by Bobby Adair
Ebola K
Book One
of the Ebola K Trilogy
By
Bobby Adair
http://www.bobbyadair.com
http://www.facebook.com/BobbyAdairAuthor
Text copyright © 2014, Bobby L. Adair
Published by Bobby Adair at Smashwords
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design and Layout
Alex Saskalidis, a.k.a. 187designz
Editing, Proofreading
Kat Kramer
Cathy Moeschet
Linda Tooch
Technical Consultant
John Cummings
eBook and Print Formatting
Kat Kramer
Preface
My son spent the summer of 2013 in Uganda and was the inspiration for one of the book’s characters, Austin Cooper. I was so moved by some of the stories he came back with that I started to write them out as a record of the events. But as things turn out in my mind, the true stories got sucked into a series of what-if questions along with the concern I’ve had with Ebola since I first heard of it after the 1976 outbreaks in Zaire. And of course that was rolled into another of my favorite subjects, post-apocalyptic fiction.
Hence, this story—as anyone reading in 2014 knows—occurs contemporaneously with the largest Ebola outbreak in African history. I adjusted some of the details of the story in order to pin it to recent news events.
Except for the Ebola virus mutating into an airborne strain as it does in the story (which is purely fictional), all of the information presented about Ebola and its effects is accurate according to published medical documents and historical news records. On that note, I am occasionally contacted by readers who have expertise in different areas, and if you have information that contributes to the accuracy of this story, I encourage you to contact me through my website.
Keeping in mind the reality of the world we live in, Ebola is a terrible disease that—even as I write this story—is gruesomely killing people just like you and me, except for the fact that they weren’t lucky enough to be born in an affluent country. I read an article last night about a shortage of medical supplies available to nurses, doctors, and volunteers treating patients in Liberia. Because even the most basic protective gear—such as gloves—isn’t available, people are putting their lives at risk in order to help others.
While I harbor no illusions about fixing that problem or curing the world’s ills through a donation, I’d encourage anyone interested in helping to consider providing a measure of assistance to people unfortunate enough to be afflicted with this and other diseases. Hence, a portion of the proceeds from these books will be donated to that cause. If any of you feel moved to assist, I’ll post a set of links on my website that will direct you to charitable organizations that engage in these sorts of activities. Every little bit helps.
http://www.bobbyadair.com/Ebola
Getting back to business, this first book in the trilogy is provided at no charge, with two more modestly priced books to follow. This is a strategy I use to give readers a chance to try out the first book in a series risk-free. Without the burden of a large publisher and shareholders to please, indie authors have the flexibility to market their work in creative ways. As we experience a paradigm shift from traditional publishing, you might notice a large number of high-quality works at lower prices or even free. You’ll find many new authors who are excited to get their work in your hands, so don’t let the price—or lack of one—affect your perception of the quality of their work.
With that said, your feedback and reviews are valued and appreciated, so if you enjoy the book, please take a moment and write a short review and leave it on the website where you obtained the book. Links are provided at the end. Also don’t forget to “Like” my Facebook page…we have a lot of fun and really enjoy interacting with readers.
And just as the readers in my Slow Burn series have enjoyed the suspense left at the end of each book—spoiler alert—there is a cliffhanger at the end of Ebola K: Book 1.
Enjoy,
Bobby Adair
Chapter 1
“Seems like ever since you got to Uganda, you can’t stop talking. But today, you’re quiet. What’s up?”
Austin Cooper made a noncommittal sound into his cell phone and thought about whether to tell his dad the thoughts that were bothering him.
“Did you go bungee jumping into the Nile again?”
Nothing like that.
“Camping with the coffee farmers up on Mt. Elgon?”
“No.” Austin took a long, slow breath. It was going to be hard.
With his elbows on the rough-hewn piece of wood lashed between two poles that passed for a table in the little shop, Austin looked out at people who were passing on the street. He spotted Rashid talking to a boda driver. He ran a finger around the remains of the ugali and cabbage on his plate. “I’ve been in Mbale all week. When I first got here, I was walking down the street. It was pretty crowded and all. I was going down to a market to get some fruit and I saw this kid on a rooftop up ahead.”
Into the pause, Austin’s dad, Paul Cooper, said, “Yeah?”
There was no good way to ease into it, so Austin simply said it. “Somebody pushed him off.”
The phone was silent over the space of a few breaths. “Someone pushed the kid off the roof? Did he get hurt?”
“Yeah, pretty badly. But nobody stopped to help. All the people ignored him and walked by.”
“What?” Paul was surprised.
“That’s how it is here,” said Austin. “He was a street kid. They’re like some kind of a lower caste. They’re orphans. They live on the edge of town in the dumps and eat scraps. Most of them have AIDS. ”
“And those are the ones you teach?”
