Fever 01

Three weeks ago, the first case for Colis-Hersch Fever was reported. A week ago, the entire eastern coast was in a state of panic and disarray. Two days ago, the world had ended.

Hannah laughed out loud when she thought about it. When she pictured a zombie apocalypse, she saw a metropolis overrun with animated corpses, stumbling and groaning for human flesh. Not in Canada. In Canada, the zombies froze to death before they even took their first bite. In small town Barrhead, there were a total of four-thousand corpses and about a dozen zombies.

So the End of Days was not as blood-drenched, gut spilling, bullet-popping as she thought it'd be. In fact, she didn't even have a gun. All she had was the steel baseball bat that had belonged to her late brother. But she hadn't killed one person with it yet. The Fever and the cold did enough of that on its own.

When her mom got sick, Dad kicked her out. A few days later, her parents were both dead. Her brother had luckily died years before this had all happened. But for some reason, Hannah missed him the most, especially after her father succumbed to the Fever. Vince used to laugh at death all the time, then come up with all the answers on how to feel better.

Communication was cut off a bit over twenty-four hours ago, along with power, people, and goods. No gas, no supplies. No meals.

"Better time to learn to hunt than ever," she muttered to herself. All the stores had their doors wide open, signs saying to take what you need and leave the rest, but to think there'd be a scrap of food left would be to think miracles grew on trees. Any food to be found would have to be out in the bush.

The people who were still alive were shacked up all over the town, but to pinpoint them was impossible. Small as Barrhead was, four-thousand was a lot of people, and called for a lot of dwellings. All the people Hannah knew were dead, and she was apprehensive about meeting new friends and neighbours, especially now. Zombies she could find morbidly funny. Hungry strangers... she didn't know what to expect.

So out she went. So far, grief hadn't struck. It was easy to keep it tucked on the back shelf of her mind as she started to brainstorm just how to find wildlife and then how to kill it.

Shit. How'm I gonna cook it?

She added learning to make fire to her to do list.

When Dad kicked her out, she stayed at a hotel until she found a more permanent place to lodge. She walked across the parking lot—had only one corpse in it, post Fever. Past that was the Tire Warehouse, Bulk Barn, and A&W. Eighteen corpses, all previous zombies as well. Hannah was starting to think she wouldn't find a body that wasn't a zombie first. They wore undershirts, underwear, pyjamas, or sometimes nothing at all. One was wearing a pretty flashy winter coat. Hannah brushed the snow off, rolled the body over, and stripped it of its coat. He would have wanted her to have it, anyway.

Highway 18 was just beyond the fast food place. Beyond that was where Barrhead ended and Alberta country began. She would rummage around for a few hours at least, just before sunset, before going back to her room and finding a way to make it warmer. Hopefully she'd have some dinner with her too. She tried not to think about what might happen if she didn't.

She walked right out to the animal crossing sign and started to march through the snowbank. "O—kay, cold, cold." She balanced on one foot to wrench off the other boot and shake the snow out. Walking more carefully, she reached the treeline and shimmied her way into the thicket.

All her life, bless her small town soul, she never played in the bush. It was like a girl living in New York never going to downtown. But she knew enough kids that did, growing up. Landmarks were set up by said children, and even if you've never seen them, you knew exactly where Tommy Hilkes and Candy Kaminski made out when someone mentioned the Billiards Tree, or where Vanessa Forsyth got chased down by a moose when the Bunker Fort was identified. Hannah wasn't afraid of getting lost in the least. The first landmark she should find was the Stick Teepee. From there she would approach the Crater and then make the hike to the Clearing. Hopefully that would be far enough in that she would find some sort of wildlife.

She blanked all the way through the trees up until she saw a coyote. It froze—she froze—they stared at each other.

Oh, shit, a coyote—are those dangerous?

she thought. Then it bolted.

"Oh, no, no, no!" She took off after it, tripping and stumbling on roots and branches, cursing to herself frantically the further away it got. If she let it get away, who knew how long it would take for her to find her next meal. Already she knew it wasn't likely she'd catch up to the damn thing and even less likely she'd be able to kill it with a bat. But she had to try; she was too hungry not to.

With some bizarre twist of fate the coyote yelped and jerked to a halt. All her muscles tightened as she pushed and shoved herself through the trees as fast as possible to get to it—

Don't let it get away, goddammit, Hannah!

