by Ison, S. A.
“Thanks for lunch, honey. I think I’ll go work in the garage a minute, then head out to Mt. Pleasant. I also will run into Charleston tomorrow. There are a couple things I want to pick up there,” Randal said, getting up from his lawn chair and brushing the crumbs from his shirt.
“I really wish you wouldn’t go into Charleston, Old Man. It makes me nervous,” Pearl said her brow knitting with worry.
“It’ll be okay, Pearly Girl. I’ll be careful and wear my mask, and I’m only going to a couple places and will be back lickety-split.” He leaned over and kissed her dark head. She held his hand briefly and squeezed.
Going into the garage, Randal took out a tarp and covered some of the boxes. He didn’t want anyone knowing what was inside the garage, should the door be open. Some of the canned and boxed foods were in their spare rooms already. He had also gotten extra medical supplies, along with bottle water, disinfectant, rubber gloves, and batteries. He wasn’t sure why he got the batteries, but figured it couldn’t hurt.
His wife had processed several hundred pounds of rice into food saver bags. They were big rice eaters, and he sure didn’t want to run out of that. Pearl would certainly kill him if they did. He decided he would pick up more rice and maybe a few more bottles of soy sauce and rice wine vinegar.
Miami, Florida
Mavis sat in the waiting room of the hospital, her hands twisting and untwisting in her lap. She vacillated between fear and tears, the crumpled tissue in her hand forgotten. Caroline had collapsed at Miami International four days ago. They’d disembarked from the Albino Marsopa, and had gone to the airport to catch their flight home. Mavis was concerned, as Caroline had been feeling ill the last two days of the cruise.
Caroline had complained of a severe headache and sore throat. Then she’d started coughing, and it’d only got worse. At the airport terminal, while they waited, she’d said she felt dizzy, and then collapsed. It had frightened Mavis, and she’d gone with her cousin to Mercy Hospital. She’d waited for hours for news of her cousin. When she’d asked at the nurses’ station, she was told it might be a long wait and it was suggested she get a hotel room. She gave the nurse her cell number, and asked to be called immediately when something was known.
She took a room at InterContinental Miami. She’d cringed at the rates, but there was nothing to be done. She was back at the hospital early the next morning. The waiting room in the hospital was crowded, and she’d not noticed how crowded it was the night before, so focused and worried for her cousin. She was told that her cousin was in isolation. She’d been questioned extensively about their movements over the past two weeks, which information they’d written down, and then left, not answering any questions.
Mavis had checked out of her hotel, and was now camped out in the waiting room. Her body hurt and she was so tired, but she wanted to know how Caroline was doing. She’d called work to tell them she was stuck in Miami. Her supervisor had, thankfully, been very understanding.
Mavis looked up as a nurse approached her. She couldn’t read the nurse’s face or body language. She felt her body tensing, preparing for bad news. The nurse’s nametag said her name was Madison. Madison was a stout, capable-looking woman, but looked tired around her eyes. Around her people shifted, looking from her to the nurse and back again. She tried not to pay attention to them.
Nurse Madison bent at the waist and asked Mavis to come with her. She kept her voice low. Mavis stood and followed the nurse out of the waiting room. She could smell disinfectant and it stung her nose. She hated hospitals. They made her nervous. Around her, she could hear people talking. Patients, nurses, and doctors walked up and down the corridor. The florescent bulbs in the corridor were harsh, and Mavis could hear them buzzing. Mavis felt like she was in a fog, it all seemed unreal. Nurse Madison stopped at a door, opened it, and motioned Mavis in.
“Please have a seat,” Nurse Madison said, indicating a chair. She took the one behind the desk, and Mavis could feel the tears starting to well up. Fear and panic began thrumming through her body, and she could feel her legs trembling. She nearly fell into her chair.
“I’m afraid that Caroline Harper has the EVD1-0 virus. She was placed in quarantine four days ago. I’m afraid she is dying. I wish I could give you a better prognosis, and I wish I could take you to see her, but that just isn’t possible. Have you been feeling any of the symptoms of the virus?”
