Decimation Series (Book 1): Contagion

by Lorch, Jeff

  I once again thought about our encounter with the thugs at the roadblock and how badly that could have turned out for us, and I knew he was very right. And that was only two guys; I didn’t want to imagine a whole gang together organized enough to think about stealing from an army base. I looked at the boys and guessed they were thinking the same thing.

  I could see that even talking about people like this left a bad taste in his mouth. Those predators were the antithesis of everything this man and his service to his country stood for.

  I could see him shake himself from the dark mood the subject brought on.

  “These raiders out there are part of the reason we’ve decided to have you travelers join with our supply train, to help offer you the protection of the army in your journey, not just from the infected, but from the raiders as well. I think it is unlikely that anyone would have the nerve to attack a military convoy, so my guess is that we’ll get to our destinations unmolested. But a lone civilian vehicle out there unprotected might well be another matter.”

  ♦♦♦

  The hard impact to my shoulder and cheek stunned me for a moment, and I saw stars. Wincing, I lowered the shotgun from my shoulder and rubbed my cheek, looking at Corporal Kelley.

  “Owwww!” I said, smiling through the pain.

  He shook his head, feigning disappointment. “I just don’t think the shotgun is the gun for you,” he said, and walked me through the steps of unloading the gun and, leaving the action open, I set it down on the table in front of me.

  Over the last fifteen minutes I had put a couple dozen rounds through the shotgun in front of me, and despite Kelley’s best efforts of instruction ensuring I had it tight up against my shoulder, pointing not aiming, and squeezing the trigger instead of pulling, I still wasn’t able to fire it without feeling like I had been punched in the face.

  I had, however, become pretty comfortable with the Glock 17.

  After the briefing we had been given a short break and were told to meet at an area where they had set up a firearms training station; that’s where the firearms we had surrendered at the front gate would be waiting for us. Last night after returning to my room, I had remembered that Kevin had grabbed a pistol from the airport when we had left, and that, packed away and forgotten, it hadn’t been among those we handed over when we were admitted into the camp. I had dug through the bags and put it in my coat pocket next to Kevin’s Swiss Army knife. When we gathered at the training station and took back our firearms, I brought the pistol out of my pocket and put it with the others. Corporal Kelley hadn’t missed my movements and gave me a raised eyebrow in lieu of a question. I explained what had happened, and he accepted it gracefully.

  For the next thirty minutes or so, Staff Sergeant Stephenson, a tall blonde woman with glasses and an ease of motion I envied, gave us basic theory instruction on how firearms worked and the steps behind safe use and handling of them; we were then broken into smaller groups and turned over to individual instructors for some practical instruction. The boys and I were pleased to see our instructor was Corporal Kelley.

  The boys turned out to be naturals, their experience growing up around firearms evident in their comfort and practiced handling. Corporal Kelley was pleased with their proficiency and told them so. The boys actually blushed. I figured they had a bit of hero worship happening there, and I was fine with that, they had made a good choice.

  I, however, felt totally inept. And I think Kelley was absolutely right in his assessment that the shotgun was simply not for me. I had wanted to learn to use it because it was the gun Kevin had been using when he died protecting me. I handed the unloaded shotgun over to Alex, who had seemed most comfortable using it today. He took it solemnly, I think understanding my feelings.

  I had much better results with the Glock. The Glock and I did manage to come to terms, but I thought to myself, I didn’t know if we would ever be best friends.

  Plus, through all of this, my damaged hand ached and throbbed brutally with every trigger squeeze. I looked at bloody spots on the bandages and was pretty sure I had torn some of the stitches.

  Kelley had repeatedly drilled me on the steps of loading the rounds into the magazine, the magazine into the pistol and loading the rounds into the chamber, followed by the steps in reverse, again and again until, even with my bandaged hand, I could do it with my eyes closed. Then, with the gun empty, we went through the steps of drawing, cocking, target acquisition, trigger squeeze, and holstering the gun. And finally, we went through a couple dozen rounds of live fire at the target. When we were done, Corporal Kelley announced that all in all, I was a passably adequate shot. But just barely.

  And that was good enough for me, I replied with a smile.

  As the boys packed away our firearms, ensuring they were all unloaded and safe, and packed away our ammunition, Corporal Kelley walked over to me and handed me a holster for my gun. I thanked him again for his kindness.

  “Well,” he said with some reserve, “I guess helping you out and making sure you all get home safely helps make up for me not being able to be home helping my wife and sons right now.”

  I said nothing for a moment, again struck by the enormity of the sacrifice these people make putting their service before their personal needs.

  “Where is your family?” I asked.

  “I’m from northern Alberta, north of Edmonton a way,” he replied, “so I’m pretty sure they’re safe. We live a long way from the border, and our place is pretty rural so I don’t think they would have much to worry about so far as looters go. You know what small towns are like, I’m sure, everyone looks out for everyone else. Plus, I’ve always had a Boy Scout mentality, you know, ‘Be Prepared’? They’ve got lots of food and emergency supplies on hand. My boys are both almost grown, and they know how to take care of themselves. So as much as I’m worried about them, I’m also sort of not, if that makes any sense. And besides,” he said with a dry smile, “unlike you, my wife is one hell of a good shot.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Day 7

  With military precision our convoy rolled out of the compound gate at eight am sharp.

