BANG, BANG, YOU’RE DEAD

Billy was used to playing alone. He had learned a long time ago that he was different from all the other boys and girls, even if he did not know how exactly was he different. He would just have to take his Momma’s word for it, he guessed. Well, if we are going to talk about words, special had been the one that she had used. He was so special, in fact, that he did not even go to that place the other kids called school. Momma taught him everything that he needed to know right there in the comfort of their home. He had heard the boys mentioned it, though, from across the street as they played and laughed and fought and cried. Momma was right, he must really be different, since he could never see any sense in that second part of their rituals. He never fought with himself and, as far as he could remember, had never once cried. Well, probably when he was a tiny baby. But that did not count. Babies never know what they do, whether they are laughing or crying. And he was definitely not a baby anymore. He was already six. He was a man. Momma had told him as much.

It was not that he was not curious. He was. Very much so. However, the rules had always been very clear and he dared not break them. It would upset Momma and he would never do anything to upset her. All that he knew was that his realm extended only as far as the fence which delimitated the yard and anything out of those boundaries was strictly forbidden to him. Truth be told, as long as he had his toys, that was all that he needed. Of all his toys, his favourites, the ones that could hold his attention for hours, were the little plastic soldiers which he had found in a tin box, hidden away in the attic.

“Were they daddy’s”, he had asked Momma then.

“Father has no use for toys. Never had”, she explained. She always called him father instead of daddy. “His plays are of a different kind, of a more pertinent importance”.

When he asked her the question he liked best – why – she merely said one should never question father. Momma had always been mysterious about father.

Billy could spend hours on end absorbed by the demands of the plastic soldiers. They were different too, special like him, since they took part in no wars. Instead, he would use them to populate the cities which he designed with his building blocks. Once, he had even made an attempt at reproducing their neighbourhood. He had set up all the houses in the street, including their own. He then proceeded to arrange the toy soldiers, each an equivalent for all the people that he remembered seeing outside the boundaries of the fence. It was only when he got to the point of placing the equivalents to himself and Momma that he realized how inadequate for the task the soldiers were. How strange that he had not felt it when creating the duplicates of everyone else. His Momma and he were a whole different business, though. They were both too real to easily allow for the deceit. They did not possess the intangible quality that coloured the world outside the yard. That was his nickname for the whole of the universe: the world outside the yard. Even if the universe, for him, ended right where his eyes could no longer reach. A universe befitting his own size and scale.

He still had the yard and his toys, nonetheless, the toy soldiers holding rank over everything else and, once again, that was all that he needed. That and his Momma, of course. So, when Gretchen moved in next door, halfway through spring, he did not quite know how to behave. He was used to being ignored, more often than not. Gretchen, however, would stand by the fence which separated her yard from theirs, thoughtfully surveying the progression of his plays. She was fair-headed and always dressed like the dolls that her Momma kept on her bed, full of frills and sashes. He thought of asking her if she was actually a doll – a living one apparently – but decided against it. He was too scared to address her more than shy looks. She had been the one brave enough to start up a conversation, one sunny afternoon, not a week after she had moved in.

“Hi!”

“Hi…”, he echoed suspiciously.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Billy”, he said.

“No. That’s your name. Who are you?”

“I’m the son of Momma”, he answered bewildered. She did not seem convinced enough, eyeing him sceptically. “I’m a man”, he volunteered, hoping it to be a better, more adequate answer. “I’m already six. How many are you?”

She held out one of her hands, open palmed.

“I’m Gretchen”, she then said and immediately scurried back inside her house.

The days that followed proved to be slight variations of that first encounter. It was a welcomed routine, as every repetition which happened to visit his life usually was. It made him feel safer knowing that he could count on it to happen, whatever it might be. It brought logic into his world and his world craved logic. Gretchen’s visits had the supplementary bonus of adding sweetness and pleasure to logic.

He would go out to the yard with his toys, arranging them on the ground and, then, just sit there, waiting for her time to come. Gretchen’s time. He would not play. He would simply wait. Then, as he felt or heard her front door creaking open, he would dive into the middle of his toys, acting the elaborate play he wanted her to testimony. He would pretend that he had not noticed her, involved as he was with the evolutions of his warless toys among the building blocks. And he always thought that he was successful at it too. As a rule, it was up to Gretchen to speak first. Billy would act surprised, sometimes feigning a slight jolt, others delaying the retort as if indicating that he had more serious matters on his hands. Interiorly, however, there was a glow of happiness in his heart each time that he finally heard her voice.

“How do you do that”, she had once asked.

“What?”

“Move them without touching them”, she explained pointing to the plastic soldiers.

He could not get over how silly the question sounded to his ears. It was like asking how he walked or ate. No, not even that, because those were things that he had learned to do, most frequently with the able aid of his Momma. It was more like asking how he breathed. He did not know. He just did. He had been born knowing how to do it. Was not everyone like that?

“They seem old.”

Why was she so interested in the toy soldiers, he mused. Not that he did not sufficiently know their charm, because he did, but he did not think it a good sign that she might covet them so much.

“They were my daddy’s”, he lied.

She would not dare try to kidnap them from a scary grownup like daddy.

“Where is he”, she asked.

Billy shrugged.

“Is he dead?”

“What is dead?”

She considered the question with a thoughtful frown and then shrugged it away, running inside her house as she always did once conversation between them reached a standstill.

Eventually, their daily routines did not go unnoticed. If Billy had known a little more about how the world worked, he could have predicted it or, at least, not be as surprised by what followed. One of the three boys who usually played across the street started to get annoyed by those encounters of theirs. He did not understand what interest the cute fair-headed girl could have in that freak. He had already tried talking to her, but she had merely turned her back on him. Now, there she was, merrily chatting with the freak. It was okay as long as they kept to themselves, but once freaks like him started stepping out into the common folk’s territory… there was just something terribly wrong with that. Freak, freak, freak, the boy’s mind ranted. His voice quickly followed his mind’s lead.

Startled by the unexpected taunts, Gretchen began crying, probably thinking that the insults were directed at her. Billy tried to calm her down, but she ran inside her house, amidst persistent tears. He turned his attention back to the mean boy. He could see him laughing and taunting him, from a distance, jeered by his friends. He felt a ravaging fire building inside. He recognized it at once. It was very similar to the one he had watched on his Momma, every time that she got mad at him for involuntarily doing something naughty.

He raised his arm, pointing his index finger, thumb cocked, like he had seen the other boys do so many times. His eyes squinted, trying to focus on the leering face all the way across the street. His hand jerked up as he uttered the familiar words: “Bang, bang, you’re dead”.

The boy’s head immediately burst open like a ripe fruit, a spray of blood and brains and tiny bits of skull bone hitting the other kids full in the face. Billy gasped, unbelieving. For a moment, he thought that he might be dreaming and half-expected his Momma to gently nudge him, as she did every morning: “Wake up, sleepy head”. All that he heard instead were the high-pitched screams of the other boys, shock welding their feet to the ground. He was sure that they would come for him, except there was no real gun in his hand and no one could assume that the mind of a six year old boy had done such a thing. Billy did not know that, however. He was scared. He was more frightened than he had ever been in his life. Was that what the word terrified had been meant for? He looked around himself and was a bit more reassured once he realized that Gretchen had not seen it. She was probably still inside her house.

What perplexed him the most was how the body still stood there for a few seconds – interminable seconds – an unbearable emptiness where the head used to be, the neck a ragged hole overflowing blood continuously. It seemed like a toy. Had he not done something like that to one of his Momma’s dolls once, by accident?

The screams eventually brought out his Momma, as the boys finally froze out of their panic and started running back to their homes, blood dripping everywhere. Now he was going to get it. He was sure of it. His Momma would really be mad and punish him beyond his wildest dreams. He looked up at her as she stopped by his side watching the gruesome headless boy on the other side of the street. The fact that she did not seem surprised was what puzzled him first. The unsettling feeling only grew stronger when she kneeled by his side, hugging him and forcing him to face away from the scene. His eyes rested on the familiar façade of their home, as she whispered reassuringly: “It’s alright, baby. It’s alright”.

She asked no questions, demanded no explanations, imposed no punishments. She merely lifted him up in her arms and carried him inside. Later that afternoon, he listened as she answered the door and the word police was uttered a couple of times. After a while, he heard what seemed like a struggle and Momma screaming that she could not leave her baby alone. That was him, he knew. He ran out of his room in time to see two men in uniforms – were they real live soldiers? – dragging his Momma across the yard, as she tried to kick loose. There were people all over the street, their neighbours, frowning disapprovingly.

“Leave Momma alone”, he shouted angrily, but no one paid any attention to him. He could not bear seeing his Momma treated like that, though. He knew what he had to do. He had learnt it already. You cannot unlearn what you already know, of that much he was sure. He again raised his arm, index finger pointing, thumb cocked. And, then, he just started shooting away. The two live soldiers were the first ones to go, at once dropping his Momma as their headless bodies fell to the ground. He might have stopped there, but he had seen the mean looks on all the people on the street, how they had frowned down at his Momma. So, when they screamed and looked to him as if to something evil, he just went on shooting. Every time that he heard a shout or registered the movement of someone trying to make a run for it, he would merely turn in that direction, cocking his thumb again and again, not even worrying with pointing at the head anymore. People were falling lifeless on the street outside, big chunks of their bodies obliterated by his shots and a river of blood taking over every inch of the pavement. He felt ignited, as if the hottest fire and the most freezing ice were coursing his veins at the same time. He was so absorbed by it that, when he heard the scream coming, not from the street, but from a little behind him and to the left, he did not give it a second thought. He simply turned and pulled his imaginary trigger. He saw the surprised look on her face give way to emptiness, as the tears stopped streaming from the lifeless eyes. There was a big round hole in the middle of her body – where her heart and tummy used to be, he thought – and he could see through it into her well-cared yard. After wobbling for a few seconds, Gretchen’s body fell back like a wooden figurine.

Billy stood there, in silence, contemplating the incomprehensibility of it all. He turned to the house, dazed, refusing to acknowledge what had just happened, and started climbing the front steps with difficulty. He heard rustling behind him but did not turn.

“Billy…”, his Momma’s low voice called, tentatively.

