He cut across the fairway to the opposite rough and the cover offered there by a smattering of trees. From that side, he made his way past the bathroom.
Even without the heavy pack, his every step brought pain. Both of his shoulders were bloody and raw from his pack’s straps. He kept trying to stretch the ache from his back, but his body stubbornly refused him any relief. His thighs and knees were sore. The soles of his feet in his damp boots were on their second round of blisters. They would all need to care for their feet better in the coming days to avoid crippling medical complications.
The fighting in Roanoke did not appear to be by the military. There were no long strings of explosions from bombers, or steady pummeling from artillery, or tracers fired from the air to the ground. The fighting seemed sporadic, disorganized…primitive.
Natalie was waiting for him. “You should sleep, sweetheart,” she whispered.
“I need to check our rations and water, then check everyone’s feet for blisters, then make sure the rifles have all been cleaned adequately, then—”
“You need to rest, Noah. The kids need their father, and I need my husband. None of us needs an exhausted, sick, braindead wreck. You need to take care of yourself before you can take care of us. Go have a bite to eat. I’ll stand watch.”
* * * *
By the time they had each taken a shockingly cold but therefore highly invigorating shower in the country club’s locker rooms, the sun was rising above the mist. Margus bore the shower with surprising dignity, but the sting of the spray elicited squeals from Noah’s children. Afterwards, they all seemed more animated than they had been in days.
“I spy,” Jake said when back on the highway, “with my little eye, something black.”
Chloe said, “That’s too vague.”
“No, it’s not. Those are the rules. Right Mom and Dad?”
“You’re too close together,” Noah said from up front.
“Okay. I spy, with my little eye, something black in the sky. Hey. It even rhymes.”
“That smoke?” Chloe replied.
“See. That made it too simple.”
“Take cover!” Noah snapped on seeing the approach of trudging human forms.
They scrambled into the woods, randomly dashing to both sides of the highway and quickly settling in behind their rifles. About a dozen people, not in any tactical formation or even necessarily members of the same group, slowly passed. Many wore bandages and limped. Few carried any supplies. Children were carried in their parent’s arms or held hands, several still wearing pajamas and animal themed fuzzy slippers. They must have been uninfected given that they still cared for their young, but they looked as dazed and insensate as the most out of it Infected.
No one said a word when back on the road. They were more alert than before and barely made it another mile before having to take cover again. As the refugee traffic grew thicker, they abandoned the main road altogether, when they could, and began taking a series of trails, streams, and paths roughly paralleling it.
When they rounded a bend on a country road in the hills above the highway, there was no hiding from the gathering of a dozen or so people milling around a mailbox. They were presumably locals, and immediately tapped neighbors on shoulders until most turned and stared as the armed Miller entourage neared.
A couple of men wore pistols on belts. Noah stopped his family at sixty or so yards and waved. He received a half-hearted reply in kind. A man and a woman approached them tentatively. The attention of the group was split between the newly arrived Millers and the sounds of distant shouting from the road ahead.
At about twenty yards, the welcoming committee halted. “Y’all ain’t sick, are ya?” shouted the man with a holstered pistol.
“No!” Noah replied. “We’re from up in the Shenandoah. We’re just passing by.”
“Well, you’re welcome to pass on through. But there’s a little trouble up ahead. Some half naked guy, prob’ly from town, is rantin’ and ravin’ like a madman. Musta caught it and gone nuts or somethin’.”
Noah raised his white N95 mask and led his similarly masked entourage up the opposite side of the road to keep some distance from the locals until they spotted the man, a hundred yards away, darting aimlessly this way and that. He wore only a ripped and tattered hospital gown that barely hung across his shoulders. When he whipped around as if startled by something behind him, his skinny white torso and buttocks were displayed, as were the IV tubes still taped to the needle running through his gown and into the back of his hand.
