Aftermath (closed by BBaikido and SweetP)

"It works?" asked the man as he held the red topped, air tight test tube in one leather gloved hand and held it up to the light of the incandescent light bulb. The single light struggled to push back the darkness of the basement, the blackness grudgingly giving up only a small circle, perhaps the circumference of the table the two men sat at. Several floors upstairs the impossibly fast beat of the disco's house music managed to penetrate down to the sub-sub basement, giving the clandestine meeting a tachycardic heart beat of it's own.

"Ya, it verks," responded the other man. His unmistakable Dutch accent shining through, pronouncing the English "w" as "v". "I have vith me copies of the lab notes to show zat zis a zample of ze most recent modified virus."

The first man was still studying the test tube through the light of the single bulb. Inside the small container there was perhaps 8, maybe 10 milliliters of clear fluid. "Has it been tested?" The question was soft, but sounded like a snake slithering over sandpaper.

"Ya. Slightly over eighty-percent morbidity in all test subjects," responded the Dutch man.

"Mortality rate?" the same tone of whisper from the other man as he gently laid the test tube back on the table.

"Among ze test subjects it vas again slightly more zen eighty percent. Estimates in the human population vould be concurrent with zat number, give or take four to six percent in either direction, variables being health status, age, nutrition status, availability of quality health care at time of infection, or the possible natural immunity of the infected subject to ze virus." The Dutchman leaned forward slightly into the circle of light maintained by the single bulb, "I assure you, it is quite ze nasty bug." He was young, perhaps in his late twenties, blonde hair, and could be called handsome by many standards. His Germanic good looks were capped off by a smile, but not from simply being happy. Avarice twisted that smile into something resembling a smirk, like one gets after hearing a particularly filthy joke.

"High morbidity. High mortality. What is the usual progression of the illness?" The gloved man had pulled his hands back out of the light, retreating completely back into darkness. It as if his words simply birthed themselves from beyond the small circle of light over the table.

"Almost exactly like a normal, everyday flu," answered the Dutchman. "Signs and symptoms of ze disease do not manifest for three to four days after initial contact and infection have occurred. Two days after initial infection the host becomes contagious, spreading the virus without showing any signs or symptoms, or just very mild indications of illness. Zen it moves like a typical flu: respiratory symptoms like cough, sneezing, sore throat, along with body aches, chills, high fever. Ze difference appears between day six and day eight of ze illness when ze lungs suffer from a pulmonary edema zat basically result in respiratory arrest vithin 24 to 36 hours. If the subject is still alive at that point, ze virus causes an encephalopathy, zwelling of ze brain that testing has shown to be fatal nearly eighty percent of ze time."

"How much?" the voice in the darkness asked.

"Ze dollar and ze euro are not vhat zay used to be, ya?" The Dutchman paused, leaned back in his chair, also obscuring his face. "Twenty million Swiss francs. Not negotiable."

There was a long pause from the other side of the table. For almost a minute the only sound in the subterranean room was the distant "Thud, thud, thud" of the disco several floors above.

"Done," responded the gloved man from the darkness. Another set of hand appeared from the darkness setting a state of the art lap top computer down on the table. A single cord connected it to a satellite phone. The gloved man reached out and his fingers tap danced across the key board, pausing to ask, "Bank and account number?"
The Dutchman slid a piece of stationary across the table. Two gloved hands unfolded the slip of paper, grunted once in acknowledgement and then slid the paper back. Another short dance across the keyboard of the computer, "The transfer is complete. Would you care to confirm?" The gloved man's accent had a slight British tone to it, educated, certainly upper crust.

The Dutchman's face was lit by an eerie blue light as he consulted his smart phone and a singular app that connected him with the Banco de Switzerland Nationale. "Confirmed. 20 millions Swiss Francs."

"One more thing," said the voice of the gloved man. "You mentioned research notes?" One of the gloved hands opened, palm up.

"Of course," the Dutchman placed a zip drive into the others palm with closed rapidly, like a Venus Fly Trap. The lap top, the test tube, and the man's gloved hands vanished into the darkness. "You never did tell me what you were going to do with ze zample," the Dutchman said. His only response was light from the door to the sub-basement opening, the sound of the music upstairs becoming louder, and the silhouettes of three men exiting the room, letting the door close after them.

The Dutchman did not give the abrupt exit much thought, he took the moment to restart his smart phone and access the app that showed a Swish bank account with twenty millions of francs in it. First he would quit his job at the research facility, telling his boss to eat a mound of shit as he did so. Then it would be time for a nice long vacation to a country with lax banking laws and a tropical environment.

A single cough from a silenced small caliber automatic pistol ended the Dutchman's dreams of financial independence. The projectile entered through the back of the young man's skull and exited just below his right eye striking the smart phone and shattering the device's screen. The blue light cast by the phone flicked out just as quickly as its owner's life did. The silhouette of a fourth man was outlined briefly in the exit to the sub-sub basement leaving behind the corpse of the Dutchman, a steadily growing halo of blood surrounding his head where he had lurched forward onto the table illuminated by the single light bulb, in his right hand a shattered smart phone covered with brain matter.

