The Flu 1/2 (31 page)

“That’s his name,” Lars replied. “Doesn’t it make sense?”

“No. And it’s not very nice. I think it’s very racist. Patrick is Irish.” Dylan gripped Mick’s hand. “Let’s go, Mick. ‘Night all.”

Mick laughed as they stepped outside. “This is nice, you walking me home.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling frisky. So take advantage of it,” Dylan said.

Mick stopped her. “Can I steal a kiss?”

“As long as you do it before they taunt us.”

Smiling, Mick pulled Dylan into him. He embraced her then lowered his head. Lips parted, he drew closer. No sooner did their mouths touch when a loud screech rang out in the distance, immediately followed by a crash. Mick jerked away from Dylan. Turning, he heard a series of gunshots and the screech of tires once more.

The door to the bar banged open and Lars raced out with Patrick.

“What was that?” Lars said hurriedly.

Mick, ready to move, grabbed his radio. As soon as he did, a voice called through it.

“Chief, we had a breach. Blue sedan. Took out the guard and is heading toward—”

Mick saw the incoming headlights still far enough away but speeding in their direction. “I see him.” He hooked the radio on his belt, grabbed his revolver and stepped into the street.

“Mick!” Dylan started to charge out, but Patrick grabbed her as the car sped down the road toward Main.

Mick stood in the center of the street. He raised his revolver and didn’t flinch. The car moved quickly toward him. The closer it drew, the brighter Mick was illuminated by the beam of its headlights.

Mick waited. He ignored Dylan’s screams, clenched his weapon, saw a figure through the windshield and then fired two rapid shots.

A loud double ‘pop’ and both front tires blew out. Along with the sounds of the blaring screech of rim on concrete and Dylan’s horrified scream, Mick could smell the rubber tires burning right before the car veered off the road just three feet from hitting him. The damaged car sailed into Central Park, seemingly out of control. And it wasn’t but a few seconds before the car loudly crashed to a halt when the right side of the front end smashed into a tree.

“Stay here!” Mick yelled to the others as he charged forward into the park. He could see the steam come from the front of the car, and the hissing sound of the escaping steam mixed with the ongoing blare of the horn.

Revolver still extended, Mick pulled his flashlight from his waist when he arrived within a few feet of the car. The flashlight flickered across the driver’s face as he slowly lifted his head from the steering wheel.

The sight of his face brightened by the flashlight beam scared Mick more than anything had in his entire life.

There were no indications of the traffic accident. There were, however, signs of something else.

Eyes dark, face pale, sweaty, and splotched, the man looked at Mick with a satisfied grin. He was more than just a border breaker, or an invader,
he
was a ticking time bomb deliberately set to go off in Lodi.

It was a destruction mechanism that couldn’t be allowed to go off. Mick had to stop it, and he did. One shot, point blank, to the man’s forehead, delivered through the glass of the windshield, and Mick dismantled that time bomb without a second thought.

Lodi, Ohio

September 25
^th

In the way that a lone backyard barbeque filled the air of the entire neighborhood with its aroma, the campers on the outskirts of Lodi lent their own scent to the air around Lodi.

The rooftop of Diggins’ drugstore became a popular lookout point, a television of sorts for those who needed something to watch, and those who felt the need to monitor the situation.

Dustin and Chris frequented Diggins’ roof. But on that particular day, with the brisk fall settling in, the slight cool breeze usually aromatic of the scents of autumn carried in the putrid stench of reality. Spoilage of sorts, rotten eggs perhaps; both boys tried to place the smell as something other than what it was, which was, plain and simple: dead bodies.

It was inevitable that the scent would fill the air. Too many people had flocked to Lodi, camped out and waited for the opportunity to enter. But after nearly three weeks, only four made it inside.

The boys watched as if something might happen, but no movement came from outside of Lodi. In fact, none had come for some time. The wall of bikers replaced by the U.S. military had dwindled down to six soldiers. There wasn’t a reason for any more border patrols; there hadn’t been an attempt to make it into Lodi for a week. Dustin himself had to wonder if the newest wall around Lodi was even a bigger deterrent that any gun could ever be. The bulldozers had mixed the dead campers and their supplies with huge amounts of dirt then moved them farther back from Lodi’s boundary, creating a wall that no one would want to cross. “Shh,” Dustin told Chris. “If you listen close, you can hear it.”

“No, you can’t,” Chris scoffed.

“I’m telling you, wait for the wind to slow down and listen.”

As the breeze died down, Chris concentrated with unfocused eyes. “Oh, wow.”

“See?”

“How many flies do you think are out there to be able to be that loud?”

“Millions,” Dustin answered.

“I thought flies died when it was cold?”

“Not if they have something to keep them going,” Dustin said.

“It has got to be the biggest maggot feast in the world,” Chris commented.

“Bet you it’s gross looking.”

Chris shuddered in disgust. “You know, if we don’t do something about them maggots we are gonna be infested with flies.”

“Oh, man, attack of the killer flies. Can you see it?” Dustin shook his head. “Hungry flies, huge from the unlimited supply of carnage, seek other means of food. Us.”

“We should write the movie,” Chris suggested. “Sell it to Hollywood.” Chris smiled for a moment then looked sadly at his brother. “Dustin? Will there be a Hollywood anymore?”

“Of course there will be. And if by some reason there isn’t, someone has to start it back up again, right? Might as well be us.”

“We can do that. And you know what? Think about it. No Hollywood, no more wrestling. Which means....”

“We can be the new superstars of wrestling.” Dustin high fived his brother. “That is like the coolest thought to ever come out of this flu.”

“But being serious. We should tell Lars about all them flies.”

