by Kody Boye
“You feel trapped,” Donovan said. “Alienated in your position in the world.”
“I feel like I’m supposed to be doing something. Before, I was helping us survive—making supply runs, doing simple chores, helping cook, filter water. Now I’m just… well… sitting here.”
“Do you feel you lack a purpose?” the man asked.
“I feel like I’m just trying to survive,” Dakota said. “That I’m not moving toward anything anymore. Like before everything happened, when I was in high school.”
“How old are you, young man?”
“Nineteen.”
“Goddamn,” the man said. “Your whole life just… taken away from you.”
Dakota nodded. “I feel that way sometimes.”
Donovan settled down on the cot beside him and set a hand on his upper back. “Maybe instead of thinking like you’re not doing anything,” the historian said, “think of it as preparing for what is to come. You’re a pioneer, Mr. Dakota, in a strange and savage world. By the time it recovers… you’ll be one of the ones history remembers.”’
“If I even make it that far,” Dakota sighed.
“Do you not feel you will survive?” Donovan frowned.
“It’s just… with Erik being… what he is… and the fact that we just recently lost someone in our group—”
“You feel hopeless,” Donovan said. Dakota didn’t need to nod to answer that. “Well, my friend, hope is hard to come by in a world like this. Depression—it’s a malaise upon your mind, attempting to fester and grow. If you let it, it’ll spread. If you fight, though—and if you win…”
“I thought you were a historian?” Dakota laughed. “You’re sounding more like a psychologist now than a professor.”
“Some of the greatest triumphs in history came after the most horrendous blights upon mankind. You should know this.”
“I know,” Dakota sighed.
Donovan stood. “Until we meet again,” the man said, then turned to face Dakota as he approached the door, “just remember: you have something many people no longer have.”
When the man walked out the door, Dakota looked at the nearby window.
Though it was covered by a series of metal grates, he could already imagine the empty streets outside.
His life was worth something.
He just had to figure out what he could do to contribute.
“I made contact with Desmond and Kevin,” Steve said as Dakota wandered out of the room to find the man making his way up the stairs later that night.
“How are they doing?” Dakota asked.
“They’re doing fine. They and the boys have been scavenging the houses across the street to see if they can find anything useful.”
“And?”
“They’ve brought back more food, more weapons. They’ve even started bringing books home, so we at least won’t be bored by the time we get back.”
“I’d give anything to be home right now,” Dakota said, leaning against the nearby wall. “I don’t feel comfortable here. It’s like… I’m trapped. Or something. It’s hard to place it.”
“Like you’re being tethered to something you’d rather break away from.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s like that in the armed forces at times. Sometimes it gets to be too much and you just want to get away, but you know you have a duty, so you stay.”
“How did you deal with it?”
“Before I got discharged with my purple heart?” Steve asked. “I told myself that my purpose was for the greater good—that what I was doing meant something now and would continue to mean something later even if it didn’t feel that way.”
“And now that you’ve been away from it for so long?”
“I feel like it was worth it. My time, my sacrifice, my… injury.” He looked down at his arm and brushed a hand along it, his fingers dancing over the scarred flesh where three bones had been broken and nearly lost as a result. “I’m feeling the same way now, Dakota. I’m not used to being able to just sit back and relax.”
“It’s like we’re craving the danger,” he added.
“It’s a PTSD thing. You want to be in that environment because it’s all you come to know. You crave the danger, need the feeling, the anxiety, the stress. The pathways have been burned into your brain. It’s only natural for the fires to continue following them.”
“Yeah.”
“Which means,” Steve said, “that we have to figure out how we can contribute while we’re here.”
“What’s Rose doing?”
“Building barricades to place against the lower windows.”
“And Jamie?”
“Assisting in drawing maps to determine the buildings that have been scavenged and those that haven’t. One of the students was an amateur cartographer. It’s pretty cool how they’re going through and laying everything out from building to building.”
“You have any suggestions on what we might be able to do?” Dakota asked.
“Other than clean, cook, or help manage the property?” Steve asked. “Not a fucking clue.”
“There is something you can do,” Erik said as he made his way down the hall with Doctor Hernandez.
“And that is?” Dakota asked.
“Make a supply run to the nearest pharmaceutical department,” Doctor Hernandez said.
“Which is how far away?” Steve frowned.
“Three miles.”
Steve and Dakota looked at one another.
They’d asked for purpose.
Now they’d gotten their wish.
Dakota chambered a bullet in his gun as he, Steve and Erik stepped off the steps leading into the university and into the urban wasteland of Boise, Idaho.
“It looks like the easiest and safest way to do this will be to cut through these alleyways and head directly up this street,” Erik said, tapping on the map as he spread it out along a telephone pole for better view. “Doctor Hernandez wants us to bring back syringes and any other medical equipment we can find.”
“And she’s convinced this pharmacy will have that?” Dakota asked.
“It’s attached to a clinic. It should be a goldmine.”
