The Ebola Wall (5 page)

When his family back in France had posted their son’s footage on social media, the French authorities has swooped in and arrested the entire household. The charge was sedition.

Then there was the Japanese exchange student who was enrolled at the University of Houston. With a major in Marine Engineering, the brilliant young man was already credited with two submarine design improvements being readied for the patent application process. The prodigy already had over 50 hours logged in submersibles and was so furious at his home country deserting him in the quarantine that he even volunteered to become a suicide bomber.

In the end, nine individuals were selected, trained and funded. Each was allowed a few short, nighttime training sessions using the waterways within the wall. All of the candidates were funded with enough cash and credit to purchase airline tickets home – once they had managed to reach Mexico City or New Orleans.  

Captain Norse knew he was still alive because of the pain. Havoc seemed to be resting on her side, the tank’s commander pinned against the hull by the body of one of his crewmen.

Blood covered the officer’s face, the thick coating of red blocking his vision and adding to his stunned state of confusion.

Norse tried to push himself free, gingerly testing his legs and flexing against some unknown surface. For a moment, he believed the soldier on top of him was alive. Through the ringing in his ears, the captain thought he heard a moan. It took a few moments before he realized the guttural noise was coming from his own throat.

With a supreme effort, he finally managed to free himself, the basket’s dark interior and disheveled equipment making the task uncommonly problematic.

It was a pure stroke of luck that he found the hatch, another agonizing effort required to open the entry.

A slight breeze helped clear some of his brain-fog… a quick assessment telling Norse that one of his arms was broken, as were at least two of his ribs.

His next thoughts were of his crew. There was no way he could manage to even check their conditions in his current state. He had to get out of the wounded tank. He had to get help for his men.

With his one good arm, Norse pulled himself toward the portal-like opening. It was an invigorating accomplishment when his head appeared in the night air.

Using a shirtsleeve to wipe the blood from his face, the captain took a moment to evaluate the state of his command. Havoc was lying on its side, the monstrous war machine now as helpless as a newborn baby.

Chunks of concrete and protruding rebar littered the immediate vicinity, a thin layer of white dust giving every surface a haunting, almost ghost-like hue. Norse didn’t smell any smoke, couldn’t see any flames. At least his tank wasn’t burning.

After bracing himself for another bout of pain, the captain pushed off with his legs. He managed to get his waist clear of Havoc
’s
metal shell. Needing a rest, Norse loosed his grip on the hatch’s rim, forgetting that his beast of burden was no longer upright. He fell out of the hatch, landing badly in a heap. The pain nearly made him lose consciousness.

Despite the blood running from his damaged ears, Norse could hear activity in the distance. Help was nearby.

He struggled to his feet and scanned the area. Havoc had been tossed like a child’s toy by the explosion, eventually coming to rest 50 meters inside of no-man’s land.

Norse could identify lights and soldiers on both sides of the now-gaping roadway. The army had sent reinforcements and rescuers. Help was nearby.

He began stumbling toward the roadway, each step bringing sharp streaks of withering pain. He managed four steps when a stern voice sounded over the loudspeaker. “Attention! Attention! Unknown party approaching the exit four overpass, you are entering a restricted zone. I repeat, you are entering a restricted zone. Turn around immediately, or by order of the president of the United States, we will engage with lethal force. This is your one and only warning.”

The captain was stunned. He’d made that same announcement so many times. Was he so messed up the men on the freeway didn’t know who he was?

“This is Captain Norse from the #6 unit,” he did his best to yell. “I’m wounded and require assistance. My tank was just blown into no-man’s land. Some of my crew may still be alive. Please… we need help.”

A burst of machine gun fire ripped through the air, the thump, thump, thump of the bullets whizzing directly over the captain’s head.

Norse was in shock.
Why are they firing at me
, his confused mind kept asking.
Why are my own men shooting at me?

His body told him to turn and run, but his heart wouldn’t let the command reach his legs. It all wasn’t right… it wasn’t fair… he wasn’t one of the Skinnies.

A bright spotlight flashed on, the beam temporarily blinding Norse. “Captain, I’m sorry, but you know the rules as well as anybody. Turn around, sir. Go find help inside the wall. I can’t let you get any closer. I will order you shot.”

An adrenalin of rage surged through the officer’s veins, pushing the pain aside and clearing his mind. “How dare you shoot at your commanding officer? Are you fucking crazy? Now send someone out here right this minute and render assistance to me and my crew, or I’ll have your ass up on charges.”

When no response came from the roadway, Norse took a step forward. Again, the machine gun sang its song, this time sending stinging bits of dirt and grass into the officer’s body. A different voice then carried through the air. Norse recognized his colonel’s gravely tone. “No more warnings, Captain. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it’s got to be. Turn around and walk away, or we’ll take you down.”

