Dead World: Hero

by D. N. Harding

“Television and radio stations only Emergency Broadcasting System now and we not only city with probrem. Some say first sick people in Chicago. Before cell phones and internet service stop and we still see news on television, it say the prague also show up in Baltimore, New York, and Los Angeles.”

  The taxi slowed to a stop. A block up the street, rows of military vehicles faced the other direction. At any other time one might have thought it a parade. Flashing yellow lights mounted on emergency cones cautioned all who approached. A sizeable sign that read, ‘Quarantine Zone: No Trespassing,’ hung from a streetlight in the intersection above the parked vehicles. Automatic gunfire could be heard in the distance.

  Outside the window, rain began to fall, pelting the window like fallen tears. The overcast day finally released its boiling frustration. Jack sighed. Normally he enjoyed a good storm, but there seemed to be another tempest brewing that no weatherman could have predicted. A flash of lightning lit the afternoon sky as the trio pondered their next move.

  “Wirrow Street one brock past barricade, in Quarantine Zone,” Mr. Lee said as he turned in his seat to look at his two passengers. “Can’t get in there in taxi. Sure you want to get to Wirrow?”

  “My daughter lives there,” Davis said. “I need to know that she and her husband Mack are alright.” His hand went to the pocket of his lapel subconsciously.

  “We’re going, Mr. Lee. What’s the best way to get in?” Jack said, noting the concern that marked his friend’s face.

  “I show you,” Mr. Lee said. He put the car in gear, flicked the windshield wipers on, and turned right at the next street.

  Four blocks down, he turned left toward downtown. There were no emergency military vehicles parked under the sign warning people away from the area. The flashing lights set in orange cones marked the line barring access to downtown Lexington. Steel barricades blocked the passage. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled across town. The rhythm of the wipers rapped out a tempo that suddenly made Jack feel sleepy. He turned to look at Davis.

  “Take care that no one see you. When inside, avoid Army man and poriceman if you can. Sometimes they confused about who sick and who okay.” Mr. Lee said it in a manner that made Jack feel as if he should have paid him for the advice. “You get out of city as soon as you can. If you think Dennys bad, beyond that barricade it much worse.”

  Jack and Davis climbed out into the rain. The temperature had dropped slightly and the rain was cold. Closing the door, Jack started to wave his thanks when Mr. Lee rolled his window down.

  “Here,” he said. “You going to need this more than me.” He extended the butt of the pistol toward Jack. When Jack looked at him, he said, “I’m not total heartress. Just businessman who thinks you need it more.” The smile that followed seemed sincere. “You pay me for it, if we meet again.”

  Jack started to reach for it, but changed his mind. He really didn’t want to trust himself with the weapon. “Naw. You keep it. There’s nothing in there that a good set of feet can’t fix.” He returned the smile.

  Davis was already walking down the street. Jack jogged up behind him. The neighborhood was void of movement, except for a handful of pigeons on a wire overhead. He felt as if they were watching the two of them with something akin to amusement. He could already hear them talking and laughing about the stupid humans going to lunch, as the main course. Their little heads jerking and bobbing with humor.

  “Home cooking, huh?” Jack said, initiating small talk.

  “Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sharon — my sister — taught Margi everything she knew. In fact, I think Margi exceeded her aunt’s ability when it came to certain foods.”

  “Like what?” Jack asked as the two crossed the next block and headed for the barricade.

  * * *

  The police car rolled slowly up the street. Like a perverted version of the Pied Piper, it was being followed by a vast number of the sick. A recorded message resounded throughout the neighborhood, blaring from unseen speakers.

  “Attention residents! If you or anyone else within your home is infected, it is important that you follow necessary protocols. One, infected persons must be quarantined and locked away from healthy persons. Two, drape a sheet or a towel across your front door. This will signal who needs priority medical attention. And, finally, remain in your homes as much as possible. Help is on the way.”

