The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series

by Jacqueline Druga

  “Excuse me?”

  “I need to know if you’re Agent Slagel. Did you leave a message for me last night?”

  Joe paused for a long beat. “Yes, I did.”

  A breath of relief escaped Catherine. “Tell me why you mentioned Carrington. What brought that up?”

  “You know what happened on Carrington Island. I was using it more figuratively. The people there died quickly and violently from a chemical or biological agent, whatever caused it. Correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Well, something is up, or something happened in New York. Your fax boy shoots himself in the subway after we chase him. One hour later we find dead rats on the tracks. Eight hours later my partner dies fast, a death like I have never seen. And let me tell you, I have seen a lot. After witnessing that, I’m convinced that something was released in that subway. The CDC wasn’t getting warnings of a bomb; it doesn’t make sense. They were getting warnings of something they would have to deal with. A virus. And when your fax boy was chased, he had it on him and he released it.”

  “You think your partner died of this virus?” Catherine asked.

  “I can’t be sure. I do know it wasn’t natural. What happened to him, how fast he went, and also what he looked like.”

  “Agent Slagel. If you thought this last night why didn’t you tag the message urgent?” She questioned.

  “Because I’m going on nothing but gut feelings.” Joe answered. “I have no hard facts. Just going on instinct.”

  “Well, I’m going on something else right now.” Catherine said. “I’m staring at a folder from County General that states we have a hundred and fifty people admitted with flu-like symptoms moderate to severe. More are coming in and many are waiting to be seen. Sounds to me your gut instincts may be right.”

  “You would know.” Joe told her. “You hold the facts.”

  “No, Agent Slagel.” Catherine spoke softly. “I hold something very frightening.”

  May 30th - 1:00 p.m.

  Ashtonville, Connecticut

  It was the combination of several things that made Ellen feel as if she jumped a foot in the air. Staring and listening intently to the news while she chopped vegetables on her island counter, the door opened just as the knife slammed down and Kelly Slagel screamed out upon her entrance.

  “God! El!”

  Ellen quickly looked down to make sure her fingers were all there, figuring she wouldn’t feel anything had she amputated them and did nerve damage.

  “I wondered if you were alive,” Kelly said. “Your house phone is busy.”

  Ellen turned her back so as not to face Kelly. “It’s probably off the hook somewhere. No one uses it. Why?”

  “Well, Joe’s ….” Kelly’s speech slowed when she made it to Ellen. “What happened to your face?”

  “Oh.” Ellen brought her hand to her lip. “Connie got me drunk last night. I tripped up the steps.”

  “That looks bad.”

  “What about Joe?” Ellen changed the subject.

  “Well.” Kelly huffed out. “He’s pissed. He’s been trying to reach you. He called and said to tell you he refuses to use any more of his minutes to get a busy signal. He’s on his way up.”

  “Here?” Ellen stopped cutting. “Why didn’t he just call my cell phone?”

  “I asked him that. He said he knows you’re cheap and have it off right now.”

  Ellen giggled. “It’s dead anyhow. So he is on his way?”

  “Yeah. Can I borrow your deep fryer?” Kelly pointed to the pantry and Ellen nodded. “I want to grab it and hit the stores ....” She went into the walk-in pantry and emerged with the deep fryer. “I have to run. Are you sure you’re ok?”

  “Yeah.” Ellen, confused, faced Kelly. “Why is Joe coming up here all of a sudden? Odd.”

  “All Slagels are odd. He said vacation.” Kelly shrugged. “Wanted to get away for a few weeks.”

  “A few weeks? Is everything all right?”

  “Yep.” Kelly hurried to the door. “But fair is fair, El, you have to keep him half the time. He drives me nuts.” Kelly opened the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Ellen nodded as the door shut, lost in thought and wondering why Joe was making a sudden appearance. She only wished she could have gotten the call; then she would have known. Setting down her knife, Ellen wiped off her hands and walked to the dining room. Josh was sitting at the computer, totally engrossed. “Josh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fifteen more minutes, then you ....” Ellen tilted her head when she caught glimpse of Peter on the couch. “Josh, what’s wrong with your father?”

