Reaper

by Buckhout, Craig

  CHAPTER TIRTY NINE

  After the meeting, and in the few minutes before the first group of residents was scheduled to gather in the briefing room, Max went up on the roof to clear his mind. When he saw he was alone, he took off the mask and breathed in a full lungful of air, letting it out through his nose. In the distance he heard what sounded like a firefight erupt. At least one person had a fully automatic weapon because he could hear short, rapid bursts. It went on for a couple of minutes at least; stopped, started up again, and finally ended with two spaced shots.

  Someone just bought it, he thought. And then it occurred to him that maybe a bullet would be a whole lot better than the pox. Over quick; pain, if any, just an instant, and then gone. Yes, definitely, a bullet was preferable to bleeding-out through your nose and ass.

  As he slipped his mask back on and headed toward the stairs, he noticed a black cable, as thick as his little finger, stapled to the wall above the door and going into the stairwell. He back-tracked the cable to what appeared to be an antenna bracketed to the outside of the building near one of the sandbagged walls.

  “What the hell?” he mumbled.

  Returning to the stairwell, he followed the cable down to the top floor, along the top of the wall, and into a small windowless room that was probably intended to be a storage closet for cleaning supplies. Listening at the door, he could hear someone speaking and also the unmistakable sound of a radio. Max grabbed the door knob, turned it, and pushed the door open.

  A man, in his seventies, jumped out of his chair and spun around, facing him. He had a ring of long, Bozo-like white hair around a pale head dotted with age spots, a body shaped like an egg, and was wearing a plaid short-sleeve shirt and blue jeans held up with bright red suspenders. He looked at Max, wide-eyed, through thick-framed glasses.

  “Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?” Max asked.

  The man swallowed, covered his heart with his hand, let out a breath and said, “I’m …I’m Loren. Jessica knows I’m here.” His eyes focused on Max’s mask.

  “Okay, she knows, great, but what are you doing here?”

  Loren half-turned and pointed to a folding plastic table set up against the back wall. On top of the table were both a ham radio and a shortwave radio receiver. “I’m contacting other ham operators, trying to find out what’s going on. I asked if I could do it, and Jessica said it would be okay.”

  He was still visibly upset by Max’s surprise arrival. “You can relax, Loren. Everything’s okay. I just didn’t know what was going on is all. How long have you been here doing this?”

  He dropped his hand to his side. “Just today. I got things hooked up a few minutes ago.”

  Max nodded his head. “So have you learned anything?”

  “Well, I’ve only just got started, but things are pretty sad, I think. By the sound of it, there’s a lot of fighting going on. Mostly along the border with Mexico; the drug gangs and so forth, maybe some Mexican military, too. A ham in Arizona says there’s a lot of dead on both sides, all just lying there, right out in the open. And, ah, San Luis and Lukeville have been taken over.” He shook his head. “Some of the things he said, well, they sound pretty gruesome; people being taken away and abused. Terrible. It’s hard to, you know, believe it, but I think it’s true. And not just here, either. There’s also trouble in England and France, too, only different; it’s the terrorists. Sounds like they got more of ‘em than we do, …or maybe not, I dunno. That’s all I’ve gotten so far.”

  “You can talk with people in France and England?”

  “No, that’s from the shortwave radio. I just monitor that. I don’t have that kind of license. They talk, I listen.” His eyes continued to go to Max’s mask.

  “What about closer to home? You find any communities like ours?”

  “Well, ah, like I say, I only just got started, but I was talking to a ham who works in a biotech company in San Francisco. He says there’s a bunch of people who are camping out there to get away from the violence. So far it’s working out. They don’t sound as prepared as we are, though. The company is basically having food catered and their clothes sent out to be cleaned. I’ll talk to him more later. Why are you wearing that?” he asked, pointing at Max’s mask.

  “When was the last time you were outside the fence?”

  Loren thought about it for a few seconds, “I guess it’s been over two weeks now. Why?”

  “There’s a meeting scheduled in the briefing room in a few minutes. You get one of these, put it on, and go to the meeting. They’ll explain everything, but you should be safe. There’s something going around, and as a precaution you need to wear one of these. When you’re through with your meeting, come back here and tell everyone you talk to what you learn, and listen to what they say in return.”

  When Loren didn’t say anything, Max added, “You’re doing something important here, Loren. Keep at it.” Max took a step toward him, started to shake his hand, but changed his mind. “We need as much information about what’s going on out there as we can get, even about what’s going on in England and France. It’s more important than you can know. I’ll see you at the meeting.”

  Max turned and started out the door when he heard Loren say, “It’s Dancer.”

  Max turned back. “Pardon?”

  My ham name, my handle, it’s Dancer.” He then moved his hand horizontally in the air in front of him. “It’s because I spend so much time on the air. You know,” he moved his hand again, “dancing on the airwaves.”

  “Got it. Dancer, then.” Max turned and left.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  July 4th

  Independence Day

  Three hours sleep. He felt like crap.

