“Well, I think we are going to have to get further away than that but it’s a good a place as any for now. Let’s do it!”
Mulhaven’s approval of Allan’s plan put a smile on the young man’s face. It was nice to be acknowledged.
“Now speaking of computers, let me check this thing again.”
Allan moved over a little closer to Elliot, the way conspirators do, while he watched Mulhaven head toward the back room. “Do you know he’s the spitting image of Morgan Freeman?”
“Yes I do, but don’t say anything okay?”
“Why, I don’t mean any harm by it.”
“He likes to think he looks like B.B. King!”
“What are you two laughing about?” Cindy entered the front room of the store.
“Shhh!” Elliot and Allan both pressed index fingers to their lips.
“Have you spoken with your parents in the last day or so, Allan?” Cindy asked.
“No, I haven’t. They went on a holiday to Vancouver. Why?”
“Okay I got something.” Mulhaven called from the rear of the store, saving Elliot and Cindy from having to explain. “Come quick.”
“What have you got?” Elliot asked.
They gathered behind Mulhaven who sat at the desk looking at the monitor.
“I went looking for some news sites first. National news, but here’s what I found: ‘Due to a technical difficulty with new communication lines there has been a temporary loss of communication with most of Idaho.’ It then lists the counties that are not receiving any communication by either radio or telephone, which is practically all of Idaho. This is crazy!”
“What? Communication lines? Why would they say that?” Allan asked.
“There’s no new lines going in anywhere in Idaho that would cause that much disruption, is there?”
“No, of course not, Cindy, they’re hiding the real story.”
“But why, why would they do that. We need help here!”
“They want to prevent the news of what’s happening here from spreading across the country. Which makes sense; a panic could be worse than the disease. The few have to suffer for the benefit of the many.”
“So they’re expecting the disease to spread, or know that it’s only a matter of time before it does.”
“Precisely.” Mulhaven grabbed the mouse and clicked a few times. Once he got to Google, he then keyed in a new search.
“What are you looking for?” Elliot asked.
“The website of the group that organized the demonstration yesterday.”
The search took some time; the screen fluttered before it finally came up.
“There!” Mulhaven said.
“There are the dates for the march and some up …”
The monitor went black and the whirring sound of the fan inside the tower case subsided. The old dog could run no more.
“What happened?” Cindy asked.
“How old is this?” Mulhaven asked Elliot.
“About two years. It’s strictly used for business and Internet so it’s in top condition.”
“Try the light switch, Allan.” Allan did as Mulhaven had asked but when he flicked the switch—nothing happened.
“That explains it. The power has gone.”
The four looked around at each other. The situation was getting worse by the hour.
“Listen!” Cindy said. “A car! I can hear a car coming!”
They all moved as one, back into the front of the store, Elliot and Mulhaven naturally going toward the window.
“Be careful. Could be a Guard patrol.” Mulhaven said.
“What would be wrong with that. Couldn’t they help?” Allan asked.
“Maybe, maybe not. They’re involved in the evacuation but where they are evacuating people to I have no idea. If this disease is still active I don’t want to be in the same area as them—know what I mean?”
“Ah yeah, never thought of it that way.”
“It’s not the Guard. It’s an old beat-up Saturn. Two men inside.” Elliot called out. “It’s stopping at the front of the store.”
# # #
“Not that it’s going to matter all that much, but just so you know,” Holmes said to the Director of the CDC, “the CIA probably knows about our meeting.”
The two conspirators met the day after the Oval Office meeting with the President and the inner cabinet. Holmes figured there was little need for secrecy anymore, all things considered, and met Flint in the open at the Lincoln Memorial on the National Mall.
“Why doesn’t it matter?” Flint, always a nervous type, appeared more so after having lied to the President.
“What are you going to do with this SEAL team assigned to CDC?” Holmes ignored his question.
“I don’t have much choice. I’m under directives from the President.”
“I know that, but where do you intend to send them and what do you believe can be found from any examination of any of these ‘infected persons,’ as the President liked to call them?”
“No examination is going to find a cause of their behavior or find a cure. Most will exist for a week, two at the latest, before succumbing to the botulism introduced into the ‘improved’ growth hormone.”
“Okay, then send your team of super soldiers in and grab one for analysis. Make it look good—but keep them on the ground a little longer. We’ll need to know the percentage of those affected and what resistance is taking place. So make sure I see their report before you hand it over to the special committee, okay?”
# # #
Two men got out of the Saturn. The passenger was of average height. Tufts of grey hair jutted out from beneath the cap he wore. The driver was much taller and younger. He was far better dressed in a black suit, but no tie. The ruffled suit attested to a night of sleep—or attempted sleep—in the small car.
“The tall one’s carrying.” Mulhaven whispered.
“How can you tell?” Elliot was at the other end of the front window just within hearing distance.
“The bulge under his left shoulder.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What are we going to do?” Allan was standing behind a rack of shirts in the middle of the store, but he heard the discussion up by the window.
“Shhh!” Mulhaven and Elliot hissed.
