The Flu (A Novel of the Outbreak)

by Jacqueline Druga

  Mick nodded. “And why are you here in Lodi?”

  “To get Rodriguez.”

  Mick froze as he stared at them. “Are you fuckin’ shitting me? You’re here to pick up Rodriguez?”

  “Yep,” Darrell answered. “You have him under arrest, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Mick fluttered his lips. “I have him under arrest. Did you two happen to notice what’s been going on out there in the world?”

  “Things are slow,” Jeff replied.

  Mick refrained from uttering ‘no shit’. “And with all that happened you still want to pick him up?”

  “Yes,” Jeff told him. “Can we come in?”

  “What are you, assholes?” Mick snapped. “I’m not letting you in here. If you feel like setting your bodies in a quarantine trailer for seventy-two hours, after that wait, if all is fine, then you can come in. As for now... that’s all, gentlemen.” Mick turned and walked away.

  Sgt. Dion shrugged at Jeff and Darrell, then pointed. “Third trailer is empty.”

  Jeff looked at Darrell. “I guess we’ll wait. We’ve waited this long.”

  “True.” Darrell spotted the line of trailers. “Let’s go to that trailer. I’m really beat.”

  “Me, too. Long trip.” Jeff followed. “My body is aching.”

  “I know what you mean. Hey, was it me, or did that chief seem a little testy to you?”

  Jeff shrugged as they reached the trailer. “He was a bit testy. But wouldn’t you be? He’s been detaining Rodriguez for so long, he has to be frustrated knowing he can finally get rid of him and has to wait three more days.” Extending his hand for the door, Jeff stopped to sneeze; his body shook violently. “I’m tired of doing that. My head hurts.” He peered down to the sleeping animal in his arms. “Damn cat.”

  * * *

  Mick had hid it in the tiny freezer compartment of the station’s beverage cooler. Besides wanting to take a walk that evening, he wanted to retrieve that treat. Figuring he’d enjoy that huge ice cream bar on his way back to Dylan’s house, he waited until he was out of the station to unwrap it.

  Tearing the bottom portion of the wrapper, Mick looked up as Patrick called his name.

  “Mick.” Patrick jogged his way. “I thought people would be setting up for the festival.”

  Mick peered at his watch. “It’s midnight. What the hell do you think this is, New York?” He continued to walk.

  “Hungry for ice cream?” Patrick asked.

  “Yeah. I have this thing about having ice cream after...after....” Mick ripped open the package. “After a long day. So I thought I’d walk and enjoy it.” He smiled. “What brings you out?”

  “Well, aside from thinking I would help with the festival setup, I needed to think.”

  “Yes, you do,” Mick said snidely. “Oh...” he paused in the middle of his stride, “I hear you had a date with....Eunice Bender.”

  Patrick froze. His face cringed. “That’s...that’s one of the things I am thinking about.”

  “Strongly attracted to her?”

  “Oh my God, Mick. I’m killing Tom over this. I really need someone to help me out here. You have a minute? This is something I can’t tell Lars about.”

  Lars unexpectedly walked up behind him. “What can’t you tell me about?”

  Like a child, Patrick spun around. “Nothing.”

  “Oh, come on. Tell me,” Lars nudged. “Maybe my years of life experience can help.”

  Mick bobbed his head as he pulled the ice cream bar from the wrapper. “He has a point. He is Lars Rayburn.”

  “OK.” Patrick nodded then motioned his hand to the stairs of Tom’s video store. “Let’s sit.”

  Lars raised his eyebrows. “A sitting talk. This will be good.” He took a seat next to Patrick on the top step.

  “Shoot.” Mick sat on the last step.

  “All right, you know I had this date with Eunice, right?” Patrick closed his eyes. “I’m in trouble. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Go on. Tom fixed you up with her…” Mick took a bite of his ice cream.

  Patrick shuddered with chills. “I can’t believe you just bit that bar.”

  “Tell the damn story!” Mick snapped.

  “I’m killing Tom,” Patrick hurried and looked at a snickering Lars. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Lars giggled. “I know where this is going. Go on.”

  Letting out a breath, Patrick continued, “I figured, what the hell, it’s someone to hang out with for an evening, so I go on this date. She makes pasta, which was good, we watch the movie and talk very little.”

