“Hmmm, come out from them and be separate, says the Lord. Touch no unclean thing, and I will receive you. Second Corinthians 6:17,” Jack said, nodding his head at the relevance of ages-old wisdom. “It’s the Amish way.”
A thought crossed my mind, and I wondered what Jack would say if I asked it. He might not like it, but I had to know. “Mr. Spitzer, when Derek came to live with us, the boy was in pretty bad shape. He was severely malnourished and had some really odd behaviors. Was anyone mean to him? I’m sorry, but I have to know.”
He and Blake both looked surprised by the question. “No,” Blake said. “Derek had a good life here. We used to do farm chores together, and we helped my father gather herbs in the woods and around the edges of the fields. He was learning here, and was even beginning to learn how to use herbs. He even knew how to use mullein to help control his asthma.”
“Mullein?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s a common medicinal plant. You’ve probably seen it if you’ve spent any time outdoors, in natural areas. Derek always liked it because it’s fuzzy.” He smiled, stroked his beard, and puckered his lips.
I felt my brows rise with recognition. “That explains it then,” I said. “I think that was what was growing in the vacant lot beside our house. Derek was into it all the time. Tracking it inside and stuffing it in his pockets. I remember it felt like thick velvet.”
Jack gave an affirmative nod. “Probably so. But to answer your question, we do believe here that if you spare the rod, you spoil the child. Abuse? No. Discipline? Yes, but I’ve never laid a hand on my son in anger.”
“What about your ex-wife or her new husband?” I asked.
“After she left with Derek, I never saw them again, and I didn’t meet the man she took up with and eventually married. The news program said they were living with survivalists, but that’s all I know. I can only assume Derek was taken from them for a reason.”
“She didn’t leave here to get away from anything?” I asked, stressing the word anything. I felt in my gut that Jack was telling me the truth, but I wanted to be sure.
“She wanted to get away from the life here,” Jack answered. “My wife agreed to come back here to help me with my parents, but she never really forgave them for the shunning, and she didn’t adjust. This simple lifestyle was never in her plans, and she couldn’t stand it, not even temporarily. I couldn’t leave my parents when they needed me, so she packed up, drove away, and never looked back.”
I was sure my mouth was hanging open at least part of the time as I listened to the Spitzers explain their complicated world, but I couldn’t help it. I never imagined Derek had such a history.
“Blake refused to go with her, and the community allowed us to stay on after my parents passed away. We’re not full members of the order. I guess you’d say we’re in discernment and staying on to help the sick,” Jack said. “But we’ll talk more about this later. Now, I’ll get the women to help you, and if you feel up to it, I’ll take you to see your friends. We should get some soup down you. Just rest for a few minutes while I tell the women you’re ready.”
With that, Blake and Jack left the room, and I remained on the table, my mind swirling with everything I’d just learned. Two women wearing plain style dresses, aprons, and caps entered the room and helped peel away the clay poultice from my arms, torso, and legs and removed the IV from my arm. They explained that the clay had been taken from a natural vein in a creek bed on the farm, and that Jack had prepared oils from herbs with drawing properties that he grew himself in some fields beyond the tobacco beds. It “leached the sickness and infection from my skin,” they said, and the IVs had dripped saline, glucose, and a mild sedative while I slept. Jack had instructed them to administer medicines by mouth around the clock. Jack and Blake had been keeping abundant supplies of the anti-viral tinctures on hand ever since the outbreak began, and they’d treated a few people from the Amish community. Overall, though, their numbers of sick had been low. They believed God alone had spared them, by sending the poisonous cloud away from their area. Casey’s medicinal regimen had included Jack’s unique blend of elderberry, turkey tail mushroom, oregano, garlic, echinacea, astragalus, and pokeweed, along with the clay and oil poultice.
One of the women was careful to explain that they had been the ones to apply the poultice, and change it and my sheets, throughout the week. They’d also tended to my catheter and ensured that my bedding was kept clean. No men, they assured me, were involved with that part of my care. I didn’t tell them that hadn’t crossed my mind and, instead, expressed my appreciation.
