Cough (10 page)

Sharon realized how many people actually didn’t pay attention to the preflight instructions. Many didn’t pull the strap to release the oxygen. Although she doubted the chemically created oxygen did little to help, it did do one thing, it calmed people down and gave them a sense of security.

For the fourteen minutes the oxygen flowed.

Had someone actually needed real oxygen, the plane had small canisters. But it didn’t get to that.

Sharon’s request for the captain to engage the masks wasn’t out of fear of some chemical attack on the plane or chemical leak. She knew that wasn’t the case by the sheer numbers of those infected. Had something leaked or there been an attack, everyone would have felt it.

She asked for the masks because she remembered during her coughing spell, they gave her oxygen and it helped a little.

The masks also did little for those who coughed and choked. The passenger in 2B was the first to die and within twenty minutes, everyone who fell ill … died. Most died one right after another, with the final person holding the full twenty minutes.

By the time the masks had burned through their oxygen, the plane was void of the coughing sounds. Only sniffles, cries and worried voices flowed through.

Some people asked for alcohol, Todd freely gave out the little bottles without a charge, opting to deal with the repercussions of not the freebies for later. Sharon assured him no one would care.

So many asked questions, that Sharon didn’t have answers to. The number one thing she needed to do was move people. Move those who had died to the back of the plane into one area, cover them and then the unaffected passengers move forward. She needed to keep people calm that was also a priority.

Above all that, she needed to give those on board an answer to their fate. She asked for volunteers to help the staff move bodies. Only a few offered, and Sharon gave them masks and two pairs of gloves. After situating that, she made her way to the cockpit.

The Captain let her in.

“What’s the situation?” the Captain asked.

“People are scared. We don’t know what happened. Any news?”

“No response yet.”

“Kind of scary,” Sharon said. “Is anyone down there?”

“Oh, yeah. We just have been transferred from one tower to the next. No explanation. Any new illnesses.”

“None.”

“Well, that’s …”

“Airnamics 473, this is Colorado Springs Delivery. Copy.”

The pilot responded. “Colorado Springs Delivery, this is 473. We read.”

“What is the situation 473?”

“We have an outbreak on board. We are unsure what has caused it. We are in dire straits. Twenty-three of our passengers were affected and they have died. Request emergency landing.”

Silence.

“Colorado Springs, this is 473, Repeat. We request emergency medical landing. Do you copy?” A brief moment, with no reply. “Colorado Springs do you copy.”

“This is Colorado springs Delivery. 473 your request for emergency medical landing is denied.”

“This is 473. Denied? How can you deny us?”

Colorado Springs didn’t respond.

“Colorado Springs?”

After a few seconds they finally returned.

“473 we have been informed that FAA has placed an in-flight quarantine on your plane. Stand by for further instructions.”

“Can we land and be placed under quarantine.”

“Negative. Stand by for instructions.”

The Captain lowered his headset.

“What does an in-flight quarantine mean?” Sharon asked.

“Means it they won’t let us land.”

“We can’t stay in the air for long, can we?”

“There’s about five more hours of fuel, maybe a little more.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll find a place to put her down. Even if it’s a cornfield.”

“What if more passengers get sick?”

“Sharon,” the Captain snapped. “Why are you asking so many questions I can’t answer?”

“Because we have one hundred and fifty passengers that need answers.”

“I don’t have them. They put a quarantine on us. They know something.” The captain said. “They were too quick to put that quarantine in place. They were waiting. There was something on board or released. They knew.”

“Do you think they are just trying to find a place for us to land?” Sharon asked.

The co-pilot who had been in a silent state of shock spoke up. “No, they’re keeping us up here while they scramble.”

The captain looked at him. “No.”

“Scramble?” Sharon looked quizzically at him.

“Jets,” The co-pilot said. “They are gonna shoot us down.”

One thing Stokes learned about the people of Littlefield was that they were pretty friendly. Chief Wells gave up his coat for Stokes, but told people he was stranded in town, a drifter of sorts, whose car was destroyed in the big accident. He felt sorry for him. That was the story.

