by Maira Dawn
The gurney started and stopped several times as it bumped over the uneven sidewalk making its way closer to the camera. The young girl continued to thrash on the stretcher between the two paramedics, her mouth snapping open and shut, open and shut again and again. She was wild as she struggled to attack the two men.
The paramedics were now at the back the emergency vehicle, turning the gurney to enter the ambulance. For the first time, Skye could see the girl's entire face. Her hands clenched the lip of Caroline's desk.
Wild, distant eyes. Blue lips. Bloody foam spewed from her open mouth.
The girl's hands jerked against the bands that held her. Blue-tipped fingers curled inward and clenched. Her body started to convulse. The violent quaking quickened as the paramedics slid her into the ambulance.
The girl's mother followed the gurney, hands to her face, sobbing. Blood ran down her shoulders and arms from open wounds.
The girl had been vicious. These were not only bites, but large patches of torn, hanging skin.
Skye stood transfixed, her breath refusing to come. This disease which had been strange yesterday had just turned terrifying.
No! It can't be ... could it? The girl is just like the man! One would be unusual but two people with rabies in little more than twelve hours?
Skye turned away unable to watch any longer. As she moved away from Caroline's desk, the newscaster continued to report. "According to the hospital, this is the tenth case of this mysterious illness in this part of Ohio."
Skye's jaw dropped, and she stepped back. This part of Ohio? The tenth case? Where else had this 'mysterious illness' been seen?
Chapter Five
Tell Me
At two o'clock, the coffee shop was quiet as was usual this time of the day. The lunch crowd had been and gone, and it wasn't yet time for the three o'clock slump customers. When Skye stepped through the door, the gentle strum of an acoustic guitar coming from the restaurant's speaker and the fresh coffee aroma that cocooned her eased her frayed nerves.
Tom's tall, broad bulk was hard to miss as he leaned on the counter waiting for a barista to complete his order. Arms crossed and a coffee stirrer clamped between his teeth, he nodded his hello.
Skye joined him. A wave to the barista was enough to get her own order started. They knew her well. After picking up their coffees, they found a round, sun-drenched table near the large front window.
Eager for an explanation, especially after the new video, Skye leaned forward. Her elbows rested on the table as she sipped her coffee, letting the bittersweet taste linger on her tongue for a bit longer than necessary. "Tom, what's going on? Tell me. First the video from yesterday, then today I saw an alarming news report from Ohio."
Tom, though, was now reluctant to share what he had invited her here to say. He looked at the floor instead of her, slouching with his back to the window and his long arm stretched out toward his coffee sitting on the table. "Yeah, I heard about that news report," Tom said his voice low.
Skye was quiet, waiting for him to continue. If there was one thing she knew how to do well, it was to wait until someone was ready to talk.
Tom frowned, sighed and looked out the window. "Things are changing, Skye, in a big way."
Skye's eyes widened at his tone. This is serious, like really serious. A band squeezed her heart. "What do you mean?"
Tom rolled a shoulder and took a gulp of his coffee before returning his gaze to her. "This information isn't being released to the public yet. But, you’re family, I want you to know about this. This sickness, nobody seems to understand it or how it came to be. But we're being told it's out of control. A lot of people will get it."
Skye’s breathing picked up and goosebumps trailed down her arms. "Okay. A lot of people? How many is a lot?"
Tom leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Most everybody, Skye. Nothing can stop it. Most people who come into contact with it, catch it. And if you catch it, you die.
He wiped a hand across his forehead. "There are cases all across the U.S. The government has been letting on everything's okay, trying to suppress the media reports, but the news is getting out. This disease—it's not stopping. It's just gonna get worse from here on out."
Skye's coffee cup slipped in her numb, sweaty hand. A thousand random questions swirled through her mind, and she fired them at Tom. "But there is a cure, right?"
Tom looked down and tapped his cup on the table a few times. He shook his head "No, like I said, nothing can stop it."
