The faces of the column exiting the session ranged from cold stoicism to the lingering heat of vestigial anger.
Lynn wasn’t able to make out any of what was said from where she was sequestered with the others, but it was obvious the tone of their discussions had been grim.
That sense of urgency was even more real now, more palpable.
Between the figures leaving the meeting, Lynn could make out Quinn as he sat forward in his chair and lowered his hands to his knees. He stared at the floor a long while and slowly clenched his hands into fists.
The door swung slowly, closing of its own accord as the last official left the office.
***
They had made it.
Staring up the final street they could see their prize – St. Joseph’s Hospital.
The signs of the former aid station were obvious. Abandoned vehicles and the remnants of temporary facilities in the streets stood empty. The tatters of tarpaulin covers fluttered, meekly whimpering in the faint breeze.
The team fanned out and picked their route, always careful to clear a vehicle for unseen occupants. Many of the vehicles and buildings lining the street bore evidence of stray small arms fire. It was clear the infected had overwhelmed this safe zone from without as well as from within.
There were bodies everywhere, strewn about and buried in the snow and ice to varying depths, but none stirred as the team worked its way to the central site. Most were indistinguishable, long since feasted upon and petrified solid in the frost.
Sully and Isaac walked point with Cox close behind, occasionally stopping to prod the frozen corpses with their boot or the muzzles of their guns.
It was a wasteland; bleak and uninviting, leaving no doubt that the dead had long since claimed this place.
As they neared the final hub, Sullivan tucked in behind a truck and raised a closed fist; the team reflexively knelt. Cox signaled everyone to stay still and shuffled to the head of the column to join Sullivan and Isaac.
Sullivan directed their attention to the north wall outside the main entrance to the hospital. Several conspicuous mounds were at the far end, wreathed by what seemed to be an abnormal amount of ice. A dozen or so feet away there was an overturned ambulance, isolated and derelict.
‘Probably cleaned out already, but could be an easy score,’ Sully began, motioning to the ambulance.
Isaac sat silent.
Cox surveyed the site. There were several buildings in decent standing with unobstructed lines of sight to the hospital. The front of the building was north facing and in perpetual shade – they’d be able to signal with a flashlight through the windows. The far side of the central hub showed no indication of activity and no additional signs of promise or threat; just the same forsaken tarpaulin structures and ruined vehicles.
Checking her options, she settled on a brick two storey building opposite the entrance to urgent care that looked like it had been home to some commercial space. The ground level windows were small and there was a sign hanging indicating office space for lease.
‘Check it out; we’ll be setting up shop right here.’
Sully and Isaac crossed the clearing towards the mounds as Cox motioned the rest of the team to the building. The riflemen kept watch over the porters as they set to work on breaching the door with the crowbar. Cox took Sullivan’s position behind the truck and raised her rifle, keeping watch over he and Isaac as the rest worked to gain access to the building.
Isaac put his ear against the roof the ambulance and listened for sounds of movement inside; satisfied it was empty he worked around to the cab. Sullivan peered around the flipped vehicle to get a better glimpse of the strange mounds.
It finally dawned on him what he was looking at.
Bits of blackened limbs and burnt clothing jutted out from beneath the snow. The odd prevalence of ice concentrated around the mounds was evidence the pyre continued to smolder for some time after it was lit.
Sullivan’s breath was stolen from him.
Rounding the vehicle, Isaac noticed Sullivan’s distant expression.
‘Come on, let’s check the ambulance,’ Isaac offered flatly.
The spell was broken and Sully instinctively gripped the handle. The latch required a few heaves before the frost covered joints yielded and the door swung open.
The inside of the ambulance was rancid; blood spatter covered the walls and ceiling. Isaac lit the flashlight and checked the corners of the cabin. No bodies, but most everything had evidence of blood spray on it. The gurney was overturned and the bedding was clearly soiled beyond salvage. A small case of surgeon’s implements was upturned and spilled throughout the compartment, glinting in the artificial light between bits of gore and material. The compartment’s drawers were strewn about.
Someone had already been through this; whether recently or as the response fled the site was unknowable.
As Sully held the door open, Isaac climbed into the back of the ambulance and sifted through the debris. He managed to come up with a couple sealed packets of gauze and a bottle of prescription pain medication, but the rest was tainted. The cab wasn’t in much better shape; the dash and console were each torn to shreds. Isaac popped the glove box and found a small Maglite flashlight and a protein bar, but nothing else of note.
Climbing back out of the ambulance, Isaac stuffed everything into his pockets except the Maglite which he passed to Sullivan. Sully shut the ambulance door quietly, as if in reverence for the tortured spirits within.
Sliding the flashlight into his jacket, Sully turned to rejoin the others working the door on their proposed outpost.
‘Hope the hospital’s in better shape than that.’
***
It was approaching noon, if not shortly past when Anders had caught sight of a line of officials leaving the command module and parting ways without speaking a word to one another. One of the officials immediately went over to the guards on either side of the storage shed, and whatever was said was met with some protest that was quickly silenced.
