“Herbs and such?” Gwen asked. “Folk remedies? Chemistry that requires a bit of trial and error, instead of tailoring molecules in a clean room to suit our needs?”
I just shook my head and listened as they launched off into a much more technical discussion. They weren’t going to be much help finding a big box grocery around here, but I could have sworn we passed a Kroger.
The Dodge was down to a quarter tank of gas, and it was close enough to high noon that our shadows pooled around our feet when we disembarked at the big grocery store with its blue and white sign.
“Y’all go ahead and start loading carts,” I suggested. “I’ll see about filling my tank before we head back.”
“How will you do that?” Gwen asked curiously. “Don’t you need power?”
I shook my head. “I’ve got a hand pump, and there are plenty of access ports to the fuel. Hopefully, this place was topped up recently.”
“We’ll take care of the shopping,” Estelle said with a grin. “Just drive up to the front when you’re done.”
“Roger,” I said.
We parted ways there, and I drove out to the fuel island. The hard part was figuring out when port led to which underground tank. I honestly didn’t care, so long as it was unleaded and not diesel. I didn’t have time to purge an engine. Fortunately, I found a diagram behind the counter of the little employee kiosk that showed me the color codes for the fueling ports.
Good enough. I picked the ultimate unleaded and threaded the intake hose of my pump down into it, then put fed the other end down about a foot past the fuel intake at the rear of the truck’s cab.
Then I started cranking the pump. Pale fuel crawled up the clear piping and past the pump, then into the Dodge. It was going to take a while, but I didn’t have much choice. I hadn’t thought to bring the electric pump that plugged into the truck’s auxiliary power sockets.
Tommy was going to be okay. The CDC complex had power, and would soon have food for months and more. Estelle was back with her people, and they had at least two combatants watching over them.
I wanted to get back to Jackie. She’d mentioned having a surprise waiting for me when I got back and sounded quite pleased with herself. That kind of worried me. What had the girl done? I doubted it was anything bad, but the fact she wouldn’t come out and tell me raised my hackles a little bit.
Of course, that spoiled the whole purpose of a surprise. I paused in the pumping and let out a sigh, then went to check the fuel levels. Ten minutes had gotten me an extra quarter tank. I wouldn’t forget the electric pump again.
So I went back to the crank, watching the fuel flow through the clear piping. There was something hypnotic about it. Aside from occasional bubbles, I really couldn’t tell that it flowed, so it became something of a game for me to estimate how much fuel flowed.
Another ten minutes. The doctors hadn’t come out to yell at me to bring the truck around, so I kept going. Then my ears pricked up. A strangely familiar rumble sounded in the distance, and I looked up to see a big, O.D. green deuce-and-a-half military transport truck trundle from a side street and beeline for my position.
Whoever this guy was, he pointedly obeyed traffic laws, stayed in his lane, and swung carefully into the Kroger parking lot before ambling the large truck in the direction of the food island. I watched his approach warily while I continued to pump my gas. He’d caught me with my proverbial pants down, but I did still have my pistol, loaded, and in easy reach. Live fire near fuel was a terrible idea, though.
The truck rolled up to a differently colored access port and stopped. I kept pumping while keeping a wary eye on the newcomer. Admittedly, it caught me by surprise when the big diesel shut off.
Was this guy just here to get gas, too?
27
The cab opened while I watched, and this older gentleman in old-style camouflage BDUs slipped out. He wore a red baseball cap on his head that sported a logo of a rattlesnake curled into the shape of a ‘D.’ I had to rack my brain for a minute. Then recognition dawned. It was an Arizona Diamondbacks cap.
He eyed me while I kept cranking along on the pump, or at least I thought he did. Black, aviator sunglasses completely obscured his eyes, but I suspected he took note of my sidearm like I took note of the pair of M1911A1’s that he wore at his hips.
For a moment, it seemed like he dismissed me as he reached back into the cab and pulled out a well-worn long arm.
“HK91?” I asked, unable to help myself.
