by Mark Kelly
“Twenty minutes? Are you fucking kidding me? I could walk here faster than that.”
“Best we can do, Sergeant Dines. Over and Out.”
Simmons felt a tap on his knee. “What are they doing?” Mei asked.
“I think they’re going to send a helicopter,” he said, grateful and surprised. The helicopters were almost never used because of the fuel shortage.
“No, I mean the bikers.”
“I don’t know. Just a minute and I’ll take a look.”
He inched along the ground to the rear of the jeep and peeked out. The procession of motorcycles had come to a stop about one hundred yards from the entrance to the clinic. The three men in the front-most row climbed off their bikes.
Even from a distance, Simmons could tell the biker in the middle was a big man. The giant biker untied the bandana from around his neck and raised it in the air. He waved it while shouting something to the soldiers standing behind the five-ton truck.
“Dines, this is Johnson,” a voice said over the radio. “Are you watching?”
“Talk to them, Dines replied. “Find out what they want.”
Simmons watched a soldier who he assumed was Johnson step out from behind the five-ton truck. Johnson held his rifle crosswise to his body to show he wasn’t a threat. Then he slowly walked towards the bikers.
The three bikers did the same, advancing until they met him half-way down the road. After talking for what couldn’t have been any more than thirty seconds, Johnson backed away, returning to a position of safety behind the truck.
“Dines, they want to talk to the officer in charge.”
“Why?”
“They said they want information.”
“About what?”
“Don’t know. They wouldn’t say.”
Dines mulled the situation over and then spoke to Chenney. “This is way above my pay grade. Go get the captain.”
Chenney ran to the tent, returning a minute later with Captain Doggard who was still wearing her surgical gown and mask. Her eyes twitched with worry. She yanked the mask down, letting it hang loosely around her neck.
“What do they want?” Doggard asked Dines.
“To talk to you, Ma’am. But it’s probably not a good idea. There’s a bird on the way from base. It’ll have reinforcements on it. We can wait them out.”
Doggard gazed down at the road. “Wait them out for what, Sergeant? Unless the helicopter has an entire platoon on it, we’re outnumbered. I think the best approach is to invite them up for a talk—but just a few of them; the three out front. I assume they’re the leaders.”
“Are you sure, Ma’am?”
“Positive.”
When Dines hesitated, Doggard barked, “Make it happen now, Sergeant.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Dines keyed the microphone. “Johnson, this is Dines. Captain Doggard says to let them in, but just the three you were talking to. She says keep the rest on the road.”
Johnson threw up his arms in exasperation as his voice came over the radio. “Dines, there’s like, a billion of them. How are we going to keep them anywhere? Is she fucking serious?”
“Serious as a heart attack and standing right beside me.”
“Oh.”
Johnson glanced up at the jeep then quickly looked away. He stepped out from behind the truck and returned to the spot on the road where the three bikers stood.
After a brief exchange, the bikers returned to their motorcycles. Simmons could have sworn the tall man in the middle was laughing as he climbed onto a custom Harley-Davidson with apehanger handlebars. The big man raised his hand high in the air and waved the bandana he held in a slow circular motion.
On his signal, the other gang members stirred into action. The ones who had turned off their bikes, re-started their engines. In fits and starts and groups of two or three, they followed their leader as he rode past the soldiers.
“Stop them,” Doggard shouted at Dines. “They’re coming. All of them.”
But it was too late. The bikers turned off the road and headed across the bumpy field towards the jeep. Simmons scrambled backward on his hands and knees. He plopped down in the muddy turf next to Mei with his back up against the rear wheel.
“Stay out of sight and keep your head down,” Dines said, snapping into action. She handed her pistol to Doggard, then snatched a rifle from a rack inside the jeep.
“No one shoot unless we’re fired upon,” she said to O’Reilly and Chenney. Then she glanced at Doggard. “Are those your orders, Ma’am?”
