by Nick Thacker
He got up to refill his coffee — he’d need another pot of it before the night was over — when the phone rang.
He growled, then sat back down. “Officer Wardley, Sheridon County Police, how may I assist you?”
He frowned as he heard the explanation on the other end of the line. “Excuse me, you’re going to need to slow down. You said you’re in Yellowstone right now?”
The voice yammered on. “Son,” Wardley said. “You need to get out of the park. There’s a virus —”
But the voice continued. Wardley’s heartbeat rose slightly. He was not fond of being yelled at, especially by a civilian. “Listen, Bennett, I don’t care if you’re a park ranger or not — you need to get out of that area.”
He started to explain their protocol regarding a refugee from a disease-infected area as he pulled out a regional map that had the quarantine checkpoints and stations marked in highlighter, but the man on the phone interrupted him again.
He was starting to get really angry.
“Bennett, I’m not going to ask you —”
He paused.
“Sorry, what?”
Bennett spoke again.
“There’s another bomb? And you’re sure of it?” He listened to Bennett explain, for the third time, what he wanted Wardley to do, and then he slammed the phone down onto the receiver.
49
Officer Darryl Wardley’s police cruiser, a 2006 Dodge Charger, raced down the highway at ninety miles an hour. He would have gone faster if it wasn’t for the handful of stray vehicles disobeying the now government-mandated house arrest for every citizen spread out on the open road.
Wardley’s comm had squawked out just about every excuse in the book as he’d listened in on his fellow officers’ 11-95s. Most of the civilians were heading to and from the supermarkets for last-minute supplies, or checking in on family and friends who hadn’t responded to their phone calls. One deranged man had even admitted he was on a joyride; he’d never seen so little traffic on the highway, and he wanted to take advantage of it.
Most of the civilians, with the exception of the wannabe race car driver, were let off with nothing but a warning and a stern reminder that they were supposed to be inside. The federal government, after all, hadn’t issued a formalized process notice explaining what the local officers were supposed to do with 11-95s out and about against mandate. Wardley’s comrades were driving blind, simply pulling people over, asking them for their license and registration — nothing but a formality these days, anyway — and then letting them go after they heard the driver’s excuse.
Wardley was glad he wasn’t on patrol duty tonight. Nothing but a bunch of crazies and nut jobs taking advantage of the fact that most of the United States government was busy trying to figure out this virus.
Still, driving ninety miles an hour down an almost-abandoned highway felt an awful lot like being on duty, and he sighed as he checked his reflection in the rearview mirror.
Disheveled salt-and-pepper hair, deep-set brown eyes, and eyebrows that could use a trim were part of the face staring back at him. Wardley tried to understand why he looked so exhausted. Maybe it was age. He’d slept just before his shift, no more than five hours ago. But he felt physically, emotionally, and mentally drained.
After the call from Bennett at Yellowstone, he’d called a few of his superiors at the station, including two that were out on patrol already. He told them what he’d learned from Bennett, explaining that he had no proof that any of it was true, then waited for the inevitable tongue-lashing as his commanding officers showed him all of the reasons why the madman in the park was just looking to start a fight, and there was no bomb.
Surprisingly, however, Wardley met little resistance. It seemed as though the officers wanted to do something other than drive around the area, looking for idiot grocery shoppers and insane joyriders. They all agreed to meet him at the park, and one told him to place a general wide-band call to ask for even more backup.
It must be the solitude, Wardley thought. The virus was all anyone was talking about lately, and they all knew that driving around the area just outside the infection zone was the equivalent to suicide, whether it was part of their job description or not. Maybe playing a more active role in figuring out what all of this mess was helped assuage their fears.
Or maybe it was just their ego, their testosterone-laden desire to do something, even if that something was guided by a guy they never met, begging for help at a park they had no jurisdiction entering.
Five miles later, Wardley was entering that exact park. He slowed the cruiser a bit and caught up to another officer in his department, rolling down his window as he pulled up.
“Think we’ll get sick going in here?” Hector Garcia asked, before Wardley even stopped.
“If we were, we’d have gotten it thirty miles ago. The radius is growing, even this far north.”
“Yeah, I’ve been listening. Crazy stuff, man. I guess we’d better hope this Bennett guy wasn’t messing around.”
Wardley nodded, then looked down the road at the park. He wondered if Bennett was right. It could be that easy. Wardley realized that an easy answer was probably the real reason his fellow policemen had jumped at the opportunity to get their hands dirty. They’d all signed on for different reasons, but one they all had in common was the simple desire to right wrongs.
And finding the viral payload delivered by a second bomb was certainly in the category of “righting wrongs.”
“I don’t think he is,” Wardley said. “I had Jones pull a background check on anyone matching the ID he gave, along with his job title at the park. It’s a long shot, but if the match he found is, in fact, our guy, he’s clean as a whistle. Pretty much off the grid as long as he’s been alive.”
