Mick was going to argue, but he didn’t. He merely caught a quick smile from Dylan, returned one, and walked out. She was wrong. Normally, if he were checking on things, yes, he’d be out until dawn. But nothing was happening in Lodi. Nothing. And that was one of the reasons everything was so heavy on Mick’s mind.
* * *
Los Angeles, CA
Agent Jeff Bloom prided himself on being a strong man. Darrell Harding did, as well. But the world was crumbling around them: Rioting in the streets, gunfire and explosions ringing out loudly, carrying into their hotel room at a steady rate. Neither one of them ever thought for a second that they would succumb to what pulled down the rest of the world: Fear.
It made them think. It made them reevaluate their destinies. Hours upon hours were spent reexamining their lives through conversation. Things they did; hadn’t done; loved ones gone; chances missed.
There was a first time for everything, and Jeff and Darrell had arrived at that moment. They were facing the fact that in a mere few days, they could be facing their deaths.
Though it was something Jeff had occasionally thought about, it wasn’t a position he ever expected himself to be in, but these were extenuating circumstances. Distraction was what he needed right then. Perhaps these circumstances were the reason that Jeff didn’t mind the position at all. In fact, against everything he had ever believed, he actually enjoyed it.
The warm sensation of his own heavy breaths washed over his face, which was pressed into the mattress. His knees dug into the semi-soft surface. His chest was close to the bed, his back angled upward. His left arm grabbed the sheet at the edge of the bed while his right hand delivered self-satisfying pulls that matched the rhythm of the thrusts powered into him by Darrell.
Jeff justified to himself that it was the thought of death that allowed him to enjoy it so much. And with that justification, he let himself go.
Each successive dig of Darrell’s fingers into his hips sent Jeff further and further over the edge. His legs felt tense. He tried to hold back by releasing his own grip, but he found his hand returning to its task, wanting to achieve that moment with a frenzied desire that he had never felt before.
The frantic slap of Darrell’s body against his told Jeff that Darrell was close as well. Each thrust created tremors that shot through Jeff. And that tiny, pre-orgasmic moan that Darrell released was all it took. Jeff was gone.
A chain reaction ensued.
Darrell was pushed over the edge too when he felt Jeff tremble violently and shout out his release. With a sharply arched back, he slammed into Jeff, and with a powerful groan achieved the liberation of his ecstasy as well.
In what Jeff believed to be the single most erotic moment of his life, his body shuddered one more time, and, slowly pulling away from Darrell, he fell to the bed.
Four deep gasps escaped Darrell as he dropped from his knees to a sitting position. His shoulders lifted and fell with the exertion and a trickle of sweat ran down the bridge of his nose. He caught the bead of moisture with a downward swipe of his hand as he looked at Jeff laying stomach down, naked rear end fully exposed.
There was total silence, too much silence for Darrell’s comfort. So, to avoid any awkward, embarrassing moments after the experience they’d just shared, Darrell stood up and opted for a shower.
Three things were produced by the shower Darrell took. A total body cleansing, a second release of pent-up sexual urges he thought he had completely purged, and the realization that they really had to open a window for fresh air.
He enjoyed the crisp, fresh scent of soap that stayed with him until he stepped back into the room and the aroma of their hibernation slapped him in the face. The room reeked of food gone bad. He couldn’t determine if that cheesy smell was the open bag of Doritos or all the dirty socks lying around. There was a hint of beer in the air, although Darrell supposed it would be more predominant had Jeff not been farting constantly.
Wrinkling his nose, Darrell shook his head. “Man, it stinks in here.”
“Tell me about it.” Jeff lay on the bed fully dressed as if he had somewhere to go.
“Should I open the balcony doors?” Darrell asked, moving to that side of the room.
“No way. I don’t want any of that air from outside in here.”
“But don’t you think fresh air might help?” Darrell asked.
“Are we sick?”
“No,” Darrell said.
“Is everyone else sick?”
Darrell nodded. “Pretty much.”
