In the meeting room, Sulla was on a conference call on the radio with Anderson and several state and military officials.
“And where are you now Captain,” General Raul asked over the radio.
“We are currently in route to Sulla’s position at the airport,” Anderson said. The transmission carried the unmistakable sound of gunfire in the background.
“What we really need is an assessment of how to deal with these things,” the General asked.
“Sir,” Anderson said, “Literally the only way to put them down is a bullet to the head. Shooting them anywhere else only slows them down a bit. They can’t exactly run, but they can manage better than a walk if they are intact. If you want any other pointers, Sulla is the guy to talk to from a response point of view.”
Sulla and the people with him had joined the conversation late. Anderson had insisted that Sulla be included in the meeting, and it had taken several minutes to patch him through.
“How about it Sulla,” the General asked.
“Sir,” Anderson broke in. “Sulla needs to know about Intel’s projections that were discussed earlier.”
“I agree,” said someone from the Governor’s office.
“Fill him in, Captain,” the General said.
“Basically,” Anderson said, “We have tracked a number of cases to other cities that have originated in Butler. The injured became sick, died and joined the undead. We managed to contain the situation in a couple of the cities but not all of them. We locked it down in Buffalo and D.C., but New York, and Chicago are in a state of flux. Some bean counters have run a number of rough computer models, and the results look bad. Best-case scenario, we are looking at hundreds of thousands to millions dead with in the week. I don’t think I need to spell out the worst case. Hold on a sec.”
Three gunshots blasted over the radio.
“Sulla, what can you tell us from your experience?” the general said.
“We lost our first waves of emergency responders because we didn’t know what we were dealing with; some damn good people bought it. First, you need to make sure everyone knows how to kill them. Then you need to put a gun in every person’s hand that you can trust not to shoot you in the back. Make sure they have plenty of ammo; so far that has been a huge pain in the ass. Right now, I could be pushing into Butler, but I don’t have the ammo to hold my position and deal with the numbers of them in the city. You also need to start organizing people now. Get your responder’s families together, and make sure they are safe.”
“Mr. Sulla, this is Chris Ricks from the Governor’s office. You don’t honestly think we should be passing out guns to civilians do you?”
“Mr. Ricks if it weren’t for those civilians with guns I’d, be room temperature but still looking for my next meal.”
This pencil pusher from Harrisburg just became an enemy, Sulla thought. Who cares, I have bigger issues to deal with.
"I think I have what I need to advise the President," the General said. "The state of Pennsylvania has, of course, its own sovereign authority when it comes to its Guard units. Good luck to all of you."
Sulla and Anderson switched back to the local emergency radio band. "Anderson, when you get here I think we need to talk," Sulla said.
###
Jack stopped the van beside an old woman sitting on the hood of a 1950's vintage Chevy that was decades into the process of decay. A shotgun sat across her lap as she sang "Amazing Grace" to herself.
The junk yard had been there Jack's entire life and housed thousands of old vehicles. Who ever had owned it had long ago stopped bringing in new wrecks to the property, and the yard had turned into a time capsule of a past age. Trees had grown up through many of the wrecks as life asserted its claim on their forgotten husks. The sun and time had burned away the once brightly colored paint leaving only faint glimpses of their former glory.
Jack rolled down his window, "Ma’am, do you need some help?"
"This was my Daddy's property, and I don’t plan on leaving’ it," she replied. "I do appreciate your concern though; of all the vehicles that have gone by since yesterday, you’re the first one to stop and check in on me. Come to think of it, no one has stopped to check in on me in months, but that’ll be over soon. My name is Ruth, Ruth Denton. Who would you be young man?"
"Name’s, Jack. Ma’am, it’s not exactly safe to be sitting outside at the moment."
"I may be old, but I’m not a damn fool. I’ve a television, and know all about it."
Jack opened the door of the van and stepped out.
"I didn’t mean to imply anything. I just wanted to make sure nothing happened to you."
"Well of course something’s going to happen to me. Look at me; I’m older than these junkers. I don’t have time left to be running all over God's creation. My life’s been here and I’m going to die among these relics one way or another. I expect I’ll have company soon enough to see me out."
"If that’s how you feel, why the shotgun?" Jack said.
"I’ve been shooting vermin round this yard for better than 50 years, why should it be any different when they come? They’ll win out in the end, like time, and chew my bones, but I’ll line them up like these wrecks here until it’s my time."
"Can we do anything for you before we go?" Jack said.
"No, but since you’re the only live people I’m likely to talk to before the end I'll do you a kindness and send you off with a parting gift. Come on round this here car, I got a secret to show you."
Ruth slid off the hood of the car and led him around the back of the vehicle. She pulled open the trunk to the sound of screechy hinges. She reached in and pulled out a wooden case of mason jars filled with liquid.
"My Daddy set this place up to make shine during Prohibition. He taught me how to make it when I was a little girl. You young people be carful with this stuff, it’s got a lot more piss than what you kids drink these days. Come on, I'll walk with you back to your van and meet that pretty girl you got there."
Ruth followed him back to the van limping a bit as she carried her shotgun in two hands. Donna slid over to the driver’s seat and leaned out the open window. Jack passed the case of Mason jars to Donna who put them on the floor inside.
“My goodness,” Rush said, “You’re such a pretty thing to have all those bruises on your face. You better not tell me Jack here had anything to do with that.”
“No, he didn’t,” Donna replied, “But I’d be in worse shape, if he hadn’t come along.”
“Good, good,” Ruth replied, “Well what's your name then, darling?”
“Donna.”
“My name’s Ruth, and this here’s my place. Come here Jack, because I got something I want to tell the two of you. I was telling Jack that I ain’t going to leave this place, and I accept the fact that my end is at hand. That makes me a dying old woman with a bit of wisdom to impart.”
Jack moved closer and watched while Ruth took Donna’s hand.
“I’m eighty-seven years old and have seen many a change during my years. I don’t know if these are the End of Day’s like they talk about in The Good Book, but I can tell you this. It’s the end of days, as you know it. The generations before now were made of harder stuff. We knew things and how to do by ourselves with out having to call someone to fix stuff for us. There was real sacrifice and hardship. Many a strong man broke his body down to dust at a young age, just to put a little bit on the table. You younger folk ain’t ready to face those days again, and you don’t know the things we knew about the world. Even the rudimentary common stuff of my day, like making soap, smoking meat, or distilling is going to be something you’re going to have to figure out from a damn book. I've seen this evil getting ready to befall us for decades now. Not that I knew it would be like this, but that it would leave the younger people in the street like orphans after a war.”