Love Gone Viral

by Meg Napier

  “Yes. I’m okay. But my car’s dead.” She moved her head so her eyes were out of the light but couldn’t see anything of him.

  “It’s an absolute miracle you’re alive. That’s an enormous tree. It’s blocking the whole road now, and we’ll be lucky if no one else ploughs right into it and hits us. I was lucky to be going slowly enough to see it in time.”

  She could just make out his words over Blue’s frightened barks. She had to get out of the car and find out how bad everything was. She held up her own light in an attempt to see her rescuer, and saw the white of a face mask covering his nose and mouth.

  Damn. Her discarded mask from earlier in the day was still on the front seat, and her extras were in the glove compartment.

  “I’m going to get out, but I have no mask on.”

  His light moved over her face and she moved her head back.

  “Are you sick?” They were both yelling to make themselves heard.

  “Not that I know of. My mask’s up front. I’ll climb up and get it if you want.”

  A moment’s pause, then “No, that’s okay. I have extras in my car. I guess you’ll need one by the time help arrives. Have you called?”

  “I tried. There’s a wait right now.”

  “For 911?” His tone was incredulous.

  “Apparently.”

  “Huh. Let me try before you get out and get soaked.”

  The light finally dropped as he used his phone to attempt the call. Lizzie couldn’t hear anything, but he took the phone down from his ear and tapped it before bending down again.

  “No luck. Do you have flares?”

  “No.”

  She was pretty sure she used to have them, pretty sure that was something a responsible driver should have. But they had most likely come out of the car during one of her early trips down with Daniel, before Mama Alicia had gotten him his own car, when every inch of packing space had been necessary. They should have been back in the car now, since this trip had only been to carry the extras that didn’t fit into his own, much smaller car. But they were now probably lying covered with dust somewhere in a corner of the garage.

  “I’ve got some. I’ll get them up, and let’s hope they survive the weather and we don’t get hit. Just stay here til I’m done.”

  Lizzie realized her nod was unseen. She hated the thought of herself as a damsel in distress, but right now she was most definitely in distress, if no longer technically a damsel.

  She used her phone light again to look around the car for what she should grab, since it was obvious she’d have to abandon the car in the short term. The light was bright but not that wide. Damn. She’d have to climb back into the front again anyway and get the portable charger she kept in the glove compartment. She could get her masks at the same time.

  Think. Masks were important, yes, but what did she really need to focus on? She climbed over and shone her light into the glove compartment and pulled out the well-worn envelope holding the registration and insurance papers. What else? Nothing else important up front. On the floor of the back seat she grabbed one of the numerous canvas shopping bags she kept and now rarely used, since most shops didn’t want you bringing in bags from home for fear of germs.

  Lizzie stuffed the papers and her purse inside it and grabbed the other small bag she had put in the car that morning in case of emergency. Emergency. What did the darn word even mean anymore? She shook her head and closed her eyes for just a moment. Ever the responsible Girl Scout, she had packed a small plastic bag of food for Blue and her own iPad before leaving home that morning. She had never intended to stay in a hotel, but she had never intended to get hit by a falling tree, either.

  It had been blazing hot that morning, so no jacket or sweatshirt. They had said there might be storms, but most hot summer days in this part of the world included the threat of evening storms.

  The man was knocking again. This was it. She’d have to get out of the car into the pouring rain, get Blue out of the back, and trust herself to a total stranger, in the middle of a pandemic, no less.

  She took a deep inhale. Life had taught her that wishing, hoping, and planning got you exactly nowhere in life, but the tree had destroyed her car and left her untouched. Maybe her guardian angel had made a flyby appearance and was still in the vicinity.

  One more deep breath and she pushed open the door.

  Evan hadn’t planned on being on Rt 29 that night. He hadn’t planned on leaving Charlottesville to head yet again to Northern Virginia. Hell, he hadn’t even planned on being in the country. He was meant to be spending the semester in Sierra Leone. Via a research and global health program at UVA, he had been part of a team sent to work with the local government to set up better testing and treatment mechanisms in hope of mitigating future Ebola outbreaks. But on January 30 the World Health Organization had declared the outbreak of Covid-19, which had apparently originated in Wuhan, China during the last months of 2019, to be a Public Health Emergency of International Concern.

  That declaration in itself wouldn’t necessarily have immediately quashed the program. But combined with rising international tensions between the U.S. and Iran and the arrest of one of the program’s on-site directors for involvement in an incomprehensible mining dispute, the university had decided by mid-February to suspend participation for the semester and bring Evan and a graduate student working with him back to the States.

  And then his mother—his crazy, always unpredictable mother—had fallen while jumping around on a pogo stick. A pogo stick! The bloody woman was insane. Marathons, dancing contests, hula hoop challenges—all of that was bad enough at her age—but a pogo stick?

  He didn’t have to imagine what the emergency room staff must have first thought. They had called him, and it had been immediately evident that the doctor on the phone suspected dementia of some sort. Perhaps his mother had been imagining she was on a pogo stick? But Evan was quick to disabuse the poor man. Nope, if she said a pogo stick, that was, most inanely, what it had been.

