***
“Do you see that?” Sam said, watching out the side window. John slowed the blue and white truck and took the side road to the orchard, parking down a well-worn road that separated two types of fruit trees.
“Now that’s something you don’t see very often, pears and oranges ripening at the same time,” Sam observed. They wandered between the rows of trees that hadn’t been pruned or cared for in too long. Most of the fruit lay on the ground, rotting. A south wind mingled the scent of the now close salty ocean and the cloying stench of rotting fruit.
“That’s not common?” John asked, easily plucking a pear from the tree. It was overripe, soft and juicy when he bit into it.
“No it isn’t. Pears ripen in September and October, and it’s now late December, perfect for oranges.”
“Perhaps it’s because of the ash cloud cooling effect,” John suggested. He dropped the pear core and picked up an orange, peeling back the partially green rind, exposing a juicy interior. The juice dripped down his chin as he savored the flavor. “I miss oranges more than I miss apples or bananas.” He filled his shirt and pockets with the juicy fruit.
“John, we can come back.” Living in Florida all his life and understanding the fruit cycles, Sam snickered at John’s excitement. “In fact, maybe we can find some containers to take some of this back with us.”
“You’re right, let’s get back on the road. We can’t be too far from the outpost.” John peeled another orange.
***
John slowed the truck when the tent city came into view. It was quiet, too quiet. Even with the heat of the day, there should have been some activity. John stopped at the Red Cross tent and got out. The canvas flap that served as a door waved quietly in the breeze and sent a waft of putrid air in their direction.
“If this were a bad movie we should be seeing zombies lumbering out of the tent soon,” Sam joked.
“This ain’t no zombie movie. Wait here,” John said, taking a deep breath before entering the tent. He pulled his t-shirt up to cover his nose and mouth, thinking he’d rather smell his own sweat and fear than what was concealed inside. On all the desks inside the doorway were boxes of surgical gloves and faces masks. Something definitely felt wrong and he scanned the room quickly.
The chair for the desk was pushed askew by the body half in, half out of the seat, frozen in mortification. Dried blood crusted the lower half of the swollen face and flies buzzed everywhere. He took the boxes of masks and gloves and rejoined Sam outside.
“Here, put these on. Double gloves and pinch the nose of the mask snug against your face,” John said. Sam did as John said without question. “Can you do this, Sam? It’s really bad in there.”
The younger man produced two sticks of gum from his pocket and handed one to John. “It might help.”
They stepped inside the tent.
CHAPTER FIVE
The deep blue emergency cots inside the medical tent were lined up in neat rows in the center. More cots occupied space wherever they fit, it seemed. Every cot in the crowded room had a sheet covering or partially covering a body. John lifted a dozen sheets then quit looking. When he passed a cot that showed a bloated, bloody face, he pulled the sheet up out of respect. He counted over one hundred occupied cots.
At the main desk he pushed the chair aside slow enough to not dislodge the red haired body that occupied it. He moved another chair in its place so he could check drawers and documents in semi-comfort.
“It looks like there was some kind of flu that hit the compound,” John said to Sam. “The most common diagnosis appears to be ‘severe respiratory distress’. Sometimes this fellow got creative and put down ‘can’t breathe’. Let’s check the other tents.” John looked at the corpse again and spotted the service pistol. He removed the gun and then the paddle holster.
Outside, they both pulled the masks away and gulped fresh air. John attached the paddle holster to the waistband on his jeans and checked the gun. It was a 92FS 9mm Beretta identical to the one that landed him in the detention center months ago. It seemed fitting. He holstered it, reminding himself to thoroughly clean it later.
“That was good thinking about the gum,” John said.
“The sense of smell and taste are strongly linked together. Something sweet or even sour in the mouth can really dampen a bad smell. I found that out working for a veterinarian when I was a kid.”
They walked a short distance.
“Do we want to split up to get this over with quicker?” Sam asked, ignoring John’s action of taking the gun. He learned early not to question John because John always had a good reason to do whatever he did.
“I want to, but we’re not going to. Since we don’t know what we’re going to find, we stick as a team. Let’s try the command post next.” John backed up ten feet and scanned the tops of the structures. “There.” He pointed at the tall antenna shining in the dull sunlight.
The command center was at the south end of the encampment near a dirt and gravel road that ran north and south. The door was closed and John could hear a faint hum emanating from inside. He motioned to Sam and they readied their weapons before entering.
A wall of stale air greeted them, and an army of angry flies which began escaping out the open door.
“The generator must have shut down days ago,” Sam said, listening for anything else. The air conditioning unit that was fitted into a hole in the furthest wall and supported by a handmade brace was quiet. He pulled his mask down.
“Keep that on until we’ve searched the place,” John said. Sam nodded and put the mask back up when he spotted the dishes covered in maggots and what appeared to be a half-eaten sandwich.
