We Are All Strangers Page 2

  “Program Twelve,” one of the guards responded.

  “And who ordered the deactivation?” The voice demanded.

  “Charles McVeigh ordered Program Twelve to be deactivated.”

  “Thank you.” A loud buzz sounded as the two doors opened up. “Program, please enter the room.”

  The guards released their hold on my forearms and shoved me inside the room. “Guess you won’t be spreading the truth after all, huh?” He smirked.

  I turned around to run after him, but the doors slammed shut before I could reach him

  The room was dark, and eerily quiet. I tried scanning for an escape, but the only way out appeared to be the same way I’d come in. And those doors could only be opened from the control room. “Shit.”

  “Hello to you, too.” A large monitor beamed to life across from me, showcasing an older man who appeared to be in his sixties. He wore a white coat, like the others, and an identification card that read Rupert Sounders, Head of Deactivation.

  “How does it feel to be a murderer?” I asked him.

  “Me? A murderer?” he smirked. “By the time Programs like you reach me, they are already dead.”

  “One of these days, one of McVeigh’s precious Programs will successfully take down this company,” I warned. “And when they do, I hope you remember my face, because I’m only the beginning of what is to come.”

  “I highly doubt that’ll happen.” The monitor died, killing off the only source of light in the room. I could hear footsteps behind me, but I refused to turn and look. “I highly doubt that’ll happen because McVeigh has already taken care of the problem. Jessica is gone now, and the other caretakers are far too loyal to attempt a Program alteration.”

  “That’s what you think.” I thought back to the boy in the Security Tube. His bright blue eyes – eyes full of hope. They didn’t see what I did. They saw a boy desperate to impress McVeigh. But he was capable of destroying Vesta Corp. He was capable of ending this. Their own ignorance would be their downfall.

  “Goodbye, Twelve.” A voice whispered in my ear. A hand tugged on my hard-drive. I could feel my body shutting down, and I let out one final warning.

  “Soon,” I told him. “Soon.”

  THE YEARNING

  They brought in a new one today. A boy. He appears to be my age. He’s still dressed in his street clothes: torn blue jeans, a stained red polo, and black Converse hi-tops. Soon enough, they will have him dressed like the rest of us. Wearing a gray t-shirt with black pants, and a name tag pinned to the shirt, reminding us that we’re still alive.

  “You know the rules, Harper,” the woman tells me. Of course, I do. No touching, no lingering eye contact, just a single nod and then you are to move along. I nod towards the woman and move off towards the side.

  I stop near a window and peer down over the now vacant city. Well, vacant in the sense that humanity no longer lives there. The zombies overtook everything. Our lives. Our memories. Our families. Everything but hope.

  The world as we knew it has fallen apart and has been replaced by a shadow of what it once was. I guess I shouldn’t complain, though. After all, I am still alive. Not everyone can say that.

  The problem is that we’re not allowed to do anything. We can’t leave the building, although I suppose that is understandable. We are not allowed to form relationships outside of our families; those of us who still have families, that is.

  They figure we’re all going to die anyway. What’s the point of forming connections now? We’re just supposed to stand here and watch as society crumbles.

  Like most of the people here, my family was killed during the evacuation. I don’t actually remember why. There were no bite marks on either of them. I have seen enough zombies in my lifetime to know that they weren’t infected. They were only trying to get me to safety; to get us to safety. But it ended up costing them their lives.

  I look back on that day constantly, trying to understand what made the guards kill them. Maybe it was a mix up, I tell myself. Maybe the guards were mistaken by their raggedy clothes, and dirt covered skin. It is the only possibility I can think of, and it’s an absurd one at that.

  If I look down below, out the corner of the window, I can make out the precise spot where they died. I remember watching as my mother fell to the ground, dread filling her eyes. I stood there frozen, not wanting to leave them. The people I’d been so dependent on my entire life were dying in front of me, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it.

  There is no way of stopping death, not here. You can prolong it. But at some point, it is bound to catch up to you. The joys of living in a zombie infested world.

  “Let’s go,” the guard yelled. I could feel someone tugging on my arm, but I couldn’t move. “Harper, go! Get inside!” My father collapsed to the ground, blood covering his pale yellow sweater. “Don’t leave me,” I cried. But they were both gone.

  My father’s body was lost in the fury of people running for safety, and my mother had become a meal for the zombies swarming us. “We need to go!” When I didn’t move the guard lifted me up, and carried me inside.

  When the guards went back to recover them, at my insistence, the zombies had already consumed their remains. There was nothing left to claim. My parents were gone. And even though I already knew it, even though I’d seen the chaos...I didn’t want to believe it.

  But now that I am on my own, stuck living in a government guarded building; it’s hard not to believe that they are actually gone. Which only makes it hurt worse.

  I often wonder why it had to be them. Why not me? Why would the guards kill them and leave me alive? I was just as dirty as they were. My clothes were just as raggedy as theirs. What was the difference? I often think it was because they felt as though they couldn’t kill a child.

  Maybe that is their weakness; maybe that is what will be the end of us all. A random zombie child running rampant through the facility we consider to be safe.

