Omega Plague: Collapse (10 page)

That woman was an innocent. He didn’t even bother lying to
himself and hope it would be the last time he ever killed anyone. Thoughts like
that belonged to a civilized era, a dying era. Killing, he knew, would become
second nature to the survivors of this plague, if they themselves wanted to
survive.

Bruno’s gaze lingered on the unseen carnage for a while
before he turned and stepped up the last bits of stairs. He stepped with care,
trying to jostle the duffle bag as little as possible. If his ribs were
cracked, if he couldn’t move with speed, his next encounter might very well be
his last. After only a few minutes more, he came to the end of the traversa. Of
course, after encountering what awaited him on those steps, he knew he would
have been better off taking the long way. But second guessing that decision now
might be a fatal distraction. Bruno pushed aside the memory of the stairs,
focusing on what was in front of him. He walked with care down the last steps
onto the sidewalk. He looked to his left and right. The wind gusted down this
higher part of the dim and empty Via Marina Grande. In front of him, a long,
stone wall ran the length of the street, slowly sloping down and fading to an
end at an intersection down the road. The chill night air heightened Bruno’s
senses as he turned to his left, continuing as fast as he could toward the
piazza ahead. He made his way down the street, hugging the wall and shuffling
as fast as his hurt ribs would let him. He felt so exposed on the street that
keeping close to the stone made him feel safer, irrational though the thought
was. The vegetation ran along the top of the wall, but beyond the tops of the
low trees, a white light shone. If anywhere still had power on the island, it
would be the Capomonte Hospital. As he reached the end of the wall, he crouched
down. He surveyed the piazza as best he could. Something in Carla’s voice when
they had last spoke made him cautious. Something
was
wrong.

As the sloping wall came to an end, multiple streets met in
an open piazza. He slowly made his way around the wall and entered the area,
all the while sticking to as much cover as he could find, scooting from one
abandoned car to another. Two streets ran up and around the hospital, like two
rivers around a narrow spit of land. The street on the right ran in front of
the hospital’s back entrance and then sloped down, making its way to the bottom
of the island, while the one on the left ran past the main entrance, sloping
upwards. That was the one Bruno wanted. Looming beyond the hospital, the jagged
cliffs were barely visible shadows, the light from the hospital lights nearly
blocking them out. Beyond the cliffs on the higher part of the island lay the town
of Anacapri. The hospital lay between Bruno and the most direct route to his
home. He took shelter behind a gas pump and an old Fiat 500 at what was left of
a two-pump gas station. Putting down his duffle bag, he looked up the street
towards the hospital. Light poured down from floodlights mounted on long,
silver poles, providing enough illumination for Bruno to get a good look
around.

The building was an irregularly shaped red brick structure.
A large, olive-drab tent rose in front of stairs leading from the street up
into a courtyard, where the main entrance to the hospital building lay. To the
right of the tent, a railing ran along the edge of the courtyard, not more than
two meters above the street.

The two figures dressed in white hooded coveralls stood out
against the dull color of the tent. They had complete plastic shields covering
their faces, not just masks. As one of the figures turned, Bruno saw some sort
of seal on the back of the suit. Ministry of Health, maybe? He couldn’t be sure
without getting a closer look, but the M-16s slung across their chests made
Bruno think twice about getting any closer.

As Bruno watched, a man in a paper hospital gown flapping in
the wind leapt over the railing. The man landed with a smack and a shout on the
sidewalk below, only a few meters in front of the guards. He rolled, but
quickly got to his feet and shuffled as fast as he could away from the
hospital. Even from this distance, the lesions and sores stood out like macabre
tattoos. While startled, the guards recovered quickly, and pointed their
weapons towards the man’s back as he dragged one foot behind him.

“Halt!” shouted one guard. “You’re in quarantine!” The man
ignored the order, if anything attempting to speed up. Bruno watched the scene
in front of him with horror. The guards made no effort to pursue the man, only
shouting at him to stop. The man continued to limp in Bruno’s direction. Bruno
could hear him whimpering. Just as Bruno looked to find cover further away from
the approaching man, they shot him twice in the back. The man dropped to the
ground with a shout. He clawed his way forward on his belly while the guards
looked on. They waited still as statues as the man in front of them whimpered,
then put his head down on the pavement and fell silent.

Neither one of the guards approached the body. Instead, one
of the guards pulled out a walkie-talkie. Soon after, two more figures walked
out of the tent and conferred with the guards. The two new individuals appeared
unarmed, but they wore full decontamination suits made of what looked like
heavy, olive-drab plastic, with built-in respirators. One of them carried what
looked like two thin poles slightly taller than a person. When they turned to
the side, Bruno could see what he thought were air tanks on their backs. After
talking to the guards, the two approached the man. One of them laid the poles
next to the prostrate man and rolled it out, making a stretcher. Then both
figures lifted the man into the stretcher and marched back into the tent, while
the guards gave them a wide berth.

