Brushfire Plague

by R. P. Ruggiero

  Cooper ignored his painful wounds and pulled the trigger to send a hail of fire toward the biker marksman. He burned half the magazine stitching the doorway frame. He couldn’t tell if he hit the rifleman, but the long, slender, black rifle disappeared back into the bar. For good measure, he emptied the rest of the magazine by spraying a long burst across the front of the bar.

  As the pickup raced away, a few dispirited pistol shots rang back at them, but none came close to the truck. Cooper kept an eye on the bar as it receded in the distance. Thankfully, there was no pursuit.

  “Must have thought we were easy pickings; the M-16 showed them otherwise,” he mused.

  Dranko gave him a frantic look, the first time he had time to avert his eyes from the road, “You need medical.”

  “Do I?” Cooper asked in disbelief. He brought his hand to the side of his head and flinched in pain as he found a glass shard and pulled it out. The hand returned, covered in blood. “I guess you’re right.” He suddenly became woozy and forced himself to breathe deeply.

  “I hate the sight of my own blood!” Cooper complained.

  Dranko gained the distance of several city blocks and then turned into a parking lot and rounded his way behind a burned out mechanic’s shop. He looked furtively around to ensure its relative safety and then grabbed a first aid kit from underneath the seat. He made Cooper turn around, facing rearward, so he could get a better look at his wounds.

  “OK, luckily, it’s all superficial wounds. Lots of blood, but it won’t kill you. Here, take these,” Dranko said handing him several painkillers. Cooper gulped them down with the water bottle that Dranko provided. Instantly, he was very thirsty and he drained the bottle in seconds.

  “Keep an eye out. This is gonna hurt, brother,” Dranko reported as he fetched metal tweezers from the first-aid kit. Dranko quickly, and expertly, went to work. He removed shards of glass that covered Cooper’s head on the right side and rear. His shoulder had, luckily, only been grazed. He knew he had to work quickly, because the blood flow increased as he removed each piece. Cooper’s ear had been sliced nearly in half and the lobe clung loosely to the ear, hanging by a scant piece of skin.

  “Your ear will need stitches later,” Dranko told him as he pulled out the last shard. He doused the wound in antiseptic and Cooper cursed Dranko’s mother for birthing such a bastard of a son. Dranko ignored him and applied direct pressure with a bandage. Then, he began wrapping his head in layer after layer of gauze to fasten the bandage. When he finished with that, he employed two large bandages to cover the shallower shoulder wounds. These had bled only slightly and already stopped.

  Dranko’s brow was bathed in sweat as he finished, “You’re all set now. As good as new.”

  Cooper pivoted his head back and forth, “I guess so. Still works. Let’s go.” He turned his body slowly back to facing the front and reloaded both weapons with fresh magazines.

  “You don’t miss a beat do you?” Dranko said as he put the truck in drive and began rolling forward, back toward Hawthorne.

  “I’m on a clock because Jake is. I don’t have time for something as small as pain,” Cooper said firmly, his eyes already scanning their path forward. His grip was tight on the FAL with his right hand as he worked the bolt and chambered a round with his left.

  Chapter 27

  The rest of their drive was uneventful until they neared the Hawthorne bridge, which crossed the Willamette River into downtown. A half mile away, they ran headlong into a gaggle of cars, bicycles, and people that formed a chaotic mishmash of a traffic jam. The air was filled with the blaring of horns, the cries of children in distress, and shouts of anger as people jostled for position leading to the bridge.

  “Looks like some scene from an overseas disaster,” Dranko muttered.

  “Overseas? Have you forgotten Katrina?” Cooper countered.

  Dranko blew out harshly and his lips fluttered in disdain, “Either way, it’s a damn shame. Look at them. Desperate. Some already hungry. Clamoring for someone else to save them.”

  A wry grin crept onto Cooper’s face, “Look Dranko, not everyone can be as smart and well prepared as you.” He elbowed his friend in the side as he talked.

  Dranko crossed his arms, unimpressed, “Look, we’re not even two weeks into this crisis. I can understand looking for medical help, but look at the number of damned people in line clearly looking for food. Damn sheeple is all they are, unprepared for even a short-term disruption in their lives.”

