Cough (21 page)

“It was.” Stokes pressed his hand against the glass and peered in the room.

“You can go in there.”

“Thanks.” Stokes took a step, paused, saw a tablet and pen, grabbed them and then walked into the room.

Admittedly he didn’t know what Sue meant when she said ‘Sick were in and out’, but when he stepped inside Charles’ small ICU room, he found out. They had brought sick in. Empty gurneys were in the room. All with dirty blood stained sheets. There were eight of them, now pushed off to the side.

How crowded it had to have been at one point.

And Charles slept through it all.

He lay in a slightly elevated bed, monitors patched to his chest and an IV in his arm.

His head was bandaged and his face a deep black and blue.

“Hey guy.” Stokes whispered. “I don’t know if you can hear me. But if you can. You need to get better. You need to wake up. The world needs you right now. If you don’t get up real soon, there won’t be a world much longer.” He laid his hand On Charles. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Stokes stayed and visited a few minutes, and then he took that pad and pen and wrote a note. He folded it and placed it on the nightstand next to the bed.

He didn’t know when or even if Charles would wake up, but if or when he did, Stokes wanted to make sure Charles knew he was out there waiting on him

<><><><>

In the first light of the morning, on his normal walk out to the check point, Wells knew before he got there that something was different.

In the quiet of the town sound travelled and the increased motor noises of the trucks told him things were switching up.

Every day Wells walked to the check point, looked out and watched the National Guard. He wondered why they were still there. Why they focused do heavily on his small town. In some twisted fantasy, Wells thought perhaps it wasn’t the world, it wasn’t America, that only Littlefield was sick. That once the virus had burned its way through and out, that all would be okay.

All wasn’t okay, at least on the outskirts of town.

Those who remained were all dead.

Their bodies were on the road, some wrapped in blankets, some not. Other bodies decomposed in the airtight hot cars. All of them were more than just bodies.

They were people he knew.

Bill and Mary Scott. Rachel McCurry and her two children. Len Hendrix, his wife and their son. Len had received the antidote, he was immune to the virus, but he wasn’t immune to a gun.

He had put a bullet in his head as he held his child and his wife in his arms.

The list, the names went on and on. It was the same at each of the five exits he checked. Yet, every day, Wells walked out there. Walked to the barricade, looked out, stood for a few moments, and left.

He’d repeat the routine each exit.

This day, like he thought it would be, was different.

There was movement at Mills Road.

The guards in masks, usually fifty yards out, were closer. He believed they would be leaving, they suspected as much. Instead, they were up to something.

A new vehicle arrived, a plain silver RV.

Wells watched a soldier point to him, then someone in a biohazard suit walked his way.

“I am told you come out here every day. So I assume your run this town?” the man in the suit asked.

“I do. I’m the Chief of Police, Eugene Wells.”

“I’m Major Fielding. A virologist with the United States Army Bio Engineering division.”

“Ok.”

“How is it in there?”

“We lost over half our town. So not good. A lot of our folks have locked themselves inside. Some are sick and fighting it.”

“Are they using the experimental treatment?” he asked.

“Yes. It doesn’t work on everyone. What may I ask ….”

“We are going to need a station point, Chief Wells.”

“I’m sorry. A what?”

“A set up point.” He indicated to the RV. “We need to run some tests. We need set up near the most densely populated area. So we can reach out.”

Wells stammered some. “Reach out? Is this something you’re only doing in Littlefield?”

“No, sir. It’s part of a huge operative to contain the virus. It goes underway nationwide in four hours.”

“We’re already quarantined.”

“It’s a bit more than that. We need statistics to see what we’re up against. Containing and controlling is the key to stopping it.”

“Can you?”

“We hope.”

“What difference does one little town make.”

Fielding stared at Wells for a moment before answering. “Because big city, small town, all it takes is one person. One infected is all it takes to keep this virus alive. Since Littlefield is one of two ground zeroes that makes your town pretty special.”

Special?
Wells shook his head. It was a bad choice of words. He always believed Littlefield was special, but to go down in history as a hotspot of a plague was not what Wells envisioned.

He told the biohazard man he’d do what needed to be done and would help in anyway. After all, they were medical people coming into his town. Surely if Littlefield was special enough to test, they would be special enough to help.

Any help for his town was a good thing.

With all flights being grounded except government planes, Nadia was grateful for the transportation close enough to home. If not, she probably wouldn’t have made it all the way. The long drive to Montana would require several stops for gasoline and many places were closed.

In essence she felt like a repeat of history. Carrying her supplies in her car on her way to her lab. The virus sample being one of them. Just like Dr. Kimble. Nadia prayed she didn’t meet his same fate.

She had spoken to her husband and the family awaited her return. Her oldest son was prepping the lab.

Aside from carrying her work, Nadia carried the emotional load of knowledge. She knew the decisions made in that meeting room. A project called the Savior Initiative would commence shortly and would start with the towns already under quarantine. She wasn’t sure of the specifics and all it entailed. Those would be emailed to her.

