The Malefic Nation (Graham's Resolution Book 4)

by A. R. Shaw

  Graham watched the man’s expression and thought he was genuinely guessing, pleading with them for some kind of answer, and this caused Dalton to deduce that these Canadians had no idea about the terrorists. And if they had no idea about the terrorists, they were extremely naive and vulnerable, which also meant they were all, Americans and Canadians alike, in danger here.

  “Look—help me help you guys. You were here trespassing on a Canadian government installation with weapons, and you’re carriers. Regulation dictates that we eradicate you.” He looked at Dalton and Graham for any sort of reaction and then began bouncing the pencil against the desk again. He dropped the pencil, leaned back, and smoothed his hair back with one hand. He was giving up.

  “Fine. Take them back,” he commanded the guards. “And you two? Just let the guards know when you’re ready to talk.”

  On the trip back, Graham again tried to map the layout of their surroundings. Once inside, after the guards had left them alone, McCann made eye contact with him and nodded, but said nothing.

  “What happened?” Rick whispered.

  “They don’t know what the hell they’re doing,” Dalton said. “They’re unaware of the terrorists, and from what I can tell they have no communication outside this compound. They’ve been living in a vacuum all this time.”

  “Do they know we have a vaccine?” Rick said.

  “Clarisse has been interrogated,” Dalton smirked, “but I guarantee you Lieutenant Harding is no match for her, and I don’t think he got anything from her. From that room we were in, I’m guessing she got more clues about them than we did.” He suppressed his laughter.

  “What do you think, Graham? Did you find any way out?” Dalton asked.

  “No. The place looks industrial. They were walking way too close to us, though—you know? It’s like they have no experience with the virus. They must have closed off the town early on and stayed quiet.”

  “As far as I know, there were no military installations out this way—but then again, I’m not Canadian,” Dalton added. If they’re going by the rule of law, then yes, we’re in violation by their extensive gun laws here, but we were not trespassing. There were no signs of violation. I can’t believe we’re even debating this considering the circumstances.”

  “But we didn’t exactly show our passports at the border,” Reuben said.

  “Are they military or militia?” Graham asked.

  “That’s a good question,” Dalton answered.

  “Canadians don’t have militias. It’s against their laws,” Sam said.

  “Really?” Graham asked.

  “Yep,” Sam said.

  “Hmmm, you get so used to life a certain way that you expect everyone else is playing by the same rules,” Graham said.

  “What’s important is that the rules have changed, and these guys haven’t figured that out yet,” Sam commented. And that’s a real problem.”

  “Okay. In the meantime, it sounds like the others are fine. I know this is frustrating, but we have to wait them out. If they’re still playing by the old rules, it’ll take a few days at the most,” Dalton advised.

  “We’ll give it time, then. Stay calm.” Graham glanced over at McCann, who hadn’t opened his mouth once but spoke volumes now when he managed to roll his blackened, swollen eyes before turning toward the damp wall.

  Chapter 16 Hope

  Lieutenant Harding approached his superior’s office with a dreadful sense of unease, pausing before reaching for the doorknob. He let out a gale of breath to ready himself and tried to clear his mind. Though they all accredited Captain Gordon with the early action that had saved their lives, the old man was losing his mind. Without question, his policy of absolute quarantine had saved them all, but it came at a significant cost: Gordon had become nothing more than a dictator in the past year, and his ascent to this role was beginning to cause everyone apprehension. Increasingly, any encounter with him brought dread.

  Though technically militias were forbidden in Canada, there was an agreement within some of the military ranks to act if necessary. This was a militia held secretly by the military but never referred as a militia. It began simply enough, secretly, after 9/11, with meetings held in code and under the cover of night. Plans were hatched to save their families. Each member slowly started relocating to the area or buying summer lots and visited under the pretense of vacationing. Their plans ramped up after the terrorist attack on Parliament Hill in Ottawa, and they added new procedures for every possible scenario.

  Once the pandemic broke out they, like most of the prepper survivors, put their plans into place, left their posts, and took over the defensible city of Hope according to their contingency plans for a pandemic. Hope was perfectly isolated, with mountains on one side and lakes on the other. It was a natural castle with a built-in mote.

  The citizens of the resort town were at first taken unawares when heavy artillery rolled in and military floatplanes landed. Next they became extremely agitated when the militia put up roadblocks and set up quarantine buildings. Residents were tested and confined to their homes until they were proven disease-free; all those allowed to remain within the town borders were uninfected.

  But soon no one was allowed to enter or leave anymore. All communication from the outside world, dying around them, was silenced. They were prepared for a fight from those wanting in, but no one had ever come. Until now.

  It worked, but at what cost? We don’t even know what’s happened to the outside world, Harding thought. He turned the doorknob and entered Gordon’s office.

  “Hello Henry, what’s the report?” Gordon asked without turning to face him. He sat in his squeaky green office chair, staring out the window at the blooming cherry trees lining the lakeshore.

  He’s in a good mood today.

  “Good afternoon, Ed.” They called one another by their first names in private only. It was a silent agreement, one that they both appreciated; it kept the hierarchy clear in public but lent a sense of humanity to the private setting.

