Vince was now limp in her arms. She kissed the side of his head and curled up with him on the cot. She would keep him warm with her body heat, and first thing tomorrow, she would go hunting for blankets and maybe a doctor. Cube City was their new home, and she would have to begin the task of making it a comfortable place for her son. She would have to find a way to contribute, but for now, she would rest.
Vince groaned and wiggled restlessly as she held him.
“Shhhh, honey, go to sleep,” Nicole soothed her son. She smiled to herself. She had made it for herself, for her son, and they were safe now. They could start a new life free from the living dead. The insanity of the previous few months was finally over. She could sleep in peace, knowing she and Vince were safe.
Her son in her arms, Nicole drifted into the deep sleep of total exhaustion.
She awoke to the sensation of Vince nuzzling her shoulder and a sharp pain in her neck. Confused, Nicole pulled away and called out for Vince. A gurgling sound left her lips. Terror gripped her as she reached up to her neck and felt the warm wetness of blood.
Nicole pushed herself up from the cot, but she fell back down. She realized she couldn’t breathe. Her head was spinning, and her strength was vanishing.
“Vince?” she tried to call out again, but a bloody sputter was all that passed her lips. She rolled helplessly over onto her back. Her eyes darted about in terror until they focused on a dark shape looming over her.
Silhouetted in the dim lights of Cube City, Vince looked down at his mother wickedly. He gulped down a wet red rag of flesh. His empty eyes locked intently on her, and his teeth shone through a wicked bloodstained smile.
Nicole screamed a quiet burbling scream that went unheard above the din of Cube City.
Chapter 32
The tired-looking navy clerk frowned. “There’s no more room in W. You’ll have to bunk in WCU12.”
Pam stared back blankly at the wrinkled old man. He spoke in a manner that assumed she knew what he was talking about. Military personnel had a bad habit of creating their own language, and Pam needed clarification. “W?”
“Oh, are you married? Is your husband here? We have room in MC…” The man began to flip through a box of three-by-five cards.
“I’m not married…” Pam was confused.
“Then you’ll have to stay in WCU12. Cube 41.” The man handed her a red pin and glanced at the person standing behind her in line. “Next?”
Pam looked at the red pin with her name on it, and she attached it to her chest. The U.S.S. Boxer had no stations for non-navy military personnel, and the convoy team had been assigned temporary living quarters within Cube City. Pam had been the last to register, and Carl and Miguel had already shuffled off to their assigned cubes. She hefted her backpack over one shoulder with a sigh, and then she began to look for her housings. The enormous improvised refugee camp was sectioned off by fences that were held in place by dumbbells and sandbags. Large signs designated gender specific “neighborhoods.” Before long, Pam’s sign, “WCU12,” came into view.
“I hate kids,” Pam mumbled with a frown. She didn’t have a motherly bone in her body. She vastly preferred laptops and logistics to diapers and crying.
She marched into the area, avoiding eye contact with any women she encountered. Pam eventually found her cube, secured her equipment, and re-emerged into Cube City. It was late, but Pam knew she would be unable to sleep without a basic knowledge of the area. More importantly, she wanted to know where her friends were.
“Excuse me?” a meek voice called after her.
Pam turned and a young woman, no more than seventeen, stood breastfeeding an infant under a blanket.
“You’re from the convoys?” The girl looked at Pam hopefully as she spoke.
Pam nodded. “I was. Why?”
“I was wondering if you knew anything about the Spring Valley DDC.”
“I was at Spring Valley two days ago.” Pam let the words slip out of her mouth slowly. The moment they passed her lips, she realized it would have been better for her simply to lie and say she didn’t know anything about Spring Valley.
A smile washed over the girl’s face for a second, but then it vanished. “My boyfriend’s there! Is he… is… how was it there? Are they safe?”
“The DDC was secure. I’m sure he’s fine.” Pam lied and began walking away.
Armed military personnel guarded the gates which connected the segregated living quarters. Refugees could freely pass between sections, but signs were clearly posted all about the area; ‘no males’ hung every ten feet within the female areas. Large text was painted in red letters on the storage bay wall in clear view of all inhabitants; ‘Assault will result in EVICTION. Robbery will result in EVICTION. Damaging the ship or interfering with the crew will result in EVICTION.’
The term “EVICTION,” Pam knew, was essentially a death sentence.
“Are you… I mean… Is the military going back soon? We aren’t married, but we qualify for section MC,” the girl pattered behind Pam as she walked. Civilians had a bad habit of assuming every soldier was in the loop on everything the military was doing. If you were in uniform, particularly a woman in uniform, civilians assumed every military commander in Southern California was part of your personal gossip circle. In this case, Pam did know, but she didn’t see any point in completely crushing the girl’s hopes.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Pam approached the gate to section W — Women. The soldier on duty nodded at her silently as she passed. The girl who tailed her slowed to a stop, reluctant to leave her designated area.
The women’s section was much like the WCU12 section. Clothes hung from clotheslines. Dishes sat neatly stacked on a table next to a cube marked ‘kitchen.’ In the middle of the aisle, was a long row of potted plants. The withered forms of tomatoes, beans, carrots, and even corn, fought for sustenance in the constant dull florescent light of the storage bay. A woman in her twenties or early thirties sat cross-legged on the ground, cleaning a pistol.
Pam walked out of section W and into a section marked simply C — Children. Half a dozen women sat calmly reading or playing solitaire next to a table completely covered in baby monitors. In the back of the area against the storage bay wall, was a huge montage of children’s pictures. As she passed, a sign came into view; “I’m looking for a home. Navy personnel can direct you to adoption services.”
The Spring Valley DDC and the children that had been rescued sprang into Pam’s mind. She wondered if any of them had ended up here. There had been so many convoys, so many civilian resources transported in the past year… it was almost inevitable that some of the people living here had been transported by Convoy 19.
The section marked MC — Married Couples—was quiet. An elderly couple held hands as they walked through the aisle. They smiled at Pam, and the old man gave her a salute. She saluted back and grinned — it was always nice when old veterans of an all-male military showed their respect to women in uniform. Along the wall to her right, was a set of shelves marked ‘library.’ Roughly a hundred tattered and worn books sat piled in disarray.
Section MCU12—men and children under 12—had a large semi-circle of chairs set up around the back wall. While most of the chairs were unoccupied, a handful of men and boys sat around a middle-aged man in a wrinkled suit who was giving a quiet lecture. “The Lord has chosen you my brothers. You are the chosen ones. It is you who will shepherd mankind forward into an era of unprecedented prosperity with His hand on your shoulders…”
“Bullshit!” A man in a stained white undershirt grunted and stood up. “God didn’t send this plague!”