“Okay,” Michael said. “I’ll call you tomorrow after I get off work.”
“Are you scheduled to work at the pharmacy tomorrow?”
“Yes, and I may need to pull a shift at the animal shelter, too. I don’t know. They haven’t called me with this week’s schedule yet.”
“You might want to pick up some things at the pharmacy while you’re there. Love you, son.”
“Love you, Dad. Say hi to Mom for me.”
“Will do. Bye.”
Michael slowly placed the phone back into the cradle. There was no Aunt Thelma in their family. “Going to visit Aunt Thelma” was a code phrase for getting out of town and heading to the summer cabin that his parents had been working on for the past five years. Things were serious—at least, serious enough to concern his father. And his father wasn’t one to scare easily. Michael stood there, mind racing.
His parents were what other people called “preppers.” Most people thought preppers were crazy, paranoid people who were into stockpiling guns and ammo, waiting for judgment day. Michael pretty much tended to agree with that assessment. Most preppers he had met were more than just a little nuts. On the other hand, although he wouldn’t admit it to his parents, some preparations did seem to make sense. Why not prepare for a possible problem? People put on seat belts all the time. Are they crazy? No. It’s just about taking precautions. If a hurricane was heading toward the coast, shouldn’t people prepare for it? The government even issued warnings and recommendations at the beginning of hurricane season about being prepared. Far from the hurricane-susceptible coast, the state of Ohio still had its dangers. In the middle of “Tornado Alley,” an emergency situation had the potential to develop at a moment’s notice. People would be negligent if they had no plans for their family in case the warning sirens went off. Michael even remembered having tornado drills in the middle of school.
But preparing for an end-of-the-world scenario was a bit too obsessive for Michael. He really resented how much time, energy, and money his parents had invested in prepping that he felt could have been better utilized elsewhere. It was embarrassing when he lived at home and his parents had dragged him to prepping conventions. Although the meetings were boring and he would rather have hung out with his friends, he had learned some skills as he was growing up. Not that he’d ever have a chance to use them. Even though his parents were extreme, he still loved them. They were his parents. He just wished they would tone down their fanaticism a bit.
That was how he had felt… until his conversation with his father. A little sliver of doubt had just been inserted into his beliefs.
Brian walked into the room. “Did you order the pizza yet?” he asked.
“No, not yet,” Michael replied. He was lost in thought. “Hey, Brian, if I could borrow your car, I’ll make a quick grocery run. We’re running a little low on food, and I can pick up that self-rising crust pizza that’s just as good as the restaurant. It costs less too.”
“Yeah, fine. But I thought we were okay on food…”
“We’re okay on potato chips and soda…but when it comes to real food, we don’t have much. I just need to pick up a few things,” Michael said.
Brian dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out the keys. Tossing them to Michael, he asked if he needed some money.
Michael caught the keys, shook his head no, and left the apartment. Going out the back door, he crossed the lawn to Brian’s car. Michael’s head was still spinning from the comments his father had made. He had told him to pick up camping supplies. That meant Michael needed to make sure he had enough food and water for one to two weeks. Hopefully, his father was just overly worried, and this was all merely a preventative measure. They could use a little bit more food anyway; and with him and his two friends in the apartment, any extra food would definitely not go to waste.
Getting into the car, Michael drove down the gravel alleyway that went behind the row of apartment buildings and out onto the paved street. He traveled the few minutes to the town’s one and only grocery store. At this time of night, the parking lot and the store were fairly deserted. Michael went into the store, got a shopping cart, and then used the antiseptic towels provided at the entrance to wipe down the cart’s handlebar. It was a good habit he had picked up. Most people didn’t know how effective shopping carts were at spreading germs.
He pushed his cart up and down the aisles, picking out things here and there. Barely seeing the items on the shelves, Michael was still thinking about the flu virus. Everything seemed so surreal, almost like a dream. He picked out cans of vegetables and meat. He also got a big value pack of hot dogs and another box of burgers. From there, he went into the picnic section and got a couple of bags of charcoal along with a few boxes of stick matches.
He looked around at the few customers shopping in the store. They were all going about their normal lives, oblivious to any pending threat bearing down on them, reading box labels, checking prices, and deciding which brand of pasta sauce to get. They seemed to be acting so…normal. Were they normal, and was Michael panicking? Why had the conversation with his father unnerved him so much? Maybe it was the tone of underlying urgency in his father’s voice. That was what had scared Michael.
He hoped beyond all hope that everything was normal and would continue to be normal.
Michael went through the checkout and loaded up the car with the groceries. Then he brought the cart back into the store. He wasn’t finished yet.
He went directly to the cleaning aisle. He got a couple of gallons of generic bleach and a few packs of rubber cleaning gloves. He was looking for the latex surgical gloves but couldn’t find any. The grocery store probably didn’t carry them anyway. He also looked for, and was surprised to find, some masks that were intended to help protect the wearer from the noxious chemical-cleaner fumes. Remembering that the flu virus could be spread by inhaling contaminated air, he added more than a few boxes of masks to his cart. Then, he filled up any remaining space with gallon jugs of drinking water.
