by David Bourne
His mother guided her improvised surgical team with a profound calmness, gave orders and commented on follow-up procedures. For the first time, he realized that he had never witnessed her work before. Even during his internships he had never been present at one of her many operations. Although at the time he was too proud to admit it, there was so much he could have learned from her. Maybe now she could even teach him how to overcome his issue concerning blood.
After Josh had agonized for days about the possibility his mom might be dead, he now truly appreciated that she was still alive more than ever before. He no longer wanted to be the stubborn little boy who was angry at her for pressuring him to attend medical school. Maybe he had needed that extra push since she had recognized his potential long before he had done so himself.
Josh slowly rolled on his side and forced himself into a sitting position on the couch. His circulation was gradually improving, though he felt saving the other man had taken a lot of his strength. He slowly got up and walked over to the next building, where the rest of the group sat in a cell, waiting to be tested.
When it became clear that Chris would survive the operation, his wretched comrades had either calmed down, or they had collapsed from exhaustion. The only two who were still awake and attentively watching over Chris, were the tall guy in a flannel shirt, and this haggard man whom Josh seemed to know from somewhere.
Maybe I’ve seen him around on campus. He probably was an instructor.
Someone placed a hand on Josh’s shoulder. He didn’t notice that his mother had followed him here.
“Well, my little boy. How are you feeling?”
“MOM! We’re not alone here!” Josh hissed at her.
“Oh—excuse me, Dr. Pelletier. And how is your Highness today?” Margaret Pelletier laughed loudly. It seemed that was also something Josh had not heard in an eternity.
“Everything’s fine, thanks. How’s Chris doing?”
“Basically stable. He’s going to make it. For the next few days he will need some bed rest, afterwards he should be as good as new. However for the foreseeable future, he should avoid falling off any more balconies.” Then Margaret Pelletier got up and left the room. She once more glanced back over her shoulder and raised her hand to wave goodbye.
She doesn’t waste any time.
Josh stayed behind with the newcomers. So far, no one had bothered to talk to them.
Then let’s get to it. Josh went to the cell, quietly unlocked the door, placed a finger on his lips and signaled to the two men who were awake to follow him outside.
“I have to ask you to get undressed so I can make sure you are not infected. Strictly a safety measure,” Josh whispered.
“That’s alright, doc. We’re all uninjured, but I understand you have to be absolutely sure—and thanks for helping Chris, by the way. My name is Ray—Raymond Thompson.” The slim man held out his hand toward Josh. Josh hesitated.
“Let’s do that when we’re done. I just don’t like shaking hands with naked men,” Josh said with a grin.
Usually, the tests were completed very quickly. Josh had developed a certain routine, and his previous experiences in the morgue helped him since, come to think of it, his work now wasn’t all that much different than before. His task was to examine naked human bodies for any suspicious wounds or unusual features. The two in front of him posed some problems—one had a back like a refrigerator, and the other one was surely two feet taller than Josh.
Despite these physical challenges, when Josh was satisfied that both men were uninjured and therefore not infected, he held out his hand.
“Welcome to Fort Weeks, Ray and...?”
“Scott Gerber.”
“Ray and Scott.”
Scott’s stomach abruptly growled so loudly that Josh took a step backward.
“What was I thinking? You haven’t had anything to eat or drink this whole time. As soon as I’m done with the others, I’m going to take you to the mess hall. I wouldn’t mind a bite to eat, myself—and I’m really curious to hear your story. You guys fought your way through all this shit for almost two weeks.”
They woke up Phil and his kids. After all of them had been examined, Josh handed command over to the private, and then he walked the newcomers over to the mess hall. One could easily see the group had suffered a lot, and Josh was also showing signs of stress brought on during the events of the past few hours. Nevertheless, he was looking forward to getting to know these new arrivals and hear about their adventures.
Dear Brother
The muted voices were accompanied by a slight static noise—like a radio station whose frequency has not been set quite right. Chris was not quite sure whether he was dreaming or this was the afterlife. He could not open his eyes, but he was able to notice a bright light through his closed eyelids. Was this the light people with near-death experiences reported seeing? Now the voices were becoming clearer, but this only seemed to confirm his suspicion that he was no longer alive because he could distinctly hear his brother’s voice. Gregory? His voice was unmistakable. Chris had not seen Gregory for several months before the world was shot to hell, so it was entirely possible he had also bought the farm and now they both would be united in death. Chris felt like he was floating on a cloud.
A sharp pain in his abdomen brought him back to reality. He snapped his eyes open and saw the indifferent face of a medic, who was pushing his gurney so carelessly that it had collided with a door frame. The medic kept talking to a person following some distance behind him and hadn’t noticed that Chris was now conscious.
“I can only repeat what the doc said. He’s going to make it.”
“You have to understand, he’s my brother, and I...”
“I understand, buddy, but I’ve got my orders. For the time being, he’s being moved to a single room and needs to get some rest. Come and check on him in a couple of days.”