As the official finished briefing the soldiers, their agitation was even more pronounced. Anders subconsciously lowered the binoculars as the theories ran rampant in his head.
The sleeping sniper had finally started to rouse. Fearful of being chastised again for his wandering mind, Anders quickly turned himself to face the wasteland. Anders didn’t want to betray his suspicions to the grunt, and refused to be scolded by someone who had slept away the first few hours of their watch.
It was in that moment that Anders realized exactly how inattentive and preoccupied he had allowed himself to become.
The length of the Bay was now a formidable cloudbank and the sky over the horizon was ever darkening. Now that Anders was propped up and turned to face the city rather than hunched over and surveying the compound, he became aware the temperature had dropped several degrees and the wind was picking up against his exposed skin.
The weather off the coast was beginning to look as unwelcoming as the streets below.
Anders’ eyes darted nervously about as the sniper sat up. Conscious to the risk of their betrayal, Anders raised the binoculars in order to conceal his face from the grunt’s immediate view.
Anders arbitrarily scanned the streets, hoping the awakening soldier would assume he was in the midst of surveying his usual circuit. As his gaze turned southwards, his eyes locked on where the pair of ghouls had previously stood.
Anders felt as if the blood had been drained from his body.
***
With a final thrust, the locking mechanism yielded.
Isaac was first inside and clicked his flashlight on. The door opened unto a thin corridor with several rooms coming off it at irregular intervals; the ground floor had little natural light aside from the slender front windows. The walls were covered in a rich brown wainscoting that ran about a third of
the way up to the ceiling, the remainder being wallpapered in a garish navy-blue-on-cream motif.
The floor was yellowed hardwood, recently refinished but still maintaining the vintage look. While it retained a faint trace of polish, it was evident it had been well travelled since. Despite Isaac’s deliberate effort to make minimal sound, the boards creaked and groaned in protest of the intrusion.
Isaac stepped slowly, purposefully before advancing, scanning every darkened corner and focusing his sense of hearing for indications of movement. Cox and Sullivan were close behind.
Empty.
The ground floor was barren. Nothing here but some dingy furniture.
Confident the first level was clear, Isaac turned his attention to the stairs at the back of the building. They were covered in red carpeting, not terribly soiled but not entirely clean; they muffled his footsteps during the ascent.
The next floor was more of the same; an odd arrangement of office space, mostly vacant. As Isaac worked towards the front of the building he noticed dark spots and the telltale rings and tendrils of water damage on the ceiling above him. The roof must have been leaking; water was running down the walls and spoiling the wallpaper, which drooped pitifully as it peeled off the plaster. Water had pooled in spots and the hardwood warped along the front of the building. The entire second floor smelled of mould and the musk of fouled adhesive.
The team set up shop. Cox directed the scavenging team to set about shifting furniture into a more defensible arrangement as the gunners took positions at any windows that offered a good vantage over the courtyard. The porters rifled through the desks and bookshelves for anything worth taking.
Sullivan pulled an overturned chair to his post and sat down. Removing his balaclava, he ran gloved fingers through the curl of his ruddy blond hair; he clearly came from Irish lineage. He was blue eyed and a perpetual five o’clock shadow framed his square jaw. He was built like a farmer – stocky and powerful, with a nose that had clearly been broken at least once in some previous misadventure.
Probably a tale of youthful indiscretion, retold with a roaring laugh over a pint.
The crooked nose was probably well earned.
He laid the SKS on his lap and casually folded his arms. The other gunner leaned against the water stained wall near another window overlooking the central hub and pulled a pack of cigarettes and lighter from his jacket. He offered one to Sullivan who waved them off without speaking.
Content the building was secure, the team afforded themselves a moment to regroup and renew their focus on the task at hand.
***
Andrew was rattling through his script completely on reflex at this point, hoping the monotony of the repetitive task would allow him to achieve thought on some higher plane.
He had racked his brain all morning for some believable techno-babble he could spout to subvert Quinn. Some jargon he could use to parlay himself into a position of import and solidify his comfortable placement, but had nothing yet to show for his effort but a hoarsening voice and the unabated company of perpetual static.
Andrew wasn’t sure why, but he doubted he could trick Quinn. He had never had to lie before, at least not with such exceedingly high stakes. Somehow he was certain no matter how convincing it was Quinn would see right through the deception.
He continued to blankly roll through the script, pausing a few moments after each sentence to see if any of his attempts garnered a response.
Plaintively depressing the button to broadcast, he began again.
‘Mayday, mayday, this is Coast Guard site broadcasting to anyone within range. If you can hear my voice, please respond…’
Andrew released his hold and attended to the empty airways.
Greeted by the same dead air.
Weary of the same taunting static, he raised the receiver again. Andrew licked his dried lips and was about to begin.
Before he could launch back into his script, the hush was briefly punctuated.
……………krrrshtzzz…………
Andrew’s eyes went wide and he nearly dropped the receiver.
What the fuck was that?
‘Hel… Hello?’
