This Plague of Days Season One (The Zombie Apocalypse Serial) (13 page)

After a long silence, Oliver told the family about Charlotte. He had seen her when he first entered the emergency department. Long lines of the sick snaked everywhere. Someone handed out masks at the door so everyone looked the same. “Charlotte stood out because she had the most amazing long red hair. I saw her come and go. Lovely green eyes. She was tall. You couldn’t miss her.”

There wasn’t a bed or a cot for Oliver at the hospital for the first day. “I’d have done better staying home on the couch. At least then I’d have the TV for company.”

“Tell us more about the hospital,” Theo said.

“Crowded. Charlotte told me that before things had gotten out of hand, there were more doctors and nurses and they could at least make people more comfortable. By the time I got there, they were running low on drugs. It’s not just the epidemic. Everything else that hospitals do is shut down, too. Think of all those cancer clinics, the people who need dialysis. Right now their kidneys are killing them, blowing up and bursting or whatever they do when people don’t get treatment that, last month, was a simple thing.” He ran a hand through his thin white hair.

“Charlotte wasn’t a nurse, you know. She was a massage therapist. She’d worked in a spa before everything went to hell.”

“What was she doing there?” Anna asked.

“She was sent there. She told me The Powers That Be sent a truck around. When so many doctors and nurses refused to report for work, the government used all the addresses to anyone who could even remotely be considered a health care worker. Poor Charlotte. She didn’t want to go, but they made her. She had a baby boy she left with her husband. She was a gopher, fetching this and that, moving bodies, helping people to the toilet and rinsing bed pans. She told me there were a couple optometrists who were telling her what to do but they weren’t doing anything themselves.”

“They sent a truck?” Theo said, incredulous.

“Government always does what it wants. In times like these, more of their dirty business meets the light, that’s all. They kick in doors overseas and we don’t blink. We shouldn’t be so surprised they’ll do it here, too, if it suits them.”

“What happened to Charlotte?” Anna asked.

“Oh, I saw her at the beginning and the end. She got me a bed. I remember that. I was blubbering like a baby, asking her not to forget about me. I was on a cold tile floor when she found me. That felt kind of good at first but as time went on, I’d have sold my soul for a mattress to die on. She came back for me though. She remembered me and now all I can do is remember her.”

Charlotte came back with a wheelchair and helped him to a bed. “The sheets were still warm and sweat-soaked, but I didn’t care at that point,” he said. “I thought I was lying down for the last time.”

A harried nurse inserted an intravenous needle into his arm to remedy his dehydration. Oliver saw one doctor, once, in all the time he was in the hospital. He didn’t see Charlotte for days and when he did see her again, she was a patient.
 

“It was bad, especially at night,” he said. “The days were boring and I was in and out of consciousness. Nightmares teach that boring isn’t so awful. I remember watching a digital clock and the numbers were fighting each other. It was this grand battle. I watched and it made perfect sense at the time. Fever cooked my brain a bit.”

“But you got better and they discharged you?” Anna said.

“No one discharged me. I woke up last night and I decided I wasn’t dying anymore. My sweat was cold and I felt hungry. I figured that had to be a good sign. When I sat up, I was the only person in the room still breathing. There were ten of us. Four were covered up. The rest just lay there, died in the night, I guess. The air smelled of shit and vomit and I figured I was alive, but if I wanted to stay that way, I’d better get the hell out of there. What we used to say in jest was never more true: The hospital is a terrible place for a sick person.”

“
Everyone
was dead?” Anna shuddered.

“No, no. There were people moving around here and there. Looked like a horror movie. It was so quiet. I think it would almost be a comfort if someone had had the energy for a good full-throated scream and wail. Instead, the quiet was eerie. I think everybody went numb. Families carried their dead out if they had the gumption. If you could head to the exit, you did. A hospital without doctors and nurses and medicine is just a lot of brick and mortar with germs and viruses breeding.”

Jaimie straightened. The word for hospital-bred infection is
nosocomial
. It made him think of viruses shooting up noses.
 