  “I don’t know.” Josh shrugged, lost in his own world.

  It caught her off guard, because Pete didn’t look like he was napping. He didn’t have his usual arm above his head indicating that he was watching television. Slowly she walked into the living room. Pete lay on his stomach; his arm and part of a leg dangled from the couch. “Pete?” Ellen neared him. “Peter, are you all right?” Hunching down, Ellen reached out for his shoulder. Just as she shook him, she quickly retracted her hand when she felt the heat of his body seeping through his clothes. “Pete?”

  Peter moaned and rolled over.

  Ellen gasped when she looked at the pastiness of his skin and the darkness of his eyes and neck. She touched his arm. The feel of his skin was unlike anything she had ever experienced in all her years of nursing that she pulled her fingers away to look at them. His skin was extremely dehydrated; Ellen had to visually ascertain that she wasn’t imagining what she felt on her fingers, and she wasn’t. Rubbing her fingers together, she stared in horror at the particles of skin that dusted her fingertips.

  May 30th - 2:20 p.m.

  County General Hospital - New York City, NY

  Mel Crimson recognized Catherine out of the group of Centers for Disease Control workers that marched through the door with authority. She looked strong, her eyes focused, taking everything in. He just knew it had to be her. A distinguished but tired-looking man dressed in casual clothing extended his hand to Catherine upon his approach to her. “I’m Mel Crimson of the Health Department.”

  Catherine shook his hand. “Catherine Donovan.” Her eyes shifted about the extremely crowded emergency room. “Has it gotten worse?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Mel told her as he led her through the waiting area toward the emergency treatment area. “Doubled.”

  “What about our people in quarantine?” Catherine asked.

  “They have a sharp rise in temperature and they have become symptomatic.” Mel saw the desperate look on Catherine’s face. “Which, as you know, confirms it is contagious. However, we’re at a loss. More are coming in and we haven’t a clue as to which direction to turn.”

  “Yes, we do.” Catherine stated. “While we get set up, you get a crew together and I want you to begin questioning each and every admission including those waiting to be seen. See if they were on the subway yesterday.”

  This stopped Mel. “The subway?”

  “Yes. We believe that is where it started. We’re assembling a special CDC team to comb a specific station. But... until we confirm or deny what we’re dealing with ....” Catherine looked over her shoulder to the waiting room before disappearing into the back. “... We shut down the entire hospital.”

  May 30th - 2:45 p.m.

  Ashtonville, Connecticut

  The water splashed upon her hand when Peter swiped it away in his delirium. Ellen closed her eyes briefly, switched hands and dried her damp one on her leg as she crouched by the side of the couch. “Peter. Pete.” She tried to get his attention.

  Peter tossed to his left and then his right, moaning with each movement.

  “Peter, you have to take this.” She extended pills to him. “Doc Breyer said you have to. Come on, Peter.” Ellen kept trying to get him to respond in some sort of way. “Peter, I want to get you up to bed. Pete ....” Another extension of her hand to him when she swore his eye
s focused on her. She grunted when, again, he hit her hand away. “You don’t ....” Huffing out, Ellen stood up when the phone rang. She set the glass and pills on the coffee table and walked to the phone, barely taking her eyes off of Peter. “Hello.”

  “Ellen.” Frank spoke softly on the other line. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Now is not a good time, Bill.”

  “What do you mean, Bill? This is Frank. El, I need you to listen to me. There’s a situation and it’s ...”

  “I have to go, Bill.” Ellen looked back to a moaning Peter.

  “No.” Frank sounded angry. “No, you don’t.”

  “I can’t talk.”

  “The hell you can’t. And none of this hanging up on me shit!” Frank’s voice squeaked with his emotions. “Listen. I’m coming home tomorrow. Things ... things are gonna happen, babe. But before anything goes down, I’m settling my life. Our life.”

