Alive Again | Book 1

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  “It’s not as if the Wanderers are in a rush,” June concedes. “We might be able to spare a little food. We’ll just have to keep a close eye out.”

  “Thanks, Mom!” Levi says, doing a happy dance. “Maybe we can play ‘Go Fish’!”

  “We’ll see,” June says, watching him worriedly.

  25

  The Collapse

  “Would you like some more tomatoes?” Levi asks, holding up the glass jar of canned food.

  I accept the container with a thanks, spooning out another helping. I’ve already finished the pork and beans June heated. Thankfully, the food agrees with me. So far. Huddled around a small table in the kitchen, we speak quietly and eat our meal while June keeps an intermittent watch.

  “Since Trevor’s been gone, I’ve done my best to keep up with the crops, but the infected make it hard,” June admits, looking out one of the windows. “My yield is extremely low. As soon as something comes up, the infected trample over it, or eat it.”

  I swallow my bite and look at her, confused. “They eat vegetables?”

  “What, did you think they only eat people?” She smiles, bemused. “They eat anything they can get their hands on, and some things they shouldn’t. They’re scavengers with no discrimination. You should see the mess they make when they’re done.”

  I grimace. I’d never thought about that.

  Changing to a more appetizing subject, Cody says, “Thanks for the meal. It’s delicious.”

  “If we weren’t counting every bite we eat, I’d share more,” June says. Of course, she doesn’t need to explain. She’s rationing, like everyone else with any sense.

  “This is really good.” Looking down at my plate, I say, “I can’t remember the last time I had a warm meal.”

  I spear another bite of tomato, as if I might find the answer in my lunch.

  “I can’t imagine not remembering anything,” June pities. “But, then again, that might be a blessing, after what the world has been through.”

  I look up to find her staring absently out the peephole.

  “I’ll never forget the uncertainty of those first days,” June remembers. “It felt like some angry god had snapped and decided to punish us all and end things. At the last minute, He—or She—decided to spare a few of us. I’m still not sure why. Maybe so we’d suffer longer.”

  Her morbid words tighten the knot in my stomach. I can’t imagine the suffering humanity endured while I was out ravaging them. Despite the pain in her voice, I realize June has the answers we’ve been seeking. Or at least, some of them.

  Swallowing my last bit of lunch, I ask, “How could all this have happened?”

  June watches us grimly. “Since you don’t know, maybe it’s time someone told you.”

  “No one knows exactly where the virus started, though there was plenty of speculation. In the beginning, the US pointed fingers at the Chinese. The Chinese pointed fingers back. Everyone in Europe blamed each other. No one took responsibility. But then, that’s always the way. I remember the pit of dread in my stomach when I watched those first news reports about the virus entering the US. They called it FRZ-2, or the Frenzy. At first, a lot of us thought it was a terrorist attack, but that explanation never felt right and didn’t stick. The infected lost all rationality. It was as if someone had just hit a lever and transformed them into crazed lunatics. Before we could blink, the virus was everywhere—and so was the violence.

  “More and more news reporters died, leaving us with less and less information. Too many scientists scratched their heads, trying to get answers. They were trying to determine what was happening, but that type of analysis takes a while. By the time they discovered it was a rabies mutation, it didn’t matter. The military response was quickly overwhelmed: for everyone who was killed and eaten, an exponential number were bitten and turned. The entire population was changing and there was no way the government could be everywhere at once. It wasn’t long until chaos became the law of the land.

