“They must not know, or they think it was destroyed,” Edward suggested. “Who in the hell would allow humanity to get devastated by a virus if they could stop it?”
“Maybe they can’t,” Lange suggested. “Maybe the only one who could shot himself in the head.”
Edward grumbled.
“Ed, we have to start working on this stat, you know it. If there was a higher level than level four, this would be it. This is a lockdown project.”
“I know.”
“Probability is high, Ed, that these cases in Billings are EPV-71.”
“I know they are, especially after seeing those concert tickets,” Edward said. “I knew we’d get reports after that bulletin, but I didn’t expect it so fast.”
“The reports were in before the bulletin, they were just in queue with every other health incident that gets reported. They weren’t flagged until we looked.”
Edward sighed. “I’m wrapped up in this town. How many now?”
“Ninety-one cases, thirty deaths in Billings. Numbers are gonna grow. That’s not including the five in Seattle.”
“So all the trouble this guy went through to seal this town was in vain. We could have been brought in days ago.”
“Yep,” Lange replied. “But could we have stopped it?”
“I don’t know if anything can stop this. I don’t even want to think about three days from now.”
“I already have Walker on this. Hopefully, he’ll crack it soon.”
Edward nodded, not as if Lange could see him. He then noticed someone waving to the camera. He turned up the volume.
“Dr. Neil!” The worker called through his suit. “You have to see this. We are locking it on now.”
“Be right out,” Edward said, then turned his attention back to the phone. “Bill, I have to call you back. They found something.”
He ended the call and looked at the computer one more time. He watched crew workers carrying a long tube, a large flexible tube, not easily maneuvered. It was a safe way, a walkway from one safe area to the next.
Edward suited up and left the lab. The safe way was already sealed to a CDC mobile truck, sealed to the airtight compartment. The other end of the tubing was closed tight until it was locked in or latched to its destination.
The truck was parked outside of the police station.
When Edward arrived, the crews already had the tubing inside and down the basement door. He couldn’t get through.
“What’s going on?” Edward asked.
“We were combing,” a worker said. “We went downstairs to the holding area and noticed a door was shut to the holding cells. When we looked through, we saw a survivor. Not sick. We didn’t want to chance opening that door in case it kept out the germ. We’re almost hooked up. We have someone suited up down there.”
“Walk them through to the truck?” Edward asked.
“Yes, sir. Getting the bubble ready. He’ll walk right into that.”
“Good. Good,” Edward said with a swat to the worker’s back. “He or she survived this long, let’s keep them safe as possible. Better yet, maybe they’re immune.”
The prospect of a survivor in the dead town renewed Edward’s hope. If the individual was immune, then others would be, too, and the odds of defeating EBV-71 grew.
He headed from the police station to the truck and waited inside.
The survivor would walk straight up the ramp, through the tube, into a plastic cage, a protective bubble with its own air supply.
Edward anxiously awaited the survivor.
<><><><>
“‘Patient seems to be in fair condition,” Edward noted in his computer, notes that he would send directly to the CDC. “He is slightly lethargic and fades in and out of a conscious state. He exhibits signs of confusion. This is attributed to hypothermia and dehydration. He shows no outward sign of the virus but does have an insignificant flesh wound on the lumbar region. Patient claims it is a gunshot wound and a safety/survival belt prohibited the penetration of the bullet. It is noted that Doctor Monroe did find a large belt in the holding cell. It is difficult to fully assess the patient because of protective surroundings. Patient claims he tended to the wound and has been in the holding area of the police station for six days. He has eaten, but states it became difficult to swallow once his water supply had finished. Observation and testing is recommended.”
Edward finished his notes, hit send, and stood. He turned to the protective bubble. The man inside sat against the wall, his knees brought close. “Mr. Lewiskowski.”
He lifted his head. “Del. Just … call me Del.”
“Del. This is where I’ll leave you for now. I apologize for the protective room, but it’s needed. We don’t know if you were exposed to or were shielded from the virus. However, we are transporting you now. Give us a few hours and I promise to make you more comfortable.”
“Where am I going?”
“Atlanta, to our facility there. It is best.”
Del’s head lifted. “Atlanta? I’m not sick. Just … just been in that cell too long.”
“Yes, well, you happened to also be the only person left alive in Hartworth.”
Immediately, Del’s head dropped to his knees and his arms wrapped around his legs. He released a quiet sob.
“Are you all right?” Edward asked.
“My daughter was here in this town.”
Edward felt his breath leave him. As a father, he could relate to what Del felt. “I am very sorry. So you’re from here?”
Del shook his head. “No. I was on my way to find her. That’s when they got me. At the roadblock. I’m from Lincoln.”
“I see.”
“Is Lincoln okay?” Del asked.
Edward lifted his hands. “I honestly cannot tell you because I don’t know. I will soon, though. That’s where I’m headed.”
“Is there any way you can get word to me?” Del asked. “My son is there. My granddaughter.”
