Absolution

by Mark Campbell

  After the men on the video screens finished speaking for what felt to Hammond like hours, an uncomfortable silence lingered in the air. The repetitive tick-tock sound of the grandfather clock only served to make things worse.

  He knew that they were waiting for his response.

  Hammond stared up impassively at the video monitors.

  The generals stared back at him. They all wore dress uniforms decked with full regalia.

  Hammond, meanwhile, wore nothing more than his bathrobe and some slippers. He felt underdressed, but he really didn’t care. What did bother him was the look of disgusted pity that was evident in the men’s faces.

  They stared at him as if he were the drunken uncle that ruined another family reunion, or as if he were some senile geriatric that they were tasked with caring for while he did nothing more than waste away and defecate himself.

  Didn’t they know that he was once just like them?

  He hadn’t always been a lush wallowing his depression away with whiskey.

  He once had money.

  He once had power.

  He once—

  “Do you understand the implications, Director Hammond?” one of the generals asked, breaking Hammond out of his train of thought.

  Hammond frowned at the half-witted question.

  After all, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.

  There was an outbreak of cholera and typhoid at another camp—what else was new? What made matters worse, was the fact that those anti-government separatist assholes were rousing people up.

  Judging by the drone footage that Hammond had been allowed to see, there was a fine shitshow unfolding over at Director Moll’s camp in Nebraska. Things were falling apart and if the camp fell, then the city that they were reconstructing would be the next domino to fall.

  Apparently nobody at the top wanted to risk losing the fine city of Lincoln, Nebraska.

  God only knew why.

  In Hammond’s mind, Lincoln was about as worthless as Topeka—they were both insignificant dots on flyover states.

  Moll’s camp needed more troops, ammunition, and food—three things that Hammond’s camp was badly in need of itself. A real fine shitshow indeed. Resources were to be diverted from Hammond’s camp since his was the closest and, according to the talking heads on the screens, the one that had the least security issues.

  It was an ill-conceived decision made by a bureaucratic hive mind who was tucked away underground in a government bunker—hundreds of miles from here.

  Nobody asked Hammond what he thought—they never did. They had forgotten about him as soon as they stuck him away in an old farmhouse smack dab in the middle of nowhere.

  “Director Hammond!” the general shouted. “I asked you a question! Do you understand the implications?”

  Hammond looked over at the screen.

  The old general stared back with a reddened face and beady green eyes. Liver spots covered his bald head and wrinkles lined his cheeks.

  It was ironic to Hammond how the virus had spared the cantankerous old man but saw fit to destroy his beautiful Laura.

  For a brief second, he saw her ghostly visage in his mind’s eye.

  He saw her pallid face staring up at him.

  He felt the pillow in his hands.

  Hammond took a hard swallow and pushed the image out of his mind. He never needed a drink as badly as he did at that moment. “I do…” He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair and attempted to slick it back off of his face. “It’s going to be a hard sell on my end…”

  “Your people are compliant enough,” liver spots sneered.

  “That’s because they’re fed,” Hammond spiritlessly replied. “If you take away the only leverage I have, then I am not sure if that will hold true.”

  “This isn’t a negotiation,” one of the other generals replied in a cold and direct tone. “You have a surplus of food which is more than any other camp in the region can say. Logistically speaking, diverting from your camp makes the most sense… This is a temporary problem that will be resolved quickly.”

  Hammond stared at the stern-looking man with the crewcut and knew that the man was lying. Problems were rarely temporary and hardly ever resolved.

  At the onset of the pandemic, the dangers of the virus itself had been concealed from the public by silly platitudes.

  Hammond recalled assuring his own constituents in packed town halls that things would be resolved quickly and that those who were sick would be on the mend if they followed the CDC’s advice. He knew all of the tired lines and it aggravated him that the man on the screen was trying to use one on him. Did they assume that he was a simpleton who would be pacified by utter nonsense?

  “The people won’t understand logistics,” Hammond heard himself say in a surprisingly cross voice. “They understand food.”

  “They’ll still have food,” a young general chimed in. “Just not as much. Implement winter rations. Go to one high-caloric meal a day. Once things settle and we refurbish the supplies, things can return to normal.”

  Hammond looked over at the fresh-faced general and at the sly smirk that the kid had on his lips. How many vested veterans had to die during the sickness just so that kid had the opportunity to sit in a position he neither understood nor deserved?

  “What about our Topeka settlement?” Hammond asked, ignoring the kid’s sardonic jab.

  “Topeka operations will continue,” the old general with the liver spots responded. “Your fuel allotment for your motor fleet will continue as is.”

  “And what of the research division?”

  “Continue the work at all cost,” liver spots answered. “Their work is very important. If research needs more people, let us know and we will send more trains.”

  “Will I get more troops to accompany any new civilians?”

  “If research needs more people, let us know and we will send more trains,” liver spots repeated.

  If the work was so important, then why were they upsetting the status quo? He needed more soldiers and food, not more fucking civilians to feed. He thought about pointing that out, but he didn’t think it would do any good.