  “Trevor, Levi, and I sheltered in place, communicating with our neighbors and relatives through cellphones. Of course, calling for help was out of the question—all the emergency lines were overwhelmed; eventually, they were abandoned. One by one, we lost contact with our relatives. A few tried to meet us here and never made it. And then the power went off, and soon after that, our cellphones stopped working and couldn’t be charged. We met up with three of our neighbors, exchanged some camping walkie-talkies, and for a while, we pretended that if we just stayed put, the world would recover. And then they came.” She waves around her house. “I still remember the first group of Wanderers. There were about a dozen of them. Watching them approach our farm was surreal, like a coming storm. They ran through the barn and the fields like madmen, razing our stables, terrorizing our animals…why, hardly any of our critters got away, bless their hearts. The infected ate everything they could stuff into their greedy mouths. You could tell by their eyes and movements that they were sick. But we knew they were hunting. Hunting for us. Who wants scrawny cucumbers from the field when there’s prime rib? We did our best to keep Levi quiet, hunkered in the house with our guns. But those things didn’t leave; pickings were just too sweet here, I reckon. It didn’t take long for them to reach our doors. We barricaded the house, but not well enough. Eventually they found their way in through the cellar window. I didn’t think anyone could squeeze through there, but they were persistent. They tore off the board and broke the glass and wormed through the gap like starving animals, scraping and slicing their skin without concern for their well-being. We tried blocking the kitchen door to the basement, but we weren’t fast enough. I’ll never forget Trevor holding the kitchen table in place, trying to stop the pounding hands, while Levi screamed and screamed. I’d never seen my husband cry before; I don’t think any of us had ever been so scared. Luckily, I got ahold of our neighbors, the Cudworths, on the walkies. This was before self-preservation tore us apart. They told us to stay where we were; they’d assist.”

  June pauses for a drink, her throat raw with emotion.

  “Anyway, the Cudworths drove in with two pickups, revving their engines, honking their horns; they distracted the Wanderers and led them away. We barely escaped that first encounter. But that was only the start of our problems. More infected came, and then so did the looters.” June looks off into a corner of the room, reliving bad memories. “When the first band of looters showed up, Trevor came up with the smart idea to take down our farm signs, or as many as he could safely reach. He must’ve missed one or two. In any case, we knew too many thieves would consider our farm as a good resource. And they did. More people showed up, forcing us to defend ourselves and our land. As farmers, we had an advantage—we had more fresh produce than we could eat, at least at the beginning. We could dry, store, and can. We had a few animals left, or did, before the infected and the raiders finally got to them. But we needed other things, you know? Drugs, sanitary supplies, soap, fuel for the stove. You can’t grow that stuff. Trevor needed his blood pressure meds, and Levi has allergies. In the beginning, my husband went out for that stuff, scavenging. He described the lawlessness, the pillaging, the selfishness of the outside world. He explained how the infected owned the roads, the buildings, the world. He told us how he crept from street to street, avoiding roving gangs and the Wanderers. Once, some bad men caught him and beat him so badly we thought he might die. Oh, lord, that was a terrible time. By a miracle, they didn’t break his bones, but they bruised his ribs and his poor face…they stole his two guns and his backpack. He barely made it home, and he didn’t go out for a while after that. Like I said, in the beginning, we stuck with our neighbors, thinking we could weather the storm together, but so many people were eaten…whole families, even! Lots went off to find relatives and never came back. More and more upheaval led to arguments and discontent…in the worst cases, it ended in violence between former friends. We dug too many graves for our neighbors this past year—victims of the Wanderers, or otherw
ise. Soon, we were each isolated. This past year has been the worst I’ve suffered in my forty-five years; I can tell you that much. Too many times, I’ve questioned whether we’re the last people on earth. And then people like you show up.” June pauses, clears her throat. “Six months ago, Trevor was bitten, as I said. Ever since, we’ve been hiding out, just scraping by.

  “And that’s all I have to tell.”

  Her story finished, June goes silent, staring at the floor. Levi studies his plate. Their sorrow is heartbreaking. I can’t imagine raising a child in such a place. Maybe June was right, and I’m better off not remembering.

