"Caution." She said in sign language.
She didn't even have to remind me. I was always careful. I crossed the school hallway and tried to be as quiet as possible. These things reacted to sound. These things reacted to anything. That's why I was always as silent as possible. I was barefoot and I walked like a cat. It was daytime, but the interior of the school without lighting meant that natural light was very limited, as well as my field of vision. The school was dirty with dust, leaves branches and the remains of school supplies. Little there was reminiscent of the glorious days when students filled the space, with their hopes for the future and their silly teen dramas that seemed primordial at the time.
My goal was never the school cafeteria. It was no longer useful. All the processed food that was possible to enjoy was stolen, and all that was left was the horrible stench of spoiled perishable food. I know because that wasn't my first time there. I walked past the cafeteria with my revolver in hand. Firing the gun meant trouble, so it was often the last resort of defense against other humans, or those things. Sometimes, looking at all that's happened to us, I think we deserve the spurs for being the most dumbass species in the universe. A bunch of losers floating around on the outskirts of the galaxy.
Luckily, there was no one inhabiting or seeking refuge at the school. Which eased my way to the infirmary. I opened the door slowly so as not to creak too much and saw that the place was reasonably intact. It still had first aid supplies and some allergy, overdose, and wound kits. It had gloves, a liter of alcohol, a pack of cotton and a few packs of gauze. I wanted that to be enough, but I knew it wasn't. Still, I took everything I could. The nearest pharmacy was one of the first to be looted by the survival freaks and the hospital was a mess. I walked into the pharmacy once without having to fight for my own life, and found the place already ransacked. I remember picking up the meds across the floor and onto the shelves. I didn't select anything, I just took everything that was left: eye drops, medicine for high blood pressure, medicine to stop menstruating, bottles of syrup, aspirin, a single bottle of antibiotics, antacids and medicine for thrombosis. Antidepressants, diabetes control medicine, the good antibiotics and all kinds of painkillers had already been taken.
I went back the same way, like a cat, not making a sound, not mumbling, and still with the gun in hand. I entered the classroom with the window open and found my support group. They first took the backpack and then helped me to climb out the window in silence. There was no time to put my boots back on, so I crept along with the group with my feet still bare. Mike signaled and we hid. A small horde descended the street, as if patrolling the city. We had to wait for those bastards to go away completely. We could even eliminate them, but these stinkers full of worms emitted a strange moan that always called the others that were stopped or hidden somewhere waiting for fresh meat. Facing these things in urban perimeters was a trap, because after the zombie spotted the target, it only stopped trying to catch it if the target left its field of vision, or when its head was pierced. It took us five minutes to move again. A few more meters, and we gained the forest. It was only when I could relax a little bit and put my boots.
The forest was relatively safe, because zombies had trouble moving through the woods, dodging branches, trunks and roots. If it wasn't a very large or recent horde (because recent zombies were agile), it was possible to escape without major problems. In the city, it was different: a clean field. We walked along our route, without taking any useless detours. Rachel was pleased with the mission's success, and I knew it because she hummed a song. Of course, she always murmured quietly, prudently. Yes, my friends, Rachel Berry was a survivor and a natural sniper. Who would know?
The way to our shelter was smooth. There was a bunker in the woods built by some freak waiting for the apocalypse. Well, the apocalypse arrived, but the freak who built the place didn't see it happen, or if them did, ironically them didn't enjoy longer their own shelter. We gave the signal, which was the specific knock on the door, and we saw part of Quinn's face appear through the small window.
"Did you find anything?" Quinn asked hopefully.
"Perhaps." I said.
"He is getting worse." Tina said, and got Quinn's frown in response.
"Quinn, there's not much we can do." Mike grabbed her shoulder and tried to give her encouragement. "If what we've brought doesn't fit, we'll have no choice."
"I will make it fit." Quinn said determinedly.
