Flypaper: A Novel

by Chris Angus

  Klein stared blankly with tired, bloodshot eyes. He seemed about to preside over nothing less than the end of the human race. “What’s the situation here at home?” he asked finally.

  Averill Thompson, the Surgeon General, said, “So far, sir, we have no confirmed cases of the disease. We managed to close our borders in time. But . . .”

  “What is it?” Klein asked in a voice that said he expected nothing but bad news.

  “Our borders are porous, Mr. President. We’ve moved troops along the Mexican and Canadian lines, of course, but there’s simply no way to make them impervious. Both neighbors have reported cases of the disease. A few are bound to get through. Frankly, sir, it’s only a matter of time.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Keene Valley—the Adirondacks

  “SARAH, I WOULDN’A believed it was physically possible for a crusty old codger like me to eat so much at one sittin’. I’m like to burst. If I die here and now, I’ll be a happy man. You are the best cook in these here mountains!”

  “You could use some extra fat on your bones, Elwood,” Sarah said, but she beamed at the compliment. “If you stopped hiking twenty or thirty miles a day, you might put on a few pounds.”

  “Can’t never stop,” said Elwood. “Might get to likin’ it too much. Might never want to start up again.”

  He took two pieces of twine out of his pocket and began to braid them. “Come here, Amelia, girl. I’ll show you how to do this.”

  Amelia grinned and jumped into his lap.

  “Now, you hold one with this hand and you take and fold it over like that. You got it. Now do it again. We’ll have a bracelet for you before you know it.”

  Alford put a couple of logs in the fireplace, then kicked off his shoes, put his stocking feet up, and lit his pipe.

  “Alford, must you smoke in here?” asked Sarah.

  “Man’s home is his castle. If he can’t smoke there, where can he? Won’t let ya do it anywhere in town no more.”

  Elwood had never smoked. Between that and his daily hikes, he had the lungs of a twenty-year-old.

  “Been some more disturbing news, Elwood. Thought you should hear about it.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Do you have to talk about that in front of Amelia?”

  “She needs to hear about it, same as Elwood. We’re not going to be able to hide from this, Sarah. Not even up here in this backwater.”

  “What sorta news?” asked Elwood.

  “You remember I told you about the epidemic? Well, now they’re sayin’ it’s got out of China and is spreading clear across Asia, even into Europe. Some folks say it’s going to go all over.”

  “Even here?”

  “Why not? We got no more protection than those other poor people. Fact is, way the whole world’s connected by airplanes these days, something like this can leapfrog around the planet in the blink of an eye.”

  “What’s the president say?”

  Elwood put great stock in the words of the president. Even though the last one he cared for was Franklin D. Roosevelt.

  “Well, for one thing, they’ve shut the borders. Closed up shop tighter than the three little pigs. And I guess they’ve got soldiers all along the Canadian and Mexican lines. Airports are closed. They’ve halted large public gatherings. Hell, I can’t even get the Yankees games no more.”

  Elwood raised one bushy eyebrow. “Now that sounds serious.”

  “It’s no joke, Elwood. They’ve diagnosed a handful of cases in Mexico. Terrible sickness, eats a body right away, turns people crazy. There’s no stopping it. It’s coming.” He tapped his pipe on the edge of the fireplace for emphasis.

  “How many people been killed?” asked Elwood quietly, focused now on the subject. He didn’t expect he had much left to look forward to in life. But it made his heart skip a beat to imagine little Amelia coming down with such a thing.

  “Killed everyone who’s got it so far. Leastways, that’s what they say. They got no way to treat it and I guess it’s about as contagious as you can get. All of Asia is dying. Maybe a billion people or more.”

  Elwood whistled softly. Amelia, tongue out, working hard on the braiding, appeared to have no interest at all in the grown-up talk.

  Alford leaned forward. “Some folks in town are talking about going away if it comes here.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Stupid! Where can you go? It’s all over the world. Might as well stay home where you got friends and know your way around. What good does it do to be sick out on a highway in the middle of nowheres?”