Mavis shook her head. “No, I feel fine. Are you sure I can’t see her?” She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, and strained to hear what the nurse was saying. Dark spots began to edge into her vision, and she had to shake her head to clear it. She didn’t want to faint.
“I’m sorry, Miss McLeah. That just isn’t possible. I wanted to let you know, and we will notify the rest of her family.”
“No, that’s okay, I can do that. It would be better coming from me.” Mavis’s voice choked with tears.
The nurse laid a hand on her shaking shoulder. “I am so sorry.” She turned, and left Mavis to her grief. Mavis stared after the retreating nurse. She couldn’t believe her cousin was dying. Where had this virus come from? She sat in the room crying, and finally built up enough courage to go back to the waiting room to get her luggage.
Leaving the hospital, Mavis walked down to the bus stop, and sat, staring out into space. Sniffing and wiping her eyes, she was oblivious to those around her. What was she going to tell the family?
28 June
Topsfield, Maine
Kelly sat out in her lawn chair, watching the hen with her babies and drinking her second cup of morning coffee. She was taking a break from chopping firewood. These days, she rose with the sun, and by 8am had nearly a full day’s work done. The hen and her thirteen little ones were nearby, hoping for a handout. The chicks were growing fast, and were already gangly and feathered out. They were busy scratching around in the grass, looking for anything edible. Small fights would erupt between the babies, then cease when their attention was caught by a bug. Her green eyes crinkled with humor.
The air was still cool, but it wouldn’t take long for the day to heat up. It never really got too scorching in the summer. Some years they barely reached 90. This year, they’d already had a few days that’d gone above. Kelly tried to get the heavier work out of the way in the morning, and worked in the garden during the afternoon. Her beefsteak tomatoes, green peppers, green beans, Kentucky pole beans, broccoli, and cabbages were growing well.
She had three containers with scarlet nantes carrots. They were shorter and stockier, and she liked growing them in the containers. It was fun to pull out a whole container-full in one grasp. She’d been experimenting with pickling the carrots. So far, they hadn’t turned out half bad.
It was less than a week since the agent from Washington had left. The incident still left her uneasy. She hadn’t heard from Tim since he’d left that day.
She thought over the news from earlier, which she’d watched while drinking her coffee and eating a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. More and more, bio-hazard suits were showing up across the country, as well as vans loaded with heavy black bags. Major cities were reporting rioting and looting. She’d watched several videos people had taken on their phones and posted. It was getting really crazy out there.
Years ago, Kelly had been stationed in Naples, Italy. A beautiful country, populated with beautiful people, who at times lived in another decade. That being said, she had blundered into a protest several blocks from her home. She’d been on her way to market, and had heard the crowd. As she neared it, two men jumped her. Several of the other protesters broke away from the main crowd, and helped the two men beat her to within an inch of her life. It was only thanks to the intervention of several of her neighbors, who had pulled them off her and taken her to the naval hospital on the hill, that she lived at all.
With that memory, Kelly knew just what a mob was capable of. Ordinary people lost their ever-loving minds when in a riotous group. It sure as hell didn’t take a lot to
spark a riot or a panic. The mob mentality was ever-present under the surface of ordinary people. This was why she’d trained Schrodinger’s Cat to obey visual and voice commands. Most were for warnings to others, a few were to kill. She would never take a chance on being on the shit end of a stick again.
Some videos showed crime tape sectioning off abandoned buildings that were being used as morgues to house the infected dead; there was just no more room at the hospitals. People were being told to stay home and have loved ones care for them, and to bring the dead to designated buildings.
What the hell? Kelly thought. What happened if you and all your loved ones were too sick to care for yourselves? There were so many cases that people were dropping dead right and left. She had gone to town yesterday and many of the shelves were bare. There had been only a few cashiers, and they’d had paper masks and rubber gloves on. Their eyes held fear as they rang up purchases. She knew they didn’t want to be there.
