"But you can't all stay. We've got too many people here as it is."
"It's a bit like a lifeboat," Skulls said. "If you overload it, the boat sinks and everyone dies."
"And what right have you got to stay alive and my granddaughter to be cast adrift to starve? That's what I wanna know."
Bella sighed. It wasn't about rights, it was about who was there first. Unfair, certainly, but the only practical measure in the circumstances. "We'll do what we can to help. We'll send what supplies we can spare and give medical help to those who need it."
Beck was going to protest when the door opened and Sheriff Moretti burst into the room.
"What is it now, Sheriff?" Bella snapped.
"They've broken in! Dozens of them, in the town. They've got weapons. They're gonna overrun us!"
He stepped forward and thrust a police radio into her hand. "McClusky's watching them."
"Madam Mayor," McClusky said over the radio. "What are your orders?"
Skulls turned to her. "If we don't push back, the town is lost, Bella."
Bella looked from Skulls to the sheriff and drew in a deep breath. "Sheriff, call up the reserve; get them on the street."
She pushed the handset button. "Deputy McClusky, you are to contain them, using minimum force."
"Some of them are armed, Madam Mayor. May we respond with deadly force?"
Again, she looked at Skulls and felt her heart sink. He was right, if she let them all in, then Elizabeth would be lost after a night of looting and murder. She knew what ex-Mayor Kennedy would do, and she had set herself up from the start to be different to a woman she regarded as the embodiment of power-crazed evil. But, on this occasion, she had no choice.
"Yes, Deputy, deadly force is authorized as a last resort."
And she felt a little part of her soul blacken and die.
Chapter 4
Solly turned the key over in his hand as he jogged painfully through the streets of Hagerstown. His neck ached from the night he'd spent in the trailer of an abandoned truck not far from the hotel; a night of little sleep as he puzzled out his next move.
He'd fished the flashlight out of his pack and risked a furtive look at the envelope Aston had pushed into his hand. Inside was the steel key and a hastily scrawled note:
Hagerstown Medical Center
Mill Street—head along East. Boul. then north.
Basement
1113
Take what you need and lock up behind you. Keep key.
Good Luck. Watch for bandits.
Eastern Boulevard hadn't been cleared of cars and he used their dust covered and rust tinged remains as cover as he moved as quickly as possible along the road. Unlike Seattle, no central authority had been re-established here and so there was no one to clear the roads, not even the main routes in and out of the city. The community at the hotel had focused all their efforts on making themselves secure and seemed to have no interest in Hagerstown as a whole. And so gangs ruled the various districts and it was these he wanted to avoid.
He'd gotten up at dawn, reluctantly unzipping his sleeping bag as his breath misted on a dull, drizzly morning. The plan was to get to the medical center as early as possible, and hopefully before most of the remaining inhabitants of Hagerstown were out and about, but it had taken him over an hour to get no more than halfway along the boulevard. It turned out that some of the people here were early risers themselves, perhaps for the same reason, and he'd been forced to crouch behind car wreckage and wait for them to disappear, his finger on the trigger of his handgun.
It was mid-morning before he came down off the overpass and could begin to search for Mill Road among the warren of little streets in the older part of town. He was beginning to despair by the time he finally spotted the sign. The medical center was a one story red brick box and much smaller than he'd imagined. Solly could only imagine that Aston's note meant he'd find antivirals within the center, but he couldn't see why this would be where they'd be kept. Why not move them to the hotel where they'd be safe? And wouldn't they be more likely to be in the main town hospital in any case? Solly found himself wondering whether he was on a wild goose chase while the people who depended on him were succumbing to this virulent flu strain.
But he was here now, so he had little option but to check. The front entrance had been kicked down and a fire had been set inside. He picked his way carefully between charred furniture and tortured plastic, not looking too hard in case he saw evidence of any people trapped inside when the place had been torched.
How could there be any supplies here? The center had been ransacked and firebombed. The only chance was to find the basement. Perhaps that had survived the fire, but where was the entrance? Most of the doors inside the building had been left open, and he glanced inside each to see if there was any sign of stairs. They were all full of wreckage and the only traces of medicines he saw were empty boxes scattered on the floor.
And there were bodies. It looked as though they'd all perished either on the Long Night or soon afterwards. Many had been partially consumed by the fire, but it seemed as though the flames had only reached around two thirds of the way down the building, so he began to find rooms with the remains of their former occupants laying across tables or staining the floor.
There it was! In the far right corner of the building—a door labeled Basement. It was a steel fire door that was locked—there was no sign that it had been forcibly opened. Aston's key fit perfectly, and Solly pushed the door open onto blackness beyond.
He pulled the flashlight from his pocket and switched it on. He was using it sparingly these days because he had no spare batteries and the ones inside must be close to running out—not a prospect he relished if it happened down there.
The light beam illuminated boxes and metal shelving on the floor below, but all torn apart and tumbled. He would find no drugs here. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Solly felt claustrophobia squeezing his chest and he glanced back at the open door above. He was just about to run up the steps again and escape when he remembered the numbers scrawled on the paper. 1113. Could it be a combination lock? And why was everything so chaotic down here if the room had been secured? Only a key holder could have opened that door without breaking it down, but why destroy everything and then lock it again on leaving? That was not the action of looters.
