by JE Gurley
Marli met him on the other side of the decontamination tent, her face showing her concern.
“We heard the shooting. What happened?”
“Fungus heads broke through the main gate. They’re dead, along with thirty-one soldiers. It was a God damned disaster.”
“You look exhausted.”
He nodded. “I am. I could use some shut eye. Have you slept?”
“I wanted to …” She glanced away. “I waited to see if everyone was all right.”
“Ginson lost two men. He’s placing more guards outside now.”
Kyle was surprised to see that everyone was still awake. In spite of the late hour, technicians sat behind microscopes or poured over laptops. Machinery hummed as it sought answers to the fungus problem. They were taking their job seriously. He liked that.
“We killed two fungus heads whose faces were covered with growth. They couldn’t see. How the hell do they function?”
“We’ve heard of several like that. It’s the Tertiary stage, just before they become immobile during sporogenesis. They seem to develop a higher sense of smell and hearing to compensate for lack of vision. Have you eaten?” She pointed to a table laden with sandwiches and an urn of hot coffee.
He shook his head. In spite of his hunger, the sight of food revolted him after seeing the tertiary fungus heads. “I’m too tired to eat.”
“Take any bed,” she said. “We’ll be up all night.”
As much as would have liked to remain and talk with her, he could see that her mind was on her work, and his was too muddled to think clearly.
“In the morning then,” he replied.
She smiled; then walked away to join her crew. He chose the first cot he came to and collapsed onto it. Sleep came quickly.
9
July 6, East Little Havana, Miami, FL –
Dawn came silently, creeping up on the city as if ashamed of what the new day would bring to the frightened people it shone upon. The first fingers of smoke-filtered sunlight speared through the tiny window of the office in which Rita had sought haven, scrolling invisible words on the wall. She awoke with a start and looked around. Baby Tomas was sleeping soundly, oblivious to the new world in which he would grow up, a world of broken promises and unattainable dreams; a world touched by the fungus threat of Cordyceps, a world of mankind falling and Cordyceps Rising.
During the night, Rita had come to a momentous decision. She had to save her child. The only way she could accomplish that was by leaving the city. Her cousin ran a small charter fishing boat out of Campeone’s Marina on 7th Street. If she could reach the marina, located on a canal just across the Miami River, she was certain that she could persuade Elian to take her north to Jacksonville and to her Aunt Marisa. Marisa would welcome seeing Tomas. She doted on him. She could get word to Ricardo later and have him join them.
Rita’s stomach grumbled and she realized she was starving. She dug into the bag the store owner’s wife had given her and devoured one of the Bologna sandwiches and some crackers. She drank most of a bottle of water and used the remainder to thin down the canned milk for Tomas, who awoke hungry, but sat quietly cooing and playing with a staple remover she had given him. After giving him his bottle, she washed her face with water from the sink, quickly washed and rinsed two soiled diapers, and prepared to leave. She listened with her ear pressed to the door for several minutes but heard nothing – no traffic on the street, no gunshots, and no helicopters. She bundled Tomas into a blanket slung from her shoulder and across her chest, shoved the pistol she had found inside the blanket, and ventured out onto the street.
The sky was dark with the threat of rain, but with none of the usual sticky humidity that preceded a storm. There were no people in front of the store she had visited yesterday. In fact, there were no people anywhere. Except for several bodies that had not been there the previous day, the streets were deserted. The air was still and hot despite the early hour and filled with a haze of smoke that brought tears to her eyes. Rita wrapped the bandana tighter over Tomas’ face to protect his young lungs. As she walked east, she checked out several stores, but they had already been looted of any food or water. She even entered one home whose front door was open wide. She announced herself first, but no one answered her call. A smear of dried blood on the Saltillo tile of the kitchen floor and a broken glass patio door spoke of an ill end for the home owner. She searched the pantry but found nothing edible. A moldy orange sat on the counter beside the open refrigerator. She peeled it and ate what she could of it. In a hall closet, she found a gallon of distilled water used for ironing, and added it to her small larder.
To a stranger, at five-feet-six inches tall and as thin as a ballerina, Rita would appear overburdened carrying her child and a large bag as she hurried down the street, but she was no stranger to hard work. Her muscles were firm and her resolve even more so. The weight she carried was nothing in comparison to the heavy burden of her heart. All around her, her city was dying, its people turned into crazed creatures, vanished, or in hiding. No aroma of cooking food or soft Latin beats came from the stores or the shuttered windows. Miami was used to storms. Hurricanes came as frequently as elections, but this storm was not one thrown at them by nature. It was a spawn of the devil, an army of demons who looked like men and women but possessed no souls. Miami was a wicked city, but surely all its people weren’t evil. She attended mass and prayed to the saints and to the Virgin Mary, just as almost everyone in her neighborhood did. Why had they not been spared? Must the innocent suffer the same fate as the sinner?
As the day wore on, the city awakened. An automobile passed one block over, but she could not see it or flag it down. Shots rang out several times. Each time her heart raced as she sought cover, but each time no one appeared. She felt eyes on her, watching, but saw no one in the windows she passed. It was an eerie feeling, walking down a deserted street in a neighborhood that had once been so vibrant, so alive. She feared it would never become so again.
