‘Keep that to yourself.’
***
As a show of good faith, Quinn agreed to set aside time – by appointment – to personally hear and consider the concerns of the various civilian administrators. He had hoped this token gesture would help to calm the constituents, but their incessant whining tested his patience.
He could scarcely command now; his calendar brimmed with the concerns of lesser men, each of which demanded their few minutes to bathe in his spotlight. Each self-important gnat itched to be heard.
Despite the seemingly unending flow of representatives that filtered into his office, there was one above all whom Quinn despised.
William.
Quinn eyed him cautiously.
He looked far more disheveled of late.
William was spouting some diatribe about Quinn’s ‘failure’ to provide for the community, his ‘unjust’ and ‘illegal’ decrees, and how the constituents William represented ‘demanded’ Quinn’s resignation amidst an evident inability to lead. William even tabled the motion that Quinn should ‘submit’ himself to a vote of no confidence; a referendum on accepting the ‘yoke’ of his command.
The audacity of this entitled prick.
The type of corporate fat cat that would have lobbied for war because the economic spinoff would have been great for his portfolio.
Quinn wondered how many of his pre-outbreak comrades would still be alive today were it not for men like William. Men who wielded influence from the smoky backrooms, who’d never even seen the front lines he and his mates were so often shipped off to.
Quinn considered his adversary.
He could stir a crowd; whip them into frenzy through his choice of words and their intonation. He was a gifted public speaker and commanded the respect of his peers.
No doubt he had been among them, sowing discord amongst the people he claimed to represent, agitating them. In fact, he likely planted those seeds with such subterfuge that those listening probably thought they had formulated his ideas on their own.
If Quinn could bend this dog to heel, he’d prove a formidable ally.
No, Quinn thought to himself.
No, I don’t think so.
***
After the lawyer was shown out, Quinn sent for one of his inner circle.
Andrew tried to look busy as he casually spied the slender corporal with the jet black hair as she reported to him a short while later.
She stood at attention and Quinn welcomed her, albeit curtly, and they commandeered the radio room. Andrew was once again relegated to the main module. He stood immediately outside the door in his trademark awkward slant, limp and lax, trying hard to appear as if he belonged amongst the officials despite being so contemptibly ill at ease.
Nevertheless, Andrew puffed out his sniveling chest.
Andrew strained his ears, hoping to eavesdrop on the hushed discussion. He wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but he couldn’t shake the sensation that – whatever it was – knowledge of it could prove useful.
He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but thought he could hear Quinn whispering sharply to the woman; both their sentences were hurried.
They seemed to come to a long pause.
Andrew tensed himself and desperately tried to hear them, anything to ascertain the true nature of their conversation without betraying his motives.
The seconds dragged on.
Andrew shifted his feet and turned his head slightly in order to press his ear against the door as inconspicuously as possible.
‘…alright, Quinn,’ she finally sighed. ‘You can count on me.’
‘Don’t disappoint me.’
Sensing he’d missed the valuable parts, Andrew slid away from the door and waited to be ushered back in to his post at the radio.
Chapter 14
Sullivan leaned his back against the exposed brick of the loading area wall and absently ran a finger over his shotgun’s trigger guard.
He wasn’t surprised by news of the assignment; the compound had been tense the last few days.
Tense, and hungry.
What did surprise him, however, was the supporting cast.
It didn’t escape his notice that the assembly today was much smaller than their last sortie. The scant few bodies present and their relative spacing about the room made the usually tight quarters seem cavernous by comparison.
He didn’t speak a word as he considered those gathered.
Isaac was being briefed and assigned his loadout by the armory staff. He had been pretty beat up their last time out, but so far seemed to be moving about just fine. Sully couldn’t hear their discussion but could guess at the general detail.
Cox was seated at a table with a cleaning kit and ran a bore snake through the barrel of her C7, so concentrated in the motion she scarcely seemed conscious of anything else. After each pass, she would take a moment to glance over a map of the Uptown splayed out in front of her.
A few guardsmen stood watch by the armory entrance and chattered indistinctly between themselves.
Everyone seemed right at home, exactly as they belonged.
And then there was the new guy.
An older man sat opposite Sullivan, slumped against the wall and staring straight ahead. Sullivan let his eyes rest on the stranger.
He appeared disheveled; unkempt and ill-at-ease.
Glassy-eyed and distant, it readily betrayed his brimming anxiety.
He reeked of it.
Sullivan hadn’t noticed how long he had allowed his gaze to linger when his focus was interrupted by a caustic chuckle.
Isaac strode over and hopped up onto a table next to Sully, sliding his rifle onto the same. Sullivan frowned as he noticed the slight wince and shallow breath as Isaac lifted his weight. The brass casings coldly sang, clinking against one another as Isaac picked through the handful of rounds he had been issued.
‘If we get in deep… what am I supposed to do with this?’ Isaac mused as he counted the half dozen or so rifle rounds he had been provided.
