by D. J. Molles
"So what happened to you?" Doc asked.
Lee turned to the sound of the voice and found a squirrelly looking man looking up at him. The man was probably no more than 5'6", and scrawny. He had natty-looking brown hair and, perched on a prominent hook nose, he wore a pair of prescription glasses that bore some evidence of hard times: the lenses were both scratched and the frame was held together with duct tape on one side.
Someone spoke up for Lee. It was Red. "He was trapped in one of the condos, so he kicked open one of the boarded windows, but he could only get it partially open, so he had to squeeze through and the nails from the board scratched the shit out of him."
"Ah." Doc peered around Lee and whoever was carrying him to view his back. "Yeah, that's more than ‘scratched’ and I hope to God they weren't rusty because I ain't got shit to give you if you develop tetanus."
Lee just nodded.
With Doc leading them, Lee and Red, who was supporting him, turned the corner into the open end of the shipping container. Lee could see scant medical supplies, but he figured by the blood-stained sheets and the smell of disinfectant that this was a medical station. Angela, Abby and Sam were sitting on a few crates and a woman, Lee guessed about college-age, was handing out bottles of water. The bottles were a mismatched collection, and obviously had been refilled and used many times.
Red Bandana guided him to a bed with a stained sheet on it. "Lay him on his left side," Doc said. "His left side...His left side, Miller!"
"Workin' on it!" Red—AKA Miller—snapped back. They lowered him onto the bed on his left side. Lee kept squinting his eyes because the pain was now coming in long, fiery bursts that started in his side and lower back and radiated out. As soon as he rested his head on the mattress, he felt Doc pulling the ripped and bloody clothing away from his flesh and snipping through it with a pair of medical shears. The entire time he snipped away, he made disapproving noises. Lee assumed his injuries were worse than Doc had believed.
When Lee realized the Doc was in the process of cutting through his pants, his hand shot out and touched his cargo pocket. He felt Doc jerk back. He thrust his hand into the pocket and felt the plastic casing of the GPS device. He wrapped his hand around it and removed it. Jenny tried to take it, but Lee wouldn't release his grip. "No one touches this," he mumbled under his breath.
With his clothes cut through and removed, Lee sat naked on the bed and felt chills coming on. He felt fleetingly embarrassed about being naked in front of strangers, and especially Angela and the kids, but mostly he wondered if Doc had the medical supplies necessary to patch him up. He couldn't imagine that the bleeding was so bad he could die from it, but he supposed infection was a good possibility.
"Jenny, I need you," Doc called.
Lee opened his eyes long enough to see the college-aged girl that had been tending to Angela and the kids come running over. Though she wasn't a real looker, she was just attractive enough for Lee to feel even more embarrassed that he was naked.
Doc spoke to her. "Get me one of those towels, and I'm going to need some water for him. And when you get done with that I'm going to need my suturing kit."
"Be right back," she said, and twirled around to get what Doc requested. To Lee, he spoke a little softer. "Alright, here's the situation. Your scratches are more like lacerations. In a couple of places, they've cut into muscle tissue, so I'm kind of surprised you're able to stand upright. The good news is that I have the supplies to suture you up and hopefully keep you from getting infected. The bad news is that I don't have shit in the way of anesthetic, and it’s gonna take me about an hour, maybe even two hours, to finish stitching you up. So the next two hours of your life will suck, but maybe you'll be lucky and pass out pretty soon."
Lee heard Jenny return with the requested items.
"Before you pass out," Doc continued. "You should drink as much of this water as you can. You lost a lot of blood. Not enough to be concerned with, but you need to hydrate. I'll see if we can't get you some juice or something...Jenny! Juice?"
Lee opened his eyes to see if Jenny was there, but she was out of his field of vision.
"Okay...no on the juice. Sorry, buddy. We're just about tapped out of everything."
Lee nodded and pressed his face into the mattress. "Do what you gotta do."
"Good man," Doc encouraged.
