The Suburban Dead (Book 2): Emergency

by Sorsby, T. A.

  ‘What?’ I blurted, ‘People are just…quitting?’

  ‘Not a lot, but they weren’t carpooling. Slipped off and must have taken a car each.’ The officer said, looking at his feet. ‘People got families they want to protect. Blinds some folk to the bigger picture.’

  ‘Bet they didn’t all have people. Some were just fucking cowards. No offence.’ He added to the officer.

  ‘I’m still here aren’t I? I ain’t offended. Not afraid of what’s coming either.’ He said, unconsciously putting a hand to his pistol, the way some people touch articles of faith when their loved ones are being worked on.

  I was suddenly glad I hadn’t brought Laurel and Dani with me – I’d been wrong about County. What’d been sold to me as a fortress was already starting to crumble. But I had a duty of care to those still here. If the soldiers were staying, I was staying. Right up until the last possible minute.

  ‘Any other news from the hospital?’ I asked. ‘I’ve been working with Dr Lines all afternoon, haven’t heard a thing.’

  ‘There was a bit of trouble outside,’ the cop said, ‘load of people turned up with early-stage infected in tow, said they couldn’t get them anywhere near Mercy. Quarantine up there is about a block in every direction – reinforcements we were expecting have been shuffled on to there.’ He said with a roll of the eyes. ‘We took their infected in, but some of the families started trouble, wanted to come in and make sure they weren’t being mistreated. Things went sideways. They’re tending to the wounded in the A&E.’

  ‘Shit, thanks, I’d better get over there.’ I said, turning to head back to my department.

  If they needed an extra pair of hands, I couldn’t afford to go through the rest of the building, navigating the corridors and dodging non-emergency patients. I left through the front doors, and crossed the front of the building at a brisk jog.

  As is the law of these things, the protesting crowd from earlier had swelled to maybe seventy, eighty people now, and the guards keeping them in check had been forced to increase their own security in turn. Instead of a few guys with holstered handguns, it was now a loose line of officers in riot gear, shields up, batons out. The SWAT team were spaced out behind them, weapons in hand. I wondered if the sniper on the roof had been joined by more marksmen.

  There was a murmur of discontent from the crowd. They were keeping to the other side of the street from the police, but fortunately there was no chanting, no throwing of bricks, just an air of potential violence lest someone make the wrong move.

  Back in the A&E, it was still chaos. I couldn’t see Jerry, but there were no end of opportunities to help. The infected they’d brought in must have been taken to the quarantine ward or isolated somewhere already, but there were civilians and police showing signs of their recent fight – bruises and grazes, cuts and torn clothing. Before I could find someone unattended, they found me.

  ‘Hola, Nurse Cox.’ A voice called from one of the chairs in triage. I turned, to see the police officer from my arrival holding a bloodstained handkerchief over his forehead. A clear head trauma.

  ‘Gods, is nobody seeing to you?’ I said, putting a hand under his arm and one on his shoulder, pulling him up from the chair.

  ‘I gave up my place for another worse off,’ he said with a dismissive hand wave, ‘a poor orphan boy with a broken leg, no family, so sad, you know.’

  ‘I can’t tell if you’re dazed or delusional. Come on, we’ll find somewhere a bit more comfortable and get that looked at. Can you tell me your name?’

  ‘Emile,’ he said, ‘I was joking about the orphan. But I feel fine. I let the others go ahead of me, they were bleeding worse.’

  ‘Any of them bleeding from their head?’

  ‘I do not think so.’

  ‘Then damn whoever let you get away with it. If you were struck hard enough to bleed, that could be hard enough to concuss. Have you passed out?’

  ‘No,’ he said, frowning, ‘would I remember if I had?’

  ‘Someone would have seen you and shouted up. Hopefully. Any sensitivity to light? Blurred vision? Dizziness?’

  I eased him down into a comfortable chair in an already crowded waiting area near the paediatric corridor. He took a look up at the ceiling lights, and shook his head.

  ‘I’m fine, Nurse Cox. It’s just a cut.’

  ‘Yeah Emile,’ I said, laying on a patronising voice, ‘it’s just a cut during a pandemic where a deadly virus can be transferred through the bloodstream. Just a cut though.’

