“They will be,” Wilgus said.
“They’re not all from South Bend, then? What happened at the hospital?” Olivia asked.
“It burned down,” Wilgus said. “I’m sure it was arson. We got everyone out that we could. Loaded them into ambulances, and we drove. East, basically. Then north. We drove and we fought.” He shrugged. “Same as everyone else. But it’s good to see you made it. I was going to requisition your tow truck, but it sounds like you need it. Good luck. I hope to see you around.”
“At the front, I guess,” Olivia said. “Wait,” she added.
“Yes?” Wilgus asked.
“No, nothing,” Olivia said. “Just, good luck.”
Wilgus nodded, got back in his truck, and pulled out to join the rear of the column.
“Good thing we’re wearing the uniforms,” Pete said.
“Good thing Olivia knew him,” Corrie said. “You didn’t want to ask him about Vevermee?”
“I thought about it,” Olivia said. “But it seems like ancient history now. You know what we should have asked, though? Where the frontline is.”
“Wherever it is,” Corrie said, walking back to the truck, “it’ll have moved by the time we get there.”
Whitney wasn’t the town Pete had been expecting, but another small hamlet being turned into a timber fort with the materials everywhere available. Outside the small conurbation, a wooden barricade ran across the road. There was no sentry or guard, but there were a group of eight foresters, carrying as many chainsaws as rifles, who’d stopped their felling as the tow truck approached.
“G’day,” Corrie called out. “We’re looking for General Yoon.”
“Then you want to keep looking another day east,” the sentry called back. “Maybe in Ottawa. Maybe beyond.”
“Who’s in charge here?” Corrie asked.
“That’d be the judge,” the sentry said.
“Judge Benton?” Olivia asked.
“Yep.”
She was easy to find; they just followed the sound of hammering until, when they drew nearer, they were able to zero in on the swearing. An old auto-garage had been turned into a tank triage centre. Eight of the mammoth machines sat in the lot, their mechanical guts in view. Assistants, in the odd mix of civilian, hunting, and military gear that was becoming humanity’s new uniform, were hurriedly erecting plastic-sheet canopies to keep away the beginning of a rain shower. Judge Benton herself was elbow-deep in an engine, drenched in oil, and cursing a blue streak that was on the verge of turning crimson before she noticed the tow truck. She stood, slowly walking over as Corrie climbed out of the driver’s seat. When she saw Pete and Corrie, the judge stopped.
“You’re not dead,” she finally said. “Weren’t you bitten?”
“We think we’re immune,” Olivia said. “We absolutely were bitten, but here we are. Clearly not dead. Certainly not undead.”
“No one’s immune,” the judge said.
Around them, the assistants putting up canopies around the disassembled machines paused, looking at the newcomers with understandable interest.
“And yet, here we are,” Olivia said. “In South Bend, I heard rumours. And there were some online.”
The judge nodded. “You better come with me.” She raised an oily hand, pointing at her team of assistants, then pointed skywards. They hurried back to work, though while talking in confused excitement.
“I see,” the judge said, pacing the office as they finished recounting the brief story. “Immunity? Natural immunity, one assumes. I suppose it is theoretically possible. However, I would advise you both to exercise caution.”
“In who we tell, you mean?” Pete asked.
“No, in how you act. It is just as likely that, somehow, you weren’t infected, that you two aren’t special, but there was something different about your attackers.”
“You mean that the zombies aren’t as infectious as they once were?” Olivia asked.
“Oh, trust me, they still are,” the judge said. “I’ll put in a call, pass this up to the general, and see what Jill wants to do. I suspect it will be to send you to a laboratory for testing, but we’ll wait and see.”
“Is she here?” Corrie asked.
