After The Virus (Book 2): Homesteading

by Archer, Simon

  “Can she doctor people?” I asked.

  “She can,” Estelle said brightly. “She just doesn’t like it very much, and her bedside is a lot better suited to adults than kids. It’s something she’ll have to learn.”

  My fingers tightened and relaxed on the steering wheel as I braked a bit and eased the truck and trailer over to the right lane. Our exit was fast approaching.

  “So why didn’t you offer this earlier?” I asked, curious.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “It wasn’t until recently that I didn’t feel like an outsider. Now, I feel like a part of the family, so I don’t think I’m out of place being really open with you.”

  “It took sleeping with me?” I asked incredulously.

  “No,” she shook her head. “It took intimacy. Trust. I trusted you, and since you were our leader, I felt that you needed to trust me. Truthfully, I thought you and girls mostly considered me to be the family doctor and daycare provider.”

  “No!” I exclaimed. “That was never how it was.”

  Estelle laughed and reached over to put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Feelings aren’t altogether rational,” she explained. “And I didn’t want to sleep with you to get you to listen to me. That was just the bonus.”

  “Heh,” I smiled crookedly as I braked to a stop at the bottom of the off-ramp. “You could always have talked to me.”

  “I know,” she said. “That’s what Jackie and Angie both told me. I had some of my own problems to work through, too, and again,” she raised her hand to keep me from opening my mouth. “I didn’t actually feel like I was as much a part of the family, then.”

  “It changed pretty quickly, though,” she continued after I turned onto the surface streets. “But then I was just swept along in your wake. You are something of a force of nature once you get moving, Henry. I had to get you to slow down and stop before I was comfortable opening up to you and making my offer.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “I’m glad you did,” I said, giving her a smile. “And I’ll happily take any help I can get.”

  “You really need it,” she teased.

  22

  Philip stood duty at the CDC compound gate in full kit, armor, combat rifle, helmet, and all. We rolled up, and I leaned out the window to look him over.

  “Problem?” I asked.

  “Precaution,” the big man replied with a shrug. “The newbies feel better when they see someone all geared up. Guess whose idea it was?”

  “Bruce,” I said.

  “Yep,” he answered.

  Estelle leaned over and waved to him.

  “Hi, Phil,” she called past me.

  “Morning, Dr. White,” he said, smiling. “Farm life treating you well?”

  “Well enough,” she replied. “I’ll tell you more about it later when you’re off duty.”

  “Whenever that is,” Philip said forlornly.

  “Two questions,” I said.

  “Shoot.”

  “First, when are you going to actually open the gate and let us in?” I said.

  “Oh.” He dipped his head in embarrassment for a moment and hit the gate code. It slowly began to roll open. “What’s the other one?”

  “Where is Bruce, anyway?” I wanted to know.

  “He’s probably at the cantina with the newbies. One of them’s an older biker, really nice guy, but he’s got a prepper streak a mile wide. They like to talk shop, and the rest like to listen. It bugs the hell out of Doctor Finley for some reason,” Phil explained.

  “Huh,” Estelle mused.

  “See you later?” I asked.

  Phil nodded.

  “Sure will,” he replied.

  With the gate open, I pressed on the accelerator a bit. The truck and its burden trundled on through, and I pointed us towards the loading area.

  “Whatever the hell could bother Bob?” I wondered.

  “I thought that,” Estelle said. “I’ve got some ideas, and none of them are good.”

  “We might just be worrying about nothing,” I said.

  “I honestly hope that is the case.” She settled back and folded her arms beneath her breasts, staring off at the buildings ahead.

  The CDC folks had been busy. There were more vehicles, including a couple of tanker trucks, a civilian Humvee, a couple of Teslas, and several AFV panel trucks.

  Three people waited on the loading dock when we pulled up. Two I didn’t recognize, but the third was Doctor Robert Finley, head of the Atlanta branch of the CDC.

