Affliction

by Daniels, Dottie

  “Ronny, look at it from my point of view. What if Deanna hadn’t heard from you? Don’t tell me that she’d sit there for even a second without coming to find you. I can’t sit around and wait for the phones to start working again nor can I wait on someone to get here to me- which they may not be.” I turned to look at the television because I was sure the tears would start up. I could already see my vision getting blurry but it cleared again almost instantly as my focus shifted to the live video feeds from various cities like New York, Atlantic City and Philadelphia, all of which told the same story of massive infection rates, attacks, rioting, fires, and a breakdown of civility. Eyewitness accounts described attacks carried out by “obviously dead persons who have reanimated.” They quickly added that as a result there were also many unintentional deaths. People assumed someone was infected and killed them because of what was also behavior associated with being in shock––incoherence, unresponsiveness, etc. It was clear at this point some people were not taking any chances. The reporters were careful in covering what had previously been unbelievable. The live video feeds that would be a challenge to even the most talented Hollywood graphic effects artist to recreate were proof of the new reality.

  If there was any chance of me sticking around my apartment longer due to safety reasons, it might have been now. The violence on television and right outside seemed to be war-like with the mounting reports of attacks and killings in self-defense. Not to mention seeing some of the landmarks in Philadelphia that I grew up around burning to the ground. For a brief moment I was sure the cameraman showed scenes of the corner store I used to go to most days after school being looted. This brought another important subject up in my mind: protection.

  “So how are people stopping them?” I asked Ronny. He knew exactly whom I was referring to.

  “Well, I had to… it’s just like the movies. If you penetrate their skull to damage a significant part the brain tissue, they seem to stop for good.” He looked at me dead serious, no pun intended, to make sure I understood. “Nothing else counts,” he added quickly.

  “Okay. Just like the movies,” I nodded my head to show him that I fully understood what he was saying.

  I couldn’t think of anything I owned that might be effective enough to expose brain tissue other than the aluminum baseball bat I used a few years ago when Rachel and I played softball during the summer for Alley Champ’s bar league. As a paramedic I was not used to thinking about how to expose brain matter; if anything, I was to protect it from further damage. I grabbed the baseball bat from the closet out of the corner it was in, kicking back the baseball glove that I had placed on the handle. Ronny seemed to approve.

  “That should stop one of them if you do it right. Try not to deal with more than that,” he advised.

  “I have a pretty decent swing. I’ll make it work until I can get something better.” I took the handle gripping it with both hands and then set it next to my slowly growing pile of essentials. I turned next to the kitchen so I could get my notepad and pen that was normally used for grocery lists. As quickly as I could, I wrote the best thing I could think of:

  Left on Thursday at 11:00am––going to Graham’s

  I will keep checking the phones and

  trying to call everyone whenever possible.

  I am safe and okay.

  I may try to get to Philly as soon as possible.

  - Seanna

  My parents had the keys to my apartment. My hopes were that they would be the next ones to read this, we could cross paths and could ultimately find a safe place. I placed the note square on the coffee table where I was sure someone would see it. There was a loud explosion- that came from nearby––it shook the whole building. From the dark smoke blowing westward past my kitchen window it appeared to come from the parking lot. Ronny’s cell phone alerted him about a text message. I looked at him for some confirmation of good news because after that moment I was sure we both needed some right now.

  “It’s Deanna’s folks’ number.” he said.

  Ronny had a system because our company had a policy against cell phones while we were out on duty. When Deanna would text him she’d always put an extra number behind the text indicating its importance. In general, one meant good/not urgent. Nine meant call as soon as your job duties permitted. I didn’t know what the other numbers could mean but I was sure this time it stood for her and the kids’ safe arrival. Ronny looked relieved and I was definitely happy for him. His wife and kids were his life.

  “I guess that means some of the roads are still safe. You better get on your way so you can get to them too,” I said, feeling more optimistic for both of us and our travels. The smoke still flowing outside caught my attention again and we could smell it now as well. Ronny walked over to the counter where the notepad was and started writing. As soon as he finished he handed it to me.

  “What’s this?” I looked as I took it from him.

  “It’s the address to Deanna’s parents. Their phone number and my pager number are there too in case the phones are ever stable enough.” He reached over to the phone, picked it up to check for a dial tone and hung it back up. “Still out. I don’t see how I got her text. Seanna, you’re welcome to come up there whenever you can I won’t be able to convince you to come now.”

  “Thanks but you all won’t have room for me too, let alone anyone I bring with me,” I told him.

  “I’ve told you before, that place––it’s in the middle of nowhere and they’ve got plenty. It’s right near Scranton; 476 to 81 to the Pittston exit. Please just remember it as an option okay? Try to get in touch with us if you can because I’ll be worried about you until I do.” I think he could tell that we were running out of time here.

