That was a worry for another day, though. Same as the water, and food, and medical care if one of them got hurt or sick. And hygiene if they no longer had spare water to flush the toilet, or the sewers backed up and they had to find an alternative. And finding some way to wash their clothes once they ran out of clean ones. And how to stay warm if things hadn't gotten back to normal by the time winter rolled around.
Not to mention a dozen other things he probably hadn't thought of.
Difficult as the cleaning and tallying and planning for the future were, Nick almost regretted when they finished up in the midafternoon. All that was really left for the day, at least as far as he knew, was making dinner, making sure the kids took care with cleaning the potty after they used it, then putting them to bed for the night.
Until then, the hours stretched interminably with nothing to do.
Nick almost wished he'd worked slower so there was still something they could keep busy doing. He supposed he could think of more tasks, but lack of sleep and endless worry and stress were catching up with him; at the moment he was happy to just lounge in the den with his kids in a half-doze.
Although others weren't quite as content with the boredom. “Daddy,” Tallie said, poking her head out of the nest of blanket, pillow, and cushions she'd made for herself on the easy chair. “Now that you're out of your office, can you turn on the power so we can watch a movie?”
Nick winced. “I wish I could, sweetie. But that's something the city people have to do, and they're all at home staying safe from Zolos just like we are.” Or dead, he added grimly to himself, although of course he wasn't going to mention that.
She scrunched up her face in a heartbreakingly adorable look of disappointment. “But can't you go do it yourself?”
“Of course he can't . . . he'd have to go outside and catch Zolos, dummy!” Ricky scolded her.
“Be nice,” Nick scolded his son right back. “But your brother is right, sweetie. Also even if I did dare go outside, I'd have no idea how to get the power on again. And the job would probably be too big to do by myself.”
“I'd help you!” Tallie offered.
Her brother slapped his forehead in weary disgust. “Are you even listening to what he's saying?”
The five-year-old disappeared back into her nest in a pout, and the room settled back into silence.
Nick stared at his children, slumped bored and miserable in the other corners of the den. All in all the day hadn't been a complete disaster, and they'd even gotten a lot of important things done. But in spite of that . . .
He was doing everything he could think to do, straining his brain to cover every possibility. And all things considered, he didn't think he was doing all that bad. But some voice in the back of his head kept insisting he was missing something. Something obvious.
Something that could mean life or death for his children.
Then again, back when financial ruin had been his main worry that same nagging voice had made him feel like there was some obvious way to increase his income, some obvious way to cut costs, and everyone else but him had figured it out.
And maybe he'd been right that he was doing something wrong back then, although that hadn't helped him much since his pessimistic insight hadn't offered any solutions to the problem. And maybe he was right that he was missing something vital now.
But unless he could think of it, what else could he do but keep on going as best he could?
Life was never shy about offering problems, but it wasn't so forthcoming with solutions. It left finding those up to clods like him who had no choice but to figure it out if he wanted to survive, always feeling like he was one step behind.
And as long as he was pondering such deep thoughts, when had doom and gloom become his way of alleviating boredom? He'd used to spend quiet moments like this working through code in his head, or focusing on emptying his mind when it was fried from too much thought-intensive work.
“Want to, um, sing Christmas carols?” he asked his kids in an effort to get out of his own head.
Tallie poked her head out of her nest and made a face, while Ricky groaned. “Christmas has been over for months, Dad,” he pointed out.
Nick smiled wryly. “I suppose we could always go to bed early.”
“Let's sing all of them!” his son shouted, shooting to his feet.
Biting back laughter, he led his kids into the first song. It made for a surprisingly cheerful atmosphere, so much so that Tallie and even Ricky remained enthusiastically singing for over half an hour.
Just as they were winding down from a song, his daughter turned to him with a confused expression. “What's a featherwood bee, Dad?”
Nick glanced at her, frowning in puzzlement. “What?”
“A featherwood bee,” she repeated patiently. “What is it, and why do they have birds?”
It took a few seconds for that to click with the Christmas carol they'd just been singing. “No, sweetie,” he said, biting back laughter, “that's snuggled up together like two birds of a feather. It's what birds of a feather do.”
Tallie scowled, obviously not getting it. Then her shoulders slumped as her mind shifted gears. “I wish we could snuggle like birds of a feather.”
His heart ached for his daughter. He wanted nothing more than to hug her tight, but he couldn't. “As soon as I know it's safe we can snuggle for as long as you like, honey.” When she just stared back morosely he stood with a groan. “Why don't we go look at the food we have and think of something to cook for dinner?”
That at least generated some enthusiasm.
Unfortunately, they'd gotten to the point where their food supply was mostly down to the staples, things like rice, flour, beans, spaghetti, and oatmeal that required more preparation than just opening a can. Oatmeal would've been the easiest, but Nick wanted to give his kids something more substantial for dinner. So he read the cooking instructions for the beans and rice, trying to get the timing right to add the rice to the cooking beans so they both finished at the same time. He added salt from his limited stores to make the mixture more palatable, and as a treat opened one of their several remaining cans of tuna to share between the three of them.
