The Scourge (Book 1): Unprepared

by Abrahams, Tom

  “I need to see a manager, please,” she said. “Could you please get me a manager, Mr. Manzke?”

  On the screen, there was a grid of aerial shots showing traffic backups near the Lincoln Tunnel in New York, on the 405 in Los Angeles, on I-45 at the 610 Loop in Houston. New York was already in darkness, so the procession of red and white lights was impressive.

  The images switched from traffic to what looked like cell phone video of a riot at a Walmart. It looked like one of the videos shown on Black Friday, when people rushed a store for discounted electronics. Instead, the graphic revealed it was looting at a location in Baton Rouge. People were climbing over each other, shoving, punching, and wrestling. It was surreal.

  “I’m the manager,” said the man at the desk.

  “You’re the manager?” asked Miriam. “Then what about the owner? Could I talk to the owner? Never mind. I’m calling Bonvoy.”

  The video in front of Mike switched again. At first he couldn’t identify the location. He was too focused on the smoldering pile of bodies at the center of the screen. This too was an aerial shot, but it was blown out at its center from the throbbing flames in the pyre.

  He glanced to the top left and noticed it said London just before the shot widened and he saw the London Eye on the bank of the Thames. The city looked like a war zone, like the black-and-white images he’d seen of the Blitz in World War II. He thought about what Deputy Maryland told him. He needed to get out of here. He needed to think about finding some place where the disease and desperate people couldn’t find him.

  Miriam drew his attention from the screen.

  “Are you kidding me?” She was tapping the screen, swiping her finger across the display. “No service? How is there no service?”

  She pressed a thumb to the screen and lifted the phone to her ear. Her eyes were shut and she was mumbling something under her breath. Wet strands of hair hung over her face like a thin curtain that provided only hints of her face behind them.

  Mike checked his phone. His message to Brice was still unsent. In the upper left corner of the screen, he saw he had no service.

  “Try shutting off your phone and restarting it,” Mike suggested. “Sometimes that works.”

  He crossed the lounge to the lobby and approached the desk. The clerk, Manzke, was looking at his phone too. His affable smile was gone. A deep crease ran vertically between his bushy white eyebrows. “What service do you have?”

  “None,” said Mike.

  Miriam pulled the phone from her ear and huffed with frustration. “Verizon.”

  Mike’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry, Verizon.”

  “I’m Sprint,” said Manzke. “I don’t have any signal either. No bars.”

  “May I use a land line, please?” Miriam asked.

  “Of course you may, Ms. Weber,” said Manzke, “but they won’t be able to help you. You can’t get blood from a rock.”

  Miriam frowned. “My mother used to say that.”

  Manzke lifted a traditional phone from the desk, turned it to face Miriam, and set it on the counter. He pulled on the cord to give her some slack. Then he covered his mouth with his hand and coughed. He cleared his throat.

  “Smart lady, your mother,” he said. His smile was back. “Dial 6 to get an outside line.”

  Miriam and Mike exchanged a quick glance. She pressed 6 and then a series of numbers she copied from those displayed on her screen. Her eyes scanned the room, jittery as she searched for meaning in whatever was being said on the phone.

  “I can’t get through,” she said. “They don’t have any operators to help me.”

  Manzke took back the phone. “I’m sorry, Ms. Weber. I am. I wish I could help you. Maybe one of our nearby properties would suit your needs?”

  Miriam’s shoulders sagged. She grabbed the telescoping handle of her suitcase, pushed the button at the top of it, and pulled it up. “No, thanks,” she said. “You’ve been very nice. Thanks for putting up with me. I know you’re stuck like I am.”

  She started for the door. Mike took the bag from her and pushed open the door for her to exit first. Behind him, Manzke coughed again. This time it was louder.

  A wall of damp cool air hit Mike as he rolled the suitcase onto the sidewalk that ran along the front of the hotel. Miriam stopped in front of him as the door swung closed behind them.

