Dead Air (Book One of The Dead Series) (13 page)

'What happened to the truck?' Steve asked, irritated that they wanted to use his vehicle
again.

"Meat already took the truck over
, but then he called and said he needed the rest of this stuff," Jonny explained.

Really irritated now, Steve fought to keep his voice calm as he asked, "If Meat's at the club, who's doing the show this morning?"

"Mary's here, and Meat's calling in and doing a live show called, ‘How do roadies party in the morning?’"

Great, just fucking great, Steve thought as he turned toward the bank building and pulled out his cell phone. He was about to call Meat and tear some serious
ass when suddenly an idea struck him. Absently he put his phone away as a plan blossomed in his mind.

Handing his keys to Jonny,
he said brightly, "You have to unload all the stuff in the Jeep first. Stack it inside the door of my office against the wall.” A thought struck him as he turned to leave and he added, "Use a tarp to cover it up when you bring it in."

"Why?" Jonny asked. "It's just a bunch of cases of food and water."

Steve reasoned that he didn't want anyone to know he had the supplies because if things got really bad and food and water got scarce, someone might try to steal them. He knew he couldn't guard the goods twenty-four seven, so it was better to play it cautious.

Instead of explaining this to Jonny G, he said, "Because I told you to do it and I sign your check."

This was enough of an answer for Jonny and he set about taking the top on the Jeep down so he could reach everything.

Steve grabbed his backpack from the passenger seat and felt reassured by the extra weight of the Glock and spare magazines inside. Heading for the elevator, he remembered that it smelled like winos pissed in the corners
, so he changed direction toward the stairs. They had a ripe aroma too, but at least they were open on two sides so that a breeze could get through.

Exiting at the first floor,
he cut through the ramp before ducking under the traffic control arm at the entrance and stepping out onto the sidewalk. Most mornings he took the elevated walkway on the second level to enter the bank building and then rode the elevator up to the station on twelve, but today he was on a mission.

When he glanced
across the street to his right, he noticed that EZ-Pawn still had its steel accordion gates stretched across the front of the store. Score one for Heather’s information, he thought. She was right about the pawn shops being shut down. Normally by this time of the morning, there would already be a line of junkies out the door. Not today though. Word must have gotten around Ghettotropolis that the EZ was closed and all stolen property had to be sold on the street.

After walking past a row of thick hedges between the parking garage and the bank building, Steve entered its foyer. To his left were the elevators and stairs
, and to his right was the doorway to the bank itself. Ignoring both, he moved straight ahead through an arched opening with a trendy sign above it informing him he was entering the Shops of the Galleria.

The aroma
, which had enticed him since coming through the foyer doors, now reached up and smacked him full in the face. Set in a kiosk at the center of the shops that lined the walls of the Galleria was the object of his quest. The Cinnabun cinnamon roll vendor.

Five minutes later he entered
the station with two boxes containing two dozen Cinnabuns each, and after setting one on the table of the conference room, he carried the other to his office. As he entered, he noted with pleasure the stacks of cardboard boxes and bottled water inside the door to his right.  Jonny G may be annoying at times, but you had to admit he was a hard worker. Steve decided that the next time the graveyard shift Jock called in sick, he would give the intern a shot at filling in.

Steve's butt had barely sunk into his chair when the intercom buzzed and Tom Oliver's voice
came over the speaker in a harsh rasp. “I saw you come in, Wendell. Did you think you could sneak by me?”

In his most professional voice
, Steve answered, "I have no idea what you're talking about, sir." But realized he was talking to an open line.

Damn, busted
.

Seconds later,
his door opened and the station's owner strode in. Before Steve could say anything, Tom held his hand out with the palm upward and said, "Don't try to cover up, what gives?"

Donning an innocent expression
, Steve replied, "I have no idea what you're talking about, sir. Could you please elaborate on that statement?"

"Don't try and snow me with that 'sir' bullshit, cough them up."

Reluctantly, Steve extracted the box of Cinnabuns from where he had stashed them in his drawer
. Setting them on top of the desk, he half whispered, "Bastard."

Ignoring the slight, Tom opened the box and pulled one of the sweet rolls out.
He settled into a chair in front of the desk and said, "I love these things, especially when they're free."

"There's a whole box of free ones in the conference room," Steve pointed out sarcastically. "Help yourself."

Tom waved the comment away. "Are you kidding? The sales staff smelled those from a mile away and they were tracking your every move from the time you hit the door. Those babies are long gone. Besides, we need to talk. I've been gone for –.“

“T
hree weeks." Steve prompted.

"Yeah
, three weeks, so fill me in on what's been going on here."

Steve first went over sales figures and programming schedule before filling the owner in on a proposal he had received from marketing. They were trying to push a syndicated show
, which would air on the seven to midnight slot. He had told them no, so they asked him to bring it to Tom's attention.

When Steve was finished explaining his objections to airing a syndicated show, Tom raised an eyebrow and asked, "Cost analysis?"

“We’d save a little money but in the long run I think we'd lose out in the ratings. Like I was saying, it’s called ‘The Darla Show’. Its sweet, sappy love songs with broken hearted lovers calling in requests.”

Tom made a face.

“My thoughts exactly,” Steve commented. "We play rock, classic rock and some alternative rock. Darla wouldn't fit in.”

Tom agreed and then asked,
"What’s your take on the newest craze sweeping the nation?”

