Riposte (The Redivivus Trilogy Book 2) (36 page)

Lt. Weaver noticed the concerned look on both of their faces. “Before you get too worked up, let me assure you that the parts of this building we do control are as secure as they can be. Because of all the nasty shit they worked with in here, this place was designed to be locked up tighter than a gnat’s chuff.” Lt. Weaver added, “It’s really just the third floor. One of the lab techs there must have been sick or something, because when we arrived, the entire floor was crawling with the infected. Sodecci tells me there isn’t anything we need on that floor anyway.”

Both soldiers relaxed visibly, and the Lieutenant continued, “Mother and his soldiers are all that remain of my original platoon. We had radio contact with a few other company elements initially, but that’s nonexistent now. We haven’t received any orders from battalion since the first days. My orders were to set up defensive positions around this place and wait for support to arrive. None did, and for all practical purposes, we are on our own. Other battalions were deployed around the country, but with the ongoing war on terror, a good many of our troops were overseas when this thing hit. Those that were available were sent to enforce the quarantine zones or to secure high value targets such as this. Places like USAMRIID and the NIH, anywhere possessing the necessary equipment to study the pathogen, were given top priority.”

As he listened to Lt. Weaver’s story, General Montes could not help but think of his own soldiers, all of whom had been killed by the LNV epidemic in one way or another.

“Garza, have you shared the details of our initial quarantine efforts and the PAT centers with General Montes?” asked the Lieutenant. Garza nodded that he had. “Then I won’t go into all the details but suffice it to say, none of it worked. This thing had our number from the word
go
. Now it’s all we can do to keep our heads above water,” Lt. Weaver concluded. His eyes held the all-too-familiar vacant look of a man who has seen far too much death and suffering.

Standing, Lt. Weaver said, “Come on, I’ll show you the perimeter and what we have in the way of defenses. It’s not much but we’re holding so far. Let’s just hope this doctor of yours can help Sodecci find a cure before it’s too late.”

Although none of them acknowledged it, they could not deny the nagging feeling that it might already be too late.

25

October 24, 2015

John, Reams, and Kate drove in silence, contemplating Ethan’s death and the world in which it had occurred. It sickened John to think that Ethan had died for nothing at the hands of a bunch of junkies. They had learned that the Pied Piper’s grotesque appearance, as well as that of the rest of the smackheads at the former country club, was the result of their addiction—not some half-rev condition. At least that was what John was left to believe since everyone at the country club died before he could get any further information. He still could not explain what allowed the Piper to walk among the infected unnoticed. John hoped they could eventually glean something useful from the fateful expedition that left one of his newfound friends dead.

Something troubled John as they passed through town after town filled with little more than scattered infected and the desolation left by the outbreak.
There should be more evidence of people even in small towns. Where was everyone now?
What he saw did not add up. Given that they saw no survivors, John surmised that they should find more dead or infected. Maybe they were there, alive and well, and simply avoiding any outsiders. As nice as that sounded, he doubted that was the case. He saw no convincing evidence to support that notion. He knew that the infected tended to bunch up in groups over time, so it was possible that the missing populations had been infected and were drawn away from the area, travelling as some sort of mega-horde. If that was the case, where were they now? John didn’t want to think of a place where revs from all over the area were gathered.

Paralleling I-85, they approached Atlanta from the south and managed to avoid the traffic snarls on the interstate. They had witnessed the carnage and mayhem that engulfed the panicked people trying to flee via the interstate at the start of the outbreak. Part of John wanted to see the larger towns and cities in the hopes of satisfying his curiosity about what had become of all the people. For now, he was satisfied that regardless of where they were, their absence was making this leg of their journey markedly less difficult. He tried to keep such unabashed optimism in check, realizing that the situation could spiral downward at any moment.

At one point, Kate said, “Fort Benning is about fifty or sixty miles south of us. Maybe we should take a detour to see if we can find any help there?”

John and Reams considered her suggestion, and while the thought of a group of well-armed soldiers fighting along their side was certainly appealing, they did not hold out much hope that would be the case. In the end they decided that one of two scenarios was far more likely. Either they would find the base overrun by the infected making it a veritable death trap, or a faction from the military would be holed up, struggling to survive, and the three of them would be forced to stay and help or at the very least have some or all of their limited supplies confiscated. In the end, they decided that they were doing okay on their own, and such a detour merely added unnecessary risk.

