by Rounds, Mark
“No Ma’am,” said a young but obviously very tired nurse who began checking Reynolds file on the computer. “I checked his vitals not more than an hour ago and he seemed fine. No one has signed him out either.”
“Anybody see him go? Come on folks, this is a locked isolation ward,” said Colonel Hill with exasperation. “He didn’t have a key!”
The staff looked at each other with confused expressions on their faces and offered a chorus of “No Ma’am’s.”
“People just don’t vanish from my hospital!” said an agitated Colonel Hill loudly. “He is medically fragile and possibly still contagious. Find him!”
May 19th, Tuesday, 7:58 pm PDT.
Colonel Antonopoulos took Chad to dinner at the Officers’ Club along with Drs. Grieb and Jurgen. They dined on a hearty bean soup with a roll. There was no dessert.
“We are eating what the troops are eating,” said Colonel Antonopoulos by way of apology. “We get served on pretty china but the food is the same all over the base. Sorry it couldn’t be more.”
“We don’t want to take food from your troops Colonel,” said Dr. Jurgen. “Besides, my wife has been after me to lose some weight anyway.”
“Since the contents of the bar are technically the property of the officer members of the O’Club, I would like to offer you a drink. We can do that much at least.”
“Thank you Colonel,” said Dr Jurgen, “but we have an early flight tomorrow. If we could impose on you for a ride to our quarters, wherever they are, I would like to shower and go to bed.”
“Me too,” said Dr. Grieb. “I have been running on nerves and coffee all day long.”
“Certainly,” said Colonel Antonopoulos as he pulled out his cell phone and entered a quick text message. “Captain Whipkey will meet you at the door.”
“Chad, I could offer you the hospitality of the Club, being as you are now a member who will be assessed dues at the end of the month,” said Colonel Antonopoulos.
“In that case, I could use a drink,” said Chad who caught the look in Colonel Antonopoulos eye.
After the civilian members of the team were sent off with Captain Whipkey, Chad, with a beer in hand, sat down with Colonel Antonopoulos at a side table far from the door.
“What makes me think this isn’t a social call,” said Chad after they had sat down.
“Oh, it’s social, mostly,” said Colonel Antonopoulos. “I do have a couple of agenda items to cover though. First and foremost is Special Agent Macklin.”
“Careful or I’ll puke up that wonderful dinner you served,” said Chad trying to lighten the mood.
“Not funny,” said Colonel Antonopoulos. “That guy has connections. He or his stooges have tried to get me to lock you up for all manner of mopery and dopery. They clearly want you out of the limelight and off the TV and especially off the internet. So stay on it. You are helping. The data sheet you passed around at your various appearances is showing up everywhere. People are taking it seriously.”
“Geez, that’s Terry’s work, not mine,” said Chad for what seemed like the millionth time.
“I know he did the heavy lifting, but you are the one that has the media listening,” said Colonel Antonopoulos. “It has got to be that you are smart because you sure don’t have the looks for it.”
Chad saw that he was smiling now but he still didn’t like taking credit for Terry’s work and the media attention was not making Mary happy. It was also apparently what is drawing Macklin to him.
“Here is the other item I have for you,” said Colonel Antonopoulos. “I would like to offer you and your family space here on post. We can protect you here. Your brand new rank will carry some weight with folks outside the military, especially if you are on post. Macklin will have to leave you alone.”
“Colonel Antonopoulos,” began Chad.
“Look, my first name is Andrianos,” said Colonel Antonopoulos. “My friends call me Andy.”
“That must have been a bitch growing up,” said Chad.
“You have no idea,” said Andy with a sad smile.
“Anyway, Andy, thank you for that and for the kind offer,” said Chad carefully, “but I am going to have to decline. Some friends and I are making plans and we have some supplies. I doubt your invitation could include all of them anyway.
“Secondly, you have seen my infection figures for the general population. With a thirty percent reported infection rate from downtown Seattle, I suspect that the shadow population, you know, the street kids, drug addicts and all, in the area is probably like sixty percent involved. When do you think civil services will break down?”
“I have seen projections of course,” said Andy. “But I have more faith in the teams we have out there. They see cops struggling with large groups of those infected in some neighborhoods. We have had to resort to some rather indiscriminate use of automatic weapons fire in a couple of cases. In some of the downtown neighborhoods, Strykers are the only thing that can go in.”
“It’s starting then,” said Chad. “I thought it would go a month or so before that happened. Look, soon, you are going to have to completely seal off this base. We tend to see doubling every seven days or so. In two or three weeks, it will be maybe sixty percent in the suburbs and pretty damned close to full penetration in the downtown areas. Maybe you should consider sending your family out with us. God knows how many more flights out there will be.”
“Don’t think that hasn’t crossed my mind,” said Andy. “But I have three thousand eight hundred and two Air Force men and women under my command. Most of them have some dependents on base. How would it look if I sent my dependents out, but because we couldn’t find a place for them, kept theirs on base?
“Besides, my wife is a driving force in the Officers’ Wives Club and they are handling all manner of counselling issues, aid to families, and support for dependents who have lost their service member. I need her here as much as I need my Chief Master Sergeant.”
