End Days Super Boxset (82 page)

Earlier that evening, Greg had finally met Veronica for coffee as promised. However, he had little interest in sitting around and shooting the breeze. What he had seen at the hospital propelled him to action, but out of courtesy, he decided to meet with Veronica anyway. His work van sped into the parking lot of the local coffee house called “Brewster's Beans.”

Greg jumped out of his van after parking it and took a deep breath to regain his composure. He looked at the traffic moving as usual on the main street—the quiet and secure buildings and shops, the mountains in the distance—all the while wondering if a deadly epidemic was even possible in this day and age. He adjusted his work hat and walked around from the back of the faded red building, with its artistic mural, to the front entrance.

There was a moderate crowd of twenty-somethings inside, sitting around small tables and typing away on their laptops. Potted plants dotted the area, along with book shelves, and light jazz played over the speakers. It was a little after 5:30, and Greg scanned the room for Veronica. He saw her in the corner next to a large window overlooking the front patio. She looked up, and they made eye contact. Greg forewent the coffee counter and walked straight over to Veronica's table, visibly shaken but trying to put on his best face.

“It's about time you showed up. I almost forgot what it's like to be stood up,” she said jokingly.

“Sorry about that,” Greg said, standing at the table.

“Have a seat, Mr. Punctuality,” she said, signaling to the empty chair across from her.

Greg nodded, pulled out the chair, and sat, tapping his fingers on the small circular table.

“Aren't you going to get something?” she asked.

Greg turned around to look at the counter. There was a line. He turned back to Veronica, nearly stammering. “Uh, yeah. Maybe. In a minute.”

She studied him with her light gray eyes. He looked worn, tired, and fidgety. His distracted behavior was like nothing she had seen before. “Are you okay?” she asked, leaning in.

Greg took his work hat off. Light chatter and laughter filled the room, coming from the young people at other tables. He put his hat on his knees and placed his palms flat on the table.

“Veronica, there's some things I need to tell you, but I don't want you to overreact.”

She looked at him with a raised brow and a bit of skepticism. “What's wrong?”

Greg took a deep breath and then held his hands out in a pleading gesture. “I don't know. That's the thing. I don't know how to explain it, but the timing is right. It all makes sense when you think about it.”

He seemed to be rambling, and she was having trouble keeping up with him. She took a sip from her latte’s Styrofoam cup and set it back down. She then suddenly and unexpectedly placed her right hand over his, looking into his eyes. “Take your time, Greg. Just tell me what happened.”

From what she suspected, he had just had a crazy day at work, but his eyes indicated more. He was dazed, seemingly lost in space. With the touch of her hand, however, he seemed to focus.

“There was an accident. A traffic accident.”

She instinctively removed her hand and covered her mouth. “Oh no, are you okay?”

“Just...listen...” Greg said slowly.

“The accident isn't important. It happened in front of me. I took one of the drivers to the hospital because there was no room in the ambulance.”

“No room?” Veronica said almost too loudly, drawing looks from some of the other patrons.

Greg slightly held up the palm of his hand, signaling her to lower her voice. “Anyway. We got to the hospital, and it's just like I expected. The outbreak of the disease is much worse than they're saying. The hospital is packed, and it looks like a militarized zone. It's spreading fast, and I don't think they have any idea what to do about it.”

Veronica wasn't sure what to say. She leaned in closer. “You're talking about Ebola?”

“Yes. I mean, I've heard of containment before, but where did all those people come from? They were hidden away on the third floor. The lobby was at overcapacity. Sick people were everywhere. Their eyes were red—I kid you not, the whites of their eyes had turned red. This can mean only one thing: Ebola is spreading at a faster rate than they can contend with.”

Veronica thought to herself for a moment then responded. “I don't know how that's possible. They just recently ended the outbreak in West Africa. There's no way Ebola could spread that easily, especially here.”

“I knew this would happen,” Greg said, disregarding her doubts. He looked directly into her eyes. “This is what I've been prepping for, and it's right on our doorstep. You know plenty about this. I know you've read the books. There has to be some explanation of why it's spreading so quickly and easily.”

“Typically, diseases can only spread through two ways,” Veronica said. “Airborne or direct contact. There is no evidence to date that Ebola can be spread by coughing or sneezing.”

“I know that's what they say,” he said, but he sounded doubtful. “The thing is, however it's spreading, it's spreading. The first seventy-two hours of any outbreak are the most crucial, and we've got to act. I've got everything I need at my place, and I'm going to hunker down.”

“For seventy-two hours?” Veronica asked.

“That's right. Maybe longer.” A barista girl suddenly approached Greg and asked him if he wanted anything. He declined, and she nodded and went to the next table. The room was filled with smiling, apathetic faces, blissfully unaware of what was taking place at the hospital only ten miles away. Greg looked around, leaned in closely, and spoke in a hushed voice. “I want to help you, Veronica. I want to make sure that you'll be okay.”

Veronica shrugged, confused.

“That's why I want to share some of my supplies with you. Where do you live?”

“In an apartment complex with two roommates. I mean, they're in Paris right now. I wanted to go, but I didn't have the money—”

Greg interrupted her. “No, that's not going to work. You need to get out of the city, at least for a couple of days.”

Veronica laughed. “I can't just leave like that.”

Greg slammed his fist on the table, gaining looks from across the room. “You don't have a choice. Please, just let me help you. This thing might go full pandemic, and once it does, it'll be too late for you. Who do you know that lives out of the city?”

“My—my Aunt Tilda,” she nervously answered.

“Take a sick day. Take three days, and if there's nothing to report, you should be fine.”

