09: A Friendly Chat by the Side of the Road

“Important news: we’ve had several advances. Each of the cities we’ve visited has established a functioning community. The people are working together with at least one person who can treat anyone who contracts the plague. Everyone we’ve treated has agreed to treat at least two people to replace them before moving on. This means each community will grow stronger, more reliable and more self-sustaining. We mention this to encourage everyone to either seek these cities out or prepare for the arrival of our people when they visit your region. We can’t succeed on our own, and the more people who participate, the more successful everyone will be.

We’ve also succeeded in applying our treatment to one animal species. This means, at a minimum, we can treat certain animals so they’ll be immune to the plagues. While this won’t help most of you, it will preserve certain essential animal stocks. Our test case was a breeding boar. If we can produce a breeding pair, we can supply any community we establish with a reliable food source for those we treat. Think of this as further encouragement to agree to the treatment. Remember, though, we’ve only conducted a single successful experiment. We can’t count on this as a reliable technique until we successfully reproduce the results. Still, this is a positive development which furthers our understanding of the plagues and our treatment of it.

We need scientists, medical personal, farmers, ranchers and vets. If there are any in the areas we plan to visit, we could use your assistance. We need help with further research and testing, medical expertise and raising enough animal and plants to feed survivors. While we need help from everyone; these are now essential tasks.

The next city we’re visiting is Charlotte, North Carolina. We plan on arriving in another two days. We’re looking forward to meeting whoever shows up. Again, the more people who show up, the more successful we’ll be and the safer everyone will be in the future.”

Monique groaned as she approached another impasse. Traveling the obstructed Interstate 81 wasn’t easy. Although the trip was a straight shot along the Blue Ridge Mountains, there were frequent obstructions in addition to the damaged highway. The initial meteor storm caught everyone unprepared, resulting in multi-car backups. Not knowing when it would end, most tow-trucks stayed where they were. By the time the skies cleared, the entire electrical grid collapsed as had the financial system. As a result, most operators refused to undertake such a task without pay or anywhere to dump the abandoned wrecks. Between the mangled semis—their loads sprawled across the shredded road—and the cars which slammed into them, entire roadways were impassible.

However, she anticipated this and planned accordingly. Stopping her SUV emblazoned with medical symbols, Monique climbed out to survey the scene ahead. Just as she suspected, the embankments prevented anyone from circumventing the accident and the emergency lane was blocked and impassible.

Sighing, she went to the back and determined the rack and its contents were still secure. She released the two levers and watched as the hinged mount lowered her dirt bike to the ground. She eased the lightweight but sturdy device off the mount, ensuring it was in good working order. The rough roads could shake anything loose. She removed the rack from the back of the SUV. Knowing she’d need it again, she folded and strapped it to the rear of the bike.

Once done, she entered the SUV and collected her medical supplies. Since she was traveling a longer and more difficult route than the other girls, she only carried the essentials. She packed the plasma IVs, medical equipment, enough food for a couple days and a single sleeping bag. She counted on finding what she needed en route. If things got difficult, she could sleep in an abandoned vehicle. They were plentiful enough, and because many housed their former occupants, few were eager to investigate them. David scheduled her meetings in Charlotte, North Carolina, and Atlanta, Georgia, far enough apart she had time to deal with these difficulties.

Packing everything in a duffle bag and backpack, she strapped the duffle to the back of her dirt bike. Last, she pulled the magnetic Medical sign from the side of the SUV and stashed that too. The top-of-the-line competitive motorcycle had shocks capable of traveling at high speeds over bad roads and rough conditions. Best of all, it could squeeze through where an SUV couldn’t and didn’t require much gas.

She checked her weapons: her pistol belted to her hip, the knife tied to her leg and the M16 slung over her shoulder. Setting off, she abandoned yet another vehicle. Packing light had its advantages. The disadvantage, besides not being able to carry much, was the time spent unpacking and repacking.

She set off, easing past the cars and trucks which ran off the road attempting to miss unavoidable collisions. She weaved between the various vehicles, glancing at their mangled interiors on the lookout for needed supplies, even without room for extras.

Near the front of the permanently stalled traffic jam, she identified the source of the problem. A gas tanker exploded, melting the nearby cars onto the highway. What’s more, the area ahead was decimated by a larger meteor strike. She couldn’t try another road since there weren’t any easily accessible alternatives to this segment of I-81.

Sighing, she turned her bike downhill and eased down the embankment. She considered cutting the interstate fencing and driving over the open fields, but decided she could traverse the sloping hillside. Though most of the vegetation burned off, it’d been dry long enough she wasn’t afraid of the slope sliding. When they build these roads back in the sixties, they knew how to make things last.

