by K. M. Gibson
He took his usual spot by the heat lamp and the train schedule, looked up, and sighed. He usually did this every morning, but it was only in the past few weeks that he had started. He scanned the ads on the wall opposite him, then gazed down the platform, faraway. Then he stared in her direction. And stared.
Her heart skipped a beat. She had always been the one watching him. She squirmed, gnawed at her lip some more, and re-gripped the paper in her hands.
Does he know?
After what seemed to be an hour, she summed up all her courage, took in a deep (but unnoticeable) breath, and looked up. She flicked her eyes from him to her paper and back again out of self-preservation and uncertainty. As she looked at his face closely, she realized it wasn’t her he was staring at, but at the newspaper she held in her hands.
She let go of the breath she had been holding. No, he didn’t recognize her from the article. No, he must not know of the book. No, he must not know of her secret and powerful admiration for him. As she looked at the details of his eyes, she saw something she had never seen in him before. He was a handsome man, perhaps in his mid forties; lines of age and wisdom marked his face, his dark hair accented with grey. It was his eyes that darkened him the most. A heavy weight was carried there. Those features which always appeared unwelcoming and rough now held a look of sadness and a touch of fear. Catherine realized he was looking upon the front page of the newspaper that was in her hands, which read:
SAVS-1 Airborne: Pandemic?
When she looked up again, his eyes were on hers.
Her instincts told her to look away, to avoid his gaze, afraid to let him know anything about her. But she couldn’t bring herself to. His features remained unchanged, but along with the muted fear and worry was a look Catherine couldn’t place. What she could see of his face appeared to grow softer the longer their eyes were connected.
The southbound train suddenly pulled into the station. The PA system announcing its arrival had been broken for days, and so the train would appear unexpectedly. He didn’t turn to board immediately; he kept looking at her in that same, sad way. The doors opened and eventually he boarded.
Catherine stood alone in the middle of the concrete island, holding the newspaper in front of her like an uncertain shield, watching the train take him away. Air whooshed by quietly. She stared at the spot where the train slipped out of view. It was the first time she had ever made eye contact with him.
Over the next few days, Catherine waited anxiously on the platform, waiting for him to come back, waiting to look directly at him with no restraints. By Wednesday, Catherine’s last day of school, she solemnly admitted defeat to herself as she accepted that she would never see him again.
*
They roared. Howls like dogs with meat and blood in their jaws, calling to those nearby that they were there and nothing could be taken from them; they were the archangels and they were here to spread the word of God with a lasting fury that could not be forgotten, nor remembered.
Come back HERE!
Catherine woke with a slight gasp. Morning light spilled though her tent, lightly brushing her face with its fingers to wake her from her dream. That voice. Just a nightmare. She used to think “Judgement Day,” the story Brittany had given her, was only for the faithful and the fearful. But it had come true. That last night in Fort McMurray…the screaming…
It took a few minutes to wash away the fear before she could even think of moving. No one’s here, no one can get you like that anymore. She was a little girl whose night light died just after she saw a glimpse of the Boogeyman’s face. She shrugged off her paralysis, then climbed out of the tent reluctantly and started breaking camp.
Rigor mortis still had hold over the corpse. Though broken, it was slumped against a tree, rigid as wood. Trying to cut into it was like trying to cut into stone. Nothing could be done here, she would have to treat it at the cabin. It was of a shape convenient enough to still carry. Once she had everything packed away, she started on her long trek once again. It would take her another two or three days to make it back to the cabin. She had been living off the nearby land for nearly two years, and resources were starting to wear thin. She was reminded once more that she would have to relocate soon. It wasn’t likely she would find a new home before she froze or starved or succumbed to exposure.
She travelled for an hour in silence when a sudden distant wail stopped her short. She stumbled to a stop, looking up to the sky were the scream reverberated. It was from far off, maybe a kilometre. Rape, murder, hunting. She bowed her head. It was disconcerting to know she didn’t feel as horrified by those sounds as she should have been. Her empathy had been worn thin like the ocean tide wears out an ancient rock.
It was nearly two years ago now, when they went insane. The population was too great, law and order too unstable, and food too little, so the solution of the mad was to eat those less useful.
WELCOME TO FORT McMURRAY: WE HAVE THE ENERGY
The sign still stood. Everything here was untouched by the earthquake. A line of cars continued down the road as it had stretched across the entire highway; some empty, some with occupants. Drifters-by pounded on the windows of some of the cars, yelling incoherently and frantically for help from the people inside. Some people in the cars didn’t move anymore.
She shivered as she walked, wrapping her arms around herself. She was so tired, so hungry, so lost…she had wandered on through the night with the others; if she had stopped to fall asleep, she would have surely died from the cold.
As Catherine and the other stranded souls approached the city limits, a blockade could be seen on the road, staffed by a short wall and officers. It was swarmed with survivors trying to get by.
