Playing God

by Douglas Moore

  Leslie opened her eyes, wakened from a restless night filled with disturbing dreams. A sliver of morning light broke across her face, warm and inviting. Leslie peeled back the covers and slipped out of bed. She looked down at Cassandra and Christopher as they slept. They were cuddled together which wasn’t terribly out of character but…. She couldn’t imagine how all this must feel to them, so young and innocent. They must be terrified.

  Anxiety percolated in her stomach as the tears filled her eyes. What will become of them? This was supposed to be their time, their world.

  Leslie wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her housecoat and walked to the window. She held open one of the curtain’s heavy panels, careful not to let too much of the morning’s first light spill in and disturb the kids. She glimpsed over her shoulder and back to the grimy window. There was a trickle of water dripping from a crack in the rusted gutter and onto the sill outside. Leslie stared at it, lost in thought and in its steady, hypnotic flow. The galvanized metal was ragged and ugly, but clear, clean water dribbled from the break. She looked back at her children and wondered if there was some sort of metaphor she was missing, but there just wasn’t time. Those thoughts were for another time, another place.

  She closed the curtain and walked to the door. She stepped outside. Warm temperatures were expected, but the morning was still crisp. Might as well delay the day a few more minutes.

  Jake was slumped in one of the ratty armchairs. He wore jeans and jean jacket with a white t-shirt poking up over the collar of an old sweatshirt. His head was covered by that Chevy ball cap he loved so much. A tan and brown coffee mug sat on his knee. It was a heavy, thick-walled monster of a mug that looked like it could keep a cup of coffee hot for days. Leslie knew he would never drop it, even in his sleep.

  Leslie smiled at the thought. Men and their attachments. At home Jake always had his mug within arm’s reach. Her mother hated it, said it would never come completely clean, and often joked how she would sneak up on him one night and remand that cup to oblivion once and for all.

  But of course she never would. And of course she didn’t actually hate it, either. It was part of their banter, like the way old married couples pretend to be bothered by the very things that endear them to their partner.

  Leslie sighed. Thinking of her mother and Jake like that always led to thoughts of her father, whom they both loved, and who kept them apart. In her heart, Leslie knew Jake would have her dad’s blessing if he ever acted on his true feelings. She also knew Jake would somehow see that as betraying his best friend. It was the one thing Jake would never discuss with her, as if she was still a child, unable to understand such things.

  It was also the one thing that bothered her about Jake. He was almost too noble, too reverent, and too respectful of her father’s memory. Anyone who spent five minutes around him could see he loved her. In truth, nothing would have made her happier than to see her mother and Jake together, and nothing seemed less likely to occur.

  “Whatcha thinkin’ about, kiddo?”

  Leslie started. She had been staring at Jake’s face for God knows how long, thinking he was asleep, completely unaware he was looking back at her, totally aware and studying her.

  “You scared me. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Just did,” he said, with a sly wink.

  She laughed. Leslie could feel her face flushed with color.

  “You all right, kiddo?”

  Leslie could hear the serious tone underneath the light facade.

  “Fell asleep with the television on. Talk about weird dreams.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  Jake’s secret was out. June had seen him at his weakest, crying and screaming like a candidate for a fuckin’ strait-jacket. She must be disappointed. He felt broken and exposed. It’s what had sent him outside. He was embarrassed and could hardly look her in the eyes when she brought his coffee out.

  “How’s the coffee?” Leslie asked pulling him back.

  There was a small hot plate and kettle on top of the fridge, along with packets of instant coffee, tea, sugar, and creamers, all set out on an ugly orange tray. She’d been so tired last night she hadn’t even noticed.

  “Not bad. You want any? Kettle’s still hot.”

  “I’ll get it, Jake. Thanks.”

  Leslie went into her room for a cup, then back to the other room for the water. It was still very hot; steam billowed from the cup as she mixed the water with the coffee grounds.

