Sealed In

by Druga, Jacqueline

  The phone nearly dropped from Emma’s hand. “Oh, sweetie. Oh, God, we’ll get you help.”

  “Honey,” Stew said. “I’m on my way.”

  Del added. “Me, too.”

  “Hurry,” Heather cried. “Please. Mommy, Pap, I love you.”

  “I love you, baby,” Emma said.

  “Tell my baby I love her.”

  “She loves you.” Emma tried to be strong.

  “I’m on my way,” Stew repeated. “Hang tight.”

  The call ended.

  Emma immediately dropped her head to the phone and wept.

  “Now we know why we haven’t heard from her,” Stew said.

  Emma took a breath. “Ok, how do we do this? Larry has the town shut down.”

  “You and me,” Stew said. “Don’t do anything. Me and him …” He pointed to Del. “will.”

  “No.” Emma shook her head. “I’m going.”

  “No, you aren’t.” Stew stepped forward, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders. “Did you look at Heather? Something is wrong.”

  “I know. That’s why I am going. She’s my daughter.”

  “And he is your son.” Stew pointed to Richie. “And you have Cody here. What if Hartworth is shut down because everyone has what Heather has? What if the shutdown is real?”

  “Tanya thinks so,” Del added. “She believes the town is sick.”

  Stew nodded. “Then there you have it. I’ll go and figure a way to get her out. At the very least she’ll have someone there with her. If the town is sick, then I don’t care if I get exposed. I care if you do.” Stew kissed Emma on the forehead. “Del will be my diversion so I can sneak in. I think I know where Larry will have weak points. Ready?” he asked Del.

  Del nodded. “I’ll call you, Emma, as soon as your dad gets in.” He walked to the door.

  Stew stepped back. “Stay put, Emma. I mean it. Andy, don’t let her do anything stupid.”

  Andy held up his hand. “I … I promise.”

  Stew, with a solemn look, closed his mouth tightly and walked out of the house.

  The moment the door closed, Emma turned to Andy. “My daughter.” Andy wrapped his arms around her, and she sunk into his arms.

  Richie kept looking on his phone, telling Emma nothing was on the news or on the internet, that Heather would be fine, it couldn’t be that bad if it wasn’t on the news. But Emma didn’t believe that, not for one second. She had never seen an illness like the one that ravaged Heather. It scared her. The thought that the sickness was so bad that they didn’t just want it out of Hartworth, they didn’t want to make news of it out, scared her even more.

  FLASH FORWARD

  Ground Zero – 7

  December 23rd

  Hartworth, Montana

  December 17th, 10:05 p.m. – It is worse than I had feared. The radius of exposure goes further and, I believe, encompasses the whole town. The further away from ground zero, the less exposure, the more time for symptoms. Thankfully, the amount of germ released wasn’t enough to filter into a neighboring town. After eight hours, it dissipated. We have taken all that we could into the fire hall. Volunteers are now falling ill, but still strong enough to help. Anyone else infected has been turned away and remain in their homes. Many have gone to the borders and were turned away. Seeking help at a nearby hospital. Fools. Do they not know the death sentence they could deliver? Are they that selfish that they don’t care who they infect? They need only to look around them. While I understand they are concerned for themselves, at this late point, they need to concern themselves with humanity. Mankind’s survival, for their survival is lost. By tomorrow at this time, no one will be well enough to help out or seek help.. It is my guess that the wave of death will begin in twenty-four hours. There will be some that will not succumb, but they will not be the same. Not only will they be physically scarred, but hunted down by anyone who finds this town in the days following its demise. I am still in debate as to what should be done with that fraction.

  Edward shook his head. ‘Well, the bodies with bullet holes tells us what he did with that fraction.”

  “It wasn’t an execution,” Harold said. “I think these people were shot in their homes or on the street and brought to that garage. Eighty-three, to be exact. Maybe they planned on burning the garage.”

  “Maybe,” Edward said. “We’ve accounted for three hundred people so far. Still a lot more to go.”

