Chapter 1
Ahh, that sweet smell. That tart, musky, horribly sweet smell of someone’s stomach contents leaving their body along with part of the remaining short life they have left.
No, not again! Why did it have to be this one? Why her? With so many that have already fallen, how many more can be left? Is it truly meant for all of us? No… I refuse to believe that. Not yet, but why this one? Why her?
My infected mother pitifully says, “Shane… Shane, are you still there?”
Damnit! I hate that voice! I’ve heard it far more times than any one person should have to. That terrified, delirious voice, full of so many empty tears.
“Yeah, mom. I’m here. Don’t worry; I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you, I promise.”
I look down to her. Sometime’s just looking is the hardest part. Just having to bear witness. She slowly gulps, like a fish out of water. It kills me because I know there’s nothing I can do for her. Pretty much nothing, anyway.
“Tilt your head back, momma. Try to drink some.”
I don’t even know why I ask her to try. She can’t drink, she can’t hold down any fluids. At the point of the infection that she’s reached, no one can. By the time I pour in a tablespoon of water, she’ll start choking, and that will turn into a coughing fit, which can lead to more vomiting.
The failed attempt might very well be quickening the process of death. Is that something I should feel grateful for? What a shitty ass thought that is.
Why can’t I just be strong like my brother was? As soon as that damn rash showed up, my brother would’ve waited until mom fell asleep, then shot her in the back of the head. Quick, painless, and less risk of spreading the disease. But no, I’m not that lucky. I don’t have the strength required to blow one of my family member’s brains out. Not even when they’ve begged me, and it’s happened. More than once.
Instead, I’ve only ever let them suffer in my foolish attempts to nurse them back to health. I’ve tried so many times. Once they’re marked, they’re as good as dead. Worse than dead actually, when you consider the fact that they’ll become walking, talking, infectious creatures that will go through frights of hysteria and bouts of pain and paranoia.
No, I’m not as strong as my brother was. Then again, were he still here he might not even be able to do it. Not this time. Not to momma.
I pour a few drops of water into my mother’s mouth. She manages to swallow one time before she chokes. It’s amazing how relieved I am that she’s able to get that little bit of hydration.
She rolls on her side to face away from me as she coughs on top of the filthy, bare mattress. It was nice once, and we kept it that way for a while, but that was almost ten people ago.
Experiencing such things makes one’s concern for aesthetics a bit diminished.
I hate being in the sick room. Almost every house has at least one sick room these days. This particular room belonged to my brother, Tony, and his wife. That was before all of this madness. Time had darker plans in mind.
It is necessary to keep the sick separated and contained from those who are not. The fact that this master bedroom has its own bathroom makes it an ideal location to care for the infected.
Some families don’t have a sick room. Some families kill the infected off at the first sign of the rash, or exile them out into this wretched place that used to be the world.
I have seen damn near my entire family pass through this room. Only my wife Sharon was ever able to walk out of it again. She’s the only one who didn’t get the rash. Other than my daughter coming into this world, and life itself, that’s the greatest blessing I’ve ever received.
My mom is curled up on her side now, her body buckled under the pain. I can hear her breathing slowly as she starts to catch her breath from the coughing fit, then she flips onto her stomach and quickly tries dragging herself to the wastebasket. I go to help her, but she doesn’t make it in time.
The bile that leaves her body is almost black as it runs down the side of the mattress. It picks up that color, and the metallic scent, from all the blood in it. That and the poison from the disease.
My poor sweet mother… Why her?
It’ll be a miracle if I don’t have nightmares of her like this until the day I die. I have been dreaming a lot lately. So, there’s that fun fact too.
I’ve always been a momma’s boy. I rub her back and speak to her as gently as I can manage. My voice cracks as I talk from the lump in my throat becoming too much to bare.
“You’re okay, momma. Everything’s gonna be okay. Just hang in there.”
Then my mom speaks, and the tone of her voice breaks my heart instantly, making the tears begin to flood. It has that high pitched sound, like when someone is crying and trying to talk at the same time. Like when little kids get upset and try to convince you of something.
“But… it… hurts… so… badddd!”
She can barely speak. Her arms tremble from the weight as she holds her face over the wastebasket. Losing my mother like this has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
“I know it hurts, momma. I know. It’ll all be better soon.”
I’m not lying either. Such a sad reality to accept as it is, it’s true. There’s no way she’ll make it through the night.
I take a warm wash cloth and wipe her mouth and chin. Then I gently take her by her shoulders and help her lay down on the far end of the bed, away from the vomit. I know she’s cold, they’re always so cold, so I pull the blanket over her and tuck her in.
“Thank you, baby-boy. I’m so cold.”
I know mom. I know.
I wipe the thin layer of sweat from her forehead and kiss her there, ”Sleep well, momma. I’ma take a shower and then go to bed. If you need me, I’ll be right there with the door open. Okay, mom?”
Her response is a thin whisper. I can hear no pain in her words though, and I thank God for that.
“I’m okay. Thank you, Patrick. I love you babyboy.”
I can’t help but smile at her words as I rub the back of my hand down her cheek. “Anytime, momma. I love you most.”
I kiss her on the forehead one more time before heading for the shower. I glance back just long enough to see her smiling with her eyes closed before I leave the room.
I take a five minute shower, then change into the sterile clothes I had previously placed on the bathroom counter. I walk out of the bathroom and through the sick room, headed straight for the door that leads into the hallway. I place my hand on the knob and turn it, then stop to look back at my mother.
I know instantly that she died. I stand there for a moment watching the blanket over top of her chest. From the lack of movement I know she isn’t breathing and for sure has passed away. I step out into the hallway and change my shoes, getting back into the clean pair outside the door to the sick room.
Then I head downstairs to where I know my wife and daughter will be waiting. We will say the special prayers for momma tonight, but I can’t handle the rest until tomorrow. I have already seen far too much for one day. Burning the body is just going to have to wait.