It's not that I wasn't rooting for her and Joe, but let's be real here: his situation was critical, and neither of us were doctors. As much as Rachel had insisted on getting one of those medical and first aid books from the library, everything was very precarious and limited. You could say I was the most skilled in the field of medicine before the apocalypse, because of the notions my father taught me. Quinn not only learned everything I had to teach, but she's already passed me on in knowledge and experience. She became the closest we could get to a doctor.
Joe was lying on the only bed in the place. He was accompanied by Blaine, Sam, Tina and Brittany. Quinn was going through the bag while I went to check on Joe. From the worried look on everyone's face, things weren't looking good.
"He has a high fever." Tina wailed. "Sam and Blaine have gone to the river several times to get water to bring down the fever, but it's not working."
"There is another problem." Blaine pointed at his leg.
I lifted the cloth covering the wound and the bad smell came out of his leg. I wasn't a doctor, but I knew what gangrene was. If we were in a hospital, in a surgery center, Joe would have no problem being saved. But we were in a bunker, in the middle of the zombie fucking apocalypse.
Quinn grabbed the bleed kit, but I stopped her from getting close to Joe.
"Let me clean the wound." She said seriously, pushing me.
"No!" I looked at Mike. "It's gangrene, Mike."
"He just needs to have the wound cleaned and scrape off some of the flesh." Quinn freaked out and tried to force her way past me. But I held her.
"No!" I endured the slaps, until Mike held Quinn himself with Sam's help.
"It's gangrene, Quinn. I'm sorry."
"We can amputate his leg, we can still save him."
"We don't have antibiotics, we don't have painkillers. We would have to cauterize the cut and that will cause him more pain, because we will burn the flesh without distinction. We will burn nerves. We're going to spend our few resources, we're going to cause more suffering to him, and it's not going to solve it. Even if Joe survives this, how will he survive without a leg and in excruciating pain for weeks? We tried Quinn. We really tried. But we have to admit that we lost. Don't pull a Jack Shephard on Joe."
"You say this because it's not Britt."
Mike walked over to Joe and held his hand. He said something softly, in Joe's ear, and knowing Mike, knowing the leader he's become, he was giving Joe options. Quinn wanted to interfere with the private conversation, but Sam, Brittany and Rachel stopped her. Quinn and Joe started a little romance, and I understood her urgency to save her boyfriend. But since the apocalypse happened, I've started to think more pragmatically. I started to put the emotional in the background. In a way, I'm grateful that Mike and the others managed to retain the humanity I thought I was losing.
"This is nonsense. We have to treat him right away!" Quinn screamed as Sam held her.
"Are you sure we can't do anything?" Rachel questioned me.
"Joe's leg has gangrene, Rach. He has a high fever, which means there's a major infection around. Only surgery and lots of antibiotics could save him. But even if we managed to set up a makeshift surgery room here, who would operate it? What we know is not enough for that. This is too big."
"Not even cutting off his leg will do the trick?" Brittany questioned.
"With a small scalpel and a machete? Without painkillers? Without strong antibiotics?" I snapped at my girlfriend. I wanted to instill a sense of reality in the group. Joe didn't stand a chance.
The girls seemed to understand the serious scenario. I really tried to help, so much so that I risked my skin on an expedition that I knew wouldn't bear fruit. When we left, Joe was in pretty bad shape, but there was still no clear sign of gangrene. In an apocalyptic scenario, having medicine is as important as having food.
Mike continued the private conversation with Joe, and we didn't hear it, but by the gesture, there was already an answer. Mike looked at us and pointed at me and Sam. Mike lifted Joe with help from Sam.
"Take your revolver." Mike said as they passed me. "He's done."
"It's almost dark, Mike." I tried to rationalize.
"Yes, we can wait until tomorrow." Sam agreed with me.
"He won't make it past tonight, I think, yet he decided to cut it short. He doesn't want Quinn to see him." Mike glared at us. "It's not the safest option, but that's what he asked for."
