by Reed, N. C.
He took a minute to study the large propane heater, made to look like a second fireplace near the middle of the house. There were simple directions for safely lighting the pilot light printed on the side, near the thermostat. Following those, Greg had the pilot going in about two minutes, with a warm flame blossoming over the fake logs three minutes after that.
“Nice,” Petra noted, warming her hands. “That thing is pretty,” she commented, returning to work.
“Hope it works good,” Greg nodded. “But they can always burn wood. What can I do to help finish us up?”
-
Faron Gillis tried his best to hide his anxiety, but it was difficult at best.
For five days he and his men had maintained a patrol in the back areas of two counties, searching for any sign of the criminals responsible for a great deal of the violent crime in the area, particularly around Lewiston. There had been the faint hope that the elimination of the Bone family would put an end to the crime wave, but it was not to be. There was at least one more outfit, somewhere, preying on those who had managed to survive everything else so far.
Five days of MREs or jerky, water cleaned with purification tablets and bleach, camping on cold ground or inside cold vehicles hidden in dense foliage, all to try and stay hidden as they searched for the criminals. And all for naught as the last five days had netted them absolutely nothing in terms of success.
Then, he checks in with the Captain and finds out that the world has gone to hell, again, while he was out, having been out of contact in order to avoid anyone possibly overhearing their communications, or even just realizing that someone was transmitting.
Best decision he’d made, it appeared, since he was unable to be recalled and walk right into the Black Death.
Captain Adcock had spared no tact in informing his young lieutenant of the gravity of the situation they found themselves in. Everyone in Jordan and Lewiston could be considered as having been exposed. Some would not have been, of course, but there was no way to prove it. Since his men had been out since just before the first wave of the Exodus had arrived, they were considered clean.
Despite that, the squad would be quarantined for seven-to-ten days to ensure that no one was sick. There was exactly nothing that could be done for anyone who was sick, so isolation was the best thing in this case.
“Sir,” Staff Sergeant Lowell shook the young officer from his thoughts, his hand pointing forward. A small MRAP like their own sat blocking the road. Gillis could see only two men at the moment.
“Stop,” he ordered his driver, opening his door to get down even before the vehicle had completely stopped moving.
“Sir,” Lowell began, but Gillis cut him off.
“Come along if you’re of a mind to, Staff Sergeant,” was all he said.
“Welcome to the end of the line,” a semi-cheerful voice said over a low powered P.A. system. “We have a crew that is finishing up a housewarming, literally in this case for you guys. There’s heat, wood and maybe propane, and we’re stocking it with food. You guys will have to hang here for about ten days, give or take, and then if none of you take sick, well, that’s good. I don’t know what will be on the agenda next since this was laid on pretty quick like.”
“That sounds pretty good after five days in the cold,” Lowell muttered.
“Don’t it, though?” Gillis replied. “Can you tell us anything that the Captain might not have known?” he called to the Sanders’ MRAP. Before there was a reply, he heard a series of rapid gunshots, all on single fire.
“Nothing you’d want to hear or deal with at the moment,” the P.A. did a good job conveying the man’s sadness. “There are written orders waiting for you that will explain our situation in detail, and outline what’s expected of you while you’re at this location. We’ll probably maintain a post here from now on as a guard on our back door, but I doubt they will keep all of you here just for that. Hold on,” the man said, lowering one mike and retrieving another. They could just make out his voice as he had a brief conversation over the radio, and then he was back.
“Okay. They tell me the house is ready. Our people are on the way out so follow us, and we’ll lead you there. The door is unlocked, and we left a couple of GMRS radios there with a small solar charger for you to use. In this terrain they will reach the Operations building, even if only barely. Try to keep one powered on and the other one charging so we can always communicate if we need to.”
“Got it!” Gillis shouted back. “Back aboard, Staff Sergeant,” he ordered Lowell. A minute later and they were following the leader to their new home.