After sliding a full plate across the floor to each of his kids, he peeled off the gloves he'd worn while cooking and handling the food and eagerly reached for his own plate.
The beans were still a bit hard, the rice mushy, and with only salt and tuna to improve the taste the meal was probably one of the most bland he'd ever had. All things considered, it was absolutely delicious.
After wolfing his portion down, Nick leaned back against the cabinet near the sink and pulled out his phone, turning it on to see if Ellie had had a chance to call again.
Whether she had or not, he didn't get a chance to find out; the phone was showing no signal.
That was it, then. Power, water, and gas were all out, so it was inevitable that phone service would soon follow. Nick turned off his phone again, fretting. That had been his last connection to Ellie, the last way to get news from her and, if they could arrange it with the camp workers, to get messages to her. Without it, they faced almost three weeks where his ex-wife would have no way of knowing the welfare of her kids.
Another burden, piled on top of all those she already bore in her nightmarish struggle to get home.
To Nick's surprise, along with his worry for Ellie now that his phone was out, the person who most dominated his thoughts was his mom and the family she'd replaced him with.
He'd barely given them a thought since the outbreak began. When he had, when he'd entertained the slightest urge to call them, bitterness from the past had come rushing back to choke the desire. But in spite of that resolve, in the back of his mind he'd always been ready for when his mom finally called. Whether it was with bad news, just to reassure him she was fine, or even if this apocalyptic disaster had made her realize she wanted to reconnect, he'd thought when it really mattered she'd contact him.
So h
e'd held off on contacting her in turn, waiting for her to make the first move.
Now the phones were down and he realized she might never get that chance, and he'd squandered all the opportunities he'd had to do so himself out of stubbornness and resentment. Because of that his last contact with the woman who'd given him life and raised him, albeit with dubious results, might end up being the same sort of impersonal call that had informed him of his dad's death.
“What's wrong, Dad?” Ricky asked, looking up from the meal he was unenthusiastically picking at; he especially didn't seem to like the undercooked beans.
Nick shook his head and tucked his phone away. “The phones aren't working now, either. We'll have to wait until your mom gets out of the quarantine camp and makes it back here to talk to her.”
Tallie set down her plastic spoon, bottom lip trembling. “We can't talk to Mommy?” He shook his head gently, feeling terrible as tears formed in her eyes. “What about the messages she left on your phone?” she pled. “Can we listen to those again?”
He felt a pang as he again shook his head. “We have to have phone service to call the voicemail, too. I'm sorry, sweetie.” As his daughter began to cry, he had to fight the overwhelming urge to gather her up in his arms and comfort her. Instead he bit back a sigh and forced energy into his voice, clapping his hands. “Come on, guys. If you finish your dinners quick enough, we should have time to play a game before bedtime.”
That promise was enough to get the kids eating again, if not exactly enthusiastically. Nick settled back against the wall, watching them. Whatever his regrets about no longer having a phone, he had enough things to worry about with keeping his family alive, safe, and fed until Ellie got back.
He had no idea what they were going to do after that.
Chapter One
Familiar Faces
Hal had gotten somewhere in his sixties on this set of pushups, with no sign of running out of steam, when Cathy finally came to tell them their five days of isolation to be sure they weren't showing any Zolos symptoms were finally over.
Ellie's arms were still aching from her own set; she hadn't gotten anywhere close to sixty, of course, but she was still satisfied with what she'd managed. Good to know that over a week of hardship and deprivation before finding the camp hadn't completely destroyed her muscles.
For the last few days her boyfriend had encouraged them both to spend some of their copious spare time exercising. They had nothing better to do in the cage, after all, and now that they were getting regular big meals that mostly provided their nutritional needs he wanted them in good shape for whatever came after the quarantine camp.
She agreed with that reasoning, of course, although she had to admit a bigger motivation was the chance to see him with his shirt off.
Speaking of which, the moment Hal heard the relief worker calling a greeting from the other side of the privacy screen, he immediately scrambled to pull it back on, cursing under his breath as it clung to his sweaty skin.
Ellie came to his rescue, helping him pull it down across his broad back where he had trouble reaching. “Time to finally get out of here?” she called to Cathy to buy them a few seconds.
“You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!” the relief worker agreed cheerfully. Then there was a slightly awkward pause, as if she realized how that sounded when the two of them were both desperate to get home to their families, and they weren't actually being released from the camp but just getting out of the isolation cell. “Sorry.”
“We get what you meant,” Ellie replied, pulling back the privacy screen. “And believe me, we're both eager for the fresh air and open space of the main camp.”
Cathy made a dubious noise, taking in their flushed, sweaty faces. Her expression was obvious even through her faceplate. “I can come back in a few minutes if I'm interrupting something.”
Ellie felt her face flush further. “Just exercising!” she blurted. The motherly woman arched an eyebrow, and she hastily clarified. “Pushups, at the moment.”
