The North (#wattys2016)

Chapter 6

Doug Manybears was scanning the area around the armory for anything that might be a threat to our defenses while Sid leaned over the parapet, flicking ash from a burning cigarette every few seconds.

“We need to talk,” I said, mustering a bit of firmness in my voice.

“Sounds serious,” said Doug, a spindly Sarcee from the Tsuu T’ina nation. He was the improviser of the team. He’d lost not only his family, but his entire Indian band in the weeks after Day Zero, and somehow, incredibly, he managed to fight his way from the outskirts of the city into the very heart of creep-infested territory. We found him under the cover of darkness in that same parking compound where we burn the bodies. He was cut to ribbons and ensnared in the razor wire after he’d scaled the chain link fence. It took us a month to mend his wounds and bring him back to full strength – all of us marveling at the mere fact that he somehow survived against incalculable odds. It gave all of us hope that we too might survive even though we were losing people ever few days.

“It is serious,” I replied.

Sid leaned onto one elbow and dropped his smoldering cigarette butt on the cold cement walkway, stubbing it out with his heel. “We know about Sanctuary Base, so spill. What do you know?”

Sid lost his father during the opening days of the siege. He’d been an only child: his mother died bringing him into the world and on the few occasions when I’d hang out over at Sid’s house, there was a layer of tension between Sid and his Dad that was so thick, you’d need an industrial cutter to slice through it. Standing at six foot four and with hands the size of dinner plates, he was brawny and utterly fearless during the dozens of terrifying breaches of our security. We’d fought side by side and he was ready to lay down his life to protect my kid sister, Jo. We all were. I just hoped he was going to back me on what I was going to say next.

I read Sgt. Green’s letter and filled the pair in on the broadcast from Sanctuary Base. I told them about bugging out to Lake Louise or heading to Prince Albert National Park, and the entire time, both listened attentively, each throwing me the occasional nod.

“We’re going to fight our way out of the city,” I said, deciding that a matter-of-fact approach would buy me more goodwill than say, for example, my raising a shaky hand and offering myself up as a volunteer to be in charge. “We’re taking both APC’s. Sid … I want you in the turret for my carrier. Doug, you’ll be our driver and Kenny will drive the other one. Cruze is the unit 2IC and will be in charge of the other carrier. Kate Dawson will be my second while we’re mobile. Mel will be the gunner in Cruze’s machine and Jo is coming with us. We’re going to break out of the city and head northwest until we’re clear of town.”

I’d been expecting push-back from Sid, and surprisingly, it didn’t come.  He looked at Doug and then back at me and said, “About fucking time we’re out of here. I’m good with being a turret gunner so consider me a second set of eyes. As for Dawson … whatever. She’s usually got her shit together.”

“Good,” I said. I could hear the sound of approaching footsteps from the stairwell leading back into the armory.

Doug opened the cotton duck accessory bag for the radio and reached inside. “I’m going to put the ten-foot whip antennae on, maybe that will make the broadcast come in clearer.”

“Not a bad idea,” said Sid as he slipped the night vision goggles over his head.

It was still dark outside as everyone gathered at the sentry post. A strong breeze pushed the whip antennae Doug secured on the radio back and forth with each little gust, the mast tapping against the parapet every few seconds. Doug had also just installed a fresh battery into the bottom of the man pack and cleaned the connections for the handset and small speaker that was no bigger than saucer.