-
“They’re settled,” Jose reported to Clay, thirty minutes later. “They are beat, too. Assuming they aren’t sick, then the rest will do them good. They’ve been beating the bushes for five days straight, looking for people responsible for a lot of violent crimes south of here.”
“House was in good shape,” Greg added. “Bedding is good, though we stripped the bed clothes since they’d been there for over a year. Abby dusted the place for bugs while Sam and Petra cleaned and swept and what not. Kurtis and I left them a half cord of wood, too. Oh, and the propane tank was at fifty percent, so they can use the heater.”
“Sounds good,” Clay nodded. “They look okay, other than tired?”
“Gillis is worried,” Jose replied thoughtfully. “And not a little scared, I’d imagine. He doesn’t have the rank or time in grade, nor the age really, to be exercising an independent command, and he’s smart enough to know it. He’s leaning on his Staff Sergeant pretty hard, which is good. I’m sure they’re worried about anyone they’ve managed to form an attachment to, whether in Jordan or Lewiston. Gillis is probably thinking about what may happen if the rest die and leave him and his few men alone, here.”
“Well, he won’t be alone, assuming none of them are sick,” Clay reminded him. “Gleason and his troops are part of his command structure, too. We’ll leave them together and issue orders for them through Gillis. With Gleason and Lowell both helping him, he should be fine.”
“You’re assuming any of us will be fine,” Greg noted, his face stony.
No one replied to that.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It became a cycle. Those protecting the farm, usually on what was now simply called The Line, would report for duty. People from the Exodus would ignore the trailer across the road, ignore the newly erected sign warning of the plague and that the area was quarantined, and be shot.
Every day it was the same. One day became like any other. People ignoring the signs, the burning bodies, the warnings from the P.A. systems. Ignoring everything in favor of trying to bust through the roadblock or climb the fences or cross the creeks, overcome whatever obstacles that prevented them from invading the farm that they were sure had everything they needed.
Some were armed and tried to shoot their way through. Fortunately, they were usually not good shots, and after a year of apocalyptic living had little ammunition to spare. Facing trained and experienced soldiers with modern equipment was a losing proposition. None of the farm residents were injured by those attacks, protected by armored vehicles, or in some cases by the night itself.
For seven days it was the same. The Exodus down the interstate would thin for a while, then suddenly the numbers would swell. Adcock’s last message, five days before, had indicated that the buildings they could use in Peabody were full, and a great many of those people were sick.
Adcock suspected that he was sick as well, and informed Clay of that. There was nothing for Clay to add, and the two had wished each other well.
Even more than the first days following the Storm, it truly felt like the end of the world.
-
Amanda Lowery managed to sit up in bed, wincing a bit as the action pulled on the stitching still present in her abdomen. Xavier Adair watched her from his perch on the side of her bed.
“Still hurting, I gather?”
She studied him closely before answer
ing. He seemed to be genuinely concerned about her. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or frightened. Xavier Adair just had that effect on people.
“Of course I’m hurting,” she finally replied, allowing her normal sass to color her voice, and hopefully cover her pain. “I got shot, remember?”
“Oh, I do remember,” Xavier assured her. “Everyone remembers that you were riding on patrol without your protection and as a result were horribly wounded. Be difficult to wear a bikini come summer, no?”
“Shut up,” she muttered, her face flushing a bit. “I wear a one-piece,” she added before she could help herself.
“Ah,” he smiled. “I see. Well, that will help, I should imagine.”
“Are you here just to cheer me up?” she growled at his good humor. “Because you really suck at it.”
“I’ve been told that more than once,” he admitted. “And no, I am not here to cheer you up. I’m actually here to check on your wellbeing. You were shot, after all,” he just had to add.
“You’re starting to scare me a little,” she told him. “This is a bit out of character for you, ain’t it? Being all…concerned and shit?”
