Outpost 9: An Apocalyptic Memior

by Crane, J. J.

  “Would a nice cold beer soothe your wounded ego?” I asked Max as he handed the bow back to Maya and went to search for the wayward arrows.

  “Sounds good,” he answered.

  When Max returned to the back porch having retrieved all three arrows, his wife Beth arrived and heard the illustrious news of her husband’s failed challenge. She laughed in her diminutive way. Unlike Max who had a rounded but not fat body type, Beth was petite, conservative in dress and nearly always had her hair pulled back in a bun that showed off the round glasses that accentuated her narrow face. In her late thirties, Beth’s style didn’t make her look younger.

  When I first met Beth, I thought she was a librarian. I was close; she was an accountant.

  “So, what bet did my husband lose now?” Beth asked, a dour expression creasing her face. Max wasn’t a gambler in the traditional sense but was prone to making dumb, small, material bets that he lost more often than he won.

  “Elk steaks and beer,” I said.

  “You realize this is no excuse to book an early hunting trip… you lose the steaks, you wait,” Beth said, her voice soft but commanding.

  Max sheepishly nodded. “How are you, my love,” he said,

  leaning in and kissing his wife.

  Beth smiled a comically frustrated grin. “I’m fine. Next time bet at something you’re good at, like shooting at the range or something along those lines.”

  Max took a swig of the beer I handed him and looked at me. “That’s why she’s the boss. But, speaking of the range… we need to go soon. We recently picked up his and hers Marlin rifles. They have that old-time western lever action.”

  “I’m sure we can arrange that for the near future,” I said.

  Since moving to Chapel, I purchased an extra shotgun aside from the one I had as well as a .22 that I taught Curtis how to use.

  “I’ve been thinking about getting a .308 or a .30-.06 styled rifle,” I said.

  “You did?” June interrupted, walking out with Linda, wine glasses filled.

  “Why not,” I said.

  “Because we don’t need one,” she returned, patting my knee as she took a seat next to me. “We’ll talk about that later.”

  “Max,” Linda said in a way to shift the moment. “How many rifles is this now?”

  “Ten,” he said, as a child-like smile on Christmas morning stretched across his face. “Four handguns as well.”

  “A nice arsenal,” Linda said.

  Max caught the quip. “Yup, but at least I use them. They have different functions for hunting. What you hunt big elk or bear with is different than shooting deer here in this state.” Max took another sip of beer before continuing. “You and Steve, if I recall correctly, own a rifle or two?”

  She nodded. “Yes, we do. An M1. It was a hand me down from Steve’s grandfather. We also have two Winchesters, 30-06.”

  “The M1, that’s the mother of all the military rifles ever made,” Max said as he sat up in his chair. “I remember Steve letting me hold that because he wanted me to make sure it was in working order, which it was or is, as far as I know.”

  “It works,” Linda said, leaving it at that.

  Linda was indifferent to guns. A county government administrator for a conservative congressman, she wasn’t against guns, but she wasn’t a died-in-the-wool pro-gun person either. She had no issue telling you she believed in strict background checks and that all gun owners should have some kind of introductory training, especially first-time gun owners. Her husband, Steve, was more the hunter. She didn’t dislike the activity, but she also didn’t get the joy out of it that others expressed.

  “Hey, and you never know, if God forbid, we ever need it for any other… more unthinkable measures,” I blurted.

  “There it is,” Max said, slapping his knee. “You see, once that chaos, that anarchy, that helplessness touches your soul… well, it never leaves. You can put it to bed, but it’s a restless sleeper.”

  Max identified with my feelings on the matter. Even though he had been a hunter since he was twelve, it was a moment in college during a mass shooting where he converted to always having several weapons in store, just in case.

  As Max told it, he and several others became pinned behind an SUV when two gunmen dressed in camouflage gear, their faces covered by ski masks, began to unload semi-automatic gunfire into a popular student square.

  “They both had AR-15’s,” Max said to me when recalling the event. “I was on the sidewalk near a parking lot along with other students. It was a gorgeous spring afternoon. The campus was buzzing with outdoor activity in the square. All of a sudden, this piercing sound explodes. It took a second to realize what it was, but before I could even locate where it was coming from, I knew I needed to find cover.”

  After ducking behind a big black SUV and waving a few other terrified students over to him, he spotted the gunmen. “They marched forward like robots with a purpose, firing away. Screams filled the air. I kept low, tried to hush the poor girl next to me, who peed herself and was a shaking, sobbing mess. I wanted to keep an eye on the gunmen while also trying to calm this girl.”

  Max would always pause at this point as if the scene came alive before continuing.

  “One of them turned towards us. The student gunman squinted as if focusing on how many of us there were. Another girl in our group called out the boy’s name. She said, Robert, what are you doing? You knew she nailed the identity of the guy by the way his eyes widened. Then, it was like his eyes went black as coal… as if the depths of Hell’s abyss opened. He turned the gun towards us and fired. Both shots missed but because we all ducked, he must have figured he hit someone. When I looked up, he was gone. I scurried out of there. I tried to encourage the others to follow me, but fear paralyzed them. When I looked up to get my bearings, I watched and listened as another set of bullets whistled through the air, some dinging the cars in the parking lot. Then there were voices, megaphone voices. The cops had arrived. I spotted the two guys get on their knees behind trees and just started to unload seemingly everything they had. If I had a rifle, I could have easily taken both of them out. Instead, they inflicted more carnage. The standoff went on for another ten minutes before police killed both boys.”

