Just as he was about the leave the cabin, go back out and look for tracks, he spotted the single Dynamite footprint on the floor.
Not only that, but near it were two things. A snap snack, the tiny little crackers that Mick had placed in the bug out bag, and Chris had dropped his lucky double headed quarter. He loved it; it was a prank he had gotten out of a machine. He had used it so much, that everyone grew tired of it. “Ha, ha, ha, Chris we get it.”
The thought of Chris and that coin made Mick smile. The boys had been there, they had thought enough to grab the bug out bag, there weren’t any signs of blood, so they had to be fine.
They weren’t staying put. Mick firmly believed in his heart that Chris had left that coin and snack bag as a sign that they had been there.
Mick picked up the coin and put it in his pocket. He walked back outside to look for footprints. He followed them around the back of the cabin and saw that they led up a hill. Two sets of prints, one was definitely Tigger’s. They led to a gravel road and Mick didn’t see any more prints after that.
But considering the prints had brought him to that road, Mick determined that the boys had to have taken that route.
And so did Mick. He started walking down the same road.
* * *
Las Vegas, NV
The man from the lobby finally gave his name; it was Matt and he had been a police officer for the county when everything started going crazy. He told his story while he waited for a replacement to come to the lobby so he could take Lexi and Bill to the floors above.
People were hit with the flu in Vegas, but the worst place to be was the airport. People got stranded. A lot of the residents of Vegas stayed, followed advice, hunkered down and beat the flu. But the tourists didn’t really have that luxury. So many were stranded at the airport it was a flu zone like no other. The National Guard brought blankets and food and did the best they could to assist, and then they got sick and a lot of soldiers left their posts.
Matt was fortunate enough to have never even caught the flu. It surprised him because he was in the thick of things. He didn’t have a wife or kids to run home to, so he helped out when and where he could.
Alaska hit the height of the flu the first week of September, Vegas was in full throttle before the second week.
“A lot of people died here,” Matt explained. “These hotels on the strip and downtown were busy with tourists. When the flu hit, the airports shut down and there were no flights in or out. So they stayed. So many died. More than you would think. I believe the biggest problem we had were people who thought they beat the flu. They emerged and then got sick.”
“Thereby starting the clock all over again,” Lexi said.
“Exactly,” Matt replied. “We had to burn the airport, flash fire it. There was no way we were getting bodies out. In fact, we’re still working on body removal and it’s been a month. We’ll never get them all. We cleared out this hotel and the two next to us. Right now our primary focus is supplies.”
“In this heat,” Lexi said, “decomposition will be fast — they’ll be mummified.”
“Yep.” Matt winked. “As sadistic as this sounds, it’s actually a pretty cool thing to see.”
Bill laughed. “That sounds like something I would say. Matt, how did you end up putting all this together?”
“It was simple at first. Out of the entire police force only four of us remained. Two of my men, well, they are just now starting to snap back from the loss of their families. We gathered a crew of survivors, grouped them into gatherers and clean up. Really, I was just focusing on what we could do for those who were stranded here. You’re talking a lot of hotels, a lot of goods, supplies. If we kept one hotel powered up, we could keep the perishable stuff lasting for a while. My entire original intention was simple. The people of Vegas needed to know they could get food.”
“But you became a depot?” Lexi asked.
“It was weird. Those in Vegas started to leave. We got word out that we would give supplies, and they were coming here for things to take with them, asking what they’d need, how to get gas.” He shrugged. “We still had a lot of people staying though. Then about two weeks ago, you would think it was a holy pilgrimage. Like the gold rush. Like something was out east and suddenly everyone had to be there. People were pouring into town. Stopping in, moving on. The idea of a barter depot came when one man offered me a box of ammunition for two gallons of water and some Spam. And he said, ‘this is like those places on the Oregon trail.’ That’s when it started. We organized. It works pretty well.”
Lexi blinked several times. “How many people came through?”
“So far, close to a thousand. Yesterday we had … maybe twenty? We average now about twenty a day. Most come in, stay and leave. Every day a batch comes and goes.”
It was about that point in the conversation that Matt’s relief arrived.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was held up. He really a doctor?”
“She,” Matt corrected. "And yes. Yes she is.”
“Holy cow, that’s so great. You gonna give her one of the presidential suites?”
“Oh, you better believe it, and two steaks for these two as well.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” the man said. “How long you staying?” he directed his question to Lexi.
Lexi really didn’t know how to answer that, except to say, “Apparently there’s a problem here, so I’ll stay as long as you guys need us.”
Matt grinned. “Thank you for that. Come this way.”
He led them to a set of elevators, and as they stepped inside, he explained. “I’m making sure I separate them, because we don’t know for sure what they have.”
The second they stepped off the elevator, Lexi heard the coughing. It didn’t sound like the hospital where an entire orchestration of infection took place, this was more like two or three people, all coughing uncontrollably.
“This way,” Matt said. They walked past a few doors and he stopped at one, knocked once on it, then opened it up. “Mom?”
The woman coughed. “Matt?”
“You aren’t gonna believe this. A doctor is in town.”
“Oh, thank God,” she said.
