by Barry Slater
“Doc,” Dwayne called Doc Martin on his cell phone. “Jean is sick. She has a temperature of 102.”
“Are there dark circles around her eyes?”
Dwayne looked at Jean's eyes. “Yes. She was rubbing them as if they were itching or something. She's asleep now.”
“There's something going around. I'm getting a lot of calls describing the same symptoms. I'll try to find out as much as I can about what's going on and I'll keep you posted. Keep a close eye on her and call me if she gets worse.”
“Thanks Doc.”
#
Awakened by a scream, Dwayne rushed into the bedroom and found Jean strangling Miss Magnolia. It was Miss Magnolia that was screaming. Dwayne tried to stop Jean but could not break her grip.
Jean turned on Dwayne. She was completely wild. Dwayne could barely restrain her.
In a fever induced rage, Jean scratched and bit at him with bared teeth. Dwayne pinned Jean's arms down with his knees. Her skin was cold and stiff. Her discolored eyes were wide open and sunk back into her darkened sockets.
After narrowly avoiding several attempts to bite him, Dwayne pulled the curtain ties from the window and wrapped them around her hands and feet.
Still fighting, Jean kicked Dwayne off the bed with both feet.
Dwayne rushed to the basement and brought back a coil of nylon rope. He tied Jean onto the bed then stood back and took a deep breath.
“My God,” Dwayne said out loud.
He had no choice but to subdue her. She had killed Miss Magnolia and was a danger to him and to herself.
#
“Doc,” Dwayne said into the phone. “Jean is worse. She is not eating or drinking anything. I'm scared.”
“I'm with Linda at her Mother's house,” Doc Martin said. “Linda has it too. I still don't know what's going on but there's been an announcement on TV. I've got a call in to a friend at the Centers for Disease Control, but I haven’t heard back from him. This is highly contagious so be very careful Dwayne. I'll be there as soon as I can.”
“I really appreciate it Doc,” Dwayne said. “I hope Linda gets better soon.”
Dwayne turned on the TV. The news channel was headlining a special report.
“The CDC has not pinpointed the source of the virus which seems to have originated along the Mexican border then moved north in a matter of days sweeping rapidly through LA and into the San Francisco Bay area. Authorities are asking everyone to stay home. Hospitals are overcrowded with the sick and the roadways are jammed with vehicles of those who have fallen ill.
“Let's go live to the state capital where the governor will be making a public statement.”
The station switched to the scene of a crowded and chaotic podium in front of the capital building.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the mayor announced into the microphones. “The Governor of California.”
The mayor stepped away from the podium as the governor prepared his notes then spoke into the microphones.
“Today—in response to the sudden outbreak of a previously unknown virus—I have issued a state of emergency for the following”
The television screen suddenly darkened and the lights went out.
After a moment, Dwayne took a flashlight to the basement and switched on the generators.
The power at Lake Tahoe had been off before due to bad weather, but this was different. There was only a light snow coming down.
The TV was static. Dwayne tried all the stations but there was nothing. He tried calling Doc Martin but there was no service on his cell phone. The computer would not connect to the internet.
Dwayne checked on Jean. She was slowly struggling against the nylon rope.
He had forgotten about Miss Magnolia. Her body lie near Jean's nightstand. Dwayne took her outside then dug a shallow grave. He placed Miss Magnolia's body in the grave and slowly covered her with dirt.
She had been his and Jean's favorite cat.
#
Jean lunged at Dwayne. He had tried to give her a sleeping pill and a drink of water. Her lips were curled back tight against her teeth. She had not eaten or rested in three days.
There still was no power. There was no news to hear. There was no one to call or email. With no contact with the outside world, Dwayne cared for Jean as best he could in total isolation.
