Assumed Dead, page 27
“We’re going the wrong way,” Peter said as he realized he’d let Matt take him around a bend in the road that didn’t lead to their house.
“Trust me,” Matt said. “This is the right way.”
The road they walked along fell away as steeply as a cliff at one side so that you looked down on the roofs of buildings below. Up ahead was something Peter had glimpsed a couple of times, seen from the clinic, or in passing as they explored their new home. It was a sports field, with bleachers around three sides and nets sticking up from them to keep balls from flying off down the hill. The fourth side up, against the cliff, was a building, presumably with changing and storage facilities. As they got closer, Peter saw people milling about and heard the murmur of voices. He glanced at Matt to see him grinning. In a few minutes they reached a point where they could look down into the field. A baseball diamond was freshly marked out, brilliantly white. The grass was short. A couple of people were on the field warming up, and others were sitting in the bleachers.
“Matt!” It was Bren. She slapped him on the shoulder when he arrived. “This was a great idea. How we didn’t think of it before, I don’t know. It shouldn’t take a Kiwi to organize a baseball game. Hey, Doc, good to see you. Okay, I’m playing, so I’d better get down there. Get yourselves a hot dog and a soda and enjoy the game.” She hurried off down the steps into the stadium.
“Come on, then,” Matt said. “Hot dogs.”
The “dogs” proved to be venison sausages—the steep land wasn’t suitable for keeping cows, and a lot of their meat came from game brought back by the town’s team of hunters. But the town’s bakers had made hot dog buns for them, and there was even mustard. The soda was homemade lemonade. Thank God sugar kept so well. They got theirs and went down into the bleachers. The island group and a couple of Moosonee residents were sitting together, chatting away, having kind of a reunion, and they hailed their last two members heartily. Matt and Peter sat on a bench right behind Vicky and Kasper and Hope, who was wearing a sun hat.
“Baby’s first baseball game,” Vicky said, turning to talk to them. “I think she’s grasping the rules better than Kasper.”
Matt shook hands with Hope, and she held on to his fingers for a while as he chuckled and cooed at her. Peter chatted with the grown-ups instead, saying hi to R.J., who’d become one of the hunters, and Jay, who was flying often, in a single-engine plane, from an airfield in the valley below. She carried a passenger doing recon, looking for threats from humans or large concentrations of zombies.
Jay was sharing a house with Dr. Crawford. They’d gotten used to each other on the base, they’d said. And very few people lived alone here.
“How’s the teaching going, Doctor?” Peter asked Dr. Crawford, who’d taken on teaching biology at the town’s school.
“It’s a little different from teaching at a university,” she said. “For one thing, the students don’t turn up with hangovers.”
“I resent that remark,” Louise, sitting close by, said, but grinning. She was with Edvin, Stav, and Chandra. They all shared a house together—definitely like the students they had been before this started. Louise of course had a job at the clinic as a nurse. Chandra had gone to work there too, but in the basement lab, working on the research into refining the vaccine.
Stav and Edvin were currently floating around doing various jobs as needed, along with Kasper. Vicky worked in the admin and storage offices, Hope along with her. Taking your baby to the office was not only okay but actively encouraged—though there was also a day care for anyone who needed to leave their child while they went out hunting or patrolling.
Peter looked around. Barrett and his people were there. Smithy gave Peter a cautious wave. The bikers all looked a lot cleaner than before. They’d joined the security team, since all were skilled with weapons and had survived so long on their wits. Most of the Moosonee people were there. The Canadian kids were mixing with the local American kids who were explaining the game to them. Harrison was there with some others from the clinic, though not Craig. He and Peter exchanged a nod, trying to keep it discreet.
The game started—no uniforms and a motley couple of teams that included people from their midteens to their forties. Craig wasn’t sitting with Harrison because he was playing on one of the teams, and looking pretty fetching in a tight T-shirt and shorts. There might not be much skill on display, but nobody cared. It was all good fun. Peter looked around at all the smiling and cheering people, marveling at the normality of it. He leaned close to Matt and spoke softly.
“You organized this?”
“With help. Bren had to authorize it, and I needed help from the food-stores crew to organize the sausages and soda. Craig helped a lot.”
“Oh, really?” Matt and Craig seemed an unlikely team, but then again, they had a common interest.
“Yeah. We cut the grass—and that was a job, let me tell you. We had to start in with sickles before we could even think of mowing it. Sickles!”
“Where did you even get sickles?” Peter asked.
“From the Amish, of course.”
“Ah…what?”
“Don’t you know about the Amish?”
“In general terms,” Peter said cautiously. “But I suspect you’re talking some more specific Amish.”
“There’s a group of Amish in the town. About fifty of them. They don’t tend to mix much, so maybe you never saw any. They’ve set up farms on some of the flatter bits of land.”
“I have to say I haven’t come across them, no.”
“They’re great,” Matt said, then took a slug of lemonade. “They know about agriculture and livestock, you see. I mean, you know, doing all that the old-fashioned way, which we’re stuck with for a while, I guess. They know how to churn butter and grind corn and all that kind of thing. And they have a blacksmith. How cool is that? He made us the sickles.”
