by Chris Angus
“I’m inclined to agree with Paul for the time being. Perhaps it is a matter of faith. But I’m not prepared to concede defeat yet. We’re a unique species—at least on our own planet, which is the only one we know. So let’s use our God-given intelligence and figure out some way to fight this thing!” He stood up. “You’ve all got things to do, gentlemen, and so do I. Keep me informed.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Keene Valley, the Adirondack Mountains
ELWOOD MOVED THROUGH the forest at his normal, fluid gait. He’d been in these woods since his mother and father had moved here from Vermont when he was six years old. They were one of the first couples to work as guides in the central Adirondack wilderness. Elwood had been living alone in these same mountains, guiding and mostly subsisting off the land since his parents had died when he was a teenager.
Now eighty-two years old, most folks thought of him as a recluse or hermit. He had a cabin deep in the hills southwest of Keene Valley, one of the remote parts of the Adirondacks. It was on public land, but no one bothered him, especially not the rangers, who considered him a living connection to the first guides of the Adirondacks. Elwood was a legend and, in fact, hardly a recluse in the true meaning of the word. In his youth, he’d served in the military and after that had become a sometime consultant to rangers, bureaucrats, and politicians on his beloved forest. His knowledge was extensive, though he still enjoyed playing the backcountry recluse, especially to those who expected it.
He paused and looked at the ground. It had been pawed by a large animal, the buck he’d been following since early morning. He’d seen the creature once, about mid-day, but wasn’t close enough for a sure kill shot. He would never take any other sort. He needed the meat for the coming winter, but not at the risk of causing undue suffering to the animal.
As he poked in the brush, looking for more signs, he stopped suddenly. Just inches from his boot was a nasty-looking, iron leg-hold trap. From its size and the teeth on the thing, he knew it was meant for bear. He picked up a stout branch and thrust it into the trap, which closed with a loud SNAP, splitting the branch in two.
He couldn’t imagine how a thing like that would feel against his own leg. Such cruelty to the animals he’d lived so closely with for more than seventy years sickened him. Now he saw a slash mark on a nearby tree designating the location of the trap. Elwood forgot all about his deer. He had a new mission.
The rest of the afternoon, he followed the line of slash marks, springing every trap he found, then hurling the traps into the nearest rocky defile where they could never be found. By evening, he’d rid his forest of forty-two traps.
A good day’s work. He knew that sometime in the next month or so a ranger would stop by his cabin to comment on how there’d been a complaint from a trapper that someone was stealing his traps. Of course, the ranger would say, he understood Elwood had nothing to do with it, and then he’d spend an hour talking about the old days in the mountains. Before he left, the ranger would leave a small container of maple syrup. Everyone knew Elwood had a sweet tooth.
Since it was getting to be late afternoon, he decided to circle down to the main road and follow it back to where he could reconnect with the trail to his cabin. He wouldn’t make it home before dark, but he didn’t mind traveling after sundown. Of course, he could also make camp in one of the makeshift shelters he had scattered all through these mountains.
Elwood was a familiar sight along the Keene Road, dressed in his colorful woolen clothing, a walking stick in one large gnarled fist, an original, old Adirondack pack-basket on his back. Several passing pickups and cars waved to him. Elwood was a legend.
A poor, red, rattletrap of a pickup pulled up beside him and a friendly face poked out the window.
“Evening, Elwood. You’re out late. Can I give you a lift?”
Alford Manning was a carpenter who lived in the tiny hamlet of Keene. He’d become friendly with Elwood years ago when he stopped by his cabin on a hunting trip and ended up spending the entire day helping the elderly guide put in his winter wood supply. Now, three or four times a year, Alford would invite Elwood to his home for supper with his wife, Sarah, and twelve-year-old daughter, Amelia. Amelia had become especially fond of the gentle soul. She wrote a story about him for her seventh-grade English class, which was later published in the local paper.
“Don’t mind,” said Elwood. “Been hikin’ since six a.m.” He put his pack and rifle in the back of the truck and eased gingerly onto the seat, sighing with pleasure.
“Heard the news?” asked Alford.
“Now you know I only got a AM radio at my place, Alford. And I don’t much listen to that. Nothin’ but bad news and bad music.”
Alford laughed. “I can’t disagree with you there, Elwood. But seriously, you should know what’s going on in the world, especially when it’s bad.”
“It’s always bad,” said Elwood. “Ain’t nothin’ you can do ’bout it neither. So why pay attention?”
“All the same, there’s news of an epidemic in China.”
“China?” Elwood looked amused. “Well, now, that’s certainly somethin’ I need to worry about. Yes, sir. I’ll add that to my list, Alford.”
“Well, it’s more than bad. The president spoke on TV about it. He says people are dying like flies, by the millions over there. I guess they’re some worried it may come over here.”
Elwood’s face turned serious. “By the millions, you say? I’m right sorry to hear that. I surely am. Those folks must be havin’ a real tough time.” He shook his head.
Alford knew his friend had a big heart and his sentiment was very real. “What I wanted to say was if such a thing ever should come over here and you needed . . . you know . . . a place to go if you were sick. You could come stay with us.”
