Okay, you know the drill here. I tell you that own absolutely nothing except the things running laps in my head and some big someone somewhere doesn't sue me. I like not being sued. So... I don't own the 28 days/ weeks later series. The woman known as Cassandra though, I do own her.
They put us on a bus, a bus. The paint on it is fresh and crisp, and its all a lie. It looks innocent and safe, but I know people died on this bus. I can see it in the small dents on it's side and the lack of letters. They found this bus somewhere in the ruins of one of our cities and fixed it up just for this purpose.
I feel liked canned fish. They shoved us one by one into a metal can until no more could fit and then they closed the doors. I spent sixty one days alone, thinking of all the situations I should avoid so I would stay alive. This situation, being trapped in a small space with so many people I can't move without touching them, is one of those situations.
I took a seat. I wasn't polite about it either. I pushed my way to one and put my body into it before anyone could stop me. I don't care if they like me or not because of it. I was not going to stand in the aisles with them bumping into me on all sides.
I am aware that if somehow the infection did get on this bus I would be no safer sitting then those standing. It would kill us all before any of us could escape. I stopped being delusional about things like that a long time ago. I know myself better now, that's why I made sure I got a seat.
If I had to stand for the trip I would end up punching someone. I don't want to do that. It isn't because it would upset the other passengers or even the one I might hit. Its because of the armed men with us on the bus.
They have been very clear on their policy regarding violence. They don't have one, because as far as they are concerned there will 'not' be any violence. Not unless you want to experience some for yourself, and if they have to use force it might be deadly.
That at least is a policy I can respect. If they let me I would even enforce it. The smartest decision they have made so far is not letting me do that. I would have killed one of these people by now, I'm sure of it. It isn't because I hate them. Truth be told I don't care enough about any of them to warrant such a strong emotion as hate. Its because I am still there.
I'm still waiting for 'them'. I don't believe in safe. I prefer prepared. That has been the mindset I have chosen to live in for the past seventy six days and more. I have been 'safe' for seventy six days, under the protection of the United States Army. I know they will fight to protect us, just like I know they'll kill us too if they have too. Our own were killing us, why shouldn't they? I would rather be prepared than surprised again.
This trip is almost over. I have been counting down the minutes ever since I accepted I would have to be in this can. Three hours and forty two minutes have passed of what they told us might be close to a four hour trip.
I can tell even without the watch. The road signs have been slowly counting down as well. Our destination is less then 13 miles away now. London. That thought was a mistake, not that I could have kept it from slipping into my mind forever. The Americans say it is safe now, that they have created a place free of infection for us.They didn't see it fall.
They weren't there. Thinking words like that you might think I hate the Americans because of it. That is not true. I'm jealous of them. They got to continue watching it on the news, then leaving to continue with their day. They were lucky enough not to be the country it destroyed.
My eyes don't see the world passing us by anymore. They see gray, the gray plastic of the seat in front of me. That's all I want to look at now. I already had the misfortune of seeing the city dying, I don't want to look at it's corpse too. London isn't even my city, it never was.
They announced it, as pointless as that was. The soldier in the front got on the intercom and told us that we had entered London. He didn't need to do that, every single person on the bus had already been counting down the miles.
There is an odd tension in the air, its been there sense the engine turned over and the wheels started to roll. People are exited, London is ours again. London is more then a city, its our capital, its our heart. Having it back is a huge sign of hope, even if its only a small part of London. But at the same time, we know that what we see isn't going to be London anymore. Its going to be empty, and hollow. A building is a building, and a ruin is a ruin, no matter how much we love it our 'heart' died.
We are supposed to bring it back to life. That is the reason the Americans have brought us here. We're supposed to be the first drops of blood in a dried up husk. Its our job to start restoring life to England. They want us to be this shining example of human perseverance and endurance to the rest of the world. I just want to get off this bus.
Its odd then, having that wish that I choose to remain seated, almost not willing to get up even as the last person steps out the door. My feet seem to make the decision for me, putting my weight on them and moving without anything that resembles a conscious decision.