Lexi walked into the hotel room. It was one of the basic rooms and the woman of about seventy was in bed, propped up on two pillows. When Lexi saw her, she looked at Bill.
Their exchange of glances said that it was all too familiar.
“Ma’am,” Lexi sat on the bed, “what is your name?”
“Lucy.”
“Lucy, I like that name. What’s going on with you?” she asked pleasantly.
“Fever…cold. My chest is full but I’m coughing good.”
“That’s good. That’s good.” Lexi patted her leg and took the stethoscope that Bill extended to her.
“This isn’t the same as the flu. It doesn’t feel the same.”
Lexi placed the scope to her ears. “You had the flu?”
Lucy nodded. “I beat it. The cough stayed, annoyingly. But I felt better. I thought when the cough worsened again, that maybe I had gotten pneumonia.”
“That could very well be.” Lexi began to examine her. “Deep breath.” She went through the lung and heart examination, removed the stethoscope and felt Lucy’s glands. “When was the last time you took her temperature?” she asked Matt.
“Two hours ago. It hasn’t moved from 101. I’ve been giving her ibuprofen every four hours. I would have given her antibiotics, but she’s allergic to penicillin.”
“There are many outside the penicillin family,” Lexi said and stood up. She handed her stethoscope to Bill. “Her left lower lobe has fluid. It’s not bronchial.” Her eyes shifted to the nightstand and the wads of tissues. “Are these what you are using to blow your nose or spit?”
Almost embarrassed she answered. “Spit.”
Lexi reached for her bag, and spoke as she rummaged through. “Any clue which one may be the freshest?” She grabbed a pair of gloves and placed
them on.
Bill groaned and Lexi shot him a glare.
Lucy pointed to a tissue wad.
Lexi picked it up and unfolded it.
“Aw, geeze,” Bill whined. “Warn me next time. I hate when you do that.”
Lexi chuckled, and examined the used tissue. She reached inside and examined the expelled substance with her fingers.
Bill cleared his throat. “Lex, come on.”
Lexi looked at him, then to Matt, who had turned away. “I would think that with what both of you saw during the outbreak, this would be nothing.” She rolled the tissue and threw it away, then removed her gloves and tossed them in the trash as well. “The texture is good,” she told Lucy. “So is the color. So I’m going confirm your diagnosis of pneumonia. Lots of fluids, we’ll get a course of antibiotics in you, an expectorant, and in a few days you’ll be good as new.” She addressed Matt. “I’m also convinced that’s what our boy Charlie the slot hero has as well.”
Bill asked. “You can tell that without looking at his spit?”
“It was on his chin,” Lexi winked. “Besides, the color of his skin lets me know his O2 levels are down.” Again, she looked at Matt. “Did you clean out the hospital? Medfast places, things like that? Pharmacies?”
“Not all. We have a room of supplies,” Matt replied. “If you can’t find it there, there’s still a ton left at the pharmacies and the hospital. But the hospital is a wreck, just so you know. We just didn’t know what was viable to take and what wasn’t.”
Lexi nodded. “I can understand that. While I’m here, I can help.”
“Excellent. Let’s go to the next room.” Matt said. “We have two more for you to look at, same as my mom.” He bent down and kissed his mother on the forehead. “See, I told you I’d get you well.” And then Matt walked to the door.
Bill reached out and grabbed Lexi’s arm, pulling her back. “Wait, slot guy, this woman and two others. Is pneumonia contagious?”
Lexi shook her head. “No. But, I’m beginning to think, we may be seeing a delayed repercussion of our flu that we weren’t expecting.” She paused at the door. “Hopefully, that’s all it is.”
* * *
What Jon had told him stayed with Briggs throughout his lunch. He sipped a cup of broth, ate a cracker and thought about Jon’s words; the things he’d conveyed about the Ohio search party, what his man in Ohio had told him. The look on the survivor’s faces. His mind swirled. Then he thought about Jon. He was younger, but not only was he technologically smart, he seemed to represent both sides of reason, and Briggs liked that.
He had an idea of what he wanted to do with Jon, but first, he fired up the radio, and contacted Sergeant Nelson of the Ohio Minuteman.
“This is Commander Briggs of the United America Army, how are you son?”
“Good,” Sergeant Nelson replied. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“Hey, I know you guys are squarely in. Jon told me you sensed some problem with the guys I dispatched from Southern PA to clear warehouses.”
“Well … shortly after I met with your guys, one of our towns burned to the ground. I just felt it ironic that they had recently been in the area.”
“What were their attitudes?”
Silence.
“Sergeant?”
“Smug. Trying to act hard ass.”
“I tried to reach them, no luck. Any chance you can send men out to look for them? I’ll deploy some relief to you. I know you gentlemen are working hard in that area to organize.”
“Sir, they said they were meeting up with another team in Pennsylvania, they’re probably there by now. May be easier to dispatch from your end. But I can definitely use the help here.”
“I’ll get some men out to you, and I’ll send out for the other group. Thank you, Sergeant.”
Briggs ended the radio call, and like he had a dozen times in the previous two hours, he looked at his cell phone. Still no signal.
