The Flu 1/2 (21 page)

“It messes up my hair.” Patrick smiled then sighed. “I can’t believe the store is closed.”

“Yep. So I guess you get the movie for another night.”

“Nah.” Patrick walked to the door. “That wouldn’t be right.” He slipped the movie in the overnight return slot. “I’d feel like I’d be stealing if I did that.”

“It’s a video rental.”

“It’s Tom.”

“Must be pretty honest,” Mick commented.

“I try to be.” Patrick placed his hands in his pockets. “See ya, Mick.”

Mick gave Patrick a nod before he let out a soft chuckle of disbelief as Patrick moved on. Mick reached into the pocket of his tee shirt and pulled out the piece of paper he had received from the FBI. Just as he was about to read it, he stopped. Mick noticed it. The silence. It went along with the sign on Tom’s door.

Complete silence.

Not a sound rang out in Lodi. No cars, no sounds of trucks in the distance, no children playing at the nearby park. Nothing.

Mick took one more look at Tom’s sign, then without reading it, put the FBI letter in his pocket. It didn’t matter to him, not right then. And as Mick gazed around, listening to the sounds of silence, all that mattered to him was what was happening to his perfect small town world.

* * *

Anchorage, Alaska

Lexi had heard
the
scream
so many times that she knew she would replay it in her head for the rest of her life, that one final cry that every single flu victim made in the last few minutes of their life. When they turned septic, their entire body was overwhelmed with such horrendous pain that all they could do was scream, a horrendous sound that never lost its impact.

They all did the same thing. There were no exceptions. Whether or not they were aware of the pain, their bodies reacted, their senses kicked in, and with the expulsion of bodily fluids, they screamed.

It lasted a few minutes, and that few minutes seemed like an eternity.

Paul knew that noise. Over and over, he himself had heard it in Barrow as he watched that town die. In the end, he knew he’d do the same as the others, and in his final note he expressed his fear of that last indignity.

Lexi read his notes, took his words to heart, and did her best to save a colleague from something that she too feared.

Paul didn’t stay long in the Anchorage hospital he was transferred to. Not even a day. The moment Lexi saw him moving into the final stage of the flu, Lexi deliberately gave him an overdose of morphine.

Paul did not quiver or convulse, nor did he scream. He closed his eyes and went to sleep. For good.

Lexi watched him until it was over. She stayed with Paul, at his side, hoping that, should she become infected with the flu, someone would do the same for her. But Lexi couldn’t stay for long. Too many called for her. And after a simple prayer of forgiveness for taking it into her own hands to end his suffering, Lexi covered Paul with a sheet and moved on.

Lodi, Ohio

September 3
^rd

Mick felt comfortable lying next to Dylan, feeling her bare back against his chest. He wanted to stay like that all night. But he couldn’t. He just didn’t feel right about Tigger, or even Chris, waking up and seeing them asleep together, even innocently, in bed.

Restlessness also played a part in Mick’s deciding to leave the comfort of Dylan in his arms. He needed to walk, and also prepare what was becoming his new bed—the couch—for the night.

Quietly, carefully, so as not to disturb Dylan, Mick scooted backward and slid from bed. His foot touched the floorboard, made a creak, and Mick looked up. Dylan didn’t move. Smiling at that, he sought out his clothes.

“You know,” Dylan said softly from her motionless position, “there’s no way you can get out of bed without me noticing. There’s a weight factor, like a seesaw effect. I almost eject to the roof.”

Mick laughed. “You’re not funny.”

Dylan reached to the lamp, turned it on, and faced Mick. “Where are you going?”

Mick slipped on his shirt. “I’m going out.”

“Out?” Dylan sat up. “The ice cream store is closed, Mick.”

“I know. I’m not going for ice cream. Just for air...and a walk.”

“Are you mad at me?” Dylan asked.

Snickering, Mick walked back to the bed. “Okay. How many times have you asked me that question in our lifetime?”

“Lots.”

“Have you ever cared if I were mad?”

“Always.”

“Yeah, right.” Mick leaned down and kissed her, keeping his face close. “No. I’m not mad. I have so much on my mind with all that is going on. I just want to walk and check on everything in town.”

“Be careful.”

Mick winked. “You know it. Go back to sleep.”

“No.” Dylan exhaled and grabbed the remote. “I’m up. I’ll watch the news.”

Mick stopped at the door. “I did hear that around midnight, they’re supposed to interview some guy who survived the flu.”

“No way,” Dylan said, excited now. “What channel?”

“Forty.”

“You don’t want to watch it?” Dylan asked, flipping through the channels.

“No, you enjoy. Fill me in. I won’t be long.”

“Yes, you will.” Dylan found her channel. “You go out to check on things, you won’t be back until dawn.”

Mick was going to argue, but he didn’t. He merely caught a quick smile from Dylan, returned one, and walked out. She was wrong. Normally, if he were checking on things, yes, he’d be out until dawn. But nothing was happening in Lodi. Nothing. And that was one of the reasons everything was so heavy on Mick’s mind.

* * *

Los Angeles, CA

Agent Jeff Bloom prided himself on being a strong man. Darrell Harding did, as well. But the world was crumbling around them: Rioting in the streets, gunfire and explosions ringing out loudly, carrying into their hotel room at a steady rate. Neither one of them ever thought for a second that they would succumb to what pulled down the rest of the world: Fear.

It made them think. It made them reevaluate their destinies. Hours upon hours were spent reexamining their lives through conversation. Things they did; hadn’t done; loved ones gone; chances missed.

There was a first time for everything, and Jeff and Darrell had arrived at that moment. They were facing the fact that in a mere few days, they could be facing their deaths.

