The Plague Years (Book 1): Hell is Empty and All the Devils Are Here (35 page)

“Enough with the old home week routine,” said Kevin. “The kid was your hero. So what did they really say about what they were doing?”

“That they were bunkering up,” said Danny. “I wasn’t lying about that either. They also said something about heading out for Fort Lewis if things got tight, but there was a lot of shouting and guns being waved around. Then the Marine dude shot my bike.”

“He thinks he is some sort of bad ass does he?”

“He said I needed a story to tell you so you wouldn’t get mad,” said Danny and then he started to laugh and cry at the same time. “So you wouldn’t get mad he said, God if he only knew …”

Kevin looked over at Jamie.

“Go get Macklin,” said Kevin. “He will want to hear this.”

“The Fed’s asleep,” said Jamie as he started to get up.

“Well then wake him up, Moron! It’s time he found out who was really doing the dirty work around here.”

June 2
nd
, Monday, 7:08 am PDT.

They finally had everyone in the cars. Fiona was quietly sobbing in the back of the Camaro. This was the only home she had ever known and it had finally hit home that they were leaving and that this wasn’t like a movie. She and Connor and Amy were leading off their little convoy. Chad’s Subaru Outback came next.

Next to Chad sat Mary who was white with anger. Their home had been all she had ever dreamed of having when she was a little girl living in foster care. It had become her castle, her refuge, and the place she raised her children. Saying she was pissed was an understatement. Chad knew her well enough to know that she would calm down with time but now was not the time for light conversation. Chris and Amber were in the backseat trying to studiously ignore the chilly silence in the car.

Dave, Heather, and Heather’s three kids were in Dave’s truck and they brought up the rear. All the vehicles were loaded to the gills with food, water, gasoline tools, weapons, medical supplies, and as much of the wine as was left. They figured it would trade well if they needed to and Chad had a feeling they were going to need it later.

They had decided to take a circuitous route out of Kennewick. Normally, they would take the big blue bridge on US Highway 395 and follow that until they turned off to head east at Connell, but they thought that was too risky as they would be just a few blocks from Roban’s and from what little Danny had said and Chad’s analysis, they figured that downtown was lousy with infected.

So they decided to drive a few miles down the road and cross the river at near the Columbia Point Golf Course using the I 182 bridge. It was either that or head out toward the Vernita Bridge on state route 24 more than 30 miles away.

Several of their neighbors were there to see them off and it made them feel worse. It was bad enough to leave, it was worse when they realized that there was probably going to be a fight no matter what they did. They hoped that these people remained safe. As they pulled out, Chad tossed his house keys to Mrs. Bassman.

“If you folks need anything that we left, go ahead and borrow it,” said Chad. “Just keep the place locked up otherwise.”

“Don’t worry Chad,” said Mrs. Bassman, “Nobody will bother the house. I have spoken to the neighbors.”

In spite of himself, Chad laughed. He could just imagine Mrs. Bassman sitting the adult men in the neighborhood down in her living room and laying down the law.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bassman,” said Chad. “Keep yourself safe.”

As they drove through Kennewick, they saw that many of the houses were either boarded up or looted. Several others were burned. Some of the other neighborhoods apparently hadn’t fared as well as theirs.

When they got on State Route 240, they noted a lot of stalled cars. It appeared that people had driven them until they were completely out of gas and then abandoned them. There was no other traffic.

They got on I-182 and looked toward the bridge. It was completely blocked using several cars and pickups. There was one lane that was not filled with a cluster of abandoned vehicles. There, someone and laid out Stop Sticks to control traffic. There were several armed men and women lounging around the vehicles, at this distance, almost a hundred yards, it was hard to tell if they were infected or not.

Chad keyed the radio.

“Everybody hold up,” said Chad. Once he got the car stopped, he got out and looked the road block over through his binoculars. Dave got out with Heather and together with Chris, Amber and Mary looked over the roadblock.

