Sanctuary (20 page)

Hugh took a deep breat
h
and tried to roll the tension from his neck. The film over his eyes made it hard to see clearly, and he tried to blink it away so he could watch and stay alert. He yawned, and his jaw clicked.

“You look pretty tired.” Sgt. Jones smiled and put her petite hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “I know this guy is a friend or something, but he really won’t show any change for a few days. You just got here. Why don’t you go get something to eat and get some sleep? I promise he’ll still be like this in the morning.”

He snapped his jaw shut and nodded. “You’re right.”

“Besides, you kinda look like you could use a shower and a change of clothes.”

Hugh looked down at himself. She was right there, too. Still wearing his sweats, a t-shirt, and the jacket he’d gotten from Pastor Billy, he looked and smelled pretty much like a homeless man. “So where’s the mess hall?”

Jennie

Jennie sighed, and peered abou
t
her new quarters. The small room had two twin-sized beds with white sheets, a dresser, and one window. Similar to her dorm room last year. She had planned on moving off-campus, just to get some space, but here she was again, back inside a small, white box.

“Which bed is mine?” Mickey’s voice shook, peering in. All through dinner, he’d leaned on her and had been afraid to let her go again. Although he’d been brave and didn’t cry during his isolation, he had clung to her when she returned to collect him.

She smiled. “We could push them together if you want?”

His eyes grew big and hopeful. “Can we?”

Without another word, she stepped in and pushed the closest metal frame bed against the other. Mickey giggled and helped as much as his little arms could push. They tumbled on the bed together once finished and wrestled. Jennie held her brother close and smiled at him because she knew that’s what he needed from her—reassurance. He needed someone to make him at least feel like everything was going to be okay, that someone was looking out for him. Jennie stared up at the ceiling and felt the gnawing at her gut. She had to be his parent now, not just his big sister. Could she do that for him? She had to; there was no one else. She shifted and sighed. There was no one there to smile at her, to put an arm around her, and to make her feel like everything would be okay. She sat up and looked down at his trusting eyes. This was her new life. She would have to figure out how to do this parenting thing… alone.

The half-lit sun in the sky outside their second-floor window shone in their faces. Even in its dim, dappled light, she needed to squint her eyes. She stood up and went to the window. Outside, only a street stood between her and the huge boulders that lined the shore of the Chesapeake Bay. A lone seagull danced back and forth in the wind like a kite, never rising or falling much, and making no progress forward.

No wailers. No Shisa. She could really use a walk, some kind of freedom. After she took a deep breath, she asked, “Do you want to go outside?”

Mickey stood on the bed. The white sheets and light brown blankets rustled underneath him. “Can I ask Alicia and Aaron to come?”

She smiled. “Sure, why not?”

The wind blew Jennie’s hai
r
in her face the moment she stepped outside, and she pulled a tendril of it from the corner of her mouth. Had they really only been there a few hours? The lapping of the waves on the shore and the roaring of the wind almost completely drowned out the droning of the aliens. She couldn’t help but strain her ear for the possibility of a wailer.

Her shoulders tensed, and she followed the children toward the rocky shore. She glanced about, never relaxing. This wasn’t like family trips to the beach she remembered, where she’d lay in the sun, oblivious to everything and her mom constantly on her feet, peering out in whichever direction her brother had run.

The three children walked along the crags and sandy cracks, looking for seashells. Under the overwhelming fresh, salty odor of the breeze, the smell of dead fish still wafted in occasionally. But it was so faint, and so infrequent, it was forgettable. And Jennie determined to forget it.

On the horizon, a large boat barely moved in the choppy waves, and more seagulls danced in the late afternoon sun. “Hey!” a voice called behind her.

Mr. Harris jogged across the street toward her with a goofy grin on his face. Her eyebrows rose, and she said, “Uh, hi.”

His hair was wet, and he no longer wore the t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Instead he wore a light brown jacket, an Army hoodie, and jeans. The Converse hi-tops remained. “I thought I’d go for a walk. Is that what y’all are doing?”

Jennie shrugged. “Kind of. I just wanted to be outside now that I could be, you know?”

He nodded. “Definitely. I know.”

For a few moments, they stood in silence, watching the three children collect their seashells. The oversized sun dipped low in the sky and drew an orange line across the water. “So where did you get the clothes?”

He tilted his head. “They opened up the chapel for donations and supplies to refugees. Pastor Billy and his wife are there.”

“Really? I wonder if they need any help.” The idea genuinely appealed to Jennie; she hated being idle when others were working.

“Most likely.”

