Immortality (27 page)

The warriors of our county, thought Mark, the protectors of our moral decline – so innocent and so lethal. They would go where they were told and do whatever was asked of them. Too bad the morality of the world’s leaders was not worthy of the trust and sacrifice of these young men and women. Too many leaders were obsessed with gaining power and money. So much energy was squandered inventing better ways of slaughtering each other just to steal the other’s shiny beads and women and oil. What had mankind given the world? Hydrogen bombs, exotic chemical agents, and anthrax letters... Humanity was a mess! We kill off a new species every day and replace their habitat with life sustaining concrete. Perhaps we had indeed earned our well-deserved extinction. The universe would be a better place without us. Mark felt like he was poison to himself. How ironic that the tool of god bringing this prophesied ruin had turned out to be a lowly microbe.

Mark’s throat felt dry. He got out his bottle of vodka. He could almost taste the warmth. Kathy touched his arm as he started to raise the bottle to his lips. He stared at her. He looked directly into her eyes. He noticed for the first time they were brown. Her gaze was unblinking and strong. Her touch was light. He suppressed a powerful urge to kiss her and then felt disgusted with himself. Gracy could be dying somewhere alone.

“We’re going to be there in a few hours,” said Kathy. “You’re not going to be any good to your family if you’re drunk.”

Mark took a swig of vodka anyway. He struggled a little to hold it down in his stomach. The liquid had been his only lunch.

“Thank you for all the concern,” he said. “Now, butt out.”

Kathy seemed unfazed. Mark felt a heat on his face.

“I’ve arranged for a helicopter at Camp Pendleton,” said Kathy. “I was told the roads are solid traffic jams. The helo pilot has clearance to fly anywhere we want. I’ve had your home address and your ex-wife’s address radioed to him.”

Mark stuffed the bottle into his pocket. He felt sick. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to compose himself. She was trying very hard to help him. Why was he fighting her?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be so defensive. I’m grateful for all the strings you’re pulling. Don’t think for a moment that I didn’t hear Green taking his pound of flesh. He didn’t want you going to L.A. before the military had complete control and he sure didn’t want you taking me.”

“It’ll work out,” she said. “Carl can be a little too careful at times. I need to investigate and that can’t be done by remote control. If I’m going to understand what’s happening, I need to see this killer up close and personal.”

“Investigations, huh...” he said. “And none of this had anything to do with helping me?”

Kathy smiled. She looked good with that smile instead of the clinical intensity that at times seemed to be a natural part of her being. Mark was convinced the emotional detachment she so often displayed was the very tool that allowed her to successfully wrestle death to the mat. He envied her resolve. At this moment, he had no idea where that kind of strength came from.

~

Mark walked outside alone. The rollup door of the aircraft hanger was large enough to drive a commercial jet through. The sun was directly overhead. He was wearing the red colored NBC suit that both he and Kathy had been issued. He’d been told the suits were lighter weight next generation military gear. The suit didn’t seem very light. Following instructions, he’d left the hood and gasmask off. Even though the temperature was sixty degrees outside, the suit was already causing him to sweat. Kathy walked outside to join him and together they started off across the airfield. Their pilot greeted them at the helicopter, a huge red and white Coast Guard bird normally used for sea rescue missions. The pilot also wore a red NBC suit with his mask off. The helicopter’s markings were unusual and included a large red triangle inside a red circle. The same markings were also on the hanger.

Inside the cabin were more passengers. The door slid shut on rails. The jet engine’s whine grew to painful levels as the overhead blades started to whoosh. The noise was deafening even before takeoff. A Marine Sergeant helped Mark and Kathy get into the rest of their gear. First came a pair of noise canceling headphones. A microphone jack was plugged into Mark’s gasmask; then, both the microphone and headphones were plugged to a radio clipped to his belt. Despite the din, with the headphones on he was able to hear again. The masks had clear stick-on labels with a barcode, plus name and rank, affixed to the top of the faceplate. Mark’s had his last name and the words ‘Civilian-Scientist.’

