by B. C. CHASE
FACILITY AII-B
19139:13-18
P.P.
When he saw the letters, his heart skipped a beat.
Those were his unborn son's initials. Paul Peterson. What the two letters meant, or if it was just a coincidence, Wesley didn't know. But he said, “Let's do it. Let's go find this place.” He glanced off to the side, “But I'm concerned about my mom. She's still at the camp and they won't let her out. It can get pretty rough in there.”
Kelle asked, “She doesn't carry?”
“Carry what?”
“You've gotta be kiddin' me,” she said, rolling her eyes. Spinning around, she swung open the door to the gigantic, old F-150 she had borrowed. She pulled herself up into the cab and then jumped out, saying, “Put out your hands.” Wesley complied and she slammed a shotgun down onto them. “I mean does she carry? Is she packin'?”
“Uh, no.”
“I'll take care of that,” Kelle said, flashing a smile. “What about you?”
“I have a handgun.”
“Like this?” she said, pointing to her revolver she’d left on the driver’s seat?
“No, mine’s a little more compact.”
“Okay, if that’s what floats your boat. I prefer something that I know will get the job done.” She nodded, “Thank God for the second amendment at a time like this, right? The government is after the people, but the people still bear arms.”
Wesley shook his head, “You believe that’s what the second amendment was for? So if the government takes our freedom we can take it back with guns??”
She grunted, plopping a cowboy hat on her head, “That’s exactly what I believe.” Raising her chin to peer at him from under the brim with a hint of a grin playing on her beautiful eyes, she said, “It’s life in paradise.”
Wesley laughed, almost expecting her to spit tobacco.
When they made it back to the camp entrance, the soldiers were gone and the entry point was no longer manned. As they stepped out of the truck and headed toward the camp entry, Wesley was stunned to see a steady stream of people leaving the entry point and more running up behind them to exit the quarantine camp. Wesley suddenly recognized a face among those leaving. It was the man he had seen at the grocery store in the milk section when Towson was being quarantined. Then, he had appeared to be about fifty, but now the man looked older. Much older. His eyes looked sunken in the sockets and his skin was paler. Wesley stopped him, and the man said, “Hey, it’s a small world! You’ve made it through the quarantine okay! Glad to see you!” He coughed.
Wesley said, “Yeah, you too. Are you okay?”
“Oh, haven’t been feeling like much the last few hours,” he coughed again. “I think it’s a darn cold.”
Wesley looked at him skeptically. He said, “Well I hope you feel better soon. Any idea what’s going on? Where is the army?”
The man laughed, “You never know what the heck’s going on, do you? Last time you didn’t know there was a quarantine, this time…” He shook his head chuckling. Then he looked up, “They cleared out. Took ‘em ten minutes, max.”
“Why?”
“Dunno. Something worse than this, I’d guess, although that’s hard to imagine. They suddenly just took off. Didn’t even take their gear.”
“Hmm.”
“It’s odd,” the man said. He put a hand on Wesley’s shoulder, “Listen, you take care. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again, eh?”
“Yeah, maybe.” Wesley said.
Wesley and Kelle had to push to get through the entryway where everyone was leaving, but once inside the camp, they saw that what the man said was true. There was not a soldier to be seen, but plenty of equipment lying around.
As soon as he opened the flap, Cynthia, the only person in the tent, exclaimed, “Oh thank God! I didn’t know whether to leave or wait for you. I was about to…” she stopped, “What’s wrong, Wesley?”
He had been staring at her in disbelief. “You look…so old,” he replied, dumbfounded. Kelle looked to Wesley inquisitively.
Cynthia put her hands on her hips, “Well thanks a lot, baby. I know life in quarantine has been hard on me, but for pity’s sake.”
“I’m sorry, mom, It’s just that, well you’ve changed.” Concerned, he asked, “Do you feel okay?”
“A little tired, but I’m fine.” She frowned, “I’m not sick again, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She put her hands on her hips, “I’m ready to go. Now.”
