Cough

by Druga, Jacqueline

  Most had been evacuated from the plane, except those too injured to move. They sat in the field waiting.

  It had been hours since the crash landing and there was no success in reaching help. That struck Sharon as odd. Hadn’t someone seen the low flying plane? Wasn’t it someone’s field?

  The plane’s radio worked, yet, their response was static.

  Sharon had just tried again and was leaving the cockpit when she saw it. Her purse. It was on the floor, some of the contents spilled out. One of them was an inhaler. She clutched it in her grip and stood.

  The front side door was open and she peered out.

  The passengers were seated on carryon luggage. Todd stood with another man and he signaled her.

  Taking it as a sign he needed to speak to her, Sharon lowered herself from the slightly tilted plane, down the slide.

  “Any luck?” Todd asked.

  “No, just static.”

  “Me and 19A are walking out there.” Todd told Sharon. “Only way we’re gonna get the injured people some help.”

  “At this point I am inclined to agree.”

  “What’s that in your hand?”

  “Oh, it’s just …”

  Someone coughed.

  Sharon froze.

  Another cough and then, like before with the others, the cough grew steadier.

  For some reason, her eyes widened and she looked down to her hand.

  If it helped her, maybe … just maybe. Then again her doses were through a mask,

  Quickly she spun on heels and ran toward the direction of the cough. It was hard to tell if it was a man or woman, the coughs all sounded alike.

  “Sharon?” Todd called out.

  “I have an idea,” she said as he hurried to the coughing individual.

  It was a woman, she had her forearm over her mouth as her body jolted with each cough.

  “Hey, hey.” Sharon grabbed her. “Give me your mouth.”

  The woman kept coughing.

  “We need to try this,” Sharon shook the inhaler, pulled down the woman’s arm, placed the inhaler to her mouth and cupped her hands over her lips. “Inhale,” she instructed and then pumped it.

  One pump.

  “Inhale, please.” Sharon begged.

  She saw the woman had a hard time even taking a breath through the coughs. Sharon didn’t even know if any of the medication reached her.

  But after the second pump, the cough, though continued, slowed down enough for her to get one more dose.

  Like popping corn, the cough were less.

  Two or three a second to one every five, finally one every ten seconds.

  “One more,” Sharon told her. It would make the woman’s heart race, make her shaky, even dizzy, but it would stop the coughing.

  At that point in time, Sharon didn’t know what killed the people, the cough or where ever the blood came from. Although common sense had Sharon thinking that the blood came from the cough. Stop one. Stop the other.

  She wasn’t a doctor.

  “She stopped.” Todd said in shock.

  “For the time being.”

  Todd glanced at the inhaler. “Do you think you saved her?”

  “For the time being.” Sharon faced the woman. “How do you feel?”

  “The crushing feel of my chest.” She touched just under her throat. It’s gone. I felt it closing and heavily. That feeling is gone.”

  “Did it start feeling that way before you coughed?” Sharon asked.

  “Yes.”

  Sharon gave her the inhaler, then faced Todd. “You have to go find help. We may have an answer and at the very least need more medicine in case more get sick.”

  “We’ll go. We’ll go now.”

  The cessation of the woman’s cough made Sharon feel good. She watched Todd and the man walk through the fields, then after checking the woman one more time, Sharon returned to the cockpit to call out.

  Maybe someone heard her, maybe they weren’t responding because the plane was quarantined and infected. If that were they case, perhaps they would respond if she called out that she had a way to defend against it.

  <><><><>

  Private Airplane

  Washington Dulles Airport

  June 29

  The recent instruction to not leave the country was met with the same barrage of high profile attorney’s that secured Aldus’ release.

  They had kept him long enough in custody and questioning, and with nothing to hold him on, no evidence that he had the virus, they had to let him go.

  The outbreak caused the courts to place limitations on his freedom. It was argued and won that how could Aldus do his part against the virus as a researcher if he couldn’t get to his lab facility.

  His attorneys also argued that the federal government obviously knew it was going to be released and had they focused on the correct suspect, none of the outbreaks would have occurred.

  Allow their client to do what he does best.

  Fight the germ.

  Finally he was released under the condition he check in with German officials. Aldus agree but couldn’t be happier to leave the United States.

  His pilot flew the plan to Washington DC upon word of Aldus’ arrest and transport to the capital. It was a good thing he did, because had he waited in Vegas he wouldn’t have been able to fly out. Flights were grounded.

  “Ready when you are,” Aldus informed the pilot via the in plane phone. He could tell things were out of order, the federal agents had searched his plane. There was no virus on the plane, there was however, the antidote.

  Aldus knew they didn’t find it. If they had, he would be free and he hid it well.

  He walked to the plane’s bar, opened the cabinet and reached to the back of the second shelf. It contained all airplane size bottles of alcohol and Aldus grabbed the back four bottles of Vodka.

  A different brand, but the antidote was as clear as water and there was no way authorities would even think the alcohol was the antidote.

