by Lee Beard
When he got to the ICU, Housely was staring blankly at the wall through half-lidded eyes. The only noise in the room was the soft beeping coming from the stat monitor. “Hello,” Foster smiled. “I’m Dr. Foster. I’m assisting Dr. Mitchell with your case. We need some more blood to run a test to see how you’re doing.” Housely continued to stare directly ahead. “I bet you just love these needles by now. Yeesh,” Foster joked lightly, retrieving a sterile syringe from a drawer. No reaction. “…Alrighty. On the count of three…” He tied off Housely’s arm with a band right above a vein, and stuck the needle in. As Foster began to draw in the plunger, he immediately knew that there was something very, very wrong. The blood that should have been the consistency of water was as thick as pudding. “Oh, God,” he pulled the syringe out in horror. Just then, the machine started going crazy, beeping wildly as the heartbeat graph dropped. Foster slammed the emergency button on the wall, threw the syringe in the biohazard bin and ran into the hallway. “We need a crash cart in here!”
***
Watertown, NY
Tuesday, Week Three
On Zach’s way home from work he passed through the alley behind the old shopping strip, kicking a rock absentmindedly. As he passed the electronics store, something shiny in one of the trash bins caught his eye. Moving closer, he saw that it was a discarded radio transmitter. It seemed fully intact, the only problem being the destroyed packaging. Since it was being thrown away anyway and Oleson’s transmitter was tin foil and old batteries, Zach slipped it in his pocket and continued toward home.
“Hey, Oleson?” Zach rapped on the trailer door. No answer. Zach glanced over and saw that the Olesmobile was parked in its usual spot. He knocked on the door again. “Oleson, you home?” A faint thud and pained groan answered back. Zach opened the door quickly and jumped the concrete step. “Oleson!” Zach looked toward Oleson’s room. The old man was lying on a crumpled blanket in blue pajamas beside his bed. Zach kneeled beside him and rolled him over slowly on his back. His face was pale, his eyes squeezed shut.
“That you, Bub?” his voice was weak.
“What happened to you?” Zach searched the man’s face for signs of anything other than pain.
“I think this old body’s finally beginning to quit on me,” Oleson squinted up at Zach. “I’m real tired is all. Feeling right like a weakling.”
“Come on, we’ve got to get you to a doctor,” Zach slipped an arm around the old man’s shoulders, gently lifting his head off the ground.
“No!” Oleson’s eyes shot open, and for the first time Zach could see that they were yellowed and bloodshot. “No,” he reiterated quieter. “No doctors…They scare me.” Oleson looked up at Zach with helpless fear in his eyes. The old man had never been anything but smiles, so seeing him act like frightened child was terrifying.
“But we’ve got to get you help,” Zach said again, glancing to the door. “I’m not going to just sit here and do nothing.”
“I think I ought to just rest now. I’m awful tired.” The older man sighed and yawned.
“But-” Zach protested before Oleson cut him off.
“-I’ll be fine in the morning. Just need sleep. Help me up, will you?” Zach stood slowly, raising Oleson up onto the bed. He helped him get situated and picked his blanket off the floor, before stepping back hesitantly. “Bub?”
“Yessir?”
“Pretty strange weather we’ve been havin’, innit.” Oleson’s eyelids drooped slowly.
“Sure enough.” Zach eased down onto a wobbly chair near the door.
“Them Canucks said it’s snowing up there. But I think…” His voice wavered as another yawn interrupted him. “…they’s fooling.”
“Yeah?”
“Makes sense that it’d be summer there too, right?” Oleson feebly drew the blanket up to his chin, his eyes rolling back a bit as his lids shut.
“Makes complete sense.” Zach smiled, eyebrows knitted.
“Good… I like making sense…” Oleson’s head lolled to the side, his breathing slowing slightly.
Zach waited for what seemed to be hours to make sure he was sleeping soundly before hesitantly standing up. Slowly, quietly, he pulled Oleson’s bedroom door shut. “See you round, Oleson.”