  “We call it the Collapse,” June explains, as I’d already picked up on. She pulls her son closer. “Like I said, no one knows why or how it happened, but there are plenty of theories. Of course, there’s the scientific explanations—maybe it was just an aberration of nature, an evolutionary tweak, and those of us living through it are the victims of bad luck. But then there are the prophetic explanations. Maybe the Maker is punishing us for mankind’s cruelty. Or something worse. In any case, me and Trevor—God rest his soul—protected Levi the best we could, like good parents.” She reaches over, brushing a lock of her son’s curly hair aside. “And now Levi has to learn to survive, so he can stay safe. Right, honey?”

  “Mom says I’m good at using the well pump.” A smile breaks through the little boy’s demeanor.

  A tear falls down June’s cheek. She caresses his forehead, looking at the bandage on his arm. “You’re doing amazing.” Distracting herself, June turns the subject to us. “You say that you lived in Wheaton, Hannah?”

  “Yes, that’s where my family is,” I tell her. “I have to get back to them.”

  June looks grave. “I’ve heard that area is pretty bad. But hell, they all are.”

  I bite my lip. Her information matches our experience. “We’ve been finding our way. It just takes some patience.”

  June nods.

  “My mom, my brother Jared, and I lived—live—in an apartment complex called Quail Hollow. We’ve been there since Dad died.” I suck in a breath. Before I know it, I’m telling her about Dad’s cancer and how difficult the last few years had been. I tell her about how we sold the family house, and how we moved into the smaller, three-bedroom living space. I even tell her how Jared hated his shifts at Starbucks, and how I used to work at the concession stand at the movie theater. I tell her about the friends I’d hung out with just before falling asleep, and how we’d shopped on that last, clear night in my memory. Then Cody pipes up and tells her about the highways that he and I have traveled, and the maps we’ve followed; he says I nodded off twice while driving the bus, but I only remember one time.

  I add more detail about how the haters almost had us, how we trusted dirty old Ted, our narrow escape through the brush; June shakes her head and chuckles at our naïveté, and Levi says: “Wow! Holy redneck racin’ Batman!” and makes Cody laugh.

  June nods, smiling, but it’s impossible to hide the sadness in her eyes.

  “All I want to do is see my family again,” I finish.

  The conversation peters out; June, Cody, and Levi keep their eyes averted. Their silence reinforces my ugliest fears. But I won’t succumb to them.

  With a kind smile, June squeezes her son. “I hope you find them, Hannah. I really do.”

  26

  The Dark

  Cradling her shotgun, June spies through the peephole. “Those ugly morons are still out there.”

  Cody smiles, in spite of himself.

  Through the course of the afternoon, and now the evening, the stricken have stayed on the property, as if they’re considering buying the farm. A few times, they’ve circled the house, rapping on the boards, causing us to hurry back into the living room and avoid the windows. Other times they’ve probed the bus, smacking their hands on the doors and the exterior; thankfully, none have gained entry.

  “Well, they’re back at the stables. I was hoping they’d leave, or at least head to the orchards,” June relays. “But some folks just can’t take a hint. I figure they’re getting desperate. Each day there are fewer and fewer survivors to feed on. It’s not as if the boneheads can open cans or boil water. They don’t have the reasoning to think further than an easy meal.”

  I trade a worried glance with Cody. I’m itching to make good on our promise and leave, but that’s clearly not possible yet. And I’m sure June is anxious to get to the injections; she’s made that clear.

  How much time does the little guy have left? I wonder.

  Turning away from the window, June bites her lip. “Things will get worse the later it gets.”

  I nod, recalling the shadows we’ve seen at night.

  “Have you ever heard of the moon affecting people’s moods?” June asks, looking between Cody and me. “They say it affects the Wanderers more deeply. They get agitated, bolder. Some speculate that it increases their animalistic urges. I can’t tell you how many screams we used to hear when the sun went down.” June shudders. “Screams of the living, and howls from the Wanderers. Of course, there are fewer people left to scream now, but there are plenty of infected…” I feel goosebumps rise on the back of my arms. “In any case, it looks like we’ll have to wait it out until morning to get those doses.”

  As one, Cody, June, and I turn toward Levi, who’s sitting on the couch, holding up a deck of cards. “Can we play a game now?”

