The small private jet door opened in one swift motion, letting a powerful gust of dry, Australian spring air flow throughout the cabin. Six passengers and two pilots lined up at the entryway, waiting to exit. Emelie stood third from the door, closing her eyes as the strong wind hit her face. For a moment, it was almost as though the last ten months had never happened. The brisk, fresh air brought her momentary relief from the constant torment. She was taken back to her life before everything ended when flights to foreign countries meant meetings with high people in high places. She would eat catered food in the boardrooms of office buildings that overlooked entire cities, discussing branding strategies with executives to help them pedal whatever useless crap they were selling. Afterward, she would brush off the triviality she felt towards her chosen line of work and call her adoring husband. He would praise her for a job well done. The thought of Adrian sent a sharp electric current of pain up her spine into her throat. It must have been the tenth time it had happened that day, and it wasn''t even noon yet. She clenched her jaw and forced her eyes open. Her instinct was to push out negative feelings; however, these shockwaves she felt when she thought of her late husband were the only emotion she could discern anymore.
The group descended the staircase to a small airstrip. Half of the passengers had been sought out and recruited from various places in Europe and the middle east; the other three were the recruiters. The only distinction between the two groups was the matching gray outfits and tan jackets the recruiters wore.
The sun shined brightly overhead, contrasting the coolness of the wind with its dry heat. In the distance, a building looking no bigger than a shed stood to the left of them. It was the only structure in sight. The landscape surrounding them suggested that they had landed in the heart of a never-ending desert. Nothing indicated to Emelie that they were, in fact, just outside of Sydney.
A shuttle bus pulled up to the group now collected at the bottom of the stairs. The door slid open, and a disheveled looking young man in a grey and brown, ill-fitted knitted sweater, wrinkled tan pants, and tattered brown leather shoes stepped out.
"Good morning!" he exclaimed as he smoothed his hands over his pants in a fruitless effort to rid them of their rumpled appearance. "I hope the flight was bearable for you all." The group remained silent and expressionless. They had all traveled a long way—some much longer than others. Emelie knew very little of the other passengers. She knew that those dressed in grey cotton shirts and pants were part of some organization seeking to rescue the remaining few of the human species.
One of the women, a young Haitian doctor, named Christine, found Emelie in Lyon. She was the first living person Emilie encountered in five weeks. As seemingly every person in the city, and possibly the whole country died around her, Emelie never so much as had a sniffle.
Before finding herself the sole survivor in a city of hundreds of thousands, she had been informed that most of her friends, family, and worst of all her husband back home in Vancouver, had died. Like so many, Emelie had rushed to the airport when news of the first outbreak in Canada broke. She had been in Naples on a business trip and was trying to catch the next plane back home when reports indicated that nine thousand people had died in only forty eight hours after the first confirmed case in Montreal.
The virus spread quickly throughout communities. The victim would be asymptomatic for the first two weeks before it began to wreak havoc on their system. It was able to go undetected by the immune system as it mimicked natural bacteria in the body while spreading to each vital organ. Once it had cells in every corner of its host, It would launch into a full attack and decimate the victim within a day or two. The fatality rate for those unfortunate enough to contract it was one hundred percent.
It seemed the entirety of the European continent panicked simultaneously and needed a flight to somewhere other than where they were. Some were trying to get home. Some tried to run from the inevitable. Everyone mobilized in terror. Emelie tried every airport she could find throughout Italy, France, Portugal, Spain, and Germany but to no avail. For three sleepless days and nights, she searched for any possible way to get to Adrian. In the early morning of the fourth day, all hope abruptly ended when Adrian called her, speaking at a barely audible tone. He had contracted it. He and everyone they knew was sick. They would all pass within the week.
Five days after she lost Adrian, outbreaks were reported in eight major cities across Europe and thirty or so worldwide. The virus was airborne. It was unstoppable. The last living person Emelie saw was in a park near a pond in Lyon. She was a young girl, no more than ten years old. Emelie sat next to her, gently stroking her arm until she was gone. The girl never reacted to being touched. She had lost consciousness long before she stopped breathing. Emelie sat there for hours, stroking her arm, looking over the still water. The air was stale and smelled of nothing. All sound muted around her. Numbness was all that was left.