‘Bullets are scarce,’ Sullivan shrugged.
‘Everything’s scarce,’ Isaac dryly reminded him. ‘That’s why they send us out.’
Sullivan thought of his last conversation with Erik and cleared his throat.
‘How are the ribs?’
Isaac paused, surprised by the seeming sincerity of the question.
‘They hurt,’ he grinned halfheartedly as he moved to load the rifle.
Sullivan studied the subtle labor to Isaac’s movements.
‘Couldn’t find anybody else?’
Though Sully meant no offence, Isaac couldn’t help but feel slighted.
It was his turn to shrug.
‘Guess not.’
Something about the response didn’t sit well with Sullivan; something in the body language.
Isaac felt the need to save face. Daniel had protested his being pulled for this assignment, and Keeley wasn’t particularly keen on him returning to the wastes until he had ample time to heal. While the monotony and the impotence of his last few days relegated to the infirmary wore on him, Isaac also understood the implications of walking wounded outside the compound walls.
Their arguments fell on deaf ears; Quinn’s orders were specific.
Eager to shift the attention from his physical infirmity, Isaac motioned to the stranger slumped against the wall.
‘Who’s the new guy?’
‘That,’ Cox interrupted as she inserted the bore snake through the breech a final time, ‘is William, our esteemed civilian administrator.’
Her tongue dripped sarcasm and venom in equal measure.
‘And today is the day he finally gets his hands dirty.’
***
The plan was simple. The team would pick their wa
y through the streets and make for a nearby high rise – at least insofar as Saint John was concerned – a short distance further down the waterfront. The building had been subsidized housing once, with a lean towards assisted living. In theory, there should be a variety of drugs and miscellany throughout the building and its dwellings.
Since the mall was abandoned, preference for scavenging had always been given to smaller structures, but the infirmary was in dire straits now. Painkillers, antibiotics, bedding, bandages and disinfectant were all in short supply. They were taxed to the limit. With the failure of St. Joseph’s still fresh in mind and the Regional Hospital well outside their reach, necessity meant it was time to improvise.
Sully took up the rear and studied William’s movements as they made their way towards the tenement building.
He was jumpy; clearly untested outside the walls. Every step was tentative and each breath ragged, as if he balanced on some great precipice and even the slightest breeze would send him tumbling over.
He had no place among them.
Why is he here?
The question gnawed at him.
As the team approached the entrance of the apartment complex, Isaac and Cox sped a few paces ahead and forced the doors.
The beams of their flashlights thrust into the long dark of the tenement foyer and perforated its brooding gloom. Like obscene fingers vainly probing a deep gash, the group flitted in, single file.
Several dark stains, long since dried, marred the marbled tile of the lobby floor.
But nothing stirred.
Lobby furniture and baggage were strewn about the floor and radiated outwards from the main entry. It appeared as though the previous residents had sought to barricade themselves in.
Before hastily trying to tear it back down.
The team fanned outwards and advanced cautiously into the room.
Chairs and collapsible tables were stacked haphazardly and blocked all but one hallway leading from the chamber. It wasn’t immediately obvious whether the makeshift barricades were built from this side or not.
William threw himself against the wall and held his breath.
Isaac and Sullivan exchanged knowing glances.
Cox crept soundlessly to William’s position and delivered an insistent nudge with the butt of her C7. He shook it off, brought his flashlight to bear and peered around the corner into the treacherous dark beyond.
The hungry light feasted on shadow, but nothing else.
Isaac leapt to the wall opposite and raised his rifle. Cox motioned for Sullivan to move ahead.
Sully rounded the corner and took patient strides forward. He stretched his fingers and adjusted his grip on the oversized pump. Careful not to disturb Isaac’s line of sight, he advanced.
Sweat beaded on William’s forehead. The circulation of his blood thundered in his ears and nausea ebbed within amid the slow tension.
Not a damn sound otherwise.
The accessible portion of the ground floor proved little more than halls and communal rooms bereft of a community. Each room was scrutinized for signs of the infected, but no time afforded for their canvassing. Their true prize would be found somewhere on the floors above, in the musty medicine cabinets of private dwellings or – if they were fortunate – as yet unpillaged storage lockers.
The team slipped by a row of defunct elevators and found the emergency stairs. The hinges begged for lubricant as the metallic door pressed open, its unapologetic wail echoed throughout the stairwell.
The four froze and waited for a response.
Still, none came.
The air in the stairwell was thick and suffocating, clearly undisturbed for some time. As the group rounded the stairs their flashlights danced chaotically between its catwalk treads.
Sully stopped at the entrance to the next floor and scanned his companions. Cox looked as she always did – fierce and unrepentant. William trembled and looked as though he would be sick at any moment. Isaac struggled slightly for breath as he crested the landing.
Why send a wounded man…
Sullivan shook the paranoia from his head and centered himself.