  “I grabbed you a chair, Princess,” Jake said quietly as he picked up the other chair from his room.

  They went back out front and sat together, two people comfortable enough to share the silence without feeling awkward. She knew he was concerned, and he knew that she knew. With Jake, there was always much that remained unspoken.

  A hazy pink glow began to radiate out along the artificial horizon. It was the sun blending with the remains of the grey night sky as it poked out above the roofline of the motel. It was warm, yet odd as far as sunrises go.

  “Red sky at night, sailors’ delight,” she whispered.

  “Red sky at morning, sailor take warning,” Jake said, finishing the quote.

  She looked at him, and he realized his mistake.

  “Gonna be a hot one.” Jake tried not to betray his trepidation about the coming day.

  “Weatherman now, Jake?”

  “Learned a bit from your dad. He was quite the buff.”

  “Buff! You’re being nice. He was obsessed. Crazy.”

  They laughed. Leslie had bought her father a fancy barometer for his birthday the year before he was killed, which he cherished, but it wasn’t like he needed it. He had thermometers and barometers everywhere and constantly monitored the broad band radio for maritime weather reports.

  “Remember when he joined that online weather club?”

  Jake chuckled. “He could hardly operate the computer, but damned if he didn’t love that group.”

  “Fastest two-fingered typist I ever saw,” mused Leslie.

  “What he lacked in skill, he made up for in speed.”

  “That’s not fair, you two. He’s not here to defend himself,” June said, opening the door behind them.

  She was smiling, amused by the fond memories, but her eyes were misty. She wore a terrycloth robe and stood in the doorway, sipping a cup of tea. “He wasn't very techie, but he tried.”

  Leslie smiled and Jake nodded, and for a moment they were all together but separate, each with his or her own special memory of the husband, father, and friend they’d lost.

  Paul popped his head out, breaking the moment before it became too maudlin, for which they were all grateful. He looked rough, his hair spiked out and his beard was more visible, but at least he looked rested.

  “Party going on out here? I was about to call the manager.”

  “Why? You got a man crush on him Paul?”

  Leslie and June laughed.

  “You should have seen this guy, Leslie. He looked like the guy who bent Ned Beatty over in Deliverance.”

  “Sounds cute.” Leslie rose from her chair and ruffled Paul’s hair. “We wake you up, sleeping beauty?”

  “Wakeup call’s coming soon anyway, Paul,” Jake said. “Want some coffee?”

  “Paul’s a Red Bull guy. He’s hooked on that stuff,” Leslie answered.

  Paul shrugged, turned around and headed for the bathroom.

  Jake turned to Leslie. “We should call Pat and your friend Felix as soon as the kids are awake and we’re saddled up.”

  “On that note, I’m going to get ready myself,” June said.

  “Me too, old man. I know you men roll out of bed ready to ride, but we girls have to get a shower,” Leslie teased.

  “Women,” Jake said, and a moment later he was alone again.

  He sipped the last of his coffee and enjoyed the warmth of the sun while he waited for the others.

  Paul was first to emerge. He wore sturdy, black leather Corvallis shoes which
he planted on the sidewalk. He stretched and arched his shoulders, elbows out; fingers intertwined palms down on his head, and twisted his back. Showered, shaved and dressed, he felt like a new man after the chaos of the last couple of days. His hair was still wet, camouflaging his newly-earned gray streaks.

  Jake, who had been studying a map, peered over the silver steel rims of his glasses.

  “What?” Paul asked.

  “Conserving on water.” Jake smirked while sliding his reading glasses down his nose, holding the side of one arm.

  “Hey, I was in China a whole month. A man’s got needs you old codger.”

  “Easy, she’s like my daughter.” Jake laughed and went back to his map.

  “I warned her about horny boys like you,” he mumbled.

  Paul chuckled.

  “Find a good route?” Paul asked still laughing at Jake’s last comment.

  Jake nodded. “Think so. We could probably make Oklahoma without too much trouble.”

