Chapter 5
659 Words
5
Another day. Another dollar.
It’s a dirty job.
But someone’s got to do it.
Please don’t let it be me.
The three remaining body bags are now moving quite violently. Anna’s even more so.
Why is her bag moving so much? Why not my neighbour’s bag? Or the fat woman’s? Why Anna’s? Is it just pure coincidence, or is it something more? Maybe she recognises me. Maybe she’s trying to speak to me? I mean, after all, they do say that each infected is different. Depending on the host. Some bite. Some don’t. Others can barely move. Christ, some can even run!
And what if she’s not dead? Perhaps they made a mistake. A horrible mistake.
Jesus f*****g Christ, what the hell do I do?
As each question floods my overcharged mind, I fear for Sammy’s safety. Every second spent sitting here I waste precious time. I have to deal with this. Now.
I get up off the chair and make my way over to Anna. I stare down at her face. Her eyes are empty, and her skin is drained of all life. I sprint over to the side of the furnace and vomit.
I stand, with one hand on the wall, staring down at the puddle of bile on the floor. I try to get my breath back as I wipe my mouth with my sleeve. Straightening, I take in a lung full of air and then walk back over to her. The growls from behind the muzzle disturb me like nothing before, and I can see the deadened veins in her neck pulsate as she struggles with her restraints. My eyes are fixed on hers. I can’t help it. I can’t seem to look anywhere else.
But I have to. For Sammy’s sake.
Gingerly, I reach down and start to unbuckle the muzzle, hands shaking uncontrollably. I know it’s stupid. I know she’s dead. But I have to. Just to be sure. I pull the muzzle away from her mouth, dragging a web-like trail of saliva and blood in the process. I fight hard not to vomit again. Throwing it on the floor in disgust, I hear Anna’s teeth clack together. The sound goes through me causing me to clench up in repulsion. “Anna?” I say. “Can you hear me? It’s me. It’s Robert.”
She doesn’t respond. Just the snarls of a rabid dog.
“Anna,” I say again. “It’s your husband. It’s Robert. Can you understand me?”
Her levels of aggression have increased as she snaps her teeth at me. The other three body bags are now moving far more fiercely—as if feeding off Anna’s rage. I try to ignore it and focus on the task at hand. “Anna. Please. It’s Robert. I’m begging you. Please. It’s your husband. Can you hear me?”
Please…
I start to cry. I can’t hold it in any longer. I haven’t cried in years. Maybe a tear or two when Sammy was—
I have to get to him.
He’s out there somewhere. Dead or alive, I have to find him.
For Anna.
I zip up her body bag, trying not to make eye contact, and then wheel her over to the furnace. I try not to cry, but tears are now streaming. Reaching for the door handle, I pause, only for a moment, before something inside orders me to pull it open, and to slide out the platform. I feel the heat even more so without my mask and goggles, almost unbearable. The muffled snarls from inside the body bag are like a rusty blade to the heart. It’s too much. It’s all too much. This can’t be happening.
Not to me.
Someone else instead.
Suddenly, I hear the snapping sound of Anna’s restraints. The thick plastic bag starts to bubble up hysterically, like an animal caught in a net. I quickly roll her onto the platform, barely able to see through the tears. I slide her body inside and slam the door shut.
Hand trembling, I push the large red button, and the furnace ignites. Dropping to my knees in anguish, I hold my hands over my ears to block out Anna’s screams.
Forgive me.
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry, Anna.
I love you.
- Writer
