Plague

by Victor Methos

  “Yes, I can see that. Your accent doesn’t interfere with comprehension.” The man gave him a quizzical look so Robert added, “You speak very good.”

  The man smiled. “So where you go?”

  “The mall please.”

  Dubai Mall is the largest shopping mall in the world with just over twelve hundred stores. It includes aquariums, fountains, bars—where only juices and sodas are served—an ice rink, and a theme park.

  As the cab pulled to a stop in front of the mall on Doha Street, Robert paid and thanked the man before stepping out. The heat was penetrating; something he hadn’t noticed in the air-conditioned cab. It sank into his skin and head and it seemed to even heat up his feet. He guessed it was over a hundred and ten degrees right now.

  Robert walked in and began strolling down the main promenade, stopping at the Aldo store a moment to glance over a few Italian shoes. A man came up behind him and stood quietly until he was done looking at the shoes. Robert turned to him and they began walking together at an easy pace, taking in the sights and smells.

  “I assume it’s done,” the man said.

  “It is.”

  “Was Thailand agreeable to you?”

  “It was.”

  The man nodded, staring at a group of young girls that were drinking sodas near a fountain. “Thailand is an unusual place. Not entirely civilized, not entirely savage. A place in evolution, though I think it’s unclear which way it will evolve.”

  “Savage. The baser instincts usually win out over all else.”

  “Not entirely true. Especially when a strong belief in God is present. Do you believe in God, Robert?”

  “No.”

  “You will. Everybody does. People may protest and talk about how unreasonable it is to have faith in an unknowable deity, but when their back is against the wall and they have nowhere else to turn, they always turn to God. It is simply how our psychology is set up.”

  “I guess I’ll have to wait and see when my back is against the wall.”

  “How is your partner?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “I noticed you spent a couple of extra days in Thailand. Sightseeing?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Do you love her?”

  Robert hesitated. “What do you care?”

  “I don’t. I was just curious. But I will give you some advice even though you don’t want it: love has no place in what we do. You have to have no connections, nothing you care about. That’s the only way you’ll survive. Love, in our business, will kill you.”

  “Too late now. Besides, I don’t have anyone else to talk to. I think I’d go insane without at least one person I can be honest with.”

  The man took a deep breath. “Do you ever get sick of this, Robert? Of living on planes, knowing people for days or weeks at a time, no family, no friends…I’m reminded sometimes of the traveling hobos you’d see in comic strips in the fifties. They went from one town to the next on trains, never really knowing where they were going and always forgetting where they’d been as soon as they’d left.”

  Robert thought quietly a moment before answering. “Do you know how life works in the ocean? The large fish eat the little fish. That’s it. There are no laws other than that. No remorse or appeals or complaining. Everybody knows their place and accepts it. That’s how it is for us on land too. The ones with power eat the ones without power. We’re just not as honest about it with ourselves as the fish are. I don’t know about you, but I intend to always be the one doing the eating. Because the alternative is much worse.”

  “Maybe,” he said absently, not looking in his direction. “Regardless, I’m retiring.”

  “When?”

  “Today. Right now. This is my last assignment with the agency.”

  “Nobody told me.”

  “Nobody knows. You’re the first.” The man stopped and sat down on a bench. In front of them was a magnificent fountain that had base lights on the floors and was lighting the water in alternating colors. “When I was going through the application process and I was strapped to the polygraph machine—this was the second day at the end when they ask the twenty questions they actually want answers to rather than just torturing us—they asked if I would kill someone for them. I said yes. Then they asked if I would sleep with another woman other than my wife if they asked me to. I’d done my research on these interrogations and I knew if I answered no they would end the application process and throw me out.

  “I couldn’t handle that, Robert. I came from a small mining town in Colorado. The mines were the only employment there. Everybody went from high school straight into the mines. Twelve hours a day underground in the dark. I couldn’t handle that. So I said yes. Yes I would sleep with another woman if you asked me to. I went home and told my wife that. Two days later, I was accepted for training. My wife told me I could go to training or I could have her, but not both.” He exhaled loudly, staring absently at the water as it turned a bright blue. “I’ve regretted that decision for the past fifty years. She remarried and had two kids. They’re in their thirties now. Those were my kids, Robert. That was my life.”

  “You’re serving your country in a way that no one—”

  “Country, duty, loyalty—they’re all abstractions. Ideas in our minds. They don’t keep you company when you’re lonely, Robert. They just don’t.” He was quiet a long time and then said, “You have one more assignment from me.” He handed him a flash drive. “Honolulu, Hawaii.” He stood up. “Destroy the flash drive when you’re done.”

  The man began to walk away when Robert said, “Wait.” The man turned. “We’ve been meeting for nine years and I don’t even know your real name.”

  The man smirked in a melancholic way. “Jim. My name is Jim.”

  “Jim,” Robert said. “I like that name. That was my father’s first name.”

  “Goodbye, Robert.”

  “Take care, Jim.”

  Robert watched as Jim walked away and disappeared into the crowd. He glanced down to the flash drive in his hand. In a way, Jim had been the only friend he had had these past nine years. He was the only one who knew what he really was, what he really did. Briefly, he considered whether it was time for him to leave as well.

