NOT FORGOTTEN

Sometimes she feared she was the only one left. The last one who remembered….

It started unobtrusively. Everyone forgets things sometimes, right? ‘I’ve forgotten what I wanted, ha ha.’ So when it began happening more often, no one noticed.

*

“Good morning, it’s Monday… Um… Er…“

“It’s May 6^th, Chet.”

“Ah yes, thank you… Now, over to you for traffic, um…”

Karen’s first inkling something was amiss came at work.

Administrative Assistant to the Vice President of Southern Exploration at a major oil company sounded prestigious. Truthfully, she thought of herself as a glorified secretary.

She knew her trim figure flattered the suits she favored, and her competence made her boss look good. Karen sighed. But I am SO bored! She blushed, feeling guilty admitting that even to herself.

As James often said, she was fortunate. Many people couldn’t even find jobs.

To kill time, she surreptitiously skimmed the Web. Videos featuring people exhibiting odd behaviors were posted everywhere she looked.

One man climbed into a fountain with his clothes on. If he had danced or jumped, it might have been funny. But he just stood there, observing the water playing on his hands. As if he’d never seen anything like it before.

A woman, trying to walk in high heels, kept tripping and falling against strangers. She didn’t seem to notice. She’d walk a few steps, then twist an ankle and spill the opposite way. It was amusing at first, though it looked painful. Karen thought it was a miracle she hadn’t broken an ankle and wondered if she was drunk. But the woman’s expression was so… bewildered…

There were more, all similar. She watched for a while, before closing the stream. They made her uncomfortable, though she couldn’t explain why.

It was her husband, James (never Jamie, or Jim, and certainly never Jimmy), who told her about the forgetting. A serious man, not given to practical jokes, trying to hide a receding hairline and increasing stomach girth, James was the epitome of a ‘serious businessman, thank you very much’.

She was dismayed when he reported what happened. “Peter came into the office late. You must remember him from the Christmas party? Anyway, after getting in late, he didn’t recognize us. Stared at us like he had no idea who we were.”

He glanced over, confirming she was listening. “His memory was quite patchy, but reminding him of our names sparked a response. I quizzed him on what he remembered, which helped, I think. But he was forgetting again by lunch. Finally, we called his wife, and she came to get him.”

Karen thought, I should call her and see if we can help.

*

“And a good morning to you all, on this bright May 13^th morning!

It seems Chet caught this darn bug that’s going around,

and he’s at home, as are many of you. I’m sure you all

join us in wishing him a speedy recover.

Not much traffic today, with the new restrictions…”

Things worsened quickly, and Karen and James quarantined at home, like everybody else.

After SARS, after Covid, after Super Zika, epidemics became commonplace. Dealing with them was part of everyone’s normal routine. One sighed in aggravation, then adapted and worked from home.

But this seemed different. Health Officials offered no answers as increasing numbers began to forget.

*

“Things look serious, today, Monday May 20^th. Doctors are baffled by this new virus, which seems to be causing memory loss. No word yet on whether it’s permanent. Stay home, and stay safe, folks.”

“What if some petty official realized their secret virus escaped, something that attacked the brain and destroyed memory? Then, instead of admitting it and working to limit the effects, they panicked and sent diseased agents around the world to hide their guilt. I’ve read Stephen King. I know how they think!”

James’s only reply was his patented ‘you’re such an idiot’ look. Karen sighed.

*

“It’s Monday, May 27^th. Authorities have asked us to assure you everything is under control. Mass quarantine facilities are being opened, to care for the afflicted. If you feel you or a loved one

may be infected, please report immediately…”

Then someone posted footage on the internet, revealing the deplorable conditions in the camps. People started hiding their infected loved ones–until they also forgot.

*

“… it’s been twelve weeks since the virus hit, and as you can see from the footage, in some areas food riots are escalating out of control…”

Karen worried that some zealous world leader would ‘hit the red button’ and nuke the earth into oblivion.

James smirked when she suggested this. “Maybe they’ll forget how.”

She hoped no one overheard him. Jokes about forgetting had caused an audience to turn on a comedian, who was lucky to escape unscathed. Restrictions canceled the rest of his tour. Nobody felt much like laughing these days, anyway.

*

“We are now in week fourteen of this pandemic. Scientists have

discovered that violent people succumb more quickly.

For all our sakes, folks, stay CALM!”

Word spread around the globe at internet speed.

Overnight, strangers began smiling rigidly at each other, speaking with painful politeness, while popping pills to remain tranquil. For a time, Planet Earth became a utopia of love and friendship.

Conditions slowed, but they didn’t stop.

*

“… this week fifteen special report. Doctors want to allay fears

the afflicted will forget to breathe. Our bodies accomplish

many functions we don’t think about, so will continue

breathing even without conscious input…”

They proved to be correct.

How horrible to die strangling on one’s own dry throat because you forgot to breathe. Karen thought. But wouldn’t you instinctively gasp and therefore breathe? Though if you forgot repeatedly…

She shuddered, wishing she hadn’t heard it mentioned. Several times, she awoke gulping for air, until other worries overpowered this macabre fantasy.

