Sanctuary

by Courtney McPhail

  “Do I even want to ask what’s in there?” Quinton asked with a nod towards the doors.

  “Probably not,” Malcolm said before waving the all clear to the others still in the vehicles. The creak of car doors opening filled the air along with the chatter of the children as everyone climbed out, eager to stretch their legs.

  He saw Kim coming towards them and he held out a hand to stop her. She didn’t need to see this.

  But she didn’t listen to him, coming to stand at the bottom of the steps, holding out the respirators from the old safe house and two flashlights.

  “I’m guessing you’re going to need these.”

  She seemed to always know exactly what he needed, sometimes even before he knew it himself. Maybe it was just because she was observant and spent a lot of time watching him. He liked that thought, especially since he spent quite a lot of time watching her.

  “Thank you,” he said with a smile, letting his fingers brush gently over hers as he took the respirators. “Make sure the others stay away, it ain’t pretty in there.”

  She nodded and Malcolm switched out his bandana for the respirator, handing the other one to Jackson, who was still pale at the prospect of actually going inside. Malcolm had to give the man credit that despite his queasiness, he didn’t utter a word of protest. Malcolm took out his flashlight and gun and led the way inside the church.

  The interior was as simple as the exterior. A narrow aisle ran up the middle, four rows of pews on either side, facing the simple altar and pulpit. A large crucifix was nailed to the wall behind the altar, blood dripping over the eyes of Jesus as he stared at the congregation that had gathered here for one final service.

  The corpses of men, women and children filled the pews. Some were still sitting upright while others had slumped over or fallen to the floor. Families were huddled together, their arms still wrapped around each other. Malcolm had to turn away quickly when he spotted a baby still curled up in his mother’s lap.

  Plastic cups were scattered on the floor, a few crushed in the fists of the dead and told the story of what had happened here. Malcolm kicked one of the cups out of his way as he approached the front of the church.

  The minister, dressed in white robes, lay across the altar, his arms wrapped around the cross that stood on it. A bible lay open on the pulpit, the pages turned to the Book of Revelation. Candle stubs sat there, the flames gutted out long after these people had taken their own lives in the hope that they would find peace on the other side.

  Having finished the search of the church, Malcolm wanted nothing more than to vacate the place but he knew they had one final task to complete before they could leave this place.

  “There are twenty three of them,” he told Jackson as he walked down the aisle. “We better getting digging if we want to get them all buried before morning.”

  Jackson’s forehead wrinkled and his eyes narrowed. “Ya can’t be serious.”

  “We can’t just leave them here to rot, it’s not right,” Malcolm said. “They get taken in by some cult leader and he makes them drink the Kool-Aid. They deserved better than this and I’m going to make sure they get the burial they deserve.”

  Jackson looked over the congregation again and shook his head.

  “This weren’t no Jim Jones thing. They were just people who didn’t want to live in this world. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

  Malcolm couldn’t wrap his head around that. It wasn’t in his DNA to give up. He was a fighter and that meant there was always hope that things could get better. He would do whatever he had to do to make it better.

  “They chose to die here in this place,” Jackson continued. “Best to respect their wishes and let ‘em rest in peace here.”

  Malcolm weighed his words and realized Jackson was right. These people had made their choice and it wasn’t his place to judge it or change it.

  They’d also given him a gift. If he ever doubted his own desire to survive, he had been an idiot. He did not have it in him to check out like this. The peace he desired didn’t come in death; it came from knowing that the people he loved were safe.

  As he shut the church doors behind him and followed Jackson back towards the others who were waiting for them, he knew that he would do whatever he had to do to get them safely to the island. It would be the only way he could find his own peace.

  Subject File # 756

  Administrator: I heard about your problems when you were first out on the road. “Trust issues” was the term, I believe.

  Subject: It’s hard to trust people you don’t know, especially when you’re trusting them with your life.

