Behind The Curve-The Farm | Book 2 | The Farm

by Craven III, Boyd

  Rob came in with a plate of food and she started to roll out of bed, but saw Leah and Andrea coming in behind him. She pulled the sheet back over herself.

  “Give me a sec, guys,” she said weakly.

  Rob closed the door, then pulled the sheet off of her. When he had put her back in bed, she had changed into one of his t-shirts at some point, forgoing all other clothes.

  “This isn’t too bad. It’s almost like a hospital gown on you,” he said softly.

  “Hand me my underwear,” she said, pointing at the dresser.

  He pulled a pair out and came back over to the bed, sitting next to her. “You need help?” he asked tenderly.

  “No, I got this. Listen Hun, I want you to take one of the spare bedrooms for a few days,” she said, her voice scratchy.

  “If you have the virus, everybody else here does too,” he reminded her.

  “It’s not that,” she said, pulling her underwear on. “I’m sleeping like shit and your snoring is keeping me awake. I figure if I get more sleep—”

  “Snoring?” Rob said. “Do you want to be tickled?”

  Angelica smiled and shook her head, coughing.

  “It’s ok now,” Rob told the ladies.

  The two doctors looked her over. Andrea had managed the stairs with Curt’s help, a feat that had worried her a little. When she saw Angelica and how she had declined since breakfast, she made sure Curt kept back and out of the way. Her fever was over one hundred, and Angelica thought she had taken her last ibuprofen a couple hours ago, but was not sure.

  “What do you think?” Andrea asked Leah. “You seeing the same thing?”

  “Yeah, but I hoped you would have a better idea. You saw more cases involving it.”

  “What?” Angelica asked, tired and coughing.

  “Without bloodwork, I’m going to give you a probable diagnosis of the virus,” Andrea told her, “but honestly, it could be anything. We’re going to play it better safe than sorry.”

  “Well crap,” Rob said, still sitting next to her. “Should we mask up?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt, especially around your mother,” Leah said, “but incubation of this coronavirus seems to be two days to ten days on average. How long she was infectious is still up in the air. That could have just started today, or two or three days ago,” Andrea told Rob.

  “All I want to do is sleep and stop coughing,” Angelica told them.

  “Well, as it turns out, we have a fully functioning medical center here and with us shopping in India, Canada and Mexico…”

  “You can just write prescriptions too,” Angelica said.

  “Yeah, but I think this should be a good time to do a practice run on locking down here, and not leaving. I’m going to get a case of the rapid antibody tests in any day now, so we will know for sure. In the meantime, I think today was our last day at the market for a while, for many reasons,” Leah told them.

  “ADA Winters showed up today,” Andrea told her.

  “Wait, isn’t that the lady who was trying to set you up for capital murder?” Angelica asked.

  “Yes,” Andrea said. “She showed up at the market asking about the eggs and causing a scene.”

  “Wait, asking about the eggs… was she a little taller than me with really blonde hair, green eyes and looked like she was skinny as a druggie?”

  “Sounds like her,” Leah said. “She kept asking if our chickens were cage free and fed organic food, free from antibiotics—”

  “That’s the strange lady I ran across,” Angelica said.

  “Ok. We will deal with her later. I am going to have Leah run and get you something for the cough and so you can sleep. Rob, you have an extra intercom?”

  “Yeah, why?” he asked.

  “To check on her easier?” Andrea said, not quite a statement.

  “I have my cell phone,” Angelica said, “and honestly, I’m about to crash. I’m tired.”

  “Here, take some Motrin, and we’ll be back in with something for your cough. It’ll help you sleep. No medical allergies, right?”

  Angelica shook her head no.

  Winters seethed in rage. Her whole body seemed to be burning up, and she sweated just sitting in one spot at the podunk motel about twenty minutes away from the market. She had ignored the persistent cough that had been bugging her for a few days now, but it was getting worse. She was having a hard time breathing. Her plan to set up the group at the market had backfired. She felt like crap, and the fever was burning her up. She’d gone in all emotional, and with little forethought to the plan.

  The Langtry stall at the farmer’s market near the farm. I confirmed visual sightings of Leah Weaver, known associate of Andrea Mallory and part of the white nationalist survivalist right wing militia. Call in the troops.

  The message had gone out on the signal app. In moments it was spreading like wildfire. Winters coughed and suddenly she could not quit coughing. Her vision started getting stars shooting around the edges as things went dark. She laid down on the bed, trying to get her phone to the actual phone app so she could call for help. There. She hit 9-1 and…

  Winters quit coughing, and her body twitched for a few minutes. The wall she had been leaning against near the bed had cough splatters of blood on it. Her body quit moving as a thin stream of mucus and blood ran out of the side of her mouth, her chest no longer rising and falling.

  Thirteen

  Sheriff Robertson showed up at the gate on the ninth day of the quarantine. Andrea had made the call to the local health department to report the case when Angel’s test came up positive, so they hoped that this was related. As it turned out, they were wrong.

  “Sheriff Robertson,” Steven said through the intercom, “I should tell you, several of us have tested positive for the coronavirus that’s going around. Some of us are still showing symptoms and we’ve been in quarantine.”

