by Roger Hayden
His son, Freddy, got up and climbed down from the top bunk, shaking the bed frame.
“Be careful. Your mom’s trying to get some more sleep,” he said as his son hit the cold tile floor.
“Okay” he said.
Freddy was a small seven-year-old boy with a mop top of dirty-blond hair and wide blue eyes. He walked across the room wearing only pajama bottoms to a wall locker where his clothes were.
His father looked over to him. “Don’t think you’re getting dressed before you take a shower.”
“Ah, come on. I might miss breakfast!” he said, kicking the ground.
“You have plenty of time,” Aaron said, lacing his shoes. “And don’t forget to bring back food for your sister.”
Freddy sulked then grabbed a bath towel from the wall locker and dug through his hygiene bag. Aaron approached the cloaked bed with apprehension. He peeled the blanket back and saw Sarah lying there, the bangs of her long brown hair stuck to her forehead by sweat. Her skin looked red, like a sunburn, and her breathing was fast. He wanted to touch her forehead to feel her temperature but was afraid.
“Sarah?” he whispered.
She had no covers over her after complaints of being too hot. Her pajamas were soaked and clung to her body. At only twelve years old, she was a strong fighter. Aaron took a rag hanging from her bed post and dampened it with water from a canteen on the ground. He then gently placed it on her forehead.
“You’re gonna get better,” he said. “Mom and Dad are praying for you, and we know you’re gonna pull through.”
Suddenly a forceful kick from outside caused the small door to their quarters to fly open. A beam of light from the hall entered the room followed by several large, silhouetted figures rushing into the room, taking everyone inside completely by surprise.
Judy jumped up and screamed. Aaron closed the blanket, concealing Sarah, and turned around, startled. Freddy stood frozen and terrified. There were three men in full HAZMAT gear brandishing rifles, and they took no time in shouting their demands.
“Put your hands up against the wall!” one of the men shouted.
Another man rushed to Judy’s bed, pointed his weapon at her, and demanded that she get up. The third man went immediately for Aaron and pushed him against the wall. Freddy tried to hide beside his wall locker but was pulled out and thrown against the wall next to his father. The shouts disoriented and frightened the entire family, and they were soon clinging to each other, trembling before the unexpected violence.
“Is this everyone?” the HAZMAT man asked. Two others stood on both sides of him.
Quivering, Judy began to cry and was told to keep quiet as Freddy clung to her side. Aaron had his hands up, trying to calm the men down.
“Let’s just relax here, please. You’re scaring my family.”
The HAZMAT man in the middle stepped forward and clubbed Aaron in his right leg with the buttstock of his rifle. Judy screamed, and Aaron fell to the ground, clutching his knee.
“Answer the question!” the HAZMAT man shouted. Aaron simply looked at the ground and winced from the pain.
The two other men scanned the room, noticing the bed in the corner with a blanket masking the bottom bunk. They moved quickly to the bed and yanked the blanket off in one vicious jerk. Sarah lay there exposed, and the men took a careful look at her sickly state.
The HAZMAT man next to the Russell family looked to his men. They nodded back, knowing what was coming.
“Let’s go!” he shouted at the family. “All of you!”
They were forced out of the room at gunpoint down the hallway and into another room down the long, quiet hall. One of the men stayed with Sarah as she slept, studying her. The commotion in the room hadn’t fazed her. The HAZMAT man simply shook his head. There would be consequences for the family’s decision to keep their daughter’s illness a secret. He just didn’t know at the moment what they would be.
Aaron, Judy, and Freddy were brought into a near-empty and sterile room where they were told to stand in the corner and wait. Aaron recognized the voices of the men. There was Marcus, a burly man who worked the guard towers; Alex, a tall, silver-haired man who worked supply distribution; and Specialist Santos, who worked perimeter security. All of the men had something in common: they were Bill Hodder’s personal enforcer team. Aaron knew that he and his family were in trouble; the only question he had was how he could get them out of it.
Marcus, Alex, and Santos were huddled around a table, going over documents under the fluorescent light. Aaron and Judy both knew the reasoning behind their being taken to the room: they were suspected of being infected.
“What’s going on?” Freddy asked, still clinging to his mother.
She looked down at him, trying to hold back tears. “Everything is going to be all right,” she said.
“I’m scared,” Freddy said.
She brought her hand down on his head and ran her fingers through his hair. “There, there. Don’t worry about a thing.”
The three men approached the family and stopped within a foot of them as Alex put a hand out, beckoning Aaron closer. Santos was holding a clipboard with several sheets of paper on it. Marcus held a small flashlight and tongue depressor.
“Come forward,” Santos said, standing next to Marcus and signaling to Aaron.
Marcus shined his small light into Aaron's eyes, one pupil at a time. “Normal colorization,” he said as Santos made a check mark on a sheet. “Open your mouth.”
Marcus examined his tongue and palate. “Looks normal.”
Santos made a check mark on the list.
“Lift up your shirt,” Marcus said.
Aaron hesitated and looked around.
“We don't have all day,” Marcus added.
Aaron nodded and slowly pulled up his blue shirt, revealing a pasty-white torso.
“No signs of skin rash.”
