American Epidemic Omnibus: An Ebola Prepper Survival Tale

by Roger Hayden

  The three blonde-haired girls looked identical, like triplets. They were reluctant to move but did so once they realized that their mother was serious. As they strolled to the other side of the bed and put their earbuds on, the woman continued.

  “Thank you for saving Joel. But what are we supposed to do now? We’re no longer safe. You don’t know what they do to people here who step out of line.”

  “You weren’t safe the moment he spoke out. The best we can do is defuse the situation.”

  “Defuse?” the woman said mockingly. “How the hell do you suggest that we do that?”

  “We fight back. Now is the time. I told Joel that I would do everything I could to help the people here and stop the men who are running the place. All he needs to do is take me to where they’re holding my friend.”

  “No. No, please don’t make him do that. Have you seen his face?”

  Joel raised his arm and placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Honey, listen to me.” She looked at Joel with eyes brimming with tears. “It’s the only way, just like Greg said. If we want to survive, we have to listen to him.”

  The woman studied Greg again, still filled with suspicion. His face didn’t show a hint of deception. He had a stern, serious look that made her realize how dire and impossible their situation really was. It also inspired her with hope.

  “I’m Jordan,” she said, offering her hand. Greg walked up and gently shook it.

  “Well, Jordan, we have some work to do.”

  There wasn’t much time to get moving, and with each passing minute, the threat grew that Hodder’s men would begin their search. Joel washed his face in the facility restroom down the hall just as other people started returning from the Ebola checks. Greg shaved his beard with Joel’s electric shaver and put on some of Joel’s clothes to avoid standing out and looking like an outsider. He wore a loose-fitting green T-shirt and blue jeans that looked as if they would have been baggy on Joel now because of all the weight he had lost.

  They tried to stay out of sight but couldn’t avoid the other people in the building. But no one seemed to take notice of them as they moved quickly down the hall, towels around their necks, practically concealing their faces. After getting back to Joel’s room, Greg handed Jordan both rifles belonging to the guards and gave her specific instructions.

  “We won’t be gone long, but Hodder’s guards might bust in here any minute. You have to change rooms, stay with some people that you trust. Give them one of the rifles, hunker down for a little bit, and be prepared to defend yourselves if they do a room sweep.”

  “Stay with the Freemans,” Joel said. “They’re good people, and we can trust them.”

  “They’re in the next building over. How can I possibly walk around with these rifles?” Jordan asked.

  “Conceal them,” Greg said. “Find a laundry bag. A pillow case, anything.”

  Jordan nodded her head in understanding. Joel squeezed her hand tightly in support. The girls sat on the other bunk bed, prepared to leave but confused. Greg put a baseball cap and sunglasses on. His clean-shaven appearance was different. He tied a surgical mask on his face and handed Joel the other. Joel took the mask and put his sunglasses on as well. The injuries to his face were nearly concealed. Greg took a step back as Joel embraced his wife and children in a lengthy, tight squeeze. He told them that he loved them and would be back soon. The girls began to sniffle as Jordan held back her own tears. She needed to show strength—for her daughters if nothing else. The group carefully exited the room and went their separate ways.

  ***

  Hodder walked into the TOC, seemingly satisfied with himself as three of his men followed. He tossed a file onto a nearby table, adjusted the pistol belt around his waist, and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Marcus, Alex, and Specialist Santos rested their rifles against the wall as Hodder lit the cigarette and took a long, hard drag.

  “I think that went pretty well, don’t you?” he asked.

  Marcus looked at the stack of paperwork in his hand. “Not a single trace of Ebola found in the crowd.”

  Hodder smiled, went over to a filing cabinet, and opened the top drawer. From there he pulled out a small bottle of brandy and held it out.

  “Gentlemen, let’s celebrate,” he said, opening the bottle. “To ridding this base of Ebola. And to defeating our enemies, wherever they may be.” The men nodded as Hodder took a swig. He then handed the bottle to Specialist Santos, who took a sip and passed it on.

