The Plague Years (Book 1): Hell is Empty and All the Devils Are Here (26 page)

“Dave, some days I don’t know what’s inside there,” said Chad pointing at Dave’s chest.

“Sometimes I don’t either,” said Dave quietly.

“We heard the shooting and came out to see what was going on,” said Matt Williams once they had closed the distance. “Who are these guys anyway?”

“More of the bikers like we ran off yesterday,” said Dave evenly. “Apparently someone let the word out about the party we had. They were after food, wine, and probably our guns if they won. We appreciate the help.”

“Yeah, well it wouldn’t have been so good for us if they got your guns,” said Matt. We need to help each other, right?”

“Absolutely,” said Dave. 

“Do you guys want his guns?” asked one of the men timidly while pointing at Derek. He was holding a boy’s bolt action .22 rifle and it was clear it was the only weapon he had.

“The guy is infected,” said Chad. “I don’t want to touch them, but if you need them, get some vinyl gloves and strip the rifle and the pistol down to parts and soak them in gasoline or something.”

“Yeah, Ok,” said the man uncertainly.

“What about the bodies?” said Matt. “We can’t leave them here; there must be fifteen of them in the street.”

“And about that many behind the house,” said Chad. “They must have come through the Munsen’s yard. You suppose the Munsens are OK?”

“Munsen and his wife left three days ago for their cabin in Idaho,” said Matt.

“I hope they made it,” said Chad.

May 28
th
, Thursday, 9:12am PDT.

It had taken over two hours to pile all of the bodies at the end of the street. Chris had called for backup but all he got was a curious request to meet for a meeting at 1:00 pm from his boss. The no one picked up the phone at the County Coroner’s office or at the Public Health office. About that time the phones went down again. In the end, the neighbors got together and moved the bodies to a central pile at the end of the street.

One of the neighbors had a lawn tractor and with everyone helping, they got all of them stacked. They had used some of their precious gasoline to burn the places that had soaked up blood from the infected corpses hoping to control the infection.

In the end, Dave had helped the man with the .22 clean and disinfect the rifle and pistol that Derek had been carrying because it took more than a little guts to face a bunch of infected bikers with a .22.

It was a subdued assemblage that sat in Chad’s kitchen trying to make sense of what had happened.

“Folks, I’d like to thank you, all of you for opening your homes to us,” said Chris slowly, “but I think it’s time for Amber and me to move on. I have a meeting to go to for the Highway Patrol during which I will resign and take Amber somewhere. I can’t in good conscience endanger you folks any more. I figure we could go to Michigan, I have family there.”

“I’ll hear no more talk like that,” said Mary sternly. “Of course we weren’t going to ask you to leave and Chris, you should be ashamed for even thinking it.”

“It’s a noble thing to do,” said Dave, “but it likely won’t help us.”

“We’ll just pack up and go,” said Amber. “We will be gone in an hour and then they would have no reason to keep coming after me.”

“Let’s say you did leave,” said Dave quietly. “Let’s say we posted a sign out front that said ‘Bon Voyage Chris and Amber, Enjoy Michigan’. Do you think that these guys, whoever they are, would buy that? The only way they will quit will be when they kill all of us and sort through the bodies. There have been two attacks so far. I count that first one because, looking back, it had to be a recon. That’s why they had what, maybe fifty guys in that last one along with a guy with a rifle to snipe at the right time. If he had been a better shot or Connor and Mary and been less observant, they might have taken us all down.

“Besides, you guys are handy in a fight,” continued Dave with a wan smile. “Bad folks were bound to come after us when they found out we had food when the grocery stores went dry. Now, they know we are a tough nut to crack. The local crowd will stay away.” 

“I still can’t figure out how they found her so quickly,” said Chris scratching his head. “We haven’t told anyone, not Amber’s mom, my folks, nothing.”

“”It may have been me,” said Chad with a heavy heart. “You guys know I called Dr. Grieb, the epidemiologist I used to work with. I thought I was pretty careful, avoiding keywords and names and he promised me he would keep this close to the vest but there are two possibilities.

