Population: Katie

by Connor, Penelope

  I shuffle, my back against the wall, away from Derek.

  “Get her out,” he mumbles roughly as he turns around. “Get her...”

  I find myself standing in the corner of the room, plastered against the wall, with my hands outstretched on either side of me. Dale’s self-preservation mantra runs through my head: Run fast. Run far. Never look back.

  But there’s nowhere to run. Derek stares me down from across the room, the sharpened tray held in one convulsing hand. He begins to lift the tray up, but his free hand pushes it back down to his side. He growls again, then drops to his knees, one hand clutching the opposite wrist and pressing it down towards the ground.

  A terrible rumbling sound escapes his throat as he whips the tray across the room. I can’t tell if he is trying to throw it at me, or to me, but either way, I grab it up in both hands, and return to my corner, holding it out in front of me like a dagger.

  I watch as Derek alternates between trying to stand up and trying to stay down, eyes squeezed shut, terrible sounds erupting from within him. Beyond the door, the other inhabitants of the quarantine wing are louder than ever. Apparently, Derek has captured their attention, and now I’m certain that they’re all infected.

  Without warning, Derek drops forward, supporting himself on his elbows with his forehead inches from the ground. Though the noise in the hall continues, uninterrupted, Derek is suddenly very still, and very silent.

  His left shoulder twitches. Then his left hand presses into the ground, pushing until his whole arm has straightened. Through a series of jerky motions, he gets to his feet. His mouth pulls back into a feral snarl and he opens his eyes. He sniffs at the air, looking all around the room as though seeing it for the first time… until his now dull eyes zero in on me.

  I hold my breath and will my entire body into utter stillness. I need more time. I need a chance. “Derek?”

  He lurches forward, charging with arms outstretched at my corner of the room.

  Still holding tight to the sharpened tray, I dive to the side just before Derek reaches me. He’s fast, but his reaction time is poor, so he crashes headlong into the wall with a loud thud, nails raking chunks of paint from its surface for a moment before he realizes that I’m not there. He turns, eyes locking on me again.

  “Derek, please. It’s me.”

  I hold the tray up, slowly backing away from him. He takes another run at me, and again, I move out of the way. We continue in this manner twice more, but every time, he catches on a little bit faster, correcting his trajectory before hitting the wall. He turns and watches me, bobbing slightly forward and back as we begin pacing.

  How long can I keep this up? I’ve seen the Aggressors before, when they’re tracking. They don’t give up, and they don’t get bored, or move on. They just track and attack. Until someone’s dead.

  I glance down at the tray in my hands, and then quickly back up at Derek. I tilt the tray out to face him. “I’ll use it,” I say, and again, I’m not sure if I’m lying or not. “Don’t make me.”

  Derek’s mouth hangs open, his left shoulder twitching again. He lurches forward and for the fifth time, I dive to the side, but he turns and catches hold of my jacket, making me tumble to the ground. In an instant, he’s on top of me, but not before I turn onto my back and pull in my knees. I get one knee propped up onto his shoulder, the other into his chest, struggling with all my might to hold him off.

  I let out a scream of terror as Derek pushes forward, lips pulled back over his teeth and his mouth snapping open and shut. His hands claw at my arms and shoulders, and I’m thankful that I zipped up my jacket a few minutes ago, because the thick leather’s protecting me much better than the flimsy jersey shirt underneath would have.

  Gathering up all of my strength, I try to push Derek off with my legs, but only manage to move him an inch or so. How long until I’m too tired to fight him?

  Derek lets out a snarling howl of frustration, then lifts one hand and uses it to shove my face to the side, pressing my cheek into the floor as he leans forward, teeth bared.

  I elbow his arm out of the way enough to lift the tray up and wedge it into his mouth. He gnashes at it a few times, then uses his free hand to grab the tray and fling it out to the side.

