Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending (26 page)

“You said you didn’t have enough people to protect
your property. Well there’s about thirty people sitting right here. We could
all move up to the house with you. Maybe it will be a little crowded, but you’d
have your army. What’s wrong with that?”

“Several things. First off, we have the big issue of
not enough food. Secondly, there’s not enough guns to go around . . .”

“Bullshit,” Diane cut in, “I saw that room the other
day. The whole wall had guns leaning against it.”

Walter sighed as the crowd began to argue again. “People
. . . LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! Please listen.” With a shake of his head, Walter’s
voice pushed into the crowd again. “You know, guns are like snakes. People see
a little two foot long garter snake crawling along their hedgerow, and the next
thing you know, it’s a six foot long rattlesnake that they barely escaped from.
Yes, Diane, I have several guns. Part of what I did for a living was to sell
hunting and fishing equipment. With that said, most of the guns are already out
and in service keeping you safe.” Walter pointed at Amy, Michelle, and then the
Asian man. “Shotgun . . . shotgun . . . shotgun.” He reached behind him and
hefted another, “Shotgun. Up on the roof is one of my rifles. I don’t have
enough to give everybody a weapon. I’m sorry, but that’s a fact of life that
you all have to deal with. Anyway, to get back to the original question as to
how you’ll protect yourselves down here at the shop, or if you leave . . . the
answer is I don’t know. I would be more than happy to donate those two
shotguns,” he nodded toward Amy and Mr. Lee, “but I don’t know a fair way to
determine who gets them, or gets to use them. If you can think of a way, by all
means do it, just don’t involve me. I’ve had to make enough tough decisions
already.”

As soon as the words left Walter’s mouth, most of the
crowd stood and began arguing again. Eric wanted to close his eyes and tune
everything out, but the very real possibility that another hot tempered person
would bring a gun into play kept him alert and focused on the throng. Skipping
his eyes slowly from the door guard through the crowd several times brought no
end in sight to the arguments, but also no angry guns, so Eric turned to try
and locate Walter. As he turned, he felt a small tug on his sleeve. Swiveling
back around and looking down, he saw one of the few children that had managed
to escape from the campground. The child, a sandy haired boy of about seven
looked up at him with hazel eyes set wide on his face. Curiosity and
determination painted his expression.

“Mister, my brother didn’t believe me, but the voices
changed.”

“Hey there buddy,” Eric managed a smile as he knelt
down, “what was that?”

“My brother didn’t believe me, but I heard a different
man. And then it stopped.”

“What stopped?”

The child reached into the belly pocket of the hooded
sweatshirt he wore, and pulled out a bright yellow FRS walkie-talkie.

“The radio stopped working?” Eric asked.

The boy nodded.

“What did you say about the voices?”

“They changed,” he yawned sleepily.

“What do you mean? What voices are you talking about?”

The child looked up at Eric with a slight measure of
disbelief that adults could be that dense before answering, “The voices. The
man speaking on the radio over and over again. The man who says, ‘You have
tuned to the emergency broadcast network. Stay tuned for important information.
You have tuned to the emergency broadcast network. Stay tuned for important
information.’” The boy was about to repeat it for a third time, but Eric
stopped him with a raised hand.

“The voices changed? Eric asked.

This time there was no mistaking the incredulous look
on the child’s face. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“Can I see your radio?”

The boy held the stubby antenna with one hand, and
then extended the radio into Eric’s open palm.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” Eric said to the boy
as he knelt down even further. The on-off-volume knob was currently wide open,
so he turned it all the way off. After a moment he rotated it hard right,
watching the LCD screen as he did. For a split second, the alpha numeric
display flashed, but then quickly disappeared.

“I think your batteries are worn out, partner,” Eric
said.

The boy rolled his eyes skyward. “I know that. But
before they did, the voices changed.”

Eric handed the yellow radio back to the boy. “Wait
right here for a moment, OK?”

The boy nodded as his mouth opened with a second yawn.

Eric stood and turned. The crowd, still separated into
various groups of argumentative people showed no indication of settling in the
immediate future. Ignoring them for a moment, Eric slid around one group and
between two more before he stopped at the folding table. Less than five seconds
later he had secured the GMRS radio and return to the boy’s side.

“Let’s just see what we’ve got here. This radio,” he
held the camouflage walkie-talkie out toward the boy, “is kind of like yours.”
Eric nodded toward the one in the child’s grasp.

“Until you drop it in the weeds.”

Eric paused as the boy’s large, hazel eyes locked onto
his. “What do you mean?”

Another eye roll decorated the young man’s face as he
answered, “If you drop that,” he pointed a finger at the camouflage radio,
“you’ll never find it again.”

Eric looked at the bright yellow radio in the child’s
hand and began to chuckle. “You’re absolutely right. Maybe we should make
everything bright yellow so we’d never lose anything.”

