End Days Super Boxset (79 page)

Greg followed the ambulance, not too closely, but close enough to stay with it. The mountain range in the distance provided a vast view of rolling hills, peaks, and valleys. They traveled the winding road to a conglomerate of three-story beige buildings that comprised Carson Tahoe. The hospital was located in a seemingly isolated location, which Greg found comforting. He had wanted to see the hospital firsthand since hearing the reports of an increasing number of Ebola patients in the area.

Perhaps he could talk with a few doctors and get some insider information. He had to admit, his going to the hospital wasn't a completely altruistic act, and he wanted to investigate. The man, who had introduced himself as Trevor, sat nervously in the passenger seat, biting his fingernails. The business suit he was wearing was covered in sweat. For him, the journey to the hospital must seem endless. There wasn't an ounce of concern in him over Ebola, or the growing number of patients in quarantine. He was certainly more concerned for his wife.

The ambulance blazed ahead with its sirens flashing wildly. Any vehicle in its path on the two-lane road immediately pulled over to the shoulder, near paths of dirt, rocks, and trees. The hospital resembled some kind of isolated resort—a completely modern structure surrounded by green hills, rolling mountains, dry patches of grass, and desert. It was a little past six, and the sun was like a glowing tangerine in the sky, sinking below the horizon.

Greg hadn't had a moment yet to call Veronica. They were supposed to meet minutes ago, but the mission at hand took precedence. He hadn't even looked at his phone for a missed call. The upcoming search for answers in the hospital consumed his attention, and as they neared the parking lot outside the hospital, Greg noticed three news vans. They were parked next to each other, with their flagpole-like antennas extended into the air. Something was happening at the hospital. Greg turned the radio on but only heard traffic reports and music.

Trevor looked in his side-view mirror and noticed a police car following them. “Just to let you know, you've got the fuzz on your tail.”

Greg glanced into his mirror then back at the road. “I know,” he said.

Trevor reached into his pocket and pulled out a long receipt that resembled a scroll. “They gave me this before we left. It's a ticket for running a red light. I wouldn't have believed it if you'd told me, but apparently there were witnesses. Did you see anything?”

“No, I didn't see a thing. I heard the crash and that was that.”

“Oh,” Trevor said. He stuffed the ticket back into his dress pants. “So it's all my fault. Evelyn could have died and it would have been all my fault.” He smacked his own forehead with full force. “What the hell was I thinking?”

“Relax,” Greg said. “It was an accident. Happens to the best of us sometimes. What's done is done, and you gotta move on from it. Take care of your wife.” Greg didn't know what it was about Trevor, but he felt comfortable enough around him to open up and offer some advice.

Trevor studied Greg curiously then made a concession. “I don't know what I'd have done if you weren't at that scene. I was completely out of my head, had no idea what was going on. I can't thank you enough, Greg, I really can't.”

“Don't mention it,” Greg said. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. If he were a betting man, he'd place a wager that it was Veronica trying to reach him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his smart phone, finding that it wasn't Veronica at all. It was his boss.

Need you to check in at the office before you go home next time. Please provide me with an update on the Steadmyer house.

Greg sent a text back to Allen letting him know that the alarm system had been installed and that he would be sure to check in at the office next time. He didn't feel the need to mention the accident or anything else, as that would only bring more questions. They followed the ambulance to the emergency room entrance.

“I’ll just get out here, if you don’t mind,” Trevor said, his hand already on the door handle.

Greg slowed to a halt by the curb, and Trevor jumped out. He stopped and turned to Greg with a look of gratitude.

“Again, I can't thank you enough.”

“No problem.”

“I mean it. You probably saved her life.”

Greg shrugged. “It was nothing. I hope that she's okay.”

“I'll be sure to tell her what you did,” Trevor said. “Maybe we could get your address or something and send you a thank-you card.”

Greg waved him off. “Don't worry about it.” Suddenly he thought of something, and turned around to look in the back of his van. “Hold on, I wanna give you something,” he continued.

Trevor waited as Greg climbed in the back. He glanced over at the ambulance, tapping one foot on the ground, impatient to get away. Greg reemerged with two molded-respiratory masks in hand.

“Take these,” he said.

Trevor hesitated, looking at him strangely.

“Please. It's for your own good,” Greg urged.

Trevor slowly held his arm out and took one of the masks. Greg handed him another for his wife.

“There are Ebola patients here. I don't know exactly where they're holding them, but they're here.”

Trevor nodded, not sure exactly what to say. He closed the door and ran off toward the parked ambulance with the two masks in hand. Suddenly, four paramedics rushed out of the hospital and assisted in removing the two women and their wheeled gurneys from the back of the vehicle. Trevor rushed to his wife's side and followed the EMTs through the entrance into the emergency area.

Greg sat in his idling van and looked around, wondering if anything was odd or out of place. The asphalt parking lot was unusually crowded, and there wasn't an available space in sight. Greg stepped on the gas and circled around, eventually finding a spot toward the end of the lot. He turned the engine off and then looked at his phone. It was ten after six. Veronica hadn't tried to call or send him a message yet, and he was somewhat relieved. He needed to get ahold of her and decided to forgo texting.

“Hey, Veronica,” he said as she picked up the phone.

“Greg! What's up?”

“I’m not sure,” Greg said, pacing behind his van.

“You sound distracted. Wait, you're not canceling our coffee meeting, are you?” She said it in a mock-serious tone.

“No, no,” Greg stammered. “Something has come up, and I gotta check it out. I'm just going to be a little late, that's all.”

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah, that's fine. I'm going to be a little late too.”

