Dig

    I was already coughing when I pulled the bike alongside the curb and saw Sara still waiting for me on the porch. She sat on the bench where on at least a thousand occasions we'd just sat and talked into the night, enjoying each other's company. She leaned forward with her elbows on her bony knees. She was getting skinnier each day, but I knew she didn't have it, and I didn't think she'd catch any time soon.

    She raised her head, enough for me to get a clear view of her face, and smiled dully at me. "Nick," she said. "There you are. It took you long enough." By the red cracks in her green eyes, I could tell she'd done a fair amount of crying in my absence.

    "Yeah," I said. "Sorry about that." I let the bike collapse half on the sidewalk, half on the lawn. The shovel I'd been balancing on the handlebars went with it.

    She wandered down the cobblestone path that ran up to the porch. At first she didn't give me the usual hug or anything; she just cupped her hand around my wrist and tugged gently, like a toddler wanting to show you something. "Come on," she whispered. "You have to get this done." Then she let go, froze, and hugged—no, clutched—me on needy impulse. I fought the urge to break away.

    "Okay," I said. "Okay." Gently, I unwrapped myself and took her by the hand. We took small, light steps back to the porch. I had a brief flashback to us, hand-in-hand, moving in line for the teacups at Disneyland. That day had been mid-summer with the sun roaring overhead. Much like today.

    I opened the front door and we crossed the threshold. I smelled it right away; it'd gotten worse in the space of just a few hours.

    Sara's sister died that morning, or maybe it was sometime during the night. I'm not sure. Sara had wanted me to go in and check on her again. When I did, I found her cold and motionless. That's all I know. I'd had dim (but real) hope she was getting better, too. The fever and hacking took a break for a few days, and she was able to eat and drink a little. Emily lasted a while—about two weeks. That's longer than most people, I figure. Emily's husband lasted five days. Emily and Sara's folks made it four.

    The odor grew stronger as we made our way through the house. It was sweltering indoors, and the heat did nothing but compound the smell. When the power went, so had the AC. And after that the gas, the water, and so on. Sara shadowed me. She kept looking away and nodding, her dirty and matted brown hair flopping about. I had my hand on the doorknob to the guest room when she muttered something about being careful with Emily, not to drop her.

    "I won't," I said, "but it'd be easier if you helped me."

    She said nothing.

    I went in. The smell was at its peak here. I gagged. The shades were drawn and thin bars of sunlight pressed themselves across the mattress. The human-shaped bedspread was still wrapped the way I had left it. I could see locks of Emily's hair poking out at the top. With one hand over my mouth, I went over and peeled away the sheet, starting at the top. It didn't bother me. As with all the other bodies I'd seen since this all started, I just likened her to a mannequin or something. I didn't want to think about it any more than I had to. I'd done enough these last few weeks for a lifetime.

    Compared to me she was tiny, and I had no problem hoisting her over my shoulder. I mused to myself that it was like carrying those bags of mulch when I was still working full-time at Lowe's, which seemed like such a long time ago. With Sara bringing up the rear, I carried her through the house and out to Sara's car in the driveway. It was a four-door Infiniti. She got it brand new on her 18th birthday. The rear passenger door was unlocked, and I flung it open and lay Emily on the backseat in one unbroken motion.

    I shut the door, thinking only of how bad the car would smell. Not long after Sara started driving it, a strange fishy smell began seeping in from the vents whenever she ran the AC. One afternoon—right in the parking lot of some expensive organic grill I'd treated us to—she had me diagnose it as best as I could. I checked all the belts and listened to the car idle. Everything sounded fine to me, and I told her that. She had her dad take it back to the dealership, and I guess a mouse somehow had gotten caught in the blowers. I still feel bad for the tech who had to clean it out. Me? Not so much.

    I went back to the lawn to grab the shovel, and Sara tailed me there too. I picked it up and turned around. "Decide yet?" I asked her, pretending to examine the handle.

    "Yes," she said. "By the tennis courts."

    I planted the shovel in the ground and wriggled it in the warm earth. "Sure?"

    "Yes."

    "Think you can come with?"

    "I don't think I can."

    "But you should," I said urgently. "Not because I need help, but we didn't really get a chance to do it for your parents. Or Chris."

    "I really don't want to," she said.

    Neither do I, I wanted to tell her.

    "Will you come get me when you're finished? Right away."

    "Yeah," I said. I ran a hand through my greasy, brown hair. "Of course I will."

    I cruised past big, moderately priced houses turned tombs. A few nice sedans and coupes that would probably never be driven again. Lawns that, at one point, were kept to the most precise decimal in length. There was no sound but the quiet purr of the motor and the sleepy breeze easing into the cabin.

    The car told me it was empty, but the tennis courts were only about another two streets away. It didn't matter much. I could walk back. Even with a full tank, you wouldn't get far with all the wrecks and stall-outs littering the major streets and intersections. It's not like there was really anyone left to bother you if you were on foot or bike, anyway.

    The courts were on a big oval of land, surrounded by perfect-looking sidewalk. It reminded me of some weird moat. Next to the courts was the neighborhood rec center, which was really nothing more than a posh dining room you could reserve if you lived here. I couldn't figure out why Sara had chosen here. My only real memory of the courts was tied to a semi-permanent dog sitting gig Sara had about three summers ago. The courts had been a kind of rally point for the Labs when we'd take them for walks.

    I stopped the car next to the sidewalk, where it quit for good. I left the windows down, grabbed the shovel from the trunk, and chose a spot at random beside that tall green mesh meant to catch stray tennis balls.

