by Sean Kidd
“Ha! It sucks to be you! I haven’t worked since last weekend, and I’m not scheduled until next week.” Chevy spun around on the couch with a serious look on his face, “You know Ty, shirking your responsibilities will get you nowhere in life. Now you can go to work like a good little taxpayer, or you can stay here with me. I’m going to be busy though. I’m planning on staying here, getting drunk, and playing Xbox all night!” Chevy teased. It took me about ten seconds to decide on staying home with Chev! I’m not really worried about not showing up to work.
The place is run by college kids, and customers are always looking to help out for a free drink. Plus on any given night, we had an abundance of staff. Chevy and I work at the same place. We're both bartenders at a local college bar called, Hell. Yes, it’s really called Hell. We had both tried our hand at college, but found it more exciting to sit at home and do nothing. We didn’t want to go to school. We majored in skipping class and going to the college parties.
By December, we had flunked out of school and decided to put one hundred percent of our focus on beer, women, and Xbox. Not necessarily in that order.
We only bartend a couple of days a week. That’s enough to pay the bills and keep some food in our bellies. Chevy uses our job as a way to stay active in the college community. He always knows where and when the party is going to be, and which one has the most sorority chicks. Chevy is good with the girls.
One thing I didn’t mention about Chevy is that he’s a pretty boy. He has rock hard abs, blonde hair, blue eyes and looked like the kind of guy you’d find modeling a pair of underwear in a magazine.
Unfortunately for me, I’m the complete opposite. I wasn’t blessed with god-like genes. I’m a little chubby and have dark brown hair like everyone else. The only thing that makes me stand out is Chevy. I am, for lack of a better word, average. I don’t even have a cool nickname like Chevy. My name is Ty. Ty Daniels, and my friends call me Ty.
CHAPTER 3
October 11th 12:00pm
After a long night of drinking, I woke up with my head pounding. “How much did I drink last night?” I rolled over in my bed and was struck in the face by the heat of the midday sun. I squinted my eyes, and it made my head throb even more. Five minutes later, I was able to flop my feet onto the floor. I slid down to my knees and rested my head against the coldness of the bed frame. When I was sure my stomach wasn’t going to heave, I made my way out to the kitchen. I staggered in, shielding my eyes from the sun with an open hand. I yanked the fridge open while my head rested against the cool metal of the freezer door. I leaned back and looked in, “Dammit!” There was no Mountain Dew in the refrigerator.
I stumbled back to my bedroom and slid on my jeans. My hand dove into my jean’s pocket and pulled out a pile of crumbled up one-dollar bills. I guess I haven’t worn these jeans since the last time I worked. I looked at the wad of dollars in my hands, “Well, that’s enough for a soda!” I threw on a T-shirt and worked my way down the hall to Chevy’s bedroom.
After a few raps, I hollered through the bedroom door, “Chevy, are you still asleep? I’m going across the street to the store. Do you want anything?”
“Fuck off! I’m sleeping!” Chevy grunted from beyond the door.
“I guess that’s a No!”
I headed towards the front door, not forgetting to grab my sunglasses as I walked out. When I opened the door, I was assaulted with a fetid smell that almost dropped me to my knees. Someone must have left out a trash bag full of bad meat. I tried to blow the stink out of my nose and switched to mouth breathing.
I worked on straightening my dollar bills, still thinking about that rancid stench, when I realized there were no cars on the road. The usually bustling street was empty. There were no moving cars. There were no kids playing on the street and the only sound I heard, was one of those annoying car alarms from the nineties. You know the ones that cycle through seven different obnoxious tones before the system resets.
By the time I got to the store, my curiosity began to peak. Where is everyone? And what is that nasty odor?
I pulled on the store’s door only to have my hand slip off the handle. It didn’t open.
“It’s locked?” I queried.
What’s going on here? It’s only noon, and they’re supposed to be open until midnight.
