Ring of Fire

by David Agranoff

  “Dude, leave him in there,” Alex said, as he squeezed the handle of the Louisville slugger.

  When he opened the door all 275 pounds of Jeff fell out on top of Will. He felt wind come out of him as his back hit the floor. Jeff’s eyes were red where they were supposed to be white. The pupils a bright yellow. Will screamed bloody murder. He heard the sounds of the bat whacking Jeff’s back over and over.

  It took strength Will never knew he had to hold off Jeff. The crazed man had his mouth open like someone was about to feed him birthday cake. Will’s arms were giving out. He prayed to any god that might give him strength and tried to push Jeff off.

  The larger man fell on him like a ton of bricks. Will couldn’t scream with the wind knocked out of him. He felt Jeff’s teeth on his neck. Before he could bite down there was a crunch. Will felt the weight of Jeff tumble to his left.

  Alex’s empty hand was shaking. Will turned to look at Jeff’s body. The bat had broken in two and the handle was deep into the back of Jeff’s neck.

  “He was going to fucking bite you.” Alex was pleading his case immediately.

  Will kicked Jeff’s body. It only moved under the kick. Hitting the floor with a thud. He just rolled on his back. He couldn’t bring himself to think about what this all meant. He felt awful for his friend, but the world felt like it was ending. Before he was the frog in boiling water not aware that he was cooking. He couldn’t ignore it now. Jeff was dead. The world was ending.

  Alex looked at his watch. He spoke meekly, feeling guilty already for what he was saying. “We have dead air in ten seconds.”

  Will looked up, something snapped inside him. “Show must go on.”

  Will jumped up. On wobbly legs, he moved toward the studio. Alex backed toward the booth. Will was still shaking when he got to the microphone and put on his headphones. Anger, adrenaline and sorrow were all coursing through his body. Alex was pointing at him. He was the only show left in town. This was a crisis and he was needed. Deep breaths, he told himself and he turned on the microphone.

  “Good afternoon, San Diego. Hope you are not as fucked as we are. . .”

  ***

  She wanted to rip the mask off. She knew it was the only reason she was breathing but it caused her to feel claustrophobic at the same time. She was sweating in the mask, it was creating an awful smell and she felt her breath was getting sour. She needed to find shelter quick.

  The whole time she rode her bike through downtown she heard the sound of gunfire and the screams. She would have turned around but she had nowhere to go. Looking for Robbins was her only plan. When she entered the residential neighborhood she had an urge to knock on random doors to beg to be let in. She just needed a break from the smoke, from the mask.

  Most of the houses were lit enough that she could see their glow in the haze but not the shape or style of the house. Lowering light should have triggered the street lamps, several were already on. She heard banging and wild screams in enough homes to keep her pedaling. She was so thirsty that licking the sweat off her lips provided relief. She had a few drops of water in her bottle but taking off the mask scared her more now that she rode east into the direction of the fire.

  She had slowed down to check the street signs. She didn’t make the names at first. Robinson. . . she was close. She stepped off her bike. She leaned it up against the stop sign. She had locked up here on visits to Robbins before. She felt a little silly putting the U-lock on the bike but the last thing she wanted was someone to steal it.

  You could not even see the houses set back from the block. She walked down the center of the street, following the yellow line till she saw the curb and grass at the dead end. There was a five foot drop and then the tunnel that Robbins had called home so many days.

  The concrete tunnel was meant to carry water when it was built but became an important travel point for coyote and wildlife when the freeway was built. It kept the wild animals from trying to cross the freeway. Then as the sprawl built up on the other side, the wild traffic slowed. Austin thought it was a fitting place for a homeless man who had risked jail many times to protect animals.

  Austin stepped carefully down to the edge of the tunnel. She almost missed it. A note rested on the ground, her name written in black marker. Robbins’s handwriting. She picked it up. It had duct tape across the top. It was probably stuck to the tunnel, but the Santa Ana had ripped it off. Another few minutes and it might have blown away.