“We figured he’d just tire hisself out,” said the woman from across the asphalt road. “But he’s still goin’ strong after ’bout two hours.” The infected man was snarling, throwing his head about to confront imaginary threats, each of which seemed to spark anew a rush of adrenaline and paranoia. “We keep callin’ 911, but we cain’t get through.”
Noah looked at his wife before saying, “We’ll take care of it.” Natalie didn’t object.
The dozen local residents, half children, half adults, watched in silence as the Millers and Margus, clean but wearing filthy camouflage and combat boots, marched past.
“Safeties off,” Noah commanded quietly as they descended the hill. Without being told, Natalie, Chloe, Jake, and Margus spread out across the road to Noah’s left and right to clear their lines of sight to the berserk Infected.
“Are we just gonna…?” Chloe began.
Noah looked back over his shoulder at his daughter and saw the locals herding their children into the nearest house. Two couples embraced, with one of the women shielding her face from what was about to happen. “He’ll make a hostile move. When he does, I’ll shoot.”
“We’ll all shoot,” Natalie said.
“No. Waste of ammo.”
At fifty yards, the infected man still paid them no mind. At thirty, his head jerked up, his fists clenched, he unleashed a furious yell, and he charged. All five assault rifles rose, but only Noah’s cracked.
The man staggered. Pop. Pop. Both Chloe and Natalie fired their rifles. The man lay sprawled on his back, spilling toxic fluids onto the pavement. Jake, who had held his fire like Margus, admonished his sister and mother. “Dad said not to waste ammo.”
Noah turned back to the residents and waved. One man returned the gesture. Most turned away. They wound a wide path around the man, who leaked pathogens onto the pavement. Jake said to Chloe, almost in a whisper, “I spy, with my little eye, something red.” Noah glanced at his wife, but Natalie seemed concerned only with the open windows of the trailer home they passed, the woodpile behind which someone could be hiding, and the abandoned car that could conceal potential attackers.
Chapter 9
ROANOKE, VIRGINIA
Infection Date 70, 1515 GMT (11:15 a.m. Local)
Emma didn’t ask for Dwayne’s binoculars. Efficiencies were gained by a division of labor. When Dwayne completed his survey of Roanoke’s smoky skyline, she asked, “What do you see?”
“Looks like the Infecteds and Uninfecteds are going at each other pretty hard.”
“The Uninfecteds will be scared,” Samantha noted. “It should be a good time to offer them order and security.”
Emma said, “Let’s make it a good show of force to back up our offer.” They drove into the chaos of Roanoke with two dozen buses, trucks, and vans.
* * * *
Walcott’s pickup—blue lights flashing—led the way with Emma in the passenger seat holding the handset for the PA system. The trucks behind them were filled with food, water, and medicine for those joining, and one hundred armed fighters for everyone else.
The sounds of gunfire grew ever louder. “There they are,” Sam said from the cab’s back seat. Walcott turned down the block where fighting raged and pulled to a stop seventy-five yards from the nearest combatants, who were hiding behind a car whose glass was
shattered.
The shooting died down as Infecteds and Uninfecteds alike turned to assess the arriving convoy. Dwayne had all one hundred fighters dismount. The Infecteds were highly compliant…up to a point. But, Emma noted, they lacked any initiative. There were no sergeants providing small unit leadership. No lieutenants and captains upon which hierarchical organizations were built. They went where Dwayne directed and stood there, waiting, as Dwayne spaced them out.
Emma raised the microphone to her mouth. “My name is Emma Miller,” boomed her voice over the loudspeaker atop the sheriff’s truck. “We’re here to offer you, Infected and Uninfected, one and only one chance to join our Community. You’ll get order, security, an end to the violence, and the necessities you need to survive. All we demand from you in return is that you follow our Community’s Rules. You must work. You must not commit violence except as directed for defense of The Community. We post all the Rules every morning, and if you disagree with any you will be allowed to leave. If you stay, however, you must obey the Rules or else be punished.”
