INFECtIOUS

We talk and watch the clouds go by for what I'm sure is too long. The blue sky is disappearing into dark pinks and purples, and the clouds are radiant white with silver. I need to get back for Rosa. The thought of Tim starting a search party makes me stand to my feet and stretch.

  "Getting sick of me?" he asks.

  "No!" I blurt out too quickly. "I just have to get back to Rosa."

  "And Tim?" he asks with more sincerity than sarcasm.

  I pull my mask back on before he can read my face. I don't want to feel anything for Tim, but he has been such an amazing friend. The least I can do is not leave him standing at the Inn worrying.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Benjamin Franklin Does Nothing for Me

  On the way back up the huge hill, I'm finding out just what kind of shape I'm in. Not great. I can't talk; I'm so out of breath. To my surprise, without my nervous chatter going on and on, Matt tells me more about himself.

  "I've always been responsible for Tom. Ever since he was born. Our dad skipped out and mom worked. So Tom was always with me. The day they gave the shot in school, I was in 6th grade. But I wasn't in class when they locked the doors. I was hiding in the bathroom, smoking. It's funny because they told us smoking would kill us, but smoking probably saved my life.

  “I heard gunshots and I knew something bad was happening. I climbed out the bathroom window and ran the couple blocks to Tom's school. He was in 1st grade at the elementary school. There were cop cars and army jeeps everywhere. I snuck around and found the windows to Tom's class. I looked in just as they were holding him down. I watched them stick a needle in his head while he cried. I banged on the glass and yelled at them to stop, but then they were coming after me.

  “I ran like four miles to my mom's work. She called the school, but they wouldn't let us go get him. Said everyone had to ride the bus home like normal. When he got home, he was so shook up. I felt like it was my fault. I hadn't taken good enough care of him. Neither of us ever went back to school again.

  “My mom got the shot the next day at work. She didn't even fight it. I think she did it to show Tom it would be ok. And she didn't want to get fired. Anyway, she died a couple years ago. She was real bad with the disease. Infection ended up killing her. I've been taking care of Tom by myself since then. I found a way to make credits and help people who can't help themselves at the same time. It's a win-win.”

  Finally cresting the top of the huge hill, I get my breath back as Matt is finishing his story.

  "I don't tell very many people that story." he says, making me one of the privileged few. "So, now you know me."

  I have a feeling that there is still a lot more to know.

  "So you were smoking in 6th grade?" I ask.

  "That's what you got out of my life story?" he asks in mock surprise. "I was a tough kid, ok?" He sounds proud of his younger rebellious self. "When did you try smoking?"

  "Never." I say simply.

  "You've never smoked?"

  "Nope. Never tasted alcohol. Never tried drugs."

  "You're kidding me?" His voice is full of disbelief and shock. "Is everyone in God Town as sheltered as you?"

  I shrug. They wouldn't be in "God Town" if they weren't.

  He still doesn't get it at all. How do I explain it?

  "Some of them might have done those things before they got Healed, but after you're Healed, you just don't want any of that."

  "Don't want it? Or aren't allowed because your God is a dictator?"

  "He's not a dictator. If He was, we'd all be healed."

  "If he was a dictator, we'd all be better off? That sounds ridiculous, you know that right?"

  "No, it's just—if He was the boss of everyone, we'd all do exactly what He wanted, and there wouldn't be a disease. The disease is because He lets people make their own choices." I walk a few steps and then ask him, "If you had the magical power to make everyone love you, would you feel loved by them? If you made them love you, would it be love?"

  I'm afraid my question is too confusing, but he seems to follow and answers, "No, they'd be slaves."

  "Exactly. If God made everyone love Him, it would be pointless. He wants us to love Him because we want to. Does that make sense?"

  "Parts of it. But I can't believe in God, Ivy. If there was a "God"—he makes air quotes with his fingers again—up there watching us, He wouldn't let people suffer like this. I've seen people eat babies, Ivy. I've seen drug addicts rape little girls and then kill them. There is just too much crap out there to believe what you're selling. An all powerful God who made everyone and loves everyone who sat there and let it all turn to crap. I'm sorry. I just can't buy that. How is He loving that little girl who got raped and killed? Who had no way to protect herself? Tell me, please, I'm all ears."

