Barricade

by Lindsey Black

It was the township below, or what was left of it. The map was old and appeared to be an original version of what the town had looked like when they first built the Barricade, but over the years the men manning District Six-Six-Six had scrawled adjustments and amendments to reflect the changing reality. Closed streets, collapsed buildings and abandoned homes were not as depressing as the mass graves and sealed places of worship now functioning as tombs marked by Infection symbols.

  Jett idly wondered what it had been like, living in the world before the Barricade. Had it been free like the books implied, or governed by greed as their fate suggested? Somewhere in their hearts their ancestors must have known they had constructed a world thriving on fear.

  ‘It looks so normal on paper, huh?’ Stepanova strode into the room and came to stand beside him, looking down at the map and shaking his head, familiar with every dot and line on the page. Jett thought he was standing abnormally close; he could feel the heat radiating off him.

  ‘It looks lonely,’ Jett mumbled and stepped away from the table.

  Stepanova was frowning down at him, but said nothing. He went to the weapons rack and grabbed a rifle, stocking his pockets with bullets and then waving at the cage.

  ‘You can use anything you like.’

  He’d like his Ssangdo, but that wasn’t exactly practical for supporting ground troops from a ten story wall. Jett took a rifle and pushed a box of bullets into his pocket, eying the knives again.

  ‘Anyone can use them.’ Stepanova seemed to read his mind. Maybe he was that easy to read? ’Anything up here is for everyone. Anything in your room is yours. That’s the rule.’

  Perfect. He doubted he would need it, but Jett didn’t feel comfortable without some kind of blade on him, so he took the thin knife with its beautifully soft leather hilt and worn sheath and clipped in on his belt, aware of Stepanova watching every move he made.

  ‘That’s my favourite too. I like the leather hilt, it’s so old and soft. Hasn’t cracked at all, despite the cold.’

  ‘Yeah …’ That was it exactly. Jett was almost tempted to put it back, if it was Stepanova’s favourite, but he’d said they were free for anyone to use so it was fair game. Besides, Stepanova didn’t bother to grab a blade at all, just pulled his neck warmer up at the back of his neck and opened the doors.

  The rain drizzled but the wind was biting in a wild rage. It threw the rain in all directions and when Jett dared to step into it, droplets cut against his cheek like glass shards without the teeth. Pain blossomed for a brief moment before the cold stole his ability to feel, leaving him feeling brittle and numb. The wind-chill was excruciating.

  ‘It takes some getting used to,’ Stepanova conceded when he saw the look on Jett’s face. He wandered to a corner of the wall tucked in behind the turret, protected from the wind, and pushed Jett into the corner, using his own body as a bracket.

  Jett wanted to protest, but also didn’t want to cause a scene on his first day. He had nothing to prove, and he was freezing. He only needed to do his job. No matter how many times he repeated that in his head, he still felt like a kid being protected by a parent standing in his superior officer’s shadow. Not that, technically, Stepanova was his superior officer, but no-one here knew that so the point was moot.

  Movement below caught his eye and Jett watched Raikkinen and Angelo emerge at the bottom of the wall, leaving the gate open. There was a large cage built onto the inside of the gate so that district soldiers could leave the gate open in case they needed a fast retreat but no-one could get through the cage without the codes.

  They were dressed in full quarantine habitat suits, better known as Q-hab’s. The Russians had invented them after the first outbreak and Jett found them ungainly to wear. Despite the bulky clothing Angelo and Raikkinen moved quickly, the area beyond familiar. They dragged bodies into a large hole several blocks back from the Barricade, the earth around it blackened. As they tossed in the dead, Jett realised it was an incinerator. He wondered how many over the years had lived and dreamt and believed in a future that had ended there, in that hole. How much of the black pit was the dusty remains of forgotten memories?

  Turning away, Jett leaned against the wall and shifted his gaze to the town, looking for signs of movement or anything unusual. He didn’t need to see the dead burn.

