Destroyed.
I took a deep breath and bounded up the steps. Before I reached the door, my foot fell through a hole in the top step. I lost my balance and fell to my knees. Maybe it was from pure physical exhaustion, or maybe it resulted from a growing sense of loss that I had yet to experience in my seventeen years of life, either way I vomited right there on the steps. I dragged my hand across my mouth and was surprised to feel tears falling down my cheeks.
When did my body give up? Only minutes ago it pushed me with an energy I thought impossible. Now it seemed to accept something my mind couldn’t quite grasp. With a heavy grunt, I pulled myself to my feet and entered the house.
I almost vomited again when the stench filled my nostrils. It smelled like the time I had forgotten about the bottle of milk in the back of the fridge. It had been expired for about two weeks before I discovered it attempting to make some Mac-n-Cheese for dinner. I never thought something could smell so bad.
I was wrong. The putrid smell of rot filled the Maples household. I plugged my nose with my hand and ventured further into the mess. Tables and furniture were overturned. Cockroaches crawled all over Mrs. Maples’ brand new carpet.
Jenna’s mom freaked out when you set a soda down on the coffee table without a coaster. What would she say about this?
She would say nothing. She would say nothing because she was dead. How surreal it was to see a dead body. I had never seen one outside of television or movies. And it was the second dead body I had seen in less than an hour. I didn’t scream or run away. I just stared. I couldn’t stop staring. How was something like this possible? How were her limbs and eyes filled with life one moment and empty the next? Was this the same woman who made sure I had a cake for my birthday, knowing my uncle would forget? Where was her kindness and empathy? It certainly no longer lived in this carcass on the floor, this rotting, decaying waste of skin and bones.
She lay in the center of the floor as if she had dropped dead in the middle of cleaning the living room. Her skin was pulled tight against her face, and her eyes bulged from their sockets. Her arms were covered in pestering, oozed filled sores.
And then there were the maggots.
They twisted and curled along her long limbs, creating a ballet of death and destruction, a mockery of the life this woman once led.
I couldn’t stop staring.
Stop staring.
Stop.
STOP!
I stumbled to Jenna’s room. I knew what I would find. I knew the man in the suit hadn’t lied to me. Maybe he hadn’t been completely forthcoming about who he was or his purpose, but he didn’t lie about the death. Everyone I loved was dead.
Including the girl I loved most in the world.
Jenna lay curled on her bed. Her hands covered her face. When I removed them from her face, I was eternally thankful her eyes were closed. A small, acidic blessing. I could see the same wounds mark her beautiful skin. I carefully sat on the bed next to her. For some reason I didn’t want to disturb her. Like that was possible. I meticulously picked every maggot off of her body. I gently undressed her and got rid of the maggots that hid under her clothes. I couldn’t stand the thought of them having any part of her.
After I found some clean clothes, I dressed her. I just sat there waiting to feel the things I was supposed to feel. But I didn’t feel anything. I reached out my hand to push her hair from her forehead. I felt something give way. When I pulled my hand from her forehead a chunk of hair and skin came off in my hand.
I started to scream.
Chapter 5
I didn’t see Scary Carrie arrive. Instead, I felt her hand hit me upside my head with a force that knocked me back onto my elbows.
“You have to stop screaming,” she snapped.
Her face was flushed and she was out of breath. Granted, nowhere near as exhausted as I was after my run. I remembered hearing something about Scary Carrie being on our loser track team.
I was once again briefly treated to seeing her without her hood over her face. Somehow the sight of her made the screams die within my throat.
I wasn’t alone in this. Whatever this was. Whatever she and I had to stop from happening. That’s what Mr. Weirdo-Apple-Tossing-Mad Men-Wannabe had said anyways.
Carrie caught me staring and pulled her hoodie back over her head with a frown, though she let her eyes peek through this time. “Funny,” she said.
“What the hell could possibly be funny about this?” I snarled. Maybe I was alone after all.
“Oh. I didn’t mean that was funny,” she said, carelessly pointing to the rotting body of my dead girlfriend. “I meant the whole hitting thing. You see it used in movies all the time to calm down irrational people. I mean have you ever seen Night of the Living Dead? When that girl got slapped? I mean talk about being slapped. Who knew it really worked?”