The Jakarta Pandemic

by Steven Konkoly

  Probably fitted with some ceramic trauma plates. Stop an AK-47 bullet. These guys aren’t taking any chances.

  “Alex. Just Alex. How can I help you guys?”

  “Mr. Fle…Alex, we’re looking into the possible discharge of a firearm in your neighborhood. Happened two nights ago…and…”

  Officer Hale was having trouble forming the words, probably due to sheer exhaustion. The other officer helped him out.

  “One of the neighbors reported several gunshots coming from over there. Shotgun,” he said, pointing in the general direction of Ed’s house.

  “I didn’t hear any gunshots last night. Pretty quiet around here,” Alex said, as they gathered near the mudroom overhang.

  “Actually, the report came in two nights ago,” Hale said, stealing a glance at Downes.

  “Nothing all week, actually,” Alex said, starting to feel a warmth creep over his face.

  “Well, the person who called insisted they saw you in the backyard, behind the Andersons’, right about the same time as the gunshots. Around two thirty in the morning.”

  “And they’re sure it was me?” Alex asked.

  “The report makes it pretty clear that they thought it was you.”

  Alex shrugged. “Well, I can guarantee you that I don’t make a habit of running around the neighborhood in the wee hours of the morning with a gun. Especially these days. Did anyone else report the shots?”

  “We got a call from the street behind you and two more from your street, just reporting what they thought was gunfire. Mr. Fletcher…Alex, do you own any firearms?” Officer Hale asked.

  “You guys want to step in the garage? I’m freezing my nuts off out here. I’d invite you in the house, but we’re enforcing a strict quarantine until the flu tapers off,” Alex offered.

  Officer Hale looked at Downes, who nodded.

  “Sure,” Hale said.

  “Let me open the door. I’ll be right back.” Alex opened the far garage door, and the officers stepped into the empty space, which was considerably warmer than the open air. Alex met them in the empty bay and leaned against the 4Runner’s rear passenger door. The two officers stood several feet away from him, in the middle of the empty bay, with their backs to the double-stacked woodpile. Both officers crossed their arms, almost in unison, taking what Alex interpreted to be a neutral, yet interrogative stance.

  “That’s better. Anyway…uh, yes, I own a handgun, which you guys probably know already. I have a concealed carry permit filed with the town.”

  What’s the chance they’ll stop the questions here?

  “No shotguns or rifles?” Hale asked, and Alex felt the heat building up in his face.

  “I’m not a hunter, so I don’t have any need for a long gun,” he replied.

  “Well, the reason I brought it up is because one of the other officers at the station remembers seeing you with a shotgun at the Fish and Game club. Said you’re pretty handy with a shotgun. Mossberg, he thought,” Hale said, glancing briefly at Downes.

  “I have a few friends that are really into guns, and I’ve taken them to the range before. He probably saw me with one of their shotguns. One of them has a Mossberg. My personal favorite. Defender model very similar to the one I trained on and used in Iraq,” Alex said, feeling like every motion he made was betraying his lie.

  He felt uncomfortable lying to the officers, but he didn’t want to give them any more reason than they already had to enter his house. Neither one of them appeared sick, but they had to be in constant contact with the public, so Alex didn’t want to take the chance. Plus, with the level of violence escalating region-wide, he certainly couldn’t risk having his firearms confiscated, which is a course of action he could envision them taking.

  The last thing the police needed was a loose cannon running around any of the neighborhoods, and his behavior last night stood a good chance of landing him on the loose cannon list. He was certain that if these guys could verify with one hundred percent accuracy that he owned a shotgun, they’d take measures to remove it from the premises, along with every other weapon in his gun safe. He decided that his best strategy would be to continue to play dumb about a shotgun.

  “When did you serve?” Downes asked.

  “’94 to ’04. Got out after the invasion of Iraq,” Alex said.

