Humanity Gone: After the Plague

by Derek Deremer

  Of course. The cutlery aisle.

  I turn and see him ripping the plastic coating off of a paring knife and he charges at me with a new-found energy. He quickly catches up. I let the packs slide to the floor again and try to dodge his attack at the same time. The knife slices through my right sleeve and the skin under it. I see red beginning to darken my coat. I wish I had put the gun in my pocket. I thought I would be safer without it. Wrong. I reach for anything on the shelves that I can and start throwing at him to slow him.

  A cheese grater.

  A plastic cutting board.

  A potato peeler.

  Finally, I find myself with a pan in one hand, and I’m reaching for a mop with the other. This would be funny if I wasn't about to die.

  As he jumps at me, I shove the mop in his face-the absorbent side. He uses both hands to shove it to his left. I let go of the mop with my left hand, and while spinning clockwise I deliver a blow with the edge of the pan to the left side of his head. I’ve never put so much effort into a swing in my life.

  It lands just behind his eye with a sickening crack. The edge breaks through the skin, and his eyes roll back into his head as his body crumbles to the ground. My legs are locked for a moment, and my breathing is labored as my focus remains on the deep wound that I’ve left in the side of his skull.

  I bend down and reach for his neck with my left hand. With two fingers across his throat, I wait, feeling for any kind of signal that his heart is still beating.

  Nothing. I look at the pan. The edge is crimson, and noticeably dented from the force of the blow. Dropping it to the floor, I collect the bags while breathing harder and harder. A pool of blood forms around his head. I try to feel guilty, but it was just like Darry on the city street. He deserved this, maybe that's why I don't feel sick this time. Not shooting Darry made me sick.

  Killing wasn't that hard...

  The girls. I need to get back. Do I have everything I need? I look back at the aisle and realize that some of these items could be invaluable. I put one bag over each shoulder and one in my left hand so that my right is free for a big pot with some knives and other items. I step over the recent corpse to grab a metal spatula.

  There are movies, mints, books, and some other stands in front of the cash registers. Useless. I need to make sure we have everything we need. One of the stands in particular catches my eye.

  Seeds. The stand is full of seeds with a big clearance sign on top of it. Nobody has taken these yet. What’s more, one register over, there's a stand of books with titles like “Paint Your Thumb Green” and “Gardening for Dummies.” I shove as many seeds as I can in the gaps in the bags, which turns out to be substantial, and I put a few books under my arm. The last thing I need is another encounter. I wobble out of the store with all of my goodies in every nook possible on my body.

  The rest of the trip back to the car goes without a hitch. When I am almost to the SUV, I stumble and fall down the small hill, dropping the books and one of the backpacks. I look up from the ground and see Jo running toward me.

  When she asks how it went I think I will leave out the boy I killed.

  Chapter 18: Caitlyn

  This is the second time that Jon’s gone away, and it’s scarier than the first. He could get hurt this time. I keep falling asleep in the car, and I feel so cold. Jocelyn and Sara are talking about something, but I have no interest. Something about Jon. Both of them seem okay, so I bundle Jo's coat a little tighter. I feel an itch in my throat and cough.

  “Are you okay?” Jocelyn asks from the driver's seat.

  “I wanna go soon. Do you see Jon?”

  “He’ll be back soon,” she replies, rolling back into her seat to get a better look where Jon ran off. She quickly shoots upright, though, and I follow her eyes to see Jon falling down the hill, with much more than the three backpacks in tow. Jo runs out to meet him. Sara giggles for a second. He looks so foolish carrying all that stuff and then rolling down the hill. Sara and I both climb out of the car to help.

  “Jon!” she yells, reaching his side. Jon seems briefly dizzy, and Jo picks up two of the backpacks as the two hurry to the car. I begin to pick up a few cans that rolled to the bottom. With all our efforts we have the car loaded up. As Jon shuts the door, a smudge of red covers the trunk handle.

  “Jon, you’re hurt.” Sara whimpers. “Your arm.” Jon lifts it to his eyes.