The fourth man joined the other three on the street above and just in front of the busy night club. Together they all got into the back seat of a limousine, not an uncommon sight in this part of Amsterdam, four very well dressed men of obvious Arab nationality, getting into a limousine with diplomatic plates to some oil rich country. The "thud, thud, thud" of the house music from the disco faded into the background as the luxury automobile pulled away from the curb, and in just a short time the frantic heartbeat of the dance club couldn't be heard at all.

Journal Entry #73: It's amazing to me how quickly one can lose track of time. Not so much the sense of hours and minutes, but days, weeks, months. All I know for certain is that it's maybe middle of summer. If that is so, then it's been about two years since the world went to shit, since everyone got sick and died. I really do need to make more entries, it might help me keep track things better.


The rain was relentless. It fell like a curtain of lead, hard, heavy, and impossible to see through. The drops were so large it felt as if one's exposed skin were being pelted by wet pebbles. Two young men, both in their late teens, huddled over a makeshift stove made from an oil barrel cut in half on top of four cinder blocks. They were both inside a cobbled together guard tower about twenty-five feet above the ground. The tower itself was a mixture of rough hewn logs, sheet metal, and other materials and sat just behind a wall of stacked, burned out automobiles. To one side of the guard tower was a gate, made entirely of telephone poles.

The guard tower was open on all four sides to give any occupant a 360 degree view, of not only the concrete highway that led up to the wall and gate, but also the small community inside the perimeter of the stacked, burned out autos. The fire inside the guard tower spat and hissed each time a gust of wind blew the rain through the open sides.

"Fuck!" cursed one of the young men. "This storm is going to put it out fer sure. Then what'll we do to stay warm?" Both of the young men wore patched up rain ponchos.

"Shut up, Kevin, you whiney bitch," replied the other teen. "I swear to God that you are the whiniest assed bitch in the entire town. Even the Mayor says so."

"Go fuck yer self, Billie. What and yer the big tough Reaver killer? Shit, I've heard you bitch yer own fill more than once!"

"Yeah? Well who did they give the rifle too, Kevin? Huh?" Billie lifted his poncho briefly to expose a very modern looking hunting rifle. He immediately regretted the bravado as a gust of wind robbed him of all the heat he had managed to trap under the poncho.

"Well, then why aren't you looking out the way yer supposed to be doing?"

"Are you insane as well as a whiney bitch? There ain't nothing moving out there tonight. Not with this rain. Besides, you stupid shit, all this rain means all the cisterns will get filled up. Fresh water for weeks. Maybe we'll get to have a shower and wash our clothes too."

"There is that," Kevin agreed grudgingly. Both teens lapsed into silence, and the one called Billie put another log on the fire from their supply under a small tarp. The fire crackled as it grew stronger from the additional fuel.

Outside in the deluge about two miles from the gate there was ... someone... moving about in the rain. He stopped and risked shining a high beam light on a old road side sign. The old printing had been painted over and new words added. "New Pueblo. 2 miles." The lone man paused to allow his night vision to return after using the light in the stygian like rain and darkness. "Come on, girls, not far now," he said to the two animals following him. One was a riding horse, now loaded with several large bundles, the other a mule, loaded with even more wrapped and bundled items. The mule was tethered to the mare and the man held the other end of the horse's reigns in his left hand under his heavy poncho. He had to get out the rain soon, not only for his sake, but he knew that at least the mare wasn't what she used to be.

It took him a half-hour to make it the gate of New Pueblo, the walls and telephone pole gate looming suddenly in front of him. There were no lights, no sound, nothing to have given the settlement away in the darkness. That could mean the town was either very poor, or extremely disciplined. Or they were all dead. It took him a few minutes in the downpour but he found a rope under a sign that read, "Ring for Entry."

"What the fuck?" exclaimed Kevin when the entry bell in their tower started clanging. "There's no fucking way..." He trailed off as Billie quickly scrambled up with the hunting rifle. "Ah, shit! There's hell to pay if the Mayor finds out we let someone just walk right up on the gate at night without seeing them first."

"Shut the fuck up, Kevin!" snapped Billie. As he scanned the area in front of the gate. Through the curtain of heavy rain he could just make out the silhouette of one man and what looked like two horses heavily laden. "Go wake the Sergeant, Kevin. Now!" Kevin scrambled down the ladder of the tower, almost slipping in his haste.

In the tower Billie trained his rifle on the figure at the gate. "Who the fuck goes there?" he yelled over the pounding rain.

The man at the gate didn't even look up. He slowly raised his hands over his head to show he was unarmed. "A traveler looking for a dry bed and a little trade."

After several minutes more the gate slowly opened and the man was bathed in a halo of bright light. "Move forward! Keep your hands high!"

The man stepped through the gate leading his animals behind him. Though blinded by the spotlight on him he could hear several men surround him in the enclosed space that made up the gate house to the settlement. He heard several bolts for several different firearms slam into position.

"Just a traveler," he repeated, "looking for a dry bed and a little trade."

