“I’m sure they are Mr Clay.” The man called Gary would not be enjoying the several days Clay would draw his torture out. Clay wasn’t forgiving at the best of times, but betrayal was the one thing he dealt with in person when possible. Over the years the crime boss had become quite accomplished at making men severely regret the error of their ways. And some women too, Clay was not one to discriminate. Clay did have an appetite when it came to the ladies.
“But that’s not why I held you back Brian. You may not have heard about it, but there was a shootout at the North Manchester Hospital yesterday.”
“No I didn’t hear about that,” Brian stated. With everything that was happening, it was unlikely it would even have been reported in the news, even if there wasn’t a restrictive D notice placed on it.
“Turns out the army might have a patient immune to this terrible disease stashed away. I don’t know where, but I know they might be on the way to creating a cure to all this.”
“That’s good news, Mr Clay.” Why was Clay telling him this?
“It’s even better news if we can get our hands on that cure, don’t you think Brian?”
“I’m not sure how we can do that, Mr Clay. Not if the military are protecting her.”
“Never the optimist are you Brian?” Clay’s eyes seemed to grow as he spoke, the cunning that had kept him alive so long seeming almost to live there.
“No, Mr Clay.” Always best not to argue, thought Brian.
“I hear you are acquainted with the patient as well.” Brian didn’t respond, the confusion on his face answer enough. “Turns out her name is Jessica Dunn, the lawyer who ran your defence. I’m not sure if we can pull it off just yet, but there’s a small chance you might shortly be re-acquainted with her. Wouldn’t that be nice Brian? Wouldn’t that be just ever so peachy?”
“Yes, Mr Clay.” What the fuck was Clay planning now?
21.09.18
Houston, USA
Reece stood leaning against her police cruiser, the midday sun scorching the world around her. She had changed her gloves, the stifling heat making the replacement set difficult to put on, the sweat sticking to the insides like glue. As she had predicted, the respirators made it difficult to breathe, but rather that than catch the disease everyone was now talking about. The man they had just arrested shouted abuse at her from the back of the car. It wasn’t anything Reece hadn’t heard a hundred times before. Being a woman only added to the litany of insults that could be hurled at her, especially from the macho types who couldn’t seem to believe that a woman could slap handcuffs on them so easily. Reece enjoyed taking those scumbags down, she couldn’t deny it.
What made today more worrying was that everyone they arrested might be someone who could pass the virus on. Just being spat on could be a death sentence. Thus they had been ordered not to engage in any physical takedowns now. Anyone who refused their lawful orders was to be either tasered or shot if the situation warranted it. Only when the suspect was lying face down on the ground with their arms spread were law enforcement to approach. An anti-spit hood would then be placed on right after the cuffs were slammed on the wrists. Even worse would be to end up in a scuffle and get bitten. Reece had been bitten twice in her career so far, and she was determined that today wouldn’t see a third occurrence.
The Presidential alert, unsurprisingly, had not produced the desired effect causing the city to explode initially. Fortunately, the National Guard had not failed in their duty, and their presence on the streets had shut that shit down hard and fast. Even with the increased law enforcement presence in the city, continuing reports of mayhem were all over the police bands. Even worse, three deputies from her department were dead, killed in an ambush by people who hadn’t believed that Lazarus was real, that somehow this was a power play by the Federal Government. An armed populace was only a benefit if everyone was working on the same side of the hymn sheet. Desperation and fear were making people act like idiots. And then there were the people who were just basic utter twats. Sometimes after a long day at it, Reece wondered if there were any decent folks actually worth protecting.
Despite his doubts, Rodriguez was still with her. His earlier indecision about staying on the job had apparently dissipated, although Reece reckoned that when the blood test results came back, she wouldn’t see him for dust. The man wasn’t a coward, he just loved his family to the degree that he would risk everything for them. She strongly suspected he would be phoning in sick tomorrow…or not phoning in at all and just not turning up.
Reece didn’t personally have that kind of handicap, so she would keep coming into the job until this thing was fixed or someone told her not to bother anymore.
“Dispatch says not to bring him back to 1200,” Rodriguez said exiting the front of the car, leaving the driver’s door open. 1200 was the unofficial name given to the Sherriff’s headquarters where she was based. “Apparently we now have to take everyone to the FEMA processing centres that are being set up around the city. There they will be put into the system and transported to holding at the Astrodome.”
“The Astrodome? How many people are we supposed to arrest?” Two national guards walked past them, and Rodriguez went quiet until they were safely out of earshot. Reece noted the look of distrust in his eyes.
“I don’t like this Clarisse.” Most of the time she preferred to be called by her surname. Clarisse sounded too soft for her, but she made allowances with Rodriguez. He was her partner after all. He wasn’t quite like a brother to her, but she still gave him a degree of slack.
“I hear you,” Reece agreed. “But we have a job to do.”
“But I’m hearing things,” Rodriguez said, his eyes flitting around the car park they were stood in, the Stetson he wore shielding his sight from the sun. They had been called to a small department store that the guy in the back seat had attempted to rob. Unfortunately for him, the store had Korean owners who had shown no hesitation in defending their store. Two would be robbers were dead, the third being detained for the Sherriff’s Department to collect. “Word is, it’s not just criminals that are being sent to the Astrodome. The army are rounding people up.”
