Horror

The Two Bridges

By AJ

Six weeks ago the dead stopped staying dead in Saint Auberon, a river city of four hundred thousand. The outbreak moved faster than any quarantine. Now the city is sealed: bridges mined, roads blocked, the army pulled back to a line ten miles out and shooting anything that crosses it. Nobody inside is getting out, and nobody outside is coming in. The living have organized around what still works. Two intact bridges give access to the river, and a walled grain yard on the north bank holds enough food to last a winter if it can be defended. A hospital tower on the south bank still has a generator and a pharmacy on the third floor. Between these three places runs a fragile truce among people who would not have shared a bus seat six weeks ago. You have been holding the south bridge since the second week. You know the swarms, you know the streets, and you know exactly how thin the margin is. What is left to decide is what the survivors become: a camp that lasts until spring, or something worse than the dead. Who you are: You have held the south bridge since the second week, one of the few people both Pastor and Deke trust to move between their camps. You know the streets, the swarms and the thin margin better than almost anyone left alive.

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