He considered something Jeff had said about Cleveland. The pilot that arrived had no idea Indianapolis was a mess because Cleveland was under a similar media blackout, and his relatives conveniently forgot to mention it or didn’t know. Shit. He knew how to determine which cities had been attacked. The solution was so simple he’d overlooked it.
Chang was back in his office and on the computer in under a minute. Thirty minutes later he had a list of cities under complete HTTP ERROR 500 (INTERNAL SERVER ERROR) lockdown.
Indianapolis, Indiana
Fort Wayne, Indiana
Cleveland, Ohio
Columbus, Ohio
Cincinnati, Ohio
Louisville, Kentucky
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Des Moines, Iowa
Minneapolis, Minnesota
St. Louis, Missouri
Detroit, Michigan
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Nashville, Tennessee
Memphis, Tennessee
The pattern was obvious. The Midwest had been hit with a coordinated attack. He needed to get out of the region as soon as possible and join the disaster response effort from the outside. Way outside. America’s heartland was about to go into lockdown, and if he stuck around for too long, he ran the risk of trying to explain his way out of a FEMA camp. No. He’d pack up the SUV with supplies and head to the airport at first light. He could be in Atlanta before noon. Same with Baltimore.
Chapter Seventeen
Jack Harper took a long sip of his second mojito of the evening, tasting Bacardi more than anything else. He scratched the top of Rudy’s neck, just behind one of his ears, causing the chocolate lab to lean into the plastic patio chair. Another sip of the drink only bolstered his growing buzz. Emma stepped through the open patio door, carrying an oversized plastic bowl of tortilla chips and a container of salsa. He held his cup up and nodded.
“I think you forgot the rum,” he said.
A nearby siren broke the early evening quiet, stopping Emma in her tracks.
“Still not strong enough for me,” she said before putting everything down on the low glass table in front of their chairs. “I’ll be right back.”
Emma disappeared into the house, presumably to get her drink—not that it would likely help the situation. His wife looked like she could use a Xanax prescription at this point. The sirens had been going nonstop since he’d returned with Rudy in the early afternoon, compounding the stress she felt after being attacked at the grocery store. He barely believed her, not that he was questioning her story. It simply didn’t jive with his personal experience.
He’d been hit with some serious bugs before, all of which either put him on permanent stakeout in the bathroom or made him feel like curling up in a ball and sleeping for an eternity. What on earth could cause someone to get ragey like that? The local news said some kind of flu outbreak had hit the city pretty hard, straining police and emergency medical response efforts. He’d fallen victim to seasonal flu a few times, which had knocked him flat on his ass. Knocking someone else on their ass had been the furthest thing from his mind. He didn’t get it.
There was some mention of rising tensions in some neighborhoods, leading to confrontations with the police and multiple arrests, which would explain the constant barrage of sirens—but not what happened to his wife. Given the incident and the neighborhood’s new background music, they decided against walking up into Broad Ripple for dinner, instead opting for a “quiet” evening in the backyard. Now he was thinking they would be better off inside, with the doors and windows closed. His wife returned with her drink and a small blue bowl, which she placed in front of him.
“Look at you with the fresh guacamole,” he said.
“The least I can do for the man that promised to make dinner.”
“I did?”
“Grilled fajitas, if I remember correctly,” she said.
“I think you just made that up,” said Jack.
“Maybe.”
She settled into the Adirondack-style chair next to him and gulped close to half of her drink. “These are kind of strong.”
“Just slightly,” he said, taking her hand. “How are you doing?”
“Better. I think,” she said, squeezing his hand back. “I’m kind of glad nobody could make it tonight. With everything going on, I could use a quiet evening.”
“Not exactly quiet,” he said, reaching for a chip.
“It can’t go on all night,” said Emma.
A barrage of yelling erupted somewhere in the neighborhood, followed a moment later by the squeal of tires. A car roared by their house, the urgent sound of its engine quickly fading down the street.
“I don’t know. Could be a long night.”
Jack wished he hadn’t said that. Emma had started to ease up a little after sitting down. Now she looked as stiff as a statue in her chair.
“Everything will be fine, Emma,” he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
“I know. It’s just all so bizarre. Right?” she said. “Or am I just too jumpy from the most dissatisfying grocery run ever.”
“Ha! I think you’re understandably jumpy after that,” said Jack, pausing to take a sip of his 80 proof cocktail. “And the situation out there is pretty damn bizarre.”
“Do you think we should leave for a couple of days?” she said before shaking her head. “Sorry. I’m overreacting.”
“It’s not out of the realm of possibilities, but things would have to get pretty bad for us to leave,” he said. “Where would you want to go? Another cruise?”
She laughed. “I was just thinking we’d scoot up to your parents’ house, but I’m not opposed to a cruise—or a trip to Vegas.”
