The Ebola Wall

by Joe Nobody

  The concerned father pulled a small microphone off its hook, glancing back to see the deputy now right on their tail.

  “Traffic, one David forty,” came a voice through the radio’s speaker.

  “Go ahead one David forty,” responded a female voice.

  “Stopping Texas George Bravo…”

  McMillian pushed the microphone’s button, cutting off the deputy’s transmission of their license plate number.

  The driver waited a few moments and then released his grip on the push-to-talk control.

  “One David forty, your transmission broke up. Repeat.”

  Again the deputy’s voice sounded through the speaker. “Repeating, Stopping Texas George Bravo…”

  Mr. McMillan pressed again, knowing his HAM equipment contained a transmitter far more powerful than the following police car.

  “One David forty, you’re breaking up again,” came the dispatcher’s voice. “Repeat, please.”

  The cop tried one more time, obviously frustrated with his malfunctioning equipment. The McMillian family waited to see his next move.

  For a minute, the girls thought the deputy was going to simply give up. A mile passed, and then two, the cop falling back to a safe distance. Their father knew better. “He’s just waiting until we get up on this small rise ahead,” he announced. “He thinks his radio might work better on the high ground.”

  Sure enough, the now-familiar voice sounded through the speaker. “Traffic, One David forty.”

  “Go ahead, One David forty.”

  This time, Mr. McMillan pulsed the button, the control’s fast-paced clicking filling the otherwise silent cab.

  “One David forty, something must be wrong with your radio. You’re breaking up,” came the now frustrated dispatcher.

  Again the deputy fell back, obviously trying to figure out how to proceed.

  “Here he comes again,” Anna announced, unable to keep from looking out the back window despite her father’s repeated requests that everyone act natural.

  This time there wasn’t any attempted communication, the cop turning on his lights and bumping the siren.

  “Everybody stay cool,” the anxious father ordered. “I wasn’t breaking any traffic laws, so he’s very limited in what he can do. Just keep your mouths shut, and don’t answer any questions.”

  After both vehicles were on the shoulder, the deputy exited his cruiser and adorned a white cowboy hat. “Oh, brother,” McMillian whispered, “one of those.”

  When the officer was outside his window, the driver rolled down the glass a few inches. “Good morning, Officer. What can I do for you?”

  “May I see your license and proof of insurance, please,” the cop replied in a monotone voice.

  “Sure,” McMillan said, reaching for his wallet.

  He remembered to take the seldom-used driver’s license from behind its plastic cover, handing both of the requested articles to the waiting cop.

  “I’ll be right back,” the deputy said, glancing at the identification. “Please wait here inside of your vehicle.”

  Mr. McMillan watched the officer return to his car. As soon as he saw the deputy take a seat behind the wheel, he reached for the microphone.

  Only “One David…” came across the airwaves before the pickup’s high-powered transmitter again overrode the weaker law enforcement radio.

  “He’s probably getting really pissed, Dad,” Anna observed.

  A few moments later the officer was again standing outside the driver’s window. “Mr. McMillian, what are you up to today?” he casually asked.

  “Just passing through, Officer. Is there a problem?”

  The cop clearly didn’t like the vague answer. “Just passing through to where? Why?”

  “My daughters and I were visiting some of their college friends down by Conroe,” lied the driver. “We’re just on our way home this morning.”

  The mention of his children caused the deputy to scan Paige in the front seat. His visual sweep paused on her muddy jeans and dirty hands. He then moved on, giving Anna the once over.

  “May I see the passengers’ identification, please.”

  Paige was defiant. “I don’t have any ID with me.”

  Quickly hopping on the bandwagon, Anna added, “Me neither.”

  “Neither one of you have any identification on you?” the cop replied, clearly not believing their story.

  “Nope,” Paige replied, glaring at the officer across the cab.

  The deputy took a step backwards.

  “Please step out of the car, Mr. McMillian,” came the officer’s harsh order.

