Brushfire Plague Page 24

  “Since we have to wait for it to round the far right corner, we should have about eight minutes before it comes back around and he sees our pickup truck. We should plan on him coming in to investigate,” Cooper noted.

  “Got it,” Dranko responded. He set the alarm on his wrist watch to seven minutes, “This will give us a one minute warning.”

  The security guard’s pickup rounded the far corner for the second time and Dranko gunned the motor of Cooper’s truck. Dirt kicked up as they surged forward. Dranko expertly guided the pickup through the parking lot, driving at a breakneck speed, but not so fast as to cause a loud squeal of tires on pavement. The truck lurched to a stop in a parking spot near the front door and the two men bounded out, slamming the pickup’s doors behind them. Thirty seconds gone.

  They had decided not to go in with guns drawn, as that might invite trouble that they could avoid, but they moved in a two-man tandem that was unmistakably martial. Both men had a ready hand on a firearm, for any needed quick draw. Dranko’s right hand remained snaked underneath the brown leather jacket, with a firm hold on the pistol grip. Cooper kept his right hand halfway back towards his pistol that was holstered at the 3:30 position, just behind his right hip.

  Dranko reached the door first and held it open as Cooper raced inside. The lobby that greeted them was empty. The receptionist’s desk and waiting area looked as if they might have been occupied yesterday. Magazines were scattered on the low table that was surrounded by office chairs. The lights were only halfway on, in dimmed mode. They paused for a moment and listened.

  The silence was tomblike. They could, however, hear the mutterings coming from an office at the end of the hallway. A bright wash of light from that office filled the dimmed hallway outside of it.

  Using hand signals, Dranko motioned Cooper to move down the hallway.

  Cooper hugged the left-hand wall and moved on the balls of his feet to minimize any noise. Dranko followed about five yards behind him. He kept a lookout to their rear as they moved.

  Within seconds, Cooper was at that entrance to the room. He caught a furtive glance into the room. What he saw was overwhelming.

  A lone man stood behind a large metal desk. The man looked unimpressive. He stood several shades under an average man’s height and was pudgy around the middle. He looked to be in his later fifties. He was bald, with a short-cropped ring of hair circling his head. He had a flat-face, devoid of any single feature standing out. He was, however, dressed impeccably. He wore a navy blue, pinstriped, three-piece suit. An expensive looking black fedora lay resting on the desk.

  To the man’s right was a large electronic map of the United States with lights of varying colors and intensities. Despite the pell-mell of lighting, it was clear that the largest cities were swathed in bright red circles. The wall opposite from where he was standing was a whiteboard with markings that Cooper could not see from his angle. Finally, to the man’s left was a long table with multiple printers. One came to life and spat out a page as Cooper looked in.

  Cooper turned to Dranko to give him the “go” sign. With that, he stepped into the room.

  “Good afternoon, sir.”

  The short man looked up at him; a flash of surprise crossed his face. Almost instantly, he returned to a controlled, sober look.

  Cooper drew his pistol and barked, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” as the man’s right hand motioned toward a corner of his desk, likely an alarm. “I’ll have to blow your brains out if you do that.”

  “Please, don’t insult me. We both know you cannot do that,” the short man responded with a steady voice.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because you want something from me. You can’t get it if I’m dead,” the man’s self-assuredness grated on Cooper.

  Cooper nodded deliberately, “You’re right. Thank you for that correction. I won’t blow your brains out. Instead, I’ll put a round into your right leg,” Cooper lowered the pistol to point there to reinforce his words.

  The other man couldn’t help it as his leg reflexively flinched. He cleared his throat a little too deliberately, “Why don’t we start over. I’m Ethan Mitchell, President of Admonitus corporation and you fine gentlemen are?” He made a sweeping gesture with his right hand. Like most men in power, he’s used to being in charge and doesn’t like it when the tables are turned on him.

  Cooper decided not to play his game. He jerked a thumb at Dranko, who stood at the doorway looking back into the hallway, “He’s a man that is a good shot. Best of all, he shoots when and who I tell him to.” Dranko looked over his shoulder and nodded firmly, a sinister grin revealing a thin line of gleaming white teeth.