Emelie lost track of time entirely after losing Adrian. She only started to piece together a timeline a few days ago, when Christine explained what happened globally and what other survivors like Emelie were doing in the aftermath. She explained to Emelie that there was a facility in Sydney where survivors were gathering in the last stronghold of humanity. Emelie was in no state of mind to retain the details Christine provided but figured she had nothing left to lose and agreed to join her. After walking the empty French streets for months, she would give anything to be around the living again.
Emelie looked at the two other recruits. She wondered how long they had wandered deserted cities and towns before being approached by those in grey. How easily did they agree to take the journey to humanity''s last refuge?
"Please take a seat in the shuttle, and we will be on our way." said the young man in wrinkled attire.
The shuttle drove through the empty city of Sydney, taking side roads and slowly maneuvering around the abandoned vehicles with doors wide open, cluttering the middle of the streets. There was no one in sight, living, or dead. Dogs and other small animals ran in and out of the open doors of the shops and restaurants. It appeared as though the end of the human race had little effect on any other species.
Emelie looked out the window at the sights that had become all too familiar to her. She wandered similarly desolate streets. It was rare to come across the deceased in public places, aside from hospitals and long term care homes. Bodies of the homeless could be found in alleyway corners and parking garages. Occasionally, she came across the corpses of those that had the misfortune of being the last of their social circles to die and chose to spend their final moments in parks or rooftops - places that may have held sentimental value to them. Most died in their homes after attempting to isolate themselves from contraction or spreading the illness. Once it became clear that she was alone in Lyon, Emelie quickly became wise to what areas best to avoid encountering the bodies.
The entire city was covered in a layer of orange dirt. "We had a dust storm a few days ago," said the man who had escorted them from the airport seated in the shuttle''s front passenger seat. He had introduced himself as William. His accent suggested he was a native to Australia. The driver, a small blonde woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties, never said a word the entire journey.
"You''re all quite lucky we found you. You''ll be the final rescues before we go into lockdown," William said as his bright green-yellow eyes scanned the three newcomers seated behind him. He ran his fingers through his curly and wild, dirty blonde hair which paired well with his overall unkempt look.
Emelie considered what he had said, pausing on “before we go into lockdown." She felt the urge to press William on it, but could not muster the energy to speak. Giving in to the mental exhaustion, she decided that her need to probe for more context came more from habit than genuine curiosity. She should care to know what was about to happen, but the numbness manifested that day by the pond in the park she could not remember the name of had taken over completely. The natural survival instincts needed to motivate vigilance no longer generated a sense of caution or fear in her. The feeling seemed mutual among the other rescues.
After a few hours of careful navigation through the city, they pulled up to a small building on the outskirts. The structure looked to be no more than one story with two large, steel entrance doors and no windows.
"Well, here we are!" said William loudly, visibly startling the young recruit seated next to Emelie. The driver exited the van, and a second later, the sliding door slid open with such force, it created a loud bang and the tiny girl sitting beside Emelie jumped in shock once more.
"If you all could step out of the van, please," William said, standing sideways, next to the opened door. One by one, the shuttle passengers stepped out onto the dusty concrete parking lot. There were two more vans in the lot with people exiting them as well. All of the recruits wore the same sullen, tired expressions of people who had known nothing but heartache and loneliness for the better part of a year.
"Please make your way to the entrance." William guided the group with an outstretched arm towards the steel doors. No one spoke. They maintained a line formation while walking towards the doors.
As they drew closer to the building, one of the doors opened slightly, and William rushed ahead of the group to pull it open. Emelie and the others walked into what seemed to be a lobby of sorts. It was a brightly lit room with dark blue walls and a black desk in its center. A single steel door was located behind the desk.
"If you could all be so kind as to follow me." William bellowed as he walked towards the only other door in the room. His over-compensating "chipper-ness" was becoming quite nauseating to Emelie, and she didn''t seem to be alone in that sentiment. She saw the young man''s profile standing just a few feet ahead of her gently sigh and roll his eyes. He must have caught a glimpse of her smirking at his reaction, Emelie thought as he turned towards her and snickered quietly. He was tall, fresh-faced, and sweet-looking with sharp, green eyes and shaggy, curly brown hair. Based on his athletic yet lean physique, the band t-shirt, bright purple high top sneakers, and canvas backpack he wore, Emelie figured he was no more than twenty years old. He looked to the ground for a moment then slowed his pace just enough for her to catch up.
