We All Fall Down (14 page)

QUARANTINE

Some died in neglect, others in the midst of every attention. No remedy was found that could be used as a specific; for what did good in one case, did harm in another. Strong and weak constitutions proved equally incapable of resistance, all alike being swept away, although dieted with the utmost precaution. By far the most terrible feature in the malady was the dejection which ensued when any one felt himself sickening, for the despair into which they instantly fell took away their power of resistance, and left them a much easier prey to the disorder; besides which, there was the awful spectacle of men dying like sheep, through having caught the infection in nursing each other.

THUCYDIDES,
HISTORY OF THE PELOPONNESIAN WAR
,
BOOK 2, CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 33

They waited until dark to bring in the fences. Workers dressed in NBC suits unloaded trucks and took crowbars to crates. They dug posts and unrolled lengths of steel mesh. Two layers of fencing went up, with twenty yards of space in between. Each was topped with a double strand of concertina wire, the outer fence also covered over with sheets of reinforced wood so no one could see in. Or out.

The barriers were constructed under the silent and subtle protection of Chicago police, who diverted traffic, and federal agents, who dealt with any “problems” along the perimeter. Under an emergency federal order, all television and cell phone signals inside the “protected zones” were jammed at 11:00 p.m., replaced by a message telling citizens the outage was a planned one and “limited service” would be restored by seven the next morning. Washington also hit its Internet kill switch, shutting down ISP providers inside the affected areas.

Just before midnight, the government posted soldiers at the front doors to Cook County Hospital, Rush Medical Center, and Mount Sinai Hospital. Twenty minutes after the soldiers showed up, the staff at Cook walked out. The doctors and nurses told officials they wouldn’t go back into the ER until they got NBC suits, just like the guys with the guns. For half of the staff, it wouldn’t matter. They were already infected.

A mixture of Homeland Security, FBI, and military filtered into the streets. Clad in NBC suits and carrying automatic weapons, they shut down all major intersections and closed whatever was still open—mostly bars and restaurants, gas stations, convenience and liquor stores. They herded people back to their homes, arresting anyone who gave them trouble and arranging “temporary shelter” for those who were stranded in a restricted area.

Reactions ran the gamut. Some people screamed at the hooded figures with guns. Others fainted. Three went into cardiac arrest. On the West Side, bangers and wannabes alike broke out windows and took what they wanted while they could. In Oak Park, people grabbed for their cell phones—a primal urge, apparently, both to share their outrage and record it. Overall, however, regular folks mostly went along. That surprised Washington, but the reality was when a cop in an NBC suit pointed a gun and told you to stay inside, you did exactly that. Until someone told you different.

CHAPTER 34

Three miles east of the rising fence lines, Missy Davis’s night already had “suck” written all over it. Missy went to Vassar, summa cum laude, fifth in her class, should have been first. Yale Law School wanted her. Or at least they’d sent her a letter. So did Stanford and the University of Chicago. She settled on Northwestern and a master’s in journalism. It was supposed to be a Christiane Amanpour redux, or some Anglo-Saxon version of such. It wasn’t supposed to be the overnight assignment desk. She ripped another piece of copy off the printer and trudged it across Channel Six’s newsroom.

“Missy, print out a hard copy of the ten o’clock rundown as well, will you?”

Ted Henderson was the overnight news editor and her boss. Missy had Ted pegged from the opening moments of her job interview. He’d worn a starched blue shirt with a black bow tie and had trouble moving his eyes from Missy’s legs (which had looked appropriately spectacular that day in a Zac Posen print). He’d offered her the position ten minutes into the interview. She’d smiled and accepted. And here she was, stuck in newsroom hell with a career middle manager, ripping scripts and running feeds to nowhere.

Missy dumped the rundown onto Ted’s desk and walked back to her own. Missy had four TVs tuned to the competition, a bank of police scanners, and a two-way so she could talk to her street crews and live trucks. It was past midnight, and the assignment desk should have been fairly quiet. It wasn’t. A little over an hour ago, there’d been reports of a possible hazardous-materials spill on the West Side. She’d sent a photographer over, a veteran stringer by the name of Dino Pillizzi. Dino had tried a couple different routes to the reported accident, but was turned away by police. Dino couldn’t figure it out. Neither could Missy.