The treatment for the virus had been announced on the news, and while originally it was intended to save people, Nadia knew they were using it to aid in the initiative. It would take a lot of work to make it work. A huge undertaking if it were to be successful nationally.

On interstate 90, just outside of Sheraton Wyoming, Nadia ran into a National Guard blockade.

“Ma’am,” the guard approached the car. “Can I ask where you’re headed?”

“Billings.” She handed him her billfold, showing her ID. “I’m working on the virus. You can check with your superiors to see my clearances.”

“I understand, Ma’am, but this is a hot zone.”

She extended her left arm and indicated to the white thick band on her wrist. “I’m good. I’m immune.”

He blinked a few times. “I’m not familiar with the bands.”

“You will be.”

Almost as if he teetered on not believing her, the guard took her billfold and told her he would be right back.

He’s get the clearance to let her through, Nadia was certain. Just as she was certain, before too long he would know what the white bands meant. And he also would know the white band was one he’d rarely if ever see again.

<><><><>

Macy’s heart beat a little bit faster when she saw the time. She dreaded noon and the bells that tolled when the clock struck twelve. It was a warning sign. A warning letting people know that someone else would soon fall sick. She sat in her kitchen thinking of the morning. It was Independence Day. How different things would be if the virus wouldn’t have hit. Instead of sitting there dreading the bells, Macy would’ve been excited for them. She would have been in the middle of making potato salad or something like that. That was what the community of Littlefield did. It was their special holiday. Everyone gathered at the local park right next to the ball field. Everybody brought something. There were food booths set up with affordable treats and other items. The Little League game was treated like it was the World Series. Clay would have been playing. He would’ve been pitching. Instead he sat in the living room acting nonchalant as he played his zombie video game.

She could hear her boys laughing and cheering as they played the game. Did they know? They had to. She was the most neurotic of them all. Constantly pacing constantly double checking her breath. Taking her medication religiously and counting each pill because each pill, was another day of her life.

Then the bells rang.

Macy froze.

She sat there in some sort of suspended animation of fear.

It was the same every day. Once the bells stopped, she stood and walked into the living room.

“Mom,” Clay said. “Don’t watch us. It’s weird.”

“Are you okay?” Macy asked.

“Yeah, we’re fine. We’re playing a game. Honestly.”

“I’m just checking.”

“I know. But then you just stand there and stare at us.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We’re not sick yet.” Clay said. “Maybe Thomas and I are immune. The news said some people don’t get it. We’ve been hanging around you. We’re not sick.”

“True.”

“So don’t…”

Clay had stopped talking.

“Clay?”

He had been facing the television sitting next to his little brother when he peered over his shoulder at Macy. So why he stop speaking. His nose was bleeding. His finger reached up to touch the ball of blood that rolled across his top lip.

In a weepy voice, he peered to Macy. “Mom?”

Macy’s heart dumped so hard in her chest, she swore it stopped beating.

Thomas said, “Maybe it’s not the sickness. Maybe it’s just a nosebleed.”

“How does your chest feel?” Macy asked

“Heavy. It feels like there’s something there.”

Immediately Macy ran to the kitchen and grabbed the inhaler that was dedicated for Clay. She was confident when she handed him the inhaler.

“Pump it and inhale as it releases, Okay?” she handed it to him.

“I’m not coughing.”

“Neither was I. Just … do it.”

Clay stood up and grabbed the inhaler. The second he did, he coughed.

“Come on Clay, take it,” Macy said. She was confident, she knew it was going to work.

Clay coughed again, it sounded like a dog barking and then he took the inhaler and did as instructed.

Two pumps.

He caught his breath.

“How do you feel now?” Macy asked.

“My chest still feels heavy.”

“You can do two more pumps,” Macy told him.

Clay nodded, inhaled, coughed and brought the inhaler to his mouth,

Two pumps and then Clay started coughing out of control.

“Oh my God,” Macy cried out then swing a point to Thomas. “Run to town. Get the chief, Get Dr. Harmon.”

“Mom …” Thomas whimpered.

“Go. Run as fast as you can.”

Thomas nodded nervously, then raced from the house.

“Clay,” Macy called for her son.

His thin body jerked and jolted with each horrendous, violent cough. His eyes grew red and his face blue.

“Baby, please.” Macy held the inhaler, again to him ‘Two more.”

Clay reached out. His hands aimed blindly at nothing, he looked like he was trying to swim through the air as he desperately fought to stop coughing and catch his breath,

Macy pumped the mist by his mouth, hoping against hope it would affect him. It had to work. Why wasn’t it working? Her son was fighting what was happening to his body and there was nothing Macy could do but watch.

Then Clay stopped coughing.

He dropped to his knees, hands on his thighs and stared out.

Macy sighed in relief. It worked. She smiled. “Sweetie.” She walked around to face him and crouched before him. “Sweetie look at me.”

Clay didn’t.

“I know you’re scared. It was scary. Whew.” She placed her hand on her chest. “I was scared. But you got it under control.”

