Chapter 33
Portland, Oregon
A sweating Chinese captain, his face drawn and jaundiced, his customarily neatly brushed hair matted and greasy, rapped on Colonel Hong’s door with a trembling hand.
“Yes? What is it?” Hong demanded.
“Sir, it’s Yuan.”
“Come in, Captain,” Hong ordered.
Yuan did as bidden and stood at attention in front of the colonel’s desk. Hong noted the dark circles discoloring his eyes and gestured for him to speak.
“The sick bay is overflowing, sir. It’s far worse than yesterday. Fully half the men are incapacitated.”
“They’ve been taking all the precautions I ordered? Boiling the water? Avoiding contact with any of the quarantined areas?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The medics still have no idea what this is?”
“They’ve changed their assessment, Colonel.”
“Well?” Hong snapped. “What’s the latest opinion?” Hong was frustrated at the skill level of the two medics that he’d been assigned, both of whom were competent at treating wounds but had precious little training beyond field triage and the basics of contagion and infection. When the troops had first started presenting with symptoms several days earlier, they had theorized that it was some sort of food-borne affliction, and then had revised their opinion to include a tainted water source, and had finally decided that there might be some viral cause of the spreading mystery illness. When men started to die, Hong radioed back to the ship for instructions and had been ordered to stay in position and warned not to leave under any circumstances. When the horses began to drop as well, the situation turned critical; whatever was killing his force was doing so regardless of species.
As of now, his mighty invasion army had dwindled to less than half capable of fighting, and was getting worse with each passing day. He’d cursed the commanders on the ship, many miles away, making high-handed decisions about his troops, and was scheduled to make another transmission within the hour to beg them to reconsider their order.
“They now believe it is radiation, sir. With the number of dead and the symptoms, that’s their final determination.”
Hong swore beneath his breath. “Of course! I should have seen it earlier. I’ve had the misfortune of witnessing it after the Daya Bay reactor incident four years ago. Damn. What does he recommend?”
“That we leave immediately. There’s no helping the men who are too far gone. Until we know the source, it’s not safe to stay, sir.”
Hong’s heart sank at the news. He knew instinctively that the captain was right, but convincing the generals of it would not be a simple matter.
“Very well. I’ll get back to you shortly. In the meantime, have the men prepare to get on the road.” Hong paused. “How many does the medic think are fit to travel?”
“Maybe a third. The rest are too weak.” Yuan coughed, the sound wet.
“Are you all right, Captain?”
“I…I don’t think so, sir.”
Hong studied the officer closely and then looked away. “Report to the medic for treatment after relaying my orders, Captain.”
“Yes, sir.” The captain turned and left, saving the colonel and himself face at having to admit that there was no treatment for what was afflicting him, and that the order he passed to the squad commanders was likely to be the last of his short career.
Hong crossed the room to the shortwave radio and powered it on. After several minutes waiting for the ship operator to find the generals, Mao’s familiar voice boomed in his headphones.
“Yes, Colonel. What is it?”
“The men are dying, sir. It’s getting worse. Half the force is incapacitated, and it’s showing no sign of slowing. The medic says he believes it’s radiation poisoning.”
“Radiation! From what? A medical source? Industrial?”
“He doesn’t know, sir.”
General Jin’s voice came on the line. “Do you have a Geiger counter to check this theory?”
“No, sir. I was only just informed of it. I’m sure there must be some in the city, but we’re spread pretty thin at this point. I wouldn’t know where to begin looking. We have no viable manpower. Everyone who can is on patrol duty.” Hong hesitated. “In light of this, I’m recommending we evacuate the city immediately.”
“Absolutely not,” Mao thundered. “That isn’t an option.”
“We’ve currently lost one hundred and sixty-three of the men, sir. We will lose another hundred by tomorrow at the rate this is progressing. If we don’t leave, there won’t be anyone to evacuate within another couple of days. I’m sorry, sir. That is my assessment.”
“Hold on a minute, Colonel,” Jin said.
“Yes, sir.”
The generals returned five minutes later, their tones hushed. “We have a map of Oregon in front of us. There’s a reactor up the Columbia River from you that’s the likely problem. If so, the river is toxic, and Portland is as well. Where have you been sourcing your water?”
“From the river.”
“There’s another that shouldn’t be affected – the Willamette, on the southern side of town.”
“All due respect, sir, we have no way of knowing how radioactive the Columbia River is. We have to assume it has poisoned all of the city as well as the water table. That must be why we found the city deserted except for the dead. If we stay, I see no reason to expect a different result.”
Hong waited as a tense discussion ensued in the background, whoever was transmitting forgetting that his finger was on the transmit button. Moments later, Jin’s voice returned.
“Very well, Colonel. In light of this development, we will permit you to go back to Astoria. We will alert the high command to the situation and see that they send properly outfitted specialists to deal with the scenario. When can you be under way?”
“I will ensure we depart within the hour. I’m sorry, sir.”
