The Plague Years (Book 1): Hell is Empty and All the Devils Are Here

by Rounds, Mark

“I don’t want to give those people the satisfaction,” said Mary angrily, “that they can make us move!”

  “If it were just a question of standing and fighting,” said Chad trying to be reasonable, “I’d be with you. But Dave knows explosives and MRAP’s. He doesn’t think he can make something dangerous enough and focused enough to kill the folks in the MRAP and not level the whole block. We could try burning them out with Molotovs filled with homemade napalm, but we again would likely burn the neighbors out as well. All the houses around here are wood framed. Add to that the fact that the air conditioning on an MRAP is pretty damned good. It would take a while to heat it up hot enough to do some damage. Long enough for them to hurt us pretty bad. I don’t want to have more friends end up like Clinton.”

  “Damn it,” said Mary, “I know. Intellectually, I know that, but I still want a piece of them. They shouldn’t get away with this. I am also worried that they will hurt our neighbors whether or not we leave trying to get some clue.”

  “I have an idea,” said Dave. “This doesn’t mean we can stay, the more I think about it, the more the more I think we should move along. Even though I am pissed at our neighbors, I don’t dislike them enough to want Macklin and his stooges to shoot them all up trying to get to us.”

  “What’s your idea then?” asked Mary.

  “We booby trap the hell out of this place and my house,” said Dave. “They will likely shoot the houses up and maybe burn them down anyway but I want them dead as much as you. We can take a lot out of ill-trained combatants with the low energy stuff I can make when they are outside of the MRAP, investigating where we went. The MRAP will be able to drive away, but I want them to use it as an ambulance!

  “I am worried about the neighbors though. This type of explosive is not surgical and there will be a lot of collateral damage. Also, these cretins won’t stop just because we aren’t home. They will go shoot up the neighbors and see if they know anything.”

  “Leave that one to me,” said Mary with a smile. “You may have pissed off the neighbors but the neighborhood wives’ coffee klatch is still in fine form. We still compare notes, share essential supplies, and complain about our husbands.”

  The last line was said with a smile and a wink in Chad’s direction.

  “So Dave,” said Mary, “how long would it take to teach someone like me for example, to make some of this stuff?”

  “A couple of hours would do,” said Dave after some thought.

  “OK, you teach the class, I will bring in the attendees. We can show them how to build bombs and how to protect themselves from the effects. It’s probably the least we can do and the most we can do as all the rest of you will be involved in packing what we need to survive.”

  “I have one more thing,” said Chad. “You said it’s likely that they will burn this place to the ground right?”

  “Sadly, yes,” said Dave. “That’s what I would do were I them.”

  “Fine,” said Chad with resignation in his voice. “Then after we take out all we can carry, we should give the keys to some neighbors we trust and let them use what they can. It’s only right.”

  “So where should we go?” asked Mary.

  “When I talked with the folks at Ft. Lewis,” said Chad, “they made a strong point about coming there. They also made it clear that the Government net was penetrated. I’d say that they were warning us off. One little factoid tipped me off. They complained about a POL shortage.”

  “What’s POL?” asked Heather.

  “It stands for Petroleum, Oils and Lubricants in mil speak,” said Dave without thinking.

  “Right,” said Chad, “then in the same conversation, they said that they had a company mounted on MRAP’s that were on site being demilled for civilian usage. Ft. Lewis is the depot maintenance center for Stryker Infantry vehicles. They have hundreds on base. If they really had a POL shortage, why are they taking up MRAP’s for secondary companies?”

  “You mean they were not telling the truth?” asked Chris with a grin. “I am shocked, shocked I tell you, that a representative of the US government might not be totally truthful.”

  “Cute,” said Chad sarcastically. “The point is they likely don’t have a POL problem. General Buckley had the tankage at the base pretty close to full when I was there and was working on contingency plans to get more from the tankers and holding tanks in the waterfront area.

