Starting Over
The Starting Over Series-Book One
By
Kathy O’Rourke
Starting Over
By Kathy O’Rourke
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This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for the recipient. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted material in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental
Disclaimer: Adult material-the material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains sexual content. It is intended only for those aged 18 or older.
Copyright date: January 2018
Kindle Edition
Cover created by: Anya Kelleye Designs
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Coming Soon
About me… the author… Kathy O’Rourke
Other books by Kathy O’Rourke
Chapter One
Shelley Browning
September 9th
“I’m outta here.” Why Principal Andrews called a staff meeting on a Friday afternoon I’ll never understand. Feeling just a tad bit guilty for faking a headache, I pull out of the school parking lot onto Forbes Avenue. I know it’s bad missing a meeting, but I’m nervous about tonight and want extra time to get ready. I’m going on a date and it’s the first time I’ve said yes since I broke up with Mr. Asshole. My friends think it’s time I stick my toes back in the man water and catch another fish. So, I’m going out on a blind date with Louis, a work associate of my friend Sandra. We’re meeting for drinks and an early dinner, heaven help me.
Driving, distracted thinking about what to wear tonight, I’m slow to react when a silver Audi cuts in front of me, brakes, and comes to a full stop. My reflexes take over, thank God. I stomp down on my brake pedal. My car squeals to a stop inches from the Audi’s back bumper.
The Brooklyn girl in me rises to the surface, I’m no longer the polite Californian school teacher. I slam my hand down on my horn over and over, roll my window down, flip him the bird, and yell, “Asshole, you cut me off.” I whisper under my breath, “I almost peed my pants, damn you.”
The Audi’s door pops open and a man gets out holding his head. He’s dressed in a wrinkled white dress shirt with what looks like ketchup stains on its front. Sweat is dripping down his bright red face. He waves at me and stutters, “Sor, sorry, I need, need to get home to my fam, family.” He then starts to cough, gets back in his car and drives away almost sideswiping the car in the next lane.
I give him the finger. “We all want to get home, buddy.” A second later, my chest tightens as guilt hits me for being such a bitch to an obviously sick man. “The poor guy looked like death warmed over.” And I should have been paying more attention.
Karma strikes quick.
The thoroughfare home is bumper to bumper due to construction. The traffic has me jammed between a FedEx truck and an eighteen-wheeler. The FedEx truck tires inch into my lane. My heart pounds and it feels like spiders are walking across my neck. I’m afraid I’ll be squished like a pancake. Hands shaking, I turn on my blinker and move over into the slow lane behind the eighteen-wheeler. I’d rather drive slow then be trapped between two big-assed trucks.
It takes close to twenty agonizing minutes to drive from my school to Roscoe Blvd, a trip that normally takes less than five. What makes it worse is, I can’t even calm myself with music, the damn car radio broke weeks ago.
“I should have stayed for the damn meeting.”
I squeeze into the turning lane, but, just my luck, a local transit bus is in front of me and stops to load and unload passengers. I swear the Gods of Love and Dating are against me. “I can’t believe this.” I check the time on the dashboard and count the people waiting to get on the bus. “Only seven people, this should be pretty quick.”
The last person in line, a teenage boy with red straggly hair, looks over his shoulder at my car, jumps out of line and walks back toward me. “What’s this about?” I say to myself as I reach for the button that locks the doors. The kid smacks his hand down on my hood as he reaches for the handle of my passenger door. Thankfully, my windows are already closed. His eyes are blood shot and there’s a bizarre teeth-baring smile on his face. He growls as he unsuccessfully tries the door. Putting his face and hands up against the window, he laughs hysterically and yells Jack Nicolson style, “It’s the end of the world.”
I scream back, “Get away from my car, you freak,” step on the gas, and swerve around the bus forcing him to jump out of the way. “Jesus, let me get home in one piece. I promise I’ll never skip another meeting.”
Nerves rattled, I rush the last few blocks home.
Before I even get my keys out of the car, Ruth, my neighbor, rushes across her lawn to meet me but pulls to a stop about three feet from my car. This is odd, normally I’d get a kiss on the cheek. Her eyes are puffy and ringed in red and her face is covered in pink blotches. “Shell… Shelley, did… did you hear? Oh, my God, what are we going to do?”
My heart beats so loud I hear it in my ears. Something big has happened. Ruth is normally calm even when flustered. “What are you talking about?”
“The flu that’s killing people in China is here,” she points at the ground, “in Los Angeles.” She wipes a trickle of sweat off her brow. “Go turn on the TV, there are reports on every channel.”
“Okay…Okay, I will.”
