The Nirvana Plague (50 page)

The third cartful finished the job. He had three carts of rotting food parked behind the building. He didn’t know what to do with them. He sat down on a crate to consider the problem. The bears would come scavenging tonight. That was bad. Or was it? Did the bambies care? Did they feel brotherhood with the entire animal kingdom?

Behind the building he was alone. Even Benford had stopped bothering him. The city was so quiet — no power, no traffic. Just the whispering of the sea, the singing of birds, and the taste of the breeze. And the constant drone of the ever vigilant helicopters.

And music. There was music coming from somewhere.

He stood up, listening for it. Without going back inside he walked down the alley, looking for the music. At the corner of the building he realized the music was coming from the front. And now he heard voices too. He turned up the side alley, following the music. The side of the building was covered with a mass of faded, indecipherable graffiti.

Benford broke in again, startling him:
“Looks like quite a party is developing.”

“I’m going to see.”

“See what you can find out.”

“I said I’m going to see.”

“There’s increasing activity in the streets, multiple locations throughout the city.”

“All right.”

Returning to the parking lot in front of the building, he saw that the crowd had tripled in size. There were at least two-hundred people on the scene now. Near the storefront, tables had been set up, and platters and bowls of food laid out. Three or four outdoor grills had been wheeled in, and they had meat cooking. People were sitting around in small groups, some on folding chairs, others on the ground, eating and drinking from plastic plates and cups. The music seemed to be coming from the far side of the parking lot.

And people were talking now. And laughing.

He wandered from group to group, eavesdropping. Everyone ignored him.

“People are talking,” he said.

“What about?”

“To each other.”

“What about?”

“About the power. Somebody said there is a generator at his house… About the food spoiling… It’s a beautiful day… It’s like a family reunion.”

In the middle of the parking lot, a group of musicians were sitting in a circle: violin, cello, guitar, saxophone, banjo, flute, and hand drum. He hadn’t any clue what they were playing, and guessed they were just improvising. But it was beautiful.

Some of the people listening were humming along. Somebody started singing scat.

“Dah doot dot doodadoot…”

Somebody suddenly slapped him on the back. “Hello, doc!”

He jumped and whirled around. “Roger!”

“At your service.”

Benford:
“You found him! Good work. We see you both on camera.”

“Would you please be quiet!”

“I want to talk to Sturgeon.”

Roger grinned. “The voices still harassing you?”

Marley frowned, and searched the crowd. “Where’s Xan?”

“She’s here. She’s getting something to eat. You look like you’ve been going through the trash, doc.”

Marley’s shirt and arms were covered with slop.

“I was cleaning out the deli.”

“So, you’ve decided to join us at last!”

“No,” Marley said, shaking his head. “I mean, not really.”

“I know.”

“I need to wash off.”

“There isn’t much water pressure.”

Marley spotted Delacourt through the crowd. “There’s Xan!”

She was walking toward them, carrying a plate of food and a bottle of beer. She was wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt. She looked radiant.

“Carl.”

“Xan. How are you feeling?”

She sat down abruptly, on the pavement, so she could eat.

Roger and Marley sat down facing her.

“I feel fine.”

Benford broke in again:
“Is that Delacourt? Bring her in too. Bring them both to the bridge.”

Marley ignored her.

Delacourt took a drink from the bottle, grimaced, and wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

“Warm beer.”

Marley wanted one.

“Dr. Marley, respond.”

He ignored her. “Roger,” he said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about our last meeting.”

Roger nodded. “You were frightened.”

Right to the nub. As always.

“Yes, I was. I—”

“Dr. Marley, I need to talk to you. Things are happening.”

Marley slapped his knee angrily. “I have to go take a call,” he said. “Please stay here. I’ll be right back.”

He got up and walked across the street, and leaned against the Humvee, keeping an eye on Roger and Delacourt. People in the crowd were starting to dance to the music. Glancing around the streets, he could see at least two dozen people walking toward him from three directions, making their way to the party.

“OK, colonel. What is it?”

“What are you doing? Don’t let Sturgeon out of your sight. I want you to bring him in. And Dela—”

“You want me to talk to you or to them? I can’t think with you in my ear every thirty seconds.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Marley! You think this is some kind of fucking game? Get your head out of your ass, mister!”

Marley noticed that someone in one of the approaching groups was pushing a stroller.

He was also aware, vaguely, that Benford seemed to be showing a new level of stress, but he failed for the moment to consider why that would be.

“What did you want to talk to me about, colonel?”

“We’ve got people in the harbor and the marina. They’re going aboard fishing boats. They will not be permitted to leave port.”

“Why are you telling me this? How are you going to stop them?”

“There are more and more people all along the waterfront. If anyone attempts to come onto the bridge, we have orders to shoot.”

Why was she behaving so strangely?

Roger and Delacourt watched him placidly, waiting.

“What do you want me to do?” he said.

“Get Sturgeon, and get back here. Bring Delacourt if you can. But get Sturgeon back here. Tell him I want to talk to him.”

“You think he cares whether you want to talk to him? What difference will it make? He’s not in charge. No one’s in charge.”

