by Damon Novak
I held up my hands, palms out. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”
“I’ll take the blame,” said Georgina. “I should’ve grabbed it. I promise from now on, it goes where we go.”
Lilly ignored Georgina’s defense. “How was it out there? Are Denny and the boys okay?”
“The boys are off huntin’, and Denny didn’t know where Sally was until we told him. I’m not sure what he’s gonna do, but he might be in shock. Could do somethin’ stupid.”
“He didn’t react the way I thought he should, hearing about his wife’s condition,” said Georgina. “Maybe we’re all in a bit of shock.”
“Saw Jax dead on the bank just outside his house,” I said.
“Gator?”
I shook my head. “I’m guessin’ it’s that black rain. The dogs and that stuff didn’t get along.”
Lilly just stared at us.
“I know, Lil,” I said.
“I have to try the police station again. It’s my duty,” said Sonya. “I’m a so-called first responder. I can’t just hide out.”
I looked at her, just a tad confused. “Sonya, it was your choice to come with us. Nobody’s holdin’ you.”
“I know, I know,” she said quickly. “I’m not ashamed to admit it, I was scared. I am scared. But I’m also trained. This isn’t on you. Physically and mentally, I feel a hundred percent better than I did when I got to your place last night. I’ll be going soon.”
“Are you sure?” asked Lilly. “You don’t have to.”
She sighed and shook her head. “I took this damned job,” she said. “Kind of for better or worse.”
I nodded. Bein’ law enforcement was kinda like a marriage, and it was her call, of course. “Get anything on your radio?”
“Yeah, which is why I’m going. I picked up a transmission from the Collier County Sheriff’s Office. Female voice, probably Tammy. Static-filled, so I couldn’t tell who it was exactly, but I caught the gist of it. It was about enforcing the curfew.”
“Can’t imagine anyone would want to go out at all with all this going on.”
“How long ago did you hear that?” I asked.
“Right after you and Georgina left.”
I didn’t know what to think. I said what came to mind. “Sonya, there’s always been safety in numbers. I’d prefer you stay here, but you’re a cop, so you gotta make the call yourself. You can always come back here if things go sideways. Just don’t get backed into a corner.”
I’m not sure why, but my words seemed to tip the scales for her. She stood up. “I’m going. I’ll come back if I can’t find any of our guys.”
“Be careful,” said Lilly. “I think you’re crazy.”
“Maybe,” said Sonya. “I’d rather seem a bit crazy than carry around the guilt that’s already starting to build. Now, let me take on the role of cop and suggest you all stay here with the doors locked.”
She pushed open the door and checked the boardwalk. “CB, you want to open the gate and close it up behind me?”
“Yep,” I said. “But hold on. Lilly, you got another one of our radios?”
“Right here,” Lilly said, digging into the drawer again. “Try channel 15 first,” she said. “We’ll keep it there. Not much distance to them, but if you’re working your way here at any point, just keep trying it if you need us. We’ll keep ours on. We have plenty of batteries.”
“Sonya,” I said, as we started out the door.
“Yes?” she said, turning to look at me.
“Head shots. Takes ‘em right down.”
“I’m hoping not to have to shoot anyone,” she said.
“Just be afraid,” I said. “It’ll keep ya safe. On your toes.”
I walked to the gate, and watched her leave, closing it back up behind her trailing brake lights. We laid low the rest of the evening. None of the transformed humans made their way into our swampy sanctuary, and that was just fine by us. We did, however, come across a voice in the night.
It was a weak signal on the ham radio. By the time Lilly, Georgina and I started listening, we’d either missed where he was located, or he never said it. We didn’t know his name, either.
“ … so I don’t have a lot of new stuff for you. I’m still not sure if the government is in on this mess or not, but let me tell you a little secret.”
There was a long pause before the voice came on again; so long, in fact, I thought we’d lost his signal. He continued about a full minute later.