“Yeah, I don’t see what could be in it for him, if there’s something else going on. This late in the game, with the virus pretty much unstoppable, it’s not like a few cops are going to further his cause. I’d bet he’s telling the truth.”
“Let’s get inside, then. I told you everything he gave me, and crazy as it sounds, if it’s true, we’ve got to get moving.”
“Roger that. I’ll keep the radio open in case we get some more volunteers.” Officer Garcia paused, then met Wardley’s gaze. “If I don’t see you on the other side, man, take care.”
Wardley knew what he meant, but he corrected him anyway. “If we go anywhere, we’ll be on the same side, Garcia.”
Garcia chuckled. “Hopefully it’s the good side, then.”
Wardley rolled his window back up and accelerated. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Garcia do a quick cross sign with his fingertips, then accelerate his own vehicle to follow behind him.
He hoped Bennett was right.
They needed him to be right.
50
“Ben, what are we looking for?” Julie asked. They’d now been in the truck for almost two hours, first heading toward the massive lake that made up the central area of Yellowstone National Park, then back toward the edge of the park where a string of campsites sat.
Julie’s back hurt, and she shifted in the seat and tried, in vain, to get comfortable again. She felt like she’d never spent so many hours in one place, much less in a vehicle. Never a fan of driving, she was growing more and more annoyed with every passing minute.
But every time she opened her mouth to complain about a speed bump, pothole, or razor sharp turn that Ben forced them over much too fast, she remembered why they were here. What they were trying to accomplish.
A little discomfort in exchange for fixing this terrible massacre.
It was a fair trade, she decided.
Ben hadn’t answered, and she repeated the question. What was he thinking about? They’d left the lake shore fifteen minutes ago, and she saw the signs for the campground announcing their impending arrival. Why was he so driven now and acting so strange?
“Ben,” she said again. “What’s up?”
He finally glan
ced over, but only for a brief instant before he realized he’d need to focus on the road if was going to maintain their current pace.
“Sorry,” he said. “I — It’s just…” he frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing… I mean, I don’t know yet. I have a theory, but I need to check some of these campsites first.”
He said the words flatly, almost commanding, as if he felt the conversation was over.
Julie felt the opposite. Why did they need to find a campsite? What was the theory? And why was it important enough to abandon their plan to find the bomb?
She didn’t ask any more questions. She’d never seen Ben focus so intently on his goal, and she didn’t want to distract him. She examined the man sitting next to her. His forehead glistened with sweat, even though the cab was icy from the blasting air conditioning. As they drove, Ben pulled up an internal list of registered campers who’d booked a campsite for that week, using his phone. He scrolled through a few pages, then clicked off the screen, satisfied.
They reached the first of the line of campsites spread around both sides of the road, each marked with a short driveway and a wooden sign with a number painted on it. These sites, Julie realized, were meant for what Ben had called “luxury camping.” People who thought roughing it meant sleeping in a pop-up trailer or RV, spending the evenings by a controlled fire inside a ring of rocks, with running water piped in through the park’s small but reliable water supply. Many of these sites even had electricity, meant to plug the RVs into a power source that didn’t need to run on batteries.
Julie wasn’t much of a camper, and it looked like it would have been rough enough for her, even with the RVs and pop-ups. Ben wasn’t like most people. He would have been happy sleeping on a bed of pine needles.
Ben slammed on the brakes in front of the first site, then hopped out of the truck. The tree cover cast shadows over the road and campsites, making it nearly impossible to see far into the sites. He ran to the fire ring, spinning in a circle as he searched for whatever he was looking for.
Julie opened the door to help, but Ben was already running across the street to check the second site.
“Ben, what are you looking for?” Julie asked. She knew better than to expect an answer, but was surprised when he yelled back to her.
“Anything. I’m looking for anything that doesn’t belong. In these first three sites.”
She shrugged and ran to the third site. I can find that.
The third site was different than the first two, and she noticed it right away. Here, the driveway had tire tracks in it from a large vehicle. She wasn’t nearly good enough to tell what kind of vehicle, but she could easily see that the car or truck had exited the driveway quickly. The tracks widened as they hit the street, a sign that the vehicle had slid on the loose gravel and dirt as it sped up and turned. She investigated the tracks for a few more seconds, then looked up at the rest of the site.
The ring of rocks at the center of the site was a deep black, as if smoke had blackened them as a fire inside died out. There were no coals or bits of wood, but she thought she could smell the faint scent of charred ash from a recent fire. She walked over to it, examining everything in sight.
There.
“Ben,” she called out. She stepped around the ring and walked toward a picnic table that sat at the far side of the campsite, right where the site ended and the line of thick pines began again.
She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Ben running toward her. She pointed at the picnic table.
He nodded, continuing past her, and stopped at the bench of the table. Sitting atop the two planks of wood was a small picnic cooler.
“Were you able to talk to Randy?” he asked.
She was surprised by the question — they were searching for something in the campsites, and he wanted to know about Randall Brown? She’d called just after they left the lake and left a message.
