Contagious

by Druga, Jacqueline

  Looking at his week ahead, and feeling yet another headache coming on, Joel realized why his predecessor had that nervous breakdown.

  For as easy going and likeable as Joel was, he was pretty hard-nosed with his employees. He took the attitude that he gave them leeway, but if they slacked he let them know. He delivered his reprimands and reiterations of jobs to do often with a lack of political correctness and sarcasm.

  No one was ever offended. If they were being corrected by Joel, then they pushed the limits.

  For a woman employee, there was no better boss. Joel was respectful to women, often times to a fault. Having been raised by a single mother with six sisters, along with having a wife, Joel knew women.

  Baby sitter problems. No big deal, bring them to work.

  Spousal issues. Take a day and work it out.

  Menstrual woes, talk to Walter.

  Of course, that wasn’t his attitude to his fellow male coworkers. Simply Joel was, ‘deal with it’

  In fact, he said that at least ten times a day.

  Deal with it.

  “Deal with it,” Joel said, sitting behind his desk. He squirted a bit of Ben Gay on his fingers and rubbed it on his temples.

  His trusted acting food and beverage director, Melissa, sat in his office for her meeting with him. She cringed, closing one eye. “How can you do that?”

  “I have a headache.”

  “I figured.”

  Joel placed the tube of ointment in his front pocket and leaned forward. “I don’t understand the issue.”

  “Typically we order forty cases of water a week, right? Well because of the Watterson wedding, The Governor Rally and that Self Help thing, all this week, we had to order sixty cases. Which wouldn’t usually be a problem, but we had to order a lot of other extra stuff.”

  “Okay.”

  “There’s nowhere to put it.”

  “What do you mean there’s nowhere to put it? What about downstairs?”

  “We never depleted our stock last week. We don’t have the room in FB storage.”

  “It’s a big room,” Joel said.

  “It’s a lot of stuff.”

  “Use housekeeping and maintenance. They have half the basement.”

  “Sam said no.”

  Joel scoffed. “Who the hell is Sam to tell you no?”

  “Um … acting Director of Housekeeping since you moved Bill to acting Front Desk.”

  “Shit. That’s right. Okay, send Walter after him.”

  “Really?” Melissa titled her head. “Send head of Security. Can’t you just go down there and tell him to let me have some space?”

  “Yes, I can,” Joel said. “Then if it doesn’t work, I’ll send Walter down there. Since he is the only one not ‘acting’ anything. Plus, he’s like seventy-four, everyone listens to him.”

  “Because everyone hates to hear him bitch.”

  “But he does it so well,” Joel laughed. “Alright, the inventory comes in this afternoon, right? We’ll get you your space.” He stood and walked around his desk.

  “Don’t forget we have that funeral wake at noon today.”

  Joel stopped in his tracks. “Anything else gonna pop up this week?”

  “Are you ready for the groupies?” Melissa asked with a laugh.

  “Oh, God is he coming this week?”

  “Yep, and I’m taking my daughter to his concert.”

  “Why?” Joel asked then waved out his hand. “Never mind.”

  “Joel, the good news is, you’re acting GM this year. So you get to deal with it.”

  Joe smiled widely. “I do, don’t I? Best news I heard all day.” He continued on his way, leaving his office.

  He’d probably need more muscle ointment before the week was done. It was only Monday and Joel knew the week was going to be hell. Little did he realize, the wedding, the governor rally, self-help seminar, funeral and arriving pop star was nothing compared to what he was going to face before his week was over.

  <><><><>

  Paris, France

  As fate would have it, she was there. It wasn’t luck or coincidence, to Amita Pashad there was no such thing as coincidence. Everything happened for a reason.

  But this day she was supposed to be settled into her new home in Atlanta Georgia, and having her meet and greet coffee as she took on the new responsibilities as Director of Office of Infectious Diseases.

  Things didn’t work out that way.

  Her husband, young son and mother were already in the United States. A new home and new land. Amita had been there one week, and had not officially started when she had to return to India.

  She started as a field doctor in the infectious disease division of the Ministry of Health, moved to a position in India with the World Health Organization and finally, she landed the job in America.

  Amita was brilliant, although she didn’t present it.

  She was finishing her work with WHO, when the outbreak began. It started in a small village in Bangladesh. The symptoms were consistent with a virus that had previously reared its head in that area.

  Following protocol, they issued quarantines for fourteen days.

  While the contagion spread rapidly through the village, fatality rates were low and the area deemed ‘clear’ after the two week wait.

  The one day after the two week ‘clear’ mark, the virus popped up in Taiwan.

  The World Health Organization claimed it to be a variation of the strain but not the same one. It was a time line coincidence.

  “There is no such thing as coincidence,” Amita said. “It’ll show up again.”

  And it did.

  Another town in Taiwan. But the strain was strong. It was more virulent, contagious and deadly. That was a plus, because the virus burned itself out before it could spread any further.

  Or so they thought.

  Outbreaks such as the ones she saw before her final days in India were back burner news. It would take a bigger outbreak in a larger place for word to spread.

