E j deen, p.4
E. J. Deen, page 4
She returned to the circle a few minutes later, her movements so subdued and quiet that it took a keenly alert individual to even detect them. Zach saw her bare feet pause in the dirt near where he knelt, and glanced up to meet her eyes. Her face was clean now. The blood that had been crusted under her nose and along her jaw was gone, showing the bruises beneath, bright purple against her pale skin. She wore the t-shirt he’d given her but still held the blanket around her. She didn’t say a word, just handed him the damp cloth and the jug of water and then went back to her spot on the opposite side of the fire.
Zach stared down at the jug in his hand. Smart girl. She’d used only a minimal amount of water. He felt an unusual perception in his face, something like a grin coming on. But it had been so long since he’d smiled that the act seemed foreign, and the grin never did manifest. As if his face didn’t remember how anymore.
He looked at Serena. The fact that she hadn’t been careless with the water was a good sign. She still cared about things, despite her injuries and the atrocities that had been forced on her. That was almost worth smiling about.
As soon as the rabbit was done, Zach took it off the spit and divided it into two meals. When he offered a portion to the girl, she didn’t even hesitate. She snatched it from his hands and began to eat ravenously. Her actions were a clear indication that she’d been starved. He didn’t bother to caution her to slow down. If she puked, she puked.
Knowing it was the only meal he would get for awhile, Zach ate more slowly. It wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy the ache in his gut, but he could fill that void later, after he’d gotten the girl safely home again. Then he would go back into the hills, disappear from the world, and take his fill of what the land had to offer, restore his energies, and renew himself.
When he finished his meal, he took the rabbit remains away from the clearing and buried them deep in the earth, packing the dirt tightly back into the indention and scattering leaves and other forest debris over the mark. Satisfied that all was well, he returned to extinguish the fire. The girl watched him with eyes that reflected her apprehension. She obviously didn’t understand the need to douse the fire, and the sudden darkness seemed to frighten her.
“I’m not in the mood to entertain any has-been that might happen along and see our fire,” he explained.
Without further conversation, he eased himself down onto the ground, made himself comfortable, and closed his eyes. He didn’t even bother to use anything under his head for a pillow. Nor did he take another blanket from the truck to wrap around his large frame. He just lay there, alternately closing his eyes and then opening them again to stare up at the stars winking in the inky expanse above.
Occasionally, he lifted his head and listened to the noises around them to make sure all was as it should be. Weary as he was, he remained alert until he eventually drifted into a fitful state of semi-sleep.
4
The dream blind-sided him, sneaked up on him. He’d thought the memories had been purged from his mind, but he was wrong. They were still there, just as vivid. Just as powerful.
News items flashed through his mind, bits of the past colliding together and then falling apart. Collages of memories marched through his mind in succession. He couldn’t stop them. God, help him, he
couldn’t stop it. Those misty fingers enshrouded him, held him prisoner, choking the life from him, and there was nothing he could do about it. The memories were always there, eager to haunt his dreams and to remind him that the world was still in chaos.
“We interrupt our program to bring you this special report. There has been an explosion at the White House. Officials aren’t certain how security was breached, but they know the people behind this explosion had the help of an insider, and perhaps even access to the President himself. As of late this afternoon, there have been no real suspects named in this chilling event. It is not certain what particular message was behind the bombing, but Intelligence is taking it very seriously, and they are taking extreme measures to protect the life of the President. Former epidemic activist Linda Donovan is being questioned concerning the possible involvement of one of her key members William Stiles. Most of you will remember that Mr. Stiles is the man responsible for the legislation that instigated the tattooing of the victims of the deadly GV-3 virus. As of yet, Mr. Stiles has not been found for questioning. Stay tuned to this station for further updates as we rejoin our scheduled programming.”
That had been the first incident, the beginning of the chaos. The news bulletin was eventually heard around the country. A sense of doom hung in the air as the nation waited for the outcome. On the surface, it was business as usual, but everyone knew things weren’t quite the same anymore. Society teetered on the edge of a massive, worldwide change, and much as people would like to trick
themselves into believing it wasn’t happening, everyone knew what was coming.
At the time of the bombing, Zach had been visiting his parents at their home in Washington, D.C. He was fresh, young, his face free of the scars that would mark him in the future. A Harvard student on the verge of graduation. Despite the widely spread plague that was slowly lessening the population, law firms were already bidding for him.
Every day more and more people died and countless numbers fell victim to the virus. Amazingly, life went on. Society still functioned. The people who were free of the virus pretended to be unaffected by what was happening around them, as if they were somehow above it all. Like the government, they chose to ignore the situation. Unbeknownst to the public at large, there was a small faction in the south that didn’t like what they were seeing. They were affected by the changes, and they were trying to do something about it. At the time, no one had any idea how large they would become, how powerful. Not even Zach. He’d been too busy with his career, his successes, with his life, to even bother to pay attention. Like everyone else, he’d heard the stories, but it just hadn’t touched his world yet. Not yet.
