Whatever the cause for rejection, loved ones often had a hard time with the concept of letting go of someone that they knew could be revived. That made executions controversial. Initially, Eaters that were not candidates for resurrection were dispatched with a gunshot to the head just as they had been during the past year, but as the tide turned towards seeing them as still human even though they were technically dead protests sprung up. There were sporadic riots in the streets with chants like, “People are people! Let them live! Don’t kill again!”
As time went on, the protests dwindled due to some horrific attacks that caused most people to finally agree that it was dangerous to continue to let Eaters roam around to kill and perpetuate the infection. It was also widely established that it wasn’t ethical to wake up some of the most decayed or maimed victims.
A humane execution was eventually demanded for all Eater executions. A contraption similar to a guillotine was erected in the fenced areas behind all operating police stations. It functioned a little differently from the devices from the French Revolution era. Instead of severing the head of the victim at the neck, this guillotine plunged straight into it, shattering the skull and sending a crimson spray of blood, bone, and brain tissue in a wide arc. Its ability to issue a quick death was promoted as humane while its gruesomeness was downplayed to the public.
Eventually, the infected were no longer called Eaters, Beasts, Necrophagus Eating Units, Reanimated Assistants, zombies, or some other moniker. They came to be known as infection victims. Though, they may have killed and eaten people the consensus was that they hadn’t done it willfully. The infection was to blame for their crimes and memorials were created for everyone who had died because of One New Earths twisted plan to control the world, whether they had been the Eater or the eaten.
###
By early fall, Cheryl, Aidan, and Cassie moved into an abandoned house on west Colfax. They each had their own rooms, but most nights Cassie slept in Cheryl’s bed, because she was afraid of the real life bogeymen that still haunted the town, whether they were Eaters or vengeful One New Earth sympathizers who had eluded capture. She had night terrors that caused her to wake up screaming, “Mommy…Mommy…Mommy…!”
Aidan came and went, sometimes hanging around being affectionate and helpful and other times disappearing for days when the public attention seemed to be too much for him. His bionic eye didn’t work anymore once O.N.E.’s computers went dark, but he left it in because it looked better than the scarred, empty socket. Anyone who knew him knew better than to call him a Cyclops—it really pissed him off. And his temper tended to flare with little provocation anyway.
One night when he was on his way out the door, Cheryl grabbed his shoulder trying to get his attention. He flicked her hand off and grabbed her wrist as he glared into her eyes. “I told you…I have to go.”
“What am I supposed to do when you’re not here?” she pleaded, worried about the trouble she had when Cassie had one of her spells and it took more than one person to keep her from thrashing and hurting herself.
His answer was slow, each word delivered like it was a fist punch deep inside heart. “Do whatever the fuck you want. I don’t care…”
He stomped out and she stared at the back side of the door, feeling the vibration from the frame-rattling slam echoing in her bones. After being gone that entire weekend, he showed up on a sleek red and black Harley-Davidson Sportster Iron that he later told her he found abandoned in the alley behind a night club.
“Where have you been?” she demanded like an angry housewife.
“To the cabin.”
“Oh…” she said, now understanding his grim demeanor. It was somewhat understandable that he’d wanted to go back to his old place in the mountains with the intention of finding some sort of closure and a chance to get away and get his head right again.
“The barn is just a heap of charred timbers. I buried what was left of our friends and tried to do some clean up and repairs, but I got sick to my stomach and left.”
Her stomach lurched too when she remembered what had gone down there.
His agitated tone turned softer. “If you want to go back to your apartment, I’ll take you.”
She still had a clear image in her head of the Redstone Villa apartments in Golden where she used to live. She hadn’t there since last July, not since the morning of that day when she and Mark had come back from their camping trip and she’d gone to work at the insurance office. She imagined what it probably looked like now—the hallway littered with mummy-like corpses, spider webs draped across the doorways, and a mine field of mice droppings across the carpet. Or, maybe there were squatters there making themselves at home. What was left to go back to? Nothing from her old life mattered any more. Maybe someday, it would be nice to have the courage to go back and retrieve some mementos from her former life like photos of her father and other family members, and pictures of Mark. “Maybe someday,” she said. “I’m not ready yet.”
He gave her a nod and went out back. Minutes later, she heard the buzz of a chain saw as he cut more wood that he’d helped clear from some condemned houses. She was glad he’d found a constructive way to vent some of his angst. They were going to need firewood when the weather cooled off in a couple of months. She’d heard many stories about people who had frozen to death last winter in the Denver area with no power in the homes they’d holed up in. They had power now, a couple of days a week. It was being rationed until the power plants were back in full operation.
