There had to be more survivors and Buford worried about that. If they didn’t find them, get the word out, get them into a safe place, then earth would deal its final blow to humanity.
Site R was impressive and a perfect place for base operations for long term survival efforts.
Built into Raven Rock mountain, it was originated to be the second pentagon in case of an all out nuclear war. It wasn’t let go or redesigned. Unlike Greenbrier Bunker, Site R was constantly maintained and the food supply rotated.
It could hold more people if need be.
They arrived at Site R early afternoon. Mallory went immediately into the medical division and labs, George sat before his computer while Buford organized a six truck evacuation party to start right away, no delays.
Until it was time to go below, George told Buford he wanted to stay and work inside the main exterior building located half way up the summit. The radio transmissions were sent from there and since they were going to be under ground for months, he wanted all the fresh air he could get.
Buford didn’t blame him but told him it would get crazy when people started to arrive.
George gave him a strange look.
That was nothing new or unusual though, especially since they arrived at Site R and Buford was non stop.
Buford caught another glance from George as he spoke on the phone and prepared to leave. He returned the glance with one of irritation when George’s computer loudly beeped and squealed again.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” said Buford. “Should we? I don’t know, leave it up to the individual. We will help as best as we can if you get the individual here. Keep in mind the time frame. And yes, I appreciate that. Good look.” He hung up and winced again at the beeping. “I like that guy.”
“Who?” George asked.
“Mitch. Him and I are gonna be good post apocalypse buddies.”
George chuckled. “What’s going on?’
“They’re doing an amputation on a semi.”
“A … semi?” George asked.
“Yeah, someone that was partially exposed to the tail and partially dissolved. That’s my nickname. Chopping off the decaying, partially dissolved flesh.’
“Will that work?”
“Mallory said it would. She’s going to walk them through it. Not that she has much experience in amputation. But Mitch is gonna canvas the area looking for survivors while the amputee heals enough to travel.”
“Just make sure they allow enough time,” George said.
“I told them that.”
“Are you really going out with the teams?” George asked.
“Absolutely. I’ve always been hands on. This will be a short search day. Grab supplies while we’re out there. But I wanna get a start on it.”
“Good luck.”
“Thank you.” Buford tucked his phone in his pocket and turned toward the door. He paused when George’s computer squealed again. “Why the hell does that computer keep sounding off?”
“Sorry, it’s a simulation program. I keep putting in different figures and it keeps coming up the same.”
“Maybe you’re getting the right answer then.”
“Oh, it’s probably right,” George said. “Just not what I want to see.”
His comment caused Buford to look over at the computer screen. It was a satellite image map, a green dot in the center and half way over the image was a red grid darker on one side then the other.
“What is the program?” Buford asked.
“The effects of Olympias. Right now, I can only estimate her speed and how far she’ll be from earth. We’ll have a better idea the closer she gets.”
“So it simulates the events and damage.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ah.” Buford nodded his head. “It’s telling you seismic activity.”
“Somewhat. It will show the harder hit regions, We’re not one of them. We’ll have quakes, not as bad as some elsewhere.”
“That’s good,” Buford said.
“However, that comet is going to effect the tides … massively.”
“I would think so.”
“Yep.”
“So … um … what am I looking at?” Buford asked pointing at the screen.
“This is our area. Our mountain. That dot in the center is Site R.”
“And the red?”
“Water.”
“Excuse me?” Buford asked. “Water?"
“According to my calculations right now, the tide will roll in this far in land. Positive note it will recede … eventually.”
“Are you telling me this whole place, will most likely, at some point for some unknown length of time, be under water?”
“I’m afraid so.”
With a ‘hmm’, Buford gave a swat to George’s back. “Well, we better hope them blast doors seal then.” He grabbed his gear and headed out.
<><><><>
The vending machines hissed as it sputtered out the final remnants of the coffee. Bob grabbed the cup, blew on it, as if it would make a difference in temperature and stepped from the vending machine. “Typically I’d be drinking.” he said to Mitch.
“Why aren’t you?” Mitch asked. “You out of booze?”
“Nope, not at all. Just wanted to be sober for this. In case I’m needed.”
“Good for you.”
“Trust me I’ll get good and drunk after.” He walked over and sat next to Mitch. “So we just wait?”
“We just wait,” replied Mitch. “Mallory thinks the less people in there, the less chance of infection.”
“Let me get this straight. We have a twenty-nine year old video game store clerk performing the amputation while being walked through it by a germ doctor with no experience.”
“Yep.” Mitch nodded. “He said he did lots of amputation on videos games. And. I think he’s thirty.”
“Oh, that makes it so much better.”
“And he practiced using the surgical saw. I think he did well. He’s fast.”
“Fast.” Bob nodded. “Do I want to know how he practiced?”
Mitch shook his head.
