get back to the car.

  “What the hell are you doing?” the guy said, stopping about ten feet away and cocking his head like he was making sure the woman was dead. “Don’t you know what’s going on? You want to get sick?”

  “What are you doing?” I shouted back. “You just shot someone!”

  “She already had it,” he said. “She was dead anyway. I just made sure she didn’t pass it on first.”

  “She wasn’t dead!” I said. “She could have gotten better! I did.”

  I knew as soon as the words came out of my mouth it was a mistake. His eyes narrowed and he raised the gun. “You’ve had it?” he said. “Probably still in you then.”

  I threw myself at the car door, but I’m sure he would have shot me before I’d gotten inside if Tessa hadn’t stepped out right then, between us.

  He hesitated, and she started yelling.

  “You have so many bullets it’s worth wasting them?” she said, hands on her hips. “Did your friends tell you to go around shooting healthy people?”

  He just stared at her. I did too.

  “You’re worse than the virus,” she went on. “At least it lets a few people survive. You’re out here trying to kill everyone.”

  “See if you’re still saying that when your friend gets you sick,” the guy said, but he’d lowered his gun. As soon as it was obvious he was walking away, I dove into the car. Tessa followed. She’d left the engine running, and she backed up just enough to swerve around the woman’s body before she put her foot on the gas, so abruptly my shoulder smacked the window.

  “Sorry,” she said, sounding like her regular self again. “I didn’t think we should give him time to change his mind.”

  “No,” I said. “Oh my god. Thank you.”

  “Well, I couldn’t let him shoot you,” she said, like it was a fact.

  But it’s not. She could have let him shoot me. She could have driven away and not risked her life for some girl she wouldn’t even sit next to a couple months ago.

  I don’t know what I would have done if our positions had been reversed. I want to think I’d have stood up for her, but I can so easily imagine my mind going blank until it was too late. I want to be that kind of person, though. The kind of person who saves other people.

  I fought off a virus that’s killed almost everyone who’s caught it—I should feel stronger. I am stronger. I have to remember that.

  When I went to take a shower this morning, the water coming out of the tap was brown. Enough that it looked muddy in Tessa’s clean bathtub. I tried calling the hospital, but the line was busy like pretty much always, so I told Tessa and Meredith not to drink any water, and headed over. Thankfully Dad brought our car around last night.

  I saw Nell as soon as I went in. “Something must have broken in the filtration system,” she said. “We’ll try to find someone who can fix it, but I think we’re lucky it’s only happened now. Anything mechanical will break down without proper maintenance. I’m surprised the electricity’s held up this long.”

  So we have to boil the water before we can drink it now. I spent the morning filling up the hospital kitchen’s biggest pots and letting them steam and then pouring the still-brown but at least safe to drink water into these jugs one of the volunteers found. The more they have on hand, the better. It seemed like a simple way to help.

  After I’d topped up the last jug, I went looking for Nell to find out what she wanted to do with them all. I’d just spotted her in the hall and was calling her name when the elevator doors opened between us and a man with shaggy, graying hair came out, wheeling a wide gurney.

  A sheet was draped across the top of the gurney, but that wasn’t enough to disguise the lumps and bulges underneath. Feet and elbows, shoulders and foreheads. A hill of bodies. My stomach lurched as he pushed it past me, the wheels squeaking. The patients in the hall went quiet. When I managed to pull my gaze away, Nell was standing beside me.

  “Where does he take them?” I asked.

  Nell lay her hand on my arm, which was trembling, and I realized what I was really asking was, Where’s my mom?

  “I wish we could give them the proper respect,” she said softly. “But after the first wave…There aren’t enough volunteers and there isn’t enough time. We’ve had to use the old quarry.”

  The quarry. I remember exploring it as a kid, slipping and skinning my palms on the gravel. It was like a big empty lake. Except it isn’t empty now.

  My lungs tightened, and I had to fight the urge to walk right out of the hospital and not stop until I was standing on the edge, until I could find Mom amid the jumble of bodies. To see her one last time. I know that sounds morbid, but I think there’s some part of grief you just can’t get past when all you have is other people’s words. When you haven’t looked at the body with your own eyes, or watched a coffin lowered into the ground. You can’t shake the feeling that it could be some big mistake, like they might be wrong and no one died after all.

  Animals honor their dead. Elephants stand vigil over fallen friends and family. Gorillas howl and beat their chests. Mom didn’t even get that much. She was dumped into a pit with so many others, like the victims of a genocide. Like garbage. How could we do that to her?

