The Gorging (7 page)

“It’s no big deal. Just a bunch of dead farm animals.” He turned back to the stove and bumped the frying pan handle, knocking the sizzling burgers onto the floor. “Damn it.” He reached down and scrapped them off the floor with the spatula.

“It’s okay.” Nikki said as she got up to help him clean up the mess. “I’d rather have a salad anyway.”

“Well,” Bobby frowned at the sudden loss of his hamburger patty he was so anxiously waiting to scarf down. “Guess it’s salad for me, too...I can’t believe that asshole Masterson wants me and Pete to go put together this story. It’s already on the national news and Channel 5 already did a piece on it. That old prick just wants to make us suffer. He wants to be able to say he had a guy in the mix no matter if it’s too late or not. I don’t know why we can’t just do a story on the people that are getting sick from this. I’m sure it’s all connected. I can do the story right here at home.”

“Just think,” said Nikki as she threw the hamburgers in the trash. “At least you’ll get travel pay on this. Then we can use that extra money and go to Denver and stay in a nice hotel.” They didn’t need the extra money. She thought this would make him feel like he was contributing more than he really is.

“What about Eddie?” asked Bobby.

“He’ll be fine. Besides you’ll only be gone a couple of days. I’ll just hold him out of school until you get back.”

“Alright.” He walked over and kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

THE DRIVE-IN PART ONE

As the day turned to dark it seemed as though more people were becoming sick, but the worst of it was yet to come. Not everyone watches the news and not everyone experienced the bout of food poisoning that struck in many places earlier in the day. The un-expecting people are soon going to experience their fair share.

At the only drive-in theater in southern Kentucky just about five miles north of the Miller farm, the last picture show of the evening was playing on the big screen. The place is always packed on Thursday nights and draws in the locals and many out-of-towners. Even folks that drive by on the interstate would go out of their way to catch a flick at one of the last drive-ins in America. Thursday nights were always retro night and tonight Steve McQueen is racing across the screen in his ’68 Mustang. The drive-in rows were filled front to back and left to right with all types of cars. The humidity kept most people from leaving their windows up while watching the film. They all had the little speaker hanging on the side windows, blasting in the sounds of McQueen’s Mustang as it chased the Charger through the streets of San Francisco.

George Stevens, the owner of the drive-in movie theater, sat at his desk inside the backroom of the main building at the rear of the theater. A small window let in the lights of the movie playing on the screen and reflected off his computer screen as he pounded his fingers on the keyboard, inputting his calculations of the money that kept rolling in from his business. Tonight, they had nearly sold out of his specialty burger and fry combo at the concession stand. Only $4.50, plus tax. It’s just about the best deal in southern Kentucky for a burger combo. On the menu, George also had chicken sandwiches, and beef tacos, three for $4.00, but that price is good only on Mondays. Mondays were always the slowest, so George didn’t want to give away too many beef tacos.

The total for the evening is high and George smiled from ear to ear as though his penny stock had jumped through the roof on Wall Street. It’s his best night in nearly two years despite the ongoing incidents down the road at the Miller farm. He was getting all the business from the locals and from the government workers that came into town. They may not be watching his retro flicks on the screen, but they sure are scarfing down his specialty hamburger. Seems they didn’t get the message not to eat the meat. It’s his finest secret recipe, developed by his mother when he was just a boy.

George grew up in Nashville, Tennessee and moved just north of the state line when he was twenty-two. At such an early age, he was already tired of big city life. That was forty years ago and he was able to buy the drive-in theater, now called G. S. Drive-In of Kentucky, in the mid 90s after having worked on local farms and doing repairs for the original owner. George has always been fascinated with the movies and he always dreamed of owning his own theater. He managed to bring the place out of the dumps and back into a prospering business with the help of a few roadside billboards on Interstate 65 and with his young wife being a college graduate. She used her internet marketing skills to put up a website with all their specials and free movie ticket giveaways. Her master’s degree in accounting helped out as well.

Oh yes, tonight would be a night that George would never forget. Sold out of nearly everything in the concession stand, he would have to make a special trip to Bowling Green to replenish supplies in the morning. Everything was going great, until the knock came on his door and he could hear his wife, Nancy, screaming through on the other side.

“George,” she screamed as she beat on the door. “You better get out here quick. Something’s happening out in the lot.” She kept pounding at the door, shaking it on its hinges.

“Holy shit,” said George as he nearly knocked over his beer getting up from his desk and running to unlock the door. “Calm down Nancy.” He opened the door and saw a look of fear and confusion on his wife’s face. “What’s the matter?”

“Get out here fast,” she grabbed his arm and pulled him along down the short narrow hallway leading to the exit. “People are throwing up out their car windows. They’re puking everywhere...I think I’m gonna throw up, too.” She felt her stomaching doing cartwheels even though she hadn’t eaten. The sight of children, women, and men of all ages, hanging their heads out of car windows, puking up the hamburgers, tacos, and chicken sandwiches they had purchased at the concession stand that evening just before the start of
Bullitt
.

“Hot damn.” George pushed her out of the way and ran out of the door and to the parking lot. “Holy shit.” George nearly buckled at the knees at the sight of the puddles of barf next to nearly every car. Little chunks of meat and potatoes sparkled in the mess from lights of the big screen. George wasn’t grossed out at the sight, but grossed out at the thought of having to give all the customers their money back, ruining his best night of sales in nearly two years. Several thoughts were running through his mind of how he could play this off and put the blame on someone else for the contaminated food the people had purchased from him. George didn’t know it just yet, but the fault was not his own. He wouldn’t find this out until a few days later, but by then it would be too late.

