BREN
Everything hurts; my body, my legs, my arms. I couldn't speak, and even when I tried, it was suffocating, a big lump welling inside my lungs, unable to break free. In and out, I slipped between being awake and asleep. The next thing I knew, water lapped on my cheeks and ears, the rustle of the wind against the trees, and the occasional hum and drum of planes and gunfire, muffled by some distance.
I opened my eyes a crack, blurry yet bright. Half of my head was throbbing, my muscles numbed. Someone had dragged me out of the river and into the muddy shores, a man panting and grunting beside me. It took me a moment to recognize Logan hunched over, both hands on my chest, his lips inches away from mine. A relieved smile washed over him, heard Indy barking next, his fur matted and wet, but he looked okay.
I stirred, realized now why my chest was burning. Logan did a piss-poor job at administering CPR, and I thought he cracked some of my ribs. It hurt to breathe. But something exploded up to my throat, and I didn't have a choice but to turn to the side and spit out mud and river water, coughing and heaving through clenched teeth.
"You're awake!" Logan said. "Thank God, you're awake! You scared me half to death!"
Indy barked as if agreeing with him.
I lay there for a moment, staring at the sky clogged with black smoke, ashes falling onto my face. I looked around the riverbank, filled with the debris of steel, wood, odd furniture... and bodies. Hundreds of them, sprawled in tangled messes of loose cables, jagged metal, and thick mud, shirts ripped and tattered against the cool wind, their faces caked with dried blood. From the horizon, Harrisburg was in flames and half of the bridge was gone. Makeshift cables, beams, and decking held what was left. I could see the tiny dots of vehicles and people moving across the mangled ruins.
I turned my head to the right, toward downstream. Alfie came into view, trudging across the muddy bank several feet away, carrying a metal pipe. He strode toward two vectors trapped beneath a slab of rebar. Alfie raised the pipe and slammed the back of the vector's head, and hit him over a second time. He did the same for the other.
Closer to the embankment, Edgar leaned against an overturned Humvee, half of its body buried under the mud. Next to him, Nico checked on his wound, tying a clean cloth around Edgar's wounded leg. Edgar sputtered a curse I couldn't make out.
Edgar slammed his fist on the ground. "Not so tight!"
"Quit being such a baby," Nico said.
"Nico! Give me the rest of the first aid. Bren's awake!" Logan said.
Nico nodded and extended his hand through the Humvee's broken window, and took out a plastic red box. He patted Edgar on the shoulder before he jogged over to our end of the river and handed Logan the box.
Logan turned to me. "Stay there, Bren. Don't get up. We're going to move you out without hurting you as much, okay?"
"Looks bad, man," Alfie said, coming over toward us. "We're going to move him quickly. We're too exposed, and we don't know who's infected among these bodies."
"One at a time, Alfie," Logan said, annoyed.
I followed where Logan was looking at, confused why I was some fragile, expensive glass they're afraid to break. That was a mistake. I looked down. And there, lodged at the side of my belly, was a piece of wood about the size of my index, middle, and ring fingers together, sticking out of my gut.
My eyes widened. "The fuck...?"
I didn't know if it was from shock or from the dread of seeing my open flesh, but no scream escaped my lips.
Instead, I passed out while Logan slapped me on the face, shouting at me to stay awake.
If this was what dying felt like, it's a total bitch.
——
Somewhere...
I was in that meadow again. The same one I saw Luke smiling at me from the top of a slope, sun shining beyond the snow-capped mountains, which I now recognized was Mount Hood, an imposing giant looming behind Portland's skylines. But out here, there were no cities, only the lush forests and spring rivers, birds trilling and insects chirping, and the gentle breeze kissing my skin. So quiet, so peaceful.
Luke Matheson was there, but so were the others. Dead ones. Some I recognized. Some I did not. There was the living, too. Logan sidled through the small crowd gathered up top, nuzzling Luke aside and they stood there, smiling down at me. He had his football jersey on, not a smear of dirt on that pretty face of his, nor was he wounded. It was the last thing I remembered of him when he boarded the plane that would take us to New York.
And one that would take us to our hell.
I saw a woman stood next to him with her gorgeous long red hair, and I realized I was looking at my mother. A calm washed over me from her sight. It didn't take long before my father joined her, curly short brown locks and a full beard that accented his hard jaw. Standing beside Luke and Logan, my father was a hulking statue. His steely blue eyes trained at me, though I couldn't quite read his expression, one of disappointment or one of relief, I was glad he was there.
I took a step.
My father shook his head, and I stopped. I didn't understand. Why wouldn't he want me there? Did I do something wrong? I took another step and my father shook his head again. Why can't I? I wanted to shout.
I blinked, and the day turned dark. The moon had replaced the sun, alone in a starless sky. The wind howled, drowning off the birds and the insects, and it almost knocked me off my feet, but I stood my ground, holding up my jacket against my body, trying to fight it off.
I noticed the bodies.
Dozens.
Hundreds of them.
