INFECtIOUS (29 page)

"It's
perfectly safe. Trust me."

I climb down
inside the dark hole.

Body Parts

Matt puts his
hands around my waist and lifts me down from the short ladder. I let out a
little shriek, surprised at how easily he is able to lift me, and it echoes
loudly in more than one direction. I'm not fat, but I don't feel thin either. I
never let anyone pick me up. I'm embarrassed of my curvy frame.

It's dark at the
bottom; but Matt produces a flash light from somewhere and I blink in the
sudden brightness. We are in a little underground intersection. The tunnels
branch out three different ways from where we stand and they are much lower.
Dark, ominous sewer pipes that were long ago buried underground.
If we are going down one of them, which I assume we are, we'll have to hunch
over to walk through them. I completely regret coming down here. No amount of
respect earned from Matt could compensate for the fact that millions of spiders
must live down here. And most assuredly rats too.

He gives me a
confident smile in the light of his flashlight, I'm sure he sees the fear and
regret all over my face.

"It's not
far at all.
And not too dirty.
Just follow me
ok?"

I shake my head
no. I want to go back up.

"You can
hold my hand," he says reaching out a gloved hand for mine.

I don't think
I'll take any comfort from gripping a zombie glove while being led into that
black abyss. I shake my head no again.

"I thought
you wanted to know," he says encouragingly, with just a trace of
impatience.

"Could you
take the gloves off?" I ask pitifully.

He smiles
crookedly at me and, putting the flashlight between his legs, quickly strips
off the scary gloves. He holds out his big hand and I take it, gripping it
tightly. And, whether I'm up to it or not, he's suddenly pulled me into the
middle tunnel and we begin to make our way through the frightening
echoey
darkness.

"Why do you
wear them?" I ask one of the many questions I've been dying to ask him. My
voice quivers slightly with fear and an embarrassing chill runs through my
body
 
and
shakes my
arm. He squeezes my hand in encouragement and the tender gesture gives back
some of the confidence that the darkness has stolen.

"I like
them," he says simply.

I was hoping for
some deeper reason. After a minute of silence, listening to just the sound of
our feet and a far-off dripping of water, he rewards my silence with a better
answer.

"I fit in
better with them on. I'm not as sick as most people."

"Yeah, I
noticed. Is it because you didn't get the shot?"

"That's one
reason," he replies.
Vague as usual.
After
another minute of silent trudging he surprises me with more info, "I went
a long time without ever taking them off. Thomas was getting so bad and he had
to wear gloves. He was so sick and I wasn't and I hated it. I wanted him to
think my hands were as bad as his. Now that he's better—"

He doesn't
finish the sentence.

"Aren't you
thrilled?"

"Yes. I'm happy,"
his voice sounds empty and casts suspicion on his professed happiness.
"Tom was near death before he ran away. I was gone. I had left him
alone."

He sounds so
angry and I don't have the courage to speak words of encouragement. His dark
tone in this inky black tunnel makes my heart hammer against my chest and pound
out a warning in my ears.
So much darkness.
I
shouldn't be here! I instinctively slow down and put tension between us as I
slightly pull against his hand that is clamped with Goliath-like strength over
mine.

He must take my
fear as reproof because he holds tighter to my hand, making me wince, and
pleads with me, "I had left him because I was trying to find
someway
to help him!" He sounds like a man on trial
and I know it isn't me he wants to convince. He's defending himself against his
own inner demons.

"How could
you have helped him?" I ask, successfully hiding the tremble in my voice
this time. I am intrigued by his secrets, but I also want to calm him and pull
him back out of his self-inflicted prison.

"There are
ways."

"Don't tell
me too much about yourself." I say sarcastically.

After a silent
few seconds, he chuckles and we resume our march. My senses heightened in the
dark, I feel him relax and it relaxes me. He gently strokes my hand with his
thumb and new sensations take over. Fear is swallowed up in anticipation,
excitement and attraction. He chuckles to himself again and I listen as the
pleasant sound bounces up and down through the tunnel.

That's one
difference between him and Tim. Tim is so sincere.
So
intense.
Anytime I'm sarcastic with Tim, he looks hurt and confused.
Matt has my sense of humor. I find conversation with him to be—easy. Even in
this awful place. He doesn't want anything too serious out of me. He likes to
laugh and have fun. He won't look down on me if I'm not perfect. It's very
exhilarating, spending time with him. I realize that I'm comparing them as
though they are both options. So strange how fast life changes. A few weeks
ago, Tim was a creepy nerd and zombies were terrifying. Now—I feel differently
about both of them.

We only walk a
minute more before reaching another juncture. Matt shines the flashlight up
above our heads and I see another ladder leading up. It starts about four feet
up, around chest level for me. I don't have the upper body strength to hoist
myself up there and I'm not about to be picked up again. Matt jumps easily and
catches the fourth rung up. He walks his feet up the wall until finding the
bottom step with his foot. Then he lets go with one hand and leans down to
offer me a hand up.

I'll give it a
shot.

