Cough

by Druga, Jacqueline

  Things were relatively calm, but Wally didn’t expect them to stay that way. It was Friday night.

  He was twenty-minutes into his shift and three bites into his sandwich when he noticed monitor nineteen. He sat up.

  “What do you see?” John asked.

  “Nineteen.”

  Wally watched a man at a slot machine, his body jolted and jerked and his hands went out.

  “Is he choking?” John asked.

  “I think so.” Wally lifted his radio. His eyes staying on the monitor, people gathered around him trying to help. Wally called into his radio. “We have a player in distress. Mega Slots Section A4.”

  “We’re on it,”

  Wally was about to place down his radio, when his eyes lifted to monitor twelve. A similar scene, only with a woman. “She’s choking too. On twelve.”

  “Holy... Look Wally, Monitor Seven.”

  Wally’s eyes went to monitor seven, then five, then one … all of them had similar scenes. All of them showed people choking, struggling, holding their throats, reaching out. There was no sound, no way to determine. But within seconds, there was commotion everywhere.

  “I wonder if there’s smoke or something down there,” said John.

  “I’ll check it out.” Wally grabbed his radio. “Stay here. Keep calling these in.”

  “Dude, I think they know.”

  After taking, taking a look at the monitors that all showed people in distress, Wally raced from the office, down the hall and to the elevator.

  It arrived quickly, and Wally pressed the ground floor.

  It arrived in a few seconds, the bell dinged, the door opened and Wally flew out. He only made it a few feet when a woman lunged for him.

  “Help …” She coughed and choked. “Help.” She gripped him.

  Her body jolted as she violently hacked. It was deep and struggling. Manners were out the windows, she coughed so horrible she didn’t have time to cover her mouth.

  “Ma’am, let me get you …” Wall wanted to pull back. Something was wrong, seriously, wrong. Her face was pale except the dark under eye circles and her eyes didn’t water, they dripped bloody tears.

  One more hack, her body convulsed forward and she spat a bloody discharge at Wally just before she collapsed to the floor.

  He crouched down by her, trying to hold her still with one hand. Her body shook and she continued to choke. A thick bloody substance pooled in her mouth and seeped from her nostrils running down her cheek.

  He grabbed his radio, brought it to his mouth. “Lobby tower two. We have a code four. Woman down. Call 911. Over.”

  Static.

  Wally listened and waited for a response, instead he heard nothing but calls for help.

  ‘Someone send a med team to Roulette three. We have a Code four.’

  ‘Section A9, two men are down.’

  ‘Oh my God, someone help we have three woman on the floor at the Pit Stop Shop.’

  Code four. Code four there.

  Every voice on the radio was calling for help and no one responded.

  Screams carried from the casino, drowning out the usual bells and dings of video slot machines.

  Wally didn’t know what to do. How could he? He hadn’t a clue what was happening.

  <><><><>

  Airnamics Flight 473 to Washington DC

  Depending on the situation, no one really pays attention to a cough. People cough. Unless it is in a quiet place, like a church or funeral home, a cough fades to the background like elevator music. People don’t think about them or give them a second thought. Usually the cougher is more self-conscious about it than those around them.

  With the exception of an airplane. Even then, someone coughing didn’t register to Sharon. She probably wouldn’t have given much thought to the woman in 2B had she herself not had that bout with a cold that triggered asthma.

  She paused in reaching for coffee cups.

  “You okay?” Todd asked.

  “Yeah, just that woman coughing. Made me think about me being sick this past week.”

  “Better than thinking about London,” said Todd.

  Sharon smiled. “What?”

  “Haven’t you heard? I thought everyone did. Some sort of …”

  Even Todd stopped talking when the woman’s cough sounded terribly deep.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Sharon grabbed a bottle of water. “I’ll be right back.” She left the attendant station and walked into first class.

  The woman in 2b, jerked in her seat. Her hand was to her mouth.

  “Ma’am, here’s some water for you.” Sharon extended the bottle.

  The woman couldn’t stop coughing enough to respond.

  “Ma’am, are you all right?”

  The woman’s face was red and she held out her hand for the water, when she did, Sharon saw it, the blood that laced her fingertips.

  Trembling, the woman brought her fingers to her mouth to feel, blood oozed from the corner and the woman began to cough again.

  The passenger in 2A, jumped up. “Oh my God, get me out of here.”

  “Sir, calm down.” Sharon urged.

  “Are you serious? You want me to …”

  He froze.

  Cough.

  Cough-Cough.

  Sharon turned around. Not only was the woman in 2B coughing, but so was the man in the next row, within seconds, the person next to him flew into a coughing frenzy.

  2A grabbed a pillow and covered his mouth.

  “Go.” Sharon instructed him “Up front.”

  He jumped over the coughing woman and no sooner did he make it to the aisle, the woman wheezed deeply, inhaling what blood was in her mouth. Her coughing and choking grew violent.

  In first class alone there were seven people choking and coughing.