Elwood looked at him. “That’s a nice sentiment, Alford. I won’t forget it. Not too many folks care ’bout what happens to a helpless old man livin’ alone in the woods.”
Alford laughed out loud. “You’re less helpless than anyone I know. But . . . well . . . when you’re sick, things feel different sometimes.”
They turned off onto a dirt road that wound up into the hills, finally reaching a spot that was the closest you could get to Elwood’s place by car. The cabin was another two miles almost straight up into the mountains, where it nestled beside a permanent spring on a ledge overlooking the valley.
“Hate to leave you here,” said Alford. “Seems like it’s the middle of nowhere. And it’s already dark out. Sure you don’t want to come spend the night and I’ll bring you back in the morning?”
But Elwood was already out of the truck and lifting his things from the back. “I know the way home from here like its jest walkin’ across my own backyard. Thank you kindly for the lift.”
Alford nodded. It was what he’d expected. “Why don’t you come for supper on Friday? Sarah and Amelia would love to see you.”
“That’s right neighborly. I’ll jest do that.” There was a twinkle in his eye. “Less I come down with that ol’ ep-e-demic. Think Sarah might have some of her corn bread?”
“I’ll make sure she does. After supper, I’ll drive you into town if you need any supplies. Stores are open Friday night till eight.”
“Thank you kindly. I need a few things.” He looked at Alford out of the corner of his eye. “Might run into some fella needs to buy hisself some new bear traps.”
“You been up to your old tricks, Elwood?”
All the locals knew how Elwood felt about leg-hold traps. But no one could ever figure out a way to catch him in the act of destroying them.
The old guide just gave that little half smile of his and turned away, waving one hand. He disappeared into the black woods, legend and all.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“DO YOU REALLY think we’ll be safe here?” asked Corkie for the hundredth time.
“I don’t know,” Diana replied patiently. “All I can say is I think we’re safer here than we woul
d be down at the site or moving on the road.”
They were sitting on the ledge that provided a view out over the family group site and the distant sands of the Taklamakan. With her high-powered binoculars, Diana could pick out any movement for miles.
Good fortune had shone on her attempts to use the sat-phone, and she continued to go over her conversation with Marcia in her head. It had been a strangely stilted discourse, for she’d picked up at once that Dr. Kessler feared being monitored by the Chinese. Still, it was reassuring simply to hear her voice and to learn that all members of the expedition were okay, including Logan, who unfortunately was not present when the call went through.
She did manage to fill Marcia in on the progress of the epidemic, and told her that Huang was now a loose cannon, his whereabouts unknown. She hinted also that they’d left the family group site and were now hidden in the hills, though she didn’t give their precise location. Marcia promised she would let Logan know she was no longer in Urumqi and no longer in need of rescue from Huang.
“What’s that?” asked Corkie suddenly, pointing to a cloud of dust on the horizon.
Diana peered through the binoculars for a long time, then lowered them slowly. “It’s . . . people. Thousands of them.”
“What?” Corkie was on his feet. “Where are they going?”
She looked again through the glasses. “They appear to be following the road, though there are so many they’re spilling over onto the sides and raising that terrible amount of dust.”
“They’re coming here!” Corkie said, fear edging into his voice.
“They’re following the road, that’s all.”
“But the road ends at the Tarim site. There’s nothing there. Why would they be going there, unless they’re looking for us?”
“I don’t know, it’s pretty strange, all right. It must be the leading edge of the refugees from the cities.”
“They’re carriers of the sickness . . .” Now Corkie sounded terrified.
“Maybe, but they still won’t have any reason to come looking for us up here. We’ll be safe.”
“Are you crazy? Look at all those people. They’re likely to spread out and go anywhere once they discover the road ends. If they thought they’d find supplies and food at the dig, they’re going to be real disappointed.”
Diana sat thinking. Why would all these people be out here in the middle of nowhere? Unless things in the cities and even small villages had become so untenable that they were forced to simply wander off into the emptiness of the bleak plains. It was a fearful thought. She stared again through the binoculars. Most of the people carried small bags or pushed carts. There were no cars in evidence. Probably gasoline supplies had been depleted by the mass movement all over the country and the collapse of fuel delivery systems.
“We’re sitting ducks up here,” said Corkie. “We ought to get away.”
“And go where?”
“Anywhere. Away from them.” He pointed at the streams of refugees below.
“They don’t look sick, somehow,” said Diana.
“How the hell can you tell from this far away?”
“I don’t see anyone being carried or helped in any way. Most seem to be moving pretty steadily under their own power. These may be people who were forced onto the road by the pressure of the cities emptying as the sick spread westward. I think we should go talk to them.”
“Are you nuts? Give away our location? Even if they’re healthy, they’re going to need our supplies. It’s every man for himself in this damn country now.”
“We don’t have to give our location away. A couple of us can go down the other side of the mountain and circle around so we come at them from the opposite direction. Maybe they can tell us what’s going on, Corkie. We need information more than anything. We have enough supplies for a while, but we don’t have any idea how long we may need to stay up here or what’s happening in the rest of the country.”
“Well, you’re not going to get me to go down there.”