“I’ll get word.” Edward watched Del lean back and close his eyes in exhaustion and sadness. He excused himself, wished Del luck, and left the trailer. He’d more than likely see Del again when he returned to Atlanta. However, first Edward had a stop to make.
Lincoln, Montana was next on his list.
<><><><>
The home in Hartworth that placed that final call was empty. That’s what Edward was told as he and Harold made their way to Lincoln. It was forty miles north; they were hopeful, but not for long.
Edward knew as soon as they passed the ‘Lincoln Five Miles’ sign. The roads were snow-covered and untouched. Not a single tire track. As they rolled into town that late afternoon, it was a repeat of the nightmare in Hartworth.
Only there was no roadblock with a dead man holding a gun. There was nothing. No lights. No automatic Christmas music chiming in the silence. In fact, the town had no indication of Christmas at all. Nothing. It was snow-covered, dark, and dismal.
It was a two-block, one-stoplight town, and they barely made it down the first block when Harold hit the brakes.
Edward was too busy looking around to notice. However, Harold did.
At the end of the second block, a man stood by a large truck.
“What the hell?” Edward asked, then opened the car door. He checked his suit connections and stepped out.
Harold joined him.
The man walked further away from the truck and more into view in the center of the street, and as Edward and Harold neared him, he dropped to his knees and his head hung forward. It looked as if he collapsed in emotional exhaustion more than anything else, but Edward couldn’t be sure.
He and Harold raced his way. When he arrived, he expected the man to lift his head and show how sick he was. But when Edward called out, “I’m Dr. Edward Neil from the Centers for Disease Control. Are you okay?” the man shook his head and looked up.
Edward gasped.
He wasn’t sick. Not at all.
“Are you ill?” Harold asked.
>
He shook his head again and brought his hand to his face. The man then began to cry. Was it out of relief, sadness, and exhaustion, or all of the above?
Edward asked. “What happened here? Where is everyone?”
The man, without looking, only pointed to the truck.
Edward walked to the large construction dump truck. As he approached, he saw another truck around the corner. He could only assume that truck was the same as the one before him.
The entire back portion as filled with bodies. Edward only needed to look at one victim, just one, to know what killed them.
“It’s ours,” Harold said.
Edward returned to the man. “Everyone?”
He nodded.
“Everyone in town?”
Another nod.
“You handled these bodies, you were around during all of this, and you aren’t sick?”
“No,” he finally spoke.
“Were you ever?”
He shook his head.
After a deep breath, Edward extended his hand to the man. “I need you to come with us. Okay? You’ll have to come with us.”
Slowly the man stood.
“What is your name?”
“An … Andy.”
“Andrew Jenkins?”
Andy gave a surprised look to Edward.
Repeating, “Come with us,” Edward led him toward their SUV.
Andy Jenkins was not sick. Unlike Del, he was out in the open and dealt with the ill and bodies yet did not succumb at all. Why?
Edward immediately put faith in Andy Jenkins, the lone survivor of Lincoln, Montana. Faith that Andy held answers Edward needed. He wasn’t ill; somewhere in his body could be a clue to defeating the deadliest thing Edward ever witnessed. Not only that, but Andy was also the last person to talk to anyone in Hartworth.
Andy Jenkins received that last call.
Chapter Thirteen
Atlanta, GA
December 23rd
“See ya next year,” Dr. Chad Walker cheerfully told his wife as he placed the remaining items into his duffle bag and case.
His wife of eighteen years grumbled, lifted her bourbon glass, and said, “Whatever.”
“I’ll call when I can,” Chad said, grabbing his things.
“If I don’t answer, I may be having multiple affairs.”
“I’m sure you will. Enjoy.” Smugly, Chad walked out. Where others would hate the thought of where he was going, Chad looked forward to it. Any time away from Belinda was a vacation.
A car was waiting for him outside. Chad was tall and lanky with a small drinker’s gut. He gave the driver his bags and got inside. While he wasn’t pompous, he spoke as if he was. Educated and brilliant, he had almost an aristocratic dialect.
The driver got in the car. “Shouldn’t take long to get there. Rush hour traffic is light today for some odd reason.”
“It may get lighter.”
“I’m sorry?”
Chad shook his head. “Bad humor. Can we swing by a liquor store, please?”
“Sure thing.”
Not that there wouldn’t be an ample supply of adult beverages, but Chad wanted to make sure he had his own. It was going to be a long stay.
If anyone could be labeled beyond super intelligent, it was Chad. The CDC knew it, which was why they paid him the big bucks and, more so, why they called him in.
Chad was always years beyond the others when he was growing up, but his parents refused to move him ahead; so Chad tromped the others in intelligence, and then made money off of it by selling answers to homework and doing essays.
When he was fourteen, his school bus passed a dog hit by a car. The female dog was pregnant, and Chad pulled out his pocketknife and did an emergency caesarean on the dog right there on the side of the road, while his classmates watched. He saved two of the puppies, but unfortunately, authorities didn’t see his heroics; he spent six months in a juvenile delinquent center for animal mutilation. It didn’t hurt him; Chad was so likable he defeated the odds inside the center.