  Though I had never experienced anything like that, I understood Max’s sentiment for owning weapons. And, he understood mine. Yes, I enjoyed shooting them at the range, but ultimately, I owned them for protection against chaos.

  Chapter 4

  Something on the television caught my attention. Initially, I didn’t know what. The news played in the background like white noise as I reviewed an article I just completed writing. I grabbed the television remote and rewound the broadcast. Then I saw it, the news crawl, Equine Flu believed responsible for deaths of several hundred in western China outside Xining. I let out a loud audible sigh. Frank’s words came pouring back, Watch out for what the virus morphs into.

  Before my mind could marinate that paranoia, the phone rang. It was Pops. His voice radiated excitement as he shared the news that he became a grandfather for the first time. I was overjoyed for him, though somewhat surprised at the news because he rarely talked about his kids – he had three. Through the few conversations we had about them, I never got the impression they had a warm relationship. However, Pops was now asking me if I could take in their mail and feed their cat because they were going to see their new grandchild and spend Thanksgiving with his one son.

  Over the following days, stories about the Equine Flu remained tertiary news. I kept an eye on it, setting up signals whenever a story on the internet appeared and putting them in a folder I created. Reports remained vague, but from what I could gather, anywhere from several hundred to over a thousand people fell victim to the strain as it appeared to creep from rural areas into larger population centers in the western to central provinces.

  The weekend after Thanksgiving, we took a trip back to New Jersey and visited with Frank and Jen. I didn’t wait long to ask
Frank about all the flu virus stories I read about. His face revealed concern.

  “Something isn’t right,” he said. “When the stories first surfaced, our lab received updates from the Chinese government on what was occurring. They have a state-run pharmaceutical firm that we partner with on various global initiatives. Sometimes we receive information from government agencies, others, directly from the firm. But recently, things have gone dark. The Chinese can be finicky about what they share, but my gut reaction is something’s off.”

  I asked him why.

  “Easy,” he said, quite assured of his response. “They aren’t dealing with the Equine Flu anymore.”

  “What then?” I asked.

  “The next thing. The one we have worried about emerging.”

  I stood stunned at his conviction. “Are you certain?”

  “No. Not factually. But it doesn’t feel right. I would have thought with the newest outbreak, test results or data of some sort would have crossed my desk, but I’ve seen nothing.”

  “Maybe someone else is getting the info.”

  He looked at me with a blank stare. “Even if that happened, the grapevine would have trickled news into our lab. No one has heard a thing, and that has a lot of us in the industry worried.”

  “Still…” I said not finishing the sentence.

  Frank glanced off. “Still nothing… Something isn’t right.”

  Winter came early. The snow piled up as a cold front dipped down from the Arctic, planting itself on the northeast for the first two weeks of December. The park lake froze earlier than anyone could remember. Schools used up their allotted snow days (three) before Christmas, and according to long-term forecasts, this was just the start. To further the misery, the flu season looked dire, according to the CDC.

  Two days after the New Year I called Frank to wish him

  and the family a happy new year. I also extended an invitation to come up for a weekend at their earliest convenience.

  “Sorry my friend, maybe the wife and kids can come, but I’m going to have to stay back,” he said with some regret.

  “Work’s busy?” I asked.

  “More than that,” he said, sounding grim.

  “Really… Anything you can talk about?”

  “Kind of, but…” he said before pausing for a few seconds. “A couple of day before Christmas some government people came for a meeting wanting to know the capacity of our research facility. I gave a brief report on my department’s capabilities, projects in production, research assessments, personnel specialties… stuff like that. They also asked me about our laboratories turn around capability should it need alterations for working on classified material. Of course, I wasn’t filled in on the details of what they needed or why, but I did the best I could to answer their questions.” He waited a moment for me to take it all in before continuing. “After leaving the meeting, my boss and others stayed behind for another two hours. When I asked my boss about it later, he looked worn. He told me there wasn’t anything to know now. I didn’t like the sound of his tone or his body language.”

  “Wow, that’s pretty wild. What do you think it’s about?” I asked, feeling the weight of his concern over the phone.

  “It’s hard to speculate, but what struck me was how my boss looked. It was ashen,” he said. “He’s usually very good about keeping me informed, but in this instance, he said nothing. He just waved me off.”

  “You’ve said in the past that he was grooming you for his job,” I said.

  “Eighteen months in fact until he retires,” Frank said. “There is no guarantee, but he believes with his recommendation, my success, and performance in the company, that it should be enough to seal the deal. He’s taken great confidence in me because, as he put it, I don’t want you thrown into the fire like I was. He told me it took him a good year to get his bearings on the position. He wants me to step in and perform up to speed as fast as possible.”

  “That’s great news. Best of luck with that,” I said.

