“Clear,” Krandle hears Speer whisper.
“Clear,” he calls back.
Turning toward Speer, Krandle sees he couldn’t advance very far due to the rubble from the fallen ceiling. Getting Speer’s attention, he points to a steel meat locker door where the dust has been disturbed. They both gather to one side of the door.
“This is Chief Petty Officer Vance Krandle of the United States Navy. We mean no harm and have come to help,” he calls out.
A shuffling sound comes from the other side of the door and faint whispers, then silence. A moment passes.
“Are you really from the Navy?” a voice calls.
“Yes, sir, we are,” Krandle replies.
“Shut up. We don’t really have a choice, do we? Look at us. We won’t make it much longer regardless of who’s on the other side. Now open it,” the voice says, obviously talking to someone else inside.
Krandle hears a rattling sound like a chain being dragged against the door. The door opens and a stench rolls out. It’s the pungent smell of body odor mixed with…well, more body odor. Looking inside, he sees seven very emaciated people staring back at him. Four of them are sitting against walls in the back of the enclosed room, looking like it’s taking all of their energy just to stay upright. Those four stare back at him as if they are already dead. Only the fact that they slowly blink gives testament that they are still holding onto life.
Two very thin men stand near the open door with the girl he saw earlier clutching one of the men’s pant leg and peeking out from behind. Krandle lowers his weapon as he stares into eyes that have given up hope. It’s hard to tell anyone’s age through the grime covering them, but they seem to be in their twenties or thirties with the exception of the girl who appears to be eleven or twelve.
“Holy shit,” Speer whispers, staring dumbfounded.
Krandle nods for Speer to go join Franklin out front but Speer just continues to stare at the scene.
“Speer!”
Speer startles and looks at Krandle who nods once again, directing him to the front.
“Oh…right, Chief,” he says and starts back through the kitchen with a couple of backward glances.
“Franklin, I’m sending Speer to you. Contact the Santa Fe and let them know we have seven survivors…three mobile and four immobile. Blanchard, get in here. You have patients to attend to,” Krandle states over the radio.
Blanchard arrives and immediately sets to work with the ones at the back of the room — taking vitals and setting up IVs. He has a difficult time finding veins but eventually manages. Krandle offers water and small bits of food from his pack to the two men and girl. The men take what is offered. The girl is hesitant at first, but then digs in.
As Blanchard treats the men and women, one of the men shares some of their story. It’s one of searching for food by day and retreating to the meat locker at night. He tells of the food sources dwindling until they’ve had to subsist on crackers, potato chips, and whatever else they could find. The store shelves emptied early, and they’ve gone from house to house. They learned early that the dark held death, so they would only go in if they could make enough light by smashing windows. Lately, though, they haven’t found much of anything. It’s been merely fruitless searching by day and the pounding on the freezer doors by those creatures at night.
He goes on to tell that this was the only place they could find that they could barricade safely. The barricade at the gate that a few survivors erected only held for a short time. They set the bus on fire as a last resort, but that too only worked for a scant matter of minutes. There were more of them, but after the creatures broke through…
“It was a slaughter,” the man says, his eyes far away in the memory of that night. “And there were creatures inside as well. The roar of the fire…the gunshots down in the town…the screams. I can still hear them. We didn’t have a chance. The few of us remaining fled into the night and retreated here. The creatures followed, but we were able to hold the door against them. Then morning came and with it, silence. It soon became evident that the creatures didn’t come out during the day, so we hammered the roof in. That was the only way we could be assured it was safe to come out each morning. They still come and the shrieks every night are enough to drive one insane.”
“Why you didn’t just leave during the day?” Krandle asks, looking to see where Blanchard is with his ministrations.
“We wanted to but had…several others who were too injured to move. They eventually…passed on,” the man says with tears welling. “By that time, several more became sick, and by the time they passed, we couldn’t find a vehicle we could start. We thought about heading out on foot, but we were more worried about getting stranded somewhere after dark. Now, well, Jim, Maggie, and I could leave and take the risk, but we can’t very well leave the others behind.”
Krandle catches Blanchard’s eye and motions to him.
“Excuse us a moment,” Krandle says to the man.
“Well, Blanchard, can we move them?” he asks once they are out of earshot.
“Those four can only move on a stretcher and that’s iffy,” Blanchard states.
“Okay, see what you can do. I’m going to call the captain.”
Krandle contacts Captain Leonard and relays the situation. He then asks for permission to bring the survivors aboard.
“We don’t have room aboard, Chief. Give them coordinates to Captain Walker’s location,” Leonard replies.
“Sir, they won’t make it out of town let alone that distance. And there isn’t any transportation,” Krandle says.
“Chief, can you tell me with one hundred percent certainty that none of them are ill?” Leonard asks.
“No, sir,” Krandle answers.
“Sorry, but we can’t risk an illness aboard. Find them a map and see if you can get a vehicle for them to travel. Leave them whatever supplies you deem pertinent.”
“Aye, sir,” Krandle replies.
Krandle leans against a kitchen wall thinking over their situation. He understands the captain but doesn’t feel good about just leaving the survivors to themselves. In their current shape, merely giving them supplies and finding transportation would be the same as pronouncing their death sentence. After thinking it through, he pushes himself off the wall and walks back to the freezer.
Motioning Blanchard aside once again, he asks, “What’s the final word?”
“Chief, they’re in bad shape. I set up IVs, gave them some water and food. The ones standing are fine, a little weak, but they’ll make it. The others…well, time will tell. They should recover, but at this point, it will be up to them. We can give them antibiotics, hydrate them, and feed them, but they’ll have to be mentally strong if they are to fully recover. If we didn’t show up when we did, I’d say most would be dead sometime tomorrow,” Blanchard responds.
“Are they sick?” Krandle asks.
“You mean like a virus or something?”
“Yeah. Like do they have the flu or a cold?”
“Not that I can tell. They’re very malnourished and some have cuts and scratches that are infected, but I don’t think they’re sick,” Blanchard answers.
“Can you say with one hundred percent assurance?”
“Nothing is one hundred percent, but they don’t have symptoms of being ill other than a general weakness. Their heart rates, blood pressure, and breathing rates are all down, but that’s the malnutrition. They don’t have fevers, coughs, excess mucus, or any other indication that they are viral,” Blanchard reports. “Let me guess, the captain isn’t letting them onboard?”