  “I guess I could get back in Amir’s Uber,” she said.

  “And go where?” asked Mike.

  “I’ve got a cousin who lives in New Smyrna. I can go there for the time being, I guess. He’s got a boat. He can help me get out of here.”

  Miriam started walking back toward the road. She had her phone gripped tightly in one hand. Her purse slapped against her hip as she moved. Its strap was across her chest again, like a thin stylish seatbelt.

  Mike followed her for a few more steps and stopped. An idea crystallized in his head. “I could take you,” he offered.

  Miriam stopped and turned around to face him. She studied him for a moment. Mike took an unconscious step back, uncomfortable with how she was looking at him with an obvious degree of skepticism.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why would you do that?” she said. “That’s sketch.”

  “Sketch?”

  “Sketchy.”

  “I know what it means,” said Mike. “How is it sketch?”

  She laughed incredulously and pointed at him with her phone. “I don’t know you, Mike. You don’t know me. Why would I take a ride with you to the beach?”

  “You don’t know Amir the Uber driver either,” he said. “And he’s charging you. I won’t charge you.”

  Her face twitched as she considered that. Her eyes narrowed. “Then what do you want?”

  It was dark outside. But in the bright orange light burning down from the sconces on the front of the hotel, he saw her eyebrows arch with the question. A cool breeze swirled around them and she picked strands of hair from in front of her eyes, tucking them behind her ears.

  “I want to get out of here,” he said. “I need to get out of here.”

  He swept his hands toward the strobing emergency lights in the distance. They glowed alternately red, white, and blue near the scene of the helicopter wreckage. The irony wasn’t lost on Mike.

  “Things are going to get worse,” he said. “It’s going to happen fast. Hours ago they were burning bodies in the streets in Athens. Now it’s London. Tomorrow it’s New York and Chicago.”

  “So get out of here,” Miriam said with a shrug. “You don’t need me for that.”

  “I don’t have anywhere to go,” he said. “I don’t have family. I don’t have unlimited funds. But I have a Jeep.”

  Her stance softened. Her eyes lost their suspicion. “And?”

  “You have family. You have a place to go. But you don’t have a way to get there,” he reasoned. “We can help each other.”

  Miriam glanced over her shoulder at the hotel. She scanned the road in front of her, from the direction of Amir’s Uber to the working scene at the helicopter. “I don’t know if my cousin is going to be there, and I can’t call him. We might get there and be SOL. And even if he’s there, I can’t guarantee he’ll help you.”

  “I’ll take that chance.”

  “Then let’s do this,” said Miriam.

  CHAPTER 17

  OCTOBER 2, 2032

  SCOURGE +/- 0 DAYS

  ORLANDO, FLORIDA

  Kandy Belman sank into the new microfiber couch she’d ordered from Wayfair. It was the most comfortable piece of furniture she’d ever owned, and it felt good to get off her feet. She tucked her legs underneath her and curled her toes.

  She was sitting in the living room in her Thornton Park bungalow. The house was two blocks from Lake Eola, close to parks and restaurants, and a two minute drive from the station.

  The house was a steal when she bought it. The up-and-down Florida real estate market was in a deep valle
y when she snagged it from a retired couple looking to move to Blowing Rock, North Carolina.

  Kandy always thought it funny that northerners retired to Florida and Floridians retired north. The North Carolina mountains were to Floridians what Naples and West Palm were to Michiganders, Canadians, and New Yorkers.

  She loved the house. It was just enough space. There were two bedrooms, one and a half baths, a galley kitchen, a dining room, a living room, and original hardwood floors. There was a one-car garage and a huge orange tree in the backyard. A magnolia shaded the small front yard, and its roots had cracked through the narrow concrete driveway. But Kandy thought it added charm to the place and had no designs on fixing it.

  She closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck. In the kitchen she heard the clink of plates on the tile countertop. Phil was whistling as he finished making dinner. He was a keeper.

