Darlings of Decay

by Chrissy Peebles

  Carlos partnered up with Mr. Lund for the discovery journey, an old man who lived a few houses down. The conversation was nil in their quick pace to where the object had landed. The pace slowed down the closer they drew, Carlos attributed that Mr. Lund’s age. He wheezed heavily, catching his breath often.

  The taillights of Ben’s truck glowed in a weird fog, they trudged only a half of a mile to the impact. There was a weird smell the closer they got, not pungent or strong, just odd. It tickled Carlos’ nose. He couldn’t tell if it was the odor or dust.

  Ben was calling out for people to hurry.

  Carlos looked at Mr. Lund who waved him to ‘go on’. He left the old man, half bent over, holding on to his knees, catching his physical bearings.

  Ben stood on a huge mound of dirt several yards head of his truck.

  “Hurry,” Ben said. “Look before it goes.”

  Carlos did. An object, rock like, had fallen into the earth creating a crater 100 feet around and at least twenty feet deep. At first, Carlos thought Ben was insane. Go where? Where would the object go? Then he saw the reason for Ben’s concern. The rock, cracked and distorted, leaked a clear fluid. Water like, boiling, rapidly it filled the crater, burying the rock beneath the flowing liquid.

  “Maybe it hit a well,” Carlos suggested.

  “No, it’s coming from the rock,” Ben retorted.

  As if the rock would do something magical, the forty some people watched, watched the crater slowly fill up.

  Another villager commented that someone had to call for help, and she ran back down toward the village to contact authorities.

  But Carlos remained.

  It wasn’t long, though, that he started to feel badly. His head hurt, eyes, watered, nose burned and stomach turned.

  He didn’t want to come across as weak and refrained from saying anything until Ben turned his head and squeezed his eyes.

  “Are you OK?” Carlos asked.

  Ben shook his head. “No, my head hurts.”

  “Mine, too.” Carlos whispered as if he were telling a secret.

  His voice carried in the darkness, and a few others responded with their same symptoms.

  ‘This is crazy,’ Carlos thought. ‘One person’s illness is becoming another’s. It has to be all in our minds.’

  Perhaps for the others it was, but Carlos knew his illness certainly wasn’t mental. His stomach bubbled with nausea and to save himself from embarrassment, Carlos excused himself, claimed he wanted to find help as well, and walked from the mound of dirt. He knew he was getting sicker by the second.

  He hadn’t made it twenty feet and his body heaved outward, projecting a huge eruption of vomit. He bent over, holding his stomach, wanting for the heaves to cease. When they finally did, when the contents had completed their course from his stomach, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and lifted his head.

  He had to put aside his own illness. For it was then he noticed Mr. Lund had collapsed, and Carlos ran to aid him.

  Lund didn’t respond, he lay still, breathing labored breaths as his face rested in a huge pool of his own regurgitation.

  <><><><>

  It took two hours for authorities to arrive at the scene, and that included the skeptical Jorge Lopez, a lead official. He had seen it all, heard it all from the villagers who not one year earlier claimed a United States Satellite fell into their area contaminating them all.

  So, when he arrived, he arrived with attitude.

  Two local policemen were on the scene, one was already complaining of the same symptoms.

  “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here, I’m ill,” said the one.

  Jorge nodded, wanted to say ‘yeah, yeah’. He listened to the policeman rattle off about his headache, vomiting, and dizzy spells. “How about you?” Jorge turned to the other officer.

  “Same. Not well. Everyone is sick.”

  “Everyone?” Jorge asked with sarcasm. “That’s five hundred people. Five hundred people are ill right now?”

  Both police officers looked at each other. “Almost everyone. Those who were inside are not ill. Not yet.”

  With another passive, ‘A-hmm’, Jorge requested that the officer take him to the site where the supposed rock from the sky landed.

  They did.

  His first thought was that mass hysteria was contagious. Trails of vomit were seen everywhere at the circumference of the impact site.

  The hole was filled with water.

