The Flu 2: Healing

by Jacqueline Druga

  * * *

  Lodi, Ohio

  Tom had barely returned to the store when Henry Davis popped in. Director of the CDC, Henry had run most of the country when the president went into lockdown. He kept statistics along with Dr. Kurt Wilson of the World Health Organization. The two men, stuck in a room, lone survivors, were some of the few who hadn’t fled their post, the two man epicenter that ran America. Henry and Kurt had instituted the Lars Rayburn Therapy against the flu. It was a long shot, but one that had to take. Henry was the one responsible for the organization of the plan. He had sent supplies to Lodi to help the residents fight off the flu, to help it be the one town that successfully safeguarded itself. And then Henry, and Kurt, with nowhere else to go, no family, had come to Lodi as well.

  They arrived right when the town, who all believed had escaped the devastation of the flu, was hit.

  “Renting a movie?” Tom asked.

  “No, no,” Henry said. “Need you to call an immediate meeting of that council you put together.”

  “Mick ain’t here,” Tom said. “He’s a big part of that.”

  “Well, this will have to go forward without Mick,” Henry told him. “I heard from the president again. I was finally able to make radio contact.”

  Tom whistled. “Been over a week. Didn’t think we’d hear anything from the outside after the cell phones went down.”

  “Fortunately,” Henry said, “it looks like they may be able to connect again. They’re hoping in a few days the phones will work.”

  “Hot dog, that’s a good thing. Mick has that cell phone for pictures. Won’t he be surprised when I call him?” Tom said. “Is that what the meeting’s about?”

  “No.” Henry shook his head. “At last contact they were thinking about making Lodi a central station since we held on to civilization the most. But the president said they’re gonna try to establish from where they are. At least until they can pull more reserve troops in. They locked in contact with some. Apparently, it’s not safe out there. When they sent out scouts, they were ambushed.”

  “By whom?” Tom asked with shock. “Who the hell wants to ambush anyone? Is there even anyone left?”

  “Tom, you aren’t that naive.”

  Tom gave a half shrug. “I guess after nothing happened, after the flu finished, I kind of gave props to humanity in good faith.”

  “We all did. But that’s not the case,” Henry said. “People are trying to reestablish their own lives now. They are emerging. Survivors. People are hungry, they’re desperate.”

  “You been talking to Rose?” Tom asked. “’Cause she says the same thing.”

  “Haven’t spoken to her. But, if you could get everyone together, that would be a good thing. Meet tonight?”

  Tom nodded. “Josh Hayward is part of the council, I sent him out for a run. I’ll tell him when he gets back.” Tom glanced down at his watch and stared.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Tom shook his head. “Nothing. They’re just late. Probably fine.”

  “I’m sure they are.”

  “Tom, come to Diggins Drug store. Now!”

  Rose had called for him. Not by a phone or radio; she had actually called. She shouted loudly, at the top of her lungs, like a mother calling her kids in for supper.

  “Tom Roberts! Come to Diggins now!”

  Tom slammed his hand to the counter. “Now what in the world is up with that woman? I swear she lost her mind with the flu.”

  “She doesn’t sound like she’s in trouble.”

  “No, she does not.” Tom cringed at the call again. “Will you excuse me?”

  Henry swiped his hand over his mouth to hide his smirk. “Of course.”

  Tom walked around the counter and outside. Rose continued to call steadily. Diggins was only a block down the street and her voice grew louder the closer he drew to the store.

  “I hear ya!” Tom shouted. “Stop calling my name for crying out loud.” Tom stopped before the store, and looked left and right. “Where are you?”

  “Up here.” Rose waved from the rooftop.

  “What in the hell woman? Are you stuck up there?”

  “Tom Roberts, you think I’d be stuck up and here and scream for you to help me?”

  Tom was about to respond, but felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find Lars standing there. “Where’d you come from?”

  Lars pointed to the store. “I was in there finishing off the shelves for inventory. Why is she on the roof screaming your name?”

  “I don’t know. If you were in there, why didn’t you see what she wanted?”

  “Would you?”

  “Good point.” Tom aimed his voice upwards. “What do you need, Rose?”

  “Come up here, please. Thank you.”

  After an exhale, Tom looked to Lars. “Join me?”

  “Why not?”

  * * *

  Diggins was the tallest building in Lodi. Apartments perched above the drugstore, and the only way to the roof was to walk the four flights of stairs. When Tom and Lars reached the top, Rose was looking out, facing the town.

  Tom took a second to catch his breath. “Okay, Rose, this better be good.”

  “Oh my God,” Lars whispered.

  Tom turned to him. “Oh my God … what?” He saw that Lars was staring outward. Before he could see what it was that caught Lars’ attention, Rose stepped to him.

  “That’s what I called you for,” she said. “When I was out at the cemetery, I smelled the smoke but couldn’t see it. I figured it may be a fireplace or something, then I came up here. At first, I still couldn’t see it, and then it started. And in the few minutes it took for you guys to get here, it went from a wisp to that.” She pointed. “Fuck me, right?”

