CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
After several hours of fighting a losing battle with malaise, he admitted something was wrong. He wasn’t just tired. He was getting chills and his thoughts were taking on a dreamlike quality. Either this is the brownie coming on again or I’m getting sick! he admitted, and I don’t think it’s the brownie. If I can just make it another three hours I’ll be home. But every mile he felt worse. His muscles began to ache, and his chills alternated with hot flashes. Holding the steering wheel became more difficult as his arms felt increasingly heavy. At the top of a low rise he slowed to a stop, checked the terrain, then got out of the Jeep and pulled a blanket out of the back. He wrapped the blanket around himself as he got back in the cab and turned the heater on. Despite the blanket and the ample heat, his teeth begin to chatter. I’m freezing! he thought. The cab thermometer on the dash read 75 degrees. I feel awful, he thought.
He drove on, determined to push through the discomfort. But when he began to feel nauseated, he knew he might have to stop. His nausea rapidly increased as did an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach and GI tract. He started to take note of the houses he passed, looking for a place that appeared safe and deserted. Rounding a slight curve, a splash of trilliums in a wooded glade never registered in his mind. All he could think of was trying not to vomit and the increasing discomfort in his gut.
He saw a house that had been in the process of being constructed before the Collapse. There was a dumpster out front, and the yard consisted mainly of weed-strewn sandy mud. On the side of the house Kevin could see pallets of mostly dead sod. The windows still had decals. He pulled into the gravel driveway and sat in the cab. He saw no human footprints, only a few animal tracks. He saw no sign of occupation, heard no sound and saw no movement from within. Gingerly he opened the Jeep door and stepped out, realizing with alarm how weak and achy he was. He quietly closed the door, then walked around the house, peering in the windows and furtively glancing about.
Inside, the home construction looked nearly complete. There was no furniture, but the kitchen was almost finished. Appliances were all in place, as were the cabinets. The flooring had been installed although the tile showed dry mud tracks typical of a home construction in process. Completing his circuit of the house, Kevin climbed the front porch steps and tried the door. Damn, it’s locked! Feeling like he weighed an extra hundred pounds, he walked around the house and tried the back door. It was also locked. He considered breaking the door down, but didn’t think he had the strength, and even if he did, once broken there would be no way to secure the door. It would leave him vulnerable to someone or something breaking into the house while he was sick. He walked around the house again, feeling somewhat lightheaded, and tested the windows. He felt awash in relief when he found one unlocked. The problem was the height —the window sill was level with his chest. He knew he didn’t have the strength to pull himself up. He glanced around again and saw an empty five-gallon bucket. He dragged it beneath the window, turned it upside down, and with a groan stepped up. He struggled to open the window, then with what felt like the last of his energy pitched himself up and over the sill. As he fell into the house—noticing with relief the silence within—he caught himself, breaking his fall but still landing in a painful heap on the bare plywood. No flooring in this room yet. With a groan he realized he was going to be sick. He forced himself to stand and stood there tottering.
The room he’d fallen into was a small bedroom, although at this stage there was no bed or other furniture. He reeled into the hall then to his right into what he hoped was a bathroom. He lurched through the door and into the dim light provided by the solitary bathroom window, sighing with relief when he saw the toilet and bathtub. He unsnapped his pants and squatted down. Suddenly he felt an inner dam burst. Even as his gut emptied, he felt a wave of nausea. He bent over and vomited into the bath tub.
For five minutes he sat there, vomiting and experiencing another bout of diarrhea. When he was finally empty, he cleaned up (praising God for the roll of toilet paper on the tank of the toilet), stood up and snapped his pants. He felt woozy and clung to the wall. Damn, I’m really sick! he worried. Even so, he knew he had to take care of a couple of things. He unbolted the back door, then timorously walked around to the front of the house. He slowly climbed into the Jeep then pulled it around the house, effectively hiding it from the road. He opened the hatch and shouldered his pack, feeling his shoulder muscles ache from the light weight. He grabbed a couple of blankets and a gallon of water, then locked the Jeep. The water felt like it weighed twenty pounds. He went back into the house and bolted the door behind him.