“One, that Terry blabbed to someone. I have known him for fifteen years and I can’t imagine that he would do that knowingly.

“The other is more sinister. I suspect that the NSA and other governmental organizations have the bandwidth to look at the meta data of a phone call, you know, who the parties are and all, and if there are certain keywords in the conversation, they can come up with a match. Thinking back, I suspect, now, that I am on a watch list to get extra scrutiny as I have pissed off a few of the wrong people. Either way, it’s the only thing I can think of that might have given Amber away. I am sorry.”

“If they were looking that hard, they would have found something,” said Chris. “Maybe one of the guests at the party recognized Amber. She had been a deputy around here for a while. Maybe they would have said something, and I am probably higher on the watch list than you. It was a rumor, while we were employed that I had a crush on Amber. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist or even a math guy like you to put that one together. Anyway, I won’t forget that you took us in when most folks would have run us out of town.”

“So what does all that mean?” asked Mary. “Will they be back?”

“I don’t know, probably,” said Chad quietly.

May 28
th
, Thursday, 1:00 pm PDT.

Chris had washed up and had made it to the station where his boss, Lieutenant Miller, had called the meeting. Chris had gotten there just on time and so hadn’t had a chance to chat with his colleagues before Lieutenant Miller began to speak.

“I could play the tired old joke about ‘I suppose you’ve all wondered why I have called this meeting’,” said an exhausted looking Lieutenant Miller, “but I won’t. The sad fact of the matter is, we have no money left to pay you. I wish there was a better way to do this, but I am going to have to ask you all to turn in your badges. I am sure most of you would continue to serve the public even without pay; In fact, several of you who came early today and volunteered to do so, but we are out of a lot of other things besides money.

“There is very little fuel left in our underground tanks and I know most of you are on empty. We are almost completely out of ammunition. We have been issuing suspect training ammunition for two days now. Our communications are spotty at best and when the patrol cars run out of gas, those radios will go as well. We have no more spare batteries. So even if you would be willing to continue to patrol and serve, you wouldn’t have anything to patrol with.

“Finally, all the cells at county, in the various city shops, and even our holding cells are full to bursting with infected suspects. We can’t just leave them there and I will not contemplate for a moment, shooting them. I have been a good cop for more than twenty years; I will not end my service that way so I will have one last favor to ask. I after consultation with the State Attorney General, it has been decided that all inmates will be released. I will need you to help me carry that out. We will release them one at a time. Even with every precaution we can take, there will be risk of infection so I am asking only for volunteers.

“I won’t fault any of you who decide to leave before that sordid duty is complete. I was also asked to have you turn in your departmental weapons, but screw that. I suspect you will need them as many of you will go on serving the public in whatever way you can. After we get all the prisoners we have locally safely released, we will impound and disable the departmental vehicles and then we will use a commandeered school bus to get you all home. I will spread out what little ammunition we have left. I will also issue the remaining supplies, medical and otherwise, though I don’t think many of you will have much use for copier paper, which seems to be what we have the most of.

“It has been an honor and a privilege to serve with you. I hope we meet again under better circumstances.”

May 28
th
, Thursday, 6:02pm EDT.

Macklin had hidden in the alley for most of the day. He was beginning to ache from many small wounds and abrasions suffered from the explosion and collapse of the ceiling of his office building. He could still see the building and it was still standing and apparently structurally sound. The emergency response was sparse as it was limited to one engine company and a few police cars. One ambulance came and went but paramedics and bystanders were still caring for many of the injured in the streets. Macklin had seen data that said most hospitals were full to overflowing with the infected and that most cities, Washington, DC included, had opened large buildings like schools and sports arenas to house them. The care was getting more and more haphazard as the temporary facilities became overcrowded and medical professionals became scarce. Care in many facilities had actually failed and the patients had revolted in much the same manner as they had in the Tri-Cities.

He didn’t know what he to do. He had little in the way of food or survival supplies at his home, even if he could get there, as he spent most of his time on the road, living out of a suitcase. One thing he had done just as soon as he left his work place was throw his ‘special’ cell phone as far as he could out into the Potomac River. He had spent most of the day alternately racked with guilt and filled with rage. He knew, now, he had been used and then thrown away like old toilet paper.

