DRYP Trilogy | Book 1 | DRYP [The Final Pandemic]

by Scheuring, R. A.

  “Good evening, Mr. Wheeler.” A nurse approached, holding up a small IV bag. “It’s time for Jason’s antibiotics.”

  He started to ask which one, but then stopped himself. If he pestered them, he’d be no different than Brooke. Instead he said, “Is the fever gone?”

  “No fever for six hours,” the nurse said cheerfully. “Maybe the antibiotics are starting to work.”

  Alan wondered if they trained the nurses to be cheerful, because the whole place was so goddamn depressing you practically couldn’t stand it.

  The nurse moved into the small outer room that separated Jason from the outside world. She washed her hands at a sink in the corner and then donned a gown and gloves before moving in through the second door, to the inner room where Jason now slept. Alan watched as she connected the bag to a large IV implanted in Jason’s chest. And then, he watched as she left the room, discarded the gown and gloves, and washed her hands once more. Jason never even stirred.

  She smiled at Alan as she departed, and he thanked her before turning back to watch his son.

  He didn’t notice that she took a seat at the central desk in the middle of the unit, next to another nurse.

  Jason’s nurse said, “He’s so sad. It just breaks your heart.”

  “He’s so handsome and rich,” her companion responded.

  “Oh? I hadn’t noticed.”

  The other nurse wasn’t fooled. “Sure you didn’t, honey. Well, you keep trying to cheer him up, and maybe he’ll be your benefactor.”

  Jason’s nurse stifled a squeal of outrage. “Stop it, Jeanie! You’re sick.” And then they both laughed. Very quietly, of course.

  Across the unit, Alan Wheeler was oblivious.

  “We’ve got forty-six ventilators,” Singh said. “One for each ICU bed, and two back-ups.”

  Mack chewed on his thumb. He hated that he couldn’t smoke in the hospital. “That won’t be enough. The feds are shipping us some more, but that’ll take twenty-four to forty-eight hours. What about the other hospitals? St. Mary’s? Northern Nevada Regional Medical Center?”

  “I don’t know. We’ve got the biggest ICU, so it stands to reason that we’ve got the most ventilators, but St. Mary’s has a pretty big unit. I’m guessing maybe thirty beds. Why? How big do you think this is going to get?”

  “I don’t know. Hundreds, maybe—worst case scenario, a thousand.”

  “A thousand?” Singh said, shocked. “Holy shit. Where do you come up with that number?”

  “I’m just trying to scare you, Singh. I don’t have any goddamn idea how many.”

  Singh looked a little sick. “If it’s so bad, how come the feds aren’t more involved?”

  “They are, believe me. They’re enforcing a quarantine, starting thirty-six hours from now.”

  “What kind of quarantine?

  “A whole city quarantine. Reno, shut down. As in armed roadblocks, the airport taken over. No one gets out. And very few get in.”

  Singh’s mouth dropped open. “Why didn’t they tell us? That CDC guy said nothing about that.”

  “He’s just telling us what they want us to hear. They don’t want a panic. It takes time to mobilize the military and arrange for all the medical shipments. They’re afraid people will make a run for it if they hear there’s a quarantine coming.”

  Singh looked stunned. “They must really be afraid of this thing.”

  “Aren’t you?” Mack stood up. “Listen, Singh, we’ve got a lot of work to do, so make coffee or whatever the hell you like, because we’ve got to figure out what to do with the hospitals, what to tell the people until the quarantine is in place. Basically, how to keep Reno from imploding over the next few days. But right now, what I need to do more than anything is have a smoke, so unless you want to join me, I’m off the clock for the next few minutes.” And with that, Mack was out the door.

  Singh watched the other man leave, and when he was sure Mack was out of earshot, he picked up the phone and quickly dialed.

  Twelve

  Suma Singh was a kind woman, even if she was a little bit silly. Or at least, that’s what Jenny Mendoza thought of her employer, who now seemed to be in a frothing panic.

