by Bobby Akart
The group, except for Tommy, remained nearly twenty feet away. Barb exchanged glances with Janie and Mac.
“Now what?” asked Hunter, breaking the silence.
Mac addressed her mother first. “Mom, Janie was a veterinarian before entering service at the CDC. She might be able to give us some insight.”
“I hope so,” said Barb. “I know very little about infectious disease in dogs. Obviously, Y. pestis can be a fatal zoonosis for canines, transmitted primarily by rodents and their fleas. But, Janie, is it indicated in dogs?”
“Here’s the good news,” replied Janie. “It’s very rare. Although fleas are common carriers of the disease, the dry air coupled with the high altitude in the Rockies make fleas sparse if not nonexistent.”
“What about rats?” asked Mac. “I mean, this dog could have been bitten, or he may have eaten a rat that’s infected.”
Tommy began to inspect the dog’s fur and skin, looking for evidence of a wound. The playful pup seemed to enjoy the attention because he immediately rolled over, exposing his belly for a rub. Tommy obliged with some scruffing of his tummy. Then the Labrador passed gas again.
“Not again!” shouted Tommy, who once again protected his nostrils by burying his nose in his sleeve.
“Tommy, you’ve got to stop rubbing that dog,” Barb admonished her husband. “He’s like a magic lamp with a rotten genie.”
Tommy continued to check him out. “No noticeable wounds, although the bite could be very small.”
“The rodent population at high altitudes is small as well,” continued Janie. “We’ll come across deer mice and even guinea pigs.”
“Really?” asked Hunter.
“Absolutely,” replied Janie. “Wild guinea pigs populate many mountain regions of South America. Some have migrated here while many domestic guinea pigs are abandoned by pet owners. Unlike rats, however, they’re not likely to tackle an animal the size of this dog.”
The black Labrador began to scruff his back on the tall grass, kicking his legs in the process. The pup seemed to have no problem with the attention he was receiving.
“Here’s the good news. The plague in dogs is extremely rare because they tend to have a high resistance to the Y. pestis bacterium. They usually contract the disease from oral mucous membrane exposure to infected rat tissue.”
Tommy continued to rub the dog, who continued to fart.
“Tommy, stop it! I can smell it over here!” shouted Barb, who moved around Mac and Hunter to be upwind from the source of the odor.
“Janie, can we do something about the gassy problem?” asked Tommy.
“He’s probably been foraging in the woods,” replied Janie. “Like in humans, soy and beans are common causes of flatulence. He’s probably been eating pine nuts.”
Barb put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “You mean like the pine nuts I’ve been gathering all morning?”
“Yes, Gener—I mean, ma’am,” Janie answered with a chuckle. “If we can get him on a regular diet, his flatulent condition will calm down. Although, some breeds are known for being more gassy than others.”
The dog hopped up on his feet and provided Tommy with yet another sloppy kiss. “I think he likes me. If his owner doesn’t show up, can we keep him, Mom? Can we?”
All eyes were on Barb, hopeful she’d say yes. “Okay, two problems. He might be carrying the plague. We have to be careful. Unfortunately, both he and Tommy will need to be quarantined for a couple of days.”
“What?” asked Tommy.
“You heard me. And even if you two get a clean bill of health, he’s not coming into my house in his gassy condition.”
Tommy began to scruff the Labrador’s neck and chest, to the dog’s delight. He showed his appreciation with another blast from the back end.
“Have you thought of a name?” asked Hunter.
“Sure have,” replied Tommy. “I think we should call him Flatus!”
Chapter 7
Day Fifty-Two
Breckenridge
Hunter finished setting up the tent for Tommy and his new pal Flatus, the Latin word for a blowing. The two clearly enjoyed each other’s company because over the next three days, the period of quarantine decided upon by the three doctors on staff, the two boys would be on their own. Hunter, who was keeping an ongoing list of supplies needed from town, added dog food, treats, a collar, a leash, and Beano. At Barb’s insistence, Flatus would be treated for the deadly gas he was producing. When Hunter reminded her that a lot of the food he and Mac had purchased at Costco included dried beans, Barb instructed Hunter to purchase all the Beano he could find.
