End Days Super Boxset (76 page)

The host of the show, a man with a British accent, cut in.
“I think it's fair to say that there is a certain amount of incompetence on the part of the government in dealing with this disease, but we also have to consider the overall low numbers of those infected with Ebola when compared to other contagions.”

“I'd take the flu over Ebola any day,”
the man said back.

Greg shut off the television and rose from his recliner. TV time was over. He walked down the hall to his computer room as Captain followed, and placed the bag of books on top of his desk. He turned on his laptop and the overhead office lamp. He knew the basics of hunkering down in the event of an outbreak: bleach, Lysol, windows duct-taped, controlled ventilation, and plastic lining to cover the windows, but he wanted to know more. After some brief Ebola page-turning, he typed up a shopping list:

N95 respirator

Surgical mask

Surgical hood

Face shield

Eye protection

Long-sleeved waterproof gown

Coveralls

Waterproof gloves

Latex gloves

Closed-toe shoes and shoe covers

Plastic lining

Duct-tape

Bleach

Peroxide

Sanitizer

He felt strange compiling the list, as if he were some mad scientist. However, during a real epidemic, he'd have no choice but to hunker down to avoid contamination. He began to estimate his current food and water supply and came to the conclusion that he had enough food to last him six months.

For full protection, he knew that he’d have to get a full HAZMAT suit—two suits, just in case. An on-line search showed them in prices ranging from one thousand to two grand. During his search, he also read an article about how the government had spent billions of dollars, just in the past year, purchasing HAZMAT suits at an unprecedented rate. Such a mass purchase was driving up the costs among retailers through simple supply and demand. But Greg did have a lifeline, a man he knew with real connections who could get him just about anything.

From his mysterious past, Greg knew the man as Xavier. They were associates once—spies in another life. Xavier, like Greg, was living in secret somewhere in “normalville,” USA. Greg didn’t like to reach out to him unless he really needed something. In this case, he needed two complete HAZMAT suits, and Xavier was the man to get them. Contacting him wouldn’t be easy. Greg knew the drill; He’d first have to get a disposable phone to make the call. He added it to the list and continued to prep.

Greg's garage had been transformed into a storage unit of sorts with just enough extra room for his weight bench and exercise gear. Near his washer and dryer machine he had a pallet of MREs hidden under a thick tarp. He also had a large rack containing five-gallon jugs of water. He was prepared for both food shortages and loss of water in the most extreme circumstances.

In the kitchen, his pantry was stocked with a variety of dried, canned, and pickled foods. Stored throughout his house were medical supplies, batteries, para cords, water filters, and items that could run without power, such as solar-operated hand-crank radios and flashlights. In addition to that, he had several boxes of chemical lights, or “ChemLights,” self-contained sticks which glow upon being snapped.

In the living room, there were plenty of books and jigsaw puzzles to keep his mind occupied. Greg owned an M4 Carbine rifle, a Mossberg 500 shotgun, and a 9mm Smith & Wesson pistol, all secured within his biometric weapon safe. The price of ammunition had been going through the roof, and his attempt to keep a healthy reserve of rifle, pistol, and shotgun ammunition on hand didn't come cheap.

Out back in his padlocked shed, he had tools, nails, and plywood. He even had a five-thousand-watt KW tactical quiet generator on hand. Fuel storage often proved problematic, due to the lifespan of stored fuel in containers; however, he regularly kept the generator topped off.

It would seem that before the Ebola news, Greg had thought of almost everything. He had once earned a 95 percent rating from an on-line assessment in his prepper group. Through all of his hard work in acquiring a sustainable supply of good materials, he had been prepping for an economic collapse or natural disaster. Now he was changing his tactics to consider the possibility of an epidemic, despite the CDC's claims that such a thing would never happen.

With Captain sleeping by his feet, Greg devised a hunker-down plan similar to the response he might develop for any disaster. The fundamentals were the same. His home would become an isolated safe house, and he’d have to be able to sustain himself within its walls for an inordinate amount of time. The gruesome pictures he saw both on-line and within his books propelled his decision. He always knew that Ebola was a terrible disease, but the images of patients with swollen glands, and covered in red spots, burst blood vessels, and feces were too horrifying to consider.

