The Plague of Humanity

The Plague of Humanity

by

Michelle Sumpter

I didn't mean to kill him. Not really. I only meant to scare him. I didn't mean to pull out the pistol – I only brought it as a precaution! – I didn't mean to let my anger slip away from me. I never knew I had that in me. How could I know that I – a simple professor at Sun West Community College – could have the rage, the guts, to pull that trigger? I didn't mean to kill him, to spill his blood over his stationary and his neat little desk.

The world was damp on this day, like so many before, but this day was different. I was not at home, sitting in that large chair with the cloth buttons, reading Dickens or Doyle. There wasn't a cup of coffee in my hand - god, I don't remember the last sip of hot coffee I had - and there wasn't a pug resting at my feet. No sirree, I was in the middle of the godforsaken Grand Canyon.

"Marcus, man, I don't think that's edible." I piped up.

Marcus, a burly redneck I had met back in Tucson, replied tartly, "Damn it all, Gramm! What the hell am I supposed to eat then?" His beer-bottle belly rolled in waves as he stood and began pacing, gripping in his hand the plant in question. It had bright blue berry-like seeds on it which really made the stomach ache for some ol' blueberry pie with a dollop of whip cream. Man, what would I give for a few slices of that pie.

I sighed and rubbed my neck uneasily. Recently, since we left for the research center, the group's loyalty to each other has started to rust. Emily - who was our makeshift leader with a sour disposition - and Marcus have been chafing each other since the beginning, I say, but now? They really have a hankering for bickering about the most useless things.

Last week was about our diminishing food supplies and the distance we had to go from Bisbee, Arizona to Portland, Oregon. Up in Oregon, that's where the green really grows. I've only been there once, as a child, when my mother visited her close friend, Fiona, before she passed. From what I remember, the air was clean and crisp with tears of mist hanging like ornaments on a Christmas tree.

As I said nothing, he shouted, "I'm hungry! A big man like me can't go on forever on just jerky and Capri Sun!" He shuffled angrily across the dirt path, sending dirt and rocks flying in his rage. Rae, his wife, began to follow him. I held my hand out as a signal for her to stop.

"I think he just needs a little time to cool off, is all. Let's all give 'em some space, yeah?" I said calmly, though on the inside, I felt like lobbing him on the head for his constant whimpering. As I began to move to sit back on my petrified rock, I felt the gun in the leather holster upon my hip shift. I looked down to really stare at the thing as I had done so many times before. It was completely harmless by itself. I knew that. But when I held it in my hand, felt my forefinger slip into place, it became a vicious monster. A monster that I couldn't control.

Rae reluctantly nodded and returned to her sitting rock, cradling her herself, gazing up at the sky. I sighed again, unsure of what to do. Her face was tight and drawn, eyes a dim green. Since the beginning of the Plague, we all seemed to age. Claria, who was only ten when we crossed that gap in the earth, was as mature as I was in my mid-twenties.

When the Plague first attacked, man's first reaction was to cover it up and pretend nothing had happened. But as the symptoms began to grow on their own and more people were dying, the public began to panic, asking the government for answers. Though, ironically, the great Congress of the U.S. ate their lies until the bitter, vile end. I never found anything out about my wife, if she was alive or not. How could I? After all, I had been arrested for killing that repulsive senator who thought that sleeping with my wife could pass his merry time. Last I saw of her, she was glaring at me from across the court hall, tears streaking her face, with a mixture of hatred and guilt.

We were a little over half of the way out of the canyon when the skies began to darken, their clouds nearly bursting with wet, fresh water. My eyes couldn't help but dart upward, mouth watering for a tall glass of iced water. Ice ceased to exist when the Plague arrived. Arizona wasn't much of a state for water or ice, only dust and rocks and the creatures that dwelt under those rocks.

I felt a small tug on my sleeve and looked down into the face of my little trooper, Claria. Her button nose was red - she must have had an awfully runny nose that day - and her uncannily spinach-colored eyes squinted to block out the sun. "Gramm?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

She paused slightly, "Well, I was just wonderin', when will we get to the place with the cure?"

I remained speechless for a while, not able to say when, not able to say that we were going to live or die. The Plague was constantly changing in those first few months after it broke out. First, the symptoms were average enough. A simple chill, fever, headache, weakness, and a general enough debilitation phase. Following those, a loss of appetite, painful urination, swelling of the glands, all increasing rapidly, more swelling in the crotch and the armpits, and finally: respiratory weakness and failure. Too many strangers have I seen, their faces streaked with mucus and salt, gazing up at me looking for salvation - or, at least a cure.

Too many times have I stared back down at their pitiful dying faces without a word in my mouth. I couldn't do a thing to help them. Marcus said once long ago that I should've just ignored them and continued on. But their eyes still haunt me to this day, or well, they used to.

At long last I said gently, "In about a day or two, hon." Lies. "Don't worry, it'll all be fine once we get there." All lies.

I sneezed twice, rapidly, into the hook of my elbow. The whole group froze and slowly turned around to face me, terror apparent in their faces. I straightened and said as lightly as I could, "Guys, relax! It's chilly out. No need to panic." On the inside, I wondered if my words rang true. How could we tell what was an average illness or what was the Plague before it was too late? We couldn't.

