A SAFE PLACE
By Draven Ames
Joe’s feet were blistered by the time a seat opened up but he gave it to his daughter. Cassia was only eight years old and was usually full of spunk and excitement, but today she looked exhausted. It was to be expected though. It had been a long day.
First, a virus broke out across America. Soon it was everywhere. It was a new strain of the flu that left very few deaths but still became a pandemic. The world was amazed when scientists had immunization made and ready within months. Unfortunately, viruses mutate.
The second strain showed up a couple weeks before now and almost half of the nation was dropping like flies. The President had died only days ago, right before the trains were shuttling off those who were immune. They were being taken to a colony where the top minds in the world would work around the clock for a cure. The outlook for the world was not one of hope.
Computer generated simulations showed seventy-five percent of the world could be dead within a week—ninety-five percent within a month. The human race would be lucky to survive.
Joe and Cassia had been among the second wave of people tested at the hospital in Coal Beach, Washington for the virus now being labeled as ‘G2O2’.
The enormity of the global sickness finally seemed all too real when Joe’s wife died. He would have gladly taken her place, but now he had to focus on his daughter’s safety. Cassia had been crying so much that Joe spent most of his time comforting her; there was no time to mourn. Cassia didn’t talk much the last few days, which had Joe very worried until she started speaking again this morning. Joe wondered if his daughter knew how lost he felt or how scared he would be if she died, too.
Cassia looked like she could fall asleep -- even if for a moment while they waited in the crowded train depot. They had been ushered from one place to another for the last day and a half, poked and prodded with little bedside manner at all. The air was stale in the depot; not unpleasant, just odd.
Joe wasn’t sure how many doctors there were scurrying around in white lab coats between the trains and civilians, but they were everywhere. A flood of humans in the gravel parking lot surrounded the large brown and white building. It looked old and worn, like it belonged on the back of a 1950’s post card.
Long rows of metal benches stretched out across the grassy area in front, but there was little green to be seen among the sea of faces. Sweat hung in the air and refused to be swept away by the easy breeze. Some slept, others had their arms crossed and most looked tired—drained by emotions and fatigue. The depot was a claustrophobic’s nightmare.
Cassia looked up from her spot on the bench between an old frail lady and a young man in a gray business suit. “Daddy, I’m cold,” she said.
Joe leaned down, brushing hair out of his face, and put his coat over her thin jacket. Somehow they lost Cassia’s jacket between hospitals and he had to trade his father’s watch for a thin jean jacket, two sizes too small.
“I know Cas. Here.” He gave her cheeks a light pinch, “Didn’t know we’d be gone this long. Guess we should’ve brought blankets. I’m not cold anyway,” he lied, zipping up the front while smiling at how silly she looked. Joe put his hands in his pockets. “Better?”
Cassia returned the smile. Her eyes were wide and her forehead wrinkled. “Much,” she replied. “Are we going on the train soon? I’m tired.”
“Soon, I think. You’ll be able to sleep all you want then, I promise. It’s going to be a long trip so we’ll get plenty of sleep on the train,” he said. He watched the boarding process every time since they arrived. Joe comforted her by running his hand through her soft hair. He gazed at Cassia as if he saw something that wasn’t there. She looked so much like her mother it was uncanny.
“I miss Mommy,” Cassia said, as if on cue.
“Me too, baby. Me too.”
A train filled with passengers, their names being checked off of lists held by a swarm of white lab coats. Joe watched as people were led inside and went to lie down on the beds in their cabin. He watched once again as the gray mist descended and the train roared to life, suddenly lurching forward. The grating howls of metal slowed until it became a rhythmic beat. Soon the tracks passed like a snake’s loud rattle and disappeared down the tracks to God knew where. Another train rolled into place and screeched to a furious halt.
“Are all these people going to the safe place too, Daddy?” Cassia asked as she tugged shirt.
Joe forced another smile for Cassia, “Of course, baby. We all are.” He wished his wife could be there. He moved close to his daughter’s side, wishing he could go with Cassia too—but he was sure his little secret would be found out. “Here, lean on me. Get some sleep, hun. Lot of trains still in cue before it’s our turn.”
The sickness started to hit Joe when they were getting off the bus from the hospital. The busses came faster than the trains could fill and the depot swelled and spilled into the streets as far as the eye could see. It wasn’t hard to blend in but the simple flu-like symptoms would become terrifyingly worse very soon. How long Joe had he didn’t know—twenty-four hours at most— until the lab coat saviors couldn’t be fooled. How he passed their tests, he wasn’t sure -- and that bothered him.
Gazing around he noticed a man in a suit who seemed to be listening. Joe wrote onto the back of a small discarded piece of paper he found and woke his daughter gently, handing it to her. She looked at it and gave it back, tears welling up in her eyes. Joe placed a finger to his lips. Joe grabbed his daughter in a sweet embrace and whispered quickly in her ear. “I won’t leave you, Cas. I’ll keep you safe,” he said choking back sorrow. He riffled her hair again but Cassia didn’t react. An idea struck him and he leaned his forehead into his daughters—a lipless kiss—and said, “Be strong, Cassia. Don’t tell,” he placed his finger over her lips now, holding the note, “when you see me, pretend you don’t know me.”