  “Small world. I was army. In for five years active, left as a sergeant in 2009. I’m still in the reserves. 94th MP detachment down in Saco,” Downes told him.

  “Oh boy, here we go,” Hale said, smirking.

  “What unit were you with on active duty?” Alex asked.

  I need to drag this on as long as I can.

  “2nd Brigade Combat Team, 4th ID…”

  “Out of Fort Carson?”

  “Yeah, you been there?” Downes asked.

  “My folks still live in C Springs. My sister-in-law’s parents live right outside Ft. Carson. Her dad’s a retired Colonel. His last post was at Ft. Carson, I think. Anyway, she died a few days ago,” Alex said.

  “Flu?” Hale asked.

  “Yeah. She went quick.”

  Both officers put on somber faces, probably more out of courtesy than anything else.

  “Sorry to hear that,” Hale said.

  “Yeah, that’s tough,” Downes added, “there’s too much of that going around.”

  “I imagine you guys are running into it all day,” Alex said, not sure if that was the right thing to say.

  “We’re too busy to respond to those calls. Hell, you’d be lucky to get an ambulance out at this point. EMT crews got crushed by the flu. At this point, the department is at less than half strength. We’re lucky to have two cars out at any given time, and those are usually twenty-four hour shifts. It’s a real fu…friggin mess. We’re pulling strictly volunteer duty to try and clear up any notable reports of violence or civil disorder, which brings me back to the point of our visit,” Hale said.

  “We’ve seen too many neighborhood disputes escalate over the past week or so. People are getting desperate. My best advice is to keep to yourselves, and if anything happens, avoid confrontation, try to make an ID, and give us a call. We might not respond right away, but we’ll do our best to get to the bottom of it. Sometimes just our showing up and asking a few questions goes a long way.”

  Alex grinned, knowing that Hale’s last statement was directed at him. “Nobody likes having the police pay a visit,” he said, as they all started to walk out of the garage.

  “Unless they call 911,” Downes added.

  “So, how bad is it out there? I mean beyond Scarborough? Those vests aren’t standard issue. Pairing you guys up when they could double the number of cars out on patrol?” Alex questioned.

  Both officers stopped and turned around just short of leaving the garage. Hale wore an exhausted expression that betrayed a concerned caution. “It’s not too bad up here yet, even in Portland or South Portland. Just the usual stuff. Lots of break-ins, vandalism, minor fights…some major ones, but nothing crazy yet.”

  He touched his vest. “Tri-City Special Response divvied up all the gear last week. Not enough trained guys left on the roster to field a response team. Everyone that goes out on patrol has the option to take one of these. We got some assault rifles too, though nobody’s really been trained by the department to use one, other than the Special Response guys. Officer Downes is the only member of the team from Scarborough still fit for duty,” Hale said, glancing at Downes.

  “We only contributed two guys to the team. Most of them were from South Portland, so we didn’t get a lot of the gear. Four sets of body armor, some night vision, other goodies. I hope we never really have to use any of it,” Downes said.

  “Amen to that,” Alex said.

  “All right, we have to get moving here. Lots of ground to cover before one of us passes out. Do you have a radio that can scan police channels?” Hale asked him.

  The question caught Alex off guard, and he paused, not really sure how to answer the question. He
owned a Uniden multi-channel radio with this capability that he kept in the basement, but he hadn’t yet considered using it to eavesdrop on local law enforcement. His silence crossed over into discomfort, as he continued to ponder what he should say.

  Is it illegal? I think it might be.

  “We don’t care if you have a police scanner. They’re perfectly legal in Maine. It’s amazing how everyone clams up around us.” Hale laughed.

  “Well, it’s not like you guys are here for beers. It’s like when you’re driving, and suddenly you see a cruiser in your rearview mirror. You could be driving your grandma back to the nursing home, and your ass would still pucker,” Alex said, causing both officers to chuckle.

