Infected: The Shiners

INFECTED

Tara Ellis

CHAPTER ONE

As I lie back in the tall grass and look up at the stars, I think about my dad. He used to bring me and my brother here before he was killed. Dad was a cop in our small town in Washington State, nestled at the base of the Cascade Mountains. But his death didn’t happen at work. That would have at least been understandable, or maybe even expected. Ironically, it was while my parents were on vacation. The authorities in Egypt said it was a simple mugging. Yeah right, nothing simple could have killed my dad.

Sighing, I turn towards my younger brother, Jake. His silhouette is visible a couple feet away. He was only eight when it happened, two years ago. I was old enough at fourteen to understand what was going on, but Jake was totally lost. Looking again at the stars, I try to escape into them, transported to distant galaxies the way I used to be when we came here countless times before.

Dad had really been into astronomy. He was always teaching me about the different constellations and stuff. Mom does her best to fill both roles, but it’s an impossible task. A hand reaches out to grasp my right one, and I squeeze it reassuringly. My mom has a way of sensing my thoughts, and always knows what I’m feeling. She’s situated in her favorite anti-gravity chair, tilted back all the way to allow a clear view of the skies.

Mom works at a nearby hospital as a nurse and puts in some crazy hours. She’s a strong woman, but the last two years have been difficult. She could have uprooted us and moved back to Nebraska so her parents could help, but she loves this town and didn’t want to leave our friends and memories behind.

I’m glad we stayed because I’m so afraid of forgetting things. Like where Dad showed me how to hunt and camp. Or the trails in the woods near our house that Jake and I still use while talking about the outdoor survival he taught us. Places like this hill, where a large group of people from town are now gathered to watch the most anticipated galactic event of the decade.

A bright flash in the sky pulls me out of my thoughts. Excitement stirs in my stomach as I’m reminded of the reason we’re here. Once every five thousand years a massive cloud of space dust and debris called the Holocene meteor shower passes through our solar system. The experts have predicted it will safely bounce off the atmosphere tonight, right above us in the Northern Hemisphere.

There’s a ton of speculation over how dramatic it will be. Dad was absolutely convinced it would be an historic event; almost to the point of being obsessed with it. Even two years after his death, I can feel the sense of urgency and importance he shared with me during our discussions.

Sometimes Mom and I like to watch the doomsday show on TV. You know, the one with all the crazy people hoarding food and ammo. We’ll laugh about it and compare them lovingly to Dad. I’ve always wondered, in the back of my mind, if maybe he was right. I mean, my dad was a smart guy. Someone people listened to, especially about the important stuff. He never dug an underground bunker (that I’m aware of), but he was extremely preoccupied with being prepared for disasters.

All of a sudden, an especially bright meteor streaks overhead. A little bit of fear mingles with my excitement. What if? Sitting up, I pull my hand away from Mom’s to rub at the standing hairs on the back of my neck. In the faint moonlight, I can see that there are several dozen people on the hill with us. I’m surprised there aren’t more, given all the media hype over the past few weeks. I had even heard there’s a bunch of nuts hiding out nearby in the mountains, convinced aliens are going to invade. Apparently, they want to be the first to go. Laughing quietly, I shake it off. Everything will be okay.

“Alex?” I can hear the concern in Mom’s voice, further convincing me that she can seriously read my thoughts.

“I’m fine, just stretching a little.” Cracking my knuckles for emphasis, I smile in the darkness, knowing that she’s cringing. Mom hates it when I do that, something about it being un-ladylike.

“Need a blanket?” Holding one out to me, she is obviously not convinced that I’m okay.

For as long as I can remember, whether I’m running a fever, nursing a scraped knee or a broken heart, Mom thinks a blanket will make it better. I don’t know, maybe she’s right. I take the blanket. “Thanks, it’s getting a little chilly. How about you, Jake? You need one too?” Turning my attention to my little brother, I pick up the tradition of blanket therapy.

“Thanks, Alex,” he says in his sweet, quiet voice as I spread the furry comforter over both of us. “Do you think he’s up there?” The question hangs in the air for a moment, neither Mom nor I able to answer. “I hope he gets to watch. Dad wanted to see it so bad.”

