I didn’t want to knock Peninsula. I knew it was a great place, they helped my cousin Bob. And hating to admit it, seeing how Maranda was acting, a part of me knew Peninsula would be a safe place for her. The difference between Peninsula and a regular medical center was, once I kissed my wife goodbye, it would be days until I was allowed to visit her.
It was for the best, and I knew whether it was a mental breakdown or ARC, Maranda would get the help she needed.
SEVEN - DISCHARGE
February 15
They said she didn’t know. Valentine’s Day had come and gone, I wasn’t able to visit, and she didn’t know.
It broke my heart, but it wasn’t like her memory was blank. She just lived in the past a lot. The nurses updated me on her condition, or reality break as someone called it.
She was like a light switch with it, off and on. One moment sad that she wasn’t with her family, fully aware that she wasn’t home, then the next moment she was lost and clueless.
Innocent, like a child.
The day after Valentine’s Day they called and said her seventy-two hours was up and we could come and visit. I truly wasn’t sure if I wanted to bring Daisy, five years old and seeing her mother in a place like that. But one of the nurses there thought it would be a good idea and that Maranda looked lovely.
The kids were excited. Well, Daisy was. Beau was about as excited as a thirteen year old boy could get. I put Daisy in a cute little dress, made Beau comb his hair. We had flowers, we made cards, and I even wore a nice pull over shirt. Which I only wore when we occasionally went to church.
“Make sure you eat,” I told Daisy. “I’m not stopping.”
“Dad,” Beau laughed. “You act like this is a long road trip.”
“To a five year old it is,” I replied. “Takes about forty-five minutes so Daisy, pee after you eat, I’m not stopping.”
“I can’t wait to see Mommy.”
“Me, too.”
“Does she miss us?” Daisy asked.
“Very much,” I said. “She misses you so much and can’t wait to come home.”
“When can she?”
“I don’t know sweetie.” I grabbed her hand. “Eat.”
“Hey, Dad, are they saying anything new?” Beau asked.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. But, no new news is good news, right?” My phone rang and I turned my head to where it sat on the kitchen counter. “Finish up, we’re leaving in fifteen.” I stood and grabbed the phone.
I knew the number as soon as I saw it.
Richard.
I hurriedly informed Beau to keep an eye on Daisy and get her ready as I grabbed my phone. “Richard,” I answered. “Thank you so much for calling.”
“Travis, I got all your messages.”
I didn’t know what to make of his tone, was he angry, tired? He didn’t sound himself, then again, when I talked to him the time before he was euphoric over this cure for Alzheimer’s.
“I’m sorry about that Richard, at first I called because I was hearing about ARC-2. Then it was my wife and all.”
“I’m sorry for that. And I apologize for not calling you back. I did however reach out to Peninsula. They are aware who I am and they forwarded me your wife’s scans so I could look.”
“Wow, that is amazing, thank you so much. What about the spinal tap?” I asked. “Did they send you the results of that?”
“They didn’t take spinal fluid.”
“They must really not think it’s ARC-2.”
“Travis … she has what you have been asking about. But … there, there is no ARC-2. Or a virus, anyhow.”
“Wait. What?” I asked in shock. “Yeah, there is, it’s all over the news.”
“One of the reasons it has taken so long to get back to you was because I really debated on whether I would tell you the truth or not. But I don’t see you running to social media or the news.”
“That’s not me,” I said.
“I know.”
“What’s going on Richard?” I asked. “I saw on the news the other day something like seventeen thousand people are sick. How can say seventeen thousand people have a virus when they don’t.”
“At first they believed it was ARC-2, but none of the tests came back with the virus. Nothing. We tried to find it because it had all the telltale symptoms of ARC,” he explained. “I thought another strain emerged, one we couldn’t see. I was contacted immediately. Nothing we tried worked, and unlike when you had ARC, it progressed rapidly. We’ve been seeing this for a good year.”
“A year?”
“A year,’ he repeated. “I am simply devastated Travis.”
“Richard, what is going on?” I asked.
“This is me. This is my arrogance, I caused this. There are not seventeen thousand people, there are a lot more.”:
“How are you responsible for a virus?” I asked,
“It’s not a virus. It’s the effects of the vaccine.”
The phone nearly fell from my hand. “What?”
“We created the vaccine using a manmade, super targeting, Activity Regulator Cytoskeleton protein. It acted as a barrier, working with the ARC gene, protecting the brain from degenerative disease. What we didn’t expect or think would happen, is the gene would start rejecting it, and in turn, eventually, caused the opposite effect. Instead of protecting the brain, it broke it down. Rapid degenerative brain disease.”
“What about another vaccine?” I asked. “I’m not a scientist, but can’t we toss that super protein at it.”
“Oh, we tried that,” Richard said. “The results were even more devastating.”
“What does all this mean, Richard? What is happening?”
“Just imagine the stages of Alzheimer’s progressing at a rapid rate.”