Lee laid on his side while Doc cleaned the wounds. The young physician used a large syringe filled with sterile water to irrigate the wounds and clean out all the pieces of dirt that had been trapped in the wound while Lee had evaded being shot to death. After a thorough cleaning, Doc patted the wounds dry. By then, Lee had finished his second bottle of water.
Lee felt the doctor's hands leave his back. Lee could hear him working with something behind his back, and he concluded it would be the sound of him threading sutures and getting ready to stitch Lee back up. From Lee's medical training, he knew that Doc would have to stitch the severed muscle tissue first, and then the skin. This was double the pain for Lee, but he shared Doc's hope that he would pass out before long.
Doc sighed behind him. "Okay. You ready?"
Lee nodded once again and grabbed a fistful of white bedsheets.
Doc turned out to be right. Lee passed out in no time.
CHAPTER 20: THE DEAL
When Lee came to, he didn't recall the details of his dreams, but they left him with an uneasy feeling that clogged his veins and sickened the pit of his stomach. His mind was full of flashed images of violence and gore and inhumanity. He could still feel the GPS device held tightly in his hands. Good. They hadn't taken it from him.
He opened his eyes and saw he was still lying on the bed in Doc's little medical trailer. He felt weak and shaky, but lifted himself up onto one elbow so he could look around. The movement sent splitting pain across his back. It wasn't until Lee was sitting up that he realized someone was standing at the foot of his bed.
It was a broad man with a dark, bushy beard. He wore a dirty old tank top and a pair of old woodland-pattern fatigues. What Lee thought looked like an old Colt 1911 pistol hung in a leather shoulder holster under the man's left arm. The man with the beard stared at Lee for a long moment and then nodded.
"Can you stand?"
Lee didn't answer because he hadn't tried. He swung his legs out of the bed and prepared to heave himself up.
The man with the beard smiled. "Don't get up. Doc said you need to rest. Just curious if you could stand."
Lee relaxed back onto his elbow, trying not to grimace too much from the pain. "Thanks for patching me up. I know resources are scarce."
"They are indeed." The bearded man grabbed a metal folding chair from a desk with a lit propane lamp burning on it that was the sole source of illumination in the cargo container. It wasn't until that moment that Lee realized it must be dark out. He wondered how long he'd slept. "Name's long and Greek, so let's just stick with Bus. I'm kinda the de-facto leader of this little operation."
"Okay, Bus. Lee Harden."
"Mm-hm." Bus relaxed in the chair. "I understand that the arrangement you had with Bill was that you wouldn't receive any care until you'd sold me on whatever you're trying to peddle. He didn't give me much details. And you and your group have also received the food, water, and medical care that we can offer, meager as it is. We've done more than kept up our end of the deal. So...what is it that you claim you can do for us?"
Lee rubbed his eyes and tried to clear his foggy mind so he could speak intelligently. "Yeah...uh..."
Bus let out a big sigh. "Its okay." he sounded disappointed. "We get this a lot lately. Food and water are hard to come by, so people will act like they have it just to seek refuge here when they really don't. Just come clean with me and you and your group can leave with our blessing."
Lee managed a smile. "Sir, I'm not running any con game on you for some sutures and a few bottles of water. What is it that your people need?"
Bus didn't answer immediately. He spoke slowly. "I'm
going to be frank with you, Mr. Harden, I have no reason to trust you. And explaining to you what we lack also tells you where we are weakest. That isn't information I will readily give out to strangers, and honestly, when you ask those questions, it makes me a little uncomfortable."
Lee pursed his lips. "I understand."
"Perhaps if you can explain to me how you came across these alleged supplies, I would be more inclined to believe you. Because right now the thought of anyone having access to some sort of cache seems like a fairy tale."
So Lee told him everything. He began by explaining his position as a member of Project Hometown, and what that entailed, and how he came to be in possession of several large caches that could supply a small army with everything from boots to bullets to bandaids. He explained in detail that the caches were kept in underground bunkers, similar to the one he had come from, and that the access points for these bunkers were hidden, their hatches sealed and locked so that only someone with the proper clearance could find and access them. He left out the specifics of his GPS and the data it contained.