  The morning had been a flurry of activity around the camp, but I marveled at the organization as everyone, except for us, seemed to know where they were supposed to be and what they were supposed to be doing.

  The afternoon before, following our firearms training, I asked the soldier at the front desk if there were any shower facilities set up for the civilians, since there was no running water working in the hotel. He said there wasn’t yet, but they were expecting to have something set up later that afternoon in the parking lot. True to his word, two large army tents had been set up near the waterfront, one for ladies and one for gentlemen, drawing water right from the river. Hot water was of course limited, so our choices were a very brief warm shower, or an unlimited cold shower followed by hot water to warm up with.

  Yesterday the lineup for the shower had been way too long for my taste, so instead I got up earlier this morning and went down in the darkness. I had the tent to myself, so I didn’t feel too guilty about using a little more than my allotted amount of hot water. I was careful to keep my fresh bandages dry and out of the water; after firearms training yesterday, at Corporal Kelley’s insistence I had visited the med tent and had it inspected, torn stitches repaired, and rebandaged.

  Back in the hotel room, wide awake from the frigid river water, I had coffee ready for the boys when I woke them up and shooed them out the door to the shower so I could enjoy my coffee in silence, likely for the last time for a while.

  The cafeteria had been a noisy mob of chaos and energy and as I looked around at everyone in the room, eyes bright, talking between mouthfuls of scrambled dehydrated eggs and fried spam and slurped coffee, I was reminded of last summer when Kevin and I had dropped the kids off for two weeks at summer camp. It was that same feeling; the excitement of something new and unknown.

  The boys and I had agreed yesterday that
we would drive our beat-up green minivan along with the convoy. I had gotten us this far, and we would need transport once we got where we were going. Between the three of us, we would be fine taking shifts driving. We loaded up all our gear, making sure we had easy access to our weapons, including our belt knives at our hips. I kept Kevin’s Swiss Army knife in my pocket, I hadn’t been without it since Thessalon.

  I fully expected that our escort would take care of any threats on the road, but I was trying to shift my thinking; like Cpl. Kelley, from now on, I was going to be prepared.

  As our convoy began to move, and we found our place among our escort vehicles, I was doing the math in my head; based on Capt. Meyers’ briefing the day before, I expected we would be rolling through Regina sometime around midnight tomorrow.

  My stomach fluttered, and my palms were sweaty, gripping the steering wheel.

  We were going home!

  ♦♦♦

  It wasn’t long before the wreckage this sickness had wrought to our world became evident. Before we made it out of town, we saw dozens of burnt buildings, some still smouldering. Abandoned vehicles were everywhere, some intact, some smashed, and some burnt-out husks. We had several encounters with small groups of infected, which we were able to simply push past and leave behind on the road.

  The sight of all the dead bodies in the streets was the worst of it.

  In the two days we had been at the camp, the horrors of the trip north from Toronto had soon faded, like a nightmare will upon waking. But driving through this carnage quickly brought it back, as did the hollowness of the empty passenger’s seat beside me.

  All of this quickly sapped the energy from the van, and our feelings of exuberance for being on our way home soon soured.

  Once we were past the edge of town, the wreckage and the groups of infected became less frequent, but still a constant reminder of the destruction around us. Several times we had to come to a stop as wreckage and debris blocking the road had to be cleared away. Each time I wondered if this had been created by someone as an ambush point, but we never saw anyone other than the infected.

  Despite all of this, it couldn’t take away the raw beauty of the land around us as we found the rhythm of the convoy on the road, and the miles started to fall away, We drove north, often skirting Lake Superior to our left, with small resort villages scattered along the shore and it’s broad expanse of dark, cold water disappearing to the west, but more often we were just nestled between the evergreen forests and the rock of the Canadian Shield as the road played out ahead of us.

  We had been instructed to keep a fair distance between vehicles but not to fall back too far. Along with the two buses, there were almost a dozen civilian vehicles in the group scattered between at least as many military trucks carrying the supply load. There were also two fuel-supply trucks, one of which was pulling a trailer unit that had several bathrooms in it, like you’d see outside a concert or event, only this one was painted green instead of white. Rounding out our group were two six-wheel armoured trucks, one at the front driving further ahead as a scout, and one at the back, providing protection from possible raiders.

  We were almost three hours into the journey when the call came back from the lead vehicle across the radio we had been given; we were making our first scheduled rest-stop. The vehicles slowed and came to a stop as a group. We were on a stretch of highway with an airstrip to our right and a turnoff just ahead directing us to the town of Wawa.

  As the boys got out of the van and stretched their legs, I walked ahead to the bathroom trailer eager to get rid of the three cups of coffee I drank that morning with breakfast. Based on the already long lineup at the trailer, I wasn’t the only one with that need. Several of the men were availing themselves of their God-given right to use the world as their bathroom and had wandered off to the tree line to water the foliage.

  I scowled at them; not out of any sense of propriety or prudishness, but out of jealousy.

