by V. L. Dreyer
I joined him and took the lead again, my shotgun at the ready in case of trouble. We found the front door wide open, but this time a steady breeze did nothing to help with the stench. It was a smell that I knew all too well: decomposing flesh.
"I think there's someone in the fire engine," I said. I shouldered my shotgun, and pulled out the rag I still carried out of habit. My lifestyle might have improved, but my chances of running into something malodorous hadn't.
"Can I stay here?" Aaron asked pitifully, gagging and struggling to cover his lower face with the sleeve of his jersey. "Sweet mother Mary, that's a foul stench."
"No, we can't split up. Haven't you ever watched a horror movie?" I said dryly. Without waiting for an answer, I pulled out my taser and my torch and led the way into the reeking gloom.
My first port of call was to check the cab of the fire engine, of course; sure enough, there was a human figure sitting there, staring into space, still clad in his uniform and helmet. Not a mutant, just a regular, helpless, pathetic infected. I sighed heavily and vaulted up to the window, so that I could put the poor person out of his misery.
When I climbed back down, Aaron gave me a curious look. "Why bother? He wasn't causing any trouble."
"Three reasons," I replied as I led the way deeper into the station. "One: respect. That was a zombie fireman, who used to be a real fireman, a person who risked life and limb every day to save people. He would have done the same for any one of us. Two: mercy. God knows what those poor creatures feel, or if there's any way for their spirits to move on while their bodies linger here. I don't know, but I care. The only thing I can do for him now is to put him to rest. He deserves that much. And last but not least, three: the virus mutated. As far as we can tell, it spreads from infected to infected, so culling them is the best way to keep it from spreading."
"Oh." Aaron went quiet for a moment, then he made a noise that was somewhere between a grunt and a chuckle. "I see you've thought this through quite thoroughly."
"I've had a lot of time to think about it, yeah," I admitted. "But if it was your mum, you wouldn't want to just leave her… sitting there, rotting. Would you?"
"Hell no," Aaron agreed, his voice suddenly vehement. He went silent again for a couple of minutes while we explored the offices and storage rooms behind the fire station. There we found a few fully-loaded emergency medical kits that I wasn't about to leave behind, so the two of us set about gathering them up to take back with us. Suddenly, Aaron shot me a concerned frown. "You don't think their souls can move on until they're truly dead?"
"I have no idea," I admitted. I lifted a particularly large kit and lugged it out the door, with Aaron close behind me. "I don't know what comes next. I wish I did. I really, really wish I did. But I look at the infected and I watch them going about their business, and it makes me think. If their brains have melted, then how can they still show some of the same traits that they exhibited in life? It makes me wonder how much of what makes me who I am comes from my brain, and how much of it comes from my soul – if I have one, I don't know. I was taught to treat matters of religion with criticism, but… I just don't know anymore. What if that little bit of who they used to be comes from their soul? That means their souls must be tied to their earthly bodies, until… until they're not anymore."
"Oh Lord, that's a terrible thought," Aaron said, staring at me in horror. "I never even considered that. Do you think they're… aware?"
"I don't know," I said softly. "I don't know anything. That's the hardest part. I can only guess and follow my conscience." I shook my head, and gave him a weak smile. "Come on. We've got to find those sandbags."
Aaron nodded silently, and together we returned to the stinking darkness to search. We came up empty handed, but by the time we'd finished we had managed to find a fair supply of emergency rations as well as the medical kits.
"Well, this is shit," Aaron blurted as we were carrying our findings back to the convoy. "This stuff is nice and all, but we really need those sandbags. They must be around here somewhere!"
"Yeah," I agreed. When we reached the convoy, I yanked open the rear cab of the Hilux and piled my supplies into the back seat. Aaron did the same, then we stood back and stared around, seeking some kind of inspiration.
"If I were a sandbag, where would I be?" Aaron asked himself. The question was obviously rhetorical, but something about it twigged just the right chord to make me think.
"You'd be in a shed," I replied. "You're just a sandbag. You don't need a bathroom or food or even electricity. You just need a roof over your head that'll keep you from getting mouldy."
