The reporter paused and swallowed hard as the cut away shots began to roll. Regardless of the city, all the scenes appeared the same, overwhelmed paramedics were loading ambulances as fast as they could pull up to office buildings, apartments and retirement homes. Large numbers of heart attack and stroke victims were being taken away as the police tried to maintain some sense of order on the streets.
The BBC reporter shifted uncomfortably and continued, “As of right now, all that is known is that the outbreak appears to be affecting older citizens. Reports of victims range in age from twenty to eighty. There have been no reported or confirmed victims under the age of twenty.”
More scenes were displayed showing French police trying to maintain order outside of numerous hospitals. Masses of people had panicked and were trying to force their way into the emergency rooms. As the camera zoomed in, a few tangled bodies could be seen wrapped around the legs and under the feet of the mobs. The station quickly cut the live feed and returned to the reporter, who currently looked waxen with large creases of stress and anxiety breaking across her brow.
“Authorities are asking all citizens to remain calm and assure us that the situation is under control. A joint task force of national health agencies led by the European Centre for Disease Prevention and Control has promised answers soon, but is suspending international travel until further notice. Currently, there have been no reported incidences in the United States, but the CDC has been placed on alert and is in close communication with European agencies.”
***
Spying his little brother smiling like an idiot, Mike Williams ducked into the boys’ room and waited for him to pass. Quietly he slipped out and fell into stride behind Sam, who seemed lost in reading a scrap of paper over and over again. This was the perfect opportunity. Mike’s prey completely unaware and unguarded left no chance of failure. Success was guaranteed.
Sticking his index finger into his mouth, Mike covered it in a thick, slick coating of saliva and could not help but grin. This is what being a big brother was all about.
As the spit laden finger entered his ear, Sam shrieked more from surprise than the actually grossness of the event. He had been completely unaware of everything as he made his way down the hall towards one of the four gyms at Montville. Reading the two short sentences and ten single digits contained within Alice’s note were the only things that mattered to him, and that had left him totally unguarded for a vicious Wet Willy from his older brother Mike. But even the rapidly cooling viscous saliva that now encased his entire left ear canal could do little to wipe the smile from Sam’s face.
“What’s that little man?” Mike asked as he made a half-hearted attempt to snatch the paper from his brother.
Sam protectively tucked the note behind his back. “It’s a note from Mom and Dad letting me know that you were adopted. That’s why I was smiling.”
Mike smirked, “Please. If anything, I was so wonderful that they decided to try and have another, but after the disappointment of you they quite trying.”
Both boys began laughing. This exchange was a well-rehearsed set of lines that they often threw at one another, but never meant. Mike definitely capitalized on his role of older brother and light-heartedly tormented Sam whenever he could, but neither doubted the devotion of the other, which was exactly why Mike had been looking for Sam in the halls.
“Hey man, I heard about the bus this morning from Joey,” a slightly apologetic look crossed Mike’s face, “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a ride this morn, but coach is running friggin’ two-a-days.”
Sam shrugged, “Not your fault Mike. Chris is a douche bag.” In fact, Sam had momentarily thought that the whole Chris Kelly situation was Mike’s fault. If he had been around to give him a ride to school, this never would have happened, but then again, if he had not been on the bus maybe Alice would have never given him the note.
Mike smiled, “Look I got another practice after school, but I see that dildo in eighth period study hall. You want me to say something to him? Threaten to smack him around a little?”
Sam mulled Mike’s offer over for a few seconds. He knew his brother would make good on his offer if he was asked to, and that Mike was maybe the only person in the entire school that Chris would think twice about fighting. Years of football and weightlifting, not to mention his tireless training in Kali and Ju-Jitsu, had left Mike a lean six foot two pile of muscle, so maybe a few words from him would keep Chris at bay? But Sam declined. Mike was a senior and next year would not be there to hold his little brother’s hand, so Sam figured he needed to find his own way on this one, regardless of how tempting the offer was.
“Nah, it’s cool,” Sam said, “He’s so friggin’ dumb he’ll probably forget by the end of the day or find someone else to beat up.”
Mike shrugged, “Ok little bro, but offer stands.”
As the two brothers made their way down the hall, the intercom system beeped loudly, signaling an announcement. Mike and Sam paid it little attention, there was always some pointless message being conveyed; this surely was no different.
“Teachers please hold your rosters. All teachers hold your rosters,” resounded through the school, echoed in every classroom and hallway. Mike cut a quick glance to Sam and shrugged.
“Probably just another stupid Lock Down Drill,” Sam remarked plainly.
Mike agreed, “Yeah, probably should get a move on to the gym.” But before the boys could move further down the hall, the guidance counselor, Ms. Woodland spotted them passing by her office.
“Boys! Boys,” she fired off in rapid succession while waving her hands nervously at her sides, and slightly hopping up and down causing her elongated pinched face to turn a bright shade of crimson. Mike thought she looked like an angry wounded bird. “Boys, this is a Lock Down. You must clear the halls. Get in here!” Both boys laughed dryly. Ms. Woodland was so over-reactionary. Everything was a crisis, which was exactly why all the students had stopped going to see her. Of course, she would get this worked up over a routine drill. They had at least one of these pointless things a month. But as the boys slowly made their way towards the Guidance Office the front doors of the school were thrown open and two paramedics rushed past, wheeling a stretcher and carrying what looked like a large red toolbox.