“I gotta go talk to Levi.” She turns and waddles down my driveway heading across the street to her brother’s house.
I rush inside, grab a diet coke, turn on the TV and sit on the edge of the couch. The emergency broadcast sign is flashing
across the screen. This is not a drill. I repeat this is not a drill.
The scene then flips to a red background and a deep male voice reads the words that appear on the screen.
The JHN-1 virus, which started in the Sichuan province of China, has surfaced here in the United States. Currently, there are outbreaks in most of our large cities with Los Angeles, Chicago, Dallas-Fort Worth and New York hardest hit.
Be warned, this virus is fast moving and highly contagious. Originally only contracted by touch, the virus has mutated and is now airborne. Incubation time, the time between initial infection and the onset of symptoms, is approximately five days. Its initial symptoms are high fever, lung congestion and severe aches and pains. Secondary symptoms, bleeding from the nose, mouth and eyes, normally appear within twenty-four hours. Anyone with a temperature greater than one hundred and one or displaying any secondary symptoms is to report to their nearest emergency room.
Please understand, for your own safety and the safety of others, all citizens are to avoid contact with others and remain in their homes. Schools and universities, both public and private, are ordered closed until further notice. Companies are ordered to shut down and allow workers to use vacation days to cover their absences, the exception being first responders, hospitals, police, and the fire departments.
“Damn it!” I just spent the last four weeks in a classroom full of ten-year-old’s; each their own little germ producing machine. “Oh my God, what if I’m infected?”
My mind goes to my students, especially sweet Melanie. I know I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I have a real soft spot for this little girl. She has an adorable smile, a mouth full of teeth she hasn’t grown into yet and a giggle that just melts me. She comes to school each day with a silly little joke that makes everyone groan, plus, she has a ferocious appetite for learning. My eyes fill with tears. “What if she dies? What if they all do?”
Grabbing my briefcase and phone, I pull out my class directory. “I’ll call them.” First on the list is Seth Adams, mother’s name: Monica. I dial his number and get a busy signal. “They’re probably calling family.” I try the next on my list, Jenny Bartholomew, father’s name: Brian. I get another busy signal. I phone four more students, and get four more busy signals. “Damn it, the circuits must be busy.”
“What about Gloria and Sandra?” My two closest friends. Gloria teaches kindergarten at my school. I met her on my first day at Brighton Elementary and we just clicked. Sandra, Gloria’s wife, is a nurse at the local hospital.” Oh my God, I bet Sandra’s crazy busy.”
Maybe texting will work.
Text to both: G and S… worried about u 2. I’m home…not sick at all. How r u? text me.
Oh, my date! I better text him, too.
Text to Louis: Need to cancel date. Sorry. This flu thing has me scared.
I sit, almost trance like, glued to the TV, watching every report hoping for some good news like a cure or containment and constantly checking my phone for a returned text, but nothing.
At midnight, I give in and move to my bedroom, undress, climb in bed with my laptop and quickly update my journal.
As much as I try to relax and sleep, I can’t. I’m too worried about Ruth and Levi. Even though we’re not related, they’re the closest thing to family I have. With Ruth being eighty-three and Levi seventy-nine, if they get sick I’ll have to take my chances and help them regardless of the dire warnings. Family takes care of family.
September 10th
Up early, I take a quick shower, dress and head for the kitchen. Before I do anything, I need my caffeine fix. As it brews, I pull out a writing pad and make my to-do list; I’ve always been one to plan my day. My friends nicknamed me, ‘Little Miss Organization’ or LMO, for short. They think it’s hilarious. I think I’m just being practical and efficient.
1. Text G and S again
2. Check to see if Louis got text
3. Contact students
4. Check on Ruth and Levi
5. Internet search JHN-1
Just as I’m pouring my coffee, there’s a knock on the front door. As I walk to the entryway, I hear, “Shelley, honey, are you okay?” It’s Ruth and her voice sounds raspy. I open my door expecting her to come inside and give me a big hug like she always does, but instead, she takes several steps backward and holds her hand up in a stop sign. “Don’t come near me, Shelley. I’m pretty sure I have this virus thing.” She coughs into her sleeve. It has a rough, deep mucus-filled sound to it. Her hair is damp with sweat and her face has a strange greyish pallor. She’s also using her cane; something she hardly does anymore.
A chill runs down my spine. “Oh my God, Ruth! You can’t have it, please.”
She coughs again. “I have a fever and my lungs are filling up. I’m weak, have aches and pains and feel like a pile of stinky dog poop.”
