After the Birds

Chapter Four


Remerton

NY, USA

2024


Andrea


Andrea stands by the window looking down at the street. Before everyone became ill, she used to enjoy watching the world from above. Now she studies the piles of dead birds, cars left every which way, and she’s amazed at the lack of people. She fiddles some with the masking tape mom has attached in three layers along all the window frames. The virus, if that is what it is, is airborne, Mom says. Dangerous to inhale.


It doesn’t matter when Andrea tries to explain that she held Hadya and Ayesha on the bus and that they coughed right in her face. She still didn’t get sick. Andrea isn’t allowed to go outside anyway. Mom says she might be immune, but they can’t know for sure. The day after Andrea was at the mall with her friends, mom came home from work with as many grocery bags as she could haul on the bus. It was mostly canned goods, dry milk, and stuff like that. Though, she had bought three boxes of Cheerios too. She says Andrea must ration them since they won’t be grocery shopping for a while.


Mom calls Theodor, Andrea’s little brother, several times a day. He’s staying with Antonio, his dad, in the east part of Remerton and he’s been there for two weeks now. Normally he only visits his dad every other weekend. According to mom, it is safer that Theo stays where he is, but Andrea hears mom crying in the nights and knows she worries and misses him. So does Andrea. She usually thinks her six-year-old brother is something of a pain, but he’s just a little kid and he’s bound to be anxious without mom. If he’d only been home when all this happened, they could have been there for each other.


Theo’s small for his age, but quick, and doesn’t comprehend the danger of going outside. What if he wants to go out and play and sneaks out when Antonio’s asleep? His dad is pretty laid back, and rather lazy. Andrea used to think that was a good thing since he hardly ever said no to anything when he lived with them, but now, when you must be tough enough to enforce the rules, a parent needs to be more like mom. Vigilant.


A distant, sharp bang makes Andrea jump. She thinks it comes from the right, farther up the street. She wants to go out on the balcony to get a better view, but mom will be furious if she tries.


“Did you hear that?” Mom comes into Andrea’s room. “What was that?”


“Don’t know. It came from there.” She points toward the square. “It was really loud.” Andrea hears more bangs, and she spots a group of people running around the corner. Some are pushing shopping carts in front of them, running so fast, they lean forward, looking like they’re going to fall over. Others are hurrying along, carrying stuff. “Mom! Have they stolen that stuff?” Andrea turns to her mom and finds she’s gone pale.


“This is what I was afraid of.” She hugs Andrea from behind. “This is one of the reasons you can’t go outside, even if you are immune. They warn about looters on the news, and the information broadcasts. It’s dawning on people how serious the situation is. I mean, really fucking serious. Then they panic and act like this.”


Mom hardly ever curses. She doesn’t want Theodor to learn such things from her or Andrea. To hear her swear now, and how her voice has assumed a low and dark tone, frightens Andrea more than the looters.
“But we’re safe up here, aren’t we?” Is it just Andrea who’s trembling? It might be both of them, which isn’t so odd. “They won’t use the elevator and come up here?”


“No, of course not. They’ll bring what they took back to their own families, or wherever they’re staying.”


As if to prove Mom wrong, there’s a knock on the door. No, more like a pounding. Mom grows rigid and holds Andrea closer. It is as if they created the noise by talking about the raiders below, like challenging fate. “Who can that be?” Mom’s eyes are wide.


“Some neighbor, maybe?” Andrea holds mom’s arm in a tight grep as they go out in the hallway. The door is locked in two different ways and Mom has taped the edges closed. “Don’t open,” she says, even if she knows Mom wouldn’t even think of it. But what if it’s someone who needs help? Mom’s a nurse. Don’t nurses have some legal obligation to help out? Andrea isn’t sure.


Mom presses her body to the door and looks out through the door eye. “It’s too dark in the stairwell. Only some daylight from the window. I can only see a shadow.” She steps back and places her arm around Andrea’s shoulders. Then there’s a new pounding on the door, five loud bangs that makes Andrea’s chest tremble. “Hello? Who is it?” Mom asks and she’s making her voice determined and stern. The only response is a murmur coming through the door.


“Who’s there?” Mom asks again, now with more concern in her voice. “Stop banging on the door and tell us what you want.”
“Open up,” the person outside says. It’s impossible to make out if it’s a man or a woman. Andrea doesn’t think it’s a child, though.
“No, I won’t. We’re not letting anyone in.” Mom’s voice shakes, but she manages to sound assertive.


