The Virus

3 years ago more than half of the world’s population was wiped out due to an ever changing virus. At first, doctors and government officials tried their best to keep up with it, but they were ultimately defeated when the realization that the virus was always one step ahead of them set in. Since then, citizens of the States have been left to die with no help or assistance. There are no more schools, hospitals, or law enforcement. Our local community does it’s best to help each other out, and has developed their own currency of trading goods and services.

As I wait in line at the local bakery for day-old bread, I notice a grey-haired woman in front of me clicking her heels in irritation due to the long wait. I roll my eyes behind her, where could she be in a rush that is so time sensitive? The world ended 3 years ago. That is when I notice her shiny, clean, tight-fitted clothing as if she were on her way to a work meeting. This person isn’t from here. I look down and sigh as I realize how awful I look next to her. Tangled brown hair pulled in a loose ponytail, plain brown pants with holes in them, a loose t-shirt that belonged to my husband before the incident, and my very out-of-place gold heart-shaped locket. The locket was a gift from Sam before the virus ultimately took him away from me, from Poppy, from us. I clench the locket hanging from my neck wishing that I could have my husband back until a voice disrupts my thoughts--

“Juno, are you ready?” Rosa, the baker asks me.

“Oh--hi yes, do you have any leftover bread from yesterday?” I ask, ashamed, because I ask Rosa the same question everyday.

“Of course, here you go.” She hands it to me. “I also snuck in a fresh doughnut for you baby.” She blows my young daughter a kiss, who is clinging to my side.

I begin to give her a tomato from my garden for the bread, to which she politely declines. I hold my tears back. It has been hard keeping my garden growing, and this tomato is all it has produced in the past couple of weeks.

Grateful and ultimately embarrassed, I say, “Thank you Rosa, you know you don’t always have to do this,” I nervously bite my lip, hoping she won’t retract her offer. I know this is selfish of me, but I have a daughter to feed with little to no food sources.

“I know that, but we were just going to throw it away anyway. It’s the least I can do,” she smiles so wide, showing the most imperfect yellow teeth with gaps in them; somehow her smile lifts up the entire room.

We begin to head home to our cabin, walking quietly through what once were city streets, now occupied by the homeless and the sick. Although Chicago was once a popular tourist destination for many, it has become a sanctuary city. Or was supposed to be.

Many people from different parts of the world fled here during the beginning of the pandemic, hoping to receive the promises of the Republic, but were instead left to fend for themselves. The world is nothing like what it once was; skies are always cloudy and grey, as if the Sun knew that there was no need for it anymore. We were all doomed. More and more humans were dying each day, every symptom different from the next.

As we approach our tiny home, I squeeze Poppy’s tiny hand praying that the short time we spent outside of our home did not infect us.

Our home is nothing special, made up of recycled furniture and mix matched chairs that were found outside. When the number of casualties increased, more and more furniture was left out in the streets, presumably belonging to the deceased. After Sam was gone, we were left with nothing: no income, no home, and no hope.

I begin making supper for my sweet blond-haired daughter, she wears a pale pink sweater I once found next to the dumpster which has become her favorite item to wear. We eat canned soup and bread most days, meat and fresh vegetables have become rare in our household. We have a small garden where I grow tomatoes and squash, that is enough now to keep us living.

We sit and eat supper in silence most days, each day I wonder what we will eat the next day, and today is no exception.

Poppy asks me with tears in her beautiful brown eyes with a hint of green in the middle just like her father, “mama, when is daddy coming back?”

I sigh, and respond hopelessly, “He isn’t, baby, don’t you remember?”

It is easier to believe that he died when he got sick, but truthfully I am not sure of anything anymore. He was one of the firsts who were infected. The Republic took him away to run tests on the virus in order to understand how it worked and why it was spreading so quickly. Two days after they took him, the city went into complete lockdown; no one was allowed outside, the news channels stopped reporting and eventually became silent. I haven’t heard anything since and have only assumed they couldn’t save him and failed to inform me.

Poppy turns to me again, “I miss him Mama,” she cries out.

“I miss him too,” I mutter the words out.

That is when the unthinkable happens; we hear a knock on the front door. I feel my heart drop, we never have visitors.I have done everything to protect Poppy and I from not being around anyone for too long due to fear that they may infect us.

“Go to our room Poppy, I’ll be right there,” I commanded.

“But mama, I’m not done with my bread, and Rosa gave me a doughnut!” She screams.

“You can eat your doughnut later, please just do what I say,” I feel guilty for isolating her, but she doesn’t understand how dangerous the world has become. She is 8 now, and still remembers the world before the virus. She constantly asks to go to the park and play with her friends, and I do not have the heart to tell her that those friends are probably dead now.

I walk quietly to the door, looking through a crack to see who could possibly be there.

That is when I notice that beautiful stranger from earlier, standing tall in those shiny black heels.

I open the door slightly, “What do you want?” I ask her.

Completely unfazed, she asks, “Juno Meadows? Wife of Sam Meadows?” She stares at me with a raised eyebrow.

I finally accept what is about to happen. This is what I have been waiting for.

I nod.

Without missing a beat, she says, “Hi Juno. I am from the Republic and here to inform you that your husb--”

I cut her off immediately, “Please keep your voice down, my daughter is probably listening,” then I whisper to her, “and I don’t want her to find out her father is dead.”

She shakes her head in confusion, “Ma’am that is not what I came here to tell you today. Your husband is not dead. We have kept him in a medically induced coma for 3 years studying the virus, hoping to find a cure, and have finally found one. I am here to take you to him.”

I look at her in complete shock and disbelief. Something about this situation wasn’t right, I didn’t trust her. But if she says they have my husband, I have to go to him.