Pandora - Contagion

by Eric L. Harry

  No reply came, but the son exchanged looks with his parents. He’s AWOL, Noah thought, deciding to drop the touchy topic right there.

  “You headed down to town?” Margie asked. She prodded Angus with her elbow.

  “Lemme give you a lift,” he said. Before Noah could decline, the man disappeared into the store.

  In the silence, Margie asked, “Did you get that recorded phone call? About the virus breaking out in the valley? I ain’t seen any of ’em, have you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Got ’em,” Angus said on returning, jingling his keys in air and heading for his ancient pick-up truck.

  “Have a nice day,” Noah said to Margie and Margus.

  Noah donned his mask before opening the incredibly loud, creaky door and settling onto the massively perforated and duct-taped seat cushion. The engine sputtered to life, emitting a pre-climate-conscious cloud of exhaust smoke. Angus was looking at Noah’s mask.

  “Oh, this? It’s, you know, just a precaution.”

  “I ain’t complainin’,” Angus replied as he pulled out. “It protects me as much as you, right?” They passed wary refugees camped along the rural state highway. “Say, Mr. Miller, we were all kinda scratchin’ our heads tryin’ to figure out what that army helicopter was doin’ up at your place.”

  Noah tried to decide how to play it, and opted for ominous mystery. “I’m not really at liberty to say, Angus.”

  He got a knowing nod in reply. “That’s what we all figured. I tol’ ’em ’bout all yer fencin’ and yer radio tower, and that big explosion ever’body heard. I’m glad our gov’ment ain’t just rollin’ over and playin’ dead.”

  Noah gave the man a thoughtful expression that could have been agreement.

  When they passed the city limits sign, Angus said, “So, where can I drop ya off?”

  “I guess at the sheriff’s office.”

  “Has Trey Nichols been givin’ you trouble?”

  Noah shook his head, but was now alert and stared back at Angus. “Why?”

  “Oh, he’s just been actin’ all…I dunno. I guess it was the shock, ya know, him findin’ his brother’s kid all cut up like that. His brother is in the Reserves and got called up. Trey was responsible for his niece and nephew and he, you know, took it hard. He’s usually fairly even-keeled. I’ve never seen him like this. Been drinkin’ some, too. It’s probably a good thing that you check in with the Sheriff. I told Trey that there’s no way of tellin’ who might have done what was done. There’s all kinds of outsiders roamin’ around these parts nowadays. And obviously they had that outbreak down to Rawley Springs.”

  “But not up here?”

  “Not that we’ve heard. But Walcott gets calls about suspicious sorts all the time, and it coulda been any one of them, I was tellin’ Trey.”

  “So, is Trey somebody I oughta be worried about?”

  It was far from comforting when Angus took his time replying. “Gotta worry about everybody these days, I guess. Best you talk to Walcott. I told him everything I know.”

  “Which is what?”

  Angus shot a look over. “Trey was really wound up last night when he came by the store. He’d been drinkin’ a lot, from the smell of him. He was just blowin’ off steam, I figure. But I called Walcott and told him he was talkin’ some stuff, ya know?”

  “No, I don’t. What stuff?”

  There was a long delay. The brakes squealed as the rattling, faded blue truck pulled to a stop in front of the sheriff’s office. “He was tryin’ to, I guess, recruit me to join his little posse. Tryin’ to get us to go with him back up to your place to ‘get justice,’ he was sayin’. Walcott wasn’t surprised. Trey had been hittin’ up the other members of the militia, but Walcott assured me they’d all said no and that he’d calm Trey down.”

  Noah thanked him for the ride and entered the sheriff’s building with newfound urgency. Walcott’s office was crowded with a couple of deputies and several civilians, but when Walcott saw Noah he came straight out. “Mr. Miller? Everything okay up there?”

  “Well, no, actually. I’ve been hearing that Trey Nichols is…I dunno, riled up?”

  Walcott took a deep breath and caught his secretary’s eye. She resumed her typing. “Has he done anything?”

  “No. But…is he somebody I should be worrying about?”

  Walcott led Noah outside and away from prying ears, which now included the deputies and civilians in his office. Down the street, the large brick army reserve building was a hive of activity. A man in combat dress stood at the door holding an assault rifle at the ready. But his hair was longish, not regulation length.

