by Ellis, Tara
“Hello!” Tom called out when they were still a good fifty feet away. “We sure are relieved to see you guys.”
“It’s rough out there,” one of the men said, standing at the ready, his weapon slung casually across his chest and gripped firmly in his hands. “I’m Private First Class Moody. On behalf of the United States government, welcome to FEMA Shelter M3.”
After a brief round of introductions, Private Moody stepped back and gestured for the other soldiers to move the barricade. “I’ll see that your horses are cared for, if you’d like to follow me.”
Danny waited, holding her breath. She considered Tom unpredictable and she had no idea how he’d react to them taking the horses out of his sight. After a long, obvious pause, he was the first to dismount, landing only a couple of feet away from Private Moody, and towering over the smaller man.
“I’m sure you understand how important our horses are. We’re only passing through, on our way home. I expect I can check on the horses whenever I want?” Tom pressed, showing no sign of intimidation by the weapons or uniforms.
“Of course,” Private Moody confirmed, taking a step back. “And I’m sure you can understand, Mr. Miller, that we have protocol that needs to be followed in order to keep everyone safe. I’ll need to relieve you of your weapons while you’re in the camp.”
Danny knew Tom was expecting to have to hand over the guns, which was why he’d insisted on hiding the one, just in case they didn’t get them back. She withdrew the Glock from her leg holster and carefully presented it to the soldier closest to her, while Tom gave his to Moody. “They aren’t loaded,” she offered, smiling. “We’ve been out of ammo for a while now.”
The private gave a nod of approval when Tom lifted his shirt and turned around. “That’s all we have.”
The walk into FEMA Shelter M3 was rather short and thankfully uneventful. The roadblock was less than a quarter mile from the exit ramp for Monida, and there wasn’t even an overpass. Ethan had been right; there were lights glowing in several windows in two of the three formidable buildings in the town, and they weren’t twinkling like candles. They were electric, a conclusion confirmed by the oddly comforting humming sound of at least two or three generators.
“Can we see someone about Sam’s smoke inhalation before we do anything else?” Danny asked. They’d explained what had happened during the introductions and were assured that there was a medic on site.
“A medical screening is part of gaining entry,” Private Moody replied, not looking back at Danny. It wasn’t really a direct answer and she stared at the back of the soldier’s head as he led them to the opposite side of the freeway before they entered the town.
They went down a side road that had a lone, darkened gas station on the corner, surrounded by what used to be an open field. It now contained several military-style canvas tents, with more being erected. It was clearly a work in progress. In the middle of the open space was a small lake, and more tents were poised on the far shore. It was already enough to house dozens and Danny figured it would eventually become a small tent city.
Sam stumbled and began another coughing fit, so Danny took him by the arm to help him along. She was worried about her friend and prayed they’d made the right decision to bring him there.
It was dark enough that it was hard to make out who was moving in the distance, in between the tents and scattered campfires, as there weren’t any working lights in that area. Private Moody was keeping them to the far edge of the camp, and it soon became apparent that they were headed for a lone shelter, situated away from the main grouping. Not far beyond it was a barbed-wire fence. Danny squinted, trying to get a better look at it in the fading light. The fence was obviously already there long before FEMA moved in, but it looked like a fresh string of wire was added to the top.
“Quarantine?” Tom shouted. “You didn’t say anything about isolating us!”
Danny’s attention was jerked back to the group in front of her. Tom was pointing at a sign on the outside of the tent. Sure enough, in bold red letters it declared the tent as a quarantine.
Private Moody looked over at the two other soldiers who had followed them into the camp, and they all raised their weapons. “It’s for everyone’s protection,” he explained. “There’s been an extremely deadly outbreak of some bacteria resembling cholera, so we’ve been forced to quarantine all new arrivals for twelve hours. If you’re clear of any symptoms after that time, you’ll be welcome to move about freely.”
“Does that include leaving?” Tom barked, not backing down.
Private Moody hesitated a moment too long. “Of course. We’re not here to force our help on you, sir. But we do have to protect everyone else, which is why the quarantine isn’t optional. Please leave your bags at the door and enter the tent.”
Tom bristled again and the private put a hand up. “You’ll get it back at the end of the twelve hours. Protocol.”
“Sure,” Sam huffed, dropping his backpack. “We wouldn’t want to break protocol.”
Danny set a comforting hand on Grace’s head to keep her from reacting to the increasing tension. She didn’t want to draw any extra attention to the dog. So far, they hadn’t seemed at all interested or concerned about her. She gestured for Ethan to go ahead of her, and then followed him inside the tent after adding her own belongings to the pile.
Once inside, it was easy to feel a sense of relief, in spite of the weapons and questionable actions. A table with four chairs occupied the center of the large open space, and six cots complete with pillows and blankets lined three of the walls. An oil lantern was centered on the table, offering plenty of light, and there was even a deck of cards and a Yahtzee box next to it.
Private Moody moved to a storage crate in a corner, while another soldier remained at the entrance. From the box he took four plastic bottles of water and tossed one to each of them. Danny caught hers, and looked at the white paper label with the word FEMA in bold black letters on it. “Here,” Moody said, handing her a black marker. “Write your name on it.”
