The Spores

The worst part is that I feel fine. I’ve lived, as all remaining humans do, in constant fear of the infection. There’s no cure, and we can’t entirely prevent it, either. And yet, as I stumble aimlessly through the woods, waiting for the spores to take over my body, I feel nothing. If anything, I feel better than I have for the last nine miserable years. I’m no longer afraid. The thing I feared has come to pass, and now there’s nothing to do but wait for it to snuff my soul. I keep wandering, stopping to eat some mysterious berries. If I’m going to die, I might as well find out what these taste like, right? Honestly, not very good.

I wander into a clearing, trying to spit the taste of the berries from my mouth, when I hear something rustle to my left.

What was that? Did it come from that tree?

There’s a large oak next to me, with wide-stretching branches and a full canopy of leaves.

“Hello? I mean you no harm,” I call out in the direction of the tree.

Nothing.

“I’m infected, just to be clear,” I add.

Might as well be honest about it.

A few more moments pass, the only sounds of my breathing and the breeze gently rustling the leaves of the trees. Then, someone jumps down from the tree.

“You’re…like me?” They ask hesitantly. They hold up their forearm to show white fuzzy spots all over it. They appear to be no older than their late teens, terrified and emaciated. Their hair is matted and filled with twigs and leaves.

“Looks like it.” I hold up my arm to show them that I have the same spots. The early sign that you’ve been infected, and there’s not a damn thing you can do. In fact, it’s the only sign we’ve been able to detect with any sort of certainty.

“How long…have you been infected?” They ask.

“I’ve had the spots for about a day, as far as I can tell.”

“Ah.”

Silence.

“So…what’s your name?” I ask, hoping to break the tension.

“My name? Oh, it’s…wait. No, that’s not it.” Their eyes seem to glaze over as they gaze into the distance, their brow furrowed.

“It’s okay, my name is Jess,” I reply as cheerfully as I can. “How about I just call you friend?”

“Jess…friend. Okay.” They turn to look me in the eye, their head tilted to the side, and their mouth curled slightly in some sort of smile.

This is bad. But also, I’m already infected, so who cares? Might as well see what it looks like up close and personal before it happens to me.

“So, um, friend, how long have you been out here?”

Right now, we’re in the Quarantine Preserve. It’s an area of forest where anyone who shows signs of infection is sent to live out whatever life they have left. It was determined that killing people on sight for being infected was murder, regardless of the fact that we know how it ends, with shuffling feet and blistering, fungi-covered skin. But hey, I’m not complaining. Even though I know where I’m going, I’m still grateful to be alive and not have a bullet between my eyes. I suppose that’s the futile resiliency of the human spirit.

After a few moments of gazing into the distance, they reply, “I’ve been here for…many days, I think. The sun has risen and fallen. The moon has waxed and waned.”

Wait, what!?

“Friend, are you sure about that?”

All research has indicated that the spores finish taking over their host within a week, tops. If they’re right, no, they can’t be. Clearly, their mind is fading. They probably aren’t thinking straight.

“I believe so. I used to want to be…what was the word? I wanted to spend my life observing the stars in the sky. It was all I ever wanted to do. What did you want to do? Before you became…this?” They smile and stare at the sky, looking fully cognizant and human for a moment.

Could they be right? If they were an aspiring astronomer, maybe that desire is strong enough that even in this state, they know how long has passed? But it can’t be. I’ve got to respond. Now I’m the one staring blankly.

“Oh, me? Well, I worked as a carpenter. It’s what my dad did, and he wanted me to do it. He said a girl like me needs to know how to work with her hands.”

“I see. So you…built houses?” Their eyes seem to glaze over again.

“Yes. What was your house like? Did it have a good view of the sky?”

Sure enough, their eyes brighten again as they say, “Yes, it did! I was in the attic with two of my siblings. The house was so crowded. I asked my mom to make me a spot to watch the sky from. She wasn’t much of a carpenter, unlike your father, but that rickety little balcony was perfect.”

“Hey, friend, want to walk together?”

“Sure. Where are we going?”

“I just feel like walking. This place is beautiful, in my opinion, and I’d like to see more of it.”

“I suppose…it is. Though I don’t look down much. Before you came along, well…all I did was stare up at the sky.” They glance over at the oak I first saw them drop from, gaze drifting into the abyss once again.

“It’s a nice tree to lie in, I imagine. But hey, let’s see if there’s an even better spot to watch the sky from, okay?” I try to coax them back to reality once again.

“That’s a great idea!”

I start walking, and they follow. Since I came from the east gate, and I haven’t made it far, I set us on a path west. It will take the longest to reach that gate from where we are, giving me the most time possible to figure out what to do. And if I start to lose my mind, I can at least keep walking in a straight line, right?