  Tom was about to question the need for her use of obscenities, even though swearing was a natural part of Rose’s vocabulary, but he wanted to sputter the same exact words when she sidestepped and he saw.

  In the distance, thick black smoke billowed into the sky. So much that it started to create its own cloud formation.

  Rose handed Lars the binoculars. “Like I said, a few minutes ago, it was a thin trickle. Now look at it.”

  Binoculars in hand, Lars moved closer to the roof’s edge. “How the hell can something be on fire?”

  “Whatever it is, it’s big. Big enough for us to see.” Tom reached for the binoculars. “Looks like it’s burning near Wadsworth.”

  “No, Tom,” Rose said solemnly. “That fire is Wadsworth burning.”

  Journal Entry

  On my thirteenth birthday, my brother Dustin gave me a copy of The Best of WrestleMania. Not that I didn’t have it. I did. But one night when we were playing around, we broke it. My mom said she wouldn’t get me another. Man.

  But my brother did and we watched that for three days straight. We always vowed we’d be a wrestling duo, the ultimate tag team.

  That ain’t happening now. I doubt wrestling would even come back. Even though I think it’s important.

  I remember, right after the flu started. Things were still semi normal in the world, the news wasn’t on all the time. But I knew that it was pretty bad when they cancelled Monday night wrestling. They never cancel wrestling. But they did and it never came back.

  I wonder if any of the wrestlers got sick. They probably did.

  Me and Dustin talked about that. I guess it was a pretty shallow thing to talk about when the world was dying. I guess this whole entry is pretty shallow.

  But I wanted to talk about wrestling. I miss it. I miss my whole old life.

  5. Desperate

  When Jonah Briggs was eight years old, he positioned himself on the limb of a tree and deliberately jumped onto the back of the neighborhood bully to stop him from beating up another child. From that moment on, Briggs knew he wanted to be a hero.

  A big and brawny guy, quiet most of the time, he joined the United States Army before he even graduated high school. He spent the summer before his senior year i
n basic training. But that was what he wanted.

  There was never a doubt in his mind. He served his country well and with everything he had. Unfortunately, after seventeen years of service, he was dishonorably discharged for inhumane interrogations of prisoners of war.

  Briggs felt he was a pawn, had been set up; after all, he was only doing what he was told to do.

  But he found other means of protecting his country. Without missing a beat he was hired by a private security company and worked a lot of overseas security details. Within three years of being part of that security company, Briggs acquired Commanding Officer status of Defend USA, a nonprofit, private militia and survival group, the largest in the state of New York.

  Briggs joined the company early, when it was still in its infancy. Once he was in the private security sector he recruited a lot of his fellow workers. All of which, at one time, had served their country in an official capacity.

  Defend USA grew rapidly. Its motto of defending America from any and all threats, whether manmade or natural, and standing with her to rebuild and protect against invasion or civil unrest, was relentlessly repeated when the flu began.

  In fact, Briggs sent out emails to its members and families stating that he had a friend in the government that told him the flu would and could be man’s extinction level event. Briggs knew of the Alaska outbreak before anyone else and he knew when it crossed the border of being contained. He encouraged Defend USA members and their families to stockpile, to prepare.

  When the western states began shutting down, he encouraged them to isolate themselves and move to defend America’s grounds. He sent invites to come to the New York Base. While there was only sufficient housing for a thousand, there was enough acreage to accommodate everyone. People came, and then as time moved on, people flocked there.

  Briggs worked with a neighboring community and the mayor there. He also set up communications with other militia units and a post-pandemic plan, should power be extinguished.

  It had been 30 days since the height of the flu, and the population of Briggs camp of members and refugees, along with the small town, capped 18,000 people. When the flu wiped through them, only thirty percent survived.

  They vowed to rebuild. To restore law and order, to maintain survival, a means of power had to be established. Someone had to be in charge of the resources – of the food, the power, the water, and to protect the land against foreign invaders. Someone had to make sure everyone had enough.

  If someone didn’t step up to the plate, chaos would ensue. Briggs stepped up to the plate.

  Through post-flu networking he knew of many surviving small towns, but that wasn’t where he’d start. To build up his forces, he’d start small - the lone survivors, the starving camps. He’d build a security force.

  It was his agenda to recruit everyone. For order to be restored, for civilization to work again, everyone had to participate. Every man, woman, child, small town or little group. No one would be excluded from the rebuilding.

  Like before the pandemic, people would pay their taxes, only their taxes would be paid in goods, services, and so forth. It was the only way.

  The United States would not survive if it were divided and Briggs was going to do everything and anything he could to ensure that would not be the case. Anything.

  At the last census on October 11th, Briggs had 4,000 people. He kept a skeleton crew at camp to work on organizing stock and incoming supplies, the rest he divided into groups and sent them out. Their mission was simple: organize the towns, secure their involvement, recruit members, deal with criminals, and seize property and supplies by order of the new government. They were to “deal with” insurgents and those who resisted. Above all, should force be necessary, at any cost, they were to protect themselves from harm.

  The problem was, Briggs wasn’t specific enough and left it up to the judgment of the leader of each individual search team. That was his first mistake.

