“What’s the matter?” Helen asked.
Ray looked at her, questioning, then realized there was a tear on his cheek. He wiped it with the back of his hand. “I was just thinking about my wife. My ex-wife, I guess. I was wondering how she’s doing, whether she’s . . . you know.”
Helen put a hand on his arm. “You’re a good soul. I have a grown son in Houston, and all I’m thinking about is how to get more Xanax.”
Ray reached up, took her hand in his. “You’ve done a lot of good in the world.”
Helen laughed harshly. “Yeah. I was in a bad TV show.”
“It wasn’t bad, and anyway, that’s not what I’m talking about. What about all the money you raised for autism research?”
Helen sighed, shook her head, but didn’t argue.
“I can’t stand the thought that Eileen might be like these people. All alone. Dying.” He rose up on his elbow. “Would you mind if I . . .”
Helen stiffened. “You want to go to her?”
“Just to make sure she’s all right.”
“And what if she isn’t? Will you stay with her?”
Ray hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I’m staying with you. If that’s what you want.”
“Of course it’s what I want. You’re my guardian angel, remember?” She leaned over and kissed his nose. “If I was married and my husband ditched me while this hell was breaking loose, he could be bleeding to death on my doorstep and I wouldn’t bring him a Band-Aid.” She gave a little one-shouldered shrug. “But that’s just me.”
Ray wished he could feel that way; it was all Eileen deserved. But he couldn’t. They’d spent twenty-two years together, and even if the in-jokes and silly banter had faded over the last five, they’d always watched out for each other. The more he thought about it, the more urgently he needed to check on her.
He turned and kissed Helen. “I’ll be back in two hours. Three at the most.”
“Would—” she paused. “Can I come with you?”
She was safer inside, but Ray could see this meant a lot to her. It meant they were together, not two strangers waiting out a storm together.
There were bodies everywhere. In the street, on sidewalks, on lawns, in driveways. In cars, both parked and wrecked.
Ray hit the brake as a teenaged boy lurched out from behind a delivery truck, right in front of the car. The boy’s arms were raised, his head nodding, eyes wild with terror.
“I’m sorry,” Ray shouted through the raised windows. “There’s nothing we can do. I’m so sorry.” He inched the car forward. “Please, get out of our way. Move, please.” The boy set his hands on the hood of Helen’s Prius, opened his mouth, trying to speak. With each jerk of his head he began to sink, his legs freezing up. Ray turned to look behind him, backed up until the boy slid to the street. He steered around him.
Helen had her hands over her eyes. “This is terrible. These poor people.”
“Why are there so many in the streets?” Ray asked as he steered around a woman in a bathrobe. He was fairly sure she was still breathing, but he avoided looking at her as he passed. He didn’t want to see her eyes tracking them.
“They don’t want to die alone,” Helen said, her voice slurred. She’d gone through half of the tequila bottle since they’d left her house. There were tears on her cheeks. “Once they start nodding, they’re not afraid to catch it any longer, they’re afraid to be alone, with no one to help them. So they run outside.”
Head down, Helen held her hands on either side of her eyes to shield her from picking up glimpses of the accident victims in her peripheral vision as Ray inched along. He wished he could look away as well.
Helen shook two Xanax into her hand and washed them down with tequila. He’d have to locate more pills before too long.
As he turned onto Walter’s street, he spotted a boy standing on a lawn, a baseball mitt on one hand. Ray slowed. The boy just stood there.
“Christ. Look at that.” Helen pointed out her window at a man clutching a push lawn mower, one foot back as if he were walking. Only he wasn’t walking.
On the lawn beyond, Ray spotted two older people sitting on a stoop. Across the street a man stood beside his car, a garden hose in one hand, the nozzle pointing at his truck as if he was washing it. No water came from the hose.
As they passed Walter’s house, Ray expected to see Walter sitting frozen beside Lauren on their porch, but Lauren was alone.
Ray drove on. “Someone posed those people,” he said. It was like an elaborate art exhibit, a still-life of Saturday in the neighborhood. Back when the nodding virus was nothing but an item on the evening news, one of the early reports had a doctor demonstrating how victims of the virus would stay in any position you put them in, like living mannequins. When you were infected, your muscles worked just fine; you just couldn’t tell them what to do.
“This is horrible,” Helen said.
“It is.”
They passed a woman with short red hair kneeling over a flower bed; Ray flinched, certain for an instant it was Eileen, but they were still two blocks from their house.
Eileen’s minivan was in the driveway. Ray pulled in behind it, his heart racing.
It felt strange to knock on his own door, but he did.
The door swung open. Eileen took him in, recognizing him instantly, even wearing a surgical mask. She seemed surprised, but maybe not overly-so. As she pushed the screen door open she noticed Helen, and froze. She studied Helen, her eyebrows clenched in confusion.
“What is this?” she finally asked.
Ray grasped the screen door, opened it the rest of the way. “I came to make sure you’re all right.”
“Is that Batgirl?” There was a familiar hint of disdain in her tone. “What is this?”
Helen stepped toward the doorway, stumbled, caught the door jamb to keep from falling. “No. It’s not fucking Batgirl. My name is Helen Anderson.”
Eileen recoiled.
“Oops,” Helen said. “Seems I’ve had a bit too much to drink. Or not enough. Opinions vary.”
Eileen looked up at Ray, wide-eyed, confused.
“Are you all right? If so, we’ll leave you alone.” Ray caught a glimpse into the living room. Justin was sitting on the couch, perfectly still.
“Am I all right? Let’s see.” Eileen looked up. “I’d have to say no. But thanks for asking. I’d invite you in, but that wouldn’t be a good idea. In fact even with those masks it’s probably not a good idea for you to be talking to—” She trailed off, let the breath bleed slowly out of her in a long sigh.
She was looking at Helen, surprised anew at Helen’s presence, in the flesh, at her door. It did take some getting used to.
Was she bothered by Helen being here with Ray? All of Ray’s petty revenge fantasies had melted away at the sight of Justin. Eileen had been exposed; unless she was one of the two or three percent of people who were naturally immune to the virus, she was going to catch it, too.
Eileen went on looking at Helen, who was clinging to the door jamb, trying to remain upright, her shoulder length golden blonde hair rising and falling with each nod of her head.
“Oh, Helen,” Ray whispered. He grasped her shoulders, gently turned her to face him.
Her face was stiff, her lips pulled back in terror. “My Xanax. Keep giving me my Xanax. Please.”
Ray put his arms around her. “I will. I’ll take good care of you. I promise. I’m so sorry.”
The last words she spoke came out garbled, but Ray understood. “Thank you. My guardian. Angel.”
“Bring her in.” Eileen held the screen door open.
Ray led Helen inside, put her in the big chair he’d always sat in when they watched TV. He knelt beside her for a long time, patting her knee, whispering whatever soothing words came to him as he cried.