A graduate of the Columbia School of Journalism, Laura had high hopes of a burgeoning career in broadcasting, and in a relatively short time, she had risen from news intern to regular staff. In that time, she managed to get segments on the air that helped her make a name for herself. She exposed a corrupt “kickbacks for perks” scheme involving several local politicians and their donors, and she broke the phony Haitian relief charity scandal that had ties to a major telecommunications company. Walsh, it seemed, was unstoppable. In two short years she had become a regular contributor to Your News Now.
But just as quickly as success had come, obstacles began to appear from all sides. Her style of reporting was starting to ruffle the feathers of certain sponsors and other influential entities. The news ratings battle as of late had also sent the program battling to stay relevant. In response, management began to change the format from investigative reporting to more tabloid-based, gossip stories.
Her meeting that morning was to discuss a recent Ebola story she had produced but that had not yet aired. She knew the mood in the office was against such reporting, and she was prepared to fight to get it on the air. It would be an uphill battle. They would remind her that she was still relatively new and had a lot to learn.
She fully expected condescension from her senior producers, and she knew that she would have to fight. Recently, she had discovered inconsistent patterns in the CDC’s disclosure of Ebola cases around the country. Sources had alerted her to much higher numbers than what was being officially reported. The answers, they told her, were there, and that a patient in Carson City, Nevada, named Sergeant Timothy Shields, was the key. It was a long shot, but she was ready to make her case.
Dressed in high heels and a dark-red, long-sleeved dress that stopped above her knees, Laura hurried down the hall with a clipboard of notes in one hand and a coffee in the other. Her long blonde hair bounced on both sides, with bangs cut evenly across her forehead. Her boyfriend, Jason, had complimented her new haircut again that morning, and while he was a constant source of support, their busy schedules had created a gradual rift between them—she at the news office and he at a law firm working as a paralegal. She put personal matters aside as she approached the closed door to her producer's office and knocked. The name over the polished cherry wood door said “Michael S. DeKnight” in gold letters.
“Come in,” a man's voice said from the other side.
Laura opened the door to find her producer, Michael, sitting at his desk, and managing editor, Bill Ripley, sitting on one of two chairs in front of the desk. They both nodded at her as she entered.
“Good morning, Laura. Please have a seat,” Michael said.
She took the seat next to Bill. The sleek office was nicely furnished with a small, black leather couch and a glass coffee table in front of it. On the other side behind Michael was a bookcase with several gold trophies and framed awards lining the shelves.
Even as an official part of the news division, Laura worked on the floor in a cubicle among the interns, typists, and contributing reporters, all scraping for airtime. Having an office like Michael's would be nice someday, but for now she preferred to be where the action was, with the others.
At fifty-four, Michael was a veteran of the news division. He had gray curly hair and wore large, frameless glasses. His office held a scent of coffee, and Laura always found the fact that he wore colorful suspenders over his white dress shirt amusing. Bill was slightly younger, well-groomed with dark hair. He was a hard man to gauge due to his quietness, but Laura studied him nonetheless.
Michael had Laura's script in hand and was flipping through it randomly. “So Bill and I have been going over your script, and…”
He paused, and Laura knew it didn't sound good. There was too much hesitation. On the other hand, too much enthusiasm could signal a story getting axed as well. The news division was weird like that sometimes.
He placed the script flat on his desk and tapped the wooden surface with his fingers. Bill said nothing. Michael looked up at Laura. “It's good. We like it. You raise a lot of interesting questions. I'd expect nothing less from one of our rising investigative correspondents.”
“Thank you, sir,” Laura said with a nod and a smile.
Michael's face went straight, and Laura prepared herself for the blow. “Our main issue with it is the timing.”
“The timing?” Laura asked.
“Yes. Look, we know you're eager and ambitious, and that's a good thing. The problem with the script is that it's hard to follow. And you're raising claims that can't be supported with facts.”
Suddenly, Bill decided to cut-in. “That's the main problem I had with it. I mean, it makes a compelling case, but it's hard to argue that the media has largely been ignoring Ebola, when we feel it's quite the opposite.”
“Yes,” Michael said. “Ebola is everywhere. Everyone is talking about it.”
Laura couldn't help but speak up. “Not so much anymore. The fact that there are three times as many infected Ebola patients in the US than are being reported is not being said anywhere. That's the story.”
“But you make the CDC sound like the villain,” Michael said.
“That is not my intent. I'm simply saying that they've not responded to my FOIA requests for the number of patients currently being treated for Ebola in the US.”
“Agencies take time. You know that as well as I do. And your current numbers can't be verified through official reports,” Michael said.
“But I've spoken with representatives within the agencies—”
“Off the record,” Bill interrupted.
“There's just too many holes,” Michael said. “With confidence in the news media at an all-time low, we can't run a story providing false numbers that may incite a panic.”
“Ebola is spreading,” Laura said. “That is the truth.”
Michael leaned forward. “It's the truth as you see it. But there are different sides. Many people could say just the opposite.”
“We've got enough epidemic scare stories in the news as it is,” Bill said.
