Craig DiLouie - The Infection

“Hot dog,” Sarge says.

They are sitting on a lot of fuel.

“It’s about time luck got on our side,” Ducky says.

Once they get it working, the generator will burn its fuel to generate force that turns a crankshaft. The crank will turn a rotor inside a stator, which will create a steady magnetic field. As the rotor passes through the field, electrical current will be generated in wires that it houses. The current will flow to whatever circuits they assign for loading. If it works, they will have light, refrigeration, cooking, air conditioning, heat and power for electronics.

“All right, let’s find the breaker panel and set up our loads,” Sarge adds. “Then we can take this baby out for a spin.”

Wendy peels off her grimy clothes, dumps them in a bucket and tosses in some washing liquid she found next to a pile of bloody laundry. Anne also strips down until she is naked, then stands under one of the showerheads.

“Wow, it feels good to be out of those clothes,” Wendy says. “It also feels scary. I’m not sure I like it.”

Anne points to the inflamed cut along her ribs. “Where did you get that?”

“Worm teeth,” Wendy says. “I didn’t know I had it until after. I don’t think the worms are infectious. Either that, or Todd and I are very lucky.”

“Well, that cut is infected with something. You got a fever?”

“Honestly, I’ve felt feverish ever since the Screaming. Almost two weeks ago.”

“Make sure you take care of it. Your immune system is weak from the stress and lack of sleep. If your temperature goes up, take some antibiotics.”

Wendy nods and for the first time is aware of Anne’s nudity. The end of the world and its forced survival diet has been kind to her, burning off her excess fat and leaving sinewy muscle on the woman’s petite frame. Anne has the body of a gymnast.

“You’re beautiful,” Wendy says, smiling.

Anne blinks in surprise. A smile crosses her face, but her hand flickers at the scars on her left cheek, and the moment passes quickly.

“I might have been once,” she answers.

“Come on, ladies, let’s go,” Todd calls out from the locker room. “I haven’t touched a bar of soap in two weeks!”

“Don’t let him peek, Reverend,” Wendy says. “We’re counting on you to protect our honor.”

“Your honor is in safe hands for exactly three minutes plus drying time,” Paul calls back. “Let me know when you’re ready so I can start counting down.”

Wendy and Anne turn on the faucets, which groan for several moments before spitting out gobs of cold water and then a steady stream.

“You can start it now!”

Wendy steps under the faucet and is instantly electrified by the sensual feel of the water and its cold bite on her skin. Closing her eyes, she finds it easy to imagine being under a waterfall. The building’s water was designated for drinking and cooking only but Sarge said very quick showers would be a great way to celebrate their taking the hospital back from Infection and reminding them of what they are surviving for; the others eagerly agreed to the luxury. Wendy closes her eyes and feels the water drumming against her head and shoulders. Lathering up her hands with a bar of soap, she begins to wash herself, laughing.

“Two minutes!”

Wendy pours a handful of shampoo into her palm and massages her scalp. Soapy gray water pours out of her hair and down the drain. She marvels at how precious water is now. Standing under the downpour, she feels rich with its wealth. Drunk on the luxury of being able to use it to wash herself like this.

“One minute!”

“Shit,” she says, frantically beating and rinsing her dirty clothes before Paul calls time and they turn the faucets off.

“Now can I peek?” Todd says.

“No!” says Wendy, adding to Anne, “We’re going to have to find that kid a girl soon.”

The women towel down, put on hospital scrubs and slippers, and hang their clothes up to dry. Then she grins.

“You know, for a few moments there, I actually forgot all about it,” Wendy says.

Anne says, “I don’t want to forget.”

Eleven months after entering the Academy, Wendy was sworn in and told to report to Zone One. The Northside neighborhoods would be her territory for the foreseeable future. Her first day finally arrived. She woke up after only a few hours of sleep filled with energy and too nervous to eat anything. She downed a cup of coffee and took a hot shower. She tied her hair back into a bun and again considered getting it cut short. She carefully laid out and then put on, piece by piece, over black bra and panties, her crisply ironed uniform and pins and badge and Batman belt, conscious of a mundane cop ritual that was still novel to her, fussing over getting rid of every speck of lint. Then she stood in front of the mirror and worked on her game face.

At the station, after orientation, she was told that she would be partnered with a senior officer named Kendrick, a grizzled, overweight cop with a permanent scowl. She held out her hand to shake and he gave her a long, incredulous once-over, which he concluded by shaking his head.

“I hope that fucking Dave Carver isn’t the only thing you’re good at,” he said.

Wendy put on her game face and said, “I’m not fucking Dave Carver.”

“If you say so, rook.”

“But you’re right, I was good at it.”

Kendrick snorted with laughter.

“All right, Cleopatra. Let’s get going. But one more thing before we go out today. We’re going to be in some rough neighborhoods, but remember there are a lot of good people who call those neighborhoods home, so show some fucking respect out there.”

Wendy nodded, appreciating the perspective. They reported to the dispatcher and entered the garage, where they found their cruiser.

“I’ll drive, rook,” he growled. “You don’t do anything unless I say so— what? ”

“I said, ‘Okay, Officer Kendrick.’”

“If you think I’m being hard on you because you’re a woman, fuck you.”

The squad car left the garage. They drove around their territory for a while and then stopped at a Dunkin Donuts for breakfast. Wendy went in and minutes later returned to the car with a box of donuts and two tall Styrofoam cups full of coffee. Kendrick wolfed down the donuts and drank his coffee, then sighed contentedly and settled into his seat. He watched the street with the dull gaze of a basilisk. Wendy guiltily prayed that something terrible would happen and that she could do some real police work on her first day. She pictured the dispatcher calling out, car crash with injuries , or robbery in progress and shots fired . Maybe she and Kendrick would catch a drug deal in progress. Maybe there would be a man on one of the city’s many bridges, threatening to jump, and she would have to talk him down. She began to fidget in her seat.

“This is the job, rook,” he growled, slurping his coffee. “You hurry up and wait. And wait.”

The radio suddenly blared.

“CD to all units.”

There had been a break-in and stabbing. The dispatcher gave the location and advised that the suspect was still in the house. He had broken in through a window, punched the occupant to the floor, robbed her, and cut her up. By the time the dispatcher finished, Kendrick had already started the car, turned on the lights and siren, and was now replying that they were en route.

The car lurched into traffic and roared toward the scene on squealing tires.

“Hold on to your ass,” Kendrick said.

“Every unit in the zone must be on its way,” Wendy shouted over the siren.

“We’ll get there first. Excited, cherry?”