“My point is,” Henry answered, “you have to know how deadly this thing is.”
“We do.”
“No, you don’t.” Henry shook his head. “Listen to me. Ninety-five percent of all those who catch the flu will turn septic. Septic. Their lungs start decaying the second the flu hits them. And it can’t be discovered until it’s too late.”
“Again,” Kurt insisted strongly, “we know this. What is your point?”
In a fit of pique, Henry shook his head. “You’re classifying it contained. You’re marking the episode over.”
“It is.”
“No, it isn’t, you still have—”
“What?” Kurt shifted through his papers. “Four towns displaying the virus. Four. Barrow is at ninety percent, the flu has almost run its course there. The other three are at fifty-, sixty- and seventy-five percent. You want me to keep full staff alert on this? You want me to spend funds we don’t have on warnings and search teams?”
“Yes.”
“For what!” Kurt blasted. “No other reports of this flu have come in.”
Henry laughed quietly. “And how in God’s name is some physician, say in Wisconsin, supposed to know they are dealing with Secondo Venire? How? They will look upon their patient as someone with the ordinary flu. Cold symptoms, then pneumonia, the normal routine. Until the patient, every patient, dies. If they don’t know to look for it, how the hell are they supposed to report it?”
“They won’t have cases to report,” Kurt said. “When the World Health Organization gave Winston the flu to research, they put you and others far away. Isolated. We’ve had accidents with this before and you know nothing has ever come of it. It has never breached a fifty-mile radius because of the isolation factor and where it hit. This will be no different. Sorry to say, this is out of the CDC’s hands. To us, it was nothing more than some rural areas with insufficient medical care with an outbreak of the flu.”
Henry stormed to the table. “And what will you tell the technological world when they start dropping like flies?” He ignored Kurt’s scoff. “Are you gonna tell them they all have the flu? Prepare that little speech and prepare for that scenario because this isn’t over.” He shook his head. “It’s far from over.”
Lodi, Ohio
Home.
But there had to be an error. A mix-up of some kind, Lars Rayburn figured. Not only did he smell dust when he opened the door, but the house was dark. He guessed the woman he usually hired must have forgotten the date of his arrival in Lodi, which was unusual. No one ever forgot when he came home.
For years when he came home at the end of August, the same woman would arrive the day before and prepare his house. Not that he needed it, but Lars liked the idea of returning to his house in Lodi as if he had never left it. The woman made sure of that. Dust free, drapes open, fresh fruit, a newspaper, and a refrigerator full of food. He began to think perhaps she hadn’t received the letter and check he’d sent three weeks earlier. Hoping that at least the power company had gotten his check, Lars reached for the light switch. As soon as he thought, ‘ah, power,’ the bulb burned out with a fizzle and pop.
“Swell.” Lars shook his head, set down his bag and walked into the living room. “Two down, how about the third?” He lifted the receiver on the phone. “Well, GTE certainly received my check.” Happy to hear the dial tone, Lars made his call. His face lit up when he received an answer. “Hello? Tom? Lars Rayburn. Good, good. Hey, Tom, I was wondering. Is everything all right with Dylan? She never came to prepare the house.” There was silence, then Lars sadly took in the news he hadn’t expected to hear less than ten minutes into his homecoming.
Barrow, Alaska
The older man sat up in the bed pushed into the corner of his bedroom in his one-story home. The television played, and he kept peering over Paul’s shoulder to see the bad reception, which was a task since Paul was wearing a large blue biohazard outfit.
Paul knew the old man’s attention wasn’t with him, but he continued with his task anyhow. Of all the older people Paul had seen, the old man was one of few who had given into the modern convenience of television. Everything about Barrow really surprised Paul while he was there. Hearing it was the largest Eskimo settlement, Paul had envisioned a world of igloos, not a tiny village on a small technological ride.
Paul finished what he was doing and smiled through the suit’s facial mask.
“You’ve had a big drop in temperature, so I’m going to say you are well on your way to beating this flu.” What Paul wanted to add was that the man was one of very few.
The old man looked from the television to the window. “I can see the street. I walk it every day. Today I see no one walking. No cars. No noise.”
Paul sighed heavily and began to put away his things. “People are sick with this flu.”
“Everyone?”
Paul nodded. “Pretty much.”
“And they are all healing now?” he asked.
“Pretty much.” Paul stood up. It was a far cry from the truth, but in Paul’s mind, why tell the man any differently? Though they hadn’t lost the numbers Paul had originally projected, the numbers of fatalities was frighteningly close.
“I’ll let you rest. I’ll check back tomorrow,” Paul said with a nod, noticing the old man returned to looking at the television. As he turned to leave, Paul noticed it. It hadn’t been there the day before. With an odd smile, he lifted the handheld electronic device. “This shocks me,” Paul said.
The old man, confused, looked at him.
“That you have this, I mean.” Paul explained.
“I tried to play the games, but it doesn’t work.”
Curious, Paul looked down. “It’s not a game unit. It’s called a pocket organizer. Didn’t they tell you that when you purchased it?”
“I did not buy it. It was left behind last week by a story man who was in town.”
Panic immediately hit Paul. “Last week?”
“Yes. Two of them.”
Fumbling through his gloves, Paul turned on the pocket organizer. He knew his hopes that the storyteller was from one of the coastal communities was in vain when he saw the owner’s name and information: Bill Daniels, Lighthouse Publications, Anchorage, Alaska.
“May I take this?” Paul asked.
“It is broke.”
“Yes, I know. May I?”
“Yes,” the man answered.
Having a hard time disguising his concern, Paul hurriedly excused himself and left the house. He was told by everyone he’d interviewed that no strangers had come into town. He’d banked on that and he’d lost. If some reporter from Anchorage was in Barrow one week earlier, he didn’t just return home with a story; he could have very well returned home with the flu.
Paul knew he had to immediately send someone to locate Bill Daniels. As he stepped outside, he froze. He couldn’t move. It overwhelmed him. Something he normally didn’t even think twice about threw him into a personal frenzy. A wave of fear paralyzed Paul when he stepped off the stoop and sneezed.
Lodi, Ohio
Three in a row, Dustin, Chris and Tigger, all sat on the couch, biggest to smallest. All sat the same, hands folded, and the three of them all wore black pants, a white dress shirt, and a black tie.
As if they’d practiced it, at the same time they all slowly peered over their right shoulders when the front door opened.
As Mick stepped in, the unusual sight slowed his pace. “Boys.” He closed the door.