CHAPTER 9

Kent Island, Maryland
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Victor sat on his front porch, sipping a canteen cup of hot tea, daydreaming of a time before the Dark Day when he would casually drink an entire pot of freshly brewed coffee. A lengthy list of immoral deeds entered his mind, in what he would do for a good cup of coffee on the late autumn day that in all practicality, felt like winter.

His boys had met new children who had relocated into the Kent Island housing neighborhood. The kids were running back and forth down the otherwise empty street competitively playing a game of ultimate Frisbee.

Across the road, Victor waived to a new neighbor who had relocated from the south end of the island. Most of the islanders who remained in their family countryside homesteads were farmers, eager to take over abandoned neighboring land plots. The woman, who had a shot gun propped against the door frame behind her, returned Victor’s friendly wave while watching her child play carefree in the street. The mother constantly glanced up and down the road, vigilantly looking for danger.

She was one of the many new refugees that had taken up residence in Victor’s rapidly growing neighborhood. Many people had heard the military’s message being broadcasted from the aircraft carrier on all AM radio frequencies. Seeing so many survivors gave Victor hope and validity of the General’s vision of reconstruction, then eventually American recolonization.

People who traveled to the island were strong, they were survivors. He could see it in their eyes. They were cold, untrusting, constantly evaluating, judging, and searching for danger. Everyone of them had a personal horror story to tell, but in time, they would warm up to the colony. Many of them who brought tradesman skills beyond survival, would go to work right away on priority projects. Others would be trained in new job duties, of their choice.

A naval logistics officer moved into the house next to Victor’s on the left. Considering that the airport was the island supply depot, it only made sense for the supply coordinator to live closer. Having his own personal house was a major perk for a Lieutenant Junior Grade, but Victor knew that he would earn it soon enough. Sorting, inventorying, rationing, tracking, issuing, not only military gear, but all consumer goods that would be transported to the island in the near future.

The largest house in the neighborhood was claimed by a special operations team. Some of the civilians complained at first, claiming the military was getting special treatment with extravagant accommodations. That is, until the civilians realized an S.O.F. team is more of a platoon in size, and they were all packed into the mini mansion. Four dudes to a bedroom with enough field equipment to fill the basement and garage. It was still better than living on ship though.

“Good morning.” Victor nodded to an older lady strolling down the sidewalk past his house. She was dressed in a thick white winter coat with a fir lined hood, protecting her from the breeze that seemed to constantly swirl off the bay. He had noticed her moving into a smaller one-story house a few days ago.

“Good morning to you, sir. I don’t believe that we have met?” She asked, turning to speak to him.

“I’m Victor, my boys are the ones tackling each other in a non-contact game.” He said, motioning towards the shouting in the street. “Would you care for some hot tea?” He asked, noticing her shiver a bit.

“That would be delightful.” She said.

“Have a seat, I’ll get you a cup.” Victor offered, vanishing through the front door, quickly to return with a tall ceramic cup, a full tea kettle and a throw blanket. He sat the tea down next to her with a genuine smile noticing how her eyes followed the cup, then handed her the blanket to wrap herself in.

She reached for the steaming tea quickly, warming her cold hands around the warm cup. Her shoulders seemed to relax a bit as she took a short drink of the nearly tasteless warm water that had just a hint of mint.

“Apologies, I’m being rude. My name is Carin.” She said extending her clean and well-manicured hand that had weathered from many stressful years.

“Nice to meet you Carin. Do you work at the lab?” Victor asked.

She quickly pulled her hand back, sat up straighter, and gave him a defensive glare that demanded answers and shielded questions at the same time.

“I’m sorry, I should know better than to be so frank. I’m completely familiar with operational need-to-know security. Forget I asked. I just noticed that you flew in the same day that my wife, Erica flew out. I just assumed.” He said, leaning back in his coral colored wicker rocking chair refocusing his attention on the friendly Frisbee game that was increasingly becoming unfriendly.