I yanked on the door a second time, trying to help my mind grasp the fact that the store was closed, and I would not be rehydrating with my precious soda. I stood there staring through the shop’s glass door, running other options in my head, when I was startled by a scream. It wasn’t the kind of scream kids make playing outside. It was the kind that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. I spun around with my arms up and stood in silence. I panned the street with my eyes. My ears perked up! Nothing but silence. No more screams, no sounds, and no people. Not even a breeze to blow away that dead, stale, smell of rotting meat.
All of a sudden, a sensation came over me. I had that feeling you get when you visit a strange city and walk into a neighborhood where you certainly don’t belong. It sent me into a mini panic, as if I was walking up the stairs of a creepy basement. Movies have taught us that evil things never attacked people in cellars, only once they’ve started up the staircase.
I double timed it back home, raced inside and slammed the door behind me. I peered through the peephole as I reached for the lock, sensing I had been followed. I didn’t realize how long I had been staring out of the peep hole until I felt my eye drying out from not blinking. I pushed off the door and ran down the hall screaming for Chevy. I swung open Chevy’s door, still screaming. He sat straight up in bed staring at me.
Before I could catch my breath, Chevy gave me a cautioning look. Like he was trying to warn me of certain inherent danger. Was there someone behind me? Had I been followed, and were they about to strike me down, attack me?
Chevy’s lips began to move and my mind raced, should I run, or turn and fight? What is it? Spit it out Chevy! What? What was Chevy trying to say?
CHAPTER 4
October 3rd 8:00am
This was the second time in thirty years of service Bob had been summoned to the White House, and he didn’t like it. He could have done with less of the bureaucracy and more time in the field. Too many gold leaves, bars and stars. How he’d love to be back in Iraq or Afghanistan. Most people would call them two of the worst places in the world, but while he was there, Bob felt oddly comfortable. Almost like visiting a second home. Commanding troops on the front line and digging into the dirt with his men gave him a sense of purpose.
Now, that was no more. He found himself on too many domestic details that made him consider retiring and finding a nice cabin in the Rockies.
There was a woman sitting behind the desk, wearing a telephone head set. She looked too young to be a White House secretary. She would have fit in more if she was strolling across one of the numerous university campuses in the D.C. area.
“Hello Sir, may I help you?” she said covering the microphone on her headset.
“Colonel Robert Aiken here to see General Strong.”
“Yes, Sir. He’s expecting you. Go right in.” With a smile, she motioned Bob to the door, and went back to her phone.
The office was covered with maps and books on military strategy. The General was standing looking out the window, admiring the early crowd that had already formed beyond the black iron White House fence.
“General Strong, Sir.”
The General turned from the window and shot Bob a smile, “At ease, Bob. Thanks for coming. Have a seat.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Bob sank into the hundred-year-old chair as an aroma of leather tickled his senses.
“Bob, I’m sure you know why you’re here. I need more information about this Palo Alto situation.”
“I wasn’t aware it had become a situation, Sir.”
“You know what I mean, Bob.”
General Strong leaned back in his chair and released an exaggerated sigh as he
reached for his pipe. It must have been a gift from his wife, decades ago, judging from the worn briar wood bowl. As he lit the pipe, Bob’s senses were overwhelmed with a bouquet of cherries and molasses. Five or six short puffs, and the tobacco took on an orange glow, “Tell me about the Ebola Bob.”
Bob fidgeted in his chair, but couldn’t seem to find a comfortable spot, “Well, Sir, it’s not good. As of now, our sources say Patient Zero began with signs of a fever on the plane. Everyone on that plane is a possible patient!”
The General spoke through a ring of smoke, “How many passengers were on that plane, Bob?”
“There were 414 passengers and six crew members.”
“Do we know where they are now, Bob?”
“Sir, they’re spread out across the US. To be honest, we’re not sure.”
“What!” the General bellowed as he slammed his pipe on the desk.
“Sir, that’s not all. I’ve been in contact with Dr. Miranda Frost, and she’s activated the Disaster Assistance Response Team (DART) at the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta. She’s tested Patient Zero, and he shows positive for the Ebola Virus. And… it’s gone airborne!”
