by Anna Abner
“Everyone settling in?” he asked, leading two men, both older than us.
“Something wrong?” Pollard asked, positioning himself between Malcolm and Hunny and me.
“No, just a routine intake exam.” He brought his hands out from behind his back and showed us an ear thermometer and a wad of latex gloves.
“What kind of exam?” Pollard asked. “None of us are infected.”
Suddenly the confines of the room weren’t comforting, but restrictive.
“Temperature check. We can’t be too careful.”
I fisted both hands so tight my fingernails cut into my palms. I didn’t enjoy Malcolm’s tone or the way he blocked the only exit. Pollard stepped in front of me, so close the back of his T-shirt was all I could see for a moment.
“That’s not necessary,” Pollard said. “We’re not infected.”
“Then it won’t hurt to check.” Malcolm smiled, but it was cold and unsympathetic. Like a doll’s painted on smile.
Pollard grumbled, “This is ridiculous.” But he allowed the older man to take his temperature.
“Ninety-eight point five,” Malcolm announced, looking right at me. “Step on up.”
I moved nearer, annoyed at the invasion of our privacy, but confident I didn’t have a fever. Malcolm replaced the thermometer tip with a fresh one, and then pushed it into my ear. I shivered as the device beeped three times.
“Ninety-eight point six on the dot,” Malcolm said. “Next.”
He gestured for Hunny to take a turn. Ducking her head shyly, she stuck close to Pollard, but she didn’t fight when Malcolm inserted the thermometer in her ear.
Three beeps later his face blanched. “One hundred point one. Hoyt,” he snapped at the men behind him. “Get her to isolation.”
The room was suddenly too small, too crowded. I couldn’t breathe properly. “What?”
Malcolm snatched Hunny’s arm, but Pollard pulled on the other.
“Don’t fight me on this.” Malcolm shoved him hard in the chest, knocking him off balance.
I clapped my hand over my mouth. All I wanted to do was grab Hunny and run. But we were locked inside a fence. There was nowhere to go.
“She’s hot,” Malcolm said. “She has to be quarantined. No exceptions.”
Pollard grabbed the man’s camo shirt. “She’s not infected. The red virus is no longer contagious!” His tone sent shivers up and down my arms. He was scared, which was enough to propel me into a panic.
“Are you a doctor?” Malcolm shouted. “Are you an expert in how infections spread? No? That’s what I thought.” With a hard tug, Malcolm passed Hunny into the hands of the two men behind him.
“You don’t have the right!” Pollard exploded.
Hunny’s eyes filled with shiny tears, and I reached around Malcolm to grasp her hand. “Don’t fight,” I said. “We’ll get you out. Be brave. Just don’t fight them.”
“I don’t want to go.” Hoyt dragged her onto the landing. “Pollard!” The second man picked her up and swept her away. She screamed all the way across the parking lot and up the stairs of the east barracks building.
Malcolm hadn’t even broken a sweat while I couldn’t catch my breath. “She’ll be safe,” he assured. “No one is going to hurt her.”
“You can’t lock her up,” Pollard growled. “She’s not a criminal.”
“It’s for everyone’s safety. If her fever breaks, she’ll be released.”
“Please don’t do this,” I pleaded.
“If you want to stay in my camp, these are the rules,” Malcolm said and then stomped away, slamming the door.
I hurried to the window and peered at the building on the other side of the parking lot. Malcolm’s two lackeys carried Hunny into a barracks room, separated from Ben’s, and then they locked her in. Alone.
“This feels wrong,” I whispered into the cold windowpane. “She’s just a little girl.”
“It feels wrong because it is wrong.” Pollard moaned. “It’s not right to lock an eight-year-old in a room for three days.”
“He said he’d take care of her.” I nodded repeatedly. I had to believe him. “She’ll be fine. You and I both know she’s not a zombie.”
The door burst open, scaring me so bad I fell on my butt on his bed.