Oliver laughed a ragged cackle. “In the hallway outside my room there was a fellow on a gurney. He was propped up, reading a book of poetry and looking like an oblivious twit. The cover of his book read
Evil Poems for Everyday People
. Can you beat that? I looked around and I thought, who needs any more evil in their heads than what’s all around us in the real world?”
 

“I offered to help him get out of there. The man said his back was bothering him and he was going to wait for someone to X-ray it. He refused to leave. I said maybe an optometrist would look at his back if he was lucky and I kept going. Moron.”

“About Charlotte,” Anna said. “Tell us.”

He spotted Charlotte by her long red hair in the waiting room. There were people sitting around her, coughing into their masks or trying to sleep in chairs. “I chose to think a bunch were sleeping, but I knew mostly, they were dead or dying. No other reason to be there. I had to pick my way across the floor, stepping between bodies.

“When I spotted Charlotte, she had a carpenter’s sawdust mask over her mouth and nose. She held her little blue baby in a blue blanket. She stared down into her baby’s face. I spoke to her like she was still there. I told her how she had to take the baby and get out because she was better off at home.” Oliver looked at the ceiling, as if studying the stucco for a pattern that gave him reasons and answers.

“The baby had a strip of cloth covering its mouth and nose. The boy stared back at his mother. They had the same beautiful green eyes.”
 

Anna’s face drained white.
 

“The germs are winning,” Oliver said.

He began to cry and spoke through choked sobs. “I pulled their masks back. I-I’d n-never seen skin…so blue. I couldn’t believe it. I c-couldn’t understand it. Whoever the powers that be are, they murdered that poor girl and her baby.”

Jaimie wanted to tell the old man the word he needed to understand was
cyanotic
. Of course, he didn’t.

Pay the Piper's Cost

A
far away bell banged to a steady beat as Douglas Oliver ate a second piece of toast on the Spencer’s couch. Jaimie wasn’t allowed to eat in the living room, though his sister broke the rule often. The word
impunity
sprung up in his mind, looking red and sharp around the edges of the
p
and
t
.
 

The bell rang louder as someone approached, a clear, happy jangle. The Spencers and Oliver walked outside, stood on the front step for a moment and moved to the lawn to get a better look. At last, a brightly painted red and yellow van turned the corner at the top of their street. The vehicle moved at a walking pace.
 

On the side of the truck body were the words: Burko’s Knife Sharpening and Small Repairs. The bell was suspended from a side mirror and the driver pulled a rope and clapper to send out the merry peal.
 

Four men in coveralls, gas masks and gloves that reached to their elbows walked behind the truck. The truck stopped every 100 feet. The men split into pairs, each team headed for a house on opposite sides of the street. Behind the van, another truck idled. It looked like it was used for transporting livestock.
 

No one said anything. Everyone but Jaimie knew instinctively what purpose the procession served. Jack reached out and gently removed Jaimie’s baseball cap from his head and gave it to him to hold.
 

In the back of the farm truck lay long black bags. Piled atop them were long white plastic bags. On top of that, they could see two bodies, blank eyes watching an indifferent blue sky.
 

Jaimie had never seen a dead body. He noticed something he had never seen in another person. The dead have no aura. Without breath, people are just things. Whatever they had been, they weren’t that now. This was a spiritual realization in which to take comfort. The sight of the dead bothered him no more than would a truckload of coffee tables. The things that had once been people were just more inanimate objects throwing no interesting colors. Whatever spirit there might have been had gone elsewhere, fled to wherever it is energy goes.
 

Odd, he thought that there is no word for “one without an aura”, but there is a word for “one without a shadow”:
Ascian
. Perhaps that would do.

The driver rang his bell again and this time called out, “Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!”
 

“He enjoying himself, you think?” Jack asked.

Theo shrugged.

“Gone a little crazy, maybe,” Oliver said. “Perhaps it’s early days for that, though. This isn’t the end. This is the beginning.”