  Jorge was certain if it wasn’t a satellite; surely, someone hit a well.

  A twinge hit his stomach.

  Jorge winced.

  Readying to admit defeat to the psychosomatic illness, in the midst of repeating that it was nonsense in his mind, he heard his urgent summoning.

  He turned to his right and saw the waving flashlight. The voice calling from a distance of two hundred yards.

  “Let’s go,” Jorge instructed the police officer next to him.

  But that fell on deaf ears.

  At least for the time being.

  The police officer was vomiting.

  Leaving him be, Jorge followed the directions of the call, making it there at a trotter’s pace.

  The official that called had on a face mask. “Look!” he told Jorge.

  Beyond his shoulder was the grazing field, and the official used the beam of the flashlight as a pointer.

  “Look,’ he repeated.

  Jorge stepped forward and his eyes widened with horror.

  There was no movement, but a weird sound did emanate. Almost moans, but they weren’t. They were sickly cries out from animals that were too ill to pick themselves up from the grass.

  Animals didn’t suffer or fall victim to mass hysteria.

  Jorge knew something was up.

  “Shut down the town. Get authorities in here,” Jorge instructed. “Let no one in or out.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Damn it. No signal.” He began to move in a different direction.

  “Where are you going?” The official asked.

  “This is bigger than us. We need bigger help.”

  Jorge walked off.

  <><><><>

  His father had resorted to keeping a bucket nearby. How many times did he vomit? Juan lost count. All he knew was that his father wouldn’t let him near the windows or doors and he muttered over and over to a neighbor that something wasn’t right.

  His father slumped in a chair, eyes dark, face pale. Juan played with his only truck.

  A commotion started outside and Carlos with as much energy as he could, stopped and looked out the windows.

  Juan was confused. What was all the shouting, screaming?

  The voice of a man from outside carried, “Check the house over there.”

  His father dropped the curtain and backed away when Mrs. Lund from next door cried out, ‘I’m not sick.”

  Panic? Was that the look on his father’s face? Panic?

  “Hide,” his father instructed. “Hide, my son.”

  “But Papa.”

  A knock came at the door,

  His father jolted a look at the door then raced to the storage closet. He drew back the curtain style door. “In here, my son. Now. And be quite. Say nothing.”

  “Papa,” Juan backed in with his father’s shove.

  “Nothing. Quiet it is for your own good.”

  He pulled the curtain closed and Juan huddled against the wall. The knocking was stronger, louder, and in the dark shadows of that closet, Juan could see what was happening.

  “Yes?” his father answered the door.

  “Take him,” The man in the mask and clipboard said. “He is obviously ill. Detain him.”

  Two other men in what looked like space suits grabbed hold of Carlos.

  “Anyone else in the house?” the one man asked.

  “No, I live alone. I am a widower,” his father replied.

  “Take him.”

  Juan watched his father with dignity walk with the suited m
en. He wanted to scream, protect his father, but he obeyed his father’s wishes.

  The leader man with a clipboard walked in and looked around. Just as he turned, he stopped.

  The truck.

  Crouching down, he lifted the toy truck and shifted his eyes around.

  Juan curled his body as best as he could when he saw the clipboard man start to search. Grabbing his father’s coat, Juan wrapped his small frame underneath and prayed he wouldn’t be discovered.

  The curtain to the closet whipped open.

  Juan didn’t know what would happen. He expected the coat to be lifted from him.

  It wasn’t.

  He didn’t move, breathe, or shudder. He just hid and stayed that way even when he heard the man leave the home.

  How long though? How long did he hunch in the closet. He didn’t know. He had fallen asleep and dawn approached, the sky was slightly lit and the village was dead quiet.

  He crawled from the closet, the door was open.

  Juan was scared, too scared to even call out, make a noise or be seen.

  As best he could, he snuck to the door and peaked out.

  Nothing. No one. Just emptiness.

  Where had they taken his father?

  Where was everyone else?

  Juan didn’t know, but he had to find out. At the very least, he had to get help.

