by ML Banner
“Bang,” he said, pretending to fire, but not squeezing the trigger. He couldn’t wait for Uncle Frank to get back.
A loud screech blared out of the desk’s speakers, and it startled him so badly, he almost touched the trigger. Relieved he didn’t accidentally kill their supply of catsup (because he didn’t want to be forced to eat mustard instead), he pointed it away and glared at the radio. Its dials had just lit up by themselves.
“I repeat, F, are you there?” blared from somewhere in the room.
Travis leaned into the radio, as if he wasn’t sure the sound actually came from it. He reached over with his other hand and pressed the microphone button down. “Hello?”
“Who is this?” the voice asked.
“Um, this is Travis.” He pushed the chair out of his way with his foot. “Who are you?”
“You can call me G. I’ll call you T, if that’s all right?”
“Sure.”
“Where are you and your parents, T?”
“My parents are dead, and my godfather Frank is taking care of my sister, Lexi, and me.”
“Where is F? Are you and your sister all right?”
Travis was getting the hang of this. “Sorry, but F isn’t here right now. Both my sister and I are all right. Uncle Fra—I mean F told me to wait in here. He was pretty worried about something. He ran out the door and said not to open the door for anyone else, but he hasn’t come back yet. They’ve been gone for a while now … Hey, how do you know my godfather? I call him Uncle Frank. Sorry.”
“I’m a friend of your uncle. I was worried something had happened to him, but I’m sure he’s fine.”
Travis set the chair back upright and crawled into it, swinging his elbows over its back. He laid the gun down. “Are you in Florida too?”
“No, T, we’re in Texas, F’s hometown.”
“Cool, that’s hundreds of miles away, actually less for the radio waves, going across the water. But it’s still pretty far.”
“So you’re in a safe pla—”
There was a ding sound in the background and G stopped speaking.
“Ahh, T? Do you see a little sheet of paper taped to the radio, with a list of frequencies?”
“Yes.”
“Good, go to the next one. Can you do that?”
“Piece of cake, G.” Travis spun the dial and found the next frequency. G was already speaking.
“T, are you there?”
“I’m here, G.”
Travis gave his chair a spin.
~~~
Stowell, Texas
Grimes
Grimes gave Travis some information for Frank on his return, insisting that he write it down so that he wouldn’t forget. He had already quizzed Travis on his situation, happy to hear that he appeared to be in a safe enclosed space with water, food, and even a bathroom. Travis, who seemed like a bright boy for ten years old—he told G this proudly—promised to stay put for up to two days, or until someone came and got him, before going back outside.
Grimes had to be careful not to say too much, sure the enemy was probably listening. Luckily for him, Travis seemed to know this stuff intuitively, picking up their frequency process without much difficulty.
“Ding!” It was the second ten-minute rotation, and Grimes still had other work to do, even though he was reluctant to let the boy go. He heard the signal on Travis’s side too.
“I’ve got to go now, T.” Grimes looked forward, as if the boy were directly in front of him. “Can I talk to you tomorrow at the same time?”
“That would be great, G.” Grimes had a mental picture of the boy smiling. He sounded like he was having fun.
“You know the frequency, right?”
“Duh, G. This is T, over and out, good buddy.”
Grimes smiled now. It was the first thing he had to smile about since he heard Frank’s voice hours ago.
Aimes burst into Grimes’s radio room. “Anything?”
“No, but I did talk to Frank’s godson in Florida.”
“What happened to Frank? Is he all right?” Aimes seated himself in a side chair against the wall and rested his rifle against the wall beside him. He unlatched his tactical vest to give his broad chest more room to expand.
“I honestly don’t know. I was trying not to scare Travis—his godson—but Frank left our conversation so quickly … and because he put Travis inside and ran outside, I don’t know if they were gassed or not.” Grimes pushed himself away from his desk crowded with radios, microphones, books, and a project: a tangle of wires that were the guts of a radio. He rubbed at the fatigue in his eyes.
