Chapter 36- Requiem

I looked down to see Tracy's head laying on my chest. She was holding onto my shirt tightly, her brow furrowed. Was she was having a similar nightmare to the one I had?  She was even more beautiful when she slept. I looked over at the other double bed in our cramped motel room. The blankets were ruffled and pushed about, exposing the stained, discolored sheets underneath. She must have woken in the middle of the night and climbed over onto my bed. She was still wearing her purple shirt and jeans, and she smelled like sweat and dirt and smoke.

She stirred, and I ran my finger softly from the bridge of her nose to her eyebrow and across her temple. The touch seemed to pacify her, and her downturned mouth relaxed. I watched her, illuminated by the cracks of light streaming through the thick shade curtains. Her hair was pulled back, held with a small black band.

Outside, the world began to move again. The sound of distant voices and doors opening and closing caused her to stir. I looked down at her face, enjoying these last few moments of peace. A slam of a nearby door caused her to open her eyelids and lift her head to look around. Our eyes met and she realized where she was. Blushing and pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, she sat up. She squinted the sleep from her eyes she looked around the room for a clock. "What time is it?" She asked, more to avoid a question she felt too embarrassed to answer. "Not sure." I said, pointing to the "12:00" flashing on the motel alarm clock. "Mid-morning I'd guess."

Tracy moved to the end of the bed and flicked on an old square box TV. It sat on a rickety cart and had a wood grain finish and golden knobs. A true relic from a fading age. A pop accompanied the small dot of light in the middle of the screen which spread horizontally until it reached the curved edges. The line expanded and a fuzzy picture slowly faded in from the dark screen. It was black and white accompanied by glitches of static, but we could make out the feed of a local news chopper, circling above a forest fire burning through a thick paddock. The words "FOREST FIRE CLAIMS LOCAL HOMES" were scrolling across the bottom of the screen, and we could hear the voiceover of a local reporter: "The fire had raged almost uncontrollably for hours now, and we've confirmed that at least 7 homes have been destroyed." The image changed to a serious looking reporter with stern features standing in front of a fire truck. He pointed toward a group of firefighters carrying hoses.  "Authorities say the residents were evacuated before any casualties occurred, and that the fire is almost under control."  He turned to his right where the camera panned over to show a middle age man in a green button up shirt.  "You were evacuated from this neighborhood, correct?" The reporter asked as the resident nodded sadly.  "And your home was one of the ones destroyed?" The man pointed toward the burnt part of the forest.  "Yes, I lived about a mile back into those woods.  Police called our home to inform us of the danger and we were able to get to the evacuation facility before the fire got to our home." The reporter nodded, probing further.  "So you and your family are now living with the other evacuees at the Community Center, correct?" The man stared blankly for a minute, as though confused by the question.  "My family is...  out of town." He said almost robotically.  They are very lucky that they didn't have to experience this."  The lines almost sounded rehearsed and the reporter seemed frustrated that the momentum of his story was dying, so he quickly changed the subject away from the man's family.  "What can you tell us about the other homes and families in the area?" We're actually really lucky that the fire has hit this part of the neighborhood.  The first homes that were destroyed were all owned by people who are on vacation or gone for the summer." He said with a shrug of his large shoulders.  "The Johnsons next door, well, we've been picking up their mail for them, and I know most the other houses further back are vacant or for sale." The reporter looked back at the camera, his serious hook nose staring into the viewers eyes.  "An inferno under control, but affecting the the lives of this wonderful community nonetheless.  This is Rich Stone for Channel 5, live on the scene in Merriwether Woods."

The feed switched to the anchorman at the television station, who made some empty comments about how lucky we all were that no had been hurt.  Tracy flicked off the TV.  "Stupid cover up!" she said angrily, turning and throwing the remote against the pillow in frustration.  I sat down next her.  She stared at her hands, picking at her cuticles idly.  "Believe me, I'm frustrated about it too, but maybe its better this way." I said. "Do you think they really want the world to know what is going on? Think of what that would do to society as we know it.  Right now people are still going to work, still buying groceries, still paying bills.  Imagine how all that would change if that anchor did a story on how they were purging a zombie-like infection from a local neighborhood because it had already claimed the lives of several residents."  Tracy was appeased but not happy.  "People have died." She said.  "They deserve better than this.  I mean, that poor family, that couple, even your own mother..." As soon as she said it her expression changed from anger to reproach.  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." She hung her head and I smiled weakly, trying to pretend that the words didn't bite.  "Its okay." I said softly.  "She had a wonderful life, and at least now I know she's not out there destroying other people, right?" Even as I said it I could feel the doubt in my mind.  I didn't know, and the truth was the more I thought about the less confident I felt about the whole thing.  I only assumed that the backyard grave contained the body of my mother, and the more I thought about it the less sense it made.  After all, why would a man take the time to bury a rabid old lady that had attacked his family?  Wouldn't he have called the authorities?  The more my mind worked on the details the more convinced I was that the person in that grave was not my mother, and was in fact the little boy.  Why else would the man have been so distraught when we arrived?  I could imagine the entire scene in my mind.  Crazy old woman comes out of the woods, infects a kid who attacks his mom, turning her into a monster.  Dad is forced to kill his own son to save her, but doesn't realize its too late.  Now he's lost them both and in his sorrow, digs a grave and buries his son in it.  Meanwhile the old lady runs off and attacks other homes.  The more I thought about it, the more it seemed possible that she could be alive still, and possibly hurting other people right this very moment.  I pushed the thought from my mind, trying to convince myself that the fire consumed all remnants of that horrible night.  My stomach grumbled and I stood up, grateful for a chance to change the subject.  "Let's eat." I said, holding my hand out and lifting Tracy to her feet.  "I'm starving."

