by Tom Calen
“What… what have you done?” Paul accused her as he backed away. “You did this! You made this!”
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Waking with a scream, Lisa could already feel the warm streaks of tears falling from her eyes. She did not need to determine if the nightmare was familiar. Those feelings of happiness, the horror of repulsion, and the final rejection had been in her sleep more often than any other dream.
As the years in the mountains passed and then their time in New Cuba as she and Paul had grown closer, she had always worried that the truth of her involvement in the Ira Project might be revealed. Would he understand? Would he still love me? Those questions had plagued her over the last year, nibbling away at the safety and happiness she felt when she was with Paul. Their power rested with what she feared to be the answers. How could he do anything but hate me? I was part of the virus that killed his wife and newborn baby.
Unwilling to sleep again, she pressed herself up from the ground and adjusted the pack strapped on her shoulders. After placing the ARC into a small pouch on her hip, Lisa turned to face the night again, continuing her march to the base.
Hours slid into each other and soon the sun began to break across the tree line ahead. The tension of her mind eased with the steadily brightening sky. With her thoughts freed slightly, the leaden weight of her body could no longer be ignored. She was reluctant to stop moving, but Lisa recognized the effects of mental and physical exhaustion. She understood that her thinking was growing increasingly compromised and her body would not be able to react as fast as she might need it to. Those debilitations would only grow worse the further she pushed herself. In her time at the academy, she had read many accounts of soldiers experiencing what at the time was called “battle fatigue.” Sufferers had exhibited paranoia, irrational thinking, and in many cases, hallucinations. It was the combination of all three symptoms that had at times led to friendly-fire deaths.
There had been times over the past days that Lisa had doubted if in fact she was being followed, and that it was not her own mind working against her. Each time she dismissed them as she ran through the list of evidence. She worried, however, that soon she would begin doubting even the evidence. As she weighed her levels of sanity, she sat on the soft earth and began to eat one of the MREs in her pack. The food held no distinguishable flavor for her, and she had not bothered to read the label. Eating was a requirement now, not something to be savored or enjoyed. She ate because she knew she had to, though her stomach never complained of hunger. As she chewed the crunchy morsels, she wondered if she would reach Fort Polk before she slipped further away from her own mind.
Discarding the packaging, Lisa forced herself to her feet. Out of habit, she tried to pull some water from the tube of the camel back. When her mouth remained dry, she reminded herself she still needed to refill the pack. She had only rested briefly, minutes at most, but the sense of being tracked returned and was enough of an impetus to drive her on.
As she walked, she studied the vehicles scattered along the paved interstate. The variety was vast—mini-vans, sedans, convertibles, diesel trucks, buses, campers. Lisa knew that in better days she likely could have gotten one of them running, but her previous experience caused her to discard the idea. It was painful to accept that her mind would no longer serve her as she needed.
Trees swayed lightly in the wind, and Lisa glanced back down the road in the hopes of catching a glimpse of whatever followed. The early morning heat was enough to distort her vision. She could not tell if the movement she saw was Til, human, or simply the wavy lines of heat lifting from the macadam surface. As she made to turn forward, her eyes scanned past the massive green highway sign standing alongside the westbound lanes. Blinking in doubt, she read the words again, and again.
Okay, she directed herself, take a deep breath, close your eyes and reread the sign. She followed her directions and when she read the lettering again she knew she was not hallucinating.
The words “Welcome to Texas” sat directly above an image of the state flag. “Drive Friendly – The Texas Way” covered the lower section of the sign.
Her eyebrows furrowed in shock, and she snapped her mouth shut when she realized it hung open. Forcing the cloudiness from her mind, Lisa began to calculate. The other markers on the road indicated that she was still travelling along Interstate 10. But, I’m on the Louisiana side? she wondered with incredulity. If she believed her eyes, Lisa had been travelling for nearly two weeks, covering well over two hundred miles. More than that, she thought, if I managed to swing completely around Houston!
Though her destination of Fort Polk was certainly much closer, Lisa could not fight the fear bubbling inside her. What she had thought were days had been weeks, and she had little memory of them. She worried that if her mind had failed her so miserably while she followed the interstate, what would happen now when she would have to cut northeast through mostly rural countryside? Without the clear indicator of the road to guide her, she risked becoming completely turned around. She swallowed hard as she accepted that she could not trust her own mind and thoughts.
She also accepted that she had little choice but to continue. The hour was still early, the sun far from its zenith, when Lisa left the interstate path and struck out across rougher terrain. Her will was determined and her focus was solely on staying focused. Whenever her mind drifted even slightly, she scolded herself. Keep track of the miles, the time. You can do this, Lisa. You have to do this.
With her thoughts straining to remain on what lay ahead, she did not see the ever nearing movements of those that followed her.
Chapter Nineteen
Though she could see and feel Andrew lifting her from the hard planks of the dock, Michelle realized with alarm that she could not hear him. Instead, her ears felt like they had been stuffed up with cotton, blocking all sound but a constant dull ringing. As her fiancée fussed over her, she tried to tell him she was fine, though she had no idea if she whispered or shouted the words. The scene on the dock was as chaotic as the past minutes had been. Erik was pulling a water-logged Matt onto the platform, while Mike was slowly rising to his feet. She noticed how he rubbed feverishly at his own ears. The explosion caused the deafness. It’s probably not permanent. God, please don’t let it be permanent!