"Doesn''t he seem a little too happy for someone who just witnessed the apocalypse?” the young man said in a hushed tone once Emelie stood to his right. She looked up at him and saw that smirk again, only this time there was a bitter sadness tugging at it. It was as though she could feel the torment he held inside, having lost every person he had loved over the last year. An image flashed in her mind of him holding a much younger girl, lifeless in his arms…his sister. Emelie quickly broke eye contact and looked down to the ground, trying to shake off the moment''s intensity. She didn''t understand what just happened, but it seemed she witnessed what he had seen as though it was a memory of her own. She couldn''t handle it. Her pain was already too heavy to carry. She couldn''t bear imagining the possible scenarios that the others must have seen.
Emelie leaned in towards the boy, making sure to keep her eyes firmly forward so as not to make eye contact and said, "My guess is the apocalypse is a step up from his old life." The young man snickered quietly again, and she felt a momentary wave of relief sweep over her. At first, she assumed the feeling came from hearing his endearing chuckle, but somehow she knew it had not manifested within her. It felt as though it had been projected onto her by another. Her mind had simply assumed it. He, too, seemed to notice something odd. From her peripheral view, Emelie saw a quizzical look on his face. She continued to avoid direct eye contact. The young man dropped his focus to his feet then popped his head back up, looking forward. He reached his left hand over towards her.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"I''m Jacob," he said to her, a little louder than he had been previously speaking. She hadn''t noticed his distinctly French accent until he pronounced his name "Jah-cob". Looking down at his hand, she took it into hers.
"Emelie" she said, pronouncing it with a French accent to let her fellow francophone know they shared a mother tongue. His eyes lit up as he turned his head sideways to pull her attention towards him. She hesitatingly obliged.
"Enchante!" he exclaimed as quietly as he could.
"Fran?aise ?"
"Canadienne."
“Ah! Canadienne. C''est joli, Emelie.”
He was indeed French, thought Emelie with a grin. The world had just ended, and he could still manage to lay on the charm. She nodded a thank you to him. Something was nagging at her. She couldn''t shake the feeling that something was so familiar about him, as though she knew him well somehow.
"Please. After you." Jacob gently put a hand on her shoulder to guide her ahead of him through the doorway. This time his touch was electric. She could not deny or explain it away. Emelie felt a sudden whirlwind of emotions. Images from memories began to flash before her rapidly of a life she did not know.
In one, Emelie found herself laying on a towel at a beach with ''her'' parents and two younger siblings, a brother, and a sister… the sister that she saw in the "vision" when she first made eye contact with Jacob. Next, she was at a dinner table with the same family sitting around her. The more she saw, the more she connected with the scenes. They felt too real not to be her experiences. What identity she knew before entering this stream of conscientiousness was rapidly falling away.
The memories then flashed back to that awful scene; a little sister in her arms, limp and lifeless as she stands in a small living room, facing an open door to a balcony. The child’s skin is clammy and cold. The air is so heavy it’s like trying to breathe in water.There is nothing to indicate to her that this is not her past, safe for a small voice from deep within repeating I never had a sister.
Gradually, Emelie realized the memory could not be her own. It was most certainly Jacob''s. She fell out of the trance state she was in and took two wide, hurried steps forward to move away from him.
Am I going crazy!?, she asked herself. Am I psychic? No, of course not. But what just happened? She glanced over her shoulder at Jacob. The look on his face must have mirrored hers. He looked at her as though she had suddenly grown two heads.
"Did that just happen?" she heard him say to her.
"I think so," she said aloud.
At the exact moment the words left her lips, it hit her with a panicked flood of confusion: Jacob hadn''t said anything. Well, he hadn''t said anything aloud. The look of shock that grew over his face told her he had asked the question, only, he had posed it silently to himself.
Emelie quickly turned her back to him, focusing on descending the staircase that was now before her. She was determined not to turn around again, even though she could feel Jacob''s stare burning a hole into the back of her head. What the hell is happening!? The phrase continued to loop over and over in her mind.
Once the group reached the bottom of the stairs, they were led a short distance down a narrow, concrete hallway to another steel door. William opened the door wide and held it open for the group to enter. It was a long, low lit room with plain white walls and signs hung up in various places. The signs looked instructional in nature; however, it was impossible to make out their content in the darkness. Along each wall, curtains hung from the ceiling creating emergency- room-like sections with lights illuminating the small makeshift examination spaces within. William walked up to the small figure dressed in a puffy coat and pants with what appeared to be a helmet on, silhouetted before the first of the curtained-off rooms along the left wall. He produced a tablet from his jacket and tapped it against something in the figures'' hands, creating a flash of green light. The person nodded and gestured at him to pass through the curtain behind her. As he vanished behind the curtain, one of the tan jacketed recruiters walked up to the dark figure, tapped his tablet, and was directed to the adjacent examination area. Once the third recruiter had repeated the act, Emelie speculated that each of them must be providing information about the recruits they had found.