  “Impossible task to handle until we get help. There’s only four of us.”

  Edward looked at his watch. “The first wave should be landing in Billings now. They’ll be here soon.” His head jolted at the sound of the phone, and he leaned to retrieve it. “Yes.”

  He listened and shifted his eyes to Harold.

  “That’s not possible,” Edward said. “Are we sure? I’ll wait. Thank you.” He hung up.

  “What is it?” Harold asked.

  “They think they know what it is. That was the main lab. They are checking again, but they are ninety percent sure they identified it.”

  “How can they identify something like this?” Harold asked. “We’ve been doing this a long time, and I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Yes, we have, if you think about it.” Edward turned and brought the image of the virus onto the screen. “Look at it. It makes sense.”

  “Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harold said. “It’s a mutation. Maybe two viruses mutated together.”

  “You’re right,” Edward told him.

  “I’m right? We’ve been saying since we looked at it that it was a mutation of two viruses.”

  “But it’s not a natural mutation, it is a deliberate combination of two viruses.”

  “I’m … I’m sorry?” Harold said, stunned and a little lost.

  Edward pointed to the virus structure as he explained. “We have been at this a long time, but we didn’t recognize it because we aren’t old enough. It’s a Cold War creation, one we thought was a myth. One never really proven other than on paper and in reports.”

  “Oh my God.” Harold stumbled back. “I see it. I see the two. Holy shit. That isn’t the tail sequence to any hemorrhagic fever. That’s Ebola.”

  “And that …” Edward indicated, “. . .is smallpox. This is what Ebolapox looks like under the microscope. Out there is what it looks like when it hits.”

  “Jesus Christ. The communicability rate and infectious level of smallpox combined with the lethality and brutality of Ebola.” He swiped his hand down his face.

  “Yeah, well, they need only to look at this town to see someone didn’t just create a damn deadly virus,” Edward said. “They created man’s extinction nightmare.”

  Chapter Nine

  Hartworth, Montana

  December 17th

  Vivian knew it wasn’t just a bad cold or a case of the flu when she peered into the toilet bowl and saw the remnants of her regurgitation. It was black, thick, foul smelling and didn’t even resemble vomit. It looked more like tar. The vomiting hit her like nothing she had never experienced. Unlike any stomach bug or case of food poisoning, this wasn’t a wave of extreme nausea. There was a slight twist that happened in her gut and, involuntarily, the substance made its way up her esophagus before she even realized it was happening.

  She had no control. It shot out of her mouth and through her fingertips before she even made it to the bathroom. No holding it back.

  Perhaps her body did give signs that it was happening, but she was far too weak to know it.

  Vivian told Doc that she’d head to the fire hall for treatment in the makeshift hospital. But she grew weaker, and then the vomiting started. She didn’t make it. She feared her children would come down with whatever she had.

  Weakened, she sat on the floor by the commode, unable to stand, not only staring at what came from her mouth, but sitting in a puddle of diarrhea that flowed from her. She couldn’t move; her arms ached and burned. A black patch started on her hands and forearm
s. Vivian couldn’t even manage to go back to bed.

  She tried to call for help, but no one came. No one showed up, not her husband or her children.

  All she could do was stay there, struggling not to vomit and crying in between each straining gag.

  <><><><>

  About three quarters of a mile away, just past the road to Bailey’s Ranch, Stew had Del pull over so he could get a look.

  Sure enough, like he suspected, the road block was just outside of town. The sheriff’s car and a pickup truck were parked sideways on the road.

  “Ok, pull back on the road.” Stew put down the binoculars. “I’m getting out here and cutting across the Doyle property. There’s a road that leads into town. Keep your phone on; I’ll be listening. If they let you in through the barricade, I wanna hear, and I’ll meet you at Doc Paltrov’s place.”

  Del nodded. “I understand. They aren’t gonna let me through.”

  “Probably not. Keep the phone on,” Stew instructed. “Keep them talking so they don’t see me. The property starts to run perpendicular to where the roadblock is. I need you to be a diversion.”

