“Sorry.” The man shook his head. “We cannot afford to give you help of any kind.”
“I’m not asking for a miracle here. Screw you people!” Joe stepped back, bumping into the man who had pushed him several times. “Move!” he blasted, stopped, spun around and took off his jacket. “Hey,” he called to the check-in man who had turned him away. “You look cold.” When the man finally looked up, Joe tossed the jacket; it smacked the man in the mask, and the man grabbed it. “It’s still damp.” Joe chuckled when he saw the horrified look on the man’s face. “Night.” Joe stormed his way through the crowd.
Two fingers over his top lip, Dean hid his snicker and chased after Joe. “Mister. Mister, wait up.”
Joe turned around. He would have seared Dean vocally, but since he didn’t recognize him, he wasn’t going to blame him for how he was treated at the check-in line. At least not yet. “Yes.”
“I couldn’t hear,” Dean said. “I just heard the jacket part. What is the problem?”
“The problem.” Joe felt the heat hit his face. “I’ll tell you what the problem is.” He began to ramble with outraged emotion. “I got a small town full of people showing up at my daughter’s door for help by the second. We have little medication. She’s the only one who knows how to help them. Her kids, my grandkids, are dying. And those assholes, who should be grateful I’m not dropping off the entire goddamn Ashtonville population at their door, won’t give me a hand.” Joe pointed to the three men, let out a huff, waved his hand in disgust and turned to walk away.
“Sir, wait.”
Joe stopped again.
“Ashtonville isn’t that far right?” Dean asked.
“No. No it isn’t.”
“Well, I can’t make any promises, but I can see what I can do. I may know someone who might be able to go and lend a hand.”
Finally, a swing and not a miss! Joe sighed heavily. “Anything. Any help you can give. Even trying will be appreciated.” He realized he had already used his anger, and this time, if he wanted this stranger to help him, Joe had to use tact. He swallowed. “We’ll fall apart by tomorrow afternoon if we don’t get some relief.” Joe looked around the station. “We’ve got about a third as many as you and we have nothing.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you.” Reaching into the chest pocket of his shirt, Joe pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here’s the address. Well, actually, this entire street has become the gathering place.”
Dean looked at the address and folded the paper. “I’ll try.”
“I’ll be grateful.” Joe extended his hand to Dean and stepped back. “Slagel, Joe Slagel.”
“Dean Hayes.” Dean noticed the twitch in Joe’s eye as he retracted his hand. “What’s wrong?”
Joe pointed at Dean as he stepped back. “I just know your name. Where, I can’t think right now. It’ll come to me. But I have to get back.” He kept moving backwards. “Thanks again.”
As Joe left his sight, Dean looked once more at the address, re-folded it, placed it in the back pocket of his jeans and headed to his lab.
May 31st - 11:05 p.m.
New York City, NY
Carl stood like a body guard outside the natural pharmacy on a main street in a cross residential/commercial area, arms folded, standing tall, M-16 draped over his shoulder. He raised one eyebrow as he made eye contact with the stare that came from the dead black man who lay before Carl’s feet. The man had been dead for a while, Carl figured. The blood that surrounded the body that laid facedown didn’t have the shiny look of fresh, flowing blood. The dead man’s hand still clenched the torn grocery bag. Torn and empty. Carl had to wonder, what was the last thing that went through the man’s mind—aside from the bullet—before he died? Was he scared? Was he angry? Was he out there to get food for his family? If he was, what would happen to the people that were counting on his return?
Small fires of burning buildings lit the street. Windows were broken and bodies laid everywhere. Carl also prided himself on being one to want to defend his country. He always said he would go to war for his land. Never did he imagine he would be fighting a deadly war on his very own soil.
The vials were glass. Tiny, maybe an inch tall, they were brown in color. They looked illegal, but they were exactly what Catherine searched for. The herbal name, Eupatorium perfoliatum, was recognized by Catherine and it was printed on the homemade labels that adhered to the vials. There were fifteen in all and Catherine took them. She shoved them all in a small duffle bag, snapped it, tossed it over her shoulder and raced outside. “Carl. Got it.”
