Pestilence: A Medical Thriller

by Victor Methos

  Screw it, she thought. I’m not doing any good here.

  After grabbing her jacket, she went out and got into her car. A bar where most of the people at the CDC hung out wasn’t too far from there, and as she drove, she tried not to think about why her sister wasn’t answering her cell phone.

  She parked right out front and went in. The bar was packed with people shooting pool and throwing darts, and she saw a few of her colleagues at a table, nursing some beers. They waved to her, and she waved back but didn’t feel like going over.

  She chose a stool at the end of the bar, then ordered an orange soda with ice and sipped it quietly. She tried to resist, but eventually she gave in and texted her sister for the fiftieth time.

  Where the hell are you?

  No reply.

  She tried her husband, and again, no reply.

  Thinking of her sister’s husband, Robert, brought back memories of when Sam was nearly married, to another medical student named Isaac Hinckley. He was a warm, intelligent boy, and they dated for so long, they’d grown comfortable together in that way that couples find the comfort better than anything else in the relationship. When he asked her to marry him, she said no. And to this day, she wasn’t sure why. No was the first thing that had popped into her head, and she’d blurted it out. Even if she wanted to change her mind then, she couldn’t. His heart was already broken, and he would have always known that her first answer was no.

  Maybe she had turned him down because of her career or the fact that she was only twenty-two and wasn’t ready to settle down. Or maybe her father loomed so large that anyone else seemed to fall short. He was a successful businessman, a rugged former boxer who dominated any room. Samantha idolized him, and she knew that his traits were what she was looking for in a husband, whether consciously or not. So far, in the halls of medical school and laboratories, she hadn’t found them.

  A man sat one stool away from her and ordered a beer. He turned to her and smiled. “Hi, I’m Brad.”

  “Sam. Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too. Haven’t seen you here before.”

  “I’m not really a drinker.”

  “Who you texting?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I saw you texting. Just wondering who.”

  “No offense, but I kind of came here to be alone.”

  “You picked a helluva place to be by yourself,” he said.

  He was right. Why would she come to a bar, of all places, to be alone? She finished her soda, then brushed past him on her way outside. A hiking trail wasn’t far from here, and reaching the summit of a hill overlooking the city took only about fifteen minutes. After driving there, she was pleased to see there were no other people around.

  The dirt on the path was smooth, and her hike was quick. She took out her mace and held it in her hand until she reached the summit, where she placed it in her pocket and sat down.

  The lights of Atlanta twinkled, and a plane flying by overhead blinked rapidly from the cadre of illuminations along its body. Streetlamps looked like glimmering buttons in the dark, and farther up, past the mountains of steel and glass, were flashing radio towers. She wondered how much longer standard radio would exist with digital available.

  The skyline was a mass of buildings pointing skyward, each lighted differently and with diverse company logos stamped over them. She noticed one for a bank, and she remembered that she needed to pay her credit card bill. She had called them earlier, but they’d said their system was down…

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  She pulled out her cell phone and looked up restaurants in Los Angeles. She called the first result in Google. She got a busy signal. She tried the second result and got the same. She looked up bars in San Francisco—all busy. A clothing store at a mall in Sacramento also had a busy signal, as did television stations, utility companies, and twenty-four-hour pharmacies. She looked up random people in the online phone directories, and their numbers went straight to voice mail. Calling another five, she got the same results each time.

  Jane wasn’t avoiding her.

  10

  When Ian’s plane landed at LAX, he got off with the twenty-five other passengers. He guessed it would be one of the last flights into California.

  His feet hit the terminal carpet at nearly seven o’clock in the evening West Coast time, and he checked his watch, then set it back an hour. As he walked through the terminal, past security, a man in a gray suit was walking toward him. The man placed a suitcase down about ten feet in front of him, and Ian picked it up and walked out of the airport.

  He stood outside in the warm Los Angeles air, glancing over the palm trees, and was glad he wasn’t in Chicago anymore. After growing up in Rio de Janeiro, he felt as though he were being strangled by the compacted cityscape of modern cities, and LA was no different. But at least in the oasis surrounding the airport, trees, open space, and a sweeping twilight sky existed.

  He walked to the curb, where he saw a car with two men inside. He glanced inside, but walked past them. He walked past a minivan, then came to an Audi with a single female sitting in the driver’s seat. The young blonde was trying to send a text. Looking in through the passenger-side window, he saw that the doors were unlocked. He opened the door and got into the passenger seat.

  The girl looked at him, her face wrinkled in confusion, and then her eyes went wide as she saw the muzzle of the Smith & Wesson.

  “If you scream or try and get out of the car,” he said, “I’m going to shoot you in the face and then drive myself. Do you understand? Nod if you understand.”

  She nodded.

  “Good. Now put it in drive and get on the freeway.”

  “Just take the car.”

  “I need a driver, not a car. If you do everything I say and you do it well, by tomorrow morning, I will be on a plane, and you can go back to your life.” With his free hand, he pulled a wad of cash from his pocket. He counted out several hundred dollar bills and threw them on the center console. “And you’ll make some money for your troubles.”

