“Don’t worry,” the third one said. “We’re all girls here.”
That didn’t make me feel any better. “No, please don’t take my clothes.”
“We are military physicians, so you don’t have anything to worry about. But if you don’t submit to an examination,” one of them said, “you’ll be quarantined in isolation for a week for observation. Trust us. The exam is the better option.”
“Okay, okay!” I consented. Inside, my temper fumed.
They began cutting my shirt off with scissors. It was insane. “Why are you destroying my clothes?” I asked. “These are all I have.”
“These will be incinerated,” one of them said. “You’ll be given clean clothes to wear when we’re finished with decontamination.”
“But if you just unlock these chains, I can take them off myself.”
“It’s the procedure,” one said in a flat tone tinged with annoyance.
This whole thing was surreal, like a horror movie. They even cut my bra off. I felt humiliated as they began cutting my jeans. They made me lift my feet as they removed my shoes, socks, and underwear. When I stood completely naked, still bound in restraints, they began examining my skin. At first, they just stood on either side of me, scanning me up and down. I cringed as I felt a hand on the back of my neck as my hair was pulled aside. The suit in front of me lifted my arm, bowing it outward as far as the chains would allow.
“Hey,” I said, as one of them tugged at my ankle and flexed my knee. “Don’t touch me!”
“We have to determine if you have any cuts or bites,” one said in a mildly bored voice. “Now stand still. The more you move around, the longer it will take.”
They moved me toward a chair. She pulled a strip of wide paper from a nearby roll and draped it over the chair. “Sit down, please,” she said.
I had to fight the urge to bolt out the door but managed to do what she asked. The other suite opened a drawer and withdrew a syringe, some antiseptic wipes, and an elastic band.
“Now what are you doing?” I asked, feeling sick to my stomach. Another suit began strapping my arms to the chair I was seated in.
“Nothing to worry about,” the suit with the syringe said. “We just have to take some blood to test for the presence of the virus.” She straightened my arm out and tied the elastic band just above my elbow, stretching it uncomfortably tight. “Stay completely still,” she instructed. ‘Make a fist.”
I curled my fingers and clenched as I turned my head to look the other way. It was odd how fighting zombies and spewing blood didn’t bother me, but needles did. I felt the prick pierce the bend of my elbow.
“Relax your fist,” she said. She loosened the elastic band. The process seemed to take a long time. “Almost done,” she finally said. A faint slurping sound curdled my stomach.
I stared hard at the door and thought about Kyle and Jordan. They were probably going through the same thing.
“Finished,” she said, withdrawing the needle. She placed a cotton ball in the crook of my elbow and covered it with a piece of bandage. She held two vials of my blood in her hand.
One of the other suits undid the straps on the arms of the chair. She stood me up and walked me toward a booth near the back of the examination room. “You can shower in here while we run the tests on your blood sample,” she said.
“How can I shower with these on?” I asked, rattling the chains.
“Sorry,” she said. “We can’t take them off until we get the results from the blood test.” She opened the door to the booth and pointed to containers mounted to the wall. “Use the germicidal cleaner for your body and hair. Be sure to wash every part of your body thoroughly.”
I stepped into the tiny closet, and she closed the door behind me. The space was about the size of a shower you would find in an RV. I turned on the water. At least it was warm, and there was a lot of it. After showering for a month with nothing but a cold trickle, this was a welcome relief. I dutifully pumped the spout on the container of germicidal soap and began pouring it onto my skin. I worked it into a lather with a washcloth I found hanging on a hook. It was difficult washing my hair with my arms chained to my waist, but I did the best I could. As I moved, the chains rattled against the sides and bottom of the shower stall. In a few minutes I had finished, and I opened the door. A suit stood waiting there with a towel. I took it from her and began drying myself off.
“She’s uninfected,” announced the other suit that was peering into a microscope on the countertop. “You can remove the cuffs.” She removed a slide from the microscope and tossed it into a red plastic biohazard container on the wall. She placed the vials of my blood in a plastic cylinder and started writing on its label. Then she slid open a panel in a pneumatic tube on the wall and inserted the cylinder in it. She pushed a button, and the cylinder whooshed through the tube, disappearing into the ceiling.
“Where’s that going?” I asked. What were they doing with my blood samples?
“They go to the lab for our research,” she said simply.
I wondered why they would need my blood for research, but I didn’t feel safe asking them. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t quite safe here. Perhaps it was because we’d been living under threat for so long that hyper-vigilance had become a normal state for me. I couldn’t be sure. Not yet.
One of the suits came toward me, and I noticed she had a key in her gloved hand. She began unlocking the bands around my wrists. She then unlocked the band around my waist, followed by the cuffs around my ankles. Another one handed me some clothes.
“Hmmm, stylish,” I commented, feeling some of my confidence return now that I was unchained. The pants and shirt they’d given me were a lot like khaki hospital scrubs, only a bit heavier. The tags on the shirt and pants read ‘one size fits most.’
The ensemble was complemented by a strange looking pair of stretchy underwear and a bra. The material wasn’t quite paper, but it didn’t feel like cloth either. I turned them over in my hands, examining the seams that looked fused rather than sewn. “What is this stuff?” I asked. They look like diaper material.
