He muted the feed and turned his attention to another window on the same laptop screen. On it, he saw a very tired and terrified face, the deep lines in the brow seeming to weigh the entire face down. It was the familiar face of the head of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases. Even as Terrence unmuted the feed, the words scrolling along at the bottom of the screen painted a vivid picture: 85-90% of all New York City residents presumed dead.
The tired doctor seemed to be haunted by that information as he spoke. “…and while the symptoms and rapid pace towards death is alarming and unlike anything we’ve ever seen, it’s the rate of contagion this thing is boasting that makes it monstrous. This thing has made its way from New York City to Philadelphia in about thirty-six hours. And if the numbers we’re getting out of New York City are close to accurate, we’re looking at somewhere around ten-to-eleven million dead in that same span of time. To say that it is airborne is a mockery; it’s almost better to picture it as a physical wave that is coming quickly across the east coast. So please…I urge you: Stay home. Don’t even consider going outside unless it’s a matter of life and death and even then, give it some very serious thought…”
Terrence felt the adrenaline from his encounter with the agents fading away. He was starting to wonder just how long he’d have to truly stay in the bunker. And even then, was there any guarantee he’d survive what was taking place over his head?
He looked back to the other laptop, where the unsent mail was still on display and several weeks’ worth of messages between him and Kettle resided. Terrence refreshed the page and saw that Kettle had already responded.
Good, Kettle responded. If HS is out looking for us, it means they know what this is. They know there is more to come. They’re finally taking it seriously. Too little, too late. Have you taken all precautions? Answer with a new route on Option 27.
Terrence wasted no time in locating the little Moleskine notebook he’d packed, looking for Option 27. Near the back, there were a list of fifty-five email addresses he and Kettle had created. This way, when they felt one specific mail might be compromised, they immediately had another one waiting. “New route” meant new message. And Option 27 simply meant to use the email address that was the twenty-seventh on the list.
Terrence signed into that account, totally empty except for the Welcome email from the service. He opened up a blank message and started typing.
Yes, I’m well-prepared. I said nothing about you this morning, though they did ask. But now it’s time for you to come to a decision…to do the right thing. You know what else is coming and what can be done to end it. You know what the right thing to do would be. I can help you. Before this goes too far, let’s stop it together.
He hated how desperate it sounded, but that was the least of his concerns. He saved the mail to his Drafts folder and kept it on the screen. And though Terrence refreshed the screen numerous times over the course of the next hour or so, George Kettle did not respond.
Chapter 22
Olivia, Joyce, and Paul found Goldwater Bike Shop just shy of 10:00 that morning. They had to walk five blocks into the city, leaving the edges of the Hudson behind. After a few moments, Joyce asked for a piggy-back ride and Paul seemed eager to allow it—anything to keep her attention off of the common sight of multiple dead bodies in cars, on the streets and sidewalks.
The door to Goldwater was partially bowed in and broken, as it had been busted open by someone that had apparently had the same idea as Paul and Olivia. The inventory had clearly been picked over, but Olivia managed to find a simple bike that fit her perfectly. They also found a bike trailer for Joyce in the back stock room. Paul was left with what he thought had once been some sort of trick bike for teenagers, but it looked new and offered a smooth ride.
Even with the bikes, they had to hoof it for another few miles before the city sidewalks offered any sort of space. Weaving the bikes in and out of the carnage was difficult, but the mere idea of being able to sail by the trail of the dead before the day was over was more than enough to make it worth it.
As Olivia and Paul pushed their bikes along, Joyce sat in the trailer. To Olivia’s surprise, she was humming and singing; Olivia supposed that being under the little canopy of the bike trailer made it more of an adventure for her. Also, the light green walls were interrupted by only one small plastic window and the opening at the front that allowed the trailer to be attached to the bike. This meant that most of her view of the streets and sidewalks was obstructed. Joyce went through a few Mickey Mouse Clubhouse songs before settling on Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds.” Hearing her sing those words again reminded Olivia of their brief time in the truck yesterday as they started their trek out of New York City. She found it almost impossible to accept that it had only been about sixteen hours ago. And if she was being truthful, the songs in contrast with the sights all around her sounded creepy.
Olivia wasn’t quite sure where they were headed at first and didn’t want to ask. All she knew was that Paul had taken a map from the bike shop. He’d studied it for a moment, trying to find routes that would take them away from the river and around Newark so they could avoid massive traffic jams and hopefully get away from the sight of so much death. For now, she was content to trust and follow Paul while she concerned herself with Joyce.
They made it out of Fort Lee just before one o’clock in the afternoon, heading in the direction of Highway 46. An hour into the trek, they stopped behind a McDonalds so Joyce could use the bathroom. Another hour and a half passed when she had to go again; this time they stopped on the edge of the road and they all did their business, taking turns behind a stranded mini-van.
