Omega Plague: Collapse (17 page)

“And look at
this
guy. Wearing a Juventus shirt in
Naples. Forza Juve, pezzo di merda.” Bruno kicked the Juventino, then looked
out over the Bay of Naples.

The Juventino moaned. Bruno looked down at him again. Still
alive. Bruno would have to act quickly. He stood over the man, but didn’t bend
down.

“Why did you come here? Did someone send you?”

The Juventino’s eyes opened. His lips moved. He made a
sound.

“Who sent you? Tell me and I’ll make it quick,” said Bruno.

Bruno bent down closer. The man’s lips moved again. Blood
trickled at the corner of his mouth. Bruno thought he heard words that he had
hoped never to hear. But the way the man was choking on his blood, he couldn’t
be sure. Then the man’s eyes rolled back in his head.

“Figlio d’una zoccola!” Bruno swore.

The old man spoke up. “Look, you saved my life and I owe—”

Bruno turned, his pistol pointed at the man’s chest.

“Stay away from me,” said Bruno. “Hands. Show me your
hands.”

The old man held his hands out. They were as steady as could
be expected after the carnage that surrounded them.

“Keep back. Even if you weren’t infected,
they
might
be.” Bruno gestured at the corpses.

The old man nodded, dropping his hands. He moved backwards,
one step at a time, away from Bruno.

Bruno lowered his pistol. But as he stared at the man,
trying to see if the whites of his eyes were jaundiced, something stirred in
his mind. “You—I know
you
. . .” He lifted his pistol again and the man
cowered.

“Please, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Why were you hiding down here? Why here in . . .” Bruno
looked up at the green cross. “A pharmacy?”

“I—I,” the old man stuttered, “my—my friend owned this
pharmacy after mine got . . .”

Pharmacy
. Bruno stood in silence for a moment.
Pharmacy
.
His eyes narrowed. Son of a bitch! “I know who you are,” Bruno said. “How could
I forget
you
, of all people.”

The old man’s brow furrowed. “I—I don’t understand. Whatever
you want, take it, just let me live.”

“You don’t remember me?” Bruno’s voice grew hard. “Take a
good look, old man!” Bruno pulled off his respirator.

Bruno enjoyed the look in the old man’s eyes.

“Yes, it’s me,” Bruno said. “You remember now, don’t you.”
It was a statement, not a question. Bruno took a step back and pointed the
pistol at the old man’s forehead.

“Please—I have medicines, supplies; you can have them—just
don’t kill me!”

“I don’t want anything that
you
have. You know what I
want? I want you to bring him back. Can you bring him back?”

The old man did not answer.

“I asked you a fucking question! Can you bring him back?”

“Look.” The old man swallowed hard. “I know it was my fault.
I was selfish. I’m supposed to help people, but I didn’t. I failed him. But I-I
swear I won’t fail you, if you let me live. Please let me live. Please.”

Bruno tightened his grip on his pistol. His finger moved on
the trigger.

“Fine,” said the old man, his voice cracking. “Do it,
then—kill me. Just make it quick.” He closed his eyes.

Tears ran down the old man’s face into his scruffy beard,
and he made no attempt to wipe them away. Bruno could smell the reek of sweat
and piss. If there had been any others left to see the old man, they would have
said his survival all alone was a miracle. But Bruno did not believe in
miracles. He ascribed the old man’s survival to dumb luck. Much as Bruno
thought of his own survival.

Bruno lowered his pistol. The old man opened his eyes, still
shaking from fear.

Bruno studied the old man before speaking. “I’ll be back in
three days. Gives us time to make sure both of us are still infection-free.”
Bruno waved his pistol at the dead men around them. “No telling where these
bastards have been.”

The old man let out a long sigh. “Why? Why let me live?”

“Who am I to deal out judgment and death, even if I think
you deserve it?”

Calogero DeLuca nodded without a word.  

Chapter 16

September 7

“I’ve patched the leaks in the trash bins on the roof. So we
should have no problems gathering more water,” said DeLuca.

“
If
it rains again.” Bruno looked up. Thin, grey
clouds covered the sky, keeping the late-summer sun from beating down on them.
Still, to Bruno they didn’t look like the kind of clouds that brought rain.

