Extinction Level Event (Book 2): Immune [The Hunted]

by Newman, AJ

  Granny Jane had tried to help with meals over the past few years. Still, Betty insisted her kitchen was a one-butt kitchen, and until Charlie added on to it, it would stay a one-butt kitchen. Betty would only allow her mother-in-law to bake pies for special occasions since she made the best pies in Mississippi.

  Granny Jane saw her son and grandson out at the barn and snuck another nip of ‘Who Hit John’ into her coffee while they drove the short distance to the house. Of course, she was proud of her grandson and granddaughter, as most grandmas were. Barbara was a research scientist, and Bob was a college biology professor. Their ancestors had been dirt farmers in Mississippi for over two hundred years. Granny Jane had preached to her son to get an education and break away from the land. However, it was Charlie’s children who’d become educated and made better lives for themselves. She laughed to herself when she realized that most of the world would have to become dirt farmers to survive ‘nowadays’ after the collapse.

  “Charlie!” she yelled to her son.

  “Yeah, Mom. What can I do you for?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Mom, why are you sorry? Did you piss Betty off again?”

  “Lordy, no! That woman has enough on her hands, taking care of you, Bob, and his family. I’m sorry because I never appreciated your skills at farming and pushed the kids out of farming and on to be educated.”

  Charlie broke out laughing. “Mom, I’m educated in real-world things and know how to farm. My knowledge of a hundred topics comes in handy with farming. I’m grateful you encouraged me to go to college but accepted me as a farmer. The kids needed your wisdom and a nudge to go out into the world.”

  Granny Jane’s eyes welled up. “I sure do miss that spunky little girl. She should be getting here in a couple of weeks. I hope she found a man who can manage her sassy butt.”

  Charlie knew his daughter. “Mom, don’t hold out for miracles. Maybe we should settle for a man who can just put up with her.”

  The smell of frying bacon, dark rich coffee, and maple syrup drifted out of the kitchen, beckoning them to eat. They went into the dining room and found breakfast was ready. Pat, Bob’s wife, a mousey little blonde, had set the table and brought out the bacon and scrambled eggs, while Bob and Charlie washed their hands. Betty placed a large stack of waffles in the middle of the table and began pouring coffee.

  Pat said, “We heard some gunshots early this morning.”

  Bob replied, “We had some chicken thieves. They won’t be stealing any more chickens.”

  Granny Jane said, “Did you pepper their asses with birdshot or maybe, well, I hope you sent the bastards to hell.”

  Pat tersely scolded Granny Jane, “Please don’t use that kind of language around the kids.”

  Bob frowned. “God is sorting them out as we speak.”

  The two kids laughed because they’d heard their mom and dad say much worse words when they’d thought no one was listening. Granny Jane replied, “Girl, those kids hear plenty in school, and even worse when you give Bob a good cussing.”

  Pat threw her hands into the air and left the room with her plate. The kids laughed, but Bob knew he’d catch hell later that morning. He changed the subject back to the chicken thieves. “Those varmints tried to steal from us two other times, and we tried, convicted, and executed the bast …men. I feel sorry for their families, but they were worthless …well …bad men.”

  No one expected the next words out of Granny Jane’s mouth. “My red-headed girl should be here before the end of the month. I feel it in my bones. Barbara’s on her way here.”

  Betty said, “Mom, you’re going to get our hopes up. I’m afraid she’s gone. There, I said it. Barbara won’t ever be coming back.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks as she finally admitted to herself that her daughter wasn’t coming home. She jumped up from the table with tears flowing and left for her bedroom. Charlie said, “Mom, Betty is a bit emotional today.”

  Granny Jane said, “Then you’d better tend to her before you end up sleeping with old Duke out in the barn. I don’t know what’s made all these women so needy when they need to be strong. Why I carried Charlie halfway across Mississippi to my parents . . .”

  Everyone left at the table chimed in. “Your parents’ home when he was just a little tyke.”

  “I guess I’ve told that story a time or two.”

