by Mark Rounds
“That remains to be seen,” said Macklin, leveling the rifle at his boss’s mid-section.
“The last time we met,” Macklin said forcefully, “your goons here beat me up, bagged me, and I ended up being infected with your damnable Plague. Please bear with me if I don’t have much trust in your care for my well-being.”
“What you don’t realize,” said Macklin’s boss, “is that for the past month you have been infected and taking Slash. Certain neural pathways have opened in your brain and you have some interesting protein imbalances.”
“What?” asked Macklin, who was truly perplexed. Then it started. First there was a ringing in Macklin’s ears followed by a sharp pain. It grew until he could no longer see straight. The rifle wobbled in his hands as he began to slide to the ground. One of the security guards quickly reached forward and grabbed the rifle before it hit the ground and safed the weapon.
“One of the benefits from the infection and prolonged Slash use,” said Macklin’s boss, “is that I can see into your brain a little. I can’t read your thoughts naturally, but I know what you feel. You can’t lie to me. I can also do this.”
The pain in Macklin’s head ramped up to the point where he cried out. Now completely on the ground, he curled up into a fetal position. Abruptly the pain stopped.
“We still own you, Macklin,” said his boss. “It’s just a bit harder. As you probably just realized, I have to be within close proximity to you to twist your mind like that, hence this trip to this god-forsaken corner of America. But you are actually of use to us, surprising as that may seem, so more careful supervision will be required. You also can’t die from that pain. It will roll on and on. Dehydration will likely get you first, but we can handle that intravenously. If you push me far enough, I can make your life literally hell on earth for as long as you live and because you are infected, you can live for a very, very, long time; centuries.
“Do you understand me?”
“I, um, I do,” said Macklin softly.
“I could play with you now, make you shout all manner of loyalty oaths and completely break your spirit. But I won’t, because I need you to be smart and ambitious. You were right when you said our working through drug addicts and petty criminals wasn’t … optimum. Truthfully, we didn’t expect to need them for very long. As this current chaos has lasted far longer than we intended, we have had to make … adjustments.
“We have only a relatively small handful of operatives like you. But hear me. We have to be successful. If we fail, our opponents will hunt all of us down like vermin forever. Our fates are intertwined. You can’t run away from this and you will suffer if you resist. Work with us and the rewards are incalculable.”
June 4th, Thursday, 6:23 am PDT
Royal City, WA
Chris was lying in bed next to Amber, trying to get up the nerve to talk to her about something important. Their relationship, for all the confusion and tumult, was sheer joy as finally, he understood that a relationship had to be between equals to work. That’s why he was upset. Something was bugging her, making her distant, and they weren’t talking about it. He wanted to help, to be supportive, and get things back to the way they were, but ever since Amber had gone with him to his old apartment, a subtle shift had begun. When he got shot, it became worse.
“Chris, we have to talk,” said Amber.
Chris was stunned because he didn’t even think she was awake.
“Sure,” said Chris, “whatever you want.”
“I just don’t want you to think I am crazy is all. This whole Plague thing has me second-guessing everything.”
“Tell me what is on your mind, sweetheart,” said Chris soothingly. “I suspect we are all a little crazy after all of this.”
“OK, well, here goes. Ever since you got shot, I can feel other people’s emotions. If they are infected, I can feel them miles away. If they are not, like you, I have to be close, like this. It’s why I knew you were … struggling.”
“That’s not all that strange,” said Chris. “I can feel a lot of what you feel too. I …”
“Not like this,” said Amber, uncharacteristically interrupting. “Oh, I know couples get in tune with one another. I have enjoyed that with you, but I can feel other things too. You know that little girl the BACA chapter rescued?’
“Yeah, not likely to forget her,” said Chris.
“Her mother is hiding in a coulee not two hundred yards from here. She has muddled emotions. I can tell you she is alternately happy, angry, and agitated. Were I to guess, I would say she is happy that her daughter is protected. Anger and agitation are common feelings when you are infected. A little further out, there is a young woman, scared and infected, maybe she is a migrant worker who is adrift in a country where she doesn’t speak the language and now has no friends.
“If I go further out, I can feel the folks around the bridge. At that distance, individuals fade out but I can feel their anger and pain in great waves. You don’t think I’m getting it again, do you?”
“No honey, I don’t,” said Chris. “But we can get Chad to check you again if it would make you feel any better.”
He felt relieved because whatever was messing with Amber wasn’t his doing; a common guy worry. But he was also worried. He knew that the trauma Amber had witnessed would be enough to push anyone into PTSD.
“This has been bugging you a while, hasn’t it?” asked Chris. “Ever since we went to my apartment, there has been something putting a wedge between us. Well, whatever it is, I’ll help you fight it, if you’ll let me.”
“You felt something then?” said Amber.
“Remember that whole in-tune thing?” asked Chris, with a smile. “I am here for you. Even if you are bat-shit crazy, which you are not, I don’t care. I am here for you. I love you. We will fight this thing, whatever it is.”