She followed him inside the house and finally reached him when he stopped in the living-room, not knowing what to do, trying to make sense of the world. He felt as her hand reached for him, but he did not want to be touched. Not now. All that he wanted was to hear again “Wake up, sleepy head” and therefore wake up. He waved her gesture away with a quick sweep of his arm. Her body immediately flew hard against the wall and stuck there, the clothes’ hanger piercing her throat. He looked at her, gurgling sounds coming from her mouth as she tried to speak. Instead, only gushes of blood were coming out. “It’s alright, baby. It’s alright”, his mind invoked as an omen. He felt as if all the air in the room had gone away all of a sudden and his eyes stung painfully. They finally burst into fat tears as he screamed hoarsely, an immense rage sweeping through his innocence. It was all their fault. The people out there. The real live soldiers, the neighbours and everyone else in the world outside the fence. He wished them all dead. They had made him hurt Gretchen. And Momma. He wished it so hard that he could almost feel a wave of hate rattling the house’s foundations as it burst outside its limits and stormed in all directions. Then, it all went silent again.

He walked out to the yard again and stood in the dead centre of it, looking at the fence. More specifically, at the small gate that interrupted it and allowed access to the street. He had never stepped out. Now that he was so irremediably alone, it seemed as if he had no other choice. With his Momma gone, what was left for him there? Maybe he should try and find daddy, which Momma had always called father. He wondered if he would be somewhere beyond the gate. He must. Where else would he be?

Billy decided it was enough. No more thinking. Time to do. To be a brave little soldier, like the plastic ones that had made so many of his hours much more colourful. After all, he was already six. He was a man, was he not?

He carefully unlatched the gate and took two steps into the sidewalk that ran along the street. He was amazed at how silent the universe was. Had it always been like that or was it just now? He looked to one side and then to the other, trying to decide which direction might be best. Where could he more easily find father, he wondered.

In the end, he left the decision to chance and merely started walking, no specific destination in mind. He avoided the bloody trails and the fallen bodies as best as he could and walked ahead. He walked for hours and, then, for days. He knew it was days since he had seen the sun setting several times and rising again in the morning. The first time, he thought that he would be scared of those darkened hours that stood in between, but he did not. And not once did he stop to sleep. Oddly enough, he felt neither sleepy nor tired, no matter how long and hard he walked. He merely kept going.

On his way, he found many people. They were most commonly fallen on the ground and, regardless of how forcefully he nudged or called them, they would not move or answer. He could not understand why they were so deeply asleep. From time to time, he would approach one of the houses he passed by and peek through the windows only to find the same bizarre scenario inside. They would be sitting in the living-room sofa or at the dining-room table – fallen over it, really – eyes closed, their bodies limp.

How much they resembled his plastic soldiers in that forced immobility. Well, not that much, since he could move his soldiers around at will. He wondered if he could do the same to those people and even felt a bit tempted to try it. Something deep inside his mind – not his Momma’s voice, this time – told him that it would be unkind to do such a thing, so he faltered. How very much he missed and longed for his toys – the soldiers, as always, above everything else – and how distant they seemed to him now. Miles and ages away, in fact.

How long had he walked already, he found himself thinking. Enough to be seven instead of six? Or more? His Momma would have known, but she was no longer there. Perhaps father would know. If he ever managed to find him, that is. Hopefully, there would come a time or point when or where he would meet someone who was awake or, at least, his father. That would be so much better. That was, after all, what made him start that endless voyage. So that he could find his daddy. “Father”, Momma’s voice corrected inside his mind. How he missed her too. He wished that he could be in her arms again. That she would hold him and once more say: “It’s alright, baby. It’s alright”. Even if he was no longer a baby. Even if he was six and already a man. Apparently, six year old men also needed their Mommas to assure them that everything was alright, from time to time.

Eventually, he reached the end of the road which he had been taking for the last few days. It stopped abruptly and beyond it there was a mirrored wavy surface that seemed to go on for ever. He tried to distinguish what might be at the end of it, unsuccessfully. If his Momma had been there, she could have told him it was called ocean. If his Momma had been there, she would have never allowed him to leave the yard, though.

He tried a step onto the greenish ever-moving surface and felt the wet humidity seeping through his sneakers. It held his weight, nonetheless, and he risked another step. And, then, another. Feeling more confident, he started to walk the watery ground.

Perhaps father would be somewhere on the other side. Maybe he could explain. Maybe he could forgive.

He kept walking.

AIRBORNE

“I am tired of digging graves”.

His voice, low and raspy, echoed in the deep valley beyond which the city stood.

Pablo had just asked him what they should do next and that had been the only answer he had been capable of. Behind them, the dwindling group of ragged figures clustered in silence, heads bowed. Nightfall was only an hour away and it would not be safe to stay out much longer.

“I just wished we could find a place to settle”, Andrzej continued. “At least for a while. Somewhere not as temporary, you know? Some place where we could actually build something. Do you think there is still such a place? Somewhere untainted?”

There was not even a hint of frailty in his voice. He had said it in the most dry and detached way, more stating a methodical doubt than any actual unsureness, his tone not rising above its usual low pitch.

“We are running out of supplies”, Pablo sidetracked, refusing to acknowledge the aching utopia. “Besides, Maia needs a proper mask. That surgical flimsy stuff won’t work for long… and we shouldn’t take risks.”

Andrzej looked at the small blond girl huddled against the old black man’s legs. There was more curiosity than distress in her eyes as she glared at the half-filled grave.

“First we find a place for the night. Once daylight is upon us again, we’ll make a run to the city and try to see what we can scavenge.”

With that, he resumed filling the grave.

It had been the seventeenth person that they had buried since Pablo had joined up with Andrzej, almost three months before. Well, a few more than that in the beginning. Pablo had insisted on it. As he said, it was the humane thing to do. Andrzej had stepped in little after, though, as he usually did.

“It’s not practical”, he had said. “If we keep burying every corpse we come across, we won’t be doing anything else. I am not a gravedigger. That’s not why I’m here. From now on, we bury only those inside our group who happen to perish.”

It seemed a gruesome thing to say, and in such a practical fashion, but the truth was that they had already lost three people back then. So, it made a certain perverted sense, no matter how much it shocked Pablo’s sensitiveness.

They kept losing people, and then finding someone new, and then losing someone else. It just went on and on like a game or a relentless arithmetic equation. Either some unexpected encounter with a mob of infected would snatch away one of their own or they would chance upon yet another lost soul wandering the empty paths between cities, most of the times unaware of the risks they might be exposed to, as it had been the case with little Maia. And Leni too.

Whatever the case, all of them were usually unbeknownst to the particulars of the infection. Other than Pablo and Andrzej, they had yet to find someone who had the same degree of knowledge on how and why the world had fallen apart. At least, as much knowledge as they had managed to put together between the two. There was still much to be explained. There were of course theories with which they entertained themselves, from time to time, to fill in the gaps. They were mere hypothesis, nonetheless, with no shred of positive evidence.

There was always an initial stage for the newcomers, full of questions and doubts to be cleared. Q&A, Andrzej eventually called it. As a matter of fact, from a certain point on, he actually started organizing tutorial sessions in which he methodically explained everything there was to be known. He even made the older members of the pack (he had started calling them that from early on) contribute to the session, as if reciting a well-learned lesson. It was a class of sorts. The equivalent to school in that thwarted new world.

However, prior to that, there was still the quarantine stage. Each time that they encountered someone new, he or she would be kept at bay and rigorously questioned for two hours. That was the time-lapse for the fever to break after contact with the virus. If, after that period, there were no symptoms, the person would be welcomed into the pack. At first, Andrzej had insisted on a larger timeframe, going as far as to defend forty-eight hours as the safest option, to make sure that the rashes and sores would not show. Common sense eventually prevailed, largely thanks to Pablo.

Maia had been the hardest one to bear. They were crossing a wooded area and she had sprung from among the trees, running. She darted at Andrzej and clung hard to his leg. He immediately ordered everyone to back off, pulling out his gun and ready to use it, in case she made a run for the rest of the group. Pablo had shouted for him to stop.

“She is just a girl, Andrzej. And she is scared.”

There were tears in her eyes as soon as she saw the gun and, yet, she did not let go of Andrzej’s leg.

“Andrzej…”, Pablo pleaded softly behind his back.

Andrzej looked down at the little girl and kneeled slowly making her let go of his leg. He held her at arm’s length and started the usual questioning, even if attempting his own personal version of tenderness. She would answer each question with a wide-eyed frankness that forbade any suspicion of trickery.

“And do you feel any ache in your head? Your tummy? Do your arms or legs hurt?”

“My tummy.”

“It hurts”, he asked with an anticipating and worrying frown.

“Yes. I’m hungry.”

Pablo smiled and took a pack of crackers from his backpack, handing it over to Andrzej. The little girl ate all of them with the greedy and remorseless pleasure only children are capable of.

“And do you feel cold? Or very hot?”

Each time, she shook her head, not once stopping gulping the crackers. The fright had definitely gone away and she even seemed thrilled with the attention given to her.

“How about your mommy or daddy? Where are they?”

Sadness crept into her eyes.

“Mommy went for a walk and told me to wait.”

“How long was that?”

She shrugged.

“How many days”, Pablo asked. “Show me with your fingers.”

She raised two fingers with her right hand, while clutching the almost empty pack of crackers with the other. Andrzej looked up at Pablo over his shoulder.

“That could mean two days… or two weeks… or even two hours. They have a different notion of time.”

“They…”, Pablo echoed.

“Kids.”

Andrzej turned to the girl again and, after finally asking for her name, instructed her to stay put for a while. She would have to wait. When it was safe, they would come for her. Did she understand?

“Do you understand, Maia?”

She did not. She did not disobey but, as soon as they walked away, started quietly crying. They could hear her from a distance, sobbing. After ten minutes, Pablo broke down at last. He angrily spat at Andrzej that it was wrong to do something like that to a child and walked over to her again. He sat down and took Maia into his lap. She nested there, dozing and hugging him for the whole of the hour-and-a-half that they had left. When the deadline came at last and she still showed none of the usual symptoms, Pablo picked her up and strolled towards the pack. He did not look at Andrzej. He merely took the lead, for the first time took the lead, and ordered the others to follow him.

“Let’s move on”, he said carrying Maia on his arms, as she peered over his shoulder at the rest of the group, daring a smile out of them with her own bright smile.

No one questioned him. Not even Andrzej. They merely followed, curious of the girl ahead, while Andrzej obediently closed the rank at the back.

