by Nancy Smith
29
Newark, New Jersey has a Centers for Disease Control and Prevention quarantine station. The Darwins, Peabody, his men, Rory and Isa were put into isolation there. Some of the hotel staff, those that had been working that day, were also detained. Jesus gave himself up and was held in handcuffs in his isolation pod with a guard outside. Each of them was quarantined inside their own tiny plastic bubble. Isa couldn’t see or talk to Rory, but they each had a computer so they could email or Skype back and forth.
Sneaky had sneaked out of the hotel. The CDC let him go home; they weren’t worried about him. Kolli was checked, but also never held. Neither he nor Sneaky had gone to the second floor. There was no reason to believe that they were infected.
Rory spent his time writing and delivering a series of stories for his TV station using the camera on his laptop. He researched each story as best he could from his tiny, plastic room and made companion articles for his Newsman website. KNUS made all the resources Rory needed available to him. Anything he asked for, he got.
The first story was a tribute to Isa’s mother and the seventy-three other scientists who’d died with her. It was a sweet and sensitive piece. Isa had watched it about six times.
The next story was about Creel, Mexico and the sacrifice that so many had made there. KNUS sent a team who recorded interviews with survivors and relatives. Rory centered this piece around a young doctor named Amanda Sanger from Doctors Without Borders who was given what she thought was a vaccine but was, in fact, a newly manufactured, virulent flu virus.
His most recent story went into detail about the Darwins and what Rory suspected of them. Sneaky was especially helpful with this from the safety of his man cave, as he spent his time unencrypting and analyzing the Bertrum Wagner files that were found in the bust of his son and were still loaded on Sneaky’s computer.
The story from Rory started out like this: “I believe in people. I know that almost all people are good and kind and loving. That’s why it’s so hard to imagine that anyone could be capable of this.”
He went on to describe how twenty of the wealthiest men in the world had come together and devised a plot to kill millions of people. They funded research by scientists who were seeking to develop a universal vaccine for the flu, regardless of how contagious or infectious—including research by Maria Vedkka’s team who had developed and proven the vaccine.
The Darwins planned to vaccinate themselves and those they selected. They planned to move into what they called hives where the privileged could ride out an epidemic as it impacted the masses. Hives were little more than fortified, locked-down and supplied luxury hotels, casinos, and resorts.
As to why, they had but the one line delivered by the Darwin in the New Jersey hotel, “There won’t be enough resources for everyone.” The Darwins believed that if there were fewer inhabitants on earth, the environment would self-correct. This theory was now being widely debated in the media.
Isa spent most of her time trying to put her life back together. The university was not being very supportive of her in relation to all the time she had missed until Rory’s first story appeared and she was identified by name as a worldwide hero. After that, the university gave her straight As for the semester. No incompletes. No failures.
With that taken care of, Isa turned her attention to what was most important to her right now. She wanted to hold a memorial for her mother. The mayor offered to pay for a memorial for all the victims and assigned an event planner to help her out.
30
Isa was released from isolation in time for Thanksgiving. She and Rory traveled together back to Austin. They arrived to a feast and a welcome from their friends. Kolli had purchased a prepared Thanksgiving turkey and fixings. Harry made a desert and her daughter, Etta, made a fresh salad. Sneaky brought wine and scotch in case Pierce was there, but he didn’t show.
“They never would say anything about what was happening while we were in isolation,” Isa said, “but Rory asked when we were released. “
“So what did they say,” Harry asked.
“All of the Darwins, including Bertrum Wagner, got sick and died,” Rory said.
“As it should be,” said Sneaky.
“Despite the CDC’s best efforts to save them, most of Peabody’s men also died.” Rory said.
Isa thought about Peabody. He had survived, but he deeply mourned his friends who had not. Isa felt conflicted about this man who had ordered his men to kill her mother. She hated him for that. Still, he had helped to save everyone at the hotel. She was grateful to him for that.
Isa had been happy when he and his remaining men were arrested for seventy-four counts of murder. But she wasn’t entirely and completely unhappy when he and his men weren’t charged due to lack of evidence. Maybe she did have forgiveness in her somewhere, someday, in the distant future. Today, she’d settle for lack of hate.
“Jesus was a brilliant man and a respected virologist,” Kolli said. His research had always been well-praised.”
“Jesus wasn’t very talkative before he died,” Isa said, “according to the nurses at the CDC.”
“It’s hard to understand why he would do the opposite of what his life’s work would indicate he would do,” Rory said.
Isa felt certain that he had gotten his revenge for being made a part of the deaths in Creel. Dad, in an interview with Rory, asked the world to forgive Jesus. Isa had her doubts about whether they would.
After everyone left, Isa looked at her dad.
“So, what’s up?” she asked.
He lowered his head and looked coy. “Harry and I are going to Atlanta for a while.”
“How long is ‘a while’?”
“I don’t know. As long as it takes. Harry is going to work with their doctors on the autopsies and I’m going to show them my vaccine disbursal system.”
“You’ve made some changes to the house,” Isa said.
“Yes. I was going to show you.” He pointed at new windows with blackout curtains. “Triple-pane windows, really well sealed.” He led the way into the office and opened the secret door. Now it was filled with water and dry and canned foods. There were medical supplies and blankets.
