Dark Land: An Apocalyptic Novel

by William Zeranski

  The road continued up a rise, and soon the trees fell away on both sides. At the crest of the slope where the road cut through a ridge, a portion of the interstate came into view. A pair of parallel bridges and the entry and exit ramps were a few hundred yards off in the middle of unbroken flatland. Intermittently cars, trucks and tractor trailers clogged the seemly ancient roadway, which now led nowhere.

  A crack of a rifle shot shattered the calm.

  I turned sharply to Mr. Hansel.

  “Sorry, guys” he said, lowering his rifle. “I couldn’t help myself.” With the nod of his head, he directed our gaze to the carcass of a deer off the road and up the slope to the left, in the parking lot of a mini-mart and filling station.

  I waved off an apology, even though my heart still raced and the tightness in my throat had yet to ease.

  “I’ll help you clean it,” Uncle Ray said, pulling a knife free from the scabbard on his belt.

  “Then lunch?” Mr. Hansel grinned.

  As they both jogged to the fallen deer I called, “I’m gonna go a little further on.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Mr. Wheeler said.

  “Okay.” I grinned, thumping him on the shoulder.

  He chuckled.

  With Mr. Wheeler alongside, I strolled down the sloping road. A gust of wind swooped down from behind us, and in the shadow of the bridges, a whirling funnel of snow rose up high and then died. The concrete spans of the interstate bridges appeared more massive, even monolith, like the first glimpse of the ruins of an ancient civilization.

  “Seems impressive somehow,” Mr. Wheeler said, cradling his shotgun in the crook of an arm.

  I nodded, and then cocked an ear to listen. First, I shook my head as if clearing my ears, but the sound was there and growing louder.

  The rumble of engines came from opposite us, on the other side of the bridges, and moving fast. The road running under the bridges sloped back up, so I couldn’t see anything.

  I felt Mr. Wheeler’s hand on my shoulder, pulling. “Let’s move,” he said, in earnest.

  Turning around, I saw my uncle and Dan Hansel standing. I started to run up the road with Mr. Wheeler when a voice thundering from a megaphone ordered us to stop. I spun and gazed back as a white and brown camouflaged Humvee grumbled out from under the bridges. A soldier dressed in a white parka directed a roof mounted machine gun toward us.

  Chapter 26

  The soldier pivoted the machine gun on its mount, roving from right to left, along the short line we formed in front of the Humvee. The hood of his parka was drawn up around his face and darkly polarized goggles shielded his eyes. Through a speaker in the vehicle’s grill, a voice ordered us to set our weapons and packs on the ground. A heavily tinted window shield concealed who was inside.

  We stood in the road for what seemed like an eternity, facing the muzzle of the machine gun, which in an instant could’ve ripped us to pieces. A blasting wind whistled past my ears and seemed to cut through my clothes, stinging my flesh. Undiminished by the wind the guttural rumble of the Humvee’s engine droned on.

  “How long is this going to go on?” Uncle Ray called out.

  No reply came, but no one silenced my uncle either.

  But an answer did arrive in the form of a white panel truck coming from the same direction as the Humvee, from under the bridges. The panel truck stopped parallel to the military vehicle. The passenger side door opened. Out stepped a soldier who also wore a white parka, goggles and a mask of heavy gray plastic, tightly strapped to his face.

  “Please, do not move. You are being approached by a medical technician,” came another order from the hidden speaker.

  The soldier walked to where I stood on the left end of the line. He wore latex gloves and pulled a transparent plastic mask from a satchel, which hung in front of his chest from a strap around his neck. A narrow hose ran from the mask back to a rectangular-shape device held in the satchel.

  “I’m Corporal Deeds. I am not going to hurt you and this test I am going to perform on you will not hurt,” the medic said. “I am going to fit this mask over your mouth and nose, and then I will tell you when to cough. Got it?”