“This is not your doing, Colonel. There is no shame in saving your men.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hong switched the radio off and sat back, the listlessness that had been nagging at him, sapping his energy, back. He rose and moved to a wall mirror hanging above the credenza of the office he’d commandeered and studied his complexion.
What he knew about radiation sickness was that it could be cumulative and that individual tolerances could be different. His water source had been the Willamette River, due to its proximity to his office, unlike many of his men, and he was seeing the result now in the rash of deaths. But even so, he could tell he was unwell. The question was exactly how unwell and whether he’d absorbed a lethal dose or not – unknowable until nature answered it definitively.
What he did know was that it was his duty to ensure as many of his men as possible survived, and that he would fulfill that duty or die trying. He was an officer of the Chinese army, and duty came above all other considerations. If the generals had decided to order him to remain in Portland he would have, and his troops would have died to the last man. That the generals had relented meant some would survive, but how many was anyone’s guess. Whether Hong would be one of the fortunate was unknown. The captain hadn’t been, and there were no guarantees that the weakness that had been affecting Hong wouldn’t worsen over the coming hours.
In the meantime, he would order his men to locate every cart in the city and to plan on taking as many of the sick men with them as they could. He would not leave any to die if he could help it; the delay of an hour or two shouldn’t matter in the bigger scheme.
Hong probed his face with his fingers, the skin sallow, like wax, and he turned from his reflection. If he’d gotten a fatal dose, then so be it. He would go down on the trail, not in a bed like a child with the virus. That wasn’t how warriors met their end, and above all else, Hong was a warrior.
~ ~ ~
Three hours after receiving the news from Hong, the generals were on another radio call, this time to the Americans who had n
egotiated the Chinese occupation. The round eyes pretended surprise at the news of the deadly radiation that had rendered Portland uninhabitable, but were unmoved by the Chinese assertion that they had been lured to North America under false pretenses.
The conclusion of the call was that the Americans were sympathetic to the Chinese plight, but that the failure of a reactor was an unforeseeable act of God and couldn’t have been predicted. Short of calling them liars, the generals had to satisfy themselves with a promise to take the matter up with their superiors in China and avoid Portland until the situation stabilized and they had more information.
The Americans again assured them that they’d had no idea about the river and offered their condolences and apologies for the unexpected hurdle; but they insisted that they had fulfilled their part of the bargain, and thus the Chinese arrangement was intact. The generals lacked the authority to refuse to cooperate, but when the radio went silent, they both suspected that they’d been drawn into a quagmire from which they would be fortunate to extricate themselves with their careers.
“Do you believe them?” Jin asked Mao when the call was over.
“Of course not. They’re lying. The question is when they learned of it.”
“That was my impression as well.”
“Yes. Now we have a significant problem with our easy capture of the Portland seaport, and if the reactor is melting down, it will grow worse with time.”
“We must consult with headquarters. They’ll have experts who can model it and advise how to proceed.”
“Agreed. But we’ve learned an important lesson: these snakes cannot be trusted.”
Jin nodded, deep in thought. “No. No, they can’t. Some things never change.”
Chapter 34
Durango, Colorado
Dale walked into the largest trading post in Durango, his spurs jangling against the hardwood floor, and made his way to the counter, where a mountain of a man mirrored his stare without blinking.
“Help you?” the man asked.
“I need to use the radio.”
“A round a minute’s the going rate.”
“Done. I need privacy, too. Where’s it located?”
“Booth in the back of the shop. Nobody’s gonna listen in, buddy. It’s just you and the cockroaches back there.”
Dale counted out ten rounds and placed them on the counter. “See that your man outside doesn’t go missing with my horse and guns, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll all be there when you get back.”
“Where’s the radio?”
The big trader stepped to the side and called out to his partner at the other counter. “Watch the store.” He looked down at Dale and motioned for him to follow. “This way.”
The transmitter was ancient but serviceable, and the trader left Dale to his business after a warning that from the time he flipped the power on, Dale was on the clock. Dale nodded assent and waited until he’d left to spin the dial to the frequency the Crew monitored and transmit his coded alert.
On the second try, a Crew operator answered and confirmed that he was ready to take down Dale’s report. Dale gave him the basics, worded so it would mean much to Snake but nothing to an eavesdropper. The operator acknowledged receipt and said he’d be back on the air in an hour with a response.
Dale powered the radio off and walked back to the shop. “Where can I get a bath and a meal around here?”
“Down the street a couple blocks. Red brick place called Dolly’s. You can get whatever you want there, and if you’re not careful, stuff you don’t.”
“I’ll be back in a while. I’ve got another call to make.”
“Whatever.”
Dale made his way to the red building and paid for a bath and a bowl of barely palatable gruel washed down by strong locally brewed ale he could have used as fire starter, and then returned to the trader’s feeling much improved. Back on the radio, he was surprised when Snake fielded his call and cut straight to the chase.
