Martial law was officially in effect.
THE CHAOS
Every fear that’s had, every heart that beats,
every corner that we take, leads to another street.
Will we give our hand to a loved one or a friend?
Or fight only for ourselves, until the bitter end.
May 31st - 12:10 p.m.
Ashtonville, Connecticut
Through her cell phone, finally working, Ellen heard the words she didn’t want to hear. She wished it was the bad connection or maybe the constant clicking that made her hear wrong. But there was no way around the truth and the male voice telling her, ‘We’re sorry, ma’am, Sgt. Slagel has been deployed.’
Ellen turned off the phone, sliding it down to her lips. She closed her eyes and a single tear rolled down her cheek. Quickly she turned when she heard the front door open. Joe walked in. Nearly dropping the phone as she set it on the foyer table, Ellen raced to him and into his arms. “Oh, Joe.”
Joe stepped back from the embrace and placed his hands upon her face. “How you holding up?”
“I feel like I’m falling apart. My whole family is sick. My kids, Joe. My kids.” Ellen started to cry. “And there’s no help to be found. Nothing. Only what I can give them. This isn’t happening. Tell me this isn’t happening.”
Joe leaned into her and gently laid his lips to her forehead. “I wish to God, with all my heart, that I could tell you none of this is real. Unfortunately, sweetheart, it’s happening.”
“That’s why you’re here. That’s why you came up. The contingency plan. You knew, because you were there.”
“You’re right.” Joe moved back, sliding his hand from her face. “I called my boys. But ... they’re all military. My guess, if they planned on coming home, they can’t now. Martial law has gone into effect.”
With a gasp, Ellen stepped back covering her mouth in shock. “What do we do?”
“Right now, we gather up all our strength. We’ll be there for those who need us and ...” Joe walked up to Ellen and took her again in his arms, holding her like the father he had always been to her. “And we hold out hope. We hold out hope.”
May 31st - 12:15 p.m.
Fairfield University - Stamford, Connecticut
It wasn’t like Dean to show emotions or show when anything really affected him. He always chalked it up to the scientist in him. But this was hard for Dean to hide. His jaw twitched and his head lowered when Molly spoke to him.
“I’ll be fine. How can I not be? You’re working on this,” Molly said.
“When ... when did you start feeling it?” Dean asked finally noticing the drawn look Molly had to her.
“A couple hours ago I started to feel bad. I’m not gonna quit. I won’t leave you alone. I will work until I can’t work anymore.”
“Molly,” Dean said her name with such a loss. “My God, that is not my ...”
A knock on the door, a single knock, brought in Henry. “Dean.”
“Not now.” Dean told him.
“No, Dean, I need to speak to you. Just for a minute.” Henry sounded desperate.
Dean looked to Molly who gave a single nod of approval and he looked Henry’s way. “What’s up?”
“Can you come into the hall?” Henry questioned then stepped out.
Reluctantly Dean followed, pulling the door closed. He saw a woman standing there. Tall, slender, young, but everything about her yelled ‘frazzled’. From her pulled up hair that dangled strings, to her dirty and wrinkled business suit.
Henry held out his hand. “Dean, this is Emily Chancellor, she’s the hospital administrator.”
“Lt. Hayes.” Emily extended her hand. “Our Henry tells us that you are a doctor as well as a research scientist.”
“I am,” Dean said. “Why?”
“We’ve run into a bit of a problem.” Emily explained. “Most of our staff left, and the ones who remain, well, they’re getting ill. And ... maybe it’s best if you follow me.” She began walking down the hall and then to the steps that led to the main floor.
“What do you need from me?” Dean asked as the neared the entrance.
“We’ve been designated an aid station,” she replied. “But I’m kind of hoping I can get a medical helping hand from you. At least until help arrives.”
“Why?” Dean asked.
“Our station has been announced.” Emily moved forward to the doors and pushed them open.
Any ability to breathe on his own left Dean the second he looked out into the lawn area. People had gathered in masses in an attempt to make it to the hospital two buildings away. They sat on the grass, they stood in herds, and they fought. But they were there for help, far too many of them, and they spread out as far as the eye could see.
May 31st - 1:40 p.m.
Ashtonville, Connecticut
Arms crossed, Ellen watched the paper come out of her printer. She turned her head when her cell phone appeared in front of her. “No.” She looked to Joe as he handed it over. “Please don’t tell me we lost that too.”
“No.” Joe shook his head.
“Did you have any luck?”
“None. All I could get was that Frank was somewhere outside of Chicago.”
“It didn’t help telling them Kelly and the baby were sick?”
“Didn’t make a bit of difference,” Joe said. “Ellen, you do realize that Frank may never get here if he ...”
“No,” Ellen interrupted. “Don’t say it. Don’t. Frank getting sick is something I don’t want to think about. Right now, my kids, Kelly, the baby, and even Pete have to be forefront.”
Joe watched her remove the sheets of paper from the printer’s tray. Her address was on there, big and bold. “Ellen, I know you told Doc Breyer you would help him out. But do you understand what you’re doing? Giving medication here is making your home a relief station. People will come. They won’t leave. Do you really want to take that on?”