  While Derek’s hand is busy with the tray, I try shoving him away with my legs again, this time, pushing him to the side instead of straight back. He topples over, his chin slamming into the ground as neither hand bothers, or is able to, break his fall. In his momentary distraction, I turn and crawl away, then begin scrambling to my feet. A hand reaches out and wraps around my ankle, pulling me back to the ground. This time, I land face down, breaking my fall with my forearms. Before I have a chance to turn around to face my opponent, Derek’s pulling me across the floor. I claw uselessly against the ground, as my body slides back towards him. I feel teeth sink into the back of my calf, and cry out, trying desperately to kick my leg free.

  And then, he stops. I whip around, still on my stomach, to see the sympathetic doctor standing behind Derek, his eyes round and shocked, and his chest heaving up and down. His hands are up at his sides and he’s looking down at Derek, who has crumpled forward, the plastic lunch tray embedded deep into his back.

  The doctor’s eyes dart over to me. “Hurry!” he shouts, waving me forward.

  By the time I’m on my feet, Derek’s already starting to recover, pushing himself back up into a kneeling position.

  I follow the doctor out of the door and into the hall. We pull the door shut, and the doctor locks it with one of the many keys from a large ring that he is now holding. “They’ll be here soon.”

  I look at the window. Derek stands on the other side, snarling and scratching his nails against the glass. I can still see the tray sticking out of his back.

  The nameless doctor grabs my hand, and looks me in the eyes. “Run.”

  I turn, and together we take off down the hall to the large door at the farthest end. The doctor unlocks it with another key on the ring, and then locks it again on the other side. The hall we’ve entered is dark and dingy, just like B Block, and I assume part of the mostly unused psych wing as well.

  We slow to a rushed walk as the doctor leads the way through the maze of darkened halls. Despite the low light, he seems to know exactly where he’s going.

  There are a million things I want to ask him as we dash down hall after hall, but I decide to start with my most pressing curiosity. “Why are you helping me?”

  The doctor pushes through another swing door. “I owe a debt to your friend, Dale. This is the best way I can repay it.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. Even in death, Dale’s still saving my butt.

  The doctor smiles. “Also, you remind me of her.”

  I smile back, thinking of the photo in the office. “What was your daughter’s name?”

  “Jenny,” the doctor says. We stop in front of another door, which he quickly unlocks. Hand on the handle, he sighs and adds, “It’s still her name, actually.”

  I open my mouth to ask a follow-up question, but stop as the doctor ducks down, below the window of the door he was about to unlock, cursing under his breath.

  There are several doors leading out of this room, but instead of choosing any of them, the doctor pulls open a locker and ushers me inside. “The exit’s not far. When they leave, follow that hall, two rights, and you’ll be outside.”

  “You need to come with me. You can’t stay here.”

  “Shh,” he insists, gently closing the locker door.

  The captain enters the room, tailed by two soldiers, both brandishing large, shiny guns. His sagging cheeks pull up in an unsettling smile as he waggles his finger like a disapproving parent. “Tsk tsk, tsk. Now, what am I going to do with you?”

  Chapter 19 – Battle On

  From inside the locker, I watch the captain turn to the soldiers. “She won’t have gone far - find her.”

  They immediately dash out of the room in search of me.
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br />   The doctor breaks his silence accusingly. “She wasn’t turning.”

  “I know,” the captain replies. His voice is steady and maddeningly casual. “The team was preparing to extract her.”

  “What were they waiting for? If I’d gotten there any later, he would have torn her apart. It’s a miracle she was able to fend him off as long as she did.”

  “They were waiting for my order.”

  “Then what were you waiting for?” the doctor asks through gritted teeth.

  “It was a very unique case,” states the captain. “We needed to see what would happen once her partner turned. Would he attack her, or would she attack him? Perhaps they would attack each other; that would have been something to see.”

  “But why?”

  “Bradley,” the captain says, his voice now patient, “what good is all of our research? What good are our sacrifices – your sacrifices – if we don’t send the most thorough report possible back to the General?”