“Then that’s why. We aren’t breathing their air. And after seeing that military truck with all those bodies, no. No way. Not me. We’ll bide our time until the quarantine is lifted.”
“Maybe it is.” Darrell parted the drapes to look out into the darkness. “It’s kind of quieted down out there. Oh, hey, did you see? They burned the bank across the street.”
“Where you been? Happened yesterday.” Jeff lifted the remote and aimed it at the television. “And the quarantine isn’t lifted yet. It hasn’t been three weeks.”
“How are we gonna know?”
Jeff shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll know. That’s if the TV doesn’t go. We’re down to three stations now, all news.”
“So, you didn’t tell me. We got...distracted,” Darrell said, clearing his throat. “What did the captain say?”
“That Rodriguez is being detained and they are waiting for us. Something like that. Cell phone died. Oh!” Excitedly, Jeff sat up and turned up the volume. “Check this out. This is the guy who started the whole mess. Brought the flu to Anchorage.”
“Oh, shit. That asshole,” Darrell said, totally offended. “I hope they arrest him. Look, he’s alive.”
“I think that’s the point of this whole thing. He didn’t die,” Jeff said. “This is to show us the flu isn’t deadly.” There was a brief moment of silence and then Jeff burst into laughter.
“Yeah, right,” Darrell scoffed. “They ought to come to LA and watch the daily body parade.”
“You know what though? It’s gonna end up being something we’re glad we saw. We can talk about it for years to come.” Jeff reached into the night stand. “Beer?”
“Um...yeah.” Eyes focused on the television, Darrell reached blindly behind him for the can as he sat down on the bottom of the bed to watch Bill Daniels.
* * *
Anchorage, Alaska
“Horrible,” Bill responded to the question asked of him. He sat in a chair, alone in a small hospital room, facing a camera, an earpiece in his ear to allow him to hear the questions asked of him. “If I could chose only one word to sum it all up, horrible would be the one. It was the sickest I have been in my entire life, to be honest.”
On the other side of the country, the male anchorman spoke with dramatic seriousness. “There are rumors, Mr. Daniels, that people are dropping left and right from this flu. They have to bring in special trucks to remove the bodies. You’re out there right now, in the thick of it; tell us what it’s like.”
“There’s a lot of sickness, Dan. Hospitals are full. But the health officials forewarned us of this. I know from being a reporter myself that sometimes people overreact to what they hear and read. They don’t mean to, they just exaggerate.”
“So you’re saying they are exaggerating about the deaths? People aren’t dying of the flu?”
“Yes, some are dying of the flu, although no more than from the ordinary flu. Are they dropping left and right? No.” Bill shook his head. “Are they carting people out in trucks? Absolutely not. Not from what I see. Can people beat this flu?” Bill tilted his head and lifted his hand. “I’m sitting here, aren’t I? That should be proof enough.”
Bill nodded when he heard the anchorman’s “thank you” and the wrap-up of the segment. He smiled, watched the red indicator light on the camera go out, and then Bill removed the earpiece and stood up.
He had to unravel and take off the wires that were wrapped around him for the broadcas
t interview, wires that he himself knew how to set up. Finished with that, he stepped from that small room where they had him set up.
Moving into the hall, there was a lot of confusion and a lot fewer health care workers to deal with it as well. Bill knew without question where he had to go. The interview had already taken up too much of his time.
He walked down the corridor, moving aside for those who rushed past him. At the end of the hall, his destination, he watched one CDC worker emerge from the room, then another go in. Bill picked up his pace to get there.
Arriving at the room at the end of the corridor, Isabella’s room, Bill stood before the glass window that revealed Isabella in the bed and the single health care worker, Lexi, in that room. He was grateful he wasn’t too late. He knew that by taking the time to do the interview, he stood a chance of not being there when it happened. But it was a chance he had to take. Isabella was the type of person, who, if she weren’t so sick, would have insisted that he send his message of hope to the American people. Tell them they weren’t going under, they weren’t going to die.
And as Bill stared through the glass of the window, remembering his recently delivered message, he watched Isabella do just that...die.