“Don’t tempt me. I’m always up for Vegas,” he said. “Though I’m not sure how we’d manage to take more time off after being gone from NevoTech for close to two weeks.”
“I’m sure we’re fine right here,” she said unconvincingly.
“We’ll keep the option open,” said Jack. “We can be up at my parents’ place in a few hours.”
“They didn’t have any of this going on up there?” said Emma. “If it’s a seasonal flu thing, it should be everywhere.”
“Not that I could tell. They certainly didn’t mention anything,” said Jack. “I didn’t hear any sirens.”
“Maybe you should call them. See if they’ve heard anything? They watch the news religiously.”
“Right now?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t mind. I’ll even start chopping up veggies for the fajitas.”
“Sounds like a fair trade,” he said before pulling his phone out of his pocket.
Emma munched on a few chips and finished her drink while he dialed his mother’s mobile number and waited. She picked up right before he was about to hang up and try the home phone.
“Hi, Jack,” she said. “Miss us already?”
“Very funny, Mom. I wanted to ask you something.”
“Do I need to take you off speakerphone?” she said.
“Hey, son,” said his dad. “Plotting my demise again?”
“I was raised by two comedians,” said Jack. “Except I don’t remember the two of you being this funny when I was a kid.”
“We were under a lot of strain trying to boot the three of you out the door,” said his mom. “I meant to say ‘trying to raise you to be responsible young adults.’”
He turned to Emma, who had started toward the patio door. “I swear they’re like two completely different people after retirement.”
She smirked and shook her head.
“That’s what happens when the burdens of life are lifted,” said his dad, laughing at his own joke. “Everything all right down there?”
“Yeah. I think so,” said Jack, not sure how to pose the next question without sounding crazy. “Has there been anything on the news up there about Indianapolis?”
“We never hear about Indy up here. It’s all Chicago news,” said his dad.
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“Right. Is anything odd going on in Chicago? Like a flu outbreak?” he said, pausing to take a quick drink. “We’re getting some strange reports down here, and there’s nothing but sirens in the distance. It’s been like this since I got back.”
“It’s pretty quiet up here,” said his dad.
“There was something on the news about a late season flu making the rounds on the south side of Chicago,” said his mom. “But it’s like a war zone there already.”
Before his dad could launch into a discourse about the ever-rising homicide rate in Chicago, he steered the conversation back to the flu.
“Right,” said Jack. “Did the news give any specifics?”
“Not really. Just said that the ERs are filling up pretty quickly with flu cases,” said his mom. “Is this what’s happening by you?”
“Sounds the same, but I think we’re a few days ahead of Chicago. The ERs around here stopped taking flu patients,” said Jack.
“What? Wait a minute,” said his dad. “What do you mean they stopped taking patients? When has the hospital ever stopped taking patients?”
“I don’t know, Dad, but it’s all over the news here. That’s why I asked if you’d heard anything about Indianapolis. I can’t imagine this not making the national news.”
“It didn’t, unless I completely missed it,” said his mom. “We watch a lot of news.”
“I know,” said Jack. “Well, I just wanted to check in with you. Let me know if you hear any more out of Chicago. We’re going to start watching the cable networks to see if anyone is talking about this outside of Indy.”
He waited a few seconds for a response, hearing nothing.
“Mom? Dad?”
Silence.
“What’s up?” said Emma, stepping onto the patio.
“I think they hung up on me,” said Jack.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“True.”
He touched the phone’s screen, illuminating it. CALL DISCONNECTED.
“Definitely hung up on me,” he said, redialing his parents.
The screen lingered for a moment, displaying the phone number and the word CALLING before abruptly changing to CALL FAILED. He tried again, getting the same screen.
“That’s weird,” he said. “The call failed.”
“Failed?”
He checked the cell reception indicator at the top of the screen, noticing that indicator was SEARCHING. The Wi-Fi fan had also disappeared.
“Looks like my phone dropped the network. Wi-Fi is out, too. What about yours?”
“Hold on a second. It’s inside,” she said.
Jack powered the phone down and restarted it, hoping for the best. While he waited, Emma walked out of the dark house, stopping a few steps away.
“No cell service. No Wi-Fi,” she mumbled.
“Yours too?”
“Yeah. This can’t be right. We should still have Wi-Fi,” she said. “The power is on.”
His phone finished restarting, moments later giving him the same result. He got up from the chair and started for the house.
“Do we have our landline hooked up? I can’t remember,” he said.
“I’m pretty sure we do. It was free to keep it,” said Emma. “I don’t think we have a regular phone in the house. I threw away the box with the cordless handsets last year.”
She was right. They hadn’t used the landline for close to two years. He stopped and finished the rest of his drink.
“Shit. This is probably nothing. I’ll mix up another round of slightly less potent mojitos,” he said, turning to face the glass table with their appetizers. “We’ll sit back and enjoy your guacamole before I make dinner.”