  Sarah stamped her foot. “Now that’s enough, you two. I won’t have any more of this talk in front of Amelia. You want to gab about this, you go on into town and get Elwood’s things. I mean it.” She stared the two men out of the house.

  In the pickup, Alford said, “She’s scared, Elwood. Don’t want to hear nothing about it.”

  “Hmm . . . maybe I should put some extra supplies in . . . jest in case.”

  They stopped at Hawkins’s, the small grocery in the village. Old Man Hawkins was behind the counter trying to keep up with the business. The place was hopping. Resting on the counter behind him was a double-barreled shotgun.

  “What’s goin’ on, Hawk?” asked Alford. “Never seen the place so busy, even on a Friday night.”

  “Word just came over the TV, Alford. They got the first cases of that sickness down in New York City. Folks are getting a little panicky, stocking up in case they got to go to ground till this thing plays out.”

  There were at least thirty people in the tiny store, most with carts, going down each aisle, filling them with everything they could get their hands on. Elwood saw one man sweep twenty loaves of bread into his cart. Others were piled high with steaks and chops. The shelves of canned goods were practically depleted already.

  Hawkins nodded at the empty shelves. “People figure if it gets bad, there won’t be any power, so they’re stocking up on the nonperishables, cans, sacks of potatoes, onions . . . anything.”

  “What’s the shotgun for?” asked Alford.

  “Just being prepared, is all,” Hawkins said a bit sheepishly. “Case people get out of order or someone sick shows up.”

  Alford took Elwood to one side. “Maybe we should get some things, too, Elwood.”

  Elwood just shook his head. He didn’t use the store much. He was almost completely self-sufficient. He had a root cellar filled with potatoes, carrots, and onions. He also had nearly half a ton of smoked or jerked venison stored there. The mountains were filled with game and he could take whatever he wanted.

  “You get what you need, Alford. Kindly buy me some sugar, flour, and salt if you will.” He handed him a carefully folded twenty-dollar bill. “I’m gonna make another stop. Meet you back here.”

  He walked across the street to the hardware and gun shop. It wasn’t as busy as Hawkins’s. People hadn’t begun to think quite that far ahead. But it was the first thing that came into Elwood’s head. He was self-sufficient, except for gun supplies and ammunition.

  He ordered thirty boxes of shells for his rifle and some cleaning fluid for the barrel. Then he picked up a new ax and crosscut saw to cut firewood. He added several large bottles of lamp oil. Just as he was about to leave, he saw a small multi-band shortwave radio with a hand-crank generator attachment. He bought it, along with a supply of batteries.

  He carried everything awkwardly to the pickup and put it all in the back. Then he stood waiting for Alford.

  The town was as busy as he’d ever seen it, even for a Friday night. The parking lot in front of Dave’s Tavern was filled to capacity. Some prepared for hard times in one way, Elwood thought, some in another. Everyone who passed on the street looked anxious and focused on one errand or another. Evidently, the news had spread like wildfire, and from what Elwood could see, people were taking the appearance of the disease just a few hundred miles to the south very seriously indeed.

  Alford came staggering out of the store with two boxes in his arms. T
hey were filled with canned goods, mostly the weird stuff that was still left, pickles, olives, some canned spam and tuna fish, Campbell’s soup, and an odd assortment of gourmet pastes and dips. He also had a dozen bags of potato chips and two cases of beer. First things first.

  “Your stuff’s buried in here somewhere, Elwood,” he said, as he unloaded in the pickup and headed back for more. “Good thing we got here when we did. This store will be empty by closing time.”

  “Better drive me back home,” Elwood said once they were in the truck. It was an eerie passage through the little town. People everywhere were hustling around outside, bringing in groceries and firewood, a few even boarding up their windows.

  “Looks like it’s every man for hisself,” Alford said. “God, I hope it doesn’t really happen. I think of Amelia and . . .” he choked up.

