The Virulent Chronicles Box Set

by Shelbi Wescott

  Dr. Gregory ignored her calls. It wasn’t out of malice, but exhaustion. How could he cater to her when everyone mourned? Why was her loss bigger? He hated her for her intrusion, her entitlement, and her consistent blight upon an already exhausting day.

  But she kept calling.

  On the thirtieth attempt, her message was short and terse.

  “I have a feeling you must be dead or ignoring my calls.” Then: a bark in the background. Niko’s bark, he guessed. “If you’re alive, you’ve seen the news. The dogs are dying, Dr. Gregory, and this is a damn shame. It’s horrifically frightening. But you see…Niko is alive. And I must have you over immediately to assess him. Because if my dog is to suffer the same fate. Look. Call me.”

  Neil listened to the last message again and again until he accidentally pressed the erase button instead of the repeat button and the message slipped away, deleted. Niko was alive. He supposed it made sense that some dogs survived the viral attack, but still—he didn’t know why that caused Shirley to call him so incessantly. If he were her, and clearly he was not, he would’ve hunkered down and spent as much time cuddling the mangy monster as possible. It made his gut ache to think of his own dogs, lost, and his inability to comfort his own wife in her grief.

  He’d come home late last night and snuggled beside her, and they cried together. When he glanced at the clock, he realized it was still ungodly early: six-ten. Shirley would call back any minute and at some point he’d be forced to answer.

  Against his better judgment, Dr. Gregory pushed Shirley’s number on his phone. She picked up halfway through the first ring. It was early enough, his wife was still asleep next to him, and he thought he owed it to the former governor’s wife for one quick discussion.

  “You’re a hard man to reach,” Shirley answered, breathless, as though she had sprinted across the room in some act of superhuman daring.

  “It was uncommonly busy,” he conceded. “I can’t imagine what my day looks like today.”

  “More of the same, I’m sure. I can’t even guess about what your clinic looked like yesterday. I was impressed by the governor’s response. Did you hear it? Of course, I’m biased, and think my husband would’ve sounded a tad more empathetic,” she said. Smalltalk. After all her calls, her voicemails, she didn’t directly launch into her reason for calling, and it annoyed Neil. He didn’t have the patience for mind-numbing pleasantries.

  “Is Niko still alive?” he asked, rushing to the point.

  “So, you did listen to my messages.”

  He sighed, cleared his throat, and waited.

  She continued, undaunted. “I’m sure you understand my fear. I told you that I absolutely do not want Niko to suffer in any way. If this disease hits him later, well, I’d be devastated to think I didn’t act first.”

  Neil paused and let the request sink in.

  “Act first?” he repeated.

  “Yes. I’d like you to come euthanize Niko. I’ve been emotionally preparing to say goodbye since I heard the news yesterday and I need his death to be by my hand. Understand?”

  “A compassion killing?” the doctor asked. Compassion. Killing.

  “It’s a horrific death,” Shirley said in a whisper. “Weren’t you present yesterday as the dogs around you fell? Vomiting. Bleeding. Heart failure. Loss of muscle use. Yes, compassion killing. I love my dog too much…and certainly enough to know that it’s better to let him go out of this world and into the next softly and without pain.”

  “If your dog is perfectly healthy—”

  “It’s simply a matter of time.”

  “We don’t know that. I don’t feel comfortable.”

  Shirley cleared her throat. “You promised,” she spat petulantly. “You gave me your number and you promised.”

  “I did promise to come help euthanize a dying dog, Ms. Finch, but if you’re telling me to come euthanize one of the only healthy dogs I’ve heard about in twenty-four hours, then—”

  “I’m not telling you,” she replied, wounded. “I’m simply asking you to come help me. It’s a new spring day, and after yesterday, I don’t have it in me to endure any more heartache. I don’t want today to be the day. And that is why I started calling early—”

  “Keep your dog safe. Keep him inside, maybe have him eat something canned for humans…and have him drink bottled water if you have it. No one knows the cause…better safe than sorry.”

  “Will you come?” she asked.

