No shelter, p.16
No Shelter, page 16
Kaufman thought what Renner did for a living was nuttier than a Christmas cheese log, but he liked the guy. It was rare to meet someone who was exactly what he appeared to be, said exactly what he meant, and did the things he said was going to do. Kaufman had listened to his show and was surprised by how much of it didn’t sound crazy, but that was only because Renner didn’t sound crazy and was a pretty likable guy. He couldn’t buy all the things Renner believed, but Kaufman knew he was sincere and that he really believed it and wasn’t just trying to sell books, videos, website memberships, and post-apocalypse survival equipment. Kaufman had a lot of respect for Ivan Renner, enough to listen when he called or showed up for a chat.
Several months ago, Renner had gotten it into his head that the government was up to something in the old Springmeier mental hospital. He gave Kaufman all of the research he’d done on Vendon Labs, told him about the secretive back road they’d cut through the woods rather than reopening the front gate. Kaufman had agreed to pay an unannounced visit to the old hospital, but he would not let Renner accompany him.
The new road was exactly where Renner had said it would be, and it led to a gate in the fence that had been erected around the hospital grounds and electrified. He told the guard at the gate that it was a friendly visit and he had some questions for the person in charge. The guard made a call, then let him in.
Kaufman was greeted at the hospital by Dr. Jeremy Corcoran, who was in charge of the project. They went to his office and had coffee, chatted for a while. Corcoran was happy to answer Kaufman’s questions, and he answered each one thoroughly and without hesitation.
What were they doing there? Developing new antibiotics to fight new infections that had become resistant to standard antibiotics.
Why there? The hospital perfectly suited their needs. More accurately, it oversuited their needs, because they used only small section of the enormous old building. Most of the hospital was completely closed off because it was no longer structurally sound. They had refurbished only one section on the ground floor in the rear of the hospital.
Is this a government-funded operation? Corcoran claimed he didn’t know because he never concerned himself with that end of any project, but it was very possible that there was some government money involved because antibiotics-resistant strains of infection were a major concern and it was in the country’s best interest to combat them.
Corcoran was no different than any other brainy type Kaufman had encountered, and the county was full of them thanks to Humboldt State University—academics, scientists, geniuses, and brilliant students who had more intellect than sense were all over the place. Kaufman had nothing against them and recognized that they were an important part of society, and he wasn’t one of those morons who was suspicious of anyone intelligent and well educated, but the exceptionally brilliant types tended to put him off.
They were odd, distracted, and quite often rude and dismissive. Most of them were socially awkward and always seemed uncomfortable. They often seemed to be in a hurry, which, in Kaufman’s line of work, was usually seen as a deliberate tactic of evasion. Maybe that was why they always gave him the feeling that they were up to something they didn’t want him to know about. Corcoran was quite pleasant and happy to answer Kaufman’s questions, but he was also odd in appearance and manner, distracted, awkward, uncomfortable, and unrelentingly twitchy. It was the kind of twitchiness common to drug addicts, but in Corcoran, it came off as an elaborate series of nervous tics.
Corcoran introduced him to Dr. Fara McManus, a woman whose smile and polite manner could not conceal her general crankiness. While she gave the impression she would rather be anywhere else, McManus was helpful and informative during a tour that took about ten minutes.
Kaufman had no reason disbelieve anything Corcoran and McManus told him, or to believe they were doing anything other than what they claimed to be doing. He took his conclusions to Renner, who was frustrated. He asked if Kaufman would mind if he brought in any further evidence he uncovered, and Kaufman said he’d be happy to consider it, but as things stood, there was nothing suspicious going on at Springmeier.
After that, Renner showed up every couple of months with some new piece of information that he felt increased the likelihood that his suspicions were accurate. Then he brought up the possibility of a connection between the Vendon Labs people and the disappearing homeless people.
