“Good, you’ve made it.” With the noise of the crowd and his mask covering the lower half of his face, Veri’s voice was hard to hear, even though he was speaking directly into Bruno’s ear. Veri motioned towards the crowd. “They’re looking to buy insect repellant and anything else they can get to kill mosquitoes. You’ve heard about the mosquitoes, right?”
“Yeah. Bad news travels fast,” Bruno said.
“Well, it’s not supposed to open for another hour, but we called the pharmacy owner and he’s on his way.” Veri looked over Bruno’s shoulder towards the crowd. “I’m going to let them know what’s going on.”
Veri turned, raised his hands, and walked a few steps, right to the edge of the crowd. “All right, everyone!” Veri’s voice approached a shout. “Calogero DeLuca, the owner, is on his way—he’s going to open early, so everyone please stay calm!”
“When will he get here?” someone in the back shouted.
“I just spoke to him a few minutes ago, and he should be here very soon—perhaps ten minutes.” Veri stepped back towards the pharmacy entrance, terminating the conversation before some wise-ass asked any more questions. “Thank you all for your patience.”
Bruno watched the people react to Veri’s statement. People were talking to each other, the tension easing a bit. He hoped it would last. Two police officers took advantage of the lull to break from their line in front of the entrance to shepherd people out of the street. The traffic congestion began to ease, but there must have been over one hundred people arrayed on the sidewalk around the pharmacy’s entrance.
Veri took a few steps back toward the entrance, where Bruno had remained.
Bruno glanced around at the number of law enforcement officers, counting off in his head. Eight, plus the two of them. Not good odds. Then he looked at Veri.
“Don’t we have any more officers coming? More local police at least?”
“The other police organizations are busy guarding the other pharmacies and God knows what else.” Veri spoke to Bruno, but kept his eyes on the crowd. “For a potential riot situation like this, I’d usually call the Regional Command, and they would have sent a squad in full riot gear. They’d normally be here by motovetta in a half-hour.” Veri’s voice was just loud enough for Bruno to hear. “But no one is coming. I talked to Colonel Costa on the way here—they’ve got their hands full in Naples. After the mosquito announcement, there’s already looting breaking out all over.” Veri gritted the words through clenched teeth, only now looking directly into Bruno’s eyes. “Costa said we’re on our own.”
Bruno nodded in silence. On our own. The words weighed on Bruno, but he didn’t have much time to ponder their ramifications. One of the officers who had been keeping the traffic flowing now walked toward Bruno and Veri. A lean, balding man with wispy, white hair accompanied the officer. The man wore a tweed coat and striped tie, accentuating his tall, professorial look. To Bruno, from what he could see of the man’s face not covered by the surgical mask, he looked quite pale, and his hazel eyes stood out against his skin. The police officer held the older man by the elbow, half-pushing him forward. The man’s eyes darted back and forth between Bruno and Veri.
“This is the owner,” grunted the officer, letting go of his elbow.
Veri nodded and gestured toward the door. “Ah, Signor DeLuca, yes, glad you are here. As you can see, there are many people who would like to make some purchases—and I don’t think it would be wise to keep them waiting.”
DeLuca glared at Veri. “You didn’t tell me there were this many people here,” DeLuca hissed. “Look at them! They’ll ransack my store!”
Someone in the crowd shouted, “Is that the owner?” Bruno could sense the crowd’s impatience growing by the minute. Others began shouting in response. The crowd pressed forward, surging into the street once more, close to the officers arrayed around the pharmacy.
Bruno muttered to Veri, “This is about to get out of control.”
Veri turned to DeLuca. “Signore,” Veri began, “there aren’t enough of us to stop them. But if you let them in a few at a time, we can keep order. We can protect your store, but only if you help us.” Bruno had never heard Veri’s voice tinged with fear before. DeLuca looked at the crowd, then back at Veri. As Bruno had hoped, DeLuca saw reason and relented. “Only ten at a time. I won’t let this rabble destroy what I’ve spent my life building. And they can only have one can of insect repellant per person.”
