Red Death: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller

by Robinson, D. L.

  “What happened?”

  “I knocked over my water!”

  Tara felt around on the floor of the basement landing for a lantern and some candles. She brought them up to the stove where the rack above it held matches. She lit the lantern first, calmed by the weak yellow glow. “There,” she reassured herself.

  Tara carried the lantern in to Lee and set it on the coffee table in front of him. Then she lit one of the candles in its old-fashioned pewter holder, lighting her way back to the basement landing to get the other lanterns and lamp oil. She carried them back to the coffee table, planning to fill them all so they’d be ready. But she really needed to hear from Mary, and hoped she was on her way over. If not, Tara decided she would venture out to find her.

  Tara jumped at the sound of knocking—Mary! She saw Lee reach for the gun and told him she’d just signaled their neighbor at the window as the lights went out. Lee sank back into his pillows.

  Tara threw the door open with abandon, very happy to see her friend. Mary looked good, but Tara noticed bags and circles under her eyes, and they were red. She’d been crying. Well, she’s probably not sleeping much either.

  “Mary, my God, I’m glad to see you!” Tara wrapped her arms around her friend in a bear hug, and Mary reciprocated. “I’m too afraid to go out. And when you didn’t come over, I was worried!”

  Tara locked the front door behind her, and drew Mary into the TV room. Lee greeted her from the couch. He was awake and alert for once.

  “Good to see you, Mary,” he told her.

  “How’s the leg doing?”

  “Better, I think. It’s not hurting much today. I’d like to get off those damn pills. I’m good for nothing when I’m on them.”

  “I know. That’s what I hated about them too. But hey, they certainly work for pain, Lee. May I?” Mary reached for the blanket covering him. Lee nodded and Mary lifted it. The leg was a faded black now in the places where there had been blue bruising before, but the swelling had gone down.

  “I want to put on the brace and try to get up soon,” Lee said. “I don’t like being so incapacitated.”

  “Don’t rush it, Lee. There might be more going on there than just a break. Only time will tell.”

  “Mary, what’s happening with you? Have you heard from Julie? Is there any news from her at all?” Tara asked.

  Mary looked stricken. “No, nothing. I should’ve tried to call her. I kept thinking she would hide her cell, and call me when she could. I was afraid to risk them hearing it ring. But now the phones don’t work.” Tears welled up in Mary’s eyes. “I’m so afraid for them.”

  Tara glanced quickly at Lee. No, it didn’t look good, but that one glance between her and Lee sealed their unspoken agreement to reassure Mary to the bitter end. Tara didn’t know if it was the right thing to do, but it was the kindest thing. That’s all she really cared about at the moment.

  “I bet she’ll be released, Mary. When they realize she and your grandson don’t have Ebola, they’ll let them go. She’s probably been kept busy taking care of Ben too.”

  The hope in the older woman’s eyes sent a stab of guilt through Tara. She glanced helplessly at Lee, hoping for him to weigh in. He didn’t disappoint.

  “She called you on the way there, Mary. So I bet you anything the phone service will come back on, and she’ll bide her time until it’s safe to call again.” Mary perked up immediately, smiling at them both.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  A loud pounding on the front door made them jump. Lee reached for the gun again. Tara pulled Mary back, and they crouched near Lee on the sofa.

  “CDC, official business,” called a deep male voice.

  “Don’t open it,” Lee commanded.

  Tara half stood, her mind racing. “We have to, Lee! They can see the lanterns! They know we’re in here.”

  “No, don’t do it, Tara. It’s the same people who took Julie,” Mary cried. Tara ran the options through her head. She couldn’t see any other solution but to open the door.

  “We can’t make them suspicious of us,” she implored. Finally, Lee nodded, agreeing.

  “Make sure they’re who they say they are first.”

  Tara crept to the front door and looked out between the gaps in the wood. Three men in white hazmat suits with hoods stood there, CDC emblazoned in federal blue across their right breast.