  “Oh, this? I scraped it along one of the aisles trying to grab more stuff. I will cover it when we get back. It was so dark inside. The place was empty-completely different from 48 hours ago.” Sara looks relieved but something doesn't feel right about his story.

  We scramble into the vehicle and head back to the cabin. I don’t want to, but I can’t keep myself from coughing. I try to be quiet the whole way home, but eventually Sara tugs at my shirt.

  “Are you okay?” she asks. I try to smile and nod. Jon isn't fooled, and he looks back at me from the passenger's seat.

  “What’s wrong, Cait? Do you need some water?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? How do you feel?”

  My lips drop into a frown. “Bad.”

  “We’re not far from home. We’ll get you back under the covers and you’ll feel much better, ok? You probably just need some good rest and a real meal. Jo will take care of you, right Jo?”

  Jo looks away from the road for a second and rolls her eyes. Their interactions remind me of mom and dad sometimes. They have trouble being serious for too long. Sara likes that. I don't.

  I keep my frown. “Ok.”

  The ride drags on, and each pothole makes my head hurt more and more. It’s not even noon yet, and all I want is to go back to sleep. Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up and feel better.

  After glancing at me a few times, Jo just keeps looking over at her brother and inhaling like she wants to start saying something, but she never does. I think it is about me.

  Eventually, I drift back to sleep with my head in Sara’s lap.

  The car comes to an abrupt stop, and I wake up just as quickly. We’re home, and Jon wasn’t very soft on the brakes. My throat hurts really badly, and I have to cringe to swallow. I let out another whimper, stretching and trying to make the soreness in my arms and legs go away.

  We head into the cabin and Jocelyn tucks me into bed. Jon grabs the first aid kit and sets it on the table. He takes off his coat so that he can tend to his cut. Jocelyn and Sara begin to store some of the stuff Jon found away but after awhile she asks Sara to go outside and fill one of the buckets with water at the pump. I try to close my eyes and fall asleep.

  When I hear the door slam, there is a moment of silence. I keep my eyes closed but I hear both of them whisper to one another.

  “Jon, what really happened to your arm? Your face looks puffy, too.'

  “I'm telling the truth”

  “Don't lie to me.”

  “I'm not!” Their voices begin to get louder.

  “Jon you don't just fall and get a cut on your arm and the beginning of a black eye. Tell me the truth. Now.”

  “I fell while the lights were flickering. Leave it the hell alone.”

  “How can we expect to make it if you’re not even honest with me?”

  “I am honest with you. You’re the only thing I care about in this screwed up world.”

  “Then why are you lying?” They are nearly yelling at one another.

  “This is the truth. Now leave...it...alone.”

  “You're unbelievable.” She swears at him.

  Listening to Jo and Jon argue is kind of scary. I can feel my heart beating. The more I focus on it, though, the quicker it slows down. That just lets my mind go back to my chills and headache. It takes some time, but I’m finally able to shut my eyes and drift into an uncomfortable sleep.

  * * *

  Each day I feel worse and worse. Almost a week has gone by since I started to feel awful. My head feels like it is on fire but I feel cold at the same time.

  Ini
tially, they worried that maybe I had gotten the plague somehow. Jo checked every inch of me for the rash, but she said I was clear. The possibility of having the plague made me really upset, so it was relieving to know that it was something else. Jon and Jocelyn have looked over a few book s they found in the ranger’s cabin, but so far they haven't been able to figure out what is wrong with me. We have all the medicine, but they are each afraid to give me anything. So my job is to stay in bed and eat when I can and hope that the ibuprofen is enough.

  I look outside and see the three of them messing with the ground. Jon has an idea to try and get a few things grown before it gets too cold. They do look funny out there fooling around in the dirt.

  Chapter 19: Jonathon

  All I can do right now is keep her comfortable, hydrated, and fed. The penicillin that we took from the store is starting to seem more and more like an option, though. I know there is a difference between prescription and over the counter drugs, and I don’t know the consequences of using a prescription drug incorrectly. There has to be a reason that only doctors can allow you to get them. I hope she will get better naturally.

