Resilient

by Toni Cox

  “Ghosts. Hold on to Morgan. They’ll eat him.”

  I grab Morgan by the scruff of his neck and feel his growl under my fingers. I hope he doesn’t bark.

  “Move very slowly towards the truck. Where is Bronwyn?”

  It’s strange to hear Andrew giving orders, but I can also hear the fear in his voice.

  “She’s already in the truck.”

  We move. Slowly. I can now see them more clearly. Three figures; all are indeed deathly pale. From here, they look human enough. If I had been alone, I would probably have approached them.

  “Are you guys coming, or what?” Bronwyn yells out of the window.

  Instantly, everything changes. Morgan barks, Andrew painfully grabs my arms and yanks me the rest of the way, and the ghosts go into hunting mode.

  Not like zombies, not even like hunters. No. The way their body language changes, and the way they assemble themselves, they look like predators. Like a pride of lions. A pack of wolves. Primal.

  Fear lends my feet wings as they come towards us. Fear lends my arms strength as I pick Morgan up and shove him into the cab of the truck. Andrew slams the door closed behind us and starts yelling.

  “Go, go, go!”

  Bronwyn turns the key and revs the engine. At the noise, the ghosts change their tactic. They stop the charge and spread out; two move to the right and one to the left. I can now see how sunken their eyes are within their pale faces.

  The truck’s tyres squeal as Bronwyn pulls away, zigzagging through the lot towards the exit. The ghosts are alongside the truck; I hear their odd screams. Fingernails scratch along the metal of the doors. Morgan is frantic.

  Bronwyn screams when one slams his fist against the driver’s window. The truck swerves as she pulls out onto the road, dislodging him.

  A dull thud on the metal roof of the cab tells us we’ve picked up a passenger and we all scream when he slams his arms against the windscreen. Panicked, Bronwyn hits the brakes, and the thing goes flying into the street.

  It was what the third one needed to catch up, and he launches himself at Andrew’s window, smacking it with his head, leaving the pane cracked and bloody.

  “Drive!” Andrew yells.

  Bronwyn puts the truck into first and puts her foot down. We get thrown about the cab when the vehicle rumbles over the body of the ghost in the road. We cringe, but there is no stopping us.

  We hit the on-ramp to the highway at such speed, we think we may flip. Bronwyn keeps her foot down and her hands tight on the steering wheel.

  “Holy shit,” I say once we’re cruising along the empty highway, safe.

  “What the hell made you call them ghosts?”

  I’m shouting, but I can’t help myself. Andrew is as terrified of my rage as he is of those creatures. He hides behind Bronwyn as Morgan snarls at him.

  “You could have warned us. Told us more about them.”

  I pace, my boots slapping the driveway.

  “Shit!” I run my hands through my hair. “They are like animals. Did you see the look in their eyes? They were hunting us.”

  “Erika, calm down.” Bronwyn reaches out to me.

  “Calm down? Do you want to know what killed your horses, Bronwyn? Those things killed your horses. You were lucky you got away when you did because they would not have hesitated to kill you, too.”

  Bronwyn keeps quiet.

  “Ghosts.” I shake my head. “Whose stupid idea was that? Those things are primal. Pure predators. We are so screwed.”

  “I told you they were dangerous.”

  “You,” my finger shakes as I point at Andrew, “shut up.”

  I storm into the house, Morgan at my heels. My anger seethes inside of me, burning up my fear. I can’t even begin to contemplate what could have happened all those times I was out there alone, helpless.

  What if it hadn’t been Morgan that found me after the car crash, but one of those inhuman animals? I am lucky I have made it this far without encountering them.

  HazMats and Primals. And Survivors. What makes us so special that we survived this, this … whatever this thing is … and what made the others turn into the predators they are now?

  Why are the HazMats not immune and how the hell did they survive? Did they see it coming? If they did, why did they not warn the rest of us?