Today’s trip into town was necessary to fill in some holes in his preparation plans and to pick up the building materials to create their basement laboratory. It had been a few days since they’d ventured into Breckenridge, and Hunter wanted to see how the town leaders were handling things. Plus, it was an opportunity to spend some time alone with Mac. He’d grown accustomed to having her all to himself, which had changed with the addition of her parents and Janie.
“Thank you for getting Dad fixed up,” said Mac. “Mom and I spoke with Janie at length while you were busy. We’re all comfortable that Flatus probably isn’t infected, but it was a scary reminder of how careful we need to be around others, including animals. Hunter, it only takes one touch to change our lives forever.”
“Well, I hope you guys are right about Tommy and his buddy. I’ll be honest, Mac, when Janie and I were chasing him down the driveway, I considered shooting the dog. Janie stopped me, and after her explanation of the likelihood of the dog’s being infected, I was glad I didn’t. In all honesty, I should have. I hope it’s not a mistake I regret later. I’ve done that before and vowed not to do it again.”
“What was the mistake?” asked Mac.
“I won’t get into it. Suffice it to say I should have shot what looked like an innocent child, and didn’t. It almost got me killed.”
They drove down the mountain in silence and passed the few homes located along the road near the highway. There were no signs of life as both Mac and Hunter looked in all directions.
“Do you think Flatus belongs to one of these homeowners?” asked Mac.
“Maybe, although I haven’t seen anyone around here since we arrived. The lack of activity is puzzling. These are not vacation rentals like so many homes in the mountains. They look like permanent residences to me.”
Hunter turned on the highway into town and immediately caught up with a slow-moving pickup truck. The white, rusted-out vehicle had seen years of snow and salt. The bed was full of chickens in cages stacked six tall and strapped together with bungee cords.
“It looks like they’re gonna have plenty to eat,” said Mac, who then became impatient. “He’s driving so slow. Can you get around him?”
“The driver’s not being very cooperative by pulling over,” replied Hunter, who looked into the rearview mirror to remind himself of the small empty trailer the Defender was towing. “Let me back off his bumper. You never want to make an enemy by accident, especially under the circumstances.”
Hunter navigated the Defender through the curves until the pickup truck veered to the right and headed up Red Mountain. As he passed them, he noticed both the driver and the passenger staring at them through their side-view mirrors. A chill came over Hunter as his instincts kicked in. It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced since his days in Afghanistan, where a soldier’s job was to be polite to the locals but also be prepared to shoot everyone they met.
He shook it off and headed into town. The Breckenridge Building Center was on the other side of town. Tommy seemed to think they’d have everything on the list. If necessary, they could travel farther to Dillon, which had a Lowe’s. But the town and the home improvement store were located at Interstate 70. Hunter didn’t want any part of plague-stricken refugees streaming westward out of Denver.
As they slowly drove down Main Street past Doc Cooley’s office, which
was closed up, Mac was the first to comment on the desolation.
“I’ve never seen the town this deserted. In the winter, under the worst of blizzard conditions, people would be walking from store to store or hitting the bars. Has everyone left town?”
Hunter rolled down his window to listen for any signs of life, as well as to observe them. There were a few people gathered here and there, talking amongst themselves. Only a couple of vehicles were moving.
“I think they heeded the President’s warning and stayed indoors. Are any stores open?” Hunter began to wonder if the building supply store would be closed. He unconsciously sped up as if that would get him there just in time.
“Yeah, a few,” said Mac. It only took a few minutes for Hunter to get to the north end of town, and he slowed as they passed The Local Market and Pizza Shed. It appeared to be open, so Hunter pulled into the rear parking lot.
“Gloves and masks?” asked Hunter.
“Absolutely. Let’s see how Axel and Chloe are coming along.”
