The Flu 1/2 (28 page)

The people of Lodi, if unscathed, would tear down their iron curtain and go from seeing their picture-perfect 1950s sitcom world, to viewing destitution, a decay of the world that they never saw coming.

They would be—in Henry’s prediction—the only speck of a civilized world left. And that worried Henry.

Aside from being labeled “the City of Hope”, other than being clean, untouched, and still alive, Lodi would become something else...a target. A destination in a Book of Revelations world for those engulfed with rage and jealousy who so bitterly sought out the destruction of what shined to them as...the New Jerusalem.

* * *

Lodi, Ohio

Russ Deacon would have loved to pop open that beer, but he knew he would have to wait, at least until Mick left the front check-in line. He took it with gratitude, his smile not seen through his gas mask. “Thanks, Mick.”

“Gonna go home and have one myself,” Mick stated. “Long day.”

“Yeah. You know….” Russ’ voice dropped. “We have about ten who are sick right now.”

Mick nodded. “I know. How about you?”

“I’m feeling fine. I don’t know how long the lines will hold up.”

“Hopefully it won’t be for much longer. Then the government shows up.” Mick exhaled. “Did Lars start that therapy on your people?”

“Two of them. The rest waited too long. He’s hopeful about the two though.”

“Good. Good.”

“Hey, did I tell you I won the lottery?” Russ asked. “I get to go into a quarantine trailer first.”

“Excellent. Speaking of quarantine…how’s my mother doing in trailer three?”

“Bitching out the window at us. We...we had to bolt her in, Mick. Put a padlock on the outside door,” Russ told him. “She wanted out. She said she didn’t care about getting into Lodi, she wanted to help out. You know your mom.”

“Yeah. Thanks for taking care of that though.”

“No problem.”

Taking one more look at the quiet checkpoint, Mick let out a slow breath. “Well, I’m heading home. Get me on the radio if you need me.”

“Sure thing.”

“Night, Russ.” Mick turned. His bike was parked not far from there. The safe distance of ten feet. Just about to mount it, Mick slowed down when he heard the crackling of his radio.

“Russ.” The crackle and hiss overshadowed the man’s voice. “This is Highpoint. We have a situation. Coming east and west. On the dead highway. Fifty, sixty cars.”

Mick turned around and walked back to Russ.

Russ held the radio close to his gas mask. “Where they headed?”

“Take a guess. They’re getting off the exit.”

No sooner had Russ lowered his radio and his eyes met Mick’s, then they heard and saw the train of automobiles in the distance.

“They’re coming here,” Russ said.

“Goddamn it.” Mick hurried to his bike, and grabbed his rifle. He pumped the chamber as he approached Russ again. “Tell your men to take their positions. Pull in those taking a rest, just to be sure.…”

“Yo, Heavy,” Russ called into the radio.

“Yeah?” the deep, raspy voice responded.

“Rustle up the sleepers. We got incoming,” Russ continued to speak into the radio. “All teams, especially those facing due north. Get ready. It’s gonna be a big turn away.”

Mick raised his weapon as the cars drew nearer and his people hurried about taking their places.

“Hey, Mick, you think it’s gonna be bad?”

“Hard to say,” Mick shrugged. “Could be violent. Could be peaceful. Doesn’t matter. Get used to it.” Mick peered into the rifle’s scope. “It’s just the beginning.”

Lodi, Ohio

September 7
^th

“
They took out four of our guys, Mick
.” These words beat into Mick’s head as he raced, feet pounding through the wooded area around the edge of Community Park.

“Coming up on the Black River,” the male voice said through Mick’s radio.

“I got it,” Mick responded as he ran.

“Do you need assistance? There’s three of them.”

“I got it.” Mick could see the river through the thick trees, and hooking his radio back into its holder as he whipped his shotgun around, he charged forth. He was almost there; where the three men were at that point in time, Mick didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to stop them from getting into town.

Just at the edge of his vision, as he leaped over a branch into the clearing, Mick saw it coming at him in a blur of motion. It was brown, huge, and swinging his way. He ducked quickly enough to feel the
whoosh
as whatever it was swung past the top of his head. As he dove underneath the weapon, Mick smashed his shotgun into his assailant’s vulnerable knees.

The man went down, knees first, and Mick smashed the butt of his shotgun into his face. The man flew back through the mist of his own blood and landed hard on his ass. Mick pumped the chamber, aimed, and fired, hearing a shot from another gun too close to his ear. The sound echoed and squealed in his ear as he got a glimpse of a second man in his peripheral vision. He was more concerned, though, with the man’s revolver. It was close, only inches from his face; with no room to shoot, Mick swung out with his shotgun once more. Like a batter hitting a home run, the shotgun crashed into the side of the second man’s face. As it connected Mick pumped the shotgun and, with little need for aim, he fired. At such a close range, it blasted a hole the likes of which Mick had never seen. It went straight through the man’s torso; Mick could see right through him to the river where the third assailant emerged from the water. Pumping the chamber again as the second man’s body dropped to the ground, Mick fired one last time. Flying backwards, the third and final man never set foot on Lodi soil. His ruined body splashed and sank into the muddy river.

“Chief! Come in, Chief. We heard shots.”

Breathing heavily, Mick pulled the radio forward. “I’m fine. All clear. I’ll be right in.” Returning the radio, Mick had to catch his breath. He placed his shotgun back over his shoulder and bent slightly, hands on his knees. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

A harsh sniff preceded his out of breath smoker’s cough, and mid-chuckle at the absurdity of it all, Mick heard it.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Curious as to what the nearby sound was, Mick lifted his head slightly to look around. Just as he did, he felt it hit his hand.

