Red Plague Boxed Set

by Anna Abner

  He smirked. “I didn’t say that. We have enough to protect ourselves. Besides, the fence we built is the best defense.”

  Maybe the base wasn’t as secure as we had all hoped. I thought immediately of Hunny and Ben locked in the east barracks. “What about Smart? He’s your doctor?”

  Durand frowned. “He’s not actually a doctor. He was a physician’s assistant before the plague. But he knows more than the rest of us. I guess.”

  A PA was analyzing my dad’s antiserum. My hope and faith in Malcolm and his camp plummeted.

  “These need to rise for a while,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “Let’s take a break.”

  “Just don’t tell Malcolm,” I remembered.

  Before I joined him, though, I wiped down the counters and stove again. Then I poured water into a basin and washed all the dirty bowls and utensils, setting them on a clean towel to air dry. I finished by dousing my hands in sanitizer.

  I stood outside with Durand next to the odorous, grumbling generators. Surprisingly, after the heat of the kitchen the humid air was a relief.

  All of the men were busy little bees going about their chores. The parking lot and patch of earth were nearly deserted. The only people not rushing about were Simone and Rodriguez at the so-called garden.

  It was hand-tilled earth with no visible veggies growing yet, but they’d only been at it a couple weeks. I hoped it yielded food eventually. A garden was a great idea. Something I hadn’t considered much while locked in my bunker, but now that I was out in the world fighting and scrounging for edible food, starting fresh with farms and ranches might be the only way we advanced as a civilization. The packaged stuff would go bad eventually.

  At the midday MRE pass-out we gave everyone a warm, fresh roll. Simone was there, but Pollard stayed away hunting. Then Durand and I returned to the kitchen and started all over for the dinner service.

  Malcolm surprised us as we mixed ingredients for the second batch of rolls. “Who is responsible for this?” he demanded, holding up a small ball of hard bread.

  I had a good idea whose hands had made it and what his complaint was. “I did,” I admitted.

  “This is unacceptable,” he said, tossing the roll into the trashcan. “You are wasting already limited supplies. From now on,” he sent Durand a look, “this young lady will do cleanup or prep, but this won’t happen again. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” Durand didn’t salute, but it was close.

  Malcolm turned on his heel and marched away.

  “Great,” Durand grumbled. “Now he’s gonna be checking up on us. There goes our free time.”

  “Sorry.” I’d tried my best. And I’d keep trying, but cooking wasn’t my strong suit.

  “Just get back to work.”

  The problem was, there wasn’t much to do in the kitchen once the rolls were prepped for baking. We cleaned up as slowly as possible, but it was almost dinner and we had nothing else to do with our day. So, we put the rolls in the oven and leaned against the counters.

  “What’s it like living here?” I asked out of boredom. “It seems strict.”

  “It’s better than living in the cities.” He scowled at me until I looked away. “What more do you want? We have food, water, security. Even a medic. I’d say we’re lucky.”

  “I’ve been other places,” I said softly. My panic room. Pollard’s truck stop fortress. “They’re all different.”

  “I’m happy here,” he argued. “I definitely don’t want to go out there looking for anything else. Malcolm’s got a good system here that’s working fine. And he’s got plans to expand. I think this is a great place to live.” He got up. “I’m taking a break. I don’t care what Malcolm says.” He checked his pockets and then wandered off.

  Feeling foolish, I took a slow tour of the grounds rather than stay in the kitchen alone. As I approached the garden, Simone and Rodriguez dropped to their hands and knees in the dirt and pulled weeds. They looked as happy as a couple of pigs in mud. Rodriguez sat up on his haunches and Simone’s hand went to his forearm. She didn’t pull it away, but kept touching him as they laughed at a shared joke.

  I averted my gaze and passed them without a word.

  At least one of us was happy.

  I didn’t feel like hanging around the parking lot by myself the rest of the afternoon, so I headed upstairs. With our barracks door open a faint breeze blew into the room and marginally cooled the air. I immediately spotted the new overstuffed pillow on my top bunk. Nice.