Faces I recognized. Classmates, friends, neighbors... my mom. My dad. Logan, his neck wide open, sliced to the bone. Luke with that awful bullet on his head, oozing black goo through the gaping hole. Jun laid facing down with a dozen arrows laid out on his back like toothpicks on a sponge. Not far, Miguel muttered soft prayers against the wind, with both his arms missing, his shredded hands gripping a tenderizer mallet and a pan, both resting on his lap. Henry—poor, sweet Henry—with his little body torn in half next to him. Margot with large syringes sticking out of her gaping, empty eyes as Felipe bled beside her, his stomach riddled with bullets. And Aria, her chest cut open, heart laid out in front of Yousef, where his own exposed heart plucked out by crows.
I had blood on my hands, bathed it in from head to toe. I stood on a mountain of bodies miles high, gripped the edges of darkness beyond sight, and I couldn't move a muscle. Except for my throat, which I let out a scream without a voice, and the skies fall red, blinding me. That was a mercy.
I found myself on the ground, curled like a fetus, shaking and crying.
A female vector leered over me, a sneer of pity, but this one was different. No two-pupil eyes, but the same yellowish-gold lit her gaze; motherly and astute. She opened her mouth as if urging me to do something, though I couldn't make out her speech, garbled like eating mud.
Save them, it wanted to say.
I shook my head. I didn't want to open my eyes, but I know they're all dead.
Find me then. Find me... before it is too late.
But where?
East, it said. East.
And before I drowned in all that blood, I kept hearing a name, over and over.
Comoros.
Comoros.
Comoros.
It filled my ears, burrowed into my bones until it had sidled into my brain and latched into my memories.
——
Day 108: July 25th, Sunday
Two Weeks Later
"Comoros."
I opened my eyes, heard the soft music from a radio somewhere, but the sound was too muddled and sharp for me to recognize, at least in my state. I felt like shit. My entire body was aching all at once, screaming at me to do something—anything—move my arm, prop one leg over the other, turn over, cry, scream, but my mind went blank. I lay there, staring at the ceiling with glow-in-the-dark stickers of dinosaurs, rocks, and palm trees.
I turned my neck to the right. A bit of a chore, but I made it work, ignoring the muscles there, telling me to stop before I hurt myself some more. Beyond the white curtains and the partially open window, the sun was up, lighting up the evergreen polka-dot wallpaper that wrapped the room. I reckoned it was about midday.
Based on where the tree stood close to the window, I was on the second level of a house in... somewhere. I didn't recognize the room, but I surmised it belonged to some eight-year-old who loved dinosaurs and polka dots. And a superman blanket, which I realized was draped over me. Wafting cattle, dirt, and manure from outside. A goat mewled from a distance.
A farm, I thought. Or a ranch.
I tried to get up—A big mistake. My stomach churned and spasmed, and I almost threw up, though nothing came out but spit. I guessed I should be glad about that. I would have ruined the bedding, and some child who owned them would probably throw a fit that I soiled it. Suddenly, I noticed a needle stuck at the back of my arm, followed the catheter to an IV bag dangling from a metal stand.
Nobody else was in the room.
Except for Indy. He was looking straight at me, sitting at the foot of the bed, frozen, though I liked to think I gave him a bit of a fright.
"Uh... hi," I said.
Indy bounced off the bed and ran for the door, which was partially ajar. He used his little paws to open it, slid through the gap, and left me alone.
Um. Bye.
I didn't have a shirt on me, so I lifted off the blanket and looked at my stomach. There was nothing wrong there, but below the belly button, on the right side, were some stitches and bandages that wrapped around my lower abdomen. It took me a second to remember what the fuck happened to me until the river hit me like a brick. I didn't know if I should be relieved, but a wash of disappointment came over me. I couldn't believe I was hurt again.
How long was I out?
I lay my head on the soft pillow and groaned. "Fuck. That happened," I said out loud. My throat was scratchy, dry, like sandpaper.
My head was splitting, the dreams I had slipping out of my memories. I tried not to recall what I saw, choosing to forget it. I looked around the room again and found a half-full glass pitcher of water and a plastic cup. I reached for it, forcing my fingers to wrap around the cup, and picked it up, but I couldn't hold on to it for a couple more seconds, and I ended up dropping it on the floor. It clattered loudly, rolled, and disappeared under the nightstand.
"Ah, shit."
The door opened, and I heard a gasp. A woman around my age with blue eyes and long blonde hair, a plump and round build, stood behind the door frame. She carried a tray of clean linen and water on one hand while the other gripped the doorknob. Her oval-shaped face turned pale. Indy slipped past her and jumped onto the bed, at the same spot where I found him, and sat; tongue panting, tail wagging.
Before I could speak, the woman hurriedly closed the door, heard her footsteps moving away from my room. I tried to move my legs and get up, pulling enough courage to muscle through the pain, but it wasn't worth the trouble. Indy whined at me as if telling me not to do that.
"Fine. You win, pal," I said to Indy, and he lowered his head back down on the bed.
Fine. I'd let them come to me whoever this good Samaritan was that patched me up. I doubted they'd be happy if I stood up, wandering about, and tore my stitches before passing out.
The door opened again and an old man in his seventies came in, sporting a full head of white hair and a well-trimmed salt and pepper beard. He was thin and tall, wearing a blue flannel shirt and muddy boots, fumbling to open his glasses, which dangled around his neck. He put them on and inspected me.
"Ah. You're awake! That's a good sign." The old man said. He turned towards the woman who entered earlier. "Lacey, why don't you grab a glass of water. No, not that one on the nightstand. We left that there yesterday. Grab one from the fridge with some ice. And why don't you call his friends up, okay?"
