by James O'Neal
Johann braced himself with both hands and managed to say, “How far do we go like this before we turn back?”
“The jungle scare you?”
“No, your driving does. And I no longer think there is anything left of the city.”
“We have to look. This could be a big lead if we find something in the old burglary report that identifies a suspect. We might be able to narrow down the list of suspects in the murder. C’mon, where’s your adventurous spirit?”
“I left it on my journeys with T. E. Lawrence.”
“Lawrence of Arabia?”
Johann smiled. “You know your history.”
“Yeah, but he’s huge. You were in World War I?”
“I fought the Ottomans.”
“Why?”
“They were propped up by the Simolit family. At the time, I fought with anyone against the Simolits.”
“When did that philosophy change?”
“When the Simolits stood up to the Nazis.”
Besslia was always amazed at the things Johann had done.
Before he could ask any questions the truck rolled out of the brush and into a wide, clear-cut field. Besslia had to take his foot off the gas to slow the truck down enough.
He took a moment to make use of the fading light and look at the astounding sight in front of him.
Johann said, “This is not what I expected.”
Besslia, still staring straight ahead, said, “No one expected this.”
Tom Wilner stood in front of the entrance to the new restaurant. The giant yellow arches were the brightest light for fifty miles in any direction. The bored staff chatted with one another and aimlessly swept clean rags over any surface within reach. There just weren’t enough residents to support a place like this yet.
Wilner had heard about some of the negotiations involved in luring the restaurant down here and how it was tied to the transplants as well. Wilner had heard that the restaurant chain didn’t want to build a store in the district unless there was a cop stationed there twenty-four hours a day. That was ridiculous considering the strain the UPF was under already. It wasn’t like this was the Miami Quarantine Zone.
Then he caught himself. He had held that stereotype and he had seen that the zone was not the lawless Wild West he had once thought it was. There were schools and businesses and people who liked living there. That made him realize that the rest of the country, at least the parts not affected by terror attacks or quarantine zones, viewed the southern tip of Florida as some kind of lawless area itself. The west coast had reverted to nature. The bottom tip of the state was now another country. Didn’t people realize that they worked hard to make the Lawton District livable?
The other thing that Wilner had heard was that the restaurant agreed to open if the property and business didn’t have to pay taxes for five years and they were assured that at least twenty thousand people would be relocated to the district in that time period.
Now Wilner leaned on a bench and watched the sun slowly set through a late-afternoon break in the clouds. There was still more than an hour of daylight left as he felt his heart rate speed up at the thought of seeing Mari again.
He wished verbal communication over the V-com was more reliable but the decades-long embargo of Cuba had extended to a block of satellite signals after the United States had developed the technology to keep orbiting satellite transmissions from hitting specific areas of the globe.
Once the Miami Quarantine Zone was created the United States extended the satellite blockade to include most of the zone.
The Cuba blockade had started with some old leader named Castro who thumbed his nose at the United States. Wilner had learned about him in his elementary school history class. He had turned to an old confederation of countries called the Soviet Union. The only real nation left from that union was Russia. Many of the others had turned to the spreading Islamic practice of tribes without real national borders. It had cut down on violence and strife in the region but made many of the bordering countries, like Turkey, nervous.
Decades after Castro had died the U.S. blockade of the island nation endured through a brutal communist takeover of Castro’s Cuba, a short-lived fascist government and now the Islamic fundamentalists who had been invited onto the island by other anti-U.S. regimes. Now the joke was on the former Cuban leaders who found themselves on the outside looking in as most of the native Cubans had fled to other countries.
Wilner watched different cars pass by. He realized there was an increase in traffic and saw more and more factory-built hives and fewer converted cars. He recognized a lot of the steam-powered cars where the owners had painted their names or slogans on the boiler. The district wasn’t so big that a resident didn’t notice the same unusual vehicle over and over again.
Then he saw the older Honda and Mari’s smiling face as the car passed by. He couldn’t see who was driving her, but hustled down the street to greet her as the car came to a stop.
Leonard Hall liked playing Mari’s security guard and guide. He had no doubt he’d kill anyone who threatened her on this trip. This pretty, soft-spoken, kind woman had taken a chance on him and offered him a job at the school. She made him feel more welcome than he did in his own home. She stopped to chat or comfort anyone she encountered in the street. She didn’t seem to have any downside.
As he pulled down the street near the new monstrosity of a restaurant, he wondered which was the stronger need; to kill the cop or be near Mari? He also wondered if the cop had gotten a good enough look at him to recognize him when they met.
He hated the idea of killing the cop in front of Mari, then having to kill her to keep from being identified. He didn’t even like the idea of exposing Mari to the killing of a man she clearly had feelings for. So he decided, with his combat knife opened next to him by the door, he’d see what happened. If he had to act quickly he could. If the cop didn’t recognize him, then maybe he’d let this game play out a little longer.
