by Megan Berry
“Hey!” I scream up at the box—but again—nothing.
“I think we should go and see what they’re offering,” Ryan says after a few silent moments spent watching me rage at the box.
I have a vague fear that this might be a trap of some kind, but curiosity is getting the better of me.
I nod numbly and climb into the vehicle. Ryan flips a U-turn right in the middle of the highway and starts heading back in the opposite direction. I see him reset the odometer trip calculator to zero so he will know when we’ve gone the right distance.
He locates the turn without any problem. Now that we are looking for it, we realize that someone has painted a neon orange arrow across the road sign.
“I noticed this on our way in, but I didn’t realize it was important,” Ryan mutters as he turns the Ford off the highway.
My heart is still aching, but I also begin to feel a small flicker of hope. I know it’s foolish. When this hope gets blown all to hell, I will feel the crushing agony again, but I want to have hope and prolong it a bit more if I can.
The ten miles down the road pass in the blink of an eye, probably because I am secretly dreading it.
I know Ryan will turn around right now and go back to Megan and Abby if I ask, but I also know that I need to finish this. I need to find out, once and for all, before I can even consider the rest of my life.
I’m anxious being this close to New York, or what’s left of it anyway. There must have been so many zombies here, it’s strange to me that they aren’t swarming the truck in hoards. Could the bombing really have gotten all of them?
I get my first glimpse of the Hudson River and feel a dip of fear crawl into my stomach. What are we going to find? The river up ahead is massive, splitting a barren landscape in two. There are several docked boats that look like police cruisers.
Ryan eases up on the gas pedal. “If this goes down bad, run,” he warns me, and I nod. I’m too stressed to even speak.
Soldiers armed with high-power assault weapons are everywhere, dotting the banks of the river. Ryan slows and rolls down the window as one of the soldiers walks over.
“Are you here for sanctuary?” The soldier is actually a woman with her hair pulled back into a severe bun. Her hat is pulled down low to shade her eyes.
“I’m looking for my parents. We heard about this place from Camp Freedom,” I butt in on the conversation, undoing my seat belt to lean across the console so I can see her better.
I know it’s sexist, but I relax a bit when I see the lady soldier—maybe these guys are legit after all.
The woman nods at us, “All visitors must submit to a full medical examination and a mandatory twenty- four-hour segregation from our general population.”
I was expecting this after our rough introduction to military protocol, courtesy of Camp Freedom.
“Yes Ma’am,” Ryan speaks for both of us, and she points to a large makeshift parking lot along the bank that’s stuffed full of vehicles.
“Please park over there. You may keep your keys, and all of your belongings are your own to keep as long as they don’t violate our rules and/or endanger other citizens. There is a list of restricted items posted in the parking lot, please leave those items in your vehicle.”
My head is spinning. This doesn’t feel like the apocalypse anymore. It feels more like a highly organized and well-oiled military machine at work.
“When you are ready to depart, you can join those soldiers over at the medical unit. They will inspect you and make sure you aren’t violating any of our rules. You will lose your right to carry weapons temporarily, but as long as you survive for twenty-four hours in the box, you’ll get them back.” The lady soldier points toward a few makeshift tents set up beside the dock.
“What happened to the city?” I blurt out, and she gives me a look.
“I am sorry Miss, but I am not authorized to disclose that information. Now, if you will please make your way to the parkade.” Her face does not invite further conversation, and Ryan puts the truck in gear. As we get closer, we can see the signs that are posted; they turn out to be large sheets of plywood that have been neatly spray painted.
This is a restricted military area. The following items are prohibited:
-grenades and other weapons of mass destruction
-items carrying infected virus of any kind (bloody clothes/ knives etc.)
-individuals that have been bitten or scratched
-animals
Admittance is entirely at the discretion of Military personnel.
I read the sign over carefully, twice. “It doesn’t say anything about our weapons, I guess the soldiers will take them from us at the tent,” I say, pointing it out to Ryan. He seems surprised as well.
“We definitely need to leave the knives and hatchets behind,” Ryan says, removing his large hunting knife from his belt. They are probably teeming with infected zombie blood.
I’m glad I left Fluffy with Silas, I can’t help thinking to myself as I read the last item on the list.
“Ready to go?” Ryan asks, coming around to my side of the truck while I grab my backpack and tuck my knife under the truck seat for safe keeping.
“Yep,” I mumble, glad when his hand finds its way into mine.
We approach the soldiers. They seem to give off a less terrifying vibe than the soldiers at Camp Freedom did initially, or maybe I’m just used to it now.
“Hi,” I say when we reach a group of them.
“Good afternoon,” one of the soldier steps forward. He is wearing green army fatigues and he has a white band with a red medical cross sewn around the arm of his combat uniform.
“You will need to submit to a full medical examination.” The soldier eyes me. “We do have a female doctor here to assist you,” he says to me, and I’m grateful.
“Thanks,” I murmur as Ryan and I follow them inside one of the tents. They are the large, white kind of tents like FEMA would have had during a disaster.
The tent is clean inside and stark white. I’m actually a bit surprised to see that they even have individual rooms.