  I smile. It’s hard to picture the sweet little boy turning into one of those rabid creatures. I say a silent prayer, hoping he’s immune and he’ll never have to worry about that.

  Realizing no one answered his question, I say, “OK. You in, Cody?”

  “Sure,” he agrees quietly.

  Hearing no sounds in the immediate vicinity, June joins us in the center of the room, tucking her gun beneath her arm, business end down. We pull the couch and loveseat at close quarters, to avoid unnecessary reaching and talking. The card game is a welcome distraction from the monsters lurking outside, even if we can’t put our full attention into it.

  “Have you played ‘Go Fish’?” Levi asks.

  “I have, but not in a while.”

  “We each get seven cards,” he says, doling them out.

  “We’ll actually need five cards each,” June politely reminds him. “We’ve got two more people today.”

  “That’s right!” Levi beams, taking a few cards back.

  He sets the rest of the stack in a single pile between us.

  “This stack is called the pond,” he explains. “You’ll have to ask the other players for the type of card you want.”

  “Oh yeah,” I say. “My family used to play this all the time.” His instructions hearken back to my own days around the kitchen table.

  We play a few rounds of Go Fish, most of which Cody wins, while June periodically checks out the windows. Levi’s enthusiasm gives me a rare, hopeful feeling; for a few brief moments, I’m able to forget about the terrors roaming the fields and just have fun. Soon, the room grows darker and I’m squinting.

  “I’ll have to get out the flashlights,” June says. “But we shouldn’t use them unless it’s an emergency.”

  Cody and I nod. We totally get it.

  After one final game, June has Levi pick up the cards and put them away. “Levi will sleep in my room, and you can take his, if you don’t mind. I’ll keep watch and keep an eye on him.”

  Neither Cody nor I argue. After a night on the hard bus seats, having an entire room to ourselves seems like a luxury. Looking sideways at Levi, June steps in closer.

  “I’m going to hold on to your weapons,” she says in a hushed voice. “I trust you, but I have to be careful, with Levi. You understand, right?”

  I don’t love the idea, but I understand her caution. As her guests, how can we argue?

  June gives us an extra blanket and pillow, and we head our separate ways, padding to the first door, while June and Levi head to the larger room down the hall.

 
“Goodnight, Hannah. Goodnight, Cody,” Levi beams from the end of the hall.

  “Goodnight, Levi.”

  “What are you thinking about?” Cody whispers in the dark.

  Squished into the race car bed, I stare up at the ceiling, tracing the glowing stars stuck in seemingly random positions, while Cody lays under a blanket on the floor. My eyes roam to the posters on the wall, which very faintly reflect the neon starlight on their slick surfaces. I watch the dangling planets, hanging high above our heads, barely swinging in an unfelt draft, and then look to the boarded-up windows. I feel cooped up, trapped. Reaching to my left, I clutch the flashlight for security.

  “I don’t know,” I say honestly, shifting under my blankets. “In one way, it feels good to be in a house. In another, it feels strange to not be in the bus.”

  “I know what you mean,” says Cody. “The bus has become like a second home, as weird as that sounds.”

  I nod. It does seem strange to be attached to a bus; of course, it’s not as familiar as my apartment—my real home, and the place I’m desperately trying to reach.

  “I can’t imagine what this family has been through. I keep thinking of what June told us about the Collapse. Hearing her talk about her neighbors, her family, her friends…it’s so hard to imagine they’re all gone. To us, it’s like they all just vanished. But they had to suffer through each of those losses.”

  Cody sighs. “I feel horrible for them. Losing their husband and father…and now this…”

  I shake my head. “When I was Levi’s age, all I had to think about was playing with friends or my next birthday. And I guess lying here right now, it’s easy to think of a whole slew of people out there, living their lives normally.”

  “Like this is all just one long nightmare,” Cody agrees. With a heavy sigh, he rolls his head and glances upward. “Look at the bright side? At least we can see the stars.”