He wasn’t a target, so he wasn’t beat up. When threatened, he outsmarted and learned how to deal with all kinds of people.
Those skills helped him, and they would help him in his next endeavor.
It wasn’t the first time Chad was going into what he like to call the ‘Doomsday’ lab, a biological protection facility that ran on an old fashion color-coded level system. Aside from security, maintenance, and food workers, the staff was four men and four women. A couple of doctors, nurses, scientists such as Chad, and, of course, the subjects who donated their blood and time for the cause.
In the event of a biological incident or pandemic threat, those in the facility would live there under lockdown, work on the virus, attempt to find a possible cure or solution until the threat was over and the level dropped to yellow, or the designated ‘burnout’ time frame of 160 days had passed, and then the facility would be unlocked. Until then, there was no way out.
Only a couple of times in his career had it gotten to a level red, but the longest Chad was sealed in was thirty-three days. He didn’t suspect that would be the case with the current bug.
It went from green to yellow to orange in eight hours.
Eight hours. From the arrival time at Hartworth to the lift off of the survivors, eight hours had passed. In a matter of days, four states had been affected, and Chad expected more.
His job wasn’t only to beat it, stop it, but find out how it got that far that fast. If it moved in a few days to that many areas, it was only a matter of weeks before it went global.
To say it hadn’t left the West Coast, although nothing was confirmed on the East Coast or anywhere else for that matter, was insane. It hadn’t been that long; Chad was certain it was out.
Level red or code red wasn’t days away, but hours.
He just hoped that Edward Neil was moved to the facility before it automatically shut down.
Ed was fun to work with.
There were a few things arriving from Montana: two survivors, the journal, and ‘live’ samples. Chad wanted to be at ‘Doomsday’ before they arrived, be there and set up, but he only had a short period of time before that happened.
During the car ride to the liquor store and then the facility, Chad reviewed his notes and pictures again about the virus on his computer pad.
Ebolapox, as they called it, was baffling and sickening. Someone created it, yet he didn’t think anyone would step forward. He hoped they would.
During any of the times in lockdown, never was it a question of what it meant if time ran out.
The burnout time didn’t just mean the threat of the virus burned out, it meant humanity did, too. So many people lost their lives that there weren’t enough hosts left to carry it. In that situation, society surely was done. Life outside the facility would have changed, and not for the better.
Chad never really gave much thought to that scenario, because he never really saw that as an option. A cure would be found, or the virus would lose power.
However, the current one worried Chad. Ebolapox very well could be unbeatable. It moved too fast and spread too widely for it to be trapped, caught, and cured before too much damage was done. It was like being in a Dodge in a race against a Ferrari. That’s how Chad felt, and it was the first time ever that he honestly saw the burnout as a real possibility.
<><><><>
Hartworth, Montana
Edward was just about to rub his eyes, but he stopped. He resisted because he didn’t want to take a chance that even something miniscule would make it through the mucus membrane of the eyes.
It was pushing evening, and they sat in a makeshift meeting room two miles outside of Hartworth in a CDC mobile.
“Where are we?” Edward asked.
Goldman spoke first. “Bodies are being gathered. Be done tomorrow. Town is scheduled for demolition day after Christmas. Preliminary autopsy and testing are done on the doctor and sheriff. Both had the same immunities t
o the virus. Interestingly enough, not only did both of them have the standard smallpox vaccine scar, they both had an inoculation site which looked similar to the smallpox scar, only dark.”
Edward lifted his head. “So it’s pretty much confirmed there was an inoculation. But why the sheriff? Were they able to determine how long ago he was inoculated?”
Goldman shook his head. “Not exactly, but it wasn’t recent. It was before the release.”
“Martha,” Edward said. “Numbers.”
“Not good. Billings alone has over two hundred confirmed cases; death total has also increased. Reported cases in Washington, Iowa, North Dakota, California, and Nevada. Interestingly enough, we haven’t found a single person that went to that concert.”
“That’s because the ones exposed at the concert are dead,” Edward said. “Air samples.”
“You’ll like this,” Martha replied with a hint of sarcasm. “There is a small concentration of the virus in 80% of the bio air samples taken in town. In Lincoln, the virus shows up in five out of every ten. Billings, even outside of the concert area, we are getting four out of ten. The good news is that in Lincoln, the virus in the samples is dead. So it died out shortly after the people.”
“Billings?”
“Alive,” Martha replied. “Because people are still sick there. It is not a safe area.”
“Christ.” Edward exhaled. “Hartworth.”
“Alive.”
“How can that be?” Edward asked. “Everyone is dead.”
“Because it’s still leaking from somewhere. It is the highest concentration out of all locations. In addition, the doctor’s house is a hot zone. Alive and thriving.”
“So it’s there,” Edward pointed. “We have to find it before we bulldoze this town. We don’t need the weapon buried for a future generation to find and open this Pandora’s Box all over again.”
“We’re on it.”
Edward looked over to Harold. “You’re being quiet. What’s up?”
Sealed In Page 13
