Chapter 06 | Restocking

There was something ominous about the air-—as if the stillness could predict what might come. The party that had assembled from the Underground to explore the psychiatric hospital was not large, but one of the most skilled members was with them. Dane—a hulk of a man—carried a semiautomatic rifle at the ready. His body suit seemed to blend into any setting. It appeared to be some sort of neoprene, but Turner had suspicions that it was some other highly secretive material that had been made for Dane while he was in the military—a subject he rarely spoke about, though it was widely known that that was the man’s history. Dane also wore a katana across his back, as a backup to the firearm. And although Turner had yet to see it actually wielded, he doubted the man would carry a weapon he didn’t know how to use well—in fact, he doubted that such a weapon existed.

And then there was Kris. With his stupid three piece suit and pistol at the ready, he kept a calm facade, but his incessant jabs at Turner were insufferable. They had agreed on the boat to not tell anyone of their relation. That had been two days ago. Neither man pretended to care much about the other, though under the surface, their relationship could boil water. Out of respect, however, and because he feared what he might have told his favorite barkeeper over the past five years, he had chosen to make Adam privy to the information. Unfortunately, Adam had started to ask blatant questions at the wrong time. Not out of bad intention, but more so just saying them as he thought them. Turner hadn’t wanted to add to Adam’s stress, but it was information that he had felt that he needed to share with his friend.

Adam had assigned this party to Turner—Charlie needed medical supplies and books. While Adam and Charlie were exploring for bookstores and libraries, this party was on a mission to search the closest hospital to the Underground. Karelia had been left in charge of the Underground—and assembling a search party should either party not return from their missions. But the truth was that, besides Karelia herself, the rest of the Underground lacked the itch to accomplish things.

The hospital—Oak Grove—hadn’t been far away from the last open exit of the Underground, but they had taken a good amount of time reaching it, keeping to the shadows to avoid other survivors who might be dangerous. They had remained generally quiet, though every time Turner had tried to start a conversation, his father had shot it down with a snide remark. Now, standing at the entrance to the facility, Turner turned to face the two who had come with him. "We probably want to stay together. Who knows what's inside..." He took the pistol out of his jacket pocket and held it tightly, almost turning back to the entrance.

Before he could turn back around, his father responded in hushed sarcasm, “Yeah, great. Like we wouldn’t have done that without your sage advice. Whatever would we do without you?” Turner tried to exchange a look with Dane, but the man could have taught a boulder how to focus. Turner let out an exasperated sigh. There was nothing to say in response,m but maybe he could have the party split up to cover more ground. Kris would follow him to keep punching him down, and he knew Dane wouldn’t care for splitting the party. He might, however, suggest a much more succinct plan. At times, Turner wondered if he should just suggest the worst plan that he could think of in order to get more of Dane’s advice. Though that idea had its flaws too. Dane didn’t want to lead, as qualified as he was to do so. Turner didn’t want to trick his friend into doing his work, but he kept himself open to suggestions from those he trusted.

Suddenly, Turner saw something move past the two others. He looked more closely, his eyes narrowing and his brow furrowing. He wasn’t sure enough to voice it, but he could have sworn something moved. Might it just have been lack of sleep, or could it be something dangerous? Whatever it had been, it was far away and gone now.

Somehow, Dane tensed even before looking to where the movement had been, but Kris remained oblivious. “Well, are we going in, or what?” He was examining his cuff-links—an ornate pair that Turner had yet to get a good look at, but his father certainly made a habit of examining them. They could be useful in this family feud if he could ever figure out what they were. That was hardly what was important in this moment. Whatever those cuff-links might represent to his father was of little consequence to him now. Knowing this did very little to assuage the curiosity.

The lock on the door to the hospital had to be picked, but Kris proved adept at the task. He almost asked his father how he knew to do such a thing, but he didn’t want to add to the man’s smug grin. Adam’s decree to not ask about the past surely shouldn’t apply to Turner and Kris, did it?