  We greeted Bob with friendly hellos and turned to the people with him.

  “Henry and Estelle,” he said with exaggerated formality. “Allow me to introduce you to Bill Foreman and Susan Hart.”

  Bill was a young man, probably in his early twenties, with the look of a bodybuilder about him. His hair was dark brown and clipped down close to his skull, and his face was clean-shaven. Hazel eyes regarded me as he smiled.

  “Hi, Henry,” he said. “We’ve heard a lot about you. You too, Doctor White.”

  “I was framed,” I told him and laughed.

  He took a moment, then laughed as well as Susan stepped up. She was a greying blonde, probably mid-fifties or older, with a lean, solid frame. Her eyes were a bright, bleached out blue, and her skin was a deep tan.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Henry,” she said solemnly. “And you, Doctor White.”

  We all shook hands, and I looked over at Bob.

  “So, is this all we get for unloading?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Bruce, Gene, Gwen, and some other folks are on their way,” he reported. “Maybe more. I think a lot depends on who gets tapped.”

  “Cool,” I said, nodding, then walked over and leaned against the warm bumper of the truck. “How have things been going here?”

  “Not bad,” he replied, then looked away from me as Estelle struck up a conversation with Bill and Susan. “Bruce and his new friend Gene have us on a more defensive footing. Despite the reactor and everything else, he’s concerned that we aren’t in the most survivable position. Considering that the other field units we’ve contacted are starting to shutdown operation and integrate with local survivor populations, I’m starting to suspect that he’s correct.”

  “Phil said you weren’t happy about something,” I observed. “Reckon this is it.”

  “It is,” Bob sighed and adjusted his glasses. “I hate the idea of abandoning this place. There’s so much here…”

  “Can you copy or back it up?” I asked. “Auburn’s got a lot of facilities.”

  “But no power, yes?”

  “That can be fixed,” I replied, smiling broadly. “We got the solar array working at the Homestead. It’s not been terribly taxed, yet, but I mean to stress test it soon.”

  “If you can document, even theoretically, that you can put together some kind of alternative power source generating sixty or so megawatts,” Doctor Finley said. “I’ll be sold. There’s really no appeal in city living for me anymore.”

  “What did you like the most?” I wondered.

  “I was foodie,” he admitted. “I liked being able to tour the world just by driving around. You know, Vietnamese one day, Mexican the next, then cap it off with German or French.” Bob sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “Did I tell you I was almost a chef?”

  “You did not,” I replied, giving the man a curious look.

  “I took a year’s worth of culinary training out of High School,” he said. “It was something to do while I waited for an opening in the undergrad program I wanted to start. Sometimes I regret not pursuing that track.”

  “I’ll look into what I can do about power,” I told him. “I ain’t so sure I can hit that number, though, not without coating most of the campus in solar panels.”

  “Look at this way,” he said, a resigned look on his fairly expressive face. “In about five years, we won’t have a choice but to initiate a burn and leave.”
r />   “A burn?”

  “Basically, we flame-purify the labs below and throughout the more dangerous areas of the complex,” Bob explained. “I’ve put aside the research, and we’re maintaining the stores of dead pathogens in case we need to manufacture vaccines, but we’ve started destroying the live cultures.”

  Like everyone else, I’d heard the horror stories about stores of anthrax and smallpox or whatever else. I didn’t want to ask, but then, I did.

  “So, are the stories true, then?” I asked.

  “What stories?” Bob gave me a quizzical look.

  “About all the nasty bugs you guys have stored here,” I replied. “All the urban legend and conspiracy theory level shit.”

  “We aren’t SCP,” he said with a faint smile. “Our pathogen library consists of live and dead samples of damn near everything known that can infect a human being and a fair percentage of those that affect animals. I suppose we could re-introduce a few things, but since there aren’t isn’t much of a concentrated population for them to spread through, we’re probably safe. That’s why I wanted to focus on maintaining dead cultures. We can vaccinate any future children using them.”

