After the Birds

Chapter Seven

Remerton

NY, USA

2039

Andy

A cold nose and a warm tongue wake me up. It’s commonplace and as it should be. If something’s amiss, I’m woken by a muted bark, or a growl. It can be unnerving, but it’s still better than the time people woke me up by pushing at me or hitting me. Now I smile, still half asleep, and pats Zoya¨s nose. “Okay, okay. I’m awake. Almost. I open my eyes and expect to be in my cave in the woods north of Remerton. Instead of the log walls of my cabin, the room is twice as big, and the walls are made from large stones. Right. The old church ruins. I sit up on the cot and look around. No colonel in sight. The desk, which I remember from last night, if vaguely, is free from the paper mess. There’s only a framed photo and a small wooden box.

I get up and hiss when the ice-cold floor makes my toes curl despite the double socks I’m wearing. Where are my booths? If some fucker has stolen… I look down and see them at the foot of the bed. As if someone’s pulled them off me. Another vague memory of being tucked in with the blankets makes me wonder. Was it the colonel, Miranda, who performed such a benevolent act? Oh, my God. Put to be by e a colonel. I snort.

The next sensation is less intriguing. I’m going to burst if I don’t get to the latrine ASAP. I stick my feet into the boots, but don’t worry about lacing them up. It is against everything I believe to leave my belongings behind, but I’m in a hurry. On my way out the door, I almost fall over Dakota’s long legs. He sits on a roughly carved stool.

“Good morning,” he says. “Hungry?”

“Nope.” I walk quickly toward the area that was pointed out to me last night.

“Ah, I see. You know where to go, right?”'

I try to remember exactly. “To the left of the trench?”

“Exactly. I’ll see if there’s any fake coffee. See you later.”

The latrine consists of a few boards above a deep ditch. A few women are sitting there doing their business already, but at least no guys. I’m no prude, but I’m actually used to my privacy when it comes to this. To my joy, there’s toilet paper, since I forgot the small roll I have in my backpack. If there’s anything I look for in old houses or shops, it’s soft paper—napkins, toilet paper, paper towels, tissues.

Afterward, I clean my hands thoroughly. I have a small bottle of homemade hand sanitizer gel in my pocket that I fill up whenever I’m back home in the woods. It’s almost full and should last me a few more days. I rub some gel into my hands and then let Zoya go further into the bushes to do her business. She comes back, happily trotting by my side when we return to the church.

There seem to be three times as many soldiers and civilians compared to yesterday evening. I estimate there to be at least fifty individuals. Several are eating standing up and I don’t blame them. The mornings are cold even if spring days can be warm enough around here. In the woods north of Remerton, I have a multitude of blankets and several down jackets. Last winter was so cold, Zoya and I squeezed into triple sleeping bags.

Dakota has fetched bed and—what was it he called the hot beverage his sipping—fake coffee? I haven’t had coffee in years. I don’t remember the true taste, but surely it didn’t smell like this thing. I accept the mug, remember to say thank you, and glower suspiciously at the content.

“It’s more like coffee when you taste it, than when you smell the damn thing,” Dakota says and takes a bigger sip, “Ah. Gets the old cogs spinning.”

Really? I taste it carefully, and no matter what it’s made of, it’s not bad at all. Perhaps not the world’s best substitute, but who can afford to be picky? “Not back,” I say and have some more.

Running footfalls approaches and I step closer to Dakota when four soldiers, two men and two women, tears through the churches back yard. They’re dirty and one woman is hanging between the men. She’s bleeding from a deep cut in her left ear.

Dakota looks concerned. “Finish up. Take your bread with you. I have to see what’s up.”

“Why do I need to go?”

“So far, I have a standing order to not let you out of my sight. That can’t stop me from doing my duty. If the colonel doesn’t tell me different, you are my shadow. Understood?” Dakota, who normally is relaxed in a charming way, suddenly has steel in his eye.

“Sure. I understand for the love of…” I hold the bread firmly in my hand after giving a small piece to Zoya. She’s used to eating once a day for the most part.

We cross the back yard and head for another of the restored rooms inside the church. It turns out to be the infirmary. On twenty-some gurneys, I see injured or sick soldiers and civilians. The new arrivals help the injured woman onto a table at the wall to our left. A man dressed in uniform, and oddly enough, a long grey cardigan, examines the woman.

“Report,” Dakota says and eyes the injury closely.

“Major.” The other three salute, but their movements are wary and tired. The second woman starts talking. “We were on our way back from reconnoitering at the old hospital, when a gang attacked from above.” She holds her arm protectively and I realize she’s injured too.