  People panicked easily, so the less they knew of the virus she named BV-1, the better.

  It was the same strain in Bangladesh as in Taiwan. It just mutated, Amita was certain, but it was dismissed by her colleagues.

  Just as she made her final phone call to her husband stating she was about to board her flight to America, authorities sought her out.

  It was the police and they said nothing to her until she got in the vehicle. They told her that the Health Authorities wanted her to take a look at a possible case of infectious disease at the Plaza.

  “We hate to pull you.” Director Allen told her on the phone. “There’s another flight leaving in the evening, but we need you to take a look at this.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Possible Biosafety Level two, maybe three.”

  The first thought that ran through Amita’s mind was a level two or three? Why were they calling her in for those?

  That was unless someone, somewhere, saw something that didn’t seem right.

  “I will check it out. But why a level two or three? Really this isn’t our concern, this can be handled on a local level.”

  “It can be. But … check it out. I just got a call,” Allen said, “and things that were mentioned sent warnings.”

  “Did you initiate protocol?”

  “It’s beyond our jurisdiction, unless you go in there and see first-hand.”

  When she arrived at the posh hotel, an ambulance was out front along with two other emergency vehicles. There was no sign of any officials from Infectious Disease Control.

  Amita was greeted by a local ministry of health official.... Dr. John Ballinger.

  He looked nervous as he shook her hand. “Come this way.” He instructed everyone to stay behind and he led her to the elevator.

  “What’s going on?” Amita asked.

  He handed her a cloth respirator mask. “We got a call this morning, a maid found a young girl dead in the room. When the emergenc
y workers arrived, they wouldn’t touch her and they called us.”

  The elevator stopped on the correct floor and John placed on his mask and gloves.

  Amita did the same.

  “As soon as I arrived, I knew this was something else. While waiting for your arrival, I had my people trace this. She was with the fashion gala that was here this past weekend.”

  They arrived at the room, and Amita looked around. “Where is everyone?”

  “I cleared the floor until we knew what we are dealing with.”

  “What do you think it is?” Amita asked.

  “I haven’t a clue.” John reached for the door knob. “I called you because you would know if this is the same thing you dealt with in Taiwan.”

  “Did she come from Taiwan?”

  “No. They flew in from India. The hotel manager said a doctor came to see her four days ago. She has had minimal contact with anyone. We’re trying to locate her people....the fashion crew she arrived with. They left before her. We’re holding the maid and everyone else near this room.”

  “You said this was a level two or three.”

  “I said that to keep things calm.” John opened the door.

  Despite the mask, the smell of death permeated the air and pelted Amita.

  The body of the young woman lay buried under blankets.

  “Twenty-seven year old, Bella Lorenz, otherwise healthy, came down with cold and flu symptoms, progressing to fever, chills and cough. She was diagnosed with mild pneumonia.”

  It was apparent to Amita that the young woman had been dead for at least two days. Her body was dark from the coagulated blood and decomposition had already begun.

  “When was she diagnosed?” Amita asked.

  “May first. She didn’t live long after that.”

  Only Bella’s head peeked from the covers along with her arm.

  One look at her and Amita knew.

  “This is why emergency workers left the room and called me.” John reached down to Bella’s head, which was tilted. He turned it slightly. Her face was darkened from the settled blood, but beneath it on the pillow was a ring of blood. “Both ears.”

  Amita took a better look. Bella had hemorrhaged from both ears. Streaks of blood ran from her eyes like red tears. The whites of Bella’s eyes were completely black.

  Amita didn’t need a blood test to confirm what she already knew.

  The young woman named Bella Lorenz had BV-1, or at least a variation of it.

  With urgency, Amita stepped back and turned to John. “This is a level four. Find everyone she has been in contact with. We need to retrace her steps back to India. It is imperative that we find her people. Seal not only this floor but this hotel.”

  “What? You want to quarantine The Plaza?”

  “We have to. I know this is highly contagious. But it’s been mutating left and right. We don’t know how this variation is transmitted. It could be contact, it could be airborne. Until we know, we can’t take that chance.”

  John nodded calmly. “I understand. But she was dead for days before we discovered her. If this thing is that deadly and that contagious, closing the Plaza is like the closing the barn doors after the horse is out, don’t you think?”

  Amita lowered her head. “You’re probably right. Let’s just hope those around her, those exposed to her, aren’t ill. As long as they aren’t, we have a shot of containing this.”

  <><><><>

  JFK Airport

  New York, NY

  “Thank you, have a good day.” Judith smiled brightly to each passenger that passed her as they made their way down the aisle, through first class and out of the door to the plane. “Thank you, bye now.” She repeated like a broken record. It was routine, something she had done at the end of every flight for fifteen years.

  People shuffled though. She just wanted them to hurry. They fidgeted with their carry-on luggage. That annoyed her. She remembered the days when carry-on luggage was a small bag. Not a weeks’ worth of clothes stuffed into a bag that would fit into an overhead compartment.