"Yes, paw-paw," the woman—Lacey—said. She walked out of the room.
The old man pointed at Indy. "Is he..."
"He can stay."
"Alright."
The old man grabbed a chair from the corner and dragged it over to my bed and sat. He gently grabbed my arm and felt my pulse on my wrist, then he took out a stethoscope from the nightstand, put them on, and listened to my heart. We did this for about five minutes, placing the stethoscope around my left chest, sternum, and both sides of my neck, and listened from my back. Once in a while, he would tell me to take deep or short breaths, lay down or sit straight, which was harder to do with the stitches. He nodded after each one. He put the stethoscope on my belly and it rumbled.
The old man smiled. "My, my. Someone's hungry."
"Very," I said.
He put the stethoscope back into the nightstand drawer. "We'll get you a meal in no time, but let's start with soft foods for now, okay? It might not taste great, but it'll fill your belly."
"Are you the one who patched me up?"
"Seen anyone else?"
I huffed. "No."
"Yes, that would be me. My name is Doctor Evans."
"Doctor?"
"Retired for three years now, but don't you worry. I don't think I could forget over forty years of cutting up a body and stitching them back up, won't I?"
"Am I in your... clinic? Hospital?"
"No. You're in my humble abode, I'm afraid. Oh, how I'd wish we were in a hospital. Last week would have been a breeze."
"Oh. Well, I guess I should thank you for saving my life."
"Part of the job. A doctor never retires, no matter if I'm enjoying the beaches in the Bahamas or growing corn in the middle of nowhere."
"How... how did I get here?"
"My grandsons found you by the river. They watched the battle, those dumb nitwits. They went behind my back despite me telling them not to. But I guess it's part of God's plan for them to find you. They spotted your friends dragging you out of the river and came to help you. Just so you know, if they had waited another day, we'd be burying you six feet under weeks ago."
"Weeks? How long was I out?"
"Two weeks, boy. Well, you wake up here and there, but you are so delirious, that we have to sedate you during surgery and for the fever. You went into sepsis, almost thought the shock would kill you, but God graced you with his presence. A few days ago, we thought you wouldn't make it, and I think that upsets your boyfriend."
I winced. "Er, boyfriend?"
"Yes. You know. That tall Italian boy with the Hallmark face. The poor boy wouldn't leave your side, day and night. I told my grandsons to drag him out and forced my wife's meatloaf down his throat. I think he hated me for that." Dr. Evans laughed.
Oh. "Um, he's not... never mind." I shook my head and Indy raised his head and tilted it a bit, giving me a funny look.
I gently touched my abdomen above the bandages. "It's still sore."
Dr. Evans swatted my finger off. "You'll open up your stitches. But, ah, that's quite normal. You need another few days of rest for it to heal properly. At least your stomach and digestive system are grumbling, so that's a good sign. Everything is properly working down there, so you can eat. Your heart is healthy and so are your lungs, but since you've been in bed for far too long, we had to watch out for thrombosis and such. If you feel any chest pain or any shortness of breath, let me know, okay?"
"I've got a bit of that."
His face dropped. "R-really?"
No. "Um. I'm kidding."
He crossed his arms and looked at me with disappointment.
"Sorry. I know you did a lot for me."
"You don't have to be sorry." Dr. Evans barked a laugh. "Oh, boy, we had to pull out the wood and splinters one-by-one, but a few days later, your appendix up and gone inflamed and was close to bursting, so we had to slice you open again and cut that thing out before the infection got worse and start invading your other organs. It should be me apologizing. I should have caught that earlier. You must be exhausted."
"Sounds about right."
"But you're safe now. You broke your fever three days ago, and you have been sleeping soundly ever since."
I looked at my catheter wedged on the skin at the back of my hand, wanting to take it off. It felt funny.
"Let's not pull that out yet. Perhaps finish the bag. It's not much, plus, you still need the fluids. You barely ate the food we gave you during the days you were conscious."
"I don't any remember that."
"No, I don't think you would. It'd be scary if you did."
"If I'm in your house, how did you get all this surgical equipment? I don't think you'd have that lying around, especially the anesthesia."
Dr. Evans smiled. "Ah, I have to thank your friends for that. There's a medical center close to here, overrun by those... things."
My heart stopped. Logan. "Did they..."
Dr. Evans interjected, "Fine. All fine. They came in, and before I can prep you for surgery, they came back with all the things I needed. They had a few scrapes here and there, but nothing I couldn't patch up."
"But they're all alive? They all made it back?"
"Yes. Very much so."
I let out a heavy sigh. "That's good. That's... you almost gave me a heart attack. Um, thank you, Dr. Evans, for everything."
He waved his hand off. "Bah, it's nothing. And please. Call me David."
"Okay." I nodded. "David." It sounded weird calling a doctor by their first name, but if he insisted, I would not argue. There wasn't much-reserved energy on that front.
"Oh, I think they're almost here!" David said.
The door opened again, and Lacey entered with a glass of water and a bowl of food. Logan and Alfie appeared behind her, smiles lighting up both their faces, both out of the muddy and wet clothes since I saw them last, and they strode toward the bed. Edgar walked in, leaning against a cane as he walked toward the bed. Nico followed behind him. My heart raced. Seeing them all together with barely any scrapes and bruises made me grin like a total idiot.