“And while it may be good for ratings, it's potentially bad for our reputation,” Michael added.
Laura thought long and hard about what they were telling her. As of late, they had been pushing her to cover stories she considered “fluff.” The past month, they had suggested the reopening of the Central Park Zoo, a scuffle at JFK between a famous actor and TSA, and a local hot-dog eating competition.
She was beginning to get the idea. In her eagerness, she had already rocked the boat and made waves. But the Ebola story was an attempt to defy the producers, and they knew it.
“Can I ask a question?” she asked.
“Certainly,” Michael said, interlocking his hands over the desk.
“If you're investigating something and you find along the way that someone is lying, what is your responsibility as a journalist?”
Bill and Michael exchanged glances. Michael looked at Laura with a crooked smile on his face. “Your responsibility would be to the public good.”
“And telling them the truth,” Laura said.
Michal and Bill looked at each other flippantly then back to Laura as Michael pushed the script back to her.
“Truth, meaning verifiable facts,” Michael said.
She knew exactly what their decision was.
“I'm afraid we're going to have to pass on this one, but don't worry, Bill here was just telling me about this guy who dresses up like Spiderman in Times Square. Apparently he's some kind of pickpocket. I think you should look into it.”
Laura exhaled loudly, trying to get her thoughts together. She didn't want to make a scene or appear to be upset. Ultimately she didn't want a reputation as someone who was difficult to work with. They had taken all her hard work and basically flushed it down the drain, but there had to be some way to salvage the story. She bit her lip, placed her hands on her knees, and then leaned forward, looking Michael in the eyes.
“I want to go to Carson City, Nevada,” she said.
Michael shifted in his chair and raised his eyebrow in surprise. “Carson City?” he scoffed. “What the hell's there?”
“They have a soldier that they're treating for Ebola.”
Michael rubbed his forehead in exhaustion. “Laura, please. We're done with Ebola for now.”
“I just want to get an interview with him. That's all. I mean, wouldn't that make a great story? No one has talked to any military personnel since they returned. Don't you think that's a little odd?”
Bill leaned in. “Probably because it's next to impossible. They're under quarantine right now.”
Laura stood up, ready to argue her case. “Please. There's a story here, I know it. I promise not to make anyone look bad, I just want to get his side of the story. Soldier comes home from a humanitarian mission only to find himself in a hospital room battling Ebola.”
Another silence followed. Michael scratched his chin. “I don't know.”
“Look at it this way, I'll be out of your hair for a week. Heck, I'll stay there as long as you want.”
Michael and Bill looked at each other and simultaneously nodded as Michael signaled to Laura. “OK, Laura, get a crew together and plan a trip for Carson City.”
Laura jumped up, perhaps too excited. “Thank you, sir, I won't let you down.” She left the room in haste.
“I want to see an itemized budget listing first!” Michael shouted as she rushed out of the office.
Operation Hunker Down
Almost a week had passed since Greg's revitalized interest in a potential Ebola epidemic. Most of his on-line supply orders had arrived, and he began to ready his house for outbreak prevention. He spent the weekend getting the place in order, while foregoing any other plans, like bringing Captain to the dog park. His weekend was going to be devoted to prepping.
“You're a real exciting guy,” Greg said to himself as he stood among the recently arrived boxes of shipments in the living room. He had spent the better of the week after work mapping out a realistic and sustainable plan for hunkering-down.
He had his list, which could have applied to numerous prepper scenarios but was modified to address preventative contagion measures. He had plenty of food, water, first-aid supplies, and face masks. Close-quarters confinement would be tricky, especially with owning a dog. The key was to keep the house sealed off and contained, but Captain would obviously need to go out from time to time. For that, Greg devised a schedule for taking Captain out back himself, by leash, and bringing him back in. Any such measures would involve wearing protective gear himself and washing Captain whenever they came back inside. It was going to be a tedious process, but he didn't see any other way.
There was also the question of other guests, and keeping them protected. Greg didn't have anyone immediately in mind, but he couldn't help but think of Veronica. No matter, the isolation would be tasking regardless of who was or wasn't there. Books, board games, cards, movies, and his mini-gym could keep his mind and body active, and of course there was always Captain to keep him company.
The home would have to be secure from intruders, so he examined all points of entry—each window and door—and analyzed where to set trip wire and traps, and where to seal off and block windows or doors. The blueprint of his house gave just the information he needed, and Greg marked the areas accordingly.
If an epidemic occurred, he was looking at weeks or months of hunkering down. He had six months’ worth of food and potable water. Issues that concerned him were the loss of power or tap and faucet water. Though he had plenty of batteries and flashlights, isolation without power and utilities would be challenging to say the least. Hygiene and waste management would also be an issue. He had purchased a portable toilet waste system with a mobile washer, and would tackle other issues eventually. The first thing he wanted to do was to prepare a plan. He wrote a list:
Hunker Down Prep:
Step One
No traveling:
Avoid urban areas and crowded places. Air travel is off limits. Try not to travel more than 20 miles outside home.