  Harding sat down in the chair across the desk from his senior and waited for the man to break from his zoned vision out the window.

  There were days when Harding would wait and acknowledgment never came. He would simply rise from his chair and leave to come back the next day, only to have the same thing happen again. He couldn’t blame Ed Gordon. They now lived with a perpetual second-guessing of their past decisions, and at times this put them on a roller coaster of emotions.

  But not today. Gordon, nearing seventy, had aged more in the last year than Harding had thought possible. Harding supposed that he himself might have similarly aged, but he hadn’t cared to check the mirror lately. Gordon’s chair squeaked as he turned to face Harding; it seemed to take a great physical effort. Gordon was like a man climbing reluctantly up a ladder to retrieve his neighbor’s wayward Frisbee. Now face to face with Harding across his desk, Gordon’s blue eyes were in stark contrast to his aging, pale skin.

  “What do they want?” Gordon finally asked, his voice becoming hoarse.

  Harding shook his head and let out a small shrug. “That is a good question, Ed. I don’t know yet.”

  “They’re in the quarantine housing outside the border, right?”

  “Yes, of course. As planned.” Harding wasn’t certain why his boss would ask that question. It was as if he doubted him.

  A thought came to Gordon. “You’re sure they’re carriers?”

  “We’re assuming so, of course.”

  Gordon nodded again. “They have a pregnant one with them, you say?”

  “Yes, she looks to be seven to eight months along, though no one has examined her.”

  “Isn’t it odd that we haven’t had one birth since this all began? We have three hundred and fifty-two people here. It will be like one of those drought rings in a tree if some archaeologist decides to study us once we’re gone.”

  Harding wasn’t sure where Gordon was going with this line of thought when Gordon sudd
enly pointed a finger at him. “We don’t torture them for information. That’s against our laws.”

  “No, of course not. I’ve questioned one of the women and two of the men. None of them has answered my inquiries. We’re still going through their vehicles. They were extremely well prepared. We suspect some of them are prior military. They’re in violation of importing firearms into the country and trespassing, but considering the circumstances, I’m not sure we can blame them.”

  Gordon looked directly at him. “They’re deadly to us and the rest of the world. If they have the virus, they must be exterminated. I . . . I hate to do it, but it’s a must.” He stared back out the window, and Harding knew he’d lost him for now. He began to rise when Gordon surprised him.

  “Finish your investigation and get as much information from them as possible, and then euthanize them all as humanely as possible.” He gestured with his hand as if to sweep away dust.

  Harding stared at the motion, thinking of its callousness. Again he was certain that things were going off track. What is the point of living this way and taking souls? What gives us the right? He knew from experience that once Ed shooed you out it was time to leave, so he pulled open the door and exited. There had been a time when he’d argue with Ed Gordon, but the last time that happened Ed had gotten himself into such a state that Henry was afraid the old man might lock him up for treason, or even have him killed.

  Now he handled his superior with kid gloves. Wait until he looks at you. Speak only when spoken to. Don’t offend him, and especially don’t second-guess his authority or his decisions. He held great respect for the man, but things were different now. Where Ed Gordon had excelled at saving them before the pandemic took a firm hold on humanity, they now needed someone else to lead them out and into the new world. Only recently had Harding come to the secret conclusion that Gordon would not be that man. They would live and die here, never knowing what happened to the outside world, and to Gordon that conclusion to the story was one of failure. A different day, perhaps, but the same end result: death.

  Ed has a point, though, Harding thought as he left the building. There have been no births since the onset of the pandemic. Out of the 150 or so women residing in Hope, not one had become pregnant. That meant that no one expected to survive another generation, so why bother? They weren’t living, but merely biding their time until death’s arrival.

  He walked back to his office. The outside air felt cool against his face, and the perfume of spring blossoms floated on a light breeze. He’d planned to let the brunette sit tight for a while, but suddenly he felt an urgent need to get some answers out of her. He didn’t want them to die. Not only did they survive but had achieved something his group had not: they were thriving. He needed to find out their story—and quickly, before Gordon called for their demise. He could hold his boss at bay by prolonging the search and questioning period, but for how long could he delay the carrying out of the final order?

  Chapter 17 Frustration

  By the second day the dark, damp room was beginning to smell. Though the facilities worked, water leaked from the bathroom tap and drained down along the concrete flooring to the lowest point where it collected it a mildewy pool, so they left the bathroom door open to encourage evaporation.

  There were no chairs to sit on, only blankets and pillows that had been brought by the guards and hastily tossed inside right after they arrived. McCann and Sam had been made comfortable on pallets atop the cold concrete flooring; their injuries were not life-threatening, but Graham and the other men needed something to do, and caring for the injured seemed like the task at hand. So far they had not received any rations, and on this second day all woke up hungry, though no one mentioned it.

  “Get up, McCann. You need to walk around,” Graham said, ignored McCann’s protests as he pulled him first into a sitting position and then to a stand.

