Pestilence 1 & 2
Box Set
Craig A. McDonough
Copyright © 2016 by Craig A. McDonough
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Join the author’s mailing list, receive updates on new releases, promotions and bonus material exclusive to members only.
Join here: Authors website
Created with Vellum
Contents
Prologue
1. One
2. Two
3. Three
4. Four
5. Five
6. Six
7. Seven
8. Eight
9. Nine
10. Ten
11. Eleven
12. Twelve
13. Thirteen
14. Fourteen
15. Fifteen
16. Sixteen
17. Seventeen
18. Eighteen
19. Nineteen
Epilogue
Pestilence 2
Pestilence 2
Truth is stranger than...
1. One
2. Two
3. Three
4. Four
5. Five
6. Six
7. Seven
8. Eight
9. Nine
10. Ten
11. Eleven
12. Twelve
13. Thirteen
14. Fourteen
15. Fifteen
16. Sixteen
17. Seventeen
18. Eighteen
19. Nineteen
20. Twenty
21. Twenty-One
22. Twenty-Two
23. Twenty-Three
Also by Craig A. McDonough
Prologue
An ordinary day unfolded at Riverside Hospital on University Avenue near the river of the same name as the city, Des Moines. Well, about as ordinary as it gets for a hospital in a medium-sized city. At 9:59 that morning, doctors, nurses and orderlies went about their business as usual while visitors wandered about, concerned for friends or loved ones who were unfortunate guests.
When the clock struck ten, however, the shit hit the fan.
The first indication of trouble came from the outpatient’s clinic. Panicked voices from doctors, nurses and the patients could be heard from the consultation rooms and wards. Next, the phones at the nurses’ station went berserk; all phones rang at once. There weren’t enough staff on hand to answer them all, but they did their best.
“Blood, blood, there’s blood everywhere!” one nurse screeched over the phone.
“They’re trying to kill us, they’re—” another started before the phone went dead.
A doctor ran down the aisle from outpatients. “They’re bleeding from their eyes, their noses, everywhere. It’s—it’s a fucking mess!”
Within moments, staff who went about their daily business steadily and efficiently, ran through the building, screaming for security—and help.
“What is it, what the hell’s going on?” CDC Immunologist Grace Delaney rushed out from an office behind the nurses station. She raised her voice to be heard above the clamor of screams and telephones, but no one seemed to notice. “Nurse! What the hell is going on?” She grabbed the nearest nurse by the arm and demanded.
Beth Sanders, a recent graduate of nursing school, turned to answer Grace, still clutching the phone in her hand. “The doctors and nurses,” she held the phone out to indicate she was speaking with them, “they say the patients have become worse, they’ve attacked them, even tried to drink their blood.”
“Drink their blood… what the—”
“Oh my God!” an orderly cried from the hospital foyer. “They’re sealing off the hospital.”
Sanders dropped the phone to the desk and followed Grace to investigate. As the stepped into the foyer, red and blue flashing lights bounced off the cream-colored walls of the hospital.
“Stay inside the building. Stay inside, do not attempt to leave. We have been authorized by the governor to use force if necessary,” a curt and officious male voice said through a bullhorn.
Outside the front entrance Grace could see several police vehicles, dozens of Des Moines uniformed officers behind them, and the camouflaged uniforms of the Iowa National Guard. What concerned Grace more were the men from the Centers for Disease Control in the biological hazard suits just beyond the line of National Guard troops. She knew they were from the CDC because that was the type of suit issued; as an employee, she would know.
“You can’t do this, this is a hospital for Christ’s sake!” She marched toward the front doors as the hazard suit officials sealed the entrance with plastic and duct tape. A portable decontamination chamber was also being constructed at the front doors. Presumably, this would be for anyone from CDC (or some other official) who ventured inside—fully suited, of course—and would receive a water jet spray on leaving. There would be none of that for anyone inside the hospital; they weren’t leaving, that much was clear.
“Give me the phone!” Grace marched back to the nurses’ station. “Hello, hello… what the…?” She heard some strange beeps before the call was connected.
Her outgoing call was relayed through various stations and she received the same answer each time. All outgoing calls from the hospital were monitored. Standard procedure when a building and all its personnel were sealed in.
She explained herself as calmly as she could before eventually losing patience with the operator and demanding to speak with CDC Director Calgleef; it was after all, an emergency. A moment of silence followed as the call was connected before Calgleef answered. The director of the CDC didn’t appear too concerned by events, and Grace was sure he already knew. His calm disposition only served to add to her growing list of suspicions.
“Tell me one thing, how did you know the outbreak had worsened—do you have someone working for you inside?” He had to have ongoing knowledge of the situation, Grace said to herself as she awaited his response.
“Of course we do Miss Delaney, you!” Then he explained to her the CDC regulations for activating a quarantine.
