Omega Plague: Collapse

by P. R. Principe

  As the sloping wall came to an end, multiple streets met in an open piazza. He slowly made his way around the wall and entered the area, all the while sticking to as much cover as he could find, scooting from one abandoned car to another. Two streets ran up and around the hospital, like two rivers around a narrow spit of land. The street on the right ran in front of the hospital’s back entrance and then sloped down, making its way to the bottom of the island, while the one on the left ran past the main entrance, sloping upwards. That was the one Bruno wanted. Looming beyond the hospital, the jagged cliffs were barely visible shadows, the light from the hospital lights nearly blocking them out. Beyond the cliffs on the higher part of the island lay the town of Anacapri. The hospital lay between Bruno and the most direct route to his home. He took shelter behind a gas pump and an old Fiat 500 at what was left of a two-pump gas station. Putting down his duffle bag, he looked up the street towards the hospital. Light poured down from floodlights mounted on long, silver poles, providing enough illumination for Bruno to get a good look around.

  The building was an irregularly shaped red brick structure. A large, olive-drab tent rose in front of stairs leading from the street up into a courtyard, where the main entrance to the hospital building lay. To the right of the tent, a railing ran along the edge of the courtyard, not more than two meters above the street.

  The two figures dressed in white hooded coveralls stood out against the dull color of the tent. They had complete plastic shields covering their faces, not just masks. As one of the figures turned, Bruno saw some sort of seal on the back of the suit. Ministry of Health, maybe? He couldn’t be sure without getting a closer look, but the M-16s slung across their chests made Bruno think twice about getting any closer.

  As Bruno watched, a man in a paper hospital gown flapping in the wind leapt over the railing. The man landed with a smack and a shout on the sidewalk below, only a few meters in front of the guards. He rolled, but quickly got to his feet and shuffled as fast as he could away from the hospital. Even from this distance, the lesions and sores stood out like macabre tattoos. While startled, the guards recovered quickly, and pointed their weapons towards the man’s back as he dragged one foot behind him.

  “Halt!” shouted one guard. “You’re in quarantine!” The man ignored the order, if anything attempting to speed up. Bruno watched the scene in front of him with horror. The guards made no effort to pursue the man, only shouting at him to stop. The man continued to limp in Bruno’s direction. Bruno could hear him whimpering. Just as Bruno looked to find cover further away from the approaching man, they shot him twice in the back. The man dropped to the ground with a shout. He clawed his way forward on his belly while the guards looked on. They waited still as statues as the man in front of them whimpered, then put his head down on the pavement and fell silent.

  Neither one of the guards approached the body. Instead, one of the guards pulled out a walkie-talkie. Soon after, two more figures walked out of the tent and conferred with the guards. The two new individuals appeared unarmed, but they wore full decontamination suits made of what looked like heavy, olive-drab plastic, with built-in respirators. One of them carried what looked like two thin poles slightly taller than a person. When they turned to the side, Bruno could see what he thought were air tanks on their backs. After talking to the guards, the two approached the man. One of them laid the poles next to the prostrate man and rolled it out, making a stretcher. Then both figures lifted the man into the stretcher and marched back into the tent, while the guards gave them a wide berth.

  Bruno’s mind raced. Christ, deadly force? Shooting an unarmed man in the back? What kind of guards were these? Bruno had only shot that woman because she kept coming, but they shot a man who was trying to get away. He couldn’t move towards the back entrance to the hospital on the other side, they’d spot him for sure. But the men in front of him blocked the quickest way home. If whoever they were spotted him, Bruno feared they would kill him, Carabiniere or not, without a second thought. While he had the element of surprise, there were two of them. Bruno knew he wasn’t a good enough shot with a pistol to take them both out before one of them would nail him or call for help.

