by Mike Kraus
“You have a gun in your pants. Take it out, drop it on the steps, then walk back to your car.” The woman’s voice was firm, but sounded less panicked than it had before.
Fucking hell, Linda. Frank groaned to himself as he pulled out his pistol and looked it over. I hope you’re right about this!
Frank dropped the gun on the ground and pushed it a few inches out onto the front step. He peeked out as he did so, noting with a small amount of relief that there was no longer a rifle barrel poking out of the top window. “There!” Frank shouted up at the woman. “Gun’s on the ground.”
“Walk to your car!” The woman shouted at Frank and he clenched his jaw, willing himself to take the first tentative step out of cover and into the woman’s line of fire. He had only Linda’s word to go on that the woman was trustworthy but the fact that she had changed her attitude towards him after he told her about Linda seemed like a step in the right direction.
Frank’s first step was slow, but his second was faster as he started moving quickly down the steps, dodging to the left and right as he went. By the time he ran around to the other side of the car and crouched down he realized that the woman was no longer at the upstairs window. He scanned the third, second and ground story windows in confusion, wondering where she went when he saw the front door crack open and the rifle barrel emerge again.
“Open the back door of the car! Let me see her face!” The woman inside the house was still well-hidden by the shadows and Frank couldn’t see her. Her gun, while poking out through the crack in the door, was angled down at the ground instead of in Frank’s direction, though, so he decided to keep following her instructions.
“She’s got a high fever!” Frank shouted back at the woman as he walked around the car and opened the rear door. “I think it’s a deep infection in her leg or something!” In the back seat Linda was still unconscious but her face was clearly visible from the house. Frank heard the woman in the house say something in a muffled voice before the door slammed shut. There was a jingle of chains behind the door before it opened fully to reveal a middle-aged woman in a bathrobe and slippers holding a rifle.
“Linda?” The woman glanced around nervously at the neighborhood before leaning down to pick up Frank’s pistol. She tucked the pistol into the pocket of her robe and hurried down the steps, keeping her rifle pointed at the ground but still in Frank’s general direction.
The woman looked to be around five and a half feet tall and in her mid-fifties with short-cut Auburn hair. She carried herself well, gripping the rifle with steady hands and wearing a steely expression that indicated she wasn’t to be trifled with. “Back away from the car.” The woman motioned at Frank with her rifle and he took a few steps backward. “Good. Stay there and don’t move.”
The woman leaned in towards the car and glanced at Linda before looking back at Frank and shaking her head. “How do you know her?”
“Are you Sarah?”
“Who wants to know?”
“I’m Frank. Linda and I… we met several days ago. Right after all this happened. I helped her get out of a jam and we’ve been traveling together.”
The woman eyed Frank suspiciously. “That doesn’t sound like the Linda I know.”
“Yeah, well, it took some convincing to get her to work with me. Like saving her ass, having her leave me in the middle of nowhere and then have to save her ass again.”
Sarah snorted laughed. “Ha! Now that does sound like Linda. Hm.” Sarah glanced back at Linda. “How long’s she had the fever?”
Frank took a cautious step forward, glad to see that Sarah didn’t object to him coming close to the car again. “Since last night or early this morning I think. She got shot a few days ago and hasn’t exactly been taking care of the wound. I cleaned out a localized infection last night after we got through the patrols into the city but I think it’s moved deeper into her body.”
Sarah watched Frank carefully as he spoke and gestured, studying every nuance of his voice and movements. Before he finished speaking she made up her mind about him and held out her rifle. “Here. Hold this.”
Frank grabbed the barrel of the rifle, his eyes wide as he tried to figure out what was going on. Sarah had gone from shooting at him to handing him her weapon in a matter of moments and the sudden change in attitude confounded him. Sarah leaned into the car and put her hand on Linda’s head and chest. “Where’s the wound?”
“Right leg, on her thigh.”
Sarah turned Linda over slightly and peeled back the bandage from the wound before shaking her head. “Christ. Who patched this up? A drunk with no arms?” With a surprising amount of speed and strength Sarah lifted Linda from the car and shoved Frank out of the way. “Grab your gear and get inside.”
Frank watched Sarah carry Linda up the steps to the townhouse for a few seconds before his brain kicked into gear. He grabbed the two backpacks from the car along with Linda’s jacket and carried everything up to the door of the townhouse. Inside, Sarah was busy getting Linda down onto a couch just inside the door. Frank stepped in and started setting the bags and Sarah’s rifle down on the floor when he caught a glimpse of Sarah holding his pistol across the room. She wasn’t aiming the weapon at him but she had it in her hand and was watching him carefully.
Frank took his time setting the rifle down, then pointed at Linda’s bag. “Her pistol’s in there.”
“Any other weapons or gear?”
Frank shook his head. “We left everything else in a Humvee on the other side of the city. I think the plan was for a quick in and out trip, not some long excursion.”
Sarah nodded slowly. “Right. Stay here with her. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared up the stairs near the back of the house and Frank hurried over to Linda and knelt down beside her. Linda’s breathing was shallow and sweat was still pouring off of her despite the chill both outside and inside the house.
