The walk back to the medical facility’s main rooms took time, and through it all, Natalie tried to puzzle out what had happened. This outpost was located in the middle of the city, and if she remembered BJ’s map from before correctly, there wasn’t another settlement of any decent size for miles. Yet, from the population she had already seen, there couldn’t have been more than a few thousand survivors taking refuge here.
“Hey, Mejhit. How often do people leave? Not just military, but refugees, traders, anybody.” So far as Natalie could tell, it was the only possibility that made sense. Maybe people came here, saw what it was like, and opted to try their own luck. It was then that she noticed the slow and curious look that Mejhit had fixed her with, and Natalie felt suddenly uneasy.
“People don’t leave. Not unless they’re on assignment, and that takes trust that a lot of folks haven’t earned. It’s for their safety, supposedly. Better off here than out there, and with martial law, personal choice doesn’t get to make much of an appearance.” Again, Mejhit seemed to survey Natalie, her posture awkward and her eyes blank. “Why? Did you want to leave?”
Natalie couldn’t tell what it was that had made her feel so on edge, but she knew instinctively that she needed to say no. There wasn’t any outward threat coming from the doctor, but something was definitely wrong. Reflexively, Natalie sized Mejhit up, readying herself for a fight she wasn’t sure was coming.
“Let’s leave this conversation for another day. For now, we have work to do, and you have a lot to learn.” Even when Mejhit had turned away, supposedly dismissing her previous question without further ado, Natalie remained paranoid. Visions of men with black bags coming for her in the night played out at the back of her mind. While she recognized them as being dramatic, one thing remained clear: this place was not where she wanted to be.
Whatever worries Natalie had were left behind as she reentered the main ward. The rush of activity that had already been overwhelming when she first arrived had intensified, patients and professionals moving from place to place in a blur of action. The smell of old death that had pervaded the other wing was replaced with the stinging scent of bleach and other chemicals, the best solution to cleansing the equipment between users that could be found, Natalie guessed.
As promised, Mejhit shoved a worn plastic poncho into Natalie’s hands and set to barking orders, intent on imparting whatever wisdom she could in as little amount of time as possible. Similarly, Natalie held up her end of the bargain, pulling the rain gear over her clothes and doing everything she could to keep up or at least out of the way without complaint. Soon enough word had spread, and she found herself at the bottom of the pecking order.
Nurses, doctors, assistants; the facility was too frantic for Natalie to know the exact titles, but anyone who worked there was perfectly content to run her through the wringer without a moment’s thought. It was a grueling experience, and for every dozen things she learned only one of them stuck, but by the end of the day she was still standing.
She hadn’t even realized her shift was up until Mejhit had reappeared, looking even more disheveled than before, to pull her into what appeared to be the dining area for the medical staff.
“Not bad for a first day. I wouldn’t call it good either, but we take what we can get.” Mejhit nodded absentmindedly to herself, and Natalie resisted the urge to snap back. It had been a long day.
“You’ll sleep here, we put your gear in the back by one of the bunks, which you’ll share with your nightshift partner. First thing when you wake up, go into the dead wing and prepare the bodies there for transport according to the instructions at the door. Every other day, that’ll be your job.” Mejhit must have sensed Natalie’s confusion at the mention of having others share her corpse duties, because she immediately added, “You’ll remain our most consistent worker, but it’s good for them to have to see the reanimated up close. Shows them what we’re trying to prevent in here. A good reminder to take your job seriously.” Natalie scowled at the doctor’s attitude. It was hard to believe anyone could forget what was on the line.
“Your supplies, food, water, whatever, it will all be brought in here, too. You got a request, write it down on the pad at the foot of your bunk and we’ll see what we can do.” Natalie almost voiced a protest, but as she had become accustomed to, she was cut off before she’d made a sound by Mejhit forcefully leading her toward the dorm.
“We’ve got too much work to do to be letting you wander around out there, so get used to this. You’re going to be stuck with us until this nightmare blows over.” Whether Natalie had something to say or not, Mejhit didn’t care to stick around and hear it. The moment she finished speaking, she turned on her heel and left, leaving Natalie standing alone for the first time in hours.
Natalie didn’t need the sudden downtime to realize how worn out she was. The majority of her day had been a nonstop flurry of action, and she had been dangerously close to collapsing for most of it. How anyone could commit their lives to doing this every day is beyond me. No thank you.
Opening the door into the makeshift dorm revealed a series of beds, hastily thrown together throughout the room and all occupied save for one. Apparently she had missed the changing of the staff, and the rest of her co-workers were already fast asleep. Natalie couldn’t blame them; sleep sounded impossibly rewarding.
Finding the bunk meant for her, she confirmed that Mejhit had been right about her gear being brought inside already. Everything seemed in order, and Natalie began to feel a little more relaxed until two things occurred to her simultaneously.