  Then, he brought the thumb to his own chest, “I’m a man who’s lost his wife to this plague. So, I have nothing to live for except getting some answers. You got it?”

  Mr. Mitchell’s stolid façade was shaken. A dollop of nervousness showed through his nod. He shuffled his feet, as if to gain surer footing, “You do have something to live for though. Your child, perhaps.”

  Baffled, Cooper blurted, “How’d you?”

  “Know? I wouldn’t be where I am today if I wasn’t an adept reader of people. First, I know you’re not the nervous type. You wouldn’t be in my office waving a pistol around if you were. So, that leaves only one explanation for the worry lines that cross your face. You’re a father.”

  Cooper laughed, “You’re good. I’ll give you that. If you can see all that, I’m betting you can see that I’ve killed men before?”

  Mr. Mitchell eyed him again and swallowed hard, “Yes, I can see that.”

  Cooper maintained a steadfast stare, “Recently?”

  Ethan gulped and only nodded in agreement.

  “Furthermore, I’m guessing you can see that I’m a serious man. A deliberate man. A man who gets what he needs, when he needs it, yeah?”

  “Yes, I see that too.”

  “Good. So, let’s start with what you know about this plague.”

  A long silence followed as a slow, smug, grin took shape on Mr. Mitchell’s face, “Maybe a better question would be: what do I not know about it?”

  Cooper tried to hide his surprise, and did a poor job of it, “Sure, why don’t you start there then?”

  Mr. Mitchell responded slowly and deliberately, “First, it was unavoidable. We had too many people, living too close together, for too long. Something like this was bound to happen.”

  Cooper interrupted him, “I’m not asking about something like this, I’m asking about this plague.”

  Mr. Mitchell pursed his lips, irritated at being interrupted, “May I finish answering your question?”

  Cooper stared back at him. Eyes locked, Mr. Mitchell continued, “Second, as unfortunate as it is, it was necessary. Despite the high number of deaths occurring now, it would have been much, much worse later.”

  Agitated, Cooper shook his head and squinted his eyes, “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Mr. Mitchell looked like a schoolteacher disappointed in one of his students, “Look around you. Do you not read? Do you pay attention at all? The planet is dying out there. It is losing its ability to support life.”

  Cooper was confused, “Are you saying Mother Nature concocted this thing to save the whales?”

  Mr. Mitchell burst out laughing, “No. I’m saying she should have done exactly that, but she didn’t know how. We just…” He stopped himself and paused. “Or, maybe she did, but she was just taking too long to pull the trigger.” He chuckled to himself at a joke that Cooper didn’t understand.

  Cooper heard the buzz of Dranko’s watch. Already? I’ve let this guy banter too much.

  “Just tell me if there’s a cure for this thing?”

  “We’re working on it.”

  “Who’s we? This place is empty,” Cooper shouted, waving his pistol around to indicate the empty building.

  “A small team of specialists is dedicated to it around the clock, but not at thi
s facility.”

  Cooper didn’t believe him. His head hurt from everything he’d heard as he desperately tried to make sense of it all.

  “We got company. Multiples,” Dranko shouted from the doorway. Cooper turned towards him.

  Moments later, he was rocked to the floor by concussion from a blast that came from Mr. Mitchell’s direction. Simultaneously, a flash lit up the room. He fell to the floor, dazed. He was dimly aware of Dranko firing down the hallway. He whirled his head around back towards Mr. Mitchell, but the metal desk had been overturned. Through the smoke, he couldn’t see him. Finally, it hit him. He detonated a flash-bang grenade.

  Cooper stumbled towards the desk and looked frantically for Mr. Mitchell. That’s when he noticed a panel in the wall was slightly ajar. He pushed it open and looked into another room which had three doors on different walls. Mr. Mitchell wasn’t in that room either. “Damn you!” Cooper cursed.

