“They found the second reporter.”
“Excellent.” Kurt smiled.
“You think?” Henry said with sarcasm. “He’s not in Anchorage.”
“Then where?” Kurt asked.
Henry hesitated and swallowed before answering. “LA.”
* * *
Los Angeles, CA
The agonizing pain that Trevor felt generated loud, horrid cries of the damned in the final moments of his life. He wasn’t even conscious enough to realize and pinpoint where the pain came from, but it consumed him. His hospital bed was soaked with the black blood that seeped from every bodily orifice.
Dr. Benjamin Anthony from the CDC knew the end was at hand for Trevor, but he couldn’t help but want to fight for him. Fighting for Trevor meant fighting for anyone else who had to go through it.
Caroline Sanders, another doctor from the CDC, held a different opinion. She, Ben and two others diligently toiled over the patient they had just been introduced to an hour earlier. Trevor convulsed as the team watched, marked the occurrences, and photographed it all as the ‘beginning’ in their minds. Registering every second of the event, it was literally a new history in the making, one that generations to come would not soon forget.
“He’s bleeding from somewhere,” Ben stated, eyes glued to the racing heart monitor. “Maybe if we can slow down the—”
“Somewhere?” Caroline ridiculed. “His goddamn organs have melted; they’re just finding their way out.”
Trevor threw his arms out and his neck and back arched as he yelped, a bizarre sound no one had ever heard before. In the midst of the scream, Trevor violently coughed and projected thick dark blood onto Ben’s protective facial shield.
“This has to end.” Caroline shook her head. “Three CCs of morphine.” She held out her hand toward an assistant.
After dropping the end of the blanket he used to smear the blood on his mask, Ben saw the assistant hand the syringe to Caroline. “What are you doing?”
“Ending this.” Caroline lifted the syringe.
“That’s inhumane.” Ben grabbed her hand stopping her.
“No,” Caroline argued passionately and pulled away her hand. She looked at Trevor who still screamed in agony. “What is happening to this man is inhumane.” On her final word, she brought down the syringe and silence came, not only to the room but to Trevor as well.
CHAPTER TEN
Lodi, Ohio
August 30th
Flinging his head, Mick threw the wet strands of his long hair from his face and reached for the brush, a brush that took him forever to find in Dylan’s dark bedroom. He’d brought nothing to her home the night before because had no intentions of staying, but the long day had caught up with him and he ended up passing out on the couch somewhere in the middle of watching a cable movie. He only wished that Dylan would have woken him, or at the least made him stretch out. Falling asleep partially sitting killed his back.
Running the brush through his thick hair with thoughts of the day before him racing through his mind, Mick jumped a little, set down the brush and flew out of the bathroom when he heard the alarm clock radio blare. He thought he had silenced it when it went off prior to stepping into the shower, but he supposed he had only hit the snooze button. He couldn’t figure out why Dylan had the thing set so early anyhow.
Holding the towel to his body, Mick flew into the bedroom. Dylan hadn’t budged at all in the midst of the blaring newscast.
“Ok, how do I shut this damn thing off?” Mick muttered to himself. He picked up the clock and turned it upside down and around searching for the button.
“And Ohio Governor Theodore Higgins is insisting the plane be removed from the Cleveland Airport runway where it is remains in quarantine,” the woman newscaster spoke. “A spokesperson with the Centers for Disease Control assured Governor Higgins...”
Mick turned the volume down, low enough to hear, but his attention was caught.
“...that everything would be fine, and the quarantine will be lifted once the passengers show no signs of the flu that has proceeded, before midnight, to shut down not only the entire state of Alaska, but nine counties in California as well….”
“What?” Mick exhaled, as he backed up and sat down.
“Governors of both Alaska and California are expressing deep concern over citizen reaction when they wake to find they are imprisoned in their own home states. The National Guard has been brought in for precautionary measures in more heavily populated areas where tension could cause rioting. In an early morning statement, President Ross is urging people not to be too concerned...”
Mick looked over his shoulder when he felt the hand touch his back. Dylan slowly sat up, the expression on her face indicating that she had been listening.
“Mick?” she whispered.
Mick held up his hand to keep her quiet.
“…president also stated that the military presence should not be confused with strong arm tactics. The Federal Emergency Management Agency stresses that the quarantine is more of a voluntary basis. However, the mandatory closing of schools, state offices, major interstates and businesses contradicts that statement.”
Dylan’s hand reached around Mick, and she clenched his wrist. “Oh my God, Mick. What is happening?”
Silently Mick shook his head. He didn’t know. Like Dylan, he could only learn by listening.
* * *
Reston, Virginia
“We are at war,” Kurt said as he walked around the large conference table passing out information. His eyes were dark from lack of sleep. He wore the same clothes from the day before. “Front lines have been drawn. To sound overly dramatic, it’s man versus the flu.” He finished passing out information. “Henry and I have put a lot of hours into this. We’ll take any feedback you can give us. Each of you ten will be in charge of different sectors of the country, so know your facts. And one of the facts is, if we don’t fight with everything we have to keep the front lines contained, chances are, every single one of us will come down with this flu.”