“Why are they all wearing masks”, Maia had asked after a while, wobbling on Pablo’s shoulder.

“To protect them.”

“But you don’t have one. Or him”, she indicated Andrzej further back.

“We don’t need it.”

“Do I need it”, she had asked a bit frightened.

“Yes, dear, you do. Don’t worry, we’ll get you one in no time.”

It was amazing how she had grown from that scared and curious child to the brave little soldier that she was now, Pablo thought, and in such a short amount of time. Time, it seemed, had started working differently ever since it all began.

Once the grave was filled and dully marked, they resumed their path. They still had to search for a while before finding a suitable place. It was too late to risk even the city’s outskirts and there were not that many housing opportunities outside those limits. Eventually, Giuseppe pointed ahead to a concrete cube amidst a scant cluster of skeleton-like trees. It belonged to the city’s water system, a sign on the wall informed them.

“That might do”, he called out to Andrzej, wiping the sweat from his ivory brow. By now, he knew sufficiently well which were the best requirements for such situations. Someplace not designed for living: a warehouse, an engine room, somewhere where the infected would not willingly go. Even though civilization had collapsed, comfort and habit still dictated behaviour. They would be safer in a place like that.

Andrzej and Pablo forced the iron door with the instilled dexterity that usually comes with a too many times repeated gesture. There was very little chance that the place was occupied. Still, Andrzej would not take any unnecessary risks. He signalled Pablo to stay put with the rest of the pack while he checked inside. He turned on his flashlight and went in. It was pitch dark as expected and there was not even use in searching for a light switch. The power had gone down everywhere for over a month. It took him but ten minutes to make sure that it was safe for the rest of them to go in. What happened next was a routine well-known by all.

Whenever the surroundings allowed, they would merely build a fire to save both the flashlights’ batteries and the petrol for the kerosene lamps. Since it was concrete all around them, a fire immediately presented itself as the most obvious choice. Besides, it would offer much needed warmth to such damp and cold dwellings. Even though it was a nice change from the torrid days that they had faced lately, it was still not adequate enough for sleeping quarters. The blaze from the hearth would be welcomed by everyone, making for a more comfortable night and avoiding any chances of undesirable colds.

On most occasions, they had to darken all the windows first, making sure that no sign of their presence might be given to anyone outside. Considering the tomblike structure of the reservoir, though, there were no windows to be covered.

“Fiat lux”, Leni jokingly said when Giuseppe finally got the fire started.

Maia looked at Giuseppe questioningly. “Let there be light”, he explained with a smile and, then, looking at the result of his efforts: “And light there was”.

Leni continued, in a soft whisper, almost to herself: “He saw that light was a good thing and separated it from darkness. He named the light day and to darkness he called night. And evening came and then morning and that was the first day.”

“That’s not a very common version”, Pablo noted.

“I’m not a very common person”, she merely answered.

“Can you all be social after everything is ready”, Andrzej snapped at them.

The sleeping arrangements were always the same. Pablo and Andrzej would stay nearest to the entrance of which place they happened to find, while the pack would gather closely some feet away. In case of a breach, an unexpected invasion, the two of them would work as front line, a barrier to avoid that the infected could get to the pack or, when that was the case, allowing them to retreat to a previously arranged escape route.

After that, it was quite simple and routinely. They would eat something, get under the blankets and exhaustion would do the rest, while Pablo and Andrzej took turns keeping watch during the night. Come morning, they would gear up again and be on their way.

That was how it was played out.

Every night. Every morning. Every day.

By what they thought was seven-thirty of the next morning, they were already walking amongst the first rows of buildings. As they stepped deeper into the city, it dawned on Pablo once more. No matter how many times they repeated the ritual, it hit him every time with the full-blown force of an inexorable pain. The emptiness. The sheer desolation of it all. In a way, more terrible than when it was tenanted by the vagrant steps of the infected.

Andrzej led the way, the small teddy bear hanging from his backpack, a beacon of sorts for the rest of the pack, the red tee-shirt either revealing or hiding the white cross, subject to the twists and twirls of the rough thread from which it hung.

“What’s with the bear”, Silvia had asked when she had joined the group, a couple of weeks before. “Aren’t you a little grownup for toys?”

Andrzej had merely turned to her and, without warning, slapped her hard across the face with the back of his hand. She was immediately hurled to the ground. There was surprise in everyone’s eyes, but not necessarily bewilderment or shock. That kind of cheeky and provocative behaviour had become unappreciated by everyone and Silvia had just learned it the hard way.

“It was his son’s”, Pablo volunteered as he helped her back to her feet. Other than that, he did not put forward any supplementary enlightenment, though he knew in detail the full meaning of it. Andrzej had imparted it on him. That had been in the beginning, though. Before he had started losing his humanity and made allegiance with the cold countenance that he now bore. Instead, Pablo merely concluded to Silvia, as he wiped the trickle of blood from her gashed lip: “You should not mess with a man’s dead. Not now. Not anymore.”

That night, however, Pablo had gently remonstrated with him.

“You could have made your point without hitting her like that. It was a dumb thing to say, granted. Still…”

Andrzej had not said anything in return. Still, just before falling asleep, he had mumbled from under the covers, while Pablo kept watch at the door: “Make sure she is alright.”

Pablo knew full well what that meant. It was his way of saying “give her what I can’t, give her some comfort” and that was the closest he would ever get to making a formal apology for his actions.

Whatever the case, the lesson had been educational enough for Silvia to change her attitude at once. Maybe a little too much. For a whole week, she did not say a word to anyone. When she finally did, her tone was polite and demure, even if not exactly caring. In fact, it was as if she had barren herself of true feeling. She had quickly picked up on Andrzej’s icy demeanour and acted accordingly. Yes, she had learned her lesson only too well and that worried Pablo above all else.

“That might be useful”, Kurt said all of a sudden. He was looking at a big panel with a map of the city. It was amazing how easily they could forget that Kurt was part of the pack. More so, considering that he had been one of its first members. He had an uncanny ability to dissolve, for lack of a better word. It was not so much that he was quiet, which he was. Then again, nobody in the pack talked all that much. Well, except for Maia. She could be a veritable blabbermouth. The thing with Kurt was that he could take himself out of the picture. He would withdraw and just be a silent observer, and in such a way that people would forget that he was there. He had known it to be one of his better qualities before the world had gone to hell. Apparently, he had managed to preserve it in hell too.

Pablo assumed that it had something to do with his sketching. That was what he did most of the time. Sketch. No matter what, he just sketched. Each time that they raided a new town, Kurt made a point of finding someplace where he could refill his supplies of pencils and paper. It was as important as food to him and it had become even more so since Maia had joined the pack. She was at once entranced by the quickness and precision with which he could recreate on paper a face or a landscape. She had screamed in delight the first time that he had produced a portrait of her. She insisted with him to teach her how to do the same, she too wanted to sketch. And he had started doing exactly that, patiently teaching her the right strokes of the graphite on the paper. She was good too. A quick learner.

Now that Pablo thought about it, it had been about that time that they had started noticing Kurt a little bit more. Since he and Maia had developed that bond. After all, Maia had already changed so many other things.

Whenever they were tracking the paths, however, maybe due to the silence it imposed on all of them, Kurt managed to fade again. As if he had never existed.

They all gathered around the wide map. Andrzej was already tracing the network of streets with his finger. From what they could tell, there was only one hospital and it was right across the other end of the city.

“Maybe we could go around…”, Leni chanced.

“It would take too much time and it is not certain that it would be any safer”, Andrzej argued.

“Still”, she insisted, “venturing the belly of the city, one end to the other… we never did anything like that.”

Andrzej mused over the map, the usual crease between his eyes burrowing even deeper.

“Have you noticed that we have been seeing less and less infected”, he ventured.

“So…”, Giuseppe questioned.

“From what we know, it takes between two weeks to a month for people to die. Before communications went down, there were unconfirmed reports of two and half billion dead worldwide. That’s a third of the world’s population. And that was two months ago.”

“What are you saying? That the remaining two thirds died in in the meantime and we’re the only ones left?”

No matter how hard she tried, there was always an inevitable tone of provocation in Silvia’s questions. She regretted it the moment that she opened her mouth and was half expecting to be told off, but Andrzej merely looked calmly at her.

“That’s never how it works. It happens in waves. Those who were afraid and took precautions and hid themselves eventually come to a point when they either think it’s safe to go out again or they simply have no other choice. Most of the times due to the lack of food, I guess. That’s all it takes to make room for another wave. Anyway, I think it’s safe to say that their numbers have been dwindling.”

They looked to him with a strange mixture of puzzlement and hopefulness.

“And, yes”, he concluded, “I think there will come a time when everyone is finally gone.”

“Except for us. And others like us”, Leni dared correcting.

Pablo cast a meaningful glance at Andrzej. They both knew it was not exactly true. Not all of them.

“Make no mistake, though”, Andrzej intervened trying to get them back on track. “The danger is still real and we have to act accordingly. This seems like our best chance, through here”, he said pointing at the map. “From what I know, this used to be the city’s nightlife centre once. Not much housing there. So, less probability of crossing paths with them. It’s our best choice as far as I can tell. We should try to commit it to memory.”

“No need…”, Pablo said nudging his shoulder.

Kurt was already sketching the map on his notebook. Bored with the grownup conversation, Maia had been the first to notice it and had immediately pulled on Giuseppe’s pants, so he could pick her up. She hung over Kurt’s shoulder, watching his every move with forceful concentration. Andrzej approached him to take a peek.

“Don’t sketch the mall”, he instructed dryly.

Kurt hesitated, pencil mid-air, unsure of whether or not to follow his instructions.

“I’ve told you before”, Andrzej insisted. “Malls are common traps. Besides, they were the first places to be ransacked when it all started. There’s little to no chance of finding any supplies left over there.”

“Don’t worry”, Pablo soothed him. “We’ll find someplace to get your stuff. I’ll make sure of it.”

Kurt lifted his eyes from the notebook for the first time, smiling thankfully at Pablo, and then resumed his sketch. When it was properly concluded, not a minute reproduction of the map but a webby approximation of it, they resumed their path into the city.

