The Flu 2: Healing

by Jacqueline Druga

  A PERMUTED PRESS book

  Published at Smashwords

  ISBN (eBook): 978-1-61868-1-614

  ISBN (Trade Paperback): 978-1-61868-1-607

  The Healing copyright © 2013

  by Jacqueline Druga

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover art by Travis Franklin.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  Table of Contents

  Journal Entry 1

  1. The First Step

  2. An Ounce of Healing

  Journal Entry 2

  3. Space Between

  Journal Entry 3

  4. Life

  Journal Entry 4

  5. Desperate

  6.Gone

  Journal Entry 5

  7. Smoke and Mirrors

  8. A New Path

  9. Where Next?

  Journal Entry 6

  10. Breakthrough

  11. Different Turn

  Journal Entry 7

  12. Batting A Thousand

  Journal Entry 8

  13. Dark Turn

  14. Uncovering Truth

  15. Dark

  Journal Entry 9

  16. Preparations

  Journal Entry 10

  17. Leg of the Journey

  Mick's Last Letter

  18. Final Battle

  19. Coming Home

  20. Lost Cause

  21. Moving Forward

  Journal Entry 11

  Journal Entry

  October 14th

  My name is Christian Hughes, but everyone calls me Chris. I’m thirteen. This is my first entry. I don’t know how much I’ll write or for how long.

  My pap said I should write in a journal. He said it would help me get my feelings out. Don’t need to write in it every day, just when I feel like I have something on my mind. I asked him if he ever had one, he said he didn’t but saw no reason why I shouldn’t. I’m the talker.

  I don’t know what I’m gonna write. Maybe tomorrow I will. Kind of explain what all happened and why I am writing.

  In the morning we leave. Not for long and not far away.

  I don’t even know what’s outside my town. Heck, I was rarely outside of my town before this all happened.

  My stepfather is taking me and my little brother away. Just a trip. Just us three.

  He said so we can find ourselves.

  I hope he’s right. I hope I find myself. Because right now, I am so lost.

  1. The First Step

  October 15th

  Two hours into the journey, Mick Owens pulled over. There was a rest area just before the end of the Ohio turnpike and it was a perfect place to stop.

  Their drive had been an easy one, not that two hours in a car was all that long. It was peaceful driving. They spotted one car on the road and they were headed in the opposite direction. One car in two hours. It was only highway driving and what was ahead scared him.

  Civilization. Or what was left of it.

  The boys didn’t say much. Mick didn’t expect them to. It was part of the reason he was taking the boys away for a spell. Perhaps the further away from home, from the hurt, the more they would be themselves, if that was ever possible again.

  They had lost. Mick and the boys had lost. Their mother, their grandmother, brother … it was too much to handle.

  Mick not only saw those around him succumb to the flu and lose their lives, he had watched the spark of life leave Chris and Tigger.

  Then again, it had only been a week. Time would heal. For that Mick prayed.

  There wasn’t a soul at the rest area; it was eerily deserted and Mick put the SUV in park. Fall had set in and the leaves covered the parking lot like a layer of snow. Untouched, because no cars had passed through them.

  He looked in the rearview mirror to six year old Tigger who due to a medical condition, was no bigger than a three year old. Tigger wiggled.

  “You have to take a leak, Tig?” Mick asked.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’m just dancing.”

  “I’m sure.” Mick opened his door. “Chris, take your brother while I top off the gas.”

  “Sure.” Chris started to open his door but stopped. He looked through the windshield at the silent rest area building. “You ain’t wanting me to take him in there, are you?”

  “No, I—”

  “Cause it’s not like I’m scared or anything, just … it’s …”

  “Chris,” Mick said softly, “just take him a few feet from the truck. Not too far. I don’t want you boys far from me at all.”

  Again, Chris started to open the door. “Why you topping off the gas, Mick? We running low already?”

  “No,” Mick answered, shifting his eyes to the rearview mirror and to Tigger who wiggled more intensely. “I’d rather not stop when we are near Pittsburgh.”

  “Cause that seems kind of fast, doesn’t it?”

  “What’s seems kind of fast?”

  “That we’re running low on gas.”

  “We aren’t running low on gas, I just wanna top off.”

  “What if we run out?”

  “Chris …”

  “I mean, with no electricity, how we gonna get gas?”

  “I brought plenty.”

  “How do you know?” Chris asked.

  “I know. We’re not going all that far. Now take your brother to pee.”

  From the backseat, Tigger said quietly, “Too late.”

  Mick grumbled with a slight exhale and stepped out of the SUV. “I’ll get you fresh pants.”

  “I’ll help ya, Tig, get you all dry,” Chris said. “Shame Mick made you pee your pants like that.” He too slid out, looked at Mick, and gave a smile. Not wide, but a smile that indicated he was kidding him.

  A moment of breathlessness hit Mick and he was glad to see it. Chris hadn’t smiled in a week. Not that there was any reason to, but even when his father died long before the flu, Chris found a reason to smile.