The three filed in, silently fanning out to look down all the halls. A sign hung crooked with an arrow that had once pointed straight up a hallway labeled "A-1." The other signs in the hallway lay on the floor, having fallen completely. The room was relatively bare. A vending machine was next to the front desk—just some packaged chips and candy inside. Much more concerning was the blood on the shattered bullet-proof glass on the floor. Something had happened here, though what it was could not be determined. There was no body—just blood and shattered glass.

Turner led the party down the hallway that still had its sign, quietly pushing in every room door. His throwing knife was at the ready. Luckily Kris did his best to be quiet too. Dane took up the rear, ready for an ambush. Just because the door was locked, didn’t mean that there wasn’t danger here. In fact, it perhaps heralded that there was reason to lock the doors. Perhaps a raider party lived here. Hopefully not because the members of the Underground were vastly under-prepared for such a fight.

It was certainly eerie, walking through a destroyed psychiatric ward with the fluorescent fixtures flickering occasionally. Their footsteps and breathing echoed off the dirty walls. The rooms were all empty. Where had the people gone? It still baffled Turner that so many people could vanish all of a sudden, and with no apparent cause. There were practically no bodies in the streets. It wasn’t so much that people had died during the event—the attack, as Adam called it—but people were just… gone. How could so many people just... vanish?

He was ripped violently from his thoughts as a man turned the corner and threw his hands up, tripping over his own words. "I'd really like it if you'd put your guns down. I won't hurt you unless you're with the researchers. I ain’t going back. Who do you work for? I can understand one or two being on his own, but this is just a stretch." The kid was young—perhaps not even 18—but lanky and gaunt with messy black hair to his neck and bangs covering half his forehead. His left eye was a muted blue, and his right eye was clouded. His five-o’clock shadow and hunch completed the appearance of ‘insane’. He shook his head before asking, "So, why are you here? To take me somewhere safe, like the last people? I won’t go!"

Cautiously, Turner responded. “We won’t harm you. We're here looking for supplies. Why are you here?" He was a pitiful-looking man, wearing ragged clothes and—luckily—no visible weapon. But he did look unstable, and that scared Turner. Shooting a raider was one thing, but a person with whatever mental struggles this man had shouldn’t be shot. He had a fear that his father might do such a thing. How could he prevent it?

Dane piped up, his voice as steady as a boulder. "We're with a group called ‘the Underground,’ and you’re… You’re welcome to come with us, if you’d like. We won’t force you, but we have resources to share.”

“Come with us…?” Kris began. “I don’t want to live in the same place as that. How could we trust him not to go bananas and kill us all?” Turner wished that his father would keep his comments to himself. He could deal with his father’s prodding, but a potentially unstable individual was far less likely to keep calm under those conditions.

Turner was always scanning his surroundings, trying to identify possible exits and spots for ambushes. Now was no different. Both hands were inside his trench coat, hidden from view; gripping his knives. He didn't like or trust this place, but there would be very little way to escape besides fighting his way out. He ignored the obvious questions that raced through his mind—who this guy was, what he meant by researchers, if he had been a patient here; why he hadn’t left yet if he had been—but such questions didn’t feel right to ask. The answers would become clear shortly—of that he was certain.

He started to quietly shuffle himself into a better position; trying to appear as casual as possible. He repeated, “We just need some supplies, and then we’ll be out of here.”

"You’re... not with the researchers then? The ones who've kept me locked in here for so long?" the man asked dubiously. It was then that he seemed to notice the destruction around him. Then something flipped in his mind like a light switch. He was suddenly speaking very quickly and passionately. "I must've been hearing things again. Delusions. I have a condition, and I haven't had my meds. I didn't even know I could get out of the wing."

Then the man started to sway. He shook his head vigorously before regaining his balance. He was back to his original cadence now. "I'm Jackson. What do you mean by 'The Underground?' I mean, was all that screaming real? I heard it but, but I didn't think... what happened? Why is my hospital like this?"

