KC and Killer spend most of their time inside the clubhouse. People are still uncomfortable around her and are glad she’s not around. It’s like they thought Ghost was crazy and then KC went crazy so maybe their craziness is catching.
Unfortunately we can’t be anywhere near the clubhouse at the moment, because we’re all required to be at the much-hyped (due to Nadia’s nattering) Last Dance. Or as it says on the banners draped over the doorways, “May I Have This Last Dance?”
I love dances no matter how lame the theme is. I love getting out there and getting lost in the music and breaking out my moves. If there’s one thing I can do it’s dance, and this makes any disco my territory. Not that I need much skill here. From the looks of things I’m the one-eyed king in the Land of the Blind.
But I have to put my moves on hold for the moment because the first dance, at Nemesis’s insistence, is a slow dance. Since Ghost died she’s gone from being KC’s nemesis to being her BFF. Come to think of it, it wasn’t when Ghost died; they’ve been close ever since the last dance. Maybe KC became friendly when she realized Ghost was into her and not Nemesis. Now she spends most of her time with KC. They’re practically sisters. This thought doesn’t keep me from pulling her onto the dance floor.
“Hey, you!” she says playfully, but she willingly follows anyway. I twirl her around, dip her down low to the floor, and pull her up into a swaying embrace so I can start talking to her. I’m feeling a bit daring tonight as I hold her tight and whisper in her ear, “Okay, why the slow dance? Why this song? Who’s the guy?”
She sheepishly smiles and says, “It’s not for me, it’s for KC, and the guy is…was…Ghost. This is the song he requested so he could ask her to dance.”
I look over at KC sitting in the bleachers and I can see from her expression that she knows this is her song. She doesn’t bother to hide her tears, yet at the same time there’s a half-smile on her face. Her eyes have taken on that far-away look that shows she’s lost in the land of what-could-have been. This song’s both hurting her and helping her. She’s learning the depth of Ghost’s true feelings through the music, making it both touching and tragic. I stop to have a listen, even though I feel like I’m intruding on their relationship. It’s like I’m eavesdropping on a whispered conversation or reading a found love note.
I don’t know when I started to love you so
I’ll enjoy sifting through the memories
Till I find that moment when
I needed you with me.
You lift me up.
The sound of your voice
Cuts through the confusion...
I look back at Nemesis but she’s not really here. She’s as lost in the music as KC is. We shuffle and sway in silence, neither of us paying attention to what’s going on around us. It’s hard to focus as it is. Our surroundings have suddenly taken on a dreamy quality. I feel unbelievably sleepy. Did I eat too much from the buffet? It was hard to resist, I haven’t seen that much food in a while and I justified eating more by thinking we should carb-up before our big move. But still, I’m surprised I can feel this sleepy while dancing…
I have been wound in the bounds of love
And I don’t mind if remain in chains
“Can we sit down?” Nemesis asks, her voice heavy and slow. Her words are slurred like she’s drunk, but I know that’s impossible. There’s no booze here. Maybe she’s talking normally; it’s just my clouded mind that’s warping her voice. “I don’t feel very well.”
“Glad you asked. I’m feeling tired myself.” We drag ourselves over to the bleachers where other sleepy-looking partygoers sit. Wait. They’re not sitting. They’re lying down! Their bodies are draped all over the place. Something about this feels very wrong, but I’m too tired to sort it out in my head. Nemesis and I plop down heavily on a bench and lean on each other for support. My eyes start to close but I force them open. Where’s Jesse? Oh, there she is, she’s lying in KC’s lap while KC strokes her hair. Something is definitely wrong here…my eyes are closing again.
I wrench them open one more time to see if I can find my mother. All I can see are prone bodies before I lose the battle and join them in an enforced deep sleep.
RENEE
I’m dancing like some whirling dervish and I’m not even at the dance yet. I held back from going because I wasn’t exactly in the mood to celebrate our departure. I don’t know how to feel about leaving this place. I never saw it as our permanent home so I never formed an attachment to it. Yet at the same time I feel it’s too early to leave these secure walls for the unknown. I’m especially not ready to be entirely at the mercy of these soldiers. All they have to do if they feel we’re not following orders is leave us by the side of the road to die. Honestly, if I had our food storage here I’d stay behind with the kids, but where the soldiers go, the food goes.
So why am I dancing with wild abandon like I’m in a disco? And why do I keep forgetting where I am? I dimly remember running into the General in the halls. This is a very rare occurrence in that it’s happened, well, never before. I remember him asking me why I wasn’t at the dance, and I remember boldly asking him why he wasn’t at the dance. I remember him laughing, which is something else that’s never happened before. It didn’t serve to lighten the mood. It only enhanced that sinister evil villain vibe he puts off. I remember things getting even creepier when he insisted I share a drink with him, and I remember not wanting to drink but feeling like I couldn’t refuse. I remember enjoying what tasted like my first Coke in just about forever, and then after that the lines of reality started to blur.
