by Ison, S. A.
“Biological. They’re calling it EVD1-0. It looks like it might be a kind of Ebola, but with some mutation to it. Something to do with upper respiratory, and it’s moving fast. So far it has hit St. Louis—and they’re thinking it started there, of all places—Chicago, Texas, D.C., and most of the U.S. Canada, China, Germany, India, Italy and England have widespread cases, and China and India reported millions infected. This morning, reports came in from Japan, Korea, and the Middle East countries. So it is a pandemic for sure, and sounds like a nasty little bastard. They’re starting to do a death toll count for each country, and another for total global.”
“Shit, that doesn’t sound good,” Tim grunted.
“No. I went into town last week and yesterday, picked up a bunch of supplies. I picked you up a few things as well, hope you don’t mind. If this shit gets out of hand, I figure I’ll lay low and stay here until it runs its course.” Kelly removed the pressure canner from the heat, the cap rocking madly. Slowly it began to quiet. She could now hear the chicken’s soft contented murmurs, and the robins hiding in the trees.
“Good idea, and thanks, I don’t mind. If it hasn’t hit Maine yet, it won’t take long. Being in the woods and away from people is our best bet.”
“From what it sounds like, many of the hospitals are struggling; they’re getting more and more cases daily, and are turning people away, if you can believe that. What the heck are they supposed to do? Die in their homes?” Anger tinged her normally calm voice. “Some of the big cities are setting up hospitals in abandoned buildings, and are also putting up large sections as biohazard morgues. This is getting crazy. And what happens when more and more cities start to get filled up? Where the hell is someone supposed to go? You can’t have infected people roaming around the streets, good lord. That’ll just spread the virus quicker. And how are they disposing of the bodies they do have?” Kelly continued in frustration, with just a little fear showing up in her voice.
Both looked over to the dogs, which were snarling and growling softly at each other. Their lips were pulled back in snarls, showing impressive teeth. Both animals had vicious countenances, which belied their gentle mouthing. They were playing. As they watched, Chance’s long teeth closed around Schrodinger’s Cat’s neck. They both snickered, it was cute. It also broke the dark tension.
Abruptly, both dogs ceased and came to attention, Schrodinger’s Cat giving a soft bark. Tim looked at Kelly, and both stilled and listened. After a few moments, they heard a vehicle in the distance, approaching, the soft scrape of gears reaching their ears.
“That sounds like a jeep,” Tim said quietly, beginning to look around for an escape.
“Go into the house. You can watch from there.” Kelly’s hand reached around to her back unconsciously; she kept a small handgun, a .38 snub-nosed, tucked in a holster under her shirt. Reassured, she watched as Tim loped over to the house. He gave a sharp hand signal to Chance, who immediately went down, placing his head on his large paws.
“Come,” she said, and Schrodinger’s Cat trotted to her and sat waiting for further instructions
The jeep stopped just past the tree line. A uniformed driver sat looking around, his face showing boredom. Another man, dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and tie, got out of the jeep. Kelly stood by the fire, about thirty feet away, rigid.
“Chief Prado,” the suit said, smiling an oily smile at her.
“I’m retired. What do you want?” she said bluntly. She could smell government when she saw it. She’d been stationed in D.C. for her first command, and this man was the embodiment of the U.S. government: slick and sly.
His smile froze. “My name is Agent Finch. I’m looking for one of your neighbors, Tim Beranger. I need to speak with him.”
“Why?” Kelly said brusquely, with near hostile bluntness. She didn’t like this idiot, and she didn’t trust anyone from the government. Especially with this virus going around. What would the government want with Tim?
“I’m sorry, this is a private matter. You know how it goes, the need to know and all. I stopped by his place but he wasn’t there. I was wondering if you knew where he might be?”
Finch started to walk forward, when Schrodinger’s Cat stood, a low growl rumbling and the hair on her long back raised. Chance also stood, a low menacing growl emanating from him too. His hackles stood tall, making him appear even larger.
Agent Finch froze. His eyes grew large, and the color leached from his face. Kelly emitted a soft hiss, and Schrodinger’s Cat sat, but continued to growl, low and soft.
