A Girl Called Badger (Valley of the Sleeping Birds) (31 page)

“You know we’re at DEFCON 2,” said Jack.

“That’s why it has to be done now, before it’s too late. I can’t send Mike. We’re short-staffed and Ming has shoved the contingency plan down my throat. You’re the best guy available.”

“I don’t have time.”

“Jack, one of my patients will die if you can’t do it. Probably more. This is critical for the project.”

Jack stared at a spot on the gray-painted wall for a moment.

“Fine. But I’ll need a HUGO from the lot.”

“No problem.”

Dr. Allen scribbled lines on a sheet of paper. He took out a small seal, pressed down hard, and handed the paper to Jack. “You’ll need this to get into Schriever.”

Relevant Personnel:

The bearer of this document is USAF Captain Jack Garcia. He’s to be granted full access to Schriever AFB under authority of Special Advisor to the Joint Chiefs of Staff Doctor Zhang Ming. He’s cleared for SWORD.

Dr. Greg Allen

Altmann Research Station

“You’ve got this wrong. I’m not an officer and I wasn’t in the Air Force.”

“I know that, but it’s the only way I can give you a war commission. You might have fewer problems this way. Now raise your right hand.”

“This is too stupid to be true,” Jack muttered. He repeated everything from Dr. Allen.

“Now can I leave?”

“Immediately. What we need from Schriever is called an RS3, or simply a ‘sequencer.’ It’s in the basement of the 4th SES building. Here are orders allowing them to release it. It’s only a medium-sized cylinder, you won’t need help.”

Mike gave him a protective NBC suit with helmet, a few facemasks, a Milcom radio, and a K12 with three clips. Together they took the elevator to the vehicle lot. Dr. Allen swiped his fingertip and the bay doors rolled up.

An armored truck the color of wood ash waited inside. Low and wide, HUGO trucks carried up to six troops into combat. The armor wasn’t thick but could stop most small arms. The undercarriage was high and the truck could drive over just about anything.

Dr. Allen opened a lockbox and gave the keyfob to Jack. “Good luck.”

Mike shifted his weight from one foot to another until Dr. Allen had gone. “Jack, check on my house, okay?”

“I’ll bring Gina and the kids back with me.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

Parvati gave him a tight hug and a kiss. “Just bring yourself back. In one piece.”

“How about a piece that glows in the dark?”

Jack pressed the starter button and the twelve cylinders roared to life. Mike and Parvati didn’t wave as he drove out the vehicle bay and neither did Jack.

HE KEPT HIS FOOT down and sprayed brown dust and gravel through the winding pass to the highway. A steady stream of vehicles packed the road heading west but the eastern lane was clear. Many of the cars and buses he passed had a large “Q” spray-painted on the side in yellow or white.

Jack drove off the berm to pass a few abandoned cars and traffic collisions. He cracked his knuckles to re-boot the phone and the network still didn’t come up. This made his foot stick to the floor even harder.

He saw a line of cars at a roadblock outside Divide. He turned off to a dirt road then bumped through a field of cut alfalfa until he’d passed it. He jerked back onto the smooth blacktop going west and kept his eyes in the mirror. The cops must have seen the HUGO but no flashing lights came after him.

Apart from a few speeding cars and wandering dogs Woodland Park was empty. Joanie’s minivan wasn’t in the driveway. Jack knocked on the front and back doors and nobody answered. She’d changed the locks a while ago. He didn’t know why he kept the key.

Jack jumped for a boxy old air cooler and pulled himself to the second story. The upstairs bedroom window still hadn’t been fixed and he jiggled it open.

Nothing looked out of place inside. No clothes or suitcases were missing. A light flashed red in the living room and Jack remembered the house had an old relay for the network. It amplified signals and saved money on phone bills until the new tower had made it obsolete. Joanie was just the kind of person to keep using it.

“Check messages,” Jack said.

“Jack has zero messages,” said a female voice with a prim British accent.

“System override. User: admin.”

“Your password, sir?”

“Foxtrot.”

“Access granted.”

“Check messages for Joanie.”

“Joan Garcia has two new messages and seven saved messages.”

“Play new message.”

White noise crackled the air for a second.