Simone glanced from me to Pollard. “Did you get your temp taken, too?” Without waiting for an answer, she flopped onto her bottom bunk with an exaggerated groan of exhaustion. Even from across the room I smelled booze fumes on her breath, in her hair, and all over her clothes.
Pollard sank beside me and, with a sympathetic murmur, wrapped his arms around me. Grateful, I soaked in his warmth and strength.
“I don’t like it,” he whispered. “Are you sure this is what you want? We could break them out and leave. Now.”
I hated the idea of Hunny being sequestered, but someone with real medical expertise was finally looking at Ben. “Not yet.” The words burned coming out. Was it wrong? Was I being selfish putting the future of the antiserum above the fate of two people I cared about? “Let’s give them a couple days. Let’s see what that guy Smart comes up with.” I tilted my chin to meet his frightened blue eyes. “Okay?”
I clung to the hope that things would work out. Hunny’s fever would break. Smart would analyze the antiserum in Ben’s blood. We’d make friends at camp.
“Huh,” he snorted, tightening his hold on me. “A couple days.”
I didn’t want to go back on the road, back into the path of zombie packs. Back to scrounging for food and drying up from dehydration.
“It’ll be fine,” I said. I hoped I was right.
Chapter Ten
“I want to explore,” I said. I needed to see with my own eyes the kind of operation Malcolm, Smart, and the rest were running. “Will you come with me?”
“I’ll come.” Pollard abandoned his pack on the single bed.
“I’m going to chill here,” Simone said.
Pollard followed me onto the walkway outside. “I don’t want you going anywhere alone.”
“That sounds like what Ben said.”
“What did he say?” Pollard asked.
“Not to get separated from you.” I started downstairs. “Why? What did he say to you in the jeep?”
He hesitated. “He said not to let you out of my sight.” We hit the pavement and turned left. “He said if things get bad, it’s okay to leave him behind in order to get you and Hunny out.”
Grimacing, I hugged my middle. “That’s not going to happen.” It couldn’t.
“I sure hope not.”
We walked the perimeter of the fence, the one keeping us in and packs of Reds out. It encircled the two barracks buildings, parking lot, picnic area, a patch of dirt that had been dug up for farming, and several Humvees arranged in neat rows. In fact, everything was neat and tidy. The few people I saw on our walk were busy, but clean and dressed in camo pants or military issue green shirts.
And security was a top priority. One guard stood on the roof of each building. Plus the one guarding the road leading onto the base. And they were all armed.
The path we followed around the perimeter was a well-used groove in the sandy ground marked with countless boot prints. They must have walked the circuit a lot. As we rounded the east barracks I counted the doors. Ben’s was closed, and the curtains were drawn. No light, no movement, no clue that he was safe. Or still there.
But he was probably going through an intake exam or something. A vitals check maybe. A medical history questionnaire? I’d ask Malcolm or Smart first chance I got.
Behind the building was a sanitation set-up, and my eyes widened in appreciation. “Cool,” I said. “They’re hygienic. That’s really important.”
“This is impressive.” Pollard examined two plywood shower stalls beneath a mini water tower. Beside it was a spigot over a bathtub for washing hands or clothes or dishes. Plastic piping linked everything together with cold water.
“This could work,�
�� I said, staring across the black asphalt at the piecemeal fence. “We could be okay here.”
Before Pollard answered me an old-fashioned triangle bell straight out of a spaghetti western, clanged. Dinner. Six p.m. on the dot.
“Dinnertime,” he said, reaching for my hand. I took it, pushing my fingers between his larger ones, grateful for his presence.
We followed the men toward four long picnic tables that had been arranged under the only trees within the fencing, two ancient oaks. We got a lot of curious stares, but nobody stepped forward to say hello or welcome either of us into the camp.
That was fine. I didn’t feel like talking anyway.
Simone met us in the common area. “Make any new friends?” she asked, slipping an arm through Pollard’s.
Feeling awkward, I released his hand and moved a step ahead. I didn’t want to fight over him or engage in her drama. It didn’t feel very important amid everything else that was going on.
“No,” he answered. “Did you?”