“What?” the man demanded, slinging the rifle over his shoulder.
“Just admiring your rifle, sir,” I replied. “Is that a Heckler and Koch Ninety-One?”
“That it is, boy,” he answered, his mouth tight beneath his neat, mostly silver mustache. “My pride and joy.”
I nodded. As long as we were talking and not shooting at each other, I wasn’t about to complain. He moved like a combat veteran, even if age rendered his body a bit slower and stiffer.
“I’m about done here,” I remarked. “But if you’re after diesel or regular, you don’t need to worry about me.”
“I wasn’t,” he said. “Did you serve?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered. “Six years active, two years reserve.”
“I saw your purple heart tag,” the man said with a nod. “Middle East?”
“Afghanistan.”
“I’m not surprised.” He went around to the back of the truck and came back with a pump and line setup similar to mine, save the pump was electric. “Alabama tags,” he said. “What’re you doing in Georgia?”
“Rescued a CDC doctor in Montgomery along with a sick kid and a baby,” I admitted. There didn’t seem to be any reason to prevaricate. “Are you actually from Arizona?”
“I am, son,” he replied. “Little place in the desert. Came here looking to have a talk with the CDC stooges myself, but they aren’t admitting anyone without special contacts, I suppose.”
He gazed sharply at me at the last bit, then went about setting up his siphoning rig. I paused mine and went to the cab of the Dodge to check it. I was almost full.
“Henry Forrest, sir,” I said. “Pleased to meet you.”
He stopped for a moment and studied me again.
“Bruce Gassler,” the man said at last and held out a hand.
I took it, and we shook.
“So you’re the fella that’s been yelling at the CDC, then?” I asked.
“Bastards won’t let me in,” he grumbled. “It’s my right as an American citizen to demand information from the government, and I damn well mean to exercise that right.”
There was something familiar about the name ‘Gassler,’ and my brain kept running it over and over until. At last, it clicked.
“Bruce Gassler,” I mused. “You did that whole survivalist series on YouTube a few years back, didn’t you?”
“Saw that, did you?” Bruce asked as he fired up the electric pump. Fuel began flowing through the humming pump into the big truck’s tanks. He straightened and regarded me with hidden eyes.
“I did,” I answered. There was no way I was going to bring up the fact that the videos had been banned for fairly graphic depictions of hunting, field dressing, and cooking wildlife, as well as doomsday prepper paranoid, anti-government ramblings.
“Shame they took them down,” he said with a sigh, then shrugged. “Looks like I was right, in the end.”
“How d'you make it through, mister Gassler?” I asked.
“Avoidance,” he replied. “Plain and simple. Then, when I lost all contact outside of numbers stations, I decided I’d head east and see if the Center for Disease Control had anything to say about this monumental failure of containment.”
“Wait,” I said as I removed the nozzle from the Dodge and capped the tank. “You never got sick?”
“Not at all, son,” he answered. “Aren’t you listening? I isolated myself when news came down the pipe of a pandemic of the common cold. Bruce actually made air quotes as he said that. “Not like w
e get many people that come through the town nearby. Unfortunately, I figure that they must have picked up the ailment from some poor bastard trying to get away from the cities.”
Bruce shook his head and studied me for a minute.
“You’ve been inside the CDC, right?” he asked.
I nodded and continued packing up my siphon setup.
“Those two with you?” He asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the Kroger.
“Wait? What?” I asked. “How d'you…?”
He tapped the side of his temple, then pointed at the truck. “You’ve got space cleared for two in the seats, and the bed is empty. It’s you and two others out on a supply run. Do I assume that they’re CDC, or did you bring someone into town with you?”
“CDC,” I said with a sigh and finished putting my gear away. “I think they’ll want to talk to you, too.”
“As long as there are no needles and a good six feet of personal space,” Bruce asserted. “I’m happy to talk to them, too.”
“Alright, then,” I said. “I’ll go pick them up and come back to meet you here while you finish your fill-up. Sound good, sir?”