  The sheriff turned to Noah. “Look, I’ve known Trey Nichols since Sunday School.” The words seemed to pain him as he spoke. “But I, honestly, Mr. Miller, cain’t answer your question. Everything’s changin’ so fast. Up is down, and wrong is right.” He tilted his cowboy hat back. “I talked to him—tried to talk some sense into him—but he’s just convinced you’re harboring some Infecteds up at your place, and they’s the ones who kilt Trey’s nephew. Said he saw one of ’em runnin’ off back toward the highway in the direction of your place the night it happened. Then he said he saw that girl out joggin’. Said it was the same person, although he hadn’t mentioned her bein’ a girl in his first report.”

  “So you’re saying, Sheriff, that he’s got it in for me and my family?”

  “I didn’t say that.” But he ended his denial there.

  “I’d better get back,” Noah said. Walcott gave him a lift in his police pickup. “What’s going on in the National Guard armory?”

  “Well sir, they’s tryin’ to figure out what to do with the weapons in there. Since you successfully kilt my idea for a citizens’ militia, we’re just guardin’ the armory for the time bein’. Waitin’ on orders. But if those orders never come, we gotta make the call on our own.”

  “And the virus has reached the valley?”

  “We quarantined a Salvation Army soup line where it broke out. And Rawley Springs PD pulled a car over with New Hampshire plates, and they scattered. Kilt one, winged another, but two got away. The one they wounded had black eyes. They’re lookin’ for the others, but…these woods ’round here are thick.”

  “What’d they do with the one they wounded?”

  Walcott looked at him in silence before he said, “She expired. From her wounds.”

  Noah didn’t ask for more. Walcott pulled up beside the locked gate to the now severed ridge road. “You didn’t drive?”

  “That ridge road you took up to my place—it’s now out.”

  “That didn’t have anything to do with that big boom I got reports on, I s’pose?”

  “Good luck, Sheriff.”

  “You too, Mr. Miller.” Noah hesitated, searching the man’s face for any deeper meaning. He waved as the sheriff drove off. The more he thought about Walcott’s send off, the more anxious he grew.

  But everything seemed normal on his climb up the hill, and the physical effort took the edge off his nerves. It was nothing. Paranoia of the times.

  About half way up, Noah practically jumped out of his skin when a slim blond girl stepped out from behind a thick tree. Samantha’s blue eyes had returned to normal, but her total lack of expression was off-putting. “Oh! Jesus! You scared the crap outta me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said in her reedy girlish voice, thin arms dangling at her sides. “Emma told me to wait for you.”

  Noah’s guard rose. “Why? Is there any trouble?” He pulled his radio out of his backpack. “Shit!” It was turned off.

  Samantha waited for Noah to look up at her. “No,” she replied, and Noah relaxed. “But your son is probably dead.”

  Chapter 28

  THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY, VIRGINIA

  Infection Date 56, 1645 GMT (12:45 p.m. Local)

&nb
sp; “Jake!” Emma’s brother Noah shouted from atop a rocky crag. “Ja-a-ake!”

  “He’s dead,” Dwayne said quietly. Emma agreed.

  “Here’s more!” Emma’s niece Chloe called out.

  They all joined her. Dwayne smelled one of the numerous singed shell casings that lay scattered among the rocks. Noah took it from him and said, “It’s 5.56.” Noah’s head darted all about. His eyes were wide, and his breathing was shallow.

  “Noah,” Emma said. “In through the nose. Out through the mouth.”

  “What?” He got on his hands and knees and frantically searched the ground, presumably looking for a blood trail. He was acting erratically. His emotions were getting the better of him.

  Even Chloe was disturbed. “Dad? What are you doing?”

  “I see a body.” Dwayne pointed into the gully beneath where they stood. A blue-jean clad leg was draped over a rock. Jake had been wearing jeans.

  Noah scampered down the hill. There was little need to hurry. The body was deathly still. They all followed, but before they were half way to Noah, he announced, “It’s not him! It’s not…!” He squatted and covered his face with both hands. The dead person was a middle-aged woman with a drying blood stain in her chest. Noah kept his distance, reclining against a rock, trying to breathe.

