Outpost 9: An Apocalyptic Memior

by Crane, J. J.

  “You should call and tell them to come down,” I said. A reservoir of stillness came over me. “Numbers work to our favor if we are set up for it.”

  He looked puzzled. “How do you suppose I talk about this? How do you convince someone of something so absurd? I’m still not sure I believe you, but I look at you and know you believe it.”

  I stared into my glass. “It’s surreal… but better to stay ahead of it than left behind.” I stretched a less than amused grin across my face before taking another sip. “We’re just about set to bunker down. But if this all falls through… well, I won’t have to go grocery shopping for a few months.”

  Pops scowled. “You find that funny?”

  “No,” I said shifting my tone to defensive and agitated. “I find it terrifying, but tell me where the news of this has gotten better in any instance? First, Equine Flu then scattered stories of some mystery illness, then deaths, then hundreds and possibly hundreds of thousands of deaths. The trend isn’t towards getting better; it’s trending worse.” I took a big breath. “And to think the virus isn’t here in the United States is stupidity of the highest order. How many planes enter this country from China, Japan, and Korea every day?”

  Pops just stared with a blank expression, waiting for me to continue.

  “I’ll tell you,” I said, taking the last sip. “Roughly five to six hundred a day from what I could quickly research. That’s more than seventy-five thousand people a day coming into this country from three Asian countries. So, think about it… the virus has been around let’s say conservatively for four weeks. You know how many people that is in a month?”

  Pops shook his head.

  “I’ve done the math… over two million people.”

  Pops’ expression went ashen.

  “Exactly. So, to think it hasn’t gone global is absurd. It’s a flu virus on a plane. Those things are incubating transportation systems. And, as you know from flying… it doesn’t take a whole lot to spread germs.”

  Pops backed off. He understood. Without saying a word, he poured me another glass and one for himself. “You’re right. It’s time to do some shopping.”

  Chapter 8

  The clock read 5:23 am. Sleep eluded me. The alarm was to go off in two minutes. My mind swirled with what we needed to get. We had lots of food and water, but if we really needed to sit out a couple of months, plus, probably have to provide for others, the question remained – did we have enough?

  I drove forty-five minutes to the closest twenty-four-hour grocery store and filled a cart's worth of mostly canned and boxed goods, as well as aspirin, disinfectants, tampons and other items from the health section. I then repeated the purchases, adding toilet paper and paper towels that I overlooked the first time.

  The same cashier rang me up the second time through, and while scanning my groceries, looked at me with some consternation.

  “You must think this virus is serious,” she said.

  I scrunched my face, not sure how to respond. “Safety first,” I managed.

  She scowled as if I was crazy. “You’ll certainly have enough.”

  I nodded while glancing at her name tag, Nancy.

  “It’s a lot of shit if you ask me,” Nancy said, her voice rather derisive.

  “Okay.”

  “A couple of other people have come through with carts full. A lot of money for nothing.”

  I didn’t respond, not wanting to debate the issue.

  “Two hundred and forty-three dollars and sixty-two cents,” she said making eye contact that held for the first time.

  I handed her my credit card. While arranging bags in the cart, she told me once again what a bunch of crap the whole

  flu thing was and that she never got the flu.

  “Good luck,” I said pushing my cart away, not wanting to engage in the conversation.

  On the way home, I opted not to turn on the radio. With the car window down, the roar of the road-noise filled my senses. Looking at all the houses passing by, I wondered how many would make it. I wondered what kind of ghost town we could be looking at by the spring if this virus truly had the potential to wipe out most of humanity.

  I walked into the house. June stood in the kitchen. Her face looked pale.

  “What? Are you ok?” I asked.

  “You didn’t hear?” she said trying to fight back the tears. “It’s here.”

  “What? Where? When did you hear it?” I asked, then began to check for information on my phone.

  June looked straight ahead at the television. “About twenty minutes ago. Several cases in L.A., San Francisco, Las Vegas, and Dallas.”

  Curtis and Maya came downstairs. They knew something was up immediately.

  “What’s going on?” Maya asked.

  I watched June turn to the kids, her face tight as she tried to keep her composure.

  “The virus is in the country, isn’t it?” Curtis said more than asked.

  “West Coast,” I said, hoping that would quell emotions.

  “What does this mean?” Maya asked.

  “It means everything is going to change,” I said.

  “But what does that mean?” Maya questioned, her face fraught with confusion.

  June wrapped her arms around Maya and pulled her in tight.

  “It means we are indoors for the unforeseen future,” I said. “It means we have to bunker down, shift our mindset to prepare for a long stay in our immediate area. Outside of making one last run for anything we may have missed in supplies, there are no more trips to the store, the mall, anywhere.”

  “Rob,” June said in a way that she wanted me to stop.

  “No, June. This is where the real work begins. I have no idea, no one has any idea what may unfold, but the only way the virus can get to us is if we leave. Survival will depend on how well we can manage not going anywhere.”

  June nodded. “Okay. Enough for now, please.”

  The four of us waited for the broadcast to come back when my phone rang; it was Frank. I stepped out of the room and into my office.

