ARES Virus: Arctic Storm (26 page)

“Good lord, child. What have you been running through…and what’s this?” Kathy continues, peeling Emily’s shirt to the side.

“That’s where Mom bit me. It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Emily answers.

“Well, let’s get you…”

The conversation fades as the distance increases. Clarke and Hayward stare at each other.

“Did I just hear that she was bitten?” Clarke asks, incredulously.

“I don’t know. That’s what it sounded like. She never mentioned that when she was telling her story. We must have misheard. Come on, we need to catch up with Sarge,” Hayward states.

“Maybe,” Clarke replies, turning to follow but glancing back over her shoulder at Emily.

Outside of Pineville

September 5

“Why did you give the weapons away?” Hayward asks upon catching up to Brown.

“They weren’t ours to keep. Besides, we won’t need them where we’re going, and they would have to be explained once we reach the checkpoint. I don’t think it’s a terribly great idea to walk toward a law enforcement blockade while armed. I don’t see them reacting to that well,” Brown explains, stowing his handgun in his pack.

“Oh yeah. I guess we aren’t hiding or running away anymore at this point,” Hayward says. “I take it that we’re going to attempt to return?”

“That’s probably our best bet. Disappearing would be difficult. We have some time on our hands, so listen carefully. It’s important that we have the same story, and exactly the same story. I’m sure there will be some form of interrogation, maybe long, maybe short. And the questions will become increasingly picky and detailed, so we all need to have the same answers. If we get caught up on details, or become unclear, they’re going to get suspicious, and we need to avoid that at all costs. Be prepared: If they take us in, they’ll more than likely separate us for questioning, so keep your answers short and to the point. Don’t meander off topic or offer any information they don’t specifically ask for. If they comment that you’re not helping or volunteering information, say that you’re a little nervous and doing the best you can. That this is a rather sudden change for you. Explain that you were expecting to return home to a long shower and some sleep rather than sitting in a room being questioned,” Brown instructs.

Brown then details their pretend outing for a taste of wilderness survival: how they organized it, when they left, how they left, exactly what they did in minute detail, how they returned, how their car broke down while waiting in line, how they heard people talking and decided to walk to the roadblock in order to see if they could get through and arrive in time to check in; that they were instructed to leave their phones at home and that Brown’s died…every detail that they’d need to pass muster.

“Oh, and what happened can never be told to anyone. As I said, no late night whisperings, no drunken ‘oh my god, you won’t believe this story,’ no ‘you’re my best friend, I can trust you with this.’ This. Did. Not. Happen. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Of course, Sergeant,” both Clarke and Hayward answer.

“Tuck the lessons away in your bag of tricks, but never share where you learned them. And, I know I haven’t treated you like cadets, but remember who and what you are when we return.”

Tossing the woolen blankets to the side, they spend their time walking along the shoulder while Brown interrogates them on their weekend. Luckily, they look the part of having engaged in a wilderness survival exercise.

Working their way alongside stalled traffic moving only marginally faster than the three of them, they focus on the depth of their fake story, occasionally venturing back to what they went through. Their talk, although serious, is lighter than when they were escaping from the city. They are no longer confronted by hordes of ravenous infected or having to keep a constant watch for prowling helicopters and drones. Their immediate death isn’t potentially stalking them with each step they take. A hurdle still lies ahead, but it doesn’t include being chewed on or blasted into pieces. There’s still a slim chance that they may be made to disappear if their story falters or isn’t believed, but that’s ahead. For the moment, they are free and relatively safe.

A few hours later, the turnaround point comes into view. Officers from the state police and sheriff’s department are detouring vehicles to an off-ramp, across an overpass, and back onto the highway heading the opposite direction. Several vehicles from both departments block the road toward Pineville; red and blue lights strobe over the tops of the cars slowly filing toward the exit. More police cars line the highway. On both sides of the exit, two large truck stops are filled with news vans, their raised dish antennas pointing skyward. Just past the blockade, two attack helicopters circle lazily with others farther off on both sides. Their presence provides an effective deterrent to any reporters who may contemplate becoming heroes by sneaking through to get a closer look.

