“Michael Owens,” Lyle spoke up, not in anger but in desperation, “I’ve known you since you were an infant.”
Mick kept walking.
“Don’t do this. Not to us. Michael… Michael, don’t do this. This is our home. This… this is our home.”
Mick had to stop. He had to remember what he needed to accomplish. Trying to block out Lyle’s anguished words and the pain they caused, Mick closed his eyes briefly, then continued to his bike without looking back. He couldn’t.
Los Angeles, California
Darrell peered out of the parted draperies, something he did quite often and for long periods of time. His voice reflected his thoughts, his search for visionary answers. From the fifth floor of the hotel, he called Los Angeles ‘Rome’. He was watching it fall day by day.
“It’s quiet out there now.”
“Get away from the window,” Jeff instructed from his usual position on the bed.
“The fire burned itself out. I figured it would,” Darrell spoke dazedly. “I haven’t seen a body truck lately. Well, since yesterday.”
“Get away from the window.”
“Do you think it’s over?” Darrell asked.
“No,” Jeff answered. “And get away from that window. If you watched the local news when it’s on, you’d know. What did I tell you that health official said yesterday? Most people will get sick right away, after that, they’ll get sick in waves.”
“Is that why it’s quiet?”
“This flu is bad. Would you want to be rioting out there while you’re coughing, sneezing, and feeling bad?”
“No.” Darrell shook his head. “So do you think we’ve seen the end of the body trucks?”
Jeff’s mouth opened in disgust. “How many of those bodies do you think are flu victims?”
“All?”
“No,” Jeff stated. “Use some common sense. Be informed. I am. It takes three to six days for the flu to kill you, if it’s going to kill you. Those bodies weren’t the result of people’s illnesses, they were the result of people’s madness.”
“That… that’s an impressive theory.”
“Thank you.” Jeff smiled.
“So you think we will see more body trucks.”
Grunting loudly, Jeff stood up, pulled Darrell away from the curtain, then returned to his spot on his bed. “No. People are dying. Who’s gonna drive the trucks?”
“Maybe we should get out of LA.”
“We’ll get shot. Watch the news.” Jeff fixed his eyes on the set again. “Border patrols are still up. And until someone knocks on this door and says, quarantine is over, I’m going by the initial estimate of three weeks. We have enough food. We went out early and got it. We’re good. I’m not taking a chance. In three weeks, we’ll leave. We’ll finish up our job, and go get Rodriguez in Lodi…” Jeff’s eyes grew wide and his voice became enthusiastic. “Oh my God! Lodi!”
Shocked, Darrell looked at him. “You’re excited about Lodi?”
“No. Yes. Look!” Like an excited child, Jeff rolled his body over and crawled on his hands and knees to the bottom of the bed to get a better look at the television. He turned the volume up. “Check this shit out. Lodi.”
“Reception’s bad.”
“Cable’s out.”
“Oh, shit.” Darrell saw what Jeff did. An aerial view of Lodi shot from a helicopter. It looked like there was a thick black circle around the town. Sparkles of light were woven into the black line. But it wasn’t really a line, and the sparkles of light were the sun’s reflection off the chrome and mirrors of the hundreds of motorcycles that encircled Lodi.
“All equipped with government-issued gas masks…” the raspy, sick voice came from a female reporter. “The men and women were officially deputized by Mayor Connally. What we are witnessing is the aerial view of this occurrence…”
Jeff slowly shook his head from side to side. “This is amazing. I knew I should have watched this channel from the get-go.”
The television picture switched to a female reporter who sported a blue surgical mask. Behind her in the distance, the line of motorcycles was faint but could be seen.
“In what neighboring communities are calling a feeble move by the world’s biggest egomaniac, officials at the Barrow Flu Center are playing ‘Hail to the Chief’. Boasting that the move was one of genius, the Center and government officials are assisting Lodi Chief of Police, Michael Owens in his attempt to keep Lodi flu-free. Just a little under fourteen hours ago, Chief Owens shut down Lodi, Ohio in an effort not to keep the flu bug in, but rather to keep it out. His strong arm support comes in the form of two hundred plus men and women from a local biker association, who state they are happy to help out.”
“This is cool.” Jeff nodded at the set.
“Tell me about it,” Darrell agreed.
“Director Henry Davis of the Barrow Flu Center said the bikers will be relieved of their twenty-four/seven coverage when the Federal Emergency Management Agency moves in a border patrol not susceptible to the flu. To ensure the success of Lodi’s protection, the special border patrol will consist of men and woman in the armed forces who have previously survived the flu or showed immunity to it. Authorities from the World Health Organization say it will be about three weeks before this flu has circled the globe and stricken all those who are susceptible to it. However, it will be another week after that before the epidemic can be declared officially over and this historic flu loses its raging potency. Four weeks, Lodi.” The reporter paused. “Four weeks. Your clock starts ticking… now.”
“Four weeks.” Jeff’s eyes met Darrell’s with satisfaction. “And we’re gonna be there in three.”
Reston, Virginia
Tin foil was something Henry used to wrap his leftovers in, not to build monumental contraptions in order to get a semi-decent picture from the television. He snickered some in amusement as he twisted and tightened the piece that came off of the antenna, all part of an intricate system he had put together that flowed from the rabbit ears out the window by way of a wire hanger.
“Got it.” He stepped back. “Can you make it out?”
“Impressive,” Kurt said with a drowsy tone.
“Funny. Who would have thought I would have remembered this?”
Kurt nodded. “I had to build something like that in college. Who could afford cable?”
“Me.” Henry smiled. “I was such a nerd. I worked and studied. Had money but no one to spend it on.” He backed up. “I’m glad we got channel seven. They seem to be the only ones who are doing hourly reports.”
“Hard to believe. A few days ago, you couldn’t get a break from news reports.”
Henry nodded in agreement. “Now you watch snow until they come on. I thought programming was on autopilot or something.” He took a seat next to Kurt. “So how are you feeling?”
“The antibiotics have me tired. Not that sick with this flu. Then again, at this point, most people thought they just had a minor cold. Until they turned septic.”
“According to Lars, you shouldn’t get there. Unless… well, unless…”
“We missed the time frame,” Kurt finished the sentence. “I don’t think we did. What do you think?”
“Last blood test I took still showed the microorganism in the bloodstream. It will be the twenty-four hour batch that tells. I think we’ll see no increase.”
Kurt smiled and leaned back. “Let’s hope. That way, by tomorrow, if Lars is correct, I should start feeling well enough to help you out around here.”
“At least to do the math. You know what amazes me?” Henry asked. “You have LA, San Francisco, right? These places are really struck. Yet, every twelve hours, on the nose, you get someone, last check in was an orderly, someone who cares enough to call in statistics. How many new, how many still sick, how many… died.”