Immortality (25 page)

It was a nice day for a walk. The sun was just nearing its noonday high. She patted her thigh calling to Ralph. He came to her and heeled. They started out toward the river.

Sarah rounded a bend in the highway and there it was in front of her: the impossible. She knelt down to hold Ralph close. Her first thought was this must be a mirage. Nothing like this happened in the United States of America. What she saw reminded her of something from the History Channel about Eastern European dictatorships. She no longer had any doubts that the news was being censored. The bridge was fortified with armored vehicles, including tanks. Hundreds of soldiers were moving around. Searchlight trucks flanked both the north and southbound spans of the bridge. This was no temporary measure.

To Sarah’s right was a small strip of grass and trees that separated the highway from a canal. To her left appeared to be a large park that ran all the way to the river. A short distance behind her a service road exited into the park. Sarah and Ralph walked along the curving service road which eventually came to a field bordered by trees; behind the trees she could see the Delaware River.

Sarah pushed back her cap and wiped the moisture from around her eyes. She was crouched among a row of trees which lined the river. The water was a dozen yards beyond the trees. A few hundred yards to the south were some waterfront homes. She got out the pair of binoculars and focused them on the bridge. She watched as an armored personnel carrier backed out from a chokepoint it was blocking. A Humvee stopped beside it. An exchange occurred and then the Humvee was waved through to cross the bridge. The armored personnel carrier returned to its road blocking position. On the Wilmington side of the bridge, she saw what looked like civilian cars being turned back into Delaware and a small force of news broadcast trucks with satellite dishes.

Sarah realized she was trapped. New Jersey was a very easy state to blockade. The entire western state line was the Delaware River. The eastern edge was sealed first by the Atlantic Ocean and then the Hudson River. For all practical purposes, New Jersey was a peninsula. The only point of direct land contact was its northern border with New York State.

The Delaware River was known for its dangerous currents. Farther upriver were rapids and undertows that had claimed many lives. The water was broader and slower here, more like a choppy sea. She wondered if she could find a boat a few miles upstream and sneak across at night. She looked again at the news trucks and saw what might have been the glint of cameras pointing back in her direction.

A deafening staccato sound came from upriver. The noise sounded like some kind of aircraft. The noise grew as it reverberated off buildings and walls. Ralph began barking. Sarah covered her ears. An Apache helicopter zoomed by so low, it flew under the bridge instead of over it. Loaded missile pods hung from the helicopter’s sides. The Army bird banked to a stop, hovered for a moment, then wheeled around and headed back upriver.

The helicopter was the most advanced attack bird the Army flew. The machine only seated two and was a devastating killer. Sarah was in awe. She knew a lot about military hardware from television and books but had never seen an operating war machine this close. It was like a giant armored insect in the air. The experience was intimidating. She now understood the psychological effect weapons like these had on an enemy.

The Apache was a show of overwhelming force intended to discourage exactly the kinds of things she’d been thinking about. The bird had electronics that probably gave it better vision at night than at day. No boat would make it across this river. Sarah was scowling. The depth of her anger surprised her. She knew she would die if she remained in New Jersey. She had stared down the barrel of her gun a few nights ago. If she stayed, she might look down that barrel again. She had to put as many miles as possible between herself and those memories she’d left behind. She was going to get out of this prison. She had no other choice.

~

Sarah had been driving along the Delaware for over two hours. She had passed bridge after bridge that were blocked off by soldiers just as heavily as the bridge at Wilmington. She’d decided that if she didn’t find a way across before reaching the northern border, then the New York line would be where she’d make her escape.

The border between New Jersey and New York was dense forest. On a folding map, Sarah had looked at the few paved roads that snaked through the forest. There were dozens, if not more, forgotten dirt roads which appeared on no maps; and that’s what she’d have to use, the forgotten paths. She knew a few of them from camping trips. This area was old mining and timber country from pre-revolutionary war days with horse and wagon roads, and before that there were Indian trails. She hoped it was impossible for the Army to have sealed off all the ways out in the few days they’d had to dig in.