  As if through a long tunnel, he heard Dranko shouting for him, “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

  Cooper sprinted back towards the doorway and landed next to Dranko, “What’s our situation?” he shouted.

  “Three guards, pinned down near the receptionist area. They didn’t expect two-fisted .45 firepower!” Dranko yelled gleefully.

  Cooper surveyed the hallway. Across from them was a long hallway marked with an “Exit” sign.

  “You hold them down. I will circle around their rear flank!”

  “Got it,” Dranko responded, “but hurry!” He slammed home a fresh magazine into his pistol. He resumed firing to cover Cooper as he raced across the hallway. A random pistol shot rang out in their direction, shattering a window behind them.

  Cooper ran down the hallway at full speed. He reached the door and crashed into it. It was locked. Swiftly, he drew his pistol, stepped back, and fired three rounds into the lock. He kicked the push bar once more. This time, the door flew open, and he was out into the dull Oregon sunshine. He turned to his right and sprinted the length of the building, making a final right hand turn that would return him to the front of the building.

  He longed for the intimidation provided by fully automatic fire. He remembered his drill Sergeant from boot camp, “I never met EF Hutton, but I know damn well that when Rat-Tat-Tat speaks, people do listen!” He had never understood the joke—apparently an obscure reference to a commercial—but he had seen the veracity of the sentiment proven many times over in combat. He clenched the pistol tightly in his hand. You’ll have to do today.

  He rounded the corner and saw three guards sprawled on the floor, desperately seeking cover amidst bullet-riddled furniture.

  Cooper wasted no time in peppering the ceiling with gunfire. The boom-boom-boom of close-up pistol fire would both shock the guards and, as importantly, let Dranko know he was now firmly in his line of fire. “Hands up,” Cooper screamed.

  The three guards, after a moment’s surprise, rolled onto their backs and saw Cooper standing over them. They looked at each other as Cooper swept over them with the looming muzzle of his pistol. At this close range, they knew he couldn’t miss. In turn, they each tossed their pistols to the ground and held their hands up.

  Dranko came running in from the opposite direction, pistols at the ready.

  Cooper began questioning the guards, “Where does Mitchell’s secret passage lead to?”

  Dranko scooped up the guard’s sidearm and then stood up to face Cooper, “We can’t do this now. We gotta go!”

  Cooper looked at him blankly, “Why?”

  “Don’t you hear that?”

  “No,” Cooper said, indicating his still-deafened ears.

  “Sirens. Police. And, if I can hear them after all that shooting, it means they are close,” he shouted into Cooper’s ear.

  They ran to the pickup, jumped in, and sped away.

  Chapter 25

  They arrived back at Cooper’s house safely. Given how close things had come, Cooper was glad he had put grease over several key numbers on the license plates. If the guards had been thinking and had written it down, he was hoping the partial plate would prevent them from finding him.

  As soon as the truck rolled to a stop, Cooper leapt from the truck to check on Jake’s condition. Covered in sweat and grime from the shoot-out, Cooper only made it halfway to the room before Angela stopped him with the flat of her hand.

  “No. You can’t go in there like this! Go clean up. I know he’s already ill, but there’s no good to come from bringing all of that in there,” she said indicating the grime covering him.

  Cooper gritted his teeth and looked at her defiantly. She maintained her gaze and crossed her arms for good measure. Chastened, he cast his eyes down sheepdog-style. He shuffled his way upstairs and took a brief, steaming hot shower. Halfway through, the light went out. The bathroom fan had stopped whirring too. He ventured a dubious hope that it was merely a broken fuse.

  He rushed to finish his shower and slapped a white towel across his waist. As he ran downstairs, Angela met him on the landing. He couldn’t help notice her quick appraisal of his mostly uncovered body.

  “All out?” he asked.

  “Yes, afraid so. Lisa’s porch light that was left on all day is out too,” Angela responded, bringing her eyes to his.

  “Damn!” Cooper pounded his fists together. “I thought it might happen, but was hoping not yet.”

  “What do you think caused it?”