  Everything else is settling into a rhythm. Jo, Sara, and I are all reading up on gardening, and we’ve planted some of the radish seeds that can be harvested in as few as four weeks – according to one of those books anyway. It didn't seem like a bad idea to take our first slug at gardening in the last month before winter. We can’t find any other plants that grow so quickly inside of that time frame.

  I hope I like radishes. I see a lot of them in my future.

  Jo and Sara are looking out the window, talking about what the trees look like when they just start to change color.

  “I’ll bet the first one to be completely bare will be that one,” says Sara, pointing to a big maple tree about eighty feet away from the house.

  “Alright,” replies Jo. “I’ll take that one,” she said, pointing to another tree a little further away as Sara presses her face against the glass.

  “Don’t forget which one you picked,” Sara exclaimed. She turns to me with a smile and I smile back, she quickly turns to look back out the window. It sounds like a silly wager to me. They stared out the window a lot and hoped to see animals. Maybe it was replacing TV.

  Caitlyn stirs and Sara hops away from the window sill to tend to her sister. The sun is approaching the western hilltops, so we probably only have a few hours of daylight left. Now’s a good a time as any to start dinner.

  Jo must have read my mind. “What do you feel like cooking today?” she asks, walking over to the table.

  “What I feel like cooking? You mean what do you feel like cooking?” I argue.

  My sister lazily glares at me and I look to the closed pantry and think of what we have. Those pots and tools that we’d gotten at the grocery store are fantastic. Along with the few pieces of kitchenware from the ranger’s station, we have all that we’ll need to last the winter.

  “Let’s do pasta tonight.” I’ve become pretty good at draining the water from the pot with just the lid, and I’m feeling pretty hungry.

  “Again?” Sara complains. “We have had that like four times already” She says at the foot of Caitlyn's bed. Caitlyn seems to be asleep again at the moment.

  “Well do you have any ideas?”

  “As a matter of fact...I do.” She hops down off the bed and grabs the pantry door. She talks to herself briefly. “Now if I remember from mom...” she grabs a few random cans and boxes and sets them down on the table. She sits for a second and stares at them. I watch in amusement – she is determined.

  “Where are the spices and everything?” she asks. I point to the cabinet. I watch as she struggles on her toes to reach for the top shelf. I come up behind her and bring them down.

  “I could have reached them, Jonathon.”

  “Oh I know, just consider me your sous chef.”

  “What's that?” she asks, opening the ranger's array of seasonings and spices.

  “Your assistant.” She smiles and begins to lay down her plan of how we are going to add a little of this with a little of that and come out with some sort of stew. I help her open some cans and gather some fresh water. She takes a third of a box, mixes it in, and begins to stir.

  She has no idea what she is doing.

  “Okay, now sous-chef Jon. Let this cook for 15 minutes. Now, I also want to prepare those instant mashed potatoes.” She turns to her sister. “This should all be easy for her to eat.”

  She rips open the pouch and I begin to heat some more water over the stove. While she is distracted with the potatoes I grab a spoon from the drawer and taste the stew. I may need to add a little, a lot, of seasoning when she is not looking. However, when I bring it to my mouth, it tastes alright. Maybe she does have an idea.

  “Pretty good!” I say with a grin and a thumbs-up.

  “Of course,” she turns with a smile.

  The two of us finish preparing the meal while Jo sets the table and checks on Caitlyn. We serve the meal onto the dishes on the table and we take turns helping Caitlyn eat. When she feels up to it, we prop her up in her bed and sit with her as she slurps away at the stew. She manages to eat half of it. The plates at the table get completely cleaned.

  “Good work, Sara” replies Jo rising to her feet. She sets her plates down and walks to the corner. “I'm sure you two won't mind doing cleanup, too. I’m headed out.”

  “Out? Who’s the guy?” I ask. Sara and I begin to collect the plates and put them in a wash bucket already heating on the stove.

  She snickers as she grabs the rifle from the corner. “Hopefully, ‘he’ is an ‘it’, and ‘it’ is going to die.”