The General picked up his pipe, set it in the ashtray and brushed some spilled ashes off the desk with his hand, “How did this happen?” he asked while rubbing his temples with his fingertips.
“General, viruses like Ebola are notoriously sloppy when replicating between hosts. That means at some point, the virus left its host, and entered Patient Zero as a mutated strain.”
“What does that mean for us?” General Strong asked as he leaned forward in his chair now dumping his pipe in the ashtray.
Bob took in a deep breath in, cowering, as though he was about to be scolded by his father. “Sir, it means Ebola will spread to every part of the globe as quickly as H1N1 virus did in 2009.”
“My god, Bob!” The General’s face sagged, knowing somehow that all hope was lost. He pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair thinking, touching a finger to his chin.
“Zaire 1976!” the General blurted out.
“Zaire?”
A smile broke from the general’s lips, “ZMapp!”
The General reached for his pipe again, “ZMapp! In 1976, our leading scientists teamed up with a Canadian research team. The Canadian team had discovered three disease fighting proteins that targeted specific genes of invading pathogens. By injecting patients with our ZMapp proteins before exposure, the body could mount an immediate immune response. The ZMapp cocktail provides an artificial immune response against proteins on the outside of the Ebola virus preventing them from joining with receptors on the host cells.”
Bob leaned forward, now listening intently, “Did it work?”
“It didn’t work in Zaire because the outbreak was over before completing the ZMapp serum.”
“Then how do you know it works?” Bob asked.
General Strong leaned forward in his chair again looking Colonel Aiken dead in the eyes, “Because we tested it on Plum Island. It had a 95% survival rate.” General Strong leaned back in his chair again with an almost victorious look on his face.
“You tested it on whom?”
“I’m sorry Bob, but you know that’s classified.”
“Bob, I want you on the next plane to Montréal. At McGill University find Dr. Claude Marcil. He’ll be expecting you, and he’ll have all the answers you’ll need.”
CHAPTER 5
October 3rd 1:00pm
Five hours later, Bob was landing in Longue-Pointe, Canadian Forces Base in Montréal. His head was beginning to pound from the combination of traveling and stress of the situation. As Bob departed the plane, he was met by a tall, thin, French looking fellow with a gold crown on each shoulder, “Colonel Aiken, I am Major Jean-Luc Besson of the 2nd Canadian Division Support Group. I will be your liaison during your stay, Sir. Would you like to see your quarters?”
Bob snapped off a salute, “Major Besson, I need to get to McGill University immediately!”
“I understand, Sir. Follow me, I have a vehicle over here.” Jean-Luc said pointing to a gray airplane hangar. Bob followed Major Besson to the side of Hangar 12 where they were picked up in a black Suburban. The vehicle was decked out with light armor and bulletproof windows.
“Colonel, it will take us thirty minutes to get there. My staff has called ahead, and Dr. Marcil is expecting us.”
“Thank you Major.” Bob said, as he watched the small farm houses turn into the high buildings of downtown Montréal.
Twenty-nine minutes later, the Suburban pulled into the Otto Maass Chemistry Building parking lot, just off from Sherbrook Street in downtown Montréal. The old stone building was draped with a banner bigger than their vehicle that pictured a white triangle faced alien with large black ovals for eyes. Underneath the alien’s face were the words “ARE WE ALONE?” in a squiggly green font. Bob thought to himself, “If not, let’s hope they have a cure.”
Bob was still staring at the alien when Jean-Luc swung the Suburban door open, “This way Colonel!” Bob stepped out of the vehicle and right through a set of glass doors. He was reminded of his high school with cork boards on both sides of the breezeway. Covered in everything from students looking for rides home, to professors offering tutoring services for extra money. Bob followed Jean-Luc down a long hall that smelled of mold, masked with bleach. “I believe Dr. Marcil’s office is up here on the right.” Jean-Luc reached out with his finger and touched the name plate on the door, “It looks like this is it.” Besson knocked on the hundred-year-old door. After a slight pause, a muffled, “Entrez!” echoed from inside the office. From beyond an antique desk as old as the door, a frail, thin, balding man sat there. He was wearing a white lab coat that looked as though it had been purchased off the rack sometime around the time Bob was born.