  "We brought this on ourselves, Matt. He made the world perfect and people chose to sin."

  "Come on, Ivy," he sounds so disgusted with me. "The ‘Eve Ate The Apple’ story? That's supposed to explain all this?"

  "I know it sounds—hard to believe, but that's why it's called faith, Matt. I can't understand how you can see me, the Living proof, and not believe. I believe in God, and I'm Healed. How is that confusing?"

  "So if I just say, ‘I believe in God’ this nightmare gets all better?"

  "No, you have to do more than believe."

  "I knew there'd be a catch. There always is."

  "I'm not trying to sell you a car, Matt. This is important!"

  "Calm down, Ivy," he says, trying to be congenial. "We're just having a friendly hypothetical conversation. Ok, so what else do I have to do other than believe? Swear myself to the church or something?"

  "Ugh. You are so exasperating. Do you think the devil believes in God?"

  "I don't believe in the devil. People are evil all by themselves."

  "Now THAT makes no sense. Your reason for not believing in God is all the evil in the world. You think that a good God can't exist if there is so much bad. So, how can you not believe in the one who makes all the evil? It's easy to see him everywhere!"

  "Fine, I'll pretend for the moment that you've won that point, and I'll say I believe in Satan. What of it? I don't worship Satan."

  "My question was, if both God and the devil exist, does the devil believe in God?"

  "Can we be done with this discussion yet?"

  "The Bible says that the demons believe in God, and they are terrified of Him. So, is belief enough to have God's favor?"

  "I guess not."

  "Exactly!" I'm hoping he's starting to get it. "I believe that Benjamin Franklin was a real person. I believe he invented electricity. But Benjamin Franklin doesn't know me or have anything to do with my life today. You can believe in something without being intimately connected to it."

  "I'd like to be intimately connected to you," he says pulling me closer to him—trying to fluster me and change the subject.

  Our argument has been going on while we walk, and we are almost back to the house. As we turn the last bend in the road, we are suddenly within yards of a huge crowd of zombies.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Raising the Dead

  Matt had been holding my hand, despite our heated debate, but now he drops it. He whispers quietly, his tone full of the danger of our situation, "You have to follow me through. If we turn around now, they'll think we have something worth stealing. You have a mask, it will keep you safe. Walk now."

  Matt starts forward towards them, but I stand frozen like Lot's wife, turned to a pillar of salt for disobeying God. I shouldn't have come.

  Is this my punishment?

  Matt said he's never seen them on this road. Was he lying?

  I am so stupid!

  These zombies will either take me to Pravda or tear me apart because of my own foolishness. I ignored wisdom, and now I'll pay for it. Matt, several yards away now, hisses over his shoulder at me, "Now, Ivy!"

  I take a halting step, then another—lifting my legs like the Tin Man right after
a long season of petrified rust. I can't think of another option. I have to make it back home. It took longer to walk back than I thought, and it's almost dark out. I've probably already been missed. I pray for safety and beg silently for forgiveness as I try to find my courage. Matt is getting farther ahead of me forcing me to hurry towards the swarming horde. I'm so scared that I am trembling all over as I lunge awkwardly towards Matt. Moving forward is my only option, and I know I can't walk through this crowd of zombies without him.

  They don't seem to notice us as we are absorbed by the crowd. Once surrounded, the smell is nauseating. I'm afraid I'll puke. They reek of body odor and infection and poop. It's the most disgusting trifecta of smells I've ever encountered. They are all talking at the same time, shouting to each other and to no one. I've walked into an angry mob of infected, psychotic mental cases. It's literally like being in hell. This is my hell.

  I keep losing sight of Matt. My panic is overwhelming. I can't breathe! The gasping breaths I'm taking bring me more of the foul stench and make me retch. I will myself not to throw up inside my mask. In my head I'm screaming Matt's name, and I clamp my teeth on my lower lip to keep the scream inside. I catch glimpses of his unmasked head as he moves steadily ahead of me.

  What is his problem!

