It Starts with a Cough 

By Nia Abdullah 

 

It all started with a slight cough, one that tickled the back of her throat and burned with irritation. We told her to take care of herself and rest, but she said, “I’m fine.” She continued to go to work to keep food on the table as the slight cough turned into feverish chills that shot down her spine. We picked up extra shifts at our jobs, so she could stop hers, but she always croaked, “I’m fine,” her voice growing weak as the days went on. Then her fever turned into nights we spent by her door, watching her gasp for air that failed to fill her lungs. “I’m fine,” she attempted to say, her chest heaving. “I’m fine.” I wish I knew then how much that cough would change my life.

“$34.09,” the cashier muffles under the mask that covers the lower half of his face. I sigh, reaching into the pocket of my jeans with gloved hands to pull out wrinkled bills. Counting the money, I realize I am fifteen dollars short. Fifteen dollars and nine cents short. “Just give me what you have,” he says quietly, extending his tan uncovered hand for the money. It’s rare these days to see human skin so exposed. I stare at his hand under the florescent lights of the grocery store. I’ve never in my life felt so happy to see a hand.

“Thank you so much,” I say eagerly, the mask covering the smile I wear. I place the crisp bills into his palm. Our hands nearly touch, but I stop myself from allowing skin to skin contact because who knows what would happen to the both of us if we touched in these times of uncertainty.

Scientists call it MC, which is the less harsh abbreviation for Mors Clarus. Mors Clarus means Clear Death because, once you contract the disease, it’s an ultimate death sentence. No one knows for certain how MC started, but all scientists do know is that it starts with a cough, a slight cough that doesn’t measure up to the devastation that follows. After the cough comes an unbearably high fever, chills, and shortness of breath (which gets worse every single day). Once you’re finally gasping for air, your fate is sealed with the kiss of death. One would think that in the year 2078, there would be adequate medicine to combat this inevitable fate.

This leaves many to speculate that MC is a viral disease the government started to eliminate the poor and minorities. “They’re killing us; they’re killing us all,” my boss reminds me, his words booming through the silent warehouse as we lift and carry boxes together.

“You’re being ridiculous, Victor,” I reply, concealing the doubts that lingered in the back of my mind. I wish I didn’t believe him, but every day, the news shows MC finding a way to sneak into the poor sections across the country. I see the faces of men, women, and children plastered on the television with the very darkness that paints my skin. I wish I didn’t agree with him, but I think of the way my mother used to cry counting the money she barely made, and I know it must be true.

My mother–I miss my mother.

The coldness of the winter air penetrates the thin layer of my mask and hits my cheeks. Snow crunches softly under my shoes, as I spot my younger brother Hunter leaning against the store wall. A cloud of cigarette smoke rises in the air as he exhales. At the sight of me, he drops his cigarette on the cement. I roll my eyes, feeling uneasy about the bad habit he has gained from the boys he used to hang out with under the bleachers at high school.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop smoking?” I question, half joking, half serious. I gesture to the mask hanging around his neck. “Put your mask back on, Hunt.”

Hunter slowly moves the mask up to cover his face, his eyes twinkling at the groceries I carry in shopping bags.

“Whoa, Hallie, we had enough money to buy all those things?” Hunter’s voice echoes with shock and amazement.

We never have enough money.  I didn’t want to tell him that it was the generosity of the cashier that ensured we have these simple luxuries. Money has never been a guarantee in our lives, but with MC, it was getting tougher to provide for ourselves. Hunter and I have been working extra hard to collect money, but we often come up short. Every day I see my sixteen-year-old brother’s face harden more into that of a a man, and as proud as I am of him rising to the occasion, a sadness fills my heart for the sudden death of his childhood.

Slowly, to avoid slipping on the snow, we make our way down the desolate street. I look at the empty rode that once bustled with cars and people. I look at the stores, decorated with a hanging “closed” sign and untouched graffiti made by unknown artists. My eyes dart forward, noticing the X’s the government has placed on apartment buildings to isolate those with active cases of MC. I begin to think of the braveness of my mother to go through MC without the government knowing, for our sake.

“It’s just us against the world,” Hunter jokes. He nudges me, and I let out a low laugh, forgetting that I had the capability to do that. I forgot that Hunter is the only one that can bring out that side of me, but he’s right–it’s just us against the world. It’s always been us against the world. Our mother always prided us on being so close despite our seven-year age gap and our differences. He is the funny one, I’m the serious one; he is the adventurous one, while I’m the one who reprimands people, pointing out the consequences of taking risky actions. He is the one who always finds a way to smile, and I love him for his endless positivity. Hunter is my rock and my best friend. He is the person I would give everything to protect.

“I miss seeing people everywhere we go. This place used to be so full of life and vibrant.” Hunter’s words sound loud in the quiet earth, in the seemingly still earth. He exhales quietly, his breath rising from under the shield of the mask.  “And I miss Mom. I really miss Mom.”

I remember waking up in the middle of the night to bury her cold, lifeless body underneath the earth’s dirt.  While struggling with MC, she didn’t want us to send her to the hospital. My mother knew she would die in the facilities alone, unloved, while they marked our door with a big X, hindering Hunter and I from leaving the house. I remember the sounds of her gasping for air, unable to hold her hand as she took her final breath for fear of contracting MC myself. All I could do was bury my face in Hunter’s chest to prepare myself for a life without my mother. Growing up, I never imagined losing my mother the way I did or spending each day watching my young brother grow old so quickly. A strong mixture of anger and sadness fills my chest because she abandoned us, and the world that was once full of vibrant colors, warmth, and light has turned into a bitter endless winter. The government officials tell us we are safe and can continue as we did before.

When we arrive home, Hunter helps me put the groceries away. I peel the mask off my face and dispose of my gloves in the trash. The soft humming of the TV echoes in the background as Hunter makes jokes under his breath about what he sees. My eyes dart over at him. As he sits on the couch, a strange feeling hits my chest.

“They’re trying to kill us.”  Victor’s voice echoes aggressively in my mind. “They’re trying to kill us all.”

And then it starts. Hunter lets out a cough, a slight cough, the cough of my mother. We gaze into each other’s eyes as I fight tears from flowing down my cheeks. In this moment, Hunter’s hard face turns soft with terror. He is my baby brother, the person I would give everything to protect. But I can’t save him now, not from this. I grab him into my arms tightly, embracing the fate that awaits him.

“They’re trying to kill us. They’re trying to kill us all.”

 

Nia’s Bio:

I am from Franklin Park, New Jersey. I am a sophomore majoring in English and minoring in both Creative Writing and Theater. My favorite hobby is writing. I love Lana Del Rey, and my current favorite novel is Mrs. Dalloway.