by Ben S Reeder
If the actual news outlets were off the radar, I was left with one other possibility. Conspiracy websites. I checked the ones I could remember the websites for off the top of my head first. Beyond Top Secret was down, and so was Shadownet. The sites weren’t just down; it was as if they had never existed. If anyone else would have spotted the gaps in the news, or even been able to tell the rest of the world what was going on, it would have been the deliberately shadowy figures who ran those sites. There were other sites I could have checked, but not at work, since I didn’t have access to the onion router software on the work computers that would have let me get into the darknet, the hidden, anonymous subsurface of the internet.
I stood up and looked out the plate glass window and felt my gut clench at what I saw. Cars were starting to back up on Highway 60. No news is not good news, I remembered Nate’s vague warning as I pulled my cell phone out of my drawer. Texting at our desks was frowned upon by the management at Provident, but I figured that pissing off a suit in Maryland wasn’t going to be a real serious concern for much longer. Still, I kept the phone under the edge of the desk as I tapped the keys as fast as I could,
No calls incoming. No news from Wich KS & Nash KY, tinfoil hats completely off grid. Noise from the far side of the cubicle farm caught my attention. A Greene County deputy in a gray uniform and one of the security guards in a black blazer flanked the site’s on-duty nurse. The deputy looked like he was barely old enough to buy the gun on his belt, much less wear the badge on his chest. I half expected the nurse to introduce him as her son and tell us it was bring your kids to work day.
“I need anyone who’s traveled to the following states in the past month to come with me,” he said. “Nevada, Arizona, California, Washington, Oregon, New York, Massachusetts or Florida. Anyone who’s been to any of those states, come up here now.” His voice was just a little too high to take seriously, even when he put his hand on the butt of his pistol. Across the aisle from me, Porsche sank into her chair with a smirk on her face. I dropped back into my chair as a couple of people left their desks. The deputy’s face went slack with terror as they got close. It wasn’t until the nurse stepped forward to talk to them that he got some of his swagger back.
“I know that guy. He’s a total dick,” Porsche said. I chuckled at the comment, but my fingers went back to my phone’s keypad.
Police just asked for people who traveled to E or W coast. Seconds later, my phone buzzed in my hand.
NE1 sick? Nate’s message read.
A few.
Get out. Avoid crowds. Bravo Oscar. My heart nearly stopped when I read the words. I’d been expecting them, but not today. Somehow, I thought I’d have more warning.
Chapter 2
An Ounce of Preparation
A Scout is never taken by surprise; he knows exactly what to do when anything unexpected happens.~
~Robert Baden-Powell~
During the Korean War, a military term entered the lexicon of civilian use; one used to describe a rapid withdrawal or retreat: bug out. During the Cold War, it had been adopted by survivalists and it had been co-opted by their more modern descendants, the preppers, to describe the exodus from an urban to a more rural location, usually a shelter or safe haven that was stocked up and ready for long term survival.
Bravo Oscar. Bug out.
My mind wrestled with the realization that it was time to get the hell out of Dodge. The more docile part of my brain kept looking for someone else to tell me what to do, for a cooler head to prevail. That was the part that my time at Provident-American had created.
“Alright, everyone, end your calls, log off and let’s evacuate to the basement!” my boss was telling us. She rarely emerged from her office unless it was for breaks or to go home, so most days, seeing her away from her desk was a surprise. Today, she had on a pair of black slacks and a sweater over a white turtleneck. Her hair was a bright, coppery color that she kept cut short. It did very little for her looks, but she’d never seemed all that bothered by anyone else’s opinions. It was one of the things I respected about her. She led the way toward the elevator, and people just naturally followed her. My corporate brain wanted to, and Porsche was gathering her stuff up to go with her. From across the partitioned jungle, I could see managers and security guards keeping a wary eye on the line of people filing past them.
“My shift is over in a few minutes,” one of the guys further down the row said.
“You’ll stay here until the sheriff’s department gives you the all clear or you’re evacuated elsewhere,” Deputy Dickhead said as he approached the guy. “If you try to leave before I say you can leave, you’ll spend the next thirty days in a jail cell. You got that?” He put his index finger in the middle of the man’s chest and shoved him back a step. As the guy staggered back, the deputy put his hand on the butt of his pistol again. It was enough to cow the man, but it made me want to slap the officious little prick. Near the entrance to the lobby, I saw a man in a black uniform step into view. He wore a tactical vest that obscured his badge, and a black baseball cap with no markings on it. He looked like a Springfield police officer, but something about him set off little alarms in my head. Nate’s advice sounded in my head again.
Get out. Avoid crowds. I grabbed Porsche’s arm and gestured for her to cross the aisle. She looked at me in surprise, but she came over. I almost never touched people, and I’d obviously surprised her. I was kind of shocked, myself, but Porsche was as close to a friend as I let myself have at work. I wasn’t going to let her follow the masses to their fate.