“I’m not sure where she is,” the judge said. “Other than it’ll be the very front line. You’ve heard the saying by von Moltke that plans never survive contact with the enemy? We have a new one. They don’t survive contact with the refugees. There have been far more than we were expecting. Too many to send back behind the lines. We’ve added thousands more professional military personnel to our ranks, but we lack the equipment for them.” She waved a hand at the disassembled tanks beyond the window. “For now, we’re regrouping, creating a defensive line while Jill advances towards the Saint Lawrence.”
The call was made, a coded instruction for the general to call the judge back.
“And now we wait,” Benton said. “So, tell me, do any of you know what a regulator looks like?”
When the reply from the general came, it wasn’t in code.
“You’re correct,” Judge Benton said.
“About what?” Pete asked, turning from the road he, Olivia, and Corrie had been detailed to guard.
“You’re immune,” the judge said. She screwed up her face. “Well, no. Strictly speaking, you’re correct in that some people do appear to be immune, and the balance of probabilities suggests this is the case with you.”
“You mean there are others?” Olivia asked.
“The general’s received word of a case in Halifax, Nova Scotia,” the judge said. “And there is a possible case in Thunder Bay. The message came in the open, not in code, meaning Jill wants everyone to know that it is a possibility, and she’s altered our rules of engagement accordingly. But she also wanted to stress there are four confirmed cases out of the entire populations of Canada, the U.S., and Australia.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Pete said.
The judge shrugged. “It’s good news for some, which is better than bad news for all. Speaking of bad news, for now, you’re stuck here. The general doesn’t want you at the front until she’s had it confirmed that Dr Avalon doesn’t need to prod and poke you in the lab.”
“I don’t think I’d call being kept away from the frontlines bad news,” Olivia said.
The judge nodded. “Spoken like an experienced soldier,” she said, and turned to head back to her garage.
“Sorry, Your Honour?” Corrie said. “Can I ask something?”
“Call me Delores. What is it?”
“The orders came from General Yoon, but what did President Trowbridge say?”
“There’s been no word from him. No sign, either.” The judge shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“Absolutely not,” Corrie said.
8th March
Chapter 35 - Unwanted Visitors
Whitney
Pete yawned, shivered, and forced himself out of the chair and over to the window. The street outside, bathed in generator-powered spotlights, remained quiet and empty. He’d hear trouble before he saw it, of course, and it was more likely to come from inside than out. He turned around, glancing along the motel’s hallway at the locked bedrooms.
The convoy had arrived after dark. Four cars, one minibus, one battered school bus. Twelve adults, and twenty children, had disregarded the order to shelter in place, though they claimed not to have been aware of it. The partial remains of a zombie lodged in the school bus’s fender had prompted the judge to quarantine them all for the night. Subsequently, Pete’s plans for a quiet evening with Olivia doing absolutely nothing had become quiet sentry duty where he’d hoped to do nothing. And he hadn’t. He’d sat, paced, and dozed in the chair, rifle on the desk, waiting for a dawn which had almost arrived.
Outside, he saw the judge walk from the small house she was using as a command post to the restaurant they were using as their communal dining hall. It was time to check on the recent arrivals.
�
��Time to get up!” he called, knocking on the first door, pitching his voice loud enough to carry the length of the hallway. He didn’t open the door, however, leaving that to the room’s solitary occupant, assuming they were still alive. Knocking on one door after another, he moved along the hall, reaching the end as the first door opened. An old man stepped out, nodded to Pete, but then waited for the door opposite to open. The man relaxed as he saw the young boy who, in turn, gave a shrug.
“Where’s breakfast?” the boy asked.
“No one’s infected,” Corrie said.
The judge shook her head. “As far as we know. We assumed people turned within eight hours, but we also assumed everyone who was bitten was infected.”
“We need a radio station,” Corrie said.
“For broadcasting your news?” the judge asked.
“To tell people to stay inside,” Corrie said. “And to tell those who can’t where they should go, where they should avoid.”
“I’d like to know that, too,” the judge said. “But yes, I see your point. A radio station would be useful as we advance southward. I shall put it to Jill. And speaking of the marvels of technology, we had a phone call this morning, and a message to expect a fuel delivery.”