  “Why? Have I done something wrong, sir?”

  Louder this time, his hand drifting toward the pistol on his belt, the deputy repeated his command. “Please step out of the car, sir!”

  Grunting his displeasure, Mr. McMillian undid his seatbelt and reached for the handle. The moment his feet hit the pavement, he immediately closed the door, holding up his key fob and pressing the lock button.

  “Why did you just lock your door?” the now pissed officer snapped.

  “Habit,” was the only response.

  “I need to look inside of your car,” the deputy barked. “Please unlock the door.”

  “I do not consent to searches, sir,” Mr. McMillian replied politely.

  “Please unlock the car, sir. I have probable cause to search this vehicle.”

  “What probable cause, deputy? A traffic violation isn’t enough to conduct a warrantless search.”

  “We have reports of people violating the Houston Quarantine Zone,” the officer replied. “Your daughters are covered in mud, and you’re acting suspicious. Now please open your car before I arrest you on obstruction charges.”

  “Being soiled is a crime, sir?” the now-scared father argued. “Not appreciating being pulled over is now a good reason to make us suspects? I think you’re on awful shaky ground here, Deputy. And I’ll say again, I do not consent to searches. So either write me a ticket or let us go.”

  “Fine, have it your way,” the cop replied coldly as he drew his weapon. “On the ground! Now! On the ground!” he started screaming.

  Stunned at the instant escalation, Mr. McMillian hesitated for just a moment. His heart stopped when he heard the officer flick off the safety on his weapon.

  Everything seemed to freeze just at that moment in time, McMillian watching the cop’s knuckle tighten on the pistol’s trigger.

  “Hey! Asshole!” sounded Anna’s voice from the now-open backseat window. “I got your fucking search warrant - right here!”

  The deputy was less than three feet from the previously ignored girl. His eyes widened when he spotted the barrel of a gun pointed at his head.

  The first shot struck the cop in the temple. It would have been enough, but Anna kept on firing round after round from the small revolver. After the thunder from six shots had ceased rolling across the rural Texas landscape, only the click, click, click of a hammer striking spent cartridges could be heard.

  With hate-crazed eyes, Anna kept pulling the trigger on the now empty gun. Her father’s hand gently pushing down the pistol finally brought her out of the trance. With a blink, then another, the girl’s expression turned to pure horror as she looked up into her dad’s eyes. “I’m not going back. Don’t let them send me back.”

  “Oh Lord in Heaven, Anna. What have you done?”

  The McMillians could only stare at the deputy’s corpse, Anna and her father fixated on the growing pool of crimson liquid leaking from the man’s shattered skull. Paige appeared from the passenger side, quickly glancing up and down the country road to make sure there wasn’t any traffic approaching.

  “Help me,” she ordered, glancing at the still-stunned father. “We need to clean this up before somebody comes along.”

  With a series of quick motions, the elder sister grabbed the dead officer under the armpits and began to drag him back toward his car. Struggling under the weight, she agai
n barked at her father. “Help me, Daddy, please!”

  Mr. McMillian snapped out of it, at least enough to move to his daughter’s side. The two managed to get the heavy cadaver back to the patrol car, pushing and shoving to stuff him inside.

  Anna wanted to help as well, retrieving the officer’s hat and gun and tossing them inside.

  “The dash cam,” Paige observed, pointing toward the windshield. “If they find his car, they’ll have our license plate on the dash cam.”

  “Pull it out by the wires,” Anna urged. “Rip it to shreds.”

  “I read where the recording equipment is sealed in a vault in the trunk. Even if I tear out the camera, they’ll still have the video. We need to destroy the whole car.

  Frantic, Paige began scanning the remote landscape, her gaze finally settling on a slight knoll just up the road. “Dad, can we tow this car to that rise? I’ve got an idea.”

  After a flash of puzzlement, Mr. McMillan looked where his daughter was pointing. “I… I guess… I have a rope in the bed.”

