Absolution

by Mark Campbell

  “Yes sir,” the man said, quickly looking away and back down at his tablet.

  “Parham’s one of those people I mentioned earlier, Sanders,” Hock said. “You know, the ones who don’t appreciate curt honesty…”

  “Why are you putting me with him?” Teddy asked.

  Hock only smiled.

  The man in the peacoat finished updating the information. “It’s done, Sanders.” He pointed to the rows of concrete barracks in the distance. “Report to dorm twenty immediately.”

  Teddy stepped uneasily off the concrete pad and wandered toward a group of civilians huddled along the sidewalk. They were all middle-aged men, and all of them had red armbands. Even though they wore thick coats, old gloves, and warm knit hats, they looked as if they were freezing. Most appeared severely malnourished: their eyes were sunken, and their cheekbones jutted out unnaturally, giving them the look of emaciated, skeletal ghouls.

  As Teddy approached, one of the men, his face distorted in a scowl, asked, “Which dorm have you been assigned to?”

  “Twenty,” Teddy answered.

  The group of men murmured quietly and shook their heads.

  “Sorry to hear that, Brother,” one of the men said.

  A middle-aged, bald, black man stepped forward wearing a pair of old Timberlands, a gray sweatshirt, and khaki pants. “I was wondering if they’d send me somebody…you must’ve pissed someone off something fierce,” he said with a slight southern drawl.

  “I reckon so,” Teddy grumbled, glancing over his shoulder.

  “Well, I’m dorm twenty’s ambassador—at least that’s what they say I am.” He paused and chuckled. “I’m supposed to help get you settled. My name is Rodrick Perry, but I was one of the first to arrive, so folks around here just call me ‘Old Perry.’ You got a name, new blood?”

  “Teddy,” he said as his gaze passed over the crowd with apprehension.

  “Nice to meet ya, Teddy.” He turned and started to walk away. “Let’s get you off the street and into your new home. Follow me.”

  Teddy looked wistfully over his shoulder.

  Perry stopped and turned toward him. “There’s nothing for you back there anymore.” He pointed at the red band on his arm. “It’s past curfew, and you really don’t want to be loitering around without one of these on.”

  “I was waiting for someone,” Teddy said. “A friend of mine. He came on the train with me.”

  “You’d be better off trying to find him in the morning at breakfast. We sure can’t stand around out here any longer,” Perry warned. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Teddy stuck his hands in his pockets, hunched over, and followed Perry down a walkway, examining the squalid surroundings as he walked. The narrow pathway weaved in and out of multiple identical jerry-built concrete buildings with flattened roofs. The quick and shoddy construction was evident even in the dim moonlight—large cracks branched up from their foundations, and many of the buildings looked sloped, as though they were slowly sinking into the earth. Lime deposits and mold had already formed from the runoff coming from the rooftop HVAC units. None of the buildings had windows, just numbered doors that barely fit into their frames.

  Teddy was a little surprised, given the government’s unparalleled expertise at wasting money.

  “What gives?” Teddy asked Perry as he trailed behind.

  “With what?” Perry asked.

  “This place,” Teddy replied with distaste evident in his voice. “Why is it such a pile of shit?”

  Perry shrugged. “With the virus spreading the way it did and all, they were in a hurry to finish it up. It used to be an immigration detention facility before the outbreak, but then they added more dorms and fences and turned it into this.”

  “What happened to the detainees?” Teddy asked, even though he pretty much knew what the answer would be.

  “I never asked, and they never said.”

  Teddy noticed the mounds of putrefying trash piled between the small alleyways beneath haphazardly strung clotheslines. Rats and field mice scurried out from one alley to another, squeaking and fleeing as the two men walked by.

  The ripe stench of human feces and urine forced Teddy to look away in revulsion.

  “You get used to the smell of this place, believe it or not,” Perry said with another shrug.

  “Where the hell does all this trash come from?”