  I slam the door to my room. It’s too much. I can’t deal with it. Lost too much. Hurt too much. Morgan jumps on the bed with me, and I press my face against his fur, crying myself to sleep.

  Chapter 11

  We don’t talk about it the next morning. I have nothing to say; I said it all yesterday. There are things to do, stuff to keep us busy, distracted.

  As we can’t pull the truck into the driveway, Bronwyn stands guard with Morgan, while Andrew and I unload and carry everything inside.

  It’s a lot, and it takes us a good part of an hour. We’re agitated by the time we’re finished and can’t get the gate closed fast enough. I hook a padlock to it now for extra security.

  “You’re pedantic,” Andrew tells me as I give orders as to where everything goes.

  “It’s what has kept me alive,” I say, and he carries on packing the shelves.

  I may have a slight case of OCD, but I like it that way. Everything has its place, and I know exactly what we have, and I can estimate how long it will last us.

  With those creatures out there, our shopping sprees are now limited. We’ll probably have to make an alternative plan to feed the horses at some point, as their feed won’t last forever. We’re good on dog food for at least another six months, though. The house has taken on the look of a warehouse with all the stuff we’re storing in it, but I don’t mind.

  The horse feed is in the garage, with the tools, gas bottles, and building materials. The Rover is now parked in the driveway.

  Bronwyn has turned my parents’ bedroom into her domain - I can’t get myself to move in there - while I stay in the spare room. The other spare room is now a fully kitted field hospital, and my mother’s hobby room has become storage for all non-edible products.

  The laundry is full of water bottles, Milton, disinfectant, and detergent. This is just for the house. The rest of the water is stored around the back.

  Every shelf in the pantry is packed to the top with tins, jars, packets, and all kinds of non-perishable goods. I keep a list, marking off everything we eat every day. It’s how we’ll survive.

  When we’re done packing, I make breakfast. Having a freezer is great, so we still have bacon and other meat, as well as bread.

  Today, breakfast consists of bacon, toast, and baked beans.

  “Eggs would be great,” Bronwyn says before she takes a bite of her toast.

  “We’d need a chicken,” I laugh.

  “Erika,” Andrew says, contemplating the tablets lying next to my glass of elderberry juice, “are those olive leaf tablets?”

  “They are. Why?”

  “Those are the tablets Aurora always gave us. A glass of juice and tablets in the morning when we got to work and peppermint tea during the day.” He frowns. “Did she get that from you when you were at college together?”

  I blink, staring at him. My mind is trying to grasp something, but it keeps escaping me. Every time I think I have it, it slips away again. There is something there, but what?

  “Yeah,” I say, hesitantly, “we used to be friends. It’s kinda my ritual to take my meds with my juice. She always copied me.”

  “How come you guys aren’t friends anymore?”

  “Andrew,” I change the subject, “are you saying that all of you took olive leaf tablets and drank elderberry juice and peppermint tea every day?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Because, so did Bronwyn and I. That can’t be a coincidence.”

  Both of them frown, their food forgotten on their plates.

  “Are you saying we’re immune because we took those tablets?” Bronwyn asks.

  “I don’t know. Maybe not just the tablets. M
aybe the combination with the tea, or the juice. We all survived this thing. We did not turn into Primals. And, we were all on the same routine. Tell me that doesn’t strike you as odd.”

  They are quiet for a long time, before Andrew says, “So, how many people in the world do you think took exactly this concoction every day of their lives? How many survivors do you think are out there?”

  This time, the silence is longer.

  I shake my head. “I’m probably wrong. It probably has nothing to do with it. Maybe we are just more resilient than most people. There must be others like us out there.”

  “What about the HazMats?”

  Andrew’s face drops at Bronwyn’s mention of the masked men.

  “I don’t know.” I sigh. I have avoided thinking about them. “They probably hid in some lab, or bunker, until it was all over, and that’s how they survived.”

  “Do you know where such a facility could be?” Andrew asks, hopeful.

  “I know of a lab in Midrand,” Bronwyn says.

