Mick watched Chris prepare his escape. He bounced nervously as he moved closer to the doctor, stepped up a place in line, looked around, then as he nearly reached the front of the line, Chris again darted from the line and headed all the way to the back. He smirked, thinking that he was home free, but just then a huge hand dropped onto the back of his neck.
“No, you don’t.” Mick held on tightly, turning Chris around and guiding him back to the front of the line. “Not again.”
“But, Mick,” Chris argued, his feet dragging rather than moving on their own, “I don’t want to get the shot.”
“You’re getting the shot,” Mick insisted, planting him firmly in front of Dr. Lyons. “Hit him.”
“What?” Chris gasped.
“With the shot,” Mick stated.
Chris’ eyes widened as he watched the needle approach him. “No. No.” He backed up “I don’t trust him, Mick. I don’t know him.”
Mick nodded. “I see, so that’s the problem?” he asked with patient understanding. “You don’t know the doctor.”
“Yeah,” Chris replied nervously.
“Not a problem.” After a hidden wink to the doctor, Mick held out his hand. “Doc.” He gripped the syringe given to him.
Chris let out a jittery chuckle. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope, not at all.” Mick checked out the syringe. “So, Doctor, I just stick this in his arm and push the little plunger here?”
“Yep,” Dr. Lyons answered. “Make sure all the vaccine goes in.”
“Got it.” Mick grabbed Chris’ arm and revved the syringe back as far and high as he could reach.
“Wait!” Chris shouted in horror while hunching over, protecting his arm. “Just let the doctor do it.”
Still holding on to Chris, Mick handed the doctor the syringe. He held tight until the doctor was finished.
Chris whined sarcastically, “Thanks.” With a pout, he stepped from the line.
“All that pissing around and this could have been done with a while ago,” Mick scolded. “See, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“Yeah, well…” Chris rubbed his arm, “if it isn’t that bad how come you don’t make Mom get hers?”
Mick smiled smugly. “Mom got hers.”
“No she didn’t. Look,” Chris pointed.
As he turned, Mick saw Dylan. She sat in a chair in a corner of the gym, nearly hidden behind Marian. “Hook up with your brothers and go on outside, it’s too crowded in here,” Mick instructed.
“You gonna yell at Mom?” Chris asked, following closely.
“Yep. She’s gonna get that shot.” With determination evident in his demeanor, Mick walked straight through the crowd to Dylan. “Hey.”
Dylan’s eyes widened. “Mick? I thought you were busy being traffic director in here.”
“No. Right now I’m playing shot director for the people I love.”
Dylan snickered. “That’s nice of you.” She folded her arms and watched her mother.
“Did you get your shot?” Mick asked.
Dylan looked at him then quickly looked away.
“Dylan.”
“No,” she answered.
“Get your shot, Dylan.”
“Later.” She shooed him away.
“Now,” Mick insisted.
“Mick, hush. Later.”
“Fine.” Wanting no more arguments, and wanting to make sure Dylan got her shot, Mick leaned down, lifted Dylan, tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to the nearest line
“Hey!” She smacked his back. “Put me…” she felt herself being eased to the floor, “down.” She tried to make her escape.
“Nope.” Mick held out his arm and looked to the doctor. “Give this woman the vaccine right now, before she—”
“Chief,” Officer Haddock said, hurrying over to him. “Glad I found you.”
Mick looked around then back to Haddock. “I can understand if I was Dylan. Or even you. But how did you miss me?”
Officer Haddock shrugged. “Don’t know. But… we need you down at Main. We’ve got a problem at the checkpoint.”
“Bad?” Mick asked.
Again, Haddock shrugged. “Could be, but not in a violent way. Your call, but it should be handled now.”
“Okay, let’s go.” Mick started to leave but stopped. He looked back at Dylan, who stood before the doctor. “Get that shot, Dylan. No excuses.”
Dylan rolled her eyes, folded her arms and nodded her head, then she happily watched Mick leave the gymnasium.
Even though Haddock had labeled the situation non-violent, he still told Mick it was bad. And Mick didn’t know what ‘bad’ entailed. Haddock was vague, as he always was, so instead of beating his head against the wall in frustration trying to get the facts from him, Mick just rode his bike to the main road that led into town, the checkpoint that Mick knew was likely to get the most action.
Mick expected to have to deal with disruptions; he knew things could rapidly deteriorate. But this was the first test of their roadblock, so as Mick made his way through the quiet streets, he wondered what would be the best way to handle the situation. Should he be forceful? Polite? Would he have to pull his weapon? He was experienced with crowd control, and he had dealt with irritated people, but as Mick pulled up to the checkpoint, he realized he was about to face what would end up being his most difficult task to date.
Lyle and Jessica Turner were one of the oldest couples in Lodi. Both of them in their late eighties, both had been Lodi residents their entire lives. Mick had always looked at the couple, happily married for sixty-plus years, as he and Dylan in the future. So happy, so content, still in love.
The Turners were more self-sufficient and active than most Lodi residents half their age, always on the go, traveling here and there. Mick didn’t know why it surprised him that they were standing in front of their Chevy at the checkpoint.
Stopping his bike a good ten feet from where six men in gas masks blocked the car, Mick dismounted and grabbed a surgical mask. He pulled it on and walked to the checkpoint.
“Chief,” Lyle spoke up, “we can’t get in. These men won’t let us in.”
Mick had to swallow before answering. “I’m sorry, Lyle. Lodi’s been shut down.”
“We don’t care about the flu bug, Chief,” Lyle stated. “We just want to go home.”
“We’re not shut down because we have the flu. We’re… we’re shut down because we don’t,” Mick explained.
Lyle smiled slightly. “Then that’s better. See,” he pointed to the car. “I have my great-granddaughter. She’s seven, Mick. Her mother, my granddaughter, died yesterday of the flu.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mick said sincerely. “Really I am.”
“Let us in, Mick.” Lyle spoke calm. “You know me.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Mick nodded. “And Lyle, I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to protect the community. Lars has trailer homes set up right over there.” Mick indicated the line of four small trailers. “There’s food in there, water, necessities. You can come in… after you’ve waited out the three-day incubation period in a quarantine trailer.”
“Quarantine?” Lyle looked shocked then glanced at his wife who turned her head away in sadness. “Mick, we aren’t sick.”
“And I pray to God you stay that way. But, come on, this has to be done. If Lars gives you an all-clear after three days, you can get back in.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then that means you’re sick and…” Mick took a breath, “and I’m sorry. As much as this bothers me, Mr. Turner, you’re gonna have to wait it out. I can’t… I can’t let you in. Sorry.” After one more look at his old friends, Mick turned away.