With that, he disappeared off the bus and into the crowd.
The passengers spilled out onto the forecourt and began trickling into different lines.
“Where should we go?” asked Lucy, as people jostled them off the bus. “You’re obviously in the military line.”
“And you’re obviously agriculture,” said Dan.
“Right,” said Lucy, “but I don’t want us to be separated again.”
“Me neither,” agreed Dan, casting his eyes around. “We’ll have to lie. Just say we’ve got no relevant skills. We’ll go line five. I’m not leaving you this time.”
She took his gloved hand in hers and they made their way over to the back of the colossal line, as dozens more people joined with them. Five was predictably the most heavily subscribed queue, with the longest wait time. Tens of thousands of people stood before them, soldiers patrolling as scores of new arrivals flooded in by the busload. A few people who appeared to show symptoms were swiftly removed from the line and taken out of sight.
It was almost four hours before Dan and Lucy’s turn came. Only once they’d finally made it inside the City Hall building could Lucy see how the line ended. A large function room contained twenty desks where individuals were processed. At each desk sat a military officer and a clerk, both of whom, to Dan and Lucy’s surprise, wore hazmat suits.
“Stall E!” barked the flustered soldier overseeing line five’s flow, pointing Lucy and Dan to a vacant stall.
The officer behind the desk of stall E was a diminutive, bespectacled man, with a crown of grey hair resting on his scalp, and an expression of extreme stress on his face, all just about visible from behind his plastic visor. His expression appeared to ease a little when Lucy and Dan arrived, seemingly recognizing kindred hazmat spirits, or at least people less likely to infect him than the others waiting. Not that it made his tone any less severe.
“You afraid of heights?” he enquired, looking at Dan first.
“Not especially,” replied Dan.
“Good. You’re assigned to pylons. Take this form and see that guy over there,” he said, gesturing minimally to a secondary booth ahead.
“We’re sticking together,” said Dan, gesturing to Lucy.
“Then why the hell didn’t you say so in the first place? God dammit!” whined the officer, snatching the form back from Dan’s hand. “Both of you, head over there,” he said, scribbling something on two forms and pointing to a stall labelled Assignment. “Next!” he bellowed, as his guard assistant shoved the two of them along. The guard’s gun and hazmat combination made him look like a low-budget film extra.
They got to the next stall and handed the papers over. This officer only had a mask on, but seemed much better disposed than his colleague. “Looks like you guys have hit the big time,” he said, deadpan. “Garbage duty. Grab your ration bags now and report to the East section. Find a truck and hop aboard. Got it?”
They headed sideways to the ration line where they were issued with their rations. One of the perks of garbage duty, it turned out, was that they got their rations upfront – but only because they wouldn’t be finishing their daily shifts at the City Hall like the other workers.
After once again refusing to be separated, Lucy and Dan both got assigned to the same truck where they were dispatched on their first shift immediately – at one p.m., according to the on-board clock.
As they rode up front in the garbage truck, the scale of the devastation became clear; street after street was awash with bodies. Only then did it dawn on Lucy: it was their job to collect them.
***
By the end of the day they had almost become completely anaesthetized to the expressions of pain and anguish on the bodies they swung into the back of the truck. Early on they’d been forced to abandon attempts to handle the bodies with care; the scale and difficulty of the task demanded pragmatism alone.
Neither she nor Dan spoke much all day, numbed by the grim repetition. Their driver didn’t utter a word during the entire shift either, making no attempt to invest in his new colleagues.
Within a single afternoon they had collected hundreds of bodies, but covered less than two square miles of the city. Adults, children, animals; everything went in the truck to be incinerated the same evening.
Lucy, confronted by the faces of young children, sometimes still in the arms of their dead parents, nearly threw up on several occasions. The closed, unblemished storefronts of Starbucks and Urban Outfitters looked like museum pieces frozen in time, framed in the eerie cold light of the dust cloud. Silently, achingly, Lucy and Dan systematically removed all trace of the dystopian scene that had unfolded around them.