“This is not a test. This is a message from the Emergency Broadcasting System. The city of Colorado Springs is under a protective quarantine. Shelter in place and do not leave your homes. Do not approach military personnel or you will be fired upon. Repeat, this is not a test–”

The next message was from Joanie’s mother.

“Don’t come to the city, dear. It’s too dangerous. I’m driving us to the hospital now. Stay where you are and I’ll call you. I love you.”

“End of new messages. You have seven saved messages.”

“Play the first one.”

Her mother’s voice filled the room again.

“Joanie, can you come help me? Your father has the worst case of flu. I tried to call 911 but they’re not answering. Imagine that! Call me back, dear.”

Jack ran outside and gunned the engine back toward the highway. He passed Padre’s bar and squealed to a stop.

The “Closed” sign was out and the front was locked. Jack walked around to the back and knocked on plastic frame of the screen door. The sound of gunshots and squealing tires came from inside, and Jack could see the glow of Padre’s old two-dee set.

“I’m closed.”

“It’s me, Padre.”

“Come in.”

Cases of chips, peanuts, and pickles lined the shelves of the stockroom. Padre leaned a pump shotgun against the wall and settled back into his La-Z-Boy.

Jack pointed to the two-dee set. “Is that a broadcast?”

“No, it’s off a disc. All my channels went black this morning. Guess I’m not paying that bill.” He looked up at Jack. “Wait––what are you still doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” said Jack.

“Nowhere else to go. I may not have an escape plan but I got food, booze, and guns. And who wants to die in a traffic jam?”

“I need your help. Joanie and Colleen drove to the city.”

“Say no more.” Padre stood up and grabbed his shotgun.

Jack stared open-mouthed. “That’s it? No questions?”

“When a friend needs help there aren’t any questions to ask. Unless the question is, ‘why are we standing here?’”

Padre took his Bible and a jacket before he locked up, and followed Jack to the HUGO. He whistled in appreciation at sight of the armored vehicle.

“Jack, who did you kill for this baby?”

“Nobody yet. It’s borrowed from Altmann. That place I used to work, remember?”

Padre set his gear on the floor and strapped in. “I guess it pays to know people.”

“Don’t speak too soon. To get this cherry ride I had to promise I’d drive to Schriever Air Force Base.”

“Indeed. Drive onward, Christian soldier!”

“Don’t push me. And don’t sing.”

Jack drove the HUGO through Woodland Park. He hit the brakes hard and Padre grabbed for the panic bar.

“What’s wrong?”

Jack shook his head. “Forgot something.”

He turned the truck around and a few minutes later stopped at Mike’s house. Their Hyundai was in the driveway and the front door was open.

“Stay here and don’t talk to strangers,” said Jack. He put the NBC hood over his head and grabbed the K12 rifle.

The house had been ransacked. The TV and net receiver in the living room were gone. The patio door had been shattered and Jack spotted a speaker cabinet in the backyard. The NBC filter clicked on and off with each breath. He stepped over children’s toys and broken glass. In the hallway blood had sprayed one wall and dark spots led up the carpeted stairs. Jack kept the K12 ready and followed the trail. Mike’s wife Gina lay on the floor of the master bedroom, her brown hair and the carpet around it matted with blood. Jack touched Gina’s neck but didn’t have to. Her skin was a pale yellow, like rendered fat.

The two kids were in their beds, covered with blankets. Both were still and cold to the touch. Jack blew a ragged sigh through the filter and left quickly. Before he walked out the front door he took a photo from the wall. Mike had his arms around his wife and kids. Everyone was smiling. Jack remembered taking the photo, the last time he and Mike had climbed Red Rock.

“You got one of those masks for me?” asked Padre.

Jack tossed the NBC hood to him and roared the HUGO’s engine out of the neighborhood.

“What’s wrong?”

“Mike’s family. They’re dead.”

Padre whispered a prayer as Jack whipped the big truck through town and onto the highway toward Colorado Springs. They passed a long line of cars, family vans, and school buses. All were pointed west.

“Still believe in God?” asked Jack.

“I’m not smarter or better than other men,” said Padre. “Never was. But I’m telling you, don’t point the finger at God for the virus. It’s like a possum blaming Him for cars.”

“Those were dead kids back there, not animals!”