“Didn’t think so. And Liv, she’s in there … why?”
“She volunteered. Said it was keeping her focused and she watched a lot of Grey’s Anatomy.”
“Oh my God.” Bob’s eyes widened.
“But … she sews. It’s better if you suture the wound instead of cauterizing it. Plus, it has to be done fast as well, and she says she won the speed quilting competition three years in row.”
“Is that a real thing?” Bob asked.
“She’s a farm girl.”
Bob nodded, with an ‘ah’, “Still sewing a quilt is a lot different, I would assume than sewing flesh.”
“It is. She practiced, too.”
“Same way as Ollie?” Bob asked.
“No, she practiced on Ollie.”
“I didn’t realize he was cut.”
“He wasn’t.”
Bob groaned. “Those two are serving as our closest medical professional.”
“And some.”
Bob looked at Mitch. “And some?’
“If all goes well, they'll want to work on Trent. Take both his legs from the knee down and the fingers on his left hand. He’s one of our few remaining that hasn’t chosen to die. He agreed to the surgery.”
“Anyone else? Because we have a couple …”
“Rose.”
Bob scratched his head. “Rose the older woman with both legs as well?”
Mitch nodded. “I spoke to Buford. He says as long as we can transport them, give them some healing time, it’s not a bad idea.”
“I see. This is dangerous. These people could die either here or on the way.”
“They were going to die anyhow.”
“Their lives are now in the hands of a gamer and farm girl who learned from Grey’s anatomy.”
“Did you want to do it?” Mitch asked.
“No, absolutely not.”
“We wait.” Bob set down his coffee and stood.
“Where are you going?”
“I changed my mind,” Bob said. “I want that drink. It’s going to be a long day.”
<><><><>
Ollie didn’t mean to be looking over Liv’s shoulder, but it was the only way Mallory could see. He had to get the camera close.
“You okay?” Ollie asked Liv.
“I’m fine.”
“Do you need your brow wiped?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Ollie,” Mallory said. “She’s out of focus, can you bring it out just a little, as long as we’re not in the way.”
Ollie adjusted the camera. “How’s that?”
“Excellent,” Mallory stated. “And Liv, that is a tremendous job. I didn’t see anything that good during my residency.”
“Thanks,” Liv replied. “It’s a challenge. I’m using two hands.” She pulled the sutures. “And the needle was slightly different, but it was fine once I got the hang of it. I try not to think of it as flesh. More so damp stuffing. Suction please.”
“You bet.” Ollie held the phone as he brought down the suction.
“I liken it to the Keller County Rag Doll Race,” Liv said. “Every year I entered. I never won, but you had to make a rag doll. I used the same stich.”
“You sound like you had a fun childhood,” Ollie said. “Rag dolls, quilt making. Crop dusting.”
“It was fun. And … done.” She held the suture out and grabbed the scissors.
“Nice job,” Mallory said. “You two do know how to wrap it, we went over that, right?”
Ollie swung the camera to the tray. “We have everything ready.”
“Can I see her vitals?” Mallory asked.
Ollie aimed the camera at the monitors.
“I have to tell you,” Mallory stated. “You two did an excellent job.”
“Donna helped set up the room with us,” Ollie said. “The rest was pretty easy.”
“You have the list. Check those things regularly. I know moving is vital, but not for several days. Now do you need me around for the next one?” Mallory asked.
Ollie looked at Liv. She shook her head. “Um, no, we’re good.”
“Okay, call me after the next one.”
“Will do.” Ollie ended the video call and placed down the phone. He glanced at Donna who was sleeping.
“You really think we can do it without Mallory?” Liv asked, taking off her gloves and lowering her mask.
“Oh, sure. The only thing I worry about is the anesthesia, but Donna wrote down the dosage chart. And as rough as it sounds, even if we mess that up, we’re still giving them a fighting chance.”
“True.”
“Thanks for doing this with me.”
“It’s keeping my mind busy. Losing my husband and my daughter, is like losing a part of me I’ll never get back.”
“Like them. Only theirs is physical.”
Liv nodded. “Exactly. They lost not only their limbs, they lost family too, and yet they want to keep going. Maybe by helping them do so, they may help me want to keep going as well.”
“That is a really great outlook. Positive. Mitch would be proud.”
“Mitch is an asshole.”
“You know, I don’t know him. But I can see it. Let’s get Donna situated and move on while everything is still fresh in our minds.”
Liv agreed. She took one end of the cart and helped Ollie move Donna to the area they deemed would be the recovery zone, if all went well, Donna would be one less person the comet would take from them. They moved forward to work on the next person.
18 – WHAT COULD BE
Harrisburg, PA
For decades he had served his country. One of the earliest assignments Buford had was walking alongside a military truck in the days before a major hurricane.
What he was doing now was reminiscent to him in some ways, in others it wasn’t.