  A bruised hip, a shattered elbow, and injuries to her shoulder and wrist. All of which should most definitely have put a woman of seventy-eight in a rehab center for weeks, if not months. But not his mother. No, she was back in his childhood home, going about her daily routine, saying over and over how fortunate she had been to fall on her left side. Gratitude on her part was normal, but he grew suspicious of her seemingly easy acceptance of the fact that she had fallen. Her final admission, after he had stared long and hard at her guilty face, had left him speechless.

  “All right. Yes. I was trying to take a selfie with my right hand. Are you satisfied?”

  A selfie. Half the people her age probably didn’t even know what a selfie was. Evan hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry. His mother had looked at him sheepishly.

  “No need to scold. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “Which lesson would that be?”

  “No more selfies, of course. But my phone didn’t break!” Her tone had been triumphant.

  And she had most definitely not said “no more pogo sticks.” Even now, three months later, he almost growled in frustration. It was, after all, a dark and stormy night. The crazy woman was probably out trying to clear neighborhood storm drains. Or reproduce Ben Franklin’s electricity experiments.

  But as independent and determined as she was, even his mother hadn’t been able to do everything on her own after the surgery on her elbow. And so he had taken to driving up from Charlottesville twice a week to check on her, do the stuff around the house that was difficult for her, and replenish her groceries.

  Because the pandemic and stay-at-home orders had, of course, made a bad situation worse.

  He was an epidemiologist. His mother had facilitated and encouraged his early studies and research and had read all his papers. So she didn’t belittle the virus or pretend it was just a silly little flu like so many others. But neither did she take well to the idea of remaining inside.

  Scowling in obvious
annoyance, she admitted sullenly that putting a mask on properly with her arm still so stiff made going out too much of a hassle.

  “Yes!” Evan had wanted to yell in victory. But he had wisely just shaken his head in sympathy.

  “Mom, I have tons of papers and lectures I have to get through. Listening to them while I drive makes it so much easier for me. I’m not distracted or tempted to find something else to click on. We’re killing two birds with one stone. More than two, really. I get to continue my work, I get to help you out just a little, and you get to spend more time with one of your brilliant children.”

  She had narrowed her eyes at him over through the phone screen.

  “I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.”

  He had choked.

  “We all know that, Mother. But even at your still-young age, some women graciously accept help.”

  He had meant to get an earlier start today. But a video conference with the CDC and researchers from other universities had gone long. Concern about spiking numbers around the country and the dangerous and spreading multi-system inflammatory syndrome in children was causing normally even-tempered scientists to appear haggard and exasperated on screen. They were all aware of the perhaps irreparable economic harm caused by social and commercial restrictions, but they were baffled by the seeming blind eye being turned to real science. Wasn’t being alive and temporarily strapped for money better than being dead?

  His frustrated ruminations had caused him to miss a large chunk of the report from West Africa he had been listening to. The driving conditions were so poor he probably shouldn’t even be trying to focus on anything else. He tapped the stop button on his dash screen. It was then that he saw the odd glistening through his headlights in the distance. He slowed to a crawl, eyes squinting through the torrents of rain hitting his windshield.

  What the heck? Holy hell. He put on his flashers and pulled over onto the shoulder carefully. It looked like an enormous tree was blocking the road and that it had hit an SUV. The car was at an angle—its rear sticking out into the right traffic lane and its front under the tree. The tree, which apparently had fallen from the wooded median dividing the north and southbound lanes, was now blocking the entire road. Unbelievable.

  He steeled himself for just a second. He had to get out, had to see if anyone was alive under that monstrosity, had to get very, very wet. He grabbed his phone, pushing it as deeply into his pocket as he could, and opened his car door.

  Blue cowered back when Lizzie opened the rear hatch. Thank God it was a manual latch and not one of those power ones standard in so many of the newer cars.

  “Come on, boy. I know it’s wet, but you gotta get out.”

  Blue whimpered, but Lizzie reached for the leash that was fortunately still attached to his harness and pulled. The dog moved, reluctantly. He jumped down and looked around warily, then immediately tried to shake off the pelting rain.

  “Bring him here and he can get in the back seat of my car. No, wait—let me get some papers out first. But stand over here out of the way in case another car comes up fast behind us. I don’t know how effective those flares will be.”

  Lizzie couldn’t see much as the man’s headlights were shining at her, and the back of his car remained in the dark. Why in the world didn’t this road have lights? The man was getting absolutely drenched helping her, she and Blue were now drenched, and they all would get into his car and get it soaking wet, as well.

  She realized she was staring, unfocused, and shook her head. Who knew how long it would be before she got home, so best to use this moment while she had a chance. Besides, normalizing this craziness for Blue as much as possible would elicit more cooperation.

  “Okay, sweetie, let’s go pee. Real quickly.” She led him down the shoulder and into the grass, and the dog obediently did his business. He then turned pleading eyes to her and gave a fierce shake.

  She heard the trunk slam and then the man was heading towards them, his own phone light moving between her and Blue, who was now pressed tightly against her legs.