The day began to wear on us, the sweat on our brows leaking into our already stinging eyes. A jumping cactus caught at my leg, drawing blood. Claria gave me one of her special Band-Aids for 'protection against infection'. She was so very proud of that phrase of hers, but it always reminded me of the condom commercials that my wife and I watched on TNT.

Our shoulders began to sag with each passing minute. Dust rose and drifted from our dragging feet, the pulse felt though our sore, tired limbs.

Emily spoke up, "I think this is as good a place as any to set up for the night."

Marcus scoffed under his breath, "What, are ya on yer period? Well, gosh, might as well accommodate the lady here!" His eyes rolled several times, his overly large stomach bulging from the now open plaid flannel.

Emily's jaw twitched, she was gritting her teeth. This was sure to be another night of tense conversation, silence, and navy blue skies filled with stars of ancients past.

A small, cramped tent was set up, propped against the nearest boulder. Marcus was rubbing Rae's hunched shoulders - there was a love there that couldn't be found anywhere else in him. I tried to smile at their worn down happiness but my mouth wouldn't turn up for memories of my wife in the court room, sobbing, telling the jury of her love affair while I sat in cuffs and an unflattering suit.

Anger bubbled up in my chest and I had to turn my head in fear of digging my nails into my palms too far deep. I dragged my heavy feet to my spot at the edge of our little haven in the contained wilderness. A rock appeared in front of my foot that was too big to step over and I fell, the gun falling loose, bullets spilling. I clamoured to pluck them from the dusty ground but I couldn't reach some of them in time to see them slip beneath me, into the cracks of the largest crack of the earth. They may have fallen into hell for all I could've care. I reloaded the gun from what I salvaged and thrust the pistol back into its hold.

The next morning was spent in the awkward fallout/duel of the argument last night. This little group of ours loved to pick sides and they did so willingly. I tended to stay out of it since I was the mediator. Although, personally, I preferred to lean towards Emily since Marcus has tendencies to exaggerate. Rae stayed close to Marcus while Claria stuck to my side like nits to cucumbers.

We began walking again, staggering in the onslaught of rain. It felt as though the entire canyon was overflowing, swallowing us. The smell of the rain mixed with dirt and gave off a musty scent that would stick to our clothes for the rest of the journey.

I had stayed a distance behind everyone that day for I had a trifling cough and an alarming amount of snot which was easily muffled by the sounds of the desert and rain colliding in explosive harmony. I didn't want to alarm anyone.

We made much progress that day - I believe it was August 21st, 2013. Hiked through abandoned villages and walked seven miles until noon came around.

Claria took my rough, calloused hand in hers and squeezed, "Gramm, are we almost out yet?"

"Yeah," I said lightly. "Only a few more miles to go-" A sneeze interrupted me, shocking me. I wiped my sleeve across my nose and smiled smoothly down at the little girl who trusted me with her life. Her large eyes reminded me of my wife's nearly turquoise orbs that were just a bit too far apart but I loved them anyway 'cuz they told stories, only recently had I seen the secrets they held from me.

The hike up the North Rim stretched every muscle in my body. I'm getting too damn old for this, I thought drowsily. The rain had reduced to a pleasant drizzle. Though even with the refreshing smell of pine floating down, the muddy paths were hell to bear. But no matter what the condition the group was in, we trudged on, our dreams of a cure seeming to form above our heads and billow gracefully into the restless sky.

Another step, another creak of the bones. Another, another, another, another. . . Finally! We had made it! The Grand Canyon was behind us at last and the vision of our destination appeared to us happily as we, one by one, slid out of the gigantic hole in the earth to pant and wheeze on pleasantly dew-fresh grass.

I, myself, gripped the long stems of green earth and tugged. Everything felt dizzy and my head pulsed with a sense of victory and. . . something else. I tried to catch my breath but the air escaped my lungs. My nose was clogged up and my throat felt swollen. My mouth began flapping open and close as a sign of panic but nothing but a wet, phlegm-coated gasp left my cracked lips.

I'm dying, I thought, I must be. God, it hurts bad!

Claria was the first to notice my writhing form and shouted, "Gramm? Gramm! Emily, something's wrong!" Then, one by one, they looked at me and I saw the pity that I had in my own eyes, the sympathy of a living man to a dying one. I felt like a dog in a street, left to die painfully as the nearest thing to family that I had, mocked me with their immunity.

I gasped more, shaking hands reaching to grab hold of Claria's shoulder, "Hun. . . You gotta. y-you gotta do this for me. T-Take the gun and," I faintly remember her yanking the pistol from my hip, "And you h-h-have to shoot me."

My voice was thick and hoarse. My vision began to blur. There was three startled Clarias swimming in and out of my eyesight - God, kill me now!

Claria's voice rang in the distance, "B-but, Gramm! I don't want to!" Their faces crumpled.

I yelled back, "You gotta! For me, hun, do i-it!" I say yell but it must've only come out as a murmur, hollow and empty, slowly filling me with phlegm and darkness.

Their breathing became clear to me as all three of the visions of my little trooper steadied the gun against my forehead, sweat beading down. Solidly, her little ten-year-old eyes looked into mine for the final time.

"Goodbye, s-sweet-"