To his right he can see down Main Street into the downtown core and the raging warzone that it’s become. No doubt about it, the riot is still in full swing.
Deciding to get closer George gathers himself up and races across the open expanse of the street to the other side. Feeling exposed he looks for a place to hunker down and avoid being seen.
There’s no real place around him to hide but he knows on the other side of City Hall is Valley Road that would provide him with ample cover. It just means crossing in front of the building and being totally exposed for a few seconds.
Well, I’m in it now anyway. Taking a breath he hurries down the street, his camera swinging wildly with each step. The few seconds of his exposure seem to last forever but pass without incident.
He reaches Valley Road and bends over to catch his breath. Just as he’s beginning to think that he’s been following a false lead he hears voices on the air and approaching footsteps.
A lot of footsteps—coming right towards him!
Instantly knowing that he must’ve been seen crossing in front of City Hall, George doesn’t wait around to find out who’s headed towards him.
Without a backward glance he runs down the Valley Road towards the river and the bushes that he hopes will conceal him. Behind him the voices rise with excitement and the footsteps break out into a run. With a sinking feeling George realizes that he’s been set up. Or rather, Jake’s been set up. The mob was never after anyone at City Hall—they were after Jacob.
And now they’re after me. God Jake, what the hell are you into?
Adam Henson turns his patrol car around the bend from Clara Street onto Richardson. Ahead of him the beam from his spotlight sweeps the street.
At this late hour all is quiet except the background chatter coming from the police radio. The calm is trying its best to deceive him into believing that the worst is over.
Slowly driving around the wreckage of a burned out car he swings the spotlight into the shadows by the damaged buildings and sees nothing stirring.
The next second flying debris attacks his car. Bottles smash to pieces as they hit the frame followed by an onrush of people charging him from out of nowhere.
Henson slams his foot down and tries to speed away only to crash into another car, already overturned onto its roof. The mob reaches his car and begins violently rocking it on its springs.
Bats begin to slam into his doors and roof. His back window blows out in a shower of glass as a strike punches its way through.
Grabbing his radio Adam calls out for backup in a high pitched voice before his door is flung open and the crowd drags him out into the street. A scream fills his ears—high-pitched and feminine—but he can see no woman. Soon he realizes that the scream is coming from him.
As the mob tears at him he manages to push himself away from them long enough to unholster his weapon. Two successive shots fire straight up before he lowers his aim to the crowd. “Back off!”
The throng is unimpressed with his attempt at showing authority. They’re crazed and unafraid of the gun he holds trained on them. A man rushes forward from the mass of people and is immediately cut down by a shot to his knee.
The look on Adam’s face is a mixture of surprise and fear. I shot a man.
His guard down for only an instant is all that it takes. From the blind spot behind him a crowbar falls on his wrist, swung by an unseen attacker. His wrist breaks on impact and he drops his gun ahead of him as he falls to his knees.
The attacker gruffly hauls him back up and shoves him against his cruiser. Inside he can hear the Sheriff’s voice over the radio calling for him to respond.
“Hello pig,” Adam focuses on the attacker that’s holding the crowbar to his throat and recognizes him as a local farmer. “Time to squeal!”
Coughing from the pressure on his larynx Adam says, “Jack?”
Jack throws him to the ground where the rest of the mob puts the boots to him. The assault is swift and brutal succeeding in knocking three of Adam’s teeth out and breaking two ribs.
As the light passes from his eyes Adam hears two shots go off and watches as two of his attackers fall wounded to the ground.
The mob in unison turns to see a formidable man standing defiantly before them dressed in black fatigues. Even in their crazed state they recognize that this man is dangerous. None of them recognize his face leading them to whisper amongst themselves about who he could be.
“This is none of your business stranger.” Jack hollers at him.
“You’re beating a cop to death,” Caleb Fine stares the man down, “That makes it my business.”
The biggest man in the crowd, six foot four inch Greg Mackey, steps forward and growls at Caleb. “Get him!”
Greg moves on Caleb who easily sidesteps the clumsy advance and drives his knee into Greg’s stomach sending him to one knee in search of oxygen. With an effortless motion Caleb brings his Glock down on the back of his head sending him to dreamland.
“Disperse yourselves from here…or else.”
Most of the crowd turns and runs away leaving only Jack and a few stragglers remaining. “What do you care about this pig?”
Leveling his aim at Jack, Caleb answers “Leave or else asshole.”
Grudgingly Jack and his remaining followers scatter before the threatening gaze of Caleb who once alone quickly looks down at the beaten body of Adam Henson. He can tell that his breathing is shallow but steady. Broken ribs most likely are his prognosis.
Reaching into the patrol car he picks up the radio and says, “Officer down, officer down. This is FBI Agent Caleb Fine on Richardson Street, three suspects immobilized. Send medical aid for officer.”
He hangs up the radio and leans back out of the car. Taking another look at the fallen officer he hears sirens beginning to draw closer and crouches down over Adam.
“Help’s on the way son, just hold on.”
