The deep buzz of powerful turboprop engines reverberated inside the cinder-block structure, intensifying as they approached the open door to the airfield tarmac. When the team ahead of them vanished into the darkness beyond the door, leaving them alone inside the hallway, Larsen was hit by the bizarre urge to turn back. The feeling passed just as quickly, but it was the first time he’d ever felt that way before. He’d never experienced the proverbial “bad feeling” about any operation or mission before, even with the SEALs. He let out a quick laugh.
“What’s up?” said Dixon.
Larsen wasn’t one of those superstitious pre-mission ritual types at all, but he had no intention of informing his team “he had a bad feeling about this one.”
“Nothing. Just thinking how much it would piss off Ochoa and Ragan if we walked to the aircraft,” said Larsen.
Peck shot him a disapproving look, which almost convinced Larsen to do it. Instead, he stepped onto the shadowy tarmac and broke into a jog toward the third aircraft in the line of darkened behemoths.
Chapter 25
Emma Harper dropped her lightened backpack on the gravel next to the road and took a few deep breaths. They had decided to forego turning north on Township Road, the first intersection they reached after the car accident, because they saw nothing but brake lights ahead—again. The last thing they wanted to do was wade through more of the ugly humanity they’d so far encountered on their short journey. The decision made sense, but it added distance to their trip, and Jack seemed hell-bent on making up the time by moving as fast as possible.
She didn’t mind the pace. The sooner they got out of Indianapolis, the better, but there was no way they could keep this speed going for too much longer. Jack assured her they would only have to keep moving like this for another hour at most. They were almost out of the mayhem, he said, though she wasn’t altogether convinced. Interstate 465 was their goal.
For some reason, they viewed the six-lane ring road around the city as a perceived barrier of safety. Probably because everyone did. The city on the other side of 465 was one of the safest communities in the country, aggressively patrolled by a robust police force vested in keeping the premier suburb safe from the expanding drug violence in Indianapolis.
Carmel, Indiana, was one of those places where upwardly mobile families with young kids moved for better schools and home owners association guaranteed property values. It was where you moved when you grew out of walking to the closest bar and grabbing a drink on the patio after work—on a Wednesday. They weren’t that grown up yet. Not even close. But right now, all she wanted to do was get across the 465 and set foot in that holy Mecca of grown-ups.
“This looks better,” she said, staring up Ditch Road.
Brake lights illuminated the night ahead, but not in the same concentration as either of the previous two roads. Jack put his arm around her and pulled her close, just breathing her in. She loved when he did that. No words. Just the love of her life taking it all in.
“Don’t breathe too deeply. I didn’t wash my hair today,” she said.
He laughed. “I don’t care. You always smell like you under those expensive haircare products. That’s all I’m after. You.”
“I think I need you a little more focused on the task at hand here,” she said, quickly kissing his cheek.
“I suppose,” said Jack, placing his pack on the ground next to hers. “How are you doing?”
Emma wasn’t ready for this conversation. She wasn’t sure why, but it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t that she needed more time to digest what had happened at the intersection, or what might have happened to their dog. Her focus was simply somewhere else. Like about a mile north of here, far enough away from Indianapolis to feel somewhat safe.
“I’ll be doing a lot better when we get out of here,” she said before taking a long sip of water from the CamelBak hose extending from one of the pouches on her backpack.
Jack nodded, his face grim but understanding in the sparse light of the half-moon night. “We’ll be inside Carmel within thirty minutes.”
“If they let us in.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” said Jack.
She wasn’t sure. Why were there traffic jams on every northbound road? Street traffic was negligible. Something wasn’t right up ahead.
“Let’s just take it slow until we know,” she said. “And keep that pistol completely hidden.”
Jack had quietly and discreetly reloaded the revolver during their brief stop to rearrange the backpacks. She’d let him do it without saying anything, appreciating the gift of silence. Neither of them wanted to talk about what had just happened. On top of that, they’d had more pressing business—cutting down on the weight of the contents of their backpacks.
Since it was seventy-eight degrees and muggy, they’d decided to ditch the sleeping bags and stick with the waterproof bivy sacks. Each pack contained a fleece liner and a pair of thermal underwear pants, which would keep them warm enough. They also ditched the tent, which had been in Jack’s pack. He’d taken most of the canned food in exchange. Both of them had discarded most of the spare clothing stuffed in the packs, retaining socks and underwear. They’d retained the basics. Water filter, basic first aid kits, spare socks and food. Sufficient to get them far enough to call Jack’s parents.
They drank water and rested for a few minutes before resuming the march north. Halfway to the intersection of Ditch Road and Eighty-Sixth Street, Jack stopped without warning, grabbing her arm.
“Is that a military vehicle?” he said.
“I can’t see that far. You have the binoculars in your pack,” said Emma, stepping behind him and patting his backpack. “One of these pouches. Where am I looking?”
“Right side,” he said, turning his body to make it easier for her.
Emma unzipped the pouch and removed a small pair of binoculars, scanning the intersection. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a Humvee sitting under the traffic light on the near side of Eighty-Sixth Street, big machine gun and all. Things must be getting really bad in the city.