They're alive! They're alive! I wanted to shout.
"You slimy little fucker!" Logan laughed. "I told them not even the grim reaper can kill you." Logan sat on the right side of my bed and Indy snuggled beside him. He draped his arm over Indy's and rubbed his belly. Logan tried to hug me, but my abdomen started acting up and I winced. "Ah! Sorry. Almost forgot it's there. Did I hurt you?"
"It's fine. And don't jinx it."
Logan raised his hands up. "Oops. Sorry." He knocked on the wooden nightstand's surface.
Alfie stood beside him and patted me on the shoulder. "I'm glad you made it! We were all so worried."
"How about let's not get into the habit of attracting near-death experiences?" Nico said with his British accent. "Now I'm glad I took swimming lessons three years ago from that fit bloke in Cabo."
Alfie scoffed. "If you call flailing in the water swimming."
Nico shot him a glare. "I was trying not to drown. Don't even laugh."
I spotted the bandages wrapped around Alfie's left arm and hands. I pointed at it. "And what happened to you?"
Alfie looked at it annoyingly. "Ah, we tried to scale a fence with barbed wires and I got caught on it. Lucky for me, I got a tetanus shot last year, so I think I'm in the clear. See?" He pinched his cheeks. "No lockjaw and that was last week."
"He saved your life, you know," Logan said, pointing at Alfie with a grateful look. "This idiot gave up his blood for you."
"You did?"
"Doc says you lost enough blood, so I volunteered," Alfie said.
David chimed in, clearing his throat. "It's a good thing your friend is Type O Negative."
"And proud of it," Alfie grinned. "I've donated blood before so it doesn't bother me."
"Are you sure you're okay to be walking around?" I asked.
We did that a while ago. I drank a lot of orange and apple juice for two days though, and I'm not winded anymore."
I turned to Edgar. "Sorry about the leg."
Edgar laughed. "Not your fault, but sorry about your stomach! Dude, we thought you won't make it with that thing sticking out of you."
"Yeah, we got lucky," Nico said. "Oh, I want to let you know that this big baby cried. A lot." He pointed at Logan and smirked.
"Shut up," Logan hissed. I raised my eyebrow, but Logan avoided my gaze, and it only tickled me more. I regretted that. It only made the dull pain in my abdomen worse, and I was afraid I ruined my stitches.
Lacey brought the tray over and put it down on the nightstand, taking the old glass pitcher with her, and walked out again. On the tray were a bowl of sliced bananas and seedless grapes, some porridge, a plate of spinach, arugula, and tomatoes, and a cup of chocolate pudding. David told me to eat more fiber and do it slowly.
"I'll leave you all to catch up. I'll be next door, so holler if anything comes up."
"Will do. Thanks, David," Logan said, grabbing the tray and placed it on my lap. Nico and Alfie helped me sit up as Edgar dragged another chair and sat down, massaging his wounded leg after.
As I slowly chewed on a slice of banana, I realized no one else was coming through the door.
"Wait. Where are the others?" I asked them.
Everyone's smiles dropped. I could tell they didn't know what to say, holding back the bad news that would inevitably ruin my day. I focused my gaze on Logan, wanting him to cough it up already and tell me or I'll force it out of him. I could be very persuasive.
"So, good news. We are okay," Logan started.
"I can see that. Where are the others? Where's Aria and Yousef? Peter?"
"Well... they're not exactly here..."
"That's because we can't find them," Edgar finished.
"What? Can't find them? How's that possible? You didn't go to the meeting point?" I asked.
"Oh, we did like a thousand times," Alfie said. "No one's there. No one."
"They left us?"
"Oh, the RV is still there," Logan said, annoyed, gently raising his hand to hush everyone. "And hundreds of vectors who want to kill us also surrounded it. They get as much as a whiff, we're dead. Cora's jammed between abandoned vehicles trying to flee town off the ramp onto the main highway. We'd have to round up a large team to un-jam it, but we haven't been able to find enough manpower to do it."
"And the army?"
"If the doctor hadn't told you yet, many soldiers are still fighting over in Harrisburg. Those idiots are still trying to retake the city even when more vectors are multiplying from the other side of the river."
"But where are the others?"
Logan shrugged glumly. "We don't know."
"They might have left a note," Edgar chimed in.
"Yeah, we thought about that, but we can't risk approaching the RV with that many vectors around. Too risky. We decided we'd wait for you to wake up instead."
"But what about Jun and Murray?" I asked. "They're with the RV."
"No sign of Jun. But Murray... he's dead," Nico said.
"How?"
"For one, he had an arrow lodged in his eye socket, so I think Asian Legolas took care of him," Nico answered.
"He's dead?"
"I'm sure of it. Dead there in front of the RV, baking under the heat right now," Alfie said. "It just sucks he won't be able to have that family reunion after all. Guy turned into a barbecue."
Nico whirled around. "Oh my God, Alfie. You can't joke about that kind of thing."
Alfie shrugged. "But we didn't find Jun's body or vector Jun, so we assume that dude's still kicking."
Murray's dead, I thought. Please, make everyone okay. Please. Please. Please.
"They must still be in the area," I said. I pulled off the covers and tried to push my legs over the edge. My body did not like any of that at all, and I was groaning through the pain.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Logan pushed me back on the bed. "Take it easy, Bren. You just woke up."