  “The first mail truck I see headed to Scranton…” I said dryly. Before I could finish the thought, smoke drifted under the front door. We both saw it and sprang into motion. Ronny beat me to the door and tapped the handle, checking for heat. I grabbed my backpack, first-aid bag, baseball bat, and purse. Ronny grabbed the first-aid bag from my arm, freeing up one of my hands. I’m guessing it still didn’t register that I might have to fight or even worse, kill someone. My heart was pounding and I started breathing deeply while looking to Ronny for his lead. He grabbed a shorter version of a nightstick that had been apparently hidden by his jacket. Before opening the door, he reminded me the nature of what it was we were dealing with.

  “Most of them aren’t fast. You’ll probably get away by running from them but don’t get yourself cornered. They’ll bite and scratch either way will end the same. Watch out for the blood too, spatter and whatnot.” He paused to let it all sink in.

  It was as quick of a lesson I’d probably ever received for anything. It wasn’t like learning to ride a bike where if you fell off, you simply got back on to try again and the most common injury was a scraped knee or. Ronny was telling me something that meant the difference from being actually alive or becoming a killer myself after an insufferable death. If I had more time I would probably try to wake myself up because it did seem like a nightmare. Like the poker players would say, I guess this meant we were “all in,” no going back and definitely no second chances.

  “Okay, I got it.” I took another deep breath. “My car is parked where it usually is, around the back on the side.” Ronny told me he’d get me to my car and then I would drop him off at his. It made sense to me and I was too focused on what was on the other side of the door and outside to propose anything better. Ronny was always a gentleman. During my years working with him––he’d always make sure I understood the whole situation and how we, as a team, would react to it. I knew he wasn’t about to change his ways even in the middle of a hellish situation.

  Like something out of an action movie, Ronny checked the narrow perspective of the peephole one last time, looked at me, nodded his head and opened the door. He checked both directions and slowly walked out of the doorway, motioning for me to follow. The apartment building had an elevator in the
front and stairs in the back to which we were headed. My apartment was on the second floor and closer to the front of the building. On a good day it would take me less than a minute to get to the back because there were just eight apartments on each floor. The elevator took only seconds longer most times but now those extra seconds made a difference. As we quietly crept down the smoky hallway past one apartment and then the next, I heard more crying from an adjacent apartment. The apartment belonged to an older lady, Ruth Leonard––I always called her Ruthie. I was sure it was her crying. Ruthie was eighty-three but still independent so it was no wonder why I stopped still in front of her door.

  Without thinking I started knocking on her door quietly and calling her name in a similar manner to the way Ronny did for me, hoping it would not catch anyone’s attention but hers. As expected for someone her age, her hearing abilities were past their prime, which sometimes made casual conversation a little difficult. I could see Ronny’s disapproval as he motioned for us to continue. He went on and checked around the corner of the hallway, just to where the back door was and quickly came back toward me.

  “What are you doing?” he said as loudly as he could at a whisper.

  “It’s Ruthie, I can’t just leave her. What if she’s hurt?” I knew this was risky but she was no stranger to me. I looked at him with a “what would you do?” expression. Ronny leaned into the door to listen for any commotion.

  At that moment the handle turned with a little difficulty. After a few seconds the lock was turned, the door handle turned again and the door opened gently. Ronny ran and looked around the corner again to make sure no one was coming and hurried back to Ruthie’s apartment just as she opened the door.

  “Aw, Ruthie,” was all I could say. She was already a frail woman who stood no more than five feet tall. Here she stood in her nightgown, which was saturated with blood, and I couldn’t tell where the source of the bleeding was. Ronny and I both stepped inside her apartment looking around. He locked the door behind us.

  He issued another warning. “Double your gloves,” pulling two pairs of latex gloves from his pocket and sliding them on. I quickly went into my first-aid bag and did the same.

  “Ruthie, tell me what happened to you,” I said as I helped her sit in her easy chair. She was a bit shaken up but I was going to be patient enough to wait for her response, as it would add more perspective.

  “I woke up this morning after I heard commotion outside. I got up as usual and went downstairs to get the newspaper and this strange man came by the door... He looked like he needed help or something, I don’t know. When he saw me he started pushing at the door and he––he came after me!” She started to quietly sob. “I’m just an old woman. What could I have that he wants? He started grabbing at me and biting like some animal. He was bleeding and it got all over me, see?” Ruthie showed me her gown and I let out a sigh of relief because it sounded like it was not hers. This was not enough for Ronny though and he checked around her and asked her if she had any cuts from the attack.

  “No sir, I don’t. But he did bite me a little through my housecoat. See, right here. I tried calling 911 but the phone doesn’t work.” Ruthie pulled up the sleeve from her left arm and on her forearm there were markings that looked like teeth impressions that had broken the skin and bled. There was also some bruising and a little yellow mucous around the site. The bruising itself was much larger than the teeth marks.

  “Damn,” I said quietly. Ruthie looked at me with fear in her eyes.

  “Can you take me to your hospital, Seanna? I don’t know when my last tetanus shot was but I don’t think I need any stitches. Do you think it’ll be okay?”

  I was at a loss for words now. I knew without a doubt that I was now looking at the source of where all the disorder was coming from. For the last thirty minutes I had only seen it from a distance and from the safety of my apartment on the news broadcast. Now, I was right next to it sharing a space and it was uncomfortable to say the very least. Something inside of me felt extremely uneasy now. I’m sure it was because this was all unfamiliar and overwhelming and because there was nothing I could do. I looked at Ronny who I could tell was assessing the situation.

