5 Years After

by Richard Correll

  “I remember seeing you,” he nodded to her, with a kind smile. “I remember thinking this is the reporter who will help me get the word out.” The applause again rose as she reached out and touched his hand. It was time to switch gears.

  “It has been five years,” Molly’s hand withdrew politely and she leaned back in her chair. “What do we know now?”

  “A great deal more than we did.” Dr. Singh replied. “At first we only knew how to disable and kill them.”

  “Let’s start with the virus.”

  “There have been many theories. At first, research pointed to it being a kind of airborne meningitis.” His tone was matter of fact, the round face and disarming manners of the man could not prevent the viewer from understanding he had a brilliant mind. “I myself have come prefer the theory of Professor Wellington at the University of Western in London, Canada.”

  “I have read about that theory,” Molly wasn’t lying. It was part of her research weekend.

  “It states that this is part of our DNA.” Singh took his cue. “It is kind of like cancer. It lies dormant in us for years.”

  “What would make it come out of its......” Molly searched for the word. Damn, she had it a minute ago.

  “Dormancy,” Singh offered, “Chrysalis stage?”

  “Chrysalis, that’s it.” Molly nodded.

  “We have no idea,” Singh looked down for a minute. “The theory is the effect is not sporadic. It appears in all of us or none of us.”

  The forest had grown thick over the years. It provided many obstacles to the traveler. No one went into the forest these days. It was simply a foolish thing to do. A weary population wanted to get on with their lives after five years of conflict. They would deal with the ones that came out and not go looking for trouble. They had tired of death. Tired of losing relatives and loved ones to the plague. The world had gone into a defensive position around forests and cities, waiting.

  She was eighty-two when the bite to her neck from one of them felled her. Slight and frail in a patterned dress that was fashionable in the fifties and feet now bare, she staggered slowly through the snow.

  “This virus affects parts of the brain differently.” Her question was worded to let the Doctor know she had done her homework. He took the lead in.

  “Yes, there are four major parts of the cerebrum, the large part of the brain.” He raised his hand and counted them off like it was a nursery rhyme. “They are the frontal, parietal, temporal and occipital sections.”

  “I see.” She nodded slowly.

  “Let’s take a look.” Molly’s cue was obvious and the lights dimmed on the set. The doctor and Molly were now shadows in front of an artist’s impression of the brain.

  “Here,” a laser dot appeared on the impression. “This is the parietal. It controls speech and information processing.” He spoke carefully so he would not get ahead of the audience. “This part of the brain drops to fifteen per cent of its’ original strength on regeneration.”

  “Regeneration,” Molly spoke solemnly, “When they……..come back.”

  “Yes,” He paused respectfully. They were after all, talking about the monsters that lived in everyone’s real nightmares. Molly knew of people who had chills run up their spines at the mere mention of them. A cold hand massaged her neck as a memory of Cleveland suddenly appeared. If Doctor Singh noticed he covered perfectly by continuing: “The central nervous system and peripheral nervous system never come back at all.”

  “Is this why they do not seem to feel pain?” Molly asked.

  “Exactly,” Dr. Singh nodded and continued. “The same is true for the heart, lungs and blood.”

  “They don’t come back?” Molly pounced on this. “The brain needs oxygen to survive. How can it function without a heartbeat?”

  “We don’t know.” The shadow of a casual wave of his hand was his answer. “The heart stops and does not start again. The blood coagulates in the victims veins. By regeneration, it has hardened. This is why gunshots or other blows to the body are ineffective. There are no important organs to damage.”

  “We don’t know? Even after all this time?” Molly arched an eyebrow. “Forgive me, doctor. It has been five years.”

  “I won’t say we’re underfunded.” He offered and then glanced toward the audience. “But, we are.” He was greeted with polite laughter and Molly gave him a broad smile.

  “You have to understand this is a totally new virus.” He turned to Molly and explained. “When AIDS was known to us for five years, how much do you think was known about it?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Practically nothing, just like we do now.” He held up a calming hand. “This will take time.”

  “Is lack of funding a problem?” Molly wanted to give him a chance to make a case. He surprised her with his response.

  “Yes, it is.” He replied with a serene smile. “But, I understand why.”

  “How so?”

  “We have already provided the basics people need to survive.” Singh replied with a touch of melancholy. “Now, there are more important things to do.”

  “More important things?” She decided to let him run with it.

  “Food production, getting people re-settled and back to work.” His left hand played in the air and punctuated a few choice words. “I think we have to realize this will be happening to us for quite some time. We have to get on with our lives and keep fighting.” Applause was his answer from the audience.

  It came to the edge of the forest. The sun was starting to hang low on the Saskatchewan horizon. Another day, another full circle achieved by a tortured planet on its way to recovery. Instinct kept it in the shadows. A slow stagger in a single direction, it was getting closer. It would be able to smell them very soon.

  “The somatosensory cortex, Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area all show very little activity.” The doctor was in his element and Molly tuned in to the audience, gauging if they were being lost. Not yet, but soon she surmised as the doctor continued: “The motor cortex is still active. But thankfully it does not appear to be fully recovered or they would move a lot faster.”