She saw the first police officers in over a week at an intersection which they had blocked with their patrol cars. She was overjoyed as she rushed up to them. Her joy, however, proved short lived.
“Oh, thank God,” she cried. “I need help.”
One of the officers was wary and kept his hand on his weapon as she approached. All four wore masks over their nose and mouth, but she could see distrust in their eyes.
“Who are you?” he asked. His voice did not sound friendly.
“Rita Hernandez.” She held out her son. “This is my son, Tomas. I live near Riverside Park. Can you help me?”
The cop lifted his cap and scratched his head. “We’ve been ordered to guard this intersection and send anyone who comes by to Marlins Park. We’re a collection point for refugees.” He pointed to a nearby building.
She bridled at the word ‘refugee’ and the connotation it evoked, but she supposed that was exactly what she had become, a refugee in her own city. She could see figures behind a broken window in the building staring at her.
“I don’t want to go to Marlins Park. I need to cross the river. My cousin has a boat.”
The cop shook his head. “No one is allowed to cross the river. It’s too dangerous. Hell, it’s bad enough here.” He pointed to six bodies lying in a row in an empty lot. “We killed this lot just today.”
She pointed to one of the patrol cars. “Take me to the bridge at least. I’ll walk from there.”
“Look, lady. We can’t leave our post. You’re welcome to stay here until an army truck comes by to pick up the refugees for transport.”
She bit back a curse. “Do you have any food?”
“We don’t have any food, but I do have some water.” He nodded to one of the other officers who walked to his car.
“I can’t stay.”
“It’s your choice. I can’t force you to, but for the sake of your child, you should stay here.”
“For the sake of my child, I must continue.”
He pointed toward the river. “Not that way. We have our orders.”
The second officer returned with a two-liter bottle of water. She placed it in her bag.
“Thank you for the water.”
“I wish we could do more, but the city’s a disaster area. Marlins Park is just one of six quarantine camps. The military’s calling all the shots now. If we left, they might shoot us.”
She nodded. She didn’t want to get them into trouble. If she could not pass through the checkpoint, she would go around it. “I can’t stay here,” she repeated. She showed him Ricardo’s photo. “Have you seen my husband?”
“He’s not here, lady.”
She cast one last glance at the people in the building, wondering if her decision to continue was foolhardy, and left. She walked two blocks south until she was out of sight of the police before turning east again. Here there was no checkpoint, but the officer had been right about one thing – it was dangerous. Her danger came not from the crazed creatures, but from her own kind, a young Latino barely out of his teens. In his hand, he held a knife. To her, it looked like the longest knife she had ever seen. His eyes roved up and down her body as his tongue caressed his smiling lips. He wore brand new sneakers looted from some store and had three packs of cigarettes stuffed into his shirt pocket.
He waved the knife in the air, motioning toward the alley. “Come with me, bitch. I need some loving.”
She summoned her courage. “Leave me alone, pendejo. Put your stupid knife away. Don’t we have enough trouble?”
He glared at her. “You do.”
He took a step toward her. She took a step away and pulled out the pistol, making sure the safety was off. The boy stopped in surprise, but when he saw how badly her hand shook, he laughed at her.
“Don’t hurt yourself with that thing.”
His smile vanished when she cocked the pistol. “Leave!” she yelled. “Leave now!”
He hesitated, glancing toward the alley. She wondered if he had friends nearby.
“Look, we can talk this over,” he said.
He didn’t look as nervous as he should be while facing a loaded gun. Lowering his knife, he took another step forward and stopped. She caught a blur of motion out of the corner of her eye. He wasn’t alone and had been trying to distract her. When she foolishly turned her head to glance at the other person, the boy lunged at her. She fired. She put no thought into the action, did not remember pulling the trigger. There was a loud report, and then he fell against her, his eyes wide with fright and pain. His hand went to his chest where blood stained his shirt. He pulled his hand away and stared at the blood on it.
“Help me,” he moaned as he slowly slid down her body.
She knew he was dead the moment he hit the ground. His dead eyes stared up at her. The boy’s companion had stopped moving and now gaped at his dead friend. She whirled and pointed the pistol at him.
“Leave,” she demanded.
He didn’t hesitate. With a whimper that was almost a cry, he turned and ran. As he disappeared into the alley, her body shook so badly she had to sit on the sidewalk. She dropped the pistol from her limp hand. It landed in a pool of spreading blood. She kicked it away in disgust with her foot and began weeping. She had killed someone, a boy. It didn’t matter that he was scum, preying on the helpless. He was a human being, someone’s son. She had committed a grave sin. She quickly crossed herself but felt no absolution. Only the sound of her crying child brought her back to reality. She gently rocked Tomas in her arms.
“Hush, Tomas, my baby. Mother is here. You’ll be all right.”