  “Speaking of the research,” the stony-faced general with the crewcut interrupted. “Has there been any progress to report to that end?”

  Hammond tried to recall what that researcher with the annoying nasally voice had tried to impress him with over the phone in the morning, but he could not remember anything that made sense. He had been too drunk and too busy wallowing in his own sorrows to pay attention to a bunch of science jargon. “None that I know of.”

  The room fell silent at the news for several moments as the grandfather clock ticked on unabated.

  “In any case,” general crew-cut said, clearing his throat. “You have your new operating orders. Advise your security operations lieutenant…” He looked down at a piece of paper, reading a name. “Lieutenant Hock.”

  As if he didn’t know who his own fucking security operations lieutenant was, Hammond thought angrily. “When will they come to pick up the food surplus?”

  “They’re doing it right now,” liver spots quickly replied.

  Hammond looked at the screen, mouth agape.

  No notice?

  No anything?

  “Gentlemen,” general crewcut said before Hammond could cut-in. “This meeting is adjourned.”

  One by one the monitors went black and Hammond was left sitting alone in a dark room.

  Hammond gave a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose with his boney fingers. Another migraine was coming fast—he needed a drink. Groaning like a man twice his age, he forced himself to get out of his seat and step out into the hallway.

  His security detail followed.

  Hammond, shoulders drooping, slowly made his way across the hall towards one of the windows

  He placed an open palm against the chilly glass pane and peered out towards the camp.

  As if on cue, two Boeing CH-47 Chinook tr
ansport helicopters ascended from helipads located behind the camp’s central storage building.

  “Bastards,” Hammond whispered.

  Both helicopters banked away from the camp and headed west.

  Seconds later, one of the camp’s vehicle gates opened and a Humvee sped furiously along the dirt road headed towards the farmhouse and left a large plume of dust and bits of gravel in its wake.

  Hammond couldn’t make out the face of the driver, but he was sure it was Hock coming to express his displeasure about the matter. He really didn’t feel like dealing with Hock or anyone else for that matter—he just wanted a drink and to be left alone.

  He turned away from the window, yawned, and started shuffling back towards his chambers. He tightened the knot around his robe as he walked with all the grace and poise of a corpse.

  The two agents followed.

  Hammond stopped, and turned towards one of the men. “Go get me a drink,” he ordered with surprising robustness in his voice.

  The agent stared at him with an indignant expression. His job was security—not concierge-service. He opened his mouth to object, but there was a hard look in Hammond’s eyes that made him fall silent. “Yes, sir.” He turned and abruptly retreated down the hall.

  Hammond continued forward once more. His frustration with the generals, his anger about the food situation, and his annoyance with Hock’s impending arrival faded into a mental haze. Slowly and insidiously, thoughts about Laura started to swim up from the murky depths of his subconscious.

  God, he needed a drink to drown the thoughts.

  He winced and turned towards the man in the suit who was already well down the hallway.

  “As a matter of fact,” Hammond called out. “Bring me the whole goddamn bottle.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Hours passed, yet, remarkably, the cheap plastic flashlight that sat in the middle of the table still emitted a soft, flickering glow.

  The light was dull and fading fast, but it lasted long enough to allow Teddy and Roger to play their gin rummy marathon uninterrupted.

  Teddy never was much of a card player, but he discovered that he caught on pretty quick. He grinned when Roger was taken aback after he beat him somewhere around the second hour.

  It was well past noon and they had long since stopped taking score, but both men were cracking jokes and chitchatting about the most trivial things—as if they were unwinding at some rundown speakeasy after work with a drink in one hand and a cigar in the other.

  It was a welcome change for Teddy.

  He had been able to get his mind off of Ein, the virus, the camp, and even Jane—if only for a little bit.

  Then, like a shrill alarm clock intruding on a pleasant dream, a burst of gunfire and distant shouting brought Teddy crashing back to reality.

  There were no drinks nor were there any cigars—just a dusty old building full of molding corpses.

  A burst of gunfire echoed from what sounded a few rooms over and caused both men to jump.

  Roger folded his hand on the table and looked over at Teddy. “Sounds like they’re getting close… I figure we better cut this short and go pretend to do some work somewhere.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” Teddy tossed his cards on the table and shrugged. “I didn’t have anything good anyway.”

  “It didn’t matter if you did,” Roger said with a grin as he scooped up the cards and started putting them back into the case. “You wouldn’t know how to play them!”

  Teddy leaned back in his wooden chair and crossed his arms over his chest with a smug smile. “I beat your crusty ass a few times, didn’t I?”

  “You got lucky,” Roger quipped as he tucked the deck back into his pocket. “In fact—” He was interrupted when the storage room door flung open and sent the doorknob crashing against the wall.

  Both Teddy and Roger jumped off of their seats, stood, and spun towards the door in shock.

  A middle-aged woman and a young girl bolted into the room, breathing wildly.

  The woman wore a tattered, dirty dress and a man’s leather jacket. Her unkempt blonde hair was wild and her bloodshot eyes were full of fear. Her unnaturally pale face was covered with droplets of sweat.