  “Ruth, how are you feeling?” he asked as he felt her head for a temperature. He then felt around the bite wound and commented on how it seemed tender and the area itself was hot, indicating an infection was present.

  “I feel a little dizzy, my head and my arm does hurt, probably from the fight… Seanna do you think you could get me in with that nice doctor––what was his name? He was very nice and attractive too. He was a little older than you and single too. Doctor…” Ruth stumbled a little now with her speech.

  “It was Dr. Erickson, and yes he is nice.” And probably dead now, I thought to myself. I stood up and walked to Ruthie’s kitchen counter where a glass sat. It appeared to be clean so I went to the sink and filled it with cool water and brought it back to her. Ronny took me to the side of the living room where we could talk in private.

  “I’m sure she’s got the infection and at her age it won’t take long to… take over.” He slowed as he was trying his best to be sensitive about it.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked him, although I already knew the answer, at least in part.

  “She won’t be able to come with us because I don’t think it will be safe for her––or for us. I have an idea though.” He got up and went back to Ruthie and asked her about any medications she had and then disappeared into the bathroom. He came back after a short time with one pill bottle and a box of Unisom in hand. The pill bottle was Pramipexole for Restless Leg Syndrome. He opened it and took out two pills and one tablet of the sleep aid.

  “Ruthie, I’m going to give you some of your medications that you have already, because I think they will help you until we can get you to the hospital. They will help you to relax until we can get ahold of Dr. Erickson,” Ronny said as he handed them to her with the glass of water. He looked at me, suggesting that I play along.

  “Ruthie he’s right. The phones are out right now but until they can get them fixed we are going to have to wait with you and it will make you feel better,” I said as I looked at her arm again. It was slightly worse than before. In that small amount of time the bruising had spread to just above her tiny wrist. I could tell too that Ruthie was beginning to get anxious now as she was becoming fidgety. Ruthie reluctantly took the pills while I went to look for another gown in her bedroom, which was just about as dainty as you can imagine for a woman of her time. I wanted to replace her blood-soaked gown to at least give her the dignity she deserved in her last few hours. Speaking of, I didn’t know exactly how she would go. Maybe Ronny saw people die at the hospital and after a short time return to life in an altered state causing them to harm others, who would then die only to repeat the cycle.

  I was able to find another nightgown. I returned in less than a few minutes only to see that she was looking sicklier, her skin was duller now and she was starting to perspire. Ronny got a washcloth and dabbed her forehead with cold water. I managed to change her gown with little difficulty and once that was done, we waited. Ruthie began to close her eyes after mumbling a few words.

  If I had forgotten about the chaos outside I was reminded quickly as four gunshots were fired.

  Ronny broke the silence after a few seconds.

  “We should get her to bed. I imagine she’ll sleep for a while. Hopefully it’ll happen then. We still need to get going,” he mumbled quietly.

  I gently woke Ruthie up, insisting she’d be more comfortable in her bed. She didn’t argue as she’d told me before of her nightly routine––taking her pills in the living room, dozing off while watching the evening news, waking up a short time later, and finally stumbling off into her bedroom. This was what she’d done nearly every day since her husband Albert passed away four years ago. I helped her up from the chair noting her warmer temperature, got her into bed and told her that Ronny and I would be in the living roo
m trying the phones to see about an ambulance to get to Cedar Crest. Ruthie thanked me for helping her and I told her she was a wonderful neighbor to have. It was only another minute or two before she was sleeping peacefully again. I didn’t want to leave her side but I knew it would be for the best, our last minutes together as gentle and as simple as this. I would guess now that maybe the next time she woke up, it would be in my best interest to not be around.

  I closed the door quietly as I left Ruthie’s room.

  “She’s sleeping now,” I confirmed to Ronny who was looking out of the window.

  “I don’t know what happened to the fire that was causing all of the smoke earlier but I think it’s gone now. We should go now too,” he said quickly and grabbed my first-aid bag. I looked around quickly for Ruthie’s keys where they were on a special hook. I had an idea that it would be better if we locked the door behind us when we left. I collected my belongings, glancing down the hallway where Ruthie slept one last time.

  “We did what we could under the circumstances and at least the last person she saw was you, her neighbor and friend,” he added as he patted my shoulder. He’d probably go on and say a few nice words about her but time was pressing and it seemed the distance to my car could be as far away as the day was long, given the circumstances.

  Without further pause he checked the peephole and cautiously opened the door. I closed and locked the door quickly following Ronny the short distance to the hallway back door. I held my keys tightly in my hand because my Ford was parked close enough to the building where it would be best to spend the time starting the car and driving off versus, fumbling around in a purse and making time to get attacked. Ronny opened the back door and turned to me quickly signaling me to be as quiet as possible. I could hear noise toward the bottom of the stairwell but was unable to see anyone from where we were standing. Ronny closed the stairwell door as quietly as he could before he checked for the source of the noise.