  Another flight attendant flew down the aisle toward coach. Sharon turned her head to look. So many passengers were struggling. The sudden onset of coughing and choking, caused panic in the plane and those not affected rushed to the aisle to get away.

  People screamed and fought.

  Sharon was at a loss at who to attend to. Deciding to help the first woman in 2B, Sharon turned back around. The woman was wide eyed, slumped in her seat and motionless.

  She had stopped coughing. Sharon reached down to the woman, she wasn’t breathing. Blood dripped from her nose and ears.

  She was dead.

  It was all happening so fast, the tight space of the plane was loud with choking and crying. Sharon tried to process her next course of action.

  “Todd,” she shouted.

  Todd was frozen at the front of the plane. His eyes shifted about in horror.

  “Todd!”

  He snapped out of it and raced her way.

  “Go tell the pilot, contact ground. Tell him the situation. Tell him to manually engage the oxygen masks.”

  “You think someone released something?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Do you think …?”

  “Todd!” Sharon yelled. “Go!”

  Todd spun on his heels and ran toward the cockpit.

  Sharon wanted to cry. She could hear those around her needing help, their vocal chords drowning while they hacked a cough similar to a bark.

  Straightening the dead woman in 2B, someone grabbed her wrist.

  Sharon stopped.

  The passenger covered her mouth. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” Sharon answered and looked around. She was at a loss. “I just don’t know.”

  EIGHTEEN - Isolated

  Airnamics Flight 473 to Washington DC

  June 28 Late Evening

  Sharon realized how many people actually didn’t pay attention to the preflight instructions. Many didn’t pull the strap to release the oxygen. Although she doubted the chemically created oxygen did little to help, it did do one thing, it calmed people down and gave them a sense of security.

  For the fourteen minutes the oxygen flowed
.

  Had someone actually needed real oxygen, the plane had small canisters. But it didn’t get to that.

  Sharon’s request for the captain to engage the masks wasn’t out of fear of some chemical attack on the plane or chemical leak. She knew that wasn’t the case by the sheer numbers of those infected. Had something leaked or there been an attack, everyone would have felt it.

  She asked for the masks because she remembered during her coughing spell, they gave her oxygen and it helped a little.

  The masks also did little for those who coughed and choked. The passenger in 2B was the first to die and within twenty minutes, everyone who fell ill … died. Most died one right after another, with the final person holding the full twenty minutes.

  By the time the masks had burned through their oxygen, the plane was void of the coughing sounds. Only sniffles, cries and worried voices flowed through.

  Some people asked for alcohol, Todd freely gave out the little bottles without a charge, opting to deal with the repercussions of not the freebies for later. Sharon assured him no one would care.

  So many asked questions, that Sharon didn’t have answers to. The number one thing she needed to do was move people. Move those who had died to the back of the plane into one area, cover them and then the unaffected passengers move forward. She needed to keep people calm that was also a priority.

  Above all that, she needed to give those on board an answer to their fate. She asked for volunteers to help the staff move bodies. Only a few offered, and Sharon gave them masks and two pairs of gloves. After situating that, she made her way to the cockpit.

  The Captain let her in.

  “What’s the situation?” the Captain asked.

  “People are scared. We don’t know what happened. Any news?”

  “No response yet.”

  “Kind of scary,” Sharon said. “Is anyone down there?”

  “Oh, yeah. We just have been transferred from one tower to the next. No explanation. Any new illnesses.”

  “None.”

  “Well, that’s …”

  “Airnamics 473, this is Colorado Springs Delivery. Copy.”

  The pilot responded. “Colorado Springs Delivery, this is 473. We read.”

  “What is the situation 473?”

  “We have an outbreak on board. We are unsure what has caused it. We are in dire straits. Twenty-three of our passengers were affected and they have died. Request emergency landing.”

  Silence.

  “Colorado Springs, this is 473, Repeat. We request emergency medical landing. Do you copy?” A brief moment, with no reply. “Colorado Springs do you copy.”

  “This is Colorado springs Delivery. 473 your request for emergency medical landing is denied.”

  “This is 473. Denied? How can you deny us?”

  Colorado Springs didn’t respond.

  “Colorado Springs?”

  After a few seconds they finally returned.

  “473 we have been informed that FAA has placed an in-flight quarantine on your plane. Stand by for further instructions.”

  “Can we land and be placed under quarantine.”

  “Negative. Stand by for instructions.”

  The Captain lowered his headset.

  “What does an in-flight quarantine mean?” Sharon asked.

  “Means it they won’t let us land.”

  “We can’t stay in the air for long, can we?”

  “There’s about five more hours of fuel, maybe a little more.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’ll find a place to put her down. Even if it’s a cornfield.”

  “What if more passengers get sick?”

  “Sharon,” the Captain snapped. “Why are you asking so many questions I can’t answer?”

  “Because we have one hundred and fifty passengers that need answers.”

  “I don’t have them. They put a quarantine on us. They know something.” The captain said. “They were too quick to put that quarantine in place. They were waiting. There was something on board or released. They knew.”

