by Tara Ellis
His eyes are welling up now and he looks down at Baxter, concentrating on his ears. I reach out and grasp his chin, lifting his face. “I’m glad that you lied, Jake. It was okay this time. I’m not mad you went over. I would have too, if I were you. Missy is acting the same way, and her parents. It isn’t just here, it’s everywhere.”
Throwing his arms around my neck, he buries his face in my hair. Hugging him back fiercely, we stay like this for some time. “I want to go to Grandma and Grandpa Fishers,” he finally whispers, pulling away. His eyes are dry and I can tell he’s trying to be brave, but I don’t want to burden him with too much at once and wonder if I should tell him the truth.
“I talked with Grandma Monday Night and they were both sick,” I say, deciding that being honest was the best way to handle things right now. “I’ll call them again tonight though. Maybe it isn’t as bad that far away or maybe Aunt Tammy is alright. It sounded like she might have been okay still.”
“I want Mom back.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it, and takes a big shuddering breath.
“I know Jake, I do too. I’m going to try and find a way to make her better.” I can tell he’s dejected and want to offer him something reassuring. “Look, if Grandma and Grandpa are better or if Aunt Tammy is okay I’ll ask if we can go visit, okay? I’ll find a way to get there, but either way we’re all going to be alright.”
“Promise?” he asks, looking up at me again. His eyes. Those dark, loving, trusting eyes. I can’t let him down. I nod my head, a new sense of determination and resolve filling me.
“What you need to do today though is just stay in bed. At least until Mom leaves for work. She came home late last night and is still sleeping, but she’ll be leaving by two. If she checks in on you, act like you have a really bad cold and fever. Can you do that?”
“Yeah, I can do that. Can I watch TV?”
“Of course you can,” I say, amazed again at his resiliency. I ruffle his hair and he actually gives me a small smile. I smile back, feeling better.
Leaving his room, my chest aches with the love I feel for my little brother. I know that as long as we stick together, we can figure this out. Mom can’t help how she’s acting; she’s sick. The normal flu symptoms might be gone, but there is obviously something more involved happening. I just have to find a way to make her better. I’m beginning to believe that the best way to do that is to follow the trail Dad left me.
Back in my room, I see that it’s already eleven. Taking my own advice, I put on my big fluffy robe. Grabbing some Kleenex, I stick a few in the front pocket and go out to the kitchen to find the cough drops I bought. Just the smell of those makes me think of a sick person.
By the time Mom emerges around one, I’m situated on the family room couch with soda and crackers; propped up watching old re-runs of ‘Little House on the Prairie’. If this doesn’t convince her, I don’t know what will.
“Not feeling well, Alex?” she asks, right next to my head. I’m not sure how long she’s been standing there, but it scares the heck out of me. Jumping what I swear is about a foot, I look back at her. Her hair is yet again styled to perfection, the blonde curls pinned back from her face. Her work scrubs are pressed and much neater than I’ve ever seen them.
Doing my best to look tired and achy, I blow my nose as loud as I can without being too fake. “Yeah, I’m feeling pretty crummy today. Worse than yesterday. So is Jacob.”
She just stares at me. I try hard not to squirm. As the silence drags out I become convinced that she’s trying to decide what side dish to eat with me, and I have to say something. “So…I called Grandma back like you asked. She’s sick and so is Grandpa. Missy is too, but she won’t talk to me anymore.” I look at her, hoping to see some glimmer of emotion cross her face. Nothing.
“Your Grandparents should be fine; they have no serious underlying medical issues. Same for Missy. As they get to feeling…better, I imagine they will have more important things to do than have idle conversations that mean nothing.” As those words sink in, she cocks her head to the side in that odd, questioning gesture again. I’m beginning to regret my attempt at a conversation, but figure I may as well keep digging.
“It sounds like pretty much everyone is getting sick. You seem to be fine now, except that Jacob and I miss talking to you, Mom.” I bravely stare back at her, challenging her…and then remember to wipe at my nose.
The briefest glimpse of a smile, no, more like a smirk creeps into her mouth and her white teeth glisten wet between her thin lips. Regret for my boldness tugs at me and I begin to pray for that neutral expression to come back.
“It appears to have an 80% contagion rate, perhaps higher after all the secondary infections turn up. The death rate is about 10% at our hospital, but only with those having other issues like diabetes, heart conditions and such. It’s a very efficient virus.”
Her last comment chills me and I feel relief when she turns around and walks into the kitchen. “I won’t be home until late again,” she explains. “There is…a lot of important work to be done at the hospital.”
The sound of pots, pans and cupboards opening and closing goes on for so long that I carefully peek over the back of the couch. Blinking fiercely, my mind tries to grasp what I’m seeing. She is moving with such speed and agility that at first it doesn’t make sense…like I’m watching a cooking show in fast motion. During the time she was banging around, there is already a large bowl of what looks to be a chef salad, some sandwiches stacked up, and something cooking on the stove. It smells delicious. Now she is doing the dishes. The rate at which she is literally throwing the plates into the washer is startling and I mean actually tossing them down after rinsing them. They are landing perfectly in between the tongs that hold them in place, one after the other.
