The Romero Strain (36 page)

“Excellent,” I said, nodding my thanks to Kermit’s answer.

Sam raised his hand.

“Yes?” I responded, hoping he was going to ask a question and not start spouting another chapter from his brain book on the military.

“The 548
th
is part of the 10
th
Mountain Division (Light Infantry), 10
th
Sustainment Brigade out of Fort Drum, New York. The 590
th
FSC, the 57
th
Transportation Company and the 514
th
Maintenance Company, and probably the 59
th
Chemical Company, would have been assigned there.”

To my dismay Sam was rattling off his miscellaneous knowledge of the United States Army instead of adding something useful.

I responded to his prattling. “And I needed to know this,
why?
”

“Because I was stationed at Fort Drum for a year,” he proudly stated. “And I thought you might like to know that we could find vehicle parts there, and I wouldn’t have to spend time salvaging what we need.”

I was pleasantly surprised. “Wow! That was actually useful… and here I thought you were just going to show off again. And, Sam,” I addressed him again. “Facilities repairs. Did you complete the list?”

“Yes. My recommendations are in my report, ranked in order of necessity. I’ve also included a list of items we will need to remove from the GCC, such as communications and surveillance equipment. We may be able to get some of it from the ASC.”

“Fine. Give me your reports at the end and I’ll make assignments accordingly. David… how’s the reconstruction of the fencing going?”

“Nearly complete,” he replied. “However, if we sustain any further damage we may have a problem. There’s going to be little fencing left when I’m done. Maybe they’d have some over at that ASC, since they probably were the ones who installed it.”

“All right, listen. Before we go running off in hopes of finding fencing and Stryker parts we should take a few things into consideration. First is the half-mutes, and then there’s the unknown factor. We don’t know who survived. Could be no one, but then again, could be survivors have claimed the Javits and the Garden, which means they’ll be armed and maybe hostile. We need to have everything up, running, and secured before we venture too far from the armory. I do agree, though, the ASC would be an optimal choice for finding items that we’re going to need.”

I looked at Kermit. “Perhaps, Kermit, you and I can meet and discuss a tactical plan for recon on those bases?” Kermit nodded his head in agreement. “Excellent,” I concurred. “Then let us move on.” I looked around the table to see who was next in line. “Marisol. I understand that you were working with Sam on the exterior lighting. Any progress?”

“Finished a few hours ago. We can turn them on any time you want.”

“That’s something we should not do immediately.”

“I thought you wanted them fixed so people would know we are here,” she said. “We even pointed some of them toward the sky.”

“Great. But I think it would be premature to broadcast our occupation until we are fully secure. The lights will hopefully attract survivors, but we can’t assume everyone will be looking for assistance. We may find that there are those who would want what we have for themselves.”

“That’s being a bit cynical, isn’t it?”

“No, Julie. That’s being a realist. We need to make sure we are safe and prepared before we open our doors to everyone. Like the old adage, better safe than sorry. Anyone disagree with me aside from Julie?”

“I didn’t say I disagreed,” she disputed. “I just said you’re cynical.”

“Fine. Okay, that leaves you, Doc. Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence.”

“I am only here out of necessity. I protest that I am being forced from the GCC and must finish my research in this primitive and inadequate environment—”

I interrupted him.

“Duly noted. Is there anything else, like the medical supply inventory list I gave you for review?”

“Band-Aids and aspirin,” he proclaimed, clearly dissatisfied. “That is all you have given me.”

“You’re being melodramatic, Doc. There are antibiotics, morphine, and numerous other items on the list.”

“Like I said, ‘Band-Aids and aspirin.’ Totally inadequate. Yes, I have morphine, bandages, sutures, broad spectrum antibiotics, gloves, masks and bouffant caps. However, I also have IV fluids without enough kits, syringes without enough needles, and an X-ray machine without film. I need another autoclave and at least two more infusion pumps. And what about treatment for radiation sickness? Have you even considered this? We know the living dead as well as those half-mutes have been contaminated. There are bound to be survivors that have been exposed. I will need potassium iodine, diethylenetriamine pentaacetic acid… prussian blue. We are ill prepared and under stocked for what we may encounter.”

“And that’s why I asked you to review the list and make recommendations. Did you do that?”

“Of course I did,” the doctor replied, as if I had offended his organizational skills. “I compiled a spreadsheet for you of twelve pages in length, ranking the items by need. I have also listed the bioequivalent counterpart in the column next to the brand name of the pharmaceutical.”

“Doc, I appreciate the effort, but for time purposes, I’m just going to go over to Saint Vincent’s and clear out the entire stock room of pharmaceuticals and medical supplies. If there is any medical equipment or instruments you may need, within reason, let me know and I’ll bring back what I can.”

“I have already compiled that as part of the report.”

“Why am I not surprised? You are certainly efficient, to the point of obsessive compulsive. As for my report,” I began. The doctor stood up to leave, not wanting to waste anymore of his valuable time listening to things that he considered trivial and of no concern to him. I didn’t acknowledge his rudeness. “I have compiled a list of weapons and ammunition and we’re pretty stocked in that department, with exception to grenades. As for relocation of all those boxes, as you can see Kermit and I have been very busy. We’ve managed to get about a quarter of the pallets down to the basement, which gives us enough room for an exercise area to practice our martial arts.”