A single distant gunshot echoed off the trees, causing Emma to drop her finished drink. The thin highball glass shattered on the patio, sending pieces in every direction.
“You okay?” he said, grabbing her hand.
“Yeah. Just startled me.”
“I say we move the party inside,” he said.
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Emma. “Grab the broom and dustpan from the kitchen. I’ll keep Rudy out of the glass.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about him,” said Jack, nodding at the sleeping dog. “He looks pretty comfortable.”
“Not a care in the world,” she added. “Must be nice.”
“I’ll grab the broom and pan,” he said. “Are you good being out here by yourself?”
“I’m fine,” she said, letting go of his hand. “It’s not like the neighborhood has gone crazy. That’s not the first gunshot we’ve ever heard. This is Indianapolis.”
Inside the house, Jack took a quick detour through the family room to check on something. He turned on the flat-screen television and cable box, making sure the TV was set to cable. NO INPUT. Exactly what he didn’t want to see. How could the cable be down, too? Before returning to the kitchen, he made sure the front door was locked and that the garage bay was closed. With no Internet, cable TV or phones, he was pretty sure the neighborhood would see some crazy tonight.
Chapter Eighteen
David Olson slowed the Ford Interceptor SUV as they approached Maidenfield Road, where the 911 call had originated. If his partner spotted a crowd on the street, they’d approach from a different direction or abandon the call altogether. Westfield police officers had been attacked twice tonight responding to calls, which the department now strongly suspected to have been fake 911 emergencies. Both attacks had led to gunfights with multiple citizens situated in different houses, requiring backup units to extract the ambushed officers.
By this point, both David and his partner had agreed to avoid taking any unnecessary chances. Given what they’d witnessed and experienced firsthand over the course of their shift, it was understood that simply showing up in the same neighborhood of the call posed a risk—but they still had a duty to protect the legitimate citizens of Westfield. They’d respond to calls, applying every possible caution on the approach and during whatever encounter unfolded.
“This is Maidenfield coming up on the right,” said David.
His partner, Robert Bower, leaned forward and craned his head to get an advance peek at the unfolding scene. He’d known Bower for a number of years and felt comfortable riding with him in the patrol vehicle. He hoped Bower felt the same about him. Neither of them had ever been on a two-officer patrol before today.
“Can you point the light across the hood?” said Bower.
“Yep,” said David, using his left hand to position the light.
“That should work,” said Bower. “I can already see someone standing in the middle of a yard. More than one person.”
David stopped the car at the intersection and triggered the light, adjusting it until Bower told him to stop.
“I have three adult males and one female adult. Nothing suspicious or aggressive about their posture or response to the light. What do you think?”
Two of them pointed at the house next door, which didn’t look any different than the rest of the homes on the tightly spaced block. Porch light on. Lights on inside. Door shut. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.
“The neighbors look legit?” said David.
“Look normal enough from this distance, but they could be packing Uzis for all I know.”
“Nobody uses an Uzi anymore. You’re a few decades off,” said David.
Bower laughed. “Yeah. Miami Vice days. Now they dual wield Glock 19s with extended mags.” He’d seen his son do this playing a video game.
“Call of Duty,” said David. “My son used to play it.”
“My two boys still do. I’ve tried to explain to them how it’s not possible to fire two automatic pistols at the same time and hit anything, but they don’t seem convinced,” said Bower, getting serious again. “The two ambushes occurred on empty streets. This feels legit enough to check out. You concur?”
He took one more look at the street, not seeing any reason to disagree.
Bower clicked the radio transmitter attached to his tactical vest. “Unit Eight approaching four one five on Maidenfield.”
Dispatch responded briefly. “Copy, Eight.”
A few moments later, they pulled up to the address given to them by dispatch. The people started to move in the direction of the patrol vehicle, but Bower kindly asked them over the Interceptor’s megaphone to stay put. They complied, which was a good start to the call.
“You do the honors,” said Bower. “I’ll cover you.”
Bower raised the M4 rifle off his lap, keeping it below the line of the windshield or door windows.
“Yep,” said David, opening the door.
He stepped onto the curb, leaving the door open in case he needed to make a quick departure. It also gave his partner an unobstructed view of the house in question. After taking a few steps toward the neighboring yard, he activated his flashlight and directed its beam at the group waiting for him.
“Can I have you form a line and lift your shirts a few inches above your waistlines?” said David, purposefully keeping his other hand away from his pistol to avoid spooking them. “We’ve had some strange encounters tonight. I just need to do a quick visual for weapons.”
The group immediately complied with his request. Another good sign.
“Do a quick three-sixty, and we’re good to go,” said David.
He watched their waistlines closely, seeing nothing that concerned him.
“Sorry about that. Been a strange night,” said David before deactivating his flashlight and approaching the group. “Who called 911?”
HOT ZONE: A Post-Apocalyptic Pandemic Thriller (The Zulu Virus Chronicles Book 1) Page 11