Veri nodded. “Thank you.”
DeLuca moved toward the door. “Before I open up, I need to get some cash out of the safe. Banking networks have been overloaded, I suppose.” DeLuca took out a key ring with a large, square key. “Just keep them out for another two minutes.” DeLuca opened the door and went in, shutting the door immediately behind him.
Veri turned to the crowd. “All right, everyone! Signor DeLuca has gone in to open up his store. People will be let in ten at a time and are limited to the purchase of one item of insect repellant per person.”
The crowd grumbled, but began to form something resembling a line.
Two minutes came and went. But there was no sign of DeLuca, and the door remained closed. Veri tried the door, but it was locked. The scene being played out agitated the crowd.
Then someone cried out, “The British Prime Minister is dead! It’s on the news! He just died!”
Something shifted. Bruno could feel a new dynamic in the air, as this news shocked the group from crowd into mob. Two or three hundred strong by now, they began to shout.
Veri yanked on the door one last time, then turned back toward the mob, hands raised, shouting. Bruno couldn’t tell what exactly he was saying; the noise overwhelmed any one voice. Bruno stood at the apex of the semicircle of officers, with Veri directly to his left in front of the shop window. By now, the mob was pressed up against the officers arrayed around the entrance.
Veri shouted toward Bruno, “Get that door open, I don’t care how!”
Bruno backed up toward the glass door. He didn’t know what Veri thought he could do. He didn’t know how he was going to get the door open. Bruno turned his back to the crowd and pulled out his pistol, trying to shield it from view, but meaning to shoot off the lock.
Without warning, the mass lurched forward. Bruno, standing in the doorway, saw the front of the crowd surge into two officers. Bodies crashed through the plate-glass window, screaming, cursing. One officer twisted towards his left side, avoiding the brunt of the mob’s force, but the other, with arms flailing, fell backwards, like someone who’d been pushed without warning into a pool. A tangle of limbs kept Bruno from seeing who was on the bottom.
Bruno pointed his pistol and pulled the trigger, aiming over the heads of the crowd into the stone building across the street. Bruno’s ears rang. Another officer, too, had shot over the heads of the mob. The mob pulled back, piling up into the ones behind them, the front line now seeing the downed officers and pile of bodies and retreated, fearing for their own lives.
Bruno turned to his left and saw shattered glass where there had once been a window. After the din, the silence itself felt oppressive. People were on the floor of the store. One got up, clutching at a bleeding gash on his head, looking stunned. A second officer sat staring at the shards of glass in his shoulder and arm. The other lay on his back, behind the remnants of the window. The downed officer was quiet, yet Bruno could see his legs trembling.
Bruno moved out of the doorway toward the fallen officer. A jagged shard of glass stuck out the left side of Veri’s throat and crimson blood poured onto the tile floor.
Bruno dropped to his knees, laying his pistol by Veri. He pulled Veri’s mask down to help him breathe and cupped his hands around his neck to staunch the blood flow, applying as much pressure as he dared. Bruno’s hands trembled as he looked into Veri’s eyes. They were bright and piercing against his pallid skin. The pain and fright Bruno saw made tears spring to his own eyes. Bruno was aware of movement around him and heard someone call
for an ambulance, but he couldn’t break eye contract with Veri.
“It will be all right,” Bruno reassured. “An ambulance is coming.”
Two other officers approached with gauze and pads they had taken from the pharmacy shelves and handed them to Bruno. Bruno pushed them against Veri’s neck gently, not wanting to make anything worse. The whine of an ambulance filled the air. Veri spluttered, as if to say something, and Bruno bent down closer. Frothy blood coated his lips and splashed onto Bruno’s face as Veri tried to speak.
A fierce tremor rocked Veri’s body and his eyes rolled back into his head.
“No, stay with me—” Bruno said.
After a few seconds, Veri’s rigid body went limp. His eyes were wide open, glassy. Bruno let go of Veri’s hand and it fell to the tile floor. A halo of blood now surrounded his friend’s head.
