“Mick?” Dylan walked to him. “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t buying it?”
“I am.” Mick took a breath then looked at her. “I am.”
“You seem worried.”
“Who, me?” Mick smiled. “Now when do I worry?”
“When something scares you. Is this scaring you, Mick?” Dylan locked eyes with him.
“Nah.” With his mouth closed, Mick shook his head. Then, like a switch, his whole face changed and his false positive demeanor dropped along with his voice. “Yeah. Yeah it is. A little.”
“Then you don’t buy what they’re saying?”
“No.” Mick shook his head. “Who in their right mind would? I mean, think about it, Dylan. If this thing’s not so bad, if this thing’s not deadly... then why in God’s name are they shutting down states?”
“It’s just...it’s just two states.”
“Just two states?” Mick softly chuckled. “Dylan, when in your entire life have you ever known for the government to quarantine two states? It’s scary.” A slow breath escaped Mick as he lowered his face to hers with concern. “Thirty million people are locked in with something that no one wants out.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Anchorage, Alaska
It was the first time in days he had been taken from his hospital room. Bill thought perhaps the noise level had increased, but never did he expect the reasons for it. The biohazard suits the CDC workers wore were like dancing blue specks amongst the massive amount of people in the halls. As he was pushed down the corridor in a wheelchair, Bill watched all that was happening. Carts with patients on them were wheeled in and out of rooms. Furniture was moved about, as if they were making room. The one simple flu bug that he had been exposed to, in Bill’s mind, couldn’t be the cause for all of this activity. And at that moment Bill started to feel guilty. If that many people were sick, how much of that was he directly responsible for? The bug wouldn’t be in Anchorage had he not brought it home.
“Stop.” Bill held up his hand as they approached a room. He took a moment to cough. It was loose, more productive. “Is this her room?”
“Yes,” the nurse who pushed him, answered through her mask.
“I’ll walk in,” Bill said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. If she needs to see this thing won’t beat her, she needs to see me standing.”
The nurse didn’t respond, she simply locked the brakes on the wheelchair and, with gloved hands, assisted Bill to his feet. She didn’t go in the room. She wasn’t permitted.
Alone, Bill approached the door. He lifted his hand and knocked once.
He recognized the dark skin and Lexi Martin’s face, even through her face shield.
“Mr. Daniels,” Lexi said, “come in.”
Bill nodded and stepped inside. He could see Isabella across the room in a bed surrounded by equipment. Actually, with all the test tubes, to Bill it looked as if her bed were positioned in a lab more so than in a hospital room.
“She awake?”
“Yes.” Lexi motioned with her hand and led Bill to the bed.
Bill rested his hand on Isabella’s. “Hey, you,” he said softly.
Isabella’s head turned to him and her feverish eyes slowly opened.
Bill called upon his inner strength at that second when he saw how sick Isabella looked. Her eyes were dark, her face was pale, and her lips had dried and cracked. Black splotches formed under her chin on a grossly-enlarged portion of her neck.
“Look what you’ve gone and gotten yourself into,” he joked. “I told you not to kiss me.” He turned his head and released a small cough.
Isabella tried to speak, but her jaw would barely open due to the swollen glands.
“Got yourself a private room, I see.” Bill winked. “You don’t know how lucky you are. Everyone else is jammed in. You’re special.”
Lexi added, “She is. She gets the royal treatment. Actually, we’ve a lot to learn from her, since we know she definitely has the flu. She’s going to be a big help.”
“Hear that?” Bill asked Isabella. “You’re gonna help others. Isn’t that just like you?”
Again, Isabella tried to talk, but as she inhaled to do so, she was shaken by a violent cough, deep and resonating. She wheezed hard and coughed again, her face turning purple and red; she struggled to breathe, just as repugnant brown mucus slid from the corner of her mouth.
As if it was nothing, Lexi casually stepped in front of Bill. Almost too carefully, she removed the seeping sputum with a tissue, smiled at Isabella, then with an ‘excuse me’ moved away from the bed and walked over to what looked like a lab counter.