“Six will get you ten that they are infected,” said Chris after he handed the binoculars over to Amber.

“Yeah,” said Amber after a moment. “I think I can see some lesions and the one young lady in shorts and a tank top has a very prominent bite mark.

“What should we do?” asked Chad.

“Those Stop Sticks will flatten any tires if we try and run the roadblock,” said Chris. “We’ll get maybe two or three blocks and the tires will be flat. No blowouts, just a slow release of the air.”

“Couldn’t we just see what they want?” asked Mary.

“If they weren’t infected, I would say sure,” said Dave after a minute. “But we are close enough to downtown that I would worry about them being in contact with Macklin’s crowd. I vote for driving down the road to the Vernita Bridge. It’s out in the Hanford Reach and pretty isolated. I think we have been in enough gun fights.”

Everyone agreed so they got back on 240 and headed around the outskirts of Richland out into the Hanford Nuclear Reservation. The drive lasted three quarters of an hour to cover the thirty-eight miles to the bridge. Along the way, Chad passed his old office. There were no cars in the lot now. It seemed to be another lifetime since he had worked there and now, after twenty-three years, he was leaving.

June 2
nd
, Monday, 8:05 am PDT.

The three vehicles in the Strickland,s convoy had stopped out a hundred yards away from the rest stop overlooking the Vernita Bridge. There were five campers and a couple of fifth wheel trailers in the rest stop and it was clear they had active security.

Looking out over the bridge, it was clear that short of a bull dozer, no one was crossing that bridge for a long time. A semi-truck trailer tanker unit had jackknifed in an apparent attempt to avoid an SUV that had attempted to ram it. The contents of the tanker had ignited and all that was left were the charred, tangled and somewhat melted remains of the two vehicles.

“What now?” asked Chad.

“Let’s motor on over to those folks at the rest stop,” said Dave after looking over group of campers. “It could prove useful.”

“We just skirted a passable bridge to avoid a firefight,” said Chad. “Now you want to go poke around this one even when it’s blocked?”

“Look closely at the red flag near the fifth wheel trailer with the blue stripes,” said Dave passing the binoculars to Chad. “That looks like a Marine Corps flag to me. I believe I’ll go over there and trade on the old school tie.”

Dave reached in the cab of his truck and grabbed his old booney hat with all of his Marine Corps rank on the hat band and put it on his head.

“Now why don’t you watch me through the scope of the .338,” said Dave. “It will give me some street credibility with this guy.

Then Dave waved Chris over.

“Why don’t you point your rifle out toward that bit of bush over there,” said Dave as he indicated some sage brush on a little rise.

“Is there a good reason for this?” asked Chris as he aimed his AR-15 in the appropriate direction.

“Because that is where I would place a sniper if I were he,” said Dave with a wink. “Everybody else, stay armed but be kind of loose and comfy about it. I think this will go alright.”

Dave walked toward the group of campers with his hands in plain sight but packing his .44 in a shoulder holster.

“That’s about close enough,” said gray haired gentleman sitting on a lawn chair with a Remington 870 pump shotgun across his lap as Dave stopped about fifty feet away. “What can we do for you?”

“I would like to ask a couple of questions about the road is all,” said Dave. Then he pointed at the Marine Corps flag. “When did you serve?”

“Well, I put twenty-seven years in the Corps, starting when I was an FNG at Khe Sanh in 68, “said old Marine. “I retired out of the Iron Horse 2
nd
Tank Battalion as the Sergeant Major.”

“Oorah Marine,” said Dave with a smile. “For a while, I commanded the Force Recon Company out of Camp Pendleton and some other places. I busted my hip after our Humvee rolled over an IED and was medically retired.”

“Shit happens, Marine,” said the old Gunny nodding. “I’d offer you a cup of coffee but the person whose duty it was to make coffee this morning is a squid and you can actually see the bottom of the cup.”