“Hope we’ve got enough bottled water,” said Bruno. “Guess if
we have to, we could start distilling seawater.” Then he turned to his
companion and said, more kindly, “Thanks.”

DeLuca nodded. “What’s the plan for today?” They stood on
the street in front of Bruno’s place on Anacapri.

“Today, I’ve got something to show you. Somewhere in Capri.
And let’s take my moto. It’s around back.”

“What about the engine noise?” asked DeLuca.

Bruno shrugged. “We can risk it. I haven’t seen a trace of
anyone else since I found you. And I want to stay a few days, so it’ll at least
be a little easier to bring supplies.”

“A few days?”

Bruno nodded. “Yes, like I said, there’s something I want to
show you.”

As they retrieved his motorcycle from the small garage at
the back of the building and began their ride, Bruno reflected on his time with
DeLuca. The old man had some skills, whipping up a disinfectant salve from
baking soda and bleach and cooking up seaweed and crabs from the shore into a
reasonably palatable dish. Not to mention just having another set of hands to
help and another pair of eyes to observe. And another person to ease the
crushing loneliness.

They pulled up in front of one of Bruno’s hideaways in the
village of Capri. Bruno glanced around. Everything looked exactly as it had the
last time he had been there, just before he had found DeLuca. As they
dismounted the motorcycle, Bruno pointed up.

“See those?” asked Bruno.

“Yes!” responded DeLuca, his voice overflowing with
enthusiasm. “Solar panels!”

“And they work.” Bruno waved DeLuca on. “Come on, this way.”
They went around to the back entrance. As they opened the gate, DeLuca stopped
short, pointing to the pile of stones on the far side of the stone terrace.

“What is . . .” DeLuca started to ask, but his voice faded
before he finished his question.

Bruno glanced back over his shoulder. “Former occupant.
Couldn’t figure out what to do with him, so just buried him as best I could.”

DeLuca grew pale.

“Is he bothering you?” asked Bruno with a half-smile. “Oh,
come on. He’s not gonna bother anyone.”

Bruno fidgeted with the handle on the sliding glass door for
a moment. Then it opened, and he stepped inside. DeLuca followed close behind.

Though clouds covered the sun, the glass doors provided
enough light to bathe the room in a diffuse glow. The room looked ransacked.
The bed was torn up, chairs overturned, and the walled defaced with graffiti
and smeared with feces and what looked like blood. The only semi-clean area was
a desk. But it was covered with binders and papers, strewn here and there.

“Jesus, Bruno, this place stinks like an old toilet. What
the hell happened?”

Bruno laughed. “The best way to put off anyone who might get
curious, if they saw the solar panels, was to turn this place into a shithole.
So, I did some redecorating. With my own crap, that is. You’ll get used to the
smell after a while.”

“I doubt it,” said DeLuca, breathing through his mouth.

“I’ve hidden some pieces of equipment around the house. Only
things I left in place were the inverter and panel on the wall and the main
batteries under the desk.” Bruno pulled a sheet off them. “I was afraid if I
tried to move them, I’d screw something up permanently. Now, let’s get moving.”

For the better part of an hour, Bruno led DeLuca through the
house, pointing here and there, and having him bring out various pieces of
electronic equipment hidden away in rooms that had been torn up. Some were
quite heavy.

“I must say, Bruno,” grunted DeLuca as he hefted a
particularly heavy box, “each of these rooms is shittier than the last.
Literally.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They arranged the equipment on the desk, and finally, after
another hour of assembly, Bruno stood back, surveying their work.

“Well,” he said. “What do you think?”

DeLuca looked at the equipment on the desk, then back at
Bruno. “Radio equipment?”

“Exactly. This guy was a radioamatore, can you believe it?
And with a solar-powered station.” Bruno gestured towards the terrace. “He was
in some emergency communications radio club, I found his membership papers.”
Bruno shook his head, smiling as he did. “The poor bastard. Probably all his
friends thought he was out of his head: ‘Filippo is a moron, what is he doing,
waiting for the Apocalypse?’”

Bruno thought about that picture of Filippo and his family.
Neither of them spoke for a time. In contemplation, Bruno moved items this way
and that on the desk with no seeming purpose.

