Ophelia Immune: A Novel

by Mattson, Beth

  They stayed far from the water and the instinctively frightening fish, but they listened to my other instructions carefully. I set two girls on a large boulder to stand and keep look-out. With jokes about who could bite who, and who was scarier in the morning – girls or fish? – the rest rolled up their sleeves and followed me. At every new obstacle – a rabid squirrel, a dead and bloating Squatter in the weeds, a lone zombie traipsing through the shrubs – when I did not flinch, they collected their strength, too. We were all sick of ceding space to everyone who looked down on us.

  Bernice shot three slavering and mange-ridden rodents with her arrows, Cherry showed a small band of girls how to wrap their shirts around their hands to drag a decaying body to a Burn Pile, and I demonstrated that even a frying pan could take out a slow-moving zombie that wasn’t half as strong as three girls with clenched teeth.

  “Now, the Park is Safe,” I announced, “We need to try the fish. The fish are just as Safe as these worms -- disgusting for sure, but better food.”

  They oohed and ahhed with horror and delight when I stabbed a worm through its puffy, pink belly and twisting it back on itself to be sure that it would stay on the hook. They began to dig through the grass to the soil to pluck some out for themselves. They flung them at each other as they yelled in terror and then told themselves again and again that it wasn’t dangerous. It was funny to hear my words coming out of their mouths. They collected handful after handful of red crawlers, naming them and racing them against each other before placing them in an empty tin can. The girls were no longer the Bait.

  I could take care of them. They could take care of themselves. They could be cool and Family.

  I forced myself to the edge of the water, close enough to touch it, and the girls followed, unafraid of the flotillas of scum floating in the ripples. A small insect scuttled over and under the surface of the water, darting beneath a large rock. Another followed it. I jumped back; they were everywhere. I hadn't seen them.

  The girls took care of me. A pair of them, holding hands and skipping, ran back to the trees on the far side of the Park and grabbed a fresh branch. Disregarding the yellow leaves on the ends of the twigs, they held it like a broom, raised it above their heads and brought it crashing down on the evil arthropods’ hiding rocks. Satisfied, they set the branch down and peered into the shallows. The skittering insects had removed themselves to quiter ground.

  I waded into the weeds, up to my knees, and let the hook at the end of my pole jitter in my unsteady hands. When I felt a tug on the line, I fought the urge to scream and run. Instead, I jerked only the pole and walked calmly backwards, showing the girls how to think through panic. They made a path for me and the mysterious, thrashing creature that was following me. It was heavy. It flopped against the rocks beneath the retaining wall.

  We all took a deep breath as it cleared the stones – a dark, ashy black fish. It writhed and jerked and struggled and protested against the air. Its fleshy body flapped dangerously at us, trying to wring its head around and point its gaping mouth at each of us in turn. Its bulging eyes stared into nothingness. The gummy whiskers by its mouth curled in anticipation of something to eat. It was huge. The size of my forearm.

  I pulled my ax out of my belt. The girls screamed as I approached the creature's bloated belly. It rolled over and turned its back to me. A zombie would never turn away. It inched back towards the water. A healthy creature trying to escape.

  “Oh no you don’t.”

  I chopped it in half. It lay still. Bright pink meat stood out beneath its skin, with no hint of grey or green. Its body was motionless even though the head was still attached to one half. It could die without its brains being destroyed.

  “It’s definitely healthy!”

  The girls cheered and clapped. They practiced forming a celebratory pyramid out of their bodies while I rinsed the halves in the river and then laid them in a water-filled pan, filleted like a pigeon with no wings. Then they formed a line behind me, each in turn using my pole to catch a fish, the knives that Cherry carried to splice them, and then the extra pots and pans to hold the berries that they plucked from between the barbs of the overflowing bushes. Bernice spent the entire length of the line trying to shoot a fish with an arrow that she had tethered to her ankle. By the end of her wait, Bernice had caught the biggest fish, nearly as long as her leg. It took three girls to chop it into pan-sized pieces.

  “Alright!” I called to them. “We’ve got more than we can eat! It’s time to share!”