Turner made a mental note to keep an eye on this man. He hated that he had to be so distrustful of someone, and he hated judging him as dangerous based on a medical condition… but he was certainly unstable and needed extra care. Turner tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "Jackson, I'm Turner. You're right about the screaming. But... You honestly haven't been outside? Like, at all?" He brought his free hand to his forehead and shook his head slightly, before dropping it to his side again. "Why don't you take a step outside? Take a look at the damage." He felt far different this time than when he had made his father take a step outside several days ago.

The party slowly exited the hospital, letting Jackson lead the way. Once they had exited the hospital, Turner pointed to various points of utter destruction. "All those screams you heard were from the dying and wounded. From what the Underground has gathered, the apocalypse has happened, and there aren’t very many survivors. Communication outside the city has completely stopped—for all we know this has happened to the entire world." Turner bit his lip and looked from the broken buildings to the mental patient.

"We’ve been fighting these strange shadow-like beasts. They come out of their own hiding areas to attack anyone in the open. That's really all we know right now, but we're trying to rebuild the city. As of right now, we don't even know how things got destroyed." Turner looked to the ground, his mind going over what he'd been through since that night. Adam was better at explaining what had happened, but he wasn't here. Kris couldn’t explain it, and Dane wouldn’t. So, he had to be the one to explain things. Sighing, he looked at back towards the building. Dane was more tensed than he had ever seen, his finger on the trigger, almost ready to aim at Jackson. Dane stood with his back against the wall—probably a good way to prevent anyone from sneaking up on him.

Jackson started to back away from Turner, clutching his hair tightly and swaying. "No... no, no, no, no, no, NO! It isn't true! You're... you're lying! This is a test; one of their tricks! Get away from me!" Jackson looked around frantically from the hospital to the ruins. The denial was fading, but not easily. The man swayed and then dropped to his knees, crying out as the rough stone on the road collided with his skin beneath his torn jeans.

He looked at Turner with widened eyes and shouted "Get away! Run!" But before Turner had time to react, a darkened form appeared in front of Jackson. Not the same way that shadow wolves leaped at people, and this was certainly no wolf. This was the shape of… a fish? How strange. But there was no time to think about the peculiarity of it. Turner raised his gun to aim at the strange sunfish with large black eyes and a wide mouth. Its flat belly rested on the ground as it opened and closed its mouth, its sharp needle-like teeth revealed with every attempt at breath while its spike-lined gills flapped wildly. Jackson collapsed with a scream at the sight of the creature. This was not something that Turner would have ever been able to plan for, but it was happening now, and there was no time to think—only enough time to react. That scream—that was sure to attract unwanted attention. This had to be resolved quickly.

Turner let the knife fly with practiced precision, already pulling out a second from his inside his coat. He was unsure what anyone else was doing, but this thing clearly needed to be killed. They hadn't even found any supplies yet, but if they made it out of here alive he would still call it a successful trip.

The knife landed between the creature's eyes with a squish. It blinked twice, and a bubble popped in its mouth, its fins flopping twice before it finally sat still. Turner relaxed a moment, but then the fish-thing opened its mouth wide, and its jawbone snapped. The fish-thing's eyes seemed to inflate before bursting open, the sockets widening to accommodate a mass of tendrils growing from its insides, lined with barbs like a jellyfish's stingers. More of the tendrils poured forth from its gills as it made a retching noise. Finally, it stopped making the noise, its tendrils waving in the air. Turner couldn’t recall why he liked the ocean so much.

Then an orange, fleshy pod erupted from its sickeningly distended mouth, ending in a row of dagger-like teeth that frothed and snapped, lunging for Turner. He dodged to the right, and used his knife to chop off one of the tentacles, where it fell to the ground, flopping around before it turned into vapor.

He took a step towards the thing, pulling out a second knife to start slicing the creature to pieces. The pod flew closer and closer towards them, vibrating and veering so that Turner couldn’t aim at it. He could see with increasing detail that the thing had some ferocious jagged edges. An obvious realization hit him: that would probably hurt if that were to hit him. He tried to shove a knife into it from below, but it suddenly split itself apart, spraying an orange liquid everywhere. Turner shielded his face, but there was a terrible pain in his left bicep where the liquid had burned through his sleeve. He looked down to his arm and grimaced—it was not a pretty sight. Flesh was burned off, revealing the bone beneath and blood pulsing out.

