The Flu 2: Healing

by Jacqueline Druga

  “What the hell does this woman have?” Briggs asked.

  “I can’t confirm, I can only guess. I don’t have the means to really test.”

  “The guess?” Briggs folded his arms.

  Doc exhaled. “I saw it when I was a kid. Not here in America, and that’s why it doesn’t make sense. It has to be something else, because I can’t figure out how she got it.”

  Briggs huffed in frustration. “What? Tell me what to prepare for.”

  Doc nodded as an indication to the woman. “Look at her face. Her eyes, her ears, her nose. Look closely.”

  Briggs did and he whispered, “Are they… bleeding?”

  “They are, and she’s been vomiting blood as well,” Doc said. “She’s dying, Jonah. From something that doesn’t happen here in America. I think — no I’m almost positive — ” Doc faced Briggs, “that she has Ebola.”

  * * *

  Las Vegas, NV

  Vegas wasn’t an easy place to get around. The only thing in its favor, post-flu world, was that it was flat, easy on gas.

  Walking was out of the question; they had to drive. The heat was unbearable, the wind was fierce, like a high heat blow dryer basting wave after wave of dirt and sand, and starving birds grew bold and brave, swooping down occasionally at the solo walkers.

  Matt managed to put up tents that stretched across some of the property for those who ventured outside, but it was best to stay indoors. He even told Bill to move the car to an indoor garage, which Bill did. Even though it was under the awning of the casino drop off, it was getting buried in sand.

  They took Matt’s car. Four blocks down was the Stay Rite Motel. Nothing fancy, basic, cheap accommodations for the thrifty Vegas tourist who wanted to stay on The Strip.

  Admittedly, Matt didn’t have a full grasp on how many people lived in his new stopping post town. There could have been some that passed trough. A few still lived in houses on the outskirts, but most of them made their way inward. While his men kept track of those they saw stroll into to town and where they settled, it was hard to do an accurate count when they didn’t enter into barter or need anything.

  So Matt and his men cruised slowly, looking for signs that people were staying in a building. Places they recorded as stops pilgrims made, one of which was the Stay Rite Motel. Four blocks away from the Matt-age, as everyone joked.

  “We knew they pulled in about a week ago, haven’t heard from them,” Matt told Lexi as they drove there.

  “You didn’t check on them?”

  “No, why would we? We probably would have inquired this week, because of this …” Matt pointed to the three motorcycles in front of the motel, all of them covered with sand that came mid-bike. “They haven’t moved.”

  “What about from our hotel to here. Anyone?”

  “No one reported anything. We’ll try again, especially after this.”

  “Are they dead?” Bill asked. “Is that why you didn’t bring them?”

  “Worse,” Matt answered.

  Bill looked at Lexi. “Worse than dead?”

  She crinkled her face in confusion.

  Matt stopped the car. “Got your gloves and mask?”“Yeah,” Lexi answered. “But—”

  “Put them on.” Matt reached to the center console of the car and pulled out a pair of gloves and paper thin respirator mask.

  Lexi did as instructed and so did Bill. Matt opened the car door. Toting her bag, Lexi followed Bill to room 7.

  Matt knocked. “Mr. Randal? Hey, it’s Matt again. I brought the doctor for you guys.”

  The man’s voice was raspy and nasal as he replied from the other side. “Thank God.”

  The door opened. Lexi stood in shock. Matt looked at her with a ‘see, I told you’ nod.

  The man looked engorged, but he wasn’t. It was just an illusion brought on by the red swollen and puss filled bumps that covered every square inch of his face, neck, and exposed arms. Even his eyelids had them.

  “Wanna confirm what I think this is?” Matt asked Lexi.

  She didn’t say, but Bill did. He didn’t need to be a scientist, viral specialist or doctor to know what Mr. Randal had.

  It was clearly … smallpox.

  * * *

  “Sorry, gentlemen, I got hung up,” Lars said as he entered the laboratory portion of the clinic.

  Henry and Kurt sat there waiting.

  “Everything okay?” Henry asked.

