Remains of the Dead (14 page)

Cahz only nodded. It was normally Cannon who was the quiet one, but Cahz sensed he wouldn’t leave the question.

“Lieutenant?” Cannon pushed.

Cahz knew Cannon was nervous. The big man was almost always in control always, confident his sheer strength could get him through. But Cahz knew the man was uneasy the minute he stopped referring to him as boss.

“I know, buddy. I know,” Cahz said. “I’m not going to ask you to do it.”

“It’s not that,” Cannon replied. “I’ll do her if you ask me. But when?”

“She wants to wait until she’s gone. I can respect that, but you’re right, there are issues with that. Do we lock her in a room? Set watch over her?” He turned to look his friend in the eye. “Do we cable-tie her to a radiator? There’s no good way to do this.”

“There never is,” Cannon said. “But it needs done.”

Cahz could see Cannon was waiting for an answer, a nice clean plan of events. All he could tell him was, “I don’t know, buddy. I guess we talk to her and Ryan.” He slapped Cannon on the shoulder again. “We’ll work it out.”

Cannon stood stoic and unmoving. Cahz sensed that the friendly pat wasn’t the conclusion to the matter he’d wanted.

In the deep pause that followed, Cahz couldn’t even see Cannon breathe.

“What is it?”

“The child?” Cannon said.

Cahz’s shoulders slumped as he thought of the angelic looking child. The soft pink skin framed by the grubby swaddling and the infected welt running the length of the left-hand side of her face. He let his hand slip from his friend’s shoulder.

“I’ll do them both,” Cahz said, looking down at his carbine. As he gazed at the slick black metal he couldn’t help but see the faces of the people he’d killed. Since the Exodus from the mainland, he hadn’t needed to administer the coup de grace. It had been years since he’d last been called upon to administer a mercy killing or watch over a friend to prevent their return. But all that time didn’t diminish the clarity—the look in their faces as he pulled the trigger. He’d forgotten the names of many of those he’d dispatched, but never the faces. Some of them cried. Some wore false smiles to try to help make it easier. And the ones who he’d guarded until their resurrection, in a way they were the easiest. He wasn’t shooting a human being. With their pallid skin, gaping maws and their vacant eyes, Cahz was destroying a monster, not the person they had once been.

“You ever read
Of Mice and Men
, David?” Cahz asked, surprising himself calling Cannon by his first name.

“Nope,” came Cannon’s short answer. “Why?”

Cahz thought back to Candy’s dog being shot.

After a moment he said, “It’s not important.”

* * *

Ryan was pacing up and down, rocking the baby, when Cahz and Cannon returned.

“She won’t stop crying,” he said.

Elspeth lay on a camp bed, apparently asleep even with the racket. Cannon unconsciously walked round to cover her, just in case her sleep turned into something more permanent.

“The infection?” Cahz asked.

“No, I just think she’s hungry,” Ryan said. “It’s way past her feeding.”

“You didn’t bring any baby food?”

“Well, no, I didn’t think to. I threw on some clothes and grabbed an armful of Molotov cocktails. That was it.” Anger started to rise in Ryan’s voice. “I didn’t think any of this would happen.”

“Okay, fair enough. None of us thought today would turn out the way it has,” Cahz said, trying to diffuse the antagonism.

“Is there some powdered milk in that ration pack?”

Cahz looked down at the army issue meal. He hadn’t expected to open it so soon, and besides, was there any point feeding an infected child?

Cahz berated himself for having such a callous thought. “No, there’s not,” he said.

Worried that Ryan might doubt his honesty and expose his emotional bankruptcy, Cahz slung his weapon and sat down on a crate. He unfastened the pouch Bates had given him and slipped out the insipid khaki brick of plastic. Printed along the top were the words ‘peelable seal’. Cahz ignored the advice and pulled his knife from its scabbard. Although the packs were supposedly designed to be opened by hand, the only man Cahz had ever seen do so was Cannon and even that was as part of a bet to see if anyone could. Cahz placed the tip of the knife to the wrapping, but before he pierced it he read the batch number.

“Shit, Cannon, this thing’s only a year out of date!” he called out enthusiastically.

“Where the hell did Bates get that from?” Cannon asked. “I’ve never seen a single Post-Rising MRE.”

Cahz slashed open the packet. “Crafty little bugger. Do think he’s been hoarding them or does he have contacts off ship?”

Cannon shrugged.

