1 Slow, But Not Subtle

The accuracy of my dreams often times scares me. The fact that they feel so real makes me question whether they are more so memories than figments of my imagination. Sometimes they are. Sometimes I see this world, this happiness, that never existed in my life. Sometimes I see a world, a life, where I wasn't sick, and I had to chance to be successful and happy. Sometimes I see a world where it never ended. Where everything continued on how it should have, and I died in peace, with my family at my side. They would bury me, but it wouldn't be hard. It had been a long time coming. They had been expecting it for awhile. They would know that I was at peace. Yet they never got that closure, and I never got that release. Not yet, at least.

I remember watching movies and reading books about the apocalypse, and zombies. They were so ridiculous. So far fetched. Who was I to assume that such a thing would happen? That the end of the world would hit. That almost everyone I loved would be gone. That's why when the signs began to show up, and the news of a mysterious virus began to spread on the media, no one in my area believed it. I mean, it was the media, after all, right? They lie all the time. Anything for views. Anything for exposure. The videos on the internet were edited, and the borders were closed due to immigration. No one believed it until it was happening to them. No one believed it until it was too late.

"Mooom!! It isn't fair! Why does Nico get to stay home?" Dimitri was loud as ever as he stood in the kitchen, all dressed up in the uniform that the system had us wear. on his shoulders rested two backpacks. One was for school, and the other was his soccer kit. He shot me a glare out of the side of his eyes once he caught be staring.

Mom didn't even flinch as his loud voice sounded off, she didn't even turn around. Instead she just continued to press down on the bacon she was making, trying to get it as crunchy as possible for Dad. He liked it burnt. Aria Fisher was a strong, wild woman. She had dark brown skin, with beautifu hazel eyes. She always had her hair done in thick curls, with braids put in for special occasions. She had the personality of a firecracker, which blended in seamlessly with our Father's calm and composed demeanor. It also equipped her with all the tools necessary to deal with Dimitri's attitude, which had grown increasingly worse towards me as of late.

Once she placed the bacon that was already cooked on the plate beside her, she moved towards the pack that she had placed on the counter besides her, picking up a few more pieces before tossing them on. "You know why, Dimitri. He's got a doctor's appointment this morning, and we're letting him have Richard over this evening." She turned to look over at Dimitri as she spoke the next sentence. "Besides, if I recall correctly, you stayed home just last week for no reason, while Nico went to school."

Dimitri huffed slightly, and I couldn't help the chuckle that escaped from my lips as I hid my mouth behind my hands. He was always whiney like this, but to me it was endearing. "I'll pick you up a musketeer when we drop by the store." Dimitri's eyes were on me in an instant, and I smiled. Though he tried not to, his eyes went soft when he heard that. Musketeers, the candy bar, had always been our thing. Since he was young, they had been his favorite, and I had learned to love them because of it.

"Promise?" I nodded, as mom placed the plate of bacon and toast on the table, and Dimitri slid out the chair beside me before dropping his backpack onto the floor, and Mom stepped out of the room, nist likely to go get Dad, and we fell into a comfortable silence, one of the last that the two of us would share.

Soon enough, the plates were empty, Dimitri was gone, and I stood at the sink washing the dishes. Mom and Dad sat in the living room, most likely talking about me from the volume the tv was at, but at this point I was used to it. I was their first son, one who would only be around for a few more years tops. I could understand the turmoil. I myself also felt that fear. That maybe next month I wouldn't be here. Thoughts like that plagued me, even as I did mundane things, like towel dry the dishes before putting them away.

Before long, I had finished, and moved to rest in the living room with the two of them. My Dad, Darius Fisher, had his arms wrapped around my Mother, her face hidden in his chest. I didn't study her features for too long, but I couldn't help but notice the slight quaking of her shoulders before Dad tapped her back, indicating that I was there. She went still then, and after a moment turned to me and smiled.

"Come on Nico, come watch a show with us. We've got a good hour before we need to leave." Her eyes were bloodshot, but the smile on her face was real. I felt a pain in my heart as I gave her a matching grin, our entire family says we have the same smile, and moved to sit beside her. Mom wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into her side, her fingers running through the thick waves of my hair. Dad placed his arm on both of our shoulders, and I sighed. I hoped that it would always be this way, warm, and happy. Dying in a moment like this. That would make me truly happy.

