Influenza: Viral Virulence (27 page)

Chapter 29

“I don’t see
an alternative,” Michael said.

They were back at Michael’s house, sitting at the kitchen table after sleeping late the next morning.

Sandy had been upset when they had left her at the house for their first recon of the bridge. She had been doubly upset when they had come home so late without feeding her dinner. If she could talk, she would have scolded them both. As it was, she ran around them in circles, barking and wagging her tail.

Now, both were looking over the maps that Michael’s parents had left for them.

“Either we find a way to get across that bridge, or we’ll have to find another bridge. And I don’t have any maps that extend farther than this area,” Michael said, shuffling through the various maps. “These are all for our journey south along I-75.”

“But there’s no way we can get across that bridge. They have too many people. You saw what they’ll do to us if we get caught.”

Michael gathered the various maps back into one pile. “I don’t have any answers right now. Let me cook it in my head for a while. Maybe something will pop out.”

Then, much to Sandy’s disappointment, they left her to guard the empty house once again, and they drove to the armory. Except this time, instead of stopping at the front gate, Michael followed Zach’s directions and got on the gravel road that went around the perimeter of the complex. Once behind the armory, the road veered away, and they followed it until it ended at the firing range, which was no more than an empty field with a hill to catch the bullets. Michael wondered how many bullets were buried in that hill. It looked ravaged from years of use. Only scrub brush had managed to root in the soil. He imagined that the amount of lead in the ground would probably make a metal detector go crazy.

Not having any paper targets, Michael was able to scrounge up some cardboard from old, discarded boxes. He tied the cardboard to some metal posts about one hundred yards down the range. Using a black marker, he tried to draw concentric circles on the cardboard. Finished, he stepped back to evaluate his handiwork. They looked like messy, oblong ovals, but it was good enough for their purposes.

Returning to Lorie, he picked up his .308 rifle and got down in a prone position. The first thing he wanted to do was zero in the scope. Resting the long barrel on some sandbags, he placed more sandbags to steady the stock. He chambered a bullet and centered his makeshift target in the crosshairs. All at once, he thought of the tall, bald man and how he’d had him in his sights. Michael fired. His bullet hole was to the left and high. No wonder he had missed before. His shot had traveled harmlessly over everyone’s heads.

He twisted the two dials on the scope and tried again. The elevation seemed to be okay, but now he was firing to the right. He had turned one of the dials a tad too much. Making a slight adjustment, he fired again. After a few more shots and tweaks on the scope, he was satisfied with the results.

He switched over to the 9mm pistols. He explained again the proper use of the semiautomatics with Lorie, and she shot a few rounds downrange, until she felt comfortable loading and firing the handgun. Then he opened the cases that contained the FN SCARs.

Although his father had trained him on the family’s AR-15, the SCAR was a very different assault rifle. Both he and Lorie went over the weapon together, trying to figure out what each lever and each button did. It was a slow process, but it was vital to learn if they wanted to use the rifle effectively.

The safety switch was the first easily recognizable element, since the switch was marked with a capital S. But there were two settings, a 1 and a large letter A. They only discovered what they meant after they started firing live rounds. The 1 was the semiautomatic setting, while the A meant fully automatic. They both agreed they would primarily use the semiautomatic mode to conserve ammunition. Only in an emergency would they use the bullet-eating, fully automatic mode.

They loaded the magazines with cartridges from the ammunition boxes Zach had generously given them, and then practiced loading and removing the magazine from the gun. Like the AR-15, Michael figured out how to pull the charging lever backward and then forward to fully lock the bolt and chamber the round. It took him a long time to figure out that he had to press the lower portion of the bolt catch while he was moving the lever. He and Lorie had to practice more than a few times before they felt reasonably assured they could do it.

Finally, they each adjusted the butt stock to rest comfortably against their shoulders. Since Lorie’s arm reach was shorter than Michael’s, she had to change her length for a shorter stock. Then, familiar with the mechanics of the SCAR, they finally got to fire the rifle at the makeshift cardboard targets.

To Michael’s surprise, the recoil of the SCAR was almost nonexistent. The gun was nice to handle and easy to fire. He had to restrain himself from using too much ammo. After they were done, they both reloaded the magazines with bullets. He made sure that both rifles were set on the safe position before they placed their guns in the truck.

Lorie didn’t shy away from the firearms. Quite the opposite, she seemed to embrace the idea that she would have to use them. In her mind, she had come to terms with the fact that the world was a dangerous deadly place now and that it would be necessary for her to use firearms to survive. Michael knew that finding her parents dead had been a life-altering event. Who could blame her? It had forced her to face the reality of life and death. The attack at the house was the straw that broke the camel’s back. With a newfound purpose and motivation, Lorie was doing very well at the firing range and was fairly accurate at hitting the cardboard target.