  He secured the bottles in a small case and took his seat when he felt he plane began it journey to the runway.

  Aldus buckled in and relaxed. He would rest on the flight because he had a lot of work to do when he returned. His laboratory had no clue he even had the virus, but they would know he had the multi trillion dollar cure.

  Without the United States federal restrictions and limitations of the FDA, Aldus could replicate the serum, mass produce it in a third of the time it would take labs in the U.S.

  Produce and sell it.

  All just in time before the world crossed the brink of extinction.

  It was going as planned.

  Although he didn’t realize the extent of the Vegas drop. Initially Aldus believed fifty cities worldwide would be affected. It was two hundred. But authorities in most of those cities, caught it, and sealed their borders.

  He suspected there would be a few escaping cases, but with awareness, it would be nothing and the world would be gripped with such intense fear they’d pay anything for a peace of mind.

  That peace of mind was in a vodka bottle.

  Forty-five minutes in their curing altitude, Aldus stared out the window to the calm ocean. It was absolutely stunning. Then it seems as if the pilot wanted him to have a closer look, because the plane tilted.

  His drink slid from the holder on to the floor and Aldus grabbed the direct line phone to the pilot.

  No response.

  There was no attendant on the plane, so no one for Aldus to summon. He attempted to stand but lost his balance as the plane not only tilted right it lost altitude.

  Half off balance he made his way to the front of the plane and reached for the cockpit door.

  Locked.

  It was at that moment, Aldus wanted to reprimand himself for listening to experts about securing the cockpit.

  But Aldus did have the access code.

  The plane veered at a forty-five degree angle on its side and an even steep nosedive. It mad
e it nearly impossible for Aldus to press the correct code. He had three chances.

  He blew the first one.

  Second one, he fumbled as well. If he messed up the third time, he wasn’t getting in unless the pilot unlocked the door. Not wanting to take that chance, he pounded on the door.

  There wasn’t a response.

  The engines revved louder and for a split second, Aldus hear another noise, one that prompted him to try the code again.

  Coughing.

  It was steady, muffled, and could have been Aldus’ imagination, but he couldn’t take that chance.

  One, One, Seven, six, five … enter.

  The lights blinked green, the cockpit unlocked and Aldus opened the door.

  The pilot was slumped over the steering column. His eyes wide open, blood smeared across his hand, the controls and oozed from his mouth.

  In a panic, Aldus grabbed the pilot and pulled him back.

  He had to grab the controls, pull up.

  But it was too late.

  In an odd turn of Karma, the plane sailed into the ocean and Aldus, in a sense was killed by the virus he was responsible for.

  TWENTY-THREE – HOMEFRONT

  Littlefield, AZ

  June 29

  There were more National Guard setups than Macy expected. She thought at first, dodging from the bar to the back alley would be enough. It wasn’t. The simple fifteen minute walk home turned into forty, but she eventually made it to her street.

  One thing that did occur that she witnessed was the mayhem in town.

  No sooner did she make it to the residential area, she saw the rush of those preparing to leave. People packed their cars, hurried out of their homes, and on a couple occasions, she was nearly bowled over.

  What was happening in her town?

  Twice she passed a dead body on the street.

  She knew both of them. The one man worked as a manager at the Dollar Barn, and the other, Bill, owned the donut shop next door.

  Both dead. Both laying there. Both of them ignored.

  Macy was no different. While she paused to feel bad, she had to keep moving. She had to get home.

  That guy Stokes stayed behind her. She was beginning to think she did something wrong.

  “Where are all these people going?” she asked.

  “Trying to leave town. But then again, they can’t. I’m sure the National Guard is everywhere.”

  “There are ways out of this town,” Macy said. “You just can’t drive them.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Stokes said.

  “How long have they known.”

  “Who?”

  “The government, the army?” Macy asked. “Obviously long enough to plan this because this shut down isn’t happening in a couple hours.”

  “Couple days. It was suspected.”

  Macy shook her head. “And they couldn’t tell us?”

  “People would leave. What if one of these people went elsewhere and died.”

  “Was there nothing they could do?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Up there’s my house.” Macy placed her hand to her chest. “My heart is pounding. I am so scared.”

  “Listen, I think you should know ….”

  “Mom!” Frantic, Clay raced out of the house.

  “Oh my God.” Macy picked up the pace and raced toward her duplex.

  “Mom. Mom, oh God. Help!” Clay cried.

  Lila was on her normal spot on the porch, she stood. Blood covered her hands and mouth. “Macy, we have problems.”

  Murmuring, ‘Oh my god, Thomas’, Macy flew into her house, leaving Stokes behind.

  Stokes didn’t know whether to follow and help or to stay put looking dumbfounded on that sidewalk. He knew pretty well what was going on in that house.

  He thought back to the day at the Dollar Barn. They day of the accident.

  “Help me get some of these people out,” Chief Wells told him.

  “Absolutely,” Stokes replied. He followed the chief.