He highlighted a passage in his book:

The virus itself attacks every organ and tissue in the body, causing blood clots and hemorrhaging, vomiting, stomach pain, and internal and external bleeding. Ebola ravages the body slowly and painfully from inside until there is nothing left.

It was no wonder the disease had such a high mortality rate.

Greg tabbed certain pages and went back to typing his list. He considered that there would be a point where he would have to leave the house for supplies. The hunker-down plan would work temporarily, but it was not a long-term solution. He took a deep breath and added “HAZMAT suit and M-95 chemical mask” to his list.

He thought of the people in his neighborhood—good people, mostly—and thought of ways he could help them. Perhaps he could call a town meeting and discuss the potential outbreak. Would people go for it? The time, he felt, was now. Ebola was back in the news and bigger than ever. Then he thought of the dangers that existed: the people who posed a threat, those who would want what he had, and those who would take what he had in an act of desperation. There was a risk in alerting his neighbors to anything.

If word got out that his house was some kind of decontamination zone, they would overwhelm him the minute the shit hit the fan. Then it was decided: he would have to secure his home more rigorously than he had planned. He'd have to make traps and set a security perimeter. If there was one thing that Greg understood, it was how to crawl around tight spaces and connect wires.

Lying in bed that evening, Greg flipped through the dusty old book Veronica had picked out for him on the history of epidemics. His smart phone lay on the night stand next to him, the alarm set for eight in the morning. He rarely used the phone, as he preferred to keep his communications private, and therefore face-to-face. However, he did frequent prepper chat rooms under the guise of anonymity. He had to be cautious with his new life in the Nevada suburbs. Ebola, unfortunately, had complicated everything for him.

He read on under the dim light on his nightstand and found himself fascinated. In biblical times, typhoid and smallpox plagues occurred, killing hundreds of thousands around the world. The infamous bubonic plague, known as “Black Death,” killed forty percent of the population in the mid-sixth century. It was a horrifying disease and highly contagious, with symptoms every bit as ravaging and painful as Ebola.

To top off his night, Greg continued reading about the smallpox and measles plagues in early American history. In the past two centuries—in America and throughout the world—there had been yellow fever, cholera outbreaks, typhus, malaria, tuberculosis, influenza, AIDS, and Ebola. Epidemics had come and went, and Greg wondered if it was not time for a new outbreak—something that could mutate and flourish even within a highly civilized society. Were they any more immune?

It was just another hectic morning in Times Square as the city awoke to its own vivid routine. Gigantic flashing signs and tickers buzzed from overhead while plasma screens the size of a theater screen displayed news from several different channels. Skyscrapers looked down upon the city's millions of inhabitants, shielding many of them from the rising sun. A swarm of yellow taxi cabs moved at a snail’s pace, together with a convoy of all kinds of other vehicles, packed into every conceivable space.

Construction boomed loudly along Seventh Avenue, with workers tearing up the sidewalk to make room for a new lane. As always, commuters on foot outnumbered vehicles. Masses of people moved together in large packs—tourists and residents alike—across the busy intersections, down the pedestrian plaza, and through the Broadway Theater District. Many were simply trying to get to work, while others snapped pictures enthusiastically everywhere they went.

This, the busiest neighborhood in Manhattan, was a feast for the eyes, featuring giant Broadway show billboards, movie ads, golden arches, and towering buildings that housed the offices of renowned financial institutions, news agencies, and major publishers.

As perhaps the most famous hub of activity known, there was no place like Times Square, and no place more visited. It was where they celebrated the New Year's Eve ball drop, the epicenter of excitement. And, as one of the most recognizable places in the world, it was frequented by more than three hundred thousand people a day. Times Square's history and reputation made it a symbol of the American dream. There was also no place more suitable for an epidemic to spread.

Laura Walsh had just made it to her news office headquarters moments before her morning meeting with producers. Formally a small-town journalist from Virginia, Laura had moved to the city to join the big leagues and try her hand at a major news division. Outside of the major networks, the Cable Broadcasting Network, or CBN, had risen to become every bit as large as its behemoth counterparts, especially in investigative reporting.