I almost wish I had just stayed on the bus. I'm greeted with a gun. Well, truthfully I am not really but that is how my mind perceives it. The gun isn't even being held technically. Its slung over the shoulder of the soldier who greets me. He is young, somewhere in the mid twenty's with red hair and a soft smile. He says to me"Welcome home miss" I tell him this isn't my home. His soft smile falters.
I haven't even made it into a building yet and already I am in a corridor of guns. They have set up a row of tents, each one a processing center to clear us once more before we actually are allowed into this 'district 1'. they are directing us to different lines, dividing us up by our genders and ages.
Everyone is nervous. Some of the people even looked scared. They have come all this way, but if they don't pass this exam they will not be allowed to stay, they will be sent back to the refugee camps.
That's why the guns are here. The Americans are not stupid. They know the situation this could create. They are here to take down anyone stupid enough to loose themselves to their emotions and become violent. They will not let the situation develop into chaos. Our own people shot us, why shouldn't they?
They are our allies, they are here for us. They are here to help us. But we're not their people. I wouldn't blame them if they did shoot us. I'd shoot too. I would put a bullet in the person's head long before they even had a chance to get near me.
I know thoughts like that are not normal to have, or at least they are not supposed to be. It doesn't change the fact that I have them. I was alone for over two months trying not to die or be killed. That was my life for sixty days. Move, find food, find shelter, stay warm, kill everything. I never really left that behind. They gave that a name too.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It is what the counselor at Menwith Hill diagnosed me with. She said it would pass, that no one would think any less of me for being traumatized after what happened. I asked her how many people she had to beat to death to be alive today. She gave me a prescription.
If I am upset about anything it is that. I don't like that these soldiers act like they understand. I know they are trained and that most of them have seen combat and probably killed people. But they did it with guns, they did it from a distance and they didn't know these people. They didn't love them.
This time I see black. Closing my eyes I take a moment and a deep breath to calm myself down. This isn't the time or place for this. I don't have the right or privilege to lose myself now, not in this crowd of people and guns.
30-35 female. That is my destination, the line leading into that tent. That's what I commit my focus to now, getting through this crowd without incident and into that line. Thankfully that is actually rather easy.
The soldiers are directing people based on the large ID cards printed with each persons age and name. The number is the bigger of the two things on there, which allows them to direct you where you need to go with just a glance.
It doesn't take me long to find myself in the line, and actually once I am in it I find a sort of comfort there. We all know what we aren't meant to do in this line and one by one we shift forward between the metal bars, moving a little closer to the white tent that is our destination. We are all praying that they let us in. I won't lie, I am as well.
"Cassandra Bell?" The voice that finally says my name belongs to a small brunette soldier sitting at a desk outside the tent. They have her at a small desk, her job to keep track of who has arrived and who has yet to be examined. She is also there to comfort us.
She has no gun visible on her, though I would not be surprised to find she has a pistol or a knife somewhere. They also have her dressed in a less military manner. She is wearing an olive jumpsuit and even has her hair down to frame the brown eyes that are looking at me.
"Yes." As soon as I reply her eyes drift back to the screen of her laptop and her fingers dance across the key board. "Last official residence in Louth civil parish?" Again I give her another yes and her hands start dancing once more.
"Child of Margaret Hewlett and Jonathan Bell, sibling of..." This time my tone is snappish, even with the armed soldiers around me. "I said yes."
She looks a little taken a back, but not surprised. her hand comes up quickly, waving the tension from the soldier behind her, understanding my tone and what is behind it. "Its alright." She tells him over her shoulder, sharing a few seconds looking into his eyes before he returns to his calm position again, deciding my bad mood is not actually a threat.
She doesn't apologize, at least not really. She only says to me "Standard procedure miss." Its a response I can respect and even appreciate. I'm so tired of people telling me they are sorry.
I find myself again growing nervous as she continues speaking. "Third station on the left. They are ready for you." Something normal, that's all I want.
Like usual review are always welcome, and I will have pictures up at the Photobucket. The link is on the profile page, I don't know why it is just text, the other one actually works. Copying and pasting it into your address bar will get you there too though.