by Franks, JK
Scott looked at his big brother; the once robust man was a mere shadow of his former self. The dark cross tattoo on his hand a memory of all he had lost. “I know, man, but that was before. It’s been eighteen months since the CME hit. In that year and a half an estimated seventy-five to eighty percent of people are gone. That is just in towns that weren’t in the path of marauders like the Messengers. Those guys stripped Jackson bare when they passed through.”
“So, what are you saying, Scott? It’s not a big deal anymore?” his voice rising as he said it.
“Will you calm the fuck down, Bro? What I am saying is that Jackson probably was down to less than forty thousand survivors. That’s still a shitload of people to try and imprison. Others on the radio have been saying they only take the able-bodied. The sick, injured or older ones are left behind. They do take kids, though, not sure why. Maybe for leverage or perhaps just to make sure they have replacements when they work the parents to death. In either case, for them to go after a town that size seems to me to be an act of desperation.”
“Desperate how?” Bobby’s frown lines were beginning to overtake most of his face.
“This was their plan, all of it. You read the Catalyst documents. Hell, they had PowerPoint presentations on the damn thing. They would scoop the best and the brightest, their elite ten percent — off to the protectorates, small, self-contained villages, to wait for better days. These were supposed to be well-equipped to wait out the collapse when they could then emerge and have the best possible team in place to rebuild society. To shape, customize and build the type of world they envisioned. There wasn’t any mention of internment camps for the rest of the country. Nothing about forced conscription or even these damn security forces. Something has gone wrong, or they had a shitty plan. All I know is, these people overseeing Catalyst are fucking desperate.”
Bobby nodded in agreement, “So, can we go get my friends?”
Chapter Five
“This isn’t right.” None of the others in the room spoke. “This is his town, he deserves to be making this decision…not me,” Scott said for the third time.
“Bon ami, you are it, man. Todd is not even part of this council anymore. He has refused to make decisions that affect others. You know that.”
Scott did know, he had been one of those ill-fated decisions Todd had made. In agreeing to work with the Navy to help root out a Catalyst lab, Todd had inadvertently nearly gotten him killed. “Still, Bartos, he’s our friend…my friend. I owe that man my life, many times over.”
The bald-headed Cajun shrugged, “It is what it is. We all have our wounds. Jack won’t preach, Todd won’t lead, and I am just fucked in the head. Everyone…well, not everyone, you were stranded at sea and somehow survived and got the girl. Not sure how da hell that happened, but whatever…you da boss now, Scott. When dis meeting is over, I’ll go light a candle for him, but for now, just get on wid it.”
“Well, shit!” After the talk with Jack, he expected it, but he still was hoping someone else would step forward. He really just wanted to let someone else take over. He wanted to ride his bike, make love to Gia and enjoy life. Scott sat at the end of the wooden table and looked around at the faces, his friends, his family. Slowly he began to nod. “Okay then, this is how it plays…for now. Angel, you are in charge of this boat – mayor, chief of the boat, whatever, you are it. Got me?”
She looked stunned but nodded in silent agreement.
“Use DeVonte and Bobby as needed. Recruit others if you want. Now, we have two major topics on the table. First, we need to get this ship seaworthy again.” He then proceeded to fill them in on the spread of the pathogen and how long they likely had. “Now, Bartos and Tahir are helping me with a special project, but afterward, we are going to take another look at the ship's systems. To get this beast mobile again, we need engines, steering and navigation at a minimum. I don’t want us stuck here at the dock next time.” They all knew what next time meant—the infected.
Bartos leaned in, “We’re going to need more fuel for that, Brother. If you’re thinking what I believe, no way that we would have enough diesel for that.”
“Bartos, I just want us to have some options. You know…if the infection…” he trailed off, not needing to say more.
“What about the Navy? Could we get any diesel from them? I mean, shit, this problem is on them anyway.”
