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Cal stood up and stretched and looked around at all of them. She smiled tiredly. “So good to see all of you. Really. After the last few days, or rather weeks, of preparation and waiting, especially after today . . . what some of you had to go through just to arrive safely . . . ” Her voice broke and she stopped.
Taking a deep breath, Cal continued: “We all know why we’re here. You’ve all been briefed, you know what must be done and how. Meg and I have finished your assignments, based on our assessment of your skills; if there are any questions about those, we can certainly discuss them. Meg?”
Meg stood up and handed out small squares of paper. “These are your duties for the time being. It goes without saying that you’re also expected to remain vigilant for both outside and internal disturbances. There are a number of people here, outside this group of course, whom we don’t know too much about. Most are friends or family, but some seemed to have hitched a ride, so to speak.
“We have a responsibility not only to those who came here for sanctuary, but to any others who may arrive.” Her eyes met Abby’s for a brief moment before she continued, “There are a few of us who are not present. Some, we know will not be coming; for a few, we have lost contact.”
Calypso said, “Meg and I have discussed this, and believe that it would be detrimental to talk further about those who are missing, at least out in the general areas.”
One by one, everyone in the group nodded their agreement. Emmy tentatively raised her hand and spoke, “Can we ask who . . .” Meg and Cal exchanged a look.
Cal cleared her throat and produced another small square of paper. “Eve and Chloe will not be joining us. We have lost contact with Brad, Zoe, and Pops.” She brushed her cheek quickly and blinked rapidly. Abby was stunned. She thought that surely . . .
“What?” Meg had said something; Abby missed it entirely. “Tonight,” Meg repeated, “We mingle, we reassure, we perform our duties; we try to relax as best we can. Tomorrow the real work begins. Tomorrow, they’ll be on the move and we must prepare for that, and more.”
“Um, who are ‘they’?” asked Emmy. Meg looked at Cal. Finally, Cal spoke.
“This stays right here . . .” Everyone nodded. Cal took a deep breath.
“Co-opCom.”
Several in the group looked stunned. Some nodded, knowingly.
The Cooperative Commonwealth was the supposed new and improved US Government political party. Socialist by both nature and design, it had steadily encroached on the two majority parties until it wielded unprecedented power and control. The president himself was a member, as were the top representatives on the federal and state levels.
Guns or other weaponry were outlawed entirely, except for the military; travel was heavily restricted from zone to zone—in fact, none was allowed at all. Speech was monitored, everywhere, all the time, and one wrong word would get a person locked up for months at a time with no contact, let alone a trial or even official charges filed.
Rumors were rife: death camps, abortion-on-demand, government hoarding, secret deals with foreign powers, unspeakable torture of everyday citizens, spy drones used against those suspected of holding different viewpoints than those in power. Some of these proved to be true.
Over the last 10 years, Co-opCom had managed to infiltrate every level of government, to become involved in even small, trivial municipal politics.
“Six months ago when I first approached most of you, they partnered with Ultratron, the bio-chem company, to start work on a top-secret project. Only a handful of us had any kind of clearance whatsoever, and that was mostly just knowledge that this venture was in the works.
“We began to worry as their experiments ramped up and became more ethically questionable.
“We think we know what’s going on, and we believe that we can fight it. But that’s all I’m going to say tonight. We’ll keep you posted on all developments.”
The group remained silent. Some were no doubt thinking of those left behind, those who would not be able to be helped. Others were questioning their government, and their own wisdom in selecting or supporting it. And a few were simply trying to absorb the information and struggling for composure.
After a short time, Cal spoke again.
“Come, let’s join the rest of the group outside. People want to talk, to share and connect. Let’s try to clear our heads a bit and, and remember the others. Right now we are responsible, one way or another, for 47 people—people who are scared, and tired, and worried. Tomorrow there will likely be more.
“We’ll meet again in the morning, 0700 hours.”
Abby and Emmy were the first to step outside. Abby stretched, then automatically checked to see if her gun was secure. As the others followed them outside, the two moved closer to a hanging lantern and opened their papers.
Abby read hers and smiled. It was a rather grim look, but a smile nonetheless. Cal and Meg sure knew what they were doing: they put her in charge of scouting. She couldn’t wait to start and, if she were to see some action, so much the better. Emmy held her paper up so Abby could see it too. Rather ironically, it read: Welcoming Committee. Abby smiled at her friend, a real smile this time. Perfect job for Emmy— someone had to be available to help settle any newcomers and get them assigned to work crews. It suited Emmy, the consummate hostess. In another life, of course.
Abby followed Emmy over to the campfire. Those who had already gathered looked at the new arrivals questioningly, but no one voiced a query. Good thing, thought Abby, since neither she nor any of the others in Cal and Meg’s group had any real answers yet.
She grabbed a beer from a nearby bucket of ice that someone had thoughtfully provided and sank to the ground, legs crossed Indian-style. She lit up a smoke and leaned back on her hands, as casual as she could manage.
“Some party, huh? Is this the best you all could do on short notice?” Someone snickered, then a rolling laugh spread among the crowd. People began to relax, to let down guards that had been up since sunrise, or maybe before that. Conversation sparked, people introduced themselves, smaller groups formed and ebbed.
