Humanity Gone: After the Plague (2 page)

Chapter 2: Jonathon

              I shut the door and lock it with my sister around my left arm.  Dad had passed away in the night and we just finished our goodbyes.  We didn't know where to take him.  911 was busy every time we had tried to call in his last few hours.  I never imagined feeling so alone in the middle of a city.  Outside, the world seems to be getting louder and louder; it is the deafening sound of death striking home after home.  When I look down from the sixteenth story of our apartment complex, I see crowds swarming the streets.  Our neighbors on either side have remained silent.  Either they are dead or have already left the city.  I guide my sister to the dining room table, her unfinished cake still before her.  As dad became worse and worse, she never left his side and her project remained unfinished.  Inhaling, I barely make out the smell of the frosting, still waiting to be decorated.

             
I walk to the window and press my forehead against the glass.  The orange glow of morning lights up the streets and the masses of people below.  Cars honk, people yell, and there seem to be a few dead bodies just lying alongside some buildings.  No, they must be just resting.  How could people just leave someone dead alongside a building?  They can’t be dead and just lying there.  My eyes twitch back and forth.  My hand, unbidden, rises to my face to wipe away the tears that I anticipate.  But none surface.  As I force my hand slowly to my side, I consider why.  Maybe I am in shock.

             
I take my head off the window and turn to see my sister whose head has sagged, supported by her arm stretched across the table.  Tears have not abandoned her.  We knew this was coming, but it didn't make it any easier.  Before my father died, he reached with a finger and beckoned for me to come nearer.  I sat on the wooden stool next to his bed and Jocelyn stood at the foot of his bed.  It took all his strength as he took a deep breath and began.

             
“Both of you...” coughs rattled his sentences, “get out of the city.  Things are going to get bad out there.  Man vs. Man. Get into the country.  Take care of each other.  It will get better.  Until...” he worked his jaw, trying to manage his breath.  Dad had given a lot of thought into his final words. “Take the gun, all the essentials here, and the car.  Don't stop anywhere.  People will get desperate. They won't act like they normally will, even children will change. Humanity will disappear.”  He seemed to have no life left.  He was completely drained and sweat soaked his hair and pillow.  Without warning, he reached up grabbed my shirt and pulled me inches from his mouth.

“
Don't let me down again.”

That last exertion rendered him unconscious.  That would be the last thing he ever said to me.  For a few moments I hated him for leaving me with that.  I have tried so hard to make up for my sins.  It never was enough for him.  By the time he took in his final breath, that hate turned into understanding.  I promised him and myself at that moment, when I pulled the sheet over his face, that I would not mess up again.  Not like last time...

              “We need to get started,” I say to Jo after a long silence, still leaning with my fist against the window.  I quickly explain what dad suggested to me in the end.  It sounded good enough for me.  Better than our idea to try and run for the border.  She looks up at me, nodding through the tears.

             
Before I know it, Jo and I are running about the apartment packing book-bags and the single suitcase we owned.  We load the black suitcase with all of the food from the kitchen that would last: canned soup, peanut butter, crackers, a few bottles of water, rice, and some other random assortments we could manage from the already meager cabinets.  Our last shopping trip was a week ago and the grocery store was already bare.  People were stocking up.

             
We each gather some clothes.  Fall had just begun so we also want to prepare for the winter ahead.  We pack everything as tightly as we can and place it by the door.  The piece of luggage is heavy but luckily it has some wheels and our backpacks pull tightly against our shoulders.  As we stand there, we both glance back at the apartment.  I think we both feel the same eerie feeling: we will never see our home again.  This was not our first home, in fact we had moved around a lot, but it was our longest home in the past few years since mom died.   Beside the television set was a photograph from three years ago, the last one with mom.  It was at some picnic.  We all look so happy.  Dad smiles ear to ear with mom around his left arm and Jo and me under his right.  Jo was starting to look a lot like mom.  They had the same strawberry blonde hair and wore it nearly the same way.  Dad and I didn't look too much alike, but we shared the same eyes.  That was one of the last times we would be together as a family.  We lost mom a few weeks later.  Now, we just lost dad.  I feel the tears from earlier creep up on me.  I shake my head.  Jo seems to have read my mind as she goes to the photograph, takes it out of the frame, and tucks it into her bag.

             
I almost forgot. There is only one more thing to get.

I finally step over to the closet and bring down my dad's safe box, or whatever you call it.  The combination is simple: 888.  I look in at its contents, and a small revolver with a half empty box of bullets peers back up.  I don't really like guns.  I stuff it in my jacket pocket and put the rest of the bullets in my book bag.  My sister gives me a weary look. 

              “You could never use that.” she says, worried.  And she is right.

             
“I know,” as I fumble with it in my pocket, trying to make it look less noticeable. “It may help with a bluff though.  Hey, maybe I could shoot a deer with it when we get settled.” Jocelyn’s eyebrow rises. I don't know the first thing about deer hunting.   I exhale with a mild grin.  It was a poor joke.

             
“We'll figure it out,” she returns with a half smile.  A smile of uncertainty. “Let's get going. Dad would have wanted us to leave as soon as we could.”

             
“What should we do with dad?” I ask.  Leaving him there didn't seem like the best option.  He should be buried. Jo looks at me and her eyes show a struggle with what to do.

             
“If things get under control we will come back and take care of him.  There's no time.” She responds.  It’s not what she wants to do, but it's what we have to do.

