Upgrade(58)
“Welcome to Montana, Mr. Foster. You work for the CDC?”
“More of an independent contractor.”
“Well, we’re glad to have you.”
His name tag said D. TRAUTMANN. D as in David.
He was one of 237 state troopers in Montana, and part of District V, based in the town of Glendive. District V covered sixteen counties, including Valley, the one I was currently in. David was twenty-four years old and had graduated from the academy one year ago.
Very green.
He reported to Sergeant Betsy Lane, who reported to Captain Sam Houghton, who reported to Major Tommy Meadows, who reported to Colonel Jenna Swicegood. I’d spent two hours this morning getting up to speed on the Montana Highway Patrol chain of command and how it was currently interacting with the CDC and Montana National Guard vis-à-vis Glasgow.
The MHP had been tasked with establishing the outermost ring of checkpoints twenty-five miles from the epicenter.
Two hours ago, I’d called Col. Swicegood on a spoofed Atlanta phone number, impersonating Ron Auerbach, CDC director of intergovernmental and strategic affairs. I’d given her a list of three scientists who were inbound to Glasgow on Highway 2, including license plate numbers, vehicle descriptions, and Hinsdale checkpoint ETAs.
“What’s in the back of the van?” the trooper asked. He wasn’t being nosy or suspicious. I detected genuine curiosity.
I stepped out of the car. Even from a half mile away, the sound of the wind turbine’s enormous white blades was audible as they chopped the air, filling it with a dull, distant thrum.
I opened the sliding door, and the first thing we saw was a white hazmat suit hanging from the ceiling.
There was a -20° C freezer.
A minifuge.
A fluorescence microscope with videocam.
And a space-gray machine the size and shape of a microwave.
“That’s an automated, digital microfluid nanopore DNA sequencer,” I said. “I suit up, head into the outbreak zone, and collect DNA from infected people. Skin cells, mucus swabs, blood samples. Then I put the samples into that machine, which analyzes DNA to detect what diseases they may have. If we can discover the sequence, or work out what’s been changed genetically, then we’ll have a shot at figuring out what type of disease we’re dealing with.”
“I heard it had something to do with bad meat?” he said.
Something in his voice…more than just morbid interest.
“We don’t know yet. You live around here?”
“Malta.”
“You know someone who’s sick.”
It was a statement, not a question, and it caught him off guard.
“My brother-in-law. He and my sister live in Glasgow.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I haven’t been able to speak with her in two days.”
“What are their names?”
“Tiffany and Chris Jarvis.”
“What’s their address.”
He wrote it down for me on the back of a business card, which I tucked into my pocket.
“I’ll try to check in on them. We’re going to find out why this is happening.”
I could see that my offer had moved him, but all he said was, “I’d appreciate that very much. If you see her…”
I watched him try to push his emotions aside.
“I’ll tell her.”
* * *
—
The highway between Hinsdale and Glasgow was apocalyptically empty. I knew the roadblock I’d just made it through wouldn’t be the last or anywhere close to the most secure. But I didn’t have any intention of rolling the dice at another security checkpoint. The next one I came to would be manned by military personnel, not highway patrol stationed twenty miles away and largely out of the loop.
Three miles outside of Glasgow, I pulled my van off the road and parked in a stand of the only trees I’d seen all day, hiding my vehicle as best I could. They were cottonwoods, and they grew along the bank of the Milk River, a 729-mile long tributary of the Missouri, which happened to flow within a quarter mile of Glasgow.
* * *
—
My packing list included my hazmat suit, Garmin, binoculars, an H&K VP9 pistol, body armor, a pair of NightShades (next-gen night vision optics that resembled old-school Oakley sunglasses), a laptop, and a case containing syringes and BD Vacutainer EDTA tubes for blood sample collection and storage.
Fully inflated, the raft wasn’t much to look at. I’d bought it yesterday for ninety dollars at the sporting goods department in a Spokane Walmart.
I loaded my gear into the raft and waited for darkness.
Helicopters, drones, and aircraft passed overhead frequently, on low-flying approaches into Glasgow. But not a single vehicle went by on the road.
I sat against the trunk of a cottonwood tree, watching the sun slip below the horizon.
With the light gone, cold set in.
I watched the first star appear.
At eight P.M., I dragged the raft down to the river’s edge, climbed in, and used one of the oars to push myself out into the current.
The water was bitterly cold.
Chunks of ice floated beside the raft.
The moon was just a glowing sliver. While my inherent night vision was solid, the NightShades made everything visible.