  She opened the paper.

  Hey, Austin. I found a house to ride out the storm. Not far. 3822 Robinson. Fitting, right? We will be safe.

  -R

  She wanted to laugh and cry. Just the thought of being out of the mask was enough to overwhelm her with emotions. She folded the paper and put it back into her pocket. Just knowing she had somewhere to go helped her to feel better. She was about to turn away when she heard something in the tunnel.

  “Hell. . .”

  A voice echoed from the tunnel. It sounded like a word. Sounded like hell or help but twisted, the longer the yelling continued the less it sounded like words. With each second it sounded more like the sound she heard Lindsay make when she went crazy. Austin should have turned and ran but she stepped closer. She felt a pull to look in the tunnel it was the first time in hours she could see any distance.

  A person ran through the long tunnel, crouched over as he ran like a chimpanzee toward her. Austin didn’t wait. She turned to run back into the street. She heard a chorus of wild screams, this time in front of her. The man from the tunnel was coming quickly behind her. A dozen people, all with the same rabid look appeared out of the haze in her path. They reached for her as they ran driven by a wild hunger.

  She just ran as hard as could. Her legs accustomed to miles of bike riding each day burned under the pressure. She had to run past them, she felt the tips of fingers. As she ran, she could only hear the rabid people as their desperate cries got closer. She felt hands gripping her back pack, slowing her for seconds and then they lost grip. She couldn’t imagine shedding the backpack with her whole life in it, but if they got a grip, she would have to.

  She saw her bike, and cursed. There was no time to unlock it. Somewhere in the haze she heard the sound of automatic gunfire. It was close, like thunder as rapid as popcorn. Her legs gave out as she felt arms surround her like a bear hug. One of them had her.

  Austin hit the sidewalk involuntarily and spit up in her gas mask as she landed on the pavement. The pain of the landing radiated through her body. She didn’t have time to suffer. She looked up into red and yellow eyes that had belonged to a middle-aged woman before insanity. She drooled from a wide open mouth ready to bite. Austin kicked up, pushing the woman back. The crazy woman was about to fall back onto her when her head exploded.

  Austin crawled back and watched the group of rabid people dance under the influence of the thundering blasts of machine gun fire. Her hearing was suddenly gone the sound of the gunfire was so loud. One by one the crazies hit and fell back to the pavement. She heard shouting but it sounded miles away. She sat up and across the haze she saw her bicycle. There was a pile of twisted and shredded bodies between her and the bike.

  She tried to push herself up. She felt a hand grip her arm. She made a fist ready to swing.

  “Are you OK?”

  She barely heard it, something as if the words traveled miles on an echo. She turned and saw the young face of the soldier who asked her. He wore a more modern, sleek gas mask and had a rifle slung. She could see his eyes, and they were normal. Two more soldiers were behind him, they had their guns ready to fire. Austin was confused and scared. She said nothing, not knowing how to answer. She was very not OK.

  “You shouldn’t be out here.”

  Her hearing was better already but far from back. The soldier stripped her backpack and threw it on the ground.

  “Hey!”

  He twisted her arms back and tied her wrists with zip ties. He pushed her but Austin tried to lock her feet. The
soldier put some strength into it and pushed her harder. One of the other soldiers grabbed her backpack.

  “You’re under arrest for violating the state of emergency.”

  A Humvee was parked across the street. It came into view out of the haze as they got closer. Austin fought as she almost got out of the man’s grip he tightened her hold.

  “I was just going home, I swear, let me go,” Austin begged.

  “Should have let the ferals eat the stupid bitch,” the soldier with the rifle behind her said.

  Austin felt the strap on the back of her mask loosen. They were taking her mask off. Panic spiked through her whole body.

  “No, please!”

  It happened quickly. She tried to hold her breath, but the mask came off. The acrid feel that had surrounded her body like a bubble closed on her face. It burned her eyes instantly. She felt the foul air entering her nose and felt the assault. She closed her eyes and tried to hold her breath as the soldier dragged her.

