Due to staying isolated, the stages of infection and its manifestations were difficult for us to gauge. We watched from our window for hours on end, wanting to gain as much understanding and knowledge as we could. The one rule Dad insisted we all follow was no contact, ever.
When Mom was still pregnant, in the beginning when we were still in our apartment, we heard others. Seemingly healthy-sounding individuals asked for help or food. Dad insisted we stay quiet and ignore them. Mom cried, and I resisted the urge to join her. I needed to be strong, hopeful, and smart. Our safety depended on it.
I kept Toby in our home after Dad took Mom away. We had enough food and water to last a good while, but after five months and Dad still hadn’t returned, I began to lose hope he would. Keeping Toby quiet became harder, and he became restless. Moving past the crawling stage, he started standing and taking steps. The pride in his eyes and excitement in his little body gave me the courage to make the hardest decision I ever made. We needed to move. We had no other choice.
Venturing out to search for resources became too dangerous. I couldn’t leave Toby, and people had depleted this area of anything useful. The only stroller we had was for an infant, but I packed up as much as I could in it and on it. I filled a backpack, and Toby and I left the little safety we knew.
Dad had left me with his 9mm and an M16 he took from the armory when this all began. I gathered all the ammo he left, along with the firearms. I felt comfortable using both weapons, he trained me on both, but I prayed I didn’t need to use the guns. I knew it was wishful thinking. In this new world, I would encounter dangerous situations.
Our journey was slow and distressing. The world held no color, no life as I’d known it. We were lucky traveling out of the city and along country roads for three months. I tried to stop at an abandoned house in the evenings. To search for food, let Toby play, and simulate some normalcy with sleeping in a bed under a roof. Food became harder and harder to accumulate. Limited to just canned and jarred items as we still didn’t know the source of this contagion, most already looted, they were scarce. Toby and I survived on canned tomato sauce many days.
Lucky for us, one afternoon at a little place in the middle of nowhere, I discovered a vehicle with gas. I couldn’t believe it. I must have checked close to a thousand vehicles since we left, and I never found a usable one. The majority had been involved in wrecks. The frenzied usually wandered alone, so they were no imminent threat, but we kept our distance.
While we stayed at that house for several days, I scoured the surrounding area, accumulating as many supplies as I could. I didn’t know where we were or where we were going, but maybe Toby and I could get somewhere, find something, before the next winter set in. We made it through the last one, Dad outfitted and prepared us, but without his assistance, it came down on me. It terrified me.
I boiled water from the well and filled as many jugs and containers as I could find. It wasn’t a big car, but I used every open space available carrying any item necessary for our survival. The day arrived that I felt confident I had what we needed. I placed Toby in the passenger seat, and we headed out…to somewhere. Nowhere?
Luckily, we made it across the Alps that day before the car got too low on gas. I stopped on a side road where several homes and a couple of small businesses were located. Picking Toby up out of his seat, his shirt lifted and my hands met a very warm back. He had a fever, and a high one. I didn’t think he caught the contagion, but I couldn’t be positive.
I have plenty of children’s pain reliever and fever reducer, and I administer it to him every time his fever returns. We stay indoors for almost a week, but today he is restless, as am I. The world looks dead, but the spring temperature is perfect. I obtain the battered shopping cart and line it with some blankets so Toby can keep himself occupied looking around. Once he falls asleep, I use this time to search the buildings for supplies.
Most of the morning, I listen to the sounds of dogs barking off in the distance. Standing in this ransacked kitchen, I realize they have been barking for hours. It’s not a sound I’m accustomed to hearing anymore. Walking back to the cart, I see Toby is awake, so I lift him out of the cart and head in the direction of the dogs.
It’s a good hike up a hill, and I’ve reopened many sores on my feet, but we make it to the top. I can see for miles, and I’m sure it was a spectacular view back before all this started. Now I see brown and gray in every direction. Except where the dog noise is coming from. I close my eyes, thinking I’m dreaming, or maybe I’m getting sick. I see a larger village down this hill and across a field, but I think I see color. As in flowers, fruit, trees. There are many frenzied individuals and frenzied dogs pacing along the outside of the village. They bump into each other periodically, and they attack each other.