  “Are you… seriously?” the sheriff asked, and the surprise was evident in his tone.

  “Yes,” Steven said, coughing. “I mean, I can show you the test, but I’d have to come close to you.”

  “I have some folks here that want to talk to you. I left them in their vehicles. Inspectors, USDA, FDA, etc.”

  “Well, we’ll let you come in, but I don’t know about the rest. Unless they have some kind of warrant… but Sheriff, I’m still sick and probably contagious myself.”

  “They have some kind of paperwork, but no warrant. I asked and checked.”

  “Well, I’ll mask up and drive up there then,” he said through the coughing.

  Sheriff Robertson looked askance at the two SUVs, the FDA and USDA inspectors’ vehicles. They had said they had gotten a mandate to inspect farms in the area, with special requests to see feed storage for the animals. They claimed they were working a contact tracing program, not unlike what the citizens were going through with the Wuhan Flu. Sheriff Robertson told them it sounded like bullshit to him, but he would ask them. To hear that many of them were sick with the reportedly deadly virus left him shaken. The woman they had called about that had been harassing them at the market had just been found by a cleaning crew a few days ago.

  She had rented the room for a two to three week stay, and had hung a do not disturb sign on the door. It was only after her corpse had begun to smell that they had done a wellness check and found her. That was the primary reason the sheriff was here; the inspectors were just a convenient excuse. Now he was not so certain he wanted to deal with it.

  The sound of a truck crunching the gravel in the driveway reached his ears a few seconds before he saw the dust cloud headed his way. He waited, looking at the reinforced fence, the dug emplacements that had been improved upon; they now had a sheet of metal roof installed over top of them in a pole building type of construction. There were extra strands of razor wire inside and outside of the main fence, and Robertson knew some of it was electrified. He’d had to talk to the protestor who had pissed on it many weeks back, explaining that he could not press assault ch
arges after he’d almost burned his own pecker off, because it was his own damn fault.

  The Suburban stopped at the second gate long enough to let the opener make enough room for it to get through. Then Steven drove up to the first gate near the road, turning the vehicle sideways so he could roll down the window and not have to get out.

  “How can I help you?” Steven said through the coughs, his face mask firmly in place.

  “How are you guys doing?” Robertson asked.

  “Andrea and Curt apparently already had this,” Steven coughed out. “Dante is sick with it, but he’s feeling better. Leah tested positive but is just extra tired with a bad headache. Angelica seems to be fully recovered. I don’t know how Harry has been doing, he’s been in his room playing video games the last couple of days since the school closed. Rob tested for it, but seemed asymptomatic.”

  Sheriff Robertson nodded. “We found that woman your group called about at the farmer’s market.”

  “Wait, you said you found her? Was she lost?” Steven asked.

  “Dead,” Sheriff Robertson said. “Apparently she succumbed to the virus. Probably the person who brought it into the community. The health department told me we have something like 34 cases right now.”

  “In a population of a few hundred, that is pretty bad,” Steven said, not needing a medical degree to realize that. “Any deaths?”

  “Just the former ADA,” Sheriff Robertson told him. “That’s mainly why I stopped out, but these two agents,” he said pointing over his shoulder with his thumbs, “wanted to stop and talk to me before they came out here. Seems they heard you don’t like uninvited guests,” the last was said with a chuckle.

  “No sir, we don’t,” Steven said. “What do they want? Really?”

  “Probably making an inventory of what each farm has for the government,” Sheriff Robertson said, surprising Steven.

  “Then I don’t think I want to meet with them. I’m sick.”

  “Excuse me?” A balding man in a poor fitting black suit walked up from behind Sheriff Robertson’s truck. “We’re here to conduct an inventory of animals and their feed. We’re contact tracing some new forms of swine flu.”

  “The farm hasn’t sold any swine in over a year,” Steven said, coughing.

  “Sir, are you ill?” the man asked suddenly.

  “Yeah, got the icky sticky Wu Flu,” Steven said with a laugh, as the man backed up a step, holding his mask tighter.

  “Not supposed to touch your face, bro,” Steven said.

  “We’re going to have to take immediate action,” another man said, walking up. “We need to get a crew in here to remove the animals.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” Steven asked him.

  “Agent Sullivan, USDA, working with DHS agent Markey and USDA Agent Ackley,” he said, pointing.

  “The farm is closed. We are under quarantine and we’re not selling any farm products produced from animals at this time. If you want to inspect our corn and soybean crops, come back in a couple of weeks.”

  “But you do have animals, right? It was overheard at the farmer’s market that not only do you sell eggs, but you’ve also transported some pigs.”

  “I told you,” Steven said in a tone that sounded like he was talking to an annoyingly slow child, “we’re not selling any animal products from the farm. We’re not selling eggs any more.”

  “Surely you’ve still got some animals?” Agent Markey said.

  “That falls under nunya,” Steve said. “Now gentlemen, talking is making my chest hurt, and I don’t want to cough any more than I have to. Please leave and make an appointment for say, twenty years from now?”

