Brushfire Plague

by R. P. Ruggiero

  Angela took both weapons from him. She checked the actions and practiced racking the bolt on the rifle a dozen times. Keeping the muzzle pointed at the floor, she dry-fired at least as many times, to get a feel for the trigger pull, “Very nice. Balanced. The bolt throws fast and smooth. The trigger is light, consistent, and it breaks clean. The glass on it looks sharp and clear.”

  “It holds four rounds in that box magazine. Don’t forget, with the bolt open, you can top off the magazine.”

  Angela nodded, “Got it.” She moved her attention to the .380 pistol, practicing racking the slide, dry-firing, and checking the sights.

  Dranko had his M16 strapped across his back. “And, I also have these,” he clanked a set of rifle plates together. “When added to our soft body armor, these can stop most rifle rounds, too. They are heavy, but for a short run like this, it won’t be a problem.”

  Angela shook her head, “I don’t need a set. My game tonight will be speed. Those will just slow me down too much. You wear them.”

  Cooper started to protest, but stopped himself. What she says makes sense. I’m not going to play out something from a movie and be the over-protective male.

  Finally, Dranko handed her a camouflage smock, “I didn’t have a full set of pants and shirt, but this should work to cover most of you.”

  “Thanks. With a pair of dark pants, they’ll be fine.”

  Cooper spoke up, “We wear regular clothes getting there, weapons stowed. We’ll change in the field. There may be more police up in the West Hills, I don’t want to risk a stop.”

  The corners of Angela’s lips turned down in thought, “True. True. I’ll work up a nurse’s bag from Lisa. Our cover story can be that I’m a private nurse going to see a patient.”

  “And who are we?” Dranko asked, skeptically.

  “My gallant bodyguards, of course!” she winked.

  Cooper smiled, “That’s believable enough these days. I like it. Good idea.”

  Chapter 31

  A few minutes later, Cooper was outside. The cold air nipped at his exposed ears and fingers. He knelt beside Elena’s grave, propping himself up with the butt of his rifle. The earth that had consumed his wife was still fresh enough that he could smell its dampened odor. He thrust a hand into the dirt and grabbed a fistful of it. He brought it to his nose and inhaled. He imagined he could smell a whiff of her perfume. The clumps of dirt slowly fell through his fingers back onto her grave.

  “I need your help tonight. I’m going to save our son, I hope.” He worked hard to keep his voice steady amidst the emotion.

  He listened in silence, hoping for an answer of some kind. But, the night was deathly quiet, save the bark of a dog in the distance. Suddenly, he heard the flutter of wings and looked up. A black crow had alighted on the wire above. A part of Cooper wanted to believe it was the same bird from days before, but he couldn’t be sure.

  His eyes fell again to the freshly tilled earth and what lay beneath. “I miss you, love. I miss you every minute. I don’t know how I can raise our boy without…” His voice cracked and fresh tears plied their way down his face and fell onto the earth, darkening it. He stared, thinking in the silence at the ground where his wife’s body lay.

  Then, from the east, the deep roar of an engine disturbed his thoughts. He’d heard that sound before. A second later, it clicked. It was the whine of a military Humvee. A chill ran down his spine and the pit of his stomach turned over.

  *****

  Cooper turned, ripped open the door, and shouted inside, “Angela, watch Jake. Dranko, on me! Now!”

  Seconds later, Dranko had gathered his gear and appeared at Cooper’s side. Already, the first barks and pops of gunfire from the eastern barricade were echoing off his home’s walls. The telltale rapid popping, tat-tat-tat, of automatic weapons fire greeted their ears.

  “Military,” Cooper breathed to Dranko as they set out on a full sprint towards the gunfire. Dranko nodded as they ran.

  Within seconds, the gunfire had grown deathly silent. The roar of the engine revving up again, drawing closer, confirmed his worst fears: the barricade had been quickly overrun.

  Cooper and Dranko had run barely fifty yards when the Humvee came into view. They flung themselves to the ground and behind two small trees that were scattered about six feet apart. The Humvee raced towards them, straight towards Cooper’s house. They saw the driver, a passenger, and the gunner who stood behind the machine gun that was mounted on top of the vehicle’s roof.