  Charlie caught Bob after breakfast. “Son, what’ll we do when Barbara arrives with other people?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. We made such a big deal about Fred’s son and girlfriend’s family showing up. We dodged a bullet when they hadn’t been infected.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “I guess we’ll cross that bridge if we get to it.”

  Charlie said, “When.”

  “Huh?”

  “When we get to it, not if. Your sister’s coming home. Just ask your Granny.”

  The next morning, the sun hadn’t risen yet when Charlie drank his first cup of coffee sitting next to his mother in her rocking chair. The skeeters were still biting, and there was an occasional chirp from a random bird. The darkness highlighted several pairs of critter’s eyes as they turned to look toward the dim light of the kerosene lamp. Granny Jane took a sip of coffee and wondered if every sacrifice, blister, and broken bone she’d suffered building the farm would go for naught if the damned disease killed all of her family.

  Granny Jane had been born on July 4th a long time ago and had been raised on the banks of the Mississippi River between Vicksburg and Redwood. Life on the farm wasn’t easy, but her parents loved her and taught her the meaning of a hard day’s work. Her husband’s dad owned six-hundred acres of the most fertile farmland in Mississippi and had made a go of it for years until the drought. Her husband inherited the land but failed due to the drought.

  Charlie’s dad died in 1984 when Charlie was only four years old. As Granny Jane said, “The farm was mortgaged up the ass,” and she and Charlie were evicted from the property by the bank. Jane had taken Charlie to her parent’s farm and spent the next forty years managing the growth of her parent’s old farm. Charlie had taken over when Granny Jane fell into the hay baler PTO shaft. She’d had a dizzy spell and had to start on heart medications. She’d spent the next few years helping Charlie prepare for a yet unknown apocalypse and making sure the kids got an education.

  Granny Jane became a prepper the day after the ‘damned bank’ had taken her property away. She left her husband’s family farm with just one suitcase, a poke full of food, and a bag with her young son’s clothes and one favorite toy. Granny Jane had alternated, pulling Charlie’s wagon with him or their possessions in it. She’d had to walk the ninety miles to her parent’s farm with Charlie in tow. She’d vowed upon arrival at her mom’s that they’d never want for food or shelter ever again.

  She was a stubborn woman who refused handouts and people offering rides along the way. She would make it on her own and teach Charlie to do the same. Her farm had thrived, and Charlie had taken it to the next level selling organic vegetables and canning Granny’s recipes for soup, pie filling, and BBQ sauce. Their small cooking and canning building had been full of recently canned food when the disaster struck. They gave each of their employees some of the stock and shared their garden’s bounty with them and the members of their Mutual Assistance Group. Everyone was scared to the bone when the virus struck the area. Granny Jane had told everyone, “Ain’t no damned virus going to kill a tough old broad like me.”

  After supper, Charlie kissed his wife on the cheek and told Bob to fetch the truck, so they could go to the MAG meeting. He went back to the living room, picked up his gun belt, and strapped it around his robust waist. His old AR stood in the corner, and he poked two extra mags in his vest. The rifle felt good in his large calloused hands. He’d killed some deer with it, but lately, thugs and thieves were all it’d dispatched.

  Charlie walked up to the door to his old GMC. He was pissed wh
en he saw his elderly mother sitting in the passenger seat. “Mom, why don’t you sit this out for a change? You need your rest.”

  “Rest? Hell! Why don’t you have the balls to say that I’m just too damned old to cut the mustard?”

  “Now, Mom …”

  “Don’t you ‘now, Mom’ me, or I’ll bend you over my knee and whoop your ass until you can’t walk for a month. If you keep sassing me, I’ll send you to cut your own switch and give you a beating you won’t forget.”

  Charlie was used to his mom’s rough talk, but Bob nutted up, laughing at his Granny, yanking his dad around. “Dad, I think she means it. You’d better shut up and get in the truck.”

  Granny Jane said, “Ya damned tooting, I mean it. Let’s get this piece of shit Chevy on the road.”

  Charlie said, “It’s a GMC, Mom, you know that.”