Kaufman told Renner that he was barking up the wrong tree. Renner understood Kaufman’s frustration with his regular visits, but he felt strongly about it and did not want to give up. Kaufman respected his sincerity and determination, but he thought he was dead wrong and there was nothing he could do for him. But no matter how strongly they disagreed, they always remained civil and reasonable and thought no less of the other for the disagreement. That was so rare and Kaufman missed it so much that he actually thanked Renner for it once. These days, everyone seemed so eager to find some reason to be offended and vent their outrage that the simplest conversations had become minefields.
Ollie Monk, on the other hand, was not civil or reasonable or even entirely sane. He did not engage in conversations, he made declarations and proclamations and then expected everyone to accept them as facts. He seemed blissfully unaware of the fact that he was paranoid about every aspect of his life, sometimes for reasons that were not bound by reality. He was a proud and open bigot and because he had a lot of money—something about which Ollie was inexhaustibly arrogant—most people let him get away with it.
Kaufman couldn’t do anything about the fact that Ollie Monk was an obnoxious, bigoted asshole, but he’d be damned if he was going to let him step out of line with that militia of his, or whatever it was. He’d become sheriff just a year after Ollie had begun what he referred to as “working with homeless veterans.” He’d asked Ollie for a tour of the place, just a friendly visit so Kaufman could become more familiar with what Ollie was doing out there in the woods.
“Tell you what, Sheriff,” Ollie had said. “If you want to come out some evening, after business hours, as a citizen and not a sheriff, I’d be happy to give you a tour of the facilities.”
Ollie seemed pretty confident that Kaufman wouldn’t do that. But he did. He showed up one Friday evening in jeans, a blue chambray shirt, and his favorite cowboy hat. Ollie was unusually quiet and stammered a lot. He gave Kaufman a tour, but it was brief and hardly complete. It was the only time he’d seen Ollie nervous and uncomfortable, squirming like a caterpillar being held by a pair of tweezers. Kaufman’s visit was unexpected and Ollie was unprepared, not entirely in control of the situation. It was gratifying. After that, Kaufman made one visit a year in his street clothes. He always brought a cake or a pie. He could tell Ollie hated the visits, but he always went along with them, smiling the whole time. Each time, Ollie took him on a drive around the property and introduced him to some of the men.
Kaufman was impressed. Ollie not only had managed to get some serious drunks and drug addicts cleaned up, he had them in good spirits, as well. They looked healthy, vigorous, and happy. Kaufman did not think Monk’s militia was as much of a threat as Ollie Monk’s proud ignorance and stupidity, but there was nothing he could do about that. He still thought Ollie was an asshole, but he was doing good work with the homeless.
Then Ollie got the idea that the homeless people who had disappeared had been kidnapped by the people at the old mental hospital. They worked for Vendon Labs, which had been involved in some kind of drug testing, which meant that experimenting on kidnapped homeless people would be business as usual.
Renner had told him about that, and then he’d looked into it himself. He remembered the hearings back in the 1970s, but he hadn’t paid very close attention to them back then. He found the whole thing very disturbing, something he would prefer was just a spooky conspiracy theory. It was the kind of thing that made being patriotic a little bit harder than it already was. It also made it perfectly reasonable to be suspicious of shady government projects.
But Kaufman did not see that happening at Springmeier, and he told Ollie he was wrong. Several times. When he got tired of saying it, he threatened Ollie with arrest if he kept showing up or calling to complain about it. He also threatened Ollie with arrest if he were to take it upon himself to do anything about his crazy suspicions.
After that, Ollie was pretty quiet. So quiet that Kaufman nearly forgot about him. Then he’d gotten the call from Ivan Renner earlier in the day.
“Look, I don’t have any solid proof that he plans to do anything… problematic,” Renner said. “But what I just told you is exactly what he told me, and he wasn’t very happy when he said it. He didn’t get specific, only that he and his men were going to act.”
“That’s good to know, Ivan. I’m glad you called. Did he happen to mention when they were going to—”
“No, he didn’t say when. I’m really worried, sheriff, that he’s planning something… dangerous.”
