“Good idea. Watch you don’t slice through the suit,” the third man added. “I think that ...” He stopped and was startled by a tug on his sleeve. He turned to face an elderly woman; her face was dirty, and she was dressed as if she lived on the street.
“Excuse me,” she spoke weakly. “I know those outfits you are wearing.”
“Then you know, ma’am, you should clear the area.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I need to know if any of you are doctors?”
Tim Clamp, the garbed man collecting the glass on the track, stood up. “I am, why?”
“Can you help us?”
“Who, ma’am?” Tim questioned.
“A group of us, we live about ten feet down there in an opening in the wall.” She pointed down the tunnel. “I’ve been out for hours looking for help, but no one takes me serious.”
Tim looked down the tunnel. “Can you show us?”
She nodded. “You walk down there, these two men can follow me on this ledge.”
The three men reluctantly followed her the ten feet or so to what appeared to be an abandoned storage facility.
“In here,” the old woman said.
Tim jumped up from the tracks to follow her and waited in the opening until his two co-workers joined him. As all three began to enter the wall, they heard the woman scream. Tim grabbed his flashlight from his belt, turned it on, and hurried to where she was. Her bellowing cries echoed in the large room. “Ma’am! Ma’am!” Tim called out to her. The room was dark and damp, and a foul odor engulfed him. “Ma’am!” Tim froze in horror as the thin beam of his flash light lit the end of the room where the old woman stood crying. Quickly he turned his back to face the other two men, away from the sickening sight that lay before him. Tim calmed himself. He waited for his stomach to stop churning with nausea. Slowly, he turned back around. Twelve bodies lay before him. Twelve bodies overlapping, holding on to one another as if in some desperate attempt to cling to life. Across their blood-and vomit-smeared faces was the look of terror.
Trembling, Tim pulled a camera from his gear bag. As he aimed, his emotions gave way, and Tim handed the camera to another man and flew out to the tracks. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t look through that camera and face what may be their inevitable fate. Tim knew that he would be plagued by this vision. Not so much the vision of the ten adults, but of the two small children, helpless, curled up in the fetal potion, dead in the laps of those who tried to care for them.
May 30th - 10:00 p.m.
Stamford, Connecticut
Dean Hayes contemplated visiting the hotel lounge for a drink before bedtime. But since he didn’t drink alcohol or socialize, that contemplation lasted about ten seconds, and he undressed down to just his boxer shorts, readying himself to get into bed. He never bragged about having an exciting life. To Dean, on some nights, even Saturday, getting to sleep was exciting. He loved to sleep and he loved uninterrupted sleep even more. So when the phone rang just as he swept his legs under the covers, Dean grunted. He had to answer it. “Hello.” Dean huffed when he heard the voice speak his name on the other line. It was a voice he recognized well and heard many times before. It also added to his annoyance because it was a voice he had just heard not one hour earlier. “Dad?”
“Are you watching the news?” William Hayes asked.
“No.”
“Watch the news,” William told him.
“Dad, I don’t watch television.”
“So what. Put it on. You should see this. There’s a quarantine going on at a New York Hospital. A virus of sorts.”
“Don’t tell me you’re worried about this.” Dean rubbed his eyes. “Dad. Please. You’re a doctor. And, really, if it were all that bad, I would know about it. Right?”
“Dino, maybe that high and mighty attitude of yours is why they didn’t call you. Perhaps they picked now to humble you.”
“Dad,” Dean stated his name. “Come on … I’m trying to go to bed here.”
“Bed?” William chuckled. “It’s ten o’clock on a Saturday night.”
“What else am I going to do? Go on a date?”
“You could try. They sell women for men just like you. I heard ...”
“Goodnight, Dad.”
“Dino.” William’s tone changed. “In all seriousness. Watch the news.”
