Omega Plague: Collapse (6 page)

Chapter 5

October 15

Bruno woke with the sounds of the TV still in his head, and
found that he had forgotten to turn it off. He rolled over and looked at his
phone on the nightstand. 0625 hours. The sky was pale with pre-dawn light. He
sat up and swung his legs out of the bed and faced the TV screen hanging on the
wall. The island still had not seen the turmoil that infected the major cities.
It was calm here; so far, at least. But it wouldn’t last. In Bruno’s mind, once
it spread to the island, all bets were off. He rubbed his lower back as he
caught up on what had happened overnight.

Reports proclaimed that in America, the Centers for Disease
Control had jointly confirmed with the European Centre for Disease Control and
Prevention in Sweden that the disease was indeed an airborne strain of the AIDS
virus, but much more fast-acting and lethal. And the disease finally had a
name: Type I Hemorrhagic AIDS Variant, or HAV. Rumors had been flying in the
old broadcast media and on social media for days about the mysterious spread,
not just from person to person, but to people who had no contact with the
infected. Now maybe an answer: unnamed sources in the American government
stated that they also discovered that this HAV could be spread by mosquitoes,
explaining why people who had never come in contact with the infected had
fallen ill. European governments as yet had no comment on the mosquito
hypothesis. The news presenter declared that worldwide shortages of netting,
insecticides, and some medications had already been reported, even before the
official announcement late last night, New York time. Speculation was that the
US Department of Defense (and maybe its British counterpart) had bought those
items in large quantities in the hours before the information was leaked.
Although the United States denied those accusations, nations around the world
condemned it nonetheless. They were all hypocrites, these countries, Bruno
reflected. Any one of them would have done the same, had they found out
mosquitoes were carriers before anyone else did.

He grabbed his mobile phone. When he found what he was
looking for, he pointed the phone at his TV and swiped his finger towards it. A
map of Italy color coded by regions appeared on the screen. On his phone, he
touched Campania, the region containing the city of Naples. Naples was the largest
city in the region, but the administrative province of Naples covered a large
part of land outside the city itself. Touching the province of Naples brought
up a more detailed map of the major towns in the Naples area where the illness
had been discovered. Finally, the Ministry of Health bureaucrats had done
something right with their website. Bruno scrutinized the text and the colors
of the map. Capri was not listed and was still colored white. On the webpage,
the Ministry of Health asserted it was getting the infection data directly from
reporting hospitals, with a delay of only hours between reporting and posting.
Even if Bruno believed that (which he didn’t), looking at all of the areas to
which the disease had spread, he understood it was now only a matter of days,
maybe even hours, before someone fell ill on the island. And given the
incubation period of the disease, coupled with whatever reporting delays there
might be, for all he knew, it may already be here.

When the first reports of HAV spreading from person to
person began, Bruno had steeled himself for what he feared may come. After
Carla had urged them to stock up on supplies, he and Cristian had made a
shopping run, which consisted mostly of buying extra food, bottled water, and
medicines. Of course, they had looked for surgical masks, but in vain. Bruno
had also stocked up on batteries, bars of soap, and toilet paper. The old lady
at the cash register had given him quite a look when he walked up with a basket
overflowing with nearly fifty bars of soap, the entire inventory of the store,
and thirty rolls of toilet paper. Cristian had made things worse telling the
poor woman that the soap “was made from
peeeople
,” in his best Heston
impression. But Bruno had figured if there were some things he might be hard
pressed to make or find in stores soon it would be soap, batteries, and toilet
paper. “Well,” Cristian said, “if the zombies come, at least you can still wipe
your ass in style.”

Now Bruno scrambled around his flat, taking stock of what he
had, in addition to his most recent acquisitions. Some items were stored under
his bed, some in his only closet by the front door. The island depended
entirely on supplies from Naples, from the food in the stores, to the wine in
the restaurants, to the designer purses in the storefronts. Bruno feared there
would surely be critical shortages soon, since the disease showed no signs of
slowing its spread. At best he had three, maybe four weeks of food and less
water. Bruno didn’t have nearly enough supplies, nor the room to store them,
nor enough time to find more of either. He knew he would have to make do with
what he had now and whatever he could manage to scrounge in the future.