“How rapid?” I asked,
“Start to finish … at the most, weeks. We saw one case last just about a month. That was it. Fastest a couple days. Usually accidents have been the cause.”
“Jesus, Richard, I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “Eventually everyone is going to know the truth. We celebrated this cure, we were proud of it. Five point three billion people, men, women and children received the vaccination, and in two weeks, five point three billion people won’t even know their name.”
It was like an earthquake inside my being, the shaking rumbled in my belly, and caused my heart to pound. I stumbled back and sat down, barely able to catch my breath. “Everyone?” I asked. “Everyone that got it? That can’t be right. You have to be wrong. It can’t be right.”
“I have to go.”
“Richard, tell me what we can do?”
“Go get your wife, Travis, bring her home.”
“And?”
“Bring her home. She doesn’t have much time.”
Click.
That was it. He ended the call, leaving me reeling in his news that didn’t make sense and I didn’t fully understand. Billions of people got that vaccination, was he really saying that billions of people would be like my wife?
Like an idiot, I screamed his name over and over in the phone. I wanted to slam the phone on the counter. Instead, I growled in angry frustration.
“Dad?” Beau called my name. “You okay?”
I pursed my lips trying to control my emotions. “Um, yeah.” I looked at my son holding my daughter’s hand and that was when the most heartbreaking thought hit me.
My wife wasn’t the only one who received the vaccine. Our children did, too.
EIGHT – DRAWING
February 19
There is a certain amount of deniability when faced with horrific news. It was a strange process I went through. To me there was no way this was going to reach some sort of biblical proportion.
If Richard was right and it was those who received the vaccine, I was doomed to live and watch my family suffer.
In the four days since we brought Maranda home, she grew worse. She remembered less, was often confused, and we
had to watch her carefully and constantly.
It was nothing compared to the stories I was seeing on the news.
I didn’t want to watch the news, but I was drawn to it.
There was no hiding the story, downplaying it, they couldn’t.
“So you think it can be stopped,” the newscaster asked some scientist.
“We think we can, unfortunately, for too many Americans it will be too late. We’re not looking at a gradual process like most degenerative brain diseases, we are looking at a quick onset and a launch into a late stage. The protein turned into a predator and the brain is the prey.”
I hated listening to the news, but I had to hold on to hope, wait to hear something that could give me encouragement for my family.
The ravaging effects couldn’t be downplayed or ignored, two-hundred and sixty-four million Americans alone received the vaccine.
My question was, if they were progressing or would progress like Maranda, who was going to take care of them. How many people would wander aimlessly on the street, not knowing who they were, how to dress, eat or to even recognize danger.
Those were the confused ones.
There were those who had outbursts with little provocation, and some went catatonic.
The day after I brought Maranda home, health authorities talked about a ‘plan’, but didn’t say specifically what it was. But through what little they did say, they expressed what I was thinking.
Bottom line, there weren’t enough healthy to care for the ones that were going to get ill.
If they couldn’t be saved, what about their quality of life?
As it stood, everyone would be a caretaker until they could no longer take care of themselves.
Then what?
I hadn’t been to work in a week, and it was days since I had even left the house. I needed things from the store. I needed to feed my kids. This meant leaving them alone. Alone with Maranda.
It would be fine, at least just for Beau. He would be there in case something went wrong. And it was possible. Three times since she had been home, Maranda wandered. from the apartment, down the stairs and to the street. In her bare feet. No coat. She tried to make tea on the stove and didn’t put water in the pot.
Hating to do it, for when we slept or, had to leave, the day before I had resorted to not only putting locks on the bedroom window, but an exterior lock on the door. My poor wife was a prisoner of not only her mind, but in her home.
I decided to take Daisy with me to the store, less burden and worry on my young son. I secured Maranda in her room and just told him to let me know if anything went wrong. I would be back. We would walk to Dewalt’s. It would be a lot faster to walk the two blocks than clearing the snow from the truck and finding a parking spot for just a couple bags we could tote ourselves.
Plus, it would be good to get Daisy out of the house.
The temperatures weren’t frigid, the sun peaked through a little and it was in that stage of winter warm just before another snowfall.
Still, I bundled her up and we left the apartment.
As we stepped from the building, Daisy stopped to look in the gallery. I held her hand seeing our reflection in the glass.
“Daddy, do you think Mommy can still paint?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe she should try.” Daisy looked up at me with those big innocent eyes. Something about her suggestion clicked.
Maybe the creativity was instinctual. What would happen if I gave her a canvas and brushes?
“You know what Daisy, I think that’s a great idea.”
Turning from the gallery, I saw him approach from behind.
Chief Fisher.
“Good to see you out, Travis,” he said. “How’s Maranda?”
“Same. Not … better.” I glanced down to Daisy. “We’re headed to the store right now.”
“What store?”
I smiled. “Dewalt’s.”
“It’s closed, Travis,” the Chief said. “They closed yesterday. If you need something, I have access. I’m trying right now to set up a schedule.”