  “One grilled cheese with bacon and a pile of crinkle fries coming right up,” he said, emerging from the kitchen, almost sliding across the pine floors, toward the large stone coffee table that sat in front of the new sofa. “It’s not blackened mackerel fresh from the ocean, but it’ll do.”

  He carried two identical white plates topped with healthy servings of Ore-Ida fries and a pair of sandwiches each, cut into triangles. He carefully placed her plate in front of her on the table and then set his next to it. He stood up straight and clapped his hands together.

  “What do you want to drink?” he asked. “Water? Wine?”

  “You can turn water into wine?” Kandy asked with a flirtatious smirk. “I knew you were special.”

  He winked. “Not that special. White or red?”

  “I have red?”

  “I picked some up today,” Phil said. “Had to wait in line for forty-five minutes. People are losing their minds.”

  Kandy untucked her feet and planted them on the cool, solid floor. She ran her toes across the joints between the thin boards. In front of her, mounted on the solid plaster wall opposite the sofa, was a sixty-inch flat-screen television. The sound was muted.

  “That’s so sweet,” she said. “But I’d better have water. There’s a chance I could get called in again.”

  “I’m surprised they didn’t call you back in already,” Phil said over his shoulder as he walked back to the kitchen. She studied his broad shoulders and his confident stride. His calves were defined. He was a keeper. She hoped. “What with that helicopter crash. Seven people died. A bunch more were injured. At least that’s what they’re saying.”

  “They sent the nightside crew,” she said loud enough for him to hear her. “Thankfully.”

  Phil reappeared with two bottles of water and a smile. “Thankfully.”

  He sat down beside her, his thigh touching hers. She took a French fry from his plate and popped it into her mouth.

  “You have plenty,” he said, taking a fry from her plate. “You don’t need mine.”

  She put her hand on his thigh and squeezed. “Thank you for dinner.”

  “I slaved all day. I hunted the pig, cured the bacon, harvested the wheat, and kneaded the dough—”

  “Just say you’re welcome. Take a compliment. I don’t give them out very often.”

  He laughed. It was a genuine laugh that made her smile. “Want to watch the news?” he asked. “Cable?”

  Kandy picked up a triangle of sandwich, and a long string of melted cheese stretched from the plate. She broke it with her finger. “No, I’ve had enough for today. I left my phone in the bedroom. I need a break.”

  She took a bite of the sandwich, relishing the taste of the cheese. She bit down on a piece of the bacon. Its salty, maple flavor was savory. Kandy closed her eyes and chewed. “This is so good,” she said, squirreling the food in her cheeks. “I love comfort food.”

  Phil smiled broadly. “It’s the bacon. I thought about putting it on the fries too, but couldn’t figure out how to make that work. Bacon bits would have been the best, but—”

  She put a finger to his lips. “It’s fine. I love it.”

  He nodded, his face a little flushed, and picked up the remote. He hit the volume button. There was some sci-fi movie on the screen. A woman was running from a monstrous alien. Her scream filled the room, echoing off the solid surfaces of the space.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Phil. “I think it’s—”

  A loud siren interrupted the movie and the screen went blue. White lettering flashed in the middle of the screen. Phil immediately lowered the volume. Both of them stopped eating and stared in disbelief at the message on the sixty-inch display.

  EMERGENCY HEALTH ALERT

  THIS IS NOT A TEST

  DUE TO THE UNCONTROLLED SPREAD OF A DEADLY VIRUS

  YOUR LOCAL GOVERNMENT AGENCIES SUGGEST:

  AVOID CROWDED AREAS

  DO NOT TRAVEL

  SHELTER IN PLACE

  STAND BY FOR A PRESIDENTIAL MESSAGE

  Phil’s hand found Kandy’s and she took it, pulling it into her lap. The screen was static for almost a minute, the squelch of the siren repeating.

  Phil whispered to Kandy, “What is a presidential message? Does that mean the president?”

  Kandy nodded as the screen dissolved to a familiar shot of the East Room of the White House. There was an empty lectern in front of a long hall. At the end of the hall was a collection of flags.

