Notes from a Necrophobe Read online

  So why can’t I just wear a mask or a suit of armor? It’s not like those stupid zombie movies I used to secretly watch from the stairs, the ones where the dead would sneak up behind someone, and boy were they surprised when they were bitten! Had no one smelled meat gone bad before then? I already knew milk smelled nasty when you left it on the radiator and then squeezed it way too hard when you picked it up, and anyway that was KC’s fault ‘cause she dared me to do it. I already knew that drowned slugs in slug-traps stank way worse than that. And I knew that the worstest smell was when that chicken was left out and we forgot to cook it and went on vacation and came back and had to leave the windows open even though it was winter and the house smelled so bad we couldn’t have friends over for, like forever. At least I thought that was the worst smell but I was wrong because the worst smell in this whole stinkin’ world is a dead body. I’ve totally run out of words to describe how bad that smell is.

  There was the Life Before and now there’s an Afterlife. In the Life Before we would get out a lot because Mom needed to get out ‘cause she gets sick of being home. Dad says she suffers from “cabin fever” even though we don’t live in a log cabin. I was glad she needed to get out ‘cause it meant we got to go see movies and eat out and ride the trails on our bikes to the creek or go swimming and go to festivals and have picnics or sometimes just bbq with neighbors until the fireflies came out. Getting out meant I turned brown in the summers and made whole snow families in the winter and found ways to get covered in mud in the Spring.

  But then the Lost Day happened and now we live in the Afterlife. Houston says it’s ironic that I call this the Afterlife, that we live like we’re half-dead most of the time. KC says it’s appropriate because we don’t have much of a life anymore. All I know is that in the Afterlife my mom is all-the-time scared. We can’t go out. We can’t see friends (except KC is seeing Gemma right now so that’s not fair). We can’t play in the garden or walk the dog or open our windows or play loud music or have lights on at night like we used to.

  The Lost Day isn’t called the Lost Day because we all slept through it and forgot about it; it’s called the Lost Day because everyone lost so much. Mom says we’re lucky because our family is alive, we have a good strong house, and we have food storage. We’re also lucky because we don’t like to drink tap water.

  The last day I got to go to school started out fun because it began with my favorite class—art. But it went from fun to weird before I could even get my smock on. First there was lots of screaming from the hallways. Then the big announcement came through from my principal. I didn’t know it was our principal at first because I never heard her voice sound the way it did over the speakers; it was all quavery and forced. She said, “Teachers, stay in your rooms! Lock the doors. Lock the windows. Do not leave until we say so. And most important of all: Stay away from the water!” Our teacher ran around shutting and locking all the windows and then looked out the little window in the door. She started shaking and shaking at what she saw and then she made us all move into the back corner under the art tables. She turned off the lights and told us to be “super quiet; this is not a game; we could all get hurt if we’re not quiet.” I’ve never seen a scared grownup before and that made me scared. Then Jenny started to cry, not in an obvious way, but softly and that made me cry and then Marcus, and soon the whole class was crying. We were trying to be quiet just like the teacher said, so you only saw lots of tears and heard lots of sniffles.

  We’d hear a scream outside and then suddenly it would stop. We’d hear another scream and then suddenly it would stop. It was like something was pinching the screams right off. Most screams sounded like they came from grown-ups. Most. Maybe people got locked out of their rooms and were upset.

  We’d hear lots of running and then slow shuffling, like someone was dragging a heavy backpack. Our teacher started ripping all the posters and artwork off the walls and taping them over the windows. She kept trying to call someone over and over on her cell phone as soon as she covered the windows but the more she tried to call, the more she cried.

  This went on forever. I needed to pee so bad it hurt. It smelled like some of the other kids needed to too but didn’t hold it in. Nobody said anything about it. Nobody cared. Another announcement exploded over the speaker and made us all jump and squeak at its loud suddenness. It was the principal again and she sounded like you sound when someone wakes you out of a deep sleep and you’re not sure if you’re really awake and it’s the real world or if you’re still asleep. There was no light in her voice. She said, “Make sure you do not drink the water. Stay away from water at all costs. Help is on the way. I will let you know when it arrives, and we can begin the evacuation.”