“I just got another text from Dino,” Missy said.

“What does he say?” They were the only ones in the newsroom, and Ted Henderson spoke without looking up from his computer screen.

“He still can’t get into the haz mat.”

“Tell him to buy a fucking map.”

“He’s not lost. He can’t get in.”

Ted stopped typing. “What are you talking about?”

“He claims they’ve got the area shut down.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“Chicago PD. He’s tried three different routes. Nothing but roadblocks.”

Ted walked over to the assignment desk. Missy pointed to a map she’d pulled up on one of the monitors. “He’s been here on Madison. Then went south and looped around. Then doubled back and came in on Ogden. Dino says it’s a perimeter.”

“What the fuck does Dino know about a perimeter?”

“He says he saw them hauling in fencing.”

“Fencing?”

“He shot some footage but couldn’t get close enough to see where the trucks were going.”

Ted sat down beside Missy and studied the map some more. “What’s been on the scanner?”

“I told you. A possible level-three haz mat. Came across about ten-thirty. One repeat, a half hour after that.”

“Any address?”

Missy shook her head. “Just a Garfield Park locator.”

“And nothing since then?”

“Nope. No police. No fire.” Missy took a sip of her soda, tapped her foot, and waited.

“Anyone else running after this?” Ted said.

“Five might have sent someone over, but I’m not sure.”

“Can you find out?”

“Maybe.”

“What time is the chopper up?”

“Four a.m. I can call it in earlier.”

Ted began a slow drift back to his desk. “What’s the latest on the outbreak over at Cook?”

“Mayor did a gangbang at the hospital around six. Said everything was under control. Then they cleared us out. We led with it at ten.”

“How many sick?”

“Eleven confirmed deaths. Nothing specific on total number of sick.”

“What’re you hearing?”

“Latest speculation is E. coli. Before that it was bird flu and H1N1. There’s a rumor the CDC’s got its nose in it, but nothing official. It’s the West Side, so who knows?”

“We have anyone at Cook now?”

“I told you, they cleared us out. All statements are coming from downtown. I’ve got a crew staked out there all night.”

“Get Dino on the phone and transfer him over.”

Missy reached for the two-way just as one of her inside lines lit up. She cradled the receiver between her shoulder and ear as she composed another text to her cameraman. “Yeah? What’s that?” A pause. “Where?”

Ted swung his head in her direction. Missy found herself pointing at him for no particular reason. “Hang on a second.” She put the call on hold.

“What is it?” Ted said.

“They took a call on one of the outside lines. Some guy from Oak Park. Claims police are rounding up people with guns. Says they’re wearing masks and some kind of protective suits.”

“Oak Park?”

“That’s what they said.” Missy could hear the dry patch in her voice and forced herself to swallow.

“Have you talked to the guy?” Ted said.

Missy pointed to a blinking light on her console. “He was in his car and got cut off. The operator who took the call is on two.”

“Get Dino on the phone. And put the operator through to Jim’s line.”

Ted began to wind his way back to the privacy of the news director’s office.

Missy punched on the blinking line. “Did you get the guy’s name and number? Okay. I’m going to put you through to Ted Henderson. Hold on.”

A third line lit up in front of Missy. Another inside call. This time from security. Missy picked up.

“Busy back here, guys.” She listened for another moment. “Hang on.”

Missy yelled across the newsroom. “Ted?”

Ted Henderson was walking through the Channel Six Weather Control Center when Missy called his name. He stopped and squinted. In khaki pants and a pullover Brooks Brothers sweater, Ted suddenly looked awfully young, awfully pale, and awfully alone.

“We’ve got company,” Missy said.

“What’s that?” Ted ran his fingers through his hair.

“Three guys from Homeland Security. They’re up front. Want to come back and talk to us.”

Ted Henderson sat down in a straight-backed chair and stared hard at an empty Doppler radar screen. The clock over his head read 12:43 a.m.

CHAPTER 35

The blue van rolled down the alley, through patterns of wet light and darkness. Marcus watched with the others as it pulled into the loading dock, and the warehouse door rattled down behind it.

Four men got out. They ignored the gangbangers circling and focused on Ray Ray. One of them opened up the back and showed him what was inside. They pulled out maps and cigarettes. Ray Ray listened and nodded. The men talked for almost an hour. They unloaded everything and stacked it all against a wall. Then the men got in their van and left.