One gentleman at the table lifted his hand. “The news has already been broken to the public.”
Henry interjected. “Good. That’s what we want. We want the media to inform the public. The CDC is giving them ample information about viruses and so forth, communicability rates, past and present plagues, you name it. We want to scare the American public into not leaving their homes. Let them be afraid to breathe their neighbors’ air, because the only way we can help this thing run its course without infecting too many people is to scare the public.”
“But,” Kurt added, “we don’t want them scared to the point that they think they’re going to die. We don’t want rioting; we don’t need more loss of life. The information fed to the public regarding our flu will be sugar coated. It’s the flu, plain and simple, a virulent flu whose symptoms are debilitating during the span of the illness.”
“Not deadly?” another man asked. “Don’t you think people are smarter than that? I mean, when their neighbors start dropping off, they are going to know we lied.”
“Hopefully we’ll contain it. Stop it,” Kurt said. “It’s a long shot, I know. But what works in our favor is the flu will lose its virulence as time moves on. That’s what stopped the Spanish flu. It took too long to hit everywhere. In 1918 it took three months for the Spanish flu to circle the globe. Unfortunately, now we have intercontinental air travel. My guess is that the flu has already crossed the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. To stop any more chance of spreading infection, all intercontinental flights were suspended three hours ago.” His voice grew serious. “This bug is strong. If you get it, you most likely will die. It will affect the younger with a vengeance; the older you are, the less your chances of getting it.” Kurt gave a shrug. “Built up immunities and so forth. The longer we can keep it from leaping boundaries, the better chance we have of it turning into the ordinary flu. Right now, cases are being reported in Anchorage, but we don’t know if it’s
our flu. We have to run tests to confirm.”
“My guess....” Henry spoke, “it is. We want to keep tabs now, because we won’t be able to if the projections hold up. Outside of Alaska and California, we have no reports of the flu.”
“And when they show up outside of these areas?” a man at the table asked.
Kurt answered, “The area infected gets quarantined. We’re looking for the flu to run its course within a month. Each city it hits will be done with their cases of the flu in less than two weeks.”
“And what happens if too many areas get infected? Can we quarantine everyone?” another person asked.
“We’ll give it our best shot,” Kurt said. “We have full government support on this. FEMA is pulling inventory, stockpiling supplies and so forth, and they are preparing for the worst case scenario.”
A woman at the table raised her hand. “The whole tone I’m getting from you is very optimistic.”
Kurt slowly nodded and, after a look at Henry, glanced back to the silent table. “To be honest, I’m not. I’m just preparing for a fight. But like FEMA, I’m not only preparing for a worst case scenario, I’m expecting it. This thing will hit. Here, there. You name it, it’ll leave its mark.”
The same woman nodded. “I see. So why, if you’re planning worst case, are we just planning food, shelter, medical, and quarantines?”
Kurt lifted his hands. “What else is there?”
“I hate to sound gloomy....” She tilted her head as her hand ruffled pages of the document before her, “But at a ninety-five percent mortality rate, we should be planning for something else. Cholera, safe body disposal.”
Kurt shook his head. “That type of planning will not be necessary. It’s not important.”
She chuckled. “Why not? It’s realistic”
“No, it’s not,” Kurt said with seriousness. “Mass graves. Body disposal. You want reality, I’ll give you reality. Burials and disposals are not priority planning because if the worst case scenario hits, there won’t be enough people left to bury the dead.”
* * *
Barrow, Alaska
Septic.
Paul didn’t need a blood test for confirmation. He knew his version of the flu was septic. His own confirmation came when he broke up his cough enough to view the sputum laced with the blood from his lungs.
It was the single-most frightening sight Paul had ever witnessed. His knowledge helped feed his fear. He knew the blood meant early signs of the decay of his internal organs. But just the night before, his knowledge had given him hope. At the age of nearly fifty, Paul knew his chances of getting the flu were slim. And those who were older seldom died from septicemia; they succumbed to the symptoms and pneumonia.
Paul, who had never hit the lottery, had nailed the jackpot. The odds were in his favor, but somehow his body didn’t know that.
He was his own best source of information. He took the best of notes, keeping track of his illness’ progression, pinpointing what was happening where in his body. It was through his personal accounting that he finally understood this flu. He wished he had had that understanding sooner. If so, he would have been better prepared for how sick, how desperately sick, he had become.
* * *
Los Angeles, CA
Agent Jeff Bloom carried a box when he entered his hotel room, and he also carried something else. A surgical mask dangled around his neck. “I’m back,” he announced to Darrell Harding, who lounged on the bed watching television.
“About time. What took so long?”
“Stores are packed.” Jeff set the box on the other bed. “And check this out.” He tossed a blue mask to Darrell. “Mandatory. I was stopped on the street. At first, you know, I thought it was because I had my tee shirt tied around my face. But the guy who stopped me told me I had to wear one while out. So I picked up one for you too.”