  The young girl standing next to her looked no older than eight and appeared just as dazed and disoriented as the woman did. Droplets of sweat ran down her chubby cheeks.

  Teddy’s heart sank at the sight of the two wide-eyed strangers and a hard knot formed in his throat—he couldn’t help but see two familiar faces in theirs.

  The woman slammed the door shut behind her and pressed her back against it, holding it shut.

  Roger leaned closer to get a better look. “Lady, what are you—”

  “Please,” the woman said in a raspy voice. “Help us… The soldiers are chasing us.” She erupted into a coughing spasm.

  “Jesus, Teddy!” Roger exclaimed. He quickly put his mask on and stepped back. “She’s sick.”

  “Please,” the woman begged weakly as the little girl looked up at her with concern.

  Roger studied the little girl’s feverish face and took another step back. “The girl is sick, too… they both are.”

  Teddy had been on death’s door himself not too terribly long ago back in Tucson, yet there he was—alive, ducking work, and playing gin rummy with some old Midwestern rancher who had a penchant for trying to palm cards under the table. The fact that the woman and child were sick didn’t mean very much to him. The chances were slim, but they could recover.

  “They’re both sick,” Roger pointedly repeated as if the message had not gone through the first time.

  Teddy turned and glared at him. “I can see that,” he said with more frustration than he intended. “What do we do?”

  Roger looked over at the woman and child, thinking.

  They stared back at him with fearful expressions—waiting.

  Teddy’s anxiety rose as he heard the chatter of police radios approach closer. “Well?” he asked impatiently.

  “If the cops get them, they’re goners,” Roger said with a frown.

  “Where would they take them? What’s the nearest quarantine center?” Teddy asked.

  Roger gave him a sorrowful look and shook his head. “There are none for the sick anymore… They don’t deal with folks showing symptoms. They… take other measures.”

  “Then we have to do something,” Teddy announced, nervously glancing around the room.

  “Do what?”

  “Anything!” Teddy bellowed. His eyes latched on the door marked with the ‘35mm slide storage’ placard.

  “Come on,” Teddy told the woman as he hurried towards the door. “Follow me and stay quiet.”

  The woman nodded and hurried behind him holding the little girl’s hand in tow.

  Roger picked up the flashlight and focused the dying beam on the storage room. “I don’t like this, hoss.” Beads of nervous sweat formed across his brow.

  “Yeah, well I don’t like seeing innocent people get mowed down,” Teddy said as he opened the door and swung it open. “They deserve a chance. I mean, shit, we had one, right?”

  Roger didn’t argue.

  Teddy ushered the woman and the small girl into the dusty storage room and had them crouch down between stacks of moldy old cardboard boxes that appeared to have been untouched long before the virus struck. “Stay here and keep quiet until I get you. You’re going to be safe. I promise.”

  The woman nodded, tears gleaming in her eyes. “Thank you,” she responded weakly.

  Teddy shut the door, put on his mask, and went back out to Roger.

  “Now what?” Roger asked.

  “We wait.”

  The main door swung inwards and two FEMA officers wearing riot gear and gasmasks peered into the room. Their stenciled breastplates read Topeka Federal Police across the front along with their unit number.

  The officers pointed the tactical lights attached to the barrel of their carbines into the room. Two dazzling white
rays pierced through the semi-darkness of the room.

  Both Teddy and Roger squinted and shielded their face with their palms. The yellow strips on their reflective safety vests shimmered under the light’s bright beams.

  “Why are you two hiding out in here?” one of the officers asked through his respirators in a husky voice.

  “Working, what else?” Roger asked as he pointed aimlessly towards one of the corners of the room. “These plowfucks left shit plugged in just about everywhere… Gotta check every nook and cranny, dontcha know.”

  Neither officer bothered to check in the direction that Roger pointed at—they clearly had more pressing concerns. “Did you see a woman come through?”

  “Yeah, and a girl,” Teddy answered. He pointed a thumb over towards the right. “They panicked when they saw us and ran out towards the front.”

  The officers sprinted away in the direction Teddy indicated, breaths labored through their restrictive masks.

  “That was too close,” Roger said with relief as he clutched his chest with one hand and wiped his forehead with the other.

  Teddy waited for a few seconds. Then he went to the open door and stuck his head outside to peer into the darkness.

  The records department appeared clear. Only the scattered trinkets of the dead occupied the countless cubicles.

  Teddy hurried back inside and opened the storage room.

  The little girl sneezed.

  “Are they gone?” the woman whispered.

  “They’re gone, but you need to hurry before they circle back,” Teddy said. He led the woman and the girl out of the room. “Sneak out the back—if it isn’t safe, then just hide and wait. I don’t think these cops are going to search all night for you. Rest, if you can, and drink lots of water. You can beat this flu.”

  “I can’t thank you enough,” the woman said as tears welled up in her eyes. Her rheumy look reminded Teddy far too much of Jane’s sobs during her final moments.

  For one brief moment, he saw Jane in the stranger’s face.

  Pain needled at his heart.

  “Just go!” Teddy ordered curtly.

  The woman and the child took off running and disappeared into the darkness.