She eyed Mr. Harris and wondered at how this seemingly nice guy couldn’t get along with his brother. The man next to her didn’t seem to be the violent, steal-your-woman type, but what did she know? It really wasn’t any of her business, anyway, was it? She was too tired to think about all that right now anyway.

The tension in her neck loosened, and she yawned. For the first time in days, she felt like she actually might be able to get real sleep. But, she’d want to stop at the chapel first and talk to the Crawfords. “Hey, Mickey, are you guys ready to go?”

“Can’t we stay just a little longer? Alicia found five seashells, and Aaron only has three.”

“I guess, but we need to go when the sun goes down, okay?”

“Okay.” Her little brother never even looked up.

“Are you guys settling in okay?” Mr. Harris asked. His voice was serious, and his eyes sparkled in the fading sun.

Did he really want to know?
“The room’s about the size of the dorm I had last year. Only now, I’m doing it as a single mom. I don’t think I ever realized all the things my parents worried or thought about each day. Now, it’s all on me in the middle of the end of the world.”

Mr. Harris looked her in the eyes and smiled. “You’re a smart, young woman. The fact that you worry about this shows it matters. He’s lucky to have you.”

Jennie swallowed the lump in her throat. She wasn’t sure if he really meant it or was just being nice, but the reassurance was still good to hear. She stifled another yawn.

He yawned in response. “Thanks a lot.”

Jennie laughed. It felt good. “I doubt either of us has slept much lately.”

“That’s for sure.”

She glanced up at him and shivered.  It wasn’t just because of the breeze. She remembered why they all called him
Hot Mr. Harris
and being this close to him made it difficult to look Hugh in the eyes. Jennie swallowed and let her thoughts turn toward the last few days. “Do you think we’ll really be safe here?” Her voice shook.

His hands were on her shoulders, draping his jacket over them. It was the kind of thing guys did in old movies. None of the college boys she had gone out with would have even noticed she was cold. The heat from his body still radiated within the coat. She turned and looked into his soft but worried brown eyes. A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth. “As safe as we can be, I guess. But honestly, I don’t know if we’ll ever be safe until those things leave.”

She nodded, pulled the jacket tighter around herself, and watched the children. The jacket held his masculine scent mixed with cologne or deodorant.  Yes, he was right. Even in the warmth of his coat, she shivered again. “Thank you, for the jacket…and for not lying to me.”

His hand still rested on her right shoulder, and she took comfort in it.

“Okay, we’re ready to go!” Mickey jumped up, and the threesome ran toward them.

She laughed.

Hugh knelt down to their level and said, “Hey Mickey, Alicia, and Aaron. Did you guys get enough seashells, then?”

Mickey smiled wider. “We each got six!”

“Awesome!” Hugh stuck a hand in Mickey’s direction. “Give me five.”

They slapped hands all around, and Jennie just shook her head. She shrugged the jacket from her shoulders and handed it back to Mr. Harris. “Thanks again for the jacket. See you around?”

He nodded and shoved an arm into the sleeve. He gave her a genuine smile, looked deep in her eyes for a moment and said, “I hope so.”

Her heart fluttered.
What was that?
He turned and walked away. She stared after him for a moment.

“I like him,” Mickey said, causing Jennie to blink hard.

“What? Why?”

“He remembered our names. That other guy, Brad, always called me kiddo or sport.”

She shook her head and looked back at Mr. Harris, as he receded into the shadows of the magnolia trees along the street. Mickey was right. The brothers were different. 

Watching Phillip
’s deterioration had bee
n
hard on Hugh. Although the room had not been padded, it had clean walls, devoid of furniture, and no sharp objects. The man seemed to lose the ability to reason and became animalistic in his needs and nature. At first, they attempted to push water bottles and packages of food through the door, but the scattered remains of each were stepped on. They were only eaten if opened accidently in the process.

They had received three other newly-turned wailers with negligible injuries. The Colonel had made the decision to keep them under observation as well, putting faith in Hugh’s theory. After days of watching, Phillip becoming waif-like in their care, continuing to injure himself in minor ways with his own fingernails and teeth. Hugh, himself, had begun to lose hope.

But on the fourth day, Phillip started to change his behavior. His eyes became swollen shut, and he choked or gagged on occasion. He spent most of his time lying on the floor, sporadically writhing. And on the fifth and final day, he’d stopped moving all together. His chest rose and fell with his breathing in an even pattern, so they knew he was still alive. They watched in hopeful silence.

The light from the hallway poured into the room, and it took a moment for Hugh’s eyes to adjust. Colonel Wesley and two companions Hugh didn’t recognize joined the small team of four scientists for the observation. “Has the patient changed much? It is our understanding that most of the infected died after five days of confinement, if they were not re-injured by the aliens themselves.”