“You see that?” a man said beside her. His voice was heavy with fatigue yet sharp with anger. “Fuckin’ nerve. Hundreds of stranded refugees, and they keep us clogged outside like a bunch of fuckin’ rats.” He was rugged, like he had just come from an oil rig. To bolster the image was his lined jean jacket with a plaid vest on top and a worn hoodie underneath, old black jeans, and scuffed steel-toed boots. His face was scruffy, streaked with silvery grey, just as his hair was. Bags were under his eyes and wrinkles creased his face. He was older and angrier, but when he looked at her there was a ghost of concern in his eyes.
“Where’s your mask?” she asked.
“That’s all bull. The virus or whatever the fuck it is isn’t airborne – it’s government shit. Your mask actually looks torn to shit. You should probably take it off.”
She reached up. It had been ripped and crumpled in various places. The airbag must have destroyed it. She gasped into her hand. Her mask had been her security blanket. This virus infected other people, not her. She wore it and became invincible. Now it was ruined, and she had no shield to protect herself. With a shaking hand, she slipped it off her face. It tore away without much effort. Her face crumpled.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he said as soothingly as his sandpaper voice would allow. Catherine shook her head, then stopped walking. He stopped with her while others roamed past. “You’re not gonna get sick.”
“I can’t go.” No no no no no.
“Come on, kid, they’ve got more masks for you, I bet. Hundreds. But you’re gonna starve and freeze if you stay back here.” He motioned forward. “Let’s go join the ranks and riot our way through.”
She peered down the road. A flood of stranded souls pressed against the barricade, their shouts stretching far. The man shuffled his feet impatiently while Catherine stared the mob in the near distance.
“I won’t bite, come on,” he said. He shuffled his feet again, then he stuck out his hand. “My name’s Dave.”
She locked eyes with him, but she didn’t reach for his hand. “Catherine,” she muttered weakly.
He stepped closer to her, then grabbed her shoulder, urging her along gently. She followed, her feet heavy.
“Let us inside!”
“Fucking murderers!”
“Ple
ase!”
“You’d let us die out here?”
“Hey, what’s up?” Dave asked a man standing nearby.
“The bastards are keeping us out,” he replied. “Were you in that earthquake?”
“Of course I fucking was.” Dave cocked his head at the blockade. “You’d think they’d be tryin’ to save us at least.”
“I saw the last of ’em go up the road. As soon as people came up on foot saying there were a bunch more survivors, the Mounties closed this off.”
She looked over the barricade. Two patrol trucks were parked longways across the highway, two off in the ditch. Standing about four feet apart from one another was a string of RCMP officers, hands hovering over their holstered guns. Cement medians were lined in front of them, and all the stranded people stood at the edges, barking madly into the faces of the police as they stood stony-faced.
“So, what, we just gonna stand here until they change their minds?” Dave said. “Everyone too scared to just charge ’em? Screw these cops. Fuckin’ pigs.”
Among the chaos were people standing, huddling, shivering, sobbing, collapsing. There were so many of them just sitting there. She couldn’t help but think that this is what poor countries looked like.
“How’s your face?” Dave asked. Catherine turned to him stiffly with glossed eyes.
“What?”
“Your face,” he said, wincing as he looked her over. “Looks like it was pretty banged up. Did that happen in the earthquake?”
She’d nearly forgotten. “Yes.”
Dave shook his head. “Unreal. This is just unreal.”
He stood by her looking furious beyond words for several moments more. Then he said, “Wait here a second, sweetheart. I’ll get these fuckers to do something.”
Catherine stood on the edge of the crowd as Dave dove in, shoving his way to the front. After a few feet, she lost sight of him, and stood alone at the foot of the mob a lost child. So many people, so much noise, yet so alone and silent.
She searched the group, glancing at the faces of the people sitting on the ground like scattered pebbles. Nearby, a woman sat with her two young children clutching her on either side, staring around with wide, fearful eyes. Their mother sat with her hands knotted in her hair, rocking back and forth gently with her eyes closed. Her neck pulsed with each heartbeat; Catherine could see it from where she stood.
Her own heart skipped a beat, her breath fell short.
Her mask. She needed her mask.
All the shouting had stopped. Buses were approaching the roadblock from the north. Yellow buses, something school children would ride in. It came to a stop at the wall. A few officers hopped off of them, circling around to meet the other RCMP. A man with a slightly different uniform than the others approached one of the officers in the middle of the blockade and whispered something into his ear. It was deadly quiet, but Catherine nor anyone else could hear what was said between the two. The officer recoiled, then said something hushed and heated. The other shook his head, brandished his radio, then rebutted. The officer looked to the others, said a few words, and then turned to the blockade almost reluctantly.
“Your attention please! We will file you onto these buses in an organized and civilized manner. Anyone butts out of line or acts out will be dealt with accordingly. When we open the blockade, wait patiently for an officer to guide you to a vehicle. Once again, anyone who steps out of line will be apprehended.”
A wave of murmurs broke out; hushed, frightened, outraged. She looked back to the woman. Her children still clutched her, craning their necks to try and see through the sea of legs, while their mother showed no sign of hearing the man speak at all.
