The Plague Years (Book 1): Hell is Empty and All the Devils Are Here

by Rounds, Mark

  “We will determine that later,” said Chis in his best command voice. “Now stand up, show me your hands!”

  “Leave me alone. Let me die!” said the shape under the bridge but he did start standing erect. As soon as he was fully in the light, Hoskins gasped. One of his eyes was missing. His face was covered in gore from the person on the ground. He had terrible gashes and wounds visible over most of his exposed skin but it didn’t appear to be bleeding much.

  Then he started running up the hill at the light, fast. Both officers yelled for him to stop but he kept running at them while emitting a guttural moan. Chris fired first. The nine .33-caliber lead balls clearly struck the apparition’s chest and shoulder and he staggered a little but kept coming. Chris quickly fired twice more as fast as he could rack the shells into the shotgun but it didn’t seem to slow the target down. At the same time, Hoskins fired three times, each one striking the face which, at the end, was only a few feet from her. As the third shot punctured the good eye, it was like the strings on a puppet had been cut. The wreckage of what once had been a young Hispanic man collapsed at her feet. At this range, the smell was like the worst day at a chicken processing plant.

  Hoskins, looking green but in control said, “I think I am about to be very unprofessionally sick.” Sickened or not, Hoskins resorted to her training and immediately began sweeping the area with the light, looking for additional threats or victims.

  “Don’t, or I’ll join you,” said Chris. Then he spoke into the portable radio microphone on his shoulder. “299 – Kennewick, shots fired, one suspect down, one victim down, start aid and additional units.”

  “Kennewick – 299, received, verify 299 and the deputy are OK?” said the dispatcher.

  “299 – Kennewick, right,” he said into the mike. “OK?” he thought to himself. “Yeah, right; this one is going to stay in my nightmares a long time,”

  Then Chris keyed the mike and said, “We’re OK, Kennewick.”

  “Aid advised ETA ten, multiple state, county and city units en route.” Chris pulled spare shotgun shells off the stock and fed them into the magazine.

  “Hoskins,” said Chris, “We had better check out that victim, see how bad it is.”

  “Right,” said Hoskins Then she flashed the light down under the overpass.

  “Sarge, can you see the victim?”

  “No,” said Chris, then “What? Where’d they go? They were right there.”

  They looked at one another.

  “Crap,” said Chris loudly. “We’ve got to find that victim.”

  They both walked down the hill, careful not to lose their footing.

  “Come out”, shouted Hoskins. “Whoever did this to you is dead.”

  “We can help you, just come out!” shouted Chris.

  They quickly covered the ground to the overpass and cautiously started poking around. They approached the far side of the underpass, nearing a streetlight. Chris, about to step out into the lighted area, felt something wet and warm drip on his hand. He looked down and saw that it was blood on his hand. He quickly looked up to see a blurry form jump from the railing twenty-two feet above. Chris threw himself back and brought his shotgun to bear as he fell. Hoskins, who was a few feet behind, had her pistol and light out and covered the body as it hit the ground three feet from Chris’s prone form.

  “Freeze!” shouted Hoskins. “Sheriff’s Office - Stay on the ground!”

  Then the form looked up and Hoskins stuttered to a stop. The girl, because she was clearly quite young and female, was nearly naked save for a pair of tattered denim shorts. Most of the skin on the left half of her face was gone and there were horrible wounds all over her body that clearly came from being bitten. There was blood oozing from all of them.

  The girl screamed and lunged at Chris. She would have had him except that she had obviously broken a leg in the fall. You could see the white bone protruding from the skin. She fell to the ground when the leg wouldn’t hold her, and he was able to scoot back out of her reach. The girl crawled after him.

  “Stop!” screamed Hoskins as she stepped forward to protect Chris. “We don’t want to hurt you!”

  The girl lunged again, this time at Hoskins, and was able to grab her leg. The grip was like a vise and before Hoskins could even think to react, the girl bit her calf, attempting to wrench the flesh from the bone. It must have hurt like molten lead had been poured onto the leg and Hoskins began screaming and hammering the girl’s head with the butt of her pistol. Chris meanwhile began firing the shotgun as fast as he could pump it. Each pattern hit center of mass as he tried not to hit his fellow law officer. After the third blast ruined her chest, the girl released Hoskins leg and looked over at Chris.

