Operation Z-Day (The Raven Falconer Chronicles)

by Larsen, Dennis

  Jumping to her feet she retrieved the phone from the table and checked it for texts; the only note was a reminder from work that her check would be automatically deposited in a few days. Where’s Bobi’s update? Concern and fear suddenly replaced the joyful mood she’d felt only moments before. Her first thought was to text but then decided speaking to her friend would be worth the few extra dollars it would cost to confirm that all was well.

  A second later, and with a very weak signal, the phone rang; once, then twice and a dozen times with no reply. “Are you frickin’ kidding me?” she shouted into the phone. As a second resort, she fired off a group text to all of her friends asking for their status and an update on what was happening. “Okay Rave, your paranoia is getting the better of you,” she uttered, as she made her way back to the table and sat before the computer. Her fingers found the keys and she began – Chapter Two – stitched across the top of the next blank page and she fell under the spell of her own creativity for another hour before her phone rescued her with a throbbing hum on the table’s surface.

  It was from Mick, who had been away from the phone most of the day dealing with students and parents in regards to the unexpected surge in the flu outbreak. The message was short and to the point: ‘I’m fine and as far as I know Bobi and Hannah are, as well. It’s a mess here today. Lots of people sick. Schoolboard is thinking of canceling classes until the worst is over. Keep writing – I’ll keep you posted.’ Doesn’t sound as bad as the paper made it out to be, she thought. I wish Bobi would get ahold of me. A few minutes later, Hannah buzzed in with – ‘Will text more later, busy here but I’m good.’

  Hannah, the only divorced member of the group, worked as a dental assistant in a complex just a few blocks from their home. She had answered a Kijiji posting a few years ago when the other three were looking for a roommate prior to buying the condo. The troubled young woman was in the midst of a hurtful separation that would ultimately lead to divorce and she was desperately in need of some good friends and a secure place to crash. Heaven had smiled on her when she answered the ad and become an instant ‘perfect fit’ for the makeshift sorority. She was tall for a woman, standing five feet nine inches, making her a good four or five inches taller than Raven and Mick, but dwarfing Bobi, who reached an astounding 60 inches on the tape when stretching for it.

  In the beginning, Hannah had been somewhat reserved, which was understandable considering the trials she was facing and the jackass she had married. Now, with a few years behind her and a life more secure than she could ever remember, she was happy and glad to be where she was. Her childhood was a bit of a patchwork for her friends. They knew she’d bounced from one military base to the next, as her father served the country but she was not overly close to her parents and much younger sibling, Jewel. They lived in Ontario, her father was still enlisted but it had been years since she’d seen them. In fact, Hannah was quite sure the day of her wedding was the last time they’d been together.

  Unlike the other roommates, she wore her hair dyed red and cut into an impressive but high-maintenance hairstyle. It was something she’d grown accustom to doing when she was struggling in her marriage. When so much of her life was out of control, she figured one of the few things she could manage, wholly her own, was her appearance, and she’d never given it up. Hannah was a pretty, green-eyed girl, with a narrow face into which two shallow dimples appeared when she grinned. She was slim with just enough curves to confirm she was all woman. A splash of freckles highlighted her petite but angular nose, giving validity to the red hair that swept down her forehead in stylish bangs. The dental assistant was, as the others all knew, dependable. If she said she would do something, come hell or high water it would get done. Most likely the behavior was the result of being raised by a militaristic father and a mother who marched to the same drummer.

  The day caught up to Raven about 4:00 p.m.; words were running together and she recognized her edge was fading, along with her strength. She plugged her phone in and set the volume to high, hopeful that she’d soon hear from her friends. As she lay on the couch, pushing her toes to one extreme while extending and stretching her arms well over her head, a mosaic of images flashed through her mind. Self-imposed dread and worry for her friend’s safety propelled her imagination to new heights and fostered unlikely dreams.

