Fire From The Sky | Book 11 | Ashes

by Reed, N. C.

  “Thank you, Clayton,” she smiled softly. “That means a great deal, you know.”

  “You’re very welcome, Doctor,” Clay returned her smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I really do have to get started on this.”

  “Of course. I need to get back to the clinic, anyway,” she nodded tiredly.

  “No, you need to rest is what you need to do,” Clay was already moving to the door. “Get some rest, Jaylyn. This mess will still be here when you wake up.” With that he was out the door and gone.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Plague?” The one-word question came from more than one place.

  “Yes,” Clay confirmed. “All three blood samples brought to Doctor Thatcher were from people infected with one of three strains of plague. That’s the sickness that has driven people out of the areas to our north and sent them streaming in all directions even in this harsh weather. Our direction being one of them.”

  “There’s no protection from that stuff, either. Is there?” Mitchell Nolan asked, face devoid of emotion.

  “No,” Clay admitted. “There are treatments for the sick that can help with recovery, but we don’t have them and can’t get them. All we can do is wait it out. In isolation,” he added pointedly.

  “So, we can’t allow anyone access to the farm,” Gordy said flatly. “For any reason.”

  “That’s the verdict,” Clay nodded. “Our only hope of survival is to keep ourselves isolated from the infected, or anyone who might be carrying the disease. There will be asymptomatic carriers in the Exodus who don’t get sick but will be spreading the disease with every step.”

  “God help us,” Gordon said softly. Prayerfully. “What will you do?” he asked his son.

  “Whatever we have to,” Clay shrugged. “We can’t allow anyone onto the farm. We’ll issue warnings and hope they’re heeded. If they aren’t, then we’ll take whatever steps we have to in order to secure this place for our families and our children.”

  “There will be children in those crowds,” Gordon noted, though not as a challenge.

  “I’m far too aware of that,” Clay managed to keep the bitterness from his voice. “It doesn’t change anything. If we want to keep our own children safe, this is how we do it. Period.” He turned his attention to the rest of the crowd.

  “For those of you thinking you can’t be a part of this, remember that all it takes is one person, be it man, woman or child, to spread this disease through the entire group. Just one. So, before you decide to render assistance on your own, remember that once you’ve come into contact with anyone outside our community, you become someone we have to be isolated from. There will be no exceptions made for that, either.”

  “As far as allowing someone through the line,” Clay’s voice turned darker, “anyone who does that will be shot. Considering the death waiting for the rest of us once we’re infected, it will be more like mercy, but there it is.”

  “I don’t like this any more than the rest of you,” he continued. “Fact is, I hate it. But I can’t change it. None of us can. So, when you think you can’t pull the trigger, remember the children sitting behind you, counting on you to keep them safe. Their future is firmly in your hands, now more than ever.”

  “We’ll be making a run to the interchange in a few hours to deliver some food supplies to Adcock and pick up some gear and supplies he’s leaving for us. The few who go will be wearing MOPP gear which provides level four protection against infections, among other things. Once we return, the gear will need to be cleaned, as will the crates we’re coming back with.”

  “We’ll be taking two trucks, protected by the Guardian MRAPs. They can be made secure against something like this and will stay buttoned up for the duration. Those of us helping to unload our trucks, and then reload them, will ride in the trucks on the way back, decontaminate the suits and the crates when we return, as well as the trucks we carry the gear in. We have the chemicals needed for that to be carried out safely, so no one needs to worry about that.”

  “What are they sending?” Mitchell asked, leaning forward.

  “No idea,” Clay admitted. “Adcock just called it a farewell gift. I’m assuming it’s gear that he had available and won’t likely be called upon to use under the present circumstances.” He looked over the crowd.

  “Everyone, and I mean everyone is armed from this point forward. We’ve been allowing people to slide on that, but no more. If you see someone sneaking onto the farm, you will fire first and ask no questions. You will not approach the body under any circumstances. We will use the MOPP gear to move the bodies to a safe distance and burn them. It’s the only sure way to kill the virus. If you think you can’t do it, remember that if you let someone infected onto the farm, then every person who dies as a result is on your head. Harsh, but true.” He paused for effect, looking over the crowd once more.

