End Days Super Boxset (75 page)

Greg walked inside and went straight to the break room for a cup of coffee. The small room had a circular table with chairs in the center above a green tile floor. A scuffed-up white counter held cups, sugar packets, and utensils. His boss, Allen Keller, was standing at the coffee machine, pouring his own cup. An old air conditioner unit hummed overhead.

His boss looked over as Greg entered the room and said good morning.

“Morning, Allen,” Greg said, trying to gauge Allen’s mood. He placed his work satchel on one of the four chairs and grabbed a Styrofoam cup. His boss was slightly older than him but shorter with slicked-back black hair and a mustache. He wore the same red polo work shirt and brown Dockers daily, with his badge hanging over his chest.

“We got three houses on the list for you today,” Allen said. He kept stirring cream into his coffee without looking up.

“Three?” Greg said. He felt his heart sink, as he had hoped it would be a short Monday. He wanted to bypass his job for the day and look into the Ebola thing. He couldn't shake it from his mind. Whenever Greg got focused on something, he didn't quit until the job was done. But there was work to do, and he'd have to wait.

“Go see Pam, she's got all the printouts.”

Greg nodded, and they both sipped coffee in brief silence until the door swung open and other technicians emerged.

“You guys hear? One of our troops coming back from Liberia has Ebola, and they're treating him near here,” Ralph, a fidgety fast-talker with a crew cut, announced to the room.

“Did they actually confirm which hospital?” Greg asked.

“I heard Carson Tahoe,” Guillermo, another coworker, said.

“Could just be a rumor,” Allen said.

Ralph turned to Allen and scoffed. “This is some serious shit. You know, that Ebola will kill you if you get it.”

Greg stood back and observed. He wanted verification on the hospital but knew he would find out in time. Ralph and Guillermo began talking over each other, and it was pointless for Greg to interject.

Allen took a sip of his coffee and then responded. “You can only transmit Ebola by the bodily fluids of an infected person. That's it. How many times do they have to say it?”

“Yeah, but—” Ralph began.

Allen cut him off. “Thousands of people die of the flu each year. I don't see anyone freaking out about that.”

“That's different. There's like an 80 percent mortality rate with Ebola,” Guillermo said. “What if it becomes airborne? Then we’re totally screwed.”

Allen laughed. “Impossible.”

Greg walked through the group, excusing himself. “Got work to do, gentlemen.” They continued their argument as he left the room.

Greg strolled through the office area to his associate dispatcher Pam's office. She was a sour, twice-divorced woman who always wore black, and had worn the same blonde, shoulder-length haircut for years. She spun around in her chair and handed him a small stack of papers. “These are your appointments for the day. Enjoy.”

Greg took the papers and walked off. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Always,” she said, looking down and riffling through more paperwork.

It was a long day, much to Greg's frustration, and all-in-all, he did one installation and two repairs. Throughout the day, it was hard for him to think of anything outside of Ebola. He hadn’t been so consumed with Ebola news since last year when the Liberian man brought the disease to Dallas. He thought the CDC was full of it then, and when he heard that the president authorized up to three thousand troops to provide relief to West Africa, he was beside himself.

But maybe he didn't understand the geo-political context of the matter. For a working-class outsider like himself, it didn't make much sense to put so many soldiers in the middle of countries plagued with a deadly disease. But the plan seemed to have worked, and the countries soon made recoveries. Only the military, with its discipline and organization, could have done it. Greg considered that he, like many others, had misjudged the situation and had gone overboard in his distrust of the government. Now all that mistrust was coming back to him full-force.

Driving home for the day and listening to the radio news, Greg had several stops he wanted to make and knew exactly where he wanted to stop first: none other than his favorite bookstore in town, Kit's Books Depot, named after the famous mountain man, Kit Carson, who inspired the very name of the city where Greg lived. He needed more Ebola information, and while the Internet was a great tool, there was one particular reason he liked the bookstore, and it involved a bookstore employee named Veronica.