They walked with steadiness but trying to make each step light and noiseless. “Ninja-style”, Maia had jokingly dubbed it. It had two very specific purposes. Not to attract undue attention, for one. Also, it allowed them to detect any approaching movement which might distinguish itself from their own syncopated march. Andrzej had patiently trained them to walk in such a rhythm, single line, mimicking the steps of the person ahead. That way, they could more easily perceive the irregular troddings of any infected that might be roaming towards them. Whenever that happened, Andrzej simply made a sign with his hand and veered away from it, choosing another direction, opting for a side street that would keep leading them to safety. That was his mission. Leading them to safety. That had been made clear a long time ago.

Once they reached the city’s centre, they immediately started scouting for a place to stay. At first, they were checking the most uncommon possibilities as usual, but then realized that Andrzej had stopped in front a rundown apartment building, further ahead, and seemed to have already made his mind up. They moved towards him in time to hear him mumble thoughtfully: “I think we deserve a proper house, with proper rooms and proper beds, for once…”

They stood before the crippled-looking building, looking up. It was four-stories high. Just the right height. Enough to make a quick and efficient escape if it came to that, not high enough to trap them inside in case of trouble.

As usual, Andrzej was the first to speak.

“I’ll go in and check the place out.” He then turned to Pablo: “You stay here with them. If there’s trouble…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know… I’ll scream like a girl.”

Maia sniggered amused and, for a moment, Pablo could swear that he saw a suspicion of tenderness on Andrzej’s face as he lowered his eyes to her. It quickly faded, though.

“Don’t make any noise now, you hear?” he advised in his usual dry manner.

Maia’s face grew suddenly serious.

“No. I won’t scream like a girl. Only Pablo can do that.”

Pablo choked the impending laugh, clutching his fists to gain control over himself as he dug the nails into the palm of his hand.

“Go ahead. We’ll be alright”, he assured Andrzej.

The place turned out to be more than suitable. They took over the fourth floor, arranging traps with thread and cans at every landing, throughout the stairwell. That way, they would be warned in advance of anyone coming up. Although battered, the apartment had enough amenities to make it seem like a five-star hotel to them. As luck would have it, there were still a lot of canned goods in the kitchen’s shelves and some other treats that had not yet expired or perished. Obviously, there was no water to allow for a bath or even the most basic hygiene, but a demijohn in the pantry and the three packs of wet towels they found in the medicine cabinet could work wonders at a time like that.

With no immediate need to search for supplies, except for a more appropriate mask for Maia (and check the hospital for the much needed pills, of course), Pablo started wondering if they could not stay there for a while. He tentatively broached the subject with Andrzej and was surprised to learn that he too was thinking the same.

“I guess we could all use a break to recharge”, he reasoned.

In fact, as soon as they managed to go through the usual chores, he let out with a strange smirk: “Okay, you can be social now.”

Of all the things that they found in the apartment, the board games stashed under one of the beds proved to be the most popular. They spent the whole afternoon playing Clue, Risk and Monopoly. Well, Andrzej passed on it and preferred a chess board, which Pablo would visit from time to time to make a move. Even if the others were enjoying a much deserved and needed R&R, Andrzej still felt that someone should keep his wits about and watch for any possible dangers. He would shush them each time that their voices raised a bit more than advised. Even if he had really wanted it, he was not sure that he could have let his guard down. He had forgotten how to do it.

The electric excitement eventually died out as nightfall drew nearer. There was something about the darkness that made them more sullen and worried. Having nothing else to do, they packed everything, as they always did after eating and before turning in. In case they were startled into a run in the middle of the night, everything would be ready and at hand. It had happened before and more than once.

As usual, Pablo went to check if everyone was settled in. Like obedient and well-behaved children, they were already under the blankets. His flashlight circled the room counting each face until it came upon Maia’s wide-opened eyes.

“Go to sleep, now”, he whispered kindly.

She did not say a word, merely raising a finger to her lips and mimicking the shush sound. After that, she forced her eyelids hard shut, as if indicating to Pablo that she was undoubtedly asleep. He resisted the temptation to laugh and quietly closed the door. When he got back to their room, Andrzej was at the window, smoking a cigarette. He looked strangely homely in that position, body leaning forward into the night, his arms resting on the windowsill, peering into the indigo skies while wisps of smoke trailed out of his mouth and nostrils. As if nothing had changed and the world still was the world. He half-expected to hear Richard calling him to dinner or the humdrum noises for which that part of the city had been so well-known at night. When none of that happened, he just walked towards Andrzej’s dark figure and leaned on the windowsill next to him.

“It seems quiet”, he mused.

“For now, at least”, Andrzej counterpointed. “And there’s no wind, not even a breeze. So, it will be a while before they are able to catch our scent.”

“I hate it when you do that.”

“What?”

“Talk about them as if they’re animals…”

“In a way, that’s what they are.”

“Don’t”, Pablo objected firmly. “Please… just don’t.”

They remained silent for a while, before Pablo dared to speak again.

“Remember what you told me when we first met? That they were just scared and lonely? Desperately reaching for any lifeline that might present itself to them…”

“We both know what happens most of the times that they reach out for help… don’t we?”

“Still…”, Pablo insisted. “They are not animals. They are no different from us. In fact, it could have been us, had we not already been…”

“Doesn’t matter”, Andrzej snapped. He sighed. He was lost in thought for a while and then sniggered: “The truth is that, since it all started, I can’t help thinking that this is the joke version of every living-dead movie I have ever seen. And I used to enjoy those…”

“I know what you mean. I used to be a videogame buff. Survival horror, mostly. You know, Silent Hill, Resident Evil, stuff like that… and all the time I was playing, I would think: how cool would it be if this was real? If I was, right now, smashing ghouls’ heads and fighting for my life and… well, I guess the joke’s on me, right?”

“But no. It’s not the same”, Andrzej continued as if Pablo had not spoken. “It is more terrible. They are just sick. And helpless. And doomed.”

Pablo refused to join in the bitterness and smiled to himself, remembering how exasperated Richard could get about how he spent the better part of his day playing on his PS5. You are so talented, he would say. And, yet, you burn your hours away on those silly antics. At such occasions, Pablo would simply answer: I’m lazy. You know I’m lazy. But you love me anyway. And he did. As nobody else had ever before or - he felt it like a sure bet - after.

“You are thinking about Richard again…”, Andrzej’s voice startled him out of the reverie. He walked away from the window and sat on his bed. His bed. How weird that sounded these days.

“How could you tell”, he asked guiltily.

“Not that hard. You have that look on your face.”

“I’m fine most of the moments, you know? And I can even go for days without thinking of him. But, then, there are these moments when his face just… swarms my mind. Like an unavoidable stigma.”

Andrzej threw the extinguished cigarette butt out the window and sat next to Pablo.

“Don’t you think about… your son”, Pablo asked him.

“Every day and every night. You, better than anyone, should know that.”

There was a darkness that went beyond his usual dry manner contaminating his words. A deep pain which did not surface that often but, when it did, made the gash open into a living wound.

“I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to ask. It’s just that… I miss him so much. I miss the silliest things. The concentrated look he would get when he was working on his laptop. How he would always bring me a piece of candy or chocolate when he got back home. Even the way he scratched his nose, creasing it like a little mouse. It was the cutest thing you have ever seen. And I miss the sex, of course. I forgot what it’s like to have sex.”

“Sorry, can’t help you with that one.”

Pablo laughed heartily.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“I know. I am a cold-hearted bastard but I can still take a joke”, he said as he nudged his shoulder against Pablo’s making him rock sideways.

Pablo smiled but there was the threat of tears in his eyes. Andrzej put his hand on his head and stroke the mane of hair all the way down to the nape of his neck. The warmth of the human touch was too much for Pablo to handle, though. His tears finally broke.

“It will be alright”, Andrzej said as he made Pablo´s head rest on his shoulder and kissing him on the forehead.  “Eventually… it will be alright.”

“I miss television”, Pablo said wistfully. Somehow, it seemed like a better and less painful thing to miss.

“I miss art”, Andrzej corrected. “Going to the theatre. Watching a dance performance” and, almost with an aching, “Bach’s Brandenburg concertos. Oh, I miss Bach. Or an exhibit. That would be nice too”, he added as an afterthought.

“As for Bach and the rest, I don’t think we’ll have much luck. But there are still museums. I’m sure there are a couple of them here.”

“We should go tomorrow, then”, Andrzej said matter-of-factly.

“And what? We just leave them here?”

“No. We all go. We’ll make a trip of it.”

Pablo looked at him unbelieving.

“Where is Andrzej? What have you done with him”, he asked jolting him hard by the shoulders, laughing.

“I think we are entitled to at least the appearance of normalcy, for once. Besides, you saw as well as I did that we hardly met any infected on the way here. I think we can take the risk. And they will appreciate it.”

“Yes. They will”, Pablo conceded.

However, come next morning, the only thing they told the pack was that they had to go look for some supplies. On the one hand, the surprise factor would be an added bonus. Also, if there were any snags, they would not feel disappointed. There were already too many of those in the life that they led to add unnecessarily to it.

Pablo woke up with the sun ravaging through the open window, already hot and bright. Andrzej should have called him in the middle of the night, for the second watch, but had allowed him to sleep late instead.

“I wasn’t feeling sleepy”, he excused himself.

“You can’t go on like that”, Pablo warned him worriedly. Andrzej chose to ignore it, as he did most of the times once he had made his mind up about something.

Pablo had taken the trouble of rummaging through the house before going out and the investigation had paid off. He eventually found a pocket map that not only was a better guide than Kurt’s able sketch, but also sufficiently listed all the city’s landmarks, museums and monuments. So, they would be tourists, he thought amused.

The temperature had risen once more. The sun was still a few marks away from merciless, but hard to bear nonetheless. No one complained, even so. They all remembered well enough how it felt to walk for miles, completely drenched. A sunny day, no matter how hot it was, would always seem like a better alternative. They still heard some slight movement a couple of streets away, from time to time, but kept managing to elude any inconvenient encounters. Maybe they are getting slower, Pablo thought. Or weaker. Whatever the case, they were still around. Some of them, at least.

It was not the infected who worried him the most, though. It was the fact that they had not yet met other groups like them, just isolated people and very occasionally. No clusters. No hint at a social structure, no matter how incipient it might be. That was what they were looking for, after all. What made them keep on walking. The hope for a larger number of people which could make them stronger. And safer. The prospect of a new beginning, basically. A reboot to that ravaged land.