  “I forgot to call you.” Suma’s eyes darted around the living room until she seemed to remember that good manners dictated she make eye contact with her house cleaner. “I don’t need you this week. Maybe come back in two weeks?”

  The two women stood in the entryway of the Singhs’ large home in northern Reno. Jenny cleaned house once a week for the Singhs and many other prominent families. She was exacting and thorough, which meant that she was in high demand, and she suppressed a flicker of irritation at Suma’s thoughtlessness. She could have worked for another family.

  “You need to cancel twenty-four hours in advance. I’ll have to charge you,” Jenny said.

  “What?” Suma said, distracted.

  Jenny wasn’t sure the other woman had even heard her. “I said you’ll still have to pay. I have a twenty-four hour cancellation policy.”

  It was then that Jenny noticed the suitcases. There were five of them lined up in the entryway.

  “Fine,” said Suma. “Just add it to the bill. Arun!”

  “What?” a young man’s voice answered lazily from the other room.

  “Load the car!”

  “Are you going on a trip, Mrs. Singh?” Jenny asked, irritated that she would now be out two weeks of pay from the Singhs. It wasn’t like she could just fill the gap with a one-time housecleaning for some other family. Families wanted regular, weekly housecleaners. “I can still clean the house today, even if you’re not here.”

  Perhaps it was the displeasure in her housekeeper’s tone that caused Suma to finally focus on her. The diminutive Indian woman gazed at Jenny with guilt in her eyes.

  “I’ll pay you this week and next.” Suma leaned toward the housecleaner and whispered, “Jenny, we’re leaving because Dr. Singh told us a terrible disease has come to Reno. The military is coming to shut the city down so that no one can get out. Hundreds of people will die, and there will be no escape.”

  Suddenly, Jenny Mendoza no longer cared about lost wages. She stared at her employer. She had seen the news reports about that squirrel disease, but there had been no mention of shutting down the city or hundreds of people dying. Why hadn’t they reported it on TV?

  “Do you have relatives you can stay with in another city?” Suma asked.

  Jenny was hardly listening. She knew who she could ask to find out if this was really true. She could call one of her other employers, the one that was probably her most famous.

  She pulled out her cell phone as she hurried to her car. She scrolled through her contacts until she found his number.

  The phone rang at least four times before a sleepy male voice answered.

  Jenny’s heart raced. “Mr. Hayden, Mr. Hayden, is it true?”

  Tyrone Hayden was pissed. And scared shitless. He didn’t know which emotion held greater sway as he redialed the Department of Public Health’s main number over and over again. Each time he got the same automated voice message:

  Due to increased call volume, we are unable to answer the phone right now. For general plague instructions, please press “one.” To report cases, please press “two”…

  It had been two days since he’d broken the story of the outbreak. Mack himself had told Hayden that the phone lines at the county department had been overwhelmed, but that didn’t stop Hayden from cursing in frustration. Goddamn, lying Mack hadn’t give Hayden a direct cell number!

  On the tenth try, Hayden finally got through. A weary female voice answered, “Washoe County Department of Public Health.”

  He told her who he was and that he needed to talk with George Mack.

  “He’s out. We don’t expect him back until noon.”

  “I need to get ahold of him this morning.”

  “That’s not possible. He’s in a closed door meeting.”

  Frustration
and urgency warred within Tyrone. He said bluntly, “I need confirmation that there’s a military-enforced quarantine going into effect.”

  The woman sounded confused. “A quarantine? I’m not aware of anything like that. But I’ll give your message to Mr. Mack.” And with that she abruptly, and astoundingly, hung up.

  “Shit!” Tyrone hissed. He dialed and got the busy signal again. He kept dialing until he took the turn-off to Reno-Stead Airport, and then he abruptly stopped and stared.

  The open tarmac was crammed with pallets of boxes. At least a hundred mask-wearing soldiers were loading these boxes onto trucks. And one by one, the trucks were passing through the chain-link gate, out to the street, with soldiers in all of them, their weapons clearly visible.

  Not far away, a chartered plane carrying twenty CDC officers touched down on Reno-Stead Airport’s main runway. Mack watched impassively from the terminal, while Nesbitt talked into his cell phone.