Ray Ray called everyone close. There were maybe forty of them. Marcus kept near the back, left hand wrapped as best he could. Ray Ray showed them what the men had brought. Gasoline. Power nail guns. Cans of red paint. Jace dragged two flat metal boxes to the center of the room. Ray Ray put a boot on one and began to talk.

They’d all seen the choppers. Heard about the fences. Some fools wanted to hit the streets. Some already had. But Ray Ray held the Fours in his fist. Wouldn’t let them off the chain. Until now. He told his crew what needed to be done. Then Ray Ray flipped open the boxes. In one were the shotguns. In the other, gas masks. They had five hours until sunup. And an entire neighborhood to burn.

CHAPTER 36

The Blue Line train made its way west, running parallel to the Ike and moving slowly. I looked out the window, at columns of dirty smoke drifting across streaks of early morning sun.

“Fires?” I said and turned to Molly Carrolton, who looked up reluctantly from her iPad.

“Hmm?”

I jerked a thumb outside. “Anyone notice the West Side’s burning down?”

“I told you, there were reports of violence all night. Some blocks torched in K Town. That’s all anyone really knows.”

I’d spent most of the night in a suite at the Colonial Tower, watching the mayor and his pals explain to the world what was happening in Chicago. The star of the show had been the fence line, backlit at dawn and guarded by men in NBC suits. Pretty much said it all.

Molly had knocked on my door at a few minutes after six. Wilson had asked her to get me out of the quarantine zone. Without the feds finding out. She’d suggested the L. And so, here we were.

“Is someone gonna try to put ’em out?” I said.

“The fire department doesn’t seem too keen on the idea. Especially since the feds don’t have any protective suits to spare.”

“Speaking of which  … ” I gestured toward the suit and mask I was wearing. “Do we really need these?”

“It’s a great way to stay anonymous. And, as of today, we’re officially in a quarantine zone. Everyone wears a suit unless they’re in a designated scrubbed area.”

“What’s a scrubbed area?”

“You’ll see the signs.”

I could feel the river of sweat starting its slalom run down my neck and wondered when it was going to start itching. “You’re telling me the air is full of this pathogen?”

“It’s the smoke I’d worry about.”

“Why?”

“If the buildings they’re burning contain infected bodies, the smoke could theoretically be contaminated.”

“What are the odds?”

“It doesn’t matter. Protocol says you wear one.”

“Fuck protocol.” I pulled the mask off and put it in my lap.

Molly shook her head. “That’s not very smart.”

“Give me a better reason and I’ll put it back on.”

She wasn’t interested in playing. So I sat and listened to the creak of the tracks underneath us.

“What’s that for?” I pointed at an opaque sheet of thick plastic. It was strung across the front of the car, cutting us off from the rest of the train.

“If I tell you, will you put your mask back on?”

“I’m not worried.”

“We’re in a rolling hearse.”

“Infected?”

She nodded. “Fortunately for you, this car has been sealed. Besides, if they’re not breathing, chances are they’re not contagious.”

“I told you I wasn’t worried.”

The train slacked off its already snail-like pace and then stopped altogether, wheels squeezing out a sigh as they ground to a halt. A wisp of smoke crept across the tracks. Then another. Pretty soon we were plunged into a world of gray and white—thick whorls laced with sticky bits of debris from the fires.

“They were going to use vans for the dead.” Molly’s voice competed for attention with a sudden high wind. “But there’s been too many bodies. Too quickly. This way the media can’t get a good count.”

“How many so far?”

Molly touched the shiny surface of her iPad. A map flared to life in liquid reds and greens. Alongside it were names and columns of numbers.

“The pathogen killed at least seventy-three people while you were sleeping. A hundred fifty-four total, so far. Best we can tell, the rate of infection within the restricted zones is increasing hourly.”

“Is it spreading?”

“The greatest danger has been inside the buildings.”

“What about the hospitals?”

“Not enough resources, training, or real-time information.” Molly shrugged. “Pretty much a meltdown.”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“It’s about what we expected. The president is supposed to speak this morning.”

“What’s he going to say?”

“My guess? As little as possible.”