  In a way, it’s not so different from what I saw yesterday. All it takes is one microscopic virus, and even the people who aren’t sick start acting like mass murderers.

  I closed my eyes and opened them again and swallowed down all the angry painful words I could have said. It isn’t Nell’s fault. Not really. And there are worse things to be upset about. Like the fact that Drew could be floating out in the strait or crumpled on the mainland shore somewhere, dead and lost. At least I know where Mom is.

  I watched the man with the gurney disappearing through the front doors. “Isn’t he worried about getting sick?” I asked after a moment, groping for something else to talk about. He was wearing a mask and a protective gown like everyone else, but being that close to so many bodies has got to be risky.

  Nell smiled a little sadly. “Howard’s like you, hon,” she said. “He caught the virus early on, was our first to make it through. That’s why he
took the job.”

  Dad told me I was the fifth survivor, and the woman who shared my room would be number six, but somehow the idea hadn’t quite sunk in until then. There are other people walking around who beat the virus. Who’ve shown that we can.

  Dad also said we were lucky, but that’s a cop-out. When it comes to science, luck just means you haven’t found the reason yet.

  A shiver of excitement went through me, like a flash of light in the darkness. “Nell,” I said, “there are records for all the patients, right?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Though we haven’t been able to keep them as organized as we used to. The file room’s just off reception. Why?”

  “Could you write down the names of the people who got better?” I said.

  She frowned. “Kaelyn,” she said. “You know your dad’s already been over those records a dozen times. He hasn’t found anything.”

  “I know,” I said. “But maybe they need a fresh pair of eyes. Can’t hurt for me to look.”

  So she gave me the code for the door and the names of the five other survivors, and left me to get to work. She was right about the disorganization—the cabinets are overflowing, folders left sitting on top of them or jammed into the wrong spots. But after a half hour I managed to dig out the files for the six of us who recovered. I sat on the floor looking them over until the tiny print started to give me a headache, and then I stuck them together in the space between two of the cabinets so I can find them right away next time I come.

  I didn’t see anything today that would connect us, explain why we lived and all those other people didn’t. But I’m going to keep looking. There has to be something.

  I went into town today, and no one aimed a gun at me. Small victories.

  I’d run into Gav yesterday when I was heading out of the hospital, and he told me Dad had asked his group to inform people about the water problem while they’re doing their next food run. Which makes sense. Everything will just get worse if people who haven’t caught the virus pick up something else by drinking contaminated water.

  “When are you going?” I asked right away. “I’ll come with you if you need more people.”

  “We’ve got a bunch helping now,” he said. “But the more we have, the faster the rounds get done. We’re going out tomorrow morning—I could come by and pick you up.”

  He sounds, and looks, so much more confident than he did the last time I saw him, when he was beating himself up about what happened with Quentin. But he still watched me tentatively after he said it, as if he thought I was going to tell him to take a hike.

  “That’d be great,” I said, and smiled, and he smiled back. Right then, even though I hadn’t found anything in the records, it felt like a good day.

  So this morning he came by in the old Ford, and we headed to the hospital, where everyone was meeting. For an operation that a week ago only consisted of three guys, Gav and Warren got organized amazingly fast. As he was driving, he told me the details.

  “Warren’s divided the town into different areas,” he explained, “and there’s a list for each one. Plus another for the places on the outskirts, the farms and everything. The lists let you know which houses to skip, to save us time. You knock on the door, give whoever answers a bag of food. Today we’ll also tell them about having to boil the tap water. And you ask them if anyone inside has symptoms. If they do, or we see someone who’s sick, we do our best to convince them to let us take them to the hospital. One of the nurses is setting up a home in the church near the hospital for the kids who are alone, so if you see any, make a note and we’ll hopefully have somewhere to bring them in the next couple days.”

  “Wow,” I said, and he laughed.

  “I know,” he said. “It sounds like a lot. But once we get going, it’s not that different from how we did things before. I still wish—”

  “If you say you wish you could do more,” I interrupted, “I will hit you. I really will.”

  “All right, all right!” he said, ducking his head. But I know he was thinking it.

  When we got to the hospital, a cluster of people was waiting outside. I recognized Warren and another guy who’d been with Gav’s group before, a middle-aged woman I’d see helping around the hospital, a youngish man who used to wait tables at the Seaview Restaurant, one of the orderlies, and a few other adults I only vaguely knew.

  Gav’s expression went serious. He nodded to them as he stepped out of the car, but I saw his shoulders hunch just slightly, as if he was a turtle fighting the urge to duck into his shell. Then he hurried over to Warren, who was sitting on the fringes of the group in the driver’s seat of a car, the door open.