Greg felt even more relieved. “Okay, sounds good. I'll meet up with you soon.”

They said goodbye, and Greg walked toward the hospital, carrying his phone and a respiratory mask. He was still wearing his work clothes, and his polo shirt smelled of smoke from Trevor's Camry. In addition to the dirt and debris on his clothes, Greg felt exhausted from the long day. He pushed on, however, in search of answers.

He knew that he was taking a risk even being there; however, he still believed—as did most people following the news—that the disease could not spread through the air. But there had to be a reason why it was spreading to so many people in such a short period of time. It was as if the symptomatic state had changed, become hidden, and began earlier than recognized.

A person infected with Ebola is said to be contagious once they begin to show symptoms, such as red eyes or skin rashes. These symptoms appear usually two weeks or more after contracting the disease. It didn't make sense that the soldier would have infected everyone around him without knowing that he was sick.

In fact, it was reported that Sergeant Shields went immediately to the hospital, after complaining of a high fever, at the behest of his wife. Greg tried to figure it out, but still couldn't come up with anything. He wanted to investigate and to probe the doctors for answers; however, there were roadblocks in his path. Lots of local reporters were already on the scene. Greg saw many of them as he walked into the hospital lobby through the main entrance. What he saw stunned him like nothing else had.

The hospital was overcrowded. The green-carpeted lobby was completely full, with people in every last seat. Many of them look confused, some of them frightened. They all looked awful: pale, pasty, and sickly. Greg immediately put his mask on and then noticed that all the hospital staff running by were dressed in protective garments and were also wearing masks. People from the lobby had spilled out into the halls.

Oddly enough, none them were wearing any kind of protective gear. An overhead television was playing some reality show, gaining almost everyone’s attention. There were men, women, and children of all ages, twenty or so in all. Greg didn't feel comfortable there but didn't want to panic either.

A team of security men suddenly emerged from down the hall, pushing a group of reporters and their camera crews ahead. The news crews were visibly upset, making a scene and attracting the attention of several onlookers.

“We have a right to be here!” one of the male reporters shouted.

The bulky five-man security team continued pushing the group back toward the exit. Greg stepped out of the way and leaned against a wall.

“This is a contained area, by orders of the CDC. No reporters, no pictures, nothing. You wanna shoot something, go shoot the parking lot,” one of the security men said.

The group struggled and protested but was pushed outside. The security men then formed a blockade at the door, keeping the reporters from reentering.

Greg remained as inconspicuous as possible and strolled down the hospital hall, away from the lobby filled with the sick. The hospital was overwhelming in size and activity. Nurses wheeled patients past him, all of them contained in some type of plastic covering. The overhead intercom buzzed, with doctors being paged one after another. There seemed to be no shortage in personnel around, and everyone—janitors, orderlies, security guards, paramedics, nurses, and doctors—seemed extraordinarily occupied. Most were moderately dressed in protective gear.

Greg wondered about the masks and if the staff around him were being overcautious. Why would they don such gear if they were certain that Ebola could only be transmitted through blood or bodily fluid? He hadn't seen a single patient yet, and with three floors to go, he wasn't sure where he would find one. He didn't want to ask for fear of being mistaken as a reporter and thrown out like the others, but he had a plan nonetheless.

Greg briefly removed his surgical mask and stopped a short female nurse walking by him. She was wearing green scrubs, with a surgical hood, mask, outer apron, and boot covers. “Excuse me, ma'am.”

The nurse stopped as if she were annoyed. “Yes?”

“I came here to pick up my wife, but is there something in the air I need to be worried about?”

The nurse looked around at the others dressed as she was and casually waved him off. “I wouldn't worry about anything if you're just coming or going. We're just being extra cautious with flu season and all. There's a nasty bug out there.”

“I see,” Greg said. He knew that she was lying, but didn't feel the need to push any further. “Glad it's nothing too serious. Thank you.”

The nurse nodded and kept walking. Greg took a moment to think about her answer and the behavior of the other hospital staff. There was the ejection of the local news media. There was the abundance of personnel. The picture was starting to grow clearer. It seemed the hospital had been double-staffed from an outside agency. They were controlling the outbreak, but not informing the public of its spread. Everyone working at the hospital was on the same page. Somewhere on some floor was probably a large containment area filled with infected Ebola patients. Greg honestly couldn't believe it had come to that.

His heart beat rapidly as he tried to regain his composure. No one had reported
how
the family of Sergeant Shields or the others around him had gotten infected. They hadn't even said how Shields himself had gotten the disease. There were too many gaps and not enough information. Suddenly, two paramedics in full HAZMAT suits wheeled another man covered in a plastic sheet right by Greg and then toward the nearest elevator.

Greg could hear the man's coughs. It sounded as if he was choking on his own blood. Greg stepped back and slowly paced in a circle, trying to look busy. As soon as the elevator door opened, he turned to watch the paramedic roll the man inside and take the elevator to the third floor. If Greg's instincts were right, the third floor would be a nightmare compared with the first.

At that moment, he had seen enough. If they were taking Ebola patients to the third floor, he would be a fool to go any further. Greg suddenly came to his senses and realized that the hospital was, in fact, no place to be. It was a time bomb of contagion, waiting to go off. He had a feeling of dread, as if he were getting too close to the fire. He wanted to know the truth, but had seen enough to convince himself that an outbreak was occurring. He needed to get out of the hospital immediately.

As the elevator
binged,
and the doors opened, he walked away, back down the hall toward the exit. The cellphone in his pocket buzzed, and he quickly silenced it. He then held his phone up to see a text message from Veronica:

Hey, just got here. Sitting in the corner. Let me know if you're close :)