Word Count: 60,049

“Bless you,” the mother said. “I give you luck.”

“I was told to see you specifically, ma’am. Have you been going to the hospital recently?”

“No. My daughter,” she pointed to her daughter, who was hiding behind a counter in the kitchen, hoping that I wouldn’t see her. So that was why she kept backing away. I wondered what it must have been like for her to go about her life day by day knowing that others around her had been killed and shoved into a pile of death by the same disease. It must have been the most horrifying dream imaginable – not only were friends and family dying around her, but she was also next in line. How long had she been sick for, I wondered? My focus shifted from the mother to the girl. However, since the girl would not relay any personal information, I turned to the mother to tell me the story. “Every day she goes to school, and all of her friends run away. They do not want to get sick also. They want to be healthy and normal, unlike my beastly daughter. I have seen some days where nobody goes near her. She is alone, and I can do nothing,” she said as tears began to flow down her cheeks. He face contorted, but she strived to continue speaking. “I can do nothing,” she said once more.

The daughter ran away, up the stairs, knowing why her mother was crying and not wishing to hear the sobs, the splashing of tears upon her mother’s clothes.

“But,” the mother said after her daughter was long gone, “I am afraid.”

“I understand that you are afraid, ma’am. Anybody would be if their son or daughter was in mortal danger.”

“No,” she said, “I am not afraid for that. I am afraid that I am next.”

I ended the meeting there. I knew now why the hospital had referred me to this woman – to give me a general idea of the madness that must have been surrounding Westendorf at that time. But their madness was far greater than that. It only had to wait until a single person rose from that pile of the dead. Then nobody would be afraid of being next. They would be afraid of the man or woman who had risen. Somehow I doubted they would make the connected between the disease and the awakening from death.

The streets were still empty, although it was a little later in the day when I left the mother’s home. She had not told me everything that I needed to know, but I had learned more than I thought that I wanted to in that visit. I could never have imagined a mother afraid of her own daughter, the same way I could not have imagined a father afraid of his own son, or a mother afraid of her husband. I knew all of these must be floating around the village, which might have appeared still and quiet on the outside, but was rattling and shaking on the inside. I wondered how such a beautiful place could become so sickening. It was still beautiful to me at that time, even though I had just spoken to someone cursed with so horrible a fate. The flowers were still vibrant in the sunlight, and I still had nothing to look forward to that day but my room in the small in.

The room was comfortable, especially at night. At night, looking out the single window in my room, I could see nothing but darkness. I did not know what could be out in that darkness, but I knew that somebody was there. What did not appear during the day came out at night. I imagined the entire village awaking in the night, doing everything one might do during the day. I imagined hearing the laughing of schoolchildren and the greetings said by strangers to other strangers. I imagined it was a splendid day outside, in the night. I slept that night calmly. I felt that the sleep was too calm, that it should have been interrupted by the screams of those related to the dying. But those screams never came. I heard not a sound. The citizens of Westendorf refused to vent their anguish to anybody outside the village.

I found myself increasingly tired as the next day went on. I checked back at the hospital to see if the shipments of medicine had come in. No, of course they hadn’t. Soon, they told me. Soon I would be able to cure these dreadful people and be on my way. My only purpose was to spread the word – a missionary, and advertisement for my own product. But was I already too late to help all of them, even with my antibiotic? It hadn’t even been tested on humans yet. I didn’t know if it would work or not with great confidence, and I was afraid to use it. I could imagine the mother’s tears forming a small stream down the cobblestone Westendorf streets. The tears ran down the streets and into the grass beyond Westendorf, cutting a river into the mountains. Her screams sounded so loud when she saw her husband alive. They grew louder after her daughter lived, and once the entire village was reassembled the woman could not contain herself.

That was how ready I thought Westendorf was to receive this medicine. All my hard work, gone to waste because the concept of the dead coming back to life was still reminiscent of the undead, vampires, and other inherently evil beings. But these beings were not evil. They were family! I knew it would take more than a fair share of luck to convince everybody otherwise, even if nobody was superstitious enough to believe such beings actually existed.

The entire town seemed to live in a dreamlike state. Floating through day by day, nobody would show his or her face. At the school, certain children were socially barred off from their peers. It was understood that these children were outcasts, horribly sick and likely to die at any moment. Nobody wanted to catch the dreaded Athan’s Disease, and so every child moved as far away from this unfortunate peer as possible. They weren’t safe – not in the least – but as children they felt safe. And by watching these children, I pieced together the story. The children were the only humans who dared show their face outside. Not even the teachers exited the buildings. On that second day in Westendorf I entered the school building to see who taught some of the classes there, and to my surprise found that there were six teachers, one for each grade. It was a small school, but it had its small charms. It was decorated by the students, who were far more adept at artistic methods than their American counterparts. The rooms looked glorious, and filled with light that only increased the beauty of the quaint school building. But the beauty was entirely superfluous. When any of the teachers approached the chalkboard to teach the students, his or her voice trembled with fear. I couldn’t imagine what had made these adults so afraid of the children they taught.

