When Life Turned Purple (19 page)

“Look,” said Lia, “you can have a cancer gene or a sociopathy gene. But you can also make choices that deactivate the cancer or sociopathy genes while counteractively activating healthier and more compassionate genes.”

“So why doesn’t everyone do this? I mean, even before the pods?”

“Because, like I said, most people just want to
feel
good. But people weren’t always like that. People used to care about being moral and virtuous.”

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure exactly why or how, but gradually society got overrun by people who lack compassion and crave control—in the government, in systems running mental and physical health, in the media…..not the people working as the middlemen necessarily, but the people at the top for sure. They see the rest of us as some sort of serf collective for their needs.”

“You make it sound like the Borg,” Russ joked. “ ‘Strength is irrelevant. Your culture will be adapted to serve ours. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile’.”

“It
is
the Borg,” said Lia. “And they’ve been trying to assimilate us and adapt us to serve them for a long time now. It started with movies and radio, then it infiltrated into our TV shows and commercials and laws, and now there’s the Internet, which caught us in the World Wide Web,” she finished by swiping clawed hands at him like a frisky spider.

He grinned at her. “And resistance?”

Lia’s arms dropped to her sides and she became sober. “Most people have already capitulated.”

“But not us.”

“No,” she said. “Not us.”

Lia suggested that Russ go to Emma’s grave to ask forgiveness.

“That’s not Emma there,” said Russ, trying not to think of what was actually in her grave.

“I know,” said Lia. “But this is more for you. I mean, this kind of thing is, by necessity, for the living.” She paused. “Do you want to write it down first and read it to her there?”

“I can just do it here,” he said.

“You could,” said Lia. “But I’m not sure it would be the same.”

Russ thought about it. No, it wouldn’t be the same. Sitting in his living room, he wouldn’t have to be face-to-face with what he’d done. Going to Emma’s grave would be harsher and more real—and maybe that’s just what he needed.

Russ took his gun. Outside, you couldn’t know what would happen.

Hardly any cars were on the streets. People were working from home or not working at all. Russ wondered how the electrical and water distribution were still working. Were those operators somehow enticed into coming in to work? Or maybe they just hadn’t been allowed to leave in the first place? Or was there a way to operate it all that from a bunch of home computers? Russ realized that he didn’t know and there was no way to find out. Oh, sure, he could go to the conspiracy websites, but he’d already discovered by the way they handled the pod “invasion” that while they were right to suspect a government cover-up, they were wrong about everything else. So Russ assumed they’d be wrong about this too.

As he sped to the cemetery, he kept glancing to where Lia usually sat. After some back-and-forth, they agreed that it was safer for her to stay at home. Sure, Russ liked keeping an eye on her, but being behind a home barricade was still safer for her than being with Russ in a car or a cemetery.

And he finally told her his secret: He had an illegal M-4 stashed away in the apartment. He’d bought it second-hand in Arizona. Washington gun laws didn’t allow for such things, but he figured that made it even safer because he was less likely to use it due to fear of getting caught with an illegal machine gun. Just like a sharp tongue, a machine gun was a good thing to have, but better not to use.

The cemetery was gray, the sky was gray, the surrounding pine trees were dark and dull, but the green grass was vivid and wet, giving the whole scene a creepy surreal appearance.

Upon entering, however, the place was quiet and peaceful. It really seemed as if the dead were just peacefully resting. With the directions he’d gotten from one of Emma’s sorority sisters, he found Emma’s grave.

He stood there staring at the tombstone, not quite able to believe that was Emma’s name blaring out at him, her birthday—and date of death. He felt a pang. Usually, such a recent year of death was preceded by a birth year from the 1920s or 1930s, not 1995.

He read the caption on the tombstone.

Forever Young

He looked down at the not-yet-flattened mound.

Suddenly, his eyes ached, then burned as hot tears squeezed out.

He stood there, shaking his head, unable to speak.

Finally, Russ said, “Emma—babe—I’m really sorry.”

