by Bradley West
“I’m right behind you.”
* * * * *
Tall, handsome Hugh Vargo chaired the local gun club and was the militia’s notional leader. His aggressive, intelligent wife Karen was the driving force behind the Vargos’ restaurant franchises’ success. She was also the architect of the hijack plan launched along the Nevada-California border. That program had borne modest fruit the first day, but the wheels had fallen off last night when those lethal West Coast snobs and their RVs rumbled through.
Eric Long wasn’t a rocket scientist, just the most senior former military officer still uninfected and willing to obey Hugh’s self-anointed stand-in, wife Karen. An hour earlier, he had reported two dead at the firehouse and requested reinforcements. She’d committed all their reserves, even diverting the men en route to the DOT compound to defuse the bomb wired to Hugh’s neck. Twenty minutes ago, she’d received a report of heavy firing at the med center. Not five minutes later, Long was on the radio calling for a ceasefire. He didn’t possess that authority, and that affront sent her to Bridger Medical Center at high speed. Karen’s black 2020 Silverado HD High Country was a joy to drive, the best pickup truck on the market, and she thrilled at the acceleration up Gardnerville’s and Minden’s empty streets.
The bigger questions were the existence and condition of those miracle vaccines and the production progress of the so-called Dark Cure. It wouldn’t surprise her to learn that Long had followed up on his cowardly ceasefire decision with an agreement to let the carpetbaggers waltz off with everything. She pulled around behind the firehouse and her headlights picked out an agitated Jeanie Peterson, sans headgear but still in her hazmat suit.
“Mrs. Vargo! Oh, my God! There was a terrible gun battle ten minutes ago. Lots of our people are dead.” Jeanie fought tears. “Carla convinced Eric to order the men to stop fighting. She told me to come here and wait for her while she picked up Kyle and our Dark Cure doses.”
“That bitch! She’s not getting away with murdering my men and stealing our medicine!”
“No, no, Mrs. Vargo, it’s not like that! The power’s off and our plasma antibodies need to finish mixing under near-freezing conditions. She’ll leave us somewhere with refrigeration and the end instructions for the convalescent plasma. I recorded everything too.”
Jeanie’s words fell on deaf ears as Karen sprinted around the firehouse and out of sight. Seconds later, she was inside the med center and shouting. Several others took up the cry for Long, who had just finished his disarmament tour with big Jaime. Back inside the med center, Long surveyed the grim scene by flashlight. Bodies lined either side of the hallway while the wounded lay on office couches. The State Line crew had zero doctors present and just two EMTs performing triage on the eight injured. More corpses lay deeper inside the building. Long had sent out additional men to retrieve the wounded; there’d be plenty of time tomorrow to sort out the dead. Outside in the parking lot, he’d witnessed a smaller-scale duplication of the indoor horrors. He’d directed his men to move the casualties into the offices and watched with relief as the Californians moved the squad machinegun into their vehicle, though it was still ready to fire.
Karen found Long almost in a trance as he reflected on the carnage. “What in the hell happened?” she demanded.
Like a repentant murderer giving testimony, the words spilled out in a jumble. “It was a slaughter: they set up their machinegun in secret halfway down the main hall and opened up on us in the dark. Their leader offered a ceasefire and I accepted, or else we’d all be dead. Thank heavens they’ll leave soon for good.”
“How many fighting men do we have left?” Karen’s tone was the auditory equivalent of the SAW.
“I don’t know. We have two EMTs and two sets of two men looking for more wounded, and—”
“How many men do we have who want to fight and where are they?”
Walking up the hallway came three men who picked their way between the bits and pieces of their neighbors and friends. “We saw two of the bastards five minutes ago—a tricked-out commando-type and a woman. You say the word and we’ll slot them.”
“There are four or five of them in the parking lot packing up,” Long said before Karen could answer. “If you don’t neutralize them first, they’ll come back here and kill us. Are you sure you want to start up again? Why not let them leave?”
“Look at what they’ve done—they massacred my boys,” Karen said. “Kill them! Kill all of them!”