Bruno’s mind raced. Christ, deadly force? Shooting an
unarmed man in the back? What kind of guards were these? Bruno had only shot
that woman because she kept coming, but they shot a man who was trying to get
away. He couldn’t move towards the back entrance to the hospital on the other
side, they’d spot him for sure. But the men in front of him blocked the
quickest way home. If whoever they were spotted him, Bruno feared they would
kill him, Carabiniere or not, without a second thought. While he had the
element of surprise, there were two of them. Bruno knew he wasn’t a good enough
shot with a pistol to take them both out before one of them would nail him or
call for help.

If Bruno had to cut through houses, fields, climb walls, or
make his way down to the seaside, he would do whatever he needed to avoid these
men. But he needed to get to Carla. He tried to think of alternate routes, ways
around the hospital, ways in the hospital, ways to try to contact Carla, while
the same two figures clad in the decontamination suits emerged from the tent.
Bruno caught a glimpse of some sort of grey cylinder, maybe a meter high, but
the guards obscured his view, forming a semi-circle around the object. A
high-pitched whine filled the air, like a gnat flying too close, as the
cylinder rose into the air. One of the guards focused intently on a device in
his hand, while the other looked left and right.

Bruno flattened himself against the car. Too late he
realized it was some kind of drone. Bruno remembered that the Americans had
been using them anywhere they could, but he had never seen one like this. Did
it sense movement? Did it have infrared sensors? Was it armed? The hum of the
drone’s fan faded as it rose and began hovering twenty or thirty meters above
the hospital tent. Bruno decided he could no longer wait to be discovered as it
calibrated its sensors. He would have to make a lengthy detour, heading back
down toward to the seaside and around the island to get home. He saw no option
to get into the hospital without announcing himself to the guards. But if he
made it home, maybe he could regroup, come up with another plan.

As he turned to retreat, the whine of the drone suddenly
grew louder. Bruno looked up and for a moment the bright light blinded him. A
voice boomed above him.

“Come out from behind the vehicle with your hands in the
air!”

Bruno didn’t think, he just grabbed his bag, turned, and ran
back into the piazza, pain shooting in his side. The drone whizzed above him,
keeping him in its spotlight.

He glanced back and saw the guards running towards him in a
low sprint. He wasn’t sure he could outrun the guards, but he knew he would
never outrun the drone. He looked to his right, and just beyond the pedestrian
guardrail, he could make out the bulge of a hillside stretching down into
darkness.

If he jumped the railing, he might make it. The guards might
be reluctant to follow him down. He might even evade the drone. That is, if he
could manage not to break his neck.

Bruno jumped the railing and skidded down into darkness.
Time slowed as he struggled to stop his slide and his panic. For a second, he
thought he would make it. But his left foot caught some stone or root and with
the weight of the duffle bag leaving him off balance, he tumbled forward; then
Bruno knew nothing but darkness.  

Chapter 8

Bruno woke with a start, images of a woman’s shattered head
in his mind. For an instant, he couldn’t remember what had happened. The dull
pain in his ribs and the ache in his head brought him back to reality. He felt
exhausted, battered, and sore. He groped his own arms and legs but didn’t seem
to have any broken bones. Bruno recalled his last memories of falling. So much
for his attempt at evasion. He rubbed his forehead and felt a bandage covering
part of his head. A concussion, maybe. He considered himself damned lucky, if
that was the worst of it.

Bruno looked around. Spartan would have been a generous
description of the room; it had no decorations of any kind, nor did it have a
TV or phone; just a chair in the corner. Diffused light from the late afternoon
sky streamed in from the window to his left. He swung his legs around to his
right, sat up in the bed, and groaned. Bruno’s body throbbed from head to foot.
The pain surprised him, and the room rolled around him. Bruno lay back down. He
breathed in and out and closed his eyes, recovering his equilibrium. To the
right there was a dark, wooden door with a narrow glass window running half its
length. A guard wearing the mottled greys of an urban combat uniform stood with
his back towards him in front of the window.

Captured and in a hospital room. No gun. No knife. No bag.
No phone. Not one  fucking thing. He glanced at his watch.16:03. Six and a half
hours before the rescue boat arrived. He still had time, but before he would
consider leaving, he needed to get to Carla. He closed his eyes and breathed in
and out in measured beats. Then, with caution, he raised himself out of the
bed, shuffled over to the door, and tapped on the window. The guard turned,
glared over his mask, and stepped away from the door without a word.