  We left the Park behind and found an old man among a group of Squatters who was willing to meet my eyes. The girls kept theirs lowered to the pavement, clutching their tools like they were strong, but still just waiting to be grabbed. It was a real possibility. We risked a lot to take care of ourselves. Maybe our heads would still get bashed.

  “Excuse me, Sir” I bowed to him, “Do you know where we could find a Cooking Barrel?”

  He squinted at the troop of girls and then up at me.

  “Miss, are you a little bit green?”

  “No,” I gurgled.

  “You look a little bit green,” he stood up, brushing himself off, “But what do you have in the pots there?”

  I helped him to his feet and let him peer into the pot that I carried. He whistled and ran his wrinkled hand over his bald head, exposing his bony arm as he slapped his knee.

  “Ooooweeeeee, I haven’t seen any of those in a while. I was hoping you had got yourself some nice chicken steaks, but some of the other Squatters might be desperate enough to eat those later, after dark. Anything invisible in a pinch.”

  “Sir, I assure you they are Safe. They were Healthy. Uninfected. They died without their heads being bashed. Look at all the pink, Healthy meat!”

  He stepped cautiously farther away from the fish pot, but he still lead me to the smoldering fire in his group’s cooking barrel. He shooed away the pot-bellied man who was licking the grease from the seasoned grate and offered us use of the barrel. The girls crowded the grill until he had disappeared behind them, and they set about cooking, drizzling the fish with a jar of pilfered bacon grease. Whom had they robbed so quickly and while I thought I had been watching? Was anyone missing? Had anyone been grabbed?

  The fillets crackled and spat, bubbled and hissed, the steam mingling with the River in the unmistakable smell of food. A second ring of people gathered outside the ring of girls, held at bay only by the hesitance of the old man who had led us to the Barrel. He held a bucket lid for a plate. He licked his lips, all the way around because there were no teeth to get in the way. He couldn't resist the smell of food. Free food.

  “Sir,” I called out to him, “Might you be Hungry? I have some food, here. It’s completely Safe. The Scientists say so.”

  “I don’t believe a thing from the Scientists. They can’t even get us back to the moon. But you caught them yourself, you say? Were they slimy?”

  “If we had listened to the Scientists in the first place, we wouldn’t even be in this mess. Maybe they can get us out of it. They were not slimy, sir.”

  “Tell me again about the color of the meat.”

  He inched closer.

  “Pink. Some were white.”

  “No grey? No green? They didn’t stink?”

  He leaned over the cooking barrel.

  “No grey. No green. All pink and white. They smell only of the River. They turned their backs to me. They only wanted to gulp the water, not us. They died of belly wounds.”

  He held out his plate. The girls cheered, slapped him on the back and passed him a seared slab of pink flesh. He lifted it to his mouth and took a bite. He chewed it. He smiled. A tear ran down his grizzled sideburns.

  “Thank you. I never thought I would taste Trout again. Used to be my favorite. This is delicious!”

  A roar of approval rippled through his group of ragged and emaciated companions. They all produced their makeshift plates. I stepped out of the way so that the girls could cook and serve
the Hungry crowd. Neighboring Squatters skirted the edges of the mob until they realized that they were welcome and then they handed over what they had worked for all day – half bags of soft, shriveled potatoes, brown onions, dried beans, tender rat loins and squirrel marinated in salt and raisins. Everyone who appeared was given at least a little bit of food, a strip fish and a spoonful of whichever side dish had just finished simmering.

  From my place, standing on top of an old banana crate, I could see the full eaters reclining against the bricks in the back of the alley, and the line of wide-eyed new guests that held their makeshift plates out for a scoop from the girls. Two dark figures bobbed and weaved just out of my line of sight, their heads appearing and disappearing in and out of the food line. I gulped. Rangers. One of them approached a happy eater and handcuffed her.

  I shook my head. They weren’t Rangers with handcuffs. They were Kite and Carlos, tying orange bands of fabric onto the arm of everyone who would let them. They saw me and picked their way through the crowd, wearing backpacks full of tangled orange. Kite handed me one.