But it would. Inevitably, it would touch everyone.
Zach sat with his father in the den, watching the news while his mother put the finishing touches on the evening meal. After listening to the broadcast, his father resolutely turned the screen off. Zach expected him to say something, but he didn’t speak for a long time. He just sat there staring down into his scotch and soda, the silence stretching between them until it became almost painful.
“I lost another employee today,” he finally said.
Zach felt something contract inside his chest. There was an odd quality to his father’s voice, an edge he’d never heard before, and it gave him the slightest twinge of panic.
The older man glanced at his son, his expression one of sadness. And something else. He was
frustrated, afraid. Zach had never seen fear on his father’s face before. It was a humbling experience, disturbing, and it increased his own anxieties.
“The man just up and quit on me. Said he couldn’t work with someone who had the virus,” his father said.
“You mean Simons?”
Zach knew of the man his dad was referring to. Simons was a ten-year survivor of the illness, but the symptoms were beginning to show now. The more they manifested, the more workers his father lost.
Sadly, there was nothing that could be done about it. Years before, Simons and everyone like him had been given the right to work, the right to be a functioning part of society. No amount of force, no amount of pleading by the people, had been able to change that, although the government was well aware, perhaps even more aware than the populace, that it was a major factor in the spread of the disease. The politicians were too intent on hiding the truth to be much good to society anymore. As long as it didn’t touch them personally, they didn’t care about the risk.
“There’s something else,” Zach said, knowing there was. His father was hiding something, probably hoping to protect his family from the awful truth.
Zach could see by the look on his father’s face that he was right. There was something more, something his father wanted to tell him, but he was never given the opportunity. Zach’s mother came into the room and announced that dinner was served, ending their conversation. Zach would never know what his dad had been about to divulge. The only weak moment in the man’s entire life had been squelched before he could even fully reveal it.
Even in his sleep, Zach could feel it, all the emotion he’d experienced at the time. The anxiety, the uncertainty, and the fear. God, the fear…pressing in on him from all sides. He couldn’t escape it. He’d never imagined then that it would only get worse, that it would become such a part of his existence.
Like living in a damn nightmare that he couldn’t wake up from.
Why? Why did it have to happen?
His dream raced forward in time. Years passed in a kaleidoscope of constantly shifting images before settling into another snapshot of time. He was a successful attorney now. The quarantine had just gone into effect. Images chased one another through his mind. The National Guard was sweeping through all the major cities, rounding up the people with the virus, preparing to transport them to the designated areas that would yank them out of society, keep them away from the others, and hopefully stop the spread of the infection. A staggering amount of money was spent. It took weeks. Months. The country resembled one big police state, some sort of bizarre form of Nazism. The government became brutal in its enforcement of the new laws. They instituted mandatory testing every six months for every citizen of the United Sates. For months, the police hunted down those who broke the law by hiding out and refusing to go to the designated areas. Those who managed to slip through the cracks became the new underground.
Immune to mankind’s feeble attempts to stop it, the virus plowed onward. The people began to revolt, and in all the ensuing confusion, it was impossible to contain all the plague-ridden. When the government failed them, the southern faction rose up and took matters into their own hands. They called themselves the Hunters, and they had one agenda. To kill.
The process was slow, but once it gained prevalence, nearly everyone owned a gun, and it was every man for himself. Several more factions rose up and joined the Hunters. The angry citizens who were too humane to kill outright began to do their own tattooing, trying to continue what the government had started. Victims of the plague were rounded up like animals and tattooed on the forehead. It was a desperate attempt to control the disease. It failed.
It was a strange time in history, a time of turmoil. Even Hitler himself couldn’t have caused the destruction that was about to take place.
On the day of the first revolt, the President of the United States was killed. He had acted too late, and the southern faction made sure he paid for his misdeeds. It was no great loss. He had been a weak President. He hadn’t been able to stand against the untainted public’s cry for action, so he had fallen, along with everyone who had tried to protect him.
War broke out all across the country. Bombs, shootings, fires burning out of control, looting. People lay in the streets dead and dying. The sight of blood and gore became common. Blood was everywhere, left to congeal in the gutters of every major city in the country. Every metropolitan area was ripe with the smell of decaying flesh. The living were forced to ignore it all, to step over the dying. They couldn’t afford to stop and help. No one wanted to risk touching tainted blood. No one had time for compassion.
They were too busy hiding out or running from the killers who were everywhere. In these times, it didn’t pay to trust anyone. Not neighbors. Not friends. Not even family members. Everyone was a potential enemy.
The government crumbled. Most public officials were dead or running for their lives. The National Guard tried to contain the chaos, but it was no use. A slapped-together government was formed, headed by a new president who promised to resolve the problems. But it was too late. The situation was out of control. This government too fell by the wayside. With no one to take direction from, the Guard eventually quit trying. It was useless. The country was in collapse. The plague could no longer be ignored. It was raging in full force now, and the world was raging with it.
