Calamity

by Gail McCormick

  “So far apparently only a few have been jailed right here where I am. It’s worse in other parts of Paris where the jails are full. Tourism has totally dried up, and restaurants are losing business since people are afraid to eat out. In fact, all kinds of businesses are being negatively affected. And now we’re told that Germany and Italy are marshalling their armies and developing plans to close their borders. They’ve already started to bar flights from Paris. It looks like other countries bordering France may follow suit. Swiss airports will be closed to French planes tomorrow. At least Ireland and Puerto Rico are isolated. So far flights from them haven’t been blocked, but there are signs that might change soon. I’d guess their economies are being impacted too. On top of everything else, the heat wave throughout Europe is making matters worse. With any luck, at least the vaccine you’ve sent will keep this disease under control. Will keep you posted.”

  The screen returned to cover Camellia. “Thanks, Chakir. At present the only known cases abroad are in France and Ireland. There are now two in Puerto Rico and may be cases elsewhere, we just don’t know. Doses of vaccine are being shipped to those countries and will go to others if they’re requested. Chakir will cover them too when he can. It’s true that tourism in D.C. has also been negatively affected, especially restaurants. The heat here is also part of the reason for that. The Lafayette which hosted the fundraiser has closed temporarily. Manhattan has begun to feel the effects as well. And I’m sorry to have to add that Ralph Meecher didn’t make it either.” She paused and had to collect herself again as she was reminded of Frank.

  The screen held her frozen face.

  “His wife, sons and brother have been notified,” she continued. “We don’t know his daughter’s status. Funeral arrangements will be released as soon as they’re available. His brother has asked that instead of flowers, people make donations to the Sierra Club and specify that it’s for them to continue their fight to shut down old coal power plants and prevent construction of new gas pipelines.” She paused as Stacey alerted her that something else was coming.

  “We have Vice President Morris about to address the nation from the White House,” she announced. “I should say President Morris now that he has taken over.” The screen focused on the President who stood behind a podium in the East Room. He was 62 years old with a full head of gray hair and horn-rimmed glasses. A receding chin made his Adam’s apple stand out. His bright red tie contrasted with a crisp white shirt. An American flag pin was attached to a lapel.

  “Good evening, my fellow Americans,” he said. “I want to assure you that your government is handling the current crisis caused by the death of our beloved President. His casket will be placed in the Capitol Rotunda tomorrow for people to stop and pay their respects. Speaker Blackman‘s body has been returned to Idaho where there will be a memorial service. I am working closely with my Cabinet to determine how to handle any problems that arise in Washington or any other part of the nation. The Senate has arranged to call an emergency meeting to consider what part it will play.” He paused. “At this point we have lost 879 of our fellow citizens to the new disease. You should know that there is going to be very strict enforcement of quarantines and jail time for any who resist. And we will be working with nationwide medical facilities to provide whatever assistance they need. The Armed Forces and National Guard are standing by to deal with any unrest, should that occur. I will continue to communicate with you daily about the current situation. In the meantime, you may rest assured that this Administration will succeed in getting us through this threat to your wellbeing.”

  He sure is pompous, Camellia thought as she headed home.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  LATE THE SAME NIGHT

  LIVING ROOM

  CAMELLIA’s TOWNHOUSE

  CAMELIA’S EYES WERE RED FROM CRYING when Kyle arrived. She was in a sweat shirt and shorts with the usual bare feet. A tattered brown teddy bear dangled as she held it by one arm.

  The condo had been cleaned and straightened up with everything back in place. There was a blank spot on the wall where the print with the broken glass used to hang.

  “I just heard about Frank,” Kyle said. “You should have called me.”

  “I’m not one to look for a shoulder to cry on,” Camellia replied.

  Kyle put down the pitcher that he’d glued back together and handed her the box of tissues he found on a side table. “Well, that definitely needs to change.” He went into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. “Here, drink this. You’re probably dehydrated with the crying, not to mention the heat. You need it cooler in here. I’ll go adjust the thermostat. And why won’t you cry on anyone’s shoulder anyhow?”

