Bucky led the kids across the mass of bodies and toward the metal gate. “Hey? Hey!” he shouted, waving his jumper from side to side.
The soldier on the lookout took notice and raised a rifle. “Stop right there,” he ordered, pointing its barrel in their direction.
“It’s okay, we’re not infected.”
“How many of you are there?”
Bucky looked to his friends. “Just us. Four of us, that’s all.”
“Place all your weapons on the ground.”
“We don’t have any guns.”
“I said place all your weapons on the ground!” the soldier snapped.
Bucky unclipped the sword and dropped it to the floor. About him the various tools they had taken from the barn and used as weapons clattered down onto the concrete as his friends followed the order and unarmed themselves.
“Is that it? Is that everything you have?” the soldier asked.
“Yes,” Bucky nodded, “that’s it. That’s everything.”
“Do you see the turnstiles to your right?”
“Yes.”
“Move over there, slowly,” the soldier ordered. The rifle still took aim in their direction.
They moved across the car park to the body high turnstiles where another soldier stood, waiting for them.
“Move through. One at a time,” he ordered. Bucky pushed through the bars first. “Over there.” Bucky followed the soldier’s order and stood beside the metal gate. A whole platoon of soldiers had descended toward the front gate. Nice welcoming committee, he thought. A flutter of anxiety passed throughout his body. Soon the others joined him and formed into a line, as though they were about to undergo some type of military inspection.
“Lock it,” the soldier ordered, referring to the turnstile, “and get the doctor.”
A soldier rushed across into a white tent to their left, and after a few moments a doctor emerged, clad in hospital blue sand wearing a fine pair of circular spectacles.”Did you bring the pen?” the soldier enquired.
The doctor produced a silver object from the chest pocket in his uniform. “Newcomers?” he asked.
The soldier pointed his rifle to the kids. “These four.”
“Okay, let’s get it over with. May I have your finger please?” the doctor asked Bucky.
“What for?” Bucky enquired.
The doctor removed the tip of the object to reveal a blade. From the same pocket, he presented a sealed packet of blades similar to the one inside the pen. “It’s something every newcomer goes through when they first arrive.” Another doctor emerged from the tent, carrying a yellow sharps bin and a packet of medical strips.
The doctor produced two purple gloves from a hidden stash. “We are going to test your blood and confirm you are not infected, that is all. It’s just a little prick to your finger, nothing more,” he explained whilst placing them on. The latex squeaked and snapped as they moulded to his hands.
“He should be used to a little prick,” Aaron whispered. Johnny snorted, caught off guard by the insult. Bucky frowned at them before turning back to the doctor. He extended the index finger on his right hand. “Here, do it quick before they both become too excited.”
“Boys will be boys,” the doctor replied, looking over his glasses. The quick, sharp stab only lasted a second. The blade absorbed his blood, much like the machines used by diabetic people to monitor their sugar level. It must have been a new kind of instrument developed for use after everything that had happened, or at least brought online in the days after. The doctor turned the pen to read the result on its small electronic display. After a second it beeped.
“Clear,” the doctor said, removing the tab within his latex gloves. “Next.” Bucky stood aside, allowing Aaron to be tested next. He watched as the doctor changed blades and discarded the old one into the sharps box the soldier clutched. A thought passed through his mind. The pen used to test his blood had registered nothing, and cleared him from being infected. It tested for the virus that had caused the outbreak. They stood in a facility overseen by the army. The army had access to the pen. Did the army develop the pen for use knowing that the virus existed, or worse still, expect it to be used?
The doctor tested the remaining kids, all of which passed without concern.
“Follow me,” he began, walking in the direction of the tent. They followed, flanked either side by two armed soldiers.
“How long have you been here?” Bucky asked the doctor as they walked alongside a football pitch. Tents appeared everywhere, across the grass and concreted areas. So many, in fact, that he doubted there could be any way in walking between them. It reminded him of a shanty town like he’d seen on the television.
“Since the outbreak,” the doctor replied. “We’re lucky that this place is very well protected, by walls I mean. When Day Zero occurred, people caught outside in the area came here.”
Bucky frowned. “Day Zero?”
The doctor turned to him. “Yes, when the outbreak happened. It’s known as Day Zero. Have you managed to follow any of this on the radio or anything?”
“No,” Johnny piped up from somewhere behind them. “One of our friends used to keep us updated on things, but he, well, you know…”
The doctor nodded and pulled back the entrance to the tent. “Come in. We’ll need to get you registered.”
Inside Bucky found various people in army uniform scattered here and there. Some studied maps on tables, some were chatting, but it appeared that a whole lot of nothing was taking place within the temporary shelter.
“Captain Cardell, four refugees.” A middle-aged man bearing short, dark hair lifted his eyes from his paperwork. “They’re clean. Passed the test with flying colours.”
Cardell dropped his pen and leant back on his chair.
“Where are you from?” he asked in a stern tone.
As usual, the three behind remained silent, volunteering Bucky to be their spokesperson.
“Truth is, sir, we don’t really know.”
“It’s Captain, and what the hell do you
