Pandemic

by Tinnean

  “Cable. I was wondering if—”

  “Wheat! Dude, it’s good to see you!” He grabbed Wheat’s hand and tugged him toward the dance floor. He paused to sneeze.

  “Bless you.”

  “Thanks.” He sneezed again. “Sorry about that.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. It’s probably an allergy. Never mind about that. Let’s show these old farts how it’s done.”

  And even though he had no feelings for Adam James, hearing him referred to as an old fart soothed Wheat’s soul.

  * * * *

  Wheat spent the rest of the evening dancing and flirting and eating enough food to soak up all the alcohol he drank, because the last thing he needed on top of all this was a hangover, but all he wanted was to go home.

  Finally, a glance at his wristwatch showed the gala would be coming to an end soon. Before he could track down Father and see if he was ready to leave, someone tapped the microphone, and Wheat flinched at the screech of feedback.

  “Sorry, sorry.” The manager of the opera house gave a nervous smile. “Lucas Clark, our security spokesperson, has a word he’d like to share with you.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry to interrupt your evening.”

  Wheat knew the man. They’d had some good times together, but Father would never have permitted him to have a relationship with someone who he’d see as so far below the family’s social status. Wheat had had no choice but to break up with him, not that his heart was broken. He’d been wrapped up with his courses, in spite of what Father might think of his choice in a major. And then a few months later, he’d started dating Adam, which turned out to be a huge mistake on all counts. Now he took the opportunity to relish Lucas’s tall, brawny good looks. Having such a big man under his control had made it even more exciting for Wheat.

  Lucas met Wheat’s gaze, but instead of smiling and blushing, his expression turned cold. What was that about?

  Wheat’s current dance partner—Cable’s sneezing had morphed into a wracking cough that drew irritated looks as people distanced themselves from him, and he’d surrendered to the discomfort and gone home—must have realized Wheat’s thoughts were wandering. He poked Wheat to get his attention and nodded toward the stage.

  “Come on.” His partner grabbed Wheat’s arm and tugged Wheat along as he made his way closer to where Lucas stood. Had Wheat missed something important? He tuned in to what Lucas was saying.

  “…assure you there’s no cause for alarm. The government has announced the epidemic that’s cropped up in New York has been contained, and there’s no immediate danger. However, it would be in your best interests if you all returned to your homes now. We’d like you to leave the ballroom in an orderly fashion.”

  “What the fuck is he talking about?” Wheat’s partner demanded. “What epidemic?”

  “I thought I heard something about an early strain of flu going around,” Wheat said absently. Was that what ailed Cable? He looked around for his parents and spotted Father, cell phone to his ear, signaling to him imperiously. “I have to go. Good luck.”

  “Good luck? What do you mean—”

  Wheat abandoned his partner and hurried to join his parents, alarmed when he saw how pale his mother was. “What’s going on?”

  Father turned off his phone and tucked it into the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket. Mother clung to his arm, and he patted her hand. “It will be all right, my dear,” he murmured. Then he turned to Wheat. “We’ll talk about this at home. Let’s do as Clark suggested and leave.”

  Wheat glanced over his shoulder to see if he could find Lucas, but his one-time lover was busy. Wheat’s dance partner was God knew where, while Adam and his boyfriend had gathered up Adam’s parents and were heading out the door.

  “Morrison,” Father snapped. “We’re leaving.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They made their way through the crowd as people took out their cell phones and searched for information on the Net. It didn’t take long for panic to break out, and pushing and shoving became the rule of the evening. Fortunately, Father hadn’t lingered to Google anything, and he was able to get Mother out of there with Wheat right behind.

  The chauffeurs must have been notified, because the cars were all lined up. Of course the James’s Rolls was at the head of the line, just steering away from the curb, but McIntyre was idling right behind. Wheat managed to follow Mother and Father into the vehicle, and McIntyre drove them home.

  * * * *

  “Well, it’s been a long day. I believe I’ll say good night,” Mother said, strolling toward the curving staircase that led to the upper stories of the sprawling mansion.

  “One moment, Constance.”

  Mother paused and turned toward him. “Yes, Edison?”

  “Summon the staff to my study, please.”

  She gazed at him vaguely for a moment.

  “Constance?”

  She blinked and smiled. “Of course, dear.” She went to the intercom on the wall and began murmuring into it.

  “Father? What’s going on?”

  He regarded Wheat thoughtfully, then put an arm around Wheat’s shoulders and urged him toward the study. “Something is wrong, Morrison. Terribly, terribly wrong.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t want your mother to hear this. You know how distressed she can get.”

  Wheat nodded. Lately, her reaction to minor upsets seemed to be disproportionate.

  And while they waited in the study, Father told him.

  * * * *

  Wheat shivered. What a mess. What a goddamned fucking mess.

  So that was why Lucas had regarded him so coldly. His father’s “business associates” had known something was going on, but they were so determined to be correct in denying climate change they’d shut down all avenues of getting out word about this bacteria that had been released as the ice caps began melting and long-dead creatures trapped in the permafrost thawed. Lucas had assumed Father had known. And if Father had known, it made sense to Lucas that Wheat would have known as well and had just stood by and let this…this apocalyptic debacle happen.