  The General. The unnamed leader of the Gov’s San Angeles headquarters, the one who was in charge of the vaccine program. So far, I know very little about the General, only the few notes that Dale wrote about him in my journal.

  Before I get any more detail, however, a soldier bursts through the door, leaving a bloody handprint on its frame, and almost topples into the captain. “Sir, they’re everywhere! They’ve broken through the outer borders… they’re practically at the gates!”

  “Who’s supposed to be in the surveillance room? Never mind, where are they?”

  The soldier reaches down, resting his hands on his thighs, still trying to catch his breath. Or maybe he’s trying not to pass out. “Heading... toward... the west border.”

  The captain grabs his comm and, for the first time, allows his emotions to show through. “Breach! Send everyone to the west border. Defend it at all costs.”

  He barrels through the closest doors, leaving the soldier and Dr. Bradley behind. Apparently, the doctor just dropped down the list of priorities.

  As soon as the door slams shut, the doctor grabs the injured soldier, helping him to the ground.

  The soldier tries to wave the doctor off. “I’m fine.”

  “Let me look at it,” Dr. Bradley says, ripping the soldier’s sleeve to get a better view of the wound. He uses the sleeve to mop the excess blood away, seeking out the initial injury.

  “Not too bad, but you’ve lost a lot of blood.” Dr. Bradley makes the soldier put down his gun, then has the injured man hold the makeshift bandage in place. “Keep pressure on this.”

  “Okay, Doc.”

  Now that the soldier’s unarmed, I jump out of the locker and run over to the pair. “Where’s the surveillance room?”

  “You need to get out of here,” Dr. Bradley insists. “Down the hall, two rights, and you’ll be outside.”

  “Who’s... this?” the soldier mumbles. We both ignore him.

  “They’re all distracted,” I say. “If I can gather information that’ll help my friends, I’m going to.”

  The soldier’s now reaching for his gun. “You’re... under arrest.”

  Dr. Bradley kicks it away. “Stop using that arm. If you lose any more blood, you’ll pass out. “

  I don’t see that as a bad thing.

  “It’s that way,” the doctor says. “Left, down a long hall, second door on the right, it’s marked. But help me move him to a safer place first, in case the soldiers can’t stop the infected ones from getting in.”

  “They’re not... infected,” the soldier says.

  “If it’s not the infected ones, then who’s out there?” Dr. Bradley asks, trying to lift the man into a seated position.

  “Dunno... outsiders. They’re tearing it all up.” He waves dreamily in the air with the hand that’s supposed to be covering his wound. “They’ll... kill them all, you know.”

  “Who?” the doctor asks, pressing the man’s hand back down to the injured arm.

  “If they get to B Block,” the soldier says. He makes a little gun by pointing his thumb and index finger. “Bang. Bang. Bang.”

  “Jenny.” The doctor jumps to his feet and turns on his heels, dashing back down toward B Block.

  I don’t waste any time. Following Dr. Bradley’s directions, I find the surveillance room quickly. With the ‘outsiders’ occupying the soldiers, I also find it empty.

  The room comprises a large, plush chair, an even larger desk, and an exorbitant number of screens. They’ve been watching everything. The captain was probably sitting here with a bucket of popcorn while I was fighting for my life.

  Some screens are static, while others flash between different parts of the hospital. More still are monitoring the exterior of the hospital, and what I assume is their perimeter where soldiers are gathering. On the outside of the fences that make up the perimeter, people are arriving. They’re fighting off the Passives that seem to guard the fences. They’re – wait. I know these people.

  I recognize Deirdre, leader of the group ours did most of our trade with, at the front. Erin’s there, and Cameron, people from our group, people not on the ground teams. There are housers, lots of housers, people who I’ve only seen in passing when we gave them supplies after the hospital runs. Endless waves of familiar and unfamiliar faces battle the Passives, fighting their way to the gates.

  My heart skips a beat.