“You got that right. He should come down here and sit with the mayor in front of his phony fireplace. Be a hell of a show.” I nodded to the front of the car. “Can I take a look?”

“Just don’t try to open anything.”

I got up and took a peek around the plastic curtain. Through the connecting door I could see a dozen bodies in bags, stacked on the floor and across flat boards laid over the seats. Watching over the silent commuters were a couple of morgue assistants, suited up in case Molly’s theory proved to be awry and the dead turned out to be contagious. I snapped a couple of photos with my cell. Then I went back and sat down.

“Where do they take them?” I said.

“Cremation. If we bury them, we risk contaminating the soil with disease.”

“So you burn them?”

“A controlled burn, yes. The smoke is scrubbed before being released into the environment.”

I twitched my fingers and picked up her iPad. “This thing get the Internet?”

“We have a dedicated line.” Molly tapped the tablet and a Google window appeared.

“Ever heard of Thucydides?” I said and typed in a search term.

“Greek writer?”

“Historian. Wrote about the Plague of Athens.” I pulled up a screen of text and highlighted a passage:

 … people in good health were all of a sudden attacked by violent heats in the head, and redness and inflammation in the eyes, the inward parts, such as the throat or tongue, becoming bloody and emitting an unnatural and fetid breath
.

These symptoms were followed by sneezing and hoarseness, after which the pain soon reached the chest, and produced a hard cough . .
.

Externally the body was not very hot to the touch, nor pale in its appearance, but reddish, livid, and breaking out into small pustules and ulcers. But internally it burned so that the patient could not bear to have on him clothing or linen even of the very lightest description; or indeed to be otherwise than stark naked. What they would have liked best would have been to throw themselves into cold water; as indeed was done by some of the neglected sick, who plunged into the rain-tanks in their agonies of unquenchable thirst; though it made no difference whether they drank little or much
.

“Could be a lot of things,” Molly said. “Typhus. Bubonic plague. Maybe some sort of viral hemorrhagic fever.”

“Some scholars think it was the world’s first recorded use of a bioweapon. Released by Sparta inside the city of Athens. Either way, it killed almost forty thousand people. Athenians burned the bodies of their neighbors in the streets. Here you go.”

I showed her a second screen of text:

All the burial rites before in use were entirely upset, and they buried the bodies as best they could. Many from want of the proper appliances, through so many of their friends having died already, had recourse to the most shameless sepultures: sometimes getting the start of those who had raised a pile, they threw their own dead body upon the stranger’s pyre and ignited it; sometimes they tossed the corpse which they were carrying on the top of another that was burning, and so went off
.

“Let me guess,” Molly said. “Those who don’t understand history are doomed to repeat it.”

“You assume we still have a choice.”

Molly shut down the iPad and slipped it back into her pack. I thought about the plague. It sounded like fiction when Thucydides wrote of it. Now it was a trip on the Blue Line. And very much real.

“Where are we headed?” I said.

“The train runs from Cook County Hospital west to a warehouse in Oak Park.”

“Where they process the dead?”

“Something like that. It’s outside the fence line, so you should be able to slip away.”

I grunted. The train creaked forward a few feet and stopped again.

“I need to tell you something else,” Molly said.

“I’m guessing it’s not gonna be good.”

“The scream you heard yesterday at our lab. That was Ellen.”

I didn’t know why, but I wasn’t surprised. “What happened?”

“Her sister, Anna, was booked on an early morning flight out of O’Hare. She was supposed to take a private car to the airport. We think she decided to save money and hop the Blue Line. Her train would have hit the subway about the time the pathogen was released.”

“Where is she?” I said.

“Anna collapsed in a bathroom at O’Hare. She was pronounced dead five hours later. Our first and, so far, only victim at the airport. Ellen watched her sister’s autopsy last night. I thought you should know. In case you see her.”

“Thanks.”

The wind had settled; the curtain of smoke slipped away. A weak beat of sunlight filtered through a window. Molly moved into the seat beside me. I could feel her shoulder tight against mine, and looked up at a poster telling me I should get tested for HIV.

“What happens next?” I said.

Molly’s laugh was muffled through her mask. “Kind of a loaded question, isn’t it?”

Just then a .30-caliber slug shattered the window behind me, blowing Molly Carrolton off the seat and hammering her to the floor.