Henry’s job, as far as Lodi was concerned, was finished, with the exception of getting reports from Lars. Henry could have turned the Lodi experiment over to Lars and wished him good luck, but he felt that he owed Lars. The map on the wall grew blacker by the hour, and the world outside of his Winston Research office slipped further from his mind as Lodi, Ohio moved right in.
Another situation arose overnight in Lodi, one that immediately caught Henry’s attention. It was brilliant, and hard for Henry to believe that it was conceived by a man with little education beyond high school.
Though what was happening in Lodi was completely out of Henry and Kurt’s jurisdiction, out of their hands and not of their concern, Henry wanted to make it his concern. Henry wanted to have the therapy experiment under his wing, because this was an experiment that could possibly be successful and help many other people.
As he sat in the darkness, staring at his ailing friend, Henry contemplated ways that he could help ensure that the experiment would not fail.
* * *
Lodi, Ohio
Dylan’s dream was partially cogent, but she wouldn’t allow herself to slip completely into the lucid state. She didn’t want to. Her nighttime drama was just what she needed. Her mind was escaping the horrors of all that she heard on the news, while her body reveled in every sensation felt within her dream. She supposed that the video that the boys were watching earlier had everything to do with the fact that wrestling legend, Nature Boy Rick Flair slipped into her bed with her in her fantasy. And Dylan reminded herself, during a lucid moment, to thank those boys. Rick’s youthful incarnation swayed his body to his Space Odyssey theme music, across Dylan’s bedroom, lending truth to his nickname ‘Nature Boy’.
How indisputably beautiful his body was; firm, hard, with a handsome face to match. He moved gracefully, fluidly, unlike any “ordinary” man, as he crawled onto the bed to join her. From the kisses he delivered to her neck, to the placement of his hands in just the right spots, and the slow movements of his body as he pleasured her, every motion was perfectly timed.
It was a passionate moment, almost too romantic for someone as rough as Rick. But Dylan didn’t quibble with her conscious thoughts as she tried to let her subconscious dominate so she could totally enjoy the arousal she felt as her dream lover moved against her.
Maybe if she could stay in her dream state and ignore reality, she’d be able to block out her conscience, but she was unable to keep that part of her brain unengaged. Unbidden, unwanted, it floated to the surface and forced her to speak. “Rick,” she whispered, “what about your wife?”
“She doesn’t mind,” Rick spoke in her ear.
“Well, what about Mick?”
“I could take Mick.”
Dylan giggled, still in her dream, as she wrapped her arms more tightly around the man sharing her bed. “Yeah, you could kick Mick’s ass.”
“Who?!” The word blasted into her ear and snapped Dylan from her erotic dream and into a totally conscious state, finding herself in her semi-dark bedroom with someone other than Nature Boy in her arms.
Dylan blinked and focused. “Mick.” She sat up in bed. “Damn it. You woke me from a really good dream.”
Mick stared for a second then lifted his hand as he sat on the edge of the bed. “You were talking in your sleep about someone beating me up. That’s a good dream?”
“Well....”
“Who can kick my ass?”
“Rick Flair.”
“Oh, he cannot,” Mick scoffed.
“Yeah, he could,” Dylan snapped and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “But it doesn’t matter; it was just a dream. Which you ruined. And I was having a real good time having sex with him.”
“Uh!” Mick grunted in shock. “You dreamt you were having sex with Rick Flair. Dylan, he’s…he’s old.”
“Not in my dream.” Dylan sniffed haughtily. “Rick was in his prime.”
Mick slightly tilted his head. “Well, okay, that makes sense.” He stood up. “And why are you having sex dreams? We just...you know.” Mick began to take off his shirt.
“Mick, if you had done...let’s say your job...”
The tee shirt stopped just above Mick’s head and he delivered an outraged look at her. “I cannot believe you just said that to me.”
Dylan smiled and patted the bed. “I’m kidding,” her eyes shifted to the window, “and it’s dawn. I told you that you wouldn’t be back until dawn.”
