by Joe Hart
“Put your weapons on the ground and step away from them.”
Quinn glanced at Alice who looked back at him, a thousand unsaid words in a single gaze. He nodded, and they stripped their rifles free, along with the revolver and Roman’s pack, laying them on the piled shells.
“I’m going to search you. If any of you move in a way that displeases the soldier above you, you will be shot. Do you understand?”
They all nodded, and Quinn heard Ty draw in a shuddering breath. The soldier moved forward and patted them down while the man behind him kept a bead on them, his gaze locked on Quinn’s face.
“They’re clean,” the first soldier said, stepping back. He lowered his weapon but kept his finger on the trigger. “Where the hell did you folks come from?”
“Maine,” Alice answered. “Can we put our fucking hands down now?”
The soldier’s eyebrows rose and he nodded. “Yes, go ahead.”
They lowered their hands, and Ty stroked Denver’s head and back, smoothing his hackles that stood upright, until the big dog licked his chops and sat down near the boy’s feet.
“Maine?” the second soldier repeated.
“Yes, Maine. We heard about the safe zone before everything went to shit and drove here,” Alice said, bringing Ty close to her side. The soldier turned to his companion and shrugged.
“Unbelievable you got here unscathed,” he said after a pause.
“We didn’t get here unscathed,” Quinn said. “There was plenty of scathing.”
“I see. Well, no offense, buddy, but can I ask what’s—”
“It’s a genetic disorder that affected my facial bones. I’ve had it since I was born.”
The soldier studied him for a moment and then turned to Alice. “You corroborate this, ma’am?”
Alice laughed bitterly. “Yes, I corroborate. Now, are you going to let us inside, or do we have to hoof it back to our vehicle and find the real army?”
The soldier eyed them all for another beat and then offered his hand.
“Lieutenant Garret Wexler. This is Private Weston Murray. And the man up above is Private First Class Robert Thomas. Welcome to U.S. Army Safe Haven Number 81, or as we call it, Camp Terra Verde. Murray, kindly gather the people’s weapons, and I’ll show them inside.”
“We can’t have our guns?” Alice asked.
“No, ma’am. Civilians are not allowed to carry weapons within camp,” Wexler said, ushering them toward the battered steel door set into the barricade. They stepped inside, and Quinn couldn’t help faltering, his eyes widening at the sight.
Innumerable rows of low, white tents were set on the crusted soil. They stretched away in unending lines, some collapsed upon themselves while others were larger and stood above their counterparts. The circumference of the barriers was immense, the walls running in a huge loop that he lost sight of as it dipped down and curved to the west. A half dozen tanks sat across the immense yard as well as four large transport trucks, their rear ends open and empty. Machinegun turrets were folded back in upright positions every twenty yards atop the walls, and a narrow band of steel scaffolding ran in a half circle along the north, west, and east of the perimeter, giving access to the turrets. The soldier Wexler had identified as Thomas stood on one edge of a platform above them, a long sniper rifle notched against a hip. He watched them as they entered and spit a string of tobacco juice to the ground fifteen feet below. The wind carried the rotting scent past them as more rain began to fall.
“You good for a bit, Thomas?” Wexler called without looking up.
“Yeah. Send me up an umbrella. Better yet, send me up Sergeant Collincz.” Thomas grinned, and Murray, who had just entered the camp carrying their weapons, broke into laughter. Wexler half turned toward them and cocked his head to one side. He waited until both soldiers quieted, and Thomas faced the fields outside the walls. Wexler shifted his attention back to them and then nodded toward a long, green tent beside the transport trucks.
“Follow me, please.”
Thunder rolled across the sky like an unseen avalanche as they kept pace behind the Lieutenant and ducked beneath the flaps into the tent. Inside were two plastic folding tables surrounded by chairs along with a bank of computer equipment, screens all dark. A rack of rifles hung from one wall, stacks of army-green plastic ponchos lining the ground beneath them. A half-eaten protein bar sat on the edge of the closest table, and Wexler picked it up, biting off a chunk before unsnapping his helmet.