Aaron froze and stared at me, his mouth hanging open. Suddenly, he let out a whoop and pumped his fist in the air. "That's it! There was a big corrugated iron shed in the parking lot behind Town Hall. They must be in there! Why didn't I think of that sooner?"
"Sometimes it's hard to see something hidden in plain sight," I replied, grabbing his arm. "Come on!"
We took off at a sprint together, racing back across the road and down the gravel path behind the town hall. Sure enough, as I rounded the last corner I spotted an ugly, rusted iron shed the size of a small barn, crammed in between the equally-rusted hulks of a few abandoned minivans. I raced over to the sliding door and tried to open it, but it was held closed by a small, tarnished padlock.
"Damn!" I swore, rattling the door fruitlessly. "I don't suppose you have bolt-cutters on you, do you?"
"Aye, I've got a pair of bolt-cutters wedged down my pants, on the off chance you might happen to need them," Aaron replied sarcastically. He came up beside me and peered at the lock, then gave me a thoughtful look. "Actually, I don't think we need bolt-cutters. This is just about rusted through. Give me your gun a moment?"
"Don't waste my shells," I warned as I handed him my precious weapon.
"I wasn't planning to," he replied with a grin. He double-checked the safety was on, then turned the gun around and brought the butt down hard on the iron hoop that the padlock had been threaded through. With a few good, solid blows, the whole lock popped right off.
"Nice going," I said. He grinned again and handed me back my shotgun, then put his weight against the door. It didn't want to move at first, but he was stronger than he looked. It gave an inch, then another, then suddenly it slid all the way open. The dry, dusty interior was stacked very nearly floor to ceiling with pre-packed sandbags, ready and waiting for the moment when they'd be needed again. In the centre of the shed, half-a-dozen hand-carts waited to be filled.
Aaron looked at the sandbags, then looked at me. He flung a hand up in the air, palm towards me; the unexpected gesture just about made me jump out of my skin. I looked at his hand, then looked at him. He looked at his hand, then looked at me and wiggled his fingers. "Come on! Don't leave a brother hanging here. High five for teamwork!"
"Oh!" I cried, suddenly realising what he was trying to do. Laughing, I returned the high-five and then I led the way into the shed.
"Christ, I think the temperature's dropping," Aaron complained. We manoeuvered two of the hand-carts around into a position where we could easily push them out the door, and then combined our strength to pack them full of as many sandbags as we could.
"I think you're right," I agreed. "It feels like we're going to have hail soon."
"No, not just hail," Aaron said. He paused and stared out the window at the dark sky, then looked at me. "Those are snow clouds."
I swore under my breath and picked up the pace. As soon as the hand-carts were full, we raced them out the door and down the road toward the petrol station. Half way there, we were met by Zain and some of the others.
"Sandy!" he cried. "Only so many of us can fill barrels at the same time, and the water's coming fast! Where are those sandbags?"
"Back there," I replied breathlessly. "In the shed behind the hall."
Zain and his group raced past us, and we hurried on. A few metres past the petrol station, I brought my hand-cart to a stop and looked a
round. The main road was uncomfortably wide, but I saw an opportunity to make that work to our advantage: nearly a dozen parked cars lined both sides of the road. They were rusted, filthy, and otherwise useless, but they did have one use left.
"We can use these cars to build a barricade," I shouted over the howling of the wind. "If we build it between the petrol station and that building on the other side of the road, it should buy us the time we need."
"Good idea," Aaron shouted back. He grabbed a sandbag and carried it over to the middle of the road. "Start here. We line the cars up behind this point, and then pack the sandbags in front of them."
I couldn't find the breath to reply to him, but I didn't need to. I just raced over to help him and that was answer enough. A few minutes later, Zain and the others joined us, each armed with another hand-cart full of sandbags. As soon as they arrived, I flagged them down and pointed at a couple of the cars nearby.
"Drag them over here," I cried. "Smash the windows if you have to, but get them over here. Build an arc across the road – and hurry!"
