by James Ryke
“What are you talking about?”
“Here,” Rick handed Mr. Zhao a set of keys. “These keys are to a 1970 Chevy that’s locked away at the Big O’ storage unit. The silver key will open the correct storage unit—the number is engraved on it. If your car doesn’t work, I want you to take the Chevy.”
“But Dick, my car works fine.”
Rick took out a sheet of paper and a pen from his pocket. “First of all, my name is Rick—with an R. And second of all, this is just in case something happens. If you need help, you can find me at this address. It’s only a three-hour drive from here. Do not stop for anyone on the road, even if your heart breaks in doing so. There’s no gas in the vehicle, but you’ll find some in gas cans in the same storage area. I recently added octane to the fuel, so it should be fine. In the back, you’ll find food, water, and a rifle.”
“Rifle? Those are illegal. Don’t worry, Mr. Dick, we’re fine. We have plenty of everything; I have a good job.”
“Just keep the keys safe. If you don’t use them, then that’s probably a good thing, but I’ll wager my burnt home that you will.”
***
By the time Rick had returned to his car, his steering wheel was hot to the touch, forcing him to switch between fingers as he drove. Rick stepped on the gas, frantically weaving past cars on the highway. Like a flock of angry geese, each car he passed let out an expressive honk. Several of the drivers stuck their hands out their windows in a one-finger protest to Rick’s driving. This did not faze Rick; it even seemed routine. Aggression had become the mainstay of communication between drivers in America. With the massive nationwide cutbacks in law enforcement, the Police department had to choose between laws they would enforce and laws they could not. Traffic violations were at the bottom, along with domestic abuse, vandalism, and other petty crimes. A day hardly went by when Rick did not see at least a few motorists with dented cars who were angrily exchanging words or even fists with each other.
The heat in his car wafted up, like steam from a shower. Rick, however, did not notice until his head started to drip with sweat. As he turned on the air conditioner, he flipped on the radio. His erratic driving continued for another half-hour before his thoughts were interrupted by a news story.
“We interrupt this regularly scheduled program to give you breaking news. The United States military has issued a “traveling restriction” to all individuals that are within the following states: South Carolina, Virginia, Georgia, Florida, and North Carolina. If you live in these states, Government officials are asking everyone to take basic precautions such as wearing breathing masks in public, washing your hands regularly, and avoiding contact with anyone that appears to be sick.
“The disease that originated in Fort Bragg and was first incorrectly identified as the Avian Influenza is now being called the God Flu, because of its absolute resilience to any known treatment or anti-biotic. Scientists are baffled by this new strain of disease because of its extremely contagious nature as well as its ability to mutate quickly. The disease is unlike any other strain scientists have seen before. Government officials are telling people not to panic because, even though a cure or treatment has not yet proven effective, a California company is already producing a proven inoculation for the sickness. Since the individuals affected are almost all military personnel at this time, all active members in the military will be receiving the antibody as a precaution. Already, several thousand United States military personnel across the globe have been immunized and several thousand more will be vaccinated within the next few days.
“The quarantine, which was implemented two days ago and covered a twenty-five-mile radius around Fort Bragg, has failed to contain the disease. We’re getting unofficial word that nearly twenty-five cities have reports of the God flu. Officials are declining to give a complete interview, but what they have said is that they’re doing all they can. The government is keeping the media on lockdown, but…” The news reporter paused. “One moment…we’re receiving a live feed from our sister station in California. Stand by. It appears that there are now confirmed reports of several cases of the God Flu in at least four cities in California and Arizona.”
Rick felt a lurch in his throat. Something about the God Flu seems familiar. He strained his mind, forcing himself to remember where he had heard it before. It was not that God Flu was mentioned, but just the name of ‘God’ in a similar context. Jacks had said it. What did he say…that somebody was claiming that ‘God would be released upon the Eastern United States.’ It had seemed odd when he had first heard it but, now, it seemed to make more sense. God can’t be released—He has existed since time began. They were not referring to the Deity, but to something that has God-like qualities. The bomb is not a bomb; it’s an individual infected with some sort of contagion. When the disease was first reported, there were fourteen servicemen affected and one civilian. Why would one civilian be randomly affected amongst so many servicemen? The civilian must have injected him or herself with the disease so that he or she could expose it to the servicemen, thereby directly affecting the army. That’s what they meant by the bomb is already planted; the civilian has already begun transmitting the disease.
But that doesn’t make sense. California is endangering itself as much as they are anyone else. How can California be so sure that they won’t be affected? Maybe they have the vaccine? Possible but not likely. Such a large scale vaccination project would definitely draw attention and require large amounts of capital. California is always on the verge of bankruptcy. There’s no way they could fund the production of millions of vaccinations without outside money. And there’s no way outside capital would fund the project without news of it leaking out. It would be impossible to keep secret. They could have vaccinated only a portion of the population, but then, they would be significantly cutting their workforce.