  “Are there any questions?”

  There were plenty of questions, but everyone recognized that Clay could not possibly answer them.

  -

  There was no contact between the two groups. The Guardsmen quickly offloaded the crates in their trucks before loading the meat and other supplies that Clay had spared for the refugees. He had gone over everything carefully with Kandi Ledford, supplying what they thought they could spare from their dwindling emergency stocks. Clay had steadfastly refused to part with any of their freeze-dried foods, as he had from the start. They were the groups only safety net.

  As soon as Adcock’s men were finished, they departed, leaving the men from the farm to load the crates, some of which were suspiciously heavy. It took some time to get it done, but by either good fortune or else Adcock’s foresight, there was no one along the interstate at that moment to see them.

  Finally finished, the six of them jumped into the back of the trucks, slapping the side to indicate to the driver that they could move. The drivers had stayed inside the trucks the entire time to avoid any possible exposure.

  Once back to the farms, the gear was off loaded by the same people, still in MOPP suits, after which both they and the crates went through ‘decon’, which meant having the crates sprayed and scrubbed with bleach and disinfectant, then the scrubbers themselves finally being cleansed. Even watching the proceedings from afar made the skin crawl.

  Finally, it was deemed safe to see what Adcock had left with them.

  -

  “Ammunition, web gear, magazines, spare parts, boots, looks like two dozen helmets,” Jose was murmuring to himself as he picked over what had been left for them.

  “There are twelve current generation night vision devices, and a surplus of batteries for them,” Jody Thompson mentioned. “Also, three rifle scopes, nine lasers and fourteen holographic sights.”

  “Couple dozen standard issue combat knives,” Mitchell Nolan added. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed suddenly, lifting one container lid much higher.

  “What?” Clay asked, moving his way.

  “There are four, no five, five crates of M18s in here,” Mitchell almost whispered. “Thirty brand new Claymore mines!”

  “Wonder why they had those?” Clay asked out loud, not really expecting an answer so much as just literally wondering.

  “Sometimes for the mech infantry guys,” Vicki Tully informed him. “But also, a lot of vehicle commanders will string M18s along their hulls to detonate from inside. They’re useful for clearing out crunchies who get in too close, and for blasting IEDs that you can’t disarm. It’s frowned upon, but no one has ever tried to stop it from happening.” The term ‘crunchies’ showed her armored roots, a less than caring name given to infantrymen by those in armor, especially tanks.

  “Well, it seems that Adcock has repaid us plenty for the food we’ve sent them,” Clay decided to cut the discussion short. “Get Kandi over here, Jose, along with one of the twins. Please help them get this stuff sorted and inventoried, and then get a crew from the civies to get it put away. The rest of you, try and get some rest. Most of you will be on the
line later tonight.”

  -

  “Nice of Adcock to send us some firepower,” Mitchell noted as he walked next Clay, headed for the Troy farmhouse.

  “It was,” Clay agreed. “But the web gear, vests and NVD gear, in fact all the odd and end stuff he sent, is in some ways even better. We are sorely lacking there with the influx of new troops. This will help a lot.”

  “Sure will,” Mitchell agreed. “This is a bad business, man,” he added after a few moments of silence. “I never imagined-.” A single gunshot cut him off, and he sighed.

  “Neither did I,” Clay agreed. “But we literally have no choice, Mitch. If we let an infected person on to this farm, it could wipe us out.”

  “Yeah, and plus you could get court martialed!” Mitchell jeered, trying to lighten the mood. “Lieutenant,” he added with a slight punch to Clay’s shoulder.

  “That was kind of a low blow for him to do that,” Clay shook his head. “Still, I don’t blame a drowning man for grasping at any lifeline he can get. And he knew giving me those orders, in writing, would keep me out of trouble. Keep all of us out of trouble in fact, assuming there was anyone to be in trouble with after all this.”

