by Ward III, C.
“Three wannabe bandit rapists kindly donated it. We left them where they had set up a roadblock ambush about four miles north of town. We figured you or the town could use a cargo hauler.”
The sheriff didn’t bother asking for clarification on the incident. “A running truck is a high-value asset these days. Probably the most valuable. You’re giving it to the town? Just like that?”
“Maybe more of a trade. We’re in need of an empty residence here in town.” Victor got out, looking around the charred destruction. “If you have any still standing with a little less fire damage, that is. Preferably one close to downtown, on or near the lake for water, and with a working fireplace for heat. Assuming we survive until winter. As for the truck, my boys and I still get access to it as needed, with no questions asked. Other than that, it’s all yours.”
“I know just the place. Drive us down to the blue Victorian house next to the library,” Sheriff Bohner said, climbing into the bed of the truck with Curtis and Michael.
They drove slowly, passing through the small town, taking in the ghostly appearance of what had recently been a thriving tourism community. Now the streets were vacant of people, stores were locked, windows dark or boarded up, loose paper littered the street, and abandoned vehicles clogged the road.
As they pulled up to the assigned blue two-story house across from the city beach, a sudden burst of emotion swelled inside Victor. Erica will love this house. He wondered if she was on her way, if she had made it out of the city, if she was still alive. “This is a wonderful home, Sheriff. It’s empty? You know where the owners are?”
“Gone, like most of the other Fourth of July tourists. Once the store shelves went dry and their kitchens went empty, most decided to try their luck walking home. The town council and I pleaded for them to stay, to help rebuild here, lectured them about safety in numbers and all. They still left.”
“Might be a blessing in disguise—vacationers don’t have the same sense of communal ownership as your year-round residents who will look out for one another. Besides the fire, what other problems are you having?”
“You name it. A lot of fights broke out when the vacationers departed, residents tried making them leave their provisions behind. Tensions and desperation are starting to flare up. We’ve seen a lot of domestic violence and thieving complaints. A few dead from breaking into still-occupied cabins. Several elderly residents dependent on medical equipment have been found deceased; as medication runs out, we’ll have more. Soccer mom on the south side had to go cold turkey off her antidepressants—went psycho, killing her entire family. We caught her walking down Main Street in a bloody nightgown. I only have three deputies now; the others have gone missing. Probably took off to find family. That’s just the human problems—the city’s entire infrastructure has collapsed. This place is borderline anarchy.”
“Any community meetings lately? Try to get everyone on same sheet of music? Getting people to work on common goals of survival will help,” Victor suggested.
“We’ve tried. Not many will show up, though. It’s just too far to walk. Especially if we don’t have any pertinent or useful information for them,” the sheriff said, exhausted.
“I have an idea. See if you can spread the word for a town hall–type meeting down by the beach tomorrow evening at sundown. Get with city council; let’s work out some immediate strategies for food production. Speaking of food, tell everyone there’ll be BBQ—that will get their attention. Don’t tell the local enviro-cops, but my boys and I are going out to poach a couple of deer.” Victor handed Sheriff Bohner a handheld walkie-talkie. “Here, take this. We found these up at the training center. I’ll give you a call tomorrow when the fur is downed. You can send the truck to pick us up.”
They had lost Dan a couple of days ago. His shoulder had showed signs of infection: thin black lines expanding away from the bite wound down his back and over his chest, indicating he was on borrowed time. Because of the pain, he could no longer carry his backpack, forcing Kevin and Stephan to spread load his heavier equipment, which later drew complaints fueled by the same conspiracy paranoia Anny had displayed. Even though they’d kept a watchful eye on his worsening condition, late into the sixth night, Dan simply disappeared, leaving everything behind.
They didn’t know if Dan had slipped off into the wilderness to die in peace like a wounded animal, if paranoia drove him to escape, or if he’d vanished mercifully, knowing that he was quickly becoming a danger to Kevin and Stephan.
