White Flag of the Dead

by Joseph Talluto

  “Sure.”

  “Bye now,”

  “Bye.”

  I looked to see where I was and I realized that I needed to get over quickly to catch the interstate. I had three stops to make, and would need to move fast to get home in time for dinner. As I merged on the interstate, I noticed there was a lot of traffic leaving the city, but that seemed normal. It was a Friday, and people generally left the city for relatives and other places. I caught the ramp to another highway, and moved towards the street I needed. I briefly hoped that I would be able to get through the traffic quickly, but one never knew.

  My first stop was a little shop tucked away behind a gas station. It had two floors, and the first floorwas devoted to fishing gear. Anything you needed for fishing except boats could be found there. I wasn’t interested in fishing gear, I needed what was on the second floor. I went up and found the place to be slightly more crowded than usual. Racks of rifles and shotguns lined a display behind the counter, which held a wide variety of handguns. As I worked my way to the back of the store, I caught snippets of conversation.

  “Heard its spread to three cities now…”

  “What’s this I hear about London and dead people?”

  “What’s the damn government gonna do, set up another committee?”

  “Can we waive the waiting period?”

  I stopped in front of the reloading supplies and looked around. Guns, I didn’t need, but ammo was another story. I grabbed two cans of powder, two boxes of primers, and box of 1000 180gr HP 40 cal bullets. I worked the supplies over to the counter and waited for a salesman to notice me.

  An older gentleman came by and asked me if I found everything I was looking for.

  “Sure did. You guys are doing a good business these days?”

  His eyes glanced into mine briefly. “Never seen nothing like it. Something’s got folks jittery.”

  “Yeah, something.” I said, lamely.

  “Follow yer gut, I always say.” said the old man, grabbing a couple of bags for my purchase.

  I winced inwardly. What if your guts were being ripped out? Chase after the bastard who did the ripping?

  I signed the receipt and headed out to the car. As I was putting the supplies into the trunk, I noticed several more cars pull into the parking lot. Maybe we all are following our gut this time.

  I pulled back onto the interstate and headed south. I needed to make another stop before I headed home, and I wanted to make as much time as possible. So I ramped it up to 80 and rocketed down the highway. The main mess of traffic had left at the interstate junction, and only people heading downstate or across the state were on the road. I finally decided to turn the radio on.

  “In world news today, there is a state of emergency in Africa. The Enillo Virus has already claimed 3,000,000 lives, and more are expected to drop as countries which up till now have been focused on military matters, now turn their attention to this growing crisis. In Europe, Spain and Portugal have closed their borders, and England is no longer allowing any international flights to land. Thousands of French have fled the country to the north, hoping to cross the English Channel to perceived safety. French officials have denied reports that Paris is being overrun with infected persons, but several videos have surfaced on the internet. The grimmest scenes are filmed, posted on the internet and viewers are cautioned as they are highly graphic. In Asia, China and North Korea have officially closed their borders, and North Korea has issued a statement that any foreigners will be shot trying to cross into their country. President Trottman is expected to address the United States this evening. In business news, the stock market took a sharp turn as investors began a big late afternoon sell off. Gary?”

  I switched the radio off. What the hell was going on? Was the Enillo Virus as bad as all that? I began to worry about Ellie. She worked at a hospital in the city and would have to go to work tomorrow. If viruses hit the US, she’d be right in the crosshairs.

  Lost in my reverie, I nearly missed the exit. A truck was pulled over to the side of the road and blocked my view of the sign nearly before it was too late. The driver was sitting behind the wheel, but as I flashed past he raised a hand to the window. I waved back and zipped down the exit.

  At my next stop, I decided to buy ammo directly, and to hell with the cost. I grabbed up all of the hunting ammo they had for the 30 carbine, and the target stuff too. I left two boxes on the shelf, figuring to be kind if anyone came after me looking for it. I noticed the shelves were empty of .223 ammo and 5.54x39 ammo.

  The clerk’s eyes didn’t even flicker when I brought the ammo to him. “Will that be all?” he asked, reaching for my credit card.