Two paramedics kneeled on either side of Bruno and Veri, and a third gently moved Bruno to the side. They began to work on Veri, but Bruno knew it was too late.
Bruno scooped up his pistol, stood up and surveyed the scene. Bloody glass was strewn about the floor. The paramedics hunched over Veri’s body were still working. The crowd had begun to disperse, though some were detained by officers who were trying to take statements from witnesses. Bruno had no hope that anyone would say anything of value. No one saw anything, no one knew who pushed whom, and everyone would blame someone else, some unknown troublemaker.
Bruno didn’t much care who in the crowd had done what. His eyes fell on DeLuca, standing two or three meters from Veri in the middle of his store. DeLuca simply stood there, staring at the tiles on the floor, fidgeting with the keys in his pocket. Then he started scratching his arm. To Bruno, DeLuca looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, to hide, but didn’t know how. A detached part of Bruno noticed that DeLuca looked like he was in shock. Bruno couldn’t have cared less about DeLuca’s mental state. He stiffened and moved towards DeLuca, but one of the municipal police officers put a hand on Bruno’s arm, as if to lead him away. Bruno shrugged it off. DeLuca stared at his own feet, at nothing.
“I—I’m sorry.” DeLuca’s voice sounded flat and emotionless.
Even though DeLuca slouched as he stared at the ground, he still loomed over Bruno. Bruno grabbed his shirt and yanked him down to his level, and DeLuca stumbled forward.
“You piece of filth!” Bruno spat. “This is your fault!” He kept hold of DeLuca’s shirt with one hand, and tightly gripped his pistol in the other.
Finally Bruno let go and DeLuca took a step back. Bruno reached up towards DeLuca’s face, and DeLuca flinched as Bruno almost tenderly pulled DeLuca’s surgical mask down around his chin. Bruno left a crimson stain of Veri’s blood on the mask’s white fabric. Bruno stared at him. “Imagine what I’ll do to you if I ever see you again,” Bruno whispered.
DeLuca simply stood there, repeating the words, “I’m sorry.”
Bruno turned away without another word and walked over to the paramedics, who were lifting Veri’s body onto a stretcher. One of the paramedics pulled a white sheet over Veri’s head as they stepped over the remnants of the window and back onto the sidewalk. Bruno followed them. All he could do was look at the blood congealing on his hands.
***
By the time Bruno returned to the station, hours later, Cristian had already been on conference calls with their superiors. He was still on a call in what used to be Veri’s office when Bruno walked in. While Bruno waited for Cristian, he called his sister. She didn’t pick up her mobile phone. But to his relief, she picked up her work phone.
“Hi, Bruno,” she said.
“Carla, Veri’s dead. The British PM is dead. I don’t know what to . . .” his voice trailed off.
“I know about both. And I’m sorry about Veri. But, the government’s got everything under control.”
“Under control? They don’t have a fucking thing under control! If the head of the British government can die from this HAV, who’s safe?”
“There are contingency plans, Bruno. Everything will be okay. I have faith in the government’s response.”
“Faith? You have faith . . . in the government?” He wondered who this person was on the other end of the phone. She’d never had any confidence that their government could do anything right. “Are you all right?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. You and Cristian take care of yourselves. Don’t come to the hospital, Bruno . . . it’s . . . not safe for nonmedical personnel.”
“Not safe? What the—”
“We know how to take proper precautions. You don’t.”
“But—”
“Listen, I have to go. I’ll contact you when I can. I love you. Tell Cristian I love him too. Ciao.” The phone went silent.
Bruno spent the rest of the day at the station staring at his desk. The one clear memory Bruno had of the remainder of that day was hearing the screams of Veri’s wife, even though Cristian spoke to her over the phone from Veri’s office.
After Cristian had finished dealing with higher-ups, other officers, and God knew who else, it was early evening. Cristian walked out of the office in the back, over to Bruno’s desk, pulled up a chair, and sat down. Their masks dangled around their necks, a breach of the anti-infection protocols, but neither of them cared.
“You know, he hated to use his office,” Cristian said.
