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Now, they only run the generator for three hours a day. That totals to twenty-one hours for the week, and on Tuesdays the guys leave the bunker for a few hours, to find more gas and other supplies to get them through another week. They have maybe three weeks' worth of reserves, but it's better to be prepared, which is why he's suiting up right now to walk back into Hell.
Chad is really starting to hate Tuesdays.
He cant remember the names or specs for any of the guns, but he knows them by sight and feel and weight, he could tell them all apart with his eyes closed. His hands move to load them, check and double check, and he automatically leaves the safety off on his favourite. That one goes in his shoulder holster. Behind him, Troy's doing the same thing with his crossbow, although Chad has a hell of a lot more guns.
The other guys go through their routines as usual, familiar enough that Chad can almost recognize their movements as the same intricate, superstitious dance before a game. The game's changed now, of course, but the pattern is the same. Troy bounces back on the balls of his feet, his head bopping to music only he can hear. Zeke kisses the pictures in his wallet for good luck (mother, father, older sister, younger sister -- they're all dead now) and leaves the wallet in his bunk.
Three weeks ago, Jason would have been there too, tossing his lucky coin into the air and catching it. He flicked the edge with his thumb when he tossed it up into the air, so it caught the light and reflected it every which way when it spun back down. He left the coin by the door, like he always did.
Jason is dead now, too.
Chad killed him.
-
The doors open at eight, which is long after sunrise but still gives them plenty of time to get around the city.
"Remember," Gabriella says grimly, "Lock-up's at eight PM, 2000 hours. If you aren't back by then, don't come back till next Tuesday." She says the same thing every week. Nobody stops her. It's a routine.
Mr. Bolton is guarding the door this Tuesday. He nods at Troy, his face emotionless. Chad can't bring himself to call the man "Coach" any longer - basketball season seems a lifetime away. The coin is still on a shelf beside the door, and Chad touches it for good luck.
"Come back to me," Gabriella is whispering to Troy. Chad and the other guys all pretend that they're busy with their equipment, but they really can't help but listen in. Privacy is a thing of the past.
In another lifetime, Chad would have thought it was sickening. The way Troy and Gabi fawned all over each other, the way they always made overly sweet public displays. This world, however, leaves no room for private moments, and instead Chad feels jealous. Troy has someone to say goodbye to, on Tuesdays.
"I love you, Gabi,"
"I love you, Troy," and she tears up every single time.
Chad doesn't want to listen, so he grabs the empty duffel and heads to the doorway, leaning against the frame and scowling at the heavy metal surface.
"Are you ready?" Troy asks, coming up behind him. He used to be more upbeat, but he hasn't tried to give a pep talk in a lot of Tuesdays. They fell flat when he'd tried, anyway.
The former wildcats murmured affirmations, and then Mr. Bolton opens the door.
Troy leaves the bunker first, because he's holding the crossbow. It used to be a joke weapon, but it can make a silent kill at thirty paces. Chad and Zeke are next, because if the crossbow isn't enough they're carrying the heavy artillery. Kelsi is in the middle, the only one with first aid training. She's unarmed, but only because she's the one carrying the first aid kit. If it comes down to a fight, Chad has three guns she can get at easily enough.
Tomas and Alan bring up the rear, more guns and ammunition as needed.
The streets are silent and deserted, but they've barely taken a few steps out of the door when Troy sees movement. A quick hand gesture has the party stopped in it's tracks, Chad raising his gun and sighting where he'd seen the bright flash of colour. There's a lump in his throat the size of a baseball.
It's been a while since they've needed to cancel a Tuesday outing, but it's a possibility nonetheless. Or at least, it is until Chad hears a soft voice say, "Bolton?"
Troy hears it too. "Who's there?" he calls, his voice so low it's barely audible.
It takes a long, tense moment, and then everyone blinks when Ryan Evans steps out into the street.
It says something about the way he's moving that they didn't hear him approach. It says something else that he looks the same as ever, immaculately clean and fresh. His jeans look freshly pressed, and while the plain black t-shirt isn't really his usual style, the glittery, sparkly hat he's wearing definitely is. He's holding a baseball bat in one hand, balanced on his shoulder, and is carrying a duffel in his other. "Morning," He says, and smiles.
Strangely, Sharpay's standing a few steps behind him, but she doesn't look anything like her former self. She's not pristine and fresh-faced like her brother, her skirt is wrinkled and her shirt torn. She's standing in her bare feet, with dirt streaked up her calves to her knees, but her eyes are steely and she's holding a shotgun with the kind of familiarity that means she's had to use it.