“For the tanks?” Pete asked.
“Indeed,” the judge said. “Though we still await their crew and munitions. Fuel was easier to locate. But order is being slowly restored. Supply chains are being re-established. Let me get these people fed, and I’ll see who among them we can get to stand guard.”
“And where do you want us?” Olivia asked.
“Building the walls for the guards to stand behind,” Benton said.
“There’s warmth in the sun,” Pete said, pacing across the bridge. “And fish in the river.”
“Do you want to try to catch them?” Olivia asked. “And pass me that wrench, the bracket, a couple of bolts. The hammer, too. And some nails.”
He brought over the entire toolbox. “Need a hand?” he asked for the third time.
“In a moment,” she said, fastening the bracket beneath the ledge she’d attached to the broad plank wall covering one half of the road. The other half was sealed with a garage door to which rollers had been added so, in theory, it could open outwards. “There,” she said. “Try that. See if it takes your weight.”
With a measure of trepidation, he clambered up, bouncing gently on the balls of his feet.
“Cool,” Olivia said. “Now, jump.”
“I’m happy standing.”
“Spoilsport,” she said.
A mostly blue butterfly landed on the garage-door-gate, then fluttered across the bridge, disappearing over the side. “Blue and yellow,” he said.
“What is?”
“That butterfly,” Pete said. “If Trowbridge is out of contact, that means he’s dead, isn’t he?”
“I suppose,” Olivia said.
“And so is Lisa Kempton.”
“Probably,” Olivia said. “Does it matter? So many people we knew far better are certainly dead.”
“But it means we don’t need to worry about the CIA asking about why Lisa Kempton’s jet is playing ferry between the hemispheres, or about Corrie, or me. We’re immune, and we’re alive, and we’ve escaped the past.”
“I guess we have,” Olivia said. She grinned. “Oh, and it’s such a nice day, too. You can really believe summer is on its way. So, do you want to go fishing?”
“I’ve never tried it,” he said. “You?”
“I never caught anything, but yes, twice. I bet you could find a fishing rod somewhere in town. Only one of us needs to be on guard. We could take it in turns.”
“No, I’m cool. I like the company up here.”
In the distance came the buzz of a chainsaw. A creak was followed by a sharp crack as another tree was felled.
“It’s the calm in the middle of the storm,” Olivia said, her smile fading slightly.
“So what’s coming is going to be as bad as what went before?”
“Or as hard,” she said. “As difficult. But if we’re in the middle, we’re approaching the end.”
“Speaking of approaching,” Pete said, climbing up to the gantry. “Is that… that is! That’s an engine.”
It was a big one. A fuel tanker was barrelling along the road. Battered and bullet-scarred, mud-flecked and gore-splattered, the windscreen was obscured with blood and worse. The vehicle came to a hissing halt fifty metres from the barricade.
“Keep your rifle close,” Olivia whispered. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
The driver’s door opened, and a young woman jumped out, wearing a neon-green coat and hat. Another woman jumped out of the passenger side, wearing a matching coat, nearly matching hat, and carrying a shotgun. Neither were soldiers. Neither were yet twenty.
Pete frowned. “Wait, I know her. I know the driver.”
“You do?” Olivia asked.
“From Thunder Bay,” Pete said. “Don’t you remember? She was working in the hotel kitchens. Christina something.”
Pete slid the garage door-gate open, and walked along the road to where Christina and her near-identically dressed passenger had stopped, in front of their battered cab.
“Heya,” Pete said cheerily. “Small world, right?”
Christina frowned.
“The hotel,” Pete said. “In Thunder Bay. We both were working in the kitchens. I don’t think we were properly introduced.”
“Chrissie M,” Christina said.
“And I’m Chrissie K,” the other young woman added.
“You’re both called Christina?” Olivia asked. “Well, that’s a coincidence, isn’t it?”