They walked for close to an hour before reaching the museum. It was a big stone building, late eighteen-hundreds. As they crossed the wide square where it stood, Pablo started thinking that they might have made the trip in vain. There was no way in hell that they would be able to force those thick oak doors. To their surprise, however, they were not locked and allowed them easy access. Inside, the floor was of a rosy marble with columns that sprung towards the stucco ceiling at intervals. It made for a nice echo inside. That was not what immediately caught their attention, nonetheless. From deep within the building, there was the unmistakable sound of a song being played. Pablo was sure that he had heard that melody before, but could not make out the words that would have allowed him identification. Either way, it made no sense. The power had gone down a long time ago. No more electricity anywhere was what that was supposed to mean. It was only then that he realized that all the lights inside were turned on. Coming from the bright sunny street, he had not registered it at once.

“Generator…”, he murmured.

“Yes”, Andrzej confirmed. “It must have kicked in as soon as the power went down.”

“It must be a good one, to have lasted this long.”

They remained huddled in the entrance hall, listening to the eerie reverberations that called out to them, like a siren, from deep inside the building. Without warning or any kind of instruction, Andrzej started walking ahead. No, not walking. Strolling. Enjoying every step as he went from corridor to corridor, visiting each gallery on the way to look at the paintings and sculptures, the pack obediently following his trail. It had a rich and varied collection of pieces, ranging from the seventeenth-hundreds to contemporary art. The further they walked, more distinctly they could hear the song. It was only on arriving at a crossroad of corridors that they understood where it came from and Pablo finally pinned it down. He smiled brightly at the recognition.

In front of them, there was an archway leading into another gallery, bigger than the others that they had visited so far, it seemed. On the wall on the right, there was a white cardboard with something printed on it. Pablo drew closer to read it: “Gallery of Cruxis, Peggy Dane, April 2014”. Above their heads, and accompanying the soft curve of the arched entrance, there was also an inscription. It intended to feign some ancient sign carved in stone. It read: “Ye who enter here”.

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate”, Giuseppe echoed.

“Cheery…”, Silvia rolled her eyes. “I always loved this kind of postmodernist shit.”

They stepped in curious. It was a wide circular room with dark metallic crosses all over the place, spotlights casting their shadows everywhere, multiplying them to the point of lunacy. The wall too was fully covered, floor to ceiling, with drawings, paintings, photos and film stills of crosses, most of them some sort of re-enactment of the crucifixion. It would all be too eerie and claustrophobic was it not for the song that kept playing, starting again as soon as it got to the end. It came from a monitor which stood on a plinth, all the way across the other side of the room. It was showing an excerpt from a film, on a loop. The very end of it, in fact, closing credits included. Pablo smiled at the validation to his educated guess.

“I love this film!”

They advanced towards the monitor and gathered around it to watch. There were a bunch of men hanging from crosses as they sang, Maia could tell, though she did not understand what was there to like about it. Amused, Pablo started mouthing the words when the song went back to the start again.

You know what they say:

Some things in life are bad

They can really make you mad

Other things just make you swear and curse.

His voice grew stronger and he almost laughed out the words like a kid, as he continued under the amused scrutiny of the rest of the pack.

When you're chewing on life's gristle

Don't grumble, give a whistle

And this'll help things turn out for the best

And...

He signed to the others as if daring them to join in:

Always look on the bright side of life...

At first embarrassed, Kurt started singing along with the actors on the film and Pablo. Little by little, they all joined in, the shy attempts turning into full bellows. The only one still silent was obviously Andrzej, although he was clearly smiling for the first time in a very long time. Maybe since before the infection.

Maia was the first to hear it. She was standing right in front of Pablo. He saw her look back over her shoulder, literally do a double take and then slowly turn all the way around, as her eyes grew even wider than they usually were. Since there was no fright on her face, he did not give it much notice but turned around as well, curious of what had amazed her so much. That was when he saw them.

There were some thirty infected behind them and more were coming in. They did nothing. They just came in and stood there listening to the song and singing along to it, a full blown chorus to what the pack had started for fun. It was unnerving seeing them like that, so close and listless, the sores ravaging their skeleton-like bodies, eyes popping out, bloodshot, and the sandpapery parched lips making it hard for them to correctly articulate each word. They did it nonetheless. And it got creepier every time they whistled. Most of them had tears running down the colourless skin, which made the contour of their skull stand out at each turn of bone, as they kept singing:

Life's a piece of shit

When you look at it

Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true.

You'll see it's all a show

Keep 'em laughing as you go

Just remember that the last laugh is on you.

As their voices boomed stronger with each newly-arrived infected, the rest of the pack started turning around as well to face the surreal gathering. Silvia was the last one to do it, thrilled as she was with the improvised karaoke session (she did miss karaoke). That was when she screamed, backing up and overthrowing the plinth. The crashing sound echoed throughout the building as the monitor fell to the ground, putting an end to the song.

There were puzzled looks on the infected faces, as if they had been put on hold. It took only a few seconds before it all went to hell but, while it lasted, it seemed to take forever. A moment frozen in time. Then, movement came back into the world and they started lunging forward, arms reaching out for help or mere comfort, the despair making it hard to distinguish one from the other. This time, however, there was also a mixture of rage intertwined with it, as the guttural shrieks came out of their pained throats.

Andrzej had been assessing their flight chances for the last ten seconds, surveying a possible exit. The moment that the infected started hurling themselves in the pack’s direction, he had already reached the only feasible decision.

“The crosses!”, he shouted to Pablo as he reached for the one closest to him. They were solid and heavy and would hopefully do the trick.

There was just one way out, the one from which they had come in and was now obstructed by a true swarm of infected. They were surrounded on all sides like an island, Pablo thought, and there was no time to second-guess Andrzej. So, he abided.

“You stay back”, he ordered the pack.

As if executing a prearranged choreography, they both started swinging the crosses left and right, literally swatting the infected away.

“Now!”, Andrzej shouted again as soon as they had cleared enough of an aisle for them to pass through. Once they managed to leave the gallery of the crosses, they immediately realized the seriousness of their situation. Waves of infected kept coming in, attracted first by the music and then by the chaos of screams and shrieks. Andrzej forced the pack to huddle closer in a frantic run across the halls. They dropped the crosses, too heavy to carry in such a desperate flight. Besides, they would prove impractical to use in the narrow corridors. They kept turning corner after corner, deeper into the building, trying to elude the constant flow of infected, until there was nowhere left to go. They had reached a wide hall, at the end of which there was an open door. Andrzej quickened his step even more to check out the room and, finding it empty, signalled the others to rush in. They immediately shut the door and started barricading it with every piece of furniture they found inside. They were still going at it, while Andrzej, always two steps ahead, was already checking out the only window in the room. It gave to the back of the building. He did not see any infected there but, out in the hall, they had started banging on the door and piling against it, trying to force their way in. They were screaming for help. He could distinguish the words now and, for a surreal moment, he could not think of anything else but the leper game that he used to play when he was a kid.

He scurried away such thoughts and forced the window open. It was the right height to allow for a safe jump to the ground. He signalled Pablo to go first, handing him Maia right after. The rest quickly followed. They assessed their chances and eventually took off in the opposite direction from which they had initially come. They made for the high ground behind the museum, a sort of knoll that led into a less urbanized part of the city, a thick woody area showing a little further away. They stopped at the ridge, a natural viewpoint to the rest of the city. They could see the square from there. Leni gasped. There were hundreds of infected filling the square and more were coming from different points of the city.

“So much for the dwindling infected theory…”, Silvia let out.

“Please refrain from cracking jokes until we’re safe or I’ll be the one smashing your head instead of Andrzej.”

Pablo had said it in such a cold and uncaring way that even Giuseppe flinched at his side, involuntarily drawing away a little. Pablo looked at Andrzej with a harrowing cloud distorting his features. He could tell that he too was at a loss about what they should do next and, for the first time, realized how much Andrzej seemed on the brink of exhaustion. Whatever the case, they could not backtrack to the city’s centre. That was where the highest concentration of infected seemed to be coming from. Where had they all been hiding this whole time? How come they had not spotted them before? It made no sense. Not when you took in the scale of their growing numbers down below.

“We have to leave the city as soon as possible”, Andrzej finally spoke in a whisper, even though it was not realistic to think that the infected could hear him from such a distance.

“Not before we find the hospital”, Pablo snapped.

The hospital should be their priority and not so much on account of Maia’s mask. The shortage of pills had been an obsessive thought of his for the last couple of days. If anything, what had just happened proved that, more than ever, they had to keep whole for the rest of the pack. Without the two of them, the pack would perish in a heartbeat.

“That’s in that direction, then”, Andrzej said. “We better start moving. We’ll go through that patch of trees. It seems the quickest way.”

They got up, still breathing with difficulty, and started moving in their usual ninja-style manner. After an hour’s walk, and already into the network of buildings again, Andrzej signalled them to stop once more. They were in the middle of a narrow street. Andrzej was weighing if it might be quiet and safe enough, peering up at the row of low buildings on each side, listening out for any eventual sign of movement. They stood there in silence, waiting for him to reach a conclusion.

“It seems okay. Let’s just wait it out for another ten minutes. If it holds, we’ll search for a place to spend the night.”

In a weird synchronicity, they all fell to the ground, unloading their backpacks and finally allowing for the heavy breathing that they had been restraining in order to avoid any undue noise. As he usually did whenever he needed to appease his mind, Kurt took out his notebook and started sketching. Maia immediately crawled to his side. He took out a page and lent it to her along with one of his pencils. Leni looked down on them with tender recognition. She liked children. Her students had always been young adults. Yet, a secret yearning inside her often made her wonder if she would have not been happier as a menial first grade teacher. Would she have missed her ancient words very much? A little behind, Silvia had rested her head on Giuseppe’s legs, while he carelessly played with her hair. They were in love, though they did not know it yet. If they lasted that long, they might eventually find out. Not an easy undertaking, since he was almost old enough to be her grandfather. Not quite, but close. That always made things tougher and more socially conscious. Well, it used to, at least. New world, new rules. If it came to that, it might be up to them to be the Adam and Eve of the post-apocalypse. It was not as if there were that many alternatives out there, not from what they had seen. Besides, love always had little to do with convenience or social logic. As for Andrzej, he was sitting, head bowed, breathing with difficulty. He battled against the anguished strain, dizzy and strengthless, as Pablo watched him with concern. Andrzej could feel the blood rushing through his body, to and fro. He could almost hear its gurgling sound as it travelled his veins and arteries, a bothersome tingle crawling all over his skin. He could literally sense the energy draining out of him as he sat there, sure that he would fall over at any time. That was when Maia dropped her pencil, watching it roll down the street with a pout.

