by Ward III, C.
They also learned that Kalkaska had turned their school gymnasium into the largest hydroponics and indoor fish farm they had ever seen. With the use of steam engines, they could grow and harvest fresh fish and vegetables all winter long. They had a strong chance of surviving the winter, if they could endure the region’s newest deadly menace that was headed toward Lake City.
The Lake City emissaries would stay the night in Kalkaska, and begin their journey home in the morning.
Victor and Raymond drove through town at top speed. The old red truck came to a screeching halt at the northern gate, where they spotted Kevin in the overwatch guard post.
As they quickly jumped out of the truck, Kevin descended the ladder. “I think we have a problem here, boss,” Kevin explained. “There’s some guys out there dressed in army uniforms, with four up-armored HMMWVs and an eight-wheeled light-armored Stryker. They say that they are representing the US government with orders to stabilize the northern Michigan region. They asked to come in and speak to our mayor or whoever is in charge.”
“Well, that sounds like great news. So what’s the problem?” Raymond asked.
“Well, when Stephan—I mean, Erica—and I met Lieutenant Murphy near Houghton Lake, he informed us of a group of rogue Guardsmen at Camp Grayling who were exploiting small towns. Offering their protection services, for a fee of course. They’d make life difficult if a town refused,” Kevin explained. “The group out there shows a lack of discipline. I’d bet these are the same goons.”
“Wonderful. Just what we need right now.” Victor scowled. He wondered if the two spooks that they had just brought into quarantine were related to this in any way. “Raymond, jump up in the guard tower and cover us. Kevin and I will go out to talk to them.”
“Good evening. This is Elizabeth Corrin bringing you another BBN global news report.
“The world celebrates. There is hope and promise that the war has finally come to an end, as the League of Arab Nations calls for an immediate cease-fire. European Union and BRICS are scrambling to draft a terms-of-surrender agreement. We will be bring you further updates as this story unfolds.
“In other news, the World Health Organization reports that the new viral strain, which is believed to have originated in North America, has spread all throughout Africa. The international refugee organization Hope 4 U has evacuated continental Africa and has relocated their headquarters to the Spanish Canary Islands. The WHO would not comment on rumored reports of infection in Germany.”
The next morning, Victor and Raymond relocated, without incident, the third couple who had requested their assistance. Victor was looking up, admiring the clear blue autumn sky while waiting for the mayor’s group to return from their diplomatic mission. Victor caught a reflecting glint off something high in the sky. Curious as to what he was looking at, Raymond and Kevin looked up, shielding their eyes with cupped hands.
“It’s circling. A plane maybe?” Kevin guessed.
“Hold on.” Victor ran into the TDF building and ran right back out with his rifle. In the middle of the street, he laid on his back, pointing the rifle straight up at the UFO. “Yeah, it’s definitely a plane of sorts.” He zoomed in by turning the power adjustment near the ocular lens.
“Do Russians or Chinese have drones? It almost looks like a Predator or Reaper. Why is it circling Lake City?” Victor asked, puzzled.
“Maybe our radio broadcast has brought us some unwanted attention?” Raymond speculated.
“Does Camp Grayling have drones?” Kevin asked, looking a little troubled. “That group we sent away yesterday is probably planning their attack on us.”
Victor shook his head. “I don’t think Camp Grayling is a drone base, but they do have a runway. Did Lt. Murphy mention seeing any drones there?”
Kevin shook his head. “Nope, but he did say that he was the only pilot they had.”
The sound of horse hooves broke their concentration.
“Assemble the council. We have much to address,” the mayor said while trotting up Main Street. “We have good and bad news. There’s an armed nuisance headed our way.”
“Too late, Mayor. We already met them yesterday.”
“Is this everyone?” the mayor looked around the picnic table under the pavilion. “Where’s Stanly?”
“Who cares?” Raymond said with a yawn.
“All right, then, someone fill him in later. First, the good news: We have successfully opened trade with Kalkaska. In doing so, we now have access to trade with Traverse City, which is rich with cherries, grapes, wine, and fish.” The mayor smiled. “The question is what do we have to barter with? Both Traverse City and Kalkaska desperately need ammo. Ammunition has become a precious metal, a new currency, if you will.”
“Absolutely not!” Raymond roared. “Our ammo supplies are running low as it is. The couple reload presses that we have can’t keep up with the ammo that’s being expended defending the wall against the Grays, and we only have a limited amount of powder, primers, and bullets left.”
“Surely we can find something else to trade with,” Victor agreed. “How about Crazy Chad’s whiskey or our windmill technology?”
“On our journey, we located a working apiary with more honey than they know what to do with,” the mayor reported. “We found an abandoned home not too far away with an entire roof covered in solar panels. And we also found a loaded freight train on the KTX rail line. Surprisingly the conductor, Jung Suk-yong, was still on board, holding onto hope that someone was coming to fix his train.”
“We brought him back with us, but he wasn’t starving by any means if you catch my drift. There’s a lot of food in those train cars, according to his manifest,” Sheriff Bohner added.