"Are they working on a cure?"
"From what they're telling us, yeah."
"But how long... how long has the sickness been going on?" she stammered.
He scowled. "The first cases appeared about six months ago."
"Tom, the girl was foaming at the mouth! Is this, heaven forbid, some form of... rabies?" Skye's latte was not warming the chill that ran through her.
"That's one of the many rumors going around. I'm hopin not." Tom lowered his head and ran a hand through his hair.
"And they didn't warn anyone?" Skye rubbed her arms. It was hard to believe they wouldn't have done so.
"At first no, for some idiotic reason." He ground out the words. "But at last, the pertinent medical community and now the cops."
"And no one knows what this is?" Her voice rose to a higher pitch. I need to calm down. I can’t let my anxiety get the best of me. Skye took a deep breath in and let it out a bit at a time.
"I think someone does, or a few someones do, but they aren't telling us."
Skye paused a moment suspecting there was more. "Why are you telling me?"
Tom lowered his gaze. His chest rose and fell a few times before he spoke.
Skye closed her eyes. Even more bad news is coming.
Tom leaned closer and lowered his voice, his pale blue eyes direct. "Because Skye, you need to get ready. There are a lot more cases out there. People who haven't come to the hospital. They're out there infecting others right now. It's airborne, so it's spreading fast. But if you avoid that, if you get bit, you're gonna get it. Infected people, any of them, are dangerous."
"Bit? You mean everyone becomes like that girl? That's what happens?"
"It's one of the things, yeah."
Skye shuddered as she remembered the news report of the girl. "Is that why you shot the man on the video?"
"Yeah, he headed straight for me. Couldn't risk him passing that on." Sympathy crept into Tom's voice. "And besides, he suffered less that way."
"How so?"
"The end's brutal, I've seen it. Once a person gets it, they're just countin days.” Tom lowered his head and shook it before looking back at Skye. “If this continues as expected, you'll have to stay in. People are gonna get crazier than an outhouse fly as this continues to get out. If a snowstorm's coming, there is a huge run on the store. You need to be ready before the panic hits. We reckon we have a year, at least another six months, before the worst of it. Get your cash out of the bank. Stock up on food and water. So if it comes to it, you won't have to leave the house. This may end up in quarantines and curfews. I just don't know."
Skye reached a hand out to Tom. It's too much, I can't deal with this.
Tom understood what was happening and squeezed Skye's hand. "I know you get anxious, but you need to be ready for anything. Anything, do you understand?"
Her other hand trembled as she gulped her tasteless latte. She stammered, "I- I wouldn't believe this, except that I know you wouldn't pull this kind of elaborate prank on me. Also, I've seen those two videos." Her gaze strayed to the busy street outside the window. Being the one major road through town, it was highly trafficked during the day. Skye wondered how many vehicles would travel it by the end of the year. "Okay, six months. We can use cloth masks to help slow the disease in the meantime, right? Surely the scientists will have discovered a cure by then!"
"Sure, masks will help some, but they aren't going to stop it." Tom frowned and repeated, "Nothing so far has worked. That is what
I'm hearing. The incubation period is up to a year. So the best case is, we have a year, but we're training for the worst-case scenario, which is six months. There's no talk about a cure other than to say it's being worked on, and it's not factored into any of our training."
Skye put her head in her shaking hands. She couldn't even begin to comprehend what this might mean, probably would mean not only for her but all humankind.
No cure? There is always a cure! No, this is impossible. This kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life. This is the stuff of books and movies. The fiction you enjoy fearing while curled up with a blanket on your comfy couch. Her anxiety rose until the tinkling bell on the door, and the shop's background music filled her ears canceling out all other sounds. She pulled in a breath and released it to steady her nerves. The comforting aroma of coffee just smelled bitter.
She raised her head, her eyes asking questions that her addled mind couldn't think up yet. "Tom?"