Heading for the checkout, he realized he’d almost forgotten the pizza. He went back to the freezers and grabbed their favorite brand.
He arrived back at the apartment a short time later and carried the grocery bags into the kitchen. He was just putting away the canned vegetables when Brian walked in.
“Did you get the pizza?” Brian asked.
Michael reached into one of the grocery bags and tossed a large, square box to him. Catching it easily, Brian turned the box around and read, “Pepperoni supreme! You got the best!”
“Of course.”
Brian eagerly took the pizza out of the box and shoved it inside the oven. He then turned to watch Michael put away all the cans of food. Brian had a really puzzled look on his face. “What’s with all the vegetables? You never eat vegetables.”
Michael looked at the can that he was putting in the cupboard. Green beans. “We should be eating a little healthier,” he replied.
“Right,” Brian said, looking at him curiously.
Michael didn’t want to tell his friends anything yet, at least not until he knew more. He was praying that there was nothing to worry about, and he wouldn’t have to tell them anything. Then, the only problem he would be facing was what to do with all the vegetables he had just bought. He really didn’t like eating them.
After storing the food and helping his two roommates devour the pizza, Michael retired to his bedroom under the pretense of studying. He closed the door, and instead of opening up his notes, he grabbed his laptop.
It seemed like his connection was down, because it took him forever to bring up any web pages. It happened from time to time. Their internet connection in the apartment wasn’t very good. All the search results links he clicked on had a “404, page not found” error. He tried to bring up some video to see what his father was referring to, but most website links stated that the video had been removed due to “content.” The only news he was able to read was that the California governor had i
ssued a statewide curfew in order to try to prevent widespread panic and looting.
He did manage to find one video link that was still working. It was a shaky video, uploaded from someone’s cell phone, showing the outside of an unknown emergency room. It was dark, and there were flashing emergency lights and sirens everywhere. Ambulances were parked haphazardly in front of the entrance. The video was very fuzzy, but Michael could see that the emergency room was packed wall-to-wall with sick people. There were even people waiting outside the entrance, jamming the doorway.
Occasionally, the person taking the video pointed his cell phone at a gurney being wheeled by. A sheet covered the entire gurney, hiding whatever was beneath. Dead bodies, Michael presumed. He wondered if the sheets were out of respect or if they were covering up the dead in an attempt to prevent others from panicking—probably both.
Suddenly, like a light being turned off, the video went blank and disappeared. Then, Michael’s laptop flashed a blue screen error and crashed. He breathed in sharply and closed the laptop. What he had seen was really disturbing. It begged the question of just how much of the news coming out of California wasn’t being reported. Was the information being censored? Or could this all be just a hoax? It could be anything. He didn’t have enough information yet. Even more disconcerting to Michael was the admission that maybe his parents had been right all along and that he had been acting like a rebellious brat.
Finally reaching the smaller cities and towns, the virus was overjoyed at the opportunity to continue to spread and multiply. The infected human hosts were not producing viral material as much as before. The cells were wearing out and some had stopped manufacturing the virus. Newer victims were needed to continue the reproductive cycle of the virus. However, since the population here was not as congested as in the major cities, the virus had to rely on more opportune places to spread. Any place where people gathered, the stores, the schools, the churches, were all favorite breeding grounds. Other than that, the influenza virus would have to wait patiently for an infected person to contact another person. Even slower, the virus would have to be deposited on some surface, like a doorknob, and wait for another unsuspecting victim to touch it.
Not only had the California governor declared a strict curfew, but the US government had now intervened and taken charge. Martial law had been imposed in the western states in an attempt to curtail the spread of the virus. In high-ranking government circles, they were now beginning to discuss the possibility of instituting nationwide martial law. Secondary measures were being put in place to quell the rising panic, violence, and looting. Cell-phone towers had been turned off, and internet-access providers had been told to shut down their entry points. The National Guard had been rushed in to put up roadblocks leading into and out of the state. However, it was too late. With airlines and an efficient interstate highway system, the influenza virus had a large head start on any protocol for disaster control by the government. The powers-that-be had never planned for such an infectious and rapidly spreading virus—especially a pathogen that mimicked the deadliness of Ebola.
Chapter 7
Michael awoke Monday morning feeling a little better and more clearheaded than he had the night before. It’s a wonder what a full night’s sleep does to rejuvenate the mind. Getting out of bed, he resolved that he would divide and conquer this new day. He would take one step at a time, concentrate on what he had to do next, and do it well. If California was falling apart, it could wait until Michael was finished with his duties.
He showered, dressed, and spent an hour reviewing his Applied Therapeutics notes. He was glad the test was scheduled in the morning. He hated waiting nervously to take tests in the afternoon. He much preferred getting them out of the way early.
He left the apartment and walked to the pharmacy building on campus. There were not very many students walking to and from classes. Approaching the door to the pharmacy building, he couldn’t help but notice a new sign posted on the door. It read:
Notice
If any student is feeling ill, including but not limited to
Sneezing, chills, coughing, fever, congestion, and runny nose,
Do NOT attend class.
