So Albert went backwards with her communication records. She was the key to finding out what was going on. If she panicked or told the family to enjoy BBQ Ham, then things were bad. At least that was what Albert guessed.
In the midst of learning more about Lenza, Albert’s requested satellite image emerged.
It was interesting, clear and concise. It showed a border placed around the small town. The captured image also showed long lines of cars at each border. In his opinion it was quite an efficient quarantine. It would be brilliant had the virus been limited to just Littlefield, the news reports told him otherwise, and his curiosity of how things were handled in and around those cities got the best of him and he started his search for images of those towns. Especially Vegas.
<><><><>
Stokes managed to get a pickup truck that suffered minimal front end damage in the Main street collision. The driver had passed away, evidently not from the crash. He removed the body, took the truck and headed back to Macy’s.
He had every intention of taking the body with him, putting her ex-husband with the rest. Although instructions from Wells were for people to put bodies on the curb, how could he tell Macy that she needed only to place the father of her children out like Monday trash?
He couldn’t, so he would so what he did best.
Lie.
“The government wants us to collect all bodies,” Stokes told Macy. “Take them into town and put them together.”
“Then what?” Macy asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Burn them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bury them?”
“I don’t know,” he was at a loss as to how to answer her because he only got to the ‘taking the body’ in his pre-planned lie.
“Agent Stockmen …”
“Stokes. Call me Stokes.”
“What is your first name? I’d rather call you that.”
“Conrad.”
“Conrad?”
“To cop a phrase from Chief Wells, don’t judge.”
“I’m not,” Macy said. “Conrad, I understand you are trying to help. But he is family. We can’t dump him. He has to be buried.”
Stokes stared at her for a moment. “He will. We will bury him … after the crisis is over.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Oh, no, far from it. Just do me a favor and stay away from town. Call the Chief if you need anything. Keep inside, away from people.”
“Is that closing the barn after the horse got out?” Macy asked, “We’re exposed. We’re all exposed.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t get sick, let’s hope them boys won’t either.”
She was humbled by that and he saw it. Stokes went into the house and wrapped Rege’s body with a shower curtain. Then used garbage bags to cover the openings. Using duct tape he sealed it. Hating to do so, he had to get Macy to help him carry Rege. They did and placed him in the back of the truck.
He told her to grieve with her boys and he’d be back.
Stokes would.
He was a man of his word. He also felt that the virus was in part his fault. Had he not allowed Charles and Emir to drive away with the virus, Littlefield more than likely would be unscathed.
Stokes stayed behind in Littlefield to help and he would do so until he couldn’t help anymore.
TWENTY-FIVE – WHERE TO BEGIN
Littlefield, AZ
June 29
POPULATION 1622
Wells was taken back to the moment the Army rolled into town and he told them he was ready.
“My Dear, Chief of Police,” the Army doctor had arrogantly told him. “You are not ready for this.”
Wells’ first reaction was to get angry, to want to show the Army doctor how wrong he was. But he was right.
Wells was not ready.
Of course, the Army doctor along with everyone else that whizzed into town was nowhere to be seen. Just as fast as they arrived was how fast they left. Securing themselves outside the town perimeter safe and sound and down wind.
He phoned the DJ who was still holding post. Told him he could stop playing his message and to just play oldies. Something upbeat and happy, while intermittently reminding people to stay indoors.
Wells was out on the street alone. He sent the only other volunteer down to the fire hall to help out Doctor Harmon with the twenty-two people who went there.
Harmon told him those people volunteered quarantine so as not to put their families in danger. But Wells had to check on the families.
He would. But there just wasn’t enough time and volunteers. Hopefully, others would show up.
He counted, just on Main, the surrounding area and Breyer’s Market, two hundred and two bodies. That wasn’t including the ones that died in their home or elsewhere on the street.
Each of those people coughed out a death sentence to those around him. Wells hated to think of what was next.
After retrieving the garbage collection truck, he began the daunting task of collecting bodies. He would load them in the truck then take them to the storage rentals and leave them there until everything was done.
Before he touched a single body, he walked to the police headquarters, grabbed a hole punch and pen. Then he went over to the Pharmacy, lifted some index cards and string. He would make sure every person was marked.
If they had a driver’s license, he’d attach that to their ankle, if not, he’d make a tag. No one deserved to be an unmarked body.
It wasn’t long after he started, when Stokes returned. He had a body with him, one Wells made him mark and tag. Another hour later, Albert returned. There were three of them, not many, but at least together, the horrendous task went just a little bit faster.
<><><><>
The first thing that told Stokes, it was only gonna get uglier was the buzz. The steady hum of thousands of flies that found their way to the bodies. Stokes wondered if some sort of insect memo went out. Where did they all come from? With each body they loaded, more flies landed on the ones exposed. Finally, the last trip to the storage facility was complete and the final body was moved out just before ten pm.
Stokes probably wouldn’t had noticed had it not been dark.
