Lisa
The train to Higgart was practically empty. What was once a common route between two large cities was now avoided due to the increasingly perilous situations in both cities. The Mag-Lev train could make the arduous journey in a little over six hours, as opposed to the two-and-a-half-hour flight, but with the airports closed and a journey by car taking an entire day, she had no other options. She opened her notebook and re-read the notes she'd taken in Winterfell, sighing in sad, silent desperation. Winterfell had announced a travel ban and closed their borders only hours before. Only travel approved by the government of the North was permitted.
Her last phone call with her boss had left her unnerved. If the woman on the phone was indeed Patient Zero, Lisa had little doubt that the outbreak was an act of bioterrorism by what could only be described as a doomsday cult masquerading as a religion. She continued to read about R'hllor as the train raced through the countryside along the old Rose Road. She'd never visited Essos, though now she was wondering if her travels would take her there next. She resisted the idea of sharing the bioterrorism theory with Director Thompson. The Prime Minister had demanded answers, not theories. She was already dangerously close to losing her job, though the Citadel had officially announced to a limited audience their conclusion on the matter: The Night King had returned, as he does every 1,000 years. The public couldn't be made aware just yet. They wouldn't believe it anyways.
She had received one phone call and two text messages that morning. The call from her boss, sending her to Higgart with orders to find Patient Zero and apprehend her at any cost. The first text from Ebrose, with nothing but an address in Higgart. He declined to respond to any of her attempts to contact him afterward. The second text from Dr. Horner, informing her of the North's decision to close their borders as well as his official summon to return with the last scheduled flight to Winterfell.
When the train pulled up to the platform at Higgart Station, she disembarked quickly and found that the station was surrounded by the military. Soldiers moved about, hastily moving people onto local trains bound for the countryside and smaller towns unaffected by the woes in the city. A police officer approached her, demanding that she get on a train and depart as well until she showed her credentials and was allowed to exit the station. The streets were chaos. People pushed, shoved, and screamed to get past each other, fearing that the next train leaving would be the last. Children cried. Men fought. We're animals, she thought.
As she watched, a soldier approached her and introduced himself as her escort. Due to security concerns, she was limited to 12 hours in the city before mandatory evacuation. She confirmed the limit and handed him a slip of paper with the address Ebrose had sent her. He frowned, explaining that the address was inside the exclusion zone, but eventually relented. He recruited two more soldiers to join them as he secured a military vehicle.
Upon reaching the first checkpoint and crossing through, Lisa noted that there were no bodies anywhere. She'd yet to see any infected people, dead people, or both. No tarps or body bags were seen, though bloodshed was obvious. The block they were currently passing seemed completely abandoned. She took note of the street names and jotted them in her notebook. Finally, they arrived at their destination: a non-descript white office building tucked into the middle of the block, flanked by other high-rise structures. The soldiers exited first, making sure the area was clear.
"It looks abandoned," one of them quipped as he opened the door for Lisa, letting her step out into the afternoon sun. "Martin, go inside and clear the lobby," he commanded the other soldier, who promptly ran to the doors. He entered and walked around the lobby before returning to the door and waving them in. The group entered together, finding themselves in a narrow lobby flanked by elevators with an empty desk where a security guard should have been.
"Where to, doctor?" the first soldier asked her. She looked again at the note. There was no name or floor number written. She frowned and walked to the wall, where a directory listed the occupants of the building. She began scanning it, looking for a hint. Nothing immediately jumped. "You sure this is it?" he asked. She shook her head.
"I don't –" she began, before being interrupted by a loud klaxon. A door at the end of the hallway, marked as "Authorized Personnel Only" suddenly popped open. A middle-aged man emerged. The soldiers brought up their rifles.
"Hands up!" Martin yelled, approaching the man. "Identify yourself!"
"I'm Doctor Cartwright," he announced loudly, raising his hands slowly. "I've been waiting for Dr. Stone."
"You should have evacuated," the first soldier scolded him, lowering his rifle.
"My apologies," he began. "Dr. Ebrose was quite insistent upon me assisting Dr. Stone," he explained, eyeballing the young doctor with enthusiasm. "I'm assuming that's you?"
"Yes," she nodded, approaching him. He stepped out of the doorway and to the side, ushering them in.
"Please, step inside. It's perfectly safe," he assured them. The soldier called Martin went in first, followed by Lisa and the other two soldiers. Dr. Cartwright entered last, closing the door behind them and locking it. Inside was a long stairwell down into a basement. Upon reaching the bottom, they were greeted with what appeared to be an operations center straight out of a spy movie. The soldiers looked around at the multitude of computer monitors, each broadcasting surveillance footage, satellite coverage, and communications across the world. Dr. Cartwright stepped over to a workbench.
"What is this place?" the first soldier asked, drinking it in.
"This is a field outpost for the Covert Operations Service," he announced. "The Citadel maintains access to these sites all over the world." He opened his arms slightly and turned about, showing off the facility. "What do you think?"
