He expected that. But what he didn’t expect was to remember where to read in the bible. He was astounded by how easily he knew where to find the right passages. Henry felt like a vat of biblical knowledge and he hadn’t a clue where that came from. He swore right then, for any occasion, any situation, he would know just where to go in a blink of an eye. But for the answers Henry needed, even the most ignorant of the bible would know where to turn. And Henry did. He turned right to the book of Revelation.
Although that section of the bible delivered fear to some, it gave hope to Henry. Because it clearly stated that after all the destruction, all the bad, there was glorification in a better place.
God might have just cleaned house with this recent flu.
He likened the biblical chosen hundred and forty thousand in an analogy to the Center’s few thousand of Lodi. The chosen, the spared. But were they chosen or spared? He was suddenly able to draw parallels between the two situations.
The chosen in the bible were not spared. Not at all. They had seen the horrors of the end. But before Lodi would see the end of this plague and reach the Promised Land, they, like those people in the bible, unfortunately had to face and conquer the Beast.
* * *
Lodi, Ohio
“Because your mother said so.” Mick ejected the movie from the player and inserted another. “Watch a Disney movie.”
All three boys whined.
“No,” Mick said. “She’s in the kitchen bitching.”
Dustin looked at Chris. “Not even twenty-four hours and he’s trying to play us.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mick asked.
“It’s you,” Chris answered. “You hate wrestling and you’re blaming it on Mom.”
“Yeah,” Dustin reiterated. “Mom loves wrestling. So...so...there.”
“Well....” Mick came back with the same childish pattern of speech. “Mom told me to tell you to shut it off. So...so...” He turned at a knock on the door. “There.” He nodded and walked over.
“Hurry up,” Dustin whispered to Chris. “Switch it back.”
Mick opened the door to expose an emotionally and physically exhausted Lars.
“Mick,” Lars’ voice cracked as he looked up. “Come with me…. Please.”
* * *
The late hour of the night was underscored by Mick and Lars’ echoing footsteps that loudly rang out as they turned the bend in Main onto the last street.
Mick stopped when he saw Patrick leaning against a wall just before the entrance to the narrow alley. “What’s wrong?”
Lars shook his head, flicked on the flashlight and walked into the alley.
Before following, Mick made eye contact with a silent Patrick. Sadness? Was it sadness Mick saw filling Patrick’s eyes? Preoccupied with that, Mick barely noticed that Lars had stopped.
“Here.” Lars looked to the ground.
“What?” Mick asked.
“Our two FBI agents that died?”
“Yeah?”
“They had the flu and....” he aimed the flashlight, “so did he.”
Mick felt his heart drop to his stomach, and he swore the impact sent every ounce of his strength from his body when he saw the cat. Curled up by the garbage can, blood covered its mouth, its body almost desiccated from its horrendous death.
“Despite our best efforts, our strongest barriers,” Lars spoke sadly, still staring at the cat, “the smallest of victims broke our barrier and brought in the assault.”
“No,” Mick whispered. “No.”
“Yes.”
It came from his gut. First rumbling with defeat then filling with outrage, Mick growled out long and loud.
“Mick....”
“Fuck!” he screamed out. “Fuck! I knew it. I knew at some point in my life I would figure out why I always fuckin’ hated cats.” He turned his head hard to the right and bit his lip. “Fuck.” After staring in contempt at the dead animal, Mick took a few harsh breaths to calm down. “All right, maybe this is nothing. Right? Maybe we’re overreacting. He came in, died here....”
“No,” Lars said calm. “He came in. Yesterday was the festival. Everyone was out. Everyone...was exposed. No, Mick. We’re not overreacting. In fact, we’d better prepare.” Lars raised his eyes. “Because the flu we’ve been diligently trying to keep out...is here.”
WALLS OF JERICHO...
TUMBLE
Either a very short instance or an entire lifetime
I knew you.
You touched me. Moved me.
Without your presence, even for a millisecond,
I wouldn’t be who I am.
In an abundance or a speck, I have loved you.
As you move on, I will never forget you.
I am forever impacted.
I’ll forever call you my friend.
... goodbye.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lodi, Ohio
September 29th
The tissue felt soft as it rubbed underneath his nose, but Tom knew, if this early sniffling were any indication of what he’d have to face, that portion of his face would shortly be rubbed raw. A sneeze vibrated through his entire body, and he wiped under his nose again, keeping the tissue there as some sort of protection.
He quietly stood in his living room staring at the photographs that graced the table behind the sofa. One photograph of him and Marian was taken at the county fair so many years earlier. Most of the photographs were of Dylan. From a baby to an adult, her life spanned that table. His only child, yet she had produced an abundance of life that overwhelmed Tom. Dustin, Chris, Tigger. How ironic it was to Tom that he could view his whole life on the surface of one five foot table. And now on that same table was a simple bag that he would take with him in his war to preserve that life.
The pressure built behind his eyes, and he knew another sneeze was coming. It wasn’t good to stay much longer. Taking a breath, he grabbed that bag, and raised his eyes to Marian who stood at the other end of the room.
“I’ve got to go,” he stated.
