Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending (28 page)

“Rural rescue vehicle. It’s kind of like a cross
between an ambulance and a Humvee, with a little bit of pickup truck thrown in
as well. You’ve seen them before.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know they were called RRV’s.”

“Repeat, Mr. Coleman. We are fully staffed. How many
personnel are at the marina?”

“Lieutenant King, we are currently sheltering over
twenty civilians, but are rapidly running out of resources. We have been able
to repel several incursions so far, but our main light source is not
functioning. Do you have enough personnel to keep your searchlight running
while we do a face to face?”

“Affirmative.”

“Come to the side door. I’ll wait for you.”

“10-4.”

“Stay down until he gets to the door. I’ll call you
once I’m sure that everything is on the up and up. I imagine there’s a lot of
itchy trigger fingers out there, mine included.”

Michelle hefted her Glock, “Be safe.”

“Always.”

“Yeah, right.”

A few moments later, a pair of men crunched across the
gravel toward Eric, now standing at the side door of the marina. They were both
wearing what appeared to be the standard protective gear of fire and rescue
personnel, and both were armed. Black rifles on single point slings were held
ready as they closed the distance. From behind, the searchlight scoured back
and forth across the area. A dozen paces away the men stopped. Both were
average height, but the man on the left was built fairly thick, and sported a
dark brown beard and mustache. The clean shaven man shifted his rifle to one
hand, and shined the light of a heavy flashlight toward Eric, noting the
patches and insignia on his duty jacket.

“Why didn’t you mention that you were a law
enforcement officer, Mr. Coleman?”

“Does it matter?”

“It might have sped things up, you know, in the trust
department.”

“You’d have taken the word of someone over the radio
without meeting them first? Maybe I just shot the real Officer Coleman and stole
his clothes.”

The clean shaven man ran his eyes from top to bottom
over Eric. “In that case, you’re the worst shot in the world, ‘cause there
ain’t any holes in them clothes.”

Eric smiled and extended his hand, “WCO Eric Coleman.”
The clean shaven man stepped forward and shook hands. “Lieutenant Wayne King,
Richland Fire and Rescue.” He jerked his head to the right as the bearded man
moved up. “This is Ray Ingram, one of our paramedics.”

The man grunted and shook Eric’s offered hand, but
said nothing.

Somewhere inside Eric’s gut, a little alarm sounded.
He held on to the paramedics hand for another awkward moment as he studied his
face.

“Do I know you?”

“You gave me a citation a few years back.” The voice
was not friendly.

“What did I ticket you for?”

“Like you said, does it matter?”

Eric waited for a moment as he considered, “No, I
think we all have bigger problems right now.” Turning back to face Lieutenant
King, he said loudly, “Officer Owens, will you join us?”

Both firemen swiveled as Michelle stood and
approached. Introductions were made, and then Eric was handed back the Fish and
Wildlife radio.

“We have our own radios, and speaking of which,” he
drew a compact walkie-talkie from underneath his coat, “I need to let my guys
know what to do with the light. Any suggestions?”

Eric nodded, “We have shooters on rooftops and at
ground level. So far, all of the attacks have come from that direction.” He
pointed towards the lake and the road east. “So I would focus your light that
way, but it would also be good if they took an occasional look/see around the
parking lot. None of my guys are roving, so if something’s moving, it’s
unfriendly.”

“Unfriendly, huh? That’s a nice way to put it.” A few
moments of radio chatter jumped back and forth between the firemen, and then
the searchlight swiveled towards the lake. Lieutenant King squared to face
Eric. “I don’t suppose you have any bottled water to spare, do you?”

Eric shook his head. “No, but the water we’ve been
drinking from the faucet is clean. You’re welcome to use that.”

“Water is how this disease is spreading,” the
lieutenant answered.

Eric squinted his eyes for a moment of reflection.
“That doesn’t really make sense.”

The firemen shrugged his shoulders, “It’s what they’ve
said on the radio.”

“I heard the ‘boil water’ announcement, and maybe
water is one source of contamination, but I can promise you that the water here
is safe.”