  “The incision is healing well,” Quinton remarked as he studied Craig’s sutures. The puckered skin around the wound was a healthy colour and there was no foul odour coming from it. Without a proper blood test, they wouldn’t know for sure that he was free from infection but all the external signs were showing that he was clean. “How are you feeling?”

  “It itches like a bitch,” Craig said, pushing himself up into a sitting position, “And there’s pain but nothing I can’t handle.”

  “He’s been on ten milligrams of Oxycodone every six hours,” Lorraine said, ever the dutiful nurse.

  Quinton couldn’t have asked for better luck than to end up with an experienced trauma nurse. She had been one of the reasons that Craig had survived his surgery.

  “Good, I think tomorrow you can lower it to five milligrams,” Quinton told her and then smiled at Craig. “As long as you keep it clean, you should be completely healed in a couple weeks.”

  “I’ll go get some water to clean and redress the wound,” Lorraine said and climbed out of the station wagon.

  “So doc, any idea when I’ll be taken off bed rest?” Craig asked.

  Quinton looked at the incision again, trying to judge its strength. “I’d say you should be fine to move around a bit once Lorraine bandages it. Just take it easy, no running and absolutely no lifting.”

  “I just want to be able to hit the head in privacy,” Craig said. “You got any idea how humiliating it is to have a beautiful woman shoving a bedpan under your ass every time you’ve got to take a leak?”

  “She’s a nurse. She’s seen it all,” Quinton replied.

  “Yeah well, I figured the first time she’d touch my junk, it’d be a bit more romantic instead of her directing it so I didn’t piss all over myself,” Craig grumbled and Quinton couldn’t stop himself from laughing which earned him a glare. “Laugh it up, asshole. I hope you get shot in the balls and it turns to gangrene and they fall off.”

  Quinton held up his hands. “Hey, no offence meant. I’d just be glad you were too looped up on anesthesia to remember her putting in a catheter for your surgery.”

  “Shit, man, are you serious?” Craig said before running a frustrated hand through his shaggy brown hair. “Well, there’s no way she’s ever going to look at me twice.”

  “That’s your biggest concern? The world is ending, we’re on the run to some magical safe zone that might not even exist and you are worried about getting laid?”

  Craig looked at him incredulously. “The world is ending and you aren’t worried about getting laid? Man, you’re crazy. We could die at any moment. You should be enjoying every minute of life you’ve got left and that includes sex.”

  “There’s more to life than sex,” Quinton said, clapping him on the shoulder, “And when you are done going through puberty, you’ll understand that.”

  “Hey, don’t get pissy with me because you’re too old to get it up anymore.”

  “Ha ha,” Quinton responded, his tone dry. “Just because I don’t hump all the furniture like you doesn’t mean things aren’t working perfectly fine.”

  “You’re talking like I’m indiscriminate with my tastes,” Craig replied, his gaze flicking to something over Quinton’s shoulder and he turned to see Lorraine approaching the station wagon, supplies in hand. “I have a very specific type. Now kindly fuck off and g
o find somewhere to be that’s not here.”

  Quinton chuckled as Craig sat up straighter, a predatory look flashing in his eyes as he watched Lorraine’s approach. He liked the kid and he hoped that he wasn’t barking up the wrong tree with this one. Lorraine seemed nice enough, definitely competent as a nurse, but she didn’t say much. There was a heavy cloud that seemed to follow her around.

  He climbed out of the station wagon, nodding as he passed Lorraine and headed over to Janet’s minivan to get his pack. As he closed the back door, he spotted familiar red hair through the trees that he knew belonged to one of his sisters. All the Alpert kids took after their mother in their colouring, blessed with her curly red hair, light eyes and freckled skin. It was Claudia who emerged from the trees, Matthew and Mark with her, a couple small shovels and a roll of toilet paper in her hands.

  “We dug out latrines,” she called out. “Boys is behind the cypress, for future reference.”

