“It’s not far from here. It’s just a little over fifty miles straight down the highway. The guy at the store said there’d be signs.”
“So how much for the car?” I asked, sticking the key into the ignition and turning it clockwise. The engine started with a satisfying purr.
“Twenty bucks,” he answered.
“What? No way.”
“Yeah, well, technically, we’re borrowing it,” Kyle explained. “The owner back there has an arrangement with the army depot, other area service stations, and emergency services, to run a car-sharing and courier service. When people come through, they can drive the car to the depot with supplies and pay a lower rate. Later, someone else at the depot will drive the car back. There are supplies in the trunk for the military staff.”
I cocked my head and glanced at him. I gave a ‘what-do-you-know’ humph. Pulling the seatbelt across my lap, I clicked it into the buckle anchored beside my right hip. Kyle just sat there. “Seatbelt,” I reminded him.
He cast a wry look at me. “Does it matter?” he asked. “There probably isn’t another automobile for miles.”
“Probably not, but single-car accidents do happen, and if we run across someone else, or get stopped, we want to look like we’re just a couple of law-abiding folks following the rules, right?”
His cynical expression softened, and he did as I asked. I pulled onto the highway and headed toward the military installation. It felt good to be driving, and it almost took my mind off the fact that I was now a virus carrier, racing against time. Almost. Kyle turned on the heat, and before long, the car’s interior was warm and cozy.
We’d driven about twenty miles when Kyle asked if I was hungry. I wasn’t. In fact, my stomach still felt queasy. I didn’t tell him that. He had enough to worry about, and I didn’t want to talk about it. Besides, my nausea might not be due to the effects of the virus, after all. It could be nerves.
“We should eat anyway,” Kyle insisted. “We’ve got to keep up our strength.”
He was right, of course, but I wasn’t sure if I would be able to eat without throwing up. He unbuckled his safety belt and leaned between the seats to forage in our packs. He found some cans of potted meat and a couple of plastic spoons. Popping the seal on one of the tins, he pulled the lid off before handing the pasty pink puréed meat product to me. I glanced at it, and the smell wafted into my nostrils. It turned my stomach, and I clenched my jaw and braced my tongue against the roof of my mouth to suppress the urge to vomit.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“No,” I uttered quickly and closed my mouth again. I stopped breathing to avoid the aroma while my stomach calmed down. I took the can from Kyle’s hand. Juggling the steering wheel, the tin, and the spoon, I managed to position myself to keep the car steady. Kyle’s gaze was palpable and focused on me as I drove. He was apparently waiting to see if I would eat. As much to avoid questions as anything else, I continued holding my breath, dipped the spoon into the condensed meat purée, and scooped out a chunk of the gelatinous spread. Raising the spoon to my mouth, I took a bite and swallowed.
***
When we’d driven to about five miles out from the Tri-State Army Depot, Kyle suggested we should hide our packs and weapons in a safe place so we could pick them up when we left. Keeping them with us would mean risking having them confiscated. As we drove, we scanned the area in search of an appropriate place to stash our supplies.
Reaching the outskirts of the small town outside the depot, we noticed a brown municipal government-type sign indicating the direction to a recycling center. We took the turn and soon found ourselves at the entrance of a sprawling pile of junk surrounded by a tall, chain-link fence. The gate stood ajar, as if whoever had been here last had left in such a hurry that securing the property wasn’t a concern. So jumbled and dense was the inner jungle of oxidizing metals that it took a minute for us to identify a building that may have been an office at one time. It was a small shack, tucked between two knobby hillocks of rusty parts. Its door had fallen off its hinges, and a lone window held only a few remaining shards of glass.
We watched from a distance for evidence of people inside, but there was no sign of movement.
“So, do you think it’s safe to go in?” I asked.
“I doubt any uninfected humans would take refuge here. It’s not secure,” Kyle answered.
I nodded. That seemed logical. “But what about zombies?”
“What are they gonna do? Infect you more?” He cracked a smile.
I felt like crap, but I chuckled at the thought. It was funny, in a sick kind of way. “Maybe they’d attack me and eat me?” I laughed.
“You know? That’s something I’ve never seen,” Kyle said as we continued surveying the property. “They don’t seem to turn on each other.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Odd…In that regard, they’re more civilized than humans.”
Kyle gave a wry chuckle, “Nah, they probably taste like crap to each other.”
Convinced no humans were around, I steered onto the grounds. Kyle gestured for me to drive toward a section where seemingly hundreds of old cars were piled on top of each other.
“I think we should put our things in different cars,” Kyle said. “That way, if someone does come here and find some of it, they may not think to look for more. Look for cars that would provide shelter from the weather, but are in bad enough shape that people who might come in wouldn’t go after them for parts.”
“So, older ones?”
“Yeah, rusty, and possibly with major front-end damage from accidents, but with the passenger cabins somewhat intact.”
We identified four different vehicles and quickly stashed one bag or one gun in each, taking care to hide our things from view. We took note of the locations of the vehicles and then left the salvage yard to continue on to the depot.