“It was just a little thing at first,” said Amber, squeezing Chris’s hand hard. “The Infected know me somehow. There was one at your apartment who knew me and … well … offered herself to me. Then when you got shot, I was worried and angry. Something in my head just sort of popped and now I can feel what infected people feel if they are close enough. I can tell if someone is infected. I can even influence them a little bit. You know the little girl’s mother who is hiding in the coulee? I have been calming her, sending … happy thoughts. Please don’t think I am crazy!”
“I don’t think you are crazy,” said Chris. “A lot of things make sense now. You talked about the Call, remember? Could it have been someone like you sending it like you are doing to that young mom? And why can they always find us? It makes sense now. But we had better tell the others.”
“Chris!” shrieked Amber suddenly, holding her head, “there is someone out there, who is hurting someone with this … thing … I can feel it. He is evil and very old and he can feel me. He knows where we are! We have to tell the others right now!”
June 4th, Thursday, 7:10 am PDT
Royal City, WA
Chad was back in the garage after a short night, warming up last night’s coffee, as they had little to waste. Between the Grease Monkey, Sparky and himself, they had managed to pull the engine out of Dave’s Dodge pickup and had it sitting in a makeshift engine stand. Once they had it up in the air, they were able to see a four inch crack down the side of the block. They had dropped the pan and found fragments of a high powered rifle round, probably a full metal jacketed slug that had penetrated the engine block.
Sparky had welded the crack at about 1:00 am last night before they knocked off. This morning the plan was to reassemble the engine and test it. Chad, being a morning person, was not surprised at all that he was the first back to the job.
His morning reverie was broken by Chris trying to hobble down to the gas station. Amber was helping him but even from a block away, Chad could see that the wound had started to bleed again. Alarmed, he put down his cup and hustled out the door.
“Chris, you shouldn’t be up yet,” he said, loud
ly enough to be heard over the intervening distance. “You’re bleeding.”
“We need to talk, inside,” said Chris, panting and clearly in some pain.
Chad ran over to the struggling couple and between them, he and Amber were able to get Chris into the office and in a chair.
“Now what is so damned important?” asked Chad.
“Amber thinks that whoever – or whatever - is chasing us, knows where we are,” said Chris.
“How do you know this?” asked Chad.
“Since Chris was shot, I can sort of … feel things,” said Amber uncertainly. “I don’t know how to say this and not sound crazy, but I can feel things that other Infected are feeling and sometimes, they can feel what I do. I can sometimes tell where they are if they are close.”
“And what do you feel?” asked Chad quietly.
“There is someone out there who knows where I am, who know what I am, and I know him a little. He is old and very experienced with this. And I also think he is evil.”
“First off,” said Chad, “you are Amber Hoskins, my friend who has put her life in the line several times to protect me and family, not some sideshow freak. Get the idea out of your head that we think you are crazy and will toss you aside. Clear?”
Before he could continue, Amber reached over and hugged Chad fiercely.
“Some folks still think I am ... different, thank you,” said Amber and then she awkwardly let Chad go. “I think we should tell the others, and I think we should be moving on.”
“Well, we will know if we can get an engine together today,” said Chad, “so unless we decide it’s critical, we are probably here for at least another day. I also know that Dave is cooking up something to help the BACA members who aren’t staying in Royal City return home. But Dave will be down here soon, we can all talk then. I will also include this information in my next report to Captain Nixon.”
Dave cleared his throat loudly.
“Someone mention my name?” said Dave with a smile.
Chad swiftly retold Amber’s story with a few corrections from Amber and Chris. Dave sat down and poured a cup of yesterday’s coffee and looked thoughtful for a moment.
“I think the truck’s engine is still the long leg on the stool,” said Dave. “If you can get it running today, we can pull out tomorrow, if not, then the crazy scheme Mary has been working on and trading for will have to do. I suspect the BACA folks would be able to use the stuff we couldn’t take, but without those supplies, I wonder if the folks in Moscow would have us?”
June 4th, Thursday, 4:58 pm PDT
Royal City, WA
Chad reconnected the last of the cooling hoses to the Cummings diesel enginethat was in Dave’s truck. He nodded to the Grease Monkey.
“Do you think it’s ready?” asked Chad, wiping his hands.
“It’s about as ready as we can make it,” said the Grease Monkey. “You want to start it or should I?”
“I’ll give it shot,” said Chad as he closed the connection on the starter.
The engine chugged a couple of times and then began to run smoothly. Sparky and the Grease Monkey gave each other a fist bump.
“All right then,” said Chad, “rev it up some.”
Sparky who was sitting in the driver’s seat, pushed the throttle a bit and was rewarded by the sound of the diesel reaching for more air and rpm’s. Then something started to clank in the bowels of the engine and Sparky quickly cut the throttle as Chad broke the connection for the ignition, but it was already too late. Oil was already pouring out of a new larger crack in the newly welded engine block.
“Crap!” said Chad as he watched the oil run out of the engine. “What did we do wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” said Sparky. “Sometimes, when you weld an engine block, you can warp it or make the weld site brittle. I think the block was cracked internally somehow and the lack of oil caused things to bang around. Or it may be that when they shot the turbocharger, it sucked in some metal bits we didn’t find when we rebuilt the engine.”
“What now?” asked Chad, looking at the growing pool of oil despondently.
