Sympatico Syndrome (Book 1): Infection (A Pandemic Survival Novel)

by McDonald, M. P.

  The poor lady at the reception desk lay dead at her desk. Elly hurried to the front door, but the gift shop by the entrance caught her eye. She wondered if any food had survived. There might be something else in there that she could use as well. The glass display had been broken, all the jewelry missing, and most of the snack food was gone or destroyed. She spotted a door behind a toppled rack of designer cocktail dresses. Moving the rack out of the way, she tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. After opening it a crack, she listened for any sounds from within, but it was silent. The silence in the building was unnerving. She almost welcomed the cawing of the crows outside over the dead quiet within the building.

  The first thing she did was carefully remove her gloves, making sure her bare hands never touched the outside of them, and set them on an empty spot on a shelf. Normally, she would just toss contaminated gloves, but she had a finite supply now. She fished a new pair from her back pocket, having stuck them there before leaving her room. She slipped them on.

  This room looked like it hadn’t been touched by anyone sick, so while she didn’t consider it safe, she felt that whatever was in the boxes would be and didn’t want to contaminate any of it with ‘dirty’ gloves.

  The room wasn’t big, but shelves stacked with boxes lined the walls, forming a narrow corridor for her to walk through. She propped the door open so she could see what was in the boxes. A box cutter sat on a shelf, and she grabbed it and looked for another one. It wasn’t much as far as weapons went, but it was better than nothing.

  The first few boxes she cut open contained t-shirts, sandals, and scented candles. She didn’t want the weight of the heavy jar candles but stuffed all the votive candles in her suitcase. Hopefully, she’d find matches too. She held up a t-shirt, emblazoned with the hotel logo, and cocked her head. It should fit, and it was a good, heavy cotton mix. Most of what she had in the way of clothing was business attire. Dumping a skirt, she replaced it with three t-shirts. When she found a hoodie that fit her, she took that too, tossing aside the dress slacks in her suitcase to make room. Tying the arms of a second hoodie around her waist, she moved on to another box.

  As soon as the cardboard parted and she saw the familiar dark blue bags with the yellow lettering, she let out a squeal of delight. Peanuts! The packages claimed they were perfect for snacking. She stuffed a few packs in her pockets and fit the rest into every crevice of her case. Her mouth watered at the thought of eating them even though she had never been overly fond of peanuts before.

  Another box, already opened, held a few bags of dried mixed slices of dried fruit. So, she had protein and fruits covered. Grinning, she shoved them in to her case as well, sacrificing a silk blouse in the process. It had cost her over a hundred dollars a month ago. She shook her head. What a waste of money.

  The rest of the boxes held nothing of value to her, just postcards, souvenirs, and stuffed animals.

  She put the box cutter in her back pocket and removed her gloves, sticking those in the pocket as well. Replacing the gloves with the dirty pair, she returned to the gift shop to get a better look around. The small shop had three victims on the floor, so everything around them was off limits. Elly frowned when she saw three bags of potato chips sitting in a dark stain beside one body. Damn.

  Spotting a bottle of soda beneath a rack of swim suits, she bent to retrieve it then pulled back at the smear of brown on the label. It looked like dried blood. She backed away, checking to make sure she wasn’t standing in any blood. Navigating the small shop was like crossing a minefield. If it was this hard here, how would it be outside? She drew a deep breath to steady her nerves.

  A revolving rack of sunglasses caught her eye. It appeared intact and untouched. They weren’t the expensive brands that had probably been in the jewelry case, but she took several pairs, knowing they would come in handy.

  A cloth bag emblazoned with a trendy fashion logo and sporting shoulder straps made of thick string, hung by one strap from a hook. She grabbed it. While it wasn’t quite a backpack, she could wear it as one. She dropped the sunglasses inside and scoured the shop for anything more. A sealed travel sized box of toothpaste joined the sunglasses, along with a couple of toothbrushes.

  She found five packs of pain relievers, a sealed lip balm and a tube of hand lotion. She almost left that, deeming it too frivolous but changed her mind. Dry and cracked skin was a bad thing when a deadly virus lurked about. She needed her skin intact.

