Plague

by Victor Methos

  CHAPTER 37

  Samantha thought they couldn’t have found a worse pilot if they had put out an ad for one. He had the smell of alcohol on his breath and the cabin had the distinct odor of marijuana. The pilot concentrated only long enough to get in the air and then lit a joint and took a few puffs.

  Agent Donner was sitting behind her and she turned to him and saw that he was a few words away from completing the New York Times crossword. “Is this plane used for drug smuggling?”

  “Probably not anymore. Too many busts, too much product lost. But it most certainly was a while ago. Now they have tunnels underneath San Diego and they just bring the drugs up that way.” He looked to the pilot. “Don’t worry about him, though. He’s got a few ghosts in his skull but he’s one of the best pilots I’ve ever met. Well, that’s not true, but he’s competent enough to get us there.” He returned to his crossword.

  Duncan glanced to her and then the pilot as the plane dipped down. The pilot was itching his leg. He took back the controls and the plane leveled out.

  “I think we’ll die from him before the virus,” Duncan said.

  “Unless you know how to fly this thing, I think we’re stuck with him.”

  “He looks like he’s nodding off. I think I’ll go keep him company.”

  “Good idea.”

  Sam watched as he went up to the cockpit and then she pulled out her iPad. She opened Facebook and ran through a few status updates. She realized she hadn’t logged on since almost a month ago.

  She read for over twenty minutes and as she was about to log off, her instant messenger dinged. It was Ralph Wilson.

  What the hell do you think you’re doing, Sam?

  She hesitated, and then replied, Still with Agent Donner and the rest. Heading to Peru as planned.

  Why weren’t you on your flight to Fort Lauderdale?

  Long story. She hesitated again and glanced around to see if anyone could see what she was typing. Once she felt safe no one could, she wrote, Were you going to quarantine us?

  There was a long pause and then, Yes.

  Why lie about it? If you would’ve asked me I would have gladly self-quarantined.

  I didn’t know that. You don’t really know anyone until you encounter a crisis situation. I didn’t know how you would react and whether Donner would pull rank. Cornell most certainly would have called friends and gotten my order overturned.

  You didn’t have to do this.

  Yes I did. Where are you right now?

  Left Mexico several hours ago. Somewhere over South America.

  Sam, I highly recommend you turn around right now. One of you may be contagious.

  No one showing any symptoms. Will keep an eye out. I don’t think I could get anybody to turn around if I tried.

  Understood. Have to run, someone in my office. One more thing, Agent Donner does not work for the FBI. I don’t know who he is, Sam. Please be careful. I’m urging you again to take the next flight back to the States the second you get a chance. Good luck.

  Wait, Ralph? You there? Ralph? You there???????

  There was no response and the green icon had turned off. She switched off Facebook and glanced back to Donner who had completed his crossword and was resting his head on the seat, his eyes closed.

  The plane jerked hard to the right and Sam was flung against the cabin wall. She looked to the cockpit and saw that the pilot had nodded off for a second and Duncan had grabbed the controls. The pilot was up now and apologizing.

  “He’s okay,” Duncan said, “just a little tired is all. We’ll be okay.”

  He looked to Sam, and blew out a nervous breath. Mouthing the words, Pray now, to her as the plane began its decent to a runway just outside of Lima, Peru.

  CHAPTER 38

  Samantha had always been interested in visiting Lima. Ever since she had studied the Inca culture and their mysterious disappearance. But she didn’t get to experience Peru now other than through the window of a rickety cab, driven by a man that was drunker than their pilot. The architecture of the buildings was magnificent; the people appeared lively, the older ones wearing traditional Peruvian clothing. Handmade and colorful. The young ones dressing as any twenty-something would dress on the streets of London or New York.

  But watching a city pass by through the window of a cab was the same as watching it on television. She was removed from it; an observer. She wanted to go out, eat the food, talk to the people, walk the streets. But that was impossible, Benjamin assured her. The next flight to Iquitos was leaving in less than an hour and there wouldn’t be another one for five days.

  They had exited the cabs at the airport and were waiting for the plane to refuel. She stepped away from the others with Duncan and they sat on worn seats and watched the tarmac of the small airport outside.

  “Ralph told me something weird,” she said. “He said that Billy Donner doesn’t work for the FBI and he doesn’t know who he is.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, and I believe him.”

  “Well, one of the things I’ve found working for the military is that those secretive guys—CIA, FBI, NSA—they never say what agency they’re actually with. Delta Force agents tell people they’re mechanics and janitors. They use a lot of deception to make sure no one can track them. He seems like a G-man to me. Maybe he’s a spook. Best cover would be law enforcement. People wouldn’t ask too many questions.”

  The humidity and heat were nearly unbearable. Sam felt the heat coming off the walls and pouring through the windows. It felt like a sauna. She stood up and went to the bathroom. Standing over the sink, she splashed cold water on her face and down her neck, over her arms and chest. There were no paper towels so she wiped her skin with her fingers as best she could and then headed outside again. Agent Donner was standing by the windows by himself, staring out at the crystal blue sky.