  “I am so sorry,” she whispered before she collapsed.

  They soon heard the sounds of sirens, slamming car-doors and running footsteps. Two more deputies and a trooper arrived with weapons drawn. Hoskins had slumped to the ground and was trying very hard not to cry. As a result, she was releasing a series of strangled, painful sobs. Chris reached over and put his arms around her.

  “It’s OK. Let it go,” said Chris, and Hoskins began to cry in earnest. “I owe you one.”

  Twenty minutes later, Hoskins was bandaged up and driven away in an ambulance on her way to Kennewick General. He watched them leave as the dozens of flashing strobe lights reflected off the side of the ambulance.

  “How the hell am I going to write this up?” thought Chris as he headed back for his cruiser.

  May 5th, Friday, 07:25am PDT

  Chad was at the office early. The discussion with his wife yesterday evening had not gone well. She didn’t understand why they couldn’t talk this through before he withdrew the money. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t go over to Dave’s and get the money back immediately and she REALLY didn’t understand why it was necessary in the first place. He had slept poorly on the couch until 4:30 am and thought to hell with it and got up and went for a run.

  It cleared his head some but his wife wasn’t yet up when he got back so he showered and went into work. He hoped that maybe the day apart would help things settle but he didn’t have much faith in it. Mary was fiery in her passions and when she thought she was right, there was no stopping her. He did extract a promise though, not to talk to anyone about this until this evening.

  Chad fired up his e-mail and the first message in his queue was from Dr. Jurgen asking Chad to contact him as soon as he got in.

  “No rest for the wicked,” thought Chad as he walked down the hall the Dr. Jurgen’s office.

  When he got there, he noticed, but was not surprised, that Dr. Jurgen had clearly not gone home last night. He had even eaten his chile relleno which meant that not only was he tired, he was in pain too.

  “Your analysis caused quite a stir”, said Dr. Jurgen without preamble. “The Homeland Security folks say it’s not possible and then in the next breath say that we have to classify the hell out of it. That apparently sparked their curiosity; so they ran their own investigation of you and came up with the curious fact that you withdrew $14,750 dollars from various accounts yesterday. They are asking why. They reiterated that this has to be kept quiet and that a panic could ensue so what’s your story?”

  “Well,” said Chad with what he hoped was a bewildered look. “I bought a truck from my neighbor yesterday at lunch. That is why I left in the first place. You can check me out, he teaches History at Columbia Basin Community College, David Tippet.”

  “And why do you want a truck?” asked Dr. Jurgen.

  “Well, I am buying a boat,” said Chad. “I’ve had one for years and I only sold it because my wife didn’t like it. She relented so I am getting another. I was looking at one of those Bayliner deck boats. I had the 190 before but I think I can get enough of a loan to swing a 215.”

  Dr. Jergen looked at Chad very carefully for what seemed like five minutes but probably only lasted for twenty seconds or so.

  “I’m satisfied wit
h that ‘story’,” said Dr. Jurgen with a hint of a smile. “I suspect the Homeland Security team will be too provided you can back it up?”

  “Yeah, I have the bill of sale in my wallet and you can call Dave ….”

  “No need,” said Dr. Jurgen, his face softening. “Let’s get to work. What if I told you that early this morning, we had our first symptomatic case in this area. There were two police officers attacked at the junction of Interstate 82 and Interstate 182. One was bitten. Seems you were right and the Homeland Security folks were wrong.”

  “Yikes, that’s less than five miles from my home,” said Chad with alarm.

  “Homeland Security thinks it’s a fluke. What do you think?”

  “Not so much,” said Chad pensively. “What data do we have on the infected individuals? Are they lucid enough to question?”

  “Sadly, no as both are dead. We do know that both are Hispanic, they had no ID and just a little money. They had no personal belongings other than the clothes on their back and those were in very poor repair. I understand that it’s common for sufferers of AH10N3 to abandon things as they become more involved.”