“How’s it looking out there Danny?”
Danny Gordon shakes his head as he answers Lynne’s question. “Not good, but I’m told that extra security has been posted around the building and we should be safe here until the riot is brought under control.”
Lynne extends a cup of coffee to him as she sits down at the table beside him. Setting her own mug down, she massages the tension in her forehead.
“Headache?” Danny asks.
“Long night,” Lynne answers “I was afraid the town would explode like this from the moment I read that damn article. I can’t believe any reporter could be so irresponsible.”
Blowing on his coffee Danny says, “Jacob Castle has done worse.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“A lot of people believe he got away with murder.” Seeing Lynne’s shocked expression Danny explains, “It was years ago now. He went on a camping trip with friends and he was the only one who returned alive. He claimed that they crossed paths with a stranger who was sick.
“Said that he came back to town to get help. But when help arrived, the camp was empty. There was no sign of the stranger but the bodies of his two friends turned up about a week later, if I recall gunshot wounds to their heads. Jacob’s gun. He was arrested and charged with their murders.”
Shaking his head, Danny finishes “But the night before the trial was to begin, the charges were dropped. People have wondered for years how he managed to get those charges dropped which is why most around these parts know that he got away with murder.”
“That’s awful,” Lynne asks, “Do you remember who his friends were?”
Nodding Danny answers, “Oh yeah, a great couple. Bobby and Maggie Sullivan had their whole life ahead of them. I knew Bobby from college; we were teammates on the baseball team. He wasn’t much of an outfielder but he was a great friend. No doubt Maggie was the real athlete in the family though. She was All Big Ten Conference in track—a great long distance runner.
“I still can’t believe that they had only been married about eight years when it happened. It was
a real tragedy.”
“I’m sorry,” Lynne shakes her head asking, “Did you say Sullivan? Any relation to William Sullivan?”
“Their only son. Shame what’s happened to him too, but it’s got to be hard on a kid losing your parents that young.”
Her eyes glazing over, Lynne looks off into space muttering “Yeah, it’s got to be hard.”
She’s thinking of her own parents. Her memories of them are like water—potent enough to drown her in sorrow yet not substantial enough to support the weight of her scrutiny—especially those of her mother.
She lost her so long ago that most of her memories of her have simply drifted away on the rushing tide of passing time. Hearing his story she feels a shared connection to William Sullivan despite having never met him.
It’s not sympathy she feels but real empathy. She knows how hard it is to lose those closest to you.
“Lynne?”
“Huh?” Lynne rapidly blinks her eyes saying, “Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”
“I asked if you had heard the latest numbers.”
“What have you got?”
“As of last count earlier today, we’ve had 214 confirmed cases and 190 deaths.”
Her hand going to her mouth, Lynne can’t believe what she’s just heard. “My God,” she breathes, “That’s almost ninety percent mortality. We need to find answers to this thing and fast.”
“Any results from the labs in Atlanta?”
For a moment Lynne looks at Danny remembering Roger’s warning to share information sparingly with him. Finally she answers, “Gram and Wright-Giemsa stains were conducted on the isolates sent from the respiratory tracts and blood and lymph nodes of the infected. Bipolar staining rods were noted on direct smear. The isolates were also oxidase and urease negative while being catalase positive.
“Pinpoint colony was noted at 24 hours on SBA. Now obviously the bipolar staining of cells is not exclusively limited to Y. Pestis as many other gram-negative bacteria exhibit the same characteristic. But the highly suggestive nature of these results confirms that we’re definitely dealing with an outbreak of plague.
“That’s the good news,” she continues, “The bad news is that the kill curves were completed again and this particular strain of Y. Pestis is susceptible to everything they threw at it from Streptomycin right through to Chloramphenicol.”
“How can that be?” Danny asks, “Streptomycin resistance was noted in the hospital.”
Lynne shrugs as she unties her ponytail and lets her auburn hair fall down around her shoulders. “And that’s the problem we face. Roger is still operating under the assumption that the tests must have been corrupted but if they weren’t than…”
“Sir,” a man calls from the doorway for Danny “Reports are coming in that power and telephones are failing around town.”
“Do we have backup generators in place here?”
“We do Lynne,” Danny says, “But we’d better inform everyone of what could happen and get the generators up and running.”
Danny leaves the room after the man while Lynne sips her coffee. Her mind drifts back over what she heard about William Sullivan and his parents. There was something about the story that she wanted to ask but can’t quite remember what.
In the end it slips from her mind under the weight of a rapidly growing epidemic.
Dominique Trembley sits on the sofa with her knees tucked up under her chin, not watching the nervous pacing of her boyfriend, but staring off into space.
Gaetano Anjou holds the phone in one hand with the receiver in his other hand pressed tightly to his ear. Slowly he traces the same path over and over again around the room.
He’s been trying to reach Scott and Jaime for over an hour now with no luck. It doesn’t matter what number he calls he can’t get an answer. He’s called Jaime’s place, Scott’s cell, and his place but can’t find them.
