Notes From the End of the World (4 page)

Chapter 5

September 16

Cindy

It’s been two days since the Shambler came onto the campus. There’s rumors of a county-wide curfew being issued, but nothing’s happened so far. The sun hovers above the trees like a big orange ball and everything out front of our house has this soft red glow. Warmth. It's a good life, a normal life—a little boring, a little pale, I suppose. Later, maybe I’ll understand how spoiled we’ve become by the ease of life in Palm Dale. Never wanting for anything other than a few more minutes on the soccer field or an extra half-hour at the mall on a school night.

I wonder if the N-Virus will turn out to be the bitchslap of all bitchslaps. We live in a world of spoiled brats and it’s reckoning time.

A typical Thursday night in the Scott household—Audrey leaving on a date with Nick and pretending she’s still into him although we all know she’s a cheat, and me, changing out of my practice gear. My legs still have the impressions of the shinguards—a nifty look if I want to go out in a skirt or shorts later. My knees are scraped—hardly the mark of sophistication, but what the hell. They’re always scraped during soccer season. Besides, my big night out consists of the library or hanging with Amy or Melissa or someone other boring, only vaguely popular girl who can’t scare up more than one or two dates a month. We might go to the J.V. game, which will mark us as eternally desperate for something to do, or we can go to the aforementioned mall, which also reeks of desperation—at least for me.

Maybe the N-Virus will get so out of hand, we’ll end up living inside the mall like in
Dawn of the Dead.

***

September 21

I didn’t imagine things would changed so much in only a week. My turn at volunteering at the hospital has come back around. Dad warned me things are spiraling downward at an alarming rate, but when I step through the automatic doors of the E.R., the scene is enough to make me want to turn around and flee back out into the sunny parking lot.

First, the stench hits me like someone shoved dirty socks in my face. The odor of illness permeates the air, like the stink of garbage left to putrefy out in the heat. I breathe through my mouth to keep from gagging. Throwing up is not a good impression on those who are already ill. Besides, Dad told me that the first time I let things in the E.R. get to me will be my last time volunteering.

Gurneys line both sides of the hallway, leaving only enough space to navigate through, each one occupied by a sweating, moaning body. The normally quiet corridor is terrible a choir of crying, grunting, and delirious babbling. Those who are able pray softly—a troublesome murmur that makes the little hairs on my arms stand up.

I rush through, my head down. I don’t want to look anyone in the face. I don’t want to make eye contact with those I can’t help.

I don’t want to see anyone I might recognize.

I don’t want to touch them or want them touching me, although I well know by now how the N-Virus is transmitted. Still, it’s as if the simple act of dying is contagious and I want no part of it. Maybe Audrey’s right. Is helping others so important that I’ll risk my own skin?

As I check in, I can’t help noticing how everyone’s demeanor has changed. The jovial, often caustic banter has morphed into this strange solemnness. Boisterous Sara only nods as I step behind the counter. I pull on a labcoat over the ill-fitting scrubs Dad has given me, a nameplate embossed with the legend “volunteer” pinned over my left breast. My name isn’t Cindy now—it’s “volunteer.” I wonder if this is almost as desperate as going to a J.V. game or hanging out at the mall with a couple of semi-popular girls. A “volunteer”—I’m doing this for nothing in return.

Audrey’s dumb attitude must have rubbed off on me today. I shove the notion aside and wait for someone to tell me what to do.

The bustle of the E.R. is beyond chaotic. There seems to be double the staff on the floor, everyone moving from gurney to gurney, checking blood pressure, listening to chests, adjusting blankets. It all amounts very little, it seems.

I watch, uneasy, wondering where Dad is in all this…confusion.

“Make sure you wear a mask and gloves at all times today,” someone says. I turn to find a tall, older nurse shoving a pair of latex gloves at me. “I’m Sylvia, by the way. I’m supposed to be retired, but it seems they need me. Don’t you think?”

“Looks like it,” I agree, tugging on the gloves. “Have you seen my dad? Dr. Scott?”

“You’re Ben Scott’s daughter? I should’ve guessed—you look like him. A good thing,” she adds, winking. “What’s your name?”

I told her.

Sylvia looks as though she’s been on her feet for two days straight. Her mascara has smudged, making her appear as if she’s been crying. “Your dad’s around here somewhere.”