  The town was a ruin, no house untouched by time. Roofs were caved in or full of holes, walls had crumbled, paint had faded and peeled away. Tiles were cracked and bricks shattered. The road had ruptured and fractured into a broken puzzle. Cars had rusted in the streets and windows gaped, torn remains of curtains flapping in the wind as rain was tossed into the deserted ruin. Everything was caked in filth, dirty save for flashes of green and silver where the wild grasses had forced their way up through cement and ash to breathe new life into the dead town. The whole place was being slowly swallowed by the surrounding forest.

  Stepanova shifted, lifting his rifle and staring down the scope, leaning it against the wall, sighting out from between the wire. Following his line, Jett saw Angelo dragging a body into the pit, but Raikkinen was standing in the middle of the road, gun in hand pointing to a shadow in a doorway.

  ‘Why hasn’t he shot them?’

  ‘They’re talking,’ Stepanova explained. ‘The infected are so insane you can usually tell from just a few questions, even if they’re early on in the infection. The brain’s starved of oxygen and the connections are lost, you know? You can always tell, and if they’re not infected, why shoot them?’

  Jett had been taught that anyone near the Barricade was either sick or helping people to cross illegally, and as such should be exterminated. Apparently Stepanova hadn’t gotten the memo.

  ‘How do you know they’re not helping people cross?’

  ‘They would have crossed themselves, long before now.’ The touch of bitter sadness drew Jett in and he found himself looking up, meeting the soft blue eyes and feeling something in him shift when Sasha smiled.

  He should have shot the man in the town, but looking at Stepanova, he didn’t want to. He’d been there less than a day. What did he know about District Six-Six-Six or the people who lived there? What did anyone who had trained him know? Nothing. Compared to his new team, those people understood nothing.

  ‘Did many people cross?’

  ‘Not here,’ Stepanova admitted softly. ‘And not much anymore.’

  Jett knew that. He’d read the reports, after all. But reports could be faked, and people could be bribed but he trusted his instincts and knew that hadn’t happened here. Elsewhere, people had crossed in droves, either by overpowering the district team, or climbing the wall in the night somehow, or by paying people off. There were a lot of people in the Empire who hadn’t been born there.

  The irony wasn’t lost on anyone. People had been more than happy to let them build the wall, seeing it as a sign that they would stop their military advancements south. That maybe they would be satisfied with what they’d taken. The wall had been the end of the war, and people always loved it when fighting ceased. It kept the enemy on the other side, as well, and that too had been appealing.

  And then the Infection took off, and all of a sudden they wanted to be on the other side of it. Apparently a controlled life under a communist regime was still better than no life at all.

  A gun fired down below and the lone figure crumpled in a heap of filthy rags. Raikkinen wandered forward and dragged the body into the pit. Angelo set the hole on fire.

  Raikkinen and Angelo didn’t head back toward the gate, but further into the town.

  ‘Where are they going?’

  ‘Looking for any supplies. Winter’s coming, it’s good to have extras, but most of the town’s been picked over by now. Still, drifters bring things in every now and then. Matti really wants some more cigarettes.’

  ‘I thought …’ He’d been going to say it was illegal, but that was stupid. Drinking, smoking, fornication … all kinds of things were illegal on the Barricade, but that didn�
�t stop people from doing them. Most districts brewed their own hard liquor from their rice or potato supplies, and almost all districts had women visit them throughout the year from nearby towns on both sides.

  ‘Yeah, you’ll realise pretty quick that nothing the academy teaches you really works once you’re actually here.’ Stepanova seemed amused by the idea. It left Jett feeling lost, since he’d never been to that academy and he doubted the rules he’d been taught resembled them at all. They were taught enough to blend in, and little else.

  ‘How come the medical officer smokes?’ Because even if you were willing to accept that all vices were welcome, it was a bit strange that the only guy who did was the one in charge of making sure they didn’t die.

  ‘Well, Matti wasn’t a medical officer before he was conscripted,’ Sasha chuckled. ‘Before that he was more into making things blow up.’

  ‘Oh.’ Did that make sense? It was apparently supposed to, judging by the way Stepanova was grinning. Jett didn’t understand the joke, and it must have shown on his face.

  ‘Seriously? He smokes, and he likes to blow shit up?’ Stepanova was waiting for something but when it didn’t happen he looked up at the storm clouds and sighed heavily. ‘Were you raised in a convent?’

