by Lundy, W. J.
A door along the wall at his feet opened, and a pair of orderlies rushed in. A thick man held a syringe, the other was built like a whisky barrel, his short bulging arms holding more of the black straps Luke was already bound with. The men moved to his right side. He turned his head and shouted at them. “Stop! No, please—I don’t need it. I’m okay.”
The syringe-bearing orderly dressed head-to-toe in blue scrubs looked down at him and winked as his assistant forcefully slapped another wide strap across his chest.
Luke shook his head violently. “It’s okay; I don’t need it. Please just tell me where I am.”
“Wait,” a female voice called from the doorway. The orderly with the chest strap relaxed his grip and stepped away from the bed. The thick man held the syringe fractions of an inch from Luke’s arm. His hand twitched like he was about to plunge the needle anyway. Then he pulled it back and stepped against the wall with the other orderly. The woman stepped into the room, her shoes clopping against tile with every step.
She was blonde with her hair pulled back into a bun. She wore a white lab coat over a black pantsuit. Luke blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to bring the details of her face into focus. “I’m okay, you don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice breaking with every syllable.
She stared at him, her palm still held up to the orderlies. “Deputy Ross. My name is Doctor Whitaker.”
Luke looked at her hard. Taking in a deep breath, he tried to relax the strained muscles in his neck. “My name is Luke. I’m nobody’s deputy,” he said, gasping.
“But the uniform…” The woman forced a smile and looked down at the clipboard in her hands. Flipping a page, she said, “I see. We can cover that later.”
Luke took his eyes off the woman, still blinking rapidly to clear his vision. He turned his head and focused on the syringe in the thick man’s hand. The woman caught his gaze. “Lester, it’s okay. Deputy Ross won’t be requiring the sedative. Could you please leave us and send for Director Collingsworth, please?”
The thick orderly frowned and, without speaking, left the room. The squat man hesitated and looked at her, still holding the thick black straps. “Doctor?” he said holding one up. “Should I apply the additional restraints?”
She shook her head. “No, please don’t. You can relax the others.”
“Doctor?” the man said again. “He’ll be able to move.”
She waved a hand. “Yes, relax them, please; he’s not infected.”
The man nodded and moved to Luke’s feet. Watching the man pull a lever, Luke felt instant relief in his thighs. Soon his hands and arms were loose enough that he could roll his shoulders. The man loosened the final strap on Luke’s abdomen then looked at the doctor, who nodded, and the man left the room.
Luke eased his body against the mattress and looked back at the doctor. “Of course, I’m not infected.” He adjusted his legs and tried to touch his face. Finding that he now could, he rubbed his forehead. “I’m not bit. You had to have known that before strapping me down.”
She forced another smile and avoided eye contact with Luke. “Yes, deputy—” She paused and said again, “Yes, Luke, we were aware that you were not bitten in our first examination, but you woke up earlier ranting and screaming. We had to take precautions.” She looked back at the clipboard. “You were sedated and put in restraints.”
Luke shot her a puzzled expression. “Earlier? How long have I been here?”
“A few hours,” she said, not taking her eyes off the pages. “The medics tried to wake you, but as I said, you reacted violently.” She stopped and flipped through the pages. “After the first attempt, we thought it best to let you awaken on your own.”
Luke swallowed hard, trying to remain calm, knowing that everything he said would play a part in how he was treated here. “Where are my friends, the rest of my team?”
“They’re fine,” came a man’s voice.
Luke looked at the door as a middle-aged man in a dark polo shirt entered. Unlike Doctor Whitaker, the man didn’t wear a lab coat, but Luke could tell from a name tag that it was Director Collingsworth. The man walked across the room and stood next to Whitaker. He put out a hand, and she passed him the clipboard. “You took a pretty good shot to the head, Deputy Ross. How are you feeling?”
Before Luke could answer, Whitaker said, “He goes by Luke.”
Collingsworth took a beat and frowned, studying the clipboard, then repeated the question. “How are you feeling?”
Luke looked at the man, then back to Whitaker. He could tell there was some tension between the two of them. “Who are you?” he asked, his eyes locked on the stranger.
The man smiled. “I’m Roger Collingsworth. I’m the Director of Security here, and I’ve had people tell me that you’re a security risk.”
Whitaker began to speak, but Collingsworth held up a hand, stopping her. “Deputy Ross, is there any reason that I need to be worried about you? Are you a risk to this facility?”
“You have my friends; what did they say about me?” Luke said.
“The soldiers?” Collingsworth snapped. “Like typical soldiers, they are refusing to speak. And the girl—”
“Kate? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” Whitaker said before Collingsworth could stop her. She drew a stern look in recognition of her outburst. She closed her mouth and nodded before taking a step back.
Collingsworth sighed and spoke. “The girl has plenty to say, but most of it is nonsense. She seems very troubled by whatever it is you have dragged her into.”
At that, Luke laughed. “She’s a refugee. I don’t know what happened to her, but she’s all alone. I guarantee she’s troubled.” He paused to collect himself then looked back at the director. “What is it you want from me?”