“Yes, he sent me a text a few minutes ago. He said he’s fifteen minutes from here, and he’s got the maps.”
Ben whipped around to look at her. “What? He’s here?”
She nodded. “I guess he wanted to help…”
He stiffened a bit but didn’t say anything. Julie guessed the thoughts that were going through his mind — they were the same ones that she had been struggling with when she got the text. Why are you coming to a highly contagious outbreak area, risking your life to find something we don’t even understand? Not to mention the bomb…
But she knew Randy well enough to know that he couldn’t sit back and watch as the world came down around him. He’d stepped up before for far less important cases. Julie knew his wife would be beyond upset with his rash actions, but she also knew Randy wouldn’t take no for an answer.
If he said he was coming to help, they’d better be ready for him to help.
Ben focused again on the cooler. He slowly stepped toward it. She saw his chest rise and fall, breathing heavily. Julie wondered if it was due to the exertion of running around the campsites or from something else.
From something inside the cooler.
“Ben,” she said, then stopped. What was she going to say? “Be careful?” What did she expect to find in the cooler? A bomb?
He ignored her and slowly unzipped the lid. The cooler was like one of the small six-pack coolers that Julie owned, with a zippered lid and a few pockets around the sides.
“It’s placed right where it needs to be,” Ben whispered.
Julie stared at him.
“Far enough away from the blast, but still close enough to be affected by the eruption.”
Julie looked down at the top of the cooler as Ben pulled it open.
He stepped back as a cloud of white powder rushed out of the vessel, filling the airspace in front of their heads.
“Shit,” she said. The powder — no doubt the contagion mechanism itself — was piled inside the cooler, filling it halfway to the top. The dusty substance crept out of the container slowly, like smoke from yesterday’s fire.
“Yeah,” Ben said, closing the lid again. He stepped back another step and turned to Julie. “That’s what I thought. I’d bet there are more — a lot more.”
“You mean at other campsites?” she asked.
He nodded. “There are campsites all around the lake, not to mention miles of open land for backpackers and survivalists to set up camp. I don’t know how much of this stuff they planned to release into the air, but I’d guess you’d want more than a half-cooler full to get the job done right.”
“And it’s far enough away from the bomb’s blast out here?”
“That’s my guess — leave the cooler here when you leave the campsite for the evacuation and…” He stopped to look back toward the road. “You can’t see it from the road, meaning my crew would have just driven past, not looking for anything but people and vehicles that stayed behind.”
“Right,” Julie said. She saw what Ben was talking about. The picnic table would be all but invisible from the camp road, and even if you were looking for manmade objects like the cooler, it would be sheer luck to see it perched on the bench from the inside of a moving vehicle. “And I’m guessing that the bomb will blow out the bottom of the lake, as well as the top of the caldera, meaning that the eruption will pick up the cooler and spread the virus that way.”
“Maybe. A large eruption would incinerate anything within miles, almost immediately. But I’d bet they’ve thought of that already, and the cooler’s insulation, combined with the virus/bacteria shell, would be enough to keep most of the cells safe through the blast.” He picked up the cooler and zipped the lid shut.
Ben had started walking back toward the truck, and Julie followed beside him. “What now?”
“Well, now that we know what we’re looking for, it should be easier. Those cops should be here any minute now, and they’ll call when they’re close. I’ll let them know what to check for at the main sites around Yellowstone, and to make sure they don�
��t open the containers.”
Julie thought about their own situation. The virus had fully run its course through their bodies, rendering them both immune to its effects. But the police officers weren’t as lucky. They knew what they were getting into, and that it was likely a one-way trip for them.
51
They all met at the road that stretched between the lake and the campsites where Ben and Julie had found the first cooler. Five officers, Ben, Julie, and Randy. As they gathered, Ben stepped forward and introduced himself, Julie, and Randy, then delivered his remarks.
“First, thank you all for being here. I won’t take any time to explain the dire situation, as I know you all are fully aware.” Nods all around. “Second, this is likely the end of the road for us. I’m not much of a speech guy, so I’ll just leave it at that. Feel free to turn around and head back the way you came.”
No one moved.
“Okay, then, here’s the deal,” Ben continued. “We found a cooler containing what can only be a powder form of the viral agent. It was on a picnic table at a campsite not far from here.”
Some of the officers displayed an air of confusion, but Ben explained why they believed it was placed where it was, as well as why he thought there would be more around the park. “That’s why you’re here. We’re dealing with a ticking time bomb, literally, and the largest outbreak of a deadly disease since the Spanish Flu. If you have anyone you can call for support, get them here. We need bodies, and we need them fast.”
Some of the officers were nodding in approval, and others were already taking their phones out of their pockets and preparing a string of text messages to their groups.
“Start with the list I emailed to Officer Wardley. It’s a list of the registered single campers and their designated sites. Julie and Randy will split up with two of you,” Ben said, ignoring Julie’s surprised and upset expression. “I’m going to find that bomb.”