  “We’re already overpopulated but they keep sending us more folks. The cops had a crew dig a landfill out a few miles down the road, but they can’t seem to keep with demand. There was talk about putting some incinerators up near the clinic, but looks like it was just talk.”

  “They have a clinic in here?” Teddy asked, admittedly surprised.

  “Sure do—but not much of one. It’s over in in the administration building,” Perry answered as he jaunted his thumb out behind him. “The low-rise up the hill. Did you see it when you came in?”

  “Hard to miss it,” Teddy said as he stared at a stained blanket flapping on a clothesline. “I can’t believe people came here on trains with nothing but the clothes on their backs and still managed to accumulate so much shit.”

  “They didn’t bring the stuff on the trains,” Perry said. “The vultures pick it up and smuggle it in. Dorms are stuffed to capacity, and some even have folks sleeping on the floor, but that don’t stop people from wanting little pieces of their old lives.”

  Teddy wondered who “the vultures” were, but he was too tired and cold to ask.

  They came to a stop at building twenty. Unlike most of the other buildings, it sat relatively level and didn’t seem to suffer from as many structural cracks. The door had a small biometric device mounted next to it.

  Perry placed his forearm against the fob, and the door unlocked.

  Perry, Rodrick—dorm twenty custodian—access granted, a robotic female voice announced from the device’s small speaker.

  “Use your chip to get in and out of the buildings here,” Perry explained as he pointed at his arm. He pushed the door open and extended a hand. “I’m supposed to give you an orientation, but I figure you’re ready to catch some sleep after that train ride. We’ll go over everything in the morning.”

  Teddy brushed past Perry and stepped inside. Despite the fact that the heat was on, it was still uncomfortably cold. He cupped his hands together and blew on his icy palms as he looked around.

  Dim lights dangled from the ceiling between webs of ventilation shafts. Bunk beds with thin mattresses were lined up, side by side, along both sides of the room. A row of lockers and wooden benches ran down the center of the room and divided it half. Communal showers and restroom stalls with stainless steel doors took up the expanse of the far wall.

  To Teddy’s surprise, most of the bunks were empty and had nothing but thin mattresses and wool blankets. He counted about six people in total who were covered up and fast asleep—nobody seemed to notice him.

  Perry closed the door and joined Teddy. “See? It’s not so bad here.” Perry spoke quietly so as not to disturb the others. “At least our dorm doesn’t suffer from overcrowding like the regular crews.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Last month we lost half the dorm to typhoid or something else—they never really explained. One of the workers, Mitch, caught a bug cleaning out an apartment in the city, and it spread like wildfire. Our dorm was under quarantine for a week. Everyone who was sick got sent up to Medical and never came back.” Perry directed a stern gaze at Teddy. “Our details have the nicest dorms, but our work carries the highest risks. That’s the life of a vulture, I suppose.”

  “You haven’t explained what it is I’m supposed to do,” Teddy said.

  “Like I said before, I’ll go over all that tomorrow. Right now, go pick whatever bunk you want and try to catch some sleep. I’ll show you the chow hall in the morning.” Perry slapped Teddy on the back and shuffled away into the shadows.

  Teddy wandered over to a lower bunk near the front of the room, a
way from the others. This one will have to do. He sat on the side of the bed and kicked off his boots. With an exhausted sigh, he lay down on his back and immediately grimaced in pain: the mattress was as hard as plywood.

  “And here I thought Tucson’s mattresses were horrible,” he grumbled to himself.

  He wrapped himself in the flimsy blanket and rolled over on his side. Despite his discomfort, his lids were heavy. He closed his eyes and started to drift…

  A vision of Jane and Danny flashed across his mind. At first, he saw their smiling faces, but then the images morphed into skeletal apparitions.

  Teddy’s eyes sprang open, and his heart raced. He rolled back over onto his back and stared up at the empty bunk above him. He had many regrets in life, but his biggest regret was not telling Jane the truth when he still had the chance.

  Teddy had fallen in love with her.

