For Caitlyn

I look at Caitlyn, my beautiful daughter. I watch her restless sleep wondering how long it will be before…

But no, I can’t think of that now. Make the most of her while she’s like she is, before she succumbs.

We’re just an ordinary family, me, my wife Sophie, our two children, Caitlyn seventeen, Ben fourteen. Toby, the dog. This is the time when they should be deciding their futures, looking forward to university, careers, romances. They’ll be no university for either of them, no careers either, though Ben, like Sophie and I, will be allocated some sort of role. Maybe some sort of senior role eventually if he does well. For Ben, there may even be romance of a kind, the needy type of coming together that the human spirit craves at times like this.

Not so for Caitlyn. I’ll never see her blossom, never see her belly swell with new life, my grandchild. She may have her role to play, but it will be apart from us. And when she forgets who we are, her parents, her brother, we will remember what a beauty she was, the unfulfilled potential that was Caitlyn.

And all for the sake of a hug.

When the virus struck, everyone thought “Here we go again.” But this was not Covid, not Spanish Flu, not even Ebola. It was unlike anything we’d seen before. Zygo-encephalopathy, they call it, or the Z-virus. Or Zombie virus as it’s been called on the news. Not that we get much news anymore. Just orders.

This virus has no cure. Once you’ve got it, you’re on a downward spiral. Between four and eight weeks from the time you contract the disease to the time when you become, well, what they call a Zombie. And in that time, when no one knows you’re infected, you can infect others. 

It attacks the brain, this virus. Eats away at it so that people affected develop dementia. The zombies are not like the zombies on film. It’s the virus that eats away at the brain, not other zombies, but it’s the zombies that spread it. They do like to touch, and that’s how the virus is spread, by touch, usually from a loved one. Thankfully it’s not airborne, does not survive on other surfaces.

For the elderly, something inside them just gives up and dies. It’s fastest with them, so they forget how to breathe within a few short weeks. The middle aged just shamble around. They usually won’t eat, unless someone sits them down and spoon feeds them, but who wants to do that? Many eventually die of malnutrition, unless someone puts them out of their misery first. But the young. It’s the young that are the worst. They can be persuaded to eat, they are strong. Their physical degeneration is slower, but mentally they go almost as fast. As it is, they are kept together and put to work, hard, menial tasks, because let’s face it, there aren’t enough of those uninfected to do those tasks these days.

When it struck, when we were told to stay inside, keep away from others, Caitlyn was just starting to spread her wings. She wanted to fly. Who doesn’t at that age? So anything from us that said ‘don’t do that’ was met with rebellion. Why couldn’t she go out with friends? Why couldn’t she see Sean?

Oh, the innocence, the sweetness of new love. Eventually Sophie persuaded me to let go a little. There were six of them in all in their own small group. If she was to go out, it was on the understanding that outside of the family, she would only meet with these other five, and only touch Sean. I mean, you can’t deny a young girl the touch of her first love, can you? She promised.

Days passed into weeks. We went about our allotted tasks, always careful, always aware of others, doing what we could for the future of mankind. Any zombie had to be reported. If they were in the early stages, still cognisant, they could stay with family if the family was able to cope. When they began to lose their identity they were removed, taken to whatever facility was appropriate. My neighbour’s tasked with dealing with the elderly. He tells me that as they are not aware, not able to feed, of no use except to the virus that yearns for touch and the next host, all they can do is strap them to a pallet until such time as they forget how to breathe. Once a day the dead are wheeled into a giant incinerator. 

And sometimes, he says, when the numbers waiting in line get too large, not all that are wheeled into that infernal place have breathed their last.

Each evening Caitlyn and her friends would gather in the park. Sometimes they would come home early if zombies were around. At others they would stay out as late as possible, snatching at every moment of life as if it was their last. I’d always wait up for her, not able to sleep knowing she was out there when they might be out there.

Toby and I were the only ones left up that night. He lifted his head, and from deep within his small form came a low, threatening growl. I knew that meant the possibility of Zombies, so I got my gun and went out.

All I saw was Sean and Caitlyn, hand in hand as usual. My blood ran cold as Toby growled at my heels. I watched as Sean let go of my daughter’s hand and left. Normally he’d wave, say Hi. Tonight he just turned and left. Toby continued to growl until he was out of sight.

I asked Caitlyn if everything was okay, that Sean had been quiet. She said his family had problems. An uncle and aunt had died. They only lived a few streets away, and his cousin, a child of eight, had turned up on their doorstep with no one else to turn to.

So out of love, they’d taken her in, out of love he’d hugged his cousin, out of love he’d taken this awful virus and out of love he has passed it to my daughter. She had made a promise, she had kept her promise to us, but he had made no such promise.

The next day I watched as he approached the house so that he could take Caitlyn to the park. I watched as he walked to the house, watched the ever so slight stumble in those normally confident feet that would soon become a pronounced shamble. I looked into his eyes and could see the start of the redness round the lids. They say to err is human, to forgive is divine. I’m no god, so as he drew close, I took my gun and blew his head off. I can’t forgive.

Caitlyn screamed, of course she screamed, but I would not hug her, I would not let Sophie go to her. If he has infected Caitlyn, I will not have her infecting my wife, my son.  They took the body away. There will be no repercussions given the circumstances, people have to do what they can to protect their own. I was given a test, and so far, Sophie, Callum and I are okay.

Caitlyn is not. She’s still my daughter, but I know within the next few weeks her eyes will become red, her footing will not be as sure. When that time comes, they will take her away. And I will let them, because she is no longer part of my future. That role belongs to Callum alone.

I am allowed to care for her for now, while Caitlyn, my Caitlyn is still there. She spends her days crying in her room. She has asked that when the time comes, I do for her what I did for Sean, but I don’t think I’ve the strength for that.

She’s asked for a father’s hug, and even though I want nothing more, I can’t do that either.

I watch her now as she breathes gently in her sleep, and I remember how many times I’ve watched her like this. When she was a baby and the miracle of watching that wonderful little ribcage go up and down, in and out all by itself, when she was a toddler on the day she learned to walk, when she was a child, so happy with her first day at school. I’ve watched her breathing in her sleep so many times, I want her breath to be the last good thing I remember about her. Toby trots to my side and sniffs the air. And I hold my breath, hoping he’s not going to growl tonight.