“They’re disposable. Our laundry facilities are limited here,” a suite informed me.
I dressed quickly, and a gloved hand gave me a pair of socks and some thin, canvas slip-on shoes.
“One more thing,” the other suit said. “You have to wear this while you’re in the compound.” She fastened a hospital styled identification bracelet around my wrist. It had a bar code on it.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“Added security. It verifies that you’ve been tested and passed, virus-free. You’ll have it scanned whenever you get medical care in the facility.”
That seemed strange. It was as if she was saying I would be getting regular medical care or something, but I wasn’t infected, and I wasn’t sick.
“I won’t be staying here long,” I announced. “We came to tell the military about our friends, uninfected survivors back in the city. When can I talk to someone about rescuing them?”
“I don’t know,” the suit said. “We only deal with the decontamination unit. You’ll have to ask inside.”
Finally, I was finished. They ushered me to the back of the examination room where there were two doors. One of the doors had ‘Quarantine’ posted on it, and the other one read ‘Compound.’ They opened the Compound door and allowed me to walk unescorted down the ramp. Beside me was another ramp, completely enclosed in what looked like Plexiglas. At the bottom, that ramp was attached to a vehicle that looked like some kind of sci-fi paddy wagon. It had a biohazard symbol on the side and back door.
I looked around, but I saw no sign of Jordan and Kyle. As I waited, I grew more uncomfortable. What was taking so long? I scanned the area and took in all the visual details of the compound that I could. There were rows and rows of olive green military tents. I noticed military personnel riding around in quiet golf cart-like vehicles. Everywhere I looked, people were wearing eith
er uniforms or the scrubs. After a few minutes, Jordan and Kyle both came out of their examination trailers and walked down the ramps. They were wearing the same type of bland-colored scrubs I wore, and hospital identification bands encircled their wrists. I called to them, and they came toward me.
“That was bizarre,” Jordan said.
“To say the least,” I agreed.
“They’re just keeping the area secure,” Kyle reasoned.
As we stood talking, a soldier approached us. “I am Private Bell, and I need you to follow me to debriefing,” he said, motioning to us to follow him.
Chapter 9
Bell walked us to a tent a few yards away. “This is the debriefing room,” he said, holding the door flap aside. Inside the spacious pole tent, he saluted an officer seated at a desk and then walked toward a table at the back of the tent. On it were several crates that appeared to contain electronic devices.
“Come in,” the officer said in a surprisingly calming voice. “Please, sit down. I’m sergeant Spears. I am in charge of evacuee affairs, so if you need anything while you’re here, you are to come to me.”
Empty metal chairs faced the sergeant’s desk in neat rows, and we sat down in the middle of the first line. The soldier came back, carrying three wireless computer tablets. Styluses attached to the electronic devices dangled from cord tethers, and they swung back and forth as he walked toward us.
“First we’ll need to get some information from you for our database. Just tap the tablet, and our intake form will appear. Use the stylus to key in your personal information,” Sergeant Spears instructed before he returned to the desk and sat down.
I tapped the electronic device, and the form flashed onto the screen. It appeared to be a standard intake document similar to school registration forms or what you might fill out before going to summer camp. Yeah, that’s a thought. This is just one big, somewhat creepy summer camp. The form required our names, addresses, and contact information. That made me smirk. It wasn’t like I had a phone number to give them or anything. Next, the form had spaces for information on medical history. Another line prompted me to record any surgeries or chronic medical conditions. A separate checkbox questioned if I’d had any transfusions. A list of immunizations followed by a space for dates followed. Who did they think I was, Typhoid Mary? I glanced at Jordan and Kyle, wondering if they thought it was odd that we were being asked for information like this.
“Do you have a question?” Private Bell asked, stepping closer to me.
“Actually, I was wondering why you needed all of this information. I don’t even remember some of this. I have no idea what to put down.” I answered.
“We need the information as part of our research on the virus outbreak,” Sergeant Spears explained, looking up from some -paperwork on his desk. “Just answer as many of the questions as you can. If you don’t know the details, you can leave them blank.”
“But what does my medical history have to do with the virus?” I asked. “I’m not infected.”
I thought I saw a muscle flex on Spears’s temple, but when he spoke, it was in that same calm tone. “What you may not know is that we are very close to developing a vaccine against the virus. Having a control group in our study, a group of healthy people who are not infected with the virus is important. We need your information to determine if you can be a part of that group.”
I glanced at Kyle and Jordan. “We can’t be a part of your study group,” I said.
“We only came here to tell you about our friends who are trapped back in Ft. Wayne and in Ransdell. There’s a group in the Carver High School, maybe 40 or so. There are also people at a truck stop closer to here, about 25 of them. There are also survivors at a hospital about five or six miles outside of Ransdell. You’ve got to send a rescue team immediately. They can’t live on their own much longer.”
“There are that many uninfected survivors?” the officer asked, sounding surprised.
“Yes,” Jordan confirmed, “and the ones at the high school only have a few days’ food supply at best. You’ve got to move fast.”
