Hairs on the back of Jen's neck stood on end and her skin crawled as images of being in the hot zone appeared in her mind. Confined in a hazmat suit and surrounded by sick and dying people, there would be no escape. Each and every one of them contagious, and all she would have to protect herself would be was a thin piece of plastic between her and the outside world. The devil himself couldn't create a more perfect hell for her.
"Thanks for the offer, but I've got summer plans already. Bye," Jen said, and slipped out the door.
She went straight for the exit, and after pushing the door open with her elbow, found her car in the parking lot. Flopping down in the front seat, she tossed her backpack into the passenger side. Agitated by the conversation with Dr. Sbuka, her mind was fixated on one thing; the need to wash her hands. There was no way she was using the germ ridden bathrooms in the university, so she reached for the next best substitute. Jen grabbed the bottle of liquid hand sanitizer from the glove compartment and didn't bother with trying to resist the powerful compulsion. Frustrated with how slowly the pump worked, she unscrewed the pump from the bottle and turned it over, dumping the alcohol based sanitizer into her hands. Jen scrubbed her hands together vigorously, wincing as the alcohol burned the deep cracks in her raw skin caused by over washing.
The pain was a small price to pay for the sense of relief, however fleeting, that came with giving in to her urge. Jen rested her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. In the darkness behind her eyelids, images of pathogens replicating like wildfire inside the human body replayed over and over. Jen felt powerless. She uttered a silent prayer that an epidemic like the Shanxi virus never happened here in the United States. She opened her eyes again and started to drive home. Her hands had already begun to feel dirty again, and she just wanted to go home.
Friday, May 29th
Chapter 3
Mike sat up in his bed, yawned, and stretched his arms high above his head. The clock on the nightstand read three-thirty in the morning. Another sleepless night. It was happening all too frequently these days. With no job to go to, he had no reason to be up this early, but his body was seemed to have a different plan. He felt restless, but he wasn't sure why. Hauling himself out of bed, he pressed the button on the coffee maker to start the brew that would otherwise start automatically in two hours time, when he had planned on waking up.
As the coffee began to steadily drip into the pot, he cranked up the hot water in the shower and then turned on the television. Flipping through the channels, he skipped past several infomercials advertising one useless gizmo or another, and finally settled on a British news program before hopping into the shower. Listening to the announcer's heavy accent, he realized that he knew exactly what had been keeping him awake all of these nights, whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not. The Shanxi virus, or H7N9, had reached epidemic status several weeks ago, however, it was still confined to Southeast Asia. Not that the distance provided him any comfort. Mike was well attuned to disasters, he had little else to do with his time besides exercise and read books. The Shanxi virus scared the ever-loving crap out of him.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee stirring his senses, he began to become fully aware of the newscast on in the background over the sound of the shower.
Breaking news. The Indian federal government has confirmed several cases of Shanxi virus in Mumbai and declared a state of emergency. Federal troops have moved into the area to enforce a quarantine zone. How effective the quarantine will be has yet to be determined. The Pakistani government issued a statement that they aren't taking any chances with the virus, and they have shut down all border crossings with the neighboring nation.
I have more news coming in. The United States made the call to shut down flights to and from India within an hour of the announcement--
Mike let the hot water run over his head and listened to the broadcast as he weighed his options. This was bad news. The Shanxi virus was spreading quickly throughout the world, leapfrogging between major cities. If the virus could make the leap between China and India, it was only a matter of time before the virus spread to the rest of the world. The United States had made the highly unpopular decision to shut down all international flights with China and Southeast Asia when it became apparent how little control China had over the virus. South American countries had not yet followed suit with a flight ban, so it remained to be seen whether H7N9 could be kept off of the shores of the New World. Mike had told himself that if this thing began to jump borders beyond China and Southeast Asia, then things were looking pretty bleak.
It was time to bug out.
He hated the idea of leaving the cabin, but the Shanxi flu had forced his hand. At forty-two years of age, he had no wife and children, and no bills or job to worry about. The only thing keeping him here was his love of the cabin and its memories and all of the photos and keepsakes in the cellar. Besides, if he locked the cabin up tight, it would be safer than if he stayed here. Off in the woods, the little cabin didn't draw much attention. Unoccupied, it would draw even less. And all of his real valuables, the photos, keepsakes, and guns, were safely hidden in the cellar.
Money wouldn't be a problem either. He had what he joking referred to as his 'trust fund'. It wasn't enough to make him rich, but it had sustained his frugal lifestyle since his parent's death, and would probably last him the rest of his life. Mike's mood soured as he thought of the source of that money, and then turned his thoughts elsewhere, avoiding the painful memories.
A six-month vacation somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Montana or Idaho maybe, sounded like just the place he wanted to be right now. The truck was already fully packed. He had been ready to bail for the last week now, and just looking for an excuse to go. If there was one thing he had learned in this life, it was to expect the unexpected, and that it paid to be prepared.
