Outbreak: Boston (3 page)

It was still dark when she opened her eyes. Amy groaned and stretched then checked her watch. She blinked at the numbers on the watch’s face, trying to make them make sense. “Wakey, Wakey sleepyhead!” Jacobson said, his voice rising and falling in an annoyingly sing-song manner. “I saved your coffee for you but it's been cold for at least an hour.” He held the cup out to her. “You want it?”

Amy waved it away and grimaced in disgust as the man chugged the bitter black liquid. “Any of those donuts left?” Jacobson handed her the box and she was surprised to find the box mostly full. She picked out a handful of chocolate covered doughnut holes.

Jacobson turned the volume on his iPod up a few notches. “Go ahead and eat them if you want those donuts.” he said when Frays put the box back in between their seats. “I don't need them.” the Airman added as he gave his middle a pat.

They rode in silence for a few minutes. “Good thing you woke up when you did.” Jacobson said quickly. “We're almost there.” he licked his lips nervously. “I-um...nobody showed up from my flight. Do you think we'll end up together? Working I mean.”

Amy laughed quietly. “I don't know. We'll have to see.” she answered. There was something in the young man's tone that made her a little nervous. “It's not up to me anyway. That would probably be up to Sergeant Emery.” Jacobson looked more than a little crestfallen. “I'll see what I can do.” Amy said quickly, drawing a grin to the young man's face. “Sergeant Emery likes me.”

Their convoy pulled up to the gate of some sports stadium Amy had never heard of but then she reflected that she never really followed sports all that much. Policemen decked out in riot gear waved the buses and other vehicles inside the perimeter before closing the gate behind them. Amy's heart settled in to an uncomfortable region somewhere around her ankles.

The sight that greeted their eyes was something Amy never expected to see in an American city: hundreds of people lay on stretchers swathed in bloody bandages while medics hurried in between them. Dozens of heavily armed soldiers and policemen trundled off in trucks or Humvees. There were even a few Strykers, the latest and greatest thing in armored personnel carriers, which Amy guessed probably came from an Army Reserve or National Guard unit (or so she found herself hoping). The APCs could shrug off just about anything the Iraqi insurgents could throw at them so she found their presence simultaneously reassuring and terrifying.

Following Captain Forsythe's orders, Jacobson steered their vehicle into an empty space in the parking lot. “This is Bravo One Actual.” said Captain Forsythe. Amy looked around and saw the unit commander's Humvee perhaps a hundred meters away. “Flight leaders, NCOs and acting NCOs, there's a briefing at my Humvee in thirty mike where you'll get your assignments. Everybody else hang tight by your vehicles.”

Amy and
Nick stood near their vehicle, watching Forsythe move off towards a boxy command trailer that bristled with antennae and satellite dishes. A couple awkward minutes passed. “Wait here. I'll be right back.” Amy said as she ambled off in search of Sergeant Emery.

She found him talking with a couple other NCOs so Amy hovered near the edge of the conversation, waiting for an appropriate time to pull her
flight sergeant away. “Hey Sergeant Emery” Frays called as soon as the chance presented itself “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Once the two of them were away from the others Amy took a deep breath. “Jacobson wanted me to ask if he can ride with us.” she said quickly. Frays paused for a second, studying her flight sergeant's face. “He seems like he's alright, but he's...new.”

Sergeant Emery mulled the subject over for a few minutes. “I saw that there wasn't anybody from his flight here.” he half mumbled, scratching the stubble on his chin as he thought. “I trust your judgment, Frays. If you think he's alright and nobody else calls dibs he can ride with us.”

A sick feeling rolled around in her stomach. “Where is everybody?” Amy asked quietly. She felt her forehead and cheeks suddenly feeling hot despite the slight breeze blowing in from the ocean. “Don't they know we need them here?” She lashed out angrily, sending an empty soda can
near the toe of her boot flying across the parking lot where it landed with a hollow rattle. “What the…heck is wrong with them?!”

Once the storm had subsided Sergeant Emery grabbed the woman's shoulders. “Look at me.” he said sternly. Amy glanced at her boots, at his. “Look at me, Airman.” the big sergeant repeated himself, this time turning the statement into an order. “I need you here. Jacobson needs you here. Don't worry about what those fucktards are doing. We'll get this wrapped up and the chain of command will handle it. Roger?”