"We have to find them."
"And we will, but not right now. Not in your state. I mean, look at you. Do you want a mirror?"
"But—"
"No buts. Stay. Please. For me."
Logan gave me that puppy-dog eyes of his, chin down, soft eyes, a bit of pout of his lips. I hesitated for a moment, still trying to reach the ground with my toes, but that hurt too much to do. In the end, I huffed and sat back down, frustrated. Of all the days I had to be injured, why did it always have to be in such inconvenient times? "They're alive."
"I know."
"I doubt Peter would leave a stash of weapons right there for anyone to grab."
"Our CB radio got water damage when we fell into the river, so we can't call them."
Edgar let out a sigh, his fist curled. "If Russell and I ever meet again, I'd wring his neck so hard and squeeze the life out of him. That bastard pushed us off the rails to save his worthless spine!"
"Then let's be glad he's dead. Good riddance!" Nico said and turned to me. "We saw his body in the rubble, and this big glob kept kicking his corpse and ended up spraining his ankle."
"It felt good doing it," Edgar said nonchalantly.
"Oh, it felt good? Bravo! Now you have a sprained ankle, and it wasn't fun dragging your heavy ass for dozens of miles," Nico said sarcastically.
"We're gonna go back to the meeting point again tomorrow," Alfie said. "We've been going there every other day, see if one of them watches over the RV."
"Unless they didn't make it," Edgar said.
Nico slapped Edgar's shoulder and shot daggers at him. "Don't you say that. That's mean."
"Or they could have fallen, too," Edgar said.
"We didn't see any of their bodies," Alfie said.
"We didn't stay there long. That's what I've been telling you! We should go back to the river and look!" Edgar said.
Logan stood up from the bed and got in between Alfie and Edgar. "I told you it's too dangerous," he said. "A lot of the vectors had washed up along that side."
"We won't know until we looked, man," said Edgar. "Damn, I need a smoke."
My stomach dropped, and I didn't feel like eating anymore. I put my fork in the bowl and took slow sips of my water.
"Hey. You okay?" Logan asked, and he sat down on the bed again.
I nodded. "I guess I missed a lot."
"You're busy being Sleeping Beauty. It's understandable."
"But I should join you searching for them out there."
"Oh, don't you give me that. The doctor ordered you to stay in bed, so you'll stay. And besides, I'm going out looking for them tomorrow with Alfie and Chandler—"
"Who's Chandler?"
"One of Doc's grandsons. He's an excellent shot, too."
"Still. I'd like to join you."
"No. Rest," Logan insisted. He pointed at Edgar and Nico. "And keep a good eye on him tomorrow in case he does something stupid."
"Yes, chief," Nico said, making a mock salute, and plastered a serious puckered face. Logan shook his head and ignored it.
"You don't tell me what to do," I said teasingly.
"While you're on that bed, I call the shots."
Alfie scoffed. "Bren, he's been like that for the past two weeks. It's annoying, and he's really getting on our nerves. You should rest and get your strength back up. We really want you back on your feet so he'd stop bossing us around." Edgar and Nico chuckled.
But Logan ignored them. "We'll find the others, Bren. But for now, eat your food and rest. We want you back one hundred percent before the end of the week, okay?"
"No promises."
"No. Make it a promise."
I looked up at Logan with that serious face of his. I guessed he wasn't joking about this one, so I breathed out a sigh and nodded. "Okay. I promise."
"Good. Now, eat. And just so you know, we're gonna stay right here and watch you gobble all of it up into your stomach."
"Doc told me to eat them slowly."
"Oh, good. We have plenty of time. It's only ten o'clock," Logan grinned.
"Ass."
I continued eating my food, proud that I almost finished the bowl, and had a couple glasses of water. I was still worried about where the others could have been, and I hoped they were all safe.
Nico fiddled with the radio by the nightstand, but most of the channels were white noises. DJ Swayze continued his broadcast from... wherever he was currently holed up in, and I also wished he would be okay. He had been a constant, calming voice in this pandemic, and most of the survivors (at least here on the east coast) listened to him, our own Bob Ross or Mister Rogers, only with cussing and other adult language. The day he would be off the air would be the day the world was truly fucked.
Well, at least that's what I thought.
As DJ Swayze reviewed the news of what's happening around the world, mostly in the Korean Peninsula, and how war was brewing between the north and south after millions of refugees fled from a heavily infested China, I recognized one word.
"Comoros," I blurted out.
Nico turned around, brows narrowed. "What was that?"
"He said something. Comoros, I think."
"Oh. Yeah. The scientists found another catchword for this disease. Calls it the Comoros Plague. The CDC and WHO finally got into an agreement that the disease isn't man-made—"
"Or so they say. There are many theories..." Edgar began.
Nico raised his hand toward him. "No more conspiracies, Ed. We've heard it before and I'm getting sick of it."
"I'm just saying," Edgar grumbled.
Nico continued, "Anyway, they're now saying it originated in Comoros or Mozambique, and that it came from bats."
Logan scoffed. "Bats. It's always bats. We barely got out of the other one."
"Yeah, yeah, are you gonna let me finish?" Nico asked, forcing a smile. Logan gestured for him to proceed. "So, this Doctor Agarwal from the CDC has now pinpointed that patient zero is Dr. Ryan Krasinsky. You know that hot bloke that looked like Ryan Reynolds? Do you remember that news? Oh, well. So, everyone's blaming this fit doctor, yeah, from contracting the disease and spreading it."
