INFECtIOUS (12 page)

Tom laughs
Anthony's ignorant words off, calloused to his friend's careless banter, and
makes a horrible corny joke about how
he
left her—for Jesus.
 

I'm embarrassed
for all of us.
 

Right on cue,
Aunty clears her throat to make our presence known. The guards jump up and both
talk at once about entertaining the guest and waiting on us. Their simultaneous
explanations are all jumbled together, but we get the gist of it.
 

Matt stands up
to follow us out the door and, to my great surprise, turns to thank them each
by name for the game of cards and their hospitality. He tips his Coke can
towards them in thanks and follows us out. Respect and thankfulness is not
normal zombie behavior and it definitely isn't normal Matt behavior. It makes
me nervous. He is good at his game—I'll give him that.
 

Zombies Just Want Hugs

We have a longer
walk this time, but everyone walks these days. The half mile to Thomas' new
house doesn't feel strenuous and won't take us more than 7 or 8 minutes. The
Inn is only a little over a block away from the Western security gate and
Thomas lives on the other side of our community near the Northern security
gate.

Matt accepted
the new coat from Aunty with minimal fuss. Probably just didn't want to deal
with her nagging. I can sympathize. It fits him well, a dark navy blue wool
coat with wide lapels and big buttons. The coat is heavy and warm and his
cheeks get pinker and his lips lose their blueness as we walk. I guess it was
nice of her to think of him. I think the clothes at the clothing bank are
supposed to stay in the community and this coat will be leaving soon. I guess
if anyone here needed a coat they would've picked it up by now. It is January
and winter is hopefully wearing down.
 

As we walk,
Aunty continues to try to coax conversation out of Matt, though she doesn't
seem to be as good at it as the security guards were. Maybe women make him uncomfortable,
who knows? Who cares? I'm still trying not to see danger around every corner.

I keep repeating
one of my favorite verses to myself in my head:

"At what time I am afraid, I will put my trust in
thee."
 

I've chanted
that verse to myself since my healing four years ago. Aunty taught it to me the
first week I lived with her—when my parents didn't come for me like they were
supposed to. There has always been something to be afraid of or worried about
for a kid living in such scary times. You'd think I'd be tougher by now, but
there is something so personal with this fear. It's different from all the
countless fearful possibilities that have given me cause for worry over the
years.
Different from the one million things that a logical
thinking adult would have to worry about on a daily basis in a world run by
zombies.
This is only happening to me.

I'm lost in my
head again when we arrive at Thomas'. The little, white house with a green roof
sits not far from the chain links of our security fence. Just beyond the fence,
no zombies are in sight—just old railroad tracks and a broken down train car
that is probably rusted to the tracks by now. We walk up the narrow sidewalk,
single-file, and stand beneath the green awning over the front door. Jose and
Ellen's house has a storybook cottage feel about it. I can't help thinking that
we've just escorted the big bad wolf right to granny's door.

We ring the
doorbell and the door is opened by Jose, Thomas' new dad. Jose and Ellen are
too young to have a kid Thomas' age, only in their early twenties. They met and
married here in the community just a few years ago. When Thomas came to us just
before Christmas, he was traveling with a missionary named Harvey. Harvey
insisted that Thomas stay here in
Toccoa
. Before
Harvey left, he asked the Elders to care for Thomas and find him a home. Thomas
stayed at the Inn for a few days while the Elders looked for the right
family.
 

The poor kid
cried a lot those first couple of days. I think Thomas thought he'd be sticking
with Harvey and traveling around with him. Missionaries live a very dangerous
life. Harvey left him here to keep him safe. I'm sure Thomas was missing his
family a lot too.
Matt, supposedly.
 

Aunty and I were
really considering asking him to stay with us when Jose and Ellen asked for
him. They are easygoing and seem really happily married. Jose is
hispanic
, handsome and athletic.
He is very involved with the youth at the U.R. and is in charge of all things
athletic for the teens and little kids. Kind of like a Youth Pastor/Gym
Teacher. Thomas isn't very talented athletically, but it doesn't seem to matter
to Jose at all. He loves the kid already. Thomas is so easy to like.
  

His new mom,
Ellen, is a nurse at the U.R. clinic. She is a petite, Chinese lady who loves
to cook. She also loves to jog. I often see her and Jose jogging past the Inn
together early in the morning. Ellen is very motherly and I love how she dotes
on Thomas. He looks so happy every time I see him lately. With both of his new
parents working in the U.R. building, I get to see Thomas almost every day. He
comes to visit me in my little office and sometimes brings me a cup of tea.
Jose winked at me last week when Thomas brought me some of Ellen's cookies. I
think maybe I have a twelve year old stalker. Life is crappy a lot of the time,
but people like Jose and Ellen remind you of all the good things we still have.

Jose welcomes us
into their home and Ellen is standing with a smile on her face just inside. The
wonderful smell of baking hits us instantly and I realize how starving I am. I
don't see Thomas anywhere. I glance at
Matt,
his face
exudes disappointment and frustration. His green eyes flash as they roam the
small house's open floor plan, searching for his brother. As Aunty makes the
introductions, it's obvious he could care less about meeting Jose and Ellen.
 