“Dangerous how?”
“Well, let’s say that—um, you’re gonna have to humor me for a few minutes, okay?”
“I humor you all the time, Ivan, you know that.”
They both had a quick, nervous laugh.
“Let me give you a hypothetical situation. Let’s say that Vendon Labs is doing some secret and shady work for the government up there in the old hospital.”
Kaufman sighed. “Yeah, okay. Hypothetically. Let’s say that.”
“And let’s say the work they’re doing is developing a new biological weapon.”
“Oh, Christ. Are you serious? Are you trying to tell me that’s what they’re—”
“I’m not telling you anything. This is just a hypothetical situation. I’m trying to make a point. Give me a chance, okay?”
Another sigh. “All right.”
“Ollie and his men storm the place to rescue the people he believes are being held captive there, and in the process, something goes wrong with this biological weapon they’re working on. In all the chaos, all the violence, maybe shooting—”
“Yeah, okay, I get your point. And?”
“Well… think about that for a second, Sheriff. Ollie and his men, who knows what kind of damage they’d do with all their righteous indignation. Think about what could happen. And really, we don’t know what they’re doing in there, but if it’s—”
“They’re developing antibiotics, goddammit! There’s no reason to think otherwise!”
“What if I told you we have evidence to the contrary?”
“I would say, ‘Again, Ivan?’”
“Hey, at least I’ve always had evidence. You can’t say I haven’t. Just because you aren’t convinced by it doesn’t mean it’s not evidence.”
“Look, Ivan, I’m glad you called about Ollie. I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe if I have time, I’ll swing by the hospital and make sure everything’s okay. But this other stuff—I just don’t have time for it right now, Ivan. I’ve got other things to do.”
Then a few hours later, shortly before he left the station, while he was still trying to come up with an excuse to drive around looking for von Pohle’s car, Renner had called again.
“When you dropped by Springmeier, didn’t you say it was Dr. Fara McManus who gave you the tour?”
“Yes, that was the one. McManus. Why?”
“I’ve got a recording of Dr. McManus talking about what they’re really up to in Springmeier.”
“What they’re really—Jesus, Ivan, I don’t have time for this.”
“You have to make time. Listen, we’ve had somebody in there for a while, and he’s been—”
“Wait, in where?”
“In Springmeier.”
“I don’t understand, what do you mean?”
“Somebody who works for me also works at Springmeier and he’s been gathering information for us about—”
“A spy, you’ve got a spy in there? Is that what you’re saying? Jesus Christ, are you crazy? They could sue you. And win. What the hell do you think this is, Mission: Impossible? If I’d known that was what you were up to, I would have—”
“Sheriff, you have got to let me finish. The guy who works for me sent me a recording tonight of Dr. McManus talking about what they’re really doing. She’s having a fit of conscience and she’s ready to go public. And, Sheriff, they are experimenting on homeless people in there.”
Kaufman opened his mouth to respond, but Renner just kept talking without giving him a chance to speak up.
“You need to listen to this. I don’t know how good it’ll sound over the phone, but just listen to this, Sheriff.”
Then a woman was talking. Her voice was a bit tinny because he was listening to a recording over the phone. But the more he listened, the more familiar the voice sounded. Dr. McManus had a way of talking in a quick burst, then pausing, then talking in another quick burst. He recognized the rhythm, the cadence. And then he listened to what she was saying.
A burning nausea settled into his stomach as he listened, and before long, he was afraid he would vomit up a bellyful of acid.
Then Renner was saying, “Dr. McManus and my guy and everybody else in there are being held at gunpoint right now by Ollie and his men.”
“What? Are you shitting me? We haven’t gotten any calls—”
“They can’t call you, that’s why I’m calling you. It sounds like Ollie and his men have let out the test subjects.”
“Test subjects? I don’t under—”
“The homeless people infected with this virus.”