  “That’s a scary thought. Anyway, if you have one, you should start scanning local and county channels. We haven’t seen too many refugees from Mass up this far, but they’re coming. They’ve been slipping into the state slowly, mainly up the turnpike, but we think that’s all about to change,” Hale said.

  Downes leaned in a little close, like he was about to share a secret. “We’ve heard from a few sources that the situation down in Boston is about to go critical. They’ve already seen limited riots and fires, but from what we’ve been hearing, they’re on the brink of a complete breakdown. Once that happens, we can expect a lot of people streaming north, most of them with nothing, and all of them looking for something.

  “This has already caused some problems down in York County. These folks drive up with just the fuel in their tanks and whatever they thought to jam in their cars. No plan, no contacts up here, just the misguided idea that Maine wasn’t hit as bad. They get here and quickly figure out that nobody’s really keen on having them up here, and that’s when it starts to get ugly. On both sides.”

  “Where do they end up staying?” Alex asked.

  “Some check into hotels, if they have the cash. Credit cards are almost useless now—no one accepts them. Most just live in their cars until they can figure something out, which won’t be an option for very long,” Downes added, glancing up at the sky.

  “Either way, none of them have enough food to last more than a week. Many have way less than that, so they start scoping out the neighborhoods during the day, maybe stopping to ask questions about food or the possibility of vacant houses on the block. Then they return to cruise the neighborhood after dark, looking for houses with no lights. They’ll just break into those houses outright, and you’ll wake up with new neighbors. Once in place, they’ll make you wish you had Jehovah’s witnesses for neighbors.”

  “Can we do anything to keep them off the block?”

  “That’s where it’s gotten ugly downstate. Even if you blockade the entrance to your loop, they’ll pour in on foot from the other streets, night and day. It’s almost better to have them inside their cars. At least that way you can see them, and you don’t have people sneaking through your yards at night. We’ve heard reports from some York County sheriff’s deputies about nighttime battles erupting in neighborhoods down in Kittery and York, some reports from Sanford, too. Way too many guns in Maine, and way too many people eager to use them,” Hale said.

  “Yeah, but if someone’s breaking into your house, and the police can’t respond…I mean, it’s not your fault, but…” Alex started.

  “Most of these aren’t break-ins. Some for sure, but there’s been a lot of indiscriminate shooting. Blasting away at shadows. Even a few cases of pre-planned ambush. Anyway, nice talking with you, Alex. Pull out that scanner and keep any guns you own inside the house. You’ll be better off that way. Good luck,” Hale said and started to walk toward the cruiser.

  “Keep it safe, guys,” Alex said.

  “You too,” Downes replied.

  Alex watched the two officers walk back to their patrol car, neither looking very enthusiastic about returning to duty. He was pretty sure he could end their voluntary shift pretty quickly if he offered them a beer, even at this early hour. He felt the cold penetrating his Crocs again.

  “Hey, Officer Downes! Were you with Ironhorse?” he yelled, as he backed into the garage.

  “Yeah! How did you know?” Downes yelled back as he reached for the passenger door handle.

  “I was in Iraq as a company commander when the war started. Rolled all the way up through Baghdad. I’ve read everything written about the war. 4th ID rolled in late 2007, Task Force Ironhorse. You guys did some incredible work out there.”

  “Thanks, I just hope we can all survive this!” Downes called, glancing around the neighborhood.

  “We’ve seen worse.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think we’ve seen anything yet!” Downes said, ducking into the car.

  Alex watched the patrol car drive in the direction of the Thorntons’ before he walked over to shut the garage door.

  A few minutes later he stood in front of their espresso machine at the far end of the kitchen counter, waiting for the green indicator to illuminate. He heard one of the top stairs creak and guessed that Kate was coming down to check on him. Several more steps confirmed his guess as Kate’s unmistakable stride brought her to the bottom of the stairs. She was dressed in pink and gray flannel pajama bottoms, and a thick, oversized maroon Boston College sweatshirt.