Several yards away, the burning remains of Matt’s ship slipped slowly beneath the water’s surface. With a shudder, Michelle realized that had the man not acted as quick as he had, he very likely would have died in the boat’s explosion. She had panicked when she saw Matt turn the craft around. The shouting and waving she had been doing was meant to warn him, speed him along, certainly not to call him back to the docks.
Regaining her feet, Michelle tried to stand on her own, but the force of the explosion and her already-injured ankle caused her to lean against Andrew as the two walked over to the others. Through a rather comical exchange of pointing and lip-reading, she and Mike informed the group of their shared inability to hear. Temporary inability! she added for herself. Erik and Andrew nodded together as Mike spoke to them before the pair ran back up the dock. She assumed he had sent them to search for the shooter. With their leave-taking, she, Mike, Matt, and the dog were left to gather their supplies and wait. Mike and Matt both flashed smiles at her, which she responded to with a “thumbs-up.” At any other time, she might have found the situation hysterically humorous; two people who could not hear, a third had just avoided being blown to bits, and a dog who was dancing around the dock and may or may not have been barking.
Michelle could only assume the absurdity of the moment was the cause of Mike’s sudden laughter. He had placed one hand in front of his mouth to disguise the action, but the smile was too wide to hide. With shoulders rising and falling, laughter gripped the three on the deck to the point of tears. When Erik and Andrew returned minutes later, they found three adults bracing each other as their bodies shook with bizarre amusement. Seeing the pair’s confused expressions sent another wave of laughter through the r
est of the group.
Eventually, after composure was regained, Erik indicated that whoever the shooter was, he or she had escaped in the confusion of the explosion. Through his gesticulations, Michelle gathered that tracks had been discovered. Shaking his head against the idea of pursuit, Mike led the small band up the steep ramp and into the coastal town.
The city, laid out in a block pattern, was easy to navigate. With two members of the team slightly incapacitated, Mike was reluctant to remain exposed for too long. Finally settling on a one-story building along Broad Avenue, he led them inside. Once the building was swept for Tils, everyone worked together to barricade the front and rear entrance to the small gift store. Display cases and heavy metal racks were pushed across the tiled floor to block the main door. In a corner of the back stock room, Michelle discovered several dozen sand bags. So close to the shore and prone to hurricanes, the store’s proprietors had clearly kept the sandbags in case of a flooding emergency. With some effort, the bags were stacked about four feet high against the metal rear door.
The process was completed in just short of an hour, and it was then Michelle realized that the dull ringing sound had left. In fact, she realized, with concentration she could hear soft murmuring from Andrew and Erik as they spoke. Relieved that the impairment was indeed temporary, she also was anxious to hear the voices of her companions as the running dialogue she had in her head was growing tiresome and tedious.
With the room sufficiently secured, Mike cleared the counter by the cash register and spread out their few maps. She could not help but shake her head when she saw the cash drawer had been ripped open and the money removed. Facing an epidemic that would infect and kill most of the global population, people had still looted in the early days. Money, like so much else, had become meaningless in the world after the virus struck.
During the hours of planning and meal preparation, Michelle’s hearing had been almost fully restored. Since he had been further from the boat when it exploded, Mike’s hearing had returned shortly before her own. Voices still sounded more distant than they should have but at least she could understand what was being said and respond accordingly. Her first words were to apologize to Matt for drawing him back to the docks.
“Don’t worry about it,” he tried to assure her. “If I hadn’t seen you jumping around like a crazy woman, I might have kept going and still been blown up.”
“Well still, I am sorry,” she repeated, though she did not think she had been acting like a crazy woman. Sure, I was waving, maybe a little jumping, but not like a crazy woman! Turning her attention back to the group, Michelle listened as Mike laid out their options for moving forward.
“By land, we’re probably about a thousand miles from Fort Polk, maybe a bit more depending on how passable the roads are,” he began. “With Matt with us now, we do have to consider water travel. If we could find an operable boat, we could cut across the Gulf in just a few days, then continue on foot to the base.”
“But,” Matt rejoined. “It’s not just a boat. The fuel we would need to make that crossing is considerable.”
“What about a sail boat?” asked Erik.
“Only if you know how to captain it. I’ve only worked with powerboats.”
“Is it that hard? Run the sail up and there ya go… right?” Erik persisted.
Mike cut in saying, “I’m guessing there’s more to it than that, Erik. And if we don’t know what we’re doing, sailing could take longer which works against us. Plus, it is hurricane season. I don’t know about you, but I’m not too keen on being out in the Gulf of Mexico on a ship I don’t know how to work when a storm comes rolling in.”
“How long by land?” Michelle added, as she could see the prospect of a sea crossing was dimming.
“Strictly by foot, doing twenty miles a day… close to two months. If Andrew and Erik can get a vehicle running, and we can find the fuel for the trip… maybe two days.”
