Head Lice

"He's got lice."

Fuck.

Me.

We were at one of those kid's (KIDZ) haircuts (HAIRCUTZ) places, so I caught myself before uttering that aloud. Immediately, the shop went into Lockdown Mode: a plastic shower cap was placed over Lucas' head, the stylists donned MOPP gear, klaxons sounded, witnesses were rounded up and shot. While I curled up into the fetal position and mumbled Hail Marys, Beth kept her calm. "What do we do?" The manager gave us some supplies: an assortment of pesticide-free, all-natural lice killing mousses and shampoos. "Use these", she said. "Use them on him, your daughter, and yourselves. They're good for the environment. The stuff the doctors give you causes brain cancer and in some cases hideous mutations. We're talking extra eyes and tentacles, not cool stuff like telekinesis. Although I know one kid that grew antlers." I picked myself up off the floor, trying to ignore the screams of the dying. "And if that doesn't work?", I asked. The manager's eyes went wide. "Burn everything. And pray to whatever God you believe in."

We drove home, past quarantined zones, past the moaning, scratching hordes of The Infested. The charnel smoke from the funeral pyres blackened the sky. History shows again and again, I thought, how nature points out the folly of Men. We pulled into the garage. Preparations had been made: food, blankets, bottled water, ammo, extra Norelco clippers. We could wait out the plague, provided the boy could be cured. A voice whispered in the back of my head. The Infestation might have spread. Any one of us could be...one of them. We'd never know until the itching started and then it would be too late. Absently, my hand reach up toward my hair. I stopped myself. 

After we set up the landmines in the driveway and boarded the windows, Beth took the children upstairs to treat them. I turned on the TV, desperate for news of the outside world. On the surface, things looked normal. "You fools," I said to Oprah's shrieking audience members. "Enjoy that lifetime supply of Andre Walker Hair Care Products. It won't save you."  After pushing the couch onto the back porch, dousing it with gasoline and lighting it on fire, I walked back upstairs. The dog was staring at me. "It's ok, boy", I said. "I'm fine." He growled at me and slowly backed up.  

The children were in the shower, getting their hair rinsed. Beth turned to me. "I found a few on Lucas. Zoe is fine."  "Stupid lice", said Lucas. "Yeah! Toopid wice!", Zoe agreed. I dropped to my knees, thanking a God that I was sure had abandoned us. My family surrounded me, and we hugged, grateful that we'd been spared. Outside, the sun began to set.

It's morning, The Day After. As I write this, the children are getting dressed, ready to face a new world. There is no time to mourn the victims; they must scratch their scalps alone. Survival is all that matters. The lessons are harsh, and the boy has been forced to grow up too soon: "No sharing hats. And we're gonna have to buy you a new brush." I watch as they eat their cereal.  

I feel a slight tickle on my head. Perhaps it's just nerves, or my imagination. I'm sure it's nothing.