My Dead World

My Dead World

By Jacqueline Druga

Copyright 2016 by Jacqueline Druga

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Thank you to Paula Gibson, Kira R., and Shona M for all your help. A lot of time and effort went into this from you guys and I appreciate it.

Cover Art by Christian Bentulan

www.coversbychristian.com

This book is dedicated to Fred M. After all of your support, I don’t believe I have ever dedicated a book to you. So, this one is for you. Thanks so for you unending support.

“Nilie, get away from the window,” my father grumbled.

Without a verbal response, I closed my eyes and shook my head.
Unbelievable, what was I, five again? I was a grown woman.

“Nilie,” he scolded softly.

“I’m just looking to see if I see any.” There I was arguing with a defensive whine like one of my own kids do to me.

“If you see them, they can see you. Get away from the window or close the shutter.”

Okay, okay, more than likely he was right.

I went to the window more than he knew. Looking out the window of the cabin brought back memories of doing so for the first time when I was a little girl. A comfort at times. While I had been to the cabin many times since childhood, that first time stood out from all my memories. My eyes barely gazed over the window sill, the yard looked so big, and the trees seemed like a gigantic forest. In my youthful mind it was as if we were on another planet, far away from everything, miles and hours out of the city. Civilization was left behind. After all, we had no television or telephone. My mother was forced to cook on a stove that was fueled by logs. She prepared meals that we either brought in coolers, or my father had caught in the lake.

No trips to the store, we had to make do. The evenings were spent talking, playing board games or reading.  My mother, for all her love of modern conveniences never pestered my father to update the cabin. But God forbid you had to go to the bathroom at night. It was a chilly, scary walk to what my father boasted was the coolest outhouse.

It was an outhouse.

Although to my father’s credit he worked out a semi-modern plumbing system, and he ended up constructing the best outhouse on the hill.  He ran an insulated single line from the well house to a wood burning water heater, which ran to the kitchen and the single stall shower off the back porch. I remembered that twenty-two pumps gave you a good three minute shower.

My father also had an obsession with getting rid of the outhouse smell, and he figured it out. After you ‘go’, toss a scoop from the ash pail, a scoop from the lime pail and flap the vent three times.

The cabin was my father’s pride and joy. He and his brother bought a good chunk of land and built the cabin themselves. It took them ten years and another two years to build the perfect privacy fence around the cabin. He did that after the surrounding property was purchased and made into a modern campsite. My father bitched about them constantly, but that didn’t stop him from stealing their wifi after he retired and got hooked on social media.

My parents were a complete contradiction. My mother, Connie was the sweetest woman, never complained, she went with the flow. My father on the other hand, was and forever will be his own entity.

It was like he was born from an era long ago. I attribute that to his ‘West Virginia’ upbringing. He was simple man that worked for the hardware store his entire life, and claimed he did so for the discounts. My mother was a bank teller. She died before I got my first period and I was stuck with my father through those traumatizing puberty years. While the other kids were doing sports, having sleepovers, going to dances, my brother and I spent every weekend, rain, shine or snow, at the cabin with my father.

“One day you’ll need this cabin, Niles.” Depending on his mood, my father bounced between calling me Niles and Nilie, never my given name of, Nila. He refused to call me that because it wasn’t supposed to be my name. I was supposed to be Lila, but my mother had bit her tongue so hard during labor she could not speak properly when they asked my name. With an inactive tongue, Lila became, Nila.

Then again, calling me a nickname was par for the course with my dad, he had a nickname for everyone.

I started complaining about the cabin before my mother passed away.

“Yep,” he said. “One day you’ll need the cabin. Maybe write a novel, escape a nasty divorce, one of many in a string of bad marriages.”

“Earl!” my mother scolded. “She’s nine.”

“I can see it coming,” he said with a wink. “Heck, the bombs could fall.”

Yes, my father in his bunker cabin. He was positive it was the best escape plan for a nuclear holocaust. It was far away from the city, had well water, no need to rely on anyone, a cool fence to keep out marauders, and those hideous indoor blocks of wood he called shutters that he claimed, “Would block out the sun that carried tiny particles of radiation that would eat ya’ alive and make you bald.”

“Earl, you’re scaring her,” my mother said. “Sweetie, the bombs aren’t coming.”

“Yeah, Daddy,” I joined the argument. “There’s not gonna be a nuclear war.”

“Don’t dismiss it.” He shook his head. ‘Reagan’s got his finger near the button, Nilie. Right there, hovering over that red button in a ready, set go manner, just waiting on the Ruskies to fire one off. And then …” My father proceeded to mimic the sound of explosions with various mouth noise. “Everything gone. Vanished. Dust. Except, you know, this cabin. Yep.” He picked up the newspaper. “We could have a nuclear war, or worse.”

Worse than a nuclear war? Really?

Back then the thought of something more vile than a nuclear war scared me. But my father in all his twisted glory was right.

In my mind it was something worse that happened, that caused us to retreat to my father’s holy ground. And that cabin, which was a prison to me in my teen years, had become nothing less than a sanctuary.

After breakfast, I did my normal routine and marked the calendar with an ‘X’, only I circled it. It was the third circle in a row. Previously, we got as far as two circled days.

