Another clearing of his throat followed. “Stage four, as far as we know, seems to be characterized by the infected person losing all control of rational, ethical, or moral self-control. They also exhibit a high resistance to bodily injury—check that—they exhibit a high resistance to the typical effects of bodily injury. For instance, a non-infected person might fall and break their leg. For a lot of people, that type of injury might rapidly progress to shock. Once someone becomes infected, it doesn’t seem like their body reacts the same way. They still would have a broken leg, but they either don’t feel the discomfort of that injury, or their body or mind somehow ignores the typical effects associated with it. So, to sum it up, stage one, the initial infection and beginning of the fever symptom. Stage two is the high, spiking fever, followed by paling of the skin. If the victim survives the ‘system shock’ if you will, of stage two, then stage three seems to be characterized by blood pooling in the eyes and most probably other systemic changes that we cannot visibly observe. Stage four is when they become active ‘infected.’ We have also noted a distinct lack of bowel control in stage four victims. They appear to be continually processing waste material through their digestive system, but conscious control of the sphincter muscle seems to be absent. I’m sorry, but that’s all we really have to go on. Questions?”
“You said that this affects different people in different ways. What exactly did you mean by that?”
“Yes,” Doc rubbed his eyes as he answered, “as all of you know, there appears to be a more than one ‘version’ if you will, of a stage four infected. It seems that the most common type that we’ve encountered is characterized by red eyes. For reasons that I am medically unable to explain, others have been reported with a yellowish, or jaundiced cast in their eyes. These seem to be affected, or perhaps ‘infected’ differently. For lack of a better term, we have been referring to them as ferals. Through whatever process is at work here, they somehow seem to operate on a greatly enhanced adrenaline high.” Doc paused and looked around the room. When no one voiced an interjection, he pointed towards Sam. “Trooper Ironfeather has even reported the sighting of an infected lady with entirely black eyes. I am again at a loss to medically explain that symptom.”
“So how do we protect ourselves? I mean, how do we keep from becoming one of those things?”
“Again, I can only speak in generalities since we’re not entirely sure what we’re dealing with, but the transmission of pathogens requires certain conditions. Take, for example, the common cold that we’re all familiar with. It can be spread by coughing, in which case tiny particles of the virus are spewed in an area in front of the coughing host. Those particles are attached to microscopic droplets of liquid—saliva, expelled mucus and whatnot—that are then inhaled by an additional person or persons in the area. Or maybe the host covers their mouth when they cough. Then three minutes later they shake the hand of an old friend they haven’t seen in a while. That friend chats with them for a few minutes, and then takes out a cigarette and puts it in his mouth, along with the infected material that was transferred with the handshake. In any event, once the initial contamination happens, a wide variety of factors now influence whether or not that person becomes sick. This is, of course, a very basic level explanation of how a pathogen might be spread. Like I said, we don’t know what is causing the sickness, but no matter what, all the standard precautions for good hygiene should still reduce your risk of exposure. A great rule of thumb to remember is this; ‘if it’s wet, and not yours, don’t touch it.’ Another thing to focus on is the use of barriers and protective equipment—like latex or nitrile gloves—wherever possible.”
“Yeah, that’s all well and good, but what if somebody in this room is already sick? How do we protect ourselves from that?”
“The best advice I can give you is still the same advice that you’ve been hearing all your lives. Wash your hands. Use soap. Avoid unnecessary physical contact with people who are showing signs of infection. Use hand sanitizer—there’s plenty of it that we brought down at supper time. Just don’t waste it. Any other questions?”
A brief silence drifted across the room before a slightly chubby, balding black man stood. “I got one. We’ve been here for a few days already. In that time we had that lady who killed herself with pills, and them infected kids that you had to shoot in here. Even that little one in the sleeping bag. There’s already been blood spilled and mopped up in this very room. What’s to say that some of us won’t come down with this sickness in an hour, or maybe in the middle of the night when most of us are sleeping. What then?”
“I’m not sure that I understand your question,” Doc replied.
The man’s tone shot up several notches and he pointed a thick finger toward Doc. “What I’m asking is what do we do if someone comes down sick. Do we throw them outside? Do we shoot them? Do we give them a chance to leave?”
“That’s part of what we have to figure out tonight,” Doc answered with a shake of his head. No more hands were raised, so he turned and glanced at Eric.
Eric returned the look, and then walked toward the table, passing Michelle along the way who was taking over as door guard.
“I just have a couple of things, and then I’ll turn it over to Walter. Several of you have asked me to clarify some of my statements from earlier. I’ll do my best. Others of you may be under the misimpression about certain facts of life. I hope to clear those up as well. The first thing, the main thing, that I want you to understand is that we are all here as guests. None of us are owed anything by Mr. Sheldon. It is only through the generosity he and his wife have shown that we have even eaten in the past few days. It is true that Mr. Sheldon has put away a few supplies for a rainy day. Those supplies are rapidly diminishing. By my count we have over sixty people currently at the marina. I want you to think about your own house or apartment. How long could you feed sixty people with the food at your house? I’m guessing not even once. I know I couldn’t. So what I’m trying to say is that we all need to be grateful for what we’ve been given—let me say that word again—‘given’ so far.”