The local news continued.
“…Officials today released the name and location of the soldier being treated in Carson City. Sergeant Timothy Shields, with the US Army Corps of Engineers, is currently being held at the Carson City Hospital, where doctors say that his condition has shown signs of improvement.”

“That's good,” Greg said out loud. He took a left turn onto a side street leading to the city's old-fashioned business district. The colorful mural on the side of the bookstore building was in sight.

“…But we've also received information of several hospital employees recently absent from their shifts. Talk 95.5 local news has not confirmed whether these staff members have merely stayed away from the hospital out of concern of the Ebola virus or if there are other reasons. One source speculated that some workers showed early symptoms of the disease, but nothing as of now has been confirmed. The hospital has released a statement saying that they've taken every precaution to contain the disease and that there are no other cases reported at this time.”

“Oh crap,” Gary said, staring ahead. If what they were saying on the radio were true, he would have his work cut out for him in preparing for a possible outbreak. The threat had grown too real.

It was an hour before closing time, and the local bookstore was moderately busy with people like Greg who had just gotten off of work deciding to avoid rush-hour traffic by spending some time in the aisles of the bookstore instead. The place had everything: marked-down collectables, comic books, DVDs, CDs, records, tapes, and of course, books of all genres, stacked in shelves that reached to the ceiling. It had been a while since Greg had last visited, and he had no idea where to even start.

To approach the desk and simply ask for Ebola books would have sped the process up, but Greg desired tact above all. He would start broad and find some books on historical outbreaks and protection against contagious diseases. As he opened the door and went inside, a
ping
sounded. He continued past a few display cases of antique figurines and went straight for the book section. There was an elderly woman at the checkout counter to his left, but no sign of Veronica. If anyone could help him find the right book, she could.

Greg walked between the shelves, squeezing by other customers and toward the nonfiction. He could always have gone to the library instead, but that was on the other side of town and not on the way home from work. Greg liked the low-key, old-fashioned aura of the place. It felt comforting. He scanned the shelves, seeing if anything caught his eye, when a familiar, light female voice sounded from behind him.

“Hello stranger!” a woman's voice said.

Greg turned around and saw Veronica standing at a book cart, smiling. She had cut her black hair shorter since the last time he had seen her. It was now shoulder length, and one side swept forward slightly over her cheekbone.

Her gray eyes were a fitting match for her dark hair. Her face beamed, and she always donned red lipstick. She had an orange work apron over her sleek, long-sleeve black shirt and blue jeans. Crystal earrings glistened under the overhead store lights. She was probably younger than Greg, but they had never gotten to the point of discussing their ages.

However much younger she was, Greg had a feeling about her, an instinct. She was tough and knowledgeable. He didn't know much about her personal life, but she was the only person that he felt comfortable discussing prepping with.

“You got your hair cut,” he said.

“I sure did,” she said with a laugh.

Greg smiled. “It looks nice.”

“Thanks,” she said, touching his shoulder. “Haven't seen you in a while. Thought you might have found a new bookstore.”

“Not a chance,” Greg said. “Where else am I going to find used books
and
board games from the 1970s?”

They shared a lighthearted laugh as Greg looked at his watch.

“I know you're closing soon, but I was hoping to pick up some books on diseases.”

“Yikes,” she said, straightening the books on the push cart. “Anything specific?”

“Outbreak stuff. And anything you might have on Ebola.”

Veronica's eyes moved upward on the shelves as she nodded. “Ebola?” She glanced at the bookshelf he was standing next to. Greg moved out of her way as she scanned the titles.

“You ever read about the influenza pandemic of 1918?” she asked. “Crazy stuff.”

“Yeah, I've read all about that. Just unbelievable.”

Suddenly, a young couple squeezed by Greg and Veronica, excusing themselves. The blond and petite girl stopped and turned to Veronica, noticing the work badge pinned on her orange apron.

“Excuse me, do you know where all your
Harry Potter
books are at? My boyfriend wants to ask, but he's too embarrassed.”

