Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey (42 page)

“Way above your pay grade.” The suit spoke it without a hint
of emotion or inflection. He was stating a fact, not answering a question, and
everybody in that hallway knew it. Except for the colonel. Estes watched with a
stone face but enjoyment in his heart while the colonel squirmed. Mustering up
some residual courage, Colonel Jordan answered back, “I didn’t catch your name.”

Steel eyes narrowing to slits, the man in the dark blue suit
stepped forward until he was a foot away from Colonel Jordan. All eyes in the
hallway were focused on the space between the two of them. Estes watched the
colonel’s forehead begin to twitch with the tension of the brewing storm. Without
pause the lightning rained down.

“Is there any question about who’s in charge here?” The steel-eyed
suit had pronounced each word slowly and with crystal clarity. Estes felt his
own heart skip a beat, remembering the last time he had heard those words
uttered. Apparently the colonel remembered as well. Estes watched the blood
drain from Colonel Jordan’s face, saw his jaw drop open and hang there. Seconds
passed as the entire hallway population stood there, stunned, waiting for the
next hammer to fall. They didn’t have to wait long.

The DHS suit, his face still a foot from the colonel, his
eyes now filled with a mixture of impatience and disdain spoke. “Miss Frost, if
the colonel doesn’t give me an answer to my question within the next ten
seconds, please put a bullet in his brain and find me the second in command.”

Estes watched as the redhead used her right hand to slowly
withdraw a stainless steel pistol from underneath her vest. Her left hand
deftly darted into a pocket on the same side and pulled out a small silver
cylindrical shape. In full view of the colonel and hallway audience she began
to thread the cylinder onto the end of the stainless steel barrel.

Colonel Jordan snapped his mouth shut and came to full
salute, practically yelling out, “NO SIR, I UNDERSTAND WHO’S IN CHARGE.”

“Very well then colonel, have all of your senior staff, as
well as all squad leaders in your office in five minutes.”

“YES SIR,” the colonel replied, briskly snapping another
salute and then turning to issue orders. In the space of a few heartbeats the
five member guard platoon was sprinting toward different parts of the school.

The major from the medical detachment broke the stillness of
the now half deserted hallway by raising his hand and accompanying it with,
“Sir . . . excuse me, may ask you a question, sir?”

“What is it major?” the suit replied.

“Well, with all due respect we’re having problems getting
some straight answers out of the CDC and USAMRIID, at least, and again I mean
this with all due respect . . .”

“Spit it out major, my time is valuable,” the suit said.

“Yes sir. What I mean to say is that ever since . . . the
Department of Homeland Security took over as sole liaison between deployed
field units and the research and intel labs, we’ve basically been flying in the
dark. We haven’t even been able to get through to them in the last thirty-six
hours. There’s absolutely no way we can continue to follow the medical
quarantine and testing protocols without more staff, and a whole lot more
supplies. The last shipment that came in by helicopter was filled with ninety-two
pounds of tongue depressors and four hundred and seventy pounds of feminine
hygiene products. No antibiotics, no antivirals, no test kits, protective
equipment, reagents . . . nothing useful at all. So I’m just wondering if you
could maybe shed some light on the situation . . . or maybe even pull a few
strings.”

Lieutenant Estes watched the grey haired, hard eyed DHS . . .
Commander? . . . Admiral? . . . General? . . . Estes wasn’t sure what rank
protocol was in that organization, but however it worked, the man standing in
front of him next to the Amazon was obviously very highly placed in the
hierarchy. He appeared to be considering the major’s words. A solid thirty
seconds passed in uncomfortable silence before he replied.

“Major, I feel your pain. Things are going ape shit all over.
Now I will try to address your concerns, but I’m going to wait until
everybody’s here so I don’t have to repeat myself.”

The major nodded his head quickly, saluted, and replied, “Yes
sir.”

Thirty more seconds of stillness passed as Colonel Jordan,
Lieutenant Estes, and the medical major stood at attention. Finally the distant
sounds of approaching footsteps began to filter through the silence.

Estes watched as the suit gazed up at a large analog clock
mounted near the juncture of the wall and ceiling. The clock was surrounded by
a tamper resistant wire enclosure that gave testament to its value by
displaying several dents, probably caused by hurled algebra textbooks. The
clear acrylic protecting the clock workings and numbers was still intact.

“Are we going to stand in the hallway all day, colonel?” the
suit asked; once again his tone was neutral and unreadable.