The cement blocks were dragged aside. A few people danced subtly on their feet, eager to get into those buses, to find warmth, food, shelter. One officer motioned a woman forward while another held his hand over his holster. She stepped forward tentatively, and as the officer waved to the man behind her, he followed suit. The crowd began to filter through slowly, cautiously, reduced to something like cattle. Catherine saw Dave walk through the blockade, daring a glare at the police officer leading him through. He was ushered into the first bus by another.
It seemed about fifty people could fit in each bus, and by the time the third was being filled, the crowd was already dispersing. She darted her eyes back and forth between the exit and the mother sitting with her children, eager to widen the distance between her and the danger. The little ones kept coaxing their mother, but she did not move. Nobody else seemed to try and rouse her either. It would have been the right thing to go to her and tell her to try and get to her feet. I know you must be in excruciating pain, but there are people here to make it better. Come on, your kids need you.
As the last of the crowd shuffled forward, Catherine moved with them, turning away from the mother and children with guilt weighing on her. An officer waved her over to the last bus. All the officers that had dispersed through the crowd to herd people into the buses had also boarded. Engines rumbled, a cacophony of relief. There was always someone in charge, someone to take care of things. Someone to fix it.
As she sat down, the last officer motioned to another by the first bus and sat down by the driver. They began to drive off. She looked out her window beyond the blockade. Everyone had been moved off the road and into the buses.
Including the woman and her children.
She clutched the bottom of her seat and held her breath. The man beside her sobbed silently into his shoulder.
There was no traffic on the road besides the buses they rode in, and no one could be seen on the streets. It was as if Fort McMurray had been emptied overnight. Those who were trapped there were trying their best to hide from the danger that could not be hidden from. Catherine felt as if she were being carted to the gallows, hoping yet that someone would come to save them all.
The buses soon came to a stop. She looked out the back window. She could see a small playground just off to the side of a squat, ageing school. An officer at the front of the bus stood and spoke.
“In a moment, I’m going to ask everyone to step off the bus in an orderly fashion into the school. Do not try to leave the premises or step out of line, or we will detain you. You, ma’am, back to you – first three rows, yes.”
Everyone got to their feet slowly. Prisoners. Displaced. As soon as Catherine stepped off the bus and touched ground, RCMP with stern faces stretched out in a line. People followed the wall they formed into the school. She was shoved and she hurriedly followed the crowd indoors.
Everyone huddled in the gym, where sounded a loud hum of panicked voices. A young man was slumped against the wall, staring off into the distance and rocking slowly. Others were weeping. In a matter of seconds, she found herself damming in tears, for a renewed realization that she was fucked hit her full-force.
She turned to the officer closest to her. He was wearing a mask. She reached for his arm and he held up a hand to stop her. She held her hands to her chest. “What are you going to do with us?”
“This is temporary quarantine.”
An odd strangled sound escaped her throat. “Not all of us are sick.”
“There’s nothing we can do.” The way he said it. He didn’t want to do this.
“Don’t you have masks for us?”
He looked at her long and hard, but she couldn’t read what was going through his mind with his face hidden behind his shield. “No.”
She backed away, staring at him in disbelief, and walked to the farthest corner of the gym, as far away from everyone as she could get. It was an elementary school; the gym was fairly small and cramped with lost adults in it. Catherine touched her back to the wall and slowly slid down to the floor, placed her bag on her lap, and pulled herself into a tight ball.
For a while, she merely stared at her hands on her knees, concentrating on holding it together. To her right, a man slumped against the wall, his hands locked in his hair and his teeth gritted, more likely than not
over an unbearably painful headache.
It had already started to spread.
They lined the walls and the bottom of the stage all around the room. The frantic talk had died down to a drone. No one tried arguing with the officers anymore – they yielded no answers anyway. Catherine sat by herself in the corner, oblivious to her surroundings, when someone’s feet appeared by hers. She looked up slowly to find Dave.
“How you doin’, kiddo?”
She looked up at him. His face made her all the more aware of how vulnerable and stricken she must have looked.
“This is a bunch of bullshit, I know,” he mumbled, then shuffled to slide down the wall and plant himself next to her. “I was able to get a hold of a few of those grunt buckets for some words, but they won’t say much.”
“Why are they doing this?” she asked pathetically.
“Because they don’t know what else to do. They’re a bunch of fuckin’ headless chickens, and they’re runnin’ around in the dark. Makes you think a World War just broke out again and we’re on the wrong side. I’m waitin’ on some sort of spiel about our rights or some shit. Maybe they don’t have any contact with Dickweed Central for orders. I dunno how those things work. All I know is that they actually don’t know what the fuck else to do with us.”
“How do you know?”
“They said so. Well, they said so in choice words. They’re obviously not gonna come out to a bunch of scared and stranded people about how they don’t know their heads from their assess, but they said something like: ‘It’s protocol when no other action is possible.’ Not possible, my ass. How many doctors’ offices they got? If I’ve gotta sit in the hallway of some sick bay waitin’ for AMA to come peel my car off the highway like everyone else, so be it. But no. What they do? Throw us in a fucking elementary school. Blindfold us like we’re gonna be executed. This is shit Catherine, you know that?”