  “It is not safe out here.”

  Austin tried to kick and fight. She saw the door to the Humvee open. They threw her backpack in with more care than she received. It was a blur, she knew they picked her up and threw her inside. She heard the door slam. Finally, she allowed herself to breathe. Smelled like a locker room, but it smelled better than outside. Despite being face down she took in deep breaths, just happy to be out of the open air. She felt the motion of the vehicle and didn’t want think about what might happen next.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The spike camp was a storm of activity, but to Annie who grew-up fighting fires and went to college at the school of forestry in Syracuse. She understood enough about forest fires to know what was happening. It was nothing more than a show. Her bullshit detector was so overworked, watching this operation. Her foreman, Tucker, was so frustrated he had gone rogue, and she had lost one of her squad bosses.

  She had trained on controlled burns her whole career. She was pretty sure she knew what she was looking at. They might as well circle the city on the map and cross it out.

  She watched the Humvees leaving. The loaded down gunships had stopped at the edge of the camp to pick up reinforcements. She was no expert, but it looked as if they were reloading weapons. On a clear day she would be able to see it perfectly. Through the smoke and her slightly fogged gas mask she could not see it well.

  It was hard to imagine this was a mall parking lot yesterday. Customers filled up the lot to go to Best Buy, buying computers and big screen TVs. Harder still to imagine a livable city beyond, with the warm winds, smoke and humidity it felt closer to Venus than earth.

  Annie had almost sweated all the way through her uniform by the time she approached the double-wide trailer with FEMA on the side.

  She stepped in the trailer and took off her mask. The cool air conditioned space felt wonderful. She walked to the command center and looked at the latest map. They had an emergency connection from a satellite, considering there seemed to be no fiber optics cables left. She learned quickly that a combination of regulation and cheapness had created a problem. Just as the water came in through one tunnel, the main power station that supplied the county came from an east-west transformer station with hardly any backups.

  The fire was approaching that main power line. It wouldn’t be long. The power was the next thing to go. Time was ticking away.

  “Hey, can somebody explain to me why all the experienced crews were called off the line on the north edge here?”

  Annie used a laser pointer to circle the area where the fire was approaching the power plant and the east west lines. The FEMA crew exchanged looks. The army core of engineer techs looked as confused as she was. Silence suddenly overcame the busy command center. Some of them had to understand, probably most of them. She wanted to yell at them. Remind them that lives were at stake but they didn’t need that explained to them.

  “Miss Halford.” Annie turned to see General Redcrow standing in the doorway to his office. “Can I have a minute?”

  Annie felt that she was in trouble. She was being called into the principal’s office. Good, she was glad. She was ready to confront him. She took a deep breath and went into the office. This was too important. She wasn’t afraid of the uniform or the stars. She steeled herself for the confrontation.

  He offered her a seat and came around the desk. He had a shot glass set up for her. He reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured her a shot.

  “Have a drink.”

  She shook her head.

  “Trust me, you’ll need it.”

  He sat down even though Annie remained standing. He took a shot of his whiskey.

  “Why are we not fighting this fire?”

  “You wouldn’t be here if we were not.”

  “Bullshit. You say you knew my father, then you know I grew up with the best.”

  She stared at his face as she spoke, locking with his eyes. Under his neatly-cropped crew cut his lined face looked like a road map of hard years. His face changed as she spoke.

  “I know a real effort when I see it.”

  She felt confidence escape her like a balloon deflating. She felt anger coming off him in waves. He took another sip of his hard stuff and smiled at her. The smile was as fake as a three dollar bill.

  “Tell me, Annie where do you reckon I grew up?”

  She couldn’t place the accent. It was thick, somewhere in the south. She just went by the name. “Redcrow. Is that Cherokee?”

  He laughed, a deep belly laugh, then got serious, almost angry-sounding as he spoke. “Do I look Native to you?”

  Annie shrugged. He didn’t look Native. In fact, he looked whiter than Wonder Bread.