“I think it’s a Humvee,” she said, handing him the binoculars. “Maybe we should avoid the intersection and cut through one of the neighborhoods we’ve passed.”
“What’s to say it’s any different here than in our neighborhood?” he said. “I feel better in the open.”
Jack was right. The neighborhoods would be darker, with too many hiding places. They were way more exposed on the main streets, but that worked both ways. Nothing could sneak up on them. Emma just didn’t like the idea of getting too close to those machine guns. She knew logically that they posed her no threat under these circumstances. They probably weren’t even loaded. Still, just seeing one deployed on a street in her city gave her a sinking feeling.
“I agree,” she said. “I still think we should avoid the Humvee.”
“They might have some information,” he said.
“I don’t want to get caught up in anything. That’s all I’m saying,” she said, adjusting her backpack straps. “Ready?”
“Ready,” he said, taking a few steps ahead of her.
They’d walked a few paces apart since lightening the backpacks, Jack up front, with Emma trailing. This allowed Emma to focus on watching their backs while Jack focused on everything ahead of them. She had no idea if it really made a difference, but Jack had rightly pointed out that you didn’t see soldiers patrolling side by side, holding hands.
As the intersection drew closer, their hopes of an easy walk into Carmel drifted further away. The cars lined up on the road were blocked by the Humvee, unable to turn onto Eighty-Sixth Street. A larger military vehicle resembling a truck blocked Ditch Road past the intersection, mostly obscured by the darkness. Soldiers had formed a rough perimeter around the road junction, mingling with pedestrians. The whole affair looked harmless enough, but from a distance, it was clear that the soldiers had orders to keep vehicle and foot traffic from heading
north.
The sound of a megaphone echoed off the strip mall storefronts as they got closer. Emma couldn’t make out the words, but it didn’t sound like the kind of repetitive yelling you heard at a street protest. Had to be the soldiers giving directions or passing along information.
“Looks like we can get close enough to figure out what’s happening, without getting too close,” she said.
Jack mumbled something before raising the binoculars. A few moments later, he lowered them and shook his head.
“I think they’re blocking Ditch Road,” said Jack. “To all traffic. Shit.”
“We’ll find another way,” said Emma. “They can’t wall off the city. There aren’t enough soldiers to guard the entire 465.”
Her husband nodded. “Let’s get close enough to hear what they have to say. Figure it out from there.”
Half of the cars had pulled into the opposing lane and driven past them by the time they reached the outskirts of the blockade. They wandered off the street and into a mostly empty CVS parking lot to listen to the soldier with the megaphone. Clusters of people and families—some with backpacks, others with nothing—populated the outer edges of the lot, focused on the soldiers milling around the intersection. Jack led them to the front of the dark store and leaned against the glass next to the automatic sliding doors. Nobody paid any attention to their arrival. Emma lowered her pack to the concrete sidewalk and sat against it, listening to the soldier reading a script from a clipboard.
Please keep your distance from the intersection, and do not approach the National Guard soldiers manning their checkpoints. We have several soldiers circulating through the crowd to answer your questions.
Effective immediately, all traffic north of this intersection and along the adjoining sections of Eighty-Sixth Street has been restricted by emergency order of the governor. This applies to pedestrian and motorized traffic. Interstate 465 has been declared a federal quarantine boundary by the Department of Health and Human Services, creating the Indianapolis Quarantine Zone. The governor has authorized the full use of the Indiana National Guard to enforce this boundary.
Guard elements will be deployed at all major intersections and on-ramps leading to the 465, in addition to overpasses and underpasses. The interstate will be heavily patrolled. I can’t stress how important it is that you take this seriously. Anyone found attempting to breach the federal quarantine boundary will be apprehended and transported to a consolidated release point—inside the quarantine zone.
About a dozen CRPs have been identified throughout the city, and they all have one thing in common, they’re nowhere close to the 465 boundary. One of them is the Indiana State Fairgrounds. That’s about five miles from here. You do not want to get sent to one of these, so please don’t try to get across the 465.
“We’re getting across the 465,” stated Jack, a little too loudly.
A guy in cargo shorts and a T-shirt, standing with a few other men at the edge of the parking lot, turned his head. He said something to the other men, who all nodded and spoke softly before the man started walking toward Jack and Emma. Jack’s hand shifted slowly behind his thigh, seeking the pistol. Halfway across the short stretch of asphalt, the guy raised his hands.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to spook you,” said the guy. “I live a few blocks from here, in a neighborhood on the off-limits side of Eighty-Sixth Street. Well, it’s not really off-limits. I mean, they haven’t stopped anyone from crossing the road. They don’t have the manpower. The 465 is the real boundary. They’re just trying to keep as many people from approaching the interstate as possible. We’ve walked up and down Eighty-Sixth, checking out the situation, and they’re only at the major intersections like Township, Ditch and Spring Mill.”
“How long have they been set up here?” said Jack.
Emma grabbed Jack’s hand and pulled herself up.
“About an hour. We heard a bunch of trucks pull by and ran out to see what was going on,” said the man. “We have a neighborhood watch set up, hidden out of sight; that’s how we heard them. Mostly Humvees and those big troop transport things with the canvas tops.”
