He had smelled something similar once before. Valerie Barr. Austin’s mother had taken him on a night mission to illegally video the conditions on a chicken farm in the mid-90s. Flashlights and video cameras in tow they climbed a fence and broke a lock on a building housing a mass production chicken farm. Close to 100,000 birds were housed in a building not much bigger than a basketball court. The birds were defecating, urinating and dying on top of each other and less than a dozen immigrant workers in paper masks managed them. The smell was something nearly impossible to explain and the reason Robbins never ate meat again.
Now even through his paper mask Robbins smelled something similar. Not nearly as strong, but it smelled familiar. He had written about it in his book. This water came through one long aqua duct into San Diego. It had two sources: mountains in Northern California and the Colorado River. He noted in the book that seventy-eight percent of the river’s flow was re-directed to agriculture.
Robbins leaned by the water. He watched the ash fall gently on the surface. It was far from clear. He pulled out his digital camera and snapped pictures. This time they had to believe him. He pushed the button three times and was scanning the water’s surface when he saw the shape.
The blue work shirt was puffed up but he could see the bald black head floating in the middle of the reservoir.
Chapter Six
“Get the fuck back.”
Paul held up his press badge. The crime scene tape was stretched stop light to stop light across all four corners at 6th and Market. Paul could see the glow of city buses being re-routed down the street. He coughed with the ash-laden air. He hated to admit Kendra was right and pulled out the paper mask. A few of the police officers wore them.
“This is an active crime scene.”
Paul looked down Market, a large four lane major street that cut through the Gaslamp District of downtown San Diego. It was not odd at night or early morning to see fog, but the air was nearly as thick with smoke. Police cars blocked the road in each direction, but Paul could only see their lights flashing. A few police cars were parked on the road running their lights, giving the scene an odd glow even during the day time. A cop sat on one of the curbs holding her bloody arm. The woman was in pain and the bleeding had not stopped. Another officer was trying and failing to give her first aid. Even from this distance Paul could tell the woman was in pain.
“What happened to her?”
The cop holding the line shook his head. “I ain’t talking.”
Paul scanned the scene in the other direction. A police car was flipped in the road. Glass and blood were scattered on the pavement.
“Oh, shit.”
Two more police cars were parked in what was normally a fire zone. Paul stared at the parked car. Someone was in the back. Paul walked closer on his side of the crime tape. The police officer followed him.
“Sir, I suggest you keep your distance.”
In the back seat a person thrashed, shaking the car. Both parked cars shook like they were in an earthquake. It took Paul a moment to realize that the prisoner was a woman. She kept kicking the windows and gate between the front and the back seat. Inside the woman screamed in a voice so high pitched it didn’t sound human.
“She on meth?” Paul asked.
The cop said nothing. Paul had to lean to look around the officer and tried to get a look at the violent prisoner in the second car. Behind the cars in the street three bodies lay twisted and unmoving on the ground. He couldn’t see the bodies well. The officer was trying to block his view.
“It ain’t meth.”
Paul was surprised that the officer was willing to say anything. He wished he had started recording on his phone. He was only three months and two on air stories about city council meetings away from his post-grad internship. He didn’t have a lot experience or skills but he needed to keep this guy talking.
“If it’s not meth, what is happening? What happened to them?” Paul pointed in the direction of the bodies. The officer didn’t need to see what he was looking at.
“They’re wild. A whole crew of them. Don’t quote me.”
Sure, Paul thought. He scanned the bodies. It was crass for him to think about his career but there were bodies in the street. Tragic, but it was his job. Paul his neck craned to look at the bodies. They were not police officers, but they were also not the bodies of street people. One of the bodies was a woman in a pantsuit. The body beside her was a man in a suit and tie. Paul leaned on his tiptoes and saw bullet wounds center mass.
“Off the record, was the shooting justified?”
The young officer pointed to the wild woman shaking the parked car. She never stopped screaming or growling.
“What do you think?”
Paul cringed. He still wanted to know what happened to them, but didn’t want to repeat himself.
“They seem mentally ill are you sure. . .?”
He heard sirens flare again in the distance. An inhuman scream echoed off the buildings. Paul forgot about his ethical questions.
“You get ‘em all?”
Another scream. Paul couldn’t tell the direction. It could have come from any direction. It was all the answer Paul needed. Gunfire erupted. It was blocks away, like the thunder of a storm approaching, but still in the distance. The screams twisted with the sound. Paul stepped back from the line.
“What do you think?” The officer said as he backed away.
“How many are out there?”
The cop didn’t respond. Paul could see the fear on his face. The man was shaking, his hand near his holster. Paul took a step back.
“I suggest you get inside, sir.”
Paul pointed in the direction of the injured cop.
“Where is the ambulance? She is in trouble if they don’t—”
“Get out of here!”
Paul wanted to. His gut churned. Every inch of him was tingling with fear. Ash fell from the sky. Gunfire and screams echoed through downtown. His breath was heavy in his paper mask. If he was going to get the story he would stay here.