Santos made another check mark.
“Now, in the past week, have you experienced any stomach pains or vomiting?”
“No, I haven't had either,” Aaron answered.
Santos made another check mark.
“Have you experienced any muscle pain or exhaustion?” Marcus asked.
“No.”
“How about fever or headache?”
“No.”
Santos made two check marks on the sheet.
“OK, go back and wait by the wall,” Marcus said. He then waved his hand forward to Judy. “Next.”
Aaron stood there for a moment. “Come on, guys. None of this is necessary. My family isn’t sick.”
“Move out,” Marcus said.
Aaron shook his head then turned around and walked back as Judy stepped forward nervously.
Marcus ran through the same questions with her and conducted the same tests, finding no signs of Ebola.
“Where’s my daughter?” she asked defiantly.
“She’s been placed under observation,” Marcus answered.
“I want to see her now.”
Santos cut in. “You folks know the rules. You’re supposed to report any signs of infection immediately.”
“We did nothing wrong. Sarah hasn’t been out of the room in days. We’ve been monitoring her.”
“Go over there and cool off, will ya?” Santos asked, pointing to some empty chairs in the corner of the room.
“You have no right to treat us this way!” she shouted.
“Judy, please,” Aaron called out. “Just do what they say.”
She looked back at him and Freddy then to the three armed HAZMAT men. She whipped around and walked back to the wall as they signaled Freddy forward. The boy shook his head. He didn’t want to move.
“Come on, buddy,” Aaron said, placing his arm around him. He walked Freddy forward to the men and stopped, noticing their looks of disapproval. Judy remained near the wall, pacing in frustration.
“Trust me,” Aaron said, “it'll be easier with me here.”
“Whatever,” Marcus said.
He looked to Freddy and went immediately through the questions, almost as if assuming he was fine.
“Any stomach pain or vomiting?”
Freddy stared at the ground, unresponsive.
His father squeezed his hand. “Answer the man, son.”
Freddy shook his head no.
“Is that a no, you don't have those symptoms or no, you don't want to answer?” Alex asked.
“Cut him some slack,” Aarons said. “He's only a child,”
“I’m fine,” he answered, annoyed.
“How about headaches, fever, or exhaustion?” Marcus said.
Freddy didn't answer.
“Come on, Freddy. It's okay,” his father said.
“I have a headache,” he mumbled.
“What?” Santos said, taking a step back.
Aaron extended his arm out, signaling for the men to back off. “Let's not get carried away here. It’s early and he's tired. This has nothing to do with Ebola.”
As Aaron continued pleading, Specialist Santos looked down and noticed something troubling. A small drip of blood trickled from the boy’s nose down to his lip.
“Holy shit!” he screamed. “He's got a nosebleed!”
Marcus and Alex immediately looked down at him just as he wiped his nose, smearing blood across his cheek. The three of them jumped back as if afraid for their lives.
“The boy’s a carrier!” Sam shouted.
His father, again, pleaded for calm. “He gets nosebleeds from time to time. It's a passing thing.”
“Red alert!” Marcus yelled. They pulled Freddy aside and took both Aaron and Judy out of the room, pushing them down the hallway as Judy screamed for them to let her see her children.
Bill Hodder was in a conference room preparing to be briefed on the situation. It was the very room where high-ranking military officials had once planned and strategized. There was a large oak table in the middle of the room and several maps on each wall. He opened a set of horizontal blinds and looked out the window into the morning sun.
He could see and hear the commotion—people were gathering in the public square. Then footsteps sounded from outside the door of the conference room, followed by his group of enforcers making their entrance. Specialist Santos was no longer in HAZMAT gear, and with him were two different men, both of them older and wearing hospital scrubs.
“What’s the status?” Bill asked, walking to the table where his M4 carbine rifle rested.
“It’s worse than we thought,” Santos answered. “Both kids are sick.”
“Yes, the girl has a high fever and slight discoloration of her skin,” the first man in scrubs said. He was skinny, balding, had a long neck, and wore circle-framed glasses. He and his counterpart were part of the medical staff. They were physical opposites of Bill’s bulky, tattoo-covered enforcer team.
“I can almost certainly ascertain that we’re dealing with Ebola here,” the other man in scrubs added. He was more heavyset than the other and had more hair. “We can run some more tests on the boy, but it’s too early to tell at this point.”
“I want them dead and burned,” Bill said, interrupting him. “No funny stuff. Just give them the injection, put them to sleep, and then into the fire pit.”
The man objected. “Now wait a minute. We can learn a lot about this virus by performing a full autopsy on both patients. We can learn how it’s spreading.”
“Burn the bodies!” Bill shouted, slamming his palm onto the table.
The room went silent. Santos nodded at Bill and then directed the two men out of the conference room, signaling with his rifle. As they left the room, Santos closed the door and then turned to him.
“Everything is ready,” he said.
“You know, Santos, I’ve been sitting here thinking for a while,” Bill said, placing his arms behind his back. “This disease isn’t going anywhere soon. We could be here for another five months to a year.”
“That’s true,” Santos said, glancing at his watch.
“Hiding Ebola puts us all at risk. It’s a very serious offense, perhaps the most serious of all.”