Taking my time, I walk closer, but I don’t want to draw attention to us. I scan the area looking for a less populated place to enter through. It’s almost like there’s an invisible barrier keeping them out. They move side to side, and backward, but none of them moves forward. Toby and I stroll right in. I make way to the road that enters the village, and a dog walks around the side of a building. It’s wagging its tail and doesn’t appear to be infected. Reaching down, I pat its head.
“Smettila! Fermo! Fermo!” a young man yells at me, followed by a bunch of Italian I don’t understand.
I straighten and throw my hand up. “I only speak English.”
Grunting, he responds, “Figures. How did you get in here?”
“I walked in.”
This gains another grunt from him. He is probably a little older than I am, with dark hair and eyes. He’s rather good-looking, but he doesn’t give an impression of approachability.
“Leave!” he yells.
Toby begins to cry. I rub his back to soothe him. He quiets and I hear children playing. I run past the rude guy into a town square. There is color in every direction. Flowers. The fountain in the center is running, and children sit on the surrounding stone and dangle their feet in the water. A few kids to my right kick a soccer ball around.
The pressure of fingers digging into my upper arm makes me wince. I’m turned and pushed in the direction I came. My foot catches on the cobblestone, and I fall to my knees but manage to keep Toby upright.
“Ernesto! Cessare!” a female screams.
I twist my head, and I see her. She’s beautiful, stunning. Wearing a floral sundress, she has her thick dark hair pulled back behind her head, but it still reaches her waistline. She steps closer to me, but she stops and says something in Italian.
“Giana, she speaks English.” The guy I now know as Ernesto states in an insulting tone. “You need to rest, Giana. Go back inside, I got this.” Grunting, again, I assume because he realized he’s still speaking in English, he rattles off some Italian at her.
She’s pale and very thin. She too looks to be maybe a few years older than I am. “You got this, Ernesto? I don’t think I approve of the way you got this.”
His shoulders sag, and his eyes speak of his apology. “I’m doing what I think is right. She’s probably got the sickness.”
Closing her eyes, she lifts her face upward toward the sky. “No. She doesn’t.” Closing the short distance between us, she puts her arms out and reaches for Toby.
Abruptly I turn my back to her. Who does she think she is? No one need ever think they can touch Toby without permission. Ever. I feel her hand close around my shoulder. I see her thin small fingers when I look over. That’s not all I feel. At first, it’s a subtle tingling, but it grows stronger. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s uncomfortable. Vibrations begin, and they move down my chest, through my arms, torso, legs, and feet. The sound of my heartbeat is deafening in my ears, and a flash of light bursts through my vision.
Uncertain how much time passes, all my senses paralyzed, I hear Ernesto’s voice. Once I can move and register my surroundings, I turn to find him helping Giana walk away. His arm is around her waist, and she is leaning on him for su
pport.
“Stop. Stop!” she yells. “Come here, please.”
I assume she is asking me to go there, so I hesitantly walk to stand in front of her. “What’s your name?” she asks.
Guilt invades me. I don’t know who she is, or what just happened, but she looks more fragile than before. “I’m Charlotte.” I hold Toby tight to me and out of her reach, but I feel compelled to introduce him. “This is Toby.”
Looking around, I see young faces in every direction. They are all silent, watching us.
“Toby is sick. He doesn’t have the perishing illness infecting our world,” she tells me.
I decide I need to leave. Too many odd things unsettle me in this village. How does she know if anything is wrong with Toby and what it is or isn’t? I nod at her and walk at a brisk pace toward the way I came.
“He will die, Charlotte. Stay. Let us help each other.”
Her declaration halts me. She speaks in Italian to someone, and it sounds like instructions of some kind. As I turn back around, a boy younger than I am saunters over to her. She continues speaking to him in Italian and then she addresses me. “Toby is fine for now. Carmine will take you to your accommodations. Rest. We will talk tomorrow.”