  Camellia was holding the pitcher. “Thanks for fixing this,” she said. She took a sip of water. Securing the teddy bear under an arm, she opened the box of tissues and took one out. She blew her nose and sank down on the couch, hugging the teddy bear to her chest. “You really want to know?”

  “I did the best I could with the vase, but it’s not perfect. And yes, I really do want to know.” He reset the air conditioning, returned and sat down next to her.

  “Perfect doesn’t matter. I can still keep it on its shelf, that’s all I care about.” Camellia tucked her feet under her body. She was silent for a moment. Kyle waited patiently for a response.

  “My dad left us when I’d just turned seven. Mom never got over it.” She blew her nose again and Kyle took the box from her, pulled out another tissue and gave it to her. She wiped her nose.

  “Mom had to work long hours cleaning the homes of wealthy women on the other side of town. We were the old wrong side of the tracks story, poor as church mice. Maybe poorer since they can usually find crumbs.” She shrugged. “She relied on me to watch my younger sister and brother. Makes you grow up fast, makes you tough.”

  “That’s crazy! A seven-year-old can hardly be expected to be a babysitter, at least not in America.”

  “Well she did. No more dolls for me after that. And I’d just gotten a secondhand Barbie for my birthday. I gave it to my little sister Harriet. I gave my only other decent toy, a stuffed rabbit to Billy. He loved it and has passed it on to his son. I guess that’s when I got into a habit of doing things for people. It wasn’t generosity. It just made me feel better. But I did keep Oscar. Even then he was too ratty to give to them.” She hugged the teddy bear.

  Kyle’s response was instant. “Of course you kept him.”

  “After dad left Mom hated men, all men. No exceptions, not even the neighbor who gave us his cow’s milk. She kept telling me men would use you and ditch you, use you and ditch you, use you and ditch you.” She shook her head. “You can see that sank in.” Camellia ran her hand along the teddy bear’s soft back, fingered a tear in one of its ears and sighed. “I need to fix this. Don’t have the right color thread. Anyhow, she was really beautiful, but you could hardly tell it. I didn’t realize at the time it was partly that her clothes were basically rags, and she certainly couldn’t afford make-up or a decent haircut. She made sure we had dental care but let her own teeth go since she couldn’t afford dental insurance. There was almost no public assistance where we lived, and she was too proud to accept whatever there was anyway.”

  “You do have perfect teeth. I’d guess you were grateful for that.”

  “I was. I am. And she always looked tired because she always was tired.” She fingered the tear in the teddy bear again and thought back. “There wasn’t money for clothes for us either, so we wore what Mom got from the women she worked for. It was hard on Harriet and Billy since the kids in school knew we were in their castoff clothes, and they felt ashamed. I was too proud to let it get to me. Besides, sometimes she took the clothes apart and remade them, so they looked new. She didn’t have a sewing machine, so she did it by hand. Even then I knew that was remarkable. And how she found time for it, I’ll never know.”

  Kyle reached over and touched her hair gently. “Cle
arly in some ways you’re a chip off the old block. I’d guess all that partly explains your clothes and certainly why you keep your distance.”

  “Right.” Her voice strengthened. “That and the constant harassment. Plenty of snakes in the grass.” She blew her nose hard this time.

  “Not all men are like that.”

  Camellia didn’t respond immediately, tilted her head, then said, “She was certainly wrong about Frank. His world revolved around Sujin and Bobby. He wanted to get ahead to be able to do more for them. He was working so hard to get a degree in journalism. We were going to have a party to celebrate on August tenth.” Tears ran down her face again. She didn’t bother to wipe them away.

  “Well, offering a shoulder to lean on isn’t harassment.” He leaned toward her and pulled her into his arms. “Go ahead. Cry.”

  Camellia pushed him away. “I can’t afford to look rotten on TV. My boss has made it very clear my job depends on my appearance.”

  Kyle was outraged. “That can’t be legal!”

