Cruel World (32 page)

He studied the pages after settling to the floor, Denver dropping onto his side next to him. Absently, he scratched the dog’s ears as he read, page after page of information, facts, numbers, first-hand accounts, surveys, and data. As he unfolded another page, a plastic ID card slid free and fell to the floor. He picked it up, studying the dead man’s face along with the words beneath it. He frowned, flipping the card over, but there was nothing on the back except an imbedded row of numbers with a bar code below them. He set the ID aside and scanned the folded document, eyes flickering across meaningless tangles of numbers and terms. At the very bottom were two signatures. The first was strangely familiar, as if it were the name of a character from a book he’d read years ago.

The other signature stopped his heart between beats.

He stared at the name, and time seemed to slow. Denver grunted beside him, and the page began to tremble in his hand. It couldn’t be. There was no possible way.

Footsteps came from the warehouse and neared the office as Alice materialized out of the darkness and stopped in the doorway, her eyes still bleary with sleep.

“What are you doing?”

Quinn folded the paper, tucking the ID card inside it once again.

“Going through his things,” he said, his voice hoarse and shaky. “He’s—”

“Dead. I saw.”

Quinn gathered up the rest of the papers, replacing all of them in the pack, save for the one holding the ID, which he jammed in his pocket.

“Did you sleep at all?” she asked as he rose and stretched his aching spine.

“A little. Not much. Is it daylight yet?”

“Just before dawn.”

“We need to go. We need to find the army, now.” He grabbed the pack and the rifle, handing the latter to Alice as he moved past her into the dark of the warehouse.

“Okay. Any reason you’re so raring to go?”

“We just need to get there,” he said over his shoulder as he made his way through the sections of alcohol.

“Quinn, slow down. Let’s take a second—”

“No, damnit! We’re going now!” His voice rang throughout the open space and came back to him. Hearing the frantic sound of his words along with the stricken look on Alice’s face was enough to sober the racing anxiety burning a hole in his chest.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “You’re starting to scare me.” Ty sat up from his bed and called to Denver quietly before walking beside the dog to stand near his mother.

Quinn’s legs grew weaker and weaker as he pulled the paper from his pocket and flipped it open, catching the ID as it slid out. He held it before him as if it were something foul that he couldn’t stand to touch.

“We need to find the army because my father’s signature is on this piece of paper the dead man was carrying.”

Chapter 25

The Army

They drove through the gray dawn, its light choked with bruised clouds that hung low and heavy with rain.

They’d spent an hour packing the Challenger with supplies that the man in the warehouse had accumulated, their talk limited to the necessities since Quinn had shown Alice the signed page. There was no mistaking his father’s writing, the loop of his e’s and the long tail of the y were all Quinn needed to know it wasn’t simply someone with the same name or an attempt at a forgery. The paragraphs above his father’s hand gave them no clues as to what the document signified. The language was unmistakably medical in origin, but other than that, the page was a shard of a sculpture without any definable shape.

“Do you think he was sick before he caught the plague?” Alice asked as the last buildings of Fort Dodge passed by on their left. “You said he came home from a business trip right before everything happened, right?”

“Yeah,” Quinn said, prying his vision from the road ahead.

“Maybe it wasn’t a business trip at all. Maybe he was getting treatment.”

“I don’t think so. He never had more than a cold all my life. He wasn’t sick; he would’ve told me.”

“Parents don’t tell their kids everything.”

“I know, you never tell me anything,” Ty muttered from the backseat.

“Oh stop it, Tyrus. You’re the most informed six year old I know.”

“I’m almost seven!”

“You won’t be seven for another nine months.”

“That’s pretty close, though. Right, Denver?”

The dog woofed once.

“See?” Ty said, crossing his arms.

Alice rolled her eyes. “Now I have to argue with a dog too.”

“Take this next right coming up,” Quinn said, studying the smart phone’s display. Alice turned the car onto a beaten county road, its surface pockmarked with attempted patches of potholes and frost heaves.

“But the guy, Harold Roman, was definitely military, right? I mean, that ID had nothing but his photo, his name, and clearance number,” Alice said.

“If I had to guess, I’d say military, but who knows,” Quinn said. “Turn left on the next road.”

The landscape around them was featureless grasslands only beginning to green. The sky continued to descend, the clouds churning above the treetops. In the distance, the land humped into a broad hill, and dots of abandoned vehicles began to appear. They weaved in and around them, doors yawning open, windows broken, a sprawled and bloated body on a tailgate.

“What’s that smell?” Ty asked, covering his nose.