“What’s this?” Isa asked.
“A rifle. There are two handguns in this case. I’ve also signed you up at a gun club. Go,” he said. He didn’t look the least bit apologetic.
“When do you leave?”
“After the memorial.”
“But we stopped the virus,” Isa said.
“Let’s hope so,” Kolli replied.
The day of the memorial was sunny, but cool. It was the kind of day they called “crisp”—who knew why. A stage had been raised in Zilker Park. Isa had expected a good crowd, but people filled the park and the surrounding area all the way across the river and into the streets of downtown.
Ellen, the event planner, showed a joyous video of each victim, his/her life and his/her heart. The video ran continuously on two huge screens. Preachers from three religions offered love and prayers. The president of the United States and the mayor of Austin made great speeches of comfort.
Isa ended with a speech about redemption. She did not forgive the Darwins, but she could understand their fear. She did not forgive Jesus for endangering them all, but she could pity him. She did not forgive the men who murdered her mother, but she appreciated their role in saving everyone. Isa believed that recognizing these human feelings was the start of recovery for them all.
After the service, they had a party where they remembered those they had loved and lost, danced to live music, and learned to be well again. Rory stayed close, held Isa in his arms. Rory kissed her for the first time.
Kolli pulled her away from him and whispered into her ear, “Your mother would love Rory. I do too.”
31
Rosita had a history of migraines. It would start with a ringing in her ears, and then she’d get dizzy. Often she would see waves that looked like a waterfall before her eye
s. The only thing that helped was to rest in a dark room with a damp cloth over her eyes and wait.
But she couldn’t afford to miss work. She needed her job as a maid at the hotel. On the days when she just couldn’t get out of bed, she would send her sister, Bonita, in her stead. Bonita was two years younger, but looked like a clone of her. Anyone who could tell difference between the two of them didn’t care to make an issue of it when Bonita filled in for Rosita. Rosita really appreciated her friends at work. It was a good job.
Rosita had worked all that week. She had seen the funny man with the scents. He had sprayed the smell of flowers into her face. She thought maybe that had brought on the headache that was at its worst on the day full of madness. She called Bonita to help with the big event she was to cover and had gone into one of the unused rooms on the fifth floor to lay down in the dark for a bit. Bonita worked nights as a bartender. She was available and didn’t mind helping out her sister when she got a bad headache.
So, it was Bonita who was working when the old white men went crazy. Bonita was a smart girl. She knew what to do. She hid inside the big cabinet that blocked the exit. She slipped in when the girl swinging the chair leg wasn’t looking at her. Bonita lay down on what was the side of the cabinet and stayed as still and quiet as possible.
While Bonita was still inside, the men who were all covered up came and they pushed the cabinet out of the way of the hall. The doors were blocked and Bonita was trapped inside. She stayed quiet inside all day.
Rosita woke from her nap and went home to feed the kids. Bonita and Rosita lived together and helped each other with childcare. When Rosita got home at sunset, Bonita wasn’t there. After dinner the night manager called from the bar and said that Bonita had not arrived.
“She’s fired.” He had said. “I can get a hundred bartenders just like her.”
Rosita called her close friends, but none had heard from Bonita. She asked one to take care of the kids so Rosita could go to the hotel and search for Bonita.
When she got there, Rosita enlisted the aid of all the evening staff. They told her horror stories about men with guns running around during Bonita’s shift. Rosita knew Bonita, knew she would find a safe place to hide. Finally, Rosita found Bonita and let her out of the cabinet.
Bonita was feeling poorly. Rosita took her home and stayed with her. She rinsed a cloth in cool water and laid it on Bonita’s hot forehead. The next day, Rosita took Bonita to the free clinic. The doctor said she had the flu and gave her some medicine, but Bonita died that night.
Two days later, Bonita’s two children died.
Rosita heard that they were rounding up the hotel employees. She had to save her daughter, Camille, from all the men with guns. She would not be deported to El Salvador. Rosita packed Camille into the back seat of the Buick. She covered her with a blanket.
“Go to sleep, baby,” she said.
“I don’t feel good Mommy.” Camille coughed and wiped her nose with her hand.
The Universal Vaccine
About the Author
Nancy Smith is a freelance writer of novels (The Universal Vaccine, The Slow Kill, Tainted Harvest), screenplays and short stories. She is also a filmmaker, script analyst, and script supervisor. Nancy is the owner of First Look Script Analysis, operating since December 2005 and First Look Publishing operating since 2016. She lives in Austin, Texas.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.
ISBN Number:
978-0-9913907-2-4 (print)
978-0-9913907-3-1 (digital)
Cover Design: Brian Burrowes
Editor: Kirkus Edits
Printed by CreateSpace, a DBA of On-Demand Publishing, LLC
@ 2017 by Nancy Smith. All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the express permission of the author.
Other books by Nancy Smith
The Slow Kill
What to know what happened after The Universal Vaccine?