Tom pleaded with her. "Listen. Do what I said. Do it now. I will check on you as soon as I can." Using his stern cop voice, he added, "This is happening. Skye. I know you, don't you ignore it, you hear me?"
Skye nodded yes, but her mind continued to swirl with their conversation. He gave her a hard stare, stood and patted her on the shoulder. "I will call you," he said and walked out of the coffee shop.
Skye dug her medication out of her purse and swallowed a pill. The bangle bracelets on her arm jangled. The jewelry was a reminder of all the caring people in Skye's life, each bracelet given with love and concern. Each meant something special. A gold one entwined with roses, a silver one embedded with diamonds and a simple hand-beaten copper one with the word "Strength" etched on it.
She ran her finger over the word, feeling the edges of the lettering on the smooth metal. This one was from her father. He had given it to her during a dark time in her life. "Skye, baby," he'd told her, "You’re strong. Stronger than you know. You can do anything you put your mind to." It had helped her then, and it helped her now as she imagined him and his warm southern drawl as he spoke the loving words.
Skye looked up when her phone alarm rang, reminding her of her next appointment. She grabbed her cell in one hand and her latte in the other, her heels making a sharp tap as she crossed the salmon-colored tile floor. She hurried through the glass door and rounded it, picking up her pace as she went.
She saw the man a moment before she ran head-on into his hard chest. Too late to stop, it jolted her almost off her feet. Skye lost her balance and took a few faltering steps as she tried to get it back, her latte splashing across her hand as she did so.
His firm, callused hands reached out and grabbed her upper arms, steadying her and lifting her a bit. Skye's feet left the ground as he put her to the side. She stood there blinking as he continued on his way, barely breaking his stride. "Ma'am," he said as he passed her, his low voice as rugged as his hands.
Skye glimpsed broad shoulders and dark hair before the man turned the corner. "Sorry!" she called out as she rushed down the sidewalk already thinking about her next appointment. She barely registered what happened.
Chapter Six
Just Go
Dylan and Wade Cole stood emotionless at the end of a low, sterile hospital bed as the man they called father gasped his last breaths. Green paper gowns haphazardly covered the front of the men’s jeans and t-shirts.
Wade's clenched fists were stuffed deep into the pockets of his worn, faded pants. His light brown hair offset his already ruddy skin which was becoming redder as his emotions built.
Dylan held one tense muscular arm across his body; his other hand raised to his mouth as he chewed a thumbnail. His hospital mask hung uselessly down his chest. It had been years since either had spoken to their father. Didn't want to be around him then, ain't wanting to be near him now. This needs to be over.
They both stared at their father, who shook and quivered as he lay on the crisp, white sheets. The immense effort it took for him to haul in another breath of air caused the metal bed frame to rattle.
Dylan narrowed his eyes and watched as the sick man clung to what tortured life he had left. Just go. Leave. Thought it a million times. What's one more?
Dylan pressed his lips together a few times before raising a hand to rake through his dark, shaggy hair as he examined the man in the bed.
The damage done by the disease in the last two days had devastated the man. His father’s pale, ashen skin made his blue-tinted lips seem more vibrant than they were. Red-tinged foam bubbled from his mouth with each gurgled breath, trailing over his lips and down the side of his face. His limbs, taut and awkward, were almost unusable.
Dylan felt the old fire stir in the pit of his stomach. The monster he is on the inside has crept to the outside.
He gave a long audible sigh to relieve the turmoil building up and reassured himself that it was all ending now. He raised his gaze to skim over the others laying in the vast, echoing room. Ain't less than a couple hundred here.
These were the lucky ones. The virus within them would spread swiftly, killing them before the week was over. Others would last longer, much longer. Still, these Sick had overwhelmed the town's small doctor's office within days. So, the authorities had closed the school to classes and opened the gym to the ill, no matter the phase of their disease.