  Maybe if he’d opened up to her, they never would’ve made the mistake of going to the stadium. Maybe they would’ve gone off on their own—far away from Tucson…far away from the stadium.

  Maybe Danny would’ve recovered, and Jane wouldn’t have gotten sick. The stadium was a cesspool.

  Maybe, just maybe…but it was too late now. They were gone.

  The thought of Jane and Danny lying together in some mass grave covered in slaked lime brought tears to his eyes. He knew it wouldn’t do him any good to reminisce, nor would it help to mourn their loss.

  He had to keep moving forward, as he’d promised her he would.

  Teddy wiped the tears away and forced his eyes to close. Several hours passed before he was lulled into an uneasy slumber.

  CHAPTER 3

  NOVEMBER 25th

  Dawn broke, and the first rays of the sun bounced off the frost that covered the vast sea of dying cornstalks. Vibrant shades of bronze, red, and orange lit up the solar panels that powered the camp as the last remains of darkness dissolved into daylight. Plumes of steam rose up from the dormitories’ boiler furnaces.

  A two-story farmhouse sat a few miles away from the camp, the two connected by a narrow strip of gravel. With its wraparound porch, white board-and-batten siding, wood shingles, green storm shutters, and copper weathervane, the house looked like it had been plucked straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

  Mark Hammond hated every inch of the place.

  Wearing nothing but a bathrobe, he sat slouched in his office chair as he stared with contempt at the camp outside his study window. Being isolated and stuck in the middle of the country was not only an unfamiliar way of life, it was also as far as one could get from the rebuilt cosmopolitan lifestyle he’d envisioned.

  His reassignment packet sat, barely touched, on his desk. He hadn’t gone over every detail but had read enough to know just how costly his ticket to a cabinet-level position was going to be.

  “Three years…” he muttered to himself as he stared down into the half-empty glass of whisky in his hand. “Three goddamn years…”

  It felt like a prison sentence.

  Then again, he figured he deserved it.

  As he closed his eyes, he saw Laura lying on the bed, clutching the blanket against her sweaty body. Her blonde hair was spread over the pillow as she looked up at him with desperate, teary eyes. Towards the end, even breathing took painful effort on her part—it had hurt just looking at her…

  Hammond took another swig of whiskey in a futile attempt to drown out her memory. His head began to swim, and he for a moment he thought he was going to collapse. It took him a while to regain his composure and to wait for the room stop spinning.

  Operating on barely two hours of sleep and a diet consisting of little more than fermented grains, he knew that his health was failing, but he didn’t care. Alcohol was the only thing that offered him diversion from soul-crushing loneliness and crippling depression. He closed his eyes, mumbling incoherently to himself, but jolted awake as he heard a vehicle rapidly approaching.

  A military Humvee was speeding along the road from the direction of the camp.

  The last thing he wanted right now was a visitor. Hammond scowled, raised the glass to his cracked lips, and finished his drink in one gulp.

  The vehicle came to a stop in front of the porch. Soon after, he heard heavy footsteps ascend the wooden stairs.

  Hammond sat in silence and stared out the window, somehow feeling more lethargic than before. After a few minutes, there was a timid knock on the study door.

  “What?” Hammond asked without turning.

  An agent wearing a black suit cracked the door open and poked his head inside. He had an MP5 submachine gun slung around his shoulder and a gold badge clipped to his belt. “Sir, Lieutenant Hock requests to speak with you. Should I let him in?”

  Hammond waved a boney hand in the air and slouched deeper into the chair.

  The agent opened the door all the way and stood back.

  Hock wore his dress uniform, his appearance reflective of his usual meticulous attention to detail. He entered the room, his beret tucked under his arm.

  The agent quickly left the room and shut the door.

  “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” Hammond asked, his back still turned. He stared down at the empty glass and idly rocked it side to side.

  “Three more trains arrived last night,” Hock replied.

  “Yes… I’m aware,” Hammond said, irritated. “What is your point, Lieutenant?”