To the left, rising directly from the valley floor, is the ridgeline Brown and the cadets traveled through. Scattered across the plain are both large and small encampments, more numerous than when Brown observed them from the top of the hill. Black dots flitter back and forth in the blue late afternoon sky, looking very much like the bugs dancing wildly in the beams of sunlight within the woods. Hunter teams roam the inner perimeter and, in the far distance, a dark, smoky pall hangs over what used to be a thriving city. Looking at it all, Brown is frankly surprised they made it out at all and is thankful for the tunnels that provided cover past what would have otherwise been one of the more difficult legs of their journey. If they hadn’t been forced into that route, he doubts they would have made it far with only the trees to provide cover.

The speed at which the military quarantined the area only serves to further solidify the thought cycling through Brown’s mind that this was the result of an accidental release of a governmental viral agent. To Brown’s thinking, if it had been an unknown agent, they would have taken longer to determine what it was, and they certainly wouldn’t have bombarded a city into rubble without knowing exactly what they were dealing with. There would have been more rescue attempts. Brown realizes that he only saw his own little world, but it didn’t appear that any attempts were made. They were spotted several times and zero effort was made to contact or extract them. As a matter of fact, they were fired upon without being verified as a legitimate target. It appeared that everyone inside the perimeter was a target, infected or not. The only conclusion Brown can come up with is that the agent was known by the government from the outset.

This must be some nasty shit indeed
, Brown thinks, realizing that the thought must be one of his most Captain Obvious statements of all time.

There is one link in the chain that eludes Brown, and that is what in the hell something so bad as to cause this kind of reaction was doing on a school campus. Although he can visualize some geek biologist concocting some badass virus and strolling through campus as though they were carrying a snow cone at a fair, the response was too swift and deadly for that.

Working his way through the stalled cars, Brown approaches one of the officers diverting traffic onto the off-ramp.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask all of you to return to your vehicle,” the officer states, holding a hand up while the three of them are still several paces away.

“I’m Sergeant Brown. I’m stationed with the ROTC department at Pineville University, along with these two cadets,” Brown returns. “We’re looking to report in.”

While still directing traffic, the officer looks in askance at the three of them. Brown knows they don’t look much like a soldier and two students returning to campus life after a weekend away. To the officer, they must look as if they’ve been dragged through gravel behind a semi while simultaneously being repeatedly run over by a bus.

“Be that as it may, I can’t allow anyone past this point. You’re going to have to go back to your vehicle and find another way,” the officer responds, waving another vehicle toward the ramp.

“Our car broke down some miles back and our phones are dead. Is there any way you can contact the military command center and let them know that we’re here?” Brown queries.

“And how do you know there is such a thing?” the officer questions.

“Those aren’t news choppers,” Brown answers, pointing at the numerous dots in the sky.

“Well, I have no way of doing that. However, we do have a military liaison back at our HQ building. Go speak with Sergeant Mattson over at his car and give him your story. He may call in for you,” the officer states, pointing to one of the state patrol vehicles parked under the overpass.

The three thank the man and head toward another officer leaning against a parked patrol car. As they approach, the state trooper, her brown hair tied back in a tight bun, turns toward them and pushes her small frame away from the fender. Brown tells their story to the sergeant, relating their desire to get in touch with the military command.

“You could just call your command HQ from one of the truck stops. They take collect calls for this very reason,” she informs them.

“We could, but it’s been one hell of a weekend and frankly, I’m too tired to endure the BS we’ll have to go through. It’d be much easier if we just reported in to the command center here or to the liaison at your HQ,” Brown returns.

The sergeant chuckles, obviously knowing something about military bureaucracy. “I shouldn’t, but let me call in and see what I can do. You look like hell, by the way. Rough weekend?”