“It’s time to use our alternate identities,” I told Kyle. “From here on out, remember I’m Harley Evans, and you’re Trey Bronson. Got that? We cannot, under any circumstances, mess that up. They can’t know who we are.”
Kyle gave an affirmative tip of his head. “No problem, Harley.” His eyes were intensely focused on me. “Hey, we’re going to get through this,” he said. “Just stay cool and don’t volunteer any information. Answer any basic questions with only enough detail to get through.”
At the army installation, we saw signs directing traffic for infected individuals to a separate entrance. After waiting in a short line of cars to gain entry, we reached a double-gated checkpoint where armed guards, dressed in standard-looking fatigues, directed me to roll down my window. One came to my side of the car, and it struck me as strange that he would get so close, knowing that one or both of us carried the virus. He wasn’t wearing any protective gear.
“ID, please,” the soldier said with a rock-hard glare.
“We, uh… don’t have any identification on us,” I admitted. At least that much was true.
The soldier’s face remained stern and expectant.
“We evacuated so fast, there wasn’t time to take anything with us,” Kyle explained. “We’ve both been exposed. She’s just been bitten earlier today,” he said, gesturing to my arm.
“Yeah, we heard there was a vaccine here,” I added. “That’s why we came.”
“Have you been bitten?” the guard asked Kyle.
“No,” he answered, nodding his head. He reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. “But, I’ve been exposed through her.”
“Names?”
“I’m Harley Evans,” I answered, hoping my face showed no sign of how nervous I felt. “He’s Trey Bronson.”
The soldier gave a sidelong glance at the car. “This is a supply vehicle,” he stated in a flat tone.
“Yes,” Kyle confirmed. “There are provisions in the back from the convenience store on the main highway.”
The soldier, apparently satisfied, nodded to the others, who activated the gate-opening mechanisms. “Drive ahead,
and you’ll see the research facility and parking lot about a quarter of a mile in. It’s the first building you’ll see on the left. Just follow directions. They’ll direct you where to go when you get there.”
Driving on as directed, I felt my anxiety rising. It took every ounce of resolve I could manage to keep going. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t.
I pondered only briefly how different things were here than they had been at the safe zone. Only time would tell if this was a good thing.
The research building loomed ahead. It was a large, nondescript brick building with only two entrances on the side facing us. There were few windows, and each had been fortified with bars. I supposed it made sense that the building would be heavily secured, since this was a military facility, but it still unnerved me.
Stay calm. I had to hold it together. There was no turning back now. I needed to focus on our mission, to get in, get the vaccine, and get out.
Once we pulled into the research building parking lot, we were met by soldiers who directed us where to drop off the courier vehicle and to enter at the end of the building. As we went through the process of turning over the car with the supplies and making our way to the entrance, it felt oddly reassuring to see that none of the enlisted staff were wearing biohazard suits, as the safe zone personnel had. “Guess that vaccine is really effective,” I muttered.
“What?” a soldier asked.
Kyle slipped his arm around my waist and squeezed in a manner that would appear affectionate to anyone else, but his grip tightened a bit harder than necessary. He nuzzled my ear and kissed my cheek. “Don’t volunteer information,” he warned in a quick whisper.
“Oh, nothing.” I shrugged at the enlisted man with a smile. “Just that you all can walk around without being worried about infected people coming in. That’s awesome.” I turned to Kyle and gave him my very best fake flirtatious wink. I even tossed in a giggle. The soldier waved us on.
We were guided into a large waiting area where possibly a hundred or more civilians, of all ages, were seated around on rigid, institutional chairs. Some huddled about in what appeared to be groups of family or people who knew each other. Others had children with them. Several individuals sat alone, either avoiding eye contact, slumping in their seats, or leaning their heads against the walls with their eyes closed. I couldn’t imagine facing this by myself, and I swore I could almost feel the profound hopelessness settling about them.
The crowd included people who appeared to come from all backgrounds. Their conversations vibrated in a steady hum of voices that carried down the hallway. Cries of young children punctuated the din. Clothing ranged from business suits to athletic wear to blue jeans, and some looked as if they’d had a hard time scavenging for anything at all. The only thing the patients seemed to have in common was that they were all in various stages of infection. In appearance, they ranged from looking close to normal, to clearly in pain and suffering. Few, however, showed signs of open sores, so I assumed all had only recently been bitten, like me. People in medical scrubs milled about the facility carrying clipboards, talking to the infected, taking notes, and collecting signatures.
We were led through this room and another, and another. Each patient waiting area looked pretty much the same, and all were filled to capacity with the infected. As we walked, I mentally estimated how many were here. At five hundred, I stopped counting. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the actual numbers.
Eventually, we were taken to a room where some empty seats were available. Several individuals wearing scrubs were standing around, apparently waiting for patients to arrive. One of them, a woman who appeared to be of Asian descent, directed us to sit down. She took a seat beside us. “I am Huai Li Smith,” she informed us, “and you are in Ward E.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew a permanent marker and two fluorescent orange wristbands marked with the designated ward. The badge on her lanyard read medical records technician.
She smiled as she fished through her pockets.
“Boilermaker fans?”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Your sweats,” Huai Li explained. “You’re both wearing Purdue sweats.”