The air thickened with each mile they drove, the stench of the plague’s rapid decomposition like a clinging curtain hovering above the land. Ahead, the line of vehicles became a mass that choked the road as well as the dirt track snaking around the base of the broad hill. A business sign had been knocked down and a torn banner waved in its place, only a handful of words discernable on its flaccid surface.

United States Ar

Zon

Only nec belongin

Milit guiden

Stay inside your ve

Alice pulled to the side of the road, and they stared at the lane strangled with hundreds of cars and trucks all parked at different angles like a portion of rush hour traffic had detoured here and then fallen still indefinitely.

“Holy shit,” Alice said. She sighed and let her face drop into one hand before rubbing her temple. “If they’re—”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Quinn said. “We need to check out the compound before we make any decisions.”

“You ever see that movie where the family drives all the way across the country to go to an amusement park but when they get there, it’s closed?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not like this at all,” Alice said, climbing out.

They armed themselves, and Quinn strapped Roman’s pack on. They left the rest of the supplies with the car, locking it before moving along the ditch lining the dirt drive. They walked past car after car. Many were intact, their windows rolled tight as if the occupants had merely paused here to get out and sightsee. There were no bodies visible, inside or out, along the road. Only the chirp of insects and the sounds of their passage accompanied them. The stagnant line of vehicles curved, and they followed their arc, stopping as one as the scene opened before them.

“What is it?” Ty asked, gripping Denver’s collar.

It was a warzone.

The vehicles past the point where they stood were torn masses of steel and shattered glass. The road became a battered field, studded with debris and cratered to a lunar quality. A chain link fence had been erected beyond the devastation, topped with spools of razor wire, but it too lay mashed to the ground in countless places, support posts leaning like weary soldiers. Past the fence was a five-foot concrete barricade made of interconnected pieces like those separating the center of a four-lane highway. It’s top was painted a bronze that shone in the cool light of the day. Many of the sections were tipped over or crumbling, cracks spanning from bullet holes like eggs ready to break. Beyond the first ring of concrete, a second much higher barrier stood, interspersed by vacant, steel guard towers and scaffolding.

Everything was silent and still. Unmoving.

“Damnit,” Alice swore, sweeping the entire area with her rifle. Quinn took several steps forward and cupped a hand to his mouth.

“Hello!”

His call echoed across the grassland and returned to them. A crow called from a solitary tree at the base of the hill, its voice mocking.

They waited and then picked their way forward through the divots and piles of blasted steel that they realized had been cars and pickups. Strands of clothing were buried beneath tossed sand, a child’s backpack hung from a twisted fender by one frayed strap. They stopped at the first concrete barrier, and Quinn saw that the top wasn’t painted bronze as he’d first thought.

It was covered in brass shell casings.

They were everywhere. They littered the ground outside the barrier, and inside, they rose like miniature sand dunes. Every ten paces there was a semi-bare spot on the ground, and he realized this was where the shooters had been standing.

“What happened here?” Quinn said, brushing the shells with his palm. They tinkled like steel rain as they dropped to the dirt.

“I don’t want to know,” Alice said, reaching out to grasp Ty’s free hand.

“Let’s go this way,” Quinn said, motioning to the east side of the barriers.

They crossed over a collapsed portion of concrete and walked between the two perimeters. The ground was covered with spent ammunition. Here and there were dried mats of blood turned black with time. Similar stains splashed the higher concrete walls as well. Flies carried on a continuous humming all around them.

The barriers curved and then straightened in a corridor that stretched away and over a short rise. The piles of shells continued out of sight. They stopped near a toppled section as the first drops of rain began to fall. Quinn glanced at Alice who stared back at him, her mouth a pale gash.

“They’re not here, are they?” Ty said. Denver sat on his haunches, his eyes watching the top of the nearest barricade. Alice knelt beside Ty, still holding his hand. She brushed his hair away from his brow and opened her mouth to reply when Denver began to growl.

“Put your hands in the air! Do it, now!” A deep voice yelled from somewhere nearby.

Quinn flinched and instinctually brought his rifle up as he ducked. A shot ricocheted off the pillar next to him.

“I will not ask again! Put your hands up!”

Quinn let the rifle hang from the strap draped around his shoulders and slowly brought his hands over his head. Alice and Ty did the same beside him. There was a scraping rasp and a door painted the exact same color as the concrete, opened in the barricade fifty yards away. A soldier dressed in full military fatigues and boots sidled into the channel, a short-barreled rifle centered on them. Another soldier emerged behind him, his weapon sweeping the area around the barriers and then back to their position. Quinn eased himself around and stood to his full height.

