by T. A. Sorsby
The image flicked back to the studio, where the same man was shuffling the same papers. He set one of them aside and I caught a glimpse of black rectangles on the page, the kind that conspiracy theorists love to think about.
‘Thanks Gill.’ he said, ‘We can now tell you that Parliament has authorised the CDC’s soldiers to use fully-lethal force to protect the quarantine zone at Mercy Hospital, and have upgraded the state of emergency in Greenfield, Manford and Danecaster Counties to red. Territorial and CDC forces are expected to be establishing checkpoints on the roads within the hour, so travel outside of Greenfield is expected to be restricted to emergency services only.
‘Parliament have also issued an official statement, declaring that all citizens infected with East Rojas virus turn themselves in to the CDC immediately, the phone number for which you can find at the bottom of your screen…’
The man flicked his eyes off camera for a moment and, and nodded, his brow furrowed.
‘We have breaking news now at Mercy Hospital, coming live from Gillian Allman. Gillian, what’s happening out there?’ the presenter asked, trying to get the words out quicker.
The image of the woman outside the hospital returned, but now she definitely looked unsettled. Her eyes were a little wide, and she stared at the camera for a moment, mouth hanging slightly open.
‘Ah,’ she stuttered, casting a look over her shoulder at the hospital. ‘Well Matt, we just witnessed an individual inside the hospital struggling to open one of the upper storey windows. The man inside the hospital was then attacked from behind…and… fell through the window, onto the ground...four storeys below. Shots were then fired by the CDC’s mercenaries, Sydow Sec, and several more of the protestors outside of the hospital have left the area.’
‘Sorry Gill, just to confirm – the CDC fired on the protestors, or the man in the window?’ Matt the anchor asked.
‘I – we aren’t sure at this point Matt, though it looks as if more CDC trucks are arriving.’ she said, looking somewhere behind the camera.
The camera spun around and refocused on a school-style bus driving towards the hospital. The cameraman kept the lens trained on the bus, painted in the same grey as the Humvees and trucks.
As it drove by, the bus slowed down to let a handsome young soldier in full combat gear, sans-helmet to remain stylish, jump down to the road. He wore the same urban camo I’d seen on the men at the postal warehouse, making him Sydow Securities, I guess. He jogged over to the reporter, and addressed Gill while she was still off camera.
‘Ma’am, you can’t be filming here,’ he said, his tone polite, ‘it isn’t safe to be near the quarantine zone right now.’
‘Sir, sir!’ Gillian said, as the camera moved, getting the reporter and the soldier in shot together. ‘What is happening inside the hospital?’
‘I’m not authorised to comment on any questions addressed by civilians ma’am. A statement has been issued by Parliament, and as you know, it has been announced in local news.’
‘But the people surely have a right to know what is going to happen to their families? Does the CDC have the appropriate amount of medicine to deal with a health scare of this size? Do we even have a vaccine or treatment available?’ Gill pestered, following the soldier as he moved to catch up with the bus.
Suddenly, the level of volume from the protestors rocketed into something much more aggressive.
‘Set them free! Set them free!’ you could hear them chanting.
But then a chorus of screams joined with the shouts, and the camera focused in on the bus, just as a spray of blood painted one of the windows red.
The soldier saw it, and turned around. He grabbed Gillian with one hand, and started pulling her back the way he’d come from, away from the bus and the rioters, right into the cameraman who’d been following too closely behind. The picture went all shaky-cam as he tumbled to the ground, the sound crackling as the camera slipped from his grip. We saw nothing but tarmac for a moment.
‘Sir, sir! You can’t-’ she tried to protest, but he cut her off.
The camera didn’t pick up what happened next, but the sound of gunfire made the microphone pop again. A moment later, and the cameraman must have regained his footing.
The soldier appeared again, with one of those boxy submachine guns held up to his shoulder. He fired another pair of shots into the side of the bus – fam-fam, and then lowered his weapon. The doors of the bus opened, and people began to spill out of each exit, some of them wearing haz-mat suits, trying to shout for order, and some just in plain clothes, running for their lives.