That would be her last foray out. Kelly planned to stay put. She’d also stopped by the feed store and picked up three hundred pounds of chicken feed, and two hundred pounds of dog food. That would hold them for a while. The chickens mostly free ranged, so the food would last a good while. Hopefully until all this craziness passed. In the stores, she’d felt a nearly palatable sense of unease. People had looked at each other with suspicion in their eyes. It’d made the hair on her head prickle. She got out as fast as she could.
Gas was crazy outrageous, and she had filled up 10 five-gallon gas cans. She didn’t know how much higher it would go, but it was getting ridiculous. She’d added fuel stabilizer into the cans, and her truck was filled. It’d cost over $150 for the gas. The price gouging had begun.
She’d also read that morning that the CDC was overwhelmed with calls. Large and small hospitals and clinics had begun shutting their doors to the massive influx of the sick and dying. She also read that the WHO has issued a worldwide warning, and were planning to shut down air travel worldwide in the next eight hours. Many countries had already suspended air travel and closed their borders.
Kelly suspected that more and more people were coming to the realization that they might want to stock up and not be out and around others. If anything, the people of Maine knew the importance of being prepared. Bangor had reported a lot sick people, along with Portland and Augusta. It was moving north.
She’d enough food to keep her well-fed for a year or more. Though most of what she bought in bulk was starches, such as rice and pasta, her basement had several years’ worth of canned veggies, fruit, and meats. Since the virus had hit Bangor, she’d figured she would stay on the property for the next month or two, or even three. To hell with mail and bills. Yesterday had really hit home.
Schrodinger’s Cat was on her back, fast asleep in the sun. The hen scratched around the dog, unconcerned. One of the babies had climbed up onto the dog’s broad chest. It must have tickled, as Schrodinger’s Cat snuffled and turned onto her side, sending the chick into the grass. Kelly laughed out loud. She enjoyed these quiet times. She took another sip of her coffee, and grimaced; it was starting to get cold.
Schrodinger’s Cat startled, and barked once. Kelly groaned, then listened, looking at her watch. It was just after 8:30 a.m. She heard the slow clop of Butter’s hooves. She got up and went to put the coffee pot on the fire. She’d wondered when she would see them again. Perhaps he wasn’t upset over her comment after all. She waited expectantly; Butter was walking very slowly.
She gasped when the horse came around the tree line. Tim was sprawled on the horse’s back, naked, a hand twisted in Butter’s reins and mane. His face was so pale and bloodless, Kelly thought he might be dead, but his eyes were open. Fear and hope peered out from their blue depths. The horse’s flanks were covered in diarrhea, and vomit splashed over her neck and back.
Running to the house, Kelly went into the kitchen and yanked open her junk drawers. Her hands were trembling wildly, her heart thudding in its cage. She pulled a battered dust mask out, then yanked rubber gloves from a box. She used them for various projects, and cleaning the chicken coop. Going into the bathroom, she got the vapor rub out and smeared it heavily under her nose. Her mouth trembled, as though trying to hold back a cry. The vapor rub stung like a beast, and the strong particles stung her eyes. Thanks, Silence of the Lambs, she thought.
Pulling the gloves on, she ran back outside, took the horse’s reins, and guided her toward the outhouse. She gently pulled the naked man off the horse, using her body to keep him from hitting the ground. Tim’s body was hot, so hot that it sent shivers of fear through her. Even through the mask and the vapor rub, she could smell the overwhelming stench of his vomit and diarrhea. She swallowed several times, trying not to retch. His body was slick with an oily sweat, and she felt it soak into her clothes. Gritting her teeth, she half-pulled half-dragged his larger body to the outhouse. Her legs trembled with fear and fatigue.
Tim’s lips were cracked, and dried vomit clung on his chin and chest. He was trying to talk, but couldn’t say anything. He was wheezing, an almost wet sound, his breathing coming in short pants. Then he moaned, and watery diarrhea shot down his legs. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, Kelly pulled the door to the outhouse open. Sitting him gently on the wooden seat, she let him ease back against the wall.