Most everyone grunted and groaned.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m not making this mandatory,
yet
, since I know we’ve all been working our asses off and are overtired. However, once our move is complete, I’m going to make a mandatory two-hour session five days a week, and the other two days Kermit will be running drills and doing firearms instruction. So enjoy this vacation… and that’s about it, unless anyone has anything to add.”

Julie raised her hand.

“Yes.”

“What about the sleeping situation? We’re going from the semi-comfort of hard mattresses to cots. I don’t really want to have to sleep on an army cot. Is there any plan on taking our beds when we move?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve already heard several complaints in regard to the living quarters and the lack of amenities. I know this place is a little lacking, but once we get ready to officially move in, we’ll go mattress shopping as it were. Anything else? No? Okay, next staff meeting in two days, same time, same place, same Bat channel. Meeting is adjourned.”

VII. Hometown

September 14
th
. Five weeks after we gained access to the armory it was fully functional defensively and offensively. We reconstructed the gating and barricades, rebuilt the machine gun nests on the roof, opting not to reestablish the ones on street level. We mended all the razor wire, took inventory of our supplies, set up living quarters, removed the dead, and repaired the rooftop perimeter fencing. Sam also salvaged as much video and radio communications equipment from the GCC as he could carry out, while Marisol, with Sam’s help, disassembled and removed the external storage of the Networx Altix supercomputer. It was impossible to transport the nearly seven-foot tall, fourteen hundred pound rack server to our new home, even though Doctor France insisted it was necessary for his ongoing research efforts. The only remaining item on our to-do list was to move the doctor himself and his needed research equipment into the armory hospital.

Though we had explored the blocks surrounding the armory, scavenging as much needed supplemental supplies as necessary—not only food but personal hygiene as well—we had not actually had a day away from our new home with the intention of exploring for the sake of exploring. We needed a few days of enjoyment, moderate relaxation, and no work. I wanted to take my friends on a “field trip” to a secret destination before going home to retrieve personal items.

Marisol was hesitant about returning to her home; she was afraid of what she knew she would find. David, had no one at his home, which was not in New Jersey, but a townhouse on the west side of Gramercy Park. He was anxious to return and retrieve his seven guitars, which he told me was ever-present on his mind since we made the relocation to the armory. The armory was less than five blocks north of his townhouse and he had considered walking home on several occasions.

I wanted a day away from the armory, a day to take my friends to my old neighborhood, to a special destination. Of course the doctor declined, which was fine by me. We showed him how to use the radio in the communication room, in case there was an emergency, and locked the exterior gates behind us as we departed.

* * *

I lived on 13
th
Street between 3
rd
and 2
nd
Avenue. My neighborhood was famous; so was my building. Famous, if you were a movie buff and a fan of the 1976 Martin Scorsese film,
Taxi Driver
. I lived at 204 East 13
th
Street, the building where Robert De Niro meet and eventually shot Harvey Keitel, not to be confused with the building that was used as the brothel, where De Niro’s character, Travis Smiley, went on a bloody rampage in the film’s climatic finale. That was 226 East 13
th
. Besides, my building was renovated while the other looked like it was from 1976.

I loved where I lived; it was a good neighborhood and I knew quite a few of my neighbors. I also liked where I used to live on East 10
th
Street across from Tompkins Square Park. During the 1980s, the park had become a high-crime area that contained encampments of homeless people, and it was a center for illegal drug dealing and heroin use.

The property values of the neighborhood had plummeted by then, and no one wanted to live in the neighborhood for fear of their lives, including my mother. However, my father turned the plight of the neighborhood into an opportunity. He, along with a few of his colleagues, scraped up enough money to buy a building for slightly over $100,000. That was one year before Daniel Rakowitz made brain soup out of his roommate of sixteen days.

Rakowitz had come to New York City in 1985 from Texas and even as a child had shown signs and been treated for mental illness. He had established himself as a well-known character in the neighborhood that was part of a rootless young crowd that squatted in the Park, and who had earned a reputation as an oddball among even this seriously iconoclastic collection of the disenfranchised, alienated, and lost. He was often seen wandering about with a chicken on his shoulder, mumbling about the devil and police control. To those who would listen he announced that he was Jesus and would soon take over the country by becoming the youngest president, and would legalize marijuana. Then in mid-August of 1989, he bragged to the regulars of the park that he had murdered his girlfriend and made soup out of her brains. However, Rakowitz was known to be so demented that nobody took him seriously. My father, nonetheless, took him seriously and as soon as he heard the rumor he reported it to Detective Richard Abbinanti of the Homicide Division of the 9
th
Precinct, the same precinct where my father worked. On August 19
th
, 1989, bemusement turned to horror when it was discovered he had murdered his roommate of sixteen days, Monica Beerle, a Swiss dancer and student, and, over the next several weeks, dissected and boiled her remains in the kitchen of their apartment at 700 East 9
th
Street.
When my mother read this in the paper, she told my father if he didn’t move out of the neighborhood she was going to divorce him and move back with her parents. She did leave my father for a week until he pleaded with her to return. She did, and my father spent the rest of his life making it up to her. My father’s recompense came to fruition when he retired and sold his portion of the building to his partners. He retired a millionaire. His small investment had skyrocketed as the property values soared in the aftermath of the cleanup and gentrification of Tompkins Square Park and the surrounding neighborhood.

* * *

As I drove down Second Avenue with Max in the passenger seat and David at gunner’s position—Marisol, under protest, rode in the Stryker since she had proven a capable targeting systems operator—and crossed 18
th
Street. I didn’t realize that I had been singing aloud until David brought it to my attention.