  Not this time, though. Mick hoped that somehow he’d put some ‘at ease’ on the thirteen year old boy’s face, in fact, he hoped that outcome for them all.

  * * *

  It had been weeks since Tom Roberts had opened his video store. He closed it for a spell when the government ordered all unnecessary businesses shut their doors. Then Mick shut the proverbial doors to Lodi, Ohio and Tom opened his store again. But not for long. A month or so, and then Lodi suffered the same fate as the rest of the world.

  It faced the flu.

  Tom was one of the first to get it. Lodi was ready, under the watchful eye of Lars Rayburn and the CDC, prepped with an experimental treatment.

  The treatment worked on Tom. It worked on a lot of people, but it failed on so many. Tom didn’t just suffer from the after effects of the flu, he suffered from a broken heart he was certain would never mend.

  His wife Marian … gone.

  His daughter Dylan … gone.

  And his grandson Dustin … gone.

  Three times, three ways, Tom was crushed. The love of his life, the one he gave life, and his grandson.

  Losing Marian was tough; he loved her and always would. Tom was certain, even if there were plenty of people left in the world, he’d never find another Marian.

  Dylan was his flesh and blood and only child. It wasn’t right that he had to stay on this earth while watching his child leave. No parent should watch their child die.

  If Tom
could have changed places with any of them, he would have.

  A pain shot through his heart when he thought of Dustin. How incredibly special Dustin was. Tom recalled when Dustin was born. How a spark of life like he had never before felt ignited within his being at the first moment he laid eyes on the baby boy.

  It was an indescribable love that only a grandparent could feel. As if God Himself had reached into Tom’s heart and lit it aflame with an emotion he never realized he had.

  From that moment on Tom was hooked on Dustin as if the child were an addictive drug. He loved his other grandchildren just the same, but Dustin … was his boy, the son he never had. He loved the fishing trips Dylan thought were too boring. Dustin did it all.

  How Tom loved to torment the teenager when he waited on a new release at the video store. Tom would tell him he rented it out. Dustin would pout, whine and then switch up and say, “That’s okay. I’ll wait. It’ll be worth it. Thanks, Pap.”

  Pap.

  The bright young man, who so diligently watched for signs of the flu, was on target. He made it to treatment with minimal symptoms and was a prime candidate for success.

  It didn’t work on him. It ravaged him in a way that was inhumane.

  Nothing … nothing Dustin did in his young life warranted the suffering he experienced and nothing Dylan ever did warranted her having to witness it.

  Perhaps that was why Dylan opted out.

  When she knew she was going to die, she asked to die, before the horrendous end. And for that, Tom was grateful. Though he didn’t want to see Dylan go, he didn’t want to see her suffer. Somewhere inside he found a tiny bit of comfort knowing that his wife, daughter and grandson were together.

  How long had he stood at the door to the video store? Key in hand, movies from the house tucked under his arm. He stood there for a while. Not in contemplation of opening the store, but in thought. He actually did think about closing the store forever. After all, there wouldn’t be any new releases, not for a long time. No one had money, so there was no economical reason. But Dustin loved the store and a return to some sort of normalcy was in order, even if it began with a simple video store.

  He looked down to his keys, his vision blurred. Tom was tired, he hadn’t slept much. He hoped that was the reason for his eyes blurring, because if he needed new glasses he was in trouble. There wasn’t an ophthalmologist in Lodi.

  Something so simple as a pair of glasses, Tom thought, will be something difficult to get.

  “Oh my God.” The male voice was tired, raspy, but familiar. He chanted out the words in shock. “Oh my God.”

  Tom turned around. Ross Jenkins owned the local funeral home. He wasn’t an older man, just middle aged, and his face was worn and drawn, much like everyone else’s. He stopped about four feet from the store steps.

  “Hey there, Ross.”

  “Tom? Tell me you’re opening the store. You’d be the first you know, to reopen.”

  “Yeah, think I will,” Tom said. “Maybe I’ll start a chain reaction. Who knows? I know it’s early and all—”

  “No,” Ross interrupted. “Timing is perfect. People need to see that life goes on.” He sighed. “Even if it starts with a video store.”

  “I appreciate it. And if you aren’t so busy, maybe you’d like to come in and help me get this place back in order? I’m sure it’s dusty.”

  “I’d like that,” Ross said, moving toward the steps.

  After a pause, Tom stuck in the keys and unlocked the door. A smell of dust and ‘stale’ pelted him. He held the door open for Ross. “Come on in. I’ll hit the switch in the back. At least the power’s on, even if it’s on roll outs.”

  Ross stepped to the door. “It’s good to see you, Tom.”

  Tom nodded.

  “I’m sorry for your loss with Marian, Dylan and Dustin.”

  Tom nodded again with a closed mouth. “And I’m sorry too, for Jill, Ben, Gary, Steve, and Lizzy.”

  “Thank you.”

  For simplicity, Tom could have just said he was sorry for the loss of Ross’ family. But he didn’t, he couldn’t. Doing so would lump them all together and somehow Tom felt as if that slighted them. He supposed the ‘sorry for your loss’ comments would be regular things in Lodi for a long time. And the list of names would be long and recited.