  “What you said about the outsider was awesome,” Santos said. “We’ll have them so scared of this dude, they’ll be jumping up and down when we capture him.”

  “Agreed,” Marcus said. “A stroke of genius on your part, boss.”

  Hodder paced the room in his mock general stance with his hands locked behind his back. “You see, the people constantly need a bogeyman. Some outside force that poses the real threat. They’ll put up with anything as long as we offer them protection from this heinous terrorist. Politics 101.”

  Alex cut in. “It’s a real shame they threw you out of office.”

  Hodder turned and stared at Alex coldly. “No one threw me out of anything.”

  The room went silent, and Alex appeared unnerved. “Well, I mean, the recall and all that.”

  “It was a political assassination, understand?” Hodder said, angered. “I was a scapegoat. A scapegoat for a corrupt, amoral system.”

  “Of course,” Alex said, nodding along.

  Hodder took a step back and scratched his chin. “That agitator from earlier this morning. Where did they take him?”

  The three men looked at one other for answers then back to Hodder.

  “Not sure,” Marcus said. “I haven’t heard from Jimmy or Bones since then.”

  Hodder stepped forward in disbelief and held out his hands. “Not a word? Where are they?”

  The men were slow to respond. “Haven’t seen them,” Santos said.

  “Did they kill the man or not? And if so, what about the rest of his family?”

  No one had an answer. Hodder slammed his fist down on a nearby table, rattling the cup and saucer from his morning coffee. “This sloppiness is unacceptable! Get on your radios and contact each man on base. I want an update!”

  “I’ll do it,” Marcus said. He took his two-way radio from his pocket and sent a message for Jimmy and Bones to report. When there was no response, he told everyone to report on their status. Hodder walked in a circle mumbling to himself as men from all around the base checked in—all but Jimmy and Bones.

  “Nothing on either man,” Marcus said.

  “Maybe they don’t have their radios on them,” Alex said. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Hodder stopped and smiled. “Who was the man they took away?”

  “Joel Hudson,” Marcus answered. “Lives on C-block with his family.”

  “A family man?” Hodder said. An idea flickered in his head and he could barely contain himself. The men waited in anticipation. “He’s here. He got into the base somehow, I just know it.”

  The men looked confused and doubtful.

  “He’s been watching us!” Hodder shouted. “For how long, I don’t know, but I’ve got the perfect plan. Delay the search for the family man. We’re going to take care of this thing once and for all.”

  “How?” Santos asked.

  “We have some leverage, and we’re going to use the one person he cares about the most.”

  They still didn’t understand. Hodder took another swig from the brandy bottle and tossed it back into the filing cabinet. “Follow me. And put an announcement out to the entire base to report to the public square immediately.”

  ***

  Greg and Joel moved quickly behind the row of living quarters. There were a few people mulling about under the shade and out of reach of the merciless sunlight. Joel had assured Greg that the bunkers weren’t far, just past the mess hall and the labor zones, where Hodder had people pointlessly constr
ucting several “work projects.” These projects included new platforms and towers, crudely constructed with steel beams and plywood taken from the base’s storage depot. Greg stayed close as Joel led the way. They stuck to the shadows and any structures along the way that offered concealment.

  “Just a little further,” Joel said.

  Suddenly, a repetitive announcement came over the loudspeakers throughout the base, ordering everyone back to the public square. Joel and Greg scrambled behind another dumpster.

  “All residents report to the public square for an urgent meeting. All residents report to the public square…”

  Greg looked at Joel. Joel shrugged. As the crowd of twenty or so began walking away from the labor zone toward the public square, it looked like the perfect opportunity for them to move. He signaled at Joel to move forward when suddenly they heard Hodder’s voice come over the speakers.

  “Hurry people, assemble at once. We have some urgent news to deliver. Please, everyone in front. Thank you, thank you.”