“Gladly,” the leader said. He turned to his men. “Pick up ARs and any spare mags. We’ll need night-vision as well. I’ll round up anyone else itching for payback. Meet here in five.”
Jeanie Peterson had no interest in keeping company with the two corpses deposited in the county hearse parked behind the firehouse. She made her way across the street where she entered the med center unchallenged. Then she stood in horror as Karen ordered the bloodshed to start up again. Without speaking, Jeanie turned and headed back at a dead run.
* * * * *
“Kyle, it’s Carla. Are you in there?” The Livermore team leader used her sweetest voice, one that Travis was unlikely to hear again soon.
“Carla? Is everything okay? I lost power a half-hour ago,” said a voice from within. “My phone flashlight is half-dead and the plasma temp is up to 40˚F (5C).”
“Yes, we’re fine. There’s a ceasefire but it might not hold so we need to go. I’m here with a bodyguard while you and I bring out the plasma and equipment. Is the filtration done?”
Kyle unlocked the door and let the two of them in. It took time to hack off Styrofoam chunks from other packing materials and jam them around the beaker containing the filtered plasma.
Travis’ comms buzzed. “We have a situation,” Jaime said. “In the last two minutes, men started running around. Instead of carrying their wounded inside, they left them as-is and disappeared. Over.”
“We’re finishing up here. You got everyone?”
“Yes, all four of us. We’re reloaded and ready. Arkar folded the seats down and has the hatch up with the SAW pointed out the back. After we pick up a second vehicle, he’ll be able to cover our retreat. Over.”
“Come to the south entrance. If we leave in the next minute, they won’t know until we’re gone. One piece of bad news: the radio I took off Vargo died so I can’t monitor their comms. Over.”
“Roger.” Jaime turned off his handset. “Let’s roll. It’s likely to get ugly fast. We need to steal another ride.”
As the blacked-out Telluride eased out of its parking space, a big pickup truck flashed past down the side road and turned into the southside parking lot. “Goddammit! Follow that rig! If they drop men in the rear, we’re fucked!”
Jaime got back on the handset. “Travis, you need to un-ass ASAP. Probable bandits in a black pickup at the south entrance. We’re exiting.” He clicked off without waiting for a reply.
* * * * *
Carla offered Kyle counsel out of earshot of the gimpy Texan: “Let me give you an outline of the last steps. We have them written out for when we’re gone, but I left them with my uncle. Keep the plasma just above freezing and agitate it gently all night to ensure equal antibody distribution before portioning it into doses. My advice is to inject yourself with ten mil—if you don’t suffer an adverse reaction overnight, that’s a good sign. Wait two days, and if you don’t have Covid-20, you did it right and your blood should be antibody-rich. You’ll become the core local donor even if this current batch spoils.”
“People, we are leaving,” Travis said from the door. He eased it open a crack and peeked into the hall.
Kyle fumbled and found a syringe, loaded it and handed it to Carla as he unzipped his hazmat suit. Carla pulled up his tee shirt sleeve and gave him an intramuscular injection. “Keep this secret until you see how things turn out,” she said. “Ready?”
Kyle put the plasma flask into the insulated plasma box.
“Cut your lights!” Travis hissed. He turned on his nogs an
d stepped into the hallway. They only had to travel twenty feet (6 meters) to the main hall and then another fifty feet to the south entrance. He peered around the corner and retreated. “No go,” he said. “Echoes with night-vision are working their way down, and it’s not our team.” He softly closed the door and slid home the bolt. “You can turn your lights on—we aren’t going anywhere.”
* * * * *
Tien drove the Telluride fast with no lights. The hulking black pickup sat outside the south entrance. The driver’s door was open with the engine running. Jaime was at the vehicle in seconds. He confirmed it was empty and reported back to his team: “It’s a civilian ride. No weapons and smells brand new. Tien, pull over into the shadows and cut the lights. Arkar, work with Tien to set up the SAW over the pickup’s roof aimed forward. I’ll drive that rig and Melvin will provide cover from the SUV. Melvin, are you with me?”