The Delaware Water Gap had turned out to be the most fortified crossing point of them all. At its edge was where Interstate Route Eighty came to a stop. For decades, the highway had run from coast to coast, from New York City to San Francisco. Not any more.

Sarah decided the river was impassable. She’d seen more Apaches and also military patrol boats. The woods were probably filled with soldiers. This was the place they expected everyone to try crossing. It was time to explore the northern forests.

After hours of two-lane country freeway, Sarah turned down a dirt road she knew. If it was blocked at some point, she’d have to find some old engineering maps and check them for service routes. The local courthouses usually had a selection of those maps; libraries were another good source.

The road she was on was used by campers. She’d taken it many times. The road circled Greenwood Lake along the bordering hills. One side of the lake was in New Jersey while the other was in New York. She’d always thought it was odd that the Coast Guard rather than local authorities patrolled the lake. Years later as a cop, she learned the Coast Guard had jurisdiction because the water crossed state lines.

So far, the road was deserted. As best she could figure, she might already have crossed into New York State. A few minutes ago, Sarah had put in a CD. The reggae sounds of Soup Dragon’s song
“I’m Free”
echoed in the car. She started to relax, getting into the music and the woods outside the car. She began singing the choruses
“I’m Free”
to Ralph. The windows were rolled down. There was a wonderful smell of pine and leaves. Sunlight winked through the branches like yellow kisses.

The road became rougher. There were spots where water had left small gullies across it. Sarah had to slow to a few miles per hour. She leaned forward squinting. What was that up ahead? She switched off the CD. Damn it! There was a tree in the road. She started to think how she could clear it. Maybe she could push it with her car? As she got closer all hope faded. On the far side of the tree was the roofline of an Army Humvee. The vehicle had been parked on the shoulder behind plant cover. Looking closer, she saw two soldiers staring at her from the shadow of a tall pine.

Sarah stopped the car a few yards from the barricade. There was no place to turn around. The road was only a few feet wider than her car. One of the soldiers stood up and walked towards her. He was carrying an M16 rifle. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen. His uniform was National Guard, not Army. He was sloppily dressed with a shirttail hanging out below his jacket. His buddy stood up and walked into the light. He also had an M16. His face was covered with acne.

Sarah wondered if she could reason with them. She was a cop. She rolled up the windows to keep Ralph from jumping out. No point in getting him shot by some trigger-happy kid. She took out her badge and climbed from the car.

The kid stopped three feet in front of her with his M16 pointed to the side. He was too close and his stance was arrogant. His breath reeked of beer. Sarah looked the area over spotting the remains of a six-pack near where they’d been sitting. She smiled to herself. They’d be in serious trouble if their commanding officer found out about the beer. Drinking while on duty was a jailable offense. She held out her badge.

“What’s your name?” asked Sarah.

“What’s yours?” said Beer-breath. “This area’s off limits to civilians.”

“I’m a cop.”

“So...”

He backed up a few steps and pointed the muzzle of the M16 toward her. Ralph started barking in the car.

“Hey,
Zit Face
get over here and check her for weapons.”

“Wait a minute!” shouted Sarah.

“Shut up!”

The kid with acne edged a little closer. He looked worried. Sarah began to wonder what the hell was going on here.

“Shit,
Zit Face…
If you’re not going to do it, cover her for me.”

Acne-face leveled his M16 at her chest. Sarah didn’t know how many rounds her vest could take before one got through. The kid appeared tense. He kept glancing over toward a section of trees. Sarah looked where he was glancing. For a moment she saw nothing, then her eyes started to pick out details. There were more empty six-pack cartons, and mixed up in the leaves were some clothes and two open suitcases.

Beer-breath had walked up to her and started to pat her down. His hands lingered on her. He was enjoying this. He twisted her around with a rough shove so that she was facing away from him.

“What you got in the car?” he asked.

She knew they intended to rob her or worse. She turned and pushed his hands off her. His eyes were glazed with alcohol and something darker. It was cruelty. He reached out to touch her. She backed away and took up a stance that looked casual but was a well-balanced position to fight from.

