Until suddenly his workers dwindled down to twelve, then six. Joe had a great visual of the severity of it when he stopped to see his friend on the way to drop off his quota one day.
The wide green lawn was completely covered with tents and cots, and inside there was barely enough room between beds for healthcare workers to walk through. There weren’t that many of them.
They stopped Joe before he could go inside and told him it was far too dangerous.
“I’ll wear one of those masks,” Joe told them.
The refused. No one was to go in.
Joe peeked in the gym trying to see Saul, but he couldn’t. Saul wasn’t in the same spot as he had been the day before. The sounds of sickness were so loud, he had even heard it before walking into the building. Coughing, moaning, crying out. People moved a lot on their cots, probably trying to get comfortable.
“I’m just worried about my friend, is there any way to see how he’s doing?” Joe asked.
The reply he received was, “Same as everyone else.”
Joe left frustrated and angry.
He understood though and it was evident how bad Swall was hit when he went into the center of town.
Very few people walked around. There was no line at distribution and the drop off was empty as well.
For the first time, there were more soldiers on the street than Joaquin Valley Citizens.
“Joe,” Mary Lou called his name. “Hey.”
Joe paused in unloading his truck. “I didn’t see you at the table. I got worried for a second that you were sick.”
“No, not me.” Mary Lou said brightly. “I’ll keep on going, you know me. The pierogi club keeps me strong.”
Joe looked at her curiously. “Okay.”
Mary Lou looked over her shoulder and reached to the back of the truck for a crate. “I know that back of yours is bad, let me help.”
“What are you…?”
“No, Joe, I insist.”
Joe wasn’t quite sure how much Mary Lou thought she was helping to lift that crate, but it sure felt as if he were carrying the load and her hands were just placed there. He realized that was the case when he set the crate down and saw the blue card with his picture on it. He made eye contact with her.
“What’s a travel permit?” Mary Lou said slightly above normal level. “Oh, those are for people who have to make cross state deliveries. It allows them to get gas, you don’t need one of those.” She mouthed the words, “Take it.”
Joe looked down at the index size card. Slyly, he pulled it to him as he reached for the last crate.
“Put it in the glove compartment,” she whispered, then backed up. “There. Whew! Those are heavy. Come on I’ll check you in.”
She walked over to the table and Joe, as he normally did, brought the cases to the drop off door. With his dolly in tote, he walked over to Mary Lou.
She handed him the clipboard. “Sign, Joe. Give me the top and take the bottom for your records. You haven’t been doing that.”
“Must be something new,” Joe said. He signed for his drop off, lifted the sheet to grab the one on the bottom and paused.
“Take it. And don’t forget, Sunday is a day of rest. I don’t want to see you in town that day.”
“Yeah,” Joe muttered and looked at the sheet. It wasn’t a copy, it was a delivery order for Fat Joe tomatoes to be dropped off in Ohio. More than the order form, the Post-it Note on top nearly made Joe’s heart stop. The note read, “Toby’s alive. Prisoner. Caldwell, Ohio.”
“Have a great day.”
Joe handed her the sheet, then folded the order, closing his eyes for a moment. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Mary Lou stood, leaned across the table, and kissed Joe on the cheek.
It took everything Joe had not to lose it right then and there. He took the dolly, loaded it in the truck, waved to Mary Lou, and then got in.
After placing that order on his seat, he removed the Post-it and crumbled it in his hand. He couldn’t move or breathe, he was overwrought with emotions and gratefulness.
Toby, his only family member was alive and Mary Lou pretty much broke some serious rules to give him a ticket to go get him.
After pulling it together, Joe drove off. He was indebted to Mary Lou, more than she ever would realize.
San Antonio, TX
While they fed her well, gave Madeline a clean and comfortable environment, they found a way to torture her.
It wasn’t physical, it was mental.
There was a television in every single room, including the bathroom. They all played the same thing all day long and straight through the night. Nonstop. She didn’t have the ability to turn off the sets or even unplug them. The volume adjustment was manipulated as well. She could increase it but not lower it.
Snippets of BBC news showed rioting and fights in Europe, how a food shortage was breaking the country. There was news from other countries as well, though brief. However, for the most part, it was footage of what was happening in the United States.
None of it was good.
A computer-generated voice narrated the video images of United States citizens, starving, living, and huddling in destroyed buildings, children crying and injured. And the worst were the images and videos of those suffering with the new virus that was raging not only across the United States but the world as well. Patients on cots or lying on the ground, covered in sores, barely moving and struggling to breathe.
Sickly images all while the narrator said, This is your country. Feed your people. Your people are dying. You can save them. There is no room for pride when it comes to the wellbeing of others. Come to us so we can help them.
Adding to that, Fen Shu would come into the room four times a day and say the same things to her. Badgering her relentlessly.
“Give up. Surrender. Save your people.”
Madeline would look away from the television. “Face that.” Fen grabbed her chin and made her look at the footage of those sick with the virus. “Save them. Let us save them. Look at them. They are a few of many. Thirty million people have this. Thirty million could die.”
Madeline lowered her head.
“It has spread that fast. We know how to beat it. Thirty million,” Fen said. “Surrender.”
Sadly, with each passing day that surrender looked more like an option than not.
Fen stepped from the hotel room and merely pointed at the door for the guard to lock and secure it. She fixed her blouse, lifted her head high, and walked down the hall.
Another agent waited for her by the elevator.
“Well?” he asked.
Fen shook her head. “Nothing. Not yet. Soon. I believe it.”
“Then we wait?” he asked.
“No.” Fen pressed the button on the elevator. “She needs a push. The Americans need a frightening message about this virus. Clean the western camps.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.” The elevator opened. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another problem to eliminate.” She stepped inside the carriage. “General Liu.”
The elevator doors closed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Twenty Days Post Bombs
USNORTHCOM, Colorado Springs, CO
The radio played like something from the days of old when families gathered around listening to stories and tales. Layered with static, the voice had a tin can sound to it, but its message was clear.
Following the announcement that they are in the midst of government restructuring of the US, People’s Republic of China issued an apology for the delay in exports. Food supplies and aid export will resume within the week and they are reaching out to leaders of the world to negotiate terms in efforts to return to seamless commodity exchange.