  “Looks like your idea worked,” she kissed me on the cheek, “This will get us tons of publicity! The radio shows might even notice us!”

  “Sorry about before. We’re sober now,” Carlos added, tying the orange band onto my arm.

  The orange bands were stained with the same blue ink as Kite’s fingers. There was a raised girl’s fist, with a hammer in it, and Carlos produced a new stack of green Flyers. Kite had carved and then printed a smiling fish with a bow on its head and lipstick across its mouth.

  Fish are fine.

  Don’t sell your daughters for food.

  The brave old man who had tried the fish first, rushed over and grabbed one, his orange armband streaking through the night air. He held it up above his head, thrashing it back and forth.

  “You hear that? We feed girls around here! We don’t sell them! Right?”

  We all clapped until our hands burned and we danced to the tune of somebody’s harmonica until the fish was all gone. Then Carlos scooped Sylvia into his arms, counted the heads of his other daughters and promised them that he would read them a goodnight story after they had all brushed their teeth. Sylvia waved goodnight and I blew kisses to the troupe as they trundled for the Safe House.

  On our way home, Kite took me up on an empty rooftop that we’d never been on before. We found a row of repaired chairs between two pots of jasmine and lilacs that somebody was tending and sat down. We could see all of the stars. We kissed and laughed that we still stank of baking fish, so Kite helped me out of my sagging tank tops.

  “You did a great job with our Friends today,” she cooed into my ear as she bit it, “You are one Bitchin’ Badass who is really cool, catching onto Raising Awareness!”

  “Of Science with your Art! Everyone working together!”

  “You didn’t even hit anyone,” she laughed and knelt at my feet.

  She wrapped her arms around my knees and dragged me to the roof with her to ravish me between the fragrant blossoms. She looked up happily, her hair mussed, chin dripping with me.

  “I Love You,” I murmured.

  She tensed between my knees, but I held her arms tightly against me. I whispered into her neck, “Friends can be Family. You are my Family. Let me raise that Awareness for you.”

  She thrashed out of my grip. She stood up and stomped away from me, clothing herself more quickly than should have been possible.

  “Why did you have to ruin this, too? Family is nothing. We are Friends if that. Just coworkers maybe. Roommates.”

  She disappeared. I lay with my back on the roof until a small pile of jasmine petals gathered on my exposed belly. I brushed them off and stood up to get dressed, alone in the dark.

  The Rally

  Kite didn’t come home that night. I didn’t want to sleep alone in the closet, so I curled up on the dining room table where I keep watch over my Sister. I would just doze while Juliet held my hand, but then I realized that she couldn’t reach me. All of those ribbons that Kite had been stealing for her and wrapping around her leash had shortened it. Her tether was barely two feet long anymore. I unwound all of the shining laces, making her an octopus-armed ball to play with and an extra few feet of leash to move around on.

  I turned on the radio on the far side of the kitchen to distract her while I watched her, begging midnight to bring me dreams. Anything to drown out the noise between my ears that Kite had never cared, would never come back, was right about everything. My nightmare was that I would give the girls community without ever having my own. That nobody who could touch me would ever take care of me. Let me take care of them. Rangers would find me tonight and bash our heads in. All of the girls at the Safe House would get captured because Training them wasn’t the best way to take care of them.

  Melanie in the Morning woke me up with her high-pitched mock screams as someone in her sound studio set something cold and slippery between her palms. She yelped as the microphone picked up a light splash.

  “I can’t do it! Even if they are Safe, I could never touch one!”

  “Well, as long as you could eat one,” a familiar voice goaded Melanie, but the voice flew out of the speakers, not out of the throat next to my ear.

  Kite was on the radio.

  I fell off the table in disbelief. She was using my ideas, on the air. Juliet squatted on my chest and tickled my ribs with her heels. I clasped her hands joyfully behind my ears, propping her off of my face with my elbows.

  “She did it! She got on the radio and she thinks that I am right! Everyone will know about fish safety. Nobody will go Hungry or sell their daughters for food! She’ll come back to us. Nobody will bash our heads in.”

  Juliet looked at me sadly, her head cocked to the side, as I heaved her off of me and tied up my shoes to leave.