  “I, for one, don’t want to see a resurgence of Polio or tuberculosis.”

  “I’m with you there, doc,” I said with a firm nod. “Keep everything you think is useful.”

  “We’re having a lot of discussions about it, right now, but-” he said thoughtfully.

  “Henry!” boomed out a familiar voice as more people joined us. “Estelle!”

  “Hi, Bruce,” we said, almost simultaneously.

  Bruce Gassler, mirrored sunglasses, Arizona Wildcats cap, safari vest, BDU britches, and all, came sauntering out beneath the open roll-up door of the loading dock. With him walked an older fellow with a barrel chest, a bald head, and a bushy white beard. His eyes were sparkling blue.

  The old survivalist shook hands with Estelle and me, then indicated his friend.

  “This is Gene Campbell,” he said by way of introduction. “Vietnam veteran and all-around sensible guy.”

  Gene shook hands jovially, grinning behind his beard.

  “Nice to meet the both of you,” he said in a low, rumbling voice. “We’re waiting on Gwen, Michell, and Penny, I guess?”

  “Might as well get started,” Bruce put hands on his hips and gazed at the load we brought. “Sooner started-”

  “Sooner done,” Gene finished.

  “Fine by me,” I said and looked between Bruce and Bob. “Where does this stuff need to go?”

  “Inside,” Bob said before Bruce could open his mouth.

  “Yeah,” Bruce agreed. “Could you back the trailer up to the dock?”

  “Sure,” I replied with a nod. “You got a forklift, or are we doing this with sheer manpower?”

  “What do we need a forklift for?” Gene asked.

  “Speed,” I answered, grinning. “Maybe a way to keep us from throwing out our backs. Some of the pallets back here are three-hundred pounds or more.”

  “Ah, right,” the older, larger man clapped his hands together, then wiped them on his jeans. “I’ll get the forklift ready while the rest of you get started with the small shit.”

  “Copy that,” Bruce said and turned to me. “You’re up, Forrest.”

  I snorted and rolled my eyes, but made for the truck while Bruce yelled at people to get out of the way.

  A few minutes later, we were unloading the trailer. Gwen Markovsky joined us, along with a black-haired, pale young woman in yoga pants, a pink t-shirt, street hiker boots, and a leather jacket. She introduced herself as Michelle Young, formerly a middle-school homeroom teacher.

  Last was a shy, young Vietnamese girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, who Gene introduced as Penny Tran, his great-granddaughter. She was in jeans, a UGA sweatshirt, and a pair of nice, black Chucks.

  A couple of the other doctors threw in as well, and we made pretty short work of the raw materials and fasteners for the two pre-fab steel sheds that Angie and I had put together.

  “So,” I said to Bruce when it was all done. “You need the instructions?”

  His mouth worked for a minute, then he nodded and held out one hand, silently. I slapped a sheaf of papers into it with a grin.

  “I should get you to sign for this,” I added, looking over at Bob.

  “Sure,” he said. “Add it to my tab.”

  We exchanged grins as the director turned to the others.

  “Alright, everyone,” Doctor Finley said. “Jeremy cooked up something nice for our visitors, and everyone is invited to share. Head over to the cantina if you’re interested.”

  My stomach rumbled. Jeremy Franklin was one of the youngest doctors at the CDC, and he was the primary cook which surprised me after Bob’s little revelation. I reckoned running the place left little time or energy for meal prep. Or the two worked together, and Jeremy did most of the grunt work.

  Still, the man worked magic on plain fare, and I was happy to partake.

  Everyone headed in, but Bruce caught me before I made it through the doors into the building proper.

  “Henry,” he said in a low voice. “Hold up a minute.”

  “Sure,” I said, “What’s up.”

  Bruce waited a moment, his head cocked as if listening to the retreating feet.

  “Quick information for you,” he said. “Gene’s the only other one that knows, and I’m debating whether or not to bring Robert in. We’re being observed.”

