Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending

by Brian Stewart

  “Does it matter?”

  “It might have sped things up, you know, in the trust department.”

  “You’d have taken the word of someone over the radio without meeting them first? Maybe I just shot the real Officer Coleman and stole his clothes.”

  The clean shaven man ran his eyes from top to bottom over Eric. “In that case, you’re the worst shot in the world, ‘cause there ain’t any holes in them clothes.”

  Eric smiled and extended his hand, “WCO Eric Coleman.” The clean shaven man stepped forward and shook hands. “Lieutenant Wayne King, Richland Fire and Rescue.” He jerked his head to the right as the bearded man moved up. “This is Ray Ingram, one of our paramedics.”

  The man grunted and shook Eric’s offered hand, but said nothing.

  Somewhere inside Eric’s gut, a little alarm sounded. He held on to the paramedics hand for another awkward moment as he studied his face.

  “Do I know you?”

  “You gave me a citation a few years back.” The voice was not friendly.

  “What did I ticket you for?”

  “Like you said, does it matter?”

  Eric waited for a moment as he considered, “No, I think we all have bigger problems right now.” Turning back to face Lieutenant King, he said loudly, “Officer Owens, will you join us?”

  Both firemen swiveled as Michelle stood and approached. Introductions were made, and then Eric was handed back the Fish and Wildlife radio.

  “We have our own radios, and speaking of which,” he drew a compact walkie-talkie from underneath his coat, “I need to let my guys know what to do with the light. Any suggestions?”

  Eric nodded, “We have shooters on rooftops and at ground level. So far, all of the attacks have come from that direction.” He pointed towards the lake and the road east. “So I would focus your light that way, but it would also be good if they took an occasional look/see around the parking lot. None of my guys are roving, so if something’s moving, it’s unfriendly.”

  “Unfriendly, huh? That’s a nice way to put it.” A few moments of radio chatter jumped back and forth between the firemen, and then the searchlight swiveled towards the lake. Lieutenant King squared to face Eric. “I don’t suppose you have any bottled water to spare, do you?”

  Eric shook his head. “No, but the water we’ve been drinking from the faucet is clean. You’re welcome to use that.”

  “Water is how this disease is spreading,” the lieutenant answered.

  Eric squinted his eyes for a moment of reflection. “That doesn’t really make sense.”

  The firemen shrugged his shoulders, “It’s what they’ve said on the radio.”

  “I heard the ‘boil water’ announcement, and maybe water is one source of contamination, but I can promise you that the water here is safe.”

  “Maybe . . .,” the lieutenant’s voice trailed off in doubt, “but for now, I’m going to stick with the bottled stuff until it runs out. I won’t have long to wait,” he added with a scowl.

  “Why are you here?” Michelle interjected.

  “Ma’am . . . Officer Owens,” he nodded his head toward Michelle, “we’re trying to get the word out about the shelter in Richland. The highway both north and south of Richland is empty—at least once you get past the local gridlock of abandoned cars. Of course, further on up toward the border is supposed to be a nightmare traffic jam. The same thing down around Devil’s Lake. That left us with the east and west. Richland itself,” he paused and shook his head, “is lost. Everywhere you go you run into those things.”

  “Then why are you trying to get the word out about a shelter?”

  The paramedic cut in, both vocally and physically as he stepped in front of Lieutenant King. “Not all of Richland is lost. We’ve got several hundred people in a secure site, and there’s room for a lot more. Some of us,” his eyes unmistakably slid toward the lieutenant, “are unwilling to pull together and make a stand.”

  “And some of us,” the lieutenant shot back, “are letting a little bit of power go to their heads, Ray.”

  “The council voted to put me in charge of the collection effort. You’re just a driver, Wayne.” His voice was a mix of condescension and disgust as he continued, “Just remember that I’m the one who saved your wife and kid from that pack of creeps.”

  “I don’t imagine I’ll ever forget, especially with you bringing it up every five seconds.”

  Eric watched the two of them exchange glances for another moment before the lieutenant sighed and motioned a hand toward the bearded paramedic. “Officer Coleman, Officer Owens, Mr. Ingram is in charge.”

  The paramedic nodded briskly, and then looked at Eric, “Can we go inside now?”

