When he reached the peak, of course he saw further peaks, but this would do. He enjoyed the vista. For a moment he felt the past impinge. On their trips cross country looking for work his mother had always demanded they stop at anything that said view point.
Mannie noticed a slight road. He could have driven around behind the backside of the hill and all the way to here. Well, the easiest way often left something to be desired. He’d enjoyed the short climb and the quickness of his breath told him he needed it.
With a sigh for the job he needed to do, Mannie placed the binoculars to his eyes and stared down at the Data Center. The lights Lizzie and Zach had spoken of were off, probably automatic. He couldn’t see the gatehouse clearly from here, but he could see the double high chain-link fence with razor wire rolled around the top.
Mannie scanned the area. The snow covered ground rolled in all directions. Much of the landscape was concealed under a white blanket. Wasn’t going to be much to learn up here. He hustled down the hill to drive out the chill. Hopping into Rubi, he fired her up, turning the heat on high.
With no traffic, he drove north on the southbound side of the highway, and came to the spot of the skirmish. He knew it because the van that had taken him there sat still, silent, but with several bullet holes and a broken window as testament to what had occurred.
It already seemed like years in the past, another memory to go with all the others: the scent of gunfire, smoke in the eyes and the horrible sounds of bullets impacting flesh. Mannie crossed himself. He’d lost the belief years ago, but it felt right, being respectful to the dead. “May whatever god or gods you believe in, hold you and keep you.”
He hunted around but couldn’t find any sign the Independents had come to or from the data center. He climbed back in Rubi and headed down the hill, tipping his head with respect at the mound and the simple wooden cross with its one word epitaph. Spike.
He came to the Camp Williams sign on the left. The Data Center lay out of sight behind the ridge. He turned off the engine, rolled down the windows and let Rubi coast down the hill. Mannie’s eyes and ears were on full alert, but nothing disturbed the vast desert of snow.
When he had coasted past where he could see the tops of the buildings he let Rubi slide over onto the shoulder. He fetched the binoculars from the back seat, and put his white stocking cap on instead of the Ranger hat. The barbed wire fence by the side of the road, would allow him over if he was careful. Placing his foot on the bottom wire near the post, he eased his other leg over the side.
He hustled up the slope and dropped to his stomach in the snow at the top. The sun had traveled halfway up the sky and the chill had receded. Scanning the area with bare eyes and then with the binocs, he saw no movement. He waited, rolling to his back and staring at the sky. Blue patches showed through the white. Might burn off and be a decent day. He closed his eyes and breathed deep in the cool air. It felt good to be outside, away from people. Mannie pushed himself back over, and scanned the facility again. Still nothing.
He pulled out his cell-phone and called Captain Foote.
“Guerrero?”
“Yes, sir. On site. It’s all silent. No sign of any activity.”
Foote was quiet.
Mannie waited.
“Why don’t you check back for a few hours at dusk?”
“Yes, sir. May I do additional recon, sir?” Mannie hoped he wouldn’t have to be more obvious than that.
Foote chuckled. “Go ahead. Enjoy your freedom.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Mannie did one last scan with the binoculars and then backed down on his knees toward Rubi. As soon as he couldn’t see the buildings standing, he ran through the snow.
He jerked Rubi’s rear door open, tossed his jacket inside, and kicked the snow off his boots. Then he climbed into the cab and headed her down the hill. As he pulled onto Utah 73, a thought brought him up short. He stopped at the stop sign and sat there to think. What if the provisional government was actually tracking his movements? Paranoid, yes. Or checking the odometer. His cell phone would tell them where he was approximately.
I need another vehicle. He pulled forward slowly glancing around for a likely car to steal. No one was really tracking him, where they? Mannie had seen enough people with too much power. And if they were thinking of making a move on the NSA Data Center they had big dreams in a small town.
Mannie pulled out the phone Lizzie had given him—the safe phone. He pushed the power button and drove while it booted. When it came to the home screen he slowed to a stop and pressed the map icon. “Fire Station nearby,” he said into the phone. It still felt a little too Star Trek to talk to your phone.