“Surely we can barter with honey, solar panels, or whatever is on that train. We need to send a couple horse-and-wagon carts up there to start transporting goods back here before the snow falls,” Jessica suggested.
“Now for that bad news: Kalkaska briefed us on a band of misfits with a bunch of military weapons and vehicles from Camp Grayling that are traveling from town to town, demanding taxes in form of supplies,” Sheriff Bohner said. “Victor, you said that you met them yesterday?”
“Yup. Right outside the gate, and where their presumed leader, Sergeant Eddie Parks, pretty much implied the same thing. Protection of our city for a fee. I told them that we are already well defended against raiders and Grays, but the decision would be up to the council.”
“What did they say?” Erica asked.
“Said they would be back in a week for a decision. But they got themselves a good look at our wall and defense. They know we don’t need them. I’d expect a heavy attack within the next couple of days.”
“What? Why would they do that?”
“A show of force and to instill fear. They have the weapons and vehicles to punch right though our wall. They’ll show how vulnerable we are, then demand a tribute to avoid further attacks.”
“I hope that’s not the case. Let’s hope that they come back next week peacefully,” the mayor suggested.
“These are not peaceful people, Mayor. They’re thugs doing thug shit in the absent of law and order. Them showing up at our gate at the same time as the spies and surveillance drone wasn’t a coincidence.”
“What spies?” asked Sheriff Bohner.
“A male and female we rescued yesterday. Although they didn’t really need rescuing at all. They’re both special operations of some sorts looking to get inside our town. Neither are talking, though,” Victor said, pacing back and forth. “We need to deal with this Grayling group. It’s not a situation that will just go away by ignoring it.”
The constant complaining and crying in Stanly’s basement had finally subsided a day ago. His imprisoned guests squatted in the dark silently, aside from the occasional cough that sounded like a demonic bark. A platter of tainted food he had provided them several days ago now sat stale and soggy in the center of the holding cell. Their appetites waned, a
long with personal memories buried under a blanket of fog.
The pressure building behind Stanly’s eyes felt like the worst sinus pressure he had ever had, yet the discomfort didn’t hold his attention. He couldn’t remember why he was down there in a cold, dark basement. An overwhelming sense of rage caused his muscles spasm and twitch, but the rage wasn’t reserved for the unfamiliar souls caged before him. Stanly couldn’t comprehend why he was tethered to the gate by a long string. He squatted in the dark, he rocked back on his heels watching the slack string go taut, then relax again as he rocked forward again. The string went taut each time he rocked back, the cage door-locking mechanism turned slightly.
Was he supposed to remain here to watch the cage? Was he supposed to open the gate? And if so, when? Was he waiting for a specific time? Maybe the memory would return. He should stay here a little bit longer, Stanly thought.
KILL OR BE KILLED
The best defense is a good offense.
The idea of a preemptive strike against an American military unit exploded into a fiery debate that did not end well. It seemed every person at the table had a difference in opinion and stormed off in a different direction. As Victor turned to leave the park pavilion, only Erica and the medical staff remained to discuss population statistics.
“Michigan has a population of ten million people. Of that, how many are still alive and healthy?” asked Mrs. Cloud.
“Doomsday preppers estimated only a ten percent survival rate after the first year of an EMP,” Victor chimed in.
“But our situation is slightly different. Not only are we struggling against the crash of modern society but we are also facing a rapidly spreading virus,” Erica stated.
“So would you estimate the survival rate to be lower than ten percent?” asked Mrs. Cloud.
“I would. Probably closer to three to five percent, which only leaves three- to five-hundred thousand healthy people in Michigan after the first year.”
“To fight off nine and a half million Grays?” Victor asked as if the number was unfathomable.
Erica shook her head. “No. The majority of humans are still going to die off from the same hardships before being exposed to the virus. But the questions still remain: How many will survive the first year, how many will perish, and how many will get infected? I don’t think we can accurately predict that.”
“Any possibilities that humans have an innate immunity?” Mrs. Cloud asked.
“Anything is possible, but very improbable. Even with very contagious strains of Ebola, there is still a micropopulation that has a natural immunity. But this is an unknown hybrid. Alone, Leishmania is difficult to treat. The FFI has a one hundred percent mortality rate. And we have absolutely no idea of what the Ophiocordyceps spore is doing to us.”
“So, in other words, we are screwed.” Victor scoffed and then headed toward his house. After the hectic events over the past few days, on top of the preparation for the soon-to-come snowfall, he was beyond stressed and needed to sit on the couch for a minute and rest his eyes.
He walked slowly, enviously watching a flock of Canadian geese flying south for the winter. Victor rounded the corner to find Curtis on the front porch with an empty fuel can.
“Where are you going with that?” Victor asked, puzzled.
“Glad that you are here, Dad. Can you come with me? I need to go outside the wall to check on something. I’ll go inside to grab my gear.”
“Ahhh, OK. Can I ask where we are going and what for?”
“Nope. Top secret. Grab your rifle and gear too,” Curtis instructed his questioning father.