The boy rubbed his eyes but said nothing.

Holding the monitor button for three seconds unlocked
that setting, and Eric keyed the transmit switch.

“Attention crow’s nest and house. This is Eric. I just
want to let you know we’re going off monitor to check something for a minute,
OK?

Both locations replied in the affirmative.

A glimpse at the front panel of the walkie-talkie located
the channel keys, and his thumb mashed down the selector switch. Several dozen
changes produced nothing but static.

The boy watched Eric fumble through the channels
before giving an exasperated sigh.

“Do you remember what channel the voices came from?”
Eric asked.

With a silent nod, he held the yellow radio in his
palm. A moment later, the index finger of his opposite hand pointed towards a
black button just below the LCD screen. It was the hot key for the weather
channel.

Eric’s eyes darted to the camouflage radio, and in
less than a second he found a similar button.

“OK, let’s try this one.”

As soon as he pressed the shortcut to the weather
broadcast, a low voice issued from the speaker.

“See, I told you.”

He nodded at the boy with a smile and tousled his
hair. “You sure did. What’s your name, young man?”

“Benjamin Bishop.” After another yawn, he added, “My
mom and brother call me BB.”

“Is your mom here?” Eric asked with a bit of
trepidation considering the possible answer.

The boy nodded his head and pointed to a dark haired
lady seated on the floor near the inside corner of the ‘L’ shaped building. She
was leaning forward, cradling her head in her hands. Resting maybe . . .
praying . . . it was hard to tell.

Turning back to the radio, he adjusted the volume
slightly upwards and held it next to his ear. Three minutes of listening
confirmed what BB had said, and also brought a mixture of dread and resignation
to Eric.

Muting the radio, he patted the young man on the
shoulder. “Good job, BB.”

The bare beginnings of a smile broke across the young
man’s face as he turned and walked away.

Eric turned the volume just high enough that he could
listen again to the message, and then he stood up and walked over to Michelle.

“Whistle.”

“Huh?”

“That unearthly, piercing, shrill that you can make
with two fingers and your lips . . . make it please.”

Michelle looked at him for a moment and then shrugged.
A second later, the intense blast of a high pitched whistle shot through the
room. All eyes turned their way, and in the momentary gift of silence, Eric
held up the radio.

“Something just came over the radio, and you’re all
going to want to hear this.”

Immediately, the crowd gravitated toward Eric. A
myriad of expressions painted on their faces showed everything from hope, to
curiosity, to fear.

“One of our young men,” he indicated the sandy haired
child who now sat against the wall next to his mother, “discovered this.”

Behind Eric, Walter and Sam pressed in close. A glance
to the right showed that even Doc and Callie had set aside whatever they were
working on and were now focused his direction.

He held the radio above his head and twisted the
volume knob all the way up.

“…ency broadcast system has been activated. The
following is an urgent message from the Federal Emergency Management Agency.
The United States and other countries worldwide are experiencing a severe
outbreak of encephalitis. This outbreak has continued to spread despite control
measures. Martial law has been declared in all major cities, and citizens are
urged to stay inside. Symptoms of infection are high fever, erratic behavior,
and a change in skin coloration. Do not attempt to approach an infected person.
Remain indoors, and avoid contact with potential carriers until further notice.
If you must evacuate your home, proceed to a local shelter facility. Once
again, an outbreak of highly contagious encephalitis is spreading throughout
several countries, including the United States. All emergency and crisis
management personnel are required to report to the nearest FEMA location for
assignment. A boil water order has been issued for all areas. BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.
The emergency broadcast system has been activated. The following is an urgent
message . . .”

He let it play through three more times before turning
the radio off. Immediately, the room descended once again into commotion.

Walter nudged both him and Michelle simultaneously.
“Do you believe that?”

They exchanged glances and questioning looks as Sam
and Doc Collins joined their huddle.

“Hey Doc, what do you think?”

“Encephalitis normally causes fever and brain
swelling, which could account for the behavioral changes, but if you’re asking
for my medical opinion on what we just heard, I’d say it’s an attempt to shove
a big, fat cookie of pacification into our mouths. Besides, our young student
nurse over there,” he indicated toward Callie, “has discovered something very,
VERY interesting.”

“What?” Michelle and Walter asked in stereo.

“For now,” Doc replied, “I’m going to keep it to
myself while I do a bit more thinking. Let’s just say that she’s discovered a
statistical impossibility.” With that he turned and walked back to where Callie
was fiddling with the touch screen of her tablet.

“Great, more puzzles,” Sam cracked.

Walter buried his face in his hands. “I wasn’t done
reading my list yet,” he spoke through his palms in a muffled, tired groan.

Eric turned the walkie-talkie back to monitor, and
then called Thompson and Bernice on the Fish and Wildlife radio to let them know
about the broadcast. He had no sooner hooked the radio back on his belt when
Scott’s voice came over.