Not too much further along after the second bathroom break, they came across a motorcycle that had been sideswiped by a truck and then pinned between two cars. Thankfully, the driver was nowhere to be seen, though he’d left behind two plastic bags of groceries. Without even discussing it, Paul stopped and sifted through the bags. They retrieved four twenty ounce bottles of water, a bag of potato chips, and several bananas. They packed the food in their bags and cracked open three of the waters. Joyce sipped on hers in her bike trailer, looking surprisingly content.
As for Olivia and Paul, they were starting to sweat and, though Olivia would never admit it to Paul, her feet were starting to hurt. She’d lived somewhat of a sheltered life and had never been exposed to rigorous work. Even in her personal life, as she tried to take care of herself and stay in shape, she rarely walked or ran for more than a mile and a half or so at a time. She credited her mostly slim figure to an unorthodox metabolism and making smart dietary choices. Now, walking endlessly in and out of mazes of cars and dead bodies, she wished she would have gotten more involved in exercising—maybe even taking part in a half-marathon or two. She’d certainly had her chance, as Jacki had invited her to take part in a few she’d participated in.
At 2:07 according to Olivia’s phone (which had just dropped into the red of less than twenty percent battery life), they spotted a lone man standing among the traffic several yards ahead. They’d nearly reached Highway 46, the junction along I-95 less than six miles away, when they spotted him. He was muttering to himself between what was either bursts of manic laughter or sobbing. He was rather tall, with hair that hung down to the back of his neck and swept across his face.
Paul held his arm out, signaling for Olivia to stop. When he did, it truly sank in for the first time that this was now the world they lived in. For the foreseeable future, anyone they came across would have to be considered a threat. She stopped as Paul had asked and then turned to look at the bike trailer behind her. Joyce still sat inside and had fallen asleep sometime during the past fifteen minutes or so.
After a few moments, Paul started walking forward and motioned for Olivia to do the same. She noticed that his right hand was resting firmly on his holstered gun. A line of cars sat between them and the tall long-haired man, distancing them by roughly twenty feet. Olivia could now
hear that he wasn’t muttering words, but reciting a rhythmic sort of chant, perhaps lyrics to a song. She certainly hoped this was the case because the words coming out of his mouth were a dark sort of undercurrent for their surroundings.
“Holy roller sits in the garden we fled; blood into wine, take my body instead. Holy roller sits in the garden we fled…”
“Excuse me, sir?”
Paul’s voice was so unexpected that it sent a shiver through Olivia. She jumped a bit and glanced back at Joyce to make sure she was okay. She then looked back toward the tall man and saw that his head had snapped around at the sound of Paul’s voice. His odd singing stopped and he looked uncertainty at them.
“I don’t want trouble,” the man said. Olivia assumed this meant he saw Paul’s hand perched on his holster.
“We don’t, either,” Paul said. “Are you…are you okay? You haven’t been sick?”
“I’m sure. Not a sniffle.”
Paul continued to walk forward, so Olivia followed. The tall man looked to her for the first time and as they locked eyes, she did not anticipate any trouble from him. He looked terrified and maybe even a little desperate. If they had anything to worry about, it might be from him asking if he could join them.
As they drew closer to the man, the bike trailer narrowly fitting between two stalled lines of traffic, Olivia saw what the man was up to. It was enough for her to decide right there and then that if he did ask to join them, she would vehemently refuse.
She watched as he opened the passenger side door to an older model SUV. He reached over the dead body as if it weren’t there at all and then looked through the glove compartment and center console. When he came back out, he had a small wad of cash in his hand, which he then shoved down into his pockets.
“That’s not the most noble thing to be doing at a time like this,” Paul told the man. They were now no more than ten feet apart, a single car separating them.
“I know,” the man said. “But neither was letting loose a virus that wipes out the entire population. When the government starts acting civil, so will I.”
“You don’t think it’s a stretch to assume this came from the government?” Paul asked.
The tall man looked to Paul as if he were an uneducated child. Something about the way he looked at them in that moment reminded Olivia of Lindsay from the bridge earlier in the day. “You see how fast this thing acted?” the tall man asked. “How quick it kills? There’s nothing in nature that fast besides bombs and bullets. So yeah…I say the government.”
Please, let’s just go around and leave him here, Olivia thought. It was a simple enough wish, but she wondered how much Paul might be struggling with his law-enforcing instincts. Would he see the need to correct this man from stealing from the deceased? She saw the honor and civility in it, but she also did not want to be part of the confrontation.
“Government or not,” Paul said, “what you’re doing is low.”
The tall man chuckled and swiped some of his long hair out of his face. “I thought you said you didn’t want any trouble.”
“I don’t,” Paul said.
“Then why don’t you keep moving?”
The two men stared at one another and as Olivia waited for an end to the showdown, she realized that she didn’t know Paul at all. Sure, he could have easily left New York without her and so far, he’d done what he could to protect her and Joyce. She appreciated that and, if they made it to some sort of safety, she supposed she owed him a great deal of thanks. But she had no idea what sort of man he was deep inside. Would he spring and attack because this thief was daring to challenge him and stare him down? Or would he do the safest thing and leave the man to his thievery, continuing on their planned path.