"Where is
Tom?" he demands gruffly. "Tom! Tom!!!" he calls out louder in
hopes of an answer.
 

"Please sit
down and talk with us for a minute," Ellen says with stress in her
voice.
 

Ellen's tone
makes me wonder if maybe Thomas isn't here. I don't think Matt will handle that
well at all.
 

"We just
want to speak with you before we get Thomas, ok?" Jose says as he sits
down and reaches out to pat the chair next to him in an invitation for Matt to
sit.
 

Matt does his
normal stubborn thing, looking at the chair then at Jose with raised eyebrows
and a stormy face that plainly says, "I don't think so buddy."

 
"What do you want, a copy of his birth
certificate? I don't need this! I think you are holding him here against his
will in your sick cult community and I demand that you let me have him. He
doesn't belong here with you! He's my brother! I'm sorry I didn't bring any
baby pictures with me to prove who I am. Go get him.
Now."

I'm nervous
about what Matt is capable of, the threat of violence growing in his angry
gestures.

Matt continues,
his voice loudly echoing around the little living room, "He knows me. I'm
his brother and, let me be
clear,
I'm here to bring
him home. I will bring an army here to tear this place apart if I have to. You
have no right to keep me away from him!"
 

I have no giggle
for the tension of this situation. Matt is scary when he's furious—so much
angrier than he was during the little
stand off
at
the gate earlier this morning. His green eyes pop with rage and his face is
contorted in a mask of dark threats. He waves his arms as he rants and paces
around the room. I'm ready for him to start throwing things when we hear a
quiet voice behind us.

"Hey
Matt."

Thomas is
standing in the doorway looking meekly at his big brother. He just got glasses
this week after a check up at the U.R. clinic and they only make him cuter. His
blond curls have grown to cover the telltale black spot on his forehead. I'd
say he's filled out a little since arriving here, the results of his new
momma's good cooking. He is wearing the
Steeler's
sweatshirt he had on the day he came to town. I'm sure he wore the familiar
shirt for Matt's sake.

Matt stands
speechless and just stares at him. Then suddenly he's bounding across the room
towards Thomas. My stomach lurches in fear that Matt will hurt Thomas and I see
Jose start to hurl himself after Matt. I hear Aunty
gasp
and Ellen cry out in fear. The next moment, Matt is on his knees in front of
Thomas wrapping him in a desperate hug. We all stand speechless and staring at
this unexpected display of love.
 

"Why?"
Matt says angrily, but you can hear the tears in his voice. "Why did you
leave me? I've been following your trail, asking everywhere, looking everywhere
for you!"
 

He shakes Thomas
by the shoulders gently. Then quietly, with awe in his voice, he asks,
"You're better?"
 

He has suddenly
noticed the lack of disease. I didn't know Thomas before he was healed. Only
Harvey knew how bad the disease had been on Thomas when he led him to Life.
Matt looks amazed and thrilled which is a good thing. I wonder how disfigured
his little brother had been before being completely, miraculously healed.

"Yeah,"
Thomas looks like he'll cry any second. "I got cured and I didn't want to
be trouble. I didn't want you to have to take care of me and defend me. I knew
they'd send me to get tests and needles so I went with Harvey cause he was
cured too and he knew all about God and why I was better and—"

Thomas dissolves
into tears and Matt just stares at him. Matt starts looking him all over, like
a mother cat
who
just got her kitten back. Turning him
around, looking under his shirt and behind his ears, even parting his hair and
checking his scalp. He gently brushes Thomas' curls aside and stares at the
black spot on his forehead. The black spot is the only evidence left that
Thomas was ever one of them.

Matt turns to us
with the softest face I've seen on him and whispers the words, "He's
cured?
How?"

I Spy
A
Shred Of Decency

I can't get over
how loving Matt is with Thomas. He keeps Thomas—he calls him Tom—in his sight
at all times. If Matt smiles any bigger, his dried out zombie lips might start
bleeding. I wouldn't have guessed he was capable of this much happy. I can't
keep my eyes off of him. This new behavior is so bizarre, so unlikely—like
watching a pig fly.

We spent the
first fifteen minutes of Matt and Thomas' reunion trying to talk about
God—explaining why Thomas is better. Matt didn't seem to care much about the
mechanics of it all. He listened with poorly restrained impatience and kept
interrupting us to ask Thomas something totally unrelated to whatever we were
saying. At that point, Aunty signaled a halt to the heavy conversation.

The adults are
visiting quietly in the kitchen and I am nestled into the corner of Jose and
Ellen's soft blue sofa.
Staring.
Watching both of
them, the two
brother's
in their joyful reunion, but
my eyes are more on Matt than on Thomas. Yesterday's greasy-haired,
foul-smelling, bitter-faced zombie has been replaced with an easy-going
imposter. Today, Matt's soft brown shaggy waves cover his ears and hide his
mild symptoms. In the warm, dim light of the cozy living room, you'd never
guess his true nature. His black satiny gloves are the only overt evidence
left. They look wrong on him today and I wish he'd take them off.

