The End Is Now

Head down, Helen held her hands on either side of her eyes to shield her from picking up glimpses of the accident victims in her peripheral vision as Ray inched along. He wished he could look away as well.

Helen shook two Xanax into her hand and washed them down with tequila. He’d have to locate more pills before too long.

As he turned onto Walter’s street, he spotted a boy standing on a lawn, a baseball mitt on one hand. Ray slowed. The boy just stood there.

“Christ. Look at that.” Helen pointed out her window at a man clutching a push lawn mower, one foot back as if he were walking. Only he wasn’t walking.

On the lawn beyond, Ray spotted two older people sitting on a stoop. Across the street a man stood beside his car, a garden hose in one hand, the nozzle pointing at his truck as if he was washing it. No water came from the hose.

As they passed Walter’s house, Ray expected to see Walter sitting frozen beside Lauren on their porch, but Lauren was alone.

Ray drove on. “Someone posed those people,” he said. It was like an elaborate art exhibit, a still-life of Saturday in the neighborhood. Back when the nodding virus was nothing but an item on the evening news, one of the early reports had a doctor demonstrating how victims of the virus would stay in any position you put them in, like living mannequins. When you were infected, your muscles worked just fine; you just couldn’t tell them what to do.

“This is horrible,” Helen said.

“It is.”

They passed a woman with short red hair kneeling over a flower bed; Ray flinched, certain for an instant it was Eileen, but they were still two blocks from their house.

Eileen’s minivan was in the driveway. Ray pulled in behind it, his heart racing.

It felt strange to knock on his own door, but he did.

The door swung open. Eileen took him in, recognizing him instantly, even wearing a surgical mask. She seemed surprised, but maybe not overly-so. As she pushed the screen door open she noticed Helen, and froze. She studied Helen, her eyebrows clenched in confusion.

“What is this?” she finally asked.

Ray grasped the screen door, opened it the rest of the way. “I came to make sure you’re all right.”

“Is that Batgirl?” There was a familiar hint of disdain in her tone. “What is this?”

Helen stepped toward the doorway, stumbled, caught the door jamb to keep from falling. “No. It’s not fucking Batgirl. My name is Helen Anderson.”

Eileen recoiled.

“Oops,” Helen said. “Seems I’ve had a bit too much to drink. Or not enough. Opinions vary.”

Eileen looked up at Ray, wide-eyed, confused.

“Are you all right? If so, we’ll leave you alone.” Ray caught a glimpse into the living room. Justin was sitting on the couch, perfectly still.

“Am I all right? Let’s see.” Eileen looked up. “I’d have to say no. But thanks for asking. I’d invite you in, but that wouldn’t be a good idea. In fact even with those masks it’s probably not a good idea for you to be talking to—” She trailed off, let the breath bleed slowly out of her in a long sigh.

She was looking at Helen, surprised anew at Helen’s presence, in the flesh, at her door. It did take some getting used to.

Was she bothered by Helen being here with Ray? All of Ray’s petty revenge fantasies had melted away at the sight of Justin. Eileen had been exposed; unless she was one of the two or three percent of people who were naturally immune to the virus, she was going to catch it, too.

Eileen went on looking at Helen, who was clinging to the door jamb, trying to remain upright, her shoulder length golden blonde hair rising and falling with each nod of her head.

“Oh, Helen,” Ray whispered. He grasped her shoulders, gently turned her to face him.

Her face was stiff, her lips pulled back in terror. “My Xanax. Keep giving me my Xanax. Please.”

Ray put his arms around her. “I will. I’ll take good care of you. I promise. I’m so sorry.”

The last words she spoke came out garbled, but Ray understood. “Thank you. My guardian. Angel.”

“Bring her in.” Eileen held the screen door open.

Ray led Helen inside, put her in the big chair he’d always sat in when they watched TV. He knelt beside her for a long time, patting her knee, whispering whatever soothing words came to him as he cried.

It was ironic, that Helen had gotten sick here of all places. He would carry her to the car and take her home at some point, but for the moment his only concern was making her as comfortable as possible.

Eventually Helen’s nodding slowed, then stopped, and she was still.

Ray stood, brushed her hair back into place.

He turned, and the first thing he saw was Justin on the couch, his hands in his lap.

Ray nodded to him. “Justin.” He was going to leave it at that—a polite acknowledgment and nothing more, but even Justin deserved more, given the circumstances. “I’m sorry.”

Eileen handed him a glass of ginger ale. “If I get it before you, I want to be outside, in the backyard. Would you do that for me?”

“Of course.”