questions.
“Don’t worry. I’ve cashed in everything,” Dad tells her. “The college funds. I’ve cashed in our life insurance policies. Our retirement. I’m getting another drop in two days.”
The college funds . My heart breaks. This thing just keeps getting more and more real. It’s so real that even college is no longer priority. The world is really ending. Otherwise Dad and Mom would never touch our college money.
“Is this going to devastate us?” Mom asks. It sounds like she is crying a little.
Dad doesn’t respond for a couple of moments. Finally he says, “How can it devastate us? We’ll all be alive and together. That’s more than a lot of people are getting. Besides, it’ll buy us time. There could be an actual cure in the matter of weeks. We just have to hang in there.” He pauses and I imagine him kissing Mom in the middle of her forehead like he sometimes does. Like he’s kissing the worry away. “Just a little longer.”
All Dad wants is for us to be alive and together. Has it gotten to that? Have things gotten so real and horrible that simply being uninfected is the most important thing in the world?
I move away from the wall and go downstairs for a glass of milk. When I flip on the kitchen lights, Audrey’s there, sitting at the table, in the dark. I jump like an idiot.
“Holy crap, Audrey. What are you doing?”
“Don’t feel very good,” she says. “I keep drinking water, but I’m still so thirsty.”
“I don’t feel so great, either,” I tell her, thinking about our now nonexistent college funds.
I take out the plastic jug of milk and pour up a half-glass, finishing it up. That’s it—all the milk, and I wonder if we’ll be able to get more. Shipments of fresh foods to the nearest Food Lion have been more infrequent. A world without a cold glass of milk would really suck.
It’s the little things, you know. Milk. Fresh apples. Maybe we can move into the country, get away from everyone, and farm.
I sit down across from my sis. She does look sick. Her skin is sallow and it looks like bruises beneath her eyes. Maybe it’s the fluorescent lights, but in any light, Audrey’s never looked less than ready for a photo shoot.
“Maybe it’s the vaccine,” I offer. “Could be some sort of side effect.”
She gulps more water, leaving oily smears on the side of her glass. “Probably. Either way, I think I’ll skip school tomorrow.”
“I doubt anyone will notice,” I say, meaning a lot of people are skipping school lately.
“Speak for yourself, little sis. I’m the reason people come to school,” Audrey says, but even her tried and true conceit comes out so hollow that I can’t come up with a decent retort.
We sit there a little longer and something gnaws at me. It’s like everything I do with my family may be for the last time. I keep Dad and Mom’s conversation to myself.
***
November 19
Audrey has no idea Tommy snapped a shot of her mangled leg with his iPhone and posted to Instagram. When I get to school Monday, everyone already knew what’s happened. The only question is, has Audrey turned?
I stop Nick in the hallway on the way to first period, but he has already gotten the lowdown in homeroom. I’m not sure what the driving part of the story really is—that Audrey has been bitten or that she’s cheated on Nick.
Nick doesn’t seem to be surprised. In fact, he’s strangely calm.
“You know, I’m around. If you want to talk,” I tell him.
“Not much to talk about, is there?” he says with a shrug that tells me he’s hurt and trying to hide it.
“I don’t know. Is there?” I ask. I glance around, thinking people might be trying to listen, but the halls are quiet. There’s about a third of the student body there this morning. Everyday it grows thinner. Are all these people sick or dead or in-between?
Nick pushes his hair back from his beautiful face. “Okay. We’ll get together later. At the field.”
I nod and start
“Don’t worry. I’ve cashed in everything,” Dad tells her. “The college funds. I’ve cashed in our life insurance policies. Our retirement. I’m getting another drop in two days.”
The college funds . My heart breaks. This thing just keeps getting more and more real. It’s so real that even college is no longer priority. The world is really ending. Otherwise Dad and Mom would never touch our college money.
“Is this going to devastate us?” Mom asks. It sounds like she is crying a little.
Dad doesn’t respond for a couple of moments. Finally he says, “How can it devastate us? We’ll all be alive and together. That’s more than a lot of people are getting. Besides, it’ll buy us time. There could be an actual cure in the matter of weeks. We just have to hang in there.” He pauses and I imagine him kissing Mom in the middle of her forehead like he sometimes does. Like he’s kissing the worry away. “Just a little longer.”
All Dad wants is for us to be alive and together. Has it gotten to that? Have things gotten so real and horrible that simply being uninfected is the most important thing in the world?
I move away from the wall and go downstairs for a glass of milk. When I flip on the kitchen lights, Audrey’s there, sitting at the table, in the dark. I jump like an idiot.
“Holy crap, Audrey. What are you doing?”
“Don’t feel very good,” she says. “I keep drinking water, but I’m still so thirsty.”
“I don’t feel so great, either,” I tell her, thinking about our now nonexistent college funds.
I take out the plastic jug of milk and pour up a half-glass, finishing it up. That’s it—all the milk, and I wonder if we’ll be able to get more. Shipments of fresh foods to the nearest Food Lion have been more infrequent. A world without a cold glass of milk would really suck.
It’s the little things, you know. Milk. Fresh apples. Maybe we can move into the country, get away from everyone, and farm.
I sit down across from my sis. She does look sick. Her skin is sallow and it looks like bruises beneath her eyes. Maybe it’s the fluorescent lights, but in any light, Audrey’s never looked less than ready for a photo shoot.
“Maybe it’s the vaccine,” I offer. “Could be some sort of side effect.”
She gulps more water, leaving oily smears on the side of her glass. “Probably. Either way, I think I’ll skip school tomorrow.”
“I doubt anyone will notice,” I say, meaning a lot of people are skipping school lately.
“Speak for yourself, little sis. I’m the reason people come to school,” Audrey says, but even her tried and true conceit comes out so hollow that I can’t come up with a decent retort.
We sit there a little longer and something gnaws at me. It’s like everything I do with my family may be for the last time. I keep Dad and Mom’s conversation to myself.
***
November 19
Audrey has no idea Tommy snapped a shot of her mangled leg with his iPhone and posted to Instagram. When I get to school Monday, everyone already knew what’s happened. The only question is, has Audrey turned?
I stop Nick in the hallway on the way to first period, but he has already gotten the lowdown in homeroom. I’m not sure what the driving part of the story really is—that Audrey has been bitten or that she’s cheated on Nick.
Nick doesn’t seem to be surprised. In fact, he’s strangely calm.
“You know, I’m around. If you want to talk,” I tell him.
“Not much to talk about, is there?” he says with a shrug that tells me he’s hurt and trying to hide it.
“I don’t know. Is there?” I ask. I glance around, thinking people might be trying to listen, but the halls are quiet. There’s about a third of the student body there this morning. Everyday it grows thinner. Are all these people sick or dead or in-between?
Nick pushes his hair back from his beautiful face. “Okay. We’ll get together later. At the field.”
I nod and start
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