by Jack Hunt
“At Frank’s place.”
They obviously knew each other. “Any update on the virus?”
“I really shouldn’t be saying anything right now but looks as though the National Guard will be assisting us. We’ve had a few people break into the stores, nothing outrageous so far but definitely unusual for Clayton.”
He nodded.
“Where are you heading?”
“South. Queens.”
“Tonight?”
Another officer nearby told Wyatt to get them moving as Frank’s truck was holding up traffic.
“Yeah, yeah, okay. Look, can’t chat right now. Drive safe.”
And that was that. He guided them away from the flames that were shooting up in the air. The fire services were going to have their job cut out for them. They must have thought the place was going to blow otherwise they wouldn’t have kept them as far back as they had.
“How do you know him?” Frank asked.
“Oh, the police are some of my clients. Mostly guys trying to deal with the shit they see, and some of them are going through divorces. Wyatt has just come out of a twenty-two-year marriage. It’s destroyed the guy.”
“Can’t be easy.”
“You would be surprised what goes on in this town that never makes the papers.” He chuckled. “If they printed everything that happened, the residents would up and move. Did you know they had a serious drug problem going on?”
“Drugs?”
“Yeah, people smuggling in heroin from Canada into the States by boat.”
As Sal continued droning on, it soon became background noise to the conversation that was going on inside Frank’s head. At times, he felt like he had a split personality. One part of him would be telling him he was mad to be heading into an area that was knee-deep in a virus, the other part, the one that had military training and was physically strong, told him that this was nothing — just a short trip to bring his daughter back home.
There was nothing to be worried about. At least he hoped not.
As Clayton fell behind them in the rearview mirror, and the glow of the fire became nothing more than a distant flicker, Frank only hoped that his daughter wasn’t infected yet.
SIXTEEN
The situation in the residence had become dire. The response Charlie got from the phone call he made to emergency services was not what he expected. He figured a single ambulance would show up, cart the kid off and tend to Nolan, and that would be it. Instead, it was like a full-scale invasion of government officials from FEMA, the National Guard and the CDC. Police arrived on scene at the same time and before he knew what was happening, he had been guided inside the residence by a police officer covered in SWAT gear all the while he was being told to stay six feet back. They peppered him with questions and he told them he hadn’t been near the sick kid or Nolan. After years of working in the city, he knew how to take precautions unlike the idiots he worked beside. Not every public safety officer was an ex-cop. Some of them were students just looking to get some experience before they applied to become an officer. He could tell which ones would and which would bail. He didn’t mince words with them. Charlie told them that most of the time they would be snowed under with paperwork, frustrated with the justice system for releasing assholes they had just brought in, and they would probably spend their evenings alone because their partner couldn’t handle being married to a cop. Charlie was in his late fifties and he’d been married twice and both times it ended in divorce.
“Just stay put, sir,” an officer said, while trying to hear what his partner was yelling.
His first wife had left him for another guy. She said she was tired of sleeping alone. He couldn’t blame her. The other got tired of him staring into space every time he came home. The truth was, if she had seen the shit he had, she would have probably admitted herself into a hospital ward. Hauling in criminals was one thing; busting assholes who’d beat on kids utterly ruined him. He always thought he would be ready to see the worst of society. Nothing could have prepared him to deal with the abuse and murder cases he had to cope with.
“You think you can tell me what is going on? I worked for over twenty-years in the NYPD.” The young officer who was no older than twenty looked back at him, his face a mask of confusion.
“You’ll know soon enough.”
“I’ve got a job to do.”
“So do I,” the young officer shot back. He was frustrated, distracted and probably running on little sleep. Charlie knew that with the cordon sanitaire in effect in Manhattan, police and military would be working overtime to ensure people didn’t escape or riot. All of which meant that there would be a skeleton crew handling any incidents outside, like this. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see officers from different towns in the area working together to pick up the slack as need trumped jurisdiction.
Charlie noted his name on his tag: Taylor.
His mind flashed back to thirty minutes before FEMA showed up in biohazard suits. He’d tracked down Nolan in one of the washrooms. He saw blood on his jacket and Nolan had told him that he thought the kid was dead because he wasn’t responding. That was before he coughed over him. Charlie had kept his distance and told him that medics were on their way but to sit tight while he went and checked on the kid. The problem was when he went to the location he was gone. Charlie followed small droplets of blood that led along the corridor to an elevator. A handprint of blood was smeared across the buttons.
Up until this point they’d been told that their main job that evening beyond regular duties was to prevent people returning to the campus. It was an idiotic idea probably conjured up by some asshole in a suit that had no clue what was involved in trying to secure such a large campus. They were understaffed, had no means of blocking off access to the residences and quite frankly, they weren’t trained to deal with a situation of such magnitude.
He watched as Officer Taylor walked over to the door and spoke with another officer who was further down the corridor. “You found him?”
Charlie couldn’t make out what they were saying but there definitely appeared to be a problem as he was told not to go anywhere before Taylor sprinted off in the direction of his partner. For a few seconds, Charlie sat there and then he decided to get up and go see what was going on. He wished he hadn’t.
