The Unraveling: Book 1 of the Bound to Survive Series

by Charley Hogwood

  “Must be another military exercise,” one driver noted as he fumbled with Google Maps to find an alternate route.

  The airmen had just finished lunch at a local taco cantina and needed to get back to Laughlin. They were running late and there would be hell to pay if they didn’t make it back to the classroom on time. The instructor had one rule, which he made very clear on day one of this class, “You’d better be dead if you are late to my block of instruction. Wars are not won by people who cannot be bothered to get to work on time. If you are early you are on time, if you are on time you’re late. If you’re late, you’re fired.” In Air Force terms, “fired” meant dropped from the next flight rotation and if that happened you may as well pack your bags and collect your discharge papers on your way out. So the airmen had every reason to be impatient with this hasty roadblock.

  Airman Jack Erickson, or “Spike” as his buddies called him, decided to hop out of the taxi he and his two buddies had taken from the taco joint and ask the cops what was going on. Spike had no indication that this would require anything more than convincing a couple of friendly law enforcement gentlemen to let them slide past, after all, they had important pilot business to get back to.

  As Spike stepped from the taxi and began to approach the cruisers, a voice blared from the car’s speaker, “Sir, turn around and return to your car. This road is now closed.” Spike slowed, but continued forward. Confused, he yelled back “OK, ok, but what gives? Some of us have places to go.” The patrolman stepped from his car and indexed his sidearm. Seeing the situation develop in the other lane, the local officer also exited his car and started paying very close attention.

  “Sir, turn around and go back to your car now! This road is closed.”

  “We need to get back to the base!” Spike said loudly enough so the officer could hear over the dusty wind picking up.

  The officer wasn’t budging. “This area is under quarantine. No one will pass.”

  “Quarantine? From what, Montezuma’s revenge?” Spike replied. Not taking any of this seriously, Spike kept walking and the officer drew his weapon. At this point, the other airmen in the taxi stepped out. They knew Spike had an unhealthy habit of challenging authority, but drawn firearms from a nervous-looking cop changed the metrics of the situation.

  “What, are you going to shoot me for going back to work? Look, friend,” Spike said, “we just need to head on back to the base before we get in trouble for being late. So let’s put your little pew pew machine back in the holster and move aside, we promise not to tell anyone if you let us pass.” Seeing the firearm and the airmen get out of his cab, the taxi driver wasted no time driving off in a cloud of dust with the rear passenger doors still open. Spike’s buddies were now also approaching the officer, and he was getting tired of playing with these pilot trainees–they always acted as if the law didn’t apply to them.

  He holstered his sidearm and gave Spike one more chance to comply with the command to stay put, saying, “Sir, for the LAST time, this area is under quarantine and the road is closed. Turn around and return to your vehicle. Do not take any more steps forward.” Spike mistook the officer holstering his firearm as a victory.

  “Looks like my vehicle just drove off, how about you give us a ride?” Spike kept walking toward the officer, pretty proud of himself so far. Spike made the mistake of turning to smile at his buddies. Having had just about enough of the situation, the patrolman drew his Taser and squeezed the trigger. The top dart made contact right in the pilot’s lower back, and the bottom dart found it’s way just a bit lower, right into Spike’s tender rear end. Spike’s entire body went rigid, as if he had gotten a swift kick right to the ass right before he planked his way to the dusty street. Luckily, he didn’t crack his whole face on the asphalt, though the officer would have been ok with that.

  The officer let up on the trigger as soon as the smart-ass pilot realized his fight was over. He tossed his handcuffs to the other airmen, “Y’all cuff him and do what you want with him. This is a quarantine area. I’m not risking my health for your dumbass buddy.” The other officer, now done snickering at the airman’s misfortune of having to explain why his flight suit had a , crotch-sized wet spot to his commanding officer, proceeded to call the Laughlin MPs to come retrieve their flyboys. It would be up to them if they showed up in gloves and masks. All he knew was that something very bad was infecting people, and the bodies were piling up this morning. He didn’t feel like adding to his list.