  “Here is another point. If they did have a shortage of POL, why would they rehab MRAP’s? Why wouldn’t they just make them leg security? They also made a point of telling us that we were welcome but that they couldn’t come get us. Even if the POL shortage story was true, they could fly out that nice general’s plane and pick us all up and leave all our gear. I think they were saying, do not come here, we can’t protect you and our comm is bugged.”

  “Do you always analyze everything like this?” asked Chris in a more serious tone.

  “It’s what they used pay me for,” said Chad. “So is what I am saying without merit? Am I just being paranoid?”

  “In this day and age,” said Dave, “just because you are paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you. I hadn’t thought about it this way, but yeah, I agree with you.”

  “So where do we go?” asked Amber sadly. “I have local family, but we would just transplant the problem if we moved there and anyway, I am supposed to be dead remember? I think it’s the only way I can really protect them.”

  “I have a brother up in Moscow, Idaho,” said Chad. “He invited me and friends when this started brewing up. He and some like-minded professors and grad students at the University of Idaho were making preparations similar to what we did. I hope the offer is still good but going to Moscow gets us out of here and will be at least a waypoint on our path to somewhere without Macklin and friends.”

  “So we have a bunch of logistics to plan then,” said Heather. “We also need to decide which vehicles to take, provisioning, trade goods, and a dozen other things I haven’t thought about. I have my iPad all charged up. There are several lists we need to make and checklist of things not to forget.”

  “You sound just like a staff officer that used to work for me,” said Dave with a little awe in his voice.

  “She was one,” said Mary with a twinkle in her eye. “She was mine.”

  May 31st, Sunday, 8:53 pm PDT.

  There was a regulation two tap knock on General Buckley’s door at his office. He was working late as head had almost every night since he had gone to the Tri-Cities to get briefed on the Plague. He was sick and tired of it all, but that that didn’t matter. A lot of people, including the three waiting outside his door, depended on him for leadership and support.

  “Come” he said without looking up.

  The door opened and in came Colonel Antonopoulos, Captain Whipkey, and Dr. Grieb. The two Air Force officers assumed the position of parade rest precisely four feet back from the general’s desk. Colonel Antonopoulos being senior, saluted. Dr. Grieb, being a lifelong civilian did straighten up a bit, but the three day beard and the generally disheveled look from working seventeen hour days took away from the image.

  “Reporting as ordered,” said Colonel Antonopoulos still holding the salute.

  General Buckley, who was a stickler for military protocol, straightened up in his chair and returned a crisp salute, though he felt far from being crisp himself.

  “At ease gentlemen,” said General Buckley

  The two military men hardly moved. Dr. Grieb settled into the chair opposite the desk.

  “Coffee?” asked General Buckley indicating the pot on the credenza.

  “No thank you sir,” said Colonel Antonopoulos.

  “Do you think he got the real message Andy?” asked General Buckley.

  “When he thinks about it, he will,” said Colonel Antonopoulos. “He was the best damned analyst, commissioned or enlisted, I ever had.”

  “I still blame you for letting him get out,” said General Buckley with a small,
weary smile. “It gravels me all the same, to send the message that we can’t protect him here.”

  “With respect sir,” said Colonel Antonopoulos, “we still don’t know if there are any more hidden Slash users, even with the amnesty, and we know that somewhere in the NSA there is a mole. I bet they have some on this base too. We have laid a crisscross pattern of misinformation, telling some agencies fallacious details that we don’t tell others and all roads point to the NSA. Not the whole thing certainly, but there is someone, more likely several someones who are feeding information to … whoever they are. The hits they have run are too focused for it to be anything else.

  That same matrix of misinformation also leads to your personal staff. Someone who sits in your weekly staff meetings is leaking information. Since we have to make the staff meetings functional, I can’t tell you any more than that.”

  “You are not too bad an analyst yourself Colonel,” said General Buckley. “Any idea who ‘THEY’ are?”