“Sir, stay back six feet!”
“I need to leave. You can’t keep me here,” a young girl said. Her face was red, her eyes had thin streaks of blood coming down them.
“I said stay back,” Officer Taylor repeated his command along with another officer who was circling her but moving back as the girl pressed forward down the corridor. She wasn’t listening to them and she sure as hell didn’t look like she was going to stop.
Charlie had seen situations like these countless times. Usually it was when dealing with mental health patients. In most instances, they had to pepper spray or Taser them. Taylor pulled his Taser and she moved a few more steps towards them and he unloaded on her. The electrified probes hit her in the stomach and her body began to convulse before she hit the floor. In that moment, a high voltage at low amperage was being pulsed into her body and causing her nervous system pain and her muscles to contract. She flopped around on the ground like a fish out of water.
Taylor got on the radio and was telling them to get the FEMA guys to the second floor. He looked back momentarily and then shouted for Charlie to get back inside the room. Against his better judgment, he slipped into the stairwell and proceeded down. He was too old to put up with this shit and he certainly wasn’t going to get raked over the coals by his boss for not being at his post. As far as he could see, his work was done here. They were dealing with Nolan and no doubt trying to track down that sick kid. What bothered him though was the fact that the girl was the second sick student he’d seen that evening and it didn’t look like the typical run-of-the-mill flu. Blood coming from the corner of the eyes? What kind of shit were they dealing with here? He was beginning to wish he hadn’t c
ome into work. They certainly didn’t pay him enough to lose his life over it.
On the ground floor, he headed towards one of the exits with a degree of fear and trepidation at the sight of so many FEMA folks kitted out in biohazard suits. They looked like spacemen with their oversized head coverings, and loose-fitting plastic overalls. When he made it to the exit he banged the door and it didn’t open. He took his card from his keys and swiped it. Still nothing. Outside he could see even more trucks, SWAT teams and others covered in overalls. He banged on the door.
“Hey! Open up.”
One of them walked over and looked at him from behind a huge mask that covered his head and face. He motioned to someone and he thought he was about to be let out. Instead they began taping off the door with loose, see-through plastic sheeting.
“What? What the hell? Let me out. I’ve got a job to do.”
He banged again multiple times but it didn’t do anything. They just ignored him like he wasn’t even there. Charlie went to the next exit at the other end of the corridor. When he found it was locked as well, he used his radio to get in contact with Jimmy Faro.
“Jimmy, come in.”
“Hey boss.”
“Where are you?”
“They’ve got me in a room with Peters and Jameson. They want to run some tests. I keep telling them I was wearing a mask and I didn’t come in contact with anyone who was infected but they aren’t buying it. Where are you?”
“Century Hall. They’ve locked this place up. You want to have a word with them and get me out?”
When Jimmy replied, he knew he was fucked. “Sorry, Charlie, the National Guard and FEMA seem to be running the show now.”
Deflated by the turn of events he started walking away from the exit and was making his way down to one of the study lounges that had a few comfy chairs, when the same irate officer who had been on the second floor spotted him.
“You!” he pointed and jogged down to him. “I told you to wait.”
“Kid, if you are in here with me, there is a good chance you aren’t getting out either.”
“What?”
“They have the doors locked.”
His brow furrowed in confusion and he immediately got on his radio. The response he got wasn’t what he was hoping for. Whoever was in charge of this shit fest had obviously forgot to mention that in the event they came in contact with the infected, they themselves would be isolated along with the infected.
“Welcome to my nightmare,” Charlie said edging his way around him making sure to keep his distance. He paused momentarily to glance at his phone. “Well, hey look at that, at least they haven’t switched off Internet access,” Charlie muttered before continuing to the common room. He immediately got on the phone to his boss to get some update on the situation, what folks were going to do to get food in here and an estimation on when they might have them out.
MEANWHILE, on the third floor, Ella stood by the window looking down on the parade of students and FEMA employees. Someone was setting up floodlights, and tents.
“You know, I once saw this piece in the newspapers about FEMA and Health and Human Services. Yeah, apparently they have already put in place FEMA camps, purchased plastic coffins and are ready to go with a whole bunch of mass graves,” Tyrell muttered. He perched on the end of the bed flicking through the channels trying to see what was going on outside and if the campus had hit the news yet.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Gabriel muttered to Tyrell. He was on the phone trying to get one of his buddies at one of the other residences to go grab his truck and bring it around. He had every intention of getting out and was planning on breaking a window on the first floor, in an area where there weren’t as many eyes on them.
“No, I’m dead serious, man, you can look it up online. It’s crazy. FEMA camp coffins, look it up. The government is planning something big or they know something we don’t.”
“Dude, think about it, if some pandemic wiped nearly everyone out, why the hell would they go to all the trouble to bury us in coffins? They would just dig a hole and scoop us into it.”
Right then Gabriel must have got his buddy on the line as he turned his attention to the conversation.