His voice sounded grating and inadequate to his own ears. But he continued. “I know you’re not really here. But I hope that you can still hear me wherever you are.” He imagined maybe God Himself passing along the message. “I should’ve done the right thing. It sounds stupid and hokey, but I should’ve married you, babe. And we could’ve raised this child together....” He scuffed the toe of his boot along the grass. “I can only imagine your pain. Even when I saw your pain, I couldn’t really feel it. Knowing that you killed your own child and then got dumped by its father and someone you were so in love with—”

The tears lodged in his throat like a boulder and he stood there, his hunched shoulders shaking and his hands shoved in his pocket.

He took a raspy breath, then said, “I’m sorry I ever thought you were crazy. Isn’t it freakin’ mean that we look at people in so much pain—and legit pain—and decide that their pain means they’re nuts? You gave yourself to me heart, body, and soul, babe. And I know that in the end—I—I just knocked that all aside—and left.”

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

“You can’t undo what you did. And I can’t undo what I did. Both of us, we didn’t know. We didn’t understand what we were doing—or the consequences. And babe, wherever you are…I hope you can forgive me. But even if you can’t, just know that I am sorrier than I thought I could ever be.”

He felt a tiny lightening in his chest. Somehow, he realized, the message was getting through.

“I hope that wherever you are, babe, you’re okay. And I hope that you’re forgiven too.”

He didn’t say more. He just stared at Emma’s tombstone and let the feelings rush through him.

It was good that he’d come, despite the danger of the pods. Back home, he wouldn’t have been able to grieve and be honest in the same way.

Russ didn’t know how long he’d stood there when he heard crying—or pleading, was it? It sounded warbly and female, but he couldn’t tell for sure.

Sliding his gun out, he crouched low at a skimming jog in the direction of the voice. The cries got louder and he heard a woman pleading, “No, please, no....”

Up ahead, he saw a gray figure kicking at something on the ground, but the tombstones blocked it from view. Keeping as close to the ground as he could, Russ scurried closer. The figure wore a gray hoodie, the hood over his head and he looked down so Russ couldn’t see his face. The figure also held a woman’s beige leather purse up in one hand and a knife in the other as he kept kicking.

Russ could see legs in pastel pants and orthopedic shoes sticking out from behind the plaque.

“Gimme what else you got,” grunted the guy.

“Noooo…nooooo....” cried the woman’s voice again.

“What’s in your pockets? Gimme it.”

Russ didn’t move closer. He ducked behind a nearby tombstone, prayed that the woman wouldn’t lift up her head, and aimed.

Two shots rang out before Russ checked himself. The figure fell sideways, cursing as he fell, and Russ stretched his neck to see.

But the figure staggered to his feet and started stumbling away.

Russ didn’t know if the bad guy also had a gun and a rush of adrenaline surged through Russ.

He kept shooting. The figure fell again, but this time rolled and snaked its way out of sight.

Russ pulled the trigger one more time, but heard no shot and felt no recoil.

The gun was empty.

Now Russ cursed. He had an enemy who was still alive and armed with at least a knife, and an elderly lady he just couldn’t leave behind.

As Russ hunched himself flat behind the tombstone, he took deep steadying breaths to calm his body—but not too calm. He wanted to be ready for whatever happened next.

He grabbed hold of his thoughts. If the guy had a gun, he’d have probably used it by now. And although Russ didn’t like the thought of taking on a guy armed with a blade, that guy was wounded and probably couldn’t use the knife with any real power or speed. And he knew Russ was armed, so maybe he’ll just lay low.

But what if the guy calls for back-up?

Russ looked around, then darted toward the lady, eyeballing his surroundings the entire time.

He got to other side of the plaque and saw the elderly lady lying there, curled up and trembling with blood all over her face. On the ground next to her lay a bouquet of pale peach roses and a matching card with cursive handwriting on it.

“Don’t worry,” Russ said as he crouched down next to her, keeping his head erect so his eyes and ears could pick up on anything that seemed bad. “I’ve come to help you. I’m gonna get you home now.”

Her eyes were wild as she pried them open to look at him.

“You’re—the police?” she gasped in a whisper.

“No,” said Russ, keeping his voice low. “I’m just a guy who couldn’t stand seeing a little old lady being mugged. Now come on”—he inched his arms under her and carefully lifted her up— “let’s get you to some place safe.”

She winced and bit her lip as a whimper burst out.