Because Kevin and Stephan were now carrying twice the weight in equipment, grimly donated to them by their fallen team members, their pace had decelerated dramatically. They took another short pause behind some thin bushes to observe the main road they had been following.
“Since workplace security protocols and disclosure agreements are probably no longer binding, can you fill me in?” asked Kevin. “Bring me up to speed at least to a basic understanding about this disease? Like where it came from?”
“From what we were told, when our lab first became aware, two dozen victims across the USA had been quarantined by the CDC, which is extremely odd considering the individual components of the hybrid pathogen are typically not found here. Where it originated exactly, we don’t know—or, I should say, we were not told.”
“Area up ahead looks clear. We should keep walking toward that large hill. We’ll stick to the tree line. I noticed you writing on a notepad. Were you documenting Anny’s and Dan’s symptoms?”
“Yeah, I’m logging the similarities and time lapses from initial infection. Warning signs, indicators, per se. Poor Anny. She made her concerns about a possible contagion leak and the extreme carelessness of releasing all the staff workers known to all the lab’s top administrators. Then, all the while it turns out, she was infected too. We don’t know who or how many people were infected in our building, let alone what the CDC had been tracking. The more we can document, learn, and understand now, the better you and I will be. We’re in a perfect pressure cooker for a plague outbreak. People are no longer isolated in their homes; they are out in groups. Poor hygiene and general sanitation. Lack of proper biohazard containment response assets, etcetera.”
Kevin nodded, taking it in. “You’re right about hygiene and sanitation. Power is out. That means water and sewer too. People will suffer from weaker immune systems caused by malnourishment. Many will starve to death. The deceased will not be properly buried. Deadly medieval-type diseases are going to return just from that.”
“And that doesn’t even include this new Nasty that doesn’t discriminate between weak or strong. It doesn’t care if you are armed or defenseless, how rich or poor you are. We were shown images of late-stage victims of this hybrid. This thing is cruel.” Stephan shuddered.
Kevin grasped for understanding. “How does it work? What is it, exactly? What caused Dan and Anny to go crazy? Is it like Mad Cow Disease or something?”
“Yes, kind of, but that is only part of it. The Nasty is an unknown-origin hybrid of parasite, fungus, and prion that’ll infect the body with slow-acting symptoms. The symptoms you and I witnessed were straightforward signs of FFI, which is the human mutation version of Mad Cow Disease. FFI stands for Fatal Familial Insomnia. Sounds familiar, right? Am I boring you, or do you want details?”
“I’m not going to remember the technical stuff, but yeah, keep going so I have a better understating of what we’re up against. We’ll have to change our tactics, our route, hell, maybe even the way we go on living when this thing spreads. Besides, we have a lot of time to kill and I’m curious.”
“OK, since we’re on topic of the FFI prion. Transmission in mammals is typically ingestion, but it is also transmitted via bodily fluids, including saliva and blood. Once in the body, it immediately targets brain tissue. Early signs include increasing insomnia, resulting in paranoia and phobias. Then come hallucinations and panic attacks triggered by long-term lack of sleep, followed by rapid weight loss. Late stages are dementia, duri
ng which the patient becomes unresponsive or mute. This primal regression process normally transpires in about thirty-six months. I’d say our hybrid Nasty has a fast track. The signs we need to look for are profuse sweating from natural infection fighting, pinpoint pupils from brain swelling, stiff neck and joints, elevated blood pressure and heart rate, and constipation is also common. Late-stage stuff will be obvious.”
“That sounds horrible. I see why Dan may have taken off into the woods now,” Kevin said thoughtfully.
“Yeah, and that’s only one of the three parts of the hybrid. And we still do not understand what the combined capabilities of all three are.”
Kevin paused and took a knee on a soft mossy spot of the forest floor overlooking a cow pasture. “Before you continue, I have an idea. You see that farmhouse over there, across this clearing? I see smoke coming out of the chimney—someone’s home. I bet they have some freshly butchered livestock and harvested produce. Shall we take a chance and ask nicely?”