The map spun into a location for the Saratoga Springs Fire Station. 1.2 miles back the way he’d come. He whipped Rubi around and stepped on the gas.
At the station the garage doors were open and an ambulance, a fire truck and a red SUV were inside.
He pulled up to the side and got out. “Hallo?” No answer. He walked to the SUV. The keys were in the ignition. He twisted the key and the engine growled to life. He left it running and returned to Rubi.
He pulled his backpack out and strapped his sidearm on. He pulled his government issue phone from his pocket, plugged it into the cigarette lighter power, and left it sitting inside Rubi. He put his Ranger cap back on.
In minutes, he was back on SR73 and headed west. Switching vehicles had his nerves all wound up. You’re no James Bond, Mannie.
On the morning of Lizzie’s last day of freedom before she had to go back to the hippo class, the doorbell rang.
“Coming.” Maybe it was Duke. She looked out the peephole. A man and a woman in business suits. Lizzie stared at them for a moment before she opened the door. “May I help you?”
“Elizabeth Goodin?” the lady asked, her voice sounding like years of cigarette smoke. Her face had that pinched look of leather from too much sun, probably aggravated by the tobacco. Her name tag identified her as Renee Reed, DCFS Liaison.
“Goodin-Guerrero,” Lizzie answered. “Lizzie, please.” Cold dread crept over Lizzie. We’re from the government and we’re here to help.
“May we come in?” The young man asked. His name tag said Eric Wallach hand-printed in block letters that reminded Lizzie of elementary school.
“As long as you’re not vampires.” Lizzie joked, trying to hold onto her nerves. The suits stared back at her. Why didn’t people get her jokes? “Yeah, come in. My little boy is sick and sleeping.”
“He’s actually what we want to talk to you about. I’m Renee Reed. This is Eric Wallach.”
“You’ve put in adoption papers for—” Wallach opened a pocket notebook and looked inside it. “Sebastian Antonio Jones.”
Lizzie chest seized and her heart pounded. “Yes, of course.” DCFS must be like Child Protective Services back home in Washington State. She motioned them inside. “Can I get you anything to drink?” She walked through to the kitchen.
“No, thanks.”
“Have a seat. I’ll be right there.” She puttered nervously around the kitchen trying to calm her nerves. Finally she poured herself a tall glass of water and went to sit at the table with them.
“What’s the next step?” she asked.
“We’ve done a background check. And now we’d like to interview you. Then we make a report."
“Okay.” Lizzie put her hands in her lap where they could not see them wrestling with each other. Flo and Daddy both said it would just be a paperwork slog. Why did it have to be so difficult? But she’d do it for Saj. “What do you want to know?”
They asked her a series of questions she thought they should already know from their background check. Who was her mother? What about her father? What was her parenting experience? Then the questions got deeper. Why had she spent time in a psych ward? They asked about Zach’s shoplifting. Would he be doing any parenting of Saj, since he was the father of her baby?
Lizzie took a drink of water for that one and tried to
explain her relationship with Zach succinctly, but it ended up getting longer and longer until Wallach held his hand up.
“We don’t need to know everything. I think you’ve given us a sense.”
“One more question. Last week you didn’t show up for your Monday birthing class. Can you tell us where you were?”
Lizzie took a drink of water. What were they getting at? “I didn’t feel well. The next day, Saj got sick.” She heard herself say it, and it sounded about as unbelievable as she thought it would.
Reed wrote a note in her notebook. “You haven’t been out of the city since you arrived?”
“No. Of course not.” Lizzie stared at the glass of water. “It’s dangerous out there. Zach said there are cougars.” Did they know already? Had Zach narced on her?
“That’s all we need for now.” Reed stood abruptly, and Wallach followed her lead.
Lizzie shook hands with them, hoping the sweat seeping from her palms wasn’t obvious.
“Good afternoon,” Reed said.
When they were gone Lizzie hurried in to check on Saj. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach coiled around her heart.
