Immortality (50 page)

Mark looked at the reading on the ping tester. His heart was pounding fast enough to burst through his chest. The red line had gone off the top of the graph. The only explanation was that his head was saturated with infected COBIC and that the seeds were affecting his optic nerves. When the seeds transmitted their response to the ping signal, it somehow blew out his vision. The question that made him want to crawl out of his skin was
how broad was this invasion?
Had it gone beyond his vision to other senses? Was it affecting his entire nervous system, his mind, even his thoughts? He decided to tell no one until he better understood what he was dealing with.

Rebellion

Sarah was alone in the captain’s office waiting. She peeled the oversized band-aid back from her palm. The cut was mending faster than it should have. She’d cut her hand on a seashell just days ago on the beach. Everyone else had died in the heart of that kill zone and she’d cut her palm. Her injury seemed so petty in comparison but she was nervous about how quickly her body was repairing itself. The accelerated healing had happened several times and just wasn’t normal. She shifted uneasily in the vinyl chair. She couldn’t get comfortable physically or mentally. Maybe she never would again. The images she’d seen of people dying in the streets of New York were constantly simmering just below the surface of her mind, along with what she believed were premonitions. She stared at the frosted glass of the office door and watched occasional blurs of people passing in the hall. The writing on the glass spelled
‘Captain Dupont’
backward. She loathed the man and wondered if he knew how she felt about him. And if he did know, was he out to ruin her? She didn’t know why he’d ordered her in off patrol. She’d never heard of a patrol being cut short – the barracks was chronically understaffed. She’d agonized over the strangeness of the orders during the thirty minute return drive. Fears of discovery were coloring her thoughts. Had he found out about New Jersey? She was a quarantine jumper. Records surely existed somewhere showing she was on duty the night New Jersey was hit.

Her mouth was dry. She thought about getting up to find something to drink, but didn’t move. Dupont was running late and could show up any moment. Maybe the meeting was nothing more than a change of assignment. She’d heard rumors about mass killings done by roaming gangs. They were operating like small companies of soldiers. Intel had reported some of the gangs were traveling in packs as large as five hundred soldiers. Could the police be forming units to repel heavy attacks on the line?

Sarah slowly shook her head. The north side of I64 now looked like a huge squatter’s camp. Tents and smoke from campfires extended as far as the eye could see. Most of the roads were impassibly congested with cars that had been stripped or crashed. The new status symbol on that side of the line was ownership of a dirt bike. People had been killed over as little as a can of Chef Boyardee and things were growing worse every day. Gangs, no matter how large, were only one of law enforcement’s worries.

Last night Alex had banged on her door at one in the morning. He’d been drinking since his patrol had ended at noon. He was drunk and out of his mind by the time he’d wandered to her house. Sarah had had no idea what was bothering him. He’d wanted sex and had tried to force her. He was lumbering and sloppy. Sarah had smacked him once. That was all it had taken. She had immediately regretted striking him.

They’d ended up on the couch drinking coffee. It had taken him awhile to explain what had happened on patrol. He’d witnessed a police shooting of a man while his wife and two children watched. The couple had refused to turn back from the line. The husband had a pair of wire-cutters and was chewing through the first spiral of razor wire. A warning shot had been fired. The man seemed not to notice. Alex said they’d looked like none of them had eaten in days.

By the time man cut through the first fence, a crowd of hundreds had formed on the northern side. On the southern side were five patrol cars and twenty cops, all armed with M16 automatic rifles. A helicopter gunship was hovering a thousand feet back. The man was warned deadly force would be used if he cut any part of the second line of razor wire. The crowd started chanting: “America... America... America...” He snipped the wire. A bullet was fired into the man’s chest. The crowd went insane. In unison, the police fired their weapons just above the heads of the rioters. Alex said the noise was so loud it hurt his teeth. Within seconds, the helicopter gunship came in low and hit the crowd with rotor-wash. Everyone scattered except for the dead man’s wife and children who were blown to the ground.