Collating the papers, Ellen looked at Joe. “No. No I don’t. But what choice do we have? We aren’t sick; if we don’t help them, who will?” On tiptoes she kissed Joe on the cheek. “Thank you for watching my family. I won’t be long; I just have to go to our office here and in Harmer, also the pharmacies.”
“Ellen.” Joe grabbed hold of her. “Wait.” He reached into his shoulder harness, pulled out the revolver, checked the safety, grabbed her hand and laid the gun in her palm. “For your protection. Be careful out there.”
“I will.” Ellen winked, laid the gun on her stack of papers, picked up her keys from the table and walked out.
Joe, his hands in his pockets, moved into the living room. He stood staring out the window, watching until Ellen had pulled out her Jeep and disappeared from his sight.
May 31st - 2:05 p.m.
County General Hospital - New York City, NY
Seven years earlier, Andrea had sported a little patch on her arm. It helped her quit the habit that Jake, her husband, had long since complained about. Smoking. But on the rooftop of County General, Andrea smoked again, if for nothing else than an excuse to take a break that was long overdue. She hadn’t slept for longer than a twenty-minute stretch, yet she didn’t feel the exhaustion. She felt the sadness of the pain she watched people suffer and the hopelessness of her unanswered prayers.
Gunfire, rapid and lone shots, rang out in the city as if a new rhythmic beat that could end up being the last song she would ever hear. Black smoke rose from smoldering buildings nearby and in the distance, and the screams and cries of people carried up as well. There was no solitude as Andrea stood on the rooftop alone. Not like she had hoped for. She realized it didn’t matter whether she was in the hospital, on her floor, hiding in the lounge, or on that rooftop, agony surrounded her. It was everywhere. Every radio, television, hallway and patient’s face. There was absolutely no escaping the bitter truth, that she, Andrea, was witnessing the heartbreak of the world’s end.
May 31st - 2:10 p.m.
Fair
field University - Stamford, Connecticut
Henry bobbed a lot. Back and forth, up and down all in nervous anxiety. In front of a military truck, one lone military truck, he waited. Two or three soldiers wearing gas masks were to his left. They stood, armed and arms crossed, watching out as if they were protecting that truck from all those people. They were.
Relief hit Henry when he finally spotted Dean walking his way through the people. He wasn’t alone; an older gray-haired man, towering over Dean, walked with him. Henry raced from the truck, hoping he wouldn’t get shot for leaving his unofficial post. He ran straight to Dean. “Thank God!” Henry laid his hands on Dean’s shoulders. “Oh, Dean.” Henry twitched his head back. “I don’t think this one truck is going to be enough. And ... Emily booked. I’m alone here. Help.”
“Henry, calm down.” Dean hid his chuckle caused by the frantic man. “More trucks are coming. I promise you this is going to be an aid station. But right now, I have to get back to the lab.”
“But Dean ...”
“Henry.” Dean held up his hand. “I brought help. This is my father, William. He’s a doctor. He’ll be helping you out.”
Henry shook William’s hand but kept his eyes on Dean. “Helping me out? What do you mean? With setting up, right?”
William shook his head. “No, Henry. With the ill.”
“The ill?” Henry stepped back. “Oh, no, I can’t. I can’t help with the ill.’ He rambled. “I can do other stuff. I can. I can guard the one truck. But not help with the ill. These people ...” Henry dropped his voice to a whisper. “These people are sick. They’re vomiting. Violently, too. Not a good ...”
“Henry.” Dean halted him. “Sorry. You’re recruited. I’ll check back in a bit.”
“But, Dean.” Henry called out as Dean hurried away. “Dean. Shit.” Henry watched Dean move through the masses of people, totally ignoring those who grabbed for him. When Dean was gone, Henry placed his hands in his pocket, whistled slightly and started to back away. He didn’t make it far. William snatched him right back.
May 31st - 2:30 p.m.
Interstate 80 – Outskirts of Chicago, IL
Frank Slagel stood in the midst of the barricade blocking an exit out of Chicago. His job was to ensure that he and his men stopped all traffic from leaving the city. It had been difficult so far. People just weren’t taking no for an answer and that irritated Frank. They didn’t understand that he was just doing his job and if up to him personally, he’d let them all through. After hearing what he did on the news conference there really wasn’t any reason to keep them in.
“Sarge.” A fellow soldier also wearing a gas mask grabbed his shoulder. “Major Nelson is on the radio, he needs to speak to you.”
“Thanks.” Frank harnessed his rifle over his shoulder; he needed the break even briefly. Staring at the cars all trying to go somewhere made Frank wish he could do the same thing. But the only way he could get home would be on foot and that could take a while. Even then, if he did just decide to jump ship and go AWOL he stood a chance of getting shot. If protecting his family was what drove Frank to get home, then he had to justify it in his mind that he was doing that by holding the lines. He had to or else he’d drive himself crazy. “Sergeant Slagel speaking, Sir.” Frank grabbed the microphone to the radio. He listened to the Major ramble something about needing a few of Frank’s men. Frank nodded as if the Major saw him, agreeing to give up the men, knowing full well it wouldn’t do any good. Many of the soldiers were already ill. “Yes, Sir.” Frank finally verbally responded and the Major left the airways. Setting down the radio, Frank turned to go back to his post when he saw it: A struggle between a man who stood holding his motorcycle and two soldiers who diligently argued with him. Perturbed that this man was giving his men such a hard time, Frank stormed over to the scene. “What is the problem!?” Frank bellowed to the man who was nearly his height. “Sir, you are to back your ass up or we will back you up.”