  I tried to make small talk. “Selling a lot of ammo these days?”

  He smiled. “Quite a bit. Must be a competition or something coming up.”

  “Could be.” I said. “Could you double bag that, I’d hate to have it spill all over the parking lot.

  “Sure.”

  I thanked him and took the ammo to my trunk. As I backed out of my spot, I noticed an older employee come to the door with a sign that read “Cash only for sales, please.” I thanked God for my timely purchase and headed back to the road. One more stop and I would head home. I turned the radio back on.

  “…reports are coming in from Africa that infected people are reportedly falling into deep comas, then reviving and getting up. They are allegedly attacking anyone around them, except for other victims. We have heard reports of horrific violence, and the entire continent seems to be on the verge of collapse. For exclusive videos and uploads, please visit our website for the latest information.”

  I turned the radio off as I sped down the back roads to the last gun shop I wanted to visit. I felt an almost overwhelming urge to get back home as quickly as possible. Every warning bell I had was clanging as loudly as possible, that if I did not take this seriously, there would be no second chance.

  I stopped at the gun shop which happened to be on my route home. It was more crowded than the others, and several people were trying to buy more guns than they had money for. One guy, who came in to sell his gun, received four offers from other customers. I watched as two men nearly got into a fight over an AR that one wanted to see and other wanted to buy right then. Everything was selling, from .22 pistols to big 7mm Magnum rifles. Ammo was flying off the shelves, and I was relieved when I saw that no one had picked up the 30 Carbine ammo yet. Pays to have an unusual caliber gun, I thought.

  I signaled man behind the counter who was waiting for a customer to make up his mind on shotguns.

  “Can I help you?” He asked. I noticed he was wearing a .45 on his hip. Prudent, I thought.

  “I need to get some .30 carbine ammo.” I said.

  “Right. You want it by the box, or case?” He asked, reaching behind him.

  I was surprised. “You have cases?”

  “Sure thing. Cheaper to buy a case then sell it piecemeal, but we just got an order in yesterday, so if you want a whole case, I’ll sell it to you discounted. Bigger discount if you pay cash.”

  “Deal.” I said, reaching for my checkbook. I kept emergency money there, and something told me this was definitely an emergency.

  “Let me go get it.” He walked off to a back room that had a large padlock on it. As the door opened, I could see stacks of various ammo in a wide range of calibers. Bet a lot of people would like to see that room, I thought.

  As I finally headed home, I thought about what I had seen and heard. I thought about what I had in the trunk and hoped to God I was wrong. If I was, I was going to have a hell of a shooting day at the range, the next time I got out. If not, well, I did what I could to protect my family. I just wish I had a clue as to what I was protecting against. If the virus was airborne, there was little I could do. If it was spread by contact, that was something else.

  A raindrop hit my windshield and I looked at the darkening sky. Storm. Great. Maybe I’ll get home before it hits. With any luck, it’ll all blow
over.

  3

  “…in related news, the Enillo Virus has claimed millions of lives worldwide, and scattered reports of victims returning from the comatose state and attacking their caregivers are on the rise. In Africa, a veritable army of infected people are slowly marching their way across the continent, ravaging every village and city they come across. Their numbers seem to swell from each attack, and nations across the globe are scrambling to counter what many have called the worst crisis mankind has ever faced. Infected individuals seem to be impervious to pain or even what some might consider debilitating injuries. New reports coming in from New York and Chicago and Los Angeles indicate a heavy population of infected individuals. Official reports are debunking the somewhat popular notion that the dead have come back to life. YouTube videos abound on the internet, and officials warn self-styled “Zombie Hunters” that they will be prosecuted within the fullest extent of the law. Anyone caught looting will also be prosecuted. Individuals are urged to stay in their homes and avoid all contact with infected individuals. They are to be considered extremely dangerous. If a loved one or family member exhibits any symptoms of the virus, they are to be isolated immediately, and the family is to place a white cloth on their mailboxes to alert emergency personnel to the presence of another victim.”

