by Glyn Gardner
Roy waved her over. “…Seabee training base a few miles away,” Roy finished. “I’m sure there are things there that both your folks and our folks could use.”
The black man nodded his head. “It’s settled. I’ll be back here with a dozen folks tomorrow. You give me a dozen of yours and we will raid that base for everything we can. Make sure your people know how to operate heavy equipment.”
“Let’s round everyone up,” he ordered Jen.
“I’m going to stay here tonight,” she announced.
“What? Why?”
She told him about the injured girl. She told him she wanted to see it through. She explained about Father Albright and the young Lieutenant. After Mike, Ms. Hebert, the teachers and soldiers at the vet clinic, the firemen; she wanted to get a win. She was needed here tonight. Although he really didn’t like it, he agreed to allow her to stay the night. After saying goodbye, she and Roy marched off to find something to eat. Mr. Westergart turned on his heels, looking for the rest of his people.
An hour later, Jen was leaning back in a chair, watching the woman breath. As the IV bag ran out of fluid, she replaced it with another. She had run the first bag in rapidly. The last one she had run in over the course of about six hours. She would continue at about the same rate with this bag. She only had two more liters of fluid with her. If the woman didn’t show signs of improvement soon, she would have to stop the IV fluids.
She reassessed the woman after she was satisfied the IV was running adequately. A smile crossed her face. The woman’s pulse had come down to just over 100. Her breathing had slowed and her capillary refill was 3 seconds. If nothing else, the fluids were doing the woman some good. She fought the urge to look at the wound. The woman needed her sleep.
A knock at the door startled her. After taking a few deep breaths to help her regain her composure, she opened the door. She gasped as Theresa entered the room. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded in a not-so-quiet whisper.
The girl looked dejected. “When Mr. Westergart told us you were staying the night here, I volunteered to stay with you. Actually Staff Ser… I mean Lieutenant Brown, Jackson, and I volunteered to stay with you. I was the most expendable.” She said with a smile and a little head tilt.
The Bishop was on the dock when Kerry pulled the Sea Witch along side. When it became obvious that everyone had come ashore, his smile disappeared. “Hold it, Mister,” he barked at Mr. Westergart. “Where’re the rest? Where’s my nurse?”
It hadn’t occurred to Terrance that Lt. Brown had kept the Haven from the Bishop. “They stayed behind to help out some friends.” The Bishop’s jaw clenched and his face became a deep red. “What the hell do you mean, they stayed behind with friends? What friends?”
Lt. Brown stepped between the two men. “We’ve made contact with another group of survivors. They have injured. Jen agreed to stay with them tonight. Theresa asked to stay with her.” He shifted his weight nervously. “She wanted to keep Jen safe.”
“So, you left the only nurse we have in the hands of a fourteen year old?” The man was shaking he was so angry. “Which one of you thought that would be a good idea?” He glared at Mr. Westergart. For his part, the older man kept his cool.
“I thought it was important to have allies out there. We used to do MEDCAP missions overseas all the time.” His voice was calm and even. “We help folks with their medical needs and they support us when we’re in their area.”
“Who are these people? How do we know they aren’t dangerous?”
“They seem like good people,” Lt Brown interjected.
“And you know this how? You’ve only known any of them for a few hours. How could you possibly know they are good folks?”
Lt Brown swallowed hard. He’d been dreading telling the Bishop about the Haven. “We actually ran into them a few days ago.” The Bishop didn’t miss the fact that the soldier couldn’t look him in the eye. He looked like a kid who just got caught in a lie.
“A few days ago?” he repeated. He grabbed the soldier by the front of his shirt. “When exactly were you planning on telling me about this?”
“I… I…” Lt Brown couldn’t find the words. This man was so far beyond reason. And, he reminded himself, he was right about one thing. He had purposely hid the existence of the Haven from the Bishop.
