Black River Falls by Jeff Hirsch(11)

One of them was young, in his twenties maybe. Skinny, with shaggy brown hair and a beard. The other man was older. His father? He was thick-chested, with a sizable gut and a sunburned bald patch on top of his head. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on who he was until he pulled a pair of large gold-framed glasses out of his breast pocket and put them on. Mr. Tommasulo. You remember him? The crossing guard for the elementary school down the street? The one who always waved and told us it was a blessed morning as we walked past him on our way to school.

The younger man inched forward, tilting his head toward the space beneath the porch. “We know you’re confused. You have every right to be. There’s a virus. You caught it. That’s why you’ve lost your memory.”

“Dale’s right,” Mr. Tommasulo said in that same bright voice I remembered. “But everything will be better if you come out of there. I promise.”

I eased down the side of the truck and crouched by the front tires to get a better view of the porch. The area beneath it was thick with shadows, but I could just make out the girl. She’d wedged herself in, her back to the house’s concrete foundation. One arm was out in front of her, as stiff as a lance. A shard of broken glass was in her hand.

“Your name is Myra,” the younger man—Dale—continued, loud and slow, like he was talking to someone who barely understood English. “You and I were married last spring in Hudson. We went to Barcelona for our honeymoon. It cost us an arm and a leg, but we went because it’s been your dream since high school.”

“You read a book about that architect fella,” Tommasulo said. “The one who made all those weird buildings.”

“Gaudí,” Dale said. “God, it kills me that you don’t remember, but I know it isn’t your fault. You’re sick. That’s all. But we can explain if you come with us.”

Everything suddenly became clear. I’d always known that I wasn’t the only uninfected person in Black River. Just as there were people who refused to leave their beach houses when a hurricane was bearing down on them, some uninfected had chosen to stay despite Lassiter’s. They were pretty strict about keeping to themselves, but I’d heard that every now and then one of them got careless and ended up infected. Looked like it’d happened again.

“We’ve got the photo albums at home,” Tommasulo said. “Wouldn’t you like to see pictures of your wedding?”

Myra didn’t answer. There was a rumble in the sky, and a light rain began to fall. Before I left, I took a last look. The girl had ventured closer to the lip of the porch. I could see the blue of her shirt and her hand clutching that shard of glass, but everything else was still in the shadows. I felt strangely disappointed not to see her face again. Why? She was just some careless infected girl. I didn’t know her. Had barely even seen her.

There was another crack of thunder. I started back down the driveway, heading for the street.

“We can’t wait,” Tommasulo continued behind me. “This thing you have, this virus—it doesn’t just take your memory.”

I stopped where I was. Raindrops pattered on my shoulders.

“That’s right,” Dale said. “Pretty soon it goes to the next stage and makes you sicker. You could die!”

“But it’s okay. We have the cure at home. It’ll be like this never happened. You just have to come with us.”

“That’s right,” Dale agreed, an oily laugh dribbling out between the words. “Just come on out and we’ll take you home and give you exactly what you need.”

I turned and looked through the truck’s windshield. Dale was approaching the edge of the porch, reaching into his back pocket as he did. There was a glint of steel as a pair of handcuffs emerged.

Time jumped forward. I was in the driveway, and then I was in the yard running flat out. Dale turned, his eyes going wide as I drew my knife. But then there was a crash and the world cut to black. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground near the shed and Tommasulo was on top of me, scrambling for my throat. I thrashed underneath him, managing to get my knife hand free. I swung blindly and Tommasulo leaped back, one hand pressed into his thigh.

I got to my feet. The rain was heavier now, soaking my clothes, weighing me down. I saw a blur off to my left, and then a fist plowed into my ribs. The knife shot out of my hand and I stumbled, barely catching myself before I fell into the pile of debris. Dale growled and came at me again. I scooped up a two-by-four and swung, connecting with his shoulder. He groaned in pain and I charged again, aiming for his head this time. There was a crack, but I didn’t let up. I swung again, harder, feeling like I was tearing the muscles in my arms, but not caring. There was another crack, and then the sound of a body falling into the mud.

Movement to my right. Tommasulo was coming at me again. I pivoted toward him, but a wave of exhaustion made me slow. Before I could swing, he buried his fist in my stomach, once and then again. It was like getting hit with a baseball bat. The air shot out of me. I dropped the plank and slumped to the ground. The rain had become an angry squall. I tried to get up, but my legs wouldn’t move. Tommasulo loomed over me.

I looked behind him but the space beneath the porch was empty. The girl was gone.

Tommasulo darted forward and ripped off my mask. He threw it into the mud and smiled, exposing crooked yellow teeth.