“I would accept even Navy coffee,” said Dave.

“You guys must really be on short rations,” said the Gunny. “Bring your friends in, and tell the guy with the AR-15 that the sniper is on the other side.”

After they brought the vehicles in and introductions were complete, Dave sat down next to the Gunny with a cup of coffee.

“You are right, who made this panther piss?”

“Chief Renee Epstein, late of the United States Navy, She retired from Bethesda as a Chief Pharmacist’s Mate and, I am privileged to say, is my wife,” said the Gunny with a smile. “It’s our second marriage each. Both of us had married young and divorced in the service. We met up at an American Legion dance after we had retired if you can fathom it.”

“Hi Chief,” said Dave to the trim, fifty something woman with graying red hair who brought out the full pot of coffee.

“Craig here won’t touch coffee unless it is a health risk,” said Renee. “I have tried to reform the old beast but beware, he is a crusty an old Leatherneck as you will ever find. I never did catch your name Marine?”

“Major David Tippet, retired,” said Dave easily. “Until the plague happened, I was quietly teaching history at a community college.”

“We are members of WASH-PAN Chapter 39 of the Escapees RV club,” said Renee. “We owned a home for a while when we first got married but we have itchy feet. We live in our RV full time now, going wherever the whim takes us, though often we go south to Arizona in the winter.”

“A bunch of us formed a ‘BOF’ for veterans,” said Craig.

“A ‘BOF’?” asked Mary who was interested. She had seen these folks come through the vineyard she worked at and was fascinated by the lifestyle.

“’BOF’ means Birds of a Feather,” said Renee sitting down next to Mary. “It’s like a special interest group in the club. They just used it as a place to gab on line mostly until the world went crazy.”

“Some of us out of the BOF got together and started looking for a place to wait this out,” said Craig. “All of us are retired military or veterans and our families. While we still had internet, we decided to meet up here.”

“This is our usual starting place for our wine trips,” said Renee.

“I thought you guys looked familiar,” said Mary with a smile. “Your group comes through every May.”

“That’s right, and you are the nice lady at Bookwalter’s who accommodates us,” said Renee.

“Actually, it’s usually Heather who does my dirty work,” said Mary pointing at Heather who was currently shepherding her youngest to the rest room. 

“There wouldn’t be a Captain Chad Strickland among your group, would there?” asked Craig innocently.

“Not many folks know I am a captain,” said Chad as he sat down and accepted a cup of coffee.

“Well, I have been asked to inquire as to your wellbeing and to tell you that Colonel Antonopoulos sends his regards,” said Craig. “By way of authentication, he says that for lunch back when you were enlisted, you routinely brought tuna, creamed cheese, and dill pickle sandwiches for lunch and washed them down with Mountain Dew.”

“He still eats them,” said Mary with a smile.

There was a stunned silence until Chad broke the ice.

“So you are in communication with Colonel Antonopoulos?” asked Chad tentatively.

“Sometimes,” said Craig. “He said to ask you if you remembered what his first name was and ask if you remember your deployment to Guam?”

“Well, his first name is Andrianos,” said Chad cautiously. “Most of his friends call him Andy and we never deployed to Guam. I spent most of my time in the service in an office with no windows at Hurlbert.”

“You’re the guy alright,” said Craig. “I work for Colonel Antonopoulos in a manner of speaking.”

”How is that?” asked Chad.

“There aren’t many C-17’s flying right now,” said Craig. “Colonel Antonopoulos has taken over unconventional side of the intelligence shop.”

“He’d be good at it,” said Chad.

“He has some information for you,” said Craig. “First off, if you haven’t figured it out, Colonel Antonopoulos says to stay clear of Fort Lewis unless you are completely out of options. They have been penetrated, there is evidence that NSA has also been penetrated and that they are feeding your adversaries intel. Finally, he has reason to believe there are likely sleeper cells at the base. He can’t guarantee your safety.”