Hoping the power would be restored soon, Dwayne looked for a way to occupy himself. Dwayne went through his and Jean's photo albums. He smiled at Jean's baby pictures and at the photo of her when she was just a bright-eyed school girl in ponytails and smiling her heartwarming smile. The distinction of being born with one pupil larger than the other was prominent in the photo. There were pictures of Dwayne and Jean cutting their wedding cake and Dwayne pulling the garter from her leg. She had tricked him into doing it with his teeth by saying it was part of her family tradition.
In a moment of gut-wrenching despair, Dwayne played his violin. Jean seemed to calm at the music. He played until he couldn't play any longer and then fell asleep on the floor at Jean's feet.
#
Three more days had passed without Jean having anything to eat or drink. Dwayne knew she would not last another day without some kind of fluids or nutrition in her body.
He tried again to give her water but the closer he got to her the more violent she became.
In desperation, Dwayne drove down from their home near Lake Tranquility to Zephyr Cove.
Zephyr Cove was deserted. The streets were void of life. A cold chill rippled through Dwayne as he realized for the first time the magnitude of the situation.
After a moment of contemplation, Dwayne drove south to the business community of Round Hill.
Round Hill was different. There were people but in the same condition as Jean. They reacted to Dwayne's presence with a high pitched shrill.
Staggering, most of the small group of people gathered around the front of Dwayne's truck, grasping at the hood and grill. The rest pressed their hands and faces against the door glass.
The screeching, hissing sound the people were making was the same as Jean's, and it was unbearable. Dwayne turned on the radio at full volume so the static would drown out the noise.
They began throwing themselves against the truck in a fit of rage.
Trying not to hurt any of them, Dwayne backed the truck away.
At the local service station, there were several of the infected wandering aimlessly in the parking lot.
Not wanting to stop, Dwayne slowly drove by then headed back home with the thought in his mind that he had enough fuel to attempt a return trip later.
#
Twelve days had passed since Jean had fallen ill with the virus. Her condition had steadily declined. The gray roots of her hair began to show. Her fingernails were chipped and cracked. She struggled against the nylon ropes with a high-pitched shrill. She felt no pain even though the curtain ties had stripped her wrists and ankles of flesh. Only Dwayne's music soothed her.
There still was no contact with the outside world. No phone. No internet. No TV or radio.
Disillusioned, Dwayne drove the six miles to Doc Martin's house in Lakeridge but no one was there. Dwayne rationalized that Doc Martin was still with Linda at her mother's house, especially if Linda was as sick as Jean.
Dwayne waited until dark then drove to Round Hill. The power was still off. Several infected people were staggering aimlessly in the shopping center parking lot. Dwayne switched his headlights off then drove through the dark to the pharmacy.
He took the flashlight from the truck and checked the pharmacy's front doors. He was both relieved and surprised that the doors were unlocked.
Inside the pharmacy was strangely intact. It was as if someone had just left without locking the door, or was still there.
“Anyone here?” Dwayne said into the darkness.
There was no answer.
Dwayne searched the aisles with the flashlight. Several mice strolled the length of a shelf unafraid, actually attr
acted to Dwayne's presence.
Taking a plastic shopping bag, Dwayne picked several different brands of cold and flu treatment, pain medication and sleep aids. He took a four pack of toilet paper and a pack of flashlight batteries.
There was no need to take anything else. There was still plenty of food at home. Dwayne didn't want to take anything someone else may need.
Locating a pencil and a piece of paper, Dwayne wrote his name, his address and a list of the things he had taken. He totaled the amount then laid the money on the counter top.
As a second thought, Dwayne wrote a message:
To whoever finds this,
My wife is sick. If you have found a cure for the virus, please find me.
Dwayne drew a map to his house on the note.
It was a plea for help. Dwayne was desperate to help Jean.
Feeling something on his foot, Dwayne shined the flashlight down to see that the mice had converged at his feet.
Shocked, Dwayne shook the mice from his pants as he bolted toward the front door.