  Between the arrival of the Humvee, the machine gun, and Deeds who peered through tinted goggles, the calm instruction he gave didn’t ease the anxiety at all. My heart raced. Sweat congealed on my palms and the middle of my back. The eyes of my uncle and the others were on me, but they didn’t or couldn’t say a word. We were in no position to negotiate anything. I simply nodded.

  Corporal Deeds fitted the mask to my face and strapped it tightly into place. He said, “Cough,” then studied a gauge on the device in the satchel. He nodded to himself, smiled at me, and said, “Good,” and then proceeded to my uncle and to the others, one by one, repeating the same instructions.

  The task ended with Dan Hansel, who asked, “What was that all about?”

  “A plague check,” Deeds said. “It’s standard.”

  “We’re okay?”

  “If you weren’t, he’d take care of you.” He gestured with a thumb to the mounted machine gun.

  “Great . . .” Mr. Hansel shook his head.

  Corporal Deeds shrugged and pulled off the latex gloves, rubbed his hands together and then pulled on weather gloves, which were more gray than white. I noticed that his parka was not really white either, but like his gloves, were more gray from wear.

  The doors of the Humvee opened and four soldiers stepped out. They moved with an easy confidence, but they had a wary look. Their parkas showed signs of wear as if worn every day, and even with their hoods drawn up, a stubble of beard showed on their faces.

  The tension ebbed and rose like a tide. From the cold, windy morning we were ushered into the rear of the panel truck by Corporal Deeds. The other soldiers stood by, assault rifles held casually, but ready for instant use.

  “What about our stuff?” I asked Deeds.

  “We won’t be leaving anything behind.”

  A metal bench ran along both sides of the rear area of the panel truck. I sat with Uncle Ray and Mr. Wheeler on one side, and Deeds and Dan Hansel were opposite us. A single, narrow window separated the rear compartment from the cab.

  From the rear entrance, one of the soldiers tossed in the packs belonging to Uncle Ray and me, saying to the corporal, “These are okay.”

  I took my pack and dropped it between my feet and passed the other one to my uncle.

  The double doors clanked shut, something like cell doors, but what caught my attention was the heat blowing in from vents at our feet providing an almost instant thaw.

  I pulled off my stocking cap and gloves, unzipped my jacket, and inhaled the warmth.

  “Smell that?” Mr. Hansel sniffed.

  I did the same and then asked, “What?”

  “Engine exhaust,” he said and smiled. “Like roses.”

  I chuckled as I smelled the faint metallic odor in the air.

  Deeds threw back the hood of his parka, pushed up his goggles and peered at Mr. Hansel like he was a new species.

  Dan gazed back. “You’re looking at a guy who hasn’t seen a flush toilet in almost a year. What do you expect?”

  The corporal grinned. He was younger than Mr. Hansel, somewhere in his mid-twenties. Maybe it was his youth and long face, reddened by the cold, but he reminded me of my brother Johnny.

  “You ready?” A voice came through a wall mounted intercom next to the rear doors.

  Deeds flipped a toggle switch. “Everything is okay.”

  The truck lurched and moved forward.

  “What next?” I asked.

  “Well, you’re not prisoners,” Corporal Deeds said.

  “I figured that out when I got my stuff back.” I patted the pack sitting on the floor.

  “And you’re sitting in here with us,” Uncle Ray said.

  “That’s true.” Deeds nodded, but didn’t seem concerned by the question. “Because you’re not an enemy.”

  “That’
s good to know.” Uncle Ray leaned back against the bulkhead.

  “Well, we found you, not the other way around, right?”

  “So, you’re out looking for people roaming around the countryside?” Mr. Wheeler asked.

  Deeds chuckled and said, “Okay, not really. But we do keep an eye out. For safety’s sake.”

  “What are you using, satellites?”

  “No,” the medic laughed again, and ran a hand through his brown hair, which was slightly on the long side.

  “Infra-red, I think.” I nodded at my own explanation.

  “A very good guess,” Deeds said and nodded.

  Maybe even night scopes, I thought, but didn’t mention it. The military was keeping some sort of tabs, if not on us, at least on the Zone.

  “The human traffic has to be kept in check,” the corporal said. “There’s still plague out there and it’s not wanted here.”

