The Reaper Virus (Novella): Sarcophagus (7 page)

Ava got louder.
Her tiny feet stomped on the bridge. Noise from various breakfast preparations
blocked the tantrum from any other prying ears. As Ava prepared another defiant
protest Jessica pulled her closer. Calm and sternly she repeated, “
NO. Do not fight me. This is no place for a
little girl. Do NOT look back over the bridge. There is nothing more to see. Do
you understand me, Ava?
”

Tears
welled up in her eyes. Jessica instantly felt bad for being so forceful until a
hint of splashing sounds from the human driftwood below quelled any sympathy.
Paul’s voice called over, “breakfast is ready, ladies!”

“I love
you, baby girl. You have to understand that the things I say are usually
because I do love you so much. Some breakfast will make us both feel better.
Sound good?” she asked in a much cooler tone.

Curly
brown hair slowly bobbed up and down with the answer. Ava sniffled as she wiped
a tear onto her pink and purple sleeve. They walked back to the bus side by
side.

Chapter Thirteen

Breakfast
brought about all the pomp and circumstance of a soup kitchen. They were all
worn, tired and impatient. Contingency plans were foolishly excluded from the
church’s retreat arrangements. By now they should be waking in personal rooms
with their first meal being served in a nice cafeteria. A retreat away from
hometown danger is what they all paid for,
not
a camping trip on a gridlocked bridge high above a tumultuous river. Many
church attendees had an old fashioned sense of Southern entitlement that didn’t
mesh well with their predicament.

This
attitude is why Jessica didn’t bother making friends with the others. As a much
more grounded individual, common threads were hard to find. She spent every
saved penny for their seats on that bus. Weeks of news reports about the spreading
pandemic terrified her enough to write the check. Their being there was a
contingency plan. Hearing the pompous tone in the conversations around them got
under her skin more than she should have allowed it to. Irritation was a
welcomed feeling over the debilitating anxiety she felt minutes before.

It
appeared as if multiple cars in their area were completely abandoned. People
took what they could carry, left their vehicles and walked onward. Two such
cars were parked directly to the right of the bus, next to their eating area.
The local vacancies were opportunistic for the retreat. It extended their
bubble of influence without bumping heads with other clusters that formed
throughout the daylong gridlock.

Several
dozen assorted single-serving boxes of breakfast cereal were lined up on the
compartment hatch-turned-table. A crate of two percent milk cartons was placed
at the foot of the impromptu buffet. Retreat members lined up to take their
pick of the sugar-filled offering. Then they took their choice either back
inside the bus or leaned up against the abandoned cars while enjoying their
simple meal.

A nearby
neighbor cautiously approached from behind the bus. Paul rushed to intercept
from his watchful position beyond the breakfast lines. This man was the first
to approach their group at the actual bus; they’d socialized briefly with
others the day before but only away from their central hub. He looked timid,
almost with a burdening force visually weighing on his shoulders. Walking up to
the group of church socialites was an obvious chore for the scrawny man.

Paul
slowed a few feet from him with his hands extended outward. All conversation
around the cereal buffet ceased in a curious anticipation. Their leader looked
one and a half times the size of the approaching neighbor. When Paul spoke he
seemed to broadcast his voice more than necessary almost like he wanted the
whole area to hear. “Whoa there, friend,” he bellowed. “We’d love to get to
know you but let’s chat after breakfast. We got a little girl and some older
folks here so I don’t want anyone getting spooked.” Jessica’s blood boiled at
his use of Ava as a deterrent.

The man
drooped his head with thin blond hair. Sorrow exuded from the man like the
waiving of a white surrender flag. Then he answered Paul’s warning, “I don’t
mean to trouble you.”

Paul
interrupted him arrogantly, “good! Come on back later today so we can get to
know you.”

“
No.
…” the little man said back with
startling determination. “I can’t come back later. I need to talk to you now.”

After
wiping milk from her red lips, the makeup-plastered woman with a New York
accent called to them, “ease up, Paul. Pastor Doug would have let the man
speak.” A couple quieter voices mumbled agreement with her guilt trip.

