Jacqueline Druga - Immune

Grace wanted to cry but held it back. It wasn’t the time. Maybe when things settled, when her mind wasn’t ridden with guilt, she’d let the tears come.

The squeak of the opening gym door caused her to look across. Max walked in, he was looking around, using his flashlight until he spotted Grace. He waved and walked her way.

Max was an anomaly. She couldn’t figure him out. Candice had, or at least Grace thought she did. The child had an unusually fast attachment to Max. Grace attributed it to Candice’s love of superheroes and the fact that Max had come to her rescue.

“Hey,” Max said quietly. “You’re still awake.”

“Not in the mood to sleep.”

“Can I join you?”

“Sure.”

Max chuckled as he stepped over Eugene and paused in his climb on the bleachers. He peered over to where Candice slept in the inside fold of the bleachers. The blanket was like a hammock, keeping her protected.

“Why is Candice sleeping there?” he asked, then sat down.

“My way of keeping her hidden and safe. Crazy huh?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

“I’m surprised you came in here. I thought you were sleeping out there.”

“No, I was hanging with Myron. He said he’d feel better if he stayed awake. That was after I walked the halls of the school. Man is it depressi—” “Stop.” Grace held up her hand. “Please, that’s far too sad to hear.”

“I understand.” He handed her a small Dixie cup. “Drink?”

“I think I will. Where did you get this?”

“Nurse’s office.” Max filled the cup with bourbon.

“Where did you get that?”

“Not the nurse’s office.” He placed the bottle down next to his flashlight. “I got it when I was out getting supplies.”

“You are a mystery, Max.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, typically after spending time with people nonstop, you find out about them. I know a lot about Eugene already. You, not so much.”

“I don’t talk much. It’s not my thing. What do you want to know?”

“I didn’t say I wanted to know anything.” Grace sipped her drink and cringed.

“Good because there’s not much to tell. Like Myron, I grew up with my grandmother. In fact I was on my way to see my mother after almost thirty fucking years. Then this happened.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Yeah.” Max cleared his throat. “Wasn’t meant to be. But that’s my life. I worked jobs, failed at school, and went to the service. I did good there.” He brought his drink to his mouth.

“When were you in jail?”

Max hesitated and looked at Grace, she pointed to Candice. “Ah.” He downed his drink and poured another. “A little after I got out. Called it post traumatic stress disorder.”

“What did you do?”

Max stared ahead, answering in a calm, matter of fact way. “I killed someone. An accident, a fight. I still killed him though.” He sipped. “I still feel it every day.” His lips pursed and face tightened.

“I killed someone too.”

Max glanced at Grace in surprise.

“My husband. Couple nights ago when it all started. He was going after Candice. I hit him with a bowling trophy. He didn’t die. Passed out, but didn’t die. When he got back up...” She finished her drink and held out her cup to Max. He refilled it. “I went nuts. I killed my husband and father of my girls.”

“He was sick?”

Grace nodded.

“That doesn’t count.”

“What?”

“Would you want to live like that? Wouldn’t you want him to put you down if you were attacking the kids? We’re meant to kill the infected. I think that’s why we were spared.”

“It’s not easy. You read books, watch TV shows, movies, and they make it look like killing someone you love is easy as long as they turned, as if there is an instant detachment. Well it’s not. Sick, risen, doesn’t matter, they are the person you love. It’s not easy. It’ll never be easy.”

“I hope it isn’t ever easy. The guilt and sadness is what makes us human. We can’t lose that.” Max paused and sipped. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing. I’m sad. Scared. I’m trying to keep it together for her.” Grace glanced at Candice.

“That’s good. And… and I’m sorry I got on you.”

“No, you were right,” Grace said. “You mentioned you knew what it was like to be the child forgotten about. What did you mean?”

“You listened,” Max replied. “When I was eight, my brother drowned in the lake where we were fishing with our dad. He was four.”

Grace gasped. “I am so sorry.”

“I remember the whole thing. I was there. It took five days to find his body. That whole time, you know, my mom only thought about Joey, cried. My father too. I was a nonentity. No one asked me how I was. I didn’t exist, I was eight. Then they found him. My mother blamed my father, and he was so guilt ridden, he shot himself. My mother… she couldn’t take the pain or guilt and she left. Ran away. I guess I wasn’t enough to keep her around. My father either. Story of my life. I’ve never been enough to keep anyone around. And like, wow, totally pity party for me.” He finished his drink.

“Max, I am really sorry. That’s horrible.”

“Hopefully, now you can tell an uplifting bio,” Max said. “You seem like the—” He stopped short, cocked his head.

“What? What is it?’

“Listen.”

“I don’t—” Grace instantly froze. “Snoring.”

“Yeah.” Max stood.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m checking.”

“Max, we’re in here. It’s just someone snoring. People snore.”

He grabbed the flashlight. “Are you wanting to take that chance?”

“No, but I’m sure it’s fine.”

After Max stepped down and checked Eugene, he moved onward. Grace, arms folded tightly to her body, inched even closer to Candice.

The obstructed breathing, gurgling snore was the only sound in the hollow gym. It echoed, steady, unwavering. A part of Max felt foolish for checking, but he had to. He walked, flashlight extended. It was hard to pinpoint where it was coming from. There weren’t a ton of people, but enough that he had to watch where he was walking. He went to his right, toward the cafeteria set up. The snoring was softer. He aimed his flashlight at where Paul was sleeping on the desk. It wasn’t him. It was coming from the other side.

He was careful, shining the light everywhere and on everyone. As he drew closer to the far side, to the larger gathering of sleeping people, the snoring stopped.

Max had been holding his breath and he exhaled in relief. Just his overactive imagination. That’s what he thought until Grace called his name fearfully.

Flashlight on, Max slowly turned around. Amongst all the slumbering people, one woman sat up and the beam of his flashlight hit her face. Her skin was white, eyes gray and she had that look. That maddened look.

Game over.

She went from one stage to another in minutes. With a pig-like squeal she edged to her knees, pivoted to her right, and lunged on the person next to her.

Max raced over.

The screams of the male victim, mixed with a slurping sound, woke those in the gym and raised them into an immediate panicked state.

The screams caused the newly infected woman to quickly claim her next victim. She moved fast. The others all jumped up and ran. Max pushed his way to the woman. He couldn’t shoot her, not with everyone racing about. Using his flashlight as a weapon, he smashed into her head where she hovered over her second victim.

“Don’t go out the front door!” someone shouted.

The first hit did nothing.

“Race for the bleachers. They don’t climb!” another cried.

He struck down, pummeling her until the flashlight broke and all went dark.