by T. A. Sorsby
‘So…the entire Moss Way Precinct was detailed to help the CDC at County General. Even before the rioting at Mercy, there was an overflow of infected patients. Not all of them were really infected. Some of them just had similar symptoms – fever, confusion, shortness of breath.’ She added, taking in a long breath as if to confirm she was uninfected. She looked up, noticed everyone watching, then kept her eyes on the stove as she carried on.
‘Three busses of suspected infected were taken to Mercy so that County could stay open to the public, outside of the quarantine. We were trying to contain the infected in just one hospital. But even with police and soldiers, the CDC couldn’t get all of the infected out. A few families heard that if their people went to Mercy, they weren’t coming out again. They took their relatives up into a ward and locked themselves in, hiding. We finally had to follow the screaming to find them.’ She said, a tear starting to well up in her eye.
‘When we did…they weren’t human anymore.’ She said, her voice grating, a lump in her throat. ‘The families that’d taken their infected up there were all dead. There were about twenty…z-zombies, give or take. By the time we’d opened fire, we were too late.
‘A lot of people ran, even some of the mercenaries. When you empty a magazine into something you expect it to go down. Zombies don’t. You’re trained to shoot for the centre mass, that’s what kills people – but by the time we figured out it was headshots, they were pushing us further back from the wards and we were running out of ammo. They’re not all slow…some of them ran. Gods…I swear some of them could climb up the fucking walls…The doctors were trying to get the patients out while we screened them in front…’ she started wiping the tears away with the sleeve of her borrowed shirt.
‘We didn’t have many guys left as we got out to the parking lot. Four ambulances got out, I think? Six or seven patients or staff on each, two or three cops or mercs, really crammed in there. One of them got separated in the traffic, one of them crashed. I was on one of the others. Got separated on the roads. We made it almost to the Greenfield-Danecaster motorway checkpoint, but things weren’t much better there.’ She swallowed hard, tears freely rolling down her face now.
‘Four lane traffic jam, hundreds of cars back. We got out on foot, had to fight our way through panicking civilians, belted-up zeds in the cars or ones busting out of them. One of the patients got dragged through a window and two zeds ripped his throat out. Sergeant Mosley went down after that. Friendly fucking fire, some scared, angry civilian. Weren’t even halfway there…’ she sniffed, her mouth twitching up at one side.
‘And when we got to the checkpoint?’ she said, shaking her head, Starting to laugh. ‘Everyone was dead! Doctors, soldiers, police…and zombies everywhere.’
I felt I knew what was coming, but I needed her to say it.
‘And do you want to know what was on the other side of that checkpoint?’ she asked, looking up at us all. The room was silent, my throat was tight.
‘Another four lane jam. Far back as the eye could see.’
*
Eighteen
Hundreds of cars lined up to get out of Greenfield, and hundreds more lined up to get in. That was just one of half a dozen motorway routes they would have screened. Anyone who tried to evacuate would have been stuck in hell’s own rush hour – no wonder we hadn’t seen anyone on the roads. Add into that the non-motorway routes, dual carriageways and the village roads…no wonder quarantine broke under its own weight.
That night I dreamt of the other cities, wondered if it had all played out the same way there, or if the CDC had fought harder, if people had been less stupid - the rioting at Mercy certainly wouldn’t have helped the CDC’s men keep the zombies contained. Was there a place left untouched by this disease? Was it spreading globally now?
I dreamt of a city, nothing left but empty buildings and streets full of deserted cars. I saw a walled-in motorway road, packed from lane to lane with smashed up cars and zombies, clawing at either side of the checkpoints, each side wanting to be on the other.
I woke up suddenly, sitting bolt upright. I thought I’d heard a motorcycle engine rumble by, but then I realised the noise was coming from the bathroom. The flush. I looked beside me and saw short-cut blonde hair. My heart caught in my mouth for a moment as it tussled about, a pretty face turning to look up at me.
Laurel blinked her eyes at me and smirked.
‘Last night was wonderful.’ she mumbled, sleep-flirting.
‘Morning?’ I replied, my rapier wit taking a lunge.