  “Good,” Paige said. “Let’s get going before someone comes along.”

  Three minutes later, the McMillan pickup was slowly pulling the patrol car up the slight grade. Paige walked along beside the law enforcement vehicle, bent at the waist, with one arm inside on the steering wheel.

  Reaching the peak, the older sister waved at her father to stop. Before he could exit the cab, Paige was in the bed, pulling out a 5-gallon can of fuel her father always kept for emergencies. “Move the pickup so that you can push the car over the edge of that ravine, Dad. I’m going to douse it with gas and then set it on fire. Push it over quick so the flames don’t hurt our truck.”

  Still in a daze, Mr. McMillan managed a nod, signaling he understood his role.

  Paige reached inside the still-idling cruiser and turned the wheel until the front tires were pointed at the steepest part of the ravine. It’s not much of a ditch, but it will have to do, she thought.

  After verifying her dad was in position, Paige lifted the gas can and began to pour. It suddenly dawned on her that she didn’t have any way to start the burn.

  Setting down the can and rushing back to the truck, she asked, “Anybody got a match or a lighter? I don’t have any way to light the gas.”

  The two McMillians inside the cab made a hasty search, but came up empty. No one in their household smoked. The frustration of it all pushed them to gallows humor. “I knew there was a good reason why I shouldn’t have quit all those years ago,” the father quipped.

  The joke was well timed, a stress-reducing chuckle shared by all three of them. “Hey, wait,” Mr. McMillian said. “That cop was a smoker. I could smell it on his breath.”

  Smiling, Paige darted to the police car and began patting down the dead man inside. She emerged a few moments later, triumphantly holding up a package of cigarettes and a disposable lighter.

  “Bring those back here when you’re done,” her father shouted from the cab. “God knows I need a nicotine fix about now.”

  Paige continued emptying the gas can all over the police car, the sloshing liquid forming a huge puddle underneath the frame. Returning the empty container to the bed, she demanded, “Let me light this sucker and then push it over.”

  “Wait,” advised her dad. “If you get close enough to start the fire right now, you’re likely to get burned. There’s too much vapor. We need to figure out a way to light it from a distance.”

  Father and daughter paused, again trying to come up with a solution. Anna’s voice came from the cab, “Go ahead and push it over. I’ve reloaded my gun, and I’m pretty sure well-positioned bullets will ignite the gasoline.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, McMillian returned to the wheel and inched his pickup forward until it jolted against the patrol car’s rear bumper. He gunned the engine, and a few moments later the car began to roll down the roadside incline.

  It gained momentum, the McMillian clan watching from their perch above. No gunshot was needed to ignite the flames, the car erupting into a fireball upon impact.

  Without another word, Paige joined her father and the trio drove off.

  The tension inside the cab began to wear as the miles went by. Mr. McMillian’s focus turned more to reliving the last hour than watching his rearview mirror.

  Finally, unable to resist, he spun toward Paige and said, “Okay, I’ve got to know what’s going on. The two sweet, innocent, young girls that I sent off to college have changed. I told myself that I would let you both talk about what happened in Houston in your own time. Your mom and I were determined not to pry or meddle. But now… now, I can’t do that.”

  His oldest daughter sighed, almost as if she knew the conversation was unavoidable. “We’re the same, daddy. Honestly, we just had to grow up a little faster than we wanted to when everything went to hell.”

  The caring father tried to keep his response even keeled, fought to keep his voice gentle. “I need a little more than that, Paige. I just watched your sister kill a man, seemingly without remorse. I just witnessed you clean up a crime scene with the professionalism of a hired killer. Talk to me, baby. You both have my unconditional love, but I need to know who is riding with me in this truck.”

  Paige looked at him with sad eyes, shaking her head. “Okay, Daddy. What do you want to hear about first, the rape-gangs or the time Anna shot the cannibals who were about to eat us?”