  As I stood in line, I saw one of the privates drive a couple long metal posts into the ground at the side of the road, and attach a large sign directing those needing aid to the compound in Sault Ste Marie. I hoped there were people out here who would see it and would be able to make the journey.

  “Contact north!” came a shout from the front of the convoy. I looked ahead as the soldiers around us all were at an instant state of readiness.

  I saw two trucks racing towards us from the direction of the town, honking their horns as they came. I could see several people in each truck, including people sitting the back. Most appeared to be carrying guns.

  ♦♦♦

  The vehicles turned out to be locals, including the mayor of the town. Captain Meyers and a few of his men took the mayor and a few of her people aside while other soldiers pulled food and medical supplies from one of the transport vehicles and helped load them into the trucks the locals had driven up in. I expected Meyers was giving the mayor and her people a quick version of the briefing we had gotten yesterday.

  While this went on, the rest of us went about the business of emptying our bladders and grabbing some snacks, while several soldiers kept a wary eye on the woods around us.

  The whole business didn’t take long, and soon we were back on the road.

  The routine for the rest of the day was more of the same. We did full stops every three to five hours at predetermined locations, plus a few short stops along the way at communities along the road where we were flagged down by civilians. At each stop Captain Meyers met with the locals, distributed some supplies and traded information, and got us back on our way.

  The boys and I took turns driving; we each managed to nap a little between shifts, and hour after hour, the miles fell away behind us, each turn of the tires getting us a little closer to home.

  It wasn’t until in the darkness of the very early morning that we ran into real trouble.

  ♦♦♦

  The call came back on the radio for everyone to pull over and stay in our vehicles, waking me from a restless sleep. Once darkness had fallen and we weren’t able to see ahead, Captain Meyers had begun sending the front scout vehicle ahead when we got near to a town and had the rest of the convoy sit back and await the all-clear.

  Both boys were in the front seats, allowing me to stretch out a bit in the back. Ahead in the darkness, all we could see were the red brake lights of the truck in front of us as the convoy slowed to a stop at the side of the road.

  “Where are we?” I asked, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. I blinked blearily into the darkness, unable to see anything past the dim glow of the lights of the vehicles in front and behind us.

  Alex was behind the wheel, his window rolled down a few inches to let in the night air, likely to help keep him awake and alert as he drove. Jamie sat beside him, the roadmap folded up and tucked down beside him under his seat. Throughout the day we had made several stops, both scheduled and unscheduled. I had been driving when we stopped at Kenora at around one AM, and the boys insisted I take the back seat to get some sleep.

  “I think we’re almost at Winnipeg, from the road signs we’ve been seeing” said Jamie, “but I haven’t seen any sign of the city yet so we must be still at the outskirts. Without any lights anywhere, it’s pretty hard to tell.”

  My heart leaped! In our past lives, Winnipeg was only a six-hour drive from home, a drive Kevin and I made dozens of times over the years. Compared to where we started our trip, this felt almost like my backyard! We were almost home!

  I grabbed my water bottle and was taking a long drink when I heard it through Alex’s open window, faint, almost inaudible at first, but getting louder.

  When we were first married, before the kids, Kevin and I splurged one year and bought season tickets for our local pro football team’s home games, the Saskatchewan Roughriders. Once the kids came along, it was a luxury we couldn’t really justify anymore, so we contented ourselves just buying tickets to special games. Regina’s stadium is known throughout the CFL as
being one of the loudest stadiums in the league, due mostly to the Rider fans being the most passionate about their team.

  The sound that came from that stadium when the refs made a bad call against the Riders is what I could hear coming in through Alex’s window. The sound of enraged people screaming and bellowing at the top of their lungs.

  The sound of thousands of them.

  Suddenly everything seemed to happen at once.

  I opened my mouth to yell to Alex to close his window while...

  Alex was already rolling his window up while...

  The radio squelched as dozens of voices overlapped yelling ‘Contact!” while...

  The pop-pop-pop of rifle fire coming from everywhere was overlapped by...

  The heavy rip of the machine guns on the armoured scout trucks at the front and the back of the convoy drowned out everything else, everything except the roar of the wave of infected as they crashed into our convoy, many splattered with blood, eyes blank and crazed.

  As the mass of frothing madness crested over the transport truck in front of us, I saw soldiers torn from their seats and ripped to pieces before they even hit the ground.

  Our van rocked to the side as dozens of shrieking, flailing infected slammed into us. Gritting his teeth and showing an amazing level of composure, Alex put the van in gear and twisted the wheel to the left as he accelerated into a tight U-turn, thinking only to get away from the mob of infected. The three-lane highway was more than wide enough, and we were almost turned around and clear of the throng when we were blinded by the headlights of another vehicle; the driver, trying to turn the vehicle around while swarmed with bodies and flailing arms and legs, blindly hit the gas and smashed into us broadside, crumpling the left side of the van, sending little jagged shards of smashed glass flying everywhere.

  Alex’s head crashed into the window beside him, shattering it. Blinking, stunned, his head bleeding badly from where his head hit the window, he shook his head as he tried to regain his senses and steer clear of the wreckage.