by Tara Brown
“Me too.” I don't know what we’re sorry for, but I’m assuming it's this stupid situation. And Trevor. He was nice. “I wish I didn't come.”
“Not me.” He shifts, moving the sheets and blankets. “If I’m going to die, or end up stuck in Canada, I’m glad I’m with you.” His voice is weirdly soft. It makes me turn my face to see his. “And now that we’re here and this is happening, I want you to know how I feel.”
“What?” I ask and swallow a lump in my throat.
“I have liked you since you came to our school. And I always knew you were way out of my league. But I don't want to die and not tell you.”
“Mitch,” my voice cracks.
“I know, you don't feel the same way. It’s okay. I get it. But I want you to know, I’m here for you. Totally.” His eyes bore into mine.
I’m speechless but less uncomfortable than I thought I’d be in a moment like this one. Not that I ever gave much thought to a friend confessing feelings for me. That’s something that would happen to Sasha or Jamie, not me.
“You don't have to say anything, honestly.” He reaches his arm out, holding it in an inviting way for me to come and lay my head on his chest and armpit. I contemplate it for less time than I should before I roll over completely and snuggle into him. He’s warm and smells good, a mix of deodorant and laundry soap and boy smell. I don’t know how I feel about him, I’ve literally never given it a moment’s thought. He’s Mitch. Just Mitch. Just plain old boring Mitch.
Even if in this moment he smells good. And he feels warm. And his arm around me is something nice, something I can’t really explain to myself. Maybe because I never imagined I would be in the situation. It’s a strange thing to add to this already messed up week.
“What if we don't leave here and we don't get to our families?” I change the subject, deciding this is the best course of action.
“I don't know.” His voice is still soft and his words are on the top of my head like he might be contemplating kissing my forehead. “When I close my eyes, I see Trevor. I hear him screaming. I just can’t get to him.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what to say.
“Me too. This just sucks. And even worse, we don’t know where we are in this. I’m so lost on what the possible outcomes are. I mean, if you think about it, the only real research done by anyone in a situation like this is by moviemakers. So according to them, we’ve got a couple of possible scenarios. It becomes a lawless and chaotic landscape as the zombies die off from lack of food sources and the cold winter months ahead of us. That means the people who are still alive all fight for the last of the easy resources, like stores and food and gas while it’s still viable. Sort of like The Walking Dead.”
“Okay.” I don't enjoy that option.
“Then there’s the chance the military actually pulls off a Hail Mary, and we end up being saved and taken to a secure location, sort like an outpost where we all live and wait for the zombies to die off or for a cure, like World War Z. And the cold reality is that more than eighty percent of the people are gone in both those scenarios, so again you are looking at a limited amount of structure and civilization surviving. So it could end up in a chaotic mess too where people are fighting for the last of the supplies.”
“Right.” Also a shit option.
“Or there’s a cure and we end up being able to bring the infected back from where they are. We can heal the world and fix the infrastructure and while a large portion of the population is dead, the government survives and we end up taking a couple of years to repair the damage, but we manage to move on, like in Warm Bodies.”
“You know a lot about zombie movies.”
“I love zombie movies. Zombieland is one of my faves. But I hope that’s not how this ends up.” He chuckles and in the middle of it something changes.
The hum of life and electricity, a sound I didn’t realize I could hear until I don't, is gone.
“Shit.” Mitch stops laughing and sighs.
“Is that the power?” I ask and glance over him at the clock on the bedside table that now has no light.
“I think so.”
“That’s a bad sign, right?”
“Yeah, it’s not great,” he admits.
“But we’re okay here for right now?” I’m worried about his answer.
“We’ll be fine. These coastal houses are always equipped for power outages. And until we have something resembling an option for transport, I think we should stay here and ride it out as long as we can.”
I don't love his answer, but he’s smart. Way smarter than I am when it comes to this craziness. And after the two deaths our group has faced, not to mention all the running and screaming and boats and darkness, I’m not sure I’m ready to go back out there just yet. I have a bad feeling we didn't even experience a tenth of what’s going on.