“I’ll go and I’ll take our Chinese-American grad student, Lee. He looks the part and speaks Chinese to boot.”
The two slipped down the rubble-strewn hill and joined the others in the cave. Diana explained the situation to them. Most were as frightened as Corkie about what it all meant and were full of uncertainty. But she heaved a sigh of relief when Lee agreed to go along.
Just twenty-three, Lee was the only child of Chinese immigrants. His fascination for the country of his birth was total and was what had brought him here. He was eager to meet the people below and possibly learn what was happening in the rest of the country.
They decided to take two small packs with just a few bits of food and some water, not enough to make them targets to desperate people, but enough to make their presence, coming out of the wilds, plausible. It took an hour to work their way down the mountain and circle the long line of refugees, eventually approaching from the opposite direction of the cave where the others were holed up.
It was a bitterly depressing scene. Thousands of men, women, and children trudged along the road, spreading out onto the surrounding plains. It was clear they had few supplies and only the vaguest sense of purpose, most staring at their feet and showing little interest in the two newcomers. Undoubtedly the column picked up additional stragglers constantly, refugees who blended into the assemblage seamlessly. Even Diana’s blonde hair and obvious Western looks didn’t cause much interest.
They fell in beside a young man and his family, his wife and three children. Out here in the middle of nowhere, they had only a single backpack and two canteens. The likelihood of their surviving seemed minimal at best.
“Where are you from?” the man asked Lee.
Lee waved a hand vaguely off away from their cave. “We were workers for an archaeological dig run by the Americans,” he said. They’d decided to keep as close to the truth as possible in order to sound plausible. Lee’s Chinese was not good enough to pass as a real native’s and Diana, of course, spoke no Chinese at all. “When things began to go bad, most of the others ran away. We’re trying to get somewhere safe. Can you tell us anything?”
“There is nowhere safe,” the man replied glumly. “Behind us come hundreds of thousands . . . millions of the sick and dying. We don’t have sickness among us yet. But it will come. There’s no stopping it, and we have no place to go. We’ll either starve or die of the disease. I think to starve will be better.”
“Has the sickness come to Urumqi?” Lee asked.
“We had hoped not. But Urumqi is a pest hole. We sent one or two in to see and report back—maybe they got infected. I don’t know. We went around the city, even though we needed food desperately.”
Lee’s eyes welled with sadness. He felt a deep sense of kinship to the man.
Diana said quietly, “Ask him if he knows that this road goes nowhere, that it ends at a deserted archaeological dig site.”
Lee asked the man. He shook his head, then shrugged his shoulders. “There’s no place else to go,” he said. “They’re coming.” He waved a hand at the hills behind.
“Isn’t there anyone trying to help?” Lee asked. “What about the army, the government? Aren’t there any relief agencies?”
“The dead are everywhere,” said the man. “They shrivel up and the flesh disappears from their bones. They die and their bones turn to dust. No one can stop it. There is no one to help.”
They stood apart from the column and watched it pass. It took thirty minutes for the entire, sad procession to flow by. Then, wearily, no longer concerned about being followed, they turned and began the walk back to the cave.
Premier Zhao peered out of his helicopter at his summer compound below. He and his family had arrived at the small cluster of buildings near Qiqihar in the northeastern-most province of China a week ago. He’d been relieved to find the place peaceful and in order. Even its staff remained. They’d seen little impact from the epidemic in this isolated place. Most of the sick on
the move had turned west, leaving this northeastern corner a relative haven for the moment.
Including Zemin’s personal bodyguards, several units of secret police, his staff, and his family, nearly sixty people now resided in the compound. It was clear they didn’t have enough supplies for such a large number, so he sent the police out to scavenge the countryside. They returned with the contents of two small markets they looted, along with a herd of goats, cows, chickens, and pigs.
The premier’s compound was now almost certainly the best stocked and, with the automatic weapons of the police and bodyguards, best armed haven in northeast China. Today, Zemin was in his helicopter surveying the surrounding countryside, searching for any evidence of the sick and also planning the defenses of his compound should they be attacked. His aide, Zang Gengyan, accompanied him.
“The river will protect us to the south and east,” said Gengyan. “But we’ll be vulnerable from the west and north.”
“No one will come from the north,” Zemin said confidently. “There’s little between us and Russia. Perhaps,” he considered, “we should meet with the Russians. If any of the sick decide to come this way, we may need a back door.”
“Asylum?” asked Gengyan.
“Why not? I’m the premier. They will certainly offer haven for me and my family. In any case, we should ask for assistance—
supplies, arms, communication equipment, fuel for my helicopter.”
“I’m not sure what benefit they will see in it for themselves, sir. The collapse of our economy would give a boost to their own. President Godunov cares for no one but himself.”
“Nonsense! Once this disease has run its course, I’ll be back in power and perfectly willing to negotiate favorable concessions to the Russians. They don’t want chaos on their border.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Gengyan, slowly.
“Of course I am.” The premier stared down at the Nen Jiang River. “No time like the present.” He turned to his pilot. “Head for the Russian border. We’ll land at Manzhouli Airport and make our request for asylum in the event it’s needed.”
