Authors: Elizabeth Forkey
The Reason
We're
Stuck Here
Several tedious
hours later, it is 8:45 a.m.—time to leave for our meeting with the Elders. I
make another appearance in the kitchen looking as cool and confident as
possible in some of my nicest new clothes. My scruffy old tennis shoes don't go
well with the new outfit; but my other choices were socks with sandals or the
pink platforms and that's an obvious choice. My hair is showered and springy
with curls. I left it down again today to hide the ugly bruise on my still
tender neck. Matt unapologetically looks me up and down several times. He lifts
his eyebrows and winks at me again which gives me the chills.
I don't know
what
Aunty's
plan is for him while we are gone. His
meeting with Thomas and Thomas' new family isn't until later. We can't take him
with us and he definitely can't stay here in the house alone. Please God, don't
let Aunty be that trusting. When Aunty asks if he would be willing to wait
outside of the fence until his meeting at noon, I sigh with audible relief.
They both look at me and I blush and look down at my grubby shoes. I guess
she's already been out today to set that up with the right people.
"Whatever,"
he says flatly. "I just want to get Thomas and go home as soon as
possible." After a pause he adds, "You said there'd be lunch. Are you
cooking it?"
I don't know if
he's afraid of being poisoned by a stranger or if he is hoping for more of her
good cooking. Either way, Aunty says that they'll be meeting at Thomas' house
and his family will be providing "refreshments." Such an old lady
word, I can't help cracking a small smile.
We all walk
quietly down Alexander Street. It's another clear, cold January day. I'm not a
fan of Georgia winters. They rarely get cold enough for any snow, but
everything stays dead and gray and dirty looking. And it rains a lot. Cold and wet
is definitely the worst weather I can think of. Today it's very cold, much
colder than yesterday. My breath puffs out in vapors ahead of me as we walk. At
least it's not rainy.
I'm bundled in
my new thermal green ski coat—the fateful picture still tucked in the
pocket—and a matching pink and green scarf around my neck. My fingers nervously
play at the edges of the photo. I didn't get a new hat yesterday. I've always
worn the same one, since I was little. My mom made it for me. It's pink, of
course, with two points on top like bunny ears ending in little yarn pompoms.
Matt's earlier appreciative reaction to my appearance—not that I cared at
all—turned to obvious humor when I came out of the back door in my wintery
getup. He smirked and said, "Nice hat." I don't care what he thinks.
I'm warm. And I like my hat.
Aunty is dressed
equally warm and considerably classier. She is forever looking like a magazine
ad for classy old lady clothes. She's toasty warm but not bulky looking. Matt
has produced a knit hat out of thin air—who am I kidding, you know Aunty gave
it to him—but has nothing warm on over the long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. He,
of course, still wears the gloves. They don't look particularly warm, more like
the type made to cover up diseased hands than warm winter-wear. I wonder if all
ten fingers are his or if he has some of those fake fingers in his gloves. He
has to be freezing, it's like 30 degrees out here, but I'm sure he wouldn't
admit it.
We walk past the
old library which is now used for storing dried goods. Past the old post
office, now the security building where "weapons" are kept and
security personnel trained. We don't actually have weapons. We don't believe in
killing, even in self-defense. We have
tasers
for
protection. The few guns that are in our community are only for hunting. We are
not a well-armed bunch. Hopefully, the fence is all we'll ever need. If we
could just hold out here for a little longer—
In a few hundred
feet we see the gate looming ahead and the security guards walk towards us to
meet us partway there. I guess word about Matt has gotten out, probably from
the men who kept watch over us last night. The guards don't look at all
surprised to see us escorting a zombie out of the community in the morning
hours.
Aunty, Miss
Manners, introduces the guards, Al and Tom, to Matt and vice-versa. The guards
look as awkward as I have been feeling, giving me a wonderful sense of
justification. As they shake hands with Matt, I notice Al subtly wipe his hand
on his pants after the handshake. I glance at Matt's face to see if he noticed
and I'm pretty sure he did. Why does that make me feel like gloating?
Tom reaches out
and takes hold of Matt's arm to lead him out through the gate. I'm close enough
to Matt to hear the low rumble that becomes an explosive growl as he jerks his
arm away from Tom, snarling like an animal that could take Tom's arm off with
one bite. Normally, confrontation of any kind really stresses me out. I am
definitely not myself lately because I find myself stifling a giggle in what
should be a shocking and tense situation. The guards look unsure in front of
Aunty, not sure how to handle her "guest".
In this small
pause, Matt marches quickly and resolutely up to the gate. Al rushes up behind
him and shields the key pad with his hand as he punches in the security code to
open the gate. Then Matt is through and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Back on the other side where he belongs.