Zain shouted a wordless reply and raced off again, and this time I went with him. There was no time for finesse, but we managed to get one of the cars open, the handbrake off, and then the others helped us to man-handle the car across the road. It was long, hard, back-breaking work, but adrenaline kept us going. Twice I was forced to sit down for a second when sparkles began to dance around the edge of my vision, but nobody complained or tried to cajole me. For once in my life, for the baby's sake, I took the time my body needed to recover – but not a second longer. As soon as I could, I was back on my feet, helping to shift cars and lug sandbags.
Every second, the water crept closer and closer. Every second, the sky got darker and darker, the rain fell heavier, and the wind got colder. I paused for a second to adjust my hood, and in that moment I glanced up at the sky – but the droplet that struck my cheek wasn't water. It was ice.
"Incoming!" I cried, ducking my head back down to avoid the downpour. Aaron swore colourfully and grabbed me by the arm, dragging me into the shadow of a nearby building. A second later, the sleet turned to a brief but violent bout of hail. We huddled together until it passed, then hurried back out to check on the others. "Everyone okay? Anyone hurt?"
"Everyone's fine," someone shouted back to me. In the chaos, I couldn't tell who it was.
Once I was sure that everyone was safe, I raced back to the barricade and threw my weight behind the last car that we needed to block the full span of the road.
"We're almost there!" I cried, as much to encourage myself as them. My feet slipped on the hailstones, but the others soon joined me and our combined strength was enough to manoeuver the car into position.
"More sandbags!" Aaron shouted over the wind. I grunted my agreement, grabbed the nearest hand-cart, and raced back towards the shed as fast as I could without risking my safety on the icy ground. The hail might have passed, but the sleet was determined to keep our world wet and dangerously slippery. I ducked into the shelter of the shed's rusted but solid roof, and paused for a second to brush a few half-formed snowflakes off my shoulders. The others arrived a moment later and took over the heavy lifting, giving me a much-needed moment to recover and catch my breath.
Did I? Of course not. I used the moment to pull out my walkie-talkie and called my husband's name. "Michael? Come in, Michael?"
After a few seconds, the radio crackled and I heard his familiar voice. "Sandy! Please tell me you're on your way back now. Waiting with the wounded is killing me."
"I know, honey, but not quite yet. It's taking longer than we expected," I replied breathlessly, lifting my voice so that I could be heard over the drone of the sleet on the roof. "I need to know, do we have power?"
"No, no power," he replied. "It's getting bloody cold, though; I think we should break out the generator and get some heaters going."
"You read my mind," I replied dryly. "We just had hail, and Aaron reckons we're going to have snow soon. We're all drenched. By the time we get back, we're going to be popsicles."
"I'll take care of it," he told me, using the deep, firm tone he used to reassure people. "Just make sure you're back before sundown. It's going to be pitch black tonight, without street lamps or stars."
"You don't have to tell me twice," I replied. I quickly said my goodbyes, tucked the radio away, and rejoined the others just as they were lugging the next load out into the weather. When we reached the barricade, I vaulted over the bonnet of one of the cars – and swore when I found my feet splashing through shallow water. "It's here! We don't have much time. Half of you get over here, the other half start throwing sandbags over. Quick!"
Everyone jumped to obey. The sleet made the work even worse, but none of us uttered a word of complaint. We worked feverishly, stacking row upon row of sandbags against the cars, until it we finally had a barricade at least waist high across the entire width of the road.
By that stage, the floodwaters had risen almost to my knees, and I was trembling from cold and exertion. I tried to vault back over to the safe side of the barrier, but my arms went as weak as cooked noodles and slid out from under me. Aaron caught me and helped me back over to where Zain waited, and together they rushed me to the shelter of the petrol station. Skylar was still standing guard, perched on the bonnet of the Hilux; as soon as she saw us coming, she jumped down and hurried over to help me.