  “Boy, it ain’t a Ford, so it’s a piece-of-shit Chevy,” Granny Jane said and then drew her Colt 1911 – 45 and then said, “I’ll put it out of its misery if ya want me to.”

  “Bob, get moving before your Granny pops a vein on us. Mom, please don’t shoot my truck.”

  They arrived while several other vehicles were unloading. Charlie heard the groans and murmurs when the men saw his mom. There were only two other women in the meeting, and their husbands caught hell in private about the need to get their balls out of their wives' purses. Granny Jane had started the Mutual Assistance Group (MAG) back before the turn of the century when the year 2000 scare swept the nation. She’d been shocked to hear that none of her neighbors had enough food, water, or ammunition put away for a disaster.

  Charlie called the meeting to order and then gave a recount of the chicken thieves’ saga. They conducted their regular meeting and covered everything from how many people their roadblocks had turned away to how the crops were doing. After everyone had their say, Charlie said, “I need to bring up a new topic. You all know we had some concerns when Fred’s kin showed up from the outside. I was one who didn’t like it, but we made it happen. It’ll happen again, and I think we need to have a plan to take the people in without exposing the rest of us to the plague. We need a plan to isolate them until we know they’re virus-free.”

  The room boiled over with everyone talking at once and most arguing one side or the other. Then there was a loud bang made by a Colt 1911 hitting the table followed by Granny Jane’s raspy voice. “If y’all would shut your pie holes, I’ll explain what my Charlie was trying to say when y’all went all ape shit on him.”

  She paused, then said, “We all might have family who survived, and I don’t see us turning them away. My granddaughter should be here soon. No one in this community will tell me she can’t join us after the proper isolation.”

  She banged the butt of the large pistol on the table. “I mean no one who lives to brag about it. Now pull your undies out the crack of your asses and work with my son to set this up. Anyone got any objections?”

  There weren’t any objections.

  Granny Jane looked around the room. “Good. Now, find a place to quarantine new folks and figure out how to feed them. You might also see what skills they have and prepare a list of jobs they can do when they get out of jail.”

  Chapter 3

  Forty-Five miles south of Panama City – The Gulf of Mexico - September 2038

  They had seen several Navy aircraft ghosting them on their way north. The last one was a fighter jet like the one, which had shot down the helicopter menacing them a couple of months ago. The pilot waggled the jet’s wings and made a U-turn back toward the aircraft carrier’s location.

  Jon waved at the pilot and said, “Dad, where do you plan to refuel?”

  “Barbara’s family home is about five-hundred miles from Anclote Key, and the plane can only safely go four-hundred and fifty. I want to arrive close to her family with at least a half tank, so we can bug out if the shit hit the fan over there. Barbara, what’s the name of the lake?”

  She said, “Tangipahoa and it’s about a mile and a quarter long and a little under a half-mile wide. It’s not real deep, but there weren’t any obstructions the last time I was on it fishing with my dad. There’s a bunch of cabins spread out around it. We should be able to hide the plane.”

  Jon’s dad, Jack, said, “Thanks for refreshing my memory. It’ll work. I’ll try to land close to land north of Orange Beach at an inland marina where I used to go fishing. This plane will run great on high-octane automobile gas, and they have several pumps to refuel high-speed boats. I think we’ll look for another refueling place close to the lake to refuel and be ready to fly out without much notice. Any thoughts on that, Barbara?”

  “Not really. There’s the Mississippi and the gulf or maybe Lake Pontchartrain? Yes, there’re several marinas on the east and north sides of the lake. There aren’t any places to refuel on Lake Tangipahoa.”

  “Great. Jon, take a look at the GPS and see if you can pick one to try.”

  “Sounds good, Dad,” Jon said and then turned to Barbara. “Hon, I wish you’d stay with your parents while we take Jill and Gina on out to Texas.”

  “NFW, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. Seriously, Jon, if something happens and you can’t get back, I want to be with you,” Barbara said.