“Do you intend to inform the public of the possibility of the Baltic flu right here in downtown Des Moines?”
“Have you gone mad, do know the panic that would ensue?”
“That’s not what I meant and you—”
“Dr. Delaney, come quick…” The voice belonged to Isaac Tilford, the intern who had assisted Grace all morning. Tilford was in his late twenties, tall, and resembled Matthew McConaughey with dark hair and a neatly trimmed goatee, a look Grace found to her liking. But this was not a time to be thinking of romance.
“I can see you have your hands full, Miss Delaney. I’ll call you soon. This is strictly precautionary, and as soon as we can confirm there is no danger of an influenza outbreak, the quarantine will be lifted. Until then,” Calgleef used the interruption to end the conversation.
“Wait, hold on you… bastard!” She slammed the phone on top of the counter.
At least she now had confirmation; it is the flu.
Grace followed the young doctor—who looked like he’d seen a ghost—but first admonished him again for calling her ‘Dr. Delaney’.
“How in God’s name did this occur, how?” she asked as she followed the first year doctor back to the outpatients’ clinic.
1
One
Two Weeks Earlier
Grace Delaney arrived at her office in the CD
C complex in Atlanta, Georgia, an hour earlier than usual. An urgent meeting of immunologists, virologists and biochemists had been called by Director Andrew Calgleef to discuss the worsening situation that was the latest influenza outbreak in Europe. They’d christened it the “Baltic flu” because the first cases reported came from that region. After grabbing an obligatory coffee, she found herself a seat in the conference center to listen to what Calgleef had to say.
“This should be interesting,” she said to a colleague.
“To say the least.”
The CDC director went straight to the podium—no introductions, he was all business. After a quick welcome, he warned everyone present not to breathe a word of this meeting to anyone, then continued. First he quoted the latest figures of the afflicted in Europe, including the UK, and cases that had now been reported in the Middle East and in the northern African countries. He then confirmed the fatality rate, which at first seemed extraordinarily high, particularly for the first-world countries of Europe; but those were the facts.
“The president,” he looked up from his notes and made a brief sweep of the gathered faces, “has been on conference calls for the last forty-eight hours. He initially wanted to fly to Europe to address the matter personally but then would have become a victim of his own policies and wouldn’t be able to return.” Calgleef paused to allow the additional information he added to sink in. The president had just two weeks prior enacted a policy that suspended all flights from Europe and the Middle East from entering the United States. Canada and Mexico had done the same.
“This influenza outbreak is the worst since the Spanish flu of 1918. It appears to be some form of a mutated strain and will exact a heavy toll on the world. There is more than just the loss of life and the health costs incurred to be concerned about as the economies of many countries are now grinding to a halt. Factories and office buildings have closed as people are forced to stay away, manufacturing and trade have almost halved. The president knows this will affect the United States, but the country will manage as long as there is no great loss of life or a major portion of the population waylaid because of the disease.”
“So far, he’s only told us how bad it is but not on how we plan to combat it,” Delaney’s colleague whispered.
“Don’t worry, he’ll get to it, I’m—if there is one.” Grace was well aware of the director’s roundabout ways.
“With this in mind the president has used his emergency powers to allocate funds for an immediate vaccination program across the United States, which we, the CDC, will be at the forefront and will oversee the distribution and implementation of and—”
Vaccine? Immediate implementation? What the hell? Grace’s mind did a double take.
“Excuse me, Director Calgleef.” She stood and issued her challenge.
Calgleef looked long and hard at her for a moment, an uneasy silence filled the air, before he permitted her to continue. If she were a less attractive or a member of his own sex, Calgleef wouldn’t have given her the time of day.
“Have I missed something? I, as most here do, receive updates on the crisis in Europe and there has been no mention of a development of a vaccine—or did that happen overnight?”
A murmur of laughter went around the room, but no one made themselves too obvious—Calgleef didn’t tolerate insubordination well.
“Ah, Miss. Delaney… we can always count on you to be the one fish that would swim against the current, can’t we?” The director waited until she sat down. “As it’s been brought up, I’ll share this piece of information. The US government entered a contract with the leading pharmaceutical company, Thorn Bio-Tech Industries, to develop a vaccine for the North American market. The CDC will have a major say in the control and implementation and—” He stopped himself when he saw he was about to be interrupted once more. “Yes, Miss. Delaney?”
“Did you say develop a vaccine, Dr. Calgleef?” She hated addressing him so formerly. Words like asshole or shit-head were more apt, but it was a meeting after all.