  “Dad?”

  Noah’s radio crackled. “Anything?” came Natalie’s scratchy voice.

  “No. More bullets, and a dead body. Shot. Jake was…He’s fighting.”

  Again Dwayne caught Emma’s eye. They had been up at the cabin when they heard sporadic gunfire coming from downhill, and had immediately headed for the main house. Natalie and Chloe both came running out to the fence with rifles. “It must be Jake!” Noah’s wife had said. “He’s out there somewhere.”

  Standing at the fence, everyone had turned toward the sudden but distant sound of more gunfire. Samantha had arrived from the cabin, and they had sent her to meet Noah. Before Emma and Dwayne found the first of the spent rounds, they had heard more shooting and kept up their pursuit. But they hadn’t heard anything at all for almost an hour.

  “Do you know anybody named Nichols?” Dwayne asked as he looked at the driver’s license he’d removed from the dead woman’s wallet.

  “Fuck!” Noah said. “They’re our neighbors.” He looked at Emma. “The ones whose young nephew was butchered.” That made sense to her. They must be seeking revenge, another emotion for which this woman, and probably Jake, had ended up dying unnecessarily. Noah glared at Emma with his teeth bared and jaw set.

  The radio crackled. “He’s here,” Natalie said. “Jake. He’s back ho…home.” Her last word was broken and choked.

  Noah clawed at the hill as he climbed, with Chloe right behind.

  “What should we do with this body?” Emma called out to their backs.

  “Don’t care!” Noah shouted before disappearing over the ridge.

  They retrieved the woman’s shotgun and a half dozen shells from her jacket’s pocket, and left her body there for the wildlife.

  * * * *

  Jake hyperactively regaled his family and Samantha with his exploits. “Then all the sudden this tree beside me went smack right before I heard the gun. It was like…backwards. The gunshot echoed so long I didn’t realize they were still shooting at me. When I did, I hauled ass all the way down to the highway. They followed me, and I shot back. I don’t think I hit anybody, but I fought back, Dad, just like they taught us.”

  “You killed one,” Noah said. “A woman.”

  “A woman?” Jake repeated, his pubescent voice breaking. “I did?”

  “It’s okay, Jake,” his father said.

  “You did good.” Natalie kissed the boy, who no longer seemed excited to tell his story. She pulled Jake’s head all the way down to her shoulder, closed her eyes, and cradled his face.

  Jake broke free of her embrace. “They shot at me first,” he said even though no one was blaming him. “I didn’t have a choice,” he pleaded to no one. “I…They were trying to kill me.” Emma tried to figure out what his problem was. No one was questioning the propriety of his actions. Could it be that voice in Uninfecteds’ heads, accusing him? His conscience? Is that what feeling guilty is?

  “Something’s gotta be done about the Nichols,” Natalie said, turning to Emma. “They’re gonna come back. Now there are two of them dead. You started this, Emma. You need to fix this.”

  Emma nodded, and headed for the gate. Dwayne and Samantha followed her.

  “Wait!” Noah called out as they departed. “What are you gonna do?”

  But when they stopped and turned, Natalie was whispering to Noah, holding his forearm and shaking her head. “Let them go. Let them go,” she repeated. Noah seemed shocked, but his wife’s logic was sound and decision-making level-headed.

  “Natalie…really?” She nodded slowly. Noah’s mouth hung open, but he had nothing more to say and stared back at his wife as they departed.

  Emma and Dwayne developed their plan on the hike back to the cabin. When it was settled and they fell silent, Samantha asked, “How old is Jake?”

  “A year older than you,” Emma replied.

  “He’s good at fighting. And tall. And he’s cute, right?”

  Chapter 29

  ABOARD E-4B

  Infection Date 57, 1400 GMT (10:00 a.m. Local)

  Two days in the air. Two days! Isabel twisted and turned in her assigned seat, which she had initially thought was comfortable but now revealed previously concealed lumps and hard spots. But the worst thing was doing nothing. Knowing nothing.

  What was Rick doing? At least she had Pentagon anecdotes to read on her iPad app. That one portal through the Nightwatch firewall was open.