The man glared at Frank. “This is bullshit.”
“Well, this is the way it is. Back it up!” Frank ordered.
The man stepped back and mounted his bike. Revving up his engines, he placed his bike in gear. “Fuck you.” With a screech he sped forward.
Without a hesitation, without a second thought, Frank spun forward his M-16, lifted it up, pumped the chamber and fired a single shot that sent the man flying from his bike and the motorcycle crashing in a skid twenty feet further. Lowering his weapon with a stone face, Frank swung it behind his shoulder, walked strongly and without emotion to the man’s dead body. Reaching down he grabbed hold of the man’s shirt and drug his body across the ground ten feet or so to an awaiting truck. With ease, Frank lifted the body and tossed it in with others who had dared to try to make it through. Thinking no more about it, Frank returned to his post.
May 31st - 3:55 p.m.
County General Hospital - New York City, NY
Covered in blood as if she worked in a MASH unit instead of a hospital, Andrea worked on a patient whose place to suffer was found on a cot lined up in the hall. Holding a syringe in her mouth, Andrea checked the intravenous of the man.
“Andrea.” Catherine approached her from behind. “I’m heading down to the lower floor. If Lt. Hayes gets through will you ...”
“Find you?” Andrea leaned her body on the man. “Yes, I will.”
“Thank you.” Worn out, Catherine slid her hand over Andrea’s back as she moved down the hall. Passing the lounge she heard the oddness of it. No rattling of city names. No drab male announcer’s voice coldly stating symptoms, but a hiss. Wondering if they’d lost television communications, Catherine stepped into the doorway of the lounge. On the television, the static sounded but a picture was shown, a picture of a digital timer and it was counting down.
May 31st - 3:58 p.m.
The Speech
The note simply read, ‘Medical relief available at 5567 Elks Drive’ and Ellen hung it on the front office door of Doc Breyer’s Ashtonville Clinic. Many people had gathered there, hoping to find help, some relief in a building that would not open its doors. She made her way, boxes in hand, to Joe’s car, which had become surrounded by people. Ellen blocked them out. She couldn’t let their questions, the begging for help slow her down. She had one more stop to make and then she would be able, to the best of her ability, to administer care to them.
Loading the box in the already packed backseat, Ellen used her shoulder to nudge a man from her way and slid into the car.
Silence.
She leaned back, ran her hand down her face and took a breath. She brought her hand forward to the ignition and started the engine. Fists banged to get her attention. They swung loudly on the door, the hood and trunk. Surrounded by the noise, Ellen only wanted to move on. Tossing the car in gear, she put the radio on.
In Ellen’s home, Joe had carried Taylor to the living room. He thought of Kelly and how Mrs. Peter’s, the next door neighbor, had gone to Kelly’s house to help care for them while Joe stayed with Josh and Taylor. In the center of the living room, sitting in a rocking chair, Joe held Taylor on his lap. He waited and watched while silently counting down with the clock on the television. Lips pressed firmly to Taylor’s forehead, Joe gently rocked the little girl who cried in such a painful whimper, and there was little comfort his strong arms could give her.
The countdown of the timer on the television ended. A camera man, with one finger extended, pointed to President Hadley who sat behind his desk. He fiddled with a pencil and looked up to the camera with saddened red eyes. “Now?” he simply asked, then sat straight up, slowly as if in no hurry to do what he was about to do. His voice stayed strong yet soft. Filled with emotion, President George Hadley addressed his nation ...
“I come to you today with a heavy heart. This great nation of ours, this planet, is faced with a crisis parallel to no other we have ever faced ...”
Frank could have gathered around the table with the other remaining soldiers listening to
the President’s speech. But he didn’t need to. Facing the barricade line with a stern expression, Frank heard every word of President Hadley, blaring like a symphony through the multitude of car radios.
‘ ... A great miscarriage of fate has been dealt, and we as brothers are at arms against an unseen foe that dares to test the destiny of humanity. Selfishness is a word we must dismiss. Those of us who can must deliver the care and compassion to those who so desperately seek our help ...’
The syringe came down hard and fast into the thigh of the man who fought to stay alive. Aided by a soldier who held the man down, Andrea retracted the syringe, stepped back into the wall and lowered her head, hearing vividly through the corridors the President’s speech.
‘ ... my heart and prayers go out to you. For I am no different than you in this crisis. I am with you ... I feel every ounce of pain you do. I share your sorrow. Your grief ... But in our darkest hour, heroes shall emerge. Hope stands forefront ...’
It amazed Dean that the second the President spoke those words he was filled with a sense of faith, because at that exact moment, from the machine he watched, came the results he needed to see. He smiled slightly as he read them.
The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series Page 11