Once past the heaviest damaged section, she angled back onto the roadway. She stopped to review the obstacles she’d so neatly bypassed, glad she’d followed David and Greg’s advice. Checking her gear one last time, she turned her music back on and sang to herself as she set off. After all, if the trip was easy, there would be no point to this trip.

It didn’t take long to locate another vehicle. The minivan got terrible mileage, essential now that gasoline wasn’t readily available. Luckily, there were plenty of vehicles on the road to siphon enough gasoline to reach the nearest abandoned station. Since she possessed her own pump, she could extract the gasoline from the underground tanks no one else could, another advantage to knowing how to survive. There’s a big difference between being lucky and being prepared. She passed car after car of those whose luck ended abruptly. Because she knew what to look for, she knew how to avoid their unfortunate fates.

Monique approached the North Carolina border on Route 77 when she observed two pickup trucks blocking the east bound lane.

“Damn, that’s not good.” She slowed, approaching cautiously, checking her weapons. “People don’t block intersections to hold a friendly discussion.”

Scanning her surroundings, she evaluated the situation. The two pickups stood at angles to each other, blocking both lanes. They also parked at the end of a bridge, restricting access to alternate routes just beyond them. Backing up was an option, but with abandoned cars littering the expressway, it wouldn’t take them long to catch up with her. They were situated so she could easily run them off the bridge, but she hated doing so if they weren’t an actual threat. Scattered vehicles were arrayed behind them, including a trailer, which showed they’d been camping here for some time.

She observed two men. One tossed something in the air and the other, raising a shotgun to his shoulder, blasted it from the sky. They were skeet shooting used dinner plates. Aside from the one man with the shotgun, the one throwing them had a rifle slung over his shoulder.

Monique continued to ease forward and it didn’t take long before they noticed. They swapped weapons but made no overtly threatening gestures.

She noted the nearby signs announcing she was just shy of the Lambsburg/Old Pipers Gap Road exit. The Route 620 exit housed a truck stop, which the men probably used to refill their vehicles. That meant they’d have the gas necessary to chase her down.

She stopped before the bridge, leaving a reasonable distance between them—no sense giving them an easy target. Taking a deep calming breath, she opened her door and stepped out.

“Hello! I’m Monique. I’m from a group spreading news about how to avoid the plagues. We’ve got a successful treatment for it. I’m trying to reach Charlotte in order to set up a regional treatment center.”

One man waved her forward. “How about you come on in and we’ll discuss it?”

“How about you put the gun down and I’ll consider it?” she countered.

“We already know about avoiding the plagues.” The man who’d tossed the dinner plates had seen better days. He was missing an arm and cradled the shotgun under his good arm. The rifle held by the other man had a scope attachment, which didn’t make Monique feel any more secure. Now that they aware of her, if she retreated they could easily shoot her as she fled. “They’re sent by God to punish the unholy. We’ve been warning people for years they were inviting divine retribution with all their talk of deviant rights, single motherhood and throwing God and family out of their lives. The plagues continue only because of the sinners who haven’t died yet.”

“I take it you’re the arbiters of who’s worthy of living or dying?” Monique had switched her pistol from its apparent position on her hip to behind her back. For now, she kept her hands to her side in order to prevent provoking an unnecessary gunfight.

“Nah, we’re just a couple good ‘ol boys having fun on a pleasant day.” The first man waved the second one back. Apparently he was screwing up his script.

“I’ll tell you what. We have recordings on avoiding contracting the plague. We’ve done some successful research. We’ve managed to isolate where the plagues reside and how they’re transmitted. If you let me by, I’ll leave it so you can study it. The phones they’re on also contain music and entertainment.”

The speaker for the group again waved her forward, now holding his rifle in one hand rather than brandishing it. It was hardly welcoming, but his actions were no longer quite so blatant. It wasn’t unusual for people to be armed in the current environment. Anyone who wasn’t ended up dead pretty quickly. “Better yet, since you’re familiar with medical issues, we have someone who could use your help. She said she’s been exposed, but so far hasn’t shown any symptoms. Right now, we don’t know what to do. Wait until she gets sick, accept her among us or turn her away. If you could examine her, we’d appreciate it.”

Monique didn’t buy it. There was no evidence of anyone in need, and these two didn’t appear concerned about anyone’s welfare. “How about you bring her out? That way I can evaluate her symptoms. She may suffer from something completely unrelated. I’m currently immune to all variations of the Great Death plagues, so I’m safe.” She hoped they’d take the bait, allowing her to deliver her ‘medically necessary’ speech. But if they didn’t ask, it wouldn’t help to lecture an uninterested audience.

“Sure, we’ll get her for you,” the one man replied, not bothering to introduce himself. He waved to the other man in a clear symbol for him to circle around. The one-armed man started towards the far side of the bridge, rather than back to the cars behind them.