Colonel Jordan seemed to snap out of a trance and said, “No
sir, right this way sir.” He held open the door to his converted operations
center and waited there as the Amazon advanced past him, disappearing into the
room for several seconds before returning to the hallway long enough to give a
quick nod of “all clear” to her boss. The suit returned her nod and walked into
the room.

Several minutes later a small gathering of about a dozen
additional soldiers and medical personnel were seated in the smallish
desk-chair combinations, their attention focused on the steel-eyed man in the
handsome blue suit at the front of the room.

“Gentlemen . . . and lady.” The man gave a slight incline of
his head toward the only other female in the room besides his stunning
companion. The lady in question was a fifty-something, prematurely gray member
of the medical team whose shape told of repeated trips to various all you can
eat buffets throughout the years. She was also the last to arrive, puffing and
wheezing while practically being dragged through the doorway by one of the
soldiers. Estes had been posted in the front corner of the room. The beautiful
bodyguard, Miss Frost if he heard her name correctly, had specifically placed
him there. From his position he could look into the eyes of anybody in the
audience, and if the strawberry blond-haired assassin stayed where she was, he
had a perfect peripheral view of her ass.

The suit continued, “I’m not going to waste your time or mine.
I’m here for three reasons. The first two I’ll go over with everybody; the
third,” he inclined his head towards the colonel, “is for Colonel Jordan only.

“Item number one. How would you like to have a dozen Apaches
up here at the school?”

There was an immediate murmur of approval from the assembly. Heads
swiveled towards each other and nodded the affirmative in anticipation of twelve
attack helicopters being added to their arsenal.

Estes watched the back of the suit’s head turn as he scanned
the room slowly, watching their responses to his offer of a massive amount of
firepower. Steel-eyes took several crisp steps toward the front center of the
room.
SLAM
!!  The seated crowd performed levitation of various heights
as the man slapped his hand hard on the middle desk in the front row. “Because
the next time somebody . . . ANYBODY . . . from this unit fires upon, or gives
the order to fire upon . . .” Estes saw the man snap his head toward Colonel Jordan
briefly before continuing, “any United States military personnel, or any
civilian without just cause, I will personally make the call that sends a dozen
Apaches up here. And make no mistake, they will be running hot and carrying a
full combat load, and their orders will be to turn this entire school into a
smoking pile of rubble and ashes with every one of you heartless son-of-a-bitches
inside.”

Estes watched the assembly stare open mouthed at the suit,
then each other, and then the colonel who was so pale and quivering Estes would
have put even money on whether he’d just drop over or stroke out right there in
his chair. The suit continued.

“Do you think we’re blind?” The man held up his left index
finger and kept it pointing straight at the ceiling for a few seconds before
speaking again. “We are facing a . . . difficult . . . and fluid situation. Globally.
Things are not well. But we are not helpless, and we’re damn sure not going to
tolerate the type of behavior that went on here the other day. These are your
own countrymen for God’s sake. Servicemen and women who have taken the same
oath that you did. They are civilians turning to you for protection. Moms,
dads, Aunt Sue’s and Uncle Bob’s. They are you. And you will protect them. Do I
make myself clear?”

With vigorous head shaking and jumbled “Yes sir’s” the seated
crowd quickly agreed. Apparently not quick enough though. “Do I make myself
crystal clear?” the man slowly and clearly hissed through clenched teeth. This
time the response was direct and enthusiastic.

“YES SIR!”

“Good. Now, I am not talking about putting yourselves at
undue risk. You will follow safety precautions to the best of your ability. You
will treat any of the infected, the proven infected, as per your previous
orders. There will be times where you have to make judgment calls, we
understand this. But your primary duty is still the safety and security of this
country . . . and . . . its people. Clear?”

“YES SIR!”

“Don’t forget, we’ll be watching.” Once again he pointed
upwards with his finger.

“Item number two, supply and demand. I do not have good news
for you. This situation has frazzled up the works across the board. There will
be relief, but I cannot say when or how much. Do the best with what you have
now, make it last as long as you can. Improvise. Find new uses for things you
have in abundance, and ration critical supplies to the best of your ability. I
cannot say how long you’ll be here. Orders are being issued hourly for
strategic repositioning and unit reinforcement. As I’m sure your medical team
is aware, the speed that this is moving caught everybody looking. Don’t waste
valuable time wishing for what you don’t have. And keep yourselves . . . and
those you’re responsible for . . . safe.” The man looked slowly around the
room, meeting the eyes of everybody in the audience before barking,
“Dismissed.”