“No, I’m good.” Paul looked around. “Until we get a statement from Chief Gibbons. Something, anything. If I could get a quote.”
“You want a quote?”
Paul nodded. The officer smiled.
“How’s this one? If you stay here, you’re a dumb fuck. Please fucking quote me.”
***
Martin looked out the conference room window. Eleven floors above downtown, he watched a wave of smoke pass through buildings like morning fog, but it was going the opposite direction. Normally it came out of the west, rolling off the water and never this low. It looked unnatural. The smoke mixed with the sound of faint gunfire gave the chief of staff panic. He waited for updates knowing Chief Gibbons had left to handle it. He had a text out waiting for an update.
Behind him David Shea from FEMA was running the show and mapping National Guard checkpoints with the Fire Chief. He had a laptop connected to the projector. When he switched to the screen that showed the projected locations of the checkpoints the room filled gasps. They were all over the county, but highly concentrated just north of the 8 freeway. There were red dots at the major freeway exit ramps.
“Where are you getting these kinds of numbers?” The Mayor set his glasses down on the table.
“All four branches of the military are at our disposal. This chart was provided by General Redcrow. I assure you the operation is already under way.”
“Why?”
“Our studies have found an evacuation at this time would lead to a massive loss of life. We need the streets and freeways open to contain a fire of this size.”
Martin looked at his iPad. The latest map update was not pretty. The fire was coming together. Only one crew on the east side of the blaze was reporting containment. He scrolled through his iPad looking at pictures taken by crews along the San Diego River. Fish floated on the surface. Birds were covered in backwash sewage that had overflowed from a pumping station in Mexi
co. One hundred and seventy million gallons of backed up untreated sewage had pumped into the ocean in the last two hours.
No matter how many gallons of shit they were dealing with he couldn’t get a minute of the agenda for it. Not today. Stephen kept insisting that it was TJ’s problem.
“Martin, you have a minute?”
Martin turned to see Lewis of the CDC. His jacket was off, but he was still in his tie. The man pointed out of the conference center. Martin shared a looked with the mayor. He picked up his glasses and went back to nervously spinning them. They had been sidelined in their own city, just waiting to be told to make announcements.
“Sure.”
Martin wanted to leave the door open but Lewis shut it. He looked around to see if anyone was listening.
“Something is wrong with the water.”
“We have open air reservoirs filling with ash in a drought state, yeah I am aware. We normally have six months of reserve at all times.”
Lewis shook his head. “It was already in the water, separate from the fire.”
Martin felt itchy immediately. His hands itched, He thought about the water from the sink earlier. He felt a pull to smell them again. The smell had faded last time he sneaked a sniff but Lewis’s words stoked the fire of paranoia. This man’s job was disease control.
“Not sure I understand what you mean.”
“The city’s tap water. Have you smelled it today?”
Martin considered what to say. If he admitted to washing his hands would he suddenly be considered a danger? Contagious? “Something was a little weird.”
“It is not across the board, some areas are worse than others but the problem appears to be in the Fallbrook-Ocean branch section of the aqueduct.”
Martin had to represent the mayor at enough water board meetings to understand what that meant. The bacteria could be growing anywhere in the last ninety-four miles of tunnel that delivered 3.3 million people ninety percent of their water. Martin leaned back. He often wondered how people would feel if they understood all their water came in one pipe.
“We’re still testing, but we’re finding high levels of runoff contamination. Higher than normal levels of DDT and mercury is certain. We are finding things we can’t identify yet.”
Martin looked at the door to the conference room. “You want me to send the mayor out and tell people to boil their water?”
Lewis shook his head. “No, I’m not. I wish it were that simple. I mean, we need him to talk to the people but boiling the water is not enough.”
Martin looked at his hands.
Lewis caught the movement in his eyes. “You washed them recently, didn’t you?”
Martin shrugged, but there was little point in denials. Lewis held a small vile that looked like clear water. Martin held it in his hand. You had to stare closely at it. Tiny, barely visible. A little star like bacteria floated in the water.
“What the fuck is it?”
“Good Question. Most are so small you need a microscope to see the little fuckers. Up close it looks like a spider, but break it down it is a prion. An infectious protein. You know, the little guys responsible for Mad Cow disease.”
“Mad Cow?”
“You should be so lucky. That takes decades to punch holes in a brain. These guys are speed daters in an encephalopathic sense.”
“You are telling me we have Mad Cow disease in our water?” Martin laughed.
Lewis took a deep breath. “That is not what I am saying. I am saying you have infectious prions floating in your water supply. You have a cocktail of bacteria coming downstream from the toilets pouring in untreated out of Tijuana, and that is not to forget the ice caps melting.”
Martin squinted “What are talking about?”
“You have ice melting into the ocean for the first time in millennia, there are microbes trapped in the ice we can’t understand. But let’s be real, Martin, more than seventy percent of the river you get your water from is diverted to agriculture.”