“I’m sure he is,” I finally choke out. “No doubt he’s got the best seat in the house.” As if to confirm my statement, a brilliant meteor erupts from one end of the horizon to the other, briefly lighting our faces. Several whoops call out from the crowd. I know the big grin on my face probably looks silly, but I really don’t care.

Seated near us in their lawn chairs are Mr. and Mrs. Jones. They run the local grocery and butcher shop, a total cliché of the whole “ma and pop” thing, but they totally pull it off. There isn’t anyone in our town of around four thousand who doesn’t know them. I’ve been buying candy from them my whole life, and they are very dear to me.

“This is already the best meteor show I can remember in my seventy-five years on this planet!” Mr. Jones says to his wife and everyone else nearby.

I lean forward so I can make out their faces in the shadows. “It’s supposed to be the brightest we’ve had in thousands of years,” I explain. “The Egyptians described it as the gods descending from the heavens.”

Mrs. Jones reaches back and gently pats my arm. “Oh!” she gasps, turning around as another, even bigger meteor arrives.

We all point while the crowd starts laughing and clapping. For this unique moment, we are all kids again, each experiencing something amazing for the first time.

Another rock is hot on its literal tail; this one with a blue and green glow to it. Something new. Sparks erupt from it and fall towards us as it passes over. I wonder if any of those pieces are reaching the ground. Probably not. I know it’s rare for meteors to turn into meteorites because most of them burn up in the atmosphere long before getting anywhere near the surface. I’ve seen something vaguely similar to this before, but the fluttering in my stomach grows as I grasp that this many, so fast, really is historic. “You were right, Dad,” I say quietly to myself.

Before long, nearly all of us are on our feet, unable to contain our excitement. Children start running around the clearing, yelling and screaming at each other like they’re watching the best fireworks display ever.

The sky is now lit up with dozens of smaller meteors falling all at once, larger ones coming a bit closer every few seconds. The cheering starts to die down as the adults begin to sense things quickly going from fun to unknown, or perhaps even dangerous.

“Alexis?” Mom only uses this form of my name when it’s something important. I know she is looking for reassurance, but I don’t think I can give it to her, because this is starting to freak me out too. “Maybe we should go home now,” she says, hesitant.

“I think we’re just as safe here as we would be at home,” I say, not wanting to miss a thing, no matter how scared I get. Besides, it’s true. “If one does happen to hit the ground, the house wouldn’t stop it anyway.” I realize a little late that I am not encouraging Mom with that approach.

She grabs onto my arm, clinging to me like she’s going to fall over. “We need to go now. Jacob!” she yells, while releasing me and starting to collapse her chair. Peering over her shoulder, she watches for incoming meteorites, as if she’ll have to dodge one at any second. I can’t say I blame her.

My little brother is quick to obey and huddles close to Mom. His eyes are so wide with fear that I can see the falling stars reflected back at me.

The meteor shower continues to intensify, and the “oohs” and “ahhs” from the crowd are now mixed with cries of alarm. Some spectators start running to the parking lot, located at the bottom of a short trail. During normal times, this is a nice park, but tonight it’s closer to something out of a sci-fi movie.

I decide to give in and gather up the warm blanket, its comforting powers not strong enough for the current situation. Maybe Dad should have built that bunker after all. Smiling at this thought in spite of my growing fear, I help Mrs. Jones pick up her chair. “I can carry it for you,” I tell her, as we all start for the trail.

We’re almost there and I’m beginning to think we’ve escaped the apocalypse, when a sudden explosion from above rocks us, knocking Mrs. Jones to the ground.

Screaming, I drop the chair and cover my head with my arms, kneeling down beside her. Jacob crashes into me, also yelling, and Mom throws her arms around us both, using her body to protect us.

A roar unlike anything I have ever heard fills the air. We all look up and see a huge ball of blue flame scorching the sky. It’s hard to tell how close it actually is, but it’s certainly inside our atmosphere. In fact, I think it’s only a few hundred feet up, and so bright that it hurts my eyes. Squinting, I watch it move west, towards the mountains.

Another explosion rips through the night and I recognize them now as sonic booms. I’ve read somewhere that those can happen with large meteorites. This one is definitely making it to the ground. Smaller chunks of rock are breaking off and showering the night with various colors before burning out, as the main body rapidly moves away. I’ll have to come back during the day and see if I can find any of those pieces. That is, if we make it through the night.