“Does anyone know what’s going on in the city?” said Emma. “I know there’s some flu supposedly going around, but that doesn’t explain the need for this quarantine thing.”
“Quarantine boundary zone,” said the man. “I’m Fred, by the way.”
“Jack and Emma,” said her husband, nobody reaching out to shake hands.
Fred shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “We can’t figure it out either. Cell service is down. Internet is down. Everything’s down, but the power grid is still up. Something doesn’t add up. Where did you come from?”
“Broad Ripple,” said Jack.
“What’s it like down there?” said Fred. “We’ve been hearing some strange stories. Something happened at one of our neighbors’ earlier tonight, but they all left. Never came back.”
Emma looked at Jack, not sure where to begin or what to say. He’d obviously seen something far worse than anything she’d witnessed. The intersection was another story altogether. She paused long enough for her husband to get the hint that she didn’t want to talk about any of it.
“It’s hard to say what’s going on. The gunshots are a constant now. That really picked up tonight, which is a big part of why we left. Police sirens nonstop. People roaming the streets all over—acting kind of glitchy,” he said, glancing at Emma.
“Glitchy?” said Fred.
“I’m not describing it right. The people we saw outside just didn’t look right. Like they were slow or maybe stoned. Some looked stalled out. I don’t know. We had a few police calls in the neighborhood,” said Jack.
Thankfully, her husband skipped any and all reference to Rudy. She wasn’t ready to hear what happened, even though she knew it was probably the most telling piece of information he could pass along.
“Damn. We’ve heard a few gunshots, but nothing like you’re describing,” said Fred. “You guys didn’t walk from Broad Ripple, did you?”
“No,” said Jack. “We got into a very unfortunate accident at Seventy-Ninth and Michigan. We walked away unscratched, but our Jeep was trashed—not that it looks like it would have taken us any farther than Eighty-Sixth Street.”
“Walking is your only way out of here now,” said Fred. “Where are you headed?”
“My folks live a few hours north of here,” said Jack. “We’re hoping to walk far enough in that direction to get cell service again. Get them to drive down and pick us up.”
“That would work,” said Fred, nodding approvingly. “Shoot. I thought we might be fine here. We live in a pretty nice neighborhood. No gates around it unfortunately, but it’s pretty well tucked away. Once word gets out that the city is under quarantine, it’ll be every man for himself—or herself.”
“It’s bizarre,” said Emma. “You don’t quarantine a city for the flu. Like you said, something doesn’t add up. We’re getting out of here while we can—if we can.”
“Yeah. Sounds like the 465 is locked down hard,” said Jack.
“Come here,” said Fred, motioning for them to follow. “I just want to show you Eighty-Sixth Street.”
Emma picked up her pack and slung it over one shoulder, shrugging her shoulders. Jack took her hand, following Fred to the street.
“Take a look east,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction from the soldiers. “Nothing. No cars. No military vehicles going back and forth. The 465 is the same except they have, like, one Humvee cruising back and forth between off-ramps. That’s what Jay said.”
Emma stepped onto the empty road, confirming Fred’s claim. She thought she might be able to see the next set of stoplights, way out in the distance, but couldn’t be sure. Jack did the same, walking into the middle of the nearest lane.
“Nothing,” stated her husband before heading back. “Who’s Jay?”
“One of the guys with me,” said Fred. “He just got back to us about fi
ve minutes before you showed up. He drove through the neighborhoods and found a quiet spot overlooking the interstate. Said it was like five minutes in between patrols.”
“How hard is it to get to the 465 taking the back roads?” said Jack.
“Not hard at all. I’d say you’re looking at a mile-long walk. I can give you directions and let you cut right through our neighborhood, which will save you a ton of time.”
“Do you think it’s safe in the neighborhoods?” said Emma.
“Our street is always quiet, and it’s isolated,” said Fred. “We have Williams Creek on one side and a bunch of quiet, wooded streets on the others. There are some big apartment complexes between us and the 465, so that could be different. Jay didn’t seem to think anything was amiss.”
“Is there any way Jay would be willing to drive us to a point where we can cross?” said Jack. “I know that’s asking a lot.”
“We can always ask him,” said Fred. “Come on.”
A few minutes later, they were in the backseat of Jay’s Pathfinder, headed away from the intersection with Fred. They turned into Fred’s neighborhood less than a minute after that, stopping in front of a gate.
“I thought you didn’t have gates,” said Emma.
“We don’t have a fence around the whole neighborhood. I wish we did,” said Fred. “This just keeps the cars out. Won’t do a lot of good when everyone starts pouring out of the city.”
“I don’t think you’ll see a lot of action here. It’s tucked away nicely,” said Jack.
“Yeah. But if the National Guard blocks the main roads, people will start looking for cracks in the wall.”
“We didn’t see a lot of people leaving,” said Emma. “I think most of them are sick.”
“How did the two of you avoid this mystery bug?” said Jay, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
The Zulu Virus Chronicles Boxset (Books 1-3) Page 18
