by D. J. Molles
Lee decided to break the silence. “What do you think, Harper?”
The man’s jaw clenched, tensing up muscles high on his balding temples. “Doesn’t matter what I think.”
“It does,” Lee stated. “It matters to Bus.”
“I don’t think Bus blames you,” Harper deflected.
Lee smiled without humor. “But what do you think?”
“I think you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Lee laughed suddenly and earnestly. “Yeah. You got that one right.”
Everything he’d done for the past four days had seemed to be an uphill battle. Nothing on the outside of his bunker had been what he’d thought it would be. At every turn it seemed that something went wrong and it began to instill in him a deep sense of impending doom, as though no matter what his future decisions were, he would never be able to avert disaster. It seemed Murphy had a hard-on for him.
Footsteps crunched on the fine gravel outside. Four faces appeared from around the corner, three that Lee recognized and one that he did not.
“Lee.” Angela quickened her step, ushering Sam and Abby into the medical trailer. Behind them, the guy that Lee didn’t know stood with his hand on the butt of what looked like a small-caliber pistol. “What happened? What’s going on?”
Lee didn’t answer her question immediately. He caught the eye of the man who had brought Angela and the kids into the trailer. This one was not like Harper and Miller. This one had the look of distrust and resentment that he’d seen in Kara’s family.
Lee gestured to the woman and two kids. “Really?”
The man with the pistol shrugged coldly and turned out of sight. It was becoming clear to Lee that, like any other group, Camp Ryder had its divisions. Different people formed different alliances. Some groups sided with Lee and others sided with Kara’s family. Lee could only hope that the majority of the camp still wanted to work with him instead of crucify him.
Sam stood at the edge of the cot now, his eyes wandering over the room, his jaw set, and his arms crossed. “They think we’re the bad guys. Because of what happened. They think we caused it.”
“What?” Angela’s mouth hung open. “No…”
“Yes,” Lee confirmed. “From what I can tell, some of the people in camp think I’m working for Milo. And I guess they’re just lumping you and the kids in with me.”
Angela looked lost. “Who’s Milo?”
Behind Lee, Doc chuckled bitterly and patted his shoulder. “You’re good, Captain.” The young man with the shaggy hair pushed his scuffed-up glasses farther onto his nose and began to gather up the discarded dressings along with the plastic sheet soaked in Kara’s blood. Then he tossed the whole bloodstained mess into a fifty-five-gallon drum in the corner. Lee noticed the blackened edges along the mouth of the drum. They regularly burned the contents.
What was left of a young girl was now just a biohazard.
Doc fingered his hair behind his ears and stood in front of the small group: Lee, Angela, and the two lost-looking kids. His mouth was open as though he wanted to say something but was waiting for the right words to land on his tongue. He eventually snapped his mouth shut and turned quickly away from them, mumbling as he left the trailer, “I’ll see about some breakfast.”
Lee turned his attention to Angela and the kids. Sam was sitting dejectedly on the opposite side of the cot, slouched with his hands working between his knees and scowling at the wall. Abby was standing with Angela, her little arm wrapped tightly around her mother’s leg. Her eyes looked distant and indifferent.
Lee reached out and tentatively touched her arm. “How you doin’, sweetie?”
For a moment so brief, Lee thought he might have imagined it, Abby’s eyes became ice-cold and focused points, like icicle tips. Then they melted into that same absent look.
“Okay.” She nodded and looked up at her mother. “What are we doing, Mom?”
Angela brushed her daughter’s hair and guided her to the cot in between Lee and Sam. “We’re just going to sit with Captain Harden for a little bit.”
“We’re in trouble.” The words seemed odd coming from Abby’s mouth because her face showed so little concern. “The people here don’t like us.”
Lee cast a glance toward Harper, who avoided the eye contact now. “No, they’re just confused about some stuff. Once they understand the situation, then everything will be okay.”
She shrugged. “Okay.”
Lee leaned back and squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “What about you, buddy?”