A nurse is sitting at a desk when we walk in, and she stands up and salutes the soldier accompanying us.
“We have two for you Velda,” the soldier says affectionately, and the nurse flashes him a flirtatious smile.
“Always glad to see new faces,” the nurse says, handing us each a clipboard and pencil. “Please take a seat over there and fill out these forms,” Velda asks us sweetly. I take the clipboard and make my way over to the waiting room, which even has chairs.
I’m feeling a bit like this place is an alternate reality. I sit down and begin to fill out the chart.
First Name:
Last Name:
Age:
Date of Birth:
Previous Address:
City of Birth:
Blood Type:
Have you been bitten or scratched: Yes/ No
Have you come in to contact with an infected individual: Yes/ No
How many people are you travelling with: ____
Do you consent to a full medical examination and mandatory twenty-four-hour quarantine: Yes/ No
I finish filling out my sheet in record time and bring it back to the nurse. I’m anxious to get everything over with so I can look for my parents.
“You can go in that room over there and put on this gown. The doctor will be right with you,” the nurse instructs me, taking my chart and handing me a thin paper gown.
I glance at Ryan and see that he’s watching me intently. I give him a small smile and head into the room. I’m nervous as I shuck out of my clothes, leaving my underwear on, and shimmy into the gown in lightning speed.
It doesn’t take long before there is a knock at the door, though I guess there aren’t a lot of patients to keep the doctors busy.
A woman wearing army fatigues comes in, though she also has the white band around her arm with the red medical cross.
“Hi, Jane. My n
ame is Dr. Rosen. I will be conducting a medical examination on you today. How has your health been lately?” I shrug. It’s the middle of the zombie apocalypse, and suddenly I feel like I’m back home with my pediatrician.
“As good as can be expected, I guess,” I tell her, and she nods like she understands completely.
“Have you come into contact with any of the infected?” This was an answer that I had circled yes to on the form.
“A few times,” I say, and Dr. Rosen raises her eyebrow like she can’t believe I’m still around to talk about it.
“Did you come into contact with any of their blood or other fluids?” My heart hammers in my chest. I’ve been completely covered in the stuff, but I don’t really want to get kicked out of here before I can see if my parents are inside.
“Look, I don’t even have to go to the camp. I just need to find out if my parents are there. Is there a way I can just give you their names?” I blurt out, beginning to shake. If I’ve come this far just to get turned away, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Dr. Rose shakes her head, “I’m sorry, but it will be much easier if you just cross over to Liberty Island.” I take a deep breath and nod my head.
“Yes. I have come into contact with their blood. I have been covered in it several times.” I wait for her to reign her judgement down on me, and bar me from entrance.
“That’s okay, obviously you didn’t turn.” I look up at her, and she’s smiling. “We ask that question to see how virile the infected blood is for certain people. Some people are so susceptible that the virus can turn them just from touching the blood, and others, it only affect them if the blood gets into their eyes, nose, or mouth.”
That gets my heart pumping. I could have already been a zombie. “It is unlikely that will happen to you now, if you haven’t turned from touching it yet. Though, I don’t recommend coming into contact with it if you can at all avoid it,” she reassures me, accurately reading the full-scale terror on my face.
“I didn’t know it was so contagious,” I murmur, completely flabbergasted.
She nods, “How do you think it spread so quickly?”
I shake my head. I’ve never really thought about it before, surprisingly.
“Our scientists have determined that the initial illness only targeted people with the rare blood types: AB negative, O negative, and B negative. It was a fairly small group that fell ill. However, the resulting bites and transfer of infected blood and fluid is what caused the pandemic that wiped out the rest of the population. It’s so quick to spread that it was impossible to contain. Sick people flocked to hospitals and infected others…” the doctor trails off, and I don’t even know what to say. I’ve been so busy running for my life from the zombies that I hadn’t given a lot of thought to where they actually came from.
“Was it some kind of terrorist attack?” I ask after a moment of sitting in stunned silence while the doctor poked and prodded at me.
“We don’t know yet if it was a biological attack, or something that occurred naturally.” Dr. Rosen prods my sore arm and I wince, letting out a small squeak of pain.
Dr. Rosen steps back and draws her sidearm from around her holster. “Have you been bitten?” she asks. When I hesitate in confusion, she cocks the hammer back.
“No!” I shout in surprise. “I wasn’t bit. Don’t shoot me.” I hold my hands up in surrender. The doctor doesn’t set her gun down. Just like that, the feeling that the world hasn’t really ended and I’m just at the doctors for my annual checkup evaporates.
“Show me your wound,” she orders. The chatty, nice version of the doctor is gone, she’s all business now.
I move the gown back a bit to reveal my hastily stitched arm. “I cut it on some glass when I was climbing out a window,” I explain, hoping she isn’t the sort to get trigger happy.
Dr. Rosen examines the wound from a distance for a minute before holstering her weapon and coming closer to examine it with her gloved fingers.
“Someone saved you from bleeding out,” she remarks, and, not for the first time, I feel a surge of gratitude towards Silas.
“Sorry about the gun. I’ve had a lot of people try and sneak a bite past me. People do terrible things when they’re desperate.” I don’t say anything and she finishes up the exam relatively quickly.