  Even though it was a good distance away, Juan ran. He ran as fast as he could to make it to the next small town.

  CHAPTER TWO

  May 3rd

  Atlanta, GA

  Irma Klein was a strong woman both in body and spirit. She covered her thickness with flattering garments. A thickness she attributed to age. Often telling people she wanted to gain weight as she grew older, it lessoned the wrinkles and was cheaper than Botox. She walked up behind her husband as he sat at his desk chair and ran her fingers through his hair. Almost as if she were conveying some sort of compassion for his having to work. Her fingers grazed through, taking in the silk feeling of his curls. Twenty-seven years earlier, when they were first married, the curls were dark. Now they were gray. Saul often joked that she caused his gray hair, but Irma dismissed that, stating how could he get gray when she was the one who worried all the time.

  And she did. She worried at that moment about Saul. He had been at the home desk since two in the morning. Computer to phone to files to computer. Now it was pushing nine am.

  Poor Saul.

  He didn’t acknowledge her presence, but Irma felt he wanted her there.

  The sun from the window reflected off the picture of Jeremy that sat on Saul’s desk. Their first and only grandson. The one year old boy looked bubbly and happy in the photo.

  One hand on Saul’s back, Irma reached around for the picture frame and lifted it. “You know, precious, you keep working these hours you aren’t gonna be around to see little Jerry’s Bar Mitzvah.”

  “Eh,” Saul shrugged. “God willing, I’ll be happy to see him go to school.”

  Irma gasped out. “Saul. You’re cranky. You haven’t slept.”

  “I have to work on this.”

  “Can I get you something? Coffee, tea?”

  “No.” Finally, Saul turned his head and looked at her.

  Irma gasped again. “Sauly.” Immediately, she grabbed a chair, sliding it to the desk. His eyes were dark; he looked more worried than she had ever seen. She sat down. “Sauly, what’s going on?”

  Even though she had never seen him with that particular fearful expression, she hated that look on his face. She dreaded that look on his face. Saul was the director at the Centers for Disease Control, and since he started working there, she had waited for that look.

  There it was.

  “It’s the end of the world isn’t it?” she asked. “The big one.”

  “No. No-no.” Saul grasped her hand. “It’s just that…” he shook his head “It’s confidential.”

  “You need to get this off your chest. You need to talk to someone. I see it on your face. I’m here.”

  “It’s classified.”

  “I won’t say a word.” She hit her hand against her chest then rose. “I swear. Have I ever?”

  “No, you haven’t.” He smiled gently.

  “What’s going on?”

  “This one is sealed. I’m supposed to keep it sealed. Send only my best and highest level clearance people.”

  “Who is telling you to keep it sealed?” she asked.

  “Who do you think? The bosses, governments.”

  “Governments as in plural?” She closed her eyes. “And you’re saying this isn’t the big one?”

  “It’s not the big one. Not from the info I’m getting. If it was, it has begun, like the last one, in a very remote area.”

  “Where?”

  “Peru.”

  Irma chuckled. “Peru is not remote. How can you say Peru is remote?”

  “The village is. It’s thirty miles from the next village and most of the villagers don’t have cars or phones. It’s remote. Trust me it’s remote.”

  “What is going on there? A virus?”

  “I don’t know. It baffles me. Something landed.” Saul paused in a correction mode. “They say something landed and caused these people to get sick.”

  “Landed? What could have landed?”

  “Meteor, satellite. I think, with this clearance, it’s a chemical weapon, I’m guessing.”

  “In Peru?” she asked. “Who would hit a small village in Peru with a chemical weapon? Do they even have any enemies?”

  Saul smiled with obvious enjoyment over her words; he laid his hand on her face. “I think it was an accident. You know the Soviets have missiles docked in space forever. One lets loose …” He shrugged his shoulders with drawn words. “You have an accident.”

  “That would make sense for the secrecy.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Are they dead?”

  “Sick. We are going to see what they have.”

  “Oh, Saul, you said we. You don’t mean ‘you’ do you?”

