by Bobby Akart
“I hear the road’s closed going to Dillon,” Hunter began. “Are they gonna do the same for the other roads? We came up from the south and didn’t see any police cars or barricades.”
“The mayor and the sheriff are still gettin’ organized. Right now, they’re most concerned with the road leading out of Denver. The hotels in Dillon are full, and folks have been renting the empty vacation condos too. The town’s full of folks gettin’ the heck outta Dodge.”
One of the other men added to the conversation for the first time. “Here tell they closed Tiger Road too. Just past the golf club, they stopped a van full of illegals. Ain’t none of them was sick, but you can’t be too sure.”
Hunter finished his root beer and stood to join Mac at the register. He thanked them for the conversation and had turned to leave when one of the men asked, “Say, where you folks stayin’?”
He had to think up a lie quickly. He’d discussed this with everyone in the group, especially Mac, as they drove into town. Under no circumstances should they tell anyone where they live. They didn’t want to encourage people to stop by or seek out their property at Quandary Peak.
“We’ve got a vacation rental down by Timber Ridge. See you later, and don’t forget to get those masks and gloves.” Timber Ridge was a subdivision development of sixty homes that were included in vacation rental programs. The development, located a few miles south of Quandary Peak, would be a logical response and also keep any curious types away from their property.
Hunter approached Mac and whispered in her ear, “How’d you do?”
“Got everything and then some,” she replied.
“Like what?”
“Those masks and gloves you encouraged them to buy? I bought their entire supply,” replied Mac.
“Good for you.”
“In a pandemic, you can never have enough gloves and masks. I also bought all of their painter’s gear like Tyvek suits, respirators, tape, and plastic sheathing. Hunter, as you can see, I didn’t hold back. You said to have backups for everything.”
Hunter nodded his approval and pulled out a wad of hundred-dollar bills. Mac immediately grabbed him by the wrist and forced his hand back in his pocket.
“Put that away,” she whispered. “They’re still accepting credit cards. I brought in your Amex, just in case.”
“You are such a good girl,” said Hunter as he gave her a squeeze.
Chapter 9
Day Fifty-Three
Five Points
Denver
In today’s world, journalists faced increasing dangers in their quest to report the news. Prior to the worldwide pandemic, the continuous twenty-four-seven news cycle required networks to bring the day’s newsworthy events into living rooms and computer screens. The fast pace of war and conflict had always made the job dangerous, but covering stories like Ebola and H1N1 placed journalists in a position to become infected and die.
Embedded, but not immune, freelance journalists knew the risks, yet they put themselves in harm’s way. Since the Vietnam War, reports followed the old adage that the first casualty of war was the truth, and oftentimes, the second casualty was the truth teller.
Marcus Aranda was a freelance journalist covering the plague pandemic for NBC News. He, along with Dr. Nancy Snyderman, had become well known for their coverage of the Ebola outbreak in Liberia.
As the number of infected began to rise in America, Aranda spent his days speeding from one Denver hospital to the next, filming desperate attempts by health care professionals to isolate the ill and comfort those who were waiting for treatment.
He was aware of the risks he took by being in an area with such a high concentration of plague-stricken patients. If he stepped in the wrong place in a hospital ward, he’d be vulnerable to contaminated fluids. The simple act of brushing his arm against a sweaty patient could put him at risk.
When covering a war, a flak jacket and helmet might protect him from shrapnel or a wayward bullet. In the hospitals of Denver, only full-body protection suits could shield skin from the plague bacteria. A hole in the epidemiologist’s armor, a mistake in removing gloves, or the act of pushing an elevator button following an infected patient could result in contracting the deadly disease.
Some days, Aranda ventured into Denver’s most impoverished neighborhoods. These pockets of the otherwise affluent city were initially excluded from vaccination with the experimental BALO drug regimen. When they rejected the treatment the second day, sometimes with violence, they were left on their own. Forgotten by first-responders when the calls for help filled the 911 operations center, the largely minority communities were crippled by the plague.
Aranda had covered insurgent warfare and had entered battle zones where bullets were flying around his head. But this was different. The veteran reporter was covering an insurgency that was essentially invisible.
He was accompanied by a single producer, who doubled as his cameraman. They had coordinated with NBC News in New York to bring a live report. Dressed in a lightweight raincoat with a hood to protect his head from a slight drizzle, Aranda stood in the middle of a street in Five Points, one of Denver’s oldest neighborhoods.
Mass transit had stopped running. Vehicular traffic was nonexistent. In a war zone, Aranda could hear the sounds of gunfire and airplanes overhead. In Five Points, as the rain subsided, he could only hear death, through the silence.
He and his cameraman had uploaded the footage via satellite link. As was the case when he covered natural disasters such as Hurricane Katrina and Superstorm Sandy, the well-known reporters for the news networks were nowhere to be found. Not when there was danger. What surprised Aranda was that there were no other freelance reporters reporting on the carnage either.
They’d spent the morning visually documenting the raw, graphic nature of death by the plague. Bodies were being loaded into the back of a white van by a body-collection team commissioned by the Department of Health. Former sanitation workers, the three-man teams wore personal protective equipment and were protected by an armed guard.