Sam, being the strongest, threw his friend's body over his shoulder and lifted him off the ground. All that could be heard were Quinn's hysterical screams. I knew Brittany and Blaine were holding her while the other girls were crying. I unlocked the door and opened it. My job was to cover for the boys. It was reckless for us to leave without consulting the hatch first, but the situation was already too dramatic and sad. Sam and Mike took Joe closer to the dam, because we couldn't have a dead body that close to our perimeter. It was already dangerously dark, twilight, and it wasn't a good idea to stay outside the bunker. Even so, we took him as far as possible. Mike and Sam sat Joe down against a tree.
"What do you want to say, my friend?" Mike said sweetly.
"Tell Quinn that leaving her was the hardest decision I've ever made in my life. I was happy, I had a good life, and now I go to the Lord."
I kissed Joe on his cheek before blindfolding him. Mike took his pistol, and the shot was right in the middle of the forehead. We immediately started running back to the bunker. It was dark and navigating the forest in those conditions was very difficult. It was irresponsible. Also, we made a lot of noise with the shot. That's why we didn't bother leaving the corpse behind without saying prayers or trying to bury it. Joe was dead, and we still had a lot to lose. Night was when the reapers woke up. If zombies were dangerous at any time of the day, reapers were worse even though they were nocturnal monsters. Running through the forest during the day was hard enough. At night it was three times more complex. If we tripped and fell, it could be game over. If we took the wrong path: game over.
Even though I was very strong for a thin woman of average height, my physical disadvantage compared to boys was considerable. That's why I found it commendable that they did everything they could to not leave me behind. We hear noises... the same awful noises we've learned to fear. The reapers were close. Fortunately, we reached the bunker door. We were out of breath and slammed the door urgently. Tina opened it without checking, and we went inside. Tina immediately closed the door with Rachel's help and started locking it up. I took a few steps inside, bent my body and placed my hands on my knees.
"Reapers on the perimeter." Rachel said as she looked through the small window in the door. Looking through the hatch was useless at night.
We hear knocks. Through the tiny barred door's window, no more than a small rectangle that serves to identify who is outside, Tina and Rachel watched the reapers. They were agile and dangerous bold and bluish monsters, but they didn't have the superhuman strength. Unlike the zombies, they were alive. But just like the zombies, they weren't very smart. Thank god the bunker door was made to withstand explosions, it was heavy, armored and full of locks. The reapers would spend all night prowling the bunker, that's for sure, and then they'd head back to the cave or whatever dark place they took refuge during the day. It wasn't the first time this happened. The important thing is that we were all safe.
"It's done." Mike said catching his breath.
Quinn looked like she was crying, and she was also incredibly furious. She came towards me.
"Quinn, I'm so sor…"
She didn't let me complete the sentence. It wasn't a slap: it was a punch, as if everything that happened was my fault. It wasn't, but she had to take out her anger on someone. Quinn always chose me.
...
Sleeping on the floor became a habit. There was only one bed with a mattress in the bunker, but no one used it unless they were sick or injured and needed extra comfort. Everyone else slept in sleeping bags on the floor. I knew it was daylight from the soft light coming from the small barred window in the door. The bunker had electricity generated from car batteries. No wonder that months before, when we took possession of the place, we carried out missions to collect batteries and fluids. There was a diesel engine, but we only started it once: it was noisy. Because of this, it could attract unwanted zombies, reapers, and the wrong kind of humans.
We learned to move around in the dark of the bunker during the hours when the electricity was off. The trick was never to leave anything out of place. We only turned the interior lights on when it was mealtime in the afternoon, and they stayed on until our "curfew". There was an oven inside the bunker, and we used it constantly. Making food outside was a bit risky. We only leave the security of the bunker in the morning, to breathe fresh air, to fetch water from the river, to fish, to take care of the garden and to shit so as not to make the bathroom in the bunker even stinker. That's what we do if everything was fine, with no nearby signs of danger.
