“I hate this,” Tigger complained as he perched upon Mick’s hip like a two year old. “Kids I was supposed to go to school with will see me. They’ll think I’m a baby.”
“They’ll think you’re cool.” After adjusting Tigger, Mick realized that he’d lost his bearings, so before moving any farther in the wrong direction, Mick peered easily over the top of the crowd.
“Mick.” Dustin tapped on his arm.
“Ah.” Mick heaved a sigh of relief as he turned to Dustin. “Tell me you got your shot.”
“I did,” Dustin answered.
Tigger seized the ‘big brother’ opportunity before him. “Dustin, tell Mick to stop carrying me like a baby.”
“He has to carry you like a baby, you’re-pint sized, people will trample you. You think he’s carrying you like that ‘cause he wants to?” Dustin lectured. “He doesn’t...or do you, Mick?”
“No.” Mick continued to look around.
“Mick, you need to do something about Chris,” Dustin said.
Quickly, Mick looked at him. “Bingo. That’s who I’m searching for, do you know which table?”
“Fourth. Dr. Lyons,” Dustin answered.
“Good let’s....” Mick moved forward but was stopped when a woman approached him.
“Chief,” she said, “I hear there’s gonna be an assembly of sorts to explain all that’s going on.”
“Yes, Lil.” Mick, holding Tigger, his hand on Dustin’s shoulder, tried to get by her.
Again, she stopped him. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“Now if I did that, then I wouldn’t have to have an assembly. If I don’t have an assembly, I’m gonna be having to tell everyone what I told you. Understand?”
Confused, Lil looked at him.
“Good.” Mick smiled. He hurriedly led the boys away.
Nearing table four, Mick spotted the problem. Chris. He wanted to make it there before Chris did it again, and Mick was close to missing his opportunity. Handing Tigger to Dustin, eyes focused, Mick moved closer to table four.
He had watched Chris do it three times prior, but Mick was too busy to stop it. He wasn’t at that moment, and Mick was determined there wouldn’t be a fourth time.
Mick watched Chris prepare his escape. He bounced nervously as he moved closer to the doctor, stepped up a place in line, looked around, then as he nearly reached the front of the line, Chris again darted from the line and headed all the way to the back. He smirked, thinking that he was home free, but just then a huge hand dropped onto the back of his neck.
“No, you don’t.” Mick held on tightly, turning Chris around and guiding him back to the front of the line. “Not again.”
“But, Mick,” Chris argued, his feet dragging rather than moving on their own, “I don’t want to get the shot.”
“You’re getting the shot,” Mick insisted, planting him firmly in front of Dr. Lyons. “Hit him.”
“What?” Chris gasped.
“With the shot,” Mick stated.
Chris’ eyes widened as he watched the needle approach him. “No. No.” He backed up “I don’t trust him, Mick. I don’t know him.”
Mick nodded. “I see, so that’s the problem?” he asked with patient understanding. “You don’t know the doctor.”
“Yeah,” Chris replied nervously.
“Not a problem.” After a hidden wink to the doctor, Mick held out his hand. “Doc.” He gripped the syringe given to him.
Chris let out a jittery chuckle. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope, not at all.” Mick checked out the syringe. “So, Doctor, I just stick this in his arm and push the little plunger here?”
“Yep,” Dr. Lyons answered. “Make sure all the vaccine goes in.”
“Got it.” Mick grabbed Chris’ arm and revved the syringe back as far and high as he could reach.
“Wait!” Chris shouted in horror while hunching over, protecting his arm. “Just let the doctor do it.”
Still holding on to Chris, Mick handed the doctor the syringe. He held tight until the doctor was finished.
Chris whined sarcastically, “Thanks.” With a pout, he stepped from the line.
“All that pissing around and this could have been done with a while ago,” Mick scolded. “See, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“Yeah, well...” Chris rubbed his arm, “if it isn’t that bad how come you don’t make Mom get hers?”
