H7N9- The Complete Series

by Mark Campbell

  Ten minutes passed; soon, more than an hour had ticked away.

  The bouts of screaming eventually stopped, but Teddy didn’t let his guard down, and didn’t take his eyes off the curtain.

  Finally, it was pulled open.

  Teddy’s heart raced as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He was ready.

  To his surprise, there were no officers ready to take him down—just a tall man with messy black hair and crooked glasses. The man’s silver name tag identified him as “Dr. Demarest.” A young black woman in blue surgical scrubs and a mask followed the doctor while pushing a rolling kiosk that held a computer and a tray full of numbered syringes.

  “What happened out there?” Teddy asked as he craned his neck in an attempt to look over the doctor’s shoulders.

  “Nothing,” Dr. Demarest replied. “Hold out your wristband.”

  “What was all the screaming about?” Teddy persisted.

  “You need only be concerned about the words coming out of my mouth! Now, present your wristband to the nurse!”

  Teddy looked down at the wristband he was given back at the stadium. It was faded, stained, and fraying, but the bar code still looked readable.

  The nurse took a handheld scanner off the cart and waited.

  Teddy extended his arm.

  After scanning the wristband’s barcode, the nurse turned her attention toward the computer on the cart and read aloud from the screen. “His name is Teddy Sanders, and he’s from the Tucson, Arizona center. H7N9 antigens were detected on his blood test. Sugar levels, kidney function, liver function, and electrolytes came back normal. The potassium level was slightly low but within normal range. CBC is normal. Cholesterol panel is normal. No STDs.” She paused. “His chart hasn’t been flagged—they don’t need this one.”

  “Flagged?” Teddy asked. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Demarest ignored his question and took a penlight from his pocket. He leaned forward and shone the beam into Teddy’s pupils.

  Teddy squinted and turned his head to look away.

  “The test conducted in Tucson says that you have H7N9 antigens in your system. How long ago did you have the flu?” he asked as he shone the light into Teddy’s ear.

  “I don’t know,” Teddy muttered. “A few weeks ago, I suppose. I lost track.”

  “You recovered without incident?”

  “I’m standing here, aren’t I?”

  Demarest reached out, grabbed Teddy’s chin, and turned his head in the opposite direction. “Are you currently on any prescription medication?” he asked as he shone the light into Teddy’s other ear.

  “No.”

  “Any chronic diseases or handicaps?”

  “No.”

  “Do you take illicit drugs?”

  “Why? Do you have any?” Teddy asked with a sly grin.

  “Yes or no, Mr. Sanders,” Demarest said.

  “No, I don’t take that shit.”

  “Cancer? Heart problems?”

  “None that I’m aware of.”

  Demarest turned Teddy’s head toward him. “Open,” he ordered.

  Teddy opened his mouth.

  The doctor shone the flashlight down his throat and peered inside for a few seconds. He let go of Teddy’s chin, turned the penlight off, and returned it to his pocket. “The patient is healthy and cleared for high-risk work duties due to his H7N9 immunity. No work restrictions,” he told the nurse. “You may proceed.” Demarest yawned and exited the stall.

  The nurse pushed her cart toward Teddy and quickly typed something into the computer. “Hold out your wristband again,” she said without looking away from the screen.

  Teddy extended his arm once more.

  She cut off the wristband and picked up one of the syringes from the tray, scanned it, and typed something into the computer.

  Teddy started to lower his arm.

  “No, keep it extended,” she said. “Now turn your hand up toward the ceiling and make a fist.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to give you an injection.”

  “Of what?” he asked with suspicion.

  The nurse sighed. “Look, honey, do I need to get one of the officers, or are you going to do as you’re told?”

  Teddy brought his arm back up, turned it, and made a fist.

  The nurse grabbed his wrist and stuck the needle in his forearm. “This is an RFID chip; it’s going to serve as your new identification and tracker throughout the camp.” As she injected a small metallic device under his skin, she added, “Along with storing your medical records and personnel file, the chip will allow you access to different parts of the camp and buildings depending on what access level you’re granted for whatever job you’re assigned.” She pulled the needle out of his arm and tossed it into a small red bin at the bottom of her cart.