“Oh.” The relief worker glanced past her at the cell, with the cots pushed to the sides to make room for their exercising, and her expression cleared. “That's a good idea. You have no idea how many people in the cells practically get bed sores from just lying around moping while they wait to get out.” She paused thoughtfully. “Or once they get out and they're waiting out the rest of their three weeks in their tent, for that matter.”
That reminded Ellie of her earlier observations that the population of this camp had almost nothing to keep them occupied. Aside from the bare minimum structure for meals, the nightly movies projected onto a big screen at the western end of camp, and the chores residents could volunteer for to earn extra rations and other perks, there was almost no organization in this camp.
She could understand why the relief workers, who already had so much on their plates, wouldn't be all that enthusiastic about instituting even basic exercise programs, or any sort of social activities. Especially since the threat of Zolos forced everyone to remain ten feet apart.
Hard to organize a pick-up game of football or a sewing circle, or even a relaxing evening chatting around a campfire, when you were afraid the people around you might spread a deadly disease.
But the challenge didn't make the need for constructive activities to keep these people occupied any less urgent. Not only did regular exercise and positive socializing have valuable health benefits, but more importantly large numbers of bored people just sitting around for long periods of time almost always led to trouble.
Especially ones harboring deep-seated fears for themselves and their loved ones, and potentially resentment at the world or the government or anyone or anything else they wanted to blame for this Zolos crisis. Including the relief workers and camp guards, if they were being particularly unreasonable.
That was a recipe for crime, civil unrest, or in the worst case even riots and this quarantine camp being ripped apart in the chaos.
Ellie was confident her own skills could be useful for improving conditions here, but she thought it would be wise to get settled in their assigned tent and spend some time assessing the situation before she sought out Cathy or, more ideally, whoever was in charge so she could share her recommendations.
Besides, she wanted to flesh out her thoughts more thoroughly with Hal and get his input.
Cathy unlocked their cage as they hurriedly gathered their few possessions, which all easily fit into the duffel bags they'd been given. Currently each held a blanket, the coveralls they'd been issued that they'd gladly changed out of as soon as their own clothes were washed and returned, a few toiletry items, and all the nonperishable food they'd saved up from their meals.
Most of that was things like soda, bags of chips, candy bars, bags of mixed nuts, and occasionally packets of crackers or oat cakes. When they were lucky, the fresh fruit or vegetables the relief workers tried to include with every meal were replaced by pouches of applesauce, juice boxes, or dried fruit that could also be saved.
Once she had her duffel slung on her shoulder Ellie bid a brief goodbye to the cell. Uncomfortable and confining as it had been, it had marked the beginning of her relationship with Hal, and some good memories of the time they'd spent getting closer to each other.
An idle part of her wondered if, assuming the world ever got back to normal, something like this might be picked up as a fad for couples looking to bond. The Isolation Cell Experience or something.
Snorting, she dismissed the silly thought and started for the door, Hal pausing to let her go first.
But once there, she saw Cathy still blocking the entrance, an apologetic look on her face. “Much as I appreciate you caring for yourselves in the cell by exercising, might I remind you that you're about to enter a general population of thousands of people, and one of the first symptoms of Zolos is excessive sweating?”
For an alarmed moment Ellie thought the woman was suggesting they had the virus after all. Then she realized w
ith chagrin what the problem was: two people fresh out of the isolation cells, looking as if they were sweating buckets?
That wouldn't just lead to misunderstandings, it might start an actual panic.
Hal was already mopping at his face with his sleeve, grinning ruefully. “Thanks for the tip.”
Ellie nodded, also wiping at her face with her sleeve. Once they'd judged they wouldn't send their fellow camp residents running for the hills, they followed the woman out of the cell.
Not far away another relief worker in a hazmat suit, toting a large spray container and a bag of other cleaning items, waited for them to be clear then headed inside to get to work decontaminating the cell from top to bottom. The enclosure had been designed to be easy to clean, with the walls, ceiling, and floor covered in plastic and the cots made of waterproof materials.
As Ellie had become very aware of when trying to sleep on one of the hard, uncomfortable things.
Cathy led them out of the isolation cells and through a checkpoint into the camp at large. As they walked she pointed out various items of interest like the latrines, the various tents were food was prepared, laundry was washed, and other necessary chores completed by residents for extra food or other perks.
Work they could volunteer for themselves if they wanted.
She also explained how the camp, which just looked like seemingly endless rows of tents with a few carefully separated areas for other purposes, was split up in sectors. “You'll be in Sector F,” she said cheerfully, waving at the rows of clean white tents on the southwest end of the camp as she headed that way. “A newer addition to the camp, to deal with the added inflow.”
“That's good news, right?” Hal said. “That you've successfully kept the camp free of Zolos, I mean. So people aren't getting sick and freeing up tents.”
Cathy grimaced. “For the most part. But I can assure you our system for containing outbreaks is solid as a rock. We've successfully stopped the handful that've happened since we set up, without a single new case of infection.”
Isolation (Book 2): Going Out Page 3