Joe stood and cracked his neck from side to side; the corner of his eyes scanning for listeners. He crumpled the paper up and, not trusting the trash, ate it. Giving his daughters hand one last squeeze Joe made his move through the crowd; hands in his sweater pockets. The stale air swooshed past him like a warm, foul breath as he bobbed and weaved through the unassailable jungle of the fortunate.
Joe pushed the huge wooden double doors open with sweat beading under his shoulder length hair as he looked around the congested station. White coats were scurrying around like fish in a net that paid him no heed when he made a b-line for the bathroom. Soft florescent lights flickered with the building, outdated and strained by the passage of time. They shook and moaned in upheaval at the long forgotten struggle to stay intact through the coming and going of trains. The inside of the depot had been turned into a makeshift underground railroad for the salvation of humanity.
For a moment Joe questioned his plan, but he had a promise to keep. The bathroom was caked in filth, rust and the aroma of moldy bread mixed with ammonia. Long white urinals with brownish stains streaking downward hung along the length of the far wall like horse troughs. Two stalls stood to Joe’s left and he darted into the furthest one and waited. He looked at the seat with longing, his feet were begging for mercy, but it was covered in piss and murky water that would frighten away the sturdiest stomach. Doctors or scientists, he couldn’t be sure, went in and out for at least fifteen minutes before a window of opportunity opened.
Joe watched through the crack between the door and stall as he was finally left alone with one of the depot’s men. The sound of the faucet was like a roaring jacuzzi in Joe’s ear and his chest pounded with anticipation. Unsure if he would have the chance again, he popped the front door open and walked toward a man in white. The man looked at him and Joe nodded, trying to smile. Satisfied, the guy reached for a paper towel.
Joe’s left hand then went over the guy’s mouth and his right reached around his neck, choking with one quick movement. The man tried to yell but only a muffled “mmmm, mm mmm,” sound came out. The doctor grabbed at the sink but Joe kicked hard against the wall with both feet, knocking them backward into the bathroom stall and onto the urinal. He caught the man’s arm with his right just as a large hypodermic needle nearly found its mark. A small gurgle came from the scientist’s mouth before he slumped into Joe’s arms at last, the needle protruding from his chest.
Joe was sure that the needle was some kind of anesthesia. It was a little scary, though—he didn’t know if he injected the wrong spot. He wasn’t a doctor, so it was all guesswork to him. Joe frowned at the body with his hands on his hips. He shook his head and closed his eyes, “What the fuck?”
Joe locked the door to the stall from inside, positioning the man with pants around his ankles as he crawled out from underneath. He looked at himself in the mirror as another white coat had entered who was noticeably lacking sleep. Joe washed his hands, slicked back his hair, and left. He tried not to look around too much.
Just look down and move on, no one will notice me, he thought. The depot was a tangled wall of white coats.
Joe waited for the lady at the counter to get busy and when she looked enthralled by a handsome fellow—giggling like a schoolgirl—he took his chance. He kept stock of the lady’s nametag as he walked to the counter, near the front of the depot. Joe picked up a clipboard and marched with a livened pace to the double doors. He didn’t understand the clipboard; it was littered with doctor’s jargon or some scientific slang.
He stopped in his tracks. Cassia was talking to a man with a clipboard and she was crying. She stood at the front of a line to one of the trains many cabins. Joe didn’t wait to find out the problem before jumping in. He only wanted to make sure his daughter made it on the train and that he could stay with her.
“…without your father.” The man stated, turning his paper over and reading the back. “Where is he, darlin’?” the man’s tone was impatient at best.
“I told you, I don’t know.” Cassia returned. Her hands were crossing her chest and she looked remarkably mature for her age. Her nose wrinkled and her mouth stood out like duck lips. Cassia’s face lit up when she saw her father and she pointed to him. “There’s…”
“There’s no time,” Joe said, squinting to read the man’s nametag, “Charon, right? I’ve got your post. Mrs. Hamilton wanted you. Inside.” Joe tilted his head toward the depot. He turned towards Cassia, “Where’s your father, young lady?”
Mr. Charon looked confused, “She said he went off somewhere and she hasn’t… Are you sure? Mrs. Hamilton?” He looked at Joe as if half-hoping that he would say no.
“Yes, yes. Mrs. Hamilton,” he replied. Joe looked through his notes, not knowing what it was he was looking at. He looked back up to Mr. Charon with impatience, “Go. Hurry back, I’ve got a lot to do.”
The man lifted one eyebrow, looked to the side and dropped his clipboard to his side. “Fuck. I’ll be back,” he said, then walked off with his head down.
He went down on one knee and put his hands on his daughter’s shoulders. “I told you. I won’t leave you. I’ll be here the whole time.” Joe looked around and saw the other lines were closing; the train was near capacity. “Now get inside before that guy gets back.”
