A New World: Untold Stories (8 page)

I’m so sorry…no…please…I’m sorry
.

After a time, she lays Brian’s head gently back to the floor.

“Maaaaark!!!” she cries, stricken with grief and hoping that at least one of her sons survived.

Losing both would be too much. The pain of seeing Brian is drowning her with sorrow. She looks about the room, frantically searching for signs of Mark, her other son. Seeing none, she rises and scales the stairs near the foyer. She climbs into darkness, turning down the hall to their bedrooms.

“Mark? Mark? It’s mom…hon,” she calls, walking down the gloomy hall.

Checking on each of the boy’s rooms, she doesn’t see any sign of him. Upon seeing Brian’s room, with Seahawk posters adorning the walls, and the crumpled team bedspread, her anguish rises anew.

Crying, she makes her way to her bedroom. Pushing the door open, she immediately sees the same kind of chaotic mess that was in the living room. The night stands have been turned over, the small items that adorned them strewn. On the floor, a picture of her, Sean, and the kids during a trip to Mount St. Helens lies with the glass shattered.

The cream-colored bedspread is completely off the bed and stained darkly in places. The sheets are crumpled and covered with similar stains. There’s no sign of her husband, Sean, or of Mark. Feeling terribly alone and saddened, she walks numbly back to the living room where she strokes her son’s hair, cooing, “Brian, I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry.”

Looking at the mess in the living room, memories fly through her mind, none taking hold for long; her and Sean’s happiness when they first stepped into ‘their’ house. The time Mark ran down the wood-floored hallway upstairs and tumbled down the steps, Sean always complaining about the squeaky board in the bedroom, talks of finally putting a hot tub in the back. Her thoughts slowly fade to nothing; just sitting in her living room, running her fingers through her son’s hair.

A sound slowly brings her out of her entranced numbness. She turns her head toward the window, realizing that something is outside. There’s some type of aircraft, or helicopter, she’s not sure. And there are words. Straining to make them out, she hears a broadcast telling any survivors to meet at the mall parking lot.

It broadcasts a few times before fading into the distance. She doesn’t care. The call mentioning survivors fits in with what she’s seen. She doesn’t feel like a survivor though, she’s dead inside. With Sean and her kids gone, there’s nothing to live for.

A very small spark penetrates through the cloud of her grief. She hasn’t actually seen Sean or Mark, but from the stains on the bed upstairs, she knows they were taken by whatever happened. Still, she doesn’t know what else to do.

“I’ll be back my beautiful boy,” she says, leaning over to kiss Brian on the back of his head.

With a heavy heart, she rises and stumbles outside to begin the long walk down the lonely streets to the parking lot.

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Still reeking and wearing her heavily stained running jacket and tights, she shuffles forward and boards the bright yellow school bus. Soldiers surround the lot, gathering others who arrived, giving water, food, and medical attention to those needing it. They took her name and guided her to the bus with only an odd look or two at her apparel.

She slumps into the first seat and leans her head against the window, looking out but not really seeing anything. Her heart beats, but it’s filled with pain and grief. The bus eventually begins moving but she barely notices. All meaning of life has been swept away with the loss of her son and not knowing about her husband and Mark.

Buildings pass by as the bus leaves the outskirts of town and heads north along the Interstate. She has no idea how long they’ve driven before they turn into a compound. The bus comes to halt with the ‘ppssss’ sound of the air brakes. Others rise, seemingly happy for their survival. Carole wishes she was dead. She can’t forgive herself for leaving her family for something as stupid as having to keep up her weekly mileage. She hates herself for leaving them, anger mixing with deep sadness. Rising with the others, she shuffles out of the door into the bright light of the day. Moving across a parking lot, lost inside of herself, she barely takes notice of the others around.

“Mom! Mom!” a call arises from one of the groups.

The sound of the shout causes her to sink into a deeper sorrow.

Oh, to hear that sound from Brian or Mark
.

“Mom!” the yell comes again.