Just as Chris was trying to say something, the medic rammed the gurney against another corner. The pain overwhelmed Chris, but instead of screaming he simply blacked out.
When he regained consciousness, Gregory was sitting next to his bed and reading a book. Chris looked at its cover. The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins.
“I didn’t know that you’re an atheist now,” Chris groaned.
“Chris!” Gregory’s voice clearly expressed relief. “How are you feeling?”
“Like having been run over by an eighteen-wheeler,” Chris replied with a pained smile. “And then walking across half the country.”
“From what I’ve heard, that’s not so far from the truth.”
“How long was I out of it?”
“You were operated on three days ago. I just happened to see that you were being transferred here. Yesterday they finally let me come in here, and I’ve been sitting here, waiting.”
“And in the meantime, you’re reading blasphemous books. If mom only knew.”
“Dawkins is not really a blasphemer. He only argues that any belief in god is irrational, and religion generally has serious negative effects on society.”
“If I remember correctly, it didn’t take any religion to propel the world close to the abyss,” Chris replied with some effort. “And it’s people themselves who have serious negative effects on society. It used to be the living, but these days you have to add the undead.”
“I don’t think this is the moment for theological discussions, little brother,” Gregory said with a smile. “You have to recover first. Anything I can do for you?”
“Read some better books,” Chris said. “And if you pass the kitchen on the way to the library, I could do with a bite to eat.”
“You haven’t been awake for ten minutes, and you are already getting on my nerves,” Gregory joked. “I’ll get you something.”
While Chris devoured a sandwich—even though it was much too dry for his taste—Gregory told him about what he had done between the outbreak of the catastrophe and his arrival at Fort Weeks. He lived only about an hour
north of the army base, in a small town called Tannery. When he saw the horrible scenes from the big cities on TV, he tried in vain to reach his brother and their parents. Then he packed his stuff and drove directly to Fort Weeks. When he arrived, the base resembled an anthill, with people running around and nobody having any useful information about the catastrophe striking the US. During this time, Gregory managed to persuade a soldier in the communications center to send an email to Chris, but later the internet only worked sporadically. From then on, he prayed every day to see his brother alive. Three days ago, his prayers were finally answered.
Chris listened attentively to his brother’s story. Then he asked the unspoken question that had been standing between them the whole time.
“What about mom and dad?”
Gregory looked out the window, but didn’t say anything. He slowly shook his head and sighed.
“I don’t know. I had an email sent to them as well, but there was no answer. They’re certainly not here. That much I know.”
“That doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot. There must be military bases much closer to New York than Fort Weeks.” Chris himself noticed his voice did not sound too convincing.
“Did you see the images from the big cities?” Gregory asked.
Chris nodded. He knew why his brother was so sad. Their parents lived right in the heart of New York, where they both taught at a local university. This meant their chances for making it out of the city were extremely low.
“At least there’s the two of us,” Chris said.
“That’s true.” Gregory took Chris’ hand and forced himself to smile.
“Not just that. There are also other survivors who’ll help us.”
“I heard the story about how you guys got here,” Gregory said. “Ray seems to be a good guy. He told me all about it.”
“Then you probably know more than I do because I was completely out of it for a long time. I–”
At that moment, Margaret Pelletier entered the room.
“Well, look who woke up,” she said and smiled at Chris. “Gregory, if you could please leave the room for a moment, I have to examine your brother.”
Gregory nodded. “Let’s talk later, Chris.”
Growing Together
It was the first sunny day in a long time, and Josh was on his way to see Ray, Scott and the others. He knew that Chris, Ray and Scott had just left the mess hall and had the rest of the day off.
The group had now settled in at the army base and each member soon became well integrated in his own assigned occupation. Phil and the kids helped in the mess hall as much as they could. Scott had offered to join the construction crew and together with several other survivors, he had been assigned to build another hut for the refugees. Ray sometimes helped out in the base workshop, and Chris, after a few days of rest, already worked as a technical adviser while still in bed. He seemed to have an enormous talent for solving software issues, just like his brother Gregory. Both of them were supposed to start working in the communications center soon. Not a bad beginning, after all, Josh thought.
Josh had also noticed that each, in his own way, seemed to be fighting his own inner demons. Ray never mentioned to Josh what was bothering him. He often clammed up and went his own way. Josh respected this boundary and did not attempt to pry.
Scott, on the other hand, often talked about how he missed his family. He had actually hoped they might have found refuge at Fort Weeks but up to now, they had not arrived. The reason could be due to the world outside the base becoming more grueling and even more dangerous, which was why fewer and fewer survivors had found their way to Fort Weeks in the past few days. The undead must have gained the upper hand and now clutched humanity in their cold claws. This in turn spelled perpetual trouble, making it harder and harder for small groups to survive.