  What if I fall behind?

  Would he even turn around and notice?

  One of the zombies turns around and screams in my direction. I freeze and bite through my lip. I taste blood in my mouth as I peer through the eye holes of my mask—looking my death in the face. Death wears the plastic mask of a green bogey-monster. The masked goblin suddenly lunges towards me, and I close my eyes waiting for the attack. Shouts are going up all around me. I'm knocked roughly to the pavement.

  When seconds go by and I'm not assaulted, I open my eyes. A fight is going on just to the left of me. The goblin is clawing and thrashing with two other masked monsters. Matt lifts me by my coat and pulls me through the rest of the crowd. I start to pick out and understand some of what they are shouting. This is a gang with a purpose.

  Their purpose is our destruction.

  They are talking about what they'll do when the fence goes down. How they'll kill, what they'll do to people before they kill them, how long it's been since they've had healthy meat.

  We break through on the other side, and Matt slows our pace, trying to look unhurried and nonchalant. My feet can't stop hurrying, but I keep his slow pace so it feels like I'm running in place. When we put enough distance between us and them, Matt pulls me into the brush and leads me towards the little house. I pull my hand away from him and sit down defiantly in the dead foliage. I'm not taking another step until my questions are answered. I won't go any further with him until I know the truth.

  "Are they planning an attack?" I ask shrilly, still fighting hyperventilating.

  He turns and sees me sitting. I'm certain of what I heard, but I'd still love for him to tell me I'm wrong. Tell me this is normal and they always hang out in droves near our fence, armed to the teeth, talking about murder.

  His shoulders fall slightly, like he's surrendering information he had hoped not to give. "Yes, I think they are."

  I put my head between my knees, and tears begin to wet the scratchy mask against my warm cheeks. I struggle to speak. I need more answers this time. I won't put up with vague anymore.

  Matt volunteers the answers in my silence, "It's one of the reasons I brought you out tonight, but I didn't think we'd run into them. I've never seen them on this side of the fence before, I swear. I just wanted to show you it's safe out here and that I can take care of you. I've been hearing a lot of rumors when I'm at the compounds. I am pretty sure Pravda is riling them up on purpose. Now you've seen for yourself why I have to get you and Tom out as soon as possible. They aren't normally this well armed, Ivy. I think Pravda is turning the mob into an army. From what I can gather, they are after something your people have in there."

  He squats down in front of me and gently lifts my chin with his gloved hand. I try to resist, but he says my name softly, "Ivy?" and looks into my eyes again. I must get better at resisting this tactic. His face is so close to mine in the last glow of twilight.

  The husky way he says, "I need you to want to come with me," makes me sure that I will go with him. "Will you help me get Tom out when the time comes?" he asks.

  He begs me with rare transparency in his eyes, their vivid green tint still flashing in the last light of day. My face is hidden behind the ski mask giving him no way to read what I'm thinking.

  "I'm not sure I should."

  "Ugh!" He stands up and takes a step away from me. "Ivy, why are you so stubborn? That mob we just saw was a small part of a large group intent on raping and eating you and your friends. How can you still think you are safe in there? You will die if you stay!"

  "I won't," I look down at my feet and finish, "because I'm the thing they are looking for."

  Matt looks impatient and irritated, turning to and fro in the small cleft of space between the blackberry bushes we're sheltered in. "Is this about what happened in Commerce? That was just some drug addict, Ivy. There's no conspiracy to capture you. Something bigger is happening here. I've known Pravda a long time, and I've never seen them this desperate. Your people must be hiding something important."

  I feel belittled and embarrassed. I know what I know, but I don't care if he believes me. I've seen what I needed to see tonight. I have to warn everyone. The missionaries were right. We have to leave as soon as possible. I don't have time to explain about Chuck and his deal with Pravda. Matt might not even believe me if I did tell him. I stand up. I have to get back home. Matt doesn't say anything, but turns to lead the way back to the house.

  We are almost through the dense brush around the yard of the old house when I hear a scream. Matt waves violently at me conveying the clear message Get down and be quiet. I crouch in obedience. Matt creeps through the overgrown thicket moving out of my sight. I hear more cries and muffled screams. The fear and familiarity in the girl's voice sends a chill through my pounding heart. I fall backwards at the loud bang of a gunshot.