“Have you been listening to conspiracy radio again?”
“No, you need to listen to me. My cousin is a nurse, she texted me whilst I was onto dispatch. They are emptying the hospitals of anyone they deem to be infected. She said the Guard are piling them onto buses. Nobody is being given a choice.”
“Well doesn’t that make sense?” Reece reassured him. She was about to say something more, when there was an uproar from the back seat of the cruiser.
“Hey, haven’t you forgotten about someone?” the prisoner shouted. Reece ignored him. At least he wasn’t throwing up like some they had arrested the past few days.
“If the hospitals are getting overloaded, then surely shipping them to a larger medical facility is the wise thing to do.”
“I guess,” Rodriguez said. He didn’t sound convinced.
“Let’s get this guy dropped off and then we can have a break.”
The first problem they encountered was the processing centre wasn’t ready for them. Some harassed looking FEMA personnel said they weren’t yet set up to take prisoners in as the army weren’t here yet to man the holding facilities.
“You will have to take him direct to the Astrodome.”
Reece wasn’t surprised. Houston was a big city, coordinating something like this must have been a logistical nightmare. Rodriguez seemed to like the idea of going to the Astrodome, and Reece hoped it would put her partner’s mind at rest. For a sheriff’s deputy, he did spend a bit too much of his time feeding his inherent distrust of the Federal Government. He wasn’t the only one in her department either. Many of her fellow deputies did not have a favourable opinion of Washington DC and all its myriad tentacle-like organisations.
Even to this day, Rodriguez still believed that 911 was an inside job. Reece humoured him, but she never let any of his crazy theories infec
t her thoughts. Fortunately, he was wise enough to keep most of his strange notions to himself, occasionally sharing something of pressing interest only with her, never with the rank and file. She would humour him, and then offer a counter-argument to the one he was wrapped up in. Sometimes she was able to defuse his fevered imagination. She could see the conspiracy juice flowing through him now, and she hoped getting a first-hand view of what was being done at the Astrodome would dilute the toxic mix bubbling in his mind.
Unfortunately, their arrival at the Astrodome did not dispel the creeping paranoia that was most likely forming in her partner’s overheated head.
The first thing that struck Reece was how quickly all this must have been put together, which meant that somewhere there had been a plan made ready. She knew FEMA prepared for likely disasters, but she had no insider knowledge of the workings of the bloated and inefficient Federal Emergency Management Agency. When they arrived, what they saw was the result of a plan put together several years ago to combat a virulent pandemic, something the then state governor had actively encouraged. The Astrodome had been selected as the central holding area for infected individuals. It was hoped that placing everyone in the same facility would help to better distribute resources and allow for more effective disposal of the inevitable casualties.
Kirby Drive had been blocked off by a checkpoint just where it cut under the freeway. As they drove up, both deputies were unnerved to see heavy calibre machineguns being pointed at them from sandbag emplacements, a Bradley fighting vehicle adding to the strength of the National Guard defensive post that spread across the road. Two rising arm barriers were there to allow the flow of traffic in and out. Although the Astrodome’s car parks already had fences all around them, army engineers could be seen putting up higher and more formidable structures topped with razor wire. To keep people in, or to keep people out?
“What the fuck?” Rodriguez said under his breath.
As they slowed for the turning, an army corporal in full containment gear motioned for them to stop so that he could approach them on the driver’s side. Rodriguez wound the window down, the dry hot air rushing in to overwhelm the car’s inadequate air conditioning.
“Can I help you deputies?” the Corporal asked. There was a terseness to his voice detected even from under the respirator. The guy must be roasting his butt off in this heat, thought Reece.
“Prisoner for processing,” Rodriguez said, pointing in the back.
“Man, I ain’t no prisoner. I’m innocent man,” the prisoner shouted. Reece told him to shut up. The guy was still obviously high on whatever had given him the courage to watch his two buddies die.
“You need to take him to the processing centre on Hiram Clarke Road,” the Corporal said.
“Did that, they aren’t set up yet. They told us to bring him directly to you,” Reece said, leaning across to speak to the Corporal. As they spoke a large grey bus pulled up behind them and beeped its horn. Who the fuck had the guts to sound their horn at a Sherriff’s Department cruiser?
“All units, all units, shooting on the corner of Creekbend and Cliffwood Drive. All units respond, possible hostage situation.” The call was loud over the car’s radio.
“Let us drop this creep off, so we can do our jobs,” Rodriguez pleaded. The Corporal hesitated a moment, the bus honking its horn again. Reece looked into her side mirror and saw a second bus come up behind the first. It was the same grey colour. The Corporal stepped back from the car and said something into the radio mike that was linked to his breathing apparatus. Neither deputy could hear what was said. After a moment, the Corporal stepped back to their car.
“Ok, follow the blue channel. Do not deviate into any other direction,” the soldier ordered. “When you have dropped him off, leave by this gate only. Everything else is blocked off to civilian traffic.”
