Omega Virus (Book 2): Revisited (17 page)

              “I might have something for that,” Cynthia says in her raspy voice, a crooked smile showing her yellow stained teeth.

              “What do you mean?” The Major asks befuddled.

              “Before the Zombie uprising I worked as a pharmacologist for a small independent company. We specialized in making cheap, organic medicine that would be affordable for the average person,” She says between coughs as she totters across the floor to a wooden cabinet screwed into the wall. She pulls the handles open revealing dozens of glass jars each one with a strip of medical tape across it and incomprehensible words written in green marker. She shuffles through the bottles before pulling out ones she needs. I knew that our medicine would only last so long, and I knew that I would have to put my skills to good use. So I had those who were planting the garden on the roof throw in some herbs and plants that I could use to make certain medicines and low grade antibiotics.” She sits down on the cot and gestures for Fanny to join her. Fanny reluctantly agrees, with a little prodding from Hope. Cynthia twists open the first jar releasing a foul stench. She runs her finger through the goop pulling out a small dollop of the light green salve.

              “Oh, that smells horrible,” Fanny says, with a whimper as Cynthia applies the medication.

              “It’s not about the smell, it’s about the effect,” Cynthia reminds harshly, pushing her finger harder against the open wound.

              “What is that?” Amanda asks blocking her nose and taking a few steps back trying to escape the smell.

              “It’s a mixture of a few things, the main ingredient though is the seeds of a plant called the ‘great burdock.’ That’s what gives it its green coloring and… unforgettable smell,” Cynthia explains before pulling her finger away and wiping it off on the cot. “Now don’t go wiping that off. I know it smells, and possibly burns slightly but I don’t have enough of this for you to just go and waste it, so deal with it.”

              Cynthia gets back up, her old legs shaking underneath her as she tries to find her balance. She hobbles back over to the cabinet and puts the jar back. The others are each trying to be polite, doing their best to ignore the smell.

              “Ugh,” Fanny groans again, “this is so gross!”

              “Yeah but it’s better than dying of an infection,” Mika coughs.

              “Here,” Cynthia says, holding out another small jar full of a dark red liquid. Fanny takes it tentatively, and slowly begins screwing off the lid. She swirls the fluid around, the sweet smell wafts out of the jar sneaking past the putrid smell of the cream. “Drink it.”

              “What?” Fanny asks taken aback.

              “Drink it. It will help,” Cynthia says with a sly smile.

              Fanny holds the rim of the jar up to her lips and sips the liquid slowly. She coughs violently patting her chest as a burning feeling works its way down her insides.

              “What is that?” She asks handing the jar back to Cynthia.

              “My own kind of booze,” Cynthia says taking a swig from the jar before screwing the top back on. “Thought you could use a drink after everything you’ve been through.”

              “It’s kind of strong,” Fanny says before coughing again, her hand resting on her chest.

              “Yeah it is not very subtle, but it does the trick,” She cackles before popping the top off and takin a swig herself.

              “How did you acquire all this stuff?” Mika asks glaring at the red liquid.

              “Time and dedication,” Cynthia responds, teasing him with the jar before taking a second sip, “but mostly time.”

              “The gym supplied us with water,” Justin says speaking freely and stepping away. He tries to fix his glasses but they slide slightly to the left as soon as he takes a step. “There were bottles everywhere. Stuffed to capacity in most of the storage and back room, several in the cooler behind the counter and so forth. There was also an ample supply of protein powder that held us over until we were able to scavenge for more food.”

              “We also started a garden on the roof,” Brad chimes in, still as chipper as ever.

              “Yes, it started as a means to help me keep up with herbs and eventually grew into several different fruits and vegetables,” Cynthia adds.

              “We’ve also built up a collection of things we’ve taken from stray wanderers,” Justin says, his glasses almost reflecting the candle light in dark, evil way.

              “What are you saying?” Hope asks.

              “Were you planning on taking the few weapons and supplies we have?” The Major asks angrily.

              “No,” Cynthia says after giving her son an upset look, “we only take from those that don’t survive. It’s very trying here; many get saved by us and ask for protection thinking this is a haven of some sorts. They don’t realize all the hard work and effort that it took for us to live like this. To survive as long as we have. For us this isn’t just dumb luck or some nuclear bomb site developed by the former government who only meant to help and protect their own.”  Cynthia trails off after her rant.

              “That’s fine,” Fanny says scooting to the bottom of her cot, “we won’t be staying long.”

              “Fanny, you need to heal,” Hope says getting in front of her friend.

              “I’m fine,” Fanny groans trying to mask the pain as it radiates throughout her body.

              “Don’t be a stupid child,” Cynthia says harshly, “lay back down and rest, let the wounds heal.”

              “I doubt I’d be able to sleep with the crud on my face,” Fanny mutters under his breath.

              “You won’t know until you try,” Hope says, forcing her to lie down on the cot.

Fanny mumbles under her breath as the others leave her to rest. Hope keeps an eye on her, watching as she tosses and slides around uncomfortable.

“You worry about your friend a lot, don’t you?” Cynthia asks breaking Hope’s fixed concentration.

“Yeah,” Hope answers softly.

“It’s a hard thing,” Cynthia says.

“What is?” Hope asks confused.

“Dealing with the thoughts of losing someone. You look like you’re two young to remember what life was like before the end,” Cynthia says as she runs her frail, wrinkled fingers around her neck revealing a thin golden chain.