I reach into the supply cabinet and take out a mask. It’s only then that I realize my hands are shaking. Sometimes I get a case of nerves at the beginning of a soccer match—especially with a tough team—but this is something else. I’m suddenly terrified. For myself, for my dad, for my little town.

Sylvia notices. She touches my arm. “This will pass. All things do. We’ve had these halls filled with cases of flu and I thought we’d never get to everyone. Sometimes people die and that’s the tough part of this job.” She sighs. “But you’re here because you want to help, right?”

“Yes,” I answer, wondering if I’m just saying what I know people want to hear.

“Good, because we need you.”

We need you.
I almost want to look around and see who this woman is talking to. Either way, I put on the mask—it’s one of those that cover my nose and mouth and has the clear plastic shield over my eyes. I feel like I’m playing dress-up.

That’s until Sylvia leads me back down the packed corridor. She pulls me to her and relays commands into my ear. “We here for comfort only, Cindy. At this point, all we can offer. These people are frightened. Because of the news, they know what they’re in for. Don’t get too close. Adjust their blankets, talk to them a little. The incubation period can vary, depending on how much exposure these people have had. We have no way of knowing which of these people are in the last stages.” She looks me hard in the eyes. “You understand what I mean by ‘last stages,’ don’t you? That when they become dangerous. That’s when we need the guards to come in and handle things.”

I nod and move to the first gurney closest to the entrance of the E.R. An elderly man lies there, staring straight up at the ceiling. Realizing I’m at his side, he turns his rheumy gaze to me.

“The mailman bit me. Can you believe it, dear? I thought he was handing me my mail and he just grabbed my hand and …chomped down.” He laughs shakily and holds up a bandaged hand between us.

He says something else, his mouth moving slowly, deliberately, but because of the constant moaning and crying, I can’t hear him. I smooth his blanket, tell him the doctor would get him in soon, and pat his shoulder.

I move on to the next bed, taking a moment to look around at the scene that spreads before me. These are my people. That sounds silly, but it’s true.
My
people. The ones I bump into at the supermarket or at the mall. Parents and grandparents of my friends. I don’t know their names, but I know
them
. They are me and my family.

My stomach starts to ache. My heart starts to ache. The crying and writhing is so troubling, I wanted to just find Dad and leave.

Instead, I step over to the next bed, occupied by a woman who might be my mother’s age. She doesn’t notice me. Her eyes have grown as pale as dish water and her skin is the shade of the beige blanket that covers her. Her soccer mom hair cut is flattened to her head, her sensible makeup smudged around her eyes like bruises.

“The doctor will get to you in a few moments,” I tell her, feeling like a liar. “Can I get you anything?”

No response. I don’t touch her or pat her shoulder like I did the old man. Something tells me not to trust her. The stink of illness comes off of her in waves—perspiration, foul breath. I think she’s soiled herself and am thankful she’s covered with a blood-splotched blanket.

I’d start away from her when she suddenly sits up, her blanket falling away to expose the upper part of her body. What I see make my stomach tighten and for a moment, I think I’ll be sick. It’s becoming apparent I’m not as immune to the horrors of the E.R. as I thought. The woman’s entire left shoulder and the crest of her left breast have been chewed away. Dark, gnarled meat glistens like wet paint through her tattered blouse. Blood has soaked all the way through her blouse. I take a deep breath hoping to calm myself.

The pillow that was supporting her head has fallen to the floor and I stoop to get it. I want to get away from this patient. Sylvia made me understand none of these poor people have a chance, but this one is farther gone than the rest.

There’s a feather-like caress on my shoulder and I jump and pull away. To hell with the pillow, the virus-victims and this hospital. But I’m going anywhere. The caress on my shoulder morphs into a vice-grip in my hair. My head jerks back, the tendons in my neck scream, and I suddenly have an upside-down, close-up view of the chewed-up woman. Her white lips pull back into a wolf’s snarl, bearing her nicotine-stained teeth. She rips away my mask, her putrid breath wafting into my face making my throat close up for a moment.

