If each question asked of him were a step he took to the station, then Mick felt he walked a million miles. He wanted nothing more than to give the people of Lodi the answers they sought, but Mick told them what he knew, which wasn’t very much. And like he told the residents of Lodi, it wasn’t as if Mick was ill-informed, it was that nobody running it was really well-informed.
That didn’t help.
Mick preached calm. It worked… for two days before the Ohio border patrols were set up. The people of Lodi stayed calm, but that was short lived. It had been four days since the television bombarded them with news of the flu, and it only seemed to be getting worse every day. The station was swamped with phone calls and people stopped him on the street. Mick had to admit, as he approached the station, he was not surprised at the small group who gathered outside.
“Where’s your mask, Chief?” a male voice called from the crowd.
“Oh. Um…” Mick reached into his back pocket and pulled out the small blue surgical mask. He held it up then stuck it back in his pocket. “Call me a gambler.” Reaching for the door, Mick stopped when the small crowd rushed him. “Hold it,” he said calmly. “Is there something all of you want?” He stared at them, every one of them wearing the masks the Army had dropped off not long before. Like diligent little soldiers they wore them.
The same man spoke up. “We know you’re doing your job, Mick. But any word yet on when this order is lifted?”
“Which one?” Mick asked. “I can’t keep track of the orders that have flown into the station from the US government in the last twenty-four hours. I can’t tell you about the recently instituted curfew and restraint orders, but it seems the standard border quarantines for states are three weeks.”
“Why three weeks?” the man asked.
“I know as much as you do, and the news says it takes about three weeks for an entire state to be flu free… now if you’ll excuse me, I…”
“Mick,” a woman spoke up. “Come on. They shut everything down. We have to wear these masks. We can’t walk the streets unless we have them on. We’re prisoners.”
“Prisoners?” Mick chuckled. “You’re standing here now, hardly prisoners. And Gina…” Mick rubbed his eyes, “think about why they have these rules, okay? I don’t like them any more than the rest of you, but they are for protection. Yours and mine. The less contact people have with each other, the less chance of this flu spreading about. This thing has to be serious and life-threatening if it’s shutting down the world. Minimal contact makes perfect sense. For example, if one of you has the flu, as close as you are all standing to each other, do you really think those little masks are gonna make a bit of difference?”
There was a wave of silence then the crowd quickly dispersed.
“Thought so,” Mick said, then went into the station.
The two deputies across the office both turned around when Mick walked in.
“Afternoon.” Mick lifted a hand as he sought the sanctity of his office.
“Chief?”
“Shit.” Mick skidded to a stop. He was almost there. He just wanted to steal a moment of quiet. “Yes?” Calling on his last mite of patience, Mick turned and faced him.
Officer Haddock walked to him. “This just came in for you.”
“Ah, damn it.” Mick wanted it all to stop. “It’s not another goddamn order from the health department to do some inane fucked up precautionary procedure that will make my life a miserable hell, is it?”
“Um…” Officer Haddock looked down at the paper to double check. “No. From the FBI. Looks like Harv Holly was playing post office PI bingo again, as you call it. Only this time…” he gave Mick the sheet, “he hit the jackpot.” Haddock raised his eyebrows.
After a snort of disbelief, Mick glanced down. “Great,” he groaned. “The world’s falling apart and I need this to worry about.”
“Want me to take care of that now?” Officer Haddock asked.
Mick shook his head, “Things are pretty hectic out there. This really isn’t going anywhere. Not today. I’ll take care of it. Keep a lid on it for now, all right?”
Officer Haddock agreed.
“Did you make a copy of this?” Mick asked.
“Yes, I did,” Officer Haddock answered.
“I’ll hold on to this one. Thanks.” Looking at the sheet of paper and reading it again with disgust, Mick walked into his office and partly shut the door for some privacy.
Moving to his desk and not wanting to deal with anything for a few moments, especially orders from the FBI, Mick folded the sheet of paper and put it in his front tee shirt pocket. His chair looked even more comfortable than usual and Mick sank into it. But only for a second, then he felt a pinch on his backside and he jumped back up. Grumbling, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the smashed blue surgical mask, tossed it on his desk, then sank into his chair again.
He looked at the mask with a chuckle then lifted it by its rubber band. The military, CDC, health department, whoever, was handing out the masks as safeguards. But to Mick it was more of a palliative tactic, a mollifying move for the public to believe that all was being done to help protect them. Mick knew the masks well, and to him the surgical masks were pretty much next to useless.
After dropping the item, Mick reclined his chair with a squeak of its old springs and an exhalation of relief. His head dropped back and he closed his eyes.
Quiet.
Not for long.
Dylan spoke his name. “Mick.” But there was something odd about the sound of her voice. It was muffled, as if it came through a cup. “Mick.”
Had he fallen asleep? Dylan certainly sounded odd. After hearing her call one more time, he opened his eyes. When he did, he jolted awake with a yelp when he saw her. “Dylan. What the hell are you doing?” He slowly stood up looking at Dylan as she stood before Mick’s desk holding Tigger’s hand. She and Tigger weren’t wearing the little surgical masks; they were wearing huge black military gas masks. “Who the hell did you fuck to get those?”
“You,” she answered.
“Huh?” Mick was confused as he walked to Tigger. “And why is this kid wearing a…”
“I took them from your Navy Seal box. I remembered you had them after the one time, we… you know, kind of played with them.”
“Christ, Dylan, you went through my stuff?” He bent down to Tigger. “And this has to come off of this kid. He can’t use it properly, it’s too big. He’s suffocating.” Mick undid the rubber strap.
“He is not.”
“He is, too. Watch.” Mick lifted off the mask.
Tigger, face red, wheezed when the air hit him.
“See,” Mick said, “Tigger, you all right?”
With more dramatics than he needed to display, Tigger weakly walked to Mick’s desk, reached up to grab the edge, bent over some and nodded. “I will be.”
Shaking his head after watching him, Mick turned back to Dylan. “Now, Dylan, what did—can you take that damn mask off? I can’t talk to you like this.”
“I can’t, I’ll get the flu. And you just put my child at risk.”
“I just saved your child from asphyxiating. Now take off the mask.” He reached for it and lifted it from her head.