"Not his fault. He was vacationing," Alfie said.
"The thing is, he wasn't supposed to go out of the country because they thought it was Ebola at first. But his dear papa, who was that really slimy senator accused of underage prostitution? Do you remember that scandal early of this year?"
"Handsy-Krasinksy?" I asked.
"Yes! That old dirtbag! Anyway, he pulled some strings behind the scenes and got Dr. Krasinsky home to be treated here in America. Now, this Doctor Agarwal is blaming the senator—excuse me, late senator—for causing the outbreak. See, if they had just left the doctor alone, they could contain the outbreak in Mozambique, which has a lower population density than New York!"
"They said that?"
"Well, DJ Swayze was generous with his reporting with added f-bombs, but that's the general gist. If they hadn't brought that guy to Manhattan, we wouldn't end up here. So, the president is now calling a witch-hunt for anyone involved on that deal."
I sighed disappointedly. "Well, that's unnecessary." And a waste of resources.
Nico gave me a thumbs up. "I agree. President Marshall is slowly losing this war, and the Canadians are trying to wiggle out of the alliance so that they can protect their borders from the north. I hear Toronto is getting pretty bad. I think the president wants some good PR before shit hits the fan, you know? I imagine people are pissing themselves."
"A bit too late for that. He's wet behind the ears, I tell you," Edgar groaned.
"It's weird. I heard it in my dreams..." I said.
"Oh, it's been on TV here and there, but people mainly blamed each other on how it started. It got picked up because the CDC is now making a stance that this is the real origin of the disease. You must've heard it when you were half-awake the past few days. I've been listening to the radio a lot in here."
"Must be," I said.
"And get this. It's not viral. It's fungal."
"Like mushrooms?" I asked.
"Makes your skin itch, right? It took them a long time to figure that out."
"Ha! They finally got their shit together," Logan said.
Nico shook his head. "Hey, I never said our government is competent."
"And now I am going to take a quick break and kill a couple of freaks that are knocking on my lobby. I'll let Metallica do the honors of accompanying all of you with a little sand." DJ Swayze's voice went away as Metallica's Enter Sandman played through the speakers.
——
David took off the IV catheter on my hand by afternoon, and he and his granddaughter, Lacey, had to teach me how to walk after being bedridden for two weeks. It took a while, and I was especially proud I made it down the stairs with both Logan and Alfie basically hooked their arms under my armpits and acted as my crutches.
I'd hate to admit that it was a little embarrassing, especially when I learned I had worn incontinent briefs while I was in bed to avoid soiling myself, and that Logan had been cleaning me up and washing my body. I guessed I should be grateful, but he saw more of me than I'd like to. He didn't go on and rubbed it on my face like he usually did. I was glad about that.
By nightfall, I could attend dinner and meet the rest of David's family. Vivian, his wife, sported the same white-silver of braided hair, wearing her Sunday's best, apron hugging her front, always with that calming smile on her face. She had brought me green tea this afternoon and some ginger-cinnamon cookies (and homemade). She reminded me too much of my grandmother, who passed away five years ago, so her presence was very welcoming, and always chatty. I learned more about her from one conversation than a thousand.
"I have been married to that old doofus for over forty-three years. When I laid my eyes on you, in your sorry state, he'll perform a miracle," Vivian reassured me once, like a proud mama bear.
And I didn't expect what greeted me in their dining hall. There was food on the table—real, home-cooked meals—from end to end. There were pork sausages, a roasted whole chicken with radishes and onions, mashed potatoes, muffin rolls with garlic butter, sauteed green beans and spinach, steaming corn cobs, boiled eggs, and Jello for dessert. It was as if I walked into a Thanksgiving dinner! I had never seen this much food on a table for three months, and I almost burst into tears. I felt Logan gently squeezed my arm, urging me to keep moving. He helped me sit down at the middle of the table and he sat next to me.
"Mrs. Evans. You shouldn't have," I said.
Vivian waved her hand off. "We have plenty on the farm. Besides the people struggling beyond the river, we are very well-off out here, bless their souls. I pray every day, thanking the Lord for how he blessed us with such bounty. And besides, this is all for you to celebrate your fast recovery!"
"Cheers to that!" One boy said at the end of the table, sitting next to Nico. He turned to face me. "Oh, my name's Chandler," he said. I shook his hand. He had short blonde hair with a little scar over his right eyebrow, an angular face, and a feeble attempt at growing a mustache, ending up in wild patches along his jaw. I could see the resemblance he had with Lacey, who sat next to Vivian, so I assumed they were brother and sister.
Another man came into the room, and I almost didn't notice him because of his height, probably standing at four-foot-six, until he took off his baseball cap and lay them down on the table, and sat across from me. I thought he was a kid at first, but his features made him look middle-aged, and I couldn't help but stare at him, fascinated.
"Kenny! What did I tell you about hats on the table?" Vivian shouted.
Kenny pulled the hat off the table and put it behind the chair. "Sorry, ma. I forgot." He turned to me and caught me gawking. "What? Haven't seen a dwarf before?"
Oh, shit. I shut my mouth and looked away. I heard Logan chuckled beside me and I couldn't help but poke his side, glaring at him for laughing at my expense.
