The Suburban Dead (Book 2): Emergency

by Sorsby, T. A.

  I tried to keep an eye on what was happening out of the front windows, but my view wasn’t fantastic, and the back wasn’t a whole lot better. I wasn’t undoing my belt for a better look, just in case we came to a sudden stop.

  As far as I could tell, we were making a decent push up our lane. I guess having the sirens and proper vehicles reminded them what the lane was really for, because people were clearing out for us, either merging into gaps on their right, or – as I felt us turn – the lanes were parting enough for us to go down the middle.

  We probably hadn’t even hit ten miles an hour, not enough room from bumper to bumper to get from second gear, but we seemed to manage a decent pace for a good twenty minutes or so – twenty long minutes in which our ears became somewhat deaf to the constant blaring and wailing from the siren orchestra.

  Suddenly, there came the little pull of the brakes.

  ‘Shit, we’re slowin down…’ Tucker commentated from the front, as if reading my mind.

  ‘Can you see anything?’ Emile called out over the din.

  ‘The highway dips up ahead, and I know there’s a hill comin up after. Think everyone’s got their parking breaks on and they’re being obstinate bout takin them off.’

  We came to a stop and I risked getting out of my seat for a better look. The motorway did indeed begin to slope gently but firmly downhill ahead of us – in the corner of my mind I was dimly aware that the river Greene was around here somewhere so I wasn’t surprised to see dim, overcast sunlight catching on water either side of the motorway up ahead.

  The press of traffic here was thicker, much more so than I’d glimpsed further back. We’d be closer to the checkpoint here, the border between Greenfield proper, and Danecaster County. I didn’t know exactly where the checkpoint was, but my guess would be up on the hill beyond.

  It took a minute or so, but the convoy began moving again, inching forwards this time. I took a firm grip on the rails above, and kept watching as we made the descent into the hellish rush hour jam.

  As we got further down the hill, I noticed scratched paintwork and dangling wing mirrors on some of the cars – accompanied by angry faces and what I assumed were hurled insults, but they were thankfully covered by the wailing of our sirens. It seemed our leading vehicles had got tired of waiting for people to move voluntarily.

  Many of the vehicles around us were sporting roof-racks laden with tied-on suitcases, or trunks near to bursting. I saw one van with a pair of kayaks strapped to the roof, and wondered where exactly the driver thought he was going.

  More than once, I thought I glimpsed sickly looking figures in the back seats. Whether they just had the flu or were infected, I’d have needed to examine them to be sure, but it did raise a few questions about the spread of the plague – though really, what didn’t?

  We’d always just assumed that bites were the main method of transition – a person survives an encounter with the infected, and later succumbs to it, or is grabbed, cannot escape, and is killed – only to rise again some time later. But this business with Aaron, our patient who was, as far as I could tell, force-fed infected blood…that was a whole new world of problems.

  What if Emile’s conspiracy theory was right? A person or persons unknown were deliberately spreading the infection, creating the undead for some kind of nefarious purpose? It’d be only too easy to gather infected blood if you were careful. Then all you’d have to do is taint someone’s food or water.

  I didn’t know how many parts per million you’d need to create an infectious meal or drink – if the virus was capable of multiplying in water, then one corpse in the river and the world was over – but it was surely possible to achieve on the small scale, and it would account for how the infection had spread across the hospital despite our precautions…and hang on, if someone was tampering with the hospital’s food and water…

  I whipped my pack out from under my seat and began rummaging for the water bottles. I held one up to the light in the cab, searching for the tiniest hint of red. Then I checked that the screw-top’s lid still had the seal. I moved onto the energy bars after that, trying to determine if the ends might have been carefully peeled open and stuck back together.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Claire asked, shouting to be heard.

  I realised I’d been drawing some odd looks from everyone, but I’d rather thought I’d been onto something. Quite fortunately, I’d been wrong – at least in terms of the supplies we’d been given.