Doggard stared vacantly at the pistol in her hand, then nodded. She leaned over the hood of the jeep with both hands on the gun and pointed it at the bikers.
As the big bikes neared, Simmons felt the rumbling bass of their exhaust in his chest. Mei grabbed for his hand. He clutched her’s tightly, wishing more than anything he had remembered to bring his gun with him. If Lucia had been here, she would have torn a strip off of both of them for going out without their weapons. But then again, what use were two more pistols against an army of bikers.
With no warning, and just as it seemed like it was impossible for the noise from the approaching motorcycles to get any louder, the thunderous racket ebbed to nothing. Dines hunched over the jeep’s hood and stared down the barrel of her rifle.
“Don’t come any closer or I will put a fucking round in your forehead,” she shouted.
“Tough talk from a tough lady,” a French-accented voice said.
“Count on it. What do you want?”
“Information. Who is the boss here?”
Dines looked sideways at Doggard who glanced down at Mei. Doggard hesitated, then shouted, “I’m the officer in charge.”
“You are a nurse?”
“I am the chief surgeon at Canadian Forces Base Petawawa,” Doggard said stiffly. She stood a little taller. “Who are you?”
“I am Henri Lacrosse, boss of les Chevalier de Montréal. Some call me, Petit Henri. What is this place? I see the Croix-Rouge, the red cross on your tent.”
“This is a medical clinic…Une clinique médicale.”
The biker leader laughed. “I hope your skill as a doctor is better than your French. What medical assistance do you give? Do you help with the bug?”
Paralyzed with indecision, Doggard froze.
Henri’s voice turned dark. “I will not repeat the question. Do you help people with the bug?”
Simmons scrambled on his knees towards Doggard. “Tell him no,” he whispered desperately.
“Of course you do,” Henri taunted, “and you cure them, don’t you.”
It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. Stunned, Simmons spun on his knees to face Mei. The biker leader knew all along. He was just toying with them.
“I-I don’t know what—” Doggard said, stammering.
“Do not lie to me,” Henri shouted. “We have been riding for three days. Every time we stop, we hear whispers about the doctor up north who does the impossible.”
“How could—”
Henri roared with anger. “Silence. And you, whoever is behind the jeep, stand and show yourself. Do you think I am stupid?”
28
They took her
Simmons and Mei looked up at Dines, who nodded somberly. Slowly, hand in hand, they pushed themselves off the ground and stood to face a wall of heavily armed bikers lined up on motorcycles seven or eight deep and over twenty men wide.
In the center of the first row, the big man Simmons had seen on the road sat on his bike with his arms casually folded across his chest. He smirked through his beard and then flicked a thumb, signalling they should move out from behind the jeep into the open.
“Toi aussi…You too,” he said to Dines and the soldiers when they were slow to follow. “And leave your weapons behind.”
Dines scowled, but obeyed the gang leader’s instructions. She slammed her rifle down on the jeep’s hood and motioned at the other soldiers to do the same. Then, while prete
nding to stumble, she brushed against Doggard and snatched the pistol from the other woman’s hand. Before Doggard could react, Dines lifted her surgical gown and jammed the gun down the front of Doggard’s pants. Simmons was certain the bikers would notice, but Dines had used the jeep’s tall hood to hide her actions.
Henri scrutinized Simmons and Mei for a second before speaking. “It seems I am at un désavantage. Is that how you say it in English—a disadvantage? You know who I am, but I do not know who you are. Whoever you are, you must be important; few have soldiers to guard them.”
“Dr. Mei…Dr. Mei,” a child’s voice cried out as the two boys ran from beside the clinic where they had been hiding. They dashed to Mei and latched onto her.
“Go stand over there,” she said, bending down to hug them. She gently pushed them between Dines and the other soldiers.
Henri raised an amused eyebrow. “You are a doctor too?”
“Dr. Mei is the best doctor in the world,” one of the boys said with unbridled enthusiasm.
