Pandemic: The Innocents: A Post-Apocalyptic Medical Thriller Fiction Series (The Pandemic Series Book 2)

by Bobby Akart

  As Hunter pulled into the largely empty Summit County Sheriff’s Office parking lot, he reminded Mac that they, too, were outsiders. His goal was to use his military background and position within the DTRA to offer his assistance to the sheriff in the event things got rough. At the same time, he wasn’t going to tell anyone, much less law enforcement, about the supplies and weapons cache they’d assembled.

  Hunter had seen what economic collapse looks like when they’d conducted a two-month-long operation in Venezuela. Politicians would not hesitate to employ whatever assets were within their charge, including the military, to maintain control and power. He was very much aware of the powers held by any President of the United States in that regard. Martial law was every President’s secret weapon.

  *****

  Mac waited in the Defender while Hunter spent time inside getting to know the local sheriff. She used this as an opportunity to call Janie and see how she was progressing. After their phone call abruptly ended the day before, Mac had only received a few cryptic texts. The majority of the information she’d received regarding the CDC lockdown came from the media.

  This morning, she woke up to a new message from Janie and they conducted the following exchange.

  Janie: I’ll be locked out for days. No way for me to help here.

  Mac: How about Emory? Can you liaise there?

  Janie: Nope, skeleton crew only. Yesterday’s event spooked Emory. X-cel classes, sent everyone home.

  Mac: What are you going to do?

  Janie: IDK. I need to find a cure. Do you agree?

  Mac: I’m not stopping until I do.

  Janie: Need help?

  Mac: A long way from home.

  Janie: Don’t care. Parents and sis are safe. ATL is falling apart. Everything inside the perimeter is scary. Rioting & looting in Buckhead near your place. Heck, even OTP is becoming dangerous.

  Mac: Why are they rioting?

  Janie: ’Cause they can. Who knows? There’s nobody to stop them, I guess. Let me come help. I’ll bring lab rats.

  Mac: Ha-ha! Fine by me and I’m sure Hunter won’t care. My parents are on the way too.

  Janie: Cool! I love your mom, and your dad is a hoot!

  Mac: Janie, you may not be able to go back.

  Janie: I know.

  During the text conversation, Hunter and Mac discussed whether it was a good idea to encourage Janie. Hunter wasn’t against it, but his analytical mind required a few issues to be addressed.

  First, Janie was another mouth to feed and person to take care of. Second, she wasn’t weapons trained and her benefit to the group would be limited in terms of security until she could get comfortable with a weapon. Third, she wasn’t family, or at least less family than Hunter was. If tough decisions had to be made, Janie would be the odd man out.

  On the positive side was Janie’s attitude. She’d always been a loyal team player for Mac. The girl was enthusiastic and fearless. In the coming days as Mac continued her testing and trials, Janie would be an invaluable right arm in the lab.

  Also, Janie was a veterinarian with advanced surgical skills, albeit with animals. As health care facilities became overwhelmed, including the St. Anthony Medical facility near I-70, someone with the ability to treat trauma injuries was invaluable. Mac and her mother had some training, but it paled in comparison to Janie’s capabilities.

  With the addition of Janie, Hunter and Mac agreed their team was complete. The two of them could focus on security. Janie would be their doomsday doctor. Mac’s dad would be in charge of entertainment, and Barbara, a four-star general, would command the troops. The two laughed at the concept of their very own battalion of survivors, each with their own special talents to contribute.

  As Hunter walked briskly from the entrance of the sheriff’s department to rejoin her, Mac contemplated their next stop at High Country Healthcare, an urgent care and family medicine practice just a few hundred yards from the sheriff’s office.

  At her mom’s suggestion, she wanted to look up Dr. Caleb Cooley, an old-school general practitioner who made house calls, was capable of delivering babies, and was known to be quite the poker player. She described him as a Wild West throwback, straight out of the old Bonanza television series.

  Hunter hopped into the truck with a smile.

  “How did it go?” asked Mac.

  “Not bad, but we need to stop at the Western store. I’m gonna need some boots and a cowboy hat. And we need to consider a horse, too.”

