“If George wants to engage Streakers, he can take my place any time.” The words leapt from her lips.
No one liked to risk his or her life, but everyone had always fought side by side—equals in every way.
Billy joined the two women, kicking at the dust-covered litter infiltrating the otherwise empty streets. Discarded bottles and cans shared space with rusted appliances, tools, and rancid trash. After the first year, the worst of the malignant odors had evaporated, but the group avoided any place one could smell before seeing.
“Is it always this way? Quiet?” The teen sent an empty, chewed can of shampoo into the bushes with a strong kick.
“Yeah, when kids don’t talk.” Jenna nudged him, then sent a wink his way.
“I miss real shampoo and getting my hair done.” Emma turned. A sheer look of longing masked her face. “What do you miss?”
“Pizza.” The word rolled off Jenna’s tongue without hesitation.
“Baseball.” Billy swung the nail-laden board at an empty shotgun shell casing, sending it flying into the air. “Home run.” He sprinted off, following the impromptu ball.
Contemplating the days when pizza was plentiful, questions resurfaced. “What do you remember about the first days of the pandemic?” Jenna squinted her eyes as the group turned the corner, walking into the sun. “Most of it’s starting to blur, except the important stuff.”
“Like what?”
“My parents. Their faces remain vivid even now. Images of my school and friends are always dancing in my brain. And I couldn’t shut out my new reality even with my dying breath. Try as I might, the days of the pandemic are foggy. And the memories blur more and more every passing hour.”
Jenna didn’t want to dwell on what had happened to her. Even Emma didn’t know that piece of her story.
Maybe Emma has information that explains why no one stopped what occurred that night.
She stared at the ground. “Does anyone understand its origin, Emma??”
“Sweetie, I remember the horrors of the disease. It left people dying in the streets. Families, neighbors, and strangers running, never to be heard of again.” A deep-seated sadness etched Emma’s voice as she grabbed the younger woman’s elbow, marching her onward. “Some people, after seeing the aftermath, committed suicide rather than face the new world. I was on vacation when things started to fall apart. Thank God I found you and the rest of this crazy group.” She gave Jenna’s arm a quick squeeze.
“Will we find more people? We can’t be it.” These days, the group was lucky to come across new survivors. Humans dwindled, heading for extinction.
“You never know. I remember from back when news stations still existed, a reporter said when the pandemic first hit the United States, it killed most of the population. Close to eighty percent of people gone. Just like that.”
“Do you think more groups like us exist out there?”
“If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.”
Jenna scowled. “There has to be.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. When the virus first hit, mass graves overflowed with bodies.”
“Do you recall all the rumors at first?”
“Sure, people believed the dead coming back to life was an urban legend, a scare tactic by the government or a sick joke, but the dead returned.”
“I can’t remember much after my parent’s death, and my aunt got sick.”
“I doubt many could survive both the virus and what came after. You’re strong because you were able to do that.”
“We both did.” Jenna pressed herself next to Emma for an awkward side hug.
As humans died across the globe, Streakers proliferated.
Bodies clawed their way out of the graves and attacked anything living and breathing.
In those first months, some people stayed buried, but many who died in the pandemic returned with a taste for human flesh. Survivors had no idea how to combat them and succumbed under the creature’s violent, decaying hands, only to add to the undead’s growing population.
Another mutation emerged from the virus: The New Race. Ostracized at first, believed to be kin to Streakers, most thought the New Race ready to destroy those humans who remained. Both groups realized together, they had a better chance for survival. Now, humanity would most likely be extinct without the aid of the New Race.
“Why did this happen?” Jenna let the question slip from her chapped lips.
“I don’t know. I can’t reflect on it anymore. It is what it is. You got to stop driving yourself crazy. Be thankful you’re alive.”
“It’s all I wonder about.”
Silence fell between them until a few minutes later, the large grocery store came into view.
Quentin jogged from behind and pushed in between the two women. “I still picture the store full of people wearing masks getting groceries for the week. Remember the smell of rotisserie chicken? My favorite to go meal. I wasn’t much of a cook then.”
“Some things haven’t changed.” Jenna met his blue eyes. “Should we ask Jackie what she plans to feed you later?” She turned towards the woman still following behind, engaged in a loud conversation with Billy about the merits of spices.
“Don’t start you too.” Emma said. “I’ll tell you what I miss the most: fresh fruit. And God knows who I’d kill for a bag of potato chips.” Emma grabbed her elbows and held on tight in a self-hug.
The insignificant action reminded Jenna of her mom, who would have been one of the people getting groceries on a busy Saturday. Back in her room at home, she’d have refused to help with such a menial, tedious task as the stubborn selfish teen she’d been then. If only there was a time machine.
She missed her mom so much and wanted the chance to offer thanks for all the wonderful things her family had provided. If Jenna could return to pre-pandemic times, she’d join her mother on every trip to the grocery store and do every boring chore ever.
The group closed in on the dilapidated store, the last in