  “No.” He waved out his hand. “I’m sending Katherine to meet Hans Riesman there.”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “Neither does she, she has valid reasons. You. You don’t like him because he’s German.”

  “Nonsense.” Irma paused and breathed out. “So I shouldn’t worry?”

  “No. Not at all. You can worry about Jerry and his teething. Worry about what to make for dinner. Worry that your husband will be too tired to make love to his wife.” He chuckled and grabbed her hand. “But worry about an illness and the end of the world?” He leaned to her and kissed her on the cheek. “Never.”

  <><><><>

  Katherine Welsh tried to settle herself into a comfort zone; it was going to be a long flight. The wheezing engines aided to her annoyance, she just wanted to take off. Usually when the CDC sent her somewhere in an emergency, they sent her with a ton of data to review. It wasn’t the case with the Peruvian incident. A few sheets. Hans, who would be there hours before her, promised to start right away on sampling. Even though the WHO (World Health Organization) was already there and on it.

  Where were the photos, the details? Nothing but basics was in the folder.

  Hans commented on the phone that the ‘top secrecy’ of it all was probably the reason for the lack of information.

  “We’ll be taking off shortly,” the stewardess said. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Not right now,” replied Katherine. “After we take off, coffee would be nice.”

  Politely, the stewardess smiled and went back to her business. Which wasn’t much. The full size private jet had Katherine and a skeleton crew.

  She was hungry, her stomach grumbled, and the scent of the pastrami sandwich in her brief case called for her.

  Katherine didn’t make or pack the sandwich; it was given to her by Irma Klein. Although Katherine was certain, Saul was gonna miss that sandwich come lunch time.

  Irma.<
br />
  Katherine had seen a few CDC directors come and go in her time, but none she liked or respected as much as Saul. Perhaps because she knew him and worked with the brilliant doctor as an understudy in Vermont.

  At times though, she wondered if it was Saul as a director she liked or Irma’s presence.

  The fifty year old woman was a mother to all, or at least acted it. Anyone younger than Saul who worked with him she took a protective attitude. Even though Katherine was only twelve years her junior, Irma mothered her as well.

  Katherine admittedly was nervous about the trip, armed with little information, she was relieved to see Saul and happy to see Irma as she prepared to board the plane.

  The second car at the Klein household was in the repair shop and Irma drove Saul.

  Saul had very little prep talk to deliver.

  “Did you eat, you look pale?” Irma asked Katherine.

  Saul shook his head.

  “I didn’t eat.” Katherine replied.

  “Uh, Honey, you should eat. Is there time to grab a bite?”

  Saul held up his hand. “Irma, there’s no time.”

  “It’s a long flight. Saul, give her your lunch.”

  “What?” Saul acted shocked.

  “Give her your lunch. I’ll bring you another.”

  Katherine interjected, “Really, I can eat on the plane.”

  “She can eat on the plane.” Saul repeated.

  “She can’t rely on plane food. They give skimpy portions and who knows how long the food sets. The sandwich is fresh, give her your lunch.” Irma took Saul’s briefcase.

  Saul argued with her, Irma ignored him and handed Katherine the brown sack. “There’s a nice pastrami sandwich in there, a kosher pickle and …” she lowered her voice to a whisper as it the edible contents were a secret. “Pickled green tomatoes. Enough to tide you over. Plus it will make you smell enough to keep the Peru men away; I heard they attack blonde women.”

  “Irma!” Saul scolded.

  She waved her hand at him in a hush manner. “Go,” She said to Katherine. “Be safe. Come back and don’t catch anything.”

  Was it embarrassed or annoyance at his wife’s behavior? Katherine couldn’t figure it out but she accepted the lunch with gratefulness.

  What an ‘up’ to a downer send off. Katherine knew this was serious and seeing Irma helped. One never knew what Irma would say or do. Once at a get together, Irma asked Katherine that should she die would Katherine take care of Saul and the children. Added bonus, Saul was hung like a race horse.