  “Well, our bullet wound victim is doing well, thank you. Minuteman Nelson sent a man to us this morning who was sick. Fever, malaise, body aches, stomach ailment,” Lars said. “I’ve just drawn blood and not done a work up yet.”

  “Waterborne illness?” Henry suggested.

  “That’s what I think. When water is not filtered, purified, this happens. And seeing how we are the top medical community, we’re going to get them,” Lars said. “Speaking of which, since phones are up, have you spoken to our Commander in Chief?”

  “I called,” Henry said. “He didn’t answer.”

  “The president didn’t answer.” Lars rubbed his chin. “Odd. Is he alive?”

  Kurt laughed. “He’s just busy, putting a country back together.”

  “I think he’ll be surprised to learn people have been doing that. Alright gentlemen, what do you have?” Lars asked with a single clap of his hands.

  “This.” Kurt spun the computer screen to face Lars. “Lexi Martin sent these from Vegas. Four patients all with the same symptoms. Her first couple of photos sucked, then she sent this one.”

  “Oh, wow. Unreal,” Lars said. “Wow.”

  “Wow?” Henry asked. “Are you going to tell me you know what this is? Because we have some guesses, and thought we could brainstorm.”

  “I know what it is, no guessing here,” Lars said.

  “Just like that?” Kurt asked.

  “Yes,” Lars said. “You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves for not knowing. Then again, why would you think it? It’s an odd one. Plus, you know, I am Lars Rayburn.”

  Henry shook his head. “Okay, Great One, what is it?”

  “Simple. Well, not simple, it’s deadly. However …” Lars hesitated, “it’s SARS.”

  14. Uncovering Truth

  Erie, PA

  When Rose first started coming to, she found it hard to believe she wasn’t dead. The last thing she recalled was flying off the side of the road, her body airborne.

  Then nothing.

  She wasn’t wearing a helmet: How in the world had she lived? And for sure she wasn’t dead. She as in far too much pain to not be alive. Her head throbbed and her body felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. She actually was afraid to move.

  Her eyes were still closed and she was certain that she was somewhere outside. It was cold and she could feel a wetness against her face. She had probably landed by a creek and her face was in mud.

  She moved, and in doing so, a hard, sharp, stabbing pain filled her side. It felt as if something was stuck inside of her. Perhaps she was impaled. The pain was horrendous and she opened her eyes.

  It was dark but not dark enough to conceal the fact that she wasn’t outside.

  She had to move, find out what was going on. She lifted her head and it throbbed even worse. Shifting her eyes down, she saw she had been laying on a canvas tarp. It was covered in blood, fresh blood. Was it hers? She had been face down and it took everything to turn over some. The pain was tremendous. Every part of her hurt.

  Surely her ribs were broken, maybe even her leg. She brought her fingers to her face, felt around, it was drenched. Where was she bleeding from? Fingers probing, she found a few spots that could be the culprits.

  Above her eye, her chin, and the side of her head held a gash so big, she could feel the separation of skin.

  Where was she? She blinked several times to clear her blurred vision and lifted her head the best she could. What looked like old mail was scattered about the floor and that was when she saw the lettering on the canvas sack: USPS.<
br />
  She groaned softly, thinking, What the fuck am I doing in a post office? And as she attempted to get up, a pair of legs slid into her view.

  “No, no,” the young female voice pressed. “Close your eyes and lay back down. They’re waiting for you to wake up to hurt you.”

  “Are you shitting me?” Rose asked, her voice rough, raspy. She cleared her throat.

  The young woman had to be no older than eighteen. Her long dark hair was tangled and messy, she tucked it behind her ears. She had dark circles under her eyes and a huge bruise on her cheek. Her bottom lip was cut and bleeding.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “They keep coming in, looking at you, then leaving. They’ll be back in again. Please,” she begged, “lay down.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Rose said.

  “No, but you’re hurt. Bad too,” she told Rose. “Just lay still. If they bring me water, I’ll give you some, okay?” She looked over shoulder, so frightened. “Lay still.” With that she scurried away.