The gate closed behind him, the intense light snapped off, and several lanterns were lit its place. Slowly the man's eyesight regained normalcy. In front of him was a large man, his hair cut close, a poncho over his impressive belly with a double barreled shot gun leveled at his chest. "You have to forgive us, stranger, we don't normally get visitors this time of night...in the rain."

"Understood," replied the man. "I'm just looking for a place to dry out, do a little trading."

"Yeah, can you pay?"

Slowly the man lowered a hand under his poncho. "Looking for a bed, maybe three nights, fodder for my animals, food, the privilege to trade, maybe a hot bath if you have the facilities." He retrieved a pouch that jingled with heavy metal and tossed it to the man with the shot gun.

One of the men surrounding the man lowered his pistol and picked up the pouch and handed to the man with the shotgun who quickly examined the contents.

"Is that enough?" asked the stranger.

"And then some," replied the shotgun wielding man. He counted well over $6 in pre 1964 coins, which meant the coins had more than 90% silver. "Do you want a woman, too?"

"I don't need the extra company."

"Do you have a name, traveler? Around here I'm the Sergeant," said the man with the shotgun as he lowered it, signaling the others to lower their weapons as well.

"Duncan. I'm Duncan, Sergeant."

"Well, Duncan, we're not a luxury resort out here. There are other places where your silver," he held up the pouch, "would buy you a bed with white sheets. The best I can offer you is clean hay and place to bed next to your animals.

Duncan cocked his head to listen to the pounding rain for a few seconds. "Is it a dry place with clean hay?"

"Absolutely."

"Then, Sergeant, we got a deal."

"Kevin!"

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"Show our visitor to the stables. Make sure he has all the clean straw and fodder he wants. Stay there to help him unpack his kit and tend his animals."

"Yes, Sergeant."

"By the way," the Sergeant whispered in Duncan's ear as he passed, "we expect fair trade, reasonable trade. And the Mayor and I get first call on any goods we fancy. Cause any problems, step out of line, fuck someone else's woman without permission or paying for the privilege, it's all the same, I'll gut you and string you up by your balls."

"I'll have everything out and ready for trade tomorrow by midday. I plan on sleeping late. And, Sergeant, you might want to let your people know, I sleep pretty light. No one comes near while I'm asleep. I don't want to accidently shoot someone."

Andi

Andrea Calhoun - aka Andi

Two years had passed, and it felt more like ten. She was weary, thin and so tired of the cold rain. She had thought college was rough, but it was nothing compared to the Outbreak and aftermath of it all. She came from nothing, one of many relatives in a small piss-ant sized town in the middle of no where Idaho. She had grown up more of a boy than a girl, to her mother's disgust, but now? She could thank the many men she had looked up to in her youth for the survival training she had learned.

She was a hard worker, always had been and had to be. She worked more than attended college, and she nearly made it to graduation before that fateful spring break. Her MBA was useless now, though she once had good intentions with it. She missed her grandpa, and that old family-owned and ran hardware store. Had big dreams, once. Nearing thirty now, she was far from that small ghost town with far too many horrible memories to ever visit there again. She had gone when there was nothing left but her dying grandmother, and only by her grandmother's insistence that she get out of there.

She had left for Grand Junction with everything her grandpa's little jeep truck could haul. She had a cousin there, married with two small boys. By the time she made it there, they were all four buried and borders were shut down. That's when the rioting and looting got crazy, whole neighborhoods burned long into the night, and what population there was that wasn't in some issolative tent, was protesting being prisoners in their own homes. From there she made a break for Colorado Springs, her uncle was there. Before phone lines went down, he said to head for the cabin and gave instructions. The poor truck made it just outside those Springs, and some where in a traffic jam on the 25, gave up running. Those stuck with her on that stretch of freeway put up little camps and waited for the military to let them through or at least aid with some kind of help.

That never happened, and when tempers started to get explosive, Andi packed up one of the bags from that old truck and started off into the forest. At least a quick death out there was better than murdered or raped on that asphault hell behind her where frequent gun shots could be heard.

But that was then, two years ago.. or just about. She lost track of dates and days. Now it was seasons and what was and wasn't safe. She made her way, rough at first and barely day by day, until she got used to it and forged her own loop out of the Colorado wilds. Scavenger was her new profession, but no one was wiser to Andi Calhoun being a woman. And that was how she intended on keeping things. Those she traded with thought she was a young man, barely five and a half feet tall. A stiff wind could blow her over if she wasn't paying attention. She cropped her hair, kept herself dirty around others and her body bound flat and baggy coverings. She kept a mask over her nose and mouth most of the time, so what was visible was filthy and unremarkably plain. Andrea became Andi, a purveyor of goods or the local gopher.. If the price was right. Being small and agile helped, keeping away and out of sight helped even more.

And she had been waiting two days and three nights for Billie to get guard duty before approaching the gates. If it weren't for the stranger, she would be inside already and bunked down for the night. With this rain and flooding, there was little chance she could slide in under any of the planks. He had scared the living day lights out of her, thought for sure he had saw her when he passed, but the rain must've kept her well hidden in it's punishing downpour. Her heart was still hammering as lights came and men did their posturing and grunt work. The stranger was shuffled inside, obviously had their payment to be let in. Would be surprised if he were ever let out again though.