“Apologies, but I’m going to finish my lunch if you folks don’t mind,” he said, lowering himself into a chair.
Quinn gazed around the mostly barren tent to the raindrops pelting the dry ground outside sending up puffs of dust. He caught Alice’s eye, and she stared at him, holding her hands out, palms up. What’s going on? He shrugged and turned to Wexler who was finishing his protein bar.
“Sir, can you tell us what’s happening here?”
Wexler crushed the wrapper and flung it into a plastic bin beside the table. He looked at them all before sighing.
“Not exactly what you expected after traveling all this way, I’m sure.”
“Fucking A,” Alice said, placing her hands on her hips. Wexler appraised her and smiled before rubbing the close-cropped hair on his head.
“When the disease titled A4N9 became labeled as a pandemic, the United States government began setting up quarantine zones as well as safe havens across the country. This one was completed first as a centralized location.” He paused and looked at them all. “It was also the only one completed.”
“What?” Quinn said.
“The disease moved too fast for the other havens to be finished. The kill rate was unbelievable. Just when we thought the worst had passed, another wave of sickness would roll over. Millions upon millions of infected dying in their homes, the streets, their cars, everywhere. And then we began to see them.” Wexler scratched the stubble on his jaw and gazed down at the floor.
“You mean the stilts,” Quinn said.
“Stilts? Yeah, that’s a good name for them. We never really had an official title to call them, never received any protocol.” He laughed, but it held no humor. “Never received a lot of things.”
“That’s where all the shells came from outside, isn’t it?” Quinn said, ice water pooling in the pit of his stomach. “You were shooting at them, weren’t you?”
Wexler nodded without looking up. “The last strings of refugees were coming in five days ago. The quarantines broke down as soon as they were established. Everyone was sick. Those who weren’t were immune, simple as that. We didn’t realize what was coming, we had zero intel. And then they were just there, all around us.” Wexler fumbled in his pocket and drew out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit the smoke and drew hard on it, expelling a white plume into the air as the rain drummed harder on the tent. “We took hundreds of them down, but they kept coming until dark and then they just vanished, pulled away their dead. I saw a few eating their own, but the worst thing was the people coming in were caught in the crossfire. Some were dragged off, but a lot got blown to pieces during all the fighting.” Wexler coughed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s when I had the most men under my command.”
“Lieutenant, where is everyone? Where’s the refugees and the rest of your troops?” Quinn asked in a low voice as lightning slit the sky’s belly. Wexler took another drag on his cigarette, the smoke turning his eyes a sick, milky green as he stared through it.
“They’re dead. We’re all that’s left.”
Chapter 26
Questions and Answers
“What do you mean you’re all that’s left?” Alice asked, her voice rising in pitch. “You’re all that’s left of your company?”
“We’re all that’s left of the United States Army, ma’am. When this shit went down, they had cases springing up in Russia, England, Germany, Australia, and Canada. Deployments went everywhere, but we were all given comm codes to reach the other
havens. That’s how I know they were never finished. There were mass AWOL reports at first and then everyone was sick. The last haven I heard from was in northern Texas, and the Captain in charge there was delirious with fever. He said the things people were becoming were the future and there was no resisting them. Those that were immune were the damned and they’d be the ones to suffer the most.”
Quinn crossed his arms to keep them from shaking. I wonder if we’re the damned? “There’s got to be other posts out there. Someone must’ve survived,” he said.
“Listen bud, I manned the comms myself until most lines dropped off the grid. The last contact we had with the outside was three days ago. There’s been nothing but silence ever since.”
“Oh my God,” Alice said, and slowly sat in a chair. She pulled Ty into her lap, and Denver slumped to the ground near her feet.
“We suspected it was bad, but…” Quinn waved his hand at the rain-pelted dirt, his throat closing up.