“Why did you come here?” the man asked.
“Why did you attack us?”
Collingsworth grinned. “We watched you enter the camp. We would have approached you differently outside, but once you were inside the server room, we couldn’t risk a fight or you damaging our equipment.”
Shaking his head, Luke said, “If you watched us enter the camp, why did you wait for us to enter the building before talking to us?”
“It takes twenty minutes to open the doors,” Whitaker said, drawing another cold look from Collingsworth.
The security man pursed his lips and put a closed fist to his forehead then nodded. “As my colleague just revealed, when the base is in full lockdown, it can take up to twenty minutes to open the blast doors. I assure you, we would have rather not caused a fight inside the server facility. Thankfully, your team felt the same way.”
“Flash bangs and SWAT tend to do that to a person,” Luke said, shaking his head. He glanced at Whitaker and could read the concern on her face. He knew he was doing this wrong. If he kept down this road, he’d end up sedated and strapped to the bed for a month. He took a deep breath and tried to relax. “Sorry we cut through the fencing. We couldn’t be sure if the base was infected. We are coming from Camp Alamo. It’s just east of here.”
“Camp Alamo?” Collingsworth asked. “What’s that? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a survivors’ camp, mostly refugees from Virginia. There’s a batch of Marines and Seabees there, providing security. Well, at least they were.”
The man looked to the woman then back at Luke. “When you say survivors’ camp, you mean FEMA? But all of the FEMA sites are numbered, there are no names. The nearest camp is in Rochester, Camp 109.”
“No, the Alamo is a military encampment. The Marines were on a fighting retreat from D.C. and they set it up when they realized they weren’t going to find anything better. The highways are all blocked or bombed out, the infected are massing in—”
“Retreat from D.C.?” Collingsworth blurted out, cutting him off. “Retreat from what? D.C. is a stronghold. Every division the nation has to offer has been called there to shut down this outbreak.”
Shaking his head,
Luke looked down at his feet. “No, sir; the city and most every city like it has fallen. The Capital is gone.” He exhaled. “Wait, how do you not already know this?”
The question caused Collingsworth’s face to flush. “What we know is not your concern.” The man took a step back, standing rigid, and passed the clipboard back to Whitaker. He turned and moved toward the door.
Spinning around, Whitaker said, “Sir, what do I do with the patient?”
He stopped in the doorway. Without turning he said, “You said he’s not infected, release him to Quarantine B with the others. Keep him away from general until we get the all clear from command.” Without waiting for a response, the man passed into the hallway and vanished to the left.
Whitaker moved back and closed the door before stepping to the bed to remove the already loosened straps. “You’re lucky, you know. He could have kept you in here for up to a week without any reason at all. That’s the standard protocol for people entering this ward.”
“Then why the change of heart?” Luke asked.
“I think you struck a nerve with him.” She moved around the bed and pulled the remaining straps from Luke’s arms and chest. “We really don’t know what’s going on out there.”
“Wait, this is like a command center. How is that possible?” Luke said. Sitting up, he rolled his shoulders and dropped his feet off the edge of the bed.
The doctor nodded. “We work in closed compartments here. I serve the medical department within the facility; Collingsworth, the security. If it doesn’t pertain to our direct reports, then we don’t know about it. We had some information about the riots and civil chaos in the Capital, and some disturbances out West. But once they closed the base, the information stopped.”
Luke thought about the real reason they were here. “What about TV and radio?”
She smiled, knowing what he was getting at. “Yes, the frequency block also applied to us inside the facility. Everything RF, analog, digital, cell phones, everything is blocked. I heard a doctor in the burn ward say that some military-grade satellite phones were still working, but we haven’t been able to confirm that.” She looked back at the door behind her. “Listen, Luke, people in here want to know what’s going on outside too. They have families out there, and all of us want to get home.”
He frowned. “That’s the thing, Doc. There is no going home, everything out there is gone. People are either dead or dying, and they have no way to call for help because of the damn jamming.”
She held up a hand and leaned in close. “You shouldn’t be talking like that, not here.” Her voice changed to a whisper. “Most of Collingsworth’s job right now revolves around maintaining that broadcast system.”
“But why?” Luke said.
“When the orders came down to close the doors and activate the system, we were only at twenty percent capacity. Most of us thought that was a good thing. Usually, that would mean a drill or only a partial evacuation of the Capital. We’ve had lockdowns in the past that could last a month just to test the staff; you know, to make sure we were prepared for what this facility was designed for.” She hesitated then said, “Plenty of the people inside still think that, but not everyone. Especially those of us in medical that have had contact with the evacuees from the city.” She stopped and stared at the wall, in deep thought.
Luke looked at her hard. “Listen, doctor, I’m going to be real with you. If that jamming doesn’t turn off, a lot of people are going to die.”
“You didn’t come here to look for survivors, did you?”
Luke closed his eyes and then opened them again. Whitaker put a finger to her own lips, silencing him. “Please let me get you checked into quarantine. Once there, you’ll see that you’re safe.”
Luke sighed and went to stand, looking at his pajama-covered legs. He looked at Whitaker.