“Don’t fucking move!” the closest soldier said. The man was near enough now Quinn could see hard, green eyes beneath the helmet he wore. A rash of brown stubble covered a handsome face, and when he moved, it was with practiced fluidity and confidence.

“Thomas, got anything in the area?” the nearest soldier said, never turning his head away from them. The voice from above called out a moment later.

“Negative. All clear.”

“Is there anyone else with you?” the soldier asked.

“No, it’s just us,” Alice said.

The soldier scanned them all again, his eyes flitting to Quinn’s face and holding there for a long time before looking down at Ty and Denver who’s fangs were bared white beneath peeled lips.

“Put your weapons on the ground and step away from them.”

Quinn glanced at Alice who looked back at him, a thousand unsaid words in a single gaze. He nodded, and they stripped their rifles free, along with the revolver and Roman’s pack, laying them on the piled shells.

“I’m going to search you. If any of you move in a way that displeases the soldier above you, you will be shot. Do you understand?”

They all nodded, and Quinn heard Ty draw in a shuddering breath. The soldier moved forward and patted them down while the man behind him kept a bead on them, his gaze locked on Quinn’s face.

“They’re clean,” the first soldier said, stepping back. He lowered his weapon but kept his finger on the trigger. “Where the hell did you folks come from?”

“Maine,” Alice answered. “Can we put our fucking hands down now?”

The soldier’s eyebrows rose and he nodded. “Yes, go ahead.”

They lowered their hands, and Ty stroked Denver’s head and back, smoothing his hackles that stood upright, until the big dog licked his chops and sat down near the boy’s feet.

“Maine?” the second soldier repeated.

“Yes, Maine. We heard about the safe zone before everything went to shit and drove here,” Alice said, bringing Ty close to her side. The soldier turned to his companion and shrugged.

“Unbelievable you got here unscathed,” he said after a pause.

“We didn’t get here unscathed,” Quinn said. “There was plenty of scathing.”

“I see. Well, no offense, buddy, but can I ask what’s—”

“It’s a genetic disorder that affected my facial bones. I’ve had it since I was born.”

The soldier studied him for a moment and then turned to Alice. “You corroborate this, ma’am?”

Alice laughed bitterly. “Yes, I corroborate. Now, are you going to let us inside, or do we have to hoof it back to our vehicle and find the real army?”

The soldier eyed them all for another beat and then offered his hand.

“Lieutenant Garret Wexler. This is Private Weston Murray. And the man up above is Private First Class Robert Thomas. Welcome to U.S. Army Safe Haven Number 81, or as we call it, Camp Terra Verde. Murray, kindly gather the people’s weapons, and I’ll show them inside.”

“We can’t have our guns?” Alice asked.

“No, ma’am. Civilians are not allowed to carry weapons within camp,” Wexler said, ushering them toward the battered steel door set into the barricade. They stepped inside, and Quinn couldn’t help faltering, his eyes widening at the sight.

Innumerable rows of low, white tents were set on the crusted soil. They stretched away in unending lines, some collapsed upon themselves while others were larger and stood above their counterparts. The circumference of the barriers was immense, the walls running in a huge loop that he lost sight of as it dipped down and curved to the west. A half dozen tanks sat across the immense yard as well as four large transport trucks, their rear ends open and empty. Machinegun turrets were folded back in upright positions every twenty yards atop the walls, and a narrow band of steel scaffolding ran in a half circle along the north, west, and east of the perimeter, giving access to the turrets. The soldier Wexler had identified as Thomas stood on one edge of a platform above them, a long sniper rifle notched against a hip. He watched them as they entered and spit a string of tobacco juice to the ground fifteen feet below. The wind carried the rotting scent past them as more rain began to fall.

“You good for a bit, Thomas?” Wexler called without looking up.

“Yeah. Send me up an umbrella. Better yet, send me up Sergeant Collincz.” Thomas grinned, and Murray, who had just entered the camp carrying their weapons, broke into laughter. Wexler half turned toward them and cocked his head to one side. He waited until both soldiers quieted, and Thomas faced the fields outside the walls. Wexler shifted his attention back to them and then nodded toward a long, green tent beside the transport trucks.

“Follow me, please.”

Thunder rolled across the sky like an unseen avalanche as they kept pace behind the Lieutenant and ducked beneath the flaps into the tent. Inside were two plastic folding tables surrounded by chairs along with a bank of computer equipment, screens all dark. A rack of rifles hung from one wall, stacks of army-green plastic ponchos lining the ground beneath them. A half-eaten protein bar sat on the edge of the closest table, and Wexler picked it up, biting off a chunk before unsnapping his helmet.