Authors: Tom Wright
I covered the remaining distance to the beach in what seemed like a tenth of a second. I arrived just in time to see the boys rounding the peninsula about a quarter mile down the beach. I yelled out, but they kept running. Then I set out after them.
I reached the first house on the beach. It had been burned. As I passed houses, I caught whiffs of death. I followed the tracks in the sand until one set peeled off and went up toward a house about four houses north of Kate’s parents. I suddenly took notice of my carelessness—both of the boys were armed, and thought they were being chased. I also had no idea who else might still be living down there. My awareness regained and my gun still drawn, I sprinted for the beginning of the bulkhead, which stood taller than me and provided some cover.
I edged along the bulkhead until I arrived in front of Kate’s parents’ house. The house was dark, its windows broken out. Dread spread over me like a cold wind.
A light mixture of rain and snow began. The wind suddenly gusted from the south, dragged down from above by the onset of precipitation. The rush of air funneled into my hood and inflated my jacket with a chill.
I peered up over the bulkhead, and nothing moved.
To get to the stairs, I had to walk through the ankle-deep water of the incoming tide. Frigid water topped my boots and squeezed into my socks and trickled down my ankles and into the soles. My shoes made a squishing sound as I cautiously climbed the stairs one by one.
I got to the top and yelled: “Charlie! Are you in there?”
There was no response.
I scampered up to the sliding door and looked in through the broken glass. My heart sank as I cringed at what might have taken place there. In addition to the sliding door, most of the windows had been shattered. Debris was strewn about, furniture overturned, the cupboards open and empty. The door on the other side of the kitchen banged shut in the wind and gave me a start.
My eyes gravitated to a well-worn path through the rubbish to the back of the house.
I stepped into the house and called for Charlie again. Still no answer. I walked slowly through the house with all sort of wild, horrible thoughts pulsing through my head. Every closet and room in the house had been rummaged except for one—the closet door at the end of the hallway.
“Charlie! It’s your dad. Don’t shoot.” I didn’t hear a sound.
I walked slowly to the end of the hall and tapped on the door. “Charlie, are you in there? Don’t shoot. It’s me, Dad.”
I grasped the handle, twisted, and pulled. The door squeaked open.
The boys screamed and pushed their feet against the floor in an effort to get further back into the small closet. I recognized the other boy immediately. It was Tommy, Charlie’s friend from down the beach. Both guns pointed a gun at me.
“Don’t shoot,” I said, quietly and calmly. “It’s me, Charlie, your Dad.”
Tommy sat terrified, the gun trembling in his hands.
Charlie stared at me with eyes like saucers. His gun dropped to the floor.
I knelt in the closet door and asked Tommy to give me the gun. He handed it over.
I held out my hand to Charlie, and he took it and stood. He reached his hands out to my face and touched it. His fingers ran over my beard, a feature he’d never seen on his father. His eyes locked on mine. He didn’t even blink. Tears welled up in his eyes.
“Is it really you?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, my voice beginning to crack.
He looked far worse than I had dared to imagine, but, at the same time, he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
He stepped forward and threw his arms around me and clenched tightly. I returned the hug with my right arm and reached out to Tommy with my left.
“Are you all right?” I asked to Tommy.
He sat stunned and confused.
I grabbed Tommy by the arm and pulled him to us and hugged him too. Charlie and Tommy sobbed in my arms.
“I thought you were dead,” Charlie said.
“I told you I would come,” I said.
“I know, but it took so long. I thought you died.”
After a moment of joy, caution kicked back in. I checked the boys over and other than being dangerously thin, filthy, and terrified, they seemed ok.
I asked Charlie where his mother and the girls were. My stomach tightened as Charlie looked to the floor.
“Whatever has happened is not your fault. Just tell me where they are.”
“They are around back.”
“Show me.”
My legs grew weak, and I could barely walk as we headed to the back door. I began to perspire at the thought of what I was likely to encounter next—nearly my worst fear.
We walked down the sidewalk and rounded the corner when I saw two mounds in the yard. Both mounds had make-shift crosses, and there was a third cross stuck in the grass next to the mounds.
“No, no, no…” I muttered through building tears as I ran to the graves.
“Daddy, no! Over here!” Charlie said, stopping me cold. He pointed to the side of the house.
I ran to his side, and he began to remove firewood from the side of the house near the foundation. I began to claw at the pile. An old vent into the crawlspace beneath the house revealed itself, chipped away at the sides to the approximate size of a man.
I dropped to my knees and peered into the black hole. Were they buried under here?
“Do you have a light?” I yelled to the boys as I tried to wriggle into the hole.
I pushed myself back out and demanded to know what was down there.
“Mommy and Kelly,” Charlie said matter-of-factly as he jumped in the hole.
I heard someone speak faintly from within: “Who’s there?”
I forced myself back into the hole behind Charlie. From behind a rock, Charlie produced a beer bottle filled with what looked like gasoline. A wick stuck out from the throat. He struck a match and lit the wick. Yellow light flooded into the crawlspace. It had been dug out on all sides to make space for people, dirt piled up against the foundation in every direction.
I saw the face of Kelly, my oldest daughter, emaciated, pale, and sickly—nearly a zombie and much worse than Charlie or Tommy.
“Who is it? Charlie, is that you?”
