Fever!

by David Achord

  There was more murmuring. I waited until it died down before proceeding.

  “Moving on to our scouting report. Gunnery Sergeant Conway and his team returned yesterday. He reported a successful contact with a group of eighteen survivors living outside of Greenville, North Carolina. They have agreed in principle to join our alliance.”

  “Here, here,” someone once again said.

  “Alright, now for our zed report. Our community in Leesburg report contact with twenty-three zeds, possibly coming out of one of the larger cities. They are now requesting a resupply of ammo, five hundred rounds.”

  There was at least one derisive snort. I had to agree. They killed twenty-three zeds, and in return, they wanted five hundred rounds of precious ammo.

  “Those people need to learn how to be self-sufficient,” someone said. While I did not disagree, the same thing could have been said about several people who lived here.

  “That brings our total count for the year at four hundred, eighty-nine.

  “And finally, our scout teams are done for the winter. Gunnery Sergeant Conway and his team just returned from Greenville, North Carolina where they successfully made contact with a group of a dozen survivors. They have tentatively agreed in principle to join us.”

  “Excellent, Gunderson. Any questions?” President Stark asked and then changed the subject before anyone could pose a question. “Now, let’s move on to Ohio.”

  I looked at Parvis, who gave me a reassuring smile and motioned for me to continue.

  “Okay, I’ll start with a brief recap. As you all know, over the years, we have been systematically exploring the territory surrounding us in one-hundred-mile radius increments. It is a slow process, perhaps a little too slow for some of you, but it has been both effective and successful. We are currently at the three-hundred-mile radius.” I gestured at Garret, who looked like a younger, healthier version of his father. He worked his laptop, and soon the projection screens lit up with a geographic map of the United States. There were four circles of increasing diameter with Mount Weather being the center. The third circle pulsated, indicating the three-hundred-mile radius to which he referred.

  “Now, eight months ago, we had a chance encounter with a similar group of explorers on the outskirts of Columbus, Ohio.”

  One of the screens instantly changed to a picture of Columbus similar to a Google Earth photo. There was a small code visible. Garret hovered the mouse pointer over it and it became a hyperlink. He clicked on it and the screen changed to show the information recorded by the scout team.

  “A friendly dialogue was established with this group of survivors. They informed us they were from Cincinnati.”

  The screen changed again. Now it showed the Eastgate Shopping Center, located a few miles east of downtown Cincinnati.

  “They told of at least one other survivor encampment near the Dayton International Airport.”

  Before I finished the sentence, Garret had changed the second screen to Dayton.

  “Wasn’t it you who led the scout team, Gunderson?”

  It was Conrad Nelson who asked the question. He was once a senator from Florida and a notorious womanizer. He took over the role of the administrative secretary when one of the prior secretaries died. He had the audacity to hit on Kelly once. I guess he thought I would not do anything about it, but he was dead wrong. I caught up with him the day after Kelly had told me.

  “Kelly would never mess around with you,” I said to him. “But, if she did, I’d wish her well and we’d go our separate ways. In the meantime, I think, on pure principle, I would feel the overwhelming need to beat the ever-loving hell out you.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” he said, with a condescending laugh. I was amused at first, but now he pissed me off. My voice lowered an octave.

  “Well, it looks like you think I’m all talk, so let’s go ahead and get to it.” I squared off and cocked a fist back. His face paled and he quickly threw his hands in the air.

  “Whoa, hold on, Zach. There’s no need for violence.”

  I had his full, frightened attention now as I lectured him about proper behavior regarding other people’s wives and the consequences that awaited him if he disregarded this friendly warning. And, I reminded him what had happened to the late President Richmond. He never made a pass at Kelly again and the matter was forgotten.

  “I was,” I answered. “We came upon them while they were getting equipment out of a restaurant.” I glanced over at Parvis, who was looking a little pale. He saw me looking and encouraged me to continue. I leaned down and whispered to him.

