Jacqueline Druga - Fallout

Snippets of BBC news showed rioting and fights in Europe, how a food shortage was breaking the country. There was news from other countries as well, though brief. However, for the most part, it was footage of what was happening in the United States.

None of it was good.

A computer-generated voice narrated the video images of United States citizens, starving, living, and huddling in destroyed buildings, children crying and injured. And the worst were the images and videos of those suffering with the new virus that was raging not only across the United States but the world as well. Patients on cots or lying on the ground, covered in sores, barely moving and struggling to breathe.

Sickly images all while the narrator said, This is your country. Feed your people. Your people are dying. You can save them. There is no room for pride when it comes to the wellbeing of others. Come to us so we can help them.

Adding to that, Fen Shu would come into the room four times a day and say the same things to her. Badgering her relentlessly.

“Give up. Surrender. Save your people.”

Madeline would look away from the television. “Face that.” Fen grabbed her chin and made her look at the footage of those sick with the virus. “Save them. Let us save them. Look at them. They are a few of many. Thirty million people have this. Thirty million could die.”

Madeline lowered her head.

“It has spread that fast. We know how to beat it. Thirty million,” Fen said. “Surrender.”

Sadly, with each passing day that surrender looked more like an option than not.

Fen stepped from the hotel room and merely pointed at the door for the guard to lock and secure it. She fixed her blouse, lifted her head high, and walked down the hall.

Another agent waited for her by the elevator.

“Well?” he asked.

Fen shook her head. “Nothing. Not yet. Soon. I believe it.”

“Then we wait?” he asked.

“No.” Fen pressed the button on the elevator. “She needs a push. The Americans need a frightening message about this virus. Clean the western camps.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.” The elevator opened. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another problem to eliminate.” She stepped inside the carriage. “General Liu.”

The elevator doors closed.

The radio played like something from the days of old when families gathered around listening to stories and tales. Layered with static, the voice had a tin can sound to it, but its message was clear.

Following the announcement that they are in the midst of government restructuring of the US, People’s Republic of China issued an apology for the delay in exports. Food supplies and aid export will resume within the week and they are reaching out to leaders of the world to negotiate terms in efforts to return to seamless commodity exchange.

“Goddamn, mother fucking son of a bitch!” Welch tossed his empty mug across the room. It pissed him off even more that it didn’t break. “Arrogant shits announcing they took over pretty much.” His temper tantrum fell upon a quiet control room. “Get me Gilbert in Alaska.”

A few seconds later, a specialist announced, “Gilbert is on.”

“Gil,” Welch called out. “You hearing this shit?”

“I just heard,” Gilbert said over the speaker. “Did we surrender? Was there one?”

“Not that I know of,” Welch said. “But with arrogance like this, I am betting it’s not long until there is one.”

“You think they’re expecting one?”

“Oh, yeah, I think they know it’s coming.”

“So, what now?”

“Timing is still good,” Welch said. “Word is out. I’m waiting on a response and a yes.”

“What do you think?”

“I think intel is good, things are in order. I think you and others should hunker down… I’m pretty confident. This is will be a go. And in two days, this whole war will look a whole lot different.” Welch paused. “Thank God.”

There was something intimidating about the big man named Harris, when he made his approach to the table. Cal had seen him before, he was always with the younger guy with the beat-up face. But the big man never made an attempt to register. Yet on this day, he not only made it to the table, he pushed his way through to get to Cal before the cut off. And no one argued with him. He brought the younger guy, Toby, with him.

“Name,” Cal asked.

“Harris Clemmons.”

“We need your help,” Toby said. His voice was weak and cracked.

“I don’t know what I can do,” Cal said. “Are you ill? Hurt?”

“Duh,” said Toby.

“I’m gonna stand here,” Harris said, “pretending I am checking in and you are going to answer his question.”

“How do you know you can trust me?” Cal asked.

“We don’t,” Harris answered. “I don’t care.”

“You know he needs medical attention,” Cal said.

“He needs to eat,” Harris said. “The feed us pig slop. He won’t eat it.”

“That’s not important,” Toby said. “We’re looking for our friend. She came in with us. She’s not here. We’re worried. Is she okay? Sick? Dead?”

“She?” Cal asked. “I can tell you that all women are kept separate. I haven’t registered any female deaths if that makes you feel better.”

Toby exhaled in relief. “Yes, dude, it does. Are you able to check her name?”

“Yes. What is it?”

“Marissa.”

“Marissa what?” Cal questioned.

Toby looked at Harris. “What’s her last name?”

“I don’t know. Shit.”

Cal threw up his hands. “We search by last names. It won’t even let me search first only. I’ll tell you what, I’ll look around. I’ll see what I can find out. When I come back later, I’ll let you know.”

“Time’s up!” a soldier shouted.

Cal shut the lid to his laptop. “I have to go.” He stood and reached for his items, stopping things from falling, and that’s when he saw them, the peanut butter packets. He inconspicuously grabbed them in his hand. “I will be in touch.” He held out his hand to Toby in a handshake manner.

Toby hesitated but as soon as he connected hands with Cal, his eyes widened.

“Take them,” Cal said. “It’s not much, but it’s food.”

“Thank you,” said Toby.

“Thanks, man,” Harris said.

Cal nodded and finished gathering his things. There was one other manner to tend to.

A phone message.

He wore a large bulky sweatshirt that hung pretty far covering the front pockets of his jeans where he kept that military phone. It vibrated when he received a message. No one could hear it, but his testicles knew when a message was received.

Cal had been feeling the vibration the last few minutes of the conversation.

He paused on the way to the next yard to use the porta john. Inside, he grabbed the phone from his pocket and held it near the vent for light.

“Sunday Mass at two o’clock. Lose the phone.”

Cal lowered his head in relief. If he understood the message, the liberation was going to take place the next day. Cal would be gone, but he would leave knowing he at least helped in some way.

It made him feel less guilty.

The message also gave an instruction, lose the phone, and Cal was happy to do so. Before leaving the porta john, he tossed it where no one would ever search… in the commode. When it splashed, he knew it was gone, and Cal walked out of the portable bathroom.

General Liu stood leaning in toward a long table in his office. Other military personnel including Sergeant Huang were there. On the table was a large map of the area.