“I assure you we will,” he promised, standing up. “Private,” he said to Bell, “finish the briefing here. I’ve got to tell the general right away.”
“Yes, sir!” the soldier responded, walking to the desk in the front.
The officer left the tent, walking at a brisk pace. I felt a wave of relief. “Finally! Help will be on the way to Harley and the others,” I said.
“Sir, wait!” Bell called after the officer. He picked up a hand-held radio from the desk. “You left your radio,” he called, trailing after the officer.
“We need to find out what’s going on outside this area,” I said. “I wish we could get the news or something.”
“For real” Jordan agreed. “It doesn’t look good. I know that, but I still want to know what happened to my family.” His bottom lip crept almost imperceptibly upward and tightened. I laid my arm around his shoulders and pulled him to me. I squeezed before letting go. “Let’s ask when Private Bell gets back,” I suggested.
“No!” Kyle’s voice was tense, and his face was unreadable.
“Why not?” I asked. “We need answers. Aren’t you concerned about your family? Don’t you have any friends wherever you’re from?”
Kyle turned away without answering. I raised my hand to reach for him, and Jordan shook his head, a silent admonition against prying further. I nodded. There would be time to learn about Kyle’s past. I could wait.
Moments later, the soldier came back into the tent. “Have you completed the intake form?” he asked. “If you’re done, There’s just one more thing. I need to scan your IDs and then I’ll collect the tablets.” Private bell withdrew a device from his pocket and held it over the band around Jordan’s wrist. A red laser flashed across the bar code, and Bell took Jordan’s tablet. He flipped it over, looked at the back, and then clicked some buttons on the keypad of the scanner before moving to me. He repeated the process and then entered Kyle’s data. He paused, looking at the display on his scanner. “You’re enlisted?” he asked Kyle.
“Yes.”
“Then we will find an assignment for you while you are here.” Bell placed the electronic notebooks on the desk. “Now, we will go over procedures for living in the safe zone.”
“Living in the safe zone?” I asked. “You mean we have to stay here?”
“Temporarily, yes,” he replied. “The amount of time each person spends here varies, but we provide food, shelter, medical care, and even some entertainment until a more permanent placement can be found. We try to relocate individuals and families to places where there is housing and where jobs are available. We’ve processed a very large number of people through here, and placements are sometimes difficult to identify.”
The implications of his words struck me hard. I hadn’t given much thought to life after the virus outbreak. Technically, we were all homeless. My mom was most likely dead, and Derek had little chance of survival on his own. Who knew if this outbreak impacted other places? I wondered about Janine.
Kyle would probably go back to the military after this was over, but what about Jordan? I felt weak and small against it all. It made me angry and sad, but most of all, alone. Suddenly, I panicked at the thought of being separated from them. They were all the family I had right now.
“Private Bell, can we get a placement together?” I asked.
“Are you related?” the soldier asked.
Jordan’s eyes darted at Bell and then back at me. I could tell he was trying not to laugh. “Um, no,” he said. Then, his face grew serious. “We’re not family, but we don’t have anyone else. Everyone’s gone.”
The soldier nodded, understanding. “I’ll see what I can do.” He pulled a clipboard out of the desk drawer. “Now, we need to go over the rules for living on the compound,” he said. I watched the lump in his throat bobbing up and down as he read through a long list of rules and procedures. He checked each one
off as he went down the page, line by line. “While you are here, you must follow all instructions given by any military or police personnel. You are to remain only in the main area of the compound.”
“Excuse me,” I interrupted. “How do we know what is the main compound? Everything looks the same to me.”
“When you have the opportunity to tour the grounds, you will see mostly green tents in the non-restricted area. You will be assigned to a green tent for sleeping purposes. This is the only green tent you are permitted to enter because the others are occupied by other evacuees and the enlisted personnel. The enlisted personnel is housed on both ends of the compound. The white service tents across the grounds have showers, clean clothes, and chemical toilets.”
Bell gestured with his hands in different directions as if we could see where he was pointing from where we were. The center white tents contain the mess hall and the multi-purpose facility for recreation. Behind the back row of greens, there’s an infirmary. You’ll recognize it from the red crosses on the door flaps.
He pointed with wider gestures with both hands. “The far wall separates the camp from the restricted area. Only authorized military personnel are permitted there,” he explained.
“What’s in the restricted area?” I asked. Kyle jabbed me in the ribs with a finger. I winced and shot him a warning look. He was clearly irritated that I was asking questions, but Private Bell seemed unfazed that I wanted details.
“That’s where the research on the virus is being conducted. Work is being done with the live strain, so the area must be kept completely sterile. It is not safe for civilians,” he explained. “Now I’ll show you to your tent.”
Bell guided us through the maze of green canvas and stopped at one that said G14 on the door flap. “This is your tent,” he said as he walked inside. The tent was about half full of men, women, and children. Most were sitting around talking quietly. Some of the children were playing in groups. The soldier steered us toward the middle of the tent where there were three cots with mattresses. Neatly folded blankets, sheets, and a pillow were placed on each cot.
Viral Series (Book 1): Viral Dawn [Extended Edition] Page 23