“I know. I know,” Mick grumbled as he fell into bed and closed his eyes.
“You’re tired.”
“Very. But I can’t sleep for too long.” He opened one eye. “Wake me in two hours?”
“Two hours? That’s all?”
“That’s all I can afford, sweetheart.” Quickly he lifted his head, kissed her on the cheek, and rolled onto his stomach. He groaned his exhaustion. “I have to be awake and ready for when all hell breaks loose around here.”
As if she weren’t fully paying attention, Dylan nodded her understanding. Then the meaning of his words hit her. “Wait.” Her eyes widened. “Mick? What hell is gonna break loose?” She didn’t get an answer. “Mick?” She tapped his shoulder.
His response was a heavy exhalation. His head buried deeply into the pillow, Mick was sound asleep.
* * *
While the other Lodi residents probably would have basked in it, Patrick found not one second of pleasure in seeing two of Lars Rayburn. His eyes were heavy, they started to burn, and the bright fluorescent gymnasium lights didn’t help his situation.
“Lars,” Patrick whined wearily. “I have to stop. Can I?” he asked as he capped a filled syringe and set it in a box with others.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Lars stated. “We can get a few hours’ rest and finish up before we deliver the serums.”
“What’s the count?”
“Including what you just did....” Lars did a visual count of the box then looked at the other boxes. “We need five hundred and twenty-three more.”
“Wow. We did almost three thousand.”
“Hard to believe. Long night.”
Patrick looked at his watch. “What time do you want me back here?”
“How about eight-thirty? We’ll finish up and be ready to distribute these by noon.”
“Sounds good.” After he stood up, Patrick extended his arms, arched his back and stretched. As he relaxed, he felt Lars grab his arm. “What’s wrong?”
Holding up a syringe, Lars smiled. “We hit Mick before he went. Your turn. Don’t want you getting lost in the shuffle.” He grabbed a prepackaged alcohol wipe and opened it. “Now be a big boy.” Lars wiped off a small area of Patrick’s arm. “Just a pinch.”
“Do I get a sucker?”
Lars snickered and plunged the syringe into Patrick’s flesh.
“It burns,” Patrick complained.
“Does not.” Lars tossed the used needle into the biohazard sharps container. “Shall we go home for some rest before the crowd gathers?”
“Absolutely.” Patrick rubbed his arm.
“I appreciate your help.”
“You say that now.”
“You’ll be my star pupil. Wait until you start learning venipuncture.”
“What’s that?” Patrick asked.
“Taking people’s blood.”
“There is a bright side.” Patrick smiled as they walked across the gym.
“Let’s hope the residents are as congenial as you and Mick about the vaccines.”
“I don’t see why not. They’ll listen to you, you are Lars Rayburn.” Patrick stopped walking. “You’re like this legend around here.”
Almost with a blush, Lars nodded.
“Why?” Patrick questioned.
“It’s really ridiculous.”
“It can’t be that ridiculous if they made the summer festival into the fall festival just so they could have you here.”
Lars snickered. “That was an honor.”
&n
bsp; “So why? Why are you a legend to these people?”
“Well, you see, about....” Lars stopped talking and held up his hand when his cell phone rang. “Have to get this. Only Henry and Kurt have this number.” Lifting the cell phone, Lars played with it until he got it to stop ringing. “Hello?”
Patrick watched Lars’ face as Lars listened and nodded.
“Just a moment, Henry.” Lars covered the phone and looked to Patrick. “You go on and rest. Find me if I’m not back here in a few hours. I must take this call.”
Patrick nodded as Lars walked off, speaking into the phone about some papers that could help. Patrick didn’t have a clue what Lars was talking about, but he realized that, with his luck, he stood a better chance of finding out what that phone call was about than he ever did of finding out why Lars Rayburn was such a legend.
* * *
Reston, Virginia
“My father would be proud of me right now,” Henry said as he removed the rubber tourniquet from Kurt’s arm. “Very proud.” He watched the tube fill with blood. “You should have heard him complain when I gave up my practice.” Henry removed the full tube and placed a piece of cotton on Kurt’s arm. “Can you hold that?”
