“Halt!” called someone over a bullhorn. Paul punched the gas harder.
“You going to hit them?” asked Tom.
“If they don’t move, I am,” said Paul grimly.
Tom whined a little and ducked his head. Paul reached down with one hand to squeeze his shoulder. “Don’t worry, they’ll move. But we can’t get stopped here. And the soldiers at the gate aren’t going to move. You have to be ready.”
“Stop!” screeched the bullhorn again, a thin line of soldiers standing in front of two trucks with their weapons drawn.
“I know this is your first time Tom. I had eight years in the police force before the Plague and never had to use my gun. Not once. But I did what had to be done when the Plague hit. And we both know it’s no good to say that the Infected I killed were crazy and it was self-defense and I had no choice. Doesn’t make it any better.”
The distance between the soldiers and the front of the tank had closed to a dozen feet. A few flinched and then bolted. The rest followed quickly behind. The Tank shuddered and belched a plume of dust behind it as it tipped the two trucks sideways and plowed through. When they were rolling smoothly again, Paul continued. “And it’s no good to tell you that these people are already dead, that whether we run them over with a tank or they tear each other apart in a few weeks, the result is the same. Because it’s not. And we don’t know what will happen. Every life weighs the same, whether it’s just beginning or almost ending. It’s not something we can throw off at will. But the lives outside are just as important. The people outside are no more to blame for this than anyone else. If we do nothing, then they will die. If we collapse the gate, some people inside are going to die. There’s no denying it. Probably you and me too. But the people outside survive. The world goes on, in some way, even if we aren’t here to see it. And that’s a comfort to me. That something continues. That someone is around to remember.”
Tom nodded dumbly, but his expression was still miserable. A spattering of chiming pings echoed around the tank as the soldiers caught up and began shooting.
Paul shook his head and chuckled softly. “You’ll have to do better than that boys. It’s a tank, not a sedan.” Tom began rocking in his seat. Paul pushed the tank to its top speed, knowing he was out of time. The top of the gate was in view, half a mile to go. “Time to earn your pay, Tom.”
Tom looked up at him and then turned to the gun sight. “My han’ Pau’ won’ work.”
“It’s okay, wait until I stop, then just put the red dot somewhere on the gate. Doesn’t matter where, the computer will do the rest.” Paul checked behind him. The soldiers were a few hundred yards away. He stopped the tank. “Just take your time. Short of actually climbing this thing, they aren’t going to be able to stop us.”
Tom nodded and turned back to the sight, bumping his head as he did so.
****************
“Call for you sir,” said the Governor’s secretary, peeking her head through the door. “It’s the gate captain. He says there’s a tank sitting on High Street just up the hill from him. He wants to know your orders, sir.”
The Governor nodded and switched on the radio at his desk. He glanced at Stevens who was pretending to fill out paperwork in the opposite corner.
“Gate Captain Reynolds, what’s the situation?” he asked.
“Sir, there’s an Abrams sitting above us on the hill. I just wanted to confirm your orders, I hadn’t received new ones involving a tank.”
The Governor blew out a long breath. Stevens stopped pretending to work and looked over at him. The Governor picked up the radio. “It’s not there on my orders. What is it doing?”
“Well sir, it looks like one of the patrols is trying to intercept. It’s stopped on the hill, but it appears to be aiming its guns at the gate.”
Stevens stood up. “Those men are going to die if you don’t tell them to retreat. It’s not going to slow the tank down at all.”
The Governor rubbed his temple. He picked up the radio again. “Tell your men to clear out. I’m ordering a retreat.”
“A retreat— but sir we don’t even—”
“I’m ordering a retreat, soldier,” he said, raising his voice, “do you copy?”
There was a pause. “Yes, yes sir, I copy sir.”
The Governor stared at Stevens. “You better find out which platoon is getting itself run over by that tank. Get them on the radio and tell them to let it pass.”
Stevens ran for the duty roster.