He rubbed
his temples with those big hands while visibly weighing options. Thirty seconds
passed without anyone speaking. Finally Paul said, “alright, alright. I’m sorry
to have come off so harshly, sir. How can we help you?”

Relief
only made the man look more pitiful. He tried to compose himself, “my boy. He’s
not feeling well.”

“A lot of
folks aren’t feeling well these days,” Paul added lacking any tact. “Those
people are why we’re stuck on this bridge. Is your boy… you know,
sick
?”

Tears
streamed down the man’s face. “No I swear,” he sobbed, “but my wife was. We
lost her. He helped me lock her in our bedroom before we left. I couldn’t…. I
couldn’t let her go. She pounded on the door so loud that we could hear it
outside while we packed the car.“

Gasps
emanated from the hushed retreat members. Paul took a few steps closer while
still keeping a little distance. “I’m so sorry to hear that. We’ve all lost
something or someone in this nightmare. I know that doesn’t make the loss of
your wife any easier, but just know that we’ll certainly add you and your son
to our prayers.”

“
I don’t need prayers!
” Yelled the little
man, startling Paul. He took a deep breath and raised his head a few inches,
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just that…. well, I’m sorry. What I
need is to trade. He won’t eat what I have; however, he might snack on some dry
cereal. If I can get him to eat that then maybe we can get medicine in his
system.”

“Alright,
partner,”
Paul
said trying to sound far more confident
than he actually was. “We want to help you and your boy. What do you have that
you’d like to trade?”

“Eggs. I
scrambled a few dozen of them because I didn’t want them to go bad. They were
already close to expiration when we packed them. My wife bought them two weeks
ago for a bake sale. I cooked them less than an hour ago with a propane camping
stove.” The man paused, carefully observing the layout of their breakfast
assortment. Then he added, “
doesn’t
look like you all
have much protein there. The eggs will keep your bellies happy a lot longer
than the marshmallows in that cereal. I’ll give you the whole batch for two of
each cereal type.”

Intrigued
whispers echoed throughout their group. Helping this poor man shouldn’t be
dependent on trade; it should be their defaulted nature. Even so, Jessica’s
stomach growled at the mere mention of scrambled eggs. It amazed her that
barely over a day past a regular meal and they were at the supposed mercy of
apocalyptic bartering. The lack of planning that went into this costly outing
was shocking. Their attitudes would have been much different had the church
thought to invest in some mobile cooking equipment rather than crates of goods
meant for onsite prep. In hindsight, she’d take a school bus and a propane
grill over their luxury coaches.

Paul peered
over his shoulder towards the rest, seeing the approval of the man’s desperate
offer ripe on their faces. He hated the idea of parting with fourteen boxes,
however, he also knew that tempers would be manageable for a solid half of the
day with a better meal starting them out. Then Paul grew sad. His niece loved
scrambled eggs. Whenever his brother travelled for business she would stay
there. Welcoming her with a cheesy plate of eggs the next morning made him feel
like the good uncle he aspired to be. “
Why
didn’t you offer to bring her on the retreat?
” Thoughts bombarded his
confident facade.
“Hell, they both should
have come! He’s your brother for god’s sake. They should have come instead but
you were so scared of the zombie stories.
”

They all
waited with baited breath. Percussive pops from distant gunfire teased their
isolation. The sound was so faint that a shift in the breeze was enough to fool
anyone who noticed into thinking it was their paranoid imagination playing
games. After a few seconds the trading neighbor interjected into Paul’s sudden
thoughtful state, “what do you say, mister? Ya’ll seem like good people. I
wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t so worried about my boy. His mother would have wanted
me to….”

Paul came
back to the bridge, interrupting his pleading, “of course. Say no more, my
friend. I doubt anyone in our congregation would disagree that it’s our duty to
help.” A collective release of held breath was heard behind him. The desperate
neighbor looked at the large man as he spoke with tears slicked down his
cheeks. “Your offer is very fair. Tell you what, if your boy decides that a
certain type is his favorite, come back and talk to me. I’ll swap the ones he
doesn’t like for ones he does.”