  Mick took another bite of his bar. “Where’s the problem? Everything sounded fine.”

  “Here’s the problem,” Patrick said. “I figure, movie over, time to go. I say thanks, stand up, and walk to the door. She says....” Patrick’s voice grew nervous, “she says ‘what about a little goodnight kiss’?” He shrugged. “I think, one to the cheek. Okay. I pucker up...and she drops.”

  “Drops?” Mick asked.

  “Drops. To her knees. Zip.”

  Mick choked.

  Lars laughed.

  “This isn’t funny,” Patrick said, seriously. “I didn’t know what to do. I tried to stop her, but, she proceeds to immediately, despite me trying to pull her from me, she grabs me and goes to town.”

  Holding up his ice cream bar, Mick looked up to Patrick. “Let me get this straight. You want to leave. She wanted a kiss and instead she starts to....”

  “Blow me, yes.”

  Mick cringed. “Eunice Bender. Oh my God.”

  “It gets worse,” Patrick stated. “She won’t let go. So right there, exposed, I have two choices. I figure, get forceful, or pretend she’s some hot super model and concentrate on the way it feels.”

  Lars titled his head as if to say ‘not bad choices’.

  Mick cringed again.

  “I look down,” Patrick explained. “I see that dark hair. I’m thinking, ‘Okay, hot Italian actress’. I’m doing good, eyes closed and then....”

  Waiting for an answer, Mick raised his eyes. “And then what?” He brought his ice-cream to his mouth.

  “I hear slurp, slurp, slurp.”

  “Aww, Jesus Christ. Did I need to hear that?”

  “You asked. I tried again with the fantasy. But the slurp....”

  “Patrick!” Mick barked. “Enough. So the...the noise turned you off and you left?”

  “Um, no,” Patrick shook his head. “I started singing old Elvis songs in my head to block out the noise and well, I’m a guy, you know.”

  Mick showed his disgust. “What the hell is the matter with you? Have some inner strength.”

  “In Patrick’s defense,” Lars said, “Eunice Bender gives great head.” He absorbed the shocked glances from Mick and Patrick. “Oh, yes, she does—once you get past the noise. About twenty-five years ago I had the pleasure of indulging in her fellatio expertise. And I know exactly what you’re feeling, Patrick.” He reached over and patted Patrick on the knee.

  “So then what happened?” Mick asked. “This ought to be good.”

  “I freaked,” Patrick stated. “You know, it happened, I went over the edge, she stands up, grabs my hand and leads me to the couch. At this point I can’t run out the door. She shoves me down.”

  Mick covered his eyes. “Please don’t tell me you had sex with her...”

  “I thought ‘Oh shit, I’m gonna have to sleep with her now’. She stands before me, drops her underwear....”

  “Enough,” Mick tried to interrupt.

  “Lifts her skirt....”

  “Patrick,” Mick groaned. “I’m trying to have my ice cream.”

  “And masturbates in front of me.”

  “She what!” Mick blasted out in shock.

  “Masturbated.” Using his own hand to demonstrate, Patrick spoke like a teacher. “She took her hand, placed it....”

  “I know what masturbating is,” Mick snapped.

 
; “That’s what she did,” Patrick stated. “Said she didn’t trust a man to do what she did best.”

  Lars nodded. “That’s Eunice. And don’t worry, Patrick. You didn’t use her. She used you. She’ll barely speak to you now.”

  Patrick blinked. “How rude of her.”

  Slowly, Mick shook his head. “I’ll never look at the woman the same way again.”

  “Then good thing you aren’t me.” Patrick gave a nod. “I’ll never look at the woman the same again. Mick, when she lifted that skirt, it wasn’t an attractive sight.”

  Mick’s entire face winced. His ice cream was melting, and he wasn’t even getting a chance to enjoy it.

  “Someone ought to sit down with that woman and tell her that nowadays, women landscape that area.”

  “Thank you.” Mick huffed and stood up. “Thank you for ruining my ice cream.” He tossed it in the trash container. “Now, I’m forced to tell you...”

  Curious, Patrick looked up to him. “Tell me what?”