Anita was sleeping in the Jamesons’ bed, unconcerned by the recent occupants but more worried that she was going to turn into a zombie in her sleep and kill anyone she shared a room with. We’d also turned the mattress and changed the sheets – it didn’t smell so bad anymore.
She didn’t cheer up much after sharing her story, and I was worried enough about her that I took her equipment belt away when I went to bed, just in case she decided to do something drastic, like the previous occupants. But who was in my bathroom?
Since they’d woken me up with the flush, I figured it wasn’t a zombie, so instead of grabbing Edgar’s or Anita’s gun off my nightstand, I pulled a shirt off the floor. I can’t sleep unless I fill a certain quota of nudity. I get too warm, even in winter. Nod in agreement, tell me I’m not the only one.
Usually I just go with the boxers, but I wore pyjama bottoms to stay decent for Laurel, who talked me out of sleeping on the sofa. I think that unlike Anita, she didn’t want to be left alone, and truthfully, neither did I.
‘Last night was wonderful.’ She repeated, sitting up next to me, losing the sultry edge. ‘I’ve never ate campsite-style in someone’s sitting room before. It was an experience. One I’m sure to re-live in the coming days, but hey – fun.’ She added with a tilt of her head.
‘Someone’s in the bathroom.’ I said, my brain still slightly fuzzy from sleep.
I swung my legs out of bed and was just opening my bedroom door when the bathroom one opened. Morgan stepped out, wearing a big pink dressing gown that made her look like an effeminate yeti.
‘Morning, stud.’ She said flatly. ‘Don’t hang around much, do you?’
I narrowed my eyes at her and closed the bedroom door behind me. I gave her a tight hug, but she didn’t hug back.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t talk in front of everyone else.’ I said quietly, following her lead out into the living room.
‘You could have taken me off to one side.’ She said, suddenly turning around. It was like she’d hit me, I had to take a step back. ‘I want to know what happened to her.’
‘So do I…’ I hesitated, feeling my throat tighten by saying it out loud. ‘Laurel doesn’t know either. Her bike wasn’t at the house, she’d packed up some of her things, clothes, photos…’ I was going to carry on talking; about how she might be at the hospital or might be with the CDC, but my voice just gave up on me.
I flumped down on the sofa, and within seconds Morgan was nestling under my arm, her’s going across my shoulders. We sat there and hugged in silence. It was a little like finding Edgar and Rosie yesterday. Same time - nearly the same place. Both of us pretending the other wasn’t crying, because we’re tougher than that.
We didn’t sit there for long. I heard Laurel getting out of bed in the other room and wiped my tears away with my free hand. I went to the bathroom to make use of the facilities and make sure my clothes and towel hadn’t made a mess from last night, but it looked like Morgan had already sorted that out. They were almost dry, still hung up over the big radiator but a lot neater than I could manage. I tried the hot tap and washed my face, but the water wasn’t getting any hotter by the time I was done. The boiler had finally cut out. No gas, no heating.
Laurel used the bathroom after me, while I put some new clothes on. Even though there were twelve entirely empty floors underneath us, but in the end we never even suggested she make herself comfortable in one of the spare apartments. Like a hu
man herding instinct, we all stuck together.
‘So what brought you here?’ I asked Morgan, raising my voice to carry from my bedroom.
‘Couldn’t sleep. Been camped out on your sofa for the last hour or three.’ Morgan replied.
‘You bring a book?’ I asked, trading the pyjama bottoms for some old jeans that’d long since frayed at the knees.
‘You know it.’ She said, probably getting back to it.
I opened my wardrobe, a sea of t-shirts for every occasion – except perhaps, the zombie-apocalypse. I went with the same Some Bad Men shirt I’d worn the night I’d proposed to Katy. Maybe it’d impart its luck to me again. I stuck my gun into my pocket and picked up Anita’s belt, jealously eyeing its holster as the nose of the revolver dug into my leg.
‘My dad had an idea for keeping the perishables from, you know, perishing?’ Morgan said, turning over a page. ‘We’ve got a coolbox for those barbecues in the park that I’ve heard so much about. Dad thinks if we all put our ice in there, we can keep stuff from our freezers good for another day or two.’