A final sonic boom reaches us from the distance, not nearly as loud as the first two. I can still see the meteorite, though not as bright, and as the light goes out, I hear what has to be the sound of an impact.

“Maybe the crazies were right!” I say to the stunned group around me, since it did in fact land in the Cascades. Apparently, my attempt at humor is not appreciated, and I am met with glares instead of laughs. “Seriously though guys,” I press on, “it was just a meteorite. NASA even said there could be some near misses. It’s obviously a bit closer than everyone predicted, but I’m sure it’ll be okay,” I explain, waving my hand over our heads. “Look, it’s even starting to slow down.”

I must be more persuasive this time because Mom lets us out of her awkward embrace. Resisting the urge to rub away the dents her fingers made in my skin, I stand and wrap the blanket around my shoulders instead.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Jones?” Mom moves over to the older woman’s side as Mr. Jones helps her slowly to her feet. Her nursing instincts have taken over, and I suppose it’s a good distraction. The five of us begin moving cautiously down the trail, leaving a few brave souls still standing in the grass behind us.

By the time we reach the parking lot, it’s obvious that the worst is over, and there’s less panic among the people still here. There’s even some nervous laughter from a group of our neighbors standing next to their cars. Looking up, I only count a dozen meteors, and they aren’t as impressive as the ones just five minutes ago.

Waving at a friend who’s driving away, relief floods me. That simple act brings back a feeling of normalcy that before now, I didn’t know meant so much. I guess I was as terrified as everyone else.

“Thank you so much for your help, Katie,” Mr. Jones says to Mom as he helps his wife into their sedan. Mom gives him a brief hug and says something to him that I can’t quite hear. He chuckles and gives us a final salute as he settles himself into the driver’s seat.

My mind is racing as we head to our full-sized truck on the other side of the parking lot. Were there more meteorite strikes in other places? How widespread was it? Did they cause damage or even kill people in other towns? Is this it, or was this a prelude to a bigger event the government isn’t telling us about? I plan on attacking my computer for answers as soon as we get home.

I don’t know why, but seeing our truck makes me happy. Like I thought it was going to disappear or become a part of this new, twisted reality up on the hill. There it is though, just as we left it, completely unchanged by the bizarre events around it. We toss the chair in the bed of the truck, but I take the comforter with me to the front seat.

“Wanna drive?” Mom asks. She’s standing in the open door across from where I’m now huddled. I’m always begging her to let me drive, especially since I got my license when I turned sixteen a couple of weeks ago.

Actually, to not be asking her all the way back here was totally out of character for me. So, when I shake my head no, she frowns. The lines deepen in her forehead, and I can tell she’s concerned. While I’m sure this whole thing scared her, she probably still expects me to simply be excited about it. Especially since I was doing my best to convince her everything was okay only a few short minutes ago. Not wanting her to call me on my bluff, I toss the blanket aside and suck it up.

“Of course, I want to drive! You really believed me?” Putting on what I hope appears to be a real smile, I slide across the bench seat and snatch the keys from her hand. The dim light must help, because she smiles back at me and walks around the front of the truck, her step a little lighter.

Jacob climbs into the backseat, reaching over to seize the blanket. “I’m cold,” he complains, “and hungry.”

“Well, it’s too late to get anything in town, but there’s a frozen pizza and rocky road ice cream at home!” Mom offers, her spirits lifted by the suggestion. We all agree that greasy cheese and chocolate are exactly what we need.

As we pull out of the lot, Mom erupts into a series of violent sneezes. It startles me, especially since she doesn’t have allergies. After four or five of them, it seems to have passed and she laughs at herself, sniffing.

“Bless you! Geez, what was that?” I ask, studying her. The street lamps illuminate her face randomly as I drive under them, and a sense of foreboding fills me. For whatever reason, the sneezing bothers me more than the crazy scene we just drove away from.

“I must be getting a cold,” she says while digging around in the glove box. Coming up with an old tissue, she blows her nose fiercely. “I’ll be fine, silly. It’s just the sniffles.”

Just the sniffles, I tell myself. Looking to my left, I can still make out the dark, looming mountains. Somewhere out there, not too far away, is what’s left of that meteorite, still hot from its journey through space. A shiver runs up my spine, and I find myself envious of my brother wrapped up in the blanket behind me.