  Anna spoke up from the back seat before her father could digest her sister’s shocking question. “Did you know rats don’t taste so bad, Dad? They have a lot more meat on ’em than pigeons.”

  Captain Norse forced himself to sit upright, the effort leaving his body throbbing and short of breath. The woman was there again.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked in a neutral tone.

  “I must of taken more of an ass-kicking than I thought. I feel like shit.”

  The motion of her hand snapping through the air signaled she wanted to take his temperature. “You’ve been here three days,” she reminded him. “I would think you should be mending by now. I noticed your appetite has declined the last day or so. Let’s see if you have a fever.”

  She held out the old-fashioned glass thermometer, indicating she wanted to stick it under his tongue. He complied, allowing her to insert the instrument without comment.

  While she waited for his body to heat the mercury-filled tube, the nurse retrieved a clipboard hanging just outside the cell door. “Any new symptoms? Aches? Pains? Vomiting? Diarrhea?”

  It occurred to the captain what she was getting at. “You think I have Ebola, don’t you?”

  “Maybe,” she smiled. “Enough time has passed since you’ve been exposed, but it could be any one of a hundred things. Flu, infection from your injuries, a cold… there’s no way to be sure, we haven’t had the equipment to test blood for months.”

  “What’s your name?” Norse asked, muttering the words around the glass tube in his mouth.

  “Elissa. Dr. Elissa Herald.”

  “Doctor? As in medical doctor, I assume?”

  “Yes, that’s very astute of you, Captain Norse,” she replied sarcastically.

  “You said you were a nurse… at least that’s what I remember from when I got here,” he countered.

  “I said I was your caretaker and jailer,” she replied. “I never said I was a nurse.”

  Their conversation was interrupted when she reached for the thermometer. Holding it up to the light, he watched closely as a frown crossed her face. “Well?”

  “You have a low grade fever, Captain. That’s neither positive nor negative, given your injuries and our lack of antibiotics. We’ll just have to keep an eye on it.”

  “How long am I to be held captive?”

  “That is up to the Colonel,” she said after taking his pulse. “Is there something you need or someplace you want to go?”

  He ignored the question, studying her as she noted his vital signs on the chart.

  He judged t
he physician to be in her late 20s, attractive in a wholesome sort of way. Her complexion was clear with just a hint of sun – obviously a person who spent some time outdoors. He thought she was probably of German ancestry, given the dishwater blonde hair and high cheekbones. Texas was full of such lineage; the central section of the state settled by Arian immigrants long ago. If he hadn’t felt like shit, he’d probably be flirting with her.

  “So will I live, Doctor?”

  “Doubtful,” she replied in earnest. “But then so few do these days.”

  Without another word, she pivoted and left him to ponder his fate.

  The joy of reunion was absent in the McMillian household. When the encrypted HAM broadcasts had arranged for their daughters to be rescued, both parents had anticipated peace and happiness would replace the stress and worry they had suffered for months. It wasn’t to be.

  Paige suffered horrible nightmares, springing upright and screaming at the top of her lungs during the night. Anna was clearly paranoid, pulling her pistol at the smallest sound or surprise. Twice her mother had found herself staring down the barrel of the revolver, guilty of nothing worse than just entering the same room.

  The girls were restless as well, but more telling was the fact that they never separated. They went to the bathroom together, slept in the same room, cooked, ate, and spent countless hours watching cable news. On the rare occasion that one of the girls managed to accidently leave the other’s side, a mad scramble ensued to find the missing sister. The two sibling’s reactions were always swift, but unemotional.

  One day Anna noticed a picture on the piano, the image of a large cat drawing her attention. “What happened to Mittens?” she asked her mother, suddenly remembering the once-loved pet.

  “Oh, I forgot to take down that old picture,” mom had replied, hustling over to pick up the small frame. “Your dad and I thought we’d removed all of those photographs so you two girls wouldn’t be upset.”