  “Where’s here? Where are we going?” I asked and draped my hands over the edge of the bench, catching the heat from the vent in my palms.

  “You’ll have to wait on that. I’m sorry. I’m not in a position to give out that information.” And he meant it.

  “What? We’re going to get debriefed or something.” Mr. Wheeler scratched his shaggy salt and pepper hair.

  “More or less.” Deeds took the satchel from around his neck, stowed it under the bench and then brought out a green thermos “Coffee anyone?”

  I hadn’t drunk coffee often, but it was hot and steaming, even though the brew seemed thin as if the grounds were reused one too many times. Still, I wrapped both hands around the metal cup passed to me and closed my eyes. I caught myself dozing off, so I quickly finished the coffee and asked, “How long is the ride going to be?”

  Deeds glanced at his wristwatch and said, “Oh, about another hour or so.”

  I sighed and grew a little tense. Not knowing where we were going and only getting so many answers from Corporal Deeds, it was obvious that those extra five miles we walked gave us more than we bargained for. Not that I thought Deeds was hiding something, I suspected he hadn’t much to tell. He was a soldier doing his job. But in whose army did he belong?

  I sat in the warmth of the truck, drinking hot coffee in comfort, but still there was the fear of the unknown. I didn’t know what there was lurking east of the Demarcation Zone. And what of the valley? I didn’t know how, when, or even if I would get back home.

  The truck rumbled on and gently swayed with the turns it made. I finally drifted off to sleep, a sleep that even the fear couldn’t keep at bay.

  ***

  I woke up when Uncle Ray put a hand on my shoulder and shook me. A sour taste was in my mouth. I rocked with the motion of the truck.

  “We’re there?” I rubbed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose between finger and thumb.

  “That’s what the corporal says,” Uncle Ray lifted his pack from the floor and rested it on his lap.

  “Have a good sleep?” Deeds asked.

  “Yes.” I yawned and was a little surprised. I still didn’t know where I was or what was going to happened, but Corporal Deeds was at his ease while rummaging through a narrow compartment under his bench.

  The truck slowed to a stop, and then there was a long pause. I couldn’t tell anything from the small window looking to the cab. Some muffled talking came from outside. With a lurch the truck began moving again.

  “You’ll be getting out in a few minutes,” Deeds said. “I probably won’t be seeing you again, so take care. But you’ll be met by an escort, just do what you’re told and you’ll be fine, okay?”

  I nodded, but I wanted to feel convinced that everything would be fine. Not knowing what was next agitated me. I grabbed my pack off the floor and held it in my lap with both hand.

  Deeds stood, leaned over to me, tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Relax.”

  Again, I nodded and returned his smile.

  The handles of the rear doors rattled and the doors swung open. A solder in a brown, white, and light gray camouflage uniform waved us out. Sergeant’s stripes were on one shoulder, and a black MP band was on his upper arm. A name tag over his left pocket read Fort. He was older having a little gray speckling his light-brown hair. His uniform was creased but the creases lacked a sharp edge, as if suffering from a fatigue from too much wear. An automatic pistol hung in the holster on his right hip.

  The panel truck stood inside a large warehouse having been driven through one of six wide garage doors, big enough to allow a tractor trailer through. The ceiling was high and crisscrossed with support beams and heating ducts. Banks of long florescent lights hung down. A number of the fixtures flickered, threatening to burn out, and a few already had. Vehicles of different types, Humvees, civilian 4X4s and cars, stood in several rows. Some were in various stages of being disassembled. Doors and other external parts were already removed as if being cannibalized. Two mechanics leaned into the engine compartment of a large transport truck.

  I passed Corporal Deeds who touched two fingers to his forehead in a farewell salute.

  “Take care,” I said, saluting back, which brought a crooked smile, another reminder of my brother.

  Being the first one out, I move in behind Sergeant Fort who’d opened the doors; then there was Uncle Ray and Mr. Wheeler. Dan Hansel took the next spot. Another MP by the name of Corporal Welles, moved in behind. Welles was younger than the sergeant, but was no less the professional with his cap set squarely on his head and his expression confident, yet unrevealing.