  “Got gunner,” Cooper whispered to his friend as he sighted his rifle on the man’s torso that lay exposed.

  When the vehicle was within thirty yards, they opened fire. Caught by surprise, their volley was devastating. Cooper fired three shots in rapid succession. The first caught the man square in the chest and rocked him back against the opening. The second ripped the man’s neck wide open and a red geyser erupted. The third shot missed entirely as the machine gunner’s body slumped and banged against the vehicle.

  Dranko had let loose a controlled burst of gunfire from his M16, stitching a pattern from the driver to the passenger-side. Both men were cut down in seconds. The vehicle, driverless, swerved and then flipped over. It skidded, on its side, to a stop just twenty feet from Cooper’s front lawn.

  Cooper and Dranko turned toward each and exchanged smiles. A second later, Cooper saw Dranko’s face look aghast just as he heard another engine roaring up the street and the first burst of gunfire.

  He felt something set his left arm on fire. He rapidly pushed himself backward, trying to find more cover behind a low retainer wall. His left arm burned where the bullet had hit him. He clenched his fingers and moved his arm to confirm it hadn’t broken any bones or destroyed any key muscles.

  He popped up and shot blindly in the direction of the sound of the second Humvee. Dranko lay absurdly exposed and he hoped to give him some cover. Two of his rounds impacted on the Humvee’s body, one close to the machine gunner up top.

  Within a second, Cooper was staring down the barrel of the heavy barrel machine gun. He dropped to the flat of his belly as a burst of gunfire hit the low wall he was hiding behind. Dirt showered him and rock chips bit into his arms and face. With his arm, he shielded his eyes from the stinging debris and looked up.

  Dranko had swung his body around the tree to gain as much cover as it could afford—which wasn’t much. The machine gun fire was stitching across the ground, arcing in slow motion from where Cooper lay towards Dranko’s position. Dranko was firing back blindly at the Humvee as he tried to shrivel his body up enough to hide behind the all-too-skinny tree. Fear throttled Cooper’s throat as he saw his friend’s impending fate. He rose back to his knees, but rifle fire that came from behind the Humvee forced him back down. More men, dismounted.

  Then, he heard the deep-throated boom, boom, boom of what could only be a heavy caliber machine gun firing from his left toward the Humvee.

  Across the street, he saw the ancient BAR spitting fire! The face behind the light machine gun startled him. It belonged to Hank Hutchison. As startling was the crazed, but ecstatic, smile plastered across his face.

  His fire was surprisingly accurate for someone who hadn’t fired the gun in decades. The .30-06 rounds first shattering the windshield and then tracing their way up to the machine gunner. In turn, he was swinging the machine gun toward Hank in a desperate race.

  Hank won.

  The machine gunner’s body was ripped apart as a half-dozen rounds shred his torso—despite the body armor and pulped the man’s head like a watermelon smashed by a sledgehammer. Hank pivoted his body to replace the magazine in the BAR, which had run dry. The passenger in the Humvee bailed out and rolled across the pavement as the Humvee careened out of control before crashing into the first Humvee that had flipped earlier.

  Cooper rose once more onto his knees to get a better view of the rest of the area. He could see at least a half dozen men moving leap-frog fashion up the street toward them.

>   In the seconds-long lull, the passenger from the Humvee called out, “We come for Cooper Adams! No one else needs to get hurt! Send us Cooper Adams!”

  Cooper’s mind reeled. Me? Damn, the Major! Defending Mitchell?

  Before Cooper could finish processing what he’d just heard, Hank yelled back, “To hell with you! You come for Cooper, you come for all of us!” He punctuated his sentence by letting loose another burst of fire from the BAR, which forced the soldier lying next to the Humvee to scurry up against it for more cover. Unfortunately for him, doing so exposed him to Dranko’s line of fire. In turn, he fired a controlled three-round burst that battered the man and left him slumped over.