She smiled. “You’ll get your uniforms back when we enter the quarantine ward.”
Chapter Nineteen
Day of Infection, Plus Nineteen
North of Hayslette, Virginia
The garage was ahead on the right side of the alley and coming at him fast. Gyles stood high on the front of the trailer, like a surfer, looking down the tightly packed space. Every inch of the alley was pressed shoulder to shoulder with the writhing Primals. Men from the garage’s roof were firing down into the mass with little effect. A few would fall, but they seemed to be absorbed into the mass, which grew with every gunshot. Behind the makeshift picket line, on the garage roof, were groups of women and children huddled tightly with their belongings.
“This isn’t going to work,” Gyles said to himself.
He could see that if the semi slowed, the truck would quickly be overrun. They would have to make moving passes to get everyone on board that they could. He looked back and saw that Mega had a massive hole cut away in the top of the trailer. When Gyles asked what was inside, Mega told him it was only a few pallets of office supplies; there was plenty of room for stowaways.
Gyles waved at the cab, getting Culver’s attention and shouted, “Bring it by the garage for a slow pass, but do not stop.”
“No problem with that, Sergeant,” Culver shouted back. “Old man up here says if he gets too slow, they climb the hood. He wants to head for the hills.”
Gyles scowled. “He tries running, shoot him in the face.”
Culver grinned. “We already had that discussion, boss. He ain’t going nowhere we don’t tell him to.”
Looking up, Gyles could see they were closing in on the garage roof. “I’m jumping over to see if I can do something about this crowd. Loop back around and be ready to take on survivors.”
Culver shot a thumbs up, and the man disappeared back into the cab. Gyles wobbled as the truck seemed to speed up then press right, the sides scraping on fences and trash cans in the alley. Joe was making it easy for him to make the jump. The garage was almost on top of them. Gyles compressed his legs and waited, as soon as the truck was in line with the corner of the structure, he took two lunging steps then jumped to the garage. As he sailed across the void, he saw women and children jumping to the truck.
He reached the roof and scrambled for footing as men pulled him up the side. “What are they doing? We weren’t ready for them!” Gyles said, trying to catch his breath. He turned back to see the truck driving away. On the top, Mega had the people corralled on the roof and was guiding them into the hole in the trailer. Gyles looked up at one of the men who had helped him. “Did they all make it? Did anyone fall?”
A young man in a Detroit Tigers ballcap nodded. “They all made it, three women and four kids.” The man pointed to a hole cut in the garage’s roof; more women and children were filing out. “We’ll get this group set up for the next pass.”
Gyles shook his head. “We can’t fill that truck, loading people seven at a time.” He stood and looked behind him, into the church grounds. There were mangled bodies scattered along the lawns and walkways. “Are the infected inside the walls?” Gyles asked.
The young man looked down and shrugged. “Some demons have managed to get in, but the snipers in the tower are cutting them down. The church walls are strong. It takes a lot of them to get over the top, and when they do, the guys on the second floor kill them.”
Having heard enough, Gyles made his way for the hole in the roof and spotted Zeke inside. “Where’s Sherman?”
Zeke snapped around, hearing his voice. “Hey, soldier boy, looks like you held up your part of the bargain.”
Gyles shook his head. “I haven’t done anything yet. We have to get these people out of here. Where is Sherman?”
Zeke pointed toward the church. “He’s in the sanctuary, trying to organize the withdrawal. We need to peel off shooters a few at a time or they’ll breach the walls. Their gunfire is the only thing keeping them from rolling over the top.”
Gyles bit at his lip. He already knew what needed to be done. He reached out and squeezed Zeke’s shoulder. “That truck is going to keep maki
ng passes, but it can’t slow down unless we clear this alley. You just get as many people on board as you can, you understand? As many as you can.”
The old man forced a smile and dipped his chin. “You need help with something, son? You seem to have a plan.”
“Nope,” Gyles said. “No plan, just a stupid idea.” He turned and walked across the attic of the garage and moved down narrow stairs into the workspace.
Two armed men stood by the door. As Gyles approached, one of them pulled back a bolt on the door. “The yard isn’t safe, the snipers are killing them, but they can’t see everything.”
Gyles bit his lip and nodded. “Okay, what about the door on the other side of the yard?”
“There’s men on it. In a minute, they’re going to send a group across. If you want in the church, that’ll be your chance.” The man looked through a peephole then pulled back the door. “Here they come.”
As soon as the door was pulled wide, Gyles stepped out and took up a position with his rifle at the low ready. On the ground he could see even more of the dead Primals in all conditions of dress, their bodies mangled by the gunfire. He kept his rifle aimed into the grounds as he ran toward the other door. At the halfway point, he crossed paths with a group of women carrying children. A young woman locked eyes with him. She was holding a baby to her chest. Gyles looked away, not wanting to remember her eyes.
“This isn’t going to work,” he whispered again.
He made eye contact with a man holding the church door. The man waved frantically at him, and he sprinted up the steps and flew through the opening as the man slammed the door and bolted it.
