‘Good morning,’ came a friendly, albeit unexpected, greeting from behind them; you could hear the smile in the voice. Neither had noticed the approach and Keeley shifted in her seat, startled by the sudden address.
Looking over Isaac’s shoulder, Keeley recognized Daniel. She returned the smile and motioned him to join them. Daniel was a fourth year nursing student at UNBSJ, and as such frequently worked the infirmary with Keeley; he must have pulled the morning shift as well. He was tall and athletic, dark eyed and obviously the descendant of distinguished African pedigree.
Daniel had moved to Saint John from his native Nigeria several years previous to pursue an education after the untimely passing of his parents. He had some siblings but they were outside of Canada; he’d been making it on his own since his late teenage years. His birth name wasn’t actually Daniel, but that’s what everyone called him – he had given up trying to teach the locals how to properly pronounce his name while still a student at the university. Nevertheless, he liked his adopted moniker. He was kind, educated and intelligent, always willing to lend a hand, and never seemed to be cracking under the stress.
Despite his best efforts to the contrary, Isaac liked Daniel from the moment they met.
Isaac seemed to find himself in the moment again.
‘Hey, man. Pull up a chair.’
Keeley smiled subtly and fiddled with her engagement ring, finding some reassurance that Isaac was still in there somewhere.
***
Keeley and Daniel began making their rounds in the infirmary, getting their instructions from the attending physician.
The night shift had been cataloguing supplies and running inventory at the instructions of command, and being short staffed it was now up to the morning rotation to change soiled bedding and replace IV drips.
Most of the patients here were suffering from dehydration, but a few of the survivors had more chronic disorders of varying severity. For the most part, triage was geared to determining first if a patient exhibited signs of infection, second how to make them comfortable. Occasionally they would need to treat something more traumatic – accident victims and those who may have been hurt while scavenging – but for the most part, they were wards against the spread of infection. Check for fever, signs of broken blood vessels in the eyes, rash, swollen glands in the neck, then proceed with treatment as applicable.
The infirmary was shabby at best, being an improvised space in what was intrinsically a rundown warehouse. You could dress it up and soak the place in bleach and disinfectant, but it still carried with it the faint musk of an old building that sat vacant for too long. Hardly sterile, but the floor space was the most accommodating to their needs.
Keeley went about verifying the IV bags and checking temperature of the patients while Daniel read over the makeshift charts to get a handle on what medications may have been administered overnight.
She detested the responsibility of checking for fever; admitting anyone was running a high temperature was a fatal condemnation. The response wouldn’t take a chance with anyone running the symptoms of the infection, and the acknowledgement of its presence was a death sentence. Anyone feverish would be brought outside, laid on the pavement, and shot.
Those were the rules, and they were absolute.
In the cramped quarters allotted to them they ran twenty beds, all full, with charts scribbled on scraps of cardboard and tacked wherever possible. When necessary, additional patients would be slumped over and laid out anywhere they could find the space. IVs were hung from whatever they could rig. The infirmary was powered by generator, being one of the few facilities earmarked for such privilege. The lights hummed out a dull, yellow light which somehow emphasized the worn interior. The response had also afforded them a couple of gas powered heaters, similar to the ones that contractors would use for new home construction, which at least made it more comfortable to work and partially regulate the core temperature of the patients.
Being a former warehouse, the infirmary also had a couple of large bay doors which in the spring could be opened to allow fresh air in – but for now, the elements ensured they would need to stay closed, and the treatment area would be forced to wallow in its own stagnation.
As Keeley worked her way about the room, Daniel watched her go. She had remarkable bedside manner, natural and effortless, and genuinely cared for the people here. Daniel did too; he was at the top of his class and that dedication was evident. Still, looking about the facility and assessing the state of things, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of doubt… the creeping tide of defeatism.
Sometimes these shifts felt more like vigil.
***
Lynn strolled in to her shift at the administrative centre a full twenty minutes late. The response paid her no heed – in truth, if it weren’t for the fact she was pretty and made a drinkable cup of coffee, she’d scarcely be noticeable. They were almost oblivious to her presence anyway; there was much to do in the heart of the colony to keep the compound moving.
Lynn ran her fingers through her blonde hair in a vain attempt to give it some lift. She wanted the attention of a few of the soldiers. She had contemplated the implications of the compound falling – she would be helpless on her own; the things outside the walls terrified her. Once she arrived at the Coast Guard site and it became common knowledge a duty rotation would be established, she made sure everyone in uniform, everyone even remotely official-looking, knew she had an administrative background. She carefully worked it into conversation, trying to ensure her assignment to the main building, believing that to be her safest bet.
Now and then, though, her thoughts occasionally turned to planning in the event of absolute disaster – what if the command centre was overrun? What if the compound was altogether lost? Even with the razor wire tops, those fences were only so high, and there were only so many soldiers left in the compound.
Scanning the room for any likely marks, she took stock of the official presence.
She would trade sex for protection.