  From further down the street, more gunfire rang out. First, Cooper saw soldiers firing in their direction. Dranko was forced once more to take cover behind the tree. Suddenly, he jumped to a half crouch and sprinted towards the crashed Humvees, bullets chasing him and tearing up chunks of asphalt. As he raised his own rifle to return fire, he also saw a few muzzle flashes farther to the east as some of the neighborhood defenders had begun shooting at the soldiers from behind. A sharp cry of pain told him one of their rounds had hit home.

  He directed his fire toward a soldier who was flattened behind a mailbox, hugging the ground and shooting at Hank. He breathed deeply, steadying his breath. His target was almost a hundred yards away and only a small patch of green camouflage presented itself. He let out half of his breath and slowly squeezed the trigger back. His rifle barked and a split second later, the soldier rolled over, yelling in pain.

  Just then, movement to his left caught his eye. Hank had leapt to his feet and was running towards the soldiers’ position, firing the BAR wildly from his hip. Cooper’s mind screamed “No!”, as he desperately fired at the other soldiers. Dranko’s M16 erupted in a furious long burst of gunfire as he tried vainly to give Hank covering fire. From the east, the pace of fire from the other defenders, who must have also seen Hank charging, also picked up.

  Seconds later, the bolt on the BAR slammed home empty. He kept charging forward, screaming madly. Then, a single shot rang out, stopping his forward momentum and knocking him backward. He stood for a moment, wobbling on his feet, the BAR falling from his grasp towards the ground. As he stood motionless, teetering, three more shots hit him in the chest. Cooper could vividly see each round’s impact, slamming Hank’s body this way and that in slow motion. Cooper could only look on in helpless agony. Finally, mercilessly, Hank’s body fell to the ground and found escape from the deadly fire.

  Rage consumed Cooper. He found the source of the fire that had killed Hank; a soldier who lay propped against a white birch tree. The tree gave him cover from Cooper. A wry smile crept across Cooper’s face as he aimed directly at the tree and fired several rounds. The bullets tore through the tree and punched into the soldier behind it. From the range of fifty yards and in the moonlight, Cooper imagined more than saw the man’s stunned look as he fell to the ground. He tapped the FAL affectionately.

  Cooper scanned for more targets, but could find none. No one was firing back against them. He took the risk and raced towards Hank’s side, some thirty yards distant.

  He found him a mess. His breath came in raspy gasps. Blood smothered his torso. Cooper cradled his head in his arms, “Why’d you do that? Why?”

  Hank mustered a smile, “Dunno. Just came over me. Worked at Normandy against some lousy Krauts,” blood dribbled out of the side of his mouth.

  Cooper peered into his eyes, “I think you saved us all. Everyone found their courage and fired when they saw you charging.”

  Hank nodded slightly, “Yeah. I felt useful again.” A gleam returned to his eyes.

  “You’re a damned useful man, Hank Hutchison.”

  He smiled dryly, “Not anymore.” Hank let loose a long gurgle before coughing up a mouthful of blood onto his shirt. A few rapid, seizing breathes later and then he was gone. Cooper rocked his body back and forth in anguish.

  Moments later, Lisa came up, put her hand on his shoulder and kneeled down to examine Hank. Quickly, she closed his eyes. “I’ll take care of him.”

  Cooper wandered off, dazed for a moment. Dranko came up, “Dead?”

  “Yeah, dead,” he muttered.

  “Surprising isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “Hank barely could walk. To see him running across the street, guns blazing, it was just surprising.”

  “It was amazing.” Cooper said, shaking his head in disbelief. Then, he turned to the matters at hand, “What’s our situation?”

  “Well, Hank’s charge inspired a flurry of gunfire from our side. There’s about eight soldiers not in the Humvees. They’re all dead or might as well be. Our guys…and gals,” he said, correcting himself, “went a little crazy and just kept firing at them, even when they were down.”

  “Cooper! You alright?” A female voice called from afar.

  Cooper turned and saw Angela on his doorstep. She had come out after the gunfire ended. He waved at her. Seeing her galvanized him and he looked back at Dranko, “We gotta get going. Appoint someone to police up the bodies and restore our defenses. You and me, we need to move. We leave in five.”

  “Yup, got it,” Dranko said and moved down the street.