  A few hours away from the Air Force disaster that had just unfolded, in the not-much-bigger university town of College Station, another cop had his hands full. Officer Justin Case had very explicit instructions, no one leaves or enters town through his roadblock. Officer Case was the most senior amongst the two other officers and the eight cadets now attached to his checkpoint.

  “Things must be bad somewhere,” he thought, still not quite sure why they were at this particular location. It seemed odd for them to send a squad of newbies to man a civilian checkpoint on the edge of town. This wasn’t Iraq, but the upper pay grades were acting like it was.

  Justin’s checkpoint was just south of College Station on Highway 6, where it passed over Peach Creek, near the flea market and Santa’s Wonderland. They must be serious, he thought, because this spot had just enough tactical advantage for a hasty defensive position–at least against vehicles anyway. The location offered limited flank access, a linear obstacle by way of the creek below the highway bridge, and long sight lines to the south. The only problem they had at the moment was lack of manpower and road barriers.

  Kyle, one of the other officers, was growing concerned, as was Justin.

  “This is going to get bad pretty soon, you know these people are gonna get uppity. Where are the reinforcements and concrete barriers they said would be here an hour ago?” Kyle asked.

  “You know as much as I do buddy. I usually work on the other side of town,” Justin replied, but he was feeling just as uneasy.

  A crowd of drivers had formed and began walking toward the cops looking for information; traffic was beginning to back up. Justin looked down the grassy median and saw several cars peel off and cross the median to go back toward the South.

  “We heard on the radio that something happened and people were dying all of a sudden!” said one of the drivers who had come from the south. “What is goin’ on? We have places to go.” Another man raised his voice, “My kids are at home and I need to get back there, let’s go!”

  Across the median, the other cop was having similar troubles with people trying to leave town. Agitated drivers were beginning to challenge the cops and cadets.

  “Let us out of here! We live over by the hospital and just saw body bags piling up under a tent and people in big yellow suits. I don’t know what is going on, but if you don’t get out of the way, we’re still coming through.” Justin saw the growing commotion and made an executive decision on their chances of keeping all these people calm.

  “Kyle, call dispatch and tell them we need backup RIGHT NOW, this is getting ready to pop off.” He started across the median to address the obstinate driver, hoping that his senior position would help the poor cadet caught up in the fray. He could feel the tension rising as nobody wanted to listen to anything or anyone, and he feared that the mob mentality was getting worse. Justin tried to reason with the group, because the initial show of authority was only escalating the push back.

  “Listen everyone, there has been a health emergency and the best thing you can do for your families is to go back home. You will be more comfortable there than out here on the highway.”

  “We are trying to get home!” A woman shouted.

  “I’m sure we will have more information for you shortly, but for now, let’s all stay calm and try to get off the road. Go back to your cars and turn around, find somewhere to hole up for a while,” Justin said, trying to de-escalate the tension.

  He could feel a small release in the pressure around him as a few
people started making their way back to their vehicles, and a couple of cars started trying to turn around. “Phew, ok, they’re buying it.” Just as he turned to head back to his own squad car, cell phones begin chirping with the emergency broadcast tone.

  “This is a message from the Emergency Alert System,” the phones all echoed at the same time. “Your area has experienced a health crisis and all citizens are directed to remain in your homes until further notice. All government offices and institutions will be immediately closed and a curfew will be in effect as of 2 pm today. As of that time, anyone in public without proper authorization will be detained. The public’s assistance is greatly appreciated and will help to bring this situation to a quick close.

  “At this time, we ask everyone to practice social distancing by keeping a minimum of three feet from others. You are to avoid crowds, wash hands regularly after any human contact, and work to disinfect your homes just as you would if someone had the flu. Schools will be closed at noon and buses are being dispatched to deliver children to their normal stops.

  “We ask that if anyone has been in contact with a person who appears ill or knows of a neighbor who does not feel well, please contact your local authorities so a health and welfare team can be sent to check on them.

