The Infection

“Collecting dog tags,” she says tersely.

The soldier nods.

Anne approaches, her rifle slung over her shoulder, and tells them dinner will be ready in a few minutes.

“Does this place remind you of anywhere in particular?” Sarge says, watching her closely.

Anne looks around at the garage as if seeing it for the first time.

“I think I was born in a place like this,” she says.

Sarge nods.

She adds, “We need to talk about that tank.”

“We should have followed it,” Wendy says.

“The tank was going to the Children’s Hospital,” Sarge tells them. “Just like us.”

“An isolated unit, then,” Anne says, nodding. “Just trying to stay alive.”

“That tank was the first evidence of a functioning government we’ve seen in days,” Wendy cut in. “It was a patrol. We could try to find the base where it came from.”

“No,” Sarge says. “The tank has no base. It is going to the hospital to shell it. That tank is going to rain fire on it with every bomb and bullet it’s got.”

“That can’t be true.” Anne is at a loss for words, it’s so absurd. “Why?”

“Containment. They were ordered to do it. You have to admire the dedication even while you laugh at the stupidity. The hospital was overrun nine days ago and Infection has already spread far and wide. But just a few days ago the military shifted from containment using non-lethals to use of deadly force, so they ordered the hospitals, the source of Infection, to be attacked. The tank commander is only carrying out his orders, even if they came a week too late. Its infantry escort is gone now, its base has probably moved and every resentful shit-bird in the city is apparently trying to kill it, but that tank is going to complete its mission.”

“How sure are you about this?” asks Anne.

Sarge shrugs. “I know how the military has been responding. It fits.”

“So what do we do?” Wendy says.

“We find another hospital. Preferably one that isn’t being bombed.”

“There’s Holy Cross, across the river,” Anne offers.

“Which river?”

“The Monongahela. In the south.”

They have already previously decided that a hospital is the ideal place to settle for several reasons. First, few people would even think to enter one. They are taboo places. Charnel houses. Unclean. After the Screaming, the Infected were picked up from the ground one by one and brought to hospitals, but there was not enough room, so the government requisitioned schools, hotel ballrooms, indoor arenas and similar spaces to accommodate the millions who had fallen down. The hospitals were filled to overflowing. The screamers were stacked like cordwood in the corridors. So many people required care that medical students were handed licenses and retired healthcare workers were drafted. When the Infected woke up three days later, they slaughtered and infected these people, making the hospitals epicenters for death and disease.

The hospitals are rich in resources, however, and they are defendable. Specifically, they have medical supplies, food and water, lots of space and emergency power. And most of the Infected are long gone, compelled to search for fresh hosts for their virus.

Anne adds, “It’s worth the risk.”

The three nod. The group’s next move has been decided.

♦

Wendy touches Anne’s elbow and motions her aside. The two women walk through the service garage, seeing everywhere the evidence of work abandoned suddenly by the mechanics.

“What branch did you serve in?” Wendy says.

Anne shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

“I appreciate your service,” Wendy continues. “But I am the highest civil authority here. It would help if you acknowledged me as such in front of the others.”

Anne regards the cop in the gloomy half-light from the camp’s LED lanterns.

Wendy clears her throat and adds, “We have to function as a team.”

“You know, I didn’t believe in evolution before,” Anne interrupts, inspecting a car muffler lying on the floor like the bone of a giant animal. “But now I do. We are natural selection in action. So many other people died because they wanted to die. They fought tooth and nail to survive but they didn’t want to live while everybody they knew and loved died or became Infected.”

“You’re talking about survivor’s guilt,” Wendy says, nodding.

“Yes. We all have it. The question is whether you’re going to let it kill you.”

Ethan calls out to them, telling them supper is ready.

Anne turns to go back, pausing to add, “You go on taking crazy risks like you have to prove your leadership, and you will let it kill you.”

Wendy stares at the woman for a moment, unable to speak.

“I’m just doing my job,” she says finally. “I’m responsible for these people.”

“That’s fine with me. I don’t care who’s in charge. I’m just trying to find refuge and help the group find it, too.”

“So you will acknowledge me then,” the cop presses.

“No,” says Anne.

♦