The shocked, “Oh my God”, snapped Mick from his moment of shame.
Patrick McCaffrey pointed at the sign, a video case in his hand. “Mick, the store is closed?”
Mick nodded. “Yeah… yeah it is.” He cleared his throat. “Where’s your mask?”
“It messes up my hair.” Patrick smiled then sighed. “I can’t believe the store is closed.”
“Yep. So I guess you get the movie for another night.”
“Nah.” Patrick walked to the door. “That wouldn’t be right.” He slipped the movie in the overnight return slot. “I’d feel like I’d be stealing if I did that.”
“It’s a video rental.”
“It’s Tom.”
“Must be pretty honest,” Mick commented.
“I try to be.” Patrick placed his hands in his pockets. “See ya, Mick.”
Mick gave Patrick a nod before he let out a soft chuckle of disbelief as Patrick moved on. Mick reached into the pocket of his tee shirt and pulled out the piece of paper he had received from the FBI. Just as he was about to read it, he stopped. Mick noticed it. The silence. It went along with the sign on Tom’s door.
Complete silence.
Not a sound rang out in Lodi. No cars, no sounds of trucks in the distance, no children playing at the nearby park. Nothing.
Mick took one more look at Tom’s sign, then without reading it, put the FBI letter in his pocket. It didn’t matter to him, not right then. And as Mick gazed around, listening to the sounds of silence, all that mattered to him was what was happening to his perfect small town world.
Anchorage, Alaska
Lexi had heard the scream so many times that she knew she would replay it in her head for the rest of her life, that one final cry that every single flu victim made in the last few minutes of their life. When they turned septic, their entire body was overwhelmed with such horrendous pain that all they could do was scream, a horrendous sound that never lost its impact.
They all did the same thing. There were no exceptions. Whether or not they were aware of the pain, their bodies reacted, their senses kicked in, and with the expulsion of bodily fluids, they screamed.
It lasted a few minutes, and that few minutes seemed like an eternity.
Paul knew that noise. Over and over, he himself had heard it in Barrow as he watched that town die. In the end, he knew he’d do the same as the others, and in his final note he expressed his fear of that last indignity.
Lexi read his notes, took his words to heart, and did her best to save a colleague from something that she too feared.
Paul didn’t stay long in the Anchorage hospital he was transferred to. Not even a day. The moment Lexi saw him moving into the final stage of the flu, Lexi deliberately gave him an overdose of morphine.
Paul did not quiver or convulse, nor did he scream. He closed his eyes and went to sleep. For good.
Lexi watched him until it was over. She stayed with Paul, at his side, hoping that, should she become infected with the flu, someone would do the same for her. But Lexi couldn’t stay for long. Too many called for her. And after a simple prayer of forgiveness for taking it into her own hands to end his suffering, Lexi covered Paul with a sheet and moved on.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lodi, Ohio
September 3rd
Mick felt comfortable lying next to Dylan, feeling her bare back against his chest. He wanted to stay like that all night. But he couldn’t. He just didn’t feel right about Tigger, or even Chris, waking up and seeing them asleep together, even innocently, in bed.
Restlessness also played a part in Mick’s deciding to leave the comfort of Dylan in his arms. He needed to walk, and also prepare what was becoming his new bed—the couch—for the night.
Quietly, carefully, so as not to disturb Dylan, Mick scooted backward and slid from bed. His foot touched the floorboard, made a creak, and Mick looked up. Dylan didn’t move. Smiling at that, he sought out his clothes.
“You know,” Dylan said softly from her motionless position, “there’s no way you can get out of bed without me noticing. There’s a weight factor, like a seesaw effect. I almost eject to the roof.”
Mick laughed. “You’re not funny.”
Dylan reached to the lamp, turned it on, and faced Mick. “Where are you going?”
Mick slipped on his shirt. “I’m going out.”
“Out?” Dylan sat up. “The ice cream store is closed, Mick.”
“I know. I’m not going for ice cream. Just for air… and a walk.”
“Are you mad at me?” Dylan asked.
Snickering, Mick walked back to the bed. “Okay. How many times have you asked me that question in our lifetime?”
“Lots.”
“Have you ever cared if I were mad?”
“Always.”
“Yeah, right.” Mick leaned down and kissed her, keeping his face close. “No. I’m not mad. I have so much on my mind with all that is going on. I just want to walk and check on everything in town.”
“Be careful.”
Mick winked. “You know it. Go back to sleep.”
“No.” Dylan exhaled and grabbed the remote. “I’m up. I’ll watch the news.”
Mick stopped at the door. “I did hear that around midnight, they’re supposed to interview some guy who survived the flu.”
“No way,” Dylan said, excited now. “What channel?”
“Forty.”
“You don’t want to watch it?” Dylan asked, flipping through the channels.
“No, you enjoy. Fill me in. I won’t be long.”
“Yes, you will.” Dylan found her channel. “You go out to check on things, you won’t be back until dawn.”
Mick was going to argue, but he didn’t. He merely caught a quick smile from Dylan, returned one, and walked out. She was wrong. Normally, if he were checking on things, yes, he’d be out until dawn. But nothing was happening in Lodi. Nothing. And that was one of the reasons everything was so heavy on Mick’s mind.
Los Angeles, CA
Agent Jeff Bloom prided himself on being a strong man. Darrell Harding did, as well. But the world was crumbling around them: Rioting in the streets, gunfire and explosions ringing out loudly, carrying into their hotel room at a steady rate. Neither one of them ever thought for a second that they would succumb to what pulled down the rest of the world: Fear.
It made them think. It made them reevaluate their destinies. Hours upon hours were spent reexamining their lives through conversation. Things they did; hadn’t done; loved ones gone; chances missed.
There was a first time for everything, and Jeff and Darrell had arrived at that moment. They were facing the fact that in a mere few days, they could be facing their deaths.
Though it was something Jeff had occasionally thought about, it wasn’t a position he ever expected himself to be in, but these were extenuating circumstances. Distraction was what he needed right then. Perhaps these circumstances were the reason that Jeff didn’t mind the position at all. In fact, against everything he had ever believed, he actually enjoyed it.
The warm sensation of his own heavy breaths washed over his face, which was pressed into the mattress. His knees dug into the semi-soft surface. His chest was close to the bed, his back angled upward. His left arm grabbed the sheet at the edge of the bed while his right hand delivered self-satisfying pulls that matched the rhythm of the thrusts powered into him by Darrell.
Jeff justified to himself that it was the thought of death that allowed him to enjoy it so much. And with that justification, he let himself go.