  She slowly unlocked the door and pulled it open, glancing into the room behind her at Mary, standing there frozen in shock.

  “Ma’am, I’m a senior epidemiologist from the Public Health Preparedness and Response team of the CDC. We’re instituting a door-to-door campaign to control the spread of disease in your area. How many people are in the household?”

  Tara stared at the men, remote behind their face shields and respirators.

  “Just two of us,” she whispered. The man behind them with a clipboard made a check mark at this information. Obviously, they already knew who lived here, and how many. The other man beside the senior epidemiologist raised an arm, and Tara saw one of the fever guns in his hand. He pointed it directly at Tara. She glanced beyond them to the white van parked in front of the house.

  I hope my Crohns Disease isn’t flaring right now. It often caused a slight fever. She breathed a quick prayer that her temp was normal. A flash of fear followed this—she had to get Lee to the door. She didn’t want them to come in. Dear God, I hope the broken leg hasn’t caused a fever in him either!

  “You check out fine, ma’am. Please call your husband to the door.”

  Tara heard the movement in the room behind her as Lee struggled to get up. She glanced back and saw Mary helping him, handing his crutches over.

  “He hurt his leg. He’ll be right here. And my neighbor is visiting too.” The men stood expressionless as Tara turned to see Lee trying out his crutches for the first time. He hobbled over to Tara, with Mary steadying him. They appeared in the doorway, and the man with the clipboard asked Mary’s name and she gave it.

  “I live right over there,” she pointed at the bungalow on the corner. The other man fired up the temperature gun, and Tara held her breath. The clipboard man made a check beside Mary’s name and address. Mary backed away from the door, having passed the fever test, and Lee moved forward.

  Up came the temperature gun. The clipboard man asked his name and Lee was checked off. The temperature man looked at the gun, pointed it at Lee again, then looked at it and hit it twice against his thigh. Tara almost passed out. His superior turned toward him slightly, awaiting results. Finally, the man repointed it, read it off, and gave the all clear.

  Tara began to shake, a delayed response. Hold it together, Tara!

  The senior epidemiologist nodded toward them. “Thank you. We will be doing periodic checks. Please assist us by responding promptly to our visits.”

  Without another word, they turned and started down the porch stairs. Tara watched as they skipped the empty parsonage next door and started up the steps to the next house. They know no one lives there now. They know everything about us all. She closed and latched the door. As Mary helped Lee back to the couch, Tara started crying. She couldn’t help it. They were tears of relief.

  Mary got Lee settled then tried to comfort Tara. “It’s okay now. We made it, Tara.”

  “Oh Lee,” she sobbed, “I thought they were going to take you, that you had a fever from your leg.” Tara sank down beside him on the sofa, and he put an arm around her as she cried quietly. Mary dropped into the easy chair in the corner, sighing.

  “Thank God,” she whispered. “Have you got aspirin, Tara? I suggest we take one a day at least from now on. We’ll be safe for the next week or so, but after that let’s start, just in case.”

  Tara sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized,” I was so scared they were going to take us all away. Lee because of a fever and us because we were exposed to him.”

  Mary nodded. “Well, we know that’s what
they’re doing. God help anyone if they only have a cold or the flu.”

  Suddenly Mary’s daughter’s dilemma became truly clear and real to Tara. She’d understood before, but this really drove home how easily your world could change. Tara got up and hugged the older woman. “I’m so sorry, Mary. I don’t think I really got it until now.”

  Mary nodded. “Thanks.”

  “What can we do about her? I mean, is there anything do you think?” Tara looked from her to Lee and back. Mary sighed and shook her head.

  “I don’t think there is. At least not until I hear something from her. And how can I do that when cell service is out? My God, I can’t imagine a child in that place! I love that little boy so much…” At this, Mary did break down a little, and Tara put an arm around her shoulders, doing her best to console her.

  “Let’s hope and pray for the best, for them both, and that somehow you hear something very soon.” Mary stayed a few more minutes, said goodbye and Tara let her out the front door.