When he finished, Bus looked at him with eyebrows knit and arms crossed over his broad chest. While he didn't look entirely convinced, he also didn't look incredulous. Lee hoped that the details he had given would lend his story the ring of truth necessary to convince Bus to trust him.
Lee continued on. "Bus, I've got a job to do. I know it’s difficult to believe that the United States government still exists, albeit on a very small scale, but we're here to rebuild. I'm not asking anything of you. And you know you can't refuse what I have to offer. I know you don't want to trust a stranger, but you have to understand that this cannot go on. You and your group won't survive the winter, scavenging for scraps. We have to start rebuilding and we have to start now."
Bus sat without moving, and his expression did not change.
Lee had finished talking. There was nothing further to say.
After a long pause, Bus finally let out a deep breath. "Okay. How can we work this? What are you proposing?"
"Quid pro quo. I need you to answer some questions for me."
Bus looked like he was in pain for a brief moment. "Fine. Ask away."
"First of all, where are we?"
"We call it Camp Ryder. We're in a Ryder truck factory right now. About three miles southwest of Angier."
"How many people do you have living here?"
"Fifty-eight by my last count." Bus sounded like he thought about that number quite often.
Lee considered for a brief moment. "Okay. How many of those fifty-eight are capable of fighting?"
Bus made a raspberry. "Twenty, if that."
"What about guns?"
"A few deer rifles, couple hunting shotguns, and some pistols. Two of the pistols are .22, so they aren't much good for killing anything accept small game. We take 'em hunting every once in a while."
"I'm assuming ammunition is low?"
Bus nodded. "That would be correct. And we have Molotov cocktails. We got lots of those made up. Found a recyclables truck last week with a shit-ton of glass bottles in it. It also had several gallons of diesel fuel, and none of our vehicles run on diesel, so we made the cocktails."
Lee closed his eyes, as though trying to build a mental picture. "Tell me about the building behind us, defense-wise."
Bus leaned forward in his chair. "Big cement building. Best we could find. Only two entry and exit points, besides the cargo-bay doors, which we managed to weld shut. There's an electrified fence all around the perimeter of the compound, but our generators aren't big enough to power it. Still, it keeps the infected out."
"But not a sane human that wants in."
Bus shook his head. "We patrol the fence line as often as we can, but we're undermanned, and even if we caught someone breaking in, I'm not sure we'd have the firepower to stop them. Our basic plan is to hole ourselves inside the factory building. But even then we only have enough food and water stores to last us two or three days."
"Has anyone attempted to attack you?"
"Not attack us." Bus stroked his bushy beard. "We've had a few curious people drive down the dirt road to our main gate that we've turned away with a few rifle rounds. But if someone was determined to get in, I doubt we could stop them."
Lee opened his eyes. "Have you blockaded the driveway?"
Bus looked confused. "No...we use it."
"You need to find another way in and out of the gate. The driveway's too obvious and you're going to continue to get visitors, and it also makes it easy for an attacking force. Couple trees across the roadway won't stop someone on foot, but it'll stop a vehicle for sure."
Bus looked thoughtful. "Jason and his scouts have been using the alley cut through the woods for the power lines to get through to the main road without being seen. I suppose everyone can use that." Bus aimed his stare back at Lee. "So where's all this going?"
"Just trying to get a feel for what we'll need."
"You mean your supplies?" Bus snorted. "We can worry about extra stuff later. Right now we need food, water, and guns. Medicine is a close fourth, although I'm sure Doc would disagree."
Lee grimaced. "Multiple trips at this point in time is a bit more of an endeavor than we should risk. You have to understand that my caches are local, but the way things are out there, a few miles might as well be a few hundred."
Bus smiled humorlessly. "You are using a lot of 'we' statements. I'm getting the feeling that you're not just going to borrow one of our trucks and come back with a bumper crop of supplies."
