The Comatose

by Kate Myers

  Based on everything I’ve speculated, I’m going to assume that we have not yet been contaminated.

  Another thing to consider is the rate at which symptoms develop. There have been reports for a few weeks now covering the flu virus that has been rather out of control. Is it possible that this group spread a flu strain to get people to come in to get a ‘vaccine’ which contained their virus? Or were the symptoms from the flu strain epidemic a result of the virus spreading?

  Continuing to come one after another, the many unanswered questions fill my nagging thoughts.

  I need to talk to Quinn about her water consumption, whether or not she was contaminated in any way, and if she was, I should start monitoring her vitals to see if any symptoms develop. Now that I think about it, I should check all of our vitals and keep a record of any changes. I should draw blood, too. Check for any inconsistencies or similarities that might shine a light on what is happening, and if there is anything I can do for Skylar.

  I’m worried about her, and I’m worried about Max because he’s worried about her. I’ve known Skylar her entire life, she’s like a daughter to me. She and Max were thick as thieves when they were kids—they grew up side by side, often eating the same meals, going to the same parks to play, taking naps in the same bed. They were inseparable, hell, Max’s first word resembled something along the lines of “Ky”.

  Unfortunately, divorce changes people. It changed her parents, Arlo and Sophia. Arlo had a problem he wasn’t capable of dealing with, and Sophia rightfully hit a brick wall one day and wasn’t able to put up with his drunkenness anymore. I tried my best to stay out of it, although the few times that Maura brought a sobbing Sophia into our house with a busted lip or bruises lining her arms, I nearly lost my mind. I like to consider myself a fairly rational, calm person, but when you involve a man hitting a woman, or their child, I lose all sense of rationality.

  I couldn’t wrap my head around why she stayed with him as long as she did, but one day she finally kicked him out. That was the same day she told us she was selling the house, luckily to Wiley, but still, she and Sky were moving across town to be closer to her mother. I was elated and proud of her for finally making the decision to stand up for herself, but in all the chaos of this empowering moment for Sophia, I failed to realize it meant Max would lose his best friend.

  He’s finally starting to get her back, even though they fight like cats and dogs, and I can’t let him lose her again. I can’t let any of them down, not Skylar, not Max, not Wiley.

  I need samples; I need blood samples from all of us, and all of them.

  We’re going to have to get the live bodies of a deranged, comatose, and mind-controlled.

  And we need to do it fast, before time runs out and we lose Skylar.

  7

  Max

  Dad walks into my bedroom and announces loudly. “We need a plan. We need actionable steps to move forward with this whole situation. And right now, I need bodies.”

  Quinn is the first to speak up, which is new and out of character because she’s usually so soft-spoken and tends to blend into the background. “What do you mean bodies?”

  His face tenses, and he shuffles into the room to give space to Wiley and Sanchez, so they can file in, too. What was once a decent-sized bedroom is now overflowing with people.

  “Yes, bodies. In order for me to hypothesize any of this, I need blood samples from all known strains. I would also like to gather samples from all of us, given I have consent.”

  Dad scans the room and focuses on Sanchez as he begins to speak.

  “And that, sir, is why you are a valuable asset for The Resistance.”

  A collective shift in the room allows all of the attention to be on Sanchez. He seems to have this effect every time he speaks.

  “Excuse me?” Dad challenges.

  “I don’t want this to make you uncomfortable, sir, but you are known to be one of the most intelligent chemical engineers on this side of the Mississippi. And because of this, we are relying on you to assist in figuring out how to fix this mess we are in.”

  “How is that even pos—no, never mind, we can talk about this later.” Dad shakes his head.

  I cut in, “Quinn said she knows what supplies Skylar needs. There’s a clinic in the next town, and I’m sure there will be at least a deranged or comatose if we look hard enough. I’m assuming the mind-controlled will be the most difficult to find, but we have a decent start there. I’m volunteering to go, and no one is going to talk me out of it, so don’t even try. Don’t even try to guilt me about ‘leaving her side’ because I’m already feeling it heavy, and I’d feel it even heavier if I wasn’t the one to get this stuff for her.”

  I look from face to face, expecting some type of opposition—Sanchez is the first to speak.

  “I agree with you, and I’d like to sign up for this mission, too. And from the sound of it, Quinn is knowledgeable in what supplies are needed, so I’m volunteering her, too. Between her, me, and you, we should be able to get the supplies and find a body or two.”

  “I’m in,” a soft-spoken Quinn in the corner confirms.

  “Good,” Sanchez adds.

  Dad rubs his temples. “I don’t like this, I don’t like it at all. Max, well, you’re my son, and Quinn, you pose to be quite resourceful to Skylar.”

  “All the more reason why I should be the one to verify the supplies are correct,” she commands, growing more confident.

  “Yes, I know, but, you’re both children and I don’t…”

  “Sir, with all due respect, you should have a bit more confidence in my abilities. I think you have forgotten that my small team was able to clear out an entire building and rescue this child right here.” Sanchez punches Wiley lightly in the arm. They must have developed some type of rapport during their journey together. “Not to mention, I was able to single-handedly get him here safely.”