“Hey!” shouted Bruno as he pulled the door handle to no
avail. “Come back!”

Moments later the guard reappeared, pistol drawn, and
gestured for Bruno to step away from the door. As Bruno retreated to the other
side of the bed, the door swung open. A squat, dark-haired woman wearing green
scrubs walked in with a tray of bread and pasta, and a glass of water. The
guard stood behind her, keeping his pistol drawn, but pointed down.

She placed the tray and water on the table. “There’s more if
you are still hungry. Just knock on the door.” A respirator covered most of her
face; her eyes were the only part of her he could see clearly.

The woman took a penlight out of her pocket. “Please keep
your eyes on the light.” She moved the light back and forth.

“That looks fine,” she said. “Now lay back, I need to check
your bandages. Good. The bleeding’s stopped. No serious head injuries,” she
said as she turned to the guard. “You can proceed.” She nodded to the guard and
they both retreated towards the door.

The woman opened the door and left first, then as the
guard’s back faced into the room, Bruno wobbled to his feet. “I’m an officer in
the Carabinieri! Why am I being detained?”

The guard stopped in the doorway and half-turned towards
Bruno. The respirator muffled the guard’s voice. “Major Battisti with the
Ministry of Health is in charge here. And he will have some questions for you,
very soon, I assure you.”

“Dottoressa Carla Ricasso is in charge of this hospital,”
said Bruno, puzzled. He’d never heard of anyone in that agency using a military
rank. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll find out,” said the guard as he retreated into the
hall and locked the door.

Bruno’s head swam, and not just from the concussion. A
major? In the Ministry of Health? What did that mean? Where was Carla? Bruno
thought for a moment about the guard. No insignia. No unit patch. Not even
rank. Whoever he worked for wanted him to stay anonymous.

Bruno’s mind churned for long minutes as he forced himself
to eat, until he heard the metallic sound of the lock on his door turn. Three
men entered, one stocky with close-cropped black hair, flanked by two larger
men. All three wore grey urban combat uniforms and carried pistols on their
hips. Keeping the bed between him and the soldiers, Bruno stood up and faced
them.

“Buona sera, Officer Ricasso,” said the shortest man. “My
name is Major Battisti.” Though a respirator hid his mouth and nose, from the
way the crow’s-feet at his dark eyes moved, Bruno had no doubt Battisti smiled
as he spoke. “Your room is comfortable, no?”

“Who do you think you are, keeping me locked up here?”

Battisti’s eyes narrowed. “Ah yes. I apologize. This is for
your own good, really. Have to make sure you’re not infected.”

“Infected? Do I look infected to you?”

“Please. Don’t make things worse.” Battisti shifted from one
foot to another. “I also have some questions for you. I hope you will
cooperate, yes?”

Bruno said nothing.

“Well, let me begin. What were you doing outside the
hospital?”

“I was trying to see my sister, Dottoressa Carla Ricasso.
I’m sure you know who she is.”

“How long were you out there by the entrance?”

“Not long. I thought I heard gunfire, so I wanted to
investigate before just running up to the area.”

“Gunfire. Interesting. And—this next is a very important
question for us to get to the bottom of what happened—what did you see the
guards doing? Did you see what caused this alleged gunfire?”

“No,” lied Bruno. “There were guards milling around the
entrance, but I don’t know what they were doing.”

“Why didn’t you just announce yourself, tell them you were a
Carabiniere?”

“Like I said, I had heard gunfire. I needed to assess the
situation before I ran up half-cocked.”

“I see. Of course you understand the seriousness of what
you’re saying. Because clearly, if my guards were firing their weapons, I would
need to know about that.”

“Why don’t you ask them,” said Bruno.

Battisti stepped forward. “I have asked them, Officer
Ricasso.”

“So you know what they were doing. Why ask what I was—”

“My job is to protect this hospital. What I know is that you
were spying on this facility.”

“Spying? I was trying to get to my sister.”

“Let me ask you again: did you see what caused this alleged
gunfire?”

“No.”

Battisti paced to and fro. “Well, unfortunately, we may be
at a bit of an impasse here. Because, you see, Officer Ricasso, I’m not sure
you’re telling me the whole truth.”

“I’m telling you what happened.”

Battisti stopped pacing. “Are you really?”

Bruno swallowed. “Yes, that’s exactly what happened.”

“Perhaps we have different definitions of ‘exactly’?”

Bruno didn’t respond.

“I don’t like liars, Officer Ricasso.”

“I don’t either,” said Bruno.

“Good.” Battisti studied Bruno for a moment. “Do you
consider yourself to be an intelligent person?”

“Smarter than some. Not as smart as others.”

