‘Katy! Grab your gear.’ Jerry said, opening the package from Freshers. Inside was a stainless steel surgical tray, full of pinkish organs, weeping fluids that ran down onto the floor.
‘How much did they send?’
‘All of it, I think.’ Jerry replied, only it wasn’t Jerry.
It was Doctor Grey, his sleeve rolled up. ‘I’m fine, you see? No bleeding.’
He wasn’t bleeding from the bite on his arm, as the whole limb had been neatly amputated from the elbow down, bandages still fresh. When I looked up to meet his eyes, they’d been clawed out. Two gaping black holes threatened to swallow me.
‘Fuck...’ I gasped, lungs working overtime, heart beating like a drum. I was still on the floor in the barn, not back at the hospital. Or at home or in the woods. Trying to sleep had proven to be a worse idea than I’d thought. Damn.
Thirty One
Emile was standing outside the barn, back against the wall, shotgun under his arm. He was looking over to the side gate, far removed from the original design, the two ladders on hinges, meant to stop sheep rather than zombies. Now it was taller, stronger, clad in good timber and fortified with its hay bales and siege munitions.
I too, felt far removed from my original design. This wasn’t where I wanted to be, and I didn’t need a therapist interpreting my dreams to tell me that. I should be tending wounds at County right now, or doing a stock count on supply cabinet three, or getting on my bike and riding to my man’s apartment ready to throw myself in his arms and just let it all out.
I’d reached the end of my rope last night, had my little moment in the bathroom, but no matter how homesick I felt, I needed to put some steel in my spine, grin and bear it just a little while longer. They’d need me on those barricades, or in the infirmary. They’d need me here, present in body and mind, not pining away for home.
From the barn, you could make out the glow cast by the construction lamps on the barricades, but since they were pointed outwards rather than in, nobody was getting blinded by it. I suppressed a cringe of guilt for Officer Carmichael, shoving it down there with all the other things I didn’t want to think about.
‘¿Cómo estás?’ Emile asked, finally noticing I was standing there.
‘Shitty. Can’t sleep. Bad dreams.’ I waved him off.
He nodded. ‘I shovelled a lot of earth today. Should be tired. Captain said to get my head down a while, but after ten minutes, I gave up.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Almost midnight.’
‘Wow. I actually got a few hours. Doesn’t feel like it.’ I added, stretching the kinks out of my back when all I really wanted to do was curl up. ‘Should we be waking people up? They’re due soon.’
‘Is anyone actually asleep?’
I turned back into the barn, too dark inside to see much, but it was filled with the sounds of muted conversations. If there was anyone snoring, I couldn’t hear it.
‘Doubt it.’ I told him.
He shrugged. ‘I doubt our enemy will be punctual. But it will not be long now.’
‘Unless the ghoul’s too smart to come for us where we’re strong, and has set up an ambush on the road instead. It probably knows we’re not planning on staying here forever.’
‘I do not want to think of that,’ he said, ‘trouble enough sleeping without you giving me more to worry about.’
We were interrupted by footsteps pounding across the courtyard, an indistinct, shadowy figure emerging from the gloom.
‘Nurse Cox?’ the runner asked. He was a SySec soldier, and wore the expression of someone about to give bad news. I’d had to wear it enough myself, so braced for impact.
‘What is it, soldier?’
‘Doctor Fielding is asking for you, it’s the group in the lodge…’
‘Shit. What’s happening?’
I followed the soldier’s lead across the courtyard, leaving Emile to continue his watch over the barn.
‘We think they’re turning ma’am.’
We arrived at the lodge without another word. Scaffolding had been repurposed from the guesthouse construction site, and turned into a rudimentary watchtower. A set of ladders went up to a platform which was about level with the top of the gate, and was loaded with just as many projectiles as the other gate’s bale-wall.
Claire was outside the lodge door with Captain Hale and someone from the militia, whoever had been on guard duty. I’d feel bad for not learning everyone’s names, but there were about sixty people here and I already had a lot on my mind.