Troy points them toward the door of the bunker. And then, Chad's Tuesday proceeds as expected.
-
They arrive back at the bunker at six PM, having raided a grocery store, pharmacy, and a Wal-mart. They've siphoned enough gasoline from abandoned cars to keep the generator running for another week, which means that life is going to pause until next Tuesday.
As far as Tuesdays go, this one wasn't too bad. They only encountered one of the - things - that had taken over, and Troy had killed it with the crossbow. No trouble.
Chad grabs a bowl of food - some kind of pasta and meat combo - and sits on his bunk, eating as he stars at the wall. Nobody talks to him.
Troy and Gabi cuddle over on the next bunk. Chad doesn't look.
Ryan looks the same as he ever did, with the exception of the baseball bat. Once upon a time, Chad and Ryan had played baseball. Frowning at his meal, Chad tries to remember the game. Had he won? When did they play? He can't remember any of that, only the expression on Ryan's face afterward: sad and lonely.
-
"What the fuck?" Alan shouts, and everyone else turns to look. Sharpay's upper arm is a mess, Chad can see bite marks, places where flesh had been gouged out.
Sharpay glares at him, adjusts the silver sparkly scarf that had been doubling as a tourniquet and fashion accessory. "Volume control, asshole," She snaps.
It's the bite mark that they notice, that everyone tenses at the sight of. They know what it means, that she's been bitten. Kelsi backs off, her eyes wide. She wallows convulsively, as if she doesn't know what to say. "One of them -- bit you," She chokes out.
"Thank you, Kelsi." Sharpay retorts. "Anyone else want to state the obvious? If you're not going to pretend to help me, just fuck off."
"Shar," Ryan says sharply. "Shut up." He kneels beside her, with a plastic bottle of water, and a small first aid kit. "Let me see how bad it is."
Everyone watches Ryan as he checks the wound, washes it with water and spreads antiseptic cream over it. Chad finishes eating and watches from his bunk, curious and a bit terrified. Even when clean, it looks terrible - bright red and swollen, flesh puffing out around the puncture wounds.
"It's getting worse," Sharpay tells her brother quietly, her voice strangely even.
Chad strains to hear any kind of emotion in Ryan's voice, but the blond boy is just as matter-of-fact as his sister when he replies.
"I know."
-
It's been a long time since the week became anything less than the dark, unrelenting expanse of time between Tuesdays. There isn't much light in the bunker, and it smells like sweat and fear inside, which makes it difficult to do anything but dwell on the misery of the situation. Chad closes his eyes and sees his parents faces, crazed and rotting, before he'd shot them. He can't remember what his mother smile looked like before - all his memories have been superimposed with the god-awful grimace she wore when she'd died.
Most of the people in the bunker have figured out the only safe pastime. Sex used to be a big deal, back when he was a high school kid. Now, it's just another way of staving off the inevitable gibbering madness.
Jesus, Chad thinks, remembering the first time Jason had climbed into Chad's bunk. It had been awkard, neither of them had known what they were doing.
Chad wishes, fervently, that it was Tuesday.
-
There's nothing better to do, so Chad watched Sharpay. She's always been untouchable, but now the only person who touches her is Ryan. Ryan checks her arm twice a day, uses half of his daily ration of water to clean it, puts on fresh gauze and bandages her arm as good as new. Every day, Sharpay says "It's getting worse, Ry," and every day her twin replies "I know."
Chad thinks that there is a hell of a lot that neither of them is saying.
And then it's finally Monday, so Chad begins to prepare.
-
There's a standard list for Tuesday, things that they have to bring back to the bunker to survive another week. Food is a good one, canned and non-perishable items. Nothing frozen, nothing fresh, because those things will rot in the bunker. Bottled water is nice, but it's usually too heavy to carry - if they have to stop and fight, water's the first thing they drop. Gasoline for the generator, ammunition for their guns. It's standard and everyone knows it, so they don't bother adding anything to the list. If they can find clean clothes, blankets, soap - those things get tossed in a duffel and brought back as well.
Chad has his own list. He writes it on Monday night, and he always brings back the things on his list. Always.
Most of the guys on the Tuesday shifts never think about the extras, the things that make life in an underground bunker tolerable. The things that keep people from breaking down. Chad remembers his list because it's important, and this week he adds more to the list.
Painkillers. Antibiotics, and vitamins. Bandages for Sharpay's arm. Batteries for flashlights, batteries for the digital camcorder, batteries for watches. Instant coffee, and cigarettes, and condoms - Chad's list grows longer and longer in his mind.