He stood motionless as the fish and all traces of the fish vanished, Turner’s knife clattering to the pavement. All that was left was the burning sensation. After a moment, Dane stepped forward and opened a flask from his belt. He poured the clear, viscous liquid sparingly on Turner’s arm. They all watched Jackson wearily.

The burning quickly receded, and the skin even healed itself slightly. Turner made his way over to check on Jackson. He had fainted and Turner wanted to make sure he hadn't hurt himself, and to make sure he wasn't outside when he woke. They didn't need him freaking out again. After Turner retrieved his thrown knife and tucked it into his coat’s interior pocket, he hefted the man into his arms and jerkily carried him back into the lobby. Dane lent a hand after a moment, but Kris was impassive.

“What now?” asked his father, clearly a little shaken from what had just happened. The shakiness was showing on him, but Turner did his best to keep his own shakiness abated. Calmly, Turner placed Jackson on a bench in the lobby made of punctured chrome and vinyl seat cushions.

“Well, we can’t stay here. Someone must have heard that scream, and no doubt they’re on their way. We need to get home.” He said, and then watched Dane nod sharply; approvingly. “We need supplies, but we need to stay alive more.” He was proud of the steadiness in his voice—he had not expected to be suddenly so calm.

“Then let’s get out of here.” Kris made for the door, but Turner stopped him.

“No. We can’t just leave Jackson here. Kris, go get some snacks from the vending machine for him. He needs some sugar. Dane, watch the door.” He was already watching the door, but adding a command couldn’t hurt.

Things never seemed to be easy. Kris brought some fruit and vegetable gummies from the vending machine, just as Jackson was waking up. Still groggy; still confused. He looked around at the ruins of the lobby, but seemed a little less shocked than before. “We gotta leave before that thing comes back.” His father said, tossing the gummies at the man. “What was it, even?” The question was directed at Turner, but before he could admit that he did not know, Jackson spoke up, through a fistful of gummies.

"Don't know... I've seen it before. In a dream. I see lots of things like it, chasing me; hurting me. That's why I don't sleep. I've been up for three days now. When I was hungry back in there, though, they'd bring me food. I didn't think it was real. I thought it was another hallucination. Not a dream; the dreams are always bad, so I know when they are. But when they brought me food, they listened. They'd get me more if I asked. But it only happened like that after the highway. The smell was really bad until one of the things in my dreams cleaned it up. Ate the body. Then it disappeared, like he was never there. I think I might've imagined it all, but the part with the lady seemed far too real. They are gonna be mad with me for telling you this." Jackson hit his forehead with the palm of his hand, sighing in frustration. "I don't know. I just can't tell what really happened and what didn't."

The words were dross to Turner, but Dane looked away from the door, and asked, "Jackson... Describe that lady, if you would?" Turner wanted to tell the man to stop egging him on. The last thing that he needed was for his insanity to be… encouraged. But before he could speak, Dane added slowly—hastily for him—"I've seen a lady, too, Jackson... I just want to know if she was the same woman." Turner looked to Dane for a moment with a level look, which the other man met easily. "Anything... even if you think it's just a hallucination... It might not be." Dane turned his attention to Jackson. Kris watched the world outside through a window.

Slowly and cautiously, Jackson began to speak. "She... she was beautiful. She glowed. I don't remember her clothes. What they looked like. Gave me her hands. She knew my name, and I wanted... I wanted to hold her hands." A look of panic entered his face, and Turner tensed up, and reached for his knives—but waited to draw them. But the other man relaxed. Turner did not. Jackson continued after the momentary pause, looking around. He scrutinized Dane's face. "When she held my hands, they glowed. I felt... different. In a weird way. I don't remember the rest, except for what she said... ‘Reality and romance.’”

Dane responded gently—an odd way for a mountain to speak. "She was in white. Completely in white. A dress and cloak." Dane shook his head and smiled. "You didn't imagine that, Jackson. She was very real, I think. Did she say anything else?