  Cooper merely nodded to placate Dranko’s temper, “You’re right. People ought to have had a few weeks of supplies on hand. That hardly matters now.”

  Dranko jumped the GMC partially onto the sidewalk and killed the engine. From a distance they could see an Army armored personnel carrier barricading the bridge. A soldier in camouflage fatigues stood vigil, lazily sweeping a .30 caliber machine gun from left to right, the barrel trained just over the heads of the swirling mash of people. The soldier’s Kevlar helmet and darkened goggles gave him a sinister look. Next to the armored vehicle, a half dozen other soldiers formed a semi-circle, M16s at the ready, behind shiny coils of barbed wire. A dozen yards behind it, a tent was set up as the apparent command post.

  They watched for a few minutes, appraising the situation. They saw the occasional civilian brought into the tent as others left. More frequently, soldiers moved in and out with rapid speed.

  “What now, boss?” asked Dranko.

  “I’m not waiting in that line,” Cooper said, gesturing to a line that ran a hundred yards long. “We’re going to see someone on the double-quick, just follow my lead.”

  He jumped from the pickup, shouldered the FAL, and began briskly walking toward the line. Dranko grabbed the M16, slung it onto his back, and fell in a half step behind, “This should be fun, brother,” he grumbled.

  Cooper turned back towards him, whispering as they walked, “Here’s the plan, I’m the leader of the Mt. Tabor Militia and we have important news for the Major. Your job is to announce me as we get to the line.”

  A wry grin crept onto Dranko’s face, “I like it. What’s your job?”

  “Act like an important SOB,” Cooper winked at him before straightening his shoulders and picking up his pace as they neared the end of the line.

  Dranko took up the siren song of authority, “Make room, Captain of the Mount Tabor Militia coming through. Make room, he has an urgent report for the Major!”

  Cooper intentionally bumped a few people here and there to lend a greater sense of urgency. Dranko continued the mantra over and over. A few people cried out in protest, but they ignored them and kept hustling forward, to the front of the line. Halfway to the front, a young man with a clump of oily red hair and outfitted in camouflage stepped out of the line to bar their way.

  “Wait in line like the rest of us!”

  Cooper didn’t hesitate, but closed the distance, shot his leg out and swept the man’s legs out from underneath him. He collapsed with an “Umph.” As Dranko stepped over him, he grabbed the butt of his holstered pistol so he could see it and whispered to the man, “I’d stay down if I were you.”

  A minute later, they were at the front of the line.

  A young-faced soldier who barely looked old enough to shave barred their way.

  “Just a minute, you gotta wait in line like the rest of these good people,” the soldier said. Those within earshot shouted their approval and some clapped their hands.

  “The hell I do, soldier. You tell the Major that the Captain of the Mount Tabor Militia is here to report to him. I have important news,” Cooper leaned in to whisper the last part into the soldier’s ear, “about the origin of the plague.” The soldier gulped.

  The Guardsman stammered, “I…ah”

  Cooper pressed the opening, “Christ to Hell, son, where’s your Sergeant?”

  The soldier’s look of relief was as if someone had thrown a safety line to a drowning man, “Sarge!” he yelled.

  A middle-aged,
bald-headed man, more round in the middle than he should have been for military service came striding up, “What is it Private? Can’t you handle this line? I’m getting damn tired of babysitting you all day long!”

  The Private merely nodded to indicate Cooper. He won’t be as easy to buffalo.

  “Good afternoon Sergeant. I’m former military, served in Iraq,” Cooper said. The way the Sergeant cocked his head told him he had served as well in combat so Cooper quickly added his rank and where he had served, “May I have a word in private with you, Sergeant?”

  The Sergeant motioned him and Dranko past the barricade, to hoots and howls of protest from those nearest the front of the line. Once they had walked about ten yards inside the barricade, the Sergeant turned to Cooper, “What do you have? Make it quick, you might have noticed we have a lot of chaos to tidy up.”