“I know. What I mean is, the possum has a better chance of driving a stick-shift than we have of understanding God and the world.”

“Wrong,” said Jack. “I’ve got an idea about what’s happened.”

“You’re like most people and believe in fairness and karma,” said Padre slowly. “That’s been shaken now, and I understand. But don’t blame God.”

“Right now,” said Jack. “I blame anyone that gets between me and my daughter.”

HE WHIPPED THE HUGO through the pine forests of 24 and passed an unending line of cars. The highway rose over the pass and dropped through the mountains. The white cone of Pike’s Peak nosed up from the south. In the foothills below lay Colorado Springs, a grid of streets, trees, and sprinkler-green lawns. A dozen pillars of black smoke spiraled up and bent sideways at the inversion layer. Beyond the city, yellow plains stretched to the east.

At the city limits they met a roadblock and a line of cars turned off to the side. A sage-green battletank and two HUGOs blocked the road. A dozen soldiers stood around in old desert gear and white masks. One with an ACR and red armband waved Jack forward.

“The city’s closed. What unit are you?”

“I’m from Altmann,” said Jack. “I’ve got orders to get through.”

“I don’t need no orders, chief. If you’re going east, don’t stop and don’t get out. It’s like Karachi in there. Looters are popping off at everything.”

The soldier turned to look as a few pistol shots cracked in the nearby streets. An automatic rifle fired in the distance, long and grinding like a dead transmission.

“Message received,” Jack said.

“Good hunting,” said the soldier. “And wear a mask.”

Jack thought the HUGO had air filters but he snapped a white mask over his head and Padre wore the NBC hood.

The pavement vibrated as the huge tank moved backwards on his steel treads. Jack floored it through the gap. On the other side of the highway a line of cars waited to get out. A few guardsmen in full NBC suits stood around the first car in line. One held a small gray box in front of a passenger’s face. Another waited with a can of spray paint.

Padre tapped the map display in the console. “How is this still working? Is the network back up?”

“It’s on a secure military band, separate from the civvie networks.”

“Can we call your ex-wife on it?”

“It doesn’t work that way, even if her phone was online.”

A couple of rounds banged into his door as Jack took the off-ramp to Circle. He kept going full-speed up Airport. Some enterprising young man had blocked the street ahead with a tractor-trailer and stopped a few cars. A dozen civvies stood near the trailer, some with rifles.

“Roll up your window,” said Jack.

Between the two front seats was a flat console with a dozen switches. All were labeled and shielded with colored plastic tabs. Jack flipped up a red tab and hit a silver toggle switch.

“CMS armed,” said a deep male voice.

“Aim ten degrees and fire,” said Jack.

Something thumped like a tennis ball on the roof of the HUGO and a ball of cotton-wool smoke puffed in the middle of the crowd. Most held their mouths and bent to the ground as the smoke rapidly expanded.

The HUGO smashed through the end of the trailer and barely slowed down.

“What was that?” asked Padre.

“Tear gas.”

A pair of car fires burned on the street where Joanie’s parents had a condo. Jack fired tear gas at both ends of the street and stopped the HUGO beside Joanie’s minivan.

“I’m going inside,” he said. “Sit here in the driver’s seat. If you see anyone besides me or Joanie, floor it around the block and come back. That includes cops. Especially cops.”

“But what if–”

“If I don’t come back in five, this will take you to Altmann.” He pressed symbols on the map screen. “Just say ‘take me home’ and you’ll get directions.”

“But don’t you need the net for auto-drive?”

“You would but this isn’t a civvie car, remember? It’s an old system.”

Padre jumped into the driver’s seat and Jack ran up the steps of the condo with the K12. He looked up and down the street then knocked twice on the door of the condo. No sound from inside. Jack fired a three-round burst at the lock and kicked the door open.

“Colleen? Joanie?”

The smell of bleach and smoke penetrated his mask. He stepped into the living room and the wall next to him exploded in plaster and framed photos.

“Don’t shoot, it’s me!”

Joanie lowered the shotgun. “You didn’t exactly scream hello, did you?”

Jack thought it stupid and strange how he could love and hate her at the same time. She was fit and looked good but there was always that sarcasm in her voice. Their last vacation to Mexico flashed through his mind. A good time.