by Mark Rounds
Chapter 10
June 7th, Sunday, 12:07 am PDT
University of Idaho Campus, Moscow ID
The briefing and the follow-up meeting with Col Antonopoulos took all morning. Chad was finally released from official duties for a bit and he had some personal business to attend to. He had had no opportunity to contact his brother Bob, a professor in Bioinformatics and the proximate cause of their arrival here.
As the Plague was beginning to gain momentum, Bob and Chad had mutually offered each other a place to go, should things get bad. There had been no communication since. As his meeting had been in the Commons, it was only a short walk to the Life Sciences building where Professor Robert Strickland, Jr. had his office.
Chad was mildly surprised to find Bob working diligently in his office cum lab but he was a great deal more surprised to find him staring intently at one of the several functional computer monitors in his office. He looked perhaps a little thinner than Chad remembered him and appeared somewhat younger than his sixty years. He was a slightly built, balding academic who dressed comfortably in jeans and sweaters and was well known for being slightly absent-minded.
“Hey, Bob,” said Chad, “what are you working on there?”
“Hi, Chad,” said Bob without looking up. “I had heard that you arrived, but I am apparently not high enough in the pecking order to attend your meetings. As to what I am working on, you might actually find it interesting. I have been working with a couple of biologists and a chemist to try and map the various biological and biochemical states that the sufferers of the so-called ‘Zombie Plague’ go through. The results are preliminary but we think we have some insight into some palliative treatments that might help alleviate some of the symptoms.”
“That sounds great,” said Chad, “but where are you getting electrical power? The Navy ROTC Commander says there is almost none locally.”
“Oh that,” said Bob dismissively. “There is quite a bit of rapeseed grown around here. The oil from the seed is called Canola commonly, and the research for biodiesel based on rapeseed oil was done here at the university. One of the prototype engines is running a generator. It’s small scale, but there is enough power for research purposes. We don’t use it for anything like lights or heat or such, but two hours a day, we get electrical power to charge laptops and run lab equipment. It limits our research, but we continue.”
“Does the Navy know about this?” asked Chad.
“Why would they care?” asked Bob, who was genuinely incredulous.
“Well,” said Chad searching for the right words, “they have no radios, no computers, and their technology is pretty weak. This could help them. But I didn’t really come here to talk about work, so … how is it going?”
“Fine,” said Bob trying to refocus. “I have a bright group of grad students. We’re doing some really interesting stuff. Thanks to your warning and some other things, we have stayed relatively intact as a research unit.”
The silence stretched out for a couple of minutes, with both of the brothers groping for words. Finally Bob spoke up.
“So … how are the kids?”
“Connor is in the hospital,” said Chad. “He was shot a couple times getting here but he is going to be OK. Fiona is fine as is Mary … say look; do we always have to talk this way?”
“What way?” asked Bob.
“The world is quickly falling apart and we are making small talk,” said Chad. “Damn it, I guess what I am trying to say is that I am glad you are alive.”
“Um … yeah, me too,” said Bob after a bit. “I guess growing up so far apart in age didn’t give us that much in common. I did worry some though.”
“Yeah, me too,” said Chad.
“So, without seeming indelicate,” said Bob, “what are you doing here, in a uniform and a captain’s uniform at that? The pictures mom sent me showed you with stripes on your sleeve when you were in the Air Force?”
“Well, it’s a long story,” said Chad, “but basically, I am here representing the U.S. Government. Officially, it’s to monitor the Plague sufferers in the region but it’s the first step to bringing things back to something like normal.”
“Cool,” said Bob, “so where have they put you up? Mom would have wanted me to ask that.”
“They have given us some rooms in the dorms not far from here,” said Chad. “We have to lug water to flush toilets and there are no lights but they’re comfortable enough for now. I do have several pallets of stuff sitting out on the ball field under guard, along with a bunch of Uncle Sam’s stuff. I need to work on storing it somewhere. Things have been moving pretty fast.”