Chapter 7
It was time to move.
The fire team broke off from the porters and hustled across the courtyard.
The structure looked intact; some of the glass windows were broken or missing altogether and it bore signs of small arms fire all along the brick façade. One couldn’t help but notice the bullet holes were concentrated around the entrances – residual evidence of the exact moment the soldiers outside realized the site was compromised and turned to stem the tide of infected pouring from within.
The main entrance was frozen shut behind the drifting snow, and the team would be forced to gain entry through an adjacent window. The windows along the ground floor offered little insight to what was within; minimal natural light pierced the veil of grime and condensation coating them.
Never hesitating, Cox blasted one of the windows out with the butt end of her C7. The glass splintered and spilled inside onto the cold linoleum, a shrill twinkling as it skipped across the floor. The team held their breath waiting for sounds of shuffling feet or the rasp of dead lungs, but there was only silence.
Nothing but the deafening quiet of a mausoleum.
Isaac took one look skyward, savouring the last sensation of sunlight on his skin before clicking his flashlight on and accepting a boost into the building. He dropped down to the floor heavily and heard the crunch of glass beneath his boots. Coming to his feet, he raised the 870 and scanned his surroundings, trying to get his bearings despite the absolute blackness within.
The conical beam of the flashlight scanned rows of empty waiting room seats, and caused strange shadows to dance in the gloom about the perimeter of the emergency room. Despite several missing windows, the air was thick and stale. The temperature dipped sharply at the immediate loss of sunlight.
The room reeked of anguish, and it only compounded the sense of despair.
Turning to scan the entrance, the torchlight revealed a grim canvas. A wide expanse of blackened and long since dried blood emanated from an uncountable tangle of bodies, piled upon one another and heaped at the exit. The mass of flesh, almost singular were it not for the bits of limbs and recognizable scrubs and clothing, sat still. The remnants were old and decrepit, with much of the meatier morsels having been eaten away some time ago. Isaac studied the pile for a moment, allowing his flashlight to lament over the snarl with the hope that if any were still capable of movement it’s beam would register somehow with their vestigial senses.
None among the sorrowful mess reacted.
Strangely satisfied with the stillness, Isaac banged the wall beneath the window with his fist to signal the others outside. The team popped in one after another and each took a moment to acclimate to their surroundings. More flashlights came on and pierced the bitter darkness, their beams throwing more shadows against the walls. They fanned out in silence, sifting between rows of waiting room chairs, the weight of each step forcing shards of splintered glass to gnaw into the linoleum.
As if a single organism, the team scoured all the adjacent offices and behind the reception desk, coming up with little beyond further evidence of antecedent carnage. Nothing but picked clean and half consumed corpses, scattered papers and stationery amidst various signs of struggle. Shell casings littered the floor in places but there were no weapons and little else of use.
Isaac and another rifleman whose name he hadn’t learned had worked straight back towards the far wall. Isaac had been in St. Joseph’s before the world had ended, and knew this to be a moderate sized room subdivided for triage and diagnostics. The rifleman looked back to Cox for permission to proceed as Isaac bent around the corner and illuminated what he could with the flashlight.
Cox had hung back by the wi
ndow, surveying the movements of the group. As her gaze turned to the rifleman with Isaac she nodded her accord with their entry to the back room. She snapped her fingers a couple times to get the attention of the rest and motioned them to stand their ground before she advanced to take the position of the rifleman. The rest of the fire team took cover around corners and kept watch on the various halls leading away from the emergency room.
Isaac and the rifleman stepped into triage in unison, each taking a side as Cox monitored their movements from the doorway.
The dark in this room was even more pronounced than the main foyer. There were no windows, and the air was heavy with the smell of iron and rust. A long corridor ran perpendicular to the entrance and was subdivided into several rooms. Many of the sheets that separated the individual beds were torn from their tracks along the ceiling, the rest hung limp and pitiful. Blood spray and smeared handprints, still a brilliant red despite their presumed age, stood in stark contrast to the turquoise sheets. IV units and various pieces of medical instrumentation were strewn about and trampled on the once white tile, now sullied in a jumble boot prints and spilled saline. Isaac and the rifleman worked their way down the row and scrutinized each compartment.
The rifleman had some luck; a small trolley was in the third-to-last room. It had a series of polypropylene IV bags and a number of packets of syringes, gauze and several vials of miscellaneous medications; far too much for him to stash in his pockets.
Not a bad start.
He motioned to Cox who relayed the info on to the rest of the team. One of those remaining in the main room signaled out the window for a porter, and the burly man with the bat ambled across the courtyard and set to work emptying the contents of the trolley into his pack.
Satisfied the rifleman and the bat wielding porter could handle their job, Cox bounded up to address Isaac.
‘There’s got to be a store room down here,’ she whispered, and pointed further down the corridor.
Isaac and Cox moved almost back to back as they systematically cleared the individual chambers until they had finally come to the end of the row. Where they expected another bed was a small alcove leading a few feet off the main corridor.
The Decline Page 6