  “Do you think they are just trying to find a place for us to land?” Sharon asked.

  The co-pilot who had been in a silent state of shock spoke up. “No, they’re keeping us up here while they scramble.”

  The captain looked at him. “No.”

  “Scramble?” Sharon looked quizzically at him.

  “Jets,” The co-pilot said. “They are gonna shoot us down.”

  NINETEEN – WAKING

  Littlefield, AZ

  June 29

  One thing Stokes learned about the people of Littlefield was that they were pretty friendly. Chief Wells gave up his coat for Stokes, but told people he was stranded in town, a drifter of sorts, whose car was destroyed in the big accident. He felt sorry for him. That was the story.

  As far as the multitudes of reporters, Wells and Stokes couldn’t chance them leaving town, not if they were exposed. So Wells let them know that he had major announcement regarding the accident and other circumstances and he would reveal it at three PM on Saturday. A few hours after the seventy-two hour mark. He hoped it would keep them in town long enough to see if they got sick.

  Two reporters opted to leave.

  When Wells realized that, he violated their rights, he had them arrested, slapped a ridiculously high fine on them in a kangaroo court invoking the out of state law. Fine must be paid in full before they were released.

  They were given no phone calls.

  The fine was a million dollars. Kind of hefty for a tail light. But it kept the reporters in the cell screaming everyone would know.

  That threat seemed like a dream when Stokes woke up. He could smell the fresh brewing coffee, and the sun hadn’t even risen.

  He grabbed his phone from the charger and checked for messages.

  Nothing.

  No missed calls, no messages. He clicked the envelope for his email … it spooled, but failed to connect.

  A normal routine disrupted. He just operated on the assumption that he had connection. Stokes took a few seconds to remembered if he paid his phone bill, then decided to hook up to the Chief’s Wi-Fi.

  That was a bust,

  “What the hell?” Stokes focused on his phone.

  “Morning.” Chief Wells walked into the living room. “I made you coffee.” He extended the cup to Stokes.

  Stokes took it. “Thanks. Hey, Chief, something wrong with your internet?”

  “Nope.” Wells sat down in the easy chair across from him. “Something’s wrong with everyone’s internet. And cable television is down.”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “Nope, they went down just after two AM.”

  “What time did you get up?”

  “Really haven’t been to bed. Kind of hard to sleep with the town’s doomsday clock ticking.”

  “Do you think this has anything to do with it?”

  “I’m betting. I’d say it was the cable company, but the radio is out too.”

  “No radio?” Stokes questioned.

  “Well, you can pick up the local station in town KASS.”

  “K … ASS.”

  “Don’t judge.”

  Stokes lifted his hand in surrender. “What about phones?”

  “Landlines work locally. Your phone will work locally.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “It can connect to any phone that bounces off our only tower. That was a perk that happened an hour ago. You can call across town, you can text across town, you cannot call your mother a hundred miles away. And... No disrespect if your mother has passed.”

  “Ironically, my mother died in a measles outbreak.” Stokes put his phone down. “So what’s your best guess on what’s happening?”

  “I think it’s one of two things. Either they are shutting us down so we don’t see it coming or … there’s nothing left out there.”

  “How do we know?”

  “We get the answers.” Wells s
tood. “And for those we only need to walk a block.”

  Amidst the hue of the early morning sky, Stokes and Wells made their way down the empty streets of Littlefield. The diner was the only business with a light on. The waitress waved at them as they passed by the window and made their way to the home located just behind Bob's Mufflers.

  It wasn't quite a house. It was a mobile home and one not in very good condition. The metal siding was dented and rusted. The screen porch door looked like something from the 1950s and the bottom wooden step was cracked.

  The windows were covered with some sort of plastic, as if that trailer owner was waiting for a snowstorm. The curtains were drawn. Outside were empty trash cans and a rusted out barbecue grill.

  “Why exactly are we here?” Asked Stokes

  “World's best kept secret.” Replied Wells.

  “Best kept secret.”

  “Rather, the world's greatest hacker.”

  Stokes laughed. “The world's greatest hacker lives here? In this trailer?”

  “Don't judge,” said Wells. “Can't keep him hidden, or secret, it is an impressive place. Right?”

  “I suppose.”

  Wells reached up and knocked on the screen door.

  “What's the code word?” Shouted a male voice inside.

  Stokes thought. “Oh my God. This is a parody of a spy movie.'

  “Canary,” said Wells.

  A moment later the door unlocked.

  Stokes was wagering that the visit was going to be unique and interesting and put little stock into the fact that anything good would come out of it.

  The trailer home reeked of cigarettes and alcohol, the interior was something out of the seventies. Medium oak paneling, thick and dirty shag carpet and a plaid couch.

  “This is Albert,” Wells introduced the man. “Albert this is Agent Stockmen.”

  Albert was a man in his fifties, looked more like in sixty year old version of Larry the Cable guy.

  “Stokes,” Stokes extended his hand. “Just call me Stokes.”