It was caught in a bear trap. That should have caught her attention and set off all her alarms, but instead she immediately went to calculating just how to kill the animal. Whining and shivering, it was hers for the killing. Put it out of its misery and eat well that night. Well, as well as well could get anymore. But as she gripped and regripped her bat, trying to find the best angle to bludgeon the dog, she found it impossible to even lift the bat above her head. The very idea of hitting the coyote was revolting. Her arms wouldn't comply.

"Come on," she growled. Shifting to the side and stepping away, she tried again. She couldn't get the bat past her shoulder.

A snort drew her attention away from the dog and onto a very, very large animal.

Standing on four legs, the moose had at least a good two feet on her—and that was only at the shoulder. Its antler span was at least as wide as she was tall, and each of its legs was just as thick as she was. It was the biggest fucking moose she knew she'd ever see—if she got the chance to live after this.

"Fuck," she whispered. It was not two meters away from her. The moose snorted again.

Okay, what did she know about moose? Vanessa was chased by one once. She climbed up a tree and hollered for help for a good hour. That was all Hannah knew.

All right... what did she learn in the movies? If it's big, don't move and it can't see you.

She remained frozen to place, stiller than a goddamned statue, and stared.

The moose took a step forward. The coyote yelped louder than ever. She nearly shit her pants.

Something sliced the air so thin she didn't hear it until it

thunked

into the skull of the moose. The animal staggered like it was drunk and was just punched in the face. An arrow stuck out from just behind its eye, black shaft and fletchings, so thin she almost missed it. The moose turned blindly. Another arrow plunked right in the middle of its eyes.

The moose made a weird groaning noise, almost sounding like a big metal ship creaking and shifting. It started to teeter towards Hannah and the coyote....

"Shit! Shit!" She tripped over her own feet and threw herself backward—and in just enough time. The moose landed just where her toes had been, effectively crushing the coyote and shaking the ground like an earthquake. Hannah lay in the snow gasping, muttering incoherent blasphemies in between breaths.

"You sick?"

Hannah whipped her head around. She didn't see anybody. Man's voice. "Hello?"

"Said you sick?"

What does that even—oh!

"No! No, not sick."

She heard soft footfalls crunching in the snow, approaching from somewhere to the right. She searched and searched, but saw no one. He had to have come from that direction though; that was where the arrows had flown in from. As she craned her neck for a better vantage, she heard a soft

click

next to her ear. He had circled around and come up from behind. She didn't dare turn to face him.

"Weapons?" he asked.

"Baseball bat."

"Ammo?"

"N... o."

"Food?"

"Food?" she parroted, turning her head. "You got... any...."

The man standing behind her had a crossbow trained to her eye. The arrow point was not three inches from her face.

"Where're yer people?" He spoke like a tradesman.

It took her a few seconds to register that she needed to reply. She gave a slight shake of her head.

"You realize if I catch you lyin', there're dire consequences in it fer ya."

This time she nodded.

He pulled away the crossbow and held out his other hand. It was crusted with dirt. Before she took it, she looked up into his face. He had sounded old—maybe in his fifties or sixties—but the face she saw was about as half as aged. Much more handsome, too; strong brow and jaw, squared chin, watery green eyes she could swim in. He looked at her expectantly. When she grabbed his hand, it tingled hers.

When she was on her feet, the stranger abandoned her and looked to the moose, humming and hawing over its body. Hannah turned her focus from the meat to the man. He was covered in exemplary Canadian hunting clothes: a furry brown ushanka, plaid winter jacket, thick snow pants, and big white rubber boots. His winter gloves were stuffed into the pockets of his coat. He was tall, and even though he was wearing multiple layers, she could tell he was lean from the gaunt look in his face.

The man pulled out a knife from his pants pocket and knelt down between the moose's legs.

"What're you doing?" she blurted. He payed her little attention as he sliced the moose open.

Hannah gagged and turned away. She even resorted to stuffing her fingers in her ears when the sounds of tearing flesh made her belly flip and flop. After a few minutes he said, "Could you lend me a hand here?"

She turned reluctantly, keeping her eyes downcast and her fingers still planted in her ear canals. He pointed. "Get me my bag."

