The Plague Years (Book 1): Hell is Empty and All the Devils Are Here (3 page)

He drove by his credit union on the way to the restaurant and made a snap decision. He made some quick mental calculations and withdrew slightly less than fifteen thousand dollars in cash. It came from their savings, Connor’s college fund, and the car maintenance fund. Mary was going to kill him if this was a paranoid response but they paid Chad to be an analyst and figure out patterns. This had to be it.

Chad pulled up at the Inca’s parking lot to see Dave Tippet’s white 2014 4x4 Dodge pickup with the Cummings diesel, towing package, and rifle rack over the rear window of the King Cab. He got out, shook hands with Dave.

“”Hey Chad, what’s up?” said Dave. “You look like all the worlds troubles just landed on your door.”

“They may have Dave,” said Chad. “Do you have some paper with you?”

“Yeah, I always keep a notebook in the truck to write down mileage, maintenance, and stuff like that.”

“Ok write me out a bill of sale for your truck for $14,750. Date it today.”

“What?”

“Look, I can’t say a lot without crossing that NDA line we discussed this morning and I can’t talk about this at all once we get in the restaurant so I only have a few minutes before things look suspicious so let me talk and you listen.”

“OK, shoot.”

“The story is you and I have been negotiating over this truck for a month. It’s too big for you, being on your own and all, and I have been talking about buying a boat.”

“Didn’t you once say that the definition of a boat is a hole in the water to throw money into?” said Dave.

“I did. Remember, I owned that eighteen foot Bayliner for years? I know of what I speak, but let’s say I have the bug again. But somebody is going to be watching my purchasing starting tomorrow. I think I can convince them, if you back me up, that we have been negotiating this for a month and we finally came to terms.” 

“Then I want you to take this money and buy whatever you think we would need if, say you thought the fecal matter was going to hit the rotating air circulation device. The truck is still yours. I’ll square it with Mary … somehow.”

“This is serious shit isn’t it?” said Dave as he wrote out the bill of sale and handed to Chad.

“God, I hope I am wrong but yeah, serious.”

“Can you give me any more intel on what I am preparing for?”

“If I did, I’d have to kill you.”

“Funny guy, can I ride along on this one with some of my own funds?”

“Shit, if I am wrong, you’d have a bunch of survival stuff sitting in your garage and me to thank for it.”

“You mean a bunch more survival stuff”, said Dave with a smirk. “Look, you did four years active and some reserve time in the Air Force as an enlisted intel analyst right?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“And then you went to college, finished a Bachelor’s, got the bug and finished a Doctorate in statistics with a minor in Operations Research in four years right?”

“Yeah?”

“And you are risking your personal tranquility at home by betting fifteen thousand on this? You are one of the smartest people I know. You are not only book smart, but real life smart. I think this is a hunch worth riding on. No one is going to point a finger at me for buying survival supplies as I have been doing it for years. Here, take this,” said Dave as he reaches into his truck.

Dave handed Chad a Colt 1911 New Agent with the 3 inch barrel in .45 ACP with a shoulder carry rig.

“I can’t carry this into what will be a secure facility!” said Chad. “They are setting up metal detectors and the works tomorrow.

“Don’t,” said Dave. “Smuggle it back to your office today, before the metal detectors and such are in. Hide it in your file cabinet or something. If you were going to stay home all the time, I wouldn’t do this, but I figure you are going to work some long hours before it gets ugly and chances are, you will have to travel home from work one time when it’s greasy. This might save you. If the bad stuff happens when we are home, abandon it. It’s only a gun. I have more,” said Dave with a laugh. “Now, with your permission, I think I’ll go spend a bunch of your money.”

May 5
th
, Friday, 03:25 am PDT

Interstate 82 is a lonely place after the bars are closed and the drunks are all home, thought Washington State Patrol Sergeant Chris Vaughn as he pulled on to the interstate eastbound from Benton City. He was back on the road having just finished booking an attorney with an over-inflated view of himself and a breath alcohol level of 0.13. Normally, administrative work kept him stuck to his desk but getting a drunk off the road was his favorite excuse to play hooky.

”Kennewick - local patrols; County requesting back-up, eastbound I-82 at I-182. Priority” said the dispatcher over the radio.

“299 en route from Benton City,” said Chris into the microphone as he stomped on the accelerator and activated his emergency lights. His brand new Chevrolet Caprice was significantly faster than the high-mileage 2011 Ford Crown Victoria he had recently turned in. As a former driving instructor, he knew the Caprice was ‘scary fast’ but exactly what someone would need at a time like this.

“299 – Kennewick, I’ll be there in about four minutes. What do we know?”

“A Benton County Deputy with unknown number of subjects, one tased, not in custody.” 

“Crap,” Chris said under his breath. “That can’t be good; a deputy in the dark, all alone in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of bad guys not playing nice.”

Chris had now accelerated to nearly one hundred and fifty miles per hour and was praying a deer wouldn’t jump out in front of him. He’d totaled a patrol car that way once and he couldn’t afford to do that right now. 

