by Lorch, Jeff
Suddenly Jamie saw a clearing in the infected ahead and pointed it out to his brother; Alex turned the wheel and aimed for it, gunning the throttle. The van ripped free from the other vehicle and leapt forward, hammering into, over and through several infected before breaking clear of the mess. He steered to the right across the median, narrowly avoiding two wrecked cars in the ditch; suddenly we were on the other side of the highway, in the clear. He raced ahead for a moment into the darkness, only one of our headlights still working, the other a mangled ruin. I reached forward, my hand on his shoulder, and told him slow down, to stop, to wait.
Behind us in the darkness, through the smashed and shattered windows of the van, we could hear screams of rage, and of pain and terror, all overlaid by the sounds of gunfire and smashing glass.
The three of us were panting in fear, hands shaking from the dump of adrenaline, as we waited to see who else from the convoy would make it out, tears of frustration pouring from my eyes knowing there was nothing we could do to help those still back in that chaos.
Several times we heard engines revving, roaring off into the darkness, one of which was followed by a terrible crashing sound, and after a moment the sound of gunfire became more sporadic. I hoped that meant that at least some of the convoy made it out of there, but no other vehicles came back our way.
From the darkness I heard the screams swell as we saw dozens of infected racing out of the night towards us, arms reaching, teeth gnashing. Without needing to be told, Alex knew it was time to go. Putting the van in gear, we accelerated off into the darkness, getting further away from home every minute.
♦♦♦
We drove through the darkness, the wind whistling through the van’s shattered windows. We were only able to drive around sixty kilometres per hour, if we went faster than that the front end of the van developed a terrifying wobble. After a few minutes, I made Alex pull over and get into the back of the van so his brother could have a look at his bleeding head while I got behind the wheel and continued driving. Inspecting his brother’s injuries by the pale illumination from the van’s interior light, Jamie announced that he had a serious goose-egg over his left eye and a pretty nasty cut above his ear, but other than that and what Alex described as “one nasty bitch of a headache,” he looked like he would be okay.
While Jamie bandaged his brother’s cut and told him that from now on, he had to date ugly girls since pretty girls wouldn’t want to date a scar-faced monster, I breathed out a sigh of relief that ended in a sob.
I didn’t want to think about what had happened behind us. I didn’t want to think that good people like Captain Meyers and Corporal Kelley might not have made it out of there. I didn’t want to think about all the other people who would never make it back to their families.
Forcing myself to put that aside, I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand and reached down beside me to pull out the highway map from under the passenger’s seat.
“Jamie, once you’re done doctoring, have a look and see what’s the best way to go south and then west around Winnipeg; we can’t risk going anywhere near a large population in the dark. We could drive right into a swarm of them and not know it until we’re on top of them. I don’t think this van will hold up to another encounter like that. There’s a river that runs south through the city, so we have to find somewhere with a bridge to be able to cross it.”
As Jamie packed away the first aid kit, the van was starting to vibrate even worse, so reluctantly I slowly backed off on the gas until our speed was down to fifty kilometres per hour.
After a few minutes Jamie awkwardly climbed over the console and squeezed into the seat beside me, hauling the unfolded map with him, and turned on the dome light above us.
“I think if we turn here,” pointing to a spot on the map, “and go south to Steinbach, we can go west from there and cross the river here.” I glanced over and saw he was pointing at a small town named Ste. Agathe. “It looks like there’s a bridge there.”
Judging from the map, it looked like the town was around twenty kilometres south of Winnipeg, and not on any major roads. From there we could travel some back roads west and back north to join up to the TransCanada highway. It looked good, and I told him to keep his eye open for the turnoff.
I looked in the rearview and saw Alex was trying to sleep, laying back with his eyes closed. Jamie and I drove without speaking, only the sound of the wind and the road, and the rattling of the van to fill the silence.
“It’s not going to be like that at home,” Jamie said quietly, staring ahead into the darkness.
I didn’t say anything, I just nodded grimly.
“Winnipeg is a pretty big city, and it’s only a few hours from Grand Forks and Fargo,” he continued, “so sure the sickness would get up here. Regina and Saskatoon are further north, and there aren’t any cities in the US near the border up there.”
I knew he was right, and I told him so. I also knew he was talking to keep from thinking about what had happened to the others in the convoy behind us.
“So, what was your favourite part of France?” I asked him, trying to distract him. He smiled at my obvious ploy.
“The two Ws,” he replied without hesitation. I looked at him curiously. “The women and the wine,” he said with a smile.
I laughed sincerely, for the first time in a while.
Twenty minutes later, the front wheel fell off.
♦♦♦
As we had been driving along in the darkness, the vibration continued to get considerably worse; obviously something in the front-end had been badly damaged in the crash back at the convoy. We had been reduced to a near crawl to keep the vehicle from shaking itself apart, so at least when the wheel flew off, we just came to a screeching halt instead of flying off the road in a fiery crash. Alex startled awake in the back seat.