  “Please tune into your local news provider for detailed information and emergency hotline numbers. Thank you.”

  As the message ended, everyone seemed to take a moment to wrap their minds around what they just heard. Was this some sort of drill or was it for real? Could there be an infectious disease, biological attack, or something else? Justin knew this was teetering on the knife edge between compliance and anarchy. Just then, someone in the group sneezed, right on the back of some guy’s wife, and all hell broke loose. The husband punched the sneezer in the mouth, and suddenly realized he may have just infected himself. People were now running back to their cars, not waiting for any more instructions from the officers. The crowd quickly went from frustrated individuals to a mob mentality with people acting without thinking rationally.

  One of the cars in the line, an older Chevy Suburban with a roof rack full of equipment and Jerry cans strapped to the back and sides, decided he wasn’t going to wait anymore and tried to race around the panicked crowd running in his way. Spraying up dirt from the shoulder, he tried to dodge the people who were spreading out to avoid touching each other out of fear of contagion. The man who threw the punch dragged his wife off the road and right into the path of the large SUV. The couple crumpled under the four-wheel drive; they never had a chance.

  The cadets, who were lined up across the road and already nervous, tried to perform their duty to flag the driver down. Then, without warning, one took his duty to the next level, and drew his sidearm. He engaged the driver by sending several bullets through the windshield. The driver’s head snapped back on the sixth shot, and the SUV careened off the roadway, speeding up toward the jagged-edged drop off of the deep creek embankment.

  Everyone watched in slow motion as the Suburban jerked to the right at the moment it approached the edge, and started rolling. Justin and Kyle tried to run toward the scene but could only watch in horror as the vehicle made its way to the water below, with the wife holding tight to the right side of the steering wheel, screaming in terror as the SUV sunk deeper and deeper.

  13

  Chapter 13

  Monday, January 8th (early morning)

  Loxahatchee, Florida

  Promptly at 6am, Charlotte’s phone binged with a text notification. “By order of the Health Department, all schools and childcare facilities will be closed beginning today. Thank you for understanding.” She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and rolled out of bed, heading to every parent’s first stop in the morning, the kitchen for coffee.

  Thank God for coffee-loving husbands, she thought to herself as she poured a cup. Cal had been up early chasing the sun, but he’d never leave her without coffee. She headed to her home office, dubbed “the Bohannon Family Command Center for Special Activities.” She moved the mouse and the large iMac screen blinked to life, just a beat ahead of the two curved 24” monitors on either side.

  Wow, those are bright in the early morning light, she thought as she fumbled with the mouse. She looked at her law degree in its frame sitting on the floor. One day I’m going to hang that thing, she thought.

  Baby Tempest came padding across the carpet with her Cabbage Patch doll in one hand and blankie in the other. “Hi Little Bear,” her mom said. Tempest tended to wander in the mornings, saying hello to all her stuffed animals before making her way to mommy and daddy. She had all the coordination of disjointed cowboy with her bow legs working to keep from falling forward. Charlotte picked her up and told her there would be no school today, as if Tempest had any idea what her mother was talking about. Parents seem to do that a lot, as if all of a sudden the baby would reply, “I see my good lady, perhaps we might schedule a tea party for the noon with Barbie and Ken.”

  Looking toward the large computer screens on the desk with the baby in her lap, Charlotte heard a firm knock on the door. She stepped down the stairs and opened the door to four people in bulky yellow hazmat-style suits, complete with full face shields, rubber gloves, and over-boots. Instinctively, she took a step back and turned the baby away. She looked beyond the men, trying to see if there were any other people around, but up at the street she only saw a city van and a police car.

  Normally, Charlotte projected a strong presence and confidence, but at the moment, this group of people at her door looking like the hazmat team during the Ebola outbreak unnerved her.

  “What is this?” was all she managed to squeak out.

