She was the cause of someone’s pain, someone’s heartbreak, someone’s loss. She knew she had killed that boy. There was no denying it to herself or anyone else. What else had she done? How many people did I kill? How many families did I destroy? Allison thought of the boy’s arm barely dangling from his body, his father’s cries, the boy’s screams. The room spun as Allison gasped for air. She leaned on the wall to keep herself from falling. One, two, three—stay calm—four, five, six—stay focused—eight, nine, ten—don’t forget to breathe. Allison took a deep breath in through her nose before slowly releasing it from her mouth. She focused on a single pink flower on the wallpaper in front of her. It had five water-drop petals and a delicate green stem. It was slightly bent, almost touching the orange flower near it. Its center was light yellow, like the light butter popcorn she and Gabby would cuddle up with on the couch on Friday nights when they stayed in. Gabby. Allison’s breathing returned to normal, and the room was stable once more. Tears dripped down her check, and she let them fall.
Allison opened the fridge and pulled out the milk. She then went to the cabinet where she had seen chocolate powder earlier in the day. She combined the milk and chocolate powder in a glass, then sat down at the kitchen table. Her mother had made her chocolate milk when she came home crying during third grade because the boy she liked had told her he didn’t like her back. Her mother made her chocolate milk the day her parents told her they were getting a divorce. Her mother made her chocolate milk the day her grandmother died. Chocolate milk was her mother’s answer to every problem, and it soothed Allison’s soul. Drinking chocolate milk made her feel loved, protected, and at peace.
Allison couldn’t stop the tears. She watched hopelessly as one fell into her chocolate milk. It didn’t matter. It was tasteless without her best friend and her family. What had happened to them in this new and horrible world? Allison pushed her milk away. It held no magic without those she loved.
Allison was numb to life. Breathing took everything she had. Flashbacks took over her waking moments. Nightmares plagued her sleep. There was no escape, no relief.
Her mornings were always the same. Waking before dawn, before even the rooster would crow. Images of blood-splattered walls, a cabin in the woods, and the cries of a girl fresh in her fuzzy memory. These thoughts echoed in her mind throughout the day and night. Fresh information would come in bits and pieces but never enough to truly remember, just enough to grow the knot of guilt that was now a permanent fixture in the pit of her stomach. This memory was important. Allison clung to it.
She pushed herself to contribute to Dave and Sandra’s home; it was the least she could do for them. She helped Dave take care of the livestock and the vegetable garden. She enjoyed dropping little kernels of corn and watching the chickens go wild for it. Dave did not talk much, but she often caught him looking at her with grief-stricken eyes. He would quickly turn away once caught and then make an off-the-cuff comment about how good the tomatoes looked or how blue the sky was that day. Allison’s heart ached every time she caught Dave staring at her. She knew that her presence reminded him of his daughter’s absence.
Dave made occasional trips into town and Allison tagged along sometimes, but she never left the truck. Sandra never left the farm. She hated going into town now. Everything had changed in their little country town since the outbreak. Most familiar faces were long gone. The few that remained were full of sorrow. The central square, once full of school children every afternoon, was empty, overgrown, forgotten. The cafe on Sixth Street that had fifty-cent coffee on Tuesdays was a pile of burned rubble. The only beauty parlor in town, once full of gossip and girl time, now sat silent. Seeing the town she loved shattered broke something inside Sandra. She often wept when she spoke of it. Allison had no desire to go into a town, to be around other people, to have to act normal, like she wasn’t part of the blight on society. Dave brought news and gossip home with him after every trip. The Collectors in their all-black uniforms with automatic rifles slung over their shoulders had been through town multiple times looking for Infected or former Infected. They were becoming increasingly hostile to the town’s residents, intimidating, demanding. This was unusual, as prior to Allison’s arrival the Collectors rarely visited their town. The whole community was made nervous by this unexpected change.
“The last time they were here this often was around the time Billy disappeared. It isn’t good news, Sandy. It isn’t good.” Sandra nodded every time Dave said this and continued her chores, always avoiding the subject. Allison never asked who Billy was.
Allison helped Sandra wash clothes by hand, prepare meals, and keep the house in repair. They chatted about their families and interests. Sandra had always wanted to be on one of those amateur baking reality shows and had even applied for one on cable right before the outbreak occurred. Allison told Sandra all about her love for everything fashion.
Every morning and every night Dave walked the electric fence surrounding the property checking for weak spots, broken areas, anything that could make them vulnerable to the threats that lay on the other side. Allison had once been one of those threats. They never saw any Infected. Sandra told her the area was pretty much clear, almost infection-free. However, no one felt safe enough to remove their electric