  Cooper strode over to Angela, “How’s Jake?”

  “Same, but scared. I got him onto the ground. What was this all about? Soldiers? Attacking us?”

  Cooper looked stolidly at the ground, “Yeah. Soldiers. Coming for me.”

  “What?” she gasped.

  Cooper’s tone grew harsh, “Yes. For me. That Major downtown, who Dranko and I went to see, must have talked to Mitchell. Must have decided they wanted me dead.” He spat the last few words.

  “Oh, my! I can’t believe it.”

  “I wouldn’t have either a half hour ago. It’s obvious now.”

  “What’s obvious?”

  “Whatever happened at Admonitus, they were up to something big. We need to move quickly. Hopefully, we can get to Mitchell before the Major realizes his attack failed. We leave in four,” he said, brushing past her to go into his house to gather the last of his supplies. He bandaged his arm as well, which thankfully, turned out to be a nothing more than a graze.

  Chapter 32

  At nine o’clock, they left Cooper’s house. Cooper took the wheel of his sedan, with Angela in the passenger seat and her nurse’s bag in her lap. Dranko was in the rear seat, passenger side. The M16 was stowed in the trunk, as was Angela’s rifle. Cooper’s shotgun was on the seat next to him, under a blanket. All three of them had their pistols holstered and concealed on their hips. They kept the shotgun on the seat, believing it would bolster the bodyguard story. Driving Cooper’s unassuming sedan was similarly chosen to be less threatening than his pickup or Dranko’s Jeep.

  Slowly and precisely, they picked their way across the city. None of them had driven this far at night since the plague had struck, and the nervous tension clouded the air inside the car. The barricade that Cooper and Dranko had encountered earlier on Division lay deserted. One of the vehicles comprising the obstacle lay aflame, sending soot into the air, black against the dark night sky. There were no signs of bodies, only stains of crimson in a few places on the asphalt that were made visible by the burning car. Inside their moving car, the trio’s alertness heightened, grips tightened on weapons, and their breathing became shallower. They drove onward.

  The streets were largely deserted. Whenever they encountered another vehicle or pedestrians, they would circle each other like predators on the Serengeti, giving one another wide, wary berths as they passed. The city’s blocks were as before, a hodgepodge of untouched areas, with others showing the effects of fire, bullet holes, or the dead. Only this time, there was more of the latter. They also encountered a few more roadblocks and barricades, but were able to skirt around those without incident.

  Nearing the Morrison Street bridge on the corner of Grand Avenue, they encountered a solitary fig
ure. The man was tall, pushing seven feet. He wore a dirty basketball tank top and matching shorts. The shirt was smeared with blood. They could not tell if it was his own or not. Dranko deftly maneuvered the car to give themselves separation from him. His eyes locked onto Dranko’s and a thin, accusing finger pointed at him. Suddenly, his head fell backward and he laughed hysterically, “Off on an errand? What errands are there to do now? But the dying, the dying is all there is. No need to leave home for that!” As he rambled, his eyes fell back inside his head, so that only the whites were visible. Angela shivered.

  “I hope that’s not some kind of omen for our attack,” Dranko complained. Cooper ignored him.

  “I wish we could help the poor soul,” Angela said sympathetically.

  “Psychosis,” Dranko mumbled. “It must be overtaking a good number of people as the situation overwhelms them.”

  “And medications run out,” Cooper added.

  As they crossed the bridge, they scanned in all directions. The elevation the bridge provided helped them see further around the city. To the south, fires burned.

  “Sellwood,” observed Cooper.

  “Looks like it’s spread beyond that area,” Dranko said.

  “Those hills to the west, there’s fire there too. West Linn and Lake Oswego,” Angela whispered, her voice weakened by disbelief.

  In fact, scattered fires burned in all directions. Most looked limited to a house or two, but others appeared to cover entire blocks. They saw the eerie, blood-orange glow that signified fires in the distance as far north as Vancouver and as far south as Wilsonville. To their east, Mount Tabor and Powell Buttes limited their view. To the west, the hills there did the same. As they witnessed the city burning, Dranko couldn’t help but shudder.