Andrea sobs. Two weeks and the only communication they’ve had with the outside world has been through their cell phones and from the media. Nobody has knocked on their door until now.


“Please,” the voice says. “Open.” The voice is not as pleading as the words. In fact, it sounds only creepy.
“No. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you want. We won’t open.” Mom is beyond pale now. She’s chalk white and her lips are trembling. “Go back to your family. It’s not safe being outside.” She turns to Andrea. “Can it be a neighbor? The code lock on the front door worked last time I was out.”


There’s another banging on the door, but this time not as hard and sort of further down, as if someone smaller and weaker is trying to help. Or someone ill, who’s slid onto the floor. Andrea’s heart nearly stops beating. “It’s not Antonio and Theodor, is it?” She whispers the words as dread fills her.


“Not, of course it’s not. They’re barricaded in his condo. I talked to them half an hour ago.”


Andrea remembers and realizes that it’s her fear making her brain conjure scenarios. There’s no way Antonio could have taken Theodor across Remerton in such a short time span. Public transportation is cancelled, and Antonio doesn’t have a car, only a bicycle, same as Mom. How long would it take to cross Remerton on a bike with a six-year-old clinging to his back? She wants to ask mom, but before she has the chance, a loud enough bang to be a boot clad foot kicking it, hits the door.


Mom and Andrea stagger backward. They stare at the door and Andrea envisions how it gives in, even if she knows it’s the reinforced type. Whoever kicked the door might have a sprained ankle for their trouble.


“Stop it!” Mom cries out so loud, her voice breaks. “Go away!”


Andrea is crying now and slides down against the wall. She has happened to yank down her favorite purple down jacket and now curls up under it, shaking all over.


A cry in the stairwell makes Mom crumble next to her. Without a word, Andrea holds up the jacket and makes room for mom under it. They sit there, close together and covered by Andrea’s jacket, listening to running feet, shouts, and screams. Occasionally, someone bangs on the door and pulls at the handle.


“They can try, but it won’t do them any good,” Mom says through clenched teeth. “I have never been so happy that salesman talked me into getting a metal security door.”


Andrea remembers this. When Antonio lived with them, one of mom’s and his big fights happened when mom had ordered the door from the same salesperson that installed the door eye. Antonio had accused Mom of being easily persuaded, not to mention paranoid. Mom had defended herself with that she now could work the evening shifts knowing that her children were safe. As she now stares at the door, Andrea knows Mom was right.


“Does Antonio have a steel door?” Andrea knows she’s worrying her mother with her questions, but how else can she find answers to them?


“He lives in an old, listed building. I wouldn’t think so. But Antonio takes care of Theodor in the same way that I take care of you. We’re not letting anyone in. He objected at first when I told him to go to the store and get supplies. He wanted to take the bus to the closest supermarket and stock up, but I told him how many contagious people he could encounter, statistically speaking. You know Antonio. He muttered, but he listened to me eventually. Perhaps he heard how frantic I was for Theo’s sake. Now, afterward, Antonio realizes I know what I’m talking about. Better late than never, you could say.” Mom chuckles, but it doesn’t sound as if she finds it humous. “At least he’s on the third floor.”


Andrea shudders at the thought of how people living on the ground level are faring. Are desperate people throwing stones through their windows to get inside and steal what they have? Or worse?


She doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting on the hallway floor under her jacket. The stairwell has been quiet for a while now. Andrea’s stomach churns. She’s hungry.


“Sounds like we need some soup, perhaps?” Mom pushes off the floor. She pulls up her jeans that are riding lower on her hips than usual. She’s thinner, which normally would have pleased Mom to no end, but it doesn’t matter now. She reaches out her hand and pulls up Andrea. “Tomato soup or beef barley soup?”


Another thing that doesn’t matter. “Tomato soup,” Andrea says, mostly to please mom. It’s as if offering Andrea a choice, even if it’s only between two kinds of soup, makes mom feel better.


“Tomato soup and hard bread. Or maybe we should make a feast of it and put those half-baked frozen buns in the oven.
Andrea brightens. She hasn’t had a soft break for over a week. Mom hadn’t bought any when she stocked up. She did get dry yeast and flour in case their isolation became longer than she expected. Luckily, they have two propane burners on the stove. In case there’s a blackout, Andrea knows how to make dough, flatten it, and fry it in the cast iron frying pan.


Andrea puts the oven on, and mom sets the table in front of the television. It never used to happen before, but eating at the coffee table is a necessity. Mom wants to check out the news cycles and Andrea needs to be where mom is when it goes dark.


