by Frank Tayell
Though the barriers had been set up to form a snaking corridor for at least half a mile, a gap had been cleared down the middle. In the narrow alleyways that remained, and across the clear stretch of road, the ground was littered with the detritus of the refugees who’d passed this way before.
There was a sad mathematics about the scarves, hats, bags, mementos, and trinkets that lay among the empty water bottles, food wrappers, baby carriages, and broken bicycles. They were the items deemed important enough for the refugees to bring from their homes, but discarded when speed outweighed sentimental value. From the way those once-cherished keepsakes often bore the tread marks of heavy vehicles, he guessed that the barriers had been pushed aside by the soldiers who’d been on that checkpoint. Somehow that made it worse. It emphasized that they’d abandoned all hope of halting the outbreak.
He found his hands going to his pockets. The revolver, sat-phone, and tablet were still there. However, the bag with its candy and water was not. He must have dropped it on the bridge. It felt like a great loss. He could almost imagine a clock counting down until thirst and hunger would become all-consuming.
“Right now, we’re alive.”
“What?” Helena asked.
“Oh. Nothing.”
Tom counted twenty-three other refugees on the interstate. In an effort not to think of the fate of the hundreds who’d been on the bridge or the millions still in Manhattan, he turned his attention back to the roadway. He stepped over a bicycle with a buckled wheel and broken chain.
“Where did the barriers come from?” Helena asked.
“Dunno. A stadium?”
“When? Yesterday afternoon? The evening?”
Tom couldn’t answer, but he guessed the direction her questions were leading. “You’re wondering how many people passed this way?”
“Yes, before they changed their minds and decided to destroy the bridge. It can’t have been many.”
“No.” And it didn’t matter. There was smoke over Fort Lee. Three plumes close enough together that the smoke merged into a single cloud as it drifted up to the sky.
Just before the New Jersey Turnpike, they came to group of a hundred soldiers dismantling what he first thought was a checkpoint. They were supported by ten military Humvees parked across the road with their machine guns pointing east. Only one had an operator, and his attention was fixed on the skyline to the north. On second inspection, Tom realized it wasn’t a checkpoint. The white screens looked like they’d come from a hospital. They’d been set up behind folding desks in a line across the highway. Adding to that medical feel, the soldier walking toward them wore a white coat over her uniform.
“Men over here, women over there,” the soldier said, waving her hand left and right. “Quickly now. Men to the left, women to the right.”
Helena gave a shrug and what was either a grimace or a smile, and went to the right. Tom fell in with the other men. There were twelve of them, in all.
“Through there,” a soldier said, gesturing toward the thin row of screens that offered only the illusion of privacy. Behind the screens were more tables, suggesting there had been a lot more people working there than the three soldiers currently on duty. One of these also wore a white coat. From the insignia on his uniform, Tom didn’t think he was a nurse.
“Please strip,” the white-coat said with brusque indifference. “Place your clothes and belongings on the table. The quicker you do this, the quicker you’ll get to the reception center in Overpeck Park. Please. Take your clothes off.”
Conscious of the two soldiers standing behind the white-coat, both of whom had fingers resting on the trigger guards of their rifles, Tom did as he was ordered.
“You can’t be serious,” a man to his left said. “It’s freezing out here.”
“No one passes this checkpoint unless they’ve been confirmed as having no bites or cuts on them,” the white-coated soldier said.
“And what’s your legal authority for that?” the man protested. “I’d say this constitutes an illegal search.”
“You want to call your lawyer?” the white-coat asked. One of the soldiers behind him smirked.
“I don’t need to,” the man said. “I am a lawyer.”
The white-coat gave a weary sigh. “Of course you are. If you don’t want to strip, please go with the corporal.” His tone that suggested this was far from the first time this had happened. “You’ll be taken to the local police station, where your rights will be explained. You can place a formal complaint. And then you’ll be asked to strip, or be charged. That’ll take about a day, I think. Maybe two, because there were a lot of people here yesterday, and you’d be surprised how many of them were lawyers. By the time you’ve been processed, everyone else here will be in a nice warm house, eating hot food. So, it’s up to you.”
