“Doctor Rosenthal?” Pam fished her requisition orders out of her pocket and folded it open.
“Yes, Specialist?” Most DDC managers did not make much distinction among military, and Pam was surprised to be referenced by her rank.
“We have orders to transport you to…”
“Let’s talk about the situation here someplace private, Specialist,” Dr. Rosenthal interrupted. “Tensions run high here. It’s best to keep conversations about who gets to go and who has to stay away from prying ears. Is that understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Pam replied.
Nearly every inch of the school was converted into living space. Hallways were lined with tents and lockers overflowing with storage. Classrooms were divided into segments with sheets hanging from rope. Cots were cramped together and piled high with clothes and personal effects. Children huddled around adults, reading books out loud or reciting the alphabet. Men and women milled about, their whispered conversations cut short as the soldiers passed. A microcosm of normal society had sprouted up within the walls of this DDC, and outsiders were regarded with suspicion.
Posters hung on the hallway walls, illustrating education’s early attempts to confront the undead menace. The silhouette of a cartoon ghoul was intimidating a group of schoolchildren on a sign that read: ‘He wants to hurt you. Run away. Tell an adult.’ Another poster in the same retro style displayed a child wearing an American flag for a cape and being held up by a cheering crowd. The text read, ‘Johnny is a HERO! Johnny TOLD!’ with sub-text reading, ‘Tell an adult if you know someone who may be bit!’
They turned down a hallway and entered the school cafeteria. A group of men and women looked up from a poker game to regard the soldiers before turning back to their cards. Large metal doors at the far end of the room were barricaded with heavy steel chains and shelves stacked with books, which served to muffle barely audible groans and the sound of hammering fists. Along the walls were yet more signs that subtly alluded to a situation growing more desperate, ‘Help your mom plant a Life Garden in your back yard! — Food you grow yourself tastes great.’ ‘Keep your plastic containers and collect rain! — Clean with, bathe in, and even drink water from the sky.’ ‘Don’t throw food away! — Leftovers make a great snack.’
Dr. Rosenthal picked up a clipboard sitting at the cafeteria checkout area and continued walking. “I have my kitchen staff take daily inventory of our food stores, my medical staff inventories our medical supplies and Sergeant Keal here, keeps me abreast of his ammunition situation.”
They cut through the cafeteria and entered a gymnasium that had been converted into a hospital. Over twenty men, women, and children lay in cots spread neatly throughout the large open room. The propaganda on these walls illustrated a further picture of attempts to influence the general population psychologically. The image of an attractive female doctor smiling and wearing clean white scrubs read, ‘Help the CDC help you!’ Perhaps the most disturbing poster, depicted the Statue of Liberty superimposed over an American Flag with the words, ‘We will overcome!’ Someone had scrawled the word “not” in black marker after the word “will,” and no one had bothered to take the poster down.
“Dr. Rosenthal! Dr. Rosenthal! Derik is throwing a fit again. What should I do?” A young man dressed in nurse’s scrubs rushed over to Dr. Rosenthal as she entered the room.
She continued to walk, having long since integrated moving and decision-making into a single action. “If he wants to remain in the hospital, he will have to remain handcuffed. If he has a problem with his handcuffs, then he is free to leave the DDC. We do not allow sick people to mingle with the general population.”
Sergeant Keal whistled at a soldier standing guard nearby. “Go with Bill. If his patient decides he wants to leave the DDC, escort him out.”
The soldier nodded and followed the nurse.
“Handcuffs?” Miguel asked.
Dr. Rosenthal sighed. She was clearly tired of explaining the situation, and she continued walking.
Sergeant Keal had more patience with fellow soldiers and explained, “We keep anyone who is sick in here handcuffed to their cot. The handcuffs are mostly to prevent the patients from going back into the general population and getting a hundred more people sick, but they are also for anyone who turns. No one likes it, but we have too.”
They entered a small office with a disheveled cot in one corner. Dr. Rosenthal lit up a cigarette and handed another to Sergeant Keal. She looked grimly for a few seconds at the clipboard she had retrieved from the cafeteria.
“I’ve decided to retain the provisions and ammunition for this DDC. You’ll be taking the children. The adults will stay here with me.” Dr. Rosenthal explained her intentions with a quiet assuredness that seemed unsettling to the group.
“We have orders to get supplies… and particularly orders to get you, Dr. Rosenthal. There’s a shortage of doctors. We need you,” Pam explained.
Dr. Rosenthal’s calm composure contrasted sharply with the tear that streamed down her cheek. “I know, soldier. I will go with the next convoy. You need to take the children with this one.”
“Doctor, we can’t…” Miguel began.
“Sergeant Keal!” Dr. Rosenthal interrupted as she wiped the tear away. She turned back to her clipboard, removed a pen from her breast pocket, and began writing.
Sergeant Keal glared at Miguel, Pam, and Carl. Though his intimidating form was postured for a fistfight, his voice remained calm yet forceful. “We know you ain’t comin' back this way, and we know there ain’t another convoy.”
The three convoy crewmen stood silent. The sergeant was probably right. This particular DDC was on the very edge of the supply zone.
“Way I see it, you got two problems…” Sergeant Keal took a step forward into the personal space of the three soldiers and lowered his voice. “One! Each of my boys would LOVE a ride in your convoy out of this shit hole. You try and take their ammo and food — the only thing between them and that swarm of mindless fucks out there — and they’re liable to… well… who knows what they’re liable to do…” The Sergeant trailed off.
“Sir we have orders…” Pam began.
“Two!” Sergeant Keal’s booming voice filled the room. He paused to ensure he had the soldiers’ full attention, before returning to the quiet tone he had possessed a moment ago. “Dr. Rosenthal’s been telling those kids — those kids that have spent the last year watching friends and family get torn apart while convoy after convoy comes and goes, loading up with everything from this DDC but THEM — that they’re gonna be on the next ride out of here. Those kids have told their parents, and those parents are ready to say goodbye to their kids forever. You try and leave here without those kids in your convoy, those parents are liable to… well… who knows what they’re liable to do…” The Sergeant drove his point home.
“Okay, load 'em up.” Carl said, before Pam or Miguel could reply. He knew the consequences would be harsh for him and his convoy when he returned to the docks, but there was no choice. The situation had grown so desperate that military order was breaking down. Had he been in the sergeant’s position, he’d be doing the exact same thing.
Dr. Rosenthal nodded as she wiped away another tear. “We have enough food for two weeks, maybe three if we shrink rations again. I don’t think we can do that. People are already fighting over scraps.”
“I have enough ammunition for maybe a week if we don’t have another swarm hit us.” Sergeant Keal backed away from Carl, Pam, and Miguel, and took a drag from his cigarette. “After that…”