  I switched off the television and looked out my front window. I could see three houses with white towels on their mailboxes, and I wondered how many more will there be? Will there come a time when all the houses have white flags on them? If your house doesn’t have a white flag, will the officials think you’re immune and want to take you away for testing? Who knew?

  The last week was a blur. I went to work and tried to keep things as normal as I could, but the kids were scared. Some were talking about how their mom or dad or sister was sick, and they didn’t know what to do. Many of my students were absent, their parents taking them to relatives in Mexico or other states, trying to get away from the large population center of Chicago. I worried about my brother, who lived downtown with his family, but I spoke with him the other day and he seemed fine. I called my parents in Virginia, but was only able to leave a message. Their house was fairly isolated, and my father was an ex-marine, so I figured they would be all right.

  Two days ago, the governor of the state called for a suspension of attendance of public schools, the thought being that if a student were infected, he could easily spread it to many families due to the close nature of classrooms. For once the governor actually had a decent idea. So for the last two days I have been busy reloading ammunition, cleaning my guns, and stocking up on foodstuffs. Pickings were getting a little slim at the grocery store, as people began to see the wisdom of hunkering down and waiting out the storm.

  I was very grateful Ellie had managed to get to the store before the real storm of public awareness hit, and I managed to make a few runs myself. I had gone to the bank and withdrew as much as I could, figuring to replace it should the worst pass. I didn’t want to be caught up short without cash, and yesterday they announced on the news that credit cards are going to be suspended to try to prevent people from going overboard and end up losing everything when the crisis passed. I bought everything I could think of, and my basement was pretty well stocked. I was going to feel like a class A fool if this thing blew over quickly, but the little voice in the back of my head said we were in for a rough ride.

  Ellie was working today, and since I was home, I was doing the house thing with Jacob. He was such a little joy to have around. All smiles and not a worry in the world. His eyes, the little “chocolate browns”, as Ellie liked to call them just sparkled and when he looked at you it was if he was saying “I trust you with my world.” More than once I found myself just looking at him for a long time, wondering how in the hell I got so lucky.

  Jake was playing in the living room when I got a call from Ellie.

  “John?”

  “Yeah, babe. What’s up?” I moved over to the kitchen table so I could keep an eye on our little one. He couldn’t crawl yet, but he was pretty good at a military crawl and rolling got him into trouble more times than not.

  “Not a whole lot. We’ve been seeing a lot of patients today, and I might be later than usual.” Ellie sounded nervous.

  “All right, I’ll feed Jake and get him bathed.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but inwardly my concern just skyrocketed.

  “Thanks. And John?”

  “Yeah, babe?”

  “Are your toys loaded?” Ellie asked.

  That sent my concern into the stratosphere. Ellie never asked about my guns, letting me have my little hobby as long as didn’t advertise it and kept my guns in a safe away from Jake. “Not yet, why?” I asked.

  “You might want to think about having them handy.” Ellie said cryptically.

  “Ellie, what is going on?” I said, more forcefully than I intended.

  “John, just do it. Please. There’s more to this virus than people have been told.” Ellie said. “I gotta go, they’re paging me to the OR. Love you!”

  “Love you, too.” I said, but the line had already cut out.

  I wondered what the hell was going on, but I didn’t question Ellie. She had sources of information that did not have anything to do with the media. The cops that brought the victims in to the EMT’s that treated them at the scene to the victims themselves. Ellie often knew days before anyone else about things that were happening. She knew about a tuberculosis outbreak three days before the news reported it. But in all our years together, she had never told me to load my guns and have them handy. I decided maybe this was the event that was prickling my senses

  I went down to the basement, after putting Jake in the Pack ‘n Play and putting on a baby video for him. Gotta love the electronic baby-sitter. I went down to my secret room, an area which was an expanded crawl space under the garage. It was large enough to stand in, and it was there that I had my gun safe and reloading equipment, and various other supplies and things. A casual glance would never reveal that there was anything there at all. Since no one ever expected there to be any usable space under a garage, if at all, it was the perfect hiding place. So I went down there and surveyed what I had and what I might need.