“Sally!” the disheveled boy said with his face turning red.

Veronica stepped forward to smooth things over. “Hey, there's nothing to be ashamed about. I get people twice your age asking all the time.”

“That's what I tell him, and he still thinks he has to hide it.”

“Greg, you like
Harry Potter
, right?” Veronica said, turning to him with a smile.

Greg stammered and scratched his chin. “Uh, can't say I ever read them before, but they're fine books, I'm sure.”

She turned back to the young couple. “See, he's old and says
Potter
is okay, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Greg felt at tad awkward being referred to as old. He was in his forties, to be sure, but not accustomed to being called out for it.

She led the couple to a short aisle that ran between all the shelves and pointed. “Young adult section, third shelf down. You'll find all the
Harry Potter
books.”

She turned back to Greg. “Now, where were we?”

“You were calling me old,” Greg said.

Veronica let out an abrupt laugh, almost too loud. “I'm sorry, Greg, I didn't know you're so sensitive.”

“I'm not,” Greg said. “For the record, I'm forty-two.”

Veronica didn't miss a beat. “And I'm thirty-two, so what? You look very young for your age, if that means anything.”

“Thank you, now about an Ebola book.”

“Yes, Ebola. I'm sure we can find something around here that suits your fancy.”

They looked through the shelves, and Veronica found two books on Ebola written in the 1990s and another book about epidemics throughout history. Greg came across some technical books explaining decontamination procedures, which looked painfully tedious to read, but informative nonetheless. He felt as if he had enough to digest over the next few weeks. The Internet would take care of the rest.

Veronica took him up to the checkout counter to ring up his purchases. The elderly woman was nowhere to be seen. Greg looked around the bookstore, taking notice of how tightly contained everything was. It felt stuffy inside, and there were people everywhere. It was at that moment when he decided to start gearing up. He would need masks, HAZMAT suits, and decontamination gear. He would have to take whatever precautions necessary to combat a possible outbreak. If he was wrong in the end, he still considered it an endeavor worth making.

Veronica placed his books in a beige tote bag and handed it to him with his receipt. “Here you are, Greg. You get a free tote bag with buying three or more books.” She leaned in closer, held her hand to her mouth, and whispered. “Only if you're a valued customer, of course, so don't tell anyone else.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

Veronica's eyes dropped, and a more serious expression came over her face. “Are you prepping for Ebola?”

“How'd you guess?” Greg asked semi-sarcastically.

“You really think it's that serious?” she asked. “I mean, is it something
I
should be concerned about?”

She was aware of his past history of book purchases dealing with everything from natural disasters to economic crashes, and knew that he had serious views. Veronica wasn't a prepper, but whenever she saw Greg, he got the wheels of concern turning in her mind.

“I think everyone should be concerned about it. Ebola has only been around a few decades, and the last outbreak in West Africa was the largest ever.”

“But that could never happen here, right?”

Greg looked into her eyes and tried to give his most honest assessment. “I don't know. But I plan to be ready for it.”

Veronica looked up and saw that there were other customers standing behind Greg. “Keep me posted,” she said, looking past him.

Greg turned slightly and noticed a bespectacled man waiting behind him. He turned back to Veronica and held up his tote bag with a smile. “I sure will. Thanks again, Veronica.”

“My pleasure. Don't be a stranger.”

Greg wasn't sure what made him do it, but something pushed him to add one fleeting comment. “Of course, if you'd like to get coffee or something sometime, we can talk about it some more.”

Her face was hard to read, and she didn’t respond right away, but she didn't seem opposed to the idea either. It almost looked as if Greg had made her blush. “Sure, that would be great.”

Greg drove home with a lot on his mind. He had a busy work week ahead of him, and he had a lot of prepping to do on the side. There would be plenty of chatter about Ebola in the prepper chat rooms that he could draw from. Like many others, he considered the possibility of the disease going airborne but also believed the chances relatively slim.

