“Have you done any more thinking about the sickness . . . anything that we haven’t covered already and is outside the norm?” Sam asked.
“There is nothing normal about the sickness, and we’re still pretty much flying blind. To be honest, I’ve been so busy putting out small ‘medical fires’ so to speak that I really haven’t had time to dedicate a lot of thought to the base problem.” He paused for a second and scratched his chin. “There is one thing that does come to mind though. It’s the children. I can’t really say for sure why, but it seems like—statistically speaking with what we’ve observed so far—that children are more susceptible.”
“What makes you say that,” Amy asked.
Doc took a sip of his tea as he answered. “It’s simple really. With this many people here, there should be a lot higher number of children among our ranks. Now, there could be a lot of reasons for this. Maybe families with children were easier prey for the infected, or maybe they just didn’t want to leave their kids. It’s also possible that a child’s immune system isn’t developed enough to fight off whatever’s causing this. I just don’t know, but my gut is telling me there’s something odd about that particular train of thought. Anyway, in an unrelated note, I’ve reset the broken arm on Sergeant Thorn, and it looks good, although without an x-ray machine we’ll just have to wait and hope. I’ve also stitched up another guy, Perkins I think his name was, that came in with Captain Estes. The wound was pretty nasty, but I think he’ll be alright in a few weeks . . . and that’s about it for medical.”
“What about the goop?” Walter asked.
“The what?” I said.
“Yeah, you two were gone when we figured that one out, although it was Michelle that got us started,” Walter mumbled.
The expectant look stayed on my face until Doc continued. “The goop, as we’ve been calling it, is what happens to the infected after they’re killed. We didn’t discover this until, um, I think it was the night that you left for Devils Lake. The dumpster where we had deposited all the bodies from the firefight in the parking lot turned out to be, well, no longer filled with bodies. Instead, it had a hairy, greasy blackish substance about a foot deep covering the bottom. There were actually two bodies still in it, though. Do you remember when we told you what happened that first night when everybody showed up from the campground?”
I nodded.
“Well, the guy that died . . . and his wife that committed suicide with pills . . . were both still corpses in the dumpster. Every other body that we threw in there had degraded into some type of enzymatic sludge. Our hypothesis is that if you become infected—and by that I mean a full blown infection, not the people who get infected and then pass away before they develop into what you’re calling a ‘ghoul’—anyhow, some type of cataclysmic tissue breakdown takes place sometime after death. I’m assuming that temperature plays a factor in the degradation, but the closest timeline I can give is roughly three days after death considering the current environmental factors.”
“Is this sludge . . . this ‘goop’ infectious?” Shawn asked.
Doc shook his head. “Unknown.”
I sipped my tea as the room settled to consider Doc’s words. After a full minute of silence, Dave stood and nodded at the other members of the gathering. “I guess you know that I’ve been elected to represent the people who came here from the campground, as well as a few others I suppose. I don’t really know what to say other than I’ve been offering an ear to anyone that needs it. About the only people that haven’t come up to me and unloaded their troubles are the people sitting right here. I know we’ve all been busy, and I don’t expect that’s going to change very much in the near future, but take my word for it—you weren’t made to carry these burdens all by yourself. My door, that is if I had a door,” Dave chuckled, “is always open. In addition to that, I’m planning on having a small church service every day for anyone that wants to attend. Once you guys figure out a semi-permanent schedule, I’ll try and fit the service into the best time slot.”
When Dave sat down, Amy popped up a like she was on the opposite end of a seesaw. Her overall countenance appeared much more rested and vibrant than the last time I saw her, and she circled the hay table and handed each of us a printed piece of paper. “On the sheet I just handed you, which, like so many other things is the courtesy of Walter’s electricity, is a list of the top twenty activities that people participated in before whatever happened . . . happened.”
I glanced at the paper in my hands. Number one on the list was work/employment. It was followed by family, friends, social media, organize sports and games, social entertainment, video games/electronic entertainment, and then it itemized the remaining thirteen in descending order.
“I’m not very handy with a gun,” Amy quipped, “but I know people. Before this infection, everybody here lived in a different world and had a different life and different responsibilities. Even soldiers like Captain Estes could plop down in front of their laptop after a hard day in the field and video chat with their loved ones thousands of miles away. I understand that we’re all still playing catch up, and that the situation so far has been fluid, but if we don’t find a way to offer our ‘family’ some much needed normalcy, I can guarantee that we’re going to start paying a heavy price.”
“What do you have in mind?” Uncle Andy asked.
Amy nodded towards Walter. “I’m going to have to get with Walter about some issues—specifically power and equipment—but I’d like to start with something simple. For example, we could hook up a laptop to that projector and show some movies on the screen. There’s a whole box of DVDs that Walter showed me upstairs. Most of them are westerns and classics, but it has a few kids’ movies and cartoons mixed in as well.”