Mick smiled smugly. “Mom got hers.”
“No she didn’t. Look,” Chris pointed.
As he turned, Mick saw Dylan. She sat in a chair in a corner of the gym, nearly hidden behind Marian. “Hook up with your brothers and go on outside, it’s too crowded in here,” Mick instructed.
“You gonna yell at Mom?” Chris asked, following closely.
“Yep. She’s gonna get that shot.” With determination evident in his demeanor, Mick walked straight through the crowd to Dylan. “Hey.”
Dylan’s eyes widened. “Mick? I thought you were busy being traffic director in here.”
“No. Right now I’m playing shot director for the people I love.”
Dylan snickered. “That’s nice of you.” She folded her arms and watched her mother.
“Did you get your shot?” Mick asked.
Dylan looked at him then quickly looked away.
“Dylan.”
“No,” she answered.
“Get your shot, Dylan.”
“Later.” She shooed him away.
“Now,” Mick insisted.
“Mick, hush. Later.”
“Fine.” Wanting no more arguments, and wanting to make sure Dylan got her shot, Mick leaned down, lifted Dylan, tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to the nearest line
“Hey!” She smacked his back. “Put me....” she felt herself being eased to the floor, “down.” She tried to make her escape.
“Nope.” Mick held out his arm and looked to the doctor. “Give this woman the vaccine right now, before she—”
“Chief,” Officer Haddock said, hurrying over to him. “Glad I found you.”
Mick looked around then back to Haddock. “I can understand if I was Dylan. Or even you. But how did you miss me?”
Officer Haddock shrugged. “Don’t know. But...we need you down at Main. We’ve got a problem at the checkpoint.”
“Bad?” Mick asked.
Again, Haddock shrugged. “Could be, but not in a violent way. Your call, but it should be handled now.”
“Okay, let’s go.” Mick started to leave but stopped. He looked back at Dylan, who stood before the doctor. “Get that shot, Dylan. No excuses.”
Dylan rolled her eyes, folded her arms and nodded her head, then she happily watched Mick leave the gymnasium.
* * *
Even though Haddock had labeled the situation non-violent, he still told Mick it was bad. And Mick didn’t know what ‘bad’ entailed. Haddock was vague, as he always was, so instead of beating his head against the wall in frustration trying to get the facts from him, Mick just rode his bike to the main road that led into town, the checkpoint that Mick knew was likely to get the most action.
Mick expected to have to deal with disruptions; he knew things could rapidly deteriorate. But this was the first test of their roadblock, so as Mick made his way through the quiet streets, he wondered what would be the best way to handle the situation. Should he be forceful? Polite? Would he have to pull his weapon? He was experienced with crowd control, and he had dealt with irritated people, but as Mick pulled up to the checkpoint, he realized he was about to face what would end up being his most difficult task to date.
Lyle and Jessica Turner were one of the oldest couples in Lodi. Both of them in their late eighties, both had been Lodi residents their entire lives. Mick had always looked at the couple, happily married for sixty-plus years, as he and Dylan in the future. So happy, so content, still in love.
The Turners were more self-sufficient and active than most Lodi residents half
their age, always on the go, traveling here and there. Mick didn’t know why it surprised him that they were standing in front of their Chevy at the checkpoint.
Stopping his bike a good ten feet from where six men in gas masks blocked the car, Mick dismounted and grabbed a surgical mask. He pulled it on and walked to the checkpoint.
“Chief,” Lyle spoke up, “we can’t get in. These men won’t let us in.”
Mick had to swallow before answering. “I’m sorry, Lyle. Lodi’s been shut down.”
“We don’t care about the flu bug, Chief,” Lyle stated. “We just want to go home.”
“We’re not shut down because we have the flu. We’re...we’re shut down because we don’t,” Mick explained.
Lyle smiled slightly. “Then that’s better. See,” he pointed to the car. “I have my great-granddaughter. She’s seven, Mick. Her mother, my granddaughter, died yesterday of the flu.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mick said sincerely. “Really I am.”