  “Got it.”

  “Go to the RV, meet that boy. You sent that text, right?”

  “I did. I’ll meet him there, then I’ll call my manager once I’m safe and get word out.”

  “That’s the plan.” Stew opened the truck door. “Good luck.”

  “Get my daughter, Stew.”

  “I don’t know what will happen, but I will do my damndest to get to her and, hopefully, get her home.”

  Another nod from Del, and Stew stepped out of the truck.

  He quietly shut the door and hurried off the side of the road onto the Doyle property. He checked the phone; his call to Del was still connected. He kept it to his ear as he walked, wanting to hear everything that went on. But that didn’t last long; merely a few feet into his journey, the shifting of a shotgun chamber caught Stew’s attention. As he lifted his hands, his thumb accidently pressed the ‘end’ button.

  “Where you headed, Stew?” Doyle stood there.

  “Look, Doyle …” Stew lowered his hands. “I’m not here to cause harm. I’m heading into town.”

  “I can’t let you do that. I promised the sheriff I’d keep an eye out.”

  “I understand and appreciate that. I also know that you’ve been told that people are sick outside of Hartworth. That’s not true. I promise you with everything I am, I am not sick. I’m a man of my word, Doyle, you know that.”

  “I do,” Doyle nodded. “And Stew, you have a family, that’s why I can’t let you go into town. It’s bad, Stew. Some sort of flu got a grip on things. It’s bad. I seen it.”

  “I did, too.” Stew said. “When my granddaughter called using the video phone. She’s sick. She’s really sick. Like I have never seen. She’s alone in there, Doyle, I have to get to her.”

  “It’s bad, Stew,” Doyle reiterated.

  “I don’t care if I don’t ever leave, but I have to get to her. I have to.”

  Finally Doyle lowered his gun, and with a wave of his weapon, he summoned Stew to follow. “Let’s go.”

  “Where to?”

  “Too long of a walk. I’ll drive you. My truck’s over there.”

  “Thank you. Thank you very much.” As Stew followed, he looked down at his phone; the call was disconnected. He wasn’t worried too much about it, he made it. He was certain Del would be just fine.

  <><><><>

  “Mr. Del Ray Lewis, ain’t that what you call yourself now, Mr. Rock Star?” Larry stepped around his sheriff’s car. “Hands in the air. What do you got?”

  “Just my phone.” Del lifted his hands. “I need to get into town.”

  “No can do. Guess you haven’t watched the news. There’s a sickness going on, and I shut my town down to keep it safe.”

  “Sheriff, I saw the news, there’s no sickness.” Del kept his distance. “I also talked to my daughter. She’s in there. She’s sick. I need to get to her.”

  “Very nice of you to show some concern for your child. But I can’t let you in. Turn around. Come back in a couple days.”

  Del laughed. “Seriously? You can’t do this. State Police ….”

  “Have already said do what I need to do.” Larry smiled.

  “Yeah, well, my gut is saying that I am gonna do what I need to do,” Del said as he took a step back toward his truck. “Something is happening in that town. Something bad that you don’t want anyone to know about it. What did you call me? Mr. Rock Star? Check this out, Sheriff. You need help shutting down this town. One call …” Del showed his phone. “This rock star is letting the news break.”

  Larry raised his weapon. “You can’t do that, Del. Give it a day.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Del, I am telling you not to get in the truck. To stop right now.”

  Del reached for the truck door.

  “Del, last warning stop or I’ll shoot.”

  Del laughed as he turned and faced Larry. “Shoot? Seriously? What the hell are you trying to keep in there? What did you do? Unreal.” Del shook his head and reached out for his driver’s door. “You aren’t shooting me.”

  Bang.

  Larry didn’t want to shoot Del; it was the last thing he wanted to do. He could still see Del take that shot, square in the belly, and fly back into the truck. It made him sick to think of what he did, but he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t.