Silently the crowd walked out. Estes noted that the major
from the medical unit hesitated several times, like he really wanted to ask
something, but thought better of it. Colonel Jordan was the last in line to
exit. Somewhere between two and three millimeters before the colonel’s nose
broke the plane of the doorway to safety, the DHS suit snapped, “Not you, Colonel.”

Estes waited in his corner as the Amazon slid between several
desks on her way to the door. Watching her ass should be an Olympic sport, he
thought. He’d definitely go for the gold. She inserted herself between the
colonel and the exit, nudging him aside to do so, then looked out the hallway
checking for . . . something. Apparently satisfied, she pulled the door shut
behind her, locked eyes with Colonel Jordan, and motioned for him to take a
seat. He did so, although Estes noted a nervous tic had set up semi-permanent
residence below the colonel’s right eye.

The Amazon looked at her watch, tapping it briefly while
meeting the eyes of her charge. The suit nodded at the unspoken query, took a
deep breath and then walked around and stood directly behind the seated colonel.
Estes watched Colonel Jordan’s eyes flare wide open, saw his neck begin to
tremble with fear of what he was sure was headed his way. Without changing
position, the man with steel eyes pulled a miniature notebook from his pocket,
removed a small golf-sized pencil from between the spiral binding and jotted
down a brief note. He then addressed Estes.

“Lieutenant Estes, I assume you know where the medical
facility is located at in the school, correct?”

“YES SIR!” Estes snapped.

Tearing off the top sheet of paper, the suit extended his
left arm toward Estes. “Go there and bring me back one of these, double time it
soldier.”

Estes advanced and took the note, his eyebrows reaching for
the sky when he saw what was printed in concise handwriting on the small, lined
sheet. It read “Body bag.”

April 24
^th
, Eric part 5

It took us until almost 1:00 PM to find the old logging road.
The point where we came out was maybe one half mile south of where I went in at.
It was also several miles north of the Gator. Of course, after fighting our way
through miles of thick brush, walking down a logging road seemed like paradise
to us. A little after 2:00 PM we made it to the avalanche of trees that had
stopped the Gator in the first place. Ducking and weaving through the tangle
took another few minutes, and my back and shoulders were certainly glad to
catch a glimpse of the green utility vehicle parked on the other side. I had
hung a small bag of provisions near the Gator, and I retrieved that as Emily
loaded her pack and camera into the cargo bed. After I un-shouldered my Osprey
pack, I dug into the small provision bag for two important items. The first was
a one gallon zip lock bag stuffed full of dry dog food, the second was a quart
size zip lock bag with several candy bars, tea bags, and the all important hot
chocolate inside.

“Anything I can help you with?” Emily asked.

I nodded and said, “If you don’t mind, get my little stove
out of my backpack, fill the large cup with water from the reservoir in the
back section, and put it on to boil.”

“Where do you want me to put it . . . someplace level I’d
guess . . . correct?”

“Yeah, anyplace basically flat and even will work,” I replied.

“So, what now . . . what’s the plan?” Emily asked after she
finished setting the water to boil.

“Well,” I answered, “once that water gets hot enough I’m
going to mix it with Max’s food to get a good hot meal in him. And then I’m
thinking about making a big mug of hot chocolate, which if you’re lucky I might
share with you.” I watched Emily arch her eyebrows, speculating on whether I
was jerking her chain or not.

I continued, “I imagine I could be persuaded to give you a
few sips of my special recipe, double thick, wonder of the wilderness hot
chocolate . . . in exchange for . . .” I let my sentence trail off, replacing
it with an ear to ear smile.

“In exchange for what?” Emily’s emphasis was on “what,” but
her mischievous smile betrayed any anger or apprehension.

I started laughing, shaking my head and rubbing my eyes. “I
wish we had time for that . . . but what I was talking about was actually a five
minute shoulder massage. Especially since I carried your camera equipment most
of the way.”

“You, sir, have a deal . . . provided you agree to my
disclaimers,” Emily said.

“Which are?”

“First off, I’m getting more than a few sips of this
miraculous wilderness beverage you’re going to concoct. Secondly, we’re going
to trade shoulder massages, remember I carried a pack also. And third, since
we’re riding back, I’m going to get my camera out and take some pictures along
the way, of which you may be in some of them. Deal?”

I nodded my head and replied, “Deal.”