If she played her cards right, she might even be able to secure some lonely soldier in a position of authority, maybe someone able to work some additional privileges for her.
The officials in the compound wouldn’t have noticed Lynn at all in their presence, but she was attractive and flirtatious; that was her weapon. She could play the part. She’d done it countless times before.
They certainly wouldn’t have noticed her for her work ethic.
Or the coffee.
***
It was briefing time. This assembly was noticeably bigger than any recent runs Isaac had been part of. Checking the faces present, he recognized only a scant few out of the dozen or so gathered, with only one soldier in particular he had worked with before.
She was corporal Cox. Isaac didn’t care for her. He found her too cocksure and too assertive, the type that didn’t play well with others. Out in the wasteland, though, she was talented – results focused, a steady shot, and all business. Isaac considered her ‘high up’ and a favourite of Quinn, and Isaac believed her to be counted amongst his trusted few. She had dark eyes and a fair complexion, about the same height as Isaac though a dozen pounds lighter. Her hair was jet black and always pulled back into a tight ponytail. She may have been small in stature, but she was built solid and didn’t mince words.
To Isaac’s recollection, it had been a while since the scavengers were out with one of Quinn’s inner circle. A representative from the armory oversaw controlled loadouts for everyone participating in the mission.
Hm… this run must be important.
Isaac started to settle in to the briefing, and felt a fool for his behaviour over breakfast. He glanced down to catch a glimpse of his wedding band – he wore it even though they hadn’t officially been married as yet. He bought it online in preparation but the world went to shit before they had the opportunity. It was
a simple band of black titanium, still surprisingly reflective given the abuse it had taken from life in the compound.
Thankfully Keeley was always quick to forgive his shortcomings.
Isaac had drawn the assault position with his team. He’d be outfitted with a Remington 870 as his primary carry and a Norinco knockoff 1911 for a sidearm. Being assault, he’d be first through the door once it was breached. Of all the positions to be assigned, Isaac was most apprehensive to the assault role. He’d done most of his pre-outbreak shooting at the range – he’d never fired at an animal for sport in his life – so the bulk of his experience was target shooting at distance with a long rifle. He had shot some skeet before on a couple occasions, but it was never a focus for him. Isaac’s real apprehension stemmed from the fact the assault post had the highest likelihood of getting up close and personal with the infected, and being of a small stature didn’t lend itself well to hand-to-hand combat with an enemy that wouldn’t tire and wouldn’t go down without severe brain trauma. He didn’t have the strength to kick down most doors in one shot, and this mission was going to take them into what was a dense population zone and through tight corridors. Considering the porters would probably be kept at the back with the professional soldiers, it really should have come as no surprise he’d find himself in this predicament today.
Isaac was passed two clips for the pistol and a pocketful of shells.
They were ultimately to be split in two teams. They’d move out as one unit and push several blocks northeast towards St. Joseph’s Hospital. Ground fucking zero, the assembly collectively thought at once; it was almost audible. Isaac allowed himself to survey the expressions of the group and get a feel for the room. Most didn’t flinch, but the eyes of the several scavengers Isaac didn’t recognize grew wide with a pang of fear. Even if Isaac despised Quinn, he knew that command would only take a calculated risk; he was sure the brass wouldn’t have tapped anyone for this mission that wasn’t game… so he let it pass from notice.
Fear was healthy, after all.
It meant they were at least smart enough to know the hell they were about to walk into.
Quinn wouldn’t risk a medical attendant to accompany the run itself, so he had the infirmary prepare a list of priority items and their associated descriptions. The goal was intravenous solution, IV bags and the like, respirators, bandages, surgical instruments; any pills or drugs you could find. Soap, disinfectant, toothpaste, bedding, assorted toiletries…
From the sounds of it, they’d take anything.
Without a trained attendant, the salvage team would have to rely on the smash-and-grab style for anything that resembled the items described. In and out, no need to linger, and no reason to probe the halls of the hospital any deeper than need be. Take mental notes and remember any opportunities you couldn’t get to, but no unnecessary heroics. There had been an official presence at St. Joseph’s at the early stages of the outbreak, so there was a very real possibility of recovering ammunition and weaponry as well as miscellaneous salvage of value.
Quinn’s scouts had been floating around this part of the Uptown at his specific behest, trying to determine if a big play like this was feasible. While the scouts individually never got into the hallways of the hospital, the site reportedly looked promising, and most of the reanimated dead had meandered off in the time since the site was abandoned.
Once they neared the target, they were to breach an adjacent building with a clear line of sight and split up. A seven man fire team would move in to the hospital while the scavenging team holed up awaiting signal. Whereas Quinn fully expected the fire team to find itself in close combat, he didn’t want them carrying anything that would give the ghouls a handle with which to grab on to and haul them down, so he instructed them to move in with nothing but weapons and ammo. The salvage team would use that time to mark the cleared building and reinforce it insofar as possible.
If this run was successful, and if the hospital was as rich with salvage as suspected, Quinn would want to be back.
