The Romero Strain (42 page)

There had been no warning; no one had come to inquire about the activity of the base. Sam had been outside by himself doing vehicle maintenance when he was fired upon. He had been struck several times in the back and side, but had been wearing his Dragon Skin. He fled into the armory just moments before my arrival. There had been no second person watching his back, because all of us felt that since we were secure behind our locked gates we were safe. It turned out to be a false sense of security and something we would not allow to happen again. The assailants were the same group we had run into at Astor Place. Dumb and Dumber were amongst the dead. We didn’t find Piss Pants.

Julie apologized for shooting at me, for she truly believed I was an enemy combatant. But I was really upset at her for what she had done. Not for having shot me, but for the damage she caused to the t-shirt I was wearing over my Dragon Skin body armor. It was the concert shirt I had purchased at David’s last New York concert. I would remind her of this for the next several days.

I hoped Sam had completed several projects we had begun. We had started to wire up a complete outdoor camera system, and had also been in the process of adding onto the base communications system by setting up a long-range radio receiving and transmission station. The camera project appeared to have been completed, but I didn’t see any large antenna array anywhere in the compound, only a small radio dish, so I questioned him on it.

“Hey, Robert Neville, you sure you don’t want to set all that up at the end of the pier under the Brooklyn Bridge?” I asked, having noticed him fiddling with a radio console in
his
communications room.

“You’re most amusing.”

His project, ambitious as it was, didn’t seem practical. “I’m not trying to piss on your parade, but without a huge antenna how is anyone going to hear a broadcast?”

“You got it wrong. I’m not planning on spending hours fruitlessly broadcasting our position; I’m going to be monitoring the HF-GCS stations that operate in the aviation bands clustered around 5, 8 and 11/12 MHz. There are six primary Kilohertz HF-GCS voice frequencies. In addition to the HF-GCS, U.S. aircraft frequently use the Military Affiliate Radio System and HF. So do the Canadian Forces to relay messages.”

His lectures were as equally annoying as the doctor’s, but at least they were more informative. Though half the time I had no idea of what he was trying to explain.

“Okay. First of all, when did you become a radio communications specialist? Second, what the hell are you talking about?”

“All right. First, I’m not, though I did help out our communications security repairer from time to time. However, before I enlisted, I was a HAM radio operator in my early teens. That was my second hobby. And for your other question, HF-GCS stands for High Frequency Global Communications System. It’s a network of single sideband shortwave transmitters of the United States Air Force—fourteen worldwide—that are used to communicate with aircraft in flight, ground stations, and some United States Navy surface assets. All worldwide receiving and transmitting sites in the HF-GCS system are remotely controlled from Andrews Air Force Base. Then there are the more than thirty-eight communications systems at the Raven Rock Mountain Complex.”

“Okay, but what makes you think we’ll receive anything from anyone? Giant antenna, remember?”

“You don’t know anything about Andrews or Raven Rock, do you? They’re like Cheyenne Mountain, Strategic Air Command, Schriever AFB and NORAD. Even with no one left to maintain operations, those facilities would keep running for at least a year. They’re self-sustaining environments, with little to no maintenance. So the remote relays and communication systems should still be operational. And the answer to your question is Baruch College.”

“Baruch?”

“Yes. You asked about a higher antenna. There’s one across the street on top of the college. But we won’t need it. This is
army
equipment, and where it’s positioned will work.”

“I hope you’re right. I hope the whole world hasn’t gone to shit and there’s some safe place—”

I stopped in mid-sentence. In all that had transpired in the past six days, and my rapid detention, I had forgotten about what I had folded up and placed in my top shirt pocket.

“Sam, do me a favor. Could you get everyone together for a survivor committee meeting and meet me in the mess hall in a half hour? I have an idea I want to put to everyone.”

“Sure.”

I asked for a half hour to give everyone an opportunity to finish up what they were doing, and because I wanted to visit Ryan, who had still been under Doctor France’s care.

“You look much better than you did the last time I saw you,” I said as I neared Ryan’s bed.

He looked up. “You’re J.D., right? You’re a colonel?

“Yeah, well…” I put my hand out in friendship. “The name is J.D., J.D. Nichols.”

“Ryan Duncan,” he answered, tentatively shaking my gloved hand, still unsure.

“Yes, I remember.”

“I heard you got real sick or something.”

I was vague in my response. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“You didn’t get sick from me, did you?”

“No. I was sick long before that. What I got caused me to… to… well, let me show you. And prepare to be freaked.”

I look of concern and apprehension came over his face. “Exactly what are you planning?”

“Don’t worry I won’t bite. Well, not anymore apparently,” I jokingly replied, but he didn’t quite find the humor in my remark.

I pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. I placed a bundle of clothing I had been holding onto the bed next to him. I pulled off my gloves and exposed my trimmed claws.

He replied, disappointed, “That’s it. You have… stubby, funky finger nails?”

“You’re right. Not impressive.”

I took off my sunglasses.

“Now that’s a little freaky,” he responded.

“They turn different colors depending on the time of day. But I can do one better. Don’t piss yourself when I do this,” I warned. “You ready?” I turned my head backwards.

He was shocked, awed, and slightly frightened. He reared back slightly in response and astonishment at my remarkable feat. “Holy shit! How’d you do that?”

I returned my head to the front position after having rotated it the other way.

“I took an antiretroviral while I was ill. But instead of curing me, it triggered a mutation. I’m part transmute, but that’s different from the mutants I killed when we rescued you.”

