The Flu 2: Healing Page 9

  “Will he be alright?”

  “Yes. Yes, he will. Had Ethan and Mick not started fluids, even as little as they got into him, he would have died. Probably went three days without food. Last blood test his electrolytes were much, much better. Any idea what we’re going to do with him? Anyone that can take him?”

  “Ethan said Mick ….” Tom sighed, “that Mick took a liking to him. Maybe have Rose handle the baby till, you know, Mick gets back? What about the woman?”

  “Fine. Bullet went straight through. No damage. Needs some rest but otherwise healthy as a horse.” Lars reached over and laid a hand on Tom’s arm. “How are you?”

  Tom looked worse for wear. His face was drawn, shoulders slumped. “Dying inside, Lars, and there’s nothing I can do. They’re all I have left in this world. All I have. And I keep thinking, did these men grab them? Did they run? And Mick, he’s looking for them. How? This isn’t the old world.”

  “I understand, Tom, but I have faith in Mick. You know that. If anyone can find them and bring them back Mick can. And he will.”

  “And then I will kick his ass for leaving them alone.”

  “I’m certain Mick already is kicking his own self.”

  The bell above the door dinged and Lars looked back to see a man of about forty wearing a camouflage jacket and pants walk in. He removed his cap.

  “Can I help you, son?” Tom asked.

  “My name is Craig Nelson of the Ohio Minuteman Militia. I’m looking for Rose Owens. Do you know where I can find her? I tried radio contact, but I don’t know why I couldn’t get through.”

  Lars questioned. “You came all the way down here to find her?”

  “Yeah, I found that note she wrote and it seemed urgent. I thought … I thought there was trouble here like in Wadsworth.”

  Tom stood. “Do you know what happened in Wadsworth?”

  “I have an idea. Not one hundred percent certain though.”

  Tom patted the seat next to him. “Sit down and tell us what you think.”

  * * *

  Tom led the way up the walk to Rose’s house. The front room lights were on and Tom paused as he passed her motorcycle. There was a sleeping roll tied to the back.

  The front door was open, so Tom knocked once, opened the screen door, and walked in ahead of Lars and Nelson.

  “Rose, you here?”

  A single, ‘Yep’, carried to him and Tom followed the voice.

  Rose stood in the sitting room; she was adding a few things to a backpack. A rifle sat next to it.

  “Rose, what in the hell are you doing?” Tom asked.

  “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” She zipped the pack. “I’m going after my son and grandchildren.”

  “Right now?”

  “Should I wait? Huh, Tom? Wait until it’s too fucking late and the trail is cold?”

  “For crying out loud, woman,” Tom barked. “It’s gonna be dark in an hour. You can’t be going out there. It’s not safe.”

  “Well, I can’t sit around waiting.”

  “I want them back as bad as you. I am sick with worry. You don’t even know where to start.”

  “Ethan said his camp that was hit was right outside of Erie. Even circled it on the map. I’ll find it. I’ll start …” she paused and leaned to the right, pointing to Nelson, “Who the fuck is this?”

  Lars cleared his throat. “Considering you left urgent notes on this man’s door, I’d think you know.”

  “Ma’am,” Nelson extended his hand, “I’m Craig Nelson from the Minuteman Militia.”

  Rose cocked back. “I don’t know you. I been a member for years.”

  “I know. I came from Ohio First Defense at the onset of the flu. When the military was breaking down, the militia was organizing for post-event. During the breakdown of the regular army, the militia is America’s first line of defense, you know.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Tom waved out his hand. “Tell her what you think about Wadsworth.”

  “Well, considering she just mentioned a camp that was hit near Erie,” Nelson shifted his eyes, “I’m pretty certain my suspicions are right.”

  Rose stopped packing and moving. “Go on.”