  Eric locked eyes with the man for a long ‘three count’ before stepping aside. “After you.”

  Chapter 19

  They escorted the two visitors into the store, and were immediately surrounded by pushing, shoving, and shouting people. It took several minutes to get the refugees from the campground settled and listening.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Wayne King from Richland Fire and Rescue, and this is Ray Ingram, a paramedic, also from Richland, and currently, I guess ‘in charge’ of the shelter they have there.” Eric nodded at both men and then stepped to the side.

  The bearded paramedic wasted no time. “The surviving members of the Richland City Council have put me in charge of rescue operations as they pertain to shelter ‘Yellow.’”

  “To what?”

  “Shelter Yellow is what we’re calling the defensible location that any civilians from Richland and the surrounding areas are encouraged to seek safety within. It’s called that because of the large, faded yellow blast door at the entrance. As many of you know, in the decades past, North Dakota was home to quite a few ICBM silos, and during the Cold War, multiple shelters were built to shield residents from a perceived Soviet counterstrike. Well, most of our missiles are gone, but a few of the shelters are still accessible. One of those, actually three of those, are located in Richland. The one we were able to occupy safely is shelter Yellow.”

  “What happened to the other ones?” An older lady seated in the very front spoke without raising her hand.

  “We don’t know for sure. They’re located in areas of Richland that we can’t get to . . . safely. But that doesn’t matter right now, because shelter Yellow is safe. Currently, we have over 230 people within. That number is a mix of civilians—mostly adults, but a few children as well—and emergency personnel. Almost the entire surviving contingent of Richland’s Sheriff Department is housed there, as well as several military personnel, local police officers, and,” he nodded toward the lieutenant, “many of our fire and rescue personnel. We also have a rather large population of medical personnel.”

  Diane stood up. “What about food and water . . . and protection from those ghouls?” Her eyes shot a glance at Walter as she continued, “And what about electricity . . . or is that reserved for the ruling council?”

  Ray broke out into a grin. “Ghouls? Interesting name, although I guess it’ll work as well as anything. Back in Richland we call them ‘creeps.’” He pointed a thick finger at Diane, “Can I ask your name, miss?”

  “Diane.”

  He smiled as he nodded and answered. “Diane . . . and the rest of you. Shelter Yellow is currently stocked with enough food and water to last 850 people for six months. Now that’s assuming two meals a day per person. I’m not going to kid you though; it’s not lobster and steak. Most of it is freeze dried staples and canned items. It took a monumental effort to get those items in place before everything else was lost. We don’t have 850 people yet, and we may never get there. If not, that food will last a lot longer. The water we’re drinking at the shelter is being triple filtered to remove the contagion. It goes through two sets of filter material before passing through a reverse osmosis system. There’s a Cold War era water boiler in the shelter, but we’ve elected to not use it because of t
he increased demand for fuel it would require. Now as to . . .”

  He was interrupted by another person that Eric couldn’t see from his vantage point. “So that radio announcement that said to boil water was correct?”

  “Yes. Our information is that this disease is easily spread through contaminated water. Now, let me finish answering Diane’s questions, and then we’ll get to yours if I haven’t covered it by then. As I said, during the first few days—hours really—of this crisis, a few of the more levelheaded people in Richland began preparing the shelters. I was with the team assigned to shelter Yellow. Less than twenty-four hours into this situation, we lost contact with our teams at shelter Green, and shelter Blue. Since then, we’ve been unable to reestablish communications, and assume that they’re lost. Now, that is unfortunate and I grieve for those people. However tragic their loss may be, though, it was not without benefit for our shelter. You see, the food, water, water purification equipment, and a few other related supplies were being split and delivered first. The second load to be delivered was still held at the staging area, which is very nearby the entrance to shelter Yellow. The second load, Diane, consisted primarily of medical equipment and weapons.” He turned a 180 degree sweep of the audience, and then returned his gaze to Diane. “Everybody at shelter Yellow will not only be provided with a weapon, but will be required to have one. After all, ma’am, we want everyone to have an active part in the protection and well being of our community.”

  Michelle edged up to Eric and whispered, “He’s a smooth talker. Word of mouth relay from Doc though . . . Callie apparently knows him and says he’s a first class asshole. She’s trying to hide behind Mike so he doesn’t see her.”