  ‘I had a theory someone might have tampered with the food at the hospital,’ I shouted back, ‘what I’ve got here hasn’t been touched at least, but everyone else should have a look at their stuff, just in case.’

  They did as I suggested, everyone inspecting their water, then checking out the food they’d been given to carry. Claire and I must have been given the snacky stuff because we had all the medical gear, while Tony’s pack was full of dried pasta, rice and canned goods.

  ‘Comimos en la cantina.’ Emile said quietly, leaning in to me so he could be heard. ‘Yesterday. We ate there.’

  A little chill ran down my spine. We’d eaten in the canteen yesterday. Anything could have happened to that food before it hit our plates. How many ppm needed to survive in a cooked meal for it to still infect a person?

  ‘We’d have started to feel something by now, surely?’ I muttered back to him, ‘¿Se siente mal?’

  He shook his head. ‘Estoy bien. ¿Y tu?’

  ‘Multa.’

  Emile leaned back and looked at me quizzically, before leaning in again.

  ‘You mean fine, as in, you are okay? Not as in, a fixed penalty notice?’ he hurriedly whispered.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked, my turn to eyeball him.

  ‘Okay, okay. We are both alright then. Nothing to worry about.’ He said, giving me a reassuring nod.

  Fortunately, everyone had been so engrossed in checking out their packs that our little foreign exchange had gone unnoticed. Unfortunately, the ambulance had stopped, a fact I certainly hadn’t noticed until there was the sudden quiet that came as our sirens were switched off. I thought I had actually gone deaf for a moment.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Dave asked, his turn to stand and lean into the front of the ambo.

  ‘We’ve stopped.’ Gavin said.

  Despite that being the kind of amusing, glib answer I’d have given, I was really starting to dislike Gavin.

  ‘Thanks.’ Dave said, deliberately aiming his question at Tucker this time. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Just got the signal to cut the siren,’ he shrugged, ‘not sure beyond that. We’ve been slow for a while, all the way down the hill. I think we might be stuck.’

  ‘Shouldn’t the ATVs be battering a way through again?’

  ‘I’m just the driver, ask the gal.’ Tucker said, nodding towards a soldier coming up our right side. Tucker had already lowered his window before she got to us. Her tone was serious, but straightforward.

  ‘Sorry folks, there’s a problem up ahead.’ She said, ‘We stopped to get a lay of the land, and a civilian approached to say they’d heard gunfire, and that a group had abandoned their vehicles to check it out. The traffic is too thick up ahead for us to carve a path with the ATVs, so we’re going to have to proceed on foot.’

  ‘How far is it to the checkpoint?’ Dave asked her.

  ‘About two miles, but that’s up a gradient when we cross the river. Might be gentle but you’ll feel the burn if you’re not big on cardio. We’re estimating forty five minutes to an hour, barring any issues.’ She gave a brief, almost casual salute to indicate she was moving on, and went to the next ambo down the line.

  ‘You heard the lady,’ Tucker said, undoing his belt, ‘we’ve got ground to cover.’

  ‘We knew it’d come to this, you all know what to do.’ Emile reminded us. ‘Stick together, don’t lose sight of each other. Be ready with your flashlight...’

  ‘Cabrón.’ I told him. ‘One hundred percent goat.’


  We grabbed our bags and disembarked.

  I was pretty fucking sick of being buffeted along on the winds of fate at this point. I’d been a step outside of my comfort zone helping Yanis Lines in his experiments, but that was at least going to look good on my résumé.

  From the basement, to Bailey’s sucker punch, right through to the evacuation, I hadn’t had a chance to orient myself, to catch my breath and follow through on a plan that I’d decided.

  Maybe that was why Emile was sticking with me, and I felt so inclined to stick with him – and likewise, with Claire. Familiar faces, a stable bit of scenery in an ever-changing landscape. Or maybe I was reading too much into it.

  ‘Is it still too late to turn back?’ I grumbled under my breath, cinching the medic’s pack on tight over my zipped up jacket.

