The Plague Years (Book 2): At This Hour, Lie at My Mercy All Mine Enemies

by Mark Rounds

  “Well, I’m not all that young,” said Mary who was blushing in spite of herself. “But I am Mary Strickland. My husband is Chad Strickland, an Air Force Captain who just started a station here.”

  “We had heard about that down in Lapwai,” said Johnny. “I'd like to meet him.”

  “I'll see if I can round him up, too,” said Mary. “See you at noon.”

  While they were talking with Johnny, Little Bear slipped out behind the wagon and so was in position to follow Mary and her friends as they headed back. Amber, who had been walking with Fiona, sped up and caught up to Mary and Heather.

  “Don’t look around,” said Amber quietly, “but we’re being followed.”

  “Do you know who?” ask Mary as she quelled an urge to sweep the area. “Where is Sayla?”

  “I don't know who, but I can feel him,” said Amber. “I think he might be in remission. I know Sayla is close, but I can’t see him either. I think he is hunting our stalker.”

  “Ok,” said Mary, resting her hand on her Ruger .357. “Let’s stay out in the open, in the middle of Sixth Street all the way through campus until we get to the green. Then we will walk right down the middle toward the Tower. If he has plans, we will have some warning. That will also give Sayla more time to do whatever it is he is trying to do.”

  The happy stroll suddenly became a nightmare with Mary imaging bogey men jumping out from behind every bush and corner. They could never see who was following them, but both times Mary caught Amber's eye, she shook her head slightly, letting her know that he wasn't gone.

  The children sensed the serious mood of their mothers, became quiet, and clustered close. The walk seemed to take hours, but in reality, they were near the Towers in less than ten minutes. As they neared the back door of the dormitory that was now their home, a sense of relief flooded Mary. Maybe they could make it home and then have the Hammer and Ace to help protect them.

  Then, to her horror, the small Native American who had been with Johnny Comes At Night, stepped out of their doorway and began walking toward them purposefully. Mary was in the act of drawing her pistol when they saw Sayla appear from behind the ornamental shrubs around the base of the Tower and cover the distance between him and the smaller man in an instant, his enormous knife in his right hand. The small man whirled around at the last second to see Sayla's knife a quarter inch from his nose.

  “Getting slow, old man?” said Sayla quietly.

  “You were always faster than I was,” said the smaller man. “I would say I am glad you lived, but with what Nergüi must have done to your mind, all I can say is I am sorry.”

  “That is pitifully little,” said Sayla disdainfully. “But you never show yourself, not you, the Ghost Who Walks, unless there is a reason. Tell me that reason and maybe I'll let you live.”

  “I have a message for your Master,” said Little Bear.

  “He has no master!” said Amber forcefully.

  “You support him,” said Little Bear. “If you die, so does he, so he will be with you as long as he lives. If not master, then what?”

  “Friend,” said Amber quietly.

  “And if Nergüi comes?” asked Little Bear with a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “You do know of Nergüi, don't you?”

  “I have told her,” said Sayla. “But stop talking and let her mind speak to yours. She is strong, stronger than you, stronger than Nergüi perhaps.”

  “Not if he can get to her soon,” said Little Bear, retreating a little. “That is why I am here. There are Others who would aid her.”

  “Who would aide me?” said Amber, taking control of the conversation. “Stop talking to me like I am a piece of meat. Who would aid me?”

  “They are just called the Others,” said Little Bear turning to face Amber. “They are all very old, but they think you might be strong enough that, with training, you could be of use. Can we go inside? The rest of my words are not for the open air.”

  Chapter 17

  June 24th, Monday, 9:33 pm PDT

  College Hill, Pullman, WA

  Mayor Henderson sat in the living room of his family home. His wife had found it difficult to deal with the secretiveness that came with his hiding his Slash usage and the Plague from her so she had gone to visit her mother in Lewiston, Idaho, and had not returned. He made do with a housekeeper, whom he paid using food from city storage. It made doing business easier in some ways, but he was lonely most of the time now, especially like now, when he waited. He was out of Slash again. As the infection got worse and worse, he needed more. His supplier kept him on a pretty short leash. The police were not very helpful when he put pressure on them to find out who was dealing in Pullman. He was hoping for another source, anything to get him away from Phillip Masterson. The young man was rapidly becoming his puppet master.