She slowly looks up. Carole sinks to her knees, her tears pouring forth with feelings of utter joy. Mark collides into her and tightly wraps his arms around her.

# # #

Carole returned to her house and buried her son, Brian, in the back yard. Mark was too traumatized to tell of the night. He only mentioned that he survived and was found by the members of the compound. Carole still can’t explain what happened during the time she was gone, and hasn’t told anyone that she was even missing. She knows something happened, and now knows the ones she saw that night were night runners. Venturing farther into those realms of thought scare her, so she avoids thinking about it. She never heard from Sean and eventually miscarried.

With the early evening sun low against the hills to the west, Sam plops down in one of his deck chairs. Reaching into a cooler by his side, he pulls out a Samuel Adams and pops the top. Holding it, he stares at the bottle.

It’s still so odd seeing my name on a beer
, he thinks, taking a drink.

In the seven years since he’s been able to buy beer, that’s all he’s drank, providing it was available. Not that he is actually named Samuel, but it is close enough. The cool liquid sliding down his throat feels good given the heat still remaining from the parting day. Even with the long shadows from the trees surrounding the back yard providing shade, it’s still warm and trickles of sweat slide down his face.

“Well, what do you think?” Sam asks James, sitting in another chair around the table.

James finishes his drink and looks over.

“I’m sure we have plenty,” James answers, looking at the steaks, burgers, and chicken near the open grill.

As roommates and best friends, Sam and James started on the preparations since returning home from work. They have a chance now to relax and have a beer before the rest of their friends show up. Leaning back and settling into the comfort of the chair, Sam thinks how much he needs an evening of relaxation.

The long hours and extra days of having to pick up the slack from the vast numbers that have called in ill from the flu has taken its toll. With no relief in sight, Sam needs this evening to just let go. The pile of projects on his desk has grown exponentially and it’s all he can do to keep the stack from growing even higher. He’ll have to go in Sunday just to keep up, but that’s two days away and he’s looking forward to his friends coming over, especially because Mark mentioned that he is bringing his sister Meg along.

Sam and Meg started chatting off and on since they met at another BBQ earlier in the year, even meeting for dinner and drinks a couple of times. It really never went too far because Mark isn’t a big fan of one of his friends dating his sister. Sam hasn’t pushed it as he feels that he would have to make a choice between keeping Mark as a friend or dating Meg. However, that isn’t going to stop him from talking with her, so he’s hoping that she makes it.

“I hope so,” Sam says. “It doesn’t look like much sitting there.”

“It’s not like there are that many who are going to show. I heard Dave came down with the virus so I doubt he’ll be here. As far as I know, there’s only eight showing…well, nine if Mark brings Meg,” James replies with a knowing smile.

“You know there’s nothing there,” Sam states.

“Bullshit. Dude, you can maybe fool Mark with that crap, but you can’t bullshit a bullshitter,” James replies.

“Ah fuck. I don’t know what to do. Mark would fucking kill me if we actually got together.”

“You’d have to move for sure. That’s the only way I see you getting around an ass-kicking. And you can’t do that because you’re not sticking me with the rent, so you’d better cast your eyes in another direction,” James states, pointing at Sam with his beer.

“Ah hell, man. I wish I could. It’s just that, well, shit, there’s just something about her that just…Fuck! I truly hate my life.”

“Just relax, dude. Who knows, maybe Mark will come around. Or maybe he’ll move and then…”

“I wish, but we both know that neither of those is going to happen,” Sam says.

The faint sound of a wailing siren drifts across the neighborhood, interrupting the serenity of the warm afternoon. It’s a sound that they’ve both become accustomed to in the past few weeks. It seems there is barely a moment or place that one isn’t heard from somewhere. It fades, leaving the sound of several birds chirping in nearby trees.

James’s phone vibrates on the table. Picking it up, he looks at the text message.

“Well, shit. That’s Tommy. He says he can’t make it. This fucking flu thing is doing a number,” James says.