America...
A chill raised goose bumps across Sarah’s arms. She hadn’t witnessed what Alex had seen. The description was horrifying enough. Her eyes were starting to water. The police had murdered an unarmed man while his family stood beside him. The world was tearing itself apart. The southern side of the line considered itself superior, the last bastions of civilization. Sarah felt a bitter irony. The people manning the line were becoming a new social elite, while the bureaucrats, the Captain Duponts of the world, were demigods. Dupont, what a mistake that man was: a racist one generation removed from the Klan and now he had absolute power. He didn’t mind if some of his men went into business for themselves as long as he got his tribute; rumors were he got fifty percent of the take. The common scam was smuggling people across the line. The same spot where that family saw their blood spilled could have been crossed with the aid of the right cops and a fist full of money. The fascist bastards were profiteering off the desperation of mothers and fathers and children.

A fax machine next to her rang. Sarah jumped as if someone had taken a shot at her. The old machine automatically answered and then began to buzz. A sheet of paper inched its way out the front. She recognized the letterhead. The fax was a flash bulletin from the CDC in Atlanta. Sarah read the print as it emerged. Each line of it changed her life.

The CDC is confident communicability of the COBIC bacterium is limited to waterborne vectors. There is no evidence that people or animals are vectors. While some individuals may be infected with live bacteria in their blood, there is little chance of cross infection unless whole blood transfusions occur.

Blood tests are now available for detection of the presence of COBIC bacterium. Blood samples forwarded to CDC test centers will be processed within 24 hours. While caution is still advised, General Order C1.008.1 for total human isolation and quarantine is rescinded. This order does not affect total material quarantine orders which are still in force for all containerized liquids and organic materials.

The quarantine was over. Sarah was stunned. Crossing a quarantine line was no longer illegal. Her criminal past had been erased. As Dupont entered, Sarah stood up. She had the fax in her hands. She couldn’t wait for the fascist to read it. She stood directly in his path blocking him from reaching his desk.

“Sir, this just came in from the CDC. We can allow people to cross the line.”

“Let me see that.”

Dupont snatched the fax out of her hands. He had a soft voice with a southern accent that made him sound mildly effeminate. Supposedly, he’d been a schoolteacher before becoming a cop.

“Did you not read the first line?” he said. “Well maybe you are a bit thick in the head so I will translate. It says
confidential
. That means you do not get to read this.”

He inserted the fax into a paper shredder. Sarah was stunned.

“But it said...”

“I know what it said,” Dupont cut her off by raising his hand. “What? Do you think that’s the first bulletin we’ve gotten from the CDC allowing this group or that group to cross?”

“I don’t understand…”

“You northern liberals are all alike. I guess you’ve forgotten that the CDC does not make state policy. My orders come from elected Virginia officials: the Governor, state senators, you know, democracy. They make the laws, not some federally funded bunch of leftwing socialist doctors.”

“Right now, people are starving a few hundred feet north of us and we can do something about it!”

“Listen to me closely, Officer Mayfair. This line was never set up just to keep people out because they are carrying some godforsaken disease. It was set up because they are carrying need. Need of water, need of food, and need of medicine. There’s just so much to go around and the powers that run this state have decided that we aren’t going to take them in. You are a big girl. You should understand this. It is better that some do without, so that others who are certified healthy can survive. A gallon of clean water divided among a hundred folks is nothing, but for one man it is a week of life.”

Sarah’s head was spinning. She kept telling herself to keep her anger in check, calm down. Her attempts at self-control were not working.

“You greedy asshole!” she yelled. “You don’t give a damn about a gallon of water. You only care about the money crossing your open palm. You want your blood money. Fine! Maybe I’ll call a newspaper or two.”

Dupont sat down behind his desk. There was a sneer on his lips, but other than that he seemed calm. His chair squeaked as he leaned back in it.

