by John Ringo
Smith eyeballed Bua meaningfully and then consulted his watch. “We’re going to leave after full dark, call it thirty minutes or so. Be ready and loaded in twenty-five.”
“Okay, sweetheart,” Astroga said, grabbing Bua’s elbow. “There is a bush over here with our names on it.”
Risky watched Bua try to jerk away from the shorter soldier, only to be surprised when Astroga yanked back, twice as hard. The specialist easily persuaded the former schoolteacher to keep the peace, and the rest of the group dispersed.
Risky waited a few moments and then walked up to Smith. She looked at him closely. Despite the fatigue that she knew he must be feeling, he seemed alert and focused. His eyes swiveled as he watched her approach.
“Miss Khabayeva?” he asked professionally.
“Busy now, I understand,” she said carefully. “But I want to tell you that I want to talk to you, really talk, when we reach the next place where we have room and space to breathe. Yes?”
He looked at her carefully, his face still.
“Of course,” Smith replied finally. “When we have room and space.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Smith?” Emily said, approaching within a few steps. “I think that you need to take a look at this.”
Katrin was supporting Eric, who was clutching his stomach.
“Hello folks,” Tom asked, looking at the pair with raised eyebrows. “What’s the problem?”
“My stomach hurts and…” Eric began, but subsided, his face red.
“He had an accident in the car,” explained Katrin. “He’s vomiting and he has cramps real bad and he’s been going to the bathroom since we stopped.”
Tom looked at the two, nonplussed, then frowned.
“Eric, have you been only drinking the water that we give you and washing your hands every couple hours?” he asked.
“I, I think so,” the miserable boy said, then clutched his stomach even tighter. “I got to go!”
He ran behind some bushes while his classmates looked on helplessly.
“E. coli, I think,” Emily stated flatly. “Maybe something worse. No way to be certain.”
“I want you to wash your hands right now,” Emily said, turning to the remaining teens. “Use the wet wipes that smell funny,” she added, referring to the ammonia towelettes. “Stay out of the car till I clean it.”
Tom waited until the kids walked over to the back of the truck.
“If we’re lucky, it’s only food poisoning,” he said in a low voice. “With all the decomposition and the poor field sanitation, it could be dysentery—hell, it could even be cholera. Either way, keep him hydrated. We’ve got to keep moving, so the truck is going to get bad. Can you help him?”
“Yes,” Emily said, nodding firmly. Retching sounds sounded behind the bushes. “Looks like I’m on.”
“Is Bua going to be any help?” Tom replied, jutting his chin towards the latrine area, where the second schoolteacher was hastily emerging.
Emily looked over and shook her head.
“I can’t see how,” she said.
“Tell me about it,” Tom said, under his breath.
* * *
Joanna Kohn was quite satisfied with her agenda for the meeting so far. Very little material progress had been made, but the framework for success was in place, and that was what mattered.
The first crisis to confront the newly arrived survivors at Site Blue had been the unexpected departure of the helicopter that originally fetched them. Although the oh-so smart Smith had thought ahead to providing for the pilots’ families, the end game chaos had prevented the neat pairing of routes and aircrew to the refuges where their dependents were already sheltering. The last Joanna, or anyone else for that matter, saw of their sole aviation asset was the pilot in their helicopter fluttering north to Pennsylvania and Site Bugle.
That unpleasant surprise had spawned the very first structured camp meeting. Initially, Joanna had permitted Rune to run the semiorganized chaos that the previously transported bank staff had perpetuated. Thus were born the daily, weekly and monthly meetings necessary to coordinate the survival activities of the camp.
Joanna had watched Rune flounder, administratively out of his depth. He had deferred, eventually, to her guidance. Joanna had refined the meetings, spawning a feeling of normalcy. It was almost like the apocalypse hadn’t yet occurred. She chaired the renamed weekly Executive Coordination Committee as the acting administrator. Symbols mattered, and she’d briskly moved to legitimize her eventual, permanent status. One such was sitting at the head of a green baize-covered table while receiving reports and recommendations and dispensing direction and resources. That process was now underway for today’s meeting, and she’d allowed Rune to have the floor.
“There was limited infected presence in the school,” the former banker said, continuing his report. “We found a small amount of analgesics and other first aid level materials. The shop was intact and well stocked. Most of the equipment operates on two hundred twenty volts, and we aren’t well provisioned for that, yet.”
There were nods around the table. He looked up towards the head chair. Joanna smiled warmly at him.
“Ah—we moved to the local pharmacy next,” Rune said, hurrying to consult his notes. “It was already looted, but we recovered several kilos of drugs for evaluation and possible retention. I couldn’t be sure, but it appeared that their compounding facility had been modified for vaccine production. Some of the equipment as well as the remains in the refrigeration units were consistent with an ad hoc vaccine lab.”
“Remains?” asked Christine.
“The evidence was consistent with the presence of human spinal tissue in various stages of processing,” he answered.
“Did you find vaccine?” Joanna said, suddenly very focused.
“The building had no power of course, but despite the condition of the remaining material, the setup strongly suggested that the lab was abandoned before production was at any scale,” he carefully replied, before continuing. “I also grabbed some reference books. We located two more survivors who elected to return with us. They’re in General Processing now.”
