That being said, these amenities and protection do come at a price. Any civil disobedience or crime will be punished harshly. If we don’t all work together, all of this—our recovery—will fall apart.
As you step through the door, you, the chosen ones, will begin your repatriation process and become a part of the new world—a better world—a world in which we all work toward one common goal. I look forward to working with you, and I thank you for your contribution to this great, noble cause.
The screen flickered briefly, and the recorded message looped again as people continued to trickle from the train and walk down the corridor: Welcome! My name is Mark Hammond, camp administrator. It is my great pleasure to welcome you to our facility. At this facility, it is our goal to—
Teddy passed through the doorway and entered a long, windowless room with multiple stalls lining the walls on both sides of the room; none of the stalls had doors, just moldy shower curtains that were pulled open. Gymnasium lights dangled from the ceiling, and air ducts were suspended from the exposed steel rafters. The biting cold outside was replaced with a musky heat generated by the growing crowd and the gymnasium’s high-power bulbs.
People from the train wandered into the room, confused and frightened; everyone talked over each other, unsure of what to do.
A handful of FEMA officers wearing peacoats and balaclavas barked orders at the crowd from the middle of the room. The officers, who looked just as frightened and confused as the passengers, formed a circle as more and more people came in, shouting questions at them.
“What a clusterfuck,” Teddy said to Ein, who stood close beside him.
The officers became increasingly outnumbered and looked around anxiously as the crowd swarmed around them aimlessly. One of the officers bore sergeant insignias on his uniform jacket lapels. He lowered his balaclava and brought a megaphone to his lips with a trembling hand. After clearing his throat and keying the mic, he spoke into the megaphone. This is Sergeant Mayville speaking! Everyone stop talking and make your way to one of the stalls! A medical staff member will—
The officer was interrupted by a man who was frantically scanning the crowd. “Where’s my wife?! We were together at the station, but now I can’t find her!”
Others followed suit and started to shout over each other as they screamed questions at the officers.
Some of the officers pulled out their batons and stood in defensive positions as the crowd grew more agitated.
Mayville continued. A medical staff member will be with you shortly. You need to—
Even amplified with the megaphone, his voice was drowned out by the crowd.
Mayville cleared his throat once more, turned the volume up, and keyed the mic again. You need to find an open stall and enter it right now!
The man who was searching for his wife pushed between two officers and stepped toward the sergeant.
“I’m not going anywhere without Mary!” he shouted as the officers pushed him back with their batons.
Mayville pulled out his pistol and fired toward the ceiling.
People screamed and ducked down.
Teddy crouched down with Ein and stared at the officer.
Mayville kept his smoking pistol pointed at the ceiling as he gritted his teeth and glared out at the crowd. A trickle of plaster dust fluttered down from the rafters and landed on his head.
After the gunshot, the crowd had fallen silent.
Everyone—shut up and stay back, or I’ll shoot! Get to an empty stall! Beads of sweat rolled down Mayville’s forehead. He waved his pistol toward the crowd. Move! Now! One person per stall!
The crowd quickly and quietly dispersed toward the stalls, bumping and stumbling against one another as they moved.
The officers spread out and brandished their batons, shouting at their charges to hurry up.
“See you in a bit,” Teddy told Ein. “Don’t start any shit.”
“That goes double for you,” Ein said.
Teddy and Ein split up and moved toward some of the last remaining empty stalls on opposite sides of the room.
“Hurry up! Get in there!” a young female officer told Teddy as she pointed her baton at one of the empty stalls.
Teddy frowned and stepped into the small concrete space. He turned around and watched as the rest of the group filled the remaining stalls. He couldn’t see which one Ein had taken.
Mayville relaxed, wiped the sweat off of his brow, and holstered his pistol. He pulled his balaclava back up over his nose and mouth and keyed the megaphone once again. Remain standing in your stall until Medical screens you! Do not talk to others!
FEMA officers walked along both sides of the room and pulled the curtains closed on each of the stalls.
Teddy glared at a short, fat officer as he passed in front of his stall. The officer glared back and yanked the curtain shut.
Teddy sighed and sat down against the wall, his feet spread out in front of him. He pressed the back of his head against the wall and stared up vacantly at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d walked into, but it sure as hell felt awfully similar to when he’d been processed into USP Tucson so many years ago. He closed his eyes and waited.
After a few minutes, he heard muffled screams and the sound of people getting knocked around. The chatter on the officer’s Motorola radios amped up.
Instinctively, Teddy jumped back to his feet, balled his fists, and prepared to defend himself. He narrowed his eyes at the closed curtain…waiting.
Whatever was happening out there, it didn’t sound anything like routine intake medical screening.
Ten minutes passed; soon, more than an hour had ticked away.
The bouts of screaming eventually stopped, but Teddy didn’t let his guard down, and didn’t take his eyes off the curtain.
Finally, it was pulled open.
Teddy’s heart raced as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He was ready.
To his surprise, there were no officers ready to take him down—just a tall man with messy black hair and crooked glasses. The man’s silver name tag identified him as “Dr. Demarest.” A young black woman in blue surgical scrubs and a mask followed the doctor while pushing a rolling kiosk that held a computer and a tray full of numbered syringes.