Several nods of agreement circled the room as Amy continued. “Another thing is cell phones. Believe it or not, almost everybody here still has their cell phone, although I’m pretty sure they’re all drained. The point I’m trying to make is that we need to try and round up some chargers and get those devices working. I’ve already got Bucky and C.J. on that project”
“Who are they going to call? There’s no cell service anymore,” Mike commented.
“I know,” Amy said, “but most people have those little smart phones, and even though the telephone function won’t work anymore they’ll still be able to access pictures, videos, and music, not to mention passing the time with little games and such. What I’m trying to say is that everybody has been thrown far out of their zone of familiarity, and we need to look at ways to put some of it back.”
“Can you coordinate it?” Walter asked.
“I’ll do my best.”
“OK, unless anybody has any objections, I suggest we put Amy in charge of keeping everybody from going too squirrelly,” Walter offered.
Another round of head nodding followed, and then Uncle Andy lifted up one of his aluminum crunches and pointed the rubber floor grip towards Shawn. “Eric told us a little bit about what happened after the vet’s office, but is there anything you can add?”
Shawn’s stocky form reminded me of a cleaner cut version of Crowbar Mike as he stood and drained his cup of tea. “Well, the first thing I’ve got to say is ‘thank you’ for patching up Mack. It’s a huge weight off my mind, and I am grateful to all of you for making it happen.” Doc nodded in acknowledgement for all of us and Shawn continued. “The second thing is more of a cautiously optimistic question. I’m just wondering how long we can hold out here, even if we’re not attacked by those things. Eric told me a little bit about your resources, but by my count there’s at least thirty people here, and that’s a lot of mouths to feed every day.”
“Actually, our total population is thirty-nine,” Amy said.
“Even worse then,” Shawn answered. “But I guess where I’m going with this relates to the location. This is a marina, apparently mostly for sport fishing from the looks of it, but I’m wondering if we have any nets available . . . big nets, I mea
n . . . that we could use to supplement the food stores with fresh fish.”
“That’s forward thinking, young man,” Walter said, “and I like that. But to answer your question, I don’t have any commercial fishing nets. The closest place I can think of that may have some is on the Canadian side of the lake.”
“I thought you were tired of fish,” Michelle snickered.
“I am,” Shawn answered as he sat back down, “but I can just about promise you that everybody will get really tired of rice and beans a lot faster.”
Twenty seconds of quiet contemplation descended on the room, and then Sam—still seated with his boots propped on my bed—tapped his mug with the brass case of an empty 5.56 cartridge. “If no one else can see it, I’ll be happy to point my finger at the elephant in the room.” He drained his beverage and then circled his eyes around the gathering. “The fact is . . . that at some point in the near future we’re going to reach a point of equilibrium. Either artificially, or intentionally—but it’s going to happen.”
“What are you talking about?” Mike asked.
“It simple math. Somewhere in the not too distant future, probably much sooner than we’d like, we’re going to have to acquire more supplies . . . or reduce our consumption load.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” Walter answered dryly, “but we’ve already agreed that we’re not kicking anybody to the curb.”
“I’m not suggesting that we give people the boot,” Sam answered. “I’m just pointing out a few realities. In order to support our current load, the simple fact of the matter is that we’re going to need more stuff, and I’m not just talking about food.”
“Are you thinking about going back to the campground for the medicine?” Dave asked.
Sam was silent for a moment, and then he shook his head and ran his fingers through the patch of silver in his hair. “Listen, I know that we’re all thinking about it on some level, but an hour from now, or a day, or a week from now when the adrenaline wears off and we hopefully find ourselves still alive, we’re going to start realizing that our lives would be a lot easier with some creature comforts of the old world we used to live in. So yes Dave, we need the medicine, but not just from the campground. I’m talking about long-term survival. Almost everybody here showed up with pretty much nothing more than the clothes on their back. Doc is right . . . we need more medication. Amy is hitting the nail on the head by trying to establish a sense of familiarity with yesterday, and Shawn is correct about the food limitations, but I guess I’m talking about the broad view. We can try and survive on the bare minimum, but that’s only going to get us so far before we go stir crazy. We need to be thinking long-term. We’re going to need everything from food, bullets and fuel, to medical supplies and equipment. But we can’t stop there. Basic things that we take for granted are going to become priceless. Toothbrushes, tampons, and toilet paper . . . books, shoelaces, salt, hand sanitizer . . . things like that, and about a million more. I know we’re going to have to make due and make sacrifices—I get that—but a month from now is not the time to start thinking about what we wish we would have.”