Tom was already down to his shorts, and shivering in the cool morning air. At least the skies were clear. The soldier had seen him take out the revolver and place it on top of the jacket, but he’d not said anything. In fact, Tom was far from the only one to be armed.
“You want us to take off our boots, too?” Tom asked.
“No. Raise your arms. Now turn around. Thank you. Put your clothes back on, and then continue past the trucks and down the interstate. There’ll be signs to the reception center.”
Tom guessed the brief inspection was more for the benefit of the objecting lawyer, in the hope that would mean these three soldiers could finish their duty all the quicker. It worked. Still grumbling, the lawyer pulled off his jacket as Tom was pulling his back on.
“You had a lot of people through here last night?” he asked as he picked up his bag.
“About five thousand,” the white-coat said. It sounded like a lot until you compared it to the number of people in Manhattan. “Through there,” the soldier added.
Tom made his way past the vehicles. Helena was waiting. She looked cold and numb. Her face and hands were clean.
“They didn’t make you wash?” she asked.
“No. They wanted us to get us through as quickly as possible.”
“Huh!” she snorted. “I got one of the most thorough medical exams of my life.”
A few of the other men fell in with the woman with whom they’d been traveling.
One of the men looked around, somewhat confused. “Diane,” he called.
“Come on,” Helena said. She started walking.
“Diane?” the man called again, this time louder. A female soldier walked up to him, and spoke in a low voice.
“You coming?” Helena called, from a dozen paces down the road.
“You know what happened to Diane?” Tom asked, when he’d caught up.
“There was a woman with cuts on her legs,” Helena said. “She was separated from the rest of us.”
Tom glanced back. He shrugged. The whole thing was a nightmare. One from which there would be no waking. The walls of reality had come crumbling down. They might be rebuilt, but they’d never be the same.
Chapter 8 - Resettlement
Overpeck County Park, New Jersey
“Were you on your way to a meeting?” Helena asked.
“What?” Tom had been thinking about the events of the night, breaking them down, trying to extract the meaning behind them. Helena had almost been forgotten.
“Your suit,” she said. “It’s not exactly practical for a trip like this.”
“I… uh…” For once, the lies that usually came so easily eluded him.
“Or was it a job interview?” she asked. He sensed she didn’t really care about the answer, but was seeking the normality of conversation as a defense against an abnormal situation.
“I’m an analyst,” he said. “I crunch numbers and try to find the hidden meanings.” That seemed safe enough.
“Oh.” She sounded a little disappointed. “I’m a teacher,” she said.
“You mentioned it.”
“I like kids. Hate the bureaucracy, but I like kids, and they like me.
I think that’s the trick to being a good teacher. Trent didn’t get that.”
“He’s the guy who took your boat?” Tom asked.
“Tammy’s boat,” Helena corrected. “It was her husband’s. He was a trader. Bought it when he retired. Got cancer a month later. Died a year after that. Never took it out of the marina. Tammy didn’t want to sell it because it was his dream, you see. Hers and his, to take it and sail off to the Caribbean. Said I could live on the boat, but it was her way of stopping me from quitting. She knew I was thinking about it. I mean, I liked the children, but there are nice kids everywhere. Schools, too.”
“You didn’t want to be a teacher?” he asked.
“Who gets to be what they want? Trent thought the kids had to be scared. That was his strategy. Fear. I didn’t like him, but… I warned him. You heard me, right?” There was desperation in her voice.
“Yeah. I heard you.”
She lapsed into silence, and he didn’t try to fill it.