“Okay, mom, okay.” He motioned to Kelle, “This is Kelle Kessler. You remember the FBI agent who came to see us at the house?”
“Yes, of course.”
“He was her husband.”
“Was?”
“Yes. He’s, um.”
Kelle stated simply, “They killed him.”
Cynthia’s eyes narrowed, “Who killed him?”
“We don’t know.”
“Why did they do it?”
Wesley said, “We think it’s connected to what happened to Sienna and the baby.”
“You mean it’s somehow connected to this dreadful virus?”
Kelle said, “I think that’s a safe bet. Sienna died of the virus the same night the baby was taken.”
Cynthia moved toward her son, “Wesley.” She moistened her lips, “He’s gone. The baby’s gone. You can’t bring him back.”
“I know mom. But I want the truth.”
“You don’t want the truth. I wasn’t born yesterday, Wesley. I can see it in your eyes. You want revenge.” She stepped back, looking disconcertingly at Kelle, “And you want revenge.”
Wesley’s face darkened and his tone was dead, “Yes. We do.”
“That’s not good.” She looked pleadingly at her son, “Wesley, please be careful. You’re all I have left.”
Wesley stared at her, but didn’t say anything. He couldn’t stand to meet her gaze anymore. He took a breath, looked down at his feet, “Do you know why the army took off?”
“I have no idea, but it worries me. There’s bound to be anarchy on the streets.”
Kelle stepped forward and presented the shotgun to Cynthia, “Well worry no more, Mrs. Peterson.”
Cynthia stepped back, “Good gosh, what is that?”
“This here is a Remington 870. If anybody gets near you,” she cocked the gun with a loud click, “you'll fill 'em with lead.” She rest the gun's stock by her foot and opened a jeweled handbag, drawing out a little cardboard box. “And this is the lead you'll use. Thirty-three caliber pellets of twelve-gauge buckshot. No copper platin’, nothin' like that.” She smiled, “Just good ole lead.”
Cynthia blinked, “Where did you say this girl was from, Wesley?”
Kelle grinned proudly, “South Carolina, born and raised.”
Cynthia nodded knowingly. Then, aside to Wesley she said, “You run, I’ll be a human shield.”
“Very funny,” Wesley said. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Wesley, Kelle, and Cynthia were delayed in leaving by a large crowd that had developed at the exit.
As they walked, Wesley said, “I just don’t get it. Why would the military leave and let everyone roam free?”
Cynthia said, “It’s about time. The lavatory situation was beyond desperate. They had us trapped in there like animals.”
Wesley shook his head, “Something isn’t right about this.”
Kelley said, “You’re right. The army’s gettin’ outta Dodge and thousands of infected are set free?”
They had just made it to the truck. “She drives a truck?” Cynthia asked.
“She borrowed it, mom.”
Kelle said, “And, actually, I’m having him drive it, but that’s just ‘cause I’m tired. I own one at home.”
“Wesley, you shouldn’t drive this.” To Kelle she said, “You do realize how much CO2 these emit, don’t you?”
“Mom, just get in the car, will you?”
Wesley helped her up as she said, “It’s because of cars like this we ha
ve global warming.”
Wesley said, “It’s called climate change now, mom.”
Kelle said, “It’s because of cars like this we all don’t starve to death. This is a farmer’s best friend.”
Cynthia plopped herself into the middle seat, “Rain is a farmer’s best friend, sweetheart, and because of global warming there is a lot less of it.”
“So you think the government should force all of us into non-fossil-fuel-burning vehicles?”
“I wish they would. But they’re arm in arm with big auto.”
“Mom, really. Let’s be nice,” Wesley said, starting the ignition.
“I am being nice.”
“Let’s be even nicer than you’ve been so far.”
“Okay,” Cynthia said, buckling the seatbelt. She turned to Kelle in the passenger’s seat, “It’s a lovely vehicle. Very commanding view of the road.”
“Thank you. That’s one of my favorite things about trucks.”
Wesley pulled the car out toward the road.