  “Why don’t you go lie down?” I suggested.

  “I’m fine, keep going,” he whispered back.

  “It was a friendly encounter,” I said. “We had a long, amicable talk. They advised us they had an operational shortwave radio, so we worked out frequencies and call signs. There were multiple radio conversations after that and they finally agreed to meet and discuss a more formal arrangement.” I turned to Garret. “Would you put up the pictures of Schmucker and Brumley?”

  He did so within seconds and the pictures of two men appeared, each filling a screen.

  I pointed at one of the pictures. “The one on the left is Josea Schmucker. He runs the Eastgate group in Cincinnati.”

  The picture showed an older, square-jawed, stalwart man who looked like he’d been eating persimmons prior to the picture being taken.

  “Schmucker is a Mennonite. When the plague spread through his community, he and his family literally fled for their lives. Somehow, they ended up near Cincinnati where they encountered a small group of survivors who had taken refuge in the Eastgate Shopping Mall. They turned it into the fortress that you saw in Garret’s pictures. It’s an impressive sight. Schmucker eventually emerged as their leader and frankly, they’re doing okay for themselves.”

  I then pointed at the picture on the right, an older, jowly man with black-dyed hair and matching black goatee.

  “That is Jackson T. Brumley. When you speak to him, he tends to refer to himself in the third person and that’s always how he addresses himself, Jackson T. Brumley. He was a union president, back before. He’s a braggart and egotist. He said when the plague broke out, he saw the writing on the wall. He rounded up some union goons and took over a Proctor and Gamble distribution center in Dayton at gunpoint. They kicked out all of the management personnel and anyone else who did not conform.”

  “That must have been quite an undertaking,” Conrad said.

  “Yeah, I’d say so. The building is about a million square feet in size. It has an inventory that’d make your mouth water. Think of all of the products Proctor and Gamble used to sell. That warehouse is full of those products.”

  “And he took it over?”

  “He and his people,” I said. “They then converted it into one hell of a trading post. Their bartering system is ingenious. They assign a point value to every individual item in their inventory, and then when somebody shows up looking to trade, they’ll inspect their wares and utilize the same point value system. That’s how they barter. Of course, the point value differs from day to day, depending on what they need, and it’s always to their advantage.”

  “Remind me again how many of them there are?” Stark asked.

  “Approximately one hundred in Eastgate, thirty-four in Dayton,” I said. “There are more people living in the surrounding area, but we’re not sure of the exact number.”

  I waited to see if there were any other questions before continuing. “As all of you know, we reached an alliance with both groups. As part of the terms of the alliance, we vaccinated everyone in both groups.”

  I paused again, but President Stark made a motion with his hand, indicating I needed to continue.

  “Parvis and I are unaware of any issues or problems. Nevertheless, we have lost radio contact with them. Our last radio transmission with both groups was at eighteen hundred hours, five days ago. I personally handled both communications. There w
ere no indications of any issues, hostile behavior, nothing. Since then, all attempts to reestablish communications have been unsuccessful.”

  I gestured at Garret. “Garret has been monitoring satellite feeds of both locations. Garret?”

  Garret stood and I handed over the laser. Grace took over the computer and worked her mouse, changing the images to overheads of the shopping mall for her brother.

  “This is a live feed. As you can see, there is no human activity. Now, let me direct your attention to all of the vehicles. I can do playbacks if anyone needs to see it, but I can save you the time and trouble. None of those vehicles have moved in at least four days.”

  Grace then changed the image to the Dayton facility.

  “Same here,” Garret said as he pointed the laser at the various parked vehicles. He then nodded at Grace, who changed the image again.

  “This was three days ago. The various still-shots show people walking out of the front entrance of the warehouse and out of the encampment.” The image changed again. Now, it was once again devoid of life.

  “This is what it looks like currently. There is some lighting, but there is no movement or any other discernible activity.”

  “Where did those people go?” someone asked.

