I glanced over at Claire who was biting her bottom lip, her head cocked to one side, listening.
“So far, doctors aren’t giving exact statistics on mortality rates, but it appears this flu strain is extremely dangerous, and so far, I’ve yet to encounter someone or even a report of someone who has recovered from it. It seems that at this point, the only chance to fight the strain is to take the necessary precautions of hand washing and trying to stay out of public places so as not to get it in the first place. This is Sharron Coven reporting.”
Now it was back to the news guy in the station who had moved on to stories about other major cities – New York, Atlanta, Los Angeles, Seattle – all reporting thousands of cases breaking out in their metro areas as well, also without word on a successful treatment or the ability to contain the spread of the sickness.
“We’re not going back until this thing dies down,” I said.
“But they’re going to need me at the hospital…” Claire started.
“They can eat shit at the hospital,” I came back sharply. “You’re an occupational therapist. What, are you going to do, re-teach people how to tie their shoes or put their pants on by themselves while they barf all over you? You heard them, only first responders and necessary personnel. And while I respect your job and what you do, you’re not necessary. Sorry, you can hate me, you can bitch me out and slap me if you lose your job. I don’t care. You’re not going back there…at least not yet.”
Now it was me who was trying to be strong for both of us. And I didn’t like telling Claire what to do, but I wasn’t going to give her a choice when it came to endangering herself and possibly endangering all of us. It just wasn’t going to happen.
I turned the radio off. To appease her, I said, “It’s only Monday morning. We’ll check back later today and see what’s going on later. How’s the cell reception look?”
She touched her phone’s screen, swiping a finger across it several times. “Much better than down at camp,” she nodded. She clicked the phone on and then back off again, ensuring that it worked. “Should be fine. I’ll make the call in the morning to tell them I won’t be in.”
“Good,” I nodded. “Now let’s go back down and have a drink. I know it’s a little early, but I think we need it.”
3 p.m.
It was hot – damn hot. Claire and Jason were having an afternoon nap, and I was left sipping my second warm whiskey of the day. I would rather have had it on the rocks, but I knew better than to waste our precious ice on such a luxury. My conservation instincts were starting to kick in.
Not wanting to wake my sleeping campers with work activity around the camp, I decided to take a hike back up the hill again. I grabbed the hand-crank radio, my drink, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and headed topside.
I found the log from our last trip up and took a seat. I took a long sip of my whiskey, lit my cigarette and inhaled deeply. The nicotine hit me hard. I was more of a social smoker, treating myself to the occasional cigarette or cigar. It’d been nearly a month since my last smoke.
I exhaled and took a moment just to look around and enjoy the scenery.
I looked at the treetops above me, admiring their leaves and reflecting upon how the sunlight shimmered through and around them. I closed my eyes and listened to the birds chirping and the leaves rustling in the soft wind. Then I opened them, cranked the radio, and flipped it on. It was still tuned to the same channel and the news had already started. It was pretty much the same as last time. Hospitals were swamped, morgues were overrun with bodies, no word on a vaccine, and as of yet, still no recoveries from those who had come down with the virus. This report was followed up by one regarding the low attendance at the Labor Day ballgame at Wrigley Field and relatively light traffic over the holiday weekend.
“Gee, I can’t imagine why,” I mumbled to myself.
It made me think about the oil company executives and whether they were already starting to gripe about the lost gas revenue from the low holiday weekend travel. Or were they already on their private jets heading to secure alpine bunkers to wallow in their billions and hold out until the peons succumbed so that they could retake and remake their empires?
This in turn led me to wonder about the gas station attendant that we had encountered at our last stop on the way down. Was he okay? Did he have flu? If so, why didn’t I get it? Was I immune, just lucky, or did he not have it to begin with?
They were questions I didn’t have answers to, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t sick. Claire wasn’t sick. Jason wasn’t sick. That was all that mattered.
CHAPTER 8
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 3rd
2 p.m.