“Jason, thank fuck for that. I thought we were going to have to do this ourselves. So they haven’t locked down Donavan Hall?”
He nodded, and ummed and ahed while pacing back and forth in the room. Occasionally he would glance at Ella but then return to his conversation.
“Look, we just need a ride.” He paused. “Why can’t we run? Have you looked outside? This place is swarming. It’s like E.T. with government officials all over the place. Just swing your truck over here on the northwest side, we’ll get out and then just bring us around the west side where Tyrell’s truck is.”
He paused as if trying to hear what he was saying.
“Tyrell? No that’s Tyson. Tyrell is the black guy. You know him; he tends to drone on a bit and has terrible luck with the women.”
“Hey!” Tyrell protested but continued to be glued to the TV.
“Yeah, ground floor. Just look for a broken window.” Gabriel put his finger in his ear. “Hold on a second.” He paused to shout at Tyrell. “Turn that down.”
“Look, the campus is on TV.”
Gabriel walked over to the window. “Yeah, five minutes from now sounds good. All right, buddy, I appreciate it.”
He hung up and looked over to Ella. “You ready to get the hell out of here?”
SEVENTEEN
Frank envisioned climbing out of his truck and unloading several rounds over the top of their heads, and yelling for everyone to get a fucking move on. But, even though the country was going to hell in a handbasket, that was still liable to land him a lengthy stay in prison.
The truck idled behind a huge line of traffic. A plume of exhaust fumes created a fog that he could smell behind his mask. He lifted it briefly to wipe the sweat away from his face and then switched on the radio to see if he could get an update on the traffic.
“Unfreakinbelievable,” he muttered.
“Guess everyone had the same idea as us.”
“Some days I wish I had my own road. You know, you always hear about what the next president would do if they got into power. Well, hell, I wouldn’t build a wall. I would build a road. One that only I could use, no one else was allowed on it. And if they veered into it, it would be off with their heads. You know, King Henry the Eighth style”
Sal chuckled. He had his elbow out the passenger side window and was tapping his fingers against the frame of the door. They had been sitting in traffic for the past hour. It seemed that any chance of them managing to get to Queens before panic set in was gone.
“You want to close the window?” Frank asked.
“I need some fresh air.”
“Fresh air? We are going to die of inhaling fumes long before this virus works its way through our veins.”
Sal shook his head and brought the window up. He was swiping through his phone and looking at CNN. Frank had already told him that CNN was the least reliable source of news. He would be better off keeping an eye on what was trending on Twitter. They lived in a day and age where the general public got news out faster than most networks and usually theirs was more accurate. He figured that what the media showed them was only what they wanted them to know. The real important stuff was held back.
“At this rate, it will be too late.”
“Have a little faith, Frank.”
They were traveling south on I-81, and then planning on going east on NY-17 but after seeing all the traffic ahead of them, Frank was beginning to think that a cross-country detour might be in order. The worst part was there were no police on the road or tow trucks in the event that a problem arose. All of them were probably dealing with health situations around hospitals, and major rioting in bigger cities.
“What do you think will happen if the government doesn’t reel this in?” Sal asked.
Frank gave a
nod with his head. “That.”
Five vehicles ahead of them, two men had got out of their vehicles and were having a heated exchange over something. God knows what for but neither of them wore masks. He saw one of them pointing to the other man’s vehicle and he appeared to be indicating that he had perhaps collided with his bumper. At first it looked as though they might resolve the issue by exchanging insurance details or just letting it slide but when the one man walked back to his car, the other one rushed up behind him and shoved him so hard it caused him to stumble and knock his head on his vehicle.
“Ah shit,” Frank said watching it play out in front of him. The guy that had just injured his head got up and immediately reached into his trunk and pulled out — a crowbar? You’ve got to be joking. The other guy raced back to his vehicle to escape the ass whooping that was coming but it was pointless. Everyone was bumper-to-bumper and the opportunity of swerving out and going down the hard shoulder was gone as it was already filled with folks who thought they were going to skip the line.
The large fella with the crowbar attacked the man’s vehicle with fury, smashing the shit out of the back window and then taking out his lights. Within minutes the vehicle was covered in dents.
“We should call 911,” Sal said.
“Don’t bother, they won’t show up.”
Frank cracked the door on his vehicle and Sal grabbed his arm. “Leave it, Frank. Don’t get involved.”
“You see anyone else getting involved?”
There were few things that riled him up more than seeing people assault one another. The country was facing probably the worst thing that had hit it since the Spanish flu and these two idiots were going to kill each other over a mild collision.
“I’m just going to have a word with them.”
Before he got out he checked his Glock and tucked it into the back of his jeans, then brought his shirt over the top. Drivers were honking their horns thinking that was going to get the two men to stop but they weren’t paying any attention. The guy with the crowbar had tunnel vision. Of course, he had a good reason to feel pissed, he wasn’t the one who took the first shot but resorting to a weapon without trying to talk it out or at least use his fists first was escalating the whole situation.
