The couple in back looked mollified, and Hannah even laughed at the teenager's expense.
Ellie's eyes were back on the road, but even so she thought she saw Hal's blush deepen as he gave her a hurt look. She felt bad for that, but honestly . . . what did the kid think was going to happen here?
Still, her jibe was a bit unfair, and she couldn't help but feel even more guilty when Brock spoke up, his amused tone on the verge of mocking. “You know you asked for that. Seriously, dude, dream on.”
To the teenager's credit, he did his best to laugh it off. “Yeah, I know. Can you blame me, though . . . cute, gutsy, and a heck of a driver? I'd kick myself for not at least trying.” He slouched in his seat and lowered the back a bit, as if drawing attention to his sudden nonchalance. “Not to mention, you know, you being the only girl I can be sure won't potentially give me a horrible disease that'll get me killed.”
Ellie couldn't help but laugh at that, mostly because she was still riding the rush of what they'd just survived.
She found a good road and continued on, encountering no more roadblocks as they left LA behind and continued on to I-15.
Chapter Six: Carpool
Nick was shocked at how quickly things went downhill.
The government's efforts to quarantine the outbreak in Kansas City had proven too little, too late. He would've said laughably so, if there was anything funny about this situation. It had been less than twelve hours since the announcement of the Zolos outbreak at the airport, and since then hundreds more cases had been reported in the city, alarmingly scattered across both sides of the Missouri River.
Experts predicted the number of cases would skyrocket to a thousand by morning, at which point the number would rise exponentially.
At least emergency services had finally got their act together and begun closing off affected areas, isolating the infected as much as they could. The word was also getting out to people on their phones with emergency alerts, on TV, all over the internet, and even by patrol cars driving down streets blaring messages on their loudspeakers.
There was a lot of excitement going on out there, although Nick had seen barely any of it personally. Aside from glimpsing emergency vehicles blazing by through the apartment's windows. He'd spent most of the day browsing the news on his computer in his office, while the kids watched movies or played in the den.
Since he'd recently put them to bed, at the usual hour in spite of their protests that this was a special occasion, he'd moved into the living room himself to watch on the TV, wrapped in a blanket and half dozing.
He felt an odd sense of lassitude in spite of the dire situation. None of the companies he was consulting for had called him to announce a change of plans, and he still had that workload and a mountain of debt hanging over his head. But he had no desire to dive into work at the moment, and had a feeling if he tried he'd just end up going in circles.
So Nick lounged on the futon and watched things spiral out of control, helpless to do anything and feeling like a spectator to the end of the world.
At the moment he was watching a press conference featuring an administrator for the Federal Emergency Task Force named Henry Pohler, who was reporting on national efforts to contain the burgeoning pandemic and administer aid to those already infected.
He used a lot of flowery language, dense, poorly explained statistics, unnecessary big words, and highly technical terms, interspersed with feel-good soundbites about how they were doing everything they could and the situation was well in hand.
Nick was no expert on that sort of obfuscating political lingo, or even the similar business lingo since he mostly operated on the technical side of things; that had always been Ellie's strength. Still, it didn't take a genius to see how nervous Pohler looked and sounded, or how he rushed his speech and stumbled over words.
And for that matter, Nick did have a head for statistics, even deliberately muddy and misrepresented ones, and what he was hearing from this guy was making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
Pohler finally wound down his speech and fell silent for a moment. Then, with the look of a man standing in front of a firing squad, he took a deep breath and said. “This concludes FETF's statement. Any questions?”
Oh boy, were there. The dozens of reporters packing the room surged to their feet and raised a tide of fearful and angry voices, nearly bowling the administrator off his feet.
Finally a reporter about Nick's age, more casually dressed than the others in the room, jumped out of the crowd and raised her voice above the clamor until the man behind the podium nodded to her. “Sir, that was a very artfully worded statement, if a bit hard to unwrap. To be absolutely crystal clear, are you saying that Federal emergency services do not have the resources to handle this catastrophe?”
The official shifted uncomfortably, giving her a sickly smile. “We are currently collaborating with state and local services, as well as private sources, to make up the shortfall. Rest assured, we're doing everything in our pow-”
“Sir!” the woman cut in sharply. “That sounds an awful lot like a no. Where did all the tax dollars your organization has vacuumed up over the years gone? Hundred thousand dollar toilet seats?”
Pohler looked visibly irked, although he fought to keep his voice smooth. “There are somewhere in the area of 327 million people in the United States. The Federal Emergency Task Force was created to manage localized emergencies like hurricanes, grid outages, and terrorist attacks. We've made inroads into preparations for more large scale disasters, but you have to understand that supporting the entire population of this country even short term is a logistical impossibility.”
“Then you admit you dropped the ball,” the reporter called, sounding almost triumphant. As if the important thing here was scoring points and making FETF look bad, right when everyone was depending on the task force to keep them all alive.
And, for that matter, just when FETF needed the public's confidence and support to do their jobs.