Abby talked to several people, keeping a watchful eye on the darkness beyond the firelight; she kept close tabs on Emmy as well, almost unwilling to let her friend out of her sight. She knew she needed to keep control of this, just like all her other feelings. But right now, she needed Emmy. Everything else was gone. Just gone.
CHAPTER THREE
Abby had finished her undergrad degree in just three years. She’d been at loose ends for a while after that, wandering around the Southwest for a few months, stopping when the mood struck and working at a few odd jobs.
Along the way, she picked up a few non-mainstream skills: tracking, sharpshooting, and an ability to blend into her surroundings and live off the land when necessary. All of which would actually become useful much sooner than she, or anyone, had expected.
Upon her return to Missouri, she settled down with a high school basketball coaching job and a conventional, suburban apartment, notable for nothing more than its ordinariness. She had no boyfriend, no live-in lover, not even a cat. Abby preferred to live with few attachments; her parents had died when she was not quite nine-years-old and she was raised by a short-tempered, elderly aunt of whom she had few fond memories.
She did, however, recall in excruciating detail the holidays and Christmases with no gift, no acknowledgment of the special day. She remembered her aunt yelling and screaming over trivial matters, such as Abby not making the bedcovers perfectly smooth or not folding the laundry to the older woman's precise standards. Her aunt was, Abby thought in later years, not so different than her own mother had been.
Of course, she had friends, good ones, the best. The kind with whom one could go for years with little contact, except on holidays or the occasional reunion, yet pick up the phone one day and begin a lengthy conversation about everything under the sun.
That’s exactly what had happened three months ago, when Calypso called h
er.
“Abby. We need to talk. Can you meet me at the reunion park at 6:00?”
“Sure,” said Abby. She had no plans after work, and Cal sounded worried.
She pulled into the parking lot early that evening, and saw Cal sitting on a picnic table about halfway down to the river. She made her way down the slope and sat beside Cal. “What’s up? Everything okay?”
Cal continued to gaze out at the slow-moving water…and remained silent for a moment.
“Ab. You know where I work, right?”
“Of course,” Abby responded, curious. “Some government office, right? Downtown?”
“Yeah,” said Cal. “Some government office.” She almost smiled. She turned and faced Abby.
“So. Here’s the thing. We’ve been monitoring some unusual activity; nothing serious yet, at least the top guys there don’t seem to think so. But I’m worried.”
“Um, well…okay. Worried about what, exactly? I mean, that’s pretty ambiguous, Cal.”
Cal took a deep breath. “Something’s wrong, Abby. I’m not sure, at this point, what it even involves. But it’s big. Huge. I mean, like end of the world stuff, ya know? And I think we should be ready.”
Abby stared at Cal. “Really? End of the world? Okay, Cal, let’s say I know exactly what you’re talking about. And let’s say I believe you aren’t entirely off your rocker. Let’s take it one more step: who should be ready? And how? And for what?”
“Look,” Cal countered, glancing around. “I’m not supposed to talk about this and, honestly, I don’t have all the details yet. But there’s talk. Talk of bunkers and contagion and maybe even little green men running around.
“I don’t really know much. But I want us to be ready.” “Who is “us”? The world? The country? Who?”
Cal bit her lip. “Just us, for now. The gang. All of us. Meg and I have been making plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
“Plans to stay safe. To be prepared.”
Abby thought for a minute. “Safe from what? And prepared how?”
“Look, Ab, are you in? If you give me the say-so, I’ll tell you what I know. You can help. A lot. We want you with us.”
Abby was silent. She wondered exactly what information Cal had obtained, and why the secrecy. She wondered, too, at the seriousness of all this and, yes, she wondered just a little at Cal’s sanity. She’d always been pretty levelheaded, very organized and, after all, Abby wasn’t entirely sure exactly what was in Cal’s job description. Cal had always been pretty vague about that.
On the other hand, she’d known Cal for years and years. Cal had never been the hysterical type. Heck, once Abby’d seen her calmly stomp a copperhead snake to death after the thing slithered under her bike tire and made everyone jump.
“All right,” Abby told her. “I’m in.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The campfire burned down, the evening grew late. People had started to drift toward their tents. Abby got up and stretched and signaled to Emmy. The two walked back to their own tent, stopping to say good night to Cal and Meg.
Once inside, Abby sat down on her cot and pulled off her boots. She removed the knife sheath from her leg and placed it carefully under her pillow. The .357 went under the edge of the cot, on the floor, within easy reach. She slowly unwound her long, golden braid and brushed out her hair.
Both girls stretched out on their cots and said good night. Both expected sleep to be hard-won that night. Neither was proven wrong.
“Abby? Are you still awake?”
“Yes,” sighed Abby.
“Can we talk about today?”
“Of course.” Abby shifted onto her side, facing Emmy across the small tent, not three feet away. “Tell me what happened.”
“When I got up this morning, I knew something was wrong. Mom usually gets up really early and she wasn’t . . . she wasn’t in the kitchen. I didn’t hear anything, so I went outside to check.
