Cough

by Druga, Jacqueline

  Albert received his sign of what to do when he saw ‘the sign’.

  Grady’s BBQ Pit. It was a yellow sign with blue letters on the side of the highway.

  Grady’s BBQ Pit, open Saturday.

  BBQ.

  The virus lady.

  He hurried the mile through the traffic jam and back to his home. As a professional hacker, he never revealed his identity. Never let anyone know he was watching and listening, but the moment at hand was an exception.

  After all, at the rate of how things were going, how long would it be before he didn’t have the power to listen in anymore? He had to seize the moment while he could. If he didn’t, he would be kicking himself.

  He pulled up Dr. Lenza’s phone and text log. Three calls to her husband and the last text told him she would know in twenty four hours if he needed to get the BBQ Ham going.

  If anyone knew anything, she did. She was the one working on it, buried beneath Washington DC trying to save the world. At that second Albert didn’t care about saving the world, he only wanted to save his brother.

  It possibly wouldn’t work, but he had to try.

  Since communication blocks were lifted he, grabbed his phone, put her number into a message, typed a text and hit send.

  It was a simple text to get her attention.

  BBQ Ham

  Blip

  Who is this?

  You don’t know me. I know who you are. – Albert wrote. – I need your help.

  Please don’t text this number again.

  We are a small town in Arizona. NG has us quarantined but they are leaving us to die. We are dying day by day.

  I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want.

  Help. We need help. Just tell us. Is there anything we can do? Please. Anything we can do to have a fighting chance.

  There was a long pause of waiting. A drawn out moment that seemed like an eternity. As if she wasn’t going to respond. Albert had taken a chance reaching out, for all he knew in the few minutes she turned him in and the town would go dark as punishment or worse. He didn’t want to cause trouble, he only wanted to reach out. He couldn’t, with a clear conscience not try when his brother’s life was on the line.

  Just when he gave up on hearing back, just when Albert was about to assume all hope was lost, he heard the beep of a reply and saw the simple one word response that renewed him with a invigorated hope for life in the middle of a dying town.

  A three letter word that made him want to jump up and scream.

  He asked if there was anything they could do.

  She replied, “Yes.”

  Chapter Twenty-NINE – FIGHT

  Washington, DC

  July 3

  The president was angry and rightfully so. The next day was supposed to be his country’s Independence Day, yet, there he was a slave to the wishes of a volatile virus that threatened man’s existence.

  “How is this even possible?” The president moved in a maddening pace. “One man, one man does this? I know we aren’t even sure it was only one man... but still one man played god with a manmade virus and we can’t stop it. In less than a week the infrastructure is failing. Light and power are out everywhere. There is massive looting, shooting and this report …” he flung it to the counter. “Handwritten mind you because our technology has taken a backseat, this report tells me that at the current rate, in two weeks most of our major cities, because of violence and sickness will be ghost towns.”

  Nadia didn’t reply at first. She waited and said only what she could at that moment. ‘I’m sorry. But something of this magnitude we knew would take control before we could control it.”

  “It’s frustrating.”

  “I know. But there is hope. You know it.” Nadia said. “The treatment works in eighty percent of cases. At least in the small areas that we tested it. It throws the virus into some sort of remission.”

  “But these people have to be diligent,” the president said. “One dose of three medications and they die.”

  “It’s still keeping them alive.” Nadia argued. “If they have to be on medication the rest of their lives, it’s better than dying. Eventually, we will distribute enough and get the word out about the treatment. And eventually, it will be enough to stop the death.”

  “But not the spread.”

  Sadly, Nadia lowered her head. “Those who are fighting it are still contagious.”

  “We need that vaccine.”

  “It’s in production. We will have doses next week to distribute. We’ll start with rural areas.”

  “How long until everyone gets the vaccine.”

  “Months and that’s not a guarantee at this point. It isn’t going to help those exposed or those sick. For that we need a cure and that could be years.”

  The president growled in frustration.

  “I feel what you are saying,” Nadia said. “I have been away from my family for two weeks. I am fighting, I am trying, I don’t want a single member of my family to die from this thing.”

  “Have any of them gotten sick?”

  “Yes. My husband told me my son in law is taking the treatment. I suspect it won’t be long before my daughter is ill, too. So I am fighting.”

  “My wife … my wife started coughing last night. It’s... it’s not working on her.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” The president gathered his papers. “I’m sorry that I came down here and was so hard on you. I just … I lost. I’m not handling that well.”

  “Considering that there were thirty of us down here when it started and only ten now … your choices are slim when it comes to venting.”

  He smiled at her, a sad smile. “I’ll leave you to you work. Keep me posted.”

  “I always do.”

  The president began to leave.

  “Sir, please know. This virus may be kicking our ass, but as long as we’re fighting, as long as we’re standing. As long as I am alive …” she said. “It’s not over, not yet.”