In a teasing tone she said, “One or two. The garden guy is nice.”
“Who’s that?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes at me. “The guy who works in the garden.”
The men in front of us lined up at a folding table for their rations. Pollard gestured for me to go ahead of him, and a man handed me an MRE, or Meal Ready to Eat. And then he lifted the edge of a plastic tub and brought out a dinner roll. A real, fresh yeasty ball of deliciousness. I couldn’t help it. I gasped, grabbing it right out of his hand and pressing it to my nose. It smelled like Thanksgiving dinner and home and family.
“How did you do this?” I asked.
Smiling broadly, Malcolm approached. “You like it? We make them every day. Here.” He plucked another out of the tub. “Have two. As a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift.” He laughed good-naturedly.
I flushed, embarrassed that the men had seen my reaction. In fact, I caught the gazes of several people. Ducking my head, I accepted my dinner and moved toward the only empty picnic table, Pollard and Simone right behind me.
“Hi.”
I jerked around, startled for a moment. But it was only the pale blonde girl. Our neighbor, Juliet.
She kept her head down and her long hair shaded her face as she hugged an MRE and piece of bread to her chest.
“Join us,” Pollard said, scooting over and making room on his side of the table. “Juliet, right?”
She nodded and sat. “Thanks.”
“How long have you been here?” Simone asked with her mouth full of dinner roll. “Is it cool? Do you like it?”
Juliet didn’t raise her head, didn’t answer, didn’t even set her food down.
Shy was too small a word for her.
Wanting to put her at ease I said, “Don’t mind her. She’s always like that.”
Simone gave me an exasperated look and re-focused on her meal.
I tore open my brown plastic pouch, and out fell several smaller pouches. “What is this?”
“My dad used these on camping trips,” Pollard explained as he sorted the contents on the table. “It’s a hot meal, which is nice, but I never ate one that tasted good.” He made a face as he poured a bit of water into the now empty outer packaging and added both a sealed chemical envelope and the pouch labeled chicken marsala, folding the top down.
“When the chemical bag is submerged it creates heat which boils the water and warms the chicken.” Pollard repeated the task with my dinner and then Simone’s. “The side dishes are eaten cold.” He spread out small packets of graham crackers, jelly, peanut butter, hot sauce, and saltines. Everyone chose a couple things to try.
Pollard was right. The chicken marsala was disgusting. Even hot and seasoned, it was like eating paste.
“How’s yours?” he asked me.
Simone answered instead, “It’s dog food.”
“It’s not as good as the things you cook,” I told him. “After eating this, I’m missing your squirrel and raccoon concoctions.”
“I guess MREs,” he gestured at his meal, “mean I won’t get to cook.”
“Maybe you can help with the rolls,” I said. Cooking was important to Pollard. I didn’t want to see what he’d be like away from a kitchen. Maybe I’d have to talk to Malcolm about it.
After finishing my chicken early, I savored my two rolls and observed the group. The picnic area of Camp Carson wasn’t much different from my high school cafeteria. Malcolm was obviously the cool teacher. The varsity football coach. The guy all the staff and students admired. He sat on the tabletop and laughed too loudly with his four lackeys.
At the second table three guys sat close and talked rapidly in hushed voices.
And then there was us. And Juliet. The missing members of the group must have been on guard duty. I got the idea nothing happened randomly or haphazardly in the new Camp Carson. Malcolm ran a tight ship.
But I still had to talk to him. If not about Pollard, then about Ben. I swallowed the last of my roll, and rose from the table.
“I’ll be right back,” I announced.
Pollard glanced at Malcolm and then asked quietly, “Do you want me to come with you?”
I smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be fine.”
At his cool-guy table, Malcolm looked confused and possibly annoyed at my interruption, but I’d come too far to chicken out.
“My friend Pollard is a really talented chef,” I began. “I think you should have him help with the bread. He might be able to improve—”
Malcolm raised one hand. “Chores are non-negotiable,” he said. “Perhaps in a few days we can revisit this conversation, but we will not discuss it further tonight.” He stared at his MRE pouch as if cuing me to take a hike.