  “Okay. The dog can get in the back now, and you can get in the front.”

  Lizzie pulled Blue to the car door he had left open and encouraged him to get in. He looked at her doubtfully.

  “Go on. Get in.”

  Finally the dog moved. He tried to do his normal revolution or two before settling down, but the seat was not large, and he awkwardly perched, staring up at her and panting. At least he hadn’t barked at the man who was being so incredibly helpful. He often barked unceasingly when he was scared, nervous, or suspicious, but even he seemed to recognize the extraordinary circumstances.

  “It’ll all be okay. Everything’s going to be fine.” She tucked the leash down next to him and closed the car door before sliding into the front seat and pulling that door shut as well. Had she been reassuring the dog or herself?

  Her knight in dripping armor got into the driver’s seat, and as he shut his own car door, the sudden decrease in noise was startling. Not that it was quiet. The car wipers were going, and it sounded like the front and back blowers were as well. In spite of the rainforest heat outside, Lizzie shivered in the car’s air-conditioning, and the man noticed and immediately adjusted the temperature.

  “I’m Evan Graves. I’m going to try 911 again.”

  He did, and this time, miraculously, someone answered.

  “What is the nature of your emergency?” The voice came through the car’s speakers.

  “We’re heading northbound on 29—I’m not sure exactly where, and a tree has come down and is blocking the road completely. I’m with another driver whose car was hit by the tree.”

  “Is anyone injured?”

  He looked at her, eyebrows raised, and she shook her head.

  “No. Her car looks totaled and is not drivable, but no one’s hurt.”

  The 911 operator encouraged them to figure out exactly where they were, but neither of them could remember the last major intersection.

  “Just before the tree fell, I was hoping I was only about a half-hour from Warrenton.”

  “Have you passed 17 yet?” the operator asked.

  Lizzie looked at the man. No, she had to stop thinking of him as the man. He had said his name was Evan.

  “I don’t think so?” Her tone was unsure.

  “I don’t think so, either.”

  “That would mean you’re still in Culpepper, but close to 17. I’m contacting highway patrol to get someone to you as quickly as possible.”

  “The road seems to be completely blocked.” Evan’s voice was firm. “They’re going to need to act quickly to set up a roadblock and detour.”

  Even as he spoke, someone else was knocking on his window.

  “Everyone okay in there? What about that car that looks like it’s under the tree?” Apparently at least one more car was now stopped behind them.

  “We’re on the phone with 911 right now,” Evan answered. “But everyone’s fine. The driver of that car is here.”

  The woman who had knocked waved in response and hurried back into the darkness. Evan resumed his conversation with the operator. “I’ve put out flares, but they’re not much in this storm.”

  “Someone should be arriving momentarily.” Even as the dispatcher finished speaking, Lizzie thought she could hear the sound of a police siren. Thank God. Normally she drove in resentful fear of the speed patrols that seemed to haunt every curve of this blasted road. But now the thought of the approaching swirling blue lights was reassuring.

  Lizzie turned to try to see out of the rear view window. It looked like there were now two cars pulled over behind them, and a police car, lights flashing, was stopping at a diagonal to block the road. It was almost impossible to make out anything through the dark and rain, but a bright light swept over the scene before them, shone briefly on Lizzie’s abandoned vehicle, and soon approached Evan’s door.

  “Is anyone injured?” Lizzie couldn’t see his features, but he was tall, and hi
s voice was ever so slightly muffled by a visible white face mask.

  As they assured him in the negative, his flashlight swept over the interior of the car. “Are you two together? The impacted car appears to be empty.”

  “That’s my car. My dog and I were able to get out, and this man’s been helping.”

  “Let me have your license please, ma'am. I’ll need all your information for the accident report, and we’ll need to be able to contact you when the tree is removed and the car is towed.”

  She got it out and reached across to hand it to him. As he lowered his light, she caught a glimpse of his face. The poor man was squinting through his rain splattered eyeglasses, and his sodden mask was plastered against his mouth. She verified that all the information was current, and then he disappeared with it back into the rain.

  The man—Evan—blew out his breath in a loud huff and leaned his head back against the headrest.

  “This is probably going to take a while. Where are you heading?”

  “Arlington. You?”

  “Vienna.”

  “I’m Lizzie Rodriguez, by the way, and I haven’t thanked you properly.” She peered at him through the dashboard light and realized belatedly that she hadn’t put on her own mask. “I forgot my mask. I’m so sorry.”

  She fumbled in the bag she had taken from her car and pulled out a light blue cotton mask, one of the dozen or so she now used, washed, and rotated on a regular basis.

  Evan made an indeterminate sound—part grunt, part laugh. “It’s karmic irony. I spend half my time these days lecturing on the need to wear masks, so it’s fitting I’d end up enclosed with someone without one. Have you been tested?”

  Lizzie shook her head as she finished tightening the wire strip over her nose and bit her lip. She knew masks were important, but it seemed like they were a thing to this stranger. She looked out her passenger window, but saw only raindrops against the black background.

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “No. Well, not a medical doctor. An epidemiologist.”