The cable networks still broadcast different tv-shows and reality shows, but the PBS channel broadcasts the information available about the virus. Different experts make statements. The president did is as well during the first week, but the foreign minister has taken over. Apparently both the president and the vice president are ill. The same goes for the Speaker of the House.


On the Internet, you can read tons of stuff on social media. Facebook is all about who is ill, who has died, and Andrea has cried and written RIP on too many celebrities’ Facebook and Instagram accounts. Now she opens her tablet and watches the latest on her feed while mom watches her channel.


“Oh, my god,” Mom says and drops the spoon into the bowl of soup with a splash. Red dots form a pattern on mom’s light-blue sweater.


“What?” Andrea looks up at the wall mounted TV.


“The president is dead.” Wide eyed, mom lifts the spoon for the second time but lowers it back into the soup. “They have even stopped counting all the dead. They’re just running a list of famous names.


A glance at Facebook shows very few updates. It is the same with Instagram and Tumblr. X is still active. Perhaps people are too sick to type? Or dead? Andrea looks for her closest friends and sees that Ebba has shared a status twelve hours ago. The net must be seriously lagged. Andrea is sure that update wasn’t there three-four hours ago.
_________________________________
Ebba Stein
12 h
It sucks to be on the second floor. Dad has boarded up all the windows.
He even took off the countertop in the kitchen and nailed it across the balcony door.
Mom and Dad are mostly lying in bed, watching TV.
Thank god I have my tablet. How are you all doing out there, gang? Text me.

_____________________________

“I’m going to try and call Ebba.” Andrea gets up and moves out into the kitchen and sits at the table from where she can still see mom. She clicks the miniature picture of Ebba. No signals go through until her fifth attempt. It takes a while, but just as Andrea think’s all she’ll get is the voice mail, a woman answers.


“Andrea?”


“Yes, it’s me. Is Ebba there?” Andrea pulls up one knee and leans her forehead against it.


“Yes…but she can’t talk on the phone. Not now. I mean, not yet. She has a bit of a cold.”


A cold? Andrea begins to tremble again. “Is it…the virus?” She’s afraid to ask and anxious about the answer.


“The virus?” Ebba’s mother, Bethany, laughs, but her voice has an undertone of hysteria. It sounds as if she’s about to lose control. “No, not at all. She’s got sniffles and she’s a little warm. You know, like kids can get.”


“But it can be the bird virus too. Is Ebba’s dad there?” He ought to be as he boarded in the whole family.


“He’s with Ebba. She wants her dad with her.”


“Please. Can I talk to him? Just for a second? Mom can give good advice. She’s a nurse, remember?”


“Well…” Bethany draws it out and it sounds as if she’s pushing back a chair.


Andrea hurries back to the living room. “Mom. I think Ebba’s sick and it’s as if they’re not getting it.” She holds out her cell and swallows hard when she puts it on speaker.


“Hello?” Mom says. “Bethany?”


“This is Carl. Bethany is… upset.” The male voice sounds shaken, but not unhinged.


“Is Ebba sick?” Mom puts her arm around Andrea. “Can you tell me about it? What are her symptoms?”


“She started coughing this morning. Half an hour later, she developed a fever and began to feel weak. We put her back to bed and gave her paracetamol. It took down the fever a little, but it has never gone below 101,5.”


“And now?”


“She’s sleeping. Or she’s unconscious. We’ve placed her safely on her side and propped her up with pillows because her chest’s rattling. Some mucus. Maybe because she’s too weak to cough.”


Mom closes her eyes hard. And a solitary tear runs down her cheek. “It sounds worrisome, Carl. How are Ebba’s sisters?”


“Ebba’s sisters are in college in Rhode Island. Mary sometimes goes to Paris as she’s a model. Living life, as Ebba says. Linda,our middle girl, has started coughing, and we don't know how to help her. We haven’t been able to reach Mary in Paris for three days—so we just don’t know. She was on her way home, but as you might have heard, they closed the borders all over Europe a week ago and so we hope she can call us soon.” Ebba’s dad coughs.


“Are you ill too, Carl?” Mom asks, and her voice is soft and comforting, like it is when Andrea or Theo are sick or hurt.


“It started like a tickle in my chest half an hour ago. Damn contagious, this stuff, right?” He coughs again and, in the background,

Andrea hears Bethany say something in an irritated voice that she can’t make out.