Wells had taken the garbage truck, while Stokes and Albert stayed behind moving cars and vehicles off the street and to the side.
“Tell me again, why we’re doing this?” Stokes asked.
“I don’t know.” Albert shook his head, slightly out of breath. “A more organized looking apocalypse.” He glanced down to his watch. “Let’s call this finished. It’s good enough.”
“You know that’s the eighth time you looked down at your watch.”
“Is it?”
“Don’t be coy.”
“I’m not.”
“What gives?”
Albert pointed across the road. “Shotsy’s looks open.”
With a ‘huh’, Stokes peered over his shoulder. The local bar where he first met Wells, where he for a burger, Macy’s short cut around the guardsmen, that little place had the lights on. “You’re kidding?”
“Wonder if they have the air on. Christ, I’m hot.”
“Why would they be open?” Stokes asked.
Albert shrugged. “No one else is?” he looked down at his watch,
“Nine. Nine times now.”
“You don’t say,” Albert smiled. “Actually, I don’t have a reason for checking the time. I wanna wait until my brother gets back.” He nodded upwards and reached to his back pocket. “Here comes Eugene now.”
“What’s going on?” Wells asked as he approached.
“Your brother is hiding something,” Stokes said,
“Shotsy’s is open,” Albert pointed.
“Why is he hiding that?”
“Not that.” Stokes said.
Albert pointed to the bar. “Let’s go get a beverage and I’ll explain.”
“A drink and break sounds nice,” Wells walked toward Shotsy’s.
“Don’t judge,” Wells said. “This is how some people cope in a crisis.” He grabbed the door to the bar.
Stokes followed Wells and Albert inside. One man, one lone man, older, possibly the owner sat behind the bar staring at the black television screen. “It’s not on,” Stokes said to the bartender.
He looked at Stokes. “No kidding. I’m waiting.” He then looked at Albert. “You told me it was coming back on.”
“It is. Any minute the media blackout will be lifted.”
Stokes asked, “Is that why you kept looking at your watch?”
“No.” Albert answered. “Let’s sit down. What do you want to drink? It’s on me.”
Stokes gave up. “A shot and a beer. I’m gonna go wash up.” He indicated the rest room sign and headed back there. He swore he was in some sort of Andy Griffith Twilight Zone apocalypse.
An open for business bar with a bartender staring at a blank screen. Just as he pushed on the bathroom door he heard the bartender say, “On the house. Everything is. Open all night too. No laws. It’s the end of the world. Drink up.”
End of the world? Stokes chuckled, but only for a second. Instantly it registered with and a bolt of fear shot through him. Is it? Could it be?
He turned on the faucet full blast and pumped plenty of soap into his hands. He scrubbed his hands and arms, then his faces. After grabbing a paper towel, he looked in the mirror as he dried off his face. He looked tired and pale. Then again he hadn’t slept in a while.
Stokes doubted he’d get much sleep on this night either.
When he emerged from the men’s room, Wells and Albert were seated at the table. A bottle of beer and a pretty healthy shot waited on him. Stokes down the shot and took a seat.
“Tell him,” Wells said to Albert.
“I’ve been listening to the chatter.” Albert replied. “Last I checked it had reached two hundred cities in fourteen states reporting the virus. They’ve done well to block off the cities. Quarantine them. We’re completely surrounded. Because we’re easy to surround. The best way to beat this is to wait it out. Those who aren’t exposed, just stay away. Go somewhere. There are a couple smaller cities that will make you wait a five day quarantine then let you in.”
“The contact victims,” Stokes said. “They’ll show symptoms in seventy-two hours.”
“And you said it will be worse?” Wells asked. “How so?”
“They take longer to die.”
“So it could overlap and we’re in trouble,” Wells stated.
“We’re all in trouble.” Albert added. “Unless you are a really rural area, you’re in trouble. You said you know this virus.”
Stokes nodded.
“Then you know that’s why I keep looking at my watch. Seventy-two hours from exposure to symptom,” Albert said.
“Yeah, but we still have two and a half days here.” Stokes said.
“No,” Albert replied “We have fourteen hours here. Next round hits. Seems Kimble’s research shows that a person is contagious twenty-four hours after they were infected, without showing symptoms. Things started in Vegas at ten PM. This means, the seventy-two hour mark for the first contact victims will start any minute. And wherever they are in the world, they’ll get sick.”
“No.” Stokes shook his head. “There’s no basis for that. None. Kimble’s research was based on chimps. Chimps react differently to human viruses. It’s wrong.”
“Let’s hope,” Wells lifted his beer. “We’ll know soon enough.”
“No, it’s wrong,” Stokes said with certainty. “I know it.”
“How can you be so sure?” Albert asked.
“I saw the chimps. They coughed, they died, yeah, just like the humans. But unlike the humans, before they bit it, those chimps went absolutely insane. Nuts. They bashed everything. No, humans reacted differently.” He brought this beer to his lips. “Thank God.”