Driving through a decimated neighborhood just south of the Atlanta metropolitan area, John saw a strange and surreal sight. Initially alerted by a thin wisp of smoke wafting through the late morning sky, he slowed the truck and blinked his eyes several times to ensure he was not seeing things. Sitting amidst the destruction in the center of a burned out shell of a building, was an old man. He had built a small fire in an old metal sink, and he sat atop a ruined desktop computer tower. He was alone except for a little monkey that was tethered to a nearby hat stand by a leash. John was unsure of what the man was doing, but he appeared to be cooking over the fire. He intermittently tossed some of the food to the little monkey. John woke Reams and Kate, partly to make sure he was not dreaming, and to see what they wanted to do.

Before he could ask either of them if they saw what he did, Reams said, “What the hell is that old man doing with his monkey?”

“Excuse me?” Kate replied. Reams merely pointed to the old man sitting next to the little primate. After a small chuckle, Kate said, “Wouldn’t have guessed I’d see that today.”

“I guess we should say
hello
. Maybe he’s from the area and can give us information about the conditions here,” John said hopefully as he opened the door to step out of the truck. As he approached, John made sure to make just enough noise for the old man to hear him while not attracting every infected within earshot to their location.

Reams and Kate stepped out as well, but remained close to the truck.

The elderly man’s weathered skin was creased with deep furrows that coursed in every direction, like a roadmap of all the places life had taken him. Noticing John’s approach, the man fixed him with an unflinching gaze, one eye frosted over by a cataract long overdue for removal. His edentulous jowls flapped as he gummed whatever he was cooking over the small fire. White gossamer hair fluttered in the light breeze, appearing almost weightless where it protruded from beneath his well-worn pork pie hat. Although his clothes were disheveled, he wore a tweed sport coat over a matching vest and button down shirt, giving him the appearance of a man forever trapped in the 1930’s.

“Hello?” John said tentatively, as though he expected something prodigious to occur as a result of his intrusion. If the peculiar man had leapt up and charged him like a banshee, John would not have been surprised. Instead the old man merely nodded his head and tipped his hat, as if someone walking up for a chat in the middle of the apocalyptic wasteland was as normal as the sun rising in the morning.

The old man continued roasting Vienna sausages over the fire like marshmallows. He had three impaled on a stick, and while he waited for the pink thumbs of meat to cook over the woefully small flame, he scraped the gelatinous rind out of the empty tin with his index finger. The look of ecstasy in the old man’s eyes as he licked the slimy pork-flavored jelly off of his finger made John’s insides roil despite his own hunger. When the old man bit into the first sausage, he let out a squeal of delight as its juices dribbled onto his chin.

Since the man did not seem alarmed by his presence, John continued forward slowly. When he was about six feet away, the old man turned to him suddenly, and said:

“Sausage?”

As disgusting as the little sausages were, the steaming and shriveled meat made John’s mouth water involuntarily.
I guess people will eat just about anything at the end of the world.

“No, thank you,” John replied politely.

The old man took another bite of the processed meat before flinging the rest to the bound monkey. The furry animal lurched forward as far as his leash would allow before snatching the morsel out of the air like a dog catching a bone.

“My name is John Wild, and those are my friends, Reams, and Kate,” John added while pointing toward the truck.

“How’d do,” the old man said and tipped his hat.

Sensing the man was not going to say anything else, John asked, “Do you mind if I sit for a minute?”

The old man motioned toward an old CRT monitor turned on its side, and said, “Be my guest, young man. I’m never one to turn away good company. You
are
good company, I presume?”

The question seemed odd, and John was not quite sure how to answer. Fortunately, the old man continued before he was forced to do so.

“Won’t your friends be joining us? I do hate to sit while a lady is made to stand.”

Nodding, John motioned for Reams and Kate to join them. When they were all seated around the dwindling conflagration, John spoke again, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Where are you coming from? And where are you heading?”

“Well…I came from that a-way, and I’m heading over yonder,” he answered, pointing to indicate the directions to which he was referring. After he or anyone else spoke, the old man let out a short cackling laugh, almost like a nervous tic. Additionally, he seemed to have trouble sitting still as he often rocked back and slapped his knees when he spoke.