  Neil rested his head against the backboard of his bed and sniffed; his nose was stuffy and he wondered if he was coming down with a cold or if this was some seasonal response. His wife shifted in the bed next to him and let out a throaty snore; she was wearing a bejeweled eye-mask, a staple of her bedtime routine.

  “I’m not comfortable—” Neil said again, but he stopped. He thought of Carol’s business acumen and her attention to their finances. She would encourage him to go and charge Shirley Finch double for the effort and the request. After the monetary loss from his practice yesterday, he couldn’t say no. “Fine. I’ll come.”

  “I think it goes without saying…I’d like you to bring the materials necessary for…”

  “I’ll come.” He cleared his throat. “Should we discuss my fee?”

  Shirley scoffed. “Please, Dr. Gregory. Don’t be gauche. Bill me whatever you desire, and I’ll pay it immediately. Money is hardly my concern.”

  Carol would be giddy.

  He wrote down her address on a notebook by his bedside table used for recording his dreams. Since Dr. Gregory was in high school, he was in the habit of writing down the details of his dreams: the one with the monster made of snow who ate climbers off of a mountain; the one where he was trapped in a mansion with endless hallways and doors that led to different moments in his life; the one where the dogs could talk.

  He had the dreams where the dogs could talk at least twenty times since he was a sophomore. Sometimes it was all the dogs in his care, sometimes it was his own dogs, or sometimes it was dogs from his childhood. When he dreamed about his boyhood dog George, he woke up depressed, full of longing and nostalgia.

  Neil hung up his phone with a press of the button and touched his wife’s arm.

  “I have a house call. Mrs. Finch.”

  His wife mumbled her initial disapproval.

  “I’m charging her double,” he said.

  She lifted the sparkling mask and squinted. “Charge her triple, darling. Was she the one buzzing all night long? Add a fee for pain and suffering.” Neil leaned in and kissed his wife.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he added. She waved him off and turned over on her back. Neil put on the same clothes as the day before and trudged wearily to the kitchen where he drank a tall glass of water and meandered to his car. He always kept a kit in the car, and so there was no need to head back to his office. After he plugged Shirley’s address into the GPS of his Mercedes, he backed out into the empty cul-de-sac and rolled down the hill. It was light out and the sky flooded pink and purple; the drive was uneventful.

  Niko barked when Neil rang the doorbell, and when Shirley answered the door, she was dressed and coiffed. Her eyeliner had been applied with a heavy-hand. The ex-governor’s house was impeccably decorated, but not enormous, and Neil followed her inside, bag in hand.

  “What a lovely home,” he said.

  “Let’s do it in here.” Shirley waved him into a sunken living room. The furniture was white and the piano was red. A portrait of the ex-governor and Shirley hung above a stone fireplace; Niko was by her side—her painted hand rested on the painted dog’s head. “Here. I’d like him to be in his bed—”

  “Maybe I can examine Niko first. If you don’t mind,” Neil interrupted. “I’m interested in his vitals. I’d be curious to see if Niko is in any kind of decline or distress.”

  “Did you listen to the news, Dr. Gregory, when you drove here?”

  Neil admitted he had not. He’d been bopping along to the Stones—his usual morn
ing commute music.

  “Well,” Shirley said, her voice dropping to a whisper, “I have been listening. It would appear that some people, in some places, are experiencing a virus…similar to the dogs, I would suppose. You really should listen to the news.”

  “Maybe when we’re done here,” he said. Neil invited Niko to his side and asked the beautiful, regal animal to sit. He listened to his heartbeat and took the dog’s temperature. In all his years of veterinary care, Neil had always been impressed with an animal’s ability to look ashamed as he inserted the rectal thermometer. Of course, he believed that animals had a higher level of consciousness than people gave them credit for, so he found it easy to attribute the sad-eyed, lowered-eared faces to embarrassment rather than a physical response.

  Niko was healthy. Old and aging, but not sick. Neil put his instruments away and sat back on his haunches; he lifted his hand and let Niko lick the underside of his palm. The wet, sloppy dog spit ran between his fingers. Then Niko stood up and leaned forward; he planted his rough tongue against Neil’s cheek and lifted a paw to his chest. Neil laughed and pushed the Bernese away.