  “Okay, Okay, sorry, this is all just…so much.”

  “I understand, sir. But it appears Skylar has needs, as do you, and it seems vital to our progression here that we follow through with this mission.”

  “All right, I understand, but everyone needs to get some rest. This happens tomorrow. You two,” he points to Wiley and Sanchez, “must be hungry. Let’s find you some food, and while you’re eating, I’ll make your beds.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Walking from the room, Wiley pats Keith on the shoulder, saying, “Thanks, Dad,” and they both laugh.

  A few moments pass, and I feel obligated to break the silence, “Thank you for volunteering, you didn’t have to.”

  “I know, but I want to. And it makes the most sense. It would have either needed to be me or your dad, and he clearly needs to stay here. Plus, and I don’t mean this to sound as bad as it’s about to, but I’m expendable.”

  It was then that I broke my fixation on Skylar’s hand in mine and looked up to Quinn, tears forming in her eyes.

  “Don’t say that. Listen, I’m sorry that I’ve been such a jackass lately. I’ve been selfish, and I’ve been cold and shut off and punishing everyone around me for what happened to Skylar, as if it was somehow someone else’s fault other than my own.”

  “I don’t think it’s your fault, Max, you didn’t do this to her. And I don’t think you realize that I understand. I’m not mad or upset about how you’re reacting, it makes sense…and I wish there was more I could do.”

  “That doesn’t make you expendable, though. That’s not why you’re going and my dad isn’t.”

  “It feels that way. Not because any of you have made me feel that way. I just, I don’t know, I don’t really feel like I have much more to live for, if that makes sense.”

  “Yeah, it makes sense.”

  “And I know it’s stupid and doesn’t really matter, but I had no chance to save Cynthia. I feel like I can somehow redeem myself if I can help Skylar. Maybe I won’t feel like my life is so meaningless.”

  “Cynthia was your cousi
n?”

  Quinn shifts uncomfortably, her gaze darting straight to the floor, her hands weaving in and out of each other. Why is she so fidgety all of a sudden?

  “Yeah.”

  “Why do I feel like you’re lying?”

  Quinn takes a deep inhalation, breathing deeply out of her mouth before she focuses intently on me, fighting the tears from making their way down her cheeks. “Cynthia was my girlfriend.”

  8

  Max

  Having your cousin die is one thing, but having your girlfriend turn into a deranged zombie and try to beat you to death is another.

  My brain is in such a fog of doing its best to put all the pieces together, and then the recognition dawns on me.

  “Was she, was she there, at the gas station?”

  “Yes.”

  The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. “Oh god, did I…?” I can’t finish my question.

  She presses her lips together, squinting and obviously trying everything she can to stop the uncontrollable tears as they come. “Yes, I think so.”

  I’m such an idiot.

  “I-I-I don’t even know what to say.”

  “You didn’t know, you didn’t mean to. You were saving me.”

  “I’m so sorry, Quinn, I had no idea.”

  An awkward silence fills the space between us, and the heavy blanket of guilt I carry seems to become weighted even more.

  I press Skylar’s hand against the side of my face and hold it gently but firmly between both of mine. I close my eyes and rejoice in what is left of her scent—that subtle mix of lemon and lavender.

  Quinn regains her composure and begins, “I couldn’t afford to stay on campus, at OSU, but Cynthia got a scholarship for basketball, so she stayed on campus. It sucked, really bad, being apart. July thirtieth would have been our third anniversary.”

  “Why did you tell us it was your cousin?”

  “I don’t know, knee-jerk reaction, I guess. It was our common excuse when we didn’t think people could handle the whole ‘being gay’ thing. I didn’t know you guys, so I didn’t know how you would handle it. I’m from a small country town, and you know how those types of people handle these types of things.”

  “Yeah,” I respond, not really sure what else to say.

  “I have to admit that I had to bite my tongue and not laugh everytime Skylar kept getting blatantly jealous, like, girl, if you only knew.” Quinn lets out a small chuckle.

  “Yeah, she’s crazy like that.”

  “I can tell,” she laughs.

  Needing to clear the air, I say, “Just for the record.” I look her directly in the eyes. “We don’t care, not about that stuff. So please don’t feel the need to hide from us. We’re not judgmental when it comes to sexuality. My dad might judge you for drinking Pepsi over Coke but not this.” I laugh and then add, “I’m sorry that you felt the need to lie like that.”

  “Thank you,” she mutters.

  “And now I feel even worse. You’ve had to deal with us, and you’ve already been through so much more we weren’t even aware of. I really am so sorry, Quinn.”

  “It’s okay, I’ll be okay. Thank you.” She trails off then starts to speak. “Please let me help you, I want to make this right, I want to bring her back to you.”

  “That would mean more to me than you will ever know.”

  We share a pained smile.

  I add, “I won’t be able to say sorry enough. If you ever need or want to talk, I’m here. My dad is a great listener, too.”

  She laughs a little. “Your dad is a great everything, that guy is brilliant. Dude makes the best pancakes I’ve ever had, not to mention he’s probably going to save us from an apocalypse.”

  “God, I hope so.” I laugh with her.