  That was life in Lodi. No one was just a statistic or resident. They were people with names and families. Everyone in Lodi knew everyone, that was what made it so hard.

  At some point though, even early, a sign that life has to keep moving on, had to be delivered.

  One step at a time.

  Tom walked into his store.

  2. An Ounce of Healing

  The small fire crackled and Mick poked it with a stick. He had cooked some canned ham and beans for him and the boys. Tigger was out like a light, fast asleep on the ground, curled up on a sleeping bag that twisted around his body.

  Chris sat on a mini seat, elbows on knees, staring at the fire.

  Mick glanced across to him many times.

  They had never reached their destination of West Virginia. They got as far as the interchange where I-79 split and met with 1-279 just 12 miles before Pittsburgh and a roadblock kept them from going any further.

  It appeared as if an exodus out of the city had taken place. Vehicles had used both lanes on all roads to leave, but had been halted by a military blockade. A traffic jam so bad, no one could even turn around. Mick hadn’t even heard of any military blockades. Then again, Mick had focused only on Lodi.

  He didn’t stop to see if there were people or bodies in the cars. The boys didn’t need to see that. There was no way to go around it, so Mick, not wanting to waste the gas, headed north.

  He located a campsite just outside of Erie. The switch up would save them gas, Mick told Chris.

  It wasn’t what Mick expected.

  People had flocked to the campsite. It seemed this particular one tried to do what Lodi had done - seal off the site. The two trucks that served as guard were empty, and were only blocking the entrance. Mick was able to move one and pass around. The winding road into the campsite was deceiving, giving the illusion of desolation. The road was covered with leaves, like at the rest stop, and had no tracks. Mick was certain no one would be there, until they passed the gate.

  Upon entering, Mick could see a ton of RV’s parked, and tents set up. That was in the distance. Up close, in a section near the fence, were mounds. Rows and rows of fresh dirt mounds.

  Graves.

  People had fled there and people had died there.

  Someone had to be there, or at least was at one time, because someone had buried those who passed. There was at least one survivor, Mick figured.

  No sooner did they pull into the site when a man waved for them to stop. Mick slowed down and the man, in his thirties, stepped to the window.

  “Hey, there,” he said to Mick. “Passing through or staying?”

  “Um, a little of both,” Mick replied. “Was wanting to get my boys away from home for a while, you know. Couldn’t get by Pittsburgh to get to West Virginia. Not on our gas rations.”

  “I hear you.” He extended his hand into the window. “I’m Ethan.”

  “Mick Owens,” Mick said, introducing himself.

  “Where you guys from?”

  “Ohio. Lodi, Ohio.”

  “No, shit? Your town fared pretty well, I hear.”

  Mick gave him a sad look. “Better than some, but we got hit. We …” Mick paused and looked at Chris. “We got hit.”

  “I see. Well, you are more than welcome to stay. You can pitch a tent, or the Charles’ camper is empty. They left for the city when they got sick. Just parked it and took their truck.” He pointed. “It’s right over there.”

  “We appreciate it. Thank you.”

  “We’ll be seeing you,” Ethan said.

  Mick nodded conveying another ‘thank you’ and pulled in the direction of the camper.

  “We ain’t
staying in there, are we, Mick?” Chris asked. “People got sick and died in there.”

  “They didn’t die in there, you heard the man. They moved on. We can stay in the truck, but I didn’t bring a tent,” Mick replied. “Why I don’t check it out before we make the call. Okay?”

  “I suppose that’ll work.”

  Mick reached over and squeezed Chris’ leg, and pulled in front of the camper. It was a nice sized one and newer.

  Mick checked it out, then Chris. Tigger didn’t really mind one way or another. Chris gave his seal of approval and Mick was glad. He wanted to stop for a little bit.

  They were out of Lodi, away from familiar surroundings. Around people they didn’t know. And there were ‘people’ there; one person was more than Mick had expected to see outside of Lodi.

  Just after they parked, and pulled some things out of the SUV, a woman named Madge came over.

  To Mick, she looked injured. Not physically, but emotionally like everyone else. Chris and Tigger were outside when Mick stepped from the camper.

  “I saw the truck,” she said. “I was hoping the boy wasn’t driving it.” She smiled. “My name is Madge; you met my son Ethan when you pulled in. Here …” She handed him a plate. “It’s a casserole. You and the boys eat. Have some lunch. You must be hungry.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Mick said. “That is very kind of you. We’ll enjoy it.”

  She produced a sad smile. “It’s good … good to see children with a grownup. Are they your children? Or did you find them?”

  “They’re my sons.”

  She pursed her lips as if she held back tears. “That’s wonderful and finally nice to see. I’ll let you get settled. If you need anything, just ask anyone here. We’re all pretty tight.”

  “I will, thank you.”

  She cleared her throat, ran her hand over Tigger’s head, folded her arms tight to her body and walked off.

  Chris nudged into Mick and peeked at the plate. “What did she make?”