Plaguesville, USA

by Jim LaVigne

  “I know,” nodded Justin. “I sometimes have nightmares.”

  “You too, huh?” said Erin. “Well, that’s kind of a relief, I guess. It’s just hard to wrap your head around, you know? I mean, first there’s the Fall, right? And then I guess I thought, well, that’s that. A whole lot of people are dead, but it’s over and we’ll just have to find a way to pick up the pieces. You know? And then you discovered the virus’s mutability, and we were forced to go on this trip. And, well, maybe I just wasn’t ready for what happened, or maybe I just didn’t want to think about how bad it could be, you know, with no cops or anything, but whatever it was, this trip sort of made it all just that much worse. Like, what more could happen to us, you know? We survived the Fall, just to get shot or stabbed by some idiot yokel with an Armageddon complex? I don’t know, it all just seems kind of surreal.”

  “Of course it does,” said Justin. “And I think we all feel that way sometimes. But we’re close, now. Just a few days, across the desert, and we’ll be there!”

  Erin brightened, “Yeah, I guess I hadn’t thought of that. Are we really that close?”

  “Yes,” he said. “At least geographically speaking.”

  He was going to add more in the way of encouragement but was interrupted as the others now began to stir and emerge from the tent. First out was Cornell, who immediately scanned their surroundings before his gaze settled on the huge storm clouds. Justin hadn’t noticed while he’d been talking with Swails, but now he saw with some alarm that the cloudbank had crept much closer and seemed to be piling up in the sky like mountains.

  “We’re in for a storm,” said Cornell needlessly. “And from the looks of it, a big one.”

  “I think you’re right,” Justin said. “But what can we do? I mean, we could shelter in the tent, or the car. But what else?”

  “Not much,” said Cornell grimly. “But I’d say we’d wanna avoid the tent. Storm like this, blow that little thing all to pieces. There’s that farmhouse over there. The main house is burned down, but there’s some outbuildings. Maybe one’a those would do.”

  “Yes,” said Justin, watching in awe as great forks of lightning flashed in the clouds, “maybe we should do that.”

  “Holy shit, lookit that!” came Mr. Lampert’s voice as he tottered from the shelter. “That is one helluva storm!”

  “Yes,” said Justin dryly. “We’d noticed.”

  “Uh huh,” Lampert sneered. “And didya also notice that it’s a wall cloud? That it’s probably gonna generate a fuckin’ tornado or two? Didya notice that, brainiac?”

  “A what?” said Justin, glancing from the Old Man and back to the clouds. “A wall cloud? A tornado? Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m not fucking sure,” said Lampert. “But I’ve seen enough storms in my life to know when I’m lookin’ at a bad one, and I am lookin’ at one right now.”

  Justin looked over at Cornell. “What do you think? Is it that serious?”

  The other man shrugged. “Not sure. We didn’t get too many twisters in Arizona.”

  “Well we did in Minnesota,” said Lampert. “Plenty of ‘em. Trust me.”

  Cornell took his eyes from the storm and gave Justin a questioning look. “Well, Doc?” he said. “How’s about it? Way I see it, we got three choices. One, we can get in the car, like right this minute, and try to outrun the storm. Two, we could just hunker down in the car and hope that we don’t get picked up by a tornado. Or three, we could see if them outbuildings are any good. Whatever you choose, though, I think you’d better do it pretty damn quick, you know?”

  “Yes,” frowned Justin, “I think you’re right. Our best bet is to shelter in the safest place possible, and right now that appears to be these farm buildings. So let’s pack up and get going. OK, everybody?”

  Most of the others shrugged in acquiescence. If they weren’t exactly thrilled with his choice, at least they had no better plan. They all fell to, taking down and stowing the tent, their sleeping bags, and personal gear (such as it was), and glancing nervously at the burgeoning cloudbank. Before they’d shoved the last of it into the car, heavy drops of rain began to fall around them and the wind had freshened to a humid, lashing gale.

  “What about the car?” Justin asked Cornell. “That is, should we try to find somewhere to put it, out of the storm?”

