by Robin Cook
Eventually Jack sat back. His anxiety was enervating, coupled with his lack of sleep, food, and water. It was hard to think clearly, but he had to try; he didn’t have much time.
Jack considered the faint possibility that the Black Kings wouldn’t show up as they’d failed to show the day before, yet that prospect wasn’t any rosier. Jack would be sentenced to an agonizing death from exposure and lack of water. Of course, if he couldn’t take his rimantadine, the flu might get him first.
Jack fought back tears. How could he have been so stupid to have allowed himself to get caught in such an impossible situation? He chided himself for his inane heroic crusade idea, and the juvenile thought of wanting to prove something to himself. He’d been as reckless in this episode as he’d been each day he’d ridden his bike down Second Avenue thumbing his nose at death.
Two hours passed before Jack heard the faint beginnings of the dread sound: the crackling of car tires on gravel. The Black Kings had arrived.
In a fit of panic, Jack repeatedly kicked the drainpipe as he’d done numerous times over the previous day and a half with the same result.
He stopped and listened again. The car was closer. Jack looked at the sink. Suddenly an idea occurred to him. The sink was a huge, old cast-iron monstrosity with a large bowl and expansive drainage area for dishes. Jack imagined it weighed several hundred pounds. It was hung on the wall in addition to being supported by the heavy drain.
Getting his feet under him, Jack rested the underlip of the sink on his biceps and tried to pry the sink upward. It moved slightly and bits of mortar at the sink’s junction with the wall fell into the bowl.
Jack twisted like a contortionist to put his right foot against the sink’s lip. He could hear the car come to a halt the moment he pushed with his leg. There was a cracking sound. Jack positioned himself so that both his feet were under the edge of the sink. Straining with all his might, he exerted the maximum force he could muster.
With a snap and a grinding sound the sink detached from the wall. A bit of plaster rained down on Jack’s face. Unattached, the sink teetered on the drain.
With another thrust of his legs, Jack got the sink to fall forward. The copper water-supply pipes snapped off at their soldered ends and water began spraying. The drain remained intact until the lead seal gave way. At that moment the brass pipe slipped out of the cast iron. The sink made an enormous crashing noise as it crushed a ladder-back chair before thumping heavily on the wooden floor.
Jack was soaked from the spraying water, but he was free! He scrambled to his feet as heavy footfalls sounded on the front porch. He knew the door was unlocked and that the Black Kings would be inside in a moment. They’d undoubtedly heard the crash of the sink.
With no time to look for the pistol Jack lunged for the back door. Frantically he fumbled with the deadbolt and threw the door open. In an instant he was outside, hurling himself down the few steps to the dew-covered grass.
Hunching down to stay out of view, Jack ran from the house as fast as he could manage with his hands still handcuffed. Ahead was a pond. It occupied the area he’d imagined was a field on his arrival the previous night. To the left of the pond and about a hundred feet from the house stood the barn. Jack ran to it. It was his only hope of a hiding place. The surrounding forest was barren and leafless.
With heart pounding, Jack reached the barn door. To his relief it was unlocked. He yanked it open, dashed inside, and pulled it closed behind him.
The interior of the barn was dark, dank, and uninviting. The only light came through a single, west-facing window. The rusted remains of an old tractor loomed in the half-light.
With utter panic Jack stumbled around in the darkness searching for a hiding place. His eyes began to adjust. He looked into several deserted animal stalls, but there was no way to conceal himself. There was a loft above, but it was devoid of hay.
Looking down at the plank flooring, Jack vainly looked for a trapdoor, but there wasn’t any. In the very back of the barn there was a small room filled with garden tools but still no place to hide. Jack was about to give up when he spotted a low wooden chest the size of a coffin. He ran to it and raised its hinged lid. Inside were malodorous bags of fertilizer.
Jack’s blood ran cold. Outside he heard a male voice yell: “Hey, man, around here! There’s tracks in the grass!”
With little other choice Jack emptied the chest of the bags of fertilizer. Then he climbed in and lowered the lid.