Amy smiled, feeling her game face coming back. “Roger that, Sergeant.” she said quietly as she composed herself. “Sorry. This is just so out there, you know?”

Sergeant Emery laughed and clapped his subordinate on the back. “It's strange, I'll give you that.” he said as the two of them walked back towards the vehicles. “It's about time for the briefing. I'll update you and Jacobson when it's done.”

Jacobson awaited her almost like an expectant puppy, happy that his person came home. “Did you ask him?” the young Airman asked. Amy could almost swear that he was actually trying to restrain himself from hopping from one foot to the other. “What did he say?”

“He said if nobody calls dibs on you from your flight you can ride out with us.” she said carefully. Unthinking, Amy dug her cigarettes out of her cargo pocket and tore open the cellophane. Before she could produce her lighter Jacobson had his out, the lighter's small flame flickering. She muttered a thanks she lit her cancer stick.

Another awkward silence threatened the two of them as they watched the police and soldiers mobilizing around their staging area. “I thought you didn’t smoke.” Amy said at last. She field stripped the butt of her cigarette and dropped the filter into the cargo pocket of her ABUs. They went to the back of the Humvee and pulled out their vehicle’s crew served weapon: a Browning M2 .50 caliber heavy machine gun.

“There's a lot you don't know about me.” Jacobson said with a raised eyebrow, drawing a chuckle from the young woman next to him as he picked up the weapon’s pintle mount. “Though seriously, I don't. A lighter can just be a handy thing to have.”

A couple minutes later Sgt. Emery left the briefing and approached their Humvee. “Alright you crazy kids! Road trip!” he cried, spreading a tactical map on the hood of the vehicle. Amy and Jacobson crowded around him and peered at the map. “We're gonna go here” Sgt. Emery informed his subordinates “this right here is scenic Checkpoint Twelve on the north side of the Harvard Bridge. There we'll find about a half squad of Marines from the One Eight Combat Engineers battalion.”

He paused so that Frays and Jacobson could finish writing down what he just told them. “Our mission is to contain the civilian population on the south side of the bridge.” Emery said, circling the quarantine zone with a red grease pencil on the map. “Intel indicates that so far only a few civilians have approached the bridge, though command expects that more will turn up eventually. Nobody crosses the bridge. Civilians are to return to their homes and stay there until told otherwise.” Emery rubbed his jaw and added with a hint of unease “Some people might be too sick to understand directions. We may have to use lethal force to maintain the quarantine. Just keep your heads and don’t do anything without orders unless you perceive a direct threat to yourself, friendly forces or civilians. Clear?”

He paused a moment to see if the airmen had any questions then continued the briefing. “When we get there, there’s this jarhead lieutenant named Peterson is in charge. We follow his orders unless we hear different come down from higher.” Sergeant Emery let Frays copy the marks he made on his map on her own. “We're leaving in ten so let's finish getting our fifty cal mounted and ready to go, kids.”

Jacobson rode shotgun while Frays drove.
Their truck was part of a four vehicle convoy of Army and Air Force Humvees moving from the staging area to their assigned sectors. Sergeant Emery rode in the commander's cupola behind the Humvee's crew served weapon. Once they were out of the staging area, much to Amy's secret annoyance, Jacobson hooked his iPod back up and the German cat torturers were blaring once more. She was just wondering when Sergeant Emery was going to get sick of it when he bent down into the vehicle and bellowed “Turn that shit off!” The young man seemed to deflate a little as he complied. Amy smiled into the palm of her hand. The few times they had to go outside the wire on deployment Sergeant Emery had her crank ‘Bad to the Bone’ by George Thorogood and The Destroyers.

A half an hour of driving made Amy think of downtown Mosul: hundreds of cars crowded the streets, people yelling at each other, car horns blaring. Many of the vehicles had luggage or other household goods strapped to the top. A few of them even had animal carriers complete with panicked cats or dogs in them. “Any of this look familiar to you, Sergeant?” Frays said loudly so he could hear her over the street noise.

“Kinda!” shouted Sergeant Emery “Except there's more white people!” The two of them laughed then turned their full attention back to what they were doing. Jacobson chuckled nervously and began fiddling with his equipment. “Try to speed up a little. There’s a guy in a blue sedan, right side intersection, next block. Looks like he might try to get in the middle of the convoy.”