  Lay still? That wasn’t too hard of a request considering every movement caused her agony. The pain in her side was beyond bad. It was almost too difficult to breathe, which was why Rose couldn’t talk. Through shallow breaths, Rose whispered. “Do you have a towel? Something, I can press against my side?”

  Rose was lying on the painful side, but knew, if the rib was broken — and she was sure it was — that was the best way to lay and put some pressure on it.

  “A towel isn’t going to help your side,” the girl said, her eyes constantly shifting toward the window.

  “Please, something,” Rose pleaded.

  The girl huffed a breath and quickly, in a crouched position, hurried across the room, grabbed another canvas sack and brought it to Rose. “Do you need it bunched up?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  The girl brought her bottom lip into her mouth, rolled the bag and looked over her shoulder. It was evident to Rose that she was terrified. “Here.” She gave it to Rose without looking, then hurried away.

  It would have to do, and Rose would have to use her energy to hoist up enough to tuck the bag under her. When she did, she saw why the girl told her the bag wouldn’t help. As soon as she pulled from the ground, even a little, Rose realized it wasn’t the head or eye that caused the wet canvas, it was her side.

  Blood poured out from her side. The question of whether or not her rib was broken was answered when she saw the bone protruding from the open wound.

  Rose wasn’t just injured, she was pretty sure she was dying.

  * * *

  Las Vegas, NV

  Lexi didn’t have a clue what do to. She’d studied smallpox but was never fortunate enough to work in the field with the cases. It honestly tumbled her back and scared her.

  She did the best she could, examining them, but the sight of the bloodied and yellow stained sheets made her stomach turn.

  Smallpox. It was not only highly contagious, but those who survived were never the same physically.

  The three people in the hotel room felt horrible and they conveyed that when they started to ‘spot’ they were pretty sure they knew what it could be, so they’d stayed away from others.

  Lexi told them she wasn’t sure how to handle it, but would find out. She promised. She examined them, took their information and said she’d be back.

  As soon as she left the hotel, she told Matt. “They can’t leave. I also need your men, to be cautious and check the area for more cases.” She scrubbed her hands with sanitizer.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Matt asked.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Bill ran his hand down his face. “What the hell, Lexi? Can our people at the hotel have early symptoms? I saw a documentary once and it said that it starts out like the flu.”

  “I don’t know, but I will find out. Maybe Henry had a chance to review those pictures we sent. If not, this may give him a lead.” Lexi pulled out her phone and dialed. It took only two rings and Henry answered.

  “Lexi, I’m glad you called. We were just about to call you,” Henry said.

  “Oh, Henry, I have to tell you something.”

  “We have to tell you something too, but Lars Rayburn wants to be the one.”

  “Lars … Lars wants to speak to me?”

  “Yeah, he was the one who figured it out. Hold on, he’s down the hall. It’ll take me a minute.”

  Lexi’s eyes widened and she turned to Bill. “Lars Rayburn wants to speak to me. Me. Oh my God.” She laid a hand on her chest. “I am so not worthy.”

  “What the hell?” Bill laughed then blinked several times. “Okay, you mentioned his name before. He’s just a doctor, why are you so excited?”

  “It’s Lars Rayburn. Lars Rayburn. Only the most brilliant mind in all of virology, and he saved Lodi, sort of. Lars …” she gasped. “Wow. I get to speak to Lars Rayburn. He also penned a dozen romance novels under a pseudonym, too.”

  “A sensitive virologist. Hmm. No wonder you’re acting like he’s some sort of Donny Osmond.”

  “Who?” Lexi asked.

  Bill waved her off.

  Suddenly, Lexi spun. “Yes, Lars, I am here.”

  “So wonderful to speak to you,” Lars said. “And I heard wonderful things about you. Good job.”

  “Thank you. It’s an honor.”

  “I have news for you, Lexi. I looked at your virus photos.”

  “I have news too. Scary news.”

  “Please, go first,” Lars said.