Melvin’s mind was a long way away, contemplating heaven and hell, and duty and honor. He didn’t respond.
Arkar observed, “This is Vargo’s truck.”
Jaime’s walkie-talkie crackled with Travis’ voice: “Bad news. Hallway’s crawling with hostiles. We’re locked in the lab behind a steel door that will only take them minutes to break into. But with so many rooms, it might take them hours to locate us. Snatch us high-value hostages to trade. Over.”
“Roger,” Jaime said.
“We already have a hostage,” Carla said. “Without Kyle they can’t make the Dark Cure. We also have all the Dark Cure I made, and if they screw with us, I’ll destroy it. We should be out of here in ten minutes if we talk instead of shoot. Over.”
Carla turned to Travis. “The only way this fails is if they think we’re bluffing. There’s a med student, Jeanie, who we worked with this afternoon. She knows I wouldn’t hurt Kyle. But you killed a dozen of their people and have a gun to poor Kyle’s head. He’s afraid for his life. You need to convince them you’re serious.”
Travis and Kyle stared at one another. Kyle nodded, and Travis did the same.
“Good,” said Carla. “Then all we have to do is relax and wait for them to find us. I hope it’s not too long—I have to pee.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Snapped Decision
Thursday, July 16, and Friday, July 17, 2020: Douglas County and outside Winnemucca, Nevada; before and after midnight
Two pairs of militiamen leapfrogged down the main corridor providing mutual cover as they probed for Californians even as their flashlights gave away their positions. When they reached the two dead men and a fire extinguisher outside a battered-open door, one of the point men noticed the blood trail. He motioned for a halt and showed his comrades the left-footed droplets. Before continuing, they inspected the lab and found a beaker of green liquid on a counter covered in lab equipment. Their leader called it in: “We have a blood trail and shouldn’t have a problem tracking them. I’m in the cancer lab and it’s full of specialist equipment plus something they mixed. Could be the vaccine we’re looking for, but I doubt it or they wouldn’t have left it. You’ll want to send people down to secure the premises. Over.”
“Ignore everything but the carpetbaggers,” Karen said. “I’m told we want the female scientist alive, but that’s optional. I sent more men to the south side, and in ten minutes we’ll have a pair of snipers with night-vision scopes in place. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to move. Over.”
The point man led his team down the hallway one spatter at time. Outside the OB-GYN lab door was a collection of smears, and the former Ranger waved to show that their quarry was inside. He quietly instructed one pair to put their laser gunsights on that door and fire the next time it opened. They nodded. He retreated out of earshot to pass along the good news.
Travis pulled his ear from the door and retreated to the far corner. One more time the walkie-talkie came out, its battery on vapors. “Jaime, we’re trapped and I’m out of juice. Expect them to hit you soon. We have an ace and we’ll play it now. If we’re not out in ten minutes, take hostages. Over.” He switched off the handset.
Turning to his companions, he spoke in a whisper. He cupped his Maglite so that they could see each other’s faces. “They’re outside in the hall. If they don’t gas us through the HVAC system, they’ll blow the door unless we have a hostage.” Carla looked calm; Kyle less so. She gave Travis a hard stare with cold eyes and nodded. He smiled in return, his faith in her restored.
Travis hammered the butt of his M-4 against the steel door, sending reverberations echoing down the hallway. “Listen up! We have a hostage named Kyle. We also have all the Dark Cure treatment your town needs to stay alive. The treatment is in a glass beaker and if I smash it, you’re all dead. If you don’t believe me, ask him.” Travis nodded to the trembling grad student.
If Kyle was faking terror, he turned in a stellar performance. “He’s telling the truth—we used up all the survivor blood making the treatment. Carla taught me what to do, but there’s a soldier who says you have to let us go or he’ll kill me.”
“He’s bullshitting,” the leader said. “Whoever you are in there, you’re former Spec Ops just like me. We don’t hurt innocent people. Lay down your weapons, unlock the door and no one gets hurt.”
