SurvivorZ: Grave Harbor

32

MIKE

From the third-story office window of Mystic physician, Doctor Alvin Kline, Mike watched Boston burn. The air force attack on the city's hospital-laden West End shrouded the southern sky in a thick, grey pall. It almost looked like a storm had settled over the city. He supposed it had, in a way.

"The city's getting burned to a crisp. Are you sure you still want to go out?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at the balding medic changing the dressing on Donna's gunshot wound.

"You should stay off your leg and give it a chance to heal," Kline grumbled, jumping at the opportunity to restate his professional opinion.

"There's no time for that. Mystic is depending on us," Donna huffed. "We have to get out there and collect our winter stockpile before it's too late."

"I don't think we're going to run out of zombies anytime soon," Mike countered.

"I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about how much harder it'll be to trap them once the power grid goes down on the other side of the river. We knew it'd happen eventually, but figured we still had a few more weeks before things started to fail on their own. We hadn't anticipated the air force showing up and making such a mess of things."

Mike bit his tongue and turned back to the fiery view outside. He knew all about the bombardment planned at the start of the month, but that wasn't something they needed to know.

It was too soon to say if the people inhabiting the Mystic Generating Station would end up becoming their enemies or allies. Until he and the sergeants shared one mind about them, the plan was to keep playing along like the helpful new recruits they were pretending to be.

Emerson probably thought he was being clever in splitting the newcomers up; having them perform menial jobs in different, unrestricted areas of the compound. Divide and conquer and all that. Keeping them separated and watched every moment of every day was a good measure against potential saboteurs. Against spies like them, significantly less so.

Dividing their band gave them three unique perspectives as they learned the ins and outs of Mystic's operation. While Mike patrolled outside the gates with Donna, they assigned Sergeant Roy to work the south docks and put Sergeant Crispin on maintenance duty by the east warehouses. Grunt work to be sure, but as both soldiers could attest, nobody loved spreading gossip more than a grunt.

"I suppose I'm only wasting my breath telling you to go easy on your leg," Kline muttered as he finished tending to Donna's wound, "but go easy on it."

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," Mike said. "You're barely able to hobble faster than one of those things out there. If we get into a situation—"

"Someone needs to show you the ropes." Donna hopped off the examination bed with a wince and a sharp intake of air. "If it makes you feel any better, I promise I'll stay in the truck and let you do all the heavy lifting. How does that sound?"

"Not as encouraging as I'd like, but I guess it'll have to do." Mike didn't admit that he already had first-hand knowledge of their capture process, thanks to the two hunters he observed in action days ago. He hoped Donna wouldn't see through his ruse while he continued to play dumb.

Kline produced a bottle of pills from a locked cabinet and handed them to her. "This is for the pain. Take one every four hours as needed."

"Will do. Am I good to go now?"

"Unless you've suddenly decided to listen to reason," Kline grumbled. "Yes, you can leave."

"Great!" She pocketed the pill bottle and limped to the door with her cane. "C'mon, partner. We've got work to do."