  “Yeah thanks, but I can’t shrug off the way he looked. It looked like the Grim Reaper paid a visit and told him he’d be back shortly.” Frank’s voice trailed to a whisper.

  I tried to reassure him. “I’m sure he’ll let you in on whatever it is he knows soon enough,”

  “You’re probably right,” he said. “Anyway, how was New Years?”

  A week after talking to Frank, while sitting with June watching the news, another Equine virus story appeared. Both Japan and Korea confirmed cases, but this time it was infecting people other than those who worked with horses.

  It got us talking about whether we should get flu shots as a general precaution when the phone rang. It was Frank.

  “Rob, I have some news,” he said, his voice low as if sharing a secret.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “The Equine Flu stories,” he said. “It’s not the Equine Flu. It’s something bigger, but no one wants to say anything for certain.”

  “What are you talking about,” I answered, my body stiffening. “June and I just watched a story about it on TV.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew it sounded stupid.

  “You should know by now that 24/7 cable news stations have to fill a lot of airtime with speculative talk,” Frank quipped.

  “I know. Sorry. So, what’s going on?”

  “Something is up. I had to reallocate resources we use for virus analysis over to another building where we sometimes do highly experimental research. My bosses boss issued a ‘no questions asked’ directive. It’s bizarre. The worst hush-hush operation ever.”

  “Not smart psychology,” I said. “Telling everyone to say nothing is really telling everyone to say something.”

  “Yeah, but we’re all senior management, not children. Just say, it’s classified information. We get it. We know how to keep our mouths shut. We do it all the time.”

  “Good point,” I said. “How long has this been going on?”

  “A few days,” he said. “I tried prying information from my boss, but the best I got out of him was that he’d let me know when he can let me know.”

  “Is it possible you are reading too much into this?” I asked, wanting to sound pragmatic.

  “I wish, but government people have been coming and going pretty regularly now,” he said. “I even heard that some people from the VSPD have been checking things out.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “A division of the CDC. It’s called the Viral Special Pathogens. They deal with Ebola and other highly contagious stuff.”

  “That’s not good,” I said, surprised at that information. “Are you sure it was them?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “That’s spooky stuff if true.”

  “A couple of us who are on the same management level got talking about all the different requests we’ve received, and we believe the virus overseas is something bigger than anyone wants to admit.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “There is always competition with companies to come up with vaccines for all kinds of viruses and such. But, when it comes to emergency projects where money isn’t the focus, researchers are good about sharing information, because it’s for the greater good of humanity,” he said rather matter of fact. “What we have going on is something entirely different. The new faces showing up in the reallocated lab say nothing, citing they can’t discuss it. You don’t see them in the cafeteria or gyms. It’s like they are sequestering themselves, and our bosses relay nothing to us except ‘no questions asked’ requests. Which really aren’t requests but orders. It’s to hush-hush. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Sounds mind-boggling,” I said. Then I asked, half knowing the answer, “You could use a break; any idea when you and the family can come up?”

  “I wish because I could use to hang out and knock back a couple of drinks, but I’m on call twenty-four seven,” he answered. “No reason given, just be ready to show up
if called.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Odd shit I’m telling ya,” he said, his voice frustrated.

  “Hopefully they’ll loosen the leash soon.”

  “Hope so. But I have a feeling as long as I see government plates coming and going, I’m on call.”

  “Well, listen; I’m here if you need to get anything off your chest. You know you can trust me.”

  “Yeah. Not a problem. Just keep an eye out. I know you like to prepare. When all this started to get underway I thought of you,” he said with half a chuckle.

  “Why thank you. It’s good to know I’m in the same company with paranoia and morbidity,” I returned. “Besides, I like to call my particular psychosis, mini-prepping.”

  Frank laughed. “Oh, that’s cute, mini-prepping.” His voice

  turned more serious. “But listen, keep your eyes and ears alert. Not to overly alarm you, but I would go through your inventory of supplies and make a list of exactly what you have. If you’re short on stuff like surgical gloves, masks, wipes, sanitizers, get them… as much as you can.”

  I breathed heavily. “You know this is only going to fuel the fire in my brain.”

  “I know… but if there is anyone I know who could get their shit together, it’s you.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’m going to have a beer now and try not to let your gremlins dig too far into my mind.”

  “Listen, I’m telling you this because of what I feel in my gut, okay?” he said, his voice rising.

  “Okay Frank, thanks,” I said trying to calm his angst. “I appreciate your trust, and I appreciate you thinking about us. If you need to bug out and get somewhere, you are welcome here anytime. I mean it.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate the offer, and if that time should come, and hopefully I’m overreacting, I may take you up on it.”

  As the third week of January began, seasonal flu stories appeared in varying newscasts. The Midwest and portions of the Northeast reported higher than usual numbers of people contracting the standard flu. As a secondary story, reports of widespread flu cases began to surface in China as well as in other regions of southern Asia including Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, and Burma. WHO (World Health Organization), had yet to issue any red flags because no alarming death rates had occurred according to its findings. They did though, request more funding and personnel to help study why such an outbreak was happening.