Kenny burst out laughing. "I'm just fucking with you, man. I'm Kenny. The old grump's son." He pointed at Vivian.
"And what do I say about language on the table?"
"Yeah. Sorry. Can we eat now? I'm hungry." Kenny patted his belly.
Vivian shook her head. "Not until Paw-paw and Rob are here. Manners."
As if on cue, the doctor and another man a little older than me walked in, taking their muddy boots off by the door, and sat on the table. I reckoned the man must be Rob, another grandson of David, I bet. He was a hulking figure, could rival Peter if they stood next to each other, almost the same height and build, with chestnut brown hair and blue eyes, a little patch of black curly hair showing through his flannel shirt undone at the top. He didn't introduce himself like the others, which I thought was rude. He quietly sat at the table and waited for Lacey to lead the prayers.
Manners went out of the window as I put as much as I could in my mouth and stomach. I never felt so hungry before, not even the days spent in Colby or Harrisburg, and I couldn't care less what anyone thought. Kenny kept on smirking at me, amused, though he joined in and just kept on eating without care. Only Lacey was reserved, reading a book while she ate quietly. Vivian got irritated and scolded her for not 'making friends' or 'entertaining the guests.'
And she seemed to like Alfie, who sat next to her. I tried to ignore the red hue that filled up her cheeks every time Alfie turned toward her, inviting her to join in with whatever he and Edgar were talking about.
There was some small talk across the table, some laughs, and jokes here and there, but I didn't pay attention to it. Logan already told me he mentioned to Doctor Evans where we were going, but they weren't so thrilled at the idea of Pittsburgh. I guessed when they could have all this food out here, basically a self-sustaining commune, then why risk it all by leaving and starve inside a city with thousands of other hungry refugees?
How long was this paradise going to last was the ultimate question? That only made me shiver.
I tried to help Vivian cleaned the dishes, but she kicked me out of the kitchen faster than I could enter it. I went outside to get some fresh air instead, a lot quieter than Edgar's guitar playing or Chandler and Alfie's recollection of past movies in the last decade.
Beyond the horizon, light slowly descended behind the treetops, and the insects let themselves known, keeping me company. Out in the darkness, I couldn't see how large the Evans property was, although I recognized an outline of a barn somewhere, heard the goats bleating and some chickens in the coop rustling. The wind picked up into a gentle breeze.
"If it isn't the lucky bunny," a voice whispered in the darkness.
I whirled around, trying to pinpoint where the voice came from. I saw a thin wisp of smoke rising from behind a pillar and I slowly walked toward it. There, Kenny sat on the railing, cigarette in hand.
"Bren, right?" He asked me.
I nodded. "And you are Kenny."
He pulled out a cigarette packet. "Want a smoke?"
"I don't smoke."
"Good. It'll give you cancer." Kenny took the bud into his mouth and inhaled deeply. He held it in for three seconds before he exhaled dramatically. A billow of smoke almost touching my face.
I took the spot on the railing opposite of him. "Yes. Cancer," I said, looking at the cigarette nestled between his fingers.
"Eh. We're gonna die someday. I'm thirty-five. I like to think I'd get a few more years before I kick the old bucket."
"That's kind of hard to do with those things around," I said, gesturing over the tree line where I thought the river was.
"You survived. From what your friends told me, you've skirted death more times than I can finish this thing in one sitting. I saw the scars on your body when my father stripped you bare and plopped you on that dining table. That's a lot of scars in under three months."
I instinctively pressed my shirt against my body, embarrassed that most people in this house had seen men naked. Well, there's nothing I can do about that now. "I don't like to think about it."
"If you can survive, I can, too. Well, I hope I do, but given my size... I have the same chance as a ten-year-old."
"I'd imagine you have some tricks up your sleeves. You can surprise me." If there's one thing I learned from all this: never underestimate anyone.
But Kenny giggled. "Pff. That's just it. Imaginations. A fantasy. None would do me good, anyway. Or you. Always look forward, I tell myself. Told my dad that, too, but the old man refused to see what's in front of him: the end of the world."
"We can still win."
"Have you listened to the news lately? Soldiers and civilians desperate to escape those monsters that they'd rather risk swimming across the river and drown than be torn apart. It's like Dunkirk all over again. Too many of our men trapped on the other side with only one bridge to ferry them across."
"I didn't know that."
"Mom made me turn off the TV so that the children don't have to see it. It's the last thing I saw of Harrisburg... all those soldiers making a raft out of their dead friends just to stay afloat... children being tossed into the river... the monsters swarming the shores... not a pretty sight. I wanted my family to go to Pittsburgh and flee, but my old man refused. He grew up here, said this is home."
"For all we know, those things are swarming Pittsburgh, too."
"Don't give my dad any ideas. He can lie down a thousand reasons on me every time I bring 'moving out' up. Christ. Look at this place. We don't have walls, not even an electrified fence. We don't even have enough bullets to take out a horde. Every night, sitting here like some idiot, I keep imagining those things breaking through that tree line over there and killing us all. I'd turn to my dad and say: I fucking told you so."
"Why don't you leave? We're going to Pittsburgh. You can come with us." I can help you all move. It's the least I can do for helping me.