  As she napped, the first lightly drifting snowflakes began to fall, miniature crystals swirling in the late afternoon breeze that melted when they hit the ground. Over time they would coalesce, forming flakes as big as a thumb, covering the earth in the regions first official snowfall. Raven slept on; unaware that the world was changing around her.

  Chapter 3

  A sea of white-clad workers scurried between sterile workstations and a receiving desk at the front of the medically designated facility. Earlier in the day, the director had made the decision to bar any further diagnostics being collected at the facility and had locked the doors, keeping the public out. Even now, hours later, people milled about outside the doors, hoping they might suddenly reopen to admit the sick for the much-needed tests. The lab was insanely busy, as dozens of technicians tried to cope with an avalanche of requests from the local hospitals. Racks of test tubes filled with blood and urine samples, each with a unique ID sticker, were arrayed on a lab table marked URGENT.

  Bobi leaned over her desk, slowly turning the dial of her microscope while counting cell types and numbers in her head. Pulling away she recorded the results, slipped the slide from the device and reached for the next. Her neck and back ached from the day’s hectic pace. She’d only had minutes, a few hours ago, to use the bathroom and grab a quick bite to eat. Fortunately the lab had made arrangements to have a local hospital deliver a small variety of sandwiches put together in a somewhat sterile environment, but it was a crapshoot. A viral or bacterial organism, as aggressive as this one, could be anywhere and these lab workers understood that, more than anyone.

  As Bobi prepared the next slide, comparing the names and ID’s to assure accuracy, she saw the director, Mrs. Simmons, and someone she didn’t recognize slowly walking through the laboratory. The stranger wore a tailored suit and looked to be important based on the verbal onslaught of “Yes Sirs” she could hear coming from the director. Must be a health official or politician, the young tech thought. Nearing her station, Bobi strained to gather what information she could from their passing conversation.

  “Have you ever seen anything like it?” the well-dressed man inquired.

  “I can’t say that I have. We’ve had scares in the past but it generally takes weeks for the number of occurrences to reach this level. I’m afraid we’re working with something new and very virulent.” The director responded, looking about to assure that everyone was keeping up a relentless pace. “What have you heard from Health Canada or the CDC?”

  “Nothing yet. They’re being bombarded with samples and data from all over North America but it appears Canada has been the hardest hit. If this bug is as bad as you’ve said, it won’t be long before we have a worldwide problem. What’s your gut feeling thus far?”

  “It’s viral, no doubt about that, but the presentation is not like your typical flu. I mean, look at the report we got an hour ago from the Provincial Minister of Health. There have already been deaths from this agent and we haven’t even localized it yet. It’s certainly not something we’ve seen before, possibly a variant, but my money’s on a new animal or avian strand, not unlike the ‘bird-flu’.” The two stopped a few feet away from Bobi’s cubicle while the director used her gloved hand to thumb through a pad of documents she had clipped to a board. “Here it is. Under presentation it lists the following: headache with mild fever, swelling and fullness of chest, cough with excess phlegm, followed rapidly by extreme fatigue and collapse. We don’t have the facilities to even begin to cope with the numbers this critter is going to shut down. I’m talking tens of thousands unless we can find an existing antiviral that neutralizes it.”

  “I’m
sure the federal labs and Health Canada are all over that. I don’t get a direct report but the Minister will, and I meet with him again tomorrow morning.” he said, through his mask. “Are you capable of running this facility 24/7?” he asked, nervously looking about.

  “You better whisper that,” Mrs. Simmons said. “I’m sure I can rely on most of my staff to stretch themselves but this is a high stress environment and we’ll lose them all if we push them too hard. What are the other labs doing?”

  “Same. See what you can do, but above all keep this facility secure and sterile. We can’t afford our health workers falling victim to this nasty thing.”

  The director assured him they were doing everything by the books and would continue to be diligent. Staff would be compelled to wear gowns, headgear, masks, safety glasses and every other piece of safety garb that would reduce their risk and keep them safe. Bobi felt no better about things now than she had before eavesdropping on the two. After she’d put in a full 12 hours of backbreaking work, her supervisor tapped her on the shoulder to draw her attention away from the scope. “Finish with the one you’ve got and get home for a rest. I’ll need you back in ten hours. Can you manage that?” the woman asked, the stress of the day telling in her voice.

