Pandemic (14 page)

I shivered. These men were only a few yards away.

As if sensing trouble, TK squirmed, flailing his arms in what I recognized as the precursor to a meltdown.

I unbuckled, lifted, rocked him in one smooth motion. “Shh, baby. Shh.”

He whimpered, reached his arms toward a playpen near the bed.

“OK, but no crying,” I whispered, more a wish than an instruction. I plopped him into the playpen with some toys, banging my shin in the process.

“Ow—” Too late, my hand flew to my mouth to muffle the cry.

“Did you hear that?” one of the looters asked in a gruff voice.

“We were just in there. The house is empty.”

“I dunno. It sounded like a girl.”

“Wishful thinking. You’re just lonely.”

I gripped the edge of the playpen to steady myself, waiting for the thieves to crash through the door. I was sure my heart thudded loud enough for them to hear.

Finally, the voices drifted farther away, but I was afraid to shift close enough to the window to look. TK fussed until I stacked soft plastic blocks in the playpen to quiet him. After several towers were created and destroyed, I found the courage to move. No noise came from outside and a peek through the window confirmed they were gone.

“Be right back.” I piled some cheerios from the diaper bag into the playpen for TK.

Still afraid, I searched the house as if it were on fire. A quick scan showed that most of the regular food was taken, but I grabbed some more baby food from the floor in the pantry behind extra paper towels. I opened and closed cabinets at lightning speed. In the bathroom, nothing remained in the medicine cabinet. I found extra diapers in a drawer and managed to stuff them into the bottom of the stroller with still-shaky hands.

I needed to get out of there, back to the safety of home, but the lack of a crib was still a major issue.

Wait
. During my rush, I missed the answer right in front of me. The playpen was portable and would give TK a place to sleep. I moved him to the stroller. After three tries, I managed to fold up the playpen.

Transporting it presented a different problem. It didn’t fit under the stroller. After checking that no one lingered outside, I tried carrying the playpen under my arm while pushing TK. I could only make it to the street before putting it down again. It would get ruined if I dragged it. I wanted to stomp my feet in frustration. Why was this so hard?

Then I remembered a baby carrier by the front door. I brought TK back inside, strapped him into it, then buckled the contraption over my chest, checking to make sure he wouldn’t fall out.

Wow, was he heavy. He still had a fistful of cheerios, which he promptly dropped down the front of my shirt.

“Ack!”

TK looked at me. “Ba ba ba.”

“Silly boy. Is that baby talk for totally gross?”

He smiled, showing four little teeth.

I propped the playpen on the stroller seat and began pushing his new bed. After the loud voices of the looters, the quiet street seemed even more unnerving. Every scrape meant potential danger, every breeze a warning. I locked the door behind me when we finally made it home.

Back in my house, I stayed on high alert, speaking to TK in whispers as I moved from window to window, checking the locks. Outside, the garbage announced that our house was occupied by living, trash-making people. Maybe looters wanted vacant homes, so they could steal without a hassle. But who knew how lawless people actually thought? I’d rather not advertise that I was home.

With TK on my hip, I glanced outside for menacing strangers. The coast was clear. At the curb, I checked the mailbox. A folded piece of loose leaf paper sat alone in the otherwise empty box. So the mail service had stopped as well as the garbage pickup. That wasn’t a good sign.

I kept the piece of paper out of TK’s grasp as I carried the trash can up the driveway. Normally, a flier in the mailbox meant an upcoming neighborhood block party or announced a new restaurant in town. But this looked like the same paper I’d write my biology notes on. Did someone from school leave me a letter? The anticipation was a splash of color in the grayness of my day. I left the unopened note in the kitchen, waiting for me.

Dad and I texted back and forth several times and there were a few more messages from Mom. I fed TK jarred peas for lunch, then planned our schedule for the rest of the day, as if eating at regular times could stop the world from falling apart. After my brief adventure to the curb, I couldn’t get anything else done. TK clung to me, so that even putting him down for my shower became tricky.

His need for constant attention started to wear on me. I considered nicknaming him Leech but pushed the thought out of my head. He wasn’t an orphan by choice. None of this was his fault.

Still, I needed my babysitting days to end soon. Contacting his family hadn’t turned up any results. I finally called Family Services. A recorded message told me the office was understaffed and to call the police if I suspected child endangerment. The police had already said TK should stay with me. Day care facilities, like those run by Ethan’s mom, had closed. I thought about my parents’ friends, my preschool teacher, a lady at the church who ran the family events. I needed someone to help care for TK. But who was healthy enough to help? Then it dawned on me.

The elderly.

The flu skipped most senior citizens. And grandparents loved babies, right? I had to find a way to reach out to the older people in town. There was Reggie. And the Senior Center. Maybe someone there could help us.

That might relieve my immediate situation, but at the back of my mind was a niggling thought that wouldn’t go away: what if TK wasn’t the only orphaned baby? What if there were hundreds of wailing kids behind the closed doors of Portico? The babies could be healthy, like TK, with no one to care for them. Could the seniors help on a larger scale?

After a crying protest, TK finally napped in the playpen—a huge victory. When Reggie called to check on me, I explained my idea.

“If the flu is affecting the parents, then there are going to be babies who need to be cared for, at least temporarily. Right now it’s just TK, but what if there are lots of healthy little kids out there and the parents are hospitalized, or worse? They can’t survive alone. And with looters breaking in . . .”

“I see what you mean,” he said.

“Maybe we can set up a mini day care at the Senior Center? People could take shifts watching the children so it’s not too much of a burden. And if the kids could sleep there, we’d know they’re safe. TK could be a trial run.”

“I’m going there for dinner,” Reggie said. “I’ll talk to my friends tonight. In the mean time, keep taking good care of the little fella.”