John found it strange that he did not mention his name, as that was generally one of the first things a person shared in conversation. He seemed to pick and choose which questions he answered, and every answer was equally cryptic. Nearly everything he said seemed to have many possible interpretations, making John wonder if the old codger was all there.

“Going south, huh? How far north were you? We came from the western side of Alabama and are heading into Atlanta to meet some people,” John said.

The old man’s face took on a grave expression, and he shook his head slowly from side to side, as if warning John against his indicated plan of action. When John returned a quizzical look, the old man explained. “I ain’t sure what you’re looking for in Atlanta, but I know what you’ll find. Ain’t nothing left in that place but trials and tribulations, son. I reckon that’s why we don’t see too many of them around here. If you had friends in that place, I ain’t too sure you want to meet them any more.”

John was taken aback by the old man’s words. He immediately felt anger and frustration rising up inside him, but he managed to keep both in check. “A friend of mine, a scientist, has information about the virus and was heading to the CDC to work on a cure. Are you familiar with the area?” John asked, trying to hold on to the smallest sliver of hope.

Something flickered in the old man’s eyes, so fast that John could not say what it was. No one else appeared to have noticed anything. Even so, John knew deep down that he had seen something, and that whatever it had been was significant.

“I reckon I can tell you a couple two or three things that might help you along the way,” the man said in a conspiratorial tone. “First, let me say that the road you speak of is beset by a great evil, and fraught with peril. There are far easier paths than the one you are considering. But if your mind is set on continuing onward, best be careful, as the purveyors of the great plague are everywhere. You are bound to see things that will make you question your decision, I tell you.”

John nodded, never taking his eyes off of the old man’s for fear he might miss the glimmer should it return. The gesture seemed to be enough of an invitation for the old man, as he leaned forward and continued, “Must be something mighty important for you to knowingly face certain death. Tell me, son, may I see your map?”

John produced the small atlas, and the old man marked out a route that was slightly longer than the one they had planned to take. As he did, he indicated certain areas to avoid and others that should be relatively safer. When John asked him how he knew this, he replied only with his cackling laugh. Although John could not say why, he knew that what the man said was the truth.

“I wish you folks the best of luck. I believe there’s a lot of people counting on what you’re doing, even if they don’t know they are,” he said.

With a confused look, John asked, “What do you mean by that?”

The old man told them of rumors of people being evacuated to safe areas out west. “When the government realized what was happening, they set up safe areas in the more rural parts of the western United States. They picked areas with natural defenses, like mountains or bodies of water—places like that. Rumor has it they moved as many people as they could convince to go, mostly from smaller cities. I heard it from a fellow I spoke with some time ago that many of those areas are faring well compared to the rest of us.”

When John asked why he was not heading west in light of that information, the old man merely cackled again.

For the first time since his introduction, Reams spoke, “Mind if I ask? What’s with the monkey?”

This question elicited an even greater laugh.

“Ol’ Bananas was stuck in a tree outside the Atlanta Zoo with a group of those blamed things all around. They left him be when they started after me. I managed to lose them, and the next thing I know, Bananas was right there next to me. Hasn’t left my side since,” the old man said as he smiled at the little monkey.

Kate could not help but think of Ezzard as she watched the old man. She truly hoped the preacher was safe. “Mister, you should come with us. You shouldn’t be out here by yourself. No one should,” she said with pleading in her voice.

Once again, the old man merely cackled at her suggestion.

“Ma’am, I am truly honored by your kind offer, but I must graciously decline. You see, Bananas and I are heading to the Gulf. I’ve got a hankering something fierce to feel the sand between my toes,” he said while looking down at his dusty shoes as though imagining he was already walking barefoot on the beach. Before Kate could mount an argument, he was up and gathering his few possessions. Although slightly hunched over by the cruel passage of time, he still moved with surprising speed.

“You folks turned out to be good company indeed. I’m well pleased to have met each of you,” the old man said with a little cackle. “Sadly, Bananas and I have a date with the sea, so it is time to bid you adieu. From the sound of it, neither of us can afford to be late.” Taking hold of the monkey’s leash, he walked past Reams and Kate, tipping his hat as he went. When he came to John, he nodded his head and said, “Good luck, Dr. Wild.”

Still convinced there was more to the old man than he let on, John stared at his eyes hoping to catch another brief glimpse of whatever he had seen earlier. Instead, the man merely winked at him as he passed.