“But there isn’t a base beside them.”
“I know …” Grimes stretched his arms upward and then tilted his chair back.
“And no word from Porter or the others?”
“Not a damned thing.” His chair flumped back to all fours. He stared at Aimes with worry.
“Shit, buddy, the world ended. It’s not too easy to just drive back. I’m sure your son is being careful. He’s a smart boy.” Aimes tried to give his friend a welcoming smile of assurance. But he knew it wouldn’t help.
“I know. I just wish to God I’d hear something from them or at least one of our men on lookout.”
~~~
Ten Miles Northeast of Stowell, Texas
Paul
He worked the crook out of his neck from being in the same position for so long without moving. Paul was thirty feet up in a giant antenna tower, on a small platform—way too small for him—peering through binoculars along two stretches of highway. He was watching for bad guys.
He had literally a bird’s-eye view of I-10 all the way to Beaumont, and 124, the county road that mostly ran parallel to the highway.
His job was not only to look for any enemy that might come their way, but also for any bands of thieves or miscreants who might be a threat to their little town. Finally, he was watching out for Robert Grimes’s son and a few soldiers who were coming to help.
He had his .30-30 with a Leupold scope. And although he was quite a good shot, having bagged a mule deer every year now for twenty years, he was told not to shoot anyone. He was supposed to just call it in to Grimes and let the others take care of the threat. Luckily for him there had been few threats. The only folks he’d seen were the occasional small family or couple walking along the road, probably trying to find their way home. But that was over a day ago. Since then, nothing; longer since he’d seen a working vehicle.
So now the watch was monotonous, as there was nothing to look at except a couple of dead bodies on the road, and of course, they didn’t move, much. He pointed his Leupold at the dead woman; the scope was more powerful than the binoculars. He lined up the black crosshairs on her handbag, just above her head, and stared at her some more.
It was not right the way she’d been left there, half-naked, her throat slit. She must have had a pretty face, although it was all swollen now. He was thankful that part of her shirt, although torn and revealing, covered her chest. The rest of her was exposed and he couldn’t stand it.
A large black form landed in his field of view. It was blurry, but he knew instantly what it was.
Paul adjusted the power back slightly and then refocused; it was a damned turkey vulture, about ready to dine on the woman.
He’d already shot two of these things before they could chow down on her. He wasn’t going to let this one add to the dead woman’s indignity.
Breathing slowly, he cycled a round into the chamber. His finger touched the trigger, ready to apply the proper two pounds of pressure.
The carrion eater flapped away just as he had coaxed the round out.
He missed.
“Damn!” he said to the winds.
He once again zoomed back so that he could see ten yards around the dead woman. The vulture was definitely gone.
The sound of a door closing alerted him to something beyond the body.
Paul pulled his head away from the eyepiece, and he was
shocked to see a caravan of vehicles with dozens of men on them. The wind was blowing away from him, so he hadn’t heard their approach.
Two men moved to the woman, their faces filled with evil smiles. He glanced back at the others and then lifted his eyepiece back so that he could better assess who they were and radio it in to Grimes. He needed to let them know a threat was coming their way.
They looked like a group of crazed men who were taking advantage of a new world without any more laws. Certainly they weren’t the terrorists he was watching for.
A flash of light blinded him for a moment. He pulled his eye away from the scope and then looked back. On the hood of one of the trucks, an older model Ford, a man was pointing a rifle in his direction.
It was pointed at him!
Paul’s eyepiece shattered, the round piercing his brain. A half second later the percussive sound reached him, unheard.
Chapter 6
Endurance, Florida
Jonah
The man’s frantic voice arrived before he did.
“I need a doctor!”
He burst through the clinic’s doors, clutching a boy blanched of all color. The boy’s mouth was welded in a permanent cry for help; his eyes, seared wide with fear, were lifeless.
