American Epidemic Omnibus: An Ebola Prepper Survival Tale

by Roger Hayden

  "May I present to you, ladies and gentlemen, our terrorist!"

  Having finished beating Greg, the guards lifted him up and displayed his nearly unconscious body as if it were a trophy. The crowd stood in stunned silence. Their enemy had been captured.

  ***

  Jordan remained in a small room with her three daughters. It was assigned to the Freemans—a fifty-something couple who had shared the room with another couple who had disappeared a month ago. The Freemans always believed that their disappearance was linked to their outspokenness and criticism of the way the base was run, not to Ebola, but they didn't know for sure. For that reason and many more, they were more than willing to help Jordan and let her hide in their room. They could hear the commotion outside and Hodder's faint voice coming over the loudspeakers.

  Jordan's three girls were huddled in the corner in front of one of the bunk beds. The Freemans, Pat and Dolores, sat on their bottom bunk, ready for anything. Dolores's right hand held firmly onto Pat's leg as his hands clutched one of the rifles. Jordan sat across from them on another bunk holding the other one.

  "I've never even shot one of these things before," she said.

  "There ain't nothin' to it," Pat said. He had thick white hair and some stubble on his wrinkly cheeks. He wasn't that old, but his time at Base 42 had worn him down, just as it had Dolores. "Remember what I told you; just make sure the weapon’s off of safe, then point, keep it steady, and pull the trigger lightly with the meat of your index finger."

  Dolores interjected. "You just need to know to point and shoot.”

  Jordan felt nervous. So many things could easily go wrong for her and her family. They had heard Hodder discussing a head count and subsequent room sweep and knew they weren't safe.

  "Perhaps there's somewhere else we can go. I feel like we're just sitting ducks here." Dolores said. She had glasses, brown curly hair, and was wearing a tattered sundress and slippers.

  "There are guards everywhere," Pat answered. "They got 'em in the towers, they got 'em walking around. You can't escape them."

  "Yes, but we're armed now too," Jordan said. She noticed her three shaken and withdrawn daughters sitting in the corner and tried to comfort them. "Everything's gonna be all right." They took little comfort in their mother's assurances and just remained silent. Jordan turned to the couple across from her. "We need to find a way out."

  Pat laughed. "Heck, we've needed to do that for a long time now."

  "But it's different now. We have weapons. This man who was with Joel, he said he would help us take the base. If we can just manage to get more guns and stuff, I think it's possible." Jordan spoke with confidence. Her long, skinny face was nearly skeleton-like in appearance, but her eyes remained hopeful.

  Dolores then weighed in. "We don't know anything about him though."

  "We know that Hodder doesn't like him," Pat said. "And that's got to be worth something."

  They could hear more commotion from outside, clapping and applause, followed by Hodder's voice trailing on and on with excitement. Something was happening for sure; they just didn’t know what it was. They heard a countdown, followed by roars from the crowd. Then everything went silent. Footsteps came running down the hall. Jordan seized her weapon and held it up, pointing it toward the door. Dolores released her grip on Pat's leg as he held up his rifle and aimed. A swift knock came at the door, startling everyone.

  "It's me!" a voice said from outside. "It's Joel. Are you guys in there?"

  Jordan jumped up from the bed, ready to let him in, when Pat stopped her. He signaled everyone to be quiet. "He could have five guards behind him with guns pointed at his head," he whispered.

  More knocking followed. "Jordan! I'm coming in, don't shoot," Joel said.

  "Hold on now," Pat said. He signaled for Jordan and Dolores to get behind the bunk beds and then carefully walked up to the door. "I'm gonna open the door a crack, Joel. Just to make sure." He placed his hand on the knob.

  "I'm alone," Joel said. "Please. It's urgent!"

  Pat turned the knob and opened the door a crack, with the barrel sticking out. He saw only one man so he opened the door fully and let Joel rush in. Once inside, Pat closed the door and then placed a desk chair tilted between the doorknob and the tile floor. Jordan rose from behind the bed, tossed the rifle to the side, and ran to Joel as they collapsed in an embrace. Their children ran over from the corner, taking his hand, hanging onto his legs, and hugging him.

