All Is Silence - Deserted Lands #1

Chapter 19 - Part I

THE ROAD ROLLED BY UNDERNEATH Mannie. The trip to San Antonio had long ago ceased to fascinate him; nothing changed—same flatlands, rocks and sagebrush.

Past, present, future all mingled in his mind. Baby Elizabeth, Afghanistan, the darkness, Isabel and the brighter days. And now baby Elizabeth was grown-up Lizzie. And if he could live long enough he would see her, talk to her, hold her. If she wanted.

Mannie hadn’t prayed since he was a kid. Getting over the addictions had been a challenge without a belief in a higher power. His choices and their consequences were his and his alone. He hadn’t been able to ‘Let go, let God.’But now he prayed: Please, if there is a higher power out there, let me see my daughter. Let me ask for forgiveness. Please.

The road flew by. His head ached from the road glare. Near San Antonio he pulled over to check his phone. A text from Lizzie. Military hospital. Theyll find you. “What the hell?” He tried Lizzie, but a message said, “Network busy.”

He drove on. When he crossed over Loop 410, the ring road, an ambulance with lights flashing and a camouflaged truck approached. Mannie slowed to a stop as they blocked the road in front of him. A small squad of armed men, a few middle-aged with ill-fitting uniforms got out of the back of the truck.

Mannie got out of the jeep and walked to the truck.

A creased, tan-faced Captain stepped down from the driver’s side and saluted. “Manuel Guerrero? Lieutenant, U.S. Army Reserves?” His uniform ID’d him as Wiser.

Mannie answered the salute. “Yes. I suppose.”

“You need a rabies vaccine, correct?” Wiser demanded.

“Yes. Does everyone entering San Antonio get this reaction?”

A doctor came around the ambulance. She looked all business. “We ensure infected people don’t enter the city. If you’re coming in, you must be quarantined until we can verify your system is clean.” She slipped on rubber gloves and a mask over her face.

“I don’t want to come into San Antonio,” Mannie said. “I’m heading north to meet my daughter in Salt Lake City.”

“That could be useful to us, Lieutenant,” the Captain said.

“What could?” Mannie asked. The use of his rank made him uncomfortable, as if he were being called to active duty by that word alone.

“Command is trying to get intel on various parts of the country,” the Captain said, as the doctor raised her eyebrow.

“What has that got to do with me?”

“There has been limited communication with Utah,” he continued. “We had contact with National Guard at Dugway Proving Ground. But then we lost them.”

“Captain Wiser. Look. I am not in the Army anymore. I’m going to get my daughter. Nothing else. ” Mannie adjusted his posture to attention and faced the officer. “They sent you with the vaccine?” I don’t like this game, but I’ll play it. Lizzie is counting on me.

Wiser nodded to the Doctor.

She asked Mannie a few questions, checked his vitals, and rebandaged his wound. “Nice job on the wound care.” Then she gave him the first dose of rabies vaccine.

“Here’s the remainder.” She handed him two packets with vials shrink-wrapped inside each. “You need to keep it cold, but not frozen. You’ll need two more injections, seven days and then 21 days later. Can you handle self-injections?”

Mannie nodded. “If I need to.” 

Wiser pulled one of the vials from Mannie’s hands. “This is expensive stuff. Are you sure you can keep it at the right temperature for 28 days?” He handed the vial back to the doctor.

The doctor glared at Wiser, but accepted it, twisting on her heel and returning to the ambulance. The driver started the engine and drove away.

Mannie’s teeth clamped together. It was these kind of games, this kind of 'old boy network' that had him hating the military. Power corrupts. But this was the only game in town. I play; you give me answers. “I’ll see what’s happening in Utah, Captain. What’s going on nationally?”

“Not much out of Washington. Nothing from the president. Or the cabinet. A few senators and representatives have checked in. No one has invoked the presidential line of succession yet. Here in San Antonio we are the law and the government.”

“Martial Law.”

Wiser nodded, “Most survivors are military or former military. It makes sense, until things get stable. Here are contacts for the information.” He handed him a piece of paper with phone numbers and e-mails. “Good luck, Lieutenant.” The driver saluted him as he got back in the truck.

Mannie returned a perfect, forceful soldier’s salute and tucked the paper in his wallet with the other numbers. He stared at the truck as it went away. “I guess fading away was out of the question,” he muttered as he climbed back into Rubi.