“Stick with me,” I told her as I crouched down in my cubicle.
“Dave, what’s going on? What are you doing?” she asked as I grabbed my backpack and pulled the zipper for the main pocket open.
“Saving your ass,” I said as I pulled the empty stainless steel bottle out my drawer and dropped it into the bag. She looked at me dubiously for a moment. “I write horror stories. I know when it’s a bad idea to do what you’re told, and trust me, right now, it’s a bad idea. Besides, who do you trust more, me or Deputy Dickhead?”
“You,” she replied with a grin.
“Thanks. Grab that soda bottle from your desk, and grab your purse.” Mentally, I was cursing my luck on one hand and blessing the name of Nate Reid on the other even as I slipped the pack’s single strap across my shoulders. When Porsche came back to my cubicle, I put my finger to my lips for silence, then crouched down and led her into the aisle that ran between our cubicles, heading as far away from the managers as we could get. Once we reached the end of the cubicles, I went to my left, and ended up next to the last row of cookie cutter work spaces. The row of tiny office like spaces ended a couple of feet short of the wall, and I backed into the narrow opening. Porsche slipped in facing me and knelt in front of me. With our faces level with each other, her excited grin lifted my spirits a little.
“Why are we hiding?” she whispered.
“We have to avoid crowds. And for now, we have to stay hidden.” She nodded and we waited. The sounds of people faded, until all we could hear was the sound of footsteps pacing between the cubicles.
“Looks like everyone is clear,” I heard Sue say.
“Are you sure?” Deputy Dickhead demanded.
“She said they were clear, Deputy,” I heard another manager say. I recognized the voice as Chris Jackson. “I think she knows what she’s talking about.”
“Then get down there with the rest of them, and make sure they don’t leave.”
“You still haven’t told us why we can’t let them go home,” Sue said, her voice fading.
“You’re not cleared to know that, lady. Just do as you’re told and let us take care of this,” Deputy Dickhead said as the door to the stairwell closed behind them. I peeked over the top of the half wall; the coast was clear, so I nodded to Porsche to move. She backed up and let me out.
“Why do we have to avoid crowds? And what the hell was that all about?” she asked.
“Do you remember my fifth book, Operation Terror? It wasn’t all fiction. Neither was The Frankenstein Code.” I went into Carol’s office and grabbed one of the plastic wrapped promotional fleece blankets she kept under her desk. I tossed it to Porsche then went to the big storage cabinet she kept against the back wall. It was locked, but I knew she kept the key in the second drawer down in her desk. A few seconds was all it took to reveal the snack stash she kept to motivate her team.
“Those horror novels? You’ve got to be kidding,” she said. “That kind of stuff can’t happen.”
“I hope it can’t. I hope we just lost touch with the east and west coast because of a satellite problem or something. But I’m not willing to risk my life on it,” I told her as I sorted through the junk food. There were bags of chips, chocolate galore, some hard candy and a few jerky snacks. Some of the chocolate I tossed aside, but the high carb and high protein snacks I tossed into a blue duffel bag with the P-A logo on the side. She also had a selection of energy drinks in the back. I tossed a couple of those in, and uncovered a few juice drinks too. All of those went in the bag. Lastly, I grabbed a couple of t-shirts and a sweat shirt.
“I still don’t get it. What does all of that have to do with you looting Carol’s office?” Her tone sharpened, and I stopped what I was doing. From her point of view, what I was doing could get us fired. To her the world was still normal. Nothing had changed. I set the duffel bag down on Carol’s desk.
“Okay. Here’s the deal. In 2006, there was an outbreak in Baqubah, Iraq. The people who were infected with the disease suffered some kind of brain damage that made them really aggressive. It almost broke out, but the Army stopped it by killing all of the people who were infected. They thought that was it, but a year or so ago, it popped up again. Only this time, it was in the US. They had to destroy an entire town to stop it that time. I got the inside scoop on it from two guys who were there both times, and I’ve been able to verify enough to make me believe them.” I watched her face to see if she believed me. She frowned, but she wasn’t telling me I was full of shit, either.
“I’m still not sure I be…what was that?” she said as she shook her head. The quiet pop! that intruded on the quiet had sounded to me like a gun shot. I headed over to the window, and in the fading sunlight, saw a scene straight out of one of my stories. The line of cars was now a mass of people locked in combat. Faint screams reached us even through the thick plate glass. Even as we watched, we saw people racing across the parking lot toward the carnage on the road. A few broke off, and headed for the front doors.
“Oh my God,” Porshe whispered. “Who are those people?”