With each unanswered ring he grows more worried and looking at Dominique he can tell that the same is true for her.
Hanging up the receiver he says to her “Don’t worry; I’m sure they’re fine.”
Dominique nods her agreement while continuing to stare at a spot on the wall. She’s had a rough night. He found her an hour ago sitting in the alley behind the store, alongside Adrienne’s body. The memory causes Guy to shudder.
Dialing Scott’s number again he listens to the phone ring in his ear a few times before it’s answered.
“Hello?”
“Jesus Scott where have you been?”
“Guy! Am I ever glad to hear from you. Are you okay? Is Dom with you?”
“She is—we’re fine, more or less. What about you and Jaime?”
“I’m all right but…” Over the line Gaetano can hear Scott’s voice catching as he says, “Jaime’s not doing so good.”
Dominique slides up next to Gaetano surprising him by placing her head on his shoulder to listen to the conversation. “What happened?”
“I didn’t find her in time. When I got to the store it was in flames and she was already gone. I found her on Balaclava but she’d already been attacked. I think she’s got a concussion. I gave her Tylenol and some sleeping pills to help her rest, but I’m real worried about her.”
“God,” Dominique whispers as she covers her mouth in shock at the news.
“How’s it looking from where you are?”
“The riot you mean?” Scott answers “I think it’s confined mostly downtown. But it’s a real mess man. You calling from Dom’s place?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty quiet here but it has been most of the night. I think you’re right about the violence being confined to the downtown core.”
“Then I advise you guys to stay put.”
“No, as soon as the sun peaks over the horizon I’m coming over to help you with Jaime.”
“Count me in too.” Dominique says with a tug on Gaetano’s arm.
“Guys I appreciate the sentiment but you should stay where you’re safe. I know that’s what Jaime would want too. God, the store.”
“What? What is it?”
“Before she passed out Jaime wanted to go back to the store to look for Adrienne and Dom. I said I’d go but I didn’t want to leave her. Adrienne is still out there.”
Swallowing a lump in his throat while squeezing Dom’s shoulder Guy whispers, “She didn’t make it man.”
“No…”
The phone line goes dead. “Scott? Scott are you there?”
The next instant the lights in the room blink out as the power fails. Dominique grabs a flashlight and turns it on as they walk to the front window. Looking northwest to the heart of town they see the lights gradually going out leaving only the flames to illuminate the scene.
“What’s going on?”
Gaetano shakes his head. “The riot must have knocked the power out.” Dominique slips her arm around his waist and he does the same—holding her tightly to his heart.
The gleaming red fire truck screeches to a halt by the corner of Catherine and Division Streets. Two wood frame and stucco houses are engulfed by flames.
Bright orange and yellow flames light up the scene as they lick wildly up the walls stretching fingers towards the sky and a mass of billowing black smoke.
Robert Oliver climbs down from the cab of the fire engine wearing a heavy black coat and a hard yellow helmet. His coat sports reflective yellow markings that shine brightly in the fire’s light.
With four of his men by his side he works feverishly to connect the hoses to the hydrant and start dousing the conflagration.
They have no idea if anyone is inside the houses, but he knows before anyone can enter the buildings they need to calm the blaze down some.
As his men start the spray of water he lifts his helmet and wipes his brow with the back of his hand, glancing back in the direction of downtown.
Several small fires are burning in cars and shop fronts, but his unit is stretched too thin this night to put them all out.
&nb
sp; A loud cracking sound brings his attention back to the fire at hand. He watches the house on the left shudder slightly before the second floor collapses down onto the first.
“BACK UP!” he yells at his men as the collapse sends debris and flames shooting out in all directions. With more oxygen fanning the flames, the second house burns hotter than before.
Decision time is at hand he knows. He needs to determine if it’s safe to continue fighting this blaze or do they set up a perimeter to simply keep it from spreading.
Can I sacrifice this home without knowing if anyone’s inside or not?
“LET’S GO!” he hollers, his decision made. He won’t back away without trying once more to get the fire under control.
As water once again rains down on the flames the first projectile crashes harmlessly into the side of their truck. With all the noise of the flames and water no one hears it.
The second object—a liquor bottle—hits one of Robert’s men square in the back of the head. His helmet protects him from most of the impact but it alerts them to the fact that they are not alone.
Turning in all directions Robert sees the mob rushing towards them from off of Main Street. The mob is carrying bottles and rocks and various other weapons.
Debris begins to rain down on them as the mob fires repeatedly at them. Glass smashing on the concrete around him Robert listens to the hard sound of rocks ricocheting off the fire truck.
At the crack of a rifle, Robert and his men hit the ground forgetting about the fire that’s burning out of their control.
For their own safety, Robert orders his men back onto the truck. Three men respond but the fourth remains lying face down on the concrete.
Hurrying over to him Robert immediately sees the sanguine stain spreading across the pavement—reflecting the wild gyrations of the flames.
Rolling him over the man screams from the wound in his shoulder. Calling for help moving him Robert grinds his teeth from the knowledge that one of his men has been shot.
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