  "Greg got captured," Joel said, distraught. "I don't know what to do now."

  Jordan pulled herself away and took a step back. "What? How?"

  Pat and Dolores stood aside, listening

  "It was Hodder. Somehow he suspected that Greg had made it into the base..." Joel stopped to take a breath. He was winded from the run. "...so he hauled the woman on stage, the one Greg was trying to rescue, and he threw her to her knees and put a gun to her head, then gave Greg ten seconds to come out."

  Jordan covered her mouth with her hands and gasped. "Did he shoot her?" She then looked down at the three girls. "Please, go back to the corner and stay there. You're not in trouble. We just want you to be safe." The girls reluctantly walked to the corner, mumbling to themselves. Jordan feared that after everything they had been through, the girls would never be the same.

  "No," Joel said. "But they got Greg anyway. I had no choice but to run."

  "You did the right thing," Pat interjected.

  Joel turned to him. "Thanks for letting us hide in here. Thanks for taking the risk."

  "Things gotta change up soon enough," Pat said. "We're all on the same side here."

  Joel's face turned to worry. "It won't be long until they trace the death of the two guards to me. People talk around here, and they know that we're friends."

  "I admit, it's going to take some work, but we can do it. We tell the people what's going on. Tell them that the resistance is going forward."

  "Is there anyone in the resistance still left?" Dolores asked.

  "That's what we're going to have to find out. We need to send a scout, find out who we can trust."

  Their eyes went around the room. Joel's face was busted, and he was still a hot commodity. Jordan, as his wife, would prove a risk, as anyone wanting Joel's whereabouts would come at her.

  "All right," Pat said. "Guess that person will be me."

  ***

  Greg woke up on a hard surface in a nearly pitch-black room. The bones in his face and ribs throbbed, and one of his eyes could barely open. He thought of Joel and wondered if he had managed to make it back to his family. His greater concern, however, was Veronica. He burned with rage the moment he thought of the physical abuse she had endured, evident in her bruises and swollen face. Joel had warned Greg of the man who ran the base—a former Senator turned psychotic, someone mad with power. His name was Bill Hodder, and he was the same man who had put a gun to Veronica's head.

  Greg vowed that if he were to accomplish anything else in whatever time he had left, it would be to return the favor to Hodder. He pulled at his hands and realized that they were held together at the wrists by zip-ties. The same for his ankles. Rather than panicking, Greg took a deep breath and strategized.

  There had to be a way out. There was still hope. He wasn't going to allow Hodder to win. The tide had to turn, one way or the other, and he would make it happen. In order for anything to work, Greg would have to plan every step he made and every word he spoke carefully from that moment forward.

  It was just when that thought crossed his mind that the door into the room unlocked and swung open, letting in a bright light from the outside hallway. A figure entered the holding cell and flicked on a light switch. Overhead lights came on, nearly blinding Greg. He squeezed his eyes shut and heard the door close followed by footsteps drawing nearer. Flat on his back, he slowly opened his eyes and turned to try to see who was approaching. His eyes slowly opened and he saw a blurry figure standing only few feet from where he lay. The hard surface was,
in fact, a wooden slab connected to the wall by two chains; supports underneath it elevated the slab a few inches above the floor.

  "And here our terrorist lies," the figure said. Once Greg's eyes focused, he could see the man in front of him—his number-one adversary: Bill Hodder.

  Greg said nothing as Hodder continued. "I know most of what you've done. You've killed some of my men for sure, but I don't know how many others you've killed beyond that. I've since given up hope for the search party to return. What was that, five men? Plus the two guards, which makes seven."

  Hodder paused, almost as if in awe.

  "Seven of my men. Good, loyal men who did everything that I asked. I'm curious to know what kind of punishment you think is fit for the killing of seven men."