  “There’s one next to Wits University, too,” I add.

  “Yeah, or the military place up in Pretoria,” Andrew says, now excited.

  “That’s a lot of driving, guys. Are you ready to go out there again?”

  Silence descends.

  “Erika, what did they do, exactly, that you’re so convinced the HazMats are trouble? Can’t we just try the radio and see if we can contact them on one of the frequencies?” Bronwyn asks.

  I look at Andrew, unwilling to tell him what I overheard, but I can’t avoid the truth.

  “They are looking for a cure,” I finally say. “One of the guys said that even if they have to dissect this lot, too, the scientists better get it right this time.”

  “Oh, God,” Andrew says, dropping his fork onto his plate with a clang.

  “Shit,” Bronwyn reaches out and puts her hand on Andrew’s. “I’m sure they’re fine, Andrew.” She looks up. “Erika, we need to find them.”

  I clench my jaw. With no starting point, no clue what we’re looking for, and those creatures out there, we stand little chance. I am reminded again how lucky we’ve been so far.

  Yet, this is what I thrive on. Put a problem in front of me, and I try to solve it. After we finish breakfast, I go into full project manager mode and start making plans.

  The other two try to help, but after a while they leave me to it and sit on the veranda, watching the horses.

  I start with a map and mark the areas we mentioned, plus other possibilities. Calculating the distances, I work out how long a round-trip will take. We cannot be caught out there in the dark.

  Always plan for every eventuality, I hear Stephan’s voice in my head, so I make a list of items to put into the Rover’s trunk for in case we ever don’t make it home the same day.

  A trip to the basement tells me that my dad did not keep extra ammunition in his safe. One small box each for his and my mother’s rifle. That’s it. I only have what’s in the clip of the 9mm.

  I make a note of the police stations en-route. There may be more weapons there. When I put the pen down, I hesitate. I’ve carried the 9mm for some time now, but it’s been for my own comfort, and for the feral dogs. Will I be able to shoot a Primal? A human?

  Continuing with my preparations, I put the thought out of my mind. These people are important to Andrew and, as the only other survivors, it is imperative we find them.

  Two days later, we are ready. The trunk is packed and neatly stacked with everything we need. My only concern is fuel. We’ll be driving all around Johannesburg, and the Rover’s tank won’t last forever.

  Andrew spoke of siphoning fuel from the underground tanks at the petrol stations, so we’ve brought along the jerry cans I got from Makro, as well as piping.

  We decide to begin with the military facilities and get an early morning start. Bronwyn sits in the back with Morgan, while Andrew keeps me company in the front. Only I drive the Rover; I don’t trust the others to drive this monster of a car.

  It takes us almost an hour to get to the main facility in Pretoria. There are other smaller ones throughout the province, but I want to start with the furthest one and work my way back. Starting with the army bases may also enable us to get weapons.

  The army headquarters are almost impossible to get into. Luckily, there is no electricity, and we manage to cut the fence. I’m unhappy about abandoning the Rover to get inside, but it can’t be helped.

  Walking with our backs to each other, we move forward. Once we get close to the buildings, we notice the place is littered with corpses. They must have been ordered not to abandon their posts, or something, because they look like they died while still on duty.

  My wish for weapons comes true all at once.

  After this much time, the dead do not stink any more. Still, I am unwilling to touch their maggot-eaten bodies. Bronwyn has no such qualms and packs the weapons into Andrew’s rucksack as we pass each dead soldier.

  “There’s nothing here,” I say, staring at the ghostly compound. “They’re all dead.”

  We leave, driving south, our next stop Waterkloof Air Force Base. The gates are open here, and we drive in. There are planes parked next to hangars, and Andrew wants to check them out.

  Boys. I shake my head.

  As we approach the main building, I see movement in the shadow of the entrance hall. Squinting, I slow the Rover, about to ask the others if they see it, when two pale faces appear out of the shadow, looking straight at me.