With modern transportation, the disease will affect California just like everywhere else. And then it struck Rick. The EMP was not meant to cripple the Eastern States—although it will do that—it was meant to contain the disease. If the EMP takes out transportation, then there will be no way to transmit the disease outside the infected areas. But even then, if the EMP is set off, the military personnel that are overseas won’t be infected by the God Flu. The Army bases around the world could still threaten the independence of California.
The radio interrupted Rick’s thoughts. “All military personal are required to report to their commanding officer for instructions on how they can receive the vaccination. The majority of servicemen inside and outside of the United States have already been vaccinated, but there are still several thousand that have yet to receive the vaccination…”
Rick narrowed his eyes on the road. It’s not the disease that’ll eliminate the threat of the army; it’s the vaccination. All they have to do is release a virus and then offer a possible solution. The solution is the cancer—not the cure. But when will they release the EMP? I’m sure they’ll let the disease ride out for as much time as possible, as long as there are no reports of the disease showing up in the west….”
“Again,” continued the news reporter, “The two cities in California where the disease has been sighted are Los Angeles and Apple Valley. If you live in these cities, please take extreme caution—”
“That means,” he whispered, “the EMP rocket is already on its way.”
Adrenaline coursed through Rick’s veins. He punched the gas pedal, lurching the car forward. His eye caught sight of a sign that read “Parking Garage: Exit Now.” He was in the far left of four lanes. He turned hard right, clipping a car in the rear bumper. The car sped off the road, snapping through a collection of trees before finally disappearing into a ditch. Vehicles turned and twisted to avoid the out-of-control vehicle, creating more chaos as each one rammed into the other. Rick twisted through the four lanes, bumping a water barrel as he barely made the exit. Water splashed onto his windshield before it disappeared beneath his wipers.
He
ran a red light and then another. At a third light, he narrowly dodged a large Cadillac by mounting a curb. Three people jumped out of the way as Rick pulled his vehicle back onto the main street and into a large parking garage. The guard arm exploded into chunks of wood as he shot through the entrance. The parking attendant tentatively peeked over his newspaper as Rick’s car disappeared into the dark levels below.
Rick drove his car in descending circles until he was at the lowest point possible—about three stories down. He parked his car and jumped out, popping the trunk as he did. As he stepped out of his vehicle, the stench of puke and mildew greeted his nose. It smelled as if a few homeless people had turned this level of the garage into their personal restroom. Rick opened a black box, knocking tools and bolts out of the way. It took a few moments, but he finally found what he was looking for—a clear bag with a metallic tarp inside. He ripped that package open and spread out the metal tarp, throwing it over his car and tucking the corners of the tarp underneath the wheels by using the edge of his a knife. He moved around the vehicle, straightening the stiff tarp as best he could. He took a step back to look at his work. The dim, blinking light of the parking garage barely illuminated his vehicle, which now looked like an oversized bag of potato chips.
“This better work.”
Rick pulled his cell phone from his pocket. No service. He gripped his cell phone tighter as he sprinted towards the stairs. His steps sounded heavy in the deserted parking garage. Somewhere in the distance, Rick could hear a pipe dripping. He threw open the door to the stairs, slamming it into a concrete wall. He began to climb the steps, taking them three at a time. Once he was halfway up and his cell phone once again had service, his pace turned into a steady walk as he began dialing the number for his brother, Isaac.
“Hello?”
“Isaac, this is Rick. Something is about to happen. Did you get everything I asked for?”
“No—”
The lights in the stairwell went out, turning the windowless walkway into absolute darkness. “Isaac? Isaac? Can you hear me?” No response. Rick pushed the power button on his cell phone. It did not respond.
He clenched his hand around his phone and swore. Blindly, he reached for the handrail—the painted metal was smooth. The pure darkness seemingly enhanced his other senses. He could hear the drop of water from the floor below; he could smell the slight scent of mildew that drifted up from the basement. He continued upwards, carefully sliding his foot along the floor in order to detect any obstacles that might be in the way. After several dozen stairs, Rick could see a faint light up above. Despite the dimness of the light, Rick was encouraged by it and doubled his pace. Within another minute, he had reached the source of the light: a door with a glass window in the middle. He pushed it open, and a new world greeted him. He was on top of the parking garage, four stories above ground. He stepped up to a handrail at the edge of the building. From here, he could see the highway and a good portion of a city.
The world was frozen. Every car had stalled; every light had blinked out. Even the people standing around their vehicles seemed to have stopped in their tracks. Everyone was looking in random directions, trying to discover the cause of whatever had just happened. Rick smelled something burning.
In the distance, he could see an older man slowly sinking to the ground, his hands clamped tightly over his chest. He coughed and spurted, his face turning a cherry red. His legs started shaking and then his arms. People tentatively came to his aid, unsure of what to do. Several individuals punched emergency numbers into their cell phones but none of them looked satisfied with the results. A few of them held their phones up and walked around, trying to find the spot where they would find better service. The older man struggled for breath, reaching his right hand up towards the face of the nearest onlooker. He choked once more, and then his hands collapsed back onto his chest. And then he died. Still, onlookers fought to revive their phones—some of them even taking their battery completely out before reinserting them back into place. The older man lay still, his body untouched by the onlookers.