  Weeks passed with the status quo unchanged. The weather grew cold, October turned to November, and both Tara and Mary compared their food stores uneasily. Mary worried incessantly about her daughter and grandson, but stopped talking about it to Tara and Lee. So they began asking each day, because they could tell by the relief on Mary’s face that she needed to talk about it, speculate, and continue to hope for the best. It was the least they could do.

  ~

  Tara’s Diary

  Thanksgiving Day 2015

  Once the power went off, things got real very fast. I used to imagine a world without electricity, the way our ancestors lived back in the 1800s. Or like the Amish communities the next county over were still living. In the end, even the Amish, so close to the “English” on a day to day basis, weren’t safe either. They had construction company jobs and worked in the tourist shops and hotels in Amish Country, leaving them wide open for infection.

  Once the population really started spreading the virus, the first wave took hold—the dying wave. The sick stayed home from work. Then their families caught it from them, and passed it around at schools, jobs, and churches. When the workers at the utility companies, grocery stores, and fast food places caught it, most went to work for a day or two before they got really sick. Who could afford to stay home? But they were still contagious early on, and they spread virus to their coworkers.

  The utilities had some automated systems in place, and at first, the bosses brought in temporary workers. However, in time, the bosses, district managers and the supervisors got sick too. Then the system began to collapse. Once the CEOs caught it, no one cared anymore anyway. The red white and blue money machine screeched to a halt. Money no longer mattered at all. What mattered was whether you had enough supplies to live while the virus raged around you. We knew it killed between forty and ninety percent of its victims up until October, according to each country’s level of health and sanitation practices. Once the strain mutated, combining with the common cold, it was a touch less lethal, but everyone caught it.

  The doctor’s offices and hospitals shut down early on, during the first wave. Most small town hospitals were death traps after their first Ebola patient. They had no idea what they were dealing with, no way to dispose of the voluminous amounts of soiled bed linens and human waste produced by each Ebola patient. The bloody feces could not be flushed down the toilets—because it would then contaminate the sewer plants and even possibly the groundwater.

  There was no way to protect their doctors and nurses, let alone other patients, so the doctors and nurses started dying. Medical professionals became as rare as hen’s teeth, as my Grandma used to say.

  There were four level-five contagion hospitals in the United States able to deal with Ebola. Each one held only eight patients. Once those thirty-two patients checked in, we were on our own out here. Really, I think most would rather die at home anyway. At least you might have some small chance of surviving it.

  Lee and I watched out the window while a gang of men looted the beauty parlor down the street. All we saw them carry out were candy bars and bags of chips from the vending machines. That’s what they were after, because you couldn’t eat money.

  Lee sat with our gun, ready, but they didn’t come. We know one day they will.

  I find myself staring day after day at our dwindling supply of canned food. It’s almost gone now. I saved some special stuff for our Thanksgiving meal today. A minute ago, I watched the squirrels scamper around our yard. I saw a raccoon one night out there too, as well as a possum. My stomach begins to growl now when I spot the squirrels. I’ve thought of some ways to make traps. I’m going to have to do it soon. I’m afraid to try to shoot one, afraid to draw attention and waste ammunition. If I go out at all, it is very covertly. It’s too dangerous to be seen by anyone, because it’s either those who mean you harm—they’ll kill you and steal your food—or those in charge in the white vans who’ll take you to the camp to catch Ebola. Starvation, locked in your house is preferred, thank you very much.

  Today is Thanksgiving, and I guess I’m thankful we’re still alive. I wanted to treat Lee and Mary so badly. I planned this for so long, just to look forward to something. I saved a box of stovetop stuffing, a can of chicken white meat, and a sixteen ounce can of chopped tomatoes. I dumped them all together in a pot and stirred them up but could see the stovetop stuffing needed more water than the juice of the tomatoes would provide. So I carefully poured some in from one of our last remaining jugs. It is as precious as liquid gold now.