I continued to gather the pieces. They dropped right in front of me, the handiwork of some majestic invisible storyteller. My mind was the Rosetta stone for these puzzle pieces.

The day continued on. By noon the one of the teachers had finished a mathematics lessons. The symbols on the chalkboard were scribbled quickly, and looked haphazardly drawn. The children did not seem to understand what the teacher was saying. Was it the teacher who was incomprehensible, or the students that were unable to learn? The teacher did not seem to understand the student in this school, and a breakdown of communication occurred. There was an underlying reason why this was occurring, and my best guess was Athan’s Disease, at the root of it all.

A stream runs through Westendorf up into the mountains beyond the town. It follows the hills into a most beautiful field where one can see far, far beyond the horizon. Then the stream stops. It is taken over by industry. A tourist trap – or what once was a tourist trap – that brings people up the mountain. Go high enough, and there is a mountain trail. Follow the mountain trail, and you can look out from the very tip of the mountain. There is hardly any air up there. It is difficult to breathe, but worth it for the view.

I found that stream while perusing the town after school ended. I had only gone to the school to see what the environment was like. The children the daughter’s age were far more controlled, but also more conservative in the way they treated the supposedly sick students. While the younger kids were oblivious, the ones that did have knowledge of Athan’s strayed so far away from the sick that an outside would have thought the sick child autistic. By the end of the day I was disgusted and horrified by the behavior of both the children and the adults. The school functioned so haphazardly and inefficiently that it was a wonder anybody was ever educated at all.

I didn’t bother speaking with the teachers. I don’t think any of them had noticed that I was observing them during the day, and I don’t believe they cared, either. They were too focused on avoiding the sick children to pay attention to anything else. So, when the day was over, I went to see if anybody else was outside, away from their homes. I wanted to find out more about Westendorf; specifically why it was the first town I was sent to. When I found the stream, my mind began to wander and I followed it all the way to the fake ski lift that was assembled to carry tourists up the mountain. There was indeed a man waiting to take people’s money there – I was surprised, his booth was outside, in the parking lot, as though he were a toll collector or a parking slip distributor. In fact, the ski lift was running. I was sure he’d speak to me.

I wanted to go up the mountain.

“Sorry, sir, but you’re not authorized to do that.” His English sounded more developed than the mother’s had. It must have been from all his encounters with tourists looking to see the beauty of this small mountain village.

“I’m sorry, why am I not allowed to go up the mountain?”

“The lift is closed for maintenance.”

“It looks like that it’s running fine. Look, someone’s going up in a chair right now.” I pointed to a woman going up the ski lift. The woman looked vaguely familiar. It took a while, but I eventually recognized her as the woman whom I’d spoken with the previous day.

“Please leave,” said the man at the booth.

“Hey!” I said, looking at the ski lift, pointing to the woman. “I know that woman! Why is she going up there?”

The worker hesitated, swallowed deeply, and began, “She’s part of our maintenance crew. In order to determine the safety of the lift she must ride it to the top of the mountain, survey the area, and ride back down. Are you done questioning me?”

I wanted to say “Not quite.” However, I restrained myself. Perhaps she was a maintenance worker, though she didn’t see like one at all. Although I did not say “Not quite,” I did ask one question: “When will maintenance be complete?”

“Oh, not for several weeks, sir. Perhaps months. You’d best find another activity to pursue.”

“Why do you stand at this booth, then?” I showed him my trademark eyebrow raise.

“Could you please leave the premises?” the man asked, annoyed. He pointed me in the direction that led away from the sky lift area. It followed a tar paved road – the first one I’d seen in all of Westendorf – and was a ways away from the stream. For the first time I realized how far away the stream was from town. It was on the very edge. I’d perused the entire town looking for one person outside, and hadn’t found a soul. I was surprised now. I didn’t speak another word to the booth worker; I simply left. I wanted to look around more now. I followed the stream, and not the tar paved road, back to where I had began, ignoring and forgetting about the mother, who had gone up the lift. I fell into the stream on my way back. The water was cool and refreshing – not freezing, as I thought it would be. I was tempted to drink from the stream, but seeing the bacteria on the rocks I restrained myself, and simply took off my shoes and walked along the slippery bottom of the small stream, all the way back to my starting point.