“From above?” Dakota looks puzzled.

“From the roof of the hospital,” the woman says. “They had spears and arrows.”

“Damn accurate aim too, Major,” one of the men says.

“I can tell. What are your injuries?” Dakota studies them, one by one.

“Lorraine is the one worst off. If she had stood more than to the left… As it were, the spear hit her ear and her left shoulder. I was smacked by a spear and fell into a railing. I didn’t break anything, but I’ll be black and blue soon.” The woman sighs. “We have to get to the medical supply unit in there. If we’re lucky, there can be something left.”

Dakota turns to me. “We need medication and bandages.”

“I wouldn’t mind some scalpels, drills and sutures. The way you all insist on being shredded and gutted, and even shot, you’ve got to keep my boxes full of the stuff I need to put you back together again.” The doctor sighs. “And not that it’s any of my business, but who’s your new pal, Dakota?”

Dakota introduces me to the soldiers and the doctor. The woman who gave the report about the failed attempt to get inside the hospital is called Maria. I forget the name of the men right away, and the doctor seems to go by his last name, Apple. As usual when I happen upon someone in the medical field I think about Mom. It happens automatically and against my will, because the memory of Mom is both holy and painful. Now I push the image of her aside fairly easily for once.

Time to say something. “I was inside that hospital a few years ago. There was a passage to the pharmaceutical storage back then.” I can see the soldiers exchanging glances and then turning back to Dakota as if I hadn’t even opened my mouth.

“We only had time to identify crumbled walls and the empty windows that only seemed to lead something that looked impenetrable.” Maria, who seems to be the leader of the reconnoitering unit, shakes her head.

“A lot can change in a few years,” Dakota says kindly to me.

“Stop with the mansplaining,” I hiss. “There were people on the hospital room already then.” This captures their interest. “Perhaps they have grown in numbers now, but I made my way to the south side and managed to dig in. There are enough cracks in the walls when you get inside, which makes it possible to look around.”

“That sounds very cocky,” Maria says. Her voice is scornful and it’s not hard to see that she has zero faith in my words.

“You might think so,” I say and pats Zoya’s head. “I’ve explored the areas around Remerton for more than ten years. When I left the hospital with a bag full of stuff, there were still lots of it left. How looks now, I have no idea. Someone else could have gotten to it.”

“If what you say is accurate, I want you to guide a team in the same way.” Miranda passes me and puts a hand on the badly injured woman’s arm. “That doesn’t look good. Another reason we need more supplies.” She turns to me. “Where do we enter the hospital? We haven’t been able to penetrate the rubble since can’t get any of our vehicles close enough. The vegetation has taken over most of that area of town.”

“Last time I dug a tunnel through to the basement. I filled it back up again when I split in case I’d ever need to return.”

“And you think you can find that tunnel and use it again?” With one hand on her hip and the other wrapped around the back of her neck, Miranda studied the floor for a moment.

“It might work. It’s a damn narrow tunnel. If you’re going to go inside, you can’t send any of those bodybuilder types.” I point to the men in the room. “And you have to be able to crawl.” It leaves out Maria and the injured woman.

“I’m volunteering,” Maria says, nonetheless, clearly ignoring her injured arm.

“No. You’re going to get something to eat and the rest. Nobody here does more than a twelve-hour shift if we have other options. You know that, Maria.” Miranda points to Dakota. “You’re going. Bring two more. I don’t want you to bring a large group. You need to be inconspicuous.”

“Perhaps it’s easier after dark?” Dakota rubs his chin and studies me closely.

“No,” I say. “That means we would need something to light our way. We can be seen from outside from all directions.”

“She’s right. Leave as soon as possible,” Miranda says. “Come back in one piece, Dakota. All of you.”

“Understood, Colonel,” Dacota says and nods to me. “I hope you know what you’re talking about, Andy.”

I don’t feel like walking a tightrope holding a pink, frilly parasol to show that I can be trustworthy. The truth is that I need to put myself, and my survival, first. If I don’t, my whole life plan falls through. And my life plan is everything. A promise is a promise, no matter which world we live in. “I know what it looks like a few years ago. That’s all I can say.”

“Okay. Get ready and bring what you need. You have ten minutes.” Dakota crosses the backyard and then turns left. He must stay in a tent there.