“Stay where you are. I’m not sure I can call them off if they get started. I’m sorry; I have no idea where Tim is. More than likely, he is out hunting or fishing. Getting ready for winter, you understand. And if you were at his place, he may have already seen you and heard you. You might as well head back to Washington. You won’t find him if he doesn’t want to be found.”
Kelly had always had nightmares about being pulled back into service. She only had seven more years before she was considered permanently retired. She was on inactive reserves, but technically, the military could call her back at any time.
“Pass along some info to Beranger; tell him his government needs him for a task. It won’t be for long, we just need a little mission. I can’t tell you any more than that.”
“Why now? He has been out of the military for years. Surely there are other, younger, and equally qualified men and women who can do this task for you,” Kelly pushed. She was grateful her skills were not needed, nor important enough to be recalled.
“Just pass it along,” Finch said.
“Fine, I’ll pass it along. You might want to hit a doctor while you’re at it. You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine. It’s this heat.” He turned, and got back in the jeep.
Kelly stood listening as the jeep trundled down the road, the dust floating back into the clearing. As silence once again descended, the birds began their calls in the trees. It was a cool day, in fact. Not even remotely hot. Agent Finch had a fever, and she was profoundly grateful the dogs hadn’t allowed him near her.
When all evidence of the jeep had gone, Tim came out of the house, visibly upset. His face was red, his lips pressed into a thin line. His back was so rigid, Kelly thought he might snap in two. He walked almost mechanically, not with his normal easy grace.
“So, what kind of skills do you have that would send the government after you ten years after you retire? Wet work?” She was blunt. She didn’t care. She hadn’t liked being put in the middle of something.
“The same kind of skills that dozens of others could do just as well, if not better. I’ve not worked for them in over a year, and I told them not to call. I am no longer available. The fact that I may be more expendable is why they called, would be my guess,” Tim said bitterly. Walking over to Butter, he grabbed her reins a little too hard and the horse jerked her head, her ears flitting back. Then she settled as he eased his grasp on the tether.
Tim whistled, calling Chance to him. The dog knew something was wrong, and followed him, subdued. She stood back as he swung himself up into the saddle. His body was still stiff, and the red had crept from his face to his chest, she could see in the v of his shirt. She could tell he was mad as hell. Tim nodded to her, then turned the horse and rode out at a fast trot, stirring up dust from the road. Chance loped along behind.
Kelly stood there a moment, listing to the retreating hoof beats. Then she turned and looked at Schrodinger’s Cat and sighed heavily, easing the tension from her shoulders. “That wasn’t pleasant.”
The dog gave a soft woof in replay, and Kelly turned and went back to her work.
Los Angeles, California
Larry had driven the studio crony, Devon Krill, around the city; it was his last appointment, and a favor to Devon. He finally dropped him off at the lot and took the car to the garage. He didn’t mind helping Devon; the guy always tipped him well, Devon wore thick coke-bottle glasses, and Larry figured he just
didn’t want to drive himself.
He’d been scouting locations. It was an easy ride for Larry. He yanked at the tie and pulled it off over his head. He shucked the jacket as well. It was early evening, but hot as hell.
Devon hadn’t mentioned the Ebola virus, and Larry was glad. It was all over the news, and everyone was talking about it. It was some scary shit. Larry wondered if the clients would freak out if he wore a mask. He needed a break from all the bad crap that was floating around like bloated flies. He’d go get a beer and chill out. He had a little weed left; maybe he’d get a little buzzed and go to a club.
He had been scoping this one chick at Circus Disco. Maybe he’d go and see if she was there. He’d been working up the nerve to talk to her for weeks now. Jake would go with him, and they could both try their luck.
A lot of hospitals were starting to turn people away; he’d heard from one of his co-workers that someone had died right in front of the hospital. He wasn’t sure if it was true or not, but that wasn’t cool. What the hell, he thought. The government needs to step in. He ran his hands through his hair and, clenching his fists, pulled hard. Larry took a deep breath, trying to blow the tension out. He really needed a distraction.
