Paul was tired and his brain was fried. He needed to rest. He desperately searched for where he fit into the equation. His job training, other than being a nurse, was to investigate, document, and report public health emergencies.
He was in over his head.
Staring at the binder as he sat in the corner of the gym, the smell of coffee crept under his nose and he looked over to the cup set next to him.
“Thought you could use that,” Stanton said. “We separated the ones I thought were suspicious. You may want to check them out in case they’re sick.”
“I will. Thank you.” Paul lifted his mug.
“What are you doing?”
Paul groaned. “I’m trying to do a speed read of this book. Find out what to do, how to do it to make this run more efficiently and…” he stopped talking when the three ring binder closed.
“You can read all you want, but it’s a simple solution. You have people. They need help. Shelter, food, protection, some medical attention and the biggie—safety. They need to feel safe.”
“The book tells you to—”
‘The book will not tell you what you can see. Follow your gut. The shelter is good. We let people see that, they’ll feel safe, be less panicked, and the energy will calm down some. This gym for example, is a great lockdown location. We get enough supplies in here, we can stay safe in here until this thing is over with.”
Paul only looked at him.
“You do know how long that will be, right?”
Exhaling, Paul stood up. “I have no idea. It hit so fast there are no case studies. Some got sick, real sick. They died right away. Most of the sick turned into…whatever you want to call those things out there.”
“Ragers.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Ragers, that’s what we call them. Because they are enraged. Ragers.”
“Uh huh.” Paul nodded. “The sick turned into… them, the ragers. They attack and infect more. And some… some are…” he cringed, “dead-ish.” “Oh, I’ve seen them. Eventually, the Ragers have to turn into the dead… ish. We’re all organic material. They’ll decay and drop, right?”
“In theory. But if they move while they are dead… ish, that may slow down decomposition. Then again, they can’t be dead. They can only be dead… ish.”
“We need to get a few,” Stanton suggested. “They don’t react to you. You check them out.”
“For now. What if this thing mutates and suddenly they attack those of us they ignored?”
“Then you’ll be the same as most of us.” Stanton gave a swat to his back. “Time to hone in on those fighting skills. Right now we need you in the right frame of mind. I think getting you on track will do that. Let’s go down our list.”
Paul reached for the binder.
Stanton stopped him. “Walk with me. Let me show you what’s going on out front.”
The main door wasn’t far from the gymnasium wing. Stanton led him to the double glass doors and opened them. The front of the school was clear, yet in the parking lot there were two tractor trailers that formed most of the barricade. A borough dump truck and numerous cars filled in the cracks. There was another tractor trailer toward the back by the gated entrance into the school lot.
Paul could see the infected reaching between the cars, making attempts to get by, but failing.
“Will this hold them?” Paul asked.
“For now. But if more come, probably not. We don’t want to start shooting them because that will cause more noise. We have shelter and protection covered,” Stanton said. “We don’t need to block the doors yet. How are we on medical supplies?”
“Not much.”
“And we need food. We need to go out in small groups to get supplies.”
“I should go,” Paul suggested. “Right now I can slip in and out. That’s what we need.”
“No, we need more immune,” Stanton said. “And another thing. Maybe you can talk to them. Get them calm. Assure them.”
“Talk to who?”
“The forty people in that gym.”
“And tell them what?”
“Lie. I don’t care. Tell them it won’t last long.”
“Why don’t you do that?” Paul asked. “You’re more of a leader than I am.”
“I have a job to do and—”
“Sarge,” a male voice over the radio interrupted.
Stanton brought his radio to his mouth. “What’s up, over?”
“We have two survivors walking straight through the Ragers. Over.”
“I’ll grab the riot gear and go help, over.”
“No, Sarge, they don’t need help. They’re walking right through.”
Stanton smiled at Paul. “Ask and you shall receive. More immune.”
Paul felt a twinge of excitement. More folks that could go out and help. Plus, according to Stanton, more survivors meant more protection. There was a soldier on top of the tractor trailer. He lay belly down and lifted his arm with a short whistle. Paul supposed that was his signal to the incoming survivors.
The solider must have gotten their attention because he was indicating, without noise, where they were to go. Of course, that would be to the back of the barricade and Paul, along with Stanton rushed there.
A younger man walked, embracing an older women, almost as protection, leading her to the back of the school. Paul watched them through the cars. The infected stayed clear.
At the end, Stanton climbed into the cab of the truck, signaling that it was the way for the new arrivals to enter.
Paul had watched others arrive an hour earlier. They were followed by infected; the younger man and woman were not.
Stanton climbed back out and stood by Paul waiting.
“I got it, I got it, Bubby,” the woman said.
She emerged first. Stanton stepped forward and reached to help her. For some reason, Stanton coughed, sniffed outward, and turned his head. Paul wondered why until he took a step forward. She smelled horrible. Similar to a rancid litter box. It was even a bit much for Paul.
The younger man jumped down and closed the door. “I secured the other one,” he said. “Those things weren’t chasing us.” He extended his hand. “Myron.”
“Sergeant Stanton. This is Paul Furlong.”
“Pleasure. Glad to have you.” Paul reached out to shake his hand.
“This is my grandmother, Leona,” Myron said.
Paul held his hand to the odorous woman, trying not to show any reaction. He figured she was older and had health problems. “Ma’am.”
“I came to get my grandmother to safety,” Myron said. “If you need me, I’ll help.”
“He’s a godsend, my Bubby is,” Leona chirped
Paul nodded. “We can use the extra hands.”
“I’m your man. I’m… I’m dying,” Myron stated. “So these things stay clear of me.”
Stanton laughed. “You think they ignore you because you’re dying?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you are, but more than likely, you’re immune,” Stanton said. “Ask Paul.”
Paul nodded. “When you are immune they don’t attack you.”
Myron exhaled. “Oh, excellent. That’s a relief.”
“So that means you both are immune,” Paul said. “More than likely.”
“Oh, I’m not,” Leona said. “They come after me like flies on shit.”
“But you walked right through them,” Paul said in confusion.
She pointed to Myron. “He came up with an idea.”
“I figured it was something about me they couldn’t sense,” Myron explained. “Maybe a pheromone or something. So I pissed in a cup and let it set, and put it all over my grandmother. I can’t take all the credit, she thought of it.”
“When he was a baby, he had magic urine. Anyone got a rash we rubbed Bubby’s pee on it.” “Holy shit,” Paul exclaimed. “You put your fermented piss on your grandmother and it worked? Unbelievable.”