Once the clay had been entirely removed, and my arms were clean and sponged off, I marveled at the spots on my skin where I knew that lesions had formed a week ago. The places weren’t completely healed, but the improvement was amazing. The women helped me sponge the rest of the residual clay from my body, and gave my clothing back to me. My pants, shirt, jacket, and hat had been cleaned, and all smelled of the fresh outdoors. They led me through a hallway and to a set of stairs. We took the steps slowly, as my muscles were much less toned from having been sedated during the entire week. When we reached the upstairs, I saw we were inside an old farmhouse kitchen that contained more shelves of jars and crocks.
The house was filled with an uncomfortable chill, signaling that the weather had worsened since last week. A constant hum of wind whipped around the house. The late afternoon sun streamed through cracks between boards that had been nailed across the windows, and sharp gusts of air whistled through them, rattling the planks and panes.
It didn’t appear that anyone had been living in the house, and the only appointments on the first floor included an examination room, a few chairs, and a desk. It was the “sick house,” the women explained, that had been designated and equipped to handle infectious cases in the area. Here, the patients would be kept safe from other infected individuals, while isolating them from the rest of the community. They didn’t use the word zombie, opting instead to speak of the infected as if they were just like any other normal individuals, who just happened to be gravely unwell. Caring for them was seen as an opportunity to show God’s love. We stepped outside into the bitter winds and, after securing the house, the women walked me across the fields toward the Spitzer house.
For as far as I could see, the farm spanned off in all directions, sparsely dotted with similarly styled houses and barns. There was no movement anywhere, and the fields across the acreage were in disarray. There wasn’t a cow or a chicken to be seen. The effect was an eerie calm. A sense of foreboding hung about the place that had clearly been, before the outbreak, a beautiful, almost idyllic setting.
I was struck by the fact that the women walked about unafraid and didn’t carry guns, or weapons of any kind, despite the danger. It wasn’t “their way”. They’d take reasonable precautions, of course, but they wouldn’t live in fear. If they were attacked, they reasoned, it was divine will. Jack would take care of them, and whether they recovered or not was, again, God’s providence, like any other calamity in life.
We were about halfway to our destination when I saw a man’s figure walking in our direction. As he drew closer, I could see that it was Blake. He broke into a run and quickly closed the gap between us.
“Thank you, ladies, I can take Casey from here,” he said. “Go ahead home, and walk quickly. It’ll be dark soon.” He nodded and gave a polite grin, but after they’d turned to walk away, disquieted unease replaced his smile. “Hurry!” he called out again to them as he made a quick three-sixty scan of the area. One of the women glanced back at us, waved, and nudged the other one as they quickened their pace.
“Are you worried about them getting home? How far do they have to go?” I asked.
“Just past the sick house on the next field,” he answered, pointing toward the west. “And yes, I do worry about the people here. They don’t believe in violence of any kind, and I’m concerned that most wouldn’t defend themselves, even if they were attacked.” A hard
wall of icy air blew across the farm, and Blake reached up to hold his hat in place. His coat flapped in the breeze, and I glimpsed the grip of a pistol sticking out of his waistband, wedged beside the suspender strap. It had the look of a semi-automatic piece.
“I see you don’t subscribe to the no gun policy here.”
Blake tilted his head. “I’m not Amish,” he explained, “at least not yet, anyway. The community wouldn’t approve, and I haven’t told Dad...but these aren’t normal times.”
“No, they’re not,” I agreed.
Blake’s eyes shifted left and right as he continued warily surveying the landscape. “Let’s keep moving,” he urged.
I continued walking with Blake toward his family’s simple, clapboard farmhouse, nearly identical to the one I’d just left. A few trees stood around the house, and in one of them, a small treehouse had been constructed. It struck me that I hadn’t seen any of the telltale signs of children on the farm. No stray toys. No swings. “Was that your treehouse?” I asked.