About ten minutes later Max had finished his dog food, Emily
was slurping up the last of the hot chocolate and I was licking the remains of
my second Snickers bar off of my lips. The sun was shining and a light breeze
was blowing out of the southeast, but the hole in my stomach remained. It
wasn’t hunger, it was that same feeling I had back at the clearing. Danger. I
looked down at Max. He was sprawled on his tummy in a patch of short grass
bathed in sunlight, and it didn’t look like he was acting nervous, but
something was making me edgy. I just couldn’t place it.

Shaking my head to get rid of the gloom and doom thoughts, I
walked over and sat down next to Max. His golden eyes stared into mine for a
few seconds, then he rose and touched his forehead to my shoulder, giving me a
slight reassuring nudge as if to say, “Come on buddy, we got this.” Either that
or he was saying “Get off your ass, dad.” Whatever the case we spent a few
minutes wrestling, darting and lunging at each other, breaking off sticks and
playing tug of war, in essence just being guys. When I looked over at the
Gator, Emily had her camera in hand and was firing away at us.

“You should see this,” Emily said with her head tilted down
looking into the view screen of her camera, “there’s this one shot where it
looks like the two of you merge into a single creature. I know it’s really just
the perspective, but it’s still a really cool look.”

“Print me off one, I’ll put it on the wall of my house,” I
said, purposely not adding in “if we still have electricity.”

“Do you have a house?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“Tell me about it . . . what’s it like, where’s it at . . . everything.”
Emily began focusing on me with her camera. I heard several faint
clicks
as her hand twisted the lens back and forth.

“That’s a story for another time maybe,” I replied. I didn’t
mind telling her, but I was anxious to get moving.

“Well, will you at least pose for a picture . . . something
like, oh I don’t know . . . maybe something that I’ll title ‘my wilderness
rescuer.’ Something that I’ll be able to hang on the wall in my house. If I
ever get one.”

I sighed, biting down the anxiety to hit the road and ask her,
“What do you want me to do?”

Emily looked around for a few seconds before saying, “Climb
up in the branches of the pile of fallen trees there. If I can stage it right,
you’ll blend into the background, and anybody who looks at the picture will
have to search for you. Kind of like those optical illusions were you have to
find the hidden picture within the picture.”

“With or without my backpack on?”  I asked.

“Without,” Emily said as she was switching lenses.

Max went back to the patch of sunlight as I climbed and wormed
my way through the thick tangle of fallen trees. It took about five minutes
before I was perched in a location that was acceptable to Emily. My feet had
broken through several rotten branches on the way, and I was precariously
balancing halfway behind the worm-eaten remains of a large fir tree. Emily was
sliding left and right across the logging road, snapping shots from different
angles. She would alternate between crouching and standing, tilting the camera
on its side for some of the shots and keeping it level for others. I was
shifting around a bit to try and find a more stable location for my feet when I
saw Max get up quickly. Emily was still firing away as Max began to growl
towards the edge of the forest near the Gator. Three seconds later the growl
increased to a snarl, followed by several warning barks. I looked down
hurriedly to find a safe decent off of the fallen fir tree, shifting my hands
for a better grip as I mentally kicked myself for getting into this situation.

“Eric . . . ERIC!” Emily was pointing and shouting.

I shifted my eyes up just in time to see a large black bear
step onto the logging road. Max started darting back and forth, snarling and snapping
his jaws as the bear ambled toward the Gator. I moved down another two feet,
heading towards a solid length of aspen I had used on the way up. I risked
another quick look out toward the logging road as I stepped onto the splintered
remains of one of the old fir’s limbs. Emily was crouched near the logjam,
clicking away at the scene that was unfolding at the Gator. Max was at ground
zero with the bear, lunging at the beast’s hindquarters every time the bear
moved closer to the utility vehicle where our backpacks and the smell of hot
chocolate and dog food emanated from. The bear was getting seriously ticked off
and took a couple swats at Max, who jumped aside before charging back in. I
started yelling “Ha-Yaaa,” trying to shift some of the bear’s attention away
from Max. That’s when the limb under my foot shattered and I plummeted like a
meteor into the thick snag below me, slowing down only briefly when I smashed
into the aspen log. I felt a sharp burn in my ankle as twigs and branches snapped
and crashed around me, altering my trajectory before finally dumping me halfway
out onto the logging road. The noise of my departure from the logjam caught the
large bear’s attention and he stood on his back legs, sniffing the air briefly
before Max charged him again, ripping off a mouthful of shaggy black fur before
leaping sideways. The bear went down on all fours and stormed at Max, huffing
and growling as he did. I was still halfway caught in some limbs and laying on
my side, but I started yelling as loud as I could . . . “Haii-Yaaaaaa.” A few
seconds later Emily joined in. Max took another chunk of fur off the ass of the
bear, who apparently had enough and spun around, heading for the tree line with
my buddy snapping at his heels.