  Shirley tapped her fingers against the coffee table and crossed her legs. “I’d like to hold him, while you insert the… I want the last thing he sees to be me, holding him.”

  “Your dog isn’t sick—”

  “Now. He isn’t sick now.”

  “I see no signs of distress. Ms. Finch, whatever killed the dogs has not affected Niko in any way. There’s no reason he can’t live a few more years. And can you think of the implications? Maybe there are more out there like him…but maybe he’s one of a few. Maybe Niko can help contribute to the science that would assist our understanding of the tragedy?”

  “Or maybe he will die tonight. Or five minutes from now. Many of those dogs died quickly, Dr. Gregory.”

  “Exactly. And they died quickly yesterday. Niko will live.”

  Shirley pounded her fist on the table and stood up. Niko let out a protective bark. “He is old. Ancient. He has outlived his expected age range. This is my dog and I can make my own decisions.” Her anger hovered just shy of rage, and her hands shook by her sides.

  “I’d like a glass of water,” Neil replied. He stood up and Niko took a few steps to stay close to the vet.

  “Of course,” Shirley answered. “We’ll calm down. Take a moment. I don’t want Niko to feel stress of any kind at the end, so let’s collectively…regain our composure. Follow me.” She led him through a small maze of furniture and rooms and directed him to sit at the bar in the kitchen. Then Shirley ran the tap and filled up a wine goblet with water. She handed it to Dr. Gregory and stood in front of him.

  “I’m sorry,” Neil said and he wiped his mouth with his hand. “This must be very trying for you. I’ve forgotten myself.”

  As Shirley eyed him, he wondered about the drugs in his possession. He had the sedation drug, which would render Niko unconscious, and he wondered if he could trick Shirley into thinking that alone had met her wishes. Of course, he briefly thought of stabbing Ms. Finch with the Pentobarbital instead. Any human who would consider killing a healthy, albeit old, pet was not a person worthy of pet ownership. Of course, while Dr. Gregory was not required to take the Hippocratic oath, his Veterinary Oath did request that he “practice his profession conscientiously” which did not include stabbing 70-year-old women in the leg with barbiturates.

  “I don’t expect you to understand,” Shirley replied, tense.

  Neil’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he apologized for the interruption as he looked at his screen. One of his nurses was calling in. She had texted: Emergency. Mother ill. She called and then phone disconnected. Won’t be at work. He tried to text back, but found that his text wouldn’t send. So, he put his phone back in his pocket and made a mental note to text her when he left.

  “I do understand,” Neil continued. “It’s so hard to watch someone you love pass. We always want what’s best for them.” He took another sip of water. “Is your husband at home?”

  Shirley bristled. “He’s away. On a trip.”

  “Politics?”

  “Leisure. He’s retired, after all.”

  “I eagerly await the day.”

  Without warning, Shirley reached over and took the wine glass away and dumped the remainder of the water in the sink. Then she pointed back to the living room and wordlessly waited for Neil to slide himself off the barstool and make his way to Niko’s bed. The dog was resting in his giant bed, half-asleep.

  Neil worked slowly. He pulled out his kit, assessed his medications. With one quick look to Shirley and a deep scratch along the ears to Niko, he uncapped the sedative.

  “I usually suggest that the owners sit with their animal,” he said in a soft voice. “You can pet him or speak to him. Would you like me to explain what I’m doing? This first shot will only put Niko in a deep sleep. Then I will inject the drug that will slow his heart. He won’t feel any pain.”

  “Thank you,” Shirley mumbled.

  This was usually the moment when the owners blubbered and rushed to their dogs or cats and spilled tears into their fur. But Shirley didn’t move over to Niko or wipe her eyes. Instead, she turned away from Dr. Gregory and vomited on the floor.

  Neil sighed and capped the sedative and stood to his feet. Niko sat up, too, and lifted his head.