Sgt. Stanley, the taller of the two male scientists nodded in agreement. His pale face shone in the light from the window into Phillip’s room. His fuzzy caterpillar eyebrows raised above his pale blue eyes. “Our theory now hinges on the fact that this particular patient was not injured in a manner that would cause his death outside of the infection from his bite wounds.”

Sgt. Jones, the female doctor, followed up directly afterwards. “Right. What we are observing right now is the same behavior found in any other of the infected we’ve studied. After four days of no sleep, the infected in question usually loses consciousness completely. He is currently passed out. What we’ve seen in the past is that after several hours of unconsciousness, the subject usually succumbs to his injuries and dies. In this case, we are hoping for a break in the chain.”

“So how long has this man been asleep now?”

“Six hours,” Sgt. Jones quipped quickly without looking at her notes. She had obviously anticipated the question. Hugh had noticed over the past few days, that the woman’s bigger than life personality and constant striving for perfection attempted to make up for her stature and other perceived shortcomings.

“How much longer have you theorized we will wait until we see some change either for better or worse?”

“Honestly, we don’t know—” Stanley began.

“True,” Jones interrupted again. “With other subjects, they remained unconscious for two to three hours at most. This subject has been unconscious for a more extended period of time, which gives us hope that the theory might be correct.”

In the room, Phillip began coughing, and the man turned on his side so that his back faced the window. Silence reigned in the observation room for about twenty minutes. Everyone seemed to hold their breath in the hopes of some change. Phillip didn’t make any more big movements, but the rise and fall of his shoulder kept the group informed that he still lived.

“Right then,” the Colonel said and started for the door. “Inform me immediately to any change in the subject.”

“Yes, sir.” Both Stanley and Jones answered at the same time.

Sgt. Williams was one beat behind them, leaning against the glass of Phillip’s room. He rarely participated in the constant conversation of the other two, opting for silent study. Williams almost never shared his thoughts or theories, even when asked. The shorter man’s belly tested the seams of the white lab coat he always had buttoned up, and his bald head shone in the glow of the room beyond the glass.

Another hour passed with Hugh pressing against the glass in a mirror image of Sgt. Williams. The other two pattered away behind them, discussing possibilities, bleak outlooks, and regrets for the experimentation they had done on the infected in the past.

“What sort of experimentation?” Hugh asked finally, pulling his forehead from the cold glass.

Jones looked at Williams, as if unsure she should tell, but they seemed in the mood for confessing, and Williams nodded. “They seemed incapable of death. If we shoot them, they continue to come. If we stab them, they behave the same. Poisons in liquid or gaseous form have no effect. I regret to say that most of our experimentation focused on finding weaknesses rather than cures. But, we’ve done blood work in an attempt to combat the effects and to understand what the mechanism for the seeming durability might be. We wondered if we might be able to isolate it at first to use it to our advantage in some way. But no matter what we did, if we kept them in isolation, they would die after five days.”

Hugh nodded. Of course they would be interested in finding the alien technology that might allow them to isolate a serum that would make a soldier virtually indestructible. He could also understand that the scientists might have regrets for their destructive experimentation if things went according to his theory.

“
Mr. Harris, are you sur
e
you won’t get something at the mess hall?” Stanley asked when he returned from lunch.

Yet another hour had passed, and Hugh couldn’t help but yawn. He wiped his palms on his lab coat and stretched his back. His stomach growled. The digital clock over the door said it was half past three in the afternoon. He’d taken breakfast at eight a.m. and hadn’t wanted to leave Phillip’s observation, knowing that something would likely happen today. But after seven hours of watching the man sleep, his hunger won out. “Yeah, I’ll go see what they have available at this time of day.”

“It’s going to be slim pickings, with nothing hot, but the mess usually has cereal and a cooler of sandwiches,” Jones offered.

Hugh started for the door and yawned again. Sleep deprivation from his constant insomnia was catching up with him. Truth be told, he could almost use a nap more than food. When he couldn’t get enough sleep, he tried to make up for it by eating more and drinking caffeine.

The mess hall was virtually empty when he stepped through the propped open door. To save on generator use, many doors were propped open throughout the compound to let in natural light.  Only one table was occupied, and though his vision was blurry from his yawn, he blinked and saw it was Jennie and her little brother.

His heart somersaulted unexpectedly. In confusion, he smiled and turned to the upright refrigerator that held the pre-packaged sandwiches. He picked a ham sandwich and a chicken salad, grabbed a bottle of water, and pulled a bag of chips from the clip next to it. The whole while his back was turned to them, he hoped—and denied that he hoped—she wouldn’t leave.