The Bishop’s eyes narrowed. He let Lt Brown’s shirt go and took a step back. “Staff Sergeant Brown,” he began. He paused to let the instant demotion sink in. “You have betrayed the trust of the people of the Island. I also find that you were probably responsible for the death of Mike and Ms. Hebert. As such, I condemn you to banishment.” He looked to Jackson. “Please escort this,” he paused long enough to give SSgt Brown a look of disdain. “Take him to the bridge and see that he never comes back.”
Jackson stood frozen in place. There was no way he was going to betray his NCO. This man had been his squad leader in combat and his savior during the end of the world. The Bishop did not notice the soldiers jaw clenching as he stood motionless.
“Fine, you’re out too!” He turned to Terrance. “Major, would you please escort these criminals off of my island?”
Terrance was frozen also. He had been on the island for less than a day. In that time he had gone from refugee to local folk hero to military leader. He didn’t really know anything about the politics of this place. He did know SSgt Brown. After a day outside the wire, he knew this was a man to be trusted. He had heard the stories of SSgt Brown’s heroism and leadership. They mirrored the stories people had been telling about him.
“I’m sorry sir, I can’t do that.” He looked to the younger soldier and gave him the slightest of smiles.
None of them would ever know why the Bishop did what he did next. In a single, fluid motion his right hand shot up and hit Terrance under the chin. The punch caught them all by surprise. Stars exploded in front of him as he fell to the ground in a heap.
SSgt Brown barely had time to react before a side kick caught him in the solar plexus. He stumbled backwards several steps, struggling for air. The Bishop did not allow him a moment’s reprieve. He slammed the toe of his boot into the big NCO’s ribs. SSgt Brown fell to the ground gasping for air.
Jackson was ready when the older man kicked his left leg at his midsection; a quick turn to the right and the blow missed by a few inches. He continued his turn and brought his hands up, ending in a good fighting stance. His first instinct was strike back at the older man. But, he didn’t. Instead, his gaze fell to SSgt Brown. The man was struggling to his feet as he tried to catch his breath.
Suddenly, the Bishop stepped inside the young trooper’s defenses. He simultaneously grabbed the young man’s shirt and drove his left knee into his midsection. Pain exploded from Jackson’s abdomen at the same time his breath was forced from his lungs.
He stepped back a step in an effort to put some distance between himself and the Bishop. The Bishop expected this and continued to move forward. He swatted Jackson’s left hand down and drove a punch into the trooper’s face. Blood exploded from Jackson’s mouth as several of his teeth were driven through his bottom lip.
He stumbled back from the blow. It was at this time that he realized someone was yelling for them to stop. He didn’t immediately recognize the woman’s voice, but he agreed with the sentiment.
The thought had barely formed in his mind when something shiny suddenly appeared in the Bishop’s right hand. “I’m gonna gut your black ass like a fish,” the Bishop hissed. Jackson had no doubt the man had every intention of gutting him. He’d never seen a man look so wild.
Jackson dropped his right hand to his hip. He could feel the hilt as his fingers unsnapped the nylon strap that secured the bayonet into the scabbard. He realized immediately he had made a mistake. As soon as he lowered his right hand, the Bishop slapped at his left hand with his free hand. At the same time he lunged forward and brought up his knife hand.
The Bishop’s eyes went suddenly wide.
Jackson felt something strike the left side of his ribs. He winced at the pain that never came. It took his mind a moment to realize that nothing pierced his side.
The Bishop crumpled to the ground. A large hunting knife was lodged under his still-outstretched right arm. His knife was still spinning on the ground inches out of his reach. His chest heaved erratically as he struggled to draw air.
Jackson’s mind finally began recognizing sound again. “These are my people! They’re my friends! You can’t have them! You can’t hurt them!” It was Kerry. She kicked the dying man in his stomach as she screamed.