Sam turned toward him, angry. “Why don’t we just go?”
“Because they need our help,” Lee stated simply. “And because this is my job.”
“You come here to help them and they treat you like a prisoner. And what about us? What if we don’t want to be here? There must be somewhere else we can go.”
Lee shook his head slowly. “I don’t know if there is anywhere else right now or how hard it will be to get there. We all nearly died out there. You should remember that.”
Sam huffed and turned back to staring at the wall.
Angela took a seat on the cot with Lee, and Abby slid into her lap, looking tired. Lee could feel Angela next to him, a warm presence. If he had known Angela better, he would have found comfort in her nearness. As it was, he found it awkward. She seemed to place some importance on him that he didn’t understand. Perhaps it was the trauma of the last few days or the shock of losing her husband. Did she think that she was going to hold onto Lee, just because he rescued them from the rooftop? Like he was some knight in shining armor, and she, the damsel in distress?
There’s nothing personal here, he thought. For Christ’s sake, I shot your fucking husband.
She just wasn’t thinking clearly right now. She hadn’t had time to decompress.
Maybe it was Lee’s problem. Maybe he’d been alone so long he didn’t know how to operate any other way. On the other hand, maybe he just understood that a relationship based on trying to survive together for four days wasn’t a relationship at all.
When he turned to take a furtive glance at her, he found Angela looking at him. Her eyes were very sad, and it seemed as though she pitied him. He felt a bit of relief along with the indignation at being pitied. She knows there’s no relationship. She just thinks she can help me. She’s that type of person—always looking for someone to help.
“You’re not bothered by any of this?” she asked him.
Lee met her gaze. “What makes you think I’m not?”
“You never seem bothered.” She straightened out Abby’s dirty shirt as the younger girl began falling asleep in her mother’s arms. “Sure, you get a little intense every now and then. But it’s like it all just doesn’t matter to you. Like you know something we don’t know.”
Lee smiled ruefully. “No. I’m finding out I know very little.”
“Then what? Are you not scared?”
“No.” Lee leaned back a bit to take the stress off his stitches. “That’s not it, I assure you.”
“Hmm.” She looked thoughtful. “I thought you were too well-trained to get scared.”
He had to chuckle. “You know, they did a study one time. They strapped heart monitors to two Special Forces soldiers about to make a combat jump. One soldier was brand new, fresh out of training. The other soldier was a six-year veteran. So, as they’re approaching the drop point, the younger soldier is pacing back and forth, checking and rechecking his gear. He’s nervous. He can’t stand still. All the while, the veteran is just sitting there with his eyes closed like he’s sleeping. Like nothing is bothering him.
“After the mission, they found that there was virtually no difference in the heart rates between the veteran and the rookie. They were both scared. The only difference was that the veteran was used to being scared, so it didn’t show as much.”
Lee looked at her again. “So, yes. I get scared, whether it shows or not.”
The six people sat in a tense but
thoughtful silence. Harper and Miller guiltily watched the four outsiders as they sat quietly and contemplated their strange situation. Eventually Doc returned with four small bowls of oatmeal. He explained with a shy smile, “It’s all that was left in the pot.”
Due to sparing supplies, whoever did the cooking had mixed more water and less oatmeal, creating a thin gruel with a little salt to give it some flavor. Despite the odd taste, the group still ate hungrily. Only after Lee finished his small bowl did he realize how hungry he was and remembered losing last night’s dinner during the attack.
Rice and beans. Thin oatmeal.
No meat to speak of.
These people are starving, Lee thought.
Supplies were low and nearly unattainable with Milo’s gang running amok outside the gates. The hordes of infected kept hunting from being practical. Lee thought about the possibility of trapping, but to feed the entire community, snares and traps would have to be set for something large, like a deer or wild boar. This was not impossible, but trapped animals created a lot of noise and Lee thought that even if a trap were sprung successfully, the infected would get to the animal first and rip it to pieces. Even if they left anything behind, it would be tainted.