I watch as Ernesto assists her out of the square. Carmine waits patiently as I watch. “Will she be okay?” I ask.
In his early teens, he looks at me with worried eyes. “We all hope so. Follow me.”
I have no idea what I should do. One thing I do know for certain is that Toby is sick, and this Giana said he doesn’t have the illness. She mentioned we can help each other and offered accommodations. Maybe food. Real food. With what I’ve witnessed so far, the frenzied unable to enter, safe, healthy children playing, and the greenery, I believe staying is in our best interest.
He leads me down a street to the left. After several blocks, he stops in front of a set of stone steps leading to a beautiful home. “Here you are. I live right next door if you need anything.” He points to the house to the left of this one.
Taking the steps up to the huge carved wooden door, I open it, expecting to find other people inside. It’s immaculate. I tear up, realizing how long it’s been and how I’ve missed entering a space that hasn’t been looted and destroyed. Setting Toby on his feet, he toddles off, squealing. I chuckle hearing him happy. He’s never known this.
Passing through an archway, I enter the kitchen. Opening the cabinets and the pantry, I find them all fully stocked. Does someone else live here? So many concerns rush my mind. Too many weird things occurred, and I’m hesitant to enjoy anything.
Toby wobbles to me just as there’s a knock on the door. The door opens and Carmine pokes his head in. “Sorry to disturb you, but I have a few things you may need.” He hands me a sippy cup, a bag of clothes for Toby, and some children’s pain reliever and fever reducer. “Someone will bring you some fresh salad shortly.”
Salad? I can’t remember what it’s like to eat anything fresh or homegrown. “Thank you.” I take the items from him. “Should I expect the owners or residents to return here?” I hate to ask, but I need to know. I’m on edge, and I have my 9mm. I’m sure shooting someone by mistake would be a huge error on my part.
“No, Miss Charlotte. This is your home now.” He backs out of the doorway and shuts the door.
2
I can’t lie and pretend I don’t enjoy the luxury of the evening. Fresh salad and fruit for dinner, which Toby enjoyed immensely, mostly the tomatoes, grapes, and apples, but it pleased me he had such a good appetite. The upstairs bath contained several buckets of water that I warmed in the fireplace. Toby splashed and played in the tub, like every child should.
He didn’t have a good night though. His fever kept returning, and he tossed and whined throughout his sleep. Preparing his breakfast, I hear knocking at the front door. I open it to find Carmine and Ernesto. Carmine is smiling at Toby and me, but Ernesto’s face displays the scowl I wonder if he reserves just for me. I feel so special. “Come on. Giana wants to see you,” he snarls at me.
“I was just getting Toby something to eat,” I say and make my way back to the kitchen, ignoring his usual grunt.
Carmine follows me. “I will feed him, Miss Charlotte. No need to worry. I have five younger brothers and sisters.” He opens the pantry and pulls out a box of oatmeal. “All five of them love oatmeal.”
Toby bounces up and down in my arms. I’m wary to leave him with anyone, to leave him at all. I set him on his feet, and he goes to Carmine, pulling on his pants to lift him. “If you’re sure, Carmine. I will be back as soon as possible.” I’m asking if Carmine is sure, and I’m not. Toby has been solely my responsibility for the last nine months. Just him and I since Dad left with Mom.
Picking up Toby, Carmine sets him on the counter by the bowl to let him watch as he mixes the oatmeal. He tries to grab the bowl, but Carmine inches it away from him each time he attempts it. I feel confident he is in good hands.
Leaving them, I find Ernesto still standing in the doorway. “You can spare your valuable time now?” His sarcastic tone grates on me.
He’s already down the front steps and halfway up the street when I sprint up behind him. I want to give him a piece of my mind but think better of it. It’s not worth my time. I don’t care what he thinks. I don’t like him either.