****************
Paul glanced at the hatch lid nervously. If he locked it, he could be stuck if Tom turned. If he didn’t— the soldiers were catching up and they would try to climb the tank, he knew. He left it unlocked. Tom fidgeted in his seat, trying to aim the wildly swinging red dot. The metal vehicle was growing very warm as it sat under the morning summer sun. Paul wiped his face with his sleeve. He looked behind them, twisting in his seat. The soldiers were only about a dozen feet from the sides of the tank, running full tilt at them. He glanced up at the hatch again, then gently cleared his throat.
“How we doing there, Tom? We’re about to have dinner guests.”
Tom growled into the sight. The hair on the back of Paul’s neck spiked painfully and his hand dropped to his weapon. “Tom? You okay there?” he asked, keeping his tone light.
Tom was silent for a second, the rumbling movement of the barrel almost constant. There was a metal scrabbling on the back of the tank. Paul’s eyes darted back to the unlocked hatch. “Tom? You still with me bud?”
There was a hollow boom as the gun fired and Tom looked up. “Did I hit it?” he asked.
“Don’t know, we got to move or we’re done for,” said Paul, his breath coming in a relieved gush. The tank jerked forward and he heard a series of thuds as a soldier or two tumbled from it. He didn’t want to think how close they’d come to the hatch. The tank rolled slowly down the hill toward the gate, the buildings blocking his view of the barrier. “Maybe you should climb up into the turret and look,” he suggested. They both knew why he was really suggesting it.
“Yeah,” said Tom, rising shakily, “Could use the fresh air.” He stumbled backward into the side of the tank and then pushed himself off, grabbing the steel steps. He climbed up and Paul felt the cool rush of outside air behind him as the hatch opened. He tried to concentrate on the road. Part of him kept wanting to turn around, expecting Tom to be standing there, drooling and snarling. Focus, he told himself, in about five minutes, it’s not going to matter anymore. Just get the tank there. Just finish it. He steered the tank around a wide bend and the barrier came in view. The gate was down, a mound of rubble and steel where it had stood moments before. People stood in a thick cluster around it, but it was still smoking so none approached. It had to be now, before they started picking it over, before they started repairing or climbing over it into the outside world. “I got it! It’s down!” shouted Tom. It made Paul think of playing his younger brother, gone long before the Plague. He pushed the tank to its maximum speed on this last straight road, hoping to finish it before he heard Tom turn. Spare us both that, he wished. The cluster of people looked around as the rumbling of the tank grew louder. They screamed and scattered. Paul aimed slightly to the side of the ruined gate. He had a fleeting yearning for water. For cool lake water in great ripples and waves around him. For swimming without weight, without pain or fear. It was so strong he could almost smell the green lily pads and soft wood of the dock nearby. And then he was back in the tank. He jerked it sideways as quickly as he could, ramming it into the rubble. The tank twisted and rocked. It tipped and Paul was swimming for a moment, weightless, painless in the small metal cube. And then the black water swallowed him up with a throbbing boom.
Twenty-three
A thick ribbon of orange flame sliced through the huge black cloud behind them and the road growled underneath the truck a second later. “They did it,” said Dan. He put a hand over his face and his shoulders shook. Sevita felt a lu
mpy clot of sadness in her own throat and silently pulled up to the station’s front door before turning off the truck. She’d seen the power on at the hospital when they passed and the lights were on at Town Hall, but the station was probably farther down on the priority list, at least for now. She left Dan in the passenger seat to mourn his men for as long as he needed. She walked toward the truck’s back door and tripped, her arms scraping against the asphalt as she reached out to catch herself. Sevita swore under her breath as she picked herself up. She pressed her arms to her chest to stop the throbbing burn of the scrapes and retaped the bandage around the dog bite. In her mind, the little dark clock of the disease clicked down another notch or two. The urge to hurry was overwhelming, though Sevita knew she was still sane, maybe for a day or two, maybe as long as a week. She hadn’t been any closer to the infection’s origin than anyone else. There was no reason to expect anything earlier.
