The Plague Years (Book 1): Hell is Empty and All the Devils Are Here (11 page)

“OK, I can live with that. I’ve got something that might interest you.”

“What, you mean related to the … Plague.”

“Maybe,” said Chris looking both ways to make sure no one over heard him, “there is a new designer drug on the street called ‘White Heaven’. It just showed up in the last month and is dirt cheap. Apparently the high is similar to cocaine. I got a buddy over in Seattle in the WSP there. He said that a couple of the guys they ran that were infected were using this stuff. When they had them in the car, they spouted some wild stuff about people getting sick in the crack houses with this.”

“I owe you one,” said Chad. “I will try and track that down.”

“Buy me a beer and we are even,” said Chris with a devilish grin.

May 11
th
, Tuesday, 6:52 pm PDT

It had been a grueling day. Chad, Dr. Jurgen, and an infection analyst, Dr. Terry Grieb MD, had interviewed almost twenty people. They had included Chad’s family, a tearful Hispanic mother who had come to claim her daughter’s remains, the two police officers, Jerry Kirklands’ mom, a bunch of high school students, and other folks. They were sitting in a conference room trying to digest what they had learned today.

“Gentlemen, do these interviews change any of your base assumptions,” asked Dr. Jurgen. “I am asking you two because you are the ones most intimately involved with this.”

“Sir, this data is all anecdotal,” said Chad after a pause. “I really can’t mathematically change my assumptions.”

“Chad, spoken like a true scientist, but this time, I have to ask for more. If I give you time to get enough data to be statistically significant and let you test it properly, we could let two or three days pass. I have to make a recommendation tonight, before I go home. Use your intuition and give me your best estimate.”

“Sir, I originally thought that my initial estimates were conservative on spread rates. I am now convinced. Were it in my power, I would advocate that all schools be closed for the duration, travel reduced to only essential vehicles be allowed to travel more than twenty-five miles from home. All roads including secondary roads need to be sealed off. It may be too late even so.”

“Too late for what?”

“One hundred percent population penetration sir,” said Chad quietly. “This is theoretically impossible because there are several very isolated populations in the US, but the fact that at least some of these folks are delusional but can function around the edges of society makes me worried. I’ll admit to a little bias in dealing with the aggression aspect, but my son tried everything he could to disengage from Jerry Kirkland and was still in a fight suggesting to me that they will be aggressive and not just sit quietly and passively wait to die. That combination spells trouble to me.

“There is another added fact that causes me concern. Sergeant Vaughn, the highway patrolman, said that there was a new designer drug on the street and a surprising number of the users seemed to get infected. I tracked it down and according the Tacoma PD, the number is better than fifty percent of the regular users that were arrested in the last three days were infected. Apparently the stuff is taking the druggie world by storm, here and in Europe.”

After a moment’s thought, Dr. Jurgen looked over at Terry Grieb.

“Terry, you have been uncharacteristically quiet. What do you think from your perspective?”

Terry swallowed hard twice and began.

“Sir, you gonna think I am nuts if I tell you what I am thinking.”

“As long as you don’t go on national TV with a ‘Grateful Dead’ t-shirt, I doubt you will ruin our reputation any further.”

Chad winced at that one.

“OK,” said Terry, “you asked for it. If I were going to develop a weaponized disease to break the morale of a country, I might do it this way.”

“What?” said Chad and Dr. Jurgen at the same time.

“I said this was nuts. Look, none of our anti-virals have any traction on this disease which means it doesn’t tie onto our cells at the normal attachment sites. The disease has a long period where patients are infected and contagious without being symptomatic and they remain contagious after becoming symptomatic.

“While they are infected, rather than getting weak and becoming passive, they become, well let’s face it, schizophrenic and paranoid and become more active, violent and far more likely to spread the disease. Not to mention the fact that while they don’t bleed easily, they do apparently like to cut and bite each other spraying bodily fluids around that have a high likelihood of infecting others.

“Next was this new factoid of Chad’s here. If I were going to get at a population, I can’t think of a faster way to do it than to use a cheap, designer drug as an infection vector.

“Final point, it’s about a hundred percent fatal so far. I suspect we will find a few folks who are resistant and survive but the prospects right now are pretty bleak. Finally, it’s scary.”

“That hardly matters …” began Dr. Jurgen.

“Hear me out. This disease plays into all the zombie hype in the media for the last twenty-five years. People are spooked now and when they internalize how bad the symptoms really are, it will be a nightmare.”

“You are emotionally persuasive Dr. Grieb,” said Dr. Jurgen. “But that data doesn’t support … wait, listen to me. I asked for opinion and supposition and I am shutting it down. I must be tired and I suspect you are as well. Go home, get some rest. I will write my recommendation. It will be for a full up quarantine which will probably take our country many years to recover from economically. There will likely be the meeting from hell tomorrow and I will try and protect your jobs if I am still employed here.

“Good night, Gentlemen.”

May 11
th
, Tuesday, 11:23 pm PDT

Special Agent Paul Macklin wasn’t sleeping. He had just sent a written report to his supervisor about the debacle in the police station but that wasn’t what was worrying him. His “other” boss was on the disposable cell phone in is hand and he didn’t want to answer it.