“Is anybody in there?” one of the two men outside asked after rapping on the front door three times.
Mulhaven stuck an open palm up to Elliot, hoping he would understand his signal.
“What do you want?” Mulhaven yelled.
There was no answer right away. That told Mulhaven they didn’t expect anyone to be here.
“We’re looking for some help.”
“Looks like you got some help right there under your arm, son.”
“Well, I’m sure you know what’s been going on out here so you’ll understand why I need it.” The Tall Man said. He had stepped back from the front door so whoever was inside could see him.
“Are you the owner or the cop who belongs to that SUV out here?”
Very smart and very observant. This guy has agency written all over him, Mulhaven thought.
“Okay, so what kind of help do you need?” Mulhaven continued, pleased that none of the others had joined in the conversation. As good as Elliot had proven himself to be—and there was no question about Cindy’s resolve—they still sounded like teenagers when they opened their mouths.
“Canned food, jerky, powdered milk, blankets, clothing … I can pay for it, but I have a feeling money may not be worth much anymore.”
Mulhaven gave Elliot a “what do you think?” look, and got a shrug of the shoulders for a reply.
“All right, but I’ll be watching closely.”
“Thank you, and I understand. We had to fight off looters ourselves yesterday.”
The front door opened with a rush. Mulhaven stood in the doorway, his hand resting on the butt of his holstered Sig Sauer.
“Come on in.” Mulhaven backed away from t
he door into the interior of the store. The Tall Man entered first followed by his older companion, who showed manners by removing his cap as he entered. The Tall Man was aware of the presence of others before his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the store—one give-away was that the door didn’t fly open by itself.
“You got yourself a nice little set up here. Where’s the owner?”
“I’m the owner.” Elliot slammed the door shut and locked it.
The Tall Man in a way was like Mulhaven; he didn’t judge by age but by action. When he heard Elliot’s young voice from behind he didn’t assume anything, and when he turned slowly he saw a man of strong belief and action. He was reminded of himself when he was young before he allowed the devil got hold of him. The devil known as greed.
“I figure you’re Elliot then?” the Tall Man said.
“What … how the hell did you know that?”
“Yeah, was’sup, mister, you been spyin’ ‘round here?” Mulhaven put on his best uneducated inner city dweller’s act. It probably wouldn’t fool the likes of this man, and wearing a police sergeant’s uniform didn’t help.
“Ah, no, not at all. The sign on the front says, ‘James and Elliot Goodwin’ and the usual thing is that the older brother or father has their name first, and I doubt you’re the older one. Just simple applied logic is all.”
“I’m Elliot. James is my father but, the question is, who are you driving around the streets at this hour of the morning dressed like you’re about to go to a business meeting—with a gun under your arm?”
“Yeah, what kind of business are you in, mister, er …?” Mulhaven added.
“Black, Charles Black. You can call me Chuck.”
“And I’m Neddy Gordon.” The other nodded.
Mulhaven recognized more than just a shady individual in the tall one. He could also be an asset. It mattered not what he’d done before, but what he could do now. And for them, he could do a great deal.
“Where you headed?”
“Not sure as yet, just trying to get out of town,” the Tall Man told Mulhaven, who had taken his hand away from his pistol in a gesture of peace.
“I hear you on that. Why don’t you join with us. We plan on doing the same thing once we get enough supplies together.”
“Have you lost your mind, Mulhaven?” Cindy demanded. “We don’t even know this guy. Dressed in a cheap suit and carrying a fuckin’ gun like some hood from a cheap gangster movie and you want him to tag along?”
“Young lady, I’ll have you know this suit cost over five hundred bucks, my gun cost considerably more, and I’ve never been in a cheap gangster movie,” the Tall Man countered Cindy’s objections. “And yes, I’d like to come along. I don’t even care where you’re headed as long as it’s away from this place.”
All eyes turned to see Cindy’s reaction. Mulhaven started laughing first and was soon joined by the others. With the tension of the moment eased, the Tall Man and his companion now accepted, they moved to the rear of the store to debate their next moves over some welcomed coffee. Thoughts soon turned to breakfast; no one had eaten for nearly twenty-four hours.
“There’s a small market a few blocks from here,” Elliot said, “not as much stock as Albertsons but should be good enough for what we need.”
“Well then, we better make a move on it,” the Tall Man said as he sipped from a mug of strong coffee. Black like his name and nature. “It won’t be long before there are more looters out. Better organized—and better armed!”
“You said you dealt with looters yesterday?” Mulhaven asked.
“Yes sir, at my store.” Neddy Gordon spoke up. “Come ‘round to rob me, they did. Iff’n it weren’t fer Mista Black here, I’d be deader ’n they are now!”
“Well that answered my next question about how you handled them.”
Mulhaven rubbed the stubble on his chin as he considered the options.
“I think Elliot, Cindy, Chuck, and Neddy should race down to the market while Allan and I start loading supplies up,” he said.
“Cindy, take this.” Elliot handed her a nylon tactical drop-leg holster and web belt that was sold in the store. “Put your Colt in this; it’ll be better than carrying the shotgun around in the store.”