  “We should avoid big cities. CNN said Seattle and Knoxville are a mess.”

  “Boston and New York, too.”

  Jake frowned at the map. “Can’t avoid Memphis, but if we stay on I-40 we should be okay.”

  “What about Little Rock?”

  “Take a look.”

  Paul came in close and looked over Jakes’ shoulder.

  “We can get off the Interstate here and head north up to Beebe. Hop on 64 west and cut back to the interstate.”

  “How far into Oklahoma you think we’ll get?” Paul asked.

  “There’s a nice little corridor between Tulsa and Oklahoma City. We’ll find a place in there to hold up for the night.”

  “We should make that call to Pat Michaels.”

  “What about Leslie?”

  “She’s going to wait until we stop for breakfast to call Felix at the Times. We can fill her in once we get on the road.”

  Cell phones had devastated the payphone industry. The last strongholds were economically challenged areas, bars where it was the law, and hospitals where cell phones had to be turned off.

  Then there were the odd stragglers at gas stations and cheap motels. Fortunately, that’s exactly where Jake and company were.

  A beat-up, solitary unit was bolted to the brick wall near their rooms, sheltered in a little enclave between two vending machines and an ice maker. The sign on the phone still said Bell South, who had fortuitously sold off their payphone assets in Tennessee years before.

  “I just have to call my parents.”

  “Need some time alone?”

  “No. It’s fine.”

  Paul used a phone card, keying in a long sequence of numbers as per the instructions on the card. “Miss that cell phone,” he mumbled.

  There was no answer at the other end. Paul’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed with concern. He hung up and repeated the call. Again there was no answer. He hung the phone up harder this time, closed his eyes and ran his hand up his forehead and into his hair.

  Paul grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and pulled a business card from it.

  “Just one more to my uncle.”

  “Yeah. Go ahead.” Jake replied.

  Paul punched in the numbers and waited. He let it ring several times, reluctant yet he knew he had to hang up. Two fingers slowly hung up.

  “I can try again later.”

  “We’ll find them son.” Jake reassured Paul

  Paul looked into Jake’s unwavering eyes and nodded. He lifted his fingers and began to punch in the long sequence of numbers again.

  Pat answered on the first ring.

  “Michaels.”

  “Pat, its Paul Sardis, Leslie’s husband.”

  “Is Jake there with you Paul?”

  “Do you need him?”

  “Please.”

  Paul passed the phone to Jake. “Think he wants confirmation.”

  “Hello Pat.”

  “Hi Jake. I just needed to hear your voice because I just haven’t spoken to Paul, yet.”

  “Don’t worry. The passwords are in the vault,” Jake joked.

  Pat chuckled at the Seinfeld reference.

  “I’m going to hand you back to Paul so you can get to know his voice, plus he has some questions for you.”

  “Put him on.”

  “Thanks Pat. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Don't thank me yet. I don't have much good news.”

  Jake handed Paul the phone while he considered that last ominous statement.

  “Hello Pat. How is everything there? ”

  There was a moment's hesitation. Paul exchanged a look with Jake. Finally, Pat spoke. “It’s not good. Fayetteville’s a powder keg. The military have taken over security.”

  “Has there been an outbreak?”

  “No, but there may as well be. There’s been a lot of looting. Everyone’s scared. I’m at Lincoln Memorial right now. Corporal Dennis was shot last night.”

  “Oh, my God. Is he all right?”

  “He’ll make it. We were making preparations to run for it. When he went to pick up his brother’s wife and kids in Fayetteville, he ran into somebody who wanted his car. Shot him to get it.”

  “Did they catch the guy?”

  “No. No they didn’t. There’s a lot of things going on like that. It’s getting bad.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I have lots of news for you, though.”

  Leslie walked up, looked completely revived. She was wearing one of Paul’s heavy sweaters. Her hair was blown dry and looked light and feathery under the morning sun, which created a halo effect behind her head. Paul smiled and motioned her close so she could listen.