Clay didn’t move.

“Clay?”

There was a quiet moment and then Clay didn’t just lift his head, he propelled forward at Macy, ramming shoulder first into her chest and sending her sailing back.

Clay didn’t cough, he screamed maniacally and flailed his fist repeated one after another at Macy.

Macy struggled to stop his swinging arms, pleading with Clay to stop, but it was no use. He didn’t hear her or acknowledge her. The twelve year old child, pummeled her, fist over fist. The blows landed to her chest, her stomach, face and arms.

It was maddening and dreamlike. All Macy could do was her best to defend herself and cry.

<><><><>

It didn’t take long for the military or whoever it was, to take over town. It had one perk, the soldiers helped move the remaining bodies and cars that scattered about Main Street. Wells, Stokes and Albert were inundated with the task when everyone else took off.

The invasion of personnel made room in the town square that hadn’t seen a resident since the outbreak.

A long, expandable, white mobile research lab was set center of town. There was a small team of medical professionals walking about doing readings with some sort of wand, while wearing hazmat suits.

Outside the Mobile lab was a white tent.

All of that was consistent with quarantine, but why weren’t they there earlier. Why, if they positioned in town the day of the outbreak, did the military pull out if they were going to return anyway?

And there was the one thing that struck Wells as off. The presence of six M938 Army Military trucks. The long ones with the gated sides and metal arches. The trucks typically hauled boxes and food, sometimes covered with a tarp. But these one were empty, not covered and sitting idle as if waiting to be loaded.

It was hustle, bustle, move out of the way for about two hours, and then it stopped.

Wells found himself inside the tent, at the request of one of the medical workers. More like demand. Dr. Harmon was there as well. Both were the first ones, hand extended giving a blood sample. A tiny tube taken from their fingers.

“Why this? Why now?” Wells asked the man.

“We’re testing your blood.” The man, who identified himself as Major Fielding, replied.

“No, shit. Is this all part of your counting and containing?”

“You can say that. Things are happening. Do you need a band aid?”

“No.” Wells said and stood. He waited for the Dr. Harmon so they could both leave the tent. As they reached the flap, fielding approached them.

“Chief Wells.”

Wells stopped.

“Chief, we can do this quickly and easily. How many people in this town, right now are using the treatment?”

Wells looked at Harmon, then replied. “I believe one eighty give or take.”

“Do you know who these people are and where they live?”

Wells sarcastically huffed a chuckle.

“It’s a small town,” Dr. Harmon said. “Of course we do.”

“We’ll need those names and addresses.” Fielding said.

A single nod, and with Harmon at his side, Wells pushed aside the flap to the tent. As soon as he stepped out, everything barreled him over.

Fielding telling them they have to
account and contain, the blood samples, handling things quickly, the addresses of the sick
… and upon those thoughts, Wells saw the big empty trucks, but this time he saw them differently. Not as vehicles bringing items, but rather taking them away.

Before he could fully process, perhaps ask Fielding about it, little Thomas Anderson called his name in the distance.

“Chief! Chief Wells!”

Wells peered outward to see Thomas running down the road. With Harmon at his side, they made their way to Thomas.

“Chief!”

“Thomas, what is it?”

His face was red from running, and he had a hard time catching his breath. “Chief. My brother is sick. My mom said to get you and Dr. Harmon fast.”

Wells didn’t hesitate. He quickly headed to the Anderson home.

After telling him to go ahead, Wells heard Dr. Harmon tell someone he had a medical emergency. He didn’t think much of it until he saw Dr. Harmon stepping out of a jeep at the same time he made it to the Anderson house after running top speed.

He left Thomas in the dust, figuring the child would eventually catch up. After all, it was Littlefield, there was really no danger.

Wells trotted to the front porch and Harmon held up his bag and a small box. “I grabbed the nebulizer just …”

A struggling scream carried out to them and without hesitation, Wells blasted open the door.

The living room was in complete disarray and center of the floor, Macy latched onto Clay in what Wells could only describe as some sort of Full Nelson submission hold or something from the UFC. On her back, Clay was on top of her, his back pressed to her chest. Macy’s arms hooked under Clay’s, holding his arms straight and locked as she clasped her hands behind his neck. Her legs were curled around and over his.

It didn’t stop the boy, he thrashed back and forth.

Macy’s face was bloody, as well as her arms and legs. It was a struggle for her, and Wells guessed one that wasn’t just a physical battle.

“Please help me,” Macy cried out.

Dr. Harmon set down his bag. “I have a sedative.” He pulled out a syringe and opened it, then a bottle.

“Hurry, please, I can’t …”

After a scream from Clay, Macy’s hold broke and the boy leapt forth, charging at Dr. Harmon. Wells was fast, he latched on to Clay by the waist. Being bigger than Macy, Wells was able to subdue Clay a lot easier. Clay still kicked and screamed.

“Hold him steady.” Dr. Harmon instructed as he approached with the needle.

“You’re gonna have to hit him anywhere you can,” Wells said. “He’s wiry.”