Jacqueline Druga - Immune

“Hey, you do what you have to do. You of all people should be out there. You’re immune. You walk among them. If I was, nothing would stop me.”

Yes , Paul thought, but you don’t have cowardly tendencies. I do. I wanted to run before this shelter shit, and now I hate my decision. He didn’t outwardly convey his thoughts, becoming silent for a moment then cleared his throat. “Did Cee say if she heard anything from anywhere outside of the city?”

“No. But we’re all— hold on,” Tara said in a rush. Paul waited, listening to the silence of the radio. He looked down to the cup of chicken soup that had been placed before him. It had grown cold.

“Paul,” Tara said with some exuberance when she returned. “You are not gonna believe this.’

“Good news?”

“Awesome news. It’s not global. I mean, it’s pretty much global, but there are uninfected areas.”

Paul paused, setting down the radio for a moment. It was great news. “How do you know?”

“We have been calling out constantly. We got word from a radio operator in Canada.”

“So Canada is infection free?”

“Not all. Mid provinces and Northwest Territories are low population areas and aren’t seeing it like us, and have been able to control it. He said he hasn’t reached many in the US, but apparently Russia is battling it better than we are.”

Paul exhaled. “This is great. Are they sending help?”

“Help?” Tara asked. “Paul, no one is coming to help. If we want help, we have to do it ourselves.”

“Great. Then we’re back to square one. Radio communications or not.”

“How can you say that? We can head to the safe zones in Canada.”

Paul laughed then lifted the radio again. “Trek dozens of people thousands of miles through millions of dangerous infected. That’s not an option or reality, Tara. Canada may as well be Russia right now. Because it’ll be just as impossible to get to.”

He set down the radio, grabbed his soup, and walked from the office. Tara kept calling and Paul returned to lower the volume. She may have been excited about the prospect of safe zones, but to Paul it was a fantasy.

When he returned to the gym he saw the reality. And that was, they were trapped. Trapped in a dead city in nothing less than what would soon be a concrete tomb.

Max found a Toyota and parked it pretty close to the school, loaded it with supplies, then made his way through the growing number of infected. There were so many of them pressed against the glass, running their hands up and down, causing a squealing noise. He had two bags across his shoulders, and he reached for the door. It was locked. Which was a good thing, because when he withdrew his hands, several of the infected tried to open the door.

Wondering how he was supposed to get in, Max made his way around the circumference of the building until he spotted a soldier in the clearing out back, having a cigarette. The solider showed him a door propped open by a shoe and Max, after thanking him walked in.

He had been gone for hours. The community of Caramount was self-sufficient in that it had every type of store necessary, and Max had hit as many as he could. After seeing how many infected were around the school, he was even more convinced they had to leave.

After recalling Myron had told him something about the gym, Max wandered the halls, following the sounds of life until he saw the gym doors.

They were closed and he knew why. The interior gym doors were directly across from the glass ones where the infected were gathered.

He slipped though the first set of doors, pausing inside to look around. There weren’t that many people, yet he didn’t see Grace. He did, however, see Candice sitting at a table and it looked like she was coloring.

There was a desk by the door and a frazzled looking man sat there. He peered up when Max walked in. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, no, I’m good thanks. I see one of my party right over there.”

“You can’t go in. We have to register you.”

“I’m sure they did already. They came in with Myron.”

“Oh. You must be Max. I know they were concerned about your return. I’m Paul. I run the shelter.” He extended his hand to Max.

“Nice to meet you. Thanks for having us. Can you excuse me?”

“Sure.”

Max walked over to the table, placed his bags down, then sat next to Candice. “Hey.”

She glanced up. “Hey. I was worried. Where were you?”

“I was getting us some things. I didn’t mean to make you worry. Where’s your mom and Eugene?’

“Getting blankets and stuff. I guess we’re sleeping here tonight.”

“It won’t be for long. I have stuff ready to go outside, so when we can get out, we will.”

“Where will we go?”

“Have they said anything about safe places?”

Candice shook her head. “Not that I heard.”

“We’ll figure it out. How is your mom doing?”

Candice shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

Max leaned closer. “How are you doing?”

“I’m sad about my sister.”

“I bet. Hey…” he pulled one bag forward. “I know we had to leave our bags behind, so while I was out….” He reached in and pulled out a big bag of chocolate pieces. “I got this for you. This bag has some goodies for us while we’re here.”

“Thank you! What’s in the other backpack?”

“Oh, grown up stuff. Things I found that we’ll need.”

She muttered “Oh” and returned to her coloring book.

“Candice, I know this is rough on you. I do. I’m not so much a kid person.”

“Yeah, you told me. Remember? Last night. But then you gave me food. Like today.”

“Well, I really don’t know what else to do. If you need anything, you can ask me.”

She nodded, then paused as if she were on freeze. “Are we gonna die?”

Her question threw him and Max was at a loss on how to respond. Her question conveyed her fear and doing the best he could, Max replied, “No.”

“Really?”

“I think we’re though the worst of it.” Max looked up. “Yeah. We’re though the worst of it. It’s moving forward from here on in. We’re fine. We aren’t gonna die.”

“Promise?”

Max cleared his throat then after a slight hesitation said, “I promise.”

“I have one more question.”

“What’s that?”

“Can you open these for me, please?” She pushed the bag of candy his way.

“That,” he said as he ripped open the bag, “I can do.”

The gymnasium roof offered the best view, but wasn’t the easiest one. While he tried to put on a cool exterior, Myron could see that Eugene was still a little shaken. His words were choppy and he kept fumbling with things in the supply closet. He felt bad both Eugene and Grace were dealing with losses. Myron didn’t have words to give them because he didn’t know what to say. Even his grandmother’s chicken soup didn’t help, but he knew something else of his grandmother’s would.

Her vodka.

“Do you mind, Gram, if I give him some? I can go out and get more.”

“No, he needs it. Poor man. I had no idea he lost his daughter, and Grace, oh, that poor soul as well. Offer her some.”

“I will, thanks.” Myron took the clear plastic bottle of vodka, shoved it in his coat pocket.

“Bubby,” Gram said, grabbing his arm. “Do me a favor. Keep an eye out on Paul, will you? He seems off and nervous. Like he’s hiding something.”

“Nah, Gram, he just has a lot to deal with. Stanton dying wasn’t easy, he kind of freaked on me.”

“Why?’

“Because he didn’t want Stanton to go in the first place.”