“Ok, ok, Ms. Woodland,” Mike stammered, just beginning to understand the seriousness of the situation, “We were just…” But before he could finish his next sentence, a scream echoed from the administrators’ offices across the hall. It appeared that a fight was taking place in the office. The vertical blinds were drawn and thrashing violently against the windows, but the outline of four people could be seen struggling with a fifth that appeared to be on the floor. Before anyone could react, a body was slammed into one of the large glass windows that made up the front of the administrators’ office. Mike, Sam and Ms. Woodland all shared an equally confused and scared look with one another and quickly hurried into the Guidance Office where they locked the door.
“I don’t think this is a drill,” Sam whispered weakly. Neither of his companions thought his comment needed a reply.
***
Mrs. Rachel Williams had always enjoyed being a stay at home mom. She kept a beautiful home, raised two good boys and had a happy husband. By all measures, she felt like a success.
But today was different. Today Rachel hated being alone in her house. She was sick. Her stomach was churning in burning knots and her head felt like it was about to split in half. As she lay in bed watching reruns of daytime talk shows, Rachel silently cursed her husband Gary for getting her sick. She had no idea how he went to work with the flu, but that was Gary she figured. He always worked hard to take care of his family. After which, she immediately felt guilty for having spited him moments before. She hoped he was feeling better and was happy that somehow the boys had escaped the flu this time.
***
Moments before the Lock Down was instituted, Bev Jennings happily typed away at her keyboard
in the main office of the Montville Regional School Complex. Sure, she was supposed to be updating the student files, returning phone calls, editing Mr. Carson’s monthly Principal’s Newsletter, basically doing anything other than updating her Facebook page with pictures of her grandson, but she dared anyone to tell her otherwise. Not only was she known to all staff members as the Dragonlady, she was retiring at the end of this school year, so let them write some letter for her file. Like it would matter in June when she danced her considerable girth through the double front doors and right into a retirement, soaked in the irony of Skinny Girl margaritas and ice cream.
“Bev,” Mr. Carson bellowed from his office, “Bev! Now!”
Bev rolled her eyes and shifted in her chair. “Fat bastard,” she muttered, “Probably wants to place a third lunch order.”
In truth, Mr. Carson was of equal size compared to Bev. Both had achieved the level of obesity where gender seemed to disappear and they were simply categorized as “human” but each was convinced that the other was larger than them.
“Bev! Damn it where are you?” Mr. Carson growled. She quietly smiled to herself when she heard his chair groan as he attempted to heft himself out and up, only to collapse back into it. She was not going anywhere until he said the magic words.
Finally, swallowing his pride, Mr. Carson cooed sarcastically, “Oh, Ms. Jennings. If it’s not too much trouble might I please have a word?”
Bev reached her thick fingers underneath her office chair and pulled the pneumatic lever that pitched the back of chair forward and assisted her in the process of standing. The short walk from her desk in the front of the office to Mr. Carson’s door would have been cleared in mere seconds by any other staff member; three minutes later, Bev stood slightly swaying and out of breath in the door of the principal’s office. Her ankles were swelling with each passing moment. This had better be quick.
“Why yes Mr. Carson? How can I help you,” Bev smiled hiding her true feelings and thoughts just barely. Contempt was plainly written across her face.
Now that Mr. Carson finally had her attention his demeanor shifted gears back to his usual rancorous tone. “Now Bev, I have a question for you,” he snarled.
The smile faded quickly from the secretary’s face, “Of course Mr. Carson, I’ll go get the delivery menus.” She mimed a half turn just to add a little more salt to the wound she was so fond of opening.
The broken veins in Mr. Carson’s nose and cheeks flushed from their usual light red to a fiery shade. Small beads of sweat began to percolate through pores of his nose. Bev smiled. She had definitely hit a nerve.
“No,” Mr. Carson hissed as his lower chins vibrated with rage as they attempted to pull themselves over his dominate first chin. Bev thought it looked like his neck was attempting to swallow his head.
“What I want to know is why,” Mr. Carson paused to breathe, “Why the school’s email would be used to send advertisements for your daughter’s massage services?” Venomous acid dripped from every word, but Bev was unphased.
“Oh, oh that,” Bev paused, “Well I figured the staff would be stressed with the beginning of a new school year, so I was just trying to raise morale. You know, be a team player.”
“And you felt including the picture of your daughter straddling the massage table was warranted and appropriate?” Mr. Carson was barely keeping it together.
Bev hesitated for a moment and considered that maybe, just maybe, that had been a little overkill, but quickly dismissed the thought. “That’s just good advertising Mr. Carson. If you’re worried about getting an appointment I can put in…” Her words trailed off and her demure expression seemed frozen on her face for a few moments before one of intense confusion took hold. Even Mr. Carson seemed to notice.