  “Got two new visitors at the front checkpoint today,” Mick said. “Wanted in. Wanted you.” He grinned. “They’re FBI.”

  Patrick’s eyes widened. “Oh shit.”

  “Wait,” Lars interrupted. “Are they idiots, or are we missing something? Don’t tell me the FBI is the only branch of the government to survive an apocalyptic flu?”

  Mick shrugged. “Don’t know. They said they’re here for Rodriguez. They’re a determined pair, though. Sitting right out in a quarantine trailer.”

  Patrick was in shock. “Mick, what do I do? Should I go?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Mick told him.

  “What do you mean, don’t worry about it?” Patrick asked. “Are you handing me over?”

  “No. Don’t worry about it.” Mick waved his hand. “They aren’t getting in here. They’ll never step foot inside Lodi. Because I’m no doctor, I’m no scientist, but I didn’t have to be an Einstein to see....” Mick took his seat on the steps, “those two had the flu.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Lodi, Ohio

  September 26th

  Mick felt like he was going to puke. His stomach twitched and knotted, and the smell of grease that filled the air at the festival didn’t help much. Another flip of his insides, and Mick let out a slow breath through his slightly parted lips. He ran his hand down his clean shaven face then across his tie that looked a little out of place with his denim shirt and faded blue jeans. But his badge was extremely shiny.

  “OK.” Mick looked at Tom. “How do I look?”

  “Nervous,” Tom answered just outside his booth, speaking up just a little over the noise of the crowd and Dexter’s Rockin’ Rollers.

  “Appearance-wise, how do I look?” Mick asked.

  “All right. I guess,” Tom replied.

  “She doesn’t know, right?” Mick questioned.

  “Nope.” Tom shook his head.

  “Good. I would have dressed better, but I didn’t want to dress too good. That could tip her off.”

  “No way,” Tom said sarcastically. “No way...unless...” He pointed behind Mick.

  Mick turned around when he saw Marian walking toward the booth. He whined. “Aw, why did she dress like that?”

  “It’s the occasion.” Tom shrugged.

  “Son of a....” Mick looked to the tug on his sleeve. “Oh, hey, Dustin.”

  “Mick, can I...can I talk to you?”

  “Sure.” Mick, placing his hand on Dustin’s back, stepped away from Tom’s booth. “Can’t talk long. I have to find your mom. Where is she?”

  “Watching Dexter’s band with Tigger.”

  “Good. I have until Bon Jovi’s ‘Living on a Prayer’ and then I’m up.”

  “Mick,” Dustin spoke soft. “Listen....”

  “Have you seen Chris?” Mick looked around. “He has to be near. Do I look all right?”

  “Yeah, Mick.” Dustin’s eyes moved off to the right then returned. “If things don’t pan out, please don’t go away.”

  Very seriously, Mick looked at Dustin. “Go away?”

  “Yeah, I mean leave us. Please don’t.”

  Mick smiled gently. “Things will pan out. But...doesn’t matter what happens. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Thanks.” Dustin let out a long breath.

  “No, thank you.” Mick kissed him on the forehead. “I have to find her. God, are there a ton of people here.” After a swat at Dustin’s arm, Mick darted off.

  Dustin felt relieved, then he felt the tap on his shoulder. He turned to see his friend Jerry. “What?”

  “Did the chief just kiss you?”

  “No! What are you nuts? He was checking me for fever. That’s all.” Dustin sniffed in arrogance. “Kiss me,” he scoffed. “Please.”

  * * *

  Again, Patrick turned away from the sight. But it seemed to him, no matter where he looked around that festival, freakish shivers ran through him. Dexter and his band of geriatric rockers were on the bandstand cranking out old Van Halen tunes from the eighties. Marian Roberts, smiling, serving up donuts and milk in an evening dress and then.... Eunice Bender.

  One eye open, Patrick turned to look. Perhaps it was his imagination or his fear; maybe he was misinterpreting what she was doing? However, as he looked, not only did he see that he was correct, he saw that Eunice had moved closer.

  Locking her eyes with him at that instant, Eunice did it again.

  She manipulated her corn dog for the visual benefit of Patrick. But somehow Patrick couldn’t determine if she was sending an erotic message or a sadistic one. Her puckered lips glazed the entire length of the elongated object and left a thick ruby red smear that was almost barbaric.

