The Romero Strain (43 page)

David replied, “Remember what happened to the survivors at the end of that
Dawn of the Dead
remake?”

“What?” Marisol asked.

David didn’t respond.

“
What?
So what happened?” she insisted.

I answered her question.

“The deserted island they escaped too wasn’t deserted. They were all attacked and the movie ended without knowing if they lived or died.”

“That doesn’t sound like too good of an idea,
mi amor.
Don’t you have a better plan?”

I wasn’t able to immediately answer Marisol.

“Okay, and where up the Hudson is it?” Julie further questioned.

“It’s south of Saratoga Springs, north of Albany. And it’s the only place I know that has a hydroelectric power plant that’s close.”

“Should I even ask how you know that?”

I answered Julie first, and then responded to Marisol’s earlier question. “Ex-girlfriend who came from that area. And no, Marisol, that’s the only plan I have.”

Julie inquired, “Why can’t we just take that military train that’s parked in Grand Central? That has a diesel locomotive? Can’t Kermit drive it?”

“Cause the Albany-Rensselaer line only goes to Sarasota Springs, and we’d have to find transportation for everything when we got there,” I said before Kermit could answer.

Kermit added, “Even if I could operate the train, which I’ve never done, who knows how many trains would be blocking the rails.”

“Think I’d rather go to Vegas.”

“That won’t work,” I told David. “We’d have to live in or near the dam. It won’t run itself forever. The quagga mussels that attach themselves to the cooling intake pipes will eventually overheat the generators and that’s the end of that. It’ll happen to the Mechanicville plant, too, so time is of the essence. Soon the generators won’t work; they’ll shut down or burn out. I doubt if Sam could fix them then. Does anyone have any questions or better solutions?”

“Discovery channel,” I heard Sam mumble, remarking to my knowledge of the mussels.

Julie raised her hand.

“Yes, Julie.”

“Wouldn’t it just be easier to drive up?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know what the damage to roads or bridges may be. It’s a four hour drive in the best conditions. None of us knows what’s out there. We could run into a lot of half-mutes or another bunch of idiots who want to shoot anything they can find. At least by water we should be able to avoid some dangers.”

I acknowledged David.

“I think there is a fundamental flaw in your plan… the locks.”

“Locks?”

“Yeah, the locks on the Hudson. Sarasota Springs is quite a ways up the Hudson. I don’t know much about the river but I know there are locks. Are we going to be able to navigate the lock system?”

Locks. I had been camping at the state park in Staatsburg, New York, which was located along the Hudson River. I distinctly remembered watching tugboats push barges up and down the river, but I never recalled seeing any locks. It seems my plan was falling apart.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, responding to David’s nautical query. “I don’t even know if the ship is still there. Someone could have already used it to escape.”

“We could look,” Sam interjected. “And if I can get it running we could take a test trip up the Hudson to see what obstacles we’d have to overcome. We’d probably need to check out the town before we’d want to relocate anyways.”

“Does that mean we’re in agreement, in principle? A vote then. All in favor raise a hand.”

It was unanimous, with exception to Dr. France who didn’t raise his hand at nay either. We would check out the possibility.

“Okay, before we conclude this meeting there was one other item I want to bring to your attention. I talked to Ryan a little while ago and he told me he had others with him, others that still may be alive. Even though they made him leave, he wants to know if we would consider rescuing them? He’d like to go with us, since he feels they may trust him more than a lot of guys with guns. Seems they’ve been avoiding that group we ran into for some time. Hands for yes… great. Then 0700 tomorrow for a mission briefing and a 0900 departure. Okay. Meeting dismissed, unless there is something else… no? Then next meeting, say two days from now over lunch. Thank you.”

* * *

It took Sam only ten minutes to access the condition of the ship. My plan was sunk by his report.

“It’s a six-cylinder Winton diesel engine,” he said, as he wiped his hands off on a rag. “But it needs a complete rebuild. That’s the good news. The bad is the fuel tanks are empty and rusty, the electrics are shot, the steerage is busted, and there’s only a small storage closet forward… but if it makes you feel better it’s not taking on any water. Sorry J.D., I’d need six months to refurbish it with an experienced crew of four. I’d also need a good machine shop, chainfalls, comealongs, and jacks. It’s just not going to happen.”

* * *

The news was bad, but not as bad as the news Ryan had received. At Ryan’s appeal, Kermit, David, and I went to the Theatre at St. Clement’s to see about those who he had been hiding with. In an upstairs room we found six men and one woman savagely mutilated and shot in their heads execution style. On the far wall, scrawled in the victims’ blood, were the words, “BABEs iN The WOOd”. We were sure who had done it: the same gang who had tied Ryan up as bait for the half-mutes, and most likely the ones who had tried to seize the armory. It wasn’t until much later that I would understand what the cryptic message meant.

* * *

There was no other ship we could use. The Lettie G. Howard and the Pioneer schooners were gone. So was the tugboat W.O. Decker and the wooden hulled Marion M. The Wavertree and The Peking were still docked in port, but they were ocean ships and too large to navigate the upper Hudson even if they had been operational. The Helen McAllister, another tug, was non-operational, and too small. It appeared we’d have to do a reconnaissance of Mechanicville by vehicle. And it was best if we did it not by one Stryker, but by two. It was time that the rest of the team learned how to operate one, since Sam was the only one who knew how.

It took us only a few hours to get a hang of driving “the Cadillac,” but much longer to learn the computer interfaces of the command center. Some of the communication and troop location systems we simply wouldn’t or couldn’t use. The onboard weapons system was easier than it appeared, which made me wonder. If Marisol had figured out that she needed to acquire target distance through the laser range finder before she could fire accurately, why didn’t Joe figure it out?