Henri leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bottom of his motorcycle’s handlebars. He fixed his eyes on the boy who had spoken.
“The best in the world? Wow, that is very impressive.”
“I had the bug, but now I don’t,” the boy said proudly. “And I’m not the only one. Dr. Mei makes everyone better.”
For an instant, the only sound was the rustle of clothing as the bikers in the first row stirred in their seats. Simmons glanced at Mei. They were screwed. Slowly, word of what the boy had said spread through the gang. Henri raised his hand in the air and clenched his fist, quieting his men.
“Come here and tell me all about it,” he said to the boy.
“Please leave him alone,” Mei pleaded. “He’s just a child. He didn’t do anything.”
Henri shot her a look, warning her to be quiet. He removed a small piece of plywood from his saddlebag, dropped it on the soft muddy ground, and lowered his motorcycle’s kickstand onto it.
“I asked you to come here and tell me how she made you better,” he said as he climbed off his bike.
Trembling, the boy shook his head. Dines and the soldiers stepped protectively around him. Henri reached into the front pocket of his leather vest and pulled out a pack of chewing gum. He offered it to the boy.
“It is yours if you want it. I have more. Come here and get it…I won’t hurt you.”
“Please…” Mei begged. “Leave him alone. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“Shut up,” Henri snapped. “I want to hear it from him.”
The boy shook his head. Henri dropped to one knee.
“What is your name?”
“Sam,” the boy said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“How old are you, Sam?”
“Nine.”
“Sam, did you know I had a family—un garçon et une fille…a boy and a girl. They were older than you, but they liked chewing gum very much. Don’t you like gum?”
“Yes.”
“Then come and get it. I will not hurt you.”
Dines tried to hold him back, but the temptation was too great. Sam twisted until he was free. He dashed forward and plucked the pack of gum from Henri’s hand. Before the boy could return to the safety of the soldiers, Henri grabbed Sam’s arm and squeezed.
“Tell me how she cured you.”
Sam scrunched up his face and cried out in pain as Henri pulled him closer. “Ow…Ouch.”
“You’re hurting him,” Mei shouted. “Leave him alone.” She started to move towards the boy, but Simmons grabbed her and held her back.
“Sam, tell me how she cured you,” Henri repeated. “It is important.” When the boy was slow to answer, Henri roared, “Tell me, NOW!”
“I-I don’t know how, mister. I was asleep. Please let me go.”
Henri uttered a curse in French and let go of the boy’s arm. Sam ran to Mei. She draped a protective arm over his shoulder and comforted him.
Henri climbed slowly to his feet. He brushed the dirt and wet grass from his pant leg, then fixed his gaze on Mei.
“So, it is true after all. You are the one they are talking about; the one who cures people sick from the bug.”
Mei glanced at Simmons. He shrugged helplessly. There was no point lying. “I don’t do it alone,” she said. “Captain Doggard and her team at the clinic do most of the work.”
“And you?” Henri asked, turning and glancing at Simmons. “You are a doctor too?”
“No, a teacher,” Simmons answered. “I was a professor of genetics at Georgetown University.”
Henri’s eyes glazed over with disinterest. He focused his attention back on Mei. “How do you cure them? With that?” He pointed at the flask of biotherapeutic she still clutched tightly to her chest.
Simmons saw the uncertainty in her eyes. If she said no, the biker leader would ask her what she used to cure her patients and she would have to tell him about Saanvi. If she said yes, he might want proof and they still didn’t know if the biotherapeutic worked.
She chose the lesser of the two evils. She glanced down at the flask and nodded.
Henri’s voice was hard as granite when he said, “Give it to me.”
“Go to hell. It’s not yours for the taking,” Dines shouted at him.
Unaware the flask of biotherapeutic might be worthless, Dines had retrieved the pistol from Doggard and now had it aimed directly at Henri.
Henri grinned when he saw the gun in her hand. “Très hardcore, but I think you are outnumbered.” He glanced over his shoulder at his men. They all had their weapons pointed at Dines.