  Henderson's reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door. Phillip strode in without being beckoned.

  “I need you to put more pressure on the police,” said Phil. “They’re digging too deep among the infected they have in custody. As their Slash runs out, some of them will squeal. We don't want that, do we?”

  “I can't stop their investigation directly,” said Henderson, “or they will suspect something. Surely you can ...”

  “No, I can't!” said Phil with some force. “They have very good security at the hospital and they are looking for me or someone like me to try and sneak some Slash in to keep these folks from talking. Put your monitors on the guard detail. They would be easy enough to sneak by or bribe.”

  “The police will suspect ...” began Henderson.

  “They will suspect nothing,” said Phillip with exasperation, “if you keep them so busy patrolling or on some other sort of wild goose chase that they can't think. Lean on them, over-task them and they will be happy to give up guard duty.”

  “But Yates is smart,” said Henderson. “He will suspect something.”

  “Leave Yates to me,” said Phillip menacingly.

  June 25th, Tuesday, 7:48 am PDT

  University of Idaho Campus, Moscow, ID

  “What have you got for me, Chad?” asked Gen Antonopoulos.

  “A couple of things, sir,” said Chad. They were communicating over the SAT phone but they were able to send some graphics, so the briefing was going better than if it had been voice only.

  “First off actually comes from my brother,” said Chad. “His research group has isolated a number of the proteins that go missing when someone is suffering from the Plague.”

  “Isn’t that what we test for?” asked Gen Antonopoulos.

  “Yes, sir,” said Chad, “but Bob’s group has a pretty complete list. They think they can biochemically induce the human body to produce those proteins, effectively masking the Plague symptoms.”

  “Is it a cure then?” asked the General hopefully.

  “No, sir,” said Chad. “We think this is what happens when someone in remission ‘supports’ a Plague sufferer. We are limited here. Bob would like to talk to Terry Grieb and his group. He thinks we could take Slash out of the picture for maintaining the infected population.”

  “Make it happen, Captain,” said Antonopoulos. “What else do you have?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Chad. “I also have another item that is potentially bigger news. We have contact with a competing organization to our adversary. Their make-up is similar and they would like to support us.”

  “So let me get this straight,” said Gen Antonopoulos’ tinny voice as it came out of the speaker of the satellite phone. “There is another group of Plague survivors, maybe as old as the people who set this in motion, and they are offering to help us?”

  “In a nutshell, sir,” said Chad. “We have had a visit by an emissary for these people. They would like to help. They are not nearly as strong as our current foes, but they have been working to undermine their strategy.”

  “A phone call a year ago would have been a better method,” said Gen Antonopoulos testily.

  “With
respect, sir,” said Chad, “would you have listened?”

  “Likely not,” said the General wryly. “So who is this emissary? How do you know he is the real deal? Why should we even listen to him?”

  “Who he is shouldn’t be discussed on the air,” said Chad guardedly. “But Sayla knows him.”

  “I don't like this,” said Antonopoulos. “This could be a trap of the first water, and I can't back you up. If I was going to run a capture op, that is the situation I would try to set up.”

  “Major Tippet said the same thing, sir,” said Chad. “In the end, it was Amber who said she could see into the messenger's mind and knew there was no falsehood in this statement.”

  “He could have been led on by these Others, could he not?” asked Gen Antonopoulos.

  “Major Tippet said that as well, sir,” said Chad. “But we are not doing so well, our side that is. I think we need to take some carefully calculated risks to swing the balance.”

  “By carefully calculated, do you mean following the impulses of a psychic and a self-admitted brainwashed Plague sufferer?” asked Gen Antonopoulos.

  “I wouldn't put it that way sir,” said Chad cautiously, “but even then, yes sir, I believe we should continue.”

  “And I suppose the plan includes no backup so as not to spook these Others, or have you finessed that?” asked Gen Antonopoulos.