  One call, one post on the internet, and it was over. Authorities would flock into town. Unable to save the day, they’d know right away it was a biological weapon. With Larry unaffected, he’d go down. Larry worked too hard his whole life to be the good guy to spend the rest of his days in prison for killing a town. Keeping it quiet meant also keeping the bug in the town.

  One man’s life was an even trade. In a couple days time it wouldn’t matter. The bug would have run its course and Larry would be long gone.

  He drove Del’s truck into town with Del in the back. He was still alive; Larry heard him moan, but he knew he wouldn’t be alive for long.

  “You shot him, Sheriff. You shot him,” Bret, the local man on the road block, said.

  “I know. I know.” Larry took a moment to think. “I’ll take him into town for help. He’s not bleeding that bad. Doc’s there.”

  Larry drove off. He had no intention of seeking help for Del. None whatsoever. But he had to do something with him, he couldn’t leave him on the side of the road, nor could he let it get out that he shot the big superstar Del Ray Lewis.

  A few days, two tops, Larry figured, was all he needed to keep the Del shooting a secret. The town was wrapped up in the sickness. Already a quarter of the people were ill. Folks were consumed with staying inside, safe and observing the quarantine. No one should notice, and no one did.

  Larry pulled the pickup to the back of the police station. Del wasn’t a big man, and Larry was strong enough to carry him alone.

  He brought him in the back door then immediately down to the basement where the holding cells were located. With a whispered apology, he set Del inside a cell, then shut and locked the door.

  No one would know, no one would look, and after checking out Del’s lifeless body one more time, Larry went about his business. He would do what he needed to do to keep everything quiet and to keep the sickness from getting out of Hartworth.

  Del was proof of that.

  <><><><>

  Val and his band of merry door knockers weren’t even halfway through the town, and already he had changed the plan from telling people to come to the fire hall to telling them to stay in their homes.

  He promised help to those who reported sickness. For appearances Val wrote down their names and house numbers knowing full well he’d never be back. He couldn’t.

  He was optimistic in believing that the fire hall would hold enough.

  A simple sign on the door made it a makeshift clinic, but it was nothing more than a mere waiting bay of death.
<
br />   There were volunteers to give aspirin and morphine and wipe faces, but those who stayed at home at least suffered in privacy.

  There was no privacy, no dignity at the fire hall. People vomited everywhere. The moans overcame the echoing hall like a bad music system playing over an intercom.

  It looked and smelled of sheer death.

  How many times did Val say, “This is just the worst before it gets better. You’ll be fine, in a couple days you’ll forget about how sick you feel. It’ll be fine.”

  Val knew better. Already, their eyes were darkening, skin had turned gray, and many were already scratching themselves until they bled.

  He was tired and worried about his son. He hadn’t been home in two hours, and it was time to return.

  Eighteen people volunteered to help, and Val could hear them sniffle and cough.

  It wouldn’t be long before they left, and those who remained, those who suffered on blankets and cots, vomiting into plastic grocery store bags, would be alone.

  Something needed to be done.

  Val would think about that, but until he came up with a solution to the people in the fire hall, he had to check on his son and Heather.

  Exhausted, Val stepped from the fire hall, walking by the long line of people.

  “Doctor, I’m sick,”

  “Help me.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Val kept walking; he couldn’t look at any of them. He kept his eyes straight ahead. Had he not, he wouldn’t have seen Stew Burton in the passenger seat of Doyle’s truck.

  Stew was in town. Val’s heart dropped. He knew where Stew was headed, and Val picked up his pace.

  <><><><>

  “Heather!” Stew called out as he entered Val’s home. It wasn’t easy; the doors were locked and Stew ended up breaking the glass to get inside.

  He immediately headed to the staircase that led to the home upstairs.

  “Heather.” He charged to the second floor. No one was in the living room, and no one answered his call. There was a hall that Stew could only assume led to the bedroom. Still calling he looked in the first room. Empty. At the second door, mid-call, Stew stopped. There were twin beds in that room and clearly someone lay on one of them. Stew walked to the first bed. “Heather,” he whispered and pulled down the covers some.