by Lorch, Jeff
Pauline reached out and gently took my hand in hers, running her fingers across the stitches. After supper I had taken off my bandages and washed the cuts, and for the first time I left the bandages off, wanting the wounds to breathe. David had been fascinated by it.
“Mom that’s going to look seriously wicked once the stitches come out!” he had said, marveling at my wounded hand by the light of a candle.
I smiled at him. I did the math in my head; it had been five days since the doctor had stitched me up, and he had told me to leave them in for at least ten days; maybe more like fourteen if the cuts were slow to heal or got reopened. I figured I would leave them in for at least another week, maybe ten days at the outside. Over the past five days my poor hand had taken a beating.
From nearby, maybe only a block away or less, we heard the screams of several infected calling out into the night. Off in the distance, another group answered back. We heard the ones near us moving away, screaming their lungs raw.
Stubbing out her cigarette, and giving my hand a tender squeeze, Pauline stood and went back inside. We hadn’t said a word to each other but hadn’t needed to.
I stood and followed her into the dining room where the others were setting up the Trivial Pursuit game board on the table.
‘Son of a bitch,’ I thought to myself, smiling wryly.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Day 11
Morning came and we were all up early. We agreed to skip breakfast and just get going, everyone eager to get on the move. Pauline and David used the last of the bread to make up some sandwiches for a lunch that we could eat on the road if we had to.
Tom, Alex, Jamie and I sat at the dining table and talked over our route.
“I still think it’s a mistake not to at least check out the base at Moose Jaw,” said Tom. We had discussed it briefly last night before bed, and I had been in favour of a straight run to Suffield.
This morning, Tom had been sitting at the table with a ruler and looking at all the options; figuring out which routes would be fastest and, more importantly, safest by avoiding population centres.
“Look,” he said pulling out his notepad and the road atlas. He used his pencil to trace a path south of Saskatoon to Outlook, then due west through Rosetown and through to Bigstone, Alberta; at that point we would turn south straight to the base. “This route is just over five hundred klicks, maybe five-twenty or so,” he said, “so allowing for possible delays and detours let’s say it’s a six and a half, maybe a seven-hour drive.”
“But if we get on Highway 11 and head south first,” he said, tracing a different path, “that takes us to Moose Jaw, just over two hundred klicks, where we can at least check out the base; if it’s abandoned then it’s a four hundred kilometre run straight west on Highway 1 to Suffield. It’s a difference of only a hundred klicks, give or take, likely just over an extra hour on the road.”
I had to agree it made sense.
“Plus,” said Tom, “we would be driving right past Dundurn so we could check it out too.”
A light went on in my head. I had completely forgotten that there was a military base just forty or so kilometres south of Saskatoon at Dundurn. It was set back a bit from the highway so had never been more than a road sign to ignore as we drove by on our family trips to Saskatoon.
I think Tom saw my reaction, as he smiled and pushed the atlas towards me.
“Dundurn, Moose Jaw and then Suffield,” he said with just a hint of smugness in his voice, “three for the price of one.”
It was going to be a long day of driving, and more stops meant more chances for things to go wrong, but Tom was right, we couldn’t afford to not check them out.
The decision was made, and without a backwards glance we were on the road. We were back to our original driving arrangements, me in the lead in the SUV and Tom following behind in his truck.
To change things up, Alex was in the passenger seat beside me and Jamie had gone back to sit with Tom and Pauline. I got the feeling Karen was more than pleased with the substitution, despite her patented ‘whatever’ attitude. She kept herself busy being painfully aloof while David kept Alex busy talking about everything under the sun, from sports to movies to video games and more.
Driving south, we saw plenty of signs that raiders had been active in the area. There were a couple gas stations on the side of the highway just south of town, and both had been burned to the ground, the stations nothing but still-smoking ruins. We couldn’t tell what had started the fire, but the fact that both were burnt despite being hundreds of yards apart suggested it had been done on purpose.