  “Did either of them speak at all?” asked Chad.

  “The girl did. Her English was good. She said she was sorry.”

  “Maybe migrant workers or perhaps college students then,” said Chad. “That fits my assumptions.”

  “Chad, I need a detailed briefing on a worst case scenario for 1:30 pm today. Our friend at the Department of Homeland Security has proposed a ‘low impact solution’ so use that as your base case. Thankfully, he left in a VIP jet last night so we can work in some form of peace. We will be briefing our staff, the Homeland Security people and some VIP’s from other government agencies. This needs to be first rate.

  “I’d like you to focus on the continental United States but I’d also like an overview of likely scenarios for Europe, Africa, and Asia. Provide Dr. Riley’s team with your continental analysis as soon as you can but no later than 10:00 am. There will be coffee and pastries delivered in a few minutes and you can borrow my antacids if you need them. Do you need anything else?”

  “More time sir,” said Chad. “I made a bunch of assumptions of the first prediction that I would like to run down.”

  “That is the one thing I can’t give you.”

  May 5th, Friday, 10:37am PDT

  Mary Strickland was angry. The tasting room at Bookwalter Wineries opened at 11:00 am on Fridays but she had to be in at 9:00. The Bistro had to be ready for the lunch crowd and they had a rehearsal dinner to do at 3:00. The Chef was late, the cook staff was sleepy and to top it off, her husband had just spent fifteen thousand dollars on God knows what to prepare for the ‘End of Life as We Know It’.

  “That wasn’t completely fair.” Mary thought. Chad had always been a smart and thoughtful man. His reasons were logical, if vague.

  “Damn that NDA!” she said as she slammed down the wedding menu she had been working on.

  “Whoa!” said Heather Tunney. “You have another vegan marrying a cattleman and they’re fighting over the menu?”

  Heather was a good friend. They had worked together for six years and shared wine, what their kids were up to, complained about husbands, and were also a very effective team. She was forty-eight, but didn’t look it. She was an athletically slender brunette tending to a little gray. She kept fit from the Pilates they took together three times a week and her addiction to skiing and kayaking. The remark about the vegan marrying the cattleman was an old joke between them from one of the first weddings Heather had catered when she first came to work at Bookwalter’s.

  “I wish,” said Mary.

  “Hmmmm, could be tough, wanna talk about it?”

  Mary hesitated. She had promised Chad to keep quiet about the real reason had spent so much money until tonight when they both had spent a day to cool down.

  “It’s my husband,” said Mary.

  “Of course it’s your husband,” said Heather with a sympathetic look. “Give Auntie Heather all the dirty details. What did he do this time?”

  “Well,” Mary said and then hesitated. She had promised. “Chad bought a truck!”

  “You guys need a truck?”

  “No!” said Mary angrily. “He is also going to buy a boat. He says he needs the truck to tow it.”

  “You guys had a boat for a while. Me and the ex went out on the river with you several times.”

  Heather’s winemaker ex-husband had found the love of his life, or so he claimed and had left her, leaving a nasty divorce and three kids in his wake. The object of his affections was twenty-six year old buxom blond whose hair color came out of a bottle.

  “It could be worse,” said Heather with a smile. “You can shoot your hubby’s mistress and nobody will arrest you.”

  Mary laughed. That had been one of Heather’s fondest wishes right after her husband left. They had discussed it over more than one bottle of wine and had come to the conclusion that her ex and his ‘true love’ deserved each other.

  “You don’t know how much work a boat is though,” said Mary. Then she rattled on about how much berthing space cost, what licensing hoops you had to jump through, and all the gritty details about keeping the hull sound. These had been all of Chad’s reasons for selling their first boat and gave her something to say while she gathered her wits.

  “What do they say about the difference between men and boys?” asked Heather impishly.

  “The price of their toys,” said Mary with resignation.

  “Right, Chad is a good guy. You’re lucky his midlife crisis includes a truck and a boat, not a high school drop out with the finest breasts money can buy.”