“Here, I’ll give you another one”, Kurt said.

“No. I’ll get it.”

Before he could react, Maia was already running down the street. The clickety-clack of her shoes on the cobbled pavement startled everyone, making them raise their heads in disbelief. As soon as Maia went beyond the small crossing ahead, the first infected showed up from one of the side streets. Then, another from one of the buildings’ doors. And another one from the side street again. And another, and another, and yet another. They were literally constructing an involuntary barrier between the pack and Maia. Andrzej got to his feet, true panic ravaging his face.

“Maia, run!”

But she did not run. She just stood there, tears in her eyes watching as they moved closer and whimpering Pablo’s name.

“Protect them, make sure they live”, Andrzej suddenly said to Pablo with a resolution he could not quite comprehend. And, then, it dawned on him. Andrzej was saying goodbye. Pablo saw him running towards the infected, hurling himself at them as they usually did to others. He was pushing them aside, hitting them hard, forcing his way. He had picked a stone off the street and was crushing it against their heads as he went.

He would not defeat them, he knew that much. All that he had to do was manage a temporary breach, make them a little dizzy, just enough to get to Maia and send her back to safety. He saw that she still had her mask on. That was good.

Once he got through and before he could get a hold of Maia, he shouted to Pablo: “Get ready!” Pablo heard it but did not quite understand. Ready? For what? He took two steps forward, confused. Then, he saw it. Without hesitation, and as the infected continued to close in on them, Andrzej wrapped his arm around Maia’s waist (“Be brave, dear”), took two turns to gain balance (“I love you”) and, on the third turn, let her go, throwing her up in the air, right over the infected heads, as he shouted: “Catch!” Maia flew like a ragged doll, with a high-pitched scream. Pablo ran towards her and managed to catch her mid-flight, the weight throwing both of them to the ground nonetheless.

“Are you alright”, he asked.

She nodded. He ordered her back to the pack and looked down the street. More infected were coming from the other side, trapping Andrzej. He was standing in the constantly diminishing clearing, looking around for an exit, knowing in advance that there was none. He knew what awaited him, Pablo could see it in his face. Maybe he could kill a couple of them, but he would not survive such a wide number. Not alone.

Andrzej held his ground, closed his eyes, trying to gather strength and focus. He would go down fighting, of that he was sure. He invoked Jakub’s face like a charm. He would make them all pay for taking Jakub away from him. He felt the roar build inside him, at the same time that he could sense the smell of the infected getting nearer and nearer. He was about to open his eyes again when he heard the hollow sound echoing to his right and a pained shriek rising up, like a harpy’s. He opened his eyes in time to see Pablo make another swing of the lead pipe, hear the hollow sound again (so that’s what it was, he thought nonsensically) and feel a spray of thick blood hit his face unexpectedly. That was when something clicked inside, when something broke for good. He turned to the infected nearest him, grabbed his head with both hands and, without contemplation, gave it a quick and hard twist. He immediately heard the neck bones break and watched as the body fell lifelessly to the ground.

It lasted for at least ten minutes. Pablo consistently bashing their heads and faces with the lead pipe, Andrzej evolving to different variations of killing with his own hands. He could not understand how he had gotten someone’s guts in his hands, he remembered thinking at one point. He could not allow himself the luxury of thinking or understanding, though. All that mattered was Jakub’s face on his mind and a perverted sense of vindication gnawing away at his soul.

When the last infected fell down, Pablo and Andrzej found themselves standing in front of each other. Their faces were streaked with blood, thick red drops trickling down like oil on a thread. They seemed like the gutted version of a Pollock painting.

“Now, tell me…”, Andrzej let out under his breath, his voice even raspier than usual. “How do you propose that I keep my humanity intact after doing something like this?”

He did not wait for an answer. He started walking with difficulty over the fallen bodies, trying not to trip, and headed towards the pack further up. Once there, and under their grim and watchful eyes, he picked his backpack up and automatically went through one of the buildings’ doors. They waited until Pablo reached them to ask what they should do. He signalled them to wait and looked up at the building. Eventually, Andrzej showed up at one of the windows on the top floor and ordered them to come up. Once he was finished conveniently trapping the stairs, Pablo made his way up after the pack. Everyone was already hard at their usual chores, except for Andrzej who was silently sitting against the wall of the room nearest to the front door. He moved on to the kitchen and took out a bowl which he filled with half a bottle of water. He dipped a clean kitchen cloth in, twisting the excess out until it was all but moist. He grabbed both the bowl and the humid cloth and was heading to the room when Maia stopped him.

“I’ll do it”, she said very serious.

He was about to argue, but gave up on it, merely handing the things over to her. She held them with care and started walking with measured steps. She went into the room, kneeling near Andrzej and carefully setting down the bowl on the floor. He hardly took notice of her as he tried to grab the cloth from her hands, but she simply forced his arm down, as kids will sometimes do. He was surprised by the forceful gesture and finally met her eyes. She was not looking into them, though. Instead, she seemed to be thoughtfully evaluating the bloody streaks on his face. With a concentrated frown, she started wiping them methodically, rinsing the cloth whenever it got too red. Once she felt that she had cleaned him as best as she could, she rinsed the cloth one more time and started the same procedure with his right hand. Then, the same with his left. She dropped the cloth carelessly in the water-stained bowl once she was done and looked appreciatively at the result. She then deposited a light kiss on his cheek and said: “I love you too”. Denying him the possibility of a reaction, she quickly got up, grabbing the bowl, and went back to the kitchen.

There would be no games that afternoon. No laughter. No lively conversations. The pack gathered in their room waiting, not exactly sure for what. When Pablo went back to their own room, Andrzej was still sitting on the floor, his eyes absent.

“How many pills do you still have left”, Pablo asked him all of a sudden.

“A month or two’s worth”, he answered absentmindedly. “Why?”

“Good.”

“You?”

“The same, I guess”, Pablo answered. “Even so, we should check the hospital.”

Andrzej shook his head. His pulse ran unchecked, making it hard for him to breathe. It was as if, not only the room, but the whole world was closing down on him.

“Not now. I need to sleep. Just an hour or two. I don’t think I can take it anymore. Will you keep watch?”

“Don’t worry”, Pablo assured him.

As he usually did every time that he slept, Andrzej unhooked the teddy bear from his backpack, hugged it tight and covered himself to the head with the blanket. He immediately fell into a deep sleep.

Pablo went out of the room, closing the door lightly, avoiding any noise. He peered into the pack’s room. Both Maia and Leni were facing one of the walls. There was a big hole in the plaster there and, above it, something written in black marker.

יש לא חור בקיר

יש חור בליבי

“Do you think it means anything”, Maia was asking.

“It does. It’s Hebrew”, Leni answered with a smile.

“I didn’t know you could speak Hebrew”, Silvia said from her seat near the obscured window, a haze of mid-afternoon light sipping through.

“The things you don’t know about me could fill a book. Several, in fact.”

“What does it say”, Maia insisted.

“There is no hole in the wall. There is a hole in my heart.”

Yes, Pablo thought. There is. And that, suddenly, made everything easier. And clearer.

“I have to go take care of something”, he said, startling them out of their conversation. “Andrzej is asleep, but you’ll be alright. If you hear any noise just wake him up. I don’t think you’ll need to, though.”

He waited for them to ask him what he was planning on doing exactly but, when that did not happen, he merely turned away and shut the door.

He could hear Andrzej’s steady breath under the blanket, as he started rummaging through his backup until he found what he was looking for. He had to make sure. He then took everything out of his own backpack, carried it outside with him, empty and weightless, and started walking down the stairs, towards the street, expertly avoiding the traps that he had set up earlier.

When he got back two hours later, very near nightfall, he found Silvia standing in the middle of his room looking at Andrzej sleeping. The blanket had fallen down, showing the teddy bear tightly clutched between his arms.

“What are you doing here”, he angrily asked her in a whisper.

He grabbed her arm and made her step out into the hallway.

“Is that why he makes a point of always sleeping away from us”, she asked.

“I think that’s one of the reasons, yes”, he conceded. “Also, it’s safer this way.”

“Does he think we’ll consider him less of a tough guy if we see him like that? That we won’t be as sure that he can protect us”, Silvia insisted.

“I really couldn’t tell. Only he could answer you that.”

She smirked bitterly.

“Don’t worry. I have learned not to ask him questions. Particularly not those kind of questions.”

“Go back to your room. I found some things to eat. I’ll take it to you in a while.”

She started walking down the corridor but stopped at the door. She turned to him, before going in: “Anyway, it’s nice to know that he’s human after all.”

Andrzej finally woke up around midnight, while Pablo was finishing another of his diary entries. He seemed dazed and confused, as if he did not quite know where he was or what had happened. It quickly dawned on him, though.

“It was my fault. I got cocky”, he said darkly.

“No. You wanted a bit of normal. That’s all.”

“There is no more normal. Death is the new normal.”

“Everyone’s safe now. That’s all that matters”, Pablo insisted. He was feeling dizzier by the minute.

“It was a stupid thing to do and I could have gotten us all killed.”

Pablo ignored him, putting away his diary. He took a small blister pack containing some twelve pills out of his shirt pocket.

“I went out to check the hospital while you were sleeping. There was just one of these, forgotten under one of the medicine cabinets.”

“You should have waited for me. It’s too dangerous to go out alone.”

“I got a proper mask for Maia, too”, Pablo continued. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’m the one who needs a couple of hours’ sleep. There’s also some food in the kitchen, if you want.”

With that, he crawled under his blanket and started to fade out at last. He conjured Richard’s face as he went deeper and deeper into the dizzy unconsciousness.

When Andrzej tried to wake him up, three hours later, he was already dead.

He held Pablo’s cold hand in his own, trying to make sense of his unresponsiveness, refusing to acknowledge the most logical explanation. He realized that he was simultaneously searching for an explanation and running away from the dark realization that had befallen him. The words why and how haunted his thoughts in quick nervous jeers, as if daring his sanity to remain whole.

When he went through Pablo’s backpack, he found an unaccountable amount of empty blisters there. Such a wide variety and in such a large number that his heart had not stood a chance. He had made sure that there was no coming back, Andrzej realized. There was also a plastic bag with a note pinned on it: “For Andrzej”.