She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and stabbed out a text to Zach. We need 2 talk. Now.
Chapter Thirteen
THE MONOTONY OF THE SNOW on the road was broken by the sign for Dugway Proving Ground. Mannie lifted his foot from the accelerator, coming in slow.
Two soldiers, fully-armed and armored, came out of the gatehouse and flagged him to halt. He rolled his window down and held his left hand up. A military Humvee of reinforcements whizzed across the pavement toward the gate house.
Mannie announced, “Lieutenant Manuel Guerrero, U.S. Army Reserves.”
“Step out of the vehicle.”
Mannie kept his left arm visible and opened the door with his right.
“You have ID?”
“Yes.” Mannie nodded. “Wallet, back pocket.” He turned so they could see him pull it out. Mannie handed his wallet to the first soldier, who took it without looking at it. Two more soldiers hustled out of the Humvee. A tall man with a warm amber skin-tone and casual civilian clothes followed them more sedately. His facial expression was ambiguous, but obvious smile lines hinted at someone with a ready laugh. A stocky soldier with a Medical Corps insignia pulled a medical kit from the vehicle and hustled to catch up.
The tall civilian gestured toward Mannie’s borrowed SUV. “Inspect the vehicle.”
The Medic jerked hospital gloves and a mask from his bag and held them out to the tall man, who waved him off and stepped toward Mannie. He took the wallet offered by the soldier, opened it and flipped through it. When he found Mannie’s military ID he scrutinized it and then Mannie carefully. “Mr. Guerrero?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What brings you out so far into the wilderness?” The man’s eyes were amused, but the tension in the rest of his face and posture belied it.
“Duty.”
“What duty?” He asked brusquely, returning Mannie’s ID.
“Can we go somewhere warmer to discuss it, Mr….?”
“Dwayne Jones. Welcome to Dugway, Mr. Guerrero.”
“Home of the Mustangs,” Mannie read the sign on the gatehouse.
“A long time ago, maybe.” Dwayne gestured to the passenger seat of the Humvee.
Mannie slid into the seat as Dwayne and one of the armed soldiers got in the back. The vehicle jumped forward and they rolled toward the conglomeration of functional-looking buildings, topped by a water tower.
“I’ve got to be back near Provo in three hours,” he said, hoping they would interpret this as: people were expecting him. “May I speak frankly?”
“I’m all ears.”
“I’m living in Provo. But I came up from Texas. On the way, I made a detour through San Antonio, met an Army Captain who thought it would be prudent to check out the status here. It seemed like a good idea.” Better keep things to the point right now.
Dwayne nodded, but didn’t offer anything in return.
“Allegiance is a tricky thing right now, but something as close to the United States government as can be had seems like the best option.” Suggest my loyalties lie with them, without actually saying it. “I’m officially out this way to check on the NSA Data center, for the new Provisional Utah Government.” He dropped exactly the information he wanted them to have with each word. These guys might end up being a better option than Provo, or they might not. It was too early to tell. In the meantime he needed to control the situation and the information flow, while still appearing helpful.
Dwayne’s eyes lit up and he leaned forward. “And?”
“It’s there. Supposedly military inside, but I don’t know more than that.”
“Who’s running things in Provo?”
“Mark Ray was just elected mayor. He seems like a good man.”
“But?”
Make them think they are digging information out of me that I am holding back. “But, I’m not sure if he’s really running things. There’s another man, Tony DiSilvio.”
Silence. There was nothing to hear except the whine of the engine as Mr. Jones considered the information.
“So why are you here, Lieutenant?”
“I promised San Antonio I’d try to contact you.”
They stopped in front of a rectangular cinder block building. Mr. Jones stepped out and Mannie followed him inside. Mr. Jones sat down in a comfortable chair in what seemed to be a waiting room.
“And report back.” Dwayne’s eyes glittered shrewdly. He knew Mannie was dancing around the truth, but he was letting him keep his secrets, for now.