  I had a modest firearm collection, around ten handguns and rifles. I didn’t have any theme to my collection, just bought what I wanted at the time, selling it when I wanted something else. I also had a few guns inherited from my Grandfather, so that added a bit. I had played at Cowboy Action Shooting for a while, owning a couple of six-guns, a lever-gun, and a pump shotgun. After that I got into IDPA, which was a lot less equipment oriented, and owned a Springfield XD in .40 and a SIG P226 in .40 caliber as well. I reloaded for a number of calibers, and lately had been reloading for .40 S&W. On the rifle front I had an old Enfield No4 MkI, and a couple of .22’s. I had an Auto-Ordnance M1 Carbine replica that I had recently purchased, this was the one I had stocked up on ammo for. I had three additional 15-round magazines and two 30-round magazines for the little carbine, so that gave me 105 rounds without needing to reload a single mag. Thanks to the case and extra boxes I bought, I had 2000 rounds of ammo for the M1.

  I took the two semi-auto pistols and grabbed all the extra magazines I owned for each. I grabbed four boxes of ammo and put all of this in a little backpack I had. I put all the magazines for the carbine in the bag, and put in three boxes of ammo for it. I put a box of .22 ammo in the bag and grabbed the carbine and one of the .22 rifles. At the last minute, I threw in a box of .380 ammo, and the extra clip for the Walther PPK.

  Slinging the now very heavy backpack on my shoulder, I ran upstairs. I checked on Jake and went into the office. I needed to think about what I was doing and where would be the best placement for armament. My IDPA days were serving me well at this point. I was looking at my home with new eyes. Where were the weaknesses, where were the bottlenecks? Where was the best place to store a gun for easy access? Do I shore up the windows, or do I block the stairwells? If I was determi
ned to get in, what would stop me?

  I sat at the desk and decided that the best way to ensure a forceful response to a crisis was to be armed at all times. I loaded my SIG and put on my competition holster. I placed spare magazines in the kitchen and in the front room for the gun. I went back and forth as to what rifle I wanted on the ground floor, and decided on the .22, figuring if things got bad on the ground floor, I wanted superior firepower on my back up locations, which was my basement and my bedroom. The basement had the shotguns and the Enfield, so anything coming after me down there was going to earn it. I loaded the magazines for the M1Carbine and inserted a 30-round clip into the gun. Best to start off with a hail of withering fire, as my dad used to say. I loaded the .22 next, having only two magazines for it, but each magazine held 25 rounds, so I did not feel under gunned. The .22 rifle I had was a GSG-5, an MP5-looking .22. Mostly for plinking, but as I loaded the hollow points, I found myself hoping it would be enough. I placed the rifle on the top shelf of the pantry, figuring it was the most central location and gave me access to the hallway and basement stairs if needed.

  I took the XD and carbine and brought those upstairs, placing the pistol on a shelf in the hallway linen closet. The door of the linen closet swung outward, effectively blocking the hallway if needed, but only as a temporary measure while the pistol was retrieved. I placed the two extra magazines on the dresser near the door of my bedroom and two more in the master bathroom; the final stand, if it came to it. I prayed it never did, but I did the best I could think of.

  I went back downstairs and looked at my doors and windows. If I had to hole up here, how would I block them? What would I use? I figured the first floorbeing brick was very comforting, and I needed to think of some way to board up my windows and doors. I needed to go to the home improvement store.

  I packed up Jacob and started out to the store. Immediately leaving my driveway, I felt something was wrong. It was in the air, something out of kilter with the world. It didn’t feel bad or scary, but your senses were on alert. Maybe I was just reacting to what Ellie had told me, but as I drove through my neighborhood, I began to see signs that things were not right. Doors to some homes were open, and there was a large stain on the porch of another home, as if something had been killed there. I saw several families packing as if to leave on vacation, putting as much in their cars as they dared. In each case, the mailbox had a white flag on it. Were they taking their sick with them? I couldn’t tell, and I really didn’t want to stop and ask. One house had the garage door wide open, belongings scattered around, and the door to the house open, as if they just ran in the middle of packing up the car. I wondered if the city was the same way. If this virus was that bad, was anywhere safe? Were these people just running to bigger problems?