For a moment, Kaufman felt like his chair was spinning around. Then he remembered something: He was talking to Ivan Renner, who was a nice guy, but who believed some pretty crazy things, and this might be one of them. Kaufman had listened to Renner’s show, he’d listened to his guests, and he knew that much of Renner’s information came from sources that were unreliable at best and crazy or creepy or both at worst. Renner himself might be convinced that the voice in that recording belonged to Dr. Fara McManus, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was, and Kaufman had to keep reminding himself of that fact.
“What do you want me to do, Ivan?”
“Do? Get some deputies up there and—”
“I’ll drive by and take a look.”
“What? You mean… by yourself?”
“Yes, by myself.”
“Didn’t you hear what I just told you?”
“Yes, I heard it. And I have no doubt you believe it. But let’s be honest, Ivan. You aren’t exactly a good horse to bet on at the moment, you know what I mean? We’re up to our eyes in trouble right now because of the hurricane and I’m not going to send a bunch of deputies to Springmeier just on your say-so. Your record so far just wouldn’t support it. Even in good weather. But I’ll take a look myself. If there’s a problem, I’ll call for backup. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m on my way out.”
Now he made his slow way to Springmeier, taking a meandering route so he could search for von Pohle’s car. He’d called von Pohle’s home number to talk to his wife, hoping she’d know where he’d gone, but no one answered. Kaufman occasionally grabbed his radio mike and called for von Pohle. He never got a response.
3
It took a long time for all the noise to stop. After the initial explosion—what sounded like an explosion, anyway—shook the entire hospital, the extended sounds of collapsing, of something large falling apart, went on for a while, the crashing and banging and shattering sounds of destruction in progress. Fara backed into Emilio and pressed against him. She was trembling. He put his hands comfortingly on her shoulders, hoping she couldn’t tell that he was trembling, too.
“One of those trees,” Fara said.
Emilio leaned close to her ear and said, “What?”
She turned her head toward him and said, “One of those huge oak trees outside. They’re as old as dirt. I think one of them fell into the building.” She pointed. “Sounded like the one on the western side.”
The sounds of the storm seemed to be inside the old hospital now, echoing up and down its corridors, shoving on its doors. Emilio noticed the room suddenly felt colder.
“If that’s what it was,” Emilio whispered, “sounds like it knocked the shit outta that side of the building.”
“Yeah, I’m afraid that was a breach,” Ollie said. “Which means there may now be other ways for those people to get out of this building.” He turned to one of his men. “Leave a man on each exit, but get the rest together in the corridor intersection ASAP.”
The man hurried out.
Ollie turned to Emilio. “Are you gonna give me shit?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if your only interest is to get us out of here without spreading this goddamned doomsday plague, I could use your help.”
Emilio nodded. “Yeah, at this point, that’s my only interest.”
“Can you shoot a gun?”
“I’ve been to the range a few times.”
Ollie turned to Craig, who’d been standing silently with them all night, and said, “You got a handgun you can give him?”
The man removed his pistol from its holster and handed it to Ollie, who turned and offered it to Emilio.
“Can you handle that?”
“A Ruger? Sure.” Emilio took the gun.
“We might need some muscle, too. Whatever happened out there, it sounds like a mess.” He glanced at Fara. “I think you’re right about that tree. I had a man in that tree, goddammit.”
Ollie started to head for the door and Emilio began to follow him, but Fara’s hand clutched his elbow and pulled him back.
“Don’t leave me here,” she whispered.
“Well… I don’t think he’s gonna want you to come with us.”
“Don’t go out there. I’m scared. I’m serious, Emilio, I’m very scared, I don’t feel safe in here.” She folded her arms across her stomach and looked at their masked guard, then at Ollie, then at Corcoran. “From anyone.” She moved close, pressed herself against Emilio, and he put an arm around her. “And that dead man on the floor over there keeps reminding me that we’re all in a pretty shitty situation. You know?”