You will be immediately dismissed if showing any of the above symptoms.
Please respect the health of your fellow classmates.
Makeup classes will be scheduled at a future date.
Interesting, Michael thought. Actually, he didn’t want to think about it at all. All he wanted to do was concentrate on this test and leave. Then, he could think about it all he wanted.
He entered the building. It seemed rather dark and quiet inside for a Monday morning. He walked down the hallway and could hear his own footsteps echoing. The building felt abandoned, and for a minute, he was entertaining the thought that it actually might be. Attached to every door was the same notice that had been on the entrance door.
Entering the exam room, Michael was relieved to see that most of the students were there already. As he took his usual seat, he wondered if he was just imagining the absence of students on campus. Glancing around the room, he took note of a few empty desks.
The professor sat up front watching the students settle into their chairs. When the class bell rang, the professor stood up and started passing out the tests.
Someone to the far left of Michael suddenly sneezed. Michael was grateful that the sneeze had come from the other side of the room.
The professor stopped handing out tests. He looked disapprovingly at the student who had just sneezed. “Miss Anderson, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he said sternly.
“No, please. I’m fine,” a weak voice protested. “It’s just seasonal allergies. I get them every year.”
He spoke sternly. “Miss Anderson, you must have read the signs on the door. I have to insist that you leave. A makeup test will be scheduled.”
“But…”
“Now, Miss Anderson!” he said even louder. “Or I will give you a zero on this test, and you will not be able to retake it.”
Sarah Anderson slowly got up, and everyone in the class watched as she walked meekly to the doorway. She hesitated and looked back at the class. Michael could see that her eyes and nose looked red. Then she turned and left the room silently.
“Anyone else not feeling well?” the professor asked, scanning the class.
No one answered.
“Good.” Once again he started handing out the tests and talking at the same time. “If I find out some of you are not feeling well, you will receive zeroes on your tests without the opportunity to retake them…unless you leave now.”
Two more students got up and hurried out of the classroom. The professor didn’t look up at all; he just continued passing out the exams.
Michael finished his test quickly. He felt good enough about his answers that he didn’t bother going over the questions again. He was confident he had passed. Usually, he reviewed his answers to ensure that he got the best grade he could. But today, he just wanted to get out of there, so he handed in his test and left.
Once out of the classroom, he mentally checked “test” off the list he had made in his head early this morning. Okay, next priority. He was scheduled to work at the pharmacy from noon to five. He was hoping Wilbur would let him off a few minutes early today so he could stop by and get his pickup truck. He felt trapped without a vehicle, and he didn’t want to keep on borrowing Brian’s car. Whether Wilbur would let him leave work early would largely depend on how busy the pharmacy was. Being Monday, it would probably be busy. He might have to put off getting his truck until tomorrow. He hoped Gary wouldn’t mind babysitting it for one more day.
Michael walked back to his apartment and got something to eat. Then he walked the few blocks to the pharmacy. He swung open the glass entrance door, and Janice was standing in front of him, blocking his way.
She was Wilbur’s front cashier, a very pleasant woman who had worked for Wilbur for many years. She was always nice to Mi
chael, and they had a good rapport. Janice was in her forties, married, but had no children. Michael felt that she regretted not having children, because she was always mothering him. He didn’t mind, and in fact, he liked the attention since his own mother was far away.
Now, for some unknown reason, Janice was standing directly in front of him. He couldn’t help but notice that she was wearing a blue surgical mask.
“Good afternoon, Michael,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by the mask. She promptly held out her hand with a new, unused mask. The strap dangled down between her fingers. “Wilbur wants everyone in the store to wear one of these.”
Michael took the mask and put it on. He thanked her and made his way to the back of the store where the pharmacy was located. He noticed from being in many pharmacy stores that the pharmacy department was usually located in the back for security purposes. It was supposed to be a deterrent to robbers, but from what Michael had heard, a drug-crazed addict usually didn’t care how far he had to walk to get to the pharmacy.
Reaching the back wall of the store, Michael could see the top of Wilbur’s head. He had his head down, busy at work. The pharmacy technician was at the computer hammering away at the keyboard. Both of them were wearing masks.
An elderly lady wearing a blue mask was at the counter inquiring about getting a flu shot.
“Sorry, we’re out of the flu vaccine, ma’am,” the technician said.
Wilbur looked up from filling a prescription vial with tablets and noticed Michael. He waved him over to the access door on the side of the pharmacy. Michael walked over and reached to open the door.
Wilbur shocked Michael by reaching out and holding the door only halfway open, preventing Michael from entering.
“How are you feeling, Michael?” Wilbur asked, studying him closely.
Taken aback, Michael replied, “I feel fine, except for this lump on my head that I got from visiting Wayne’s place last Friday…”
“Really, you’re feeling fine?” Wilbur interrupted. “Any sneezing, coughing, aches, pains? Any cold-like or flu-like symptoms?”
Influenza: Viral Virulence Page 6