  “No,” said Colonel Antonopoulos heavily. “I don’t trust any sources I don’t know personally. Two months ago, I commanded an Airlift Wing, I didn’t think I would be running intel analysts again. These folks have apparently had a long time to infiltrate our system. I have gone to personal reports only. Thankfully, your little jet doesn’t burn as much JP4 as a C-17 and the navy RPV’s burn even less.”

  “Don’t feel too bad Colonel,” said General Buckley almost kindly. “You have rooted out two cells here on base already. My G-2 staff is invaluable with more traditional intelligence dealing with the ‘Infected’ but, you have a flair for this kind of work. Keep at it. Besides, there aren’t many air ops to command anymore anyway. You are far more useful doing this than sitting at a desk watching your airplanes rust.”

  “Needs of the service sir,” said Colonel Antonopoulos quietly.

  “OK, Whipkey, your turn,” said General Buckley. “You are now officially my MRAP expert. Have your troops found anything at all that Captain Strickland can use?”

  “Sir, like the Colonel, I was a trash hauler a month ago,” said Captain Whipkey, “But no sir. The vehicle was specifically designed to be resistant to IED’s. Uncle Sam got his money’s worth for once. The best suggestion we can make is to disable the air conditioning unit with rifle fire and then bake them out with Molotov’s or napalm. I checked Major Tippet’s file. He is not long out of the active Marine Corps and he was an Operator sir, Force Recon. He commanded a Force Recon company right before he was injured. Major Tippet has likely already thought about those ideas. We have some anti-armor devices that would be of value; specifically an AT-4, but getting him some would tip our hand. If we can airlift something in, we could airlift them out. I am sorry sir, I don’t have anything for him.”

  “Don’t make excuses Captain,” said General Buckley. “It’s a sign of weakness.”

  “Yes sir,” said Captain Whipkey. “No excuse sir.”

  “Dr. Grieb, I need your advice now,” said General Buckley. “You are now officially my Plague expert. And I know that you were an epidemiologist a month ago.”

  “Ok, I get it,” said Dr. Grieb with a smile.

  “Any clue on why this nameless gang or whatever is after the folks in remission? I have read your briefing papers but most of it is about the ‘how’ not the why.”

  “I can only guess sir,” said Dr. Grieb.

  “Then guess,” said General Buckley. “I need answers today if I am going to make this work. These folks have run three operations inside my base and half a dozen that we know of off base. I want to know my enemy so I can kill him.”

  “Yes sir,” said Dr. Grieb with a gulp. “I have some squirrelly ideas but they are just theories …”

  “Out with it,” interrupted General Buckley.

  “OK, but you’re gonna think I am nuts,” said Dr. Grieb shaking his head. “I think that this organization is made up of people who are immune. Based on the evidence, I think they are … well … trying to rule the world. It sounds like the plot from some science fiction story but … well anyway, they are recruiting. They apparently have a very robust intelligence network and every time they hear of someone going into remission, they grab them.”

  “Gentlemen,” said General Buckley resignedly. “To use your phrase, a month ago, I would have thrown you out the door for wasting my time. Now, I believe you. I can’t fathom this ‘Call’ or why on earth someone would tear down civilization just to rule the ruins but it’s not up to me. It seems like they are doing it. I aim to stop them.”

  “Andy,” said General Buckley resignedly, “as of today, you report directly to me. None of the other half a dozen flag officers on post will have any authority over you. If anyone demands that you provide information or support to what they are doing in any way, frog march them in here to me. It doesn’t matter what day or night.

  “Grieb and Whipkey, you will keep your nominal positions but from now on, you work for Colonel Antonopoulos. Frankly, you know too much and I don’t want this information leaving the room.

  “If they have gotten to one of my staff, I want not only the bastards behind this but I also want to hang high any officers who would wear the uniform but profane their oath. FIND THEM!”

  June 1st, Monday, 5:21 am PDT.

  The planning meeting the night before had gone very late. Chad was still tired but someone had to be on watch and he was the morning person so he volunteered for the graveyard shift.