“I have my own water bottle in my bag,” Danny said stoically.
Private Moody pressed his lips together. He was nearing the limits of his patience. “Ma’am, while in quarantine you will be restricted access to anything other than that which you are given. You told me you’re a paramedic, so I’d expect you to understand the need for caution. This bug has an incredibly high mortality rate.”
The tent flaps were pushed aside and another soldier entered, his hands full of tan, military MREs. They were already opened and steam was escaping the top as he handed one to Danny. She looked inside and saw a plastic fork was stuck in what looked like macaroni and cheese.
“Mac and cheese!” Ethan shouted when he got his. “Yes!”
Danny laughed, finding it hard to remain pessimistic when given the opportunity to eat something other than fish. It didn’t even matter if it tasted like cardboard. Sniffing at it, she looked at the cot and imagined what it was going to feel like to sleep on something other than the hard ground.
An hour later, she sat across from Tom and Ethan at the table, finishing off a box of stale crackers and playing their fourth round of Yahtzee. Grace lay on the ground next to Sam’s cot, where he’d collapsed after eating only half his food. Aside from basic vitals that Private Moody recorded when they first arrived, no one else had been in to see them or to check on Sam.
Sam took a shuddering breath that was punctuated by a wheeze, and it was more than Danny could stand. Dropping the dice in her hand, she stomped to the tent entrance and yanked one flap aside, startling the man standing outside. “Where’s the medic?” she demanded, ignoring his perturbed look.
“You’ve already been told, he’ll come when he can. He isn’t available.”
Danny took a deliberate step outside the confines of the quarantine and squared off with the soldier. “Look, we didn’t come here for your macaroni and cheese and water. My friend needs help. Some pretty simple medic
al care that won’t take much time. If you show me to your medical supplies, I can take care of him myself!”
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. I’m going to have to ask you to go back inside.” The soldier made a point of placing his hand on the butt of his weapon. “Now.”
“You must be Danny.”
Danny turned to face a tall man walking towards them. He was also wearing fatigues, but wasn’t armed. Instead, he had a medical bag and reached out a hand as he approached. “I’m Specialist Pratt, a combat medic assigned to FEMA Shelter M3. You can call me Peter.”
Danny took his hand, noting that he didn’t seem concerned about the possibility of her being infectious. He held on a little too long and gave her an extra smile before entering the tent. She followed him inside with mixed feelings.
“I was already filled in on his condition,” Peter said without acknowledging Tom or Ethan. Kneeling down next to Sam, he withdrew his stethoscope and listened to his lungs for all of ten seconds before standing again. “Here.” Moving up next to Danny, he handed her an inhaler. “You’re an EMT or something, right? You know what to do with this?”
Danny bristled. “I’m a paramedic, which is about two thousand more hours of training than an EMT, but close enough.” She took the inhaler and confirmed it was albuterol. “Thank you for this. And yes, I know how to use it. I was hoping you might have some prednisone?”
Peter appeared amused by her response and slowly looked her over before removing a small bottle of pills from his bag. “I’ve got some steroids, but it’s a commodity that’s in high demand.” He held the bottle out but didn’t release it when she took hold of it. “I could use someone with your…talents.”
Tom had been sitting at the table casually, and suddenly stood with enough force to knock his chair over. Danny gave him a warning look and was surprised to see his hands balled into fists at his sides. She was concerned of what he might do if she didn’t immediately defuse the situation herself.
“Sure, Peter,” she said pleasantly, her fingers brushing the medic’s as he released the bottle. “When we’re released from quarantine, I’d be happy to help you with any…medical issues.”
Chuckling, Specialist Pratt threw Danny a sideways salute, and she was moving toward Sam before he’d even made it back outside.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Sam gasped as she handed him the inhaler.
“Shut up, Sam, and take a couple of puffs.” Danny uncapped the prednisone bottle and shook four pills out into his hand. “And take these. You should be starting to feel better by the morning. If not, we’ll need to start you on some antibiotics, too.”
“That guy was a jerk,” Ethan commented when Danny joined them back at the table. Tom had righted his chair and was sitting again, silently staring at her.
“I can handle him,” Danny said to them all. “I’ve dealt with his kind before.”
Tom scooped the dice up and shook them in the palm of his hand. He glanced at Ethan and then back at her, his gray eyes intense with an anguish she was beginning to understand. “Watch out for him, Danny.”
Danny didn’t want to admit it, but the heavy dread in the pit of her stomach warned her that Tom might have been right all along. They were in trouble.
Chapter 10
CARTER
Near Red Oak, Iowa
Seventeen-year-old Carter Jackson was lying under a willow tree on a corner of his parents’ farm, when he heard the helicopter pass overhead. He must have fallen asleep there, where he’d collapsed in the middle of the night. The sun was out, signaling the start to yet another miserable day. Carter’s eyes followed the aircraft, yet he didn’t move. He was too weak to run out and attempt to flag them down.
Not that there was any point to doing it.