Its weekly broadcast
Your News Now
was known for its heavy-hitting news segments and no-nonsense approach. When Laura was offered an internship two years prior, she didn't hesitate to take them up on their offer, and she immediately relocated to the big city.

A graduate of the Columbia School of Journalism, Laura had high hopes of a burgeoning career in broadcasting, and in a relatively short time, she had risen from news intern to regular staff. In that time, she managed to get segments on the air that helped her make a name for herself. She exposed a corrupt “kickbacks for perks” scheme involving several local politicians and their donors, and she broke the phony Haitian relief charity scandal that had ties to a major telecommunications company. Walsh, it seemed, was unstoppable. In two short years she had become a regular contributor to
Your News Now
.

But just as quickly as success had come, obstacles began to appear from all sides. Her style of reporting was starting to ruffle the feathers of certain sponsors and other influential entities. The news ratings battle as of late had also sent the program battling to stay relevant. In response, management began to change the format from investigative reporting to more tabloid-based, gossip stories.

Her meeting that morning was to discuss a recent Ebola story she had produced but that had not yet aired. She knew the mood in the office was against such reporting, and she was prepared to fight to get it on the air. It would be an uphill battle. They would remind her that she was still relatively new and had a lot to learn.

She fully expected condescension from her senior producers, and she knew that she would have to fight. Recently, she had discovered inconsistent patterns in the CDC’s disclosure of Ebola cases around the country. Sources had alerted her to much higher numbers than what was being officially reported. The answers, they told her, were there, and that a patient in Carson City, Nevada, named Sergeant Timothy Shields, was the key. It was a long shot, but she was ready to make her case.

Dressed in high heels and a dark-red, long-sleeved dress that stopped above her knees, Laura hurried down the hall with a clipboard of notes in one hand and a coffee in the other. Her long blonde hair bounced on both sides, with bangs cut evenly across her forehead. Her boyfriend, Jason, had complimented her new haircut again that morning, and while he was a constant source of support, their busy schedules had created a gradual rift between them—she at the news office and he at a law firm working as a paralegal. She put personal matters aside as she approached the closed door to her producer's office and knocked. The name over the polished cherry wood door said “Michael S. DeKnight” in gold letters.

“Come in,” a man's voice said from the other side.

Laura opened the door to find her producer, Michael, sitting at his desk, and managing editor, Bill Ripley, sitting on one of two chairs in front of the desk. They both nodded at her as she entered.

“Good morning, Laura. Please have a seat,” Michael said.

She took the seat next to Bill. The sleek office was nicely furnished with a small, black leather couch and a glass coffee table in front of it. On the other side behind Michael was a bookcase with several gold trophies and framed awards lining the shelves.

Even as an official part of the news division, Laura worked on the floor in a cubicle among the interns, typists, and contributing reporters, all scraping for airtime. Having an office like Michael's would be nice someday, but for now she preferred to be where the action was, with the others.

At fifty-four, Michael was a veteran of the news division. He had gray curly hair and wore large, frameless glasses. His office held a scent of coffee, and Laura always found the fact that he wore colorful suspenders over his white dress shirt amusing. Bill was slightly younger, well-groomed with dark hair. He was a hard man to gauge due to his quietness, but Laura studied him nonetheless.

Michael had Laura's script in hand and was flipping through it randomly. “So Bill and I have been going over your script, and…”

He paused, and Laura knew it didn't sound good. There was too much hesitation. On the other hand, too much enthusiasm could signal a story getting axed as well. The news division was weird like that sometimes.

He placed the script flat on his desk and tapped the wooden surface with his fingers. Bill said nothing. Michael looked up at Laura. “It's good. We like it. You raise a lot of interesting questions. I'd expect nothing less from one of our rising investigative correspondents.”

“Thank you, sir,” Laura said with a nod and a smile.

Michael's face went straight, and Laura prepared herself for the blow. “Our main issue with it is the timing.”

“The timing?” Laura asked.

“Yes. Look, we know you're eager and ambitious, and that's a good thing. The problem with the script is that it's hard to follow. And you're raising claims that can't be supported with facts.”