  ‘What?’ he asked, going suddenly very still.

  I reiterated.

  ‘Let me clean this shit.’

  Medical staff and police have an informal working relationship.

  ‘Okay.’ He said, blinking.

  I fetched some supplies from a nearby closet; cleaning wipes, antiseptic, a few sterile adhesive dressings that looked to be the right size and a stitching kit just in case. It wasn’t exactly procedure to treat patients out in corridors, but with the volume of patients already out in this waiting area, I knew rooms would already be in short supply.

  ‘So how’d it happen? Look up at the light for me.’ I asked, peering into his eyes, looking for any trace of sluggish response. Similar to what I’d done earlier with the infected.

  ‘Kicked, while I was subduing another. I was knelt down, and must have made for an easy target.’

  I could imagine it, restraining one troublemaker with his cuffs or a zip-tie, turning his head just in time to take a boot to the face. It was just above his right eye, which was caked in dried blood. I set about cleaning it with the wipes, but it’s hard to get dried blood out of all the creases in the skin around there. He’d have to clean the rest of it himself in the shower.

  ‘This could be worse…’ I nodded, inspecting the cut. ‘The bleeding looks to have stopped, and the wound isn’t deep. You’ll avoid stitches. I’ll just have to properly clean it and cover it.’

  ‘You have my thanks. I’m not going to be infected, am I?’ he managed to sound calm as he asked.

  ‘No. Shouldn’t be.’ I shook my head, applying the antiseptic gel, ‘Let someone know if you start to feel feverish.’

  He sniffed sharply as the gel stung the wound. ‘Si, yes. I’d rather not go to the CDC’s ward though. From what the people with the signs are saying, it is not a nice place.’

  ‘I’ve been working there since I got in. It’s not a place you’d want to be taken, no.’

  I applied the adhesive dressing over the cut, and offered out the other two dressings to him, along with the gel.

  ‘Change it every twelve hours, and reapply the antiseptic.’ I told him. ‘Try to get an hour off your feet as well.’

  ‘Not likely.’ He smiled.

  ‘Yeah, didn’t think so. How about this then? Let’s get something to eat.’

  ‘You offering to buy me dinner?’ he asked with another smile.

  ‘You wish. No, it’s free for staff. Come on.’ I urged, remembering how desperately hungry I was. The A&E might have been busy, but they’d do without me for twenty minutes, long enough for me to grab a bite and make sure if this cop fell into a coma, someone was at least there to notice. Besides, I had less than an hour before Dr Lines wanted me back, and we had broken up for food after all.

  I led Emile, or Police Constable Asturias, to the canteen. It was mostly central, towards the rear end of the building. The busy kitchens were visible just behind the serving counters, where half a dozen hair-netted ladies and gents stood, dishing out the requested food onto trays, slid along the rails by a beleaguered looking mix of soldiers, coppers and medical staff.

  The canteen was a nice place, as these things go. It was open to patients and visitors so it had to put up a good face, even though none were present at the moment. The tables were easy-wipe plastic topped, the chairs made from the same, and with so many people on hand today, everything was pristine despite the demand.

  Emile looked at the offerings of lasagne, chicke
n casserole and seasoned pork, opting in the end for the pork with a huge side of salad. I had the chicken casserole, with a generous splash of black relish and the thick cut fries they call chips up here.

  ‘Would have thought you’d need the carbs today.’ I said as we sat, Emile tucking into his salad without hesitation. ‘Guessing you’re going to be here a while?’

  ‘Fit body, fit mind.’ Emile said, pausing briefly between leafy mouthfuls. ‘What was it like, in the quarantine ward?’

  ‘A little creepy.’ I confessed. ‘Everyone’s in a hurry to get somewhere, and they’re all wearing the same overalls and masks, even the soldiers. Then there’s the infected they’ve got in there. Tied down, struggling and screaming. Took a bit of getting used to, but weirdly, you manage to.’

  ‘What are they like, the infected?’ he asked. ‘There’s talk. That they’re dead, but still alive. How is that possible? If it’s true.’ He added quickly.