* * *
Lodi, Ohio
Mick had a hard time believing it was a Friday night. Not that Lodi was a party town or the kick-ass place to be on a Friday, but generally there were people and noise. Tonight there were no teenagers hanging out past the curfew that Mick cursed the mayor for having to enforce. No cars. No Jeremy hogging karaoke and his badly-sung Barry Manilow songs carrying into the street. Nothing. Only darkness and silence.
His jingling of his keys was the only sound he heard during his walk, until Mick heard footsteps, slow steps that mimicked his not too far behind him. Mick stopped, turned around, and waited.
Patrick McCaffrey was gradually illuminated by the street light as he turned the corner.
Mick waited and stared.
“Hello, Mick.” Patrick walked a little faster to reach him. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Well...” Mick exhaled and looked around. “Not much used to being in bed this early on a Friday night.”
“Used to enforcing law and order on the weekend?” Patrick asked.
“No. Getting drunk.” Mick smiled. “What about you?”
“Walking. I was okay at home until the cable went out.”
“The cable went out? When?”
“About five minutes ago,” Patrick said.
“Great. Dylan will have a fit.” Mick shook his head. He stopped and looked at the park bench next to the sidewalk. He pointed at it with his head. “Sit?”
“Sure.” Patrick shrugged and followed Mick.
As if he had been walking all night, Mick sat down on the bench with an outward sigh of relief. “You know, I don’t think I ever asked you. How do you like Lodi?”
“Oh, this place is great.” Patrick leaned back, putting one arm on the back of the bench and relaxed. “It defines small town charm.”
“That it does.” Mick reached into his tee shirt pocket. He regarded the pack of cigarettes in there along with the folded piece of paper and pulled out his pack. “Smoke?”
Patrick shook his head. “I didn’t know you did.”
“Dylan hates it….” Mick hit the pack on his hand ejecting a single cigarette. “So I only smoke when I’m not around her.” Cigarette clenched in his lips, Mick lit it as he continued to talk. “Hard to believe she was the one who got me started.” With a smile he blew out the smoke. “So you like small towns?”
“Yes.”
“Have you lived in one before?”
“No,” Patrick answered. “You can say Lodi popped my small town cherry.” He chuckled. “I’m a city boy. Born and bred.”
“Oh, yeah? Where from?” Mick asked. “You don’t mind me asking, do you? I’m just making conversation.”
“No, I don’t mind,” Patrick answered. “Tucson.”
“A city boy from Tucson? Kind of sounds like an oxymoron.” Mick laughed. “What brought you to Lodi?”
“The job.”
“Wow. Lodi Elementary must pay well.”
That brought a hearty laugh from Patrick. “No. Actually my uncle lives in Wadsworth. He told me about the opening.”
“Your uncle? What’s his name? I know a lot of people in Wadsworth.”
“You probably know him, then. Roger Picket.”
“Roger Picket,” Mick said with surprise. “No way. What a small world. I know Roger well.” Mick tilted his head and paused. “He’s a black man.”
“Yep.”
Mick nodded. “I see the family resemblance,” he joked. “Roger’s a really nice guy. Big family.” He took a huge hit of his cigarette, “You’re a welcome addition to Lodi, Patrick.”
“Thanks.”
“Nice guy, too.” Mick bobbed his head. “Dylan likes you.”
“Dylan’s great.”
“That she is. So....” Mick put his cigarette in his mouth, leaned forward, and rested one arm across his leg as he reached into his tee shirt pocket. “Tell me...” he pulled out the paper, “who’d you embezzle the hundred mil from, Mister,” Mick opened the paper. “Rodriguez, is it?”
He handed the sheet to Patrick.
At first Patrick didn’t take it. His eyes locked onto Mick’s for what felt like hours. Then reaching out, never losing eye contact, Patrick took the paper.
With his mouth closed, Mick smiled slightly.
Patrick didn’t read it. He didn’t need to. “Why....” He cleared the nervousness from his throat. “Why don’t I get this overwhelming desire to run?”