“Let us in, Mick.” Lyle spoke calm. “You know me.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Mick nodded. “And Lyle, I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to protect the community. Lars has trailer homes set up right over there.” Mick indicated the line of four small trailers. “There’s food in there, water, necessities. You can come in...after you’ve waited out the three-day incubation period in a quarantine trailer.”
“Quarantine?” Lyle looked shocked then glanced at his wife who turned her head away in sadness. “Mick, we aren’t sick.”
“And I pray to God you stay that way. But, come on, this has to be done. If Lars gives you an all-clear after three days, you can get back in.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then that means you’re sick and...” Mick took a breath, “and I’m sorry. As much as this bothers me, Mr. Turner, you’re gonna have to wait it out. I can’t...I can’t let you in. Sorry.” After one more look at his old friends, Mick turned away.
“Michael Owens,” Lyle spoke up, not in anger but in desperation, “I’ve known you since you were an infant.”
Mick kept walking.
“Don’t do this. Not to us. Michael...Michael, don’t do this. This is our home. This...this is our home.”
Mick had to stop. He had to remember what he needed to accomplish. Trying to block out Lyle’s anguished words and the pain they caused, Mick closed his eyes briefly, then continued to his bike without looking back. He couldn’t.
* * *
Los Angeles, California
Darrell peered out of the parted draperies, something he did quite often and for long periods of time. His voice reflected his thoughts, his search for visionary answers. From the fifth floor of the hotel, he called Los Angeles ‘Rome’. He was watching it fall day by day.
“It’s quiet out there now.”
“Get away from the window,” Jeff instructed from his usual position on the bed.
“The fire burned itself out. I figured it would,” Darrell spoke dazedly. “I haven’t seen a body truck lately. Well, since yesterday.”
“Get away from the window.”
“Do you think it’s over?” Darrell asked.
“No,” Jeff answered. “And get away from that window. If you watched the local news when it’s on, you’d know. What did I tell you that health official said yesterday? Most people will get sick right away, after that, they’ll get sick in waves.”
“Is that why it’s quiet?”
“This flu is bad. Would you want to be rioting out there while you’re coughing, sneezing, and feeling bad?”
“No.” Darrell shook his head. “So do you think we’ve seen the end of the body trucks?”
Jeff’s mouth opened in disgust. “How many of those bodies do you think are flu victims?”
“All?”
“No,” Jeff stated. “Use some common sense. Be informed. I am. It takes three to six days for the flu to kill you, if it’s going to kill you. Those bodies weren’t the result of people’s illnesses, they were the result of people’s madness.”
“That...that’s an impressive theory.”
“Thank you.” Jeff smiled.
“So you think we will see more body trucks.”
Grunting loudly, Jeff stood up, pulled Darrell away from the curtain, then returned to his spot on his bed. “No. People are dying. Who’s gonna drive the trucks?”
“Maybe we should get out of LA.”
“We’ll get shot. Watch the news.” Jeff fixed his eyes on the set again. “Border patrols are still up. And until someone knocks on this door and says, quarantine is over, I’m going by the initial estimate of three weeks. We have enough food. We went out early and got it. We’re good. I’m not taking a chance. In three weeks, we’ll leave. We’ll finish up our job, and go get Rodriguez in Lodi....” Jeff’s eyes grew wide and his voice became enthusiastic. “Oh my God! Lodi!”
Shocked, Darrell looked at him. “You’re excited about Lodi?”
“No. Yes. Look!” Like an excited child, Jeff rolled his body over and crawled on his hands and knees to the bottom of the bed to get a better look at the television. He turned the volume up. “Check this shit out. Lodi.”
“Reception’s bad.”
“Cable’s out.”