  She looked behind her. “Why do you need a driver?”

  “I’ll tell you when we move.”

  She put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. Once they were out of the airport and winding their way to the 105, Ian lowered the weapon but left it on his lap, where she could see it.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “You don’t need to know that.” Ian opened the suitcase and glanced inside. He closed and locked it again, then put it in the backseat. He opened the note app on his phone. Of the seven names he’d had two days ago, three were grayed out. That left four people, all with Los Angeles addresses. The name at the top of the list was Wendy Alvarez.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Suzan.”

  “If I look at your driver license, is that the name I’m going to see?”

  She hesitated. “No. It’s Katherine.”

  “Katherine, I need your help for tonight. If something should happen to you, it interferes with my schedule, and I certainly don’t want to interfere with my schedule. I have a flight scheduled for noon tomorrow, a flight where I’m the only passenger, and I intend to make that flight. So my inclination is to make sure you’re safe. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m going to need you to say it.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. So the only way you are going to get hurt tonight is if you change that inclination, which I’m hoping you won’t. Take the third exit down from here.”

  Katherine took forty minutes to drive to Inglewood. Ian saw men on street corners throwing up gang signs at him, and groups of teenagers roamed the night as though they were in some post-apocalyptic capital.

  “I was here once about ten years ago,” he said. “It’s gotten worse.”

  “What has?”

  “The city. Maybe people.” He looked to her and could tell she grew uncomfortable. “Who were
you waiting for at the airport?”

  “My dad. He’s coming to visit me.”

  “He’ll be fine. By the way, I can see that you’re trying to hide your phone on the other side of your lap. Pick it up.”

  She glanced at him.

  “It’s all right. Pick it up.”

  She did.

  “Call 9-1-1.”

  “No,” she said.

  “It’s not a trick. Call 9-1-1. Tell them the make and model of your car, and give them a description of me. I’m serious. Do it.”

  “You’ll hurt me.”

  “I give you my word. I will not hurt you. Call.”

  She looked down at the phone and held her thumb over the keypad for a moment before she dialed the number. It played an error message.

  “Try your dad’s cell,” he said.

  She called her father’s cell and got a busy signal.

  “It’s not working,” she said.

  “No, it’s not. So you can put the phone away. You don’t need to hide it from me. Turn right up here.”

  She stopped at the intersection and glanced at a group of men on the corner and then at Ian.

  “I wouldn’t,” Ian said. “They’ll rob you, rape you, and leave you on the side of the street. I’m not going to do any of those things.”

  She swallowed and then turned into a residential neighborhood. The houses were worn down, and the dilapidated chain-link fences with missing sections did a poor job of protecting yellowed lawns. Some lawns were strewn with broken-down cars and parts and some, without any effort to hide it, simply had garbage thrown around. A few of the homes were kept up, though, and dogs were chained near the front doors.

  “Stop here.”

  She pulled over to the curb and parked. They were in front of a white house with yellow trim that was lit up brightly by two small flood lamps.

  “Get out and come with me.”

  They stepped out of the car. Ian glanced toward her and then back at the house. She looked down both sides of the street.

  “It’s difficult to tell, isn’t it?” he said.

  “What is?”

  “How far you would get. I’m guessing to that corner right there before the slug exploded your skull.”

  “I’m not going to run.”

  “Good girl. Come on.”

  They walked up the driveway, to the front door. Ian knocked and heard voices inside. The door opened, revealing an elderly man.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m looking for Wendy.”

  “And who are you?”

  “LAPD, sir. Is she here?”

  “Lemme see a badge.”

  “Sure thing.” Ian reached into his suit coat and came out with the pistol. He fired into the man’s eye, and he collapsed without a peep. Katherine screamed, but Ian covered her mouth and dragged her into the house, then shut the door behind them. He heard footsteps in the kitchen, along with a woman’s voice. “Robert, who’s here at this—”

  A woman came around the corner and stopped when she saw the gun in Ian’s hand. He lifted it and fired three rounds into her chest. She flew against the refrigerator, leaving smears of blood on it as she slid down to the linoleum. He walked up to her while Katherine screamed behind him and fired another two into the top of her head.

  “Let’s go.” He grabbed Katherine’s arm and pulled her out of the house.

  11

  At midnight, Howie said goodnight to Sandy and then checked on his daughter. She was asleep in bed, with her earbuds still blaring music. He walked over and gently turned off the iPod and removed the earbuds. She stirred, and her hand went over his. Its softness reminded him of when she was much younger. When she was frightened, she would crawl in between him and her mother without saying a word, hoping they wouldn’t wake up and kick her out to her own room.

  Her sneaking into bed woke Howie every time, but he never said anything.

  A pain shot through his gut, and he didn’t know why. He left his hand there for a moment before pulling away. He went upstairs to his bedroom and showered to rinse off the hot-tub chlorine, then changed into gym shorts and a T-shirt.