A few minutes later, a truck overtook them. The back was closed, and Tom wondered if it contained soldiers, or those who’d failed the cursory medical exam. He flexed his hand. He’d not noticed until he was pulling his jacket back on, but there was a jagged cut along his forearm caused by flying debris on the bridge. The blood had mixed with the dust to form a paste over the wound, obscuring it from view. The white-coated soldier had missed it. How many other wounds had been missed, and how many of the injured were infected?
A path had been cleared down the interstate, but like in Manhattan, it was full of abandoned vehicles. A few had their windows smashed. In most of those, there was a corpse, the head blown apart. Maybe they had controlled the outbreak. It was possible, wasn’t it?
“There’s people,” Helena said, pointing to a building overlooking the highway. Tom didn’t care. He focused on the road, following it as the route took them off the interstate and down into the suburbs. Here the side roads were blocked. More faces were visible, these blank and expressionless.
A helicopter buzzed overhead. It looked like a civilian model. Did it belong to a news agency? Was the image of this last, desperate band of refugees being broadcast across the nation? He turned his head down until the chopper had gone away.
Step after weary step, he walked. One foot in front of the other, each step getting shorter, each breath more ragged, until the yards became miles and they reached the reception center.
He’d been expecting the hasty order of a FEMA camp, but this was distinctly civilian. It was clear there had been a plan, but also that too many people had arrived for it to be properly deployed. Tents had collapsed or been dismantled. The only activity was outside those marked with a bright red cross. Military vehicles dotted the park, usually with soldiers nearby. Their bored expressions were the only reassurance amidst the chaotic disorder.
A man in a heavy black coat broke off from a slightly larger group of soldiers and came to greet them.
“Welcome,” he said. “I’m Rabbi David Cohen. You are the last, and you are just in time. Does anyone require immediate medical attention?”
No one moved.
“Good,” the rabbi said, “because we are about to leave.”
“To go where?” Helena asked.
“Home,” the rabbi said. “A curfew is being established. Everyone is to go home and stay there. You’ll do the same.”
“Our homes are over there,” a woman said, gesturing to the east.
“We have coaches that will take you to somewhere nearby,” the rabbi said with a weary but disarming smile. “Think of someone you know who lives within twenty miles of here. Family, friends, co-workers, anyone who might be willing to share their roof. The destinations of the buses are taped to their windows. Find the one going closest, give the driver the address, and you’ll be taken there.”
“And if we don’t know the address?” a man asked. “It’s my secretary. She lives in Fort Lee, but I don’t know where.”
“There are police officers by the buses, they can find the addresses for you,” the rabbi said.
“And if we don’t know anyone nearby?” Helena asked.
“No one?” the rabbi asked. “No friends, no co-workers, no family?”
“I have a sister,” Helena said. “But she’s in Canada.”
“Canada? There’s a bus leaving for the border. If you hurry, you can catch it. Be quick.”
“Oh. Right. Thanks. Um…” She turned to Tom. “Bye, I guess.”
“Good luck.”
Tom watched her go. She ran a few steps, then walked, then sped up as the prospect of missing the bus added urgency, then slowed again as exhaustion overtook her. Others followed until only Tom and the rabbi were left.
“You don’t know of anyone nearby?” the rabbi asked.
“Nowhere a bus can reach. Did many people come through here?”
“I’m not sure,” the rabbi said. “The colonel was establishing order when we arrived, separating out the infected from the sick, and telling others to find shelter.”
“Infected? You mean bitten?” he asked.
“Sadly, yes. There were a lot. I’m glad for the colonel’s presence. I don’t think I could have done what was needed.”
“Which colonel?” Tom asked.
“LeGrande. He’s…” The rabbi turned toward the group of soldiers he’d been talking with. The group had begun to disperse. “Well, he was over there somewhere.”
“This wasn’t organized by the governor or a general?” Tom asked.
“No one has been able to reach the governor,” the rabbi said. “At least as far as I know, but honestly, I don’t know very much. I was in the synagogue, trying to think of some way I could help when the colonel came in. He is in my congregation, you see. He asked that I organize the evacuation and resettlement of all these refugees. It had to be done quickly, and so it has been. He requisitioned the school buses, then the civic ones, and then the coaches. I don’t know how, except that a rifle usually carries an argument when the uniform can’t.”