Just because Ebola couldn't be airborne doesn't mean that it wasn't highly contagious
. He thought of his coworkers and their concerns, and about what measures he could take to prep his house for an outbreak. Lastly, he thought briefly of Veronica, and how he wanted to help her, if things came to that.

The outside air had noticeably cooled with evening’s approach. Along the street, pine trees swayed in the slight breeze. Dogs barked into the night as airplanes flew overhead. Beyond the routine normalcy of quiet neighborhoods and the busy lights of Carson City, a desert lay in the distance, looking like an ocean of black.

Somewhere in the heart of the city, among the skyscrapers, restaurants, hotels, traffic lights, and theaters sat Carson Tahoe, Northern Nevada's main hospital. Within its walls, in an undisclosed location, Sergeant Tim Shields was being held and treated for the Ebola virus: one of many medical or military personnel who had somehow carried the disease back home despite a lengthy screening process.

Greg drove under the streetlights of his residential neighborhood until reaching home, conveniently located at the end of a cul-de-sac. Living at such a spot gave him a view of anyone driving through their neighborhood. He wasn't a paranoid man, but he knew that there were some people still out there looking for him, people from a life he had led before moving to Carson City under a new identity. It was a past he rarely gave much thought to as of late, but the memories still reared their ugly head every now and then. Greg believed in pushing forward, and above all, survival. He parked his van in the driveway and went into the house, carrying his tote bag of books.

Lights were on in the windows of the homes around him. It was dinner time, and almost everyone was home from work, eating and watching TV. Greg's home was first among four others that circled the cul-de-sac. His modern, one-story two-bedroom was not as imposing as the larger homes nearby. Most of them were two-story or, if one-story, at least twice as long as his. It was a nice neighborhood though, for the most part. There were families, couples, and retirees in the diverse and friendly neighborhood.

Greg, however, remained low-key, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. His prepping was his business, and he was a strong believer in exhibiting OPSEC, Operational Security, in any situation. The less they knew about him, the better. His Red Light Security van was unmistakable though.

As Greg walked in, Captain rushed to the door to greet him. It was obviously the most exciting part of the dog's day as he jumped up and stood with his front paws against Greg's stomach, panting exasperatingly.

“That's a good boy. Are you happy to see me?” Greg said, patting him.

Captain barked as Greg scratched his head behind his ears vigorously. His brown eyes gleamed. His teeth were exposed in an opened-mouth smile.

“You wanna go outside? Is that what you want?”

Captain barked again.

“Then let's do it! Let's get you outside!”

Greg ran to the back door as Captain followed. As soon as the door was opened, Captain shot past him and ran outside into the back yard. Greg watched Captain with affection as the dog grabbed a purple ball in his mouth and darted off behind the bushes. He was a fine-looking German shepherd and a loyal companion at that.

After feeding Captain, Greg took his boots off, got out of his work clothes, and changed into shorts and a T-shirt. He turned the TV on, as he always did when making a meal, and heated up some leftover pasta in the microwave. Not surprisingly, more Ebola news echoed throughout the living room. Greg sat in his favorite recliner with the warm pasta bowl in his hand and flipped through the channels in search of any new developments.

All the nightly newscasts carried the same reports of Ebola patients in the US. It was a particularly hot issue because the patients contracted the disease following a military deployment, which, in some circles, put the blame squarely on the federal government.

An agitated male pundit in a TV roundtable discussion continued.
“What do we even know about this disease other than what the CDC tells us? It seems like it changes every day. We hear of medical personnel in full protective gear still getting infected. And when that happens, the CDC blames the victim by saying that they must not have followed procedures correctly.”

A woman with frizzy hair interjected.
“The CDC has remained consistent on its procedures from day one. This is a desperate attempt by opportunists like yourself to gin up panic where it needn't be.”

“You're deflecting, Mary. Americans have every right to be concerned. We were promised that all personnel from Operation United Assistance would be screened prior to returning to the US. We were told that the chances of Ebola spreading were unlikely. Now the government is wrong on both accounts. And you want to just keep believing whatever they tell us. It's unacceptable.”