At the prospect of solving my TK dilemma, I felt a familiar stir of excitement for the first time in months. It’s what I used to do for the Teen Humanitarian Club at school. Identify a community problem, then try to make a difference. I started making lists. We would need cribs and more baby supplies. We’d need a way to find the children who needed help and a system to track who was where at what time.

Exhilarated, I decided to read the mysterious note from the mailbox while TK continued his nap. I settled on the couch with my legs tucked under me and opened it slowly, savoring the suspense.

My hand flew to my chest. I recognized the scrawled handwriting. It had appeared at the top of my essays in phrases like, “Great metaphor,” “Need more detail here,” and “Nice descriptive language.”

The note was from Mr. B.

Lilianna,

I need to see you, to talk to you, soon. Just for a few minutes. You can trust me.

He hadn’t bothered to sign it, but he had scribbled his phone number across the bottom, as if I would actually call. I crumpled the paper into a tight ball, squeezing it with my fist before hurling it across the room.
Trust.
What the hell did he know about trust? Absolutely nothing. He represented the antithesis of the word. Evil incarnate dressed as a kind English teacher.

Nervous, I checked each window and door in the house again to ensure everything was locked. It didn’t make me feel much better. I thought about tearing the note to bits, but shoved it in a desk drawer in case I needed evidence. Evidence of what, I didn’t know. My brain wasn’t thinking logically. I desperately wanted to smoke or to run through the streets screaming. The anger whipped around me with no place to go.

By the time TK woke up, serious stir-craziness had set in. It was time for us to venture out again, but we needed some form of protection. The garage yielded a baseball bat and a whistle. I tucked them into his stroller basket, feeling slightly ridiculous but a little safer. My plan was to stay fairly close to home. Pushing TK in the stroller, I sang the alphabet song to him.

“ABCDEFG, HIJKLMNOP, QRS . . .”

Nervous, I stopped singing. Like before, the streets lacked the usual people walking or driving. What if we were the sole human beings left on our block? What if all my neighbors had left town or worse, died?

Out of habit, I started in the direction of Megs’s house. I thought about going to her room and smelling her favorite perfume, the one like honeysuckles. But I couldn’t face her absence yet. Turning the stroller around, I headed in the opposite direction.

As I approached Jay’s, shouts broke the silence. I rushed forward, worrying someone was hurt. TK fidgeted in the stroller. Maybe he was used to the quiet, too. As I reached the gate, a boy bolted across the backyard.

“No!” he yelled over his shoulder. “It’s still my turn to hide!”

“OK,” Jay said. “I’ll give you thirty seconds. One, two, three—”

“Hi. I heard shouting and thought maybe there was trouble.”

“It’s all good,” he said. “Considering the circumstances. I’ve been trying to keep my brother busy. My aunt’s been working nonstop.” He smiled, the kind big enough to reach his eyes, and I realized he was happy to see me. Then again, seeing anyone familiar was a special occasion now.

“How can she be working?” I asked. “School’s closed.”

“Nurses are in demand. She’s practically living at the hospital.”

A voice came from behind a tree. “Are you going to find me or not?”

“Tyler, come out. We have company.”

His brother peeked at me and the baby. “Forget it. Babies are smelly. I’m going inside.” The door closed behind him.

“I could use a cigarette right about now,” Jay said. “Quitting sucks.”

“Yeah, I know. I stopped, too.”

He nodded at TK and the baseball bat. “You’ve been busy. And he’s a little young for batting practice.”

I gave him a wry smile. “Ha ha.” TK started to fuss so I dug some teething toys out of the diaper bag and plopped them on his tray. “His parents died from the flu,” I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact, but saying it aloud made it more real somehow. “He was alone in their house, so now I’m caring for him kind of by default. When I went back to get more baby stuff, their home had been looted.” I glanced around. “Do you think maybe you should go inside? Or play something quieter, so no one hears you?”

“I was trying to unplug Ty from the video games. But you’re right.” His eyes were thoughtful. “It’s going to be chaos for a long time. I heard the driver of a produce truck was practically mauled the other day.”

“Really?”

“The worst part was that the truck was empty,” he said. “It was an older one and refrigerated, so it was heading to the morgue for temporary storage.”

“Gross.”

“The alternative is worse when you consider it.”

“I’d rather not think about it.” But of course it was too late. Time to change the subject to another worry. “Doesn’t the street seem abandoned? It’s creepy.”

“Do you have any hornet spray?”

“I’m not that worried about bees right now—”

He laughed. “To spray in the face of an intruder.”

“Oh. No, but it’s a good idea. Do you think we’re the only people left on the block?” I asked. “Besides Reggie, of course, but he lives closer to Fairview Road.”

“I don’t know. It’s surreal. The Singh family packed up and took off. They told my aunt that they’d lived through the plague in Surat about twenty years ago. Once was enough, they said. The Dunns left to stay with family in Ohio.” He pointed at a huge house across the street with a bright yellow “for sale” sign. “That one’s empty, too.”

“I doubt anyone will buy a home here right now.”

“Yeah, everything’s come to a halt. Do you have enough food?”

I nodded, envisioning my closet of supplies. “You?”

“We’re doing all right. Mostly trying to fight off the boredom.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Want to come back later for dinner?” he asked. “Around six? I boil a great pot of pasta.”

He looked eager, but I hesitated.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a date,” Jay said. “It’s spaghetti with my brother and your baby-friend.”

That settled it. “OK. As long as it’s still light out.” Jay and Tyler didn’t seem contagious. They’d been isolated, too. “I’ll bring some food for TK.”

I walked a few blocks without seeing a single person. I thought I heard a crying baby on Hillside Lane, but when I stopped to listen, there was only silence. Nervous at being so isolated, I hurried home.