  “No, sir,” admitted Chad. “We are going in pretty much alone. I will have Major Tippet, Sayla, and a couple of PJ's with me, but no other backup.”

  “So you are using Amber as bait then,” asked Gen Antonopoulos innocently.

  “Yes, sir,” said Chad.

  “How does it feel?” asked Gen Antonopoulos quietly.

  “It sucks, sir,” said Chad with some force. “It sucks because I can't figure out any clever way to protect her, so I am going with her, I don't know if it will help, but I am between a rock and a hard place.”

  “You are still human then,” said Gen Antonopoulos kindly. “We have to watch out, you and I, for losing that essential fact when we are in this business makes us no better than our adversaries. Carry on; good luck and good hunting.”

  June 25th, Tuesday, 3:38 pm PDT

  Theophilus Towers, Moscow ID

  Amy looked up from the pot she was scrubbing. Without power, all the dishes were being done by hand and sometimes, like now, when a pot of split pea soup was moved to a hot spot on the wood-fired furnace they were using to cook on, the pots and pans could get pretty crusty. After all the effort to get to Moscow, some of the Strickland party thought that things were getting a little boring. It suited Amy just fine. This was the first time since she had left home that she could sometimes forget for hours at a time the horrible way her mother died.

  She had plunged into the work that Heather and Mary were doing to keep everyone fed and healthy. Most of the college kids were a year or two older than she was, and so she was just one of the workers helping in the kitchen.

  Now though, she was worried. Amy was trying to gather up the courage to speak to the young women, Lizzy, to whom she had tried to talk on that tumultuous first day in Moscow. She had been beaten in front of Amy, who felt responsible. Lizzy was working right next to her and there was tension. Amy decided to grab the bull by the horns.

  “Hi, Lizzy,” said Amy shyly. “I wanted to apologize for getting you in trouble that first day we were here.”

  There was a clatter as the pot the Lizzy was trying to scrub clattered on the floor. She had been lost in her own thoughts and hadn't expected to be spoken to.

  “Never mind,” said Amy as she turned away. But Lizzy touched her shoulder.

  “Please don't go,” said Lizzy. “I have been avoiding you, but not for the reason you think. I am sorry about being the center of that whole mess. I almost got you killed. I should have kept my mouth shut and avoided it all.”

  “No, I ...” began Lizzy and Amy at the same time. Then the ice was broken and they both laughed a little.

  Heather, who had been watching the meeting since the pot fell, spoke up.

  “Neither of you were to blame,” said Heather. “What Eric and his friends were doing was wrong, and we would have found out quickly anyway, living in the dorm. Bringing it out into the open so quickly made it easier to prove. Mary and I saw the whole thing and then those boys made the mistake of threatening the Hammer.”

  “Yeah,” said Lizzy, thankful for the distraction. “What’s the deal with his hammer anyway?”

  “He is a first class blacksmith,” said Amy. “He makes all manner of metal things that we need.”

  “Cool,” said Lizzy. “And that other guy, Sayla they call him. Where did he come from?”

  “My friend Amber knows,” said Amy, skirting the question. She wasn't sure she believed what she had heard about Sayla being over two hundred years old either.

  “I did hear that you were going out with one of the boys in the militia?” said Amy, looking for safer ground.

  “I am,” said Lizzy with a little pride. “He is really nice and his name Daniel. He was studying Computer Science before the Plague.

  “So how about you?” asked Lizzy, “is that tall blond guy your boyfriend?”

  “Oh, Connor,” said Amy. “He’s just my friend; we have known each other since we were three.”

  “Well, you may think he is just your friend,” said Lizzy with a wink, “but the way he looks at you is like all googly eyes.”

  “Everybody says that,” said Amy. “And to tell the truth, I wouldn't mind if he was, interested but he has been such a gentleman. He;s taken care of me since my mom died, saved my life at least twice, but …”

  “Believe it, girlfriend,” said Lizzy. “He is in love. I’ve heard some of the stories. He is a badass to boot. I heard that he took on a whole flaming biker gang with just a baseball bat.”