“This is Micky Rode of WOGO FM in Buckingham, Florida, if you just tuned in during my pause for a cause. Our studio’s got some good fencing to protect the talent, and I do include myself in that category. I’m the only one left here. If I’m bored, I might tell you that story later.”
“Hope he does,” I said. “Wouldn’t mind comparin’ stories.”
Micky Rode spoke again. “Anyway, sorry for leaving you hanging, but I wanted to cue up the tape, have another look. How many of you out there have seen the recording of the so-called Indian witch doctor? The one where he takes credit for the black rain and then kills himself?”
He stopped again, as if givin’ us time to answer. In the end, I just wanted him to get on with it. His voice was deep and serious, but there was the hint of smartass in there, too. I wasn’t sure which was most prevalent, but he balanced the smartass pretty well with the intelligence.
I liked him, is what I’m sayin’. I might’ve said I’m a pretty good judge of character – maybe I didn’t – but I am. Even from a voice.
“I think it’s bullshit,” he continued. “No, allow me to amend that. I know it’s bullshit. If you watch the tape, you’ll see a cut. Almost imperceptible, but it’s there. You have to literally go frame-by-frame to see it. I’ll give you guys a minute to go to about the 12:34 timecode, then hit whatever control you have to make it play in super slow-mo.”
He was quiet for about half a minute, while he apparently waited for his listening audience to get situated.
“Okay. The guys came in and gave him that pretty, pearl-handled gun. He raises it, and that’s when the camera gets all shaky.”
There was another pause. “Now. Watch carefully. He’s got the gun, finger on the trigger. Right then, the camera starts shaking, and I originally assumed the person filming didn’t expect him to shoot his own fucking brains out. After watching it – I don’t know, like fifty times – I think the purpose was different.”
Some noises could be heard, like he was flipping switches or somethin’.
He went on: “There’s another thing. I have a little Native American blood in me, Sioux, so I’ve had a fascination with tribal culture all my life. That said, I can tell you, suicide is really, really frowned upon by almost every tribe. It’s taboo, so even if Climbing Fox had killed himself, I don’t think there’s any way he puts it on that video.
“The reason he might pull this particular fake-out is because he knows the white man knows nothing about them or their culture. We’ll suck it up and believe what our eyes see. In trying to fool us, he also points out our stupidity.”
I looked at Lilly and Georgina during his next extended pause. “I’m diggin’ this shit. Despite all the freaks out there, I do love a good mystery.”
“You’re a moron,” said Lilly.
I shrugged. She might be right. I could be a moron and a good judge of character. I’m gifted.
“Anyway,” Rode went on. “There’s a definite cut. You never see his head actually explode and I also think the gunshot was a fraction of a second off the appearance of the blood spatter. The problem is, the spatter begins just before the gunshot.”
“Fuck I wish I could see that damned tape,” I said.
“You do say the F-word a lot,” said Georgina. “If I didn’t know you were smart, I’d assume you weren’t.”
“Lucky you saw the bright side of me before I got comfortable in front of you.”
“Shh,” said Lilly. “Why don’t you two get a goddamned room and let me list
en.”
I felt the red risin’ to my face. I did find Georgie good lookin’, but I didn’t need Lilly makin’ me feel dumb. Instead of jumpin’ in her face with more brother-sister banter, I just said, “I’m sorry.”
I caught Georgina’s mouth turn up in a smile – not much, but enough to make me think we might be able to repopulate the earth someday if that became necessary.
“Another thing,” he said, his tone sounding more cocky than before, “is the clock.”
I looked at Georgina and Lilly. They both shrugged.
“I’m pretty sure the government, if they’re out there, already spotted it. I didn’t notice it until I read it on something called Armand’s ZomBlog a few hours ago. When I saw it, everything came together. The clock behind him is like those old clocks from my elementary school – hell, every school I’ve ever gone to. It’s black with a white face, about twelve inches in diameter, and has a red second hand.