  That did help Mary, even though the actual purchase wasn’t correct. Chad was a good guy. He just overanalyzed things. That was his job. After he calmed down, she thought, we can see about selling the junk Dave had bought or was going to buy and getting some of the money back. Chad’s salary was good and so was Mary’s, they would come out alright.

  Between Mary and Heather, they started putting out the brush fires and getting the day rolling. The Chef was found with a flat tire and retrieved, a few terse words to the rest of the cook staff got them moving and they were open on time. Things moved on normally until they were beginning to receive guests for the wedding.

  Mary was working on the final figures for the reception when Heather stuck her head into Mary’s office.

  “We have a drunken father of the bride,” said Heather breathlessly.

  “Drunk belligerent?” asked Mary as she got out of her chair and grabbed her cell phone. She hated to call the cops unless it was absolutely necessary. It spoiled the celebration.

  “Drunk peculiar,” said Heather.

  “Great!” said Mary rolling her eyes.

  They made their way into the great room. A large plump man in a tux with the tie open and a couple of stains on the jacket, was at the buffet eating shrimp. He was tan the way that comes from a tanning booth or bathing in Nutella. Despite that, he looked an unhealthy pale underneath the tan and was sweating profusely. A small bird-like woman was trying ineffectually to get him away from the buffet.

  “Daniel, please, at least wait until the guests arrive!” said the mother of the bride.

  “Nonsense, Martha, I paid for this food. These really are good too,” he said grabbing two more.

  “Pardon me Mr. Wilson,” said Mary in her best customer voice. “If you are hungry, I can get you seated in the Bistro right away for a quick meal. This snack food often isn’t very satisfying.”

  The last thing Mary wanted was a row with the guy paying the bills. She nodded to Heather who pulled the tray of shrimp away. It would be replaced with a new one when the father of the bride was out of sight. She wanted to make sure everything looked as perfect as their advertising brochure said it would be.

  “Maybe that would be a good idea. I really could use something to eat. Do you have any red meat in there?” asked Daniel.
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  “We serve an excellent meat and cheese platter if you would like to nibble and the marbled sixteen ounce ribeye with a blue cheese potato cake and roasted winter squash from the dinner menu is really first rate,” said Mary sounding just like the Tri-Cities Restaurant Guide.

  “Now Daniel, you know what your doctor has been saying about your diet”, said Martha who was clearly a worrier.

  While they argued about lunch, Mary expertly disentangled the guests from the buffet and guided him toward the dining room.

  “This guy is burning up,” thought Mary as she shook hands with him at the entryway.

  “Man is it hot in here”, said Daniel.

  Heather and Mary looked at one another. They normally cooled the great room down to 66 degrees as it always heated up when you added a hundred or guests and servers.

  “Sir, perhaps you should lie down or maybe I could call a physician. You seem quite warm.”

  “Daniel, I told you that you should see Dr. Hanley,” said Martha.

  “And miss my baby girl’s wedding? I’ll be fine once I ….” He trailed off and his eyes rolled back in his head. The starch went out of his legs and he began to slide to the floor. Mary caught him and while his wife fluttered ineffectually and slid him clumsily down to the floor. As he rolled onto his side, his jacket slid back and there was a large blood stain on his shirt.

  “Heather, would you be so good as to call 911?” said Mary in a voice that sounded far calmer than she felt. “We seem to have a situation here. Also have Alex step out of the tasting room and help Mrs. Wilson greet her guests.”

  The ambulance was there in five minutes and a semi-conscience Mr. Wilson was loaded on to the cart. Mrs. Wilson didn’t know if she should stay and see the wedding through or go with her husband. Thankfully, at that point, her daughter made an appearance, mostly dressed and they all went off to the hospital. Most of the rest of the wedding party followed in separate cars.

  This was not a good day. Mr. Wilson’s illness did not look like the flu but something more serious. Mary hoped he would be OK but with all this paranoia on the news and the web, she wasn’t so sure. Most of the buffet was headed for the trash. There would be a stink as to whether or not the Wilsons had succumbed to food poisoning courtesy of Bookwalter’s and who was going to pay for the food no one would eat? Then she still had to go home to hash out this silliness with Chad.