INFECtIOUS (3 page)

I'm sixteen, but
I've never driven and I have no desire to do so. I roll my shoulders and try to
relax my nervous stomach as I scan the streets for anyone else out on this
crisp winter morning. Aunty handles the SUV with confidence, the skills of a
lifetime of driving still with her, despite how infrequent our trips are these
days.

A sticker on the
dashboard assures me in messy handwriting that the car has been checked over
and serviced by Maintenance for our drive today. Venturing out of the safety of
our community has plenty of risks and the last thing we need is an unreliable
vehicle. This one has lots of safety features like
duel
airbags and GPS and even some of those collision bars across the front.
Ironic because the least of our worries is hitting another car.
It has a great alarm system and it's high off the ground and powerful. It
should keep us safe from what we are most in need of protection from.
 

Zombies.

I am terrified
of them. I'm ashamed to admit that I used to be one of them; but that was years
ago.
 

The Natives Are Getting
Restless

February is
right around the corner and Northeast Georgia is still dull, brown, and
freezing cold. The sun is just starting to take hold of the new day, but I
doubt it will lend us any more warmth. It might warm up later this afternoon,
but it's always cold in the morning because we're in the mountains. We can't
wait for the afternoon warmth though. The morning is our ally—it's the safest
time of day. The zombies don't come out before noon, sometimes even later.

We turn down
Tugalo
Street and head towards the closest security gate in
our safe zone. As Aunty approaches the fifteen-foot tall electronic gate, the
early morning guards recognize us, punch in the code to open the gate and wave
us through. I fight against the irritation that Aunty probably had this trip
planned for days and I've only just been told this morning. I hate when she
does that. We weren't stopped because the guards already knew about our trip
out today. It would've had to have been cleared with the Elders.

We are leaving
through the Western gate of the community—community sounds idyllic, maybe
compound is a better word. It takes less than two minutes of driving to go from
downtown
Toccoa
to country roads. Even in its glory
days,
Toccoa
was only a speck on the map.

The few clothing
stores
Toccoa
once had
were
picked over and emptied years ago. Very few goods are made and shipped to our
city anymore, except what the government sends. They say we are welcome to our
own share of the shipments—that are mostly intended for the zombies—but we
don't want to wear the current fashions. Most zombies wear long-sleeved, full
bodysuits in drab colors of black, brown or tan to hide their deformities. They
have special shoes with biotechnology made to compensate for diseased feet that
are missing some or all toes. The shoes fill in the empty spaces and adjust to
the foot providing balance that would otherwise be impossible for crippled,
toeless feet. Different types of gloves that provide both comfort and concealment
for rotting hands. The gloves come with anywhere from one to five fake fingers
capable of lifting and holding. And, of course, masks.

The most recent
trend in camouflage is to wear a mask that shows strength and personality.
Funny clown faces, famous icons, or exotic feminine masks with glitter and
feathers for the ladies. If you want to look edgy, there's always gruesome
monsters left over from Halloweens past. Just picture it: a hunchbacked zombie
dragging himself through the streets in a King Kong Halloween mask. It's
pee-your-pants terrifying and more and more zombies are doing it.

So, since we
aren't interested in wearing that, we are heading out of town to
"shop." And the stores we're going to won't require the current
currency in exchange for what we take. If it takes a needle to buy it, I don't
need it that bad.

Aunty Coe turns
down her CD and glances sideways at me. "Did you remember to pull down the
bars in the kitchen?"

"Mm
hmm," I ooze exasperation. She is somewhat—ok VERY—controlling. To be
fair, I am often forgetful.

"Ivy, is it
possible for us to have a nice day today?"

"Yes, I'm
sorry."

"You know I
love you, honey. I thought this would be a nice distraction from all of your
recent duties at the U.R. You've been cleaning and studying and working double
shifts to get the teachers ready for the Homecoming. Not to mention all the
baking orders you've had lately. I just want you to remember that you are only
16! Before He came back, a girl your age had her studies and her friends and
maybe a part-time job. Sleep is still very important for a young woman. I don't
think you've had more than six hours a night in ages!"

"I like to
keep busy." I'm mumbling and I know she hates that.

"Oh yes, I
know you like to keep busy! I'm just a little worried about why that is."

I stare out the
window without an answer for her.

So I keep busy.
I'm a hard worker. What's wrong with that? She has pounded me over the years
with talks about good attitudes and how fortunate we are. I want to feel that
way. But when I sit around, with little to do, I hate my life. I'll admit it.
Life here really sucks most of the time. There are hundreds of desperate,
needy, dead people living right down the street. Extreme poverty is the norm.
Abandoned, lonely, lost, hurting—
the
 
adjectives
of everyday life.

Not to mention
that most everyone beyond our gates is pure evil. Rapists, thieves, and child
abusers—even murder has become commonplace—and no one does anything to stop
them. We are barely safe behind our high fences. When I work, I can forget
about all the heavy stuff. I feel half decent about myself when I'm rolling up
my sleeves and doing something to care for the Living ones who need my help. I
lose myself in charity and it helps me feel right in my soul. Now more than
ever, it's really important to have your soul figured out.

Aunty Coe
reaches over to pat my hand. "We are still allowed to enjoy the simple
pleasures in life, Ivy. Having fun with girls your age, a good book,"
then, in a softer voice, she adds, "perhaps even friendship with a young
man."
  

"Ugh!"
I exclaim in disgust. Here we go again!