“Bev? Bev? Bev?” his voice rose with each repetition, “Are you ok?” But no response was offered. Bev had slumped against the doorframe and was trying to say something, but the words seemed stuck in her throat, which she was now desperately clutching at with thick, sausage like fingers tipped in deep purple nails. She clutched so intensely that Mr. Carson observed one of her press-on plum talons fly free from its perch and land on the carpet.
Mr. Carson got out of his chair as fast as his mass would allow. He quickly lumbered around the desk and was at Bev’s side. His knees protested, but he knelt down anyway and pressed two fingers against his secretary’s neck. There was no pulse.
“Nurse!” Mr. Carson bellowed, “Call the nurse and an ambulance!”
In the adjacent office, the vice principal Ms. Oakes, heard the cry of her boss and rapidly punched 9-1-1 and then, as per district policy, issued a Lock Down order for all staff and students.
***
Millions of Americans found their normal daytime television broadcasts suddenly cut to run news coverage from one of the big three in American reporting, but regardless of the station, all carried the same message. Not since 9/11 had all the channels been blocked out for news feeds.
The small television Bev kept tucked under the corner shelf of her desk was streaming a story from CNN. Anderson Cooper’s normally cool and collected affect seemed shaken to its core. His immaculately quaffed silver hair was messed and looked as if he had been grabbing fistfuls of it before broadcast. His shirt appeared rumpled, as if he had just lost a wrestling match and his eyes appeared heavy and bloodshot.
“America,” he paused, “Seems to have encountered the same difficulties that are now besieging Europe.” He knew he was putting it lightly, but prided himself on professionalism and did not want to inspire panic in the populous.
“While initial reports from the CDC are conflicting, it appears that the illness that has befallen numerous adults in all major European countries has now been found within our borders.” He paused and continued, “Earlier today, I traveled to some area hospitals and attempted to speak to ER doctors. Their reactions were troubling to say the least. Can we please show the footage?” Cooper seemed to be genuinely asking for permission and his anger was evident when it was apparently denied.
“Look Frank,” his cool facade had cracked and he yelled at someone off camera, “I don’t give a shit what they told you! This is America! Play the damn tape!” He slammed his palms down on the desk causing his CNN coffee mug to jump a few inches into the air before landing haphazardly on its side. The mug listed back and forth for a few seconds before Cooper seemed to notice it and gently set it right. The screen cut to black for a few seconds and then began to stream what he had recorded only an hour before.
At first, the tape appeared to be nothing more than another of Cooper’s typical guerilla style reporting stories. He was quickly weaving his way through the ER of some hospital while the cameraman struggled to keep up. Anderson grabbed the shoulder of a young doctor as he ran past and attempted to ask him a few questions, but the man quickly shook his head “no” and took off towards an incoming ambulance. Anderson turned to the camera with a concerned look on his face. “Obviously, the situation is a dire one. There appears to be no one who is able to provide any answers or information, but we…” He paused and turned towards a loud argument that was unfolding near the ambulance the young doctor had rushed to meet. “Let’s make our way over and see what is unfolding,” Cooper continued as he picked his way through a seemingly endless supply of patients.
The cameraman followed in close pursuit of Cooper and swung the lens back and forth across the ER as they made their way. All the rows of plastic chairs were filled with people clutching their heads or swaddling their stomachs protectively. An air of panic was clearly visible, but none of the patients seemed to be taken in for treatment. Maybe the back examination rooms were all full the cameraman wondered as a middle-aged man in a wrinkled business suit grabbed his bent elbow. The camera inadvertently swung down to capture the man’s face. It was creased with pain, and sweat was pouring from his brow at an unbelievable rate.
“Please,” the man pleaded weakly, “Please get a doctor. I’m, I’m
…” but he could not finish his sentence. He doubled over and clawed at his stomach. A weak moan escaped his lips, which was immediately followed by a violent torrent of pink tinged vomit that spattered the cameraman’s legs and feet. Blood leaked slowly from the man’s mouth as he struggled to lift his head and mutter a weak apology. Before the cameraman could react, Anderson had blindly grabbed him by the other arm and pulled him along towards the confrontation erupting between the young doctor and two National Guardsmen.
The doctor was standing at the door trying to wheel a stretcher past what appeared to be two National Guardsmen. Cooper quickly made his way towards the men.
“There appears to be a military presence. I think I can see three Hummers parked outside, but I’m not sure what is going on.”
The doctor began to push past the Guardsmen with the stretcher, upon which an elderly patient lay. She was a frail woman with stringy gray hair and it appeared that she had succumbed to whatever epidemic was now unfolding.
“Look,” the doctor pleaded, “She only just passed as the ambulance pulled in. There’s still a chance to…” But the soldiers shook their heads. “Please!” the doctor pleaded.
Anderson tried to intervene, “Gentleman, surely you understand the importance of this poor woman receiving the medical care she desperately needs. Time is of the essence. You must allow this man to do his job!”
One of the soldiers grabbed the stainless steel runners on the side of the stretcher, “We got orders to lock down this hospital. Orders state no one else is to be taken in until further notice. CDC’s ordered home site quarantines based on information obtained from Europe and the ECDCP.”
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