The command center was one large mobile office structure divided into two sections. The one half was all business: desks, file cabinets, maps, and a radio unit. The second, smaller section, with a second air conditioner, was living quarters for the commander containing a table, bed, dresser and clothes rack. After a quick search, John demeaned both sections to be vacant.
He pulled the mask down and left it dangling around his neck. Sam mimicked his action.
“We need to find paperwork about this outbreak, check the rest of the tents, and radio in to Hank—in that order,” John said. He sat down at a desk that bore a nameplate reading “Cmdr. V. Jarrett”, opened drawers, and shuffled through files.
“Here’s a memo that says ninety percent of the camp was sick, with ten percent casualties,” Sam said from the radio desk. “From the date and lack of notations, it doesn’t appear this was called in.”
John took the memo and read it himself. “That would explain why they were considered ‘dark’ and not in distress.” He put the paper down. “Sam, go check the generator and the fuel level. We need to get the power back on. Then let’s check the rest of the place.”
***
After Sam left, John took a closer look at the command center and spotted a weapons locker the size of a large closet, noting the padlock wasn’t locked. Inside were shelves filled with ammunition, extra magazines, hand guns, and rifles. John found two extra magazines that fit his newly acquired Beretta and slipped them into his pocket. An AR-15 with a scope caught his attention and he removed it from its hanger, along with three extended magazines that appeared to hold twenty-five rounds each.
He could make better use of them and he doubted anyone was going to miss them. He carried the AR, magazines, and several boxes of ammo out to his truck and slid them under the front seat. Back inside, he returned the lock to the door, just as he had found it.
***
The FEMA compound covered ten acres of dry, parched land, made more so by the obvious heavy foot traffic. John insisted on a systematic method of searching, much like he would do if he were looking for survivors after a mine cave-in. He knew survivors could be anywhere and in any condition.
An hour la
ter, they sat on the front bumper of their truck, eating a sandwich and drinking water, constantly watching the place for any movement.
“Well, that was a gruesome task,” Sam lamented. “I’m glad you thought we should use the cans of spray paint from the supply tent. Writing on the front door how many bodies are inside each place means we don’t have to go back in to recount.”
“Rough count so far is seven hundred, and we’re not done. There are still all the trailers to check. I think it’s time we can call in to Hank though,” John said, standing. He stretched his back and headed toward the command center where they now had limited power and air conditioning. “Did you have any problems getting the generator going?”
“Not really. The gennie quit because it ran out of juice. Lucky for us there was a second tank. It took me a couple minutes to prime the lines, but this tank should last us a couple of days if we ration it,” Sam replied.
John nodded. Sam was a good right hand to have. He had even cleaned up the mess of maggots.
***
“What have you found, John?” Hank asked, surprised to be hearing from him so soon.
“So far we have a body count of over seven hundred that’s sure to climb.” The announcement was met with stunned silence. “They were hit with some form of flu virus. From the looks of it and the few records we found, it was fast and obviously deadly. So far there are no survivors.”
“I’m assuming you’re taking precautions,” Hank said quietly into the radio mike.
“Yeah, in the medic tent there were boxes of sterile gloves and surgical masks on each desk like they were as common as boxes of tissues,” John said dryly. “It’s bad, Hank, really bad. What do you want us to do?”
“What are your personal recommendations?”
John took a deep breath of the clean, air conditioned air. “I think we should finish the scouting. There still might be a survivor or two, though that’s doubtful.” He wiped his hand over his face. “There are lots of supplies here, Hank. This was a much bigger setup than we have. There are medical and vehicle supplies, and enough MREs to fill two pickups. They must have recently been resupplied.” John hesitated. “Now that makes me wonder if that’s how the virus was introduced.”
He was once again met with silence.
“Hank?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Look, we’re going to pack up and head your direction as soon as the empty buses return. I gather the radio room hasn’t been compromised?”
“There were no bodies in here, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Right. Call back in two hours.”
“Hank? You got any gum?”
***
“Where do we look next?” Sam asked in a tone that left no mistake he didn’t want to look anywhere.
“There’s still a row of refugee tents and then the staff trailers. My guess is the trailers will be empty. If the staff came down sick, they would go to the med tent immediately.” John turned the air conditioner temperature up ten degrees. He had spent enough time in the heat and humidity that it was simply too cold in there for him, although the cooler air was a refuge from the increasing heat of the day and the smells that hung everywhere.
The final row of tents were much like the others, only worse: it was the children’s area.
“Why would they put the children on the outer edge?” Sam asked.
“Think about it. There’s less noise and less activity to upset the kids, and the kids wouldn’t bother anyone with crying. And the staff trailers are here as a buffer to any danger.” John sighed. “Let’s check those staff trailers.” It was getting harder and harder for him to stay composed. All the death, especially the children, had drained him.
***
The staff motorhomes formed a partial horseshoe around the back side of the compound in a single row, a total of thirty vehicles, and each one needed to be checked.