“Maybe . . .,” the lieutenant’s voice trailed off in
doubt, “but for now, I’m going to stick with the bottled stuff until it runs
out. I won’t have long to wait,” he added with a scowl.

“Why are you here?” Michelle interjected.

“Ma’am . . . Officer Owens,” he nodded his head toward
Michelle, “we’re trying to get the word out about the shelter in Richland. The
highway both north and south of Richland is empty—at least once you get past
the local gridlock of abandoned cars. Of course, further on up toward the
border is supposed to be a nightmare traffic jam. The same thing down around
Devil’s Lake. That left us with the east and west. Richland itself,” he paused
and shook his head, “is lost. Everywhere you go you run into those things.”

“Then why are you trying to get the word out about a
shelter?”

The paramedic cut in, both vocally and physically as
he stepped in front of Lieutenant King. “Not all of Richland is lost. We’ve got
several hundred people in a secure site, and there’s room for a lot more. Some
of us,” his eyes unmistakably slid toward the lieutenant, “are unwilling to
pull together and make a stand.”

“And some of us,” the lieutenant shot back, “are
letting a little bit of power go to their heads, Ray.”

“The council voted to put me in charge of the
collection effort. You’re just a driver, Wayne.” His voice was a mix of
condescension and disgust as he continued, “Just remember that I’m the one who
saved your wife and kid from that pack of creeps.”

“I don’t imagine I’ll ever forget, especially with you
bringing it up every five seconds.”

Eric watched the two of them exchange glances for
another moment before the lieutenant sighed and motioned a hand toward the
bearded paramedic. “Officer Coleman, Officer Owens, Mr. Ingram is in charge.”

The paramedic nodded briskly, and then looked at Eric,
“Can we go inside now?”

Eric locked eyes with the man for a long ‘three count’
before stepping aside. “After you.”

They escorted the two visitors into the store, and
were immediately surrounded by pushing, shoving, and shouting people. It took
several minutes to get the refugees from the campground settled and listening.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Wayne King
from Richland Fire and Rescue, and this is Ray Ingram, a paramedic, also from
Richland, and currently, I guess ‘in charge’ of the shelter they have there.”
Eric nodded at both men and then stepped to the side.

The bearded paramedic wasted no time. “The surviving
members of the Richland City Council have put me in charge of rescue operations
as they pertain to shelter ‘Yellow.’”

“To what?”

“Shelter Yellow is what we’re calling the defensible
location that any civilians from Richland and the surrounding areas are
encouraged to seek safety within. It’s called that because of the large, faded
yellow blast door at the entrance. As many of you know, in the decades past,
North Dakota was home to quite a few ICBM silos, and during the Cold War,
multiple shelters were built to shield residents from a perceived Soviet
counterstrike. Well, most of our missiles are gone, but a few of the shelters
are still accessible. One of those, actually three of those, are located in
Richland. The one we were able to occupy safely is shelter Yellow.”

“What happened to the other ones?” An older lady
seated in the very front spoke without raising her hand.

“We don’t know for sure. They’re located in areas of
Richland that we can’t get to . . . safely. But that doesn’t matter right now,
because shelter Yellow is safe. Currently, we have over 230 people within. That
number is a mix of civilians—mostly adults, but a few children as well—and
emergency personnel. Almost the entire surviving contingent of Richland’s
Sheriff Department is housed there, as well as several military personnel,
local police officers, and,” he nodded toward the lieutenant, “many of our fire
and rescue personnel. We also have a rather large population of medical
personnel.”

Diane stood up. “What about food and water . . . and
protection from those ghouls?” Her eyes shot a glance at Walter as she
continued, “And what about electricity . . . or is that reserved for the ruling
council?”

Ray broke out into a grin. “Ghouls? Interesting name,
although I guess it’ll work as well as anything. Back in Richland we call them
‘creeps.’” He pointed a thick finger at Diane, “Can I ask your name, miss?”

“Diane.”