  “Good to see you, Kaelyn,” Warren said, and glanced at Gav. Something silent passed between them, and a second later Gav’s face looked a bit more flushed than it had before. He shrugged and leaned on the car door.

  “So what’s the plan today?” he asked.

  Warren shuffled through a bunch of papers that looked a lot like the ones he’d been holding when I first met him.

  “We’ve got five cars today,” he said. “I divided the lists up to fit. Each group should have to make about eight stops, except the outer area group, but they only need to do one house at a time. Patrick and Terry already loaded up the cars like you asked, so I think we’re ready to go.”

  He handed the papers over to Gav, who eyed them and then the waiting group.

  “You know,” he said, “one of these days I’m going to make you stand up there and talk for yourself.”

  “And you know they listen to you better than they’ll ever listen to me,” Warren replied. “Just talk—they’re all raring to go.”

  Gav pretended to scowl at him before he jogged over to the hospital steps. He hesitated for a second, then shouted for everyone’s attention. Warren turned to me with a half smile.

  “He liked the job better when it was just us guys,” he said. “But he manages to get everyone working together anyway. And don’t let him give you the impression he’s taking credit where he shouldn’t. This was all his idea. I just help make it work better, because he asked me to.”

  “You don’t think this is important?” I said.

  “I know it’s important,” he said. “Put me up there, though, and I’d freeze up. And he feels it. That’s what gets people going.”

  We both looked toward Gav, who was gesturing in the air as he explained why everyone needed to know the water wasn’t safe. Whatever nerves he’d been feeling before were gone. He stood straight and steady, and he had that familiar intensity in his eyes, like it was a matter of life and death. Which it was, after all.

  “You seem like you’ve been friends a long time,” I said to Warren.

  “Yep,” he said. “Since second grade. The teacher kept making fun of him because he hadn’t learned how to swim yet. He wanted to get back at her, and I came up with the perfect prank. We have conspired together ever since.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What did you do to her?” I asked.

  His smile turned a little wicked. “I don’t think he’d like it if I told you,” he said, and tipped his head toward Gav, who was coming our way. The other pairs were ducking into their cars with maps and lists in hand. It looked like Gav had handed off his car keys to the orderly.

  So the three of us piled into Warren’s car, the guys in the front and me in the back with a heap of bagged food.

  In some ways, it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. When we were driving and talking, I could almost believe we were just a group of friends out for a ride. And most of the people whose doors I knocked on looked healthy and relieved to see me, even when I told them about the problem with the water.

  But then there was the woman who just grabbed the food from me and shut the door before I could say anything else. I heard a little boy’s voice on the other side, chattering away with a sneeze here and there. And the man who couldn’t stop coughing and had to be taken to the hospital.

  “I’ll d
rive him,” I said, and Gav gave me a horrified look.

  “I take the sick ones,” he said. “I’m the one who wanted to start bringing them in—I’m the one who should handle it.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But I’ve already gotten sick, and you still can. It’s common sense.”

  He couldn’t exactly deny the facts, so in the end I got my way, even though Gav insisted on helping the man into the car. As I came around to the driver’s seat, he touched my arm.

  “Keep an eye out,” he said. “If you see someone driving around who’s not part of our group—”

  “I know,” I said. “I’ll be careful. Thanks.”

  I made it to and from the hospital just fine, so that wasn’t the worst part of the day. The worst was all the addresses we were already skipping, and all the ones I had to cross off the list because there hadn’t been any answer the last three tries. In the end, we only found people at forty-three houses. Warren looked at the sheet I brought back at the end of the morning, littered with X’s, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “I’ll redo them before next time,” he said to Gav.

  Gav nodded, like it was no big deal, but a minute later he swiped a can of beans from the trunk and hurled it down the street. It made a heavy clunk when it hit the pavement.

  At least we’re trying, I thought, but I didn’t say it. I’m pretty sure that’s not what he wanted to hear. I wish I could say something better.

  They hit Uncle Emmett’s neighborhood—that gang Gav says Quentin joined. I went down to the house this morning for one last look around, and I found the door wide open. The knob had been wrenched off.

  I had a moment of panic and almost bolted for the car before it occurred to me that I could be at one of the safest spots in town. They’ve already taken whatever they wanted. Why would they come back? They’re about as likely to loot the house a second time as I am to catch the virus again.

  There wouldn’t have been much worth stealing. The liquor cabinet is empty, and it looks like they rummaged through the bedrooms, searching for valuables. But Aunt Lillian took her jewelry box with her when she left, I’m sure, so they would have been disappointed.