“No, by the time we came here, I was too old for that kind of thing. Dad and I built it for Derek. He loved it and spent a lot of time there. It was his favorite place.”
The treehouse sat nestled in the leafless branches, only a few slivers of its white paint remained. I guessed they’d stopped taking care of it when Derek’s mom took him away.
Like the sick house, the windows of Blake’s home had been boarded up as well. As we progressed toward it, he periodically looked over his shoulder to check on the women’s progress toward their houses.
“Would you use your gun to protect them if a zombie came after them?” I asked.
“Zombie?”
“Yes, you know, an infected person,” I explained.
“I don’t know. If any of our people were going to be killed, I’d want to save them.” He spoke as if he were thinking this through, maybe for the first time. “But I’ve never shot anything living before, and certainly not anyone.”
“I see,” I said, picking up my pace. “I guess you wouldn’t get much practice out here, not if you were trying to keep that thing a secret.” I suspected no one had taught him how to properly use the weapon he was carrying, and in a threatening situation, he might be utterly ineffective with it. I considered asking, but I didn’t want to pry. “You know, in some places, zombies, I mean infected people, come out in the daytime, too.”
He glanced at me, shocked creases forming on his brow. “I didn’t know.”
“You should make sure everyone here is aware of that.”
By the time we reached his house, I was out of breath and extremely tired. My leg muscles cramped as we climbed the steps of the front porch. “I can’t thank you enough for saving my life,” I said as he opened the front door.
“It is a gift to be able to help others,” he said. “Besides, this is all my dad’s work. I’m just the—.”
“Just the assistant. I know,” I said, smiling at him.
We stepped inside, and he removed his hat and coat, hanging them both on hooks by the entryway. I watched as he took the gun from his belt and slipped it into an inner pocket of his coat. He closed the door, latched it, and moved a second sliding panel of massive wood planks in place behind it. The wooden barrier was mounted to a railing apparatus that worked like a barn door, and the unfinished wood suggested it was a recent addition to reinforce security. Blake slid a bolt in place, preventing it from moving. I walked into the living room and saw Kyle sleeping on the couch.
Huai Li sat in a nearby chair, reading what looked like some kind of farming manual. She looked up at me and smiled. I saw her full face for the first time since the brutal procedure BioGenetics forced on her, as the headwrap had been replaced by a single patch that covered only the top, left-hand edge of her forehead. Her face was still slightly swollen, and a bruise had formed above her eye. “Kyle!” she cried, “Casey’s here!”
Kyle bolted from his sleep, jumped up, and ran to me, taking me into his arms. He buried his face in my hair and cried hard, wailing sobs. I looked up, and his lips met mine in an ecstatic kiss so full of love and longing that I couldn’t pull away. The world around me vanished in the wake of our embrace. All of the pain, fear, and hopelessness slipped from my awareness, leaving only the two of us.
***
The sound of a man clearing his throat reminded us where we were and that we had an audience. We ended our kiss and turned to see Mr. Spitzer and an elder woman standing at the doorway at the other end of the living room. “It’s time for dinner,” he said, his voice stiff and formal. He nodded to the older woman with a look that said clearly that he didn’t approve of our public display of affection, and they walked back into the kitchen. My cheeks burned with embarrassment and a bit of indignation. They had no idea of what we’d been through.
“Come on,” Blake told me. “Mrs. Miller, our bishop’s mother, has kindly stayed with us this week to help Dad and me with taking care of our guests while Dad and I took care of you, Casey.”
We gathered around the kitchen table that was, I realized, much bigger than necessary for Blake and his father. I recalled what Jack had said about living here with his wife, his parents, and the two boys, and hoped there had been at least a few good times here for them. It was sad there were only the two of them living here now. I knew that feeling. Jack blessed the meal, and we ate.