  “Primals,” I shout, and swerve the car to the right, accelerating fast. Morgan barks his head off as I turn around and head towards the exit.

  There is another building to our left, and Bronwyn screams as three Primals emerge from its shadow to block our way out. It’s at that moment; seeing them in full sunlight for the first time; that I notice they are completely naked.

  “Erika, drive!” Andrew yells at me.

  I snap out of it and put my foot down. The two Primals from the main building are in pursuit; I can see them in my rear-view mirror. The three in front form a line across the road, crouched, snarling, ready.

  “Hold on,” I say.

  The 8-cylinder engine roars as I power towards them. They are like animals, and they don’t know what’s coming for them. I know if I swerve to avoid them, we’re toast, so I keep the steering straight, unflinching.

  The middle one gets it. We all scream at the loud thud as his body makes contact with the front of the Rover. For the briefest of moments, we stare at his outstretched arms, reaching over the bonnet, staring back at us with a panicked look in his eyes.

  Then, he is gone, dragged under the car, and we feel the Rover’s wheels bouncing over his mangled body. Inhuman screams haunt us as I turn out of the exit and onto the road.

  We stand, silent, looking at the damaged front of the Rover. The gooey mess sticking to it is disgusting, and no one wants to touch it; not even Morgan goes near it.

  “Hosepipe?”

  “Not enough pressure.”

  Silence.

  “Buckets?”

  “I’ll get a broom.”

  We split up. Andrew brings up buckets of water, I fetch detergent, and Bronwyn gets the broom. There’s just no way we’re scrubbing that with our hands.

  I’m upset about the damage to dad’s car, but it saved our lives. The incident also taught me more about those creatures. They are intelligent, but intelligent in a way that a hunting lion is clever.

  They have no use for clothes, or weapons, but rely solely on their pack to drive their prey into a corner to attack. Their strange screams tell me they communicate with each other, even if they have lost the ability to speak.

  It is a strange world we live in now.

  “When do you want to go out again?” Bronwyn asks after we’ve all showered.

  “We’ll go out again tomorrow. We have weapons, and we know they are not invincible.”

  “They scare me,” Bronwyn says.

  “They s
care us all.” Andrew puts his arm around Bronwyn and rubs her arm.

  “I think we’ll do the labs tomorrow. Let’s all get some rest.”

  They both nod and Andrew leaves the house to go to the cottage.

  “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” Bronwyn’s voice is just a whisper.

  I take her in my arms, and she cries softly.

  “Of course, you can.”

  The laboratory in Midrand yields nothing. Once we manage to get inside the compound, all we find is long-dead corpses. It’s nerve-wracking moving through the warren of passages of the lab with only our torches, and we get out of there as quickly as we can.

  On our way out, we take a few Walkie-Talkies off the dead guards. Those are good to have should we ever become separated on one of our missions.

  From there, we drive down the M1 towards town. This highway is full of cars, and we have to zigzag between them to make progress. I don’t know if I admire those peoples’ willingness to go to work even though they were sick, or if they were just plain stupid.

  We take Empire Road off-ramp, and one of the Wits University campuses is directly ahead. Next to it, there’s the lab. I drive across the intersection to pull into the driveway when I see it - one of the HazMats’ vans.

  I swerve right and instead swing into the Engen Petrol Station on the opposite side of the road.

  “What’s wrong?” Andrew asks.

  “They’re here. One of the vans is in the lot.”

  “Oh.”

  “What do we do now?” Bronwyn looks scared.

  I reverse the Rover into the gap between the embankment and the building of the shop and turn off the engine. Now that we’ve found them, I don’t know how to proceed.

  “We go in,” I say, a slight tremble in my voice. “Morgan, stay.”

  Drawing my weapon, I get out, closing the door softly behind me. The others follow my example. I move to the corner of the building and peer around it. From here, I can see a second entrance to the lab; this one has a turnstile for pedestrians. Behind it, another van is parked — no guards in sight.