I know I must be going crazy because I’m no longer in the cold grey tile-and-concrete halls of a high school. I’m at the first club I ever went to with Grant, long before we were even married, and we’re dancing. The past few months of madness melt away and all that’s left is me and the object of my desire getting closer and closer on the dance floor. It’s like the parasite invasion never happened, or I’ve slept through our rescue and everything has returned back to normal, or I’m dead and living out the best moments of my life…all I know is that I’m happy and I’m having fun. I am no longer the one in charge of young lives, no longer burdened by responsibility, no longer scared out of my mind with worry and longing. I’ve been sick of life for so long, and now that Grant is with me I’m cured.
I’ve missed Grant so much I lunge at him, throwing my arms around his body so I can feel him against me and never let go. But something doesn’t feel right. I’m immediately shocked by how cold and stiff he is. It’s as if I’d hugged a corpse. I look up into Grant’s eyes for an explanation…but it’s no longer Grant. I’ve just wrapped my arms around a thick column at the end of the hall. I jump back in surprise, but before my mind can adjust to reality I find myself back in the club dancing the night away, giving Grant a come-hither look while swaying like a drugged-out rock star, making him chase me all over the dance floor. It’s the same cat-and-mouse game we play whenever we go clubbing, and the longer we play it the more I anticipate being caught. I know that when he holds me in his arms at the end of our game, we both win.
I feel so free at this moment, free from fear, free from anxiety, free from obligations and commitments. I’m free from bad memories and free to love someone without the thought of losing them. It’s the best feeling in the world and I’m willing to give into this illusion if it will just make that feeling stay. I’m dancing on the go, looking back to make sure Grant is following me and feeling a thrill every time I see that he’s not only following me, he’s watching me closely with an intense look in his eyes. Better yet, he’s gaining on me.
I’m tired of this chase. I want to be caught! I want to feel swept up in Grant’s arms; I want to feel his lips pressed up against mine…I want to feel like I’m in a Harlequin romance! I stop dancing and turn around, waiting for Grant to catch up to me so I can grab him and whisper “Let’s get out of here,” in his ear, but suddenly I feel dizzy. I take a step towards him—he’s
only whispering distance away now and he has a grin of anticipation on his face—but I’m too woozy to stay upright. I start to fall like I’m in slow motion. This isn’t real, I think. This can’t be real. To my relief Grant catches me before I hit the ground. This time he’s warm to the touch and holds me like we’ve ended a fandango with a flourish. I’m so relieved he’s here. I could just stay here in his arms looking up at those beautiful dark brown eyes forever. The room is spinning so much that I can only lie there looking dreamily into his face. My entire body feels heavy, so heavy that I can’t even raise a hand to touch his cheek. My useless limbs lie limply at my side, my fingers barely brushing the cold floor.
It’s getting harder and harder to gaze up at Grant. His form seems to be shifting…I want to scream. I need to scream because I can now see that everything’s changed: Grant’s face is no longer Grant’s face, it’s the General’s…I’m back in this vile refugee center and I’ve been caught by the General.
I want to struggle free from his arms, but my body won’t obey my mind. I’m no longer grateful for being caught. I’d rather drop to the unforgiving concrete floor than be touched by the General, but the room is starting to spin again and I feel paralyzed with dizziness. All I can do is look up at the face I’ve grown to despise. And what is that on his face? It’s creepy, it’s disgusting, it’s unnerving…
It’s a smile.
KC
We’ve been poisoned.
I should have known by the look Buck threw at me over his shoulder as he walked out of the room—it was a look that carried dark thoughts of what’s to come. But I missed the cue because I was caught up in the fervent feelings that Ghost’s song brought out in me. I may have missed the red flag in Buck’s expression, but as the song wound down I couldn’t miss the change in atmosphere. It went quickly from entropy to lethargy. I watched partiers go down one by one and wondered how I could still be awake. I’m also wondering why so many of the refugees are not here. Maybe it’s my fuzzy drug-addled mind, but it seems like only the screw-ups and the Dumb Luck Club came to the dance. Well, except Puddles, that is. Where is Puddles? Where are the soldiers? Why isn’t the psycho-spy here? This dance was her idea in the first place, shouldn’t she be here? And where’s my mom?
I’m definitely feeling drowsy, but I’m not as bad as everyone else. Some like Houston and Nemesis have made it to the bleachers before they succumbed to sleep, some are lying down right where they were dancing on the floor.
It must have been the food. I didn’t feel much like celebrating in the first place so I barely nibbled at what was offered. That would explain why I’m still awake while most everybody else is not. Is this how it ends? Is this really the soldier’s plan to extend rations, by killing us off? I’m too drained to be outraged. Maybe this isn’t so bad after all. It sure beats dying by zombie. That’s probably going to be my last rational thought because I’m ready to lie down too.
But just as I’m ready to join the others, a soft little hand finds mine…Jesse’s. Normally she enters a room like a freight train so I’m surprised I didn’t notice her before. It’s because she’s like the others, sleepy and silent.
This may be the last chance I get to let her know that I really do love and care for her. I sit down hard on the floor and pull her into my lap. I cradle her in my arms, rocking and smoothing her long silky hair. Before I can say a word, she drowsily asks, “Can you help me get back to my cot? I can’t find Mom and I’m too tired to…” She doesn’t stay awake long enough to finish her sentence, and she drifts off before I can let her know how I feel.