When it was clear and silent, save the heavy rain, she chained her bike to a thick tree and grabbed the supplies. Cautiously she crept towards the gate, keeping to tree line and shadows. Rotting house porches and old rusted dust covered cars. The last house, a good half of block from the main gates had a front door awning and was vacant. Half burned in the back, it was perfect to protect her as she plastered her ass to the old wood siding and broken front door. From there she waited, watching as another ten minutes ticked by and no more else approached. Darting across the clearing, she made the shadow of the long log legs in their make do tower.

"Billie!" She hissed up at the tower, wishing she had a free hand to throw a rock up or something to get noticed. "Hey Billie!? Damn it man!" She hated to raise her voice too much, it would give her away if she did, and she knew it.

"Who's that?" She saw a head peep over the protective side walls.

"Andi!" Answered as a flash light near blinded her, "for fuck sake dude!" A grubby gloved hand came up over eyes as the mask was shoved down under chin, "You tryin' to blind me or what?! Come on down here already?" She asked, as Andi was a nice fellow but not overly arrogant. Arrogance was a ticket to ass kicking, which she could not afford to have happen.

"I got some meat and other stuff ya wanted.." The cotton tails slung from shoulder and set down to the wet roadway. The furs she kept, were stretching at the moment back at her lean-to. She wasn't going to give the kid too much, nor show him anything more either. Wealth by the new standards, was also a guarantee ticket to ass kicking or death.

"Hang on would-ja? Kevin's inside... Wait there." He called, coming down the tower on the inside. Was then she moved to the gate and waited. Billie stood a few inches taller than she was, he was approaching nineteen if she recalled correctly and he had a huge fascination with playboy. Hell, what male didn't? She was good to play it off as if she had already had her look and fill of the books she brought him, but never did she spent what little she did trade on whores. Though they'd try, as always, to keep the money 'in house'.

The gate slid open enough for her to get inside with the bloody bag she carted and backpack. "The Sarge don't know you're here." Billie replied, "Didn't expect you for a few more days." He studied her a moment, but he saw what he always saw, a fellow 'bro'.

"It's alright, I can't stay longer than a couple hours, need some sleep." She glanced around and motioned with her head, "We goin' up the tower or inside the barn?"
"Got some dude in the barn with his horses, Kevin's showin' the guy where to set down for the night. Should use the tower, if I leave my post again they'll have my nuts in a sling." Billie shouldered the rifle he had but did not offer to help Andi with the load she carried. Guys didn't do that for guys. Shit, they rarely did that for the ladies.

"There's a group over towards Salida, saw them off in the distance. Couldn't.." She grunted as the rabbits went back over her shoulder with the pack, moving rail by rail up to the tower. "Make out how many, but they were a noisey bunch of morons. Scared off the coon I was after with their hooting and arguing." She made the top and plopped down, panting for air and shaking arms. She held together though, tough as nails.. or had to be.

"You find anything?" Billie asked as soon as he sat back down, reaching over to add a small log to the fire pit.

"You're gonna smother it you keep adding on like that, and yeah. But not the PB ya wanted, Hustler will have to do for now." The bag of rabbits set aside as the backpack slid off. "You got silver or what for trade this time?" Shrewd eyes narrowed on Billie who still owed her a few seed packets and a blanket for the last bit of trade.

"Yeah, I got silver and half what I owe ya from the last time. Though old Rob would really pay ya a heap of whatever ya want if you can find him a new reel?" Billie ignored her about the fire but that was usual, as Billie felt he knew enough to be self contained.

Hell, if she found a new reel, she'd keep it for herself. Would be chasing the damned slippery shits in the creek with nothing but her hands and pieced together make shift netting.. Which had holes far too big for trout.

"Will keep it in mind." She muttered, pulling the Hustler magazine out. The front page was faded badly, most of the U and S were near white as their printed font had long since been worn away. By time? By hands? Who knew, and who cared? A small plastic thing of lighter flint came out and a package of worms she dug up. "Four rabbits in there too, cleaned and skinned." But Billie was busy thumbing through the pictures of nude ladies to pay much mind to the meat wrapped in some old black trash bag. Antlers, a pair of them though mismatching would make good knife hilts. A box of .22 shells followed next as well as a small bag of gathered copper heads they could melt down. and last was a bulky old ford 2 barrel carburetor and the screws that held it in place. "Wasn't any shotgun shells about that I could find, think they've been cleaned out. But I am heading north for some spices to bring back, if you know of anyone who's wantin' some?"

Billie nodded and grinned, clapping Andi on the back, "Dude, she's got some sweet tits." His grin of appreciation was good enough for Andi. She'd get a place to sleep tonight, out of the biting cold and damned rain. "Silver?" Andi held out a hand, ignoring the lack of nails, scars and grime.
"Yeah.. Let me get it to ya in the morning. Ya know I'm good for it.. You can bunk in the barn loft."
"That the only place left?" She couldn't help the fear that hammered in her throat. How the fuck could she sleep near some stranger? A male stranger?
"Yeah, 'fraid so. The old shack has holes in the roof and is flooded out. Nothing else is empty, unless ya got coin for one of Mazy's girls?" Billie couldn't get his eyes off all the naked flesh to even look in Andi's direction.