“I can’t help that I’m coughing,” Carl says. He sighs. “Bethany can’t quite cope with it all and who can blame her? Two of our girls are ill and now I’m coming down with this crap too, apparently. She has no symptoms at all, and it makes it worse for her. Like some sort of pre-survival’s guilt.”


Andrea tries to understand what he means. Perhaps what Ebba’s mom fears most of all is being left behind, alone.


“Andrea is so worried about Ebba. After the twins died, and we lost touch with Molly, it’s understandable that she wants to know,” Mom says gently.


“Of course.” Carl’s voice is sad. “Andy? I want you to know that Ebba always says you’re her best friend. She loves your entire little gang, but you and she have always been extra tight. You were real heroes when you helped the twins and Molly. You and Ebba are so tough. You can do anything, Andy. Never forget that.”


Andrea understands that Ebba is dying. Her dad would never talk like this, speak for his daughter, unless he knew Ebba would never get the chance to say it herself. He probably thinks the words about hers and Ebba’s friendship help. The stuff about them being heroes after their shopping trip to the mall is a bit much, but perhaps not. Maybe not everyone would have dragged their sick friends along and carried them all the way home.


Anxiety hits when she remembers how she almost started to cry when petite little Moa began coughing even before they got off the bus. She had managed to walk on her own while Ebba and Andrea took care of Haya and Ayesha. Andrea would never forget the expression on Nadira’s, the twin’s mom’s, face when she saw the condition her daughters were in when they came home. She called an ambulance but found out that all emergency vehicles were unavailable and that it would be better if she drove her daughters directly to the hospital.


Later, Andrea found out that when they arrived at the clinic, it was so full, they were told to go to a school near the hospital where they were setting up triage and lots of beds. The school quickly became overwhelmed when sick people arrived in droves. Nadira and her husband drove to several different places and in the meantime, the twins died in the back seat. Moa proved to be stronger, or perhaps she lived longer because nobody dragged her from place to place, desperately trying to get help. Three days after she became ill, she passed in her sleep, her mom said. And now Ebba… Andrea rubs her eyes and barely listens to Mom speaking with Carl. He coughs more often and eventually they disconnect.


“It doesn’t look good, but I think you realize that.” Mom cries quietly. “They’re faced with every parent’s worst nightmare.”
“I’m the only one left,” Andrea whispers. “I have no idea how any of my classmates are doing. Maybe it is just me…out of everyone.”
“Shh. Come here.” Mom wraps a blanket around Andrea, and they refocus on the TV.


It looks strange. A reporter is standing in an intersection, dressed in a hazmat suit. Armed guards, dressed the same, surround him.
“I’m standing here in the center of Remerton, and the city looks deserted. Behind me I have Parade Avenue, and in the opposite direction I see East Street. Five city buses have come to a full stop in the center. Two buses have been set on fire, and you can see for yourselves that someone has vandalized the rest. The shops along these streets, normally filled with customers, have all lowered their security gates and are closed. It’s been like this for over a week. We saw a few people earlier, most of them on the way to the pharmacy in the next block, from what I could tell. The pharmacies quickly ran out of all their over-the-counter medication against fever, pain, and cough. The news has also received information that the pharmacies eventually were coerced into handing out prescription medication.” The man flinches when there’s loud bang. The guards form a ring around him.


“Looters are becoming increasingly brash. They seem equally interested in TVs as in food. The latter is understandable, but what someone would want with a seventy-inch TV at this time, when they risk their health in the process, does simply not make sense.
A group of people dressed in dark hoodies, young men, from what it looks like, rush into the frame from the right and launches at the reporter and the armed men. Shots are fired and the image sways wildly when the whoever is behind the camera either is attacked or perhaps trying to escape.


Andrea and Mom hold on tight to the edge of the blanket and Andrea can hardly believe what she’s witnessing.
“What are they doing, Mom?” she asks, panic rising and filling her chest. “Wha-what are they doing?”


“We’re switching channels,” Mom says quickly and reaches for the remote.


“No, no. We have to see what happens,” Andrea says and tugs at mom’s arm. “We need to know. If we have to tell someone about this one day, we have to know.”


Mom looks at her, her eyes dark and wide. “My sweetheart,” she says, and new tears balance at the top of her eyelashes. “My brave girl.” Then Mom leans back, pulls a pillow close and hugs it. When Andrea wants to hold her hand, Mom shakes her head, then raises her arm to cover her mouth.


And coughs.


Continued behind door 3

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