Shivering from fear and the damp cold, Jack was still perspiring. His breaths were coming in short gasps. He tried to calm down. If the hiding place was to work, he’d have to be silent.
It wasn’t long before he heard the door to the barn creak open followed by the sound of muffled voices. Footsteps sounded on the plank flooring. Then there was a crash as something was overturned. Jack heard curses. Then another crash.
“You got your machine pistol cocked?” one husky voice said.
“What’d you think I am, stupid?” another replied.
Jack heard footsteps approach. He held his breath, tried to contain his shivering, and fought the urge to cough. There was a pause, then the footsteps receded. Jack allowed himself to breathe out.
“Somebody’s in here, I’m sure of it,” a voice said.
“Shut up and keep looking,” the other answered.
Without warning the cover to Jack’s hiding place was whisked open. It happened with such unexpected suddenness, Jack was totally unprepared. He let out a muffled screech. The black man looking down at him did the same, letting the lid slam back into place.
The lid was quickly yanked open again. Jack could see that the man was holding a machine pistol in his free hand. On his head was a black knit cap.
Jack and the black man locked eyes for a moment, then the man looked toward his partner.
“It’s the doc all right,” he called out. “He’s here in a box.”
Jack was afraid to move. He heard footsteps approaching. He tried to prepare himself for Twin’s mocking smile. But Jack’s expectations weren’t met. When he looked up, it wasn’t Twin’s face he saw; it was Warren’s!
“Shit, Doc,” Warren said. “You look like you fought the Vietnam War all by yourself.”
Jack swallowed. He looked at the other man and now recognized him as one of the basketball regulars. Jack’s eyes darted back to Warren. Jack was confused, afraid this was all a hallucination.
“Come on, Doc,” Warren said, reaching a hand toward Jack. “Get the hell out of the box so we can see if the rest of you looks as bad as your face.”
Jack allowed himself to be helped to stand up. He stepped out onto the floor. He was soaking wet from the broken water pipes.
“Well, everything else looks like it’s in working order,” Warren said. “But you don’t smell great. And we’ve got to get these cuffs off.”
“How did you get here?” Jack asked, finally finding his voice.
“We drove,” Warren said. “How’d you think we got here? The subway?”
“But I expected the Black Kings,” Jack said. “A guy by the name of Twin.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, man,” Warren said. “You’ve got to settle for me.”
“I don’t understand,” Jack said.
“Twin and I made a deal,” Warren said. “We called a truce so there’d be no more brothers shooting brothers. Part of the terms were that they wouldn’t ice you. Then Twin called me and told me you were being held up here and that if I wanted to save your ass, I’d better get mine up to the mountains. So here we are: the cavalry.”
“Good Lord!” Jack said, shaking his head. It was unsettling to learn how much one’s fate was in the hands of others.
“Hey, those people back in the house don’t look so good,” Warren said. “And they smell worse than you. How’d they happen to die?”
“Influenza,” Jack said.
“No shit!” Warren said. “So it’s up here too. I heard about it on the news last night.
There’s a lot of people down in the city all revved up about it.”
“And for good reason,” Jack said. “I think you’d better tell me what you’ve heard.”
EPILOGUE
THURSDAY, 7:45 P.M., APRIL 25, 1996
NEW YORK CITY
The game to eleven was tied at ten apiece. The rules dictated a win by two, so a one-point layup wouldn’t clinch it but a long two-pointer would. This was in the back of Jack’s mind as he dribbled upcourt. He was being mercilessly hounded by an aggressive player by the name of Flash whom Jack knew was faster than he.
The competition was fierce. Players on the sidelines waiting to play were loudly supporting the other team, a sharp contrast to their typical studied indifference. The reason for the change was the fact that Jack’s team had been winning all night, mainly because Jack was teamed up with a particularly good mix of players that included Warren and Spit.