  “Unknown,” Garret replied. He did not offer an explanation as to why he did not follow them with the satellite. I didn’t ask. There could’ve been many reasons, none of which mattered.

  Stark took a sip of steaming tea before speaking. “Speculation, Parvis?”

  “I believe something significant has occurred at both locations,” Parvis said, not bothering to stand.

  President Stark directed his attention to Bob Duckworth. “Senator, you and Zach had more than one meeting with each of them, I believe.”

  “Yes, we did. They are both stubborn and headstrong, but Schmucker is the more reasonable of the two.” He nodded at me and I stood again.

  “Senator Duckworth is correct. Deacon Schmucker is obstinate, but level-headed. Mister Brumley has a vastly different personality, but we managed to broker a win-win deal with both groups. I don’t think they would simply ignore us.”

  “Perhaps they have radio trouble,” someone suggested.

  “Each group has a radio station that is independent of the other,” I said. “It’s possible both of them broke down at the same time, but for both of them to be offline for five consecutive days makes it highly improbable.”

  Stark nodded thoughtfully and looked up as Ruth whispered into his ear. He waved her off in irritation. “Parvis, what is the best course of action here?” he asked.

  Parvis managed a weak grin. “I will once again defer to my worthy assistant,” he said.

  All eyes once again turned toward me. Some looked at me expectantly. This was the part I was looking forward to, but I was also dreading it, to a small extent.

  “A mission team should be assembled, go to Ohio, and get a hands-on assessment.” I looked over at Justin. “I think Captain Smithson would agree.”

  Justin stood. “I do agree. If I may be excused, I will start the process of issuing a warning order and mustering personnel. I should have a task force put together first thing in the morning.”

  “You don’t have that long,” Stark said. “Grace, would you explain the urgency of the situation?”

  Grace straightened and pushed a stray lock of brown hair behind an ear before speaking.

  “There is a high-pressure cell moving up from the gulf,” she said and then used a stylus on her laptop to draw several arrows showing the direction of travel of the cell.

  “As you can see, it’s traveling in a northerly direction up the Mississippi valley.” She circled another mass of clouds over what was once Manitoba. “This is a low-pressure cell and it is moving south by southeast. These two fronts will collide with each other in the Ohio valley area.” That stray lock of hair escaped confinement and she once again pushed it behind her ear. “Garret and I think it is going to happen in approximately twenty-four hours. We’re not meteorologists though.”

  “It’s going to be a big one,” Garret warned. “It’ll probably start with rain, then sleet and ice, and then a buttload of snow. If you wait and leave tomorrow, you’re going to get caught in the middle of that before you get halfway there.”

  “Parvis?” Stark asked.

  “If we’re going to send people there, we either need to move quickly, or wait until the bad weather passes,” he said. Parvis then turned his attention to me.

  “Zach, what do you think?”

  I kept my emotions hidden, but I mean, what the hell? If he already knew about this impending storm front moving in, why did he let me ramble on for thirty minutes about trivia that everyone in this room could have looked up and read on their own?

  “I think we should treat this matter with a sense of urgency,” I said. “The sooner the task force gets going, the better.”

  Stark then looked at Justin. “Captain Smithson?”

  Justin looked at his watch and looked again at the satellite images. “If I may be excused, I’ll get everyone kick-started. With any luck, we’ll be ready in two hours.”

  President Stark looked down momentarily at some notes he had jotted. He used notebook paper, even though it was in short supply. “Alright, but before you get started, let’s give this a mission designation. Suggestions, Captain Smithson?”

  “That’s simple, Task Force Ohio,” Ruth said.

  Justin shook his head. “We’ve already used it. We all know how Parvis and Zach chide us about how each mission we execute is unique and historical in significance and all of that stuff, so we can’t use the same name twice.”

  This touched off several people speaking at once, and after a minute, a couple of conversations segued into discussions about past missions. I could see growing irritation on President Stark’s face and he noticed me looking at him.