  ‘It’s true. Technically. They’re not our usual definition of alive, at least. Hearts don’t beat, there’s minimal brain function, and there’s not a speck of anything you could recognise as human in their eyes.’

  ‘Muerto Compaña,’ he grunted, ‘Company of the Dead. My grandfather told me that’s what was happening in Rojas. An army of the dead were marching across the country.’

  ‘He might have been right.’ I said. ‘But it’s not a ghost story. It’s a virus. A plague.’

  ‘Hah, a virus you can treat with medicine. Dr Lines have a cure?’ he asked, already knowing the answer.

  ‘Bullets, he told me. Bullets enough for everyone,’ I shrugged, giving him a wry smile. ‘But he’s optimistic about immunisation.’

  ‘That does surprise me,’ Emile nodded, having finished his salad and moved onto sawing up his pork, ‘I grew up hearing stories about Muerto Compaña, there is even a festival back home, like your Samhain. We invite Santa Compaña to protect us from evil, and pray their enemies don’t find us first.’

  ‘Sounds a bit dark…’

  ‘There’s candy, and rum. Singing. A lot of big fires and masks.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Actually, that sounds pretty familiar.’ I nodded. ‘The Republic and Rojas seem to have a lot in common.’

  ‘Si, like not being ready for this shit,’ he said, gesturing a fork, to encompass the entire hospital, city, and country. ‘You know many of my fellow officers have abandoned this place? I am sure some of the soldiers have slipped away too.’

  ‘I had heard…’ I prompted, letting him continue.

  ‘Parliament should not have let the virus even get here. Voison is a continent alone, you don’t share a border with anyone. So who imports it? Who did not do their job checking the ships, the planes? What happened?’

  ‘People can be lazy, or stupid, or bribed. Like you say, we’re a continent, not your typical island nation. Lot of airspace and coastline to keep an eye on.’

  ‘That is one explanation.’

  ‘I take it you have an alternate theory?’ I asked, setting aside the remains of my lunch. It was good, but heavy, and I guess my stomach wasn’t feeling all that up to it after all.

  ‘What if there was a…cruel hand at work?’ he asked. ‘A dark intent behind spreading the virus.’

  ‘Are you talking about the Company of the Dead? You got kicked harder than I thought.’ I smirked.

  ‘No, no, nothing spiritual, or magical. Just people. Greed, money, opportunity. Those warlords to the east of Rojas, with their rebellions and killings and blood diamonds, they are always the rich. When a good man sees chaos, he sees a chance to help others. When an evil man sees chaos, he sees a chance to help himself.’

  ‘What’re you getting at? Someone imported the infected to the Republic, for profit?’

  ‘Could be,’ Emile nodded. ‘Think of it. If someone out there designs a virus, and in our darkest hour, can market a cure, or a vaccine? Or maybe the just drive up demand for guns? Or create a distraction to steal gold bars from bank vaults?’

  ‘Murder everyone in an entire city, for gold?’

  ‘Our great-great ancestors did as much to each other for less.’ Emile said, stone faced and serious.

  ‘What makes you believe all this?’

  ‘I did not say I believe it. Not fully anyway. My grandfather… he is a little crazy. But back when he was a kid, he was crazy smart too. The smart is still in there somewhere. I am not saying I believe everything he said, but…’

  ‘It’s something to think about.’ I nodded. ‘Well now I won’t be able to sleep tonight.’

  ‘You mean we’re allowed to sleep?’

  ‘Best if you can avoid it for a few hours, until someone else has re-examined you. You seemed pretty stable before, and you seem fine now, but just to be sure, have someone check you over again in a couple hours and ask them if you’re good to nap.’

  ‘I have been up since yesterday morning!’

  ‘Walk it off.’ I told him, taking up our trays. ‘Guessing you haven’t been given a bunk?’

  ‘I do not think we planned on staying longer than our shifts, but things seem to have changed now.’

  ‘There’s a bunch of family rooms near A&E’s paediatrics corner, where I patched you up. Look for room three, the one with the motorcycle leathers in. When you’ve been given the all clear, you can rest up on the top bunk.’