  The president stepped into the shot. He walked slowly toward the lectern. His face was dour and he looked older somehow. His salt-and-pepper hair appeared thinner and grayer than Kandy remembered. The wrinkles on his face, the creases that crowded his eyes and framed his mouth, were more pronounced.

  “Pause it,” said Kandy.

  “What?” asked Phil.

  She got up from the sofa and moved around the table. “Pause it. I’ll be right back.”

  Kandy hustled to her bedroom and found her phone next to the unmade king size bed. She unplugged it and held it up to her face, unlocking the screen. No messages. No missed calls.

  She opened her email. Nothing.

  Then she noticed the lack of a signal on her phone. No service.

  “Hey,” she said as she came back into the living room, “is your phone working?”

  Phil slouched back against the sofa’s cushions and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his phone and studied it for a moment. He held up the phone. “No. No signal.”

  “I wondered why our phones didn’t blare the alert,” she said, “or why I haven’t gotten any texts from the station. I should go in. They might be trying to reach me.”

  She stood between Phil and the television, blocking his view of the screen. He sat forward again and put his elbows on his knees. He looked up with a confused look and gestured toward the TV. “Don’t you want to see what the president has to say? We don’t know there’s a reason for you to run out yet. I mean, the warning is for you to do the exact opposite, to stay here with me.”

  Her gut told her she should go. She should be in her car and on her way to work. No doubt. Even if they didn’t call her in, she needed to volunteer. Kandy Belman knew she was the vegetables of the operation. Just like the picky child who pushes the broccoli to the side of the plate, management didn’t want her anymore. She was old school and getting older. But they needed her. They needed her expertise and institutional knowledge. If she didn’t go into work, they might decide they didn’t need her.

  Looking at Phil’s cute face, his boy-like features pleading for her to stay, tore at her. There was what she wanted to do and what she felt like she had to do. She wanted to stay at home with him. She didn’t feel like she could. So she struck a compromise.

  “I’ll watch his speech with you,” she said. “Then I can reevaluate.”

  They both knew she wouldn’t reevaluate anything. When the speech was over, she was leaving regardless of what the president had to say. Phil didn’t challenge her. He nodded and patted the cushion next to him on the sofa.

&n
bsp; She eased around the coffee table and took her seat. He put one hand on her leg and tapped the remote with the other. The president was at the lectern. His bright red tie was a sharp contrast to his dark suit and powder blue shirt.

  “My fellow Americans,” said the president, “I come to you tonight as your president and as your friend.”

  He pressed his lips together into a flat smile. He gripped both sides of the lectern with his hands. “As one of our founding fathers, John Dickinson, wrote, ‘Then join hand in hand, brave Americans all! By uniting we stand, by dividing we fall!’ Those prescient words have proved true throughout our nation’s young history. Through wars, depression, and political strife, we have found that we, as Americans, are stronger together than we are apart.”

  “He is good,” said Phil.

  “That’s why he won in a landslide,” said Kandy. “Probably will again.”

  “You think so?” asked Phil. “All the polls say it’s too close to call.”

  Kandy shrugged as the president lifted his chin and got to the point. She took Phil’s hand and squeezed. It was a sign of affection and a hint to put the conversation on hold.

  “But we have never faced a test like this. Never before has the foundation of our democracy faced such a threat. I am here tonight to ask you for your help.”

  The president’s eyes narrowed and his expression tightened. He stared directly into the camera. “By now you know about the virulent disease called the Scourge. It is, at this point, unstoppable. There is no vaccine. There is no treatment. There is no cure. It is here, on our shores, and spreading too fast to control. I acted too slowly in coordinating a travel ban. And it has cost us. I should have been more proactive in preventing, or at least delaying, the arrival of the Scourge in our cities and on our neighborhood streets. All I can do is tell you I am sorry for that inaction. It will lead to the deaths of untold thousands or more.”