After dropping his things on the floor, he locked the bedroom window. He slowly went from room to room and into the small garage. A stack of flattened cardboard appliance boxes were stacked in one corner. He grabbed several and hauled them into the house. The carpet had been installed in the living room, and a large remnant had been left behind. He stared at it, trying to keep his thoughts straight, then realized the carpet would make a nice pad on top of the cardboard. He pulled the cardboard into the bedroom, then placed the carpet on top. With a moan he pulled his journal from the pack and wrote an entry with unsteady hands.
May 22nd?
I’m not sure what day it is. Is it the 22nd or the 23rd? I’m sick. Fever. Achy. Somewhere between Manistee and home. I’m holed up in an empty house.
People die from the flu. Nobody is here to help me. Nobody knows I’m here. If I die, Michelle will never know what happened to me. She’ll have our baby alone. God, I don’t pray to you much because it feels like I’m talking to myself. But if you can help me, please help me live. I don’t want Michelle to have the baby without me. Help me keep my promise to her.
If anyone finds me and finds this journal please find her. Her name’s Michelle. She’s in Ann Arbor with Doc. Tell them to go to Frankfort. It’s safe.
Michelle, I’m sorry if I didn’t make it. Please forg . . .
The pen dropped from his hand and his eyes closed.
His dreams were strange, the kind of dreams people only get when they’re very sick. Disjointed actions and conversations flowing into different disjointed scenes, people you don’t know, strange convoluted circumstances requiring great effort to accomplish vague goals. Most of the dreams were flitting, but one dream lingered. A thirty-ish couple walked along Lake Menekaunee beach at sunset, dressed casually in button-downs and slacks, holding hands and playing with their toddler. The surf was quiet and the little boy squealed as the small waves washed over his bare feet and chubby legs. He became distracted by something in the water and his mom called “Come on, Stanley, keep up!”
But like a slow fade in a movie, things turned dark and frightening. The dream still took place on the beach, but suddenly the beach felt ominous. Colors became desaturated and objects seemed disproportionately-sized. The family of three disappeared and the beach was empty. The sun had set and the lake was dark. The waves sounded hungry.
Hours later—he had no idea what time, but it was dark outside—he awoke with a terrible thirst. A moonbeam shone through the window, illuminating the gallon of water he’d brought in. He was barely able to sit up. He reached for the water, but found he didn’t have the strength to lift it. His hand dropped to the floor helplessly. From his peripheral vision he saw movement and let out a weak moan as he painfully turned his head. Someone sat in the corner, shrouded in shadow. It looked to be a young man, perhaps fourteen years old. “Are you a zombie?” he whispered.
“No . . . I’m not a zombie,” the youth said quietly as he kneeled beside Kevin, picked up the jug and brought it to Kevin’s lips.
“I’m sick. I think I have the flu. I haven’t been bit. But Michelle asked me to check for bedbugs,” he replied, his head swimming. He was remotely aware that his last sentence made no sense. “I’m having a hard time thinking straight. I was on my way home but I forgot the lawn chairs.”
He felt a hand lift his head as the stranger
said “Shh, drink some water.” A small amount of water poured into Kevin’s mouth. He drank it greedily, greatly relieved when the young man continued to slowly give him more. After a few moments, he felt his head lowered back to the carpet. “Thank you,” he whispered, as he felt himself once again sinking into sleep. He wanted to ask what the young man’s name was but fell asleep in mid-sentence. He awoke sometime later, feeling hot and feverish, once again feeling sick to his stomach. He tried to rise but again his body betrayed him and he fell back to the carpet. His body was covered with sweat and the blanket was off to the side. “Bathroom,” he whispered, hoping the kid was still there.