  I covered it all and let it absorb the liquid for half an hour, setting it on top a wire cake stand I rigged up over the candles. It heated slowly, but when I served it, topped with that shake-on Parmesan cheese? Wow, heavenly. We almost felt like normal people eating a Thanksgiving dinner! It was so delicious. I have enough leftovers for Lee and me to eat through tomorrow.

  I’ve stretched the food as much as I can. Now I don’t know what we’re going to do. The squirrels are looking better and better every day. I have to figure out how to catch them. We’re almost out of food, we’re just about out of water—I’m going to have to go out and find some soon.

  ~

  Tara carefully poured the last few ounces of water into the can of soup she was fixing them for lunch. She shivered. The house was freezing. She didn’t know what they were going to do now that winter was here. They huddled on the sofa under blankets and wore three or four layers of clothes, sleeping with a pile of bedclothes on top of them to keep warm. But it was still cold. A nagging memory Tara couldn’t quite place kept tugging at her mind. Something about her old uncle. Dud, they called him. Tara focused her thoughts.

  Uncle Dud was her grandpa’s brother. Lived to almost one hundred, but died when she was just a young girl. She remembered going to his old shack where he prided himself on being independent. It was neat as a pin, and his pride and joy was an upright piano he would play for them. He didn’t have much money, but he was very self-sufficient doing his own laundry and so forth—that’s it! She remembered her dad telling her Uncle Dud boiled washtubs full of water on his small pot-bellied stove to do his laundry! Her mom had wanted that old stove when Uncle Dud died, and she set it up in their living room during her Early American decorating phase, with a plant on it. Tara had that stove in the basement, buried under stacks of other saved items. We can heat with it, cook with it, do it all! Now all I need is water and firewood.

  Tara ran to tell Lee and found him hidden under a pile of blankets, reading a magazine. His bad leg rested on the coffee table in front of him—they knew now something more was wrong than just the break. It was healing nicely, the swelling and the pain minimal now. However, when he tried to stand and walk on it, the leg collapsed under him. Tara thought maybe a tendon or ligament was torn. Mary thought so too. Lee didn’t say much, but Tara could tell he knew he was pretty much useless now. He couldn’t help with hardly anything. This just made Tara more determined to do it all.

  Tar
a spent a lot of time reassuring Lee that when the world came back to normal again, his leg was an easy fix. She could tell this cheered him up. She just hoped it was true. Mary told her that sometimes when an injury like that was neglected too long, the ends shriveled away or something. Tara didn’t fully understand, but the gist of it was the damage was permanent. She didn’t want to think about that.

  Lee was obsessed with the brace Mary had brought him, acting as though he could cinch it tightly enough to hold his weight and walk normally. Tara went back into the kitchen, and minutes later, heard him fall. She ran to find him on the floor, cursing under his breath, cinched-braced leg sticking out. She dared not help him up, and backed quietly out of the room. There were no words that would make things better.

  Tara returned to the window, staring out between the slats, watching the squirrels.

  Chapter 7

  Tara and Lee watched the white vans come and go from the windows upstairs, back and forth on the street outside. A few times, they saw people in their yards. Once or twice, they caught the vans removing someone close by. Finally, sightings of their neighbors up and down the long street grew scarce and stopped altogether. The few cars trickled to none. Military vehicles and white vans now claimed the thoroughfare as their own. That wasn’t the only change. Sometimes at night they saw roving gangs of young men, menacing looking, hungry and lean, starvation apparent on their faces. Once they watched as the gang chased a cat down the block, and then Tara refused to look outside any longer.

  Mary came and went too, but Tara had all but decided to ask her to stay with them soon. She needed to talk to Lee about it. They were safer in numbers. They could pool their resources, and although Mary was an extra mouth to feed, she was also a huge help. Lee’s leg was nearly useless and he still hobbled on one crutch. Tara needed another hardy person around. She had rationed food and water as much as she could, and both she and Lee were thinner now. They had gone down to splitting a can of soup per day. Mary mentioned she was down to her last few cans too.