“The soldiers on the dock will take you the rest of the way,” Dr. Rosen tells me when I’ve gotten dressed again. “Take this form with you, it proves you have a clean bill of health.”
I take the paper with shaky fingers. I’m one step closer to finding out about my parents.
Ryan is just walking out of his own exam, and I breathe a sigh of relief to see that he’s holding a similar piece of paper in his hand.
“I guess we’re supposed to go see those soldiers over there,” I say, pointing to the place where several police cruiser boats are moored along the Hudson River.
Ryan nods. “That’s what they told me too,” he says, and I feel a bit foolish for telling him again.
“Good afternoon folks,” one of the soldiers greet us when we walk up. He holds his hand out for our papers.
We hand them over and, after a thorough examination of the papers, the soldiers help us into the boat. My stomach instantly rebels, and I feel a wave of nausea.
“If you have to throw up, aim over the side of the boat,” the older soldier tells me with a grin on his face. I nod at him to show I understand, but I don’t risk opening my mouth to talk.
Three more soldiers climb in with us, and the pilot steers us out into the rushing current. Cold wind whistles by, stinging my face as we fight the waves going upriver.
“Where are you taking us?” Ryan asks, and I chance looking up to hear the answer.
“Ellis Island,” one of the soldiers answers, his chest swelling with pride. Ryan and I look at each other blankly.
“Liberty Island,” the other soldier supplies, and I furrow my brow in confusion.
“We are going to Ellis Island, home of the statue of Liberty, so it’s also called Liberty Island,” the first soldier explains again, and this time the dots connect for me.
“You have the refugee camp set up on the island?” Ryan asks.
The soldier who answered us the first time nods, “It’s a great set up, we haven’t seen any of the infected risk going near the water yet. It’s small, manageable to protect, and completely cut off from the mainland.”
The second soldier grins, “We blew the bridge as soon as we set up base there. We get a few floaters that wash up every once in a while and fall in, but we’ve set up a perimeter that keeps them from reaching our population, and we have a rotating guard.”
I begin to feel a swell of hope as they talk. This place sounds secure—the perfect place for my parents to ride out the apocalypse.
“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,” one of the soldier’s quotes the inscription from the Statue of Liberty, and those words hit me like a punch in the gut with two tonnes of brick.
How hauntingly accurate for our situation. The island appears in front of us, Lady Liberty looming with FEMA tents set up all around her base. I grip Ryan’s hand harder than I mean to, but he just squeezes me back gently, giving me strength.
The island has its own dock cut right through the middle of the island. The boat drives through and then docks with a bump against land. The soldiers help us out of the boat. “You’ll have to do your twenty-four hours of solitary, but then you’ll be free to wander the island.”
Ryan and I nod our understanding. “I’m looking for my parents, they might be here,” I tell the soldier who has a light grip on my elbow.
“We’ll get you situated, then I can take down your information and look into that for you.”
I smile at the soldier, and he smiles kindly back. It’s nice to see the soldiers here treating civilians better than zombies, until proven otherwise. Though, I suppose we did just submit to a medical exam that Camp Freedom ha
dn’t had the man power to conduct.
“I appreciate that,” I tell him sincerely. He leads us through a building that looks like it had been a museum, though everything has been pushed and moved out of the way now.
“We don’t have the resources that some camps have. Being on this island, we’ve had to work with what was already here. We don’t have cells, and we need all of the available space possible for our civilians. So, we keep our newcomers in a group of offices on the second floor for their twenty-four hour hold. There are no windows or means of escape, other than the door, so it’s pretty secure.”
We climb a flight of stairs and then pass a long row of doors. Some have soldiers standing in front of them, others have no one guarding them, so I assume those rooms are empty. The soldier halts and opens one of the doors, holding it open to show us. I stare into the small office that has been cleared out. It’s more of a closet really, with a pile of blankets and pillows stacked on the floor.
“Good thing I’m not claustrophobic,” I mutter, and the soldier gives me an apologetic look.
“We’ve cut small holes in the doors for passing food and communication,” he says, pointing to a small rectangular hole cut in the door. It allows a bit of natural light in. “There’s also a small bathroom.” He motions to a door on the opposite wall. “A soldier will be posted outside your door at all times. Why don’t you guys settle in? I’ll be back in a bit to check on you and get your info.”
“Thanks,” Ryan says, speaking for both of us. I’m the first one to step through the door, and Ryan follows. The room gets dark when the door shuts.
“Great, no light,” Ryan says, opening his backpack and digging around inside. The soldiers searched us for weapons, but they didn’t take away the rest of our stuff. He pulls out a flashlight and shines it around the small space.
“I guess I’ll make up the blankets before the light dies,” he says.
I dig in my own bag, pull out another flashlight, and go to investigate the bathroom. It’s simple and small—a sink and a toilet—but it’s one hundred times better than the bucket we had at Camp Freedom.
My heart is pounding in my chest as I sit down on the blankets that Ryan has spread out over the floor. I click my flashlight off and sit in the dark to save my batteries. I’m so close. Now it’s just a waiting game.