  “Good, I hate doing the dirty work,” he replied as the boys came running up to him, grinning.

  They had dirt smudged all over their faces, the earth appearing gray next to their dusky skin, and twigs were caught in their curly black hair. The boys were identical copies of each other and if it hadn’t been for the different coloured shirts they wore, it’d be impossible for him to tell them apart.

  “Hey Quinton, guess what?” Matthew said. “We found a giant beehive!”

  “Claudia found it, actually,” Mark corrected him, “But it is huge, bigger than our heads.”

  Matthew nodded eagerly. “Yeah, Claudia found it when she took us to the bathroom.”

  “I asked if we could get honey out of it but she said that there wouldn’t be enough honey to be worth it,” Mark said.

  “But it’s huge!” Matthew exclaimed.

  “Bigger than our heads,” they both finished in unison.

  Quinton tried not to laugh, not wanting the boys to think he was making fun of them. The boys were charming with their youthful exuberance. They had been taking everything that had happened in stride, enjoying all of this as if it was a normal family road trip.

  He and Claudia had ridden with the Cahill family since they left the park and they had all bonded during their hours on the road. Shut up in a car for twelve hours a day was bound to do that.

  “Claudia’s right. You’d only get a spoonful at most. It’s not worth it,” Quinton told them, frowning at the thought of them poking at the hive. “You make sure you stay far away from the hive. Bees in big groups are nothing to mess with. You get too many stings and you get real sick.”

  “Our friend from school, Jasper, he’s allergic to bees and one time he got stung,” Matthew said.

  “His face got big like a chipmunk and the teacher had to stab him with a needle and then the ambulance came and took him to the hospital,” Mark added.

  “He didn’t come back to school for a whole week,” Matthew finished.

  “Yep, I’ve had to treat kids at the hospital for bee stings. It’s not fun. They have to get a bunch of needles. So that’s why I want you guys to promise to stay far away from it.”

  “We promise,” Matthew said, “And we’ll make sure nobody else goes near it too.”

  “Good,” Quinton said. “Now why don’t we go see if your mom and the others need some help with dinner?”

  He and Claudia led the boys over to where the others had set up the cook area. It hadn’t taken long for them to fall into a routine when they made camp, all of them knowing the tasks that needed to be done.

  It was good to have a routine. It created a sense of normalcy.

  He laughed to himself at the thought of any of this being normal. On the run from human beings turned feral by some insidious infection, heading towards some government sanctuary on an island that none of them had even seen.

  And yet here they were, all of them working together for a common goal and maybe that was enough for now.

  Jenny and Janet had set up a makeshift table and were sorting through a box of food trying to decide what to make for dinner. Ruthie had been playing with a small trowel in the pit that had been dug into the earth for their fire and she called Claudia over to show her the hole.

  He spotted Veronica and her girls walking back from the trees, their arms filled with branches and twigs.

  “Mom, we’re here to help out,” Matthew announced as he and Mark ran up to join her at the table.

  “Excellent, I have just the job for you. I need some strong men to get all the dishes and silverware out of the van. Can you two do that?”

  The boys nodded eagerly and shot off in the direction of the van, waving excitedly to Malcolm and Kim who were unloading the tents from the vehicles.

  “Can I lend you the hands of a skilled surgeon?” Quinton said to Janet. “I can julienne veggies like no one’s business.”

  Janet laughed. “We’re having peas tonight. Though I’m tempted to see if you really could julienne them.”

  “I think that would be a futile effort that will end in frustration and no peas for dinner.”

  “Well, when we get some carrots, I’m going to make you demonstrate your skills.”

  “You got it,” he replied with a chuckle and he caught Veronica looking at him, an eyebrow raised and a pitying look on her face, as if to say Is that the best game you’ve got?

  He ignored her. She was barking up the wrong tree. Sure, Janet was attractive and smart and funny and a good mother and a kind woman...but that didn’t mean he was interested in her.