  “We need to inspect the well being of those animals and take them into custody, especially with your farm all sick—”

  “That ain’t gonna happen,” Sheriff Robertson said, startling the men who had forgotten he was even there.

  “But they are sitting on resources that might go to waste if—”

  “Excuse me assholes, but I thought this was contact tracing for the swine flu?” Steven asked.

  “Yeah, that’s what you told me,” Sheriff Robertson said, his face turning colors because he had been lied to. “You boys have some explaining to do,” he said, turning to the men. “And nobody is confiscating livestock without a warrant.”

  “We have our orders, and soon you will too,” Agent Markey said, a snotty tone in his voice.

  “I’ll have my orders?” Sheriff Robertson said. “I’m the highest elected law enforcement official in this county. My word is law if you do not have a warrant, and even then, I can squash any operation you boys think you might pull.”

  “Sheriff, you’re turning hostile to our intended purpose. We still have a few farms to visit in the area, perhaps we can come back to the Langtry farm at a later date.”

  “Maybe, but you better have a fucking warrant, or if I find you across this fence without one, you’ll be unhappy with the outcome,” Steven yelled, sick and tired of what he was hearing.

  “Is that a threat?” Agent Sullivan asked.

  “Statement of fact,” Steven said. “People who cross our fence without the proper invitation, intending to perpetuate a felony on this property, have usually left in body bags. Ask the sheriff there. I forgot what the actual body count is now.”

  “Body count? I’d heard you had fired on some protestors…”

  “In all, twelve died here. More than half of that were folks attacking the farm. The rest fired on, injured, and killed officers. The return fire killed the other five. And since these nice folks saved me from a full out heart attack and my people were saved by the good doctors that live on this farm, you can bet your sweet ass I’m probably hostile to your newly stated purpose. Leave the county, or I’ll consider you three harassing my citizens.”

  “You really can’t threaten us,” Ackley said, speaking up for the first time. “We’ll have the governor remove you.”

  “You can try. He can ask, I can say no. Plus, I am on friendly terms with the governor, and so are the members of this farm here. You remember the case of Andrea Mallory that was in the news months back?”

  They nodded.

  “She’s one of the doctors residing at this farm.”

  “Oh shit,” Sullivan said softly.

  “‘Oh shit’ is right, boys,” Sheriff Robertson said, pointing. “Now get the fuck out of my county, cuz if you don’t listen to me, I’m going to be sticking my foot so far up your ass that you’ll be able to taste the polish on my boots.”

  They left. Sheriff Robertson and Steven sat in their idling vehicles, waiting for a while, staring at each other.

  “I hope you folks get feeling better. I meant it, what you folks did for me, and the other police officers the night of the riot here… Anything I can do, let me know.”

  “I have a feeling that isn’t the last that we’re going to be seeing of those guys,” Steven told him, trying hard not to cough. “If you can, give us a heads up ahead of time, if you think they’re going to be moving on us.”

  “What, you mean like the farm bureau trying to make a raid to steal your cows and chickens?”

  “Something exactly like that,” Steven told him. “Things have been hinky lately, and I don’t like those boys’ Freudian slip. They aim to take the animals one way or another I figure.”

  “Yeah, that whole confiscation thing has me concerned. That’s theft if they don’t have a judge signing off on it, in my book.”

  “Cattle rustlers and horse thieves used to get hung,” Steven said, then started coughing.

  “Things are different now. If I hear something, I will call you guys. If you see Feds snooping, call me before you go shooting them.”

  “As long as they don’t shoot at us first,” Steven told him, then gave a wave and reversed to the second fence that was already opening for him.

  He waited until it was open and then turned around and raced off to his cabin. The project he had been working on in the
sunlit doorway of the workshop could wait. It was busy work anyways. He knew he needed to take something for his cough, but he had to get to his computer and send off a message to all of the group before he lost his voice. He had a bad feeling.

  Fourteen

  USDA FSIS agent Sullivan had decided to approach the farm from a different direction. Dozens of government SUVs were waiting ten minutes away, spread out so they would not stick out like a sore dick. Sullivan’s small team had inserted into land that adjoined the Langtry farm. The agents with him were all armed with H&K MP5s and Glocks. The night vision monocular they wore gave them a bug-like appearance.

  The team’s objective was to infiltrate the farm and find the animals, take accurate counts, and, if possible, swarm in and ensure the animals were taken care of and loaded up to be transported to a government sanctioned redistribution point. The current president had signed the emergency powers order, which gave them the go ahead in light of the current situation. Also, along with other federal agencies, it gave them some leeway so they no longer had to ask ‘mother may I’. FEMA districts were being activated, and soon the collection of human beings would be common.

  Sullivan had all the paperwork with him because, since the sheriff had turned hostile to their intent, if his vehicle were found, it would be impounded and searched. He could not risk his written orders falling into the sheriff’s hands until there was some kind of leverage or assets in place to change the good man’s mind. He was either going to play ball with the government, or they would find a hole for him to fall in.

  “Sound off,” Sullivan said.

  “Bravo Team in place,” a voice said over the radio, sent to his helmet.

  “Alpha in place. Ready to breach on your word,” another said.