  Cornell thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No time,” he said. “And besides, if a twister big enough to haul that thing away comes along, we’re gonna have a lot more to worry about than the car.”

  Justin hesitated, loath to leave their best hope, the precious car, behind, even for a moment, but the fall of thick drops on his head and face made up his mind and he nodded to Cornell.

  “OK, let’s go,” he said.

  They started out, Cornell in the lead, followed by Cass, carrying the Old Man. Next was Bowler, then Erin Swails, and lastly Justin. It wasn’t that far to the farm, maybe a half-mile, and the ground was open and flat, presenting no obstacle, but still, they were a little too late. The storm hit them in the open.

  When the short, wiry man in black rags suddenly appeared in their path, brandishing an exotic-looking rifle of some kind, Justin at first thought he was hallucinating; maybe that horrible rotgut booze had affected his brain somehow. But the others, all stopping dead in their tracks, obviously saw the man as well, so that was out. No, odd and completely unexpected as his appearance was, the man must be real. But what was he doing here, and why?

  “Hold it right there,” said the man, loudly enough to be heard over the rising wind.

  Justin and the others all did so, crowding together around Cass and Mr. Lampert and raising their hands in surrender.

  “You, bald dude,” said the stranger, motioning with his weapon at Cornell. “Throw down them weapons. Now.”

  Slowly, the rain starting to really pelt down on them now, Cornell did as told, withdrawing a pistol and a hunting knife from his belt and tossing them to the ground. The stranger nodded.

  “Now,” he said, his voice odd and uninflected, “you, the big woman and the old man. Come over here.”

  Justin took a couple of steps forward, putting himself between the stranger and Mr. Lampert. Instantly, the rifle turned to him and he stopped and raised both hands above his head.

  “Hold it, Doc,” said the man. “Not another step or I’ll blast you ta atoms.”

  Justin blinked rain from his eyes and wondered briefly how this man could possibly know that he was a doctor, but then decided that it scarcely mattered at the moment and nodded slowly.

  “OK, OK,” he said. “Just don’t shoot anyone, alright? Just take it easy.”

  The man smiled, a wry, crooked expression devoid of warmth or humanity. “Doc,” he said, “me an’ my bike take it any way we can get it. Now move away from them two or I swear to God, I’ll blastya where you stand.”

  “But,” struggled Justin, “you don’t understand. We’re from the Center for Disease Control, in New Atlanta, and we’re—”

  “Shut up,” said the man, cutting Justin dead. “And keep it shut. Now, you two, get over here.”

  Justin was furiously trying to think of something to do or say, but events—in the shape of the massive storm—suddenly intervened as the rain went from steady to torrential and the wind, so far just brisk, increased to the point where everyone had to lean into it to stay on their feet. Shading his eyes from the rain with one hand, he peered at the ragged little man in their way, considering grabbing Mr. Lampert and running away under cover of the storm, but the man was staring right back and showed no sign of any lack of vigilance.

  “We can’t stay out here!” Cornell told the man, shouting to be heard. “We’ll get killed!”

  The man seemed to consider this and looked up into the rain. Then he jerked the rifle at the group and gestured towards the farm.

  “OK, go,” he shouted. “Into that barn! Move!”

  They did as he said, making their way unsteadily to
the largest building that was still intact. The man followed, so as to keep all of them covered. Who was this person, Justin wondered frantically? Despite his ragged clothes, he certainly didn’t seem like the average survie banger. And how did he know about them? But there was no time to think; the man herded them into the barn, a big, empty structure made of sheet metal and arced steel girders, and then into one corner, where he took up a guard-like position. Outside, the rain came down even harder, the wind was a constant roar, and lightning made the black skies look like a display from a strobe light. If the man noticed any of this, though, he made no sign and, as calm as if he was in line at the grocery store, simply stood and waited. After a few minutes, after an exchange of perplexed glances with Cornell, Justin, almost shouting but still trying to sound reasonable and confident, spoke up.

  “Um, sir?” he said. The man’s pale, icy blue eyes slowly revolved to look at him. “Er, hello. May I introduce myself?”

  “No,” said the man. “Shuddup.”