  “My gut is telling me he’s full of crap. Or, that there’s a whole lot more that he’s not saying—at least not yet.” They both turned their attention back as he continued.

  “Regarding electricity, there are several large generator units built in to the shelter. We’re currently operating only one of them, mostly due to our reduced capacity at the moment. If more people show up, and there is a need, we can kick another unit on. We have enough fuel to run it around the clock for about three months. Of course those three months can be extended for a long time with reduced usage and/or additional fuel. Now don’t get me wrong, we’re not having a disco party every night with flashing lights and chilled wine coolers.” He stopped as the crowd broke in to chuckles at his description. “We do, or rather are, currently running the generator several times a day for about three hours at each run. It allows us to charge some of the old battery banks, as well as run the dehumidifier units. The dehumidifiers are the main power consumer, but we have to run them or the condensation builds up too much.”

  A thin man with curly—almost frizzy—light red hair raised his hand. “I’ve got a few questions.”

  “Go for it.”

  “Number one, Richland is about fifty miles away, correct?”

  “Not quite. Maybe around forty or so.”

  “Well, that still seems like an awful long way for you to go searching for people to join your shelter. I think you’d have wanted to stay closer to Richland. Am I wrong?”

  Ray smiled and shook his head, “No sir, you are entirely correct. One of the vehicles we’ve acquired for use at our shelter is an older military style half track. I don’t know the exact model, and the cargo hold has been welded shut, so we can’t use it to transport people or supplies. But the front hatch still works, and she’ll start up and run. It’s also got a .30 caliber machine gun on the roof that can be operated by remote from inside. We’ve been using her with a two man crew to run scouting missions through Richland. Try and understand, folks, a huge part of our problems are the abandoned vehicles blocking almost every exit or entrance or bridge. I’m not talking just one or two, usually it’s dozens or more. Anyhow, a day or so ago, that crew saw a moving vehicle—an RV. Apparently they came from the campground over at Ravenwood. We managed to guide them back to the shelter, and while they were in quarantine, they told us that there might be others who escaped. What’s interesting though—not to say that learning about another group of survivors is unimportant—but that the family had accidentally found a way through the logjam of abandoned vehicles.”

  “One that you didn’t know about?”

  Ray nodded, “Is anybody here actually from Richland, I mean before all this happened?”

  Nobody raised a hand that Eric could see, and he intentionally refrained from turning to look at Callie.

  “OK, how many of you are from North Dakota?”

  Eric was surprised to see only nine hands raised. A glance at the paramedic showed no surprise. Or maybe he hid it well.

  “Well first off I want to say that whether you’re originally from Richland, or North Dakota . . . or anywhere else, you’ll be welcome at shelter Yellow. Now, without taking up too much time, because I know we have other things to go over tonight, but on the topic of how the family found a way through the traffic jam. Many of you, whether you live here or not, are probably aware that North Dakota is having an oil boom. For several years now, on the western side of North Dakota in an area they call the Bakken formation, a lot of industry has been built around the discovery of oil. There was a lot of money being made, and invested, in that oil. A lot of jobs developed too. Now jump over to Richland. The city of Richland is the third largest city—population wise—in the state of North Dakota—Bismarck and Fargo are the largest. Richland is located a little bit south of the border with Canada. It started off as a trading post on the fur trade route years ago, but around 1950, the railroad built a leg through there. That leg became a branch, and that branch turned into a major hub about twenty years ago. Today, Richland is one of the major import/export freight points for the northern United States and Canada. It’s basically a huge swath of land filled with industrial complexes and storage facilities for items that are traveling by rail. The majority of what goes through there are coal, feed grains and other agricultural or industrial products, but there’s also a lot of other consumer related goods. U.S. Customs has a very strong presence in Richland. Well,” he paused before continuing, “I guess ‘had’ would be a better way to say it. Anyway, about 300 miles northeast of the border, there happens to sit one of the newest petroleum refineries in Canada. Conveniently owned by several of the firms that are drilling in the Bakken formation, I might add. So, in the past few years, and especially in the past ten or eleven months, there’s been a huge railway expansion project happening on the west side of Richland. That is where the family found a way through—the middle of the railway construction project.”

  “Is it safe?” the curly red head added.

