by J. L. Salter
Appendix 4
Yellow Fever information
[Greatly distilled from multiple historic sources]
Among the accepted treatments for this disease were foot soaks, alcohol sponge baths, hot tea made from ingredients that possibly don’t exist anymore, alcoholic stimulants, various gruels or soups, cups, leeches, et cetera.
The fatal cases often had cold, clammy skin with a pronounced yellow color and cool body temps. The patients often had black vomit, which supposedly looked like coffee grounds floating in amber-colored fluid… and left a bloody tinge on cloth. Their skin smelled like rotten hay, and they oozed blood from their mouth, eyes, nose, and ears. In fatal cases, temps would drop — just before death — to 97 degrees, then afterwards gradually rise to 106 or more… then the body remained warm for some twelve hours.
About the Author
My newest novel is “Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold,” a screwball comedy released by Dingbat Publishing in December 2013. My published novels (with Astraea Press) are: “Called to Arms Again” (May 2013), “Rescued By That New Guy in Town” (Oct. 2012), and “The Overnighter’s Secrets” (May 2012). Also released through AP are the short novellas, “Echo Taps” (June, 2013) and “Don’t Bet On It” (April, 2014). Romantic comedy and romantic suspense are among nine completed novel manuscripts. Two more novels are under contract and likely due for release during 2014.
I’m co-author of two non-fiction monographs (about librarianship) with a royalty publisher, plus a signed chapter in another book and a signed article in a specialty encyclopedia. I’ve also published articles, book reviews, and over 120 poems; my writing has won nearly forty awards, including several in national contests. As a newspaper photo-journalist, I published about 150 bylined newspaper articles, and some 100 bylined photos.
I worked nearly thirty years in the field of librarianship. I’m a decorated veteran of U.S. Air Force (including a remote tour of duty in the Arctic, at Thule AB in N.W. Greenland).
I’m the married parent of two and grandparent of six.
Also from J.L. Salter
Part One
Chapter One
September 26, 2007 — Wednesday
“What would you do if criminal invaders were in your own neighborhood, eager to take whatever they wanted? What if they’re ready to hurt whoever they encountered and probably willing to kill any citizen of any age who resisted?”
The large man’s question caught her completely off guard and Kelly unconsciously backed away half a step. She was the reporter and their official interview was a week away.
The American Legion representative had already been seated in her editor’s office when Kelly walked in. She’d known Commander Coffey would be there, but had expected him to be in some sort of quasi-military uniform — decked out in medals and patches with a garish cap covered by colorful pins. Instead, he wore a short sleeved buttoned shirt with seersucker trousers.
Maybe her assignment wouldn’t be as routine as Kelly had predicted. “Well, Commander…”
“Call me Gene.” With considerable difficulty, he rose from his chair.
“It appears our interview, which I thought was set for next week, is already in progress.” She eyed the Herald editor, Mr. Kohlick, who merely shrugged. “To answer your question, I guess it might depend on who the invaders were.”
Already shaking his head, Coffey’s jowls jiggled like a bulldog’s.
“Their origin matters very little, young lady. My question is not so much about tactics as it’s basically a test of your reactions. You’d be surprised at some of the answers I’ve gotten.” He extended his hand, thick and hairy like a bear paw.
Kelly gripped it. “I’m Kelly Randall.” His clasp was firm but not punishing, and he didn’t hold on too long. “I believe I’m responsible for the upcoming Veterans Day special section, unless something’s changed in the last few minutes.” She sneaked another look toward Editor Kohlick.
“Possibly,” replied Coffey. “Let’s hear the rest of your answer. What would you do in response to a large scale hostile threat?”
The editor indicated a nearby chair for Kelly. Coffey waited until she sat to return to his own seat. He grunted as he made contact.
Kelly was a few months past thirty but could pass for early twenties. “I’ve never thought about it, but I don’t guess it’d do any good to call 9-1-1.” She tried to smile, but it felt too uncomfortable. Somehow, it appeared her assignment hinged on how she responded — and she needed the money. It was the first year Kohlick had assigned this section to a part-time staffer. “Okay, Commander, if I have a proper grasp of your question…” She squirmed slightly in the hard wooden chair. “…I believe you’d defend your family and home.”
Coffey nodded and his expression indicated cautious approval. “Go on.”
“If it was a small attack then you’d probably be on your own, using whatever you had at hand.” She searched the editor’s face for clues. Nothing. “But if a bigger area was involved or a large number of invaders, I suppose you’d seek assistance outside of your home and collect whatever resources you could.”
A broad grin split Coffey’s jowly face as he turned to the editor. “She’ll do just fine, Kohlick. You finally got the right man for this job.”
“Man?” She cleared her throat dramatically.
Coffey rose again, very slowly as before. “My apologies, Ma’am. I meant the right person to handle this assignment. Clearly, you are not a man.” His eyes quickly scanned her, high and low; it was obvious he approved.
“In that case, Commander, I believe we’ll keep your upcoming interview in the section.” She winked, but it was not necessary because Coffey was already chuckling. They both knew he had enough clout to name anyone, from mayor on down to dogcatcher, to wrangle those twelve pages.