  I get to go home early! We all started to breathe normally again. Not loud, just normal. Teacher kept trying to make those phone calls. We started to whisper. “What do you think it is?” Jenny thought it was wild animals escaped from the zoo that then got into the school, but I didn’t hear no roars or ca-caws or growling. Dwight said that because we’re in Mclean and we have a bunch of government people that it was terrorists that wanted to kidnap politicians’ children so they can control them or make money off of them. Polly thought it was like when that crazy guy shot all those people at that school but Marcus said that’s stupid because we didn’t hear no shots. But then we did hear shots—lots of them. Lots of thuds too. We all started crying again, but not quiet like the first time. I just wanted to go home and then talk about everything on the bus tomorrow. I was hungry, and I needed to pee, and I needed my mom.

  They came with guns. There was an announcement and they knocked and came all suited up with big guns. They had helmets on and everything. They were soldiers and they told us to not look around, don’t look anywhere but at us and when you get on the bus you put your heads between your legs and look at the floor. They said if our mom and dad were not home they would take us to a center where our parents could meet us. They said, don’t worry. We’ll ride the bus with you and make sure you’re safe, but you’ve got to trust us and not look around. They told us that whatever we did, don’t drink anything that’s not in a bottle and be sure to stay away from any water from the tap or anything made up with water from the tap like Kool-Aid. Then they formed a tunnel of soldiers for us to walk through all the way to the bus.

  We were almost climbing on the bus (they covered the windows!) when the screaming started again, but this time it didn’t stop. One of the teachers was stumbling towards us. She wasn’t one of my teachers, but I knew her because she was one of KC’s teachers when she was in the sixth grade. She looked shocked and hurt. I thought the soldiers would help her like they were helping us, but instead they shot her! She lurched forward like she tripped, but then she kept stumbling forward. I was hoping they had missed her, that she would be okay, but while I was doing all this hoping they shot her again. This time she fell down. She didn’t stay down though. She started to push up on her hands like nothing had happened. She didn’t cry or shout or anything! She just got back up and staggered forward. Then they shot her in the head and this time she stayed down. I mean, I think she stayed down but I don’t know for sure because one of the soldiers picked me up and threw me on the bus.

  I wet myself.

  KC

  We were glued to the TV for days. We didn’t dare leave in case we missed one valuable morsel of information, one clue on how we were going to beat this, one idea that would straighten out the thoughts that were running around in little circles of panic in our minds. If one of us had to go to the bathroom, the others would take notes to fill them in when they returned. Same for food runs. We ate in front of the TV, we slept in front of the TV…and we cried in front of the TV.

  On Monday we learned how to recognize the newly infected and how to avoid becoming infected ourselves.

  On Tuesday we learned that it came from the skies. It traveled in the rain then spread like brush fire through everything it came in contact with, trickling down
to water tables, drains, pools, and wells. Our only hope was shelter and water that had been bottled before Monday.

  Anyone the rain touched died. Anyone that drank water the rain touched died. Anyone that bathed in water the rain touched died. Nowhere was safe. No country was immune. These things could travel through groundwater at lightning speed. You could be in the desert without a single drop from above; that didn’t guarantee the water was parasite-free.

  By the end of Tuesday we learned that almost half of those in the rest of the developed world had died. At least eighty percent of the undeveloped world had died. I was shocked at this, but when I thought about it, it made sense: the less developed the world, the less shelter from the rain, and the less chance of social networks getting out a word of warning in time.

  At least a third of Americans had died.

  On Wednesday we learned there was no cure for the infected, only prevention.

  On Thursday martial law was declared. No one protested. No one cared. We learned how to fortify our homes and exist on a limited amount of uncontaminated food and water.