‘Gods above!’ Neville shouted. I’d pretty much forgotten they were in the room, I’d been looking so intently at the news. ‘He’s just shooting at people!’
‘I don’t know.’ I said, feeling my blood run cold, ‘What was all that blood from? It was fricking spraying…’
‘He can’t just be shooting the infected like that!’ he yelled, ‘That’s murder!’
‘We don’t know that’s what he’s doing,’ I said, ‘we can’t see inside the bus – look at the blood…’ I muttered, my stomach in knots just watching it.
‘That’s murder!’ Gillian shouted, standing a few feet behind the soldier, who’d put himself between her and the bus.
‘Use of lethal force was authorised.’ he said, head tilting down to his shoulder, ‘Patient on bus three just turned, had to neutralise the victim but we’ve lost the bus.’
There was the crackle of his radio, and words that the camera couldn’t quite pick up.
‘It wasn’t my idea to bring them here, blame the CDC official at County, their quarantine’s in overflow. Get me a squad here now! Landry out.’
‘County was supposed to take the overflow from Mercy…’ I thought aloud, ‘If there’s too many infected in both hospitals...I need to call her again.’ My thoughts were spinning, but I was sure I could talk her into staying home, beg her if I needed to.
I patted my pockets for my mobile, couldn’t find it, and ran to the landline in the kitchen. I tried dialling the number too quickly, my fingers pressing down two numbers at once. I ground my teeth and carefully redialled, but I got the beeping of a busy line almost immediately.
‘Something like this on TV,’ Neville said, waving a hand at the screen, ‘Line’s are going to be buzzing.’
I slammed the phone back into its receiver, but it slipped out, so I had to slam it in again even harder. I found my mobile on the counter and dialled the shortcut for her mobile number. Decent mobile reception shouldn’t be hard to come by these days, but as sod’s law would have it, I couldn’t even get a signal anymore. The “no coverage” icon flashed in the corner of the screen.
On the TV, they’d cut back to the studio, where the anchor was repeating the Parliamentary orders. A scrolling bar at the bottom read ‘This message will repeat’ – followed by the emergency hotline number.
‘I think they’ve stopped the live broadcast.’ Morgan said quietly, ‘Guess they don’t want people seeing a warzone, don’t want people to panic, it kinda got all messed up at the end there, didn’t it?’ she asked, hugging herself with one arm.
‘What do we do now then?’ Neville asked, gesturing at the screen like it was going to tell him.
‘Stay at home, stay safe, keep an eye on the news…’ I said, repeating Katy’s warning, and the words that were scrolling along the ticker at the bottom of the TV screen. ‘Let’s hope this all blows over…I guess that’s all we can do. Never thought something like this would happen here…’
I sat down, running my hands through my hair, trying to think clearly. Morgan went straight into my kitchen and put the kettle on. She knew where everything was. Neville sat down next to me, and put a hand to my back in a consolatory fashion.
‘What time was she supposed to be in work?’ he asked.
‘She said she was going in to help with intake, just before you came here. She was leaving in a minute.’ I muttered.
‘Hey,
that’s good right? If she’s only intake she won’t be dealing with the infected beyond the triage stage – or maybe she saw the news? She could still be at home right now, calling in sick or something – but not that kind of sick.’ Neville added hurriedly, keeping his voice soft, ‘Come on. Try ringing her again in a few minutes, the lines might have cleared.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ I nodded, ‘Thanks.’
I sat and drank tea with my neighbours while the news played the recorded message. Stay at home, checkpoints established, infected required to turn themselves in, riot at Mercy Hospital. It was about an hour later that they announced that the quarantine around Mercy was now including the entire block, and that they were currently “estimating casualties” at around thirty.
Morgan and Neville left eventually, but I heard them moving about in their apartment until fatigue started to weigh down on me. Turned the volume up on my mobile and the kitchen handset, taking them to bed with me. I tried again before resigning myself to sleep. It’d gotten worse. The landlines weren’t just busy, they were completely down.