  I was uncomfortably aware we were being watched from every surrounding vehicle. Abandoning the convoy after battering our way through was probably a dick move. But these people weren’t going anywhere anyway. They were wasting their time. Better to turn back, if they had the room to, or just go on foot. Those who were ferrying infected weren’t getting through the checkpoint – that was probably what the gunfire was all about.

  I took a tight grip on my gym bag as we started walking towards the front of our convoy. Some of the cars had their windows down, people inside asking questions.

  ‘What’s happening ahead? What’s happening behind us? How is the city? Where are you going?’

  It all blurred into one, along with Dave and Emile’s terse responses.

  ‘We’re taking a look. Traffic. You don’t want to know. The checkpoint.’

  ‘Take us with you…’ one woman asked as I was walking by her window. She was parked in the emergency lane and reached from her seat to grab my bag for attention. ‘Please, my children, we need to go!’

  I’d already pulled back out of reflex, tearing the handle from her grip. I bent down slightly to look into her back seats, where there were two pale, shivering girls, huddled together under a blanket.

  ‘Lady, I know you don’t want to hear this…but your kids are done for. There’s nothing more you can do for them. Grab your bag and start walking, you can’t be staying here.’

  I left my bedside manner at the last mile marker.

  ‘But, they can’t be sick, they just can’t…’

  I didn’t have the patience for this, and people from the vehicles behind us in the convoy were already squeezing past, our little part of the group being serious about not splitting up.

  ‘Ma’am, they are infected. I don’t even need to look closely, they’re late stage, cold sweats. They could be minutes from tearing your throat out and eating you alive. That’s what this virus does to people. You can’t stay with them. Grab a bag, close the doors so they can’t hurt anyone else, and find a ride home.’

  I set off walking straight away. I couldn’t bear to look at those fevered, shaking kids, or her harrowed eyes. She knew what was happening but denial is a powerful thin. I could have been there all day talking her out of it, and would probably have gotten nowhere.

  Similar exchanges must have been taking place up and down our little line, as we’d begun to attract something of a following. When we reached the level tarmac of the bridge, Captain Hale stopped to regroup the convoy, standing on the back of an empty, long flatbed truck, where the groups from our vehicles could gather round for another headcount.

  As Hale’s soldiers took stock of us, more and more people were emerging from their cars and standing expectantly around, or approaching soldiers, cops, and even the medics to ask if they could come with us. Eventually, Hale called for attention.

  ‘We seem to have grown in number. No matter.’ He added, with a faint trace of amusement that I suspected was disguising a heavy dose of irritation. Like many people in a position of power, he hadn’t factored the general public into his plan.

  ‘For those of you joining now, we are heading to the checkpoint to try and secure vehicles that’ll take us to Sydow – hopefully there’ll be enough seats for everyone but I cannot promise that. Now, if you’d all like to pass over to the clear side of the carriageway, we’ll be doing a quick check for symptoms, and be back on the move in no time.’

  Following his instructions, we went sideways instead of following the road. It made sense. The outbound carriageway was a solid mass of cars, trucks and mobile homes, we’d have more room to walk on the other side. Two thick steel barriers separated the lanes, but they were easy enough to swing a leg over.

  ‘Security forces, maintain a defensive perimeter around the civilians,’ Hale shouted, his voice being carried by a number of other soldiers who relayed the order. ‘Civilians, present yourself in an orderly fashion to the nearest medical personnel to be examined for symptoms of the plague. You can tag along but you will play by our rules.’

  ‘I’m exempt, right?’ Tony asked me.

  ‘We know you’re clear, it’s fine.’ I nodded.

  ‘Shit…’ Dave muttered, looking back over to the other side of the road. ‘Over there!’ he called out for everyone to hear.

  A dozen or so people were approaching through the vehicles, following in our wake. As they drew closer, more of our cops and soldiers spotted them, along with the selection of rifles and shotguns they were carrying.

  Captain Hale moved to put himself between this new group and our own, expanded convoy. He didn’t have a weapon drawn, but he didn’t need to, since everyone else did.

