The Diseased

C.3

Chapter Three

I woke with a start, lurching immediately upright in the mass of pillows and blankets that surrounded me.
I didn't ever open those doors, did I?
I stood up, and immediately ran down the stairs, leaning on the railing for support racing towards the front doors that locked me out of the real world, protecting me from the reality of what was actually going on, saving me from facing the truth that I had tried to deny multiple times.
"Good...good..." I murmured, throwing the back of my hand to my forehead.
As I stared to relax, I began to walk up the stairs once again. As I met the fifth step or so, there was a knock on the doors.
I paused, immediately staying still.
"Hello?" someone called from outside. "I, uh, need some help!"
The voice was masculine, for sure, but definitely not an older man. He didn't sound dangerous...
"My family, we need some supplies? You seem to have quite a big set up, and I was just wondering if we can have a few materials? You don't have to let us in...I mean, that'd be great, but it's not necessary. Anyways..."
As he rambled, I realized he was just another teenager trying to help his family. I mean, I tried before this whole thing started, but it was working on the weekends or during the summer. But in a way, it's the same thing, no matter what you did to help, you still helped.
I guess that was what hit me, what made me walk down two flights below the first floor and to the basement, pick up a small survival kit equipped the those dinners-in-a-bag, return to the first floor, open the heavy set of metal doors that hadn't been opened in two years, and stare at the outside world.
It was rough.
I dropped the kit, and threw my hands over my mouth to mute my gasp. My eyes watered ever so slightly as I looked around, shoving past the boy. For starters, it was bare. There were some puddles with murky water, blood stained walls and streets, and corpses, just dead corpses were lying on the floor. It was cold, trees had lost their leaves, and it was just...barren. It was as hard to describe as it was as easy to describe.
"You, uh, haven't been out much, huh?" The boy mentioned, breaking the silence.
I turned to him, and nodded stiffly. "I-yeah, I haven't. It's...it's different from when I last saw it."
"Ah, yeah, it's something. Where's your group? In there?" He asked.
My eyes widened. "They, um..." I trailed off. "I never had one."
He nodded understandingly. "My folks and I were with another family for a while. Their daughter, her dog ran away, so she chased it, and they never found her. Her dad kind of went crazy after that. We left them." He kept his hands in the pockets of his worn hoodie; it was a dark shade of grey with a faded image of Michael Jackson on it.
I bit my lip, sort of unsure of how to continue the conversation. I hadn't spoken to someone other than myself in years, and here was someone who was willing to have a normal conversation with me, as if the world was normal.
"Your, um, sweater. That's Michael Jackson, right? My parents liked him, not crazy about him, but they liked him."
His eyes widened, and he looked down at his apparel. "Oh! Right, yeah, they even named me after one of his songs, Ben, have you heard it?"
I eagerly nodded my head. "Yeah! And, uh, my parents were sort of obsessed with Kiss, so they named me Beth." I pursed my lips, smiling from ear to ear that the memory of my father trying his hardest to look and act like he was some sort of professor, but he always failed when my mother was around, in all her glory, belting out lyrics to Detroit Rock City, wearing her old Kiss merchandise, equipped with her face painted white with a star painted poorly over her eye in honor of Star Child, and foam spikes stitched to her leather jacket and boots.
"Where are they?"
I blinked, staring at the boy, Ben. "Excuse me?"
"Your parents-are they in there? They're okay with you giving me some supplies?"
I bit the inside of my cheek, and then sighed. "Uh, no, yeah, totally. They'd be okay with it."
"Alright then...thanks so much...Beth?"
I nodded, confirming he had corrected my name. "You're welcome...Ben."
He grinned, and then reached down to pick up the small kit. "Oh, and, this is just a suggestion, but you and your folks should consider letting people in here. I see where you're coming from with the whole 'they'll turn against us and hurt our family' kind of thing, I mean, I assume that's what your folks are thinking, but people are dying. My dad's friends died just yesterday, three of them. But just a thought, y'know?"