  Tucked back on a shelf at the rear of the store, apparently untouched by looters or whatever the victims became with infected with the virus, she found a baseball cap—a white cap with a Chicago Cubs logo. She supposed it was the boutique version of the cap. She plopped it on.

  A rack beside the caps held silk scarves. Deciding a scarf could double as a rope or belt, she took several, stuffing them in her bag. Besides, they were light and easy to carry. Elly took one more and tossed it around her neck, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror beside the display. With her hands on her hips, she twisted like a model on a catwalk, chuckling at her behavior. In light of all the death around her, she welcomed the brief interlude when she had forgotten her circumstances. As if it really mattered what she looked like? Then she shrugged at her image. If she had to survive the end of the world, at least she could apocalypse in style.

  * * *

  Cole dragged the wheelbarrow, loaded with cut wood, to the small but growing stack near the house. He’d discarded his t-shirt earlier and gazed out at the bay, enjoying the refreshing breeze. The water looked inviting. It wasn’t a hot day, but the exertion had him certain that he wouldn’t miss his gym membership in the least. Maybe a quick splash or two would cool him off enough to get one more load of wood in before he had to go see how Sean was doing working on an old windmill set behind the houses. Joe said it had probably pumped the water before the island was connected to the mainland via buried cables. It was a priority.

  He thought of all the things they needed to make it through the winter. Hell, everything was a priority. But in the winter, water above ground would freeze. The well went down far enough to where the earth was a stable temperature year round, but the water had to move, or it would become ice.

  The beach was on the other side of the house in an open stretch. Cole rounded the corner of the house, intending to follow through on his idea of cooling off in the lake. He gazed at the water lapping at the sand, pausing to watch a bald eagle swoop down and snatched a fish right out of the water not twenty feet into the bay. What beauty and grace. As he tracked the raptor’s flight west, fish clutched in its talons, he caught sight of Trent in the fishing boat. He was a little farther out than Cole was comfortable with, and he lifted a hand to wave to him in an attempt to get the kid to bring the boat in closer.

  The drone of an engine made him freeze mid-motion. Trent’s boat wasn’t moving, and Cole swept the bay, searching for the source of the noise. A speedboat skimmed close to Trent, making his boat rock precariously in the water. They shouted something Cole couldn’t make out, and Trent shouted back and spun on his seat, watching the boat. The hairs on the back of Cole’s neck prickled. The passengers whooped and hollered as they sped over the waves, only to make a sharp U-turn.

  “What the hell?” Cole cupped his hands around his mouth. “Trent! Get back to the pier!”

  Trent scrambled in the fishing boat, tossing his pole down and yanking the cord on the motor.

  The speedboat made a return pass, zipping near enough for one of the passengers to lean over and drop something in Trent’s boat. Trent bent and scooped whatever it was up, tossing it over the side. The wake from the speedboat threatened to capsize the smaller vessel.

  “What’s going on?” Sean raced down the path from the work shed.

  Cole pointed.

  “Who are they?”

  “I don’t know. They just showed up.”

  The boat closed in a third time, this time, throttling back and idling within a few feet of Trent, who
was furiously yanking on the cord. The engine sputtered. In his haste, he probably hadn’t primed it. Finally, it caught. Cole breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived as Trent reached for the anchor over the side of the boat. He started hauling it up, but the other boat closed in. Cole darted ten yards out into the lake, and yelled, “Cut the rope! Cut the anchor!” The advice was too little, too late and he knew it.

  The boat circled Trent, causing his boat to spin. His fingers must have pinched between the metal side of the boat and the rope, because he suddenly let go, shaking his hand as the rope slithered over the side, the anchor dropping to the bottom again. He reached down, and Cole saw a glint of steel as Trent sawed on the rope, having either heard Cole before or thinking of it on his own.

  The speedboat stopped alongside Trent and one guy leaped into Trent’s boat.

  Sean lifted a hand, shading his eyes. “Oh, shit. Trent!” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Leave him alone!”