“Young lady, I think we’ll get along just fine.” He confirmed the date and time of their interview and then exited slowly, obviously favoring his left foot. “Gout,” he explained without turning his head. “Some kind of ull-rick’s acid in my body.”
Kelly didn’t like watching anyone limp from uric acid inflammation, but she waited until Coffey was gone to turn back to Kohlick. “This felt like a trap. Did you know he was going to interrogate me?”
“Not really. He just said he wanted to meet the person who was heading up the Vet special this year.” The editor plopped into his own chair with an audible exhalation of air. “Coffey said last year’s section was terrible and our man Fincher completely missed the boat.”
That was also Kelly’s opinion of Fincher’s work. “So what does Coffey want?”
Kohlick shook his head. “Not completely sure, but apparently you’re the one he wants to write it.”
Kelly looked toward the open door. “Thank goodness.” I really need that money.
****
Wednesday Evening
Kelly looked out the rear windows of her rented cabin at the lush woods to her west. New assignment was still intact: good. She sometimes weighed the new factors pressing on her life. Presently, it felt like tons.
Countywide Homeland Security and Civil Defense Drill: theoretically good, but likely to cause numerous problems. That’s a toss-up.
Kelly didn’t believe in horoscopes, but she did process clues and cues from her surroundings and circumstances. When numerous ripples spread across her cosmic pond all at once, she became uneasy.
Other items on her bad list: hunting dogs on her landlord’s posted property, crime suddenly higher in many larger nearby cities, unexplained loud noises in the adjacent woods of her landlord’s acreage, and the local tourist economy floundering because of the drastically lowered lake level.
What else could go wrong?
As that question sifted through her mind she’d looked at her widowed boyfriend, Bill Mitchell, napping in her open recliner and snoring softly. As Kelly watched, he stirred and opened his eyes.
Mitch looked somewhat surprised that he’d dozed off. He’d
arrived about thirty minutes before to take Kelly to the steakhouse buffet. She was still folding laundry at that point, so he sat and then reclined. It was only a matter of moments before he snoozed. “What time is it?” He yawned without covering his mouth.
“Nearly six. We should get moving since you always need to beat the rush.”
“I just want to get there before tour buses arrive and unload hundreds of extra customers.” Mitch was prone to exaggeration. He stood and stretched. “What are you watching out there?”
She motioned toward the glass upper half of the cabin’s back door. “Just looking at the woods. Interesting how they change so much.”
Mitch stood close behind Kelly and placed his large hands on her hips. “You mean seasonally?”
“Well, that too. But I mean how they look so different when it’s about to rain, or the wind’s a certain way, or the temp changes.”
He rested his chin lightly on the top of her head and inhaled deeply.
She wasn’t fussy about her honey brown hair, but washed it daily… then simply blew it dry and brushed.
“You seem unusually pensive this evening.” Mitch bent his neck forward enough to kiss the side of her neck lightly. “You want to just stay in for a while? Maybe elbowing crowds in a hustle-bustle buffet line isn’t the best venue right now.”
A breeze stirred the colorful leaves on the maple trees and she watched a handful flutter to the ground below.
“Hmm?”
With a minor jolt, Kelly realized he’d asked a question. “Yeah, let’s just hang out here for a bit. Maybe we’ll get a bite later, somewhere quiet.”
Mitch hugged her closely for a few more moments until she disengaged to get a sip of juice.
Kelly, in the kitchen, could hear his stomach grumbling.
****
About an hour later, Kelly and Mitch sat at their favorite of the local Mexican restaurants. He’d quickly ordered his standard: enchilada dinner plate. Kelly wavered between one of the specials and the numerous possible taco, tamale, burrito, and enchilada combinations. She finally selected the components of a combo plate.
A different waiter, on his way to a nearby table, carried a steaming platter of grande fajitas with a plateful of flour tortillas and another dish with rice, beans, and salad. The fajitas sizzled audibly as they passed and Kelly inhaled as though she could capture some of their aroma to savor later.
“Let me guess.” Mitch nodded toward the enormous tray as it was placed in front of a hungry diner two tables away. “You wish you’d ordered those fajitas.”
She nodded. “But nearly double the cost of my combo.”
“You do that every time — order this,” he said, pointing to the combo section on the menu’s back panel, “and wish for that.” Mitch aimed his chin toward the sizzling platter.
“Well at least I vary my combos, Mister Eat-the-same-thing-every-single-time.”
He shrugged. “I like predictability. Sue me.”
****
Back at her cabin after supper, Kelly sat on one end of the loveseat. Mitch’s head was on her thigh, his own legs bent at the knees and feet hanging over the other end.
She smoothed a patch of his unruly hair. “You haven’t said much about your lake interviews.”
“Oh, they tend to blur together.” Mitch sighed, sat up, and pointed to her current issue of the Daily Herald.