Dines’s radio crackled with static as a voice came through the speaker. “Charlie-One, this is Little Bird. We’re twelve miles out. ETA approximately five minutes. Do you copy? Over?”
“That’s the cavalry, Big Boy,” Dines said with a satisfied smirk. “I suggest you and your friends turn those bikes around and get out of here while the getting is good.”
Henri shook his head. “I am sorry but I can not do that. Give me the medicine. If you do not, your friends in the helicopter will find many dead bodies.”
“And you’ll be one of them,” Dines said, pointing her gun at the center of his massive chest.
“Stop it,” Mei pleaded. She moved away from Simmons and the soldiers, putting herself in a position between Dines and Henri. “No one needs to kill anyone. The pandemic is doing a good enough job as it is.”
Henri and Dines wavered, but neither lowered their gun.
“Why do you want this?” Mei asked Henri, holding up the flask.
“For the same reasons you do.”
“Are you infected?” she asked him.
“No.”
She glanced at the men behind him. “One of them?”
“No.”
“Why then?”
Henri broadened his shoulders and spoke boldly. “I am a man of my word. There is someone I swore I would protect, but she became sick with the bug while she was under my care.”
“If I treat her, will you leave peacefully?”
Doggard took a step towards Mei and said, “Can I speak with you?”
“Not now,” Mei replied, brushing the other doctor off.
“It’s important. There’s some—”
“I told you, not now,” Mei snapped at her. She turned to Henri and said, “If I treat the girl, will you leave peacefully?”
Henri crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “Who are you to make demands? Perhaps I should just take your medicine and treat the girl myself.”
“Do you know the dosage?” Mei asked sarcastically. “Or how to administer it? Are you going to be the one who gets close to her? You know how the bacteria spreads, right?”
“Then, perhaps I will take you too.”
“Not going to happen,” Dines said, waving the pistol to remind him she still had it in her hand pointed at him. “The doc is staying here.”
Henri ignored the gun and eyed the
flask. “You will treat the girl here?” he asked Mei.
When she nodded, he signalled to an older man in a jean jacket covered with gang emblems. The other biker spoke into a small hand-held radio.
Seconds later, a white cargo truck drove down the road and into the field. It pulled up next to the clinic and stopped. The driver jumped down from the cab. He pulled a mask up over his face and ran to the back of the truck where he pushed the door open. Inside the cargo bay, a figure lay wrapped in blankets on a mattress in front of a row of steel drums.
“She has been sick for two days now,” Henri told Mei.
Mei thrust the flask into Simmons’s hands and ran to the truck. Using the rear bumper as a step, she climbed into the cargo bay. After a brief examination, she shouted out a preliminary diagnosis to Doggard.
“She’s badly dehydrated. Late stage two…possibly, early stage three infection. Pulse is weak. Pupils unresponsive. We need to get her inside immediately and start treatment.”
Doggard appeared at a loss. She ran to the back of the truck and lowered her voice. “Mei, we can’t treat her. That’s what I was trying to tell you. We used the last of Saanvi’s material this morning. There won’t be anymore from the base until the day after tomorrow.”
“What is the problem?” Henri shouted. He stomped towards the back of the truck, his massive black motorcycle boots leaving deep tread marks in the soil.
“Nothing…there’s no problem at all,” Mei said. She leapt off the back of the truck, dashed past Henri and snatched the flask from Simmons’s hands.
Realizing what she wanted to do, Simmons protested. “Mei, we don’t know—”
“Not now, Tony. I’m aware of the risk, but that girl is a day away from being dead.”
“What if it doesn’t work?” Simmons whispered. He glanced at Henri, who walked impatiently towards them. “What will he do if she dies?”
“Kill us,” Mei whispered back, “which is probably the same thing he’ll do if we tell him we’re out of material. You’ve been saying we needed to do a human trial using the biotherapeutic. I guess this is it.”