I can be ready faster than Dakota thinks. A glance at Dad’s watch shows that I’m half an hour late at winding it. I have treated this watch with great care through the years and it’s a miracle that it hasn’t broken. I’ve landed on it so many times when I’ve fallen or been in a fight. Nowadays, I carry it in one of my inner pockets, wrapped in a piece of flannel, since it always is endangered when sitting on my wrist. I don’t need to know what time it is most of the time, but it’s important for me that it’s working. Dad was so proud of this watch and always said it cost him a month’s salary. Mom suggested we should sell it, or pawn it, after Dad died. She was surprised at how much this upset me, because she regretted it immediately, and gave me the watch to keep. I only had to promise to take great care of it. I think I have since both the watch, and I have survived the apocalypse this far.

I examine my guns and notice that I was too tired last night and forgot another one of my golden rules. One of them is to make sure a bullet is in the chamber, and that the magazines have sixteen bullets each. This means I now have to top up one of the guns. Just one bullet, but it can be that very bullet that saves your life one day. This makes me remember how I blew the brains out of the guy who wanted to get his hands on Miranda. I shudder travel throughout my entire body and for a moment the fake coffee has a reunion in mind, but I force myself to focus on my flak vest and my leather jacket.

A quick check shows that all is in great shape. My shin guards feel loose. I tighten the Velcro straps and put the boots back on. The zippers are well taken care of, as I rub an old candle against them every so often. It’s important that everything works without making too much sound, even zippers. You never know when it’s going to really matter.

I strap on all my belts and harnesses, take my trusty baseball bat, and flick my fingers across the metal ribbons. They’re firm. No loose screws.

Zoya’s backpack is easy to attach. We have practiced and she seems to like it these days. Today, she carries my water bottles along with her own, since I’ll be crawling through narrow spaces. There’s no way I’m going to leave my backpack in someone else’s care, so it needs to be streamlined. Last time I crawled into the basement of the hospital. I can make it this time too.

I take the time to massage Zoya’s ears and tickle her lips. She pulls them up and crinkles her nose, looking so funny that I have to chuckle. Beloved dog. She relaxes me and makes it easier for me to concentrate at the same time. I leave Miranda’s room and make my way to the backyard where I wait. Without looking at Dad’s watch, I know it’s just been four minutes.

Miranda stands across the backyard from me, taking to a group of soldiers. She points to something I guess is a map. Then she looks up and sees Zoya and me. Without hesitation, I raise my index finger to my temple in a weird salute. Miranda gives a crooked smile. I’m probably breaking all kinds of military protocol or rules. Screw that.

I’m ready.

#

The old part of Remerton, with colonial and Victorian buildings in what Ogden used to call ‘a beautiful mix,’ burned down already the first summer after everything happened. The fire spread fast and the only good thing about it was that a lot of the dead was automatically cremated. It’s not easy to dig in some of the areas around Remerton, as it’s mostly woods or bedrock around here.

We walk along the river, and we can see one or two people in the distance. Nobody seems primed to pick a fight. The air is cool, but the sun is out and it’s going to get warmer. When we reach another blown up bridge, I can see more soldiers on sentry duty along the shore. It’s not far to the other side where the same number of soldiers stand guard.

Dakota hands out thermoses that I presume contains fake coffee. He’s met with broad smiles, and they bring their cups. I can understand they’re eager for something hot.

There aren’t many structures along what used to be the main street of this subdivision. Nature has reclaimed most of it, and you wouldn’t be able to drive any regular cars through the town, even if you could get them to work. It would take tanks, if the soldiers had access to such vehicles.

We move quickly through the vegetation, and it provides us with the cover we need. I learned the hard way that it can just as easily provide protection for an assailant. Now I keep my distance to the other three to not miss any of Zoya’s warnings. It takes us an hour to get within sight of the hospital—or what’s left of it.
These days, it’s imbedded in brushes and trees, which has grown unhindered to majestic proportions, almost obscuring the building completely. Just during the few years that have passed since I was here last, more walls have caved in. Perhaps I’ve promised too much? It does look like a pile of rubble.

“If we’re lucky, they don’t think we’ll be back right away after they managed t hurt some of us,” one of the soldiers, a tall, think young man, says.
“Or they’ve called in more buddies,” the other, shorter guy said.

I only vaguely remember their names and have already renamed them Tall Dude and Short Guy. It’s what I do. There are not very many reasons to remember names. Designations, on the other hand, can be useful.

Dakota makes a sign, putting up a fist, and we stop. We’re well protected and so far, Zoya hasn’t alerted us to any strangers close by. “What do you think, Andy?” he asks.

“The ones on the roof are obviously experts at spears and archery. Rumor has it they live there with their families. I don’t know what it looks like up there now, but I can imagine they’ve gained access to parts of the hospital.

“There can’t be much to find these days.” Tall Dude rolls his eyes.