  Someone shot him! Matt could be dead!

  I'm out here alone!

  How will I get back to the tunnel?

  Maybe it's Pravda—maybe they've already found the tunnel!

  When Matt's familiar voice calls me out of hiding a minute later, my eyes flood with tears of relief. I run through the rest of the thorny branches, scraping my neck, and come out on the shaggy lawn. Matt is near the house crouched over two bodies. I run to him, relieved, but still worried that he could be hurt. I stop a few feet away as the shocking sight of Harmony, covered in blood, fills my view.

  How can she be here? What happened to her?!

  I hear myself drawing in ragged uneven breaths. My body is lead, and I stand gaping as Matt lifts her gently and listens for breath. He holds her neck and searches for her pulse. He looks up at me with eyes that beg for my forgiveness.

  She is dead!

  Harmony’s eyes stare lifelessly into the darkening sky. Her full lips hang open from her last scream. Her arms hang limply from her tiny frame. Her shirt is soaked with blood around the dark red hole that is torn through her chest. The cross necklace I gave her hangs near the horrible wound.

  Best friends.

  Matt has blood on his hands and arms, but it's Harmony's blood not his own. A small gun from Matt's pile in the basement lies next to him in the grass. Matt was the one doing the shooting, he brought a gun with him on our "date."

  I lose it.

  "You killed her!" I scream, oblivious of the dangerous zombies who are still too close by. "Why is she here?"

  Horror and panic are pulling me over the edge of reason.

  "It was her. In the tunnel. Not a rat. She must have followed us," he says with too little emotion.

  It wasn't rats we heard in the tunnel? It was Harmony?

  She must have seen me with Matt a
nd followed me. And then somehow this zombie found her. Maybe she had gone through the brush to the road looking for me and was spotted.

  I have led her to her death!

  This is my fault. And Matt's.

  I look at him with terror and hate in my eyes. I want to die too. I can't live with Harmony dead because of me. Ever since meeting Matt the people I love are dying. There might not be much sanity in that connection, but it feels like truth.

  "Ivy, I'm so sorry. I couldn't see well enough. He was hurting her, so I shot him; but the bullet went through and hit her! I was trying to save her," his voice is pleading, "please believe me!"

  I pull the stifling mask off my face, and cold air hits my fevered cheeks.

  And then the world changes again.

  As suddenly as the hate and panic took hold, a new feeling comes. It's not of me. My whole being is suddenly full with Him. It's surreal, indescribable. The anger and fear vanishes as I feel Him fill me up, and I know the Peace That Passes Understanding. My legs crumple under me, and I fall to my knees in reverence to His unseen presence. His Spirit alive in me, I know what I need to do.

  I crawl forward to my lifeless best friend.

  God wants to heal her.

  I know it with every fiber of my being, with every piece of my soul. He is calling me to pray for her, and the urge is so strong I don't question myself. It's not my idea, it's His. I wrap my arms around Harmony and lay across her bloody form.

  "God! Please!" I call out. I don't have an eloquent prayer, and I know an eloquent prayer has no place here. The Spirit in me is praying; it's not even my words.

  Matt tugs on me, asking me to forgive him and whispering that she's gone. I hear him saying we have to go, but he sounds so far away. I ignore him and wrap myself tighter around Harmony.

  "God!" I cry louder. "Please!" I beg Him.

  But it's really His Spirit begging Himself through me. This prayer is so different from the selfish prayer of fear and need that I prayed over Aunty just two days ago. I had been desperate for God to heal her. I didn't want to live without her. I was afraid to be alone. The prayer was for me.

  I know God didn't mind my selfish prayer; it wasn't why He answered "No." I know His heart broke for me, and He held me in His arms when he took my Aunty. He didn't want to break my heart, but Aunty was meant to go home. This prayer for Harmony, so full of God's peace, is different. I know for certain that He wants to restore Harmony, and I wait patiently for His power to come. It has nothing to do with me or my words. It just IS.