  At the rear of the warehouse area, the procession entered a hall wide enough for four people to walk abreast, but we stayed in line. Not a single word was uttered. The sound of our boots thumping on the dull gray linoleum seemed to stifle any comment. Here as in the warehouse a number of ceiling lights were burned out. The few people who passed were dressed in winter camouflage, but again, their uniforms appeared as if they’d gone through one too many launderings. A weariness pervaded everything. We marched through a maze of corridors, past a bank of elevators and went to a door nearby.

  Fort turned and said, “We’re going up one flight, so just stay in line.”

  The low lighting accentuated the dark circles under his eyes, but his jaw was set firmly, expressionless, his lips a straight line.

  Welles held the stairwell door and I followed the sergeant up to the next landing. He opened the second floor door and continued on. He led us to an office halfway down the hall. A name plate on the door read Colonel E. N. Dorrance, Post Commander. Sergeant Fort opened the office door, directed us in with an open hand, and joined us, but Welles stayed in the hall to stand guard at the closed door.

  Chapter 27

  Sergeant Latimer looked up from her desk as we entered the reception area. We stood in a straight line in front of her desk as she set aside a file folder, but papers still covered the desk. Dressed in a light-green dress shirt, with the sergeant’s insignia on her collar, and black tie, her long dark hair was twisted into a bun on the back of her head. A desk organizer occupied the upper right corner, and a typewriter rested on a wing extending from the right side of the desk. The flat screen computer, shrouded by a dusty plastic cover, stood on a separate table off to the side against the wall. The office was bare of other furniture and the dark green carpet showed no recent cleaning as a worn trail of continual traffic led to an inner office door opposite the one we entered.

  “Here they are,” Fort said.

  The sergeant’s young face wore a serious expression. She studied us as she rose, stepped to the inner office door and lightly rapped.

  After being led from the warehouse up stairs and down a corridor, I sensed that we were facing that final door and everything continued to remain totally out of our control.

  “Come in,” called a muffled voice.

  Sergeant Latimer opened the door, saying, “Go right in.”

  I started in, but Uncle Ray touched my shoulder and went first, then me. Mr. Wheeler gave a nervous
cough as he stepped in behind, and Sergeant Fort continued in behind Dan Hansel.

  The inner office was simple wood paneling, the cheap kind, of brown and black striations looking more like plastic. In one corner, the flag stood in a brass stand. Opposite the door was the desk, and seated behind was Colonel Dorrance, his hands folded on top. His green uniform jacket neatly taut as well as his shirt and tie, but crispness was missing. Like many things in the facility equipment and uniforms showed a fatigue.

  To the colonel’s right, a woman sat in the only other chair in the room. Her dark blue business suit suffered from the same fatigue and lack of crispness. Her hair was very blond, cut short and combed back.

  Neither smiled, nor did they rise or offer a hand, but sat, studying us as Sergeant Latimer had done.

  “Good afternoon,” the colonel said. “I suspect you already know who I am.”

  “Your name’s on the door,” I said.

  Mr. Hansel snorted a chuckle, and the colonel grinned. But the woman’s expression was unreadable, and she didn’t just look at us, but peered.

  Colonel Dorrance continued, “So, you know—”

  “Corporal Deeds, a nice young guy said we weren’t prisoners, but you could’ve fooled me,” Uncle Ray said.

  What he’d said startled me, even scared me a little. I didn’t think Uncle Ray wanted to start something. He knew as I did that the Colonel could finish anything.

  But the colonel continued to grin.

  With Dorrance in front of us and the sergeant behind I never felt more trapped.

  “Mr. . . .?” Colonel Dorrance nodded toward my uncle.

  “Ray,” he said. “Ray will do just fine.”

  “Well, Ray, you’ve simply been detained. Nothing more.” He thoughtfully ran a hand over his chin. The motion accented the leanness of his jaw and face.