  “Thank god for small miracles,” Molly decided it was time to bring the heat. “Doctor, you mentioned the parietal part of the brain. Can you quickly sum up the other three regions?”

  There were few scant lights ahead visible through the blowing snowstorm. Like fireflies in the distance of a foggy night. These registered with it, causing no emotion, no sense of anticipation. Just lights, an almost mathematical conclusion that it was getting closer.

  It moved through the snow in a slow, staggering pace, an imperfectly awakened automaton. It was unaware of itself, only aware of its surroundings. The reactions to that which was around it was always one of instinct. No higher logical thought process remained.

  Just moving toward a place, that place.

  “There is the frontal lobe,” his light pointer found the target on the screen. “It is responsible for smell.” He paused, “They have a highly developed sense of smell. It is part of the stimuli that makes them move.”

  “Move?” Molly wanted to keep this going.

  “Yes,” Singh nodded. “If there is no human sight or scent, they can hibernate for years before awakening.”

  “Awakening,” Molly wanted this clear. “Like, when they see one of us.”

  “Exactly,” The doctor replied.

  “What about the occipital region?” Molly asked. Yes, this girl does her homework. She thought as Dr. Singh nodded.

  “That is for vision.” Singh replied.”Their vision is quite good, especially in the dark.”

  It could see the small shadows playing across the white snow in the moonlight. A shift in the wind confirmed the visual sighting. It’s them. Slowly now, carefully now, it moved forward in that direction. Keeping to the side of buildings in the darkness so no other eyes could see it.

  Closer……….

  “Then, there is the temporal region,”
Dr. Singh had been wonderfully concise as always. “It covers sound.”

  ‘Dr. Singh,” Molly held up a finger before playing her trump card. “Isn’t this the part of the brain that is for memories?”

  “Yes,” Singh nodded and thought, clever girl. He had read the recent reports and knew where she was going with this. “Yes, it most certainly is.”

  “How would you describe their hearing?” This is what Molly had studied for. This made the late nights worthwhile.

  “I would say it is perfect.” He answered as the studio lights slowly started to return.

  “So, the temporal region is functioning normally?” She was closing in for the kill. She saw the doctor give a smile only found within conspiracies. He knows where I am going with this and he likes it. She realized.

  The burned out bulbs on the streetlights had yet to be replaced. It was hard for city crews to keep up with repairs. The town was still the same size. It just had far fewer citizens and workers since the day it happened. It stood in the shadows watching them move about. Hidden by the swirling snow and darkness it slowly lurched forward, her feet lightly crunching on the new-fallen snow.

  “I am sure you know the reason I ask,” she received a nod as an answer. “There are so many reports of dead loved ones returning home or to places that meant something to them in their lives.”

  “Yes,” he leaned forward to listen. The pointer in his hand was forgotten for the moment. “I have spoken to witnesses and read more than a few reports.”

  “Is it possible that some memories remain?” The booth director called for a close up on Singh.

  “Yes,” he nodded slowly and spoke clearly for the audience to hear. “I believe there is evidence that some bits of memory remain.”

  Boom! Molly said to herself as a hushed shockwave rolled over the audience.

  *

  “Damn,” Brett muttered.

  “What was that?” She called from the kitchen. The sounds of Christmas dinner clean up continued amid her melancholy thoughts. Do I tell him tonight?

  She sealed the tupperware and let the dishes soak as her train of thought continued. Its’ not you, it’s me. That’s what she always said after a time. It was always the same. Barbara would live with someone for two years and end it abruptly. The same phrase kept coming back.

  It’s not you, it’s me.

  She stole a look at her mirror image in the kitchen window. He’s a damn good man. Her eyes met the reflection. Why can’t you just hang on this time? Because I don’t feel it anymore, she replied to herself. The argument continued. If ever there was a perfect family man Brett Symons

  was it. He accepted the two daughters from two different fathers with a smile and big bear hug for each girl. He went on long walks with them, played with them and talked with them. He listened when they spoke.

  Funny, a sad smile touched her face. So many men talk about being men when they have no clue. It was about standing tall so the little ones can look up to you. It was about those quiet moments when she was alone with him. He was so strong he had no problem with being kind and gentle. My god, he really is a good man. Are you really going to tell him to just pack his things? Why?

  Because it’s not you, it’s me.

  “Just something I missed earlier,” he called back. Molly Hunter was a really big star now. He could feel himself smile and nod his head. Brett had met Molly briefly years ago when she was getting started with C-SPAN. She was a great lady. Brett paused and looked away from the television for a minute and thought of Maggie. It seemed like every day had a brief, beautiful increment in time when he thought about her. They say that sort of thing fades after a while. No matter how painful it was he truly hoped it didn’t.

  “How are the kids?” She called back.

  “Oh, they’re just building a snowman in the front....OHMYFUCKINGGOD!!!!!!!!”

  It stood five feet in front of the tallest child. In a swirl of snowflakes she had stepped out of the shadows to face them. The children became statues. They had never seen one of them this close. Their only movement was a slow dropping of their jaws.