Bruce nodded and then dismissed me by simply turning away. What an odd old bird, paranoid as hell one minute, turning his back on a potential enemy the next.
Unless he’d gotten that good of a read off me. I walked slowly around the Dodge and got in. This would probably take a lot of explaining. Bruce didn’t even look as I started the truck up and drove off across the parking lot to the main entrance of the Kroger.
Estelle was the first to meet me.
“What the hell is that?” she demanded, pointing off at the deuce-and-a-half at the fuel island.
“Relatively peaceable, actually,” I replied. “Much to my surprise.”
Gwen walked up, pushing a cart as she peered past me as well.
“Is that…?”
“Bruce Gassler,” I said. Since they both were here, I could explain just once, hopefully. “He’s a survivor, drove all the way here from Arizona, apparently. Even more interestingly, he never got sick.”
“Seriously?” the forensic doctor perked up at that. “How?”
“He says he avoided people,” I answered, taking one of the carts and heading to the truck. “Let’s get loaded. Then I’ll take you two to talk to him.”
“Is he safe?” Estelle wanted to know. “He’s not unhinged or something, is he?”
“He’s a prepper,” I said by way of answer. “Ex-military, at a guess, with a great deal of survival knowledge and paranoia at his beck and call. So no, probably not safe, but I doubt he’ll do anything.”
“He probably blames us for the pandemic,” Gwen complained.
“Actually, he wanted to bitch about the fact that it wasn’t contained,” I said with a shrug. “At least that’s what he said.”
We started the tedious work of transferring boxes of cans and other packaged foodstuffs into the bed of the Dodge. Anything other than canned goods was fairly sparse, but I figured the two doctors had left behind food that had been nibbled. They’d grabbed more pharmaceuticals, too. No surprise there.
“So, what did you do?” Estelle asked. “Did you guys just start bonding over gas-siphoning or something?”
“Guns, actually,” I admitted. “I suspect he was just going to ignore me and go about his business, provided I didn’t make a move on him.”
“Preppers are weird, man,” Gwen said in passing. She heaved a box of canned veggies onto the tailgate and shoved it up flush with the other boxes. “I’m really curious what he’s seen, and if he took precautions to keep from getting infected. Maybe I can even get a blood sample.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” I told her, adding my own box to the growing collection. “He put that condition on meeting you.”
“Did he say why he’s been out yelling at the building and at Angie?” Doctor White wanted to know.
“He wanted to come in and talk, but she wouldn’t let him past the gate. I suspect he believed that there was still some government presence.” I shrugged. “He seems nice enough, just an eccentric old dude.”
“With military gear,” Estelle threw in. She heaved another box into the back of the dodge.
“I’ve got military gear,” I protested. “And you’ve got no problem with me.”
“That’s because you’re cute,” she said with a laugh. “And you had Jackie with you.”
I sighed and lapsed into silence while we finished loading the food and sundries. The women piled into the cab, and I drove us out to meet with Mister Gassler.
He’d apparently finished fueling the big truck and stood waiting in a classic military parade rest stance. The rifle was slung, and both pistols rested, secured in their holsters, at his hips. I pulled the truck to a stop at what I hoped was a non-threatening distance, disembarked, and walked over. Estelle and Gwen got out and followed.
Since I couldn’t see the man’s eyes, I noted the furtive motion of his head as he took the pair in.
“You’re doctors?” he asked disbelievingly. “At the CDC?”
“Times have changed,” Estelle snapped.
“I couldn't care less that you’re women or what your race is,” Bruce snapped back. “Why is that one in a hazmat suit, while you’re in civvies?”
“I’m in a hazmat suit, mister Gassler,” Gwen replied. “Because I have not proven immune to the virus. We’re investigating the safety of being outside unprotected.”
“So you survived it?” he asked, turning his gaze on Estelle.
She nodded, a bit off-balance from the man’s stern, no-nonsense demeanor.