  He put the flash drive in his pocket and stood up. Not yet, he thought. But soon.

  CHAPTER 19

  Honolulu International Airport was busy with tourists and conventions that were coming in to enjoy their hot summer months. Sam parked illegally at the curb and noticed only one police cruiser out front.

  She raced inside, checking her watch: it was 11:47 a.m.

  There were some shops and delis, a restaurant and a bar. She ran past them, sliding through crowds. It suddenly dawned on her that she had no idea what this woman looked like. She texted Wilson and asked for a photo. Thirty seconds later, he sent a photo to her along with the message, “Let the BH team handle this.” The fact that he’d sent the photo meant he knew she had no intention of doing that.

  Sam came to the TSA checkpoints and saw that the lines were at least forty people deep. They snaked through the waiting areas out into the corridor and around the corner. She got in the back of a line and counted as the next person went through the detectors and was scanned by a handheld device. It took about a minute and a half, which meant she’d be in line for almost an hour.

  Sam rushed to the front of the line, pushing past people that began to swear and yell. She got to one of the TSA officers and flashed her CDC credentials.

  “I need to get into those terminals right now.”

  “Ma’am, what you need is to get back to the end of the line.”

  Sam saw two police officers with several men in slick, plastic smocks walk around the terminal and scan the faces in the crowd. “I need to be with them. Please tell that police officer to come here and they’ll verify that—”

  “I’m not gonna ask you again, get to the back of the line.”

  Samantha saw a young
woman step out of the bathrooms. She had curly black hair and caramel skin. She was wiping her nose and popped a handful of pills, washing them down with a bottle of water. It was Yolanda. The officers and BH team were standing not twenty feet away from her and didn’t recognize her. They were laughing and joking.

  “I need to get there, now. This isn’t a joke. If you don’t let me through, people could die.”

  The officer shouted behind her and two TSA officers ran up as Sam tried to push past her. The other officers grabbed her by her arms and slammed her down against a table as Sam was shouting to get the attention of the BH team.

  Yolanda Gonzalez stared at herself in the bathroom mirror at Honolulu International Airport. She appeared pale and had been coughing all morning. A rash was starting to appear on her chest and she buttoned the top button of her blouse to cover it up. She had a slight fever and had just vomited into the toilet.

  “You doin’ okay, hon?” Melissa, another stewardess on her airline asked.

  “I think I got the flu.”

  “Maybe you should go home?”

  “I can’t miss any more work.”

  “Yeah,” Melissa said, washing her hands at the sink, “they used to pay us for sick time but not no more. Used to pay a lot more too. This whole industry’s gone to hell. Let me feel you.” She placed her hand on Yolanda’s forehead. “You’re burnin’ up, sweetie. You need to go home.”

  “I’ll just do a half day if it gets worse.”

  “Well, let me give you these. They’re Lortab so you gotta be careful. Just take one at a time, four hours apart. It’ll get you through the day.”

  “Thanks, Melissa.”

  “No problem. If you need someone to cover a flight call me. I’m off at three.”

  “Thanks.”

  As Melissa left, Yolanda turned back to the mirror. She took a deep breath, and walked outside into the corridor. She noticed some cops and a few guys dressed in what looked like rain slicks standing around, but they were only there a minute and then walked on. She wondered if there’d been a bomb threat. Since 9-11, they got at least one a week and the cops or FBI or military police would come and look around and then leave. It had become routine and she wondered what it was like before 9-11, when you weren’t thinking about terrorists all day.

  As she was taking her Lortab, she heard some yelling near the metal detectors and looked over. A woman was shouting and trying to fight her way past TSA. Probably someone pissed that they patted down her kid or something. She watched as three TSA officers pinned the woman down on a table and put handcuffs on her.

  Yolanda turned, and headed for her plane.

  CHAPTER 20

  Samantha Bower sat in a small gray room the TSA used as a holding cell. There were no windows and no decorations. Just a gray table and two gray chairs. No agents from the FBI or the TSA came in however. She guessed she was in there for over an hour before there was a knock on the door and Ralph Wilson appeared with two police officers. He had a knowing grin on his face and said, “Let’s go, jail bird. You can get your bike later.”

  They stayed silent until they were outside and the two officers had returned to their cruiser. A cab waited for them on the curb and they climbed in. Wilson told the driver to take them to Queen’s Medical.

  “They said you assaulted a TSA agent.”

  “I didn’t assault her. I just tried to push my way past her.”

  “Pushing is assault.” He smiled at her. “I was arrested once in Texas for confining a woman with pneumonic plague to a hospital room and locking the door. Sometimes fighting for the greater good means you’re going to get into some hot water.”

  He leaned back in the seat and pulled out a pipe. He never smoked it, as he had quit years ago, but the feel of it in his mouth, Sam knew from late night conversation, made him feel as if he were in his youth again.

  “They won’t be pursuing charges,” he said.

  “Did she make it on the plane?”

  “Yes. They’re in the air right now. The FBI’s agreed to help us and they’re grounding the plane. But it’s too late for the passengers. Everyone will have to be quarantined.” He stared out the window. “We’ve had forty-one admittees since this morning.”