  “Yes, they’re just arriving,” Nesbitt reported. “We’ll take them straight over to the public health department.”

  Mack chewed his nails. He himself had been on the phone since five am this morning, arranging for the arrival of the ventilators. He’d managed to secure three hundred of them from the Strategic National Stockpile, the federal government’s emergency supply, but his efforts to obtain more had been met with resistance. Sacramento and Los Angeles need ventilators, he’d been told. Be happy with what you have.

  Mack hoped three hundred were enough.

  Meanwhile, Singh had called to report that three more plague victims had shown up during the night at other Reno hospitals, and that he’d contacted emergency services to coordinate staffing and safety measures for health care providers. He was concerned about the supply of respirator masks, gowns, and gloves. He thought there would be a shortage. He wasn’t sure, but he thought some of the staff were stealing them to take home.

  Mack checked his watch. The Nevada State Health Officer was due at the county health department soon to lead the newly formed Nevada Emergency Epidemic Response Team. It sounded impressive, but Mack knew what it was: an ad hoc assembly of public officials trying to manage a situation about to spiral out of control.

  If they could get a coordinated plan in place before the announcement of a public health emergency, then half the battle would be won. The Nevada State Health Officer, along with the CDC, wanted the announcement to coincide with the quarantine. That gave Mack less than twenty-four hours to make sure that the hospitals were ready, a robust contact tracing system was in place, and that the public had an appropriate initial message to keep them as safe as possible.

  But Mack wasn’t sure what that message should be. Stay indoors? Avoid public places?

  Nesbitt closed his cell phone. “The push-packs are arriving,” he said, referring to the nation’s ready-to-deploy medical supply caches.

  “Not that the antibiotics will be much use,” Mack said grimly.

  Nesbitt was unfazed. “It’s a lot like Ebola, don’t you agree? No cure, but we can beat it just the same. Just good old isolation and quarantine techniques.”

  Mack looked out the airport window at the charter plane that was taxiing to the terminal and tried to stifle his irritation. For Nesbitt, the plague outbreak was all a big adventure. He and the other young CDC officers had all read The Hot Zone in medical school and viewed the hemorrhagic fever outbreaks in Africa as the ultimate man-making adventure, where real doctors had shown their grit, faced the enemy, and won.

  But Mack had actually been there, and it hadn’t seemed like a grand adventure at all. Quite the contrary. It had scared the shit out of him. And Ebola was not an aerosol transmissible disease.

  “We need to do the press conference tonight.”

  “I agree,” said Nesbitt. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “I was thinking that we should have the mayor do it,” Mack suggested.

  “Sure, but I’ll do the medical part.” Nesbitt’s voice was firm.

  By 11:30 am, the group was assembled in the War Room at the Washoe County Public Health Department. Ajay Singh and the head of the county’s emergency medical system were packed into the conference room with twenty CDC officers, the State Health Officer, and her assistants. There was barely enough room to move.

  The mayor was on speaker phone. “We’ll plan for a five pm press conference,” he announced, “but we need to be absolutely clear on what our message is.”

  “No panic,” said Nesbitt.

  “Facts,” said Mack. “We’ve got to get people indoors. Minimize person to person contact.”

  At the door, Carol, the department administrative assistant, signaled to Mack. He ignored her.

  “I understand your concerns, George,” Nesbitt said with a weary sort of patience. “And we will certainly isolate identified contacts of sick patients, but encouraging the entire Reno population to shelter in place at this point is premature and will only encourage hysteria.”

  Mack glared at him. “It’s not hysteria, Nesbitt. It’s good public health. It’s pneumonic, for Christ’s sake. The incubation period is one to three days. We’re starting to see people in the hospital that were infected two to three days ago. I guarantee the actual numbers of infected are much higher.”

  “I don’t disagree with you,” Nesbitt replied. “But what we’re trying to do is avoid a panic until the quarantine is in effect. Otherwise, plague will spread out of the Reno area, and then we have a much bigger problem.”