After rinsing the last of the shampoo out of his hair, he dried off, got himself dressed, and then worked through the short checklist of things to finish up before he left. He unplugged the window mounted air conditioner, television, fridge, and then took the trash out. His favorite rifle and scope went into a soft shell case, and he took a nine-millimeter Glock in a hard shell case out of the closet and set it next to the front door. Mike went and shut off the main power breaker, and lit the way out with a small pocket flashlight.
After padlocking the front and back door, he shoved the guns into the back of his pickup truck in the last sliver of space, and then locked up the truck cap. He had food, ammunition, water, camping supplies, fishing gear; everything a person could want or need for a six month stay in the woods was stuffed into the back of the truck. The rolling stash was enough to make any prepper worth their salt green with envy.
He took a different checklist from the truck cab, this one an inventory of everything he wanted to bring, and double checked the back of the truck, marking off items as he went. He knew the exact location of every piece of equipment in the truck bed, having packed it just the week before, but he acknowledged that humans were fallible and made mistakes, including himself. Satisfied that he had everything, he revved the motor and pulled out onto the gravel drive leading away from the cabin.
He would miss his daily walks on the trails behind his house that led into the Mark Twain National Forest, but knew he would forget all about it after he was far off the grid in the wilderness of the North West. Some fly fishing and hunting were in order. He'd let this whole Shanxi virus thing blow over from safety, far away from the sheeple. He pitied the sheeple really. If the shit really hit the fan and the virus arrived here, then people like his neighbors, who would laugh at him for stockpiling supplies, would soon get a taste of how harsh a mistress nature could be. Mike shook his head and concentrated his thoughts on something more positive, like the taste of fresh trout straight out of an ice-cold river. He couldn't wait to get his line wet.
Hell, if he had to, he could last for years out there if he needed to, taking what he needed from the land. And if the Shanxi virus n
ever made it to the United States, then it would be no big deal. He'd have six months worth of pleasant camping memories to bring home.
Mike stopped his truck at the entrance to the neighborhood and brought up Google maps on his phone, browsing the northwest region of the country. Yellowstone he'd been to twice before. Neat place, but with the tourists not as remote as he would like. He swiped the screen up and considered going to Glacier National Park, but decided against it. It was too cold for his tastes, even at this time of year. A swipe down and Colorado appeared, centered on the screen. The Rio Grande National Forest. A warm and pleasant memory bubbled up. He'd spent some time hiking and camping there with his father as a teenager. That was it. It was the perfect spot. Almost two million acres of pristine forest high up in the mountains. Out there, he could quickly get off the beaten path into some remote areas where the population density was tipped in the favor of bears rather than humans. He felt more comfortable around bears anyway. At least you knew what to expect from them.
Bringing up a navigation app, he plugged in South Fork Colorado as his destination, which was right smack in the middle of the Rio Grande National Forest. The application calculated for a moment, and then displayed a bright blue line leading him to his destination. The computerized feminine voice announced that his destination was nine hundred and eighty-eight miles away, and would take fifteen hours to reach. Adding another three hours to that for refueling, food, and bathroom breaks, he figured it would take him eighteen hours minimum to get there.
Ten years ago, he would have made it in one coffee fueled leg, but he was getting older, and there wasn't any reason to push himself that hard anyhow. It was four-thirty in the morning right now. He could drive for twelve hours today since he was already up. And at the end of today's drive he would stop at a hotel and sleep for the night, giving himself a leisurely six-hour drive the next day. That would bring him to a trailhead where he could offload his gear and make his way into the wilderness, far off the beaten path and away from the park campgrounds where the sheeple stayed.
Mike tapped the button marked 'Go', and looked up from the phone screen, putting his turn signal on.
As he looked up, a blindingly bright light appeared in his driver's side window, approaching fast. He barely had time to register that the light was from a car barreling down the highway towards him. The car veered from side to side, and then swerved hard, trying to turn into the neighborhood at sixty-five miles an hour. Before he could react, the car closed the distance, tires screeching, and slammed into the driver's side of his pickup truck.
He was thrown sideways and tossed about the cab, barely held in place by his seatbelt as the truck rolled over again and again. The windshield shattered and glass flew around the cab. His ears rung from the high pitched squeal of the metal roof scraping against the road. Still moving, the truck's nose caught in the ditch next to the highway, and slammed to a jarring stop, it's horn blaring and the headlights pointed down into the ditch.
Dizzy and confused, Mike fumbled with his seatbelt, but couldn't get the buckle undone. His hands didn't seem to be working right. He looked down at his hand and by the light of the dashboard saw that his thumb and a few fingers pointed in the wrong direction. Spots appeared in his vision, and blood rushed in his ears. Darkness overtook him.
Friday, May 29th
Chapter 4
Jen Pruitt tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, unable to contain her nervous energy as she waited for her parents to come out of their imposing two-story colonial home. The largest house on the block, it was oversized for the strictly middle-class neighborhood, and stood out when compared to the more modestly sized homes. For her, the size of the new home was off-putting, but it fit in perfectly with the image her parents tried so hard to portray. They were a family that was moving up in the world. No longer just a middle-class family, but a solidly upper middle-class family.