Norse believed him, the only question remaining in his mind was whether or not to die right here, or turn and face the horror that was Houston.

“Fuck it,” he whispered. “I’m not going to give these pricks the pleasure of gunning me down.”

The once proud, serving officer of the United States Army started to pivot, but then paused. With his good arm, Norse issued a final salute – using only one finger. He then turned into the night and began to hobble away.

It took all of his energy to stumble out of the demarcation zone. Desperately needing to rest, Norse made his way to a nearby tree, slumping awkwardly to the ground with his back against the trunk.

He began to regret his decision, the exertion of his stroll bleeding off the anger and fury that had driven him away in defiance.

Fear. It soon dawned on the wounded officer that he was scared. Resting on the ground, alone in the night with a battered, weakened body, Norse began recycling the tales of horror that he’d heard about Houston.

According to every rumor, the Bayou City was a place ruled by anarchy. The population was said to be desperate, leaderless and out of control. Tales of cannibalism, mountains of dead, rotting corpses, and ruthless gangs dominating the streets filled the wounded officer’s mind. It was a nightmare beyond dying from Ebola.

For a few moments, Norse was convinced he’d be better off turning back toward the army units and marching purposefully into their fire. At least it would be over with quickly.

Anything, he deemed, would be better than becoming some desperate, disease-ridden animal’s dinner. He wondered briefly if they killed their victims before consuming human flesh.
Maybe they boil you alive
, he worried.
Maybe they just eat you raw while you’re trying to crawl away.

Panic formed in his gut, a sweat of fear beaded on his face. “No,” he whispered to the night, “I’ve suffered enough for one evening. I’m going to turn around, and let them shoot me.”

“Why would you do that?” came a strange voice.

Norse turned, another level of fright overtaking his body. He spotted the legs of a man and then a rifle butt descending toward his skull. For the second time in less than an hour, Captain Shane Norse’s world went black.

Norse awoke in a small, dim room equipped only with a toilet and sink. Bolts of thunderous pain surged through his skull, the agony causing his intestines to twist and knot. He thought he was going to vomit, but didn’t believe he could make it to the head.

He managed one elbow, the canvas cot creaking under the shift in his weight. He was in a jail cell, the black matrix of bars now clearly visible in the low light. “At least no one has made a meal of you yet,” he quipped.

The captain sensed rather than saw movement on the outside of his cell. For a moment he tried to blink his way to clearer eyesight, the effort only serving to make his brain throb even more.

It came as a complete surprise to find his broken arm in a cast. Finding the cut on his head had received a series of staples added to his bewilderment. “Why fix me up if you’re just going to eat me,” he whispered to the empty room.

The sound of approaching footfalls brought the return of dread to Norse’s thinking.

Two human outlines appeared at the wall of bars, the lack of light making it difficult for the captain to make out the features of either person.

“What’s your name, soldier?” asked a voice full of authority.

“Captain Shane Norse, 1
^st
of the 3
^rd
Combat Team, 7
^th
Cav, United States Army,” he answered automatically.

“Well, Captain Norse, my name is Colonel Jack Taylor, Commander of the 1
^st
Irregulars, Gulf Republic. How are you feeling, son?”

“I’ve been better, Colonel. Am I a prisoner?”

“Now that is an excellent question, Captain. The answer depends on your story and our capability to confirm it. Why did you enter my area of operation?”

Norse started to answer, but was interrupted by a wave of nausea. Clutching his stomach, the captain groaned loudly and eyed the nearby toilet.

“I’m sorry, Captain, but we don’t have many medications left. Our medical staff did the best they could on your injuries. All of our pain meds ran out months ago, so there’s little I can do to make you more comfortable.”

Norse nodded his understanding, but was still too unsure of his gut to speak.

“There’s also a chance you’ve been exposed to the virus,” Taylor continued. “The man who found you out by the border is a survivor, as were many of the medics that patched you up. We still don’t know when an individual is no longer contagious, so you might up and die on us before we have a chance to talk. I’ll be back later to see if you’re feeling up to a conversation… or are dead. Good luck, Captain.”

And with that, Taylor was gone, the sound of his retreating steps echoing throughout the otherwise silent concrete rooms.

A sudden need to lie back down consumed Shane’s thoughts, the combination of head and stomach aches quickly draining his strength. As he came to rest on the pillow, it suddenly occurred to the captain that the other person standing next to Taylor had never left.

Just as his eyes were trying to focus beyond the bars, he heard the cell door rattle open. Norse thought he had to be dreaming, a vision of a dark haired girl entering his space. She was carrying a plastic tray with what appeared to be food and water.