  “Yeah, that took balls, man,” Mitchell nodded his agreement. “Big time.”

  “Big time.”

  -

  “Bossman, Operations,” Leon’s tone was clipped. He was starting to trim his messages down to something like what a police dispatcher might use.

  “Go for Bossman,” Clay replied tiredly.

  “Please come to Operations,” Leon requested. “Traffic from AC.”

  “Roger that. On my way.” Clay started moving quickly toward Building Two. He hadn’t expected to hear from Adcock again for a while. Now that he was, he feared it would be something bad.

  Two minutes later he was in the radio room, accepting a microphone from Millie Long.

  “Go for Bossman,” Clay said simply.

  “Roger Bossman,” Adcock’s voice came through strong. “I’m in need of another favor, Lieutenant. My second in Lewiston, Lieutenant Gillis, was on patrol when all this started. He and his men have had no contact with the infected, in fact have had no contact with anyone in at least four days. I need a place for them to roost, so to speak. He has a patrol of eleven, including himself, with two Hummers and a small MRAP. I know it’s a great deal to ask, but I have nowhere for them to go. Can you take them?”

  “You’re sure, repeat sure they’ve had no contact with the infected?” Clay asked, stalling for time to think the request over.

  “Affirmative,” Adcock’s voice rang with certainty. “They have been on an extended patrol through backroads, searching for bandit activity. They have been out of the area for four days. Actually, today makes five days. They are tired and hungry and low on fuel. Outside Gleason’s men, they may be the only troops I have left who haven’t been exposed.”

  “Roger that, AC. Send them our way. We’ll take care of them.”

  “Thank you, Bossman,” the relief in Adcock’s voice was apparent even over the radio. “He’s a good kid and has a solid NCO with him. He knows that he will be under your command until I recall him. By which I mean myself or Honcho personally. I really appreciate this.”

  “I’m glad to do it,” Clay lied. “Anything else? How are you guys making it?”

  “We’re getting refugees off the interstate and settled into the high school right now,” Adcock replied. “That was a good idea. Quite a few want to continue south, and I don’t actually have a reason to stop them that won’t end up with us in shooting engagement with civilians. We warn them not to attempt to leave the interstate at your exit or for Lewiston, but I’m sure some will try anyway. Anyone obviously infected or in the company of someone obviously infected we’re stopping here, regardless. We’ve had to shoot more than a few to stop them moving on and carrying the disease with them.” His voice sounded both strained and sad. No one in his position wanted to ever draw down on his own people, let alone actually shoot them down.

  “I understand completely,” Clay assured him. “We are maintaining our isolation here any way we can. Advise your field commander to use an alternate route, as we have blocked the road coming off the interstate. He should have no trouble understanding if he has a map.”

  “Roger that. Will do,” Adcock promised. “I have seven troopers who are sick,” he continued a second later. “We were all exposed before we knew what was happening. There’s nothing we can do for them. Let the Doc know we followed her instructions and passed the word south of the problem. Some of them are already calling it the Nashville Flu, even after I assured them it’s not the flu. I don’t think they want to believe it.”

  “I don’t want to believe it either,” Clay replied. “There’s no explanation for it and no reason for it to be here. None. Yet here we are. The Doc is working the problem, but there is literally nothing we can do, even for ourselves. We don’t have the means.”

  “I know,” Adcock sounded resigned. “No one does that I’m aware of. It is what it is. We’ll make it, or we won’t. Thanks for taking in my wayward chicks, Bossman.”

  “Glad to do it,” Clay said again, not lying quite as big, this time. “Take care, AC.”

  “It may be too late for that, Bossman,” Adcock tried to laugh, but it sounded closer to a cough. “Very well. Area Commander clear.”

  “Home Plate standing by,” Clay finished and handed the microphone back to Leon.

  “Where are we going to put them?” Leon asked, returning the mike to the normal resting place.