  The mayor cleared his throat. “Doctor Nesbitt is right, George. If the public finds out this is airborne, and worse yet, that it’s drug-resistant, then there is likely to be a panic. We could do a graded sort of announcement. For instance, we could recommend that individuals avoid public places where a lot of people congregate—”

  Carol waved at Mack, a little more frantically now. She held a pink While You Were Out slip in her hand.

  “Recommend that people avoid public places?” Mack said, irritation spilling over into his words. “We should order them to stay indoors. And then tomorrow, when these poor sods have no chance of escaping the plague, we should dispense masks to each and every one of them, and pray that they have enough common sense to wear them.”

  The room was silent. A muffled conversation seemed to be taking place in the mayor’s office. After a moment, the mayor’s voice came on. “Do you have a television in your conference room?”

  “Yes,” said Mack. He met Carol’s eyes across the room, her anguish clearly visible. She still held the pink slip of paper in her hand.

  “I suggest you turn to channel six,” said the mayor.

  Mack turned the TV on. Tyrone Hayden stood in front of the National Guard facility, where soldiers boarded personnel transports. A banner across the lower screen read, “Special Report.”

  Mack’s heart sank. Hayden announced, “The Public Health Department refuses to acknowledge whether an enforced quarantine will take effect tomorrow, but by the looks of all this activity here at the National Guard center, one has to wonder what exactly is happening. Obviously, far more than has been revealed to the people of Reno…”

  Mack breathed out quietly. “Shit.”

  Thirteen

  After living in Los Angeles seven years, Susan was used to bad traffic. But an utter standstill at three pm?

  Susan leaned her head out the window to try to see what had reduced Interstate 5 to a parking lot, but all that greeted her was an endless line of cars and the acrid smell of exhaust. She rolled up her window and sank down in her seat, helpless depression settling over her. She had gotten less than half a mile from the hospital.

  She wished she had taken surface streets. It took longer, but at least she would be moving—and for a woman who had been up all night, not moving was a dangerous thing. She forced her eyelids open and shook her head roughly, but drowsiness still threatened her.

  Stifling a yawn, she turned to a news station to try to catch a traffic report.

  “We
’ll have more from the rapidly developing situation in Reno in just a moment…”

  A sharp volley of honking sounded. Susan peered out the car window, trying to locate its source. She heard shouting and saw two men get out of their cars close in front of her. They argued, pointing angrily. The front end of one car was crumpled, the rear of the other smashed.

  Great, thought Susan. A fender-bender to add to the general state of stagnation on the freeway. She hoped the two arguing men wouldn’t pull out guns.

  “What’s so frightening about this is that we’ve had our own cases here in Los Angeles, Stan. Although the Public Health Department says it’s a much more limited outbreak—”

  Susan’s head whipped around. She stared at the radio.

  “—We’ll go live to an official press conference scheduled in Reno in an hour, where authorities hope to quell the rising sense of panic in the gambling town. Right now, though, let’s go to Mike Gutierrez, a reporter with our local affiliate in Reno. Can you tell us what is happening, Mike?”

  “Judy, officials here are urging people to remain calm and stay home and indoors. Whether this plea is really working is up in the air. I can tell you, the freeways are clogged with vehicles as thousands of people are trying to flee the oncoming quarantine—”

  Susan’s eyes shot back to the traffic in front of her. The four lanes of cars stretched unendingly into the horizon. Heat rose from the pavement, so that in places, the cars seemed to vibrate in some sort of cosmic distortion.

  Surely people weren’t fleeing Los Angeles? The plague outbreak in Reno had made national news, but there had been little coverage of the isolated cases in Los Angeles. Besides, there had been no threat of quarantine in LA. She would have known. She was taking care of the plague victims. Surely, any possible quarantine would have been discussed with the doctors at the hospital.

  The reporter went on, “Roadblocks have been set up on the major interstate highways to stop people from fleeing, but many of the side roads out of this mountain town are still open, and this is where the military is focusing efforts now to stop a mass exodus.”