“It’s global,” Wexler said, finishing his cigarette. He crushed it beneath the sole of his boot and stood. “The scientists had just started to scrape the surface of the virus when it all collapsed.” He surveyed them again. “Did you see anyone else alive out there?”
“Yes. They were mostly hostile,” Alice said, not looking up. “But there were a few.”
“We’ve had two small bands of renegades come through, both repelled easily, but then we had numbers and firepower. We burned through ammo during the fight with the tall bastards because we figured we’d have another transport come in within a day. None ever came.”
“So you three are it?” Alice asked. “You’re all that’s left?”
“We have two more. One is Sergeant Collincz. She’s over attending to Doctor Holtz in the rear of the compound.”
“What about him?” Quinn asked, pulling out the ID card with Harold Roman’s picture on it. “Did you know him?” Wexler took the card from him and glanced up.
“Where did you get this?”
“I found it in the pack I was wearing earlier. Roman was hiding in a distributing warehouse on the east side of Fort Dodge. He’d been injured, looked like a stilt bit him. He died in the middle of the night,” Quinn said.
Wexler grimaced and turned the ID card over and over in his hands.
“He disappeared three nights ago while on watch. He was a lab technician from Minnesota, showed up right when we were first setting camp. We had to recruit him to help watch the walls after everyone died. I was sure he’d been taken.”
“He was also carrying this,” Quinn said, opening the paper with the medical terminology on it. Wexler read through it and after a moment, shook his head, handing it back.
“Doesn’t make a lick of sense to me.”
“I can’t understand it either, but that’s my father’s signature on the very bottom.”
Wexler took out the pack of cigarettes again, pulling one free before rolling it between his fingers. “You could try showing it to Holtz, but don’t get your hopes up.”
“Why’s that?” Quinn asked.
“Because he’s lost touch with reality the last few days. He’s a military doctor and was working in a lab here on base when everyone started developing the fever and dropping dead. He tried everything that they sent him as far as vaccines and even made quite a few of his own, from what I understand, before his wife fell ill.” Wexler tucked the cigarette away for later. “When she died, he became unstable, didn’t sleep for days and started babbling nonsense to anyone that came within earshot. He’s been asleep for over twenty-four hours, and we’ve been taking turns checking on him.”
“I’d like to see him,” Quinn said.
“Me too,” Alice said, coming to her feet.
Wexler gazed at them and then out at the rain before standing to grab several ponchos off the floor.
“You’re going to need these. It’s a bit of a walk.”
~
They trudged through the curtains of rain as the wind tried to tug the plastic ponchos from their bodies. Thomas gave Wexler a short signal from the wall before resuming his vigil of the surrounding land. They made their way down the first row of tents, the openings flapping in the wind like beckoning hands. Denver eyed each one warily as they passed as if he expected something to rise from inside.
Wexler lead at a brisk pace, not looking around, head down, hands gripping his weapon. The land slowly sloped away, gradually at first and then more quickly. An access road, packed solid by dozens of tires, ran parallel to the north wall, disappearing from their view as it made a sharp turn and dropped away. The rain fell harder until they could only see a dozen strides ahead, the water undulating like a living thing. Lightning flashed again, and Quinn made out a low, dark building a hundred yards away, its features hidden by the storm. Beyond that was something he couldn’t quite understand, his mind fumbling with the information relayed in the brief blast of light. They hurried toward the building. It was only when they were close enough to see the plastic windows set in its sides and the light glowing within that he realized what lay beyond the building itself.
The land completely dropped away into nothing fifty paces past the shelter.
He had the impression of an unfathomable hole without a bottom and then the wind shifted, obscuring everything into a rain-washed haze.
“Inside!” Wexler said, holding the door open for them. Ty and Denver went in first, Alice following. Halfway through the entry, she slipped on the slick partition, her arms flying out to steady herself. Quinn stepped forward, knowing he couldn’t catch her, but then Wexler’s arm was there, wrapping around her mid-back and holding her close. She glanced up at him, her eyes wide and he smiled.