  “We looked for Dr. Andrew Bryce yesterday.”

  “No luck?”

  “Yes and no. He seems to be missing, but we spoke to a colleague of his, a Dr. Lisa Harmer, who was very concerned about his whereabouts. Seems they were more than just colleagues. Anyway, Bryce disappeared yesterday. Doctor Harmer called this morning. She was frantic because Andrew Bryce didn’t make it to her place last night.”

  “I take it that was unusual?”

  “Very. And I don’t like coincidence.”

  “Do you think they killed him?”

  “Makes the most sense. They’ve been wiping out all links to the mouse pox, but Dr. Harmer may have told us what we need to know. It seems they were working day and night on a vaccine.”

  Paul scratched his head. “I thought the government already had one.”

  “Doctor Harmer believes the mass vaccination program is a fraud.”

  “What?”

  “Hold on. I need my notes for this.”

  Pat reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a police issue notepad covered in black vinyl. He leafed through, stopping on one of the back pages, and read directly from his notes: “She worked side by side with our guy, believes vaccine is a placebo to maintain order.”

  “Seems like a lot of trouble to create a lie that will be discovered pretty quickly.”

  “Unless someone wanted to buy time, maintain order while they go underground. Harmer’s group believes you would need two distinct anti-viral that would block the virus in different stages of its life-cycle.”

  “A series of shots, like with HIV?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Two shots” They’re not mixed into one?”

  “I asked her that. The shots would need to be administered at different stages of the life cycle. She also said that studies of similar strains of this virus have shown sensitivity to light, and in a hot, dry climate the disease would likely die out.”

  “Like the desert.”

  “Right. That, or total isolation are the only chance.”

  Paul considered that for a long moment. It was almost too much information to process all at once. The implications were staggering.

  “I guess the meek really will inherit the earth.”

  “Matthew 5:5. Are you a religious man, Paul?”


  “I’m getting there.”

  “Because Dr. Harmer said they crunched the numbers. Eighty-five to ninety percent mortality rate.”

  “My God.”

  “He’s puttin’ it to us.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m checking my buddy out of the hospital and making a run for it. I was wondering if you folks needed any company.”

  “Glad to have you Pat - when we figure out where we're going. We were thinking Idaho or Montana, but with this new information that may change. It’ll have to be a group decision. Can we call you after we talk?”

  “Definitely. How far west are you now? ”

  “Adamsville, Tennessee.”

  “Okay. We’re leaving today in four vehicles heading west. That reminds me, gas is starting to run short. Any problems?”

  “Not so far.”

  “Well, it might be a good idea to pick up some five gallon cans and stock up when you can.”

  “We’ll do that for sure. Keep your cell on. We’ll be in touch.”

  “Sounds good.” He started to hang up when he remembered something. “Almost forgot. Your other doctor? The one at Walter Reed? He’s gone, disappeared.”

  “What?”

  “Apparently they never heard of him.”

  Paul was silent and confused.

  “Paul, these people have a long reach, and they’re playing for keeps. Be careful out there.”

  “We will Pat. Talk to you soon.”

  Paul slammed the phone down over and over on the receiver. “Give….us…. a ….fuckin’…..break…”

  “Easy son.”Jake said as he grabbed Paul’s hand. “What did he say?”

  “Oh. Bryce is missing and likely dead, Evans was apparently never at Walter Reed, and oh, it’s quite probable that the vaccination is a placebo. I don’t know what’s gonna kill us first mouse pox, or the fuckin’ NSA hit squad.”

  “Was there any bad news?” Jake joked.

  “No answer at my parents or uncles.”

  “Your fathers a tough nut and I’ve met your uncle. They’re survivors.”

  Jake put a hand Paul’s shoulders and tightened his grip.

  Paul took a couple deep breaths.

  “Oh! The mouse pox…. It might be sensitive to the light or die out in a hot, dry climate like the desert.”