The three designated porters would be carrying sidearms and improvised melee weapons, but their primary purpose was stocking their 65L packs. They would be covered by two babysitters, both sporting refurbished surplus Russian SKS 7.62mm’s with bayonets affixed. They would lay low, remain out of sight and keep the porters covered while the team gained entry. If things went to shit and the fire team needed an exit, they would provide a base of fire for retreat. If all went according to plan, the two gunners would hold the building adjacent while the rest returned their supplies to the compound. They would brief Quinn on what materials would be needed to establish a more permanent outpost and – hopefully – a supply line. Their relief would come as soon as possible.
It was a good plan; had contingencies and was forward thinking.
Isaac turned the shotgun over in his hands, getting reacquainted with the weapon. He had carried this piece before, and he trusted the feel and weight of the 12 gauge. He preferred his Mossberg, but the Remington was a fine choice. The Norinco was every bit as reliable as the authentic Colt version, and the .45 caliber model had a manageable, balanced recoil. Isaac also always carried with him a fixed blade knife he had found on a previous run – he had owned one just like it; a Gerber Bear Grylls survival knife. It was hokey and marketed to city boys camping at National Parks moreso than the true outdoorsman, but the 4.8” blade was tempered cold steel, full tang and partially serrated, and it came with a sharpener and fire starter built into the sheath to boot.
It was ghastly, but effective.
Isaac was passed a flashlight to affix to the rails on the 870; he’d need it to check rooms on the way in. It was surprisingly light, but even the scant few ounces it represented would slow his ability to react with the shotgun. Still, he’d prefer the ability to see his way around, and rationalized the ability to see where he was going would more than compensate him for the slightly delayed reaction time.
Isaac was, however, much less enthused with covering fire being provided by the SKS. They were common guns, he’d see them at the range from time to time; he’d even personally put a few rounds through an SKS or two. They were easy to get a hold of, though still somehow collector’s items. They were loud – deafening, really – but they boasted serious stopping power.
But really, if the shit hit the fan, the noise wouldn’t be his primary concern.
Content with their assignment, the team suited up. Isaac racked the slide on the shotgun a couple times before loading it.
He loved that sound.
Chapter 4
It was an uncharacteristically clear day; the recent weeklong cloud cover had finally broken to afford the morning sun an opportunity to shine through, and the wind was not present but for a light breeze.
Anders took a deep breath, filling his lungs to capacity. It didn’t matter that the air was still cold – this was as sure a sign as possible that spring had not yet completely forsaken them.
And it felt good.
He was once again stationed in the nest above the civilian living quarters, scanning the landscape. The natural light and absence of flurries and freezing rain would mean he might be able to do some proper surveying today.
A salvaging team was setting up at the main gates for departure; Quinn must be using the break in the weather to try and scrape something together. It was a good size crew heading out, as well. This morning Anders was smart enough to remember to bring a cup of that weak tea up with him to the nest, something warm to keep the mobility in his fingers for at least a little while. He had also smuggled a few extra packets of sugar with him for an extra little boost of caloric intake.
Yes, he thought, managing an awkward grin for his benefit alone.
Today would be a good day.
The salvagers headed out and shut the gate behind them. Not surprisingly, the scavenging team set off north, up the hill between the two large retail
complexes whose names he could never keep straight.
One of the buildings had a strange assortment of carved statues outside, hewn from rough timber. They were effigies of people, frozen in time, arranged to be cheerlessly facing outwards, an eternal silence between them. Waiting for something that’d never come, they stayed while others left.
They lingered.
There was something deeply unsettling about them.
The two complexes were raided through already and there wasn’t much left to be found inside but the scattered infected. There was a pedway system that the compound had once held as a conduit for supplies being pillaged from the mall and the city market, but once it was determined they had picked it clean there was little incentive to maintain a permanent presence there.
Couldn’t spare the manpower.
Couldn’t spare the bullets, either.
They had barricaded the exits and marked it as a “No Entry” building as best they could and left it to rot.
The streets immediately adjacent to the east of the compound had probably been picked over already, and the southern tip of the peninsula had been thought largely burned out weeks ago – the nests had spotted the smoke and flames. For a while there was concern the inferno would build and storm its way towards their position on the harbour; it would appear the fires came to a line of brick period homes and waned until exhausted. Though the great fires were out, steam and white smoke billowed amongst the remains of the charred and skeletal structures.
No one truthfully knew how the fires started, but there were a host of theories about the compound, ranging from natural gas tanks to other pockets of survivors wielding improvised weaponry, like Molotovs. Most of the buildings in that part of town were old and of wood construction; it wouldn’t have taken much to set the place ablaze by accident.
Or deliberately; whichever.
Anders knew there was once a refugee camp, very similar to the compound he now found himself in at the tip of the landmass, but he couldn’t get a good bead on it with the relatively poor magnification of his binoculars. He had seen it once before when making landfall the first time in Canada. It was an immense stone construct – it should have survived the flames.
The Decline Page 3