“Oh, yeah, that,” I said.
Huai Li gave us an appraising look. Her eyes reached my feet and lingered on my shoes. Her head gave a slight shake. “Are they new?” she asked.
“Well, you get what you can, right?” I commented.
“That, you do,” Huai Li responded.
Huai Li turned to Kyle. “So, may I have your name, please?”
Kyle paused and glanced in my direction.
“Excuse me, sir, I need your name. Do you speak English?” the records technician asked.
Panic welled in my stomach as I realized Kyle had forgotten what to say. “I’m sorry,” I interrupted. “Trey has been in kind of a shock ever since…ever since I was bitten. He’s my boyfriend. His full name is Trey Bronson.”
As the worker lowered her head and scribbled the name on the band, I shot Kyle a warning look. His eyes widened, and his shoulders shrugged.
“No worries,” Smith assured us. “It happens a lot. You’ve been through a traumatic experience.” She wrapped the orange band around Kyle’s wrist and snapped its clasp before returning to her clipboard to work on the second band. “And your name?” she asked me, her marker poised and ready to write.
“Harley Evans,” I answered.
Smith flinched.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
Huai Li looked up and smiled. “Oh, no. Just a chill in the air. So, tell me, when were you both bitten or scratched? I need to know exactly when there was blood or body fluid contact with another infected individual.”
“I wasn’t bitten,” Kyle explained. “I’ve been exposed through contact with Harley.”
“I see,” Smith said, making notes on her clipboard. “You have direct contact with blood or bodily fluids?”
Kyle nodded. “Yes, I bandaged her wounds, and there’s been contact through kissing.”
Huai Li scribbled on her clipboard. “Harley, when were you bitten?”
“Just today,” I answered. “I don’t know the exact time, but it was early morning.”
“That’s good,” the technician commented.
“Why?” I asked, failing to see anything positive about being infected by a zombie.
“The earlier the bite, the better for treatment,” she responded. “Was the sun up?”
The question caught me off guard. Why would they need to know that?
Huai Li must have picked up on my confusion because she stopped writing and looked at me. “We need to know, to try to narrow down the type of zombie that bit you. The researchers here have found that the types that come out during the daylight carry a different mutation of the virus than the ones who come out only at night.”
“I see,” I mused, recalling the scene by the creek. “It was daylight when the bite occurred.”
Another worker, a man in scrubs, rolled a cart next to us. “I’ll just need some samples of your saliva, please,” he said. “We’re testing for strains of the virus.”
“You’re not using blood tests?” I asked.
“No,” he responded. “Not at this point. We’ve found this process is much less risky to the staff. If we feel a need for further tests after these results are complete, we’ll do that later. This works for most people, though.” He handed a vial to each of us, and we were instructed to spit into the container and close the lid. The worker wrote our names on Ziplock bags and instructed us to place the vials into them. He sealed the bags and slipped them into a biohazard container. “This won’t be long,” he informed us as he wheeled the cart away.
“Okay,” Huai Li continued, leafing through sheets on her clipboard as we talked. “So, were you in the shade, or was there cloud cover?”
“Wow, you mean that makes a difference?” Kyle asked.
“Yes, we’re finding a range of virus mutations, and it is important to eliminat
e as many factors as possible, if we can.”
I thought about the question. “I guess you’d say I was in partial shade. The sun was up, but we were in the woods.”
Kyle’s face darkened, almost imperceptibly. It was a signal I’d given more information than I should have.
“The woods?” Smith’s gaze snapped in my direction. “Why were you out in the open and not near designated shelter? Everyone supposed to be in designated shelter.” Vestiges of an Asian accent made their way into her speech. “That not good.”
It was my turn to be at a loss for words. I could only look at Kyle with a subtle change of expression and hope he caught the hint. I needed his help to come up with an explanation.
“Uh, we didn’t know about that,” Kyle answered.
I focused on steadying my breath. Huai Li’s questioning and agitation made me even more nervous about being here.
“We were sheltering in our farmhouse,” Kyle continued, “but we had no phone service or electricity, so there was no outside communication.”
Smith gave an appraising look. Her eyes narrowed. “So, why you leave the house and wander into woods? That very dangerous. Were you both together?”
“Yes,” I answered, “we were together. We just…” My pulse quickened. I didn’t want to give her more information about where we’d been and what we’d been doing. It felt like no matter how I answered, I’d be digging myself in deeper. I rifled through my brain in search of something to say but came up with nil.
“We slipped away for some personal space,” Kyle said, finally picking up on my struggle with an explanation.
“What do you mean?” Smith’s expression was intense, her interest piqued.
“Well, we just wanted to be alone,” Kyle explained. “You know, together. Alone.”
The records technician whirled to face me. Her eyebrows shot upward, and the slightest twitch played about the corner of her mouth. “Any chance you pregnant?”
I shot an annoyed look at both Huai Li and Kyle. He’d overdone it with that one, and her tone unnerved me. Perhaps it was just the woman’s accent slipping in, but something in her voice suggested her interest was more than routine. Was she excited about it, or concerned? I couldn’t tell for sure.
The Viral Series (Book 2): Viral Storm Page 11