part i

There’s a part of the brain called the hypothalamus, it is located right above the brainstem and it regulates our day to day body temperatures. However, when a virus attacks the human nervous system, it resets to a higher temperature in response to create a hostile environment in which the virus bacteria does not thrive. This is called a fever; a symptom of a fever is to feel cold.

The end of the world is cold.

Cold fingers, cold bodies. The end of the world is slow. The days become long and the nights become short; everything begins to disintegrate. The blood in the air runs stale, it traps in the moisture, people wear gas masks to shield it. In the end, I hope to find solace, but for now, we wait. The end of the world is a virus, and we are the fever. Impatient, unwilling to leave, loud, and small. We have become still. The end is close, but not quite here.

It begins with a girl. As most things do.

“Shh, shush, please.”

My voice shakes when I can finally find it. I lower my hands to wrap Lydia’s wound, she’s whimpering like a dog. Her body pulses, it thrashes back and forth like something fresh to death. She knows what is happening.

“Alex- we need to get her out of here,”

“No, no I can still save her. I know it.” Raza grips my shoulders and tries to pull me away from the body, hands and toes already turning grey. I jerk away from his grip, managing my way back to her side. There is no time left, it isn’t painted on the walls but it may as well be.

“Raza-Riley, help me keep her down.”

Lydia sits up, her eyes a grey and foggy mix. She smirks, her teeth covered with blood from biting down on her tongue. She reaches out to grab me, my little sister, my best friend. Raza pushes me out of the way and binds her mouth like a soldier.

“Alex?”

We pick up her legs and take her out of the warehouse, the sun is bright on our faces. The cold burns our ears, and the seconds grow weary on our feet.

-

“I still remember the day mom brought her home.” Riley sounds like a chain smoker in a jazz club. His voice reminds Raza of chocolate, but not the smooth kind. The kind with expired walnuts in every bite. “She seemed so upset, with her tiny fists waving around in every direction. I wanted to hold her, but mom wouldn’t let me crack her precious china she’d worked so hard for. Took me a whole year to realize why she didn’t look like me.” Riley cards his hand through his shaggy red hair, Raza pays too close attention and I pay too little.

“I just wish I could’ve done something. All I ever wanted, I vowed- I was supposed to protect her. That was my job. Now look.” We keep the car silent, it’s always Riley to love like thick air to a big world. Large hearts aren’t made for battle.

He misses her already.

Everyone does.

-

The city looks nothing like it used to. It isn’t set in stone but I know it’s Virginia. It is the shade of the sky at 7pm and what is left of the iron streets that make themselves known to me. I used to love it here, but the days are short now, and the streets are paved with blood.

It is 9:42 when we finally get there. Riley parks in front of an old building  with a white streak of paint across the door, a sign.

LDS AFFECTED CITIZENS SAFE HERE

The name is stupid.

The Drifters in the facility scare Raza, he will never admit it, but the theory going is that it is the unearthly shade of skin that gets him. The first to welcome us is an eight year old named Elton. He holds out his small hand to me and I shake it, paper skin and all.

“Have you kept this place under control for me?” Elton smiles, he’s got four and a half teeth, three on the top. I don’t think he knows how to speak. He mostly grunts and makes little chirping sounds. Nobody knows where he came from either, all we know to do is salvage what’s left of his frail humanity. Something that’s not worth saving all that lot anymore. Elton runs off to his corner, he keeps a pile of coloring books and crayons and it reminds all of us that if we have nothing, we have him to fight for.

Riley grabs my shoulder and it brings me back to a simpler time; the first time a boy had ever put his arm around me. It was the birthday of my step-grandfather. His name was Frank, we called him Papa.

-

An old family friend named Carrie brought Him. She was about a year older than me and one of the only things I knew to be true. Our mothers went to seminary together, I was born to be her friend and she was born to teach me. Her hair was dark brown and it fell in waves near her collarbones. He (Mason) was only about an inch taller than me, wore a navy blue collared shirt, and had short brown hair that fell in his eyes. He was the best damned thing I’d ever seen.