  Teddy frowned as he stared down at the small protruding knot on his forearm. The foreign object felt cold and irritated his skin. “It itches.”

  “Don’t scratch it,” she said. “The swelling should go down in a day or so. You’ll get used to it—and you’ll forget it’s even there.” She paused and looked at him. “Any questions?”

  “Trust me, I have plenty of them, but I think I’d get more answers talking to a brick wall.”

  “You’d do well to remember your place here,” she said. “We all have our jobs to do, and I’m just doing mine. You can step outside and join the others now. You’re done.”

  The nurse pushed her cart over to the next stall, where the doctor was waiting for her.

  Scratching his arm, Teddy stepped out of the stall and studied the room. Most of the stalls had their curtains pulled back and were empty.

  Medical reminder, a recording announced through the overhead speakers. It is your duty to report any signs of illness or flu-like symptoms. Failure to do so is a punishable offense.

  Two doctors and a small group of nurses meandered between the remaining occupied stalls while FEMA officers stood and watched from the middle of the room.

  Teddy looked down at the floor. His eyes widened, and a chill ran down his spine—there were droplets of fresh blood on the floor leading toward the door on the opposite side of the room.

  “Ein?!” he called out. “Are you still in here, kid?!”

  There was no response.

  “Ein! Are you in here?!”

  Silence.

  Teddy jumped as one of the officers shouted at him.

  “Quit standing around and head outside!”

  “I’m looking for a friend.”

  One of the officers pulled out his baton and took a step toward Teddy. He waved his baton in the air and pointed it at the door. “I don’t care who you’re looking for! If you don’t move your ass through that door right now, I’ll crack your skull!”

  Teddy stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked briskly as he followed the droplets of blood toward the door. All he could do was hope the kid was okay…even though hope had never yet done him any favors.

  He walked outside into the frigid air and stepped onto a brightly lit concrete pad. Squinting, he held up a hand to shield his eyes from the blinding halogen spotlights as he surveyed the complex. Multiple one-story concrete barracks stretched out as far as he could see, and high-mast lights and guard towers were scattered throughout the camp. Most of the buildings were numbered, and many bore U.S. Border Patrol seals.

  A large, concrete tower had been erected in the center of the camp and was crowned with a wide array of communication antennas and satellite dishes—it reminded Teddy of an air traffic control tower. One building that stood out from all the others was a five-story structure nestled on a small hill overlooking the rest of the camp. It had narrow slit windows and was painted a drab, gray color. The entire camp was surrounded by a massive chain-link fence topped with razor wire.

  Teddy felt dwarfed by the complex’s sprawl.

  Two FEMA officers carrying rifles and wearing full riot gear stood at the corner of the con
crete pad along with a third man wearing a black trench coat absent insignias or indications of rank. The man held a small scanner and a touch-screen tablet.

  Standing behind the three men was Lt. Hock from the train; his dress uniform and black beret set him apart as the superior officer in the group.

  A small group of people wearing civilian clothes stood on the pathway behind the lieutenant with their arms wrapped around their chests, shivering…waiting.

  “You!” one of the officers called out to Teddy. “Step forward!”

  Teddy approached the man in the trench coat and stopped.

  “Hold out your chip,” the man said from behind his balaclava.

  Teddy held his arm out and waited as the man’s fingers clumsily poked and prodded the tablet’s screen.

  Hock turned to stare at Teddy, who immediately looked away to avoid eye contact.

  After a few seconds, Hock’s face lit up with recognition. “Weren’t you the one who gave my officers a hard time on the train outside of Tucson?”

  Teddy didn’t answer.

  A slow grin formed across Hock’s face. “Ah, yes…I recall your name. Teddy Sanders.”

  “I don’t remember your name,” Teddy said as he turned and looked the lieutenant in the eyes.

