One of the reporters in attendance screamed, making sure his voice was heard and would not be interrupted. “Does this have anything to do with the sudden military presence along the coast? Does it have anything to do with the explosion out at sea last night?”
The mayor looked at the reporter as if he might kill him. “Those reports are baseless,” he said, nearly shouting. “We have no hard evidence to support that.”
“Yes, but—”
The mayor stepped off of the stage and was replaced with a beefy-looking security guard. He glared into the crowd and said: “This concludes the briefing. Please stay home and watch local news programming or stay informed via public social media platforms.”
With that, the conference ended and the news footage went back to the studio. Only now, the camera showed an empty desk. People were moving around quickly in the background and somewhere, just beyond the camera, there came the sounds of someone getting very sick.
Paul looked back toward the bedroom, hating that the old woman had died alone. At the same time, he envied Officer Myers his courageous streak and kind heart. Even at the end, knowing there was a very good chance he would die, Myers had done his best to assist others.
Paul had struggled with that duty while walking through the death and desolation of Manhattan—of knowing Devon was dead, that his fellow cops and the citizens they had sworn to protect were dying at alarming rates. Now, though, that struggle was over and Paul felt that unwavering duty stabilizing itself at the very core of him.
He lightly scratched at the corners of his mask. It was starting to come apart at the edges at the little elastic straps, worn thin from sweat and tears. He wasn’t sure how much longer it might last. But he’d worry about that later. Right now, he still had a job to do. It would be a dismal and seemingly meaningless one, but he had to do what he could.
He took his shoulder mic off and tried the open channel. “This is Officer Paul Gault,” he said. “Does anyone copy?”
He was surprised when he got an immediate response. “I hear you,” came a weak female response. “This is Officer Lawrence. I’m sick. Not sure how much longer I have.”
“Where are you?”
She chuckled and, through a weak moan, she said: “I don’t even know, honestly. I think Greenwich somewhere…there’s a fire to my right, two dead to my left…”
“Hey, Gault?” came another voice, familiar but somehow broken. “Gault, it’s Myers…”
“How you doing?” Paul asked, not realizing how stupid of a question it was until it was out of his mouth.
“Not good. Can’t stop throwing up and…I can’t move. I’m done. I just…did you check on her?”
“I did. She passed, Myers. Sorry, man.”
“It’s okay. I got another one you can check on if you don’t mind. You still holding up?”
“So far, so good.” It made him feel terrible, admitting that he hadn’t felt so much as a twinge of fever just yet while all of the other officers he’d spoken with in the past few hours were either dead or dying. “And of course, I’ll do what I can. What have you got?”
“I know it’s a hike, but over on Fleet Avenue, there’s a daycare. I forget the name of it. Little Tikes, or Little Learners or something like that. I checked in a few hours ago, before it got really bad and…told them to lockdown but…can’t even think about the kids and the…”
Myers’s breathing was extremely labored now, coming out in a wheeze that was somehow magnified by the shoulder mic.
“Don’t sweat it,” Paul said. “I’ll run by and check. Meyers, you just take care now, okay?”
There was a response from the other end, but it was not Myers’s voice. It was something in the distance—a hollow bang, followed by ghost-like screaming. Myers gasped at it and then started to whimper again.
“Myers…you got family I can reach out to?”
“Yeah, but…they’re already gone. I checked. How about you?”
“None. Just a father that I haven’t seen in ages. Myers, you—”
“I’m out. Thanks, Gault.”
Paul stood in the old lady’s living room, holding the mic and not sure what to say. In the end, he simply put it back on his shoulder. Before making his exit, he glanced back to the television and saw that the chaotic newsroom had been replaced by the color bars of an emergency broadcast screen.
Chapter 7
At 11:25, Joyce Bates was the only child remaining at Little Learners Day Care. All of the other parents had come to pick up their children. In two cases, the parents had already fallen sick and sent someone else to pick them up in their place. Every time Olivia opened the lobby door to send a child away, she was sure that would be the moment—that would be when whatever sickness was out on the streets would get into Little Learners.
But so far, both she and Joyce were perfectly healthy. As Olivia started to prepare Joyce’s lunch, she wondered where Maggie was. Had she gotten sick and died? Was she trapped in the terrible, unmoving traffic Olivia had read about online? Had she, along with her co-workers seen the pretty much useless address by the mayor and decided to lockdown at the office? Olivia assumed this might be likely, but didn’t see why it would prevent Maggie from calling.
When Olivia had Joyce’s plate prepared, she found the little girl sitting at the plastic picnic table that was set up in the corner of the feeding grounds for the older kids. When Olivia set the plate in front of her, Joyce looked to the plate and then to the empty room around them.
“E’rybody gone?” she asked.
“Yeah, everyone left early today,” Olivia answered. She tried to inject some cheer into her voice and thought she did a passable job.
“When do I go?” Joyce asked.
“You trying to leave me early, too?”
“No!” Joyce said, giving her trademark cute grin before starting on her chicken nuggets, applesauce, and carrot sticks.