  “I don’t know,” Clay admitted. “Got a suggestion?” he asked the two. Both were silent for nearly a minute before Leon looked up.

  “Is the Plum house empty?”

  -

  “As far as I know, Will and his wife were out of town,” Gordon said when questioned about his old friend. “I’ve been by up there three times, and I’d like to think if Will was there, he’d have answered me. Nothing was moved and there was no sign of anyone being there or working to keep the place up. It’s entirely likely that it’s empty.”

  “Roomy enough for eleven people to isolate in for a week or so?” Clay asked, trying to remember what he could about the Plum farm.

  “Well, yes,” Gordon nodded after a moment. “Three bedrooms, two baths, a large den downstairs as well as a separate dining room. It will be cozy, but it will work.”

  “Wood heat?” Clay asked.

  “He does have a fireplace, but he also had an infrared heater that used propane,” Gordon said after another moment of thought. “If he had gas, and the tank has held on, then it’s probably working. If the pilot was lit, then it may be out.”

  “Okay,” Clay nodded, thinking quickly. “I need to get a rig up the road to stop them as they approach the house. We need to gather some provisions and firewood and get that moved up there as well. Thanks, Dad,” he waved as he left the house in a whirlwind.

  “You’re welcome,” he told his son’s departing back. Closing his eyes, he leaned back in his chair and began praying once more. He’d done a great deal of that in the last few days.

  -

  “We are killing our food plan,” Kandi noted as she helped load a truck with supplies for Gillis and his squad.

  “Don’t I know it,” Clay nodded. “At this rate we’ll be lucky not to have to break into the freeze-dried stuff.”

  “We’ll do that carefully, if at all,” Kandi told him. “Let me worry about that. Well, me and a few others who are trying to keep a healthy table set for everyone. Meanwhile, this will help them, and their presence will help us, will it not?”

  “Yes, it will,” Clay nodded, reminded once again that underestimating Kandi Ledford because of blonde hair and curves was a mistake. She was borderline brilliant at the least.

  “I think that does it,” Kandi interrupted his train of thought, stopping to stretch her back and then check her clipboard. “This should get them through their quarantine s
o long as they’re careful. There are three dozen homemade brownies in a box, sitting in the cab. Might help pick them up a bit,” she smiled.

  “Might at that,” Clay agreed with a much dimmer smile, but a smile, nevertheless.

  -

  Since he wasn’t allowed on the defensive line holding people off the farm, Greg drew the duty of supervising the trip to check on and stock the Plum house. Jose Juarez and Mitchell Nolan had been dispatched ahead to meet the small incoming convoy and hold it up until preparations were complete.

  Petra Shannon, Samantha Walters, Abby Sanders and Kurtis Montana joined the Sheriff on this small jaunt. The Plum farm was a ‘mere’ three hundred acres, a proverbial drop in the ocean compared to the Sanders’ current holdings, but it was a lovely piece of ground, suitable for either the plow or for pasture. The home, having set empty for a year, needed dusting, and Abby applied a treatment of the Sanders’ special remedy for insects, arachnids and other creepy crawlies as the others began cleaning.

  Meanwhile, outside, Greg and Kurtis had the honor of unloading a truckload of wood for the fireplace. That finished, they moved to the back yard and checked the propane tank.

  “Well I’ll be,” Greg almost chuckled. “A full fifty percent. How ‘bout that?”

  “Sounds like the pilot must have been off,” Kurtis mused, fighting a yawn. He had been on the line the night before.

  “Look, the heavy work is done,” Greg told him. “Take the wood truck and head on back. Get some shut eye. We can handle the rest.”

  “You sure?” Kurtis asked, though the idea was clearly appealing to him.

  “I’m sure. Go ahead, man. Get some rest.”

  “Thanks, Greg. I really appreciate it.” With a slap on the shoulder, Kurtis did just that, heading to the Bunkhouse to get some much-needed sleep. Greg stepped inside to check on the heater. The gas had not been turned off inside, making it doubtful there was a leak or else they could have smelled it. Plus, the tank would have been empty.