Thursday, May 6, 2010


I commented previously that I can't get these recent events out of my head. I guess I shouldn't even be trying to, what with having to come to Big Decisions soon about the fate of the offenders. Oh, how I wish I could feel self-righteously smug about them now depending on the compassion and tolerance they so vehemently derided, but it's all so hollow, and it just makes me feel even more queasy than before. I've had tears running down my face for what seems like forever now; no time for choking sobs or fetal positions, just rushing back and forth across the compound, trying to shore up the defenses, tend to the wounded, all while the tears fall, eerily detached from any other expression of sadness.

Evans couldn't save her. None of us could, but of course it falls upon the doctor to pronounce her dead. No technology that exists in the world could have saved what was left of her, but her mom carried the too-small, too-bloody bundle to Evans nevertheless, unwilling to give up hope. Evans said little on the matter, as usual, but he looked very tired. "THIS is why you brought me here?" is probably what I would ask, were I him, but as I say, he keeps his thoughts to himself.

It's probably a small mercy that she was so far gone; I still don't exactly understand this whole zombie outbreak thing, how it started, how it spreads. I for one have not ruled out supernatural causes, but the truth is, I just plain lack sufficient knowledge of science, religion, or magic to figure out any real answers. Some people have had some rather cynical assessments of the responses of our fellow man in the time after the outbreak, but I still wonder if the Marauders weren't somewhat affected by whatever made the zombies, too, like it warped their minds somehow? I don't even know whether I want this to be true or not, because it would sort of excuse their actions, but if they're tainted, they might not be redeemable... Anyway, I know they're probably just scared, angry people who lack or suppress basic empathy, but I'm hesitant to rule out other answers. We may never know what really happened, but that doesn't mean we will stop trying to puzzle it out.

Ah, yes, here we go, the horrible, sick feeling in my stomach is back. I managed to distract myself for a few minutes, but of course it didn't last. Screw it, why try to ignore it? Her name was Lindsey. Her dad died, protecting his family from zombies, of course, and she was all her mom had left. "Mommy says Daddy's in heaven now," she would dutifully repeat, but in a voice that sounded like she doubted whether a place like heaven could really exist with a world as messed up as this one. She loved purple, and butterflies, and peanut butter sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Everybody that knew her loved her, and I think she kept our debates more civil, because no one wanted to upset her by shouting and cussing. She would sing little songs about having too many kittens on a boat or frogs on a log or whatever other weird little kid songs there are. She and Steve played together more than once; kids love Steve because he will play whatever they want, and not tell them it's too silly. It was some game they made up where you run back and forth and pick up rocks and put them in a pile but try not to wake the scarecrow, because then you have to roll away? Steve tried to explain it, but I never quite figured it out. Now I guess I never will. If my beautiful sister Sarina is still alive, she'll be ten now, too. I miss her so much I feel like there's a hole in my heart, and having Lindsey around made it feel a little better. Lindsey was a beautiful little girl and a precious life and never did a single thing to possibly deserve a fate like this. If there is any consciousness in the universe that has mercy and the power to act upon it, Lindsey is with her Daddy again, and they are chasing butterflies together and very, very happy. For the rest of us, there is just that patched-up hole in our perimeter where our defenses should have been, and a gaping hole in our community where a little girl should have been. I don't know if it's possible to fix that one.

I want to punch the people that caused the disturbance, over and over again until they double over from the pain in THEIR gut. I want to scream at them, "MURDERER!" and see them shunned and condemned by the community they betrayed. But, I am not going to act on this. These are thoughts brought on by grief, and acting under these influences will surely lead to vengeance, but not justice. Lindsey didn't even like to hear us arguing; what darker deeds would we think to carry out in her name? Let us each mourn her passing in our own way, but let that be separate from whatever trials and sentencing may take place. Remember these are not even Marauders, these are people that until a few days ago shared chores, meals, music, laughter...and we have to think about intent. Who in the world that remotely counts as a sane individual would WANT a little girl to die? I am sure it was never their intention to harm such an obvious innocent. They are no doubt grieving, too.

And they should be.

1 comment:

  1. Sometimes I feel like we should erect a memorial wall for those who have died. But so many have died that it would be impossible to include them all. Maybe one for the people who have died here at the Compound? But that could get morbid pretty quickly, I suppose.

    Thank you for the post. It helps me to grieve, and to reclaim some small portion of my sanity.