David Golemon - Event

"Mahjtic and Billy, we will help you."

"Good, we'll leave right--"

"Want soldier helmet," it said, looking from Jack to the helmet on the table and then at Billy.

"Yeah, a helmet," Billy said, looking defiant.

"Tough negotiator," Fielding said.

"That's a high price, but, okay, you have a deal," Jack said in all the seriousness he could muster.

Mahjtic walked over to Gus and took his hand, then pointed at the picture on the small table by the bed of the young Gus in uniform.

"Gus, fight with Mahjtic, make young again," it said, still pointing at the old black-and-white picture.

"Looks like you've been drafted, Mr. Tilly," Jack said.

Gus Tilly looked at the picture and then at the others around the room. "S'pose it wouldn't do any good to call my congressman right about now, would it?"

All three soldiers shook their heads no.

Julie Dawes had been forced to enlist the aid of Tony, who was sober this afternoon because he had misplaced his truck again the night before and hadn't been able to get to the bar. Now he was up for waiting tables to deal with the army-induced rush of business. Juan and Carmella were in the back helping with the dishes. Julie also asked Hal Whikam, her weekend bartender and full-time bouncer, to run the kitchen while she took food orders.

Big Hal had a huge red beard and was wearing one of his many slogan-riddled T-shirts. His current shirt read KIRK OVER PICARD AND JANEWAY UNDER ME! It wasn't as funny as the one that had said IT'S GOD'S JOB TO FORGIVE OSAMA BIN LADEN, BUT IT'S A MARINE'S JOB TO MAKE THE INTRODUCTIONS. Hal barely fit his bulk into the shirt, he was so large. Not fat large, but hulk large. Julie counted on little trouble from the people who plied their trade at the Broken Cactus because the ex-marine kept anything from getting out of hand, and if it was going to get out of hand, today would be the day.

The army had started collecting all the field reporters, cameramen, and tourists, and thank God, most had already been bused out of town, but because the Broken Cactus had food and water, it naturally became the place in town for those remaining to be removed from the quarantine zone, waiting on the next round of transport.

Most of the remaining townspeople were sitting off in the twenty-two corner tables and booths in the cafe section, watching events unfold around them. They were amazed at the way all the field reporters were shouting into cell phones explaining to their producers the predicament they found themselves in. All the while cameramen were getting all the background footage they could, which of course entailed bright lights aimed in other reporters' faces. Then at exactly 1:45 in the afternoon, all cell phone service in the valley was interrupted. Jason Ryan, USN, had just finished placing the last inhibitor around the town that blocked any signal from leaving. So now all that was heard were the thirty or so reporters and crew simultaneously cursing their cell service for their loss of signal.

Ryan had come in twice since this morning and announced that they were under quarantine because of a serious outbreak of brucellosis in the valley. When pressed for answers, Ryan had coolly explained that Thomas Tahchako had lost most of his cattle already, and the disease could easily spread out of the valley and even into humans. Julie had watched through the hail of protests and questions as he calmly gave out copies of a prepared press release. Julie had also noticed him look her way and smile on his way back out. That smile had caused her to get the "schoolgirl" goose bumps that had lain dormant in her all these years. It had been a while since anyone had given her that kind of feeling.

Julie was harried, though grateful for the extra business, but it didn't belie that something was seriously wrong out in the desert. She couldn't wait for the final word for her to close down and head for the buses that were due to arrive anytime. She kept looking for Billy through the crush of strangers since it had been several hours since he had left the cafe. She only hoped he was somewhere in town.

"Hello," a man said loudly while half leaning over the bar with his feet on the barstool.

Julie looked his way and noticed the stranger smiling at her. He was good-looking, probably in his late thirties or early forties. His hair was blond and combed straight back. The small, circular lenses of his glasses gave him that bookish look that was the fad these days. He wore simple Levi's and a blue denim work shirt.

"Hello," she answered back loudly, walking up and flipping open her order pad.

"Is it always this crazy around here?" he asked, smiling and gesturing to all the reporters.

Julie looked from him to a cameraman who was holding a Minicam just a foot from her face, the light atop it blinding her. The reporter she recognized as that irritating Kashihara guy from Phoenix. He was doing some background and was speaking into a microphone to kill time until they were let go, which Julie heard wasn't going to happen this side of Phoenix. Squinting her eyes from the glare, Julie deftly tossed one of the soaking bar rags over the lens of the Minicam.

"Hey, what gives?" the camera jock yelped.

"Lady, you just ruined a pretty good voice-over," Kashihara said loudly.

The stranger at the bar stepped in front of the newsman and said, "I guess it means the lady doesn't like being window dressing, and my boss wouldn't like seeing me in your shot either, I'm supposed to be working. Now go and play somewhere else." He gently turned the reporter around and gave him a gentle shove.

"Who the hell are you, her father?" Kashihara asked, but still moved along as he spoke with his trailing cameraman about going to the Ice Cream Parlor, where it was calmer.

"Thanks," Julie said, raising her voice a little to be heard over the noise of the crowded bar. She smiled at the newcomer. "Can I get you something?"

The man looked around the crowded room and then leaned closer, placing both hands on the bar, and said, "Water and a ham-and-cheese sandwich would be great."

"It'll have to be on white, out of wheat and rye."

"White is fine."

"One ham and cheese on white, Hal," she yelled as she pulled a glass from below the counter and poured her only sane customer that day some ice water. She set the glass in front of him and looked him in the eyes. "In answer to your question, no, never this crazy. Are you one of them?" she asked, nodding toward the reporters.

He held out his hand. "Henry Tomlinson, Department of the Interior."

Julie took the offered hand and shook. "Julie Dawes, owner of this madhouse. I take it you're a part of that quarantine thing the army claims is going on?"

The man lowered his glass after taking a long swallow of the cool water. His eyes focused on the body of the woman behind the counter, appraising her a moment as he deftly displayed nothing. "Let's just say I'm here to evaluate the situation. If you don't mind me asking, why say the army 'claims'?"

Julie wiped her hands on the dish towel and looked the man in the eyes. "I wasn't born yesterday. All those guys walking around in CDC coveralls, they're armed. Strange way of fighting a bug, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know about that, only what my boss in Washington tells me. But I do know one thing for sure: someone could open up a used-helicopter dealership out there."

Julie smiled at his reference to all the news choppers sitting just inside town. Most of them had been forced to land by the lethal-looking army helicopters, which had very nicely told them to set down, or else.