  “If you can move!” Chief Wells shouted. “You need to get out of the store. It isn’t stable. A support beam is done. Please make your way out.”

  It was just after Wells had said that when Stokes heard the whipping sound and saw the wire snap from the ceiling.

  The woman, Macy, was there. Her son was to her side. Stokes was closer to the boy and lunged out to grab him the second the ceiling collapsed.

  “Mom?” Thomas cried. “Mommy!”

  “She’s okay. She’s okay,” Stokes told him. “That’s not heavy. She’s okay.”

  “Can you get him out to safety?” Wells asked Stokes.

  Without verbally answering, Stokes nodded and lifted Thomas into his arms. He stumbled over the debris with the boy clutched within his grasp. He focused on the exterior light of the street. The sunlight was his guide

  The boy kept calling for his mother over and over and Stokes, every step of the way, found himself reassuring the child that she would be okay. Even though, he wasn’t quite sure she would be. But he didn’t want the child to panic. He reached the end of the store and set him down onto his feet. He had every intention of walking the boy outside to get him medical attention if he needed it. But there something he had to do first. Stokes crouched down to the boys level eyed.

  “Look,” Stokes said to the child. “Are you all right?”

  Thomas nodded.

  “Just scared, right? Well, your mom is going to be just fine.”

  “Okay.”

  Stokes turned Thomas around to face the window. “See all those people out there?” While Thomas looked out Stokes reach behind him for the air injector gun. “I’m going to take you out there. And get someone to watch you. While I go back and help your mom.” He lifted the air injector. “Does that sound good?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” On that word, Stokes pressed the tip of the air injector gun to the back of Thomas’ arm.

  “Ow.”

  “What’s wrong?” Stokes asked.

  “I think I got bit by a bug.”

  “Let me look.” Stokes pointed. “Yep. Looks like a bee sting. You aren’t allergic, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Let’s get you out there.”

  Stokes lifted the boy once more and carried him outside taking him to the first paramedic he could see. Although he was confident the boy was fine, he instructed the paramedic to just check him over and then Stokes went back inside and searched out the mother and others who needed help...

  Stokes reflected on that day as he stared at Macy’s home.

  He started to tell her. He was ready to tell her that her son was going to be fine. But how could he? How could he with a clear conscience tell her that he delivered an antidote to her one son, while her other son most certainly faced an inevitable death sentence.

  <><><><>

  Wells couldn’t believe what was happening to his town. Not his town. It was a nightmare. He knew the town well. He had lived there his entire childhood, left briefly, returned as a man. Always, no matter what time or era it was things were always the same. No one walked away from a neighbor in need. Everyone knew everyone’s name. There wasn’t a stranger on the street. You didn’t pass someone without saying hello or good day.

  But there he was. Staring out at something he didn’t recognize. His little town was in a tragic situation. Struck and changed. It was something that happened elsewhere. Population before the crash was 2006. After that, it dipped to about 1887. Now, it was hard for him to know exactly how many people remained it was hard for him to determine how many people would remain. How many got infected when the outbreak took hold that afternoon.

  Bodies strewn on the streets not only from the illness but from car accidents. There was no way to count them. Not enough hands to calculate and carry them.

  It went from everyone worrying and helping out to suddenly, the realization hit and they all just took off. The main town square was empty except
for the bodies, the few who remained and the soldiers that held post.

  Where did everyone go? Where did they think they could go?

  He hoped they went back to their homes. Wells was positive they didn’t go to the volunteer fire hall. You only went there for quarantine.

  Wells was pretty much certain they were trying to hightail it out of town.

  Upon realizing the defeat from not only the illness and accidents but also those who abandoned their posts, Wells sought out his brother. He asked Albert to go back to his home, to listen in and see what chatter he could pick up. They were so in the dark. People would want answers, if of course, they returned to town.

  Then Wells got in a squad car and headed down Market Avenue. One of the five routes out of town. He didn’t make it very far, the long line of cars was at a complete standstill. He never really thought about how many people even a small town had, until he saw their cars lined up bumper to bumper as they tried to escape the town of Littlefield.

  Little did they know, there was no escape

  Wells could only go so far. He stopped his patrol car and pulled over. Stepping out he could hear the commotion better. People honked their horns and shouted as if it would make a difference. He himself couldn’t even see the front of the line. He started in that direction, figuring he wanted to see how they had Littlefield shut down. Actually, as the law, he had to know.

  Walking up the stream of cars, suddenly people took notice. They called to him.

  “Chief, what’s going on?”

  “Chief, we can’t get through.”

  Chief this, Chief that.

  Everyone seemed to call his name. Twenty cars later, he paused by Roger Stewart’s family minivan. The car was running and the air conditioning on high.

  Waiting in traffic, that car, even on a full tank would eventually run out of gas.

  Roger wound down his window. His wife sat in the front seat holding their one-year-old child.

  “Chief, hey, what’s going on?” Roger said. “We’re stuck here. Been stuck here for twenty minutes.”