  Chapter 61

  Day Forty-Seven

  High Country Healthcare

  Breckenridge

  High Country Healthcare was a modern practice, but Dr. Caleb Cooley was a modern cowboy. He looked somewhat like an older, broken-down version of the legendary Marlboro man. He had a lanky physique and a thick horseshoe mustache complete with vertical extensions grown on the corners of his lips and down the sides of his mouth to his jawline. In its upside-down configuration, his mustache resembled a horseshoe that had its luck run out.

  Being unlucky was certainly not the case for the fifty-seven-year-old native of nearby Frisco, Colorado. After graduating from medical school, he interned back home at St. Anthony’s before establishing the family practice in ’93.

  In his spare time, he would frequent the casinos of Central City, roughly fifty miles down Interstate 70 in the foothills. He became proficient at playing Texas Hold’em and began to enter tournaments in Las Vegas. After cutting his teeth at Bally’s, he moved on to the high stakes games at the Wynn, Bellagio, and Venetian hotels.

  The larger resorts’ players were used to high limits and wide bankroll swings. The minimum spread of 4/8 didn’t scare Dr. Caleb Cooley, who took advantage of those Easterners who drank too much and therefore had cojones of steel.

  The weekends in Las Vegas earned him far more than his family practice, but he was never tempted to quit medicine in order to chase the high-flying life of other poker players in Las Vegas. Eventually, he made enough money to purchase a magnificent ranch at the base of nearby Red Mountain, across McCullough Gulch from Quandary Peak.

  He’d met Mac’s mother and father while hiking to Quandary Peak, his favorite 14er. Although her parents were in relatively good physical condition for their age, their first hike up the trails to the peak resulted in a twisted ankle for her mom. Dr. Cooley had an ankle wrap in his backpack and plenty of Naprosyn. With the aid of a walking pole, Barbara made it back to the house and both of the Hagans made a friend.

  “Well, say howdy,” greeted Dr. Cooley as he entered the waiting room to meet Mac and Hunter. He had a deep and resonant voice with a very distinctive Western drawl. He immediately hugged Mac and offered his hand to Hunter. At first, Hunter hesitated to shake it after Mac’s constant reminders to avoid unnecessary contact with others, but he took the chance considering Mac accepted a hug. He was afraid he might insult Dr. Cooley.

  “Hi, Dr. Cooley,” said Mac after she pulled out of his bear hug. “Mom has told me so much about you.”

  “She has, has she? I gotta tell ya, I love your folks. Good, down-to-earth people. Who’s this good-lookin’ feller?”

  “Nathan Hunter. But everyone calls me Hunter.”

  Dr. Cooley came back with a quick reply. “Do you?”

  “Do I what?” asked Hunter in response. “Hunt?”

  “Yeah, and ride horses, and treat this pretty gal like a lady?”

  Mac started laughing as Hunter blushed somewhat. With a grin, he rifled back, “Yes, no, and if I don’t, I’ll have to deal with her mother.”

  Both Mac and Dr. Cooley burst into laughter as the older man put his arms around Hunter’s shoulders and led them both back to his office. “Young fella, you call me Doc Cooley, or just Doc will be fine. If you call me Caleb, I’ll have to whoop ya.”

  Doc continued as he led them down the hallway of the quiet medical facility. “Mac, this here’s a good ’un. But then, Barb told me he was. It was your pa who put me up to ribbin’ Hunter. You k
now, he told me to test his mettle and his sense of humor. Tommy told me that if this young man didn’t have a sense of humor, we’d have to chuck him down the mountain first chance.”

  Mac smiled at Hunter, who was enjoying the good-humored teasing being doled out by Doc. “My folks are putting you to the test, Hunter. They’ve employed their local minions.”

  “Dang straight,” said Doc. They entered his office, which was adorned with hunt trophies, including elk, moose, and bighorn sheep. “Hunter, shut the door, please, sir.”

  Doc ran his fingers through his long salt-and-pepper hair and adopted a serious demeanor. Mac started the conversation.

  “Doc, thanks for seeing us on short notice and taking up your lunch hour,” started Mac. “Mom said we can trust you implicitly.”