Step Two
Inventory medical supplies:
Re-fit closet to act as “sick room” for supplies. N95 mask a must, along with N100 masks. Up-to-date comprehensive first-aid kit with bandages, pain killers, and antibiotics. Make space for disposable gloves, disinfectants, nitrile gloves, rubber gloves, protective goggles, disposable clothing.
Step Three
Inventory basics:
Rotate food and stock pantry with canned and pickled goods and dried and freeze-dried items. Inventory MREs in garage. Ensure plenty of bottled water and water reserve jugs in garage. Inventory disposable eating utensils, heavy-duty garbage bags, toilet paper, soap, pet supplies, pet food, hygiene items, and all other necessities. Check on coffee, powdered drink mix, and essential oils. Conduct weapons maintenance, inventory ammo.
Step Four
Physical fitness plan:
Keep immune system strong. Inventory daily vitamins and exercise equipment. Weight-lift and do cardio up at least three times a week. Look into price of a used treadmill.
Step Five
Physical isolation plan:
Schedule for Captain back yard trips and fresh air. Duct-tape along window sills, plastic sheets over windows. Set trip wire, mini-alarms and mini-sentry traps in key areas. Fans, air freshener, and candles for house. Limit outside exposure as much as possible and always use common sense.
Step Six
Deep clean:
Clean and scrub house from top to bottom. Keep trash to a minimum, conserve supplies, and ensure Captain is clean and up-to-date on shots and medications. Once house is cleaned and organized, move to next phase.
The second phase, for Greg, consisted of prepping his house. He had plans for where to set the tripwire sentry traps outside his home. He didn't want to actually set the traps that weekend and have them prematurely go off. He simply wanted to check his inventory and ensure that he had the right equipment on hand: sentry piece, charges, and trip wire. It was a long weekend of planning, inventory, cleaning, and trying to keep Captain entertained, but Greg managed to make it. Before he knew it, it was Monday morning and he was back at work, ready to start another week.
His first customer that morning was a talkative man who owned a nice two-story home in a gated community ten miles south of Reno. It was a full installation and would probably be an all-day job. Typical Monday, he thought. Greg worked best when left alone to do the job he needed to do. Wayne, however, followed him around the house and talked to him endlessly. Greg remained polite and tried to tune him out.
“So the kids are in middle school now, and Barbara and I say to ourselves that they're not little children anymore. They're growing before our very eyes.”
“Yep,” Greg said, laying wire across Wayne's tiled floor in the living room.
“And we think the time is right for an alarm system. You can never be too careful, that's what I always say.”
“I agree completely,” Greg said. He excused himself from the room and went back out to his van to get a ladder. It felt nice to get away from Wayne's incessant chatter for a couple of moments anyway. It was a sunny day, and the sky was a bright blue with not a cloud in sight.
A line of mountains were in the horizon, and he always found the view comforting. He stood outside his van and took a moment to think about where he was at in life. There were so many memories he had effectively suppressed over the years, not because of shame, but by necessity. He couldn't help but think of her, the woman from his past who had meant everything to him. The woman he had had to abandon.
He had been on assignment in France when he met her. Her name was Miriam, and he found himself thinking of her, even though it wasn't right. There was no reason to dredge up the past, not if he was going to move on with a normal job and normal life among normal people. Greg shook his head and pulled his ladder out of the van, carrying it inside Wa
yne's aqua-colored two-story house. By the time he walked in, Wayne was in the kitchen, pouring a glass of iced tea.
“Thought you could use a glass,” he said, hearing Greg enter the kitchen. He turned around. “You do like tea, don't you?”
“Sure, thank you,” Greg said, setting the ladder down.
Wayne walked up and handed him a glass. “It's unsweet, but we've got packets of sugar.”
“Unsweet is fine.”
Greg always thought it nice whenever customers offered him drinks, but he also knew that by taking the drink Wayne would only be more encouraged to talk his ear off. It wasn't that he didn't like conversation; it was just that in being attentive to Wayne, he couldn't fully concentrate on the huge task before him.
The man asked too many questions, and Greg figured that he would get the hint, but no amount of distracted head nods and short, one-word responses would keep him quiet. It wasn't until Wayne changed the subject from his home life, his vacation, his job at a plastics plant, that he got Greg's attention.
“That Ebola is some scary stuff, right?” Wayne said.
Greg paused. “You said it. Just crazy all around.”
“I sure hope that it doesn't spread here. That would really screw things up.”
“Indeed,” George said, drilling a hole in the wall.
“Take my wife, for example. She's a bad enough germaphobe. I don't know how she would take it. We'd never leave the house.” Wayne laughed, seemingly to himself, as Greg continued working.
“And she'd be right,” Greg said. He couldn't help himself.
“But what's that gonna do? I mean, we'll have to leave eventually. Let's say we had two years’ worth of food, water, and everything else. What difference does it make if we were isolated for two months or two years?”
“You'd probably have less of a chance of getting a disease.”
Wayne paused. “Sounds like you're some kind of expert in the matter.”
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