Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending (24 page)

“You said that this affects different people in different
ways. What exactly did you mean by that?”

“Yes,” Doc rubbed his eyes as he answered, “as all of
you know, there appears to be a more than one ‘version’ if you will, of a stage
four infected. It seems that the most common type that we’ve encountered is
characterized by red eyes. For reasons that I am medically unable to explain,
others have been reported with a yellowish, or jaundiced cast in their eyes.
These seem to be affected, or perhaps ‘infected’ differently. For lack of a
better term, we have been referring to them as ferals. Through whatever process
is at work here, they somehow seem to operate on a greatly enhanced adrenaline
high.” Doc paused and looked around the room. When no one voiced an
interjection, he pointed towards Sam. “Trooper Ironfeather has even reported
the sighting of an infected lady with entirely black eyes. I am again at a loss
to medically explain that symptom.”

“So how do we protect ourselves? I mean, how do we
keep from becoming one of those things?”

“Again, I can only speak in generalities since we’re
not entirely sure what we’re dealing with, but the transmission of pathogens
requires certain conditions. Take, for example, the common cold that we’re all
familiar with. It can be spread by coughing, in which case tiny particles of
the virus are spewed in an area in front of the coughing host. Those particles
are attached to microscopic droplets of liquid—saliva, expelled mucus and
whatnot—that are then inhaled by an additional person or persons in the area.
Or maybe the host covers their mouth when they cough. Then three minutes later
they shake the hand of an old friend they haven’t seen in a while. That friend
chats with them for a few minutes, and then takes out a cigarette and puts it
in his mouth, along with the infected material that was transferred with the
handshake. In any event, once the initial contamination happens, a wide variety
of factors now influence whether or not that person becomes sick. This is, of
course, a very basic level explanation of how a pathogen might be spread. Like
I said, we don’t know what is causing the sickness, but no matter what, all the
standard precautions for good hygiene should still reduce your risk of
exposure. A great rule of thumb to remember is this; ‘if it’s wet, and not
yours, don’t touch it.’ Another thing to focus on is the use of barriers and
protective equipment—like latex or nitrile gloves—wherever possible.”

“Yeah, that’s all well and good, but what if somebody
in this room is already sick? How do we protect ourselves from that?”

“The best advice I can give you is still the same
advice that you’ve been hearing all your lives. Wash your hands. Use soap.
Avoid unnecessary physical contact with people who are showing signs of
infection. Use hand sanitizer—there’s plenty of it that we brought down at
supper time. Just don’t waste it. Any other questions?”

A brief silence drifted across the room before a
slightly chubby, balding black man stood. “I got one. We’ve been here for a few
days already. In that time we had that lady who killed herself with pills, and
them infected kids that you had to shoot in here. Even that little one in the
sleeping bag. There’s already been blood spilled and mopped up in this very
room. What’s to say that some of us won’t come down with this sickness in an
hour, or maybe in the middle of the night when most of us are sleeping. What
then?”

“I’m not sure that I understand your question,” Doc
replied.

The man’s tone shot up several notches and he pointed
a thick finger toward Doc. “What I’m asking is what do we do if someone comes
down sick. Do we throw them outside? Do we shoot them? Do we give them a chance
to leave?”

“That’s part of what we have to figure out tonight,”
Doc answered with a shake of his head. No more hands were raised, so he turned
and glanced at Eric.

Eric returned the look, and then walked toward the
table, passing Michelle along the way who was taking over as door guard.

“I just have a couple of things, and then I’ll turn it
over to Walter. Several of you have asked me to clarify some of my statements
from earlier. I’ll do my best. Others of you may be under the misimpression
about certain facts of life. I hope to clear those up as well. The first thing,
the main thing, that I want you to understand is that we are all here as
guests. None of us are owed anything by Mr. Sheldon. It is only through the
generosity he and his wife have shown that we have even eaten in the past few
days. It is true that Mr. Sheldon has put away a few supplies for a rainy day.
Those supplies are rapidly diminishing. By my count we have over sixty people
currently at the marina. I want you to think about your own house or apartment.
How long could you feed sixty people with the food at your house? I’m guessing
not even once. I know I couldn’t. So what I’m trying to say is that we all need
to be grateful for what we’ve been given—let me say that word again—‘given’ so
far.”

There were several nods of agreement from the gathered
crowd, as well as an abundance of voiced “thank you’s” directed toward Walter.

Eric scanned the crowd slowly, trying to meet
everybody’s eyes before continuing. “There is no way for me to make the next
topic easy, but I’ve got to put it on the table, because your answers are going
to greatly influence what happens—or doesn’t happen—in the very near future. We
need to know how many of you are missing family and friends from the
campground.”

A huge wave of hands, accompanied by several voices
rose from the crowd.

 “OK, wait a minute,” Eric said as he stepped to the
very front of the assembly, “let me clarify this. I’m asking you to do
something incredibly hard. I’m asking you to not think with your heart. I’m
asking you to be honest and fair, because regardless of what has already
happened, if we decide to go back to the campground, more lives will be at
risk. So please, hear me out. I realize that almost everybody in here has
suffered some type of loss. I’m sorry for that. But you need to recognize that
any attempt to return to the campground on a rescue mission will be geared
explicitly toward non-infected people. Not property, not money or jewelry from
your camper, not your car . . . whatever. We’d be there for non-infected people
only. We would not attempt to rescue or capture anybody who showed signs of
being sick in the hope that at some point they may get better or be cured. On
the contrary, should any rescue attempt be made, it is highly likely that we
would have to deal violently with the infected, which again would put any
rescuers in a dangerous situation. So what I . . . what
‘we’
need to
know is pretty simple. I would like everybody who was at the campground to
raise your hand IF you are currently missing a family member or friend.”