“Let me help you.” He felt hands reach under his arms from behind, and with little help on Kevin’s part he was pulled to his feet. The room was in motion and although he tried, he could not stand unaided. The teen put his arm around Kevin and practically carried him into the bathroom. Once in front of the toilet, Kevin fumbled to unbuckle his pants and was relieved when they snapped open. He didn’t want this stranger to undo his pants. He eased down onto the toilet seat as the stranger left the room, partially closing the door behind him. He once again endured a bout of diarrhea but this time didn’t vomit, even though he was still sick to his stomach. When his bowels seemed empty and he had cleaned himself, he lightly tapped on the wall. The door opened and Kevin pulled his pants up as the stranger once again lifted him. He managed to snap his pants and was practically carried to his makeshift bed of carpet, cardboard, and blankets. He felt intensely hot but had the chills.
As the man lowered him to the floor Kevin asked through chattering teeth, “Who are you?”
“I’m Jason. I’m here to help. You need to get some rest.”
Kevin felt like he was in a dream. His delirium caused his wakefulness and dreams to have the same quality, but even through his feverish haze he thought, Jason? The name was familiar. He saw the dim form of the teen holding out his hand. “Here’s some ibuprofen I got from your truck. Take these. It’ll help your fever.” He placed the two caplets in Kevin’s mouth, then gave him more water from the jug. Kevin swallowed the pills and lay back. Within moments he was asleep.
The stranger went back to the corner, where he sat down and leaned against the wall. Over the next couple of hours he sat, watching Kevin and listening to him breathe. Eventually he went back to Kevin’s side and felt his forehead. It was clammy, and the smell of hot sweat pervaded the room, but his temperature felt nearly normal. Satisfied that the fever had broken, he went back to the corner and sat in the shadows once again.
Dawn broke with the stranger still sitting in the corner shadows. Kevin slept fitfully, his fever once again on the rise. Throughout the day the man gave Kevin water and helped him to the bathroom. Twice he gave him more ibuprofen. Again Kevin tried to thank him and asked him his name.
“I’m Jason. I’m here to help. You’re going to be okay.” Kevin couldn’t comprehend the man’s words. Early in the morning, his fever broke once again and for a few hours he slept peacefully.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Don was spying on Doc again. While Doc was putting some kind of wire around the garden, Ms. Tracy walked into the back yard from the house next door. How could it be Ms. Tracy? he asked himself. But it had to be her! She had the same kind of hair and the same color pants. Ms. Tracy’s titties had gotten bigger and her body was rounder, but Don was pretty sure it was her.
Don had been thinking about her secret since he’d done it. He wondered if he did it wrong somehow. In the magazine pictures the girls had their eyes open, but Ms. Tracy’s eyes had been closed. Now that he knew she was still alive, maybe she could show him how to do his secret right. None of the pictures he looked at showed a guy with a bloody secret. He must have done it wrong.
Don went home and stewed about it. She shouldn’t be with that man. She should be in the school. That’s where she belonged. He didn’t know how she’d gotten out of the gymnasium, but it didn’t matter. He was going to bring her back. He wanted to learn her secret again.
He simmered all night. Part of him wanted to go get her and part of him felt bad. He didn’t like feeling bad. Maybe if he did it right he would feel better. But first he had to make sure her next door neighbor didn’t try to stop him. He decided he would put him in the gymnasium. In the predawn darkness Don and Matey crept over to Michelle’s house and used his fist and a rag to break one of the side windows. It shattered and shards fell into the house. He stood still for a few minutes, listening for zombies or anyone else who might have heard him. He reached inside and unlocked the window, brushed the glass off the window sill and crawled inside. He crept through the house to the front door and quietly whistled for Matey. Once the dog was inside, he closed the door and stood in the darkness, listening.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Michelle awoke with a start. She’d been having a dream about Kevin, a dream that left her feeling scared even though she couldn’t remember the details. When she sat up, filled with dread, she found a young man quietly sitting on the end of the bed. Despite his uninvited presence, Michelle did not feel alarmed. He looked at her with gentle eyes and the flicker of a smile. “Hello, Michelle. Don’t worry about Kevin. He’s fine. He’ll be home later today. You can go back to sleep.” She lay her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes, then opened them again with a start and sat up. There was nobody on the bed. It had to have been a dream. And yet his words reassured her. She lay her head on the pillow and fell back to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The next time Kevin awoke, the room was filled with a soft diffused light from an overcast sky. He sat up and rested his weight on one elbow. His clothes were soaked with sweat, but he felt stronger and more clear-headed. He looked around for the stranger, but could not find him. He recalled hearing the teen say his name was Jason, but wasn’t sure whether he was recalling a delirious dream or if it had actually happened. He took a long drink from the nearly empty jug and fell back onto his improvised bed and slept once again.