I'd probably
regret that wish if it were granted.

I'm sure he
wears them constantly for a reason. I don't want to see the grotesque
deformities on his hands. The menacing gloves are best left on. Seeing someone
covered in sores and infection, ruined and mangled from a curse they refuse to
acknowledge is something you don't ever get over. It's a sight that will fuel
your nightmares for years.

The zombie men
that cat-call from the other side of our fences almost always wear masks. They
reek from 20 feet away and most of them are crippled and hunched over. The
zombie from the outlet mall was the first one I've seen up-close, without a
mask, for a while. And he looked like a rotting corpse.
Hence
the nick-name that I keep getting in trouble for using.
It's true
though—I don't know why we can't say it out loud. Not only do they look dead,
they are
Dead
in the same way that we are Living. I
don't know how they endure it. I would welcome death if I was prematurely
decomposing.

I can't even
picture Thomas looking like one of them. Yesterday, when Matt described Thomas
the way he used to be, just picturing him that sick was heartbreaking. I wonder
why Thomas was so bad before. He's just a kid. How could it have gotten so bad
so fast? I bet it's because he had the shot. That made everyone way, way worse.
A new thought dawns on me—I wonder if Matt is so much more normal for the same
reason? Maybe he didn't have the shot? I thought all of them had gotten it, Matt
included. When I didn't see the black mark on Matt's forehead, I just assumed
it must be hidden on his gloved hand. Gloves or not, spot or no spot, I find
him less evil by the minute as I watch him pin and tickle his giggling little
brother.

I would be
content to sit quietly and spy on them all afternoon, but the tempting smells
of meat cooking and bread baking are becoming a painful distraction. My stomach
moans an angry growl—so loud that Thomas turns to look with an accusing smile
and I blush embarrassed at my body's noises. Ellen is waiting to serve lunch
until after Thomas and Matt have spent a few minutes catching up. My stomach is
going to start ingesting other internal organs if we don't eat soon.

Ellen has
prepared a feast of Asian cuisine with so many different dishes on the table
that I'm thinking we should've invited the whole Board of Elders. There's
enough food here to feed Aunty and I for a week. Maybe she'll send us home with
leftovers.
Ohhh
—I am so hungry!
 
Sneaking away from the semi-violent tickle
fight in the living room, I head to the kitchen to see if I can help move
things along.

"Is it time
to eat, Mom?" Thomas says, bouncing into the kitchen after me, wearing his
typical jovial smile.
 

Matt is standing
close behind and I see his eyes bulge in surprise. I'm not sure if it's because
he just heard Thomas call Ellen "Mom" or if it's because of the huge
feast on the table. Knowing Matt's appetite, it's probably the feast.

"Yes, I
just finished," Ellen says with an adoring smile. If not for their obvious
difference in skin color, anyone would assume she really was Thomas' mom.
Doting, maternal love colors every word she speaks to him. "Let's all sit
down. Wash your hands first, okay?"
 

Ellen, the nurse
and new mom of a twelve year old is, of course, germ conscious.
A sudden uncomfortable situation
arrises
,
since Matt is still wearing his gloves and probably has no intention of taking
them off.
I glance at Aunty and we both look at Ellen, hoping she'll
realize her mistake. She does. She starts to stammer that only Thomas needs to
wash up. Matt, oblivious of our nervous behavior, strips the gloves off and
washes up at the kitchen sink. As he turns back around looking for a place to
dry his hands, he catches all of us staring with open-mouthed shock at his
hands. They look a little dry and chapped, but not at all like what we were
expecting. And no black spot either.

Then, Matt does
something that forever changes my opinion of him. He lifts his eyebrows at us,
holds his hands up in front of everyone and wiggles his fingers in a show of
health. And, looking at me with those haunting green eyes, he winks.
 

Everyone else
smiles and sheepishly shuffles to a chair at the table. The conversation
resumes and they all just go on like it's nothing.

I'm dwelling on
it.
 

I'm intrigued by
his sense of humor. Charmed by how lightly he takes himself. He's so normal.
So nice.
A loving big brother.

I like him.
 

I can't believe
it, but I genuinely like him as a person. I know it's
Schitzo
of me because I hated him this morning. Am I really this fickle and emotional?
Maybe it's just relief. Yeah. That's it—relief. I'm pleasantly surprised to
find that one of them can be decent. It restores some of my hope in the rest of
the world. I'm sure that's where these feelings are coming from.

Now that he's
found his brother, the franticness is gone. His dangerous anger seems to be
gone too. He doesn't think of us as horrible people who kidnapped his brother
anymore. Thomas is better than ever and deeply loved by all the people in the
room. I think I'm seeing the real Matt now.
 

As I linger on
these new optimistic revelations, brooding and smiling to myself, I don't
realize Jose is praying for our meal until about halfway through the prayer. I
look up for an instant and find Matt's eyes staring at me. Blushing bright red,
I drop my head and pretend to pray with the others. I can hear Matt already
digging in to his food before the "
Amens
"
are
said.