Almost everybody’s hand went in the air.

Eric nodded. “OK, put your hands down for a moment. I
know we have some family groups here, so please just designate one person in
your family group to raise their hand as we do this.”

The crowd shuffled and murmured, and then Eric asked
the same question. This time, twenty-six hands raised skyward.

“Keep your hands up. Now, to those of you with your
hands in the air, if the person or persons who are missing from your family . .
. if you know that they were injured by someone who was infected, or if you
have a strong reason to believe that may be the case, please lower your hands.”

Several muttered sobs mixed with a few curses as the
crowd weighed Eric’s words. After a few moments, three more hands went down.
Another thirty seconds dropped two more.

Sam cleared his throat and stepped from the corner
toward the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me interject something here. The
likelihood of anybody at the campground remaining alive and uninfected at this
point is slim. We all know this. I know it’s hard to let go of hope, and I
don’t blame you for grasping tightly to every potential straw. But you need to
realize that any journey back to the campground is going to be extremely risky,
even for heavily armed and prepared rescuers. So please, if you know your loved
one was injured, put your hand down. Maybe they bought your freedom and safety
through a personal sacrifice. If so, honor their memory by putting your hand
down. Don’t make us risk our lives needlessly. Please.”

A bearded man wearing a pair of denim overalls raised
his hand as he spoke. “What if we don’t have any personal knowledge about what
happened to our friend? Like my buddy Shep. We was both staying in his popup at
the end of Blue Heron, but I was up near the office when everything went bad.
So I guess I honestly have no idea if he’s hurt, dead, or one of them things.
For all I know, he could be sleeping off a three day bender on the floor of the
popup.”

Sam and Eric looked at each other, and then Eric
addressed the man. “If you honestly have no personal knowledge, then put your
hand in the air.” Turning to meet individual faces in the crowd, he continued.
“Please understand, we’re not looking for reasons NOT to go to the campground.
We’re looking for reasons to justify the risk of returning.”

Sam spoke again. “So how many of you are missing a
loved one or friend from the campground, and honestly have no knowledge or
reason to believe they might be injured, deceased, or infected?” Thirteen hands
silently rose. Lucky thirteen.

“This is a pile of horse shit.” Short blond hair and
the remains of hastily applied mascara decorated the face of the lady who stood
up as she spoke. She was immediately accompanied by another man with a crew cut
and a scowl. “Don’t you people realize what’s really happening here?” She
twisted to face the crowd as she continued, “They have no intention of going
back to the campground. There will be no food, or gasoline, or guns. None for
us, anyhow. It will all be saved for the lucky few up at the house. And let me
tell you, it’s up there. You all know it.”

The man with a crew cut jumped right in. “We’ve got
room in our car for two, maybe three more people. We’ve got a half tank of gas,
and that should get us anywhere we need to go. We’re not staying here to be
used as bait. We’re leaving at first light.”

“Where the hell are you going to go?” The interjection
was shouted from the back corner by a lanky, middle-aged Asian man who was
cradling a shotgun. “You all know that the reason most of us ended up at the
campground in the first place was because the roads were blocked in every
direction. We were basically funneled there. Do you think anything has gotten
better? I don’t.”

At that, the room exploded into shouts and arguments.
A multitude of pushing and shoving, as well as numerous incidents of hair
pulling, cat fights, and punching matches erupted across the floor.

Eric leaned his back against the wall and sighed as
the chaos ebbed and flowed. A sweep of his eyes around the store showed that
Michelle was arguing with a trio of men. He couldn’t make out what was being
said that over the din, but he did recognize the look on her face, and
momentarily grinned inside with the knowledge that they were about to get their
asses handed to them. Crowbar Mike was trying to separate several combatants
near the divider curtain, and Preacher Dave was shouting for calm to anyone who
would listen. Further to the right, Walter was speaking to Leonard, and his
equally rotund wife Glenda. All of them were shaking their heads and gesturing
in exasperation. A final shift of Eric’s eyes stopped at Doc and Callie. They
were apparently in their own little world, even with the disruptions going on
around them. Callie was pointing to her tablet, and then motioning toward the
pile of medical forms that Doc Collins was rapidly thumbing through. After a
moment, Doc picked up the little GMRS walkie-talkie, fumbled with some of the
controls, and then spoke into it. When he had finished, he held it up to his
ear with his right hand. Eric couldn’t hear any of the reply, but he noted with
interest the rapid head bobbing and pointing that took place between Doc and
Callie after whatever response had come through.

The crowd was beginning to settle, and after a few
more moments of conflict and arguments, Dave managed to get everybody more or
less seated and listening. “Please, ladies and gentlemen, let’s just try and
come together. There’s still more that needs to be said and discussed tonight,
and it’s already getting late.”

Sam motioned for Michelle to join him near the table,
and Mike took over at the door. After she wormed her way through the crowd Sam
spoke, “I think everybody here needs to get a few things straight in their
head. We don’t know for sure if we’re going to go back to the campground. Ever.
I know that some of you have only stayed because of that possibility. Regardless
of what happens, we need to be focused on tomorrow, and the day after, and the
day after that. Something has happened to our world, and we can’t just sit here
and wait for the food to run out.”