  The question seemed hypothetical, and made no sense to Jett, so he didn’t bother to reply. He’d been raised in a testing facility, but that didn’t sound like the same thing at all.

  Down below smoke was billowing from the pit, flames roaring as the fire picked up despite the gentle rain.

  ‘How are they still burning when they’re wet?’

  ‘The Infection’s like fuel, even in death. They’ll burn for days. You can light up an infected person and they won’t die for a day, they’ll just burn alive real slow …’ He trailed off when he saw the horrified look on Jett’s face. ‘Not that I’ve done that, I’ve just heard stories.’

  ‘That’s disgusting!’ Inhumane, horrific and against every human rights convention still standing.

  ‘You asked.’

  Movement caught Jett’s attention, but not on the south side. He slipped out from the shelter of the wall and regretted it immediately, the wind ripping through his clothes and biting at his bones, but he refused to let it bother him. Rifle up, he scanned the northern tree line and caught sight of the shifting shadow.

  He nestled the rifle on the wall’s edge and took his time setting up the shot, aware he would only get one go at it. In the rain and wind the variables were heady but it was relaxing to have something to focus on.

  He squeezed the trigger and the loud crack split the crisp morning. Stepanova came to stand beside him and leaned against the parapet. He was standing too close again, leaning in against Jett’s shoulder as if he had no concept of personal space. Maybe he didn’t.

  ‘How did you even see that?’ Stepanova was squinting out at the tree line and the dead deer, leaning closer still.

  ‘I’ve got good eyesight,’ Jett mumbled, ducking out from under Sasha’s arm and heading for the door. ‘Are you okay up here if I go get the deer?’

  ‘Are you kidding, that thing will weigh a ton!’ Stepanova made a move to intervene but Jett got between him and the door. They had a minor stare down and then Stepanova held his hands up and grinned. ‘Fine, fine, go get the dead animal, by all means. Don’t let me help you!’

  ‘You’re not as funny as you think you are,’ Jett grumbled, but that only made Stepanova laugh more. Jett left him there to watch both sides of the wall. He swapped the rifle for a Glock in the armoury and swapped out the bullets. He took a sheet, a loop of rope and an extra knife and headed downstairs.

  The rain was stopping and the smoke from the town was wafting over the north wall but there was little heat on the north side, the warmth trapped by the Barricade. Jett stretched his legs out and fell into a casual jog out to the trees. The cold left his lungs feeling crisp and warmed a mild sweat on his skin inside his jacket, leaving him feeling warm and clean when he knew he was anything but. It was nice. It was also nice to get away and not have to try and fit in with people who were clearly not ready to accept a new team member. But he doubted they ever would be. No one would be ready for someone like him.

  The deer was still warm, blood spilling onto the muddy ground from the large hole he’d put in its chest. He considered bleeding it and hanging it there in a tree, but there were good chances someone would steal it in the night or animals would get to it, so he wrapped the sheet around the corpse and used the rope to make a long sling he could pull behind him. He hooked the rope around his shoulders and headed off, far more sedate than his run over.

  He could barely make out Stepanova on the top of the Barricade through the smoke haze starting to spill over the top. The stench was starting to reach the northern side and Jett felt a queasy unease starting in his gut. He forced himself to focus on the work and the effort it was taking to haul the dead creature through the mud. His thighs were burning and he knew he was going to have a bruise across his chest but the pain was welcome, distracting him from the cold and the sweat that built up under his coat and made his skin itch.

  He hadn’t made it all the way back when Raikkinen came striding out to meet him. It was not lost on Jett that Angelo did not come with him. He’d changed out of his Q-hab and was in only forest cams and a black thermal top. He had to be freezing but looked like it a perfect spring day.

  ‘Want a hand?’

  He neither needed nor wanted one, but Jett un-looped the rope from his chest and allowed Matti to help him haul it the rest of the way. He could only hope it went some way toward building some kind of working relationship.