The administrator seemed to be thinking the same thing. “Everyo-” he began in a furious voice, then took a sharp breath and once again moderated his tone. “We have given the citizens of this country detailed guidelines on preparing for disasters. We have made extensive efforts to encourage people to prepare themselves. Yet in spite of this, barely a fraction of our population has more than a few days' worth of food and water stored away, and almost no other emergency supplies or preparations. In a power outage few even have ready access to light sources, and fewer still to sources of heating.”
Another reporter, a tall man with perfect hair, cut in incredulously. “So wait, you're blaming the citizens of this nation for the fact that you dropped the ball? How do you think that plays out for you in the next elections?”
Nick shook his head in amused disbelief. The government was outright telling them they weren't equipped to manage a crisis that could spell the end of their society, and this guy was talking about elections?
Pohler seemed equally incredulous. “Sir, blame is the last thing on our minds,” he said quietly. “We're focused on the reality of the situation. And the situation is that a pandemic of this scale was too big for the government to realistically prepare for, and the citizens of this country did not adequately take responsibility for preparing for their own needs.” He held out his hands, genuinely helpless. “So here we are, all doing the best we can.”
A short, terrible silence filled the room. Then an older reporter, serious and troubled, spoke quietly. “Sir, you've spoken of FETF's efforts to respond to this disaster. You haven't mentioned how bad it will be. What can we expect to happen, say, over the next week?”
The administrator looked away, studiously examining the podium. “It would be rash to speculate until we have concrete conclusions. And even then, you know that information would likely remain classified for national security reasons.”
“Zolos is in twenty major cities and who knows how many minor ones!” the serious repor
ter declared. “What is the death toll going to be, even if the spread of the disease is stopped in its tracks? How many innocent people are going to die?”
Nick felt a leaden weight in his gut. He was sure the man wouldn't answer a question like that, but he desperately wanted to know.
Pohler coughed. “As I said, it would be rash to speculate. Next que-”
“Thirty million.”
Heads in the room whipped towards a man standing near the back, dressed in a slightly rumpled cheap suit. Nick noticed that at the sides of the room security were already starting to push towards him.
“I beg your pardon?” the man behind the podium demanded, glaring at the reporter with narrowed eyes.
The rumpled man continued in a firm voice. “Based on every reliable bit of information the government has been willing to release, or that I've managed to get my hands on from other sources, the spread has been exponential at every single outbreak point. And considering those points are all international airports, ie heavy traffic hubs, this pandemic was already running wild before we were even aware of the threat.”
He paused solemnly. “But even if the disease is miraculously contained solely to those currently infected, the mortality rate of Zolos points to just over thirty million deaths in the United States alone.”
That announcement was greeted by a deafening clamor from the other reporters. Demanding to know if the rumpled man's estimation was correct, or just generally freaking out at what they'd just heard. The weight in Nick's gut became a churning pain that forced him to swallow bile; if that reporter was correct, that meant almost ten percent of the population was already doomed.
And the pandemic was just getting started.
Whether or not the man was right, security reached him soon after that and quickly ushered him towards the door. “That number is a complete fabrication!” Pohler shouted angrily over the babble, creating a burst of feedback from the mic. “I don't know what absurd massaging of statistics or outright guesswork went into it, but let me state very clearly that it is not accurate!”
The woman who'd asked the first question managed to once again speak over the clamor of her fellow reporters. “It's the only number we have at the moment! Unless you want to set us straight?”
The FETF administrator threw up his hands in disgust. “Any more questions?” There was another deafening wave of voices, mostly still focused on the death toll. By some miracle Pohler managed to pick something out of that. “You, sir!” he called, pointing. “You have a question about the source of the outbreak?”
A rather dazed looking man, obviously surprised that he'd managed to get his question through, stammered slightly as he raised his voice above the tumult. “Have we discovered where Zolos originated? Was it manufactured? Did some country or organization deliberately release it as a biological attack?”
The administrator looked like he regretted picking that particular question out of the babble. “As yet we know little about where it came from. The first recorded outbreak took place in Heathrow Airport in London, the patient a passenger who'd come on a flight from JFK in New York City. We cannot determine at this time if either airport was the point of origin, or if the patient was infected by another passenger from elsewhere.”
Pohler glanced off to the side, and a look of relief swept across his face. “This concludes the question/answer portion of this meeting! Thank you for your time.” Without another word he turned and darted for the exit behind the stage.
The video ended there, although Nick couldn't help but wonder if he was the only one who'd reached the obvious conclusion from Pohler's response about the death toll: if the number had been lower than that reporter's guess of thirty million, wouldn't the administrator have offered it up to help offset a panic?
How bad was this situation, really?
“Dad?”
Nick turned to see Ricky standing in the doorway, wrapped in his blanket. “Couldn't sleep?”
His son nodded. Normally Nick would've sent him straight back to bed if he was up wandering at this hour, but this situation wasn't normal, and Ricky had been through a frightening situation at school. So he patted the futon next to him in silent invitation.