Outside, several infected people had gathered around Dwayne's truck. Noticing Dwayne inside they converged at the front of the store and threw themselves against the door, clawing with a shrill at the window, their concept of glass completely lost by the virus.
Fortunately for Dwayne, the doors had to be pulled open from the outside and the people did not seem to understand that. Dwayne slowly backed away from the windows then headed to the rear exit.
Slowly opening the emergency exit door, Dwayne checked the rear of the building. With no one there Dwayne stepped out into the cold night air then moved silently to the front of the store and then chanced a look around the corner of the building.
Immediately noticing Dwayne, one of the infected lunged. The attacker's shrill alerted the others as it swung its hands like claws at Dwayne.
Dwayne circled around the attacker and ran toward the truck. Another person approached him from the passenger side of the truck.
“John?” Dwayne asked.
Dwayne recognized the pharmacist from picking up Jean's prescriptions. John had the same appearance as the others. His dark, hollow eyes showed no recognition of Dwayne or acknowledgment of the other infected people around him.
Pushing John back with the bag of medicine, Dwayne realized he could not get to the truck without making physical contact with the group of infected gathered there which was not an option.
Literally fighting for Jean's life, Dwayne used the bag as a weapon and fought his way out of the parking lot to the woods behind the pharmacy and then stopped to catch his breath.
Not wanting to be exposed to the cold longer than absolutely necessary, Dwayne began hiking the two mile back woods trail home he and Jean had made to make walking to town easier.
Once home, Dwayne turned on the generators. The lights and heater came on. The well pump built up water pressure.
Dwayne checked on Jean. He tried giving her some of the medication. Jean lunged at him with a high-pitched shrill.
“C'mon baby,” Dwayne said. “You have to drink something.” He held a bottle of water to her mouth. Jean crushed the plastic bottle with her discolored teeth.
Disheartened, Dwayne went downstairs and heated a cup of water in the microwave. After two minutes he stirred in a teaspoon of coffee and two tablespoons of sugar.
Dwayne took a drink and warmed his hands against the hot coffee mug. He had tried everything. He and Jean might as well be on another planet and one of them fallen ill.
With no help from the outside world, Dwayne was forced to make a decision. He could allow Jean's suffering to continue, or end it.
He was heartbroken. He made the only decision he could make. He chose to end her suffering as he hoped she would do for him if he were in the same situation. As he sensed she was begging him to do. His music was the only thing that helped, but he couldn't play forever. Jean wasn't Jean anymore. She had become someone—something—totally different, something Dwayne had never seen before.
She was the same as the people in Round Hill.
Dwayne went upstairs, took his .45 out of its gun case and chambered a round.
Jean snapped at Dwayne as he reached out to her.
“Darling, do you know who I am?” Dwayne asked. “Do you recognize me?”
Jean hissed at him.
Dwayne played his violin for Jean one last time. The music soothed her. As soon as he stopped she began struggling again, snapping with her exposed teeth and swiping at him with her bound hands.
With tears running down his face, Dwayne held the .45 as close to Jean's head as he could.
“I love you.” As he said this, Dwayne noticed something he had not noticed before. Jean was not breathing. Dwayne lowered the .45.
My God, Dwayne said to himself. She is not even alive.
Dwayne recovered his aim with the .45
“We will be together soon,” Dwayne said as he looked into Jean's lifeless eyes then turned away as he pulled the trigger.
Captain Jack Frost
Dwayne carried Jean's body to the grove of trees just outside B.J.'s paddock. He hammered into the cold, hard ground with a shovel until he was exhausted.
As he lay Jean's body in the grave, Dwayne began to shake uncontrollably. He could not see for the tears in his eyes. He lay a bed sheet over her then a piece of clear plastic.
After packing and smoothing the dirt with his hands, Dwayne sat back on his knees then leaned forward and cried. He had lost the woman he had fallen in love with, the woman he had lived with the past 25 years, and the woman he would have spent the rest of his life with.