The younger man at the table, Lt. Garret, spoke. “Afraid not, Mr. Montgomery. I spoke to the fleet commander earlier in the week. They are running out of fuel and already had to suspend ops on some of the vessels due to lack of it. With no resupply available, it’s becoming less likely they can even remain on station.”
That was not new news, but Scott was hoping something had changed. The Bataan was a mile offshore. Its main mission right now was keeping Gia’s lab up and running. His ‘special project’ was to get the old hydro dam back over on the Black River producing electricity again. That would open up a number of possibilities, including letting Gia move the bio-lab back on shore. Otherwise, Gia would have to go wherever the ship went. It was a selfish reason, he knew, but he wanted to be selfish – haven’t I earned that right?
He scratched his head and the growing stubble of beard. “What about all the abandoned vehicles around? I know the gasoline has already started to go bad, but I thought diesel was more stable. Couldn’t we tap into all the diesel trucks, storage tanks and such?”
Bartos shook his head, “I’d agree wid you, Scott, but shit, then we’d both be wrong. We’ve already been doing that for months to keep da farm equipment running. Diesel is more stable, it won’t go bad as quickly, but we’re pushing our luck already. Da tractors will run, even if it is somewhat degraded, but da AG, well, I don’t know. I assume this lady likes her fuel fresh.” He patted the bulkhead behind him to emphasize this was the ‘lady’ he meant. “There’s a tank labeled ‘Bunker Fuel,’ though. I have an idea of what dat is. If it can burn dat, then we may be in luck.”
“Ok, ok,” Scott relented. This is a problem we must solve. Our lives may very well depend on it. In the meantime,” he checked the notes in his hand, “I need you two…” pointing at Skybox and then to Bartos, “…you continue as security for the AG and surrounding communities. Lieutenant Garret, I appreciate you staying with us. Could you assist Bartos and his people to make sure the AG stays secure?”
The young man nodded. No one needed to point out that the young Navy officer had been cozying up to a certain young lady on-board more and more lately. He and his dad, the fleet commander, had not been seeing eye to eye since the Messengers’ attack. In truth, with the Bataan stationed just offshore now, many of the sailors were now taking leave time here at the AG. Garret was not on leave though; this was a temporary assignment. Part of a passive acknowledgment of the Navy’s failure in helping the community in its time of need.
Scott turned to Jack. “The former preacher here is heading out in the next few days. He is going to try and get some of our trade routes back open and see that those farmers have what they need. We have no idea what he may find out there, so be careful, Jack.”
“Of course, Scott, you know I will.”
Scott knew the man now dreaded being on-board this ship. He blamed himself for much of the death and destruction surrounding the community he loved. What he had done to save it had eaten away at his very soul.
“Now, for the second big question of the day,” continued Scott. “Bobby has filled us in on what is happening up in Jackson with the Simpsons. It seems likely that our president’s security forces have now cleaned out the town. We need to decide on how to best go up in the middle of that and get the Simpsons.”
Bartos started unconsciously humming the theme song to the old animated series of the same name. “Can it, Homer,” Bobby said.
Scott went on, “Brother, I owe these people for saving you and Jacob, but I can’t vote for a mission to go save them. I just can’t put more of our people at risk going into what amounts
to occupied territory.”
Bobby was pissed at him, Scott could see it in his eyes, but he nodded his head. “They are good people, Scott. They wouldn’t have asked if they didn’t need help. I do understand your reasons, though.”
“Let me finish, Bobby. While I can’t ask someone to do this, if anyone wants to volunteer, I won’t stop them. Not you, though, Bobby. You haven’t recovered enough to be of any help.”
“I’ll go,” Bartos said cheerfully.
“Some of my guys will go, too,” the younger Garret said. “They are all a bit stir crazy here. Besides, my dad…I mean, the commander, has been wanting to get eyes on one of those internment camps. He may even let us take a few of his toys to play with if we can manage that.”
Bobby began to smile.