He saw the tall cop straighten in front of the restaurant as he recognized Mari.
She smiled at him but Leonard didn’t stop.
“That’s him.” Mari pointed at Wilner.
“I don’t want to stop in the street like that. Habit leftover from when things were busy down here. Let me pull to the side street.” He increased speed slightly to stay ahead of the cop who was now walking quickly down the street toward them.
For the first time in a long time, Leonard Hall didn’t know what to do.
TWENTY-ONE
Steve Besslia and Johann Halleck sat in the cab of the truck, staring at the men approaching them. Besslia let his hand slip to his holster, hidden under an untucked camouflage shirt, but Johann stopped him from drawing the weapon with a quick hand gesture.
“Not yet, Steve.”
“This doesn’t look good.”
“They’re as surprised as we are.”
Besslia looked out over the structures built off the ground, into the tree trunks, and at the passing canoes. The six men approached them on a path that led from the sprawling village to the edge of the brush. Swampy water flowed into pools around the field.
Johann surprised Besslia by opening his door and swinging from a handle onto the soggy ground.
Besslia followed out of reflex, not out of desire. The men had knives in their belts and one had an old-style gunpowder rifle. It wasn’t automatic. The lead man was stocky with long light hair and thick glasses. Another was big with close-cropped hair and the look of a pissed-off soldier. They all had darker skin and hair.
As Besslia tried to think of some hand signals, the man in the front of the group said, “Who the hell are you guys?”
Besslia blinked and said, “Steve Besslia, UPF.”
The man looked back and forth between Johann and Besslia then said, “No one called the cops.”
“I know. We just extended our patrol zone and thought we’d see what was back here.”
“Why? Did you hear rumors about a los
t tribe like us?” The shorter man looked to make sure his friends were still right next to him.
“No, actually, we don’t hear anything about this area. I had something I was interested in looking up in the old city of Naples.”
“Well, you’re standing in the middle of it right now.”
Besslia looked around. “This is Naples?”
“Used to be. The rivers overflowed and pushed tons of sand over any roads and buildings left here. The other parts of the town are still fading but there’s some concrete and buildings to show they were here.”
“Who’re you guys?”
“Refugees.”
“From what?”
“You and all the bullshit that caused us to move here.”
“You mean you moved here after things had changed.”
“About four years ago.”
“From where?”
The tall man shrugged. “All over. Philly, Nebraska, Texas and right here in Florida.”
“So you’re not all Seminoles?”
“Indians? No, we’re just people living quietly away from you. That a problem?”
“No, I don’t care where you live.”
The man smiled. “Then we’ll get along. My name is Victor. We don’t use last names here.”
“My name is Steve and this is Johann.”
“You guys hungry?”
Besslia nodded.
“We got real meat, cow meat. We have potatoes and asparagus we grew ourselves.”
“I don’t think I ever had asparagus before. At least real asparagus.”
“You eat that rubbery synthetic crap?”
“Sometimes.”
“You’re our first visitors who haven’t come to hurt us. We might benefit from a little police protection. You boys follow me and we’ll show you what you’re missing in that world you think is real.”
As Wilner hustled to the car, Mari stood up, turned around and waved to the driver. Before Wilner was at the old Honda it drove off down the street.
Mari surprised him by embracing him and kissing him on the lips.
Wilner couldn’t let his curiosity wait. “Who was that?”
“The school handyman, Leonard. I think he’s shy and didn’t want to meet you.”
Wilner shrugged, lost in Mari’s dark clear eyes. “I’m really glad you came into the district.”
She smiled and hugged him softly.
Wilner said, “I was told not to go back into the zone on this case.”
“Why?”
“Political and manpower reasons. All anyone cares about is repopulating the state. They want places like this restaurant to flourish and forget about anything south of the border.
“But that’s why I came up. I had to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“They found two more dead women in the zone. Both had been stabbed in the neck.”
Wilner felt like he had been hit with a punch in the stomach. Dammit, the killer was still active and he was stuck on the wrong side of the border. What could he do now?
TWENTY-TWO
Steve Besslia and Johann Halleck had decided to stay overnight in the western wilderness. It made sense to have a few extra hours to try and find the old Naples police department. The only problem was that Besslia woke up stiff. The unevenly padded mats that he and Johann Halleck had slept on had reminded him of camping as a kid. Except he wasn’t eight and he didn’t like the way his blood had been cut off to different parts of his body. He lay still and listened to the light rain patter off the top of the “guest” house for the small settlement. The raised houses were a combination of lumber, waterproof material like tents and sheets of old roofs or synthetic building material salvaged from the surrounding area. The floor was a simple wooden base about six feet off the ground. He had seen a couple of the houses had cots and one had a full-size bed on the floor.