“Je m’appelle le docteur Marcil.”
“Bonjour, Doctor Marcil. I’m Major Besson from Longue-Pointe, and this is Colonel Robert Aiken from Washington D.C.”
The Doctor stood up extending a friendly hand across the desk to Bob, “Ah, Colonel Aiken, I’ve been expecting you. I spoke to General Strong this morning, he said you were on your way. It seems we may have something you may be in need of. So how is that old ornery son of a gun?” Dr. Marcil chuckled. Bob let go of Dr. Marcil’s hand, “He’s worried Dr. Marcil, but he sends his regards. We have quite a problem we’re dealing with.” Dr. Marcil stepped out from behind the desk, heading toward the office door, “Yes. Yes. Come with me. We’ll see if we can’t get you fixed up eh?”
They were met in the hallway by a stunning blonde woman wearing a gray flannel skirt and a burgundy button-down shirt that was open on top, exposing her ample cleavage. She removed a small pair of black rimmed glasses exposing her ice-blue eyes as she entered the room, “Ah. Sophie, I’m glad you’re here. Sophie, this is Colonel Aiken from the States and Major Besson from Longue-Pointe. Gentlemen, this is my assistant Dr. Sophie Simone. Sophie has been with me for the last fifteen years. Sophie obtained her doctorate here at McGill and after specialty training in infectious diseases at Yale, I offered her a job assisting me with ZMapp, and we’ve been perfecting it ever since. Gentlemen, Sophie is the best infectious disease specialist in Canada.”
“Oh! Dr. Marcil stop.” Sophie blushed.
Bob envied Dr. Marcil for being able to work with Sophie every day.
“Sophie, if you could please join us. We’re heading to the lab.” he said, without looking back.
CHAPTER 6
October 11th 1:00pm
“What is it? Spit it out Chevy! What? What was Chevy trying to say?
“Hey, Ty! Did you get me a soda?”
Chevy sat on his bed looking at me with his head tilted, “What the hell is up with you, Ty?”
I was trying to catch my breath while my brain processed everything. I plopped into the beanbag chair in the corner of Chevy’s room, “Dude! There is some serious shit going on out there.” Without leaving his be
d, Chevy leaned a few inches to the right, as though he was looking somewhere, “Out where?” he asked.
“Outside!” I shrieked. I told Chevy about the store being closed, and the stale fetid air. I went on to tell him about the scream I heard, and how all the streets were empty. Chevy was still sitting in bed with his hair sticking up and a crust of sleep in the corner of his left eye. Chevy continued to stare at me as he lifted his arm to wipe the sleep away. He tried to make heads or tails of the situation. He scratched his head and thought for a moment, “So you didn’t get me a soda?”
I jumped up from the beanbag screaming, “What’s wrong with you?” Chevy shook his head at me, as he rolled over and laid back down, “I’m going back to sleep.”
“Are you kidding me?” I ranted. “With everything I just told you, and you’re going to go back to sleep?”
“Shut the door on the way out, please.”
I picked up the beanbag and threw it at Chevy on the way out. “You’re such a dick!”
I went out to the living room, grabbed the remote and turned on the news. My head was still pounding from the beer last night. I didn’t drink that much. I shouldn’t be feeling this bad. I hope I’m not getting sick.
I flipped on the news station, but it was on a commercial. I got up and went over to the window and pulled on the blinds. I bent a few down and peeked out the window. Empty! The street was still vacant. No people, no cars, nothing. It was like I woke up and Chevy and I were the only people left in the world. What the hell is going on out there? And what is that smell?
I snapped away from the window when I heard the President of the United States speaking on the TV. “My fellow Americans, we have this situation under control and there is no reason to fear. Scientists have been working around the clock, and we have taken extraordinary measures to protect the best interests of you, the people. In the meantime, stay home! Don’t go out! Keep your TV on to help keep you informed. I will address the nation again in 24 hours.”