  “I need to see the Major. We have information about the conditions from here up to Mount Tabor. We are both former military so our reconnaissance is quality. In addition, I have some potentially urgent news about the plague’s origins.”

  The Sergeant scoffed, “What kind of information?”

  “I have a lead about a person, here in Portland, who might have information about how it started,” Cooper’s face was intent and he pressed it to within a few inches of the Sergeant’s.

  The Sergeant shook his head, “I’m not buying that part, but I will bring you to the Major. We need intelligence of what’s happening in the next arc out from the downtown core. We’ve heard some crazy stories and we need to know what’s real and what’s bullshit.”

  “Good enough. Thank you,” Cooper said as the Sergeant motioned them to a Humvee parked a dozen yards further to the rear.

  “We’re encamped in the Waterfront Park, just across the bridge,” the Sergeant said, pointing to a series of military tents dotting the Willamette on the opposite side. “Of course, I don’t know why we aren’t in the Hyatt sleeping on some nice beds,” he groused.

  “When’s the last time Uncle Sam ever spent money for a grunt’s comfort?” Cooper quipped.

  “Valley Forge,” the Sergeant deadpanned and the three of them laughed together.

  “Corporal Michelson can take you over, under my orders. You will have to leave your firearms here though.” As he saw their look of unease, he quickly added, “Don’t worry, they will be waiting for you when you return. My word on that.”

  It took them a few minutes to fill out some paperwork documenting the firearms they were entrusting to the Oregon National Guard. After that, they piled into the Humvee and the Corporal drove them the short distance to the cluster of tents on the other side.

  ******

  They waited twenty minutes before being ushered in to see the Major. Cooper ducked inside the tent, with Dranko following close on his heels.

  Inside, a large table was festooned with a myriad of maps. In turn, each map was adorned with colored push pins, a variety of colors highlighting various sections of the map, and indiscernible writing in multiple colors. To their left, a mobile bulletin board had, presumably, been turned over because what faced them was a blank corkboard. On the other side, they could see bits of paper sprawling over the edges of the board.

  A large, powerful man dressed in olive drab fatigues moved quickly so that he could stand in front of the table with the maps and prevent them from getting a close view of them. He stood at least six feet tall and it was easy to discern his muscular tone underneath the baggy uniform. His gray hair was close-cropped as was a thin mustache. A prominent scar was seared across his forehead. Cooper guessed it was from a bullet or shrapnel.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am Major Cummings. You must have something good for me to get past the Sergeant. I hope I won’t be disappointed,” his commanding presence was unmistakable.

  Cooper didn’t blink, “I’m Cooper Adams and this is Paul Dranko. We live up near Mount Tabor. It looks like you still carry a calling card from the war,” he said touching a finger to his own forehead.

  The Major laughed, recognizing the deft play at small talk. “Yes I do. I was coming down a stairway after we had cleared a building. Someone missed a hidey hole and I caught an AK round from down below. Doc told me my ramrod back kept my head up and the bullet from punching through my gullet and out the top of my head.”

  “Iraq or ‘Ghanistan?”

  The Major smiled proudly, “I did both of those. The bullet was from Iraq One.”

  Cooper nodded, “We both served there as well, although not as distinguished as you. I was a diesel mechanic who only saw a little action. Dranko here,” he said jerking his thumb backward, “was a Marine good for nothing, but bragging.” The Major laughed as Dranko used the tip of his foot to hit Cooper’s knee from behind. Cooper caught himself before he stumbled.

  The Major’s forced his face straight again as he realized that Cooper was pulling him into a casual conversation, “Look, I could shoot the breeze with you two all day. It would sure beat the work I have to do. But, my time is limited. I’ve got more holes in the dike than we have fingers and toes to plug ‘em. So, what do you have for me?”

  “Right. First, let me give you our report from the Mt. Tabor area. The Sergeant said that would be useful to you.”

  “It would.”

  Cooper and Dranko took turns recounting the events since the plague had broken out. They focused on the incidents of violence and what they had done to set up security in their area. They left out the part about their firefight at Admonitus. Their reports were short and concise, using their shared military knowledge to hasten it. Major Cummings paused to scribble a few times, but a Staff Sergeant sitting in the corner made copious notes of what they said.