Dean let out a breath. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll watch it, and if I make anything of it, I’ll call you back. Sound good?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Night.” Dean, shaking his head, hung up the phone. He looked at the television, then to the remote on the night stand. Somewhere in between looking back to the television, feeling of the soft pillow on his back and reaching for the remote, Dean’s hand went to the light. He shut it off, slipped further into bed and went to sleep.
May 30th - 10:10 p.m.
Country General Hospital - New York City, NY
“Twelve dead bodies.” Catherine tossed a folder with photographs down to the already cluttered meeting table covered with cups and papers. Seated around it were six exhausted health care workers. “Seventy-two rats. A broken vial on the tracks. We have nine-hundred and forty-two of our ill directly connected to the subway. Something was released there. We know it. They are working on that as we speak. Now my guess, it’s still alive. We have a shot at containing this if ...” Catherine paused when she heard the meeting room door open. John, another one of her assistants, nervously slid inside. She made eye contact then continued. “As I was saying. We have a shot of containing this as long as we run into no one who isn’t connected to our victims or the subway. If we do it means it’s airborne. Which means we’re screwed.” She turned her head to the right. “Is there something you wanted, John?”
Clearing his throat John stepped forward and handed Catherine a chart. “We’re screwed. Twenty-three confirmed cases all here at County prior to the outbreak. It’s airborne.”
Catherine’s head dropped at the same time the chart slipped from her hand and onto the meeting table.
May 30th - 10:25 p.m.
Ashtonville, Connecticut
Had he been a stupid man, Joe would have bought the fact that Ellen was asleep or busy. But he wasn’t a stupid man, and Ellen failed to use any common sense allotted to her in her lifetime. The lights on were a clue she was home. So after the first knock, he thought perhaps she was in the bathroom or shower. The sound of the television blaring said she was awake, and he passed off the second knock as something she just didn’t hear. But the sight of Ellen moving about in the foyer through the windows by the front door confirmed she was avoiding him.
Thinking, ‘What? Does she take me for an idiot?’ Joe slammed his fist against the door. “Ellen!” Finally, a creak and the door opened slightly, exposing only Ellen’s eyes. “Finally.” Joe tossed his hand up. “Are you gonna let me in?”
“Um ... Joe. Geez.” Ellen yawned. “It is really late.”
“Ellen, do you think I care. I just drove all the way up here. I’d like to see and speak to you for five minutes.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Joe. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Ellen.” Joe said calmly.
“Yes.”
“Open the goddamn door!” he screamed.
Ellen cringed then she opened the door slowly, stepping behind it.
“Thank you.” Joe stepped inside and closed the door. “Kelly said you weren’t feeling well. What’s the ...” Joe saw her. His hand reached out and to her chin. “What happened to your face?”
“See.” Ellen fake chuckled. “It is so funny. Last night I was drunk and ...”
“Oh, don’t bullshit me. Who hit you?”
“Joe, see ...”
“Goddamn it.” Joe said with such disgust. “Did Peter do this? He did.” He released her chin and immediately began to stalk about the first floor of the house, looking around. “Where is he? Son of a bitch bastard.”
“Joe.” Ellen raced to him, grabbing his arm. “Look. W
e fought. He got mad. He found out about me and Frank.”
Joe pulled from her grip so angry. “I don’t give a shit what his reasons were or why he was mad. He doesn’t lay a hand on you. You hear me? I’ll knock his ass through a wall. Now where is he?” Joe demanded.
“He’s upstairs in the guest room. He ...”
Joe bolted to the steps.
“Joe.” Ellen flew to him stopping him. She laid her hand over his on the railing. “It won’t be any fun for you. He’s sick.”