“They’re not people anymore,” I said somberly. “They’re carriers. It’s called the Asura virus. It turns people into hyper-aggressive cannibals. Now you see why we have to avoid crowds and sick people.” I turned and headed back to Carol’s office to grab the duffel bag. Porsche didn’t resist when I thrust it into her hands.
“Do you have a safe place to go outside of Springfield?” I asked.
“I could go to my dad’s place in Kansas, I guess. It’s petty remote,” she said shakily.
“Hang on to this. It isn’t much, but it’s the best I can do for you on short notice for a bug out bag. This stuff might last you for about three days, but if you can supplement it somehow, do it. You still need a map, a knife and shelter.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“Dave’s survival rule number six: Keep the basics for survival with you at all times. I always have my everyday carry stuff on me, and I have a bug-out bag at home.” I unslung my pack and unzipped it to show her the gear I’d been carrying around with me for the past few months. Inside was a kit with a pocket knife, a small penlight and a compass, a box of waterproof matches, a personal first aid kit and an LED flashlight. Adding my sweatshirt, a couple of Frisbees and the metal water bottle to it, and I had all the things I would need for the five mile hike home. Everything, that is, except a gun. Right then, I really wanted a gun. However, I wasn’t completely without options in the weapon department.
I led her to the water fountain and filled my water bottle, then dumped the soda out of her bottle and refilled it with water. Once we had that done, I went to one of the coat closets. As she watched from the doorway, I popped one of the heavy bars out of its socket and pulled it free. I did the same on the other side, giving us each a three foot long metal club. It wasn’t much as improvised weapons went, but it was better than our fists and harsh language.
“What else do we need to do?” she asked as she hefted her club.
“Well, if you have to go to the bathroom, now would be a good time. Use the men’s room, though. The lady who used the other one last didn’t look so good.” She paled a little at that, and followed me into the men’s room. I checked both stalls, then grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and soaked it in anti-bacterial soap. Once I had wiped down the seat, I gestured her toward the stall with a half-bow.
“I’ll be right outside,” I said as I moved to the door to give her a little privacy. We traded places after she was done, then headed back into the hallway and toward the windows that looked out over the north side of our wing. A crowd of people had gathered at the door I had come in a few hours ago. The south side was even worse, with people from the highway joining the larger crowd there. The west end of the wing also had a crowd of people pressed up against the door to the smoking area.
“Crap,” Porsche said. “What about the east side?”
“Good thinking. There are three entrances on that side. We just need to make sure they’re clear before we try to go out.” I went to one of the emergency evacuation maps on one of the pillars and broke the plastic cover so I could pull it out. It showed the building as a T shape with the vertical bar pointing to the west, and the cross bar running north-south. We were located at the bottom of the T, as far west as we could be. Most of the infected seemed to be piled up near the junction of the two bars on the west side. The east side only had a narrow parking lot that abutted on the rear of a residential area.
“There’s the two entrances on the east side,” she said, pointing to them, each one north and south of the vertical bar. “But you can see them from the main doors. What about the north and south entrances at the end of the wings?”
“Maybe, but they’re still too close to being visible from the main entrances. There’s another exit on the east side, though. Right here,” I pointed to a small notch set just north of the T juncture on the east side.
“There is?” she said with surprise in her voice.
“Yeah. Found it last year. Dave’s Rule Number Nine: Always know where the exits are and how to get to them in a hurry or in the dark.” As I quoted my personal survival rule, I folded the map and put it in the right hand cargo pocket of my pants. Porsche followed me as I headed for the door to the main lobby. She started to go for the stairs to our right when we got there, but checked herself when I kept going straight. The guard desk was abandoned, but the lobby wasn’t empty. Deputy Dickhead and one of the guards were standing in front of the south entrance, staring at the mass of people on the other side of the glass doors. The thick security glass would probably hold against the crowd that was there, but I wasn’t keen on seeing how much more it could take. I gestured to Porsche for silence, and we slowly crept along the walkway that ran along the north and west sides of the lobby. Deputy Dickhead was talking into his radio, demanding some backup, while the security guy just stood there with his arms hanging at his sides. I stopped when we came to the most exposed part of the balcony, where it crossed over the foyer for the north entrance and became a catwalk for about twenty feet. Below us, I could hear the shuffle of someone’s feet. I stopped to take a look at the mass of infected on the other side of the doors. Empty eyes stared at the people on the ground level, and I found myself fighting the urge to just run. When I moved again, some primal urge told me to move even more slowly. It took a full minute to cross the interven
ing twenty feet to the threshold of the east building, but none of the infected caught sight of us, nor did the men who were supposed to be protecting us. I kept on going until I crossed the open work area and reached the windows that looked out over the narrow east parking lot. There was a large group of infected lurking near the south end of the building, but they were mostly just wandering aimlessly. The north side was almost abandoned. All we needed to do was get to the exit.