After years of drought, famine and disease, botanist, Frank Harvey, brings hope with his project to build a water pipeline and hydrofarm over the cracked, barren lakebed that is the water supply for Austin, Texas. Frank’s aim is to deter evaporation and protect his hydrofarm, but his big boss at the Wagner Company locks and electrifies the gate of the dome, forcing Frank apart from his wife and six-year-old son. Frank must find his son and demonstrate to him that he is not abandoned, but loved.
A cautionary, futuristic tale that balances dystopia with altruism, The Slow Kill explores the complexities of human relationships as the characters struggle to survive the hardships of an enduring drought. A clever narrative with vivid descriptions and strong cinematic images. You might call it science fiction, but this premise doesn't stray too far from reality. It really could happen to all of us. And then what? Jill Olseon, writer
Tainted Harvest
This book focuses on the experiences of Tituba, a slave sold in Barbados to Samuel Parris who would eventually become a minister in Salem, Massachusetts. Tainted Harvest covers Tituba’s life from the time of her enslavement through the 1692 witch trials. She was the first person to confess to witchcraft. She told a tale at her hearing unlike anything that the Puritans had heard before—a story drawn from her own experiences and spiritual beliefs.
This novel is primarily based on the concepts presented by two noted academics: Linna Caporael and Elaine Breslaw. Caporael went to the top of her class in 1976 when she made the connection between ergot poisoning on the rye during the 1692 growing season in Salam Village and the witch trials. Breslaw’s 1996 book postulated that a clash of cultures between South American native, Tituba, and the New England Puritans added fuel to the fire.
Novelist Smith (The Slow Kill, 2014) gives voice to a pivotal figure in an infamous period of American history. Many people have studied the Salem Witch Trials at length, but the background and motivations of Tituba, a local slave woman, remain a mystery, and Smith seeks to fill in the gaps in her story.... the novel implicitly offers up a remarkable question: if not for Salemites’ deep-rooted distrust of unfamiliar people and ideas, could the witch trials have been avoided altogether? A deft work of historical fiction with a timely message about the perils of marginalizing and demonizing the Other. Kirkus Reviews
Available at Amazon.com
Sample Excerpt
The Slow Kill
by Nancy Smith
1
Year 2035
Hot. Scorching hot.
The weather forecaster blamed another unmoving high-pressure system for creating the relentless heat that daily shrouded them in triple-digit temperatures.
Frank Harvey ran. He hated jogging, but it settled his mind and loosened his muscles. He found his pace. His old cross-trainers, held together by layers of duct tape, slapped the path as Old Sol beat down on his shoulders. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon and he was sweating, but not as much as he would have thought. There was no moisture in the air. There was no moisture in him.
Frank zigzagged a dirty path lined with the dried and broken limbs of hackberry trees. The leaves left on the trees had turned brown before reaching maturity making it appear as if there had been a sudden, late cold snap—but there hadn’t. It was early spring.
Frank sprinted down a natural culvert and around a rocky hillside. The dirt pit that was Lake Travis came into view. It had been a large lake, often too vast to see from one side to the other. When full, Lake Travis held somewhere almost seven hundred feet of water. On warm days, it had attracted swimmers, fisherman and boaters of all kinds, from large pleasure crafts to paddle-boarders.<
br />
In the 1940’s, men had constructed a dam to create a reservoir on the Colorado River. The primary purpose of Lake Travis and several other linked reservoirs was to control flooding for the dramatically shifting water levels in the Colorado River. Water was managed, making it available for over a million people to drink.
But Lake Travis was no longer full of water. It was no longer a lake. It looked as if a monster, too large to see from anywhere but space, had beaten a hole into the ground. A hundred foot of border lined the cracked earth in the middle of a dry basin.
At one time, islands and trees poked their heads out of the lake, but with no water the hills had been revealed and the trees had turned to pulp. Now, all that had been revealed had been bulldozed flat—a barren wasteland of dust that was free of all debris. The character of the lake was pushed into piles at the land end of long unused boat ramps.
Frank looked at one such pile. It contained boulder-size rocks, root balls from trees, a broken picnic table and bones from fish and animals. He examined one set of bones more closely. Was that a human femur? He would not be surprised.
A glass and metal structure about fifty-acres square stood on the far side of the barren bed. He jogged toward it, his feet leaving prints in plumbs of dust.
He passed a series of boat docksmost that had caved into the ground, stranded on the parched, broken dirt. Boat debris littered the powdered earth nearby.
All except for one houseboat. It sat in dry dock on a tall scaffold made of freshly sawn lumber. The boat was a hundred-footer with a wood covered swimming platform at the front as well as a structure to hold a canvas top over the second story sun deck. The houseboat was mostly intact but in serious need of major repair.
Frank had gotten the boat for practically nothing from a man who believed that Austin was a permanent desert and, if things continued on their current trajectory, would become even more desolate and infertile.
Frank climbed out of the lake pit at a boat dock with a pier that ran into the center of the lake. The pier was long and tall, the height of the lake if it were full. He stood on the pier, now level with his boat on the scaffold. He ran his hand gently, lovingly over the gray wood of the hull and imagined it refurbished, polished and gleaming. In his mind’s eye, he could see it bobbing on a full lake surrounded by a verdant shoreline.