  Jon knew he’d lost that fight and also knew arguing with a strong-willed woman who was ten times smarter than he was would be a futile effort. “Jill, do you think your folks will want to come to Mississippi? Barb says her dad and brother have quite the set up for survival.”

  Jill shrugged, “I just don’t know. My dad and mom are country folks and should be doing very well, but who knows? I’ll stay flexible as long as Gina and I’m together we’ll be fine. I guess the important thing is to pass on the immunity to both groups.”

  Jon was deep in thought and wondered aloud. “I wonder if the other immunes know about passing on immunity or even know it can be done.”

  “That’s a good question. I’m a nurse, and we know that sometimes the antibodies in plasma can help treat people with the same disease, but this one kills everyone. There’s no one surviving to try transfusing their plasma into others. I wouldn’t have thought to try it out. Maybe we should broadcast it on the radio.” Cindy said.

  Barbara, Jill, and Jon said, “Hell no!” at the same time.

  Jon explained to her the pitfalls and said, “That would put a target on every immune’s back.”

  Jack said, “Then we’ll have to pass on the ability to people who’ll also keep giving immunity, or it dies with us. We also have to secure plenty of the transfusion equipment before it gets ruined sitting in dusty hospitals and doctor’s offices.”

  “Holy shit! Look out the right side windows and about two o’clock right of our current heading,” Jon said.

  Jill said, “It’s a large ship. Damn, it’s a trawler, and it’s shrimping, I think.”

  Jack said, “Look straight ahead. Land ho! A trawler out catching fish or shrimp means there’re enough people to eat a lot of fish and shrimp. I hope no one sees us.”

  They flew on for a few minutes and spotted the shoreline. The marina had two substantial barriers made from stone that helped protect the entrance. The main dock was over a thousand feet long and had several shorter docks protruding out. There were two places to refuel, one for small boats and the other for yachts and other large watercraft. The main building contained a boat sales and rental shop, restaurant, and grocery and supply shop. There were two long rows of upscale cottages on either side of the bay containing the marina with a big hotel at the backside. Jon could see swimming pools, tennis courts, and a golf course. There was no movement or people to be seen.

  Jack flew over the Bayou La Launch area to see if there was any human activity. They didn’t see any boats or vehicles moving around the marina. Jack changed his heading slightly so he would land, heading west to east toward the marina. “Watch for anything suspicious. The sun is behind us, so call out if you see any reflections of light. There might b
e a lunatic with a high powered rifle and a scope.”

  Jon closely watched the water and shoreline on his side of the plane. “I guess we’d better land and then quickly get the hell out of there before we’re spotted.”

  His dad replied, “Perhaps it would be best if we spent the night and then fly on to Mississippi early in the morning. I don’t want to take a chance on landing after dark.”

  Jon knew it was early afternoon, and the flight over to Mississippi was only an hour or a bit longer. There was no risk of landing in the dark. “Dad, I’m good either way, but we shag ass out of there if we spot any dangers.”

  “Yep,” was all his dad said.

  They didn’t see any people or other issues, and Jack touched down about a mile from the marina and taxied toward the opening in the sea wall. The windblown waves hit the pontoon, and the jarring made Barbara wince in pain. Jack steered the aircraft through the entrance and made a sharp turn to the right, and then about two-hundred–feet later, he made a sharp turn to the left and pulled up to the dock where the fuel pumps were located. The aircraft had a high wing configuration, and the wing easily cleared the pier but wouldn’t clear the gas pumps. Jon and Jack rotated the plane by hand and then pulled it back against the dock.

  Jack pulled the hose and hand pump from the storage box, and they took turns pumping high-octane gas into the plane’s fuel tanks. They also filled the empty gas cans.

  Jack’s current girlfriend and his son’s ex-girlfriend, Cindy, was assigned to watch the approach by land while Barbara watched the water for boats. Cindy Dame was only twenty-eight and a hard-working nurse and part-time physical therapist. She was shorter than Barbara, who was only about five foot four inches tall and looked pretty darn good in a bathing suit, according to Jack. She’d had to learn how to contribute and defend herself quickly when she and Jack fought to survive in the early days.