With no appetite to test their luck a second time, Cox gingerly slid the stairwell door open just wide enough for Isaac to inch out in the hallway. His flashlight pierced the dark and illuminated a row of apartment doors that lined either side of the corridor. The floor was carpeted with a tacky, patterned mess of polyester, any pride of its eighties heyday décor long since faded. While it was an affront to the senses, it offered some advantage for the scavengers as it meant their footfalls would be padded.
Isaac leaned back in for orders.
‘Sully, you and Isaac. William, you’re with me,’ Cox breathed. ‘Don’t venture too far; this is our exit.’
Everyone squeezed from out the landing and set to work.
The air was significantly lighter in the hall, noticeably easier to breathe than the oppressive stagnancy of the stairwell. As he emerged from the landing, William realized he had forgotten how refreshing it felt to walk on carpeted floors – a much warmer sensation than the aged tile that dominated the Coast Guard site – and he didn’t fail to appreciate how it muffled his uneasy steps. He wiped a layer of sweat from his brow and swallowed hard in an effort to calm his racing heartbeat.
Cox swatted at William’s shoulder and pointed to one of the doors. Taking her meaning, they set off. Sully continued to light the hallway as Isaac pressed his ear against the door. As he tried the knob, Isaac found it to be unlocked.
Isaac and Sully slipped into the squat, square room and methodically bathed its features with their flashlights. It was sparsely furnished; simple and unassuming. They moved in slowly, deliberately and swept its contents. Satisfied it was empty, Isaac set about the kitchen cabinetry while Sullivan rummaged through the bathroom.
Cox and William also found their apartment to be unlocked. William was first through the door; his inexperience in such affairs was painfully evident. His flashlight jumped about erratically with little semblance of design behind its movements. Cox fell in behind William and let him fumble ahead of her.
The dwelling reeked of death and nicotine.
As William stepped into the bedroom, his flashlight’s gaze fell to the figure of a woman. She was curled up, prostrate and fetal on a quilted duvet cover. A simple night table was moved away from the wall, adorned by a heavy glass ashtray that overflowed with cigarette butts.
The woman obviously would have been tiny and frail in life; her dehydrated corpse now couldn’t have weighed more than forty kilos. Her gray hair fell limp about her sunken face, the remnants of blackened skin pulled as if vacuum sealed about her lips and eyes. Instinctively, William raised his hand to cover his mouth and nose. He recoiled from the scene and inched backwards until he collided with Cox.
William spun about and found Cox’s glare burrowing into him.
‘Check it out,’ Cox cooed.
‘Wh… what?’ was all he could stammer in response.
‘She didn’t die from the cigarettes.’
‘What’s it matter? She’s dead.’
‘I don’t care about how she died,’ Cox’s impatience was already at its limit. ‘I want you to check that room.’
William’s features scrunched up as he considered some form of protest.
‘Get your hands dirty, William,’ she chided. ‘Welcome to the wastes.’
Being afforded no other option, William stepped into the room and surveyed it thoroughly with his flashlight. He kept one hand over his mouth as he vainly tried to prevent the inhalation of her decay. The woman offered no response to the beam of light as it danced about her. There were a few bottles of wine and a handful of prescription bottles strewn about her, and the duvet was stained immediately next to her face.
There was little doubt what had claimed her life.
Several multicoloured pills were bunched together on the night stand and on the blankets. Unsure of which were which, William gathered all the pills and bottles, hoping one of the infirmary techs could sort them out.
As he collected the pills, William felt a strange sensation from this woman. Almost as if she watched him plunder her final belongings. He picked up a bottle of wine and checked its vintage; swill compared to his usual brand.
How long had it been since he had enjoyed a quality wine?
William let the bottle fall unceremoniously from his grasp to the duvet. At the impact, he took note of the telltale rattle of a pill bottle somewhere on the bed. He swam the flashlight beam over the covers but revealed nothing; it had to be buried somewhere in the blankets or under her clothing.
As he leaned in, he let the light of his flashlight idle over her features.
Poor girl.
William wouldn’t admit it to himself, but he could sense a familiarity in her. As he patted the blankets down he could isolate the faint sounds of the shifting pills from underneath the crook of her arms.
He needed to move her, shift her weight, but couldn’t bring himself to disturb her sleep. Gingerly, William wrapped his fingers about her tiny wrist – the cold rigidity of the slender limb stole the warmth from his own hand.
William had never touched a corpse before.
Even when his second wife had died some years ago, he struggled to even look at her as she rest in her ornate casket. With no children of his own, and without the love of her two children, William had thrown himself back into his practice. He had always been severe, and though he legitimately tried, he couldn’t forge a meaningful connection with either stepchild.
Once she had passed, they walked from his life forever.
Staring at the lifeless figure of this poor woman, William felt wounded.
He manipulated her body and revealed a small vial of pills obscured by her nightgown. As he reached to collect them, he thought he caught a flicker of movement from her face out of the corner of his eye. William indelicately dropped the arm and once again held her intent in the beam of his flashlight.
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