  ‘Halt! You’re approaching with guns out and that might make my men a little uncomfortable.’ Hale said, not quite a shout, but loud enough to carry.

  The impromptu militia stopped, with the leading one of their number taking another couple of steps forward.

  ‘Don’t mean anything by the guns. We just want to join you. Can’t get anywhere in all this mess.’ She called back. ‘Mind you, I could be looking for your insurance details over damages to my truck.’

  ‘Sorry about that. Come over, we’ll talk terms.’ Hale nodded, stepping up and over the lane barrier, and indicating the woman do the same. ‘At ease, everyone.’ Hale said back over his shoulder.

  As he sat down on the barriers to have a cold-buttocked chat with the rifle lady, who had smartly left her weapon on an abandoned car bonnet, Claire and I got to work with the other medics checking out the newcomers.

  We’d nearly doubled the size of our group, if you counted the kids. You could tell who was here first because we were sticking together in our little units, backpacks and duffle bags strapped on tight, as opposed to carrying suitcases and holding hands with trailing children.

  ‘If you suspect you might be infected, or you are diagnosed with the plague by a medic, over here please,’ one of the soldiers was calling out, making their way to the other side of the lanes.

  We checked temperatures and eyeballed everybody. I wish I could tell you there was a more technical term for it than that, or even that we used some specialist equipment, but this was simple, open air triage for a condition that’d be easy enough to spot. You just press your palm to the back of their head to check for fever, and make sure they don’t have any obvious bites. It’s easy to spot the infected when they’re late stage, especially if you know what to look for.

  I was checking over a young family, father standing by a wheeled suitcase, with a papoose on his back containing a small toddler. The mother was comforting an older kid, five or six, who was stuck into some kind of low-level sniffling mode. Claire came over, and a lollypop appeared in the kid’s hand.

  That was her secret. Bribery.

  But not all of our new friends were as lucky as that family. We were harbouring infected. When the first shout came up, there wasn’t a lot of fuss. The man protested, but Sgt Bailey took him over to the other end lane, and sat him down on the barrier. A doctor went over a minute later, and began a more thorough check, stethoscope and actual thermometer, heart rate and temperature.

  The man was joined by a
nother, and then a third, with a wife or girlfriend trailing behind. She had to be forcibly taken back the way she’d come, shouting her man’s name over and over.

  ‘Paul! Paul!’

  ‘It’s alright Angie, I’ll be alright!’

  Someone called for Captain Hale, and he arrived a moment later, accompanied by the rifle lady. She had iron grey hair, and a face weathered from outdoor work, but then they passed us by. I couldn’t hear what was said when they arrived at the gathered handful of infected folks.

  The triage was over, nobody else had called out for infected. There were just three people who’d tried to chance it with us – a couple of solo drivers and Paul, other half of the apparent Angie.

  ‘I know what I said earlier, but now I’m not sure how I feel about armed civilians joining us.’ Dave said to Emile. ‘Now we’re on foot I’m changing my mind a bit.’

  ‘I hope Hale will check for licences if he’s letting them keep the guns. Or at least ask if they have done their service. I would be okay with that.’ Emile shrugged.

  Dave gave a non-committal sort of noise. ‘We’ll keep an eye on them.’

  I was barely listening to them, my eyes fixed on the end lane, where everyone was having an animated discussion. Sgt Bailey, who’d been watching the infected, had to pull one of them back from taking a swing at Hale.

  ‘What do you think they’ll do?’ I asked Claire.

  I hadn’t quite finished before Paul made a run back for the group, Angie meeting him half way. They embraced, Paul looking somewhat peaky. I didn’t need to hear them to know what they were saying, as they hurriedly began to make their way back towards Greenfield.

  ‘What about the others?’ Claire asked me.

  Her voice was drowned out by Hale shooting them.

  Nineteen

  Two shots was all it took. Hale took out his pistol and shot two men in the face with all the ceremony and aplomb of someone turning off the bathroom light.