  If Bruno had to cut through houses, fields, climb walls, or make his way down to the seaside, he would do whatever he needed to avoid these men. But he needed to get to Carla. He tried to think of alternate routes, ways around the hospital, ways in the hospital, ways to try to contact Carla, while the same two figures clad in the decontamination suits emerged from the tent. Bruno caught a glimpse of some sort of grey cylinder, maybe a meter high, but the guards obscured his view, forming a semi-circle around the object. A high-pitched whine filled the air, like a gnat flying too close, as the cylinder rose into the air. One of the guards focused intently on a device in his hand, while the other looked left and right.

  Bruno flattened himself against the car. Too late he realized it was some kind of drone. Bruno remembered that the Americans had been using them anywhere they could, but he had never seen one like this. Did it sense movement? Did it have infrared sensors? Was it armed? The hum of the drone’s fan faded as it rose and began hovering twenty or thirty meters above the hospital tent. Bruno decided he could no longer wait to be discovered as it calibrated its sensors. He would have to make a lengthy detour, heading back down toward to the seaside and around the island to get home. He saw no option to get into the hospital without announcing himself to the guards. But if he made it home, maybe he could regroup, come up with another plan.

  As he turned to retreat, the whine of the drone suddenly grew louder. Bruno looked up and for a moment the bright light blinded him. A voice boomed above him.

  “Come out from behind the vehicle with your hands in the air!”

  Bruno didn’t think, he just grabbed his bag, turned, and ran back into the piazza, pain shooting in his side. The drone whizzed above him, keeping him in its spotlight.

  He glanced back and saw the guards running towards him in a low sprint. He wasn’t sure he could outrun the guards, but he knew he would never outrun the drone. He looked to his right, and just beyond the pedestrian guardrail, he could make out the bulge of a hillside stretching down into darkness.

  If he jumped the railing, he might make it. The guards might be reluctant to follow him down. He might even evade the drone. That is, if he could manage not to break his neck.

  Bruno jumped the railing and skidded down into darkness. Time slowed as he struggled to stop his slide and his panic. For a second, he thought he would make it. But his left foot caught some stone or root and with the weight of the duffle bag leaving him off balance, he tumbled forward; then Bruno knew nothing but darkness.

  Chapter 8

  Bruno woke with a start, images of a woman’s shattered head in his mind. For an instant, he couldn’t remember what had happened. The dull pain in his ribs and the ache in his head brought him back to reality. He felt exhausted, battered, and sore. He groped his own arms and legs but didn’t seem to have any broken bones. Bruno recalled his last memories of falling. So much for his attempt at evasion. He rubbed his forehead and felt a bandage covering part of his head. A concussion, maybe. He considered himself damned lucky, if that was the worst of it.

  Bruno looked around. Spartan would have been a generous description of the room; it had no decorations of any kind, nor did it have a TV or phone; just a chair in the corner. Diffused light from the late afternoon sky streamed in from the window to his left. He swung his legs around to his right, sat up in the bed, and groaned. Bruno’s body throbbed from head to foot. The pain surprised him, and the room rolled around him. Bruno lay back down. He breathed in and out and closed his eyes, recovering his equilibrium. To the right there was a dark, wooden door with a narrow glass window running half its length. A guard wearing the mottled greys of an urban combat uniform stood with his back towards him in front of the window.

  Captured and in a hospital room. No gun. No knife. No bag. No phone. Not one fucking thi
ng. He glanced at his watch.16:03. Six and a half hours before the rescue boat arrived. He still had time, but before he would consider leaving, he needed to get to Carla. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out in measured beats. Then, with caution, he raised himself out of the bed, shuffled over to the door, and tapped on the window. The guard turned, glared over his mask, and stepped away from the door without a word.

  “Hey!” shouted Bruno as he pulled the door handle to no avail. “Come back!”

  Moments later the guard reappeared, pistol drawn, and gestured for Bruno to step away from the door. As Bruno retreated to the other side of the bed, the door swung open. A squat, dark-haired woman wearing green scrubs walked in with a tray of bread and pasta, and a glass of water. The guard stood behind her, keeping his pistol drawn, but pointed down.

  She placed the tray and water on the table. “There’s more if you are still hungry. Just knock on the door.” A respirator covered most of her face; her eyes were the only part of her he could see clearly.