Bill watched Lexi place the tissue in a plastic dish, for testing he supposed. He glanced back down at Isabella who looked up at him as she tried with everything she had, to focus on his face.
Lexi returned. “Maybe we should let her rest, Mr. Daniels. And you, too.”
Bill understood; the brief visit had taken its toll on him. “Want to rest, Isabella?”
The slight tilt forward that Isabella’s head moved could have been considered a nod.
“I’ll let you rest then.” Hand on hers, Bill leaned closer to her. “I think I’ll nap, too.” He kissed her gently on the forehead.
She managed to moisten her lips some, then with thick mucus gurgling in her throat, Isabella croaked, “Are you better?”
“Me?” Bill asked. “Absolutely. Still not a hundred percent, strength is getting better. Fever broke for good this morning. But I still get....” he dramatically smacked his tongue in a clicking sound around his mouth as his face scrunched up, “I get this nasty taste in my mouth when I cough.” He chuckled, which irritated a little cough from him. After hitting himself once in the chest, Bill cringed. “See? There it is.”
Isabella’s eyes closed in agreement.
“You get some rest.” Bill kissed her again. “And get better.”
Slowly, Isabella looked at him. “Will I?”
“Hell yeah.” Bill smiled. “Aren’t I standing proof? If you don’t believe me, ask Dr. Lexi here. She’ll tell you.” Bill pointed to Lexi.
However, eyes too focused on Isabella, Bill didn’t see the telltale way that Lexi glanced away from him.
* * *
Reston, Virginia
Henry stared for a moment at the computer screen then slowly turned his chair to look at Kurt.
“Worse?” Kurt asked.
“The whole team is ill. All septic.” Henry tapped his hand on the arm of the chair and stood up. “I think I’m more than ready for bed.”
“Me, too,” Kurt agreed, a cup of coffee in his hand. “I haven’t slept in two days.”
“Me either.” Henry walked, hoping the movement would revitalize him. “I just hope I wake up tomorrow.”
“Kind of a wrong thing to say, don’t you think, in light of this flu thing.”
“I guess.” Henry picked up the coffee pot and inhaled the aroma of the freshly-brewed coffee. “What are we doing, Kurt?”
“Fighting.”
After a breath, Henry took a sip. “Do you know what tomorrow will bring? Do you? It’s already started.”
“Every hospital in every city will think they have the flu,” Kurt spoke in an almost dreamlike way. “People will flock to them. But hopefully,” he sighed, “sensible health facilities will be able to determine ‘real’ from psychosomatic. But you know it’s probably only going to be a matter of another day or two that every hospital in every city will have the flu. The World Health Organization....” His head turned at the sound of the office door opening. “Speaking of the WHO.”
Stepping into the office was Joshua Lincoln, a stern, tall older gentlemen from the World Health Organization. He set down his briefcase as soon as he walked in, flashed a greeting smile and began to take off his jacket. “Your relief is now here. Go get some rest, gentlemen. I’ll hold down this end.”
With sleep in sight, Henry’s eyes felt even heavier, if t
hat were possible. “Thank, God,” he said. “I don’t think my poor body can handle any more.”
Kurt set down his cup. “Yes, but with all that’s on our minds, will we be able to rest?”
Henry swayed as he threw a look Kurt’s way. “Yes.”
Joshua chuckled. “Have you two left this office at all? Get some air. It’s not bad out there. I expected the worst. You know, a lot of panic and such. It’s calm. Eerie.”
“Like before the storm,” Kurt said.
“True,” Joshua concurred. “Airports are dead. I was one of four people on the plane. People are taking this very seriously on this side of the country.”
“As well they should,” Kurt commented. “Our reports differ from the west.”
“It’s out west.” Joshua nodded. “And as much as I love Hollywood... let’s keep it there. I talked to FEMA. They are positioning tight border patrols in Utah. Just in case. They’re getting things together. If, God forbid, this thing strikes this side of the country, we’ll be a bit better prepared.”