The first was that she still had a gun in her jacket, which she had forgotten in all of the ruckus of the day. Unlike earlier, when she had been worried about being caught smuggling, her new concern was where to keep it to ensure she could use it if the time came. That seemingly necessary precaution brought a frustrated sigh with it.
Although Mejhit had been perfectly amicable for the rest of the day, Natalie was unable to shake the feeling that she needed to be ready for something. Unable to find a more satisfying hiding place, she settled on keeping the weapon where it was, confident that it wouldn’t become an issue.
Considering how poorly equipped the facility was, it didn’t appear as if they were in any shape to enforce a dress code, so she would probably be able to continue wearing her coat without any concern. Having a weapon within arm’s reach was a thought that did a lot to ease the mysterious tension Natalie felt haunting the edges of her thoughts.
Her second realization was that BJ and the others were supposed to have gotten a hold of her sometime during the day. Whether they had tried and been unable to, or simply forgotten, Natalie had no way of knowing.
It was a strange feeling, being removed from the others. Just as curious was her attachment to the group, in spite of the relatively short time they had spent together. Natalie could remember reading a long time ago that being in dire circumstances could make a person feel emotions more intensely than they normally would, but that didn’t seem like the right answer.
Collapsing into her bunk with a contented groan, Natalie mulled over her situation, slowly creating a plan. She enjoyed being in the field with the others; why that was the case wasn’t important. The fact remained that, even during the most trying or dangerous parts of her journey here, she had been excited on some level.
The work she had done here in the medical ward had been intense, and undeniably important, but it wasn’t enough. It lacked something, and when Natalie finally settled on what it was, she chuckled into the bed.
She needed the fight. Over two decades of her life had passed her by, and through it all, she had never once thought of herself as someone who would enjoy conflict, but it was true. The urge to go back outside, to be running with BJ, Marco, and Rico again… it was like an addiction. It was a feeling more exhilarating than anything else she had ever known.
Which meant she needed to be able to bring something to the table, some talent or utility that
could match up with the rest of the gang. As much as she loved the feeling of pitting her wits against the undead, she knew that it was mostly the work of the others that had allowed her to survive. She would learn, and eventually be able to hold her own if needed, but she couldn’t expect anyone to take her along just for the sake of it.
Natalie smiled, her careful consideration of her options slowly being replaced with daydreams of the future. She would learn everything she could from Mejhit here in the ward, and when she was ready, she’d return to BJ and offer her services as a field medic. From there, she’d watch the others. Absorb every piece of survival knowledge that they had, until she was just as capable as any of them.
Sleep finally began to settle in as she pictured herself alongside the others, each being awarded medals for their services. It was a warming image, and as she drifted off, she felt hopeful. She would make that dream happen, and it started tomorrow. Of that, she was certain.
Dear Journal: It has been a long and painful week.
Or at least, I’m guessing it’s been a week now, it’s hard to tell exactly. I haven’t actually had a chance to stop and think since I first showed up for my assignment and met Mejhit.
Every day has been spent either working or getting ready for work, and after a while you stop caring about how much time has passed. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about how busy I’ve been. Honestly, the nonstop schedule has been kind of a blessing.
It made it a lot harder to dwell on some of the things that have gone on here in the medical ward, for one. I know that I swore I’d learn everything I could from the people here before I contacted BJ about joining his crew, but I’m burning out. This place is a nightmare.
Handling the zeds isn’t so bad. You know what they are, how they work, all of that. Sure, it’s gruesome, but it isn’t personal. Even when I wasn’t sure if Marco had been infected, or when I thought we’d lost Rico, there was a part of me that understood this was what they had signed up for. They had chosen to be a part of that horrible world, knowing full well what that could mean.
Here, all you do is deal with people who have spent God knows how much time doing everything in their power to avoid the threats outside. When somebody comes in, you know there isn’t a silver lining to the story. They didn’t get hurt trying to fight the good fight, or get sick from starvation because they insisted others should eat before them.
No. They got hurt because they were trampled in the crowd, and they starved because somebody stole everything they had while they were down. That’s the world they live in, and it was never their decision.
The whole time you’re trying to put this person back together, you’re doing it knowing they aren’t a soldier. Eventually you realize that as soon as you’re done patching them up, they’re just going to go back outside and get the Hell beat out of them again. All of that assuming you’re actually lucky enough to be able to save them in the first place. If you couldn’t…
There is a part of me that believes, someday, I’ll be used to dealing with the undead outside. That I’ll be able to handle them, and everything they can throw at me. But having to deal with people who are alive, still desperately clinging to their lives even when you know they don’t have a shot anymore, that’s a fucking horror show unlike anything else.
It got to the point where you could tell, just from looking at somebody, whether they were sick or infected. There’s something about them that you can start to pick up on, and for better or for worse, I’ve got a talent for it. I didn’t think that would matter, until I found out our chemical swabs don’t work.