  On Friday we were assured that, despite the sudden decrease in its workforce, our government would do all it could to keep the lines of communication open. It would to this by making the protection and running of power stations, cell phone towers, and online servers a top priority.

  On Saturday we learned that the prisons turned themselves inside out. The guards threw the prisoners out to fend for themselves and turned the jails into a fortress for their families. This meant the criminals were roaming free. We were advised to be wary of the particularly violent offenders, the worst of which had their faces flashed on the screen. It seemed a bit redundant. No one would let anyone into our barricaded homes at this point.

  By Sunday we had stopped talking. All we could do was stare numbly at the television while images of death and destruction rained down on us. We had nothing left to say to each other and no way of absorbing anything more. Nothing felt real. There was nothing but “Breaking News!” on the few channels left running, and it all seemed like a War of the Worlds radio spoof. We had plunged into the post-apocalyptic era we had speculated about in countless movies, books, TV series, etc., but this time there were no superheroes, no miracle cures and no clever solutions to tie up the madness. Our minds struggled to keep up with the fact that our way of life had been replaced with an unthinkable, unacceptable reality.

  By Monday we had our first visitor.

  HOUSTON

  KC says it began with a knock, but I think it began with the smell. Jesse had been dancing around us as we relentlessly watched TV; the only live sound in the house was her endless chattering. “When are we going to stop watching this? Why can’t we watch SpongeBob? Why can’t I go to school? Why can’t I go out and play? Why are we all sleeping downstairs? It’s not a sleepover if it’s your own family! When is Dad coming home?” No one wanted to answer those questions, so we pretty much ignored her or sent her on a scavenger hunt for something in exchange for a cookie.

  Suddenly Jesse stopped, looked at me, and asked “Hou, did you just poof?” I didn’t get the chance to say no because Naked was straight up on her feet and barking at the back door. Everything moved quickly after that: Mom turned off the TV, pushed us behind the couch and was at the door in five silent steps, peering in the space between the shelves we had pushed against them. She recoiled from whatever it was that she saw and quickly and quietly joined us behind the sofa. “It’s Ron,” she whispered.

  Ron? Ron, the dog walker? He was always trying to convince us to use his services, and we were always reminding him that one of the reasons we got a dog was so we’d have a reason to get out and exercise. Ron lived at least a fifteen-minute walk away. It was a bit risky for him to ignore government warnings and come over here unless he needed help, unless he needed shelter, unless…

  Oh. That’s why Mom won’t let him in.

  We heard a slap! on the glass that made us all jump at once. I was about to tell Jesse to shush out of habit, but she’d already picked up on our collective fear and was uncharacteristically quiet. Mom picked up my old baseball bat. A few more wet slaps on the glass were soon followed by the jiggling of the door handle. She gave a small start like she just remembered something and passed the baseball bat on to me, as if I knew what to do with it. She gripped her iPhone and started furiously texting. “Oh that’s right,” KC whispered. “There’s a hotline for encounters like these. Mom must be texting for help.”

  It was bound to happen. The TV showed scores of the dead in DC shuffling about like a slow-moving flash mob. Tanks and air support were taking them out, headshots only, no bullets wasted. There were so many downed they were simply bulldozed off the streets. But out in the suburbs there weren’t many who were not already taken out by roving regiments of the National Guard or trigger-happy rednecks taking part in the hunt of their lives. The rest were behind doors, dead or alive. I guess it was only a matter of time before stragglers from the city mobs made their way to us. Either that or the Infected had worked out how to get out of their homes.

  We could barely breathe as we listened to the thing formerly known as Ron the Dog Walker move to other windows and doors. Fortunately Dad had reverted to his army training and passed on what he knew to Mom and me over Skype. As a result, we had done a proper job in securing the house. Nothing was going to get through our barriers, but our makeshift barricades could only keep out physical threats, not fear. As Ron the Zombie tried to get in, I felt I had dropped into the first few scenes of a horror movie—the kind that didn’t have a happy ending. I don’t know why I felt that way, it’s not like we fit the demographic. There’s no jock, cheerleader, or brainy boy in this scenario and only two of us are teenagers, but our first encounter with the dead was terrifying all the same.

