The Infection (14 page)

“What do we do?” says Wendy. “If they hatch, we’re dead.”

For a single long minute, Anne does not answer, holding a bandana against her face, her eyes wide and watery.

“Destroy them,” she says finally.

♦

The soldiers sweep the gray concrete walls with light, looking for signage that will help orient them to the layout of the hospital’s mechanical equipment floor. The rooms are filled with boilers, pumps, piping and makeup air units used to provide heating and cooling to the building, all of it sitting dormant under an exposed ceiling coated with fireproof foam.

Sarge does not doubt that the hospital has emergency backup power. All hospitals have it because outages can happen unexpectedly, causing monitors, oxygen pumps and other life-saving equipment, not to mention cordless phones and data servers, to suddenly fail. What he does not know is if the generator burns natural gas or diesel.

If gas, it might have a backup propane tank that would be useful for heating water and cooking. But if it is diesel, then they can refuel the Bradley as well as produce electricity.

Sarge stops in front of two bright yellow nine-feet-tall, twenty-ton machines that look like a cross between a tractor and a train locomotive. The hospital has two generators wired in parallel, each rated at two thousand kilowatts, and what appears to be a big backup fuel tank.

“Hallelujah, boys,” he says, grinning. “It’s diesel.”

The soldiers laugh and whoop, then hang their lanterns and get to work inspecting the generators. They are natural grease monkeys and know their way around internal combustion engines. They begin checking the oil and batteries and measuring how much diesel is in the tanks. Each of the generators nominally holds a hundred fifty gallons, while the Bradley holds one-seventy-five. And that does not count what is in the backup tank. It has been ten days since the Infected put this hospital out of business, so the fuel may have deteriorated a little, but it should be all right. Sarge guesses that both generators at full loading would probably operate all the critical stuff in the hospital for about eight hours. With the fuel in the storage tank, however, that could be extended to twenty-four, maybe forty-eight.

“The tanks are at around eighty percent,” Steve says, grinning.

“Hot dog,” Sarge says.

They are sitting on a lot of fuel.

“It’s about time luck got on our side,” Ducky says.

Once they get it working, the generator will burn its fuel to generate force that turns a crankshaft. The crank will turn a rotor inside a stator, which will create a steady magnetic field. As the rotor passes through the field, electrical current will be generated in wires that it houses. The current will flow to whatever circuits they assign for loading. If it works, they will have light, refrigeration, cooking, air conditioning, heat and power for electronics.

“All right, let’s find the breaker panel and set up our loads,” Sarge adds. “Then we can take this baby out for a spin.”

♦

Wendy peels off her grimy clothes, dumps them in a bucket and tosses in some washing liquid she found next to a pile of bloody laundry. Anne also strips down until she is naked, then stands under one of the showerheads.

“Wow, it feels good to be out of those clothes,” Wendy says. “It also feels scary. I’m not sure I like it.”

Anne points to the inflamed cut along her ribs. “Where did you get that?”

“Worm teeth,” Wendy says. “I didn’t know I had it until after. I don’t think the worms are infectious. Either that, or Todd and I are very lucky.”

“Well, that cut is infected with something. You got a fever?”

“Honestly, I’ve felt feverish ever since the Screaming. Almost two weeks ago.”

“Make sure you take care of it. Your immune system is weak from the stress and lack of sleep. If your temperature goes up, take some antibiotics.”

Wendy nods and for the first time is aware of Anne’s nudity. The end of the world and its forced survival diet has been kind to her, burning off her excess fat and leaving sinewy muscle on the woman’s petite frame. Anne has the body of a gymnast.

“You’re beautiful,” Wendy says, smiling.

Anne blinks in surprise. A smile crosses her face, but her hand flickers at the scars on her left cheek, and the moment passes quickly.

“I might have been once,” she answers.

“Come on, ladies, let’s go,” Todd calls out from the locker room. “I haven’t touched a bar of soap in two weeks!”

“Don’t let him peek, Reverend,” Wendy says. “We’re counting on you to protect our honor.”

“Your honor is in safe hands for exactly three minutes plus drying time,” Paul calls back. “Let me know when you’re ready so I can start counting down.”

Wendy and Anne turn on the faucets, which groan for several moments before spitting out gobs of cold water and then a steady stream.

“You can start it now!”

Wendy steps under the faucet and is instantly electrified by the sensual feel of the water and its cold bite on her skin. Closing her eyes, she finds it easy to imagine being under a waterfall. The building’s water was designated for drinking and cooking only but Sarge said very quick showers would be a great way to celebrate their taking the hospital back from Infection and reminding them of what they are surviving for; the others eagerly agreed to the luxury. Wendy closes her eyes and feels the water drumming against her head and shoulders. Lathering up her hands with a bar of soap, she begins to wash herself, laughing.

“Two minutes!”

Wendy pours a handful of shampoo into her palm and massages her scalp. Soapy gray water pours out of her hair and down the drain. She marvels at how precious water is now. Standing under the downpour, she feels rich with its wealth. Drunk on the luxury of being able to use it to wash herself like this.

“One minute!”

“Shit,” she says, frantically beating and rinsing her dirty clothes before Paul calls time and they turn the faucets off.

“Now can I peek?” Todd says.

“No!” says Wendy, adding to Anne, “We’re going to have to find that kid a girl soon.”

The women towel down, put on hospital scrubs and slippers, and hang their clothes up to dry. Then she grins.

“You know, for a few moments there, I actually forgot all about it,” Wendy says.

Anne says, “I don’t want to forget.”