She sought out the sack and brought it to him. It smelled like mouldy basement and looked older than her. She laid by his feet and he immediately dug into it, pulling out a newspaper.

Hannah threw up a little in her mouth as he hauled out a giant piece of moose out from its gut and let it splat on the paper. He did this several times, making her hurl up a bit of stomach acid at one point. "You got somewhere to go back to?" he asked as she spit up the last of her puke.

"Not really."

"I'll let you have some of this meat if you help me haul it back to the land."

It wasn't a hard decision. "Done."

When she turned, he handed her a bloody, rolled up newspaper. She turned right back around and dry heaved.

"Righ'. Well, you carry the bitch, I'll take the steak. C'mere and help me with this moose."

"What?" She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"We pull this moose off the dog and you carry it home."

Hannah must have grimaced, for the man scoffed, rolled his eyes, and waved her over. "Git over here!"

She complied and approached him, albeit sheepishly. He knelt before the two front legs, and she knelt by the hind. When he grabbed onto the limbs, so did she. "On three," he said.

On cue, they threw their weight into hauling the thing backward. God, but did it weigh a ton! She had never tried to pull something so heavy!

"Are you sure we can move this thing?" she asked once they both stopped tugging.

"Slow n' easy, we can get the job done."

"Okay."

He counted to three again and they heaved. Again. And again. After the sixth try, the moose started to budge. Hannah yelped in surprise and pulled harder.

"Careful," the man wheezed, all but trembling from the exertion. Finally the moose shifted back a good foot; Hannah slipped and landed on her ass, and the stranger pulled himself to his feet using the moose for leverage. The coyote, now squished beyond recognition, was fully exposed. The stranger went to inspect it.

"Norma might be able to fix 'er up," he said, shoving the bloody mess with a toe. He then unclasped the bear trap and pulled the coyote out of it. "'Fraid of gettin' dirty?"

"Er... no."

"Good. 'Cause yer gonna."

He lifted up the coyote, stomped up to Hannah, and deposited the corpse into her arms. She wrinkled her nose and turned her head away, careful not to look at it. It felt unsettling to be carrying something dead and broken in her arms.

The man collected the other meat and shoved it unceremoniously into his pack. Then he stood, making sure he had all his equipment about him, and started off on his way. Hannah scrambled to collect her baseball bat before hurrying after him.

They walked in silence for a good five minutes, the entire time Hannah wondering if he was pissed at her or not. Granted, the world had just ended—everybody had the right to be moody. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she had done something to make him angry. She had always been timid like that, eager to please and desperate to stay in everyone's good graces. He was certainly in hers; he could have just well saved her life.

Oh, that's right!

"Um, thank you. You know. For the help."

He grunted, barely looking over his shoulder at her.

Another two minutes passed. "I'm Hannah, by the way."

He looked away into the trees, turning his head as far away as possible from her. "Bill."

She decided not to try and start another conversation for the rest of the walk.

* * *

"The Land" was nearly a day's walk away. Or at least in daylight terms; during the winter the days were short and fleeting; the sun would rise at nine and set at four. So she had a poor idea of what time it was when they came across the acreage, a good twenty or so kilometres from town. They made it in good time, too; any later and they would have been groping through the dark to get home.

From far down the road, Hannah could see a light guiding them forward. When they got close, she recognized it as a candle in a window.

"Leave your bat at the door," Bill said in a tone that broached no argument. They walked across the gravel driveway and someone opened a curtain to peek out. When they climbed the long porch, two more heads poked out. Hannah grew tense; she leaned the bat up against the garage on the way to the front door, feeling the earlier she ditched it, the better.

Bill opened the door and stepped inside. "It's me," he grumbled, setting down his bag and stepping out of his boots, "with visitor."

"Who's the visitor?" someone asked. A young man, pretending to be harsh and wary, by the sounds of it.

"Stray."

It stung. She must have looked it, too, for Bill glanced at her and ruefully added, "Name of Hannah."

A young man—maybe in his late teens—walked around the corner. He had a double barrel anchored in the crook of his shoulder. "Jesus," Hannah yelped, jumping and nearly dropping the coyote. Bill cursed something dreadful and the boy lowered his aim immediately.

"Idiot—twat—" Bill snatched the shotgun away from the kid and towered over him.