“It’s my son. He can’t breathe,” the man croaked.
No one seemed to hear him over the reception room’s chaotic din.
Endurance Health Center had a staff of two doctors, three nurses, a dozen support staff and several volunteers. All were there and all were occupied, trying to save as many as they could of the townspeople afflicted by a mystery illness. Even the janitor was giving CPR to an elderly man who had stumbled in and collapsed.
“I’ll get the doctor,” said an aged volunteer, who had come in on his day off. He rose slowly at first from his seat, softly patting the head of a little girl crying over her unconscious mother next to her.
The elderly aide moved briskly for his age and disappeared around the corner. But he came to a stop almost immediately in front of one of the two doctors.
The senior physician on staff, Dr. Emily Scott, was arguing with another man. Of course, it wasn’t just any man. The aide could see it was the famous or, more appropriately, infamous Jonah Price.
“I need you to get me more supplies,” Dr. Scott barked at Jonah. “We’re out of everything since the power went out five days ago, and we haven’t had a delivery in a week. So we need everything. But now we need every milliliter of atropine or pralidoxime you can get your hands on.”
Jonah shrugged. “Hey, Em, do you think I’m some sort of medical supply company?” he said, almost meekly.
Her return glare gave him his answer. And she added, although it was unnecessary, “Please don’t treat me like one of the bimbos who keep you company at night.” She looked up at the frantic volunteer and then back to Jonah. “Remember, I took in your son as a favor to you, over all these people who need my help more.”
Jonah bored holes in his feet with his gaze, feeling the sting of her words. He glanced up past Emily to the room behind her, where his son was resting comfortably even though his injuries were not life-threatening. He then scanned around the wide hallway and saw for the first time the frantic pace of everyone attempting to deal with the crisis.
“I need to go, Jonah. Just do what you can, please,” she said as she brushed past him.
Jonah started after her, making his way into the waiting room. “I’ll do my best, Em.” But she was already attending to a boy, his father clutching the child’s lifeless frame. Jonah knew the man well, as he had had several run-ins with him: Rory Thomas, the town’s sheriff. She shook her head and the man buried his head into the boy’s chest. The rest of the waiting room was packed with the sick, the dying, and the dead.
Something horrible had just happened to their town, worse than the power going out. And although Jonah believed it was every man for himself, and many more would die when they ran out of food, this was his town. It was the town he grew up in. He went to high school with Emily’s eldest brother and Rory. He knew half the people in the waiting room, especially the older ones.
Jonah hovered in place, watching and listening to Emily work. His two men, who had helped him get his boy to the clinic, waited impatiently beside him.
A strikingly beautiful woman blew into the open doorway. She scanned the room, found Dr. Scott and rushed over to her. The words fell out of her full lips. “The Army base has been gassed. My husband, the base commander, is there. I don’t know, but maybe they’re all dead.” Her eyes welled up, ready to overflow. “Can you get someone to check on them?”
Jonah was now standing behind Emily. “How do you know they were gassed?” he asked the woman.
Dr. Scott glanced at Jonah and then the commander’s wife.
“Two of his men came to my house and said it was attacked by a drone. They watched it fly over. They took our two hazmat suits and went in to save as many as they could. They were going to get some sort of antidote and bring as many survivors over here as they could.” There was no holding back her tears now.
“I’ll take a couple of my men and check out the base for you, ma’am,” Jonah said to the woman. Then to Dr. Brown he added, “And, Em, I’ll get you the meds you need. One of my men will bring them over shortly.”
“Thank you,” the woman said, offering a weak but beautiful smile.
“Thanks, Jonah,” Dr. Scott said. Her smile was warm and genuine.
“Come on.” Jonah corralled his two men and they hurried out the doorway.
“Stue,” Jonah said, hurrying past others standing near the clinic’s entrance, “you go get two more men and get a mix of medical supplies, say about ten percent of our total, and bring them to the clinic and give them to the doc.”