  “But…” Justin began, but the look in the man’s eyes made him snap his mouth shut; there was obviously no sense in going on. Unless, that is, he cared to be shot to death.

  Just behind him, Justin heard the Old Man say something, but the roar of the wind and pelting of the rain on the steel roof more than drowned it out. Wildly, the storm seeming to create as much chaos in his head as it was outside, he tried to think of something to do, some trick or another he could play on this odd, threatening little man. What would Teresa do, he thought? She wouldn’t have been taken prisoner, for one thing. That he knew.

  Just then, something substantial impacted the roof of the barn with a crash that made everyone except their captor jump and cringe in alarm.

  “What the fuck was that?!” howled Bowler, arms raised to protect his head.

  “Wind, blowin’ shit around,” called Cornell. “Big shit, too, whatever it is.”

  Justin looked apprehensively at the ceiling, where a thin layer of corrugated sheet metal was all that stood between them and the storm, and then over at the man.

  “The roof won’t hold!” he shouted at the man. “We need better shelter!”

  Their captor, with no more alacrity than before, looked back at him and shrugged.

  “Like what?” he asked. “Where you gonna go?”

  Justin frowned and looked quickly around the barn. The man was right; they were about as sheltered as they could get. If only there was a storm cellar or basement… But the big space was almost empty, just a few dusty old crates and a couple of big metal tubs for watering cattle. Then it hit him and he almost reached out to grab the man by the arm. Almost. He settled for pointing and shouting.

  “What about those tub things?” he yelled. Something else hit the barn and there was a screaming sound as one wall partially gave way. “We could flip them over, hide under them!”

  Glancing at the rapidly-disintegrating wall, where sheets of rain were now pouring in, the man suddenly nodded and motioned with his gun.

  “Fine!” he called. “Go ahead!”

  Eagerly, having watched this exchange, the others scrambled for the heavy watering tubs, where they quickly flipped them over and, ignoring the slimy ooze left in the bottoms, crawled under. Justin helped Cass and Swails with the Old Man and then scuttled beneath the other tub with Cornell and Bowler. As he did, he saw that the stranger was making no move to join them. Instead, he had wrapped one arm around a support girder and seemed to simply be waiting.

  And then Justin dropped the tub, quickly pulling back his fingers from being smashed, and crouched on his knees in the darkness. Around them, the noise of the storm only intensified; the wind was now a solid roar, like a huge engine, and the thunder was almost constant.

  “Holy shit!” rasped Cornell, no more than a foot away. “This is bad, Doc!”

  “I know, I know!” Justin snapped back. “We just have to stay low! Away from the flying debris!”

  And then suddenly there was no more talk as the roar all around them increased yet again and suddenly Justin was as terrified as he’d ever been in his life. Not the Plague, not the Fall, not all of the terrible, violent things they’d undergone since, came anywhere close to the mortal dread he felt now, as the very air around them seemed to tear itself apart.

  Then there was a dreadful, screeching crash, as if the whole building had just come down, and rain, hail, and windblown objects began to ping and bang off of the upturned tubs like ricocheting bullets. The roar was tremendous; Justin could feel it through the ground itself, like an earthquake. Was this an actual tornado? And if it was, were they about to be torn to bits, smashed by debris, or maybe even whisked up into the sky?

  Crazily, he realized that this would certainly be in keeping with the Old Man’s Wizard of Oz analogy. Except, of course, that they wouldn’t be simply borne away to Oz in the Gayle family shack. Rather, they would be shredded and pummeled and beaten to death by the force of the wind and the innumerable foreign objects whipping through it, reduced to bloody corpses before being dropped God knew where and probably from a not-inconsiderable altitude. Not exactly the stuff of kid’s stories. Well, he thought, at least it should be quick.

  The roar and the banging and drumming on their meager shelters seemed to go on for hours, but in retrospect Justin knew that it was probably only about fifteen minutes before the worst of the noise and violence abated.

  “Is it over?” he asked hoarsely. He could just barely see Cornell and Bowler, huddled into balls, but he could hear their heavy, frightened breathing. “Has it stopped?”