“Why did Eddie close?”
“His wife did. Eddie … Eddie is like Maranda along with at least forty other people in town.”
“Oh my God.”
“You haven’t been out Travis, things are going downhill fast.”
“I’ve been so preoccupied with Maranda,” I said.
“I understand. I wanted to stop by and talk to you,” the Chief said. “Will you be around this evening?”
“Sure, what’s going on?”
“I got a memo from the state, they tried to reach out to you. Emailed, called, and even sent you a social media message.”
I shook my head. “I haven’t bothered with any of that. Why are they looking for me?”
“Because you and I are two of twelve people in town that didn’t get the Vaccine.”
“Okay,” I said confused.
“You can say it’s a call to arms.”
I was trying to register what he meant. Like we were getting called to some sort of war?
“If you’ll excuse me,” the Chief said. “I’ll be by later.” He extended his hand, touching Daisy’s face. “You be good and help Daddy.”
“I will,” Daisy replied.
“See you in a little while, Travis.” The chief walked away.
“Daddy are we still going to the store?” Daisy asked.
“I don’t think so sweetie. Looks like I’m gonna have to take some of that California Bologns out of the freezer.” Holding her hand I turned to take her back in. Then I thought, maybe just a little longer, I’d keep her out. She needed to get out of the apartment.
I was ready to tell her that we were going to take a little walk down the street, when I looked at the gallery.
“You know what, Daisy? You had such a good idea before. What do you say we go in mom’s gallery and get her some stuff to make a painting?”
“Okay,” Daisy replied brightly.
I pulled the keys out of my back pocket, fiddled to find the correct one and then I unlocked the gallery door.
We stepped in. It was dark in there and I immediately turned on all the lights. The overhead, the tracking. I illuminated all of her paintings and they were painful to see.
Daisy’s voice trailed as she ran toward the back. “I’m gonna grab her paint brushes and paint.”
“I’ll be right there to get the canvas.” I told her, pausing at one of my wife’s paintings. Maranda’s soul was stamped on every creation. She left her mark. It broke my heart to think she would never do another, and if she did, would she even know? She had reached the point where she didn’t remember eating, struggled to know my name and more often than not kept asking who Beau was.
Maybe something about the art would bring her back, even just for a moment.
“Daddy, how many colors should I get,” Daisy hollered from the back.
“Get a bunch baby, she can mix,” I replied. “I’ll be right … there.” On my last word I watched the blue sedan fly down the snow covered street.
My body turning in shock, seeing it fly by the window and thinking, “They must have an emergency,” only to learn quickly my thinking was wrong when I heard the crash.
It caused me to jump, and I instinctively reached for the door.
“Daisy!” I shouted. “Stay here. Don’t leave.” I flung open the gallery door. That same car had slammed right into Hot Box Pizza. The front end of the car smashed against the corner of the building. No attempts to stop. Steam flowed from the engine, clearly the air bags deployed and the windshield was shattered.
I ran to help the driver, and saw Chief Fisher was arriving before me.
Surely the driver was hurt, there was no way he or she wasn’t.
Then the driver’s door opened, and the driver, a man about my age, stepped out.
Blood poured down his face, his legs were wobbly, and he staggered from the car.
“Hold
on, just hold on,” Fisher said to the man. “You’re hurt.”
But the man said nothing, he walked right by the Chief, running his hand on the car as a means of support. He walked around the back of the car, leaving a trail of blood as he went straight to the door of the pizza shop.
Anyone that was in the pizza shop was already outside. They had run out when they heard the crash and no doubt, felt the jolt.
A Hot Box pizza worker in a blue shirt, tried to stop the man. “You can’t go in.”
“I just want my pizza. I want my pizza.”
“Sir, you need medical help.”
The man seriously injured, standing and reacting on memory, felt no pain. Just like George felt nothing.
Unlike George, the man reacted verbally. He yelled at the employee, screaming about his pizza.
Chief Fisher tried to calm him, but the man was enraged.
He reminded me of Eddie Dewalt when he was young and stupid. Eddie liked to drink, but he was an angry drunk and would act unreasonably and throw a tantrum in a drunk rage when he did anything wrong.
That was not the case here.
The man, like my wife and so many others, had lost his mind, his reasoning and thought processes were gone.
It was a frightening vision of what was to come.
I couldn’t, nor did I want to, envision what the world was going to be like when eighty percent of the world became like my wife and this man.
<><><><>
Nothing.
There was nothing there. No moment of familiarity, happiness, knowing. Maranda looked at me with wonder, or maybe as if I were nuts giving her something she had no idea how to use. It was like giving someone a car they didn’t know how to drive.
“It’s there,” I told her. “It’s in your heart. Try. To. Find it.”
I knew my words of encouragement were short.
“You’re a nice man,” she said. “Can you tell my mother where I am?”
“Yeah, I will.”
Her mother had passed away years ago.
Last Dance at the End of the World Page 5