“I think I can help with that,” said Bob. “We aren’t teaching classes for the foreseeable future. There is a bunch of unused classroom space. We could see about moving it there. It would probably be easier to secure too. Let’s see about getting you some student help to get it moved. We have more than four hundred students on campus with nowhere to go. Some are in the militia, but many more are just eating at the cafeteria and waiting in their rooms for thing to get back to normal. There have been some discipline problems and a couple of rape charges. We really need to get them out doing something. The Faculty Senate has passed a couple of resolutions but they don’t change much. If you have something to pay them in, I can probably get as many as you want.”
“We probably have some trade goods that would work,” said Chad thoughtfully. “Who do we talk to about requisitioning the space?”
“I know a guy,” said Bob, smiling.
June 7th, Sunday, 1:46 pm PDT
University of Idaho Campus, Moscow ID
Mary, Heather, Amber, and the kids had spent the night in the dorm rooms. In the morning, they were escorted by two young militiamen, along with the Hammer and Ace, to the Wallace Complex for breakfast, which included pancakes with local honey, some cherries, and a weak tea. They took the kids back to their rooms but the walls soon closed in and since it was a bright late spring day, they got everyone outside. There were perhaps fifty college-age students on the lawn playing a desultory game of ultimate Frisbee, and more around the edges of the field lounging, or playing catch, but at least it had the semblance of being normal. After a while, a female student shyly edged over to where they were sitting and began to speak to Amy as she was the closest to her age.
“Hi, my name is Elizabeth,” said the thin, blued eyed girl, with light brown hair. She was dressed in a tank top and shorts and had been lying in the sun when they walked up.
“My friends call me Lizzy,” she continued. “You guys are new here. Where did you come from?”
Amy looked hesitantly at Mary, who smiled and relaxed a little.
“We came from the Tri-Cities,” said Amy.
“My parents are divorced,” said Lizzy, “but my mom lives there. Do you know Shelly Wolfe?”
“I am afraid not,” said Amy. “Where did she live?”
“In Pasco,” said Lizzy. “She worked for a law office there. I haven’t heard anything for a while and just wondered …”
“I wish I could help,” said Amy sadly.
“It’s OK,” said Lizzy. “We didn’t get along all that well anyway. I just wondered. So you guys came in on an Army helicopter?”
“Yeah,” said Amy. “It was scary.”
“You shouldn’t be talking to her,” said a large young man who suddenly appeared and slapped Lizzy hard. He wore a Vandals t-shirt cut strategically to show off his muscles and gym shorts. He also had a Bowie knife at his hip.
“Sorry Eric,” mumbled Lizzy as she turned away with blood on her face.
“You shouldn’t do that,” said the Hammer who got up from the grass and put himself between Amy and Eric. Amber moved to the Hammer’s weak side and put her hand on, but did not draw her pistol. Mary did draw her pistol and Heather gathered up the kids.
“Stay out of it, light ass,” said Eric, turning to face the Hammer, “or I’ll cut you.”
“With that?” sai
d the Hammer, pointing at the knife at Eric’s waist with his hammer. “It’s got rust on the blade and the balance is off. You would be more likely to drop it than cut me.”
“So you think you’re a bad ass, huh?” said Eric as he drew his knife, or rather as he tried to draw his knife, because as soon as it cleared leather, the Hammer flicked his wrist and rapped Eric hard on the knuckles of his knife hand with his hammer, loosening his grip. Predictably the knife went flying.
“Hey …” said Eric.
“Push it and I’ll tap you right between the eyes,” said the Hammer evenly.
“Maybe you better be careful,” said another young man brandishing a homemade club with spikes, “Eric is a friend of mine.”
Ace, who had been quietly working his way around the edge of the confrontation, stepped in behind the latecomer and pulled his Taurus .45 and gently tapped him on the shoulder with the pistol being held well back.
“And the Hammer is a friend of mine,” said Ace. “Why don’t we just end this passion play nice and easy?”
