Influenza: Viral Virulence

by Ohliger, Steven

  “Doing the math, there’s probably less than fifteen percent of the population still alive,” Jeffrey said.

  “That is optimistic. My best guess would be less. Of course, I don’t know for sure. But just look,” Michael said, sweeping his arm indicating the barren highway.

  “What about Mom and Dad?” Jeffrey asked with concern, turning to his big sister.

  “I’m sure they’re fine,” Liz said reassuringly. She reached over Sandy and grabbed his hand.

  Lorie glanced at Michael. She also had heard the unsure tone in Liz’s voice. They both remained silent.

  “How long do you think this flu will continue to kill people?” Jeffrey asked, turning to Michael again.

  Michael took a little time before answering as he thought. “I believe that by this time, the flu has passed us by. There may be some pockets of infected people still left, but this influenza virus was very virulent—meaning that the virus infected and killed people quickly.

  “But like the Ebola virus, this particular strain of influenza virus was too efficient at killing people. It was so virulent that it may have burned itself out. Any virus can only thrive inside a living body. Oh, it can survive for a little time outside the body on objects such as door handles, shopping cart handles, aerosolized droplets, and other moist, plastic, or metal surfaces. But eventually, the virus dies. This flu virus infected and killed people so quickly that it may have burned out.”

  “What do you mean by ‘burned out’?” Jeffrey asked.

  “Well, once the virus races through a community, all the hosts that it can live and multiply in die, preventing the virus from hanging around and infecting other people. In other words, in less densely populated areas, the virus kills its host before it gets a chance to jump to another host,” Michael finished.

  Glancing at Jeffrey’s face, Michael could tell he was still confused. “The virus is like a big forest fire. It spreads from tree to tree, burning and destroying everything in its path. If the fire burns down a tree too quickly, it may not have enough time to catch the tree next to it on fire. In the same way, an infected person must live long enough to travel and infect new victims. But I don’t think that our biggest danger is from the flu virus any longer. There may be some pockets of viral activity, but they should be few and far between.”

  “And just what do you think is the present danger?” Lorie said, turning to look at him.

  “We’ve had a taste of the present danger,” Michael replied. “It looks like society is currently devolving. With the lack of law and order, more people are becoming increasingly desperate. And with the breakdown of society, people usually fall into one of three categories.”

  “What categories?” Liz asked.

  “The first category would be the normal people who went to work every day without a clue of how dependent they were on the ‘system.’ They were completely spoiled and used to finding everything they needed and desired at the store. They were used to their hot showers, coffee makers, and air conditioning. They took all the luxuries for granted. Then, as the stuff hit the fan, most of these people found themselves hiding in their homes with their limited supplies. They still believe that help will arrive eventually and rescue them. Unfortunately, help will not arrive, and they will either perish from lack of food or become helpless victims of others.”

  “I don’t think most of us are ‘spoiled’ people,” Lorie commented.

  “We are. In this country we’re spoiled beyond belief. But we can’t be blamed for being that way. It’s the way we grew up. We’re used to having things available to us. It seems normal to us. But if you travelled to another country, you’d be enlightened.

  “We’re so used to going out to the grocery store and purchasing whatever we need or want. We have aisles and aisles of food. Not only that, but we have different brands of food. Take, for example, bread. How many different types and brands of food do we have to choose from? And then someone gets upset when their particular brand isn’t in stock. If you go to another country, they consider themselves lucky if they even have bread for sale.

  “The second group of people would be individuals like us who are actively trying to survive. We don’t rely on the system, and we have certain basic survival skills. Not simply waiting for someone to come and rescue us, we go out and find provisions, actively try to defend ourselves, and do not rely on some supergovernment. We’re learning to fend for ourselves.

  “The third category of people is, by far, the scariest. These are the people who don’t care about human life, and they just want to take what other people have. They have no morals, no law, and no good in them. I call them the marauders. They’re the type who loves to prey on the first and second groups. They want whatever little you have…and they have no problem killing you to get it. Rather than work hard to grow and harvest their own provisions, they’ll just take yours.”

  “Like the group that attacked you as you were trying to leave,” Jeffrey observed.

  “And Sealy and Handley,” Lorie added.

  “Exactly! Those types of people, who have no hesitation about killing, stealing, and raping, are our biggest threat. We have to learn how to defend ourselves against them. Over time, I can only hope they self-destruct on their own or run out of victims to steal from.”

  “Not trying to change the subject, but I’m starting to recognize some of these landmarks,” Liz said, peering out the window. “We’re getting close to where we need to turn off.”

  “I’m relying on the two of you,” Michael said, looking at them in the rearview mirror, “to guide us to your house. I need to concentrate on the road immediately in front of us in order to drive around this mess. I need you, Liz, to watch on the left of us, and Jeffrey, I need you to keep watch on the right side. Lorie, if you can help me out by looking farther ahead, we might see any signs of trouble before they’re on us.”

  “Okay,” Lorie said.

  “You got it. But what should Sandy do?” Jeffrey said, ruffling the fur between her ears.