At the side of most beds, loved ones gathered around the Sick, gowned and masked in the same green paper. Some offered comfort to the dying while others sobbed into their hands.
Dylan dragged his eyes to his brother standing beside him and saw Wade's harsh, unrelenting gaze on his father. Stone-faced and cold, just like me. It's what he taught us. Dylan turned his own glare back to his father, who now had tears in the corner of his eyes. He shouldn't be surprised.
The nurse hurried in to check on her patient. She adjusted his IV, upping the dose of pain medication so that each drip would ease his passing.
Dylan shook his head. He don't deserve the mercy. He ain't never gave mercy to nothing or nobody his whole life.
The nurse walked up to Dylan and Wade and whispered, "It won't be long now," then briskly went to the next patient. She offered no word of comfort or sympathetic squeeze of the hand for this patient.
She knows what he is. He scanned the room, taking in the many faces turned toward his family. They all know.
After a few minutes, their father’s frantic gasping stopped. He tried to lift his hand up to his sons as if in supplication. Then his head slid on the pillow, and his eyes went blank.
The brothers looked at each other. Twin weights shifted and rose from their shoulders, easing them of a burden they'd known from the moment they were born. They each acknowledged it with only a small nod.
"It's over now," Dylan said. "After today, everything will be different."
Wade gave a slow nod. "I feel better already."
Checking other patients on her way, the nurse came back to them. As she carefully explained the restrictions placed on the medical staff by the Disease Control for the care of the dead, Wade was quick to interrupt her. "Do whatcha gotta do, it don't make no nevermind to us."
"Will you be staying?" the medical worker asked.
"No," said Wade, "we're already gone." He turned and headed to the door.
Dylan took a moment to thank the nurse for her help, then followed Wade out.
At the exit, the men peeled off the protective gowns and masks revealing their shirts, each with one too many holes. They shoved the paper into the grey plastic garbage can that stood by glass doors.
When they reached the outdoors, Wade gazed at the bright blue sky before looking at Dylan. "How long do ya think it takes to get to Hell anyways?"
Dylan let out a deep sigh as he ran a hand around his tan neck. "The way he was, I always reckoned we were already there."
They were silent as they walked to their weathered, red truck. Dylan took the worn driver's seat and fired the engine. He leaned back for a minute staring out the front winds
hield, so many emotions flooding through him, he didn't know which one to focus on. He gave up and sent his brother a questioning look.
Wade gave him a sharp nod. Dylan pulled out onto the road and headed for the one and only place either man had ever considered safe.
.
Chapter Seven
Seen Worse
Skye sat on her cream-colored, overstuffed couch with feet tucked under her. A large tablet lay open on her lap lighting her face. Her smooth brow creased as she searched the web for any further sign of the dreadful disease she and Tom had discussed. Skye found little about the illness. And yet Doctor Kinder says there were too many Sick in Colton for his office, and he's now at the school gym.
The Disease Control website told her the virus had a name. It was such a long one Skye couldn't tackle it, but it had a nickname—AgFlu. It included early signs of the illness, normal cold and flu symptoms, and gave warnings about its ability to advance to pneumonia at a rapid pace. People should see their doctor at once, it said, if they developed any of the early manifestations.
The article stated less than one hundred people had contracted it. Skye huffed. That’s impossible. They are downplaying this. Skye’s mind drifted back to her earlier conversation with the doctor. There had to be more than a hundred nationwide.
Skye tapped her manicured nail to her lips. There was no mention of the biting, out-of-control behavior like the man from Colton on YouTube or the young girl on the news. No new information on those two Infected, and no new victims of the disease.
But if there really are only one hundred victims, or thereabouts, and a good part of them are in Colton, maybe it isn’t as serious as they led Tom to believe. Maybe whatever precautions were taken by the authorities are working. It wouldn’t be the first time we've prepared for something bad, disease or weather, and it turned out to be nothing. If that's the case, I have no problem with that.