Yeah, sure, Jess. You’ll totally keep the ability to walk in a straight line if your mind is being consumed by fungal spores.

“So, where are we going, Je…” They trail off, a puzzled look on their face.

“Jess,” I reply, “and we’re going west.”

I’m not sure what my goal is here, but there seems to be something special about my new friend. I have to be sure of it before I try anything, though. From what I hear, if you get too close to the entrance gates, they’ll shoot you. I’ll have to be sure if we stand any chance of getting close enough to tell them my friend here might have some sort of natural resistance to the spores. But if I’m right about this, well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

A few minutes pass in silence. I’m walking in front, leading my friend west. The forest becomes dense and prickly, so we head north for a few minutes before turning back west.

“Jess,” they ask, breaking the silence and startling me in the process, “why did this happen?”

“Why did what—”

You know damn well what.

“Well,” I correct myself, “I honestly don’t think there’s any particular reason. I think it just was a matter of time before some sort of antibiotic-resistant something took us out. We couldn’t expect to stay at the top forever, right?”

“I…I guess so. But it just sucks, you know?”

“Yeah,” I can’t help but chuckle, “it really fucking sucks.”

Another several minutes pass. It might be closer to half an hour. I notice that my friend’s footsteps have stopped, so I turn around to see what’s going on.

“Hey, did you see some—”

Oh, that’s not good at all.

As I turn around, I see my friend, as calm as can be, completely surrounded by infected. The most frightening part is that I didn’t hear them approach. My heart starts beating uncontrollably, and adrenaline fills my veins. It takes every ounce of self-control that I have not to just run away and abandon my new friend.

“Come on, friend, we gotta keep moving.” I try to sound calm and authoritative.

“But, they’re like us, right? Friends.”

“No. Not exactly. We have to leave now.”

They are most certainly not like us. Their entire bodies are covered in spores and fungal growths. Their skin is dry and cracked. There’s no humanity left, just a human-shaped puppet whose strings are being pulled by a parasitic mushroom.

“I think they’re hurt.”

“What?”

“Look, they aren’t breathing. They probably need help!”

“What are you—”

Oh.

I can’t believe it took me this long to notice. The fear must have clouded my perception enough that all I could think about was running away. But my friend is right. These infected aren’t even alive, or, well, unalive? You know what I mean. The point is, they’re not a threat. They aren’t moving, or breathing, or even swaying in the breeze. I walk over to one of them, which still scares me even though I am one of them. I poke it gently in the chest. It doesn’t react. In fact, it crumbles slightly, white spores bursting out from the spot that I touched.

“You’re right, friend, they aren’t doing well. But there’s nothing we can do for them. I’m sorry. They’re already petrified.”

After about six months, an infected person will solidify in place, wherever they are. Then, instead of spreading their spores to new hosts through clawing and biting, they’ll scatter themselves to the wind until they eventually crumble to dust. Trying to move them will cause a massive burst of spores, so the rule is to stay far away and to wear a respirator when outdoors. These ones must’ve solidified recently because they didn’t look deteriorated at first glance. But the closer I look, I can see little bits here and there that must have crumbled and floated away.

“But,” my friend replies, “you helped me, didn’t you? I was stuck in that tree, my mind rotting, until you came along. But now look at me! Why can’t…why can’t we help them, too?”

I turn away from the infected to look at my friend. Tears are streaming down their face, and they’re trembling like a dried leaf in the wind. They look so fragile. I can’t help myself. I run over to give them a hug.

“I’m so sorry you had to see this. You’re still young, and I’m guessing you haven’t really seen the infected in person much, if at all, right?” My own eyes start to well up.

They tentatively hug me back until they finally relax and slump into my arms. I almost drop them from the sudden shift in weight, but I catch them and hold them tighter.

“I’ve only…seen one in person,” they whisper in between stifled sobs.

I can tell from the tone of their voice that it had to be someone they knew. Someone important to them. I’ve been through the same thing.

I miss you, Dad…

“I’m so sorry,” I reply, “It never gets any easier. But…”

I stop myself. I can’t decide if it’s a good idea to get their hopes up over my own delusional plan. But I just so desperately want to give them hope.

“But, what?” They ask, pulling away and wiping their eyes on the dirty sleeve of their sweater. I can see their eyes actively trying to focus on me. I can only imagine how terrible it must feel to be actively losing yourself.

Not like I’ll have to imagine it much longer. That’ll be me soon enough. And I sure as hell don’t think I have some sort of genetic resistance, given how dad…what happened to him.