  Cole raced for the pontoon boat. It was slow and cumbersome, but it was all they had. Sean pounded on the deck behind him, yanking on the tether, then ran to the rear tether, pulling it off the post.

  “Hurry, Cole!”

  “I’m trying!” The boat started immediately, but it seemed to take forever to back clear of the dock.

  “They’re holding him down and…” Sean stopped, his voice puzzled. “Forcing him to drink something.”

  Cole looked to his left, trying to make out what was happening. Trent’s boat rocked wildly as now two guys wrestled with him, laughing as one held him down, guzzled a can of something, then put the can to Trent’s lips. The boy flailed, his legs kicking as he turned his head, but the one holding the can followed his actions, laughing like a hyena as he forced Trent to drink.

  Suddenly, the guy holding Trent yelped and shoved Trent against the side of the boat. “You stabbed me!”

  Trent crouched the knife in front of him.

  Whatever anger the man had felt dissolved in a fit of laughter. His buddy joined in as both men almost collapsed in amusement as blood welled over the injured man’s hand where he held it against his thigh. It looked as if Trent had stabbed him in the thigh. Both men, still laughing, returned to their own boat, high fiving those waiting for them.

  The speedboat took off, the front of the boat at a forty-five degree angle as it headed out into the bay.

  “Do you think those people were sick?” Fear coated every word Sean uttered.

  Cole stared at the receding speedboat, replaying the brief scene. He couldn’t be certain—not from here—but the way they moved, and their over-loud laughter, was not reassuring. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I wish I could give you an answer.”

  “Trent! Are you okay?” They were close enough to see the fear on the boy’s face. He nodded, and moving mechanically, returned to work on the anchor, tossing the knife aside as he pulled the rope and brought the anchor over the side of his boat.

  As they got closer, Trent waved them away. “I’ll follow you in!”

  Cole waved that he understood and made a wide turn.

  “Go back! I want to make sure he’s okay.” Sean stood beside Cole and reached for the steering wheel.

  Cole pushed his hand aside. “He said he was okay.”

  “What if they come back?”

  “I’ll stay close enough to get to him if they do, but I can’t even hear their boat anymore.” His worry about the boat returning was secondary now. His first worry was about Trent, and whether he was exposed. His training taught him that they had to assume he was and respond accordingly, which meant full quarantine. How was he going to convince Sean that was the proper course of action to keep everyone safe?

  Sean sank onto the seat beside Cole’s, running his hands through his hair, elbows propped on his thighs. He let out a soft groan, almost like he was going to be sick. “Shit! What are we going to do?” Sean bent at the waist and groaned. “What happens if they were sick?” He jumped to his feet, pacing in the short length of the boat.

  He had never seen his brother so agitated, not even when he had first discussed the virus with him. “Sean, just take it easy. We have the cabin ready, and Trent can just stay there. That’s why we made plans.”

  Sean dragged in a shuddering breath. “What if he gets sick?”

  Cole closed his eyes briefly. How many times had he asked himself that exact same question about Hunter? The answer wasn’t pretty. There was no cure. No treatment. Even diagnosis was based on behavior until the stricken died. The terror in Sean’s eyes ripped through him. As a father, he knew that fear. Had felt it first hand and was feeling it now. He didn’t wish that same feeling on anyone.

  How could he tell Sean that there was nothing they could do? Helpless to offer advice, Cole simply reached over as Sean’s circuit brought him close, and pulled him in for a brief hug. Giving his shoulder a quick squeeze as he returned to steering the boat, he said, “I’m sorry, Sean. We have to do what we talked about.”

  Sean slowly dropped onto the seat again, staring behind them to Trent’s boat.

  Cole followed his gaze, watching Trent steer the boat just to the left of their wake. It sounded cold and barbaric now that he was facing the reality of putting his nephew in isolation, but he took a deep breath. He had to put aside his feelings. His job was to keep all of them safe.

  He faced forward, spotting the small cinderblock building. It had probably been a changing room for beachgoers, but Cole’s background made it look like a perfect isolation ward. They would have to get Trent to go in there for a few weeks until they were sure he was going to be okay.