Claire went straight into the details, skipping the pleasantries. It was reassuringly familiar, a little homage to the time when we practiced medicine out of a big building with loads of machines and equipment. What were they called again?
‘Patients began to report increased irritation to their eyes throughout the day. Eye washes and chloramphenicol seemed to ease it, but only briefly. They began to present with haemolacria an hour ago.’
‘And they’re bleeding from their godsdamn eyes.’ The militiaman said, his tone implying that he was not comfortable with this development.
‘That’s what I said.’ Claire told him, shrugging. ‘The haemolacria seemed to be easing the discomfort as well, but now they’re showing signs of the late stage fever. Temperature, and delirium.’
‘Diagnosis?’ I sighed.
‘Infected. I’m certain of it.’
‘Shit.’
‘Infected, and possibly a new aberration.’ Hale added, hands on his hips, ‘I’m of the opinion that keeping them locked up in there until they fully turn is a bad idea. We’ve got enemies inbound, and if they break loose, I don’t want to be fighting on two fronts – especially if we don’t know what this new aberration is capable of. We can’t really spare the manpower to guard them either. I’ve just given the order to stop patrols so we can get everyone ready to man the barricades.’
‘What are you suggesting, Captain?’ I asked, knowing exactly what he was suggesting.
‘Euthanise them now.’
‘I’ve been counselling to keep them alive, for study after they’ve turned.’ Claire said. ‘It might be a danger to keep them around, but really, when is research into the virus not going to be dangerous?’
‘I can’t believe we’re talking about this.’ I said.
That look people give me, where they think I’ve gone a little bit mad – I was seeing it too often.
I was no longer surprised I got to have a vote on this, after what Hale had said in the barn. As uncomfortable as it had made me, I was resigned to being a valued member of the team now, for better or worse. If Hale had just executed them without consulting the VHC, that being just Claire and I, it’d look really bad on the reports.
No, what I was surprised by was just every damn thing else. We shouldn’t have to make these kinds of calls. These aren’t normal-people calls.
‘For fuck’s sake. Do we sacrifice someone’s dignity and comfort to further our understanding? Or do we murder someone now to spare them the pain of turning into one of the undead?’
‘Keeping them alive endangers the defence as well. Don’t forget that. We’d be harbouring the enemy inside our walls.’ Hale reminded us.
‘It’s an impossible choice.’ Claire said, shoulders sagging. ‘But it’s one we have to make.’
‘Yes. One you lot have to make.’ The militiaman agreed, taking half a step backwards from the conversation.
His grip was tight on his shotgun. I think I knew which way he wanted this to go. The presence of infected people so close, even contained within the building, was making him uncomfortable. Hopefully he wouldn’t be so twitchy when the horde of actual zombies arrived.
‘I have to think about the immediate concerns of the group as a whole,’ Hale said, ‘presently, these poor souls are a liability. A time-bomb of potential problems. There’s no telling when they’re going to turn or what their capabilities will be when they have.’
‘Has anyone given them a
choice?’ I asked.
Claire shook her head. ‘That was our first thought, as per our discussion about Aaron in the ambulance. But the fever came on too fast. They’re not in their right minds anymore. If this were at the hospital, we’d be asking their significant others to sign off on anything drastic, but they’ve no strong ties to anyone else in the group and given how quickly the fever came on, I’d say we’re running out of time. It won’t be long before they pass through the delirium, lie down for a bit, and the virus is in control.’
I swept a hand through my hair and let out a deep breath.
Tony was a good guy. He deserved better than this. They all did. But what could we do for them? We’d made them as comfortable as possible, but really that’s just medical speak for “there’s nothing we can do but wait”.
Did we ever expect them to come through this? Or from the moment their eyes started burning, did we know it was too late for them? Should we have acted sooner? More questions, not enough answers.
