Chapter Two: Barricades

The ceiling LED’s are blinking. I don’t remember how long I have been staring at this burning ball of light. I closed my eyes with a sigh. Another thing I am going to have to change.

Staring quietly at the back of eyelids, I realized startling information. The flare from the LED’s made me believe they were flickering. ‘How long was I staring at those?’ Genuine wonder crossed my thoughts.

I craned my neck forward to catch a glimpse of the wall-clock. The circular silver clock brought a flash of memories.

“You can’t have the clock over the door. It’ll look really off.”

“It’s the first thing I gaze at when I get up.”

“Just look to your left, then.”

I remember my face crooking into laziness at the words. Mil sighed at my face. I won said argument.

The clock read 32 minutes past 8 with the second’s hand ticking on by.

Ah. An hour. How vain.

I realized with shivering start how cringed self-chides sound. Leaving the welcoming, cold clutches of the bedsheet, I propped myself up.

My gut groaned with a rushing pang of hunger. I grunted amidst my efforts to stand up. Smiling morbidly, I wondered, ‘Is the fatigue from the beatdowns finally catching up?’

Dull thoughts occupied my brain as I strode towards the first floor. I vaguely recognized the silent prick of the cold wood against the soles of my feet.

The bustling footsteps of my sister attracted my attention. Turning the corner to the living room, I spotted Mil skipping between the kitchen and the dining room.

Funnily, the purpose of tying her blonde locks up into a ponytail seemed moot. The mop of yellow often found its way onto her face between her rush.

“Hello.” I greeted my older sister. She paused in her track. Turning towards me, her eyes dully glared at me. With a short acknowledging nod, her movements resumed.

I walk over to the small wooden table, sitting at my usual spot. The chair creaked slightly while sustaining my weight.

A transparent-lidded red container rested atop the simple birchwood table. Steam condensed across the lid’s inner surface. But it couldn’t halt the marching aroma from reaching my nose.

My nostrils flared at the delectable scent. Inhaling deeply, a smile of gratification tugged on my lips.

Mil’s careful steps rounded beside me. She plopped down on the chair beside me.

“Thank you for the food.” Mil eyed me with a narrow gaze hearing my unusual prayer.

“I thank myself for the food.” She whispered back.

I snorted with a suppressed chuckle. “Not what I meant.” I clarified.

Mil nodded absently. “Someone’s got to thank the cook.” She remarked.

I rolled my eyes in response. My arm raised over the table, grabbing the transparent lid by its small handle.

Steam gushed from the box as the lid parted. The fresh, saucy fragrance of Spaghetti & Meatballs filled the confines of the dining room. The low yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling fogged lightly incident with the sudden rush of steam.

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I brought my face closer to the container, inhaling the aroma sharply.

I turned to spot Mil pursing her lips while staring me down with a raised eyebrow. Lifting a navy-blue spatula, she pulled the container towards herself. The spatula dug deep into the mess of spaghetti before scooping out a hefty portion.

The crimson sauced meatball peaked through the veil of noodles. The portion unceremoniously dropped on my plate. Mil then moved on to serving herself with an equally generous helping.

Silence settled after the container slid away from my sister’s plate. The sound of cutlery clinking against the crockery began echoing around the expanse of pastel green walls.

The two of us stuffed our mouths without care for decorum. I took large bites of the meatball, sighing in pleasure as the meat melted against my tongue.

Within a few minutes, our cutlery fell onto the plates with a bang. All that was left on the peering white ceramic were hasty smears of the red sauce.

Mil licked her lips clean. “So.” She leaned forward with the flat of her elbows resting against the polished wood. “Care to tell me what happened at school?”

I hardened my face, hearing the inevitable question.

Unnecessary.

“Nothing noteworthy.” I voiced deeply in an effort to garner confidence. The move fell short by a wide margin. Mil scoffed at my answer. She regarded me incredulously.

I could almost hear her indignance. ‘Do I look that stupid?’

She inhaled sharply. “Noth-? You came back with what I can only categorize as bruises across your face. Your pants are more or less tattered and not to mention the thick oil stain.” She stared piercingly.

“Are you being bullied again?” She asked tenderly. My inferiority complex hurt at the genuine sympathy.

‘Again?’ A morbid question raised in my mind. Nevertheless, I shook my head.

“I fell while carrying the lunch tray. Can’t say it doesn’t happen from time to time, Mil.” I excused with non-chalance.

“Nothing of that sort is going on.” I assured her. Mil blinked at my response. She flashed me a look of utter disbelief. I hated lying to her for no reason.

But, a similar conversation had struck between us before.

I outed Zeke and the others, Mil reported them to the school, the school suspended them. Once the expulsion blew over, I was back to square one, writhing under a heavy sized 10 boot.

I hoped to avoid the miserable cycle entirely.

“You know how greasy they make food these days.” My humour landed quite flat in her face. Shaking her head, she lurched her chair back as she stood up.

The ceramic white plate grated lightly while she picked them up. She stacked the two together before walking off into the kitchen. I trailed her movements with a partially turned head. I lost her behind the kitchen doorway.

It was for the best. Futile actions will only hurt us further. I waited in pregnant silence, for the gush of water echoing from the kitchen to subside. Soon, the tap squealed, and the kitchen lights were turned off.

Mil’s waning footsteps marched through the hallway and ebbed away up the staircase.

Her absence invited a comfortable silence. I arched my back while getting up from the comfortable chair.

My gaze landed on the lone TV set positioned across the room. It sat snugly on a small brown stand. The larger LED display did appear ill placed on the table, but we couldn’t cover the installation cost.

‘We? Mil, couldn’t cover the installation cost.’ I corrected myself. The TV screen turned on with a silent flash. I grabbed the nearest chair and plumped back down.

Sound squealed to life from the TV’s speaker.

“This cream is…” My dexterous index mashed the channel-switch button on the remote controller.

“Insurance…” Click.

“Previously on…” Click.

“Get your medi…” Click.

“Today’s news…” Ah. BNN. Its usual jingle blared in the background.

I paused my instinctual click.

On screen sat a man wearing a pristine grey suit, white shirt hidden under its seams and a black tie grappling the shirt’s collar. His expression contained a veiled bewilderment.

“Ah… Ah yes.” He tapped his ear gleaning with concentration.

He looked up with a straight face, saying,

“We are just receiving reports from the Quarantine Centre at NYULH. The aggressive patients have been successfully subdued, and a rigorous effort is being made to identify the underlying disease.”

“The CDC is not allowing any cameras or bystanders within a 100-metre radius of the area of the make-shift centre” His breath hitched slightly.

“We are receiving some footage right now.” The screen cut to Hazmat suits rushing across the well-lit expanse of the hospital. The camera panned along them revealing a dome of white splaying at the side of the hospital building.

The scene turned to hurried forklifts rushing around the area, placing cement blockades in line with the yellow tape of quarantine. Panic induced shouts echoed through the TV’s speakers.

I furrowed my eyebrows at the scene. What disease would require the CDC to barricade the quarantine sight. Usually, the danger sign is enough to keep people out.

I blinked. ‘Unnecessary.’ The resting index figure bolted down on the button, changing the channels with an abrupt bleep.

“Rem-” The news anchor’s voice cut off.