Rose looked at Dustin and Chris. “Does it bother you?”
“No ma’am.” Chris answered. “We have cable.”
“See?” Rose noticed Tigger darting from the room. “Where’s he going?”
Dustin answered, “Being nosey. He does that all the time. Should I get him?”
Mick gave a wave of his hand. “Let him go. He can’t reach anything he shouldn’t see.”
“Look at you picking on that child’s size,” Rose scolded.
“Mrs. Owens?” Chris drew up a sneaky look. “You aren’t mad at Mick, are you?”
Mick cringed.
Dustin hurriedly looked at Chris. “I can’t believe you opened your mouth. Mick asked you not to open your mouth. We don’t even know what it is she’s supposed to be yelling at him for, now you’ve gone and reminded her.”
“My son told you not to mention why I’m mad?” Rose questioned. “Well, I’ll tell you why I’m mad. The fuckin’ asshole locked me up. No, he padlocked me in a fuckin’ tin box for three days. I didn’t want to be in there. I wanted to hold a border patrol with my boys.”
“Well, your boys,” Mick stated harshly, “are dropping from the flu. So be happy.”
“And what the fuck happened to your ear?” Rose reached out and touched it.
“Ow!” Mick jolted back a step. “I got shot.”
“You got shot?” Rose questioned. “You didn’t get shot.”
“I did too,” Mick argued.
“If you got shot in the goddamn ear, why do you still have your head?”
After shooting a scolding look to a snickering Chris and Dustin, Mick returned his attention to Rose. “He missed.”
“Then you didn’t get shot. What the hell were you doing in a bullet’s way anyhow?” Rose asked.
“I was chasing border breakers.”
“Did you get them?”
“Of course I got them,” Mick responded with offense. “I do my job very well.”
“Mick?” Tigger innocently reentered the room with a large envelope that had white paper poking out the top of it. “Why is mommy naked with another woman in these pictures?”
Mick hunched against the loud cries of disgust that came from Dustin and Chris. Then amidst their, “Oh my God, Mom’s a lesbian” commentaries, Mick snatched the envelope from Tigger. He flashed a smile to the boy, then after clearing his throat he threw an embarrassed look to Rose.
Rose smugly folded her arms. “Naked pictures of Dylan and another broad, huh? What was that you were saying about doing your job?”
The dainty little fingers rested upon her grandmother’s hand as Amy Turner’s chest gurgled with every breath she took. Lars didn’t need to listen to her chest to hear how badly the flu had stricken her, but for the sake of appearances, he listened. He had been called to quarantine trailer one to give his diagnosis.
Sadly, he removed the stethoscope from his ears, letting it dangle around his neck. With his gloved hand, he reached for the tube of blood he had just removed from the seven year old girl. He placed it in his lab coat then glanced again at Amy. The white pasty skin; the thick brown mucus that clogged her nose; the swollen blackness under her throat. Lars wanted to scream in frustration.
By his granddaughter’s bed, Lyle Turner peered at Lars. “Well, Doctor?”
Lars stood up. “I’m sorry, it’s the flu.”
“You can’t be sure. How can you be sure without running tests?”
“You’re right.” Lars held up his hand. “I’ll wait to see the results. I’ll get back to you.” He just wanted to leave. Turning, Lars tried to do just that.
“If it is… the flu,” Lyle spoke up causing Lars to stop. “Is there anything we can do?”
Lars wanted to spin around in outrage and blast the older man and tell him, “Why in God’s name weren’t you asking this two days ago when this girl first got sick? Didn’t I tell you to call me with any symptoms? Why did you wait?”
But Lars didn’t. He shook his head and walked out.
He decided to head outside for a while, maybe fifteen, twenty minutes, give his anger a chance to die down. Lars glanced across the field at the campers that waited to get into Lodi. Those people would never make it into town.
As he wearily stepped away from the trailer, Lars planned on walking off his aggravation.
“Dr. Rayburn,” the muffled voice spoke through the gas mask. “Time’s up for this trailer. Do we let them in?”
“No.” Lars shook his head. “Lock it and then mark it.”
“The flu?” the man asked.
“Yes.” Lars nodded solemnly. “The flu.”
Los Angeles, California
“You have to admit…” Jeff popped a goldfish cracker into his mouth, “it was pretty brave and ingenious.”
Darrell spoke through his push up routine on the floor, “Smart move by the program director.”
“Looking out for people’s best interest. I mean, it may be the Three Stooges, but it isn’t the news.”
“I thought you liked the news.”
“I love the news. But there’s only so much news you can watch.”
“True,” Darrell agreed.
“So as a…”
Both men let out a disappointed ‘aw’ when, with a diminishing hum, everything went black and the television went out.
“Damn it.” Darrell stopped his pushups. “I knew this would eventually happen.”
“And just when television was getting good again,” Jeff griped.
“Son of a bitch. And it’s pitch black, too.”
“Good thing there’s still some daylight left.” Jeff got off his bed and walked to the window opening the drapes. “There.” Evening light entered the room.
Slowly, Darrell stood up. “No lights. No TV. No phone. This doesn’t look good. Maybe we should just cut out.”
“No,” Jeff was insistent. “We don’t have much time left to wait it out. I consider myself well-informed, and being well-informed about this flu, I am not going out to breathe that air or chance getting shot for two more weeks.”
“But there’s no power, no—”
“You don’t know,” Jeff interrupted. “It may just be this section of the city. How do we know there aren’t bands of snipers just waiting to derive sick pleasure out of shooting people that try to get out of this city? No, if you want to go… go. I’m waiting. I’ll set the alarm on my watch.”
“I’ll wait.” Darrell sat on the bed. “No one’s left in the hotel anyhow. I’ll go down and lift the freezer goods before they go bad.”
“Good idea.”
“So, let me ask you a question. Where do we go after the three weeks are up?” Darrell asked.
“Where do you think? Lodi,” Jeff said smugly. “We have to pick up Rodriguez.”
“Do you think we still have to do that? I mean, we haven’t talked to the Captain in three days.”
“Absolutely,” Jeff stated adamantly. “Who knows? What happens if we fail to get Rodriguez and all is fine in Ohio? This could be a big test for us.”
“In the meantime we just hang around in the dark and wait?” Darrell tapped his hand on the bed. “It’ll get boring.”
“What are you, nuts? There’s lots to do. We can sleep. Have in-depth conversations. Exercise. We’re past the awkward stage so sex is always an option. And… there’s still all those magazines in the gift shop we haven’t even touched.”
“True.”
“So don’t worry about it. We don’t have much time left. It’ll be over before you know it and we can officially call ourselves survivors.” Liking that thought, and happy he at least made Darrell feel a little better, Jeff proceeded to set the timer on his watch for their ‘freedom’ day.