  “So, are you under arrest?” she asked, walking toward him.

  “No, I traded some information for my freedom. They’ll be back to haul you away after you’ve had some coffee. I told them you’d go quietly that way, or at least quieter,” he replied.

  “Damn good call on your part. So, what did they want?”

  “To talk about my possible involvement in the discharge of a firearm.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t admit to it,” she said, and walked over to the pantry.

  “I told them I didn’t hear a thing that night.”

  “Did they buy it?” she asked, laughing a little as she walked up to the counter next to the stove with a container of quick oats.

  “They really didn’t seem to care.”

  **

  Alex turned the last light off downstairs and headed up to the office. He passed Emily’s room and heard Kate and Emily talking, but couldn’t figure out any of their conversation. As he moved down the hall, he started to hear sounds of computerized violence and mayhem emanate from the attic doorway near the office. He entered the office and closed the door to drown out the sounds of simulated automatic weapons fire, screaming and explosions. Even through the door, he could hear the muted battle raging across the flat-screen in the attic.

  A full scale war could break out in South Portland and I wouldn’t hear it.

  He turned off the overhead light and switched on the desk lamp. He picked up his smartphone.

  No messages.

  Alex hadn’t received a message on his smartphone in several days. Barely any calls to the house either. Even email traffic had slowed to a near halt over the past week. At first he wondered why, reasoning that people should have nothing but time on their hands. Plenty of time to stay in touch.

  But what for, really?

  It didn’t take him long to realize that his own situation certainly didn’t resemble anything close to the most typical scenario out there. Most people were probably just barely getting by. Sick or not, supplies of everything were low. Even households untouched by the flu must be quickly coming to the realization that they were about to enter dire straits.

  He sat down at the computer and saw that Kate had been checking out the weather forecast. He noted that the national weather service had predicted a major storm for the weekend, estimated to arrive on Sunday. “Mixed ice and snow. Possible ice storm followed by periods of heavy snow.”

  That doesn’t sound very promising.

  He clicked over to one of the local news channel’s websites and checked their storm center predictions. Theirs was more detailed and outlined the conditions meteorologists believed would likely cause a severe ice storm. He read quietly aloud, paraphrasing the prediction.

  “Remn
ants of a late season tropical storm from the Gulf of Mexico encounters polar high pressure zone over New England early Sunday morning. Persistent polar air mass could result in a stalled warm front and enduring precipitation in the form of frozen rain. Great. Freezing temperatures on the ground will make the situation worse. Eventually moist air will push through stationary cold front. Possible transition to intense snowfall if warm layer thins before leaving the region.”

  He navigated back to the news station’s homepage. One article caught his eye above all of the standard pandemic news. “Maine Civilian Defense Group plans to barricade I-95 bridge.”

  Nut jobs.

  But as he read the rest of the article, he started to think that maybe these guys had the right idea.

  “The Coastal Defense Group consists of an informal network of several dozen volunteers. Group organizer and leader, Jerry Campbell, of Kittery, says that the group is growing in response to the threat from outsiders. ‘We’ve been subjected to an out of state invasion for decades. Property taxes are driving Mainers out of their homes, and there’s new construction everywhere. Hardworking Mainers can’t make a living in their own state anymore. Now they’re gonna all stream up here and ransack the place? We’re barely hanging on up here, and there ain’t nothin’ to share. Our organization was founded under the same spirit as the original Minutemen. We’ll respond to the call to defend our borders again.’”

  “York County sheriff’s officials stated that they would likely station their own deputies at the bridge, in anticipation of the group’s action to barricade the I-95. An anonymous source within the sheriff’s department casts serious doubt on the department’s ability to remove the group from the bridge, pointing out that the deputies are already stretched to the breaking point around the county. Kittery police officials declined to comment on their planned reaction to a standoff on the bridge.”

  “Sounds like the makings of a regular goat fuck down there,” Alex said out loud.