Everyone was silent for a moment. Then Cynthia said, “With this view, you can easily spot all the gas stations you’ll need to stop at.”
“Mom.”
“That was a compliment!”
“No more compliments.”
Cynthia said, “Surely with all the gas it must use it can produce a little heat. It’s freezing in here.”
Wesley was actually warm with the three of them so close together, but he turned up the blower.
There was a steady stream of refugees trudging beside the road. Ahead, they were taking a wide path around something on the ground. As Wesley slowed and maneuvered around them, he saw a figure lying face down on the concrete, not moving. “Oh no,” Wesley said in alarm.
“Isn’t that the man you were talking to before?” Kelle asked.
“Yeah.”
“He said he had a cold,” Kelle said, looking at Wesley with anxiety ringing her eyes.
“Maybe it was pneumonia,” Wesley said, though he was actually worried about something else.
“I can’t believe you had a handgun, Wesley!” Cynthia said shrilly, her arms crossed. Wesley was driving down a winding, woods-lined road, the red sun slinking under the western slopes.
“Why did you tell her?” Wesley leaned over the steering wheel to accuse Kelle.
“She was acting like you were all gung-ho for gun control and you weren’t saying nothin’.”
Cynthia moaned, “I truly feel betrayed, Wesley. Your father and I taught you better than that.”
“I felt like a needed a gun, mom, for protection. Your neighborhood is a lot safer than mine.”
“Guns make crime worse.”
Kelle smiled knowingly, “With all due respect, m’am, guns don’t make crime worse; people do that. If there were guns but no people, nobody would get shot.”
“If there were people but no guns, nobody would get shot, either.”
Kelle said, “What I’m hearing you say is that you believe people are good at heart”
“Yes. People are good at heart.”
“Nobody’s good at heart! We’re all evil sons of guns straight out of our mother’s canals.”
“There’s no call for vulgarity,” Cynthia protested.
“Vulgarity?” Kelle scrunched up her face.
“Power corrupts. A gun is more power than any man should have. Put a gun in somebody’s hands and something’s bound to go wrong in his mind.” Cynthia nodded, “Clearly you are an excellent case in point.” She coughed.
“Are you sayin’ I’m crazy?” Kelle shrieked. “Crazy is thinkin’ all of us need big brother to take all the guns away when you said yourself that a gun is more power than anyone should have! If we all have guns, there’s a balance of power!”
Cynthia threw her hands up, “A balance of firepower, you mean! So we can all shoot the dickens out of each other just to keep the peace! You’ve totally lost your senses!”
“You’re totally dumb as rocks!”
“Ladies!” Wesley shouted. “Let’s get along!”
Kelle accused, “Your mother’s fishin’ for a fight!”
Cynthia hunched lower in her seat glumly, “She’s made my stomach ache worse, Wesley.”
He groaned, “Oh, mom.”
Cynthia put a hand on Wesley’s arm, “No, please stop the car, Wesley. I’m really feeling quite ill.”
He pulled over onto the shoulder where there was a wooded slope down to a ravine. The sun was gone and dark clouds were closing in. Wesley was dismayed by how frail his mother looked as he helped her out of the cab. The skin on her hands was paper thin and cold. He started to help her down the slope, but she said, “No, I’ll go.”
“Are you sure, mom?”
She snapped in irritation, “Can’t a woman have any privacy? Good gosh, Wesley.” Hunched over like a much older woman than she was, she began to carefully step down into the woods. Wesley watched her anxiously. She coughed again.
“We should take her to a hospital,” Kelle said softly so Cynthia couldn’t hear. “She isn’t well.”
Wesley nodded silently. Still making her way down, Cynthia reached up to scratch her scalp, and a clump of hair shed off in her fingers. She didn’t seem to notice. Wesley was truly alarmed, now. He shouted, “Mom!”
She reached out a hand to steady herself, and then toppled down on her knees.
