Chapter 22: Seeding Hope, Growing Communities

Natalie sat back, enjoying the quiet of Norfolk's Town Point Park. The smell of dead fish was annoying, but due to the destruction of the organisms which accelerated their decay, it wasn't overpowering. She watched the waves in the distance, seemingly unconcerned with anything around her.

"Natalie, can you read me?"

Natalie reached up and appeared to scratch her ear. "Of course I can hear you. I taught you how to use the headset, so I'm familiar with them. What's more, I heard you during each of your previous tests."

"Just ensuring the signal is clear," Tom Reynolds' voice sounded in her ear. "I switched to my final destination. I have eyes on you so I can observe anyone approaching."

"Be careful with those damn binoculars. Most survivors are incredibly cautious. If they see an unexpected flash of light from the top of a building, they'll disappear before you even notice them. This would be much easier without you goons watching over me."

"As Commander Bennet stated, you're too valuable to risk. You got your wish, we're well out of eyesight, but we want to respond if anything goes wrong."

"And you're sure you know what you're doing?" Natalie asked, just to be sure.

"I told you, I wasn't familiar with radio transmissions since I'd never used them before. However, in this regard I know what I'm doing. I attended sniper training and learned to blend in and escape detection during tours with the Marines in both Afghanistan and Iran."

"Yeah, no one ever noticed any American soldiers in either of those conflicts!"

"Very funny. But still, I learned to avoid most of the obvious mistakes. No one will notice me."

Sammy Taylor's voice joined in the discussion. "You realize many of the civilians you encounter could be military vets."

"If you guys are finished yakking, I'd like to remind you there's no way I can reach you from where I am. If someone pulled a gun or knife, it would take me at least three minutes to reach you."

"Frankie, we agreed. You're only to monitor anyone approaching from the north end of the city on Boush Street. If someone tries anything, I'll handle it. Believe me, I've done this before, and I've been trained by some very experienced people. But the whole point is: we don't want to shoot anyone."

"No one ever wants to shoot someone," Tom pointed out. "That doesn't mean it won't happen."

"Hey, if the lady says she can handle herself, I'd take her at her word. She certainly stopped you, Frankie, and she slipped into our base single-handedly without any boating experience. Besides, I'm closer. It won't take me as long to reach her."

"Thanks, Sammy. Can you see anything?"

"Not yet, but I've noticed some suspicious movements. It might be nothing, but it might be someone undercover trying to edge closer."

"Good, give them time. Whatever you do, don't interfere or scare them away."

There was silence as the three men fretted about potential bogies. Natalie continued observing the water, imagining a more peaceful time when it wasn't so filled with the dead.

"You know," Frankie said, breaking their radio silence, "I was impressed with how you evacuated Sentara General."

Natalie sighed, realizing it was pointless ignoring these guys. They were too nervous and inexperienced to remain silent for long. Best to let them get it out before anyone arrived. "I hardly evacuated anything. I just walked in and grabbed the supplies we need."

"Still, I'd rather stroll into open gunfire than into those houses of death."

"It's only a simple hospital. You've been in plenty of them."

"That was before the plagues hit. Now they're filled with the contagious dead. No one will approach them for fear the plague might be carried in the air."

"Sound advice, but again, I'm immune and know how to respond. It's more difficult than dangerous. You move quickly so the stale air doesn't overwhelm you. The Great Death scent gets a little ... overwhelming."

"Yeah, you say it isn't dangerous, but even you refer to it as 'dead air'," Tom said. "It's air filled with the contaminated scent of the dead."

"Hate to interrupt, guys," Sammy broke in, "but we have an inbound on Waterside Drive from the parking garage. There's another possible on Martin's Lane."

"Alright, everyone, radio silence." Natalie was glad for the excuse to shut them up. Instead of worrying about when they'd arrive, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, enjoying the peace and quiet. However, that silence was disrupted a moment later by a report from Frankie.

"Another inbound on Boush Street, on foot and carrying a rifle."

Natalie didn't bother responding. She'd deal with them when they arrived. Frankly, she'd be more worried if they weren't armed, as it implied they weren't sane given the current state of the world.

