“Um ... the hole.” Emma said.
Andy explained further. “She … g … g … grew them.”
“Hydroponics,” Emma boasted. “And you said I wasted my education.”
“I still think that,” Stew said. “But good job on the tomatoes.”
“Yeah, well, we have a ton. I over-planted.” Emma shrugged then changed the tone of her voice to a higher pitch as she focused her words to Cody. “So we’re canning. We’ll be eating tons of tomatoes in the apocalypse.” She cleared her throat. “My estimate, I can eat a jar a day for over a year.”
“Swell,” Stew said. “I’m sure the tomatoes in the apocalypse will come in handy. You still have this bushel to do?”
Emma shook her head. “Nah. I’m giving that to Bonnie. Andy took it down, but she was closed.”
“Closed?” Stew asked. “That’s a surprise. The diner must have been dead.”
Andy nodded.
“Dad? What did you wanna tell me?”
Stew opened his mouth and paused. “Goddamn it. I forgot.”
“Must have not been important,” Emma said.
“It was important.” Stew winced. “I think.”
“Maybe it was a lie.”
Stew huffed. “Now why the hell would I come down to your house to tell you a lie?”
“You’re old. You have nothing better to do than to bother your grown daughter.”
Andy reached over and gave a playful nudge to Emma. “Be … b … be nice.”
Emma giggled.
“I come here to make sure my grown daughter isn’t dementing my great-granddaughter.”
“Too late.” Emma smiled. “Did you wanna stay?”
“Nah, I’m gonna go. Asshole’s here and I’d rather not see him.” Stew looked at Andy. “Did you deck him yet?”
Emma answered, “Unfortunately, not yet. He will.”
“I doubt it. Andy’s too nice.” Stew grabbed the bushel. “And so am I. I’ll take this for you in the morning when I go to Bonnie’s for breakfast.”
“Thanks,” Emma told him.
“You .. you .. you sure?” Andy asked.
“Absolutely.” Stew kissed Cody, then Emma, and walked to the door. “Oh. Hey. Have you heard from Heather?”
“Is that what you wanted to tell me or ask?”
Stew shook his head. “No. I’ll remember eventually. But I was curious about Heather. I haven’t heard from her since I got a text when she arrived.”
“That’s when I heard from her. She’s probably at the concert having a great time. No worries,” Emma said. “Everything is fine.”
<><><><>
Billings, Montana
The wrenching, twisting, and burning pain in her stomach caused Heather to jolt awake. She wanted to jump from the bed but couldn’t move, so she leaned over the side of the bed and vomited into the awaiting garbage can.
“Roman,” she weakly called out. The vomit tasted different. It smelled different. It had an iron flavor to it as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Roman,” she called again then reached up for the light. When she did, the light brightened the room and also the smear of blood on her hand. “Oh God,” she panicked.
Roman sat up on the other bed. Every cover wrapped around him and his body visually shivered. “Heather, I’m so sick.”
“Me, too. Something is wrong. My skin is burning. It feels like it’s on fire, and it itches.”
Roman removed his arm from the cover and extended it to Heather. “I was scratching in my sleep.”
Heather looked at the purple splotches on his arm. It was swollen, and scratches covered every inch of his forearm. “Call your dad. We need help.”
<><><><>
Val grew tired of waiting and was already on his way to Billings when he received the phone call from Roman.
They were sick, so sick they wanted to go to the hospital. Val told them to hang tight, he was on the way. He explained on the phone that someone from another town brought in a very bad case of a stomach flu, but all would be fine. He was certain that Roman understood.
He made it to the hotel within a half hour of the call. It was a single story, truck stop motel just off the freeway.
Three of the rooms were lit, and there were only a couple of cars in the lot. That was a good sign.
Val was ready; he arrived prepared and knew what he had to do. He parked next to Roman’s car. Before he went to their room, he walked into the motel office.
No one was there. He hit the bell, waited, and then a younger man came from the back room. He looked Middle Eastern and smiled at Val. “You need a room.”
“I’m looking for my son. I spoke to a man earlier who said he arrived here safely. My son’s name is Roman Paltrov.”
“Oh, yes. That was me. You spoke to me,” the man said then stopped to sneeze.
“Bless you.”
“Thank you.”
“And you have been here all day since they checked in?”
“Yeah. Listen, Mister, policy won’t let me tell you the room number. I can call for you, though. Ring him.” He asked.
“That won’t be necessary. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“No, you’ve told me all I need to know.” Cold, without thought, without emotion, Val reached into his coat. He pulled out a revolver with a silencer already attached, aimed the weapon, and before the motel man could react, Val fired.
A single shot to the man’s head.
Quickly, Val left the office, walked down eight doors to Roman’s room and knocked. There wasn’t an answer and the door was unlocked.
The stench was ungodly when Val walked in and he huffed an exhalation from his nostrils. Roman reached out his hand to Val, and Heather lay on her side. She struggled to lift her head.