  “I assure you I was completely unaware of the level of devastation we’ll be facing.”

  “And that’s why you didn’t say a word about it to either Mother or me?”

  “Your mother didn’t need to be made aware of what’s been going on.” His father turned away to sit at his desk. “As I said, I had no idea of the magnitude of this…this event.”

  “And yet now it looks like we’re all going to die.” Along with the rest of mankind.

  “You’re being melodramatic.”

  Am I? But Wheat didn’t say the words aloud.

  And Father had had the nerve to be furious with him when he’d “let” Adam walk away.

  Wheat ran a hand through his hair and began pacing the room.

  Chapter 6

  Father observed him for a moment. “Oh, do stop pacing.” His tone was cool, as it usually was. He withdrew a lockbox from a secured drawer and began counting out the bills it contained, stacking them in neat piles.

  Wheat stopped prowling around the room. He was tempted to worry the cuticles of his fingernails, but that would irritate his father even more. “I understand you not wanting to disturb Mother, but why didn’t you let me know before now?” he demanded.

  “I know you, Morrison. You wouldn’t have been able to keep the information secret. If it got out, it would have caused a panic.” Father took out a handful of envelopes and his favorite fountain pen. Mother had given him that pen.

  “It’s causing a panic now.”

  “Which is foolish.” The scritch of the pen on paper was the only sound for some time as Father wrote on the envelopes. When Wheat had been younger, he would sit in Father’s study and watch him write with the long, elegant movements he envied.

  Wheat was close enough to see Father was labeling each envelope with a staff member’s name. Finally, Father gazed up at him, and Wheat swallowe
d. He’d never seen him look so disturbed.

  “I was assured by my friends in Washington that this was a…a mere hiccup in our lives.”

  “A mere hiccup,” Wheat repeated, wondering if his voice sounded as hollow to his father as it did to him.

  “Precisely.”

  “Only as it turns out, it’s hardly a hiccup.”

  “No.” Father finished the last of the envelopes and inserted the cash. “Now let’s table the rest of this discussion.”

  Before Wheat could protest, Mother came into the study followed by the staff—the cook, two maids, the housekeeper, and the gardener. They all looked sleep-rumpled, but none of them would have voiced an objection to being wakened in the middle of the night.

  Father kept it short and sweet. “I’m giving you all a month’s vacation, with pay of course,” he announced. He didn’t explain why—he never explained. “In cash, so you can begin immediately and won’t need to visit the bank.”

  There was great joy in Mudville as they thanked Father profusely, took their envelopes, and left. They had no idea what was coming, or that the reason their employer had paid them in cash was to keep panic at a minimum. How likely were the banks to be open the next day?

  Mother looked mildly concerned. “Is this a good idea? Who’ll clean the house and cook the meals?”

  “We won’t need them, Constance, and they should be with their families.”

  “If you say so, dear. How will we manage, though?” She’d come from an even wealthier family and had been waited on from the day she’d been born. For all that, she was very sweet-natured, and Wheat loved her. Father…well, he respected him.

  “We’re going to the summer cottage.”

  “Ah. In that case, Mrs. Rodriguez will take care of everything. But are you sure? We never go to the mountains this early in the season.”

  “We are now.”

  “But why?”

  His father spoke to her but he gave Wheat a tight smile. “Because I’d like to. Now, get us packed, if you please, my dear?”

  Mother shook her head but smiled. “Of course, Edison.” She kissed his cheek and left the room.

  “So we’re going to the cottage?”

  “Yes. It’s far enough away from populated areas that we’ll be safe from the virus or bacteria or whatever it is. And of course the town is always well-stocked.”

  Of course. The proprietors wouldn’t dream of being anything less. Their livelihood depended on accommodating the summer residents, and early as it was, they’d already be preparing for them.

  “Do you think Adam and his family will be there?” The James’ cottage was midway down what everyone called “the mountain,” even though it was less than three thousand feet in height. Mr. James had had their cottage built the year before Wheat and Adam had started dating.

  “I really couldn’t say.”

  Wheat was sorry he’d brought it up. Things had been cool between the two families since Adam had broken up with him, and while they’d managed to avoid social contact, it would be a little awkward running into them now, especially if Adam showed up with that new boyfriend of his.

  “When do we leave?”

  “As soon as your mother’s done packing.”

  “Then I’d better pack also.”

  “Yes.” Father took out his cellphone. Who was he planning to call this time of night? “And I’d appreciate it if you only take what’s essential.”

  Right. Wheat wanted to leave the room on the run, but he knew Father would prefer if he didn’t appear to be panicking, so he kept his pace decorous until he reached the stairs. Then he took them two at a time.

  Once in his room, he pulled a suitcase from his walk-in closet. From what his father had told him, he had a feeling the odds of them returning to the big house that had been in the Dupuis family for more than two hundred years were slim. He stripped off his tuxedo, and in spite of the urgency, he hung it up. If anyone took possession of the house after they’d left, he didn’t want them to think the previous owners were untidy.