As far as the multitudes of reporters, Wells and Stokes couldn’t chance them leaving town, not if they were exposed. So Wells let them know that he had major announcement regarding the accident and other circumstances and he would reveal it at three PM on Saturday. A few hours after the seventy-two hour mark. He hoped it would keep them in town long enough to see if they got sick.

Two reporters opted to leave.

When Wells realized that, he violated their rights, he had them arrested, slapped a ridiculously high fine on them in a kangaroo court invoking the out of state law. Fine must be paid in full before they were released.

They were given no phone calls.

The fine was a million dollars. Kind of hefty for a tail light. But it kept the reporters in the cell screaming everyone would know.

That threat seemed like a dream when Stokes woke up. He could smell the fresh brewing coffee, and the sun hadn’t even risen.

He grabbed his phone from the charger and checked for messages.

Nothing.

No missed calls, no messages. He clicked the envelope for his email … it spooled, but failed to connect.

A normal routine disrupted. He just operated on the assumption that he had connection. Stokes took a few seconds to remembered if he paid his phone bill, then decided to hook up to the Chief’s Wi-Fi.

That was a bust,

“What the hell?” Stokes focused on his phone.

“Morning.” Chief Wells walked into the living room. “I made you coffee.” He extended the cup to Stokes.

Stokes took it. “Thanks. Hey, Chief, something wrong with your internet?”

“Nope.” Wells sat down in the easy chair across from him. “Something’s wrong with everyone’s internet. And cable television is down.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“Nope, they went down just after two AM.”

“What time did you get up?”

“Really haven’t been to bed. Kind of hard to sleep with the town’s doomsday clock ticking.”

“Do you think this has anything to do with it?”

“I’m betting. I’d say it was the cable company, but the radio is out too.”

“No radio?” Stokes questioned.

“Well, you can pick up the local station in town KASS.”

“K … ASS.”

“Don’t judge.”

Stokes lifted his hand in surrender. “What about phones?”

“Landlines work locally. Your phone will work locally.”

“How is that possible?”

“It can connect to any phone that bounces off our only tower. That was a perk that happened an hour ago. You can call across town, you can text across town, you cannot call your mother a hundred miles away. And... No disrespect if your mother has passed.”

“Ironically, my mother died in a measles outbreak.” Stokes put his phone down. “So what’s your best guess on what’s happening?”

“I think it’s one of two things. Either they are shutting us down so we don’t see it coming or … there’s nothing left out there.”

“How do we know?”

“We get the answers.” Wells stood. “And for those we only need to walk a block.”

Amidst the hue of the early morning sky, Stokes and Wells made their way down the empty streets of Littlefield. The diner was the only business with a light on. The waitress waved at them as they passed by the window and made their way to the home located just behind Bob's Mufflers.

It wasn't quite a house. It was a mobile home and one not in very good condition. The metal siding was dented and rusted. The screen porch door looked like something from the 1950s and the bottom wooden step was cracked.

The windows were covered with some sort of plastic, as if that trailer owner was waiting for a snowstorm. The curtains were drawn. Outside were empty trash cans and a rusted out barbecue grill.

“Why exactly are we here?” Asked Stokes

“World's best kept secret.” Replied Wells.

“Best kept secret.”

“Rather, the world's greatest hacker.”

Stokes laughed. “The world's greatest hacker lives here? In this trailer?”

“Don't judge,” said Wells. “Can't keep him hidden, or secret, it is an impressive place. Right?”

“I suppose.”

Wells reached up and knocked on the screen door.

“What's the code word?” Shouted a male voice inside.

Stokes thought. “Oh my God. This is a parody of a spy movie.'

“Canary,” said Wells.

A moment later the door unlocked.

Stokes was wagering that the visit was going to be unique and interesting and put little stock into the fact that anything good would come out of it.

The trailer home reeked of cigarettes and alcohol, the interior was something out of the seventies. Medium oak paneling, thick and dirty shag carpet and a plaid couch.

