Chapter 4-Nurses and Doctors
I wish it was all just a game. I have such fond memories of playing Nurses and Doctors as a child. Me and my brother Brad. Before you ask, our last name Is Pitte, but not the way the celeb Brad Pitt spells it. My brother is six years older than me, but whenever I got a graze, or a bruise, he would boost me up on the kitchen counter, make me a hot chocolate, even in summer, and make a fuss over me. He was the best family, brother, friend, that I ever had. Coming from a warring family isn’t easy, but Brad made everything better. He always made sure I was healthy, and safe, physically or emotionally. Now the tables are turned. It’s my turn to treat my now 22 year old brother, and make sure he doesn’t bleed out from the inch wide gash spanning his inner forearm. I felt sick as a wrapped another dirty bandage around his arm, and grimaced as I poured a vat of watered down white spirits on his wound to clean it. He winced, and tried not to make a noise, but he whined and whimpered all the same. “Sorry, Bradley,” I cried as I hugged him. “It’s done now. We just need to go out on a raid and find a sewing kit. I’ll be back soon, okay? Just rest.” I kissed his forehead as he closed his eyes, and I spun around as Jami came through the door.
“You ready to move out, chica?” she asked. Jami is an African-Mexican girl, and my best friend before all of this started. I guess we’re still friends now, but now she knows I would choose Brads’ life over her own (don’t ask), she’s colder towards me. I would be too, but its family or friends, and Brad is the only family I have left. At least, the only family I have that’s fully alive. “Yeah, Jami. I’m just gonna get my camos, and my machete. Meet at the west gate, yeah?” Jami nodded, and jogged out of the gym. Yeah, I said gym. Right now, we are currently holed up inside a High school, just north of the Arizonan desert, just before the border of Utah. This high school is the only school for miles in this little shanty town. Definitely the best aspect of this graveyard. Most of the adult survivors are barricaded in the Town Hall, with most of the food and water. Whenever we watch the Town Hall from afar, the outside seems deserted, but as soon as we get near, BOOM! The guns come up right away. Their policy is shoot first, asks questions later. They'll shoot you before you can even get close to the perimeter fence. I know because I tried. From the raiding group of 16, only three came back alive (Me, Bradley, and Jami). We children are the only ones who are brave enough to enter the totally deserted town to raid for supplies. Well, deserted until you are more than one hundred metres from a door. And then… well, you don’t want to know. I jogged up three flights of stairs to where the largest Home-Ec room was situated, which I and Bradley shared as our own little fort. Our rooms would be each of our final defences in case of a break-in. I unlocked the seven bicycle and motorbike chains for between the double door handles, and the ten extra bolts added to the middle. It was all that separated me and Bradley from several possible grisly ends. As I pulled open the stiff doors, the smell of dust and pop tarts filled the room. Not an altogether bad smell, but a little odd all the same. My brother and I had done some raiding before we found the resistance, and rather than hand over what non-perishables we had, we boxed them up in our assigned room, so that if we needed to make a quick getaway and didn’t have the guts to steal from the camp stores, we just needed to load up our rickshaw and roll out. Assuming no-one had used it for firewood. Knowing some of the kids in this place, that would be the most likely mode of death for the largest of our three family heirlooms. The other two are a machete for Brad, now mine, and a small survival kit, containing several bottles of iodine, a box of stronger purification tablets, three bottles of vital vitamins, and a tiny portable stove, for heating water, which I traded to Brad for the machete when this whole mess started. I paced over to where my camp bed was set up, and picked up my camo jumpsuit. I pulled it on over a grimy black tank top, skin tight yoga pants, and some black combats. I donned a bomber jacket, and slid the sheath harbouring the machete, across one shoulder, and under the other. I settled a black beanie over my darker hair, and slung a brown backpack over my sheath, filled with saltines, digestives, a few cans of soup, a litre bottle of water, and a small medi-pack. I jogged out of the room, nodding to people I passed in the corridors who wished me good luck, and their hopes that I returned alive. The kids in here have been kinda sentimental since Brad got caught in mob of those monsters, and even though I have come back from over 150 raids without a scratch, people still worry about me. I jogged through the gym, and said one last goodbye to Bradley, although dozy as a cow, and ran across the courtyard and met Jami at the Western-most gate to the complex. The sun was just setting, the best time to be out when those creatures arrived, but people still thought this was the worst mistake anyone could ever make. Different people shared their experiences, but there seem to be more than one class of monsters crawling the U.S. Dusk was either the make or break time of day, depending on the type of monster, or the place you are in.
Jami was pacing by the gate, and turned to look at me just as I started climbing over the gate. “Well, come on, then!” I yelled down to her, just as I got over the sharp glass protruding from the top of the fence.
“Sorry, chica, boss’ orders!” she yelled through the chain-link at me. She attached the bunch of wires I didn’t previously see clenched in her right hand, which were plugged into an electricity generator in an outhouse several hundred yards away. The fence sparked with electricity and I screamed, as a loud sizzling noise erupted from the space between the fence and my hands, and I was flung off the fence, and onto the ground. My head throbbed and my vision swam, as I looked down at the blackened surfaces that were once fully functional palms. It was all I could do to push myself into a sitting position and glare at Jami as she retreated into the fading burnt orange sunset. “How could you!?” I screamed at her back, “How could you abandon me!?” She turned and said simply, “For freedom.” She carried on walking, and I was left, sobbing, completely alone, and injured, on the other side of a fence, of the only safe place for miles. Oh, and did I mention we are in the middle of a zombie apocalypse?