"Uh oh," Tom warned. "Inbounds on Waterside Drive and Martins Lane spotted each other. They've both halted."

"Let them work it out themselves," Natalie hissed, trying to keep her voice to a whisper.

"Just keeping you informed, Ma'am," Tom said, with a touch of humor to his voice.

Natalie ignored him, never opening her eyes and humming to herself, using the same tone and rhythm she used during her treatments. She hoped her nervous protectors could keep the chatter down, but she didn't expect they could resist for long.

"It's OK. They're moving on. Both are shying away from each other, giving themselves a wide berth, but they're continuing."

"This might speed things up," Sammy suggested. "Since they know about each other, they've given up on discretion. They're both moving forward, not bothering to disguise their movements, though on different routes."

Natalie continued humming, hoping to convey her sense of serenity to the nervous servicemen. They took the hint and kept silence, but of course, it didn't last.

Tom broadcast an update. "There's a bald man who just saw you by the building across from you where I'm stationed. There's a woman approaching along the Elizabeth River Trail by the mini dock and pavilion. She's seen the bald guy, and she's now moving on your position as well."

"The guy with the rifle, an older black man with gray hair, just passed my position at Nauticus," Frankie reported. "He stopped to survey the park."

Silence resumed, and Natalie cracked her eyes open, trying to pinpoint where the two approaching from the east were. She couldn't make them out yet, so she waited, closing her eyes again. They'd arrive when they arrived.

"My guy has moved on," Frankie said. "It doesn't appear he's seen you. I'm going to change my position. I'm too far away to respond."

"Don't ... you ... dare!" Natalie hissed through clenched teeth so her moving jaw wouldn't give her away. She kept her voice a carefully pitched whisper so it wouldn't carry.

"He can't see me and—"

"Petty Officer Sander, stand down!" Tom ordered. Frankie didn't respond. Natalie hoped he could obey orders.

"Female past the pavilion, bald male crossing the street," Tom reported. "Each is about thirty yards from you."

To distract those approaching and convey she wasn't worried, Natalie sat up but turned towards the water, facing away from those seeking her out. She could now see the woman with her peripheral vision, but not the others.

"Rifleman sees Bald guy, he's stopped, holding his rifle at the ready," Frankie said, suggesting he hadn't moved yet. "Baldy hasn't responded. Wait. Rifle guy followed his line of sight and saw you. Baldy has stopped."

"He's allowing the woman to advance while observing how you respond," Tom advised.

"Rifle guy has shouldered his weapon. He's now moving around the park, trying to maximize his distance from Baldy while keeping you in sight. They're both letting the woman approach before deciding how to respond."

Tired of the constant updates, Natalie reached up, pretending to scratch her ear, and removed her earpiece, dropping it into her breast pocket.

"Uh... , excuse me?"

Natalie looked up, recognizing her visitor for the first time, but not responding.

"Are you the woman from West Virginia? The one who works with Alice and David?"

Natalie waved her closer without shifting her position.

"My name is Anetta. I've been listening to your broadcasts for weeks. I was waiting for you to arrive, but you took longer than expected."

Anetta was a plain woman, clearly French. She spoke without an accent, so she'd apparently lived in country for a long time. She had a round face but wasn't overweight. But the sincerity in her eyes was striking, as was the assurance behind it.

"Sorry about that. Traffic was a killer. Sadly, no one was moving, so I had to take the long way around. By the way, you don't have many bridges leading into town anymore."

Anetta laughed. "No, we certainly don't. Next time, try dropping down to Petersburg and take Route 460 into Suffolk. There are still bridges out there, but there are a variety of land routes around them."

"My name is Natalie, Anetta. Do you know your friends?"

"Nope. Never seen them before. I've been avoiding people ever since I recovered. Like you, I'm a survivor, but I watched other survivors die from additional plagues, so I avoided others. I realized how nearly I escaped death and wasn't eager to give it a second try."

Instead of responding, Natalie turned, waving the two men forward to join them. Anetta laughed again.

"I didn't think you were so oblivious. You knew where we all were all along, didn't you?"

"You don't survive for long if you don't learn to be careful, always observing everything around you."