“You could say that. We’ve spent the weekend on a wilderness survival exercise,” Brown answers.

“Looks like it was a fun one,” Sergeant Mattson states.

“I think our definitions on that are worlds apart,” Brown comments.

Mattson chuckles again. “Wait here,” she says, heading inside her vehicle and communicating on the radio.

“Sergeant, they want to talk with you,” Mattson calls out of her window shortly after.

Brown takes the mic and begins communicating with a captain on the other end of the line, giving him their details.

“Sergeant, were you or any of the cadets with you in the city this weekend?” the captain asks.

“No, sir. We were conducting a survival training exercise this weekend up in the hills north of here. We ran into this traffic on our return. Our car made the unilateral decision that it was done with traveling, so we walked to this roadblock…and here we are,” Brown answers.

“So, just to get it straight. You, or any of those with you, weren’t in the city, or near it, for what, the past two…three days?”

“No, sir. We left Friday morning and are only now returning. We heard talk among the drivers and figured our best bet would be to get in contact with someone here. However, we aren’t allowed past this detour. So, sir, I had the sergeant contact you so someone would know we’re here. I’ve never been late to work a day in my life, and I don’t intend to start now.

“Very well, sergeant. Stand by.”

“Sergeant, remain in place. Someone will meet you there,” the captain radios a moment later.

Brown chats idly with the police sergeant, finding out that she was, in fact, in the Army. They begin exchanging stories in the way only those with shared experiences can. Hayward and Clarke stand off to the side, talking quietly among themselves. Movement along the highway from inside the blockade draws their attention, halting all conversation. Two Humvees come into view and park near the police cruiser. Brown pushes himself away from the fender and begins walking toward the two vehicles as a major exits. As the two near each other, Brown renders a salute, which the major returns.

“Sergeant Brown, reporting, sir.”

“Sergeant Brown, Major Skier. Do you have any ID on you?” the tall, thin major asks.

“I do, but I’m afraid it’s in sad shape,” Brown answers, reaching for his wallet.

“As long as the ID is readable, that’s fine.” Skier asks, accepting the ID.

While the major looks at the plastic ID, Brown gives an overview of being out for survival training for the weekend, throwing in snippets of their activities.

“I’m going to have you hand over your packs to the sergeant,” Skier says, motioning to another soldier.

“Sir, I should mention that I have a handgun in mine,” Brown volunteers.

“Sergeant, why are you armed?” Skier asks.

“I make it a point of being armed when out of populated areas. It has kept me alive so far, so I figure it’s not such a bad policy,” Brown answers.

“Personal or issued?” Skier queries.

“Personal.”

“I’m going to assume that it’s properly licensed and that you have a conceal-carry permit. It will be returned if warranted, along with all of your other belongings.”

“If warranted, sir?” Brown asks, irritated by the phrasing.

“Yes, sergeant…if warranted. Do you know what’s going on here?” Skier questions.

“Only from pieces of conversation here and there during our stroll along the highway. Which basically means that it’s anything from an alien invasion, to a terrorist attack, to conspiracies about the government practicing martial law. From the looks of things, I’m going with an alien invasion,” Brown replies.

Major Skier doesn’t crack either a frown or smile.

Oh great! I’m dealing with some hardass officer who parked his humor when he pinned on his oak leaves…that’s if he even had any to begin with
, Brown thinks, retrieving his ID.
He must be a bundle of joy at home
.

“No, sir. I haven’t the faintest idea of what’s going on here. Like I mentioned, we were in the hills for the weekend, drove back to encounter this traffic, and heard several stories along the way after my car died. And now we’re here to check in,” Brown continues.

From the major’s attitude, Brown knows that they’re more than likely in for a lengthy interrogation. He had hoped that he could check in and just be told to call his command placement to be reassigned. On hindsight, that’s perhaps the route he should have taken. However, even if he had, he’d more than likely end up in the same situation at some point.