Weak from weeping, he stumbled back to the house. Dwayne washed his face and hands in the kitchen sink then poured himself a glass of straight vodka.
His friend, his love, his wife was gone.
Life was gone.
Dwayne choked the vodka down then took of his clothes.
After several more drinks he placed the muzzle of the .45 against his temple.
With his hands shaking violently, Dwayne slowly placed his finger on the trigger. He tried to squeeze but couldn't do it and released his grip. He tried again, and then with tears streaming down his face threw the .45 into the sink.
Grabbing the vodka, Dwayne went upstairs and swallowed a hand-full of Jean's sleeping pills.
He wanted to be with Jean.
He wanted to go where she had gone.
Dwayne sat on the edge of the bed thinking of Jean, but the thought of the pain and suffering she endured there was too much.
By the time he was back downstairs, the pills had made Dwayne sick to his stomach. He took the .45 out of the sink, laid it on the counter, threw the pills up in the sink then passed out on the floor.
#
In an early morning dream, Jean and Dwayne were on their honeymoon in Niagara Falls. After a tour of the falls they went out for an incredible dinner and returned to their hotel for a romantic night together. The dream took him to their cruise to the Bahamas and their trip to Italy. It took him to the many concerts in which he had performed and the black evening gown Jean wore to the receptions and parties afterward. The same black evening gown she wore on their honeymoon and on their silver anniversary, and the wonderful love they had made for the past 25 years.
Through the dream, Dwayne relived their lives together up until Jean fell ill with the virus and to the day before when Dwayne placed his finger on the trigger of the .45.
A shot rang out.
Dwayne jumped up from the kitchen floor. He remembered making it back downstairs after swallowing Jean's sleeping pills the night before and collapsing there. He thought he had accidentally shot himself with the .45.
After checking himself for wounds, he realized the shot had come from outside. He picked his dirty clothes up off the floor and put them on then peeked out through the living room window.
There was a knock at the door.
“Dwayne?”
“Jack!”
Dwayne said jerking the door open. “My God, Jack!”
“I got one!” Captain Jack exclaimed as Dwayne pulled him inside. “I shot one of those poor bastards! He was just outside the front gate trying to get in.”
“Who?”
“Them! One of them, Dwayne. A zee, the zees, zombeenies—zombies. It's all true. All that movie shit, it's really happened!”
Dwayne shook his head in disbelief.
“You don't know, do you?” Captain Jack looked intently into Dwayne's eyes. “You don't know. My God, they nuked LA. God damn it Dwayne, they freaking nuked Los Angeles!”
“Is Marcie with you?”
“No,” Captain Jack said solemnly. “She's gone. She was in LA during the attack.”
“I'm sorry Jack.”
Captain Jack looked at the .45 lying on the kitchen sink. “Where's Jean?”
Dwayne lowered his eyes. He shook his head then slowly turned away. “She got sick. She didn't make it.”
“I'm sorry.” Captain Jack watched Dwayne walk away. “There's no power anywhere.”
“The generators are working here. I have plenty of food and water,” Dwayne said.
“How much fuel do you have?” Captain Jack asked.
“About five days’ worth,” Dwayne answered.
Captain Jack nodded.
Dwayne looked at the .45. He picked it up and handed it to Captain Jack handle first. “There's something I want you to do.”
Captain Jack looked at the .45 then back at Dwayne. “What?”
“Keep this for me,” Dwayne said.
“You need that for protection.” Captain Jack breathed a sigh of relief. “I have a—”
“Just keep it for me,” Dwayne said.
“OK,” Captain Jack said hesitantly.
“You're welcome to stay with me Jack,” Dwayne said. “I could use the company.”
“Thanks Dwayne,” Captain Jack said.
“How did you get here?”
“I drove in my truck. I climbed over the fence. I didn't know the gate code.”
“You did good,” Dwayne said. “I'll crank up the generators. I'm sure we could both use a shower then we'll have something to eat.”