“Just tell him!”

Marley walked back to rejoin Roger and Delacourt. They were sitting where he’d left them. It was a bright day. He sat down, feeling hot and foolish and distant.

They looked at him sympathetically.

“Colonel Benford wants to meet with you, Roger.”

“OK.”

As the
Sea Word
drove down out of Taiya Inlet, the wind picked up gradually, blowing off the fog. The sunlight came down off the mountains and spread out bright and hot over the sea. The seas began to run higher, lifting and rocking the boat on her way.

They drove on south all morning, down the long throat of Lynn Canal, hugging the coastline.

Interviews over, Karen and Ally passed the time leaning on the port gunwale watching the steep shores unroll before them. Banger lent them his good field glasses, and they passed them back and forth like a regular pair of eager sightseers, while the news crews hunkered down in the lounge, telling each other their tales of daring.

They saw a family of mountain goats skittering across the face of a cliff — white fluffs of strength against the shadowy green rocks. They saw sea lions by the score, basking on rocks — awakened from their naps, they lifted their heads toward the noisy boat. They saw bald eagles wheeling, gliding, hunting — their white heads, when they flew from under the shadow of a mountain, would flare like a mirror catching the sun. They saw glaciers lying like long white tongues in the crevices of white mountains — suspended as if at any moment they could be released and roll down to the sea to lap it up.

At one point Banger called out from above the cabin, “Flukes!” Their eyes followed his finger forward, and they saw the great tails curling out of the water, flutter a slow wave, and slip under again.

“Humpbacks,” Banger explained, like this was any other tourist outing.

As they drove on, one of the whales swam past the boat. They saw it fly under them like a slow jet on great white wings.

It was in the early afternoon, as they were rounding Point Lena and heading toward the mouth of Gastineau Channel, that out of the northeast a Coast Guard helicopter, flaming white, came thundering low over the water, bearing down on them like a guardian angel.

For some reason, Roger and Delacourt both sat in the back seat of the Humvee, like they considered Marley their chauffeur. As he drove, Benford talked:

“They’re trying to take their boats out. Coast Guard patrol is warning them to stay in port.”

Marley turned onto Egan Street, which looped along the waterfront, and stopped. There were hundreds of people milling around in the street. And they didn’t make room for him to pass.

“Let’s walk,” Roger said, opening his door.

Marley killed the engine and got out.

The atmosphere was similar to the party in the grocery store lot, but on a bigger scale. People were eating and drinking, talking and laughing, dancing and singing. Marley smelled barbeque but didn’t see where it was coming from. A pack of children were running along the edge of the boardwalk screaming with excitement.

Most of the adults were facing the water, watching the Navy and Coast Guard ships. There were more helicopters in the sky now. Some of them were gunships.

It wasn’t much farther to the bridge, but they took their time.

Benford said:

“We still have you on camera. Please pick up the pace. I’m coming down the bridge to meet you. You are not to go any further out on the bridge than my position. If you do, Sturgeon and Delacourt will both be shot. And I can’t guarantee your safety either.”

As bad as what she said was, her tone was worse. An electric chill ran up Marley’s back.

When they reached the darkened traffic light at the foot of the bridge, they could see Benford standing about midway down from the barricades at the top of the bridge’s shallow arc. Tyminski was with her.

A sizable cluster of people were hanging around the intersection, some of them eyeing the activity out on the bridge.

Marley walked a few yards out, then turned back toward them. Shouting to be heard over the thunder of the helicopters, he said: “Listen to me! Do not go out onto the bridge. The guards have orders to shoot anyone who approaches.”

No one replied. He couldn’t tell if anyone understood what he’d said, or, if they did, whether they cared.

“Come on,” he said to Roger, and started out.

Benford and Tyminski watched them approach, but did not come any further down the bridge.

In the harbor near the bridge, several boats were sitting at the opening in the seawall, facing the open water. A Coast Guard ship stood out in the channel, beam on to seawall. They could hear the ship’s warning calls booming over the water:

“The harbor is closed! Return to your berths! Do not attempt to leave the harbor! Return to your berths! The harbor is closed!…”

One of the swarming helicopters swooped in closer to the bridge and started floating slowly backwards — keeping pace with them as they walked out.

Marley thought, that’s the one that’ll kill us.

When they reached Benford’s position, she stepped forward and put her hand out to Roger. The gesture surprised Marley. She looked uneasy. He thought of the day she’d marched into his office at Joplin and stuck out her hand — like she’d just bought the place and had come to show the old tenants the door.

“Colonel Sarah Benford.”

“Hello, colonel.”

Roger shook her hand, smiling, bemused. He was the only person on the bridge that didn’t look like he felt trapped in somebody else’s dream. Tyminski, decked out and glowering in full battle gear, looked so tense he vibrated.

“Dr. Delacourt,” Benford said, “how are you?”

Delacourt looked at her, but didn’t answer. Even she seemed out of order somehow. Her stunning appearance in the parking lot had now become vacant and hollow.

Benford focused on Roger. They had to stand close and talk loud to be heard over the helicopters and the megaphones. It only added to the strangeness of their dialog.