Mick looked over his shoulder when he felt the hand touch his back. Dylan slowly sat up, the expression on her face indicating that she had been listening.
“Mick?” she whispered.
Mick held up his hand to keep her quiet.
“…president also stated that the military presence should not be confused with strong arm tactics. The Federal Emergency Management Agency stresses that the quarantine is more of a voluntary basis. However, the mandatory closing of schools, state offices, major interstates and businesses contradicts that statement.”
Dylan’s hand reached around Mick, and she clenched his wrist. “Oh my God, Mick. What is happening?”
Silently Mick shook his head. He didn’t know. Like Dylan, he could only learn by listening.
Reston, Virginia
“We are at war,” Kurt said as he walked around the large conference table passing out information. His eyes were dark from lack of sleep. He wore the same clothes from the day before. “Front lines have been drawn. To sound overly dramatic, it’s man versus the flu.” He finished passing out information. “Henry and I have put a lot of hours into this. We’ll take any feedback you can give us. Each of you ten will be in charge of different sectors of the country, so know your facts. And one of the facts is, if we don’t fight with everything we have to keep the front lines contained, chances are, every single one of us will come down with this flu.”
One gentleman at the table lifted his hand. “The news has already been broken to the public.”
Henry interjected. “Good. That’s what we want. We want the media to inform the public. The CDC is giving them ample information about viruses and so forth, communicability rates, past and present plagues, you name it. We want to scare the American public into not leaving their homes. Let them be afraid to breathe their neighbors’ air, because the only way we can help this thing run its course without infecting too many people is to scare the public.”
“But,” Kurt added, “we don’t want them scared to the point that they think they’re going to die. We don’t want rioting; we don’t need more loss of life. The information fed to the public regarding our flu will be sugar coated. It’s the flu, plain and simple, a virulent flu whose symptoms are debilitating during the span of the illness.”
“Not deadly?” another man asked. “Don’t you think people are smarter than that? I mean, when their neighbors start dropping off, they are going to know we lied.”
“Hopefully we’ll contain it. Stop it,” Kurt said. “It’s a long shot, I know. But what works in our favor is the flu will lose its virulence as time moves on. That’s what stopped the Spanish flu. It took too long to hit everywhere. In 1918 it took three months for the Spanish flu to circle the globe. Unfortunately, now we have intercontinental air travel. My guess is that the flu has already crossed the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. To stop any more chance of spreading infection, all intercontinental flights were suspended three hours ago.” His voice grew serious. “This bug is strong. If you get it, you most likely will die. It will affect the younger with a vengeance; the older you are, the less your chances of getting it.” Kurt gave a shrug. “Built up immunities and so forth. The longer we can keep it from leaping boundaries, the better chance we have of it turning into the ordinary flu. Right now, cases are being reported in Anchorage, but we don’t know if it’s our flu. We have to run tests to confirm.”
“My guess…” Henry spoke, “it is. We want to keep tabs now, because we won’t be able to if the projections hold up. Outside of Alaska and California, we have no reports of the flu.”
“And when they show up outside of these areas?” a man at the table asked.
Kurt answered, “The area infected gets quarantined. We’re looking for the flu to run its course within a month. Each city it hits will be done with their cases of the flu in less than two weeks.”
“And what happens if too many areas get infected? Can we quarantine everyone?” another person asked.
“We’ll give it our best shot,” Kurt said. “We have full government support on this. FEMA is pulling inventory, stockpiling supplies and so forth, and they are preparing for the worst case scenario.”
A woman at the table raised her hand. “The whole tone I’m getting from you is very optimistic.”
Kurt slowly nodded and, after a look at Henry, glanced back to the silent table. “To be honest, I’m not. I’m just preparing for a fight. But like FEMA, I’m not only preparing for a worst case scenario, I’m expecting it. This thing will hit. Here, there. You name it, it’ll leave its mark.”
The same woman nodded. “I see. So why, if you’re planning worst case, are we just planning food, shelter, medical, and quarantines?”
Kurt lifted his hands. “What else is there?”
“I hate to sound gloomy…” She tilted her head as her hand ruffled pages of the document before her, “But at a ninety-five percent mortality rate, we should be planning for something else. Cholera, safe body disposal.”
Kurt shook his head. “That type of planning will not be necessary. It’s not important.”
She chuckled. “Why not? It’s realistic”
“No, it’s not,” Kurt said with seriousness. “Mass graves. Body disposal. You want reality, I’ll give you reality. Burials and disposals are not priority planning because if the worst case scenario hits, there won’t be enough people left to bury the dead.”
Barrow, Alaska
Septic.
Paul didn’t need a blood test for confirmation. He knew his version of the flu was septic. His own confirmation came when he broke up his cough enough to view the sputum laced with the blood from his lungs.
It was the single-most frightening sight Paul had ever witnessed. His knowledge helped feed his fear. He knew the blood meant early signs of the decay of his internal organs. But just the night before, his knowledge had given him hope. At the age of nearly fifty, Paul knew his chances of getting the flu were slim. And those who were older seldom died from septicemia; they succumbed to the symptoms and pneumonia.
Paul, who had never hit the lottery, had nailed the jackpot. The odds were in his favor, but somehow his body didn’t know that.
He was his own best source of information. He took the best of notes, keeping track of his illness’ progression, pinpointing what was happening where in his body. It was through his personal accounting that he finally understood this flu. He wished he had had that understanding sooner. If so, he would have been better prepared for how sick, how desperately sick, he had become.
Los Angeles, CA
Agent Jeff Bloom carried a box when he entered his hotel room, and he also carried something else. A surgical mask dangled around his neck. “I’m back,” he announced to Darrell Harding, who lounged on the bed watching television.
“About time. What took so long?”
“Stores are packed.” Jeff set the box on the other bed. “And check this out.” He tossed a blue mask to Darrell. “Mandatory. I was stopped on the street. At first, you know, I thought it was because I had my tee shirt tied around my face. But the guy who stopped me told me I had to wear one while out. So I picked up one for you too.”