There were several nods of agreement from the gathered crowd, as well as an abundance of voiced “thank you’s” directed toward Walter.
Eric scanned the crowd slowly, trying to meet everybody’s eyes before continuing. “There is no way for me to make the next topic easy, but I’ve got to put it on the table, because your answers are going to greatly influence what happens—or doesn’t happen—in the very near future. We need to know how many of you are missing family and friends from the campground.”
A huge wave of hands, accompanied by several voices rose from the crowd.
“OK, wait a minute,” Eric said as he stepped to the very front of the assembly, “let me clarify this. I’m asking you to do something incredibly hard. I’m asking you to not think with your heart. I’m asking you to be honest and fair, because regardless of what has already happened, if we decide to go back to the campground, more lives will be at risk. So please, hear me out. I realize that almost everybody in here has suffered some type of loss. I’m sorry for that. But you need to recognize that any attempt to return to the campground on a rescue mission will be geared explicitly toward non-infected people. Not property, not money or jewelry from your camper, not your car . . . whatever. We’d be there for non-infected people only. We would not attempt to rescue or capture anybody who showed signs of being sick in the hope that at some point they may get better or be cured. On the contrary, should any rescue attempt be made, it is highly likely that we would have to deal violently with the infected, which again would put any rescuers in a dangerous situation. So what I . . . what ‘we’ need to know is pretty simple. I would like everybody who was at the campground to raise your hand IF you are currently missing a family member or friend.”
Almost everybody’s hand went in the air.
Eric nodded. “OK, put your hands down for a moment. I know we have some family groups here, so please just
designate one person in your family group to raise their hand as we do this.”
The crowd shuffled and murmured, and then Eric asked the same question. This time, twenty-six hands raised skyward.
“Keep your hands up. Now, to those of you with your hands in the air, if the person or persons who are missing from your family . . . if you know that they were injured by someone who was infected, or if you have a strong reason to believe that may be the case, please lower your hands.”
Several muttered sobs mixed with a few curses as the crowd weighed Eric’s words. After a few moments, three more hands went down. Another thirty seconds dropped two more.
Sam cleared his throat and stepped from the corner toward the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me interject something here. The likelihood of anybody at the campground remaining alive and uninfected at this point is slim. We all know this. I know it’s hard to let go of hope, and I don’t blame you for grasping tightly to every potential straw. But you need to realize that any journey back to the campground is going to be extremely risky, even for heavily armed and prepared rescuers. So please, if you know your loved one was injured, put your hand down. Maybe they bought your freedom and safety through a personal sacrifice. If so, honor their memory by putting your hand down. Don’t make us risk our lives needlessly. Please.”
A bearded man wearing a pair of denim overalls raised his hand as he spoke. “What if we don’t have any personal knowledge about what happened to our friend? Like my buddy Shep. We was both staying in his popup at the end of Blue Heron, but I was up near the office when everything went bad. So I guess I honestly have no idea if he’s hurt, dead, or one of them things. For all I know, he could be sleeping off a three day bender on the floor of the popup.”
Sam and Eric looked at each other, and then Eric addressed the man. “If you honestly have no personal knowledge, then put your hand in the air.” Turning to meet individual faces in the crowd, he continued. “Please understand, we’re not looking for reasons NOT to go to the campground. We’re looking for reasons to justify the risk of returning.”
Sam spoke again. “So how many of you are missing a loved one or friend from the campground, and honestly have no knowledge or reason to believe they might be injured, deceased, or infected?” Thirteen hands silently rose. Lucky thirteen.
“This is a pile of horse shit.” Short blond hair and the remains of hastily applied mascara decorated the face of the lady who stood up as she spoke. She was immediately accompanied by another man with a crew cut and a scowl. “Don’t you people realize what’s really happening here?” She twisted to face the crowd as she continued, “They have no intention of going back to the campground. There will be no food, or gasoline, or guns. None for us, anyhow. It will all be saved for the lucky few up at the house. And let me tell you, it’s up there. You all know it.”
The man with a crew cut jumped right in. “We’ve got room in our car for two, maybe three more people. We’ve got a half tank of gas, and that should get us anywhere we need to go. We’re not staying here to be used as bait. We’re leaving at first light.”
“Where the hell are you going to go?” The interjection was shouted from the back corner by a lanky, middle-aged Asian man who was cradling a shotgun. “You all know that the reason most of us ended up at the campground in the first place was because the roads were blocked in every direction. We were basically funneled there. Do you think anything has gotten better? I don’t.”