Claire had made the call letting her hospital know that she wouldn’t be in to work at just after 6 a.m. She also tried her parents several times without success before coming back to bed. Sometime thereafter, we lost cell service completely.
In our new location, where the sun was blocked not only by the trees but by the hillside as well, we were able to sleep in until almost nine. Even Jason remained relatively wiggle free until about 8:30, a near record for him. All the outdoor activity yesterday must have really tuckered him out.
Now, as the afternoon heat settled upon us, it was time for his nap. Finishing his ham sandwich and potato chip lunch, Jay crashed out after a busy morning of playing down at the creek and doing battle with an ant hill he’d discovered. He fell asleep inside the tent, clad only in his undies, as Claire read to him from one of the books he had loaded into his little backpack before we left home. I thought it was stifling inside the tent, but Jason didn’t seem to mind. His cheeks were rosy red with warmth and his hair clung to his forehead in spots, damp with sweat. His breath was heavy and even, and he looked content as he slept.
After Jay was asleep, I noticed Claire rummaging around in the toiletry box we’d brought along and tucked into one corner of the tent.
“What are you up to?” I whispered.
“I’m going down to the creek to get cleaned up. Need to do that occasionally you know.”
“Gotcha,” I said. “I’ll stay here with Jay.”
“Thanks,” she smiled. “I won’t be too long. Not like I’ll be lollygagging around in a soothing bath or warm shower or anything.”
“Yeah,” I laughed. “Guess not.’
She took her bundle of clothes and small toiletry bag with her and I watched as she made her way down toward the creek.
Claire wasn’t one of those women who were instantly beautiful when you looked at them, but in a way, she was. It was kind of hard to describe Claire. You had to look at her for a while to realize that she was a beautiful woman. Of course with her clothes off, you recognized her physical beauty immediately, but her face was kind of like a map that you had to scan and study in order to learn its intricacies. It held a natural beauty; one that didn’t need lipstick and makeup to enhance. There were so many components to the features that made her face interesting and gave it sex appeal. Her face itself was strong, with high cheek bones and firm yet shapely lips. Her soft, fair complexion matched her blonde hair and was smattered with light freckles. Her eyes were blue, but hard and piercing, and in the right light they almost appeared a shade of violet. Her smile was sweet and unrestricted, but sometimes when her guard was down and she thought no one was looking she’d let her mouth curl up at the edges into a cute, silly little smirk that I found completely adorable. She’d unwittingly do this occasionally when we were flirting or being playful, with a devilish little upward look from those piercing eyes, and it drove me absolutely nuts.
The thought of that smirk got me a little curious. I peeked in on Jay who was out like a light. Secure in the fact that he was zippered securely in the tent, I walked over to the edge of the clearing to look down at the creek. Claire was nowhere to be seen. I walked down a little bit further to where the bank leveled out and where I could follow it around a tight bend in the creek’s course that worked to inhibit and slow its flow.
I moved around the edge of this obstacle and stopped to find Claire working on washing some of her clothes. There was a nice-sized pool just on the other side of the bend and a sandy little shore where the strong flow of the creek appeared to deposit its sediment as it slowed and flowed into the pool. Claire wore only a white bra and black bikini-cut panties, and she knelt on the little beach, one knee dug into the sand as a kickstand for stability.
She worked, head down, locks of her blond hair falling down and around her shoulders as she scrubbed a shirt with a bar of soap. Dropping the soap down beside her in the sand, she rinsed the shirt in the pool of water, sending soap-bubbled rings out in tiny waves across the pool.
I watched quietly, unnoticed by my loving wife as she wrung water from the shirt, stood, shook it out, and hung it on the branch of a small tree nearby. She turned, and as she did so, revealed a round, supple, but tight rear end. Claire’s butt was one of my favorite physical features. It was tight, round, and big enough to be squeezed and appreciated but not so big that it was disproportionate to her body. She stretched on her tip-toes as she then hung her shorts beside the shirt on the tree limb, exposing her rounded calves and shapely legs. Her thin but muscular arms glistened and dripped water in the shimmering rays of sun that managed to break their way through the thick forest canopy. From one side, I could see water running down her arms and dropping onto her chest, leaving water-formed spots at the top of her bra.