His thoughts wandered from hunting and trapping to water. The community seemed to have enough to get by. Lee wondered about a stream in the area or possibly a large rain cistern, either preexisting or built by the community. Any streams in the area were likely contaminated with industrial pollutants, but the heavy summer rains would come soon, riding the tails of whatever hurricanes were spinning up the coastline and rolling inland to central North Carolina. That would probably wash most of the pollutants away and make the streams slightly more potable, at least after a good boiling.
In the back of Lee’s mind he knew he forced himself to think of these things. The business of survival kept the mind occupied while the fear of failure swam like unseen sharks below a rickety lifeboat. Lee was determined to just keep rowing. It was impossible to be lost at sea forever. Eventually you had to make landfall.
But the fear escorted him wherever he went.
It waited for him to give up and give in, and then it would consume him completely.
An hour passed. The light outside the trailer went from that dull slate-gray to the bright and lively glow of the morning sun. Lee noted that the temperature was staying fairly mild for late July, and he guessed it would be a mid-eighties day.
Harper and Miller found themselves some chairs and exchanged quiet small talk. Angela and Abby curled up on another cot. Abby fell asleep quickly, but Angela lay with her eyes open, staring vacantly at nothing. Sam got up and paced irritably.
People passed by and looked in with furtive glances. Lee watched them from the edge of his cot and saw a range of emotions. Some were angry. Most were curious. All were suspicious. When they walked by alone, they quickly looked away. When they walked by in pairs, they whispered among themselves. In groups, they stared brazenly and spoke loudly.
“Is he a spy?”
“He killed Kara.”
“He let the infected in.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He promised us supplies.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Lee began to notice the trickle of passersby thickening, everyone going in the same direction: toward the square. The steady bustle of people conducting their everyday business began to meld and grow into the semi-excited rumble of a crowd and Lee could not shake the image of an old western town where all the ladies in their pretty dresses showed up to watch a guilty man hang.
It wasn’t long before Bus appeared.
He nodded to Harper and Miller, who both stood up languidly and stretched. Then he walked to Lee and stood before him with his hands clasped neutrally in front of him. He looked at Angela and her daughter, and then Sam, who now looked defiantly back at him. Then his gaze found Lee again.
“You need to understand something,” he said. “I don’t run the show around here. These people, they don’t know what the fuck they’re doing. But they like to think they do. So when the shit hits the fan, they all look to me to tell them what to do. I’m a security blanket. They think, If all else fails, Bus will know what to do.”
He looked bitter. “But I don’t control them. And right now there are fifty people outside who are making up their minds about you. Kara’s family is convinced that you’re with Milo and you sabotaged our fence—”
“That’s ridiculous!” Angela hissed.
Bus looked at her. “I know it is. I’m not saying that’s what I believe; I’m saying that’s what is being said. A lot of people are buying it because… well, it’s easy to blame the new people. I just wanted to let you know what the sentiment was like out there.”
“Is this a trial?” Lee said quietly.
Bus shook his head. “Just a meeting. Not everybody has had a chance to speak with you. Most of the people in camp are forming their opinions from word of mouth. I figured having you stand up in front of everyone would be best—that way they could form their own opinions.”
Lee nodded. “And what should I do?”
“Answer their questions. Hopefully they believe you.”
“No one’s going to believe me, Bus.” Lee lowered his voice. “Not unless someone inside Camp Ryder sides with me.”
“Captain, some of the people already believe you. Most of them want to believe you. You give them something to hope for.” Bus scratched his neck. “But I can’t take sides right now.”
“Why not?” Sam suddenly appeared by Lee’s side. “You said you believe us!”
“It’s complicated,” Bus said flatly. “This place isn’t as unified as it may seem. There are people here who don’t agree with how I’m doing things, and they will use my siding with you as a sign of disloyalty and turn the camp against me.” He sighed. “I don’t like playing political games. I’ve never been good at them. But I also can’t just stand by and watch someone destroy us from the inside. I’m sorry, but I have to stay neutral.”