But nothing could have prepared Lucy for when they found Cassie. Her body was like all the others, paralyzed in a state of writhing agony, her face distorted by the pain that dominated every muscle upon it, her eyes pallid and sorrowful, the burst capillaries now faded. She must’ve died a day or two ago. What hurt the most was that no one had covered her body. Had she died alone? Or had the people she’d been with died too? Maybe they’d already put their bodies in the truck.
Lucy didn’t cry, she just stood, in shock, and stared at her best friend’s lifeless body where it lay, abandoned in the street, terminated by whatever it was that was decimating mankind. She had deserved more than this.
“Come on,” said Dan gently, moving to stand over Cassie’s shoulders, the heavier part of the body. “We’ll do it together,” he said, somehow managing to sound compassionate in the face of what they were about to do. They’d quickly learned with all the other bodies – apart from the smaller pets and the babies, which could be done with a single arm – that it required two people; one on each end, to swing the body backward then release, to propel it forward over the lip of the truck and into the growing pile inside. Occasionally this was followed by the sickening crunching of bones as the machine necessarily compacted its load, to make space for the next batch. But Cassie landed quietly, and out of sight.
***
They were given a light chlorine rinse in their suits back at the depot before being dismissed for the day. It turned out City Hall didn’t want its new undertakers to die on the job.
When they got home, Madonna greeted them with small squeaks for food, shielded from the horrors that lay outside her caged sanctuary. Neither knew what to say, both completely hollowed out by the ordeal. Dan switched on his phone and set a timer for three hours, during which they both collapsed onto the bed and slept in their suits.
The alarm woke Lucy, and she woke Dan. Knowing the air was safe, they silently undressed and washed themselves down with wipes before putting on regular clothes. To Lucy it felt like cheating. Make-believe.
The fact of the day stood as a wall between the two of them. They remained physically exhausted, and neither had the stomach for food, but they force-fed themselves. Lucy knew their ongoing survival depended on them replenishing calories when they were available. The new ration bag sat open on the kitchen table and she stared at it, bitterly resenting how it had come to be in their possession.
“We’re keeping other people alive,” said Dan, breaking the silence. “By doing this, I mean.” He nodded to himself several times, as if repeating the sentiment internally like a mantra. But his eyes fell downward and his head soon came to a stop.
Lucy stretched out her arms, clenching her jaw and gripping either side of the table as if it were spinning out of control.
Dan got up, moving over and carefully taking her in his arms. “I’m so sorry about Cassie,” he said, quietly. Lucy nodded, staring at the table, her eyes unfocused.
His skin warmed hers. It was the first time they’d had proper contact in days. He anchored her, arms wrapped around her chest, face nestled into her shoulder, his breathing making a small patch of the back of her top warm and damp. All of these senses she registered as comforting and yet she felt nothing. Cassie was gone.
A knock at the door broke the long embrace; they both jumped
, startled, exchanging worried looks as they returned to the real world. Dan reached for a baseball bat and slowly made his way to the door, while Lucy kept her distance in case he needed to take a swing with it.
“Wait!” cried Lucy as Dan reached for the lock. “Here!”
She handed him his face mask, and pulled her own over her mouth.
He peered through the marble then turned to her and nodded before opening first the chain lock and then the main lock, swinging the front door open to reveal a soldier.
“Daniel Jeffries?” enquired the private through his protective mask.
“Yes?” replied Dan, nervously.
“This is for you,” announced the soldier, producing an envelope and handing it to Dan before turning on his heels and retreating down the stairs.
Dan closed the door and relocked it. He turned the item in his hands as he re-joined Lucy at the table.
“What is it?” asked Lucy, noting the concern on his face.
“I don’t know. Must be something to do with Dad,” he said, tapping the government emblem. He tore the envelope open and laid the letter out on the table.