Scott nodded, “Sounds like we have a plan.”
Chapter Six
“What’s wrong?”
Gia didn’t answer but rolled close against him, her warmth spreading through him like a fire. Scott wrapped his arms around her slender shoulders. Although new to each other, he felt a familiarity, an intimacy that seemed to have existed forever. He knew she sometimes went quiet while her magnificent brain worked its way through a challenging problem. He tried again.
“Can’t sleep?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry, Scott…just thinking about work. I thought we were really on to something. Something very promising, and then, well, today...” she trailed off, deep in thought again. “I just feel like everyone is depending on me, and I just can’t seem to beat this thing.”
He knew the ‘thing’ she was referring to; it was the Chimera virus. Finding a treatment to fight the growing pandemic consumed her every waking moment. Now, it seemed to be consuming her resting moments as well. He’d mentioned some of Tahir’s ideas and suggested she at least speak to his friend, “Couldn’t hurt.”
The time they shared together was rushed and infrequent. Early on, she had been able to relax when she was aboard the AG with him, but, increasingly, she seemed to act more like she was hiding from her responsibilities and her work.
Scott often felt the same way with everything he, too, was coping with now. His responsibilities were for way more than just himself, way more than he was comfortable with. The threats and issues the community faced were his daily challenges. But all of that paled in comparison to what Gia was working on. The fate of the entire human race could literally come down to her success or failure. He ached to take some of that pressure away but knew there was nothing he could really do to help. He kissed the back of her neck. “I love you.”
She slowly turned toward him and pulled his face close. “Love you, too.” Kissing him deeply, she placed a hand on his chest. The feeling of completeness washed over him like a wave.
Their mouths connected again; the electricity surged through him as she pulled at him with a sudden hunger. They had made love before going to sleep, but her appetite was apparently not sated. How had we ever just been friends? The thought disappeared as he ran a palm over Gia’s smooth thigh. She reached for him, and he was again consumed with the need be one with her.
The lovemaking was, at times, intense and physical and, other times, slow and intimate. They both seemed to know what each needed and when. When they were together, the problems outside their cabin door stopped mattering. Scott knew she was his safe harbor, the place he could always escape to. He wondered how one person could make such a difference in his life.
Still inside her, he felt the rise and fall of her chest. The exertion had them both slick with perspiration. She stroked his chest and smiled, he leaned in and kissed her forehead.
“Scott, where do we go from here?”
The faint moonlight gave the darkened room its only light. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. He was unsure if she meant the two of them…the community…or was it the world? Should he mention getting the AG ready to sail again? He realized he was over-thinking the question. The answer was the same no matter the ‘who.’ “We do what we must. We rise-up, battle on…we survive.” He kissed her again. Just one more hill, one more mile, he thought, the mantra that helped saved him when he was lost at sea. He looked into that face, half-hidden in darkness. That face, that smile helped save him during that ordeal. The chance just to see her again gave him a goal to keep fighting for.
As tired as he was of the fight to survive, he knew they had not yet turned the corner on that. All of the original threats were still there: illness, starvation, clean water and, of course, always the others who wanted to take it away. Add to that the government and the pandemic. It was exhausting for all of them—he wasn’t special; he was simply too stubborn in his desire to keep living.
“We just don’t quit, we don’t give up, hon. We heal, we love.”
She nodded and pushed her head into his chest. “If we’re suffering, it means we’re still surviving—right?” He thought he felt tears against his skin, but he said nothing. At least in the few battles he’d fought, you could usually see the enemy. Hers was a battleground under a microscope. A world that would fit on your thumbnail, filled with deadly creatures more mysterious and alien than anything he could imagine. He held her like that until he felt her breathing soften and her arm fall slack. He moved back to his side of the bed allowing her sleeping head to cradle against his chest. Despite everything he had been through, despite how the world was out there, he fully realized he had never been happier.