Bruno moved a binder on the desk and found his phone. “Here
it is,” Bruno said. “I thought it was here.” He plugged it into the charging
cable, turned it on, and swiped his index finger on the screen.

DeLuca waved a hand around. “So, why didn’t you tell me
about this before?”

Bruno replied without looking up from phone. “Needed to make
sure I could trust you. After what happened with Veri, I needed to be sure
about you.”

He held up the phone. “Listen!”

Bruno touched the screen on his phone. The bluesy
African-American voice, singing in Italian but with a heavy American accent,
boomed from the small speaker.

DeLuca laughed. “I don’t believe you have him on your phone!
I remember him—that song came out when I was a teenager, late sixties, I think!
And someone your age has it on their phone?” DeLuca laughed again. “That I
really don’t believe!”

“I downloaded the album for my father, so I had it in my
collection. Papà really loved that guy.” Bruno sat in the desk chair, picked up
his phone, and played with the screen. He paused the music.

“We have music again,” DeLuca said.

“It’s strange, you know? I used to do everything with my
phone—buy things, take videos, get the news, whatever. Didn’t make that many
phone calls, though.” Bruno shrugged. “Now, it’s so useless, I don’t even carry
it. All it’s good for is to play some songs.” Bruno looked at the phone again.
“Although, I’m not sure you’ll like anything else in my collection,” he said
with a smile.

“I’m just happy to hear music again,” said DeLuca. He
shifted from one foot to the other. “Bruno . . .” DeLuca started, but then
stopped.

“What?”

“Well, yes—is there anyone else on the radio?” Bruno heard a
desperate note creep into DeLuca’s voice. “Anyone playing sixties songs or old
Napoli-Juventus games? Is there anyone else out there?”

Bruno swiveled the chair and looked at the equipment.

“No music. No voices. Not even some crazy ham radio
operator.” Bruno turned around to see DeLuca’s reaction, and he saw pain in the
old man’s eyes. But Bruno knew his answer misled DeLuca. He could go down a
path of lies and deception. Or Bruno could tell the truth. And why not tell the
truth? If he wasn’t going to tell DeLuca, why come back here at all? Bruno
wasn’t even sure what his own motivations were in taking DeLuca to this place.
Maybe he wanted another opinion. Maybe he just wanted to share the sound of a
melody. He did not know.

Bruno ran his fingers through his hair before continuing.
“But,” he said, “I did hear something. A signal that repeats. And regularly.”

“A signal? What kind of signal?”

“Definitely not a commercial broadcast. Digital for sure.
Military maybe? Or Interior Ministry? Who knows? Could be coming from
anywhere.”

“Have you tried to contact them?”

Bruno shook his head.

“Why not? When did you find this equipment?”

“July.”

“And you didn’t tell me? Why haven’t you tried to contact
anyone?”

“Look, there’s no way to know who they are, or what they
want. We have no idea what they will do if they find out there’s someone on the
island.”

“Come get us, I hope! It’s got to be whatever’s left of the
government.”

Bruno shrugged. “Who knows where that signal is coming from?
Even if what you think is true, why should we trust them? For Christ’s sake,
they were slaughtering people like cattle in hospitals, of all places!”

“But we’re not infected, so—”

“So what? We’re not special. If they were so interested in
helping anyone who’s alive, why not just broadcast in the clear so everyone can
understand? Why this digital signal?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they want to see if there are other
survivors from the police or military, maybe they’re looking for remnants of
the government because—because . . ”

Bruno completed the thought. “Maybe they’re not sure who
might be listening. Maybe
they
want something. Maybe they
need
something.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Even if I wanted to contact them, I
can’t decode the signal, and I can’t transmit on that frequency. Only a certain
type of radio, another law enforcement or maybe military radio, can decode it.”

“What do you mean?”

Bruno shook his head. “Look, I’m pretty sure I recognize the
sound of the signal. This is an ALE signal, it’s got very distinctive tones.
But the equipment here is for radioamatori, not for this type of signal.”

“An ALE signal?”

