The Survivors (Book 1): Summer (13 page)

I was so tired.
 All I wanted to do was sleep.

I felt myself being disentangled from my seatbelt, then gathered up and held close to someone, but I wasn't sure who it was anymore and it didn't seem to matter.
 I heard worried voices, but when I tried to open my eyes it felt like the lids were weighted down with bricks.

No, lead.

No, bricks made of lead.

Bricks of lead tied to my feet.

So tired...

Eventually, the fever broke.

One minute I was lost in the land of nonsense dreams of times long gone, happy times spent with family and friends.
 The next, my eyes were opening and I felt lucid and alert for the first time in what seemed like forever.  I blinked slowly as my vision cleared, then reached up to rub the crust from the corners of my eyes and lips.

Every part of me ached.
 How long had I slept?  I rolled myself up into a sitting position, shaking my head to clear away the cobwebs.  As I sat up, the thin blanket slipped down to my waist, and I realised with a flash of shock that I had been stripped to my knickers and undershirt.

My cheeks coloured, first in fear and embarrassment, and then in anger as my memory came crashing back.

How dare he?  After all his talk about trust, after the way he went on about wanting to help me, he’d betrayed me just the same?  A sense of overwhelming outrage shot through my breast, sending spasms of energy to the furthest reaches of my limbs.  I darted a glance around the room, intent on escape, looking for anything I could use as a weapon to defend myself.

There, on the table by the door: a gun!

...and a taser.  A familiar-looking taser.  My taser.  Actually, that gun was pretty familiar too, come to think of it.  Next to the weapons, my other belongings sat stacked with care.  My clothing was washed and folded, with my shoes placed neatly atop the stack.  They'd even gone so far as to clean my shoes for me while I slept.

My anger evaporated.

A cocktail of confusion and guilt replaced my anger as I came to understand.  There was a bucket of water on the floor beside my bed, with a pile of wet rags near it.  I vaguely remembered the strange feelings as I drifted away in the car, and now realised that I had been sick.  A fever.  They only removed my clothing to keep me cool, to try and keep the fever at bay.

They
’d left my things untouched, aside from washing my clothing, and left me untouched as well.  I knew the feeling of violation very well, and I did not feel it now.  I shifted my foot and found the pain was muted, and the wound was dressed in clean bandages.

There was even a tiny purple flower sitting on the table beside my bed, in a makeshift vase made out of a shot-glass.

A flower?  That’s strange
, I thought as I stared at it.  I was so focused on the bloom that at first I didn't notice the door crack open, nor the little face peer through.  My attention snapped to the doorway when the child peeking at me giggled, but she shut the door before I could get a good look at her.

Someone was out there and they knew I was awake.
 Animal instinct kicked in.

I swung my legs out of bed and examined my foot, finding it stiff but relatively functional.
 I resisted the urge to tear the bandages off and douse the wound in bleach; the bandages were far neater than anything I could have done myself, so I could only hope the wound had been thoroughly disinfected.

Feeling woozy from fever and possibly painkillers, I managed to get out of bed and limp the three steps to my clothing before the door burst open again.
 Michael hurried in, followed closely by a stocky older gentleman and a small girl of six or seven years of age.

I was still so weak and disoriented from my recent illness that when Michael swept me off my feet and tucked me right back into bed again, I didn't have a chance to protest.
 Probably a good thing, for his sake; there was a huge green-black bruise along his jaw from where I'd hit him and it was only just starting to fade.

Something else for me to feel guilty about, when he
had been so nice to me.  I’d add that one to the list.

Everyone was suddenly talking all at once and I was having trouble keeping up.
 I didn't know how to respond to so many questions, coming from all angles.  It was like a verbal barrage and I didn’t know how to counter-attack.  After so long alone, it was hard enough to follow one line of conversation, let alone two or more.

Amazingly, it was the little girl who saved me.

"Shh." She silenced the adults with a sharp gesture, then fixed them with a pointed stare until they fell quiet.  She pointed at me with one little finger, and with wisdom beyond her years got right to the heart of the matter.  "She has been alone outside, probably for a very long time.  Talk one at a time so she can understand you."

I couldn't help but smile at the precocious child, and she smiled back at me.
 She leaned in close and whispered to me.  "I picked you a flower.  I hope you like it."

Aww.
 Well, that explained that.

"
Sorry," I apologised automatically.  "But she's right.  It's been a few years.  Longer, I think."  My voice was dry and croaky from thirst, but it gave validity to my claim.  Michael smiled, looking a little embarrassed, and the older gentleman frowned deeply.

"
How are you feelin—" Michael started to ask, but the older man cut him off with a gesture.

"
You hush, young man.  Who is the doctor here?  I am.  I go first, and you may talk to her afterwards."  He scowled at Michael, who held his hands up in self-defence.  The doctor then turned penetrating hazel eyes back to me, and eyed me over the scratched lenses of his spectacles.  "As for you – I am going to touch you, as I must examine you.  Please refrain from hitting me.  The boy says you pack quite a punch."

The gentleman had a strange accent that I couldn't quite place.
 His demeanour, though less than friendly, spoke of a professional candour that put me relatively at ease.  I nodded my consent, and braced myself for the unfamiliar sensation of human touch.

Must not freak out.
 Must not freak out.  Must not freak out.

To my own amazement, I managed to refrain from panicking, as the examination was blessedly short.
 He leaned over me to check my temperature with the back of his hand, and then felt behind my ears with calloused old fingers.  He checked my pulse, peered into my eyes, ears and the back of my throat then finally ended up asking me the exact same thing Michael had tried.  "How are you feeling?"

"
Sore," I admitted, absently rubbing one of my shoulders.  It felt like I’d slept on it for a long time, long enough for my arm to go to sleep.   "A bit stiff.  Really thirsty, too.  How long was I out?"