-
Troy is staring at the wall with blank eyes. Occasionally, he'll turn his gaze to Sharpay, who he watches with something not unlike suspicion. Her arm has, in fact, gotten worse, swollen from shoulder to wrist and looking horribly infected.
"We're going to have to kill her," Troy says conversationally. "Eventually."
There's a flash of anger, foreign enough that it takes Chad a moment to identify the emotion. "She's not dead yet," he says. Chad has killed his mother, and his father, and his lover, and his friends. He's only hoping that his sister is alive, somewhere. For one reason or another, Chad is starting to hate Troy. Troy has Gabriella. Troy has his father. Troy hasn't needed to kill anyone he cared about.
Everyone else is probably thinking the same thing, though, which makes it worse. Because Chad knows -- if it were his sister, who'd been bitten. He would take care of her until she died.
And after she died --
-
Ryan goes with them on Tuesday. The group splits up, because Ryan is carrying a first aid kit and that makes him a medic. Troy takes Kelsi and Zeke and Alan, heading towards the grocery store. "Don't forget to grab some ravioli," Chad reminds him.
Troy looks at him like he had just said 'Please don't die,' which is probably what Chad meant, anyway. "I won't."
Ryan and Tomas and Jeff go with Chad.
They can't make too much noise without attracting attention, but Chad makes sure everyone's moving as quickly as possible. He doesn't let them stop to rest, doesn't let them pause out in the open. Any time he hears a noise loud enough to make the origin a trouble spot, he heads in the other direction.
They raid a convenience store for batteries and chocolate and bottled water, Chad pauses to grab a few cans of coke as well. Ryan doesn't complain, even though they're loading him up with most of the heavy stuff to carry. He balances the baseball bat on top of his duffel.
Turning a corner, Tomas mutters "Shit," when he spies the three creatures crawling around a dumpster. They're half-decomposed, so probably easy to kill - but too much noise will bring the stronger ones running.
Chad gestures, and the group takes a step back - and another.
They turn - and there's another one, dirty and blood-covered, pigtails only half-attached to its head by a scrap of skin, but its eyes are still paying attention.
All four of them stare at it, because it's -- it's a child, or at least it was, a little girl still wearing a lacy yellow dress. Even the blood covering her front doesn't make her any less of a child.
It's a long time before anyone moves, and then the child-thing is rushing towards them, snarling softly. Chad raises his gun, terrified, because the sound of the gun means they're going to have to drop their duffel bags and book it as fast as they can --
Ryan moves faster than Chad had expected. A soft, squishy sound like a melon breaking, as Ryan's baseball bat connects with it's head. Chad and the others flinch as blood spatters, but it falls to the ground and doesn't move. It's head is pretty much gone.
Ryan is still holding on to the duffel bag with one hand, his face is pale. His hat is on the ground, dust on the brim and spattered with blood and pieces of bone or brain from the thing he'd just killed.
"Let's go," Jeff mouths at them, gesturing towards the street. Chad nods, indicating the things crawling around the dumpster. They don't want to gather any more attention.
-
"Stop," Ryan says a minute later. They all pause as he puts down the duffel, stumbles to the side of the street, and is quietly sick in the gutter.
Chad looks away, keeping watch. Tomas does the same, but Jeff, puts down his duffel and walks over to stand beside Ryan, one hand on his back, the other taking his baseball bat away.
After a few more minutes, Ryan mutters "Thanks," and takes the baseball bat back. He rummages through his pockets, finally uncovering a wet-nap which he uses to clean the bat. He looks different, sadder than he's been all week.
"You okay?" Tomas asks.
"That was my last hat," Ryan replies, which is as good as a no.
-
On Tuesday, Chad finds a black fedora with a dark green ribbon, he puts it in his duffel beside a bag of chips. He also grabs a blowtorch and a vial of morphine.
-
The day after Tuesday, Chad sits beside Sharpay on her bunk. "Let me see your arm," He says.
She's a scary girl, and Chad is even more scared when she listens to what he has to say and then agrees. She doesn't even flinch when he cuts down her arm, skin peeling back because it's so swollen. The knife cuts deep enough to drain away the stuff inside, stuff that Chad doesn't look at too closely. She doesn't move away when he cuts away all the bits that look black and rotten, although when he looks up to see her face, tears are running down her cheeks and her mouth is open, her breathing harsh. He cuts away everything that looks infected, and then he tries to put her back together.
Sharpay's a fucking trooper, he'll give her that. When he says as much afterward, when he's finished bandaging the wound as well as he can, Sharpay raises an eyebrow. "Who asked you, tall person?"
-
Two days after Tuesday, Chad sleeps the entire night, and doesn't have a single nightmare.
-