Gia was gone before he woke up. This wasn’t unusual; the labs out on the Bataan ran on a Navy schedule, so early starts were common. Scott rubbed his face and headed to the common toilet everyone on this corridor used. Supplies and water were too precious to waste, and they found keeping public restrooms working was more efficient. Truthfully, they had only managed to get the ship’s plumbing working on a handful of levels anyway. He picked up a wet towelette as he went by the sink. They had run out of toilet paper months earlier. Somehow, they still had cases full of the baby wipes, but they were rationed as well. Eventually, they would be down to a bucket of wet rags. The laundry detail would love that.
He needed a plan to get to Jackson safely and hopefully find the Simpsons, but that wasn’t his specialty. He’d speak to the resident warriors. The AG had to be the only small town around with its own special forces division. Skybox and Bartos were up for it, with Lieutenant Garret, it might be doable. It would be dangerous, he knew that much. While the NSF wasn’t regular military, they were already earning a reputation for cruelty.
Scott finished up and went to the sink. He brushed his hair and thought about a shave, but it wasn’t his bath day yet, so he decided to wait. He ran a half cup of clean water from the tap and brushed his teeth with that. Toothpaste had also run out. Many people used sea salt or even some of the baking soda from supplies, but that seemed like a waste to him. His breath was probably horrid, but not a lot he could do for it this morning. Besides, he was about to be drinking coffee, one of the luxuries the Navy had helped supply. His breath would smell like ass anyway as the kitchen crew always made it strong.
He left the toilet thinking once more about how easy everything used to be. All the shit they used to take for granted. Admittedly, much of what was gone was only inconvenient—an issue they could deal with and move on. But some things were much more serious, like vitamins. Without a balanced diet, they all needed supplements, but no supplies remained. Fuel was another, and that one was a biggie. They finally had plenty of working cars thanks to the Messengers, and collectively, they had drained tankers full of gasoline, but it was all starting to go bad. They had filtered it, kept it in sealed tanks and done everything they could think of, but it was still going bad. Tahir said the molecular bonds break down pretty rapidly. While older cars had engines that were more forgiving, none would work forever. Bartos had told him that without fuel stabilizers, it would all be worthless to them within the next few months.
Scott’s mind went through the list. It was how he started most days. As an ana
lyst, he was accustomed to gathering the data, prioritizing and coming up with solutions. His brain was wired to solve puzzles, but now that it was literally life and death, he found himself struggling. He could still handle the data and see the priorities clearly, but the solutions were taking longer and sometimes did not form. Gia had said it was just that the problems were harder now. She’s probably right. Still, it frustrated him. People counted on him to come up with good answers, but, increasingly, he felt like a fraud in that department.
Chapter Seven
Walking into the dining hall, Scott saw Angel and Roosevelt. Grabbing a cup of coffee from the urn, he joined them.
“Hi, Scott.”
“Mornin’ there, Mr. Scott.”
“Hey, guys, am I interrupting anything?”
The older man laughed, “No, no, I just flirtin with this lovely creature here and she was bein’ too polite ta stop me.”
Angel shook her head, “He’s telling stories again, Scott. Roosevelt was telling me he spotted Ghost again yesterday. He was sitting with your friend, Skybox, near the canal. Do you think that means he is getting better? Does he recognize him?”
Ghost was actually an SOF soldier named Tommy who had received a severe head injury from a roadside IED in Iraq. The injury was years old now, but his friend, Skybox, still carried the guilt for the injury along with continued hope for his recovery. “I would like to think so―Skybox seems convinced he does but…I don’t know. The damage to Tommy’s head is extensive. The doctors don’t think there is anything of Tommy still in there.”
“Well, das sumpin’ in dat boy’s head,” Roosevelt said. “When he went to work on dem boys dat was ‘bout to kill yo preacher, it was unlike nutting I ever seen. Dat looked like a tornado full a razor blades the way he tore through dat bunch.”