As his family stood transfixed, Jaimie noticed a small anthill at his feet at the edge of the driveway. He bent to watch the ants scurry back and forth. Their movement looked random at first, but each ant had a purpose. He bent closer, squinting. He could just make out a tiny yellowish and dirty red aura around each ant.
 

He took a deep breath through his nose but, to his disappointment, the boy could detect no smell. He’d read that not only was there an odor trail each ant could lay down for others to follow, each species, colony and nest had distinctive smells. Jaimie could detect nothing.

How much else, he wondered, was laid out before him but beyond his reach? Did ignorance bother people, or were they content to know less and live in tiny, narrow worlds? Everyone he knew could use their voices at will, but they didn’t ask nearly as many questions as he would like to do.

The men knocked on doors, rung doorbells and called out to whoever might be in hiding. A young woman appeared at her front door clutching a wine bottle. She was a teacher who had moved in a few doors down on the opposite side of the street the previous fall. She wore a pink bathrobe and fuzzy bunny slippers. Before the men were halfway up the walk, she shook her head, waved them off and slammed her door.

The ringing continued, as if the van’s driver were working at a faster pace than the plodding carriers of the dead.

“I’m getting déjà vu,” Oliver said. “Bolivia, 1982. Toronto in 1988. In Bolivia, I was doing a diamond deal when a fever went through a little village. That took the babies and the old people. I didn’t feel scared then. I was young and healthy and I didn’t think anything could touch me. It was just sad and, to be honest, kind of an adventure. I told stories about dead bodies being carried out around me for years. Cocktail chatter.”

He looked at his shoes. “Then in the late ’80s, I lost many friends. So many beautiful young men with so much promise died all around me, wasting away, their immune systems blasted. Still, it didn’t get me. And here I am in the middle of another epidemic. It almost killed me this time, but still, here I am. It’s unfathomable.”

Jack and Theo both reached out to put a hand on the old man’s shoulders as they watched the men carry Al Bendham’s body to the rear truck in a sheet. There was a moment of awkward jockeying as the men tossed the body up on top of the pile and flopped it over. The sheet came away so they could see their neighbor’s body. The men covered him with the same sheet they’d used to carry him.
 

A slender, bald man wearing a hospital mask stepped down from the van’s driver’s seat. Carrying a clipboard, he jogged to the Bendham house and walked in without knocking. A moment after he disappeared inside, a shriek went up and they watched as he back-pedaled out. Mrs. Bendham, arms straight, pushed him with both hands. He, too, kept both arms straight. He held the clipboard between them like a shield.

“SD!” the man yelled. “SD! SD!” The four men by the truck didn’t move. They watched, a low chuckle betraying their amusement.

Oliver ran toward the Bendham house. His burst of speed surprised the onlookers, considering his age.
 

“Take it easy, Douglas!” Theo called. “You’re still recovering!”

Heedless, Oliver pulled Mrs. Bendham back and held her by the shoulders.
 

“I just need a name, date of birth and when he died,” the man with the clipboard said. “Official statistics!”

“Where are you taking him?” Mrs. Bendham yelled. “Where are you taking my husband?”

“We’re taking all the bodies outside of town. North. There’s a farm up there where we’re…where they’re all going. For public safety.”

Mrs. Bendham looked up into Oliver’s lined face, hesitated and, through gritted teeth, gave the man the information he wanted.
 

“Beware men with clipboards,” Mr. Oliver said.

The man made a note and returned to the truck as two men stepped toward Oliver’s house. “Never mind that one, you buggers. That’s
my
house! You won’t get me! I’m immortal!”
 

The other pair came up the Spencer’s driveway. “Anything for us?” one asked quietly.
 

Jaimie stayed crouched over the ants but, as the newcomers approached, he looked up warily at the big strangers.
 

Anna, Theo and Jack shook their heads so the man turned to go.
 

“What’s SD?” Jack asked.
 

“Social distancing,” the bigger man of the two said. “Don’t mind the boss, there,” tossing his head toward the man in the red truck. “He rings that bell real good but that’s about it. Please excuse him. He’s an idiot.”

“But he’s awesome at ringing that damn bell,” the other man said.