Kurt lifted his other arm slowly and rested his fingers on the cotton.
“Thanks.” Henry looked at the tube of blood. “Better get well, or at least well enough to do the same for me.” Henry saw the worried look on Kurt’s face. “No, not yet. I’m not sick. But just in case.” He walked across the lab with the tube. “So, as I was saying, I started a practice many years ago. A patient, Mr. Winston,” Henry smiled, “spoke to me about working here as director. At the time, the pay was good, the hours short. Malpractice insurance wasn’t making me broke, and...I didn’t have to deal with sick people.” He snickered. “Look at me now. I’ve been working for days, washing up in the men’s room, and dealing with an entire world that’s sick.” He found the pot of coffee and poured a cup.
“Plan?” Kurt asked weakly.
“Oh, yes.” Henry took his cup back over to his seat. “I came up with a plan. Lars loved it. We’re just waiting now for approval. What it is,” Henry settled into his chair, “is a way to help Chief Michael Owens of Lodi, a back-up of sorts.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” Henry lifted a hand. “Imagine that the earth is a battleground. Which it actually is right now, beaten, burned. If we can just preserve one spot, leave one speck untouched, then we’ve won.” His head turned quickly as the phone rang. “That’s either Utah with their stats or the call I’ve been waiting for.” Hurriedly, Henry hurriedly reached for the phone. “Yes.” He listened and nodded. “Thank you.” The phone did not leave his hand; he merely disconnected the call and began to dial.
Kurt watched this. “Who are you calling?”
“Approval’s come through. If Chief Owens can hold out for three days, this little plan of his might work. But there’s no reason why he can’t initiate things on his end.” Henry lifted a finger to Kurt when the call was connected. “Um...yes, this is Dr. Henry Davis from the Barrow flu dispatch center. I need to speak to Chief Owens, please.”
* * *
Lodi, Ohio
Mick was filled with satisfaction as he carried the cardboard sign up the sidewalk to Tom and Marian’s house. It looked peaceful and quiet, but that perception was disrupted when the front door opened and Tom emerged with two suitcases.
Tom set them on the porch, looked at Mick, and went back inside.
“Tom,” Mick called out and picked up his pace. He didn’t stop to knock; he just walked in. “Tom.”
“Morning, Michael.” Marian smiled then patted him on the cheek and set down a flowered duffle bag.
“What the hell’s going on?” Mick looked at the luggage. “Marian?”
Marian only smiled before exhaling. Saying nothing, she turned and headed to the stairs.
“OK,” Mick spoke to himself. “No one is speaking to me.” He spotted Tom in the kitchen. “Tom.” Mick marched that way. He froze when he saw Tom placing food in a box. “Tom, what is going on?”
“What’s it look like?”
“You’re packing.”
“Aren’t you an Einstein?” Tom quipped. “Had to be that quick wit that got you the chief job, lord knows the size of your balls didn’t land it for you.”
“Ex...excuse me?” Mick was confused. “My balls?”
“You haven’t got any,” Tom snapped. “None. And I ain’t talking about what’s dangling between—”
“Okay, all right.” Mick cringed as he held up his hand. “Why are you packing?”
Tom stopped. He locked eyes with Mick for a moment then shook his head. “Have you heard the news? There’s a strong flu bug running around.”
“I know that.”
“But you don’t know the truth if you’re just listening to the news. Go on the internet.”
“The internet is still running?” Mick asked surprised.
“We have phones, don’t we?” Tom asked. “Some sites are down. Some aren’t. I went on the Minute Man Militia site last night. You have to see the pictures they have snuck out of LA. Bodies, Mick. Bodies in dump trucks, bodies burning. These aren’t the pictures that they’re showing on the news. This flu is bad. This flu is really bad.”
“I know this, Tom.”
“It may have shut down the country. It may have shut down Lodi, but I’ll be goddamned if I’m gonna let it shut down my life or the lives of my family.”
“So you’re leaving?”
