NO SAFE PLACE

by Steven M. Roth

  Pete dashed into Nanna’s kitchen.

  “Mom, it was awesome. You should’ve seen me. I almost caught a huge fish, I mean a marlin, a sword fish, but it got away. I thought my arms would rip off they were so tired trying to land it.”

  Isabella hugged Pete and kissed the top of his head. “That’s wonderful, Honey. Where’s your father?”

  “My arms hurt so much. I tried to land it for almost an hour, then the line broke. The captain said it would have been a record catch if I had landed it.”

  “That’s nice, Dear. You can tell me all about it at dinner so Nanna can hear it, too. Where’s your father?”

  “Oh, I forgot. Sorry. I was supposed to tell you right away. Dad’s at the rental agency returning the car we used to go to Key West. He said since we’re not going anywhere this week, he can save paying for the rest of the week. He’ll rent another one if we decide later on we need a car. He should be back soon.”

  “All right,” Isabella said. She hugged him again. “I’m glad you had a good time, but I’m also glad you’re home. I missed you both.”

  “It sounds like you boys had a nice time together,” Isabella said. “Pete was so excited describing the one that got away, he could hardly contain himself.” She handed Trace a bottle of beer.

  “Did you two get along okay with all the time you had on your hands at night?”

  “We did fine,” Trace said. “He’d become restless, as you’d expect, but we spent a lot of time in the evening working on his laptop. That passed the time quickly. He taught me some useful things about networks, software, and current computer tools I never used before. In fact, I was impressed how much he knows. I also talked to him about some of the lessons I learned during my SEALs’ training.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Because so much of it applies to everyday life. He’s old enough now to start thinking about these things,” Trace said. “I want him to begin to consider how to deal with the unexpected in life.”

  “How’d he take to that?”

  “Well, I think, because I framed it within a general discussion of what I liked about being a SEAL. This stocked his curiosity. I was careful not to make it seem as if I was passing life-lessons on to him.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “I talked about how we learned to make the unfamiliar seem familiar by previsualizing situations and then thinking through our responses in advance.”

  “Does that really work?”

  “Oh, yes, it definitely works. Previsualization fools the brain into believing you’ve already experienced the situation you are thinking about, even though you haven’t. It creates a form of muscle-memory for the brain that will make a situation seem familiar when it actually occurs. In the SEALs we called it making the unfamiliar familiar.”

  “Interesting,” Isabella said. “Actually, fascinating, not just interesting.”

  “I also pointed out that not every plan works out, so we have to be ready for that in life, too. I explained the SEALs’ motto to him: Plan for success, but train for failure.”

  “Did he understand that?”

  “He did. He’s mature for his age, Bella. Responsible, too. We have good reason to be proud of Pete,” Trace said.

  “Maybe so, but I wish he’d pay as much attention to his schoolwork as he does to his computer,” Isabella said. “That’s going to be a problem.”

  “I talked to him about that, too,” Trace said. “He promised he’d do better after he returns from vacation.”

  “I hope so. Maybe we made a mistake pulling him out of school so we could come here to see mom.”

  “I don’t think it matters,” Trace said. “If he keeps his promise and buckles down when we go back, his time away from classes will have been worth it for that reason alone. If he doesn’t buckle down, it won’t matter that he lost class time. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Nanna walked into the kitchen.

  “Hi, Trace. Nice to have you home.” She stood up on her toes, kissed him on his cheek, and smiled. “Do you want a coffee after that beer? There’s a fresh pot on. How about you, Bella? Coffee?”

  “That’ll be nice, Nanna,” Trace said. “Thanks.”

  “While you and Pete were in Key West,” Isabella said, “the TV news was full of talk about that mysterious late-season flu ravaging the city. It’s hitting Fort Lauderdale pretty bad. I don’t know more than that, but I’m worried we could catch it. Some people have already died from it.”

  She paused, then said, “I was thinking, Trace, maybe we should just go back to DC, and take Nanna with us, while we’re all still healthy.” She tilted her head toward her mother.

  Trace thought about this. He’d rather not cut their vacation short if it could be avoided.

  “Let me find out more about what’s going on before we whack our vacation,” he said. “We’ve counted on this trip for so long, it would be a shame to cancel it if we don’t have to. It might just be the news media hyping a story.”

  “Okay, if you think that’s best.” Isabella nodded her head in agreement, but her eyes said otherwise. “It’s just—”

  “Bella, let me find out more, then we can decide.” Trace reached over and lightly squeezed her shoulder.

  “There’s some kind of news conference on TV this afternoon about the flu,” Nanna said. “I saw the announcement this morning when I was watching my shows.”

  “Good,” Trace said. “Let’s watch it, get some information, then we can make our decision.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Fort Lauderdale

  March 13

  That afternoon, Trace, Isabella and Nanna gathered around the TV to watch the news briefing offered by the Broward County Health Department. Pete was back at the Internet café playing computer games with his new friend, Karl.