“Greg, I don't know. This all sounds so crazy.”

He looked genuinely scared, for himself and for her. “Please,” he said. “Just give it a chance. We'll stop by your apartment first so you can pack some things.”

Veronica nodded. “How much should I pack?”

“For at least a week, maybe longer.”

They left the coffee shop in a hurry without looking back. Veronica was confused and overwhelmed, but she trusted Greg. She had never seen him so intense, although she knew little about him outside of the bookstore. One thing was certain, she didn't expect her evening to end up like it did. Her blue two-door Volvo was parked in the back near Greg's work van. They hurried through the lot and to his van as she held her cell phone, scrolling through the news headlines.

There were conflicting stories of reporters being ejected from the hospital grounds due to quarantine protocol, and CDC briefings which urged calmness and restraint. The government assured the media that routine cautionary measures had been put into place, and nothing out of the ordinary was occurring at any of the hospitals treating American Ebola patients. The news was comforting, almost as if Greg had been exaggerating.

Greg followed Veronica in his van, as she drove to her apartment to pack. Her old high-rise building was a welcome sight, and she contemplated telling Greg that she had changed her mind and decided to call it a night. But an epidemic was nothing to gamble with, despite the inconveniences. She parked in the street outside her building and went up into her apartment as Greg waited in his van, idling behind her.

“I'll be down in five,” she called out, walking up the stairs into the lobby.

Her neighbors would think her weird, running off at night with a suitcase. She was uncertain, while Greg seemed confident in everything he was doing. As she entered her dark, unoccupied apartment on the ninth floor, she wished that her roommates had been there to greet her. They could all go to her aunt's house together, like friends, and not be troubled with the spread of a deadly disease. She flipped on the light switch in her room and began to dig through her drawers. It wasn't time for pipe dreams any longer; it was time for action.

Five minutes later, she jogged down the steps of her apartment building holding a large suitcase. It looked to Greg like she had packed for more than one week. He got out and helped with her luggage and then told her to follow him to his house near Galveston Court, a neighborhood she was familiar with. It was more tucked away than her old high-rise apartment building downtown.

While following him through the city, she was surprised that she doubted him so little, even if she tried. Greg was a serious man, and that's what she liked about him. As they took another turn toward the outskirts of the city, she wondered if there was anyone she could call to confirm his fears. The least she could do, she thought, was to check in with Aunt Tilda.

Strangely enough, Tilda had been following the news and also had a feeling that something wasn't right. She lived on a ranch in Reno, and while it wasn't totally isolated from the city, it was far enough away from Carson City to be an effective hideout.

“Of course you should come over to visit. I'll get us some wine,” her aunt said. Tilda liked to drink, especially with her favorite niece.

“Just for a couple days. My friend, Greg, says that this outbreak stuff is serious.”

“I agree. I'd get out of there if I were you,” Tilda said.

So it was settled. The plans were made, and Veronica said goodbye to her aunt. She couldn't believe she was doing any of it. She couldn't believe she was following Greg home and then absconding on a work night to stay at her aunt’s home for a week with an overnight bag and some prepper supplies. Her roommates, Meghan and Shelia, would think that she'd lost her mind, whenever they got back from Paris.

“Argh!” Veronica groaned, hitting the steering wheel. “What the hell am I doing?”

They finally arrived at Greg's quiet cul-de-sac home. All the neighborhood streetlights were on, and there were people in windows of homes going about their business as if nothing was wrong. They both pulled into Greg's driveway side-by-side and parked. Greg jumped out of the van and flashed Veronica a quick smile. She was relieved to see that he had calmed down some, and smiled back.

“I talked to my aunt,” she said, stepping out of her Volvo.

Greg walked down the concrete walkway between rows of bushes, leading to his front door. “Really? Good.” He fumbled with his keys in the darkness and waved his hand in front of one of his motion lights near the door. The light flashed on, nearly blinding him, and making Veronica laugh as he shielded his face. He unlocked the many locks on his door and told her to wait a minute as he went inside to turn off the alarm system. She could hear the sounds of a dog running around inside and barking excitedly.

“All right, Captain, all right.”

Some lights turned on, and Greg opened the door for her, holding Captain back by his collar. “It's okay, he's just a little excited.”

Veronica patted her knee, urging Captain to her side. “Oh, he's so cute!” She walked in and placed her purse on a nearby table. “So this is Captain? I've heard you mention him before.” She petted his head as Greg continued to hold him back. Captain tried to lick her hand and barked enthusiastically.

“Yep, you've done it. He'll never leave you alone now,” Greg said.

Veronica straightened up as Captain circled around her. Greg called to the dog, walked to the back door, and opened it. Captain bolted outside. Veronica stood in the foyer glancing around the house.

Greg shut the back door and turned to Veronica. “So you still wanna do this?”

“That's why I'm here,” she said, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“Please, have a seat in the living room,” Greg said, motioning to his blue sofa. Veronica went into the room and took a seat.

“I won't keep you long. I'm just going to grab some stuff that may help you through the next week. I'll keep your aunt in mind too.” He walked off to the garage.

She didn't understand completely why he was helping her; however, she wasn't naive. Most men would want something in return, but Greg didn't seem like most men. He was different. From the couch, she looked around the house for any sign of who Greg was. It was a very minimal setup: couch, chair, television stand, TV, dining room table, and the usual appliances. There were a few nature portraits on the wall, but no pictures of people, or of a family.

There was a mystique about Greg that intrigued her, and someday she hoped to find out exactly what his deal was. She heard Greg come in from the garage, carrying various supplies and placing them in a duffel bag.

“What kind of supplies are those?”