  A scream from the back room breaks my train of thought. It must be the new boy, I think. Every new person they bring in must receive a vaccination within a half hour of being here, that is their rule. They insert the vaccination at the tip of your spine, using the same kind of needle they used to use for epidurals – back when people had babies. I notice the same woman that reprimanded me earlier walking over. I must be paying too much attention to the backroom. Control yourself, Harper, I tell myself, or else they’ll throw you back on the street.

  “Harper, if I have to speak with you once more, you know what will happen.” I follow her gaze out the window, and down onto the street below us. The street is swarming with zombies now. They have a woman in their grasp. Her red hair stands out against the ashen zombies surrounding her. I stand there watching as they rip her to shreds, because that is all that I can do. “Now I know you don’t want that, am I right?”

  “No, no...” I respond, my eyes darting back to the floor; hoping to erase the images of the horror outside.

  It isn't as though the rules are hard to obey. I just don’t personally care for them. I long for some sort of bond, a conversation with people other than the guards; especially since they only speak to us when we’re in trouble. I want to be able to look someone in the eye as I speak to them. I want to be able to speak freely. I want my life back. Being alone in a place like this, unable to even so much as befriend a stranger? It can drive a person mad.

  As soon as the woman walks away, I lean against the window and close my eyes. There’s nowhere else to go really. The beds are full of the elderly, and the children have taken over all of the chairs. Since we’re not supposed to talk, the children occupy themselves with books. It’s so quiet in here that you could hear the sound of a pin drop, but I guess that’s a good thing. At least we’ll be able to hear a zombie moan if they were to find their way inside. That is one positive.

  “I’m Keegan,” a voice to my left whispers. It is an unfamiliar voice.

  I look over briefly at the stranger
beside me, and quickly proceed to lower my head. The last thing I need is to get in trouble again.

  “What, you’re not going to tell me your name?” he asks.

  I point to the nametag on my shirt.

  “I can’t exactly read it. The ink is pretty faded.”

  “Harper, my name is Harper.” I don’t look at him as I respond. I would rather that the guards think I am talking to myself. At least then the consequence won’t be as bad. I hope.

  “Nice to meet you, Harper.” He inches closer to me. His hand accidentally grazes mine; at least I think it is on accident. The shock of his touch sends my heart racing. I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. Before he can move any closer, I dart for the other side of the facility where the makeshift patio is.

  It isn’t a real patio, of course. A real patio would make it all too easy for the virus to find its way in. This patio reminds me of a jail cell. It is a small white room surrounded by metal bars. It is also the only place that is usually empty; the only place that allows for some privacy. I slide to the floor, leaning my head back against the white stone wall, and close my eyes.

  I hear footsteps nearby. They come to a halt a few feet away. I listen as someone plops down on the floor beside me. I open my eyes and see Keegan sitting next to me, his hand on his knee. He’s too close. Way too close. Worried a guard may see us, I slowly begin to inch away from him.

  “Do I smell bad?” he laughs.

  “You do realize that we’re not supposed to talk, right? We shouldn’t even be sitting this close to each other. If the guards...”

  “Ah.” He lifts his hands in front of him to protest. “They’ve told me the rules. I just don’t agree with them.” He shrugs.

  “Well, if you don’t follow the rules, you’re going to become zombie food.” Keegan bursts out in laughter. I throw my hand over his mouth in order to muffle the sound. “Keep it down, will you? I’d like to live.”

  “Newsflash: you’re not going to live by staying here.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” His presence is seriously starting to annoy me now. Have people always been this annoying? Maybe their "no relationships" rule is a good thing. Maybe silence isn’t so terrible after all.

  “Why do you think they are keeping you locked inside of a facility? If you’ve been paying attention to the guards, you would’ve realized that there is a plan to flee the guards upon an attack, but not the civilians. If, and when, the zombies attack – every civilian inside will be left to fend for themselves.”

  I ignore him, not wanting to believe what he is saying; even if it does sound as though it can be true. “Is there a reason you’re so insistent upon bothering me?”

  “Well after your little stare fest, I figured you were desperate for company too.”

  I want to tell him that he is wrong. I want to send him off, but the truth is that I need someone to talk to. And he’s my only option at the moment; even if he is annoying. Yes, it is against the rules. Yes, it can result in me being tossed on the street. But honestly, I am beginning to-not give a crap. If Keegan is right, how much longer do we have before the zombies overtake this place? I’ve spent the past ten years cooped up in this building. What point is there in living if I am not allowed to do anything?

  “You know,” I fold my arms over my chest before continuing, “you’re quite annoying, but I guess your company is better than no company.” Keegan presses his arm against the wall beside my head and smiles. His curly black hair stands out against his pale skin. The slightest bit of sunlight finds its way inside the patio, reflecting upon his icy green eyes. His light pink lips turn up in a smile. With his mouth closed, he is actually quite attractive.

  “Are you just going to stare at me all day?” he jokes.

  “Eh, it was a nice sight until you started talking.” I move towards the other side of the patio, and dig my hands into the pockets on my pants. Someone has heard us. I can hear footsteps approaching near the patio. Be quiet, I mouth to Keegan as I slide out of the entrance, and head back into the general area.