Lee looked Bus straight in the eye. "With all due respect, me going out alone at this point in time, would essentially be suicide. 48 hours ago, you would not have heard those words come out of my mouth, but I've got a little more wisdom, and a lot fewer weapons. I'm going to need a team to go with me."
"Okay." Bus bridged his fingers in front of his face and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm not saying that I'm cool with that, but let's say you get this 'team.' What happens then?"
"Well," Lee took a breath. "We'd need at least three of your vehicles, preferably the ones that can hold the most cargo, and two men for each vehicle at the very least—one to drive and one to gun if things get tight. We can probably pack enough supplies into three vehicles to last us through the winter...hopefully."
Bus sighed. "Three vehicles, huh? Is this including medical supplies and guns and ammunition?"
"Food and water will take up a lot of space." Lee rubbed his temples. "So does ammunition. Food and water are number one, but I'm pretty sure I can fit a six-month supply into three vehicles. Then throw in some weapons, ammunition and maybe a little ordnance, and some medical equipment...yeah, we should be able to fit it in three. It'll be tight, though."
"You realize I don't make the decisions all by myself, right?" Bus asked as he stood up.
"I take it you will propose this to a committee, then?" Lee felt a breeze seep into the cargo container and pulled the sheet up a little tighter.
"Pretty much."
"If it’s a committee we're talking about, lets go for five vehicle and three people per."
Bus actually laughed. "I thought I knew everyone that lived here, but apparently you've been here longer than I thought."
Lee smiled and relaxed onto his side. "You forget, Bus. I'm US Army. I know how things work in committee."
Bus turned around and walked out. Over his shoulder, he said, "Rest up, captain," and then turned the corner and exited the cargo container. As he left, Jenny and Angela filed in. Jenny was holding a tray with another bottle of water and a plastic bowl. She set the tray down in front of Lee. The bowl contained what looked like rice and black beans.
Jenny smiled. "Doc's orders: gotta get some food and water in you."
Lee accepted the tray with a nod. "Thank you for helping us. You and your group have been more than kind to us already."
"Well," Jenny helped Lee sit up in his bed and checked the bandages on his back.
"We keep you alive, you keep us alive...that's the plan anyway."
Angela sat at the edge of Lee's bed. Her blood-stained and filthy clothes were gone and she now wore an old t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. Both looked big for her, but they were clean. She also looked like she'd been able to wash up, and she looked much better. It was amazing what simple hygiene could do for morale.
Lee spoke around bites of rice and beans. "Looks like you got that shower you wanted."
Angela smiled. "Bucket of rainwater and a piece of a soap bar: the next best thing."
Jenny excused herself and reiterated her desire for Lee to rest. Lee promised he would sleep more. To Angela, he asked what time it was and discovered it was about 9:30 p.m.
"How are the Sam and Abby?" Lee asked.
Angela shrugged noncommittally.
"Did they get food and water?"
"Yes. Jenny gave them plenty of water and a little bit of food. Sam ate fine, but Abby wasn't feeling well."
Lee could see worry tightening Angela's face. "I'm sure she's fine." Angela nodded but Lee could see tears in her eyes and she bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Lee leaned forward and touched her arm. "It's not uncommon for dehydrated people to feel ill after drinking or eating."
"It's not that." Angela shook her head and tried to regain her composure with a sigh and a skyward gaze. "She's just...changed so much. If you'd have seen her a month ago, you wouldn't believe it was the same person. She's just gone through so much in such a small amount of time..." She trailed off.
Lee let a long moment of silence pass before speaking. "We've all changed, Angela. No one comes out the other side of something like this the same as they went into it. We're surviving through something that none of us expected and no one prepared for. But we're surviving. And that’s what counts."
Angela didn't respond. She buried her face in her hands, looking ashamed of her tears, but Lee could see her shoulders rock slightly with sobs as they came and went, like waves buffeting a shore. Finally, she wiped her face off and looked at Lee with red-rimmed eyes.