He smiled as he nodded and answered. “Diane . . . and
the rest of you. Shelter Yellow is currently stocked with enough food and water
to last 850 people for six months. Now that’s assuming two meals a day per
person. I’m not going to kid you though; it’s not lobster and steak. Most of it
is freeze dried staples and canned items. It took a monumental effort to get
those items in place before everything else was lost. We don’t have 850 people
yet, and we may never get there. If not, that food will last a lot longer. The
water we’re drinking at the shelter is being triple filtered to remove the
contagion. It goes through two sets of filter material before passing through a
reverse osmosis system. There’s a Cold War era water boiler in the shelter, but
we’ve elected to not use it because of the increased demand for fuel it would
require. Now as to . . .”

He was interrupted by another person that Eric
couldn’t see from his vantage point. “So that radio announcement that said to
boil water was correct?”

“Yes. Our information is that this disease is easily
spread through contaminated water. Now, let me finish answering Diane’s
questions, and then we’ll get to yours if I haven’t covered it by then. As I
said, during the first few days—hours really—of this crisis, a few of the more
levelheaded people in Richland began preparing the shelters. I was with the
team assigned to shelter Yellow. Less than twenty-four hours into this
situation, we lost contact with our teams at shelter Green, and shelter Blue.
Since then, we’ve been unable to reestablish communications, and assume that
they’re lost. Now, that is unfortunate and I grieve for those people. However
tragic their loss may be, though, it was not without benefit for our shelter.
You see, the food, water, water purification equipment, and a few other related
supplies were being split and delivered first. The second load to be delivered
was still held at the staging area, which is very nearby the entrance to
shelter Yellow. The second load, Diane, consisted primarily of medical
equipment and weapons.” He turned a 180 degree sweep of the audience, and then
returned his gaze to Diane. “Everybody at shelter Yellow will not only be
provided with a weapon, but will be required to have one. After all, ma’am, we
want everyone to have an active part in the protection and well being of our
community.”

Michelle edged up to Eric and whispered, “He’s a
smooth talker. Word of mouth relay from Doc though . . . Callie apparently
knows him and says he’s a first class asshole. She’s trying to hide behind Mike
so he doesn’t see her.”

“My gut is telling me he’s full of crap. Or, that
there’s a whole lot more that he’s not saying—at least not yet.” They both
turned their attention back as he continued.

“Regarding electricity, there are several large
generator units built in to the shelter. We’re currently operating only one of
them, mostly due to our reduced capacity at the moment. If more people show up,
and there is a need, we can kick another unit on. We have enough fuel to run it
around the clock for about three months. Of course those three months can be
extended for a long time with reduced usage and/or additional fuel. Now don’t
get me wrong, we’re not having a disco party every night with flashing lights
and chilled wine coolers.” He stopped as the crowd broke in to chuckles at his
description. “We do, or rather are, currently running the generator several
times a day for about three hours at each run. It allows us to charge some of
the old battery banks, as well as run the dehumidifier units. The dehumidifiers
are the main power consumer, but we have to run them or the condensation builds
up too much.”

A thin man with curly—almost frizzy—light red hair
raised his hand. “I’ve got a few questions.”

“Go for it.”

“Number one, Richland is about fifty miles away,
correct?”

“Not quite. Maybe around forty or so.”

“Well, that still seems like an awful long way for you
to go searching for people to join your shelter. I think you’d have wanted to
stay closer to Richland. Am I wrong?”

Ray smiled and shook his head, “No sir, you are
entirely correct. One of the vehicles we’ve acquired for use at our shelter is
an older military style half track. I don’t know the exact model, and the cargo
hold has been welded shut, so we can’t use it to transport people or supplies.
But the front hatch still works, and she’ll start up and run. It’s also got a
.30 caliber machine gun on the roof that can be operated by remote from inside.
We’ve been using her with a two man crew to run scouting missions through
Richland. Try and understand, folks, a huge part of our problems are the
abandoned vehicles blocking almost every exit or entrance or bridge. I’m not
talking just one or two, usually it’s dozens or more. Anyhow, a day or so ago,
that crew saw a moving vehicle—an RV. Apparently they came from the campground
over at Ravenwood. We managed to guide them back to the shelter, and while they
were in quarantine, they told us that there might be others who escaped. What’s
interesting though—not to say that learning about another group of survivors is
unimportant—but that the family had accidentally found a way through the logjam
of abandoned vehicles.”