Though it was something Jeff had occasionally thought about, it wasn’t a position he ever expected himself to be in, but these were extenuating circumstances. Distraction was what he needed right then. Perhaps these circumstances were the reason that Jeff didn’t mind the position at all. In fact, against everything he had ever believed, he actually enjoyed it.

The warm sensation of his own heavy breaths washed over his face, which was pressed into the mattress. His knees dug into the semi-soft surface. His chest was close to the bed, his back angled upward. His left arm grabbed the sheet at the edge of the bed while his right hand delivered self-satisfying pulls that matched the rhythm of the thrusts powered into him by Darrell.

Jeff justified to himself that it was the thought of death that allowed him to enjoy it so much. And with that justification, he let himself go.

Each successive dig of Darrell’s fingers into his hips sent Jeff further and further over the edge. His legs felt tense. He tried to hold back by releasing his own grip, but he found his hand returning to its task, wanting to achieve that moment with a frenzied desire that he had never felt before.

The frantic slap of Darrell’s body against his told Jeff that Darrell was close as well. Each thrust created tremors that shot through Jeff. And that tiny, pre-orgasmic moan that Darrell released was all it took. Jeff was gone.

A chain reaction ensued.

Darrell was pushed over the edge too when he felt Jeff tremble violently and shout out his release. With a sharply arched back, he slammed into Jeff, and with a powerful groan achieved the liberation of his ecstasy as well.

In what Jeff believed to be the single most erotic moment of his life, his body shuddered one more time, and, slowly pulling away from Darrell, he fell to the bed.

Four deep gasps escaped Darrell as he dropped from his knees to a sitting position. His shoulders lifted and fell with the exertion and a trickle of sweat ran down the bridge of his nose. He caught the bead of moisture with a downward swipe of his hand as he looked at Jeff laying stomach down, naked rear end fully exposed.

There was total silence, too much silence for Darrell’s comfort. So, to avoid any awkward, embarrassing moments after the experience they’d just shared, Darrell stood up and opted for a shower.

Three things were produced by the shower Darrell took. A total body cleansing, a second release of pent-up sexual urges he thought he had completely purged, and the realization that they really had to open a window for fresh air.

He enjoyed the crisp, fresh scent of soap that stayed with him until he stepped back into the room and the aroma of their hibernation slapped him in the face. The room reeked of food gone bad. He couldn’t determine if that cheesy smell was the open bag of Doritos or all the dirty socks lying around. There was a hint of beer in the air, although Darrell supposed it would be more predominant had Jeff not been farting constantly.

Wrinkling his nose, Darrell shook his head. “Man, it stinks in here.”

“Tell me about it.” Jeff lay on the bed fully dressed as if he had somewhere to go.

“Should I open the balcony doors?” Darrell asked, moving to that side of the room.

“No way. I don’t want any of that air from outside in here.”

“But don’t you think fresh air might help?” Darrell asked.

“Are we sick?”

“No,” Darrell said.

“Is everyone else sick?”

Darrell nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Then that’s why. We aren’t breathing their air. And after seeing that military truck with all those bodies, no. No way. Not me. We’ll bide our time until the quarantine is lifted.”

“Maybe it is.” Darrell parted the drapes to look out into the darkness. “It’s kind of quieted down out there. Oh, hey, did you see? They burned the bank across the street.”

“Where you been? Happened yesterday.” Jeff lifted the remote and aimed it at the television. “And the quarantine isn’t lifted yet. It hasn’t been three weeks.”

“How are we gonna know?”

Jeff shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll know. That’s if the TV doesn’t go. We’re down to three stations now, all news.”

“So, you didn’t tell me. We got...distracted,” Darrell said, clearing his throat. “What did the captain say?”

“That Rodriguez is being detained and they are waiting for us. Something like that. Cell phone died. Oh!” Excitedly, Jeff sat up and turned up the volume. “Check this out. This is the guy who started the whole mess. Brought the flu to Anchorage.”

“Oh, shit. That asshole,” Darrell said, totally offended. “I hope they arrest him. Look, he’s alive.”

“I think that’s the point of this whole thing. He didn’t die,” Jeff said. “This is to show us the flu isn’t deadly.” There was a brief moment of silence and then Jeff burst into laughter.

“Yeah, right,” Darrell scoffed. “They ought to come to LA and watch the daily body parade.”

“You know what though? It’s gonna end up being something we’re glad we saw. We can talk about it for years to come.” Jeff reached into the night stand. “Beer?”

“Um...yeah.” Eyes focused on the television, Darrell reached blindly behind him for the can as he sat down on the bottom of the bed to watch Bill Daniels.

* * *

Anchorage, Alaska

“Horrible,” Bill responded to the question asked of him. He sat in a chair, alone in a small hospital room, facing a camera, an earpiece in his ear to allow him to hear the questions asked of him. “If I could chose only one word to sum it all up, horrible would be the one. It was the sickest I have been in my entire life, to be honest.”

On the other side of the country, the male anchorman spoke with dramatic seriousness. “There are rumors, Mr. Daniels, that people are dropping left and right from this flu. They have to bring in special trucks to remove the bodies. You’re out there right now, in the thick of it; tell us what it’s like.”

“There’s a lot of sickness, Dan. Hospitals are full. But the health officials forewarned us of this. I know from being a reporter myself that sometimes people overreact to what they hear and read. They don’t mean to, they just exaggerate.”

“So you’re saying they are exaggerating about the deaths? People aren’t dying of the flu?”

“Yes, some are dying of the flu, although no more than from the ordinary flu. Are they dropping left and right? No.” Bill shook his head. “Are they carting people out in trucks? Absolutely not. Not from what I see. Can people beat this flu?” Bill tilted his head and lifted his hand. “I’m sitting here, aren’t I? That should be proof enough.”