by Mark Rounds
The young man came forward and deftly poked the chief's finger and extracted a few drops of blood with a pipette. Then he quickly donned his poncho and using a flashlight under the poncho so as to not show a light ran the test.
“He's clean,” said the PJ who was slightly muffled as he was still under the hood.
“Henderson made it sound like an appendectomy,” said Yates wryly. “OK, is your offer still good to go check on Pederson?”
“Absolutely,” said Dave. “We have a vehicle. We can get you into town, give you a chance to visit with Officer Pederson, and get you back here before you are missed by your monitor. I'll radio ahead so he is awake and ready to receive guests.”
The ride into town took about five minutes in the twelve-seat University of Idaho van that had been converted to run on bio-diesel. Even this commonplace trip was now a rare event and the speed seemed incredible, especially after everone spent most of their time on shank's mare.
“So, are there many false positives with your Plague tests?” asked Yates after an awkward silence.
“There are some,” acknowledged Chad. “But when we get a positive result, we follow it up with a full lab workup. Someone who is on a strict vegetarian diet for example or who is suffering from renal failure might be missing some of the same proteins, but we can now check for specific antibodies, and that is pretty nearly foolproof.”
“So much for Henderson’s claim that there will be all manner of false positives of infection,” said Yates. “How hard would it be to teach someone to do this test so we could administer it ourselves?”
“Airman First Class Wright here could train you on the ride back,” said Chad. “I did the first few myself. It would be better to have someone trained in infection control to draw the blood, but even that’s not intense. Any medical technician could do this and in fact at Fort Lewis, they do.”
Conversation languished until the van arrived at Gritman. There was some emergency lighting that had obviously been turned on for the visit. Pederson's room was on the second floor.
“Hi, son,” said Chief Yates as he entered the room. “Are they treating you well?”
“Pretty good,” said Pederson. “The care is good, the food's OK.”
“Is it true that you don't want to come back to Pullman?” asked Yates.
“Nothing personal, sir,” said Pederson awkwardly, “but Mayor Henderson is a nut case. These folks seem pretty straightforward, and I really don't have many ties to Pullman. I figured it might be safer here. As soon as they clear me, I intend on enlisting in the militia so I can get back at the folks that killed Jeremy. I feel like I owe him. If they are still doing commendations, he should get one. He saved my life, even though …”
Pederson's voice trailed off and he began rocking, trying hard not to let the tears come back.
“Chief,” said the night nurse moving protectively between Pederson and Yates. “You should leave now. This young man is suffering from a classic case of PTSD and this isn't helping. He has been getting regular therapy, but you need to leave now.”
“OK, I’m convinced that he is safe and telling the truth,” said Chief Yates once they were outside of Pederson’s room. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“I wouldn't have been too sure in your shoes either,” said Dave, who paused a moment before continuing. “We have given you something, several somethings in fact. It’s time you reciprocated.”
“What do you want?” asked the Chief warily.
“Not your immortal soul or anything,” said Dave easily. “I just want to know what is going on. We aren't bogeymen you know, and we do represent the U.S. Government.”
“I am reasonably sure you do,” said Chief Yates. “You have to understand though; we really thought we had been forgotten out here on the Palouse. Mayor Henderson made more than a little sense initially, especially when the Attorney General stood down the police forces. We made some 'accommodations’ that in retrospect seem ill-advised.”
“Like what?” asked Dave neutrally.
“Henderson said the control of the armed forces,” said Yates with some difficulty, “belongs to the duly-elected civilian government. He said that in our new state, we were the armed forces and he and the City Council were the duly constituted authorities. I really do agree with that in principle.”
“So how does he exercise this control?” asked Dave.
“It made sense at the time. We have enough ammunition for day-to-day operations,” said Chief Yates, “but the bulk of the ammo and many of our heavy weapons are controlled by the Mayor. In practice, that means it’s Mayor Henderson's cronies and monitors who have them. It's also the monitor's job to patrol the city while we are watching the perimeter. What that really means is we are out here, while his monitors are close in, near our families. They are in effect his hostages. He has used thinly veiled threats to that effect more than once.”
“That isn't what Captain Nesmith told us,” said Dave quietly.
“Nesmith and Henderson were in cahoots,” said Yates strongly. “They didn’t like each other, but they cooperated more than once. I know both of them used the Universities to recruit bullyboys. We have been able to quietly recruit a few students there ourselves and some have run off, but most were too scared. Until you raided them, we really didn't know what went on in the dorms. Henderson said his 'monitors' were keeping the situation under control. We couldn't help, but we were delightfully inept when it came to responding.”
“Nesmith is infected and was covering with Slash,” said Dave.
“Five will get you ten that Henderson is in the same boat,” said Yates. “We are still trying to be cops, and we know he gets visited regularly by a former WSU student who we suspect is his source. This kid is followed by a student we recruited as an informant. If there is anything actionable, we will let you know.”
“You think he is controlling Henderson,” said Dave.
“You said it, not me,” said Yates who paused for a moment. “But it wouldn't surprise me.”
“Let me be indelicate,” said Dave. “Do you want him out?”