  “Gunderson, call it,” he said.

  “Task Force Dark Ohio,” I replied.

  Stark thought it over for all of two seconds and nodded. “I like it. Mister Gunderson, you’ll be going as well, I take it?”

  Here was the part I was dreading. On one hand, I loved going on missions, but on the other hand, I felt obligated to Kelly and the kids to stay with them. “Well, sir. I was thinking of sitting out this mission.”

  He nodded in seeming understanding. “With Kelly being pregnant, you want to spend more time with her. How far along is she?”

  “Almost six months.”

  He nodded again. “Well, it’s your call of course, but I can’t help but think of the remarkable success you had with those two gentlemen whose personalities were problematic from the start.”

  I felt myself gritting my teeth. I knew Kelly was going to be disappointed, but…

  “If you think I’m needed, sir, I’ll go.”

  He gave a small smile, like I’d called a bet in which he was certain he had the upper hand. “I think you’d once again be an important and valued member of the team,” he said. “So, it’s decided. Captain, get to work.”

  Justin stood, came to attention for a one-second count, and hurried out. I jumped up and was right behind him. I stopped him in the hallway.

  “I need to make a stop to tell Kelly the news and then I’ll head to the motor pool,” I said.

  “Roger that,” he said. “I’ll get the Marines together and go from there.” He took off in a jog and I was about to do the same when I heard someone call out to me.

  “Hold up, Zach.”

  I turned to see Senator Bob Duckworth hurrying to catch up.

  “All of that work for naught,” I said as he walked with me.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “I counted Ohio as a major success.”

  “Are you going with us?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Of course, I’m going.”

  “This one might get dirty, I’m thinking.”

  “I think you may be right,” he said. “We’ll be on the same team, I trust?
”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I answered.

  He grinned again. “I’ll see you in a few,” he said and trotted off.

  I watched him disappear around the corner and grinned myself. When Abe Stark took over, Duckworth, along with the other politicians, suddenly realized they were no long prima donnas in the Mount Weather community. But Duckworth was a rather unique individual. He reassessed the Mount Weather dynamic and found a niche. He developed a training regimen for recruiting survivors into our fold and actively participated in multiple scouting missions. The Ohio mission would have possibly failed if not for him.

  I thought back to last summer when we visited Cincinnati and Dayton. Our first stop was the Eastgate Shopping Mall. Josea Schmucker met us at the gate. He was in his late sixties, tall and broad-shouldered, a bit stodgy, but polite and well-mannered. He invited us to dinner and afterward bluntly informed us he and his people considered themselves an autonomous entity and had no desire to join us, even when we told them about the vaccine.

  Bob had done most of the talking and at one point appealed to Schmucker’s Christian faith. It was a mistake on Bob’s part. Schmucker started quoting scripture and the good senator was lost at sea. Fortunately, my grandmother had used the family Bible to teach me to read, and during her later years, when her eyesight wasn’t so good, I often read aloud to her. My inherent memory allowed me to keep up with Schmucker’s quotes and interpretations, and even threw in one or two of my own. I managed to impress him, which led to more dialogue. Eventually, we worked out an agreement.

  Jackson T. Brumley was another story. Schmucker called him a blasphemous dipsomaniac, which was an accurate appraisal. He was in his mid-fifties, fat, pompous, and vain. He drank like a fish out of water and once in his cups would often proclaim God was a sonofabitch. Even so, his people were proud of him and readily accepted him as their leader.

  The senator and I coddled him for two days. We listened in mock fascination to his many self-aggrandizing stories. Late into the second night, he launched into a blubbering rant on how us common folk at Mount Weather were doing things all wrong and perhaps he should even come up and take over. Bob prodded him for advice and I took voracious notes as he ranted on and on. The more of our moonshine he drank, the looser his tongue became. At one point, he questioned us about our scouting activities and what kind of success we had in locating survivors.