Chris spotted the lights on the Sheriff’s SUV, slowed down and took a chance to close by heading the wrong way down the exit and off onto the rough ground between the Interstate and the exit.

“299 – Kennewick, out with County.”  Seeing the deputy’s body language and drawn pistol, Chris ignored his AR-15, opting instead for the Remington 870 pump shotgun loaded with #00 buckshot. In the dark, he wanted the 870, figuring that brute firepower trumped accuracy.

Chris exited the car and took cover behind the fender.

“Deputy, how can I help?” Chris shouted.

“Over here!” she said without turning.

Chris ran up to where the deputy was standing. He knew her. Hoskins was her name. She was a good deputy, steady, especially for being just twenty-four and she was not what his ex-wife would refer to as ‘an ornament.’  She was attractive with a lean athletic build, short dark hair, and soulful blue eyes. More than one of his troopers had commented on it.

“You OK? How many?” Chris asked.

“Yeah, just one, he went down there under the overpass. I sure as hell wasn’t gonna go alone.”

“Radio said you tased him.”

“Six times! He’s gotta be on meth or PCP or something. After the sixth ride he stopped trying to come at me and somehow managed to break the Taser wires. Six full  five second rides and he never dropped, just sort of staggered a bit and wandered off. Like I said, I wasn’t gonna follow him by myself. Now he is back down there below the overpass doing something I can’t make out.”

Can you see him?” asked Hoskins.

“Yeah, let me get a light on him,” said Chris.

Chris pulled the Streamlight flashlight from his belt and lit the dark area under the bridge.

“My God!” said Hoskins. “It looks like he is eating someone!”

“Here, keep the light on him,” said Chris as he gave her his light and brought the shotgun to bear. He chambered a round and looked over at Hoskins who had adopted the text book stance left hand reversed holding the flashlight and her Glock Model 22 .40 braced on top of that.

“Stand up and move this way!” shouted Chris. “Get your hands where I can see them!”

“I’m eeeevil!” shouted the shape under the bridge. The voice was raspy, vaguely recognizable as male, and it sounded like every word hurt. There was a liquid flutter with the all the hard consonants.

“We will determine that later,” said Chis in his best command voice. “Now stand up, show me your hands!”

“Leave me alone. Let me die!” said the shape under the bridge but he did start standing erect. As soon as he was fully in the light, Hoskins gasped. One of his eyes was missing. His face was covered in gore from the person on the ground. He had terrible gashes and wounds visible over most of his exposed skin but it didn’t appear to be bleeding much.

Then he started running up the hill at the light, fast. Both officers yelled for him to stop but he kept running at them while emitting a guttural moan. Chris fired first. The nine .33-caliber lead balls clearly struck the apparition’s chest and shoulder and he staggered a little but kept coming. Chris quickly fired twice more as fast as he could rack the shells into the shotgun but it didn’t seem to slow the target down. At the same time, Hoskins fired three times, each one striking the face which, at the end, was only a few feet from her. As the third shot punctured the good eye, it was like the strings on a puppet had been cut. The wreckage of what once had been a young Hispanic man collapsed at her feet. At this range, the smell was like the worst day at a chicken processing plant.

Hoskins, looking green but in control said, “I think I am about to be very unprofessionally sick.” Sickened or not, Hoskins resorted to her training and immediately began sweeping the area with the light, looking for additional threats or victims.

“Don’t, or I’ll join you,” said Chris. Then he spoke into the portable radio microphone on his shoulder. “299 – Kennewick, shots fired, one suspect down, one victim down, start aid and additional units.”

“Kennewick – 299, received, verify 299 and the deputy are OK?” said the dispatcher.

“299 – Kennewick, right,” he said into the mike. “
OK?
” he thought to himself. “
Yeah, right; this one is going to stay in my nightmares a long time,
”

Then Chris keyed the mike and said, “We’re OK, Kennewick.”

“Aid advised ETA ten, multiple state, county and city units en route.” Chris pulled spare shotgun shells off the stock and fed them into the magazine.

“Hoskins,” said Chris, “We had better check out that victim, see how bad it is.”

“Right,” said Hoskins   Then she flashed the light down under the overpass.

“Sarge, can you see the victim?”

“No,” said Chris, then “What? Where’d they go? They were right there.”

They looked at one another.

“Crap,” said Chris loudly. “We’ve got to find that victim.”

They both walked down the hill, careful not to lose their footing.

“Come out”, shouted Hoskins. “Whoever did this to you is dead.”

“We can help you, just come out!” shouted Chris.

They quickly covered the ground to the overpass and cautiously started poking around. They approached the far side of the underpass, nearing a streetlight. Chris, about to step out into the lighted area, felt something wet and warm drip on his hand. He looked down and saw that it was blood on his hand. He quickly looked up to see a blurry form jump from the railing twenty-two feet above. Chris threw himself back and brought his shotgun to bear as he fell. Hoskins, who was a few feet behind, had her pistol and light out and covered the body as it hit the ground three feet from Chris’s prone form.

“Freeze!” shouted Hoskins. “Sheriff’s Office - Stay on the ground!”