Rune referred to the large semipermanent tent where recent arrivals were temporarily billeted as they were evaluated for health, skills and needs.
“One dental hygienist and her teenage son,” he said, concluding his report.
“Is she familiar with the operation of dental X-ray equipment?” asked Joanna. “That could become key, no?”
“We have the detailed process for creating attenuated vaccine,” answered the former bank intel chief. “We still lack the specialized supplies, equipment and the expertise to create it safely. And of course, there is no certain way to test vaccine, if we could make it. In theory, a sufficiently advanced dental X-ray machine could meter radiation precisely enough to work, but it requires maintenance, calibration…”
“You are right, Paul,” Joanna said, waving the issue away. “A challenge for a different day. Still, well done on the personnel rescue. How do the pharmacological recovery efforts proceed?”
“I looked at drugs and equipment that Paul’s team recovered, Ms. Kohn,” said Ken Schweizer. The former OEM analyst had grown his beard out, and he affected a beaded chin braid that bobbed as he respectfully nodded. “Much of the lab equipment was clearly in use for illegal narcotics. Some of the precursors might have value. Most of the other salvage duplicates what we already have. However, one new item is a supply of Cipro. It’s an excellent broad spectrum antibiotic and it isn’t too temperature sensitive. We can use that to treat the new townies who have symptoms consistent with dysentery.”
Joanna thought about that. She liked asking questions. If nothing else, it kept other people reacting to her. And occasionally she learned something.
“Dysentery is quite serious, is it not?” she asked. “I seem to recall that it can be deadly if untreated. Highly communicable too, no?”
“Yes, ma’am,” answered Schweizer. “I
t spreads via contaminated water, usually as a result of poor latrine discipline, a failure to properly sterilize potable water or exercise personal hygiene. In the nineteenth century dysentery killed millions. We’re living in conditions not unlike that time period.”
“So how do we head that off?” Joanna asked, slightly alarmed. “Everyone has to be convinced that safety measures against this disease are for the good of all. Paul, as head of our security, what do you recommend?”
“I agree that the risk of disease is potentially serious, so we need to continue to enforce basic camp sanitation,” Paul said. Joanna could tell that he hadn’t anticipated this question. “Um, the kitchen staff have to ensure that all drinking and cooking water is brought to a rolling boil for ten minutes and that all utensils be likewise cleaned. Maybe people who are found slacking on the rules have to perform extra guard duty, or perhaps contribute to projects for the Improvements Group?”
Non-skilled survivors as well as everyone not on critical duty took turns expanding the cultivated area or raising the height of the earthen palisade. It was back-breaking labor on scant calories.
“Could someone actually die from dysentery, Ken?” Joanna said, letting her eyes grow a little wide as she glanced around the table, stopping at Paul. “If it can be lethal, then perhaps the measures to encourage mutual safety should have some…bite? There are security implications, are there not?”
“I’ll think it over and have some options for you soon, Joanna,” Paul answered uneasily. “It is really just a matter of education.”
“Thank you, Paul,” Joanna said, favoring him with another smile. “Speaking of which, is the Education Committee ready for their update?”
“Good morning, Coordinator Kohn,” said Christine, beginning her own report. “The Education Committee has outlined a general curriculum for our school age survivors. While we don’t have textbooks, we do have adults skilled in many areas now important to our survival. The absence of conventional educational infrastructure actually presents an opportunity to bypass some of the hierarchical, promotion based grade levels of mass education in favor of a customized approach that can address the needs of every child, individually.”
“Wait a moment,” Paul said, interrupting. “There are a couple of elementary schools full of books and other supplies. As few kids as we have, it wouldn’t be a problem to—”
“Thank you, Paul,” Joanna said, cutting him off smoothly. “I would like to hear the rest of Christine’s suggestions. We are just outlining some possibilities, after all.”
“And Christine, dear,” Joanna said, turning back to the original speaker. “Thank you for the courtesy, but I am only the Acting Coordinator, until we have a chance to establish something less…field expedient. Please, finish what you were saying.”
“As I was saying…” Christine said, shooting Paul an icy look. “We can tailor outreach for each school-age child. We don’t have to repeat the errors of the old system.”
“I could not agree with you more,” breathed Joanna. “These fresh ideas make me eager to start as soon as possible, once the idea is more developed and reviewed by the Executive Committee in detail.”
“Um, don’t you think that the parents should be involved?” said Paul, interjecting again. “After all, these are their children we’re talking about, aren’t they.”
“Of course,” Joanna said soothingly. “But in a sense, they are all our children, whom we must protect and succor if we are to raise a new civilization. As few as there are, perhaps they should reflect more than just the values of happenstance parents. But, before that, we will need a safe way to inoculate them against the still lethal virus.”
Cutting off further debate, Joanna opened a new topic.
“Kendra, what do you have for our Research report?”
