Jacqueline Druga - Immune

“We don’t have much to give out,” a man named Paul said. “Blanket, a personal care package for now. We’re getting more. Please make yourself at home, we have plenty of room and are glad to have you.”

He seemed nice enough, offering to check out the scratches on Grace’s arms and hands. She was fine and thanked him. While waiting inside the fire truck, she had found the first aid bag and cleaned and dressed her wounds.

She was antsy for the return of Max and Eugene. Even though she had only known them a few days, they were a group, their own pack. Until they arrived, she sat down at the lunch tables with Candice.

It looked like some of the people were practicing climbing the scaffolding. She found it odd and kept watching until an older woman approached them.

“Newcomers, I made soup,” she said, reaching out and placing her hand on Candice’s shoulder. “Would you like some soup, sweetie? It’s not real chicken, but I think it’s good.”

“Yes, please,” Candice nodded with a smile.

“And you, honey?” she asked Grace.

“That would be very nice. Thank you.”

The woman left, returning with two mugs filled with broth and vegetables. “Eat up, we don’t know when we’ll get the fresh vegetables for soup. My Bubby loves my soup. Oh.” She laid her hand on her chest and sat down across from them. “I’m so sorry, my name is Leona. The unofficial lunch lady.”

“I’m Grace, and this is my daughter Candice.”

“Oh, such beautiful names. Are you two alone?”

Grace shook her head. “We have friends we were traveling with. We got separated, they’ll be here shortly. I hope.”

“I’m certain they will be. I’m waiting on my Bubby now. He went to play hero and get a fire truck so we won’t be trapped here.”

“Myron?” Grace guessed, based only on the age. Beret was too old to be the woman’s grandson.

“You know him?”

“He saved our lives,” Grace said. “We were done. Cornered. He came in and saved us, him and the other guy.”

“My Bubby has always been heroic. This is wonderful. And he’s fine?”

Candice replied, “They’re playing pied piper, they were leading the infected away. Beret made us come in before they got back. I’m sure he’s safe. He’s with our friends.”

“Then they’ll all be back,” Leon said assuredly.

Grace was about to say more, keep the conversation going, ask Leona what she knew or had heard, when she spotted Eugene.

The spoon clanked against Candice’s cup. “Oh no. Where’s Max?”

Eugene was speaking to Paul and when he made eye contact with Grace, he held up his hand and walked over.

“What happened?” Grace asked. “Where are Max and Myron?”

Eugene pointed back with his thumb. “Myron is adjusting the ladder. Max is um…”

Candice gasped. “He died?”

“No, no, no.” Eugene held up his hand. “He’s outside.”

Leona stood from the table. “You look worse for wear. I’m gonna get you some soup.”

“Thank you. I’d kill for some ibuprofen as well. My head is killing me.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Leona winked and excused herself, walking back to the lunch lady kitchen.

“Where is he?” Grace asked.

Eugene leaned into the table.

“He is dead,” Candice said. “Isn’t he?”

“He is not dead, Grace.”

“I like Max. He is misunderstood.”

“I bet. Good word. Big word.” Eugene said. “Anyhow, he’s out there trying to find a car and get supplies. He really doesn’t think this is a good idea. He just wants to have things ready in case we have to run. It’s bad out there. There’s a ton of the Ragers. We drew a lot of them away, but they’ll be back.” He glanced up when Leona brought the soup and he thanked her.

“Will my grandson’s escape plan work?” Leona asked. “Can we get out with that many of the sick people out there?”

“Yes,” Eugene nodded. “For now. That’s why it’s probably best not to stay here.”

“Hmm,” Leona said. She placed her hands over Candice’s ears and said softly, “This place is a deathtrap. A tragedy waiting to happen. I can feel it in my bones. I also feel…” she lowered her hands, “until there is a better option and a definite place to go, this is our safest bet. Just my thoughts. Take it for what it’s worth.”

“What do you think?” Eugene asked Grace.

“I think there are so many out there,” Grace replied. “If we leave, until this thing is over, we’re going to be running, trying to be one step ahead. I look around, I see concrete walls and steel doors. As long as we have food and Immune that can go out and get more, I think this is not only our safest, but our best option. There’s not another one.” She looked at Leona. “No offense.”

“None, taken,” Leona said.

“Are you saying you want to stay?” Eugene asked.

“Yes. Until the time comes when we have to leave.”

“And what happens when that time comes and we can’t?” Leona asked. “You have a child here, so this cannot be a cross the bridge, or rather fire ladder, when we get to it.”

“You’re right. I honestly don’t think it will come to that,” Grace said. “How could it?”

He felt inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. The key master, the thinker, the person obsessed with the radio. Other than those few things, no one really paid much attention to Paul. Sure, they gave him the time of day, were considerate about asking to do things. After all, in a sense, the shelter was his ‘house’. If they were leaving or changing something it was the polite thing to do.

The bottom line was, no one cared. If he were a character in a book, people would be waiting on his death. He supposed in life there were people who lived their lives, never making a mark outside their daily jobs.

Paul had the chance to shine. However, he just couldn’t hit that point.

Stanton was a different story. He not only was instinctively a leader, he’d had it together, or at least projected it. Paul was a plethora of emotions, most of which were anger and sadness. He was hurt because Stanton had been killed. It was senseless. Stanton should have never have gone on the recovery expedition.

It was a great loss to the shelter. A good man who could have made the difference was gone. His men were not taking it well. Two had told Paul they were taking a break from duty and would probably head out.

Everyone in the shelter knew Stanton. He was the one that had updated the residents, walked the floor at night checking on people. He projected a sense of safety and calm, and Paul wasn’t sure he could fill those shoes.

The news about Stanton’s death was delivered by Myron. The young man choked up.

“I told you not to take him,” Paul said. “I said it was dangerous.”

Like a child being scolded by a parent, Myron took the verbal hit personally and his demeanor sunk even further. Not even the fact that he helped that family made a difference.

Paul would speak to him later, possibly apologize for coming down so hard on him. It wasn’t Myron’s fault, it was an emotional time.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tara said via their radio communication when she heard the news. “We lost two men today when they went out to clear infected from around the buildings.”

“This is insane, Tara.”

“Staying in and close to the city isn’t a viable option anymore. We have thirty-two people here. A small enough group to move. Where, I don’t know yet. We made phone contact with Cee the DJ. We’re gonna try to pull off a rescue for her. She is still getting calls and has been marking locations.”

“So you’re gonna be a martyr and go out saving people?”