“Paul might not have two months,” she added. During the escape from the mountain camp to the ship in Miami, it had taken several search crews a number of weeks to obtain the needed gas for the journey. Michelle worried that a year later resources would be even further depleted.
“You’re right, he doesn’t,” Mike said with a frown. “And we may not have much time to go scavenging for cars and fuel. Whoever took shots at us knows we are here, and I doubt he works alone. Miami is a hundred miles away. We don’t know how far those renegades may have travelled in a year.”
Silence filled the room as each member of the group studied the map, but Michelle could tell their thoughts were as troubled as her own. Travelling any distance was a risk, both Tils and renegades could be hiding anywhere. The band that had tried to prevent their escape had taken the lives of many of her fellow refugees. Waiting to find transportation was just as risky, if not more so, since it would allow enemies more time to reach their position. They had to consider now that Tils would not simply rush in to attack. If Tils in America had evolved similarly to those in New Cuba, then the infected here could hunt and stalk before making themselves known. To her mind, every choice before them had a high chance of ending in disaster. She knew the others must be reaching the same conclusion. It was Erik, however, that broke the silence.
“So, we move out tonight under the cover of darkness. The shooter probably thinks we’re exhausted, maybe injured. He wouldn’t expect us to leave that quickly. We keep the barricades in place, light a small fire in here, and slip out without being seen.”
“Why the fire?” Matt asked.
“We have to assume we’re being watched. That guy wouldn’t shoot at us and then just leave. Either he followed us here, or told others about us. Maybe both. If they think we’re still hiding out in here, we could buy a few hours before they realize we left.” When he finished speaking, Erik looked expectantly to Mike, waiting for the older man’s thoughts on his plan. In school Michelle had always known Erik to go against the grain, battle authority at every turn. But with Mike, he had always acted differently. In the classroom, Erik never balked at Mike’s requests, never argued with his discipline. From student to survivor-soldier, Erik had continuously respected his one-time teacher. With the home he came from, Michelle believed he saw Mike as a father-figure, or maybe an older brother. She wondered how much of Erik’s drinking had been a result of seeing his leader, his general, crumble beneath the chaos.
Mike’s slow nod pulled Michelle from her somber thoughts. “He’s right. If we leave tonight, we just might be able to slip by whatever is out there. We all need rest, I know. But… I say we follow Erik’s plan tonight.”
Agreement was swiftly voiced around the counter. It was easier to agree to the plan than it was to put it into action, however. Removing the two entrances from the possible escape list, the five began to identify other means. Sandwiched between two other buildings, the gift shop only had windows at the front and rear. Any exit through those would be as visible as using the doors. With options running low, Michelle tossed her head back with a frustrated sigh. That frustration quickly dissipated as her eyes locked onto the silver grating of the ventilation shaft.
--
Within minutes of sharing her discovery with the group, chairs and boxes quickly filled the floor as everyone worked to remove the tiles of the drop ceiling. Years of collected dust rained down upon them, but the sacrifice was small when they examined the wide rectangular vents. Though none of her companions was overly large, she knew it would be a tight fit. Once Erik tested the strength of the supports strapping the metal ducts to the ceiling, he helped Michelle slide into the opening.
She fought the urge to cough, knowing it would only stir up more dust, as she shifted to power on the flashlight in her hand. The light reflected brightly off the metal and Michelle could see the full stretch of the system.
“Okay, I’m going further in,” she called back to the others. She smiled as she heard Andrew reply with cautioning words.
The main line of the
duct continued on for several yards before making a sharp right turn. Michelle struggled to angle her body to conform to the curve but eventually slipped through. She cursed silently as her knee collided with a sharp edge that tore into her jeans and skin. The pain was fleeting, allowing her the hope it was merely a scratch. Pressing on, she used her arms to pull her body along. Refocusing the flashlight, she saw the shaft branch off in two directions. One she knew would lead back to the main system. The other, they hoped, would lead into the store connected to the gift shop. Selecting the left path, she eventually found herself peering through a grate like the one she had first spied in the shop. Unlike her point of entry, the space below did not have a drop-ceiling, which provided her an unobstructed view. There was enough daylight shining through the windows for her to see that the business, a travel agency based on the framed posters on the walls, was empty of both Tils and humans.
Shouting the all clear to the others, Michelle pressed hard against the grate until it broke loose and crashed to the floor with a loud clatter. Turning onto her back was a struggle in the confining box but a necessary one if she did not want to dive head first from the shaft. Grabbing the metal supports at the end of the ductwork, she slid the rest of her body clear and dropped down to the desk below.
Careful to avoid notice through the large front window, she crouched low as she explored the area. Several desks filled the space, each with computer and lamp. At the rear of the office was the door to a small supply closet, as well as a second door that revealed a compact bathroom. Hearing the sounds of someone shimmying through the vent, Michelle turned just as Andrew eased himself to the desk as she had moments before.
“Mike and Erik are going to stay on that side until it gets dark,” he told her. “Any way out of here that won’t be seen?”
