Plagues

Chapter 12

Over the next several days, Darwin and Mikaela worked slowly at getting back on good terms. Things became solid enough among us that Darwin and I explained our ventures down to the old Beaches to Kali. We still weren’t 100% sure about how Mikaela would react so we kept this to the three of us, promising Kali we would eventually tell Mikaela. Kali was cool with it, but she opted out of joining in. Although this was more reconnaissance than hunting, I could tell she wasn’t 100% comfortable with us going down, but comfortable enough that a promise of taking care was enough to keep her somewhat satisfied.

Darwin and I had been going every night we could, starting the day we planned it, but we kept coming up empty. We saw a few maniacs, but nothing startling. Everyone who lived down there was visibly shaky, and I don’t think it was because of withdrawal. They seemed to be looking out for something. They never ventured far from buildings or relations and friends. Once the sun went down, the streets were cleared quickly. After noticing this rapid vacancy of the streets when we came down around dusk, we decided to come down during regular daylight, to observe if it was just a coincidence of a day or so, or if it was something else. Without fail, every evening, as the sun started to set, there was anxious and restless talk of packing it in for the night, and by the time the sun was down, it was just Darwin and me outside. This process happened without fail, seven days a week, regardless of when we showed up.

As Darwin and I roamed the streets during the night, we’d see people peaking out of their makeshift homes that were the old, long abandoned buildings and shops, watching us with a certain wonder. We stayed off Queen Street and stuck to the back roads and alleys. We figured anything threatening would be lurking in the shadows out of sight. Most of the streetlights didn’t work, and the ones that did were in a sort of brown out - dim and flickering.

We went from Kingston Road and Queen Street, to Queen Street and Fallingbrook Avenue, where Queen Street ends as well as where it is closest to the water, thus making it the poorest and most maniac-active section of the street. To prepare for whatever we might find, we avoided engaging the maniacs. From the amount of carcases lying about in the streets, it seemed the residents were more than capable of disposing of maniacs anyway.

A lot of the old apartment buildings at this end were crumbling. The windows and glass doors were all gone and the frames were scantily boarded up. Our tac lights would catch curious and wondering faces concealed behind the boards. Some would stand in the small building foyers and whispered to each other, some even waved to us. Some ran off upon making eye contact with us, and others looked at us then turned their backs to us.

When we started being recognized as regulars here, people were coming up to us and asking us why we’re here. They were mainly wondering if we were the police, or BIOTRANS, or worked for the City or something like that. We assured them we were just regular civilians. That got them comfortable enough to invite us to their homes.

Most of the homes on the inside were really messy and cluttered with the occupant(s)'s belongings, and other sorts of equipment from before and during the outbreak, like refrigerators, or vehicle motors, or guns. Most of the stuff was no longer useable. Other homes, that weren’t cluttered, were bare completely. Not even any old furniture. They each explained to us that before the outbreak, they were ordinary middle class, law abiding citizens with jobs and families and what not. But after the outbreak, some of them lost their homes to real estate investors buying up evacuated properties, and selling it back to the highest bidder. Others had forgotten their regular social protocols and were just always angry, violent, and mostly became hermits. Some had taken the “criminal” route during the outbreak to survive, working with some of society’s questionable figures who seemed to be the best prepared. When things returned to normal, they were exiled to the Red Zone areas for their actions. This had created breeding grounds in all the poorer areas around Red Zones for criminal activity. None of it was really organized, just petty thefts and small time drug offences, break ins, and some more serious stuff like assaults, rapes, and murders. The police never paid too much attention to these areas as society had deemed them all lost causes. The additional danger of this lawless land, that was also hot with maniacs, was that it had driven away and kept away businesses and thus eliminating any stable employment opportunities for these people, perpetuating the poverty cycle. The rest of them just lived down here before the outbreak, held their ground here during, and refused to leave after.

They all asked us why we were down here so often if we weren’t the authorities or officials of any kind, and we’d tell them about the strange infected attacks. No one claimed to know anything, and many were very firm with their claims. Some didn’t even bat an eyelash at our reasoning and evidence and then also proceeded to quickly deny any knowledge of these attacks. If we proceeded with more related questions, they’d get very antsy and tense. Some would snap in shouting fits, some would urge us to go home and stay away. Luckily, nothing got physical.

The more we continued to come around, the less liked we became and the people went back to shunning us, though they never forcibly turned us away.