Getting ready to leave, Michael and Lorie noticed a figure that had been watching them on the other side of the armory fence. They didn’t know how long he had been standing there observing them. Leaving their firearms behind in the truck, they walked up to the fence to talk with Zach.

“Hello again,” Michael called, raising his hand in greeting as they approached the fence.

“Hi,” Zach responded, friendly. “Looks like you two are doing okay,” he said, nodding toward the direction of the firing range.

“These are some nice rifles that you gave us,” Michael agreed.

“Military-grade FN-SCARs. Some of the best available. Oh, by the way, you’ll be happy to hear that I got in touch with the Kentucky National Guard. The communications officer said he’ll pass your message on down south, and hopefully it’ll reach your parents.”

“Thanks a lot,” Michael said. “My mom and dad will be so relieved when they get word that we’re still alive.”

“We went down to the bridge last night,” Lorie said suddenly, breaking the happy moment.

“You did?” Zach sounded shocked.

“They hung a couple up on ropes and burned them alive,” Lorie reported with disgust.

“Some tall, bald guy seemed to be leading the group,” Michael added.

“Yeah, that’s Krank, or ‘King Krank’ or ‘Krank King’ or whatever he goes by,” Zach said. “He’s the nut job that runs the group.”

“What’s his story?” Lorie asked.

“Well, from what I gathered from the Kentucky National Guard—and a few former gang members who successfully escaped across the bridge before he shut it down—Krank used to be a halfway decent car salesman who got hooked on snorting coke. Then, one thing led to another and he started messing with the really hard stuff, crystal meth. Hence, the name, Krank.

“The meth started short-circuiting his brain, and he lost his wife and his job. Then, one day he just went on a violent killing spree. Shooting and hacking most of his coworkers to death, he was finally taken down by the police. After a brief trial, he was convicted and hauled off to jail. You’d think that would have been the end of him. But apparently, he was so crazy nuts that no one dared mess with him. In fact, other criminals in the cell block started following him like some sort of cult leader. As his popularity among the prisoners spread, even the guards became afraid of him.

“After the virus hit the city, instead of rotting away where he belonged, his little group managed to escape. Of course, with the power out and the guards gone, they were probably able to just walk out the front door. Since then, they’ve been leaving bodies in their wake everywhere they go. The worst thing about Krank is that not only is he nuts and brutally violent, but he’s also extremely intelligent. That makes him ultra dangerous.”

“How did Krank and his group survive out on the streets?” Michael asked.

“I told you Krank is smart. He organized his little prison cult and started taking over the streets of downtown by brute force. Expanding their territory, his people eventually ran into other gangs. Then, he’d give them one of two options. Either they could join his group under his iron rule or they would be wiped out. Most gangs had already been decimated by the flu virus and were weak. They had little choice. It seemed that they actually welcomed someone who had a clear direction and a plan.”

“How could this Krank unite rival gangs?” Michael wondered.

“He controls people by his evil cruelty. He’s so violent that any deviation from his commandments is met immediately with brutal unforgiving wrath. He doesn’t just kill people; he makes them suffer so badly that they beg him to kill them. He is so demonic that the other members don’t dare to disobey him.”

“So this evil dictator not only has a completely loyal cult following, but he also has weapons, operational vehicles, and an unlimited supply of fuel,” Lorie commented.

“You’ve seen his station? Yes, I suppose you would have,” Zach said. “Like I said before, Krank is organized. He sends his people in groups to scavenge. They find trucks on the roads and drive them back to their compound. They’ve gathered all the food and gasoline trucks in the area. I have to commend him for the ingenuity of that. He is smart. I wish the National Guard had thought of it first.

“And with unlimited access to all the downtown pharmacies loaded with pseudoephedrine and other necessary ingredients, they’ve built their own meth lab. It’s operating day and night producing that crap. They keep themselves well supplied with meth and have no worries about their operation being shut down. The DEA is no longer in existence.”

“How could he have people who know how to do all of these things?” Michael asked.

“Krank has collected a wide variety of people with various skills, and they’re all under his control. He has chemists, drug dealers, truck drivers, hunters, trackers…you name it. Like I said, he’s smart.”

“Why did Krank have to burn those people alive?” Lorie asked with a slight shudder.

“Those were probably just some people who were trying to hide. Wrong place, wrong time,” Zach responded. “They like to hang their victims from the bridge. They burn them for the Kentucky National Guard to see. I think Krank is trying to demoralize the Guard by making such a public display. I’m sure the men in the Guard can see it. It must be awful for them to see what’s happening and not be able to do anything about it…they’d just be sacrificing themselves.”

“This Krank guy is so evil,” Lorie said. “I wish the flu had taken him out!”

“You and me both. It seems as if more of the bad people survived the infection than decent people,” Michael agreed. “It’s like they’re so terrible that even the virus was afraid of them. I know that’s not true, but that’s just the way it seems to me right now.”

