Pestilence

Mother said “typical” when the plague broke out. It was a warm, sunny day and we’d just packed the umbrella, two picnic blankets and a chilly-bin full of food into the back of the old station wagon.  I slid my jandals on - pink, I remember with white daisies on the bottom, although I was always disappointed because you couldn’t see the daisies once your feet were in them, and I felt it kind of defeated the purpose - and hopped into the front seat while mother buckled my brother Jimmy into the back. 

“Can we get ice cream?” I asked, as she turned the ignition. The old thing chugged to life slowly, sounding like a geriatric smoker who would rather stay at home and take a nap than be forced into an outing.

“We’ll see,” mother replied, turning on the radio. A news announcer was talking, which was strange as it wasn’t news time. I knew that because mother often said she liked that station because the news was only on in the morning at nine o’clock and again in the evening at five. 

“ - stay home or return home immediately. I repeat, we are under a state of civil emergency. The entire country will be in enforced lockdown as of two o’clock this afternoon. Only essential travel is to be undertaken from now until then. All businesses are to shut and citizens must remain inside their homes. Do not visit your family or neighbours at this stage until more information is available. You will be contacted in due course and supplies will be delivered. Please don’t panic. There will be a list of contact numbers of services -” Mother switched the radio off.

“Typical,” she sighed. “Just when we have frozen drinks and I’ve used the last of the bread for the sandwiches.” She turned off the ignition and sat still for a long time. It was probably only a minute, maybe less, but it seemed an eternity and I was waiting to see what she’d say next. 

“Out you hop Carrie. Unbuckle Jimmy and I’ll take the picnic inside.”

“But I want to go to the beach,” I whined. “You promised ice cream.” I knew I was pushing it with that, but hey, it felt like it was worth a try. 

“I need to call your father.” She didn’t even tell me off for whinging. That was when I realised something big was happening. Dutifully I slid from my seat and helped my brother out of the car. Jimmy was placidly sucking his thumb and he followed me into the house.

“Can we have the picnic in the garden then?” I asked.

“You heard the man. We have to stay inside.”

“In the living room?”

“Sure, I guess.” Mother seemed distracted.

“Could I have two chocolate biscuits?” For some reason it seemed a good time to push my luck.

“Have whatever you like.”

Mother  went into the hallway where the phone hung on the wall and I heaved the heavy chilly bin into the lounge. I stared longingly out the window at the car, really wanting to go back out and get a picnic rug and maybe even the umbrella. It didn’t seem like a picnic without them but I was too scared to go outside now. The back door was still open where I’d taken Jimmy out of the car and I worried I’d be in trouble. Perhaps the car wouldn’t work now. As I watched, two large, black birds landed on the fence. It felt like they were staring at me, their beady eyes looked crazed and one was missing feathers, patchy grey skin showing around it’s wings. I noticed then, under the trees and the washing line, dead birds, at least six of them. There was a hushed one way conversation coming from the hallway, mother sounding almost like she was hissing into the phone. Moving away from the window I crept towards the door.

“- it seems hopeless,” a pause, “- worse than they’re making out then.”

She looked up then and saw me watching. “Get your brother a sandwich,” she snapped, and then into the receiver: “little pitchers have big ears. Be careful, I’ll see you soon.”

I went back to the chilly bin and opened it, taking out a sandwich and handed it to my brother. I then took out a handful of biscuits for myself. Mother said nothing, pacing up and down in front of the sofa. She lit a cigarette, not  noticing when the ash grew long and fell onto the floor. There was a sound outside and we both crossed to the window, to see our neighbour Mrs Samuels emerge from her house screaming. Blood was running from her eyes and mouth and her hands were outstretched, grasping as if she could touch air. She collapsed onto the ground and out of nowhere a large flock of birds, all sizes, colours and varieties descended on her, squawking and pecking. Mother yanked the curtains closed and looked down at me, her mouth twisted into a grimace.

“So, now you see. That’s the truth of it,” she said cryptically. “Go and pack some clothes. Whatever you can fit into your brown suitcase. We’re going on a journey.” She turned and took my brother by the hand, leading him up the stairs.

“Can I pack my doll?”

“Whatever you like.”

My father’s car pulled up two hours later. I don’t know where he’d been as he only worked a short drive away. He and mother went straight into their bedroom, shutting the door behind them and telling me to look after my brother and absolutely not to turn on the TV.

I listened to them through the door but they were talking so quietly there was no way of hearing what they were saying.  I went downstairs and turned the volume low before turning the TV on. All normal programmes had been suspended, there were only grim looking people giving instructions on how to keep safe inside and one pale news reporter showing scenes from a city I didn’t recognise. People lay on the ground, even in the middle of the street. They all looked like Mrs Samuels, only worse. As I flicked through more and more channels I became more alarmed. On some stations there were static images of television studios, empty and seemingly abandoned with the camera’s still running.

 Hearing footsteps on the stairs I quickly turned off the TV.

“Into the car children.” Father didn’t look at us as he spoke, It looked to me like both he and mother had been crying.

They bundled us out to father’s bigger car and into the back seat.

Nobody bothered to close the door to mothers car which still swung open like a gaping wound. Nobody bothered to close the front door either.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To your grandmothers,” mother said, looking back and giving me a weak smile.

“What about our bags?”

“We’ll get what we need later.”

We drove through town. “Don’t look out the window, just look straight ahead,” father told us. Of course I looked out the window. The scene around me was just like I’d seen on the news. Mother reached back and slapped my leg, leaving a red mark.

“Don’t look,” she snapped. She pulled a cigarette from the packet in her cardigan and lit it, the smell of smoke soon drifting into the back seat,  familiar and comforting.

Jimmy dozed off. We were in the countryside now and I hummed quietly to myself. It had been over a year since I’d seen my grandmother and I had no idea how long it would take to get there. I’d only been seven when we went last time and it had seemed we were in the car all day.  We were driving along the coast road now, the sea crashing onto the  rocks far below us.

My mother suddenly spoke. “So sorry children.”

I turned to face my parents, they were holding hands, something they would never usually do. Father’s grim face was just visible in the rear vision mirror. The car suddenly surged forward and he closed his eyes. Looking out the front window, I could see we’d left the road, the car flying over the cliff, high above the sea, floating and flying.