Supposedly, it’s a pretty normal occurrence, according to Mejhit. Marco had been right about one thing; the virus changes fairly often. Whenever it does, all of our old monitoring techniques could basically be thrown out the window, including our swabs.
Looking back, I should have realized something was up. Taking a swab and putting it straight into a wound sounds okay in theory, but think about it.
One of the biggest things to look for in an outbreak is somebody that is immune to the virus. By taking swabs and shoving them into open wounds, which probably have contaminants stuck in them, you’re running the risk of getting a false-positive. If we honestly had the ability to tell who was compromised and who wasn’t, we’d be cleaning the wounds beforehand to make certain, or swabbing the mouth, instead.
Hell, the only reason we don’t try to detect the infection through spit is because we know we can’t rely on the information anyway and blood “seems more believable.”
I wish I were making that up, but it came straight from Mejhit’s mouth. All of this is one big show to keep the people happy and ignorant.
They’ve been faking it for months, and hoping that anybody who starts to show signs of illness will get shipped over to the medical ward before they become a problem. Truth is, we’ve got nothing.
So, instead of actually knowing what really needs to be done, we get to guess at who won’t make it. We fake an infected swab so their families can tell the other refugees about it, and keep up the bullshit propaganda scheme that we actually know any goddamn thing about what we’re doing. Then we haul away the poor bastards to wait for their death.
We don’t even get to put them out of their misery right away because we have to study them for any clues about the new virus strain. Ultimately, they get to sit in the dark begging for somebody to kill them, wondering why they’re being forced to live through this torture, until they finally realize we’ve been lying the whole time. They die knowing their families aren’t fucking safe at all. We’re just as lost as they are in all of this.
Fuck that. Fuck keeping that lie up, fuck the people who tell it, and fuck whoever made all of this happen in the first place. I know it’s necessary, I know that telling the truth would just cause a panic, but that doesn’t mean for one fucking second I’m going to just sit back and be cool with it.
Christ, I hate this place. There’s something to be said about a person who can do the dark things that other people aren’t willing to do, but that isn’t me. I don’t want to be that person. I want to be strong, and I want to make a difference, but I don’t want to be so far gone that I can just bullshit my way around my morality because it “has to happen.” No. I’m done with that.
That’s why I had Mejhit contact BJ. I thought for sure she was going to reject me, or that I’d find myself in a dangerous position, but nothing happened. She asked me if I was sure, then sent the message, simple as that.
As much as I don’t trust her, the truth is, she’s been pretty reliable in here. For all of her callous attitude, I think she’s just as angry with this situation as I am. She almost looked happy when she told me that BJ had agreed to come see me to discuss my request in person. She even seemed to go out of her way to give me training that would be particularly useful in the field. Or maybe she got tired of setting bones and suturing wounds.
Either way, after a few thousand personal experiences, I’m pretty confident in my abilities to keep the team running. You know, as best as could be expected when half the skills I’ve learned won’t matter in the end.
It’s actually because of her that I feel confident enough to call for a meeting with BJ at all. Learning things from books takes time, and practicing on dummies is all well and good, but being thrown into the water and made to swim has been an educating experience unlike any other I’ve had before.
Whenever possible, Mejhit had me get my hands dirty. I know there’s a lot I could still learn, but as Mejhit herself had told me, there’s only so much that can be done for somebody when you’re cut off from any decent gear and lack medical supplies.
Which, in all likelihood, is the only situation I’m ever going to find myself in. Either I’ll be short on supplies, or it won’t matter because they’re infected anyway. Regardless, I know what to do. Carrying my hammer and screwdriver has started to feel as normal as when I used to have a cell phone, whether I want it to or not.
&
nbsp; Looks like my time is about up. BJ is supposed to be here soon, and hopefully I come back with good news. If not, well… I’m not sure what will happen. I’ve been trying not to think about it. If I’m lucky, I won’t need to worry about it at all.
Ahh, shit. Now I’m nervous. Whatever, doesn’t matter, I can handle it. So long, journal. Be back when I can.
- Natalie
Natalie let out a slow and steady exhale, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the raised lettering on her journal once again for the first time in a long while. She had precious few moments to write, but she always found herself in a better state of mind once she had finished. Her heart was still pounding harder than she would have liked, but it wasn’t without good reason.
The room around her was small, possessing only two chairs and the table she now sat at. There was only a single light above her head, and while Natalie knew it was meant to be a meeting room, it felt more like an interrogation cell.
Her pack and gear were with her, as BJ had asked that she come prepared to leave, assuming they were able to come to an agreement. Any minute now, he’d show up and decide whether he believed Natalie was ready to join. Or so she had been informed.
The Phoenix Trilogy (Book 1): World On Fire Page 20