Among the nearest combatants, heads turned and debates erupted. They were Uninfecteds. Their infected opponents at the far end of the block were more subdued and much quicker to agree. They stood up from behind stone retaining walls, green electrical transformer boxes, and the steps up to the front porches of the middle-class ranch-style homes. They lowered their weapons and awaited Emma’s instructions.
The Uninfecteds, in contrast but as they always did, had questions. Emma met their representatives on the overgrown front lawn half way to their improvised barricade of cars, trucks, riding mowers, and a pile of bricks from a nearby construction site. “That’s close enough!” a middle aged man called out from twenty yards away. His eyes nervously darted toward the hundred guns behind Emma. His voice was loud enough to be heard by the dozens of Uninfecteds behind the barricade and in the doorways of the overcrowded houses on both sides of the street. “What kinda community are you talkin’ about?”
“It’s a community of Infecteds and Uninfecteds living together in peace,” Emma replied, tailoring her messaging to Uninfecteds’ sensibilities. Offering them the one hope, she had noted on prior recruiting visits, they most valued. “Violence serves no purpose. We offer order. We put everyone back to work to provide for the common good.”
“You’re infected?” the man asked. “All of you?”
“No. Our Community includes both Infecteds and Uninfecteds.”
The man scanned the forces behind Emma. She turned to look. A hundred men and women carrying arms of every kind imaginable stood passively, stoically, awaiting orders. “None of them looks uninfected to me. Nobody’s wearin’ a mask.”
“Our uninfected citizens are doing different jobs. But we will welcome you into our Community with open arms.”
“It’s a trick!” yelled a woman from one of the doorways. “It’s a trap!” came from another. The Infecteds down the block, for their part, mostly just waited. One, however, was having trouble containing her anxiety. Two of her comrades yanked the shotgun she held from her hands, agitating her further. The young woman held her ground, but stomped and grimaced and clenched her fists and groaned loudly enough that Emma could hear her almost a football field away.
The uninfected representative took a silent poll of the faces around him. Others joined him to discuss the offer in whispers. “What will you do if we don’t join?”
“Nothing,” Emma replied, “for now. But you won’t be members of The Community, and you won’t have its protections or supplies from our stores. If we succeed in signing up everyone else here in town, you’ll be isolated, and you’ll be viewed as hostile and eliminated.” Another half dozen people joined the uninfected spokesman and their hushed discussions raged.
A single shot startled everyone. The Uninfecteds dropped to the ground and turned their weapons back toward their infected opponents down the block. But it quickly became clear that the Infecteds had simply eliminated the source of the continuing disturbance in their midst. A man stood over the body of the previously agitated young woman with his pistol waiting to see if a second shot was required. It wasn’t.
After another huddle of Uninfecteds, their spokesman said, “Okay. We’ll join. But we can quit any time, right?”
“No.” Emma’s reply confused them. “You can only quit from eight to ten o’clock in the morning, after the Rules for that day have been posted.”
A series of silent shrugs signaled the final vote. “Okay. We’re in if they join.” The man jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the Infecteds behind him.
Chapter 10
OUTSIDE ROANOKE, VIRGINIA
Infection Date 71, 2030 GMT (4:30 p.m. Local)
Isabel was nearing the end of her night’s sleep. But it hadn’t been at night, and there had been precious little sleep. The sun had been bright. The ground had been hard. She took a deep breath that was exhaled as a frustrated sigh. She turned from her aching right side to her sore back, and then to the tender muscles on her left.
Rick breathed steadily. He lay on his back sound asleep with the crook of his elbow covering his eyes. It had been too hot when the sun shone directly on where they lay amid a clump of bushes. Now it was too cool in the shade. She felt a dozen itches all at once, and periodically gave each a dismissive scratch in a grand tour of her unwashed body.