  A little after midnight they got the second trailer in place and leveled out. While Will went about a temporary solution to the electrical, Max and the others tore out cabinets and set up cots, even though he had no idea how many of the on-duty personnel would show up. For bathroom facilities, they found two port-a-potties on wheels in the same Cal Trans storage yard and hauled them to the substation. Inside each trailer, they put a giant bottle of hand sanitizer and a stack of paper towels. Will said he’d figure out something more permanent later.

  They started arriving, a few at a time, a little before one in the morning; nine cops; seven male and two female, two dispatchers; both female, and two female clerks. All those in uniform brought their marked cars, shotguns, and carbines with them, which Max considered an added bonus. Before they got ten feet from their cars, they were given a generous dollop of hand sanitizer, masks, and gloves. Next came a quick exam, which consisted of the doc and Myra taking their temperature, listening to them breath, and examining their face, neck, shoulders, and chest for signs of lesions.

  The possibility that one of them was infected meant the vehicles they arrived in could be contaminated, too. So each car was identified by driver, locked, and sealed with crime scene evidence tape. That way, if one of the arrivals truly was carrying the virus, the car he or she arrived in could be towed outside the gate and burned.

  Following their exam, Max briefed them on what he knew so far about the virus, and what was expected of them for the next two weeks. This included staying away from family members and friends. Three times a day, for an hour each time, they would have exclusive access to the yard. If they were by themselves and wanted to take off their masks, that was permitted, but other than that, they were to wear them at all times. They were informed that if they thought these precautions were bullshit, they were free to leave. Their decision, though, would be irrevocable. There were a few grumbles, but overall they accepted their fate. They understood the seriousness of the situation.

  By the time Max returned to the building and his sleeping quarters, it was nearly four in the morning and Myra was already asleep. He thought briefly about joining her but decided instead to sleep on the floor in the adjoining room, the same one where they held their, so to speak, executive meeting the nig
ht before. Sleeping in a room by himself, he’d feel comfortable taking off his mask. So that’s what he did; he cleared his carbine and leaned it in the corner, unrolled his sleeping bag, slipped the Glock under its edge, and went right to sleep.

  Now, three hours later, the mask was back on, and he was leaning a shoulder against the door jamb to their sleeping quarters, watching Myra.

  Myra spit into a cup, took another mouthful of water, swooshed it around, spit again, and then poured more water from the bottle over her toothbrush, also into the cup. “I still can’t believe you said that.”

  “The part about calling you babe? I know, it was a little over the top. I won’t do it again.”

  She turned to hide her smile. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’d lock me out?”

  “It’d be hard. The sex is pretty good,” he replied.

  With her back still to him and the smile gone, she pulled her tee-shirt over her head. “Come on Max, be serious for a minute.”

  “Okay, you’re staying, right?”

  She turned, faced him, and extended a hand with the palm up. “I just feel like, I don’t know, I’d be running out on them if I didn’t go in to work. They need me, Max.”

  Max pushed off the door jamb. “Yeah, well, so do we.” It came out sounding harsher than he intended, but he was in no mood to take it back.

  Myra’s cheeks flushed, and she dropped her hand to her side. “Who’s going to help them if everyone stays home? Nobody.”

  “You heard what Patel said. There is no helping them. They’re going to die, Myra, all of ‘em. And anyone who comes in direct contact with them is more than likely going to die, too. But here, we have half a chance to save people.”

  “I’ll be careful if that’s what you’re worried about; mask, gloves, bug suit, nothing’s going to get through that.”

  “Oh right. Tell that to those aid workers in Africa who contracted that Ebola virus.”

  Myra was shouting now. “I can’t believe you, of all fucking people, are saying this. When you went into that mall, you knew you could die. You still went, though, because why? I’ll tell you why, because it was your job and there was nobody else who was going to do it. That’s why. How is that any different from me? Huh? Huh, Max?”

  “You got it wrong, Myra. If there was no chance of saving anyone and every chance of me dying, they wouldn’t have sent me into that mall. That’s the difference here. You can’t save those people out there. If the healthy ones don’t do exactly what we’re doing here, they’re all gonna be dead.”

  She was quiet for a few seconds before saying, “I’ll think about it.”

  Max should have let it go at that, but he didn’t. “Wait, you’re still seriously thinking about going into work?”

  “You seriously thinking about locking me out?”

  “You know it’s the best chance these people have to survive this thing. If I play favorites and let you come and go, then nobody will follow the rules. Everyone will be going in and out and bringing the virus with them.”

  She bent forward at the waist, jabbing her finger at him. “I’ll still think about it.”

  Max stood there, staring at her while she stared right back. Finally, he took a breath and let it out before saying, “If you do go in to work, when will you leave?”

  Myra turned away from him, sat down on the air mattress, and slipped on her boots. Without looking she said, “In about an hour, I guess.”

  “Look, I have a meeting I need to go to. If you do go to work, can you at least wait until I’m done? If you’re a couple of minutes late, I guarantee they’re not going to fire you.”