  ‘Wow … this fucker’s heavy,’ Matti grunted after a few steps, eyeing Jett dubiously, looking him up and down. Jett understood he was curious how someone his size was carrying it, but he was a lot stronger than he looked. Obviously. The deer was heavy, but Jett had hauled worse.

  ‘Did you find any cigarettes?’

  Matti’s grey eyes were suddenly shrewd, unsure what to admit but he nodded and a smile gradually split his lips.

  ‘I got so many I think I’m good for winter,’ Matti confessed. ‘I’m only telling you because I don’t think you smoke. Too used to following the rules, right?’

  ‘Or I just don’t wanna die of cancer,’ Jett grumbled.

  ‘We’re all gonna die of something. Better the C than what got everyone else!’

  Jett supposed a lot of people probably thought that way now. He’d never had that fear of the Infection, but he’d also never lived near the Barricade and hadn’t seen many people die from it so he suspected he lacked an essential perspective on the matter.

  ‘You find anything else?’

  ‘Some cold and flu medicine, which’ll come in handy. A few notebooks for Step. Some old blankets—good ones. They’ll be awesome in winter. Old wool, not that cotton-nylon mix that falls apart after they get mouldy.’ He shuddered as if this were something that happened a lot. Maybe it did. Jett hoped not, because mouldy blankets stank and he thought it would be revolting to have to sleep with one, but all the ones in the tower were wool. He had no idea if they’d always been wool, or if they’d scavenged them over the years.

  ‘Notebooks for Stepanova?’ Why specifically for him?

  ‘Sasha’s actually a really good artist, but don’t tell him I said so, don’t want it to go to his head. But he is. Life drawing mostly. Portraits, landscapes, fruit in a bowl … he can draw anything and you’d swear it was a photo even though you know it’s a sketch. Anyway, obviously they don’t supply us with art supplies so I scrounge them when I can. He’s got a pretty good stockpile of paper now, but I might have to find some more pencils before winter’s done. He draws more whenever he’s bored, and winter’s boring!’

  Jett had thought maybe it was a joke, but when Matti kept talking he realised it was actually a thing; Sasha Stepanova liked to draw things. Fruit, apparently. He squinted up at the wall, and then at Matti who only laughed at
him and nudged his shoulder.

  ‘We’re just people, Pavlova. You’ll get used to it.’

  ‘Pavlova?’ Jett was starting to wonder if everyone in District Six-Six-Six was insane. They’d been there for years; it wasn’t unheard of for men to go mad in isolation.

  ‘Yeah, she was this ballerina about two hundred years ago … maybe three? I have no idea, really. Anyway, she was tiny,’ he grinned.

  ‘Hilarious,’ Jett muttered, pulling harder as if to somehow make up for the fact he was shorter than a giant.

  ‘She also believed hard work was essential to success,’ Matti was still laughing at him.

  ‘I believe shutting your mouth is essential to survival,’ Jett scowled but it only made Raikkinen laugh harder. They buckled down and hauled the deer the rest of the way through the gates and into the foyer, sealing the north side. Someone had already closed the south entrance.

  ‘We can hook it over the drain here,’ Matti indicated where a grate covered a drain by the north entrance, a hook already fixed to the ceiling.

  ‘You’ve done this before, I see.’

  ‘Best treat ever. Should last us a few months. You did good!’

  Together they hoisted it up onto the hook and Matti slit its throat, the blood spilling out into the drain. It smelt wrong, like something had rusted. The queasy feeling in Jett’s gut intensified and he turned away to keep from looking at its dead eyes.

  ‘How long do we hang it?’ He’d killed animals before, but he hadn’t had to prepare them. Not when they were this size. He’d skinned rabbits, sure, but this was a tad different.

  ‘I’ll come down with Enzo later and skin it, then we’ll leave it for a few days. After that we’ll section it off and stock up the freezer.’

  ‘Great.’ Jett did not at all see how that was great, but he felt like he should agree. ‘That’s great.’

  4

  C-SGT-NREBUD666-21651666

  The mud was caked so thick on his skin that when it dried he resembled a terracotta warrior more than flesh and blood. Staring at his reflection, he fancied if he just stood still long enough his cocoon would close and he could sleep for a while.