As for weapons, there, too, he wished he had more. He had no
rifle. The 9mm pistol might be sufficient for close-in fighting, but for
serious combat, for ranged combat, if it ever came to that, his pistol would
not nearly be enough. The arms locker had two PM 12 S2 9mm submachine guns, but
they were under biometric lock and only Veri could access them.

Bruno had a few folding knives, but his favorite was a
fixed-blade knife, a commercial version of the one carried by the paratroopers
in the Special Forces. That knife was a gift from his father. He rummaged
underneath his bed and his hand felt a long, rectangular shape. He took the box
out and opened it. His knife was still in its original black box, embossed with
gold letters, the company’s Latin motto resonating with Bruno now more than it
ever had: “Last Resort.” Bruno gripped the knife; it moved with ease in his
hand. The color of charcoal, the blade was partially serrated, with a small
guard where it met the handle. The knife was long enough for stabbing and
slashing, if need be, but short enough to be carried comfortably on his person
in its belt and sheath, which was made to lay vertically in the small of the
back. Seeing the combat knife reminded him of his father. At least his father
lived well outside the chaos of Naples. If it all fell apart, he would have a
better chance of making it than anyone in a large city, far better than Bruno
himself would have if he were still stationed in Naples, and maybe even better
than being on the island of Capri itself. Bruno promised himself he would call
his father after his shift today. He strapped on the knife directly against his
skin, resolving never to be without it from now on.

Bruno’s most critical need was ammo. He wasn’t sure how much
the station had, and there were strict limits on the amount of ammo any one
individual could own. Bruno had never thought that would be a problem, until
now. He had been sorely tempted to steal as much ammunition as he thought Veri
wouldn’t notice, rationalizing that there was nowhere to buy ammunition on the
island. Not that Veri could say a fucking thing. After the lies about weapons
confiscation, Veri was hardly in a position to complain about Bruno taking a
box or three of 9mm. Still, while he knew his own preparations were inadequate,
Bruno would never do that to Veri; not after what he had done for Bruno.

While preparations were on his mind, he decided to look for
a basic survival manual. As he scrolled through what he found online in
Italian, it was mostly new age crap about living in harmony with nature, or
disconnecting from society and living in the mountains somewhere. He didn’t
want any of that. Then he noticed that someone had translated the US Army
Survival Manual into Italian. Perfect. Though years old, it was free, and it
was time-tested, exactly what he was looking for. He printed the document in
case things really took a turn for the worse. It had been so long since he’d
printed anything he wasn’t sure his printer still worked until, down there in
the far corner of the room, it finally hummed to life.

While the printer hummed on, page after page, Bruno stepped
outside onto his balcony. The azure sky promised a cheerful, crisp day. The
breeze from the sea chilled him as he looked northeast towards the still
mist-shrouded shore. Father Tommaso stood on his own balcony watching the
water.

“Buon giorno, Father Tommaso,” said Bruno.

“Buon giorno, Bruno. Looks like it will be a lovely day
today.”

Bruno nodded towards Father Tommaso’s glass. “A little early
for wine, wouldn’t you say?”

Father Tommaso laughed, making his face even more craggy. “Who
says? Can’t hurt to start the day with a little wine, like the Romans.” Father
Tommaso sat down on a chair, turning it toward Bruno. “I’m celebrating Mass at
Saint Sofia’s on Sunday. Will I see you there?”

“Maybe,” lied Bruno, hoping the priest would talk about
something other than Bruno’s attendance at Mass. But Father Tommaso was
relentless.

“I think you might enjoy my sermon this week. It’s about
celebrating mortality.”

“Doesn’t sound very uplifting. And especially with
everything that’s happening, do you think anyone will show up?”

Father Tommaso leaned forward. “Now it’s more important than
ever for people to remember their faith. How could we really appreciate our
mortal life if it went on without end?”