    I don't think I'd ever dug a real hole before. I made some in the sandboxes and narrow backyards of the old apartments I spent my littler days in. Never one like this, though. Not a real one. As always, I just went at it. I was frantic at first, but eventually I had a little rhythm going. The mounds piled up fairly quickly.

    Before the power went out, I'd seen images of mass graves in stadiums on TV. Mass cremations in town centers. Shots of people lying stacked up in morgues and outside hospitals. There were so many of them. Like I said earlier, I'd seen plenty up close myself. And somehow, it still didn't seem real. Before the radio stations turned to static, I'd heard many of the towns and cities on the east coast were empty and burning. It was hard to believe that even a big city, made mostly of concrete and steel, could simply catch fire and wither away like that. And just what would become of all the rest of the buildings and skyscrapers across the world? Would they just sit there like shells for all of eternity?

    I thought about my dad. He was out of town, visiting my aunt in Denver, when this had all started. I'd had no contact with him since he called to tell me they cancelled his returning flight, and that all planes were grounded until further notice. That was about a month ago. If I hadn't been working so much, I would've gone with him. I told myself I'd bike down and check on our apartment again tomorrow. It was unlikely, but I'd left notes there. Lots of them. Where to find me. How I'd been. I didn't really have anyone else other than him. I had few friends, no siblings, and my mom had been out of the picture long before this sickness hit. I figure even if there was anyone else, they would've been dead already. I only had Sara.

    Sara.

    She was my first and I presumed my last. I'd been with her since we were freshmen in high school, six years next month. I watched her grow. I remember how for a very, very short time she had an inch on me. I remember getting my license and then teaching her how to drive, and how she had burned out the clutch on my crappy Nissan. I remember graduation. I remember picking her up and dropping her off during her first week of college, because her mom was using her car to get to her appointments. I was there the day she got hired for her very first job at Macy's (even if she hadn't really needed it), and we had celebrated with ice cream and her spreading her excitement at stoplights to strangers with their windows down. I was there at her sister's wedding, too, scared shitless of her extended family.

    The hole was about knee deep and as long as a body when I stopped. I cast the shovel aside and plopped to the ground and broke. The tears forced their way out, mixing with the sweat on my face, stinging my eyes. I tried to hold back, but I couldn't. I'd earned the right to cry, after all.

    I sat moping in my grave for a long time, having to cough every now and again. How long? Long enough for the remainder of the daylight to seep out of the streets and collect in the sky, where it became a dark sickly orange. At some point I tried to get up and finish what I'd started, but the thought of having to deal with Emily by myself again made my throat shrivel and my legs weak.

    I peeked over my shoulder and caught her silhouette floating down the sidewalk. I knew she was standing behind me long before she said anything. "Babe?" she finally said. She came forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. She winced, as if she'd grazed a stovetop, and moved her hand to the back of my head. "Nick, babe, I got worried. You didn't come back. Are you all right?"

    "I'm fine," I said. I stood up and stepped out of the hole. I patted the dirt off my jeans. I coughed into my hand.

    "I take it you finished?" She prodded the edge of the grave with her shoe.

    "Don't know," I said. "What do you think?"

    "Well," she started then stopped. "It's kind of shallow."

    "Yeah?"

    "Yes," she said. "I mean it's okay. I just think you could still deepen it a little more. I just want her protected better...you know...from the bugs and animals. The elements. All this stuff."

    I half exhaled, half laughed. A long unnatural grin spread across my face. Nodding, as if in fresh disbelief, I went over and yanked the shovel from the ground. I gripped the handle. The grin faded. "I got a question for you, Sara."

    She squinted at me. "What?"

    "Where would you be right now?"

    "W-what do you mean?"

    "Simple question. If I wasn't around, where would you be right now?

    She took a step back, almost tripping over a mound of dirt. She looked up at me, squinted again, and then bit into her lower lip. She stared intently at the grave for a good while before answering.

    "I can't really say," she said.

    I started to laugh again. "You got no idea," I said. "You got no fucking idea. And you know what? I'm not gonna be around forever." I raised the shovel and slammed the end into the ground. "Here. Dig."

    After we laid Emily to rest and said our goodbyes, we headed back to the house. By then it was full dark. There were no streetlights, of course, but the fairly new asphalt did a good job of catching the moonlight. We didn't really talk on the way back, neither did we hold hands. But as we were coming up on the house, she asked me if I loved her.

    What immediately came to mind was a flight I had taken a few months after Sara turned eighteen. Sara had been fighting with her parents over something artificial and petty, and one day, she hopped in her car and decided to take a spur-of-the-moment trip to see her friend who moved out to Dallas after graduation—1,400 miles away. She made it to New Mexico before she called me, crying. I can't make it myself, she said. How am I going to do this alone? I messed up, I know, but I need you. I was still working nights then, but I bought the ticket that morning and was in Las Cruces by that evening.

    I didn't need to answer her. I just told her goodnight when we stepped inside. In a fury of tears, she stormed upstairs. I went into the living room and plopped onto the couch. I was drained. My head throbbed. I ached all over. I remember thinking I should try and eat something, or that I should at least wash up. However, eating from a can or bathing in the same water didn't appeal to me this time. Sleep wasted no time taking me in.

    I woke up later, coughing heavily. In a dreamy daze, I rolled off the couch and wandered into the foyer. I fumbled with the front door's deadbolt. I got it open and stepped out into the cool, careless night. I let whatever was racking my chest plop onto the porch's cement floor. In the moonlight, I could make out the bright flecks of blood. I wiped the spit from my lip. I stepped back and took a seat on the bench, the bench where I had received my very first kiss. I folded my hands in my lap. I sat for a long time, thinking about a lot of things, but mainly about what Sara asked me earlier, if I loved her.

    Sara, to answer you, I just hope you catch soon. God, I do.