“We should have been prepared,” Henry interjected. “The government has had a council for this kind of thing since 1970.”
Kurt looked at Henry. “They’re doing the best they can. And let’s you and me get some rest so we can face what is gonna happen tomorrow.”
“I’m with you.” Henry walked to the door. “Night, Josh.”
Getting ready to leave, Kurt paused. “Oh, Josh, one thing. Any optimistic predictions from the WHO experts?”
Josh shook his head. “The WHO experts are pretty much along the same lines as you. Well, we haven’t talked to Lars Rayburn, he’s our top man. He was on the sites of the two previous outbreaks of this flu. I’ll get a hold of him tonight. He’s on holiday for a month.”
“Nice long vacation,” Kurt said. “Bet you hate to interrupt it.”
“Not really,” Joshua replied. “He’s in Ohio.”
Kurt blinked. “Ohio? He’s on a month holiday in Ohio?” He glanced curiously at Henry. “Who the hell goes on holiday to Ohio?”
Joshua smiled. “The one and only Lars Rayburn.”
* * *
Lodi, Ohio
Totally irritated, Lars chalked up his cue stick at the local tavern and aimed not only his eyes but also his voice at the bartender.
“Hey, Bart!”
Bart turned around to look at Lars, who was one of six patrons. “Yeah?”
“Put MTV on, or something,” Lars instructed.
“MTV?” Bart questioned. “What in Christ’s name for? This is the news. It’s important.”
“It’s depressing,” Lars said. “People do not visit your fine establishment to be depressed. They come here to take their minds off of things. Turn off the news. If people want to watch it, they can go home and watch it.”
Bart shrugged. “Okay.” He switched the channel.
Patrick was waiting patiently for Lars to take his turn. He shook his head with a smile. “I take it you don’t care much for this big news.”
“Not at all.” Lars found his shot, leaned over the table, took it and missed. “Especially not today. Today was depressing enough.”
“Mr. Hughes?” Patrick asked.
“Sam,” Lars spoke with a sigh. “Three children.”
“And a wife.”
“Well.…” Lars tilted his head. “I do feel for Dylan. She’s known Sam since grade school.”
Looking for a shot to take, Patrick walked around the pool table. “How long have you known Dylan and Sam?”
“Since before they were born, if that makes sense.”
“So, you grew up here?” Patrick took a shot.
“Nope.” Lars looked at the table. “I only take my holiday here. Have done so forever. Of course, taking the holiday was much easier once I bought my house ten years ago. They have one boarding house in Lodi, which is a terrible place. And, any decent hotel one was too far away for my holiday to be considered in Lodi. I have to stay in Lodi.”
“So, if you have to stay here, why did you wait so long to buy a house?”
“I would have purchased one sooner,” Lars replied. “But I was waiting for that particular home.”
“So you liked it?”
Smiling after his successful shot, Lars looked up. “Very much so.”
“Can I ask you more?”
“Certainly. I’m an open book,” Lars answered.
“If you didn’t grow up here, why do you take a month off to stay here?”
“I take it you haven’t been to the Lodi fall festival?”
Patrick shook his head. “No, is it that great?”
“No. Not really,” Lars chuckled. “Just thought I’d say that.” Stopping in his ‘shot check,’ Lars stood upright. “Lodi. The reason I come to Lodi is pathetic. But I’ll tell you, because you’re new, you don’t know the people yet. In college I met a girl. You know the story. I fell in love with her. She lived in Lodi. I came here once back then and loved it.”
“I take it you didn’t marry this girl?”
“No,” Lars replied. “She married someone else. But my love for the town and my eternal desire to see her, keeps me coming back.”
Patrick choked on a laugh. “She still lives here?”
“Yes. A beautiful woman.”
“Who?’
Lars shook his head. “Can’t tell.”
“Okay.” Patrick leaned a little on his cue stick. “Can you tell me this? You’re this legend around here, yet every time I am almost ready to find out who you are, what you do, and why you’re a legend, something interrupts. I have some guesses, but, can you finally fill me in? Who is Lars Rayburn?”