“I’m sure Lars knows,” Dustin assured. “I mean, Mick told us they are gonna burn the bodies end of next week. That means they’ll burn the flies.”

“Why won’t he burn them now?”

“Mick said because there are too many. The smoke will dis-a-something or other right over to Lodi. But you want my opinion on why they’re waiting?”

“Yeah.”

Dustin dropped his voice to a whisper as if someone could hear them on that roof. “Remember how the high school used to have big celebration bonfires after the games?” Chris nodded. “Well, the burning bodies will be like Lodi’s celebration bonfire.”

“Huh?” Chris scratched his head. “Why do you say that?”

“End of next week is four weeks. Four weeks means what?” Dustin asked.

“End of the shut-in.”

Dustin smiled. “Exactly. Walls down. Lodi open.”

“Sort of like why they are having the fall festival tomorrow.”

“Yep. Day after tomorrow we will be declared officially flu-free. We made it through, not a single person caught it. Even though Mom thought she had it every other day. Not a single person died. So why not have the fall festival tomorrow?”

“You know what, Dustin?” Chris said softly. “Even though the festival won’t have all the cool food and stuff, it will be the best and coolest festival ever.”

“Why do you say that?” Dustin asked.

“Because it will be the first time ever, we have a really good reason to celebrate.”

“You’re right.” Dustin stared out to the wall of bodies that underscored Chris’ sentiments. “You are absolutely right.”

* * *

The static and snow that blasted on the television ended with the push of a button, then Mick walked behind the bar and picked up the phone. He listened for a moment then hung up.

Very seriously, arms folded, Lars shifted his eyes from Tom and Patrick to Mick. “Why do you do that?” he asked. “Every single morning for the past week, you do that before we have our powwow.”

“I like to have my facts straight.” Mick pulled up a chair and sat down. “And before I make the daily assumption that everything is shut down, I want to make sure it isn’t back up and we look like fools.”

Tom moaned. “Mick, you’re an intelligent man but you sound goddamn stupid making a comment like that.”

“Why?” Mick asked. “You can’t rule it out.”

Before any smart comments could be made, Lars lifted his hand. “Mick has a point. Even though it is farfetched, it could happen. What did Henry tell us?”

Patrick bobbed his head in thought. “A major restructuring process is being done in Washington.”

“Hence our means of communication with them,” Lars said. “The military radio. If that’s still running, somewhere, somehow, I believe so is the military.”

“But they ain’t bringing us any more food, are they?” Tom noted. “A working radio ain’t civilization rebuilding.”

“Tom,” Mick said, “not meaning to sound disrespectful, but do you think that this negative attitude and apocalyptic theory-thing may be just wishful thinking because you hate people?”

Tom gasped in offense. “I love people. Just not a lot at one time. That’s why I avoid the festival.”

“Exactly,” Mick said in annoyance. “That’s why I believe, somewhere, things are running again. Maybe out west and we just don’t know. I mean they finished early with the flu.”

“Christ Almighty, Mick,” Tom snapped. “Get your head out of your ass. Henry said the places on the east that had the flu are on the last leg of it. It is over. The government, who promised to supply us with food, hasn’t. Lodi is running because we are making it run. No one else. The only reason we have lights and power is because Jeb Wilson and Buzz Wright are manning the power station twenty-four seven. You and Patrick hit two warehouses last week to stock us. What did you see? No. Wait.” Tom looked at Patrick. “What did
you
see out there?”

Patrick shook his head. “Nothing. A few people here and there. That’s it.”

Snidely, Tom looked at Mick. “And you make fun of
my
apocalyptic attitude.”

Lars saw Mick ready to rebut, and he intervened, “As much as I love the energy derived from semi-family bickering,” Lars commented, “we have a point to this covert meeting, and I for one would like to get to it. Now...since Tom brought it up, we need to discuss the food situation.”

“We’re good,” Mick replied. “Fall festival put a little dent in the surplus, but otherwise we can hold up without a problem for another ten days. Then Patrick and I can go back out.”

“But should you two do that?” Lars questioned

“No,” Tom spoke up. “Pretty soon the four weeks will be up. Flu-free world. The nightmare over. But it’s only gonna be starting for Lodi, see. Lodi is gonna wake up to the reality that there’s nothing left. They haven’t a clue Mick and Patrick are bringing in the food. They haven’t a clue that the government abandoned us. All well and fine if everything ends up coming back and the restructuring starts. But what if doesn’t? If it does, there will be a waiting period. A period of time where we are on our own.”

“Exactly,” Patrick rebutted. “They need food. We’ll get it.”

“No.” Tom shook his head. “Yes, they need food. But you have three thousand people in this town who are perfectly capable of helping with that task. Don’t you dare begin to even think of taking it on alone. Don’t do it. Once you start, once you start doing for people, they’ll never do for themselves.”

Lars let out a breath as he sat back in his chair. “Tom has a point. Right now, the people of Lodi are living in a Pleasantville world. They are going about their lives almost as if nothing has happened. I think we’re gonna need to do one more food run, but....” Lars stopped Tom from saying anything, “only after we devise a long-term survival plan. A well-laid out, long-term survival plan. Get together with the mayor and the village council. Start planning it, hashing it out.”

Mick nodded in agreement. “I’ll deal with that. So when do we tell the people of Lodi? Before we devise this outline of survival, or after?”

“Definitely after,” Lars said. “Because in the same breath you tell them the world ended without them knowing, you wanna be able to come right back and give them hope. Besides, coming up with a viable plan could take time, and we don’t want to ruin the celebration behind the fall festival.”

Patrick chuckled a little in ridicule at that remark. “Lars, please. The festival signifies the end to our risk of the flu. At this point, I don’t think anything can ruin that celebration.”