  “Oh, really,” my stomach dropped. “How do you know?”

  Bruce smiled grimly under his salt and pepper mustache. “I set up motion sensors in the best observation points I knew of looking into this place,” he replied. “Along with wildlife cameras with infrared and low-light. I suspected passive was best, and they don’t seem to know that I know they’re there.”

  “Can you show me where?” I asked.

  “I can,” he said. “I’ve got a map of the local area, and I marked date, time, and location each time the sensor pings.”

  “Every time?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “Just the first time each day. So far, they keep a regular schedule and move every twelve hours.”

  “No one else here knows?” I asked.

  Bruce shook his head.

  “Not even Phil,” he replied.

  “Tell Phil,” I said, “and make sure he keeps it on the down-low. We don’t want our visitors knowing we know.” Unless, I thought, they already do.

  “If they know, they haven’t shown it,” Bruce said. “Seems to be three men, on foot, and armed. They stay within about three-hundred yards, which puts them easily in sniper range.”

  “Have you got pictures from the cameras?” I asked.

  “I do. Are you two staying the night?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Let’s head for the cantina and talk about this more later. We’re supposed to be taking a crew back with us to Opelika on this trip, too. I was hoping you’d come along with your truck and help out with some projects there.”

  He sighed and walked over to hold the door for me.

  “I want to,” Bruce said. “I really do, but I’m concerned about our friends out there.”

  “Maybe they’re just nervous,” I said as I walked by him. “Let’s discuss it further. Maybe we can go talk to them.”

  The old survivalist looked at me like I was insane, and I think it was only years of some kind of self-control that kept him from yelling at me. I just smiled and headed off towards the cantina with him following.

  It was definitely going to be an interesting time in Atlanta. For the first time, I really wished we had a more secure way of reaching the homestead. I’d just have to trust Angie and Jackie to keep the place in order and hope that the growing suspicion I held about the three men out there beyond the fence was nothing more than healthy paranoia.

  They could be nervous friendlies, or they could be trouble. We wouldn’t know until we took a risk and contacted them.
>
  23

  Jeremy had outdone himself with this particular little feast. We all sat down in the CDC cantina to a meal of fried and roast chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, collards and turnip greens, biscuits, candied carrots, and green beans. Everyone tucked in with gusto, and after the initial hellos and how’re you doing’s, silence reigned with the exception, of course, of “Please pass me the…”

  Estelle and Gwen flanked me, something that I wasn’t about to complain about. My doctor’s revelation about the forensic pathologist, while a surprise, wasn’t unwelcome. I was really feeling my oats now, so the idea of four lovers, beautiful and talented as they all were, was a hell of an ego boost.

  Of course, Gwen and I still needed to seal the deal. I wasn’t going to just jump on Estelle’s word, despite trusting her. Some instinct in the back of my mind pushed for patience. It wasn’t like I didn’t have relationships that would be the envy of any young man.

  Cheerleader, soldier, doctor. My collection sounded like a porno, or at the least a column in Penthouse Letters. I hid a smile and focused on my plate. Life was good.

  Once the meal slowed, Doctor Finley looked over at me and said, “So, Henry. How are things going out at your farm?”

  “Not bad,” I replied. “We’ve got a livestock collection, the beginning of a garden, and we picked up another kid.”

  “A child?” Bob asked. “Were they alright?”

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding. “He was fine. Apparently, he learned how to take care of himself from a fairly young age. Pretty good hunter, too, and he’d been learning the butcher’s trade.”

  The teenage girl, Penny, perked up at my mention of Virgil, and I seemed to have her undivided attention.

  “Is he smart?” she asked.

  “Fairly,” I replied, based on my first impression of the boy. “A bit under-educated, maybe, but he seems to have something between his ears.”

  She smiled and nodded to herself, then blushed and settled back in her chair as she realized that most of the adults were looking at her curiously.