“I really haven’t heard much from you regarding our circumstance and plan. What do you think?” I ask Drescoll as we stroll over to the vehicles.
“I think it’s a good plan. As good as any we could have come up with and makes sense,” he answers.
“What do you think our chances are?” I ask further.
He pauses for a moment before answering as we walk with our shadows stretched out before us, “We have a good group here so we should be able to pull it off. I think any problems we might have will come if we find others out there and how well they fit in. A tight group like ours can weather through this but if there’s any dissension that comes about, then stupid things happen. That’s also providing we don’t discover any further surprises regarding the night runners. The only other things I foresee are the problems with having to go into the buildings on a regular basis for supplies, caring for anyone who gets injured, and, like you mentioned earlier, any diseases that crop up from all of the dead.” Those are the most words I have hear him say in the time since Kuwait.
“I agree. It’s going to be up to the team leaders to keep things tight and set examples. My feeling is that if we can last through the summer, we should be okay. The future problem I see is when we have to adapt to the fact that there isn’t any more manufacturing to take care of things that break,” I say enjoying this openness and conversation with him.
“Can I be perfectly honest, Jack?” Drescoll asks coming to halt by one of the Humvees.
“You certainly can. I welcome it and expect no less,” I answer wondering where this is going.
“In my opinion, that was a foolish thing you did going back into the CDC like that. I just don’t see that the information we came across was worth the risk. We would have figured it out eventually without it,” he says meeting my eyes.
“Well, I think the information we came across was worth it, especially knowing that we don’t have to worry about the immunity aspect and turning into one of them if we are bit. I honestly didn’t know what to do if that were true. That piece of mind alone was worth it to me,” I say looking back at him.
“This heading down with just a couple of you fits in the same category as far as I’m concerned,” he adds.
“I would take others but there is so much we have to do before the sun sets again. I think everyone will be needed up here and the safety of a secure environment is more important,” I say.
“Well, you seem to know what you’re doing and that’s good enough for me. I’m not saying saving others and getting the information isn’t and wasn’t important, it’s just that folks are beginning to look to you for leadership and if something were to happen to you, I’m worried there might be a breakdown,” Drescoll says in a lowered voice.
“You and Lynn can easily handle things if something were to happen to me,” I say addressing his concern.
“Probably, but not as well I think. Well, I hope you find your mom well,” he says sticking his hand out.
“Thanks. I appreciate that and you take care of yourself. There may be others around that may not take kindly to you borrowing their vehicles,” I say returning his shake. “Follow me to the gate. Honk or flash your lights if you see something or you need to stop.”
“Will do,” he says and climbs into the driver seat with Green Team already seated within.
Robert and I climb in the other Humvee. I check the battery and wait for the light signaling the glow plugs are warm before starting up. With a “thumbs up” from Drescoll beside us, we start off in the early morning light toward the front gate.
Nothing much has changed since our journey into the base just a week ago. It still has the ghost town feel; the structures intact but with no one home. This is where our journey began so there is a bit of a homecoming feel. The eeriness is not as prevalent as before but there is no way it can completely disappear as we travel through the empty streets. Only the lonely feeling of a world abandoned follows us as we make our way past the desolate buildings. I used to get this feeling in times past when we would travel through deserted villages where the people had long ago fled from various roving armed bands; the once busy dirt streets, filled with the noises of villagers going about their daily lives, just echoes of the past.
We keep a lookout among the buildings and streets as Greg couldn’t have been the only remaining soul here. Birds flit through the calm, warming air and over the brown grass fields, their life changing little in the aftermath. The only change in their life is perhaps the registration of a new predator. Andrew, the first person we met following the death of the world, enters my thoughts and I wonder if he made it to find his parents in Spokane. With the immunity seeming to be familial, it makes sense that one parent, if not both, would have survived the vaccine. Whether they survived the days following is another story altogether. I find myself hoping he at least survived and manages to find his way back here.
Passing by the hospital, I shudder recalling the close call within. The building carries a foreboding feeling similar to the CDC building; that the facade is hiding a darkness and terror within. I remember the words Drescoll spoke just a short time ago when he mentioned having to care for the injured. The foreboding comes stronger knowing we will possibly have to raid a hospital soon for medical supplies and equipment – knowing it will not be a pleasurable operation. With the traffic surrounding the exit ramps to the hospital and the larger amount of vehicles in the parking lots, I have the distinct feeling the medical facilities will have a greater amount of dead within complicating matters. Not just from the nauseating stench but from the onset of disease with so many dead, plus, the knowledge that there may be quite a few night runners within those facilities. If we are going to go in, we will have to do that soon as the disease from the decaying bodies will only get worse with each passing day.
Robert is quiet during our ride through the base. The smell of the decomposing bodies by the front gates reaches us before we catch sight of them. Again, we have to maneuver our way through them, missing the bodies as best as we can. The stench is overwhelming and my gut clenches with nausea. A few of the bodies have been picked at from the carrion. The sight and smell is disgustingly atrocious.
“That’s just plain nasty,” Robert says as we thread our way through and pull up to the front gate, parking by the two abandoned Humvees sitting cross-wise at the rear of the booths.
“You’re not shitting,” I say trying not to breathe. Drescoll pulls up and parks beside. Several Green Team members exit heading over to the empty Humvees.
‘Why don’t you take this one as well,” I say walking over to his window. “We’ll take the Jeep. Just wait and make sure we can get it started.”
“Okay, Jack. Good luck to you,” he replies.
“You too. See you in a couple of hours,” I say grabbing the tool kit I brought with us from our supplies.
Robert and I walk over to the Jeep I left parked in the visitor lot so many days ago, avoiding the booth with the boots still poking out from the doorway. Seeing the Jeep parked there brings a little comfort. It brings a small sense of normalcy and familiarity in a world distinctly lacking in the normal. Climbing into the familiar seats of the Jeep, we start it up and pull out of the parking lot; waving to Drescoll and the others as we exit.
Mom’s house is only about a forty minute drive. We should have no problems enroute as we have travelled this way before and didn’t notice any road blockage on the way. The lanes to the hospital in Olympia became congested but the left lane was clear as far as I could tell. We drive out of the gate and turn south onto Interstate 5.
“Whatcha thinking about?” I ask Robert as we pick up speed.
“Nothing really,” he answers. “Just hoping Grandma is okay and thinking about Mom. Wondering if any of my friends made it. That sort of thing.”
“Have you tried calling or texting any of your friends?” I ask avoiding talk about his mom for the moment. In truth, I really don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry.
“Yeah, but I haven’t heard anything back.”
“I’m really sorry about your mom, kiddo. I know that must really hurt. Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
“Not really,” he answers. I can tell he is holding back the tears that want to come out with the sadness he is feeling.
“You know, this genetic change may not be a permanent thing,” I tell him keeping my eyes on the road ahead of us.
I offer this as a hope, not really a false hope but in all honesty, I am at a loss for words. There isn’t really anything comforting to say when dealing with a loss that great. He looks over with a “you’ve got to be kidding”