He steeled himself and turned away from the door again, searching the walls with his light. What was he looking for? A safe? He kicked boxes and torn paper away, hoping to reveal something on the dusty floor. No, nothing, so he began lifting the metal shelving to peer under it and pulling boxes trapped beneath. Still nothing. Then, he looked up from the ground and noticed that one rack of shelving remained upright against the wall, partially obscured by another rack at right angles to it. He picked his way across the room and forced his way into the gap between them.
Solly gasped. There, obscured by the junction of the two shelving racks was a door. It was painted a dark gray which made it merge with the shadows and almost impossible to see without looking at it directly. Beside it, he could see an old-fashioned mechanical door keypad. 1113.
With a heave, he pulled first one, then the other of the racks away and, when there was just enough room, he slid along the gap so he could reach the keypad, hoping that the door opened inwards. With a click, the pad accepted his code and he pushed.
Solly shone his flashlight inside and it bounced off box after box piled on shelves. White boxes. It was like an Aladdin's cave of pharmaceutical wonders. His only problem now was finding antivirals among all the other drugs that filled the room from floor to ceiling. He slipped inside and began his search.
By the time he left the room, having shut the door and obscured it as before, his pack bulged with drugs. He'd also picked up as many antibiotics as he could manage. It was a life-saving haul.
He ran up the stairs, feeling suddenly full of energy as he shut and locked the outer door before moving quickly back through the building a
nd out under the welcoming gray sky. He'd done it. Now all he had to do was find his car and head home.
"Red handed, I call it," drawled a voice from behind him. Solly spun around to see a man sitting on a low brick wall outside the medical center. He looked like a young Jimi Hendrix and regarded Solly quite nonchalantly as he tossed a large serrated knife from hand to hand. Though he couldn't see them, Solly became aware of others watching him from behind fences and within shadows.
"So the question is, where did he get the key? And the door combination?" The voice had a distinctly Caribbean twang.
The young man got off the wall and sauntered toward Solly, the knife held in his left hand. He wore dark brown velvet pants and a sheepskin lined coat. A red bandana corralled his long curly hair into place and a stringy mustache sat above his lip. "You in big trouble, man. We don't take kindly to thieves stealing our gear."
Other shapes began moving toward him, knives drawn. Solly pulled the handgun from the inner pocket of his coat. "Stay back!"
Jimi Hendrix stopped and wagged a lazy finger. "Not cool, man. And anyway, you can't shoot us all. Now why don't we all calm down and you can tell us where you got da key?"
"Those drugs belong to you?"
"Well, possession bein' nine tenths of the law…"
"So, why are you hoarding them? Why hasn't Doctor Harper taken them?"
Hendrix's eyes narrowed. "How you know this doctor?"
"There are people on my farm, ill people. I went to ask for medical supplies."
"And he said no?"
"Obviously," Solly said. He was getting cold and, despite the evidence, he didn't feel threatened by these people.
"Well, that would be about right. And you were lucky to get away from there, my friend, very lucky. Look, my name is Robert, though most call me Bobby. I'm puttin' my ratchet away, you see? And me boys, they will do the same. Just you and me, we gonna chat." He folded the knife in the center and dropped it in his pocket before gesturing for Solly to join him on a nearby wall.
Solly put his gun away and watched as the half dozen gang members disappeared.
"I'm Solly. But look, what did you mean I was lucky to get away?"
Bobby gave a grim chuckle. "Dat Harper, him not a real doctor. He's a veterinarian, and a collector."
"A collector of what?"
"Of people. Now, dun tell me where you got the key. I'm guessing it was Aston."
Solly couldn't hide his surprise. "How did you know?"
This time, Bobby laughed out loud. "Because he was my brother. Me and him, we ran this crew, but he fell in with Harper. He had a key, he knew where the stash were, so it must be him unless he give it to someone else."
"No, it was him alright."
"And what is ailing your folk?"
"Flu—a bad strain."
Bobby put his hand on Solly's shoulder. "And you say there is drugs in that stash to help?" He face was suddenly animated, as if in hope.
"Antivirals," Solly said. "That's what I came here for." He fished a pack out of his bag and handed it over.
"And this will cure the flu?"
Solly shook his head. "No, but it does help. They get better quicker and some who were going to lose the battle survive."
Suddenly, Bobby lobbed the pack over Solly's head. "Here, give that to Viv. And hurry now."
He turned back to Solly. "She be real sick. Nothing was workin', but maybe now she can be saved."
Bobby regarded Solly for a moment. "We saw you go in there and was fixin' on a real short interview when you came out. Thought you'd been sent by Harper. Thought our hidin' place had been found. But you might have saved Vivian, and so you can be on your way. Go and save your folk, Solly."
They got up and shook hands.
And then the shooting started. Bobby looked past Solly. "Did you bring them after all?" he snarled as his knife appeared in his hand.
"Who? No!" Solly said.