“Let me take this. We may need it.” Mr. Black grabbed a siphon transfer pump kit off the wall. “You know gas won’t be the only thing we’re going to start running out of, don’t you?”
“Yes. One hour, Elliot, no more, okay!” Mulhaven said.
Thirteen
At approximately the same time as Elliot and friends went grocery shopping, two executive jets were in the skies. One was inbound to Idaho, lifting off from Virginia. Aboard were a dozen members of the U.S. Naval Special Warfare Development Group, still often referred to as SEAL Team Six. This was the first time the unit had operated under the administration of anyone other than the Navy or the Joint Special Operations Command. The team was to be briefed an hour before landing as to the nature of their mission. They packed live ammo, biological hazard suits, and satellite phones.
The other jet was nearing the Aleutian Islands on its way to India via Japan and Thailand for fuel stops. The larger, luxurious Boeing 757 could carry over two hundred, but this flight had no more than fifteen, crew included.
“Sir,” Langlie began, “I’ve just checked with the pilot, and we won’t be on the ground in Japan or Thailand any longer that it takes to refuel, sir.”
“That’s good, Langlie. I don’t want to leave the plane for anything, do you hear? Anything!”
“Yes, sir. I understand. It won’t be long, sir. You should get some rest. We will be welcomed with open arms in India, sir. They know nothing of what’s happening in Idaho. I’m sure of it.”
“And you’re sure they’re receptive to the project?”
“Yes, of course sir! The very idea of increasing crop sizes by using the growth hormone is very appealing to the Indian government.”
“And we can reproduce them exactly as Dennard did but without the complications?”
“I think so, sir. We have two of his most trusted assistants with us on this flight plus enough concentrated hormone to begin fertilizing more than ten thousand acres of crops. And the best news, sir, is we will not be restricted to a test period or a crop type. We’ve pretty much been granted carte blanche.”
Phillip Baer liked the sound of that. He knew that the old adage that “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” could equally be adapted to “the way to extreme wealth, control, and influence is through control of the food supply.” It made perfect sense, especially when you made it seem so cheap, but with an added ingredient that would cause the regular consumer to become addicted, it was a guaranteed success.
“It is a pity that Dennard didn’t make it. We needed to find out from him what went wrong all of a sudden,” Baer lamented.
“Yes, I know what you mean, sir. He was truly an asset to this company, but I will keep our people searching for him.”
“You don’t think he succumbed to his own poison, so to speak, do you?”
“It’s always possible, sir, but it was Dennard himself that issued the edict to cease eating potatoes that had been fertilized with the hormone. I doubt he’d have gone against his own directive.”
Baer, the man in control of a ruthless empire, knew nothing of the ruthlessness of his own henchman. He believed it was all his own doing, that he was the one steering his own ship.
# # #
Abandoned cars dotted both sides of the streets with the occasional empty parking space tribute to the fortunate enough who’d managed to get out of the city or perhaps never even came in. Elliot wondered how many died, changed into red-eyed horrors, or simply ran screaming mad into the night and now lay hidden behind a rock or a tree, waiting for an unsuspecting traveler to come by.
“I think they’re dead,” Elliot said as soon as they were under way. “You’ve seen them, right? What do you think happened to them?”
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The Tall Man, Chuck Black to his new friends, thought about the question as he drove to the store. Cindy leaned forward from the back seat in a sign of interest.
“Well, let me see. I encountered several up close. One of them nearly spewed that green stuff all over me, and I believe you become one of them if you get that on you, but I’m not sure. I saw a few out near the airport in a farmhouse. I found a family all dead inside. It was murder/suicide. The father knew he and his family were turning into these zombie-like creatures—that’s what I call them anyway, because of the resemblance to the zombies in Night of the Living Dead—and shot his wife and kid before turning the gun on himself. It was a very disturbing scene.”
The Tall Man hoped that by being so candid, he would endear himself to his new friends. He recognized the disaster unfolding before him and knew that safety could be found in numbers, at least for now.
“Shit, you been through a lot since yesterday, ain’t ya, Mista Black?” Neddy still had that “forever in your debt” sound in his voice.
The Tall Man nodded at Neddy, acknowledging his question.
“As I left the farm house, I was confronted by two … farmhands, perhaps, outside between me and the car. They had red eyes, burning red. Their skin was a pale white, dry and cracked. There were open sores developing on their faces. To answer your question, Elliot, yeah, they do look dead and move like it, but the red eyes remind me of sufferers of the Ebola plague, and the green vomit is obviously bile forcing its way up because they have no bowel movements. The cause for that could be any number of things, but again, Ebola is a candidate.”
Elliot and Cindy were impressed with Chuck’s knowledge. He was no doctor, that was for sure, but perhaps a former medic in the Army?
“Shit, you sure know yer stuff, Mista!”
The Tall Man grinned this time at Neddy, who seemed to be a harmless type and obviously grateful. A feeling of contentment came over him, something he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.
The Beginning of the End (Book 1): Toward the Brink Page 10