“You guys think you’re pretty hot shit, do ya?” said Eric backing away from the Hammer. Several other young men began to gather, most had homemade weapons, but at least one had a pistol. The crowd was growing.
“It’s time you found out who runs things over here in the dorms,” said Eric, who was feeling more confident as his followers began to collect. “The faculty doesn’t do nothin.’ We gotta clean up, cook meals and everything. Since we ain’t doin the work, that just leaves you. Besides, I’m kinda partial to MILF’s.”
Eric leered at Heather and Mary, who had the kids bunched up, and both had pistols out as did Fiona.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” asked Ace, holding his .45 for everyone to see. “You seem to be a bit outgunned.”
“We’ve had that problem before,” said Eric smiling. “We’ll rush you, and you’ll get one or two of us. The rest of us will just smother you.”
The crowd had been growing and now there were at least fifty college age men slowing moving toward the Hammer and his friends, plus another twenty or so that were just watching.
“Back off!” said Ace as he fired a round into the air.
“That don’t scare us …” said Eric, but he was interrupted by the report of the .357 magnum pistol in Mary’s hand. It hit Eric square in the chest and he looked down for a second in disbelief, then slowly slid to the ground.
“Who wants to be next?” asked Mary, forcefully pointing the weapon at the crowd. “I’ve got five more and I’ll use them all before I let you get close to me and my kids!”
June 7th, Sunday, 1:49 pm PDT
University of Idaho Campus, Moscow ID
Sayla was lying in his bed in the dormitory. The bed was too short for him but he made do. The interrogation had lasted almost until dawn. With Amber’s support he had told them everything he knew, and now they were letting him rest. One of the benefits of the Plague was that he needed much less sleep than he used to, so a couple of hours had brought him back to full wakefulness. Also courtesy of the Plague, his foot was largely healed and the pellet wounds from Mary’s shotgun were not paining him in the slightest. He had looked at his finger and to even his astonishment, it appeared to be slowly growing back, though it was quite tender to the touch. He was unbound but still under guard.
Outside his room, Chris Vaughn, who had been checked out by the doctor and released to light-duty, was sitting in a chair with his Remington 870 pump across his lap. He was bored and daydreaming about maybe making a life with Amber in Moscow when he heard one gunshot followed by another and then some shouting.
Chris was instantly wide awake and scanning the area. Just then, Sayla’s door burst open and Chris pointed the shotgun at his chest.
“Rest easy, friend,” said Chris.
“She is in danger!” said Sayla forcefully. “Give me a weapon!”
Chris looked him in the eye. Amber said she could see into his mind a little and said Sayla was trustworthy. He thought for a split second and then reached back behind his chair. He didn’t have second firearm but he did have Sayla’s knife. It was Randall Model 12 Raymond Thorpe Bowie Knife in a custom leather sheath. The blade was over a foot long and sharp as a razor.
“Here you go, Chief,” said Chris as he tossed it toward Sayla, who caught the knife handily in midair. It was out of the sheath and a tenth of an inch from Chris’s nose before he could blink.
“Don’t you ever call me that again,” said Sayla with steel in his voice, his dark eyes boring into Chris’s skull.
Just as fast as the knife was out, it and Sayla were gone. You could hear him pounding down the steps toward the growing riot in front of the dorm.
Chris followed as fast as he was able, though his wound still pained him. He was only ten or fifteen seconds behind Sayla but what he saw when he got to the door stopped him cold.
Ace, the Hammer, and Sayla formed a rough semi-circle around Mary, Amber, Heather and the kids who had backed up to the side of the dorm. In front of them there were four young men down in a heap and several more were nursing large gashes on various parts of their body. There was blood on Sayla’s knife and the Hammer’s weapon and they were in the middle of a Mexican standoff. Neither side was willing to back down. The smell of fear was palpable in the air. Chris’s training took over and he pushed himself into the void between the two sides.
“I am Sergeant Chris Vaughn of the Washington Highway Patrol,” shouted Chris in his best command voice. “This is over! Everyone stand down and back off.”