“I wish you wouldn’t do those circles. It gets hopes up,” my father told me.

“It’s been three days since we’ve seen anything.”

“Not long enough. You know the time frame.”

I knew of a time frame, it was one given to us by my brother.

My brother, Bobby was unique. He was the politically correct version of my father, with my mother’s temperament and the intelligence of me, my mother and father combined. That was no exaggeration.

They say he was born speaking sentences, walked before he crawled and read the newspaper to the neighbors when he was three. No one taught him, he just picked it up. In fact, all my life I knew Bobby to learn superfast. He exceeded in any sport he tried, though he never really played organized sports. If he saw it or heard it once, he absorbed it.

Older than me by two years, I was fortunate enough to never feel like I walked in his shadow, or had to live up to him. My parents claimed that it wasn’t fair to put that pressure on me. Because no one compared to Bobby, and I was alright with that. Truth was, I had no ambition and never really tried. I didn’t know what I wanted to do after graduation and I bounced from job to job.

My husband Paul, took the old fashioned route and asked my father for permission to marry me. My dad laughed and said, “I must warn you. She won’t pull her weight, so be prepared to work two jobs. Maybe she’ll toss you a couple offspring to offset that. But there’s no dowry here, so don’t expect one.”

Paul thought my father was hysterical. But he was right. I didn’t really pull my weight financially. The longest job I held was at Arby’s and that ended when the world went to pot. Or slightly before.

It would be easy to hate my brother if he was not a nice person. But he was. Anytime he was in town he told me and Paul to go out and he’d watch the kids. He was all about family and he said he worked his job for his entire family, and that made sense.

He would win the most rational person in the family award, even nudging out my mother. Finding the good in any situation. When my father told us he was marrying a woman he met standing in the line waiting on the power ball, I didn’t know how to react.

“Niles, think of it this way,” Bobby said. “That’s less time you have to deal with Dad. How bad could she be? She loves our father.”

I was torn, after all, she was a lot younger than our father, older than me but not quite old enough to be our mother. When I first met Lisa, my stepmother, the bleached blond woman, with a decent figure for her age and huge boobs, she was sitting in the Lazy Boy recliner, feet up, holding a pint of Jack Daniels with a straw in it. She sipped it like it was her own version of an adult drink box. In her defense, despite how much bourbon the woman consumed, I never saw her stammer, slur or act inebriated.

For the first time my brother was wrong. Having a stepmother didn’t ease my time with my father, it just added another person.

He wasn’t wrong about much, and Bobby certainly wasn’t wrong about the current situation. All signs pointed to what Bobby would do for a living when he was twelve and our family dog died. He decided to perform an autopsy to determine the cause of death.

“No need, Sparky,” My dad told him, calling him by his nickname. “He was old.”

“I still need to know what killed him.”

“He was old. Sometimes things just die for no reason. Animals, people, they just expire.”

“I can’t accept that.”

“Fine. Cut away, but clean up your mess,” my dad said.

Bobby did the autopsy, he couldn’t find anything and finally surmised the fifteen year old dog died of old age. My father called him ambitious, the family doctor actually suggested seeking help.

My brother searched for answers, never accepting anything scientific at face value.

Yeah, we sang his tune as if he were a superstar. In our eyes he was because if it wasn’t for Bobby we wouldn’t be alive to go stir crazy in the cabin, or cross out the days on the calendar.

The house was a mess and I expected as much. I didn’t really clean up before leaving for my midshift at Arby’s. Paul had worked since six am and grabbed the girls after school, I suspected he’d be in the kitchen on his tablet, winding down and grabbing the energy needed to deal with a four and six year old. My girls reminded me so much of me and my brother.

Addison was smart and no nonsense and Katie was aloof, I had my doubts that she’d graduate into kindergarten. Blue was green, red was pink, numbers were nothing to her and asking her to recite her ABCs caused the giggles and for her to tell me, “You’re bad.”

Bad because I asked her to say the alphabet. I could see myself saying the same thing.

She knew her songs though, every word, from every song from her favorite cartoon movies. Letters, not so much.

We were far from rich or perfect. Our house was a rented two bedroom tiny thing, but we were happy.

I entered the house through the kitchen door. I loved my kitchen, it was big and made up for the lack of a dining room.

I placed the Arby’s bags on the counter, the large one landed with a thump.

“What in the world?” Paul laughed as he jumped. He was still in his blue smock from his manager job at, ‘The Super Center’.

“Check this out. We had to change the ketchup bag,” I said. “Roy said I could keep it, they were only throwing it out. We’ll get like three weeks out of this sucker.” I showed him the large bag of ketchup.”

“Nice. Did you bring dinner?”

“We introduced a new sandwich. They aren’t bad.”

“Just so you know,” Paul said. “School sent another notice home. It started, Dear Mr. and Mrs. Carter, we regret to inform you that Addy is overweight.”

“What the hell? I don’t see it.” I said. “She looks healthy to me.”

“They said we need to watch her diet.”

“Well, school feeds her lunch and we feed her what I get for free or can afford.” I took the fries out and put them on the counter. “She’s fine.”