"Sorry, Bill. S'bein' cautious, is all."

"

You watched me walk up to the fuckin' house with her

," the man said so viciously that the boy cowered.

"William Secord!"

Bill straightened and slowly turned towards the main room, of which Hannah could not see. An older woman had called his name.

"You watch your mouth under this roof, you hear me?"

Bill pulled off his ushanka slowly (revealing a thinning crown of mousy brown hair) and let his backpack fall to the ground with a wet

smack

. He turned to walk up the set of stairs opposite. A door slammed in his wake.

Which left Hannah standing in the doorway holding a dead coyote with a person even more a stranger to her than Bill was.

The boy who'd threatened to blow her head to bits now eyed her... remorsefully? Brazenly? She couldn't get a read on what it was he was thinking. His gaze was so direct that she began to feel uncomfortable; she averted her eyes and shrank.

"What are you waiting for, Father Christmas?" the old woman from around the corner barked. "Close the door!"

Hannah grabbed for the door handle and slowly drew it closed. She then stepped out of her own boots (which were not as winter durable as Bill's were) and entered the house.

Candles were alight everywhere; the walls, furniture, and people were bathed in a soft orange glow. And there were

a lot

of people. More than Hannah had expected, anyway. There were three standing near the couches—a woman, a girl and a boy—and two more couples in the kitchen, one young, the other old. An old woman stood nearest to her, save for the teenage boy—with wispy blonde hair and a very prominent jaw. An apron was tied around her neck; across her hips it read: "Kiss Me and I Kick Your Ass." Immediately Hannah pegged this woman as the Norma that Bill had mentioned briefly.

"I suppose that coyote there is for me."

"Y—eah. Yes." Hannah stepped forward and went to deposit the dog in the woman's arms.

"What, you think I'm taking that bloody mess? Put it in the kitchen."

Hannah slipped past Norma and headed straight for the island counter. "

Not

on the

goddamn

granite, in the sink!"

If Hannah felt small around Bill, she felt miniscule in the likes of Norma. She closed her eyes and shuffled over to the sink in between both couples and gently laid the meat inside. Everyone's eyes were on her.

"Good. Well, she who carried it should be served," Norma declared. "If it tickles your fancy you can go take yourself a shower. But be stingy on the hot water, we can only make so much at a time."

Hannah blanched. "You have water?"

"Well, not for long, by the look on your face," Norma said, waving a hand dismissively. "Leave your coat down here and I'll get Ian here to tend to it. There are towels in the linen closet by the bathroom door—last door on the left."

The teenager, Ian, held out his hands expectantly for her coat, which was covered in fur and blood and who knew what else. She shrugged it off her shoulders, bundled it up, and handed it to him, keeping her eyes averted—he had that same look on his face since she walked in the house.

Everyone else was still staring at her like some sort of spectacle. She darted her eyes around and lifted a hand in greeting. "Hannah. Hi."

"I'll acquaint you over dinner, just go wash up for now," Norma ordered.

"'Kay...." Hannah turned on her heel and climbed up the stairs, feeling overly self-conscious about the amount of eyes trained on her back. She nimbly hopped up the stairs and slipped into the washroom, closing the door behind her swiftly.

The tears came easy, for she'd been holding them back since she started her walk with Bill. Two weeks ago she was planning a trip to Hawaii with her girlfriends once the whole Fever scare blew over. Two of them were dead and the other one fled for greener pastures. She was probably dead, too.

Life had knocked her down and was kicking hard. Strange people, strange place—parents dead, hopes and dreams snuffed. So many bodies.

She wanted to go back to the time her dad told her to leave and decide to stay.

To cover up the sound of her tears (and to not appear suspicious) she went to the tub-shower and turned on the water. She then looked for the switch to a fan and turned that on, too. A loud sob escaped her; she hid her face under her shirt, hoping no one had heard her and that no more sobs would come. Wiping away the tears, she took big breaths and tried to calm down. There would be another time.

She peeled off her shirt, jeans, socks and underwear like they were a second layer of skin. God knows she'd been wearing them long enough, they may as well have been. They reeked. She reeked. The shower would do her some immense good.

The bathroom mirror was straight across from her. Even with puffy red eyes, she was pretty. Her eyes were very round and a light blue. When she cried, they became aquamarine.