Cahz spilled the contents onto the crate lid beside him. An assortment of different packets slid to a halt. “What can we give the kid?” he asked as he spread out the contents like a pack of cards.

Cannon reached down and picked out an item. He stretched over and passed it to Ryan.

“A dry cracker?” Ryan said, puzzled as he read the label. “She can’t eat a cracker.”

“Mash it up in a cup with a little water or chew it like a mama bird. Either way it’ll do for now.”

Ryan looked at the packet and then back at Cannon. “Okay,” he said sheepishly, realising how sharp this otherwise dumb-looking marine had been. “Will you hold her while I…”

“Sure,” Cannon said with a surprisingly kind smile.

“Anyone mind if I snaffle the gum?” Cahz asked, holding up the tiny red film bag with two solitary chiclets.

Neither of the other two men objected as Cahz tore open the packet and popped the contents in his mouth.

“Whoa there!” Cannon called out suddenly.

Both Ryan and Cahz froze. Cannon was staring at Ryan crushing a handful of crackers.

“Don’t waste them all,” Cannon said.

“But she’s hungry,” Ryan countered.

“Well mash up a bit at a time. There’s no point wasting them if she won’t eat it.”

“He likes the crackers,” Cahz explained.

“How else are you supposed to eat the peanut butter?” Cannon’s look was strangely serious. Evidently he actually was looking for a genuine suggestion from Cahz.

“Could you not just suck it out of the tube…?” Cahz’s lacklustre suggestion trailed off as he noticed Cannon’s stern look.

“Ali made a great Thai Satay with a jar of peanut butter and some canned coconut milk.” Ryan paused for a moment, looking at the ceiling. “At least that’s what he called it. Real spicy but nice. He made it a few times until we ran out of something. Couldn’t say what it was but it wasn’t right after a while. Maybe the coconut had spoiled.”

“Well, thank you for the recipe tip,” Cannon said.

Cahz started to drop the individual packets back in to the open plastic pocket.

“What’s the main meal, anyway?” Cannon inquired.

Cahz picked up the big rectangular box and orientated it to read the label. “It’s spicy penne pasta,” he answered between loud chews of the gum. He held up the empty wrapper for Cannon to see the bold writing below the menu designation. “It’s vegetarian.”

“Penne with vegetable sausage crumbles in spicy tomato sauce,” Cannon quoted from memory.

Ryan looked up from stirring the pulped-up cracker. “Doesn’t sound that appetising.”

“It’s not bad,” Cannon countered. “Quite meaty-tasting for a vegi meal.”

“One thing we’ve got Iraq and Afghanistan to thank for,” Cahz quipped.

“Why’s that?” Ryan asked. He presented his child with the first spoonful of mush.

“Wanted us boys to feel like we were being looked after. Keep up the morale,” Cannon said. “I guess they thought it made up for not issuing proper body armour.”

Cahz nodded in agreement. “One less thing for us grunts to moan about.”

“Let’s have a look,” Ryan said, holding a hand out.

Cannon picked up the rectangular brown packet. “Not much to see,” he said and passed it over.

“You two serve together then?” Ryan asked.

“No, we only met after all this shit started,” Cahz said. “We’ve both done tours overseas, but Cannon here was a civvie when we met up.”

Cannon’s silence gave Ryan the impression that the big man didn’t want to talk about their first encounter and when Cannon broke the silence only to inform him, “She’s dribbling,” Ryan thought it best to leave the subject.

“She seems to be enjoying that,” Cahz noted.

“Yeah, it’s doing the trick,” Ryan admitted.

Ryan idly flipped over the bland package and looked at the utilitarian information printed on it. “Hey, have you guys read this?”

“Yeah, sure,” Cahz said.

“No, I mean really read it,” Ryan said with a snigger.

“Why?”

Ryan put on his best anchorman voice and read, “Restriction of food and nutrients leads to rapid weight loss which leads to: Loss of strength, decreased endurance, loss of motivation, decreased mental alertness.”

“So?”

“Well, come on,” Ryan said, back to his normal voice. “It’s like it’s describing a pus bag.”

“Hmmm,” Cannon puffed. “I suppose.” He turned to his commander for his reaction, but Cahz was looking the other way. “Boss?”

Cahz turned back from looking at Elspeth. “Not very tactful.”

“Ah shit,” Ryan said, the humour in his voice crashing down.