“Yes.”
“Was he one of your students?” Paul asked.
“No. I teach in Kapchorwa.” Austin looked out to the street again. Rashid was negotiating with a boda driver for a ride back to Kapchorwa. Rashid always did the negotiating with Austin out of sight. They’d learned early in their stay that Austin’s blue eyes and blond hair always got them the mzungu price. Rashid, being Arabic, got a better deal.
“I can’t keep the names of those places straight. What happened to the kid?”
Austin choked up. Just thinking about the story brought unexpected emotion. He faked a cough to cover it. “I couldn’t…I had to do something.”
“What happened?” Paul asked.
“I picked him up and carried him to the hospital.”
Paul was at a loss for words. After several long moments, he said, “I’m proud of you.”
“The hospital wouldn’t take him because he was a street kid.”
“You’re shitting me,” Paul’s voice was full of disgust.
Austin was unfazed by the profanity. His dad never had much respect for the concept of good and bad words. “No. The only way they’d take him is if I paid. It took pretty much the rest of my money. I’m nearly broke.” Austin hadn’t intended to add that last line. The opportunity to teach for the summer in Uganda had cost them both a bit more than they could afford.
Without hesitation, Paul said, “I’ll transfer some money in
to your account, okay? I’m proud of you. I really am. You’re turning into a pretty good person. I think this summer in Uganda is good for you.”
“Thanks.” Austin wondered about whether to tell his dad the next part. But Paul wasn’t a worrier, not like Austin’s mom. “There’s more.”
“Yeah?”
“I stayed at the hospital with him for four days. I didn’t think they’d let him stay if I left. But after the fourth day, I kinda got comfortable with the staff and felt I could trust them.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So I left the hospital for a while and went out to get something to eat.” At that point, Austin had to fake another cough. It was the first time he’d told the story and the emotions—just days old—were still raw.
With growing concern, Paul asked, “What happened?”
“They kicked him out of the hospital.” Another slow, deep breath. “I went out looking for him. It was a gang that pushed him off the roof.”
“Like Bloods and Crips?” Paul asked.
“No,” said Austin. “The country has a lot of misguided groups who are doing some really crappy things in the name of religion. The Lord’s Resistance Movement is the one you hear about putting kids into sex slavery or forcing them into their army. They think these street kids are sinners or unclean or something. Dad, they caught him and castrated him. They left him in the street.”
“Jesus.”
“He bled to death.”
It was Paul’s turn to fake a cough to cover his emotions. “Are you okay?”
“Not at first. I’m okay now, I think.”
“I’m really proud of you for helping the kid,” Paul said again.
“Thanks.”
“Do you think you’re in any danger?” Paul asked.
“How’s that?” Austin was wondering if he’d been wrong about his dad being a worrier. Perhaps his stepmom had converted him. Not good.
Paul said, “Maybe from the gang that killed the kid. Do you think they’ll come after you for taking him to the hospital?”
“No, they pretty much leave mzungus alone.”
“Mzungus?”
“Sorry. It’s their word for white people. They kind of have special rules for us. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Don’t tell your mother about this until you get back. You know she wasn’t jazzed about you going to Uganda in the first place, and now that she knows about this Ebola thing in Sierra Leone, she’s kind of freaked out.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t trivialize it,” Paul said. “You know how much she worries. She’d go nuts with you there for another month, thinking you could get hurt.”
“I won’t say anything.”
“When was the last time you talked to her?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“Call your mom when you get off the phone with me, okay?”
Austin glanced out toward the street. Rashid was shuffling and looking around, making a show of his restlessness. The impatience of the Ugandan man beside him looked real. “I can’t. I think my boda guy won’t wait.”
“A boda, that’s the motorcycle thing, right?”
“It is a motorcycle, a motorcycle taxi. You know, they have those long seats like you used to have in the seventies so they can squeeze more than two people on them.”
Paul ignored the dig about his age. “You did get that email from your stepmom, right?”
“Heidi sent me a bunch. Which one?”
“Probably one you didn’t read.”
Austin chuckled. “I didn’t read most of them.”
Paul laughed. “Look, I know how she can be a pain, but she did find a lot of good information about Uganda. You really should read them.”
“CliffsNotes?”
“I’m not going to summarize her emails.”
Austin laughed. “Why not? She’s your wife.”
His dad laughed, too. “Just be careful on the bodas. The State Department or wherever she got the information said to stay off the bodas because people always get hurt on them.”
“Everybody here has a boda scar.” Austin laughed again.
“I feel so much better.”
“Don’t tell Mom about the boda then.”