  It was a long flight from London. An overnight flight and Judith was fortunate enough to have first class. A few of the people were from a fashion group. They were separated from the rest of the party and had to take different planes.

  They were fun, not snobbish like Judith thought they’d be. Especially the famous designer, Rico Dilucco. She was pleasantly surprised by how nice he was. Then again, Rico wasn’t feeling well. He was battling a cold and asked to sit in the last row of first class so as not to bother anyone.

  He downed some cold medicine with a glass of champagne, asked for a pillow and blanket and curled up in a sideways position in the back seat.

  The medicine worked nicely and he stopped coughing, finally getting some rest.

  But where was he? Judith didn’t notice him passing her. It wasn’t until the last passenger was off the flight that she noticed he was lying across the seats and was still sleeping. He was hidden beneath the blanket.

  “Mr. Dilucco,” she called and walked back to him. “We’ve landed. Are you ok?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Mr. Dilucco?” She reached down to shake him and her hand grazed across his face.

  Wet.

  She lifted her hand and saw the blood that smeared across her fingertips. She didn’t panic, she was concerned and Judith reached down for the blanket. As she pulled it back, she saw the blood not only on his ears but rolling down from his eyes.

  Horrified, she backed up. She raced to call for help.

  Clearly, Rico Dilucco had passed away sometime in the last few hours of that intercontinental flight from Paris to New York.

  Passed away and no one noticed.

  Chapter 2

  Cleveland, OH

  There were a lot of titles to his job, refuse collector, sanitation worker, garbage man … none of which were a title he wanted, but it paid the bills and was a decent living, despite the fact he would have preferred to smell better at the end of the day.

  But he was working on the road to his dream.

  Born Raymond Walter Nee, he developed his nickname when his little brother, like in the movie ‘Rain Man’ could not pronounce his name and called him ‘Rain’ instead of Ray. The nick name stayed, and because it was a variation of his given name, he forever went by ‘Rayne’.

  Rayne was a big man, hulking in size and build. His ethnicity of Polynesian and Puerto Rican gave him a darker complexion, and his thick black hair, which he kept at a longer length hung down past his shoulders.

  Everything about his look, from his physique to his finely trimmed goatee, was for the picture perfect image he needed in pursuit of his dream. That, of course, wasn’t lifting trash.

  He wanted to be a professional wrestler.

  Since he was six, that was all he thought about. Then as his little brother got older, he jumped on the wrestling band wagon as well. They both had wild visions of being tag-team champions. As teenagers, the huge brothers used to jump off the detached garage in the backyard, performing feats of ‘shock and awe’ as they called it.

  At the very least they would be stuntmen in Hollywood. Neither had any fear and they could take a fall.

  Then when Rayne’s little brother Billy was seventeen, he was struck by a car and killed. It was one stunt in which he was fallible. It destroyed Rayne. Every part of him was defined by being that brother.

  It took a couple years, but after finding a photo shopped magazine cover of him and his brother as wrestling superstars, Rayne went back to that dream and pursued it with vigor.

  Despite the fact he hadn’t achieved superstar status, it didn’t stop him. He wrestled every weekend on the Midwest circuit, driving city to city just to get into the ring.

  It wasn’t about the measly twenty dollars he got, it was just about doing it. Even though he was already thirty-two, he wasn’t stopping.

  Each night he stepped into that ring, he raised his hand up, peered to the cei
ling and in his mind said, ‘This is for you, Billy.’

  One day, Rayne would get there. One day.

  This Monday morning was difficult. He had taken a bad fall off the top rope, and his back hurt. He worked for a private refuse company, and they had their route. The harder stuff was done, and Rayne was happy about that. Then he got the text from his girlfriend that there was an emergency at the apartment and he had to get there fast.

  The message meant he either called off for the afternoon or talked his truck partner into swinging by the apartment.

  “It’s not an emergency.” Brad, his partner said. “You know it.”

  “Look. See? It says it right here.” Rayne showed him the phone. “Emergency.”

  “She does this all the time. At least once a week.”

  “Yeah but what if this is the time she’s laying on the floor bleeding to death or something?” Rayne said.

  “Then why would she call you and not 911?”

  “Because she loves me and I’m the first one that comes to mind.”

  Brad laughed out a loud ‘Ha’ and shook his head. “If we stop, we can’t break for lunch.”

  “We got the Ambassador, we can make time there.”

  “Fine. Fine.” Brad turned the vehicle around. “You’re lucky I’m a nice guy.”

  “You are. Thank you.”

  Brad only grumbled and headed in the direction of Rayne’s apartment complex.

  Lita had been Rayne’s girlfriend for two years. She was absolutely beautiful. Tall and gorgeous and no matter where Rayne went with her, he was envied by his friends and coworkers. Until she opened her mouth, proving once and for all, beauty was only skin deep.

  She wasn’t very nice.

  He raced up the stairs to his second floor apartment. The moment Rayne opened the door and called out her name, he was greeted by a vase that whizzed by his head and smashed into the wall.