<><><><>
Macy had finished for the night. The end. Reached the last frayed end of her rope. She had scrubbed the kitchen of the blood and used bleach. She wore a mask and gloves while doing so and sent the boys over to Lila’s to sleep.
They were not only sad, but traumatized. Their father was making lunch when he died.
Clay told her that they saw the military trucks and helicopters right when Lila sent her a message. Rege had told them don’t worry, it was nothing and then he got sick.
It was sudden but left the boys scarred.
Surely it was similar to what Macy witnessed, and she was traumatized.
This was their father. The sight of him coughing, suffering and dying would mar them forever. She accepted Lila’s invitation to sleep on her sofa, but Macy needed a moment or two. She needed to stop and just absorb. The weather was comfortable, and Macy grabbed a wine cooler and sat on the porch. She hadn’t smoked a cigarette in fifteen years, but she had an overwhelming desire for one, so she stole a smoke from Lila.
She took a drink of her wine, lit the cigarette, took a big hit and then … coughed. She coughed once, then coughed twice more.
“You just caused me to have a heart attack,” the voice called in the darkness. “I heard that cough and thought ... here we go again.”
Macy looked up to see Stokes coming up her walk. “Oh. Sorry. This …” She held up the cigarette. “It will take a bit of getting used to.”
“Finding it a good time to start smoking?” Stokes asked as he sat next to her on the porch step.
“Just felt like one.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“What brings you by?” Macy asked.
“I came by to check on you. I said I would.”
“I appreciate it.”
“I brought a six pack,” Stokes lifted it. “Shotsy’s was open.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. It’s always open.”
“It was dead tonight though.” Stokes paused then cringed. “Bad choice of words.”
“Yeah.”
“So how are you? How are your sons?”
“Sad. I’m sad. Worn out. Scared.” She hit her cigarette and sipped her wine. “You look bad.”
“I’m tired. We moved over two hundred bodies.”
“To?”
“The storage until … until you know …the government can tell us what to do with them.”
“You’re full of shit. The only thing the government is telling us is that we can’t leave Littlefield.”
“You’re right.”
“So what did you do with the bodies?” she asked.
“We tagged them, registered them and moved them to storage. We don’t know what we’re going to do with them yet.”
“I understand,” Macy said. “So, you know this virus.”
Stokes grunted.
“What?”
“Just that the chief and Albert, they keep saying that to me.”
“You do.”
“I thought I did.” Stokes drank his beer. “Apparently Albert knows more.”
“How does the local Pastor know more?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Albert Wells? Reverend Albert Wells of the First Baptist Church.”
“The Chief’s brother?”
“One and the same.”
“Oh my God. He fronts as a pastor?”
“Fronts?” Macy shook her head. “No, he’s the pastor.”
“No, he’s a hacker. The world’s best.”
Macy smiled. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Making me smile on such a night. He’s not the world’s best hacker. I’ve been to his home. It’s a trailer with a Tandy computer.”
Stokes slapped his hand on his leg. “Oh, man, I fell for that hacker tale.”
“Chief Wells and his brother like to mess with people.”
There was a brief moment of silence.
“So,” Stokes said. “What did you want
to know about the virus?”
“I’m a realist Agent Stokes. I am. I was exposed at the Dollar Barn, so was Thomas. We both were exposed again today, so was Clay. I just want to know, how long do we have?”
She watched Stokes inhale deeply and hold it. He stared at her for the longest time before saying he didn’t know.
Macy saw through it. He wasn’t being truthful. He did know and he just wasn’t telling.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - OVER
WASHINGTON, DC
June 30
It was already after midnight and Nadia needed a break. She just wanted a few hours of sleep. Before stopping for the evening she called her husband and then followed up with a text message. She wasn’t told to be secretive, but she knew better. Just on the outside chance someone could read her communication, she wanted to be as evasive as possible.
She was going to rest with a little bit of weigh off her shoulders. There was little more she could do. The antidote and vaccine were slated to go into production in six hours. Plus, her oldest son, a brilliant computer programmer finished the OBAPP or Outbreak App he had designed years before. It was a basic reporting app that made it easy for health care providers to report an outbreak. The app would then track cases and map them.
Three years earlier the World Health Organizations scoffed, but as of two hours earlier they had uploaded the app to the servers and sent out notification for all healthcare providers to download it.
The app dedicated solely to Hemorrhagic Respiratory virus cases. It was easy. After logging into the WHO site, they downloaded the app. If they had a case, they launched the application. It was easy. Three fields.
Provider or Hospital Code
Number of suspected cases.
Notes.
Send.
Nadia and her son were both administrators and not only did they have access to see results, they received notifications.
“It may still have a few bugs,” her son said. “But it will at least give you an idea.”
Bugs or no bugs, Nadia thought. For her own personal peace of mind, her son would be able to see it soar out of control and he would be able to put the family contingency plan into motion.
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