Zach shook his head. “These times require a change in the way we think and the way we survive. Those who can make the adjustment quickly can pick up a gun and try to fight back. Unfortunately, it seems that most of our society was too idealistic about human morals and just couldn’t make the necessary changes. And most have paid dearly for not being able to alter to a warrior and survival mind-set.”

“Are we bad people for just trying to defend ourselves?” Lorie wondered. “Just because we may have to shoot a bad guy doesn’t mean that we’re becoming uncivilized or…spiraling down into moral decay, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Zach agreed from behind the fence. “You have a right to protect your life and the lives of others.”

“I’m not concerned about things that are black and white,” Michael said. “If someone is shooting at us or looks like they want to cause us harm, then I have no problem in shooting back with lethal force. It’s the gray areas that worry me. That’s when the decisions of present-day morality come up.”

“Like what?” Lorie said, turning to Michael.

“Well, like what if we run across another armed group? How do we determine whether they are good or bad? What if they haven’t killed anyone, but maybe they’ve stolen food from someone else just to survive? I mean, where do you draw the line? How can we think that we deserve to be judge and jury of other people? Maybe, because we’ve killed other people, we’re just as bad as the ‘bad’ guys,” Michael said. The question of that moral line location was spinning around in his head.

“The way I see it,” Lorie said, reaching for Michael’s hand, “we are the ‘good guys’ as far as I can see. We only defend ourselves. You never went out to purposely attack or steal from anyone. As far as the other things that you brought up, we’ll have to judge each situation as it comes up, and we’ll have to trust that we make good decisions.”

“Sounds like great advice,” Zach said, nodding to Lorie. “Looks like you have a keeper there,” he said to Michael, pointing his thumb at Lorie.

“Yeah,” Michael agreed. “She is very special.”

Chapter 30

Later that evening,
Michael and Lorie went back to the house. Using the twilight hours to their advantage, they took the opportunity to top off their gasoline supply by raiding neighborhood cars.

As Michael was siphoning gas and Lorie was keeping watch with her new FN SCAR, she thought about the days ahead. Looking thoughtfully at the number of cars parked in driveways up and down the street, she mused, “With all these cars abandoned, we have an unlimited supply of gas for years and years to come.”

“I wish,” Michael said, screwing the gas cap back on.

“What do you mean?” Lorie asked. “There’s gas everywhere.”

“Gas, in unprotected containers, is only good for about three to six months. It really depends on temperature fluctuation. So, I figure we got about six months maximum before we start having problems with bad gas.”

“But how does gas go bad?”

“It oxidizes over time, creating deposits and impurities. Also, water condensation gets into it and starts ruining it,” Michael said. He picked up the gasoline cans, one in each hand, and started to walk back to the house. “But there are products out there that help, like stabilizers. We can use those. I think stabilizers can increase the time to a year or more.”

“Well, hopefully, we’ll be at our destination way before then.”

Finally, with a full tank plus extra storedv in cans, Michael sat down at the kitchen table and resumed studying the maps of downtown Cincinnati. No matter how hard or long he stared at the maps, he couldn’t find another way across the Ohio River. It was either take their chances at the John A. Roebling Bridge or try their luck at another bridge that might be blocked too.

“Lorie,” Michael said. “What do you think about this?”

She walked over to the table and looked at the map.

With a marker, Michael circled the bridge that was blocked with the school bus. “Here is the bridge that we need to get across.” Then, he made another circle a little east of the first circle. “Here is the gasoline station.”

“Okay,” she said.

“From what we observed, the bridge entrance seems to be guarded by only two people at a time. If we can cause a distraction here,” he said, pointing to the location of the gas station on the map, “then we can draw those two guards away from their post.” He drew an arrow from the bridge to the gas station. “When they are gone, I can move the bus, and you can drive the truck right through. I’ll then block the opening once again, and we can drive to the other side. They’ll never even know that we crossed their bridge.”

“And how are we going to cause the ‘distraction’?”

“Remember the pile of old, abandoned cars at the station? If I can get that old Plymouth rolling downhill, it would slam into the cars.”

“And that would cause enough of a distraction that it would draw the guards away?” Lorie asked doubtfully.

“Well, if I tied a few old-school Molotov cocktails to the front of the Plymouth, it should cause enough of a fire to draw them away. Maybe we’d get lucky enough to cause a small explosion,” he said.

“Wait. Let me get this straight,” she said, looking at him like he had lost his mind. “You want to roll a firebomb down the street into a nest of vipers that wouldn’t hesitate one second to kill us. Then you’ll run back and move a school bus, and finally, I’ll drive your truck through the opening? And we’ll escape unharmed from more than fifty armed lunatics? Are you serious?”

Michael looked up at her. “Yep, that about sums it up.”

Lorie rolled her eyes.