“Watch the second hand. It jumps. Just before the shot, it goes from about six seconds to about 15 seconds. That’s a cut, and keep in mind, it could’ve been for much longer – like a minute and nine seconds. But even if it was only nine seconds, it’s enough. Count it off in your head. Do something with that nine seconds. Bend down, pick something up while you’re counting. It’s plenty of time to set something up.”
“What’s his point?” asked Georgina.
“Besides the Indian faked his death?” asked Lilly.
“But why do that?” I asked.
“Why do that?” asked Micky, as though he could hear me. I turned my head up and started searchin’ for microphones. Didn’t see any.
Micky Rode spoke again, answering his and my question: “Because, he didn’t want the government coming after him. He was supposedly dead. Even if his black rain served its purpose, and it’s pretty clear that it did, he probably figured there was a percentage of the population who would be immune to whatever it was, and if he was alive, they’d come find him and force him to undo it.”
“That’s a tad far-fetched,” said Georgina.
“You may think it’s far-fetched,” said Micky.
Now Georgina and I stared hard at one another, and I searched for bugs again – this time more thoroughly.
“But it makes sense. This dude said his people were stuck on a shit-small reservation for years upon years. He blamed the United States government. We elect the idiots, therefore, we control our government – at least in the minds of the uninformed who never vote or pay any attention until something affects them. Therefore, by extension, we are the government. By the people, for the people and of the people, or however it goes.
“We’re the people. We’re who he wanted to kill, but he realized anyone left would come after him if they suspected he was still alive. So, why would they make such a dumb mistake with the clock? I’ve got a hypothesis.”
“Does this guy ever get to the point?” I asked.
“He’s got a lot of airtime to fill, apparently,” said Georgina.
“What’s your hypothesis, Micky?” I asked, looking at the radio.
“It’s my belief,” he continued, “that when they set up the recording equipment, the second hand was at the bottom, making its way up the left side of the face. That part of the clock wasn’t in the shot because of the back of his chair, so they didn’t worry about the hour and minute hands, because any cut would only be a few seconds.
“All that means is there’s an opportunity to find him and to force him to undo whatever the hell he did. Bring our families back. Our parents, and our kids. I lost them all, folks. I’m angry and I’m sad at the same time, but most of all, I’m scared.”
There was a long, long silence. A moment later, the strains of CCR’s Bad Moon Rising drifted from the radio, squeakin’ out between static coughs.
“Wonder if he’s comin’ back on,” I said.
Lilly just shook her head, leanin’ forward with one elbow on the desk and her chin restin’ in her upturned hand.
Georgina also leaned forward in her chair in the lobby, starin’ at the radio, hands clasped together and elbows on her knees. When the song was over, Micky Rode was back.
“Sorry. I needed some time.”
The static had died completely away, and he now came in clear as a bell. “Anyway, I want everyone out there listening right now – and I pray like a son-of-a-bitch that there are a lot of you – to tell other survivors what I’m about to say. The latest from the TV news, before they started to self-destruct, said flat-out that the government and military were immediately decimated by the sickness that has spread all over the world.”
Another pause, but this time no music filled the void. When Micky returned, his voice was solemn.
“You know how fast it happened to your family, right? I know what happened to mine, and it was insane, like I just turned around and they’d all gone crazy. It was that fast. What’s worse, while I was killing them, I felt guilty. Not only for what I’d been forced to do, but because I wasn’t like them. They were my family! How did I avoid getting what they got? If this was a curse, and that witch doctor did actually cause it, how was I spared?
“You’re all asking yourselves the same question. I know that. What if we all get sick tomorrow, or the next day? Yeah, me, too. I’ve worried about it from the first time a guy ran at me and tried to tear into me with his teeth yesterday. Believe me, it only got worse from there. But consider the chance that we won’t get sick and change like they did. Maybe a small chance.
“But on that chance, no matter how infinitesimal, we need to band together and fight our way to the California Oregon border. When we get there, we need to find the motherfucker who claims to have started that black rain, and force his hand, one way or another. What have we got to lose, beyond what we’ve lost already?”