“Yeah, and I’m ready for it to run its course. These hours are killing me. I don’t think I can stand going in for another Sunday. I need my weekends,” Sam states, reaching for a second beer.

“Pass me one of those,” James says. “And yeah, these hours are brutal. Although, I’m happy to be on this side of it rather than catching the damn thing. At least we aren’t sick.”

“True. I guess there’s that to be thankful for. I wonder how long this is going to last before we get back to normal.”

“I’m not sure we ever will. Have you heard the death rate this bitch is packing? Shit, you know Lewis died from this shit the other day,” James says, accepting another beer.

“What? Lewis died? Really? That’s fucked up, man.”

“You’re telling me. And I hear this isn’t done yet, even if they did hand out all of those vaccines. I’ve heard the worst is yet to come,” James declares.

“Oh, come on. Seriously? You have to stop believing everything you read. Where’d you get that from? The Internets? Some post on Facebook?” Sam scoffs.

“No, dude, seriously. There are a lot of people dying from this and there’s more to it than they’re letting on,” James says.

“Who is this ‘they’? I know there have been a lot who have died, but they’re the old and infirm…like every flu that comes around.”

“Not like this, my friend. Not like this. There has never been this many deaths before. That’s what all of those sirens are about,” James says, pointing with his beer toward the sound of another siren. “Even if it doesn’t get worse, I have some serious doubts that we’ll recover. Too many people have died. I read somewhere that almost a third of those who get sick, die. That’s a shitload of people.”

“I doubt it’s that high, but it will simmer down with the vaccinations. Did you get yours?” Sam asks.

“Fuck no. Did you?”

“No,” Sam answers, sighing.

Sam had meant to get his shot, but all he thought about at the end of the day was going home, grabbing a bite to eat, and heading to bed. The last thing he wanted to do after work was go stand in a long line.

Besides
, he had thought to himself,
they only started to get distributed a couple of days ago, so I’ll have time. I’ll wait until the lines get shorter
.

The sound of several cars doors shutting coming from the front of the house rouses Sam and James from the comfort of their seats.

“I guess I’ll start the grill if you’ll bring the chips and shit out,” Sam says, rising.

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With the sun having set some time ago, and grease-stained paper plates littering the top of the patio table, Sam reaches into the cooler to grab another beer. The brighter stars glimmer overhead as he passes one to Meg. He’d been standing at the grill since the time everyone arrived, well, the scant few who could make it, so the coolness of the mostly melted ice water feels good as it runs down his arm.

Everyone had their fill and sit contented in chairs with beers in hand and music playing in the background, the conversation drifting from topic to topic as the food settles and alcohol seeps into their blood streams. This is the relaxation Sam wanted, especially with Meg sitting next to him. They’ve been engaged in their own conversation for the most part since Sam shut down the grill, although they join in whatever topic the discussion turns to from time to time. Sam is also aware of Mark’s periodic glances but, tonight, he doesn’t give a shit. What will happen, will happen, and he’s just going to go with the flow. If he doesn’t start doing something, she’ll eventually find someone else, or worse, he’ll get thrown into the friend zone. That’s something he’ll never recover from.

Turning to Meg, Sam hears a sound of rending metal and breaking glass, barely audible over the music. He notes that Meg seems to be the only other one that heard it as his attention sharply shifts toward the house and streets beyond.

“James…James!” Sam says, getting his attention. “Turn the music down. I think I just heard a car crash.”

“Really, man. I didn’t hear anything,” James replies, turning the volume down anyway.

“Yeah. I think I heard it too,” Meg says, still focusing toward the front of the house.

“Someone better not have hit my truck,” Mark states.

“No, I think it was farther away than that,” Sam says, rising with his now opened beer in hand.

“Well, shit, let’s go check it out then,” James says, turning the music down even further.

The eight of them rise, several reluctantly with having found their comfort, and make their way through the side yard to the front.