Slowly, I lower my head and lay back down on the couch. I don’t want to see anymore. I don’t want to hear anymore. I want her to leave. Taking slow, regular breaths I look at the TV and desperately try to get lost in the world of wagons, farming and simpler times.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity but was really only ten minutes, Mom comes back to the family room holding her purse and a small lunch cooler. “I’m leaving now. I left you enough food for tonight and tomorrow.” When I don’t answer, she turns to go but then comes back and sits on the small coffee table right in front of me.
Wanting to pull the blanket over my head, I instead meet her gaze. “Alex,” she says, reaching out and picking up the bag of cough drops that’s lying next to me. “You be sure to get well now.” Slowly, she reaches in and pulls one out, rolling it in between her fingers like a magician with a quarter, all the while studying my face. “I wouldn’t want you to become part of the ten percent.”
Standing abruptly, she drops the bag and single cough drop on my chest, takes her stuff and leaves without another word. Looking at the medicine like its poison, I pull the blanket over my face, wanting to block it all out, but not finding comfort in it anymore.
FOURTEEN
When Chris knocks on the door an hour later, I’m still under the blanket. I don’t know if I dozed off or not, but Baxter’s barking brings me up for air.
This time when I let him in, I don’t give any thought to how I look in my big robe and ponytail. It’s the least of my concerns. Based on his expression when I first see him, it’s obvious he has bigger things on his mind too.
We walk silently into the family room and I turn the television off. Picking up all the loose Kleenex and cough drops, I make room for us to sit on the couch. “Pretending to be sick?” he asks, looking at the array of things next to the couch.
“Well that was the plan, but Mom pretty much called my bluff and then implied that I might die because of it. I’m thinking I don’t need to pretend anymore.” He stares at me in astonishment, so I tell him exactly what happened.
“I guess today is the day for crazy encounters with our moms,” he tells me, shaking his head.
“What, your
mom came home?” I’m hoping for something positive but fearing the worst. “What happened?”
“So you know that she hasn’t been here for a month. Last time I saw her she was high on heroin and a total mess. She had lost her job, her hair was starting to fall out and her skin was all marked up.” Standing, he walks over to the sliding glass door and looks out into the backyard as he continues talking. “This morning, I’m sitting in the kitchen eating the last of the cheerios when she comes walking in. She looked great, I mean better than I’ve ever seen her. So there I am with the spoon halfway to my mouth, surprised and confused because she just walks right past me like she’d gone out to get milk.” He turns around, and I see the obvious anguish on his handsome face.
“Alex, I know how you’re feeling now. She started getting ready for a job that I didn’t know she still had, saying only a few words and not expressing any kind of remorse or love towards me. I tried to talk to her and she stared at me like I was a fly or something. It seemed to dawn on her at some point that I was confused by her behavior. All she said was that she’s obviously back, like I was an idiot, and then asked me if I’d been sick. I told her I was getting over it and went to my room until she left. It’s so bizarre that I don’t even know how I should feel.”
Sitting back down beside me, we face each other. “We have to do something Alex, but I don’t know what. Everyone I was close to has changed, even the pastor.”
Feeling for him, I take his hand. “We haven’t changed Chris. I believe there’s a reason why we haven’t. We’ll figure it out and find a way to help them.”
Smiling slightly, he stands back up. “I know you’re right. I think I just needed to hear it. That reminds me,” Taking some folded papers from his back pocket, he hands them to me and then sits in the easy chair across from me.
“What’s this?” I ask, unfolding them and looking at the printed sheets.
“I decided to do some research last night on viruses. See what it is we might be up against. I went over to the library and used the computers there, since mine is gone. What I found is pretty amazing and scary at the same time.”
Science isn’t really one of my strengths and I don’t have the patience right now to wade through the technical details. “So give it to me in plain English,” I request.
“Well, basically the science world can’t agree on whether viruses are a life form or not. Really doesn’t matter, I guess. Anyways…it’s basically this very tiny ball of either bits of RNA or DNA with a protective coating around it. It can get into your body several ways, but the most common is airborne, then blood borne.”
“Some of that I already knew, but not the being a life form part. That’s creepy.” I tell him, nibbling on the crackers left out and going stale already.
“Well, the best part is how they work. They attach themselves to your cells and then drill inside, release the bits of data and literally hi-jack the little building machines inside it. It makes your cells build replicas of its own information until the cell is full and then bursts open, releasing all the new viruses to spread out and repeat the process.”
“Ewww…where does the DNA or RNA come from that it puts in our cells?” I ask, intrigued now.
“No one knows,” he answers. “That’s where our current virus comes in. I’m thinking it’s not too far of a stretch to suggest that there really could have been viruses on those meteors. In fact, it has been theorized before. What’s encouraging is that with enough time, vaccines can be created for some of them, but obviously not all, like HIV.”
“The problem with that,” I interject, “Is my mom just told me that at least 80% of the population is being infected, maybe more. I don’t think that anyone who’s changed is going to be interested in creating a cure. They seem very content. How do you think it’s changing their personality?”