*
Zach numbly watched the coroner load the stretcher into the ambulance.
“Son?” Zach looked to the police officer standing nearby. He grasped a notepad and pen, watching Zach carefully. “If you need to sit down or something…”
“Nah. No…I’m okay. What was the question again?” Zach crossed his arms in front of him.
“I need a statement of what happened this morning.”
“I woke up on his couch around 5:30 and went to check on him…and he was…wasn’t breathing, he was cold and…” Zach swallowed hard.
One of the other policemen called the first officer over to the yellow tape surrounding the house. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
The officer returned as the ambulance pulled out of the trailer park, its lights illuminating the gravel in the early morning darkness. By then, some of the residents were peeking out of their doors and looking out windows trying to get a glimpse of what was going on.
“Did he have any family?”
Zach shook his head and cleared his throat. “Nah, it was just him.”
The officer made some notes on the pad. “Alright. Well, the coroner says that it was a straightforward passing of natural causes. We’ll have somebody run his name through the records and see if we can find any family. If not, somebody will be by next week to collect his things.” The officer glanced at the Olesmobile. “So if ah, if there’s anything of yours or anyone else’s in there, you might want to get it out. I’m sorry for your loss.”
When the officers left, Zach slowly made his way to the yellow tape. Slipping past it, he opened the trailer door and stepped inside. He sunk into his chair at the radio station and stared at the empty seat next to him. All the memories Zach had of Oleson suddenly came rushing back; from the hours spent creating secret languages to the afternoons spent fishing at the lake to the evenings chatting with people halfway around the world.
Zach blew out a long, slow breath of air, glancing up at Oleson’s fire hazard of a kitchenette. There, tacked up on the wall above the mini fridge, was a framed picture. Zach had taken it with the disposable camera Oleson gave him for his birthday one year. A grinning 10-year-old Zach and laughing Oleson were crookedly framed in the snapshot, and scrawled at the bottom was the caption “Oleson and Bub, best friends.”
Zach’s vision blurred.
***
Isherwood, PA
Thursday, Week Three
Millie was dozing on the couch when her dad burst through the front door and ran into the living room, startling Millie from her nap.
“Channel 7. Quickly!”
Millie sat up, grabbed the remote off the coffee table and flipped over to the news station. “What’s the matter?”
“Shh!” Tim slid into the chair in front of the coffee table as the president appeared on the screen. He looked as though he hadn’t slept for days, yet his presence was commanding as always. The mob of reporters seated in front of him went silent as he stepped up to the microphone.
“My fellow Americans, I’ve come here today to address a very serious issue that has come to my attention. There has been an outbreak of a viral infection that has spread over part of this great nation, and today I am setting in motion a series of events that will contain this virus before it can spread further. A quarantine of many sections of the United States will be instated effective immediately; we’ll detail exactly where those quarantine zones will be in just a moment. Cancel any and all public gatherings, summer schools, and non-essential public outings. Enforce social distancing in the workplace, and increase sanitization efforts by 300% in all aspects of life.”
“What does that even mean?” Millie muttered to herself.
The President continued.
“Only visit the hospital or your medical caregiver if there is a genuine emergency. The United Department of Health and Human Services and the Center for Disease Control and Prevention are working overtime to bring more information to you, the public, at this time.” The crowd of reporters erupted into a frenzy, hands and microphones waving wildly as their questions piled on top of one another. The President pointed to a female reporter in a gray suit and the voices went silent.
“Mr. President, what are the symptoms that people should be watching for?”
“I’m unable to discuss that at this time.”
“Sir, what is this virus?” Another reporter jumped in.
“Once again, I cannot discuss the particulars at this time. But I can assure you, with the efforts of the UDHHS and CDCP and with proper quarantine and sanitization efforts, this problem will be solved in a short period. Please, there is no need for panic. Thank you.”
As soon as the President stepped off the podium, the reporters erupted into a frenzy until the screen went suddenly black.