Standing in the driveway, their house situated at the end of a short cul-de-sac, they stare at the main street two blocks away. It’s normally a busy street with cars passing all times of the day or night, but there’s not a single one to be seen. Most of the houses around have some form of light seeping through drawn curtains. No one else is out with so many having come down with the flu. Without the music and the house blocking the sounds, faint, wailing sirens drift through the night, seeming to come from all parts of the city.

“That’s busier than it’s been previously,” James says, referring to the constant sound of the echoing sirens. “I told ya it was going to get worse.”

“It’s quiet. Almost too quiet,” Sam mutters, as if the sound of his voice might disturb something just out of sight.

The group stands, beers forgotten in their hands, transfixed by the sirens and lack of background noise they usually associate with the city. There is always some sound, usually from cars passing on streets. It’s unnerving that there aren’t any to be heard.

“Where did you say the crash came from?” Mark asks, stepping between Sam and Meg.

Mark’s six-four, linebacker physique overshadows Sam’s five-ten. Mark doesn’t need words. He just steps where he wants, when he wants.

Sam is startled from his reverie, a little annoyed at being separated from Meg. “Um, oh yeah. It sounded like it came from the main street.”

“Well, let’s go check it out then,” James says, winking at Sam.

Sam nods and starts down the street, mostly to get clear of Mark’s looming presence. The others follow along the darkened cul-de-sac that is lit only at the corners by overhead street lights. In the quiet, Sam hears their footsteps on the hard pavement, something he’s not sure he’s really ever heard until now. The sirens hang in the background as the group takes periodic drinks from their bottles. If it wasn’t for the faint wailing, reminding them of the flu virus sweeping throughout the world, and the fact that each of them has lost friends to it, it would seem like they were out on an adventure. Beer and barbeques always seem to lead to one escapade or another.

A block away from the main road, the group walks through a pool of light at the cross street. Sam notes that they haven’t seen a single car pass, which is unusual even with a lot of people sick. With the number of beers in all of them, the others may not be aware of just how strange it is, but it’s something that stands out to Sam.

At the intersection, with the street lamps brightly illuminating the main road, and blocking out the stars, Sam looks both ways down a street devoid of moving vehicles. A half block to the right and across the three lanes of pavement, there is a white sedan that veered off the road and hit a telephone pole head on. Wisps of steam drift out into the night air from the sides and front of the crumpled hood. The shattered windshield prevents any view of the interior, but there is someone standing at the driver’s side window.

“Hey! Is everyone alright?” James calls.

A man, dressed in a dark T-shirt and green checkered flannel pajama bottoms, spins at the shout. He turns from his attention at the window, quickly glances at the group, and resumes his focus on the vehicle.

“Whoa! Was that blood all over him? Whoever is in there must be pretty messed up,” James says.

“Does anyone have their phone?” Sam asks.

Everyone goes through the ministrations of checking their pockets for phones only to realize that they left them all on the patio.

“Hey, dude! Has anyone been called?” James shouts across the street.

The man turns and, with a snarl, begins running toward them. Sam sees the person clearly for the first time, his pale face glowing under the street lights, with the lower part of his jawline seemingly covered in a dark substance. The man’s eyes catch the light just right and reflect a silver glow for a fraction of a second.

“What the fuck?! There’s something not right about that dude,” Sam says, a quick sliver of fear clenching his stomach.

The man continues his charge toward them, lifting his head and emitting a high-pitched scream into the night.

“Hey, buddy. Hold it right there,” Mark says, stepping to the front.

The man gives no indication that he heard and, if anything, begins running faster.

“I said stop!” Mark commands.

Sam is rooted in place, watching the scene unfold. A few steps away, the man leaves his feet and launches into the air. With his arms outstretched, he plows into Mark, the force of the impact knocking him backward. Only Mark’s size prevents him from tumbling to the ground, but his beer is jarred loose from his grasp and shatters as it hits the pavement. Stumbling backward a few steps, Mark wraps his arms around the man, wrestling with him and attempting to throw him off. The man only growls deeply and claws at Mark.