  Camellia passed it off. “Law doesn’t apply to much these days, not even with the Me Too movement. I do what I’m told, I keep my job. I don’t, I lose it. I could probably win if I challenged that, but I’d never find another anchor spot. And more than anything I want to reach people. At least I’m not required to sleep with creeps. I’d quit first. Well, probably after punching them out.”

  “Thank god for that. And forget the damned TV for once.”

  “You almost never swear,” Camellia sniffled.

  “And you never ask for support. You always play hard-hearted and self-sufficient. It’s time for both of us to change.”

  Camellia put Oscar aside, leaned back against him and began to sob while he held her and stroked her hair.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  NEXT MORNING

  NIP OFFICE BUILDING

  IN FRONT

  MANHATTAN

  MASSES OF FLORAL BOUQUETS WERE PROPPED against the ten-story skyscraper that housed NIP with notes of condolence attached. Most of the blossoms were wilting in the persistent heat.

  Camellia and Owen had gone to the office to collect equipment for their trip to D.C. By the time they emerged from the building planning to head for the train station, a crowd had gathered near the entrance. An elderly woman handed Camellia a small bouquet of yellow roses. Another woman offered her a homemade cake wrapped in aluminum foil with a paper bag to hold it. And a child held out a teacup Yorkshire Terrier puppy. “Larry really wants Bobby to have this. We normally sell these, but in this case my son insisted it’s the right thing to do. Here are the papers showing he’s had his shots,” his mother said as she held out a packet of documents. “We looked up Korean boys’ names and picked Dong Woo.”

  Camellia was about to decline the puppy when Owen gathered it up and put it in an empty duffle bag that he was carrying, adding the documents to a side pocket. The puppy’s head and front paws stuck out. Camellia put the rest of the things in a large bag she slung over a shoulder. They thanked everyone for the gifts and headed away, looking for a cab. They didn’t get far before they encountered a group of angry protestors.

  “Stop talking about this disease, you’re going to cause riots!” someone yelled. “You’re not telling us everything,” came from another who disagreed. “You say there are 28 deaths in Manhattan. How can we believe that?” a woman demanded. “You shouldn’t have taken Trotford to Siberia!” came from another. “You’re killing tourism in New York!” someone else shrieked. Then a large man with a buzz cut and tattoos on his pale arms moved in on Camellia and shouted at her, “Fake news, you’re putting out fake news now. You should be fired!” Owen held the duffle bag to one side while he pushed him back. Fortunately, a NIP employee had seen the angry crowd and dialed 911. Several police arrived, pulled him away and calmed the crowd down.

  Owen and Camellia found a cab in the midst of it and took off for Penn station.

  “What on earth are we going to do about this puppy?” Camellia asked.

  “I’ll keep it until you can get it to Bobby. It could be a godsend.”

  “True. Thanks. Hopefully they won’t give us a hard time about it on the train. This is getting out of hand,” Camellia added.

  “It’s so tiny they won’t know we have it. But the situation is likely to get worse,” Owen replied. “Journalists are already being attacked as purveyors of fake news and enemies of the people, and even though NIP is the darling of most attackers, some people know you don’t always tow the line especially since your interview with Hardin. You ought to start exiting the building from the back and be careful about where you go and certainly not go anywhere alone any more. You might want to get some pepper spray.”

  “That’s no way to live.”

  “True, but that’s the way it is.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  LATER THE SAME DAY

  OUTSIDE THE DIRKSEN BUILDING

  WASHINGTON D.C.

  A LARGE CONTINGENT OF WELL-ARMED POLICE SURROUNDED THE DISORDERLY CROWD gathered in front of the Dirksen building that Senators used for committee hearings. The seven-story building was faced in white marble. Trees and flower beds lined both sides of the entrance. This time signs read: NO MORE QUARANTINE, LOCK UP RESISTERS, FIND A CURE!, CAN TROTFORD, VACCINES KILL, SAVE THE ARCTIC!, NO MORE PIPELINES!, and QUARANTINE THE AFFLICTED, among other similar slogans. A few nurses held VACCINATE EVERYONE signs. The protester with the pointed white sheet, eyes cut out crookedly and a rope tied around his waist stood off to one side next to a few polar bears sweating in their encompassing outfits. Another activist wore a makeshift cardboard Uncle Sam hat and waved an American flag. There was a lot of shouting and shoving, but no outright fights yet.