  Hodder paused and pulled a large hunting knife from a holster on his waist. He held the knife up and touched the tip with one finger while not making any eye contact.

  Greg knew sometimes that it was better to say nothing than anything at all. Hodder was toying with him, trying to push his buttons, and Greg was prepared.

  "No response?" Hodder asked. He stepped away from Greg and turned his back, walking away. His boots clicked on the tile floor with each step.

  "Oh, I get it, you're not sure about what would be a proper punishment. I mean, logically, the only thing that could even the score would be to kill you seven times. Or take seven of your friends, your girlfriend included, and kill them all. That's really the fairest thing I can think of. Any thoughts?"

  Hodder stopped and waited. He then put the knife back in its holster as Greg said nothing.

  "You may not have realized this, but I need you. The fear that your presence has caused goes right to the hearts of these people. It terrifies them. But me, on the other hand, I'm not afraid of you at all. Hell, I haven't even had you examined for Ebola, like I normally would, so confident am I that we live in post-Ebola times. The disease has passed, and now all these people can pack up and go home, right?"

  Hodder leaned in closer for a response. Greg apathetically nodded.

  "Wrong! It's far too dangerous a world to send them struggling out there. I don't see us leaving anytime soon. But how, you may ask, do we keep them here? Well, we use people like you—outside threats hell-bent on their destruction, that’s how."

  Greg finally spoke, but quietly. "Ebola hasn't passed."

  "What?" Hodder said, urging him to speak louder.

  "I said that Ebola has not passed. It's still out there and it's spreading."

  Hodder held his arms out. "It's not spreading here. Imagine that? The very place where Ebola was once rampant. Once we took over, we ended that."

  Greg could resist no further. He decided to probe Hodder. "I heard that there were once more than a thousand people here. Now the numbers are somewhere between one fifty to two hundred. It doesn't sound to me like you ended anything. In fact, with the absence of Ebola, it seems to me that you've been systematically killing your own people. Why?"

  Hodder stopped, surprised by the question. The long fluorescent lights in the ceiling hummed like bug zappers. "Greg, Greg, Greg. You may someday grasp the complexities of running a place like this. Certain factions must be removed for the good of the whole."

  "Like those who disagree with you," Greg said.

  Rather than respond in anger, Hodder seemed to embrace the comment. "Exactly! See, you're getting it. Base 42 is anything but a democracy, as you can clearly realize."

  "What do you want from me?" Greg asked. "You want to take me out in front of the mob and put a bullet in my head? Fine. Let's do it and get it over with."

  "Oh, your time will come soon enough. No need to rush the process."

  "I would only suggest that you watch your back."

  Hodder didn't seem to know what to do with the comment. He asked Greg to elaborate.

  "Your focus in controlling the base has been on the civilian population. You've failed to see, like most tyrants, that the conflict is really coming from your inner circle."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" Hodder walked closer to Greg in noticeable agitation. He was the one most used to playing games with people, and he wanted to understand Greg's ploy, if he had one.

  "You sent five men after me the other day. They seemed competent enough. They covered a wide terrain looking for me, but I had already found a spot. They never had a chance. Before I tracked them down, I heard each one of them discuss you. You were the subject of disdain. They loathed you. And they talked of turning against you and putting up one of their own."

  "I don't believe you," Hodder said with contempt. "You'd say anything to distract me right now."

  "Sure, I understand. Why believe a word I say?" Greg said, moving his bound arms up in the air. "And I'm sure you don't want to hear what your two guards said in the alleyway."

  "Nice try," Hodder snapped. "Let's talk a little about what's in store for you. You and your girlfriend will be tried and a swift sentence will be carried out. You'll be made an example of, to quell any further talk of this rebellion." Hodder stopped and waited for Greg to respond, then continued.

  "Oh, you didn't think I knew about that, did you? I know all about the resistance, and I've got a list of names we'll be rounding up, starting with Joel Carson and his entire family. I know you intervened and saved him, but it looks like it was all for naught."