Chery continued to watch Aidan through the window, attacking the wood like it was some kind of enemy that he had to defeat. Maybe having an opponent was just a part of his ingrained personality. Now that they were in a reconstructive phase and there was no one for the rebel cells in that brain of his to battle, he was out of sorts. Perhaps someday they’d have a more stable life together. Right now, there was too much for her to do to get life back to some sense of normality as she settled into her new home and helped Cassie regain her faculties.
A few minutes later, she heard a knock at the door. It was Zach, Diego, and their girlfriends. They had homes nearby and came over from time to time to help out when Aidan wasn’t around. They had become like brothers to her and jolly uncles to Cassie, playing games with her and entertaining her with their silly antics. Today, they were just stopping by with a gift, a first aid kid they’d found in the trunk of an abandoned car.
“Thank you,” she told them as she welcomed them inside and invited them to hang out for a while in her sparsely furnished living room.
Cheryl put the first aid kit on her kitchen counter, pulled out a jug of water and prepared some instant tea for her guests. As she stirred, her eyes roamed to her shotgun, and she was reassured to see it propped up against the coat rack.
Despite the slow rebuilding of society, every day she was reminded that their life was still precarious. It was widely believed that the virus that had been created by XCGen and used as a tool for One New Earth’s population reduction would never be entirely eliminated. The genie of death was out of the bottle; it was ingrained in the environment in every corner of the earth. When the television, radio, and the Internet went back online, the airwaves were flooded with public service announcements reminding citizens to remain cautious. Cheryl made sure Cassie listened every time there were warnings about Eaters being spotted in the area.
“We’re all infected now,” the newly elected President Gibbons warned them recently. “This mutated virus is in the air, in the soil, in the food we eat. It’s ubiquitous, and it will always be with us. In many of the survivors, it can remain dormant and surface at any time. Inspect your skin daily; watch others for signs of infection, and report any sightings of wandering infected victims. Don’t put yourself in danger by trying to restrain or eliminate one yourself. Call your local police station or sheriff’s office and report suspicious individuals or incidents. Stay safe, my fellow Americans and be optimistic in the fact that every day we are working to
gether to rebuild a nation that will come back better and stronger than before.”
Cheryl decided to move her guests onto the front porch to enjoy their drinks, because of the loud noise from Aidan’s saw. A woman walked by in a slow, awkward fashion, aided by the assistance of a cane. Her skin was pockmarked with scars and her head was nearly bald despite her youth. When Diego joked about her appearance, Cheryl scolded him, reminding him that it was considered rude to stare at or make fun of the resurrected when they were out and about in public. She couldn’t totally blame him, though. It sometimes hard to ignore the resurrected, especially when their appearance was particularly gruesome or when their behavior was odd. Just yesterday, it was almost ninety degrees outside, and she’d seen someone with long pants and sleeves, and a turned up collar stop in the middle of an intersection and stare at a leaf on the pavement with absolute fascination. That kind of awkward behavior was troublesome to most people. Some businesses refused to serve the resurrected because of their slow speech or their distracting effect on the other customers, but a law had been passed making it illegal to discriminate.
Cheryl was still working on adjusting to living side by side with them. Seeing someone with grayish, scarred skin and eyes that looked clouded with cataracts automatically triggered her fight or flight response even when it was the person opening the door for her or scanning her groceries. There was always a bit of tension in her body when she was near one of them; her body automatically tightened like it was preparing for the possibility that she was going to have to run. She figured that future generations wouldn’t have the same instinctual response when they were near one of the resurrected. It would be normal for them, because they would have grown up with a parent, grandparent, aunt or uncle with an abnormal appearance.
Cassie didn’t seem too concerned about the scars on her skin. At the tender age of seven, vanity hadn’t kicked in yet. It was much harder for the adults that were resurrected. Some of them committed suicide after learning what they had done to other people in their dead state. In those sad cases, it was a double tragedy to their family who endured losing them all over again.
Cheryl took time each morning to give Cassie a hug and silently express her gratitude for the fact that the two of them were alive after billions had died. Their life was simple. They had just what they needed to live and nothing more, and she realized that she preferred it that way. Before the apocalypse, things were much more complicated.
In some ways, the new society was better than the one before, but not in the way that One New Earth had wanted. It was better because people seemed to have a better appreciation for the fragility and sanctity of life. Without any sort of mind control, they cooperated more, fought less, and tried to find solutions to problems that encompassed a wide range of perspectives. In Denver and other cities and towns, great care was taken to make sure that the power remained in the hands of the majority of the people and not a select few who could use their might to control the others.
