“Dry mouth?” asked Grant. “The sedative does that. Here.”
Eva accepted the water bottle and downed it in one shot.
Laird drove the rig and Wes sat in the cab with him. Eva and Grant sat on the floor inside the enclosed cargo trailer. It was hot and the air musty.
“We didn’t want to sedate you, but under the circumstances, felt it was necessary.”
She glared at him. “I told you I didn’t want to go on the supply run.”
“Ah, yes. Wanted to get your mind right,” he said mockingly. Grant scratched the stubble on his chin. “Well, I wasn’t about to leave you there with Mitchell. Is that what you’d have wanted?”
“I can handle myself.”
“Oh, I’m aware of that. It’s Mitchell who can’t. And he has a penchant for strong-willed blondes.”
“Yeah well, one of these days, he’s going to bite off more than he can chew.”
Grant nodded. “I think that’s accurate.”
The rig’s engine moaned as they climbed a hill. “Where are we?”
“East of Community.”
“The coast?”
Grant shook his head. “No. The coast is a hot spot; we never go into hot spots, just skirt the borders. But each time we make a run, we must go farther than before. Eventually, it won’t make sense fuel-wise to do that. It’s conceivable that at some point we might need to abandon Community and make a new home.”
“Or just begin hunting and living off the land.”
Grant raised his eyebrows. “Oh? You’re willing to eat infected game? Or can you imagine enduring winter without a generator for heat?”
Eva shrugged. “There’s this thing – I’m not sure you’ve heard of it – fire?”
“And what about when winter arrives? Are you going to live outdoors?”
“Why not a cabin? Or even a cave? Primitive people did it.”
“Nothing can afford protection like a bunker.”
“I guess,” said Eva. “I guess it depends on who’s running the bunker.”
Grant stared off. He removed a paper from a pocket and unfolded it. “How about you tell me what this is.”
Eva’s pulse thumped as she glanced at the words she’d written: Tomorrow at dusk. She shrugged. “Just thoughts.”
“Thoughts lead to actions,” replied Grant. “Were you planning something, Eva?” When she didn’t answer, he pressed. “Who is Alex to you?”
Grant’s tone had transformed from overbearing prick to someone who suddenly seemed capable of true concern. Either it was genuine, or he was one hell of an actor. Eva didn’t want to admit it, and struggled internally against the notion, but maybe she needed someone else besides Lacy to confide in. But Grant?
“Just a person who seemed to need someone.”
Folding his hands across his chest, Grant nodded. “And you were going to fill that need?”
“Maybe.”
“And what about you? Don’t you have a similar need? I have news for you: we all have that need…a sense of community. That’s why we all band together – to be there for one another. There’s no reason why Alex can’t be a part of it, too. There’s no need to run.”
Eva stared at the man, wondering if he was lifting the curtain he so often hid behind – something Eva understood all too well - the tough, hardened disciplinarian. Or was he merely trying to coax answers from her? The horn sounded as the rig slowed and then stopped. Grant stood and went to the rear of the trailer. “Suit up,” he said to Eva. He attached the helmet to his bio-suit and after a moment, Wes opened the cargo door, flooding the space with light. When Grant hopped down and walked out of view, Eva followed.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“St. Anthony’s hospital,” responded Wes.
Eva scanned the area. “Oh yeah, I remember. It was overrun.”
Wes nodded. “Fucking nightmare…anyway,” he added, pointing towards Grant, “he likes to stop if we’re close enough.”
Eva frowned. “Why?”
“You’ll see.”
Grant had ventured into the hospital’s parking lot, which looked like the set from a blockbuster disaster movie. Decaying automobiles, of both the civilian and emergency variety, lay scattered in ruin. Remnants of tented treatment centers stood in disrepair, some still housing patients – or what remained of them – on what looked to be operating tables. Laird stood near the rig, armed and appearing to take aim at what looked to Eva like humanoid sculptures made of twisted shrubbery and vines. The place was eerily quiet, and Eva felt as though she was trespassing on sacred ground.
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
No one uttered a word for a few moments. Then Laird broke the silence. “Grant.”
Without turning, Grant held up a hand. “Just a minute. Eva? Come here, please. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Like you to meet?
Eva looked to Wes for assistance, but his eyes left hers and concentrated on the ground. Then begrudgingly, she turned to Laird, who simply nodded, suggesting she advance.
She did so, walking twenty feet and ducking beneath the flapping shreds of one of the tents. Grant turned toward her and took her arm. Before them on a rusted gurney was the outline of a teenaged girl, cradled in the arms of another, slightly larger female. In a voice thick with emotion, Grant said, “This is my wife and daughter.”
Eva’s heart felt like it plummeted into the depths of her being and she released a soft gasp. A profound grief pressed down on her and her eyes unexpectantly welled.
“We had been separated,” continued Grant. Inside his helmet, a wet trail followed the contours of his cheek. “All communication had been rendered useless. I searched and finally found them here, but it was already too late. I was told that once they were quarantined, they quickly declined.”
Eva gently shook her head. “I’m so…so sorry.”
“You might be wondering why I didn’t give them a proper burial…”
Eva shook her head. “No. It’s none of my business.”
“You can’t move them once they’ve become like this. They’re too brittle and frail. They might…crumble.” He cleared his throat. “And then I’d have nothing.” He removed two yellow flowers from a pocket and gently laid them on the gurney next to his family.
For the first time, Eva noticed numerous keepsakes distributed around the bodies. One that caught her eye was an old, worn Christmas tree ornament depicting Santa in his underpants, his trousers at his ankles while he was bent over removing toys from his bag. Grant must’ve noticed Eva’s curious gaze. “She thought that was a riot, my daughter,” he chuckled.
“What was her name?”
Grant’s eyes met hers. “Samantha,” he said, forcing a smile. He took a deep breath and released a heavy sigh. “I’m very hard on you because you remind me so much of my daughter when she was your age. And maybe that’s not fair, but-”
Without thinking, and much to her surprise, Eva threw her arms around Grant. He returned the embrace.
*********
Mo had removed the instrument from the cycle and taken it with him when they entered the hospital, but now, the panel was dark. He tapped the screen, then tapped it again, even harder. Finally, he punched it. Twice.
Nothing.
“Goddamnit!” He’d been attempting to reach the Machine, hoping that if it could be summoned, it might engage the humanoids on the lower floor, thereby freeing them from the hospital. Mo’s hunch was that the windows were shatter-proof, so going through them was out. Even if they weren’t, the crash of breaking glass would be like ringing the dinner bell; the creatures in the building would head straight for the room.
A superimposed display registered on the interior of Mo’s visor, informing him of the impending failure of his respirator. He retrieved a spare from a pocket on his suit, quickly removed the expired one and screwed in the replacement.
Watley’s must be ready to go, too.
Mo knocked on the door dividing the suite. Watley didn’t answer, so Mo turned the knob and looked inside. It seemed murkier than it did before, like some of that fine dust, present when the humanoid attacked them in the OR, had found its way into the room.
“Watley?”
No answer.
He checked the bathroom with no luck. “Son of a bitch.” Mo turned back into the room and halted as something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. The door to the hallway was open.