He kept the shotgun at his shoulder and didn’t point it anyone in particular but managed to menace everyone.
“They started it!” said a long-haired young man who looked unmarked. “We were just trying to talk to them!”
“There will be a full investigation!” said Chris, “but right now, anyone who does not immediately go back to their quarters will be under arrest!”
People were milling around uncertainly. Some were edging forward and others were trying to exit. Sayla’s and Chris entrance had upped the ante, but some were still weighing the cost of this battle.
“It’s him!” shouted Amber, pointing to the long-haired spokesman. “He’s infected!”
June 7th, Sunday, 1:54 pm PDT
University of Idaho Campus, Moscow ID
Chad was just sitting down at a conference table with Bob and Jon Quinn, the director of facilities to discuss what kind of space and security requirements were going to be required for Chad’s team when the meeting was interrupted by the sound of gunfire coming from the direction of the dorms. Chad was up and running before the rest of the attendees of the meeting had even registered that what they had heard was in fact gunfire.
He ran down the back steps and headed toward the sounds of a growing mob at full speed, his years of daily running paying off. He cleared the corner of the Commons and could see down the long sidewalk to Theophilus Tower. It looked like a riot forming around his family! Chad began to sprint even though the distance was close to five hundred yards. There were several clashes but the rioters seemed to back off after each contact.
When he closed the distance enough to make out details, he realized that every time they closed, Sayla and the Hammer would violently respond. This wasn’t going to last long though because the crowd was growing and sooner or later they would just rush them. Chris came out of the building and began shouting, using his shotgun to emphasize his statements. Ominously, it became very quiet and all motion stopped after Amber spoke. The words were too soft to hear, but the crowd became unfocused and restive.
It was into this silence that Chad burst into the circle with his family, panting so hard that for a few seconds, he couldn’t speak.
“Chad,” said Mary as Chad gasped for air, “Amber said that man over there has the Plague. Can we have him tested?”
“PJ’s” gasped Chad, “the PJ’s have the test kits. Get one of the PJ’s here.”
“Look!�
�� said Heather, “that guy is running!”
“Stop him,” shouted Chris, but all the students began to melt away. Into that vacuum ran Sayla. He was incredibly fast and covered the distance in seconds, grasping the fleeing student by the collar and lifting him bodily in the air.
“Don’t hurt him, Sayla!” shouted Chad. “I need to ask him a few questions.”
Sayla nodded and was content to just shake him each time he tried to move.
“OK,” said Chad, “What happened?”
“It was me,” said Amy, “I tried to talk to that girl Lizzy over there. I got her in trouble.”
“It wasn’t you,” said Lizzy with some feeling. “Eric and his friends were running the dorms like some sort of a … whorehouse! All the girls were slaves and sex toys and worse. All the boys who weren’t part of their group or tried to stand up to them got beaten until they caved in. They used them to do all the work … sometimes they raped them too.”
“Did you tell anyone?” asked Mary.
“Lots of people,” said Lizzy. “But there are only eight cops left for the whole town and they are stretched pretty thin. We talked to the faculty and they passed a resolution in Faculty Senate but nothing happened. Some of the boys joined the militia and they started to ask questions but a couple of them disappeared.”
“Chad, we need to do something,” said Mary, obviously outraged. “This cannot stand!”
Sergeant Rausch and the two of PJ’s who were guarding the gear arrived at that moment. The addition of that many armed and uniformed men took the fight out of the mob. Some were attempting to run, but seeing real authority figures that were, for the first time, starting to give a damn, some of the mob made sure that certain individuals were repeatedly tripped and even held down.
“Sergeant Rausch,” said Chad, who was now only red in the face from exertion, “please have one of the PJ’s do a Plague test on the fellow Sayla is holding and then arrange to test all these students.”
A militia cavalry squad rounded the corner at the gallop, responding to the shooting. Seeing Chad’s uniform, they headed in that direction as Chad waved them over. As soon as they arrived, Chad spoke to their sergeant.