  “It’s beautiful here,” she said, coming up from behind.

  “Yes,” he said, not turning around. “I came out here once before, a long time ago. It hasn’t changed at all. I like having that consistency. If you leave New York or DC for a decade and go back, you’d think you stepped into a new city.”

  She walked next to the glass, looking out at a plane that was getting ready for takeoff. “So what made you want to join the Feds?”

  “Duty, I guess. If there is such a thing. Maybe it’s real, or maybe it just means doing something without any rational reason behind it. I don’t know. I’m too old to figure it out I guess.”

  “How old are you if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Fifty-eight.”

  “What? Really? You don’t look a day over forty.”

  “I appreciate that, but don’t ever let the exterior fool you about what the landscape’s like on the interior.”

  “So how long have you been with the FBI?”

  “Nineteen years. I was law enforcement before that, and Army before that.”

  “What’d you do in the Army?”

  “This and that. Nothing too exciting.” He turned and looked at her. “Can I ask you something now?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Benjamin’s clearly a fool and the virus is contained on an island. It’s unlikely it’ll get out. Why did you risk your life coming to this place just to see a woman who is rumored to have survived it?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense to me either but I just had a feeling that this is where I had to be.” She folded her arms, leaning against the glass of the large window. “I think about those people on the island. Seeing loved ones dying slowly with no one around to help. I can’t stand it. When I close my eyes, their faces are painted on my lids.”

  “They did nothing to deserve that, but you did nothing to deserve the guilt you’re feeling now. The virus was a force of nature, like a tornado. You couldn’t control it.”

  “No, but I could’ve stayed and helped. At lea
st I could’ve tried harder to stay.”

  “And you’d be dead just like the rest of them. Who exactly would that have helped, Dr. Bower?”

  “Sam,” Duncan said, “you’re going to want to see this.”

  Samantha walked over. There was a YouTube clip playing on Duncan’s cell phone. It was of a news broadcast from Los Angeles. The broadcast ran for a total of five minutes and twenty-seven seconds, but Sam only heard one line. It was a single sentence that rang in her ears and made her knees feel like they were about to buckle:

  And again, for those viewers just tuning in, a case of the deadly Honolulu virus known as Agent X has been reported at Good Samaritan Hospital here in Los Angeles.

  CHAPTER 39

  Ralph Wilson was at LAX within six hours of hearing the news. It was a red-eye flight and he didn’t arrive until 2:00 a.m. Pacific, which was 4:00 a.m. Eastern. He felt a fatigue he hadn’t felt since his days as a resident at Cedars Sinai, running from room to room in the ER on thirty-six-hour shifts, hoping he wouldn’t fall asleep as he sat down to do a patient intake.

  He raced through the airport and opted to grab one of the cabs that were ever present outside on the curb instead of renting a car. He stepped out into the night air. It was warm and had a slight taste of exhaust in it. Two cabs were parked at the curb. One was driven by a white man, the other by a black woman. He chose the white male and sat in the back.

  “Good Samaritan Hospital.”

  “You got it.”

  The cab pulled away and they began to drive. He rolled down his window, hoping for fresh air, but instead got lungfuls of exhaust and low hanging smog. He rolled the window back up.

  “What you doin’ out at this hour?” the cabbie said.

  “What’s that?”

  “What you doin’ out at this hour? Most guys that ride in here with suits as nice as yours don’t pop in at two in the mornin’.”

  He shook his head as he stared out the window. “Cleaning up other people’s messes. That seems to be all I do nowadays.”

  “Better than causin’ ‘em.”

  They rode through sections of the city that Ralph hadn’t been to in decades. He had lived here once, long ago. Back when the city wasn’t exploding with crime and the police were actually seen as the good guys. One thing he remembered vividly was taking walks around Echo Park every night. There would be families walking dogs, mothers pushing strollers, women jogging alone. Those things were impossible to do safely now. The city had transformed itself in such a short amount of time. Cities were like people; tragedy and heartbreak molded them. Pain molded them. Over time, they were unrecognizable.

  On the corner of Wilshire several women in lingerie or fur coats with tall high heels paced along the sidewalk. They smiled to him and he smiled back. In a year, many of them would be dead or in jail. During his stay here for graduate school, he had conducted a study on the spread of disease among young prostitutes aged fifteen to twenty-five. He had bought them meals in exchange for their cooperation and most were eager to do it; their pimps only allowing enough food so they didn’t starve but that they were always hungry.

  He had gone back into the population in exactly one year to track the results and couldn’t find a single person he had used. They were all gone, fresh new faces replacing them.

  “Good Samaritan,” the cabbie said.

  Ralph looked up and saw that they were in front of the hospital. He dug out some cash from his wallet and handed it to the man, not bothering to count it. There was only one piece of luggage: a black doctor’s bag like a physician from the 1950s would carry. He grabbed it and stepped outside.

  The hospital was several stories of dull brick and appeared much like the police headquarters in the movie Dragnet. There were palm trees up in front and a few ambulances lined next to each other. Two of the drivers were sitting on the hood, smoking, and they stared silently as Ralph walked by and through the sliding glass doors of the ER.