URGENT AND CONFIDENTIAL read the subject line. Below that, a subtitle read: Reference: Adrian Jeffries, White House
Chief of Staff.
The letter had taken several days to reach them, going by the date printed across it, and the body copy had clearly been sent out to multiple people – it wasn’t a personalized message. Dan began to read, a small gap opening between his pursed lips as he continued, immediately lifting the letter back up off the table and bringing it closer to his eyes as they tracked rapidly from side to side. Lucy came around to his side so she could better read over his shoulder.
Dear Daniel,
You and your partner have been identified as persons of national importance, and vital to the reconstruction of America in the wake of the ongoing natural disaster. You and your partner have been designated a place on the evacuation train that will be departing from San Francisco to Washington DC in the next seven days. We have evidence to suggest that the airborne pathogen will begin to die out in a matter of days. Once that has been confirmed, the evacuation signal will sound across your city’s curfew siren. It will sound five consecutive times instead of three. This will happen once only. Only designated evacuees such as yourselves will know what it means. When you hear this, you must immediately proceed to your mustering point, which is: Ashurst High School.
Bring no more than one suitcase or equivalent each, and rations for the four-day journey. You must be ready to evacuate at any time from this moment onwards.
Once in DC you will be transferred to the White House, where you will help coordinate our national response to the crisis. Should you fail to arrive for departure within three hours of the signal, you will be assumed dead, and the train will depart without you. You must bring ID and this letter to your mustering point. Do not tell anyone where you are going. Uninvited persons attending mustering stations may be shot.
Sincerely,
Alison Walcock, acting Secretary of State.
Beneath the typed message was a short handwritten note:
My son, I hope you’re alive. I’ll wait for you both in DC. Be on the train, worse is coming. Your sister is dead. So sorry to tell you like this. I love you. Dad.
Dan dropped the note and slumped against the wall, the letter falling from his hands onto the floor.
“Oh my god, Dan,” said Lucy, rushing to her broken partner, drawing him up in her arms and pressing his head into her body as tightly as she could. Dan said nothing and just sat, his arms hanging by his sides, the words knocked from his body.
She held him for a long time, then slowly led him to bed, where she eased him into his face mask and goggles, and lay him down to sleep. Comatose from grief and shock, he didn’t utter a word the whole time, but allowed himself to be moved.
Lucy held him and stroked his hair until he fell asleep, or at least closed his eyes to be alone. Drying her own eyes, she quietly began to pack their bags for the evacuation.
***
Lucy awoke with a start as the regular end-of-curfew siren sounded. She sat bolt upright and listened for more pulses but none came. Five iterations were what they were waiting for; they’d only have minutes to react and get moving. But as the silence stretched out, her heart rate normalized again. It was a useful realization, though – what would they do if the signal came while they were at work? The only option, if they were truly to be ready at any time, was to keep their luggage with them wherever they went now.
The image of Cassie’s twisted body flashed vividly across Lucy’s mind. She shut her eyes and shook her head in denial, reopening them to find her vision blurred behind a sheen of tears.
She walked over to the hamster cage. Carefully, she opened the ceiling gate and lifted the quivering Madonna out. The creature’s racing heartbeat vibrated through her hand. She stroked its soft fur, marveling at the simplicity of Madonna’s world while tears streamed down her face. She could crush that innocent, beautiful thing in an instant, she thought.
Dan stirred from within the bedroom. Lucy lowered Madonna back into her cage, refastened the ceiling gate, and drained the tears from her goggles before he emerged.
Dan said few words over breakfast, visibly still reeling from the loss of his sister. He nearly left the house without putting his hazmat suit on, such was his preoccupation.
As they descended the stairs, clad in semi-breathable plastic and weighed down by huge hiking backpacks, Dan stopped at the fourth floor.
“Does this look right to you?” he asked, quietly, as Lucy pulled level.
The door to apartment 403 stood wide open, and a flickering light reflected off the walls.