“Right.” Peter, wondering if he had fallen asleep in the sun back on the steps of the clinic and this was all a dream. “It’s good that you’re making friends.”
“Oh yeah. So we cut the grass, then painted the diamond. Some of the bleachers needed repairs too.”
“You’ve been doing all this while I was at work?”
“And you thought I was lying around eating bonbons all day.”
Peter laughed. “It’s great, Matt. People are having a good time.”
“I didn’t do it for them, though. I did it for you.”
“Me? Um, I like baseball, but I’m not a huge fan.” Harrison had been the one to pore over stats and betting averages, not him. Peter was more a football man.
“Remember what you said once, about how human culture is over? That there’d be no more books published, no more orchestras or sports team, no more baseball games. I wanted to prove you wrong.” He drained the last of his lemonade. “Tomorrow I start working on the orchestra.”
He looked entirely serious. Peter stared at him, the long-forgotten conversation coming back to him. So far from here. So dark and cold. And it had happened on the first night they made love. Giving up hope had made him ready to embrace Matt. Now he had hope. A future. A future with Matt?
Once Bren was out of the game, she climbed into the bleachers and sat beside Matt, drinking a bottle of water.
“We’re going to make this a monthly event,” she said. “Maybe get more teams going, have a tournament of some kind.”
“Good idea,” Matt said. “I’m only sorry you don’t have a cricket pitch. So I could teach you all a civilized game.”
“Or a football field,” Peter said.
Bren shook her head. “Not football,” she said. “It values aggression too much. We’re trying to bring up the boys here with less of that in their lives. Baseball is better. It values concentration and teamwork.”
“How about basketball?” Peter asked.
“It values height,” Bren said, making Matt laugh. “But yes, there is a basketball court in the school sports hall. We should see if we can get it back into shape. I suppose it’s not compulsory to be seven feet tall to play.”
“Sports will give people something to focus on in their spare time and encourage them to keep fit,” Matt said. “That has to be good.”
“Yes,” Bren agreed. “It’s definitely worthwhile. Good for bonding as well, for those working in groups, like the security squads and the hunters. You fancy the job of…I don’t know, sports director?”
“Me? But I don’t know much about American sports.”
“So ask for advice. Ask Craig. You two organized most of this together. Maybe there needs to be a committee. Can’t ask you to do all the work.” She pulled a tiny notebook from her pocket and, with a stubby pencil, wrote Sports committee Matt chair? on a page and tucked it away again. Matt didn’t know if she kept a journal the way he and many of the Shriver Island people still did, but nobody ever saw her without that notebook. “I’ll see you tomorrow about it. Have a think. Okay, I have to go. Enjoy the rest of the game.”
She climbed the steps of the bleachers, saying hello to people on every side, slapping palms with a few, before meeting up with her bodyguard at the top and disappearing off to the center of town.
“What was that Jay said about hippies with guns?” Peter asked, thinking about the crack about football valuing aggression.
“Hey, they get shit done,” Matt said. “Especially Bren. So, I guess I’m chairing the sports committee.”
“I always knew you had it in you, you jock.”
Matt laughed and pushed him before scooting closer and cuddling in against his side, arm through Peter’s.
The rest of the game was kind of a blur to Peter. The normality of it was a thing of wonder and made him think he’d landed in some kind of paradise, even if half their life was on a par with the Middle Ages. But mostly all he could think, over and over, were five words.
He did this for me.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The alarm going off startled Matt from poring over a nursing textbook. He was on nightshift at the clinic, and it was quiet enough that he could take the time to get some studying done. But the alarm broke his concentration. It didn’t ring continually, so it wasn’t a fire. It gave three blasts, then silenced. When his ears stopped ringing, he heard sirens wailing in the distance. They were jury-rigged on lampposts all around town, and they meant the colony was under attack. The door into the staff break room banged back as Matt headed for it. Craig came in and tossed a rifle to Matt.
“What’s going on?” Matt asked, checking the chamber and clip. Fully loaded.
“Had a radio message from Bren,” Craig said. “There’s fighting down at the perimeter.” He flicked the light off. “Human attackers. Follow me.”
Matt did, and they hurried down the main corridor to the elevator and stairs. One of the other nurses was helping a woman and baby into the elevator. A man in a wheelchair was in there already. The elevator doors closed.
“There are guards outside and more coming,” Craig said. “All the patients are going downstairs to the basement. We stay up here as guards. If anyone gets in, shoot to kill.”
Matt gulped. He wanted to be a nurse, not a soldier, but everyone had to be ready to fight in this world. Everyone here did regular weapons training, including the older children. Craig handled his rifle with the expertise of long practice and left Matt feeling clumsy and unsure of his in comparison. He tried to recall the faces of the guards on the doors today, fearing he’d shoot a friendly accidentally. Part of him thanked God that Peter was at home, but part was scared for him, all alone.
“It’s unlikely anyone can get to us, right up here,” Craig said. “Getting to the clinic means not only breaking through the perimeter, but fighting through the town and up the hill. It’s the most defensible position in the town. But still, be ready.”