They waited for thirty minutes—standing, then sitting—on the driveway at a comfortably safe distance from the farmhouse. They thought that whoever was inside would spot them, see that they were not a threat, and then open up a dialogue to see what they wanted. After thirty minutes of waiting, Kevin changed tactics.
“Helloooooo! Hello there!” Kevin shouted toward the house, as if he was yelling from ship to shore. It worked. A window curtain fluttered a bit. They continued to wait in the driveway with the same strategy. Ten minutes later, the door cracked open, and out stepped a slightly older man clutching a shotgun.
“What do you want?” he yelled back to them.
“To barter, sir, for food and shelter for the night. The two of us are passing through, heading west. We have come a long way. We were in Detroit the day the lights went out.”
“Come closer so I don’t have to yell. Nice and slow. OK, stop there. What do you have to trade?”
“We lost a couple of our friends last week. We can give you some of their equipment, backpacks, and weapons.”
“Yeah, we could work something out. Ma and I were getting dinner prepped; we’ll add a bit more for you. How’s a pot-roast stew sound?”
“How can we help?” Kevin asked, salivating at the thought of a warm meal and stepping up onto the porch with an outstretched hand. “This is Stephan. I’m Kevin. We’re at your service, sir.”
Not having much to carry in, it didn’t take long for Victor and his sons to get settled in. They went through the house upstairs, in the attic, downstairs, in the basement, and garage, searching for anything useful. Later that night, they carried in buckets of lake water to take a stand-up bath in the tub. It wasn’t the best, but it sure felt good to get cleaned up.
“Why can’t we bathe out in the lake like we used to?” asked Zavier while struggling not to spill his bucket of water.
“Because until we set up rainwater collectors, we’ll have to get drinking water from the lake too. It’s going to taste bad enough without the soap.”
Victor made a mental note to set up a tripod-style water filtration system he’d seen in an old survival manual. Suspended between the tripod legs would be three tiers of fabric: The top tier would hold a bunch of loose grass. The middle layer contained the cleanest sand you can find—beach sand would work great. And the bottom piece of fabric would hold large clumps of charcoal. Pour the water in the top, and let gravity do the work, straining it through all three layers and collecting it in a clean drip bucket at the bottom. He’d never actually attempted it, but he might as well try; the concept was an easy one.
They had been playing a board game while the sun was still up. Now the darkness forced all four of them into the living room, each of them reading a newfound book, huddled around the one candle Victor had limited them to.
Lost in thought and gazing at the candle flame, Victor’s eyes shifted toward the fireplace. “Those tall trees out front,” he said aloud but more to himself, “we should chop those down for firewood. After we come back tomorrow, let’s start on that.” Keeping everyone busy would be crucial to keeping a strong mind. The more individuals sit around contemplating new-world hardships, the worse it was on their souls. We must stay busy, he thought.
They woke up early as the summer sun came up. For breakfast, they only had leftover rations they had found at the rifle range and soda they had found in the basement. Supplies were running out.
“Grab your gear, boys. Let’s head out before the sun gets too warm. I want you all to pay attention today, OK? Next time, only two of you will go hunting; the other two will stay here in town for other projects.”
They took off eastward on foot, the shortest route toward the wooded rural area. As soon as they entered the forest, they were in stealth mode, patrolling in formation as they had been practicing, stopping often and searching for signs. Surprising even Victor, they quickly came across a freshly used runway. He asked the kids to look at the hoof marks in the mud to determine the direction of travel, which they followed to a hayfield.
As soon as Victor could see the forest thinning, he halted their patrol. “Use your rifle scopes or binos from here. Try to look through and beyond all this brush in front of us to observe the open field. Let me know what you can see. Take your time. Zoom in with your magnification power, then adjust the focal point so this close vegetation is blurry and the field is crisp and clear.