  Dad enters the room with purpose. “Nice to see the mood has changed in here, kids. Were you talking about me?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Quinn said your pancakes are gross and she’s refusing to eat your food.”

  Dad shoots her such a scornful look, and she scowls at me.

  “I totally did not say that! He’s lying. You make the most insane pancakes, Keith. Will you please adopt me?”

  “I’m hurt. I don’t know how much more of this abuse I can take,” he jokes. “But hey, on a serious note, to bed with both of you. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow and we all need to be rested. Go brush your teeth and then lights out.”

  “Fine, fine.”

  Taking her leave, Quinn utters, “Goodnight, Max. Let me know if you need me.”

  “Thank you, Quinn. Goodnight.”

  Dad walks farther in, speaking lower so his voice doesn’t leave the room. “That was a nice change between you two.”

  “I agree. And I want you to know I apologized to her for being such an ass lately. She doesn’t deserve that.”

  “You’re right, she doesn’t. I’m glad you two had whatever epiphany that you did. Quinn seems to be a great addition to the team.”

  “Dad, there’s something I want to tell you. It’s probably not my place, and it doesn’t even matter, but I thought you should know anyway.”

  His eyebrows furrow. “What’s wrong?”

  “Quinn is gay.”

  “And?”

  “What do you mean ‘and’?”

  “I just mean like, it’s obvious.” He laughs. “That’s what you wanted to tell me?”

  “Cynthia, the girl she said was her cousin…”

  “…Yeah?” Then the lightbulb turns on. “Oh no, no, you’re kidding me?”

  “No, it was her girlfriend.” I hesitate before finishing, “And I shot her.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for this, Max, it isn’t productive.”

  “I know, Quinn and I have already been over this. And as much as both of you say it isn’t my fault, it’s still going to feel that way. I feel terrible for her. I can’t imagine what she’s going through.”

  Dad adjusts some of the lines running to and from Skylar’s IV. “I’m sure you can imagine.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Poor Quinn. This makes sense of why she’s acting the way she is. Everyone loses a piece of themselves when they lose someone they love.”

  He’s speaking from experience. Of my mom. The love of his life.

  His hand finds its way to my shoulder, his grip firm, reassuring. “We’ll figure this out, Max. I won’t stop without putting up one hell of a fight.”

  And somehow, I believe him. Not only about Skylar, but this entire situation. Dad will figure something out, he always does.

  After he leaves the room, I sit on the side of Skylar’s bed, tucking the same strand of honey-colored hair that keeps managing to find its way down her cheek. I lean in close and whisper to her, “I know this is stupid, and I keep doing it every night, talking to you. But I need you to know that I’m here, and I know I promised to stay by your side, but I’m going to leave for a little bit tomorrow. I have to. You’re not doing well, Skylar. And we have to get some things to help you. I won’t give up on you, not now and not ever. Please hold on for me, don’t leave me. We’re going to make this right. I won’t stop until I’ve done everything I can to bring you back to me. Please believe that.”

  I finish my nightly talk to Skylar like an idiot session and settle into the recliner my dad brought into my bedroom on the second night being here. He knew I wouldn’t sleep anywhere else, so he brought in his ‘favorite chair’ for me to sleep in. He gave a thorough lecture on keeping it clean and taking good care of ‘her’ and then threw a blanket down and told me it was my new bed. And that’s what it’s been for the last two weeks.

  My eyes, heavier than I realize, shut against my will. I struggle to stay awake, fighting my consciousness and the internal battle I have over whether leaving Skylar tomorrow is the right decision. It’s the only thing I can do to help her right now, and no matter what risks prevail, it’s what I have to do.

  9

  Max

  We eat a qu
ick breakfast, because Dad insisted, and begin to say our goodbyes. My stomach tightens, knots forming over and over until I find myself hoping I don’t puke up the tiny amount of toast I choked down.

  I hate leaving her.

  But I hate being useless and doing nothing to help her.

  If I stay, it’s for selfish reasons. If I go, it’s still selfish, but in an effort to help.

  I have to somehow make this right; I have to bring her back.

  “Promise me you’ll be safe?”

  I stuff a sweatshirt in my backpack and turn to my dad. “Promise me you’ll keep her alive?”

  “Max, you know I will do everything in my power.”

  “Then so will I.”

  Sanchez stands taller, clearly showing his dominance. “Sir, I assure you, we will return by supper.”

  Wiley hugs me, tighter than my dad’s hug, and whispers in my ear, “Thank you for this.”

  I give him a reassuring squeeze and say to the group, “We good?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quinn offers a somber smile.

  My gaze lingers on my bedroom door before I turn and walk out the front door, leaving behind my heart in a tattered mess on the floor. I bite down on the inside of my lip, simultaneously grounding and telling myself to keep it together.

  “Right this way.” Sanchez points toward a path in the trees, the direction we saw the lights the evening they arrived.

  He continues, “Like I stated this morning, we have a brief walk through this wooded area. We should reach the vehicle in a matter of a few minutes.”

  Quinn pipes up for the first time since we started on this journey. “Why did you leave it?”

  “Ahh, the terrain wasn’t travelable, and we didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks at that point.”