“Should I get the truck?” Victor asked, hoping to make this a quick trip to get back for his much-needed nap.
Curtis tilted his head a little. “Nah, we should do this on foot the first time.”
Victor hung his head. “OK, let me grab my gear,” he said with a heavy sigh, secretly longing for the couch pillows.
The two strolled through town, then out the southern gate. They chatted softly about different activities, gossip around town, chores that needed to be done, and what they had planned for the upcoming relax day on Sunday.
Victor let Curtis lead the way while he kept rear security. Every few steps, Victor would look behind him to ensure they weren’t being followed. Outside the wall, suburbs quickly thinned into rural farmland and thick forest. Without saying a word, Curtis lifted an open hand in the air to signal a halt, then patted the air beside him, signaling to Victor to take a knee.
His son lifted a compass to his cheek and looked through the lens to check his azimuth and then through the site wire before retuning it to his coat pocket. Curtis waved forward, telling Victor that he had regained their bearings and they were on their way again.
His children were rapidly growing up in this new dark age. Not too long ago, his sons were enjoying sports, video games, and hanging out with friends. Victor’s eyes welled up with tears; his kids were becoming skilled survivalists, and Victor hated it.
Curtis pushed away a thick pine branch, opening the forest curtain and revealing an overgrown wheat field. The rural area they were heading toward was familiar; it was one of their best culling locations when they had snuck outside the perimeter at night on their black ops.
“I found this spot last time we were out here with Michael and Zavier, hunting Grays,” Curtis said as they rounded an old yellow farmhouse. In the backyard, near another overgrown fenced-in field that at one time held cattle and horses, were the ghostly remains of an old wooden barn that had since burnt away, leaving only a skeletal structure on top of a cobblestone foundation.
Victor reached forward and grabbed his son by the shoulder. “Stop. There are Grays close by. I can smell them,” Victor hissed, looking around frantically and waiting to be ambushed. He shouldered his rifle and looked just over the sights, clinching the pistol grip, finding the safety switch with his thumb.
Curtis put his hand on his dad’s arm casually and waved him forward. “I rigged up a small solar panel to charge a battery so it can stay out here permanently. I used the high-pitch recording on a loop again, but I was able to use a photosensor to make it play only at night.”
Victor was confused by what Curtis was saying. He kept looking back nervously while following close behind his son.
They stepped up to the old barn foundation, and the over-powering stench stung their eyes, instantly making them water. Victor turned his head and almost vomited, forcing him to cover his face with his coat sleeve.
“The bait only works at night when the Grays can’t see well,” Curtis explained. “They come rushing in and fall right into the pit, immediately impaling themselves.”
Victor looked down into what would have been hay storage under the barn back when it was originally built. The cobblestone-foundation walls were twelve feet high all the way around. Protruding from the hard, compact floor were dozens of sharpened rebar rods and metal fence posts cut at sharp angles.
“I used a hacksaw to cut apart a chain-link fence for the spikes. I figured metal would last longer and would withstand the fire needed to sanitize this cesspool. There’s a big drum of diesel near the house that we can fill up the gas can with.”
Victor didn’t know if he was impressed or appalled by the display of death before him. There must have been a couple hundred vile, retched creatures twisted and piled below him in a pool of black, infected sludge. Three, sometime four, Grays were skewered onto spears like a disgusting shish kebab.
The brisk late-autumn air was welcome, because the summer heat would have made the stench completely unbearable. As much as Victor wanted to look away, he couldn’t help but admire how effective Curtis’s trap had had been in killing so many Grays without using a single bullet or putting human life in danger.
Curtis walked up behind him, carrying a sloshing can full of diesel fuel.
“How long have you been doing this?” Victor asked, still staring at the sickening pit of death.
“I got the
idea when Raymond was putting punji sticks near the wall. I began working on it then. I got the radio to turn on, then off again with a photosensor switch a couple days ago; then I placed it up there on that pole in the center. Today’s the first time I’ve been able to check on it. Seemed to work OK,” Curtis said nonchalantly.
“I’d say it worked just fine! This is a major game changer! No more need for midnight wolf packing.” Victor reached over to put a rewarding arm around his son. “Any chance you could build more of these?”
“Good evening. This is Elizabeth Corrin bringing you another BBN global news report.
“The ceasefire peace agreement with the League of Arab Nations came to an abrupt halt this morning as Europe was rocked again with another wave of terror attacks. Fire brigades throughout the EU are now battling to extinguish several oil refinery fires.
“We will continue to follow this story as damage assessments are reported. This attack will certainly have an impact on fuel rations for all of us.
“All NATO countries have pledged to send the maximum amount of resources to support BRICS in the war with Persia. Military units are being mobilized at this moment.
“France has threatened another nuclear strike on multiple targets, which has drawn severe criticism from the United Nations security council.
“To the far east, South Korean Crown Prince Yi Chang claims the city of Hanyang has been attacked by Chinese terrorists. Chang is demanding immediate and harsh actions be taken by the UN security council. China denies the claims, calling the accusations absurd.