“You must be loads of fun at parties. Anything else wrong with you?” he guardedly asked.

I smiled slyly. “I can screech like an owl. Those clothes are for you,” I told him, patting the bundle lightly. “Sorry, all we have is camouflage. Looks like you’re a lieutenant of the 69
th
Regiment.”

He looked at his uniform, then mine. “You really in the Army?”

“No, never been. Got this shirt from the commanding officer at the GCC.”

He looked confused; no one had told him our story. He checked out the regiment patch then looked at mine and my armband.

“Then you’re really not a doctor?”

“This patch is Special Forces, and this armband is for a medic. Before all this shit went down I was a paramedic. Well, I guess I still am. And what did you do before the end of the world?”

“I am,
was
, an actor.”

“Television, film? Anything I’d know you from, ’cause you don’t look familiar.”

“I was mostly a musical theater actor.”

I sang the first verse of “On A Clear Day You Can See Forever.”

“I recognize that,” he responded. “Not bad.”

“I saw Harry Connick, Jr. in it, about the same time I saw
Million Dollar Quartet
. I’m a Jerry Lee Lewis fan, too. So any shows I might have seen you in?”

“I was in
Altar Boyz
.”

“Sorry, no. Anything else?”

“I was in
Shrek: The Musical
on the Broadway.”

I shook my head no. “Ah, no. Sorry.”

“Oh,” he said with slight disappointment to my reply. “That’s the big stuff. Strange thing about all of this…”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I really felt I was finally on the verge of making it before all this happened. I was just offered a film role. It was going to be a lead in a children’s film.”

“You like kids?”

“Yeah, a lot,” Ryan answered, his voice slightly elevating, reflecting genuine passion for our new subject.

“You have any?” I probed.

“No. You?”

“Me. No. No plans either.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m just too selfish, I guess. I have this whole large apartment all to myself. Have my recording equipment, my keyboard. Have a lot of sci-fi and horror film memorabilia, and my various animation artwork… well, I guess that doesn’t matter anymore, does it? But having been on my own, with only myself to contend with, I kind of like that. Hard for me to imagine a child in my life. Don’t think I’d make a good father anyways.”

“It’s always the ones who say they won’t be a good father that makes the best dads. I was that way too.”

I questioned his contradictory statement. “I thought you said you didn’t have any kids?”

“I don’t. But I was looking after some children where we were hiding. I really didn’t think I could do it, but—”

He stopped in mid-sentence as though it were too painful to talk about it any further. He followed with, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

We talked a few more minutes as I gave him a cursory exam. He had some dark, patchy scarring on his neck and chest. He had been lucky. If the disease had progressed to his face, it could have gone to his eyes and caused blindness. The splotchy patches would eventually fade with time.

IX. Escape from New York

I walked with Max into the commander’s office, located in the administrative portion of the building. The others were already waiting for me, even Otter, who was lying by Julie’s feet. I was surprised to see the doctor present, too.

“Thank you all for coming. I call this meeting of the survivor committee to order. There is only one major item on my agenda, and that is the long-term needs of our survival. I believe a long-term or permanent occupation of this armory is ill advised.”

“And why is that?” the doctor asked.

“For a bunch of reasons, not including those marauders who’ll probably be back, or someone else who’ll want to blow this place to hell to take over.”

“But aren’t we safer here than anywhere else?” a concerned Marisol asked.

“Maybe. But what about the city? You’ve all seen what’s happened in six months: the out of control fires, the water main breaks, the streets collapsing, the buildings falling down. There’s only going to be more. Hell, the only thing we have to look forward to is the wildlife returning.”
“You saw that show on the science channel, too,” Sam said.

“Yes, whatever. But those aren’t even the problems I’m concerned about. Fresh fruit, fresh meat, fresh vegetables, milk, eggs. We’re not going to be able to acquire those things if we stay here. And what about electricity? Even if we could salvage enough fuel for the rest of our lives, that fuel is going to go bad—even with putting additives in it. What? We got one or two years before the diesel is no good. Then what? Do you all realize how lucky we are, that the world ended the way it did? It could have been worse.”

“
Worse?
” Julie asked. “Worse then zombies and half-mutes?”

“Yes. First, we’re lucky the zombies are dead. And more importantly, we’re lucky France’s virus didn’t cause a prolonged pandemic. We have food. We have water, fuel, even toilet paper to wipe our asses with, granted it’s Army issue. But if the plague had taken months to wipe out the world, then there wouldn’t be anything left.”

“He’s right,” Kermit concurred. “The collapse of ordered society and the lack of resources would have plunged us into lawless chaos. People killing and looting in the name of survival.”

“What’s your proposal? How do we circumvent the inevitable?”

I was blunt in my response to Sam’s question. “We leave. We find a place where generating electricity doesn’t rely on fossil fuels, a place where we can farm.”

“I take it you have a place,” Julie said.

“Yes. Mechanicville, New York.”

“And why there?” she asked.

“Because there is a hydroelectric plant there that should still be operational.”

“There’s one at the Hoover Dam; why don’t we just go there. I could use a trip to Vegas!” David stated with seriousness in his tone.

“Hoover Dam is a long trip and not exactly farming country. My plan is much simpler.” I pulled out the brochure on the Ambrose from my pocket and handed it to Julie. “The Lightship Ambrose is one hundred and twelve feet long and thirty feet wide. It should have enough cabin space for us, and a galley. If the Ambrose is still down at the seaport, we can see if it can be made sea-worthy, then use it to haul supplies up the Hudson to Mechanicville.”