"Tell me about it," Anetta giggled as the men approached.

"Hello. My name is Natalie. I'm from David's group in West Virginia. Just so I know where to start, how many of you know who I am?"

The bald man who'd first encountered Anetta spoke first. "I'm Juan Tabor. I don't know much about you. I monitor the radio for news of recovery and rescue, but heard nothing until last night when you broadcast about showing up today. I assume that's because your broadcasts don't reach this far. At least not well enough for my little battery powered radio to pick up."

Juan was an older Hispanic man who wasn't actually bald, just had close-cropped hair and a receding forehead. He also wore a thin beard and mustache which ran along his jawline.

An older black man, their rifleman, wore black-framed glasses and had salt and pepper hair, more salt than pepper, at this point. "My name is Rolo. I'm a Navy vet who worked in the Portsmouth shipyards before ... well before they closed forever. I never heard any broadcasts, but I saw the notices announcing you'd be here today and decided to investigate. You're certainly young." He gave her an appraising glance. "Is it true you can cure the plague?"

"Plagues," Natalie emphasized. "We refer to them collectively as the Great Death. There are actually nine different plagues, each of which has different symptoms. And I don't have a cure as much as a treatment. It involves treating someone healthy with the plasma of someone who's survived the treatment. The plasma gives them each of the plagues. As you'd expect, it's incredibly painful. But something in the plasma allows most people to survive. Once you recover, you're immune to all the plagues. Only you're a carrier, like I am. You can infect others by approaching too close, coughing or if you aren't careful, what you touch."

"Whoa!" Rolo said, waving his hands to slow her down. "That's more than I ever knew and a lot to take in."

"Don't worry, there's more to come," Anetta warned, giving another gentle laugh.

"Before we get too wrapped up in details, let's establish some essential information. Do you know what your blood types are?"

"I'm type B negative," Anetta offered. "From what you've said, if we at least have someone else with type A, we can treat everyone."

"Since I was in the military so long, I'm familiar with my own blood type," Juan said. "The shipyard used to do regular blood drives, and I'd volunteer as we had some nasty accidents at the yard. I'm B positive."

"I have no clue what I am," Rolo admitted. "I never donated often enough to memorize it. Anytime I did, they'd test me and take what they needed. I was never rejected, but I don't know how many people you could treat with my blood."

Natalie was about to respond when her right breast pocket started shouting in a muffled voice.

"Are those friends of yours?" Anetta asked, raising an eyebrow.

Natalie took out her earpiece and slipped it into her ear. "They're some sailors who assigned themselves my protectors. They weren't helping much, so I figured they'd be less distracting in my pocket. Apparently they're getting restless." Natalie tapped her earpiece. "Yeah, I'm listening."

"It's about time," Tom responded sharply. "How do things stand? Should I send someone out, or should we check out the surrounding area for new people?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to Frankie."

"Me? Why?" Frankie asked nervously.

"I've got either good or bad news, depending on your viewpoint. You've been promoted out of the Navy. You're our only known type A, which means you've been elected to undergo the procedure. You're too valuable to waste manning ships. Instead of swabbing decks, you'll save the lives of hundreds. As a result, you'll be out of commission for the next few days and recovering for the next week, at least. Once you've treated enough other people to take your place, you'll travel to other areas, spreading our treatment as widely as possible."

"That means I can't follow you to Europe?"

"Sadly, no. If I'm going to sail around the world locked in a tin can, I'd prefer if no one else can touch me. Besides, as I said, you're too valuable here. Why don't you come down and meet our crew." She turned around, glancing up at the building across the street. "Tom, I've got someone you can use. He's a shipworker from the Portsmouth Shipyard. I figure he'd be more useful repairing your existing ships than the rest of you untrained sailors."

"Hmm. You're right. He could be a real benefit, depending on his skills. We're stretched pretty thin as it is, and anyone who can help us repair vessels faster would be welcome."

"Seems the shipyard hasn't closed permanently, Juan," Natalie announced. "Although you've now been transferred to the Naval Shipyard in Norfolk instead. Hope you're ready to train a bunch of novices."