“As ever, your word choice is amusing, if inappropriate,” he laughed lightly. “I apologize if my concern…concerns you,” he couldn’t resist.
“Cheeky shit,” she growled, but smiled as she said it.
“Indeed,” he nodded. “Well, since you appear to be on the mend as well as regaining your usual sass and attitude, I shall be on my merry way,” he stood. “As ever, if you have need of anything, send word to me or perhaps to Zachary. We shall see to it,” he promised.
“I appreciate that, very much,” she let her attitude die away to show real gratitude. “You guys are too good to me.”
“We really are, aren’t we?” he smiled. “Spoiling you, as it were. Still, you are one of our small group, and we take care of our own.”
She was still staring at him when the door closed behind him on the way out.
-
“We haven’t had word from the Captain in five days,” Clay noted as he talked to Jaylyn Thatcher. “Or anyone else for that matter.”
“This is all wrong,” she was shaking her head, looking at her own scribbled notes.
“What do you mean?” Clay asked. “What’s wrong?”
“All of it!” she exclaimed, tossing her notes on the table in front of her. “None of this makes a lick of sense, Clay! Pestis doesn’t occur here! Especially the pneumatic strain! The very few times any of them have occurred in the U.S., it’s been out west. This should not be happening here!”
“Well, I’ll have to trust your expertise on that, Jaylyn, but…it is happening,” he said carefully.
“I noted that myself,” she snorted. “How are you all holding up?” she asked, looking at him cautiously.
“I doubt any of us will ever feel clean again,” Clay admitted. “A few have had to be pulled, at Beverly’s suggestion. Three days without the strain of the Line to see if it will help. But that just makes it more difficult on the others. We can’t win,” he said suddenly, a tiny chink in his armor allowing his depression and fatigue to show for just a second.
She examined him carefully while he stood there. Dark circles beneath his eyes, shallow respiration, face flushed slightly, fidgeting, all were signs of exhaustion. Which would lead to impaired judgement. Something they could ill afford.
“Clay, you have to get some rest,” she ordered finally. “I want you to take twenty-four hours off duty. Get some hot food in you, cuddle on the couch, sleep the day away, whatever it takes, but you have got to get some rest. You are near the end of your rope.”
“I know,” he nodded slowly. “But there is so much to do and so few of us to do it,” he shrugged.
“Jose can take over for one, or even two days, which would be better,” she insisted. “He is the security chief anyway. Greg is the Sheriff. Let them handle things for the next forty-eight hours while you recover. It won’t do us any good to prevent the plague from getting in here if we lose you to simple exhaustion or stroke. I want you to go home. Now. I’ll inform Jose what’s happening. I’ll send a runner for Lainie as well. If something catastrophic happens, we can always call you on the phone. Go.”
It was tempting, he admitted. So very tempting. Recline on the couch, have a hot chocolate and watch a movie. It was closing on Christmas, too. Still three weeks or so, but it was closer every day. Finally, he nodded.
“You know, that sounds good,” he told her, suddenly so tired he could barely stay on his feet.
“You stay…no, you come with me,” she ordered, not missing Clay’s sudden weakness. She put an arm around his waist and guided him to the front of Building Two, where the response team sat, keeping warm. Gordy was sitting there, propped in a corner, trying to sleep.
“Gordy,” Jaylyn spoke gently, and the teen’s eyes immediately opened. He saw her standing there, essentially supporting his uncle, and was on his feet a second later.
“Doc?”
“Your uncle has reached his limit for a day or so,” she said calmly. “Get an ATV and carry him home. Stop and see about picking Lainie up as well. She should be with him, I think. He is to rest and relax for the next forty-eight hours, after which I will evaluate him again. Tell Lainie she can call me on the phone when she gets things settled and I’ll brief her in.”
“Yes ma’am,” Gordy took Clay’s weight on himself, his uncle’s rifle in his other hand.
“C’mon, Uncle Clay,” he said softly. “Let’s get you home.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Clay murmured, almost asleep even as he stood there.