  I gathered my prize and my guitar and plopped onto Pollard’s bed, arranging the pillow against my lower back. I intended to play another cover song, maybe a Carrie Underwood or a Miranda Lambert hit, but the sad melody I couldn’t shake surfaced instead.

  Way down here;

  I disappear;

  My heart hurts when you leave.

  Come back, come back to me.

  I forced my fingers to switch it up and played a little Taylor Swift. Maybe I’d even write a new song. Something about the end of the world or lost love. Maybe both. I fiddled around with different chords and sounds for so long I lost track of time.

  Pollard stomped through the open doorway.

  “It’s you,” I exclaimed. “You scared me to death.”

  “Sorry.” He flopped onto the bed beside me and leaned against the windowsill. His head dipped against my shoulder. “It’s been a rough day.”

  Now that I got a good look at him, he was covered in sweat and streaked with dirt. “Hunting didn’t go well?” I asked, playfully ruffling his hair.

  “Not so good,” Pollard admitted. He snuggled a little closer. “We didn’t catch anything. Harris made it sound like it was my fault.”

  “Was it?”

  “Gee, thanks for the sympathy.” He groaned. “Yes. I missed my first shot at a buck, and we didn’t find anything else.”

  “Well, I didn’t have any fun in the kitchen, either.”

  “You didn’t like your manager?” he asked.

  “He was fine, but Malcolm came in to inspect the rolls and told me I had wasted a whole day making inedible food.”

  “If you tell me more about the recipe,” he said, “maybe I can help you. I wouldn’t mind. I like helping you…”

  He tilted his chin up and shifted nearer. I saw exactly what was coming, and at the last second I turned away. His lips brushed my cheek.

  I cleared my throat and scooted further off the bed. “Hopefully, we’ll have new chores tomorrow.”

  Footsteps on the landing grew closer.

  “Oh, crap,” Pollard said, hopping to his feet. “Speaking of…”

  “I’ll get it.” I opened the door on Malcolm standing at attention.

  “I have something to return to you.” He pulled Hunny around in front of him and smirked. “I’m guessing you want her back?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Hunny barreled into me and held me around the waist so tight my ribs pinched.

  “Hunny,” I exclaimed. “Oh, thank goodness.” I didn’t realize how stressed I’d been by her absence until my knees trembled with relief that she was safe and free and in my arms again.

  “Her fever broke,” Malcolm explained. “She’s not infected.”

  I could have told you that, I thought, but I just hugged the little girl and savored the feeling.

  The moment she spotted Pollard, though, she abandoned me and threw herself at him. Pollard lifted her up against his chest and enveloped her a bear hug.

  “I missed you!” she squealed.

  “Datsik. Solomon.” Malcolm cleared his throat. “I’m assigning you new chores tomorrow. Datsik, you’ll be in the kitchen with Durand. Solomon?”

  “Yes?” I hoped he’d say I could assist Smart.

  “You’ll report to Carr and join him in scavenging.” He dipped his chin. “Excellent. See you at chow.”

  He left, and I absorbed the sight of Hunny in Pollard’s arms. She was thinner than I remembered, but then Malcolm’s
men probably hadn’t given her nearly as much junk food as she craved. She was unmarked and clear-eyed, though she hadn’t changed her clothes or bothered much with personal hygiene in the last twenty-four hours.

  I stood and reached for her. “Oh, Hunny, your poor hair.” My fingers got stuck in her snarled blonde curls. “You didn’t brush?”

  Pollard set her on her feet with a final pat on the head.

  “No one gave me a brush,” she said, shrugging.

  “Well, I’ll help you with it after you wash up.”

  Hunny rolled her eyes, but she followed it with a hard hug, and I knew she was just as happy to be back with us as we were to have her.

  “Did they feed you?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Smart. And the food,” she took a deep breath, “sucked.”

  “What about Malcolm? Did he ever check on you?” I asked.

  “Right now. He put on doctor clothes and gloves and a mask over his mouth just to take my temperature.” She released me and dove straight for our food stockpile and chewed on a chocolate bar. “Then he let me leave.”

  “Did you see Ben?” I held my breath, afraid to spook the wrong answer out of her.