By the time we’d finished dinner, the light showing through the boarded windows transformed to faint slivers of gold and orange. The steady rumble of wagon wheels came from outside the front of the house, and a knock sounded at the door, as the bishop came to collect his mother. Kyle helped carry Mrs. Miller’s bags to the door, and I thanked her for the help she’d given us. As we all followed her to the front of the house, Blake slid the barricade open and unlatched the outer door to admit Bishop Miller, an imposingly tall man, who entered the room with three of his sons, all of whom dwarfed their father. One carried a pitchfork, another, a hoe, and the third held a scythe with a long blade that glinted in the setting sun.
Kyle expressed his appreciation to the family, and for the community’s assistance, and apologized for any inconvenience we had caused. He offered to pay the bishop some of the money we had with us, but the man refused, saying it was part of their sacrifice to God to help people in need. Goodbyes were said, and the elderly woman’s bags were loaded onto a waiting buggy. The sons filed out of the room, and as the last one reached the doorway, the scythe blade he carried caught on Blake’s outerwear, knocking it off the hook where it had been hanging. The coat hit the floor with a thundering bang, as the pistol discharged, sending bullets through the wall and causing us all to recoil and dive for cover. Kyle pushed me around the opposite wall, and fell on top of me, shielding me from fire.
When the shots ceased, we scrambled back to the doorway and examined the others to see if anyone had been hit. Huai Li peered around the corner from the living room. Jack and Blake stood on either side of Bishop Miller, at the entryway. Jack wore a look of shock. Blake appeared terrified, and the bishop was obviously very, very unhappy.
“What is this?” Miller shouted. “How could you allow a gun in your house, brother Spitzer?” He glared at Jack and Blake. “We welcome you back to our community, and you bring this unclean English scourge into our midst?”
Jack seemed to want to say something. His lips moved, then stopped, and then moved again, but nothing came out.
Blake bowed his head as his cheeks flushed in shame. “The gun is mine,” he admitted, speaking in a subdued tone, just above a whisper. “My father didn’t know anything about it.”
“Your son isn’t disciplined, brother, and now his actions have endangered us.”
“I assure you, Bishop Miller, that the gun will be disposed of, and this will never happen again. I’m sorry this happened,” Jack promised.
I felt myself wanting to shrink into the shadows and disappear. The tension in the air was so thick I could barely breathe.
“You a
re right about one thing, brother, it will not happen again. In the morning, you and your son are to leave and never return.” He hung his head and shook it as he continued, “I had hope for you, Spitzer, but I’m reinstating your shunning. You may take any of the personal belongings you brought with you that you want, and a portion of your medicinals, but that is all. Perhaps it is also time for your guests to leave.”
Bishop Miller walked out the door, where his sons waited for him on the porch. Jack stepped out behind them. “Wait, please. I’m sure the boy just used bad judgment.”
The bishop continued walking toward the buggy they’d arrived in, and his elderly mother peered out from behind a black shade, watching from inside. She gave one last look toward Jack and then lowered the window covering. As her figure disappeared in the blackness, Miller’s sons also turned their backs to the Spitzers. They all climbed into the buggy, as one of them took the reins. The carriage pulled away from the house, leaving us all standing in stunned silence.
***
We secured the front door, and Jack and his father retreated upstairs. Kyle, Huai Li, and I set about cleaning up from dinner. As we worked, angry voices intermittently drifted through the ceiling vents as Blake and his father argued upstairs.
“What are they going to do? I feel awful for them,” I said as Kyle and I began washing the dishes as Huai Li brought them from the table. Although I knew what happened wasn’t my fault, I shared a small measure of Blake’s shame because I’d known the gun was there but didn’t tell anyone. Perhaps if someone else had known, the coat could have been caught before it hit the floor. That was the worst thing about living in this upside-down world, re-thinking everything you’ve done and haven’t done. That part was almost as bad as worrying about the things you couldn’t see coming.
“I don’t know what they’re going to do, but we need to carry on as planned,” Kyle said. “Now that you’re well again, there’s actually a future for us…one that doesn’t have to involve suicidal missions.” He beamed at me.
The Viral Series (Book 2): Viral Storm Page 18