A few hours later, he and Jake were standing in the middle of Circus Disco, beers in hand. The bass from the music vibrated through Larry’s body. His eyes searched the large club, looking for the redhead he’d seen previously. She was really hot, and he wanted to meet her.
Looking over at Jake, who was shaking his narrow hips, completely off rhythm to Bruno Mar’s Uptown Funk, Larry grinned and shook his head, sniggering. It was sad, really sad. His friend really couldn’t dance. He took another sip of his beer and watched some of the people up on platforms, dancing. His eyes traced over a blonde woman gyrating to the music. Now she could dance. His eyes crinkled in appreciation. His body began to move in sync as though he were there, dancing with her.
Jake excused himself and Larry nodded absently, his eyes still on the blonde. He could smell someone’s perfume; heady and sexy. He looked around to catch who’d passed by, but the room was so crowded, it could have been any of half a dozen women.
Turning, he located and started to follow the scent, weaving in and out of people much like a dog on the hunt. Several men gave him a hard look, some of them making fists. Larry turned his head and weaved another way, avoiding them. His nose led him to a short brunette, her short, plump body bouncing as she walked. He grinned to himself, and touched her elbow lightly.
She turned, her blue eyes quizzical and her shapely brows rising in question. Larry smiled and gestured over toward the music, asking her to dance. A brilliant smile lit her blue-shaded lips, the glitter in the color catching the light. She nodded her head, and Larry took her small hand in his and led her to a less-populated area.
As the evening wore on, Larry enjoyed himself greatly. He once spotted Jake with a tall thin blonde, and raised his beer in salute when Jake caught his eye. Jake returned the salute. The young woman Larry had met, Karen, was very talkative.
“My cousin and I are just visiting L.A.,” Karen said her hands moving as she spoke; she had a soft southern drawl.
“Where are you from?” Larry asked, his body moving to the music, his hand on her waist, keeping her close. Her waist was tiny, he realized, and her breast generous. He liked the feel of her hips; soft and well rounded. The dress she wore didn’t do her body justice, and hide the curvaceous form beneath.
She leaned in, her warm hand on his chest, “I’m originally from Georgia, but I’m living in Charlotte, North Carolina.”
Larry felt a thrill run through his body as the warmth from her hand permeated his shirt.
Her cheeks were flushed and her lips parted. Larry took a chance and bent his head down to kiss her softly. Her hand come up to caress his face softly. All thoughts of viruses and fear vanished.
Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina
Randal had gone to the hardware store in Charleston; he’d picked up lumber and a few things to make another outdoor storage unit. Since seeing the news the previous week, he and Pearl had gotten quite a few supplies in. They had filled up the garage but needed more storage, so Randal decided to make a storage shed in the back yard. He planned to put heavy-duty locks on both.
They had phoned the kids and told them to come if things got worse. Both sons agreed and said they were preparing and keeping close to home. That made both he and Pearl feel a lot better. They watched the news daily, and were shocked at the speed at which the EVD1-0 virus was spreading.
Pearl came down the back stairs and brought a tray with ice tea and sandwiches out to the back yard. He watched her has she navigated the stacked wood. It was a hot day, nearing the end of June, but there was a cool breeze blowing in from the ocean. He could smell the salt in the air, along with honeysuckle and jasmine. Pearl had planted it around the fence years ago, and it had run riot along the fence. It was a hummingbird haven.
There were no other houses close to theirs. Sullivan’s Island had put a moratorium on overbuilding, unlike the Isle of Palms, which had been over developed over the years. They’d bought their home when they were much younger, and had spent years fixing it up. The salt, sand, and ocean air were hard on a house, but they had put all their love and money into it. They were a block away from the ocean, and the surf lulled them to sleep at night. Randal sniffed the air, and then inhaled deeply. There was satisfaction to be found in building and creating. The back yard smelled of raw lumber from the previous build, rich dirt, and ocean breeze.
He and Pearl stretched out in their lawn chairs under the canopy of the bright beach umbrella. Pearl sipped thoughtfully on her sweet tea.