  “Sure, don’t know why I couldn’t.” Bobi completed the file she was working on, deposited the organics and results in the appropriate ‘destroy’ and ‘export’ bins and wound her way to the dressing room. She disrobed, exposing her street-clothes and dropped the safety items into receptacles to be cleaned and disinfected. From her locker she retrieved her wallet and phone, anxious to read any updates from family and friends. The lab tech quickly scanned the names of those who had sent texts and tapped the one from her mother.

  Her family lived in Stony Plain, a small community east of Edmonton. Egyptian immigrants long before Bobi was born, the couple now owned and operated a pharmacy, which over the past 10 hours had been overrun with shoppers, buying up medications and preventative measures. The message was obviously hurried and marred with typos but the gist of the note brought a sigh of relief from the young lady as she learned that her parents and younger brother were fine. They were taking precautions and would keep her posted. Bobi sat on the bench and read through the remainder of her messages. It took several minutes for her to peruse the firestorm of texting that had taken place while she was chained to her duties.

  The curvy, little woman sent quick, assuring notes to the majority of those that needed a reply, saving her roommates for last. She would need time to digest what they had written and send something back that would be useful but definitively ‘Bobi’. Roberta Alexander was by all accounts and every indication, drop-dead gorgeous, however, to speak to the tanned-skinned beauty it was apparent that she saw herself as just one of the ‘ordinary’. Her charcoal-colored hair, bleached by the sun to a dark brown, was streaked with natural traces of auburn that ran from root to tip. She wore it short, about to her shoulders in a wash-and-wear style that allowed her to sleep those few extra minutes in the morning, which she swore were the best of the night. Although genetically predisposed to having dark, if not black, eyes; Bobi was the inheritor of a pair of recessive genes, giving her piercing, light green eyes, which were startling against the backdrop of her dark skin.

  Always the smart aleck, she was fun to be around and without fail had something amusing to say. Her friends never knew if it was her upbringing, being raised in the home of foreign immigrants, or just her quirky personality but she had a rather unique perspective of life in Canada. Men were, of course, drawn to her abundant physical assets but her real friends loved her for her tender heart, fun-loving spirit and devotion to those she loved -- a small but highly coveted inner circle.

  Bobi fired off a group message to her three roommates about 8:15 p.m., informing them she was on her way home and relayed a condensed version of the conversation she’d overheard earlier. She concluded the message and signed off as Agent Alexander - Germ Sleuth. The short walk from the lab to condo felt more like winter than fall, the air was brisk with a wind that cut through the fabric of her light jacket with ease. There were certainly fewer people on the street than usual, hurriedly moving to make their destination before dusk was overtaken by the black of night. Bobi did the same, picking up the pace with her hands jammed deeply into the coat’s pockets. A palpable mood was descending on the city, making it feel dark and uncaring. As she hurried home, Bobi noted the lack of cordial interactions, which were generally so common. Pedestrians ignored and avoided their peers, pushing to make it to the relative safety of their cars or homes.

  A group of Asians, each masked and bundled against the cold, approached Bobi on the sidewalk that led to the complex. They weaved a wide circle around her; the way a school of fish does around a shark, afraid that the close encounter may be their last. She smiled as they parted on either side of her before she let out a forced, artificial cough that would have shaken the dead. Two of those in the passing party jumped, then bolted away from the rest in an awkward jog. Yup, gets ‘em every time. The remainder of the walk was uneventful and she arrived shortly after eight to find her roommates wrapped in blankets, watching an episode of The Walking Dead. “Now that’s appropriate. Why are you watching that? We could have the same thing happening here by tomorrow morning,” she half joked.