The car ride to the doctor was very stiff, and the appointment long. By the time we made it out, it was already 3, which meant that soon Dimitri would be home from school. He was fine alone for awhile, but Mom still insisted that we hurry up while we were at the store. She didn't want him to feel left out.

The local grocery was extremely large, particularly for one that was locally owned, and wasn't part of a chain. It was basically our own Wal-Mart, but it only carried food and household items. As we walked in, my Mom took a few minutes to pick out a cart, until she finally found one with mostly functioning wheels. She was quite fickle about that sort of thing. She handed each of us a list, with her and my Dad having the longest one, before sending us on our way. This was how shopping normally went, with Mom having us split up to cover more ground and not waste as much time. Arita Fisher's battle tactics were age old, passed on from my Grandmother. She had many eccentric ways of going about things. This was one of the more mundane.

As I wandered through the store, I noticed that for some reason it seemed oddly....empty. Things like canned food were scarce, and there were only a few packs of water bottles in the aisle. My brows crinkled. There had been a strange fluctuation in the level of travelers coming to and fro as of late, they must have cleared out a lot of the stocks.

From then on I ignored it. Strolling through the store, I grabbed the items my mother had requested of me. Several cans of tomato soup, I had to substitute some of them with chicken noodle and cream of mushroom. Glancing at the other items on the self, I made a decision and grabbed two boxes of Ritz, tossing them into my cart. Next was a few cans of corn, baked beans, and evaporated milk.

Moving along, I eventually met up with my Mom and Dad, and soon we were at the checkout. The girl who was there looked exhausted. Her skin was extremely pale, the only color being a blotchy red that came from the blood and meat beneath her skin. She barely spoke, but my parents didn't seem to mind. Instead they gave her sympathetic glances every now and again while they helped me place the groceries into the buggies after they had been bagged.

Looking at the shelf beside the checkout, I grabbed the musketeer bars they had left, seven or so, and put them on the belt. Dad gave me a side eye, and Mom chuckled, but no one made any comment otherwise as the girl quickly scanned them before tossing them in the bag. Dad pulled out his wallet and paid, and me and Mom began pushing the carts to the car.

I tried to help them pack away the groceries into the trunk, but suddenly I felt myself grow short of breath. Mom was quick to notice. Taking the bag I had just grabbed, she gave me a look. I immediately understood. "Mom, I'm fine." One thing to know about Arita Fisher, she was stubborn. You didn't try and fight her when she had her mind set on something.

"Baby, you know better than to push it. Thank you for trying to help, but don't hurt yourself. Your machine is in the passenger seat. If it runs out of batteries, there are some in the glove compartment. " Patting my cheek gently with her hand, she handed me her purse to get into the car, before she continued to pack away the groceries. I kissed her cheek before I moved to get in, clicking the button twice to unlock it, which made the horn sound, before I slid inside.

Tossing Mom's purse into the seat beside me, I leaned forward and grabbed my machine from the front passenger seat. Then I plugged the studs into my nose, wrapped the necessary pieces around my ears to hold them, and turned it on. Air flooded into me, and I took a few deep breaths to regain a rhythm before I pulled out my phone. On there were a few texts from Richard, and one from Dimitri, asking where we were. I sent Richard a text first, before telling Dimitri that we would be leaving the store in just a minute.

Then I heard a thump. Turning around, I could see through the back window that they had just closed the door to the hatchback. However, they didn't seem to be moving to get in. Instead, they faced outwards, as if looking towards something. Though their bodies blocked my vision, I could faintly hear my Mother speaking. "Ma'am, what are you doing? Are you okay? Are you okay? Is that blood?" Her voice was shrill and high pitched, how it often got when she was panicked. She had gotten that same tone when I had been diagnosed, and when Dimitri broke his leg when he was eight. She rarely used it, so I knew something had to be wrong.

I saw my Mom moving forward, and could vaguely hear my Dad tell her not to. "Arita, don't....they look sick." Looking out my side window, I could see a few other people standing by their cars, looking in the same direction my parents were, hidden from view.

Suddenly my Dad's voice grew louder, the usual calm gone. He moved then, and as he did I got a clear view out of the back window. There stood my Mother. Her hand was resting on the woman's shoulder, almost as if it was glued there. She had begun to lean backwards, a look of panic in her eyes. My eyes went wide as I heard shouts from the people around, shots from my Father as he rushed towards the two of them. But the worst sound of all was the screams of my Mother as the woman leaned forward and bit down harshly on her neck.