by Ts Alan
After the initial assessment concluded that I was not an immediate threat, I was allowed to enter the armory. I was taken directly to Dr. France. I asked if someone could bring my personal belongings from the van, but Sam wouldn’t listen. All he wanted to hear was where his Humvee had gone.
When I told him it was parked on the sidewalk, securely anchored to a bicycle stand, he was none too pleased. However, for a moment, he was impressed at my ability to hotwire a car, until I told him it was the neighbor’s and I had taken the keys.
After the doctor took the needed blood samples I was locked in a detention cell, which was actually the armory lounge. There I passed the time by drinking a few Jack and Cokes and snacking on beef jerky—several packages. Six hours later I was placed on conditional release. I could no longer put off a decision on whether to use the stem cells for myself or Luci. If I wished to live amongst my friends, I had to begin therapy. I chose my family, which was a relief to everyone, especially Marisol.
They had been busy while I had been gone. Dick had been fully integrated into the armory’s hospital wing with much of his equipment, which had been salvaged from our former underground lair, though the doctor protested greatly. He didn’t want to leave his crucial network server behind, even though it was in pieces.
As a substitution, the team had gone to several of the large electronic stores and acquired some computer equipment. Marisol, with Sam’s assistance, set up a Linux-based network server utilizing the salvaged hard drives, which had been dedicated exclusively to the doctor’s ongoing research. Marisol volunteered to help the doctor on the one condition that she was allowed to go with the expedition to acquire the proper computers, namely several Intel Quad Core Xeon Processor towers. Her true motive was trying to see if she could spot me, but the team knew that Dr. France needed the correct equipment to continue working on an updated antigen to combat the new half-mute virus. Sam, surprisingly, didn’t know anything about computers, networking, arrays or Linux, so the team acquiesced to Marisol’s request. The doctor’s new computer system was “irritatingly slow and barely adequate,” he told Marisol, but thanked her anyways for her attempt. That was the first time the doctor had been appreciative. I wished I had been there to hear it.
The four flood light towers that had been serviced by Sam and Marisol were in use—some of the lights were directed into the night for a beacon in hopes of attracting those who needed our help. It was an idea that we had discussed at one of our meetings, but had decided not to implement at that time. In my absence they had taken the initiative to implement the plan. I was sure that was what had alerted the gang of thugs to our occupation.
There had been no warning; no one had come to inquire about the activity of the base. Sam had been outside by himself doing vehicle maintenance when he was fired upon. He had been struck several times in the back and side, but had been wearing his Dragon Skin. He fled into the armory just moments before my arrival. There had been no second person watching his back, because all of us felt that since we were secure behind our locked gates we were safe. It turned out to be a false sense of security and something we would not allow to happen again. The assailants were the same group we had run into at Astor Place. Dumb and Dumber were amongst the dead. We didn’t find Piss Pants.
Julie apologized for shooting at me, for she truly believed I was an enemy combatant. But I was really upset at her for what she had done. Not for having shot me, but for the damage she caused to the t-shirt I was wearing over my Dragon Skin body armor. It was the concert shirt I had purchased at David’s last New York concert. I would remind her of this for the next several days.
I hoped Sam had completed several projects we had begun. We had started to wire up a complete outdoor camera system, and had also been in the process of adding onto the base communications system by setting up a long-range radio receiving and transmission station. The camera project appeared to have been completed, but I didn’t see any large antenna array anywhere in the compound, only a small radio dish, so I questioned him on it.
“Hey, Robert Neville, you sure you don’t want to set all that up at the end of the pier under the Brooklyn Bridge?” I asked, having noticed him fiddling with a radio console in his communications room.
“You’re most amusing.”
His project, ambitious as it was, didn’t seem practical. “I’m not trying to piss on your parade, but without a huge antenna how is anyone going to hear a broadcast?”
“You got it wrong. I’m not planning on spending hours fruitlessly broadcasting our position; I’m going to be monitoring the HF-GCS stations that operate in the aviation bands clustered around 5, 8 and 11/12 MHz. There are six primary Kilohertz HF-GCS voice frequencies. In addition to the HF-GCS, U.S. aircraft frequently use the Military Affiliate Radio System and HF. So do the Canadian Forces to relay messages.”
His lectures were as equally annoying as the doctor’s, but at least they were more informative. Though half the time I had no idea of what he was trying to explain.
“Okay. First of all, when did you become a radio communications specialist? Second, what the hell are you talking about?”
“All right. First, I’m not, though I did help out our communications security repairer from time to time. However, before I enlisted, I was a HAM radio operator in my early teens. That was my second hobby. And for your other question, HF-GCS stands for High Frequency Global Communications System. It’s a network of single sideband shortwave transmitters of the United States Air Force—fourteen worldwide—that are used to communicate with aircraft in flight, ground stations, and some United States Navy surface assets. All worldwide receiving and transmitting sites in the HF-GCS system are remotely controlled from Andrews Air Force Base. Then there are the more than thirty-eight communications systems at the Raven Rock Mountain Complex.”
