Black Wings

Waking to the smell of coffee, I slip out from beneath the covers and sit on the edge of my bed, blinking and yawning. Shuffling to the kitchen, I accept a kiss from George as I grab a cup and fill it with the hot brew. The news is on low in the background and I am able to catch a word here and there. A female voice, high pitched and excited breaks into the drone of the running stories. “COVID-19 has been defeated!” she nearly screams. “Stay at home orders are lifted nationwide!” Her hair is sticking up in a rat’s nest all over her head and her dinner plate orbs stare out from a gaunt visage. George and I look at each other, our eyes and mouths open wide. It has been a long seven months during which we have both lost our jobs and almost all the money we had saved over the last twenty years. We both scramble for our clothes and shoes and dressed, we step outside into the world. Keys jingle and the sound of the car unlocking reaches our ears but it takes George fifteen minutes of tinkering to start the car and he grumbles about old gas in the tank settling and condensing. I feel lucky that he is an automotive tech or we might not be going anywhere today. We are thirty miles from any city and are anxious to visit friends and family we have been estranged from for far too long. Silence descends inside the car, comfortable as we have gotten used to each other’s company and no longer need to chat to fill it up. It seems to me like an unbearably long ride, not being used to travelling anymore. There are few cars on the road around us, the faces inside white and solemn as they pass us. We wave at them and they all wave back.

Reaching the city, we see one or two open signs lit where for the last seven months, they have all been dark. The only thing open for months has been Walmart and the few franchise fast food joints near the freeway, plus a few gas stations that look deserted as we pass. I had expected to see a flood of people in town but it is eerily quiet with only a handful out and about. George’s hand reaches for mine just as I am reaching for his and he gives it a squeeze as our eyes meet again speechlessly. We start to pass dozens of flocks of huge black birds clustered around something we can’t see. I tell myself they are deer or other roadkill but I get a sinking feeling in my stomach as we cause one such cluster to fly up as we drive past and I see a tennis shoe at the end of a ragged jean-clad leg sticking out. As we get closer to the center of town, we begin to see skeletons dotting the landscape, topped with the familiar round dome of a human skull. I flip the vent over to recirculate as a nasty pervasive smell enters the car. George and I exchange another meaningful glance as he turns onto an off-ramp and heads toward the nearest of our friends’ houses. Our excitement turns to dread and George’s foot eases up on the gas as we move toward a massive black cloud winging up into the sky. The first house looks deserted from the street where we park, drapes closed, grass thigh high in the yard. George tells me to stay put and steps out to knock on the door. No answer greets his tentative banging and he walks around out of my sight to check the back for signs of life. His face is grim as he slides back into the driver’s seat. He shakes his head and tears track down his cheeks. I don’t ask. The same sights meet our eyes as we go from house to house. Our hands stay clasped letting our grief roll down our faces and drip off of our chins. Heading home, no conversation is necessary as we both know we are thinking the same thing. It seems there was a lot the news didn’t cover while we were in quarantine.