Joe said nothing. He looked once more at Ellen, pulled his hand from hers and barged up the steps. Rage burned through Joe as he faced the closed guest room door. “Pete.” He knocked once on the door. “Pete.” He yelled. “You and I have to talk.” When Joe didn’t receive a response, he waited about as long as his patience would allow and turned the unlocked knob on the door stepping into the room. “Peter.” He saw Peter on the bed. “Get up.” It only took another step into the room and not only did Joe sense something was wrong, he smelled it. There was a scent in the room and it wasn’t pleasant. A mixture of illness and the foul odor of expelled body fluids lingered in the air. Saying no more Joe moved closer to the bed. He could hear the wispy breathing of Peter. “Pete.” He called his name and his voice finally got through. No verbal response came to Joe, only a moan. Joe reached to the lamp on the night stand and flicked on the light. Eyes focused on Peter, Joe heaved in a breath of shock. Peter was sweaty, pale, his eyes partially opened and rolled back; purple splotches like bruises covered him. “Christ.” Joe didn’t touch him, or say anymore. He shut out the light and left the room.
May 30th - 11:20 p.m.
The White House - Washington, DC
“Airborne virus. There’s no doubt.” Catherine’s words came through the speaker phone in the meeting room behind the Oval Office.
President Hadley’s eyes instinctively closed for a moment. He brought his folded hands to this chin then gathered himself to talk. “You are absolutely sure.”
The men and one woman in the room sat quietly staring at the phone, waiting to hear every word Catherine had to say.
“Confirmed,” she said. “And reconfirmed.” Her manner of speaking was matter of fact. It was as if her lifelong fear of this situation actually occurring made her strong enough to handle what she faced. “Airborne. Twenty-four-hour incubation period. Maybe less. This thing moves fast. Deadly.”
“I’ve pulled in FEMA,” President Hadly said. “Preparations are being made as we speak to shut down New York.”
Catherine couldn’t help it. If asked, she would have said she never intended that laugh to seep out. But it did. “In hopes to do what, Sir?”
“Contain it. My advisors believe that if we can shut down the city, we ...”
“Your advisors are full of shit.” Catherine drew up silence. “Pardon me. But listen to what I’m saying and take it all in. It is airborne. This thing will circle the globe and claim its territory. Containing it is no longer a possibility. I know of two cases that left the city ... by air. Both dead. One in Philadelphia, the other right where you are. DC.”
“Well, then what are you suggesting we do?” President Hadley asked with edge.
“Issue a national warning. Go public.” Catherine told him.
“And then what?” President Hadley snapped. “Ma’am? You said yourself it’s airborne. It’s deadly and moves fast. I’m about to tell the American people that a deadly virus is about to wipe them into extinction. Do you realize what kind of panic, what kind of chaos that would cause?”
“Then you instill Martial law, but get the word out. Warn them. Keep people in their homes. Their cities. Keep them out of the way while we try to beat this.”
“Can we?” President Hadley asked. “Can it be beat?”
There was a slight hesitation before Catherine answered. “In my professional opinion there is only one man who has the skills and the knowledge to do it. If it can be done at all.”
“And that is?”
“If you want a shot in hell of beating this, you have to bring in Lt. Dean Hayes. Bring him in now.” Catherine softened her voice. “He could very well be ... our only hope.”
May 30th - 11:45 p.m.
Hotel - Stamford, Connecticut
The steady pounding at his hotel room door not only stirred Dean from his deep sleep but from his bed as well. With a jolt awake and a loud ‘thump’, Dean found himself shaking his head and lying on the floor by his bed, the covers entangling his feet. “Just a minute,” he called out groggily, kicking out his feet to free himself from the entrapment of the blankets. Stumbling to a stand, Dean turned on the light and patted down his hair which stood on ends.
He staggered to the door still trying to blink away sleep, adjusted his boxers and looked through the peephole. Distorted by the scope he saw military men outside his door. With a ‘what’ and a look of confusion, Dean rubbed his eyes and opened the door.
A colonel stepped forward and the other four soldiers, armed, moved in closer behind him. “Lt. Hayes?” the Colonel questioned.
Dean blinked drastically, clearing his vision. “Oh, shit. What did I do?”