Victor whistled sharply to get his children’s attention and gave the universal ‘what the hell are you doing’ hand gesture. The kids only shrugged their shoulders and went back to shoving each other every chance they got. “I give it five more minutes until someone is bleeding and or crying.” Victor said closely watching Carin out of the corner of his eye.

He could see recognition lightening Carin’s eyes and her demeaner relaxed again.

“Oh.. You’re the ones from Michigan! I can’t say what a relief it is to have you both here. A fresh set of experienced brains to tackle some of our problems.”

“Yes ma’am, that is why we are here. This place has potential.” Victor said motioning to the general area with his hand. “We will help out anyway we can. Not just with the infrastructure, but with your research as well.” Victor pressed, hoping to get some information about their current studies.

She sipped on her tea slowly. “I don’t think you can help with my pheromone research.”

Interesting, Victor thought.

“I used to soak my boots in deer piss, back when I hunted white tail in Michigan. The bucks would follow the scent right to your tree stand.” Victor smiled at her with a wink. “If it gives us an advantage against the Grays, I will field test whatever you come up with.”

Carin snorted a bit almost burning her lips on the hot tea. “I don’t think you want the Hemocytes, Grays as you call them, tracking you?”

“There are strategic reasons to attract Grays to a particular area.” Victor affirmed, nodding. Thinking of the time he sprayed cologne on a radio to help draw Grays into a kill zone.

“Hmmmm. I never thought of that. I’ve been working on the opposite effect.” She offered.

Now we’re getting somewhere, Victor thought to himself. “Like a repellent?” he asked.

“Hopefully, I can find a pheromone that disgusts the beast, but for now it’s more of a camouflage.” She said in a lower voice, leaning in closer, looking over her shoulder like people do when gossiping about someone they shouldn’t be gossiping about. “I really shouldn’t be talking about this outside the lab.”

“Your secret is safe with me. And I’m serious, if you need a field test, let me know.” Victor stated, curious if they had experimented on live Grays.

“Thank you, Victor. I’ll make sure we’ve tested it thoroughly before putting you in harms way.” She said.

“That is appreciated. Wouldn’t want a million Grays tracking my scent thinking I was a female in heat.” Victor laughed. “But double your studies on the Gen 2’s. Those are the ones that will halt any of the General’s reconstruction progress.”

Victor watched her expression closely and knew before she said anything, by the way she timidly fixed her short silver hair, that the lab didn’t house any second-generation Grays. He could see her mental turmoil as she nervously polished her librarian style glasses. Carin was internally trying to figure out how to pilot the conversation in a different direction to avoid offering even more top-secret information than she already had. He decided to rescue her.

“I’m going on mission pretty soon. I hope to capture some of the young creatures while we are out.” He said, matter-of-factly. “That is, if I can find a veterinarian or someone to hook me up with some tranquillizer guns to subdue the little demons.”

The opportunity that her colleague epidemiologists and virologists had been waiting for, to advance the entire USAMRIID research program, was at her finger tips and she couldn’t help herself when she blurted out, “I can help you with that!”
 
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Sunday was designated an official non workday on Kent Island, that was for everyone except security personnel and essential workers. The relax day was one of the many suggestions being implemented curtesy of the Lake City mayor.

On the main road, that ran east west across the island, the ship’s MWR (morale welfare and recreation) officer had organized a swap meet near Victor’s neighborhood. Several perfectly aligned rows of folding tables and pop-up canopies had been neatly set up.

Laughter and friendly jeering echoed through the large crowd that seemed quite cheerful. Civilians and military alike were chatting, bartering and window shopping, relieved for a chance to mingle and socialize off duty. Having a platoon of infantry Marines standing guard, helped ease civilian survivors who had been wound tight for months.

Victor walked past an empty booth space, and watched a rowdy group playing games of corn hole, horseshoes, and ladder ball. Even though there was a festive feel to the air, he noticed every individual was armed. Military personnel wore standard issue holstered pistols or slung rifles. Civilians wore their favorite weapons, firearms, clubs, and even a couple of swords in the crowd. In fact, weaponry had become fashionable at one vendor’s booth who offered customized machetes and baseball bats, with matching jewelry riveted scabbards.

