Jeff Carlson - Plague Zone

They hadn’t found a solution until they settled in Jefferson. They bought an iron box in Morristown and stenciled warnings on it in English, Hebrew, and Russian. Now the vial was buried twelve feet down in the foothills west of town. It would have to stay there. They couldn’t spare two or three hours to dig the box up again, even if the parasite might be exactly what they needed to threaten the Chinese. Could they still bluff the enemy?

“Cam!” Ruth said.

He was staring. He snatched the paper from her and stuffed it into his jacket pocket, freeing his hands again as he tried to think. “What else do we need?”

Her hands scrabbled at the wall, feeling for places to set herself. Then she tumbled forward. Matthew tried to hold her but Ruth fell against the wall, cracking one arm. “Oh!” she cried.

“Ruth, stop! Is there anything else we need in there?”

She flailed through the hole, hanging upside down until Cam snarled his left hand in the back of her shirt. Matthew took her arm. Together they set her on her feet.

Ruth seemed rejuvenated by the cool night air. In the shifting beams of the flashlights, her burnt, naked face looked both excited and vulnerable. There was sweat in her bangs and her breath came hard, lifting her breasts against her shirt. When she leaned against him, Cam hugged her briefly — but he leaned away before she could put her arms around him, too.

She didn’t even turn off the lights in there before she jumped out, he thought, worrying at the illuminated gash in the wall. He realized he hadn’t seen her bring her walkie-talkie, either. Should he climb back inside to get it and kill the lights? That seemed crazy.

“Okay, let’s go,” Ruth said. Her tone was still out of sync with the rest of them, too vibrant, even happy, and Cam sensed the others stirring behind their flashlights.

“Go where?” Owen said.

“East. We can’t hold this place against the plague.”

Greg shook his head. “We made contact with Grand Lake again. We told them everything you said, and they’re sending choppers.”

“For everyone? When?”

“If we’re not here—”

“Bring the radio,” Ruth said. “The helicopters can adjust. But you can’t expect everyone to wait for a rescue that doesn’t exist. Do you really think Grand Lake’s going to send ten choppers?”

They stared at her in the dark.

“No,” Greg said.

Ruth pressed her advantage. “We don’t have the equipment to shelter in place, so we go for Grand Lake. The mountains should stop the infected people! They’re clumsy, disoriented. They won’t follow us.”

How much of that is her claustrophobia talking? Cam wondered. She just wants to move. “The nanotech is airborne,” he said. “It’ll follow us even if they don’t.”

“It’ll be worse where there are carriers! We have to take that chance. Run for high ground.”

“Okay.” Greg nodded slowly and lifted his walkie-talkie to relay Ruth’s demand. “We’re going to pack up and drive east,” he said to the rest of the village.

Most of the people in the sealed huts didn’t want to leave, nor did several of the men and women at the guard posts. “We don’t know what’s out there!” Susan yelled on her walkie-talkie from inside.

“At least here we have a chance to protect ourselves,” Owen said. “Besides, there’s barely any gasoline. How far do you think you can walk after the trucks run dry?”

“You’re not taking the radio!” Susan yelled as other villagers filled Cam’s headset with noise.

“They can‘t—”

“—need it as much as—”

He shut off his headset altogether. Most of their voices were still audible in the night, but the decision bought him a little space as he walked to the nearest sealed hut. Greg, Ruth, and Matthew came with him, but Owen went in another direction, probably looking for his buddy Neil. All of them wanted their closest friends.

“Susan!” Cam said, trying to sound calm even hollering through the plastic. “If you’re smart, you’ll come with us. But the Ranger element is leaving town and that radio is ours.”

Greg rapped on the door. “Tricia! Trish! Let’s go.”

“I don’t think we should leave!” Tricia yelled.

Cam tried another name. “Bobbi?” Could she even hear him? People were arguing and the baby was squalling, too. Cam turned to look past the hut. Two flashlights rocked through the darkness on the east side of the village, and a third winked into view from behind the dining hall. There was also someone yelling in that direction. Cam figured they had a minute at most before Owen showed up with Neil.

“We might have to break in,” he said.

“She’s scared,” Greg said, needlessly explaining for his wife. Cam felt a confused pang of envy and his own protective instincts. In some ways things were easier for him with Allison dead. He had less to lose. But he would fight for his friend’s wife and infant daughter, Hope.

Greg Estey was as solid as anyone Cam had ever known, smart, if quiet, and unconcerned with bullshit like ego or rank. He’d let go of everything from his previous life to fit himself into Jefferson, maintaining only his loyalty to Ruth as he found new ways to define himself. Farmer. Husband. Father. He put his thumb on the SEND button of his walkie-talkie and said, “Bobbi? It’s Greg. Let me talk to Trish, please.”

Cam turned his headset on again as Susan interrupted on the same frequency. “No way!” she said. “There’s no way!”

The door was double-sealed, inside and out. Cam peeled away the plastic sheeting on the outside, but he didn’t want to tear the layers inside. He wanted them to open up themselves. Then the people who stayed behind would have a better chance of resecuring the hut.

The flashlights were on top of them now. Cam winced as one of the beams cut across his face. Another light traced over the front of the hut, lingering on the torn plastic. “You son of a bitch!” Owen yelled. “They were safe in there! You can‘t—”

“Bobbi wants out,” Cam said softly. Behind his flashlight, the other man was only a silhouette, faceless and menacing. “Just let us go,” Cam said. “That’s all we want.”

“The radio stays here,” Owen said.

“No.”

“Owen, we’ll send help if we find it!” Ruth said. “You know we will.”

Greg spoke simultaneously to his walkie-talkie and to the door of the hut. “My family is coming out! You stay if you have to. We’ll even seal the outside of the door for you.”

“Fuck that,” Owen said, also transmitting. “We’ll do it ourselves. Go on. Go.” He jerked his flashlight away from them into the dark, as if casting them out, but his voice had grown rigid and controlled like Cam’s. Owen was willing to accept the compromise, giving them the radio to avoid a fight. Cam’s relief was intense. It also gave way to an impulsive sense of camaraderie, because they were better than their fear. They’d talked it out instead of using their fists.

“Owen, come with us,” he said suddenly.

“Just go,” Owen snapped.

The door opened from the inside. The baby’s screaming got louder and lantern light spilled across the ground, full of shadows. Susan blocked the doorway as Bobbi pushed through with the Harris radio. Bobbi had already put on her jacket and Cam took the radio so she could don her goggles, gloves, mask, and hood.

“You’re making a mistake!” Susan said.

Tricia herself was bare-headed, probably for Hope’s sake. Otherwise the little girl might not recognize her mother. Tears spilled down Tricia’s cheeks as she desperately shushed and cooed at her baby.

“Sweetheart,” Greg said.

Their headsets and walkie-talkies crackled again. “This is Eleven,” a woman said in a whisper. “I see people in the fences. This is Ingrid at Eleven and there are at least twenty people in the fences!”