  “Honey, I’m a poker player, which means I’m an expert at lying. But not to my friends. Back in the day, when I played in the high-stakes world for cold, hard cash, it was all business, pure and simple. For me, it was one dollar at a time. One chip at a time. What we’ve got is an honest friendship, which means you can count on me, just as I suspect I can count on you.”

  Mac smiled and grabbed Hunter’s hand. This was exactly what she hoped for when her mother suggested they form a closer friendship with Doc. “Thanks, Doc, and yes, you can count on us.”

  Hunter added to the conversation, getting to the point, as he was mindful of Doc’s busy patient schedule. “Doc, a storm’s comin’. I don’t know if Breckenridge has experienced any cases of this plague yet, but within days, it will be the ugliest challenge this nation has ever faced.”

  “I imagine that’s true, Hunter. I’ve been followin’ the news and talked to some of the other old-timers here in Breckenridge. So far, we’ve been lucky, but the town’s on edge. The shopkeepers don’t know if the next tourist who walks through their door is gonna be infected or not. The hotels are seeing cancellations right and left, not that it matters because all of the housekeepers are afraid to clean the rooms of strangers.”

  “It’s a bad situation that’s going to get worse,” said Hunter. “I need to ask you a very direct question. Are the people in charge here—from the mayor to the sheriff and the town elders, if you will—ready for this?”

  Doc leaned back in his chair and propped one leg on the corner of his desk, revealing a well-worn Justin roper boot. “We’re like any small town. You got a handful of type A personalities who’re absolutely certain they know what’s best for everybody. Ya got the other side who’s convinced the other type A’s are dead wrong. The way I see it is this. When the manure hits the fan, the local folks are gonna follow the advice of the side that makes ’em feel safe. As for me and my buddies, we’ll take right good care of ourselves.”

  “If Denver falls apart and people start to flee the city, looking for a place around here, whadya think the town would do?”

  Doc removed his leg from the desk and leaned forward to answer. He looked at Hunter and then back to Mac. With his deep, gravelly voice, he responded, “Just ’cause trouble comes visitin’ doesn’t mean you have to offer it a place to sit down. This town has always welcomed visitors and new residents with open arms. I’ve been guilty of the same right here in this office. Sure, I’ve told folks that if they’re ever back in Breck to stop by. They may enjoy the trip up here, but y’all, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna answer the door.”

  Chapter 62

  Day Forty-Eight

  Quandary Peak

  “Hunter!” shouted Mac as she opened the carved wood front door. When the home was built, a local artisan created a custom door with carved wildlife etched into the oak. Mac flung it open and ran out like a young child excited to greet her grandparents. Tommy Hagan had barely pulled the Jeep Wrangler to a complete stop before Mac stuck her head in through the half doors and planted a kiss on her father’s cheek together with a hug around his neck.

  “Your mother will be jealous that I got the first smooch,” said the recently turned sixty-year-old man with premature white hair. Tommy Hagan’s hair was not indicative of his level of fitness. The mild-mannered retired chemistry teacher was a regular at the Coastal Fitness Center in Coos Bay.

  He still repped two hundred and twenty-five pounds on the flat bench, a remarkable amount of weight for someone his age. His cardiovascular training included four-mile runs daily. For all of his silliness, Tommy Hagan was capable of competing in a triathlon for his age group. This fall, he was slated to participate in his first sprint competition in the Green Valley Senior Games in Arizona. He was probably one of the few men who looked forward to turning sixty, which allowed him to compete.

  Hunter emerged from the basement and joined the family reunion on the gravel driveway, which circled in front of the house. Mac had bounced around the back of the Jeep to give her mother a hug as well.

  She and Barb were not as affectionate to one another as Mac was to her father. Tommy was more touchy-feely than Barb. It wasn’t always that way. Over the years, Barb Stinchcomb had morphed into General Barbara Hagan, hardening her exterior in the process. Retirement had softened her somewhat, but not necessarily with respect to her daughter. In many respects, to a casual observer, the relationship between Mac and Barb could be described as businesslike.

  “It’s nice to meet you, sir,” said Hunter as he shook Tommy’s hand.

  Tommy immediately turned the greeting into a man-hug and a hearty slap on Hunter’s back. “You call me Tommy, or else.”