“Oh, shit.” Darrell saw what Jeff did. An aerial view of Lodi shot from a helicopter. It looked like there was a thick black circle around the town. Sparkles of light were woven into the black line. But it wasn’t really a line, and the sparkles of light were the sun’s reflection off the chrome and mirrors of the hundreds of motorcycles that encircled Lodi.
“All equipped with government-issued gas masks....” the raspy, sick voice came from a female reporter. “The men and women were officially deputized by Mayor Connally. What we are witnessing is the aerial view of this occurrence…”
Jeff slowly shook his head from side to side. “This is amazing. I knew I should have watched this channel from the get-go.”
The television picture switched to a female reporter who sported a blue surgical mask. Behind her in the distance, the line of motorcycles was faint but could be seen.
“In what neighboring communities are calling a feeble move by the world’s biggest egomaniac, officials at the Barrow Flu Center are playing ‘Hail to the Chief’. Boasting that the move was one of genius, the Center and government officials are assisting Lodi Chief of Police, Michael Owens in his attempt to keep Lodi flu-free. Just a little under fourteen hours ago, Chief Owens shut down Lodi, Ohio in an effort not to keep the flu bug in, but rather to keep it out. His strong arm support comes in the form of two hundred plus men and women from a local biker association, who state they are happy to help out.”
“This is cool.” Jeff nodded at the set.
“Tell me about it,” Darrell agreed.
“Director Henry Davis of the Barrow Flu Center said the bikers will be relieved of their twenty-four/seven coverage when the Federal Emergency Management Agency moves in a border patrol not susceptible to the flu. To ensure the success of Lodi’s protection, the special border patrol will consist of men and woman in the armed forces who have previously survived the flu or showed immunity to it. Authorities from the World Health Organization say it will be about three weeks before this flu has circled the globe and stricken all those who are susceptible to it. However, it will be another week after that before the epidemic can be declared officially over and this historic flu loses its raging potency. Four weeks, Lodi.” The reporter paused. “Four weeks. Your clock starts ticking...now.”
“Four weeks.” Jeff’s eyes met Darrell’s with satisfaction. “And we’re gonna be there in three.”
* * *
Reston, Virginia
Tin foil was something Henry used to wrap his leftovers in, not to build monumental contraptions in order to get a semi-decent picture from the television. He snickered some in amusement as he twisted and tightened the piece that came off of the antenna, all part of an intricate system he had put toget
her that flowed from the rabbit ears out the window by way of a wire hanger.
“Got it.” He stepped back. “Can you make it out?”
“Impressive,” Kurt said with a drowsy tone.
“Funny. Who would have thought I would have remembered this?”
Kurt nodded. “I had to build something like that in college. Who could afford cable?”
“Me.” Henry smiled. “I was such a nerd. I worked and studied. Had money but no one to spend it on.” He backed up. “I’m glad we got channel seven. They seem to be the only ones who are doing hourly reports.”
“Hard to believe. A few days ago, you couldn’t get a break from news reports.”
Henry nodded in agreement. “Now you watch snow until they come on. I thought programming was on autopilot or something.” He took a seat next to Kurt. “So how are you feeling?”
“The antibiotics have me tired. Not that sick with this flu. Then again, at this point, most people thought they just had a minor cold. Until they turned septic.”
“According to Lars, you shouldn’t get there. Unless...well, unless….”
“We missed the time frame,” Kurt finished the sentence. “I don’t think we did. What do you think?”
“Last blood test I took still showed the microorganism in the bloodstream. It will be the twenty-four hour batch that tells. I think we’ll see no increase.”
Kurt smiled and leaned back. “Let’s hope. That way, by tomorrow, if Lars is correct, I should start feeling well enough to help you out around here.”
“At least to do the math. You know what amazes me?” Henry asked. “You have LA, San Francisco, right? These places are really struck. Yet, every twelve hours, on the nose, you get someone, last check in was an orderly, someone who cares enough to call in statistics. How many new, how many still sick, how many...died.”
The Flu (A Novel of the Outbreak) Page 19