“One that you didn’t know about?”

Ray nodded, “Is anybody here actually from Richland, I
mean before all this happened?”

Nobody raised a hand that Eric could see, and he
intentionally refrained from turning to look at Callie.

“OK, how many of you are from North Dakota?”

Eric was surprised to see only nine hands raised. A
glance at the paramedic showed no surprise. Or maybe he hid it well.

“Well first off I want to say that whether you’re
originally from Richland, or North Dakota . . . or anywhere else, you’ll be
welcome at shelter Yellow. Now, without taking up too much time, because I know
we have other things to go over tonight, but on the topic of how the family
found a way through the traffic jam. Many of you, whether you live here or not,
are probably aware that North Dakota is having an oil boom. For several years
now, on the western side of North Dakota in an area they call the Bakken
formation, a lot of industry has been built around the discovery of oil. There
was a lot of money being made, and invested, in that oil. A lot of jobs developed
too. Now jump over to Richland. The city of Richland is the third largest city—population
wise—in the state of North Dakota—Bismarck and Fargo are the largest. Richland
is located a little bit south of the border with Canada. It started off as a
trading post on the fur trade route years ago, but around 1950, the railroad
built a leg through there. That leg became a branch, and that branch turned
into a major hub about twenty years ago. Today, Richland is one of the major
import/export freight points for the northern United States and Canada. It’s
basically a huge swath of land filled with industrial complexes and storage
facilities for items that are traveling by rail. The majority of what goes
through there are coal, feed grains and other agricultural or industrial
products, but there’s also a lot of other consumer related goods. U.S. Customs
has a very strong presence in Richland. Well,” he paused before continuing, “I
guess ‘had’ would be a better way to say it. Anyway, about 300 miles northeast
of the border, there happens to sit one of the newest petroleum refineries in
Canada. Conveniently owned by several of the firms that are drilling in the
Bakken formation, I might add. So, in the past few years, and especially in the
past ten or eleven months, there’s been a huge railway expansion project
happening on the west side of Richland. That is where the family found a way
through—the middle of the railway construction project.”

“Is it safe?” the curly red head added.

The paramedic paused his speech for a moment before
answering. “Have all of you been at the campground since the president’s
address when this began? I mean, has anybody experienced firsthand what’s been
happening in cities, towns, or any place with a fairly dense population base?”

A few hands went up, and Michelle recognized several
as those who spoke at the campground meeting. She kept quiet about Fort Hammer,
though.

“Ladies and gentlemen, a lot of people are dying from
this disease.” He let that sink in for a moment. “Those that are not dying from
the illness . . . well, a lot of them—of us—are being killed or injured by the
people who are infected. The creeps are everywhere in Richland, and by all
accounts that we have, everywhere else too. So is it safe? No, it’s not safe.
As far as I’m aware, there isn’t a ‘safe’ place.” His air quotes emphasized as
he spoke. “But, it’s as safe as we can make it. We also have a pretty good plan
in place on how to get you, or anybody really, safely through the construction
site. Let me restate though, shelter Yellow is a safe haven.”

Lieutenant King mumbled loud enough for most of the
audience—Eric and Michelle included—to hear. “Just ask the people hanging
outside.”

Bushy brown eyebrows furrowed down as Ray fired a look
of warning at the lieutenant. “Shelter Yellow has remained safe,” he turned
back towards the crowd, “in large part because of the precautions that we’ve
taken.”

Eric stepped forward and asked, “Mr. Ingram, what
precautions are you referring to?”

“Relatively few, but all geared toward keeping
everybody as safe as we can. For instance, like I’ve already mentioned, once
you’re admitted inside, we give you a weapon, ammunition, and instructions on
how to use it to protect yourself.”

“Once you’re admitted?”

“We can’t very well afford to let anybody who’s
infected into the shelter. But we’ve found a way to quarantine potential
residents. I’ll admit its crude. Others may disagree with our methods, but it
works, and more importantly it saves ammunition and reduces our exposure to
potential contamination.”

“Tell them what they’ll have to do to be a member of
your club, Ray.” Lieutenant King’s voice was low, but carried through the room.