“Mommy!” Addy called. “Uncle Bobby is on TV.”

Immediately, I stopped what I was doing and rushed into the next room. Usually if Bobby was going to be on the news, he called so as not to alarm me. My heart pounded. My eyes transfixed to the split screen with my brother on the right, the words underneath read, ‘Dr. Robert Hanlan, Deputy Director, CDC.

“What’s going on?” I asked, Addy.

“The Governor wants to make a law to make all kids vaccinated. They’re asking Uncle Bobby about it.”

“Oh,” I exhaled with a, “Whew.”

Paul then ran in. He snapped his finger and pointed to Katie to get off the window sill. “You aren’t a cat. Down.”

Katie didn’t listen.

“Everything okay?” Paul asked.

“Yeah, some debate about vaccinations.”

“Did your brother get a promotion, it says director?”

“No.” I shook my head. “They probably couldn’t fit all the letters of his division or something.”

“Why is she watching Fox news?”

“I don’t know.” I looked at my daughter. “Addy, why are you watching Fox News?”

“Because I just finished watching CNN and want to be balanced.”

“You’re six.”

“I can be balanced at six.”

Paul whispered in my ear. “Your brother looks good. He put the weight back on.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not in the field as much anymore,” I said. “The divorce took its toll. He did get gray.”

“He got really gray.”

I snickered. “I’m gonna have to tease him.”

Suddenly, Katie announced. “Pappy is here! Gram Lisa too!”

The smile fell from my face. “Great, she was spotted.”

“They brought pizza.” Katie jumped down and ran to the door. “Pappy,” she screamed when she opened it.

“Hey, hey.” My father said. “Give me a hug.”

I didn’t turn around to greet him, I stayed focused on watching Bobby on the news even if I couldn’t hear what was being said.

“Is that your brother?” Lisa asked, planting a kiss to my cheek. “I didn’t recognize him with the weight back on and his gray hair.”

“Yeah, it’s been what? Only three months,” I said. “Maybe it’s just the camera.”

“Bobby’s on the news?” my father said. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just some vaccination debate,” I replied. “Why are you here?”

“We were in the neighborhood and brought dinner.”

“You live four houses down the street, you’re always in the neighborhood. You should have called, I brought dinner home.”

“Arby’s?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good thing I brought pizza.”

Lisa asked. “You didn’t bring the new sandwich did you?”

“I did, help yourself.”

“Come on, Earl, let’s get things on the table, I’m sure everyone is hungry,” Lisa said, walking into my kitchen.

My father paused as he walked by me. “Did Bobby call you to let you know he was going to be on?”

“No, not at all.”

“Odd,” my father said. “Maybe he’s just been busy.”

It was odd. Bobby did a lot of television appearances, the news loved him and the camera favored him, but he always called. He liked getting the family accolades and seeing him on the news without knowing ahead of time, caused us to get frazzled, especially knowing what his job was.

It was something so minor, him forgetting to call and brag, but it told me he had a lot on his mind, which turned out to be right.

He called just after midnight. I was still awake. “Hey, big brother.” I answered the phone. “Finally decided to call.”

“Hey, Niles, sorry, I was busy,” he said.

“We saw you on the news. Addy was watching and called us in.”

“Addy was watching Fox?”

“It’s part of her wanting to be well rounded and informed,” I said. “You looked good. You put the divorce weight back on. You got gray.”

“I know.”

“So why didn’t you call?” I asked.

“It’s been a hell of a day,” Bobby said. “Which is why I’m calling now.”

“This vaccine debate is that big?”

“No. No. Listen, there’s chatter.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked.

“Chatter. Talk. You won’t hear it on the internet or the news, not yet. I’ve been talking to my EIS guys all day.”

EIS, or Epidemic Intelligence Service, sort of like the CIA of the CDC. Bobby started out there. He used to tell us all kinds of stories, but the further he climbed up the ladder, the less we heard.

“EIS got a call yesterday,” he said. “We went in to investigate a slum outside of Patna, there is a strange outbreak. Ten infected, and seven dead today.”

“Where is Patna? Italy?”

“What the hell, Niles? Did you fail geography?”

“Actually, yeah.”

“It’s in India.”

“Well, at least it’s far away.”

“It’s a small world,” Bobby said. “It’s never more than an airplane ride away.”

“Why are you sounding so concerned?”

“Because I am. Do not tell Dad, not until I tell you to let him know. I’m watching this, we all are. If I see movement, I’ll be telling you what to do.”

“Oh my God.” The seriousness in his voice took me aback. “You’re scaring me. It’s only ten people.”

“Ten migrant workers in a city of two million. Lord knows where they were when they got infected, or who they had contact with after. At this point we don’t know how contagious it is, or how it’s contracted. Airborne, blood borne, who knows. We’re testing.”

“When will you know more?”

“A couple days. I’ll keep you posted as I can, and say nothing.”

“I promise. I won’t. Is there anything I can do in the meantime?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Bobby did this airy chuckle, almost emotional. “Pray. I can’t tell you yet what it does, what I saw and heard, but I can say this; it has exceeded my worst nightmares.”