The disappointment of us being stuck here has lessened. I’m not certain if it’s because he’s made me feel less alone or if I’m coming to terms with it.
He holds me tighter and I close my eyes. I want to sleep through this, all of it. I want to dream of sunshine and my family, maybe even my dad. I want to be home and for it to be a bad dream.
But Jeff’s voice in the doorway makes all that impossible, “Hey, since the power’s out I’m going to cook the meat in the fridge and freezer. They have a massive barbecue on the deck. It’s a full kitchen run on gas, fridge included. We’re moving the perishables from the fridge in the house to out there.”
“Coming,” Mitch says with a bit of what I assume is regret in his tone. He hugs me tightly to him for a moment and then lets go and slides off the bed, leaving the room. He and Jeff and Louis have sort of taken charge of the group since Ms. Mara is gone.
Gone.
That’s a strange way to categorize her. She isn’t gone, probably not. She’s one of them. And if this is like Warm Bodies, maybe she can be cured too.
It’s weird my biggest hope today is that this is the sort of zombie apocalypse that people can come back from.
Because if they can’t, what do we do then?
I follow them out onto the deck where the barbecue is going and food is being placed down on the grill; steaks, burgers, and kebabs. It seems like a lot, too much for us to eat.
In the kitchen, Bev and her friends are making fruit and veg trays and Vanessa leads a group who are carrying out drinks to the massive patio. Tables are set up and this is resembling a family get-together or an adult party.
People are laughing and smiling, and you would never know unimaginable horrors are going on beyond the gates. Jeff is organizing, Louis is grilling, and Mitch is moving chairs to where Jeff tells him to.
And I feel useless, an observer, until someone hands me a plate and a set of cutlery that feels like it’s plastic but it’s silver. It’s fancy picnic dinnerware. I’m pointed in the direction of food, and I realize I’ve zoned out again and the meal is ready. Everyone is lining up and filling their plates high.
Joining them feels wrong, as though I’m a guest at a party where I don't know the host. I’ve crashed or come as someone else’s plus one and I’m uncomfortable.
When my plate’s piled high, I find a seat off to the side, alone and unsure. The food smells incredible, but my stomach is queasy from the thought that we might be here until there’s an answer.
“Look what I found!” Jack comes rushing from the house holding an old boom box but it’s tiny. “It was in the garage. It’s battery powered.” He puts it down on the large coffee table in the middle of one of the huge conversation pits where Jeff is sitting. I’m confused until Jeff turns it on and begins searching. A grin crosses my lips as I imagine what Lou would have said when she realized I thought the radio was a boom box, a mini boom box. She would have known what it was straight out of the gates. She’s savvy like that.
It’s white noise for long enough some of the kids move back and sit in their seats again, resuming eating and chatting quietly. But I listen, swearing I hear something. It�
�s a man in the white noise. He blips over and over until Jeff hits the sweet spot and the man’s voice is loud and clear, as loud as the crappy old silver radio goes.
“Fort Myers is gone too,” his voice cracks, not from emotion but the shitty connection or whatever they called that in the olden days. “No hope,” he cuts back in, clearer than before. “We’ve lost the last of the strong holds. We’re outnumbered. The only chance you have is riding this out. Seven days. As the breakouts started, I overheard my master chief tell his wife to hide for seven days. If you can make it to the eighth day, they’re going to be dead. They’re on a timer. He said if he didn’t make it home, she should head for Boulder. It’s the meeting place for all marine corps who are still alive. Stay where you are. Ride this out. On day eight, head for Boulder. It’s all I have.”
Jeff lifts his stare to Louis who glances at Mitch who finds me.
I suspect every single one of us has the same question running through our minds.
Jack is the one who asks it, “How could they possibly know the zombies will die on the seventh day? And why Boulder? And how could they know everyone should go to Boulder before this was even a thing?”
Chapter 7
“It has to be some kind of government conspiracy. How else could they know this?” Mitch’s tone rises more, hitting a level of worry I didn’t know he was capable of.
