“Doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“Nope.”
They had to find a car, that was the first task. Caramount had an urban feel to it, yet it was a suburb. Very few yards, lots of concrete and cars parked at the curbs. Trying to determine which car went with what house was the hard part. The houses were so close together.
The goal was the strip mall at the bottom of the large hill. It had a grocery store, electronics store, and pharmacy. One stop shopping. Getting down that hill was not a problem, though coming back up with supplies would be. There was hope in finding something in the parking lot.
Caramount had a population of over thirty thousand, all crammed in sardine lots, apartments, and row houses. It seemed as if half those people were wandering the street now.
Of course, there were also a lot of bodies. Ones too far damaged to become dead-ish. Myron tried to ignore those. Being the video game guy, he put it in his mind that it was a game. It was the only way he could make it through without getting sick or upset.
A the top of the long hill that would take them to the shopping center, Myron noticed a lone car parked on the corner close to the side gate of the end unit in a row of houses.
No one would park next to a gate that wasn’t theirs. He pointed it out and told Paul, it was a good bet so they went to the house.
Myron reached for the back gate but stopped. Leaning against it was the body of a dog lying on its side. A yellow lab, its neck looked swollen, eyes bulging, and tongue lolling.
Unable to bring himself to push on the gate, Myron walked to the front door of the end unit.
Paul stopped Myron from opening the door. “Someone might be inside and scared. They could have a gun. Knock first.”
Myron reached to knock and noticed the door bell. He pressed it, and heard the sound of the chime. After a few seconds he pressed it again.
There was no response.
He opened the screen door and knocked.”Hello!” he called out. “Hello! Anyone home? We aren’t gonna hurt you.” He knocked again.
A women appeared in the small window of the front door. She startled Paul and Myron. It was obvious by her complexion and eyes she was infected.
She looked out the window as if right through them and turned away.
“Oh, that’s creepy,” said Paul. “We get in, we get out.”
Myron turned the knob. Upon opening the door they were blasted with an odor, a sour and rotten smell like moldy food in a fridge.
Myron grimaced and covered his mouth.
“Look for a purse or key ring,” Paul said.
The woman walked around the living room of the home. She was wearing a nightgown soiled with urine stains and neck had blackened marks on it and, like the dog’s, was swollen. “Paul, look at her neck,” Myron said.
Paul walked up to her and reached for her throat.
“Oh, God, don’t touch her.”
“I need to feel it.” His trembling hand touched her neck.
The woman didn’t react.
“Every gland in her neck is swollen. Every single one. It’s like pustules in there.”
“Is that why they breathe like that?” Myron asked.
“Could be. Her nose doesn’t sound stuffed.” Index finger extended, Paul reached for her mouth.
“What are you doing?”
“You said a medical professional needed to look.”
“But now? Right now?”
“We have the opportunity.” He placed his finger on her chin and lowered it. Immediately, Paul turned his head and breathed outward.
“That bad?”
“Her tongue is huge. I’m surprise she can breathe, and covered with these sores...” He closed her mouth. “Yeah, that bad.”
“Maybe she has a different case.”
“Or this is a progression. We need those keys. Check in here, I’ll try the kitchen.” Paul walked by Myron and straight through to the next room.
Myron started to think, If he lived in the house, where would he put the keys when he walked in? “Where are the keys to your car?” he asked her.
She stopped walking.
“You hear me?”
She turned her head his direction.
“You do hear me.”
She lifted her head, looking around, chin up, and it cut off her breathing, like a heavy snorer choking mid-snore. She glanced at Myron.
“God, I hope this isn’t one of these moments where I am suddenly your lunch.” Myron took a deep breath. “Keys. Yes. Keys.”
The thought hit him that they should have checked the car first, but he passed that thought when he realized, as nice as Caramount seemed to be, it still wasn’t the type of place where a person left keys it the car. Plus, she was wearing pajamas; she had been home all night.
A table was right by the front door and the most obvious place to drop keys. It was empty and when Myron turned, he saw. He had failed to notice when he walked in because he was so focused on the woman. He wished with all his heart he didn’t see it.
There was a sofa flush against the same wall as the front door, under the picture window and on the couch, a child lay on each end, neither older than a toddler.
Both were on their sides, covered with a blanket, heads on a pillow. Immediately, Myron hoped they were only sleeping, alive, immune and sleeping, but after taking a closer look he knew better.
Their coloring was gray, their necks blackened and enlarged. Both were laying the exact same way on opposite ends, their tiny hands peeking out from the covers. There was no blood, they hadn’t been attacked. The children had been ill and died in their sleep.
Myron’s knees buckled. It was a vision that hit him hard. Instantly, he felt this overwhelming sadness and a whimper seeped from his throat before he choked up. He spun to the woman. She was in the room with them. More than likely she wasn’t consciously aware, but instinctively she knew, that was why she stayed. Or at least Myron rationalized that. Instead of fearing her, being disgusted by her, be felt sorry and pity for the woman.
“I’m sorry. These were your babies. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t understand what he said, but Myron felt the need to say it.
“Found them,” Paul said, jingling the keys excitedly as he walked into the room. “Right on the kitchen… oh, man.” His eyes shifted to the couch. “That’s so sad.”
“Yeah,” Myron choked. “Let’s go.” He snatched the keys from Paul and bolted out the door. He didn’t stop until he hit the sidewalk.
“You sick?” Paul asked.
“No. That... that just got to me.”
“I’m sorry. Do you have a kid?”
“No.” Myron shook his head. “You don’t need to be a parent to see how horrible that was. How really screwed up this is.”
“You’re gonna see that a lot. You’ll get used to it.”
“No I won’t. I won’t let myself.”
Paul followed Myron to the car. “How do you propose to do that?”
“By remembering they aren’t just bodies, they’re kids. People are dying, they have died, but we can’t die inside, dude, we can’t.” He opened the car door and got inside. The moment he did, he looked in the rearview mirror and saw the two car seats in the back. Immediately he opened the car door.
“What are you doing?” Paul asked.
Without answering, Myron opened up the back door and undid the car seats, removing them one at a time and placing them by the back gate.
“You alright?” Paul asked him when he got back in the car.
“Yeah,” Myron stared the ignition and pulled out.
He wasn’t.
Something had changed in Myron. Before that, Myron was confident, felt lucky to be alive and invincible. His focus was purely on survival. Everything that was happening was like a fleeting moment in a video game. Until he stepped into that end unit and looked at that sofa and all of a sudden a different reality hit him.