I always preferred small, local places to eat.  Not part of a national chain, but some place that has been a staple in the community for years, somewhere renowned for its recipes and its atmosphere.  In this particular case it also had the luxury of not asking too many questions, so when two people smelling like smoke and wearing clothing stained with mud and blood came asked for a table, the waitress didn't even seem to notice.  "A grapefruit, some wheat toast, and... do you have any yogurt?" I asked the middle age woman who looked more tired than she should at her age.  Tracy looked at me and laughed.  "What are you, a vegetarian?" She confidently stared at the waitress and address her by the name sewn into her dingy pink uniform.  "Janice, I want 3 eggs over-easy, sausage, bacon, grits, and a stack of your house pancakes."  I raised my eyebrows at her.  "And a glass of OJ.  Not a small glass either.  Something this size." She held her hands about 8 inches above the table surface.  Janice seemed to brighten up at the large order and the prospect of a customer who might actually leave a decent tip.

"So what do we do?" Tracy asked, grabbing a sugar packet and flipping it over in over in her hands.  "We certainly can't just live in motels forever."  I unrolled my napkin and placed my fork, spoon, and knife in their proper locations, just as my mother had taught me.  I stared at them for a moment, remembering how my mother would fuss over table manners.  I missed her.  I looked up at Tracy who was looking at me expectantly.  "Sorry, thinking about my Mom.  You were asking about the plan, right?"  Tracy nodded, giving me time.  "Well the people that took your car know everywhere we might go, so if they want to cover up what we've seen, they'll be watching our homes and the office." Tracy put the sugar packet back and took a drink of water.  "Do they even know about you?  They have my car, and they'll know I have my memory back, because of where they found it, right?" She pointed her spoon at me. "But they don't know about you." I shook my head.  "No, we have to assume that they know I'm with you.  I'm sure they found my fingerprints all over your car, right, plus they pulled my Jeep from the water after that girl from the hospital stole it." Tracy looked confused, and I explained how the girl at the nurse's station had helped me get my mother out of the hospital and over to Mr. Munn's only to steal a syringe of the memory erasing elixir.  Janice showed up and brought our food.  "That was quick!" Tracy said appreciatively.  Janice glowed with pride.  I glanced down at my meal and then over at Tracy's food.  It did seem a little sparse in comparison.  Tracy shoved a piece of bacon into her mouth and closed her eyes, savoring the sensation on her tongue.  "Swine..." she said in a joking trance. "So fine..." I laughed and scooped a spoonful of yogurt.  "Here," I said, offering her the first bite.  "This will help counteract what you are pumping into your arteries."

"So this nurse, what's her deal?" Tracy asked as I opened the door to our motel room and looked around before stepping inside.  It appeared undisturbed.  "Why would she work so hard to get something to erase a memory?" She asked.  "And how did she even know about all this stuff to begin with?" It made me wonder about this mysterious organization.  How long had these lab coat guys had been doing this?  Were there more people like us?  Others who knew what was going on and were fighting back?  "Well, if that agency knows about us they will probably be tracking us though cell phones and any bank transactions, so we can't use credit or debit cards." I said.  "How much cash do you have?" I looked in my wallet, only a $10 bill remained after paying for the motel room in advance.  Tracy looked at me, pulling her pockets out of her jeans.  "I'ze broke." She said, mocking a poor man's accent.  "Remember, I left my purse in the car."  I assumed my savings was still intact, but who knows how long that money would still be there.  "I have enough in savings to get us out of here, but we'll need to move fast to get it before they freeze it, unless they already have."  I said.  "Wanna go to the bank?" Tracy picked up her shotgun and cocked it. "Should I bring this?"