He downed the rest of his broth, and sought out Richards, one of his trusted men, one he had known long before the flu hit. He was in the troop dispatch center working on unloading trucks.
Briggs called for him and pulled him aside. “Richards, I’m heading back into Damon, and I need to speak to some incoming survivors and to Jon. What can you tell me about the teams from PA 149?”
Richards cocked back, seemingly surprised by the question. “149? Hold on.” He grabbed a notebook and checked it quickly. “I haven’t logged any into the computer yet. “
Briggs followed him to the small desk. “They contacted us when the flu was in full swing; we told them to hang tight and would give them a mission before they head up here.”
“Yeah, I recall.” Richards flipped through the notebook. “We don’t really know much. Unorganized militia group. We don’t know much about that group, but we accepted their help. Gave them three counties in Ohio and two in PA, they’re to report back here in two days.”
“So we know nothing about who they are?”
Richards shook his head. “The CO of the unit passed away from the flu. Seemed like a decent enough fellow. But, Jonah, we have to remember, we’re taking all the help we can get. Are we having a problem with them?”
“Maybe. I tried to reach them.”
“You won’t be able to. They’re probably out of range. We just gave them orders and you can talk to them when they get here. Unless, you know, they end up taking off with what they got. I mean, really, we gave them intel on food storage, weapons storage … who knows?”
Briggs’ eyes lifted. “I didn’t think of that.”
“It’s a possibility with any of the unregulated units or those we don’t know.”
“Thank you,” Briggs said. “I’ll be back.” He gave a swat to Richards’ arm and headed to the stables.
He mounted his horse, and took a straight route into town. Upon arrival, he gave word to a guard to find Jon Wentworth, then Briggs headed to the municipal building where survivors were registered.
The young man behind the desk stood. “Sir.”
“At ease,” Briggs said. “Son, some survivors were brought in earlier. Do you know if they are still here?”
“Um …” The young man scratched his head. “We brought in forty today.”
“Really?” Briggs nodded, impressed. “This one was a group of three. Two women and a child.”
“Oh, yeah, a few hours ago.” He went to the laptop. “They’re over at the Med Center with Doc.”
“Are they sick?”
“One of the women is. Doc is holding the other two for observation,” he replied.
“What’s wrong with them? Starvation, injury?”
“No, get this,” he said. “Doc thinks it’s the flu.”
“Flu? Our flu?”
He shrugged.
Briggs lifted a hand. “I’ll be back. If Wentworth gets here, tell him to stay put. I need to see what’s going on.”
Before the young man could acknowledge the request, Briggs had left the building.
* * *
Emmie hadn’t spoken a single word since they fled camp, and now she was repeating over and over that she had to go potty.
This was another dilemma that Chris hadn’t even thought about.
He thought he had it. They’d follow the lake then go straight. But somehow that road didn’t seem as close as it had on the map.
“I have to go potty.”
“I know, I know.” Chris stared at the map. “Here’s where I get confused. West is left. East is right. How do we know we’re going east or west? Obviously, we didn’t go straight.”
“I have to go potty.”
“I know you do,” Chris looked at the little girl. “But there isn’t a potty here, so you have to go behind the tree and pee.”
“Potty.”
“Oh my God.” Chris closed his eyes.
“This is why I’m glad I’m a boy,” Tigger said. “Don’t need anything special to pee. Just stand there and go.”
&
nbsp; “Potty.”
Jake laughed and grabbed Emmie’s hand. “Come on, we’ll make you a potty.”
“You sure?” Chris asked.
“I had two little sisters. I can do this.”
“Cool. Thanks.” Chris again returned to the map, then he noticed Tigger in a crouch next to him. “What’s up, Tig?”
“Any idea where we’re at?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Road is north. Right there. But where is north?”
“Up.”
Chris laughed. “That’s funny. If my phone had service we could use the compass.”
“Can’t you use the sky like they do in the movies?” Tigger asked.
“Yeah, but it’s cloudy. Where’s the sun?”
Tigger stood and looked. “There.”
Finally Chris saw it. It was lower than he expected, and just the tiniest speck of light. “Wow, it must be late. Sun sets in the west. We keep that sun to our left, we’ll find the road. Good going, Tig.”
“Done.” Jake returned with Emmie.
Chris sniffed. “Why do I smell pee?”
“She’s wet,” Jake said. “I made her a potty but she still peed on herself. No big deal.”
“Aw, geeze,” Chris whined. “Between her and Tig, we’ll leave a scent.”
“Hey!” Tigger yelled. “I can’t help it, I was peeing uphill.”
Chris rolled up the map. “Let’s go.”
“You think you figured it out?” Jake asked.
“I think.” Chris sighed. “I hope. It’s getting late and these woods are the last place I want to spend the night.” He grabbed Tigger’s hand and Jake grabbed Emmie’s, and they continued on.
9. Where Next?
“He’s not two,” Lars poured a drink at the bar, then walked around and joined Tom at a table. “My guess is about sixteen months. He doesn’t talk yet, except one syllable words. Ethan referred to him as Baby Doe, my guess is he’s a John Doe, so that’s what I’ve been calling him. Doe.”
The Flu 2: Healing Page 8