Marian whimpered. “Tom.” She took a step to him.
“No. Stay back.” He held up his hand. “You aren’t sick, so you might not be exposed yet. Good thing....” he coughed and chuckled sadly, “Good thing we had that spat last night and I slept on the couch, huh?” He lifted the bag and turned. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Let me go with you,” Marian beseeched.
“You heard what they said yesterday when they warned us it was coming. They need to keep confusion to a minimum at the aid station. They’ll hit me with those antibiotics and send me home in a day or so. But I have to go. Time is valuable here. I’m an old man.”
Marian’s head dropped. “I’ll pray.”
“You do that.” Tom walked to the door and reached for it. “Ya know.... I still am madly in love with you after all these years.”
A single tear ran down Marian’s cheek. “I love you, too.”
“Have no fear.” Tom opened the door. “You ain’t getting rid of me that easy so you can have Lars Rayburn. I’m not gonna die from this flu. I promise.”
Marian could only close her eyes tighter and cry even harder when Tom walked out.
* * *
“And this is Patrick McCaffrey.” Lars introduced Patrick to Henry and Kurt. “He has been my right hand man.”
Henry shook Patrick’s hand. “Very nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Patrick responded. “So, tell me, what brought you from the Center?”
“Well,” Henry let out a breath. “We were coming here anyhow. We figured you could use our help. We are, despite our cushy office jobs, both doctors.”
Kurt smiled. “And somewhat experienced with this flu.” He looked around the gymnasium to the lines and lines of empty, perfectly made-up cots. “This is quite the set up.”
“We’re ready to go,” Lars said. “IV poles, tubing, all prepped. No wasted time. Time is of the essence. We were able to get close t
o a thousand cots in here, plus thirty at the hospital. We’re hoping not everyone comes down with it at one time. We’re expecting waves. Get them dosed up, see that they’re out of danger, send them home, and make room for the next person.”
Henry nodded. “Will you be doing the testing?”
“Yes,” Lars replied. “I’ll need you, Kurt, Patrick and other medically trained townspeople on IVs. I’ll be perched at the table pricking fingers and testing to see if it’s the flu. If they have symptoms, they’ll show it.”
Nervously, Patrick took in the silence. “Maybe we’ll be lucky and all this readiness will be for nothing. Maybe by the grace of God, Lars, it really did miss us.”
Before Lars could respond with an “I hope” the gymnasium door slammed and echoed across the room. Lars looked up to see a gentleman standing there holding a little girl.
“Dr. Rayburn,” he spoke from across the gym, “my little girl...I believe...I believe she has that flu.”
After a glance to Patrick that conveyed “you were just saying?” Lars walked across the gym to the man and his daughter.
* * *
Hands that were always strong and steady, hands that never twitched a millimeter, trembled out of control, and the radio that Mick held sailed to the ground breaking in three pieces. He didn’t stop to pick it up, he aimed his focus outward and charged full speed from the station.
The front steps were a mere impedance as he tore down them and hopped onto his bike. There was zero hesitation in his jump to start it and even less as he quickly rode off.
* * *
Roaring and choked with tears, the scream that came from Tigger was bigger than his entire body. His little arms extended out to desperately reach his brother as Dylan lifted him up and pulled him from Chris’ legs.
“That’s my brother!” Tigger cried. “Why can’t I touch my brother?”
Dylan couldn’t breathe. Her chest felt as if it were caving in from her sob-choked breaths. With a deep sigh, she looked over her shoulder at Chris who stood by the door. His face was red and puffy; his bottom lip quivered from crying. “You can’t, Chris,” Dylan said sadly.
Dustin’s eyes shifted from his mother to Chris. His brother stood there alone, frightened, and with a deep tearful breath, Dustin shook his head. “Well, I don’t care about no flu.” He raced to his brother.
“Dustin.”
“I don’t care.” Dustin threw his arms around his little brother who stood nearly head to head with him. “He’s my brother, Mom. He’s my brother.”
Chris knew he shouldn’t, but he held on to Dustin, squeezing him tightly with all he had. “I’m scared, Dustin.”
“Dustin, please!” Dylan, crying, grabbed Dustin’s arm. The more she tried to separate the pair, the tighter they held on. “Please don’t....”
The front door flew open and Mick charged in.
Dylan wiped her hand under her nose. “Mick,” she whimpered out. “How....”
“Dustin radioed me.” Mick’s eyes landed sadly on Chris. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he stepped to him.
“He was fine over breakfast,” Dylan said. “And then…and then....” Seeing Tigger charging forth, Dylan intercepted him.
Mick extended his hand between the embracing boys and laid it upon Chris’ cheek. “This boy’s fevered bad, Dylan. I have to get him down there.”
“I know, I know.” Dylan wiped her eyes.
Chris felt the huge hand engulf his entire face and he turned into that hand for comfort. “Mick, please tell me don’t be scared.” His words were thick and muffled with congestion not just from crying, but from the flu. “Please?”
The moment Chris’ brown eyes, red and glossy, met his own, Mick’s heart stopped. He thought at that moment that his chest was so tight that he would choke. “Don’t be scared. It’ll be fine. Let’s go. Dustin, let him go.”