‘Worth a try. I haven’t opened my freezer yet so it should still be cold.’ I shrugged, an idea striking me. Morgan was a doer, she needed to be doing. ‘Would you mind doing that for us today?’
‘Doing what?’ Morgan frowned, putting her book down again. She hates being talked to while she’s reading, but somehow manages to talk herself.
‘Get the ice from everyone’s freezer and pack it up with what food you think is worth saving.’ I said, leaning against the kitchen island, ‘Even if it only keeps meat from spoiling for another day, it’s worth it if we don’t have to use up our entire tinned food ration.’
‘Sounds like an important job,’ she said, kneeling up on the sofa, ‘what’s the catch?’
Inspiration struck once more. ‘You have to get Anita to help you do it. It’ll take her mind off things, and it’s not so strenuous as to pop her stitches. If we’re gone long enough, it might be worth going through the whole tower, apartment by apartment.’
‘For ice?’ Morgan asked, raising her eyebrows.
‘For everything. A lot of food’s going to go bad, no matter how much ice we can scrounge. Everyone’s going to have at least a few tins in their cupboards. Soup, beans, tuna.’
‘The prospect of surviving the next week, let alone months, on tuna alone does not entice me into decisive action.’ She said, smiling. ‘But sure, sounds like fun. Hey, do I get a gun? Could be zombies in any of those apartments.’
‘You get Anita, and she’ll have a gun.’ I shrugged.
‘No fair. You took it off her last night.’ She replied, folding her arms and giving me a glare, but holding back a smirk.
‘I was worried about her last night. Things always look better in the morning. Now come on, and get dressed. I want everyone next door in half an hour. If they’re up. We need breakfast and I need to give everyone their jobs.’
‘You know, back in the truck when we elected you El Presidente, I don’t think we were being serious.’
‘Too late now, somebody has to do it.’ I said, clapping my hands together. ‘You’ve awakened my long-dormant sense of organisation and forward planning.’
‘Gods have mercy on our souls.’ Morgan sighed, rolling her eyes and returning to her book.
My newfound sense of purpose lasted only until I got out into the hallway. Someone did need to lead these people, but why the hell should it be me? That little voice in the back of my head spoke up again. No National Service award, no practical qualifications besides my driving licences. I wasn’t even a team leader at work. What makes me think I’m the man for the job?
‘Because the only real authority figure around here kinda has PTSD and Neville’s still asleep. So why not you?’ I muttered to the corridor. I’d already decided to do my best by these people, my friends, to make sure they didn’t lose hope like the Jamesons did. It wasn’t a million miles from that decision to the one to lead.
I opened the door to the Jamesons’ old apartment, what I was starting to think of as our group’s little headquarters. I wasn’t prepared to find Anita out of bed. She was standing at the kitchen sink, scrubbing out the cooking pot Lucile had used for the soup. It’d soaked overnight, but with the only water now running cold, it couldn’t have been a pleasant task.
‘Good morning!’ she said over her shoulder, positively beaming. I was a little taken aback.
‘You’re up early.’ I keenly observed.
‘Wanted to make myself useful,’ she said, scrubbing away in a pair of marigolds. Marigolds? Who actually wore those? ‘I wanted to thank you for bringing me in. But I also planned on slapping you for taking my gun away, so would you kindly come over here? I don’t want to drip dirty water all on the carpet.’
‘I think I’ll pass, thanks.’ I hummed. ‘You’re feeling better?’
‘Thinking about it. What happened.’ she spoke, staring deep into the dirty water in the sink, like it had shown her the answers. ‘What happened was terrible. The hospital. Getting home. Mum, Dad, Rebecca...then that thing that used to be our dog? But it wasn’t the worst part. What you’re going through now – not knowing if who you love is alive or dead, that’s the worst part. It was better, when I got home. Even after everything that happened there, it was still better than not knowing.’