Millie turned slowly to her father, jaw hanging open slightly. “Dad…?”
Tim’s lips pursed into a fine line as he stared at the blank screen. “He shouldn’t have done that,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “By saying ‘don’t panic’ he’s inadvertently going to send everyone into a panic.” He dropped his head back onto the chair and sighed. “Things are about to get really bad.” His pocket beeped loudly. Tim retrieved his phone and looked at its tiny screen. “Well, that was fast.”
“What is it?” Millie asked.
“Emergency meeting at the hospital.” He looked to Millie and stood up. “I gotta go. Lock up and keep your phone nearby, and I should be back sometime tonight.” His phone beeped again, and Tim glanced at it. “…make that tomorrow.” He leaned down and kissed Millie’s forehead quickly, disappearing through the door. “Oh, and Mil,” he stuck his head back in quickly, “Call Nana and check on her, would you?”
“Ok.” Millie nodded.
Tim smiled and vanished from the doorway.
Millie fished her phone out of her pocket and dialed Nana’s number. It went straight to voicemail.
“Hey, Nana, it’s Millie. I just wanted to call and check on you.” Millie paused. “If you could just call me back when you get a chance, I’d really appreciate it. Love you.”
She hung up the phone and flipped over to her internet app, typing “USA virus” into the search bar. She tapped the first link that popped up, the CDC website, and was met with a “temporarily closed for maintenance” message. Frowning, she tried the Puffing Host’s website, but a “404 error” popup blocked out the screen. She tried three more links, but hit a wall each time. Frustrated, she closed out the browser and set her phone on the coffee table. She flipped TV channels to try and distract herself, but soon felt her eyelids drooping. She fought it as long as she could, but exhaustion blocked out everything.
Brrring. Brrring. A dull ringing roused Millie from her deep sleep. Her hand fumbled for her phone on the table, eyes not quite ready to open.
“Hello?” She answered sleepily.
“Millie! Thank God. I was starting to get worried, I’ve called six times.” Dad’s voice was tight.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t even hear the phone.” Millie opened her eyes and sat up slowly, joints aching a bit.
“It’s alright; I’m just glad to know that you’re okay.” He paused.
“What is it?”
“Ca-” The sound of loud frantic voices cut him off. A door slammed loudly in the background. “I don’t have much time to talk, so I have to make this fast.”
“Dad, what’s going on?”
“Nothing, it’s okay.” His voice was strained. “I… I can’t come home right now. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to.” Millie nodded slowly to herself, brows furrowed.
“Can I come up there to-”
“No. I need you to stay put. It’s hectic up here, and you’re safe at home.” A loud crash and scream coupled with yelling and thundering feet emphasized what he said. “I gotta go. I love you, Mil.”
“Love you too. But Dad-” The line went dead suddenly. Millie stared at the phone’s screen a moment before hanging it up. 1 AM. She had slept for well over 13 hours. She felt feverish, achy. Her mind went immediately to the earlier broadcast. Raising slowly off the couch, her knees almost buckled under her. She slowly made her way down the hall to the bathroom, leaning against the wall to steady herself.
Nothing looked especially out of place as she examined her face in the mirror, except her dark eyes looked slightly yellow in the vanity lighting. Then again, the President hadn’t said what the virus’s symptoms were. Maybe she just had a cold. Whatever it was, it was draining her of energy. She turned the light off and stumbled across the hall to her bedroom where she collapsed.
Chapter Seven
Somewhere in Texas
Wednesday, Week Three
After tying Hank’s leash to a post in the shade outside the diner, Gina went in and was immediately hit with the smells of breakfast. A bell above the door tinkled.
“Come on in and sit where ya like! I’ll be with you in a minute.” A cheerful voice rang out from the kitchen. Gina looked around at the home-style diner, complete with checkered tile floor and jukebox, and slid into one of the red booths in the corner next to one of the windows. A middle-aged lady with a bright red beehive of hair atop her head came waltzing out of the door behind the counter. “Well, hi there!” The lady pulled a menu out of her apron and dropped it in front of Gina. “My name’s Pauline and I’ll be serving you today. What can I start you off with?”