  “I know you’re trying to think of something politically correct to say. I got maybe five or ten percent injun back in the family tree at best.”

  Annie took the shot and gulped it down, smacked down her glass.

  “You’re changing the subject general.”

  “Don’t you want to know where I’m from? It will answer some of your questions.”

  Annie just stared back at him. He nodded.

  “I grew up on base. Which one, well, there were lots of them. My father was killed in ‘nam, his second tour, already on a command track. I was just a boy but I remember something he told me before he left. I remember clear as a summer day.”

  “General I—”

  Redcrow held up a finger. “It wasn’t a gook, oh no. My daddy told me why we were losing that war, but it wasn’t the gooks. Cancer, and a deep sickness through the body of the armed forces. Junkies, drop-outs and malcontents. Unsustainable situation. My dad was fracked by his own men.”

  “I have no idea what you are trying to tell me.”

  Redcrow leaned back in his chair. “You are not that stupid, sweetheart. We tried. We really did when we got here. I assume you have heard the gunfire? I assume you have seen the ferals at least on video.”

  Annie didn’t know they had a name, but she had seen them. A perfect name to describe the wild uncontrolled behavior. She had heard the machine gun fire. Early on she told herself it was just looting. She was fooling herself. She had never seen or heard this kind of intensity

  “What is it? What is really happening?”

  “The fire is spreading, but it is not the only thing spreading. The ferals can’t be reasoned with. Their minds are gone, overcome with aggression. They will kill themselves, but we can’t let it spread.”

  Annie didn’t really need this explanation, she knew it already but it was too crazy to believe.

  “You’re killing the infection.”

  Redcrow made a motion like he was chopping off his hand at the wrist. “Cutting it right off. The question becomes, do you want a front row seat or am I throwing you out in it?”

  ***

  The air had not cooled at all as the sun went down. Now the fire approaching the spike camp warmed the air. Scott had to make his way carefully to the motorbikes which were
lined up and parked with helmets designed to fit around gas masks. The bikes were owned by the forest service used off-road by scouts in fire zones. A job Riccardi had for many years. Six bikes were lined up near the back of the parking lot.

  The haze was covering up the exit ramp just past the parking lot. Just yesterday it took thousands of cars from El Cajon on their way west. He looked at the key and the number attached, 316. He wasn’t sure at first how to find the number but the first bike, he had to wipe dirt off one of the bikes that was covered, it had 297 painted on the seat. It was the fourth bike that had the matching number. He fit the key in to double check. He didn’t start it, he wanted to get away from spike camp before he turned on the motor, these bikes were loud as hell.

  He moved the bike off its stand and rolled it slowly to the curb. He pushed it up on the empty ramp toward the 8 freeway. It was a little harder to get up the incline, as he got away from the spike camp the eerie quiet got to him. When he lived here for college the 8 never stopped roaring, as millions of cars zoomed past. Without the cars it was easy to forget that beyond the smoke was the city of El Cajon. The only sounds were the far off gunfire and screams becoming like ambient noise. Then he heard one that could have been on the freeway with him. The ferals were everywhere on the south side of the south side in the city proper. He didn’t hear as many screams to the north. The gunfire increased minute by minute.

  He knew what he was hearing. Street by street, block by block they were killing the ferals.

  Scott pushed the bike onto the straight away of the freeway. The haze was thick enough he could only see ten feet ahead. He had to turn the bike to avoid a truck left on the freeway. Then he saw a white KIA, a little further a black Ford Escape was flipped over. In front of it he discovered two cars crunched together. As he went further in the haze he lost count of the cars crashed together in the pile up.

  He slowed when he heard wheezing, hard fought breathing from a man trapped behind the wheel of a car smashed front and back. Scott put the bike back on the kickstand and ran to the car. The man was trapped by his airbag. He couldn’t reach the door handle around the inflatable bag. Scott tried to open the door. It was crushed and would not open. Scott looked around for something to pry it open with when the man hissed.