  Michael looked in the rearview mirror. “Sandy can play guard dog. And holler if you see anything. I mean anything. Any movement. Anything that even looks a little suspicious.” Then to Jeffrey and Liz he said, “What’s the best way to get to your house?”

  Liz thought for only a moment. “If you get off at the Benchwood Road exit, you can get to our house by taking a shortcut through a little park, which should be free of broken-down traffic and people.”

  “Do you know how much farther this Benchwood Road is?”

  “I think just a few more miles,” Liz replied.

  Michael kept on driving slowly until he saw a sign announcing the Benchwood Road exit one mile ahead. As he arrived at the exit, he followed the loop around until it dumped them out onto Benchwood Road. Everyone in the truck remained silent as they diligently watched for any signs of danger.

  “Which way now?” Michael asked Liz.

  “Turn right.”

  Michael turned the truck west and headed down the street. The only sign of movement was trash blowing around. They passed a gas station on their right packed full of empty vehicles waiting for gasoline that they would never receive. The station looked like a used car lot. The glass windows and doors of the station itself were busted, and the inside was dark and not very inviting. Michael shivered as he imagined shadowy eyes peering out at them from the gloomy interior. He kept driving. Empty cars were lined up along the side of the road, waiting to turn into the station.

  After driving down the road for a little while longer, they arrived at a major intersection where another accident must have happened a few days ago. The twisted metal cars were blocking their way. As before, they avoided looking at the insides of the vehicles too closely for fear of what might still be inside.

  “You need to somehow get around this and go straight,” Liz said.

  Michael pulled the truck up on the sidewalk to get around one of the wrecked cars. He was very glad he had decided to buy a pi
ckup truck instead of a little, fuel-efficient car. The truck’s appetite for gas might bite him in the long run, but right now, he was more than happy with the clearance off the ground. The truck bounced a little as he went up and over the curb, but the suspension held up well. Navigating around the wreckage of cars, Michael took extra caution not to drive over any broken glass or twisted metal. The last thing they needed right now was a flat tire.

  Making it around the accident, he drove straight across the intersection, and they soon found themselves in the lush green park. This was the park that Liz had told him about. A large brown sign on their right said, “Dayton Memorial Park.” On a normal day, this would have been a beautiful park.

  All the trees, flowers, and green grass were a contrast to the wrecked streets behind them. Up ahead and on the right was a flat, peaceful pond. A variety of swimming ducks and geese wove back and forth on the surface. Beyond the pond, a light colored brick structure arose on a slightly elevated hill. It reminded Michael of a miniature Gothic castle.

  “This is nice,” he commented while taking in the scene.

  “It’s actually a memorial park for fallen military servicemen,” Jeffrey said. “My friends and I used to play catch here in the summer. Sometimes, we were chased out when there was a service going on. But most of the time, they didn’t mind us playing here.”

  “Great,” Lorie commented. She was thinking about children playing ball with dead bodies buried beneath their running little tennis shoes.

  “Yeah, it was fun,” Jeffrey said, oblivious to what Lorie was thinking.

  “We’re getting closer to home. After we get to the other side of the park, our house is just a couple of more miles.” The growing excitement in Liz’s voice was apparent.

  A flashing red light from the truck’s dashboard caught Michael’s attention. He looked at his oil pressure and, with horror, watched it slowly descend. He reached down and quickly shut off the engine.

  “What’s wrong?” Lorie asked.

  “Something’s not right with the engine,” Michael said. “The oil pressure just started dropping like crazy. I need to see if I can fix it. Stay inside and keep watch―yell if you see anything.”

  Michael got out of the truck and popped open the hood. Not even a novice car mechanic, he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for. He didn’t even know what he was looking at. He only knew the basics, like where to put the oil in, where the spark plugs were, and what the radiator looked like. As for all of the belts and tubes running everywhere, he had no idea. He wished he had spent more time learning about engines, like all the other guys in high school. From what he could see with his inexperienced eyes, everything seemed to be in its place. No broken hoses or belts. But something was causing his oil pressure to plummet.

  Lowering the hood, he walked around to Lorie’s side of the car. He noticed a trail of oil on the street running from the back of the truck toward the park entrance. He got down on his hands and knees and lowered his head toward the asphalt road to look at the bottom of the engine. Unable to see anything in the darkness, he went to the back of the truck. Rummaging through his toolbox, he found his flashlight.

  Back down on the ground, he shined the flashlight under his truck and saw the slow drip, drip of oil coming from his engine. Turning the beam of light on the source of the leak, he could see a dark, open hole in the bottom of the engine. Turning off the flashlight, he got back up, went around to the driver’s side, and climbed back in. “We have a problem,” he announced grimly.

  “What is it?” Lorie asked.

  “It looks like the oil drain plug is missing, and we’re losing all of our oil.”

  “Can it be fixed?” Liz asked with apprehension in her voice.

  “If we can find the oil plug, or take one that will fit from another truck, then we may be able to fix it. But we also will need to replace the oil we lost.”

  “The oil plug could be anywhere,” Lorie said. “It may even be back on the interstate.”