*
Five
On Wednesday, me and Neville got together in the late afternoon and started knocking on doors. He’d brought a pencil and a notepad with him, but after we’d got a few floors down we realised he didn’t need the register. Most people weren’t answering, or weren’t present. Out of respect, we didn’t barge into their homes. Not yet anyway.
The only remaining tenants were on our floor, and the one below, like a sense of height conferred a sense of safety. The parking lot was empty aside from a massive blue 4x4, a white pickup, and Neville’s sedan, everyone was gone. We were alone.
So there was Neville and Morgan, myself, Edgar and Rosie Jameson who lived across the hall from me, and below us only two more people; Damian Grant and Lucile Marchland, 1301 and 1302 respectively. Everyone else had left town, and hells, did that make us feel isolated.
Even though we tenants weren’t exactly a tight-knit community, I still knew everyone to a certain extent. I’d helped the Jamesons’ son carry furniture up to their apartment, cramming a three-seater sofa into the elevator and somehow getting it out again – a feat I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to repeat.
Lucile had only been in town a month or so, working some kind of construction job. She’d thrown herself a flat-warming party, knocking on most doors in the building, with a few people from her job showing up too, but I got the impression she didn’t know too many people outside of the job.
I knew Damian as a face about town, setting up sound equipment at small live music venues, working behind the bar, standing out front as security – though he didn’t have the bronze shield like Neville. He’d given me a business card once, shouting over the noise of the club in his lilting accent. The card advertised his services as a sound technician, party DJ and roadie – a hell of an odd-jobbing résumé.
Neville scrunched up his list of names and put it in his back pocket while we rode the elevator up from the first floor.
‘Not a big turnout for a block of over fifty people.’ he said.
‘Starting to think you should have skipped town?’ I asked.
‘I’m not exposing Morgan to ERHR, even if we have to sit up in Castle Towers with malnutrition.’ he replied. ‘You’ve seen the few pictures that got out of Rojas.’
‘Yeah.’ I nodded, rubbing the bridge of my nose. I shut my eyes a moment, and saw the image of Katy pale and feverish again.
‘And down that train of thought madness lies.’ Neville said, seeing into my head. ‘If the phones clear up she’ll call.’ he added, patting me on the shoulder uncertainly. Male bonding probably didn’t come easily to him, but he’d been trying.
‘I just wish we knew more of what was going on. Did the same rioting crap break out at County General or what?’ I asked the world. It didn’t answer.
I pushed the fourteenth floor button until the doors rattled open onto the penthouse, where Morgan was waiting for us in the hallway.
‘Paused something interesting on TV… Come take a look.’ she said, leading us into the Roberts’ apartment.
It wasn’t much different to mine in terms of décor. Comfortable leather sofas, a wooden coffee table, a faux marble surfaced kitchen and a sleek black widescreen you’d have trouble fitting in a smaller elevator.
I’d had the news running since I’d last talked to my fiancée. It was mostly just the same message repeated over and over, with different inflections and slightly different versions, depending on what station you watched. All the channels were dead apart from the news stations, so it was the only thing on anyway.
Some made out like the Territorial Army and the CDC’s soldiers were letting people through the checkpoints so long as they didn’t carry any signs of infection. Another, more reliable station, said that the city had been completely locked down and riots had broken out at some of the motorway checkpoints. Still another station said that police forces and EMTs were touring the city looking for infected, and carrying them off to who-knows where.
I fixed my eyes on the news as Morgan pressed ‘play’, and watched as the camera panned back to the desk. This was different to all the recorded messages we’d seen earlier. This felt unscripted, and the woman behind the desk was missing the usual cake of TV makeup. Her hands were clasped on the desk in front of her, but her nail polish was chipped and her hands were covered in black smears, like engine grease or something.