“Absolutely,” Tom said strongly. “We’re going to Uncle Herb’s cabin down in West Virginia. Wait it out there. Figured out a non-quarantined route, packing up Marian, Dylan and the boys...”
“Whoa!” Mick stepped to him. “You are not taking Dylan and the boys. No. They stay right here.”
“They go with me.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Fine then...where’s my shotgun?” Tom turned around as if to search.
“Tom, this is ridiculous. I need you in Lodi.”
“There’s nothing left in Lodi. It’s a shell like the rest of the world.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it.” Mick’s voice dropped. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I didn’t have the balls. I do now.” On the counter next to Tom, Mick laid the sign that was on the video store’s door.
Tom looked at his sign. “You certainly do have balls taking down my sign.”
Mick had to chuckle. “No, Tom. I’m not talking about taking your sign down. I’m talking about taking down the ordinance.”
“Explain,” Tom said snidely, as if he didn’t believe Mick.
“The ordinance to shut down all businesses. Well, I’m ignoring that. I took down your sign because I want you to open the store back up. Start it, Tom. Get every business to do the same. Open back up. Things are gonna start happening. There’s a plan....” Mick dropped his hand onto the sign. “The world around us may be dying, but we’re keeping Lodi alive.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lodi, Ohio
Why me? thought Patrick, syringe with vaccine in one hand and a small arm in the other. Eight doctors in addition to Lars had gathered to administer the shots, and Patrick was the lucky one who had to vaccinate Tigger. The child’s tiny arm was lost in Patrick’s hand, and he just stared at it.
“It’s just a shot,” Tigger said.
“I know.”
“Are you afraid?”
“No. Yes.” Patrick looked around the gymnasium for help from someone, anyone, and then Lars approached.
“Trouble?” Lars asked.
“Yes.” Patrick stated in relief. “Can you give Tigger the shot? His arm is so small I’m afraid I’ll hit the bone.”
“You won’t hit the bone.” Lars assured.
“I’m afraid I’ll hit the bone.”
After watching what seemed a ping pong match of words, Tigger interjected. “Can one of you give the shot? Peo
ple are waiting.”
Lars, shaking his head, took the syringe. “Baby.” Holding Tigger’s arm in the palm of his hand, Lars pinched the flesh and prepared to give the injection.
“Hi, Mick,” Tigger said brightly when Mick approached.
“Hey, you.” Mick rubbed Tigger’s head then looked at Lars. “You’re gonna hit the bone.”
Patrick tossed up his hand. “I told him that.”
With seldom seen irritability, Lars enunciated slowly, “I am not going to hit the bone. Watch.” He injected the syringe.
Tigger let out a high-pitched screech. “You hit the bone.” After he saw all concerned eyes were upon him, he smiled. “Kidding.”
Laughing, Mick lifted Tigger from the table and set him down. “Good job. And Lars is tough. See?” Mick lifted his tee shirt sleeve. “I’m bruising.”
Lars watched the pair walk off, Tigger barely topping Mick’s knees. He looked crossly at Patrick. “Hit the bone,” Lars scoffed in disgust, then, shaking his head, he too walked off.
The next person stepped forward and Patrick’s eyes went from Lars to the woman. “I still say, he could have hit the bone. Don’t you?”
Mick figured that once word got out that vaccines were available, the people of Lodi would come to the school gym for their injections. He just didn’t figure it would work that well and that quickly.
The small gym was packed, and he was grateful that his height allowed him to be able to see his destination. So many people waited inside, and more waited on the other side of the doors. They lined up by the tables and moved around as if it were a social event. Most of the people waited for the tiny cup of juice Marian Roberts handed out at her little table she had set up as if she were a Red Cross volunteer.
Mick squeezed through, trying to make it across to the other side of the gymnasium. He held onto Tigger’s tiny hand for dear life, then, fearing he’d break the little fingers, Mick gave up. “Tigger,” he reached down and picked him up, “I know you hate to be carried, but humor me.”
The Flu (A Novel of the Outbreak) Page 18