“But why?” Jeff asks the question I’m also wondering as we clean the outdoor kitchen after dinner.
“Population control. Terrorism in another country that went wrong and somehow ended up back here. Militant government planning on taking over. Religious-cult nuts trying to start the end of days. There’s loads of reasons.” Mitch rolls his eyes at us and our skepticism.
“I can’t believe I’m about to say this.” Louis pauses and blinks a couple of times with a stunned expression on his face. “I’m with Mitch. There’s no one way the government could predict how this is gonna go down, unless they did it. I would guess military strike gone wrong. Or experiment.”
“See!” Mitch points both hands at Louis. “At least someone sees this. They always do this. Did you know when they started doing the reanimation projects on dead animals using nanobots, they did it in India? In a heavily populated area. And the conspiracy-theory wingnuts all lost their minds. They couldn’t believe such a thing would even be attempted in a place like that. Not when we have Antarctica. Or the North Pole. Governments and scientists are genuinely that stupid. Because they think they have everything under control.”
“Wait. Could this be nanobots?” Louis asks, tilting his head.
“Maybe.” Mitch shrugs. “I mean, the way the zombies rewire like that, right before they go crazy, Jeff and I saw it. It could be tiny robots. And the government would be the ones who lost control of that for sure.”
“That’s insane.” I scoff and raise an eyebrow at Jeff. But he doesn’t offer back the same. They’re winning him over. He’s drinking the Kool-Aid. “You guys, nanobots aren’t even real!” I step back, completely lost on how they are letting their minds get so polluted with conspiracy theories.
“That would explain the blood that moves on its own,” Jeff says, his gaze darting to Mitch. “You and I both saw that too.”
Blood that moves on its own?
It’s the second time I have heard that sentence.
“Trevor,” Mitch’s excitement is gone and terror flashes in his eyes as he nods.
“The blood moves on its own?” Louis squints in confusion.
“It does. It seeps from the undead and lands in a puddle and then slinks along like a horror movie,” Jeff adds, his stare also dramatic.
“My mom said that when I spoke to her. Blood that moves on its own. Exactly that,” I admit.
“Holy shit.” Louis steps back, holding a dish towel. “What if it really is nanobots?”
“That would explain the reset they all go through. The bots are taking over, rewiring the brain so they’re in command. It would explain the biting. Transfer from spit to blood. And it would explain how the government knows the exact day this is going to end.”
“Preinstalled computer programming that would wipe them out, based on a preset expiry date,” Louis whispers.
“Exactly,” Jeff agrees and I am lost.
“What? How is this possible?”
They ignore me and continue.
“Like when they all froze on the dock. When we got onto the boat, they didn’t push each other and fall into the ocean, not like zombies would,” Jeff says.
“And they stand still, going almost dormant until they’re stimulated by sound,” Mitch adds.
“And they aren’t staying with the bodies they bite. It’s like the virus knows to infect as many as possible. They bite and move on.” Louis is fully there, fully absorbed in Mitch’s theories. But the worst part, I’m starting to see they could be correct.
“The mist,” I recall suddenly. “The mist on the beaches on the East Coast.”
Everyone gives me a confused look.
“I saw it on YouTube. It was a video. It was Atlantic City I think. Everyone was at the pier; the zombies were running like crazy. And then these drones came and sprayed mist and it got really thick, really fast, and the zombies froze. Like I mean, they froze into a position and when they fell, they didn’t budge even slightly. Like mannequins.”
Louis scowls. “Why didn’t you tell me you saw this?”
“I don’t know.” I almost laugh at the absurd question, but we’re talking about tiny robots and a government-planned apocalypse. “All the running and screaming and peeing and people dying?” I say it like he should know better than to ask.
“Right,” he concedes but clearly a trickle of disappointment lingers.