“It can be ransacked,” I agree. “But it can be hard to fix a path in. It’s worth taking a look. Or do you want to run back to the colonel and tell her you reconsidered when we were nearly there?” I look at him and grin with deliberate scorn. I’m petty, but it feels good to retaliate some.

“Funny. Hilarious,” Tall Dude mutters. “Major, Maria’s report said there were only four shooters. Perhaps they guard four at a time, one in each corner.”

“Sounds plausible. They can have reinforced their watches after this morning,” Dakota says. “Let’s move on. The longer we wait, the greater the risk of being discovered.”

I agree and carefully make my way through the dense shrubs. Zoya walks right behind me and she’s blissfully silent. We’re nearing the structure from the south and when I ben dot pass a bush without moving the branches too much, we’ve reached the empty circle that used to be the hospital helicopter pad. I know there’s a burned out, crashed helicopter in the woods west of the hospital.

The vegetation gets denser when we get closer to the oldest part of the hospital. Branches whip at my face and I press the rim of my baseball cap further down toward my eyebrows. Dakota has no helmet today, but the younger guys do. To be honest, they seem rather green, but looks can be deceiving, something I’m well aware of.

This local hospital was small even before it started to crumble. At most, four stories high. Now we all crouch beside the wall, next to particularly nasty, thorny bushes. I feel my way along the wall, my naked fingertips starting to sting from rubbing against the uneven surface. It takes me a few minutes and I hear Short Guy mutter something. But then I find the old entrance leading into the basement.

With Zoya guarding me from behind together with three soldiers I feel strangely safe. I haven’t had such backup since…ever. “I’m trying to move the rocks. It looks kind of how I remember it.

Dakota nods and prepares to receive the rocks. In the lower left corner of the doorway, I find what I’m looking for. When I left the hospital last time, I placed a wooden board sideways behind a layer of four, five big rocks. It’s still there, which makes me hopeful that the rest of the tunnel is undisturbed and intact behind it.

The plan is that Dakota will guard the tunnel from the outside the guys, Zoya, and I go in. The idea is that we’re going to emerge from the tunnel without any unpleasant surprises. Thin Dude and I will find whatever storage rooms we can and fill the six sport bags we brought. It’s probably hoping for too much to think we’ll find a lot of meds that haven’t expired a long time ago. But even ancient antibiotics can mean the difference between life and death.

I send the heavy rocks to the side and try not to drop them. I feel it would echo throughout the area and then arrows and spears would rain down on us. I wonder how many arrows and spears they have up there on the roof—do they come down and collect them after they’ve thwarted an attack? I’m sure they do. People save everything and still the idea of reclaimed ammunition seems so crazy.

I stick my arms in and push into the space I’ve created by pressing my elbows to the ground. It’s tight. If you’re prone to claustrophobia is not a cool hobby. Behind me, I hear soft rattling of gravel when Zoya follows. I’m grateful that my tunnel is undisturbed, which is a miracle. I hope it hasn’t collapsed at the other end. As I recall, the tunnel is about four yards long. If there’s a stop at the other end, I have to move backward, and that will be a pain.

It’s pitch black in the tunnel, but thanks to the fact that the roof has collapsed in a few places in the basement, I know it is not as dark once we’re through. When I reach the exit and spit the dust I’ve inhaled, I get to my feet very carefully. Zoya emerges and shakes herself. One after the other, the other two come out of the tunnel. I can just make them out.

“There is a ward just to the left of us,” I whisper and point behind them. It’s collapsed since way back. We can only move in one direction. North.”
I take the lead together with Zoya and now it’s impossible to be as quiet as I want to. I hope they can’t hear us all the way to the roof when we stumble over debris and parts of crumbled walls. We reach the main staircase at the center of the small hospital, and more light filters through to us through cracks in the walls.

“Here it is. The pharmacy storage room.” I point to the right and then grow rigid. I heard a scraping sound further up and Zoya gives a low growl. “Oh, shit. We can’t remain here. With a firm grip of Tall Dude’s arm, I drag him in toward the wall to the right. I feel a door handle at the small of my back and hope it’s the door the pharmacy storage and that it’s not locked—and not full of cannibalistic addicts.

I press down the door handle, but nothing happens. Zoya assumes a defensive position in front of me and now the volume of her growling has increased.
“Damn, someone’s coming,” Short Guy whispers.

I pull hard at the handle now. If Short Guy can see someone coming, it won’t take long before that persona spots us. Using my thumb, I remove the safety of my Glock. And am I going to have to take another life because of these soldiers?

Continued behind door 8

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