Josh had an idea how he could get his new friends to focus on something else. He wanted to surprise them with some firearms training, after he had convinced his father that the group urgently needed improvement with these skills. Even though he had never been particularly fond of the military, he nevertheless enjoyed shooting. Today, he and William Pelletier were now strolling toward the tent where the group was housed. His dad might be busy all the time as the new base commander, but he wouldn’t want to miss the chance of spending an afternoon with his son at the shooting range.
Watson sat right next to the entrance and wagged his tail when he saw Josh and his dad approaching the tent. Josh stuck his head inside and looked around. Ray and Chris were playing on a homemade chess board , while Scott was busy carving a piece of wood that would probably result in another chess set.
After a short greeting, Josh explained to all three men that they were urgently needed for a secret mission and had to immediately come along with him and his father. Their surprise clearly showed, but it was the fact that the commander was also involved, and both father and son were armed that made the story even more credible. The three of them now knew that William Pelletier was Josh’s father, but they rather rarely had the opportunity to see him. A few minutes later, the small group walked across the base toward the shooting range.
“What could be so important that they would need us, of all people?” Scott wondered, talking to Ray.
“I have no clue, but I don’t think it’s anything bad. Both of them seem to be in too good of a mood for that.” Ray smiled, as it was slowly dawning on him what Josh was up to.
Chris’ recovery was proceeding well, but he still had trouble keeping up with the others as he had recently spent most of his time in bed.
“What kind of super-secret mission is this, anyway? I can hardly walk.”
Josh flashed a big grin at him. “It’s secret agent training. I thought I’d thought I’d shake up you guys’ routine and we could have fun and make some noise on the shooting range. You arrived armed with only a baseball bat. Today we’re going to show you what the 21st century has to offer.” Josh lovingly patted the M24 sniper rifle he was carrying. William Pelletier nodded and let the M4A1 assault rifle slide from his shoulder.
“Precision versus a hail of bullets. To each his own, but we can also start small.”
The master sergeant placed the assault rifle on a table and pulled his Beretta 92FS from its holster—a semi-automatic 9-millimeter pistol.
“Have you gentlemen ever used something like this?”
Scott raised his hands in a defensive gesture and shook his head vigorously. He didn’t really like these things. Strictly out of politeness, he once went hunting with a neighbor who was a passionate hunter, and had even allowed Scott use one of his sacred rifles. When his neighbor fired the first shot, Scott was so startled that he accidentally discharged the gun into the ground right next to his foot. Since then, he had avoided firearms of all kinds as much as possible. He felt he was much more capable with a good ax, in any case.
Ray and Chris, though, appeared to be as delighted as two little kids on Christmas morning.
“Wow, how cool! I always wanted to fire military weapons!” Chris was thrilled, picked up the assault rifle from the table, raised it and moved it back and forth. Josh’s father quickly grabbed the barrel und pressed it downward the ground.
“Calm down, cowboy! First we will show you how to shoot so you actually hit something besides the man next to you.”
Josh took off the backpack he had been carrying and pulled out ear protectors and safety goggles. After all five of them had been equipped with these, Josh and his dad explained each weapon’s function as well as various shooting stances. Everyone was in a boisterous mood, except for Scott, who didn’t share the others’ enthusiasm and really couldn’t get into the whole weapons thing. He only fired a few shots for appearance’s sake, but even so, he remained tight-lipped and then eventually excused himself to continue working on his chess set. The others had a lot of fun for a long time, staying on the shooting range until almost sunset. Josh’s dad had even brought along some drinks and sandwiches from
the mess hall for a sort of impromptu picnic. Mission accomplished, Josh thought later, while he was lying in his bed. At least today nobody would be introspective and musing.
Horrifying Images
Chris took off the headset and rubbed his temples. Another monotonous shift in the radio room was nearing its end. He was now working in the communications center, even though he had not one hundred percent recovered.
He only had to make it to four thirty. Chris looked at the large video display that counted down the hours and minutes.
A little bit more than four hours until we reestablish contact with the satellite.
He yawned loudly once more, rubbed his eyes and put his headset back on. The sound-insulating headphones made the background noises disappear, and the only thing Chris could hear now was the slight hissing of analog radio. He was glad he didn’t have to be at the survivors’ station today. The base assigned a radio operator for this particular job every day, who listened in on various public radio channels in order to maybe save someone or find out any useful information. It was a depressing task because only few of these radio messages were encouraging. Most of the transmissions were from people who had just been attacked or were already infected, so it was rarely possible to save them. Then there were some radio messages from people who never called back after the first contact. Chris looked at Sergeant Weasel, a lanky blonde soldier who couldn’t be much older than himself. Today, it was Weasel’s turn to be the unlucky guy assigned to the survivors’ station.
The time crawled along. Chris stared at the slightly flickering flat screen monitor in front of him. The supply teams and patrols were all still on the road and usually briefly reported by radio at the full hour. Since satellite communications had broken down, they could only rely on good old analog radio. Its quality did not compare with more modern technologies, but at least it did not require radio towers linked to satellites.