She then reached behind her and unhooked the bra, releasing from within two perfectly formed breasts. They weren’t too big, just big enough to be perfect. They rose and then fell as she hung her bra next to the shirt and shorts and then bent to remove her underwear. After hanging them on the tree branch alongside her other clothes, she turned and reached up to brush her hair back behind her shoulders. Her breasts rose with the action and I could see her rib cage and well-defined abdominal muscles that were only revealed in such a pose, otherwise hid under a thin, yet perfectly feminine layer of fat. It was another one of those finely feminine features that I loved about Claire. It was something that women hated and worked so hard to rid themselves of, never realizing that men appreciated it as a characteristic that gave women that soft feminine touch and was just one of those wonderful things that differentiated male from female.
I continued to watch appreciatively as Claire walked knee deep into the pool, then used a washcloth to bathe. I felt like a schoolboy in the girls’ locker room, half feeling guilty for watching, but at the same time proud that I could call this fine example of a woman my wife. And while I wanted rip off my clothes and run down to ravish her right then and there, I restrained myself, choosing to appreciate the beauty of the moment. Plus, I needed to get back to check on Jay.
And so I left my bathing beauty and made the walk back up the hillside to camp.
5:30 p.m.
We feasted on chicken breasts and two sirloin steaks for dinner. Our ice supply had almost completely melted and our frozen foods were starting to thaw in the watery soup that remained inside our coolers. Therefore, we were making a push to cook or consume as much of our remaining cold and frozen goods as we could before it went to waste. Not only would this keep us well fed, but it would take the strain off our other supplies and help us make the best use of the food we had on hand before delving into our longer-lasting items.
I had spent most of the afternoon down by the creek digging out one side of the sand bank near where Claire had bathed. I dug the space just big enough for one of our coolers to fit inside. Meanwhile, Claire fashioned a thatched front for the space layered with clay from the creek bed that we could use to cover the opening. The space would act as our refrigerator. The sand was cool and moist inside and the back of the space felt a good 20 to 30 degrees colder than the outside air temperature. It wasn’t a perfect refrigeration unit, but it would be sufficient to keep our cold food supply fresh at least a little while longer. Items like open condiment containers, cooked meat, what remained of our milk and creamer, and things that were prone to spoil faster in heat or humidity could be stashed inside to prolong their shelf life and protect them from the brutal summer temperatures.
As we ate dinner, Claire and I sipped on small glasses of rum that I had carefully portioned out for us. I was going into full conservation mode now, and while I still wanted to keep things as normal as possible for my family, I realized that we might all be far from a so-called “normal” world very soon. Cocktail hour – for the time being though – was still on.
“What should I do about work?” Claire asked, tearing herself away from the barbeque sauce-drenched chicken breast upon which she was working.
“Uh…I don’t think there’s much of a choice…do you? You don’t want to go back do you?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Claire, come on,” I said in exasperation. “You can’t be serious.”
“What should I do, just up and quit?”
“No,” I said. “Tell them you have the flu,” I smiled at her.
“Ha, ha,” she frowned. “I’m serious here.”
“So am I. First off, we lost reception on the cell phone, and who knows where the nearest working phone around here is. And there’s no way we’re going back to the city until this mess is cleared up. It might just be a really bad outbreak right now, but I’m not chancing it turning into a full-blown pandemic. There’s no reason. You can easily get another job. You know therapists are in high demand, and the job isn’t going to disappear. You didn’t even have to go in for an interview to get this position. They called you. You get recruiting calls at home all the time. So what if you lose this one? I mean, yeah, it’ll suck having to get acclimated to a new workplace, but if that’s the worst that comes of all this, oh well. It’s better than dying from the flu. And if they love you that much at the hospital, they’ll let you have the week off.”