  * * *

  Her name didn’t matter, mainly because she wouldn’t be alive long enough to tell it to anyone. But what she went through did matter.

  She had survived the flu. She didn’t even get it, but her husband did, and so did her mother and three young children. They all died. She watched them all die and she, too, wanted to die.

  Her parents divorced when she was teenager, but she never lost contact with her father. When she’d last spoken to him, he hadn’t gotten sick. She tried several times to kill herself, but never was able to finish the job. Finally, after virtually trying to starve herself, she left her Virginia home to trek north to find her father. She didn’t think too much about running out of gasoline, until she did and couldn’t refuel her car because the pumps were empty. After two days of walking, she met up with a kind man, who said that he too was heading north. He had supplies and so did she.

  Safety in numbers.

  He was about the same age, and like her, wasn’t a survival savvy person, but they got along. The trip was taking longer than expected. Many of the roads were closed off or blocked and they had to take back routes. They pulled over for the night, with high hopes of reaching their destination the next day. They set up camp not far from the road, maybe twenty feet back.

  Just after breakfast, while he was kicking dirt on the fire to extinguish it, laughter and then a deep cough caught their attention. After having survived the flu, she was certain that coughing would always and forever give her shivers.

  To their shock, there were four men and they picked through the truck, taking what they wanted. Her travel companion hollered for them to stop, even showed anger, raging at the men bravely. One shot to the head and he fell; she screamed and took off running. A part of her hoped all they wanted was the supplies, but two of them pursued her. She wasn’t fast enough.

  One of the men backhanded her, causing her to spin and fall to the ground. She scurried back, staring up at the intimidating man.

  “Please, please,” she begged. Her insides trembled. “Don’t hurt me. Just take what you want. Please! Just take what you want and leave.”

  He did. Before she knew it, he had flipped her over, ripped down her pants and raped her. She had neither time to react, nor the emotional or physical strength to stop him. She went numb.

  Grasping her hair, the man took her body with relentless, brutal thrusts. Her hands dug into the dirt for support, and her neck was arched so far back, she couldn’t scream.

  He finished and dropped her face first into the ground, her fingers clutching the dirt. While she lay there crying, the other man rolled her over.

  Almost angrily, he pulled her pants the rest of the way from her body and tossed them to the side. She tried to slide back, to move away, but he grabbed her leg and dropped to his knees. Just as he was about to mount her, a bellowing voice blasted. “Enough! What the fuck? This isn’t why we’re here. Let’s go assholes.”

  He released her and stood. Her assailants replied something to the man who had charged at them but she couldn’t make out what it was. She was hyperventilating.

  Thinking, thank God, she rolled over, sobbing uncontrollably into the ground. Lifting her eyes, she spotted her pants and she raised herself to her knees to crawl in an attempt to retrieve them. She had moved no more than a foot when her hair was grabbed once more, her head tilted back, and she felt a painful, burning tear against her throat, just before she was dropped again to the ground. A few seconds later, she heard them leave. At least she thought she did.

  Weakly, she brought herself to a kneel and put her hands to her neck. She felt the wound and the warm sensation of blood as it poured over her fingertips. She reached her pants, sliding them to her and placed them hard to her throat to try to stop the bleeding.

  It took everything she had to stand and she stumbled as she did.

  Her body teetered back and forth. Everything swirled around her. She heard the sound of a vehicle. The loss of blood caused confusion; she didn’t know if it was them returning or someone else comi
ng, but she knew the road wasn’t that far.

  Holding her pants to her wound, she staggered to get to the road.

  * * *

  “Ethan, watch out!” Mick yelled when he saw the person stumble onto the road.

  Ethan had been engrossed in conversation with Mick, but caught the warning and slammed on the brakes.

  Mick clutched tightly to Baby Doe as the truck swerved, back end out, until it came to an abrupt, screeching halt.

  Mick braced the dashboard to stop both him and the child from flinging forward.

  “Holy shit.” Ethan put the truck in park. “I didn’t hit them, did I?”

  “No.”

  Ethan jumped from the truck first, and Mick was barely out when he heard Ethan moan, “Oh my God.”

  It wasn’t what Mick expected to see. The woman, half naked, lay on the road in front of the truck. Her legs were muddy and bloody, and she clutched tightly to a pair of pants.

  Mick handed Ethan the baby, and crouched down.

  “Is she dead?” Ethan asked.

  Mick reached for her neck, for a pulse. The woman blinked. “No,” he replied, then saw the pants, saturated with blood. Her fingers were rigid around the fabric.

  Her lips parted and she gasped, “Help … me.”

  Mick didn’t get a chance to do anything. The woman’s head tilted, her eyes transfixed, and she went still.

  After closing his eyes briefly, Mick pulled the pants away from her neck. “Her neck’s been sliced.” He slowly stood. “Ethan, get the baby back in the truck.”

  “What about her?”

  “I’ll handle this.” Mick lifted the woman’s body and carried her to the side of the road. As he laid her down, he saw the single blanket lying near the still smoldering fire.

  He was about to grab that blanket and cover the woman when he saw the body of the man. He had been shot in the head.