  It was even scarier to realize it wouldn’t be the last.

  KC

  “I saw a ghost while you were gone.” Jess is pestering me while I keep watch at the front window, making sure there’s nothing around to attack Mom while she sprays rotting flesh off the car with the hose.

  “What? Go away!”

  “Hey, why is Mom outside? Why won’t she come in?”

  “We hit CrazyToiletBrush Lady with the car on the way to Gemma’s”

  “What? Why would you hit her?”

  “Cause she’s a zombie stupid! Didn’t you hear the Pickup Truck?”

  “You shouldn’t call them zombies. Mom says they’re not zombies. The guy on the Science Channel says they’re not zombies.”

  “They’re dead, and they try to bite people. That makes them a zombie. “

  “That’s not what they said on the news. They said the parasites…”

  “What did you say about a ghost?” I interrupt.

  “Oh, yeah. I was staring at the house across the street and I saw a face in the window.”

  “Huh, I haven’t seen old man Eric since this whole thing began. Did he look alive or dead?”

  “It wasn’t Eric! This was a young guy. He’s older than you, but younger than Hou.”

  “What? That’s impossible! ” Okay, maybe it’s not that impossible. These days lots of homes are occupied by people who aren’t the original owners. Some refugees will take a chance and break into a house if it looks vacant. Some of the squatters are outcasts that couldn’t handle living in a refugee center and were relocated by the army for re-habitation. If it wasn’t for the fact that we race to the window whenever we hear the slightest noise and if it wasn’t for the fact that Naked barks at anything that moves outside, I’d believe that someone had made Eric’s home their own. The thing is, Naked is good at sniffing out or sensing something different and letting us know about it right away. That’s why I’m not too worried about Mom while she washes the car—Naked’s outside with her, and she’s quiet and comfortable on the grass.

  “I looked outside when I heard the Pickup Truck come and saw that someone else was looking too. He was real pale—just
like a ghost—and he was gone so fast it was like he just disappeared into thin air.” Jesse seems pretty sure of herself.

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” I state.

  “There’s no such thing as zombies.”

  “Shut up.”

  I hear the car come to life the same time I hear the hum of the garage door going up. That means my little break from school is over. Mom will come in and check on Houston’s work and then insist I finish my paper. My uninspired little paper.

  “Jess, Mom’s coming back in! You should tell her what you told me.”

  Jess doesn’t stop to think. She trots downstairs to share her ghost news. “He, he,” I think to myself. “She’s in trouble the moment she admits to looking out the window.”

  I turn back to my paper.

  My Top Career Choice

  When I was little, I didn’t want to be a ballerina or fairy princess like all the other little girls. I didn’t care too much what I did, as long as I could be my own boss so no one else could tell me what to do. But things have changed. I’ve learned that it’s not safe to do anything alone, so I’ve changed my mind.”

  I wasn’t about to admit on paper that what I wanted was to own a pet shop that sold kittens and puppies that I could cuddle up to when people weren’t busy paying me loads of money for them. Either that or be a famous artist so I could get paid for all the doodling I already do for fun.

  “I want to be a sniper. I’m so tired of being indoors, out of the sun, cut off from uninterrupted views. I don’t care where I’m assigned—the roof of a grocery store, a refugee center, or an apartment complex. All I care about is that I’m up high enough to feel safe and the bonus of getting to see more than four walls around me.

  I want to be able to control my own environment. I want to be able to do something about this menace, not hide from it. I miss the freedom of my old life. I can’t do anything about the one we’ve got, but I can make a difference by making this world a more secure place so people can safely go about their business. I believe I can have the greatest impact when protecting TV, Internet, and power stations so we can stay connected to each other.”