He slowly untied the plastic bag, watching his every move as if from a great distance. There were several items inside, each demanding a different degree of attention and comprehension. Firstly his stash of pills, several blister packs, all bundled up in the tight embrace of an elastic band. At least, a month’s worth of it. The practical side of him took over and he calculated an average of two months of peace of mind, once he added his own diminishing stash and the blister pack that Pablo had found in his recent excursion to the hospital. He knew it to be an unkind, almost inhumane thought at such a time and, then, realized that he was merely going through Pablo’s mental process.

Beneath the pills was a Walkman – a relic in times of iThings – complete with earphones and some ten packs of AA battery cells. It would suffice to feed the Walkman for many months, he figured. However, it was only when he was getting out the last few packs from the bottom of the bag that he found what Pablo had obviously intended as the pièce de resistance. A compact disk. On the cover, the reproduction of a pastoral painting from the seventeen-hundreds and, printed over it: “Johann Sebastian Bach, Brandenburg Concertos, Berlin Philharmonic conducted by Herbert von Karajan”.

He froze in time, compact disk in hand. For the life of him, he could not fathom where or how Pablo had managed to dig out such an extraordinary find. He felt the presence of his lifeless body behind him, lying quietly on the bed. He knew what would happen if he turned around to look at it. At him. And he could not break. Not now. Not anymore.

His mind raced, trying to clear the dreamlike daze in which the contents of the plastic bag had left him. He had to be his old practical self, no matter how hard it seemed at that precise moment. The rest of the pack could not see the body. He would eventually find a way of breaking the news to them, as kindly and gently as possible, but he could not allow them to see him like that. Not Pablo.

He went to check the pack’s room and found them all conveniently asleep. On his way back, he stopped at the kitchen counter, mechanically chewing on a chocolate cookie and gulping it down with water from one of the plastic bottles that Pablo always managed to have available at all times. Who would do that from now on, he mused nonsensically. The cookie made him realize how hungry he was. Famished, in fact. How weird that one can feel such a basic urge as hunger at a moment like that, he considered. Whatever the case, it would have to wait. He had to provide for an adequate resting place for Pablo. Preferably, before the pack started waking up. It was not wise to leave them alone and unprotected, but he would just have to risk it. He had no other choice.

That was when it caught his attention. Pablo’s diary, peeking from inside the backpack’s outside pouch. Andrzej picked it up, hesitantly, his hands unsure of what to do. Eventually, he opened it to the first page and, sitting next to Pablo’s cold body, started to read.

february 22^nd, 2015

Bought this notebook today, full of the good intentions that always accompany the decision to keep a journal.

It has been 3 hours since I have been officially diagnosed.

I think that’s about it for today.

september 27^th, 2016

Today, I remembered that I still had this. I was never very good at keeping diaries and this is the definite proof.

What more can I say?

Well, the medication is still working, even if it gets me a bit nauseated at times. Other than that, nothing’s new on the western front.

july 1^st, 2017

I think I will call this a yearly instead of diary. Seems more appropriate.

Anyway, I’m just checking in to fully register a very special occasion. If nothing else, this notebook will be witness to some landmarks of my life.

Today was our fifth anniversary. I was out all day, busy with a series of work appointments (it’s always like this just before summer), and when I got home, this is what I found. Richard ordered blow-ups of dozens of our pictures together throughout these five years and hung them all over the house, a testimony to our time together. He set them up in chronological order. He said that, as time passed by, one could tell from our faces that, instead of becoming older, we had become happier. And he was right. That was exactly what it looked like once you paid due attention to the progression.

Whenever I dare forget how much I love this man, he goes and does something that lightens my heart. He always does it unconsciously, unobjectively, almost by chance. And always the effect is infallible.

Such simple things. He is full of these delightful simple things.

If I look back and really think about it, I’m surprised by the mere fact that he is still at my side. I honestly thought it wouldn’t last much longer once I was diagnosed. That he would eventually come to the conclusion that it was too much for him to deal with. Not that he is that kind of person. But it was only expected that the strain of the potential risks to him, even going back to wearing condoms, might be too much to handle. I am not sure that it wouldn’t be for me, were I in his shoes. Shit happens. That’s just a fact of life.

He never once wavered, though. He would merely find inventive ways of keeping things interesting, even with all the limitations – the dos and don’ts – imposed on our sex life. And, above all, he always made sure that I felt he was there for me, no matter what happened, no matter how hard it got. And he made good by his word. Two years later, he is still here. Most importantly, I know now that he isn’t going anywhere.

Today’s a happy day.

november 12^th, 2017

There was a weird piece of news on the tv today. Everyone is to be confined to their homes, even though they are not explaining why.

Richard took it lightly, as he usually does this kind of things. I tend to be more obsessive.

Since I wasn’t keeping my mouth shut about it, he said that I should just unburden it on my yearly and leave him alone. So, that’s exactly what I’ve done.

Happy, dear?

november 13^th, 2017

The newscasts have gone from weird to totally mental in a heartbeat. Still, no real explanations. All they are saying is that it’s a virus. I’m guessing something like the bird or swine flu, only worse. Everyone is supposed to buy protective masks. Which is weird, since we are not allowed to leave our houses. How the fuck are we supposed to buy the damned things, then? Richard said that he didn’t give a fuck and decided to go out and try to buy some for us anyway. Besides, our pantry is dwindling and we need food. He went out with the scarf I bought him last xmas completely covering his mouth and nose. I hope he’ll be okay.

I’m sure he will. If this is anything like the last couple of supposed pandemics, it will prove to be another successful attempt by the pharmaceuticals at making some money with useless vaccines.

(later)

Richard came back. Something’s definitely wrong. According to him, all the stores are closed and there are a few military, all suited up in protective gear, warding people off the streets and back to their homes. Fortunately, he found a delicatessen with the windows broken and ransacked the place for everything that he could find and carry.

He could not find the masks, but he managed to steal a couple of sky hoods from a sportswear’s store. He broke into that one… what a surprisingly skilful boy he is. :)

Still, there was a look of shock to him that did not fully explain his tale. I do not think he is telling me everything.

(later still)

From time to time, we hear shots and screams in the streets. And, from our windows, we can see a few columns of smoke rising from different points in the city. What the fuck is going on out there? I insist with Richard, but he pretends he doesn’t know.

november 14^th, 2017

Richard developed a fever overnight. I am scared. I don’t know what to do.

I tried calling the hospital and all the health services I could think of. Those that are still working… no one is picking up. Again: What the fuck is going on out there?

Richard says I should leave him. He does not explain why. He forces me to wear the sky hood all the time.

november 15^th, 2017

Richard woke me up near 3 a.m. with a pained whimpering. I started sleeping in the couch by the bed, with the sky hood on. It is not comfortable, makes it harder to breathe and my sleep is obviously not restful, but I do not want to leave his side. I tried to make sense of what he was mumbling and realized that he was pleading me not to abandon him, amidst persistent tears.

You silly boy. I could not, even if I wanted.

I did not say a word. He was too deep into sleep to understand anything I might have said. I merely got in bed with him and soothed him into some kind of peacefulness.

And, I have decided, this is what I will do from now on. No matter what he says. Hold him to sleep. Like I used to before all this craziness started.

november 16^th, 2017

My world is falling apart.

Pretty much the same way that the world outside seems to be crumbling down.

Richard finally told me what really happened when he went out. Most importantly, he is getting worst by the hour and there is nothing any of us can do.

But one thing at a time. I feel that I have to try to be clear and record everything as faithfully as possible. So, Richard’s outing…

From what he said, most of the people on the streets looked sick, very thin, almost undernourished, with sores on their faces and arms. Some were bleeding from the nose or mouth.

Yes, there were military in full protective gear in the streets. But they weren’t merely warding people back to their homes. They were burning them, sometimes after a bullet was put to their heads.

But, there’s worse.

When he was getting back home, one of the sick-looking people grabbed hold of him, trying to ask for help. It made the scarf fall off, he told me. He thinks that’s when he got whatever the other person had.

It fits what the latest reports on tv have been saying, that you can catch it as easily as the common cold. And it takes a couple of hours for people to start showing symptoms, after contact. That also checks. They also have been saying we should keep away from anyone looking sick. No, I can’t do that, no matter the risks. So, scratch it. That is not the most terrible piece of info, though. If they are right, this fucking virus kills in a matter of weeks. And there is no known treatment or cure for now. So, what am I supposed to do? Just sit and wait for Richard to die?

I have been crying for two hours nonstop.

november 19^th, 2017

Today, I took the chance that Richard fell asleep during the afternoon and decided to go out. I had to. I needed to see for myself.

No, I was not ready for what I found. A nightmare couldn’t have made it more justice. The streets were littered with all kinds of debris, both material and human. Most stores have been ransacked, what was left of their stocks strewn outside, either discarded for lack of practical use or because people had merely found themselves unable to carry it further. There were charred vehicles and people, their gruesome bodies contracted in dying agony. And, yes, there were a few military too. None who were still breathing, though. They were the hardest to face. It looked as if they had been tore apart by some demented animal. Who or what could have that?

An incomprehensible war, its devastating effects fully showing, has taken place in the course of these few days.

That’s when I saw him. He was just standing there, a smile bordering on lunacy tainting his lips. He used no mask, nothing to protect himself. You are not afraid, I asked. He replied that he was safe. That he could not catch it, although he did not explain why. At first, I honestly thought that he was just delusional, something brought on by shock.

I buried my son today, he said all of a sudden. Kids are less resistant. Fuckin’ immune system. Our gift from the gods.

Then, he looked at me for the first time – I mean, really look at me – and I realized there was no shred of insanity in his eyes. Just deep pain.

You shouldn’t stay out very long, he said. If you see more than five of them together, run. When there are five, soon there will be ten and, then, twenty or thirty. You don’t want to be around when that happens. I don’t think they do it on purpose. But they are sick, and lonely, and desperate. They are just trying to call out for help. I think they feel that we have deserted them. And they’re right, we have.

He looked very intently into my eyes.

Never forget: They may be sick and weak… but, even weak, twenty or thirty will still be a lot stronger than you. If the virus doesn’t kill you, I assure you they will. So, be careful.