"Why are you the only one here?" the first soldier asked, staring at a satellite feed over Higgart.
"The agents who use this facility are currently in the field fetching some items of interest for me," he explained, pulling a chair over to the workbench. "I have a few things here already that you might find interesting." He slid open the drawer under the bench and pulled out a pair of crude looking knives. The handles were wrapped in ragged leather, stained with the decay of age. The black blades glinted from the lights, with jagged edges. They appeared to be homemade. "Do you know what these are?"
"Knives of some sort..." she observed, leaning in for a better look. "They look terrible." He chuckled slightly, his belly shaking.
"They are indeed knives, but terrible is the last word I would use to describe them," he replied. "A thousand years ago, these very daggers were among a cache of similar weapons donated to the Lord of Highgarden in case of emergency. Dozens of noblemen from across Westeros were given similar caches. You see, these are made from obsidian – which is believed to be one of the only ways to kill White Walkers. These very two were reportedly used during the Long Night. There should be dozens more in Higgart Castle, as well as in the local museums," he trailed off. The soldiers glanced at each other in confusion before Martin began to laugh.
"What the fuck are you smoking down here, old man?" Martin managed between laughs. The first soldier joined him in laughter.
"Yeah, what the hell is the Long Night?" the second soldier blurted out, grinning. Martin stopped laughing and turned to him.
"Wait, what?" he asked. The second soldier stopped smiling and looked at him, confusion spreading across his face once again.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" Martin fired back. "You've never heard of the old bedtime stories of the White Walkers?"
"Uh, no dude. I'm from Sun Pier. We don't have any of that shit down there," he explained. The first soldier nodded in approval.
"I thought you looked Dornish," he mused.
"Okay, it goes like this," Martin explained. "The White Walkers are a bunch of zombies from the North who come back to life every thousand years and try to kill everyone." The Maester nodded.
"He's got it about perfectly," he agreed. Martin shrugged.
"My mom is from Riverside," he added. "They're close enough to the North to hear all of that shit."
"What does any of that have to do with why we're here, or why she was supposed to come here, or any of this?" the first soldier demanded. Cartwright set the knives down on the table gently.
"These are for you to defend yourselves, should you encounter wights or White Walkers," he explained. The soldiers laughed again. Lisa turned to them, anger on her face.
"You think this is a joke?" she asked, incredulous.
"Uh, yeah," the first soldier snickered. The other two nodded in agreement. She shook her head in disappointment.
"People are dying," she hissed. The first soldier shrugged.
"Lady, they're rioting – not, like... dying."
"Then how many have died?" she challenged. The first soldier hesitated. "In riots, people die, right? So how many are dead?" Silence followed. "This isn't a riot." Cartwright stood up and walked over to a computer terminal. He began typing and adjusted his glasses accordingly.
"According to current estimates, almost a quarter of the city has been overrun and upwards of 10% of the population have been turned. Even right now, there are more of them in Higgart alone than the entire force that supposedly existed during the Long Night," he read. He turned his head to Dr. Stone. "Once the agents return with the right supplies, you'll want to head here," he pointed to the screen with a map.
"Where is that?" she asked, studying the area.
"That's Market Square," he explained. "That's where your phone call came from, according to the scan." She took a deep breath.
"We should go now, before she escapes," Lisa urged him. He shook his head.
"I wouldn't do that," he cautioned. "Not until the agents return with the rest of the supplies. You'll need them if you plan to survive. Market Square is surrounded by wights." The first soldier walked towards them, pointing at another screen showing the lobby of the building.
"Look," he called. Everyone turned to the screen to see two men running in, carrying a large crate. A third man followed behind them, a rifle slung across his chest.
"Right on time," Cartwright beamed, moving towards the stairs. "Just a moment." With that, he marched up the stairs and unlocked the door. They heard the klaxon echo again throughout the lobby. The three men hustled down the stairs quickly, with Cartwright locking up behind them, the alarm silenced. They entered the room and set the crate down on the floor, not even acknowledging the others. They backed away from it, allowing Cartwright to open it.
"How was it?" Cartwright asked them as he fumbled with the lock.
"This area is pretty clear, only a few groups near the intersections north of here. Once you get past Exchange Street, towards Market Square, it's like... a wall of them. They're trying to get into the castle as well. We had to take the sewers in," one of them answered while the other two sat down in chairs and caught their breath. The Maester opened the crate and smiled. He motioned for the soldiers to approach.
"These are called Black Screamers," he explained, pulling out the large, green ammo box. He opened it and removed one of the rifle rounds. It had a brass casing, slightly green with age, but with a shining black tip of obsidian. "They were designed specifically for this purpose." Martin picked up one of the bullets and examined it.
"They'll stop them?" Lisa asked, hesitantly. The Maester turned to the lead agent, who nodded.
"Oh, they work, alright."