“Yes, I did and I know what you’re thinking, as any immunologist naturally would. Let me assure you, there are hundreds of biochemists from around the world—who were available before the sanctions, I might add—and are working around the clock to develop a vaccine in a large enough quantity that will allow us to begin a vaccination program. Once the initial batch is distributed, the manufacture of the vaccine will pass on to the United States under FDA and CDC regulation. In the meantime we are to use an experimental serum, also developed by Thorn Bio-Tech, to begin a program of immunization. The elderly the sick and the less well off will receive the vaccine first. They would be more susceptible to the disease. Thorn is leading the way in the development of a vaccine against this, this virus. Does that answer your question, Miss. Delaney?”
“Well, not exactly.” She didn’t like long-winded explanations. A perfectionist, she felt the longer it took, the more there was to hide. “As we all know, flu shots are at least a year out of date by the time they’re released. Vaccines released this year were developed last year or even the year before that, and flus’, viruses’ change. They adapt to the conditions. I find it hard to accept that a shot has been developed, or tested, or will be in such a short time. I’m extremely hesitant to endorse any experimental drug without adequate testing. My concerns, you understand, are about the public safety, and the release of untested medicines, I might add, is against the FDA and our own charter, I believe.”
All eyes in the room were on Grace. She had a point, and the other immunologists and virologists knew it, but didn’t have the confidence to stand up and say so. Calgleef fiddled with the buttons on his brown suit jacket, then placed both hands on the lectern.
“Part of the president’s executive order, Miss Delaney, included the waiver of the regulations. He believed the prevention of this flu was more important. Half the damn country could be at risk from this virus if we wait for the proper testing, and if that happened, we’d never get on top of it. There is a strong resemblance in the characteristics of this Baltic flu and the Spanish flu, and the vaccinations will be based on that resemblance. It may be just a stop-gap measure, but that’s what we need while the proper vaccine is developed. It’s all we have, Miss Delaney, nearly forty percent of people over fifty-five have contracted it throughout Europe, and for those in their seventies it’s a much higher percentage with an equal mortality rate. Factories, offices and business of all forms have closed or are barely managing; the shipping lanes are closed as are all international flights. I don’t need to tell you what this would mean to the United States, Miss Delaney. So if you know of a better way, I’m all ears.”
Calgleef was almost right, she admitted to herself—what else could be done? He did enjoy belittling her in front of the meeting, she noticed.
Bastard. He’ll get his!
They couldn’t sit on their hands and let the virus take hold of the country like it had with Europe. With the high-speed travel and rush-rush of the American lifestyle, the disease would inundate the country within weeks.
“No, sir, I don’t have any other suggestions, and I see your point,” she added to show her support. Always proud of her work, she wouldn’t let anyone down, not when it came to diseases of any kind, or do anything to create dissension. If that meant showing public support to someone she thought of as little more than a bureaucratic bumbler, then so be it.
Lives were far more important than her ego, but fears that an improperly prepared vaccine could cause more harm than the virus bothered her. When things weren’t perfect it bothered her. In her position, she was bothered most of the time.
Later in her office with a coffee—today, would be a big coffee day—Grace stared into two laptop computers on her desk. Armed with the latest information provided by Calgleef, she began crunching the numbers. In her position at the CDC, she had access to the most up-to-date information, and her figures didn’t correlate with Calgleef’s. Again and again she ran the numbers
through the computer, through a separate calculator and in her handwritten notes; it didn’t add up. She drank the last of her lukewarm coffee and got up for another. She had her own coffee pot in her office, and her own coffee, Jo’s French dark roasted, was her favorite. She went over the numbers again in her head as she filled the water and added the coffee grounds. It reminded her of the time she’d tried to paint a portrait in high school. She’d painted many landscapes and received many compliments for her work but had wanted to paint a portrait for a long time. The completed product wasn’t bad, damn good when you considered it was her first, but it wasn’t perfect and that pissed her off no-end. She couldn’t put her finger on what the actual problem was, but it was there and that made it worse. In frustration and anger she’d taken a putty knife and hacked the painting into slasher death.
If it can’t be perfect, then it just can’t be! She remembered saying to the scattered remains on the floor.
Grown-up now, she didn’t lose control of her temper as much except when at home—she was of Irish heritage after all. But she still got pissed when things didn’t turn out how she wanted or expected. And near enough was never good enough; not for Grace Delaney. Never.
“The spread of the flu actually seems to be slowing or at least stabilizing,” she said as the dark liquid dripped into the pot. The aroma of coffee made her office one of the most visited of all on the third floor of the Tom Harkin Global Communications Center in Atlanta. When she’d been promoted several years back, she’d moved into the Global Communications Center particularly because of the almost instant communications ability with anywhere in the United States and many countries around the world. It didn’t make any sense to go ahead with an untried vaccine if the influenza wasn’t as active. There may be time to conduct tests after all. She thought about this as she poured her coffee and looked at the clock on her desk.
Pestilence Boxed Set [Books 1 & 2] Page 1