Carter grunted as he rolled over the rest of the way onto his back so he could watch the huge bug-like aircraft fade from view. It was the first sign of anything mechanical since the light in the sky killed everyone. It was the only sign of human life, aside from himself, that he’d encountered in two days.
Every person he knew or cared about was dead. Carter was surprised when a tear trailed down the side of his temple and soaked into his thick, dark hair. He didn’t think he had enough fluid left in him. He dragged a dirty hand up to brush at the dampness, his fingers curling into the overgrown strands. His mom had always bragged about how handsome he was, and that Carter had the same hair as his grandpa. He couldn’t remember his grandfather, since he’d died when he was only four.
Turning his head slightly to the right, Carter could see his Grandpa Jackson’s headstone. It was the largest in the small family cemetery. He used to think that having it on their property was morbid, but over the past week Carter came to appreciate the small plot of land more than anything else. Otherwise, what would he have done with the bodies of his grandmother, little sister, his mom, and his dad?
A sob racked his frail body, which turned into a painful cough. It ended like it always did, with a grisly clot of blood landing on the ground with a sickening wet sound. It was how everyone else had been, in the hours before they’d died.
Carter raised his hands up and held them weakly over his face. The shade of the willow tree wasn’t solid, and sunlight filtered through, dappling the ground around him and his hands with dancing shadows. There was dry and fresh blood caked onto his palms, and dirt was forever stuck under his nails. He hadn’t bathed in more than three days. Not even a dip in the creek. It took too much energy.
The four fresh graves, each shallower than the one before it, were topped with crude crosses made from branches. Carter wished he’d paid more attention in church, so he would have been able to say a proper prayer. As it was, the dead had to settle with a simple send-off.
His dad said it was radiation poisoning that had done it to them. Some strange kind that came from space. At least, that was what was being said around Red Oak the first week after the event that started it all.
They began getting sick by the second day. Grandma went first. She was fast, on account of her heart. She’d already had two heart attacks in the past ten years, each time saying she was going to see Grandpa. Ten days ago, she finally did.
Carter scoffed at the platitude that it would all be okay, since they’d all be together again soon. After what he’d witnessed unfold in his house, he wanted nothing more than to believe it was all leading to something better. That he really would see his family again. That his girlfriend Sara wasn’t gone forever, but only from this simple, quick life that could be snuffed out so easily.
“What sort of God would do this?” Carter gasped, choking on the blood slowly pooling in the back of his throat. He could feel it running down from his nose, and seeping from his gums, but he didn’t care anymore. There wasn’t anyone left.
Carter figured his dad would have lasted longer. He should have. It should have been his father burying his mom and his little sister. Burying him. Instead, Carter ended up rolling his body from the bed and into an old, rusted wheelbarrow after he died. Then, the hole hadn’t been big enough. Carter cringed, thinking of how he had to force his father’s hands and feet into the pit. He simply didn’t have the strength left to dig it out any deeper.
The wheelbarrow was still in the graveyard, lying sideways next to the fresh dirt of his dad’s grave. There might have been something sticking up out of the ground near it, but Carter chose not to look too closely.
The sound of the helicopter faded away, leaving behind it the horrible, deafening silence that had come to plague the teen. All of the animals were dead. No birds sang. No crickets chirped or bees hummed.
Silence.
Blinking slowly, Carter lowered his hands and continued to stare up at the swaying branches of the willow. It had always been a favorite spot of his. He and Sara had kissed under it for the first time after the homecoming game back in October. He was the quarterback for their local football team. He was going places, the people of Red Oak would always say in
passing.
“I’m going places,” Carter whispered, his parched lips further cracking from the subtle movement.
A gentle breeze blew through the field, shaking the long, narrow leaves of the tree and ruffling Carter’s thick, black hair.
Closing his eyes, Carter’s last thought was of a long-forgotten memory of a little boy sitting on his grandfather’s lap. It was a good time full of family and love. His grandfather was smiling at him, and his eyes reminded him of his father. Reaching out, Carter tried to hold on, but his grandpa was moving away from him, the man with the same dark hair…until there was nothing.
Chapter 11
PATTY
Mercy Cemetery, Mercy, Montana
Fifteen fresh graves. It had taken most of the night to dig them, and Patty stayed to oversee it all. The families and loved ones had already been through enough. The least they could do was give them a proper burial.
Melissa at first insisted that the bodies be burned, in order to ensure the bacteria didn’t spread. However, when it came time to plan the mass grave/outdoor cremation since they didn’t have a morgue or crematorium, no one had the stomach to do it. Instead, they took special precautions handling the dead and rushed to get them in the ground as fast and as deep as possible.
“That’s it,” Fire Chief Martinez huffed, wiping the dirt from his hands on his already filthy jeans. He shook his head and squinted up at the sun just beginning to break over the eastern mountain range. “People will be coming soon, Patty. You should get cleaned up.”
Patty stared numbly at her own hands, the fresh dirt under her nails and a couple of scratches from roots unseen in the dark holes. They’d worked by candlelight mostly, and it was one of the longest nights of her life. One she would never forget. That was okay, because as the mayor of Mercy, she shouldn’t. Patty owed it to the children and friends who had died under her watch.