Stewart remained at his side, staring at his boss like he had grown horns. He knew that Jonah was sweet on the doctor, but to give away so much when their supplies were getting more valuable by the day was foolish. And it was dangerous for all of them.
“What are you waiting around for?”
Stewart, as if electrified, turned away and trotted off in the other direction, to a warehouse only a few blocks away.
Jonah stopped at his ’58 Vette, motioning his man to get into the other side. Jonah got in and started it up. The Vette grumbled as Walters swung into the passenger seat. Jonah turned to him, making sure he was listening. “I’m going to drop you off. I want you to grab one of the trucks and load it up with hazmat suits, enough for everyone. But first call Peter. Tell him to meet us at the base ASAP.”
Jonah drove out of the clinic’s parking lot, navigated around the stalled cars, and pulled onto the otherwise empty road.
“Aren’t Peter and his men out getting the one who sliced up your son?”
“Yes, of course.” He’d already forgotten about the knife-wielding woman after realizing the danger had passed. “Have him bring her too.”
“What are we all doing at the base?”
“We’re going to look for survivors, of course. But if they’re all dead, I want to grab all their supplies before someone else thinks to do it.”
Walters nodded his head in agreement. There was a reason why Jonah ran this town.
Chapter 7
Sunbay Cove, Florida
Lexi
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but my father died five days ago.” Lexi’s whispered words affected her more deeply and stung harder than the real-time event had.
She fought back her tears, unwilling to surrender to them. The event hadn’t changed, but she had changed since then.
The sting must have been fresh for Jasper, who only just heard this. He seemed to sink into his ancient recliner, lost in thought. His palms fell onto the chair’s arms—each branded with a gray X made by two strips of duct tape, as if they were marked to remind him where to put his hands.
“Most men don’t live the life they were meant to; Stanley Broadmoor appeared to be the exception.”<
br />
“Lexi eyed him for a while, not sure what to make of his comment and waiting for something more. But the strange man must have needed to process what she’d just told him.
As the moments passed and her eyes wandered, she noticed that Jasper’s house didn’t have any lights or anything that indicated he had power. She had almost taken for granted that most folks wouldn’t have been as prepared as her father or godfather.
She also noticed that all the vents were sealed with cutout pieces of black plastic and tape, and there was no circulating air. It was hot as blazes inside.
All of the room’s light poured through the giant living room window, framing Jasper where he sat, with a perfect view of the inlet to the Gulf. Any other time, this would have been a beautiful spot to read a book or just stare off contemplating their day. But those days were gone.
Frank fidgeted next to Lexi in a love seat facing Jasper, in the middle of the living room.
He scrutinized every point where the air from the outside could get in: the doorway, the large window, and the vents. His gaze moved around the room, trying to find the breach, while a few flies nervously bounced off the living room window, wanting out.
Jasper had assured him when they had first entered that the main living areas of his home were sealed up tight as a drum. He described his preparation for things such as nuclear fallout and poisonous gas. Hearing how well he had prepared, Frank was dying to compare notes with the man when they had a free moment to do so. But he had more immediate worries.
Based on this stranger’s say-so, they rested—although Frank couldn’t sit still—while they waited for the sarin to dissipate. It could take hours. It could take days. He didn’t really know, and that made him very nervous. Leaving Travis alone made him even more nervous. But the part of this that really got to Frank was depending on one more person, and a stranger to boot. Yet they had no choice, and they’d have to make the best of it.
Frank laid his rifle on his lap while his left toe tapped a staccato beat of anxiety. He finally took some time to regard their host. Jasper was an odd-looking man with a full Duck Dynasty beard and a Confederate cap resting off-center on a crown of fine, curly white hair. His left eye was normal enough, but his right one was both strange and telling. Both eyes were intense and felt genuine, but his right drifted on its own each time the left moved, like it wasn’t properly connected to the rest of his head.