  The paramedic paused his speech for a moment before answering. “Have all of you been at the campground since the president’s address when this began? I mean, has anybody experienced firsthand what’s been happening in cities, towns, or any place with a fairly dense population base?”

  A few hands went up, and Michelle recognized several as those who spoke at the campground meeting. She kept quiet about Fort Hammer, though.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, a lot of people are dying from this disease.” He let that sink in for a moment. “Those that are not dying from the illness . . . well, a lot of them—of us—are being killed or injured by the people who are infected. The creeps are everywhere in Richland, and by all accounts that we have, everywhere else too. So is it safe? No, it’s not safe. As far as I’m aware, there isn’t a ‘safe’ place.” His air quotes emphasized as he spoke. “But, it’s as safe as we can make it. We also have a pretty good plan in place on how to get you, or anybody really, safely through the construction site. Let me restate though, shelter Yellow is a safe haven.”

  Lieutenant King mumbled loud enough for most of the audience—Eric and Michelle included—to hear. “Just ask the people hanging outside.”

  Bushy brown eyebrows furrowed down as Ray fired a look of warning at the lieutenant. “Shelter Yellow has r
emained safe,” he turned back towards the crowd, “in large part because of the precautions that we’ve taken.”

  Eric stepped forward and asked, “Mr. Ingram, what precautions are you referring to?”

  “Relatively few, but all geared toward keeping everybody as safe as we can. For instance, like I’ve already mentioned, once you’re admitted inside, we give you a weapon, ammunition, and instructions on how to use it to protect yourself.”

  “Once you’re admitted?”

  “We can’t very well afford to let anybody who’s infected into the shelter. But we’ve found a way to quarantine potential residents. I’ll admit its crude. Others may disagree with our methods, but it works, and more importantly it saves ammunition and reduces our exposure to potential contamination.”

  “Tell them what they’ll have to do to be a member of your club, Ray.” Lieutenant King’s voice was low, but carried through the room.

  The paramedic didn’t miss a beat. “Like I said, other people disagree with our methods. However, the message we’re trying to send is very clear: if you want the safety, community and humanity that we offer at the shelter, you’ll have to follow certain rules. And I think it’s safe to say that if you were inside the shelter, you’d certainly want us to enforce these same conditions on anybody new.” He stepped forward and met several faces directly throughout the crowd. “The entrance to our shelter is located at the rear of a long slope at the old gravel pit. There are cement walls for the last 200 yards or so along the roadway. I’m not sure exactly what they were for—something in the design for blast reduction, maybe. Outside of the shelter, spaced fairly equally along one of those walls are a series of forty-four concrete bins. Each of them are about five feet wide, nine feet long, and six feet tall. They have no roof, and the front side of each has an opening for a door—although no doors are installed. We’re not exactly sure what they are, or were supposed to be used for, but they fit our purposes rather well. Anybody who wants to enter our shelter spends forty-eight hours in one of the holding tanks. You will be dressed warmly in whatever clothing we have available, and a tarp will be secured over the top to keep out the rain.” He stopped again and cleared his throat before continuing, “You will be handcuffed, and a rope will be tied around your neck. The other end of that rope is secured to a large iron ring on the outside of the tank. You will not be fed during your quarantine. We do have a volunteer that will bring you water twice a day. Sanitary facilities, due to necessity, are a bucket. The rope gives you enough leeway to walk around the inside of your quarantine tank, but no further. After your quarantine, if you still appear healthy and uninfected, we take off the rope and move you inside. You’re still kept handcuffed, though. The next twelve hours is observation and testing by our medical personnel. If you pass, you’re in. We’ve never had anybody not pass the twelve hour observation period. Our experience seems to point to a much quicker contamination time frame. During the forty-eight hours, anybody that changes, or ‘creeps out’ as we’ve called it, is removed from the tank. We use an old cherry picker power ladder to lift the iron ring. So yes, Wayne, we hang them, and by doing so we save ammunition and don’t get contaminated fluid sprayed everywhere.” He turned and gazed at Diane, smiled, and then shifted around the room. “It may interest some of you to hear this—the creeps are not, as a lot of people think, indestructible. The ones that failed quarantine and we’ve had to hang . . . well they died just as fast as uninfected people.”