At that, the room exploded into shouts and arguments. A multitude of pushing and shoving, as well as numerous incidents of hair pulling, cat fights, and punching matches erupted across the floor.
Eric leaned his back against the wall and sighed as the chaos ebbed and flowed. A sweep of his eyes around the store showed that Michelle was arguing with a trio of men. He couldn’t make out what was being said that over the din, but he did recognize the look on her face, and momentarily grinned inside with the knowledge that they were about to get their asses handed to them. Crowbar Mike was trying to separate several combatants near the divider curtain, and Preacher Dave was shouting for calm to anyone who would listen. Further to the right, Walter was speaking to Leonard, and his equally rotund wife Glenda. All of them were shaking their heads and gesturing in exasperation. A final shift of Eric’s eyes stopped at Doc and Callie. They were apparently in their own little world, even with the disruptions going on around them. Callie was pointing to her tablet, and then motioning toward the pile of medical forms that Doc Collins was rapidly thumbing through. After a moment, Doc picked up the little GMRS walkie-talkie, fumbled with some of the controls, and then spoke into it. When he had finished, he held it up to his ear with his right hand. Eric couldn’t hear any of the reply, but he noted with interest the rapid head bobbing and pointing that took place between Doc and Callie after whatever response had come through.
The crowd was beginning to settle, and after a few more moments of conflict and arguments, Dave managed to get everybody more or less seated and listening. “Please, ladies and gentlemen, let’s just try and come together. There’s still more that needs to be said and discussed tonight, and it’s already getting late.”
Sam motioned for Michelle to join him near the table, and Mike took over at the door. After she wormed her way through the crowd Sam spoke, “I think everybody here needs to get a few things straight in their head. We don’t know for sure if we’re going to go back to the campground. Ever. I know that some of you have only stayed because of that possibility. Regardless of what happens, we need to be focused on tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. Something has happened to our world, and we can’t just sit here and wait for the food to run out.”
“Says one of the people that stays in the house up on the hill with all the food, electricity, and weapons.” Michelle recognized the speaker as Diane, the lady she’d briefly met earlier that evening in Walter’s driveway. “And besides,” she sneered, “just who is it that’s going to decide whether or not a rescue mission is going to happen? I highly doubt if we’ll even have a vote.”
With that the crowd broke down again, and it took almost ten minutes before they settled enough to continue. Leonard took over as door guard, and Crowbar Mike joined with Eric, Sam and Michelle at the table. Michelle took the floor. “Before we go any further, I’d like to address Diane’s question. The people who ultimately decide whether or not we’re going back to Ravenwood will be the people whose lives will be on the line if an attempt is made. So yes, you’ll have a vote. And yes, your vote will matter. But no, you will not have the final say.”
“And what then?” Diane continued. “Whether or not a rescue mission is attempted, what are the rest of us suppose to do? Where are we supposed to go?” How are we supposed to get there?”
The plastic haired man stood and cleared his throat. The glossy finish of a bolt action rifle slung across to his back caught the lantern’s light as he turned to face Eric and Sam. “Before you start deciding how you’re going to drum us out into the cold, there are a couple of things I’d like to say. There are also a few questions that I think everybody here is entitled to hear answered.”
“Mr. Simpson, correct?” Eric asked.
“Thomas Simpson. And you’re Coleman, correct?”
“I’m WCO Eric Coleman.”
“Yes, another member of the fish police. Lovely.” Eric kept his face neutral, but he was certain that his eyes reflected increased amounts of distaste as he waited.
“You,” he pointed to Eric, “said earlier tonight that anybody was welcome to go at any time they wanted, as long as their departure didn’t bother anybody else, correct? And in case you don’t remember, that was said right around the time that you threatened to kill me.”
Eric ignored the poke. “No, what I said was that anybody was free to leave at any time they wanted as long as their departure didn’t put anyone at risk. In other words, if you, Mr. Simpson, wanted to leave right now, by all means hit the door. But just bec
ause you might choose to leave now, that doesn’t mean that I’m going to put myself in danger by guarding you as you walked to your RV. On the other hand, if several families want to depart at noon tomorrow, for example, we’d do our best to accommodate their time frame and attempt some form of protection.”
“Well, speaking of departure, as many of you know I had volunteered the use of my RV to serve in the capacity of a guard post. It had almost a full tank of fuel at the beginning. Now, however, due to the extended duty it has served, I have less than a quarter of a tank remaining. Mr. Sheldon distributed fuel, from a rather large supply of barrels I might add, but now we are apparently being cut off and left on our own with no hope of a resupply. And not just me, but everybody. I think it’s pretty convenient that the lords of the manor got the protection that we provided for the past few days, but now we’re being turned away with less than zero. No fuel, no food, no water. Not even a pat on the back. Just a swift kick in the ass.”
Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending Page 20