  They moved from the dumpster and passed the labor zone—a wide, open area with several projects in the works.

  Hodder’s voice continued. “We have good reason to believe that our terrorist is in the base!”

  Greg and Joel stopped again, unsure what to do.

  “And we’re going to conduct a full count here to make sure that everyone is accounted for. Anyone not present will be assumed to be aiding and abetting the terrorist. It’s time to clean house, people!”

  Joel turned to Greg. “My family!” he shouted, running off to the public square.

  “Joel, no!” Greg shouted. He had no choice but to run after him.

  Leverage

  Hodder stood on stage wearing his beret and sunglasses again, seeming to enjoy himself. He had his microphone in hand and was flanked at both sides by his armed guards. A crowd quickly formed below the stage as people pushed their way to the front, anxious to hear the latest news of the terrorist. Hodder, wanting to quell the growing fear, urged calm and order. He waited until the crowd was gathered and no one else was rushing toward the square, hoping that everyone was accounted for. It was all too simple. Those who weren't there would be labeled subversive.

  Like a rat, their terrorist had to stay hidden somewhere. If Hodder played his cards right, they would expose him soon enough. The sun was shining brightly, and there was no shade to be found in the open square. An idea crossed Hodder's mind concerning his next labor project. They would construct a roof over the entire lot, something that would provide them enough cover from the Nevada sun. When everyone seemed to be assembled, Hodder spoke into the microphone.

  "Brothers and sisters, as many of you may know, this base has eradicated Ebola. It's in the past now, and we continue to sustain an environment free from disease and death. The latest rounds of checks showed no signs and symptoms of Ebola among any of you. We are truly survivors. Each and every one of you!"

  The guards applauded, and the crowd, wondering why they had been called back out, soon followed suit. Hodder smiled, relishing the praise. From afar, Joel ran toward the square, stopped, and hid behind a stack of pallets. Greg took a chance and stole next to him.

  "Joel, we don't have a lot of time."

  Joel turned to him. "They're going to find my family. I can't let that happen!"

  Greg placed an understanding hand on Joel's shoulder as the crowd continued its applause. "They haven't even started any kind of head count yet. They have no reason to start searching the rooms."

  "You don't know that," Joel said. "They could be doing it right now."

  "We knew the likelihood of it happening, that is why I gave your wife those rifles."

  "I can't let them parade my family on stage, I just can't let it happen."

  Greg was determined to move forward with or without Joel's help. "You need to show me where the bunkers are. There's nothing we can do about anything else right now."

  Despite Greg's impulse to keep moving, they remained there for a moment as the applause died down and Hodder resumed talking.

  "And I say with certainty that I have strong evidence to suggest that the terrorist is here among us right at this moment."

  The crowd gasped. Greg's attention shifted immediately away from the stage. He looked around to see if anyone was watching them from above or behind, but didn't see anything—only bare, one-story buildings and concrete pavement.

  Hodder continued. "I say to this outsider, this man named Greg: step forward now and make yourself known."

  The crowd looked around nervously. Greg knelt down behind the pallets, and Joel did the same. Hodder waited as silence gathered. The people were gripped by anxiety. He then began to walk from one side of the stage to the other, back and forth, looking out into the open. No one came forward. The people in the crowd began shuffling, looking more nervous.

  "Very well," Hodder said. He signaled to his men, who then passed the same signal to two guards standing behind the platform. They stomped up the steps holding the arms of a badly beaten woman who struggled against them. Greg was seized by panic. Veronica—only one hundred feet ahead of him. They trotted her out on stage as a spectacle and an example. A sinking feeling came over Greg as Joel looked at him with grave concern.

  "Who is that? Is that your friend?"

  Greg nodded.

  "What are we going to do?" Joel asked with dread.