“Excellent.” Carl told her. “Now let’s get you back to the hospital and airlifted to Hayes, hopefully without being target practice.”
That thought had crossed Catherine’s mind. But she couldn’t dwell on it. She couldn’t worry about getting shot or having the helicopter blown from the sky. Her main thoughts were of getting to the hospital. She and Carl were doing everything carefully and one step at a time. So stepping over the dead man on the sidewalk, Catherine and Carl moved hastily to the hospital through the ravaged streets.
May 31st - 11:20 p.m.
Ashtonville, Connecticut
The tray that held the dwindling supply of medication slipped from Ellen’s hand and toppled onto the floor when she walked into her home. She’d pick it up after a few minutes. Closing the door, Ellen, moving with exhaustion, walked over to the steps and just plopped down as if those stairs were an easy chair.
She leaned her back against the wall, closing her eyes and blacking out all that she could. Nearly eight hours had gone by since Ellen started giving medication. Never did she expect to have so many people show up, and never did she think that all those supplies she loaded in the car would be used so quickly. There seemed to be no end to the number of people looking for help, and Ellen was curious as to whether there was a way to take a break. She received her answer in the form of a child’s cry, Taylor’s cry to Ellen for help. Ellen stood up from her seat on the steps and hurried up the stairs. Her short break was over.
May 31st - 11:28 p.m.
Interstate 8 - Outskirts, Chicago, IL
Frank no sooner opened his eyes than he felt the warmth of the liquid dripping across his eyelashes and blurring his vision. He knew the sky was still dark. He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious. Rubbing his eyes only smeared the wetness. He brought his fingers down to see, but it still was far too dark. Even the amber glow of flames coming from the distance didn’t give him light enough. But Frank didn’t need to see to know that his head was cracked open somewhere. His head pounded unbelievably as he tried to lift his body which lay in the thick weeds far from where he remembered being. He rolled himself to his knees then lifted to his feet. As soon as Frank gathered his balance a buzzing hit his ears, the pressure filled his head and everything around him—dark or not—began to swarm. A thick nausea hit his gut, and after teetering to his left then to his right, Frank’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell face forward back down to the grass.
May 31st - 11:34 p.m.
County General Hospital - New York City, NY
On the roof of the hospital Catherine’s short hair whipped around and into her face from the spinning helicopter blades. Holding her hair back, she stood with Andrea a little distance from the chopper.
Carl hunched as he ran over to Catherine. He tapped her on the shoulder. “We have to go!” He shouted over the noise. “The pilot isn’t well.” Getting a nod from Catherine, Carl took her knapsack and raced back to the chopper.
Catherine inhaled and laid her hands on Andrea’s arm. “We’re off. I’ll be back for you.”
“Please do. And be careful.”
Before Catherine stepped back, she embraced Andrea whole-heartedly. “You’ve done so well. Let’s end this.”
Andrea nodded as she moved back from the embrace, and Catherine in a low run made it to the helicopter.
Carl helped Catherine in
to the chopper and closed the door. He jumped in the passenger’s seat and turned his head to Len, the pilot. Len looked pale and if his appearance was any indication of how he felt, Len wasn’t doing well at all. “Len,” Carl spoke up. “How are you doing?” He asked to be cordial--and safe. They were lifting up into the air.
“Good.” Len reached up to the controls.
Catherine leaned forward. “Len, if it gets too much for you, just land. We’ll find a way there. Just get us out of this city.”
“I’ll be fine.” Len tried to smile. “Don’t you worry.”
Catherine returned the smile and when she felt the jolt of the helicopter as it lifted, she laid her hand on her chest, let out an anxious breath and sat back. They were on their way.
Andrea folded her arms close to her body, warming herself from the air that was not only cold but chilled even more by the whipping blades. She knew she had more patients down below her, but Andrea couldn’t leave the rooftop until she saw Catherine and Carl lift safely into the air.