  Joe was staying in one cabin, and while it had worked well for isolating purposes, Cole remembered with a shudder how his neighbors had acted. A truly sick individual wouldn’t pay any attention to quarantine rules.

  The cinderblock was a better choice than a cabin. The building had a heavy door, a bathroom, and protection from the elements. It would work well as an isolation unit if they put a mattress in it. There was only one door, and it already had a place for a padlock on the outside. He supposed that was added so anyone who docked when nobody was in residence didn’t trash the building or to keep the door from blowing open from the narrow gap between the roof and the top of the walls. He was certain it had never been used to keep anyone inside.

  He docked the boat but caught Sean’s arm as he started to disembark. He couldn’t let Sean get too close to Trent.

  “Wait. We have to implement our isolation protocol.” He nodded towards the changing room building.

  Sean followed his look and stepped back. “No way…Cole, you can’t be serious?”

  “I’m sorry, Sean. We all agreed.”

  “But I didn’t think we’d need to actually use it. I thought we were safe here!”

  The boat engine slowed as Trent approached the pier, and Sean spun and sprinted to meet the boat as Trent moved closer to the slip.

  Cole raced after him. “Sean, get back! Don’t touch him! Don’t touch the boat or anything in it.” Shit! “And for God’s sake, put your mask on!” He pointed to Trent, shouting, “Where’s your mask?”

  Trent shook his head and held his hand by his ear. “What?”

  Yanking his own mask from around his neck where he wore it when he wasn’t speaking to Joe, he put it in place, forced to slow down as he did so. He pointed to it with both hands, hoping Trent would get the hint.

  Trent looked around in the boat, then reached down and held up his mask. It was torn and the straps no longer attached. The boat bumped against the dock, and he bent to secure the ropes.

  Cole darted between Sean and the edge of the boat, teetering on the narrow pier but he’d prevented Sean from catching Trent’s outstretched hand holding the second rope.

  “Uncle Cole, what are you doing?”

  Sean took a step back but glared at Cole. “Get the hell out of my way!”

  “You can’t, Sean. You know that. Where’s your mask?” Trusting his
brother not to toss him off the other side of the dock, he twisted and met Trent’s eyes. “You can’t touch anyone or anything. You have to go straight to the building on the beach.” He ignored Sean’s grip on the back of his shirt. Maybe he was trying to keep Cole from falling in.

  “Why?” Trent looked confused. He clung to the torn mask, his hands shaking along with his voice when he said, “I didn’t know they were going to jump into the boat. You saw me trying to get away. Didn’t you?” The last word cracked as he pleaded with Cole and Sean. “They made me drink the beer. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want them anywhere near me…they weren’t acting right.” His adam’s apple bobbed. “I…I stabbed one and made them go away.”

  “We’re not mad at you, Trent. You fought hard. We saw you.” Cole wanted to give his nephew a hug and knew it was even harder for Sean not to be able to hold his son and make everything okay.

  “Even though it’s not your fault—not at all—you understand, Trent?” The boy nodded. “You still have to be isolated.”

  “Am I going to get the virus?” He sounded like a small child.

  “No, son. You’ll be fine.” Sean gave the assurance as he glared at Cole.

  It was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life, but Cole couldn’t give in—as much as he wanted to. He turned, arms outstretched to prevent his brother from coming into contact with Trent. Sean’s hand bunched Cole’s shirt as he tried to move him out of the way. Trent climbed onto the pier, but stood, uncertainly. “We know it’s not your fault, Trent. But remember what our plan if anyone was exposed?”

  Trent nodded, his eyes wide. “We have to go into quarantine.”

  Sean’s shoulders sagged. “No…no.”

  “Sean, we have to think of Jenna and Piper.” He pulled out of Sean’s grip, his brother’s hand slipping off without a fight. Cole’s mouth was stiff, his voice flat as he said, “Please put on your mask.”

  Sean nodded, pulling his mask from his pocket, his eyes never leaving Trent’s face.