R. Ruggiero - Brushfire Plague

The Sergeant scoffed, “What kind of information?”

“I have a lead about a person, here in Portland, who might have information about how it started,” Cooper’s face was intent and he pressed it to within a few inches of the Sergeant’s.

The Sergeant shook his head, “I’m not buying that part, but I will bring you to the Major. We need intelligence of what’s happening in the next arc out from the downtown core. We’ve heard some crazy stories and we need to know what’s real and what’s bullshit.”

“Good enough. Thank you,” Cooper said as the Sergeant motioned them to a Humvee parked a dozen yards further to the rear.

“We’re encamped in the Waterfront Park, just across the bridge,” the Sergeant said, pointing to a series of military tents dotting the Willamette on the opposite side. “Of course, I don’t know why we aren’t in the Hyatt sleeping on some nice beds,” he groused.

“When’s the last time Uncle Sam ever spent money for a grunt’s comfort?” Cooper quipped.

“Valley Forge,” the Sergeant deadpanned and the three of them laughed together.

“Corporal Michelson can take you over, under my orders. You will have to leave your firearms here though.” As he saw their look of unease, he quickly added, “Don’t worry, they will be waiting for you when you return. My word on that.”

It took them a few minutes to fill out some paperwork documenting the firearms they were entrusting to the Oregon National Guard. After that, they piled into the Humvee and the Corporal drove them the short distance to the cluster of tents on the other side.

They waited twenty minutes before being ushered in to see the Major. Cooper ducked inside the tent, with Dranko following close on his heels.

Inside, a large table was festooned with a myriad of maps. In turn, each map was adorned with colored push pins, a variety of colors highlighting various sections of the map, and indiscernible writing in multiple colors. To their left, a mobile bulletin board had, presumably, been turned over because what faced them was a blank corkboard. On the other side, they could see bits of paper sprawling over the edges of the board.

A large, powerful man dressed in olive drab fatigues moved quickly so that he could stand in front of the table with the maps and prevent them from getting a close view of them. He stood at least six feet tall and it was easy to discern his muscular tone underneath the baggy uniform. His gray hair was close-cropped as was a thin mustache. A prominent scar was seared across his forehead. Cooper guessed it was from a bullet or shrapnel.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am Major Cummings. You must have something good for me to get past the Sergeant. I hope I won’t be disappointed,” his commanding presence was unmistakable.

Cooper didn’t blink, “I’m Cooper Adams and this is Paul Dranko. We live up near Mount Tabor. It looks like you still carry a calling card from the war,” he said touching a finger to his own forehead.

The Major laughed, recognizing the deft play at small talk. “Yes I do. I was coming down a stairway after we had cleared a building. Someone missed a hidey hole and I caught an AK round from down below. Doc told me my ramrod back kept my head up and the bullet from punching through my gullet and out the top of my head.”

“Iraq or ‘Ghanistan?”

The Major smiled proudly, “I did both of those. The bullet was from Iraq One.”

Cooper nodded, “We both served there as well, although not as distinguished as you. I was a diesel mechanic who only saw a little action. Dranko here,” he said jerking his thumb backward, “was a Marine good for nothing, but bragging.” The Major laughed as Dranko used the tip of his foot to hit Cooper’s knee from behind. Cooper caught himself before he stumbled.

The Major’s forced his face straight again as he realized that Cooper was pulling him into a casual conversation, “Look, I could shoot the breeze with you two all day. It would sure beat the work I have to do. But, my time is limited. I’ve got more holes in the dike than we have fingers and toes to plug ‘em. So, what do you have for me?”

“Right. First, let me give you our report from the Mt. Tabor area. The Sergeant said that would be useful to you.”

“It would.”

Cooper and Dranko took turns recounting the events since the plague had broken out. They focused on the incidents of violence and what they had done to set up security in their area. They left out the part about their firefight at Admonitus. Their reports were short and concise, using their shared military knowledge to hasten it. Major Cummings paused to scribble a few times, but a Staff Sergeant sitting in the corner made copious notes of what they said.

“Thank you, that is all very helpful,” the Major said as they finished. “The Corporal said you had additional information about the plague?”

“Nothing definitive, sir. But, I have a few scraps of information that need to be investigated further. I’m hoping you can help us?”

“Well, what do you have?” the Major said impatiently as he waved off an orderly trying to enter the tent. It was already the second time he had done so since they had arrived.

In short order, Cooper recounted his encounters with Julianne Wheeler, the lab technician and the attack that killed him and the words exchanged with Mitchell at Admonitus, deftly avoiding any mention of the gunplay. Cooper whispered a silent prayer that any news of it hadn’t reached the Major yet.

Cooper was taken aback as he saw the Major’s face flush crimson as he finished recounting the facts. The Major’s fists were clenched as well.

“Is that all? You come in here with that? A woman’s whispers in a dream and an unfortunate victim of a gang attack who is spouting craziness? With that, you waste my time with innuendos? Slander against one of the pillars in Oregon’s business community, I might add?”

Cooper’s own fists clenched, “My son just came down sick yesterday. If Mitchell knows something…anything, it’s worth finding out! All I’m saying is that you should question him!”

The Major shook his head emphatically, “No. It isn’t going to happen. We are ass over teakettle with real problems…”

Cooper interrupted him, “Problems caused by the plague! If there is a way to get to the root of it…”

Cooper quickly realized his mistake as the Major cut him off, “We’re done. The Sergeant will escort you out.”

Cooper took a step forward, to reach out and grab the Major’s shoulder, “Please, Major! So much depends on this!”

He was stopped cold by a hard thrust from the Major’s hand to his chest, “Don’t think about it, son. This interview is over.”

The Major turned on his heels, his back looming as an unassailable wall. The Sergeant was at their side and gesturing them out with his left hand. His right hand lay resting on the butt of a holstered Beretta pistol. Cooper gave one last look at the Major and then hung his head before turning to leave. He throttled the fury of curses that he wanted to scream. Some damned bureaucrat who’s too afraid to ruffle the feathers of someone prominent.

The short ride back across the bridge seemed like it took hours. They retrieved their weapons from the tent. The Sergeant took one look at their tense body language and guessed their interview with the Major hadn’t gone well. He decided against any small talk.

After crossing the river, they retrieved their weapons as promised. As soon as Cooper and Dranko were out of earshot of the soldiers, Cooper let loose, “Can you believe that? He didn’t pause to even think about what we had told him.”

Dranko stopped his friend and put his hand on his shoulder, “Look Cooper. Here’s what we have. There’s not a lot to connect the dots.”