  “No. He was in a different room.”

  “Did you hear him?”

  “No.”

  I was so sick of this faux prison system Malcolm had going on. I’d brought Ben to them. I should have been involved in analyzing his antibodies. What reason could they have to keep us separated? He wasn’t contagious. He wasn’t a threat.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” I fibbed. “Come sit here. I haven’t brushed your hair in a whole day. I missed it.”

  “Come on!” she complained. But she grinned as she grabbed a brush and climbed onto my lap.

  I gave her a little squeeze and sniffed back silly tears. I had missed her more than I ever expected.

  The brush fought valiantly against her hair and soon I ran it through without hitting a single snag, and I continued brushing it for much longer than it honestly required, but it felt soothing. Every day that I spent with my little tagalong it was getting harder and harder to imagine breaking off onto my own when this was all over.

  Finished with her hair, I set the brush aside, and wrapped my arms around her for a soft, sweet hug. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “What’s the sign for I love you?” she whispered, spinning in my arms to hug me.

  Emotion swelled, making my skin feel too tight. “Well, there are several, but this is my favorite.” I pointed to my chest, crossed my wrists over my heart, and then pointed to Hunny.

  Somber, she signed, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I promised.

  Pollard paced, distracted. “The kitchen. That’s an improvement. Right?”

  “Yeah.” Scavenging wasn’t my first choice. It wasn’t my second or third choice, either, but whatever. It wasn’t like any of the available jobs were geared toward my personal skills. Songwriting wasn’t a valuable talent in the apocalypse, I supposed. Not to the men at Camp Carson, anyway. But I was happy for Pollard. He belonged in the kitchen.

  “He didn’t mention Simone,” he said.

  “I saw her today in the garden. She looked really happy,” I said. “Her and her manager.”

  I couldn’t tell if he read Simone’s flirting in my expression or not. Was he jealous? It didn’t seem like it, no. Concerned, maybe.

  Dinner with the camp was rushed. I didn’t want to hang out with Hoyt, Stein, and the guys in the cloying, humid heat. And apparently, neither did Pollard, Hunny, or Juliet. As soon as my veggie lasagna was hot I spread it on my roll, making a sloppy Italian sandwich, and choked it down so we could go right back upstairs.

  “Your friend Simone isn’t coming?” Juliet asked as we cleared the table.

  I glanced across the lawn. Simone and Rodriguez had their heads bent over their MREs, so wrapped up in conversation neither noticed we were leaving.

  “She’s with the farmer,” I stated.

  “Is she?” Pollard leaned around me to see for himself. “Oh.”

  The rain started as we ascended the stairs, a faint mist that quickly developed into the rapid pitter-patter of a late spring storm. The camp, led by a shouting Malcolm, leapt into action. Hoyt passed out buckets from the supply room, and everyone not on duty helped arrange them around the parking lot. Stein and a guy I didn’t recognize held a giant blue tarp between them, catching the most rainwater, and tipping it into a five gallon bucket.

  “They have a system for everything,” I marveled. Minutes passed and no one moved except to pour collected water into one of two, blue fifty-five gallon drums. “How long do you think they’ll do that?”

  “If it keeps raining all night,” Juliet said in a hushed voice, “then they’ll stand out there all night.”

  “Are we supposed to help?” Pollard asked, frowning down at the men soaked to the skin with warm rain.

  Juliet shrugged. “They’d probably shoo us away. Malcolm likes to do things his own way.”

  I’d noticed.

  Rather than make pests of ourselves, we went into our barracks and got ready to go to bed early. Hunny wiggled into my bunk and twisted herself into my arms. I rested my chin on her head and fell asleep inhaling the sweet scent of her soft curls.

  I woke happy for the first time in…weeks, maybe. Hunny was a warmth I didn’t want to leave. But the morning bell clanged downstairs and I forced myself to crawl out of bed to get dressed and join the camp for PT before breakfast.

  “Good luck on your new assignment,” Pollard said as we passed in the narrow room, I on my way out and he on his way to the bathroom to change. “Scavenging sounds dangerous. Be safe.”