"Nah..I don't. Not 'til you pay me.." Shaking her head as narrowed eyes finally met Billie's, playing it off as if Billie were a friend. Might well be thought of as friends, but no one called anyone friend these days. Too many dropped dead at any given moment, cause of death be man made or another round of plague.. Made no difference. Add in rovers and rapists, murderers and escaped cons.

"alright." Was muttered out as she got herself back up but took up her backpack again and placed the items inside, all except for the Hustler. "I'll keep this with me 'til you bring me payment for this haul AND the half you say ya got."

"Cool." Was uttered as he nodded with his head, "Go ahead, ya know the way."

Face scrunched, she tried not to say anything about his lack of.... everything. God he was a useless shit most days. Biting her tongue, she climb back down and crept along towards the barn. Taking the outside stairs, she near made it half way before it creaked under her weight. Muttering a curse under her breath, the breathing mask was pushed back over nose and mouth before she made the top and went inside. The musty smell was blocked, thankfully. The horses shifting below however, was not. Still, you can't really complain to the check-in desk these days. Make do or move on.

Still, she crept to the corner, furthest from the stairs and railing. Pulled out an old army blanket as she kicked some hay into a make-shift bed. Back into the corner, she curled up as small as possible and lay down. Large green eyes staring at that single door, listening.

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The morning came too quickly. The hay had been dry, comfortable, and warm, but Duncan had to admit he wasn't 19 anymore. Even a thick pile of clean hay was no substitute for a good bed. He shaved, which was quite a trick without a mirror, and took the stubble off of his otherwise smooth head too. He put on a change of dry clothes, a set of worn, but still very serviceable army issue multi-cam pants. He decided an a oversized black t-shirt underneath to go with the multi-cam blouse, and finished the outfit with Danner light weight combat boots, also of that same camouflage pattern. The boots alone were worth ten times their weight in silver. On his left right thigh he donned a drop down holster, a very well maintained 9mm automatic hanging there. Lastly, his tactical vest, also multi-cam, with three extra magazines of ammunition and a razor sharp K-BAR fighting knife mounted upside down on the left breast. He wanted to make a formable figure when bargaining with the settlement's residents today.

"Are you ready, stranger?" Duncan turned to see the large man from last night, the one called the Sergeant. His old style double barreled shot gun was unbreeched and draped over his left forearm. Next to him stood a much smaller man, thinner, pale, with sallow skin, and dark rings under his eyes. "This is our Mayor," introduced the much larger man, "Mayor, the stranger I told you about."

"Mayor," Duncan stepped forward, his hand extended. The pale, thin man's eyes darted to the pistol and the knife that Duncan wore.

"He is armed," quavered the Mayor. "Why is he armed?"

"Why didn't you declare your weapons last night?" growled the Sergeant.

"I didn't know I had to, and you didn't ask," replied Duncan evenly. "But you did tell me that you and the Mayor here got first call on all the goods I have. Is there anything you are looking for in particular?" He wanted to change the subject quickly.

The Mayor and the Sergeant stepped into the stable and browsed over some of the displayed goods. There were cooking utensils, pots, pans, some silver ware. Then there were clothes, all types, even military issue like Duncan wore. Athletic shoes, new in the box, as well as heavy work and military standard boots. The Sergeant stopped when he got the boots and shoes, a frown crossing his face.

"Where did you ... trade ... to get these? They are still in the original box, brand new."

"I was lucky and found a delivery truck, untouched." The lie came easily to Duncan because it was one he had told many times before. And he silently cursed himself for overlooking that detail. There was no mistaking the suspicious expression on the Sergeant's face as his eyes reappraised Duncan, eyes flicking over his clothes, the pistol on his thigh, his overall bearing.

"Do you have any medicines?" asked the Mayor, his voice sounding like a needy child. "I am sick."

Immediately Duncan deduced the nature of the Mayor's illness. It wasn't the 'Flu' that ravaged the world's population two years ago, it was illness born out of addiction. "I may," he replied cautiously. "That medicine is ... very expensive."

"New boots and shoes as well as medical supplies? Another lucky find on the road, Trader?" asked the Sergeant.

"Exactly, Sergeant."

"What's wrong, Sergeant?" asked the Mayor, his voice even more jittery. "If he has the medicine I need who cares where he found it."

"That's just it, Mayor," continued the Sergeant, "I don't think it was a lucky find. Shoes and boots and still in boxes like they were taken from the shelves of store, and medicine? Look, here," he paused, "An unopened bottle of Grey Goose Vodka. Where does one 'find' that? Who would trade that away?"

"People have different needs at different times, Sergeant. I can see you are a discerning customer. I have a box of 12 gauge shells for your shotgun."

"What are you saying, Sergeant?" continued the Mayor.

"I'm saying that there's only one place that new clothes and shoes, boots, and liquor can still be found. He's been inside a city." The last emphasized by locking his shotgun breech into place and leveling it on Duncan.

"A city? Where the 'Flu' was?" The Mayor. There was genuine panic in the Mayor's voice. "He's been inside a city? Shit! Fuck!" He cringed behind the Sergeant.