I felt like a child, walking along the stream like that. But the town was so empty that I couldn’t think of what else to do! For the first time since I’d arrived at Westendorf, the village seemed completely peaceful. Looking at it from a distance always made it look beautiful, vibrant and calm. I felt that way about it at that moment, walking along the stream in my childish manner. This was something, I thought to myself, that Shane would enjoy immensely.

The edge of Westendorf was only marked by a severe drop in housing, and a turn of the road at a ninety-degree angle to the direction it had previously been going. At the edge of Westendorf driveways were small, and windows were packed with more flowers than I thought possible to fit in a single sill. The entire area was a dreamscape. I questioned the sanity of those who lived here, and subsequently questioned the sanity of myself. It was so isolated, so calm from the outside. How could it not be madness within? I went back to the hospital for the second time that day to see if the medicine was in yet. No, they told me. Soon, they told me. Come back later, they told me. Everything in this town was “Come back later.” I even had to “come back later” to get the food to prepare my lunch! That was another reason I’d still been at the school at noon. The man working at the only grocery store in Westendorf refused to allow me to purchase food. I was being made into an outcast in the most remote village in Austria.

That day passed by. By the next day, I was becoming frustrated. I wanted to treat those people that I knew were sick – the mother and her daughter. But I wanted to know if she was just a maintenance worker, too, so that I could partake in the activities that Westendorf had to offer. I wanted to help people and enjoy myself at the same time. A difficult task, I concluded. But I would strive for it anyway, because it was in my nature to go beyond what I felt I could do. I never asked questions about the existence of a cure for Athan’s Disease, but I did doubt my ability to create one. But it happened, didn’t it? Yes, it was hard to believe, but it happened. Therefore, I decided that I should be able to treat the ill in Westendorf, spread the word about my marvelous antibiotic, and enjoy the wonderful scenery. At the top of the mountain.

In fact, by the start of my third day in Westendorf going up the mountain was about all I wanted to do. It towered over all of the structures in the village. It was Mother Earth’s gift to all of us – this vivid, gigantic scenery. I wanted more than anything to go to the top. The eye of the adventurer within me had already travelled to the tip of the mountain trail and looked beyond the horizon.

I was told the shipment of medicine would come that day, in the afternoon. So, in the morning, I set off for the mountain. There I encountered the man at the booth. I stealthily avoided him, for I saw that the lift was running. Nobody was on the lift – I knew he was lying about the maintenance, just as the man at the grocery store was lying about allowing me to purchase goods from his store. I was persistent, and snuck onto the lift. By the time the man noticed me, I was too far up the mountain for him to catch. I saw him leave his booth and begin to head up the ski lift. This was something else, I thought, that Shane would have loved to so. Sneak onto a ski lift to see the beautiful view.

I began to follow the dirt trail. It was not often walked, noticeable by the incredible amount of grass that grew on the trail. If it hadn’t been the only path up the mountain, I might not have known where I was going. The wooden gate that blocked the trail’s entrance shut behind me with a click of its metal lock. I would hear that same clicking noise again in a minute or so, the sound of the booth worker following me up the mountain. But he would be far too late.

The trail zigzagged upwards. But about the fifth zig and the sixth zag I was tired and breathing heavily. I wasn’t breathing heavily because I was tired, but because I was short of breath. The altitude was very high, and I had to breathe deeper to inhale more oxygen. But I could see so far in front of me –miles, I thought it was. The trail narrowed as I continued upward. I was mildly afraid of slipping off, but didn’t want to turn back, especially after hearing that second click of the booth worker. I ran faster up to the top of the mountain. As I approached the top, I saw a mound of something resting on the surface of the tip of the mountain. Perhaps this was the pile of dirt being used for the “maintenance” that the booth worker had described. The mound was dark and had a strange, non-uniform shape. I couldn’t identify it. Not, at least, until I reached the top of the mountain. Only once I was there did the shape become clear to me.

Piled high on the top of the mountain were a hundred dead bodies formed into a dark, rotting mass of flesh and bone. One man’s face was looking straight at me, his eyes still open, but his clothes tattered. He stuck out from the middle of the pile, but was suspended on his back. His head tilted downward, so that the man looked as if he were staring at me while upside-down. Other bodies in the pile looked at me as well, so accusingly. I had broken the ski lift law – I had travelled up the mountain! For shame, Hemmings! they cried. Shame on you for not listening and climbing up the mountain so stealthily! You deserve to see us in this pile, to see us all dead, they said to me.

I could not move from the spot where I stood after first seeing the pile of dead bodies clearly. Up until that point I had only thought of its existence – I did not actually believe that there would be such a pile. I stopped completely and thought of nothing but how these bodies came to be at the top of that mountain. Before I came to a conclusion, the booth worker caught up to me, and approached me from behind.