  Elwood put one of his giant hands on Alford’s shoulder. “She’ll be all right, Alford, if there’s any justice left in the world.”

  They reached the spot on the road where Alford always let Elwood off.

  “What you goin’ to do with all that stuff, Elwood? You can’t carry all that up to your place.”

  Elwood got out and began stuffing his pack basket. “I’ll jest put it all in the woods here. Take me a coupla trips up and back, but I got nothin’ else to do.” He stopped and looked at Alford.

  “Thanks for your help. Now, you watch out for those women of yours, you hear?”

  “Okay,” Alford said. “Maybe I’ll hike up and see how you’re doing in a few days, let you know what’s goin’ on.”

  “You take care of your family. I’ll be fine. I’ll listen more to the radio. Leastways I’ll know what’s happenin’.”

  He deposited the last of the supplies he couldn’t carry twenty feet into the woods and began the long trudge up to his cabin.

  The trip north by General Zhou’s remaining forces proved to be a race against death, which seemed to be closing in on all sides. The migration out of Beijing by the city’s dying residents had grown so massive that all of the preferred routes to the west were completely gridlocked. Thousands had begun to move north, taking the path of least resistance.

  Zeli’s declaration that the way north to Russia was open had proved a dire miscalculation. Again and again, the convoy had to fight its way through the diseased throngs. Where possible, they went around, but leaving the main roads held its own dangers. Trucks bogged down in the desert sands. Many drivers opted to find their own routes and became separated from the main column. They were then ripe to be picked off by roaming bands of the sick.

  For a time, it seemed they would never find a way through. Sufferers from the epidemic were everywhere, following every highway, track, dirt path, and goat path in the region. By the time the general’s forces neared their destination, they’d lost twenty percent of their strength. And the stress had taken its toll on everyone.

  Zeli ordered a halt within sight of the border. Having chosen to bypass the border town of Manzhoulli, he selected instead a remote crossing on a road that saw little traffic. Nonetheless, they had to periodically fight pitched battles against small bands of the sick in order to move forward.

  Zeli took out a pair of binoculars and scanned the crossing. There were two small buildings and a simple red-and-white striped barrier on the road. Nothing else.

  “Do you see anyone?” asked LiLing.

  “No. There’s no movement at all. Perhaps the crossing has been abandoned.”

  Xiaolang, who’d come up to talk with them, stared down at the quiet setting. “I don’t like it. If anything they should be strengthening the crossings, not abandoning them. Godunov would never allow such a thing.”

  “All right,” said Zeli. “Send a squad down there to investigate.”

  They waited in their vehicles beyond the approaches to the border as the soldiers made their way with great caution. They encircled the buildings, then burst in, guns at the ready. But no shots were fired. A moment later, one of the men appeared and waved them in.

  As Zeli drove up, the squadron commander met him. “Only one man here, sir. He appears to be injured, not sick. I thought you might want to question him.”

  The man said his name was Nikita and that theirs was a simple four-man post. He’d been badly hurt two days ago in a construction accident which had mangled both of his legs. They had no vehicles to transport him to the city for surgery. Yesterday, as more and more of the sick appeared, his comrades had received a radio message ordering them to abandon the post and begin the walk back into Russia. As they had prepared to do so, scores of the sick had suddenly appeared. The border guards, frightened to death, had fled for their lives, abandoning their injured comrade. Nikita had watched from the window, pistol in hand, ready to shoot himself once the frightening mob turned on the building.

  Instead, incredibly, the sick had taken after those who had bolted across the countryside. He’d watched as all the guards were hunted down and massacred. Afterwards, the mob had showed no interest in the buildings, simply returning to the road and trudging on into the distance. He’d been here ever since, Nikita said. He was extremely hungry and thirsty.

  Zeli ordered food and drink given to the man, then had him placed in one of their trucks to take along. He was in considerable pain and was also given what medication was available.

  “We don’t have time for this,” said Xiaolang. “We should leave him here. It’s what his friends did.”