  “Stay, Niko,” Neil commanded. “Shirley? I’m so sorry. Was that too much? I’m sorry. I asked if you wanted to know and I then I just explained. I—”

  The old woman lifted her head to the sound of Neil’s voice. She held on to the edge of her white sofa, her wrinkled hands clutched the armrest. Small red droplets began to dot the fabric. Shirley was bleeding from her mouth.

  Neil went to his phone to dial 911 and he rushed over to her. With the phone to his ear, he sat her down against the side of her furniture and fumbled to grab his stethoscope from beside his bag. He listened to her heart. It was slowing. Her breaths were garbled and faint. With his hand on her arm, Neil didn’t move away until the thump-thump in his ears disappeared.

  Shirley went limp and toppled over to the side.

  Her mouth was still wet with blood.

  Neil jumped up and his phone crashed to the floor. Nothing in the house made a sound; even the dog had held his breath. Bending down, Neil picked up his phone, but 911 refused to click through, and so he pushed the button to end the call. It was no use: Shirley Finch was dead. But Niko was alive.

  And he barked. And barked again.

  Panicked, Neil threw his equipment back into his bag, and with one long last look at Shirley Finch, he patted his leg and moved to the front door. “Come Niko,” he called. “Come, sweetheart.”

  The dog followed him easily and without hesitation, so Neil led him to his car and opened the door. Even in his old age, Niko navigated the small jump and settled into the backseat. With one last look at the Finch house, Neil got into his Mercedes and started the engine. The Rolling Stones drummed and shrieked their way through a chorus, but Neil was quick to silence them. All he could hear was Niko’s heavy breathing in the backseat and the pounding of his own heartbeat. Shirley Finch was dead and he’d left her in the house and stolen her dog. He processed the events in agonizing details.

  Shirley Finch was dead.

  Niko was not.

  And now he was driving back to his own house to deposit the dog with Carol before heading to his office for a brutal day of work. He realized in hindsight that he should have left a note for Mr. Finch, but his brain wasn’t operating at normal function. His phone buzzed and Neil answered, keeping one eye on the road. It was Carol.

  “Are you coming home?” she asked, her voice rushed. “Come home.”

  “I was heading to the—”

  “Turn on the news, Neil. Stop blasting rock and roll and try to tune into the world sometime!”

  “I have the dog,” he said.

  “What?” Carol spat. “What dog?”

  “Shirley Fi
nch’s dog.”

  “Why? To take to the clinic? I thought it was—”

  “She’s dead,” he said. “She died right before I was about to inject.”

  “Get home, Neil. Get home now. Shirley Finch isn’t the only one…lots of people are dying. That virus that killed the dogs? They think it’s—” She hung up the phone, and Dr. Gregory’s breath caught in his chest, and he turned wildly on to a side road so he could make his way back home to Carol.

  He refused to flip on the radio. He didn’t need the news; the news would only worry him more, and he still needed to calm down.

  Niko panted in the backseat and Neil took one hand off the steering wheel and reached back to pet the poor thing. He wondered what Niko thought of his joyride—had he been aware how close he’d been to dying? Neil wasn’t convinced he would have been able to push the Pentobarbital into the dog to stop his heart. In many ways, Shirley’s death occurred at a most fortuitous moment.

  A line of red brake lights appeared and Neil slowed his car and found himself in a traffic jam with a line of other stopped cars. Horns honked and people got out in droves; some angry, some confused. A few people did U-turns and sped off in various directions. Neil waited.

  After a few long minutes, he popped his head out the window and yelled to a bystander on the sidewalk. “Accident?” he asked.

  It was a mom with two kids wearing backpacks by her side. She nodded. “Yeah!” she yelled. “I think it was the school bus. It looks like it was the school bus!” Then without another word, she put her hands on her kids’ shoulders and hustled them back up the street and into the safety of their home.

  A few other cars appeared behind Dr. Gregory. He was stuck. Marooned just a half a mile down the road from his house, and there was no other way to get there by car. He rolled down the windows and put the car into park. Off in the distance, he heard sirens wailing and they got closer and closer. An ambulance sped by in the oncoming traffic lane and bypassed the backup. Neil watched as it rolled to a stop thirty or forty cars ahead.