  Greg pulled the pistol from his pocket and held it tightly. However, it was going to take more than a single handgun to handle what was coming, and Greg knew it. The guards pushed Veronica to the middle of the stage, where she stumbled but remained standing. She was wearing an orange jumpsuit and her hands were bound at the wrist by zip-ties. Hodder came up to her and put one arm around her. She shuddered and tried to back away. Greg wanted to shoot him right between the eyes.

  Delighted, Hodder continued to perform before the anxious crowd. Veronica stood with her head down, shadowing her bruised face. She had a black eye and her cheeks were swollen. The crowd marveled at her appearance. "This woman here is our prisoner. She is the partner of our infamous terrorist outsider named Greg. I know her face doesn't look like much right now, but we can't blame her entirely. It was a result of her violently resisting, but I also have to admit that my men may have gone a little too far."

  Two of the guards standing on the stage, who had been there when Veronica was apprehended, looked at each other. They didn't like being blamed for Veronica's injuries. But they assumed that, just like everything else, Hodder had ulterior motives.

  "I know that we weren't expecting to see her until tomorrow, but her presence now serves a very important purpose."

  Hodder stopped, looked out into the crowd, and took in a deep breath.

  "We're going to find out how much her partner really cares!"

  With that, he pushed Veronica to the stage floor. She fell to her knees in pain and cried out. Some in the crowd cheered. Others stood in silence apprehensively. They didn't know if she was a bad person or not, and some, especially the women, felt sorry for her. Greg gripped his pistol tightly. He was ready to rush out from behind the pallets and charge. But something was holding him back, and he waited.

  Hodder pulled a Colt .45 revolver from the holster of his pistol belt. He clicked the hammer back and held the barrel against the back of Veronica's head.

  "No!" Greg said under his breath.

  Veronica squeezed her tired eyes shut, breathing heavily. Hodder looked out into the crowd with heightened expectancy. He figured that he was going to enjoy himself either way no matter the outcome. With his free hand, he held the microphone to his lips and continued.

  "I'm going to give our mysterious intruder until the count of ten before I pull this trigger. And once I do, folks, you better cover your ears. This is one loud gun."

  Joel looked at Greg in fear. "What now?"

  Greg was too focused on the stage to respond. He knew he was dealing with a madman, but he wondered if by stepping forward
he would be forfeiting both his life and Veronica's.

  The countdown began. "Ten...nine...eight."

  Greg held onto the side of the pallets. His mind raced as sweat poured down his forehead.

  "...seven...six...five..."

  "Greg!" Joel said. "What do we do?"

  "...five...four...three..."

  Veronica's eyes remained shut as she cried out.

  "...two...one."

  "No!" Greg shouted. He jumped up from behind the pallets and ran toward the crowd. All eyes instantly turned to him. Panic consumed the crowd and they began pushing against each other in fear. Hodder continued to hold the gun at Veronica's head. He looked up in pleased surprise. His plan had worked.

  "Let her go!" Greg shouted. "Right now!"

  The guards ran down from the stage and assembled, three on each side, with their rifles aimed and ready. They rushed Greg just as he put his hands into the air.

  "Get on the ground!" one of the guards shouted. Before he could respond, they instantly began beating him, knocking him down with their buttstocks and kicking him. It was as much a display for the crowd as anything else. Joel watched from the pallets, trembling. He didn't know what to do and chose to run back to the living quarters buildings in hopes that his family was okay. Hodder lifted the gun away from Veronica's head, and she opened her eyes.

  "You got really lucky there, sweetheart," Hodder said, walking away. He looked at a guard and pointed to Veronica. "Take her back to her cell." The guard came forward, smiling. He took a deep breath and forcefully pulled her across the stage. She looked into the distance and saw Greg being kicked and beaten. The crowd was mostly quiet, with only a few claps and hollers here and there.

  "Oh no…" she cried under her breath. Any hope she had clung to over time was lost in that moment. The guard took her by the arm and pulled her off the stage and back down the steps. Hodder raised the microphone and continued.