Hours later—again he could tell time had passed by the quality of light coming through the window—he awoke, still feeling weak but much better. He shakily got to his feet and made his way to the toilet. The bathroom smelled of diarrhea and vomit. Kevin urinated, glad that’s all he needed to do, then gingerly walked through the house, wanting to thank the stranger. He was nowhere to be found.
Kevin was no longer delirious, but couldn’t make sense of what had happened. The doors were still locked, as was the window Kevin had crawled through. He double-checked every room and weakly called out “Hello? Are you still here? Young man . . . Jason? Where are you?” Silence was the only answer. Through the back door window he could see the Jeep. He gathered his blankets and jug of water, then reconsidered and dropped the blankets onto the floor. He didn’t want to give Michelle or Doc the same virus he had, and was sure his blankets were contaminated. He returned to the back door, checked for zombies, then stepped over to his truck. He was curious, so he opened the hatch. His first aid kit was closed but a bottle of ibuprofen was on top as if it’d been carefully placed there. Did I get the ibuprofen out of the truck? I don’t remember. I don’t think so. But how could that stranger have gotten into my locked truck? He might have fished the keys out of my pocket, he mused, but how did he get inside the house if it was locked? Maybe he had his own keys. He reached into his pants pocket for the keys to the Jeep and noticed with disappointment that his small Petoskey stone—the good luck charm he carried with him—was missing. Damn, he thought, I must have lost in in the house. He considered going back in to look for it but decided against it. I have plenty more good luck charms back home. Two in particular, he thought, although he wasn’t sure whether he was referring to Michelle and Doc or to Michelle and the baby inside her.
Kevin opened the bottle of ibuprofen and shook a couple caplets out. Raising the jug of water to his lips, he swallowed the pills and the last of the water, then placed the empty container on the g
round near the back door. Wearily climbing into the cab of the truck, he cranked the motor and drove off, away from the house. He only had a couple of hours of driving left and wanted to get home before dark.
Nearing Charlotte, Kevin was eager to get home. He still felt weak after his bout with the flu, but was excited about being with Michelle and seeing Doc again. He had so much to tell them! He was also a bit anxious, not knowing what kind of reception he’d get. He’d assured Michelle he’d be back in just a few days, but it had taken him twice as long as he planned. He knew Doc and Michelle would be worried about him. He figured everything would be fine once he got there and told them the good news about Frankfort. Surely Michelle wasn't mad anymore. In just a couple of hours, barring complications, he’d be home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Don turned on the penlight he’d brought and quickly looked around for the man who lived there. Matey silently scouted every room then came back. Nobody was home. But where could the man be? Even though Matey had already scouted the house, Don quietly went through every room. When he didn’t find anyone he searched for a doorway leading to an attic or basement. Once he was convinced the house was empty, he turned the penlight off and sat in the living room. Matey sat next to him, cocking his head as if to ask What are you doing? Don tried to figure out where the man could be. If he was sleeping at Ms. Tracy’s house, maybe she was sharing her secret with him. The thought of the man knowing Ms. Tracy’s secret made Don mad and he made a fist. Ms. Tracy should not do that. She was supposed to show Don her secret. Not here, at the school, and not with that old man. He got really mad and decided Ms. Tracy deserved the gymnasium, too. After Don learned her secret again. Even if her secret made him bloody like it did last time. Thinking about it made him hard.
Love in the Age of Zombies (Book 2): Zombies in Paradise Page 21