  Zeli looked at him uncharitably. “I wouldn’t leave an injured dog and I won’t leave an injured man. In any event, we’re seeking asylum in this man’s country. His testimony may improve our chances in that regard.”

  As Nikita was being prepared for travel, Zeli asked him one more question.

  “Why were you ordered to abandon your post?” he asked.

  The Russian looked up at him gratefully, as the pain medication began to take effect. “We were told that the border at Manzhoulli had been overrun, that all the border crossings were under attack. We had only four men. We couldn’t possibly fight off an assault.” He hesitated a moment. “The—the word was that everyone was backing away from the border and the air force was planning an attack along the border region.”

  Xiaolang looked ill. He stared up at the sky. “An impossible task to destroy all these hundreds of thousands of sick people. They’re spread across the countryside, everywhere. What sort of attack were they planning?”

  Nikita swallowed hard and looked away. “It was going to be . . . nuclear,” he said in a low voice.

  “Mother of God,” said Zeli, who never spoke of God before his men. But if ever there was an appropriate moment, it was now. The squadron that had reconnoitered the customs house was still gathered around. When they heard Nikita’s words, they looked ready to bolt themselves.

  “We must head into Russia as fast as we can,” said Xiaolang.

  “I agree,” said Zeli, though he felt it was probably already too late. He nodded to Xiaolang to get his trucks moving. Then, slowly, he turned and went back to join LiLing in their jeep. He sat next to her but didn’t turn on the engine.

  “My dear LiLing,” he said. “I fear I have miscalculated badly.” He proceeded to tell her what Nikita had said.

  She leaned forward and kissed him. “We’ll do the best we can, my general. These are hard times. But I wouldn’t have exchanged the short time we’ve had together for anything.”

  Zeli’s heart was full of love for her. He reached to start the jeep, then stopped as they heard the splitting scream of Russian jets overhead. They were coming from the northeast, along the border. Patrols, perhaps. As they watched the planes go past and turn inland, there was a sudden glow in the distant northwest sky.

  “Look!” said LiLing, pointing to the beautiful crimson on the skyline.

  Then the glow grew and they saw a mushroom cloud reach up into the sky. It was far away and at first they heard nothing. Then a rumbling began and the skies filled with sound. The wind pick
ed up as well, and they saw dust fill the distant horizon.

  “That’s Manzhoulli,” said the general, quietly. “It was Manzhoulli.”

  Then, much closer, the sky suddenly turned brilliant white, as layers of colors and sound seemed to flow over them.

  “I love you,” LiLing cried. She clung to him tightly as the shock wave struck and took them away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Yä LING GUIDED her horse past the column of soldiers. She was a good rider, having been raised in a peasant community where horses were common. As she passed the young men, they gave her appraising looks. She was used to such a reaction and took it in stride, even rewarding one or two of them with a smile.

  Huang and Zhong had gone ahead to scout the best route to the monastery, leaving Gaoming and the others behind. Yä Ling was always glad when Huang went away, for whatever reason. She realized that he and Zhong weren’t sure how far they could trust the commander, since he knew about the epidemic. Normal chains of command no longer mattered in China. Zhong’s authority as a member of the Ministry of Culture was tenuous at best. Gaoming’s willingness to go along with them might simply be a reflection of his determination that, for the time being, it was in his own best interests to do so.

  She reined in beside Gaoming and paced her mount to his. He acknowledged her horsemanship with a nod.

  “You ride well,” he said.

  “I grew up in Yanting,” she replied. “A small village in Sichuan Province. We used horses in the fields and my father taught me to ride.”

  He looked at her in astonishment. “Yanting? I was born not far from there, in Shehong. We were almost neighbors growing up.”

  She appraised the young man beside her. He was tall for a Chinese and rode his horse with a straight back. He had sharp black eyes and a way of looking at her that was both open and nonjudgmental. He surely had guessed that the story of her being an interpreter was fabricated. He must have known she belonged to one of the two men she was traveling with. Even so, he’d not looked upon her disapprovingly, as many men would.