Aranda interviewed the personnel as they made their rounds. They spoke of the horrific scenes inside the apartments of Five Points. Bodies were piled in hallways. Babies were found dead in their cribs, not always from the disease. Sometimes, the children had been neglected due to the death of their parents, who’d succumbed to the plague.
The process of preparing for the high-risk areas was discussed. All of them were careful to seal off every part of their bodies so nothing was exposed. They encouraged Aranda to do the same, but he elected to follow a keep-your-distance method of protection.
Up and down the street in front of the Inner City Health Center in Five Points, bodies lay motionless on the asphalt in pools of their own bodily fluids. Some were covered in sheets, blood seeping through the cotton fabric around their mouth and nose.
The facility had declared a Code Black many days ago. Denver hospitals had begun to receive a staggering influx of patients that overwhelmed the limited resources available to the doctors and nurses whose job was to treat them all. This triggered the Code Black declaration, the designation established by the Denver Department of Health when a hospital was filled beyond its capacity due to a catastrophic event.
Unlike the substantial police presence afforded to larger hospitals like Denver Health, Inner City’s open-door policy allowed a surge of infected residents of Five Points to enter the facility. The inability to treat them resulted in an escalation of anger and hostilities. What was once a quiet community clinic turned into a riot-ravaged building. Before the Denver PD could arrive, health care workers were shot or stabbed, and the others were exposed to contagious patients.
Within hours after the Denver PD shuttered and secured the building, it was looted and then burned. Aranda filmed and covered the story for NBC and it became a symbol of the collapse of inner-city neighborhoods around the country.
His producer positioned Aranda next to the van in front of the collect
ion team as they loaded bloody corpses strewn about in front of a three-story apartment building. The blood of the bodies filled the streets and pooled in shallow swells as it mixed with the light rain, which had now ceased. With the sun coming out, Aranda removed his raincoat and prepared for his feed.
He affixed his earpiece so that he could hear the voice of Lester Holt, who was safely positioned in Studio 3B at 30 Rockefeller Center in New York. All of the functioning networks were continuously carrying the news from around the world. Holt had only left his anchor desk for sleep.
Aranda nodded to the camera as his producer gave him the countdown, three—two—one. Holt asked Aranda through the earpiece to provide a comparison to other catastrophic events he’d covered in his career.
“Lester, in a conflict zone you can hear the sounds of bombs and bullets. When it comes to something that’s invisible, it’s actually horrifying. When I’ve covered the news for NBC around the world, I honestly have struggled as I transitioned back into everyday life. Now, I’m having nightmares. At night, when I can’t sleep, I cry if I need to cry. I’m often frightened by the lack of sounds. Every day, I deal with it and get out to do my job.”
Holt then asked him about not wearing protective gear when he filed his reports.
Aranda responded, “I have to be very careful. Like any assignment, you deal with the conditions on the ground. We’ve found that maintaining a safe radius prevents us from being exposed. I check my temperature with this device several times a day.”
The cameraman inched forward to focus on the handheld temporal thermometer that Aranda was showing the audience. Neither of them noticed as a small car approached at a high rate of speed from the other side of the collection team’s van.
Although the car slowed as it passed the two-man journalistic crew to avoid hitting them, the driver did not miss splashing his wheels through a puddle.
Rainwater mixed with the blood of the dead sprayed Aranda from head to toe. Panicked, he tried to wipe his face and eyes of the bloody mix, but it was too late. Despite all of his efforts to protect himself while he brought the world news of the deadly plague, Aranda was now part of the story instead of just the storyteller.
Aranda and his producer were drenched in the plague, and NBC viewers saw it all live.
Chapter 10
Day Fifty-Three
Quandary Peak
Hunter walked on the opposite side of Blue Lakes Road from Tommy and Flatus. Not because of the dog’s gas, which persisted despite more than a day’s dose of Beano, but because they were only halfway through their quarantine. Admittedly, Tommy was enjoying himself immensely. He and Flatus had become bestest pals, and although the dog was well-trained, Tommy worked with him further to teach him a number of tasks.
From his recollection, Hunter didn’t think that Labradors were the best at security and protection. Dobermans, German shepherds, and Rottweilers were the breeds he saw most often in a military setting. Even with their lovable nature, a Labrador could perform a valuable function in securing their perimeter.
A Labrador had an internal play drive that was second to none. For that reason, they were often chosen as security animals for homes with children. They were protective by nature and enjoyed being trained, provided they approved of the reward. Sometimes a toy like a tennis ball was sufficient. Others preferred a dog snack like the Canine Carry Outs purchased at Axel’s store.
Trained security dogs were not cognizant of saving lives or caring about the realities of terrorism or bomb threats. All they were obsessed with was finding that bomb or warning their trainer of a threat in exchange for getting the best thing imaginable—that nibble of a Canine Carry Out treat. Their lives revolved around performing and succeeding.