Bruno opened his mouth to argue, but his phone began playing
the national anthem. Bruno knew exactly who was calling.

“I’ve got to take this,” he said, stepping back into his
flat.

“Sure, we’ll talk later, Bruno,” said Father Tommaso as
Bruno shut his balcony door.

Bruno answered his phone. “Yes, sir, what’s going on?”

Veri’s voice was taut, whether from jogging or fear, Bruno
couldn’t tell. “I know your shift doesn’t start for two more hours, but there’s
already a crowd gathering at Farmacia Nazionale on Via Madre Serafina. People
are looking for insect repellant, medicines, God knows what else. You can
imagine what might happen if the pharmacy runs out. The municipal police are
there now, and I’m on my way on foot.”

“You’re on your way?” Bruno wondered how Veri could have
arrived at the island from his home in Naples so quickly.

“After our little Naples adventure, I changed my mind and
came back to the island—slept at the station last night—or rather this morning,
I should say. I’m going to stay here until things calm down. My wife thinks
I’ve lost my mind. She’s gone to stay with her sister and—”

“I can be there, no problem. I was already awake. Maybe ten
minutes?”

“See you there.”

There were only four or five pharmacies on the island, and
Bruno knew exactly how to get to National Pharmacy. Living in a place that was
only ten kilometers square meant nowhere on the island was distant. Bruno ran
his fingers through his hair then put his uniform on with haste. Still
strapping his gun belt to his waist, he made his way out of his apartment, down
the stairs, and onto the sidewalk.

His eyes fell on his Moto Guzzi Griso 850. It crouched along
the curb, black and silver shining in the early dawn light. Though an older
model, for a small island the motorcycle was seriously overpowered. On Bruno’s
salary, he’d had to scrape together every last bit of extra money to pay for
it, but to him it was worth every Euro. Bruno jumped on and the motorcycle
roared to life. He headed down the winding street.

As Bruno rounded the last corner before the pharmacy, the
street straightened. The sun had just broken over the horizon, illuminating the
scene. He could see the green neon cross hanging above the entrance about a
hundred meters distant. What shocked him was the number of people milling
about, blocking the street. He came to a stop and parked his motorcycle on the
sidewalk. While there were few private cars on the island, small buses and
three-wheeled delivery trucks had already begun to back up on both sides of the
street. The sound of horns blaring rose over the crowd.

Slipping on a surgical mask, Bruno half-ran toward the green
neon cross looming over the pharmacy entrance. Scores of men and women milled
around the pharmacy, and more were coming every minute.

The small parking lot across the street from the pharmacy
entrance was overfilled with people. Their desire to obtain items to repel or
kill mosquitoes must have overwhelmed their fear of getting the disease from
being in a crowd. Still, most of them wore something over their faces; masks,
bandanas, or simple pieces of clothing. A few weeks ago, Bruno imagined that
these people were probably enjoying an evening walk in the main square. Now
they were queuing at a pharmacy for supplies, a desperate gleam in their eyes.
Actually “queuing” was the wrong word. The way people were bunched reminded
Bruno of a scrum in a rugby match.

Through gaps in the crowd, Bruno saw eight or nine municipal
police officers standing in a semi-circle around the entryway. Two tall windows
flanked the glass door at the entrance. Emblazoned in green letters across the
windows were the words “Farmacia Nazionale.” The crowd maintained a distance
from the officers, none of whom wore riot gear. Bruno spotted Veri talking to
one of the officers standing directly in front of the door and made his way
through the crowd as politely as he could, saying, “Excuse me,” more times than
he could count, and trying not to jostle anyone too badly. In a situation like
this, he knew better than to needlessly antagonize anyone. Things could get out
of hand quickly. Veri noticed Bruno coming through the crowd and gestured to
him.

“Good, you’ve made it.” With the noise of the crowd and his
mask covering the lower half of his face, Veri’s voice was hard to hear, even
though he was speaking directly into Bruno’s ear. Veri motioned towards the
crowd. “They’re looking to buy insect repellant and anything else they can get
to kill mosquitoes. You’ve heard about the mosquitoes, right?”