  Before he could send some sort of unconscious invitation in return, Patrick spun to make his getaway. The second he did, he slammed into a screaming Dylan.

  “Oh, shit.” He looked to see Dylan lying on the ground. “I am so sorry.” He reached down and helped her up. “I didn’t see you.”

  “Obviously.” Dylan smiled and brushed off her jeans. “Good thing you didn’t run into Tigger.” She gave a nod of her head at Tigger, who was laughing. “Too engrossed in the band?”

  “Huh?” Patrick looked. “Oh, uh, yeah.”

  “I love this song.” Dylan bounced and shot her hand into the air singing loudly one line of the chorus to the Bon Jovi tune. She snickered. “Sorry. They are good.”

  “Yeah. And this song....” Patrick’s eyes widened. “Oh, this song,” he spoke with enthusiasm. “Dylan, you will forever love this song.”

  Dylan’s eyes shifted toward him. “Why?”

  “You just will.”

  “All right.” She shrugged. “Speaking of love, I hear things are blooming pretty fast and furious with you and Eunice Bender.”

  Patrick stared for a second. “Excuse me, I see Lars.” He turned quickly again.

  “Patrick, watch....” Dylan cringed when Patrick slammed into someone else. Only this time, no matter how much force he hit him with, Patrick didn’t knock him down. Dylan snickered.

  “What the fuck?” Mick reached down and lifted Patrick. “You wrinkled me.”

  “Sorry. Gotta go. See ya.” After a shift of his eyes to Dylan, then to a staring Eunice, Patrick made sure no more people were in his way and he ran.

  Mick shook his head. “What is up with him?”

  “Love,” Dylan stated.

  “Stay put,” Mick instructed. “I mean it.” He pointed to Tigger. “You, too.”

  “Mick, what—?”

  “Just stay put. The song’s almost over.” Mick bent down, grabbed Tigger, lifted the stiff child to his level, kissed him, and set him back down. He hurried and kissed Dylan. “Love you guys. Stay put.” He said again firmly and took off.

  Dylan lifted her shoulders cluelessly when she saw Tigger gazing up at her. “Don’t ask me. Maybe he’s gonna sing.” She watched Mick approach the stage. “Oh my God!” she spoke excitedly. “He is! Tigger
, where are your brothers? They have to see this.”

  Lars looked over his shoulder to his right when Patrick snuck up beside him. “Hiding?” Lars asked.

  “No.” Patrick shook his head. “I wanted to see Mick...yes. I’m hiding.”

  “I understand. I did catch glimpse of Eunice Bender and her mock corn dog fellatio.”

  Patrick groaned. “Hiding from the FBI was easier than this. Speaking of the FBI, have you seen them?”

  “Yes,” Lars responded. “Last night after our testosterone bonding I stopped by their quarantine trailer. They do indeed have the flu, and lucky for you, they’ve surpassed the time frame where I could help them.”

  “That’s too bad.” Patrick cleared his throat. “So, how are they handling it?”

  “Fine, I guess.” Lars shrugged. “Seems they don’t even know they have the flu. They think they have allergies. Allergies with thick black clumps of phlegm.” He saw the confused look Patrick gave. “They’re idiots.”

  “Look.” Patrick pointed. “Mick’s gonna do it.”

  “Nah.” Lars shook his head. “Fifty bucks says he fails.”

  “You’re on.” Patrick shook Lars’ hand.

  “I know....” Mick lifted his hand to the crowd as he spoke through the microphone, “I know you want Dexter to continue. And don’t worry, he will. He’s got another really good set coming up. But there’s something really important I want to do. Dylan? Can you come up here, please?”

  Dylan looked embarrassed. “I knew he would do this one day. Ever since we did that Donny and Marie Osmond song at karaoke. I’m killing him.”

  “Mom, go.” Chris nudged her.

  “Fine. But I’m not singing.”

  Mick watched Dylan slowly make her way through the crowd and to the stage. He waited patiently for her to step up.

  Dylan looked to all the faces, then to Mick. “I’m not singing.”

  “I’m not asking you to,” Mick told her.

  “Then why am I up here?” She clenched her jaws. “Mick, people are staring at us.”