He finds my eyes on
him and winks at me one more time before turning and walking down the road, his
downturned mouth making the wink seem more sinister than the previous ones.
Maybe he'll just go and not be back at the gate at our appointed meeting time.
Wouldn't that be wonderful?
I don't seem to
have good enough luck for that lately. He'll probably be there with a whole
bunch more of Thomas' family members. I bet they're all real winners.
Aunty thanks Tom
and Al and asks them to treat Matt politely if he returns before we do. She
only looks at Al as she makes her request.
We retrace our
steps back to the Inn and continue on past it to the city courthouse building
across the street. This is our meeting place, community center, hospital, and
most importantly our church. We call it the Upper Room, the U.R. The Elders
meet in one of the smaller rooms on the main floor. I see them almost every day
because I work two doors down from them as a volunteer secretary to the
teachers of the U.R. I help the teachers with classes and reports and research
and even visiting the members of the community to find out what they need from
the U.R. I really like my job and I have learned a lot while working under the
five different teachers.
Mr. Jarvis
teaches the younger kids—only 12 of them in the whole community—6 of which are
5 years old or younger. They were born after the disappearances, after we were
left here. The other 6 are 12 to 13 years old, Thomas is one of them. There is
no one left on earth between the ages of 5 and 10.
Every one of the kids in that age group,—all
over the entire world—disappeared, because at the time of the Second Coming
those kids were babies and young children. They were innocent.
Pretty creepy, huh?
So, Mr. Jarvis has a tough job being in
charge of pre-
schoolers
all the way up to middle-
schoolers
. Chuck Fox has been helping him lately, giving
much needed support.
I'm 16, almost
17, and there are 20 other teenagers between the ages of 14 and 17 in the youth
class with me. Our teacher is Mrs. Sherry
LaFakis
, a
gentle, devoted woman in her early forties. I used to pretend that she was my
mom, which I've outgrown but would still love to be true. Sherry's daughter,
Harmony, is the closest thing I have to a best friend. She's real and honest
and sort-of
like
a sister to me. I can always count on
Harmony to understand me when no one else does. We're almost the same age, but
I'm more the big sister and she the little sister. She looks up to me.
Then there are
the young adults who study under Ms. Julia Scott. There are about 50 of them,
which is a lot for her to handle so I help her a lot administratively. I'm
still not sure why she goes by Ms. She doesn't talk much about
herself
and I'm not sure if she was ever married or if she
had kids or anything. I would guess her to be about 40 years old.
The other 110
members of our community are old like Aunty. They have two different teachers,
one for the men and one for the women. Mrs. Ruth
Manof
leads the ladies—though sometimes I'd swear it was Aunty—and Dr. John
Talmurf
leads the men. With the older groups, the leaders
are more like administrators. They teach on occasion, but there are several
others who are equally capable and learned and they all just switch around and
take turns. Dr. John
Talmurf
is also one of the
Elders.
The head Elder,
Rev. Ralph
Depold
, is both Pastor of our church AND
mayor of the community. A pudgy, older man in his late sixties, he leads us
with gentleness and—more than occasionally—tears. Intelligent and faithful, he
reminds me of my grandfather; but sometimes I have a hard time respecting him
on account of the frequent crying. It's probably genuine, but sometimes it
seems kind of—manipulative.
As Aunty and I
sit outside of the Elders' door and wait to be called in, I muse about how all
these great people managed to get left behind. They are such leaders, so godly
and
obedient,
their deep love for The Lord is
evident—now. I've heard them stand up on Sunday morning and tell their stories.
Almost all of them came from churches and Christian communities. Most of them
had husbands and wives and children and grandchildren who all disappeared that
awful day. They knew immediately what had happened but it was too late. They
had known God with their head but not their hearts. Even Aunty was a Sunday
School
teacher for twenty years before He came back! But
they all missed the point. It wasn't a passion, there was no deep love. It was
a job, a requirement.
And He
knew.
So one by one
they each grieved their losses and shook their fists at God and reminded Him of
all they had done for him and how great they were. And one by one they all
realized their great mistake and fell under His wing and finally clung to Him.
And it wasn't too late. The fact that we don't have the disease proves that we
belong to Him, even though we're still stuck here for a little while. He's
giving us a second chance. He's giving all of humanity one last chance. My
thoughts are interrupted when Heidi, the Elder's secretary, calls us in to our
meeting.
Aunty Uses "The
Force"
There are ten
Elders in total.
Nine of them are here
this morning. As I look around at each of them, I notice that only Frank
Hosch
is missing. I think he was given the month off after
his recent wedding to Jean. I wish he was here because I feel like he genuinely
likes me—and my cake—and I'm feeling really vulnerable. Only seven need to be
present during a meeting to make a large enough group for a vote to be taken.