“Let her alone, Gordy,” whined Acne-face.

“Who’s gonna know?”

“What happened before wasn’t right.”

“Who cares?... Shit – what’s with you?” said Beer-breath. “You’re such a pussy.”

“Fuck you!” yelled Acne-face.

Beer-breath’s expression grew vicious. He turned and took a step toward his buddy. Sarah waited until he was at the perfect distance then snap-kicked him between the legs. She felt the toe of her sneaker reach bone. There was a moist sound from the impact. Beer-breath crumpled to the ground moaning. Acne-face lowered his rifle then let it fall into the dirt. Keeping her eyes on the kid, Sarah reached slowly down and picked up Beer-breath’s M16. Acne-face seemed unwilling to do anything. It was almost as if he wanted her to shoot him. Sarah backed up toward her car. As she opened the door, Ralph tried to pile out. She shoved Ralph over to the passenger side, then, put the Nissan in reverse and floored it. The rear wheels spun kicking up dirt and rocks. The car was hard to control going backwards, the steering was jittery, but she had no intention of slowing down. She realized she was crying. She’d actually been happy for a few lousy minutes. She’d been singing to Ralph and then she’d run into those two bastards.

The road went through a turn and then straightened out. The weekend warrior children had to be at least a mile behind her and their Humvee was parked on the New York side of a downed tree. If they were after her, it would be on foot.

Sarah stopped the car. She couldn’t keep driving backwards. The road was narrow. She needed to turn the car around. After several minutes of back and forth, she still wasn’t facing the right way. She was starting to feel trapped and panicked. She inched back farther than the last try. There was a sound of crunching metal and a final jolt as rocks scraped under the rear of her car. She put the car in drive and gave it some gas. The rear wheels spun. She put it in reverse to see if she could get traction that way. More scraping. She was hung up.

“Damn it! God Damn it!”

She laid her forehead on the steering wheel. A moment later, she looked up half-expecting to see a Humvee racing into view. The road was empty, but for all she knew they might have some way of raising that tree barricade. She checked the M16. The automatic weapon had a full clip and one in the chamber.

Ghosts

His mind was wandering into empty space. Mark was tired but couldn’t sleep. It was too early in the morning to be working but that’s what he was trying to do. The sun would be coming up in a few hours. He hadn’t slept much since the New Jersey kill zone. He was suffering from mild insomnia and then nightmares when he did manage to sleep. Horrible things were occurring around him and nightmares were a normal part of coping. But one nightmare was different. The dream had occurred only once and was far more real than the others. He was in a city that felt like Los Angeles, but all the streets and buildings were from somewhere he didn’t recognize. In this city all human life had been erased as if by some act of God. Everyone had vanished – there were no bodies or other signs of recent habitation. It was a city of ghosts and he was condemned to wandering its streets and buildings in a state of amnesia, searching for someone he had lost but could not remember.

This new nightmare caused Mark to wonder about his earlier dream of people floating dead in the Hudson River. That dream had come only once and had seemed far too real; then later that day, New Jersey had been hit. The mind was a funny thing. Faces of actual victims were haunting him and had become indistinguishably blended with his memories of that earlier dream. Now this new dream left him insecure and scared, but reality was far more frightening and immediate than a childish fear of dreams. The government death count in New Jersey – the one that was kept secret – was still rising. Conservative estimates were a hundred and thirty thousand dead. Mark felt a terrible guilt. COBIC was his discovery, his Nobel Prize; he should have known more, suspected more. He should have done something. He was more convinced than ever that the focus of his life’s work was now in some way the instrument of a terrible plague.

His office smelled stale to him. A fourteen-inch flat screen television was positioned on the corner of his desk. The sound was turned low. CNN had been on the air without commercials for the last five days. Right now, they were showing scenes of the Army turning back refugees at a bridge. Mark shook his head. He wasn’t sure which was worse: the plague or the all-too-human response and overreaction.