May 31st - 11:36 p.m.
Fairfield University - Stamford, Connecticut
Such seriousness covered William’s face as he stared down at his son, Dean. William was on his way into a tent when Dean made a little surprise visit from the lab to make a request of him. There they stood, a few minutes later, still outside that tent. Only now William shook his head slowly.
“You know, Dino,” William said. “This is a repeat of the third grade. You volunteer me for things...”
“Dad ...”
“You want to get rid of ...”
“Dad, come on, that’s not ...”
“But,” William held up a finger. “But just like in the third grade when I ended up being the world’s tallest elf, I’ll be your Florence Nightingale, Dino. I’ll go to Ashtonville for you.”
Dean closed his eyes. “Thank you.” He gripped his father’s arms. “I don’t know why I feel strongly about this ...”
“You want me out of here, that’s why.” William joked. “Jealousy always did that to you.”
“You are absolutely right.” Dean smiled. “I’m jealous. I’m also in the middle of something up at the lab.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll have things ready for you to leave in the morning,” Dean spoke as he backed up. “I have the address.” He patted his tee shirt pocket, stuffed his hands in his front pockets of his jeans then drew up a bright look when he remembered where he put. “Got it.”
“Good.”
Dean turned quickly and darted off.
“What do I get myself into?” William mumbled to himself and walked into the tent he had been trying to get to. For the first time, the terror in that tent actually made him smile. Lying on the cot by the door, as if on display, was one of the check-in guys. Giving a tap to his leg, William grinned at the check-in man, whispered that he’d be back shortly, and moved on to someone else.
May 31st - 11:38 p.m.
New York City, NY
From the air, the reality of it was seen much more easily than what Catherine had picked up from the news. She could see the massive amount of chaos that had occurred in the city below. She knew there had always been traffic, but not like she witnessed below her. Cars were lined up on every street that could be seen trying to make their escape from a city that had no exit.
Seeing New York fade behind her, Catherine, smiling and excited, turned forward in her seat. “We’re out of there. Now how much longer until we get to Stamford?” she asked Len pleasantly. “Will it take ...”
It wasn’t supposed to happen. Not there. Not then. Len grunted loudly and his body fell forward into the helicopter controls. Catherine screamed and dived forward at the same time as Carl, and the helicopter, fast and mindless, headed in a nosedive straight to the ground below.
“Catherine!” Carl tried to free Len’s heavy body. “Grab the stick. He’s on the pedals!” Carl pulled on Len.
“What do I do?” Catherine reached over Len’s sideways body and grabbed the stick.
“Pull back.” Carl tugged trying to free Len and maneuver him out of Catherine’s way in the small space. “Pull back.”
“I’m trying!”
The helicopter began to spin, and pinned for space, Carl kicked his feet to free Len’s heavy boots from the pedal. “Got him. Pull back. Pull ...”
The helicopter lifted but it wasn’t enough. The small wooded area came quickly into their view. Releasing Len, Carl leaped to help Catherine pull on the stick. But despite their valiant efforts, the helicopter kept going forward into the woods. The top of a big, high tree clipped them, causing the helicopter to bounce and spin to its side. The screams that came from the cockpit were short as the helicopter careened down to the tree-filled area and hit with a loud crash. The flight for life ended seconds later with a bellowing explosion.
May 31st - 11:44 p.m.
Ashtonville, Connecticut
Johnny Slagel may have only been eleven, but he was a lot wiser than most boys his age. He was wise enough to see something was going on with his mother. She was sick all day, then after Mrs. Peters had left for what she said would be a night’s interval, Johnny watched his mother perk up as if she weren’t sick at all. But clearly, even eleven-year-old Johnny could see she was.
“Did you drink your juice?” Kelly had a dazed tone to her voice as she asked Johnny. She wandered into his bedroom as he lay on the bed.
“No,” Johnny answered. His eyes stayed glued to his baby sister, Amanda, cradled in Kelly’s arms. She was so close to his mother’s chest he swore Amanda couldn’t breathe. Amanda was quiet and still, yet an hour before, had screamed in her illness. “What’s wrong with the baby?”