Image came first to her parents, and that irritated Jen to no end. If she had known how often she would have to listen to her father brag about his daughter in medical school, she would have chosen a less prestigious profession. Checking the time on her cell phone, she tapped her foot impatiently on the brake, anxious to get underway. Needing a distraction, she tried to find a single flaw with the new home. Immaculately cared for, not a single blade of grass was out of place. The ornamental bushes and specimen trees had been trimmed with a perfectionist's exacting measure, and Jen knew from experience that the interior of the house was just as pristine. Her parents were meticulous people, and nothing than perfection would satisfy them.
Today, Jen would struggle to hide a secret from them. A secret that she didn't want to tell them. One that would expose her as a flawed human being. Something less than the perfect Pruitt her parents had raised her to be. That was she couldn't control her fingers as they tapped on the steering wheel, nor stop her foot from tapping on the brake pedal, and it was also why butterflies flew round and round in her stomach.
As if summoned by her thoughts of her own inadequacies, her father opened the door, his suitcase in tow. Her mother was right behind him, struggling to roll two large suitcases and a carry on through the door. Jen wished she could sink further into her seat and avoid detection. It was five-thirty in the morning, and she had an hour and a half long drive ahead of her before she could drop them off at the airport and be rid of them. She dreaded every minute that she would have to spend trapped in the car with them. She hoped she could keep it together for the ride, but knew it was likely the secret would come out. Her father had a nose for weakness, like a shark that smelled blood in the water. And if he outed her it wouldn't be pretty. It wasn't every day that you got to tell your parents you were a complete failure after all.
It was embarrassing, really. She was twenty-five years old, in her third year of medical school, was a member of honors society, and one year away from graduating, was also about to drop out entirely. There was no way she could tell her father, or her mother for that matter. And she especially didn't want to tell them why she was dropping out. That would open a completely different can of worms.
Her father opened the trunk of the car and dropped the suitcases inside, and then got into the passenger seat.
"Hello Jennifer. It is nice to see you again," he said, buckling his seatbelt.
"Hi Dad. Mom, how are you?"
"Ready to go to the airport, " her mother said as she sat down. "How are your hands dear?"
Jen sighed. Leave it to her mother to go for the emotional jugular vein. She put the car in reverse and dropped her free hand into her lap, then clutched the bottom of the steering wheel, placing her hands out of her mother's field of vision.
Her father reached over and grabbed her right hand and held it up high, turning it for her mother to see. "Raw and cracked I see. Have you been taking your pills Jennifer?"
Jen flinched away from his grip and pulled her hand back. She hated it when he asked that question. It drove home their callous perception of her in the crudest way. It didn't feel like a caring inquiry about his well-loved daughter. It came across as if she were a crazy person who needed to take pills to be 'fixed' and he was a detached clinical observer. A hint of anger flashed through her. She was tempted to blurt out her secret, that she was going to drop out of med school, just to see their reaction. Jen resisted the urge, as tempting as it was, because she knew that his question was valid, even if the way he asked it was rude. She knew she was sensitive about her condition. Ever since she was a child when and had been diagnosed obsessive compulsive disorder, she had felt weird; different.
"I have been taking my pills. I'm stressed out. That's all, if you would really like to know," she said. It was a lie though. She hadn't been taking her pills. The side effects were difficult to deal with, and a week ago, as soon as class let out, she stopped taking them. Medical school was mostly to blame for her OCD flare up, and now she wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. Jen backed the car out of the driveway and headed out of the
neighborhood, anxious to get the ride over with.
"Stressed out about what? School? Is something wrong at school?" her mother asked.
As she pulled up to the stop sign at development's entrance, Jen breathed a sigh of relief. A ready-made distraction was at hand. "Oh wow! What in the world happened here?"
Three black state trooper SUVs sat at the edge of the development, the colored light bars on the roofs of their vehicles blindingly bright. A totaled pickup truck lay on its side in the ditch next to the highway. The troopers had roped off an area around the vehicle with striped yellow tape, and they walked around inside of the roped off area talking amongst themselves.
The cab of the truck had been dented and scratched up, but wasn't structurally damaged. The windshield and side windows were broken out except for some glass shards that were barely held in place by the strips of black rubber strips running around the edges of the windows. The rear of the truck had been covered by a cab, which had been crushed and thrown several yards from the truck laying amidst scattered canned goods and bottles of water. What really caught her attention was the number of rifles, pistols, and the huge number of ammunition boxes stacked up on the hood of one of the police cruisers. It seemed like enough firepower to start a small-scale war.
"Pull over for a moment Jennifer," her father said. "I believe I recognize that man."
Jen pulled over behind one of the trooper's vehicles, and watched her father approach the scene. Two men she'd seen before in the neighborhood stood back behind the yellow tape, talking excitedly. Her father caught their attention, had a short conversation, and then returned to the car.
Jen gave him a questioning look as he buckled his seatbelt. "Well? What happened?"
"I'm not one-hundred percent certain we can rely on those two degenerates as reliable sources of information, but they claim there was a hit and run early this morning. The truck belongs to that strange fellow that owns the cabin in the woods up by the national forest at the end of the road."
The Shanxi Virus: An epidemic survival story Page 2