  Margaret stood at the picture window in her living room and watched the police cruiser slink past. Her silver hair bespoke of wisdom and accented her dark skin, making her look wizened. She had just finished the dishes and was drying her hands with a thin green dishtowel. The aroma of roast beef lingered in the air. She chuckled and thought about something Mickey had said at supper.

  “Why do women choose perfume that they think smells good rather than choosing a smell that the men find attractive? Honey, if they ever make a perfume for women that mimics the smell of roast beef, buy it,” he had said.

  “Eau de Boeuf,” she said under her breath and shook her head. “Silly man.” Replacing the dishtowel through the handle of one of the drawers next to the sink, she slipped off her house shoes. She could hear the television blaring in the basement. Mickey’s hearing wasn’t what it once was. When she opened the basement door, the deafening sound of the Price is Right with all its bells and whistles wafted past her in one draft of noise pollution. Better leave him to his show, she thought to herself and closed the door.

  The doorbell rang, followed by an insistent pounding on the back door. When she pulled the curtain aside, she saw Sandra, her daughter, holding her two children. She was crying.

  “What’s wrong, hon,” Margaret said after opening the kitchen door. She swept one of her granddaughters into her arms. The child was cold to the touch.

  “Mom, I don’t know what to do. The girls were outside playing with one of their friends this afternoon. I figured that since our yard is surrounded by a tall privacy fence I wouldn’t have any reason to worry. I didn’t know it at the time, but the other child was infected. I laid down to take a short nap and was startled awake by screams coming from the back yard.” Sandra broke down sobbing. Margaret went for some tissue and then waited for her daughter to continue.

  “The girls were running around the yard trying to get away from their friend. Both were bleeding from bites. I didn’t know what to do.” She held up her elbow, where a blood-spotted bandage was hastily wrapped. “I was bit trying to subdue the little girl. Mom, I’m infected. What are we going to do? Have you seen what the sickness does to people? It makes them crazy. I feel like I’m already going nuts!”

  Margaret drew Sandra to her breast and the two wept. When she finally pulled herself together, she wiped her nose and lifted Sandra’s chin. “Let’s take the girls down stairs and let dad keep an eye on them, while we determine what to do next,” Margaret said in her best mother-knows-best voice. “A police car just passed by offering us instruction on how to deal with infected loved ones. We’ll follow those instructions, Okay? Okay.” Together, Margaret and her daughter carried the two granddaughters into the basement.

  Mickey turned when the bottom step squeaked. One look at the women and he turned off the television. He was a balding sixty-year-old black man battling with age spots. Together they put the girls on the couch and covered them with blankets.

  “They’re cold,” Mickey said feeling the forehead of one of his granddaughters.

  “Me, too, dad,” Sandra said. She shivered despite the sweat that ran down behind her ear.

  Mickey hugged his daughter and rubbed his hands over her arms attempting to warm them via friction. When Margaret handed him an afghan, he draped it around his daughter’s shoulders and moved her to his favorite recliner. “Here, lay back here. You want something to drink?”

  “No, dad,” She said. Mickey pulled the lever and the chair tilted backward. Sandra’s eyes drooped shut.

  After a minute, the older couple looked at each other. Mickey nodded toward the steps. Out of earshot, Mickey said, “
You know what happens next?” She nodded silently, not wanting to voice her thoughts. “We need to be prepared for it.”

  “What do you mean?” Margaret asked.

  “Come on,” Mickey said and he led his wife up the steps. In the kitchen, he motioned for her to take a seat as he went out the back door. Sandra’s Fiat was parked cattycornered in the drive. He turned it off when he realized it was still running. In the garage, he scrounged up three wooden bed slats from an old four-poster bed he had hoped to sell, a jar of nails, a hammer and, finally, several bungee cords.

  “What is all that for, honey?” Margaret asked as she stood and followed him back through the living room.