“If we can’t boil it. . .”
“Hand sanitizer. Bottled water only.”
“There are three million people in this water district, we can’t reach them all. Some are drinking it right now.”
Lewis nodded. “We are mobilizing for a reason.”
“People will panic.”
“Issue your state of emergency, tell people to stay in their homes and the National Guard will deliver water while we work to solve these issues.”
Martin was confused. It seemed Lewis was done. Martin nodded, turned and walked to his office.
“I’ll have the Mayor meet you in the media center.”
***
“Kendra is on the warpath.” Andrew Mallick got off the elevator and walked the final staircase that led to the roof of the NBC tower. He balanced the phone.
“Look I have one more segment on the radio and I am heading in,” Jake spoke over the phone.
Andrew fumbled his backpack and his key card as he approached the door to the roof.
“Hey, is something wrong with Kristen?”
“Besides being a raging bitch who makes it impossible for me to see Adam?” Andrew held the key card up. The roof top door opened. He stood in the door way. “Why do you ask?”
“I saw her at the doctor’s office. She was walking out of Oncology”
Andrew paused in the doorway. “What were you doing there Jake?”
“Commercial is almost over. I gotta get back on the air.”
Andrew looked at his screen. CALL ENDED. He slid the phone in his pocket and walked into the breeze. Fifteen stories above downtown San Diego with only a knee-high fence along the edge of the building. When the station moved downtown in the 70s it was the only station in town that had rooftop parking for its traffic helicopter.
He would never admit it but he hated landing here on the roof, given that they got cross breeze from the bay and Santa Ana winds this time of year. He was the youngest pilot to do traffic in the city only three years out of the navy. Newly divorced. Somehow, Kristen handled his deployments better than him being around.
Andrew took two steps towards the helicopter and looked out to the east. In the distance he could hear sirens, and popping sounds. It took a moment for it to hit him. That was gunfire. It was eerie enough with the smoke and the ash.
The smoke made seeing the short mountains east of downtown impossible. The air was a thick soup. Andrew didn’t expect to see anything, but Freddie Jackson, the pilot for CBS, was crazy enough to be up there, that meant Kendra expected him to be that crazy.
It was just like his ex-wife not to mention that she was sick. He was mad she treated him like shit but she was Adam’s mother. She was great for their son, and if she was that sick he should know. So he could be there for his boy. He knew a part of him was worried about being a single dad.
He was not built for that.
A text came through. Kendra.
What is the delay?
Andrew turned back to his helio. He talked the station into a new bird two years earlier but he spent as much time keeping in shape as he did in the air. Most days it was just him and Carly the traffic reporter. He sold Kendra that in emergencies he could take film crews. The VH-30 was used by military contractors in Iraq, but the station got an excellent deal. To this point he had not carried a news crew, but he had worked movie shoots on weekends to help pay off the station’s investment.
He opened the sliding door. Carly sat on the bench in the back typing on her laptop. She was wearing a mini-skirt and had done her make-up. He paused for a second to admire her.
“You know you won’t be on camera.”
“I just did a live hit from the studio.”
Andrew nodded and pulled the door shut. He climbed up to the front seat. Carly got into the passenger seat. Andrew started his routine of switches and began the process of firing up the engine. Carly put her hand on his stopping them. He could tell she regretted doing it, but it stopped him. There was sexual
tension between them, but it was a one-sided crush that Andrew never admitted to anyone.
“Is it safe?”
Andrew shook his head. “No, not one bit. It’s crazy, but I’ll get you back here safe.”
Carly smiled and put on her headphones. She tapped the headset. Andrew put his on as he turned the final key. The engine roared to life. The blades began spinning. He enjoyed watching them pick up speed.
“Let me focus on keeping us alive, okay?”
Carly laughed. Andrew felt his stomach drop a bit as he pulled on the stick. That moment when they lifted off normally a feeling he enjoyed. Not today.
***
It was a major road, four lanes across that fed into the fifty year old sports arena that today was home to a minor league hockey team. Austin rode her bike up on the sidewalk and flew past the honking cars that were barely moving. She was only able to keep on the move because of her gas mask.
She looked around for a cop and saw nothing. She dialed 911 for what seemed like the seventy-fifth time. The signal was still busy. She pumped her legs hard, thinking about Betty struggling. She thought about going into a Burger King but what would they do? Call the police? She tried that.
She looked at the faces of children in the passenger and back seats of cars. It all looked funny to her and it took her a moment to realize what looked different. The windows were all rolled up. Not something you see in southern California often.
Down the sidewalk she saw a shopping cart. A person wrapped head to toe pushed it. Austin pulled up beside and saw a Mexican woman’s face with a shirt tied over it.
“Excuse me,” Austin said and lifted her mask just enough to speak clearly.
“Where are you going?”
The woman looked at her. They had seen each other around the river. Didn’t know each other, but the woman knew she could trust Austin.
“Sports Arena. Opening for us.”
Ring of Fire Page 7