“There’s a body back here,” Sam said through the face mask.
“Put a one on the door. If Hank wants the vehicle for use, he’ll know it has an occupant that needs to be removed first.” They put a single spritz of paint on doors to indicate they had checked and found the unit empty.
John stepped into a large motorhome parked behind the command center. The place looked clean, yet had that stale smell of something closed up for too long. He started at the front. Keys in the ignition, a three-quarter tank of gas, sunglasses tucked into the visor. The kitchen table was empty although the mini refrigerator held several unopened bottles of water. In the bedroom there was a female body in the bed, covered with blankets and empty water bottles. He checked the empty bathroom…and heard a cough.
The female wasn’t dead.
Doubtful she would be a threat, John left his newly acquired gun in its holster and approached the bed. “Ma’am?”
Her eyes opened wide at the sound of his voice. She rolled to the side and coughed again. John backed up to the door.
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” he asked softly.
“Water,” she croaked.
John retrieved a bottle from the refrigerator. He helped her sit up and then opened the bottle for her.
“Oh, that’s better,” she said after drinking, and briefly closed her eyes. “I don’t recognize you. Are you one of our new medics?”
“No, ma’am. I’m from a different unit sent to investigate.”
“Investigate what?”
“This outpost has been dark for a week,” he informed her. “Are you sick with this flu?”
“Apparently I was,” she answered, “Or under too much stress. I knew a few hours’ sleep would do wonders for me. Wait! We’ve been dark? How can that be? Jonesy lives with that radio.”
“There’s no one in the command center, ma’am.” John was hesitant to tell her too much.
“Would you please stop calling me ma’am?” The woman chuckled. “You are standing in my bedroom. My name is Vivian Jarrett. What’s your name?”
“I’m John Tiggs. My partner Sam Wilson is still checking the other motorhomes.”
“Checking them for what?” Vivian asked.
“Bodies.”
***
John waited in the kitchen while Vivian washed and dressed. He wondered how long she had been out and if she was still contagious. He left his mask up.
“Now, please explain what you mean about checking for bodies,” Vivian exited her bedroom threading a belt on pressed slacks.
John gazed at her. She sounded tired but not sick-tired. Her short dark hair and dark eyes, along with the pressed uniform gave her that air of authority and he put the pieces in place. “Are you Commander Jarrett?”
“Yes, now what is this all about?”
He lowered his mask. This wasn’t going to be easy. At least he could be blunt to save time. “According to some paperwork we found, you were recently resupplied. That may have been when the flu virus was somehow introduced into your compound and it spread fast. We have a body count of over eight hundred. You are the only survivor, ma’am. So far, that is, although we are almost done checking.”
She slumped into the booth. “Impossible. Yesterday, or maybe two days ago, there were only a handful of cases. I was feeling a bit run down, and came back here for some sleep. Jonesy came by at least twice and fed me some soup. Now you’re telling me everyone is dead?”
“Are you up for a walk?” John sidestepped answering. If she was anything like Hank, she would only accept what her own eyes saw.
Vivian stood quickly and clutched the edge of the Formica table, weaving. John reached for her to guide her back into the seat.
“Guess I’m a little lightheaded.”
“Guess you’ve had little to eat or drink for the last five days,” he said, shaking his head.
***
“Thank you. I didn’t realize how h
ungry I was,” Vivian said after wolfing down a sandwich and another bottle of water.
“Ready for that walk now?” John asked.
“From what you’ve said, I hope I can keep this down. Let’s see what I’ve missed.” She got up slowly, and once outside, accepted John’s arm to steady her weakened knees.
“I think we should start with the infirmary,” she suggested. As they approached the tent, she saw the spray paint. “What’s the ‘152’ for?”
“That’s how many bodies are inside,” John answered, keeping his face neutral. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“No, I don’t want to do this, Mr. Tiggs, I must though. These people, all of them, workers and refugees, were my responsibility.”
He handed her a mask, a pair of surgical gloves, and a piece of hard candy he’d found in an MRE, and then held the door open for her.
The first body Vivian saw was the one in the chair. “Oh, Jonesy.” She pushed the short red hair away from the bloated face. John hadn’t realized it was a woman.
Inside she moved slowly between the cots, lifting one sheet after another. John heard a sob escape more than once. He steered her back outside.
“How do you stay so calm, John?” she asked.
“Who says I’m calm?”
***
Sam met up with them as they left the children’s tent, and John made the introductions. The commander was shaking and visibly distraught.
“Wouldn’t the commander be more comfortable in the office?” Sam suggested to John.
“It’s definitely cooler in there,” John remarked. The day was quickly progressing and the heat was rising, and so was the rank odor of decaying flesh. They guided Vivian around the last of the tents and motorhomes and settled her in the tiny living space. Exhausted, she fell asleep quickly.
The Journal: Martial Law Page 3