He said nothing. Approaching Heather first, he wrapped her in the bed’s blanket and lifted her into his arms.
“My mom. I want my mom.”
“Let’s get you out of here first,” Val said.
Heather’s head fell to his chest. “I’m so sick.”
“I know.”
He carried her out and placed her in the back of his car, then returned for Roman. He was too heavy to carry, so he had to help his son out.
It broke Val’s heart to see his son so sick and nothing that he could do for him. As he placed him in the back next to Heather, Val leaned close to his only child. “I am very sorry. I am so sorry.” He kissed his son on the forehead. The heat of Roman’s skin stung his lips.
He closed the door, walked around to the back of the car and opened the trunk. From it he pulled two small gas cans and walked back to the room. He visually scanned it, grabbed Roman’s wallet from the table and Heather’s purse. He then took the first gas can and doused the entire contents about the room.
The second gas can was reserved for Roman’s car.
After he emptied, connecting a trail of gas into a puddle just outside the room, he placed the containers, Heather’s purse, and the wallet in the trunk, got in the car and pulled twenty feet from the spot.
Leaving it running, he placed it in park, lit a cigarette, stepped out of the car, walked closer to the motel, and hit the smoke once.
He watched the red ambers ignite, and then he tossed it. As soon as he saw it started a flame, Val hurriedly returned to the car, shut the door, and drove off.
“It will be alright,” Val told them. “I promise. A couple days it will be over. It’s just a bad bug.” He peeked in the rearview mirror to make sure his attempts at destruction were successful.
They were.
Burning the liquid host virus would be detrimental, but Val was positive burning the germ from the infected would destroy it and that’s what he did.
Destroyed the germs they left behind.
Driving off, the ‘boom’ of an explosion rang out, and Val kept driving without incident. Heather and Roman were far too ill to notice that the motel they had just l
eft was completely engulfed in flames.
FLASH FORWARD
Ground Zero – 5
December 23rd
Hartworth, Montana
‘In my own mind, in my own way, I believed I was saving the world. If I watched it, I protected it, then no one could get it and all would be safe. I suppose it was an accident waiting to happen. Like a loose piece of carpet on the stairs that never gets fixed, eventually it trips you. But now, I make one more valiant effort.’
“Christ,” Edward muttered after reading the first words in the makeshift journal, a paragraph scribbled on the first page of the book. Inside were pages of documentations, notes of what was done, what happened. Had it not included the eerie first paragraph then Edward would have believed a caretaker took the notes.
That epitaph to the journal of the dead told Edward the responsible party wrote it.
However, the responsible party conveniently left out his or her name and, from a quick skim, nothing to indicate what it was. Only a number was given, and that told Edward very little.
The journal started … ‘December 17th, Midnight. There are two patient zeros, both present at the time of release. Nine hours post exposure. Steady fever of 103. Vomiting has lessened, but now consists of bile laced with blood. Patients complain of severe skin discomfort. No visual lesions other than self inflicted. Both patient one and two are alert and conscious of what is occurring. I am positive there are no contact victims connected to these two patients. However, I have accounted for twelve individuals who were in the vicinity in the post release of EPV-571. I am confident that patient three, Vivian, will experience the same within twelve hours. I will visit her in a few to check.’
Edward wanted to highlight a few items, but the notebook was sealed, and he’d have to take it into the lab to do so, so he jotted down his thoughts and dropped his pencil.
“Anything?” Harold asked when he walked on.
“Other than this goes to prove you never know who your neighbors are?” Edward replied. “We have a title on the germ. EPV-571. We’ll start there. Have CDC and WHO run it. If it’s in the database, then it may have a cure or antidote. Obviously, this is an experimental germ that someone in this town was working on or had in their possession.”
“Who the hell would do that?” Harold asked.
“Scientist. Doctor. Lab worker. Stole it. Hid it here. This is cowboy land. They could have put on their best hat and pretended, for all we know. But Vivian’s name is mentioned. She was at ground zero after the release.”
“That’s something to go by.” Harold pulled up a chair. “Check this out. Martha and I were hitting up the social media sites.”
“And?”
“Apparently this wasn’t all that hush-hush. We did a public post search, hashtags, were able to find about a dozen posts about the quarantine. Sent the links to headquarters for them to dig deeper; we can only see so much because we don’t have a ‘friend’ connection.” He pushed papers forward. “I printed them up.”
Edward read a few of them.
‘Sealed in Hartworth. Scary shit. I’m not coming out.’
The other posts he read reiterated that sentiment.
Harold said, “Right now, Martha is working with the basic white pages to get an address on some of these names. Maybe we can check the houses.”
“Good call. How the hell do people post on social media and this thing not get out?”
Harold shrugged. “My best guess would be that the people in the three towns that posted were just a handful of people. They were probably told to keep quiet. But they posted anyhow, and you’re talking a combined population of less than three thousand people. A dozen or so important posts buried beneath and lost under stupid cartoons and everyday garbage. These people cried out. No one heard them. When they did … it was already too late. Last posts by these people were days ago.”
