Later that afternoon
It took several hours, but Nigel found some plywood from a nearby lumberyard. Like most everything else, he had to scrounge the supplies he was looking for: Plywood, nails, and a hammer. On the way back, they spotted clusters of people grouped together and staring up at the sky. Some of these people howled, while others stared into space. The movement and noise attracted the living zombies. From what Nigel could tell, they weren’t the living, dead variety, but rather just lost souls looking for some purpose.
“What’s wrong with them?” Blanka asked.
“I don’t know, but Doc Chop must have gotten to them somehow.”
“How is that possible? We’re hundreds of miles from New York.”
Nigel shrugged. He would find the answers to these questions when he got back online. On the outskirts of town, they nearly got overrun with the zoned, as Nigel called them. Blanka had pulled over to an old 1950s-style of gas station to get fuel.
“I’m sure they are closed,” Eva said.
“We can’t pump gas without power, but maybe if we can find some portable fuel containers and a hose, we can siphon what we need,” Nigel said.
“I will go with you. You’re not up for a fight in your condition,” Vedrana said.
Nigel didn’t have the energy to argue. He just wanted to get some medicine from the local pharmacy and get back to the lodge. His companions set up a perimeter in front of the main entrance to the lodge. The zoners wouldn’t get inside through the barbed wire and traps that Blanka had set. All things considered, Nigel couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather spend the rest of the world with. He had gotten to know Blanka and her understudies quite well. The four of them had bonded through a lot of strife in a short amount of time. He thought about Jet less every day that passed. He still thought he loved her, but his recent entanglements with Blanka had created a rift between them. The sound of a radio took him out of his thoughts. It was coming from inside the pharmacy. Nigel opened the door expecting to find the pharmacist, but he didn’t find anyone except an ancient transistor radio. He remembered seeing one in Milo’s collection. He marveled at the good condition the radio was in. It looked brand new. He tried listening to the broadcast. He noticed that the band was set to AM. He remembered from Milo’s endless chattering in high school that the AM band had a range of a hundred miles or less. Whereas the FM band had a shorter range.
“People are lining up at a local drug store trying to get supplies like clean water, basic medical supplies, or toilet paper. At times, tempers have flared. The National Guard has been called in to reestablish order. This is Veronica James of—Oh my god, several people were attacked. One of the attackers produced some kind of syringe and injected these people.”
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The next sounds that Nigel heard were of pandemonium. It sounded like people were being killed, or worse.
What the hell is going on out there?
“Mr. Watson, it’s very good to meet your acquaintance again,” a stern voice said.
Nigel turned so fast that he fell into a postcard rack. Images of lakes, mountains, and other scenic beauty were strewn about the floor. He followed the direction of the voice. It was Mr. Henry, the owner of his favorite computer store: Better Buy Computers.
What the hell is he going here, and what is he wearing?
His old friend seemed older. It was like he had aged ten years in one. His trimmed afro was all but gone. His bald head reflected the light.
“Mr. Henry, what are you doing here?”
The man smiled. He always had a way with people and could put them at ease. He remembered rumors of Mr. Henry being a spy, but now he was convinced. His former friend wore a black suit and had glasses.
“I’m here for you, Nigel. You have friends in high places.”
“Friends? I don’t know who—”
“Mr. Eldon Tage reached out to my superiors. It was only a matter of time before we put the pieces together. We know you were involved in the attack on the windowless building.”
Nigel’s heart got stuck in his throat.
“Am I being arrested?”
Mr. Henry laughed.
“No, Nige, I’m enlisting you to come help us get a handle on this crisis. We know the neurotoxin is being developed by a Dr. Sylvester Javitts, but we don’t know much about his operation. But Mr. Tage pointed me in your direction.
What’s that old man up to? He’s a high-ranking member of the cabal. Aren’t they working with Doc Chop?
“I don’t know what help I can provide. I’m trying to figure out what’s happening, too,” Nigel said.
He heard the door being opened.
“What the hell! Who is this man?” Blanka asked.
“Wait, this is Mr. Henry. A friend. He is here to help.”
Blanka didn’t look convinced.
“Is that so? Then answer me this, what is the matter with those people?” Blanka said, pointing outside.
“This Dr. Javitts is spreading a contagion that makes people’s brains into oatmeal. Government scientists have not figured out a way to reverse it. That’s why I’m here. I have a chopper waiting just outside of town. There is enough room for the both of you,” Mr. Henry said.
“We have two more,” Nigel said.
Mr. Henry rubbed at his bald head. “The copter has room for five, including the pilot. So someone will need to stay behind.”
“Then I suggest it be you, because we are not going anywhere without our companions. Besides, I can pilot. We stay together,” Blanka said.
Moments later, Eva and Vedrana entered. After brief introductions, Mr. Henry brought the group up to date on current developments. He explained that he needed Nigel’s help to find Doc Chop so a cure could be found for the neurotoxin.
“Give us a moment.”
Mr. Henry left the drug store and waited outside.
“What do you think?” Nigel asked the group.
“While he seems legit, I don’t trust him,” Blanka said.
“I don’t trust him either, but if we have a change to get out of this frozen wasteland and do some good, then I’m up for an adventure,” Vedrana said.
“I’m with you, sister,” Eva said.
“I will go wherever you go, Nigel. If you should think we should go with this man, then I’m there for you,” Blanka said, giving his hand a squeeze.
Since unleashing the Kraken code, Nigel had felt responsible for everything associated with the code’s payload. He was compelled to make amends. If he could help in even a small way, it was the right thing to do.