  “Ma’am, we had a call asking us to check in on a… just a moment,” the man (maybe it was a woman? Charlotte couldn’t tell with the mask and the voice sounded slightly muffled) held up a clipboard so he could see it through the large face shield and mask, “Brianne Evans. Is this you? May we come inside?”

  Hell no you can’t come inside was the first thought that ran across her mind, but instead she responded with “No, I’m not Brianne. The Evans live across the street, but I haven’t seen either of them for a few days.” As Charlotte was speaking the man compared house numbers to his paper. “Normally we pass on our mid-morning walks,” Charlotte looked beyond the visitors momentarily. “Her husband’s truck is in the driveway, though.”

  “Thank you ma’am. By the way, is anyone in your home experiencing any flu-like symptoms?” the man asked.

  “No, everyone here is just fine,” Charlotte said, not sure she would admit it to these people even if that was the case.

  “Well, thank you again,” the man said, attempting to make direct eye contact, as if he were looking for any sign of symptoms or deception.

  The ominous looking team walked across the street making a shuffling noise as the bulky suits chafed. The leader knocked on the Evans’ door. After a few more knocks, Chris Evans opened the door. Charlotte was now peering through the formal living room window. She was trying to not be obvious but the fingers holding the blinds open would have given it away to anyone looking.

  “How can I help you?” Mr. Evans asked the city workers.

  “Good morning sir. We are from the Health Department and have a request to look in on Brianne Evans to see if she is feeling ok. May we come in, please?”

  “We are just fine, thank you. If we need any help we will give you a call. Have a good day,” Mr. Evans replied, as he attempted to close the door. He wasn’t quick enough though, because one of the suited men placed his rubber-booted foot in the doorway before it closed.

  “Mr. Evans, if Brianne doesn’t feel well we really need to check on her. Please allow us in.”

  “I said, we are fine. She is just a little under the weather. I’m sure it is her allergies, they always seem to flare up this time of year.”

  He was trying to get the large foot out of his doorway when a local officer stepped forward with a rookie in tow. Both
were wearing masks and gloves, but not the full coveralls the medical team was dressed in.

  “Mr. Evans, I am Deputy Ryan Price. We have orders to check on anyone who was reported as not feeling well. Is Brianne your wife?”

  “Yes, for about 37 years.” Mr. Evans replied with a slight crackle one would expect from a man of 74 years.

  “Congratulations on such a long marriage. Now, I’m sure you want her to be in the best hands as possible if anything were wrong. If she does not feel well, we need to make sure she doesn’t have the flu. We promise, if everything checks out, we will be on our way, but the County has issued a declaration of emergency and we are authorized to enter any residence with probable cause of someone inside being in danger by infection.” Officer Price worked to relax the elder resident, trying to reassure him.

  “Really, gentleman, everything is fine, so I will kindly ask you to leave us alone. Brianne is napping.”

  Officer Price switched tactics, “We understand sir, but if you don’t allow us to enter, we’d have to arrest you, and then you’d be taken to jail for obstruction. If that happens, you definitely won’t be able to help your wife. That’s not what you want, right?”

  Reluctantly, the old man eased back from the door so the team could enter.

  “Ok, fine. She is in the bedroom down the hall. You’ll see she is just fine and this was all just a waste of time.” Mr. Evans wasn’t convinced this was the best idea, but he couldn’t bear to be separated from his wife right now.

  Officer Price and his rookie chose to remain outside while the team made their way down the hall to find Mrs. Evans in the master bedroom. She was not napping. Brianne was pasty in complexion, and appeared feverish. Her eyes looked red and sunken, presumably from dehydration. Her nose was bright red from the handful of tissues she was clutching. She had kicked off the covers, revealing a rumpled, sweaty nightgown and was moaning in a delirious state. Mr. Evans rushed to her side and pulled the covers back up to her neck. She became startled at the alien figures dressed in space suits crowding into her room, and began to fidget and twist on the bed crying in fear as if they were coming for her. Her husband worked to calm her in the small room.