  “It was just one biker,” said Amy, remembering the moment, “but, yeah, I guess he was a … badass. Connor, in love with me? Wow!”

  “Get back to work, you two,” said Heather with a smile.

  June 25th, Tuesday, 3:38 pm PDT

  Theophilus Tower, Moscow ID

  “Mrs. Strickland!” said Briana Fischer, “there isn't enough water to fill the buckets!”

  “What do you mean?” said Mary. “I sent you and the other girls down to the creek to get water for supper.”

  Using Paradise Creek water to cook with was the best of a bad situation. They had to let it settle and filter it. Then Mary treated it with bleach. She was still not sure how safe it was, but there was little else to use, as most of the water for the Moscow area came from deep wells. When the power stopped, so did the water flow.

  Mary ran out and looked at the creek. It was barely flowing and so low that it would have been hard to get a clean bucket of water out without taking a bunch of the sludge with it.

  “Brianna, go upstairs and get everyone you can find,” said Mary, “and get them to bring all the gardening tools. We are building a dam.”

  June 26th, Tuesday, 11:46 pm PDT

  A Farmhouse south of Helmer, ID

  It was a dark and surprisingly cold night for the end of June on the Palouse. Chad shivered in spite of the tactical vest and body armor he was wearing. He knew it wasn't just the cold. He was meeting with someone who could twist someone's mind so they could hide in plain sight. Little Bear had been almost mystical about the powers attributed to these 'Others.'

  He looked over his team. There was Amber of course, quiet and almost serene. Chris was also along. When he found out about the mission, he demanded to go. His wounds were healing well, but he was not up to full strength. Even so, Amber said he should come and that she wouldn't go without him. Standing behind then were two PJ's, both with M-4's, their only security.

  Sayla and Little Bear were also there, but Little Bear kept his own council, and Sayla was never more than two paces from Amber. Dave had planned to come as well, until he was overruled by Gen Antonopoulos who said they couldn
’t risk both intel officers on one operation, even though this was an extremely important meeting.

  They been had driven by Little Bear, using some of the precious fuel that they had brought with them from the Tri-Cities, to a rundown cabin near Helmer, Idaho. When they entered they saw an old Native American woman in a rocking chair in the corner, knitting and mumbling incoherently. Her eyes were an unfocused muddy brown and her hair was unkempt. The only light was a fire in the fireplace.

  “Shouldn't we ask her to leave?” asked Chris after they had entered the only room of the cabin. “Maybe she'll carry tales?”

  “It's her cabin,” said Little Bear. “She's Johnny Comes at Night's great aunt and not really all there. We are not as well funded as Nergüi and have to make do with what we have. Besides, it's almost midnight, just where should we send her?”

  “Point,” said Chris. “So who are we meeting anyway? This whole thing has been surrounded in shadows and whispers.”

  “I don't know,” admitted Little Bear.

  “I thought you were in contact with the 'Others,'” asked Chad, his hand resting on his .45.

  “I am, but they are very secretive,” said Little Bear. “I have contacts, but they keep identities secret, I don't see faces.”

  “So despite all the things you said back in Moscow,” said Chad, “this could be Nergüi playing some sort of deep game.”

  “Not Nergüi,” said Sayla. “I would feel him.”

  “Aren't there others, I don't know what you call them, Plague sufferers who are in remission that could be here.”

  “Yes, there are,” said Sayla.

  There was a cackle from the corner as the old woman laughed at some unspoken joke and everyone jumped in spite of themselves. Then the crone mumbled again. The language was not English, but sounded almost Asian.

  “Geez, she's making me nervous,” said Chris. “Shouldn't we have security outside or something?”

  “The Others' said not,” said Little Bear.

  “When will they be here then?” asked Chad nervously. “I don't like endangering Amber on this kind of operation. She is very important to our understanding of the Plague sufferers, and on a more personal level, she is part of our … I don't know … call it family. I shouldn't have brought her. If they don't show up in ten minutes, I am scrubbing this. We are too exposed.”