  “Bill, this is not ....”

  “Ellen! Listen!” Frank blasted out. “This has to be done. Now. We’re getting this out and in the open. We may never ....” Frank’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “We may never get another chance. I love you.” He spoke the words powerfully. “I have loved you forever and ....”

  Ellen pulled the phone from her ear, closed her eyes and hung up. Solemnly, she returned to Peter.

  May 30th - 2:27 p.m.

  Rock Island Arsenal, Davenport, IL

  “Fuck.” Frank slammed down the receiver and spun around angrily. His face was red and he breathed heavily in a vain attempt to calm himself. Alone in his office, Frank held up his hand, took one more breath, relaxed, picked up the phone and dialed.

  Voice mail.

  “Fuck.” He slammed the receiver down for the second time in an immediate switch of emotions. “She did it again.” As he reached for the phone once more, Frank’s eye caught a glimpse of the paper and he brought it up into his sight. His approved request for emergency leave was effective the next day. His eyes went from the phone to the paper as he decided not to aggravate himself or Ellen any further. He would see her and his children in twenty-four hours. Frank folded the request and placed it in his pocket, feeling relieved and taking comfort in the fact that twenty-four hours was not that long, and nothing so drastic could possibly happen that it would inhibit him from making it home.

  May 30th - 2:35 p.m.

  County General Hospital - New York City, NY

  It was like nothing Andrea had ever seen in her twenty-three years of nursing. Patients on carts lined the halls of the seventh floor where she worked. Her five-foot-six height was nearly hidden behind the stacks of folders and charts that laid on the counter. There was a lot of noise, most of which came from the patients. It certainly didn’t come from a full nursing staff, because Andrea didn’t have that.

  She kept her cool, closing her eyes briefly to get her bearings after opening up another admissions chart. She called out to Carol, a nurse who was zipping by. “Carol. Here. Can you handle these admissions?”

  Carol’s mouth dropped open.

  “I know.” Andrea held up her hand. “I don’t know what to tell you to do with them. Just make them comfortable until we figure out what’s next.” As Carol hesitantly agreed, Andrea looked at Lynn who was on the other side of the counter talking on the phone. Grabbing a stack of folders for her as well, Andrea walked around and waited for Lynn to hang up. “Ready?” Andrea said, engrossed in flipping open and shutting the charts. “I need you to ...” Through the corner of her eye she saw Lynn’s expression. Staring out, holding on to the phone. “What’s wrong? Are the sending more up?”

  “We’ve ... we’ve been quarantined.” Lynn spoke dazed.

  “Sweet Jesus.” Andrea’s hand slammed on the stack of folders. “Like I need this now. The last time this happened I was here for three days.” With a quick twitch of her head in disgust, Andrea moved to behind Lynn, reaching around her for the phone. “Well, I might as well call home and tell Jake I won’t be there tonight.”

  “This doesn’t concern you?”

  “Annoys me.” Andrea finished dialing and covered the mouthpiece. “I have been here too long; this is nothing. Trust me. No worries.” Andrea smiled gently. “No worries.” She turned her back to Lynn and began to speak on the phone.

  May 30th - 3:15 p.m.

  The White House - Washington, D.C.

  “What the hell is going on?” President George Hadley minced no words as he moved quickly down the corridor toward the Oval Office. He looked perturbed. Still wearing tan pants and a green golf shirt, his right hand still sportedhis old tattered lucky golf glove as well. From his thinning, slicked-back silver hair, his miserable expression and burly build, everything about the president screamed crass. He moved quickly walking side by side with his aid, Jason Locks. “Why in Christ ...”

  “This way, Sir.” Jason took hold of President Hadley’s arm and led him into the Oval Office.

  “Answers, Jason. I want answers. So, care to tell me why I was pulled from the seventeenth hole when I was shooting an eighty?” President Hadley asked with aggravation as he was led to the back. “Get airlifted, arrive here. Get screamed at by a bunch of annoying reporters. I can’t understand them. No one tells me anything. I’m the goddamn President for ...” President Hadly stopped cold the second he stepped foot into the meeting room, a room filled with people. Men in suits along with three generals sat around the table. “Did someone forget to tell me about this party?”