Bruno nodded. “He always wanted to be out here with ‘the lads,’ said he felt like an arrogant ass when he had to stay back there.” Bruno rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “It was terrible to see him like that.”
Cristian looked down. “I can’t imagine what it was like. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I was still on my way from Naples—”
“How could you have known what was going to happen?”
They could spend all night talking about what happened, about how much they would miss Veri, Bruno knew. He also knew that they needed to press on.
“Look,” Bruno started, then paused. “I guess . . . well, what’s next?”
Cristian didn’t respond. He leaned back in the chair. After looking at the ceiling for a moment, Cristian leaned forward.
“It seems I’m officially in command here, at least for a while.”
Bruno wasn’t surprised. Cristian had a number of years more experience than himself.
Cristian continued. “And I spoke to Commissario Esposito. He’s quite happy continuing Operation Whisky-Tango-Foxtrot. He’s already had to deflect some inquiries from his own higher-ups.”
Bruno gave him a puzzled look.
“Oh, come on,” Cristian responded. “You know—the weapons confiscation order.”
Bruno still looked puzzled. “All right, but why ‘Whisky-Tango-Foxtrot’?”
Cristian laughed. “I thought our little deception needed an appropriate military designation: Operation W-T-F. That’s the English abbreviation for ‘Ma Che Cazzo!’”
Bruno shook his head, with a pale smile playing around his lips. Cristian did his best never to take anything too seriously, not even the end of civilization.
Bruno straightened up in his chair and turned on the monitor at his desk, swiping his fingers on the screen and ignoring the keyboard. Cristian brought his chair around so that he could see the screen.
“What are you looking for?” asked Cristian.
Bruno didn’t answer immediately, nor did he look up at Cristian. Instead, he continued to swipe.
“This,” said Bruno, pointing at the monitor.
The monitor displayed a map of the Naples region. Bruno’s finger hovered over the island of Capri. It was now the color of night, as was the entire coastline.
“Christ,” said Cristian. “It’s finally spread to Capri.”
Bruno stared at the monitor and nodded his head. “It’s here.”
“So, what do you think will happen?” Cristian asked, a quiver in his voice. “The British PM is dead. The government has called up all military reserves. What’s next?”
<
br /> Bruno shook his head. “The ruin of everything—the ruin of it all.”
Chapter 6
October 25
Bruno's boots pounded on the street. Veri had been right. No one cared about enforcing the weapons confiscation order anymore. Cristian followed behind him as they chased three men through Capri’s main square, out onto a side street.
Bruno stopped short when the three figures darted out of their sight, deciding not to pursue them down the narrow alleys in the fading light. If he had continued, he would have shot them all.
Cristian jostled into Bruno as he looked down the street where the looters had fled.
“What? You’re letting them go?”
Bruno didn’t look at Cristian, thinking it best to keep both eyes where the looters had run, until he was quite certain they were gone. “We’d have to shoot them if we caught them. I didn’t get a good look at them. I think they were just getting food.” He looked at Cristian. “They didn’t deserve to die.” The order to shoot looters on sight had come down two days ago as chaos grew in the major cities.
Cristian shook his head. “I can’t fucking believe they emptied the prisons last week!” Cristian gestured in the general direction of the thieves. “This is what happens!”
Bruno holstered his pistol. “Could’ve been worse, though. They might have tried to fight.”
“Well,” Cristian responded, holstering his own pistol. “I doubt the only ones released were the so-called ‘nonviolent’ offenders.”
“I bet the real reason they released so many is because there aren’t enough prison guards left now.”
“Exactly. Sick, or dead, or even more likely, just AWOL,” Cristian said. Then he patted his pistol. “Good thing we can do something about it.”
“For now,” said Bruno. “That is, until we run out of ammo.” In the fifteen days since the Naples raid, so many were sick, or afraid of getting sick, that the networks most people in the cities relied upon for their survival teetered on the edge of total collapse. Too many people sick and not working led to fuel shortages, which led to transportation problems, which led to shortages of goods, and on and on and on: cascading failure. Things unraveled faster than Bruno could have believed possible.
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