This is the
third time lately that she has tried to lure me into a conversation consisting
mostly of her praising the amazing qualities of the brilliant Tim Markowitz. I
was going to have a good attitude about the southern gospel music. I am trying
to enjoy spending time with her. But if her plan was to trap me in a car so she
can go on and on about weird, nerdy, "I act like I'm forty even though I'm
sixteen" Markowitz, I'm going to open my door and jump. This
"shopping trip" was nothing but a ruse and I'm sick of her pestering.

I fight back
with the only ammunition I have in my limited arsenal, my tone laden with
sarcasm, "You know, Aunty, I saw Chuck at the U.R. last night and he asked
about you. I hear he joined the choir. Won't that be nice? Maybe you two can do
a duet together."
 

Chuck Fox has
been following her around since arriving in
Toccoa
a
couple of months ago. I guess his wife died last year. I overheard the Elder's
talking about him. He and his wife were living on the road, searching large
cities for his wife's sister, Theo. I don't know too many details, but I know
the zombies got his wife. Maybe even ate her. When he stumbled into
Toccoa
, still looking for his sister-in-law, he looked like
a man broken beyond repair. He didn't find Theo among us; but, as soon as he
set eyes on Aunty Coe at a U.R. meeting, he seemed to come back to life
overnight. Like I said, she is very pretty for her age.

"I'm glad
that young man has found something to involve himself with."

Oh yeah, mission
accomplished. She is miffed and on the defensive. Our positions reversed,
feeling triumphant, I push my case further.

"He's not
young, Aunty." She has tried this argument on me before. "He's almost
as old as you are!" I swipe my long curly hair over my shoulder in front
of my face to hide my grin. I have what it takes to win this.

"I don't
like your implication, Ivy. I'm not old."

I risk another
sideways glance and get caught in her brilliant blue stare. I feign innocence
and chirp with my voice syrupy sweet, "Well then I don't see why you and
young
Chuck Fox won't get along
perfectly."

"Ivy!"

Lots of men have
tried to catch her attention but she never seems interested. When she first
took me in, I was a little kid and I thought old person romance was disgusting.
I remember cringing in embarrassment when men from the U.R. would flirt with
her or ask her to dinner. It's not that I don't want her to find someone—though
it does seem pretty pointless. Chuck seems to hope he has a chance. He has
settled down with our community and is helping with the children's program.
Good luck to him. She won't go easy.

I hope I've won
myself a reprieve from the dating subject for the day. Aunty is as ready to
change the subject as I am. I think it's kind of weird that she keeps pushing
me towards a boy. Don't most parents want their teenage girls to hate boys? I'm
like the ideal teenager in that department. She should be thrilled, not trying
to fix me up.

For the rest of
the drive we chat with an ease I thought we had lost and I find myself enjoying
our time together. We discuss the spring cleaning that needs to be done at the
Inn and Aunty offers to help with a lot of it. I suspect that she's trying to
make up for the Tim conversation by buttering me up and offering to help with
more than her share, but I'll take it. We chitchat with typical feminine
anticipation about what we hope to find in the stores today. We will both be
picking up extra things for the other women and girls of our community. We'll
grab some things for the guys too, if we have room and a little luck. Aunty is
hoping to bring home a lot of "sensible shoes." Sensible is almost
always synonymous with ugly. All of a sudden, I'm glad I came. I'll get to pick
out my own new tennis shoes.
The less sensible the better.
It's all starting to feel worth the risks.

I look out the
window as we talk and take in the scenery that I so rarely get to see. We are
driving windy back roads in old farm country. Though the grass is brown and the
woods are bare, the countryside is still pretty and refreshing. Aunty and I
exclaim with delight and she slows to a crawl when we see herds of deer peeking
at us from overgrown fields. They don't dart away in fear, so unaccustomed to
human beings now, but instead stand regally and look back at us as we drift by.

The sun is
climbing over the distant hills of the Appalachian
mountains
and we ride in comfortable silence as we enjoy the beauty of God's creation.
People may have gotten messed up, but the sky and the mountains and the bare
winter trees that will soon burst with spring blooms still display the glory of
their Creator.

We don't pass
any other cars this morning as we head towards Commerce, Georgia—half an hour
Southeast of
Toccoa
. Though Commerce was once a
thriving destination with an outlet mall, it is now an abandoned ghost town. No
shipments, no zombies. That's why it's always been a pretty safe place to
"shop". The long vacant strip mall offers everything from clothes and
shoes to books and bake wear.

We turn off of
the back road and onto the freeway for the last few miles of our drive. It's
the 85 interstate and it cuts south through Georgia towards Atlanta—only an
hour from Commerce. Atlanta is one of the largest cities left in the nation and
perhaps the most important one.

On the larger
highway, we are more cautious and we keep a vigilant watch for any other
vehicles. Highways are much more likely to have supply trucks, army vehicles,
med units, or government officials. If we encountered any of those they would
probably continue on without bothering us. However, that kind of traffic is
valuable and bandits are also prevalent on the highways. The pirates who patrol
these high traffic roads wouldn't let us pass in peace. The route we took to
Commerce only puts us on the freeway for a few tense miles. Fortune smiles and
we don't encounter a single vehicle. I relax a little as we take the exit for
the Commerce Outlets.

"Where
to first?"

"The
Gap!"
I announce with a smile.

Ok. I'll admit
it. I'm excited to be here.