“By the way, what’s the difference between these N95s and the other types you had me buy?” asked Hunter.
Mac opened the olive drab green backpack that she’d substituted for her normal over-the-shoulder bag. The backpack had a number of basic supplies that would assist them if they had to walk home from an outing. The masks were one of the items.
“There are basically two types of particulate masks,” started Mac. “One is oil resistant and the other is not. Painters use the masks beginning with a P or R designation. Health care professionals use the N designation.”
Hunter studied the packaging on the masks. “I assume the number designation has to do with strength or percentage of protection?”
“Right,” Mac replied. “The second aspect of the mask’s capability is what percentage of the particulate it prevents from entering your airways. The options are 95, 99, and 100. For example, an R100 mask will filter 99.97% of particulates and is oil resistant. An N95 mask will filter 95% of particulates but is not oil resistant.”
“Why wouldn’t you, or any health care professional, automatically choose the N100? Isn’t it the safest?” asked Hunter.
“It is, but the circumstances don’t always call for N100. The main reason is breathability and practicality. For examining patients and conversing during the process, the N95 is preferred. For practical purposes, the N95 can be purchased at most drugstores. The N100 can be ordered online and it is my preference in the lab unless I’m in the BSL-4, naturally.”
“Is the N95 safe enough, considering the circumstances?” asked Hunter.
“To address the question of whether the N95 is safe enough, let’s look at some common infectious diseases a health care worker encounters—influenza, Ebola and now, the plague. Alone, any of these bacteria and viruses are small enough to penetrate the less porous N100 mask. However, they are not airborne alone. They are attached to particulates ranging from mucus to blood to water droplets. All of these are much larger than what is capable of penetrating an N95 or N100 mask.”
“Makes sense,” added Hunter.
“This is why I had you purchase the N95, N100, P100 and R100 masks. I don’t know whether we’ll find ourselves in a situation around noxious fumes or potential smoke inhalation, but the oil-resistant masks will be available to us. It’s not like we can run down here or buy them on Amazon.”
*****
They entered the small store and were immediately surprised by the empty shelves. Axel was alone in the store and greeted them.
“Dudes! Have you two been playing doctor?” he asked.
He came around the counter to greet them, but Mac and Hunter backed up. “Hey, Axel,” started Mac. “You know, you should really be wearing gloves and a mask. You never know who might be infected.”
“Yeah, I thought about that. The drugstore closed down and the sheriff has blocked off the road into Dillon. He’s not letting people in, and if you wanna leave, you can’t come back.”
Hunter considered this good news until he thought about the lumberyard location. “Can you still get to the Breckenridge Building Supply?”
Axel retreated behind the counter and lit up a joint. “Sure can and they’re still open. I don’t know why anybody would bother building anything. We’re all gonna die.”
“Not necessarily,” snapped Mac, who still held out hope for a vaccine or cure.
Axel offered the marijuana cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Wanna hit?” he asked as he exhaled, closing one eye as the smoke floated past his face.
“Nah, no, thanks,” replied Hunter. He looked around the store and saw a variety of food items and condiments. Batteries, lighters, and some miscellaneous tools looked attractive as well. Then, there was also liquor. None of the group drank hard alcohol. The Hagans and Janie preferred wine, while he and Mac drank Budweiser. He thought of several uses for alcohol under the circumstances.
Hunter wandered through the store and decided to make Axel an offer, and possibly save his life at the same time. “Axel, how much for everything you’ve got left here? Liquor, food, supplies, candy, doesn’t matter.”
“Whoa, dude. Are you trying to buy me out? I mean, Chloe and I wanna keep the store.”
“No, I just want your inventory. How much for your entire inventory?”
Axel rubbed his scruffy beard and looked around. He started pointing at shelves and calculating costs. Hunter knew the guy was probably fully capable of totaling everything without the use of a calculator. With his computer programming skills, Axel was probably a borderline genius.