  Owen took the puppy out of his duffle bag and let it pee on the grass. Then he put Dong Woo back in the bag and placed it on the ground next to another of his satchels and set up his equipment while Camellia checked out her microphone. There was no wind, so it didn’t present a problem. But the dead air made the heat even less tolerable. She ran a hand across her forehead. A few reporters from CNN and NBC stood nearby. Most had already gone into the Senate building.

  “We’re live in D.C.,” Camellia said. “You’ll see that people are pretty upset.”

  Owen panned to the crowd. Two officers were dragging off the protester in the Uncle Sam hat who had struck one of the polar bear activists. A friend was helping him up from the ground. He pressed a paper towel to his bleeding nose. A couple of other policemen were trying to separate the sheeted figure from a girl holding a sign that read, CLIMATE CHANGE IS HARDER ON MINORITIES. It proved to be a challenge since he’d caught her up in his sheet.

  Owen returned to Camellia. “The death count from the disease in D.C. has exploded to 1429. The Senate has already met in closed session to deal with the increase here,” she continued. “There will be even stricter enforcement now of quarantines, and a dozen people have now been jailed as a result. President Morris has arranged for doctors and nurses to be flown in from other States to help deal with the flood of victims crowded into D.C. hospitals that are already overwhelmed. There isn’t enough intensive care space, and that’s a huge problem. I understand deaths from the current heat wave are only adding to the challenges.” She could see that there was a commotion behind her. “You can tell people are becoming even angrier.”

  He panned to the crowd again. This time five officers were trying to contain several of the anti-vaccine protesters who had assaulted the nurses with VACCINATE EVERYONE signs. One of the girls in a heavy polar bear suit had collapsed from the heat. Another one held her in his lap, pulled the costume’s head off and poured water down her throat.

  “Where to put the bodies is a problem,” Camellia continued, “since the morgues are also dealing with heat victims. They’re having to delay some burials.” She paused. “I’m afraid this is more really bad news. Supreme Court Judge Charles Grantham has died. They’re not
sure yet if the other judges will be okay. They’ve been vaccinated. Arrangements for his funeral will be announced soon. Back to NIP in New York now. More from me tomorrow.”

  As he packed up his equipment Owen said, “We’re done, right? Let’s get a cab and head for the station or would you rather do Uber?”

  Camellia hesitated. “You go on. I’m meeting Kyle after the hearing.”

  “It’s Kyle now, not Hardin?” he said. “You two are getting along?”

  “We’re just following up on the trip.”

  “Sure you are.” He was amused. “A world-class jerk, right?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I always did think the chemistry could prove a challenge for you two, and,” he added, “I don’t think you’re going to be able to dump him the way you have the rest of them.”

  “Take Dong Woo. I’ll get back to you about retrieving him,” was all she said.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  SAME AFTERNOON

  WASHINGTON D.C.

  THE ATMOSPHERE IN THE SENATE HEARING ROOM WAS ELECTRIC. It seemed as though almost every participant was holding his breath.

  Everyone that is, except Kyle who appeared relaxed. His hair had grown slightly longer but wasn’t touching his collar yet. He wore a gray suit and a tie covered with small butterflies. He hadn’t bothered to polish his boots.

  A number of Committee members were seated behind a long curved rostrum that rose well above the table opposite it where Kyle and Douglas Trotford sat. Each committee member was provided with a name placard and mic. Reporters from all the major networks slouched on the burgundy rug in front of the dais. They held cameras and other equipment. The rows of seats behind Kyle and Trotford were filled with members of the public eager to hear the testimony.

  The Committee Chair was ready to start. He wore a pin-striped suit with wide lapels, an American flag pin attached to one of them. Reading glasses kept slipping down his nose. As he pushed them back, he faced Senator Trotford who was sitting directly across from him at a long table. “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered,” he said. “Can you tell this Committee what you make of your trip, your illness and what you think we should do?”