I can’t speak. I can’t move. Her pale eyes have me hypnotized, nearly. But the young woman who’s sitting on the gurney across the narrow hallway from us does scream. She springs up and latches her hands around my attacker’s throat and begins to shake her hard, which isn’t a lot of fun, as my attacker still has hold of my hair. I’m being thrown from side to side by my hair, my scalp screaming.

Finally, I find my voice and scream for my Dad, for Sylvia, for whoever can hear. Dad materializes at my side like my guardian angel, seemingly sensing that I’m in danger. I can’t tell what he’s doing, but in an instant, the hold on my hair relents and I fall on my ass to the floor. A shrill scream rings out and is quickly muffled. I jump to my feet and turn around. Dad has pulled the woman’s blanket over her face, then twisted it into a knot at the back of her head. The fabric is drawn tight over her, but I can still make out the hollow of her open mouth, the bump of her squashed nose and the shallower indentions of her eyes.

Just then, a guard I don’t recognize bursts through the doors at the end of the hallway, his belly swaying as he runs, his gun already drawn.

He trains it on the young woman who has helped me.

“Wait! She’s safe,” I cry, jumping in front of her and pointing at the screaming woman.

Dad pulls the woman to the floor, the blanket still wrapped around her head. He rolls her onto her belly and places a knee on the middle of her back. She’s still trying to fight, but Dad’s too heavy for her to do any more damage.

“Help me, will you?” Dad snaps at the guard.

For a moment, the guard only stands there, staring stupidly, until Sylvia nudges his shoulder.

“We can’t let her get away. She’s contagious,” she tells him.

I help the young woman, my savior, back onto her gurney.

“Thank you,” I say as I pull her blanket back up. My hands are still shaking, my heart still thumping in my chest like a flat tire.

The young woman doesn’t have any visible bite wounds, so I wonder how she contracted the N-Virus. Her pallor is still good, but her eyes are beginning to grow pale and dull. I’m learning very quickly that the whitish irises are the most telling symptom of the early stages of the virus. I feel so bad for her—she could’ve been me or Audrey.

“Can’t I get you anything?”

She smiles. “A cure, maybe?”

“I wish I could,” I tell her. “More than anything, I wish I could.”

She senses I’m looking for a bite mark. She holds up her arm and removes a small bandage that’s taped to the underside of her bicep, partially hidden by the sleeve of her black t-shirt.

“It’s right here,” she says, pulling back the bandage and showing me the small wound. It’s a ragged little hole, maybe as big around as a silver dollar. “A kid did it. A fucking little girl.” She laughs bitterly. “I don’t know where came from or where she went. She chomped down on me in the parking lot of the Starbucks. All I wanted was a mocha Frappuccino before I started my shift at the restaurant. I work at Applebee’s on seventeen.”

I nod, suddenly wanting to cry. This girl goes out for a coffee before work and now this. She’s going to die. Worse, she
knows
she’s going to die. I swallow hard and give her a quick, timid hug before Dad notices. “Thanks for saving me.”

She sinks back onto the gurney and turns her head. “It was nothing. I have nothing to lose, now, anyway.”

Dad comes over and wraps his arm around my shoulders. He leads me away before I can let the woman see me crying, out into the bright daylight. The sun hurts my eyes and his fingers burrow into the flesh of my upper arm painfully.

Outside is strangely silent compared to the noisy commotion of the E.R. Finally, Dad lets go of me and I rub where gripped my arm. I’ll discover bruises there when I shower later. At first, I think he’s angry with me, but when I get a good look at his face, I know otherwise.

“Are you bitten?” he asks, his voice cracking. “Did she scratch you?” He takes my face in his big hands and stare into my eyes. He’s crying, his face streaked and shiny with tears. My dad. Crying.

“N-no. That girl stopped her. I’m okay.”

He tilts my head this way and that, examining my throat, then lifts up my hair and checks the back of my neck.

“I don’t see any blood. You’re sure?”

I nod. I laugh a little, unable to stop myself. Dad’s always as cool as a cucumber, as they say. His reaction is worrying, to say the least. I’m not sure I understood the gravity of what’s happening around us until now.

“I’m fine. Really, Dad.”

“Okay.” He puts his arms around me and clutches me to him like he’ll never let me go again. I feel completely safe.

Later I’ll remember this was one the last times I felt that way. For an instant, I’m six years-old again, having woke with nightmares. Dad always made the monsters go away.