  “Is it true Frank? That it’s here?” I asked without saying hello.

  He didn’t hold back. “Yes, and elsewhere. It’s in Australia, Russia, Europe, Africa, and India. Every continent on the planet.”

  “Why haven’t we heard anything?” I asked.

  “You will soon enough. I wanted to reaffirm with you that the virus has a longer than normal incubation period… it’s the damnest thing. Most flu viruses get you sick in twenty-four to thirty-six hours… this one, according to our research, can take up to seventy-two hours or longer. We’ve confirmed that people can spread it before the virus makes them sick. It’s tougher for the virus to do it in that early stage but it still can. This is truly a step up in evolution for this type of virus.”

  “Why? You guys have any idea?”

  “In layman's terms, the virus appears to mask itself so that it fools our immune system into thinking it’s a harmless entity. You know those fish that attach themselves to the bottom of sharks… Remoras… This virus works on our immune system similar to that. When the virus first enters the body, it begins to absorb and use elements of our own immune system to thrive and get stronger. In other words, it inoculates itself from our antibodies and therefore renders our immune system pointless. When it begins to incubate, as far as getting us sick, it is already incredibly strong and begins to gorge itself on its victim. The opportunities for it to spread explodes exponentially. One reason is that unlike the standard flu which usually kicks your ass pretty quickly, this one doesn’t knock you out that fast. An infected person will start by only running a mild fever of 99 or a 100 degrees. This, of course, leads people to believe they can still get out and about and do things. I don’t have to tell you…most will make a run to a store of some kind just because they can. When they do that, the virus is in full go mode. Everything someone touches, sneezes on, coughs on is an infection waiting to happen.

  And, the virus lives
much longer on surfaces than the typical flu strain. We’ve observed this virus to live as long as forty-eight hours or more, especially on solid surfaces like a doorknob, railing, table – all the stuff we touch without a second thought.”

  I fell silent for a moment before speaking. “Does anyone have a natural immunity to this?”

  I could sense Frank shaking his head. “It doesn’t look it, but we don’t know for sure,” he answered. “There are certain characteristics suggesting yes, but there isn’t definitive proof.” He paused. “It is a Death virus. The craziest hybrid thing ever witnessed. It could be anywhere by now. Someone could have contracted it on the west coast yesterday and won’t know for another two, three, or four days, let alone whom they may have spread it to. I know this, wherever it arrives, it is most likely too late for that area.”

  “How long does someone have to live once they start running a fever?” I asked.

  “Ten days, give or take. If you have any kind of immune disorder or are already in a weakened state, a couple of days at best. Once this thing sinks its fangs in you and the fever hits 102 degrees, it’s only a matter of time.”

  “Shit,” I mumbled. “So, what are you guys going to do?”

  “I told Jen to take the kids up to you, but she won’t go,” Frank said with resignation. “Our facility is setting up a compound for families of employees who could help in finding a solution to the virus. We are going to stay there for the duration. You’ve seen the place, it’s a big facility with lots of grounds, barbed wire fencing, decent security. Not a lot of people know this because the company is afraid of the panic it could cause.”

  “Okay, but is it really safe? I mean, you know the area. There are a lot of people. What if you get overrun?”

  “Those of us who own weapons can bring them, register it with our security team and ordered to keep it low profile. Rumor has it they may employ some of us to help with guard duties. We’ll make the best of it, just like you.” He paused. “Rob. Take care of what you can. Bunker down quick. Start today if you can. If you must run out and grab stuff, sanitize, wash your hands – believe it or not, that method is still the best option for protection. Or, better yet, wear rubber gloves.”

  I wanted to plead one last time but knew it wouldn’t work. “I’ll keep in touch. You keep in touch. Be safe my friend and thanks.”

  “Thank you and you too. I will keep you up on as much as I can for as long as I can,” he said with a more gracious voice. “Wait,” he said. “I almost forgot. Don’t touch your mail. Like any other bug, it can attach itself to a surface and live for a short window of time. If someone at one these processing plants has the bug or anyone along the line has it, it could be on your mail. Use rubber gloves or use a stick and push your mail into a basket or something and keep it in the garage, out of the way. Leave it for at least four days, believe me, there isn’t going to be much use for it by the end of next week.”

  “Why next week?”

  “Because by then, the full brunt of this thing will have unloaded; societal collapse will have begun. Grocery stores will become war zones, guns and ammo will be gone, let alone

  liquor. You can forget neighbor being friendly to neighbor in

  a winner takes all survival mode. Take caution now. Finish

  what you have to do. I can’t guarantee the virus isn’t in your area, but the lightly populated regions will probably be the last to get this. That assumption though is by no means any guarantee.”

  “I understand,” I said, my tone sullen. “Thank you. Be safe. Our door is always open to you guys.”

  “Godspeed,” he said and hung up.

  My mind went into overdrive thinking of other things we could use. A week and it could all be over… my God.