Battisti laughed. “That’s probably the truest thing you’ve
said so far. If you
are
smart, then you should know what’s in your best
interest. So, let’s start again, shall we? What did you see when—”

“I’m done answering your fucking questions,” Bruno
interrupted. “I’ve told you what happened. I want to talk to Dottoressa
Ricasso, she’s in charge here. She can clear everything up.”

“I’m afraid not. She doesn’t know you’re here.” Battisti
looked over at the soldiers, and before Bruno could react, one of them produced
a black pistol, pointed it toward Bruno, and pulled the trigger.

Bruno felt a sting in his chest, just before he seized up
from the thousands of volts running through his body. He let out a muffled
scream through clenched teeth as he fell forward onto the bed. The guards moved
quickly to strap him down while he was stunned.

“These restraints are only used for uncooperative patients,
Officer Ricasso,” said Battisti, looming over Bruno. “So, what’s
your
plan? Are
you
going to cooperate?” Bruno’s breath came in ragged gasps
as he lay there trembling. Bruno choked out one word: “Vaffanculo.”

Battisti responded with a smack across Bruno’s face. “Watch
your mouth. I’ll give you a chance to change your mind. But I hope for your
sake you make the right choice.” Battisti bent down closer towards the bed, his
voice a low growl in Bruno’s ear. “And let me explain something—in this room,
your sister isn’t in charge: I am.”

The Taser now in Battisti’s hand buzzed. Bruno gazed up at
some dark fleck on the pale ceiling, his breath coming in rapid pulses.

***

Bruno didn’t know what finally made them stop. Maybe they
thought he was going to die. Hell, maybe the batteries on the thing just ran
out. Whatever the reason, Bruno didn’t really care. Every muscle in his body
felt stretched, torn. The pain in his ribs as he breathed felt like a pinprick
in comparison to what he had just endured. They didn’t ask anything about gun
confiscation; they just kept asking him what he was doing spying on the
hospital and what he saw last night. He heard them mutter about something
called “ICP 151.” He didn’t reveal having seen anything about that man’s
murder. But they didn’t believe him, and Bruno teetered on the edge of
breaking. When they came back, Bruno feared that he might say anything to make
them stop.

The overhead lights were off, and his room was dark, but
Bruno’s watch gave off a faint glow. 23:54. Bruno squeezed his eyes shut. The
speedboat was long gone. He moved carefully out of the bed, walking towards the
door on quiet, bare feet. He looked through the door’s narrow window. An empty
chair. No guard, for now. Bruno tried the handle, hoping against hope. Locked,
of course. He might try bashing through the window on the door. But what he
really need was stealth, not strength. He studied the room. Hospitals had
patients, not prisoners. Maybe he could take advantage of that.

Bruno returned to the bed, arranged the pillows, and pulled
the sheet over them. He pulled the bandages off his head and looked in the
bathroom mirror. The cut on his head was mostly hidden in his hair. Good. Next,
he ransacked the bathroom and cabinets. No scalpels or probes; nothing he could
use as a weapon. He did find a set of scrubs, with shoe and head coverings, as
well as a surgical mask. He put them on. The elastic of the shoe coverings fit
tightly around his ankles. The window was the kind that opened inward, bottom
tilting towards the room. It was locked. But locked from the inside. Bruno
pulled the chair under the window, stood on it, and unlocked the window at the
top. He pushed open the bottom section of window. He climbed down, moved the
chair back, then looked out.

The cool night made him shiver. The concrete ledge outside
the window looked just wide enough to stand on. Ambient light from rooms on
floors above and below bathed the outside walls in a faint glow. He looked
around and saw that the window of the room on the left was tilted inward.
Slightly. No light came from that room, but it was too far to just hop over to
the other ledge. He would have to jump. Bruno made the mistake of looking down,
and his head swam. He was at least four stories up. Porca puttana, he swore to
himself. Bruno acted before the voice of doubt in his head became deafening. He
ducked his head out and swung his legs outside. He thought how stupid he must
look, like a nurse gone mad, hanging out of a hospital window.

The night enveloped him, and though the air swirling about
him was cold, Bruno had begun to sweat. Grasping the frame and ledge, he stood
up. He pushed the window shut as best as he could from the outside. His back to
the cold stone of the wall, he shuffled to the leftmost edge. He looked over at
the ledge, his target, and the world started to spin.

Bruno squeezed his eyes shut, willing the vertigo to pass.
He took one deep breath after another. Then he opened his eyes again. He would
have to get this right. Too much and he would overshoot and crash into the edge
of the window. Too little and he would miss the ledge altogether. Either would
probably mean death. Turning with his left shoulder to the wall, he focused on
his goal, took one step back with his right leg . . . and then he jumped.