“We aren’t going to send a war party halfway across the country, Dale. Not worth the effort.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Hire a couple dozen mercs in Durango and lay waste. You should be able to gut what’s left of Shangri-La with pros on your side.”
“That’s likely to be more expensive than I’ve got the gold for.”
“Don’t worry about that. I can send more. The guy who runs the town is a friendly. Lavon. Ask around for him and explain the situation. He knows I’m good for it. If he’s got any questions, have him call me.”
“Lavon. Got it. Any timetable?”
“The sooner the better. But make sure you get their leader, Elliot. If for any reason he escapes, this was all for nothing.”
Durango, like many other larger towns, had fallen to criminal syndicates that ruled the roost and provided protection in exchange for obedience and a cut of the proceeds. Durango was better than most, by all accounts; the gang that operated it was relatively stable by post-apocalyptic mass-murderer standards, and the people were generally prosperous in spite of the cut taken by Lavon’s group. Dale had been there twice before on his travels and both times had been struck by how well everyone seemed to be doing compared to places like Albuquerque or Santa Fe.
Dale asked the big trader about Lavon. At the mention of his name, the big trader’s jaw twitched, and he directed Dale to what appeared to have been a bank before the collapse. Sentries at the four corners of the roof watched his approach with guns conspicuously visible and trained on him. Two men stopped him as he neared the entrance and took in his facial tats before demanding to know what he wanted.
“I need to see Lavon. Tell him a guy from Houston’s here to talk to him, someone who works for Snake.”
One of the men ducked into the building and returned three minutes later. “Got to leave your weapons out here,” he said. “We’ll watch your horse for you.”
Expecting this, Dale handed them his rifle and pistol. The man gestured to his hunting knife, and Dale unsheathed it and tendered it to him, handle first. The guard admired the razor-sharp blade and indicated the entryway.
“The guards inside are expecting you. They’ll take you to Lavon.”
Dale entered the building and another gunman met him, hand on his holstered Glock. “Gotta search you,” he said. Dale stood with his arms to his sides while the man did a cursory pat down, and then followed him through the polished marble foyer across an ornate, turn-of-the-century bank floor to what had once been the manager’s office. Two more guards framed the office door, shotguns in hand, and stared holes through Dale as he approached.
“Here to see Lavon,” Dale’s escort announced. The men stepped aside, and one of them pushed the door open a foot and gestured to Dale.
“In there.”
Dale brushed past him and found himself face-to-face with a towering black man in a Harley Davidson tank top that fully displayed his prison muscles and abundant ink. Lavon grinned and motioned to a chair in front of his desk. “Sit. My man Snake sent you?”
“That’s right.”
“What can I do you for?”
“I need some road warriors. Fighters who can go the distance. Not local punks – the real deal.”
Lavon stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Lot of men looking to make a buck. Shouldn’t be too hard. How many you need?”
“The more the merrier. At least twenty.”
Lavon looked at him like he was crazy. “You planning to start a war?”
“More like end one. You think you can find them for me?”
Another toothy grin. “I can find anything you want, my man. But there’s a toll. There always is. What you got to trade?”
“What’s the going rate for a mercenary for a week?”
Lavon thought for a moment. “Ammo, silver, or gold?”
“Gold.”
“Ounce apiece to ride, another when the job’s done, I’d think. Lot of guys would k
ill their mom for that.” Lavon sat back. “Plus my cut.”
“Which is?”
“Fifty percent.”
“Ouch.”
“Got to pay to play.”
“I don’t have that much with me. Snake said he’s good for it, and you can talk to him to confirm.”
“How much you got on you?”
“Around thirty ounces.”
“You give me ten and I’ll make the rest work.”
“How?”
“Promise the balance on the back end and hope most of them don’t make it. What do you care?”
“I don’t, as long as they’re good.”
“When you want to ride?”
“Tomorrow morning at the latest.” Dale hesitated. “Do I pay them directly, or give you the gold and you handle it?”
“You take care of them in person. Establishes who’s boss. But you can pay my ten now.”
Dale slipped a satchel from an inside pocket of his vest and counted out ten one-ounce coins. Lavon took one, balanced it on his fingertip, and tapped it with another from the small pile. A ring sounded from the coin, lasting for several seconds, and Lavon smiled. “Love that sound. Can’t fake it. That’s the real thing.”
“When can I meet the men?”
“Tonight. We own a bar called Josie’s. Be there at ten. I’ll have the best in town lined up. You don’t like any of ’em, don’t hire ’em. Easy.” Lavon set the coins down on the table. “Where you off to with these boys?”
“Into the mountains.”
“Nothing there but rocks and deer.”
“Got a score to settle.”
“Sounds heavy.”
Dale stood. “See your men at ten. Josie’s. Do I need directions?”
“No. Everyone knows it. If you want a place for the night, we rent rooms upstairs. Consider it on me. Say the word.”
The Day After Never - Perdition (Book 6) Page 18