This is it. This is the end. We didn’t burn to death in our home. We didn’t die in our little Jeep accident. We avoided the bite of an Infected, but we didn’t survive the place that was supposed to protect us.
My tears begin to flow as I cradle Jesse’s limp form in my arms. My poor baby sister, forever young, forever innocent. There’s no reason to fight this anymore, not if everyone I love is dead. I tighten my hold on Jesse as we let go of this world and slip away into a cloudy slumber.
RENEE
They left us.
I suspected something was up. There was palpable tension in the air despite the rave we had going on last night. I assume none of the soldiers ate or drank from the buffet, and none of the General’s favorites did either. It seems we danced and feasted and carried on without knowing that this was meant to be our last meal.
Am I being melodramatic? It feels like we’ve been condemned. I came to this refugee center to save my children, not watch them die. We are without weapons, without guards, without heat, without electricity, without food, and without clean water. How long are we going to last? How long before the Infected figure a way to go up and over the gates? There’s nothing to pick them off now. I fight back the red mist of rage as our situation sinks in. I thought soldiers were supposed to swear an oath to save and protect! It’s obvious our food and drink were drugged to aid their escape, but they might as well have poisoned us.
I wish the heat of my fury could keep me warm, but I can see my breath and feel the air’s chill working its way into my bones. I put the pity party on hold and push my feelings way down to a place that I can tap into when I need to fight again. I sweep the gym with my eyes to find the one who’s been left in charge. My hidden pit of anger gets capped off with despair as I realize that all that’s been left behind are the ones the General had a grudge against or were deemed not worth saving: the weak in body and mind, the clueless and confused, and those too strong-headed and difficult to follow orders. So when it comes to pulling things together and leading us to safety that leaves…me.
Fine.
I go into mom mode and call out in a booming and demanding voice: “Everyone, listen up! First we need to go around the school and make sure all exits and entrances are secure! If they are not, do your best to secure them and report back to me. Once you are back here, we will make a headcount of who is left. After that I will divide you into search parties for what food may be left behind or hidden. Leave the questions for when you return. Now move!”
“Shouldn’t we wait for the soldiers to come back?” whines one of the clueless.
“They’ve left us! They’re not coming back!” shouts back one of the difficult.
“They wouldn’t do that, they couldn’t do that…”
“Enough!” I bellow. “Secure the building now. Your lives depend on this!” I feel a pang of guilt at sounding so heartless, but there’s no time for emotions. I’m sure I’ll feel them all tonight as I stare at the ceiling trying to sleep.
I see Houston, KC, and Jesse scurry to obey my orders, but I quickly call them back. They return to me, relieved that I’m not mad at them like I seem to be at the others. I keep my voice low. “Go with Braden and Lisl. Any sign of danger and I want you to take refuge in your Dumb Luck Clubhouse.”
I get three sets of wide eyes. “How did you know…”
“I’m your mother. I just do. Let’s keep it a secret though.”
“What about you?” asks KC.
“I know where it is. If things get bad I’ll meet you there. Now hurry, those things could be at the door any minute!”
All three nod and run after a waiting Braden. I turn slowly around to take stock of things. The food on the banquet tables hasn’t had a chance to go bad, so the temperature must have dropped quickly once the electricity went out. Of course, we aren’t sure which bits are drugged, so they’re not safe to eat. There’s probably enough clothing left behind to keep us warm. It won’t be enough to be comfortable, just alive. We have plenty of furniture to barricade the doors and windows. The rest of our survival depends on how much the soldiers left behind.
I pause to listen, not sure what I’m listening for. I guess I’m waiting for the screams that will announce the school’s been breached, but there are none. There is a different sound though, and it’s almost as disturbing. It’s the sound of fighting. Before I can shout out a “What’s-Going-On?” a mini
-mob made up of the difficult burst into the room, each of them dragging a weak and clueless refugee with them. The largest of the bunch is the first to shout something coherent.
“We caught these selfish bastards taking water bottles from the cafeteria and hiding them while we were trying to secure the building!” He throws a shaking and sobbing small-framed man to the ground. The others follow suit, each looking like they are ready to kick the lot of them while they are down. Bit by bit the rest of the castoffs are drawn to the show and start to fill in the space behind the vigilante mob. Eyes dart back and forth between the guilty parties on the floor and my face, waiting to see what I will do with them.
It’s too early for this! I’m not ready for these complications! I’m not ready for any of this. I was already wondering how I was going to handle the inevitable challenges to my authority while they were gone, and I’m still struggling to come to terms with the fact that I have to play the part of the flinty General now. I don’t want to be the one everyone looks to for orders and answers, I don’t want to be the one solving disputes, and I sure don’t want to be the one taking the blame when it all goes wrong. Yet I can’t pass this mantle of responsibility off to someone else with confidence they could keep my kids safe.
“Let’s throw them out!” chorus the difficult. “We can’t trust them! They’ll steal everything we have left!”
“No.”
“What?” says the big guy.
Notes from a Necrophobe Page 22