Edward looked down at his watch. “Okay, we have about four more hours until this whole area is overrun with CDC, WHO, military, you name it. Then after that, maybe another two hours before this thing goes public, no matter how hard we try to keep a lid on it. Hopefully, headquarters will nail what it is by the slides I sent and this code … EPV-571. Until then, we need to come up with viable answers as to what happened here. Those answers all start here.” He pulled forth the notebook.
Chapter Seven
Hartworth, Montana
December 17th
Val barely slept, but he supposed that was nothing compared to what Roman and Heather were experiencing. Around three in the morning he delivered a strong sedative to both of them. He stashed away what he had at the clinic. He’d save it for them so they could sleep through most of what they endured.
He prayed. Val hadn’t done that since his wife passed away, yet he pulled out his rosary beads and prayed for them. He knew there was no saving the young people, he knew he was going to lose his son, but he prayed for a quick end and for minimum agony.
It was just about time to begin. He heard Larry out earlier, preparing the streets. Val recorded a new voicemail, because if all went the way he envisioned, he’d have a clinic full by late in the day.
The flyer would be passed out to every single home. They were already posted on the telephone poles.
They were playing the role of reverse psychology on people, telling them through the flyer that there has been unconfirmed rumors of a horrible outbreak outside of Hartworth, and to keep everyone safe from infection, they were shutting down the town for three days. Asking everyone for their cooperation.
Of course, they would tell the ill a completely different story. Val knew the ill wouldn’t be able to do much after a day. Also, Val and Larry figured, by the time everyone started to get sick, they’d be far too sick to leave or even worry about it.
Scare them into staying put, not wanting to leave, and keeping people out.
Val imagined several of the town’s men hooting out an excited, ‘Hell yeah, we’ll take post and guard our town,’ unaware of the truth.
Would it work?
It only remained to be seen.
Just before five, the designated kickoff time, Val checked on Roman and Heather once more. He grabbed a clipboard and left.
He and Larry were starting the daunting task of going door to door.
<><><><>
There were pretty much only two ways into Hartworth. Every other road, including the dirt roads from the ranches and the highway exits, emptied on to that four-lane, state-maintained road that went straight through town..
Larry had doubled up on things. He placed two roadblocks a half mile outside of Hartworth on the east and west side, then a second truck only fifty feet inside the city limits.
Shutting down Hartworth was easy. Keeping people calm wouldn’t be a problem, as long as they were scared and followed the rules.
Hartworth residents were isolated as it was.
The problem was with the ranchers. Larry paid a visit to those six homes before he started the roadblocks. He informed them to stay put, not let anyone on their property, and if they could, just avoid town for a few days.
They seemed, to him, to be more than willing to listen. Not much interested in the internet, they took his word of the brain virus as gospel.
After informing his men on post on what to do, Larry resumed his door to door task.
He didn’t expect much traffic coming into town, but the most would come from the east, and Larry himself would take that post once he was finished with the houses. He’d take the busy time, as he called it, when traders came though along with deliveries.
Larry would divert them and hopefully do so without word spreading.
<><><><>
Vivian couldn’t breathe though her nose. It was the worst cold she ever recalled having. It wasn’t even slurpy sluggish when she breathed, it was hitting a brick mucus wall.
Nothing.
She ached, and she knew she had a fever. She hated the fact that she promised Roman she’d fill
in for him and now she was going to have to call in sick.
Vivian probably would have stayed in bed had it not been for that knot in her stomach.
She tried to vomit, but it was futile; she only gagged. The skin on her right hand was burning as if it were in the beginning stages of a rash.
She hated to do it, but she had to call off of work. She could barely make it to the stairs, let alone the office. She paused by the door of each of her children’s rooms. Her daughter slept soundly, but her son was restless, tossing and coughing.
Poor thing, she thought, they must have both caught it from the same source.
As she headed to the stairs to retrieve her phone on the first floor, her husband, Darrell, called to her.
“Viv? You okay?”
“Yeah,” she coughed. “Really sick. Go back to sleep. I’m gonna lay on the couch.”
“You need anything?”
“No. Just sleep. Thanks.” She walked slowly down the stairs. Her plan was to get a drink and call the doc, but she only made it to the bottom of the stairs when she heard a knock on the door.
It wasn’t even six in the morning; who would be knocking, she thought.
She peeked through the drape.
Doc?
Vivian opened the door. “Doc?”
His eyes cased her up and down. “Oh, Vivian. Are you ill?”
“Yes, I was just getting ready to call you. What’s going on?”
“Vivian, the town is under quarantine,” Val spoke softly. “We believe a man from Omaha brought something into the town, so we are taking precautions.”
Vivian’s hand shot to her mouth. “Do I have it?”
“You may. I’ll need to examine you,” Val said. “We are asking all those who may be infected to come to the fire hall and stay clear of those who are not ill. Can you do that?”
Sealed In Page 7