"Welcome to the Rydal James Genetic Research Facility," said a slightly muffled female voice to the group.
"When I call your name, please come up and state your date and place of birth. I will then assign you to one of the examination stations for an infection scan and physical. Please understand that this is a precautionary measure to ensure the health and safety of all residents within the facility." She spoke slowly and carefully, reminding Emelie of a grade school teacher.
As they stood in the darkened entrance of the room, Emelie felt a sudden swell of loneliness rise in her. A memory of entering an emergency room, a bandaged hand wrapped around a badly burned hand.
She is a child, and her mother is standing next to her. An attendant guides them to a curtained off area. Her mother lifts her onto the bed, situated in the middle of the cramped space. She crouches down to meet her eye level and strokes her hair gently, reassuring her that everything will be okay. She is inclined to believe her as she realized that the burn beneath the bandage had not hurt since her father had hurriedly wrapped it after she had touched the cast iron wood stove in their living room. The nurse asked her mother a few questions then proceeded to unwrap the bandage. Once the bandage was removed, the two women stared at the tiny, unscathed hand now lying in the nurse''s open palm. She frowned and looked up at Emelie''s mother, standing motionless. Just then, a tall man with a stethoscope around his neck parted the curtain with one hand looking down at the open folder in his hand. "Jacob Comtois?" he asked and raised his eyes towards the brunette woman with soft features and green eyes standing next to her. I do not know this woman, Emelie realized.
"Jacob Comtois?" a voice asked again. This time it was distinctly female and muffled by a helmet. Emelie snapped out of the memory, realizing that once again, she was witnessing part of Jacob''s past. It was as though she had, for a moment, possessed Jacob''s mind. Or perhaps, it was him possessing hers.
Emelie felt a movement from behind her, followed by Jacob passing her on the right. He looked back at her with squinted, analytical eyes. Emelie watched him as he turned forward again and walked up to the suited woman.
"Birth date and location?" She asked.
"July 24th, 2026. Urrugne, France," Jacob offered.
The attendant indicated silently for Jacob to enter the third curtained area from the entrance on the right wall. Jacob nodded and looked back once more at Emelie, which caused her to turn her gaze to the floor. He then disappeared behind the curtain of his designated room.
Emelie felt a small sense of relief when she looked up again to see that he had vanished. Had the distress from the experiences of the past year finally broken her? She determined she must have been having a psychological meltdown as she reflected on what had happened since she had passed through the facility doors, replaying it again, step by step in her mind.
People''s names continued to be called around her as she recalled the details, tuning it all out. The more she examined the situation however, the further from understanding she felt. If it was all in her head, why did Jacob seem to react to the experiences? Was this a dream? Is none of this real? At this point, no explanation was off the table.
"Emelie Mercier?" The attendant''s voice pulled Emelie back to the present. She stepped up to the woman wearing a biohazard suit. Through the helmet, Emelie noticed the woman''s youthfulness. She was fair-skinned with jet black hair and dark eyes. Her skin was full and plump like a child''s. This was something of a trend among the survivors, Emelie considered. None of them looked to be any older than their mid-twenties. Everyone looked amazingly healthy, considering the emotional trauma they had all experienced. Something in their eyes, however, all bared the same bitten confusion.
"Birth date and location?"
"October 20th, 2011. Montreal, Canada,." The woman nodded once and gestured for her to go into the examination room in the far left corner behind them. Emelie heeded her instruction and made her way to the back of the room. Inside was a gurney covered in light blue sheets, a chair next to it, and a little desk containing standard medical tools. Next to the desk was a screen of sorts on a metal pole with wheels. Wires extended from the base of the apparatus and were neatly wrapped around a hook at the top of the pole. The screen was black yet illuminated by a backlight.
Emelie sat on the bed and waited for whatever would happen next. Alone with her thoughts, she realized that she was beginning to feel connected to the world again. A few days ago, she walked around aimlessly in a dead city or spent most of her days sleeping in empty hotel rooms. She cared not about what day it was, what she looked like, what the weather was like, what food she ate, nothing. Now her curiosity rose once more.