“How could anybody even fit that in their mouth?”

I was staring in disbelief at the cake balls that my grandmother made, despite my quite sudden loss of appetite.

“Um- I don’t know.” I hid my face from him and muffled my voice.

“Hm. Shall we test it out?”

He came over and stood beside me, picked up one for himself and passed it to me. He was warm, warm and had big feet. I was cold, cold and had messy hair that rested right at the tip of my ill-fitting band tee shirt that I would relinquish later that week to my little sister. He had a brother too. Mason stuck the ball of sugar in his mouth and nearly choked, I still remember giggling. It was the first time I’d ever done that.

He smiled. “Your turn.”

I took a tiny bite, like the women in my family had taught me to do and didn’t try to finish the stuff, even though I knew I could. He was first boy I had ever met who wanted to talk to me. Consistently, that is. I wasn’t about to ruin it by my gorilla-ish eating tendencies (he would later see them despite my greatest efforts).

We always sang karaoke at these family parties; Carrie, Lydia and me. The Aunts would bring out the big speakers around the time everyone started to loiter around the exit, I’d sit in the back and hope to be passed. By the end of the night itself I was the one running the party, rinse and repeat.

“Sure. I love karaoke.”

My aunt’s had gotten to Mason with infection like tendencies. He got up to the podium, I followed him, we all did (Carrie, Lydia, Mason, his brother, the cousins) and we sang “Go Your Own Way” by Fleetwood Mac. He put his arm around my shoulder mid-chorus. It scared me, like I’d stuck my finger into an electrical socket, or the nerve endings of my body were all collapsing at once. In that moment, I finally knew what all my books talked about.

-

“Lets go.”

“Go where?”

“Anywhere. Somewhere. Just go with the intention to stay.”

Raza has a tendency to nest. He always has, it kills all of us.

“You know we can’t.” Riley zips up his jacket and rests his size thirteen combat boots on the windshield. “Says who? Raza matches him with his size nine converse and knocks him on the side. The car windows lay low so I can see the trees and try my best to drown them out. The pine is my favorite, but only turns the color I like it to once the cold approaches and the birds fly due Mexico. They are beautiful, some of the only good left. I’d implore them to stay if it were not for my instinct to follow.

“You could become a doctor. I could find a cure. We could be happy.” Riley laughs with a tint of sadness, his happiness in minor chords. He knows the life that he wants is virtually invisible in the face of certain death. Being a doctor is all he has ever wanted, it is in his nature to care. Raza buries his head in his hands and sighs.

“Look, I’m sorry.”

Riley kisses him on the temple, the air is unbreathable.

“Don’t be, Raz. We’ll get there someday.”

Nobody ever acknowledges them, except the birds. The birds sing about it.

Riley chokes on a spoonful of peas, Elton pokes him in the shoulder with his stubby fingers, as if to say are you alright? Riley laughs and takes another bite, the Drifter beside him shakes her head, we call her Mary Ann. She’s got a few tufts of blonde hair on her head and takes care of the food, despite never having a need for nutrition that comes from dirt.

“swo-” she’s trying to say something. We watch her grey lips carefully.

“llow. Swo-llow.”

She’s talking to Riley, telling him to swallow the peas. He nods kindly, thanking her for the meal and takes a sip. Raza and I exchange a look.

“We should get to bed soon.”

There’s a fire in the middle of our circle, it’s the only one we manage to keep alive in the white shrill of the weather. Raza’s eyes always turn a muddy brown after nine, his face grows older and his voice becomes louder. Most of us will never learn to understand it. Riley stands, fingers barely brushing the tips of our flame. He walks over to Raza, puts his hand between his shoulderblades and tells him to take another bite.

It is the little things.

It always has been.

-

When I wake, everything is black.

Black walls.

Black fingertips.

Black noises.

Then nothing.

-

Author's Note

Ignore the issues, feedback greatly appreciated.