  “Isn't it a little dark to try to be a great hunter Jo-Jo?”

  “It’s as good a time as any.”

  Our uncle always used to talk about hunting at the very crack of dawn. There must have been a reason for that. “Can't we wait until tomorrow? I will come.”

  “Just relax, we’ve an hour left.”

  “Why are you pushing this now?” I ask moving closer.

  “Because,” she begins, lowering her voice, “I'm tired of you doing pretty much everything around here.“

  “You know I don't see it like that,” I argue. The tension rises.

  “Well I do.”

  “We haven't even fired one of those guns yet. What if someone hears it? Think.”

  “I am thinking. It will be fine. Stay with them.”

  “Jocelyn, you are acting like a child.” It slips before I can hold it in.

  “No. I've never been a child because I have always had to put up with you.” She sighs. We are both angry. This is how most conversations went before the plague came along. She speaks loud so the twins can now hear. “Jon, I’m going, I’ll see you soon.”

  “Girls, I’m going for a walk. I’ll see you in an hour.” she says, slinging the gun over her shoulder and heading to the door. I don't think she would ever admit it, but I think she was jealous of Sara and me preparing dinner.

  It was my fault, too. I'm still just trying to make up these past few years. How can I make up for taking mom away from her?

  “Bye!” the twins say in unison, only one is much weaker than the other.

  “Don’t go too far!” I call out after Jo.

  “Yes, sir!” replies Jo, saluting me with disdain.

  After a little bit of work, I get a fire growing in the stove and grab the big basin from the stove top with the dinner's dishes inside. Sara and I dry the dishes together and she helps me stack them neatly on the table.

  “Do you need me to do anything else?” she asks willingly. She wants to help me more.

  “No, go play.” I add.

  “With what?” she inquires while shrugging her shoulders and putting her hands in the air. She smiles.

  “Be creative.”

  “Oh, alright.” She grins and jumps to the other bunk and fiddles with something.

  I grab the basin to rinse it outside.
The pump is just around the side of the cabin, and with only a few pumps, it loyally spouts cool well water. God help us if this thing breaks.

  I muse for a little bit too long over the mechanics of a spout, and some water spills out of the tipped pot, splashing freezing water onto my ankles. A few curses escape my mouth as I shake the water from the bucket. I turn back toward the cabin. It is getting darker much more quickly than I expected.

  More quickly than I'm sure Jo had expected, too.

  As I round the house with the basin in hand, something catches my eye and I step back up behind the corner. A dark figure moved among some trees. Was it an animal? My eyes squint. The person moves again. I slowly set down the bucket.

  “No… not right now,” I whisper to myself. After peeking around again, I see that he’s walking with his head down. He may not have seen me.

  The answer is all too obvious as the wisps of smoke blowing from the chimney grab my attention- he’s here for our food and supplies. The images of the raging man at the grocery store come back to my mind. I won’t give him the opportunity to harm the girls. There will be no talking this time. I need to act first.

  Fifty feet. The man is pretty clear, now. He looks to be a bit shorter than six feet, but in reasonable shape. There’s a hiking backpack strapped to him which could slow him down significantly. He walks slowly and slightly crouched, with his gaze almost directly at his feet. Maybe he doesn't want to be seen-maybe he doesn't want to scare anyone? No. he's trying to hide. He wants to sneak up on us.

  That’s it. Once he’s past that corner, I’ll close the gap and take him out.

  Switching to the other back corner of the house, I watch as he nears the opposite front corner, still walking toward the door. He lifts his head up, apparently making sure he’s still headed in the right direction. I will have a few moments where his back will be toward me as he goes to the door.

  He seems tired. It makes no difference. He won’t know what hit him. Three… two… one…

  He passes the corner, and I’m at a dead sprint. Even if he hears me at this point, it’s going to take a second to register, and I’ll be on top of him. He’s only a quarter of the way through turning around, and I’ve left the ground, my shoulder lined up with his gut and my hands extend for his wrists.