It was getting dark and he had seen infected people roaming around. He wasn’t sure where he could sleep safely and didn’t want to go anywhere official because he was afraid of being connected to the destruction of the building. He had no food. He had, after the last time he was stranded, stocked up on all the ammunition for his service weapon that he had at home, all fifty-seven rounds of it. Since he could carry no briefcase today, this was about all he had save for a couple of Clif bars in his pocket. He was edging toward a door that looked open, hoping to find a small room he could barricade for the night when he spotted a familiar, black, late model Chevy Suburban in the alley behind him.

He looked around but there was no other exit so he ran for the door of the building he had been casing and slammed into it. He grasped at the lever that would open the door and pressed down hard, only to find that while the door looked slightly gapped and open, the lock was still intact.

Two large men in black tactical gear wearing opaque face shields with MP-5’s on slings got out of the rear doors and caught up to Macklin before he could escape down the alley.

Macklin tried to bolt past one but he proved to be fast as well as large and grabbed Macklin’s left arm and twisted it into a classic come along hold and without a word crab walked him back to the Suburban.

The other opened the passenger side door of the Suburban to reveal his ‘Boss.’ This man had never given Macklin a name and now the mere fact that he was nameless made this moment even more terrifying.

“Throwing your phone away was a useless gesture,” said the man in the driver’s seat. “We had you chipped like a pet dog. All we had to do was drive around until the transponder beeped. You didn’t even go very far from your crime.”

“It was your crime,” said Macklin accusingly. “You had me dancing like a puppet on a string.”

“Oh, we have it all on the feed from surveillance cameras in the building and can pin it on you any time we like,” said the man in the driver’s seat chuckling slightly as he motioned Macklin to take the seat next to him. The man behind him released his arm. Macklin thought briefly of fleeing but he realized that the other goon was behind them covering him quite professionally with his MP-5. He had nowhere else to go.

“Raise your arms,” said the first man. Macklin complied and was quickly relieved of his pistol and spare ammunition.

“You will be pleased to hear,” said the man in the driver’s seat, “that your recent colleague, Assistant Director Erickson, survived the blast. It seems that a falling beam formed a shelter for him. He was buried in ceiling tiles and other office debris, but he is fine. He didn’t even have to leave the site for medical care. With the file that popped up on his computer shortly after he logged in about an hour ago, he will have everything he needs to have you put in jail until you rot or become infected and then rot.”

“You bastard!” snarled Macklin.

“My parents’ relationships are none of your concern. But remember this, we own you and as it happens, you have again become useful to us, as surprising as that may seem. Get in the car or my friends here will fold you up and put you in the seat. I need you alive, not healthy.”

Macklin got in. The man behind him bagged his head so he couldn’t see and as the van took several sharp turns, Macklin became disoriented and more and more frightened. No one had spoken during the ride, no music, no radio calls, and when the van finally stopped, it was all he could do not to soil himself.

The two large guards tumbled him out unto a concrete floor. He was inside a parking garage or mechanic’s shop because the concrete was cool and there were bits of oil, brake fluid, and other nameless fluids staining the floor along with bits of gravel and the other detritus that comes from parking cars in a building. The two men easily grabbed him under the arms and carried him. His attempts to walk or change directions were easily frustrated by a third man who was a master with a baton. After a couple sharp blows to his calves and ankles, he stopped resisting.

After a few minutes, he was unceremoniously dumped onto the ground.  His hood was ripped off and he was bathed in very intense light from the headlights of several parked cars that formed a circle in what appeared to be the back of a parking garage.  He tried to look up but the lights were blinding after the time spent in a dark hood.

“Macklin,” said a voice he knew only as his ‘Boss’. “Stay still and listen to my entire question and then answer truthfully.  If you lie, you will be left dead and naked in this parking garage. What do you know about Chad Strickland and his family?”