Jack normally didn’t bring the ball downcourt. That was Warren’s job. But on the previous play, to Jack’s chagrin, Flash had made a driving layup to tie the game, and after the ball had passed through the basket it had ended up in Jack’s hands. In order to get the ball downcourt as fast as possible, Spit had stepped out. When Jack gave him the ball, Spit gave it right back.
As Jack pulled up at the top of the key, Warren faked one direction and then made a rush for the basket. Jack saw this maneuver out of the corner of his eye and cocked his arm with the intent of passing the ball to Warren.
Flash anticipated the pass and dropped back in hopes of intercepting it. All at once Jack was in the clear, and he changed his mind about passing. Instead he let fly one of his normally reliable jumpers. Unfortunately the ball hit the back of the rim and bounced directly into Flash’s waiting hands.
The tide then swept back in the other direction, to the glee of the onlookers.
Flash brought the ball rapidly downcourt. Jack was intent on denying him the opportunity of repeating his driving layup, but inadvertently gave him too much room. To Jack’s surprise, since Flash was not an outside shooter, Flash pulled up and from “downtown” let fly his own jumper.
To Jack’s horror it was “nothing-but-net” as the shot passed through the basket. A cheer rose up from the sidelines. The game had been won by the underdogs.
Flash high-stepped around the court holding his arms straight and stiffly to his sides with his palms out. All his teammates slapped his palms in a congratulatory ritual, as did some of the onlookers.
Warren drifted over to Jack with a disgusted look on his face.
“You should have passed the friggin’ ball,” Warren said.
“My bad,” Jack said. He was embarrassed. He’d made three mistakes in a row.
“Shit,” Warren said. “With these new kicks of mine I didn’t think I could lose.”
Jack looked down at the spanking-new pair of Nikes Warren was referring to and then at his own scuffed and scarred Filas. “Maybe I need some new kicks myself.”
“Jack! Hey, Jack!” a female voice called out. “Hello!”
Jack looked through the chain-link fence separating the playground from the sidewalk. It was Laurie.
“Hey, kid!” Warren said to Jack. “Looks like your shortie has decided to pay the courts a visit.”
The game-winning celebration stopped. All eyes turned to Laurie. Girlfriends and wives didn’t come to the courts. Whether they weren’t inclined or whether they were actively excluded, Jack didn’t know. But the infraction of Laurie’s unexpected arrival made him feel uncomfortable. He’d always tried to play by the playground’s mostly unspoken rules.
“I think she wants to rap,” Warren said. Laurie was waving Jack over.
“I didn’t invite her,” Jack said. “We were supposed to meet later.”
“No problem,” Warren said. “She’s a looker. You must be a better lover than you are a b-ball player.”
Jack laughed in spite of himself, then walked over to Laurie. Behind him he heard the celebration recommence, and he relaxed a degree.
“Now I know the stories are all true,” Laurie said. “You really do play basketball.”
“I hope you didn’t see the last three plays,” Jack said. “You wouldn’t have guessed I played much if you had.”
“I know we weren’t supposed to meet until nine, but I couldn’t wait to talk to you,” Laurie said.
“What’s happened?” Jack asked.
“You got a call from a Nicole Marquette from the CDC,” Laurie said. “Apparently she was so disappointed not to get you that Marjorie, the operator, put her through to me. Nicole asked me to relay a message to you.”
“Well?” Jack questioned.
“The CDC is officially putting the crash vaccine program on hold,” Laurie said. “There hasn’t been a new case of the Alaska-strain influenza for two weeks. The quarantine efforts have worked. Apparently the outbreak has been contained just the way the seventy-six swine flu was.”
“That’s great news!” Jack said. Over the past week he’d been praying that this would happen, and Laurie knew it. After fifty-two cases with thirty-four deaths there had been a lull. Everyone involved was holding his breath.
“Did she offer any explanations as to why they think this has occurred?” Jack asked.
“She did,” Laurie said. “Their studies have shown that the virus is unusually unstable outside of a host. They believe that the temperature must have varied in the buried Eskimo hut and might have even approached thawing on occasion. That’s a far cry from the usual minus fifty degrees at which viruses are typically stored.”