Along the highway we saw dozens of wrecked and smashed cars, both in the ditch and in the middle of the road. Some of them still had corpses in or near the wrecks. We slowed each time we came near a vehicle in the road, wary of an ambush, but each time we passed without incident.
It was a quick forty-minute drive south, and we came to the sign indicating the town of Dundurn turnoff to the right.
From the back seat, David’s radio crackled, and Tom’s voice filled the cabin. “Stephanie, we must have missed the sign, the turnoff to the base is north of the town.”
Alex reached back and took the radio from David. “He didn’t say ‘over’,” said David with a frown.
Alex thumbed the talk button and replied, “I’m pretty sure we didn’t miss any signs, we’ve been watching. We’ll turn off here and follow the roads back to where the map shows the base is.”
“Say ‘out’,” came David’s voice from the back seat.
Alex smiled, and depressed the talk button again. “Out,” he said, and handed the radio back to David. While David talked into the radio scolding his grandfather for not using the callsigns he had come up with for us (our SUV was ‘Momma-Bird’ and Tom’s truck was ‘Old-Faithful’, to which Tom had taken mock umbrage, saying he wasn’t that old) and for not saying ‘over’ when he was done speaking, I turned off the highway into town while Alex provided directions.
As we drove, my hopes of finding anyone at the base fell; it looked like a war zone. Like the truck stops just outside Saskatoon, the small gas station set back from the highway was destroyed, burned out. Tucked behind it was a long single-storey motel, and it looked like it had been the site of a gun battle. All the motel windows were blown out, doors were missing or hanging sideways from broken hinges, and there were bullet holes everywhere.
We drove through the town, past the hockey rink and community centre that you will find in almost every small town in Saskatchewan. Wrecked and burned-out vehicles were scattered along the road and beside the buildings, most had been peppered with bullets.
After backtracking for over a kilometre, heading north past the town and then west along a gravel road, still without seeing any signs, we came to the camp.
The road curved to the west, and we followed along past a long stretch of buildings that looked like barracks or common housing.
Beyond the barracks, it looked like a chain link fence had been erected around the perimeter of the main camp, and nearer to the road large metal shipping containers had been lined up to serve as a makeshift wall, just like back at Fort Rapids. Off in the distance we could see crews of soldiers working with cranes and heavy equipment extending this wall, apparently fortifying the camp.
Across the road there was a gate similar to what we had seen at Shilo. Two guard stations, complete with sandbag walls and machine guns mounted on swivels, were built beside the gate, and I saw six guards all standing at alert, rifles held at the ready. Behind the gate, two large trucks had been parked nose-to-nose across the road.
What was missing were the big ‘welcome civilians’ signs we had seen at both Fort Rapids and at Shilo.
As we came to a slow stop in the road, all of the soldiers brought their rifles up to their shoulders except for one who approached the gate and lifted a loudspeaker to his lips.
“Turn off your vehicles. One of you, and one of you only, may exit your vehicle
and approach the gate. Remove any firearms you may have before approaching the gate. If you fail to follow these instructions, you will be fired upon.”
Nervously I instructed Alex to call back to Tom’s truck on the radio and tell them to wait in the truck and that I would go up to the gate.
I gingerly took my pistol from its holster at my hip and placed it on the dash of the SUV. I opened my door and stepped out.
I walked slowly up to the gate, approaching the soldier with the bullhorn and keeping my hands visible. He lowered the loudspeaker.
“Ma’am, this is a secure military facility. I’m afraid you and your people have to turn your vehicles around and vacate this area immediately.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, and I explained that we had been at Fort Rapids and had headed west with the supply convoy, and then made it to Shilo, but had left to find our families. “We had been told the military bases were sheltering civilians.”
“I’m afraid not here at Dundurn, Ma’am. We’re a supply depot only, we’re not equipped for a civilian presence here.” The guard paused, looking at me then back at our SUV with the smashed windshield. I saw him look down to my bandaged hand. “You said you were at Shilo?” he asked. “What’s your name?”