I've come this
far. It's probably not going to look very smooth though. I give him my hand and
he pulls me while I step up the wall and pull myself up the lower rungs with my
other hand. It's easier than I thought, thanks to Matt's strong arms, and with
minimal embarrassment I'm quickly climbing the ladder behind him.

I expected to
come out somewhere outside; but we come out indoors in a dark room. Matt shines
the flashlight around and I see we are in a cellar of some sort. It's a small
bare room, cement floor and walls, with nothing in it but some old pieces of
garbage. Off to one side is an old wooden staircase leading up into sunlight
and more mystery.

"Where are
we?"

"You are
out in the real world, Ivy.
Past your fence.
Your
in my kingdom now," he
says with a wicked smile.

If he hopes to
make me nervous—it's working. I hear the warning of my conscience telling me
again that I shouldn't be here. Instead of obeying that inner, wiser, voice, I
try to muster the bravery Matt seems to think I'm capable of. "How did you
find this place? Does anyone else know about it?"

"No one
else knows."

He sits down on
the cement floor and I join him, relieved that we aren't venturing out of the
supposed safety of this room.

"I knew Tom
was in
Toccoa
. I had tracked him that far. He left
only hours before I got back from my run and I was on his tail the whole time.
Just never caught up to them until they got here and then I was stuck. I did
try just asking to come in," he says with mock politeness, "and when
manners didn't work— I spent a few weeks studying the fence, looking for
weaknesses, asking around about who you people were.
How well
armed, that kind of thing.
I couldn't come up with a good way in and I
didn't want to involve anyone else. I could've probably gotten a lot of them to
storm the fence with me; but I didn't know what I'd find when I got in here.
Didn't want to put Tom in any danger.
One day, I found this
place." He points upstairs. "It's an abandoned house, Kudzu grown all
over it. It sits all alone near the railroad tracks. Quite
aways
from any of the Pravda compounds. I was just looking around for a good place to
sleep for the night and I found this hole down here. I followed the tunnel in
to your side that night. But I didn't know where Tom was. The irony is he was
only a few houses down the street from where I came out. So, the next day, I
explored around and saw you getting out of the car. You did that little spider
dance in your high heels and it made me laugh. You seemed real enough so I
thought I'd give asking another try. You know the rest."

I remember that
day with clarity. He scared the crap out me. I hadn't realized he saw me scream
and jump in spider terror. That's pretty embarrassing. I'm glad it's too dark
in here for him to see me blush.

"You
smelled terrible." I say playfully.

"Sorry to
have offended you, your highness," he retorts with a smile.

"I
distinctly remember the smell of cat litter. Am I going to smell like cat poop
now that I've spent the morning with you?"

"One can
only hope," he says feigning animosity.

"I have to
get back. Tim and Rosa will be back at the house soon."

"Tim
sleeping over now?" he asks with a surprising amount of irritation in his
voice.

"Why? Are
you jealous?"

"Who's
Rosa?"

"I'll tell
you about her on the way back."

When we emerge
from the tunnel, safely back inside the compound, Matt turns to take my hand
again and I look up at him in confusion.

"Ivy, I
hope you know that things aren't going to last much longer here. If you're ever
in trouble, meet me here in the tunnel. I'll be there."

"Are you
going to live in there from now on? Should I knit you a housewarming
gift?" I ask sarcastically. "Why aren't you heading back to Atlanta
like you said?
Your place, your job, your Jessie?"
My turn to sound blatantly irritated and suspicious.

"Jealous?"
he mocks, the shoe on the other foot. "I'm not leaving until Tom is better
and I know he's safe. You'll all have to move soon."

Ben has already
insisted we aren't safe. Now hearing it from someone on the other side too, I'm
worried that they are both right.

"How long
do you think we have?" I ask.

"Not
long."

That's
incredibly vague and unhelpful.

"Ok. Well,
uh, I guess I'll be going back home now."

He doesn't offer
to walk me back.
So chivalrous.

I'm almost home
when Mr. Terrell emerges from an apartment building right in front of me. He is
holding something under his arm, wrapped in what looks to be a tablecloth. I
wonder who he could've been visiting during the morning meeting. I know this
isn't his apartment building. Maybe someone is sick and he was making a
friendly house call during the service? I didn't know he did friendly visits.
There's no way to turn around or hide, he's seen me already. I almost made it
home, too. Why couldn't he have been at the U.R. with everyone else? The
Homecoming meeting and the dinner should last at least another hour or two,
even with the day shortened due to only two of the missionaries coming home.

I expect him to
question me about why I'm out of the house, but he surprises me and puts his
hand out to kindly squeeze my shoulder.

"I'm so
sorry for your loss, Ivy. Colleen was an incredible woman. I respected her,
perhaps more than any woman I've ever known. "

"Thank
you," I mumble still caught off guard by his gentleness.

"Ivy, I
hate to bother you today, but we need to speak privately as soon as possible. I
will gather the other Elder's after the meeting. Can you meet us in the Elder's
room around 3:00?"

"Sure,"
I say, now more confused than ever.
"Just me?"

I remember again
that I'm all alone now. No one will sit next to me at that imposing table or
squeeze my leg with reassurance.