  Randall Boone, the Broward County Administrator, stepped to the lectern and adjusted the microphone. He tapped it several times, causing the device to utter a shrill cough.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today. I have a brief statement I’d like to read. After that, Dr. Tuft — who as you know is our county medical director — and I will field questions.” He briefly turned part-way around to look at the man standing behind him, then turned back to the audience.

  “Mr. Boone, do you see this unusual late-season flu as a crises requiring state or federal government intervention?” a voice in the crowd yelled.

  “Dan, please let me read my statement. Then ask me your question,” Boone said. He tightly gripped the edges of the lectern, whitening his knuckles.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, as you know, Fort Lauderdale has been affected recently by some form of virulent pathogen that has sickened many people in our city. Several people, unfortunately, have died.” He paused and glanced briefly at his notes. “I’ve been in contact with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta since this problem surfaced.”

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

  “I’ve called you here today, ladies and gentlemen of the press, to ask for your help. We need to avoid creating panic in our community. I’m asking you all to remember your responsibility as citizens, first, and as reporters, next.”

  He tightened his grip on the edges of the lectern and leaned toward his audience.

  “Report only the facts as we give them to you,” he said. “Avoid rumors. Do this, act responsibly, work with us, and we’ll help you do your job.”

  He did a slow radar-like sweep of the audience with his head.

  “On the other hand, if you’re not responsible, if you traffic in rumor and innuendo, well . . . I hope we don’t get to that point,” he said.

  He waited a beat.

  “Okay, then, let’s see what I have here today you might use,” he said, as he looked through a stack of papers. He slipped one sheet out from the pile, placed it on top, and referred to it as he spoke.

  “Approximately ten to eleven days ag
o local hospitals began experiencing a marked increase in emergency room admissions. The cause was thought to be late-season influenza, but we now know that this was the wrong diagnosis. We don’t know what the disease is yet, but it seems to be some highly-resistant form of flu. The CDS is still running tests to identify it and determine its nature.

  “As of this morning,” he said, “as far as we can tell, the disease has not peaked. New cases still are being reported in increasing numbers, especially among the elderly and young.”

  He took a drink of water before he continued.

  “As you can imagine, our healthcare resources are strained to their limits. At the present rate of increasing numbers of new cases, we will run out of hospital beds in one more week. And, without some infusion of new medicines, we will run short of meds any day now.”

  He took another drink of water, turned slightly, and glanced at the man behind him.

  “Mr. Boone,” a reporter asked, “does that mean, are you implying, there are medicines on the market available right now to treat the illness, but they just aren’t available to us to buy right now? Meds that can prevent the disease or cure it?”

  “No, Ms. Robinson, I’m afraid it doesn’t mean that at all. So far, nothing we’ve tried seems to prevent or cure this. There are some medicines, however, that can relieve the suffering of patients, affect the symptoms of the disease, but, as far as we know right now, nothing we have cures it or prevents it.”

  “The CDC has promised to deliver these peripheral medicines and various other supplies to us in the next few days to help us relieve the symptoms of our friends and neighbors who have contracted the illness,” he said. “The CDC will also bring in some fresh, rested healthcare workers to relieve our responders who, as you can only imagine, are exhausted and stressed.”

  The same woman paused, looked at her notepad, then said, “Doctor, can you tell our listeners if people who took the flu shot this past winter are protected from this disease?”

  Boone frowned as he realized he’d just answered this question with his previous response. Was the reporter trying to trap him? Behind the lectern, out of sight of the reporters, Boone shifted his weight, first to one foot, then back again, over and over.

  Tuft leaned into the microphone and said, “Good question. As Mr. Boone indicated with his answer a minute ago, the answer to the last question is no. This winter’s flu shot doesn’t offer any protection against this pathogen.”

  Boone stepped back to the lectern and pointed to a reporter.

  He said, “Yes, Mr. Shafer. What’s your question?”

  “What symptoms should our readers be aware of?”

  “I’ll take that if you don’t mind,” Dr. Tuft said, looking at Boone.

  “We know that the disease seems to have an incubation period of about one week, maybe a little longer, from the time of first exposure until the first symptoms appears. We hope to soon know more about this from the CDC or the National Institutes of Health.

  “As far as symptoms, we’ve encountered different indications for various people,” Tuft said. “Symptoms suggest there are two strains of infection, or maybe one strain attacking its host in two ways. We don’t know which it is yet. We’re waiting for more information from the CDC, but, in the meantime, here’s what we do know.

  “There seems to be a pulmonary version and a non-pulmonary version. The pulmonary version attacks the lungs by being breathed in. The non-pulmonary type attacks the blood through open wounds.

  “In both cases, the patient starts out with a body rash that spreads. Then the patient develops chills, a severe headache, high fever, and muscle and joint pain. Often, the patient develops a non-productive cough, a dry cough, if you will. The patient will likely incur breathing difficulty, at least with the pulmonary strain of the illness. In all cases the patient will also suffer muscular weakness of the limbs.”