She just frowned and went back to her chicken.
I set my empty plate aside. I’d polished off my steak in minutes flat. “Tell you what, let’s take a walk up the hill and listen to the news. It’s almost six. There should be a fairly in-depth report on by now. Then we can make a more informed decision.”
“Okay,” she nodded.
It took a few more minutes to finish up with dinner, clean up our trash and gather the plates for washing later. Most of our trash went into the fire, the red hot embers of which we’d kept burning throughout the day under a thick blanket of ash. Jason loved tossing the trash into the middle of the fire pit and waiting for the paper to magically ignite or the plastic to wither and melt under the unseen heat from beneath the ashes.
We made the hike up to the top of the hill and took positions upon our log where I again tuned in to the classic rock station. It was indeed their break for the six o’clock news report, and the news wasn’t good. Reporting was mostly on the situation in Chicago. Hospitals were turning away those who could still make it to them in droves. All schools and many public services were closed for the week or had delayed the start of the school year, and many businesses were closed for a longer than expected holiday weekend since owners were either sick or knew their staff likely wouldn’t show up to work anyway. There were reports of looting and rioting in the south and near west suburbs of Chicago where local police and fire departments were stretched to the limit due both to the number of calls they were receiving and lack of staffing. And now city and county morgues were filled well beyond their capacity and were turning away new arrivals, thus leaving hospitals filled and overfilled with Su flu victims both dead and alive. The newscasters and even the radio disc jockey – who said he was going to sleep in the sound studio just to make sure he made it in to work tomorrow – sounded worried.
I looked over at Claire, “You want to go back to that?” I said. “You might as well not even bother calling in tomorrow, they’re not going to care…and that’s if there’s someone there to take your call.”
“Mommy no work! Yea!” Jay squealed and then went back to
his poking at a rotted portion of the log upon which we sat.
Claire took a deep breath as she looked at the ground. A sad, “Yeah,” was all she mustered.
It was at that moment that it really hit me. Not everyone was as ready for this as I was. For me, it had been something I’d been preparing for and thinking about for so long that I just kind of expected it. While I didn’t know when or how, I always kind of figured it would come – but not Claire. I loved being in the woods, out with nature, part of nature, roughing it – but not Claire. Sure, she liked camping and she went along with my disaster planning craziness, but that’s all it really was to her, craziness – a weird habit – just one of those things that spouses learn to live with and put up with as part of marrying another human being. But now it was real, and her world, the world she loved and thrived in, was on the brink of disaster. The thought of it not being there was terrifying to her.
I turned the radio off and put my arm around her. There was a nice breeze on the hilltop that circulated the cooler evening air as the sun began to set. Jay, sensing all was not right, waddled over and plopped down by our feet, hugging himself up against Claire’s leg. “Love Mommy,” he soothed, petting her leg.
The only way I could tell Claire was crying was by the soft shudder she gave and by a quick wipe of her eyes and a little sniff. She wasn’t a crying kind of girl though and she quickly pulled herself together.
“What about our families? Our friends?” she choked. “We never even got to say goodbye.”
“There’s nothing we can do now,” I said, as compassionately as I could. “They’re on their own. We just have to pray that they do the right thing and remain safe.”
I wasn’t going to explain to Claire what I meant by “the right thing.” At this point, it didn’t matter. I just hoped that they were all going to be okay.
I guess I always kind of expected the shit to hit the fan hard and fast; otherwise, it wouldn’t be the shit hitting the fan, it’d just be a bad week or something. But I had to admit, it was all kind of surreal, and it sounded like things were going downhill much faster than I’d ever anticipated. It was kind of like an old Orson Wells skit or something. Here we were, listening to what could be the end of the world as we knew it coming by way of radio, except that it was a disease rather than a Martian invasion that had arrived to potentially wipe out the human race.
The Systemic Series - Box Set Page 7