I pull the door to the hallway open and slowly step outside as a very reasonable fear settles in. I don't know what to expect out here, and I don’t know if I’ll be capable of making all the right decisions.  This apartment was the last place we had control.  Outside-things were completely out of our hands.  Jo begins slowly down the hall toward the staircase that leads to the parking garage.  There’s no time to obsess about the future now; we need to move.  Instinctively, I turn and lock the door behind me.  Habit, I guess.

              We begin our walk slowly down the hall.  The hall feels like a passageway to hell.  It’s quiet except for the muffled noises in the streets echoing through the wall.  After going down one flight of stairs, it gets dark.

             
The power goes out.

             
It is pitch black aside from the emergency exit sign that leads to the parking garage.  We fumble through the dark as I drag the luggage down the steps. I open the door to the garage and my eyes adjust to the light.  My nose fills with an awful stench and I try to grab Jo's head to cover her eyes, but I am too late.

Chapter 3: Jocelyn

             
Bodies.  At least half a dozen piled on top of each other beside the entrance to the garage. I could tell that Jon had tried his best to turn my head, but the horrors lock my gaze. Maggots and flies swarm the gray faces as they glare up at me.  I turn and taste vomit in my mouth.  This is barbaric that someone would leave this here.  No one even tried to cover them up.  They just lay there.  Jon takes my bags and nudges me along.  I don't know why, but my legs feel like bricks.  It seems they want me to stand there and gaze at these sunken faces.  But soon, I move on.  I ask for my bags back, but he says not to worry about it.  Jon tries to be protective; it makes him feel better.

             
I wipe my mouth with my arm. 

             
“I'm okay; let's just keep going,” I mumble out.  I'm really not sure if I am, but I needed to say it.  I start to walk quicker, ahead of Jon, to where we parked the car last week.  Not many cars are left.  A few have shattered windows and the resulting shards of glass crunch beneath my boots. They seem to have been rummaged through and some have their gas tank lids open.  I hear the wheels of the luggage as Jon follows me, but they don’t come close to drowning out the sound of the people outside.  The crowds in the streets seem louder in the garage.   I feel so uneasy, thinking about how everything would become so mad, especially when Jon and I have remained so calm throughout this ordeal.  I guess we are a minority.   We arrive at dad's white SUV and load in what’s left of our home.  Luckily, unlike most of the cars in the garage, it hasn't been damaged. Jon takes the driver seat.  We drive down the gray concrete garage. Jon has to steer around a few cars that look like they’ve broken down.  Our SUV takes us around and around to the exit of the garage.  I put on my sunglasses as the early sun blinds my vision at the exit.

             
I wish I could have remained blind because the streets lie in complete chaos.  It’s indescribably painful to see my home and my neighbors tearing themselves apart.  Storefronts along the tall buildings are shattered open.  Bodies line the streets.  I see people yelling, just next to some children who are crying without anyone paying them any mind. 

             
“This isn't possible.” I mutter to Jon.  He brings the car to a stop right outside the parking garage.  His bulging eyes and slightly open mouth convey that he’s just as shocked.

             
“My God, this is out of control. It seemed…more contained from so far up.  It was not even this bad yesterday. We need to get out of here.”   As Jon finishes his last words, I see a man point toward us.  He must be approaching his twenties.  The man's mouth moves, as if to shout to all of those around him.  I cannot hear him.  At least twenty more eyes peer at us.  Most are teenagers.

             
“Jon, get us out of here. What do they want?”

             
He turns the car away from the strangers and hits the accelerator. “Probably a running car. Not a lot of people in the city have a car-everyone who did probably left, or at least tried.”

             
Few people dwell in the opposite direction of that soon-to-be mob.  I turn around and watch as the crowd of people, my age, slowly drifts away.  After I breathe a sigh of relief, Jon and I exchange glances and drive forward.  Young children look lost and older ones try to give comfort.  Maybe they are headed to hospitals and police stations in search of some help-any help.  Some seem to be all alone, and I feel horrible for them.  I wish I could help all of them somehow. A few more cars pass us on the left, on the other side of the yellow line.  We are all heading out of the city, and I imagine that some of these people don’t even know where their ultimate destination is.

             
Jon slouches down to look at the road signs at the top of the telephone poles.  “We need to get to one of the bridges.”

             
Jon pulls up to a red light and the car comes to a halt.  There doesn't seem to be any cross-traffic, but why chance it, I guess.  There’s certainly no reason to stop for fear of the police.  As we are stopped, Jon looks over to me.

             
“We are gonna make it though this, I promise.” he fakes a smile.  I know he means it, but this madness is far out of either of our control.

             
“I know.” I say back, not making eye contact.  I push my hair behind my ear and stare at the red light.  Jon leans forward and squints his eyes at me.  No, not at me- past me and out the window.  I turn my head and see a boy waving; he is maybe 18 or 19.  Behind him, there are a few others of his age.  He returns Jon's look with a smile and approaches the car.  Jon rolls down my window to talk to him. The boy’s head is only a few feet from my own.

             
“Hey, Darry.  Man!  How have you been making out?”  Jon asks, observing Darry’s fatigued features.  He sounds almost too casual.   Our father just died.  Most of the city just died.  My chest tightens.

             
“My folks were two of the first to go, right when school was canceled. We have been managing ever since. Good to see you made it out alright.”  Darry slowly responds.  His sunken eyes shift to me then back to Jon.  He leans in slightly and looks into the backseat. “Where are you two headed?”

             
“Out of here.  I thought the country may be a better place to wait this one out.”  Jon answers as I nod in agreement.  Dad thought we should get out to the country.  Regardless, the plan seems strange to discuss with others.  Darry looks to the left and his right then back to Jon.