“I love you,” Dustin whispered into his brother’s ear. “Get better.”
The nod Chris gave was rapid and frightened. “Mom?”
Laying a strong arm around Chris, Mick walked him to the door.
Dylan followed, “Dustin, I need you to watch....”
“Dylan,” Mick stopped her. “You can’t go.”
“He’s my son!” Dylan cried, shaking with emotion.
“You can’t go. You know the rules of that station,” Mick explained. “You’re upset and there’s too much flu down there. You stay put.”
“But, Mick….”
“No,” Mick stated firmly. “You have to be here with these boys and away from that aid station. You hear?”
Overcome with sadness and frustration, Dylan charged forth, “Fuck you, he’s my son!”
“Yes, he is!” Mick blasted “And so are they! What good is it gonna do any of these boys if you get sick! There are over five hundred sick people at that station already, Dylan. That flu is thick down there. You stay here with them, where it is safe.”
Dylan’s mouth trembled, and her voice sounded defeated. “He’s my son, Mick.”
“I won’t leave his side. I promise you,” Mick said, speaking directly into her soul. “I promise.”
Chris stared helplessly at Dylan; when she saw his fear, Dylan broke through the barrier that was Mick and grasped Chris. “You tell me. You tell me. If you say you want me with you, I don’t give a shit about the flu. I don’t give a shit about what the rules are. If you want me with you, I am there. I’ll go.”
Chris shook his head, then raised his eyes to his mother. “Stay here. I’ll be fine.” He sniffed harshly and stepped back. “Not to sound bad or anything but...but I’d rather see Mick get the flu instead of you.”
That bred an emotional smile from Dylan. She nodded and ran her hand down Chris’ face. “I love you.”
“I love you.”
Dylan gazed at Mick and mouthed the words, “Watch him.”
Mick winked and gave her a look of assurance, then he pointed to Dustin. “Watch your mom and brother. We’ll be back.” Mick wrapped his arm tightly around Chris, stepped from the house, and pulled the door closed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
After twelve hours, Lars had to wonder what he’d been thinking. One big room for all of the sick people? Perhaps when he originally set out to try his theory on the people of Lodi, he expected the small town with the small population to be hit like all other places, but they had been nearly all getting sick at once.
Then again, in other towns, they didn’t have to deal with who would live and who would die. They were all lumped together because the majority wouldn’t make it.
That wasn’t the case in Lodi. Pushing close to a thousand confirmed cases in just twelve hours, Lars hit the point where he had to divide them into two groups: Those who beat the septicemia, and those who didn’t.
He was overwhelmed, and he was profoundly grateful for Henry and Kurt’s expert assistance. A quick look at a drop of blood on a slide, and the three of them could make an immediate diagnosis.
But the other tasks were more time-consuming. They had to break down the blood, mark it as an initial sample, do a septicemia screening, log the results, and pump the person full of high strength antibiotics, then repeat the whole process in another twelve hours. Was there a change, increase, or decrease? Those results would determine who would stay in the gym to finish treatment and who would go home to die. Plain and simple.
Lars was on the second batch of septicemia testing.
“We’re hitting the psychosomatic phase. Good thing we set up the other testing site at the library,” Henry informed Lars when he stepped into his partitioned off lab in the corner of the gym.
Lars looked up. “You probably had a woman named Dylan Hughes, I mean, Owens, stop by with her two sons for that test.”
Henry flipped through the screening sheets. “Yep. All negative.”
Lars nodded in relief. “I’ll pass that on to Chief Owens. That’s his family. She’ll be back tomorrow, though. She’s seen me for the test
a ton of times.”
“Trying to stay ahead of it I guess.”
“I guess. But test the little one. He’s going to be more susceptible because of his size.” Lars stood up.
‘I’m afraid to ask,” Henry said. “But how did we do?”
“Well...not everyone is determinable yet. The early ones are.”
“And?”
“And out of the five hundred that hit the twelve hour point, we were able to beat septicemia in seventy percent.”
Henry exhaled. “Wow, that’s great.”
“It’s better than I expected. But still sad, since at least thirty percent of these people will die. And that’s not including those who will succumb to secondary infections. That will happen, as well.”
“I know. But I watched the world die. I took statistics, Lars. You’ve saved seventy percent of these people that would have died. Would have died,” Henry emphasized.
“I have to keep reminding myself of that. If we didn’t try this, these people would have fallen as hard as the rest of the world. But they’re still gonna fall hard. One person, two, or over a thousand like I’m gonna predict. It’s gonna hit them because they’re all like family.” He laid an exhausted hand on Henry’s back. “If you’ll excuse me. There are a few now due for a second bag of antibiotics they won’t get and they...and they’ll have to be moved.”
“Would you like me to move them?” Henry asked. “Kurt and I aren’t as close to them as you are.”
“No.” Lars shook his head. “I think they’d rather hear it from me. Thanks anyhow.” Feeling tired, but not allowing himself to succumb to it, Lars parted the curtains and stepped out with his results. He glanced at the sheet that highlighted the name, row, and cot number of their locations.
The Flu (A Novel of the Outbreak) Page 27