“Just water, thanks. And also,” Gina added, “Could I get a bowl of water?”
“We’ve got restrooms if you want to wash your hands, dear,” the lady smiled wide, sporting a missing molar.
“It’s for my dog.”
“Dog? Are you hiding him in that bag of yours?”
“He’s tied up outside,” Gina replied, pointing out the window.
“Oh, I see. Be right back.” Pauline disappeared behind the counter again, returning quickly with Gina’s order, and two biscuits. “Here you go, hon. Something for your pup to snack on!” She winked at Gina. “I’ll take your order as soon as you’re ready.”
Gina ordered a sausage and egg sandwich with grits, and took the bowl and biscuits out to Hank.
Shortly after returning inside and receiving her food, a group of bikers roared into the parking lot. Gina watched them dismount and head for the door, holding her breath slightly as they passed Hank. A couple of them reached down to pat him on the head or scratch his ears. The chimes above the door tinkled as the group thundered in.
“Hey, Pauline!” One burly man with a beard and bandana on his head called, “How about some food for weary travelers?”
“Depends on what you’re paying with,” Pauline stuck her head out of the kitchen door. “It’s about time! I was starting to worry about you, Bruce.”
The burly man crossed to the counter and leaned over it to give Pauline a kiss on the cheek. “You know we’ll always come back for the amazing cooking and your sweet disposition.” He glanced over his shoulder and gave one of the men a wink.
“Oh shut up,” Pauline laughed. “You can sweet talk me as much as you want, but you’ve still got to pick up the tab,” she poked his shoulder. The bikers settled at the counter and into the booths on the other side of the restaurant as Pauline passed out menus. “So what’ll it be?”
One of the bikers snorted. Gina looked over to see him rubbing his eyes as if he’d just woken up.
“You okay, Lon?” One of the bikers asked the snorter.
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just tired.”
“You’ll be fine after we eat,” one of the others said. Gina glanced at the clock. The bus would arrive in ten minutes. She quickly finished eating the grits, walked up to the register that Pauline was leaning next to, and paid the bill.
�
�Thank ya much. Y’all come back sometime!”
Gina took Hank around the back of the diner to do his business, returning right as the bus pulled up. Gina gave the service dog story again, and the driver let her on without a second thought.
Five hours and seven rest stops into the drive, Gina was dozing in the farthest left rear window seat with Hank at her feet. She was suddenly thrown into the back of the seat in front of her as the bus screeched to a stop.
“Hey there folks, sorry about that,” the driver said over the intercom. “We’re about fifteen miles outside Kilgore, and we seem to have just hit a solid wall of traffic. It looks like we might be here a while.” Some of the passengers groaned over the delay, others strained to see what lay ahead outside.
After a solid hour of sitting at a standstill, the bus driver’s voice came over the intercom again. “Alright, folks, I’m going to step outside for just a moment to see what’s going on.” The bus shuddered and turned off.
Gina glanced around the cabin at some of the other passengers. A few were trying to sleep, their chairs reclined the full four inches backward. Others talked quietly to each other or played on their electronics. One boy a few rows ahead who looked to be around Gina’s age and had gotten on at the last stop was speeding through a book, flipping pages faster than Gina could read a paragraph. The driver returned after ten minutes, turning the bus back on so he could talk over the intercom again.
“Well folks, it looks like we’re going to be here a while. I’m told there’s been a wreck involving an oil tanker about two miles up the road. I suggest getting comfortable, it could be a while before they manage to get things moving.” The majority of the passengers sighed and mumbled to each other. “I apologize for the delay,” continued the driver, “But you are all welcome to stand up, stretch, walk around. And if any of our four-legged passengers need to take a walk, now would be the perfect opportunity.” The driver’s joke sparked a few chuckles and glances toward Gina. She grimaced slightly and looked to Hank, happily panting as usual.