"I promise you, that I am not infected," said Duncan. "I..."

"Shut the fuck up!" Screamed the Mayor. "What are you waiting for, Sergeant? He could kill us all with sickness!"

Time slowed down to a crawl for Duncan. He saw the Sergeant's eyes flick from his own eyes to the pistol on his thigh, then to the trading goods that were displayed. The thought that leapt across the Sergeant's brain was obvious, the death of stranger, the excuse of protecting the settlement from infection, the claiming of all the trade goods, whether they were from a city or not. Duncan did not hesitate. While the Sergeant's eyes lingered on the trade goods Duncan's pistol cleared it's holster and fired point blank, three rounds. Two rapid fire into the large man's chest, the third into his face.

The first two rounds, expanding hollow points, punched holes into the Sergeant's right chest, one burrowing through the spongy tissue of the right pulmonary organ, before slamming into the posterior face of the man's right scapula, fracturing it into several pieces and exiting out the larger man's back, a gout of lung tissue, bone fragments and blood a mere fraction of second behind the 9mm slug. The force of the first bullet's impact spun the Sergeant, moving the point of aim of his shot, his finger pulling the two triggers of the old style weapon reflexively. A pair of Reebok running shoes and a pair of women's jeans took the full blast of both barrels and were instantly reduced to shredded fragments and fabric. The second of Duncan's shots found the big man's heart, penetrating through his sternum, finding the right ventricle of the pumping cardiac muscle, exploding the organ, and lacerating the ascending great vein of the body, deflecting off a rib, and finally stopped by embedding itself in the Sergeant's spine, breaking bone and severing the fragile cord encased within. Each bullet a near instant kill, but the third, to the face, simply exploded the man's skull, leaving his mouth and tongue intact, the rest, above the mouth vanished in a chunky, boney fountain.

The Mayor screeched like a child and fled, "He's infected! He's infected! He's been to a city!"

Duncan knew he had little time. Holstering his sidearm he quickly frisked the
Sergeant's corpse. He found the pouch of silver coins he had paid the night before, quickly looked back at all the goods he was leaving behind, and then sprinted for the gate. There was confusion within the settlement's walls, everyone wondering about the gunshots and sudden violence, the Mayor's screaming only fueling the chaos. Duncan went right to the watchtower, there he found the young man from the night before, wide eyed with fear. Duncan snatched the rifle from the teen's numb hands, tossed it to the outside of the wall, and then followed it over. He rolled when he hit the ground, stood, looked back briefly, retrieved the rifle then sprinted into the forest to get out of sight.

About thirty yards into the trees he tripped on something hiding in the tall underbrush. Cursing, he went sprawling into the loamy dirt, loosing his grip on the scoped out hunting rifle he had taken from the watchtower teen. He spun on his back, pulling his firearm and took aim at whatever, or who ever, he tripped over in his escape effort.

"That son of a bitch!" Hissed out vehemently, heart pounding as she lay on her back staring up at the barn rafters. One thing she hated more than any thing on this cursed planet was liars, and that Sarge fellow got his just deserts! But now all their lives were fucking forfeited! She shook, she was that fucking angry and even more so, scared. Her head spun, but it was with gruesome memories of what the Mayor here did to anyone said to be infected or possibly so. He burned them AND the place they were confined to, to the damned ground. Alive. The fading footfalls of men running kicked her into action. She had a small window of time to get the fuck out, and the stranger was already outside the gates while she lay trying to get the visual of splattered brain muck out of her head.

"Son of a ... cow!" She had to move, now! Had to think as she went, had to be quick before she got trapped inside this fucking building when it would too, be burned to the ground. She was raised better than this, swearing solved nothing. She was raised not to lie, cheat or steal.. So were these son's a'bitches! How her small frame got from that crack in the boards across the barn over to that tiny corner she'd holed up in last night, who knew. But she was there, shaky hands and all, stuffing her shit back into her single bag. Luckily she packed light, if she were to hurry, she'd get out without none the wiser of it.

GOD! That lying son of a bitch! How she hated the Sarge, how she almost wished she had the stomach to pull the trigger long ago on that piece of garbage! The injustice of it all... She had to shake that off, this was the new world, and justice didn't right matter these days. "fucking paranoid fools!" They were going to wipe themselves out with their ignorance. Shit, if that man had been sick at all, it would've shown in his face first. She saw little of the man but she knew to look to the whites of their eyes first. No, the Sarge did what he did so he could rob the traveler. She seen it before, though no one had died the few times she watched from her secreted places all the transpirings of that crooked sons'a'bitch, it had been only a matter of time.

Billie would be there soon, as Kevin had a woman and children to go home to at times such as these.. Billie would be on guard duty as usual, not to mention Billie had promised to make right on his debts.
"Fuck!" Could today go any more wrong than it had already? Jesus, she had been in the middle of the most sweetest of dreams when gun the Mayor's whiny voice had woken her. Now there were brain matter and bone chips all over every where and dripping off the rafters, if she had to guess.. She paused then with the backpack on and ears perking, hearing nothing near by but the scuffs and snorts of horses spooked downstairs. She could hear shouting off in the distance, probably that wimp of a Mayor running to his house like the scared little boy he was. Shit, no flu would kill that manboy, his medicine would do it if the people never wizened up to that idiot.