“That’s it then!” Mitch is back to near hysterics. “It’s nanobots. And the government.” He runs his dish hands over his jeans and points at the house. “We need to stay here for the whole seven days. As far as I can tell, we’re on day three. Four more days and they all die. Then we leave and go home and try to find our families and hope for good things.” He sounds happy to have a plan and answers, even though they’re mostly speculation.
“Agreed.” Louis sounds better too.
Jeff presses his lips together.
“You can come with us, if you don’t think your family made it,” I offer.
“Thanks.” He smiles but it’s faked for us. He’s worried about something, and I can’t guess what it is. “I’m sure at least some of them are all right.”
He doesn’t convince me of this.
We go back to washing dishes and joking about the view and the mansion and how it’s not the worst way to spend some time. It’s like a vacation. Roughing it rich-people style.
But it’s all jokes to cover the fact we are scared.
And now that we have something resembling an answer to how this could happen, I’m more worried. Nanobots aren’t something I understand. Not enough to judge how likely it is this will end in four days.
When we’re done cleaning up, the misty rain starts again. I stare out at the sea until the sun is completely gone and the last strip of light has faded. It’s bedtime. Everyone else has dispersed to their places, the safe spots they’ve claimed as their own.
Mitch walks me to my room.
“Where’s Bev?” he asks when we arrive at the doorway of the massive room, revealing an empty bed.
“She said she was sleeping with Cynthia and Naira. They got one of the rooms and they’re sleeping all three of them in a bed. I don’t really know any of them well.” I lower my voice, “I think, like a lot of us, they’re finding comfort in their closeness.”
“Which leaves you feeling vulnerable and alone?” he says it as a question but it feels like an observation.
“I guess so,” I confess. “But a lot of the kids are sleeping in massive groups.”
“Yeah, Louis and Jeff and I are sharing a room. Taking turns sleeping on the sofa that’s in there. It’s m
y night.” He lifts his dark eyebrows as though this isn’t the most exciting news.
“Well, if you want”—I point at the bed behind me as my voice cracks, suggesting my discomfort with what I’m about to say—“you can sleep in here. It’s honestly just me and we have separate duvets. Bev wasn’t one for snuggling,” I kid but the reality is I would love to have another person in here. Safety in numbers is real. Even if he told me he likes me. And always has.
“I don’t really blame her. We all smell like barbecue and sadness.” He cracks a smile but his heart isn’t in it.
“I think I smell like pears.” I sniff my shirt but he’s right. It’s barbecued salmon and missing the smell of my mom in my laundry.
“If you’re serious, I’d love to.” It’s his turn for his voice to crack as he brushes his hands through his dark hair and tries to be cool. “The couch is miserable for anyone over five eight. Even Louis is struggling with it.”
“Awesome.” I smile but I don’t move. Maybe I don’t know how to walk into this room with him. I was all bravado and casualness before it came time to actually walk into the room with him. Now I’m sweating and digging my fingernails into the tips of my thumb.
“Cool.” Mitch also doesn’t move.
“What are you guys doing?” Louis asks, making us both jump as we spin to find him with a towel around his waist.
“Nothing!” we say too insistently at the same moment.
“Okay.” Louis cocks an eyebrow.
“I just told Mitch if he wants to share a room with me, that’s cool. Since I’m in here alone. No biggie. Ya know?” It doesn’t sound cool. I’m not cool. Nothing about this is cool. Why can’t I be cool? I have to stop thinking cool.
“Yeah, she just asked.” Mitch’s voice is tense with what I’m assuming is him trying to pretend he’s joking. “Because of the sofa. No one wants to sleep on it. My back last time, wow. It was aching.”
“Sweet.” Louis pauses, staring at us. Neither of us speaks, likely because we’re both afraid of what might come out. “Well, night.”
“Night!” We both walk over the threshold of the door and Mitch closes it, leaving us in the dark of the large space, huddled in the corner of the entryway. He’s leaning against the door, staring at me. I can’t see him very well at all, but he is there. I take a step back, not sure about how to just do this. Which is making me think there must be more to my feelings for him. Maybe they don’t match his, but they’re there.