  “I doubt it,” Michael said. “The plug had to have fallen out recently, or we would have lost oil long ago. I’m beginning to think that Gary hadn’t completely finished with the oil change and didn’t tighten the plug back in before he got sick. Then, the normal vibration from driving must have worked the plug loose until it finally came out.”

  “What about the gas station we passed when we got off the freeway? They might have the part you need,” Jeffrey suggested.

  “I doubt they’d have a plug to match this exact model car, but I’m sure they’d have oil. We’ll need at least seven or eight quarts to replace the oil we lost.”

  “Can we drive back there?” Liz asked.

  “No, I’m afraid we’re going to have to walk. If I try to run the truck without enough oil, we run the risk that the pistons will lock up. Then, we’d never be able to start it without replacing the entire engine. I don’t even want to take a chance running the truck for a second longer. If we ruin the engine, we’ll be without a vehicle, and we’ll be sitting ducks for anyone in the area. Anyway, it should only take us about thirty minutes to walk back to the gas station.”

  “Should we all go together?” Lorie asked.

  “I think it would be safer if we all went together. I believe there’s some truth in the saying that there’s safety in numbers. If you ever watch scary movies, it’s only when a group of stupid teenagers separates that they start dying,” he added, trying to lighten the mood. “Besides, we only have two guns now.” Michael looked at them each in turn. “If you want to stay in the truck, just lock the doors and roll up the windows.”

  Chapter 17

  After a few minutes of quick discussion, they all agreed to make the trip together. Nobody wanted to stay behind. Michael went back to his toolbox and pulled out a large, adjustable wrench. Looking at Lorie, he said, “Just in case we find another truck like mine. I’ll need this to get the oil plug out.”

  Lorie nodded and tucked the revolver in her waistband at the small of her back.

  Sandy jumped out of the backseat and went directly to the grass to smell the scents of other animals. Then, she returned to Michael and waited to see what he did next.

  Michael tried to put the heavy wrench in his pocket, but it wouldn’t fit. He resigned himself to carrying the rifle in one hand and the wrench in the other. Then, they headed back the way they’d driven through the park, toward the intersection with the wrecked cars.

  They followed the trail of oil all the way. Sandy followed them and sniffed the pavement with excitement. Scanning the pavement, they all looked for the plug, except Sandy, who was probably searching for the scent of a rabbit or squirrel. She couldn’t have cared less about an oil plug.

  When asked what they were looking for, Michael explained that the oil plug looked like a large screw or bolt. No one had spotted anything like his description by the time they got back to the intersection. Michael was starting to doubt that they’d ever find it. He looked up and down the road both ways to see if there was another truck similar in make and model to his own. Seeing nothing, he walked around the wrecked cars to the other side of the street. The others followed. Passing by the cars, Michael got a good whiff of putrid, decaying flesh. He almost gagged.

  He glanced at Lorie and could tell by the grimace on her face that she smelled it, too. They hurried on past.

  They were about to step up onto the sidewalk when Jeffrey spotted something in the gutter. It was the missing oil plug. Jeffrey triumphantly picked it up and handed it to Michael.

  Thank goodness, Michael thought as he wrapped the dirty oil plug in a piece of wadded-up newspaper he’d scrounged from the miscellaneous trash spread all over the street. He put it in his pocket. For the second time that day, he was thankful that Lorie had changed his mind about giving Liz and Jeffrey a ride home. He’d still be looking for the plug, and more than likely it would be lying in the middle of the interstate.

  Lorie looked down the street. “There’s a gas station up th
ere. It looks a lot closer than the station by the exit ramp.”

  Michael saw the station Lorie had spotted. “I’m glad I have people with me who can see these things better than I can. First, Jeffrey finds the oil plug, and now Lorie discovers a gas station that’s a lot closer. I’m beginning to think I need glasses!”

  “That’s what too much book studying does to your eyes, silly,” Lorie said jokingly.

  Turning toward the station, they made their way along the sidewalk, keeping a lookout for any threats. Any dark window, store door, or desolate alleyway could conceal someone ready to pounce. Thankfully, their luck held out and they reached the station without incident.

  Like the other one, this gas station was a parking lot for fuel-thirsty cars. This one had also been broken into and looted. Holding his rifle ready, Michael entered the store and swept the flashlight over the interior.

  No one was home. The food, drinks, and cigarettes had all been cleared out, and the shelf contents had been rearranged all over the floor. Fortunately for them, most people did not think oil was an essential item, and it was too heavy to carry. After all, a case of beer was much more important to them than some useless oil. Michael was sure they’d rethink their mistake once winter set in and they needed something to burn.

  Sandy found some scraps of leftover junk food on the floor and proceeded to clean it up.

  Lorie went behind the counter and found some plastic store bags. They each packed as many quarts of oil as they could comfortably carry in the flimsy bags. Michael added the heavy wrench to his bag. He wished he had a backpack to carry everything in. It was vital that his arms and hands were free to carry the rifle in case he had to use it. But he had to deal with what he had. The backpacks they’d gotten from the sporting goods store had been filled with supplies and were now resting in the back of his truck.