  “During the height of the flu, several organized and unorganized militia units were networking so as to come up with a viable plan after everything was said and done,” Nelson explained. “We were contacted and stayed in touch, giving stats, we also were the link up to other Indiana and Ohio militias. Our mission was simple: to stay intact until the flu died out and then we would restructure.”

  Tom waved his hand. “Get to the point.”

  Lars closed his eyes for a second. “He is explaining so we don’t ask questions, but I have a big question. I understand the restructuring, but isn’t that the job of the government and our surviving president?”

  “Where is he?” Nelson asked. “In a bunker? Waiting? You guys are only a couple weeks out of the flu, most of this country, finished well over a month ago. He didn’t do anything, so we had to. We’re getting pretty organized. We had a lot of units deployed to small towns like yours to help when the Army and National Guard pulled out. And then a lot of those soldiers started joining us over the last couple weeks. Anyhow… some militia units we avoided because we know they had rough edges. Some were rough and we didn’t know. It’s a gamble with unregistered militia. Unit 149, out of southern Pennsylvania, was deployed to this area for stockpile of abandoned supplies, survivor search, register towns for the United America Army, so all resources would be pulled, organized, shared. This unit is the one that I suspect burned Wadsworth. I didn’t trust them, they seemed like trouble. When I spoke to headquarters about the signal tower, I mentioned it.”

  “What does this have to do with my son?” Rose asked.

  “I’m getting to it.” Nelson lifted a hand. “The commander contacted me about my report of this unit. He wanted me to find them to see if they were the ones responsible, but I told him I couldn’t because they had to be long gone and were meeting up with another group from their unit in Pennsylvania. Last I heard … up near Erie.”

  Rose sat down.

  “So the Wadsworth men and the other Pennsylvania men are from the same unit. 149?” Lars asked. “Chances are they’re nothing but scavengers, not caring what they do or to who. And you think maybe these 149 people hit the Erie camp?”

  “Birds of a feather,” Nelson said. “Just ironic that we had trouble in Wadsworth, that’s where the one unit went. And near Erie is where the others were at.” He shrugged. “I think it’s more than a coincidence.”

  Tom asked, “Were these the only two places they were given?”

  “That I can’t tell you because I don’t know. I can try to speak to the commander again to see what orders they were given. Radio contact is sketchy at times. But cell phones will be back tomorrow. For sure. We’ve been working on the towers.”

  Lars said. “Gee, last I heard the government was working on it.”

  “They may be, but we’ll make the progress,” Nelson replied.

  Tom snapped his finger. “Rose, Mick has that cell phone on him. All you got to do is leave a message, text him, something. Cause you know damn well he’ll fire it up to look at pictures.”

  Lars added, “Then you can find out where he is and help him.”

  “Or,” Nelson interjected, “and this is just a thought, what about telling him to head to the main base in southern New York State? They may be able to help him find his sons. Or he may find them there.”

  “That’s if those 149 rebels show up. Our last report there were some kids taken by them.” Lars said. “Really, they may have taken the supply information and are using it for their own benefit. Sure doesn’t sound to me like they’re team players.”

  “Ha!” Tom coughed. “No one is a team player. What gives this commander and base camp the right to come and steal from our warehouse?”

  Nelson appeared humbled. “Begging your pardon sir, but whose wa
rehouse was it? Who gave you the right to all that food? Would you feel the same way if it was the government?”

  “Yep.” Tom nodded. “I would. We laid squatters rights.”

  “And what happens when that supply runs out?” Nelson asked. “Have you thought of that? What next?”

  “We’re working on long term,” Tom said.

  “Will that include medical supplies, too?” Nelson asked. “This is why restructuring—”

  “Can we leave the campaigning for militia restructuring out of this for the time being please?” Lars cut in. “Allow me to acknowledge that both of you have valid points, whether I heard them or not. Right now …” he faced Rose, “what are you going to do? Will you hold off packing and leaving like Rambo in the night?”

  Rose turned to Nelson. “Phones will be up tomorrow?”