That had been the problem so far hadn’t it? We were groping at this thing, the virus, the new plague, like the blind guys who go into the room to touch the elephant. We could feel parts, but not the whole. Without the bigger picture, we were lost. We needed answers – and the only way to get them was to be a bunch of absolute bastards.
‘Study and experimentation.’ I said.
Claire gave a look to Hale, but it was hardly satisfaction, more of an apology. There was nothing about this situation to be happy about.
‘We’ve got broken eggs, Captain,’ I said, ‘we may as well salvage an omelette out of them.’
They gave me that look again.
‘I just woke up, give me a break.’
Hale shook it off first. ‘How do you propose we secure them?’
‘Restrain them, while it’s still safe to do so. We don’t want to be going near them when they start biting, or whatever else zombies do when they bleed from their eyes.’ I gave a shudder as I remembered Doctor Grey’s face from my dream.
‘We don’t have beds to stick them in, but I bet Rob’s got some rope around here somewhere. Private,’ Hale said, turning to the soldier who’d fetched me, ‘get some chairs in there and strap them down as securely as possible, pull anyone else you need so long as they’re not on watch.’
The soldier hopped to it.
‘There much we can do?’ I asked Claire.
She shook her head. ‘It’s out of our hands until they’ve turned. Maybe we can find out more in autopsy, but I suppose we’ll need to make some observations of them first. See how they react differently to other zombies, if they are an aberration.’
‘It’s too much to hope that haemolacria is just an uncommon symptom, and not an aberration marker.’
‘We hope for some really weird things lately.’ Claire said.
There was a crackle from Hale’s radio.
‘Echo One to Watchtower. Eyes on. Over.’
Hale brought the handset up to speak. ‘Watchtower receiving, confirm enemy contact Echo. Over.’
‘Confirmed, Watchtower. Echo out.’
‘Echo. They’re on the opposite side of the fields from Overbridge. Not where I expected first contact.’ Hale thought aloud. ‘Watchtower to all field teams bar Echo, report. Over.’
‘Alpha. Non-contact. Alpha out.’
‘Beta. Non-contact. Beta out.’
‘Charlie. Contact. Repeat, contact, please advise. Charlie out.’
‘Delta. Contact. Say again, enemy contact. Delta out.’
‘Foxtrot, standing by for orders sir. Foxtrot out.’
‘Alpha, Beta, hold position. Enemy has moved to engage furthest side of the farm from Overbridge. Likely expected defences to be lighter, but it could be a ruse to have us overcommit to one side. Repeat, hold your position. Run further communication through field team Foxtrot. Confirm order received. Watchtower out.’
Hale breathed in deeply as all field teams confirmed their orders, going from Alpha to Foxtrot. Only when they were done did he let it go.
‘Who are Foxtrot again?’ I asked. I hadn’t been around for the main briefing, being out playing with the horses.
‘Sergeant Bailey’s team, based out of the construction work. Couple of our lot are there in case of casualties, but Foxtrot are reinforcements for when things go south with another team.’ Claire said.
‘If things go south.’ Hale corrected her. ‘PMA.’
‘Positive mental attitude?’ we both asked.
He shrugged. ‘Victory is first won in the mind.’
Hale’s radio buzzed again.
‘Barnyard to Watchtower. We have contact now too. Over.’ I recognised Reg’s voice.
Icewater ran down my back. It was one thing to hear that the zombies were approaching distant barricades, but the barnyard was where I’d just had my head down. It was a thirty second jog away.
The road by this side of the farm was all that separated it from the woods. Had the ghoul dragged his army through the woodland to conceal it, or was it bringing them along the road? How long did we have? How long before I needed to fight?
‘Watchtower. Understood. Hold position. Out.’
Hale was standing very still, carrying a lot of tension in his shoulders. Staring intently at the main gate, he folded his arms in a slow, deliberate movement. ‘Any second…’
‘Sir, contact!’ the sentry atop the scaffolding tower shouted down, not bothering with his walkie-talkie.