“No one even tried CPR,” Rick whispered, “probably afraid of being sued.”
Rick dropped his cell phone to the ground, the screen smashed as it hit. He returned to the door and cracked it open. The darkness seemed to pour out of the stairwell and reach up towards him. Rick stepped into the middle of it as he began his long trek downward. His movement was much more calm and methodical, almost as if he was just returning from a much-needed breath of fresh air. He reached the bottom of the stairs with no problem. Finding his car, however, was a bit more challenging. He skirted along the wall, occasionally venturing out into the middle of the garage to see if he could figure out where he was. He knew where he parked the car, he could visually picture it in his head, but it seemed as if everything had changed when the lights went out. It was not until he began picking up pieces of gravel and throwing them in random directions before he could pinpoint the location of his vehicle. Even then, the small dings from the gravel made the car seem like it was much closer.
Rick pulled the metallic tarp from the vehicle and folded it the best he could in the dark. He had to unlock his car manually since the key fob no longer worked. He stepped inside and inserted the key. “This moment will determine how long I live. I hope that little trick worked. It should have worked. It made a perfect Faraday cage. It has to work. I designed it. It will work.” He inserted the key into the ignition. The car turned over. The lights flipped on, chasing the darkness out of the garage.
A security guard was standing in the middle of the headlights, a baton raised in his right hand, and a dead cell phone in his left. He turned away from the light, shielding it with his hands.
Rick put the car in drive and pulled up to the man. “Do you need a lift?”
“You busted through the front gate,” the guard replied. “I need you to step out of the vehicle. The police are on their way.”
Rick shook his head. “No, they’re not.”
“I’m warning you, buddy. I’m proficient with this baton.”
Rick grabbed the baton. “Well, if that’s the case, I would hate to see what you’re not proficient at. The power is out. Do you want a ride out of the garage?”
“The emergency generator will turn on any second. And you’re not going anywhere.”
Rick laughed. “Suit yourself.” He hit the gas, and his tires squealed. The garage echoed as his car wound up three levels and out the exit.
Rick entered the street. His working car seemed to inspire others to try and start their own vehicles again, but as people returned to their cars, they were even more dismayed with the results than before. People pointed at Rick, some of them waving like he was some celebrity in the Rose parade. More than a few of them seemed to be asking, “Why is his car working?”
Rick’s SUV was large, and it took all the finesse he possessed to squeeze around the stalled vehicles. On two occasions, he had to plow his way through the traffic, much to the indignation of several onlookers. Once out of town and back on the highway, Rick had similar obstacles to avoid but much more adequate space to maneuver. He would have driven on the shoulder the whole way and avoided the vehicles altogether, but many of the stranded motorists had congregated on the edge of the road.
Two hours later, Rick pulled up to Isaac’s church. The building looked just as dilapidated as it always had, but this time it was even more depressing without any lighting. As he was reaching for a duffel bag, a loud piercing scream drifted from the chapel. He opened the back of the vehicle and grabbed an M4, his fingers automatically hitting the slide release, racking a round into the chamber. He switched the gun off safety and, without knocking, opened the door and stepped inside. He scanned the chapel before pressing on towards the noise. The girl’s screams had become more frantic. He kicked open the next door, splintering the lock and sending chunks of wood across the room.
“Rick?” Isaac asked.
Ri
ck switched the safety on and let his rifle hang from the sling on his shoulder. He exhaled a long breath as his adrenaline faded. Isaac’s whole family was standing in the kitchen, a look of surprise fixed to their faces. They seemed to have been in the middle of some sort of family arts and crafts activity. Isaac and Jane had water dripping down their faces.
Isaac stepped forward. “What are you doing here? Why did you kick open the door?”
“I heard…screaming….” Rick said.
“We were doing the dishes, but then this one,” Isaac smiled as he nodded towards his daughter, “began a water war.”
Jane turned red with embarrassment.
Isaac gestured towards the sofa. “Have a seat. What’s going on? What are you doing here?”
“Didn’t you notice the power is out?” Rick replied.
“Yeah, but it goes out all the time,” Isaac said. “I’m sure it’ll be back on in a few hours—at the very latest by tomorrow morning. What are you doing up here?”
“Remember that time I bet you a steak dinner that in your lifetime, you would see the end of civilization?”
Isaac shook his head. “I don’t gamble.”
Rick nodded. “Yeah, well, remember that time I wanted to bet you a steak dinner?”
“No, but what does that have to do with anything? Why are you bringing that up now?”
“Because, after the day I’ve had, I could use a good steak dinner.”
TEN
Day 1
“What is he doing here?” Rosemary said through tight lips.
“Sweetie, he’s my brother,” Isaac said. “He doesn’t need a reason to visit.”
“But he busted the lock on the door. Did you invite him? And he’s got a gun strapped to his chest like a common criminal. That’s a machinegun. Aren’t those things illegal?”
“He’s always invited.”