“You want to watch something while you eat?” Olivia asked. This was usually only allowed for breakfast, as it helped the kids remain calm when coming in early and being separated from their parents. Other than some instructional videos here and there and “free time” during the hour or so most kids were picked up in the afternoon, the TV was usually left off.
But right now, Olivia needed to distract Joyce. She needed to make some phone calls, none of which were likely to net anything positive.
“Mickey, Minnie, Donald!”
“I thought that’s what you’d say,” Olivia said. It was far too hard to act normal, to sound happy, while putting in a Mickey Mouse Clubhouse DVD. For some reason, hearing the theme song as it came on was surreal. To hear such cheerful music when the world went to ruin less than twenty feet away through a few walls and windows, was beyond weird.
As Joyce ate and watched Mickey and friends, Olivia walked to the doorway to the feeding grounds. She dared not go any farther; even though the door to the lobby and the employee entrance in the back was locked, she was not about to let Joyce out of her sight. She kept her eyes on the little girl as she dialed Maggie’s number. As the phone rang, she started to wonder what might happen if Maggie was sick. She’d met Joyce’s dad once before and though he was a very nice man, he was also the sort that was always away on business. What if they were both sick? What if…
Before the thought could fully take form, the call went to voicemail. She heard Maggie Bates tell her to leave a message at the beep, which Olivia did. “Just checking to see how you are with all of this…all of this craziness. Joyce is fine and I’m fine, but the parents have all come to get their kids and I was worried about you. So…call back when you can, please.”
She ended the call there and then figured she may as well go ahead and call the police. She knew from the mayor’s address that the city was on lockdown but from the sounds she still heard on occasion from the street, she wasn’t sure just how effective that lockdown had been so far. Still, she had someone else’s child in her care in what could easily be consider
ed an epidemic. Surely there was protocol for this sort of thing, right?
She called, figuring they could at least give her some sort of advice. While she was mostly fine with the idea of just sheltering in place with Joyce until some semblance of control was reached outside, she’d feel much better having spoken to someone in authority. She Googled the number to the police and when she called, was greeted by a sound that made her heart plummet: the droning sound of a busy line. She hung up, waited ten seconds, and tried again only to get the same results.
“The lines are probably jammed,” she said out loud. She looked over to Joyce, hoping for the little girl’s sake as well as her own, that Maggie was still healthy and on her way.
Olivia busied herself over the next half an hour or so, doing anything that resembled normal. She wiped down surfaces, cleaned up Joyce’s lunch space, and she even took Candyland down out of the games closet to show Joyce how to play. After Candyland, it would be Joyce’s naptime, and that would give Olivia the chance to try calling the police again. Maybe she’d also scroll through more Facebook news to get an idea of just how bad things were getting out there.
When her cellphone rang at 12:02, she nearly screamed in shock. She leaped to her feet, fully expecting to see Maggie’s name and number. Instead it was a number she had never seen before. She was pretty sure it was an area code outside the state of New York. As she answered it, she looked down to Joyce and watched as she scooted her little game piece over Lollypop Woods.
“Hello?” she asked. As she said the word, she realized she was holding her breath, not sure who this could possibly be or what news waited on the other line.
“Hello,” said a man’s soft, trembling voice. “Is this…is this Little Learners? I’m looking for Olivia or Jacki.”
“This is Olivia.”
“Oh, good, good.” The man sounded like he’d just woken up. But, given the way the morning was going, she assumed his voice sounded this way because he’d been crying.
“Can I help you?”
“Oh, yeah…I don’t know…I mean, my daughter is there. Joyce. Joyce Bates.”
“Yes! She’s right here, with me. I apologize, but I think I’ve only ever met you once.”
“Yeah and that’s why I’m calling. I’m in Minnesota right now, on business. I just got a phone call from someone…a cop, maybe? I don’t know. Someone. She…”
The stops and starts and the fragility in his voice made Olivia quite certain the man was in a state of shock. And, as such, she was pretty sure she knew what he was calling to tell her.
“Mr. Bates?” She prodded.
“Maggie is dead,” he said, almost casually. “I got the call ten minutes ago. I think everyone in her office is dead. They all got that mess that’s taking out New York. I’m watching it on the news and it’s…she’d dead. Maggie is dead and I’m in Minneapolis and I can’t get through to the airport. I need my baby girl. Oh my God…I need…”
He broke down here, sobbing in a way that broke Olivia’s heart. She had no idea what to say, so she waited. As she listened to Mr. Bates cry from the pit of his stomach, she looked down to Joyce. She was smiling and now skating her game piece all along the multicolored board, having no idea that her life would never be the same.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Bates said through a hitching breath. “What I meant to say, or to ask, rather, is if Joyce is okay.”
“Yes, she’s okay. And from what I can see, she’s not sick.”
“Thank God. Look, I have no idea how long things will be this way. We’re being told that the entire state of New York is now on lockdown. Nobody in, nobody out. And with Maggie…not able to come get her and no one answering the phone at her mother’s place, I have no idea what to do. I can only ask if you could watch her somehow? I know it’s asking a lot, but I have no other options and I feel so helpless…so…”
He started to drift off again, a high-pitched whine coming from his throat. Before he could let it come out again, she cut him off.