“Anyone that gets across that line has to be cleared from the top,” he was speaking slowly as if to a student who was truly dumb. “If a little money also exchanges hands, so what? Grow up, young lady. You think the newspapers are going to just print what you tell them? They all know the score. Now you keep your pretty lips shut and get out of my office.”

Sarah wasted no time opening the door. She wanted to slam it hard enough to smash the glass.

“Hold on, Officer Mayfair,” said Dupont. “I quite nearly forgot. I have an affidavit covering your posting in New Jersey that has to be faxed back to the Human Health Services immediately. If we do not get this out today, we have to pull you off patrols. These federal agencies are just so bothersome. The affidavit is all filled out. I need you to read and sign where you acknowledge that it is a federal crime to provide false information.”

They were traveling through farm country, split wood fences and rolling hills. The wind was buffeting the camper. Suzy felt edgy. Artie was driving too fast but she said nothing. Two days ago, something had happened during the night that had unnerved him but he still refused to discuss it. His shirtsleeves were rolled up. The dragon tattoo looked like a scar on his wrist. He hadn’t uttered a dozen words all morning.

Suzy looked at the locket. Sunlight gave the antique gold a deep sheen. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry, her absolute favorite when she was little. She had always begged to wear the locket and chain. She remembered going through piles of photographs with her mom before finding just the right one to put inside. She slipped the chain back over her neck.

Traffic slowed to fifteen miles per hour. Artie cursed. Suzy ignored his foul mood. She’d been recharging a set of batteries for her camera off the cigarette lighter. She swapped them out for the ones in her camera. There was a steady stream of people trudging along the shoulder of the road. Some were dressed in rags, others in chinos and heavy wool sweaters. They were all one people now. Most seemed too drained to do anything more than put one foot in front of the other. Suzy rolled down the window and brought the camera’s viewfinder to her eye. The wind lightly buffeted her face. She panned individuals as the Volkswagen moved past them. She started with the back of their heads on approach and then panned the camera until their faces came into view just as she passed them. She kept each face in focus as it receded with distance. Some people responded to her recording them but most remained indifferent.

~

Suzy’s skin was crawling. The smell had started as something vague and difficult to place. The odor was stronger now, almost overpowering. The source began to drift across her viewfinder. The grassy fields were littered with decomposing clumps of cattle. The carcasses grew in number. She zoomed in the lens. Her eyes watered from the stench. Why had the animals been slaughtered and then left to rot? She spotted a small group of people out in a field slicing meat off one of the animals. She imagined it filled with maggots and almost retched. Even the air seemed gray with death.

She took the camera from her eye and glanced over at Artie. He had a determined expression on his face. She rewound the tape and played the footage of a man cutting off a piece of flesh from the side of a cow. The man had a rag tied over his mouth and nose to fight the stench. The animal’s eyes were open. The head rocked from the slicing being done. The motion made the cow seem almost alive. Suzy replayed the image a second time. Her hands felt damp.

“Memories of hell,” she said. “That’s what I’m filming.”

Artie glanced at her.

“Things will be better once we get farther south,” he said.

‘Things will be better’ was becoming his mantra. She wondered who he was trying to convince, himself or her? Almost immediately, he was back to concentrating on the road. Suzy started taping again. She tracked the face of a gray haired lady. The car jounced. The image in her viewfinder slipped to waist level of her subject. She noticed the lady was holding the hand of a man walking next to her. Their appearances were too dissimilar to be together. The man looked in his thirties and was wearing blue jeans and a sweatshirt. His cheeks were pink from the cold. The lady was in her fifties, dark skinned, and wearing a very expensive coat. Suzy wondered who was comforting whom?

She put away the camera and slid over beside Artie. The bench seat had a middle safety belt which she buckled loosely. She put her arms around Artie and nuzzled as closely as she could. He took one of his hands from the wheel and put his arm around her waist. His fingers ended up resting near her belly. His touch brought warmth. She closed her eyes and thought about the tiny baby inside her.