  “That’s because I didn’t give it to you. I’m Lieutenant Hock, and I’m in charge of this camp’s security forces. I told you back on the train that we’d be seeing a lot of each other, didn’t I?”

  “I would say it’s an honor, but you don’t seem like the type of moron that would buy that bullshit,” Teddy said.

  Both the FEMA officers stepped forward and pointed their rifles at Teddy’s chest.

  “Show some respect!” one of the officers barked.

  The man in the peacoat looked away from his tablet and stared at Teddy in disbelief.

  “Stand down,” Hock quickly told the officers.

  Stunned, the officers lowered their weapons and stepped back.

  The man in the peacoat focused on his tablet again.

  Hock kept his sharp gaze focused on Teddy and simply nodded. “You’re correct, Sanders,” he finally replied. “Just as you don’t seem like the type of moron who would sell me such bullshit. I must warn you though…not everyone here appreciates curt honesty as much as I do.”

  “Duly noted, Lieutenant,” Teddy muttered.

  The man in the peacoat took the scanner and ran it over the area where Teddy’s chip had been injected. “You can lower your arm now,” the man said as he hooked the scanner back onto his utility belt. “It will take me a few moments to enter you into our system.”

  Teddy crossed his arms over his chest, shivering in the bitter cold. He looked over his shoulder and noticed that a small line was starting to form behind him, but he didn’t see Ein.

  “Have you seen a young kid?” Teddy asked Hock. “Early twenties…purple hair. Couldn’t miss him.”

  “No, I haven’t seen anyone like that,” Hock replied candidly as he met Teddy’s gaze without wavering. “He must still be inside with the others, waiting to get examined.”

  Instead of making Teddy feel better, the lieutenant’s response only made him feel more uneasy.

  “The computer says you’ve already been sick and that you’re cleared to work high-risk details,” the man in the peacoat said as he read from the tablet. “Even so, we need more people in the kitchen, so I’m assigning you to Sergeant Flood’s detail in dorm eighteen.”

  “Does this guy look like a cook to you?” Hock asked, a look of bemusement on his face.

  “Sir?”

  “He’s immune—why waste him? He needs to work the city…not chop carrots.”

  “Yes sir,” the man said. “I’ll place him on the CDT crew in dorm thirty-six. Sergeant Clark’s detail.”

  “CDT?” Teddy asked and gave the man a quizzical look.

  Before the man could explain, the lieutenant cut in. “Not dorm thirty-six. Clark is a good guy, but he’s soft. This one, well—he needs someone hard.”

  “Hard?” the man asked as he looked at the lieutenant.

  “Yes, hard. Put him on Parham’s detail in dorm twenty. I think he’s the best one to handle him.”

  The officers glanced at each other with wide eyes and shook their heads.

  “But, sir,” the man in the peacoat said. “Sergeant Clark has—”

  “It wasn’t a request, Officer,” Hock said in low voice, emphasizing the man’s subordinate title. He narrowed his eyes. “Make it happen.”

  “Yes sir,” the man said, quickly looking away and back down at his tablet.

  “Parham’s one of those people I mentioned earlier, Sanders,” Hock said. “You know, the ones who don’t appreciate curt honesty…”

  “Why are you putting me with him?” Teddy asked.

  Hock only smiled.

  The man in the peacoat finished updating the information. “It’s done, Sanders.” He pointed to the rows of concrete barracks in the distance. “Report to dorm twenty immediately.”

  Teddy stepped uneasily off the concrete pad and wandered toward a group of civilians huddled along the sidewalk. They were all middle-aged men, and all of them had red armbands. Even though they wore thick coats, old gloves, and warm knit hats, they looked as if they were freezing. Most appeared severely malnourished: their eyes were sunken, and their cheekbones jutted out unnaturally, giving them the look of emaciated, skeletal ghouls.

  As Teddy approached, one of the men, his face distorted in a scowl, asked, “Which dorm have you been assigned to?”

  “Twenty,” Teddy answered.

  The group of men murmured quietly and shook their heads.