My heart fell.
In my mind I could see Lt. Col. Dumont nursing his broken nose, looking at his smashed gate, and then getting on his radio sending out an APB or whatever the hell they would call it; telling the other bases to keep an eye open for this crazy bitch who broke his nose, and to arrest her on sight. Or maybe shoot her on sight.
Reluctantly, I told him my name.
He nodded, his face, stern. “Mrs. Hayes, please get in your vehicle and instruct the others with you to follow me.”
He turned to the men beside him, twirling his finger in the air. “Coming in!” he hollered, and the gate in front of me started to open.
♦♦♦
Once we were inside, a soldier backed one of the trucks up allowing us to pass by. The soldier I had spoken to hopped in a jeep parked beside the guard station and, making sure we were following him, drove slowly ahead into the camp. We drove a short distance along the main grid road up to a large two-storey building that was most likely the command centre, where he climbed out of his jeep and signaled where he wanted us to park.
We all climbed out of our vehicles and followed the guard towards the building, when the front doors opened and a familiar face stepped out into the morning sunlight, smiling.
“Glen!” I said, running forward to Private Reed where he walked down the steps towards us.
I grabbed him in a hug and gave him a squeeze.
“I had a feeling you guys would make it here,” he said with a smile when I released him. Jamie and Alex ran up to their friend and gave him a hug. Glen stepped back and looked at my family where they stood together beside Tom’s truck.
“It looks like you found your family!” he said with a smile, and I introduced him to my kids and their grandparents. He looked at the boys, where they stood slightly off to the side, their smiles fading.
“Have you been up to Saskatoon yet?” he asked, obviously dreading the answer.
Alex nodded, swallowing hard.
Glen nodded, sadly. “I’m so sorry guys,” he said sincerely.
“How did you get here?” I asked him.
He nodded to the guard who had led us in here, who then hopped back into his jeep and drove back towards the gate. Glen turned and led us into the building behind him.
“After you guys split from Shilo, it didn’t take the brass long to determine that someone helped you escape,” he said as we walked into the darkness of the building. “I’m pretty sure he knew it was me, but since he couldn’t prove it, he was more than happy to see me gone. So, when the opportunity to head out here with this guy came up, I jumped at it.”
It took my eyes a moment to adjust from the bright morning sunlight outside, but when they did, I saw Corporal Kelley standing in the hallway talking to another soldier. His left arm appeared to be heavily bandaged all the way down to his fingers and was supported in a sling around his shoulders.
He handed the clipboard he had been holding to the other soldier, thanked her, and turned to us. When he saw us in the doorway, he broke into a smile.
“Why am I not surprised?” he said as he walked towards us.
I had never really considered myself much of a hugger, besides my family anyway, but today I seemed to be hugging everyone. I ran up to him and gave him a big awkward hug, trying not to crush his arm, which he accepted gracefully, with a pained wince, then stepped back, clearing his throat. He shook hands with Alex and Jamie, as well as my family when I introduced him to my kids and to Tom and Pauline.
“What do you say we quit blocking this hallway? I’ll buy you a round of coffees at the cafeteria and we can catch each other up.”
♦♦♦
Over coffees for the adults and hot chocolates for my kids, despite my daughter’s insistence that she could have a coffee, Cpl. Kelley told us of his escape from the attack by the infected. I sat in horror listening to his story.
When the horde of infected had hit our convoy, they literally hit the truck he had been driving with enough force to turn it up on its side. Instinctively, he had thrown his arm out to try to brace himself against the door as the truck went over, but his arm had smashed through the window and been crushed under the door when the truck landed up on its side. The two other soldiers riding in the cab with him wound up landing on top of him, pinning him in his seat behind the steering wheel and nearly smothering him, and pinning his right arm against his body, so had been unable to reach his sidearm. He was completely helpless.