  A male guard walks over towards the patio to see where all the noise is coming from. But when he walks inside, all he finds is Keegan sitting against the wall with his eyes closed pretending to be asleep. I try to act as though I am staring at the ground, noticing that my favorite guard seems intent on catching me. When her attention drifts to an elderly man that is screaming for help, I peer over at the patio. The guard shakes his head and makes his way back into the general area, resuming his post by the facility’s entrance.

  Keegan makes his way back into the general area and slips a piece of paper into my hand. In messy handwriting, Meet me on the patio later is scribbled across the withered paper. I am not sure where he obtained the pen and paper, probably back in the vaccination room when the guards weren’t paying attention.

  I walk with my head lowered, moving towards the beds, hoping that one of them will clear out soon. I am exhausted. That’s what standing around with nothing to do all day will do to a person.

  “Harper.” I look up and find a male guard pointing towards a free bed down the line. “That one is free if you’d like to catch some rest.”

  I nod and stroll over to the bed, easing myself onto the creaky mattress. I wrap the light sheet over my body. The soft pillow helps to provide some of the comfort I seek, enough to lull me to sleep.

  Later that night, while everyone is asleep, and the guards are busy keeping post outside, Keegan comes and gets me. “There’s a ladder leading up to the roof of the patio,” he whispers. “I don’t know about you, but I need outta here.”

  “Let’s go then.” I push past him carefully, making sure not to wake my fellow civilians.

  When we reach the patio, Keegan already has the ladder pulled down. “We need to be quick. I’m not sure how long it’ll be until the guards come back.” I nod and begin to climb, one foot after the other. The cold, steel ladder feels lovely against my skin. It feels like freedom.

  When I reach the roof, I pull myself up and wait for Keegan to climb up the ladder after me. He climbs up much quicker than I do, pulling up the ladder quietly behind him.

  “What do you think? Worth getting in trouble for?” he asks.

  “Yes.” I laugh.

  There are no guards on the roof to yell at you for talking. There are no guards standing nearby to yell at you for standing too close to someone. Out here, I am able to do as I please. For now, at least.

  I stand in the middle of the roof with my arms outstretched and allow the cold air to pound against my body. I don’t mind the goose bumps or the shiver it sends running over my spine. I feel free. I feel alive for the first time in what feels like forever.

  Keegan comes and stands beside me. Under the moon’s light, I notice a small gray mark on his inner left wrist. “What is that?” I ask. “Are you hurt?”

  “Something like that.”

  “What do you mean ‘something like that’? You’re either hurt or you’re not.”

  “Someone is a bit testy,” his smile fades, and his eyes fall closed. “Look, I don’t want to alarm you. One of those things bit me on my way here. I managed to hide it from the guards, but over the past few hours, it has started to grow more noticeable.”

  “It’s spreading,” I whisper, backing away from Keegan.

  “Yes,” he sighs. “Harper, I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m not like them. Not yet. I brought you up here because I wanted to spend my last few hours of humanity feeling as those they meant something. I wanted to remember what it was like to live before the outbreak.”

  I should be screaming for help. My instincts are telling me to run, to crawl back inside. But I can’t. I can’t find it in me to leave him alone. I understand what it feels like to want to hang onto your life. I know what it feels like to want to live. And that is enough to keep me here beside him.

  “Keegan.” I stretch my hand out for him to grab onto. “I don’t know you. I don’t know who you were before th
is all happened. The fact is I don’t know much besides your name, but I do know what it’s like to crave life. I know what it feels like to want to live again. This place,” I gesture towards the building. “This isn’t life.”

  “Will you stay with me then?” he asks. “Until I change?”

  “Yes.”

  He grabs a hold of my hand and pulls my body against his. “Thank you,” he whispers. I can hear his heart pounding against my ear as the disease seeps into his bloodstream. I know that the longer I stay near him, the more danger I will be in. But I can’t find it in myself to care. I want to remember what it is like to be human, to feel.

  When he releases me, I pull him down to the floor and lean back against the wall. His skin is changing from pale white to gray, darkening with every passing minute. He presses his head against my shoulder and sighs. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Depends,” I joke.

  “Given they’ll probably kill me in a few hours...”

  “Let me guess, you’re trying to ask if I would kiss you?”

  “Something like that.” He shrugs and then breaks into a laughing fit. “Yes.”

  I lean down and brush my hair behind my ear. The arrogance I’d become used to Keegan displaying had now faded; it had been replaced by a nervous boy.

  I press my lips against his, allowing the warmth to flow throughout my body. I pull away, confused by the feeling taking over me. I want to stay here in this moment for as long as possible, even though I know this will all be taken from me shortly. I want this. I want him. I want to press my lips against Keegan’s again and never stop.

  He reminds me of the warmth I’ve been craving. And now that I have it, I don’t want to let it go.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  I don’t say a word. I lean down and press my lips against his again. At first he is hesitant, unsure of what I am doing, but soon after he presses back just as hard. Each movement, each breath, makes me quiver. When I finally pull away, Keegan just stares at me. “Well, that was more than I thought I’d get out of you.”