‘As you can see, we’ve taken our own advice now, and are staying indoors. The rioting seems to have quietened down, but there are still infected walking around out there. If you make too much noise they try to get in, but if you stay quiet for a while they’ll go away.’ Gill spoke, the lady reporter from yesterday. She looked around the room for a second, and then turned back to camera. Her shoulders shook as she took a deep breath, before carrying on.
‘There’ll be no more news after this report. It isn’t safe to go outside anymore, but we’ll repeat this message for as long as we can. The infected have gone mad, attacking whoever they see with their bare hands…and teeth. They’re everywhere you go now, the city isn’t safe…’ She swallowed, glancing around the room again. ‘Those cannibal murders from the start of the week…they have to be related. I don’t want to panic anyone,’ she said, her voice going a little quieter, ‘but I don’t think they’re really human anymore, like they’re something from a movie. Mad, I know. Please, just stay away from them, stay home, or get to somewhere safe and hide. There’s no getting out. Last thing we heard was the checkpoints were overrun, or the CDC was holding them with force, shooting anyone who got close. Quarantine is broken, and that means the Territorial or more security forces should come soon to contain the infected.’
She took a break, and sipped from a glass of water. The camera panned around the news office, showing the usual behind-the-scenes broadcasting equipment, news desks and a handful of spectators dressed in camo fatigues; all with military-grade firepower strapped over their shoulders – Sydow Security.
I could see the weather guy from Sunday broadcasts carrying a woman with the help of a soldier with a red cross on her helmet. They set her down on a pile of cushions that looked like they’d been taken off a sofa, and the weather guy started to unpack macabre looking medical tools from the mercenary’s pack.
‘Just…hold out and wait, don’t take any unnecessary risks...’ Gill said, the image thundering her words home. ‘The power grid will probably fail soon, and when that happens most of the food in the city will start to rot, so ration it with whoever you’re with. Wait for the Territorials, the mercenaries, wait for help...and if any infected come knocking…just stay quiet. Stay safe.’ she added, looking down. A moment later, the screen flashed to the no-signal card, but after a few seconds, it was replaced by Gill again – and the footage began to play from the start.
‘Stay safe…fuck…’ Morgan whispered.
‘Language.’ Neville muttered, unaware he was saying it as he place
d a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.
‘I’ll see if anyone didn’t get that broadcast.’ I spoke, feeling my voice come out a little hoarse.
I walked out into the corridor, just as Edgar did the same. Neville joined us, with Morgan trailing behind. Rosie looked over Edgar’s shoulder in the doorway, her straight iron grey hair brushing over his shoulder.
‘We need to start working together,’ I said. ‘We’ve been holed up with our heads in the sand, and it’s about time we started treating this like the disaster it is.’ I sighed. ‘But I think we need to see what’s out there before we go into survival mode, maybe bring our families and friends back here. It’s safer than the average twin house if someone’s trying to break in.’
‘The woman on the news said to stay inside, keep safe.’ Neville reminded me.
‘I know that…but my fiancée is out there somewhere.’ I said, grinding my teeth, my mind flitting back to the injured woman on the cushions, ‘I need to make sure she’s okay.’
‘And I agree with you.’ Neville shot back, holding up his hands, ‘I was just saying, for the record, so we all know what we’re getting in to.’
‘Then it’s noted. If anyone wants to come with me, I’m heading out in a minute.’
‘We’ll take my car.’ Neville said, throwing me his support, and wheels, I guess. ‘Won’t be gone long.’ He said to Morgan.
‘Hope not…’ she gave him a weak smile.
‘We’ll stay.’ Rosie said, holding Edgar’s shoulder. ‘Leave it to you young ones to play at scouts. Right, Ed?’
‘Hmm? Okay.’ he said, slowly. ‘I’d liked to have gone, but if you need to light out of somewhere quick, I’m not going to be good on my leg. I got shot you know, in the knee…’ he added with an eye roll. I got the impression his wife reminded him of it more than just walking did. Edgar would have come with me if it wasn’t for the hand on his shoulder.