While he said the last with a laugh, it was a weary one and it was clear that this was hard to watch his family stay in harm’s way.
“I am not supposed to discuss this,” continued Andy, “but you do have a need to know. We are already working on plans to close off the base. They get triggered when or if we get a directive from the President or we lose contact with National Command Authority. Our planning horizon is probably six or seven days out. But you are the ‘Dead Head’ right? What is your opinion? Do you think it will work?”
“Look, Andy,” said Chad, wishing that name would go away, “I don’t have your plans and even if I did, most of what I do is on a larger scale. I can only guess.”
“Guess then,” said Andy with a little desperation in his voice.
“Well you’ve got a hellaciously long perimeter to defend,” said Chad. “Even with all the new troops that have come in, I don’t think you can cover it all. Family housing is in serious jeopardy.”
“We know,” said Andy as he sketched a map of the base on a napkin. “We are no longer patrolling the training areas adjacent to base. It takes too much fuel. We know people are living there, some of them infected, but we won’t bother them if we can help it.
“We have retreated to the base proper. Right now, we can cover that from the air, with motorized patrols, and with passive sensors. But when the fuel starts to run out or we maybe lose off base power, it will be a lot harder. But the construction you see around base, the hardening we discussed earlier, shortens the interior perimeter by a third and puts every approach under visual observation, automatic weapons fire, and, as long as the ammunition lasts, artillery fire. It includes the McChord runway and the Gray Army Air Field, but cuts off family housing and a lot of redundant structures. Interstate 5 will be a bitch though as it provides hostiles cover all along one flank of the base and we really don’t have the explosives, manpower or equipment to push it back. Besides, it will also be needed for the recovery.
“So back to the original questions, what is your bes
t estimate? Can we survive here? There have been some arguments in staff meetings about relocation of our forces and dependents while we still have the assets to move them to the Yakima Training Center. It would be a nightmare but I think, if we commandeer a lot of the eighteen wheelers and other big trucks in the area, we could get all of the people and most of the supplies away.”
“Andy,” said Chad somewhat guardedly, “if you stay, you have to will kill tens of thousands of American citizens, a lot of who will not be infected, just scared and out of options. If you decide to go it will have to be soon and you will kill probably as many and very likely more. Here is my wild assed guess on this. If you can’t pull the plug and leave in a week, while there is still some respect for the law and order, you should stay.
“There will be many that think that you have a cornucopia of supplies and will do anything to get into your convoys. They will build barricades and tear up highways to get at you, and these are just the desperate but uninfected folks.
“Those that are infected are irrational, but clever. I can’t even begin to think what they will do. I doubt the Congress and the President will cut folks around here off from your support any time soon. They will likely hide in their bunkers and continue to prevaricate and even a week is too long. Besides, how long will it take you to organize that kind of rolling circus? I reiterate, I think you should stay.”
Colonel Antonopoulos took long pull from his beer and starred out the window for a while, lost in thought.
“I think General Buckley needs to hear this,” said Colonel Antonopoulos. “I am going to postpone your departure for a day. If you thought that last meeting was long, the one I am going to call for tomorrow at 07:00 will be a cast-iron bitch. We probably need to go back to my office where you can formalize this and develop PowerPoints for that sort of meeting. I am calling General Buckley, I suspect he will want a private briefing before morning.”
“Geez, and I thought being an enlisted staff wienie was tough,” said Chad.
Chapter 11
May 20th, Wednesday, 3:12am PDT.
Mary Strickland couldn’t sleep. She missed Chad and what with Dave Tippet hanging around all day and all the kids, she hadn’t had any time to herself to make sense of what was going on. Dave had relented after talking to Chad and they were allowed upstairs now but they had stayed inside all day with the shades drawn. The kids had watched movies on Netflix in the basement rec room, but by the end of the day, they were all tired, crabby and restless. When they finally went to bed, it was a relief. She and Heather had chatted aimlessly over wine until she headed downstairs to bunk with the kids. Only Dave remained awake.
After tossing and turning for an hour or an eternity, depending on your point of view, Mary got up and made a pot of coffee. She poured herself a cup and another for Dave who was sitting quietly in the living room with the lights out. He had his Mini-14 carbine in his lap and his father’s trusty .45 on his hip.
“Dave,” said Mary quietly. “I have some coffee if you want some.”
“Thanks Mary,” said Dave in a voice just above a whisper. “Keep the light out though.”
“Dave, tell me in small words what we are hiding from,” said Mary. “I get that Chad’s TV appearances have upset that man from Homeland Security, but do you think he will actually try to hurt us?”
“I hope not,” said Dave not taking his eyes off of the gap in the curtains. “But Chad said he thinks he has hired some local punks to stop him and that lawyer, Taylor.”
“That whole thing with the car chase and all,” said Mary. “I remember, but those guys are locked up. The Highway Patrolman, Sergeant Vaughn, made sure of that.”
He took the cup of coffee and sipped while still keeping his eye on the window.
“The truth is,” said Dave after a moment of thought, “that this guy Macklin is a spook; a spy or unconventional operator in civilian terms. Times are getting rough and he is used to getting results and only obeying the law when a bright light is on him. Chad said that he is in the dog house in Washington and that the security guy where he works physically pitched him out of a meeting.