“Blue Channel, got you,” Rodriguez agreed. The Corporal gave a hand signal and the road barrier was raised to allow the car entry. Behind them, the two buses didn’t have to undergo any kind of questioning, they just followed the deputies straight through the barrier. With the traffic passed, the Corporal disappeared under the shade of an awning that had been set up to get some relief from the oven he was working in.
To her right, Reece saw that the Astrodome car park was being filled with huge tents, military personnel and people in hazmat gear braving the Texas sun. The blue channel was marked out by spray paint along the centre of the road and led to one of the many car parks servicing the Astrodome. There were other colours marked out, obviously for different classifications of people, guiding a path that even an idiot could follow. They drove slowly, a red line veering off to a turn off to their right. The buses stopped following and followed the red line, Reece wondering what classification of person were being carried on board.
Shortly their own channel filtered off and they pulled the car past a smaller car park, another checkpoint waiting for them. This one was only manned by two soldiers and a single Humvee and their car wasn’t stopped. Instead, they were directed towards a large white tent-like structure. Rodriguez stopped the car in front, a large sign saying Criminal Processing indicating they were in the correct place. The tented structure must have covered a space the size of an NFL football field and was being borrowed for its new purpose.
It was cool inside the tent, the bulk of the interior not visible due to partitions that had been set up. An army sergeant sat behind a metal desk in the same gear the Corporal had been wearing, and he watched the two deputies bring their prisoner in. Reece was surprised to find the air cool, the tent obviously air-conditioned. Before them, metal barriers were set up to create channels that led to six processing desks. Only the Sergeant was presently manning the desks at the moment, but three MP’s were stood off to the side. This area of the structure could accommodate two hundred people easily. There was no queue to hold Reece up. The fun was obviously yet to begin.
“We were told to drop this off,” Rodriguez said as she approached the desk. The Sergeant studied them for several seconds, perhaps contemplating whether to make an issue of their breach of whatever the new rules were. He handed Reece a clipboard with paperwork on it. Rodriguez was given a netted bag.
“I’ll need your names and badge numbers. If you know your prisoner’s name, put that down as well with the incident that caused him to be arrested.” Reece looked at the form, noticed the barcoded stickers at the bottom of the sheet. There were two other pieces of paper underneath. “Prisoner’s personal items go in the bag.”
“I want a goddamn lawyer,” the prisoner demanded. He even stamped his foot petulantly. “And I need to piss. I need to piss real bad.”
“When such time as the crisis is over, a court-appointed lawyer will be supplied to you,” the Sergeant stated. Reece figured he’d be saying that hundreds of times as the day progressed. “If you need to piss go right ahead. Or you can wait till you are in the cell.”
“Looks like you’re expecting a lot of guests,” Rodriguez quizzed.
“The facility interior is set up to take five thousand,” the Sergeant informed. “So far we’ve been getting dribs and drabs. It will get chaotic when they bring them in from the processing centres though. First bus is due in an hour.” Reece handed the Sergeant the clipboard back. There wasn’t much of worth in the bag.
“Some buses followed us in,” Reece added.
“Good to know.” The Sergeant didn’t seem to want to give any more information away. He shouted to one of the MP’s to come over. All three came together as if the prisoner was some item of fascination.
“How come I don’t get to have a mask?” the prisoner slurred from under his spit hood. Everyone ignored him. The Sergeant passed the first MP the clipboard, and the MP scanned one of the barcodes with a reader he held.
“We are linked to your system,” the first MP said. “When you get back to 1200, just log on and you can write your report. It will automatically update our records so we can keep a track of your
prisoner.”
“Wow, I didn’t know the National Guard could do that,” Rodriguez prodded. He didn’t like what he was seeing here. The first MP seemed to not hear his comment, instead he took a hold of the prisoner who tried to wriggle out of his grasp. Difficult to do with hands cuffed behind his back.
“Are you seriously going to give me trouble?” the first MP asked, exasperated.
“Might do,” the prisoner stated proudly. “Might just shit in my hand and throw it at you when I get the chance.”
“Do that, and you and I aren’t going to be friends. Trust me when I say you don’t want that.”
“Fuck you Army,” the prisoner roared.
“Can I tase him for you? I really don’t mind,” Reece offered.
“Hey now,” the prisoner said suddenly softening, “no need for those negative waves. I’m cool.”
“So you’re cool?” the second MP added, mischief in his voice. He was stood behind the prisoner and took something off his belt that looked like an injection gun.
“Hey, what the fuck’s that?” the prisoner said warily straining his head to look over his shoulder. He tried to move away but the first MP held him tight. The prisoner was wiry and thin, so he was unable to pull away from the stronger grip of the soldier. Without asking permission, the second MP pressed the gun against the man’s bare arm and pushed a release trigger.
“Hey man, that hurts. What the hell are you doing to me?” The second MP placed the injection gun back on his belt, and the first waved the barcode scanner over where he had injected. There was an audible beep.
“All processed. He’s in the system now. You can get back to the streets, deputies.”
“Did you just microchip our prisoner?” Rodriguez demanded.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 2): The Rise Page 11