  Mickey set the bed slats, hammer, and nails on the carpet next to the basement door and took the bundle of cords down the steps. “You’ve seen what happens to those who are infected. These girls are going to get very aggressive here shortly. Eventually, Sandra will too. We can keep them from hurting themselves and us by taking precautions.” As he spoke, he lifted the feet of his oldest granddaughter and pulled the blanket back. He began to wrap a blue and white bungee cord around the child’s legs. Margaret took a yellow cord and began to truss up the little one.

  “What about Sandra?” Margaret asked looking over her shoulder at her daughter. Her daughter’s black curls hung limp over one side of her face.

  “We’ll have to tie her up. It’s for her own good,” Mickey whispered.

  “There was a police car that came by earlier. It broadcasted a message that said if we had people who were infected in our house we should lock them away from the healthy people.” Margaret’s voice was thick with concern. “It said to hang a sheet on the front door to let rescuers know that we need priority medical attention.” Tears drew glistening lines down Margaret’s dark cheeks.

  “Sounds like you better get that sheet up then. Hate to have them pass us by,” Mickey replied. “Go ahead. I’ll care for Sandra.” As his wife started for the stairs, he said, “Hey. It’s going to be alright.” She sighed, wiped a hand across her mouth and nodded.

  At the top of the stairs, she paused to look at what her husband had placed on the floor. Wood slats, plus a hammer and nails equals . . . what? She just couldn’t put it together in her mind. Mickey had always been a little sharper than she was. Shaking off her confusion, she walked down the hall toward the other side of the house. In the laundry room, she opened the linen closet. It was filled with a variety of colorful bed linens, comforters, towels, washcloths, and an assortment of boxes stacked and neatly labeled.

  As she perused her stores, she realized that if she was going to close her front door on a sheet, she’d better use an old one. She closed the closet door. Back in the hall, she reached up for the cord that hung from the ceiling. It was just low enough that she could snatch it if she tiptoed. With a strong pull, the ceiling revealed a hidden pull ladder. It was double-jointed and folded out easily.

  The ladder squeaked as she took the steps one at a time. The darkness of the warm attic was chased away by the pull of a string. In a box near the steps were the remnants of her husband’s last attempt to paint the basement. The sheet — that should have been much dirtier — was folded neatly in the side of the box. His burgundy shoe-print stood in sharp relief against the light blue material. She smiled remembering the fuss he’d made over stepping on a roller in his dress shoes.

  With the ladder folded up, Margaret opened the front door. Standing in the middle of her yard was a naked and very obese white man. He stood there in the grass rocking back and forth, looking at the ground. His skin was splotchy and unhealthy-looking. His eyes were cataracts. The top of his head was crusted with dried blood as if it had been scraped with something that left the skin stripped back behind his crown.

  “Sir, are you alright?” she asked, opening the storm door enough to speak to the man.

  Slowly the man lifted his chin as if the words were not quite understood. His blank expression never changed, even after he began to lumber off into the street. The folds of his flesh quivered with each step.

  Margaret watched the man stub his foot on a curb and tumble face-first into Mrs. Johnson’s yard across the street. It took him several tries, but he managed to get up and wander out of view around the Johnson house.

  “Margaret.” It was Mickey. “Come on, love. Hang the sheet.”

  She did and shut the door. When she looked at him, his rich brown eyes were soft and filled with affection. It had been a long time since he’d looked at her like that. She remembered the first time she laid eyes on him. All she could think about was drowning in those deep brown orbs.

  “I love you so much. You know that, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Of course you do. How could you put up with me for so many years if you didn’t,” she joked, but sensed that the timing was bad. “What’s wrong? Are the girls okay? Sandra?”

  “I’m sure they will be fine. Look at my shoulder,” he said, his voice betraying his emotion. His back was covered in blood. It stained his housecoat all the way to its hem. Panic filled her eyes as the truth of it dawned on her. “The infection took hold of Sandra before I could get her restrained. She took quite a chunk out of me. It was difficult watching her chew it,” Mickey said. The pain of the wound was nearly getting the best of him. “I want you to consider something now. If the infection can make that little woman do that to me, imagine what it will make me do to you.”