"
Three days.  It was touch and go for a while there; you were very ill," the old man answered, and his expression softened just the tiniest bit.  He opened one of the drawers beside the bed to show me the contents.  Inside, a couple of bottles of water were flanked by several precious items of personal hygiene – toothpaste, a toothbrush, a bar of soap and a few other things.  

Things that were once life's necessities, but were now rare and valuable.
 I was surprised to see them; putting them in the drawer beside my bed was obviously an offer for me to use them.  It was generous beyond belief.

I was suspicious.

I looked at him uncertainly then looked at the water, afraid to reach for it in case it was a trap.  With a disapproving click of his tongue, the man snatched a bottle out and put it right in my hand.  He even opened the lid for me, then made impatient hurrying gestures until I drank deeply and quenched my intense thirst.  I immediately felt better as the cool water poured down my dry and scratchy throat.  I supposed running a fever did that to a body.

"
Where did you come from?"  He demanded while I was still swallowing the last sip of my water.

I peered at him questioningly.
 "Originally or most recently?"

"
Most recently, of course."  He frowned at me, as if I were silly just for asking.  The older fellow was a bit grumpy, I decided, but he was a doctor and that counted for a lot in this day and age.  Behind him, I saw Michael hide a chuckle behind a cough, and pretend to be fascinated by something on the floor.  He looked amused, but I was so isolated that I couldn't figure out what he found so funny.

"
South.  I’ve been travelling around the south for the last few years.  Most recently in a rural area about twenty kilometres south of here," I answered, although I was wary of the question.  My distrust ran deep, though I didn’t have the courage to ask why he wanted to know.

"
Rural?"  He repeated my answer, and I nodded.  "Mm.  Did you see any horses?  Or pigs?"

"
No, just sheep, some chickens, and a few cows."  The pieces were coming together; his line of questioning suddenly made sense.  He was trying to work out my chances of exposure to tetanus and other infections.  "A lot of the fences were down, though.  There could have been horses in the past, I can’t be sure."  I paused to consider.  "I wasn’t attacked though, so I doubt there are any pigs left in the area."

"
Attacked?" The doctor’s brow furrowed, and behind him Michael looked equally confused.

"
Attacked by the pigs?"  I peered back at them.  Were we speaking different languages here?

"
Why would pigs attack you?"  The doctor asked, bewildered.

"
Because of the infection?"  I was incredulous, but the looks on their faces said they didn't have a clue what I was talking about.  "Do you guys live under a rock or something?  Pigs can catch the infection.  It makes them crazy and violent.  Kind of like…"  I trailed off when something clicked.  Michael stared at me, wide-eyed with understanding, and I stared back.

"
Great."  When the news had sunk in, Michael squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips.  "Psychotic zombie-pigs.  They’re really a thing now.  Please tell me you’re kidding?"

I shook my head, and he groaned.

The doctor sat down heavily in an old wooden chair beside my bed, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.  "Ah, just what we need.  At least that explains how the mutation happened."

"
I think I remember reading that humans and pigs are genetically similar." I suddenly felt sick in the pit of my stomach.  I’d only encountered a pig once in my travels, and it was so riddled with infection that it screamed a horrible sound and charged right for me.  Like any sane person, I had panicked and fled.  The only reason I’d survived was because both of the animal’s back legs were so badly mutilated that it couldn’t keep up.

The men looked horrified when I shared the story with them, and I shot a worried glance at the little girl, but she seemed totally disinterested in the grown-up talk.
 I wondered briefly how traumatic her short life must have been, but given her age it was the only life she had ever known.

"
What about survivors?"  The doctor decided to change the conversation, seeking information from me.  "Did you see any other survivors?  Why did you come north?"  The questions came quick and fast, forcing me to take a second to process them before I replied.

"
No, no other survivors where I was most recently.  I-I usually stay away from other survivors."  I looked down at my hands, twisting the edge of the sheet nervously between my fingers.  "I came north because I lacked the medical supplies or expertise to treat the infection I was bound to get from that."   I gestured at my foot.  "I stood on a nail in an orchard.  I knew there was a hospital here, so I hoped to find antibiotics."

"
An orchard?  That explains the fruit."  Michael smiled at me.  Despite the smile, I felt my stomach lurch.  He must have read the concern in my expression, because his smile faded quickly. A look of uncertainty flitted across his face, as though he wasn't sure how I would react. "I didn’t want to leave it in your truck to rot.  I put it in our cold storage for you."

"
You didn’t eat it?"  This time I was genuinely surprised, and pleasantly so.  I had expected from the moment I awoke in a strange place that I would have been robbed of all my supplies and left with nothing.

"
Of course not!"  Both the constable and the doctor looked mortified at the very thought.  "We are
not
thieves.  What kind of people do you think we are?"

I looked at my hands, feeling a sudden rush of heat in my face and neck as embarrassment and guilt curdled once more in my belly.
 Again I’d misunderstood, applying the template of past cruelties against good people who didn't deserve it, and now I had upset my benefactors.  I felt like crying, but that wouldn’t really help anything.  Everything was just so confusing.

"
I-I’m sorry," I apologised softly, not sure what else to say.

A small body alighted on the bed beside me, and a pair of skinny little arms wrapped around me.
 I glanced sideways and discovered the little girl looking up at me with huge, doe-brown eyes.  She translated my unspoken thoughts to her elders, then gave me a tiny smile.  "She thought that we were going to hurt her and take her food."

Tears blurred my vision and I hurried to brush them away, afraid to show weakness before others.
 How could this child have known me so well, and yet the grown men did not understand me at all?  I felt so confused, so out of place.  The child wasn’t the traumatised one, I realised suddenly.  I was.