“Good afternoon Acting Coordinator Kohn,” Kendra said, sparing a smile for Christine who was just seating herself again. “We’re lucky that the salvage parties located Ms. Warmbier, the dental hygienist. She’s aware of several clinics which may have the model of X-ray machine which might be adapted to vaccine production. Paul’s school and pharmacy sweeps located much of the initial laboratory equipment that we need but there is still some hardware outstanding, notably a medical grade centrifuge.”
“Once we have that, can we proceed?” Joanna asked, steepling her fingers.
“No, not really,” Kendra replied. “We really need a laboratory scientist with a background in virology, a filter medium and a means to test the vaccine, once we produce it. Even if we can match the bank’s quality, it’s still an attenuated live virus vaccine, not suitable for younger children. Much more time will be required to produce a killed vaccine, and for that we will need proper growth mediums, even more precision filtration, viral growth enzymes and other items.”
The meeting went on for another hour as details about vaccine production for both attenuated and killed vaccine were explained. By the close of the meeting, Joanna successfully maneuvered Paul into agreeing to search explicitly for a lab tech and an M.D. He had looked a little uncomfortable but Joanna felt that was more of an advantage than it was a potential problem.
She liked her men a little uncomfortable. It was quite acceptable.
CHAPTER 8
Eva didn’t like meetings. She’d say this for the head of the Gleaners, though. Harlan Green kept things short and sharp. Around the table Harlan’s immediate coterie was uncharacteristically attentive. In contrast, Eva’s attitude seemed negligent, one leg propped over the arm rest of her chair, but her notes were comprehensive.
The Virginia state correctional facility that had housed the second set of Gleaner recruits included a women’s wing. A fair proportion of prisoners had improved their education for the purposes of researching their appeals. Eva had been no different. The self-taught ability to make neat and accurate notes was a natural fit to her new role as one of the Governor’s Guard, as Green had come to style his inner circle of subordinates.
During the early days of the Gleaners she, Khorbish and others had been set to some independent tasks. There had been early and obvious tests for loyalty and applied problem solving. All the successes ended in creative and often violent solutions. The failed tests generally just ended violently.
The half a dozen survivors were by now well past that screening, having long ago received their vaccine. They graduated from running very small teams whose tasks ranged from reconnaissance and zombie removal to independently taking small towns and bossing road clearance labor gangs.
After the haul that her new team had collected during their shakedown patrols, she figured that Green would cut her a little leeway. Her boss was all about results.
She looked around the room casually. Khorbish sneered when he noted her glance.
His team had done almost as well as hers.
Almost.
“You all know your parts now,” Eva listened as Green lectured. “We’ll continue to move north towards our longer term base. Everyone will continue to sweep for useful recruits and laborers. Do not get weighed down with crap. Consult the list of prioritized salvage. Keep the roads that we control clear. Some of our teams will conduct special tasks for me, the rest will continue with the plan. Questions?”
Eva didn’t really expect any questions, but with this group…
“Yeah, I got one,” said Dragon. The burly, smooth-scalped man with the dragon neck tattoo and the thing for blue latex gloves raised a hand. “When and where do we get to finally the place where you give me one of these satripey things?”
“Sa-tra-py.”
Eva could tell that just correcting the pronunciation irritated Green. The boss went on.
“It means the territory that you’ll run for me. As I’ve explained more than once, we will expand, your territory will grow and I’ll assign lieutenants under you. Eventually.”
“Sure, sure,” the questioner replied. “No disrespect, Mr. Green, you said that before but what I’m saying is when?
My team has found a lot of quality goods, really good loot, but instead you tell us to clean roads or bring you back different kinds of people. What good stuff we find—well, you’re keeping it back here while we hang our asses out there.”
He gestured broadly beyond the room.
“Again, no disrespect, but some of the road crew and lower level people are asking the same questions. We need to know enough to keep the good ones in line and the trim the rest, like you say.”
Green stared hard at the man who returned his look evenly without looking away.
Eva tracked the exchange. Thanks to the map that she had recovered and which Greene had interpreted before showing Khorbish and herself, she knew a little, okay, a lot more than everyone else. She didn’t know for certain why Green wasn’t telling all of them the complete story about the bankers, if that was what they were, who’d shot up their foraging party. It might be as simple as Green’s recognition that knowledge is power.
She watched Green come to a decision. She also noted that Loki was poised, his right hand empty and relaxed.
“Hmmm,” Green said, rubbing his chin. “Reasonable. I can give you a sense of strategy and timing.”
He took a couple of steps and wheeled, arms folded against his chest.
“We need a permanent base from which to expand. A base that we can use to establish control. It should have easy access to the things that we need, like water, power and…other survivors. It has to be small enough that we can clear the zombies from the immediate area, persuade and manage the survivors and still be defensible enough that we can hold it against any newcomers. Lastly, it should allow us to expand without moving again.”
He paused and raised one hand upwards.
“As for when: the seasons matter,” he said, pinning his questioner by eye. “I want to establish us in a new base before the first frost. We want to be in position, indoors before the winter weather complicates further gleaning. When spring comes, we’ll need to have the nucleus of the labor force, technicians and soldiers necessary to set our community up for the following year. All that takes precedence over electronics, or gold, or recreational drugs. That is why I want you to bring me high quality recruits and why we keep pushing down the road. Now does that answer your question?”