“The animals hadn’t been fed, so I took care of them first. Then I walked around the house to the front yard, and there she was. Sitting on the ground. Staring at nothing.”
Emmy stopped. She swallowed hard. When she continued, Abby could hear the tears in her voice and felt her own locked- up emotions begin to bang on the door.
“So I said, ‘Mom?’ And she—she—looked at me, but not at me, you know? And I asked her what in the world she was doing out there, like, you know, it was a normal day besides that.
“And she said, ‘Go away, Emmy. Go.’ So I did. I went inside and locked the door. And I pulled out my bag and checked it and called to check in with Meg and then I waited,” Emmy finished in a rush.
“Oh, Abby, what have I done?” She began to cry.
“Em, don’t cry, please don’t cry.” Abby jumped up and sat down on Emmy’s cot, grasping her cold hands. “Em, please. You know there’s nothing you could have done. You know it was too late. Your mom was right; you had to go, to leave her. She knew that.”
“Yes, but Abby? After I followed the procedure and was waiting for you, I looked out the window. I know I was supposed to stay out of sight, but I looked. And she was gone.”
Abby blinked. As far as she knew, that never happened. Wasn’t supposed to happen. After a person got . . . whatever this was . . . they died. And stayed put. Didn’t move again.
Cal needed to hear this, tonight. Not in the morning, but right away. First, though, Emmy needed her.
“Em,” said Abby, firmly. “Look at me.”
Emmy raised her tear-stained face to Abby. Her hands were trembling. Abby took Emmy into her arms and held her like a child, whispering into her ear.
“Em. Sweetie. I don’t know what this means, honestly. But I do know that your mom is gone—she was gone when you talked to her, it was just too late. I am so very sorry. But, truthfully, we don’t know a lot yet except this: there was absolutely nothing you could have done. Nothing.”
After a few minutes, Emmy began to relax. Abby kissed her lightly on the forehead, told her she was stepping outside for a few minutes, and to go to sleep.
Then she pulled on her boots, strapped on her knife, shoved her gun into the back of her jeans, and went to pay a visit to Cal.
The tent flaps were open and Cal and Meg were bent over the table in the middle of the tent, looking at a rather untidy stack of papers. A lantern burned overhead. They both looked up and smiled worriedly when Abby rapped on the tent pole.
“Hey, Ab, what’s up?” Meg greeted her heartily. “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”
Believing that, most times, potentially bad news was more palatable when spoken quickly and plainly, Abby said, “Emmy just told me about what happened to her today. Her mom. She moved. She disappeared.”
Cal and Meg looked at each other, then at Abby. “She moved? Or disappeared? What do you mean, Abby? This could be important,” Cal told her. “Start at the beginning.”
Abby realized how confusing that must have sounded, so she simply reiterated exactly what Emmy had said. When she finished, Cal sat down heavily. Meg put a hand on her shoulder.
“Cal, does this mean anything?” asked Abby. “Was this unusual, or unexpected? Or has it happened before?” She looked from Meg to Cal and back again. “What the hell? Where did Emmy’s mom go?”
Cal sighed. “Abby, we don’t know where she went, and we don’t know if anyone else has, um, taken off or disappeared. We did know that this was a possibility, albeit a remote one. And,” she added, “This is the first instance we’ve actually heard about.
“Sit down, Abby.” Cal gently guided the younger woman to the bunk and sat her down. “With the older folks, and even perhaps those who were ill or on certain medications, this was discussed as a long-shot. The breakdown of blood vessels is so overwhelming that it takes everything, very, very quickly, and—disintegrates the body. Entirely.”
Abby turned very pale. “That’s not possible.”
“Yes,” said Cal, sadly, “it is now.”
“Hey, kiddo,” said Cal. “We’ll make it. We can do this.” “Yeah,” countered Abby. “We don’t have much of an alternative, right?” She smiled crookedly and walked outside, back to her own tent where Emmy was finally sleeping.
She repeated her earlier drill: weapons stashed handily, she lay back down on her cot, arms crossed behind her head. Normally, Abby had no problems going to sleep, but this day was, she thought, about as far from normal as one could get. She remembered how it had started.
Up at 5:00 a.m., 30-minute workout, shower, breakfast while reading the news online and checking her email—all as usual. And then, there it was. From Cal, one word: today.
Her cell phone rang. Meg. Today. Crap.
Abby mentally ran through her checklist. She stowed her camping gear, already packed and stored neatly in the spare bedroom, in the back of her truck. It took three trips down the apartment building stairs, and she was no lightweight, no wuss. She could pack 100 pounds of gear for two solid days of hiking, if necessary. According to Cal, this might well be necessary.
She checked her weapons cache, one by one, and added these to the truck. The knife and .357 she’d become accustomed to carrying with her at all times during the last few months was part of her and needed no checking.
Abby turned off the breakers, shut down the water valves, and locked her doors. She really didn’t think this would make much difference, in the long run, but it gave her something almost automatic to do in order to calm the part of her brain that was operating on warp speed.
She climbed into the truck and paused for just a few seconds. She fully expected never to see this place again, at least not in one piece. Whether she meant herself or the apartment, she wasn’t quite sure.