“Where are we going?” Allison stood and grabbed her shoes by the door.
“Town.”
They parked near a little grocery store on the end of Main Street. Despite the many shuttered buildings plastered with “DO NOT ENTER” signs, the street was lined with cheerful flowers and full of activity. Most open shops were clustered together, their doors standing open, welcoming those who entered.
A tall man in a cowboy hat was loading boxes of produce into the bed of a pickup truck. When he bent over to pick up the last box she saw the outline of a gun on the man’s hip, concealed beneath his clothes. He tipped his hat to Dave before he took a seat in a yellow lawn chair near the store entrance. Dave nodded and gestured to Allison to get out. Allison had never left the safety of the truck when they were in town before. Her gut tensed, but she pushed past the feeling and exited the truck.
“Morning, Jerry.”
“M’rning, Dave.”
Allison followed Dave into the store, past the shopping carts, past the aisles, until they came to a door marked “Management.” Dave knocked.
“Come in!” a raspy voice said. Dave opened the door.
“Hey, Sheila. I brought someone for you to meet. Sheila, Allison. Allison, this is Sheila.”
The room was dimly lit with a single light shining onto a wall covered in photos. Hundreds of photos. One side was covered in children’s school pictures, smiling family photos, snapshots of people living normal lives. The other with withered bodies of Infected strapped to metal tables. Infected in cages. Dead bodies.
“Well, this is the Allison you have been telling me about? Nice to finally meet you, young lady.” Sheila sat at a desk in front of the wall. Her glasses teetered on the tip of her nose. A flowered scarf adorned her neck.
“Nice to meet you.” Allison tried to make eye contact with Sheila, but her gaze kept shifting to the wall of pictures.
“I know it’s not the most pleasant sight. But there is a method to my madness,” Sheila smiled.
“I’m going to run some errands. I was hoping Allison could stay with you for a bit?” Dave asked.
“Why, of course. Do what you need to. We will see you soon,” Sheila said. Dave patted Allison’s shoulder before leaving the room.
“Why am I here?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. You might as well get comfortable while you’re here.” Sheila pointed to the chair across from her and shuffled through files on her desk. Allison sat.
“Why do you have those pictures?” Allison asked. The files were all labeled with first and last names.
“It’s a reminder of where we came from and where we need to go.” Sheila leaned back.
“What do you do with all of this?” She waved her hand at the piles of files and paper.
“Find purpose. I was a history teacher. Before. Now I document history for future generations. So we don’t repeat it. So we learn from it.” Sheila coughed and the scarf on her neck fluttered. She pulled a suction bulb from her desk and lifted the scarf revealing a hole in her neck dripping with mucous. She used the bulb to suction the hole before she wiped it clean and recovered it with her scarf. Allison shifted her eyes to the floor.
“What happened to you?”
“The same thing that happened to you, child. And everyone else on this planet. Everyone has a story.”
“How did you get that hole in your neck?”
“I lost everything. My family, my friends, my home. I was alone. I felt I had nothing to live for. I slit my throat. As luck would have it, the safe camp I was in was housed in an old hospital. A surgeon was among the survivors there. The damage I caused was too great to completely repair. So now I’m left with this little reminder of my stupidity.”
“You were desperate.”
“Yes. I was desperate because I lacked purpose. Everyone needs purpose.” Sheila opened a file on her desk and held up a snapshot of a smiling family at Disney World. “The man in this photo is now a member of our town. I helped him find his only surviving child.” Allison leaned forward on the desk, looking at the smiling family.
Sheila opened another folder and held up a picture of a woman holding an enormous fish. “This woman passed through here a few months back. She served in the U.S. Army prior to the outbreak. She was at The Battle of Earlsboro. She recounted the story of that battle for me. She gave me the names of soldiers who died there. It’s now documented. We can learn from it. It may help me find someone else closure someday.”
“I don’t have a purpose. I just survive.” Allison hung her head. Her throat tightened and her eyes burned as she suppressed tears. Sheila took Allison’s hand and squeezed it until Allison looked up at her.
“Everyone has a purpose. You just haven’t found yours yet.”
A knock sounded at the door before Dave peeked his head in.
“You ready to go, kiddo?”
“Yeah.” Allison sniffled and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand as she stood. Sheila came around the desk and wrapped Allison in her arms.
“Life is about more than surviving. Remember that.”
Sheila walked them to the front of the store. She handed Dave a bag of canned goods and insisted he take it.
“I won’t take no for an answer. Tell Sandy hi for me.” Sheila waved as Dave and Allison climbed into the truck. Jerry, still by the door, tipped his hat to them as they drove away.
That night Allison walked the property, Sandra watching her while she pretended to be absorbed in her knitting.
“Please don’t go too far. It’s so dark tonight!” Sandra shouted. Code