“Thanks.” Darrell quickly tried it on, then after removing it looked back at the television. He chuckled.
“What are you watching?”
“Cartoons,” Darrell answered.
“Not the news?”
“Nah. It’s all the same stuff. A bunch of experts saying this, saying that. After I talked to the Captain, I figured why bother watching the news? The only thing entertaining is the stupid intros they do after each commercial break.”
“True. So...what did the Captain say?” Jeff asked.
“We’re stuck. CDC told him that for three weeks Los Angeles is closed. I don’t mind hanging out for three weeks.”
“Me either.” Jeff pointed to the box. “We got supplies and we really don’t have to go out and take a chance of getting this thing.”
“Hibernation and little exposure is best.”
“Things could get sticky though.” Jeff sat on the bottom of the bed. “I mean, if everyone is trapped in Los Angeles for weeks, who knows what will happen? People will go nuts.”
“Not if they’re too sick, they won’t.”
“True,” Jeff agreed.
“I did hear there’s rioting in East LA.”
“There’s always rioting in East LA.”
Curiously, Darrell peered at Jeff. “Really?”
Jeff shrugged. “I don’t know. But wasn’t that a good comeback?”
“Yeah, it was.”
Jeff reached into the box and pulled out a couple of packages of Ho-Hos. He tossed one to Darrell as he plopped back on the bed. “Treat.”
“Thanks.” Darrell started to unwrap his cake. “You know, thinking about this, food, television, a nice hotel room. This might not be too bad.”
“Even with a deadly flu raging outside?” Jeff asked.
“Hey, even though it was our strongest lead for Rodriguez, where were we supposed to go today? Huh?” Darrell nodded. “Ohio. And any delay, flu or no flu, is better than going back to Ohio.”
“True.” Jeff indulged in his cake. “Anything is better than that.”
* * *
Lodi, Ohio
It felt to Dylan as if it was ten o’clock at night, but the clock had barely struck noon. It had been a long day. She couldn’t recall ever reflecting so much upon her life as she did in those few quiet moments alone in her bedroom.
Pantyhose off, dress hung back up, Dylan slipped into a pair of shorts despite her mother’s warning that she had to stay dressed up. She couldn’t figure out why. Sam was one that wore jeans wherever he went. Sam would have told Dylan, “Don’t pay attention to your mom. Wear what’s comfortable.” And Dylan did. She had a lot of people to talk to, visit with. Even though she didn’t feel up to it, it was her obligation.
Many people had showed up for Sam’s funeral. Including the biker escort, there were too many to count. Dylan was grateful the weather stayed nice and the neighbors didn’t mind the fact that a simple wake had turned into a block party because there was nowhere else to put the people.
It was a party. A quiet party, but still a party nonetheless, a release of tension. But the tension didn’t leave, not for Dylan, at least. She was worse. Sam was gone, the man who was not only her husband, the father to her children, but also a part of her life for as long as she could remember. She was handing his death just a little better than she anticipated, but Dylan expected it to pummel her the moment things quieted down.
Death was not something, at any time, that Dylan took well. It bothered her, caused nightmares. She had such a tremendous fear of dying that anytime someone close to her age passed on, she swore she was suffering from the same ailment.
And though Sam took his own life, Dylan worried about an accident of some kind taking her own.
Enough ‘alone’ time had been stolen, and Dylan knew it was time to go back downstairs before everyone wondered where she had disappeared to.
She expected to be bombarded, expected the rising and falling sound of voices in conversation. What she didn’t expect was the silence.
Not a sound except the television was heard in a living room so packed with people that she
could barely make her way through. Everyone stood there watching, listening to the broadcast that Dylan didn’t want to hear.
Spotting her mother as one of those watching the news, Dylan figured someone had better tend to the food and she preferred that someone be herself. Unnoticed, or so she thought, Dylan moved through the crowd and into her kitchen.
Mick spotted her. He, too, had been watching the news but to him, at that moment, other things were important. Following the sound of pots being removed from a cabinet, he went to the kitchen.
“Hey,” he spoke when he stepped in. “You need help?”
Dylan turned around. “You’re not watching.”
Mick shook his head.
“You can put the ham on the table. Uncover it first,” Dylan said. “So...what are they saying?”
“Who?”
“The news.”
Mick moved to the table. His hands moved slowly as he removed the foil. “Same thing as this morning. California and Alaska.”
“Do they know what it is?” Dylan grabbed a bag of buns and began taking them out.
“They’re calling it the Barrow Flu.”
Dylan looked over her shoulder at Mick. His back was to her. “Never heard of it,” she said.
“That’s just what they’re calling it. They’re saying it’s...it’s the flu. Only, how did they put it....” Mick paused to think; his voice was low-key and didn’t convey what he was feeling. “They said it transmits very easily. And the ailments are severe. Severe enough that people won’t be able to really function for a few days. But they’re also saying it’s nothing to worry about. It’s not deadly.”
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