“He is angry and has lost face. He is probably desperate so yeah, I think he might hire some more thugs and try again.”
“But what about …”
“Hush Mary,” said Dave urgently. “Go wake Connor and Heather. They know what to do.”
Mary set her coffee down and moved quickly to the stairs and looked down. Connor hadn’t been sleeping either and was awake in the rec room trying to read. One look at his mom and he knew. He got up wordlessly and tapped lightly on the door into the guest room where Heather was staying and then pulled the pump shotgun from the linen closet. He stayed where he was, the plan was for him to backstop Dave and protect the kids.
Mary drew her pistol and rejoined Dave who had moved to a crouch far enough from the window that the street lights didn’t shine on him but close enough that he could see most of the street out in front. Wordlessly he pointed out the window with his carbine. Mary saw a car driving slowly by.
“This is the third time they have been by in the last fifteen minutes,” whispered Dave.
The car, a late model, black, four door Chevy Impala, stopped in front of the house and three men in dark clothes got out. They wore ski masks and gloves which made you stand out in May in the Tri-Cities. As they got out, they looked around to see if anyone was about. Seeing that there was no one visible, two of them drew pistols and the other, who was significantly larger, drew a sawed off shotgun from under his overcoat and began moving towards the house.
“Show time,” said Dave quietly and reached for the remote control in front of him. This remote used the same technology you use to change channels or CDs but what it controlled was very different. David pressed the channel one button and bright flood lights mounted in the shrubs and on the roof lit up all the approaches to the house. The men from the car were momentarily blinded. The channel two button started the sprinkler systems that soaked and further disoriented them as they had been adjusted to spray the sidewalks, not the grass. Next, Dave pressed channel three started a recorded message played at over a hundred decibels in a loop.
“THIS IS PRIVATE PROPERTY! LEAVE AT ONCE! ALL YOUR ACTIONS ARE BEING RECORDED ON VIDEO FOR THE POLICE!”
The men looked confused but they weren’t leaving so Dave pressed channel four. There was a very loud, almost sub-sonic blast from the speakers and car alarms in a two block radius started to go off. It didn’t get all of them, but nearly half did start beeping, which was enough. Lights up and down the street came on and people were rushing out to vehicles and saw the three men in the harsh white light emitted from the LED flood lights.
A Keystone Kops moment ensued as they all tried to get into the same door of the car. Dave set down the rifle, pocketed the remote, and gathered a handgun and camera that were prepositioned on a coffee table near the door.
With one hand on the camera and the other holding the gun, he began taking pictures as he headed out the door and got several shots of the men scrambling into the car, of the car itself and most importantly, two really clear shots of the license plates as the car roared off down the street.
As soon as they were out of sight, Dave holstered his pistol and thumbed the channel nine button and all the light and sound shut off, leaving his ears ringing in the silence that was only broken by the two car alarms that hadn’t yet been silenced.
Christi Howeland, a neighbor and the mother of Connor’s friend Amy came rushing across the street in her bathrobe and slippers. She had her cell phone in her hand and was giving her address to whoever was on the other end of her phone call.
“Dave, what is going on?” asked Christi breathlessly as she put the phone in the pocket of the robe. “Who were those men? We heard all the noise and we thought …”
“I think everything is Ok,” said Dave. “I have a pretty good idea who they were and that they weren’t very nice guys. If you see them around
again, do call us ok?”
“Sure, OK,” said Christi uncertainly. “I called the police, I hope that is OK?”
“It was my very next move,” said Dave easily. “Thanks, not that it will do much good.”
May 20th, Wednesday, 7:45am PDT.
Colonel Antonopoulos’ meeting was late starting as General Buckley was engaged in a conference call with the Joint Chiefs of Staff of the armed forces, USNORTHCOM, along with perhaps forty other flag rank officers. When he came to the meeting, it was clear that while he had shaved, showered and was in a fresh uniform, he also obviously had not slept the previous night. In the room, there were the same commanders present at yesterday’s meeting. There were also several naval officers in the briefing room, one of whom was a rear admiral.
“Thank you all for attending,” said General Buckley. “I especially appreciate Admiral Turner and his staff from Kitsap Naval Base for getting here on such short notice. I’ll skip the preliminaries. In consultation with the Secretary of Defense and by direction of the President of the United States, I am declaring martial law within the state of Washington. After some discussion with the Joint Chiefs and Admiral Turner, I am assuming Command. I am senior, but the major consideration was the division of assets.
“Captain Strickland has outlined a couple of scenarios for the possible evacuation of this base to the Yakima Training Center and as an alternative, hunkering down and defending in place. Both will entail killing tens of thousands of civilians. I will accept neither of these options. We belong to the Armed Forces of the United States. We have all taken an oath. I will not be the architect of mass murder of American citizens just to protect my own pasty white ass!
“We are going to protect and feed as many as we can …”
“Sir,” said an Army Colonel named Hodges, who was in utilities and looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but from the logistics side, we don’t have enough food to last out the summer for our own troops, let alone all the civilians outside the gate.”