Anything the civilian islanders had looted from the local businesses after the Dark Day was traded to the military personnel for personal creature comfort items, tools from the ship’s machine shop and specialty munitions. It seemed a carton of cigarettes or a bottle of whisky could make a person very rich.
Bargain shoppers, whose favorite sport was to get a good deal on whatever it was that they really were noy interested in, but would offer half price anyway, where in heated haggle debates with the vendors. Since the US dollar no longer held a value, the swap meet truly was swapping of goods until a formal currency could be established.

Back home in Lake City, Victor’s community bartered in a currency of ammunition. But an ammo currency would not work on Kent Island, since the military had a surplus and could easily enslave the population through ammo rations. Likewise, the value of X amount of ammo to Y amount of food, wasn’t something civilians needed to worry about when pulling the trigger into a horde of dangerous infected.

One lady had a table stacked high with used books and magazines. A colorful, perfectly handwritten sign taped to the front of her table simply read: FREE LIBRARY. Take A Book. Leave A Book. Tips are Welcome. Victor thumbed through a stack, excited for a source of new entertainment.

A leathery tan skinned vendor who wore a fishing vest and wide brimmed hat with long thin hair flowing from the sides, was doing very well with a respectable size crowd around him. Instead of bartering, he was auctioning off fresh fish. He had just traded a twenty-five-pound stripper fish for a slightly used boat motor, plus instillation.

Next, the fisherman stood on a crate and struggled to hold up with both arms a massive striped bass. “I’m calling this trophy catch, Le DeVod, the ruler of the Chesapeake Bay in honor of our new president. Who has a case of rum for me?”

Victor tried to get closer, to ask the fisherman what he had meant by ‘new president’ but the crowd was too thick with pushing and shoving. The bidding shouts erupted from hungry men and women eager for a meal other than routine military rations. Victor would have to come back this way later if he wanted to investigate scuttlebutt.

Victor bumped into Raymond near the end of swap meet row along with a few naval Petty Officers, who were chatting up young Asian women swapping personal exotic services for highly valued coffee, liquor or tobacco.

“What are you doing man?” Victor nudged Raymond. “You don’t want any of that.”

“Yes. In fact, I do.” He said in a smooth voice maintaining eye contact with the attractive woman before him who wore not enough clothing considering the winter temperature. “Nothing inappropriate happening here. Just two consenting adults exchanging goods for services.”

“We’ve been here less than two weeks. You can’t be that desperate already.” Victor rolled his eyes.

“Desperation has nothing to do with natural desires. Besides, prostitution and midwives are the oldest human professions. It’s quite honorable if you think about it.” Raymond tilted his head towards Victor with a sly grin. “Besides, they’re doing it purely voluntarily, there’s no human trafficking going on.”

“That you know of. Slavery is also a not-so-honorable ancient human profession.” Victor said flatly.

Raymond breathed out heavily, “You really are a buzz kill sometimes.” he said, walking away from the group of girls who begged him to come back for a good time.

“Where did they come from anyways?” Victor asked.

“I’m just trying to enjoy the fruits of my labor man, but whatever.” Raymond growled. “The girls heard the message being played on your son’s kill-o-matic and migrated here. Speaking of which, that thing worked great.”

Raymond hadn’t had the opportunity to debrief Victor on his mission yet, so as they strolled through the swap meet, Raymond gave him a quick overview and lessons learned.

“So, the Gen 2’s didn’t go for the bait at all?” Victor asked frustrated, wanting more details.

“Like I said, the sound drew them in, but they seemed smart enough to know it was dangerous as their parents blindly ran into the death whips. But don’t worry, while the Gen 2’s were distracted by the gore fest, old fashion boat tail hollow points did the trick.” Raymond confirmed.

“Hmmm. The General wants us to go out on a special operations mission soon. I have an idea that you’re not going to like.” Victor said quizzically.

“If it involves capturing Gen 2’s alive, your assumption is correct. I don’t like it.” Raymond groaned.