“Did you see the paper?” Mitch reached for the thin front section. He waggled the pages as he sat on the other cushion of the loveseat. “Several citizens appeared at the city council meeting to protest the upcoming civil defense and homeland security drill. Not sure when it is.” He scanned other paragraphs. “Doesn’t say here.”
“It’s October Tenth. Ten-ten. Easy to remember.” Kelly went to the fridge for more juice. “I’ve heard chatter from skeptics who say it’ll be a big screw up. But that’s the main point of having a drill, to practice with all the components at the same time.”
“Voice of reason. Well, the folks quoted here say it’ll be…” He squinted to find the spot. “Too disruptive. One says, Not necessary — what could happen? Somebody said if there’s a disaster, We can call the FEMA people… apparently that got some laughs. And one guy suggested, Just let the media handle it.” Mitch put the paper down beside him.
“Media won’t help with disaster response. They’ll just broadcast the mess ups.”
“There’s a lot to mess up: power outages, phone service… all the computer systems are hooked into the telecommunications grid.” Mitch tapped the newsprint. “And all that will affect emergency response teams… including law enforcement.”
“So what did they do? At the meeting?” Kelly nodded toward the paper.
Mitch found his spot in the article. “Council decided to take it under advisement.”
“Means they don’t know what to do.” Kelly sipped her juice. “So it’ll probably go on as scheduled.”
“What do you think about it?” He tossed the paper down.
“Well, we have awful tornadoes around here now and then. Plus, some terrible ice storms when power’s out for long stretches and folks are stranded.” Kelly’s forehead wrinkled briefly. “I can’t think of any other reasons, but it’d be nice to have a working plan in place.”
Mitch thought for a moment. “Well, even if this local test is for weather emergencies or something more like traditional civil defense, most people just say it’s an unnecessary waste of tax money to run this complicated exercise and tie up all our first response resources.”
“They have a point. But better to find out if the response is coordinated and effective before we really need it next time.” She shook her head. “Evidently the people opposing this drill must figure disasters only occur in large cities.” In silence, Kelly looked out through the west-facing window of her living space.
Mitch got up slowly, winced when the weight went to the hip he routinely favored, and joined her at the window. He reached one arm around Kelly’s shoulders and hugged her sideways.
Except for occasional light lipstick, Kelly seldom wore makeup and didn’t really need to. The half-inch-long scar near her right cheekbone was a souvenir from a terrifying break-in several months previously. The gash had healed nicely; scarcely noticeable except from certain angles.
They hugged, standing, for several moments. His heart beat loudly deep inside his chest.
Mitch relaxed his embrace and leaned back slightly. He looked expectantly into her eyes. “Is something else bothering you?”
“Oh, just the usual.” She held up a hand and ran her thumb against the two longest fingers.
“Ah, money.” Then he looked puzzled. “But you’ve got that big special issue, coming up, for Vets Day.”
“Yeah. But I won’t get paid ‘til it’s published and that’s over seven weeks away.” She frowned and moved toward the kitchen. “I sure need another research gig… or to sell another article.”
“You made a good score back in June. Byline and everything.”
“Yeah, it paid a couple months’ rent.” Kelly paused. “But they cut out a bunch and rewrote the rest.”
“Editors — no way around them.”
“When I’m feeling good about my writing, I think it’s great I have a byline in a mainstream national magazine. But when I’m low, I think they bought my story only because it was a first-hand account.”
“Something else will come up. You’re due.”
Her fingertips touched her own belly. “But I still got to eat.”
Somerset was a small town in south central Kentucky. It’s difficult to find jobs when you’ve rejected typical office environments and can’t tolerate the prospect of sales or food service.
Adding periodic assignments for the limited circulation Search Magazine to her part-time newspaper pay, Kelly could just about make ends meet each month provided she was braced for several days of soup, cereal, PBJ sandwiches, and free seasonal vegetables from her landlord’s abundant garden.
Mitch yawned slightly.
It was time for him to go, or she’d be tempted to let him stay. Kelly hugged him tightly. “Mmm. I love being in your arms, you big Texan.” She stood up on her toes and kissed his lips quickly. “But it’s late. Now scoot, before I sic the dog on you.”
“I’m not scared of Perra, but I’ll leave anyhow.” He kissed her lips lightly. “G’night, Kelly.”
Perra’s ears perked up when she heard her name and she trotted out the door to escort Mitch to his SUV. She was mostly Jack Russell terrier, with a bit of beagle. Batwing ears large enough for a Labrador. Solid black except for a white blaze on her breast.
Kelly crossed the room to look out the back window again.
The deciduous trees would be shedding soon. Autumn colors in the Lake Cumberland area usually began sometime in mid-October and lasted scarcely two weeks before the trees would be skeletal. But at the moment, the small city of Somerset still wore its summer clothes — plant life, as well as people.
If only she could get a full time job at the Herald instead of working as a stringer — by assignment only. Thank goodness for all the copy in the entire special issue for Veterans Day. A small task force would be selling ads for that twelve-page section over the next five weeks, which was how long Kelly had to research, schedule, interview, write, fact check, rewrite, et cetera.