“I’ve been wondering about that,” Chris says. “If these things have bits of DNA in them, and are known for crossing the blood-brain barrier, how crazy is it to assume that they can affect different parts of the brain; say the thinking section or feelings? I believe we’re seeing a new form of super-virus that is more complex and with greater affects than any other ever experienced.”
The phone rings and we both jump, staring at the receiver as if it was someone that snuck into the room. Leaning over to the end of the couch, I snatch it off the receiver. “Hello?” I ask, but realize right away it’s an automated message from the school district. To my surprise, it’s a recording saying that school will be in normal session starting tomorrow, Thursday.
Chris is staring at me questioningly as I hang up. “It was the school. We have to go back tomorrow.” I don’t know why that bothers me so much. Maybe it’s because the new norm is becoming the reality and those of us unaffected are now the outsiders. I don’t like the feeling. “What do we do?” I ask him.
“Go to school. At least for the rest of this week. Lay low, learn as much as we can and of course, figure out your dad’s message. Any luck with it?”
Sighing, I try to hide my frustration. “Well, not thinking about it for the rest of the day yesterday didn’t work; so I stared at it for a couple of hours before going to bed. Nothing new came to me. I was hoping I might have another dream last night, but I slept horrible the first half and hardly at all the second. No dreams that I remember. I’m not sure what to do about it.”
“Where is it?”
Going to my closet, I get the folded up paper from the book, from under the bear. Opening it, I hope to have a revelation but I disappoint myself again. Plopping heavily back down on the couch, I lay it on the table between us.
For the next two hours we make lists of all the different things the hieroglyphs might be referring to. I go on-line at one point and look up the roster for the police department, hoping to be inspired, but there isn’t anything obvious that connects any of them to the clues. We try reversing it, mixing them around and any other number of varieties. As time drags on and my patience wears thin, the weight of what could be at stake bears down on me.
“Let’s give it a rest for today.” I think Chris can tell it’s taking a toll on me.
“Sure,” I say, happy to agree. “Want some lunch?”
“I would, but there are still some families left on my list that I need to check. The Pastor and other senior members that I know were all sick. Out of my Youth Group, only one other leader was uninfected. There were four of us. Two of the fifteen kids are okay, but both have one parent sick. Or maybe by now they aren’t sick anymore either, I haven’t seen them since Monday.”
“Do you need help?” I ask, not sure what I could do, but feeling like I should offer.
“Thanks Alex, but that’s okay. I’m meeting with Kevin, one of the other leaders, in a little bit at the library and we’re going to figure out who else we need to check on. I think there are only three or four families left so it won’t take-“Before he can finish, the phone interrupts him.
Figuring it’s the school again (we often get two calls since Jake and I go to different schools) I answer it without saying anything. “Is this Alex?” A man asks when I don’t say hello. His voice is very deep with a slight, guttural accent similar to my Grandpa Mubarak’s. I look at the caller ID and see that it’s a blocked number.
“Yes, this is Alex,” I answer quickly, somehow knowing that this is important.
“Listen to me very carefully Alex. You must go where you are being led. It is imperative that you listen to anything your father is telling you regarding the current….situation. Do you understand?” he asks with urgency.
I recognize the voice, but I’m not sure from where. It is so distinct that I feel like I should know, but for the life of me I can’t remember. “I understand,” I tell him, feeling a need to keep it vague. “I’m listening.” There is a deep sigh on the other end of the line. Relief? Then it goes dead and I’m left staring at the receiver, more confused than ever.
Chris is watching me with interest and I tell him
what was said. “This just keeps getting stranger,” he says. “I guess we at least know that we’re not completely alone. Maybe this guy will be able to help us, if he decides to.”
We agree to meet in the cafeteria in the morning before class and say goodbye. Going back to the couch, I’m not sure what to do with myself. I feel like I’m wasting precious time.
Reaching for my cell phone, I go ahead and call Missy. It goes straight to voicemail again. I pull up Grandmas number and give her a call next. It rings four times and I’m about to hang up when the line is picked up.
“Hello?” I ask, when I don’t hear anyone on the other end.
“Yes.” It sounds like her.
“Grandma?” I question, any hopes I had dashed.
“This is Mrs. Fisher. What is it that you want Alex?”
“I was checking to see if you and Grandpa were feeling better.” I try to hold back the tears, but I don’t seem to have any control over them.
“We’re okay now. Everyone is okay.” The line goes dead and I am left staring in disbelief. They’re gone to me now too. I put the phone down and exchange it for some of the tissue.
I get myself together and go make dinner, just going through the motions. I keep it simple. The salad and sandwiches Mom made are in the garbage.
After feeding Jacob, who is still happy to be holed up in his room, I retreat to my own. I decide to do a little digging myself on the internet. There’s no way that Chris and I are the only ones to have figured out that something is very, very wrong. If I weren’t so spooked, I would just call our family doctor but Dad’s warning was very clear.
The official news sites are all the same. Literally. Exactly the same stories word for word. My unease grows. The social sites are still down and my email is empty. What strikes me the most is the lack of spam mail.
The only mention of the flu now is that it reached the East coast but is quickly dying out. Those without complications have almost a full recovery in around four days. The death rate is, in fact, ten percent. Great.