Tommy pointed out that Flatus did not bark incessantly as many dogs did. Since he’d been in their presence, he’d only barked one time as he’d run excitedly down the hill toward the house. Tommy would continue to get to know Flatus, and vice versa. After the group was comfortable with the dog’s abilities, they’d incorporate him into their overall security plan, which was the topic of conversation between the guys that afternoon.
“Tommy, in the military, as I’m sure Barb has mentioned, practicing operational security can help minimize the threats we might face.”
“Oh, yes,” interjected Tommy. “Despite the fact that Barb was never in combat, spouses were always advised to avoid broadcasting where your military spouse was stationed or what their duties entailed on social media websites or to strangers. You know, it’s the old loose lips sink ships thing from World War Two.”
“Exactly,” Hunter said as he retrieved his Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses from his shirt pocket. The clouds were moving quickly from west to east over the peak, sometimes obscuring the sun and other times allowing the extra brightness of the high elevation to blind Hunter temporarily. He continued to wrestle with the unusual living conditions of the high Rockies.
Hunter continued. “Even a seemingly innocent conversation could result in compromising your position and give the enemy, in whatever form they might take, an advantage over you.”
“Up here,” said Tommy as he looked from Quandary Peak eastward toward Red Mountain, “complete privacy is nearly impossible to keep. Prior to things getting really bad, I know you made several trips fully loaded with gear. It could be that some of the locals paid closer attention than you realize.”
“Trust me, I thought about that. Most times, the top of the Defender contained outdoor gear like the canoe, the mountain bicycles, and skis. The trailer yesterday was loaded down, but I don’t think anyone noticed us turning up Blue Lakes Road.”
Tommy chuckled. “You’d be surprised. The hills have eyes.”
“I’m sure that’s true. The homes at the bottom of the road seemed deserted. Do you know anything about them?”
Tommy shook his head and responded, “Never met them. For the most part, Barb and I would come up here in the winter. We’re both intermediate-level skiers, but mainly we liked the feeling of being snowed in. Both of our careers required us to be in the public. It was always nice to get away and have that feeling of being all alone. I know some folks need people to entertain them or are downright uncomfortable sitting alone in silence. Not us. We crave it.”
“I’m with ya, brother,” said Hunter with a laugh. “That’s one of the first things Mac and I found that we had in common. Privacy and seclusion. When I heard you guys had this place, I was thrilled.”
The two men reached the point where they could see the homes at the last part of the road before they hit Route 9. For the first time, they decided to venture a little closer to see if Flatus recognized one of the houses as his.
Just as the day before, there were no signs of life. Hunter resisted his curiosity. He considered knocking on the doors, using the lost dog as his excuse. However, he feared getting caught in a conversation that might compromise their security. Plus, he and Tommy were both toting their rifles. In this post-apocalyptic world, it might not be a good idea to approach a stranger’s front door with a rifle at the ready.
“Flatus, old boy, are any of these places your home?” asked Tommy.
The dog’s tail wagged and he looked up to Tommy, acknowledging that he was being spoken to. But he made no effort to leave his side and race to his previous abode.
“I guess not,” said Hunter with a shrug. “If someone was missing a dog, and they’re watching us, I’m sure they’d make themselves known.”
Tommy patted Flatus on the side. “Well, the mystery shall remain. Now, as part of my triathlon training, I think you and I should jog up the hill. Hey, Hunter, you up for a run?”
“Um, no,” he responded. “You guys go ahead and I’ll see you in a day or two.”
Chapter 11
Day Fifty-Three
Quandary Peak
Hunter caught up to Tommy and his faithful pup while they were in a training session. Janie estimated Flatus to be around three years old. He’d proba
bly been given a name by his previous owner. Flatus had the disposition of a playful pup who was accustomed to receiving lots of attention. Janie suggested Tommy spend a lot of time teaching the young man his new name.
“Let’s finish talking about our security plan for up here,” started Hunter. He took a seat on the same granite rock where the two men talked a couple of days ago. Tommy and Hunter found a spot across the road under the shade of a pine tree. “At Fort Bragg, they taught us about the five D’s of perimeter security—deter, deny, detect, delay and defend.”
Tommy feasted on some pine nuts as Hunter began to reveal his plan. Hunter continued. “We’re isolated up here, which helps, but it also makes us vulnerable to someone sneaking up on us. We establish layers of protection from the outside in, designed to slow any intruders and allow the rest of our group to be positioned to mount a defense.”
“First, let me ask a question,” Tommy interrupted. “What does the most likely scenario look like?”
“I’ve thought about this,” replied Hunter. “Initially, we might have an occasional wanderer who makes their way up the road to see what’s up here. I’d like to drop a couple of pines across the road to block vehicles from approaching. If someone comes via the hiking trails or walks through our barriers, then we’ll have the opportunity to set up perimeter alarms.”
“So the fallen trees would be the first D, deter,” added Tommy.
“Yes, the deter perimeter is both physical and psychological,” said Hunter. “The trees across the road would be physical. It creates a problem for us leaving as well, but I plan on hiding your Jeep in a trail just below where I drop the tree. We’ll have your vehicle to use when we venture into town that is far less conspicuous than the Defender. Naturally, if we’ve got to leave in both trucks, we’ll cut the tree up and go.”