“This is childish,”
he thought and flipped open the phone.

“Macklin.”

“I heard your message,” said the voice from the phone without preamble. It was devoid of tonal change or emotion. “It looks like things are developing faster than we would like. You need to slow this down.”

“I have been trying,” said Macklin desperately.

“Not too effectively apparently.”

“These guys are pretty damned competent. I really can’t control it once the internet gets a hold of it. That lawyer Clinton and that stat guy Strickland ….”

“We pay you to overcome these difficulties. Perhaps our confidence in you is unjustified? Perhaps we should look elsewhere for support?” 

“I can deal with them. It isn’t just the money you know, you promised …”

“I am well aware of what we promised, but only for those who prove superior. Our plans have been rushed by the accident but if we can hold off serious countermeasures for another week or perhaps two, our projections are that our position will be unassailable. Give us that time and your position with us will be assured, fail and ...”

“I know what happens if I fail. I won’t, I promise.”

“We will be watching.”

Without any warning, the phone went dead.

Macklin closed the phone with shaky hands. He knew that this employer did not tolerate failures and their sanctions were most severe. He would have to use more direct action.

May 12
th
, Wednesday, 12:38 pm PDT

Chad left the meeting with a sour taste in his mouth. He and Dr. Jurgen had both recommended that roads be shut down except for deliveries of vital supplies, that schools be closed, and that a central clearing house be set up to disseminate data about spread rates and possible countermeasures. Macklin fought it all the way cautioning that they needed to ‘go slow’ and ‘not panic’ the population.

Department of Health officials said they had little power to do any more than recommend until a state of emergency was declared. There were vague assurances that this was a ‘top priority’ and that a state of emergency declaration was right around the corner.

National Guard officers were furious because they wanted to mobilize and start gathering troops and resources, but state government was baulking saying that without a declaration of a state of emergency, it would be on the state’s dime, not the federal government. Macklin made hay of that, reminding them of the deficit and the government’s obligation to spend the taxpayer’s dollars wisely.

The one bright spot in the discussion was the local school district. They cancelled all classes for the next two weeks. They said they would revisit the issue at that time. The reality of the situation was that parents were already keeping the majority of kids home for fear of disease and teachers were calling in sick at an alarming rate.

As he got up to leave, Macklin glared at Chad and mentioned in passing that some people were overreacting to the situation.

All in all Chad counted it a great waste of the morning. He decided to go to the lunch room and scare up something to eat for lunch before getting back to work. While deciding which stale bagel to purchase, Terry Grieb waved and came over to chat.

“Did you hear what happened to that lawyer, Taylor,” said Grieb as they settled down to eat.

“Nope, what did he do this time?” said Chad.

“It’s not what he did. Apparently, some gang banger tried to blow him away.”

“Is he OK?” asked Chad with alarm. His life would become much more complicated if Clinton wasn’t running interference for him. Not to mention that he liked the guy and was grateful for the help with his son’s issues.

“He is quite alright,” said Clinton as he came up behind them.

“I am glad to hear that,” said Chad relieved. “But what happened?”

“I am apparently too predictable,” said Clinton as he sat down with his coffee. “I was headed out to my car this morning to go to work and a beat up, rusty red Ford Mustang with no plates and no muffler roared up to my driveway and the passenger took several shots at me.”

“Must have been a poor shot,” said Terry laughing.

“Actually no, he fired five times and four of them hit me.”

“You look pretty spry for a man with four bullets in him.”

“I said they hit me, none penetrated. I have worn a Kevlar vest since I was a junior prosecutor for Richland. Seems I made some enemies in certain less than savory circles. When I began to return fire, they took off. I think I hit them but …”

“You returned fire?” said Grieb with alarm. “Since when did you start packing?”

“Since Desert Storm,” said Clinton with a light air. “Remind me to tell you how I won that war single handedly and personally punched Saddam Hussein in the nose.”

“I’ll pass,” said Grieb as he got up to leave. “No one ever said working here would be boring.”

“Speaking of which,” said Clinton after Terry had left. “I’d like you to go look at my car. I think it might have been damaged in the shooting.”

“Sure,” said Chad, “though I am not a professional mechanic, just the shade tree sort.”

“Come, come, everyone knows about your obsession with that 68 Camaro you drive only on really sunny days.”

They left, went outside to the parking and in the parking lot, far from the building. Then they knelt down to inspect the fender of Clinton’s immaculate Mercedes.

“Clinton, I can’t see anything wrong with this,” said Chad after peering at the fender.

“Don’t get up,” said Clinton as he pointed an imaginary blemish. “The car is perfectly fine. The only bullet that wasn’t lodged in my vest is stuck in my garage door. But I wanted to talk you for a moment without arousing suspicion. I think you and I have made an enemy. This shooting is not a left over from my days as a prosecutor.”