*

“Despite severe quarantine measures, accidents

are becoming more frequent…”

People got in their cars… but forgot how to drive. They turned on stoves, then abandoned them, and fires became pernicious.

Pedestrians forgot how to cross the road and walked out in traffic. Others forgot that heights, or sharp objects, were dangerous.

Karen was sure some were not accidents and kept her curtains tightly closed. If someone jumped from their roof and fell past their high-rise windows, she didn’t want to know.

*

“… canceled Labor Day celebrations this past weekend,

to no one’s surprise. A source says with no cure in sight,

the rising panic is resulting in an increased suicide rate…”

Those sparing their families the burden of caring for them. Those frightened of losing themselves. And those who simply couldn’t bear to watch the world change.

With many guards and doctors joining their patients, they overwhelmed the quarantine camps.

*

“This special 20^th week report begins with the stunning

revelation that the infected without friends or family

caring for them are forgetting to eat. Doctors say…”

As their hunger grew, infected couldn’t remember how to get food. They became aggressive, though some instinct stopped them from harming each other. Motion attracted them, and in their confused, starving torment, packs of ‘goners’ attacked anyone they encountered.

That’s what everyone called them. Goners. Some tried ‘walkers’, like a popular TV show; and Karen thought ‘forgotten’ sounded pitiful. She was grateful when some internet whiz styled them ‘goners’, which caught on.

It WAS almost like a zombie apocalypse. Except these bodies were fast, unlike the slow, shuffling creatures depicted in movies. And they stayed dead when killed.

Pity for the afflicted has changed to dread. Karen thought. And you know we humans. What we fear, we kill.

She was frightened at the speed of the changes happening around them, but James remained calm. Since she had always trusted him to care for her, Karen decided she was over-reacting. She was among the last to get tranquilizers prescribed by her doctor, before he closed his office.

Karen felt fine after that. Dandy with candy…

*

“… six months since the worst pandemic in history hit the

world. Sources say power outages are increasing. We’re not

sure how much longer we can stay on the air …”

Eventually, James decided they should leave the city.

“When Peter forgot, that day in the office, it reinforced rumors I’d been hearing.” Karen thought he sounded defensive, unlike himself, and it made her uneasy. James was always sure he was right.

He cleared his throat. “I saw how things were heading. Under the pretext of testing his memory, I made him tell me about that secluded cabin in the mountains he always bragged on. I got directions. He even told me the key’s hidden on a nail under the front porch.”

Karen blinked in drugged amazement. “We can’t steal their cabin!”

James glared. “Don’t be stupid. We’re only borrowing it. Besides, I checked before the internet shut down and he and his wife are both listed as dead. If they were alive, I’d buy it from them.” His eyes shifted away from hers, and she realized he was lying.

But compliance with James’s wishes was the mainstay of their marriage, so she helped gather what supplies remained, even helping break into deserted neighboring apartments in search of food.

They lost power as they packed. A grim sense of finality surrounded this lack of electricity. Gazing out the window, Karen found it eerie to see only black silhouettes against the deep blue midnight sky. Has anyone ever seen stars from the city center before?

That night, she took her last pill.

Getting out of the metropolis was easier than James expected. He showed Karen the gun he’d brought along. “Just in case.” The idea of using it on someone made her nauseous. She sat, hands clasped and neck rigid, until they reached the main highway safely.

Someone–the army perhaps–had cleared the roads, but barricaded most off-ramps. James cursed and pulled out the maps.

Karen admired his foresight. She had packed sheets, blankets, pillows, toilet paper and dishes, but hadn’t given the powerless GPS a thought.

The car almost tipped over, riding up on the grassy bank as they squeezed past a blockade at the turnoff to a lesser highway. A small squeak of fear escaped her, silenced by James’s fierce glare.

Once they made it past, the rest of the journey was uneventful. No one tried to chase them or detain them, though they saw fires burning in the distance.

They only stopped at abandoned rest stations, which Karen was comfortable looting for supplies. A goner wandered by, but they hid behind a counter until he meandered off, uninterested in their Chevy, parked out front.

Peter’s name on the mailbox marked the lane to the cabin. James stopped and knocked it over, tossing the post into the ditch. The long, overgrown driveway meandered deep into the property, and their vehicle bottomed out in sunken potholes twice, even though he drove with painful slowness.

The key was hidden right where Peter said.

A thick layer of dust on the porch suggested no one else had been there, and James breathed a sigh of relief. Karen longed to sweep, but he decided they should use the back door and leave the front of the cabin undisturbed. He wanted the place to appear as uninhabited as possible.

James hid the car behind the building, and Karen helped him cover it with branches. They even dragged fallen trees across the road access, to hide the driveway and discourage visitors.

Karen was very quiet as she unpacked. James allowed her to tidy the dusty interior (without washing any windows) and left her alone with her thoughts as he put away their supplies.