"Not this again!" she scolded, guiding me over to sit on the front bumper of the truck. "Sandy, you know you're not supposed to—"
"I didn't," I replied, cutting her off mid-sentence. "I did what I was told, and took breaks when I needed it. I'm just cold. We all are. Let me sit down for a minute, then I'll be fine again." I glanced up at the people who'd been helping with the barricade, all of whom were in just as bad a state as me. "Take a second to recover, guys. Once we're functional again, we need to go see if there's any propane in the station itself."
"Dominic and I can do that," Skylar said, shoving a strand of sodden hair back out of her face. "You guys need to rest. Take over the watch, we'll go scout. "
"Okay," I agreed, relieved by her initiative. They ran off without another word, leaving my group to watch for trouble. We instinctively arranged ourselves so that each of us was watching a different direction. All of us had been living the survivor's life long enough that we knew what to do without being told. Once we were settled, I took a deep breath and just forced myself to relax for a couple of minutes.
Suddenly, Skye and Dominic reappeared in front of us, a whole lot wetter but with triumphant expressions on their faces.
"There are a bunch of tanks in a cage tucked around the far side," she told me excitedly. "I think they might be full, but I can't tell. Can you?"
"No," I admitted. "Zain? Can you?"
"I don't really know how anyone could survive without that knowledge," he answered dryly, his voice carrying the faintest note of humour. Zain wasn't usually one to crack jokes, but in the circumstances it was just what I needed to hear.
"Well, time for all of us to learn," I said with a laugh, levering myself back up to my feet. I waited for a second to make sure that I had my balance, then I headed towards the petrol station.
Skylar hurried into the lead, with Zain and Aaron close behind us. Sure enough, just around the corner nearest to the front door there was a steel cage painted an ugly shade of lime green, which was guarding half-a-dozen tanks. I glanced at Zain curiously.
"That's an exchange station," he explained. "It'll be a mix of full ones for customers to buy, and empties that they've returned. Should be at least one that's full, I imagine – if we can get through that padlock."
"You guys head inside and see if you can find a key, or any useful supplies," I instructed. "I'll see if I can pick this lock."
They nodded and hurried off. Before I got started, I stuck my head around the corner and called to the team that were still labouring with the petrol. "Yo, Hemi!"
"Yo, Sandy!" he cal
led back, pausing in his work to wave to me.
"How close are we to being done?" I asked. "We're starting to lose the daylight."
"Almost there, mate," he replied, shouting to make himself heard over nature's racket. "We're nearly at the bottom of the reservoir. We should make it before dark."
"Thanks! You guys are doing a great job, keep it up!" I shot him a double-thumbs-up. He returned the gesture with a grin, then went right back to work. I turned my attention on the padlock, and was just unbuttoning my coat to fish out my lockpicks when Aaron came running back out, grinning like a mad-man.
"Don't you worry, lass; I've got this covered!" he announced gleefully, holding up a pair of huge, bright red bolt cutters.
I laughed and took a step back. "Oh, so you did have those hidden down your pants after all, huh?"
"Nope, but I do now!" he said cheerfully. With a mighty crunch of steel on steel, he cut the little padlock off the cage, then handed the bolt cutters to me so that he could start pulling the tanks out of the cage. "I could be wrong, but these seem to be in fine condition. Not a speck of rust on them."
"Well, it's under shelter on the leeward side of the building, and I guess it's never flooded this high before," I replied. "Zain, we're in!"
Zain reappeared out of the building a few seconds later, clutching a few much-needed flasks of motor oil. Aaron handed me a tank, which I passed on to Zain. He examined it for a moment, then nodded his approval and passed it back to me. "This is full. Should be fine, so long as we can keep it dry."
"On a day like today, 'dry' is going to be an issue," I said, frowning.
"No, it isn't!" Skylar interrupted, sticking her head around the corner. She gave me a huge grin and held up an enormous yellow umbrella. "Ta-da!"
"Well, I guess that'll work nicely," I said, chuckling. I set the bolt cutters down and took the umbrella instead. After a few seconds of awkward fumbling, it popped open in my hand. "Good thinking, Skye. How many are there?"