  The oldest, Rachel could not feel her feet. It was like she was experiencing the moment from somewhere else. She couldn’t hear Brett coming out of the house with his rifle. At this moment, there were no ears. Just eyes focused on what was in front of her.

  It was an old woman who had been dead for years. The bare feet, the dried blood that cut a pattern around a huge bite on her neck did not catch Rachel’s attention. It was the face. The mouth was not open. Instead, there was an ever so slight curl at the corners of her lips. The hands were at her sides and not clawing forward. She knew this woman.

  Gunshot, blackness.

  Her younger sister was asleep. Rachel was in her room reading by a small light. The murmur of parental voices were calm in the other room. She was old enough to know what they were talking about.

  “I should have been out there.” His voice was an agonizing rasp as he tore his own soul apart. She watched him take a huge sigh and shake his head. “It’s just we haven’t had anything like this happen for a while.”

  The good ones always think they don’t do enough. This would have been a perfect chance to end it. She realized. But, he deserved much better than that. She could feel him consuming himself with guilt. No, wait awhile. She sighed and pursed her lips. It was only fair.

  Because it’s not him, it’s you.

  “Look, we’ll just be more careful.” Barbara finally spoke as she sat down beside him on the bed. She looked at him for a long moment and said; “Are you okay?”

  “I just shot your mom.” He answered as she studied his features. Brett’s face was painted with the colors of shock, pain and sadness.

  A soft knock tapped at Rachel’s door. She looked up and saw Brett trying to look calm. Rachel could see his face was paler than usual and there was a hint of redness in his eyes.

  “Hey princess,” He gave a brave smile. “All set for lights out?”

  “Yeah,” she held out her arms for the big hug that seemed to last longer tonight. He kissed her on the forehead.

  “Daddy?” She noticed him look up when she called him that. He wasn’t her blood father but he filled the role better than anyone she had known in her life. He deserved the title.

  “What is it, sweetie?” He kept his voice calm as bathwater as he prepared to listen.

  “That was Grandma.”

  “It wasn’t Grandma.” He tried to remember what the counselors at school told him to say at moments like this. Right now, he felt his way forward in unsure ground. He decided to hear Rachel out.

  “It had been Grandma at one time.” Rachel pointed out.

  “Yes. “ He whispered, nodding his head. That was true.

  “I was closest to her.”

  “Yes, you were.” He didn’t want her to go through life in fear. Whatever Rachel was feeling had to come out and come out now. He pushed back his tiredness and forced himself to listen.

  “She never attacked me,” Her eyes were unblinking and honest. “She just stood there.”

  He decided to nod his head again as he looked down at the sheets of her bed decorated with super heroes and cartoon characters. She had out grown these years ago but still didn’t ask for a change. Perhaps she wasn’t ready to leave her childhood completely behind.

  “Grandma always loved to come over for Christmas.” Rachel explained as she sat propped up by pillows in her bed. “She just came home, that’s all.”

  The topic of the conversation occurred to him. It was about comfort and closure. Rachel must have known how he felt. Little lady, his eyes softened. How did you get so grown up?

  “She’s at peace now.” She looked up at him with a gentle smile on her face. “That’s the greatest gift anyone could have given her.”

  Brett listened to Rachel carefully. I wish I could have been with you from the beginning. Brett blinked and felt his eyes mist up. I wish I had been there at every second, e
very moment to watch you become the fourteen year old young lady you are. He wanted to be strong. To make all the monsters go away.

  But, he couldn’t do that in this world. He wanted to take her back to a time when you could build a snowman without fearing for your life. As much as he tried and tried and tried and tried it was not going to go away. It was the way it was.

  “I promise you I will always remember grandma when she was alive.” Rachel concluded. “You’ve given her peace, okay?”

  He wanted to say something wise. Something that was strong. His hands trembled and he reached out for this most precious thing on earth. He held her tight and hoped he could mask the sobbing that was starting in his soul.

  Rachel put her arms around the strongest man she had ever known. She could feel her mother would move on and he would be gone. It’s just the way she was. But, he would always be daddy. He was the one who was always strong. She listened to him start to cry as his tears touched her cheek.

  REDZONE

  “Ya gotta live for today, in these last days of time.”

  The lyric was the first thing Dylan thought of when his eyes fluttered open and focused on the stuff lying beside his mattress on the floor. A mostly empty bottle of water and a cracked bowl that had been licked dry of food from last night. It was darker than normal in the room. Have I slept through the day? He slowly worked himself free of the covers on his bed.

  He was sitting cross-legged on the mattress as his attention turned to the window and the sky outside. It was an orange-red hue with the sun obscured behind a curtain of angry-looking clouds. What did his dad used to say? Red sky in the morning sailor’s warning. Yeah, that was it, could be rain tonight, good. His thoughts turned to things he could get done while the rain pelted the streets a few hours from now. He worked up the energy to stand and walk over to the window. Newspapers danced in Times Square like it was a holiday. They were oblivious of everything, carefree and joyous in their waltz through the lightless canyons of concrete. When the wind really picked up, the buildings created a wind tunnel effect that sent the newspapers soaring to new heights and different destinations. He was envious.