  “Three more sick people were found. Holed up in an old motel. Lars, they … they have smallpox.”

  “Smallpox, you say? Well, my dear, you seem to be in a pickle in your Sin City depot stop. Aside from your three smallpox patients,” Lars paused for dramatic effect, “you have four people with SARS.”

  Lexi dropped the phone.

  * * *

  Even though the lady Mary seemed nice enough, Jake told Chris he felt better staying with Emmie. Mary invited Chris and Tigger to stay with her, but Chris declined. Her apartment was small and Jonah Briggs gave Chris and Tigger their own small room to share. Plus, Chris liked the big eating room they had at the base. Not to mention, he felt safer there.

  He thought it was cool that Jonah Briggs was hanging out with them. He made a lot of calls and people came in a lot, but Jonah told Chris he enjoyed their company. And, he would need him to call his grandfather in a little bit.

  Something was up. Chris knew it. He couldn’t figure it out, and was hoping for a clue when Jon came in the room and pulled Jonah Briggs aside.

  Chris hushed Tigger so he could listen. Jon didn’t say much. He whispered that two Indiana men had a flat tire and were hanging back as instructed a few days.

  Jonah sighed.

  Chris wondered why a flat tire was a good thing.

  Then Jon told him that ‘they still couldn’t get through’ and that’s when Chris’ interest was piqued.

  Jonah Briggs replied, “Keep trying. If no luck, we’ll have Chris to try his grandfather.”

  Jon left and Briggs went back to the card game.

  “Something happen in Lodi?” Chris asked.

  “No. No,” Briggs replied. “Why?”

  “Well you told Jon that I could call my pap.”

  “We’re watching a situation,” Briggs winked. “No worries. Take your turn.”

  “It’s my turn, thank you.” Tigger laid his card down. “Don’t give Chris my turn. He cheats as it is.”

  “Now why would you say that?” Chris asked.

  “You do illegal stuff,” Tigger replied. “Like driving a car without a license.”

  “I drove ‘cause I had to,” Chris said in his defense. “I did good too, even if I hit him.” He pointed to Briggs. “Your head okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m tough.”

  “You thinking anymore about taking on my stepfather in a return to wrestling match?” Chris asked before he took his turn.

  Briggs laughed. “You’re obse
ssed with this.”

  “It’s for my brother,” Chris said sadly. “He loved wrestling. We both did. It was our ‘thing’.”

  Slowly Briggs raised his eyes. “Well, maybe then for that reason.”

  Tigger spoke up. “You’ll win.”

  Chris gasped. “I can’t believe you said that! Mick is tough. Didn’t he protect our whole town? Just because Mick is getting old and got a big stomach doesn’t mean he can’t maneuver in the ring.”

  “This Mick,” Briggs said, “he sounds like a good guy.”

  “He is,” Chris said. “He’s great. Been in our lives our whole lives, even if he wasn’t married to our mom. He’s always been around.”

  “He’s emotional,” Tigger added.

  Briggs coughed out a laugh. “You use big words, little man.”

  “I’m smart. I have to be. I’m too little to be anything else.”

  “But, he’s right,” Christ stated. “Mick is emotional. Cries all the time and stuff.”

  “I’m telling,” Tigger snickered.

  “Go on, I’ll tell him you said he can’t fight.”

  “I didn’t say he can’t fight. I said Jonah Briggs will beat him.”

  “Jonah Briggs is big but I don’t know if he can beat Mick.” Chris turned to Briggs. “No offense, Jonah Briggs.”

  Jonah smiled. “Pick a name guys. Jonah. Or Briggs. Or Skip.”

  Both Chris and Tigger burst into laughter.

  “What?” Jonah asked. “That was my nickname growing up.

  “Skip?” Chris fluttered his lips. “Oh, I wouldn’t be telling people you had a nickname like Skip. They may pick on you.” He paused when Briggs merely raised an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe they wouldn’t.”

  “Jonah?” Jon said as he stepped into the room.

  Briggs held up his hand to the boys and stood. “What’s up?”