Mannie gave a brief nod, more a show of respect for Dwayne’s win in their little match of wits than agreement.
“I’m the lead biologist here,” said Dwayne, as though explaining he was a brain, not a military man. “Most of our trained personnel are dead. We’d like to be recruiting and retraining, but the consensus is we can’t be visible yet. We’ve been spending our time processing samples from our own people. We want to be sure the virus is really dead, or manufacture a vaccine if it’s not. We do valuable work here, and could use more trained military men.”
“What do you know about the virus?” Mannie hoped he didn’t really sound as desperate and helpless as he felt.
“It has an unusually long incubation period, 10-12 days. Manifests with a stuffy nose and cough like the common cold. Then the patient gradually goes downhill. Seems to be contagious for weeks. Airborne by mucus and also transmittable hand to mouth. A 90-95% mortality rate. Aboriginal peoples in the Americas seem most resistant.” He glanced at Mannie meaningfully. “There are two kinds of survivors, those who were immune and never got it, and those who managed to fight it off, but seem to have suffered brain damage in the process.”
Mannie nodded, none of this was particularly new information to him. The important questions were: How did it start? Was it natural? Could it happen again? But he contained his questions. “My daughter calls them Dog-people.”
Dwayne paused, looking at Mannie thoughtfully, then continued. “The best minds left in the world believe the virus killed itself off by being so virulent.”
“You seem skeptical.”
“I’m a scientist, that’s what we do. Of the 987 people in Dugway when it hit… 92 survived until November 1st. We’ve had two deaths since then, but both were suicides. Secondary casualties.”
Mannie had considered suicide. It was on his mind the week after Isabela died. Right up until Lizzie had called. “So tell me something? For someone who thinks the virus could still be out there, you don’t seem to be taking many precautions.”
“Well, we’ve all been more than exposed. We decided to forgo the bulky equipment a few weeks ago on the assumption that even if the virus is still out there, we are all likely immune. The protocols were inconvenient to the soldiers, and difficult to enforce. Not to mention costly on our supplies of biohazard gear. An executive decisio
n was made to save that gear for lab testing where it was more necessary.”
He had a sour expression that made Mannie reconsider whether Dwayne was in charge. Perhaps he wasn’t the executive who made the decision.
Dwayne drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “You didn’t finish telling me what you plan to do, I don’t think.”
“Don’t know really.” That was the truth. “If things were simple, I would include you in my report to Provo.”
Dwayne’s response was immediate. “But things aren’t simple, are they? Too much could go wrong in that scenario—people attacking Dugway for a cure, or someone to blame. Medical research facilities are the ones responsible for outbreaks in the movies after all.”
“Tend to agree… But—” Mannie stood, getting to the bargain at hand. “If things go south in Provo, I need a secondary location to bring my family.”
Dwayne kept his poker face. “We have homes ready for families of new recruits.” He wasn’t revealing all his cards either.
Lizzie paced the carpet as Zach sat on her couch with his feet up. “Dammit, Zach. That’s my story. Glen talked to me. Why’d you narc it out to The Shitty people? You want me to tell you whenever I’m thinking about doing something dangerous and then you pull this?”
Zach stared at her like she was stupid. “This is the opposite of dangerous. It’s about safety. We have no idea how many soldiers are at that facility. We don’t know who they’re loyal to-”
Lizzie scoffed and earned an eye roll. “We don’t? It seems pretty obvious to me. They’re U.S. Government troops and I expect at some point they’ll be able to communicate with the newly re-formed U.S. Government.”
“Do you trust the newly re-formed U.S. Government?”
“Do I trust anybody?” She stabbed her finger at his chest, stopping short of actually touching him. “No. But I’m not a traitor.”
“A traitor to what? The new U.S. government has no power. You remember what your dad said about San Antonio? That’s where the power is. There and in that NSA facility. And here. Here we have a good thing. People are safe. People are taking care of each other. Hell, even you are helping out.”
Deserted Lands (Book 2): Straight Into Darkness Page 11