I looked around in the complete darkness and listened. The only sound was the ticking of the motor as it cooled.
We climbed out and Jamie and I spread the map on the hood of the van; I had him show me where we were.
“It looks like Steinbach is around twenty klicks south of here,” he said, pointing at our location. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a vehicle there.”
I agreed, and the three of us started gathering our gear.
Soon we were walking along the paved road in the darkness, our loaded packs on our backs, guns slung over our shoulders and at our hips.
I had been forced to leave Kevin’s backpack behind, since each of us was carrying our own. I moved Kevin’s sweater and his wallet to my pack, so all that was left was clothing, but that didn’t matter. It still felt like I was leaving the last of him behind.
Alex’s head was really hurting him, and I was worried he may have a concussion from the crash. He said he felt okay other than a bad headache, so we rooted through the first aid kit and found some Tylenol for him, then continued on our way.
We set a decent pace, the sky slowly brightening as we walked. Alex’s head pounded and my hand throbbed. Only Jamie was intact, so far.
A little over three hours later, the sun still low in the sky to the east, we began to see buildings. It looked like an industrial area, large yards full of transport trucks and metal buildings. I quietly told the boys to keep their eyes open for any cars or trucks that might look promising.
The town was silent and still.
Soon we saw a sign for a car dealership on the right. Row after row of shiny new vehicles were all lined up patiently awaiting their new owners. We jogged up to the front door, but of course it was locked. We made a circuit around the outside of the building and tried all the doors, but no luck.
Back at the front of the building, we discussed our options.
It turns out a shotgun makes for a very efficient master key, easily opening both the front door into the building and the lockbox with the vehicle keys. This was really becoming too easy, I thought with some concern; we didn’t even give stealing a vehicle a second thought.
Our ears still ringing, we went through the keys until we found a suitable vehicle, a large four-wheel-drive SUV. We briefly discussed taking two vehicles, and promptly decided against it; we didn’t want to risk getting separated.
Once we had our gear packed into the SUV, we spread out our map and decided on our next course of action. We figured we would stick with our original route heading west from Steinbach, staying well south of Winnipeg; the danger of running into a huge pack of infected like last night was slim, since in the daylight we would be able to see them well ahead of time and avoid them, but we didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances.
“Once we’re back on the highway, I think we should stop at the base near Brandon,” I told the boys. I was aching to be home, and if we drove straight through to Regina we would likely be there well before dark, but I also figured we owed it to everyone to see if there were any other survivors from the attack last night, and if not, to let the people at the base know the fate of the convoy. If road conditions were good and we didn’t have to detour, we could maybe still get home to Regina sometime tonight, although I was worried about driving in the dark after last night’s events.
The boys agreed, and we were back on our way.
♦♦♦
Thankfully, skirting Winnipeg turned out to be a fairly easy process. From Steinbach we headed west to Ste. Agathe, then took some back roads north and west to a town called La Salle, where we crossed a river again (or maybe it was the same river, it was hard to tell from our map). From there we went straight north and connected with the TransCanada highway, continuing west.
We all let out a breath of relief, glad to be back on the highway and heading in the right direction. According to the signs, we were around two hundred kilometres from Brandon. Our map didn’t show where the base was, and I couldn’t remember having seen the base when driving this road in the past, but from Captain Meyers’ briefing it had sounded like it was right along the way; we would have to hope there were signs posted, like the ones that helped us back in Sault Ste. Marie.
All along the drive we saw signs of violence.
We passed countless accident scenes with wrecked cars in the ditch, and more than once we drove through small towns where some buildings were nothing more than smouldering piles of charred wood and rubble. But through it all we didn’t see any signs of survivors.
We had to backtrack and detour twice to get around massive wrecks including cars and tractor trailers, and once we had to switch to four-wheel-drive and cut through a deep ditch due to blockage on the road, but around three hours later near the town of Douglas, just a handful of kilometres east of Brandon, Manitoba, we saw a sign directing us to a turnoff south to the town of Sprucewoods and CFB Shilo.
Our luck had held out.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Day 8
It looked like our luck had run out.
Things are not working out the way I had expected, I thought to myself as I sat in the jail cell.
At the turnoff from the highway we had found a large sign indicating safe access and aid would be provided to survivors, just like back in Sault Ste. Marie. Following the signs through the small town of Sprucewoods, we came to the access gate at the base. The base had chain link fence running around the perimeter as far as I could see, with armed stations placed periodically along its length behind stacked sandbags. From what I could tell, it didn’t look like anywhere near the whole base was fenced, likely just the critical areas.
We told the soldier at the gate about leaving Fort Rapids with the convoy and the attack early this morning at Winnipeg. He immediately got on his radio calling in our arrival, while another soldier directed us to park off to the side and exit the vehicle, leaving the keys and our weapons behind.
We climbed out and stretched as the soldier took our particulars and wrote them down on a clipboard. Moments later I saw two soldiers driving up in a military green jeep. They advised they had been instructed to take us to the base commander’s office for an immediate debriefing.