“Yes,” she said not realizing the weight of the decision until the word was out of her mouth. “I’ll do everything I can to keep her safe until you can get to her.”
“Thank you,” he said. And then he lost it anyway.
Olivia stayed on the phone with him, not saying a word but also not daring to hang up. It took a good three minutes before he was able to speak again.
“Sorry…okay. I mean, what is it, anyway? What’s going on there?”
“I honestly don’t know all of it. I’d assume that you watching the news in another state know more than I do.”
“Yeah,” he said distantly. And then when he spoke again, she understood that he did not want to know. He did not want to imagine his daughter in the heart of the hell he was seeing on the television. So instead, he said: “When I can wrap my head around this and not break down every three seconds, I’d like to speak to Joyce. Maybe even FaceTime her. Would that be okay?”
“Yes. That would be fine.” It then occurred to her for the first time that he had called her cell and not the landline. She assumed he had one of their business cards, which had both numbers. That, though, was a pointless question for another time.
“Thanks again,” he said. “I’ll call back as soon as I can.”
He ended the call then, not bothering with a goodbye. It was just as well, as far as Olivia could tell. It sounded like he was about to break down yet again at the last word.
Olivia held the phone lightly and sat back down across from Joyce. She looked for something to say, some way to remain calm and pretend everything was normal. She felt it all collecting in her chest and it felt like a weight being pressed against her. It hurt her heart and caused her stomach to ache. She felt her muscles tensing up as her body willed itself not to tremble and shake in front of this little girl.
“Your turn, sweetie,” she said.
Then Joyce, smiling as bright as ever, drew another card.
***
Joyce went down for her nap a little easier than usual because there were no other kids around to cause noise or distract her. The nursery sat in a large room between the playroom and the feeding grounds, equipped with eight cribs. Olivia put Joyce into the crib at 12:15 and she was asleep by 12:25—a record for Joyce as far as Olivia was concerned.
When she was certain Joyce was asleep, Olivia went into the playroom and sat on the floor next to one of the little bean bags. She took the beanbag into her hands and brought it to her face. She buried her head into it and let out a scream. It felt far too good as it came out, loosening up the tightness in her chest. By the time the initial scream was out, she had started to sob. It felt almost uncontrollable at first, as if there were a volcano in her heart that needed to get all of the festering emotion out. It felt reckless, but it also felt good; she could spend the remainder of her afternoon screaming and crying like this and she’d be okay with that.
Yeah, except now you’re in charge of someone else’s four year-old—and not just between the hours of seven and five at Little Learners. Nope, Joyce is now yours twenty-four-seven until her father can make it to New York. And let’s be realistic: based on what we’ve seen this morning, that’s not going to be anytime soon.
It was a prominent truth that made the screaming and crying almost seem foolish. But she continued to do so, soaking the bean bag with her tears as she used it to muffle the sounds of her grief, confusion, and anger.
She had no idea how long she’d been letting it out when the buzzer at the front door rang. It was a familiar sound but it still gave her a huge scare when she heard it. She cast the beanbag aside and ran to the laptop on the counter by the door. She maximized the security screens and pulled the view of the front door to the center. There was a cop standing there, peering in through the glass along the top of the door. He stepped out of frame for a moment, peered in through the large window, and then came back to the door.
She made her way quickly out of the playroom, down the short hall, and unlocke
d the lobby door. She saw the cop right away but her attention was drawn to what she saw behind him. Where there had been at least some motion and activity the last time she’d been out into the lobby, there was now nothing. There were an abundance of parked cars and, though her brain tried to refuse the visual stimuli, several bodies scattered on the streets.
Seeing the bodies, her eyes instantly went back to the policeman. It was not the same one as before, the one that had suggested she go into lockdown. This one looked older, somewhere near fifty or so she guessed. He looked exhausted and the surgical mask he wore was nearly brown with grime and sweat.
She gave him a wave, which he returned. “I don’t think it’s safe anymore to let you in,” she said loudly as she approached the front window.
“I agree. Another cop was by here earlier, I think. A guy by the name of Myers. He wanted me to check in on you.”
“Oh,” Olivia said. She realized that she was a bit disappointed. Had she really been hoping this cop would be bringing some sort of good news? “Well, I think we’re good here. As good as can be, all things considered.”
“Have you been outside at all?”
“Not since I arrived here this morning, no. And that was a little before 6:30.”
“How many children are in your care.”
“Only one now.”
The cop’s eyes grew wide with alarm and sadness.
“Oh, no, not like that,” Olivia said. “I had eight. Parents and family members have been picking them up all morning. So now it’s just down to the one. Her mother is dead and her father just called. He’s in Minnesota, so…”
The cop nodded slowly. Olivia took the time to look at the little pinned-on nameplate on his shirt. It read: GAULT.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this,” he said through the window, “but you may be in there for a while. If you and that child are not sick, it’s likely because you’ve been in there all morning.”
It Falls Apart Series | Book 1 | It Falls Apart Page 6