  Myra, clearly still upset, said, “I’ll think about it.” She put her mask on.

  At that, Max turned and walked from the room.

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  It was a new mandatory morning briefing, attended by most of the same players as the meeting the night before, only this time it was held in the briefing room.

  “Okay,” Jessica said through her mask, “Let’s hear the latest on what’s going on in the city. Doctor Patel, how about you starting it off.”

  Doc Patel stood. “Well, in the last, what, twelve hours or so, Valley Med has received another seventy-six patients. Thirteen of them were brought in by ambulance and …,” she looked at some notes, “eighteen of the total presented the dark lesions on their face, neck, and chest. One of those was already purging blood and is expected to die within a few hours. The rest are being isolated outside the hospital in those big truck trailers; you know, like a moving truck.”

  “The other hospitals are all experiencing similar or worse numbers. It’s also generally assumed there are even more victims who are staying at home and not seeking medical help. This of course is extremely troubling, because it means they’re not in a controlled environment and are infecting others, who will, in turn, infect more.

  All this has caused the county public health officer to declare a state of local emergency. He’s closed all schools, though most weren’t open anyway because of the violence, cancelled all public events, and stopped all public transportation. Supposedly, he has asked the FAA to halt flights coming into and going out of local airports, including Mineta International, and they’ve agreed. He’s also given law enforcement the authority to enter any home or business to look for those who are sick, arrest anyone who is but refuses to submit to quarantine, and bring them to a local hospital. Public service announcements are being broadcast every hour, suggesting people shelter in place and take the standard precautions; mask, gloves, hand washing, and to report anyone who appears ill by calling a special hotline telephone number.

  These new numbers change my estimates significantly. Theoretically, in six weeks, given the rate the epidemic is progressing, every living human being in San Jose will be infected and then die. Of course, like I’ve said before, some will undoubtedly survive, but there won’t be many.” Doc Patel’s voice quivered at the tail end of her last sentence, and she dropped back into her chair.

  She took a shallow breath and continued, speaking almost too low to be heard through her mask. “We will soon reach a point where hospitals will stop functioning, either because the health workers are themselves patients or because they stop coming to work …as I have. Bodies will go uncollected, and because of that, other diseases will flourish as water becomes contaminated.” She looked at Will and Frank with eyes rimmed dark from lack of sleep. “Water is something we should think about now; storing it, filtering it, decontaminating it. I guess that’s really all the news I have.”

  Jack Keeble raised his hand and waited for Jessica to point at him. “Does anyone know how long a dead body will be contagious?”

  Phyllis slowly shook her head.

  “I’ve actually tried to find that out,” Dr. Patel said. “First, we really don’t know what virus were dealing with here. And even if it is hemorrhagic small pox, as it appears to be, we don’t know if the Russians, or someone they sold it to, reengineered it to survive longer. As for the research on small pox in general, it isn’t clear exactly on how long it stays viable in a dead body. Most say the virus will quickly die when its host dies, while others say it remains a risk for many years in a dormant state and, under the right conditions, can become active again. So I’m afraid I can’t give you an answer right now. But that aside, as I’ve already mentioned, with nearly a million dead in this city alone, our world will be a cauldron of disease and unpleasantness for quite some time.”

  There was complete silence in the room for several seconds, with most people looking down at their knees or the tabletop in front of them, tears tracing the cheeks of a few. Several were visualizing the bodies of six, seven, eight hundred thousand people, more, rotting in buildings, vehicles, or just lying there in the street. The rest were just stunned.

  Finally, Jessica cleared her throat and said, “Ah, Heidi, you have anything for us?”

  Heidi briefly put the fingertips of both hands to her face, on
either side of the mask, and said, “After that, I really don’t see the point of anymore bad news, do you?”

  “You want me to do it?” Fran asked her.

  She shook her head. “No, I’ll do it. It’s just …,” she stopped and flicked her hand dismissively before picking up her notes. In a monotone voice she said, “Most of the beats aren’t staffed, hardly anyone, sworn, non-sworn, is showing up anymore. They’ve put the few who are still reporting for duty on two radio channels just to make things work. Most priority one calls, including homicides, felony assaults, and shots fired, aren’t being responded to. The officers won’t go unless there is at least one other sworn to go with them, which seldom happens. The Sheriff’s Department is in even worse shape, if that’s possible. The gangs are engaging each other in full-on street battles all over town. There were three that we know of last night. The DHS raided a militia group, only to find out it was an ambush, so suffered a lot of casualties. They seem to be the only ones left with any manpower …I’m talking about the DHS, not the militia. And finally, you already heard about the airport being closed down. Well, apparently, all major routes in and out of the state are being shut down, too.” She tossed her notes onto the table and added, “That’s it for me.”

  Max looked at the faces around the room. I’ve lost ‘em, …if I ever even had them. They don’t believe. They’re ready to give up. They aren’t convinced that what we’re doing will work. If he couldn’t get them to have confidence in the plan, he had to get them to at least have confidence in him. But how?