  “Yes, Ma’am for sure. Parts of Indiana are already getting signals. Just need to cross towers and we believe that connection will be tomorrow.”

  “Okay. I’ll wait. I’ll call, wait until I hear back from Mick. But if he is still looking, then I am immediately heading out to help him.”

  * * *

  Briggs wasn’t a bad guy, or at least he never thought he was. He supposed people were intimidated because of his height. He never used it to push people around., but people did shrink out of his way when he approached.

  It wasn’t like he demanded respect, nor did people go out of their way to give it to him. His men respected him but didn’t fear him. No one went out of the way to call him commander or say hello, they just stepped away when he walked by. The people of Damon and those who had joined up with his cause merely accepted what he was doing.

  Doctor Fai Kiddi was wet behind the ears and finishing his residency at Allentown Memorial Hospital when the flu hit. Tossed in the throes of diseases, Fai, or Doc as everyone called him, was all they had as far as medical personnel went.

  He was thirty, looked twelve to Briggs, and smoked a ton of cigarettes. When Doc first came to the town after the flu, everyone spoke loudly to him as if he were deaf, assuming he didn’t understand English. But Fai was born and raised in Miami, Florida.

  Briggs walked into the medical facility, which was a mere twenty bed hospital. He asked where Doc was and only received a point to the back room.

  Someone should have told him the door was an optical illusion, and that he had to duck. Briggs assumed it was a step down and not a short door, and smacked his forehead on the arch as he opened the door and stepped through.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  Laughter.

  “Sorry,” Doc said. “Shut the door will you? I don’t want the smoke out there.”

  Briggs coughed and waved through the thick cloud. “You’ll eventually run out of those things.”

  “Please, I have an in. Tobacco plants are growing a plenty. Plus I have a closet full of cartons. Last me two years, maybe. Then perhaps I’ll quit.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Me, too. What’s up?” Doc asked. “Aside from that doozy of a red mark on your forehead.”

  “Fuck.” Briggs rubbed his head. “Really?”

  “Um, no. I’m kidding.” He put out his cigarette.

  “Good. It hurt. Anyhow, two women and a child were brought in. The woman was sick. You’re holding the other two.”

  “Yep. What’s up?”

  “Do they have our flu?”

  Doc coughed a laugh. “No, what in the world would make you think that?”

  “Municipal said.”

  “They suck. No.” Doc shook his head. “I’m detaining the other two in case it’s something else, but I think it’s more a case of the woman ate something bad. That’s all. Stomach thing. They had a long journey. Your guys in Indiana found them and brought them here.”

  “Where did they come from?”

  “Oregon, I think. Yeah,” Doc said after a moment of thought.

  Briggs whistled. “That’s a hell of a journey.”

  “According to one woman, we’ll be seeing a lot of that. Nothing is left out west. Population is here.”

  “I see. Well thanks ...” Briggs turned and stopped. “Hey, did they say if my men were decent to them? Any problems?”

  “None that were brought up. They weren’t scared of your guys if that’s what you’re worried about.” When Briggs didn’t reply, Doc asked, “You concerned about that?”

  “No. No …” Briggs paused. “Well, a little. Got a few crews out there I’m not familiar with and I worry, you know.”

  “I do. Well, no one brought in today showed any signs of fear or abuse if that helps.”

  “It does, thank you. And keep me posted on the health issues.”

  Doc gave a thumbs up then lit another cigarette.

  “You just put one out,” Briggs remarked.

  “And I’m lighting another.”

  Briggs grumbled and started to leave.

  “Hey, Jonah, duck so you don’t get another red mark to match the big one on your head.”

  “So I have a red mark and you lied.”

  Doc smiled.

  “Ass.” With a shake of his head, Briggs walked out. He remembered to duck.

  He had intended to check on the survivors, but he took Doc at his word and opted against it. and instead returned to the municipal building to retrieve his horse. Wentworth was there waiting as he had instructed.