  What he had told Craig was the truth. It was crazy to think about relationships or intimacy at a time like this. Sure, in moments of crisis, people often sought comfort in sex. It was a natural human reaction, the instinct to procreate when things seemed dire.

  But he was above all that. He had dedicated years of his life to learning to remove himself from a situation in order to deal with it logically and rationally. It was the only way to be a great surgeon. If things went south in the middle of surgery you didn’t have time to panic; you had to figure out the best way to fix the problem and get to it.

  “I could use your help on restocking the water supply,” Janet said. “Jackson already went to the creek to haul some back but we’ve got a few more jugs that need filling. Would you mind?”

  “Happy to help,” he said, grabbing up the empty jugs that were next to the table and headed off.

  As he approached the creek, he saw Jackson knee deep in the creek, his back to him. The man was stripped down to his boxers, a bar of soap and a washcloth in his hands. He had the right idea. They were all smelling pretty ripe. Quinton figured he should give himself a scrub down too before he brought the water back.

  Jackson whipped around at his approach, his eyes going wide as he moved quickly back to the bank where his dirty clothes were piled. Before Jackson could snatch up his shirt and pull it on, Quinton spotted the nasty scars littering his arms and chest.

  No wonder the guy had looked spooked when he spotted Quinton. He was a doctor; he knew what track marks looked like.

  “Sorry I scared you,” Quinton said, eyeing him carefully as he yanked on his jeans. “Just here for water duty.”

  He held up the jugs in his hands as way of explanation but Jackson wouldn’t look at him as he pulled his balled up socks out of his boots.

  “S’fine,” Jackson mumbled. He kept his head down, a hank of hair hiding his face as he pulled on his boots. “I’m done anyway.”

  Quinton watched as Jackson headed back to the camp without another word or a glance in his direction.

  “Goddamn it!” he cursed, tossing the jugs to the ground in a fit of pique.

  The man was a fucking addict! How the hell had they missed it? They’d let him join without any questions, without thinking that he could be hiding something. They’d been goddamn idiots!

  He’d dealt with more than enough addicts coming into the ER during his internship. They were unpredictable and, in times like these, unpredictable wa
s the last thing they needed. It wasn’t right. Jackson could put any one of them in danger.

  He quickly filled up the jugs and headed back to the camp in search of Malcolm. He wasn’t at the van, the doors shut tight and Trey now perched on the roof, taking his turn on watch. When asked, the kid told him Malcolm was checking over the cars that belonged to the congregation.

  “You're the only one on watch?” Quinton asked, worried that it was a lot of responsibility to put on a kid.

  Trey shook his head. “Alan’s with me but he said he wanted to walk the perimeter. He seemed pissed about something. I think he had another fight with Jenny today.”

  “Just like every other day,” Quinton muttered before waving his thanks to Trey and heading towards the other cars.

  The Wakefields definitely didn’t put the happily into happily married couple. Quinton wondered if it had been like that for them before the world changed or if this new world had created the fractures in their relationship.

  Just another reason why it was stupid to get involved with someone now. Most relationships couldn’t survive the stresses of normal life, how the hell were they going to make it now? Commitment meant nothing when you knew you would inevitably have to cut and run when things went bad.

  He found Malcolm crouched down between two cars, working the manual pump to empty the gas tank.

  “Might as well strip what we can from these. Grab the batteries as well. Who knows when they might be useful,” Malcolm said.

  “There’s something we have to talk about. I was down at the creek and Jackson was there. He didn’t have his shirt on.”

  “So? Don’t tell me you’re offended by a topless man? You got the vapours or something?”

  “The guy is covered in track marks. Arms and chest, I bet his toes too. Guy was into some heavy shit.”

  “I know,” Malcolm replied, still working the pump. “He told me.”

  “You knew he was an addict and you let him into this group?” He was incredulous. “Why would you do that?”