She opened the back of the truck and climbed in. She hoped no one would be in the station. Rick would have sent them home when he found out the power wouldn’t be coming on for a while. But would he be looking for her? She walked the barrel of ethanol slowly forward, rocking it on its rim in small swivels toward the door. What would she tell him if he were there?
Dan jumped up into the truck and helped her lift the barrel the rest of the way. “Where’s the generator?” he asked.
“Just inside the back door. It’s all hooked up already. We were a PEP station for emergency broadcast.”
Dan grunted as he lowered the heavy barrel to the ground. “Do we have to do anything special?”
“If we were doing a television broadcast we would, but since no one is likely to be watching a television without power, that’s kind of pointless. I’m just hoping people still have those crank radios. I know there’re a lot of pirate stations now— if you can call them that anymore. I’m depending on that to get their attention.”
They slowly carried the barrel toward the dented metal door. “How are they going to know which station to listen to?” asked Dan. “Aren’t there hundreds? Why would they pick just the one?”
Sevita lowered her side of the barrel and fished in her pocket for a jumble of keys. “They won’t, but that’s why we need to use this station and not just, you know, like the shortwave radio in your barracks or something. Those pirate stations are going to help, I hope. The signal’s going to travel a long way. Maybe across the country. It’s also going to send a special message to other stations because of the emergency broadcast system. Hopefully, some of those stations will pick up the message, at least for a little while and send it out themselves. If enough of them help, there won’t be anything on the radio except our broadcast, at least until the other stations get tired of it and take it down. But it should be long enough for someone out there to hear it. I hope it’s the Cured Colony. They’ve more reason to warn everyone to stay away than anyone else. Outside the City, they are the only people who have ever experienced Infection. They know the risk.”
“You’ve got a lot of ‘ifs’ in that plan,” grumbled Dan.
Sevita shrugged and unlocked the door. “It’s the best I’ve got. We do what we can, but it’s not really up to us. I need to believe it’s going to work because I can’t face the next few days if I think that this has all been for nothing, that everything is lost.” She slid into the dark utility room without waiting for a response. Dan walked the barrel in and propped the door open with it. Sevita fiddled with the generator for a moment in the dark. “There should be some gas in here already. We keep an emergency tank just in case—”
The generator sputtered into life and Sevita reached up and pulled the string for the overhead bulb. It clicked on and Dan could see the room was very small, the generator taking up most of it. “Hope there’s no one inside, because that’s going to attract attention,” she said.
Dan moved the barrel and shut the door, locking it behind them. Sevita shrugged. “Might stop them for a little bit, but there are at least three other keys.”
“I don’t think anyone’s going to disturb us for a few hours. Paul and Tom— everyone is going to run to the gate, especially your news crew. We’ll figure out what to do after that.”
Sevita nodded. “I’ll get the message set up if you figure out how to make the generator draw on the barrel instead of its small tank. We have to refuel it every eight hours or so and I don’t think it’s topped off.”
Dan looked doubtfully at the barrel of gas. “There’s not enough here to make it longer than a few days, a week maybe.”
Sevita sat down at a small rickety card table. “If the other stations aren’t broadcasting our message by then, they aren’t going to. A week should be more than enough. We just need it to keep going a few days— we’ll have to find a way to break the lock behind us when we leave or something.”
“One thing at a time,” said Dan, rummaging through a small tool locker.
Sevita nodded and began checking the squat black radio in front of her. Her mind continually rewrote what she intended to say. The generator made the room unbearably hot and the constant loud purr made Sevita numb and tired. She wanted it done quickly. Maybe when it was finished she could sneak into the hospital. Fall asleep outside the bunker door. She pulled the headphones on while Dan cut an old garden hose with his utility knife.