“I’m ready,” Matt said.
“Matt,” Craig said. “The number-one priority—protect the doctors. Ahead of anyone else. It’s harsh, but they are the most valuable people here. Protect the doctors ahead of everyone else.”
Matt nodded dumbly. There was only one doctor on duty tonight. She must be downstairs. The urge to go to Peter almost overwhelmed Matt. Protect the doctor.
“We have to stay,” Craig said, looking at Matt, eyes serious, as if he read Matt’s mind. Matt saw his own agony reflected back to him from Craig’s eyes. Harrison wasn’t on duty tonight either. He was presumably back home. Craig must long to run there to protect him.
“I…I know,” Matt said.
“Bren will send guards to protect them,” he said. “That’s part of the protocol.” He didn’t have to explain who he meant by them. “We have to stay.” He sounded like a man trying to convince himself. Matt gripped the rifle and rooted himself to the spot like a sentry. He had to stay.
* * * *
“Stay there,” Bren said to Peter over the walkie-talkie. All the medical staff had those so they could be summoned quickly to the clinic. “Guards are on the way to your house.” The sounds of shouted orders and, more distantly, gunshots formed the background to her words.
“I should get to the clinic,” Peter said, struggling into clothes in the dark, not wanting to draw attention to his house with lights. “We need to set up to receive casualties.” That was true, but it was only part of the truth. Matt was at the clinic. He might be in danger.
“Not yet,” she said. “Not until we know what these bastards are trying to do. I’m ordering you, stay put.”
“You’re ordering me? What the hell gives you the right to order me?”
“Don’t be a dumbass, will you? We need you alive. Stay where you are, for fuck’s sake.”
The transmission ended, and he shoved the walkie into its holder on his belt in frustration. He clipped the holster of his pistol to the other side and hoped in an emergency he’d reach for the right one. Dressed only in jeans, his chest and feet bare, he went to the window and looked down over the town. The sirens still wailed, but the sound of gunshots floated up on the breeze. Most of the lights were out, except a few right in the center. He couldn’t see the clinic from this window, though it was quite close by. All the medics had houses close to the clinic. He could run there in seven minutes—he’d timed it. Though that had been in daylight.
He finished dressing, adding socks and sneakers and a dark hoodie. If he did have to run to the clinic, he’d do his best not to be seen. He went through to the back bedroom—a bare room that must once have been a child’s room. If he leaned out of that window, he could see part of the clinic. There was no sign of activity there. No lights on in the building. No muzzle flashes from gunshots. No crackle of rifles or handguns. Matt was probably safely down in the clinic’s basement, locked in and guarded.
A banging on the front door made Peter jump so hard he thought his skeleton made a pretty good attempt at leaving his body. He drew his gun—right one first time—and went to the top of the stairs, crouched down.
“Lane!” A familiar voice came from outside. “You in there?”
Barrett! Peter ran down the stairs and looked through the door’s peephole. Barrett and Shan, both with rifles, his slung, hers covering the street. Peter unlocked the door.
“You okay, Doc?” Barrett asked. “Bren’s assigned us to guard your place. Shan, take the back.” Shan disappeared fast around the side of the house.
“I…I’m okay,” Peter said, breathing and hammering heart slowing down.
“The kid here?”
“No, Matt’s at the clinic.”
Maybe Barrett saw the agony in Peter’s eyes. He nodded. “He’ll be fine there. A squad is on the way to guard the clinic. Your pal R.J. is leading it.”
“I should go there. I need to prepare for the casualties.”
“Not yet,” Barrett said. “Bren’s orders. You stay here until it’s safe to take you there. Go back inside and sit tight.”
“But…” He was interrupted by engine noise. Lights showed in the sky to the west, and in seconds two helicopters passed overhead, low, the racket of their blades filling the world and making both men duck on instinct.
“What the fuck?” Barrett muttered.
“They’re not ours, are they?” Peter said, mouth going dry and tasting of cotton balls.
“Not unless ours has budded. We’ve only got one.”
Shan’s voice came over the walkie. “They’re hovering over the clinic. I can see something… Shit, there’s guys rappelling down from them.”
“They’re attacking the clinic,” Peter cried.
“Fuck.” Barrett grabbed his walkie and opened a channel. “Bren, come in, Bren. We’ve got an attack on the clinic. Two choppers brought in hostiles. Human soldiers.”
The perimeter attack might be no more than a distraction. The clinic was the real prize. The vaccine, the medics. Damn. Peter dodged past Barrett and ran down the steps to the road, ignoring the shout to come back. His pistol was still in his hand. There was a good moon tonight; he could see well enough that he wasn’t running in total darkness.
A heavy weight hit him as Barrett tackled him to the ground, rolling so Peter ended up on top, not flattened, but with a firm grip around his waist.
“Let me go!” Peter yelled. “I have to get to the clinic! I have to get to Matt!” He struggled against Barrett, but the big man easily had the better of him. Shan came running, catching up to them. She stopped and stared down at them writhing about on the ground.
“There’s a time and a place, fellas.”
“The clinic is under attack!” Peter said. “We have to get there.”