Lifting his eyebrows, Mick shrugged and raised his hands. “Know you’re had, perhaps? Don’t know,” Mick said. “Maybe you think I’ll shoot you.”
“Would you?”
Mick only hit his cigarette. “No. Feel like running now?”
“No.” Patrick still looked at Mick, the paper he had yet to look at still in his hand.
“Unofficially, off the record, who’d you steal the money from?” Mick asked.
“The United States government. Mostly from various “save this, save that” accounts. A few Senators. The, um, the President’s pocket change account.”
Mick snickered. “No shit.”
“No shit,” Patrick stated. “I pulled from the Vice President’s pocket change account, as well. But no one noticed. I’m not sure he even knows he has one. In fact, most of the places I shaved funds from I didn’t think anyone knew existed.”
“How did you?” Mick questioned.
“A lot of research. This was basically planned since I was about twenty.”
Mick whistled. “Wasn’t foolproof. Did you think maybe it would have been?”
“Oh, yeah.” Patrick nodded. “How else did it take so long to catch it? And it was the one account that I thought no one would ever notice that attracted attention.”
“Really? Which one?”
“The United States government RS-276-lib. Research funds for the revamping of the Dewey Decimal system.”
“So tell me...” Mick tossed the finished cigarette. “That’s a lot of money. Where is it?”
“Clean. Laundered. I don’t have it.”
“Not a case of Robin Hood, I suppose?” Mick stated. “Take from the rich, give to the poor?”
“Hardly.” Patrick laughed. “Take from the government, give to the rich. The Mob. They covered my ass. How do you think I stayed hidden for three years?” He exhaled silently and handed the sheet back to Mick. “What are you gonna do?”
“Well,” Mick folded the paper and put it back in his pocket, “the FBI wants me to take you in. Detain you here in Lodi until ordinances and quarantines are lifted, things are back to normal, and they can come for you. But...that’s a long time. And between you and me, I don’t feel like housing, feeding and taking care of you in my two-cell private establishment. Nope.” Mick shook his head. “And I also don’t th
ink things will be quite back to normal. Ever.” He looked at Patrick. “You tell me. What should I do?”
“You could lose that arrest warrant.”
“I could...but I won’t. I’m the Chief of Police in a small town that’s a mere dot on the map of a fucked up world right now. No....” Mick slowly stood . “You could run. But where you gonna go? Things are a mess, Patrick. I don’t think even your people can set something up for you right now.”
“Probably not,” Patrick concurred.
“So....” Mick exhaled heavily, “I’m gonna arrest you.”
Not that he wasn’t expecting it, but Patrick was just a little taken aback. He could run, but Mick would catch him. Even if he made it outside of Lodi, Mick was right. Where would he go? Patrick nodded slowly.
“You’re under arrest, Patrick.” Mick pulled out another cigarette and lit it. “Go home. I’ll deal with this when and if things calm down.”
If he was shocked before, Patrick was now stunned. “Go...go home?”
“Yeah, to your little house on Semper.”
“Mick...you’re just gonna trust me?”
“What choice do I have?” Mick asked. “There’s too much shit going on right now.”
“What if I disappear on you?”
Mick shrugged. “Then I fucked up. I’ll have to answer for it, now, won’t I?”
“Thank you.”
Mick hit his cigarette. “You do know, if we do actually get you into custody, you stand a good chance of becoming another legend around here like Lars.”
“Lars,” Patrick chuckled. “Mick, was he a rock star?”
“Lars?” Mick laughed. “No.”
“I was wondering. If he wasn’t...why exactly is Lars Rayburn a legend around here?”
“You don’t know?” Mick watched Patrick shake his head, “Well,” he said, “it started about....” Mick’s head turned to the sound at the same time as Patrick. It as distant at first, but it drew closer. Thunderous. Loud, heavy trucks. Curiously, Mick turned his eyes back to Patrick. Just as he did, a convoy of military trucks rolled down the main street toward them.
The Flu (A Novel of the Outbreak) Page 16