Even though I see these men on a daily basis, I feel nervous about being the
object of their judgment. I feel like I'm on trial for something.
The room they
use for their daily meetings is inauspicious, a small room with gray walls and
industrial carpeting. The ceiling is tiled with those big white pitted squares
common in public buildings. Several of the squares are missing a corner or sporting
ugly brown water stains from leaky pipes upstairs. The small room feels quite
warm, probably because there are so many of us in here. I feel sweaty and
itchy. I scratch self-consciously at my face. With my luck, the heat and my
nerves will give me hives.
The elders sit in a semi-circle around a large
meeting table made up of two long folding tables put together to make a square.
From left to right they are: Mr. Davys, Mr. Phillips, Mr. Terrell, Dr.
Talmurf
, Rev.
Depold
, Dr. Harvey,
Dr. Allison, Mr. Hunter, and Mr. Todd.
Rev.
Depold
, sitting in the middle, welcomes us heartily. He is
leaning back in his chair, fingers crossed over his wide belly, telltale hanky
sticking out of his pocket. I hope there's no crying in today's meeting. After
taking off our coats, we take two chairs that are close to each other—across
the table from the Elders. They all stare expectantly at me as though I should
say something. Aunty gives my leg a squeeze under the table.
"Well,
Colleen, tell us what happened," Dr.
Talmurf
says kindly, his eyes twinkling with energy despite his older age.
I know him the
best since he's one of my bosses and he always seems excited.
About things that should be boring, like
theology and the Bible. And his enthusiasm is catching. I love listening to him
as he prepares his U.R. lessons. My little desk is just outside of his office.
He always leaves his office door open just a crack when he rehearses and I'm
sure it's for my benefit. He's my favorite among the Elders. The other Elders don't
seem to mind that Dr.
Talmurf
has taken the lead.
Aunty clears her
throat and begins.
"We left
early, as is our custom, yesterday morning. The drive was uneventful, the
car in perfect working order
, and after leaving the
community we didn't see another living soul for the rest of the drive. We found
the stores just as they were six months ago, completely devoid of people. If my
memory of six months ago serves, I'd say it didn't look as though anyone had
been there since the last time Ivy and I went. We were careful none the less.
We went in each store together, and we took turns watching over each other and
gathering supplies."
When she says
"supplies", I can't help but think again of my frivolous choices—the
jewelry, the zombie shirt, the pink shoes—and I blush at how unnecessary some
of my shopping was.
"In the
last store of the day, after much success and no incidents, we were frightened
by a noise in the back of the store. To be safe, we hurried from the store to
the car. We did have our
tasers
with us and we are
both capable with them, having taken all the safety courses required by
security to carry one. When we got into the car we were immediately assaulted
by a diseased man who had been hiding in the back seat on the passenger
side."
I'm squirming
nervously and hoping no one will ask, but Mr. Terrell interrupts Aunty and asks
the obvious question.
"How did
the man get into the car without you noticing? Was the alarm not working
properly?"
"We had
mistakenly left the car unlocked after a trip to the car with some of our
bags."
She squeezes my
hand under the table to encourage me as she takes responsibility for my
mistake. I am thankful to not be on the spot yet, but I still feel the blush of
shame on my cheeks.
Mr. Terrell, a
very businesslike man who doesn't often show his feelings, frowns and
reprimands Aunty. "So carelessness is the reason for this
meeting?"
Aunty gives him
a calm
, even gaze and clears her throat.
"Unfortunately,
I believe there would have been an incident either way. The man attacked Ivy
from behind and—"
Mr. Terrell cuts
her off mid-sentence, "I'd like to hear about the attack from Miss
Ivy," he pauses and then adds, "please."
Aunty nods, mild
irritation showing on her almost perfect face, and looks to me with
expectancy.
I start by
saying "Yes sir," but my throat is dry and scratchy and my words are
quiet and unclear. I have to clear my throat twice and say it again, "Yes
sir. I got into the car and knew right away that a zombie was in the car because
he smelled awful."
The nine men
before me all suddenly look appalled and "ahem" a lot and clear their
throats.
Rev.
Depold
, concealing a smile, speaks up for the first time
since greeting us.
"Ivy, we do
not refer to the lost as—zombies. That is a very derogatory term and we will
gain no ground with them if we think of them as monsters. They are just as we
were before grace. They are to be pitied and loved with Christ's love or we are
no better off than they."
He nods at me
while staring into my face with his gentle reproof and indicates with a wave of
his hand that I continue with my story.