“Hang in there.” Frank whispered to Linda as he wiped sweat from her face and neck with the back of his hand. A moment later Sarah came back downstairs, carrying a large black suitcase with her. The pocket of her robe drooped and bulged with the shape of Frank’s pistol and she pointed with her free hand at the wall behind him.
“Hit the light switch.”
Frank reached for the switch, flicked it on and was surprised when the lights on the ceiling bathed the room in a soft yellow glow. “You have power?”
“Question time later.” Sarah slammed the suitcase down on the floor next to the couch. She unzipped the case and flung it open to reveal a plethora of bandages, creams, ointments, surgical equipment and more. Frank watched as Sarah dug through the bag until she came across a steel case with a white label on the top. Sarah closed the suitcase and pushed it over towards Frank with her foot.
“You squeamish about needles?” Sarah posed the question as she opened the spring-loaded top of the steel case to reveal several small vials and three long needles inside.
Frank shook his head but gulped nervously despite his answer. “Not really, no.”
“Good.” Sarah plucked one of the needles from the case and put it between her teeth. She rifled through the vials after taking the needle, picking up and putting down three or four of them before settling on the one she wanted.
“What is that?”
“Antibiotics. Cefrriax-a-something or other. Very potent stuff.”
“You really think she needs that?”
Sarah glanced at Frank as she popped the plastic protector off the end of the needle. “I’m not a doctor but I took enough first aid training to know when someone’s at death’s door. She’s damned lucky to be alive right now. Whatever’s inside of her needs to die and this stuff should do the trick.”
Frank stood up and crossed his arms as he watched Sarah plunge the needle into the vial and draw out the liquid inside. “That’s all she needs? Just one injection?”
“Hell no.” Sarah shook her head. “I’ve got some ten-day general courses in here. She’s going to
feel like a truck’s running her over for the next couple weeks but she should survive.” Sarah flicked at the needle and gently depressed the plunger to remove any air bubbles inside. “Well.” She paused and looked at Linda. “So long as she’s not allergic to any of this stuff. I guess that’s preferable to guaranteed death, though. Any objections?”
Frank shook his head. “You’re more of a doctor than I am. Do whatever you think will help.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Sarah took Linda’s arm and located the nearest vein. She pushed the needle into the vein without hesitation, moving ahead with what she thought was best in spite of the potentially disastrous outcome. The clear liquid disappeared as she pushed the plunger smoothly and quickly and she could feel Frank’s eyes staring into the back of her head as she worked.
When Sarah finished she stood up, put the plastic protector back on the needle and slid it back into the steel case. “There.”
“Now what?” Frank knelt back down next to Linda and touched her head.
“Now we try to keep her cool while this stuff works.”
“I was trying that earlier, with minimizing her clothing and keeping wet socks on her head and stomach. It didn’t seem to do much good.”
“We’ll need more than that.” Sarah turned and looked behind her. “Go down the stairs to the basement. There’s a small chest freezer in the garage. Near the top there are a few freeze packs. Grab two of those and bring them back.”
“Two freeze packs. Got it.” Frank turned and ran back towards the stairs down to the basement. Sarah, meanwhile, ran over to a nearby linen closet and grabbed two sheets and a thin blanket. She ran back to Linda and finished pulling off her pants, then took a pair of scissors and cut her shirt and bra free. Sarah draped one of the sheets over Linda’s waist and legs and loosely wrapped the other around her chest, leaving her head, neck, arms and most of her torso exposed.
When Frank got back he handed the ice packs to Sarah and she nodded. “Good. Now grab me a couple of tea towels from the kitchen. Get a bottle of water and dampen them first. Not dripping wet, but wet enough to conduct heat and cold easily.”
Frank jogged back into the kitchen and took a pair of hand towels from the counter. He held them over the sink and poured the remnants of a nearly-empty gallon of water onto them before mashing them together in his hands to distribute the water as evenly as possible. He brought them back to Sarah who took them and wrapped an ice pack in each one. She put one on Linda’s forehead and the other across Linda’s chest, then stuck a finger under both packs.
“Good. That’s wet enough. They’ll start cooling her off soon.”
“Do you have a fan or something?” Frank glanced around the room as Sarah fiddled with the positioning of the ice packs.
“Only the ceiling fan. That circuit’s not on the batteries, though.” Sarah looked at Frank as she stood up next to him. “We’ve done everything we can for her. At this point we need to just keep an eye on her and hope the fever goes down.”
Frank sighed and shook his head as he turned his back on Linda, not wanting to see her looking so ill any longer. “I should have cleaned the wound more. Done something else.”
Sarah patted Frank on the back and gently pushed him towards a chair across from the couch. “You did what you could with what you had, I’m sure.” Sarah flicked the light off and the room descended back into a state of twilight, neither fully dark nor light enough to see very well.
“Now then.” Sarah sat down in a chair next to Frank where she could see both him, Linda and the front door. She pulled Frank’s pistol out of the pocket of her robe and placed it on her lap with a flourish, ensuring that he noticed that she was still in possession of his weapon. She spoke softly but firmly, her dark eyes staring at Frank with an intensity and focus that made him uncomfortable.