“Well,” I muster up the courage to speak my mind despite the uncertainty, “I have an idea. It’s the reason we’re going west, and it’s the reason I want to keep you safe.”

A puzzled look comes across their face.

“So,” I continue, “I think you might be special, friend. I think…well, I think you might have some sort of resistance to the infection. If you’ve been out here as long as you said, then you’re far past the usual infection timeline. Any normal victim would be fully consumed by the fungus by now.”

“Oh, wait, you think…” They trail off.

“I know it’s a lot to take in. And there’s no guarantee that I’m right. And, even if I am, there’s a very slim chance that we actually make it out of the Quarantine Preserve. But I think we have to try. If you’re sure about how long—”

“I’m sure,” They declare, with a fiery certainty I haven’t seen from them. “I still can’t remember my own name, but I know I love to watch the stars and moon. And I know, for certain, that I’ve been out here almost a month.”

I stare at them for a moment in stunned silence. It’s like I’m looking at a totally different person all of a sudden.

“Well, let’s do this then!”

“Yes, let’s do it, Jess.” They march off to the west.

“Wait!”

“What?”

“We need to go back. I’m not an expert navigator or anything, but I know the Quarantine Preserve is way too big for us to be closer to the west gate than the east gate, even though we’ve been walking a while.

“Oh, good point.”

We turn around and head back to the east, retracing our steps from before, except this time, my friend is leading the way. We pass back through the group of crumbling infected, not giving them a second glance. After several minutes, the sun has started to set.

That’s not good.

I had been walking for a few hours when I first found my friend, and we walked for about an hour together, so it'll take us a little less than four hours to get back. The only issue is all that walking was while the sun was out. At night, who knows what we’ll do? I can navigate based on the sun’s location for east and west, but without it, I’m useless. And keeping a straight line in dense woods at night? Forget about it. I stop cold in my tracks, unsure of what to do.

“What’s wrong, Jess?”

“Well, it’s getting dark. I can’t navigate at night. Maybe we should sleep and continue in the morning?”

“No.”

“Oh, but we might get lost.”

“We won’t. I can navigate by the stars just as easily as the sun, especially out here. There are no city lights to block the sky. You can see everything. It’s magnificent. And I know how to follow it.”

I have no choice but to trust them. I suggested sleeping and continuing in the morning, but who knows if that’s a good idea? I’ve only been infected, or showing signs of it, for a little over a day, but some people fully succumb to the infection within three days of showing symptoms. Who knows how long I have? Even if, by some miracle, we make it out of here, how long would an antibody take to develop?

You have to trust them.

“Lead the way!”

With a nod, my friend turns around and walks even faster toward the east. I have to increase my pace to keep up with them. At this rate, we might make it sooner than four hours.

After about an hour, we break out of the woods and into the plains. I walked through plains for some time before I came to the woods, so it seems like we are going in the right direction after all.

“We’re going to need some way to show them we’re not fully infected,” I call ahead to my friend between labored breaths. They’re walking very fast.

“We can use this,” they reply, turning to face me and revealing a white t-shirt underneath their sweater.

“Oh, perfect.”

I grab a branch from the ground, pull the shoelaces from my boots, and create a makeshift white flag of surrender.

“Thank you,” I say with a smile.

“Of course.”

We walk the rest of the way in determined silence. Another two hours pass, and we’re within sight of the gate. Guard towers stand on either side of the fifty-foot steel doors. Spotlights threaten to reveal our location to the snipers. We both pause for a moment before taking a deep breath and trudging forward, flag held high. To my surprise, we don’t immediately get shot down. We continue to walk, keeping a steady pace and waving the flag.

“Halt,” a voice demands from a loudspeaker. “Explain yourselves.”

“I’m immune to the infection!” My friend declares.

Silence.

“It’s true; they’ve been out here a month, and they’ve only suffered minor memory loss!”

More silence. My heart beats in my throat.

“Enter,” the voice commands at last.

A small door opens to the right of the large gates. We walk toward it. Hope fills my mind with thoughts of seeing my friends again. After a tense minute of walking, we enter the door and find ourselves in some sort of interrogation room. Three armed guards with respirators and body armor stand in front of us.

“You,” the one on the left says, pointing at my friend, “come with us.”

“I’ll see you soon, Jess,” my friend says to me before walking away through another door. “We can watch the stars together once we’re both cured.”

“I can’t wait,” I reply, smiling.

As soon as the door shuts behind them, the remaining two guards aim their guns straight for my head.

Wait, what?

They each fire a single round.

I guess that makes sense. Goodbye, my new friend. At least I’ll be with Dad soon.