Bruce nodded, and a smile crept over the thin lips beneath his mustache.
“Well, then,” he said brightly. “Guess you folks didn’t make this thing, but you could’ve done a much better job getting it under control.”
“Believe me,” Estelle grumbled. “We tried.”
I crossed my arms and watched. Bruce was pointedly keeping a distance between him and the rest of us, too. An undercurrent of tension was there, and it wasn’t likely to change, at least not now and not here.
“So,” Gwen broke in. “I’m Gwen Markovski, forensic pathologist. It’s nice to meet you, mister Gassler.”
Bruce nodded and looked at her sharply.
“Russki?” he demanded.
“Texas,” she replied, grinning behind her faceplate. “My family were relocated there after the secret Soviet invasion of nineteen eighty-four, with the blessing of Saint Ronnie Raygun and the rest of the deep state.”
“Oh, God,” I muttered to myself as Bruce’s jaw dropped, and he stared at the young doctor. Had she poked the bear? Those were statements perfectly calculated to poke an older prepper.
His mouth opened and closed a few times as Estelle tried to back surreptitiously away. Finally, he just started to laugh.
“Good one!” Bruce exclaimed, waggling a finger at Gwen’s faceplate. “You almost had me, little missy. But I guess I deserved it.” He dropped his hands to his belt and hooked his thumbs in it. “What are the chances we could go back to the Center and have a talk about what’s happened?”
“I’m good with that,” Gwen said, looking over at Estelle.
“We need to help each other, I think,” the other woman said. “I am sorry you had so much trouble with our security, but there are rather strict protocols that we have to follow.”
“And you are?” Bruce asked.
“Estelle White, field manager and research physician. I was in Montgomery trying to isolate and identify the pathogen there.”
He nodded, and I leaned back against my truck’s door and folded my arms.
“So,” I broke in. “Will he need to go through isolation and all the same bullshit Estelle and I did?”
“I don’t think so,” Gwen replied. “I’m certain enough that the outside is safe, now, to do this…” With that, she reached up and opened her faceplate, then took a deep breath. “Oh, thank God.
I was about to stifle in that thing.”
“Welcome to the real world,” Bruce said, then reached out and clapped the small woman on the shoulder. “Nice to see someone from the government with a pair of balls.”
“Ovaries,” she grinned up at the strange man. “But I appreciate the thought.”
“Can we get the mutual admiration society on the road, then?” I asked. “Time marches on, and I still want to get back to my farm.”
“Right,” Gassler exclaimed. “I’ll follow you and rush the gate once you’re through.”
“There’s no need for that,” Gwen went in the back seat of the Dodge to her gear and extricated a key card that she offered to Bruce. “Welcome to the CDC, mister Gassler. We’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t shoot us.”
“I’d never shoot another American, miss, unless they took aim at me, first,” he said, obviously taken aback by her words. “Your guard is lucky that I’m an even-tempered and calm individual.”
“And for that,” Estelle said, “we thank you.”
28
Needless to say, our return created chaos.
Angie was back on watch and freaked out as we rumbled up to the gate with Bruce’s deuce-and-a-half behind us. Gwen had to get out of my truck and hurry to the gate to yell at the guard that everything was okay. Of course, in the middle of this, Bruce decided to give his horn an impatient honk just to rile people up more.
It took a few minutes, but finally, Angela stood down and shouldered her rifle. I slotted the key card, waited for the gate to open while Gwen got back in the truck, and then idled my way inside. Bruce tapped on the gas and followed right on my ass, just like I’d asked him not to.
Fortunately, like all security gates, this one wasn’t terribly fast, and really was only secure when it was closed. My truck could have knocked down the gate, but Bruce’s could have done it easily. I wasn’t sure who I’d bet on in a fight if it came down to it. Angie and Philip had modern equipment, but there was no telling what the old man had in the back of his surplus wagon.
“Go around back,” Gwen told me. “We’ll use the same entrance we left by.”
After The Virus (Book 1): After The Virus Page 19