“I think it’s time you told me about yourself.” Sarah cleared her throat and continued. “Such as your full name. And how you came to meet Linda. And anything else.” Sarah shrugged. “Basically… just tell me everything.”
Sarah flashed a smile at him which somehow managed to look both warm and cold at the same time. “Don’t spare the details.”
Chapter 19
One Month Before the Attacks
Nate sits at his station at the Los Angeles port, dividing his attention between watching videos on his phone and glancing up at the radiation monitor on his desk every few minutes. His job, for which he receives a yearly salary of eighty-nine thousand dollars, consists of watching the radiation monitor and making a phone call if the radiation detected by the monitor reaches a certain threshold.
While Nate’s job was relevant two decades ago he would have been replaced with a simplistic and far cheaper automated alarm had it not been for the tenacity of his union. Thus, for over thirty years Nate has functioned as one of the many gatekeepers in the port that helps protect our country. His effectiveness over those years has waned and he has only ever pushed the alarm button three times but he will fight tooth and nail to insist that his job is vital to the safety of all.
When the fourth radiation alert in Nate’s career goes off he doesn’t notice it at first. Mandatory equipment inspections rarely occur and when they take place they cover only the most vital parts of the systems. An alert bell for a system that has only triggered three times in thirty years is not, unfortunately, deemed a vital part.
When Nate glances up from his phone to check the monitor he freezes, momentarily taken aback by the red flashing light on the monitor. He sits still for several seconds before picking up the phone next to the monitor and dialing a four-digit number.
“Go ahead.”
“This is Nate, down in bulk rad scanning. I’ve got a red light on the shipment passing through right now.”
There is a pause on the other end of the line. “A red light? On the bulk cargo scanner?”
“That’s right.” Nate thumps the monitor with his fist, wondering if the alert could be a malfunction.
“You sure about that?”
“You want to come down and see the flashing red light?”
A heavy sigh follows another long pause. “I’m making the call. Stand by.”
“Copy.” Nate hangs up the phone and turns to his computer. He pulls up the cargo manifests passing through the scanners and locates the one that triggered the alarm.
“A rice shipment?” He frowns. “Who the hell’s importing rice from Croatia?”
Nate is about to pick up the phone and call his superior officer to inform her of the situation when the phone rings first. He picks up the receiver and presses it to his ear while he continues skimming the computer screen.
“Rad scans. Nate here.”
“Nathan Davis? Badge number eight nine seven five dash two six one?”
Nate’s eyes grow wide as he tries to figure out what the formal-sounding call could be about. “Uh. Yes, that’s me?” His voice cracks as he answers and he feels his palms starting to sweat. Perhaps the call is about the malfunction with the alert. Or someone ratted him out about his videos and naps on the job.
“I’ll make this quick. The ‘alert’ on your screen is nothing more than a malfunction. One of the sensors had a bird crap all over it which shorted it out. It’s giving false readings which is what’s causing you to get radiation alarms.”
“I… what? A malfunction?”
“Correct.”
“I’m… I’m sorry. Who are you?”
“Inspector Garcia. Badge two one six eight dash two one three. We’re already on the line with your superior and the tech teams. They’ll be fitting the new sensor in as soon as possible. For now we’re moving to manual scans until further notice.”
“Manual scans?” Nate starts to panic as he thinks about what that could mean for his job security. “How long until the new sensor is in?”
“At least another twelve hours. Maybe twenty-four. I’ll personally call you when the repairs are complete.”
“
Okay… thanks, I guess. Do y—” The line goes dead before Nate can ask his next question. He sits there for several minutes staring at the phone and the monitor, trying to work out exactly what just happened. While the explanation from Inspector Garcia sounded legitimate, Nate can’t shake the feeling that something is amiss.
Although his analytical skills are rusty from years of idly sitting and doing virtually nothing in his small office, Nate decides to press in and see exactly what is going on. He taps away at the keyboard on his desk, slowly making less typos and mistakes as he digs into the software program that records the intricate details for each radiation scan. The records for the latest scan that tripped the alarm are extensive, consisting of dozens of pages of raw data that have to be carefully analyzed.
Nate pulls out a notebook from his drawer and tries three different pens before finding one that still works. He begins jotting down calculations, using his cell phone to look up long-forgotten formulae and constants that he used to know by heart. Lunch is quickly forgotten as Nate digs down into the data, checking and re-checking his calculations both by hand and through the computer system. Late in the day, when it’s nearly time to head home, he finally puts down his pen and stares at the notebook.
“Holy hell.” Nate struggles to comprehend what he sees. The computer’s calculations and Nate’s own calculations do not lie, though. The radiation sensors which were working perfectly up until the alert earlier in the day show only two possibilities.
The first possibility is the simplest and conforms to what Inspector Garcia indicated. The sensor somehow suffered a malfunction and is showing radiation readings that are incorrect. This explanation is easy to accept on the one hand, but since the radiation sensors are regularly checked and replaced—unlike the equipment in Nate’s office—it seems unlikely.