  “Don’t know,” said Cornell shakily. “Maybe it’s like a hurricane, you know? With a, like, eye of the storm. You think?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Justin, listening. “I suppose that’s possible.”

  They waited for some time, teeth gritted against a return of the titanic roaring mayhem, but nothing happened. In fact, things got even more quiet. Even the rain let up and, before too long, was down to a relatively gentle patter.

  “Should we have a look?” said Justin. “It sounds safe.”

  “I think so,” said Bowler. “maybe not, though, I mean, what if it comes back?”

  “I don’t think it’s going to,” Justin said, head cocked in attention. “I think it’s over.”

  “Do we wanna take the chance?” said Cornell. “Maybe we should just wait.”

  They were still thus occupied, back and forth, when there was suddenly a loud rapping on the tub’s metal side and a voice rang out.

  “Come on out,” called the stranger. “Storm’s over.”

  Justin hesitated, then called back: “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, godammit,” barked the man. “Get yer asses out here. Now.”

  With Cornell’s help, he did so, heaving the massive tub over on its side and, blinking and staggering, stood up and looked around. The barn was gone. There were still pieces of it, girders and sheets of metal and bits of wood and debris, but as far as an actual structure was concerned, the barn had been wiped from the face of the earth.

  Happily, the storm was also gone. There were still big clouds off to the east, a light rain was drizzling down, and they could still hear rumbles of thunder, but in terms of violent weather, they were now well away from any further danger. In fact, the sky to the west was already clearing and patches of blue shone through.

  What was left was one hell of a big mess. Trees, branches, and sticks seemed to form most of the debris, but there were also innumerable bits and pieces of man-made material as well. Tires, pieces of cars, and road signs, clothing, toys, and all manner of household goods, plus a mighty assortment of just plain garbage were all tossed together and strewn about as if swept by a flood. And maybe a couple of hurricanes. Apart from a single, squat outbuilding, there was not a single object over a foot tall still standing, and the ground was covered in big puddles of muddy water.

  To his relief, Justin noted that their car was still right where they’d left it, apparently unh
armed, but just as he started to relax a little, the stranger’s voice interrupted and brought him jarringly back to reality.

  “Flip over that other tub,” he said imperiously.

  Justin and Cornell did as they’d been told, heaving the heavy fixture over on its side, and then helped Cass, Erin Swails, and the Old Man to their feet. They were, naturally, as amazed and shocked as Justin had been. Mr. Lampert was, as usual, the most vocal.

  “Holy fuckin’ shit!” he croaked, looking about. “Willya lookit that!”

  No one said anything. Justin turned slowly to face their captor and then did a double take at what he saw. Dressed previously in assorted dark-colored rags, the man was now clad only in a skin-tight suit of some sort, crisscrossed with straps and belts from which hung various weapons. There were a few rags left, around the man’s ankles, wrists, and neck, but otherwise the surface of his body was covered in a weird, ever-changing material that was currently a vague, blue-green color. As Justin watched, the material shifted, becoming mostly green, tinged here and there with brown. Before he could ask, Cornell answered his unasked question.

  “Nano-suit,” he said appreciatively. “And a state o’ the art one, too.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Justin, reeling a bit. “I’ve read about those.”

  The stranger cut them short. “Shuddup, both of ya,” he said curtly. “And just do what I say, OK?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Justin hastily. “But what do you intend to do? That is, if you would just listen to what I have to say—”

  “I said,” the man growled, “to shut the fuck up.” Justin did, and the man paced a few steps, seeming to think. “OK, here’s the deal, Doc. I am taking the Old Man. And, since I just might need help with him, I’m takin’ this here nurse, too.”

  Justin started to protest, but the man glared him back to silence.

  “And that means,” the man went on stonily, “that the rest of you present somethin’ of a problem. That is to say, what am I gonna do with you?”

  “Do with us?” echoed Justin weakly. ‘What do you mean?”

  “Well, way I see it,” the man said reasonably, “I can’t really just take off and leave you here, ‘cause I’m pretty sure you’d come after me. Sure, I’m gonna take yer car, too, but still.”