Moments later the boys and I were sitting at a table in a small conference room in a large brick building, warm cups of coffee on the table in front of us. A soldier stood at the door, standing at ease, but he snapped to immediate attention when the door opened and three men walked in.
One of them was Private Reed from the convoy.
Despite my almost instant dislike for this brash and cocky young man a couple days ago back in Sault Ste. Marie, he was a sign that at least some of the convoy had made it out of the attack. I stood up and ran to him and, out of sheer impulse, grabbed him in a hug.
He stepped back, obviously embarrassed, when I released him.
“Good to see you too, Ma’am,” he said, blushing and glancing sidelong at his superior office standing beside him. “Ma’am, this is Lt. Col. Dumont, the base commander,” he said as he stood at attention and stepped off to the side.
The tall, imposing man stepped forward, and shook my hand. “Welcome to CFB Shilo, Mrs. Hayes,” he said, as he directed me back to my seat at the table. He directed his men to stand at ease and took a seat at the table across from me.
I would guess he was almost as tall as Kevin was, but not quite, and while he had the build and movement of a much younger man, I would put Lt. Col. Dumont in his mid- to late-fifties. He had piercing dark eyes and his close-cropped hair was turning to a light gray.
“Private Reed here has given us a debriefing on the events on the road this morning, Mrs. Hayes, but if you would I would like to get from you everything from your perspective, from leaving Fort Rapids yesterday morning through until your arrival here this afternoon.”
“Of course,” I replied, “but first, can you tell me how many from the convoy made it here?”
Dumont glanced at Private Reed, and then down at the file folder in front of him, squaring it off to the table edge.
“Not many, I’m afraid,” he replied quietly.
I looked up at Private Reed directly. “Captain Meyers? Corporal Kelley? Master Sergeant Stephenson?” I asked, dreading the response. Without looking at me, gaze focused off in the distance, Private Reed blinked away tears as he shook his head slightly.
I felt the air go out of me.
In the very short time we had been at the base, I had gained a great deal of respect for the men and women who were there working to start to rebuild what we had lost in all of this. I thought of Corporal Kelley’s wife and sons at home in Alberta, and that he would never make it back home to them.
Lt. Col. Dumont handed me some tissues from the box I hadn’t even been aware was sitting on the desk, to wipe away the tears I hadn’t been aware were running down my cheeks.
“Did any other civilians get out?” I asked.
“One other civilian vehicle from the convoy came in with the two supply trucks Private Reed and a few others escaped with,” advised Dumont. “Three other civilians, plus six military personal. Plus yourselves.”
Four vehicles, I thought to myself, twelve people. Twelve people out of over seventy that had left in the convoy yesterday morning. I wiped away more tears.
Slowly, I began to relate to Dumont the events of the last thirty-six hours or so, including where we stopped to unload supplies and when, and of course the attack by the infected on the highway. Beside him, a soldier was taking notes while Dumont listened intently. I finished with our journey skirting around Winnipeg to get here, including our decision to come here to ‘check-in’ as it were before continuing home. I hesitated, wondering if I should admit to car theft knowing that one of the main directives these men had was to establish order and prevent raiding and looting, but decided screw it, and included how we had ‘procured’ a replacement vehicle when ours had died. I couldn’t read Dumont’s reaction, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Private Reed smile sideways when I described using the shotgun to gain entrance to the dealership and get the keys to the vehicles.
When I finished, Dumont asked some questio
ns, clarifying or expanding on some of the things I had said, while the soldier beside him continued to take notes. Finally, deciding that he had all the information he needed, he nodded and took the notes, placing them in the folder in front of him.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hayes,” said Lt. Col. Dumont, standing and shaking my hand. “I’ll have Private Reed take you to your accommodations.” He turned to leave, but I held tight to his hand, making him turn back to look at me.
“Thank you, but we won’t be staying tonight; the boys and I discussed this on our way here, and we want to get on our way and get home as soon as possible. We’re so close now, we don’t want to wait until tomorrow.”
He turned to look at me, his face stern.
“I’m afraid you don’t understand Mrs. Hayes,” he said. “We’re not able to let you leave today, and not tomorrow either. The situation outside of these walls makes it simply not safe for you or any civilian to travel unescorted. In addition to the risk from the infected, we’ve seen and heard of increasing bandit and raider activity along the highway. You wouldn’t make it home on your own.
“We’ve spoken with Fort Rapids and they will be dispatching another supply train to us in three days. After the terrible fate of the last convoy, they won’t be travelling at night on this trip, so they’ll be here five days from now. When they leave here continuing west, you’ll be able to accompany them, but until then, for your own safety, I’m afraid you three will be our guests here.”
♦♦♦
I probably could have handled that better, I thought to myself as I sat on the cot in the jail cell, staring at the wall, nursing my hand.
I was pretty sure I had torn a couple more stitches, but I doubted Dumont would be in a very big hurry to send a medic to look at my hand. He would have them busy setting his broken nose, was my guess.