I'm embarrassed
at how immature I must sound. I need to be more like Aunty, professional and
calm. In my opinion, the story oozes drama and should be told as such. But, for
the sake of credibility, I'll be business-like.
"He reached
around from behind my seat and locked his arms around my neck. He was choking
me, but I don't think he wanted to kill me."
Mr. Terrell
interrupts again, "It is strange that he didn't restrain the driver first,
isn't it?"
Rev.
Depold
says softly, "Let her tell the whole story
Marcus,
then
we'll make our comments."
Mr. Terrell nods
and they all look at me again.
"Anyways,"
I'm trying to keep my train of thought, "I struggled and Aunty quickly
tased
him several times. I think he was unprepared for us
to fight back and didn't expect us to be armed. He let go of me when she
shocked him and fell on the floor in the back seat. Aunty pulled away from the
shopping center towards the road to make sure no one else came to his aid.
Presumably whoever—"
Aunty quietly
cuts in and corrects me, "Whomever."
"Yeah,
whomever
made the
noise in the back of the store." I take a deep breath, "So we drove a
good ways away and then Aunty jumped out and came around to help haul him out
of the car. She shocked him a few more times and we pulled him out and dumped
him on the street. He was wearing a silver Pravda bodysuit, expensive
zomb
—uh—expensive shoes that
they
wear, and an Oscar the Grouch mask. You know, from Sesame
Street?"
This gets
another little grin from Dr.
Talmurf
. Blank stares
from everyone else.
"Um, so I
jumped back in the car, but it took Aunty a little longer because she was
looking at something the man had and when she got back in she showed me that he
had a
Portaroid
picture of me."
"Polaroid"
Aunty corrects.
At this piece of
news, they all get pretty animated, turning to look at each other and
exchanging scowls.
"Do you
have the picture now?" Rev.
Depold
asks kindly.
His smile is forced now—
it's
genuineness questionable
when paired with the heavy scowl of his bushy eyebrows.
"Yes sir.
Here.
"
I pull the photo
out of my coat pocket and push it across the table to him.
"This was
taken of me just last week. I remember the day that I wore that shirt. But I
don't remember seeing anyone with a camera."
I can't think of
anything else to tell them. There's a long pause with everyone looking at me
with concern.
So I add,
"Then we drove home."
I sit back in my
chair and look at Aunty. I'm very ready to be done talking.
"Anything
you can add to this account, Colleen?" asks Rev.
Depold
.
She looks sad
and says, "Only that after much thought I am very confused about the
nature of the attack. I can't imagine something with any planning, which
obviously there was because of the photograph, being so easily thwarted. I'm
afraid it wasn't their intention to take Ivy and I'm therefore quite worried
about what their intentions really were. I can't help but feel less safe here
in the community. Someone here took that photograph. I don't think an outsider
would've gone completely unnoticed in broad daylight and I'm worried that there
is someone here in the community who can't be trusted. Unfathomable as that
seems."
Everyone sits
stunned and quiet at this pronouncement. This is a terrifying new thought and
I'm as shocked as they are. I wish I could think of a hole in
Aunty's
logic, because then I'd feel safer, but I can't. I
thought we had escaped our attacker and made it back to the safety of our home
and our people. But if Aunty is right, I'm still in danger and nothing is
simple anymore. I know we had already talked about who had taken the photo and
the possibility of not being able to trust someone. But she hadn't told me that
she thought we were
meant
to get
away.
That something worse than the attack was still going
on.
A plot of some sort that involves me.
Rev.
Depold
and Aunty are looking at each other across the table
with a mirror image of sadness and understanding on their faces. I wish I knew
what they were thinking.
Mr. Terrell
says, "What about the boy who spent the night at the Inn last night. Do
you think that was smart? Is he possibly involved in this in any
way?"
"I don't
believe he is related to our shopping experience in any way. He is here for
Thomas, as you know. I think it was coincidental that he showed up at our door
yesterday and I truly believe he is in no way involved."
Aunty seems to
put force into these words.
Like she's Obi Wan
Kanobi
, wielding "The Force."
Like she can
simply speak with conviction and these men will believe her and repeat back,
"these aren't the droids we're looking for." Sometimes I suspect she
uses these powers on me. The other elders look pleased to hear this but Mr.
Terrell seems to be immune to "The Force".
"You
likewise convinced us that shopping was safe, against our better
judgement
, and you were wrong about that. Be careful that
you don't think yourself wise Colleen and put us all in danger with your trust
of this young man."
Aunty simply
returns his gaze. She has always been a strong woman. Standing
on her own without a man
. I think she has a hard time
submitting to the entirely male board of Elders. If women had been allowed to
be elected, I'm sure she'd be on the board herself.