Induction

Noelle was the polar opposite. As a Kindergarten teacher, she was patient and easy going. The day of the outbreak, they were returning home from a prenatal visit. Twenty minutes after learning their first child would be a bouncing baby girl, they heard the news reports on the radio. As Finn leaned over to raise the volume, a woman ran into the street, and directly into the path of their oncoming vehicle. The pair wouldn’t, or couldn’t, elaborate on their experience. Finn was too scared that reliving the details would cause undue stress on Noelle and their unborn child. Clinically, I agreed. I did what I could to make her comfortable and kept a watchful eye on her.

Sandra, one of the newest arrivals, did nothing but cry. She turned down multiple attempts from the group to talk, or even just allow one of us to sit with her. Isolated to the farthest corner of the store, she remained withdrawn and emotional. Barely touching the food we brought to her, she looked like a rag doll in her oversized summer dress. On her sixth day with us, she stopped crying altogether and went catatonic. We took turns checking on her, careful to provide her with enough space.

The following day, the smell of shit hung in the air as I walked over to Sandra’s corner. She was laying in the fetal position, urine and feces puddling around her from under her skirt. Cautiously, I approached. Her back was to me and the last thing I wanted to do was startle her. “Sandra, it’s Emma. I wanted to see if you need anything.” The smell intensified the closer I got and I choked back a wave of nausea. Drawing on my history with code browns, I put the odor out of my mind and continued.

Stopping a few feet away from her frail figure, I called out to her again. No response. Stepping closer, I saw no rise and fall of her chest. I could make out something round by her head. As I circled her still body, I realized it was the cover to a pill bottle. Three bottles lay open and empty in front of her. I knelt down, my eyes watering from the strong smell of urine, and touched her cheek. She was cold to the touch and I instinctively felt for a pulse, knowing I would find none.

My first instinct was to scream for help. I stopped, thinking of the fear that screaming would bring the others. There was nothing to do for her at this point. She chose the escape of suicide, her pain too hard to live with. We knew nothing of what she had seen. The only word uttered since her arrival had been her name.

Jake was on the wall. I found Adam playing fetch with Daphne. She had really taken to him. I wondered if she had become a comfort since he’d lost his daughter the same way she had always been with me for never having had a child at all. I scooped her up and gave her a kiss, handing her to Margie who was reading a book to the kids. “Child, you stink to high hell,” she said as she used one hand to squeeze her nose and the other to take Daphne.

“Adam, I could use your help with something.” I led him toward Sandra’s body, stopping along the way to grab a cart and a set of sheets. Thinking more clearly, I doubled back and grabbed two sets of rubber gloves. His eyebrows rose at my shopping list.

“Seriously, Emma, I hate to break it to you, but you really do stink. Don’t get offended, but did you crap yourself?”

“You caught me. But hey, thanks for that. I’ll be sure to pay closer attention next time.” Rolling my eyes at him, I shook my head. “It’s Sandra, not me. She, um, took the blue pill. Apparently Wonderland wasn’t her cup of tea.” I could tell my Matrix quote was lost on him.

“She killed herself, Adam. I didn’t want to cause a panic. I thought we could discreetly put her in the cart and cover her with the sheets.”

Mouth agape, Adam asked the obvious question. The one I didn’t want to answer for fear of sounding barbaric and callous. “And then what?”

“And then I thought we could take her to the canal and give her a burial at sea.” I don’t know why I held my breath waiting for his response. I didn’t want him to think badly of me. “Unless, you’ve got a better idea?” I really hoped he did.

We unceremoniously dumped Sandra into the canal and watched as the white sheets around her billowed down into the dark depths. Our cheering squad still stood en masse on the other side of the water. I flipped them the bird before turning back to the store. “Cleanup on aisle three,” I muttered under my breath and went about cleaning the floor of the excrement that had evacuated Sandra’s body. My callous reaction was enough to give me pause. I questioned my lack of compassion and how, in just a few short days, I had been left feeling cold and empty.

Chapter 13 Apocalyptic Picnic