“George.” Nancy came out of the building and grabbed George’s arm and latched onto him tightly. “What’s wrong with them?” George put his arm around her and they looked at the disgusting sight of people continually throwing up inside and out of their cars.

By this time, the people were getting out of their cars and some were running to the restrooms to wipe away the mess from their chins and shirts. Others ran to the restroom to clear out the backend now that their top end was spilled in the parking lot. Mothers were carrying their children and screaming. Some were leaning against car doors and throwing up what was left in their stomachs down the side of their car. George and Nancy watched as vomit dripped off the sides of cars and people kept screaming. On the big screen, the black ’68 Charger had just crashed and burned just like George’s sales for the night.

Nancy began to sob as she dropped to her knees, holding George’s hand and looking up at him. “What is going on, George? What is wrong with them?” George ignored her cries and was unaware of her fingernails digging into his forearm as the tears ran down her cheeks. He had no idea what to make of the situation, nor did anyone else across the country as it was happening in more places than just Steven’s Drive-In of Kentucky.

THE SICKNESS

A long way from Kentucky and up north in Central Park in New York City, the late evening air was warm and humid, even for late September. Tourists were walking around and taking in the scenery while the hustlers were on the sidewalks suckering people out of their money. Businessmen and women sat in fancy restaurants enjoying their high-priced meals and their expensive champagne. The not so rich were enjoying their late meals at the fast food joints, while others were starting to get liquored up at the many nightclubs and bars throughout the city. At a moments notice, everyone seemed to have the same feelings hit their stomachs just as it did to those at Steven’s Drive-In. It was a feeling as though being on a ship at sea, causing your stomach to stir and making everything want to come up like an active volcano ready to burst. Thousands upon thousands of New Yorkers and tourists were hit with this feeling at roughly the same time as though the whole state was a big ship at sea. In fact, the country seemed to be a ship at sea. People began throwing up in the fancy restaurants on their plates and expensive evening clothes. People in the park, after eating a big hot dog covered with ketchup were throwing up. People in their homes, after having a late night snack of a roast beef sandwich were throwing up. It seemed as though anyone who had consumed beef, began emptying their stomachs and their bowels with not enough time to make it the can. Whatever was spreading was spreading fast.

It didn’t stop with New York. It is happening everywhere, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Albuquerque, D.C., Orlando, everywhere. The entire country upchucked at nearly the same time and produced gastric bowel movements of ungodly proportions. The sudden thoughts of an epidemic began to pass through everyone’s mind. Hospitals started becoming overwhelmed with sickly patients. People were going crazy in the streets. It became pure madness. The people leaning over toilet bowls, puking their brains out could only think of two things,
God please make it stop
and
God please don’t let me die
. No one is dying, but no one knew it just yet. This is just the beginning of it.

Everywhere it is happening. A car pulled over on Interstate 10, just west of Phoenix. The driver jumped out and threw up. He had just eaten a fast food double cheeseburger on his way to Las Cruces. He made the mistake of puking his guts out in the right-hand lane as he tried to get around to the other side of the car. An eighteen-wheeler drove by, mowing him down with nine of the eighteen wheels. The man’s body ripped into pieces as it tangled between the tires of the truck.

A family of four sat around the dinner table in Houston, Texas, finishing up the last bites of Sloppy Joes. The mother and father looked at each other as they held the hair back on their twin-girls while the girls were throwing up on the dining room floor. The parents had just finished puking themselves.

An entire restaurant in Beverly Hills shutdown immediately after the first twenty-two patrons had thrown up the steak special on the tables in front of the other customers. This started a chain reaction and everyone proceeded to create the most disgusting throw up session ever known to happen before this night. An elderly gentleman, sitting across from his wife, began to have a massive heart attack while observing his wife puke her guts out on the table in front of him. He died less than two minutes later. His wife hadn’t even noticed he’d slipped to the floor and passed on.

A big-rig driver, heading down Interstate 95 through Baltimore, jerked the wheel of the truck as he began barfing up the recent hamburger he bought at the truck stop just fifteen minutes before. He swerved across two lanes of traffic, taking out the little Hybrid car cruising in his blind spot. Squashing it like a cockroach under the heel of a boot.
Shouldn’t have been driving in the no-zone
. The rear wheels of the big-rig finished it off with one last squash like the Grave Digger or Bigfoot coming down on old junk cars with screaming fans all around. Except the only ones screaming in this situation, were the other motorists swerving out of the way of the truck as it smashed through the median and on into oncoming traffic going northeast toward Wilmington. The truck finally came to a stop, but not before taking out three other cars, leaving them in a crumpled scatter of pieces and then finally smashing head on with a fully loaded dump truck, instantly killing both drivers in a massive fireball of diesel fuel. Rocks from the dump truck flew up and rained down on cars going in both directions, causing more pile-ups as the rocks crashed through the windshields and paper-thin metal car roofs, killing some of the poor occupants on impact.

No one had been immune to the sudden sickness that struck out of nowhere. Hospital emergency rooms began filling up immediately with more people screaming that they were dying and their insides were on fire.

The outside of some of the smaller hospitals looked like people were waiting in line to buy tickets to a sold out concert. The waiting rooms smelled foul with a mixture of shit and coffee breath lingering in the air. Nurses and doctors were so overwhelmed with the influx of patients, some began having panic attacks and forgetting everything they learned in nursing school. People everywhere were freaking out and panicking, screaming bloody murder at the site and sound of others losing their dinner on the ground, people, or whatever was in front of them when it happened. Police and firefighters were spread out across city after city, attending to accidents on the roadways that were caused by those who lost it while they were driving. Paramedics were stretched thin and were unable to make it to the important calls due to helping the massive amount of people dialing into 911, claiming they were dying of food poison or anthrax, or of whatever concoction they could think of that might make them feel this way.