In all the time we made our daily trips around the eastern part of Manhattan, we didn’t find any survivors, and the beacon hadn’t attracted anyone else. It had been nearly two weeks and we were readying for our recon trip in two days.

X. God Save the Queen

October 13
th
. I read over my journals, all five volumes.

It was still somewhat surrealistic to me that the people I had known and loved and called friends were gone. I decided not to continue writing journal entries for history’s sake, but for my own personal need.

We made contact with our own military in England. They were coming to get us.

* * *

Sam called me over the internal PA system he had successfully repaired. The words, “J.D., J.D., come to the command center immediately. I have radio contact,” were words that I really believed I would never hear. I had never thought about survivors in England, but I should have since it was where the CCR-5 Receptor gene originated.

“Okay, Sam, I’m here,” I said as I bolted into the room, the others following.

“Listen,” he joyfully said, then put the radio on speaker.

It was chatter. It was military chatter. It was an English voice from a base called RAF Croughton.

I was astounded. “Okay. I hear it. I don’t believe it, but I hear it. So who is it?”

“It’s RAF Croughton,” Sam informed us.

“Yeah, I heard that,” I replied. “But
who
is it?”

“I don’t know. I mean I know, but it’s wrong.”

“
Sam.
”

“RAF Croughton. It’s supposed to be a United States Air Force Base in England. Its home to the 422
nd
Air Base Group and one of Europe’s largest U.S. military switchboards that processes a third of communications in Europe. But those aren’t Americans; they’re English. It sounds more like the Royal Air Force Command, which doesn’t make sense since that’s RAF Wycombe.”

“
So
, did you ask them?”

“No. I just heard it and called you. I thought you should make contact.”

I disagreed. “Me? I can’t pull off being military. Kermit, you should handle this. You’re truly the senior here.”

“I don’t know any of that radio protocol. I’m a chef, remember?”

“Sam. You do it. You know about radios,” I told him, but made it more of a request than an order.

“I only know HAM radio etiquette. I’ve never communicated over a military channel. You’re our leader.”

“C’mon, no one is going to believe me. I only know
Charlie Foxtrot, How Copy,
and
Over and Out.”

Kermit responded with an affirmation to my ability.

“You’ll do fine, and I’ll be right here to help, but I’d go with an MOS 18D.”

“See! I have no idea what that even means.”

“Medical Sergeant First Class,” Sam said, and then announced, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll make initial contact but they’re going to want to talk with the base commander… and that’s you!”

“Fine, fine.”

“I need the base designation.”

“It was, is, uh… MEDCOM FOB NYC,” I answered.

Sam began his transmission. “RAF Croughton, RAF Croughton. This Is MEDCOM FOB. How copy? Over.”

There was silence. Sam repeated his call. “I Say Again. RAF Croughton this is MEDCOM FOB NYC. How copy?”

There was a momentary silence again, and then a static-y reply.

“This is RAF Croughton. Say again.”

The operator’s voice was thick with its foreign accent, perhaps Scottish.

“RAF Croughton. This is MEDCOM FOB, NYC. Over.”

“Say again. Transmission unclear.”

Sam tuned the radio and repeated his message.

“I say again. This is MEDCOM FOB NYC. I spell. Mike-Edward-David-Charlie-Oscar-Mike. Break. Foxtrot-Oscar-Bravo. Break. November-Yankee-Charlie. How copy? Over.”

I commented to Kermit and Sam, “And you two thought I could do this.”

Croughton responded, “Transmission clear. Go ahead.”

“This is Corporal Samuel Drukker, U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. To whom am I speaking?”

“This is Flight Leftenant Clay MacTarnaghan, acting communications officer for the USAF
4-2-2 ABG. Go ahead.”

He wasn’t an American officer; the
leftenant
confirmed it.

“Our NCO needs to chat with your CO.” Sam inquired, “Is there a U.S. Base Commander or any U.S. military officer present?”

“Affirmative, MEDCOM FOB. He’s on his way. Wait out. Over.”

Sam ended with, “Roger.”

Sam had to clarify with whom he was conversing. The leftenant was from the 422
nd
Air Base Group and that
wait out
meant that transmission would pause for more than a few seconds. Sam knew more about military communications than he let on.

We waited only a few moments before RAF Croughton called us. It was the lieutenant again.

“MEDCOM FOB. This Is RAF Croughton. How copy? Over.”

“Transmission clear. Go ahead Croughton.”

“Our CO is standing by. Over.”

“Roger. Go ahead Croughton. Standing by.”

Sam motioned me on, and cautioned me with, “Never use, ‘Repeat.’ That’s for artillery.”

A voice came over the speaker. It was an American voice. “This is Major Russ Ramsey, United States Air Force, 5
th
Fighter Wing, RAF Crougthon. MEDCOM FOB I will need you to authenticate. Over.”

“It’s a test,” Sam blurted out. “Even if they did have a challenge-response authentication with this base, codes are only valid ordinarily for twenty four hours. So you can’t authenticate.”

I took the microphone “Major Ramsey, the challenge-response authentication has expired, and I wasn’t privy to it when it was valid. So you’re going to have to take my word that we are who we say we are.

“Very good. Please identify yourself and proceed with your transmission.”

“Affirmative, Major. I am Army Medical Sergeant First Class J.D. Nichols, Special Forces 5
th
Regiment… Medical Command, Forward Operating Base, New York City is a joint operation of Special Forces and the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. We have re-established our position in the 69
th
Regiment Armory in Manhattan. We are conducting search and rescue operations and medical treatment from this base. Over.”