“I’m not saying anything to your mother. The less she knows, the happier she’ll be. Is the boda guy taking you back to Kapchorwa?”
“Yes.”
“How far is it?”
“I don’t know. An hour and a half?”
“Super.” Paul said it with plenty of sarcasm.
“Anyway, we need to get going. This is the first boda driver we found that’ll make the trip. The others don’t think they’ll get back here before dark.”
“I feel so much better knowing the accident-prone motorcycle taxi driver will be in a hurry.” More sarcasm.
Austin laughed—the laugh of someone who was twenty years old and still believed that bad things only happened to other people.
“Keep in touch okay? At least email me every week so I know what’s going on.”
“Is Heidi bothering you about not hearing from me often enough?” Austin smiled.
“I do tend to pick ‘em.”
Austin said, “I don’t have the Internet or phone service in the village.”
“I know, you’ve told me. But you come into town every week, right?” Paul asked.
“Maybe not next week. We’re supposed to go camping in the mountains again.”
“Let me know when you get back, okay?”
“Yeah. I gotta go.”
Chapter 2
Austin walked out of the shade of the little restaurant’s thatched roof and waived a thanks to the proprietor.
Rashid pointed to a spot in the center of the boda’s long motorcycle seat. “You’re riding in the middle.”
“No, I’m not,” Austin answered. “I’m paying.”
“This is your friend?” The boda driver asked.
Rashid told him, “He’s got the money. You want it or not?” To Austin he said, “I negotiated. You should sit in the middle.”
“You can get your own if you want,” said Austin. “Your dad’s got, like, a bazillion dollars, right? It’s not my fault you’re always broke.”
Rashid’s brow furrowed. He shook his head and raised a finger to his lips. He leaned in close so that only Austin could hear what he was about to say. “I told you, keep that quiet. You could get me kidnapped.”
“Sorry,” Austin whispered back. In his normal tone, he said, “Get on, let’s get going.”
The boda driver said, “It’s a long way to Kapchorwa. Money first.”
Austin paid him.
“Something you should know before we go,” Rashid said.
“Yeah?” Austin asked.
“The road is blocked.”
“It is,” the boda driver said. “My cousin told me.”
Rashid continued, “The military closed down that road and a bunch of others in the eastern districts.”
Austin wondered if the driver was steering the conversation toward a renegotiation of the price. “Why?”
“Ebola,” answered the driver.
“Here?” Austin didn’t want to believe it.
Rashid shook his head and shot the driver a look that told him to be quiet. “Rumors. The Ebola outbreak is in Sierra Leone. Just rumors.”
“So, what are we doing, then?” Austin asked.
The boda driver pointed north. “I know a way on a trail.”
“How close can we get?”
“You’ll see the village from where I drop you,” the boda driver answered.
Austin said, “I can see Kapchorwa from the top of Mt. Elgon and that’s, like, ten miles away.”
“A kilometer, maybe less,” said the driver.
“Okay. Let’s go.” Austin walked toward the bike.
The driver threw a leg over his motorcycle.
To Rashid, Austin motioned, “You’re next.”
“I hate being in the mi
ddle,” Rashid complained.
“Trust me. It’s just as uncomfortable for me, but it’s what we can afford.”
Chapter 3
Forty minutes on the dusty, bumpy, red clay road was bad, but the single-track through the bush was worse.
The boda driver turned to yell over the whine of the engine, “Hold on.”
They bounced over a hump in the trail and Austin nearly went off the back.
Rashid looked over his shoulder at Austin. “Not so tight.”
“I don’t want to fall,” Austin told him.
Rashid sneezed.
“Damn, dude.” Austin wiped his face on Rashid’s shirt. “You got that all over me.”
“You should have let me ride in back.”
“What? You sneezed on me on purpose?”
Rashid sneezed again.
“Damn. Turn your head, Rashid.”
“I did!”
“Turn it the other way. I’m on your left.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
The jungle on both sides of the trail closed in. Leaves big and small brushed Austin’s knees. Thin branches scraped. And it all grew thicker the higher up the side of the mountain the trail wound. The boda’s engine whined as it pulled the three young men up a particularly steep section of the trail, and the tires skidded down muddy tracks as the driver uselessly squeezed the brakes until the wheels locked. Miraculously, he kept the motorcycle upright.
More than once Austin wanted to pull his phone out of his pocket to check the time and see how much longer they had to risk breaking their bones on the trail, but feared that pulling one hand away from Rashid’s waist would result in him being bounced off the back of the bike.
They’d been on the trail for at least a half hour, maybe twice that long, when it smoothed out on a gentle upward slope. They were going slow enough by then that Austin figured he could have a conversation with Rashid and not have the words lost in the wind. “Hey, what do you think of this Ebola thing?”