Eventually, her son quieted. She hated the gun and what it stood for, but now she knew she needed it, if not for her protection, then for Tomas. She wiped the blood from the handle and stuck it back in the blanket. She left the boy’s body behind. There was nothing she could do for him. She turned north back toward Flagler Street hoping to find more people. Twice more she saw demonios with sightless eyes shuffling around buildings, but they did not scent her and moved away. As she neared Flagler, she spotted what she at first thought were people standing on roofs watching her. She waved to them but they did not respond. As she drew nearer, she gasped when she saw their immobile bodies draped with thin filaments like hair waving in the breeze. Their misshapen heads sprouted purple growths. As she watched, one man’s head exploded, popping open like a ripe melon. A cloud of dust shot from the open wound and rode the wind.
It’s like flowers pollinating. That’s how the disease spreads, she thought. She was relieved that the people were not demon possessed, but still as confused as before about what was happening. She was thankful for the bandana covering her mouth. The sound of several large vehicles in the distance lent speed to her legs as she raced for Flagler Street. She reached it just as a convoy of army vehicles approached. She realized that even if they forced her to go to Marlins Park, she and her child would be safer there, than out on the streets.
She waved her arms to flag them down.
10
July 6, Miami Airport, Miami, FL –
Kyle awoke with Ginson shaking his shoulder. He sat up suddenly, fully awake.
“What is it?”
“Relax. Nothing’s wrong. You’ve been out about eight hours. Thought you might like some breakfast. You missed dinner.”
Kyle rubbed the sleep from his eyes and yawned. “Eight hours. That’s a record for me.” He noticed the new sergeant’s stripes on Ginson’s uniform. “I see its official now.”
Ginson smiled. “Yeah, now I can afford that second vacation home in the Bahamas.”
Kyle doubted the extra three hundred bucks a month would purchase a good weekend in the Bahamas, but he was glad to see the promotion had come through. The aroma of cooked bacon, sausage, and hot coffee reignited his appetite. He followed Ginson to the breakfast area, heaped his plate with scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage, and toast, and poured a cup of strong black coffee. Most of the others had already eaten, or judging by the amount of food remaining in the stainless steel chafing dishes, had not stopped working long enough to eat. He looked around but didn’t see Marli anywhere. Ginson took a seat beside him with only a cup of coffee.
“You’re not eating,” Kyle noted.
He snorted derisively. “I ate two hours ago. The army gets up early.”
Kyle wondered just how much sleep Ginson had gotten. He looked pretty tired too. “How did you manage to keep your uniform? They took mine.”
“Some of us think ahead. I had the men bring extra uniforms sealed in plastic bags. No white coverall for me.”
Kyle was upset with himself for not thinking of that little trick. “Next time, I’ll remember.”
“I’m not sure of your taste in clothing, but I guessed at your size and brought along a few pairs of pants, shirts, and all the extras I found in a gift shop. All I could find in your size were sports shoes. I left a note in your name on the counter. I’m sure they’ll bill you later.”
“Thanks. White isn’t my color either.”
After his self-imposed fast, the meal hit the spot. The coffee, strong and black the way he liked it, drove the lingering cobwebs from his mind. Ginson sipped his coffee slowly, watching Kyle eat his meal. Finally, Kyle pushed his empty plate away and downed the last of his coffee. He considered a second cup, but Ginson seemed eager to show him something.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked.
“Captain Isaacson is leading a convoy to a couple of checkpoints to pick up evacuees and deliver them to Marlins Park. I’m taking Riley, Walters, and some of the new men they assigned me and going with him. Want to tag along?”
He hated to turn Ginson down, but he had promises to keep. “I told Marli I would help her out around here.”
“Too late. I told her I was going to ask you. I don’t think she liked my suggesting you accompany us.” Ginson suddenly became very serious. “Look, you know Miami. I don’t. You’re good in a fire fight, and most of these new recruits haven’
t fired a weapon except on the range. I could use your help.”
It was difficult to refuse a man who had so recently saved his life. He nodded. “Okay. Where are those clothes you mentioned?”
Dressed in the beige slacks and canary yellow polo shirt Ginson had chosen for him, he thought he could pass for a mannequin in the window of Rafaelo’s Department Store, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Next time, he would do his own shopping. When he found Marli, she looked as if she had been awake all night. Her hair was mussed and her lab smock was wrinkled and stained. Even so, she greeted him with a wide smile.
“Sleep well?” she asked.
“Too long. I almost missed my bus.”
Her smile morphed into a frown. “Yes, I spoke to Sergeant Ginson earlier.”
Did he detect a touch of regret in her voice? “I can’t schlep boxes and sweep floors. My skill set is rather limited.” He raised his arms over his head to show her his new outfit. “Like the new clothes.” Her eyes came to rest on the Glock snuggled under his left armpit. “Ginson picked them out,” he continued. “At least I’ll be the best dressed guy at the party.”
Their eyes locked for only a second, a brief moment in time, but days of familiarity flashed between them in that instant. She was as far above him, as the Queen from a commoner, but she intrigued him. It was more than the fact that she was beautiful – Miami overflowed with beautiful women. Marli was a woman who knew what she wanted from life. He was used to vacuous beauties that lived for the moment and clung to whichever man could provide the most immediate comfort, the widest spectrum of drugs, or threw the most lavish party. Women such as Marli were rare, at least in the circles in which he usually traveled.