My uncle cleared his throat. “Excuse me for not standing. Doc Collins tells me that I’m suffering from another bout of lead poisoning.” A few chuckles lit the room as Uncle Andy adjusted the crutches across his lap. “Doc is correct. So are Shawn, Amy, and Sam, but it’s about time that I add a little bit of full disclosure to the mix. A long time ago, Walter and I decided that we would put back a few things for a time in the future that we both figured would eventually happen. Well, it’s here. I can’t honestly say that the current circumstances were one of our ‘most likely to occur’ scenarios, but the facts are that we’ve got some things—a lot of things, actually—that I imagine people in other locations are desperately needing. I’m not saying that we’ve got all of the bases covered, though. Our supplies were a continual work in progress, and there are gaps—some of them quite large and obvious. With that said, Walter and I talked a bit this morning, and we want to put all of our cards on the table. Between here and another location about twenty-five minutes away, we have enough basic food stocks to support ten people for two years without any supplemental supplies. If you do the math with our current population, that equals about six months of ‘very basic keep you alive-but won’t be the captain’s buffet’ food. We also have a substantial amount of ammunition, weapons, and other sundries like soap and shampoo. I want everybody to know this so you can take some of the worry off of your mind. Now, with that all said, Sam is exactly right. Right now is the time to get our ducks in a row and start planning for the future.”
A loud, crunching snap broke the silence as Max shattered the deer leg bone he was gnawing on, and then Mike flipped his hand up. “OK, I ain’t got a whole lot to say, but maybe this will help. I’m a pretty good welder, and I’d bet a dollar to a doughnut that I can get the cargo door to the half track working again. Right now it’s welded shut, but like you’re saying, eventually we’re going to need to go out and scout or gather, and I think it would be awful nice to have that security.”
“Damn straight it would,” Walter answered, “and we should have all the equipment here that you’ll need.”
“Hey,” I interrupted, “does somebody want to tell me how we ended up with an armored car?”
My uncle, Walter, and Sam started chuckling, and to my side I saw Amy grimace and bury her face in her hands with a snort.
“What?” I asked again.
Amy looked my way and said, “Have you heard anything about Little Jimmy?”
“The sniper?” I answered.
“Yes.”
“Yeah, a little bit from Walter and Sam, why?”
“OK, I’ll start,” Amy offered with a laugh.
She told me about Leah noticing the reflected flash from the sniper scope, and then I got the story of how Sam and Thompson had paddled a canoe down the lake before light to put themselves behind his position. Walter chipped in and told me about the plan to cover Sam’s approach that night with a counterfeit firefight, and then Sam finished with an obviously embellished, epic tale of his battle against the rotund monster. Amy took over again and filled me in with her objections to the methods that were being considered to extract information from Little Jimmy.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity now extremely piqued.
“We were in Walter’s office,” Amy said, “and Andy starts telling me how he’s going to use four things to get the information we need. I guess I was picturing claw hammers and red hot pokers heating up in a bed of coals.”
At the other side of the circle my uncle grinned widely.
“So then,” Amy continued, “Andy rummages around on the top of Walter’s desk and pulls together a few things that for the life of me I couldn’t conceive as being dreadful.”
“What were they?” Michelle asked.
“He had a rubber band, a bottle of hand sanitizer, a little battery operated desk fan, and a paper clip.”
“What the . . .?” The confusion painted on my face attracted a pointed finger from Amy.
“That’s the same look I had,” she said.
My uncle laughed again and took over. “We had this big ol’ hoss tied in a sitting position with his back against the picnic table and his right arm stretched behind him. It wasn’t uncomfortable or anything, but we had taken his right hand and immobilized it to a piece of plywood with a bunch of holes drilled through it. So there he was—bag over his head so he couldn’t see, left arm tied to his belt, and right arm extended behind him with the hand splayed out and attached to the plywood that was screwed to the top of the table.”
Sam kicked in. “So then Andy starts in on this guy about how he’s going to need to tell us everything . . . about how he’s going to want to tell us everything. And then he slathers the hand sanitizer on the big guy’s fingers. Keep in mind it was about forty degrees in that room. Then Andy starts spinning some tall tale about a Korean secret
police interrogation technique that intensifies pain receptors. He tells him that they take a wood chisel and a mallet, and millimeter by millimeter they hack off somebody’s fingertips until, after about twenty whacks, they make it to the very first knuckle. Well, Little Jimmy just about wets his pants right then and there spewing all kinds of information, but Andy turns the fan on and lets it blow across the guy’s hand that’s covered in the sanitizer. After about a minute or two he squirts on some more and just lets the fan keep blowing. Then, just as Jimmy is ready to give us the keys to his girlfriend’s chastity belt and anything else he can think of, Andy tells him that in order for us to believe him, he’s going to have to experience the consequences of what will happen if we think he’s lying.”
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