“Too bad it didn’t affect its pathogenicity as well,” Jack said.
“But at least it made the CDC-engineered quarantine effective,” Laurie said, “which everyone knows isn’t the usual case with influenza. Apparently with the Alaska strain, contacts had to have relatively sustained close contact with an infected individual for transmission to occur.”
“I think we were all very lucky,” Jack said. “The pharmaceutical industry deserves a lot of credit too. They came through with all the rimantadine needed in record time.”
“Are you finished playing basketball?” Laurie asked. She looked over Jack’s shoulder and could see that another game had commenced.
“I’m afraid so,” Jack said. “My team lost, thanks to me.”
“Is that man you were talking with when I arrived Warren?” Laurie asked.
“That’s right,” Jack said.
“He’s just as you described,” Laurie said. “He looks impressive. But there’s one thing I don’t understand. How do those shorts of his stay on? They are so oversized and he has such narrow hips.”
Jack let out a laugh. He looked back at Warren casually shooting foul shots like a machine. The funny thing was that Laurie was right: Warren’s shorts defied Newton’s law of gravity. Jack was just so accustomed to the hip-hop gear, he’d never questioned it.
“I guess it’s a mystery to me too,” Jack said. “You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
“Okay,” Laurie said agreeably. “I’d like to meet him anyway.”
Jack turned back to her with a quizzical look.
“I’m serious,” she said. “I’d like to meet this man you are in awe of and who saved your life.”
“Don’t ask him about his drawers,” Jack cautioned. He had no idea how that would go over.
“Please!” Laurie said. “I do have some social sense.”
Jack called out to Warren and waved him over. Warren sauntered to the fence, dribbling his basketball. Jack was unsure of the situation and didn’t know what to expect. He introduced the two people, and to his surprise they got along well.
“It’s probably not my place to say this…” Laurie began after they had spoken for a while. “And Jack might wish I didn’t, but…”
Jack cringed. He had no idea what Laurie was about to say.
“…I’d like to thank you personally for what you did for Jack.”
Warren shrugg
ed. “I might not have taken my ride all the way up there if I knew he wasn’t going to pass me the ball tonight.”
Jack formed his hand into a semi-fist and cuffed the top of Warren’s head.
Warren flinched and ducked out of the way. “Nice meeting you, Laurie,” he said. “I’m glad you stopped by. Me and some of the other brothers have been a bit worried about the old man here. We’re glad to see that he has a shortie after all.”
“What’s a shortie?” Laurie asked.
“Girlfriend,” Jack translated.
“Come anytime, Laurie,” Warren said. “You sure are better-looking than this kid.” He took a swipe at Jack and then dribbled back to where he’d been shooting foul shots.
“’Shortie’ for girlfriend?” Laurie questioned.
“It’s just rap-talk,” Jack said. “Shortie is a lot more flattering than some of the terms. But you’re not supposed to take any of it literally.”
“Don’t get me wrong! I wasn’t offended,” Laurie said. “In fact, why don’t you ask him and his ‘shortie’ to come to dinner with us. I’d like to get to know him better.”
Jack shrugged and looked back at Warren. “That’s an idea,” he said. “I wonder if he’d come.”
“You’ll never know unless you ask,” Laurie said.
“I can’t argue with you there,” Jack said.
“I assume he has a girlfriend,” Laurie said.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know,” Jack said.
“You mean to tell me you were quarantined with the man for a week and you don’t even know if he has a girlfriend?” Laurie said. “What did you men talk about all that time?”
“I can’t remember,” Jack said. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.”
Jack walked over to Warren and asked him if he’d come to dinner with them and bring his “shortie.”
“That is, if you have one,” Jack added.
“Of course I have one,” Warren said. He stared at Jack for a beat, then looked over at Laurie. “Was it her idea?”
“Yeah,” Jack admitted. “But I think it’s a good one. The reason I never asked in the past is because I never thought you’d come.”