Jackson hadn’t seen her so angry. He’d known her to be the meek victim that had been abused by a couple of rednecks before they had found her. This woman, the one screaming at the Bishop, was strong. She was angry. This woman was a fighter. By that time SSgt Brown had regained his feet. The two men watched in horror as the woman jerked her knife from the man’s side and quickly drew it across his neck. She wiped her blade off on the dead man’s pants leg as blood spread across the dock. His arms clawed at the wound in his neck as his feet twitched uncontrollably.
Day 42
The Haven
Jen awoke with a start. The room she was in was dark. It took her a minute to realize where she was. She was in a chair in the room with the injured woman. She must have fallen asleep. She waited a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the light. While she did, her other senses took over.
The room smelled like unwashed bodies. She wondered if that was her or the woman who smelled so bad. She hoped it wasn’t her. There was something else in the air. She couldn’t place it. At first she thought that maybe she smelled the infection in the woman’s hand. Gangrene has a terrible odor, but that wasn’t it.
Her ears perked at a sound. Was it breathing? The girl had been breathing just fine before. This breathing was raspy and coarse. If the girl’s breathing had deteriorated that bad in only a few hours, she was in trouble. She began to think about what antibiotics to use for pneumonia.
Suddenly, there was another sound. It sounded like someone drumming their fingers on something. It started out very slow, but seemed to pick up in both tempo and volume. What was that? She stood. Her eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the darkness. Her balance was off without some frame of reference. She reached a hand out until she found the wall. She could hear a soft scraping sound as her hand slid along the wall for a few inches.
She realized that the sound in the room had changed also. The drumming had stopped. “Sherry,” she whispered softly. “Are you ok?”
She could hear the sound of air escaping someone’s lungs. It sounded like a sigh. Then the rattling started. It sounded like it was coming from the direction of the woman’s bed. She cursed herself for not having a candle or flashlight.
There was a crash from the direction of the bed. Then the sigh turned into a moan. Oh shit! Her mind screamed. Get out! She allowed her hand to slide along the wall in the direction of the door. What was between her and the door? A table, she remembered about the time she bumped into it. Several unseen objects fell from the small table and crashed to the floor.
The moaning grew louder. She suddenly heard something that sounded like metal dragging on the ground. She reached the door. With her right hand, she tried to open it. The knob wouldn’t turn. Locked! It was locked. She began to panic. “Help!” she screamed.
The scraping was getting closer. She could finally, barely, make out the shape of her attacker. The woman was only a few feet away. Do something, her survival instinct yelled. Do anything! She lunged for the chair, tripping over the table as she went.
She jumped to her feet, the metal chair held in front of her like a lion tamer. The monster slammed into the chair as if it hadn’t seen it. Jen could feel the monster getting closer. She planted her back against the wall and shoved with all her might. The monster’s forward progress was halted. It reached out with an arm; the fingers grasping the air a mere inches in front of Jen’s face. She could feel the little breeze they caused as they opened and closed. “Help!” she screamed again.
The fingers got closer and closer to her face. She was losing. Another wave of panic set in. “Help!” she screamed louder this time. The back of the chair was beginning to dig into her belly just below the ribs.
She leaned harder on the wall and kicked the monster with her right leg. The kick connected with the monster’s left knee. Off balance, it fell to the side; taking the chair with it. Jen heard it crash to the ground, but could not see the monster on the dark floor. Move! She thought.
She slid farther away from the door along the wall, ears listening for any clue to where the next attack would originate. Nothing, it was quiet. Even the moaning had stopped.
She jumped at the sound of jingling from the door. Light beams drew lines through the room as the door flew open. Several settled on the figure on the floor. The Sherry-zombie was crumpled on the floor, chair leg sticking into her mouth and out the back of her skull. The monster’s right hand remained tied to the bedrail that it had been dragging.
Suddenly light drilled into Jen’s brain. She held a hand in front of the beam and squinted against its assault. “Jen,” Theresa’s voice squealed. The beam of light shifted as the girl embraced her tightly. “Oh God Jen, are you ok?” The panic in the girl’s voice mirrored the panic she had felt only a moment before.