“Please tell Leon I’ll be back in a bit,” Gordy told Jaylyn, who nodded. Once the two were outside, she headed for Operations to relay that message, and send one of her own to Jose Juarez.
-
“But you think he’ll be okay?”
-
Lainie Harper had been sewing up a storm, in Angela’s words, when Gordy had come in, walking quickly, though without panic.
“I need you to come with me,” he’d told her flatly. Her eyes widened at that, but Gordy held up a hand to stop her panic.
“It’s not like that,” he assured her. “But he isn’t well, and he needs you. Doctor’s orders. And no,” he added at her reaction to ‘isn’t well’, “it’s not the infection. He’s exhausted.”
“I knew it,” she shook her head as she grabbed her coat and her gear, following him to the door. “Dammit I knew it. I’ve told him for a week that he had to take a break.”
“Well, he’s taking one now,” Gordy promised. “Jaylyn has put him on forty-eight hours rest, barring some earth-shattering crisis. She said once you guys were settled to call her on the phone and she’d explain.”
Lainie saw Clay sitting in the rear seat of the rig, leaning against the harness, clearly sleeping. She slid in beside him, wrapping her arms around him. She didn’t say anything on the trip to the cabin, and Clay didn’t speak either. Gordy helped her get Clay into the house and then get his gear off.
“I can manage, now,” she smiled at Gordy. “Thank you.”
“You bet,” the teen nodded firmly. “Need anything, all of us are here for him. For both of you,” he added pointedly, looking at her. “You’re family.”
“Thank you, Gordy,” she said again. She set about to make Clay comfortable on the couch, placing a pillow beneath his head and spreading a blanket over him as well. That done, she had picked up the field phone and called the switchboard.
-
“I think he’ll be fine with a couple days of rest and quiet,” Jaylyn tried to sound reassuring. “He’s exhausted. Pushed himself far beyond his limits and just kept going even when the tank was empty. He must have some rest. He needs to eat properly, too. A hot, hearty stew would be good for him. So would chicken noodle soup if you have it handy. But the stew would warm him as well as give him energy. Get him into a hot bath to relax him, and then g
et him into bed.”
“He’s on the couch now, asleep,” Lainie told her. “I’m going to stay here with him and let him sleep until he wakes. After that I’ll get him to eating.”
“Sounds like an excellent plan,” Jaylyn approved. “Call me at once if you need anything or if he seems worse.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“It’s what I’m here for,” Jaylyn replied. “Take care.”
-
“Uncle Clay’s down?” Leon asked as Gordy reported he was back.
“He’s not down, he’s just exhausted,” Gordy shook his head. “He needs rest, that’s all.”
“That sounds like down to me, man,” Leon objected, frowning.
“Well, it’s not,” Gordy said flatly. “He’s been having all of us take time off but forgot to do it himself. It’s caught up with him.”
“That definitely sounds like he’s down, dude,” Leon insisted.
“Leon, just do your job and let Jaylyn do hers. Okay?” Gordy was tired also. Too tired to argue semantics with Leon.
“I’m doing my job!” Leon shot back, offended at the idea that he wasn’t.
“Leon, for God’s sake, give it a rest!” Gordy almost shouted, which shocked both Leon and Millie, who had stayed quiet during the exchange. The larger teen immediately caught himself, schooled his features, then continued in a calmer tone.
“We’re all tired, and we’ve all had to do some ugly stuff,” he told them both. “Enough. Worry about yourself and stop fishing for information I don’t have.” With that Gordy turned his back and walked out, leaving the two looking after him.
“I’d say Clay is not the only one who is exhausted, or near it,” Millie said finally.
“Yeah,” Leon agreed, still looking toward the door where Gordy had disappeared. “Guess not.”
-
“Traffic on the highway has slowed,” Shane reported to Jose later that night. “It hasn’t stopped, but it has slowed.”