Tina and Joe tended the small garden, Blaine and Sam used to fish in the dam and fetch water when the catchment system was empty. Rachel, Mike and I were the best markspersons, so we took care of the guns and we were the ones who put our skin in the most on supply missions. Quinn and Brittany took care of cleaning and organizing the bunker. Every day Brittany counted how many jars of pickles we had left, how many smoked and salted fish, how many cans of processed food, how many medicines, how much equipment was working, how many ammunition.
Nobody thinks about robbing a library in an apocalypse. But we stole books, especially the technicians who taught how to fix things, how to plant, how to manufacture natural medicine remedies. We learned a little bit of everything, but of course there were some predilections. Quinn was more interested in the medical part, I liked learning how to assemble and fix things. Mike was also a natural engineer and we talked a lot about making improvements to the bunker. Rachel started to learn sign language and taught the basics to all of us, because it was safer to communicate with signs, especially after we learned that zombies and reapers react to strong sounds and smells. Tina was our on-call agronomist. She and Joe...but Joe is dead now. The rest of the guys were looking to improve on something here and there. And at night, before turning off the lights, Rachel would read a chapter or an excerpt from some story book. She was good at it, and if the apocalypse hadn't happened, I'm sure Rachel could have conquered Broadway.
But the day after Joe's death, our routine didn't happen. It was a day of mourning. We talked quietly, in the corners of the bunker. Quinn didn't say a word to me, and I kept it to myself, always by my girlfriend's side. Tina roasted a fish, which was the only food, besides vegetables, that we had no reason to ration for now. Each ate their piece, and the guys began to tell some stories about Joe. I was silent. Death was no longer a stranger in this world.
Quinn thinks I'm to blame for Joe's death, but it was just a stupid accident. Sam and I were trying archery hunting the morning of the accident. Not that it was efficient, but arrows didn't make a noise that would draw the attention of zombies or other humans. Sam and I were in the woods that morning when we saw a deer. I was no longer the little girl who cried my eyes out when I watched the cartoon because Bambi's mother dies. I was living in an apocalyptic world under the rule of the fittest. I saw a beautiful Bambi loin roasting in my oven when that deer came along.
As I said, I was learning to use the bow and arrow. I can tell you I'm not Susanna Pevensie or Merida or any of those famous fictional archers. I was just Santana Lopez, survivor. I shot, but it didn't get it right like it should have. The animal took off running and Sam precipitously tried to follow it. The deer headed towards Joe and Quinn, who were at the river. Joe was startled by the animal going towards him and fell... badly. When we got to him, we found an exposed fracture on his leg.
What were Joe and Quinn doing at the river? Now, there were a few couples among us. Brittany and I, Mike and Tina. It wasn't because we were in the apocalypse that we stopped wanting comfort and pleasure. Sex in the bunker was impossible, so when it was possible, we went to that part of the river to clean ourselves up, despite the water being terribly cold, and also to have sex. I know that Sam and Rachel had a comfort quickie at least once. Blaine went there to jerk off. Anyway, that part of the river that was relatively close to the bunker became our favorite place for this purpose. There was a waterfall of almost three meters there, and a wall behind it that was perfect for having some privacy. The sound of the water drowned out any moans. Obviously, the terrain there was rough, and to get to our "sex room" behind the waterfall, you had to go down a small ravine, which required some skill. Joe and Quinn had had sex and were on their way back to the bunker when the bizarre accident happened.
We try to join the bones and put them in place, for that, we open the wound a little more with the scalpel. Quinn did the procedure, but like I said, she wasn't a surgeon. Thank god the bunker muffled Joe's screams of pain. We used up all the alcohol we had on cleaning the resulting wound, and getting Joe drunk. We immobilized his leg, I sewed up the cut because I was the best at it, and all without anesthesia. As I said, we didn't have proper painkillers, we didn't have antibiotics, still Joe consumed all the remaining medicine. He lasted a week.