  One entry caught her eye. “From: Townsend (Cpt. USMC).” Her eyes popped open and she sat up. His report was dated a month earlier from Vladivostok. She had run into Rick at the White House upon his return from that mission. He’d seemed shaken.

  “Four nuclashes,” the Pentagon abstract read, “over 60 sec., range 8-60 km. Substantial blast and heat effects from nearest airburst at 3,000-5,000 ft. Observed 1st and 2nd degree burns of exposed Russian troops, and 3rd degree burns on Chinese Infecteds along Tumen River (est. 2 million total) closer to ground zero, who immediately overran Russian blocking positions (100% KIA/WIA/MIA). Began emergency egress with WHO field team (Lange, Groenewalt), but were overtaken by Infecteds. Russian army helicopter secured LZ with 2 x miniguns. Cpt. Townsend expended all 700 rounds of 5.56 mm before reaching LZ with Lange/Groenewalt, and fired 9 mm from wheel strut at three naked, burned Infecteds clinging to undercarriage and to Townsend (in full MOPP gear). Second helo overcome by Infecteds with 100% KIA (incl. 3 x USA SF; 1 x USN SEAL). Lesson learned: river ice singed by Russian artillery barrage absorbed radiant energy from detonations and melted, preventing passage across Tumen River into NK by Chinese Infecteds.”

  She searched for “Townsend,” and found numerous abstracts of his reports from Asia. The longest one was from China. “Est. 1.2-1.5 million uninfected refugees. No food, water, shelter, sewer, medical, security. Dysentery and disorder rampant. Several false rumors of SED outbreaks triggered multi-fatality violence. Refugees self-segregated into groups of 2-20 members guarding perimeters 10-50 sq. meters in area. Muddy space between perimeters was heavily rutted by foot traffic, which froze razor-sharp overnight and was obvious vector through camp for pathogen. Every morning, bodies were piled in informally dedicated collection sites. Repelled major, coordinated attack and two lesser efforts by refugees and renegade PLA soldiers to seize WHO field team’s supplies. Est. 150-175 enemy and 2 friendly KIA.”

  That sounded horrible, but it got worse. “Pandoravirus arrived on Day 3. Successive waves of panic washed through camp from all directions. Encroachment on defended perimeters by recoiling masses resulted in generalized close-in comba
t. Continuous, low-level, but lethal engagement of refugees and PLA by WHO field team security during fighting withdrawal through disorganized and confused battlespace. Est. 275-350 enemy KIA; 7 friendly KIA/MIA. Lesson learned: supply cough drops to prevent violence from false positives.”

  Cough drops? Isabel thought. But on further reflection, she realized a deeper truth: no list of proposals could stop the spread of the virus. It was nature, flicking aside its self-proclaimed dominant species as if in some parting taunt to almighty Homo sapiens.

  She found no further abstracts of Rick’s reports. The last entry in the Asian archives, Isabel read, was, “Only remaining contact is with Infecteds. No uninfected commo lines survive.” It had taken only a month for a complete collapse of China, North and South Korea, Vietnam, and the southern two main islands of Japan.

  She looked out the window at the sunny day above the clouds somewhere over something. Even their location was a secret, and she couldn’t see the ground or the water beneath them as clues to her whereabouts. Isabel rose to do some more strolling, and quickly ran into the air force crewmen who were power-walking up and down the aisles with hand and ankle weights to work up a sweat. Maybe she could do calisthenics tomorrow before her scheduled five-minute shower.

  She left the rest area at the very back of the 747 with its combination of blue seats and a precious few curtained bunk beds, always full, and headed forward into the cramped and hot little cabin that seemed to have something to do with communications judging from the labels atop the consoles, though she wasn’t sure what. “Tech 1” and “Tech 2” were mysterious titles given a man and a woman staring at glowing screens and wearing large over-ear and well-padded headphones like from the heyday of high-fidelity stereo.

  “May I help you?” the female Tech 2 asked.

  “Oh, I…” I’m bored out of my mind. Isabel quickly scanned the woman’s console. “What does ‘GEP’ stand for?” she read from a label.

  “Ground Entry Point,” the woman replied pleasantly enough, but unhelpfully.