“Zavier, you too. Use this tree to hold up your rifle so your arms don’t get tired.” He showed him how to rest his nonfiring hand on the tree, then lay the rifle across his arm for support. “Scan slowly side to side. Start up close, then far. Look for target indicators. Movement is the easiest to pick up. Watch for deer to lift their head or flick their tail. Contrasting color will be difficult with tan deer in a hayfield, but look for different shades of brown. Look for shape and outline; this will also be difficult while looking through all this brush, but look for the horizontal outline of their backs. Smell is the last target indicator, which doesn’t do us a lot of good right now, but keep it in mind as you are patrolling. Remember what we smelled like last night before taking a bath? I could smell you from across the yard.”
“I’ve got one. Make that two or three,” Michael said.
“Direction and distance?”
“Eleven o’clock. Maybe three hundred yards.”
“OK, let’s stalk closer. The best way to move is in the low ground or behind a hill for cover, which there are none here. So let’s move nice and slow, sticking very low to the ground. Did you guys see our food supply this morning? If we screw this up, we’re going hungry for a few days. Since there’s no low ground to use, try to use shadows, and be sure to keep a thick tree or bush between you and the target to mask your movements, OK? Leave our packs here.”
Victor took off his pack, quietly laid it on the ground, and then moved into a low crawl, slowly inching toward the hayfield, wishing he had his ghillie suit. It was a slow process. Stopping often, he looked for the most concealed route possible. He frequently glanced at a microcompass attached to his watchband, because when you’re that low to the ground, it is easy to lose cardinal direction. Using the thick green vegetation, they could easily move faster in a high crawl or even a squat, but Victor used this as an opportunity to teach his children the stealthy art of patience. They continued forward, placing one hand in front of the other, moving dry sticks out of the way and carefully avoiding shaking large bushes that would flag their position.
Stalking closer to their final firing position, Victor fought the salivating daydreams of the best chopped venison stew Erica could make if she were here or the piles of sun-dried jerky he could begin curing tonight. They had made it twenty yards from the hayfield clearing, still far enough inside the wood line to use the natural shadows of the forest, when Victor halted his low-crawling convoy behind a large fallen cedar tree.
Observing from behind, under, or around concealment was the optimal method, but he didn’t have much of a choice, and us
ing the top of this cedar log would make for a nice strong rifle support.
Victor motioned his boys up to the log. “Zavier, you’re going to spot for me. Michael, spot for Curtis. I’d have you guys shoot also, but your .22s are not the right tool for this job, so just spot for now, and let us know if the deer drops or which way they run. Curtis, pick a stationary deer on the far right; I will go far left. It’s about three hundred yards to that lone oak tree they’re grazing next to. Do you remember your bullet-drop adjustment from last week? Good, go ahead and dial it on your elevation turret now, then very slowly get into position.
“Zero wind deflection this morning, so aim for the heart, right behind the shoulder. To get two of them, we’ll need to fire at the exact same time. Michael, I want you to count down from five. Curtis, as soon as you hear the T in two, you need to squeeze the trigger. We use the T in two for a couple reasons I’ll explain later. For today, just roll with it. Are you ready? OK. Michael, on you.”
All four were homed in on the small herd grazing in the open hayfield. “Five. Four. Three. T—”
Victor and Curtis shot in unison, scoring two good hits. By the time they recovered from the recoil and were back on target, all they could see were bounding deer retreating into the forest.
“I think they both fell,” Zavier said, jumping to his feet.
“Sit back down, bud.” Victor grabbed him. “If they are wounded out there, we want them to stay put and bleed out so we’re not chasing them through the woods.”
After several minutes of observing, ensuring their prey hadn’t moved, they slowly walked back to retrieve their packs. The boys were excited, practically running out to the large oak tree to confirm a successful hunt. Victor remained vigilant, scanning the area for threats. Humans would soon be like hyenas, coming in packs to steal a fresh kill.