“This is an emergency broadcast originating from WCIT. This is not a drill. To anyone able to receive this message…”
Twenty-four
It was late, maybe close to midnight when Sevita fell down the hospital’s back stairs. She sat at the bottom and sobbed, clutching her sore shoulder. She tried to tell herself that it was because she was distracted, still thinking about Dan, but she knew the disease was close to taking over. She’d made it through the radio message without slurring, but she had struggled to keep the words straight in her brain as she said them. By the end, she’d been soaked in sweat. They’d left the little utility room with the generator humming and the little lights on the radio winking brightly. Dan had backed the truck up to the door and shut it off. He’d thrown the keys down the sewer grate. No one would be stopping the broadcast any time soon. They’d stood together watching the gnarled knuckles of smoke from the gate crawl and stretch across the evening sky until they met the soft spiral where the harbor fire had been.
“What do we do now?” asked Sevita. In truth, she was utterly exhausted. She didn’t know if she’d be capable of whatever came next. She wanted to go home. Wanted to crawl into her bed with its clean sheets and the soft glow of Christine’s tacky shell lamp. She wanted to close her eyes and listen to Chris talk about the hypochondriac in room twelve or the recipe she found for poison ivy relief. That quiet music of Sevita’s life, that crept into all the empty corners and filled her up.
Dan squeezed her shoulder and she looked up at him. He was still watching the smoke and she could see the light shine of tears on his cheek. “I’m going to go have some dinner with my wife. I think you should come over for dinner too. We’ll have some wine— I’ve been saving a bottle for a while. There’re a few nice things we should actually use up.” He pulled a small brown bottle of pills from his pocket. “We stopped for some things before we took care of the Smuggler’s entrance. There should be enough.”
“You— you’re going to do it tonight?” Sevita asked, “but you don’t even know if you’re sick yet. Maybe you’re immune, or your wife—”
“Does it matter?” he asked. “Chances are slim that either of us are. They are even smaller that both of us are. If we survive, we’d have to kill our infected friends. I’d be too frightened of carrying some germ out with me to ever seek out my son or anyone else. We’d have to live here alone, even if we survived the Infected. Eventually, we’d starve.”
“But Christine—”
“Your wife is safe, inside a bunker. If she isn’t infected, she can wait until there is no one else around. She’s in a sort of quarantine. As long as she waits long enough, she can escape. T
here’re other exits. Tunnels we didn’t collapse, boats we didn’t burn sitting in garages. She’ll find a way. But we’re surrounded. We don’t have six weeks of supplies to just hole up with. And the Infected would find us before then anyway. Come to dinner, it’s better this way.”
Sevita shook her head. “I’m not ready. How can I be ready?”
“No one is ever ready. Not really. At least— at least you don’t have to worry about coming back. I knew I was sick last time. Knew what was coming. It was all over the news. It was all over the streets too. I saw it all. Tried to stop it. I knew, but I wasn’t ready either. But coming back— coming back was worse. It was done, the damage was done, and it was like it all got taken back. But not entirely. My own rage, my own failing, my own cowardice was left to shame me. I don’t have to worry about it this time. You either.” Dan turned to look her full in the face. “Think of the turning as if it were just dying, Sevita, because that’s what it will be this time. You are going to die in a few days. Nothing will matter after that. Put down your cares for the future. It’s beyond both of us now. We did what we could. We did well. Now it’s time to go to rest. Just go to sleep and let it happen. Come and have a friendly meal with us. Be with friends. It doesn’t have to be as scary.”
Sevita shook her head. “I can’t,” she sobbed, “I can’t. I need to see Christine one more time.”
Dan sighed and nodded. “I know,” he said. He twisted the little brown bottle open and poured some tablets into his hand. He tried to hand them to Sevita. “For when you are ready,” he said.
“No,” she said, “I want to make sure you have enough. I’ll keep putting it off until it’s too late anyway. I’ll find another way.”
He shrugged and put the pills carefully back into their bottle. He folded her into a tight hug. “I’m sorry we met so late,” he said, “I think we would have been good friends.”
Poveglia (After the Cure Book 4) Page 13