It was only an hour or so before their day began. Like vampires, they slept for a few hours while the sun was high. They climbed atop as precarious a perch as possible—crumbling, sheer walls and loose rocks beneath them—so that Rick too could get some rest. Rick liked to hike in the darkness, when his night vision goggles gave them an advantage. But to Isabel, stumbling blindly, the gloom alternately filled her with dread at imagined threats, or numbed her into a dangerous stupor through which she floated along mile after mile.
She rolled over again in jerky movements as if to punish the ground beneath her. Rick had laid out a couple of mats whose solar cells charged his night vision goggles, their radios and flashlights, and the satellite phone Isabel had been given when sent by the president to confirm that the newly developed vaccine in fact worked. The same vaccine that had spelled the president’s own doom. Was it an unfortunate coincidence that President Stoddard had been among the unlucky 6 percent to contract Pandoravirus from vaccination? Or a plot by Gen. Browner, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff?
The green light blinked on the sat phone. It was fully charged. She wondered if it still worked…and whether there was anyone left to answer it.
Isabel rolled onto her back and heaved a long sigh. She had a headache that emanated from behind her eyes, which she rubbed. The late afternoon sky was a pale and featureless blue save a thin jet contrail high above. The white streak, tight and crisp at the jet’s exhaust but ragged and diffuse the farther behind it fell, didn’t track from one horizon to the other. It twisted and turned. Here almost a figure eight. There three quarters of an oval. It was loitering in the sky near Roanoke a day’s march behind them.
She had to stifle the cough she felt coming, and unwrapped one of the lozenges from Rick’s plentiful supply. The cough drop had grown sticky from her body heat. She peeled the paper from it in strips.
The sound of an engine gave Isabel all the justification she needed to wake Rick. She reached over and gently shook his shoulder. “Car,” she whispered.
He raised his rifle before his eyes were clear of their sleepiness. Both peered down the shortened barrels of their carbines toward the road forty meters beneath their perch. It wasn’t a car, but a truck with a cherry picker in back. It slowly passed their encampment and pulled onto the shoulder of the highway about a hundred meters past them.
Two men in white hardhats got out. One climbed into the basket in back. A whirring sound announced its slow rise into the air. At the top of a wooden telephone pole, the worker draped heavy rubber mats over wires. His colle
ague sat on the rear bumper. The lounging man didn’t smoke, or drink, or surf the Internet on his phone. He just sat there.
It took Rick and Isabel three minutes to pack their gear and head down to the road. The two workers both stared at them. At about forty meters, Rick raised his right hand. “Hello!” Both his and Isabel’s rifles were slung unthreateningly across their chests, but the workers remained wary. “We’re just passing by!” They approached the truck slowly. The fists of the man at the rear of the truck were balled tight. The man in the raised basket gripped its edges like he feared an imminent fall. Both wore sunglasses.
“Infecteds,” Isabel whispered.
“Yep. If it comes to it, you take the guy on the ground.”
“‘Kay.”
When they were close, Rick said, “We’re heading south. You guys heard any news from down that way?”
The worker on the ground said, “There’s fightin’ all the way to Tennessee.”
“Any places we should take special care to avoid?” Rick asked.
“Are you Uninfecteds?” asked the man above them in the basket. Rick nodded. “You should steer clear of Blacksburg, then.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“They’re Infecteds and are shootin’ any Uninfecteds they see. They refused to join. There’s trouble comin’.”
Isabel asked, “They refused to join what?”
“The Community,” replied the lineman standing at the rear bumper.
“What community? Who’s in charge of this community.”
“Some lady. Looks a lot like you.”
“Is her name Emma? Emma Miller?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” said the man in the basket. “Miller.”
“And you two joined?”
Both nodded. “Got the old jobs back,” said the man on the ground. “Two meals a day. A roof. No more lootin’. Blood pressure meds comin’ real regular.”
“And all you’ve gotta do is agree to live by her rules?” Both men nodded. “Out of curiosity, have you ever seen anyone punished for violating those rules?”
Resistance: Pandora, Book 3 Page 6