I tried to sit up, but another sharp pain and throb from my ankle
stopped me midway. I let loose a few choice curse words and tried again, this
time managing to get into a sitting position despite the pain in my ankle. My
left foot was partially caught in a jumble of limbs and it took three tries to
remove it. I hobbled to my feet just as Emily came over.

“Oh my goodness Eric, are you OK?”

The throb in my ankle reassured me that I was definitely not
OK. I looked down, saw where my Gortex pants had torn and mumbled a few more
discouraging words. Emily repeated her question.

“I’ll live, at least until I get the first aid kit out of my
pack,” I was still pissed and it showed in the tone of my reply.

“I’m so sorry Eric, I didn’t mean for you to get hurt just
for a picture . . .”

I raised a hand to cut her off, saying, “Emily, it’s not your
fault. You couldn’t have known about the bear. None of us could have. It’s just
dumb luck.” Forcing a smile I finished with, “Besides, I’ll bet you got some
good pictures of Max.”

As if on cue, Max came trotting up the logging trail looking
no worse for the wear, stopping only briefly to drink out of a puddle before
coming over and sniffing my ankle. I winced as I reached down to give him a
good chest rub, and he returned the affection with a few licks of my face. Straightening
back up, I walked towards the Gator, mentally kicking myself again as I
listened to the heavy squish of a boot filled with blood.

The tailgate of the utility vehicle has these little stiff
wire hooks that attach to the bed sides. The one on the left is bent slightly
out of shape due to an encounter with a large chunk of oak firewood a few years
ago, consequently the extra seven and a half seconds I spent fumbling with that
did nothing to better my mood. I finally got the tailgate down and sat my ass
in the bed, crossed my left leg on top of my right knee and surveyed the damage.
Gortex pant leg—ripped from the calf down. Boot—apparently intact. Under Armour
sock—red. It was white this morning. Shit.

“Let me help you, OK Eric?”

I mumbled something noncommittal as I unlaced my boot. A
small trickle of scarlet blood cascaded from the boot onto the green painted
surface of the Gator’s bed. A brief thought of Christmas decorations flashed
through my mind. Shaking my head I got back to task. It hurt to remove my boot,
but being pissed off helped me to focus away a lot of the pain.

“I really can help, if you let me,” Emily said softly.

I flexed my foot and wiggled my toes. Nothing seemed broken. Blood
was still dripping off of my sock as I rolled my ankle in a small circle.

Pain.

“Focus Eric,” I said to myself through gritted teeth as I
pulled off the sock.

I risked another ankle roll to try and narrow down the
affected areas. It was definitely coming from the outside of my ankle, the side
that I couldn’t really get a look at with my leg propped up on my knee. I
carefully dropped my left leg toward the ground and tilted my knee in, arching
my back to the left so I could see the damage. I was half expecting to see a
bone sticking out. There wasn’t. But there was a very large laceration that
went from the top of my sock line almost all the way down to my heel. The top
couple of inches seemed fairly superficial, the rest of it wasn’t. And it was
still bleeding.

“Oh my, Eric, what happened?  Is your ankle broke?” Emily
asked.

“I don’t think it’s broke, but I guess on my way down the
logjam a sharp stick somehow got slammed between me and my boot,” I replied. I
could still see bits of debris caught among the ragged edges of the wound.

“You’re going to need stitches. But before that happens we
need to get all of that gunk cleaned out of there.” Emily’s tone had changed. No
more “I’m sorry—it’s my fault,” it was now very businesslike.

I looked up at her, meeting her almond colored eyes and
reading the message within them. It said, “Stop trying to be a macho jerk and
let me help you.”

I looked down at my ankle again. I have enough medical
training to know that I could do a field expedient repair, sufficient that I’d
make it back anyway, and probably without dying. Which is always a plus . . .
Did
he make it back?  Yep. Did he die?  Nope. Well good for him.
I also knew
that four hands are normally better than two, especially when the wound is in
an awkward location for you to attempt self treatment. And besides, Emily had
enough smarts or training to recognize that it would have to be cleaned out. But
which was it, smarts or training?  I was curious.