Did the people of the world actually expect, when the entire thing was over, that they would just get up, get dressed, and go to work as usual?
Not a chance.
The downfall of man was not only being delivered through the hands of nature’s fury, it was being delivered by the lack of commerce.
And no one knew. No one realized it. They would soon enough, Henry supposed.
What of Lodi? Would it really make it through the quarantine period? If it did, it would emerge clean as a whistle just about the same time the dust was settling from everything else, and the flu was fizzling out.
The people of Lodi, if unscathed, would tear down their iron curtain and go from seeing their picture-perfect 1950s sitcom world, to viewing destitution, a decay of the world that they never saw coming.
They would be—in Henry’s prediction—the only speck of a civilized world left. And that worried Henry.
Aside from being labeled “the City of Hope”, other than being clean, untouched, and still alive, Lodi would become something else… a target. A destination in a Book of Revelations world for those engulfed with rage and jealousy who so bitterly sought out the destruction of what shined to them as… the New Jerusalem.
Lodi, Ohio
Russ Deacon would have loved to pop open that beer, but he knew he would have to wait, at least until Mick left the front check-in line. He took it with gratitude, his smile not seen through his gas mask. “Thanks, Mick.”
“Gonna go home and have one myself,” Mick stated. “Long day.”
“Yeah. You know…” Russ’ voice dropped. “We have about ten who are sick right now.”
Mick nodded. “I know. How about you?”
“I’m feeling fine. I don’t know how long the lines will hold up.”
“Hopefully it won’t be for much longer. Then the government shows up.” Mick exhaled. “Did Lars start that therapy on your people?”
“Two of them. The rest waited too long. He’s hopeful about the two though.”
“Good. Good.”
“Hey, did I tell you I won the lottery?” Russ asked. “I get to go into a quarantine trailer first.”
“Excellent. Speaking of quarantine… how’s my mother doing in trailer three?”
“Bitching out the window at us. We… we had to bolt her in, Mick. Put a padlock on the outside door,” Russ told him. “She wanted out. She said she didn’t care about getting into Lodi, she wanted to help out. You know your mom.”
“Yeah. Thanks for taking care of that though.”
“No problem.”
Taking one more look at the quiet checkpoint, Mick let out a slow breath. “Well, I’m heading home. Get me on the radio if you need me.”
“Sure thing.”
“Night, Russ.” Mick turned. His bike was parked not far from there. The safe distance of ten feet. Just about to mount it, Mick slowed down when he heard the crackling of his radio.
“Russ.” The crackle and hiss overshadowed the man’s voice. “This is Highpoint. We have a situation. Coming east and west. On the dead highway. Fifty, sixty cars.”
Mick turned around and walked back to Russ.
Russ held the radio close to his gas mask. “Where they headed?”
“Take a guess. They’re getting off the exit.”
No sooner had Russ lowered his radio and his eyes met Mick’s, then they heard and saw the train of automobiles in the distance.
“They’re coming here,” Russ said.
“Goddamn it.” Mick hurried to his bike, and grabbed his rifle. He pumped the chamber as he approached Russ again. “Tell your men to take their positions. Pull in those taking a rest, just to be sure…”
“Yo, Heavy,” Russ called into the radio.
“Yeah?” the deep, raspy voice responded.
“Rustle up the sleepers. We got incoming,” Russ continued to speak into the radio. “All teams, especially those facing due north. Get ready. It’s gonna be a big turn away.”
Mick raised his weapon as the cars drew nearer and his people hurried about taking their places.
“Hey, Mick, you think it’s gonna be bad?”
“Hard to say,” Mick shrugged. “Could be violent. Could be peaceful. Doesn’t matter. Get used to it.” Mick peered into the rifle’s scope. “It’s just the beginning.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lodi, Ohio
September 7th
“They took out four of our guys, Mick.” These words beat into Mick’s head as he raced, feet pounding through the wooded area around the edge of Community Park.
“Coming up on the Black River,” the male voice said through Mick’s radio.
“I got it,” Mick responded as he ran.
“Do you need assistance? There’s three of them.”
“I got it.” Mick could see the river through the thick trees, and hooking his radio back into its holder as he whipped his shotgun around, he charged forth. He was almost there; where the three men were at that point in time, Mick didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to stop them from getting into town.
Just at the edge of his vision, as he leaped over a branch into the clearing, Mick saw it coming at him in a blur of motion. It was brown, huge, and swinging his way. He ducked quickly enough to feel the whoosh as whatever it was swung past the top of his head. As he dove underneath the weapon, Mick smashed his shotgun into his assailant’s vulnerable knees.
The man went down, knees first, and Mick smashed the butt of his shotgun into his face. The man flew back through the mist of his own blood and landed hard on his ass. Mick pumped the chamber, aimed, and fired, hearing a shot from another gun too close to his ear. The sound echoed and squealed in his ear as he got a glimpse of a second man in his peripheral vision. He was more concerned, though, with the man’s revolver. It was close, only inches from his face; with no room to shoot, Mick swung out with his shotgun once more. Like a batter hitting a home run, the shotgun crashed into the side of the second man’s face. As it connected Mick pumped the shotgun and, with little need for aim, he fired. At such a close range, it blasted a hole the likes of which Mick had never seen. It went straight through the man’s torso; Mick could see right through him to the river where the third assailant emerged from the water. Pumping the chamber again as the second man’s body dropped to the ground, Mick fired one last time. Flying backwards, the third and final man never set foot on Lodi soil. His ruined body splashed and sank into the muddy river.
“Chief! Come in, Chief. We heard shots.”
Breathing heavily, Mick pulled the radio forward. “I’m fine. All clear. I’ll be right in.” Returning the radio, Mick had to catch his breath. He placed his shotgun back over his shoulder and bent slightly, hands on his knees. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
A harsh sniff preceded his out of breath smoker’s cough, and mid-chuckle at the absurdity of it all, Mick heard it.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Curious as to what the nearby sound was, Mick lifted his head slightly to look around. Just as he did, he felt it hit his hand.
Drip. Drip. Blood.
Mick raised his hand at the same time another drop of blood fell against his thumb. “What the hell?” He rolled his thumb against his forefinger, felt that it was warm, fresh. “Where the hell is this coming… aw shit!” He whined in disgust and reached up to the side of his head. His fingers touched a moistness that surrounded his ear. Pulling back his fingers, he looked to see them coated with more blood. “Goddamn it. I was hit. Son of a bitch.” In total annoyance with himself, Mick shook his head, held his ear, and walked off.