Hale raised the radio to speak again, and took another deep, steadying breath.
‘Broadcasting all channels. This is Captain Hale. They’ve surrounded us, cut off our exits. We knew this attack was coming, and we have prepared for it. You all know your positions, you all know your duty. If your post is endangered, report in for reinforcements or fall back to your secondary position. Remember that the enemy is slow, but unrelenting. Be cautious, be clever, and be fierce in your defence of these walls. Tonight, we put the dead to rest. Nothing more, over.’
A buzz of acknowledgements came over the radio, coupled with the distant echoes of cheering – an outlet for jangling nerves that I very much wanted to be a part of. I doubt many of the people out in the fields, even the cops, had ever been in a real life or death struggle like this. Not even in their national service.
‘I give it a seven. Not your best, but it’s not like you had all day to prepare a proper speech.’ I told Hale.
‘I was busy!’ he bristled.
I put my hands up, defensive. ‘Just saying.’
He gave a brief huff from his nostrils which may have been a laugh.
‘The situation with the lodge will have to wait now. Keep an eye on them,’ he said to the militiaman. ‘If they try to get out, shoot them. Fair?’
‘Fair.’ We all agreed.
‘Now, to your posts. You know what to do. Good luck, ladies.’
‘Good luck, Captain.’ I said.
People rushed out of the farmhouse, pulling on coats and gloves. It was a cold night, but the gloves would also stop their hands getting sore from throwing bricks at the undead.
Some of them had weapons, members of the militia with pistols in hand or rifles on their shoulders, pockets topped off with ammo. Others just had what they’d been given from the salvage pile – hand tools mostly, hammers and heavy wrenches. Some of the larger tools, pitchforks, pickaxes, hoes and shovels, were already waiting in piles by their assigned posts.
Still, there weren’t enough weapons to go around. I knew that much. On the one hand, that meant people manning the barricades with heavy, awkward weapons would be able to swap to a fresh pair of hands when they got tired. On the other, it meant that if the walls fell, there’d be a whole lot of people forced to throw down with flesh-eating undead with their bare hands.
How many zombies was the ghoul bringing to us? Enough to attack us at every barricade? How many stones did we have to throw, how many would land on target, and how many of us would have to die to make sure the rest surviv
ed? Was it even possible?
‘Hey,’ Claire said, watching me space out. ‘PMA.’
She offered me a high-five.
I hugged her instead.
‘PMA.’
Thirty Two
The calm before the storm.
I was uncomfortable about standing atop the hay bales. They were densely packed things, no issue with them holding shape, even with half a dozen people atop them. The footing was only unsteady in your imagination. But still… I was manning the ramparts, awaiting attack. This wasn’t where I wanted to be, but I don’t suppose anyone wants to fight for their life.
The gate came up to my waist, a handy stopper from falling into the road, which in about a minute was going to be swarming with hungry mouths. I could see the rough shape of the horde, moving steadily towards us.
Suddenly, at the edge of the light, they hesitated, drawing up short of the bright pool cast by the construction lamps. They were close enough to hear the quiet, almost gentle chorus of moaning and groaning.
‘Why have they stopped?’ Emile asked.
He stood to my right, weapon held ready but not pointing down the road. The idea was that everyone would hold fire until the enemy were at point blank range, where we’d expend our handheld munitions first and the gunmen would watch out for unexpected dangers, like ghouls and hitherto unknown aberrations.
Once we ran out of things to lob at the zombies, and if no ghouls showed up, the gunmen would at least have all the time in the world to line their shots up, ensuring best use of our limited ammo. Even then, the shooters were under orders to save a few shots for later. The guns were our best weapons against the ghouls, and Hale expected them to be well hidden for most of the battle.
But there would be signs if they were leading the attack – and zombies pulling up short of the gates, I felt, was definitely one of them. It was not normal behaviour.
The Suburban Dead (Book 2): Emergency Page 29