  He changed into a casual outfit and hiking boots, then began placing clothes into his suitcase—shirts, jeans, sweaters, underwear. He tucked his favorite books into a corner of the suitcase, added a couple of pairs of jogging shoes, and because he was a gay man, included a few other items in his toiletry kit. Wheat thought for a minute, then went to the safe in his closet and took out what cash he kept in there, jewelry and mementoes that had been bequeathed him, his important papers—Father had taught him never to leave home without them, although if things got as bad as he feared they might, he wasn’t sure his passport would be necessary—and his handgun and all the ammunition he had. He packed everything away and finally closed and locked the suitcase.

  By the time he returned downstairs, his parents were both waiting in the foyer. Mother had always been an efficient packer. She had changed into a chic slack suit and carried a rather large leather handbag that of course complemented her clothes, while Father wore his usual “casual” attire: dress slacks, a button-down shirt—white this time—and a blazer.

  “McIntyre has the car out front.”

  “He’ll be coming with us?”

  “Yes.” Father opened the front door and gestured for them to step out into the night. As soon as they were outside, he flipped the switch that turned off all the indoor lights.

  Wheat wasn’t really surprised their chauffeur would accompany them. He had no family locally, his wife having divorced him years before. She’d taken the kids with her and moved up to Canada. Wheat had played with them when they were little and had been close friends with the oldest girl, but they’d been out of touch for years. He hoped they’d get through this all right.

  The Rolls waited in the drive, illuminated by the outdoor wall lights on either side of the front door.

  “We have plenty of gasoline, sir,” McIntyre said. Wheat was startled to see he wore a face mask. “I’ve made sure the air pressure in the tires is fine, and I also took the liberty of acquiring these.” He held up additional face masks.

  “Good man.” Father took them and gave one to Mother and one to Wheat.

  Wheat slid the mask over his face and swallowed. As his dorm mates in college liked to say, shit had gotten real.

  McIntyre had both passenger doors as well as the trunk open, and he stacked the suitcases in side by side. Fortunately, he’d had the presence of mind to include a carton filled with nonperishable food and a case of water. If things went bad and people panicked, they couldn’t be sure the grocery in town would have any supplies.

  “Your suitcase, McIntyre?” Father’s voice was muffled behind his face mask.

  “I’ve placed it on the front seat beside me.”

  “Excellent, excellent.”

  Wheat walked to the side of the house and gazed toward the back, toward the formal gardens and the grapevines he’d worked so hard to cultivate. It was too dark to see them, but he knew they were there. This would have been the first year he’d be able to harvest his grapes. He sighed and turned his back on them.

  Father had gone back into the house, and in a matter of moments had turned off the outdoor lights. He pulled shut the front door and locked it, and he returned to the Rolls. “All right, my dear,” he said to Mother. “We’d better be on our way. If you’ll put on your mask?”

  She gave him a wan smile and did so, then let him help her into the car.

  “Morrison?” Father got in behind her, and McIntyre closed the passenger door.

  Wheat jogged around to the other side of the Rolls, got in himself, and pulled the door shut after him.

  “All right, McIntyre,” Father said. “Let’s be off.”

  * * * *

  The road heading east out of Laurel Hill to the interstate was a desolation of abandoned cars and battered bodies, and although the streetlights were still working, it took all McIntyre’s skill to avoid them both.

  Father kept Mother distracted to keep her from seeing the bodie
s, but Wheat didn’t have that option, and some things, once seen, could never be unseen. He swallowed and stared down at his fingers as he twisted them in his lap. He would never forget the sight of men, women, and children sprawled on the pavement, run over either deliberately or accidentally.

  That might have been why he didn’t immediately notice when McIntyre’s driving became erratic. He’d slow down, speed up, weave from one side of the road to the other, but abruptly, instead of avoiding the bodies, he began running over them, causing the Rolls to rock and bounce.

  “McIntyre, what’s going on?” Father demanded.

  McIntyre snarled but didn’t bother answering. He sideswiped one of the cars that had been abandoned and overcorrected, and Mother gave a muffled cry as they were all jostled in the backseat.

  Wheat unbuckled his seat belt and lunged for their driver to keep him from aiming directly for another body.

  The next thing Wheat knew, he was flung back against the passenger door, striking the handle with enough force to knock himself silly. He heard Mother screaming, “Is he dead? Is he dead?”

  And then everything went dark.

  Chapter 7

  In spite of the mild spring weather, Laurie was sweating by the time he was a block away from Last Chance. It was only a couple of miles from his parents’ home, but the bike had crapped out on him about half a mile into the ride, the tires going totally flat. He’d continued on the rims, weaving in and out of the streets, as much to avoid being spotted by anyone who’d refused to evacuate—he knew there were people who could be stubborn that way—as for taking the shortcuts he was familiar with, but that bike was almost as big a piece of shit as his car, and it hadn’t lasted long after that. He’d made the rest of the trip on foot, often doubling back on his tracks whenever the hairs at the back of his neck rose and gave him the feeling he was being watched. And although there were any number of bodies scattered on the sidewalks or the lawns of the houses he’d passed, he’d been lucky enough not to have been spotted by anyone who seemed sick.