Drip. Drip. Blood.

Mick raised his hand at the same time another drop of blood fell against his thumb. “What the hell?” He rolled his thumb against his forefinger, felt that it was warm, fresh. “Where the hell is this coming...aw shit!” He whined in disgust and reached up to the side of his head. His fingers touched a moistness that surrounded his ear. Pulling back his fingers, he looked to see them coated with more blood. “Goddamn it. I was hit. Son of a bitch.” In total annoyance with himself, Mick shook his head, held his ear, and walked off.

* * *

Anchorage, Alaska

The final scream of the Barrow Flu rang out and echoed in the silent hospital corridors. The last one. Bill was far away from it. He paused in his task of moving bodies piled on carts to close his eyes. He felt bad for the woman. She had died alone, crying out in pain with no one around to care.

It was over.

Bodies were everywhere, and it was a hopeless cause. Not that Bill was making any order of them, he was just making room to walk, covering the bodies if he could, in his task of shoving them aside.

He heard the footsteps against the linoleum and he looked up to the end of the corridor. Lexi emerged from the last room. She carried a knapsack and no longer wore the hospital garb.

“There you are,” Bill said. “I was looking for you.”

Lexi walked to him. “You’re not cleaning up, are you?”

“No.” Bill shook his head. “Moving them aside.”

“Why?”

“Maybe one day, someone might be by to look for family. I don’t know.” Bill shrugged. “Do you suppose anyone will ever do anything with these bodies?”

Lexi chuckled. “No. Never. They outnumber those who survived by a large margin.” She started walking with Bill. “But our work is done here.”

“You’re all dressed up. Where are you going?” Bill questioned as he hit the stairwell with her.

“I spoke to the Center. There’s a small town in California that has a lot of ill, no medical help. The CDC plane is still at the airport and the pilot isn’t sick. We’re flying off there.”

“I see.” Bill nodded and opened the first floor door for her. “Then what?”

“Who knows?”

“Can I come?” Bill asked.

Lexi paused, “Why would you want to?”

“Lexi, come on. What’s left here? You yourself estimated about six thousand people. That’s it. That’s not a lot. I have nothing here. And I don’t think come Monday morning I’m going to be back at work at the paper. So can I?”

“Absolutely. I’d love the company.”

“Can I get some things from my home? It’s actually in walking distance from here.”

“Sure. I’d love to see where Bill Daniels used to….” Lexi stopped cold as she and Bill stepped from the front door of the hospital. Not only were there no more gunshots, car sounds, or fire smells, there were no noises at all. Not even birds. And the explanation for that came in the form of dead birds all over the sidewalks and street.

Horrified, Bill looked down. “They died of the flu?”

Lexi hit the tip of her boot against one of the birds. “No. I’d say they died of smoke from the burning bodies.” She swallowed and looked around.

“It’s almost as if no one is left. Where is everyone?” Bill led Lexi in the direction of his home.

“They’re around. They’re just not going to be so easy to spot anymore.”

“Do you think the people left in Anchorage will just let the buildings and bodies be?” Bill questioned.

“Yes. Wouldn’t you? They’ll sit tight for a while, those who beat it. They’ll be some who will try to do things. But all in all I think people are gonna wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For the flu to run its course and be declared officially over. But they’ll be waiting a long time.”

“You don’t think the flu is gonna run its course?”

“Oh, it’ll run its course,” Lexi said. “I just don’t think anyone will care enough, when it’s all said and done, to make that declaration.”

* * *

Lodi, Ohio

“It’s a pissing contest,” Mick complained angrily. He pulled the wet towel from his ear and tossed it in the trash as he and Officer Haddock stepped into the station. “I don’t think the lot of them care if they get in here. I think they just want to see if they can. Like I said, a pissing contest. In the middle of the urine stream, I almost become Vincent fuckin’ van Gogh.”

Haddock chuckled. “Good one.”

“Thank you.”

“Maybe it’s a test, Chief. Maybe to see if you’ll really shoot them if they make in it.”

“
If
they make it in. And if they do, yeah, I’ll—”

“Mick,” Dylan called out from across the office.

Standing next to his office door, Mick turned around. “Hey, Dylan.”

“Mick!” She hurried to him. “I heard....AHHHHHHH!” Dylan screamed loudly, not only jolting Mick, but causing Haddock to scream, as well.

“What?” Mick asked “What?”

“Your ear is gone.” Dylan pointed, panicked.

“It is not.” Mick showed her. “Just covered in blood. I got shot. What’s up?”

Dylan blinked a few times. “Just like that? You got shot?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Chasing bad guys.”

“By yourself?”

“Um, yeah,” Mick snickered.

“Why would you do that all alone?”

“Because I’m that damn good,” Mick self-importantly joked.

“What the hell, Mick?” Dylan snapped.

Perhaps, he thought, he missed something, wasn’t paying attention, for that split second between the words that he heard and Dylan suddenly growing angry.

“Are you mad about something?” Mick asked.

“Asshole!” Dylan barked.

“What?” Mick looked to Haddock. “What?”

“I’ll tell you what,” Dylan said, poking Mick in the chest. “Do you even give a shit? You got shot, Mick, right on your head. You could have died.”

“I didn’t.”

Dylan growled. “While you’re off trotting around being Robin the Boy Wonder—”

“Why can’t I be Batman?”

Dylan tossed her hands up. “You know what? Just forget it. You don’t see my point.”

“What are you talking about?” Mick was confused. “The point is I was doing my job.”