Love Bug (2 page)

-3-

The grass was cool with early morning dew that tickled bare feet and wet the rolled up legs of Remmy’s pants. This was the best time to be out in the fields, when no one else was there to shatter the silence. Remmy would wake early every morning and slip out of his family’s tent so that he could steal a few precious moments alone in the field. This habit worried his mother, made her entertain visions of Reds tearing her only child apart. The truth of the matter was that Remmy knew the dangers of being alone and still felt it was worth the risk. Besides, it had been weeks since anyone had even seen a Red, let alone been attacked by one. It was far more likely that an ERC patrol would pick him up, but even that, couldn’t keep Remmy safely in his cot. Those fleeting moments of early morning where the birds began to sing and colors streaked the sky, colors that seemed to exist nowhere else, was Remmy’s world. That was what he lived for.

A
separate world existed that Remmy barely understood. A world of Em-Paks and the ERC, where people had given up their ability to feel emotions because they were convinced that it kept them safe from the Reds and the Love Bug. Remmy knew there was a real name for the virus, something scientific and probably full of hyphenated numbers and letters, but he preferred the slang name. Love Bug just seemed to fit, besides that was what most of the Emos called it.

That name, Emos, Remmy hated, but that was what they were, at least to the ERC and all of those people behinds the walls of the c
ities. The first people to discover the method and means of removing their Em-Paks had been called ‘Emotionals’ because the ERC wanted to discredit what these rebels were after and brand them guilty of emotional treason. Regardless of what they were called, they were only one thing to the ERC, criminals. Even this idea was strange to Remmy. He had been born outside the city walls and had never been fitted with an Em-Pak. Many of the older members and new arrivals had the telltale rows of scars on the back of their necks where an Em-Pak had once sat, but not Remmy.

Remmy’s parents told him that they had escaped when his mother became pregnant.
The pregnancy had been unsanctioned by the ERC, but his parents refused to give Remmy up. His mother told him it was because they knew he was special, destined for great things. Remmy liked this explanation, but knew the truth was that his parents loved him, loved him so much that even their Em-Paks couldn’t stifle it. That had been reason enough to defy the ERC.

Most of the
time, life was simple for Remmy. School, chores and then time in the fields was what Remmy expected from each day. The routine of it was boring, but on days where they would have to collapse tents, leave behind belongings and throw anything within arm’s reach into the backs of the vehicles, Remmy knew how lucky he truly was. These were days that ERC patrols were getting too close, days where Remmy’s routine could be permanently destroyed. Somehow, everyone in Remmy’s camp managed to stay one-step ahead of the ERC and would set up in another spot and start living again.

No one really knew what the ERC would do if they captured any Emos. Some thought that they would be refitted with Em-Paks, but this wa
s only rumors and fear. The truth was that once someone had removed their Em-Pak, the scars made it impossible to implant the device again. Maybe in the early days, the ERC had tried to put the Em-Paks back, but Remmy suspected that they wouldn’t waste the time these days. No, ERC patrols were not looking to bring people back. They were far more interested in eliminating possible future Reds and punishing those guilty of emotional treason.

Remmy, as
a young boy, had struggled to understand all these titles, these words that seemed no worse than others did, but that seemed to signify massive differences between himself and other people. His parents had done their best to explain to Remmy that the word ‘Reds’ was an old one from the early days of the virus. The virus had overwhelmed people’s emotions, making them violent and irrational and left them as little more than screaming, rage filled shells of their former selves. Around the uninfected, Reds would scream uncontrollably, while trying to tear them apart. The color of their faces, as well as the blood they left behind, resulted in them becoming known as Reds.

“But why?” Remmy would ask. “How can emotions be bad?”

His parents would smile, satisfied with their decision to defy the ERC. “Emotions aren’t bad, Remmy,” his mother would smile. “Anger is bad. Rage is bad. People used to think that all emotions were dangerous, even love. That’s why the ERC makes people wear Em-Paks, but then, they can’t feel anything.”

“Even love?
They think love is bad?” Young Remmy would question.

“Yes, the people living behind the city
walls, think even love is dangerous,” Remmy’s mother would continue, “but we know different. All the Emos do and that’s why we escaped from the cities and removed our Em-Paks before we forgot what love felt like.”

“Doesn’t that mean we can get sick too?” Remmy’s eyes would go wide with fear.

His mother would smile and pull him close. “Don’t worry, Rem. There is still danger from the Love Bug, but if we remember to keep our anger from getting the better of us, then we’re safe.”

“But what about the Reds?” Remmy would persist
, knowing this conversation would delay his bedtime.

“Well
, sweetie,” his mother would sigh, “the Reds are still very dangerous, but we can avoid them.”

“But what
are they?
” Remmy would almost whisper.

“They were once like us, but not anymore
. Not once they became ill,” his mother answered honestly.

“
Where are they?
” Remmy would gasp.

“No one has ever seen,” his mother would reply. “The Reds are hidden away somewhere and only come out to hunt.”

“They’re wild,” Remmy would add, “like animals.”

“No,” his mother would interject, a serious look on her face. “Never think of the Reds like that. They are dangerous and capable of far more than any animal. They travel in small grou
ps and set traps. The ERC wants people to think the Reds are little more than wild animals, but we have learned so much after leaving the cities, Remmy. The Reds can think and plan. You must never underestimate them.”

Remmy had nightmares about the Reds for much of his early years. His young mind pieced together his
parent’s stories to create the terrifying image of red faced, screaming demons that could rise up out of nowhere, snatch him away and eat him. But as Remmy grew older and encountered Reds a few times, he saw that they could be avoided.