He peeked inside where 12 people were in the closed chamber to the left but only seven to his right. Joe turned to the people in line and motioned for more to come forward. “Come on, come on, come on. Trains about to leave. Five more. I need…” He patted each person on the back and pushed lightly toward the open entry. “One, two…” he counted off five when a sixth pushed inside. Joe didn’t want to cause a scene so he just blocked off his entrance with a chain and closed his door.
The cabins were all outfitted with small, foldout green cots. A metal box with speaker holes was next to the door with a large white button affixed at the bottom. Joe hesitated to gather his thoughts before pushing both. “I need you all to lay down on your cots please. If there’s not enough, please share. The train will be leaving soon.” Joe flashed a smile to his daughter and pressed the speak button once more, “We’re going to the safe place.”
His daughter looked calm as she found her bed, like most of the others in the cabin. Most laid back with their arms placed lightly over their chests, hands woven together. Next to Joe were two large red cylinders with hoses leading under the doors and a large metal valve connected between them.
Somewhere above him a booming, baritone voice spoke with a slow casual tone as the train’s engines roared to life and its whistle screamed out their impending departure. “Ladies and Gentlemen. Please sit back and relax. Soon, you can all sleep.”
Joe could see the landscape moving faster as they approached a tunnel. Gray mist was funneling through the cabins across from him as another doctor turned a valve’s small wheel. Joey began to turn his too, not wanting to be seen as a phony. Dark clouds fell from the ceiling in his daughter’s depot and drifted out like an uncontrollable mist.
“Please do not scream. Please remain calm. You are going to a better place. A place where you cannot bring what it is you carry. It’s the only way, I’m afraid,” the voice dragged on.
The train went dark as it was eclipsed by a hole dug deep into the mountainside. It lit only briefly to the tune of lights along the covered passageway. Joe wretched at the valve, trying to stop its flow as he heard screams and terrible cat like calls. It was a lightning storm of cruel malice as Joe saw his daughter’s face twist in the violent throws of a seizure. Another passenger in a spasm hit the back of their head against the window with a loud thud before sliding down. Joe pulled on the doors but they wouldn’t open. He saw people clawing and raking at one another, trying desperately to get out of their cage of death.
Joe stopped, knowingly helpless, and stared at his daughter like she was the last thing on earth. Cassia sat in the corner of her cabin, her hands wrapped around her legs while she was screaming. Her face was contorted in some inhuman cry of torture and her eyes were filled with sadness—like she had been betrayed. It might have been just his imagination, but to him seeming was everything.
The doctor on the other side, holding his arms up to each side of the cabin, smiled; his head bobbing with the train—his eyes peering into the depths of madness. Flashing brilliance sent still-framed moments in waves before retreating into darkness. Joe screamed, “I can’t turn it off! They’re dying!” He ran up to the man and shook him by the collar. “What’s happening? I thought it was a safe place! I thought it was safe!”
The man hung in his grip, shrugging. “The dead are safe, Mac. It’s you n’ me who have to worry ‘bout the bodies.” A sad, nasal laugh escaped him as he swayed in Joe’s grasp.
“But they’re all immune!” Joe protested. His face lit up like a Halloween lantern as he pointed at the people writhing on the floor of their cabin. “They’ve been tested!”
“You got it all backwards, Jack,” the man said. Then the doctor suddenly seemed to have understood. The smile he had bled away from his bobble head. “Ah, your one of them, eh? You’re ‘sposed to think that. ‘Es sir... Dead don’t get sick.” He pulled out a needle from his jacket pocket as Joe let go and fell back in disbelief. “Dead is safe. Dead’s safe for us who are immune. Can’t mutate with no host. Yep, dead’s real safe.”
Joe crawled away from the man, backwards—a crabwalk-like motion. His back bumped against a cabin window. The bodies no longer cried, terror no longer rung out.
I led her here. I promised to take her to safety, I promised.
The Man stood above him. Joe could only focus on the needle glinting with passing lights—ripples of radiance flew across the man’s glasses.
“No use fightin it, Jack.” He sniffed and spat to the side. “Dead’s safe…” That crazy laugh again, a desensitized laugh! no…use. “Don’t cry, not now, love,” he said as he shook his head, amused by his specimen. “There really is…"
Joe cried out between sobs but he didn’t try to stop the man. He wanted to see his daughter.
“This won’t hurt a bit.”
He wanted to see his wife.
“You’ll feel a slight pinch.”
He wanted to be in that safe place.
Possessing a quixotic fondness for difficult careers, Paula has driven ambulances, taught fish farming for the Peace Corps in West Africa and earned a Scottish PhD in medieval history, studying Templars and non-Christians in Spain. She is the author of horror novel, "The Mighty Quinn," co-written supernatural mystery novels, "Fraterfamilias" and the upcoming “Confraternitas,” and non-fiction medieval history book, "Templar Convivencia: Templars and Their Associates in 12th and 13th Century Iberia." She is Editor in Chief of the Lovecraft/Mythos 'zine/micropress Innsmouth Free Press. You can find her at: http://thesnowleopard.net.