“What about Ben?” I blurted out, my face overheating as several eyes lifted in my direction. Including Malcolm’s.
“What about him?”
My mind went momentarily blank. I cleared my throat and tucked my hair behind my ears like I had a nervous tick or something. “How is the research going?”
“It’s going well.”
I closed my eyes briefly and just dove in because it was important for me to say it even if Malcolm didn’t particularly want to hear it. “My dad was a chemist, but he also had a medical degree. He taught me a lot about basic medical care, and I volunteered in a hospital last December. I’m sure I know more than the average person. Maybe I could assist Smart in his lab.”
Malcolm studied me for a moment. “Smart is more than capable of handling the situation, young lady. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Can I just see him?” I asked. “I haven’t seen him since we got here. I’m worried—”
“The zombie is fine.” Several men at the table chuckled. “Smart has the situation under control.” He waved his hand toward my picnic table and Pollard and the others. “Enjoy your rations.”
That was definitely, for certain, a dismissal. Without saying, “You’re dismissed, soldier,” the unspoken command hung in the air.
I retreated to my spot.
“What did he say?” Pollard asked as I sat down.
“In a nutshell?” I shook my head in exasperation and embarrassment. “‘Be quiet and go away.’”
Pollard scowled at Malcolm’s back. “He’s a prick.”
Simone leaned in and laid a hand on Pollard’s, a friendly and comforting gesture, but I didn’t appreciate it. She had to sense our budding relationship. Was she trying to make me jealous?
Ignoring her, I added, “He said chores are non-negotiable and to mind my own business about Ben.”
Pollard’s scowl deepened. “I’m not sure about this place. First, they take Hunny away like a prisoner of war, and now he’s being a jerk to you. I’m not sure we belong here.”
“I warned you,” Simone snarked. “I knew we shouldn’t have left the truck stop. It was prime real estate.”
“Malcolm is in charge of everything,” Juliet said in a tiny voice, her head bowed and her face
obscured by her hair. “Hoyt and Stein are his favorites.”
“Oh, yeah?” Pollard leaned across the table. “What are they like?”
“Mean,” she said.
I sent Pollard a concerned look over Juliet’s shoulder.
“What about Smart and Gomez?” I asked.
She wobbled her head. “Smart stays by himself in his lab a lot. Gomez is okay, but Malcolm doesn’t like him.” She took a deep breath, adding, “Malcolm is the general. His officers are Hoyt and Stein. Durand, Rodriguez, and the others are like sergeants.” She chanced a quick peek at Pollard. “But he doesn’t like me or Gomez. We get punished for stuff the others don’t get punished for.”
I searched the faces of the men surrounding us, but they all blended together. Apart from Malcolm, I couldn’t yet tell one from another.
Though I didn’t admit it aloud, doubts crept in to my mind. “Either way, we have to get the cure out of Ben,” I reminded them and myself. “We can’t do it ourselves. We had to come here.”
My excitement at finally reaching Camp Carson and finding survivors with medical expertise was fading. I’d imagined the scenario much differently in my head. I’d thought I would be helping. I’d thought Ben would be accessible and visible. I’d thought they’d care more about the gift I’d delivered to their doorstep.
If anything, Malcolm seemed irritated with us. Not exactly a positive, welcoming reception.
“I’m done,” I said, collecting the trash from my meal. “I’m going upstairs.”
From the corner of my eye I saw Pollard shift as if to follow me, but Simone delayed him.
I threw my mess into a large trash barrel and rushed upstairs alone.
I didn’t unpack, not completely. A few articles of community clothes went into a dresser drawer. I spread first aid and toiletries onto the wide bathroom sink. I put the food and water I’d carried on top of the dresser for everyone to share.
And then my fingers closed around a small bottle of water, the one Ben had given me when he was still infected. For some reason I didn’t pull it out and add it to the group’s supplies on top of the dresser. This one was mine alone.