  “Thank you, that is all very helpful,” the Major said as they finished. “The Corporal said you had additional information about the plague?”

  “Nothing definitive, sir. But, I have a few scraps of information that need to be investigated further. I’m hoping you can help us?”

  “Well, what do you have?” the Major said impatiently as he waved off an orderly trying to enter the tent. It was already the second time he had done so since they had arrived.

  In short order, Cooper recounted his encounters with Julianne Wheeler, the lab technician and the attack that killed him and the words exchanged with Mitchell at Admonitus, deftly avoiding any mention of the gunplay. Cooper whispered a silent prayer that any news of it hadn’t reached the Major yet.

  Cooper was taken aback as he saw the Major’s face flush crimson as he finished recounting the facts. The Major’s fists were clenched as well.

  “Is that all? You come in here with that? A woman’s whispers in a dream and an unfortunate victim of a gang attack who is spouting craziness? With that, you waste my time with innuendos? Slander against one of the pillars in Oregon’s business community, I might add?”

  Cooper’s own fists clenched, “My son just came down sick yesterday. If Mitchell knows something…anything, it’s worth finding out! All I’m saying is that you should question him!”

  The Major shook his head emphatically, “No. It isn’t going to happen. We are ass over teakettle with real problems…”

  Cooper interrupted him, “Problems caused by the plague! If there is a way to get to the root of it…”

  Cooper quickly realized his mistake as the Major cut him off, “We’re done. The Sergeant will escort you out.”

  Cooper took a step forward, to reach out and grab the Major’s shoulder, “Please, Major! So much depends on this!”

  He was stopped cold by a hard thrust from the Major’s hand to his chest, “Don’t think about it, son. This interview is over.”

  The Major turned on his heels, his back looming as an unassailable wall. The Sergeant was at their side and gesturing them out with his left hand. His right hand lay resting on the butt of a holstered Beretta pistol. Cooper gave one last look at the Major and then hung his head before turning to leave. He throttled the fury of curses that he
wanted to scream. Some damned bureaucrat who’s too afraid to ruffle the feathers of someone prominent.

  The short ride back across the bridge seemed like it took hours. They retrieved their weapons from the tent. The Sergeant took one look at their tense body language and guessed their interview with the Major hadn’t gone well. He decided against any small talk.

  After crossing the river, they retrieved their weapons as promised. As soon as Cooper and Dranko were out of earshot of the soldiers, Cooper let loose, “Can you believe that? He didn’t pause to even think about what we had told him.”

  Dranko stopped his friend and put his hand on his shoulder, “Look Cooper. Here’s what we have. There’s not a lot to connect the dots.”

  Cooper interrupted, “But…”

  “Just let me finish. On the face of it, there’s not a lot here. But, what’s filling it in is your instincts. Now, I trust those as good as any facts. The Major, however, doesn’t know you from Adam. So, the connections we have just don’t pencil out for a career military officer. You know that, brother.”

  Cooper took a deep breath, “Alright, you’re right. You’re right.” He paused for a long moment. “Then, it’s time for Plan B,” he declared.

  “What’s Plan B?”

  A dark gleam came to his eyes and his words were sinister, “Tonight, we visit Mr. Mitchell at his home. Unannounced and uninvited.” Then, he relaxed before continuing, “Now, let’s talk to Joe’s cousin and hope it goes better than it did with the Major.” He pivoted sharply and resumed walking back to the GMC pickup truck.

  Dranko called after him, “Brother, you might have a short fuse, but at least you recover quick!” He hastened an extra few steps to catch up.

  Chapter 28

  Dranko rumbled the old pickup truck eastward, taking a route to avoid the bar where the bikers were congregated. They passed more of the same: burned out buildings, wrecked and burned cars, scattered dead bodies, followed by stretches of normalcy where everything looked the same as before. Usually, these stretches were guarded by people behind barricades or on top of roofs. They experienced a few tense moments, but Cooper would raise the military-style FAL above the cab level so others could see they were well armed. On this trip, the display worked.