  Mick jumped from the couch and ran to her friend at the entry. She wrapped her arms around the shorter woman and gave her a bear hug. “I’m glad you’re home. We’ve been worried about you being exposed to this virus or whatever it is.” Mick held Bobi by the shoulders and pushed her to an arm’s length so she could get a better look at her. “You’re okay, right?” Her hazel eyes gleamed from underneath a slightly furrowed brow as she looked into Bobi’s face. Her grip was firm but somehow offered a feeling of acceptance and concern.

  “I’m fine, coach. Put me back in the game, I know I can do it,” she sarcastically quipped, then tapped the Flames ball-cap Mick was wearing to bring the brim down against the older girl’s nose. “Seriously, I’m way more safe at work than you two are out running around and interacting with people all day. I feel great, just worried about my family. Got a message from them earlier - sounds like their store was picked clean today.”

  “Their store was robbed?” Hannah shouted from the couch. “That sucks!”

  “No, they weren’t robbed, just sold almost everything they had in stock. People are already starting to panic,” Bobi replied.

  “Oh, well, could have been a lot worse. By the way, should we be worried? I mean, do we have everything we need in case this thing really gets out of control?” Hannah asked, taking the time to pause the theatrical slaughter on the TV before her.

  Mick fielded the question; after all she was the condo’s mother hen, as the other women so often reminded her. “I think we’re okay. I’d estimate we’ve got food and supplies for about three weeks, if we’re conservative.” She released Bobi and started a mental rundown on their supplies, as she opened and inventoried each cupboard. Michelle Petersen was Canadian born and raised; never been out of the country and no intention of doing so now. Her parents were a rare breed and although nearly 50, they continued to be fixtures on the Canadian Rodeo Circuit. They lived on a small ranch northeast of Winnipeg, where they raised horses, pigs and chickens but mostly trained for the next big event, such as The Stampede. Her dad had broken more bones than she could count but he kept coming back for more and her mother could turn a horse on a dime. Even at her age, she gave the young female barrel racers a run for their money.

  Mick, as she preferred to be called, loved horses but had left the ranch to pursue her second love, children. The western-leaning lass was motherly by nature. She cared about people and it showed in everything she did. Mick spent little time fussing with her mousey-brown hair or makeup but had a natural beauty and countenance that drew people to her. Children, with their keen sense of trust, knew instinctively that Miss Petersen was their friend. ‘Mom’ as her
friends sometimes called her, was a few years older than her roommates but seemed a decade more mature, which showed on the teacher’s face. She was perhaps not as feminine as the other three but she was certainly not homely. Thick, solid muscles, hardened by years of manual labor and hours in the condo’s gym, accentuated a trim but sturdy figure. More often than not, her head was topped with a baseball hat, her hair pulled through the back in a loosely bound ponytail.

  “Okay, now that we’re all here, we better give Raven a call and let her know our situation,” Mick directed.

  “Sounds good, we can use my phone,” Hannah offered. Minutes later the three sat around the kitchen table with the phone triangulated between them and the speaker light illuminated. After a series of rings, Raven, sounding groggy, answered at the other end.

  “Hey Hannah, glad you called.”

  “It’s all of us, Rave, me, Bobi and Mick, thought we better check in with you. How’s it going there?” Hannah asked.

  “I’m glad you did. Give me a sec . . . get a light. I’ve been dozing . . . phone just woke me. Sorry, but give me a minute.”

  “No problem,” Mick responded and the three waited for her to come back on the line.

  “Hey you guys, . . . snowing there?” Raven asked.

  “No, it’s cold but no snow. Must be there, eh?” Bobi replied, leaning in toward the phone’s mic.

  “Like crazy, I can hardly . . . SUV from the front windows.”

  “What was that, Rave?” Mick asked. “You’re breaking up a little bit.”

  “K, I’ve only . . . two bars. What’s happening . . . ?”

  “No school tomorrow but everything else is as per usual, as far as I know. Bobi, you working?” Mick asked the girl at her right.

  “Yeah, in fact we’re pulling extra hours, got to be back at six.”