  ‘Why the top bunk?’

  ‘Because I called the bottom one. Later, Emile.’

  Seven

  Two paramedics were wheeling in an infected upon my return – and we are not talking early stages. It was thrashing around on the gurney, gnashing its teeth. Fortunately it was restrained, and none of them looked to have suffered an injury in the process. But they shouldn’t have brought it here. Where the hell was Jerry?

  I looked about for a moment, hoping to spot him, but despite a lot of waiting cops and former rioters in the triage area – most of them hopefully treat ‘n streets – there didn’t seem to be as many medics around anymore. I guess they all got their assignments or already had a patient off somewhere.

  ‘Hey, guys!’ I shouted to the paramedics, rushing over, but staying out of arm’s reach of the gurney as they made for the nurse’s station. ‘Wrong entrance, you need to send him up to the quarantine doors, left of the main.’

  ‘We’ve got half a dozen pickups on right now, can’t someone just take him? I heard they opened some rooms up for isolation over here…?’ one of the paramedics asked. Overworked and underpaid, I could sympathise, I’d been there.

  ‘Gods…’ I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I didn’t know about any extra rooms, but Dr Lines would be calling soon anyway. I guess I was heading the right direction. ‘Don’t make a habit of it. Next one you bring in, quarantine doors.’

  They thanked me, and rushed back out to their ambulance. Now I was stuck with a hungry corpse and had to get it to the other end of the hospital. They’d muzzled it already, but this thing would cause a hell of a stir if people saw it – even here in the A&E, it was attracting too much attention.

  I didn’t need a curious civilian questioning if the muzzle was a human rights violation, so I wheeled it down a corridor or two, towards another supply cupboard, and took out a clean bedsheet. Though covered, it was still struggling and biting, but at least I had plausible deniability. Infected? Nah, he’s just…irritable.

  I could either take it through the hospital, a twisting, winding journey where the most number of patients would see it – or I could take it outside and around the front, where the unhappy crowd might.

  Just as I was considering finding a room for it here, a third option struck me – taking it through the basement. Not as grim and ominous as it sounds. Some areas of the basement are just storage areas, never meant to see a patient. Other sections are as open and well used as the upper floors – the whole radiology department was down there. But I’d definitely come across fewer people than going through the heaving ground floor.

  I waited for an
elevator, then let everyone else get out first. The doors were just closing on me when a clipboard was thrust horizontally between them. A short bald man with thin spectacles appeared. He had a well formed goatee beard and could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty. Between the beard and pale skin, he almost looked like a classic stage magician.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ the white-coated doctor said, stepping gratefully into the lift, ‘going up?’

  I shook my head. ‘Sorry doc, heading down.’

  ‘Oh, is this one of mine?’ the doctor asked, looking at the bedsheet. ‘Seems a bit too…lively.’

  It took me a moment to recognise him, but the comment helped. Arthur Grey, head of rose cottage. Which was a nice, in-front-of-patients way of saying he ran the morgue.

  ‘Afraid not. Just wheeling him through the basement,’ I said, ‘I’m working with Dr Lines from the CDC today, but some paramedics dropped this one off at the wrong door.’

  ‘How’d you find him?’ Grey asked.

  ‘Lines, or the patient?’

  ‘Dr Lines.’ Grey said, pressing the button for the basement. ‘Everyone told me he was hell to work with, but I found him to be remarkably insightful, if a little abrasive.’

  ‘That about sums him up, yeah.’ I nodded.

  ‘I don’t reckon he has much patience for fools. I was hoping to work with him more myself, but after we confirmed some basics there was little else he needed from me. A shame. I’d love to find out how the infected remain animated without a functional heart. Fascinating. You work in the A&E if I remember correctly? What has he had you testing?’

  ‘Basic responses between an aberrant infected and the common infected, seeing if they react differently to light, any difference in lung capacity, grip strength…’

  ‘Bugger. I could have done that.’ Dr Grey said, clearly a little put out. ‘Not that I begrudge you the opportunity, mind.’

  The doors opened and we stepped out into a wide, white corridor, much the same as above, but with less people rushing around – none, in fact. We set off walking together.