“What happened out there?” Teddy asked as he craned his neck in an attempt to look over the doctor’s shoulders.
“Nothing,” Dr. Demarest replied. “Hold out your wristband.”
“What was all the screaming about?” Teddy persisted.
“You need only be concerned about the words coming out of my mouth! Now, present your wristband to the nurse!”
Teddy looked down at the wristband he was given back at the stadium. It was faded, stained, and fraying, but the bar code still looked readable.
The nurse took a handheld scanner off the cart and waited.
Teddy extended his arm.
After scanning the wristband’s barcode, the nurse turned her attention toward the computer on the cart and read aloud from the screen. “His name is Teddy Sanders, and he’s from the Tucson, Arizona center. H7N9 antigens were detected on his blood test. Sugar levels, kidney function, liver function, and electrolytes came back normal. The potassium level was slightly low but within normal range. CBC is normal. Cholesterol panel is normal. No STDs.” She paused. “His chart hasn’t been flagged—they don’t need this one.”
“Flagged?” Teddy asked. “What the hell does that mean?”
Demarest ignored his question and took a penlight from his pocket. He leaned forward and shone the beam into Teddy’s pupils.
Teddy squinted and turned his head to look away.
“The test conducted in Tucson says that you have H7N9 antigens in your system. How long ago did you have the flu?” he asked as he shone the light into Teddy’s ear.
“I don’t know,” Teddy muttered. “A few weeks ago, I suppose. I lost track.”
“You recovered without incident?”
“I’m st
anding here, aren’t I?”
Demarest reached out, grabbed Teddy’s chin, and turned his head in the opposite direction. “Are you currently on any prescription medication?” he asked as he shone the light into Teddy’s other ear.
“No.”
“Any chronic diseases or handicaps?”
“No.”
“Do you take illicit drugs?”
“Why? Do you have any?” Teddy asked with a sly grin.
“Yes or no, Mr. Sanders,” Demarest said.
“No, I don’t take that shit.”
“Cancer? Heart problems?”
“None that I’m aware of.”
Demarest turned Teddy’s head toward him. “Open,” he ordered.
Teddy opened his mouth.
The doctor shone the flashlight down his throat and peered inside for a few seconds. He let go of Teddy’s chin, turned the penlight off, and returned it to his pocket. “The patient is healthy and cleared for high-risk work duties due to his H7N9 immunity. No work restrictions,” he told the nurse. “You may proceed.” Demarest yawned and exited the stall.
The nurse pushed her cart toward Teddy and quickly typed something into the computer. “Hold out your wristband again,” she said without looking away from the screen.
Teddy extended his arm once more.
She cut off the wristband and picked up one of the syringes from the tray, scanned it, and typed something into the computer.
Teddy started to lower his arm.
“No, keep it extended,” she said. “Now turn your hand up toward the ceiling and make a fist.”
“Why?”
“I need to give you an injection.”
“Of what?” he asked with suspicion.
The nurse sighed. “Look, honey, do I need to get one of the officers, or are you going to do as you’re told?”
Teddy brought his arm back up, turned it, and made a fist.
The nurse grabbed his wrist and stuck the needle in his forearm. “This is an RFID chip; it’s going to serve as your new identification and tracker throughout the camp.” As she injected a small metallic device under his skin, she added, “Along with storing your medical records and personnel file, the chip will allow you access to different parts of the camp and buildings depending on what access level you’re granted for whatever job you’re assigned.” She pulled the needle out of his arm and tossed it into a small red bin at the bottom of her cart.
Teddy frowned as he stared down at the small protruding knot on his forearm. The foreign object felt cold and irritated his skin. “It itches.”
“Don’t scratch it,” she said. “The swelling should go down in a day or so. You’ll get used to it—and you’ll forget it’s even there.” She paused and looked at him. “Any questions?”
“Trust me, I have plenty of them, but I think I’d get more answers talking to a brick wall.”
“You’d do well to remember your place here,” she said. “We all have our jobs to do, and I’m just doing mine. You can step outside and join the others now. You’re done.”
The nurse pushed her cart over to the next stall, where the doctor was waiting for her.
Scratching his arm, Teddy stepped out of the stall and studied the room. Most of the stalls had their curtains pulled back and were empty.
Medical reminder, a recording announced through the overhead speakers. It is your duty to report any signs of illness or flu-like symptoms. Failure to do so is a punishable offense.
Two doctors and a small group of nurses meandered between the remaining occupied stalls while FEMA officers stood and watched from the middle of the room.
Teddy looked down at the floor. His eyes widened, and a chill ran down his spine—there were droplets of fresh blood on the floor leading toward the door on the opposite side of the room.
“Ein?!” he called out. “Are you still in here, kid?!”
There was no response.
“Ein! Are you in here?!”
Silence.
Teddy jumped as one of the officers shouted at him.
“Quit standing around and head outside!”
“I’m looking for a friend.”
