Jacqueline Druga - Fallout

The smell.

There was a horrendous smell that carried outward every time the wind blew. Harris knew as the days passed that it would only get worse.

He couldn’t see the source of the smell just by peering over the barricade, but when he walked to the very end where the barricade met the fence, and he pressed his face against the very corner, he could see not only what caused the odor but why they weren’t in the prison.

Mounds.

In the rear prison yard were mounds of bodies, and Harris knew they were inmates. They had been killed, every single one of them, then discarded.

The piles were made up primarily of those jumpsuits the prisoners wore with occasional dots of other bodies with other clothing. Such as the blue and green checkered shirt.

Harris had just seen that man. He saw them take him out of the yard. The man wasn’t any trouble, not a fighter, he was chosen to go.

As they all would be.

He looked carefully for purple, because that was what Marissa was wearing. They hadn’t seen her since they arrived.

He didn’t see purple anywhere in that mound. He’d check again later and keep checking.

There has to be a way out , Harris thought. With more prisoners in the camp than soldiers, there had to be a way to overturn things.

He was bound and determined to find that way.

“Hey,” Toby called out groggily.

Harris looked over and Toby was sitting up. “Hey, you didn’t miss breakfast.” He walked to him.

“I’m not eating that stuff.”

“You have to eat. Seriously, you have to,” Harris told him. “Bet about right now you’re sorry you lost that weight.”

“Nah,” Toby said. “I need to be nimble. I’m gonna get out of here and get us help.”

“I believe you will,” Harris said. “We both will.”

“What about Marissa?” Toby asked. “If we get out, we can’t leave her behind.”

“We may not be able to take her with us but we will come back for her.” Harris peered over his shoulder to the barricade. “If you know she’s still alive.”

“I wish there was a way to find out.”

“Who knows.” Harris sat down, and when he did, his eyes focused outward. “Wait. Maybe there is.” He lifted his hand slightly and pointed to the guy they called the census taker. The man who came in with his little computer, spoke with a British accent and took down their names. He was leaving from his morning census, but he’d be back. Harris would ask him. He could know about Marissa. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

At the rate it took to check in each person, with the amount of people in each camp, Cal believed it would take months.

He was allotted only a certain amount of time in the prison yard, less than the other area because those in the prison were considered extremely dangerous. Admittedly, Cal was nervous in there and around them. He fumbled so much he dropped things when he gathered his laptop and folders. Biscuits, crackers, and those little foil packs of peanut butter he saved from his meal for a later snack. He was just glad he never dropped that phone.

When they stopped him just outside the prison gate, he thought for sure he was in trouble for hoarding food. His heart raced and ears burned, fearing getting in trouble.

“Mr. Calhoun,” one of the English-speaking supervisors said as he approached him. “A word?”

He pulled Cal aside.

“Look, if it’s about the peanut butter…”

“No. No worries, that is your food to do with what you wish. I have good news.”

“Good… good news?”

“Yes. Your government has just negotiated a deal for your safe passage back to your homeland.”

“For me? Wow.”

The supervisor smiled. “It is for many of you. There are tens of thousands of United Kingdom citizens here on holiday or business. Or were when things began. You will be returning to your country by ship. In a few days, we will transport you to the state of Virginia to board the vessel. While you are obligated to do so, we would appreciate the help with the data until you depart.”

“Um, yes, sure. Absolutely. Thank you.”

“You are going home.” He walked away.

“Yeah,” Cal said. “I’m going home.” It seemed surreal, like a dream or some sort of trick. When he thought about that again, it hit him. He was there because Troy asked for his help. Cal didn’t know when the liberation of the camp was going to come but he was willing to wager, he would be gone before it happened.

He still had to try to help. Before heading into the other yard to do his data work, Cal excused himself and went to the only place where he absolute privacy… the porta john. There he was able to send a message to Troy. He would send him as much detail as he could, as often as he could, until he was no longer able to do so.

It was surprising that he had any skin at all left on his face, that was how many times Steve had rubbed his hand over chin.

It irritated Gus, who looked up from the large table and huffed at him.

The base was empty with the exception of Troy and his team; they didn’t have to leave early because they were assigned Caldwell.

“Of those in the area, we are locking down fourteen. That’s close to fourteen thousand people, possibly more,” Gus said pointing to the map.

“Where are we moving them?” Steve asked.

“Washington, PA. Untouched, no Procs there. Intel said it’s too close to Pittsburgh so it’s been left alone,” Gus replied.

“Do we know how many people in these camps are infected?” Steve asked.

“No.” Gus shook his head. “No, we don’t.”

“The infection is out of control,” Troy said. “Millions have it, millions are dying.”

“Yes, but”—Gus smoothed his hand over the map—“we have low infection rate here on the east. It’s focused primarily in the Midwest and west. Which tells me that was where it was delivered.”

Steve rubbed his chin again.

“What?” Gus snapped. “What now?”

“Well, what if they have it? What if a large amount of these people have it.”

“Then they have it. We’ll treat it. It’s treatable,” Gus said. “After Phase two, camp liberation, then we send our men out to look for antivirals and antibiotics for the sores. Welch has been in touch with a team hunkered down in Fort Dietrich. They say it is treatable, they just don’t have the means to mass produce.”

“That’s where we come in,” Troy said. “After I liberate Caldwell and drop off the refugees, I am on a team headed to Dietrich. It’s a rescue operation for those scientists.”

“Speaking of Caldwell.” Steve lifted the different sheets of paper with images. “I am not seeing a satellite of Caldwell.”

“No, we don’t have one,” Gus said. “Our man inside stopped contacting when he turned over the phone to the Brit.”

“What has he said?” Steve asked.

Troy replied. “Not much. He’s not communicated much because he doesn’t know much.”

“From what he has sent us,” Gus said, “it’s the same as everywhere. They stupidly are routine. Same time slots every day they return all prisoners to the yard. Total of eight entrance guards at the camps. Sundays all prisoners are detained in camps.”

“And like everywhere else,” Troy added, “the camps are at least a thousand feet from the hub or main town where the personnel and soldiers are concentrated.”

“Small team,” Gus explained. “Each town. I don’t know what the others are using to disable but the plan is the same across the board. We’re using a nerve agent, heavily concentrated delivered in the town, at the same time we down the fences. Our troops then pick off the soldiers. Civilian casualties to the minimum.”