“Well,” Santos said. “There’s always murder.”
“Ebola is murder,” Bill said. “And those that harbor the disease must be dealt with as murderers.” He grabbed his rifle and walked out of the conference room with Santos, closing the door behind them.
The large, open square was filled with hundreds of people, many of whom had just gotten out of bed and heard that there was going to be a public trial. Nervousness and anticipation surged through the crowd of men, women, and children. Their clothes were ragged and their faces worn and tired. Attending a trial was a lively experience that many looked forward to. Those who didn’t were forced to observe anyway. At the center of the square was a platform occupied by armed men; others had taken positions surrounding the crowd. Before it became a place to conduct trials, the public square was little more than a parking lot for military vehicles.
The crowd assembled around the stage were chatting among themselves, some tired, some bored, and some afraid. The perpetrators entered the square from a nearby building with several armed men walking behind them. Aaron and Judy held hands and walked with their heads high just as the crowd went silent with curiosity. Plenty of people knew the couple, but no one knew what they had done.
They were known as a nice, normal family, who, like many others, had spent the past few months trying to survive and adjust to life at Base 42. Once the couple was on stage, Bill Hodder walked out of the same building flanked by guards. The crowd cheered his arrival, though some remained motionless and silent.
Bill took the stage as the applause died down. Aaron and Judy stood nervously behind him as an armed man tied their hands behind their backs. Bill had changed from his casual T-shirt and jeans into desert-tan military fatigues. Although he was no soldier, the uniform gave him a look of authority. He wore dark aviator glasses that completely shielded his eyes.
Blindfolds were placed over each of the couple’s faces. Panicked and fear-stricken, they both began to shake. Judy slumped forward slightly, as if she might fall. Neither of them had any idea what was going to happen to them. They were aware of Bill’s strict code, but they didn’t think they had done anything wrong. By keeping their daughter’s illness a secret, they weren’t hurting anyone. Bill, however, saw things differently.
“People of the new world,” Bill said loudly and raised his arms in the air. “We have certain responsibilities to ourselves and to each other. One of those is ensuring that we help each other stay alive. And in order to do so, all of you are aware of this base’s rules in regard to reporting an illness or signs of virus infection.” He stopped and looked back at the couple. Judy was sobbing quietly as Aaron’s lips moved. He appeared to be praying. On the platform, Bill walked closer to the crowd and continued.
“When those rules are violated, it puts all of our lives at risk. We’ve fought so hard to get this base Ebola free, and why risk it with the actions of two irresponsible young parents? It’s unconscionable that they would put their own needs ahead of the safety of others, and I am appalled and saddened that it has now come to this.”
Bill nodded to Santos, standing on stage, who then stepped forward and proceeded to read from a document.
“Aaron and Judy Russell, you are hereby charged with violating section 1.4 B of the disclosure act, including but not limited to, hiding two infected individuals in your quarters and not informing authorities of Base 42 of their condition. This offense greatly puts the entire base at risk of an outbreak, and it is the opinion of this committee that you have committed a heinous offense, not only against yourselves and your children, but against the entire community.”
Bill held up his arm, signaling Santos to stop. “All right, that’s enough.” He took another step forward and looked out into the crowd through the dark lenses of his sunglasses. “Without law, we are nothing. Without rule, we are nothing. It doesn’t matter how long we stay hidde
n behind these walls; nothing will work unless there’s a system in place.”
The crowd hung on to his every word. It was hard to tell where their sensibilities lay due to their silence, but there were no outright objections. Judy’s sobs grew louder, catching Bill’s attention. He turned to her and then back to the crowd.
“Justice, however, must always be fair. That is why I’m giving the Russells a choice regarding their fate. I’m going to ask both of them, right here and now, who was responsible for not reporting that their children had contracted the Ebola virus.”
“We didn’t think they had Ebola!” Judy shouted, stunning the crowd. “Our daughter was sick. We all get sick. But it wasn’t Ebola!” She began to struggle, trying to get out of the grip of one of the guards holding her by the wrists.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Bill said. “Which one of you is responsible?”
Judy screamed for help and mercy from the crowd. No one said or did anything in response.
“I am,” Aaron blurted out.
Bill stopped speaking and turned to face Aaron. “Speak up, Mr. Russell. Please, speak up.”
“I said it was my fault. My wife didn’t do a thing. It was completely my idea!” he cried.
Bill thought to himself. He signaled one of his men to approach Judy. The enforcer came over and pulled out a pistol, causing her to scream just as she felt the metal press against her head.
“No, please! Don’t do it. It was all me!” Aaron pleaded.
“Is this true?” Bill said, leaning closer to Judy. Her blindfold was soaked from sweat and tears. Her breathing had quickened, and her face was flushed. She could barely talk.
“Well, is it?” Bill asked.
“No,” she said. “It wasn’t his idea. It was mine. I insisted on keeping her there because I knew what would happen to her. I was scared. Don’t listen to my husband, I’m the one who suggested it, and I’m the one who insisted on it, even though we knew it was wrong.”
“That’s not true!” Aaron said. “Judy, please. Don’t do this.”