“Stands for ‘Automatic Link Establishment.’” Bruno mouthed the
last English word with some difficulty. “It’s a way for two radios to form a
link like . . .” Bruno struggled to explain the way the ALE radios would skip
around from frequency to frequency, finding the clearest one before
establishing a link. He finally settled on a not-too-exact simile. “Like
computers over the Internet.”

“So . . .”

“So, I need an ALE radio, otherwise it won’t make the link.”

“You said military and law enforcement use them? Don’t you
have one here, on Capri?”

Bruno shook his head. “It was sometimes used for
communications between regional commands and national headquarters. I think
they mostly just ran test messages.”

“Why just tests?”

“It’s an older technology. I think that we mostly used ALE
radio as a backup in case of emergency. I’m not exactly sure. Look, I spent six
months working as a communications tech at the Regional Command in Naples. But
that was years ago now. I could be mistaken.” Bruno rubbed his chin,
remembering some long-ago training session. “The beauty of radio communications
is that even when infrastructure like cellular networks or the Internet fails,
or even satellites, radio will still work as long as you have power from
somewhere.”

“Well, don’t you think that’s exactly what we have here?”

“Yes,” responded Bruno, not rising to the bait. “Total
infrastructure collapse. I’ve tried to fix a position with my phone, but the
GPS and Galileo systems have failed. GLONASS is off-line, too. And I doubt even
a real satellite phone would still work; without ground control, satellites are
probably out of position now. Anyway, we didn’t have that kind of setup here.
We didn’t even have a satphone or direct uplink. Encrypted comms over our
intranet were enough for a small station like ours.”

“You must have a regional headquarters—a regional command,
isn’t that what you call it?” said DeLuca. “In Naples, right? So, you must have
an ALE radio in Naples?”

“Maybe,” Bruno responded in a low voice.

“Maybe? Maybe!” DeLuca grabbed Bruno’s arm. “That’s all you
can say? You think you know where there’s a radio you can use, and you’re just
sitting here? What is wrong with you?”

Bruno knocked DeLuca’s arm away. “Don’t touch me!” he said.
“There was one in Naples, yes! But it can’t be there now. Not after all of
this.”

DeLuca backed away. “How do you know? You can’t be sure,” he
said under his breath.

“You don’t get it, do you? Don’t you understand the kinds of
people left out there? They’re not going to help you! Why should they? What can
you
do for them? I told you what they tried to do on the island, at the
hospitals! Didn’t you listen? You think it’s better somewhere else? Go to
Naples. Find the radio yourself! You’d be dog food in a day, old man. I’m
staying here. I have everything I need right here. It’s safe
here
. I’m
not risking everything for nothing.” Bruno stepped towards the sliding glass
door.

“That’s it then?” DeLuca said. “Well, fucking great. We’ll
just sit here and hunker down like rats. What’s the point? Why should we go on?
After everything that’s happened, what are you still afraid of?”

Bruno kept his back to DeLuca.

“Are we just supposed to live like this, alone? Just live?”
said DeLuca.

For all those long months, Bruno had thought the solitude
would crush him. Yet now he wanted to be rid of his only companion. Bruno
remembered the words of some damned French nihilist who once wrote that people
are hell, or some such self-centered drivel. He had always thought that
Frenchman was an arrogant, egotistical ass. But now Bruno knew exactly what he
meant.

Yet, DeLuca’s final words lingered in Bruno’s head. Just
live
.
DeLuca reminded Bruno of his father’s words, the last words his father ever
spoke to him. Bruno knew in his bones that he was the last of his family. But
how could it be, thought Bruno, that he had come to find
just living
enough? Why did he bother to go on? Because of his father’s desperate hope that
his son and daughter should live? After the death of everyone he had ever
known, was Bruno still so afraid of his own death? If he were honest with
himself, he would have to admit he was more afraid than ever. All that had
transpired only confirmed his certainty that humanity floated adrift in the
universe, without hope of deliverance. That meant faith in anything was truly
absurd, and death was horribly final. After all the death he had seen and after
all the terrible things he had done in the last few months, his hope had been
destroyed. So Bruno chose to ignore the signal, to deny that flicker of hope
that still burned inside him. Yet hope, like death itself, was insidious; it
could lie dormant like an ember, only to be rekindled into a raging fire by the
slightest breeze.