Wesley and Kelle rushed down to her. He supported her and she looked up at him without recognition, her face gaunt. It was almost as if she was aging before their eyes. She coughed again, a splatter of blood staining the corner of her mouth. Weakly she wiped her mouth with her hand, smearing the blood. “Mom, c’mon,” Wesley said, trying to help her up, “Let’s get you to a hospital.” Her eyes were dazed, her breathing shallow. She coughed again and a stream of blood from her nose trailed down to her lips. Wesley felt her body going totally limp. “Mom! C’mon, mom!”
Kelle leaned down to help him, but Cynthia’s head sunk to her chest. She wasn’t breathing. “Mom!” Wesley struggled to pull her up. Kelle felt her wrist, then her neck. She shook her head, crying, “Oh God.”
“Help me!” Wesley cried, struggling to pull Cynthia up the slope.
Kelle’s face was awash with anguish. She started to cry.
“Help me! We have to get her to the hospital!”
Kelle stood there with her arms hanging at her sides uselessly.
“What are you doing? HELP ME!” Wesley shouted, pulling his mother’s body up toward the truck.
Kelle gently shook her head, tears rolling down her face, “Wesley, stop!”
His foot slipped and he fell backwards, the body crumpling into his lap. His mother’s gaping eyes were staring into space. He looked up at Kelle, his eyes ringed in agony.
“She’s gone, Wesley,” Kelle said, her voice breaking. She knelt on one knee and, still weeping, closed Cynthia’s eyelids.
Jarred’s address was near Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, an hour-and-a-half northwest of Towson. Wesley drove with dark determination. Kelle sat close to him in the middle seat. The road wound through magnificent tall trees with freshly unfurled leaves up into the foothills of the Appalachians. Thirty minutes away from the destination, the GPS directed them off the main road to a single-lane dirt road that snaked off under the trees like a stream into a dark, green cave. Wesley switched on the brights: it was pitch black. Kelle edged her body against him. “I'm cold,” she explained.
Wesley said, “That wasn’t the virus that killed my wife.”
“Huh?”
“It wasn’t the same. Sienna’s death was worse.”
Kelle didn’t say anything.
“Do you hear what I’m saying?”
“Yes.”
“No, you don’t. You don’t care. I’m saying something new killed mom. And that man. And they both looked very, very old.”
“I care, Wesley.”
“I’m telling you this is important somehow. We need to figure this out.”
“Kelle?”
“What?”
“We need to work on this.”
“I’m sorry your mom died.”
“No, you’re not. You’re not even helping me work this out!”
Kelle moved away to the passenger’s seat.
“How were they infected with this?” he demanded.
She put her hand against the left side of her face, blocking him out.
“HOW? YOU NEED TO HELP ME!” Wesley shouted. He was gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.
Kelle just stared out the windshield, a tear rolling down her cheek. There was silence between them.
When the GPS said they were ten minutes away, he pulled off the dirt road and eased as deeply into the forest as he dared. He killed the engine and turned to her, “You ready?”
“Yes,” she affirmed, though her eyes were ringed with anxiety.
With revolvers in their belts, they stepped out into the cold night air. A chorus of insects greeted them, but otherwise it was totally still.
As quietly as they could, they shadowed the road. They were stopped by a cleared space in the forest with a twenty-foot tall barbed-wire fence that glinted silver in the moonlight.
Wesley was reaching for the wire to pry it apart when Kelle grabbed his arm with a shriek, “Don't!” She pointed down the fence and whispered, “Look.”
In the distance, something grotesque dangled from the wire near the ground. Cautiously, they strode toward it to investigate. The smell was horrific. Wesley recognized burnt hair, but he had never smelled burnt flesh before.
The shape dangling from the fence was most certainly a dead fawn. Electrocution.
Wesley's heart began to pound in his chest with the realization that he had narrowly escaped its fate. “Thanks,” he whispered.
“Don't mention it,” Kelle said.
“So, any ideas on how to get through this fence?”
“Well, I've dealt with electric fences for cattle before, but those don’t have enough power to kill anything. We'll have to go back to truck to get something.”