^^^^
Dean knew the instant that General Green stepped into his hotel room with a cup of coffee—for him—that he wasn’t going back to bed.
“We have a situation.” Green handed him the coffee.
“What is the situation, Sir?”
“A virus, level four.”
“Where?”
“New York City.”
Dean paused. He didn’t mean to but the words crept out, “Oh my God.” Dean ran his fingers through his hair. “This … this could be a nightmare.”
“It already is.”
Silence.
“I need to sit down.” Dean did. “What do we have?”
“Airborne virus confirmed. Similar to a souped up bubonic plague meets Ebola meets H1N1.”
Dean whispered, “Carrington.”
Green blinked a long ‘I know’, then spoke. “Incubation period is about twenty-four hours. Initial victims died within eight. The first contact victims hospitalized now, at the current rate of acceleration, have a prognosis of 48 hours. The virus in second and third contact victims is showing no signs of weakening.”
“Which would tell me that the initial victims all caught it at the same time from the same source ...”
“Or possibly standing at ground zero,” the general interjected.
“Do you feel it was deliberate?”
“Evidence is pointing that way, yes.”
“What are the CDC and WHO saying about containing this?” Dean asked.
“For the record they’ll tell you yes; off the record, not a shot in hell.”
“That bad? We must be talking one hell of a window.”
“Twenty-eight hours.”
Dean stood up and began to pace. “No wonder they don’t think they can contain it. Do they realize how many people have left the city in twenty-eight hours?”
“We know of three, all by plane, two of them are dead already. Lieutenant Hayes, this virus affects everyone it comes in contact with.”
“Not everyone.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s inevitable that there will be people immune; people who, no matter what, will not get the virus. In what division of this am I working?”
“What else?” Green shrugged. “Cure. A lab is being set up for you as we speak, complete with samples and everything you need. Items from your Nebraska lab can be shipped here once you tell us what you need.”
“I suppose I’m going to New York?”
Green shook his head.
“No. But if that’s where …”
“New York … we feel, may …” Green paused. “No. New York is out of our control.”
“Define ‘out of control’, Sir.”
“Hospitals are not taking patients. Special aid camps are being set up, resources brought in.”
“Holy
hell, we’re talking thousands upon thousands ill already. Aren’t we?”
“By eight tomorrow morning, they are projecting tens of thousands. We can’t count those not seeking help.”
“But wouldn’t I best serve being in New York?” Dean asked.
“We can get you in … there’s no guarantee we’ll get you out.”
Dean looked confused.
“Preparations to shut down New York have already begun. Airports, bridges, tunnels, roadways. Any way in or out. They’re going to try to do the impossible, shut in millions of people. By noon today it will be a war zone. You don’t want to be there.” Green stepped back. “I’ll leave you to get ready.” He walked to the door.
“General, you do realize, with that many ill, the window, CDC is right. There will be no containing this.”
“We can try.”
“Try, yes. But it’s airborne. New York a war zone? Wait. With an airborne virus of this magnitude, it’s not going to matter where you are. In forty-eight hours this thing will be the air; it will circle the globe and claim its territory.”
“Then I suppose you and I both have our work cut out for us, don’t we, son?” With those words, General Green walked out.
Dean stood in disbelief staring at the closed door. “What work?” he whispered. “It’s over.” He plopped down on his bed. “God help us.”
DAY THREE
Sunday, May 31st - 4:45 am.
New York City, NY
It had rained and the remnants of the thunderstorm fell in the form of a light drizzle. The slick of water glazed over the George Washington Memorial Bridge, giving the eerie and dramatic effect needed for what was happening.
Military truck after military truck rolled in loudly. Soldiers armed and wearing gas masks walked in front, alongside and behind the barricade. With diligence and determination they moved like soldiers seizing a city, and they were. The United States Armed Forces were taking New York but not with nearly as much vengeance as their unseen foe, the virus.
The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series Page 8