♦

Eleven months after entering the Academy, Wendy was sworn in and told to report to Zone One. The Northside neighborhoods would be her territory for the foreseeable future. Her first day finally arrived. She woke up after only a few hours of sleep filled with energy and too nervous to eat anything. She downed a cup of coffee and took a hot shower. She tied her hair back into a bun and again considered getting it cut short. She carefully laid out and then put on, piece by piece, over black bra and panties, her crisply ironed uniform and pins and badge and Batman belt, conscious of a mundane cop ritual that was still novel to her, fussing over getting rid of every speck of lint. Then she stood in front of the mirror and worked on her game face.

At the station, after orientation, she was told that she would be partnered with a senior officer named Kendrick, a grizzled, overweight cop with a permanent scowl. She held out her hand to shake and he gave her a long, incredulous once-over, which he concluded by shaking his head.

“I hope that fucking Dave Carver isn’t the only thing you’re good at,” he said.

Wendy put on her game face and said, “I’m not fucking Dave Carver.”

“If you say so, rook.”

“But you’re right, I was good at it.”

Kendrick snorted with laughter.

“All right, Cleopatra. Let’s get going. But one more thing before we go out today. We’re going to be in some rough neighborhoods, but remember there are a lot of good people who call those neighborhoods home, so show some fucking respect out there.”

Wendy nodded, appreciating the perspective. They reported to the dispatcher and entered the garage, where they found their cruiser.

“I’ll drive, rook,” he growled. “You don’t do anything unless I say so—
what?
”

“I said, ‘Okay, Officer Kendrick.’”

“If you think I’m being hard on you because you’re a woman, fuck you.”

The squad car left the garage. They drove around their territory for a while and then stopped at a Dunkin Donuts for breakfast. Wendy went in and minutes later returned to the car with a box of donuts and two tall Styrofoam cups full of coffee. Kendrick wolfed down the donuts and drank his coffee, then sighed contentedly and settled into his seat. He watched the street with the dull gaze of a basilisk. Wendy guiltily prayed that something terrible would happen and that she could do some real police work on her first day. She pictured the dispatcher calling out,
car crash with injuries
, or
robbery in progress
and
shots fired
. Maybe she and Kendrick would catch a drug deal in progress. Maybe there would be a man on one of the city’s many bridges, threatening to jump, and she would have to talk him down. She began to fidget in her seat.

“This is the job, rook,” he growled, slurping his coffee. “You hurry up and wait. And wait.”

The radio suddenly blared.

“CD to all units.”

There had been a break-in and stabbing. The dispatcher gave the location and advised that the suspect was still in the house. He had broken in through a window, punched the occupant to the floor, robbed her, and cut her up. By the time the dispatcher finished, Kendrick had already started the car, turned on the lights and siren, and was now replying that they were en route.

The car lurched into traffic and roared toward the scene on squealing tires.

“Hold on to your ass,” Kendrick said.

“Every unit in the zone must be on its way,” Wendy shouted over the siren.

“We’ll get there first. Excited, cherry?”

Wendy tried not to smile through her game face.

He whistled. “First day on the job and you might get a collar. Lucky kid.”

The dispatcher was firing updates over the radio when Kendrick yanked the steering wheel and brought the squad car to a screeching halt in front of the house.

They got out of the car, Kendrick pausing to retrieve his shotgun. Wendy unholstered her Glock, fighting to control her breathing, and ran to the front of the house at a crouch.

They knocked loudly and took a step back.

“Police!”

The door opened and an old woman, leaning on a cane, waved them in.

“He left when he heard you coming,” she said.

“Where’d he go?” Wendy demanded.

“Up there,” the woman answered.

“Hold it a second, rook,” Kendrick said tersely. “Ma’am, are you hurt? Did he cut you?”

“He stabbed me right here. See?”

Kendrick’s face turned purple.

“It’s all better now. I
refused
to stay hurt. I am quite resilient.”

“Which way did he go, Ma’am?” Wendy said.

“I already told you he went up through the ceiling to his helicopter.”

Behind them, other cars rocketed to a halt in front of the house, spilling cops.

“What a waste of time,” Kendrick muttered.

“Can I get you a glass of milk, officer?” the woman said to him.

Sergeant McElroy showed up, talked to the woman for several minutes with clenched fists, and called the dispatcher to report the call as unfounded.

“Congratulations, Sherlock,” he said, jabbing Wendy in the chest with his finger. “You caught your first big case.”

She spent the rest of her first day as a police officer filling out reports on the incident in triplicate.

♦

Clean and pink and dressed in plain green hospital scrubs, the survivors wolf down heated cans of ravioli and spaghetti and meatballs in the lounge, washing it down with bottles of red wine that before the world ended would have been considered expensive. The showers washed off the days’ old stink of fear and they are beginning to feel human again.

As the time approaches six o’clock, they chant a countdown. When they get to zero, nothing happens. The survivors stare at the ceiling, their hopeful expressions wilting in disappointment.

“Bummer,” Todd says.

The fluorescent lights suddenly blink to life, impossibly bright.

The survivors gasp in amazement, then cheer.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you civilization,” Sarge says.

“Fantastic,” Ethan says. “It almost feels normal.”

“How much of the building is powered?” Anne asks.

“We isolated the power to a section on this floor that includes this lounge plus the pathology department, brain clinic, OBGYN, nursing administration and all of our rooms.”

“How long will we have it?”

“The generator runs on diesel like the Bradley. After topping up the rig, we’ve got enough fuel to have power for forty days if we use it an hour a day.”