  He lay on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling a long time, and found himself drifting off to sleep, but the thought of his daughter continued to intrude on his peace. He exhaled and closed his eyes. Before long, his thoughts dimmed, and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Howie wasn’t sure what woke him, but he knew the sounds instantly once he was awake: men shouting and metal grinding on metal. He thought some neighbors were drunk and out causing trouble, but the noises were so loud, and there were so many men shouting, that unless the entire neighborhood was outside right then, it couldn’t have been that.

  He went downstairs, to the window in the living room. Looking out, he saw something he would never forget for the rest of his life.

  Humvees were rolling down the street, interspersed with jeeps. Both were painted in camo browns and beige. Soldiers were there, too, or what he guessed were soldiers. They were knocking on every door, and if the door didn’t open quickly enough, they kicked it down.

  So many soldiers were crowded into the streets that it looked like a concert or a football game going on right outside his house. They were dragging people out in their pajamas, and some only had on underwear. One of his neighbors was hauled out of his house and thrown into a military truck.

  Someone pounded on his front door. His heart seemed to stop, and he stared at the door as if it were something from another planet.

  “National Guard, open the door!”

  The door upstairs opened, and his daughter came down. “Who is that?”

  Just as the words left her lips, the door exploded inward. His alarm went off as three National Guardsmen stormed in while Jessica was screaming. They grabbed him by the arms, but he didn’t fight until one of them grabbed his daughter.

  All three were wearing slim gas masks.

  He pulled his arms away and swung at one, connecting with his jaw and sending him back. Then he felt an explosive force against the back of his head, and he was out.

  The bouncing brought him around as the military truck rattled down the interstate. Howie came to and looked around. He was lying flat on his back. People were crammed into the truck on seats that lined the truck bed. Next to him, Jessica sat on Sandy’s lap.

  “Howie,” Sandy said. She slipped Jessica off and bent over him. “Don’t move. You took a nasty blow to the head.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “Lay back. Take it easy. Let me look at your head.” She reached back and then brought out her fingers. “It’s not bleeding. How do you feel?”

  His head pounded so hard it was giving him a migraine. Slowly, he sat up. The other people on the truck looked terrified and weren’t talking. Behind them on the interstate was a line of Humvees, jeeps, and trucks. Several choppers, maybe as many as a dozen, flew above them.

  “Sandy, what the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The ride was slow because the interstate was bumper to bumper with military vehicles. Civilian cars, which were empty, many of them with their doors open, were pulled over to the side of the road. He looked back to the cabin of the truck and saw a glass partition between him and the single guardsman who was driving.

  Howie pounded on the glass, but the driver didn’t turn around.

  “Sit down,” someone said. Howie turned to him. A middle-aged man in a tank top and boxer shorts caught his glare. “They’ll put you out with tranqs if they see you getting upset. They did that to me. Sit down.”

  “Who are these people?”

  “Army and National Guard. Now sit down before they tranq all of us.”

  Howie squeezed in between Sandy and the woman next to her. He was dizzy from the blow to his head, and when he glanced down, he noticed for the first time that he was in gym shorts.

  “I was in bed,” Sandy said, “and two men ran into my room. I
started screaming, and they pulled me out of bed and threw a sweatshirt at me that was on the floor. They pulled me out and stuck me here. When I got in, Jessica was standing over you, and you were unconscious.”

  “Is it a terrorist attack?”

  “I don’t know. They won’t tell us anything.”

  The road smoothed, and the truck turned off at an exit near the beach. It rode right out onto the sand and stopped. Several guardsmen came and unlatched the back, then shouted for them to get off. Slowly, they climbed out of the truck.

  Howie put his arm around Jessica and whispered, “Stay behind me.”

  He climbed off and waited for his daughter. Two guardsmen were escorting them around the truck when Howie saw why they had brought them there.

  Built right on the sand was a massive fence with barbed wire around the top. Two towers were arranged around it, and inside the perimeter, green canvas tents were set up down the beach as far as he could see.

  This was a camp.

  Someone pushed him from behind and told him to keep moving. He held tightly to Jessica as they walked with the crowds. The people were surprisingly docile. The fight in them had been spent. Now they were in unfamiliar territory and at the mercy of men with guns.

  Beyond the gates, a guardsman with glasses stood at the front. He glanced up at them. “Men to the right. Women to the left.”

  “No, Howie, don’t let me go there,” Jessica said.

  “Please,” Howie said. “She’s my daughter.”

  The man pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and looked them over. “Fine. But she’s your responsibility. We will not be held for anything that happens to her.”

  “What’s this all about?”

  “Just keep moving.”

  Howie nodded, and they were led to the right, down a gated path that opened up onto a section of beach. He saw nothing but tents, cots, and men. Most of them were standing around talking, but a few had already lain down on the cots or gone inside the tents to sleep.

  His daughter was holding his leg tightly, and he glanced down, then put his arm around her.