As Cassie began to ask more questions about what had happened to her and the world, Cheryl looked for ways to ease her anxiety and transition her into their new life. Cassie didn’t remember what day her birthday was, so they decided it would be October 1st. On that day, it was sunny and warm, so Cheryl decided to take her up to the foothills for a picnic. They sat on a red and white gingham blanket, surrounded by tall pine trees and quivering Aspens as they feasted on peanut butter sandwiches and a small cake made out of a hodgepodge of ingredients. Cheryl surprised her with two gifts, a diary with a picture of a puppy frolicking in a bed of daisies and a fountain pen that could write in four different colors. Cassie flipped through the blank pages, giggling about all the things she was going to write about and draw in it. When Cassie stopped talking and stared over Cheryl’s shoulder, Cheryl reached for her gun.
She whipped around and watched the form moving behind the branches of a blue Spruce. After a few seconds, she realized it was just a deer. She was lost in thought for the next few seconds while Cassie stared at her.
“Why are you crying?” Cassie asked.
“They’re good tears, sweetie—the best kind you can have.”
Epilogue
Cassie’s Diary
October 4
I like our new house. Everyone has a flag out front with their name or a symbol on it, and I made one for us from a pillowcase. It says, C & C in bright purple paint. (That’s for Cassie & Cheryl if you didn’t already figure it out.) We get around on bicycles, because gas costs a lot of money. This week it’s $17 a gallon, and Mommy says that’s just crazy. I like to ride my bike, but sometimes the helmet I have to wear gets my head too hot and sweaty. I have to wear it to protect my brain from accidents and any Eater-Beasts that might still be roaming around. I’m glad I got better from the one that bit my finger. Everyone said I was really sick for a while until I got a shot that made me better. We have a small garden out back where we grow some vegetables. It’s all in containers with soil we make out of our own compost, because the real dirt might be contamer contaminated. That’s also why I’m not allowed to keep any of the stray cats or dogs we see around. Mommy says if they’ve eaten any part of an Eater-Beast, they could poop out the virus in our dirt, and we could get sick.
October 7
Mommy says she used to live not too far from here in an apartment. I told her I want to see it someday, but she just shakes her head and says, “That life is over.” Then, she gives me a hug and says life is better now because she has me. That makes me feel happy, but sometimes I’m sad because I have dreams about the mommy and daddy I used to have. Cheryl says she knows they loved me very much and are watching me from Heaven. I guess Aidan is kind of like a daddy to me, but sometimes he is not here very much. I wish he would stay and play with me more. Mommy says he has issues, and just needs to be by himself sometimes. Zach and Diego are really cool, though. They take me to the park a lot and sometimes we all go to the outdoor market where we swap things like clothes and tools and I get an ice cream cone from a lady who makes it with her goat’s milk.
October 13
I used to have a gun that shot BB’s, but one day after I was in the backyard and an Eater-Beast almost got me I got a real one with bullets. I had to go to a class with some people down the street to learn some rules about it. I was the youngest one there, because there aren’t a lot of kids around anymore. Some boy made fun of my holster because it’s purple, my favorite color, and I have some sparkly stickers on it to make it fancy. I had to sit in timeout for a while after that because I punched him in the nose.
When I hit a few bull’s eyes in a row, my teacher, Mr. Graham, called me Annie. I don’t know who Annie Oakley was, but supposedly she was real good with a gun. I’m glad I can shoot good, because there are still a lot of those bad Eater-Beasts around. I’ve killed about six of them of them now all by myself. I learned to squint with one eye, so I can hit them before they get too close. At bedtime, Mommy tells me funny stories about things that happen around town. I liked the one about an old lady who kept a bunch of Eater-Beasts in her basement and fed them birds and mice like they were a bunch of hungry cats. That was funny!
October 20
Last night, there was a man digging in our garbage can on the side of the house. Mommy heard him out there and ran outside with her gun. A few minutes later, she came back inside and said it was okay. He wasn’t dead—he was just hungry.
November 1
Here is a picture I drew yesterday. I haven’t decided where it goes yet on my wall of art, so I’m going to keep it in my diary for now. It’s a picture from a scary dream I had last night. I don’t like to look at it every day. It reminds me of the time when Mommy says I lived in Arizona and had a really bad day. I hope you like it, though. You’re not scared of zombies, are you?
THE END
This novel is dedicated to the memory of Jessica Ridgeway and every other little girl whose life was cut short because of a monster.
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Michelle DePaepe, Eaters: Resurrection
Eaters: Resurrection Page 30