“You know, I have thought about this a lot,” said Yates who, at that moment looked very much older. “I swore an oath to protect and serve the citizens of Pullman and the rest of Washington. I can't be … won't be ... part of a usurpation of the rule of law. If he fails to win election here in November and doesn't leave office of his own free will, I will happily lead a movement to oust him.
“I will continue to investigate suspicious activity, like his potential alleged Slash usage, which would be a violation of law. If I have evidence, we will get with the District Attorney and will pursue an arrest and an indictment. Until then, I won't be part of a coup attempt.”
“I understand,” said Dave.
“But I also think we need to keep having these talks,” said Yates rather quietly. “If we find that he is a user and under the influence of some outside force, I suspect we will need your help.”
“I think you can count on us,” said Dave. “You are clearly an honorable man stuck in a dishonorable situation. We will help you do the right thing, once you determine what it is.”
June 24th, Monday, 9:58 am PDT
Campus of the University of Idaho, Moscow, ID
“Young lady,” said Mary Strickland in her mom voice, “until that room you inhabit looks presentable, and you complete your assigned chores, I don't care who is waiting in the dining hall. We have had this talk before.”
“But ...” started Briana Fischer, one of the residents of Theophilus tower or 'The Tower' as they residents called it. “OK, Ms. Strickland. Please come check my room in fifteen minutes. I promise it will be good this time.”
Mary shook her head with a smile as the young lady headed off toward her room. After the infected Slash dealer and his cronies were arrested and evicted from the Tower, there was more than a little chaos. The old order was draconian and abusive, but the meals, such as they were, got cooked on time, an
d there was enough water hauled up from Paradise Creek that the toilets all got flushed once a day.
The first day, there had been pandemonium when dinner wasn't served. Chad was busy trying to develop intelligence for the Air Force and had drafted Chris and Ace into that effort, so it was Mary who stepped into the power vacuum in the Tower. As a former food service manager, she and Heather pitched in and got a passable dinner ready. Then with Amber's help and the brooding presence of Sayla and the Hammer to act as enforcers, they brought order to the Tower.
Starting the next morning, there was a meeting for all the residents to attend. The Hammer and Ace had gone around to each of the rooms and made sure that everyone was up and in the dining area. Breakfast was very good, including hash brown potatoes, local oatmeal, dried fruit, and fresh cinnamon rolls sweetened with local honey. While the kids were eating, Mary and Heather lined out the new rules for discipline in The Towers.
Effective immediately, there would be men's floors and women's floors. There were some groans and complaints, but because of the sexual abuse that had occurred, many of the residents were secretly happy about that. Each resident was given a list of chores to choose from. These included kitchen help, laundry which was no small chore without electricity, building maintenance, and the planting and care of a huge garden on what used to be the lawn in front of the Tower. It worked out that each resident had about four hours of work daily. Those who didn't work, didn't eat.
One loudmouth had pulled a knife and said “No woman is going to tell me how to live!” Ace, Hammer and Sayla started for him, but Amber got there first. She had more than recovered her strength after being infected by the Plague. The training at the Police Academy was remarkably thorough and included using the baton to disarm someone with a knife. Amber had practiced the technique many times but had never used it before. The training paid off, the young man was sent to student health with a police escort and a broken wrist. No one else gave Amber any grief. It took two days, but a routine got hammered out and a form of normalcy settled in.
Mary had some serious worries on her mind as she headed back to her new office on the first floor of the dorm. The weather was quite warm so heat wasn’t an issue yet, but come this winter, it would be. The steam heat plant for the University was powered by wood waste, but it took a significant amount of electricity to run. No electricity, no heat.
Heat for cooking was supplied by a wood-fired furnace that had been jury-rigged in the kitchen, but wood and charcoal were becoming scarce. Mary was also worried about the diet of the students in the dorm. They were long on wheat, dried peas, lentils, garbanzo beans, oats, and some other grains. They had some food they had been able to trade for with student labor, but come winter, Mary was afraid of scurvy, hence her big garden. Starting this late in the season, she knew wasn't going to get much in the way of tomatoes and other high vitamin C crops, but she hoped that with the greens, carrots, green beans, radishes, squash, and the potatoes she planted, courtesy of seeds abandoned at the Tri-State hardware store, they would be able to get through the winter.
She also was very worried about some of the residents who had been seriously abused. Three young women and one young man were very nearly catatonic. Mary wasn't sure what the long-term effects of such abuse were, and, being a mom, she worried. She had arranged with some local area counselors to start working them. In some cases, residents of the towers volunteered labor to help repay the counselors, others were offering their help for free, and in one case, 25 9mm rounds from Chad's dwindling stash had been the incentive.
“Hey, Mary,” said Amber brightly. “We’re headed to the Farmer's Market. Come with us.”
She was standing in front of the desk with Heather, Fiona, Katy, and Ginger, all burdened with empty baskets. Two steps behind was the silent but ominous Sayla.
“I'd like to, but I have so much work to do,” said Mary. “Besides, what are you going to trade?”