“She’s sleeping.” Kelly peered down. “Drink your juice. You’ll need it to fight this flu. Your sisters drank theirs.”
“I will. I want to play my game first.” Johnny picked up the video game control.
“It’s the last drink before bedtime.” Kelly neared the bed keeping Amanda close to her chest, “Please drink it.” She leaned over and kissed Johnny on the forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom. I hope you feel better.”
“I will. Thank you.” Kelly stood up. “I have the water running. I’m getting in the bath now then I’m going to bed.”
“Night.”
“Night.” Kelly slowly moved to the door, looked back at Johnny and watched him put on his headphones. She pulled his bedroom door shut and walked with Amanda down the dark upstairs hall. She turned into the next room. Lindsay and Megan, Kelly’s other two daughters, were tucked in their beds, eye closed, and Kelly carried Amanda to the crib. She laid the still baby, six months old, down in the crib on her side. Pulling the covers up on Amanda, Kelly leaned over the crib. But before she kissed her baby daughter goodnight, she brought her fingers to Amanda’s wide staring eyes and closed them. Kelly kissed Amanda and left the room, pulling that door closed as well.
Kelly started undressing before she hit the bathroom, unbuttoning her pajama top, sliding it from her and dropping it to the floor right outside the bathroom. She went inside the tiny bathroom, shut the door, and turned to her left to turn the water off in the tub. It was close to overflowing, and Kelly tested the water. It was hot. She stepped from her pajama bottoms and underwear and then into the tub. She let her ankles adjust to the hot feel of the water and then she sat down luxuriating in the warm, relaxing feel that surrounded her. She lifted the water in her hand a few times, then Kelly, with her nerve up, lifted the razor blade she had sitting on the edge of the tub. There was no contemplation on Kelly’s part. She had done all the thinking she needed to do. Taking a long blink, Kelly brought the razor to her right wrist first, inhaled deeply and pressed the sharp edge of the blade hard to her skin, pulling it fast in a slicing motion. She cringed and clenched her jaws from the burning pain. She breathed heavily watching the blood pulsate from her wrist. After only a moment, she took the razor blade into her weakened right
hand, and without hesitation, slit her other wrist. The razor blade dropped from Kelly’s grip and onto the floor and her bleeding arm dangled over the side of the tub. Then Kelly leaned back in the water and closed her eyes.
May 31st - 11:58 p.m.
Westchester County, New York
The combat boots tromped and crunched the ground of the wooded area as the legs staggered as they ran behind a flashlight beam. The yellow light, smoke, and dust flickering in the beam illuminated a black knapsack. Picking up speed, Carl, his face bloody, ran to the open knapsack and dropped to his knees before it. The knapsack was torn and saturated with blood inside and out. Carl shined his flashlight around seeing only bits of broken glass. Just as his head dropped and the flashlight fell from his hand, Carl raised his eyes. The wayward beam caught, in the distance, one lonely brown vial. Carl leaped out for the flashlight and drove his body onto the ground for the vial as if it were a breath of life. His bloody hand not only picked up the vial but also an abundance of dirt as he clenched the last little bit of hope. He slowly opened his hand, blew away the dirt and smiled when he saw the perfect and unbroken vial. Making sure it was safe, he placed it in his chest pocket, staggered as he stood, and with more energy, he headed out of the woods.
He emerged not long after and moved toward the highway. He stopped at a clearing ten feet away where Catherine laid on her side in the grass, not moving. Blood seeped from her head and stomach. Papers torn, burnt and bloodstained lay in an untidy pile by Catherine’s head. Carl grabbed the stack of papers, shoved them inside his shirt then bent down to Catherine. He extended his strong arms under her and gently lifted her up as he stood. Catherine moaned slightly, her arm dropped and her head fell into Carl’s chest. After adjusting Catherine better in his arms, Carl, himself injured, began to walk down the highway.
The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series Page 14