Still, she had to stop fucking around and get the hell out of there. She wasn't going to let some false accusation hole her up in here to come to some early undeserved grave... But standing there, looking at that traveler's horse and pack mule, knowing they too would be burned alive.. It wasn't sitting right with her. Time kept pausing, each time a shout went up or running feet went racing by outside. Her blood thundered in her ears, her chest hurt and ever damned nerve in her body was screaming at her RUN!

"Move Andi!" She scolded herself, disgusted she still stood there, looking at doe eyes and falling for it. "God damn it!" She couldn't do it. Fuck the gear and saddles, she grabbed the reins, "I am ten times a fool! .." She glared at the horse a moment, "You bite me I will leave your ass here.." She vowed as she moved closer, talking softly to the mare. "come on girl.. You don't want to be in this barbecue any more than I do.." When the horse didn't rear or try and nip at her, she put the bridle over her head and strapped it into place. Reins thrown over the beast's neck, she then moved to get the mule as well.

"Fucking so stupid.. so soft and stupid!" muttering to herself, noting that the mule's reins were a rope lead. "Don't got time for this!" she felt hatred well up for that stupid beast. She didn't have time to saddle the mare just to save the mule and she blamed the damned mule for it. That damned mule was going to have to fend for it's self. Moving, she eyed the packs and blanket. "Shit.. what the hell am I doing?!"

"Andi!?" Billie came right up to the doors and yanked it wide open.

"No!" Hands went up, "Dude, stay the fuck out!" She charged forward towards the doors, barely missing some piece of the Sarge with her boot as she barred the way.

"I ain't comin' in there! You crazy or what? Fuckin' Mayor is screaming contamination over here, said the Sergeant's dead.." His voice trailed off as he leaned a bit to look at the large bloated remains not far to one side of the barn doors. "Holy fuck..." Billie paled as if he might puke, his head turning about as if seeking a route to escape.

"Billie, fuckin' focus dude!" Snapped out, "You are going to let me the fuck out of town." Her voice was hard, threatening and she almost sounded manly to her own panicked ears.

"Mayor said..."

"I don't give a shit what he said, He lied! YOU owe me and I ain't dying here, burned alive! Now you put me in here with some stranger, YOU.." She hated herself for this, but survival makes people do bad shit at times.. "You did this.." Hard eyes narrowed on Billie.

"Like fuck I did! You.."

"You owe me dude, right?!" Snapped back, effectively cutting him off. "look, if I am sick, you don't want me in town, and you don't wanna be around me. No one does. I was in there with that stranger all night and morning.. If he's sick, I am.. I got a few days.. maybe, I can get this infected crap out of here and away from ya'll.. won't be no germs airborne and infectin' any more good folks of New Pueblo.. You can burn this whole building down if it's what ya want to do, right?"

Billie stared at her blankly, she could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to process past his own fear driven needs to survive as well.

"Right!?" Shouted a bit louder, "Lock down will come any time now, then quarantine before the hazard team comes in all suited up and burns it down.. There's time, and no air born killer germs will get anyone else.." She paused, the fight seemingly gone out of her, "The Colbourns'.. dude, I still hear their screams.. I can't go out like that.."

"Al-alright.. Just don't breathe on me or .. or try and .." Again he jerked around physically in a circle, heard moving every which way.. god he looked like a moron.. "Hurry up!" His rifle was put between knees to brace as he then yanked off his shirt and began tying it around his nose and mouth.

"Yeah... Good idea.." She encouraged the paranoid idiot, "Air born bugs are the worst killers.. It affects the brain first, being so close.. well.. never mind all that..." She hated the drama and pauses, and lies but she did it. She forced a sad look on her face, turning to the mess on a few blankets. Ignoring anything covered in brain matter, she grabbed the alcohol bottle and handed it to Billie, "Our debt's settled.." If she were dead in a few days it wouldn't rightly matter, but Billie wasn't the brightest bulb in the box.. "Take this and wash it good before you open it.. do one of those toasts for me, would ya?" She held it out to show it had nothing on it and seal was good before handing it over.

"Sh-ure!" Muffled and shouted past the cotton mask he wore as gloved hands grabbed the bottle neck. One could see the agitation in Billie's tapping fingers and constant movements. He didn't want to come inside the building, hovering only at the door way at first, slowly he would back up a pace or two now and then, only to come forward again, peer within and then around the near by buildings and streets, but the pacing was going to drive her to shoot him if he didn't stop!

Rotten motherfuckers... Greed was the cause of this, now the people here would panic and prey, some commit suicide, or merely die from the stress of it all. She'd seen it a time or two, people got worked up something awful these days over any whisper of infection or flu. When would enough time pass for this not to be normal anymore? She ignored much of what was near the body, picking up a few things and one blanket as it were still clean. She packed up the stranger's bedding by a make shift roll, a bit of twine and tossed it over the mare's haunches. Tying a couple packs together, not bothering to even look inside and see what it was, but it too was flung over the horse's back. The mule would have to stay, maybe wander off on it's own, or burn alive if it refused to budge.. Who knew, she had little time and even fewer patience for stubborn beasts.