“Honey? It’s Daddy.”
She sat back, stunned. I wriggled myself through the hole and fell into the dirt.
“Daddy?” She muttered, like an automaton. She sat and stared straight ahead.
I peered further in and saw a figure lying in the dirt covered by filthy blankets. I scrambled over and hugged my daughter, but she pulled away. I slid over to the figure and rolled it over. It was Kate. Alive!
I shined the light on her and my heart immediately sank. Her jaw hung open and drool dripped from the co
rner of her mouth. Scarred-over sores covered her face. Her eyes darted about—the only movement in her otherwise immobile body. Her head rolled back to its original place, looking away from me but struggling to turn back.
I suddenly doubted that this was even my Kate. Was the beautiful, confident, bright-eyed woman that I loved still inside this dying shell?
I couldn’t speak as a lump formed in my throat. I struggled for what to do. A million thoughts flashed through my mind ranging from dialing 911 to dragging her to the hospital to rushing out to find Jill. But I knew all those things were impossible.
I held her head back up and looked in her eyes. I saw the pain and the struggle. Then I saw the glint. Although her body had been ravaged and was near death, her eyes told me more in that instant than an hour long conversation could have. She was still there, and she knew I was here now.
Charlie scrambled over to her and put his hands on both sides of her face and put his nose right up to hers and said: “Mamma, it’s Daddy, see! I told you!”—as if he had communicated with her a million times in that exact way. I held her and Charlie and pulled Kelly to us.
“What happened to her?” I asked to no one in particular.
“She got sick,” replied Charlie. “She got the flu, but she lived. She went to sleep for two weeks, and when she woke up, she never moved again. Except her eyes. And she breathes.”
“How have you kept her alive?” I asked.
“We give her water and mashed up food. Sometimes she chokes, but it goes in.”
A sense of pride and awe flooded through me.
“We’ve got to get her out of here,” I said as I began to pick her up.
“
No!” cried Charlie. “She doesn’t like to move. It hurts.”
Her eyes softened, and a tear rolled down one cheek. I carefully put my arms around her again and held her. “I don’t know what to do for you,” I said.
A whoosh of air came out of her mouth as she struggled to speak.
“What?” I asked. “What should I do?”
I leaned down and placed my ear against her lips.
“
Nuh” she said as all the air rushed out of her lungs. She struggled to reinflate her lungs and then continued: “hing.”
I looked at her puzzled. She gasped for another breath and tried again: “
Nuh-hing.” It wasn’t speech but rather sounds forced out by sheer willpower.
I nodded
as the lump in my throat grew.
Relief spread across her eyes. She closed her eyes and managed to raise the corners of her mouth ever so slightly. Her lungs rattled, and she involuntarily jerked with a deep, wet cough.
She opened her eyes again and tears streamed out.
I wanted her to finish the sentence from the last time we spoke on the phone. I knew she couldn’t.
“I love you too,” I said.
I didn’t know if she could feel much, but I pulled the filthy blankets up around her neck—I knew how she hated being cold. I kissed her on the lips and then the cheek, and then I held my face to hers. My face felt hot against her cold skin, and I willed the heat out of my body and into hers.
She coughed and struggled for breath. Then she sighed and relaxed, and I knew.
“I’m here now. It’s ok,
” I said.
She looked at Charlie and then to Kelly. I pulled them in and laid each one next to her. They snuggled up to her without hesitation, as they surely had on many cold, scary nights.
I rested myself across her and the children and laid my head down on her chest, careful not to cause her any more discomfort.
Her breathing grew shallow and intermittent. I wondered how long she had been fighting for breath. I laid there for a few minutes listening to her heart beat. It gradually slowed. A bitter hatred began to bubble up from somewhere within me, but I fought it back.
Charlie and Kelly began to cry. “Mommy, no,” Charlie whispered. I pulled them both tighter to their mother.
“This
is what she wants,” I told them, tears beginning to come for me, too.
Every fiber in my body wanted to do something, to drag her from the hole and rush her to the hospital, the rush her
to where I thought Jill, Jeff and Sonny were. I fought against the feeling, because there was no help. There was nothing to do but hold her. Emotion raged in me but quickly boiled down to just one: helplessness.
The time between her breaths lengthened unbearably. Finally, she exhaled for the last time. I
cried as I listened to her heart slow, thump-thump…..thump-thump………..thump-----thump………and then it stopped.
Part of me died with her. I held the love of my life for a few more seconds, and then panic
suddenly washed over me.
“Where is Elaine?” I demanded. Visions of
The Red Plague, vans, orange trucks, and guys in overalls skipped frantically across my mind. I jumped as I saw motion to my side. Tommy, still staring into the hole, repositioned himself.
“She’s in the yard,” said Charlie, unemotionally, still lying next to his mother.
Another part of me died. I sat back and struggled as my mind reeled. It was too much to deal with at one time. I felt like I was going to explode. I struggled to catch my breath in a frantic attempt to hold it together for Charlie and Kelly.
“And Grandma and Grandpa?” I asked.
“Grandpa died in a shootout,” said Charlie. “He’s next to Elaine. Grandma got sick and left and never came back. She said she didn’t want to get us sick. I followed her to the top of the hill, but she cried and told me to get away and threw rocks at me.”