“Hey!” Mickey called, as Hugh approached their table from behind Jennie. “Isn’t that Mr. Hugh?”

Jennie’s brown hair flashed gold in the light as she turned to face him. Her grey-green eyes were wide with surprise, but her warm smile welcomed him. She stood quickly when she spied his full arms. “Hi, Mr. Harris. Do you need any help with that?”

With the chip bag between his teeth, Hugh mumbled, “I got it.” He set the bottled water and sandwiches on the table next to where Jennie had been sitting and pulled the bag from his teeth. “Mind if I join you?”

Mickey smiled wide and set his plastic spoon back in his small bowl of colorful cereal. “You can join us!”

“Of course.” Jennie smiled, too. She moved her bowl of cereal across the table to sit with Mickey, but her expression welcomed him.

Her body language showed her positive reception of Hugh, but also her discomfort at his proximity if she’d sat next to him. He could understand that. “By the way, Jennie. Don’t forget to call me Hugh.”

She palmed her forehead, making Mickey laugh. “Right! Old habits die hard.”

Hugh unwrapped one of the sandwiches from the cellophane and took a bite of the corner. With his mouth partially full, he asked, “So, what have you guys been up to since I last saw you?”

Jennie’s forehead wrinkled, and she stared at the table. “We’ve not really been too busy. We’re in the same living facility as Maria and her kids, which is great because Mickey has Alicia and Aaron to play with. I’ve been helping Pastor Billy and Mrs. Crawford at the chapel, to keep busy with distributing clothes to help the refugees that are brought in. But, really, I’ve been finding that I’ve got too much free time. I don’t want to be a leech on the base’s resources and would rather find some way to be more productive, you know?”

“I can understand where you’re coming from.”

She smiled again and peeled a banana for Mickey. “So what have you been up to Mr.—I mean, Hugh?”

Hugh chuckled at her attempt and had to cover his mouth to avoid spitting out the bite of sandwich he’d taken. “I’ve been working with the scientists on my theory.”

She furrowed her brow. “What theory? I remember you stopping the soldier who was going to shoot Phillip, but they ushered us into quarantine before I could hear what that was all about.”

“Right.” Now, that he was on the cusp of finding out if his theory was correct or not, Hugh hesitated in talking about it. Her innocent eyes invited him to continue, and for some reason, he really did feel he could trust her with everything. He had a hard time dealing with these conflicted feelings. Part of him cried she was too young for him to be interested in this way, and the other part told him to let things go as they would. It wasn’t like he was considering marrying her or anything. He nodded and continued. “While I was watching the TV footage of the alien attacks, I noticed a few variables that seemed consistent.”

“Like what?” She took a spoonful of her cinnamon cereal.

After a quick swig of his water, Hugh continued. “The Shisa seem to be attacking the people who are already infected. I found that strange. If they are already infected, and likely to die after a few days, why do they keep biting them? According to the scientists here, they had already noticed that the people who are infected live for only five days after their bite if kept in solitary confinement. On the other hand, those who are bitten again and again live longer but remain infected. So my theory is that, provided that the person isn’t fatally wounded while the infection runs its course and they are separated from being re-infected by the Shisa, the effects of the bite would wear off after five days.”

“So after five days, the person would return to normal?” Her eyes were wide, and she set her spoon back into her bowl.

“That’s my theory, but it’s yet to be proven.”

Her eyes glistened with tears and her brother looked up at her suddenly when she let out a small sigh. “That would be a great discovery.”

“Thanks.”

“So then if we could just get rid of the aliens, all the humans would return to normal?”

“If they haven’t been fatally wounded before the effects wear off.”

“How is Phillip doing? Hasn’t it been five days?” She pushed her cereal bowl to the side and folded her hands on the table.

Hugh smiled and took another bite of his sandwich before continuing. It was nice to open up and talk to someone who didn’t have their own theories to press. “It has, and right now, we’re not sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Each of the infected pass out on the fifth day and die in their sleep of their wounds. Phillip is the first they’ve put into solitary confinement without a mortal wound, and he’s presently asleep. The unusual part is that the infected who go to sleep usually only live for an hour or two before dying. Phillip has been asleep for nearly eight hours.”

“Wow. I’d say that looks fairly positive.”

“Positive, yes, but a lot can go wrong right now.”

“Like what?”

“He could still die or maybe go into a coma. It’s possible that he could wake up and continue to show symptoms. Even if he’s partially cured, he might have a residual or secondary infection. Lots of things.”