February 19, 20XX
They were human beings.
Rodney Coffey spoke with his daughter at least once a week after their first initial call and usually, he was disappointed that there was no news about when she’d be able to return home from Europe. He was always anxious before answering her calls and he would say a short prayer that she hadn’t become infected since the last time they’d spoken to one another. So far so good, but he could tell that his daughter was desperate to be home and it broke his heart to say goodbye to her.
“They’re gonna put us on a boat,” Lashon said bleakly the last time they spoke. “I’m on a list and they think I could be home safely in about a month. Some people broke out of quarantine, daddy, I can’t believe how crazy it got. They wanted to go home and they got past the security in the building and who knows what happened to them.”
“Why would they try to break out,” Rodney asked. Why would a healthy person risk dying and being corralled onto an island, he wondered.
“Supposedly there’s some ways to travel, like shady ways that aren’t monitored like government sanctioned travel. If you have the money and don’t mind risking getting infected, there’s private planes and boats taking people across the Atlantic. But I can’t trust that. We have heard of people making it safely back to the US and I’m hoping i can do it the safest way soon.”
Rodney was glad to hear that she was being cautious and he hung up the call with optimism that he’d see her soon.
Trayvon spent a lot of time in the backyard because it was the only way to talk to someone who didn’t live in their house. Rodney found him sitting in a lawn chair about six feet from the fence that separated their yard from the neighbors. The neighbor’s son was sitting in his yard facing Trayvon and they yelled and laughed together while they focused on their phones that their fingers busied over. They were playing a game together.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Rodney said and both boys looked at him. He waved at the neighbor boy, who waved back and gave a half smile. “How’s your dad? I haven’t talked to him or your mom in a while.”
“Dad went to work picking up garbage,” the boy said. “He won’t be back for a while, mom said. But we talk to him every night, he said hey.”
Rodney worried for his neighbor, but he was happy that the city was finally organizing to clean the garbage that was piling up at people’s houses. In some ways, it was easy to stay inside and forget the uncertainty growing outside; the lights stayed, phone and internet worked. But the lack of garbage collection was getting difficult for everyone after three months with no city pick up. Rodney had plenty of garbage bags piling up in his yard that attracted wild animals.
“Your sister says she should be home in about a month,” he said to Trayvon.
“I’m glad,” he said. “She gone get on a boat?”
“Yeah,” Rodney said. “It’s good news. I’m gonna go find Deshon, let him know. Y’all have fun and be careful out here.”
Deshon was taking classes online that were being offered for free by professors stuck at home with nothing to do but talk about subjects they enjoyed. Deshon had learned how to fix plumbing leaks and he was learning about electrical wiring.
They hugged when he told Deshon about his sister and Deshon laughed that she would be on a boat.
“I can’t wait to see her,” he said. “Oh, I meant to tell you, I found video of a Living Dead person.”
He sat at his computer and Rodney stood behind him, looking over his shoulder.
The video showed the Living Dead talking and crying and laughing with one another. The footage seemed to be taken from hidden cameras and Rodney was shocked at how alive they appeared to be. There was footage of the Living Dead in protest, chanting and demanding dignity, and then violent attacks to stop the protests. Rodney winced as he watched a group of them hosed with streams of water that were powerful enough to sever limbs. He made Deshon stop the video when he saw a group of them being shot and the bullets ripping away flesh that barely fazed them until there was so much damage that the living dead person was unrecognizable.
“I’m sure it’s weird to be dead like that,” Deshon said, “but they’re still people. They look like people right?”
They did look like people and even if they couldn’t feel bullets ripping their bodies apart, they obviously had feelings and emotions. He couldn’t imagine becoming ill, dying, and then maintaining awareness, but being separated from his family. It was such a horrible escalation of tragedies and he was more determined than ever to keep his family safe.
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