Russ knew he wasn’t supposed to move her, but dammit, he couldn’t just stay there like a sitting duck until an ambulance showed up. Still looking in all directions, he ran with her to his car. She kept grunting as she resisted crying out during the sprint.

Without putting her down, Russ hopped into the driver’s seat and gunned the engine as he closed the door. She rested in his arms, her face contorted with pain, as he drove. He figured he’d take her straight to a hospital and told her so.

When they were far enough away from the cemetery, he stopped the car a moment to look down at her. She stared back up at him.

“It was you—who shot—?”

“Yep.”

“Thank—thank you....”

Now that they were out of danger, Russ wanted to do something to take her mind off her pain.

“It sure has been a long since I drove with a girl in my arms,” he teased her.

She smiled and a laugh popped through her wrinkled lips, but a gasp of pain immediately followed.

“Don’t make me laugh,” she wheezed.

“Sorry,” he said.

She panted a bit, then said, “Such a horrible—young—man….”

“The thug? Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t manage to kill the little slimetoad.”

“I’m sorry—you didn’t—too….”

Despite himself, Russ laughed and glanced down at the lady to see a faint smile on her grimacing face and a twinkle in her otherwise pained eyes. He grinned at her, then focused again on his driving.

He paused, weighing his words, but he hated the thought of her going through such an attack again….

“You know,” he said slowly, “it’s mostly just better to give these thugs whatever you have in your pocket. Better than getting your spleen busted.”

The lady didn’t answer right away, then she said, “I couldn’t. I was in—so much—agony—so terrified—I couldn’t move. I couldn’t—speak.”

Then Russ realized that when he’d heard her moaning, she hadn’t been resisting, she’d been helpless.

“I’m really sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean it like that. Sure, you’re not to blame at all.”

“I thought—I would—die....”

“Well, you’re okay now,” Russ said, even though he wasn’t sure that she really was. “And you’re going to keep on getting better.”

And he really hoped she would.

“At least I’d die near my sister.”

“Your—that was your—you were visiting your sister?”

The woman nodded, then winced again. “Identical twins—aren’t—supposed to—live long—without—each other…it’s been a hard couple—of years now....”

Russ’s heart sank as he listened to her, then a surge of rage crashed through his body. Why can’t people like her just be left alone?

He got to the hospital and carried her through the emergency room doors.

But he could hardly make it through the waiting room.

People sat shoulder to shoulder around the wall and filled the floor, both sitting and lying down. A lot of people were crying, some silently and some with a litany of complaints belted out in ragged voices.

Getting to the nurses’ desk without stepping on anyone was like a playing a game of twister. The old lady’s face was screwed up again. When he finally got there and explained what happened, the nurse got all growly about them not having the lady’s insurance card or any ID.

Russ tried to reason with her, but realized she was overworked and stressed out.

He stepped to the side, looking around for another option.

Then his eyes met those of a plump black nurse with smile-wrinkles at the corner of hers.

He strode over to her and said, “Can you help us out?”

“This your mom?”

“No, I just found her like this—at the cemetery.”

The nurse’s mouth turned down in sympathy and she made a tsking noise.

“It was mugging-in-progress,” Russ said, hoping to get the woman immediate treatment.

The nurse’s expression froze and she stared up at Russ, her round eyes narrowing.

Then she pursed her lips and shook her head.

“Listen,” she said, “the kind of care she’s gonna get here, well....”

“But it’s better than nothing,” said Russ.

The nurse sighed. “Yeah, it’s better than nothing, but maybe not better than what you can give her at home.”

Russ’s eyes widened and then he said, “I can’t....”

The nurse shook her head again. “You don’t know what’s going on here.”

Russ lowered his voice so he was mouthing the words to prevent them from being heard by the lady cringing in his arms.
What if she’s hurt bad? What if she dies?

The nurse gave him a tight-lipped smile, her eyes full of compassion and mouthed,
She can die here too. People already have. With you, she’s got a better chance.

She needed to mouth it a few times before Russ got it.

But Russ wasn’t ready for this. He didn’t want to take a stranger into his home. He didn’t want to share their supplies, especially now, when he couldn’t necessarily get more....