As he turned to go, something sparkled in my mind. Why was he safe? Why couldn’t he catch it? Maybe he knew of some trick, some medicine, anything. Maybe something that could work for Richard, make him better. I asked. His answer was composed of a string of absurd and cryptic sentences that made no obvious sense. When I tried to get him to be more specific he merely told me that I should check some underground blogs.

Before someone takes them down. They don’t want us to know, he said enigmatically. And then he walked away.

As soon as I got home, I decided to do some online digging. The tv news reports just keep repeating absurd info that doesn’t really explain anything… and what I found out is too terrible to contemplate.

He was right. There are some underground blogs providing info that the official sources have not yet released. Obviously, it is hard to set the hard facts apart from the conspiracy theory crazes. In fact, none of it could be considered hard fact at all. Rumours, hypothesis, hearsay. That’s what it boils down to. It is still a lot more than what the official broadcasts have volunteered so far. And a couple of them seem to be diverting data directly from the government’s research facilities. Most probably, some wise scientist or lab technician who believes that the people have a right to know. Long live this agonizing democracy.

Putting aside the more rampant delusions, this is the gist of it: the HIV has unexpectedly mutated into a new strain, the main mutation being that it is now airborne. No, it’s not only that. The virus has come back with a vengeance. It can now kill in a matter of weeks. Nothing new there, the official reports had already said as much, even if not upfront about what it was exactly. They are apparently calling it HIV-Plus. It sounds like the bad promo for a new social network.

No matter the different versions and inevitable contradictions, on one thing everyone seems to agree, though: it has a two hours incubation period, no dormant stage and expediently destroys the immune system. Much, much quicker than any of the previous strains. Some sources talk about between two weeks to a month, which means – be it a true estimate – that there has been knowledge of this outbreak long before the quarantine warnings started a week ago.

More than that – and this was the most disturbing piece of knowledge – it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to anyone. When you really look at it, it has been a long time in the coming. I just wished that someone could have given us, common folks, a heads up.

I think I have learned more about the virus in these two hours than I have in the two and a half years since I have been diagnosed.

I long knew that there was more than one type of the virus. What I did not know was that each subdivided into groups and those into subtypes and that, up until recently, there were over a hundred recorded mutations of the virus, mostly drug-resistant related. True, many of those strains had only been detected in isolated cases and with no significant outspread. However, taking into account the length to which the virus has gone in order to insure its survival, its constant adaptability to each new restriction and limitation, always forcing the boundaries out of which it could continue enduring… should have not been more obvious that soon it would find its way out of the bodily fluids and into the open air?

On two of the so-called underground blogs, I also found something that seemed to explain his cryptic comments. The only people immune to this new strain are apparently those of us who are already infected with one of the previous strains. Nobody really knows why. There is no scientific data yet to explain this little piece of miracle.

Anyway, that was as far as I got before the server went down.

november 18^th, 2017

Keeping writing seems to ward me away from the harsh reality of it. Somehow, putting it on paper makes it look like fiction, a little less real or, at least, less troubling. Besides, it doesn’t allow me to feel as lonely.

Richard drifts farther and farther away from me. I now understand why. He’s going through the first stages of dementia.

Whatever the reasons there might be for all that is happening, I cannot help thinking that there is some kind of poetic justice to it. Yes, I know it is heartless of me. But, the stigma on behaviour as always been so strong and unkind and, now, anyone can catch it. All you need is to be alive and breathing. And the only ones who are safe from it are exactly the ones who had gotten it… on their own accord, let’s say. It doesn’t get any more poetic justice than that.

Well, we are supposedly safe as long as we keep taking our pills. That was not on any blog, but it has been on my mind. If we run out of the antiviral cocktail, the virus we already have will eventually take over, destroy our immune system and we will be prey to every opportunist disease out there. We won’t die as quickly as they, but still quicker than before.

The way the world seems to be right now (and chances are it will only get worse)… I mean, if we end up with no proper sanitation, subject to the elements, not always having enough to eat… without the pills, the virus will take us down speedily enough, I am sure.

I obviously went to check how many pills I still have left. Enough for now. But they won’t last forever. I wonder if I should go check the hospital myself. See if anyone’s around. If not, just try to raid the infectious diseases ward. Sure there will be something stashed in the medicine cabinets there.

I remember the time when it was still a true cocktail of pills, tablet after tablet, every single day. Not that I had to go through it myself, but I met enough people who did. No, I was lucky. I was entitled to the one magical pill version. A single take a day. So, that’s all that I need to look for. Enough pills for a daily take, for as long as this lasts.

The problem is… how long will this last? Will it ever end?

november 19^th, 2017

Richard keeps warding me off. Violently.

He forces me to wear the sky hood all the time that I am in the room with him. Even though I know it isn’t necessary, I humour him since it seems to calm him down that I do. He insists that I should leave. He tells me that I have not seen what he has seen. What he will become and I, in turn, should I be infected.

It seems ludicrous to me, taking into account all the risks he took himself throughout these years, just to remain at my side. I do not tell him that, though. I do not tell him anything. I do not think he would understand. Besides, he is delirious most of his waking moments.

november 21^st, 2017

I keep the tv turned on in the hope that, in the middle of official reports that disrupt the annoying static, it will finally offer some miracle solution to all this madness.

november 23^rd, 2017

Richard died 10 minutes ago.

january 6^th, 2018

Today, I found Andrzej again. He had a group of three people with him. Healthy people. They were all wearing masks.

From then on, it just followed their journey together, mostly recording things that Andrzej knew by heart. The entries were nonetheless sparse. Pablo essentially registered each new addition or demise of the pack’s members. Almost statistically. So and so, such age, he or she was this or that before the world fell apart. Stuff like that. On occasions, he would also list special abilities or talents, as if collecting data for a how-to guide on post-apocalyptical survival.

Except for the last entry. That one was less dry and factual. In a way, it was a goodbye note.

march 28^th, 2017

I rummaged through his backpack and found his stash. He lied. He barely has enough pills to last him a couple more weeks.

At least with mine he’ll have a fighting chance.

Maybe he is right. Maybe I do keep the group together. He says that they fear and trust him, but that I am the one they love. More the reason for me to do it. If he goes on like this, he will lose what little humanity he still has left. He is too dependent on me to fill those shoes. This way he will be forced to connect with them, to remember that he too is human.

Besides, they will have a better chance at surviving with him leading them forward.

And I am tired. As the days go by, it gets more and more difficult. I realize how much I miss Richard and how hard it is to go on without him at my side. Who knows? If there is a heaven after all (even if there’s obviously no god), maybe we’ll meet there.

Above all, I do hope that this will give them a chance to survive. That they find some yet untainted place – was not that how Andrzej put it the other day? - where they can start over.

P.S.: If you happen to read this, Andrzej… don’t be afraid to cry sometimes. I assure you it helps.

He carried Pablo’s body over his shoulder and down the stairs, trying to circumnavigate the traps, carefully avoiding upsetting them.

He still had to walk for some time before finding a suitable place for his task, his steps wavering under the weight on his shoulder. That was the problem with modern cities, he found himself thinking. They do not have proper burial sites. It is all concrete and steel. Even the few parks and gardens are not wide or deep enough to allow for easy digging. He eventually found a residential area with a string of two-stories houses, complete with ample backyards. One of them even had a well-equipped tool-shed. That should do, he thought.

He dug for half an hour until he managed to carve a deep enough hole in the ground, not the traditional six feet, but close enough for comfort. Avoiding looking at his face, he then gently lowered Pablo’s body in, or as gently as he was able. Burying was not meant to be a one-man-job, it should always be a communal thing. As usual, filling up the grave was quicker than digging it and, no matter how many times he repeated the gesture, he would never understand why there always seemed to be lacking enough dirt to fill the hole again, even with the recently buried corpse occupying space down there.

He stood over the patch of revolved earth, wondering what to do next. They had given up on funereal prayers a long time ago. None of them actually believe in god anymore. So, what was the point?

Still, he felt the need to say something. It would not seem complete, otherwise. In a way, it was his last chance of talking to Pablo. As strange as it sounded, it was exactly what still kept him there.

“Who am I going to talk to every night, from now on? I don’t forgive you, you know? You think something like this will give me my humanity back? You were the one keeping me whole. We could have found a way, Pablo. Anything but this. Yes, they do love you. But so do I”, he stopped to regain control over himself. “Wherever you are, I hope you managed to find Richard after all. If that is the case, he is definitely luckier than us.”

He knew that he should start heading back to the house soon, that it was not safe to leave them alone for so long. Something called out to him, though. And, for once, he ignored his rational cautious self and decided to heed the call.

He walked the night with a steady assurance which he had thought long gone. He savoured the light summery breeze on his face and naked arms, as if summer was once again the summer of olden times. He kept expecting to chance upon other midnight strollers enjoying, as he was, the quiet comfort of the city’s charms. However, not even the customary infected crossed his path. He started noticing the glow when he was still a couple of hundred feet away. As he neared it, it stood out against the dark night like a beacon of dazzling light and, for a moment, Oz came into his mind. He wondered if Dorothy and her friends would be inside the palace of yellowish bright that now stood before him.

He climbed the wide stone steps, one by one, counting down to a resolution that he did not quite comprehended yet. He crossed the threshold of the thick oak doors, darkened with heavy varnish, and into the cold illuminated marble. The rosy veins caught the light with an eerie sparkle that made him think of a constellation of stars. He stood there taking in the silence before colouring it with the echo of his footsteps, as the marble womb dared him ahead. He retraced his steps towards the gallery of the crosses. There he saw the thrown-over plinth and, a few feet away, the monitor. Other than that, the place was empty. They must have scurried out in the heat of the chase and did not think of coming back.

He looked at the monitor and wondered if it might be broken beyond repair. He started working on it at once. It was not that complicated and he had always been handy. After four or five minutes, everything was in its rightful place. The visor of the monitor was irremeably broken and would produce no image but, as soon as he pressed play, the familiar song started at once.

Only then did he allow himself to cry.

When the song got to the end, it did not start over, as expected. At that precise moment there was a deep hum resounding on the marble walls, at the same time that the lights slowly started to faded. The generator had just outlived its use.

Andrzej remained very still in the dark. After a few seconds, he started whistling the first bars of the song. He could feel the sound bouncing off the walls as he did. Somehow, it made him feel better.

One thought accompanied him on the way out. That maybe he should give it to Maia. She would have more use for a teddy bear than he ever could. Besides, he was sure that Pablo would have smiled at the idea.

When he left the building, he was still whistling.