“Bus.” Lee stood up from his cot. “Just promise me that we can leave unharmed, if it comes to that.”
Bus thought for a little longer than Lee was comfortable with. He eventually nodded, but despite the gesture, Lee didn’t think it was a promise that Bus was going to be able to keep.
* * *
The people gathered in moody silence. They stared with stony faces as Lee approached, flanked by Harper and Miller and led by Bus. Behind them, Angela, Abby, and Sam followed with Doc and Jenny.
Lee scanned the crowd and found Kara’s father and brother conspicuously absent.
Standing before them, Lee felt silly in the hand-me-down garb. It was difficult enough to convince people of his mission when he was wearing his full battle rattle, let alone when he was clad in only a smiley-face T-shirt and some athletic shorts. It did not add to his credibility.
Bus stood between Lee and the people of Camp Ryder and shifted his weight to one leg. “Alright, folks. Regardless of what you believe, let’s try to keep this orderly and decent. This is Captain Lee Harden, and the woman there is Angela and the two kids are Abby and Sam, if you haven’t met them already. I know there’s been a lot said. Rumors tend to fly pretty quickly around here, but we need to be reasonable. This man has offered us something, and we need to figure out whether we’re going to trust him and accept it or whether we want him to leave our camp.”
Bus took a moment to moisten his lips and scratch his beard. “Now that everyone knows what we’re doing here, y’all can ask what you need to ask, but let’s do it one at a time.”
Almost immediately a hand shot up and Lee thought, Oh boy… here we go.
“Yeah.” Bus pointed to the raised hand. “Go ahead, Keith.”
Keith was an older man, possibly in his mid-sixties, with just bare wisps of gray hair clinging to his head, a craggy face, and thin features. He wore a pair of canvas overalls that looked like they’d seen better days even
before the FURY pandemic.
Acknowledged, Keith lowered his hand and stuck it in the pocket of his overalls. He gave Lee a scrutinizing stare, up and down, as though he were learning everything he needed to know about Lee simply by his body language.
“I guess I’ll go ahead and say it, since most of us are thinking it,” Keith said. “You don’t strike me as some secret government super-soldier sent to save us all. You look… pretty normal. S’pose what I’m getting at here is, if you’re such hot shit, where’re your guns? Where’s your uniform? Where’re all these supplies you’re supposed to have?”
There was a murmur of assent from the crowd.
Everyone wanted an answer to that one.
“That’s a fair question,” Lee said, trying to take it in stride. “I’ll be completely honest with you. I’m no super-soldier, but I am good at what I do. If you want to know where my equipment is, I will tell you. It’s in a bunker twenty feet below the ashes of my house, which Milo burned to the ground.” He quickly added, “I have access to more supplies, I just—”
The crowd grumbled disapprovingly.
A new speaker stepped forward, this one a woman with pale skin and dark black hair pulled back into a ponytail. “But you haven’t given us any proof. Where are these supplies you keep talking about?”
“I’ve been here for a day,” Lee said, trying not to show irritation. “I haven’t exactly had a chance to make the trip just yet, but when I do—”
“Why didn’t you just take them with you?” It was a male voice. “Why didn’t you bring your supplies here?”
Lee began to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t like being put on the spot, and despite what Bus said, it didn’t seem like many people believed him. “Part of my job is to help survivors. Angela and her daughter were trapped. When I set out to help them, I didn’t bring all the equipment with me because it would have weighed me down. When I returned home, I found my house burned to the ground. I couldn’t go get a refill on supplies because I needed to find a safe place for them first.”
Angela spoke up this time, hesitantly. “It’s true. Abby and I, we were trapped on the roof of our house. Captain Harden saved us, but when he was doing that, some men took his truck and they found his house. We hiked back, but Captain Harden’s house had been burned to the ground.” She paused for a moment and nodded at Lee. “I didn’t believe it at first either. But Captain Harden knows what he’s doing. If you’d seen him fight, you’d believe him too.”