Kenny scoffed and puffed another smoke. "As much as I'd like to join you, kid, nothing beats family. They're all I have left after Vincent died last year and those poor kids lost their mom a decade ago. My parents are both old, so trekking hundreds of miles is out of the picture. Rob and Chandler can fight, sure, but Lacey refuses to touch a gun. I have no choice but to stay. For their sake."
I sighed, though I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Family is family. "Maybe when we get to Pittsburgh, we can send help your way."
Kenny smiled, the first genuine one I had seen tonight. "If we live that long. For now, little old me has to fight until my last breath."
The front door suddenly swung open and Logan stepped out into the darkness, bathed under a halo of light from the foyer. He turned and looked at Kenny and me, startled. "Oh, shit. Sorry if I—"
Kenny chuckled and rubbed the tip of the cigarette on the railing, killing it. "That's okay, lover boy. I'm just heading in to take a piss. You can keep your friend company."
Kenny climbed off the railing and walked toward the door, sporting that shit-eating smirk on his face. I tried to hide my embarrassment. He turned and slapped Logan's butt as he went in, winked, and disappeared into the foyer. Logan shook his head, chuckling.
"He can be... a lot," Logan said.
"I don't know. He's not so bad," I said.
"How's the wound?"
"Still sore. But I can sit properly now. I assume that's the painkillers I took."
Logan nodded. I pointed at the empty spot on the railing where Kenny was sitting, and Logan went over and straddled the spot, and faced me. "So, what's the plan?" He asked.
I shrugged. Honestly, I hadn't thought that far yet. I was too busy ogling at the food and being hungry, though I didn't want to admit that to his face. "Rest for now, I guess? It seems the only thing I can do. I doubt I'd be running around in the next two or three days."
"Maybe more."
"Oh, let's hope not. I'm already itching to be out there, looking for the others."
"So we'll give ourselves three days here, then we leave?"
"That sounds like a plan."
"I like it. I hope it's not too late."
"It's not. We'll find them."
Logan paused for a moment, stifling a smile. "Bren, are you forgetting something?"
Confused, I shook my head. I did not know what he's implying.
"Dude. It's your birthday tomorrow. Did you forget?"
Oh. I must have. "I didn't. I know," I lied.
"Well, it sucks we can't do anything about it. You're turning eighteen! I guess I'll have to welcome you into adulthood in some other way. Anything different?"
I took a deep breath. "It feels like... nothing," I said. After all, we grew a lot over the past few months fighting, killing, and surviving. No child my age ever deserved to go through all that. "Nothing changed. I don't feel like an adult."
Logan rolled his eyes. "Tell me about it. Alfie made it slip that it's your birthday tomorrow, so Vivian might bake you some chocolate muffins."
"Oh, she shouldn't waste her pantry for me."
"Too late now. She's preparing the ingredients to bake tomorrow."
"Maybe I can—"
"It's only a muffin, Bren. Let's celebrate your big day, at least. Have some normalcy. We don't have that much these days."
"It doesn't feel right to be celebrating, and eating more of their resources when we're only guests."
"Yeah, I know, but it was Vivian who insisted. Old ladies are hard to argue with when they put their minds to something. I'd steer away from arguing with her. She'll win."
"Okay. But let's make it casual. Quiet. We still have a search to do."
"I mean, we have to enjoy what we can, right? If we don't, we'll go insane, and I'd rather not do that. Plus, I'd like to sing you Happy Birthday."
"You? Singing?"
"What? You haven't heard me sing yet."
"Fourth grade. You cried, remember?" And he did more than that.
"Hey. I was just a kid. I'm older now. My throat's well-trained." Logan wiggled his eyebrows.
"Oh? We might have to put that to a test."
Logan let out a laugh, blood rushing up his cheeks. I could see him sweat a little under the cool breeze. "Smooth." Logan took another pause. His eyes never left mine. "So, can I sleep in your bed tonight?"
I couldn't help but let out a smirk. "Smooth."
"Just asking. Doc won't let me sleep in there when you were recovering, but I doubt he'd say no if you... you know... want me there? It's an enormous bed."
This little fucker. I heaved a sigh. "You can sleep up there," I said, trying to suppress the flutter inside my guts from dancing. Logan merely nodded, though I imagined he's trying to suppress his own.
His face dropped. "But like... with you, right?"
"Yes, idiot. I'm on the bed, too."
"Okay. Just making sure."
"And we're not doing what you're thinking."
"What was I thinking?"
He wanted something more than tonight's dinner. As if I could give it to him in my condition. Maybe tomorrow. "Oh, don't give me that. You know."
Logan smirked and put up his thumb and index finger. "A bit."
"Yeah. Right."
Logan scooted over and gently grabbed my hand resting on my lap, our fingers entwined. It was comforting.
"I'm glad you're okay," he said.
There was no humor in his voice, just a matter of fact, deeply ingrained in such peace and satisfaction, unfeigned by what we had discussed before. It hit me he was probably a wreck the past two weeks, not knowing if I would survive or not. Nico mentioned he cried, though I couldn't imagine Logan fucking Hardy crying over me. It felt alien and wonderful at the same time. I didn't know what to make of it.
"I'm glad, too," I said, and I leaned forward to kiss him.
He didn't move, merely parting his lips as if he was expecting it, held a smile that crossed his lips as I touched it with mine.
Peace and satisfaction.