  “No, Mickey, don’t say it,” Margaret pleaded, her heart shattering.

  “I must. We must protect you from . . . me.” His voice broke. With that, he walked her slowly over to the couch and sat her down. Once he was beside her, he pulled her over so that her head rested on his shoulder. His wife sobbed openly and he grieved more for her pain than his. When she lifted up to embrace him, he groaned silently and put his arms around her. “It’s only a sickness, love. When the emergency medical people arrive, they will make things better. You’ll see.” She nodded into his chest.

  The two sat silently for a moment, until Mickey realized that his time was running short. He was already shaking with the cold sweats.

  “Come on. I’m starting to feel strange — lethargic. It won’t be long now. Here’s what you are going to have to do. I’m going down into the basement. I want you to take those slats and board this door up. Use the long nails. Whatever you do,” he lifted her chin to face him, “do not open this door. Let the emergency personnel handle it.”

  Margaret couldn’t speak. She felt numb. She watched her husband open the basement door. At the bottom of the steps was Tania, her youngest granddaughter. Though she was bound, she still managed to squirm her way to the steps. A wail escaped from her little lips that sounded otherworldly. Mickey smiled reassuringly at his wife before shutting the door. From the other side, she heard him say, “I love you, Margaret. I’ll take care of our babies until help arrives.” He was tossing her a bone and she grabbed it with both hands.

  It took her nearly a half an hour to secure the door with the slats of wood. The hallway was strewn with bent and misshapen nails that she’d had to pull out repeatedly. It took her some time before she found her rhythm. She broke a sweat but managed to get the job done.

  She started to wipe the sweat from her face, when a howl from the basement broke the silence. It was a new voice. It was her husband’s voice. It was soon accompanied by her daughter and granddaughters. Something crashed in the basement. It sounded like the television. Then, the basement steps creaked. The door shook. Tears streamed down her face as she watched several sets of fingers protrude from under the door — proof that the girls had gotten free. One of the hands was larger and she could see her husband’s wedding band.

  “Hold on. Help is coming,” Margaret whispered as she ran her hand across the groping fingers. The action set off a series of wails and moans from beyond the door that made the hair standup on the back of her neck. She shivered and climbed to her feet. She was alone until help arrived.

  CHAPTER S
IX

  I t took Jack and Davis more than an hour to move one block through the quarantined area. This part of the city was crawling with the sick. They were out in herds more than fifty deep in some places. If it hadn’t been for a shrub here or a wall there, their gallivanting would have been ended before it really started.

  As the two companions moved along the side of a three-story brick building, Jack caught himself looking at his elderly friend. He looked frail and thin. His slacks seemed to be one size too large. He was filthy from head to toe, with the exception of the white collar he wore at his neck. Yet, despite the limp he’d recently developed — the result of jumping over a bush — Davis had managed to keep up and without complaint. Jack could only hope to be as sturdy when it was his turn to do the old codger thing. Then a thought occurred to him. He might have the body of a thirty year old, but he was still over fifty. Some might think he qualified for old codgerhood now.

  “You alright, old man?” Jack asked.

  “Sure, but I think I’m going to need a rest before long. I’m not as young as I used to be,” Davis said with a wink and then pointed at the street sign ahead. “That’s Elm; Willow is two more blocks up that way.”

  Jack followed Davis’ finger up the street. It seemed so quiet and peaceful now. Cars sat in the occasional driveway. Yards were mowed, some had flowers planted along their walks. Trees spread their green expanses over both yard and pavement alike. Flittering birds passed from limb to wire to roof and back again. It might not have been Mayberry, but he realized that he’d give just about anything to live a normal life, suffer normal problems, and reap the normal benefits of a life lived beyond the prison. To the everyday Joe, sitting on the front step of his house probably wouldn’t seem like such a great thing. To Jack, it rang in his heart like freedom’s bell. What I wouldn’t do to have a front step, he thought to himself.

  “There,” Davis pointed as they approached the corner of the building.