“I’m only sixteen,” Hope admits, “I was born after all this. But I was sheltered, born on an island of survivors.”

At the end of the chain there is a small, silver tarnished heart shaped locket. She fingers it as she listens to Hope talk. When she finishes she opens it revealing a picture of her younger self on the left side and an unknown man on the right. The man looks almost like Justin, with the exception of the full head of hair and a more spirited smile.

“Who’s that?” Hope asks.

“That is my late husband Wesley,” Cynthia says with a reminiscing smile, “I lost him almost three years before the Armageddon hit us. He was my life force for so long, my high school sweet heart and my first love. After he died I thought I’d never be able to move on.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Hope asks.

“I’ve been watching you with your loud, obnoxious friend over there,” Cynthia replies.

“What about her?” Hope asks becoming frustrated.

“You have to be prepared for the day when you might lose her,” Cynthia says before staring at her husband’s photo again. “It’s hard. People used to say it gets easier with time, but it doesn’t. That pain is always there. Always rearing its head at inopportune times.”

“Then what do you do?”

“You live. With each person lost its best to remember that you have two options. The first is the easier of the two, you could do nothing and let the pain and guilt eat at you until you become old and bitter,” Cynthia’s voice fades away.

“And the second choice?”

“I already told you, live,” Cynthia smiles.

Hope glances over at her friend, still lying restless on the cot. A stiff feeling of sadness builds up in her stomach, like a punch of reality knocking the wind out of her. She looks back at Cynthia hoping to rid herself of the pain she is feeling.

“Can I ask,” Hope starts her voice trembling slightly, “How did Wesley die?”

“Heart attack,” Cynthia says solemnly, her hand creeping across her chest as she speaks. “It was sudden, in fact it was a shock because he always took such good care of himself. He woke up, did his morning routine but never made it out the door. Justin is actually the one who found him that morning, woke me up with such an ear shattering screech.”

“I’m sorry,” Hope mumbles.

“Don’t be,” Cynthia says reaching for the jar of red liquid, swishing it around a few times before removing the top and taking a few sips.

“Excuse me,” Mika says after clearing his throat, “but is there any way I could take a sip of that?”

“I guess,” Cynthia utters holding out the jar.

Mika holds the jar in his hand, the sweet aroma wafting out of the jar, forcing its way into his nose giving him a slight shiver as he brings the jar to his lips slowly allowing the fluid to enter his mouth. He swishes it around from cheek to cheek making sure each taste bud gets its fill before swallowing it.

“Oh how I’ve missed this,” Mika says.

“Been a while?” Cynthia asks.

“Just under fifteen years,” Mika replies wanting to take another sip but not wanting to over step his limitations, “but this brings me back, back to a time I’ve almost forgotten.”

“Then why don’t you finish that jar?” Cynthia asks with a sly wink.

“Really? Are you sure?” Mika asks excitedly.

“Yeah, why not,” Cynthia answers with a shrug, “I should have some more ready to go by the morning.”

“Oh,” Mika groans, almost drooling as he takes another sip, “you are an amazing woman Cindy.”

Fire burns in her eyes. She gets to her feet and swipes the jar from his hand and smashes it on the ground leaving glass and liquid all around his feet

“What did you call me?” She asks irritably, her nose inches from Mika’s.

“Cindy,” Mika says confused, “that’s your name isn’t it?”

“No, my name is Cynthia, CYNTHIA, do you heard me?” She yells frantically as her arms flail wildly in front of her.

              She walks away upset still grumbling under her breath, her hands still flapping almost in rhythm as she walks.

              “What’s her problem?” Mika asks.

              Hope shrugs, “who knows.”

              “Oh well. It’s getting late, maybe we should get some rest,” Mika says.

              “Maybe soon. I think I want to write a little,” Hope replies offering a half smile.

              “Alright, but please promise me you’ll try to rest soon. It’s been a long day,” Mika smiles back, his hand lingering on her knee as he slowly moves away.

              Hope watches as the others pull away, most of her new friends already lying down. The Major sits across the room, his head hung low as he sleeps his back pressed up against the wall. Amanda and Brad are still talking, slight whispers and giggles coming from their back corner. Fanny is finally asleep, Mika is resting close to Fanny’s cot but Hope isn’t sure if he is actually asleep of just lying there. Cynthia and Justin are both sitting at a small round table the echoes of cards shuffling can be heard fluttering softly close by. Hope takes a deep breath as she tries to block out each of the sounds as she pulls her little pink book out of her pocket a black pen sliding out with it.

             
I know it’s been a while but it’s hard to keep my thoughts in order. Even now I only find myself writing as a way to escape from the pain and stress we’ve faced recently. When last I wrote we found a wonderful bunker and things were starting to look up for us. But in the course of a few days we’ve destroyed the bunker, burned it to the ground. Not intentionally yet I still feel like the blame should be on our shoulders. Fanny pushed so hard to get the radio up and running and because of it we left hundreds without a home. It’s also the reason Karen, John and Sara have lost their lives. Each of their blood is now on our hands, my hands. And now I sit here with pain and heaviness in my heart at their loss and still I know it could be worse. Fanny was attacked again and again she was given life threating injures which could have been avoided if she wasn’t so bull headed rushing into a fight she wasn’t prepared for. I fear it won’t be long until my friend is dead if she continues to make rash decisions.

              Hope rereads her words, the black ink starting to fade from her sight as she starts to drift off to sleep the thought that her friend might not make it home with her becoming the last thing to enter her mind.