Sam and Captain Trips

Having finished Stephen King's The Stand, Sam felt accomplished and she slammed the hardcover shut.

“Shh,” said Mrs. Doyle the librarian, her finger to her cracked lips.

Sam backed away from the table, slung her black Totoro bag over her head, and headed for the exit. It was gloomy and the sky wept. Sam loved this weather, cold at heart she thought. A black cloud threatened the town near her home.

Sam is 12 years old now, proudly. Her father Bill was leaning against the yellow Formica counter in the kitchen when she opened the door, “Hey kiddo,” he gulped down the last of the milk straight from the carton. Bill wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

She protested, “How will I eat cereal tomorrow morning?”

Bill shrugged, “Eat a pop tart.” He started to hitch up his brown pants and head for the living room then turned around, “Any more of your classmates sick?” His brow furrowed.

“No,” Sam stuck her head out of the pantry, “But, Miss Clydesdale was out today.” She launched her hand into a box of Cheez Its. She really liked her teacher but the substitute was nice enough.

Sam tried calling her friend Briana but her mother said she was still sick while blowing her nose. Next, she called Juanita, but there was no answer. She plopped on her bed and sighed, pocketing her phone. Sam got out her fuzzy diary and begin to write in purple pen. In the living room her father coughed.

The classroom was sparse. A different substitute teacher was anxiously flipping through materials deciding what could keep 7th graders entertained for the day. The long day. Sam looked around worried again. What was happening?

Her friends still hadn’t materialized. Her father was out sick for the third day. Her mother was complaining of a tickle in her throat and severe headaches. Sam seemed fine but even a sneeze brought on a terror she couldn’t explain. Sam had heard rumors of something making people sick.

That afternoon Sam’s mom wasn’t at the school to pick her up. She waited in front of her middle school as buses faded away. Sam walked to the library calling her mom and dad on the way. There was no answer.

Mrs. Doyle greeted Sam at the door. There was an even more oppressive silence in the library. Determined Sam marched to the previously unused periodical section and pulled the days National News. What Sam found left her running for home with Mrs. Doyle’s uncharacteristically hoarse voice calling after her.

“Mom? Dad?” she shouted into the stale air. There was no immediate answer. She kept repeating it. Sam moved from the kitchen, throwing her purple backpack on the Formica counter. She ran into the living room. There was no one but the tv was on.

“White House sources say the virus isn’t contagious although millions of Americans are reportedly effected. This map shows effected states most hit by the virus.” The map showed Sam’s state in red. The darkest red there is on the country.

She screams, “Mom and Dad!” Sam runs to their bedroom and slings open the door. The smell of sickness hits her nose. But, to her it’s just gross.

“No kiddo!” her father raises and drops his right hand.

Her mom raises her head a little, “Honey? When did you get home?” Her face is covered in sweat. Her hair is matted to her head. One leg hangs off the bed.

“You forgot to pick me up.” Sam hangs her head. She didn’t want to cry.

“It’s that time?” her father said trying to see His watch through blurry eyes.

“Bill,” her mom stared at the old bedside clock, “It’s 3:30. Oh honey, we’re sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sam swung back and forth, “I walked home. They said on the news it isn’t contagious.”

“They lied,” her father chuckled.

“The paper said we need to wear masks?” Sam asked.

“Yes honey,” replied her mom, “Now go have some cereal.”

“Dad drank all the milk,” she cried.

“Honey,” Sam’s mom gasped.

Sam ran out of their room and disappeared into her room slamming the door. She stared around at her plushies, pictures of her with Briana and Juanita, her laptop and unicorn collection. It all seemed silly right now, she was terrified.

It was seven am. There was no alarm or sound of the garbage truck. Her radio was still on from last night, there were pop tart wrappers on the bed. She felt zoned out. She hadn’t heard from Juanita or Briana. She was really worried. She got ready for school without showering.

At the school there were no cars in the parking lot. The door wouldn’t open. Sam smiled and skipped down the sidewalk. She had to tell her two best friends. Juanita lived closer to the school than Briana.

So, off she went to find her friend, wearing her mask with koala bears on it. The sun was out in full force. Bees buzzed around fragrant flower beds and bushes. It was a beautiful morning. Sam began to jog happily. She really wanted to see Juanita.

The house had papers in front of it and Sam had to pull open the screen door. She knocked timidly then loudly. The door loosened and creaked ajar. “Juanita?” Sam said.

The living room was silent with dust hanging in the air. Sam crept in softly, leaving behind little footprints in dust. It wasn’t like Juanita’s mom to not clean. The kitchen had plates of rotten food and flies circling around them like temple guards. Sam choked on the smell.

But a different smell reached her nose as she made her way down the hall. It was earthy and putrid. She put her hand instinctively over her masked nose.

Juanita shared a room with her little brother. Sam stopped before she went in, her stomach churned. She knew something was terribly wrong but her belly couldn’t have prepared her for what she saw.

Running down the driveway Sam shouted, “It’s Captain Trips!” Flashes of her friend slumped over in bed, monster high sheets soaked in blood and body fluids. Juanita’s face was sliding off of her skull. There were flies. The stench. Her little brother was face down on the floor his blackened foot poking out of his pj’s.

Sam screamed all the way home. No one came to her rescue. She was dazed and afraid. What if I die, too?

Sam collapsed on her porch swing and cried. Juanita was dead. She had never felt such pain in her life. She remembered her father putting up this swing and her swinging with her friends laughing.

“Dad,” she said softly. She sprinted into her parents room. Her father’s face was distorted in pain. Her mom lay sideways with wet pajamas stuck to her frame.

Sam slowly approached them and shouted, “Juanita is dead and I’m scared!”

There was a bisque-thick emptiness. Then her father opened his eyes, “water.”

Sam spent days tending to her parents. She felt like a giant, like she could do anything. But, at night she cried in her room and flipped through what stations and streaming was left. The news was grim, bodies everywhere.

She borrowed a shopping cart at the local market and filled up on what she could take. The milk was spoiled. She cussed. Sam had brought forty dollars and left it on thr counter. Heading home she thought she saw someone else but was cautious.

Dragging the groceries into the kitchen and piling cold medicine on the Formica, Sam felt tired and less depressed than she had been. She tried to call Briana on her phone but it went to voicemail. She was too scared to go there. She realized it was the end of most things, especially childhood. Bill coughed in the bedroom and she grabbed the medicine and washed off a spoon.