  “Sorry to hear that, Brother,” one of the men said.

  A middle-aged, bald, black man stepped forward wearing a pair of old Timberlands, a gray sweatshirt, and khaki pants. “I was wondering if they’d send me somebody…you must’ve pissed someone off something fierce,” he said with a slight southern drawl.

  “I reckon so,” Teddy grumbled, glancing over his shoulder.

  “Well, I’m dorm twenty’s ambassador—at least that’s what they say I am.” He paused and chuckled. “I’m supposed to help get you settled. My name is Rodrick Perry, but I was one of the first to arrive, so folks around here just call me ‘Old Perry.’ You got a name, new blood?”

  “Teddy,” he said as his gaze passed over the crowd with apprehension.

  “Nice to meet ya, Teddy.” He turned and started to walk away. “Let’s get you off the street and into your new home. Follow me.”

  Teddy looked wistfully over his shoulder.

  Perry stopped and turned toward him. “There’s nothing for you back there anymore.” He pointed at the red band on his arm. “It’s past curfew, and you really don’t want to be loitering around without one of these on.”

  “I was waiting for someone,” Teddy said. “A friend of mine. He came on the train with me.”

  “You’d be better off trying to find him in the morning at breakfast. We sure can’t stand around out here any longer,” Perry warned. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Teddy stuck his hands in his pockets, hunched over, and followed Perry down a walkway, examining the squalid surroundings as he walked. The narrow pathway weaved in and out of multiple identical jerry-built concrete buildings with flattened roofs. The quick and shoddy construction was evident even in the dim moonlight—large cracks branched up from their foundations, and many of the buildings looked sloped, as though they were slowly sinking into the earth. Lime deposits and mold had already formed from the runoff coming from the rooftop HVAC units. None of the buildings had windows, just numbered doors that barely fit into their frames.

  Teddy was a little surprised, given the government’s unparalleled expertise at wasting money.

  “What gives?” Teddy asked Perry as he trailed behind.

  “With what?” Perry asked.

  “This place,” Teddy replied with distaste evident in his voice. “Why is it
such a pile of shit?”

  Perry shrugged. “With the virus spreading the way it did and all, they were in a hurry to finish it up. It used to be an immigration detention facility before the outbreak, but then they added more dorms and fences and turned it into this.”

  “What happened to the detainees?” Teddy asked, even though he pretty much knew what the answer would be.

  “I never asked, and they never said.”

  Teddy noticed the mounds of putrefying trash piled between the small alleyways beneath haphazardly strung clotheslines. Rats and field mice scurried out from one alley to another, squeaking and fleeing as the two men walked by.

  The ripe stench of human feces and urine forced Teddy to look away in revulsion.

  “You get used to the smell of this place, believe it or not,” Perry said with another shrug.

  “Where the hell does all this trash come from?”

  “We’re already overpopulated but they keep sending us more folks. The cops had a crew dig a landfill out a few miles down the road, but they can’t seem to keep with demand. There was talk about putting some incinerators up near the clinic, but looks like it was just talk.”

  “They have a clinic in here?” Teddy asked, admittedly surprised.

  “Sure do – but not much of one. It’s over in in the administration building,” Perry answered as he jaunted his thumb out behind him. “The low-rise up the hill. Did you see it when you came in?”

  “Hard to miss it,” Teddy said as he stared at a stained blanket flapping on a clothesline. “I can’t believe people came here on trains with nothing but the clothes on their backs and still managed to accumulate so much shit.”

  “They didn’t bring the stuff on the trains,” Perry said. “The vultures pick it up and smuggle it in. Dorms are stuffed to capacity, and some even have folks sleeping on the floor, but that don’t stop people from wanting little pieces of their old lives.”

  Teddy wondered who “the vultures” were, but he was too tired and cold to ask.

  They came to a stop at building twenty. Unlike most of the other buildings, it sat relatively level and didn’t seem to suffer from as many structural cracks. The door had a small biometric device mounted next to it.

  Perry placed his forearm against the fob, and the door unlocked.