  <><><><>

  Littlefield, AZ

  July 3

  Population 612

  Wells didn’t know what prompted him to do so, maybe it was because it was a nice day or even because it was on his calendar to be there, but Wells went to the small community park of Littlefield.

  No one was there.

  Not that he expected anyone to be there. But it was empty, void of life and movement. The grass was in dire need of being cut and he supposed it would eventually be overgrown.

  Who would cut it? Who would care?

  Had the virus not been released the park would be buzzing. They would be setting up the stage for the hired band, booths for the fair would be erected. The giant BBQ pits would be positioned around the park and Wells himself would be overseeing the safety inspection of the fireworks,

  All of which weren’t going to happen.

  Not this year.

  Possibly never.

  He took a breather, sitting on the bench. His mind flashed back to a few nights earlier and how different things were. He was the lone patron at Shotsy’s when his brother Albert came blasting in.

  “There’s a treatment.” Albert had said. “I need to find Dr. Harmon.”

  “Wait. Whoa? What?”

  “A treatment. I have been hacking and watching the messages of the top doctor working on this. On a whim I contacted her. I asked what we can do. She said they were testing a treatment. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it could hold off the virus effects until a cure is found.”

  It was music to his ears, but to both Wells and his brother it was foreign. The treatment wasn’t that simple. Albert didn’t quite understand it and when they found Dr. Harmon, it made sense to him.

  The problem however wasn’t the treatment, it was the availability and the stock of the items and medication needed.

  Basically it didn’t keep the virus away, it merely subdued the symptoms enough that the patient didn’t die or slip into some sort of delirium.

/>   Albert showed Wells the text that read, ‘It isn’t tested fully. So we don’t know the extent.’

  To Albert Littlefield would test it.

  But it wasn’t that easy.

  There was still a good bit of the population left in town and after raiding the pharmacy and hospital, the supply of respiratory medication wasn’t enough to keep the town alive for a prolonged period of time.

  Then there wasn’t only distributing the treatment, it was explaining how it had to be used diligently, and who to give it to.

  Albert sent a message to the Virus doctor. ‘Any way you can get us more medication.’

  She simply responded, ‘I will try.’

  Wells didn’t put much stock in it.

  As explained by Dr. Harmon, by the three medications the virus doctor listed, it appeared as if they were treating the virus victims like severe asthma patients or someone with COPD.

  The virus struck the airways, inflaming them to the point they bled and the patient drown.

  Three medications.

  An inhaled anti-inflammatory. A bronchial dilator and a rescue inhaler.

  The best course of action would be start the medication, symptoms or not. But there wasn’t enough in town. Each dose was a day of life. So Dr. Harmon instructed each person, once you feel the cough, hit the emergency inhaler three times, then take the first pill.

  Each person in town with a black or yellow flag on their house was given all three medications. They had spent the entire next day distributing what they could.

  Unfortunately for some it was too late.

  Albert made a deal with the doctor that he would keep her informed.

  For two days after the doctor gave the text message treatment information, people died, they lost most of their town, but then they went an entire day without death and that gave Wells hope.

  Sitting in that park, a part of him wanted to go door to door, tell people to come out and celebrate, they had a grip on the virus. But he didn’t want to celebrate too soon.

  The ringing church bells reminded him of that.

  The noon bells were the warning. They rang on that fateful day and the accident happened releasing the virus.

  On the third day they rang and everyone that was exposed dropped over.

  They next day they rang and people started to get sick.

  In the park, the day before Independence Day, Wells sat on that bench listening as the bells tolled.

  He had one death and sickness free day, he wasn’t going to celebrate. Not yet.

  The bells meant to be a celebration of life had become Littlefield’s announcement that death will commence.

  For a brief moment, very brief, Wells wondered if this was his day. Would this be the day he coughed. Just in case, he carried his supply of medication in a belt pack on his hip.

  “You look relaxed,” a voice spoke up and snapped Wells out of his day dream.

  “I am. It’s a guilty pleasure,” Wells said and shaded his eyes to see who approached. It was Dr. Harmon.

  “Sitting here you look like you don’t have a care in the world,” Dr. Harmon joined him on the bench.

  “Don’t judge. I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Me, too, that’s why I sought you out.”

  “Uh oh.” Wells face him. “What’s going on?”

  Dr. Harmon reached over and tapped the pack on Wells hip. ‘See you got your emergency pack.”

  “I do and thankfully I haven’t used it yet. I think my big worry is that I’ll catch a cold or something and I’ll do the treatment unnecessarily.”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, every single person that caught it said they knew. They knew before they started the cough that it was coming. All had a weird feeling in their chest and some had that nose bleed. You’ll know.”

  “Thank you. So other than checking my medication, was there another reason you sought me out?”

  “It’s not working on everyone you know.”

  “I know.” Wells lowered his head.