With a grin, Lars prepared to answer, but turned his head when his name was called.
“Mr. Rayburn.” Officer Haddock stepped into the bar and took off his hat. “Hate to interrupt your social time, sir. But the WHO has been looking for you all over town. They called the station after they tried your home. I said I’d track ya. Didn’t think you’d mind, it had to be important.”
Lars nodded. “Thank you, Chester. I’ll go home and call right away. Well, my new young friend,” he said, handing Patrick his cue stick, “I must depart. We’ll finish this conversation later. The WHO calls.”
Patrick took hold of the stick, staring in awe as Lars hurriedly grabbed his things and left. Then Patrick snapped his fingers and nodded. “I knew it,” he said to himself. “I knew he was some sort of throwback from the sixties rock era.” He nodded knowingly. “The Who.”
* * *
The pattering of Tigger’s running footsteps were overshadowed by the loud thumping ones of Mick. Still moving, Mick swooped down one arm and lifted the small child. “Bed,” he ordered as he opened the bedroom door right in front of them.
“But I’m not tired,” Tigger complained.
“It’s almost midnight. You will be.” Mick carried the tiny child over his shoulder. He pulled down the covers on the bed and dropped him onto it. “Did you take your pills?’
“Yes. And they take twenty-seven minutes to work.”
“Quick,” Mick snapped his fingers, “best guess—how much longer until they kick in?
Tigger looked down to his little watch. “Sixteen more minutes.”
“You can last sixteen minutes.” Mick covered him up. “Night.” He leaned down and kissed him then walked to the door.
“Can you leave the light on? Mommy does.”
“Sure.” Mick pulled his hand away from the light switch. “Night.” Closing the door a little, Mick walked down the hall to Dylan’s room. He prepared to knock once on the slightly opened door, but stopped when he caught a glimpse of her.
Dylan stood by the mirror looking closely at her face, pulling down the skin under her eyes.
Chuckling, Mick opened the door, crossed his arms and leaned on the archway. “What are you doing?”
Dylan jumped and spun around. “Mick,” she grabbed her chest, “do my eyes look dark to you?”
&nb
sp; “They always look dark.” He walked to her.
“But they look darker than usual, don’t they.”
“Dylan, you cried a lot today.”
“But I am not feeling all that—”
“Dylan.” Mick laid his hand over her mouth. “You don’t have the flu.”
Dylan cleared her throat. “I think I do, Mick, I’m scared I do.”
“It’s all the way over on the other side of the country. You don’t have the flu.”
“My throat’s sore, Mick.” She rubbed her neck. “And right now, it’s over there. It could be here, and no one knows. These things spread. I’ve read The Stand.”
Laying his hands on her shoulders, Mick gently lowered her to the bed. “You’re right. It could be here. However, you never finished reading The Stand.”
“That’s because it scared me,” Dylan said. “But you read it.”
“Yes, I did. And this isn’t the same thing. It isn’t The Stand. It isn’t the bubonic plague.”
“Gee, Mick, thanks. I wasn’t thinking of that.”
Mick rolled his eyes. “Dylan, you had a long day. You don’t have the flu. What you do have is two boys downstairs waiting on you. Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand. “Let’s sit down there for awhile before I leave.”
“Wait,” she slowed as she left the bedroom. “You’re leaving?”
“Going home.”
“Mick, stay.”
“Dylan, no. I have no clothes here, I—”
“Go get them.”
Mick stopped at the door. “I’ll think about it…”
They continued down the hall and to the stairs. The sound of the television carried to them as they descended.
Mick knew what the boys were watching. As soon as he stepped into the living room, he felt Dylan squeeze his hand tighter. They didn’t need to hear what the news was saying, the media provided a visual that was frightening enough. Displayed on the screen of the television was a map of the United States. Little red dots, signifying infected sites, danced sporadically here and there across the states like measles.
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