“Or a deathtrap,” Steve sighed. “God. I can only imagine what some of the hospitals must’ve dealt with during the initial stages of the outbreak.”
“Other than bloodbath city? I can guarantee you it wasn’t much.” Erik reached down and fingered the chisel he’d raided from the art department. “You don’t have to worry. If there’s anything in the clinic, I’ll make sure to take care of it.”
At least we won’t be walking blind, Dakota thought, then nodded to show that he was ready.
He, Steve and Erik stole along the side of the road until they approached the apartment buildings flanking the opposite side of the street. They then began to make their way through a series of alleyways that would eventually lead out to the other side of the street—and to where, Erik said, the clinic and its attached pharmacy lay.
On their backs they carried heavy duffel bags.
Though Dakota wanted to hope that this would go smoothly, something told him that it might not.
He dreaded to think what they would find.
Blood-splattered walls, doors and floors greeted them the moment they approached the clinic.
“Dear God,” Steve said. “It looks like a war happened here.”
“One did,” Erik asked.
He pushed open the door to reveal the corpses within. Though most had been spared the cruel nature of rot, each bore the marks of consumption by undead or animal. Some were simply bone. Others resembled nothing like human skeletons, and a few of the corpses had been completely ripped apart—as if, during or after the initial struggle, the bodies had simply been torn in half by the marauding undead.
God, Dakota thought. I can only imagine.
He grimaced as images of hospital staff and patients alike flooded through his mind—the former trying to help, the latter trying
to flee—and nearly succumbed to panic as a result.
He breathed—as Jamie and Steve had instructed—and followed Erik into the clinic, careful not to step on any bones. The last thing he wanted was to impale himself on what had once been someone’s femur or broken ribcage.
“All right,” Erik said, securing the door as best as he could behind him before turning to face them. “I would caution us to split up, but before we try anything like that, I want to see if anything’s here.”
“How?” Steve asked.
Erik slammed his foot down on the tile, causing an audible reverberation to shock the inside of the quiet space.
They waited.
No reply came.
Erik did it a second time.
When no sound followed, the man nodded and said, “I’ll go into the deeper parts of the clinic alone, just to make sure that the two of you are safe.”
“And us?” Dakota asked.
“Start here and make your way forward, but don’t go beyond, say…” Erik paused. “That hallway.” He pointed. “Call for me if you need something, scream if you see anything that might resemble a threat. All right?”
“Got it,” Steve said.
With that, Erik took off into the hospital, leaving Steve and Dakota to search the front lobby and waiting rooms for anything of use.
“Would she even want any of this?” Dakota asked, idly poking at a lone, bloodied scalpel with his foot. “This whole place is a walking petri dish.”
“I think it’s best to guess that she wouldn’t want anything that’s possibly contaminated,” Steve replied, then leaned forward and began going through the receptionist’s desk. He pulled a zippo from its depths and flicked it to spark the flame within. “Didn’t know you could bring zippos into the clinic.”
“I don’t think they can stop you from bringing anything in,” Dakota said. “Or they couldn’t, I mean.”
“Kinda hard to refer to things in the present tense, huh?”
“It’s only been five months.”
“Exactly. Which is why—” Steve flicked the zippo to life “—it’s still hard to think that way. We’re used to the world being the way it used to be, not the way it is now.”
Yet I don’t think I could ever go back to the world the way it used to be, Dakota thought, sighing.
He lifted his head when he heard what sounded like something shifting in a nearby room. “Erik?” Dakota asked, clearing his throat when he felt his voice wasn’t strong enough. “Erik? Was that you?”
No response followed.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Steve said, drawing his machete from its sheath. “Erik!” he called. “Erik!”
“What?” the man asked, leaning around the corner.
“Is that you?”
“Is what me?”
The thumping on the door began.
“Oh,” Erik said, taking a few steps forward. “That.”
He opened the door and out stepped a zombie, its skin sagging and hanging from the various muscles on its flesh. It turned to face Erik with a snarl, then stopped, its demeanor immediately changing as it took note of the man—or, in its eyes, thing—before it. Even behind the sunglasses it could sense that Erik was not truly one of the living, so when it turned and began to shamble toward Dakota and Steve, Erik leaned forward, spun it around, then slammed a chisel into its eye. The corpse dropped with a meaty thump.
“It could tell,” Steve said.
“Even from behind your sunglasses,” Dakota finished.
“Wicked, huh?” Erik spread his arms. “I feel like I’m king of the zombies or something.”
“Cool it, Erik.”
“What?” the man laughed. “Just being honest. I can touch and won’t get bitten, stab and not have to worry about them fighting back. What’s not to like?”
“Everything,” Steve said, then sighed. “Look. We need to keep going through this place. I say you start opening every single door to see if anything’s hiding inside.”
“Will do,” Erik said.
Erik killed, in total, three other zombies before they began to load supplies into the duffel bags. Scalpels and other sharp equipment they wrapped in bandaging, while blood pressure cuffs and wireless thermometers they slung into Dakota’s bag. Steve’s bag—reserved for bandaging, stitching, and other practical items—they loaded carefully, as to not damage or contaminate the contents within.