His son came over and curled up against the other raised armrest. “I heard shouting outside,” he said as he stared at the TV, which currently showed the video's ending screen and the countdown to load the next video.
Nick had been about to back out and look for something else to watch, or maybe hop on the KCNBS livestream that had been his go-to for news for most of the day. But at that announcement he stood and stepped over to the window, peering cautiously outside and listening.
He didn't hear anything. “Was it close by?” His son shook his head, and he relaxed a bit. “Wouldn't be the first time people have shouted at night. Just part of living in this part of the city.” A worrying part, admittedly.
“I guess.” Ricky burrowed deeper into his blanket, voice coming out tiny. “There was a lot of people shouting at the school.”
“Yeah, people act different when they're scared or angry. That's another reason it's good we're shut up in the apartment . . . nobody will bother us here.” Nick settled back down on the futon and opened the KCNBS livestream.
Unfortunately, the news there was just more cause to worry.
“-Mayor has ordered the closing of all high-traffic locations,” Susanna was saying grimly as it loaded. “All public spaces, including stores, restaurants, parks, and entertainment venues, are to be closed until further notice. All citizens are strongly encouraged to remain in their homes, and to not admit any visitors. If you must go outside, avoid contact and even close proximity with other people and living animals who might be carriers of the Zolos virus.”
“They're closing stores?” Ricky demanded incredulously. “How are people going to get food?”
Nick thought that was a surprisingly mature and astute observation from his eight-year-old son, until he remembered how super disappointed Ricky had been that he hadn't bothered to pick up much in the way of candy or other treats while buying emergency food supplies. His son had been begging him ever since making that awful discovery to go back to the store and buy more stuff, and had even gone so far as to write up a list.
On the bright side, after looking at what the boy had written down the silver lining to this situation was that at least they'd be eating more healthy than that for the time being.
He left Ricky curled up on the couch and went into his office, calling Ellie on his phone. To his vast relief she answered almost immediately. “Nick? Is everything okay?”
“Just checking in,” he replied. “Things are getting crazy here, but we're settled in at the apartment, ready for the long haul.”
“Great.” She sounded distracted. “This isn't the best time to talk. I'm doing some inventive driving, looking for a gas station at the moment.”
“You found a car, then?” That was a huge relief.
“Only cost me my whole savings. Hopefully I can get it reimbursed.” He could imagine her shaking her head wryly as she continued. “Anyway, fingers crossed we'll be back in KC in a day or so. I'll call in the morning to check in.”
“Okay.” Nick paused. “Be careful, Ells, okay?”
“Yeah.” The call ended abruptly; she hated to drive and talk even at the best of times.
Nick pocketed his phone and headed to his office's window, the one that opened out onto the fire escape. The city looked normal for this time of night, the windows of all the visible houses and apartments lit, the streetlights creating pools of light, and headlights passing on the streets. Although fewer of those than usual.
He'd thought things were bad when his financial troubles started, when he'd had to work longer and longer hours. Impatient when Ellie or the kids had no qualms about interrupting him because he was literally working in the next room and they wanted to see him. Guilty about having to send them away, trapped in his office like some kind of cave troll try
ing to make ends meet.
He'd thought things were bad when Ellie had started pulling away, started wanting to spend more and more of his limited time talking about the troubles in their relationship instead of using those precious moments to enjoy the time they had together. Then when she finally told him things weren't working and it was time to end it.
He'd thought things were bad when he went through the divorce, gentle as it was compared to some horror stories he'd heard. When he had to adjust to seeing his kids only half the time, being alone for the rest of it. No time or money to date, even if his heart or spirit had been up to putting himself out there again.
He'd thought it was bad when his debts became unmanageable, trying to juggle finances to pay for Ellie's house and his apartment and their student loans and the kids and all their expenses with their combined incomes and dwindling savings. As he got deeper and deeper into the red until he was crushed under the weight and couldn't see a way out.
But even as bad as things had been then, even though he couldn't imagine them getting any worse, he'd been wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.
This was a nightmare.
Nick had known it was a nightmare the moment he pulled Tallie and Ricky from the madhouse their school had turned into, of course. When some shameful part of him had hesitated for just an instant in hugging them in relief when he finally found them, because he wondered if they'd been exposed to a deadly disease and he might catch it himself.
He'd known it was a nightmare when he had to print out copies of that quarantine warning notice and plaster them on the door and windows of his apartment, then lock the place up for the foreseeable future. And his motivation had been more to keep this dread Zolos virus away from his kids than the slight chance that they'd somehow picked it up.
At least they were safe at home; he couldn't even imagine what Ellie must be going through, struggling to get back to them through the chaos of a nation reeling from a spreading pandemic. He just hoped that now that she was in a car and on the road there'd be no more problems, and he and the kids would see her soon.
Isolation (Book 1): Shut In Page 10
