Mark Justice - The Green Dawn

“Are we all going to die, Jubal?” Billy said, barely able to get the words out through his constricted throat.

“What? No! We aren’t going to die. People get sick all the time, sometimes lots of them all at once. That doesn’t mean they’re going to die. Or that you’re going to get sick. Or you other people here.”

I just handed that boy a?ne line of major bullshit; I’m going to Hell now, for sure.

“Now everybody just…go about your business while we take care of this sick woman.”

No one moved.

Red and Taylor, standing next to the cruiser, held the woman stretched out between them. Red had her arms and Taylor had her legs. They looked at Jubal pleadingly for help with the door.

“C’mon! Let’s go.” Jubal clapped his hands at the milling people, who?nally walked away with many a backward glance at Jubal and the sick woman. Some of them looked extremely upset; some looked stunned.

“Jubal,” Red said, wincing.

Jubal sighed. “What is it?”

“One of this lady’s pimples popped all over my rubber glove.”

“Christ, hold on while I open the back door and lay the blankets out, then you guys can set her in the cruiser.”

With looks of disgust on their faces, the two men hurriedly positioned the woman in the back seat so that she sat straight up. Then Red and Taylor backed way-fast, holding their hands away from their bodies.

After being released, the woman toppled over onto the seat.

“Okay, you two sissies. Go ahead and take a breath now.”

“Are we?nished here, Jubal?” Taylor whined. “My wife is waiting for me at home, and I’d sure like to get these contaminated gloves off.”

“Yeah, you two get out of here.”

They both walked off at a brisk pace yet slowly enough so it didn’t appear they were running away.

Jubal slammed the back door of the cruiser as Fiona came out of the Rite-Aid.

“All closed up?”

“Yes,” she said, jingling her keys in the front door lock. “Meet me back at my place?”

“See you there.”

Jubal got into his cruiser and took off toward Fiona’s house-soon to be his own, too, after the wedding. She lived in a small tangle of a neighborhood on the south side of Serenity. Many of the town’s older citizens lived there, too-Pops Perez for example-and Fiona liked to visit and help them when they needed it. They all loved Fiona and were always cooking dinners for her-and Jubal, too, when he was visiting.

Jubal wrinkled his nose. What in God’s name was that smell-like something had died? It had to be the woman in the back seat. Maybe, in her delirious state, she’d shit herself. Jubal hoped she hadn’t gotten any on the seat, then chastised himself for being so sel?sh.

The woman moaned as if to let Jubal know she was still kicking.

Man, he’d smelled better aromas on road-kill duty, which he had to perform on the town’s back roads.

Jubal rolled down the windows of the car. Too bad if it was two hundred degrees outside; he couldn’t stand much more of that god-awful smell.

Then the woman’s words came back to haunt him…

Dead army.

He couldn’t get that phrase out of his head no matter how hard he tried; it worried his thoughts like a dog at a tasty bone. Maybe he was wrong, but he could have sworn that’s what the woman had said back there at the car wash: dead army. He wondered again what she had meant. Had she seen US soldiers die of this strange sickness, or from some other type of terrible accident? God, he hoped not.

And then there was the drunken ambulance dispatcher, who had told him everyone for hundreds of miles around was a victim of the sickness, too.

It was a goddamn epidemic.

Jubal wiped sweat from his brow with his stained shirtsleeve.

As the deputy drove his car through town toward his?ancee’s, the blazing sun began to descend along its arc.

He wondered what color the sunset would be this evening.

Much later, back at his mother’s house, Jubal slowly swung the front door open, stepped inside and closed it.

His mother snored on the couch in the same spot he’d left her earlier this afternoon. The Navajo comforter was still pulled up to her neck.

He wanted to turn on the wall-TV and?ip channels to see if there were any updates on the situation, but the remote control was gripped tightly in his mother’s hand, and he did not want to wake her. He would have to use the TV on his bedroom computer.

The room dimmed as night fell.

He stretched, lifting his arms; his back popped. He rotated his head on his stiff neck. For a man of 22 years, he felt three times as old; the day’s events had taken a lot out of him, with his trip to Fiona’s being the last straw. He’d had to carry that sick woman all by himself into his?ancee’s house, exploding boils, road-kill stench and all.

He still wished Fiona hadn’t asked for the woman to be brought there. What if Fiona caught the illness? He didn’t know what he’d do if something bad happened to her, and right before their planned wedding day. But that was just the way his sweetie was: a caring, nurturing type.

“Festus?”

Man, she must really be out of it.

“It’s me, Ma. Jubal.”

Silence.

“Ma?”

His mother began snoring again. Jubal decided to leave her there. She looked comfortable enough, if a little more thin and pale…

Gray?

It was dif?cult to see in the dim light leaking through the curtains from the porch lamp outside. And so he couldn’t be absolutely certain of his mother’s complexion.

He had wanted to check on his mother, then go back to Fiona’s. But seeing her like this, he just couldn’t leave her alone. What if she called out in the night and he wasn’t there to answer?

Jubal went to the kitchen and microwaved some chicken soup for himself.

It took him no time at all to slurp the hot soup and noodles from the mug; he was starving.

When he had?nished, he set the mug and spoon in the sink, grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and walked to his bedroom.

He turned on the light, sat down at the small desk near his bed and punched up his computer’s TV link, but all he got was a blue screen. He messed with it some more, but he wasn’t the world’s top computer genius, and no matter what he tried, he could not get a picture.

“Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful.”

He covered his face with his hands, resting his elbows on the desk. The day’s events began to run across the screen of his mind’s eye. But it was too much; he just couldn’t take anymore right now. He closed out his computer, stretched and yawned.

“Maybe things will be better tomorrow.”

Fat chance, bud. And you’re talking to yourself again.

His comfortable form-?t bed beckoned with soft pillows.

Taking a pull from the beer bottle, Jubal rose from the desk and went to his bed. He set the beer on his nightstand, pulled off his boots and sank back against the pillows.

He had intended to turn on his bedside sat-radio and listen to some news or music because he felt too upset to sleep. But as it turned out, he wasn’t. The stress of the day had been too much for him. He managed to clap his lights out before falling into a heavy slumber.

Jubal Slate fell asleep atop his bedcovers, fully clothed.

September 2, 2048

They weren’t human. Some of the silhouettes were too tall and oddly shaped, and by the way they stumbled forward, he knew they were dead. Dead and hungry…

The chirp of the cell phone woke him from the dream. At?rst, he couldn’t?nd it. When he?nally realized it was still in his pocket, the call had ended. He checked the display and saw Fiona’s number. Fully awake now thanks to a nice dose of adrenaline, he hit the redial button.