By the time they were done, it was nearly dark, and each of their three bags was loaded with materials.
“We should get going,” Erik said. “Before they can’t see us anymore.”
“How do you know we’ll beat the darkness?” Dakota asked. “It’s not like we ran here or anything.”
“I guess you’re right,” the medic sighed. He reached into his pocket to pull out his walkie talkie. Once he raised the volume, he said, “Hernandez,” then cleared his throat and added, “It’s Roberts. Over.”
“What seems to be the problem?” the doctor replied. “It’s almost dark. Over.”
“There’s no way we’re going to be able to make it back safely,” Erik said. “If it were just me, I’d say yes. But I’ve got Dakota and Steve here and I don’t want to risk hurting them. Over.”
“Goddammit, Erik. I told you not to take them. Over.”
“I wasn’t willing to go by myself. Over.”
“You have to start thinking for more than just yourself. Over.”
What all have they been talking about? Dakota thought with a frown.
“I understand that,” Erik replied, “but if we pull flashlights out and start waving them around the place, it’s going to immediately draw attention. Besides—we’ll be safer in here anyway. The weather’s starting to act up again. Over.”
“You’re sure you can’t make the three miles it took to get there?” Hernandez asked.
“No,” Erik finished. “Over and out.”
He muffled the volume before the woman could have a chance to reply.
“What did she mean by ‘thinking for more than just yourself?’” Steve asked, crossing his arms over his chest as the three of them began to make their way toward the employee’s lounge.
“I’ve been adamant that I want my friends’ input since the talk we all had,” he said, ushering them into the employee’s lounge before shutting and barring the door with a chair. “She seems to think that you’re just a waste of resources.”
“Does she now?” Steve said, then laughed. “Great. And here I thought we were getting along just fine.”
“She wants to do something remarkable,” Erik said, settling into one of the dining chairs and leaning forward to look at Steve and Dakota in the fading light of the sun. “Whether she’s in contact with the Centers for Disease Control or the World Health Organization I do not know. I do know, however, that she isn’t just some basic run-of-the-mill scientist.”
“No?” Dakota asked.
“She specializes in infectious diseases. HIV, Herpes, Tuberculosis, Malaria, Swine and Avian Flu—you name it, she has books on it.”
“I don’t get it. How does that tell you she isn’t a run-of-the-mill scientist?” Dakota enunciated this last bit with air quotes.
“I saw her clearance badge. It was lying on her desk, but it had a key reader on it, and it sure as hell wasn’t the kind you’d find anywhere else. Jet-black, with gold lining its edges.”
“And you’re sure it wasn’t a credit card?”
“Who lanyards their credit card?” Erik growled. He took a deep breath, then expelled it before saying, “I think she has ins with the government. But like I said: whether or not she’s in contact with any of them is up for question. All I know is that she’s functionally cured me—”
“Is that what she’s calling it?” Steve asked.
“—and made me technically invisible to the zombies,” Erik finished, not bothering to answer Steve’s snippy and sarcastic remark. “She’s done something incredible, guys. Can you imagine what two, three,
even ten people like me could do? We could clear the world of the undead.”
“Piece by piece,” Dakota said. “Little by little.”
“It has to start somewhere,” Erik smiled. “And I think I’m the start to it all.”
Dakota nodded, but didn’t push Erik further.
He didn’t want to mention how his skin was continuing to lose its color—and by the looks of it, neither did Steve.
They returned the following morning to find Jamie in near hysterics.
“Thank God you’re all right,” Jamie said, dragging Dakota to his chest and pressing his lips to every part of his face the moment he walked into the room with the cots. “That bitch wouldn’t tell me anything other than that you were safe. Wouldn’t give me the radio or anything.”
“I’m fine,” Dakota said, trying to muster a laugh to defuse the situation, but to no avail. “Really. We holed up in the employee’s lounge overnight because of the weather. Seriously Jamie. I can take care of myself.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Jamie said, pulling Dakota into another hug. “Fuck.”
“Are you crying?”
“Of course I’m fucking crying. I’ve been worried sick all night.”
“He was only just starting to get back to sleep the moment you guys walked in through the double doors,” Rose said. “I told him and he nearly bolted, but couldn’t because he was so exhausted.”
“Lay down with me, baby. Please.”
“All right,” Dakota said, shrugging his pack off his shoulder. “Erik, could you make sure Doctor Hernandez—”
He couldn’t finish his sentence, as Erik reached down, grabbed the bag, and left the room before Dakota could do so.
“What’s up with him?” Rose frowned, crossing her arms under her breasts.
“We don’t think he slept,” Steve said.
“What?” Jamie frowned.
Dakota nodded as he settled down on the cot next to Jamie. Though the man was desperate to sit up now that this news had come to life, Dakota was able to pull him down and lock him into a lying position. “He volunteered to take watch,” Dakota continued, “and never woke either of us up.”