  “I don’t care. I don’t want to walk around, Graham. I want to get out of here, and—”

  “I know. Don’t you think I know? Trust me, I’m ready to tear down these walls, but that won’t do us or the girls any good.”

  McCann took in a big breath of stale air and let it out.

  “Now get your rear up, McCann. You need to walk around. You might have had internal injuries.”

  “I don’t have internal injuries. They took Macy away unconscious . . . I don’t even know if she’s alive.”

  “Hey, look. She’s with Clarisse. I’m sure she’s alive.”

  “There was a gunshot. I was on the ground. Then she was on the ground. Sheriff came out of nowhere. I have no idea what happened to him, either, or Frank and Elsa. Or the horses, for that matter. Most of all, I can’t help Macy in here, Graham.”

  Graham held McCann up and forced him to walk.

  “My ears were ringing, and then I passed out. When I came to, Sam was passed out and Macy was gone.”

  McCann kept to himself most of the time, but now he was worried. Graham could relate: it was killing him not knowing how Tala was faring. She and the kids meant everything to him. If something were to happen to them, this new family he’d grown to love in the past year, he couldn’t cope. This time, he’d end it. That level of heartbreak wasn’t something someone could go through twice in a lifetime. But he feared that McCann might be contemplating the same; clearly he was in despair.

  “McCann, this is a temporary situation. The others are safe. These guys might have escaped the pandemic, but they’ve done little else to figure out what’s happened to the world and how to deal with it. And”—he attempted to make light of their situation—“they’re Canadians; what harm could come to us?”

  “I know you think they’re harmless, but I’m pretty sure they’ve changed a few national policies since the pandemic started,” McCann said.

  Graham conceded. “You might be right, but still, it doesn’t help to worry.”

  “Look Graham, if they don’t bring us rations today, you can bet they don’t plan to keep us around. Why waste food on people you intend to kill? If they don’t bring us food today, we need to try and escape.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions. The day has only just begun,” Graham said, but he’d already had thoughts along the same lines. If no food came by the end of the day, the Canadians would find out who they were dealing with.

  “He’s right,” Sam said from his spot on the ground.

  “Quiet!” Dalton yelled. He was on watch through the cracks in the door and was trying in vain to hear beyond the conversations in the room.

  McCann and Graham walked forward and tried to look as well. Graham spotted one of their own supply trucks parked at a little brick building across the street. There were voices coming from the other side of the truck. As Graham focused on them suddenly, two yellow-clad guards came striding from the left with Clarisse handcuffed between them.

  “Hey! There’s Clarisse!” Dalton said, his voice rising in excitement.

  “So it’s a good guess they’re being kept somewhere in that direction,” McCann concluded.

  “Yep. And she seems fine. She wouldn’t walk so well, and so willingly, otherwise. She’s taking long strides, she’s relaxed. She looks in control. They’re probably bringing her in for more questioning,” Dalton said. They watched as she disappeared around another building with her escorts.

  “Damn,” Dalton said, but nothing more.

  Chapter 18 Barter

  Clarisse sat in the steel chair as she had the day before. Harding was waiting behind the glass partition, but didn’t look up when she entered the room. She didn’t expect to be back here so soon, thinking they were in for a few days of isolation.

  The most pressing issue was food for Tala and the children. They had access to water, but food was a pressing matter, and she worried about Tala’s blood sugar levels. Harding’s games needed to end, or the lack of food intake could have permanent consequences on an unborn child.

  And Olivia had nothing to do other than to comfort the children.
She was beginning to go a little crazy. Watching hungry children in pain isn’t something a mother handles well, and Clarisse wasn’t sure how much longer Olivia could keep it together.

  Finally, Harding looked up at her. Let the games begin.

  “Hello, Ms. . . . ?”

  She smiled.

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re not talking.” He smiled a little too smugly, which made her think he might know something she didn’t. “That’s all right. I already know your name. You’re Dr. Clarisse Smarting.” He then dangled her military ID from its lanyard.

  Dammit. It must have fallen off during the scuffle.

  “It says here you’re a virologist. I still have many unanswered questions, however. Like, what are these?” He held up several USB sticks containing her vaccination formula. “We took a look at the files inside and the information appears to be some kind of recipe. Are those vaccine vials in the refrigerated case?”

  She wish she could consult with Dalton. Harding might push her into divulging something or making a decision that would affect the whole group. She stared past his head through the glass at the laboratory behind him.

  Her voice came though, though not as loud as she’d have liked it to, not as commanding. “Like I said yesterday, I have something you want.”

  “Are you saying you have a cure for the China Flu?” There was a difference now in Harding’s tone. She’d expected him to be condescending—triumphant, even—but he wasn’t. Instead he spoke with what sounded like compassion.

  “No. I’m saying I have a vaccine for the China Flu.”

  He looked confused. “Your people aren’t carriers?

  “Some are.”

  Harding dropped his pencil on the table, “Which ones?”

  She shook her head. “I won’t tell you; I won’t let you use them as pawns. Some of them are carriers of the virus and some have been inoculated against it. They may or may not be virulent, but that no longer matters to the rest of us.”