“Okay, but what makes you think we’ll receive anything from anyone? Giant antenna, remember?”
“You don’t know anything about Andrews or Raven Rock, do you? They’re like Cheyenne Mountain, Strategic Air Command, Schriever AFB and NORAD. Even with no one left to maintain operations, those facilities would keep running for at least a year. They’re self-sustaining environments, with little to no maintenance. So the remote relays and communication systems should still be operational. And the answer to your question is Baruch College.”
“Baruch?”
“Yes. You asked about a higher antenna. There’s one across the street on top of the college. But we won’t need it. This is army equipment, and where it’s positioned will work.”
“I hope you’re right. I hope the whole world hasn’t gone to shit and there’s some safe place—”
I stopped in mid-sentence. In all that had transpired in the past six days, and my rapid detention, I had forgotten about what I had folded up and placed in my top shirt pocket.
“Sam, do me a favor. Could you get everyone together for a survivor committee meeting and meet me in the mess hall in a half hour? I have an idea I want to put to everyone.”
“Sure.”
I asked for a half hour to give everyone an opportunity to finish up what they were doing, and because I wanted to visit Ryan, who had still been under Doctor France’s care.
“You look much better than you did the last time I saw you,” I said as I neared Ryan’s bed.
He looked up. “You’re J.D., right? You’re a colonel?
“Yeah, well…” I put my hand out in friendship. “The name is J.D., J.D. Nichols.”
“Ryan Duncan,” he answered, tentatively shaking my gloved hand, still unsure.
“Yes, I remember.”
“I heard you got real sick or something.”
I was vague in my response. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“You didn’t get sick from me, did you?”
“No. I was sick long before that. What I got caused me to… to… well, let me show you. And prepare to be freaked.”
I look of concern and apprehension came ov
er his face. “Exactly what are you planning?”
“Don’t worry I won’t bite. Well, not anymore apparently,” I jokingly replied, but he didn’t quite find the humor in my remark.
I pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. I placed a bundle of clothing I had been holding onto the bed next to him. I pulled off my gloves and exposed my trimmed claws.
He replied, disappointed, “That’s it. You have… stubby, funky finger nails?”
“You’re right. Not impressive.”
I took off my sunglasses.
“Now that’s a little freaky,” he responded.
“They turn different colors depending on the time of day. But I can do one better. Don’t piss yourself when I do this,” I warned. “You ready?” I turned my head backwards.
He was shocked, awed, and slightly frightened. He reared back slightly in response and astonishment at my remarkable feat. “Holy shit! How’d you do that?”
I returned my head to the front position after having rotated it the other way.
“I took an antiretroviral while I was ill. But instead of curing me, it triggered a mutation. I’m part transmute, but that’s different from the mutants I killed when we rescued you.”
“You must be loads of fun at parties. Anything else wrong with you?” he guardedly asked.
I smiled slyly. “I can screech like an owl. Those clothes are for you,” I told him, patting the bundle lightly. “Sorry, all we have is camouflage. Looks like you’re a lieutenant of the 69th Regiment.”
He looked at his uniform, then mine. “You really in the Army?”
“No, never been. Got this shirt from the commanding officer at the GCC.”
He looked confused; no one had told him our story. He checked out the regiment patch then looked at mine and my armband.
“Then you’re really not a doctor?”
“This patch is Special Forces, and this armband is for a medic. Before all this shit went down I was a paramedic. Well, I guess I still am. And what did you do before the end of the world?”
“I am, was, an actor.”
“Television, film? Anything I’d know you from, ’cause you don’t look familiar.”
“I was mostly a musical theater actor.”
I sang the first verse of “On A Clear Day You Can See Forever.”
“I recognize that,” he responded. “Not bad.”
“I saw Harry Connick, Jr. in it, about the same time I saw Million Dollar Quartet. I’m a Jerry Lee Lewis fan, too. So any shows I might have seen you in?”
“I was in Altar Boyz.”
“Sorry, no. Anything else?”
“I was in Shrek: The Musical on the Broadway.”
I shook my head no. “Ah, no. Sorry.”
“Oh,” he said with slight disappointment to my reply. “That’s the big stuff. Strange thing about all of this…”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I really felt I was finally on the verge of making it before all this happened. I was just offered a film role. It was going to be a lead in a children’s film.”
“You like kids?”
“Yeah, a lot,” Ryan answered, his voice slightly elevating, reflecting genuine passion for our new subject.
“You have any?” I probed.
“No. You?”
“Me. No. No plans either.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m just too selfish, I guess. I have this whole large apartment all to myself. Have my recording equipment, my keyboard. Have a lot of sci-fi and horror film memorabilia, and my various animation artwork… well, I guess that doesn’t matter anymore, does it? But having been on my own, with only myself to contend with, I kind of like that. Hard for me to imagine a child in my life. Don’t think I’d make a good father anyways.”
“It’s always the ones who say they won’t be a good father that makes the best dads. I was that way too.”