He stopped talkin’ again, and the silence was almost too much for me to handle. It felt like we had a connection to the outside world, no matter if it was just some random dude with access to the airwaves.
“As the other radio and TV stations started dropping off the air like dominos, and nobody was offering any reassurance, it hit me like a ton of bricks that those of us who survived would be on our own. Plumbers, electricians, welders, construction workers, doctors, nurses, cops, firemen, military. Though you may only be the remnants of your former unions, platoons and companies – join together. If you can hear my voice right now, tell other survivors to join with you. Everyone you see. Tell them to go to Lebanon, Kansas.”
I looked at Georgina and Lilly. “Lebanon, Kansas? What the fuck is in Lebanon, Kansas?”
“Lebanon is the geographic center of the contiguous United States,” said Micky. “From the farthest point east of there, up in Maine, it’s less than 1,700 miles. It won’t be so overrun with the infected, so it might be ideal. Only 203 people lived there as of 2016. Drive your trucks, your cars, your RVs, your tanks, whatever you have. We meet there, form and train our army, and then we fight our way to the source of this shit storm. If the Indian’s really dead, we’re still better off together than we are alone. We’ll have safety in numbers, and we’ll have labor to build protections.
“It’s all I got,” he said. “This is what I’m doing. If this shit peters out while I’m on my way, I’ll turn around and come back home, but if you’ve seen what I’ve seen, that’s a longshot. If you do come, bring as many people with you as you can. And look, I get it. I’m fucking Micky Rode from a goddamned classic rock radio station. Why trust me? I can shoot a gun, but I’m no marksman.”
Another long pause. “I got my mix tape composed, and just over 1,600 miles to ride, folks. See you in Lebanon. Godspeed.”
Ω
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sonya gripped the steering wheel, keeping her eyes peeled for anything running in front of the cruiser. Cars were crashed everywhere, creating a maze of wreckage on the streets before her.
As she drove on, the number of occupied cars on the road increased, some dr
iving erratically, careening from the traffic lanes into the tall, chain-link fences that bordered the highway.
Others just drove fast. The presence of the cruiser seemed to do little to change that; people were clearly aware the situation was serious enough that speeding was no longer an infraction that would get them pulled over.
She glanced at her watch. It was approaching 5:30, which meant she had at least three hours of daylight remaining. That was good. She didn’t want to be out after dark, so shelter of some kind – either back at Baxter’s or in the confines of the station house – would be a necessity.
As Sonya passed the Tarpon Lakes Golf Club, a car shot out in front of her, one door hanging open and a man clawing his way over the top of the car. She swerved to avoid it, but it had darted out at the last second, and her reaction time wasn’t enough.
As her front left bumper struck the right fender of the car, something slammed into the windshield as the Dodge went into a counter-clockwise spin, the black muck on the streets creating a slick surface that seemed to offer little friction between the rubber and the asphalt.
The air bag in her steering wheel exploded in a blast of white dust as the car continued to spin in a hydroplane, out of control. She could no longer see anything through the dust and the shattered windshield but gripped the wheel with white knuckles until she was able to come to a stop.
Jamming the transmission into park, she pushed the deflating airbag down, coughing to clear her lungs. Her face felt raw from the impact with the bag, but no wet warmth trickled down her face. She put her hands up to be sure.
Nothing. Her heart pounded in her chest as she unclipped the seatbelt and threw the door open.
Looking around, she stepped out of the vehicle, her gun drawn the moment her feet hit the ground. The traffic control arm for the entry lane into Tarpon Lakes Golf Club was up, but it would drop every couple of seconds to hit a BMW that had one wheel up on the curb and three on the asphalt drive, then bounce up again.
Sonya stared, but she could see nobody inside the booth. The car that she had struck was now sitting in the middle of Highway 41, its left blinker flashing. It was behind her car, the momentum carrying her cruiser forward another thirty feet or so.