“Thank
you, sir!” His knees gave out causing him to drop to the pavement. Weeping he
said to the group, “thank you all. I… I don’t know what I’d do if….”

Throwing
caution to the wind, Paul closed the gap between the two. A paw of a hand
gripped the sad mans arm to help him up. A few other retreat members quickly
joined him in the assist. Conversations continued; their morning went on like a
television drama had ended. Jessica turned to Ava, smirking at the bits of
cereal glued in patches around her daughter’s face. “Hope you have room for
scrambled eggs.” She said, using a napkin in her pocket to wipe her clean.

“Is that
man’s son dead?” Ava asked innocently.

“No,
babe. No, he’s not. He said his son isn’t feeling well. But he’s very worried
about him getting a good meal just like I would be worried about you.” She
watched Ava digest every word spoken.

The
exchange was made soon after. It was difficult to see much of the hand off
without getting closer. Jessica stood on her tiptoes to get a look. Paul and
two other men from the retreat stood near a gray sedan. Then the sad man
appeared from behind the car carrying an aluminum-baking pan, like the kind
you’d expect to house a sheet cake. Inside the car there was a kid with a mess
of blond hair. He looked pale, with
a sheen
of sickly
sweat glistening enough for her to notice from several cars away. Paul’s
animated demeanor was turned up a notch, his voice loudly broadcasting a recap
of the church’s kind dealings. He must have viewed the trade as setting a
precedent for preferential treatment in the new order of the bridge. ‘
This is absurd
,’ Jessica muttered under
her breath,
‘just give the poor man some
food and cut the crap
.’

Before
long a bounty of fluffy yellow pebbles steamed atop their makeshift buffet
table. All who wanted a serving got their share. Their neighbor must have
cooked three or
four dozen
eggs that morning. Jessica
thought it was odd that he would cook so much with only two mouths to feed. She
suspected his intention all along was to trade. It was smart, supply and demand
in exigent circumstances.

Ava
inhaled every crumb of her cereal. Surprisingly, she hit the plate of eggs with
equal enthusiasm. “Are you growing again missy?” Jessica asked her playfully.
She was desperate to talk about anything beyond the present. Every few minutes
she caught Ava’s eyes wandering out to the river. Curiosity over the people in
the river was as alluring as a siren song. A smirk was all she got back. Her
daughter had a distant, however content, look to her. The little girl pondered
their situation more than a five year old should ever dwell on something so
grave.

Jessica
thought again about abandoning the retreat group. The luxury coach felt less
and less like deliverance and more like imprisonment. They could get their bags
and just walk like so many of the cars around them. Paul would try to stop them
with his awkward frame and shit-eating smile. She could hear it now, ‘
think of your daughter! Where will you go?
We’re a family!
’ It angered her to even imagine the exchange. Her revolver
was always there as an insurance policy; she knew that waiving it in front of
his face would easily cancel their reservation. Then again, where would they
go? At least they had food, a bathroom, and some safety in numbers.

“Are you
going to finish your scrambled eggs, Mommy?” Ava asked as crumbs fell from her
lips.

She
looked at her plate finding it mostly intact. After being so deep in thought
over their next move, she’d all but forgotten they were in the middle of a
meal. “Of course honey, I’ve had my fill,” Jessica answered while passing the
plate.

Then a
startling boom sounded from behind them. It came so suddenly that the plate of
eggs was dropped to the pavement before Ava could take hold. Screams answered
the unexpected explosion. Sound behaved differently on the bridge, unfettered
by the open setting and odd air currents. Through it all, Jessica swore it
almost sounded like a shotgun firing. Several unsettling seconds passed without
anyone moving
;
frozen in fear not knowing what
unfolded back in the direction from which they came. It wasn’t until the second
blast that everyone scattered like roaches in a newly illuminated kitchen.

Panic
quickly overcame their civility with fear added to the particularly tense
scenario. Retreat members literally clogged the door to the bus when everyone
tried to re enter at once. Paul stepped in using his oversized arms to force a
quick, orderly boarding. Ava held Jessica’s hand tightly as they waited for
their turn to hastily board. Curiosities raged so Jessica glanced back towards
the origin of the sounds.