Travis laughed. “If you didn’t intend to kill us, why are you down here with another dozen men outside? All you have to do is retreat and let us drive off. We’re not looking for a fight. The scientist and I came here to save your townspeople. You and I both followed many stupid orders in our careers, but the deaths tonight stem solely from the State Line’s decisions. And because I don’t trust your boss, there’s no fucking way we surrender. Do the math—once you kill us, the only scientists who can make the medicine die, plus the Dark Cure ends up down the drain.”
“What do you propose?”
“I’ll carry the open beaker of Dark Cure in my web gear. If I go down, it spills and is useless. I’ll have my Glock against your boy’s head and it has a two-pound trigger pull. If I fart, he dies. The scientist has an M-4 and combat experience. When we’re away, we’ll drop off the kid and everything else provided no one’s on our tail.”
“I’ll check with my superiors and revert in fifteen,” the point man said.
“Don’t think I don’t know you’re moving snipers into position outside. You have ten seconds before I pour one dose of the Dark Cure down the drain. I’ll repeat that every minute until it’s all gone. Then it’ll be Kyle’s brains on the wall and we can meet face to face.”
The point man said nothing, but looked to the ever-growing crowd of armed men for guidance. Their headlamps and flashlights lit up the hallway like a nighttime coalmine cave-in rescue operation.
From the back of the throng came a female voice: “Kyle! Carla! It’s Jeanie! I want to join you! Let me go!” she exclaimed as she burst through the half-hearted restraining attempts. The twenty-three-year-old med student no longer wore her hazmat suit and looked like a harmless high schooler. She almost reached the metal door before the point man swept her up in a bear hug. She resisted and wailed, “Let me through! There are twenty men with guns out here!”
The point man handed off the writhing young woman to another soldier who stuffed a spare face mask into Jeanie’s mouth and pinned her arms to her sides.
“Sounds like we have new conditions,” Travis said. “Start by letting Jeanie go. Next, clear out of the hallways to the south exit. All the lights go out too. I have better nogs than you, and anything suspicious means people die. Don’t try to use flash bangs or smoke either. What’ll it be?”
“Clear the hall!” sounded out from the rear. The voice belonged to Jim Upchurch and his hands were shaking, but he’d found his voice. “I have relieved Karen Vargo of command. Everyone out of the hall! Tell our men outside not to shoot, either. We want these people out of town before anyone else gets hurt.”
A minute later, a lightheaded Kyle Folgeron opened the OB-GYN door a crack, expecting a flash of light and a quick trip to t
he hereafter. True to his word, Travis had the Glock pressed to the nape of his neck, but he offered comfort. “It’s actually a three-pound trigger—two pounds was too fiddly.” Carla stood with her back to Travis as the three of them limped along. She couldn’t see anything in the hallway, but the safety was off and the M-4 had a full mag. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
At the corner came a familiar voice: “It’s Jeanie. Turn right here and I’ll go ahead and open the doors. Mr. Upchurch went outside to tell them.”
At the double-glass doors, their two getaway vehicles sat feet from the exit. Arkar stood exposed behind the SAW, knowing he would die seconds after he shot the sniper off the roof across the street. But that action might allow his friends to escape, and that was enough. Travis, Carla and Kyle piled into the SUV while Jeanie climbed into Karen’s donated black pickup with Jaime at the helm. Arkar repositioned his weapon onto the pickup’s bed and dropped the tailgate before assuming a prone position. At high speed, the SUV led the Silverado into the great wide open.
“Travis, is there anyone following us?” Carla asked.
Travis had positioned himself in the back of the cabin with his M-4. “All clear so far. Melvin, how does it look in front?”
“No threats spotted.”
Kyle asked the question that haunted him: “Would you really have shot me?”
“Of course, he would have,” Carla said. “He still might have to if those idiots back there attack us again. Where do you want to be dropped off?”
Kyle figured she was joking but couldn’t be certain. “I don’t have any family left. Covid killed my parents last week and I’m an only child. Can I come with you?”