Crossing the village square, he leads me down a street that has flowerpots and window boxes filled with color on every house. It’s like a picture book. We climb a narrow set of stone steps out onto a beautiful marble terrace. Pink, white, and lavender cloth dances in the wind from an open glass door.
“She’s here,” he announces as he steps inside. He moves aside for me to enter.
If ever there was a princess room, this is it. A huge bed sits in the center of the room, adorned with the same pink, white, and lavender sheer material from the door.
“Come sit with me, Charlotte. Over here to the right, there is a step stool.” Giana informs me as she pushes herself upright in the bed. She looks worse than yesterday; weak, tired, and dark circles frame her eyes. Dressed all in white, she still manages to have the appearance of an angel.
I find the stool and manage to hop onto the tallest bed I’ve ever seen.
She grimaces and asks. “Why are you in the same dirty clothes? Your closet is full of clean clothes in excellent condition.”
This embarrasses me. I must look horrible compared to her. Compared to anyone in this village. My tank top has a rip down the left side and is hanging on by a string on the right shoulder. What may have once been white is now gray. The jean shorts I found in one of the many houses we overnighted in are too big, and I’m forever pulling them up so the raggedy pair of panties I’m wearing beneath isn’t put on display. “I didn’t look in the closet. Carmine brought a bag of clothes for Toby, and I didn’t go plundering in someone’s home.”
“It is your home, Charlotte. I had it outfitted for you. I’ve been waiting, hoping for your arrival.” Her lips curve in a slight smile. “Toby…well, Toby was a most pleasant surprise.”
While I was up with Toby throughout the night, I thought and rehearsed how to ask her all the questions inundating my mind, but sitting with her here, now, I draw a blank. I clasp my fingers together in my lap and stare at my hands.
“Go ahead and ask. I will answer the best I can, but I too don’t understand it all.” Her voice is soothing, coaxing.
“Why is this village uninfected, unaffected by what has happened everywhere else that I have seen and know of?”
Sliding an extra pillow beside her on the bed, she moves it behind her and scoots back against the pillows. “The biggest and hardest one first…I have ideas, beliefs, but nothing physical to support them.” Shutting her eyes, she pauses for a few minutes, and I don’t disturb her. Her face looks strained, and a single teardrop slips from the corner of her left eye. “When it started, it didn’t spare our village. We lost many, many people quickly. My papa contracted it. At first, I thought
his ramblings were part of his perishing, part of the contamination. But I’d been hearing the stories my whole life. The tales of Protetta, this village, which translates in English to mean protected.”
Intent on hearing every word she says, it startles me when I hear Ernesto speaking to her in Italian and in an argumentative manner.
Laughing, Giana scolds him. “Ernesto, I know you have appointed yourself my protector, but this is the only way.”
He leaps on the other side of the bed beside her and grabs her hand. “No. You don’t know that. Just don’t do it anymore. You may get better if you stop.” Lifting her hand to his cheek, he looks into her eyes, and his eyes plead with her before he looks away.
Rubbing his cheek, she wraps her fingers around his chin, lifting it, and holds his face still so he has to meet her eyes again. “I must. If there are others…we must. There is a purpose.”
All of this makes no sense to me. She places her free hand on my knee. My first instinct is to flinch and back away, but there is no odd sensation. She nods at me and smiles. “You were not sick…yet, but my touch gave you immunity. Against the perishing illness. Against all other illnesses I’m aware of. From what we have learned, everyone, everyone outside of Protetta and not provided with the immunity I can bestow, will contract it. How are your feet?”
With all the strange, fascinating, and comforting facts forced upon me in less than twenty-four hours, I haven’t thought about my feet. They don’t hurt. I’ve become accustomed to the pain for so long, I stopped focusing on it, but I feel nothing. Turning my foot, I glance at the bottom. Most of the cuts and deep bruises are no longer visible. Hopping off the bed, my knees not ready for the impact, I land on my butt. I’m not sure what she insinuated, but it seems she believes she has healing powers.
Magic and Shadows: A Collection of YA Fantasy and Paranormal Romances Page 90