The two young women shrugged in near synchronicity.
“How did you happen to be out here?” Pete asked.
“We’re hauling fuel,” Chrissie M said.
“For the war effort,” Chrissie K said.
“We’re soldiers,” Chrissie M said.
“Everyone is,” Chrissie K said.
“You’re not dressed like soldiers,” Olivia said.
“The zombies don’t care what we wear,” Chrissie M said.
“So why should we?” Chrissie K said.
Pete couldn’t decide if they were finishing each other’s sentences, or refusing to let the other have the last word, though trying to keep up was giving him a pain behind his right eye.
“We better get the tanker inside,” Olivia said.
“There’s another tanker,” Chrissie M said.
“The truck blew a tyre,” Chrissie K said.
“We left it with the sergeant,” Chrissie M said.
“Further up the road,” Chrissie K said.
“Then we definitely better get this tanker inside, and then go get the judge,” Olivia said.
“That’s the diesel I was waiting on,” the judge said. “The other tanker is gasoline.”
“Is this for the tanks?” Pete asked.
“For the attack on Toronto,” the judge said.
“I thought we were attacking Ottawa,” Pete said.
“At the moment, yes. By the time we get the troops, and the ammunition, the front will have moved, divided, some going north, but these tanks will join those who turn south.”
“It’s happening fast, then?” Olivia said.
“It is,” the judge said, though an edge of uncertainty had crept into her voice. “The enemy doesn’t stop, doesn’t sleep, so neither can we. The longer we delay, the less food we have, the more of our number, around the world, will become the enemy, but… yes, I think Jill’s putting everything into this assault. Whether it’s too much or not enough, we won’t know until we succeed or fail. Nevertheless, we need the tanker, and it’s currently stranded to the west. About fifty kilometres away, according to those two Christinas. The punctures are on the cab’s driving-wheels. Detach the rig from the tanker, and take it to get the gasoline tanker.”
“I’ve never driven anything that big,” Olivia said.
“One of the rules of the outback,” Corrie said. “Be able to drive anything. If there’s an accident, you need to be able to get the vehicle off the road, or back to a diesel stop.”
“I guess that’s a rule that goes double for everywhere nowadays,” Pete said.
“Rufus, sit down,” Olivia said, pulling the dog back from the window. “I think he’s had enough of driving.”
“Or he just wants to see some more of Canada,” Pete said. “I get that. I think I like it here.”
“It’s the trees, isn’t it?” Olivia said.
“The outback, those open spaces, it seemed so vast,” Pete said. “The trees are… comforting. So tall and old, so densely packed. It gives a different perspective on the flow of time. Like, it’s a reminder the cities were built, so we can build them again.”
“That’s almost poetic,” Corrie said.
“Yeah,” Olivia said. “You really are in a good mood today.”
“Here’s hoping it— Zombie!”
“Seen it,” Corrie said, though she didn’t slow as the ragged creature seemed to drift onto the road. It wore a long and trailing dress, which utterly covered its feet and legs. Pete automatically thought wedding dress, but this was blue, not white. And it wasn’t a dress. It was a sheet. A shroud in which the corpse had been laid out before it had come back to life. The zombie flowed onto the road, but Corrie didn’t swerve until the last second, clipping the creature with the edge of the cab, sending it flying back into the undergrowth, and the sheet up into the air.
“I wasn’t trying to hit it,” Corrie said.
“We’ll get it on the way back,” Olivia said.
Pete nodded, his good mood now on ice.
The odometer climbed the kilometres. The road curved southward, but if it hadn’t been for the compass on the dash, he’d not have realised.
“Are we going the right way?” he finally asked.
“Assuming we’re heading to the smoke,” Corrie said.
“Where?”
“Look between the trees,” Corrie said. “Above them. There! No, it’s gone.”
Surviving The Evacuation | Life Goes On (Book 2): No More News Page 29