“You’ll be okay, Tim. I promise, you’ll be okay. You’re safe now. Don’t worry. I got you.” Kelly panted breathlessly, her mouth becoming dry. Unaware, she kept repeating her litany of reassurances. Her heart was beating hard on the inside of her chest, reverberating through her body. She fought to keep panic from her brain.
She had built the outhouse when she’d first moved up to her property. She had lived in a tent for months while her home had been built. The outhouse was roomy and had a window with a screen, so it was neither hot nor smelly. She kept a bucket of wood ash and sawdust by the door. She used the outhouse daily, since she didn’t want to go indoors when she was covered with dirt from working in the yard. She had made it a pleasant place, painting the interior white with teal stripes. She had added a magazine rack and a small toilet paper stand. The crescent moon had a screen over it, and kept flies out.
Tim was so weak, he sagged and nearly slid from the bench seat. Kelly shoved him back, telling him to hold on. Running to the fire, she took the kettle of hot water off and brought it to the outhouse. Hurrying back into the house, she stripped off her gloves and got a fresh pair. She grabbed one of her largest metal bowls and filled it with cold water, then collected the dish soap, clean rags, dish towels, and paper towels. She’d burn them all when done.
Mixing hot water into the cold, Kelly made up a soapy bowl of water and began to gently wash Tim, first with the paper towels, then the old rags. Once he was clean, she got more hot water, mixed in honey, spearmint leaves, and a touch of ground turmeric, then helped him to sip the hot liquid. It would help to settle his stomach and hydrate him.
She gave him a plastic bowl to vomit in; as the honey water came back up, bits of spearmint leaves floated in the acid bath. She again made him sip the water mixture. Little by little, Tim kept more down than he vomited out. The diarrhea was still going, but she salved his raw butt with thick globs of petroleum jelly. She would put anti-bacterial medicine on it once the diarrhea had slowed more. She also took note that Chance was nowhere to be seen. She’d ask Tim later.
In the back of her mind, the calm part, she thought about things to do later. She would have to scrub down Butter, poor girl, and she’d probably have to burn her clothes once she was done. She’d make some rice with broth, and a thin gruel. She hoped one of the two would help his stomach bind and stop the diarrhea. Later, she’d give him ginger tea with lemon, but for now, he needed the honey water with a dash of cinnamon, as she was sure he would die if he didn’t get some water for hydration and calories in him.
Washington, D.C.
Gerald sat in his chair, blood and vomit covering his chest. The bucket beside him had been f
illed ages ago. He felt light-headed, but at the same time his mind was clear. He could barely breathe, and his chest hurt for the effort. He was dying, and he knew it. He’d seen the news over the past few weeks, and knew he had the virus that was sweeping the country and killing so many. He was afraid, and he was angry.
And miserable, too. He had soiled himself and had seen the blood, and now sat in front of his computer. He had brought his program up and was looking at it. He should have given it to Georgia over a week ago, but had felt so lousy; he couldn’t make himself send it, or even answer her calls and texts.
Tears filled his eyes. He didn’t want to die, but he knew deep down he was already a dead man. Georgia had left many voice messages, and had texted him time and again. He didn’t want to talk to her. What could he tell her? What good was the money when he was a dead man? His putrid stench no longer concerned him. The hot stickiness of it no longer bothered him. The excrement that had filled his chair and ran out and over onto the floor no longer revolted him.
He would leave this world alone, just like he’d lived most of his life. As he sat in his own excrement and filth, the anger at the unfairness of it all nearly choked him. Why not send the rest of the world to hell? He was sure it would be better if he did. What kind of asshole would commission a computer virus to wipe out a government? Or a country? Why had he done it? For money, the small, hateful voice in his head whispered. Money was always the cause of bad stuff. And he was sure, in the deepest part of his heart, that the EVD1-0 Ebola virus had been let loose by some bastard government. Probably his own.
His hand trembled. If he was going to die, it wouldn’t matter what happened after he was gone. He wouldn’t be around to see his most amazing, horrific creation that should have been on a stand-alone computer.