  What can I do? This room contains all the information that they need to take over this place, to free their missing friends, to find a safe home and rid themselves of the tyranny of the captain.

  I look from screen to screen. The answer’s here, it has to be. But I don’t see anything helpful.

  Then it hits me. Outside of A and B Block, most of the rooms and halls are empty. The captain ordered ‘everyone’ to defend the border. But there are only... I count the soldiers on the screen... thirteen of them out there.

  No, that’s got to be wrong. How can so few people be running this base? There must be a lot more of them in the field right now, patrolling the streets and terrorizing the public. But right here, and right now, their forces are very numbered, and that number, by my count, is thirteen.

  More and more people are making it to the fences, dozens and dozens, maybe a hundred or more. But none of them are shooting. I know that our group had a number of guns before I left, so I can only assume that they’re out of bullets, which sure would explain why so many Passives have gathered.

  That’s why the soldiers are just standing there, waiting. They’re counting on the Passives keeping everyone out.

  I need to get the Passives away from my friends, and I need to get the soldiers to back off. I need to keep any more blood from spilling. One of the surveillance screens flashes the inside of a room filled with weapons. It’s not far. I run to the room and fling the door wide.

  “Whoa.” I don’t have time to be intimidated. I dash past the array of shiny black guns and grab several large, surprisingly heavy, grenades. I’ve seen movies... as long as I don’t pull the pins out, I won’t blow up.

  The grenades and I make our way to the nearest exit, which is thankfully on the side of the building, and out of view of the thirteen soldiers.

  It’s just like the MegaMart. I take a deep breath and run as fast as I can to the fences that protect the hospital, hiding behind a truck that’s parked there. Putting all but one grenade on the ground, I look at the horrible thing for a moment, then pull the pin and chuck it as far as I can over the fence. It doesn’t go as far as I’d like.

  I dive to the ground, plug my ears, and wait a few agonizing seconds for the blast, which does not disappoint. The soldiers all look over. They think that the invading forces set it off, and they’re getting nervous.

  On the other side of the fence, a large number of Passives start heading toward the sound of the blast. Perfect! I need to draw more of them away from my friends.

  I tug the pin out of a second one and throw it over the fence again, slightly further. Another spect
acular blast has the soldiers even more shaken up. One shouts for everyone to steady, but he’s not their captain. In fact, the captain’s nowhere to be seen. One soldier turns and dashes away, back to the hospital. A moment later, two more follow. The ten remaining soldiers are holding up their guns now, trying to see where the blasts are coming from.

  Even more Passives head toward the sounds.

  I pull the pin from a third grenade and throw it. It hits the top of the fence and bounces back, landing at my feet.

  I kick it away in panic. It rolls under the truck I’ve been hiding behind. “Oops.”

  I run and dive to the ground, curling up in a protective ball as the blast bounces the truck into the fence, splitting a section of it open.

  My ears ring loudly, and I stumble up to my feet.

  The Passives, already attracted to the noise and commotion, start piling through the fence. Five more soldiers run for it, and the remaining five adjust their focus from the invading forces to their own wellbeing, running past me to secure the fence.

  With fewer Passives surrounding them, and the soldiers otherwise occupied, Deirdre and Erin reach the gate, forcing it open and ushering everyone inside. They lead a large group of people inside to secure the hospital, while others fan out to check the property. I never thought I’d see so many people working together like this.

  But there’s no time to think about it now. The remaining soldiers are shooting down the Passives in an attempt to get close enough to the fence to secure it.

  “No!” I shout, running towards them. No one else needs to die here. One soldier’s holding a length of rope. I grab it from him, shoving through the still standing Passives, toward the fence. I can’t believe how many of them got inside so quickly.

  I tie the rope into one side of the fence, then try to pull it to the other side. I should be able to pull them back together and tie them like a shoelace.

  The soldiers have stopped shooting for the moment. They probably don’t want to risk hitting me while I’m fixing their fence.