The infected hammered against the windshield, swarming the truck, eventually climbing on top of the upturned vehicle and crashing through the passenger-side window. The soldiers on top of Kelley thrashed, trying to reach their weapons, trying to defend themselves, when one or more of the infected had crawled through into the cab of the truck. Kelley hadn’t been able to see what had happened, being at the bottom of the pile, but he had heard it.
“They died hard,” he said, quietly, looking at my children knowing he couldn’t describe it to us, even if he had wanted to.
Kelley had struggled, trying to free either of his arms, but he had been pinned completely immobile. Finally, he had admitted to himself that even if he could get one or even both of his limbs free, there was nothing he could do to save the men above him other than to die with them; so finally, he had swallowed his pride, had pushed down his sense of duty, and laid still; he had played possum.
He stared at the table, as if unable to meet our eyes. Knowing that there was nothing you could do doesn’t make it any easier to live with, I knew that from experience. I knew that he had no other option, that doing anything else would have resulted in his death, and I knew that he knew it as well, but a man like this would still likely feel like a coward for having done nothing.
In the end, the infected had simply not found him under the tangle of the corpses of the two dead soldiers and had moved on to other prey.
At some point, he figured maybe twenty or thirty minutes later, the swarm had moved on, leaving him among the dead.
I tried not to imagine what that half-hour had been like. Trapped, arm mangled and pinned under the slowly-cooling corpses of men that you knew, men that you had served with; covered in their sticky lifeblood, and being able to do nothing other than listen to the sounds of killing and dying around you.
When he knew they were gone, he began to slowly work at getting himself free. He had eventually managed to free his right arm. He had been able to awkwardly shift the bodies of his fellow soldiers enough that he wasn’t as immobile, but his left arm had still been trapped between the door and the pavement of the road outside.
With his only other option being giving up and just lying there to die, he did what he had to do. He braced himself against the steering wheel and began rip
ping and jerking on his crushed arm, tearing it free little by little from under the truck. Again glancing at my children, he didn’t elaborate, but again I could picture what it had been like, tearing his crushed arm, already fractured in who knew how many places, free from under the truck, leaving blood and skin and eventually meat behind.
He said he didn’t know how long it had taken, since he had passed out several times from the pain, but eventually he had managed to get his arm free, and then had climbed out from under the corpses of his friends and out of the truck. By then it had been getting light out; he found a med kit among the debris left behind after the infected trashed the convoy and bound his wounds enough that he wasn’t likely to bleed to death. While he limped around amongst the wreckage, two others who had been able to flee in the dark and hide during the attack found their way back to the convoy; together they managed to find a vehicle that was still roadworthy and, as he put it, ‘we got the fuck out of there, if you’ll pardon my language,” without running into the horde again.
The vehicle they were driving had run out of gas fifty kilometres or so shy of Shilo, and together they had walked the rest of the way to the base.
He said they had limped into the base just as the men there were fixing the gate that I had smashed through only an hour or so before. He had been rushed into the medical centre and spent four or five hours in there getting his arm looked after; his arm was so badly damaged that the doctor wasn’t sure he could save it, and that only time would tell. “Three rods and eleven pins later,” he said, looking ruefully at his arm. “I’m guessing airport security will love seeing me coming down the pipe from now on.”
He had been released in the early hours of yesterday and run into Private Reed who had filled him in on our arrival, our brief visit, and our very hasty exit.
“After what happened on the road with the convoy,” he said, finishing up his story, “I knew I needed to get to my family and make sure they were okay. I put in a request with the CO to transfer up to CFB Cold Lake, and Private Reed, along with a few more grunts who wanted to head west, volunteered to accompany me. We were given the green light and a transport, and we made our way here for a pit-stop. I’m heading north tomorrow to Cold Lake, north of Edmonton. It’s the closest base to my home up at Lac la Biche, so if my family headed anywhere, it would be there. We’ve had some communication with the base and my family isn’t there yet, but I’ll head there anyway just in case. If I don’t find them there, I’ll head home to collect them and then head back to the base.”