One of the officers pulled out his baton and took a step toward Teddy. He waved his baton in the air and pointed it at the door. “I don’t care who you’re looking for! If you don’t move your ass through that door right now, I’ll crack your skull!”
Teddy stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked briskly as he followed the droplets of blood toward the door. All he could do was hope the kid was okay…even though hope had never yet done him any favors.
He walked outside into the frigid air and stepped onto a brightly lit concrete pad. Squinting, he held up a hand to shield his eyes from the blinding halogen spotlights as he surveyed the complex. Multiple one-story concrete barracks stretched out as far as he could see, and high-mast lights and guard towers were scattered throughout the camp. Most of the buildings were numbered, and many bore U.S. Border Patrol seals.
A large, concrete tower had been erected in the center of the camp and was crowned with a wide array of communication antennas and satellite dishes—it reminded Teddy of an air traffic control tower. One building that stood out from all the others was a five-story structure nestled on a small hill overlooking the rest of the camp. It had narrow slit windows and was painted a drab, gray color. The entire camp was surrounded by a massive chain-link fence topped with razor wire.
Teddy felt dwarfed by the complex’s sprawl.
Two FEMA officers carrying rifles and wearing full riot gear stood at the corner of the concrete pad along with a third man wearing a black trench coat absent insignias or indications of rank. The man held a small scanner and a touch-screen tablet.
Standing behind the three men was Lt. Hock from the train; his dress uniform and black beret set him apart as the superior officer in the group.
A small group of people wearing civilian clothes stood on the pathway behind the lieutenant with their arms wrapped around their chests, shivering…waiting.
“You!” one of the officers called out to Teddy. “Step forward!”
Teddy approached the man in the trench coat and stopped.
“Hold out your chip,” the man said from behind his balaclava.
Teddy held his arm out and waited as the man’s fingers clumsily poked and prodded the tablet’s screen.
Hock turned to stare at Teddy, who immediately looked away to avoid eye contact.
After a few seconds, Hock’s face lit up with recognition. “Weren’t you the one who gave my officers a hard time on the train outside of Tucson?”
Teddy didn’t answer.
A slow grin formed across Hock’s face. “Ah, yes…I recall your name. Teddy Sanders.”
“I don’t remember your name,” Teddy said as he turned and looked the lieutenant in the eyes.
“That’s because I didn’t give it to you. I’m Lieutenant Hock, and I’m in charge of this camp’s security forces. I told you back on the train that we’d be seeing a lot of each other, didn’t I?”
“I would say it’s an honor, but you don’t seem like the type of moron that would buy that bullshit,” Teddy said.
Both the FEMA officers stepped forward and pointed their rifles at Teddy’s chest.
“Show some respect!” one of the officers barked.
The man in the peacoat looked away from his tablet and stared at Teddy in disbelief.
“Stand down,” Hock quickly told the officers.
Stunned, the officers lowered their weapons and stepped back.
The man in the peacoat focused on his tablet again.
Hock kept his sharp gaze focused on Teddy and simply nodded. “You’re correct, Sanders,” he finally replied. “Just as you don’t seem like the type of moron who would sell me such bullshit. I must warn you though…not everyone here appreciates curt honesty as much as I do.”
“Duly noted, Lieutenant,” Teddy muttered.
The man in the pea
coat took the scanner and ran it over the area where Teddy’s chip had been injected. “You can lower your arm now,” the man said as he hooked the scanner back onto his utility belt. “It will take me a few moments to enter you into our system.”
Teddy crossed his arms over his chest, shivering in the bitter cold. He looked over his shoulder and noticed that a small line was starting to form behind him, but he didn’t see Ein.
“Have you seen a young kid?” Teddy asked Hock. “Early twenties…purple hair. Couldn’t miss him.”
“No, I haven’t seen anyone like that,” Hock replied candidly as he met Teddy’s gaze without wavering. “He must still be inside with the others, waiting to get examined.”
Instead of making Teddy feel better, the lieutenant’s response only made him feel more uneasy.
“The computer says you’ve already been sick and that you’re cleared to work high-risk details,” the man in the peacoat said as he read from the tablet. “Even so, we need more people in the kitchen, so I’m assigning you to Sergeant Flood’s detail in dorm eighteen.”
“Does this guy look like a cook to you?” Hock asked, a look of bemusement on his face.
“Sir?”
“He’s immune—why waste him? He needs to work the city…not chop carrots.”
“Yes sir,” the man said. “I’ll place him on the CDT crew in dorm thirty-six. Sergeant Clark’s detail.”
“CDT?” Teddy asked and gave the man a quizzical look.
Before the man could explain, the lieutenant cut in. “Not dorm thirty-six. Clark is a good guy, but he’s soft. This one, well—he needs someone hard.”
“Hard?” the man asked as he looked at the lieutenant.
“Yes, hard. Put him on Parham’s detail in dorm twenty. I think he’s the best one to handle him.”
The officers glanced at each other with wide eyes and shook their heads.
“But, sir,” the man in the peacoat said. “Sergeant Clark has—”
“It wasn’t a request, Officer,” Hock said in low voice, emphasizing the man’s subordinate title. He narrowed his eyes. “Make it happen.”
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