  “Seven or eight out of ten and I think it has a lot to do with when they start showing symptoms. Some, ignore it and it’s too late. There are some that start coughing at night and by the time they get up and react, the virus took hold in their lungs. Let me ask you this …” Harmon placed his arm on the back of the bench. “Say you get sick and it works for you. Keeps you dying from the virus. What happens when you run out?”

  “Get more.”

  “That’s why I’m here. We don’t have it.”

  Wells blinked in confusion. “Albert said that woman was going to try to get more to us.”

  “So far she hasn’t.”

  “It’s only been a few days.”

  “Yes, it has. But already a lot of places have lost power, some communications are down. Will she get the supplies to us in time? What about the next time we run low. It has to be this way until the cure is found. Should we depend on her?”

  “What do you suppose we do? We have the National Guard out there.”

  “They’re watching a dead town …” Harmon lifted his hand. “You know what I mean. We don’t know if the news of the treatment has broken. If it did, it can go one of two ways. Either we’ll get some more supplies or we’ll be denied because everyone is going to hoard them. I’m gonna go on the assumption the treatment news hasn’t broken yet.”

  “Again, I ask what do we do?”

  “We don’t wait on her. We go. We go get the supplies. Send two immune to get them.”

  “Where do they go?”

  “I’ll figure out places, and make a list. You find the two who need to go.”

  With a look, Wells pretty much conveyed it was a deal. But he didn’t have to think or look too hard, he already knew the two people he was going to send out for the medicine.

  <><><><>

  Macy heard the bells. She always heard them, even before the events that unfolded. She herself had signed a petition to get Pastor Albert to lower the volume on the mechanical and automatic bells.

  It didn’t work.

  The only headway the petition made was getting him to eliminate the six AM bells. The volume was still unbelievably high and the speaker could have been designed to be used at Wriggly Field.

  They were loud.

  Even though they annoyed her they always told her, what time it was.

  Just like she knew heard them the day the SUV careened into the Dollar Barn. She heard them right before the crash. Macy heard them inside of Breyer’s, just before everyone got sick. And when the bells chimed the next day and Lila grew ill, Macy deemed the bells the warning of bad news. They were in essence a Death Knell.

  So when she heard the bells, she raced into the room where her sons played video games. And waited.

  If they were going to get sick, they would do so.

  “You’re so weird, Mom,” Clay told her.

  “Don’t worry, Mommy,” said Thomas. “We aren’t getting sick. We promise.”

  She wished with all her heart that was a promise that Thomas could keep, but there were no guarantees on life or death with the virus. Just like there were no guarantees that if one got sick, they would just lie in bed and die. There was a chance they would be banging their head off the wall for twelve hours before slowing down and dying.

  Many mentioned it was the better way to be sick with the virus. The person infected was unaware. The end result was still the same, if they got sick, delusional or not … they died.

  While Lila cheated the death bell by taking her own life, Wells had told her that just as others turned and got sick, people had died.

  Hopefully not any more.

  The treatment had worked on so many people. Including Macy.

  She knew even before the bells tolled that she was going to get sick. Whether it was psychological or not, she felt a stranger feeling in her chest at the nape of her neck. It felt like she swallowed a piece of hard candy and it lodge in her esophagus. At first it as bothersome, then it hurt, the
n it made her … cough.

  That first cough, she whipped out the inhaler, said a prayer and followed the course of medication as instructed.

  She was hopeful despite having two nose bleeds since beginning the pills and inhalers. At least she wasn’t thrown into coughing frenzies and hadn’t slipped into some sort of dazed state. That would be dangerous for her sons and she worried about them constantly.

  The news didn’t deliver anything new. It had grown sparse over the last few days. Old programs from the fifties and sixties were placed on. Happy shows. The only thing the news reported was that they were working on a cure.

  Since the last broadcast, Macy heard no mention of the treatment she was receiving at all. She hoped it wasn’t just one of Dr. Harmon’s crazy ideas that he was keeping to himself. Because it worked.

  The news was however, filled with stories of violence and despair. People stealing and emptying grocery store shelves, hardware stores and pharmacies. Families abandoning the ill or killing those who suffered through the dementia. Executions on the infected were so many that they stopped arresting people.

  Macy didn’t get it. Big cities were broken into communities. Couldn’t each community work together? Why did people have to erupt into horrendous behavior, crying out, and ‘The end is here”?

  If they truly believed that and believed in an afterlife, surely they wouldn’t want their last moments spent doing terrible things.

  It was a fact, and Macy knew it, the world, at least The United States wasn’t going to be the same again. Already, law enforcement officers weren’t going to work, opting to stay home with their families. Essential services ran minimal, power had gone down in dozens of major cities and no one went in to flip the switch.

  It was pushing the point that it was going to be too late to turn back, modern civilization was fading fast and she was saddened that humanity wasn’t far behind.

  She had high hopes for the good in the human race. At least in Littlefield, they maintained the small town mentality and ‘brother’s keeper’ mindset. Then again, there weren’t many left in Littlefield.

  <><><><>