A man parted the curtains and walked in. He also wore a biohazard suit. He said a quick hello, introduced himself as Thato, and explained that he was previously a paramedic in Johannesburg. He would be performing her health review today.
"Emelie?" he asked. She nodded.
"You''re 32?" again, she nodded.
He proceeded to take her temperature, feel the glands in her neck, and check her vitals. "Have you had any headaches, vomiting or nausea, diarrhea, fever, or general feelings of malaise in the last 14 days?"
"No, nothing."
He explained that he would now take a blood sample as well as a spinal fluid sample. Emelie visibly cringed at the mention of a spinal tap. "Can I ask what it''s for?" she asked, cautiously.
"The blood test is to check your overall health and to see if any antibodies to the virus are present in your blood. The lumbar puncture is to check if the virus is lying dormant in your spinal fluid." Emelie hesitated then nodded.
He first withdrew a blood sample and tapped the screen that hung on the pole next to him, then placed the sample somewhere behind the screen. Robotic like sounds came from the back of the device, followed by lines of information now populating the screen.
"You''re healthy, albeit a little dehydrated. No worries, though. Once we have finished here, we''ll get you some food and water." The man’s demeanour made Emelie feel at ease.
"Antibody count is the best I''ve seen all day!" His delivery seemed a little forced, but Emelie appreciated the genuine attempt to lighten the dense discomfort of the whole situation they collectively were in. He then grabbed the bundle of wires hanging for the hook above the screen and laid them on the bed next to her. He tapped a few things on the screen then moved to the other side of the gurney to Emelie''s backside.
"This is going to be uncomfortable for a minute or so," he said as he touched the small of her back firmly with the tips of his fingers. He moved back to her front, grabbed the cords from next to her, and instructed her to lift her shirt and lay down on her stomach.
Thato pulled down on the waist of her pants and began feeling her lower spine with his fingertips again. He moved to the small desk and took an alcohol swipe from a small package. "Apologies, this will be cold," he warned as he wiped the area he had last pressed. He took two of the cords from the bundle and returned to the desk, opened the third drawer, and removed a sterilized packet. He unwrapped it to reveal a large, thick needlepoint with a screw top at the base. As Thato screwed the needle to one of the cords, Emelie saw that the second cord had a node with an adhesive patch around it, much like that of an EKG machine.
"Now, you will feel discomfort for about a minute," he said as he stuck the patch onto her back. "We have a limited supply of pain medicine here and cannot spare them on smaller procedures. The patch will help some with numbing the area, but it isn''t foolproof. Now, take a nice deep breath in and exhale slowly." Emelie complied and as she exhaled, felt the sharp pain of the needle insertion into her skin. The discomfort increased significantly as the needle reached and penetrated the bone. The intensity brought on nearly instantaneous perspiration. She instinctively squeezed her eyes shut. Suddenly, the pain broke, and she heard Thato shuffle the cords around behind her. "That''s it. You''re all done, "he said. Emelie stayed still until Thato told her she could sit up again. She found it odd that he didn''t bandage what would have been a fairly large insertion wound. "Is it okay for me to lower my shirt over the puncture hole?"
"Oh, there is no hole," he answered as he removed and discarded the needlepoint and wrapped the cords up, hanging them back on their hook. Emelie slowly sat up and touched the area where the needle had entered. There was indeed no wound. It seemed implausible, but she couldn''t consider it much longer as further questioning began.
"Have you, at any point, suffered major injury or illness in your life?"
"No."
"Any surgeries or fractures?" Emelie shook her head.
"Have you ever been pregnant?"
"No."
"When was your last physical?" "Oh gosh, I can''t remember actually. I think I was a teenager."
With each answer she provided, Thato entered it into the touch screen. A chime came from the console.
"Looks like you''re virus-free," Thato said cheerily.
"Thato, I hadn''t seen another living person in 5 weeks before 13 hours ago," she paused briefly, considering what she had just vocalized for the first time. "How many of us are left?"
Thato''s expression tensed up for a brief moment. It dawned on her once more that he, too, had the vitality and supple appearance of a man in his early twenties. "Just over four thousand," he said with an air of reluctance to admit his words'' reality.
Emelie sat quietly in contemplation as Thato tapped around on the monitor screen. Of the global population of ten billion, pre-virus, there may only be four thousand of them left.