Abruptly, the vehicle lifted into the air. The sensation was eerie, and felt as if some levitation field was working on them. Mark’s ears popped. He glanced out the window and saw the ground shrinking beneath him at a surprising rate. The view gave him a sense of vertigo more powerful than anything he could have imagined. The pilot’s voice came over the wireless intercom.

“I’ve just been given clearance to throttle up to full cruising speed. For you ground-grunts that’s about a hundred and ninety-five miles per hour. We should be at the Santa Monica LZ in about thirty minutes. Enjoy the ride.”

The Marine Sergeant continued his instructions to Mark and Kathy. He showed them how to pull up the drawstring hood and seal it firmly around the gasmask with a kind of peel and stick adhesive. He explained how to monitor the operation of the air filtration gear and suit pressure.

“There’s a blower inside the filter pack on the back of the suit. It’s not just there to supply you with clean air. It’s there to keep the suit over-pressurized in case of an accident. If your suit has a small rupture, you’ll have plenty of time to repair the damage before the positive pressure is lost and outside air gets in. If the rupture is large, then you’re screwed. This NBC rig is as advanced as it gets, but it can’t work miracles.”

“So, Sergeant,” asked Mark, “What happens if this marvel of engineering fails and some polluted L.A. air gets to me?”

“Well, then you get to stay with the rest of the Angelinos for the duration. Tent-city-time. Standing orders are: no one who’s exposed leaves the zone in a vertical state of being.”

The ride was surprisingly smooth. Mark had expected some kind of up and down shimming from the lift of the rotor blades. He gazed out at the landscape. He guessed their altitude was about a mile up. The terrain looked like a huge patchwork quilt of urban construction. Army Blackhawk helos crisscrossed the air below them as if following a master plan. In the distance, he could see columns of smoke rising from Los Angeles. The apocalypse had come home. He sensed pockets of death as they passed over them. He closed his eyes and felt in the cavity of his body horrible voids growing and then receding. The voids were scattered across the landscape like blotches of winter cold amid the warm sun. He’d read reports that the plague had hopped across the basin like a killer tornado. There seemed to be clear dividing lines where people had survived or died. The pattern was difficult to explain, but there was actually more uninfected area inside the zone than infected.

The helo took up a northerly course following the San Diego Freeway. Mark began to recognize the terrain. Cars were bottled up on the roadway. Exits were blocked. Most of the vehicles looked abandoned. Mark wondered how many of them held decaying corpses. The world’s largest road system had turned into a mausoleum.

After reaching the halfway point, Mark began to relax and almost tolerate the ride. The downtown buildings of Los Angeles grew in detail. What had been at first fuzzy needles in the horizon, were now discernable buildings. He noticed the highways were clear up ahead, then, saw the reason: a formation of Army tanks fitted with oversized bulldozer blades. He watched tiny colored squares – Mercedes and Chevies – being crumbled together into drifts of metal. The helo was losing altitude. Soon they were skimming buildings and trees at no more than a few hundred feet. Their speed, previously masked by altitude, was now unnerving. They whisked over a ring of camouflaged Army trunks. A dozen bonfires raged in the center. This was the source of one of the columns of smoke he’d seen. Men in red NBC suits were carrying stretchers toward the flames.

Mark tried to blot the image from his mind. An afterglow from the fire remained in his retinas. He tried to think about all the things he and his daughter had done together – the zoo, the beach – there would be more in the future. There had to be. He saw the Pacific coastline growing and, with it, his anxiety. The buildings and concrete of Santa Monica ended abruptly at a blue ocean. He could pick out the street his family lived on. The helo pitched backward in the air as it decelerated to a hover. Below them was a Von’s Supermarket. The parking lot had been converted into a helipad. They descended and touched down with a jolt.

It felt good to be standing on the solid ground. Mark turned to help Kathy from the open hatch. Her knee had been bothering her. She stumbled a little and ended up against his chest. He almost lost his balance with her. Their faces were pressed together with plastic visors separating them. He could only see her eyes and the upper half of her cheeks. The rest of her face was hidden behind parts of the gasmask, but her eyes managed to communicate a deep feeling of unease. She took a step back.