The Island
The meeting started as soon as the cooks had finished serving breakfast. The entire population of the Island had been invited to the meeting. SSgt Brown, he disliked the rank of Lieutenant, had suggested a town hall meeting. The Bishop had failed to put a chain of succession in place before his untimely death. SSgt Brown thoughtlessly rubbed the top of his stomach where the Bishop had kicked him. This morning he had awoken to find a bruise shaped like a man’s boot.
They had asked Jerry to lead the meeting. He had been the Bishop’s right-hand man, and knew the major players on the Island better than anyone else. He stood at the front of the room. The room had been a briefing room of some kind in a former lifetime. On that day, it was filled to overflowing. It seemed like the entire population of the Island, 183 people at last count, was in attendance.
“Thank you all for coming,” he bellowed. SSgt Brown was impressed at the volume the little man could muster when he needed too. The room quieted. “As most of you know, the Bishop is dead.” He paused as a low murmur ran through the crowd. Most people knew he had died, but few knew the details.
“As many of you know, our leader had a bit of a mean streak. Couple that with his short Cajun temper, and he turned out to be a ticking time bomb. Unfortunately, he decided to attack several survivors last night. He died while they attempted to subdue him.” Another round of murmuring followed.
“This leaves us without a clear cut leadership structure in place. I’ve heard some people say that this is preferable to our old form of governance. I happen to agree.” He paused for a moment to let people digest what they had just heard.
“It has been proposed by Mr. Westergart and Staff Sergeant Brown that we form an elective government. It has been proposed that we elect a seven member council to run the day to day operations of the Island.” There was more murmuring.
An hour later, it had been decided. The Island would be run by a seven member council, elected from the population annually. There would be no running for a particular seat. The candidates receiving the highest numbers of votes would be elected. The most votes going to the leader of the council.
For the time being, all laws would be proposed by the council and voted on by town council. This would change once the population of the Island exceeded 700. The only people exempted from voting would be children under the age of 18. SSgt Brown had tried to get that lowered so Theresa would have a say, but he was voted down.
Sam, Terrance, Jerry and SSgt Brown were all voted onto the council. The other three council members had been original Island survivors. Tabitha was a young black woman who had been p
aralegal at some public defender’s office. She was smart, well spoken, and knew legal matters better than the rest. Stan was a butcher. He had made it out of rural Mississippi with four other survivors. He was smart, witty, and had a terribly foul mouth. But, SSgt Brown had thought, Stan was a straight shooter. He would do well for the council.
The last council member was Miranda Sanchez. Miranda had been a maid before the world fell apart. But, Miranda was more than that. Miranda had spent the better part of a decade attending one class per semester at a small university in Alabama. According to her, she was three classes away from earning an International Finance degree. She had specialized in international trade. She also spoke four languages, was a mother of two children who she managed to drag halfway across the state, and was an excellent cook.
The council agreed to meet that evening after SSgt Brown had returned. Terrance had asked SSgt Brown to run the mission today. He’d received the most votes, and was there for the mayor. He wanted to spend the day conferring with Jerry; finding out all that he could about the Island, its people, and available resources. He wished him good luck and God’s speed.
The Haven
Theresa watched Jen as she slept. It was well past breakfast. She’d had a rough night to say the least. She had been too wound up to sleep after her brush with death. The two had cried together for a long time before either was able to sleep.
Theresa couldn’t help but feel guilty about last night. She had agreed to stay with Jen to ensure her safety. Instead, she had eaten a nice dinner and slept on a cot in the front room of a quarantined house. She had absolutely not been there for Jen when she had needed her most.
Tears began to flow down the girl’s cheeks. She couldn’t help it. Jen and Mike had been there for her and Davy since the day her parents had died. They had gone above and beyond to help the two teens. They had even tried to save the Landry’s, a boy from Theresa’s class and his father. She couldn’t help but feel like a failure. She buried her face in her hands as she quietly sobbed.