The images in Zach’s dream slid forward, clashing and colliding into a confusion of memories that left him frustrated, until it finally settled on that horrible day when the Guard had come to Washington. The day his metamorphosis had begun.
The memory had tormented him for years. He should have done something. He should have at least tried. But there wasn’t much he could have done except be killed like everyone else. Instead, he had survived, to live the hell.
The tanks rolled into the city like dark sentries from Hades. In fear for their lives, Zach and his parents huddled together in the basement. They had barricaded themselves in the night before, after an attack that had left his father wounded. Outside, the city was in a rampage. Thieves had already broken into their home and stolen all they could, including food. His father lay bleeding, his breath rattling in his throat. Zach’s mother had tried her best to bandage the stab wound, but it didn’t look promising. The war outside prevented them from leaving to seek help. Trapped in their own home, unable to get to a hospital, there was nothing they could do but wait, hope, and pray.
He could still smell the dank wetness of that basement, could still smell his father’s blood, congealed on the dirty bandage. And urine. Strong. Pungent. God, how he wished he could erase those scents from his nostrils, but they wouldn’t go away. They never went away.
When the tear gas came crashing through the windows, Zach grabbed his mother and pulled her out of the basement, up the stairs, and out the front door, gasping and choking on the burning chemical as they went. She screamed and fought him all the way, pleading for him to release her, to let her go back to her husband. He never let go of her. He couldn’t. He had to save her.
Outside on the stoop, sunlight knifed across his sensitive eyes, temporarily blinding him. He hadn’t seen the light of day in more than a week, and his eyes had difficulty adjusting to the sudden glare.
As his vision cleared, Zach was stricken by the pandemonium that greeted him. Thick smoke billowed skyward from the burning city beyond, and he could hear screams and gunfire in the distance. Mayhem everywhere. The bullets were fired before he realized what was happening. His mother’s body
convulsed in his arms, a cry of surprise startled from her throat, and then blood spurted all over his chest, all over his face. Her blood. My God! It was her blood! So much blood. Horrified, he stared at the thick red dots that spattered his chest, his arms and hands. How could this small body have contained so much blood?
Stunned, he glanced around and saw a line of National Guardsmen in front of the house, a gleaming row of rifles pointed in his direction. His mother sagged against him, blood dripping from her nose and mouth, her eyes staring vacantly toward the sky. He opened his mouth to roar his outrage, but the sound was cut short when he heard another blast and then instantly felt a stab of fire in his left shoulder. He tore his gaze away from his mother’s face long enough to glance once more at the Guardsmen. Through the smoke, he could see them all, waiting. Waiting for him to go down. Why? Why were they trying to kill him? He was an attorney, for chrissake! He was on the side of the law.
And his mother. Why had they killed an innocent woman who had never hurt anyone in her life?
Zach was confused. He didn’t understand what was happening. But when he saw that the Guardsmen were about to fire again, his instincts kicked in and he made a snap decision that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He let his mother’s body fall from his arms, heard the dull sounding thud as she hit the pavement, and then he collapsed on top of her. Forcing his eyes into a sightless stare, he lay still, feigning death. He could feel his mother’s blood soaking through his shirt, could feel its warmth, its stickiness. He wanted to weep, wanted to give in to the fear, but he didn’t dare. If he were lucky, the Guardsmen would think he was dead, and they would leave him lying there while they went after their next target.
He didn’t know how long he lay there. At some point, he vomited. His mouth felt dry and his head throbbed. His left arm was numb, a little wet, and he felt dizzy whenever he tried to focus his eyes on anything for very long. At times, everything would fade into oblivion and he was certain he had died.
But then he would awaken again, to pain and despair so intense that it shook him to the core.
By some cruel miracle, he didn’t die. He wanted to. He even begged God to let him go. He blamed himself for his mother’s death. He should have done something. But it had all happened so fast. Maybe she was the fortunate one. Maybe it was best that she had gone the way she had. Quickly. With no warning. At least she wouldn’t have to endure the anguish of the next several years. Like he would.
Christ, why couldn’t he believe that? Why couldn’t he make himself believe that?
It must have been an accident. The National Guard must have made a mistake. Why else would they kill innocent people? It didn’t make sense. Nothing made any sense anymore.
The dream morphed a little, slipped around, and then brought him back to that day, back to the street where he lay in his mother’s blood. The thick, red ooze was everywhere. Covering him, pressing him down, heavy on his chest, choking him, dripping from the eaves of the house to fall into his face. He couldn’t escape it. It was always there to remind him that he should have been the one to die. Not her.
Suddenly, Zach realized that his eyes were open. He had snapped out of the dream and now found himself staring across the dark clearing into the night. There was just enough moonlight to make his surroundings easily visible. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was, but then he spotted the girl.
Her eyes were open too, and she was staring at him, watching him. A fine sheen of perspiration prickled on his face and made his shirt cling uncomfortably to his broad chest. He felt a surge of anger.