A man’s voice came over the intercom headphones. Mark had difficulty figuring out which direction to look.

“Freedman and Morrison,” said the disembodied voice, “behind you.”

Mark turned and saw a man in a red NBC suit. The faceplate’s label had the abbreviation for a Navy Lieutenant and the last name of Peters.

“Please follow me. I’ve arranged for a driver and vehicle.”

The Humvee had gotten them to within a few blocks of his old house. The road was blocked with an overturned Federal Express truck. The back was opened like a huge wound. Torn open packages were scattered across the road. Their driver stopped the Humvee. Mark opened the door with his gloved hand. He started walking and then was soon running down the street. He heard Kathy calling for him to wait over the radio intercom. He couldn’t stop himself, he began running faster.

At the corner he glanced back to see if she was behind him. She wasn’t trying to keep up but was following. There was a noticeable limp on her right side. He heard the driver saying something over the radio but ignored it. He was running again. His rubberized boots landed on the pavement with a slapping sound. The suit was difficult to move in. It was almost like the material was tugging back at his limbs.

Mark stopped running in front of his old house. He was drenched with sweat. Julie’s car wasn’t in the driveway. He hesitated at the front door. A trellis of ivy fluttered in a silent unfelt breeze. The suit cut off all sound and sensation from outside. Memories washed over him. His breath was returning to normal. A drizzle of perspiration ran down his face. He couldn’t reach inside the visor to wipe it away. A vague aching began in his temples as he turned the doorknob. The door was unlocked but shouldn’t have been. The door swung in, revealing a growing view. The room looked normal. He’d expected mayhem. He walked inside. His eyes were searching for signs of life. Nothing had been disturbed, but there was a building sense of desolation. This was a house of ghosts. He knew deep in a hidden part of his heart they were dead. In the kitchen there was a half empty cup of coffee in the sink. On the rim was an imprint of red lipstick. He touched the stain with a gloved finger accidentally smearing it. Tears welled up in his eyes. He smeared the remainder of the imprint away with his thumb. She was gone.

“They’re not here,” he said over the intercom.

Minutes later, Mark was running along the block yelling hello and banging on every door he passed. No one answered. He was at the end of the street. Someone had to know what had happened to his family. He needed to find out. Not knowing was sending him into a panic. Across the street at a house where he’d knocked, he saw a young couple staring at him through a front window. He crossed and knocked on their door again. When they didn’t answer, he went to the window. They continued staring at him through the glass.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he yelled. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

They stared right through him as if he wasn’t there. Mark then noticed the young man was holding a handgun at his side. The weapon was pointed at the ground. Mark went back to the door and started pounding with his fists. His vision burned with their image. What was wrong with these people? He took a step back to kick the door in. Someone touched his shoulder. He spun around. Kathy had caught up with him. She picked up his gloved hands and examined them, turning them over. Mark looked at his hands at the same time. Across the heels were smears of green paint from the door, but nothing was ripped open.

“Maybe Julie and Mary were evacuated?” she said. “We should look for them at the shelters.”

Mark stared at the people in the window.

“They can’t hear you,” said Kathy. “No intercom.”

Mark untangled himself from her hands and walked away. He was surprised at the violence that had been inside him. What would he have done once he’d gotten in that house? Would he have tried to beat an answer from them? For the first time, he noticed the burnt hulk of a car that was sprawled across the sidewalk. He must have walked around it on his rampage down the block. How could he have missed it? Kathy was keeping pace next to him as he headed back toward his old home. A lone seagull drifted in the air.

“I don’t think they were evacuated,” he said.

“What makes you say that?”

“My gut. I know they ended up in one of those bonfires.”

“Stop it! They could be at a refugee shelter or with friends. They could be anywhere.”

“Mary’s room still had all her toys. Nothing was packed. Her favorite dolls were scattered on the bed. It was like they’d be coming home at any moment, but I know they’re not.”

“You don’t know that,” said Kathy.

“The front door was unlocked. Julie would never leave the house like that.”