  June and I debated whether we should make one last run. We had everything on our lists in triplicate. I felt I should at least go to stores and take slow walks through Home Depot, Lowes, some sporting goods stores, and the supermarket, just in case something caught my eye. This was it, whatever we missed we would have to do without.

  When I stood to get my keys, there was a knock at the door. Opening it, I saw Bob and Maggie Peterson as well as Dave and Katie Burrell, two more neighbors who lived on the block. I invited them in. They expressed concern about the virus and heard we had information about it. Maggie carried a scowl of distrust. She squinted her eyes as if trying to see if she could spot deceit.

  They listened in shock as I told them what I knew. Katie and Dave pressed closer to each other, clasping hands that went white. I didn’t give them the timeline in which I learned the information for fear they might become incensed.

  Glancing Maggie’s way, her grimace grew tighter against her face as if trying with all her might not to express anger. I told them that I hesitated to say anything out of fear folks might think I was paranoid. They understood my intention, but I could see my reasoning was not exactly satisfying.

  I told them they should start stocking up immediately before it became too late. I let them look at my list of items they should have on hand such as batteries, lights of various kinds, hygiene supplies, fuel, first aid kits, over the counter medicines, as well as food and water. As they looked at my list, I could see their eyes widen. That’s when I decided to print copies of it and give it to them. I said I was going to make one last run and that they should as well. I then added they should wash their hands and sanitize often as an extra precaution.

  We all hugged before they left. June added her encouragement that we were all going to get through this together. With a deep sigh, I looked at June and told her I needed to inform the rest of the block about the virus, so they could act accordingly. June understood and said she would work on my list while she was out.

  Telling the others was a double-edged sword. It took me nearly two hours to explain what I knew and answer questions to the last of those who lived on the cul-de-sac. I began with our other next-door neighbor, Charlotte, and Casey Kenderdine, a vibrant older couple in their mid-sixties. They were aware of what was going on but had not paid much in-depth attention to the story. In fact, neither of them knew the virus entered the United States. I advised them to stock up on food and water and invite family to come and stay. I could see the mental light bulb of Oh my God it's true, go off in Charlotte’s eyes. They agreed that they needed to go shopping.

  Next was Pam Richards. She wasn’t home, but I left a note on her door to call me. This left the Jensen’s, Stan, Belle, and their son, John, who was finishing college. June and I didn’t get to know them very well outside the occasional hello and wave. They were standoffish and kept to themselves. Several times folks on the block tried inviting them over for parties but they always politely declined.

  When I knocked on the door, Stan answered, I could see a worried face, sunken blue eyes, stress wearing at his Mediterranean complexion. He invited me in. Seconds into our conversation he revealed being aware of the virus. I told them I had been stocking up. Stan informed me he and Belle had bought about a month’s worth of food and other supplies

  as a precautionary move.

  “You’re going to need more than a month’s worth,” I said as gently as I could muster. After revealing my source about what I knew, Stan asked a lot of questions about Frank’s work. He asked about his company and knew several of the products it produced.

  After nearly an hour of talking, they could tell I wanted to get going. They had their own list to attend to. It was then Stan bore his soul. Standing, his square shouldered six-foot frame showed that he was in great shape for a man in his late forties. He revealed the reason they appeared aloof was that he was once a doctor, explaining that he had his license taken away over a decade ago. Stan did not specify, nor did I ask what happened. He said they kept a low profile because of it, mostly to protect their son, John. He also didn’t want to attract ridicule. I said I understood. I asked about medical supplies. Stan replied he had some basic rudimentary first aid stuff, but nothing pharmaceutical
or surgical, just an old blood pressure device and a stethoscope. I asked if there was anything I could do as I headed for the front door.

  “I’d appreciate it if you would keep my situation low key for the time being,” Stan said, not very convincingly.

  Belle, a smallish woman, with long brown hair and subtle lines beginning to take shape along her cheeks, eyes, and forehead, asked for the same discretion.

  I nodded then looked at Stan. “We’re going to need you to bone up on as much medical knowledge as you can… I’m going to be… we’re all going to be leaning on you a lot as time goes on.”

  “It’s been a long time,” Stan countered. “And, I didn’t practice for very long.”

  “You wouldn’t have said anything if you didn’t think you could serve in the role,” I replied.

  Stan scrunched out a nervous grin as he looked at Belle.

  “We’re understood then,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  I paused. “Good, Doc, cause it’s going to get a whole lot worse before it even gets close to getting better.”

  As I went from place to place picking up various additional items on my list such as an ax, a cable winch and anything else that grabbed my attention, I occasionally overheard people talking about the virus, most dismissing it as if it was an overblown story. On my travels, I tuned into talk radio. The amount of denial I heard stunned me. Even some of the hosts thought the story overblown, citing how the Swine flu and SARS petered out. Hosts and callers alike piled on about how all the flu talk simply didn’t mean anything to them.

  “Where’s the video? Where are the pictures of all these supposed dead people?” one host kept shouting. Another host boasted that if the virus were real, travel restrictions would have already been in effect. Others noted that no government agency had mentioned anything dire about the new flu. On and on, people came up with reasons to deny the veracity of what was coming.