Now at the age of sixteen, Remmy had learned to pick his way through the fields
carefully, listening for the telltale rumble of a Red’s throat. Hearing this noise, Remmy would drop to the ground or scramble into a nearby tree to wait for the Red to wander past, but there was still a very real reason to fear the Reds.

T
he morning Remmy awoke to see the Martinez’s tent in tatters was carved into his memory, each line jagged and painful. They had been there only hours before, the entire Martinez family, but all that was left in the morning was a tangled mess of canvas and blood. At first, everyone thought that one of the Martinez family members must have turned and that the Martinez’s missing daughter, Jessica, must have caught the Love Bug, killed her family and run off.

Remmy’s young mind struggled to comprehend how you share dinner with someone, share minutes of your life with them, only to awaken a few hours later and find them torn apart
, dead. Was that really how life worked? Could it be that simple? Remmy’s mother had told him that it was and that you never knew when someone’s life could end, so you needed to cherish every moment. This idea brought Remmy no comfort.

The fo
llowing night, the Red came back. It was one lone child, no older than nine or ten. It wasn’t Jessica. Being alone and so small, it was easy for him to slip past the watch and into the Martinez’s tent. But could one small boy really kill an entire family? Remmy had a hard time believing so, but watching how it took five full-grown men to finally subdue and silence him, left no doubt. Silence him was how Remmy’s mother had explained it to him. That was the only way he could wrap his mind around what he witnessed. At the time, that Red hadn’t been much older than Remmy - it could have been Remmy.

“What
happened to Jessica?” Remmy demanded, his thin shoulders heaving up and down, tiny fists balled tight with anger.

“She’s gone,” his father answered simply.

“Where?” Remmy snapped. “We need to find her.”

“Rem,” his father said as he knelt down to look at his son, “no one comes back from where the Reds take them. I know Jessica was your friend, but she’s gone
, buddy. I’m sorry.”

“I wish I had killed him,” Remm
y growled, shocking his parents.

“No,” Remmy’s mother almost cried. “No you don’t. Don’t say that.”

“Why?” Remmy cried. “Why not? Jessica was my friend!”

“Which is why the others silenced that Red for you
, Rem,” his father answered calmly. “We should never kill a Red that killed one of our own. It’s too easy for rage to take hold. What you will do is help bury the Red in the morning.”

“Bury him?” Remmy spat. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you can’t bury Jessica,” his father replied. “It’s how you will learn to let go of your anger. We must forgive the Reds because what they do isn’t their fault. They’re sick, so there’s no reason for us to be angry with the Reds. We can be sad, but never be angry.”

Remmy tried to accept his father’s explanation, tried to believe it. All of the other Emos appeared to live by this rule. In the
morning, Remmy buried the Red that killed his friend, shoveling both his anger and dirt into the hole.

T
hat had happened years ago, somehow becoming understood or at least accepted, but never forgotten. Never knowing what happened to Jessica was something that Remmy simply couldn’t explain away.

Remmy quietly moved through the tall grass
, pausing when the brush to his left rustled and then breathing a sigh of relief when a large buck bounded out. Things made sense out here, seemed to follow an easily understood order, not like school.

Going to classes had never been something that Remmy enjoyed, but there really was no choice. From a young
age, all Emos were taught to control their emotions through meditation and breathing, learning never to become too angry. Remmy found these periods of time to be excruciating. Why spend time inhaling and exhaling, counting seconds in between and focusing on images in your mind? Sure that kept the Emo children calm, kept them safe from the Love Bug, but it also took away from the time they could be enjoying the world. Remmy focused enough in his classes to make his parents happy and to keep him out of trouble with the teacher, but those lessons were never what calmed him. It was these moments, alone in the fields and surrounded by nature, which kept Remmy from becoming a Red. The thought of never being able to enjoy another sunrise was more than enough to keep Remmy’s emotions in check.

The buck leapt effortlessly through the high grass, appearing almost
to hang frozen in the air for a few seconds before dropping back into the tangled mass below. Remmy became transfixed by the ease with which the animal moved and found himself stumbling after it.

With one forceful
leap, the buck launched itself from the thick underbrush and into the street. Its hooves clicked loudly on the blacktop, sounding oddly discordant and hollow against the high-pitched melody of the bird’s songs. Remmy typically avoided the streets, fearing ERC patrols, but the deer seemed to wait for him, almost beckoning him to follow.

One tentative step on
to the macadam and then another, Remmy’s hand trembled as he reached out to try to touch the deer. Its antlers spread from each side, easily capable of harming Remmy, but there was no threat. Remmy’s fingers gently brushed the hindquarter of the buck moments before the throaty roar of a Red and then another and another filled the air.

The buck, sensing
danger, sprang forward and dashed into the woods. Remmy turned to see a writhing mass of Reds heading towards him. He had never seen more than two or three together, but now, they were so closely packed together that counting them became impossible.

Remmy turned to run. A strange object hurtled towards him from the other direction. A long sleek black vehicle unlike anything Remmy had ever seen careened towards him. Another mass of Reds could be seen sprinting behind it, their screams drowning out the mechanical protests of the engine as the driver pushed the vehicle
to go faster.

Turning back
in the direction he had previously come, Remmy dove into the undergrowth and scrambled towards the nearest copse of trees. Thorns and dead branches ripped at his back and arms, but Remmy had no time to think about such minor injuries. He needed to avoid the Reds and to warn everyone in his camp, warn his parents.

A loud
crash
echoed through the field, followed by the groan of metal twisted to unnatural angles and the scattering of glass. Remmy’s head bumped into the thick trunk of an old pine. Without looking back, he leapt into the branches and climbed higher and higher. Trees were not the perfect hiding place, but Remmy had never seen a Red try to climb one, let alone succeed.