  The woman took a penlight out of her pocket. “Please keep your eyes on the light.” She moved the light back and forth.

  “That looks fine,” she said. “Now lay back, I need to check your bandages. Good. The bleeding’s stopped. No serious head injuries,” she said as she turned to the guard. “You can proceed.” She nodded to the guard and they both retreated towards the door.

  The woman opened the door and left first, then as the guard’s back faced into the room, Bruno wobbled to his feet. “I’m an officer in the Carabinieri! Why am I being detained?”

  The guard stopped in the doorway and half-turned towards Bruno. The respirator muffled the guard’s voice. “Major Battisti with the Ministry of Health is in charge here. And he will have some questions for you, very soon, I assure you.”

  “Dottoressa Carla Ricasso is in charge of this hospital,” said Bruno, puzzled. He’d never heard of anyone in that agency using a military rank. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ll find out,” said the guard as he retreated into the hall and locked the door.

  Bruno’s head swam, and not just from the concussion. A major? In the Ministry of Health? What did that mean? Where was Carla? Bruno thought for a moment about the guard. No insignia. No unit patch. Not even rank. Whoever he worked for wanted him to stay anonymous.

  Bruno’s mind churned for long minutes as he forced himself to eat, until he heard the metallic sound of the lock on his door turn. Three men entered, one stocky with close-cropped black hair, flanked by two larger men. All three wore grey urban combat uniforms and carried pistols on their hips. Keeping the bed between him and the soldiers, Bruno stood up and faced them.

  “Buona sera, Officer Ricasso,” said the shortest man. “My name is Major Battisti.” Though a respirator hid his mouth and nose, from the way the crow’s-feet at his dark eyes moved, Bruno had no doubt Battisti smiled as he spoke. “Your room is comfortable, no?”

  “Who do you think you are, keeping me locked up here?”

  Battisti’s eyes narrowed. “Ah yes. I apologize. This is for your own good, really. Have to make sure you’re not infected.”

  “Infected? Do I look infected to you?”

  “Please. Don’t make things worse.” Battisti shifted from one foot to another. “I also have some questions for you. I hope you will cooperate, yes?”

  Bruno said nothing.

  “Well, let me begin. What were you doing outside the hospital?”

  “I was trying to see my sister, Dottoressa Carla Ricasso. I’m sure you know who she is.”

  “How long were you out there by the entrance?”

  “Not long. I thought I heard gunfire, so I wanted to investigate before just running up to the area.”

  “Gunfire. Interesting. And—this next is a very important question for us to get to the bottom of what happened—what did you see the guards doing? Did you see what caused this alleged gunfire?”

  “No,” lied Bruno. “There were guards milling around the entrance, but I don’t know what they were doing.”

  “Why didn’t you just announce yourself, tell them you were a Carabiniere?”

  “Like I said, I had heard gunfire. I needed to assess the situation before I ran up half-cocked.”

  “I see. Of course you understand the seriousness of what you’re saying. Because clearly, if my guards were firing their weapons, I would need to know about that.”

  “Why don’t you ask them,” said Bruno.

  Battisti stepped forward. “I have asked them, Officer Ricasso.”

  “So you know what they were doing. Why ask what I was—”

  “My job is to protect this hospital. What I know is that you were spying on this facility.”

  “Spying? I was trying to get to my sister.”

  “Let me ask you again: did you see what caused this alleged gunfire?”

  “No.”

  Battisti paced to and fro. “Well, unfortunately, we may be at a bit of an impasse here. Because, you see, Officer Ricasso, I’m not sure you’re telling me the whole truth.”

  “I’m telling you what happened.”

  Battisti stopped pacing. “Are you really?”

  Bruno swallowed. “Yes, that’s exactly what happened.”

  “Perhaps we have different definitions of ‘exactly’?”

  Bruno didn’t respond.

  “I don’t like liars, Officer Ricasso.”

  “I don’t either,” said Bruno.

  “Good.” Battisti studied Bruno for a moment. “Do you consider yourself to be an intelligent person?”