“This is Albert,” Wells introduced the man. “Albert this is Agent Stockmen.”

Albert was a man in his fifties, looked more like in sixty year old version of Larry the Cable guy.

“Stokes,” Stokes extended his hand. “Just call me Stokes.”

“Stokes, got it.”

“What do you got, Al?” Wells asked.

“Let’s go to the computer, shall we.” Albert turned.

There was a curtain that Stokes supposed led to the kitchen and right by it on an old desk was the epitome of a vintage computer. A clunky unit complete with a double floppy disk drive.

Stokes laughed. “A Tandy? The world’s greatest Hacker has a 1984 Tandy computer? Oh my God.”

“Don’t judge,” Wells told him. “Go on Albert.”

“That reaction is why I hate when you bring outsiders in here,” Albert crouched down, rolled back the lop throw rug and slipped his fingers into the plush shag carpet. When he retracted, he lifted a hatch.

“Whoa. Wait. I thought this was a trailer,” Stokes said.

“It is,” Albert replied. “More of a trailer decoy.” He stepped down.

Stokes followed. The hatch opened up to a staircase that led below. All the way down the stairs, Stokes couldn’t believe he missed the fact that the trailer wasn’t propped up.

The underground computer lab took Stokes completely off guard. Tables of computers lined the concrete walls, and what appeared to be a server was positioned in the corner.

“How does one have all this stuff and not be found?” Stokes asked.

Albert answered, “You set up shop in a small town with a really cool sheriff.”

“Uh huh,” Stokes nodded. “You guys know each other more than hacker and the law.”

Albert smiled. “I’m his big brother.”

“That’s why,” Stokes said. “This is amazing. What do you hack.”

Albert blinked. “I hack for information. I don’t cause problems.”

“Were you able to find out anything?” Wells asked.

“How could he?” Stokes said. “Internet is down.”

“Please,” Albert scoffed and sat down. “How do you think you got local calls back up? I did that.” He pulled forth a keyboard. “Okay, when Eugene stopped by this morning.”

“Eugene?” Stokes asked.

“Me,” said Wells.

“Your name is Eugene?” When Wells gave him a glance, Stokes held up his hand. “I know. I know. Don’t judge. Go on, Albert.”

“I started digging. Good news is the world still exists.”

“Did we think it didn’t?” asked Stokes.

“Hell yeah, especially the FBI Chasing some German with a germ around,” Albert said. “Who by the way left a nasty trail of sickness at each stop in his itinerary. Story would have been hidden better, but seems places are all popping up with some new bug, each one daily.”

“It has a seventy-two hour delayed effect,” Stokes told him. “So he probably timed them all.”

“You know this bug?” Albert questioned.

“I’ve been chasing it for years,” replied Stokes. “I turned the antidote over to the feds the other day.”

“Not all,” Wells winked at Albert.

“Hmm,” Albert hummed. “So I take it that wasn’t a measles vaccine you gave me.”

“You were exposed,” Wells said. “Okay so, the sickness is popping up everywhere. What is the news saying?”

“Reporters are scrambling. The news got big on the last one,” Albert clicked on his key board. “Outbreak hit Vegas. Hit pretty hard. Chatter suggests he dropped it and people just took off and went home. So whatever he dropped in Vegas left with about twenty-thousand tourists. That is what they estimated have fallen ill since ten PM last night. They quarantined a plane, refused to let it land, until they discovered the German’s girlfriend was on that flight. Then it just blipped out. Disappeared in Ohio.”

“Was it shot down?” asked Wells.

“I think it landed,” said Albert.

Stokes questioned. “So the next question is. Did the government or whoever did this, did they black out the whole country on communications.”

“No,” Albert shook his head. “Just around this town. Plus, it looks like orders came in evoking a 441A-550 on Littlefield.”

Wells explained. “Involuntary quarantine. They’re shutting down the town.”

“Any idea why us?” Albert asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Wells nodded. “We’re next.”

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