“I hate to say it, but I think we need more supplies, darlin’. That virus is hitting everywhere, and so many people are dying. I know it will affect food deliveries, banking and so on at some point. It may well start a panic. When people can’t go to work, or buy gas and groceries, I’m sure they’ll start panicking.” Pearls voice was laced with worry.
He saw his wife’s hand move nervously, constantly fussing with her hair; she did that when she was upset or nervous. Randal chewed on the egg salad sandwich, swallowed, sipped his tea, and cleared his voice. “I think you’re right, honey. It is amazing how fast people can panic, and it doesn’t take much these days to send them over the edge. I’ve noticed the gas prices creeping up already. It’s only a matter of time before food prices start going up, or food shortages set in.” He paused to sip on his tea. “There are more cases of the virus popping up here in South Carolina, more in Columbia and Charleston. I’ll head over to Mt. Pleasant after lunch and pick up more staples and dry goods. I’ll hit a few stores so it doesn’t look like I’m over buying.”
“That’s smart Randy. You don’t need anyone looking at you funny. I want you to wear your mask, and I want you to take a bottle of hand sanitizer with you. I don’t think we should leave home after tomorrow. You can, of course, still go to your fishing holes; you’re always alone at those. I just think it is safer to stay close to home.”
Randal pulled a long face, his lips thinning. He didn’t like wearing the paper facemask, but he knew his Pearl was right. Each time they ventured into town, they rolled the dice whether they would run into someone who was sick or not.
“I called the kids again this morning, while you were fishing. I told them the same thing: stock up and stay put,” Pearl said as she tossed a piece of bread to an inquisitive blue jay. The bird’s beady bright eye glittered as it hopped closer to the bread, its head cocking back and forth.
The kids and grandkids came for visits, enjoying the beach and the sunshine. Cory and Mary Beth lived in Savannah, while Derek and Alison lived up in Durham. Both sons had gone into the medical profession. Cory was a physical therapist, while Derek was a speech therapist. Pearl and Randal were proud of both boys. Mary Beth was a nurse, and Alison was a school teacher, but with the twins, Gwen and Mandy, she had taken a leave of absence
for the last three years.
“If it gets worse, they can head here, or go to Alison’s family camp in the mountains. Cory said he and Mary Beth might join them, like a mini-vacation. It isn’t very far for either of them to drive,” Pearl said.
Randal wiped the sweat from his forehead. He liked that idea, and was glad his sons had a plan of action. “Good. I’m glad they’re thinking and planning.”
He looked at the new shed and thought about painting it. That would protect the wood and make it last longer. He would add paint to his supply list. He felt better laying in supplies. They had watched the news this morning, with growing trepidation. India, France, and Italy had joined the countries now battling the virus. Each day the death toll climbed. California had widespread cases, as did Oregon and Washington. Hell, even Alaska and Canada had numerous cases popping up. Mexico was also in the mix, as were the South American countries. The whole world was going to hell.
He planned to head to Charleston tomorrow too, to pick up another weapon and ammo. He didn’t want to tell Pearl about it, as he knew she would worry. If this thing got bad, he felt it might come to defending his home and keeping others out. He had seen his fair share of humanity, and had watched the news enough, to know what a worldwide panic could do.
If enough people got sick, a lot of services would slow down or stop, perhaps farmers and truck drivers, delivery trucks, transportation, and so on. Fear and panic made people stupid.
“People are acting crazy because of the overcrowding in hospitals,” Randal said, shaking his head. He batted away a fly that had been trying to land on his nose.
“In other countries, lots of ’em are locking the doors. Hundreds of sick were gathered outside, crying to get in. It’s quite unsettling.” Pearl’s voice quavered, her hand once again going to her dark head to fuss with her hair.
Randal looked over to his wife and stretched his hand out to pat her arm. “We’ll be okay, Pearly Girl. We just need to keep our preparations quiet. Only tell the kids, no one else. I don’t want the whole island coming to our house. We’ll have enough to care for our family—and Cory and Mary Beth, and Derek and his family, if they come.