R. Ruggiero - Brushfire Plague

A sharp rap on the front door interrupted them. Cooper glided to the second story window that overlooked their door, shotgun in hand. Dranko was looking right at him and waved. He knew Cooper’s security procedures. Cooper went downstairs, stretching his muscles out as he did so.

Cooper opened the door and Dranko barreled past Cooper, bumping his shoulder as he rushed in.

“We gotta do something. The news isn’t good,” he panted.

“Slow down, what’s happening?”

“I’ve spent the last hour catching up on the news, both broadcast and internet. It’s coming loose all over.”

Cooper sat down on his couch, “Start from the top, please.”

“The short version is that what happened here today was no fluke. Attacks are going on everywhere, too many for the news to keep track of. But they know there are a lot. Most end badly because they aren’t organized like we are.”

“You mean everywhere, Portland? Or, everywhere, USA?”

His eyes were grim, “Both. The worst part is some are random, like ours, and some are definitely with a purpose to steal or even take over.”

“Take over?” Cooper’s eyebrows came together in surprise.

“Yes, there have been reports of gangs moving into an area and taking it over, getting the residents to hand over money, supplies, or do work for them.”

“What kind of work?”

“All kinds. Using them to carry loot back from other raids. Medical people are pressed to treat injured gang members. There are at least two reports of them being used as human shields. Women are being put into sexual service. One group in Detroit is building a monument to their leader from wood and scrap metal. It’s crazy.”

“Unbelievable,” Cooper sighed.

“No, not unbelievable. Lots of people are making the call that it is ‘game over’ time. They see people dying all around them with no cure or remedy in sight. All levels of government seem to have broken down. When a vacuum this big gets created, strong men always step in to fill the gap. I told you it was a bad idea to try and stay here.”

Cooper held up a finger, “Don’t go there.”

Dranko retreated with a flurry of waving his hands back and forth, “Of course, forget I said it. But, the bottom line is its going to get worse, much worse. What happened today will happen again. It was no fluke.”

“Did the news have any estimate of casualties?”

Dranko’s face went slack, “Yeah, over tens of millions. Mostly from plague, but a goodly number from violence. So far.”

Cooper shook his head in disbelief, “That’s almost five percent of America. Gone?”

“Yeah. No end in sight either.”

“One in twenty? More sick every day. No wonder the wheels are coming off.”

Cooper leaned back into the couch, cocked his head to stare into space, and cradled his head in his hands. He let out a deep sigh and then remained in silence. Dranko counted the seconds, knowing his friend would soon have a response.

Sure enough, a few moments later, Cooper returned to the upright position, his eyes alive again.

“I know just what we should do.”

“What’s that, brother?”

“Get bigger,” Cooper said as a sly smile crept across his face.

“Why don’t you fill us little people in on your grand master plan, Obi Wan Kanobi,” Dranko mocked.

Cooper ignored the jibe. “We survey all the neighborhoods around us. We can find out if they are organized. If they are, we work out mutual assistance pacts. If they’re not, we try to help them become organized. It will be like…”

“…our own gang,” Dranko finished for him. “But, we are still talking about untrained people fighting back against hardened gangbangers. I just don’t see how…”

“People defending their own homes is a powerful thing. Don’t underestimate it. Every occupying power has learned it the hard way throughout history. So, too will anyone coming here,” Cooper’s jaw was firmly set as he talked. “Besides, we will find some ex-military who do have experience. We build the defenses around those people. Don’t forget, barricades will buy us time against the real gangs. They will go after easier pickings first. The random crazies, like today, won’t be as well trained or organized as you think.”

“OK,” Dranko reluctantly agreed. “If nothing else, the wider reach out will give us more warning before our neighborhood is attacked.”

“That’s why I love you Dranko, you’re the master of low expectations!”

He fished a spent shell casing from his pocket and threw it playfully at Cooper, “I do my best!”

“First thing tomorrow morning, we should send out survey teams to find out what’s happening around us.”

“How many?”

“Four teams, four people per team. The right number for security without appearing to be a threat.”

“Consider it done. I’ll convene everyone involved with defense in the morning and send out the teams.”

Cooper nodded in approval. Just then, his walkie-talkie buzzed alive.

“Boss, you there? This is western post.”

“Eagle’s nest here. What’s the report?”

“You better get down here. We have refugees.”

“Refugees?” Cooper gave a quizzical look at Dranko.

“Yes, refugees. Can you get down here, please?”

“Coming,” Cooper stuffed the walkie-talkie back into his pocket.

“Can you stay with Jake while I go check this out?”

“Yes, ring me up if you need anything.”

Cooper grabbed his gear and donned his body armor as he left and began trotting towards the western barricade.

As Cooper jogged, the late afternoon sun played wistfully among the leaves. Every so often, he would step into a gap between the trees and catch the full sun, becoming momentarily blinded. When lit up by the bright sun, the myriad shades of green in the leaves fascinated Cooper. It always had. He’d never known why.

Today, it dawned on him. Now, as he made his way west, naked tears of emotion ran down his face. Life. They show life happening. And, they’re beautiful. Just like Elena.

He stopped just out of view of the barricade and hastily wiped the tears away. He couldn’t afford to take the time to think about all of this. He pounded his fist against his chest, taking comfort in the body armor, and ran onward.

He heard the problem before he could see it. Loud voices arguing. Plaintive voices begging to be let past the barricade. Other voices stern in refusal. The pleading turned angry, to no avail, and then back to begging once more.

The normal three guard detachment had swollen to eight as reinforcements had come over. They formed a human wall to close the gap between two large pickup trucks that had been used to set up the checkpoint. Beyond them, a few dozen desperate looking people, most carrying a suitcase or bag of possessions, were taking turns shouting and begging to be let in. For a moment, Cooper thought he was watching news footage of refugees from World War Two, only in color. A woman held a crying child, an elderly couple stood clutching each other as if they’d fall if they let go, and a man in a pressed business suit looked like he was headed to work at a downtown bank. Most in the group were dirty, disheveled, and bewildered. They looked hungry and scared, too. Mark was arguing with the group.

“Mr. Moretti, please report!” Cooper shouted over the din, seeking to establish order.

Mark’s head jerked around until he saw Cooper. Then, he smiled, disengaged from the group and quickly stepped towards Cooper.

“What’s happening?”

“Near as I can tell, this group was kicked out of their homes over on Division and 28th. They say a group arrived, in pickups and panel vans, and just kicked them all out, forcing them on foot and with no time to collect their things. They said they were looking for someone, but no one knows who or why. They’ve been walking along aimlessly since. They saw our armed guard post and they think we’re a safe place. They want in. I told them no. I wanted to wait until you got here.”