After a rather tense three seconds or so, he made his decision. Paul nodded to the man and then continued forward, making a point to step out of the way—heading to the right behind two other cars and sticking to the side of the two-lane. Olivia stayed behind him, pulling Joyce and her slight, sleeping weight. When she was parallel to the tall man, she looked in his direction, but he had already turned his attention back to the line of cars and their possible treasures.
It was hard to turn her back on him, but Paul’s voice made it a bit easier. “You see that?” he asked. “Up ahead…look.”
Olivia finally looked away from the thief and looked ahead. About a mile or so in the distance, the clogged traffic looked as if it started to break apart a bit. She supposed this had something to do with the additional merging lane that led to the exit for Highway 46. While there were still countless cars sparkling and glinting in the afternoon sun, the breaks and space between them stood out like little plots of hope.
Behind them, the thief started to mutter his morbid little song, but Olivia put it out of her mind. She focused on the breaks in the traffic just ahead and dared to hope it might mean the normal world was somewhere further beyond.
***
The traffic did indeed break up a bit, making it possible for them to get on their bikes and actually ride unhindered for stretches of about half a mile or so at a time. Paul had elected to pass the first exit to Highway 46, hoping the break in traffic on their current road might lead to a less clogged route to I-95 further ahead.
Because they were able to ride the bikes for longer intervals, they reached the city of Union Township at 2:20, coasting along the side of the road. Though the town was naturally much smaller than any other places they’d passed through, the carnage was all the same; it was quite clear that the Blood Fire Virus had shown no signs of slowing once it had consumed New York.
The streets along the city weren’t quite as decimated as those in New York itself. There was no bumper to bumper traffic, but there were enough stalled cars to indicate that whatever had happened here was very similar to what happened in New York. Dead bodies still lined the streets and everything was eerily quiet. Several dogs roamed about, most of them interested in the new people coming through on bikes, but not interested enough to approach.
“This might seem a little out of the way,” Paul said as they wove their bikes down one of the town’s primary streets. “But I want to swing by the police department. I used to date a woman that just got promoted to Sergeant on the Union Township force. Maybe if we can find someone alive, we can make sure you and Joyce stay safe and sheltered.”
But even as he said this, Olivia could hear the doubt in his voice. Quaint streets and building design aside, she felt like she was looking at a carbon copy of what had played out in New York. If they found anyone alive, they’d be just as distraught and confused as she was.
She followed behind Paul as he navigated the streets with the familiarity of a man who had only been there a handful of times. Along the way, they passed a small van with Tucker’s Heating and Air printed on the side; it had crashed up onto the sidewalk and struck the support for a stop light. Not too far away from the scene, a man with a crewcut and dressed in a Tucker’s Heating and Air uniform was sprawled dead on the sidewalk. There was a cellphone just out of reach from his hand, surrounded by dried vomit. Not too far away from this unfortunate man, they came across a young-looking man in a policeman’s uniform and an older woman. They’d died close to one another, the position of their arms making Olivia think the cop must have died trying to escort the older woman to safety.
She choked back tears as she followed Paul. She heard Joyce stirring in the pull-along trailer and prayed she stayed out long enough for Paul to get them to the station. Maybe there they could rest, even if there was no help to be had. But you know there’s no help, she thought to herself. You’re already thinking about driving this stupid bike to the next town, then to the next, hoping Joyce doesn’t come around and start asking the really hard questions…
She pushed this thought away time and time again but it kept coming back like a mental frisbee. The only thing that finally dislodged it was the sight of the brick building at the end of Caldwell Avenue. Paul brought his bike to a
stop in front of the short set of stairs that led to the concrete walkway and the police department building beyond. Olivia pulled up next to him and from the looks of the building, she was pretty sure she knew what they’d find.
Still, he looked to the building with a strained determination, and then back to Olivia. He then looked over her shoulder, to the rest of Caldwell Avenue behind them.
“You going to be okay if I go inside?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she answered. “Just make it quick.”
He started to look back to the building but levelled his eyes at her one more time. “Want me to leave my gun with you?”
“No. Just holler if there’s anyone in there…”
He nodded, but it was a defeated gesture. It seemed he also already knew what he was going to find inside. Still, he toed his kickstand down, got off of the bike, and hurried up the steps. Olivia watched him go, and then her eyes trailed to the right. She saw two police cars and a pickup truck parked in an otherwise empty lot. They’d seen a few other police cars (as well as the dead young cop that had been assisting the elderly lady) already, and the depleted parking lot only emphasized that the story inside was likely no good.
She watched as Paul opened the front doors and walked inside. The world was suddenly very quiet—so quiet that she could hear heavy breathing from the bike trailer as Joyce slowly came inching out of slumber. She glanced back the way they had come and saw only cars and dead bodies, their shadows starting to stretch as the afternoon wound its way down. She could imagine someone like the tall long-haired man coming down the street, seeing a moderately good-looking woman on her own and trying to take advantage of the situation. Or, worse than that, maybe someone that had just recently gotten sick might come tottering down the street towards her, feverish and puking and—
It Falls Apart Series | Book 1 | It Falls Apart Page 19