“No, you didn’t.”
“Then how? How in the Christ can this be?”
He was like a little boy looking for answers about the big, brave world. How come the stars don’t fall from heaven or the birds know how to fly south, Uncle Mitch? Except in this case it was a little more along the lines of, how can the dead be walking and why are they so pissed at the living? How can a lady with no legs and half her body all burned up like she’d been slow roasted on one side, still be moving? And why does the yellow rain make people melt? Mitch wished he had some good answers, but all he had were a lot more questions.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “Something’s gone to hell with the natural order of things and in the back of my mind I’m looking for a common cause.”
“Are you finding one?”
“It all seems to stem from that explosion out at the base.”
“I’ve been thinking that, too.”
Mitch pulled off his cigarette. “It makes you really wonder what they were working on out there. I mean, that place has been high security since I was in high school. You hear things about medical research and battlefield medicine, that sort of shit. I know it’s overseen by the Army Medical Command and the Army Research Office. That much has been in the papers…but what else? What the hell else goes on out there? What really goes on?”
“Depends who you listen to.”
Mitch nodded. “You ever know anyone who’s been out there since it became a research installation? I mean anyone at all?”
“No, nobody. They need work done out there-plumbing, boilers, electrical, whatever-they bring in outside contractors. Out-of-state, I hear. Outfits from out east somewhere. That’s what’s said anyway.”
“I’d like to get a look at that place, get some answers to all this.”
That made Tommy laugh. “You can’t get anywhere near it. You ever seen the signs on the road leading in? USE OF DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED. Something like that. No, you’ll never get in there anymore than you’ll get in Area 51 or any of those places. If the Army says fuel tanks exploded, we’re gonna have to accept that. Unless you wanna write your congressman.”
But Mitch had already thought about that. With the shit happening, wasn’t some sort of investigation into that place justified? He’d thought about writing his congressman, emailing him or something. Maybe getting a couple thousand signatures demanding action. But that took time. Lots of time. And the way he was seeing it, they didn’t have much of that. Who really knew how deep the shroud of secrecy ran out there…it might be a wall of silence that even congress couldn’t penetrate.
“I’m thinking about the media, Tommy.”
“The news?”
“Sure.”
“I had a cousin who was a reporter. But he just handled pork futures.”
Mitch ignored him. “We got two fucking TV stations in this city, a big newspaper, and about a dozen radio stations. Seems like those people might be the ones to put on the pressure, maybe get some answers.”
But Tommy just shook his head. “Sounds good, but I’m willing to bet they’ll be handed some bullshit story and that they’ll accept it. Just blindly accept it. That’s the way it is now, Mitch. All those rich corporate assholes own the media at the highest level and if they don’t play ball, they start yanking advertisers, make sure that certain papers or TV stations don’t get access to the good stuff. They play ball and ride the company line or they’re left out in the cold. Look what happened over in Iraq for chrissake. That was the biggest shitstorm shoved down our throats since Vietnam…but the media played along. At least when I was a kid during ‘Nam, those journalists were asking tough questions and making those fuckwits at the top responsible for all their lies.”
Mitch knew he was right.
The media was in the pocket of the military and the politicians and that was because they were owned by corporations. It was sickening. That whole Iraq war was an atrocity, all those brave men and women losing their lives to support lies, corporate maneuvering, and political scheming. And the media just shrugged and said, oh well? We just report what’s given to us and that’s that.
Would any of it be any different here?
Not likely.
Greed was eating the guts out of the country and had been for years and people just didn’t give a shit. They paid their taxes, supported a government based on lies that threw away their sons and daughters, and believed everything that was handed them. And wasn’t that just peachy?
“I’m thinking if something’s going to be done here, Mitch, then we-me and you and every other little guy in this city-will have to do it ourselves. If any of this breaks, they’ll probably blame it on terrorists or whatever the flavor of the week is. You sure as hell can’t trust our politicians because shit always floats to the top.”
Mitch smiled. “Amen. Terror alert is indigo this week.”
Only thing was, none of it was very funny.
16
When they got to the precinct house downtown, Tommy was happy to see that George Lake, a shirttail cousin of his, was working the desk. He looked like he was really having some time of it. It was standing room only, people crowding around and cops rushing back and forth. Some guy with more tattoos than teeth was demanding his rights and some lady was crying that her husband was lost. Two burly cops came in out of the rain pushing three handcuffed gangbangers in front of them.
“Grand Central Station,” Tommy said.
George Lake, a husky guy with a bald head, said, “Wish I could say I’m happy to see you, Tommy, but I’m up to my left nut around here. Please tell me you’re not here to file a missing persons report.”
Tommy looked at Mitch and Mitch just shook his head. “No, I guess not.” He introduced George to Mitch and told him about Chrissy, that she’d probably turn up. George said they better take some particulars just in case. He handed them off to another cop who took Chrissy’s name and that of her friends. Just the basics.
“C’mon,” George said. “Time for my coffee break anyhow. Let’s go out to the garage where a guy can catch a few puffs without the tobacco Gestapo looking over his shoulders.”
He led them out of the pandemonium and into a parking garage where things were a little quieter. Cops were dragging perps from patrol cars or shoving them in for the ride over to the county jail.
“You see this shit?” George said, drawing off a thin cigar. “Last few days, this is what we got. Just a madhouse. We’re all pulling double shifts now. What a mess. Not only do we have a grade-A clusterfuck with this flooding, but we got all the rats coming out of the woodwork, stealing and robbing and looting. Jesus Jolly Christ.”
He told them it was just a mess. While a lot of people had abandoned the city and the Black River Valley in general, a lot more had stayed and simply refused to be moved. National Guard units had been in Bethany and River Town all day trying to get people out, but some of them just wouldn’t go.
“National Guard has itself a big tent camp set up outside of the city. Hundreds of people there. Most of the missing are probably out there. Maybe your kid is, too, Mitch.”
Mitch wasn’t so sure. “She’s just been gone since this morning, but my wife is having a cow about it, got me and Tommy pounding the streets.”
“She’ll turn up,” George said. “Most of ‘em will.”
“Not all of ‘em,” Mitch said. “Some of ‘em aren’t coming back. At least, not the way they left.”
Tommy gave him a look. “Yeah, it’s plenty bad out there.”
George sighed. “Tell me about it. We can’t handle this. Even with the other precincts and guys pulling twelve hour shifts, we can’t possibly handle something like this.”
“I suppose not,” Tommy said.
George looked around. “There’s shit coming down, cousin of mine, that you just wouldn’t believe. Last night, a minivan full of girls from over to the Holy Covenant Catholic school in East Genessee just up and vanished. Eight of ‘em ranging from seven to ten years old. A nun disappeared with them. You believe that? They were coming back