“Okay. Chloe and I don’t need much. We still gotta buy weed, which is the number one cash crop around here, if you haven’t noticed.”
“I gathered that,” said Hunter with a chuckle. He glanced at Mac, who gave him a grin and a wink.
“How about a thousand bucks for everything?”
Hunter was prepared to pay two thousand with the soon-to-be-worthless hundreds in his pocket.
“Axel, I want you and Chloe to be safe and stay home. I’ll pay you two thousand if you can have everything boxed up and ready for pickup when I return from the builder’s supply store. Deal?”
“Yeah, dude. You gotta deal. I’ll call Chloe and tell her—oh yeah, the cell phones aren’t working anymore. I can do it myself. I’ll be ready when you get back. Thanks, man!”
“You’re welcome,” replied Hunter. “We’ll see you in an hour.”
Chapter 8
Day Fifty-Two
Breckenridge
In the modern economy, most family-owned hardware and building supply stores didn’t survive. Unable to compete with the big-box stores like Lowe’s and Home Depot, which offered a wider selection of products, often at lower prices, the mom-and-pop stores were becoming extinct. For nearly fifty years, long before the arrival of Lowe’s in nearby Dillon, the Breckenridge Building Center treated local contractors right as the town enjoyed its growth spurt back in the seventies.
These small building supply stores served a function similar to the local barbershop. Stories were told and gossip was exchanged. Hunter had a list and he didn’t want to get caught in any long, drawn-out storytelling sessions. But a trip into town was always about information gathering. Today, he’d employ Mac to use her charm to secure everything on the list with the assistance of a salesclerk while Hunter got to know some of the locals and get a feel for the state of affairs.
Mac smiled and offered a wink to a young man behind the counter, which induced him to help procure the items on the list. The two were off and Hunter retrieved the last bottle of IBC Root Beer from the cooler. He approached a stool near the paint counter, where a few locals had congregated to chew the fat.
Next to Hunter on the counter was a carving with a likeness of a black bear holding a sign etched with the word howdy. Hunter, as Mac had painfully reminded him, couldn’t fake humble cowpoke or country boy. He was too polished from years of living near DC. Instead, Hunter didn�
�t try to put on airs, but he also didn’t try to act like a western cowboy either.
“Mind if I join you guys?” he asked politely.
One of the store owners gestured toward the stool and nodded. “Where ya from?”
“We’re from Atlanta, visiting her folks,” Hunter started. As an outsider, he expected the interrogation to last for several minutes. At some point, he’d find a way to break the ice and get them talking about themselves and Breckenridge.
“Welcome to Breck,” said one of the men, who could’ve been Doc Cooley’s brother. “Y’all plannin’ on stayin’?”
“I think so, you know, until they get this thing under control,” replied Hunter. “I’ve tried to pick up some information on the radio, but none of the stations are broadcasting.”
“Yeah, they quit night before last. President said stay home, so most folks are.”
“You guys decide not to. Stay home, I mean.”
One of the men responded quickly. “Harold would rather be here and get infected with the plague than be cooped up with my sister all day, right, buddy?” The two men began laughing and slapping each other on the back. Hunter welcomed the break in the tension.
“Yeah, I reckon if the truth be told, I’d rather hang out with my brother-in-law than the missus, but that ain’t been no secret for a while.”
One of the men quizzed Hunter about the mask and gloves. He pointed towards Hunter’s face. “You’ns sick?” he asked.
“Oh, no. We’re not sick at all. Just being careful. Really, you guys should also.”
The brother-in-law let out a good guffaw. “Don’t you worry about us, mister. Harold and I intend to stay pickled with some of that good whiskey from the Breckenridge Distillery. They’ve got some mighty fine bourbon that’ll put hair on yer chest and send the plague disease straight to the devil!”
Hunter enjoyed a genuine laugh as the two best friends by marriage yucked it up. Mac was making her way to the front registers with her very enamored sales assistant. Hunter decided to ask about the town’s plans for security.