‘I’m sorry about what happened Anita. If we’d have gotten there sooner…’
‘No, don’t think like that.’ She sniffed, ‘I keep having to tell myself - you can’t change the past. Got no reason to live there.’
I set her belt down on the kitchen island and picked up the tea-towel. We worked through the domestics, she washed, I dried, and then we both had fun trying to find where everything went back.
Not long after that, Damian and Lucile walked in, bearing gifts of processed meats and bread. It felt eerily like a self-catering holiday, only with even more of that sense that everything’s about to go wrong.
Neville, Morgan and Laurel weren’t far behind them, with more stuff from mine and Neville’s fridges that was running out of date. Pretty much the only thing to do with all this random crap was make sandwiches, so that’s what happened.
Between Morgan, Laurel and Anita, they set up a little production line, while the rest of us sat at the kitchen island and watched. Once a sandwich was made, it was double-wrapped in film, then put into a plastic box saved from someone’s previous takeaway. We’d be well stocked for sandwiches, and while it never tasted exactly right, I knew you could eat them a few days later, if you kept them wrapped and cool enough. Up here, keeping them cool was just a matter of putting them on the balcony.
‘What’re our options?’ Lucile asked, the only woman not making sandwiches in the kitchen. Morgan and Anita were there because they needed to feel useful. I think Laurel was there so she could pick at the food.
‘Only one stick out to my mind.’ Damian replied, ‘GCR.’
‘Radio station’s on the agenda. There’s things to do around here as well though.’ I pointed out. ‘Lucile, is there anything more you can do with the generator? Just divert power up to the top two floors? Or get the heating back?’
It wasn’t uncomfortably cold yet, must have been a warm day out, but even with triple glazing it was going to get colder sooner rather than later.
‘I was thinking on that last night, took me ages to doze off.’ Lucile said, rolling a stiff shoulder. ‘The fuse box ain’t as new as I expected, should be able to do some tampering without setting off surge protection or the like. But the heating’s a different thing, not a chance on that.’ She added with a nod. ‘We’d still need diesel for the lectrics but it’s a definite maybe.’
‘Shopping-slash-to-do-list then.’ I said, sitting up on my stool. ‘You do what you can for the generator. Since its daylight I guess it doesn’t matter if the whole building lights up, no zombies are going to notice?’
‘What if I wanted to go to GCR?’ she folded her arms.
‘Could you still find time for the generator?’ I suggested, as her spanner landed firmly in my works. ‘It is pretty important, Lucile.’
‘Lu’s kidding. She hate that station.’ Damian grinned.
I gave her a sideways look, and she gave me a wry smirk, just messing with me.
‘You’ve got that covered then. We need the top two floors and the elevator powered, if you can. If we’re going to use the lights, make sure to draw the curtains or black out the windows, but mainly, we need power for fridges and freezers would help us make the food last. While you’re on that, Neville, Damian, Laurel and me are going to check out GCR, see what the situation is there.’
‘Why me?’ Laurel asked, slapping some cured meat onto the chopping board, trimming the fat. Watching her butter the bread with cheese spread reminded my stomach that it lost a meal yesterday.
‘Because you have a gun. And you drive a small tank.’ I added, before Damian could protest his lack of firearm. ‘And while we’re there, Morgan and Anita are going to be sorting our food supply, right Morgan?’
‘Aye aye, captain.’ She said with enthusiasm, but no salute, as she was handling a knife at the time. ‘We’ll leave the freezers up here closed, if Lucile’s able the get the power back then we’ll add what we find to them.’
‘If you guys come across anything else useful while you’re searching, bring it too if you can. Doubt anyone would have left a gun or their first aid kits behind, but you never know. Good tools, impromptu weapons, use your judgement.’
I don’t know if I should have been, but I was surprised to see everyone just going along with what I’d said. They probably wouldn’t have assigned tasks any differently themselves, but they say a good leader never gives an order they don’t know will be followed – and I’d stand by that. All my worst bosses had been micro-managers, and all my best had kept their hands off. People knew their stuff, they just needed someone to co-ordinate from time to time, someone to get the ball rolling. If I was going to lead, I’d take a leaf out of their book.