  Jason handed President Hadley a document. “We have a situation, Sir. We think you should take a look at it.”

  President Hadley began to read the document as he blindly made his way to his seat at the head of the table. When he had finished, he dropped it from his hand and looked at the faces in the room who stared at him for answers. Slowly, he lowered himself down to his chair, took a deep, heavy breath, picked up the document, and began to read it again.

  May 30th - 4:45 p.m.

  Ashtonville, Connecticut

  Doc Breyer had collected what he believed was everything he needed to make it through the weekend. On the reception counter in his clinic, he organized the box, his briefcase and a list of house calls he had to make, all while balancing a phone between his ear and shoulder. An accomplishment of sorts to Doc Breyer; it had been so long since the last time he did that many physical things at once, Doc Breyer would have wagered the coordination portion of his brain was probably in a stupor.

  “Ellen.” He spoke to her, tossing things in his box. “I’m telling you. It’s the flu. Yes. I’ve seen seven cases today alone.” Doc Breyer paused and rolled his eyes. “Now, how long have you known me, am I that dumb ... well ... all right, but I did notify the Health Department. I’ll check with you later on this. Yes. Bye.” Grunting and extending his arm, Doc Breyer hung up the phone. He visually checked everything he had. Figuring he could always come back if he missed anything, the doctor closed his briefcase, grabbed hold of it, hit the light switch and grabbed the box off the counter. As he walked across the darkened waiting room, he heard the familiar sound of the fax machine ringing. Opting to ignore it and wait until later, Doc Breyer left his office. Had he waited until that paper emerged just slightly, he would have seen the heading ‘Centers for Disease Control Health Bulletin’ and under that in big, bold letters, the word ‘WARNING’.

  May 30th - 7:05 p.m.

  Roadside Diner - Connecticut

  Country music, Joe’s least favorite type, played as he walked into the small restaurant. It was packed with only one or two waitresses on duty, but Joe wasn’t there to eat. He was there for a simple cup of coffee, large enough to hold him for the rest of the drive. He made his way across the diner to the counter area equipped with stools. He slid himself down to sit on one and pulled a cigarette from the chest pocket of his shirt. He grabbed his lighter and snapped it open, igniting it. He wasn’t thinking and almost lit it. The flame rose up high and wild from his old Zippo, and as he closed it with a clank and
placed it in his pocket, the waitress approached and laid a menu down in front of him.

  “Nothing.” he told her. “Just a large coffee, cream and sugar, to go.” After a nod and a smile, Joe never saw her take the menu back. He was too engrossed in looking at the lighter and unlit cigarette. He even chuckled some when he used to think the cigarettes would be what killed him. As that thought passed his mind, the words ‘New York’ and ‘illness’ came from the news. It grabbed his attention, and with cupped hands, Joe raised his eyes to the set.

  “ ... and while the quarantine has shut down County General, authorities speculate that it should be lifted by morning. There is indication that a local food chain is responsible for the outbreak of ailments caused by tainted food. In other news ...”

  Joe shook his head with a smile, turning from the television to see the paper cup being set in front of him.

  “Not us,” the waitress said.

  “Excuse me?” Joe asked.

  “Not us.” She pointed to the television. “Local food chain? Outbreak. Tainted food. Um, joke?”

  Joe released a short fake chuckle just to pacify the older woman who thought she was funny, and he picked up his coffee. After leaving a ‘what the hell’ tip of ten dollars on the counter, Joe left the diner.

  May 30th - 9:45 a.m.

  57th Street subway Station - New York City, NY

  “I found something!” A man wearing biohazard garb waved his hand from down on the tracks.

  The other two who were combing the area also ran to him.

  “What is it?” the one asked.

  “It looks like glass, broken glass, I’m gonna bag this and some of the surrounding dirt.”