  “Smarter than some. Not as smart as others.”

  Battisti laughed. “That’s probably the truest thing you’ve said so far. If you are smart, then you should know what’s in your best interest. So, let’s start again, shall we? What did you see when—”

  “I’m done answering your fucking questions,” Bruno interrupted. “I’ve told you what happened. I want to talk to Dottoressa Ricasso, she’s in charge here. She can clear everything up.”

  “I’m afraid not. She doesn’t know you’re here.” Battisti looked over at the soldiers, and before Bruno could react, one of them produced a black pistol, pointed it toward Bruno, and pulled the trigger.

  Bruno felt a sting in his chest, just before he seized up from the thousands of volts running through his body. He let out a muffled scream through clenched teeth as he fell forward onto the bed. The guards moved quickly to strap him down while he was stunned.

  “These restraints are only used for uncooperative patients, Officer Ricasso,” said Battisti, looming over Bruno. “So, what’s your plan? Are you going to cooperate?” Bruno’s breath came in ragged gasps as he lay there trembling. Bruno choked out one word: “Vaffanculo.”

  Battisti responded with a smack across Bruno’s face. “Watch your mouth. I’ll give you a chance to change your mind. But I hope for your sake you make the right choice.” Battisti bent down closer towards the bed, his voice a low growl in Bruno’s ear. “And let me explain something—in this room, your sister isn’t in charge: I am.”

  The Taser now in Battisti’s hand buzzed. Bruno gazed up at some dark fleck on the pale ceiling, his breath coming in rapid pulses.

  ***

  Bruno didn’t know what finally made them stop. Maybe they thought he was going to die. Hell, maybe the batteries on the thing just ran out. Whatever the reason, Bruno didn’t really care. Every muscle in his body felt stretched, torn. The pain in his ribs as he breathed felt like a pinprick in comparison to what he had just endured. They didn’t ask anything about gun confiscation; they just kept asking him what he was doing spying on the hospital and what he saw last night. He heard them mutter about something called “ICP 151.” He didn’t reveal having seen anything about that man’s murder. But they didn’t believe him, and Bruno teetered on the edge of breaking. When they came back, Bruno feared that he might say anything to make them stop.

  The overhead lights were off, and hi
s room was dark, but Bruno’s watch gave off a faint glow. 23:54. Bruno squeezed his eyes shut. The speedboat was long gone. He moved carefully out of the bed, walking towards the door on quiet, bare feet. He looked through the door’s narrow window. An empty chair. No guard, for now. Bruno tried the handle, hoping against hope. Locked, of course. He might try bashing through the window on the door. But what he really need was stealth, not strength. He studied the room. Hospitals had patients, not prisoners. Maybe he could take advantage of that.

  Bruno returned to the bed, arranged the pillows, and pulled the sheet over them. He pulled the bandages off his head and looked in the bathroom mirror. The cut on his head was mostly hidden in his hair. Good. Next, he ransacked the bathroom and cabinets. No scalpels or probes; nothing he could use as a weapon. He did find a set of scrubs, with shoe and head coverings, as well as a surgical mask. He put them on. The elastic of the shoe coverings fit tightly around his ankles. The window was the kind that opened inward, bottom tilting towards the room. It was locked. But locked from the inside. Bruno pulled the chair under the window, stood on it, and unlocked the window at the top. He pushed open the bottom section of window. He climbed down, moved the chair back, then looked out.

  The cool night made him shiver. The concrete ledge outside the window looked just wide enough to stand on. Ambient light from rooms on floors above and below bathed the outside walls in a faint glow. He looked around and saw that the window of the room on the left was tilted inward. Slightly. No light came from that room, but it was too far to just hop over to the other ledge. He would have to jump. Bruno made the mistake of looking down, and his head swam. He was at least four stories up. Porca puttana, he swore to himself. Bruno acted before the voice of doubt in his head became deafening. He ducked his head out and swung his legs outside. He thought how stupid he must look, like a nurse gone mad, hanging out of a hospital window.