  “It could be almost anything. A burned out generator. A tree fell across some wires. The point is, with less workers—or no workers—showing up, a glitch anywhere in the system can cause the power to go down. Our best hope right now is that it isn’t the entire city and it’s just in our area.”

  “I’m going to check on Jake. How is he?”

  Her light face grew dark, “He’s showing all the symptoms of the illness. His fever is rising. He’s listless. There is some small hope that it is just a run of the mill fever, but I doubt it. I’m sorry, Cooper,” her hand touched his arm.

  Cooper pressed his lips together in frustration, “Alright. I know you’re doing everything you can. I’m going to check in on him. Can you do me a favor?”

  “Name it.”

  “I have four rain barrels, fifty-five gallons each. Use our hose to make sure that they are all full. Fill anything else you see that will hold water. With the electricity out, I don’t want to risk losing water too. We are gravity-fed here, so we should be OK, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  “Right,” she pivoted on her heel and headed towards the back door.

  Cooper tightened the towel on his waist and went in to see his son. Now, he got a view of what Elena must have looked like in the early hours of the sickness. Jake still had his color and he wasn’t bathed in sweat. But, his face was flushed and he looked very, very tired.

  Cooper sat on the edge of the bed and felt his boy’s forehead. It was sweaty and very warm. Probably 102 or 103. Jake’s eyes opened.

  “Uh, hello, Dad.”

  “Hello, son.”

  “I don’t think that medicine is working,” Jake said, as if to apologize to his father. His intent expression of regret made Cooper involuntarily choke up. He fought the emotion and won.

  He cleared his throat, desperately wanting to say more, “You need to give yourself more time.” Cooper knew his son’s faith in the placebo medicine was his best hope at survival, but he still couldn’t bring himself to lie directly about it. This deft lie of omission was the best he could do.

  Throughout his life, each time he had tried to use a lie, even a white one, to make someone feel better or make his own life go easier, he would recall what had happened. Remembering his father’s early death, his mother’s evisceration, and his own suffering as a child, he would choke on the lie. His devotion to the truth was a distinction that often drove a wedge between those around him. He was often mocked for his steadfast adherence to veracity. Sometimes, he’d ponder bitterly. It’s only half principle. The other half was
my damned impotence to spit the words out.

  Now, looking into his son’s anxious eyes, he suffered that familiar, agonizing, debility once more.

  Jake nodded as a smile came back to his lips, “OK.”

  “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

  Jake shook his head back and forth, “No.”

  They sat together in silence for a long while, Cooper rubbing his son’s arm or chest for stretches to comfort him. Eventually, Jake fell asleep and Cooper kept watching him. The dread that he was watching his son slowly die, as he had watched Elena, was too much. He wept silently. Bitter, hot tears fell from his cheeks onto his chest and stomach. After a long while, he managed to stop. He dried his tears, and turned to leave.

  Angela was standing in the doorway. Her eyes were wet. As he pressed past her, she reached out, grabbed his wrist, stopping him. She squeezed it in comfort. He paused to look at her. She leaned in and pulled him into a gentle hug. He welcomed the embrace and his arms folded across her back. They stood in this gentle clinch as Cooper thought how he appreciated that she wasn’t muttering platitudes like, “He’ll be OK.” He squeezed her a little more tightly, muttered “Thank you,” and then walked back upstairs. She watched him go as sympathy and affection washed over her. After he’d disappeared from view, she took a deep breath, clutched her arms across her chest, and returned to maintaining a vigil over Jake.

  ******

  Cooper had planned on getting dressed. Instead, he collapsed into his bed, worn out by the day’s shooting and the worries about Jake. His nap was short, but deep. He woke up in the early afternoon, ravenous. With the electricity out, he knew he would need to eat as much of his food as possible, quickly. He dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans, a t-shirt, and an unbuttoned black and white flannel top.

  When he reached the stairs’ bottom, he found Dranko in his dining room. He was working the slide on his pistol, ensuring the action was smooth and reliable. He looked up from the oiled metal when Cooper arrived.