“Okay?” he asked. She nodded and regained her footing before going inside. Quinn looked down at the ground as he passed the soldier. Wexler held the door for him saying, “Careful, it’s slippery.”
“I got it,” Quinn said, stepping inside the building.
The structure was steel-framed construction with heavy poles secured in the earth, cement surrounding their bases. The shell was a tough canvas, its sides dotted with plastic widows beaded with rain. Medical equipment was everywhere. There were five cots, all missing their bedding, against one wall while the very front of the building was dedicated to computers and slim machines attached to them with snaking cables. A plastic curtain hung in the center of the space and a light shone behind it. A dark figure, only a smudged outline that moved toward them, drew a break in the curtain aside.
The soldier was a woman, mid-thirties with a round, pretty face framed by blond hair that she wore in a tight ponytail. She was shorter than Alice and heavier with a suggestion of muscularity beneath her uniform. Her eyes widened as she spotted them standing behind Wexler. Her gaze slid to each of their faces, her mouth partially open.
“They came in a little while ago,” Wexler said. “From Maine.”
“You’re kidding,” Collincz said, looking them over. “My God, that’s unbelievable.”
“They’ve come to speak with Holtz.”
“About what?”
Quinn stepped forward, holding out his paper. “Harold Roman had this in his pack when we found him. He’s dead,” Quinn said when Collincz’s eyes snapped up at the man’s name. She gave a quick nod and dropped her gaze to the text on the page. “That’s my father’s signature on the bottom.”
“Doctor Alex Gregory?”
There was something about the name that tolled a bell in his mind again, something about the way Collincz said it.
“No, James Kelly.”
“The James Kelly?” Collincz asked.
“If you’re referring to the movie star, then yes.” Both soldiers ran their gazes over his face before passing a look between them.
“I don’t understand any of this, but I’m guessing Holtz will,” Collincz finally said. “Come with me; we’ll see if he’s still awake.”
She led them back through the plastic sheet to the rear of the build
ing, which had so much lab equipment they might as well have walked into a government research facility. There were glass containment vestibules with protective rubber gloves hanging from their sides, vials upon vials stacked in centrifuges, beakers, microscopes, and powerful overhead lights that were all darkened. An electric lantern on a nearby table threw bleached light against everything in the room. In the furthest corner was a simple cot covered with black woolen blankets. A tall man with a shock of white hair and a few days’ growth of matching stubble on his long face lay beneath the covers. His eyes were open, and he stared at the ceiling that the rain continued to hammer against. Beside his bed was a simple steel tray holding a paper, pen, and a worn leather wallet. Collincz brought them to the man’s bedside and leaned into his line of sight.
“Doctor Holtz? There’s some people here to see you.” Holtz’s glazed stare never wavered. “Doctor? Could you maybe talk with them for a bit?” When the man didn’t so much as blink, Collincz held the sheet of paper with the signatures on it before his eyes. “Does any of this make sense to you, sir?” Holtz looked through the paper, a drop of saliva gathering at the corner of his mouth. Collincz held the paper steady for another few seconds and then stood back from the prone man.
“I’m sorry,” she said, handing the sheet back to Quinn. “He was completely comatose for over a day, and when he woke up, he took a few sips of water and chicken broth before becoming catatonic. I have no clue as to whether or not he’ll snap out of it. He could be like this for another hour, or…” She let her sentence trail off as another bolt of lightning ripped through the sky.
“I’m hungry,” Ty said in a low voice.
Collincz smiled. “I bet you are. How would you like a bowl of soup to warm you up and some dry blankets to cuddle into?”
Ty nodded, his face turned toward her voice. “That would be great!”
“Good. And what does your dog like to eat?”
“He’ll have soup too.”
“Ty,” Alice said, frowning. The two soldiers laughed, and Ty grinned slyly.