This was getting absurd, and Turner thought that he should put a stop to it. But Dane was far from crazy—at least, he thought. How well did he really know the man? Before Turner could speak, though, Dane asked another question: "Do you think you can describe the way you felt different, Jackson?"

"Different.” He said as if it would explain the whole thing. “I felt like things were more real... and my dreams started getting bad. Something was trying to hurt me in all of them. Every time I sleep. But some of the things would be there when I wanted something. If I wanted food, they'd get me some. If I wanted light, something that glowed would be there. But never for long. I was so sure it wasn't real. They did so many tests..."

Dane nodded. "Apparently, it's her nature to be as mysterious as possible." He paused for a moment. “Jackson? Would you be willing to come back with us, to the Underground? I think we could benefit from each other." Turner was doubtful. While, Adam always wanted more people, Turner doubted that this man would be able to be a useful ally. Still, the Underground had a responsibility to foster those in need.

It was only a matter of time that he could continue to live here alone. Something would eventually find him. Turner shook off the morbid thought. Jackson looked at Turner with regret. Finally, he sighed, and shook his head. "I don’t know if I should. Not safe. Not right now. I really don't want to hurt anyone. Safer alone, I think." Jackson stood up, and smiled wistfully. He began to walk away, and looked back for a moment.

“Please reconsider. Just for a night or two, then you can decide if you want to stay or not.” For some reason that Turner didn’t know, Dane wanted this man to come back with them. It made no sense—Dane was indifferent towards the party’s choices, only really speaking when there was a strategic issue with a plan, or if asked about how to best combat the shadows that roved the streets.

Jackson looked to Dane, then to Kris, then to Turner; then back to Dane. “Fine… I’ll come for a couple days.” He rubbed some tears off his upper cheeks.

Kris spoke up. “Great. We can all go. But we gotta go fast or we’ll have unwanted company.” He jabbed his index finger at the glass of the window that he had been staring out. A wolf cooed. That was never a good sound, but at least it wasn’t a howl. Dane turned back to the door to survey the wolf.

“It hasn’t seen us yet.” He said quietly. “Shelter.” He fell silent, but at the same time, he prepared his rifle for action—silently, somehow. Turner reached for one of his knives, but after the adrenaline of that first fight was wearing off, his arm was beginning to ache too much to support another fight. Hopefully the creature wouldn’t smell the blood on the floor.

It was all Turner could do to watch out the window. Luckily, the wolf continued on around a corner. “I think we’re safe, but let’s not take any chances. I want to get back to Charlie and get this arm looked at.” The four of them started to get their things together. Kris wandered back to the vending machine and stuffed all of its snacks into one of the bags that they had brought. Dane kept his rifle at the ready. Jackson stood, staring at Turner’s arm with a guilty look. Turner felt that he should make it known that there were no hard feelings. "It will heal, Jackson. No worries. It happens to everyone once in awhile. Then, turning to his father, he offered him an olive branch too. “Candy,” he smiled in hesitation. "They will certainly appreciate it. Good job. Let's pack it up and head back.”

“We came for medical supplies, but I think we’ve found something even more important. We can count this a success for today." Dane’s words were confusingly cryptic. Turner hoped they wouldn't have to scavenge the surface for too much longer, but what could they do to prevent that? There had to be a way to regain an upper hand in this wasteland.

The sun peeking through the ashen clouds was beginning to cast shadows again along the devastated streets of what used to be a great city with pinkish rays of light. Clinging to the thought—of what had been, and what could be again—he turned back to the others. "Come on. We should hurry to get below ground. It’ll be dark soon in a few hours, and that only helps them hunt." There was no need to say what he was talking about: the shadow wolves. He wondered how Adam and Charlie were faring on their task today. Hopefully they were doing a little better than this group had. But—at the same time—he couldn’t help but smile. He had kept everyone alive, and gained a member of the party. Dane was right: it had been a successful trip. Adam should be happy with the results.