“The Hammer's a blacksmith, remember?” said Amber. “It turns out that Sayla is also pretty good at it. There was an overturned car in the parking lot. Sayla pulled off some of the leaf springs and the Hammer rigged up a makeshift forge from a really large wood stove that hadn't been looted from Moscow Building Supply. Don't worry, we paid for it with the first three knives the Hammer made when the owner came around.”
“You shouldn't be using the fuel!” said Mary. “We have enough wood to cook for a week or two, but then I don't know what we will use.”
“We didn't touch your fuel cache,” said Amber. “There is an old house behind Tri-State. The owners are long gone and it had been thoroughly looted. We made the garage into a shop and the house, which is falling down after a car hit and partially burned it, is what we are using for fuel. There are a couple of houses that have been abandoned and looted near here that you could use for fuel if you needed it.”
“I don't know ...” began Mary, but Fiona cut her off.
“Come on, Mom,” said Fiona. “We haven’t seen you be just Mom for weeks. Can't we all just go shopping and have fun, like before …”
“OK, sweetheart,” said Mary looking into the pleading eyes of her daughter. “I need to take a break. Let’s go see what the market has to offer.”
The walk to Main Street where the Farmer’s Market was held was almost festive. There were some abandoned businesses, but the streets were being cleaned, courtesy of the students who been arrested after the militia, under Major Tippet’s direction, raided the dorms. Labor was still scarce, so those that were not convicted of murder were working off sentences of hard labor supporting the city.
Farmer’s Markets used to be just on Saturdays before the Plague, but now they happened on Saturdays, and Tuesdays and Thursdays too. The big market day was still Saturday when many local farmers came into to town to trade. While they had enough food to get by, they needed things like tools and labor that were in greater supply in town. They also craved a little human company, as without power, they were far more isolated than before.
The Hammer's knives sold well. He had made copies of the legendary Bowie knife with hardwood handles along with some standard utilitarian hunting blades. In uncertain times with ammunition running low, people were beginning to look to more primitive means of defense. Just about everyone they saw was armed in some fashion.
After an hour of sharp bargaining, twelve of the thirteen knives had sold. The last one being balanced as a throwing knife and so was not in as much demand as the other more utilitarian blades they had offered for sale. They also had orders for five more of the big Bowie knives. They had traded for two hogs on the hoof to be delivered at the end of the day. The college students living in the Towers were pretty good about their enforced vegetarian diet, but they were hungry for meat. Mary hoped that the pork would last more than a couple of meals. They had also traded for local honey and some fresh greens, basil, and onions to help spice up the menu.
They had one knife left so they stopped at a Native American wagon at the end of the street where they saw that they were trading venison.
“Is either of you gentlemen interested in a finely balanced throwing knife?” said Mary, hoping for the best.
“Can I see it?” asked a wiry Native American in his middle years.
Mary pulled the blade out of one of the baskets and offered it to the man. Normally, she would have been a bit more protective of their trade goods, but they had discovered early on that the rules of the market were simple - if you lied, cheated, or took anything without paying for it, you were banished forever with no appeals. After the first couple of occurrences, people started to behave very well, at least at market.
The Native American balanced the blade in his hand with a familiarity that bespoke long hours of training with various kinds of blades. Then, without warning, he threw the knife straight and true and stuck it in a door-jamb across the street.
“It's got a nice balance,” he said as he retrieved the knife and handed it back to a startled Mary. “What do w
ant for it?”
“I am working with the college kids that were stranded here and living in the Towers,” said Mary. “We have plenty of grains and legumes, but precious little meat for the kids.”
“I have half a good sized white tailed buck here, Ma’am,” he replied. “It's probably forty pounds of meat plus bones for soup. How about that?”
Mary looked at the meat. It wasn't as much as she had gotten for the hunting knives and the finely crafted Bowie style fighting knives had gotten even more, but it was a good offer.
“I see you've got some chickens there,” said Mary trying to appear casual. “Throw in four of those and we have a deal.”
“Most of those are already spoken for,” said the meat merchant, with the ease of somebody who had been trading a long time. “How about two chickens?”
“You have done this before,” said Mary with what she hoped was a winning smile.
“I have at that,” said the Native American with a smile. “But really, I have regular customers that have already spoken for most of these. I don't suppose your smith would be willing to sell some more knives to order on some kind of wholesale arrangement? I'll bring in half a deer or the equivalent weight in pork for each knife for up to ten knives. I think I can sell them on the reservation and we can both make some profit.”
“I'd love to say yes,” said Mary, “But I can't commit him for that many blades. I will make the deal for the deer and two chickens provided you come by after the market is over to deliver the meat. I can have him around and you guys can dicker.”
“That sounds like a grand idea,” said the Native American. “I should be done here at noon, unless these rabbits sell faster than I expect they will, I'll come by the Tower then.”
“What is your name?” asked Mary. “If we are going to be in business, it would be nice to have something to call you.”
“My name is John,” he said. “Johnny Comes At Night is my full name. My father's idea of a joke I suppose, and this is my cousin Byron. We will be along as soon as the Market is over. And what is your name, young lady?”