My eyes sting as I work to hold back my tears. “It could be the regular flu.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I went to my woman’s meeting at the Chabad Center on Monday. I sat with Mitzi Goldman who just got back from a vacation in China. She was coughing and sweating. Concerned, I asked her why she came to the meeting if she was sick; she acted indignant and told me she would never miss a chance to gossip with the girls.”
I try again, “You sure it’s not just a really bad cold.”
She wipes sweat off her brow. “Honey, she was in China. What are the chances?”
“You need to go to the hospital then. I’ll take you.” I wrap my trembling arms around my stomach and chest.
“No,” Ruth responds forcefully. “Levi isn’t feeling well either. He’ll take me. I don’t want you anywhere near us.”
The tears I’ve been holding back run down my cheeks. “But Ruth, you’re my family. Let me help you, please.”
“Sweet girl, I would never forgive myself if you got sick because of me. Please, stay away. Levi and I love you very much, you know that. We only want what’s best for you.”
“I love you, too. Promise me, you’ll go to the hospital right away.”
“We’ll leave as soon as we can.” She takes another step back. “Now close your door and don’t come out again. Don’t open it for anyone.”
I nod my head and wipe the tears from my eyes. “I won’t open it.”
Ruth starts to cry. “Please stay well. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Good girl.” She blows me a kiss, turns and walks towards Levi’s house listing to her left side and leaning on her cane.
As soon as I close the door, I drop to my knees. I’m not a religious person but now seems the perfect time to pray. “Dear God, I know it’s rude to only pray when I need something, but please, please forgive me for doing it anyway. I don’t know what your reasoning was for starting this virus, but I beg of you, please don’t let Ruth and Levi die. They’re the only family I have. I need them.”
The buzz of my phone is the only thing that gets me up off the ground. It’s a return text from the girls.
From Gloria: both of us at hospital. Sandra sick. Staying with her. Stay well. Stay home. Pray for us.
I scream out, “This sucks!” Can it get any worse; Ruth, Levi and now Gloria and Sandra.
After the bad news, I can’t bear to call my students. I rush into the kitchen and rip up my to-do list.
At six p.m., the President addresses the nation. The solemn look on his face says it all. The JHN-1 virus has reached pandemic proportions and is now running rampant through every state. With tears in his eyes, he informs us that despite the CDC’s and WHO’s best efforts, the JHN-1 virus has proven resistant to all known antibiotics and anti-virals. And there appears to be less than a one percent survival rate of those that contract it. He tells us he’s activated the National Guard to help maintain order and to set up emergency shelters for those who are sick since the hospitals are overwhelmed. He ends with a prayer for our souls. After a buzzing sound, a list of local shelters appears on the screen.
>
“Damn, the kid at the bus stop was right. This is the end of the world.”
September 13th
My first sneeze happens on day five, just as the ten o’clock news updates begin. By noon, I’m a shaky, achy mess with a fever of one hundred and two. My lungs are full of phlegm and it feels like my ribs are going to crack each time I cough.
“Damn it, I don’t want to die. I’m only thirty. I still have lots of things I want to do.” I hurl my coffee cup against the fireplace shattering it into little pieces as I remember my upcoming vacation I’ll never get to go on. I just finished paying for a month-long trip through seven countries in Europe. “So, not fair. I really wanted to see castles and kiss the Blarney stone.”
I cry until I can’t anymore.
When the thermometer reads one hundred and three, I accept my fate and struggle to dress. I need to get myself to an emergency shelter. As I’m putting on my shoes, the TV in my bedroom announces a special update.
All hospitals and shelters are filled to capacity and the government is ordering everyone to stay home even if symptomatic.
My arms drop heavy to my sides. “They’re leaving us to die.”
Still dressed, I crawl back in bed and pull my covers up around me.
September 16th
I’m dazed and groggy as my eyes adjust to the sun shining through my window. Something feels off, but when I look around I see I’m in my own room, in my own bed. Then it all comes back to me. My heart races as I remember the virus and what’s happening.
The TV buzzes and a CDC alert message appears. Shelter in place and stay away from other people. Martial law is in effect.
How long have I been asleep? I twist and peek at my alarm clock. Ten a.m. But the date at the top of the screen baffles me. I’ve been in bed for three days? How is that possible?
I pull the blankets off my legs. The smell released has me wrinkling my nose and holding my breath. My clothes are drenched in sweat and my bottom half is wet with urine stains.
Thirsty as hell, I climb out of bed. Weak, I’m forced to hold onto the walls as I walk to the kitchen. The trip from my room to the fridge exhausts me. Unable to make it any further, I plop down at the table with a bottle of water.
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