  The reception area wasn’t staffed and he noticed a few people hanging out in a room nearby; a nurse and probably the two receptionists that should have been at the desk. Ralph waited a moment to see if they’d noticed him and then walked around the desk. There were a few charts lying out and he glanced through them quickly. He ruffled through some papers that were stacked neatly in a pile and then looked behind him to a large white board that had been made into a grid with marker.

  The grid contained names and room numbers of patients. They were in blue with the names of the treating physicians and nurses in orange. Except for one. At the bottom of the list was a patient in red marker: John Doe. Under the diagnosis square of the grid, for patient John Doe, it simply said Flu.

  Ralph glanced at the room number and then headed through the large double doors leading into the treatment area. There was another set of double doors and this one required swiping a key card or buzzing in. He went back out and looked at the board again before heading back and pushing a button on the intercom.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m Jake Sanders. Melissa Sanders’ brother. She’s in room 110.”

  “Okay, I’ll buzz you in.”

  As he came into the treatment area he smiled widely at the staff and headed toward room 110. He came to 110 and looked back; the nurse at the front desk glanced at him. He smiled again and went inside.

  Melissa Sanders was asleep but the light over her bed was on. Ralph reached outside and grabbed the chart that was in a holder against the wall. He flipped through it. The treating physician thought it might be Alport Syndrome, an inherited disorder that damages the vessels in the kidneys. He stared at her a moment and then stepped outside and replaced the chart. The nurse was staring at her computer. He headed down the hall.

  The linoleum and harsh lighting as well as the smell of antiseptic made him miss his treating days. When he would get so tired he’d forget to eat for periods of twenty hours or more. But there was camaraderie there, a shared purpose among the staff and physicians. His days were now filled with board meetings and administrators and he sometimes longed to just hang out in a lounge and gossip.

  He was at room 153 when he heard boots stomping behind him. Two security guards were running down the corridor straight toward him. He glanced into the room and saw the open window and wondered if he could make it down the street and call a cab somewhere before the police got here.

  No, that was ridiculous. He had nothing to be afraid of. Under the direction of the president, the secretary of Health and Human Services was given emergency powers in dealing with a health crisis. He would just claim he was acting under those orders; the bureaucracy was so thick no one would be able to say otherwise.

  He placed his bag down on the floor and kept his hands down to his sides to show them he was non-threatening, but they didn’t stop running. He thought maybe they meant to tackle him but then noticed they weren’t looking at him at all but past him. They sprinted past without so much as a glance.

  A nurse and a CNA were running after them. Ralph managed to step in front of the CNA.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Sir, just stay in your room please.”

  “My sister’s a patient here. Please tell me what’s happening?”

  “One of our patients has escaped custody. Now please go back to your sister’s room. Let us handle this.”

  Ralph stepped aside and let her run past. It was possible that they had a suspected criminal here and while under watch he escaped. All gunshot wounds were reported to the police and most of the gangsters in any major city knew to get treated and sneak out before the cops got there.

  But he had a feeling that wasn’t what this was.

  Ralph watched them run down the hall and then decided to go the other way. The front doors were too heavily manned. You’d have to be a fool to run through them, and the ER was the busiest section of the hospital this time of night. The other floors, though, especially the top floors, which in any hospital usually contained the admin
istrative offices, were nearly empty past nine. If someone were smart, they would go to the top floor and find a way to climb down.

  Ralph hopped onto the nearest elevator. He pushed the button to the eighth floor. He leaned against the elevator as it rose, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. Fatigue was making his neck ache and giving him a migraine.

  The elevator buzzed and the doors slid open. Ralph stepped off.

  The floor was dark and only a third of the lights were on; an effort to cut costs that most hospitals were employing now. The corridor ran both to his left and right equal distances and he chose to go right. He could see his reflection in the windows at the end of the corridor. He resembled his father and it sent a chill down his spine.

  He turned left and went past the restrooms and the vending machines. The floors in this hospital were massive and he thought it could take days to find someone in here.

  Ralph walked another twenty minutes and then sat down near the lounge. He needed a break. A television was up on the wall with a remote on the reception desk and he grabbed it and sat back down.

  He kept the volume off and flipped through the channels until he came to a fishing show. The boat was out on the Pacific somewhere—he could tell from the sapphire blue water—and the sky was cloudless. He wished he was there now, fishing and soaking up sun and thinking about…nothing. Rather than being stuck in an empty hospital doing what he was about to do.

  He watched the show a long time when he heard a sound. It was muffled, coming from a far room, but it was enough. He rose and quietly followed the sound down the corridor. It was coming from a small room to his right. The lights were off. He reached in and turned them on.

  A young woman sat on a gurney, her face in her hands, weeping. She gasped when the lights came on and looked up. Her eyes were rimmed red and her face was pale with splotchy patches of white. She looked healthy but malnourished. The only giveaway that something was wrong was the crusted blood that stained her teeth and the corners of her mouth.