  “You wanted to see me?” Jon asked. “Jonah, did you know you have a red mark on your head?”

  “Yes.” Briggs rubbed his head. “Doc threw something at me by accident. Anyhow …”

  “No. Not yet. Tomorrow, I swear.”

  “What?” Briggs asked.

  “You wanted to know about the phones.”

  “No, I didn’t, but thanks. I wanted to ask you something else. You seem reasonable, Jon. I’m looking for a right hand man and would like you to be it.”

  “Really? Cool.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No.”

  “No what?”

  “Um, as nice as the offer is, I’ll pass. I don’t want that much responsibility.”

  “You’re in charge of getting communications back up, how is that not a big responsibility?” Jon shrugged. “Too bad.” Briggs reached out and gave a swat to Jon’s arm, sending him sailing sideways a foot. “I know you live in that one room at the police station. We’ll have better housing for you at base.” Briggs began to walk off.

  “Don’t I get a say so?” Jon asked.

  “You do, but, Jon, you really have a voice of reason. You see a different side than I do. Like Richards, but Richards has other stuff I need him to do. I’d like you to be my right hand man. Please.”

  “Fine. But I guess I better get used to not being popular anymore if I work for you.”

  “Why is that?” Briggs asked.

  “People don’t like you. They fear you,” Jon replied. “Not that they have reason. But you can’t be the nice guy all the time, Jonah. I wouldn’t respect you as leader if you took the easy route.”

  “Appreciated.” Brigs shook his hand. “Can you do me a favor? Doc just admitted a couple of survivors into the clinic. They came from the west. Keep an eye out on them. I have a weird feeling. Just check in with me tomorrow if there’s a problem.”

  “You’re not coming into town?” Jon asked.

  “I hope to, but I have a team out there that I suspect may be causing problems on their runs. They’re supposed to check in first thing in the morning, and if not, I’m going out looking for them.”

  “Don’t you have men for that?”

  “I do, but I sent these guys out. If they did bad, then it is my job to correct it.” Briggs turned again to walk away.

  “Jonah?” Jon called. Briggs stopped. “Yeah?”

  “It’ll be good being your right hand man.”

  After a wink and a nod of appreciation, Briggs sought his horse.

  * * *

  I’m an asshole, Mick thought. I am the biggest assho
le ever.

  He was angry and frustrated and couldn’t believe he hadn’t given Chris enough credit.

  Mick had followed that gravel road for an hour until it led him to another set of fishing cabins. The boys weren’t there; no footprints in sight, and certainly no Denny Dynamite prints.

  Mick headed back down the gravel road. At first he wondered if he had gone the wrong way, assuming there was no way the boys would head back to the camp. He had followed that road until it brought him right back to the camp and it was there, internally beating himself up over his inability to find the boys, that he reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin.

  Then he realized how much he had erred.

  Chris hadn’t dropped the coin next to the footprint and snack to say, ‘Hey, we were here’. Chris had put that specific coin next to the footprint on purpose.

  The coin was a trick; an illusion. A way to deceive.

  Chris left the coin next to the footprint as a way to tell Mick the footprints were a trick. That had to be the message. If not, at his pace, Mick would have found the boys. Now, much time had been lost.

  At a faster speed, Mick went back down to the fishing cabin again to start over. By then it was getting dark and the footprints were harder to see. He found a second set of tracks by the lake and followed them until they led into the woods. At that point, it was full dark and he couldn’t see them anymore.

  Mick had to stop; he’d start again at first light. The kids would stop for the night as well, he knew. As much as he wanted to keep going, the last thing Mick needed to do was lose more time by not following the correct trail again. He took heart in the fact that Chris was thinking ahead. That he was being diligent and smart.

  He rested with his back against the cabin wall, and before he fell asleep, Mick said a prayer. He prayed that the next day he would have better luck and most importantly, that the boys were safe and well and stayed that way until Mick found them.

  And he would.