  Tuft looked out at the reporters. He ignored several who were jumping up, hands raised, vying for his attention.

  He continued. “The symptoms are acute. We haven’t any reports of mild cases although the symptoms sometimes ebb and flow, with patients seeming to recover, but then lapsing back into an acute state for no reason we can determine. We don’t yet know why this occurs in some people and not in others.”

  He paused, sipped some water, then said, “Finally, some patients do recover from the illness. Others, most, in fact, do not. And sometimes patients are ill for several weeks before they either recover or succumb.” He looked at Boone, then turned back to the audience.

  “Another thing, I should mention. We think, although we still need more data to determine this for sure, that not everyone exposed to the flu catches it. We don’t yet know why that is, but the CDC and NIH are working on this issue, among others. That’s all I know for now.” He stepped away.

  As Boone moved toward the microphone, a woman called out, “Dr. Tuft, Dr. Tuft. May I ask you one more question? It’s important.”

  Boone frowned and did not yield the microphone.

  “I’ll take this,” he said, looking at Tuft, “since I’m here.” He looked at the reporter. “Go ahead,” he said to her.

  “Since this disease seems to be from an unknown source, is it possible it’s caused by a bioweapon set loose by terrorists? Can you tell us if the authorities are considering that possibility?”

  Boone, without moving his head at all, glanced over at Tuft and raised his eyebrows. Then he leaned into the microphone and fixed his frown on the questioner. His knuckles whitened again as he tightened his grip on the lectern’s edges.

  “Madam,” he said, drawing out the word and speaking with contrived gravitas, “we have no reason to believe this situation is anything other than Mother Nature at work. For you to suggest otherwise is irresponsible.

  “As I said earlier,” Boone continued, “we all have to exercise responsibility here. Please remember that.” He stared at the reporter until she looked away.

  Boone looked over at Tuft, who nodded. Then Boone looked out at the reporters. “We should wrap this up. Any last questions for now?”

  “Yes, Sir,” a reporter said. “Can you tell us how the infection spreads? What should we tell our listeners and readers?”

  “Good question, Sir,” Boone said, relaxing his grip on the lectern. “Will you take this, Dr. Tuft, or should I?”

  Tuft nodded, said, “I got it,” and stepped to the microphone.

  “The pulmonary version spreads from person to person through the air. For example, if you breathe in the aerosolized discharge from a patient who coughs or sneezes, then you’re at risk. The non-pulmonary type, however, invades the body through open sores, cuts or skin abrasions, then it attacks the blood stream.” He looked over at Boone, then back at the reporter. “Does that answer your question?” he said.

  Before the reporter responded, Boone moved forward and gripped the microphone.

  “Thank you all for coming today,” he said. “Please remember to be responsible. We’ll let you know when we have something new for you.”

  He nodded at Tuft.

  They walked off together.

  CHAPTER 21

  Camp Mackall, North Carolina

  Anthony Vista, more than he ever would have expected, had enjoyed his brief posting to Camp Mackall. The refresher command courses he’d taken had turned out to be easier than he anticipated so he passed all his courses at or near the top of each class without much effort on his part.

  He had also continued to apply the advice given to him years before by the colonel when he washed out of the Special Forces, and he had successfully socialized with his Camp Mackall colleagues. Though this still did not feel natural to him, his effort seemed to have paid off since Anthony gradually, but steadily, rose in command as the years passed.

  Yet neither his promotions, his success with the prestigious curriculum at Camp Mackall, nor the imputed honors that flowed to individuals who graduated from the selective and demanding program at Camp Mack
all, provided the balm he craved to soothe his long-nurtured wounded pride at having washed out of the Special Forces program. In his view, he now was special only among those who were in the Army’s second tier, those who could not cut it as Green Berets or Rangers. Nothing his classmates or instructors now said to compliment his high class standing ameliorated Anthony’s felt conviction that he had been unfairly pushed out of the elite corps for one reason, and for one reason only: because he was not and never would be one of the boys.

  Anthony spent his last days in North Carolina running errands and packing. He had only two days remaining before he drove to Florida and started his new command.

  Why Florida? he wondered. And why Fort Lauderdale, of all postings. It wasn’t exactly a war zone. Was he now to be charged with protecting the country from unruly college students who flocked to the resort during their spring break?

  CHAPTER 22

  Fort Lauderdale

  March 13

  Trace stood up from the sofa, walked over to the TV, and turned it off. He’d heard enough from the county administrator and the county medical director to set off his internal alarm system. He checked his wristwatch. It was almost 4:30 p.m.

  He looked at Isabella. She was staring at him as if he was supposed to know what they should do now. Well, she was right. He did know.

  “We can’t stay here,” Isabella said. “You heard what they said on TV. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I know,” Trace said. “I’m convinced. We’ll leave.”

  “We need to take my mother and Pete and go home,” Isabella said.

  Bella’s not focusing, not hearing me at all, Trace thought. “We will, Bella. I’ll get us away from here before we become sick,” Trace said softly. “I promise.”