His Son

A father struggles to protect his son within a quarantine zone during a post-virus era.

The father returned home from work within the quarantine zone to see his son sitting at the dining room table staring down at its surface.  Dried blood ran down his nose.

“How the heck did you get that?” The father asked, sitting down at the table.

“A kid punched me at school today,” the son replied.

“Why did he punch you?”

“He was mean to me because I’m…I’m…”

“Immune?”

Yeah.”

“You’re gonna have to get used to that.  It’ll happen.  What did you do back?”

“Nothing.  I ran.”

“You should’ve done something.”

“It wouldn’t have been right.”

“Do you know what kind of a world we live in?”

“I know.”

“Do you remember what I told you to do if someone strikes out at you?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“I’m supposed to strike back.”

“That’s right.  Next time, do it.  Go clean the blood off your face,” the father ordered.  The son got up and went into the bathroom.  The father could barely hear the running of the sink’s water over his thoughts.  They drifted back to the outbreak, the destruction of the world through the virus, and the rise of the infected.  As the virus began to spread, with no way to stop it, the father and his family were some of the few people who were able to pay for an immunization.  However, the vaccine process for the father’s wife went tragically wrong and she died shortly after from disease.  He and his son were the only ones inside the quarantine zone that were immune thanks to a vaccine injection, and every person within the zone knew that.  They were jealous of it, so the father and the son were the targets of abuse.

After three years of hiding the truth, the father finally told the son about his mother.  The son cried that night until he couldn’t cry anymore.

The father and the son went to the only bed they had.  The son clung tightly to him as the screams of the infected engulfed the night air like the baying of a wolf in the woods.  The father didn’t move to comfort his son.  His eleven-year old son’s fear disgusted him.

“Can you walk me to school today?” The son asked at morning light.

“Alright.  Hurry up and get ready.”

After a breakfast of plain toast and milk, they set off.  The air was wretched and bleak.  Greenery infested the sides of buildings, broken cars lined the streets, and some of the apartment buildings had cracked and broken windows.  The father saw a group of militia aiming their rifles at a cowering man.  The man had obviously been suspected to be infected.  The father didn’t stop them.  The father didn’t cover his son’s eyes.

“Dad?”

“Don’t.”

“Dad…”

“Shut it and walk.”

The rifles went off and a sickening moan protruded from the son’s throat.

“You saw that?” The father asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“How is that good?”

“That’s life on the street every day.  Not the sunshine and rainbows your school presents.”

“They were wrong to do that.”

“They were protecting us.”

“But they could’ve helped him.”

“There is no way.  No one has found a cure yet.  Until then, no one is allowed to enter the zone or leave.”

“That’s the fourth man they’ve executed today.”

“And there will be more.  You have to get used to that.  Better not to interfere.”

“Until they kill off everybody in the zone?”

“They won’t do that.”

“How do you know?”

The father didn’t, but he didn’t say that.  They continued to walk without words.  They turned into an alley between two apartment buildings because of the roadblocks ahead.  The father groaned when he saw a soldier leaning against the wall of a building on the left.  He was wiping his rifle with a rag.  The father and the son tried to pass the soldier without glancing at him.

“Where you headed?” The soldier asked.

“I’m taking my son to school.”

“Got any rations on you?”

The father’s hand moved to finger the handgun strapped to his belt.

“I’m not giving you crap.”

“Either you give me somethin’, or that boy comes with me.”

“My son isn’t going anywhere with anyone,” the father declared.  The soldier quickly moved, but the father managed to grab him by his helmetless head and smash it into the wall.  The soldier slumped to the ground.  A dead soldier in an alley was not an uncommon sight within the zone, but it still wasn’t wisdom to stick around.  The father got his son to school without another word.

“Remember what I told you?”

“I know.”

“Repeat it.”

“If someone strikes me, I strike back.”

“That’s right.”

“Will you come get me after school?”

“Yes.  I’ll come for you.”

 The father came back three hours later upon hearing that his son was missing.  He insisted that he go look for his son himself.  Out on the street, the father hollered his son’s name.  His voice echoed through the streets.  Nobody paid heed to him.  He was all alone.  Light rain fell and splashed all over his head.  Then it began coming down in torrents, soaking his jacket and sticking it to his filthy, soggy shirt.  He continued to call his son’s name until he came to the back end of the zone.  The soldiers crowded around him.

“Sir, no one is allowed to wonder beyond this point.”

“Your rules don’t mean anything to me.  My son is out there.  Let me go.”

“What’s the harm in letting him go?  He can’t get infected,” another soldier spoke up.  They let him go.  He ran through the rain, shouting his son’s name.  He couldn’t tell if the water streaming down his cheeks was rain or tears.  The road continued straight into a forest.  He called his son’s name again.  A bloodcurdling shriek cut across the misty air, propelling the father to hide.  He hid behind a tree and listened to the screaming thing stumble like a drunk down the street.  Its arms swung at its sides without control.  It let out another sharp shriek that sounded over the roaring thunder.  It disappeared without noticing the father.  The father found his son sitting against a tree.  The tree trunk was a murky, rotted nutmeg.  The father fell on his knees exhausted beside his son.

“Why did you do that?”

“I’m not going back.  I’m not safe there.”

“Yes, you are.  Better there than here.”

“No.”

“Enough!  Come on.”

“I’m not going.”

“I’ll leave you.”

The son looked at him with crimson, sunken eyes.

“Please don’t leave.”  He begged.

“You’ll be safe back at home.”

“I’ll be safe with you.  Real safety followed me here.”  Now the father knew that it was tears that streamed down his cheeks.  One of his rough hands wrapped itself  around the son’s shoulder and comforted him, like it should’ve done the night before.  The father sat next to his son against the tree.  The rain fell in torrents around them and the thunder screamed across the sky.  Yet amidst all of this, the father knew there was beauty here.  Beauty among the ruin with his son.

Author's Note

What do you think of the dialogue and the descriptions? This story was inspired by stuff such as The Road and the video game The Last of Us.