  “I will.” I braided my hair down my back and fitted a cap on my head to keep my face from burning. I didn’t know what scavenging would entail, but if I was outside all day, I didn’t want to return to camp with a sunburn. “Cook up something yummy.” I smiled warmly at him as I left.

  After cardio, Carr, my new manager, waited for me at the bottom of the stairs with two duffel bags, an automatic rifle, and my breakfast MRE. He was a dark-haired, beefed-up guy with a grim expression.

  “Eat up,” he said, tossing me the preserved food. “We leave before anyone else.” He marched off with all his gear, and I followed, tearing into my little brown pouch. I couldn’t heat the oatmeal on the go, but I ate the toaster pastry cold, and then sucked peanut butter out of a tube.

  “This is the most dangerous job in camp,” Carr told me as we climbed into a jeep and drove out of the fence. “I see more skin eaters in a day than those other pansies see in a week.”

  “I thought we were gathering supplies,” I said.

  Carr zipped down a narrow, two-lane road through what used to be Camp Carson, Virginia. We passed a medical and dental complex. All of it quiet and empty.

  “We are,” he said, waving at the area around us. “But there are Reds all over this camp and more pass through everyday.”

  He slowed and pointed at a warehouse on my right. The closer I looked, the more movement I saw.

  “What is that?” I breathed. Through holes and cracks in the siding I recognized arms and legs and human faces with red eyes. There must have been dozens trapped in there. Maybe more. “Why?”

  “Saves ammunition,” Carr said. “When the building’s full we light the whole thing on fire.” He pointed to another structure, this one a pile of ash and black, twisted metal.

  My stomach plummeted. “Whose idea was that?” I asked, but I already knew. Nothing happened at Camp Carson unless Malcolm okay’d it.

  “You got a problem with killing zombies?” He laughed like I was a silly, stupid kid. “It’s them or us, darlin’. That’s the cold, hard truth.”

  “I brought a cure,” I said quietly, knowing he wouldn’t take me seriously. But I explained it anyway. “My dad designed an antiserum. We don’t have to kill Reds anymore.”


  He didn’t say anything, but his condescending smirk told me what he was thinking.

  An old-fashioned, southern church with stained glass windows and a bell tower appeared on our right. Carr turned left onto a residential street, and pulled into the driveway of the first house.

  “We’ve already depleted the warehouses,” Carr said in a hushed voice as we gathered packs and duffels. “And the PX and the commissary. We’re down to searching base housing.”

  The residences were quaint with white siding and blue shutters. Small, square lawns and concrete sidewalks. It didn’t look much different from my neighborhood on Cherry Blossom Court.

  With his rifle at the ready Carr kicked down the front door and then waited, listening.

  “What are we looking for?” I whispered, keeping to the rear. I pictured the route I’d take if confronted by Reds and forced to make a run for it. I was no good at mortal combat.

  No noises answered Carr’s assault and he ventured into the living room.

  “Ammunition, above all.” He cleared the room and slipped down a short hallway. “Then water. Then food. Then toiletries and medical stuff.” He waved me closer. “If people have special orders for jeans or pillows or something, we bring it only if we have the room.” He paused at the threshold of the master bedroom. “And we never have extra room, just in case someone asks you about it. Now, let’s search the closets. A lot of these soldiers kept personal firearms and ammo in their houses. Oh, and don’t forget to look under the bed.” He dropped to his hands and knees beside an unmade queen bed. “I’ve found so much good stuff under beds…”

  It felt wrong to rifle through people’s things, especially with their shiny family photos on the walls above my head. It didn’t seem as if they were gone, more like we were going to get caught when they pulled up into the driveway.

  “Hurry up,” he snapped at me, climbing to his feet. “We’ve been ordered to strip six houses by dinner bell. That’s a lot, in case you didn’t know.”

  “Okay.” I told myself I wasn’t looting. I was surviving. Without the supplies hidden in those houses, the entire camp would die. “I’ll search the next room.”

  The bedroom across the hall was a kid’s room and I doubted the family had kept weapons in there, but I stepped inside anyway and looked around.