Next day, she stood in front of him and took his hands.

“My name is Karen Dawkins. I’m forty-four years old, and I was born in 2031.”

He didn’t pull away, and he didn’t give her his patented ‘you idiot’ look. He stared at her for a long moment, then replied. “My name is James Dawkins. I am fifty-three years old, and I was born in 2022.”

This became their routine. Each morning, they held hands and repeated this mantra, and knew they had not forgotten.

*

“You’re listening to RZWC. We’re glad to be back on the air,

after our six month holiday, ha ha, and hope you’re enjoying

this gorgeous spring day…”

The woman pushed wearily through the thick forest, tired of branches reaching out to slyly catch her hair, or scratch her skin.

Why didn’t I return to the city? I am no Danielle Boon!

But she knew why. Goners filled cities slowly turning into charnel houses. An outdated term, but so appropriate. Look it up, she advised the empty air.

Alone for so long now, she’d become used to carrying on silent conversations with invisible companions. She tripped over a root, cutting off her silent exchange.

After cursing, she forced a smile to hurriedly replace her frown.

“My name is Karen Dawkins. I’m forty-four years old, and I was born in 2031.”

She sniffled, blinking above her strained smile. They had repeated their routine every day, from the morning after they arrived at the cabin.

Until one day, James replied, ‘Hi, Karen… Can you tell me who I am?’

Her rambling dialogs compulsively reviewed the past year. As if she could change things by repeatedly explaining the events.

At first, I told him his name, and explained everything each morning. He remembered for hours, but I saw the misery in his eyes. Somehow, he knew when he fell asleep, he would forget all over again.

I saw a movie about a brain injury that worked like that. We tried pretending it was the same. But he forgot more every day, and the length of time he remembered shortened. Soon, I had to remind him to eat, to wash, how to use the bathroom.

It was my turn to care for him. He was softer somehow, unsure of himself, and I needed to be the strong one. If we were thirsty, I had to pump water. If we were cold, I had to chop wood. I almost cut my foot off the first time I handled that axe. But I learned.

Some days were better than others. Yet, as he grew worse, it was exhausting. I was afraid to sleep, in case he wandered off.

She stifled a sob.

Then it happened. He disappeared while I was taking a nap. I searched everywhere, but when I noticed our gun was missing, I was frantic.

She’d heard the shot, and dropped to her knees, crying, when she found him. Whether he was still trying to take care of her, or he doubted her competence, he made it as easy for her as he could.

James had dug his grave, stood at one end, and fired so the… mess… landed under him as he fell backwards into the pit. When her tears dried, she reached gingerly into the grave and pulled the gun from his hand.

He’d left the shovel standing in the pile of dirt, so she covered him, refilling the hole. He was gone, and she was alone, almost anticipating her turn to forget.

I dug my own hole beside his and waited. He would’ve said that was stupid. I guess he’d have been right. Who would bury me… afterwards?

But days turned to weeks, and every morning I repeated, ‘My name is Karen Dawkins. I’m forty-four years old, and I was born in 2031.’

I could not understand it. I remembered everything. Perhaps I was immune? If I was, I couldn’t be the only one. There had to be others.

Loneliness finally forced her into action. If she remained unaffected, the rest of her life stretched before her. And she needed more supplies. It had been a hard winter, forcing her to limit herself to a single can of beans daily to make her food last. Her clothes hung on her dwindling frame.

With spring’s arrival, Karen resolved to explore the area, searching for supplies in empty cottages–anything but beans–or other cabins with solitary inhabitants. Perhaps other people who still remembered.

But somehow I wandered off the track, and now I’m lost in…

She froze as the trees in front of her thinned, opening into a small clearing, and movement on the far side caught her eye. She gasped as a man walked into view.

He looked clean, and his clothes were neat. His short hair was combed. Best of all, he was alert. He didn’t stare around in hopeless confusion, as most goners she’d seen did.

Karen felt a surge of relief. Still, she stood paralyzed, hovering between joy at finding someone alive, and panicked flight. A moment later, he saw her, and their eyes locked.

She pulled the gun from her belt, but kept her hand hanging down by her side. He lifted the heavy stick he carried, but not threateningly. It almost seemed as if she scared him. Emboldened, she stepped forward.

“My name is Karen Dawkins. I’m forty-four years old, and I was born in 2031.” She shouted. The man jerked, as if shocked to hear her speak. Then he turned and bolted into the forest, leaving her staring after him.

“WAIT!”

She followed, but it was soon clear he knew this part of the timberland well. He disappeared. Karen stood panting, half-sobbing in frustration. Blinking away her tears, she saw he'd led her to a narrow trail of some sort.

Perhaps it leads out of this damned forest.

She tried to quell her rising hope, telling herself that with her luck, it would peter out or go deeper into the bush.

Finding one uninfected person gave her hope there would be more. She lifted her chin and started walking, determined to escape the forest and find them.

“My name is Karen Dawkins. I’m forty-four years old. I was born in 2031, and I will not be forgotten.”