“Who would do such a thing?” asked Chad trying very hard not to let it show. “The only enemy I have made recently is Macklin. He’s a jerk but I don’t think …”

“Chad, you do statistics and you are damned good at it. I do law and I have dealt with bad guys for a while. I recognized one of the shooters. He is a gun for hire. He has spent some time in the state pen, has a drug problem, and he is too stupid to do anything else with his life. He is just the kind of guy someone like Macklin, who knows almost nothing about criminals, would hire.”

“But Macklin is a cop?!”

“Homeland Security special agents are more analysts and coordinators than law enforcement experts. Sometimes things are not as they seem. My sins as a prosecutor are old news. The real bad ones are still in jail and the others have bigger axes to grind. I have mulled this over and I think Macklin is up to more than just the government’s business.

“I recommend that you drive home by different routes. If you shoot well, have a gun in your car. Watch your family. I recall you served for a while in the Air Force. I could be wrong but I think he is up to something and we are in the way.

“There, I think we have stared at this fine automobile long enough. I’ll walk you inside.”

May 13
th
, Thursday, 09:12am PDT

Heather Tunney was in the WinCo Foods outlet off of Columbia Point Drive in Richland. Since her layoff, she had been helping Dave Tippet acquire more things on his list and spreading the purchases around so that folks didn’t think they had enough supplies to be a target. The shelves in all the stores were starting to get bare as more and more people began stocking up.

In her cart were two cases of bottled water, a case of black beans and another of American Beauty pasta along with a gallon of milk, assorted fresh vegetables, and a dozen eggs as cover. She also had an Italian sub for her lunch. She loved the darned things and her exercise addiction meant she could eat most anything she wanted. She was still thinking about when to move up the hill to Dave’s house when her turn came at the checkout counter. She missed the first remark from the young man behind the counter.

“I am sorry,” said Heather. “I was thinking of something else, what did you say?”

“Ma’am, I can’t let you buy two cases of bottled water. Store policy is one per customer. We don’t have that many left.”

Dave, Mary, and Heather had discussed what to say when this happened as it was occurring more and more. Their plan was to act nonchalant and agree with whatever the store personnel said. There were no items on their list that individually rated creating a scene.

“Oh sure,” said Heather taking one of the cases and putting it on the conveyor. “I do fun runs and we were planning for Fiasco in Pasco Duathlon. We needed some for the water stations but we can do cups just as easy.”

“Thanks ma’am,” said the young man looking relieved. Apparently some of the customers had not taken kindly to purchasing limitations.

The front door banged open. A large man was holding onto the hand of very scared young girl. Heather with a start recognized the girl as one of Ginger’s classmates and the man was her father. He didn’t look healthy as he was pale and sweating. It reminded her all too clearly of the father of the bride who went down at Bookwalter’s last week.

“Daddy, let me go, you’re hurting me,” said the little girl plaintively, whose name was Lindsey Talbot she remembered. She squirmed and tried to get away but her father had a death grip on her arm.

Heather remembered her and her father from a PTA meeting at the beginning of the term. The Larry Talbot she met at the PTA meeting had been a shy, gentle giant of a man with a ready smile.

The young man behind the counter had pulled out his cell phone. Clearly he had instructions when someone came in like this. But even if he got the police, it would be ten minutes at best before they got here. Heather was worried about the young girl, if her father was infected like the man at the wedding, it wouldn’t be too long before little Lindsey was in danger. If he left the store, there would be no finding him. Heather put on her best customer face and smiled.

“Hi Mr. Talbot,” said Heather brightly, I remember you from the PTA meeting in September. Hi, I am Ginger’s mom.”

“I am so hungry,” said Talbot as with difficulty, he focused on Heather. “My wife is … sick. But I need food!” 

“Well, you have certainly come to the right place for it,” said Heather. As she got closer, she realized that he smelled like spoiled meat. “Why don’t I take care of little Lindsey while you go …”

“Noooooo!” wailed Talbert. “I have to watch her ... my wife said.”

“Of course she did,” said Heather. “But remember when Lindsey came over to our house for Ginger’s birthday party and sleep over? She was a nice, well behaved girl. You should be proud. I just wanted to talk to her about a surprise party for Ginger. Could she chat with me while you shop?”

“Um … I don’t know … can’t think so good … my wife is … sick …. I ‘m so hungry.”

Heather reached into her shopping cart and pulled out her sub sandwich and offered it to Larry. Without saying a word, he grabbed it with both hands, and began eating it, plastic wrap, Styrofoam tray, and all.

Heather took the moment of distraction and grabbed Lindsey and pushed her behind her shopping cart. She caught the eye of the older lady behind her who nodded, took Lindsey and walked back toward the bakery. Lindsey was frightened and confused, but she went with the flow.

The sandwich did not last long, perhaps thirty seconds, but it was long enough. Lindsey was out of sight. Once out of sight, Larry seemed to have lost all awareness of his daughter and began pawing through Heather’s cart for more food. He began drinking the milk from the carton and crunching the carrots without taking time to remove them from the cellophane. Heather abandoned the cart and retreated down the aisle. She wasn’t going to be a hero for a hundred dollars’ worth of groceries she hadn’t paid for. As she retreated down the aisle, she heard the front doors slam open and the telltale whine of Tasers getting ready to be deployed.