Suddenly, Bill decided to cut-in. “That's the main problem I had with it. I mean, it makes a compelling case, but it's hard to argue that the media has largely been ignoring Ebola, when we feel it's quite the opposite.”

“Yes,” Michael said. “Ebola is everywhere. Everyone is talking about it.”

Laura couldn't help but speak up. “Not so much anymore. The fact that there are three times as many infected Ebola patients in the US than are being reported is not being said anywhere. That's the story.”

“But you make the CDC sound like the villain,” Michael said.

“That is not my intent. I'm simply saying that they've not responded to my FOIA requests for the number of patients currently being treated for Ebola in the US.”

“Agencies take time. You know that as well as I do. And your current numbers can't be verified through official reports,” Michael said.

“But I've spoken with representatives within the agencies—”

“Off the record,” Bill interrupted.

“There's just too many holes,” Michael said. “With confidence in the news media at an all-time low, we can't run a story providing false numbers that may incite a panic.”

“Ebola is spreading,” Laura said. “That is the truth.”

Michael leaned forward. “It's the truth as
you
see it. But there are different sides. Many people could say just the opposite.”

“We've got enough epidemic scare stories in the news as it is,” Bill said.

“And while it may be good for ratings, it's potentially bad for our reputation,” Michael added.

Laura thought long and hard about what they were telling her. As of late, they had been pushing her to cover stories she considered “fluff.” The past month, they had suggested the reopening of the Central Park Zoo, a scuffle at JFK between a famous actor and TSA, and a local hot-dog eating competition.

She was beginning to get the idea. In her eagerness, she had already rocked the boat and made waves. But the Ebola story was an attempt to defy the producers, and they knew it.

“Can I ask a question?” she asked.

“Certainly,” Michael said, interlocking his hands over the desk.

“If you're investigating something and you find along the way that someone is lying, what is your responsibility as a journalist?”

Bill and Michael exchanged glances. Michael looked at Laura with a crooked smile on his face. “Your responsibility would be to the public good.”

“And telling them the truth,” Laura said.

Michal and Bill looked at each other flippantly then back to Laura as Michael pushed the script back to her.

“Truth, meaning verifiable facts,” Michael said.

She knew exactly what their decision was.

“I'm afraid we're going to have to pass on this one, but don't worry, Bill here was just telling me about this guy who dresses up like Spiderman in Times Square. Apparently he's some kind of pickpocket. I think you should look into it.”

Laura exhaled loudly, trying to get her thoughts together. She didn't want to make a scene or appear to be upset. Ultimately she didn't want a reputation as someone who was difficult to work with. They had taken all her hard work and basically flushed it down the drain, but there had to be some way to salvage the story. She bit her lip, placed her hands on her knees, and then leaned forward, looking Michael in the eyes.

“I want to go to Carson City, Nevada,” she said.

Michael shifted in his chair and raised his eyebrow in surprise. “Carson City?” he scoffed. “What the hell's there?”

“They have a soldier that they're treating for Ebola.”

Michael rubbed his forehead in exhaustion. “Laura, please. We're done with Ebola for now.”

“I just want to get an interview with him. That's all. I mean, wouldn't that make a great story? No one has talked to any military personnel since they returned. Don't you think that's a little odd?”

Bill leaned in. “Probably because it's next to impossible. They're under quarantine right now.”

Laura stood up, ready to argue her case. “Please. There's a story here, I know it. I promise not to make anyone look bad, I just want to get his side of the story. Soldier comes home from a humanitarian mission only to find himself in a hospital room battling Ebola.”

Another silence followed. Michael scratched his chin. “I don't know.”

“Look at it this way, I'll be out of your hair for a week. Heck, I'll stay there as long as you want.”

Michael and Bill looked at each other and simultaneously nodded as Michael signaled to Laura. “OK, Laura, get a crew together and plan a trip for Carson City.”

Laura jumped up, perhaps too excited. “Thank you, sir, I won't let you down.” She left the room in haste.

“I want to see an itemized budget listing first!” Michael shouted as she rushed out of the office.