Then the form looked up and Hoskins stuttered to a stop. The girl, because she was clearly quite young and female, was nearly naked save for a pair of tattered denim shorts. Most of the skin on the left half of her face was gone and there were horrible wounds all over her body that clearly came from being bitten. There was blood oozing from all of them.

The girl screamed and lunged at Chris. She would have had him except that she had obviously broken a leg in the fall. You could see the white bone protruding from the skin. She fell to the ground when the leg wouldn’t hold her, and he was able to scoot back out of her reach. The girl crawled after him.

“Stop!” screamed Hoskins as she stepped forward to protect Chris. “We don’t want to hurt you!”

The girl lunged again, this time at Hoskins, and was able to grab her leg. The grip was like a vise and before Hoskins could even think to react, the girl bit her calf, attempting to wrench the flesh from the bone. It must have hurt like molten lead had been poured onto the leg and Hoskins began screaming and hammering the girl’s head with the butt of her pistol. Chris meanwhile began firing the shotgun as fast as he could pump it. Each pattern hit center of mass as he tried not to hit his fellow law officer. After the third blast ruined her chest, the girl released Hoskins leg and looked over at Chris.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered before she collapsed.

They soon heard the sounds of sirens, slamming car-doors and running footsteps. Two more deputies and a trooper arrived with weapons drawn. Hoskins had slumped to the ground and was trying very hard not to cry. As a result, she was releasing a series of strangled, painful sobs. Chris reached over and put his arms around her.

“It’s OK. Let it go,” said Chris, and Hoskins began to cry in earnest. “I owe you one.” 

Twenty minutes later, Hoskins was bandaged up and driven away in an ambulance on her way to Kennewick General. He watched them leave as the dozens of flashing strobe lights reflected off the side of the ambulance.

“
How the hell am I going to write this up?”
thought Chris as he headed back for his cruiser.

May 5
th
, Friday, 07:25am PDT

Chad was at the office early. The discussion with his wife yesterday evening had not gone well. She didn’t understand why they couldn’t talk this through before he withdrew the money. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t go over to Dave’s and get the money back immediately and she REALLY didn’t understand why it was necessary in the first place. He had slept poorly on the couch until 4:30 am and thought to hell with it and got up and went for a run.

It cleared his head some but his wife wasn’t yet up when he got back so he showered and went into work. He hoped that maybe the day apart would help things settle but he didn’t have much faith in it. Mary was fiery in her passions and when she thought she was right, there was no stopping her. He did extract a promise though, not to talk to anyone about this until this evening.

Chad fired up his e-mail and the first message in his queue was from Dr. Jurgen asking Chad to contact him as soon as he got in.

“No rest for the wicked,”
thought Chad as he walked down the hall the Dr. Jurgen’s office.

When he got there, he noticed, but was not surprised, that Dr. Jurgen had clearly not gone home last night. He had even eaten his chile relleno which meant that not only was he tired, he was in pain too.

“Your analysis caused quite a stir”, said Dr. Jurgen without preamble. “The Homeland Security folks say it’s not possible and then in the next breath say that we have to classify the hell out of it. That apparently sparked their curiosity; so they ran their own investigation of you and came up with the curious fact that you withdrew $14,750 dollars from various accounts yesterday. They are asking why. They reiterated that this has to be kept quiet and that a panic could ensue so what’s your story?”

“Well,” said Chad with what he hoped was a bewildered look. “I bought a truck from my neighbor yesterday at lunch. That is why I left in the first place. You can check me out, he teaches History at Columbia Basin Community College, David Tippet.”

“And why do you want a truck?” asked Dr. Jurgen.

“Well, I am buying a boat,” said Chad. “I’ve had one for years and I only sold it because my wife didn’t like it. She relented so I am getting another. I was looking at one of those Bayliner deck boats. I had the 190 before but I think I can get enough of a loan to swing a 215.”

Dr. Jergen looked at Chad very carefully for what seemed like five minutes but probably only lasted for twenty seconds or so.

“I’m satisfied with that ‘story’,” said Dr. Jurgen with a hint of a smile. “I suspect the Homeland Security team will be too provided you can back it up?”

“Yeah, I have the bill of sale in my wallet and you can call Dave ….”

“No need,” said Dr. Jurgen, his face softening. “Let’s get to work. What if I told you that early this morning, we had our first symptomatic case in this area. There were two police officers attacked at the junction of Interstate 82 and Interstate 182. One was bitten. Seems you were right and the Homeland Security folks were wrong.”

“Yikes, that’s less than five miles from my home,” said Chad with alarm.

“Homeland Security thinks it’s a fluke. What do you think?”

“Not so much,” said Chad pensively. “What data do we have on the infected individuals? Are they lucid enough to question?”

“Sadly, no as both are dead. We do know that both are Hispanic, they had no ID and just a little money. They had no personal belongings other than the clothes on their back and those were in very poor repair. I understand that it’s common for sufferers of AH10N3 to abandon things as they become more involved.”

“Did either of them speak at all?” asked Chad.