R. Ruggiero - Brushfire Plague

“Well, I’m also a trained Wilderness EMT, so I’m used to treating injuries and illness in the field without too much equipment. It’s mostly just common sense anyway.”

Cooper nodded and didn’t try to conceal his satisfied look, “Had some training in that area, too. They never told us someday we might use those same skills in the middle of a city, did they?”

“Back then, no one could imagine you’d be in the middle of a city and be without access to modern medical care,” her words were laced with lament.

Cooper nodded, then looked back up at her, mustering a weak smile, “I’m giving you the number two, remember that number, alright?”

“Sure. Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

Cooper laughed, “Sure.”

“The ones you let in, are we coming in as equals or as something else?”

Cooper tightened his eyes, taking offense to the question, “Equals. People coming in will contribute to our neighborhood, so they’ll be equals.”

Angela noticed and waved her hand, “I didn’t mean to offend you, Cooper. But, you wouldn’t believe some of the ‘offers’ of help we’ve heard today. The world is turning around very, very quickly.”

Cooper sighed, “I hear you. It is changing, but our job is to prevent it from changing too much and in the wrong direction.”

As Angela walked away, he watched her in silent respect. This was someone who could handle herself. And, best of all, she knew it.

“Next!”

After an hour, Cooper was down to the last person. His head hurt from the wide range of emotion he had encountered. Some cried, some yelled, and most begged him. In addition to Angela, he had decided to let four others in.

Frank Stephens was a former career Marine infantry officer who, although in his early sixties, was still in excellent shape. Cooper felt that if he could put a cigar in his mouth and an M16 in his hand, he would have had a spitting image of Clint Eastwood in Heartbreak Ridge standing in front of him. Gus had cursed his late wife for making him get rid of his firearms. “I coulda taken those punks with one good rifle and thirty rounds,” he’d grunted when first meeting Cooper. Cooper believed him too.

Michaela Evans worked as a trained botanist by day and hobbied as a competition pistol shooter by night. She wore her hair short, had smooth, ebony skin, and a no-nonsense attitude that Cooper liked immediately. Allowing her in was an easy decision because he needed anyone with weapons experience.

Betty Gray was his charity case. The old woman reminded him too much of his long-dead grandmother. He couldn’t turn her away, even though he knew she didn’t bring too much. She knew how to can, but that was the only practical skill he could identify.

Miko Martoulis was a recent immigrant who had served in the Greek army for several years. He had been a cook, but had been under fire a few times during their brief, but bloody, civil war that followed their economic collapse a few years ago. He worked as an auto mechanic at a local shop.

But, it was the last interview that changed everything.

After the long session, Cooper shouted, “Last,” and grinned at his own joke.

A short man with fidgeting hands ambled towards him. He was young, but prematurely bald. His steps were haphazard and Cooper kept thinking he was going to stumble and fall down. Nervously, he looked in all directions. Cooper thought he might be high.

Cooper stood up, angry, “Don’t waste my time if you’re on something!”

The man’s eyes, suddenly alert, zeroed in on Cooper’s, “I’m not on anything. I swear.”

As he drew closer, Cooper saw dark stains under his arms, despite the chill air, “Then why are you as nervous as a flea on a skillet?”

He gripped Cooper’s jacket collar, his eyes darted back and forth, “Because, they are after me.” The man’s breath reeked with fear.

Cooper pushed him to arm’s length, grabbing his collar in turn, “What? Who?”

The man’s eyes pleaded, “Look. I know something. That gang that attacked us wasn’t random. They were looking for me.”

Cooper’s eyes buzzed in confusion, “Slow down. What the hell are you talking about?”

“No one will listen to me. They were coming for me, but they must not have had the full address, so they attacked our whole block.”

Cooper was growing impatient, “Why would anyone be looking for you?”

“Because I know how all of this,” he waved his hands in a wide arc, “got started.”

Cooper relaxed his grip and took an involuntary step back, “You mean…”

“Yes, that’s what I mean. I worked at Admonitus for God’s sake. I was just a lab rat, low on the food chain. But, I heard things. I knew what they were working on. It…”

The man’s head exploded in a flash of red. Blood splashed wholesale across Cooper’s face, plastering his mouth, and burning his eyes. Cooper was on the ground before the man’s body had time to slump to the ground. Everyone was screaming as bursts of weapons fire sprayed the barricade in a wild fusillade. The roar of engines coming to life completed the cacophony.

Cooper had his rifle at the ready position as he rolled to take cover next to the car he had been leaning against most of the day. A gaggle of vans and SUVs were racing from left to right, heading north. He was only able to get off two hasty shots at the last of them. His bullets disappeared into a green van and a black SUV to unknown effect.

They were gone as quickly as they had appeared.

Cooper waited a few seconds, but the engines continued to fade into the distance. The screams and moans of the wounded and dying were the loudest noise now.

As he clambered back onto his feet, Mark came running over to him.

“What the hell was that?”

Cooper looked at the man lying at his feet, “I think it was a hit.”

Mark looked at him in confusion, “A what?”

“An assassination. They hit him with a long-range rifle head shot. The vehicles and gunfire were just a diversion. To make it look random. But, he was the target.”

“Who would want him dead and why?”

“I don’t know. But, I’m going to find out.” He’d remembered that Julianne had worked at Admonitus, as well.

Cooper moved to tend to the injured.

Cooper discovered his charity had been short-lived. Betty Gray had been mowed down by a burst from a submachine gun and lay dead in the street. The old woman appeared markedly smaller in death. Three others had been killed from close-in shotgun blasts or handguns. A half-dozen had been injured, most severely.

Others from the neighborhood were coming up after the gunfire had subsided. Cooper barked orders at them to go and get first aid supplies as quickly as possible. As they ran off, Cooper saw Calvin coming straight at him. He looked like an angry bull, taking long, deliberate strides toward him. As soon as he was within earshot, he yelled at Cooper.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Cooper waved his hands in a wide arc, indicating the dozen bodies strewn about him, “We were just attacked.”

Calvin was now within arm’s length, “Who are these people?” Cooper could see his face flushed a shade darker and his neck muscles as taut as a piano wire.

“Ah, refugees from several blocks over. They were driven from their homes by the same gang that just attacked them here,” Cooper, confused, saw the rage in Calvin’s eyes. “Look, why are you so angry?”

Calvin stood eye to eye with him, “Is it true that you were deciding to let some in?” Specks of spittle flew from his lips.

“Sure I was. I was figuring out who had skills that we could…”

Calvin poked him in the chest with the four fingers of his right hand, “You aren’t in charge Mr. Adams. What gives you the right to do this without consulting anyone else?”