Frays stepped on the gas, keeping the car from cutting into traffic and screwing with the convoy. Sergeant Emery swung the fifty cal around and pointed it in the offending vehicle’s general direction just in case. When they came to a stoplight Amy dug a Red Bull out of her rucksack, unfolded the knife blade from her multi-tool and used it to shotgun the energy drink. “Relax, Jacobson.” she said as she dropped the empty can into a plastic bag on the back of the man's seat. “It's gonna be alright.
Just stay cool, buddy. We'll look after you.”

Frays broke off from the convoy when they
arrived at the checkpoint to find two other Humvees arranged in a wedge perhaps a quarter of the way across the bridge. There was a five ton truck blocking both lanes closer to their side of the bridge with a couple other Humvees arranged next to it. A short, beefy man in Marine Corps camo approached as Amy steered the vehicle onto the bridge. “Hey, Marine!” called Sergeant Emery. “Where do you want us?”

“Fill up that gap on our right flank.” said the Marine, gesturing towards where he wanted Amy to park the Humvee. “Lieutenant Haskins wants to go over the game plan with your squad leader once you're in position.”

Once the vehicle was stopped and Frays had the parking brake in place, Emery dropped down into the cab. “Frays, take over up here. Remember, we're here on crowd control so keep your M203 handy.” the man opened the rear driver's side door and stepped out onto the street. “Jacobson, just...try not to touch anything. I'll be back in a minute.”

Amy climbed through the back door and into the cupola. There was a dull roar of shouting and people angrily honking their car horns on the far side of the bridge. She could not imagine what it was like over there: the heat, choking on car exhaust, kids crying, hoping to outrun whatever this new hopped up bug was that brought on this panic... Frays shuttered at the thought.

The crowd started across the bridge, perhaps pushed forward by the crush of people and vehicles behind them. Amy braced herself, preparing to rip open the Velcro of her gas mask carrier and stuff her face into the stifling plastic and rubber mask. She hated wearing the thing, but it beat catching a lung full of CS gas by accident.

Frays crouched down inside the vehicle. “Move over into the driver's seat and get ready to put on your gas mask.” she told Jacobson. She stood back up and maneuvered her M4 into position and slid the breach of her grenade launcher open. “Just stay calm.” Amy added as she inserted a CS grenade into the launcher’s chamber and pulled the action closed.

Sgt. Emery came back to the Humvee on the run. “Wait for the green light from command.” he said loudly. The man shaded his eyes and watched the mob coming towards them on the bridge. “They appear to be unarmed, so hold your-”

The unmistakably heavy bark of a Browning M2 .50 caliber heavy machine gun cut him off. Amy watched in horror as perhaps two dozen people at the front of the mob tumbled like bowling pins. Screams rent the morning air as the mob tried to disperse, but for the ones in front were in the middle of the bridge there was nowhere for them to go because the people behind them would not let them pass. In their panic they civilians started shoving each other into the river, crushing one another under foot.

Frays looked helplessly at Sergeant Emery. “Gas 'em, Frays!” he shouted, pointing furiously towards the terrified mob. “Gas 'em!” Amy raised her M4 to her shoulder and prepared to fire as some people across the bridge who were not as unarmed as Intel had indicated returned fire. A bullet whined off the Humvee as Frays' M203 thumped a grenade back at them. White smoke billowed, causing all nearby to choke and gag as the CS did its work. Amy ducked down inside the truck and tore open her mask carrier, preparing to strap on her gas mask. Her nose and eyes started to burn a little as the wind blew some of the gas inside the vehicle.

Sergeant Emery opened the rear driver's side door, digging out his own gas mask as he started trying to climb inside the vehicle. His face was perhaps a foot or so away from Frays’ own when it disappeared in a red mist. A bullet seemed to have found the gap between the door and the body of the Humvee, turning the man’s face into hamburger from the bridge of his nose down. Amy leaped across the inside of the vehicle, caught the big sergeant’s arm and tried to haul him inside. The blaring of an air horn distracted her momentarily from her task: a large green dump truck smashed a
smaller car out of its way, black-gray smoke billowing from its chrome exhaust pipes as its driver floored the accelerator.