New Face in Town
Even though the gate guards were out of practice from nearly two years of doing nothing but sitting on their asses, the procedure to admit the new arrival went quite smoothly. Courtney didn’t notice any difference between the way she was brought in and the way this other survivor was brought in. Actually, when she thought about it, every arrival she had seen while living in Eastpointe was exactly the same.
Meticulous.
First came the siren. It reminded people that, “Hey, the gate’s open at the moment, but don’t worry.” The siren was then followed by however many gunshots were necessary to remove any undead opposition nearby. In this case there was only one.
The business-suited zombie finally got the headshot it was asking for, which appeased Courtney. After all, she had given it the middle finger yesterday and was kind of worried it might hold a grudge. At least she didn’t have to worry about that one anymore.
Then came the part where the outer gate would screech along its rails as it opened up. Whoever was outside would then drive their vehicle into the ‘decontamination area’ between the inner and outer gates. The outer gate would close, the sirens would cease their noise, and instructions would be shouted down to the new arrivals.
There was just one this time—some man driving a jeep with bloody bits of hair and scalp dangling from the bull bars in front. Courtney knew how those bits of body parts got there. When she had been out on her own before arriving at Eastpointe, the bull bars on her humvee looked exactly the same. It was caused by plowing over zombies at high speeds.
Then came the part when the man in the jeep was ordered to step out of the vehicle. The inner gate screeched open and the guards came inside the decontamination zone. They searched the vehicle and the man, asking him to raise his shirt and lift his sleeves so they could check for any evidence of infection.
Courtney could remember her own fear and uncertainty when this scrutiny was being performed on her. Despite the .45 Socom holstered on one hip and the wakizashi sheathed on the other, she was scared while the guards searched her and her humvee. She knew she was taking quite a risk by putting her faith in people she didn’t even know and quite possibly insane for purposely letting her guard down. The new arrival, however, didn’t appear too startled and wasn’t noticeably trembling. He stood back and didn’t say a word as they searched his jeep.
Normally, after this part, the new arrival was welcomed in, briefed on the situation by the New Arrival Committee, introduced to the Superintendent, given a house—as there were plenty that were still unoccupied—and allowed once-only free shopping at the Eastpointe Plaza in order to gain back some of the possessions they were most certainly forced to leave behind and to help ease the tension of arriving in a town full of strangers. Then, after they were settled in, they were interviewed and given a job they were most suited for. While the Committees kept hoping another doctor would waltz through the gate—as there were only three in all of Eastpointe —most new arrivals ended up being a mechanic, farm hand, or electrician.
However, before he could even be let out of the decontamination zone, one of the guards saw something on the man’s inner forearm that gave him quite a start. Courtney and Alexis and the others watching then saw it too.
A bite wound.
The guard asked the man, “When did that happen?”
And by this question, Courtney knew what the guard really meant was: How long before I have to shoot you?
Instead of panicking, the new arrival calmly stated in a very elegant and persuasive French-Canadian accent: “I can explain this. I just need to speak with whoever’s in charge.”
A little more conversation followed, but the voices became so hushed that neither Courtney nor the others were able to hear. It ended with the new arrival being seated on the back of a golf cart and escorted to the hotel.
But he had been bitten.
What the hell was going on?
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