  In the end, they had decided to head for Moscow. The hints given by the folks at Ft. Lewis were just too strong to ignore. He planned, at some point to go to Phil’s one last time to tell his brother over Skype that their mom had passed away. If any place still had regular internet service around here, it would be at the University. Chad hoped the message about their already deceased mother would give him warning enough to do any political maneuvering he might need to pave the way for their entry. It would also place them at home if they really were following their intercepts closely.

  Their plan was to take Dave’s truck, Chad’s Subaru Outback, and the Camaro as they were the most reliable vehicles in the group. If one failed, in a pinch they could get by with either of the other two, though it would be crowded if it was the truck that they had to abandon.

  Heather’s Camry was rode hard and put away wet after her divorce and so was not mechanically reliable. They also had decided to leave Mary’s 2003 Subaru Impreza as well. It had been their first Subaru and had served them well, but after the incident at the police station, the engine had a tick that Chad didn’t trust even though it had been in the shop twice. He couldn’t find the problem and neither could their regular mechanic. It was still fine for back and forth to work, but long distance travel was risky in his opinion. Another of his chores today was to siphon the gas out of the two cars they were leaving into jerry cans.

  They also planned to put kit in each vehicle that would allow the drivers and passengers to survive if they became separated. Each car would have tactical food like granola and protein bars, a substantial first aid kit, water, basic tools, and weapons along with as much long term gear as they could safely carry. Even with the truck, there were some things they were going to have leave behind.

  The generator was one, along with some of the water and bulk food like flour and split peas and Chad was already agonizing over which pieces of his rather large collection of automotive repair implements and spare parts to take and which to leave. It was clear that they wouldn’t be pulling out today. With Dave’s explosive’s class and the booby trapping of both homes and all the cross loading, it was going to take a long time, maybe too long. Chad was worrying about getting hit while they were packing. He hoped the maintenance and additions that Macklin’s gang was making to the MRAP would take longer but they couldn’t count on it. In the end, it was Mary’s idea that gave him the most comfort.

  After their meeting broke up a few minutes after midnight, Mary went house to house to the neighbors she trusted and told them what t
hey had planned. She also invited all that were willing over for Dave’s class and asked their help. Soon, at about 6:00 am, they would start arriving. Heather and Mary had stayed up most the night baking bread, croissants, and making a ginormous pot of split pea soup, the primary constituents being items that they would have to leave behind anyway. The thought was that free food would motivate the fence sitters.

  The end result was that there would be lots of armed people around taking the class, helping them load and removing those supplies that they couldn’t take. With all the help, they could have two people on the roofs all day long with long distance rifles. They were also making arrangements with more distant neighbors to take shifts being at home with some hand held radios that Heather had for skiing with her kids to act as lookouts. There were only a few ways into the neighborhood for something as big as an MRAP. It was hoped that thirty seconds of warning would get non-combatants to cover and get the shooters set to open fire.

  Dave was still up in his basement making things that go boom. It was his plan to have some homemade electrically fused claymore mines and napalm ready at sunrise. Chad knew that they hadn’t thought of everything, he only hoped that it was enough.

  June 1st, Monday, 4:58 pm PDT.

  Daniel Bury, known by his road name of ‘Rugrat’ was out on his Harley. The guys in his motorcycle club had given him the name because at 5’2”, he was the shortest guy in the club and at seventeen was also the youngest. Most of the women in the club were taller than he was. Kevin Erwin, who was supposed to be higher than a kite but in fact, had given most of his Slash to his technicians said that someone ought to run by this Strickland place real casual like to see what’s going on. Dan admired Kevin because he stood up to that ex-fed Macklin and also because he had seen him play football with the Seahawks on TV.

  He had spent the last forty minutes cruising this way and that trying to be nonchalant, but everywhere he went, people stopped and looked at him. There weren’t many vehicles on the road and even fewer Harley Hogs with straight pipes. It was clear that he couldn’t just casually drift by.