Elspeth lay on an aluminium tubing and dull blue fabric camp bed, shivering. Her pale skin was laced with dark polluted tracks of infected veins and pricks of cold sweat dotted her face.

“We need to keep a watch over her,” Cahz said.

“How long since she was bitten?” Cannon asked.

Cahz looked at his watch. “Must be close to two hours now.”

“What you reckon?” Cannon asked. “A bite that close to her neck…”

Cahz turned to Ryan. “How old is she?”

“Um… mid-fifties,” Ryan said, uncertain. “I think?” He shrugged. “To be honest I don’t rightly know what year this is.”

“You got the wheel of death on you?” Cannon asked.

“Nope. Thing’s never that accurate anyway,” Cahz said.

“What?
Wheel of death
?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah, there’s a mortality calculator. It’s like those math wheels made out of card. You line up the dials and it’s supposed to give you a time of death from the infection,” Cahz explained. “High command thought they were a good idea to issue to troops. Truth is, they done a damn good job of reminding you not to get bit.”

“The wheel’s only got one outcome,” Cannon added.

Cahz turned to his companion. “You’ve seen as many as I have; what do you guess? Two, maybe three hours?”

Cannon’s eyes flickered as he worked on some calculation in his head. “‘Bout that.”

Ryan looked across at his de-facto mother-in-law. She looked to be in a deathly malaise. Her eyes tightly closed, a lock of sweaty, sodden grey hair falling across her face. He could see the family resemblance to his lost love. She had Sam’s eyes—Ryan corrected himself—Sam had Elspeth’s eyes. He looked down at the baby girl he was feeding. She gazed up at him with that familiar resemblance.

“She’ll turn any time now, won’t she?” he said in a flat voice.

“We could put her in that office,” Cannon said, looking at the glass fronted meeting room.

“Good call,” Cahz noted. “We can keep an eye on her and when she comes back she won’t be able to surprise any of us.”

“That makes sense,” a faint voice said.

Everyone looked round at Elspeth. Her eyes were still shut, but it was plain she was awake.

“Okay, La—” Cahz stopped himself from addressing her as ‘lady’ again. “Okay, Elspeth, I’ll help you up.”

“Thanks for looking after me,” Elspeth whispered.

“I haven’t done anything,” Cahz said.

“But you will,” Elspeth replied.

Having detected no movement through the spy hole, Ali cautiously opened the door. He eased it off of the snib as best he could to minimize the noise.

As the door cracked open he peeked round to get the best of the widening view. He heard the moans and the hammering below as the zombies still held vigil over the flat he’d escaped into. He was poised to slam the door shut at the slightest provocation, but nothing happened.

The landing was damp and musty. One of the frosted glass windows on the stairs was broken, the safety glass pixelated into small clumps. Ali heard a sound, a soft cooing then saw the faint movement of a shadow passing. Even with his heightened anxiety he stood his ground and scanned for the movement. The cooing came again and through the broken glass he caught a glimpse of something outside.

Ali stepped forward, beyond the psychological safety of the flat. As he did the shadow fluttered and took flight; it was then he realised a pair of pigeons were nesting on the window ledge. Unlike him they had apparently grown indifferent to the zombies’ eerie cries.

Ali edged further onto the landing, stepping over a rivulet that trickled its way from some burst pipe down its own set of miniature Niagara Falls to the bottom floors. When he reached the banister he slowly peeked over the end. Down below on the bottom two floors there was a mass of undead. They appeared to be jammed in their attempt to pursue him into the flat. The ones at the front had failed to negotiate the shut window, but their calls were still drawing in more of their brethren. They seemed uninterested in exploring the rest of the building, simply jamming themselves tighter and tighter into the first floor apartment.

Then Ali noticed that not all of them were slavishly following the moans. On the third floor a lone figure stumbled its aimless way. It bumped off walls and tripped up and down stairs, oblivious to the commotion the queue outside the downstairs flat was making. The creature made a random stumble that jerked its head backwards.

Ali ducked back in and froze. He waited, breath held, waited to hear the creature make a warning cry or to hear it shuffling closer. He waited until he could no longer hold his breath. When he released it he did so with an even and quiet exhale.

Not wishing to chance his luck, Ali moved on to the next flat. As quietly as he could, he pushed the door open. The moment he did a foul odour flooded his nostrils. It was the unmistakable stench of decay. At this point Ali regretted not being able to grab a metal rod before the balcony collapsed. The knife had a stubby and flimsy blade, no use for dispatching a zombie.