The men of the village had promised to take him and Johann on a hunt for the old city hall and police station later. They had said that much of Naples was intact under a thick layer of brush that had grown over the top of some of the smaller buildings or the ruins of the ones that had been knocked down.
Next to him, Johann stirred, then sat up with a groan.
Besslia said, “I thought you were immune to aches and pains.”
“I can heal quickly. I grow old like you only much slower.” He rubbed his blond hair and added, “If you were my age you’d be dust.”
They dressed and armed themselves, then found a communal building with no walls where breakfast was being served.
Besslia sat next to the nominal leader of the group, Victor. He had been a college professor before the country had changed so drastically. Now he managed to keep the settlement safe and running. It was an enviable accomplishment.
Besslia sampled the wheat cake and strip of meat. “This is good.”
“Bacon,” said Victor.
“Real bacon?”
“From a pig.”
“Wow, and I thought last night’s meal was the best I ever had.” He wolfed down everything on his plate and noticed that no one left any food. They had learned a lesson from the rest of society.
After an hour of preparation, Besslia, Johann and five men from the settlement set out on foot along a path that inched up out of the water and led west. After an hour they came to a wide section that asphalt and sidewalk had kept clear of much overgrowth. It was several blocks long with buildings and even a few cars rotting on the side of a weed-filled street.
Besslia said, “Why wouldn’t you make use of the buildings and live here?”
Before Victor could answer Besslia saw a movement on the far side of the clearing and then all the men with him ducked down. Besslia joined them as Victor said, “They’re the reason we don’t live here.”
Wilner sat at his desk, allowing the commander to see him in the office. He wanted the boss to know he wasn’t disobeying orders and running down to the Quarantine Zone. His heart had sunk when he watched Mari slip into the steam-powered Honda to cross back into the zone. They had talked for hours. She had asked about his children and hinted about her curiosity about his wife. All Wilner could manage was to say that she was no longer here. He couldn’t bring himself to explain that she had been killed saving him. He knew he could never talk about what she really was. The origin of his children’s DNA would be his most closely guarded secret.
Now he stared down at the open, moldy files that Steve Besslia had risked his life to retrieve. The lab reports and photos had all faded but remained readable. He kept wondering, if the cops had a fingerprint and suspects, why didn’t they just fingerprint the suspects? He knew the laws governing police conduct were radically different back then, but that only seemed like common sense to him.
He could prove the current crimes if he only knew who the killer was. It had to be someone who could cross the border between the zone and the U.S. easily. The dead nurses seemed to be proof of that. He thought of Terry’s vacant, motionless prosthetic hand that had been fished out of the furnace. What he needed was an eyewitness. To his knowledge anyone who had seen the killer was dead.
He flipped through the files, occasionally glancing at the list of names. The two cops on the case had both died of natural causes years earlier. There was no one to talk to. He had to focus on what he had.
And find a way to get back into the zone.
Mari Saltis sat at her desk, thinking of Tom Wilner. She could not get the image of the tall, handsome police officer out of her head. He reminded her of her husband. In the course of their long conversation she had meant to mention Guillermo, but after he was so evasive about his wife she felt funny about talking about her own situation.
Her mother had told her she was too young to get married at eighteen when she and the twenty-six-year-old engineer walked down the aisle in Cartagena. He had a fire in him. A burning desire to confront authority that she had found irresistible. That was why, only a month after their marriage he had dragged
her to Miami to protest the way the United States was treating immigrants. He had no personal experience with the treatment, but used a work visa to fly into the city. He walked with protestors and played to the CNN cameras. Then the next September eleventh attack occurred in Los Angeles. The footage of rejoicing Mexican immigrants tied with the news that the terrorists were Mexican nationals pushed the government into action.
Flights were canceled too quickly for them to leave. Then rumors of bioplague victims spread through the city, and before she realized it U.S. Army troops stood at the new border and she was a scared teaching assistant at a small private school.
Miami had been declared a Quarantine Zone. Lost to the country. It joined the other two zones before New York and the South Dakota zones were established.
Then the news of Hugo Chavez marching the Venezuelan army into Colombia as part of his campaign to invade all of South America had unnerved her more. The United States had its own troubles and couldn’t stop the South American Hitler.
The final blow was short and simple: Guillermo caught an infection. It spread to his lungs but without antibiotics he died. Quietly at their home. Only five months after they were married.
She had seen the evolution of the Quarantine Zone. Now there were doctors and medicine. Perhaps not as much as before under U.S. control but things had stabilized. And now she was excited about a man again. A good man.
She smiled to herself as she gazed out the window. Then she noticed Leonard working on a sticky window across the courtyard. He saw her and waved.
Maybe men were coming to her rescue.
“Who are they?” asked Johann Halleck as he peered over the low brush at the armed men. There were seven of them, each carrying a long rifle and moving in military formation.
Victor said, “They’re Zoners.”
“What is a Zoner?”
“They come out of the Miami Quarantine Zone.”