“I’ll tell you what. Since I’m in a hurry and need to transport medical supplies before they get too warm, how about we contact you later?” Monique began backing up, remaining clear of her vehicle at the edge of the bridge. “After all, if she’s not showing any symptoms yet, I’m sure she’s fine.”

“How about you stop right there and put your damn hands in the air?” the man demanded, raising his rifle and sighting her with it.

Monique held her hands up, palms out. “Hey, let’s not do anything drastic. I’ve got nothing you can use and if you stop me, the plagues will only continue unchecked.”

“Yeah, right,” the man scoffed. “There’s nothing humanly possible to stop the plagues. The best scientists in the world all died unable to save themselves. Now you’re telling me you possess some snake oil to sell me?” He again motioned the other figure forward and his companion started trotting towards her.

“Believe what you want, but I’m not about to let you contaminate my supplies,” Monique called. Faking a step towards the edge of the bridge, she took a combat dive in the other direction. Two shots ring out, but since she wasn’t hit she didn’t worry where the shots might have gone. Like all of David’s people, she wore a bulletproof vest. Unless the shooter was experienced enough to hit an extremity on a moving target, he was unlikely to inflict any damage. At least he wasn’t firing an automatic weapon, which would be difficult to avoid.

Monique tumbled, grabbing her pistol from behind her. David and Alice’s repeated drilling left her confident of her actions. She dove to the man’s far side, so he’d need to twist to fire at her, making aiming a rifle more difficult. The scope was a hindrance, rather than an aid. She rolled, ending up sprawled on the broken roadway, lying prone and facing her targets. Another shot rang out as she quickly aimed. The man with the rifle took a step back, but didn’t try to shelter himself or even minimize his profile. She presented less of a target than her opponent, who had difficulty repositioning his rifle. The one-armed man hadn’t raised his weapon, but stood watching the shootout occur. He stood there as if unsure whether to fight or run for cover. Like a deer in the headlights, armed with its own shotgun but unable to bring it to bear.

Monique squeezed off three shots. One went wide, the other was closer but she’d overcompensated. The third hit the man squarely in the side, low and in the gut. He spun. Without combat training or experience, he hadn’t secured his gun. As he tumbled the rifle fell, bouncing off the asphalt roadway. So much for the fancy scope, Monique thought as she turned her combat pistol on her other opponent.

The man, obviously not much of a marksman and hampered by handling a shotgun in a combat situation with only one arm, did the sensible thing. He tossed his gun to the side, fell to his knees, clutched his heart, peed himself and pled for his life. The fact Monique was too far away to hurt with a shotgun didn’t help him. “Please don’t shoot! I’m no threat. I just did what he told me.”

Keeping both men covered, Monique got to her feet. The rifleman clutched his side, groaning piteously. Monique knew she hadn’t hit anything vital, but realized she’d gutshot him. The wound would be painful and develop into sepsis, which would eventually kill him, but it wouldn’t incapacitate him. As David always told them, “Only fools use guns unless they’re prepared for the situation to go to hell.”

“Move or draw a weapon and I’ll put a bullet in your skull,” she instructed as she approached. Neither man answered, the one moaning and clutching his side, the other’s stain spreading down his legs.

Monique moved beside the man who’d fired at her. Her assessment was correct. She’d gutshot him and he hadn’t the foresight to wear Kevlar. His guts spilled out and his entire left side was bloody. The distinct smell of shit combined with green and brown mixed with the blood spilling out of him confirmed her diagnosis.

“He won’t live long anyway,” she summarized, squeezing her trigger and putting him out of his misery. His head jerked back, his arms flinging back but he didn’t move once his forehead splattered open.

“Holy Crap!”

Monique turned on the other man, his face ashen and his lower lip trembling. As she approached, he found his voice again.

“I thought you were a medic. What about ‘do no harm’?” he pleaded.

“There’s a difference between helping people and letting yourself be killed. People who prey on the innocent, benefit no one and only take, don’t deserve any more care than the dead rats I kick out of my way.” Monique leveled her gun at his forehead. However, despite her tough words, shooting the one man in cold blood had been harder than she’d been prepared for. She’d spent her life caring for the helpless, both victims and attackers, letting the police separating one from the other. She’d never had to take out the trash herself, and as such never crossed this particular threshold before.

She took so long without acting that the man swallowed and glanced up. Monique’s gun started to quiver as her hands shook, so she put it back in its holster.

“You’re not worth it.” She wiped the sweat from her forehead. Stepping forward, she surprised him when she rubbed it across his face and neck with her bare hand. He jerked back, but too late to avoid the physical contact.