  Sam nodded, as if expecting news like that. “The hospital doesn’t have any more space. I scouted out a rec center nearby. We can rent the gymnasium and just buy cots. Ralph, we need to ground all the flights coming and going. We need to let the public know this isn’t the swine flu or a head cold.”

  “I know,” he said, keeping his eyes glued to the passing buildings. “I never thought I would experience something like this.”

  They arrived at Queen’s Medical and Sam could see there was a heavier military presence than even a few hours ago. Jeeps were parked in most of the handicap and expectant mother spaces and several MPs stood at every entrance and exit.

  They walked into a ghost town. The staff was not there anymore. Wilson informed her that several of the receptionists and orderlies had come down with symptoms. Sam immediately went up to the sixth floor. A few nurses were walking around, going from room to room and helping where they could. Now they were in full gear, with facemasks, thick rubber gloves, and booties. The barriers she had asked for were now up and no one was touching any of the patients.

  She saw Duncan Adams walk out of a room. He was staring at the floor, lost in thought as he bit his lower lip.

  “Hi,” he said as he looked up.

  “Hi. How’s it looking?”

  “Incubation period is about seven days, not twelve like it should be. This virus is replicating faster than normal smallpox. I’ve sent some tissues back to USAMRIID. I need to see what we’re dealing with. I’m afraid I’ll have to cancel dinner tonight. I’m going to be on a plane back to Maryland.”

  “To tell you the truth I don’t feel much like eating right now.”

  Sam noticed a nurse near the reception area walk to a large white board. She erased two names and added six others. It was a death board, though it wasn’t officially called that. They kept track of the patients and erased the names of those that died. Sam ran down the list: not a single one that had been here when she first came to Hawaii was still alive. A small box in the corner said, SURVIVORS. It was empty.

  “I’ll be back in a couple days,” Duncan said. “I’d like to take you to dinner then.”

  “I’m sorry, Duncan. I just can’t think about that right now.”

  “You haven’t handled too many of these, have you?”

  “Too many of what?”

  “Outbreaks of hot agents. Most people don’t realize that outbreaks like this are quite common in Africa and India, South Asia, places with large numbers of poor that are packed tightly together. In the Congo, Ebola makes an appearance every day. It just appears, out of nowhere. It’ll kill a few hundred people, perhaps cause a hospital to be shut down, and then it disappears as the infected population dies off. I’m always sent to those so I may not have the right perspective on this situation. Sorry if I seem insensitive, but I’ve seen so much of this, I’ve been a little desensitized.”

  “You weren’t insensitive. I just have a lot taking up my brain’s processing power right now. So how many outbreaks have you handled?”

  “At least fifty. One of the worst was in Kinshasa. A maternity ward had been infected with bubonic plague. They had no antibiotics so I had to fly them in but it took two weeks to get there. It was the worst two weeks of my life.”

  “I bet,” she said, now purposely averting her gaze from the death board she’d been staring at.

  “So what are you going to do now?”

  “I’m setting up a new patient center in the rec center a few blocks away. The hospital doesn’t have the capacity to hold all these people. Then I’m going to recruit staff from all the hospitals to work it.”

  “Can I make a recommendation without sounding like an ass? Don’t recruit people. If they feel it’s part of their job to risk their liv
es, they won’t do it. Ask for volunteers. Once a few of them volunteer, some of the others will be shamed into it.”

  “Dr. Bower.”

  Sam turned to see Jerry Amoy run up to her.

  “Dr. Bower, I need you to look at something right away. Follow me. Dr. Adams, you should come to. Please suit up first.”

  They ran to the locker rooms and dressed, grabbing fresh facemasks and booties from stations set up in the corridor. They followed Amoy down the hall to the last room and entered. The man in the hospital bed didn’t appear human.

  He was covered in maculopapular rashes from head to toe, and blisters had formed on his skin in every inch of available space. The blisters were raised, filled with fluid, and his skin appeared like it had thousands of pebbles jammed underneath it.

  “Haven’t seen this before,” Jerry Amoy said. “He’s the first with the blisters. He’s also blind. The blisters have formed on his retinas and caused scarring. This isn’t the same disease we were seeing; this is classic smallpox.”

  Sam wanted to step closer but her body didn’t allow it. A primordial aversion to sickness and death bubbled within her and prevented her from taking those few steps over to the side of the bed. But will is stronger than instinct. She forced herself over to look at the blisters.

  There was no hemorrhaging underneath the dermis causing the characteristic charred appearance of the other patients.

  “Is it a mutation in the virus?” Amoy said.

  “I doubt it,” Sam replied. “We’d be seeing a lot more of it. It might be a new strain, appearing in the population at the same time.”

  “That’s super unlikely,” Duncan said. “I’ve read that some patients are resistant to black pox. His body might have fought it off and just been left with…this.”

  Samantha leaned down close to the man’s face. She felt her heart pounding and her breaths were inadvertently quick and shallow. “Can you hear me?” she said.

  The man didn’t respond. His mouth was agape and his eyes closed, the lids covered with thick, bubbly blisters.