Again she had to ask herself, just what the fuck was she even thinking!? She would've been gone by now, safe in her camp by mid day, and here she was saving some stranger's things from life-pirates. She knew a bit about this life style, how hard it was and how dangerous it could be. She had seen quite a bit in her time on the roads, just as she suspected that stranger had seen. Judging by his shooting and reflexes, that stranger wasn't someone to mess around with. Hell, he could be more dangerous than the damned virus itself! But, it just wasn't right. They dealt him wrong, might as well have signed a death warrant with that spew of "infected!" the Mayor ran about shouting. Anyone here saw him again any time soon, they'd shoot to kill. Wouldn't check for symptoms, couldn't afford to.. Neither could she! So what in the fuck was she doing this for!?

She had no answer, but gave Billie the nod at the gate, watching as it slid open enough for her to tow out the mare before sliding shut behind that same horse so close to catch tail hair up in it. IF it were her livelihood, she'd circle and watch to try and get back her wares and transport. SO.. she knew the minute she stepped out of those gates, he was watching her.. from some where. One mule less and half his haul had to be left behind, but if he was a smart man, he'd not shoot first and ask questions later..

Or so she was gambling on anyway.

She lead them away from town, well past her own stashed bike and modified child-cart set up. Well past line of sight and those in New Pueblo. Hairs prickled and remained up, be it fact or imagination that she was being followed and watched, she guessed it was the stranger .. being as no one had fired any shots at her just yet. When sure it were far enough and well hidden from travelers to the town, she tied up the mare in someone's unkept back yard. Empty houses were every where, but fewer and fewer this way. She lead the stranger away from her route. Leaving the horse tied to the south east of town, she ducked off and started running back towards where she had left her bike. If she were quick, she'd get half way to Canon before sunset.

Journal Entry: I remember this song my grandfather always used to listen to when we went fishing called "The Gambler". I don't know why but it seems appropriate to how things are when you are outside the walls of settlement.

"You gotta' know when to hold 'em
Know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away,
Know when to run

You never count your money
When you're sittin' at the table
There'll be time enough for countin'
When the dealing's done."

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A bike? And some sort of rigged up little trailer behind it. Duncan shook his head, re-holstered his pistol and hopped up to his feet. A sharp pain shot through his left leg. Blood oozed from the laceration just above his knee through the rip in his pants. He silently cursed, not because of the superficial cut in his leg, but because he was going to have to sew up the pants, and they were one of his best pair.

Duncan followed the highway from the gateway of New Pueblo while staying in the trees for as long as he could. That cover quickly gave way to scraggly brush and grass. Luckily he wasn't being pursued from the settlement. He figured that they were all too busy going through all the swag he left behind, or at least since his had exploded the Sergeant's head all over the place they had lost their over all appetite for conflict. Too bad about that, Duncan thought. But then he thought about how many others they had probably been robbed and killed. It was all part of the game that wandering traders like him played. There was no such thing as reward without risk.

He was a good ways from New Pueblo when he saw something nearly made him shit himself. It was this waif of a boy, or a very young girl, leading what appeared to be his horse, and with goods packed on it for measure. His mule was no were to be seen, but still his horse? Really? Maybe there was a God.
Duncan watched as the horse was tethered and the waif turned and was walking away. Duncan sprang up from the scrub brush that hid him, drawing his pistol as he did.

"You can freeze right where you are," he commanded in his most dangerous voice. "That's my horse. Likely, those are some of my things strapped to it. Now, I don't know who you are, or how you even managed to get out New Pueblo with my animal and things, but I intend to know." Duncan motioned with his drawn pistol to a shady area next to a fallen down billboard. "Ok, what's your story...and how did you end up with my horse?" asked Duncan as he found a seat for himself, keeping his weapon leveled on the waif.

Andi

Near stumbling boots came to a halt as hands and arms came up to shoulder height.

Shit!

Slowly she turned to some what face him, doing her best to think really damned fast. She could run, but knew she'd end up shot at best, dying at worst. Neither appealed..
She could remain silent, either get shot for being mute or worse, assumptions galore which might end up with her shot..

Fuck me...

"I know who's stuff it is!" She growled out at the man, "A fine thanks that is for bringin' ya goods out to ya." Her head nodded towards his gun aimed at her. Moving towards the shaded broken billboard, she hated that tickle between her shoulder blades where she knew he was aiming.. Yet she did not fail to notice the new limp the man had. She did her best to mask her voice and kept her dirty face from looking directly at him.

Eyes scanned the trees and shrubs, measuring the distance and wondering if she could out pace him? How would she, or could she possibly distract this jackass to make a break for it? She looked about for a weapon of any kind or a ditch to roll down into.

"Name's Andi.. If you're gonna shoot someone, best know who will haunt ya til' your dyin' days.." She moved away from him a good few paces when they came to the shaded spot, wary eyes on him and hands still in the air. She fell quiet quickly, not wanting to keep his interest.