“Look, this is farm country,” said the Grease Monkey, trying to be upbeat. “There must be a dozen trucks with this motor in it. We can probably buy or trade for one for a song and pull that motor or just load all the stuff into that.”
“I’ll go ask around,” said Sparky, “I was raised near here and know a lot of the local folks.”
“It will work out OK,” said the Grease Monkey reassuringly.
“I hope so,” said Chad, looking out the window.
Chapter 4
June 4th, Thursday, 7:17 pm PDT
Othello, WA
Macklin felt almost normal, which was unusual in itself. The journey to this relative calm had come in the form of some nameless drugs that his boss had given him and something … else. Much of his mental anguish was calmed. The seizures stopped and he actually felt like eating something. He was astute enough to know that it was his boss’s doing, somehow, that his superior was able to calm his mind. Intellectually, he knew he should be angry or alarmed but he felt good and those issues seemed far away.
“OK,” said Macklin, “I get it. I haven’t felt this good in a long time. What’s next?”
“The Stricklands and their friends are still out there,” said his boss. “The young lady, Amber, is of interest to us. She is immune and recently developed the beginnings of the power you felt today. She must be collected and bent to our will. Otherwise an old Enemy could rear its head.”
“You don’t mean the Feds, do you?” said Macklin with alarm. He probably had several warrants out for his arrest if they ever found him.
“Ha!” said Mackin’s boss. “They believe what we want them to believe. No, this Enemy predates your country by millennia. We have fought them since before man could write and before he built with stone; a long time.”
“You sound like you were there,” said Macklin quietly.
“Not for the beginning, but I rode with Genghis Khan and Napoleon. I have gone by many names and will doubtlessly have others.”
“So then what shall I call you?” asked Macklin. “This nameless evil overlord routine is going to cause … inefficiencies if we are to work together closely.”
“I was once known as Subutai, General for the Great Khan, I was his most trusted and loyal advisor for many years and then was the same for his son Ogodei, and again for his grandson Kuyuk. I became ill with the ancestor of the Plague that now covers this planet when I was seventy-two and died. My body was exposed to the air in a traditional sky burial on a mountaintop near the Tuul River in what is now Mongolia, where I was born. But I was not dead.
“The later stages of the disease can sometimes mimic death. I lived and was found by an old Yuezhi shaman who claimed to remember fleeing what is now China, an event that was a thousand years and more old even then. He brought me through the end stages of the Plague and showed me the realities of being immune.
“But that was several lifetimes ago, and I have had many names since. You can call me Nergüi; a little play on my native Mongolian language. It means ‘no name’.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” asked Macklin.
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Nergüi. “They only way you can continue to survive is to be near me on a regular basis. These two ‘goons’ as you refer to them have been with me a very long time. The tall blond one is named Harðnefr. He marched with the Varangian Guard over seven hundred years ago. He fell ill on the march and was left beside the road where I found him.
“The other is a Karankawa native originally from the Texas coast before Texas was a state. His Chief, Jose Maria, had the misfortune to side with the Mexicans during the Texas War of Independence. Most of the warriors in his clan died in battle or of illness in field. He became sick and was left as the remnants of his tribe retreated from the Texans to El Gato. I found him there. I don’t know his name as he has never spoken.”
&
nbsp; “Why me?” asked Macklin. “Sure you have many more than just two … followers?”
“When I was in China,” said Nergüi derisively, “I had thousands. During the confusion that followed the birth of the United States, I had hundreds. Now, it’s less than a score. As to why you? Because you are here, that’s all, you’re useful.”
June 4th, Thursday, 8:05 pm PDT
Royal City, WA
“You mean to tell me she can ‘feel’ where the Infected are?” asked Dr. Grieb over the satellite phone.
“Pretty much,” said Chad. “She also says there is, I don’t know, call it a focus or something. There is an individual who was recently in the area who can, well, feel her presence. The long and short of it is they know where we are and Amber thinks they are coming.”
“CAPT Nixon wants to talk to you about that,” said Dr. Grieb. “I’ll go get him.”
“Right, take care,” said Chad.
There was a break of a few seconds and then Nixon came on.
“Chad, we have had some developments you ought to know about,” said the intel specialist. “The armored SWAT van that we think is still being used to transport former Special Agent Macklin was photographed by our drones at the Airport near Ritzville. There was a Beach King Air there today which has not previously been seen in the area. We investigated the registration number on the aircraft and found it to be bogus. This could belong to the person of interest that Amber mentioned.”
“So it checks out?” asked Chad.
“It’s the intel business, Capt Strickland,” said Nixon patiently. “Nothing ever ‘checks out.’ It does seem to support that conclusion though. I would look to your defenses. We can’t as yet provide an extraction or even air support. We will keep you abreast of what intel we have, however, be advised our drone capacity is limited and needed in many places.”
“I get that and we appreciate all the help to this point,” said Chad. “We are probably going to leave this area very soon. It’s not all that defensible being out here on the prairie and the people here don’t need that exposure. We are concerned that the community we are headed for, Moscow, may not want us, even though my brother is there, if we don’t come with the supplies the truck can carry.