“Lars,” Patrick chuckled. “Mick, was he a rock star?”
“Lars?” Mick laughed. “No.”
“I was wondering. If he wasn’t… why exactly is Lars Rayburn a legend around here?”
“You don’t know?” Mick watched Patrick shake his head, “Well,” he said, “it started about…” Mick’s head turned to the sound at the same time as Patrick. It as distant at first, but it drew closer. Thunderous. Loud, heavy trucks. Curiously, Mick turned his eyes back to Patrick. Just as he did, a convoy of military trucks rolled down the main street toward them.
“Holy shit,” Mick said.
“What are they doing here?” Patrick asked.
“I haven’t a clue.” Mick watched the trucks all slowly come around the corner. The sound of squealing air brakes rang out. “But let’s go find out.” Tossing his cigarette, Mick took off with Patrick right behind him.
Anchorage, Alaska
With all the commotion that was taking place inside, Lexi couldn’t believe the silence that hit her the second she stepped out of the hospital for air. She paused just outside of the automatic doors and took it in.
Quiet.
But really, it wasn’t. Sirens blared in the distance; there were constant motor noises. Occasional gunfire popped off. But even that noise was soothing against the noises of death and pain that inundated her inside the hospital.
Holding a can of soda and a paper cup, Lexi’s eyes searched from left to right. She knew he had to be out there. Something told her that he hadn’t left for good. Then she spotted him off to the side, in the designated smoking section. Bill was just sitting there.
She walked over to him, saying nothing . She took the seat beside him and opened the can of soda. She poured some into the paper cup and handed it to Bill.
Bill shook his head as he stared as his folded hands.
“Take it,” she insisted. “You have to keep your fluids up. You’re still recovering.”
Bill took the cup. “Thanks.”
“I’m very… I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“So am I.” Bill exhaled. “But thank you for that. I suppose you’ve seen so much it doesn’t faze you.”
Lexi released a long, emotion-filled chuckle. “It bothers me. Every person that passes on in there, it bothers me. I just can’t let it affect me. That’s all.”
“You know, if I wasn’t immune now to this flu, the last place I’d be is out here without that protective suit you wear.”
Lexi smiled. “I don’t think I’m gonna get this flu.”
“Confident.”
“Pretty much,” Lexi stated. “I ran a test when I had a moment. Looks like I reject it when it enters my blood stream.”
“You can tell?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“So if you’re immune why do you wear that suit?”
“It makes others feel comfortable thinking I’m not giving them something.” She drank some of her soda. “So what now? Are you heading home?”
“Taking a moment. I looked around in there. I thought I’d lend a hand.”
At that, Lexi smiled. “I’d turn you down but we need the help. I saw your interview, part of it. That… that was brave of you.”
“Brave?” Bill laughed. “How?”
“To go on national television knowing all eyes would be upon you. To tell about this flu.”
“Even though it wasn’t the truth?” Bill asked.
“Can I ask if someone told you to do that?”
“Lie?” Bill shook his head. “No. I did that on my own.”
“Why?”
“There wasn’t another choice. I thought about it.” Bill sat up and leaned back. “What good would it do to go and tell everyone that it looks like Anchorage is pretty much, excuse the pun, sunk. They don’t need to hear that. That’ll scare people. People don’t need to be scared, they need to feel hope. They get their information from the media, and I, as the media, am not going to be the one who frightens them. We may be out of options, but who’s to say, someone else may have options?” Bill softened his voice. “Who’s to say, out there, somewhere, there isn’t still hope?”
Lodi, Ohio
Six military trucks were parked in what appeared to be a blockade around the Lodi Elementary gymnasium when Mick and Patrick arrived.
“Cots?” Patrick questioned Mick when he saw the soldiers, wearing gas masks, unloading one truck.
“Looks that way,” Mick stated and moved toward the open gym door.
“Hey, Mick, maybe they’re making this an official medical place. What do you think?”
“I don’t know. But I’m about to find—”
“Hold it,” a soldier approached Mick, stopping him with his rifle. “No one gets in there.”
Mick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Move.”
“Sir, I’m not joking.”
“Neither am I. I’m the Chief of Police in this town, now let me in my school.” Mick pointed to his waist and the badge he wore attached to his belt. “Now can I get in there?”
“Hold on,” the soldier stepped aside.
Mick waved his hand at the soldier and walked into the gym with Patrick. As soon as he did, his questions were partially answered when he heard Lars’ voice barking out orders.
“I’ll need those over there,” Lars pointed across the gym for the benefit of one soldier.
“Lars.” Mick approached him.
“Evening, Mick,” Lars stated. “Patrick.”
“What the hell is going on?” Mick asked.
“I tried to get you earlier, but you weren’t home,” Lars said.
“Did you think to call the station?”
“Yes.” Lars nodded. “I figured I’d wait until I was finished.”
“Finished with…?”
Lars gestured with his hand, “Over here where we can talk.” He walked to where a large table was set up, nothing on it but a brief case. “You are standing in what we are preparing to call the Lodi Medical Aid Station.”
With Patrick listening at his side, Mick waited for Lars to continue. He figured Lars had stopped to think, but no more words came from him. He then wondered if Lars thought the simple one-sentence explanation he gave was going to be enough. If that was the case then Lars had thought wrong. Mick grew impatient.
“Lars, did something happen in Lodi? In Seville, maybe?” Mick questioned. “Why did the government send all these people here?”
“The government didn’t, not really. It was initiated by the CDC.”
“So the CDC sent in the military.”
“Yes… I thought it was best to have an escort while initiating the plan.”
“The plan?” Mick asked.
“Yes, my plan. Actually…” Lars reached for the briefcase and popped it open, “it has been a plan, or rather a theoretical procedure I’ve had in mind for… God… I don’t want to say how many years.”
“So… you brought this in. You’re responsible?” Mick looked around.
“Yes.”
Mick snorted in irritation. “Everyone is nuts enough, Lars. The whole damn town is shut down. People are scared. This isn’t going to help.”
“This,” Lars emphasized, “is going to help. And if it is implemented correctly, followed through precisely, it might be the only thing that can save this town from what’s wiping out the rest of the world.” Calming a bit, Lars looked at a confused Mick and Patrick. “Let me give you some cold hard facts about this flu, Mick.”
Mick nodded. “Go on. I heard on the news—”
“Forget the news,” Lars interrupted. “I know this flu that they’re calling the Barrow Flu. Its technical designation is Pascal 435, strain C. It’s strong, and it’s lethal. It has extinction level potential. The news, the CDC, they’ll give you an overall percentage rate. Sixty-five percent chance of catching it, and so forth.” Lars shook his head. “If you are under the age of fourteen I can guarantee you have a ninety-nine plus percent chance of catching this flu. The older you get, your chances decrease. And if you catch it, no matter how old, young, healthy, strong, weak… more likely than not, people will die. For years health officials have been working on ways to beat this flu. It can’t be beat. Not completely.”