  “Don’t look at me like that. You have fresh water and a new octopus toy,” I knelt to hug her, “I Love You. I’ll be home tonight. I promise. We’ll play Catch the Spoon all over the floor with the whole drawer full of spoons. I’ll comb out your tangles while we make fruit tea and patch up your holey pants.”

  Juliet moaned, but I had to get to the girls and tell them that Kite was on the radio. I wondered how Kite had gotten herself on the radio, if she had broken into the studio in the middle of the night, if guards had been held at knife-point until Melanie declared her fascinating and col. I laughed at her forgivable charisma, and her using it for good instead of evil. She had come around. She knew I was right about this and everything.

  The girls were already listening to the radio when I arrived. Kite had beaten me to the Safe House from the station. The show had been taped earlier. They danced around her in circles, her arms raised above her head, pumping the air victoriously while the girls tugged on my sleeves and shouted information at me.

  “Auntie ‘Phelia, Kite was on the radio!”

  “Kite talked about us on the radio!”

  “We're famous and there's going to be a Rally! A Rally tomorrow!”

  “For Rangers’ Day!”

  “In the Park!”

  I paused where I had started to lean in for a kiss. I swallowed with difficulty.

  “A Rally for Rangers’ Day? Ranger's Day? A Rally? Tomorrow?” I dragged Kite into the office by her shirt, “When is Rangers’ Day?”

  “Aren’t you going to congratulate me? Your Friends are happy for me. Your Roommate just got on the radio,” Kite said, straightening her sleeves where I had crumpled them, “I told you we could solve everything like this.”

  “Rangers’ Day is indeed tomorrow,” Carlos responded to my furrowed brow.

  “Kite,” I stared into her eyes, “Jim said that the Cure is going to be ready on Rangers’ Day.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t know when Rangers’ Day was. Or I didn’t know which day was today. We were busy with the fish.”

  “What Cure?” Carlos asked.

  Kite p
aced the floor, swatting little girls out of her way as she told Carlos how I had donated my blood to a Clinic assistant, how I hadn't noticed that he wasn't a Doctor, and then I hadn't asked what the Cure would do, but that it would kill zombies, not turn them Human. She described the zombie poison as she imagined it – Ranger's with machine guns and gas masks spraying Squatters as they cowered beneath soaking cardboard, undead craniums exploding all over them to cause new waves of Infection. Buildings would crumble, forests would burn. Kite reminded us how the Scientists had killed the water with their last Cure, and wondered what they would kill with this one.

  “I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” Carlos folded and refolded his lapel crease.

  “I’m sure it will be,” Kite crumpled a Flyer in her fist, “They’ll ruin our Rally.”

  “No, no they won’t. They won't destroy the world. Or the Rally. Maybe they will make the Rally even better. We’ll really be free of all of the zombies,” I said hopefully.

  “Including us? I can't believe you are still going to side with the Scientists,” Kite snarled.

  “You’re both right. I'm sure the world won't end, but we’ve only got one day to plan our Rally and get extra supplies in case anything goes wrong with the Cure” Carlos muttered, reaching for his cape, “I'm going to the Markets and to check in with the Nurses at the Hospital. You two finish the arm bands and Flyers and then run and ask your Scientist if the Cure will be pills, or syringes, or a spray, and who will be in charge of it. Sound good? Can you two handle the girls?”

  “Sure, I love free labor and we're going to need to make some more signs,” Kite paced, “After getting the production line started, Ophelia can go bash in the doors at her Clinic and stop the Cure period.”

  “I can probably just talk to Jim,” I said.

  Kite rolled her eyes at me and put the girls to work, sitting them down with scissors and every orange shirt, sheet, and scrap that we could find, some dark yellows and gold-ish reds. She ran armband after armband through the printing press, tossing them one by one into a laundry basket, ignoring the laughter of the girls who picked up every shot that she missed. She ordered Bernice and Cherry to take their bow, arrows, and kitchen utensils with them out into the Neighborhood to hand out armbands and spread the word about the Rally to anybody who wasn’t listening to the radio.