“Um, he is a statistician and a GIS expert for Bechtel,” said Macklin playing for a little time to remember every fact he could about Strickland. “He is a black belt in karate and was an enlisted intelligence analyst while he was in the service.  Um … he has a wife and two kids, he likes fast cars …”

“It’s clear,” said a voice Macklin had never heard before, “he knows something about the person who is shielding the one of the ‘Chosen.’ Ask about her!”

“Very well,” said Macklin’s ‘Boss.’ “What do you know about Amber Hoskins?”

“Um …” Macklin was really thrashing this time, and then he remembered. “She’s a Sherriff’s Deputy, one of the first LEO’s to be attacked in the Kennewick area. I questioned her and so did the folks at Bechtel. She was bit by an infected girl in a traffic stop gone wrong.”

And on and on; Macklin was bombarded with questions asking about where the Stricklands lived, who they knew, who was the Highway Patrol Sergeant that kept showing up around her? Some of the answers he knew, others he did not but he was mindful of the charge not to lie so he told only the truth and was candid about what he didn’t know.

The last question came after what seemed like an eternity of questioning but probably only lasted forty-five minutes. 

“Do you know any way to get to Strickland?” said his ‘Boss.’ “Friends we could hold or family members?”

“There was the corporate attorney,” said a panicky Macklin, “a guy with two last names, Clinton Taylor. He and Strickland were close and Taylor is an asshole lawyer; a real hard case. He had a couple of divorces and one estranged son. He will be by himself and easy to take down.”

“I have heard enough,” said a third voice. “He knows too much to let live unless we ‘induct’ him. He also appears to know enough to help us with this Strickland character and get one of our own back.”

Macklin’s boss nodded to the two guards who picked up Macklin and slammed him up against the wall. One pulled a razor sharp Randal Model 12 Raymond Thorpe Bowie Knife and split Macklin’s shirt and jacket sleeve up to the shoulder while the other expertly pinned him to the wall and held his arm in place.  The knife wielding guard then sheathed the knife and took a Pharmajet Needle Free Injector and pressed it against Macklin’s arm.  Macklin tried to twist away but it felt like his arm was in a vise. 

The injection was quick and almost painless.  Then the guard let Macklin go and he slumped down into a sitting position cradling his arm.

“What have you done to me!” said Macklin dreading the answer.

“Don’t be an ass,” said his ‘Boss.’ “If we wanted you dead, you would be. It would have been far easier. No, what we have done is start you down the path to full membership in our little group. That injection contains the ‘Zombie Plague’ virus as the press calls it.”

“I’m gonna die then,” said Macklin, resignation coloring his voice. 

“Again, don’t be an ass,” said Macklin’s ‘Boss’ rolling his eyes, “as I said, if we wanted you dead, it would have been much easier just to shoot you. Given these troubled times; your body would probably have been eaten by the infected in this nearly abandoned parking garage before it was discovered. No, we have a treatment regime for the infected that can be of use to us. Every day, there will be another injection. As long as you behave, you will get your medicine.

“Let me describe what will happen if you leave our employment for any reason.  We will of course stop your treatments. In two or three days, you will become feverish and start hallucinating. The hunger will start and you will eat anything to staunch it. In a week or perhaps two if you are naturally resistant, you will likely be fully involved, mostly naked, wandering the streets, eating anything that vaguely resembles food. If you can find enough calories, you will keep living but you will have less and less lucid thought. What thoughts you will have will be controlled by us. So let me make this perfectly clear, we own you. Before this point, it was just threats to your position and wellbeing that kept you in line, now the fear of losing of your mind will be enough.”

“So I’ll be taking this stuff forever?” asked a horror stricken Macklin.

“No, not at all,” said his ‘Boss’ with an evil smile. “The longer you have the disease, the higher doses of medication you will need to retain your mind. If you cease to provide good, ever increasing value, you will no longer be cost effective from our viewpoint and we will just turn you out. On the other hand, if you have a natural resistance to the pathogen, all we need to do is wait. You will become one of the Chosen. That is one or at most two percent of the sufferers out there. If you don’t have the genetic heritage to survive you could still get lucky as four or five percent of the infected become carriers. They have the disease and are contagious, but they retain some or all of their sanity. They can hear the Chosen call and many actually have some degree of lucidity.”