  Greg went back to being unresponsive as Hodder continued. "You lost, Greg. But you can't say that you didn't try." Realizing that Greg was done talking, Hodder began to walk out of the room. Once he got to the door, however, he stopped. His back was to Greg and he looked at the floor while still keeping his hand on the door handle. "What did they say?" he asked.

  "Your men? As I approached them, the big one with all the tattoos said that you didn't know what you were doing. The skinny one said that they should throw your Ivy-league ass over the wall."

  Hodder remained at the door, his heart racing.

  "That was it," Greg continued. "Then I drove a knife through their throats."

  Hodder turned the door handle quickly and rushed out of the room. He forgot to turn off the light. Greg stared at the ceiling, thinking of a plan. They could bind his hands and ankles, but they couldn't bind his thoughts. He believed that Base 42 was at a tipping point. All he needed to do was find a way to exploit it.

  An Underground Secret

  It didn’t take long for the purge to begin. Rooms were searched and ransacked by Hodder’s men with a desperate kind of fervor. They were on the hunt for Joel’s family, and when they didn’t find them in their assigned living space, they searched all eighty rooms of the adjacent buildings. Anyone showing even a hint of subversive behavior was brought out into the public square and lined up to be read their charges.

  Some fifty people in all fell under suspicion, which had more to do with finger-pointing by other residents who were scared and only trying to protect themselves. It was a modern-day witch hunt, and Hodder was clearly displaying the extent of his paranoid delusions and insanity. According to him, however, he wasn’t the one who was insane—everyone else was.

  Despite all their searches, the Freemans and Joel’s family, the Carsons, were nowhere to be found. Their absence baffled and infuriated Hodder’s men. An even more extensive search of the entire base was conducted, but they still came up empty-handed. There were forces at play that Bill Hodder couldn’t understand. He felt his power slipping away, especially since the arrival of Greg, the outsider, when in fact it should have been quite the opposite.

  Before ordering the purge of the base, Hodder had a heated private meeting with all of his men. With the exception of two trusted guards left to keep watch in the towers, they gathered in the operations center to listen to him speak.

  The room was packed, and Hodder stood in front of them, arms crossed. Behind him was a large television, its LED screen smashed. All outside communications had been destroyed on the day of the initial mutiny. Their leader did not look pleased, and it
was strange that a group of ex-convicts who could easily overpower him stood in fear of his retribution. It was the essence of group-think at work. Most of the men assumed that the others supported Hodder when in fact, most of them didn’t. But they had gotten too invested in Hodder’s sweeping vision to turn back.

  Most of them had already committed murderous acts on his behalf and still needed Hodder to make sense of what they were doing. If anyone was going to provide leadership to the group or justification for the atrocities they had committed under his watch, it was Hodder.

  Their leader seemed to be studying their faces, one by one, as his eyes swept from one end of the room to the other, and no one, not even his closest circle, knew why they had been summoned there.

  Hodder stepped closer to the microphone. “We’ve reached a crucial moment where every action we take from here on out determines our fate. There is talk of a rebellion, and we must stamp it out immediately.” He paused, listening for the sharp intake of breath. “All of this has just reached my ears, coinciding with rumors of inflammatory talk among my most trusted men.”

  They were noticeably baffled by his words, as some thought he was bordering on incoherence.

  “That’s right,” Hodder said, as if reaffirming their thoughts. “It’s come to my attention that some of you believe that I’m unfit to be in charge of this base. After all of my steadfast leadership and determination, it comes as a surprise that you would see fit to question me.” Again, Hodder paused, as if studying each man’s demeanor.

  “Pardon me,” Marcus said, interrupting and holding a hand up. Hodder stopped and immediately looked over to him, eyes wild with fury. Marcus asked, “Where is this talk coming from? Who is saying what?”

  “That’s irrelevant,” Hodder continued. “What’s important is that your loyalty to the cause has come under suspicion.” He flew forward and kicked a nearby table over. “And I won’t stand for it!”