Bobby read the truth in Solly's eyes, pushed him to one side and ran toward the sounds of gunfire. Solly realized they'd been tracking him. His escape had been nothing more than a means to expose Aston and the treasure trove they believed he knew about.
Solly ran in the opposite direction, glancing behind to see figures running. The air was full of the crack, crack of gunfire and the calls of people, some in terror, some in triumph. He didn't have time to feel bad about Bobby and his gang as he awaited the hot stabbing pain of a bullet in the back.
Then a cry split the air and he stumbled to a halt. Solly turned slowly, then swiveled his head back and forth, trying to get a fix on the direction. It was Bobby's voice and he was crying out in rage and frustration, his words punctuated by gunfire.
For a moment Solly stood there, torn between his own safety and the slim chance he could do anything to help Bobby. Why was he hesitating? The drugs in his backpack would give the people at the new farmhouse a chance of survival, and they'd protect his own folk against the contagion spreading. It wasn't just his own life he would risk by turning back and heading into the fray. Even if he told them what he'd done, they wouldn't blame him. Running was the rational thing to do; he wasn't fleeing out of cowardice.
Or was he? And, more than anything else, it was because he couldn't honestly answer that question that he roared in frustration and took a zig-zagging path back to the medical center.
The gunfire was coming from a concrete building to one side. Two Jeeps had been left in the parking lot and Solly could just make out figures hunched behind low walls and, in one case, a trash can, all aiming their weapons at the building's door. Bodies lay outside the door and, in a blur of movement, Solly could see Bobby appear in the doorway and fire a burst of shots at the attackers. As he ducked back, automatic fire shattered the door frame and he cried out in rage and frustration.
"You ain't comin' in here."
There was no disguising the pain in his voice. Solly squinted at the bodies outside the door. None of them wore military uniforms. Two attackers lay sprawled on the asphalt but four remained, and they were all armed with assault rifles.
Solly slipped out from behind cover and aimed for an abandoned car that had been left in the road outside the medical center. As he ran, he saw two of the attackers making a break for a position to one side of the door. When Bobby opened it, he'd go down in a hail of bullets.
Solly got onto his hands and knees and crawled along the side of the car until he was lying beneath the trunk with a clear line of sight. There was no time to think. Either they died or Bobby did. He sighted along the barrel of his gun and selected which of them would die first, then squeezed the trigger and fired three quick shots. He missed his target, but the other attacker fell in a spray of red.
Almost instantly, the car was rocked by gunfire from his intended target. When it stopped, he could hear the thumping of boots on asphalt. They were coming for him. He scrambled over to the other side of the car, switched the gun into his right hand and, gritting his teeth, he fired at the first moving target he saw.
A body fell and the car vibrated under multiple impacts. He couldn't possibly kill both remaining attackers. The next time he tried to take a shot, he'd be picked off by one or the other. But he had no time to think it through. All he knew was that he could either go down fighting or he could wait for death to come to him. The Solly of a few months ago might have been paralyzed with fear at the prospect, but he was now Solly Masters version 2.0. And he was mad.
He leaped up, saw a blur of movement, and fired. Glass exploded around him and he felt something scrape his skin as he threw himself sideways. And then, in the sudden silence as he waited for the last attacker to round the car, he heard a voice call out.
"Now, if I was you, Babylon, I'd drop my weapon right about now."
Solly heard the thud of something metallic being dropped and cautiously peered through the car's broken glass to see Bobby walking toward him, gun pointing at a camouflaged figure holding its hands in the air.
"Ah, I thought i
t was you, my good friend Solly," Bobby called. "Now, I suggest we get ourselves outta here pretty fast."
Chapter 5
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.
This quote echoed in the mind of Nathan Woods as he stood at attention, grinding his teeth. With his regulation haircut, scarred cheek, and tattooed biceps, he didn't look like a modern philosopher, but he knew enough domestic and international history to realize what he was witnessing.
He stood in the front row wearing a borrowed dress uniform as the president spoke to the assembled troops. He could feel Jake shaking slightly, his chest swelling as he drank in the words of their leader. Nathan sighed inwardly. One way or another, this was not going to end well.
"It is essential that we, as a nation, as a community of the free, recognize the debt we owe to our military in times of conflict…"
It was odd, thought Nathan, how dictators took such liberties with the concept of freedom. The TLX had used the calamity of the Long Night to justify what Nathan now recognized as oppression, though it had seemed logical enough at the time. Now, the president and his small council of close advisers had tightened their grip even further, eliminating even the pretense of democracy. The TLX was fighting a war in which its victory would be nothing more than the lesser of two evils. If he'd had any sense of humor left, he'd have thought it ironic that, in resisting their enemy, the TLX was becoming its clone.
"Sergeant Nathan Woods and Private Jacob Masters, both born and bred sons of Texas, demonstrated exceptional courage and fortitude to bring news of our enemy's treachery to military command. Through their actions, and those of their comrades Privates McKenzie and Pavlov, we were able to prepare for the attack. And so, today, I am proud to award the Distinguished Service Cross to Sergeant Woods, the Silver Star to Private Masters, and Purple Hearts to their fallen comrades."
The Long Night Box Set Page 52