“Who even lives here?” replied Lucy, peering around.
“We should check it out,” said Dan, as Lucy knew he would. “That flickering looks like a candle. I don’t want our whole building going up in flames if it’s unattended.”
He knocked and called out but no one answered. Cautiously, they entered the darkened homestead.
It was different in layout to theirs: smaller, with an open-plan kitchen-living area that defined the space. The blinds were drawn, blocking the outside world. The flickering light drew Lucy’s eye to an interior door on the left, which also stood ajar. She beckoned to Dan, and the two of them moved closer.
“Hello?” she called out, hoping for a reply.
Dan reached out and grabbed Lucy’s arm, stopping her in her tracks. He stepped forwards so that she was behind him, shielded. Leading the way, he delicately nudged the door open. It swung back without resistance. They edged forwards into the threshold.
On the far side of the room stood a single candle nestled within a large glass vase. It was almost burned out entirely. The candle gave a soft warmth to the well-furnished room, its irregular light quietly lapping at the two motionless bodies on the bed.
The elderly couple lay entwined in each other’s arms. Adjacent to them, on the bedside table, stood an empty bottle of sleeping pills. The pair might have looked peaceful were it not for their torn flesh. Lucy recognized the incisions; she was no stranger to the work of rats.
Dan took off his backpack and leaned it against the wall. Throwing open the bedroom window, he peered down onto the street below.
“Let’s get this done,” he said, signaling to Lucy to grab the dead man’s legs. “What? They’re going in a garbage truck later, anyway.”
“Who lit the candle?” asked Lucy, stalling. “It can’t have burned all this time; they must have died days ago. You think someone’s already found them?”
“Yeah, probably, and because they lit a candle instead of getting rid of the bodies, we’ve got to do it – before the whole building becomes a magnet for other problems. Now come on.”
He stuck a hand under each of the old man’s armpits, raising the torso off the mattress. Lucy winced as a loose flap of skin fell forward and dangled from the elderly face,
revealing the muscle, bone, and tendons beneath. The hazmat suit sanitized the air but couldn’t stop her brain from replicating the smell of rotting flesh. The sickening smell cloyed at her palate.
She took hold of the old man’s legs, the wrinkles and elasticity of his skin detectable even through her thick suit gloves. Together they heaved his body to the window, balancing him on the sill before tipping him off. He fell quickly and landed on the street below with a thud, spraying the pavement with congealed blood. His wife followed.
“Fine,” said Dan, dispassionately, as they exited the old couple’s flat and closed the door behind them. “Time for work.”
***
When they returned home that evening, Madonna was dead.
The caged hamster lay on its back, limbs contorted, its neck outstretched to the right as if trying to escape the rest of its diseased body. They stood in the hallway of their apartment, backpacks pressing the plastic hazmat suits into their sweaty backs, staring at the dead rodent. The disease had reached their home.
Stepping back out into the stairwell, Lucy closed the apartment door. She and Dan considered their next move. Staying in their infected apartment – in their hazmat suits – posed an unnecessary risk. On the balance of probabilities it made more sense to try somewhere else which may, on the off chance, be sanitary.
After some deliberation they identified only two practical options: 403 – the old couple’s apartment, where the occupants had died from sleeping pills – or Manuela’s place, where they’d found Madonna alive and well. The reality was that both environments had since been compromised by airflow, but Lucy and Dan were in agreement: moving presented the least threat.
They decided in favor of Manuela’s apartment and put phase one into action. Lucy retrieved the key from their sideboard while Dan disposed of the hamster. He tore off the useless plastic seal they’d constructed around the kitchen window and slung Madonna’s body out into the toxic night air, cursing as he slammed the window shut again. Next to him, Lucy tugged the plastic off the balcony doors and looked out into the twilight. The seeds had disappeared from the wind, and their slushy remains had largely drained away from the sidewalks and roads. But still the disease lingered.
Convulsive Box Set Page 11