“He’s not regular army?” Tom asked.
“Retired. Forty years in the Marine Corps. The soldiers you see – and sailors and Air Force – they’re National Guard, or on leave. The colonel lives over there.” The rabbi waved to the east.
“Where’s the official response?” Tom asked. “Where are the police? They pulled them out of Manhattan, so where are they?”
The rabbi gave a weak smile. “That’s what I want to know. The news says the Army has been deployed. I don’t know where.”
“What about the bridge? The naval blockade? Who ordered that?”
“An admiral. I don’t know which. The colonel informed me that it was going to happen. His words were that we were doing all we could, and it wasn’t going to be enough. He was right, of course.”
“So you destroyed the bridge.”
“Look around you,” the rabbi said. “We threw this together expecting the full weight of the government to take over. Even if they had…” He sighed. “It is a miserable truth that sometimes you have to cut out the infection. Yet, it is equally true that amputation doesn’t always stop the disease. We have done what we can. Now we must get off the streets. This is the only way the infection will be stopped. You should think of someone who lives nearby. If you can’t, there’s a shelter at the synagogue. It’s the blue bus. It’ll be the last to leave, but we will be leaving in three hours. No later.”
“I have an old friend who lives a couple of miles from here. He’ll put me up,” Tom lied. “Is there somewhere I can sit down for a bit? I’ve been on my feet all night.”
“There are cots in some of the tents, if you can find one still standing,” the rabbi said. “But don’t stay here long. It truly isn’t safe.”
Tom nodded his thanks and went to look for somewhere more secluded. His body was tired, but his brain was leaping. Someone else might have put his suspicions down to shock and paranoia, but he knew a conspiracy did exist. There were plans to
deal with a viral outbreak in New York. They’d not been put into place. The removal of police, the lack of any military or federal deployment; it all suggested that someone had actively sabotaged the relief effort.
As to whom, it had to be Farley and his cabal. They’d seen this chaos and decided to take advantage of it. They would let the virus spread and… what? Try to seize power?
He looked around, made sure he was alone, and then took out the tablet and plugged in the sat-phone. He stared at the screen and hesitated, unsure what to do first. Find out whether the infection was spreading unchecked, he decided. That was done quickly, and with depressing results. He found the recording of a man calling home. He’d been on a sales trip to New York, and visited a mall to pick up some gifts for his kids. It was the same mall that had been featured in the news. The man had been bitten, but he’d reached his car, and been able to drive away. Somehow, it had taken five hours before he’d died. All that time, he’d been speaking to his wife on the phone. The conversation ended in a choking cough. The traffic cameras told the rest of the story. He’d reached Hagerstown in Maryland, crashing at an intersection. He died. As the first responders arrived to help, he came back. The zombie attacked and…
“And so it spreads.”
Who the man was, and why his calls were being monitored, didn’t matter. The key detail was five hours. Tom had seen footage of people who’d been bitten and then turned almost immediately. But five hours? He glanced at the jagged cut running down his arm.
“There’s enough to worry about without that,” he muttered, and that footage didn’t confirm how far the virus had spread. The algorithm trawling through social media was proving unreliable. Everyone in the world was talking about zombies, and a lot were claiming to have seen them in places it surely wasn’t possible. Germany, Korea, India, France… and then he saw the video and knew that the algorithm was reliable. A gendarme had been attacked on the Champs-Élysées. From the look of it, the whole world had seen. The virus was everywhere.
“How did it spread so far and so fast?” The answer was obvious, and took only a few minutes to confirm. The airports had remained open until mid-afternoon. It looked like any plane with fuel had departed. He suspected it was the diplomatic flights that were to blame. Dozens of them had taken off around the time those images of the zombies attacking people were spreading across social media. Two had been heading to Britain.