I questioned his contradictory statement. “I thought you said you didn’t have any kids?”
“I don’t. But I was looking after some children where we were hiding. I really didn’t think I could do it, but—”
He stopped in mid-sentence as though it were too painful to talk about it any further. He followed with, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
We talked a few more minutes as I gave him a cursory exam. He had some dark, patchy scarring on his neck and chest. He had been lucky. If the disease had progressed to his face, it could have gone to his eyes and caused blindness. The splotchy patches would eventually fade with time.
IX. Escape from New York
I walked with Max into the commander’s office, located in the administrative portion of the building. The others were already waiting for me, even Otter, who was lying by Julie’s feet. I was surprised to see the doctor present, too.
“Thank you all for coming. I call this meeting of the survivor committee to order. There is only one major item on my agenda, and that is the long-term needs of our survival. I believe a long-term or permanent occupation of this armory is ill advised.”
“And why is that?” the doctor asked.
“For a bunch of reasons, not including those marauders who’ll probably be back, or someone else who’ll want to blow this place to hell to take over.”
“But aren’t we safer here than anywhere else?” a concerned Marisol asked.
“Maybe. But what about the city? You’ve all seen what’s happened in six months: the out of control fires, the water main breaks, the streets collapsing, the buildings falling down. There’s only going to be more. Hell, the only thing we have to look forward to is the wildlife returning.”
“You saw that show on the science channel, too,” Sam said.
“Yes, whatever. But those aren’t even the problems I’m concerned about. Fresh fruit, fresh meat, fresh vegetables, milk, eggs. We’re not going to be able to acquire those things if we stay here. And what about electricity? Even if we could salvage enough fuel for the rest of our lives, that fuel is going to go bad—even with putting additives in it. What? We got one or two years before the diesel is no good. Then what? Do you all realize how lucky we are, that the world ended the way it did? It could have been worse.”
“Worse?” Julie asked. “Worse then zombies and half-mutes?”
“Yes. First, we’re lucky the zombies are dead. And more importantly, we’re lucky France’s virus didn’t cause a prolonged pandemic. We have food. We have water, fuel, even toilet paper to wipe our asses with, granted it’s Army issue. But if the plague had taken months to wipe out the world, then there wouldn’t be anything left.”
“He’s right,” Kermit concurred. “The collapse of ordered society and the lack of resources would have plunged us into lawless chaos. People killing and looting in the name of survival.”
“What’s your proposal? How do we circumvent the inevitable?”
I was blunt in my response to Sam’s question. “We leave. We find a place where generating electricity doesn’t rely on fossil fuels, a place where we can farm.”
“I take it you have a place,” Julie said.
“Yes. Mechanicville, New York.”
“And why there?” she asked.
“Because there is a hydroelectric plant there that should still be operational.”
“There’s one at the Hoover Dam; why don’t we just go there. I could use a trip to Vegas!” David stated with seriousness in his tone.
“Hoover Dam is a long trip and not exactly farming country. My plan is much simpler.” I pulled out the brochure on the Ambrose from my pocket and handed it to Julie. “The Lightship Ambrose is one hundred and twelve feet long and thirty feet wide. It should have enough cabin space for us, and a galley. If the Ambrose is still down at the seaport, we can see if it can be made sea-worthy, then use it to haul supplies up the Hudson to Mechanicville.”
David replied, “Remember what happened to the survivors at the end of that Dawn of the Dead remake?”
&
nbsp; “What?” Marisol asked.
David didn’t respond.
“What? So what happened?” she insisted.
I answered her question.
“The deserted island they escaped too wasn’t deserted. They were all attacked and the movie ended without knowing if they lived or died.”
“That doesn’t sound like too good of an idea, mi amor. Don’t you have a better plan?”
I wasn’t able to immediately answer Marisol.
“Okay, and where up the Hudson is it?” Julie further questioned.
“It’s south of Saratoga Springs, north of Albany. And it’s the only place I know that has a hydroelectric power plant that’s close.”
“Should I even ask how you know that?”
I answered Julie first, and then responded to Marisol’s earlier question. “Ex-girlfriend who came from that area. And no, Marisol, that’s the only plan I have.”
Julie inquired, “Why can’t we just take that military train that’s parked in Grand Central? That has a diesel locomotive? Can’t Kermit drive it?”
“Cause the Albany-Rensselaer line only goes to Sarasota Springs, and we’d have to find transportation for everything when we got there,” I said before Kermit could answer.
Kermit added, “Even if I could operate the train, which I’ve never done, who knows how many trains would be blocking the rails.”
“Think I’d rather go to Vegas.”
“That won’t work,” I told David. “We’d have to live in or near the dam. It won’t run itself forever. The quagga mussels that attach themselves to the cooling intake pipes will eventually overheat the generators and that’s the end of that. It’ll happen to the Mechanicville plant, too, so time is of the essence. Soon the generators won’t work; they’ll shut down or burn out. I doubt if Sam could fix them then. Does anyone have any questions or better solutions?”