Florence had a look of wonder on her face.
“The camp’s a shithole,” said Private Underwood, a young man with dark skin and green eyes. He kept wiping his nose with the back of his hand. A boy with an assault rifle. “But it’s better than trying to survive on the streets.”
“Too right,” said Corporal Graves, from the front passenger seat. He was a bull-necked, softly-spoken man. “The infected are everywhere. That place down there is paradise compared to some of the other emergency camps I’ve seen set up since the outbreak.”
“What happened to the other camps?” asked Joel.
Graves hesitated. “Most of them are gone. Wiped out.”
Soldiers patrolled the camp’s perimeter. They watched the Humvee approach the front gates. Tired-looking men. They were ghosts. They were shades.
Private Bunce stopped the car. Graves spoke to one of the guards as another soldier confiscated their improvised weapons including Ralph’s baseball bat.
Ralph complained, albeit quietly.
The Humvee was waved into the camp.
“Underwood’s right,” said Ralph. “It is a shithole.”
Bunce parked the Humvee next to a portable cabin situated between two haggard shacks. A child was crying somewhere nearby. A dog was barking. Frank could smell wood smoke.
They exited the Humvee. Corporal Graves pointed towards the cabin. “You’ll be registered in there. First, you’ll all have to be checked for infection. Follow me.”
Graves led them to another portable cabin. Inside were two middle-aged women playing Hungry Hippos on a rickety table. The women looked up, annoyed at being disturbed. One of them, grey-haired and plump, glared at Graves.
“More stragglers,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
Graves nodded. “Yeah. If you’d be so good as to check them for infection, Violet.”
The woman eyed him, didn’t move.
Graves sighed. “Please.”
“That’s better,” she said, and stood. “Right, you lot take your clothes off. We’re gonna take a look at ya.” She glanced at the other woman, who had also risen to her feet. “Sandra, you take the girl in one of the cubicles. I’ll check the men.”
Sandra went to Florence and took her hand. Florence resisted, looked at Frank.
He nodded. “It’ll be okay. Go with the nice lady.”
“I ain’t nice,” said Sandra.
Florence whimpered. She snatched her hand from Sandra’s and stepped back. “I don’t wanna go.”
Sandra glowered at her and sighed.
Frank went to Florence. He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and put one hand on her shoulder. He smiled at her. “It’ll be okay; we’ll be out here. We’re not going to leave you here, okay? I would never leave you here on your own.”
Sandra rolled her eyes. “Oh, please…”
Florence looked at Frank, bottom lip quivering a little. She blinked. The faintest of nods. “Okay. You promise to stay here?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“Okay.”
Sandra led her into a cubicle and closed the blue plastic curtain behind them.
Violet looked at Graves. “You stay here, in case they’re infected and something happens. One of the last survivors you lot brought in nearly tore my face off.”
“It wasn’t that bad, Violet,” said Graves. “You do embellish, don’t you?”
“I’ll remember that when one of these fuckers bites me in the arse.”
“It’s big enough.”
“Cheeky fucking squaddie.”
Graves nodded, grinning.
“Okay, lads,” Violet said, slipping on a pair of surgical gloves. “You lot seen The Full Monty? Strip off and let me see what you’ve got.”
After being given the all-clear they had gone to the registration cabin. Inside was a greasy-haired man behind a desk cluttered with pens, stacks of paper and notebooks. He was called Simms. He noted their names in a register, writing with the methodical nature of a seasoned administrator who takes too much pleasure in numbers and pie charts.
Joel and Frank had asked about Anya and Catherine.
Simms regarded them with pale eyes. There was a yellow bruise on his chin. His glasses were held together by duct tape. His shirt was crumpled. His beard stuck to his lined face in wispy patches and clumps, black and white in colour.
Their names were on the register.
Joel almost cried when her name was read out.
“Where are they?” asked Frank.
“I’m not sure where your wife is, Mr. Hooper, but Mr. Gosling’s fiancée is working as a nurse in the medical centre.”
Joel swallowed. “The medical centre?”
Simms’s face was blank. “It’s a big tent about a hundred yards from here. You can’t miss it.”
Joel was already out of the door.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Ralph followed Frank and Florence to the medical centre. Joel was ahead of them, struggling to keep his footing in the mud. He stopped at the entrance to the tent, lifted one of the canvas flaps and looked inside.
The others caught up with him.
Rows of beds, most of them occupied. Medics buzzed between the aisles. Volunteer nurses tended to patients. A soldier stood guard in a far corner, tiredness slackening his face. There was a desk in the nearest corner with a thin woman stationed behind it. Her hair was pulled back in a vicious ponytail. She looked up at Joel. Her eyes were dull and sleepy.
“Excuse me,” said Joel, breathing hard from his run. “Is Anya Lewandowski here?”
“Who?” She was sucking on a sweet, rolling it around her mouth.
“Anya Lewandowski.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m her fiancé. Where is she? Is she here?”
“She’s just finished her shift.”
“Where has she gone?” Joel’s voice was watery and weak.
“I’m here, Joel,” Anya said.
Joel turned. Anya was standing there. She said something under her breath in Polish. She smiled.
He threw his arms around her. Relief and amazement and reunion. Joel held her by the arms. They kissed deeply and slowly. Anya put her face against his chest as he nuzzled her blonde hair. He closed his eyes, rocked against her. She was crying.
Ralph watched them with envy burning in his stomach. And a little bit of hatred. He thought about his parents, their faces dwelling at the fringes of his mind, and tried to push them away. He didn’t want to think about them. He wanted to feel anger, not grief. He could do something with anger. It felt like his eyes were heating up inside his head.
“Thank God I found you, Anya,” said Joel. “I thought I’d never see you again.” He gazed into her eyes.
“I thought you were dead,” she said. Her words were muffled by tears. Joel wiped her eyes dry. “I can’t believe you’re here, all of you. I thought you were either killed or infected.”
“We barely survived. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve seen. That we’ve all seen.”
Anya looked at the others in turn. “Is Magnus not with you?”
No one spoke.
“Magnus is gone,” said Joel, finally.
Anya nodded. Her face was sad and flushed pink, her mouth a thin crease. “Oh. Poor Magnus. I always thought he was a good man.”
“Yes, he was,” said Joel. “I miss him. We all miss him.”
“But the rest of you made it,” Anya said. She smiled at them, but the smile faltered at the corners of her mouth when she looked at Frank.