Steve gave him a blank look so Tom added,
"Nosh on your neighbor, munchin' madness, the snappin’ fits. I’ve been through five different states in the past few days and they call it something different everywhere I go.”

Steve stopped and thought about what to say before replying. Tom had always treated him decent and been straight with him.
He remembered one time when he reprimanded Mary for coming in late and she had complained to her brother about him and threatened to have him fired. In a snit, Mary had called a meeting between Steve, Tom and herself so that her big brother could put Steve in his place. Wary that family ties would prevail and he would get reprimanded by Tom, or possibly even fired, he entered the meeting with trepidation. After Steve laid out the facts though, he was surprised when Tom turned to his sister and said, "Sounds like you better get your shit together, sis. If you keep this up, Steve might just fire your ass.” After Mary had stormed out of the office, Tom turned to Steve and said, "I don't play favorites, I run a business. When I’m not here, it’s your job to run it for me as you see fit.”

With this in mind,
he laid out everything he knew about the HWNW virus, including his conversations with Heather and what she had told him, but leaving out the idea that had come to him that morning. When he was finished, Tom said, "From what I’ve seen, its way worse than what you've heard. You know I own thirty radio stations scattered around the country?”

Steve nodded.

“Over the past three days I’ve visited eighteen of them and have plans to drop in on the rest over the next few days. I left WROC in Tulsa, Oklahoma yesterday after putting it back on the air and switching it over to the Emergency Broadcast System. They're now sending out a constant stream of shelter locations and evacuation areas.”

About to take a bite of his Cinnabun, Steve stopped. He had suddenly lost his appetite."Why did you have to switch over?
” He asked.

“
The FCC contacted me and told me we had to comply with EBS transmission regulations. They couldn't contact anyone at WROC because all the staff had taken off. The station had been dead air for over twelve hours by the time I got there. The National Guard gave me an escort from the airport to the station, and after I got everything straightened out, right back to the airport. Even though it was a short trip, I got to see a lot. On the way through town I saw the Guard burning piles of bodies on the street.”

As Steve
absorbed this new information, Tom's voice took on a far away tone as he continued; “They were using carts and wagons to bring the dead to the bonfires. I think I know how Europe looked during the plague now.”

Shaking it off,
he added, “They say they've got a handle on it, that they're containing the spread of the disease, but I don't know. I saw a lot of infected people in Tulsa, Baton Rouge and Hannibal, Missouri who didn't look too contained when they tried to attack our convoy.”

The two men were interrupted when
Jonny G entered, pushing a cart loaded with canned food into the office. Jonny stiffened when he saw Tom but relaxed when the station owner asked with a laugh, "Jonny G, did you really wade out into the Gulf and take a leak to see if you could attract a shark?”

While the intern excitedly related the experience, Steve reflected on how Tom remembered every name of every employee at each of his stations and always seemed to know what was going on
with each of them. The good, and the bad. Deciding that it wasn't fair to execute his plan behind Tom's back, Steve waited until Jonny left before laying out his idea on how he planned to survive the coming disaster of the HWNW.

When he was finished, Tom stood and said, "Sounds like a good
plan if you can pull it off. And I have no doubt, if anyone can do it, you can. If I happen to be in the area when the shit hits the fan, maybe I'll join you." With a raised eyebrow and a knowing look, he asked, "You wouldn't happen to know where my assistant is, would you?"

With a straight face, Steve replied, "She had to stop at the bank
, but she should be in any minute now."

Tom nodded and took two Cinnabuns from the box on the desk before leaving.
 

Steve put
aside his workload for the day, and concentrated on putting together his fallback plan. By three that afternoon, he felt it was ready.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Washington DC:

The Joint Chiefs of Staff gathered for their morning meeting, grimly determined to resolve the crisis gripping the United States.

"First order of business is operation Re-
détente," the Chairman announced.  "Reports have it moving along on schedule. The initial worldwide infection rate will be behind the United States by a few days, but the NSA tells me that in the overpopulated third world countries it will spread at an incredibly fast rate. The percentage of foreign infected persons will easily surpass the same percentage of those in the United States in a very short time."

This news was greeted by nods from the others around the table as they scanned the report in front of them.

"In the meantime," the Chairman continued, "We are keeping a very close eye on our nuclear neighbors, in particular, China. Luckily, they were infected by the initial outbreak of the HWNW virus within a day of our first reported case, so they’re not far behind us. It's difficult to get any hard information since they've closed their borders, but if we use the population density of India as a model, we can say with confidence that China's infection rate has already far surpassed ours."

"What about Russia?" The Chief of Naval Operations asked.

"They have a more dispersed population so it will take longer to spread through the countryside, but the infection rate is already high in the cities. We're counting on these countries not having the resources to contain the virus and that their infrastructures will collapse quickly.

"This brings us to our next order of business
: containment of the HWNW virus in the United States. As you've all read in your reports, the National Guard, their regular Army advisors, and select units of the Armed Forces are doing what they can, but through attrition and desertion some of these units are down to fifty percent effectiveness.  At the outset, they were able to contain the virus, but now it seems to be outpacing their best efforts. It’s my recommendation that we switch from asking the President to urging the President to declare martial law in all fifty states and all U.S. territories until this crisis is resolved."

"He won't go for it,"
the Commandant of the Marine Corps spoke up. "Since the assassination attempt on his life last year by that Army Major, he's paranoid about anything we propose. He'll think it's a plot to use the deployment of the U.S. military as a coup. That's one of the main reasons we didn't contain this problem days ago, when the first outbreak occurred."