  “My point is that we cannot keep accommodating this rapid population increase. You need to tell Command to stop sending us people.”

  Hammond sighed and turned his chair around to face the lieutenant. Skinny, hairy legs poked out of his robe. The portion of the senator’s face visible through his disheveled mop of hair looked haggard and drawn.

  Hock didn’t appear fazed by his appearance and peered down into the administrator’s eyes.

  “Hock, you know damn well that I don’t control the train schedule,” Hammond grumbled. “They’re losing their hold on the quarantine centers in the cities, so they’re clearing them out as fast as they can.”

  “Then could you at least request additional manpower and ammunition to help handle this influx?”

  “No—that’s not how this works. Cheyenne Command and White Mountain receive first priority, and the rest of us get the scraps. They’re not going to send what they already don’t have enough of.”

  Hock furrowed his brows in frustration. “If you won’t do it, then could I have permission to use the satellite radio and ask for some assistance myself? Perhaps if they knew of our precarious situation from a military perspective—”

  “You know I can’t allow you to do that.”

  “With all due respect, sir, what exactly can you do?”

  Hammond stared at him with an expressionless face. “Mind your tone when speaking to me, Lieutenant, or I’ll show you just how fast that title can be stripped away.”

  Hock cupped his forehead and shook his head. “I apologize, but this situation is dangerous. I can’t continue running exterior work details with minimal staff.”

  Hammond waved his hand in the air and, frowning, leaned back in his chair. “You have no choice.” He paused and turned his chair back around toward the window. “The crews must continue their duties to make the city habitable again.”

  “Then I’m going to need more men.”

  “That simply isn’t going to happen, Lieutenant. You’ll need to learn how to do more with less, or I’ll find someone who will. Get down to brass tacks and recruit from within the camp’s population if you must—I really don’t care as long as the job gets done.”

  “They’re civilians,” Hock growled.

  Hammond shrugged. “A body is a body.”

  The phone on the desk started to ring.

  Hammond gave the lieutenant a dismissive wave. “You’re excused.”

  Infuriated, Hock abruptly turned and stormed out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind him.

  Alone again in the dimly li
t room, Hammond gave a heavy sigh and stared at the ringing phone on his desk.

  He reached over, picked up the receiver, and pressed it against his ear as he closed his eyes. “Hammond speaking.”

  Good morning, Director, a nasal voice answered. This is Melvin Gatsby from research. How are you doing this morning?

  Hammond didn’t respond.

  After a few seconds of awkward silence, the caller spoke again. Uh, sir? Are you there?

  “I’m here.”

  Oh, okay—well, um, I wanted to give you a progress report, if you have time.

  “Go ahead…”

  Very well. The man cleared his throat. Sir, as expected, and as we warned in our report the other day, the lymphocyte reaction from the introduction of foreign—

  Hammond set the receiver on the desk as the man on the other end prattled away. He turned toward the window yet again and stared down at his glass as he sat slouched in his chair. “Three years…three goddamn years of this shit,” he repeated to himself, shaking his head. He dropped the glass on the carpet and watched it roll away. Minutes later, he rose from the chair and pulled the curtains until the room grew as dark as his current state of mind before flopping back into his chair.

  He gave an exhausted sigh and closed his eyes. Once again, he saw Laura’s pallid face staring up at him, begging him for help that he couldn’t provide. Despite the severity of her illness—how weak and frail she’d appeared—he vividly remembered how hard she had struggled as he held the pillow over her face.

  He remembered the burning sensation on his arms as her nails dug into his skin.

  Her muffled cries for help still echoed in his mind.

  He recalled how her body had eventually fallen limp after what felt like an eternity.

  Hammond lowered his chin against his chest and sobbed deeply in the dark.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Wake up,” Perry said as he shook Teddy’s shoulder.

  Teddy’s bloodshot eyes snapped open, and he quickly grabbed Perry by a boney wrist. He shot up, ready to strike, and twisted Perry’s arm.