For five days after they arrived at Site R, Buford got up early and went out with the trucks.
The continuous announcement of, 'you are in an evacuation area. Please make your way to the street.’ Blared over a speaker as they moved slowly street to street, looking for signs of life.
In the five days, they had found four people.
The streets were barren, no people, no animals, just a steady buzzing of flies that swarmed around the piles of decay.
Other teams had better luck. In the Midwest they rescued dozens, the USS Billings reported ten people had already shown up at the dock, even Mitch in Cleveland came across two more people that were hiding out.
Buford felt a little defeated, he expected there to be more people out there. Those not enamored or swooned by the comet.
Yet, at least in his neck of the woods, very few emerged.
So many times, Buford kept thinking about George’s dinosaur theory. How after a meteor the dinosaurs disappeared, and now the human race, sixty-five million years later doing the same … literally.
It was, without a doubt the great decimation of human life.
The zero to sixty move through the six extinction events.
Occasionally they checked out a home. Mainly because someone swore they heard or saw something.
It was always the same thing.
Those who chose to go to bed or watch TV, were partially exposed and therefore partially met their fate.
Men, women, children in beds, their bodies died in their sleep. Not a mound of thick gelled fluid like found on the street, but rather bags of skin, in the outline of their bodies, tucked beneath the sheets.
Did they feel anything?
Did they wake up?
They even checked the local prison … it was all the same.
Each one of them were a reminder that if they weren’t deep enough underground when Olympias came, the same would happen to those who survived the initial comet
Buford knew there was no way the teams could hit every area of the country in the short time frame. He only hoped the radio announcement reached those they could not.
They were just about to the end of the last street in the middle class housing community.
New homes that all looked alike, ones that probably cost a fortune, yet had no real yard. Who the hell would pay that much money for a house, without a yard, Buford wondered.
It was on that street Buford heard it over the speaker announcement.
A clanking.
It was the first noise, he himself heard, all others were reported by someone else.
He lifted his hand to halt the team.
“Anyone else hear that?” Buford asked.
“Yeah,” one of his soldiers said.
“Everyone listen close. Where’s it coming from?” Buford charged out.
The clank, not steady, struck again and once more.
“This way,” the soldier moved across the street.
Buford watched as he moved left to right, closer to one house than another, until the clank rang again.
“This one.” The soldier walked to the door.
Buford hurried to catch up. The soldier opened the door for him. While they did have weapons ready, Buford knew there was no real threat. He stepped into the foyer of the house. A stair case was center and with a hall on both sides.
“You check the rooms on the left,” Buford told the soldier. “I’ll try the ones over here.” He pointed to the sitting room on the right. One of several he guessed.
The soldier agreed and went left.
Another clank rang out.
Buford was barely in the room, when he heard the soldier call out. “General,” he said with little enthusiasm. “Please come here.”
Buford lowered his weapon and followed the sound of the soldier’s voice. Entering the dining area, he saw the solider, head down facing the kitchen.
What had he found?
Buford, for as strong as he was, wasn’t prepared.
/> The man came into view the moment Buford drew closer to the soldier.
He was on his stomach. From his waist down, everything had experienced the dissolving. The skin sacks that remained were rotted and greenish. His arms were in the same state, as well. One more so than the other.
The man was so desperate.
He scooted like an infant on his stomach, inching his way across the kitchen floor. With a wooden spoon clenched in his mouth, he pushed a silver pasta pot with his head. Moving it forward, every time he moved, then raising his head, he’d strike the pot with the spoon.
Clank.
“We’re ….” Buford’s voice cracked. “We’re here.”
The man lifted his head. Looking for the voice. The right side of his face looked melted. His right eye socket drooping down to his distorted nose. He released the spoon and when he did, his jaw dropped beyond normal capacity, exposing his bottom teeth gathered loosely in his mouth.
“Jesus, General. What do we do?” the soldier asked.
Buford moved to the man. “Can you hear me?”
The man blinked.
“Blink again son, one long time for yes.” Buford crouched down before him.
The man closed his eyes a second.
“One blink for yes, two for no. Do you want our help?”
He blinked once.
“Okay, we’ll get you some medical help.”
The man blinked twice.
“No?” Buford asked.
The man looked at Buford then his eyes moved to his weapon. He opened his mouth, trying to speak, but only a noise emerged.
“Are you sure?” Buford asked him.
The answer was one long blink.
The soldier cleared his throat. “Permission to leave, sir?”
“Permission granted,” Buford told him. “Dismissed.”
Once Buford knew the soldier had left, he pulled out his pistol and engaged it. Before doing what the man requested, Buford placed his hand on the man’s head, gently leaving it there, trying to convey compassion. The man had been there for five days. Five days he struggled, laying on that floor, waiting for someone to come.
We Who Remain Page 14