  “Or else what?” asked Hunter, going along with the joke.

  “Or I’ll call you Nathan, or Natester, or Nate-O-Rama. Deal?”

  “It’s an offer I cannot refuse,” said Hunter with a grin. “Get it?”

  Tommy burst out laughing and looked over at Barb and Mac, who were enjoying the two men hitting it off. “Mac, you didn’t tell me he was a funny one. You guys get it, right?”

  “Get what, Daddy?”

  “You know, The Godfather. Tom Hagen, the consigliere of the Corleone family. An offer you can’t refuse?” Tommy looked at their dumbfounded looks in disappointment. He turned to Hunter and whispered, “I don’t think they get it.”

  Suddenly, Mac and Barb began to laugh hysterically. They’d pulled one over on the jokester.

  “Of course we get it, you nutty professor,” said Barb as she provided her daughter a second, unexpected hug.

  Tommy grinned, surprised that the women got one over on him. “Come on, Hunter. I like you already. Help me unload the Jeep while the two nerds catch up on the fate of the world.”

  “Well, okay,” replied Hunter. He waved over the top of the soft-top, four-door Wrangler. “It was nice to meet you, General Hagan.”

  “Call me Barb, or else!” she said with a laugh.

  “Yeah, yeah. Or else what?”

  “I’ll pull rank and make you two sleep in separate quarters!”

  “NOOO!” protested Mac.

  Hunter ducked behind the Jeep and joined Tommy at the rear. He’d already unloaded several pieces of soft-sided luggage and began to pull out the long-gun protective cases.

  “Whadya got there?” asked Hunter.

  “Firepower, my friend,” replied Tommy. “I used to hunt for sport. Now, I suspect we’ll hunt to survive. Only the prey may be more than the elk and deer roaming these mountains.”

  “I’m afraid so, Tommy.”

  *****

  The four of them spent the next half hour unloading the Jeep and getting the Hagans settled in their second home. Barb acquiesced and allowed Mac and Hunter to continue sharing a room as long as they kept it down, a statement that caused Mac to blush.

  Tommy and Barb opened a bottle of wine and the tops were popped off a couple of Budweisers. The group settled into the four rustic Adirondack chairs carved out of aspen wood, which overlooked the western horizon and Blue Lakes. As always, it was gloriously quiet with only the deep booming call of a blue grouse interrupting the silence.

  “What did you see along the way?” asked Hunter
.

  Tommy swirled his cabernet in the stemmed wineglass and then took a sip. “Salt Lake City was the only populated area we passed through of consequence. When we were in range, we made a point to listen to local radio stations as we traveled to get a feel for what was going on.”

  Barb interjected. “It was nonstop breaking news on SiriusXM. On a local level, the reporting was remarkably personal. In small towns like Elko, Nevada, the radio stations named businesses and residents in the reports. They discussed where the people had visited, all in an attempt to prevent the spread within their towns.”

  “Once we hit Interstate 80 in Winnemucca, Nevada, the reports of sick people became more frequent,” added Tommy. “In Salt Lake City, the discussion was nonstop about the plague. And, I might add, it was increasingly hostile. Talk radio has a tendency to be toxic anyway, but what we heard was hate speech, in my opinion.”

  “I can’t disagree,” said Barb. “People are afraid, and we, I mean, the government, have not provided solutions. The system is overwhelmed and is probably exhibiting a total breakdown of basic services.”

  “Mom, they’re still working on my BALO suggestion. I don’t plan on giving up on other alternatives.”

  “As well you should, until it’s unsafe to leave here,” said Barb. “Major cities in Oregon and California are experiencing rolling blackouts. Not because the power grid is overtaxed, but because the personnel necessary to run our critical infrastructure are not showing up for work. The so-called blue flu is becoming endemic within our public service sector.”

  “The governor of Washington has declared a state of emergency after several nights of rioting in Seattle and Spokane,” added Tommy. “The National Guard has been called in to guard hospitals and clinics. Pharmacies are being looted as people seek antibiotics.”

  “That are useless against the plague anyway,” interjected Barb. “Hospitals are now moving regular patients into nursing homes for treatment to make way for plague-stricken victims.”