Red Death: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (6 page)

“Mary we have to get back. We have to get home. This won’t do us any good to be thrown in there with them. Maybe we can think of something.” Mary sniffed and dried her eyes, looking absolutely devastated, but agreeing.

Tara drove carefully back to her house, noticing two more “ambulances” picking sick people up on the way. When she finally reached their alley, her relief was palpable.

Mary told Tara goodbye and hurried across to her own home. She called back over her shoulder that she needed to do some research and think things over, and she’d be in touch. Tara felt a terrible sense of helplessness. She let herself in her back door, going instantly to Lee’s couch. He was a little more alert, the worst of the pill effects having worn off. He’d settled into a mellow stage of painkiller high.

Tara described everything, starting with the ambulances and roadblocks, and ending with Mary’s daughter Julie.

“Good God,” Lee exclaimed, and that’s when Tara broke down too. Lee held her as she leaned against him, releasing all her pent up fear and frustration. Finally, the overwhelming wave of emotion slowed, but Tara remained there, resting against Lee. They stayed that way for a long time, not speaking, both grieving their new circumstances. The sun through the window slits dimmed, then darkened as the afternoon faded away.

  ~

Tara stood staring out the window upstairs at the dark street below. There were mostly military vehicles passing by now, camouflage trucks interspersed with a whole lot of those plain white vans, and a few dark, unmarked cars. She stood watching for ten minutes and only counted three normal looking civilian automobiles. She wanted to tell Lee, but he was downstairs sleeping. It seemed like that was about all he’d done since he’d broken his leg.

The last time Tara was online, even fewer people were present. Someone posted about all the grocery stores being closed, even the dollar stores. Tara realized the moment she read it, that they had now moved into a dangerous time—the fine line of rationality could easily be crossed into mob mentality when those who hadn’t prepared ran out of food. Rioting, armed gangs and martial law usually followed these kinds of disasters.

Today, Tara had not been able to get on the internet at all. It sent her into another round of panic. She hadn’t wanted to bother Mary since their reconnaissance trip, but she’d really expected her to call by now. She had waited long enough, and now she was worried. Tara pulled her cell phone out and dialed Mary’s number. Nothing happened. No recording, no sound, nothing.

Why would cell service be out? And the internet too?
Could
the towers be down? Or are the people running things sick?
The lights flickered briefly and Tara’s heart fluttered along with them. Another thought came.
Maybe the government needs us isolated, unable to spread news.
She instantly squashed that.
Stop it, Tara, you’re being paranoid.
She ran into the upstairs TV room and switched it on, trying to get a news channel. Nothing happened, no picture at all.

The lights flashed again, went out briefly then came back on.
Oh, my God. Are we going to lose everything, electricity too?
Eyes wide, Tara bolted for the junk drawer where she stored the candles. She placed them on the floor in the hallway and searched in each room for more. She found some in decorative holders, and added them to the batch in the hall.

Next Tara lifted down the two large oil lamps on top of the bookcase. Her mother had passed them on to her. Then she ran down to the basement and gathered the small oil lamps she usually hung on all the trees at cookouts.

She looked through the slats in the back door to see if it was safe before stepping onto the porch. Stored under the chair were two large bottles of lamp oil. She brought them in. There were two more in the basement and one on the front porch under the glider. Tara gathered them all. Then she dug in the kitchen drawer for wooden matches, and found an unopened multi-pack of four large boxes. She carried everything down from upstairs, putting it with the other stuff on the basement landing. Her heart rate slowed.
At least we won’t be in the dark if the electric goes out.

It was time to wake Lee and tell him all this. She was going to need a way to contact Mary. She was terrified to go out and cross the street, afraid one of those white vans would round her up for the camps too. But she needed to touch base with her and find out her news.
It’s like the old days now, where people spread news face to face.

Tara suddenly remembered talking with Mary about flashing a light at their bedroom windows. She ran for the flashlight in the kitchen, really needing someone to talk to as a human connection who could understand her fear. Lee being mostly incoherent since his accident had certainly left a void in her interpersonal relationships. Tara realized she and Lee’s former “us against the world” stance had worked fine in good times, not so much in bad. Tara needed to know about Julie, Mary’s daughter, and if she’d heard anything. Mostly, she recognized she was afraid to be alone. The lights flickered again, and Tara glanced up at the kitchen fixture, apprehensively.

She trotted back upstairs with the flashlight, stood at the window, flashing it on and off, on and off at Mary’s bedroom. She stopped each time headlights passed out front, afraid of attracting the wrong attention.  After about ten flashes, Tara saw the curtain move and Mary’s pale face peer out. Happiness flooded through her and she jumped up and down with sheer joy, like a child.

Mary waved, Tara waved back, and then the electricity went out for good.

Chapter 6

Tara felt her way slowly down the stairs in the dark. As she ran her hand along one wall to balance herself, Lee called her name from the front room.

“I’m coming,” she cried. “The lights went out!” Tara never realized just how dark it would be without any streetlights shining into the front room. Even the gaps in the boarded up door and windows had allowed a little light through. Now it was pitch black.

“I’ve got candles and lanterns on the basement landing,” she called to Lee. She heard a crash, and then a curse.

“Dammit!”

“What happened?”

“I knocked over my water!”

Tara felt around on the floor of the basement landing for a lantern and some candles. She brought them up to the stove where the rack above it held matches. She lit the lantern first, calmed by the weak yellow glow. “There,” she reassured herself.

Tara carried the lantern in to Lee and set it on the coffee table in front of him. Then she lit one of the candles in its old-fashioned pewter holder, lighting her way back to the basement landing to get the other lanterns and lamp oil. She carried them back to the coffee table, planning to fill them all so they’d be ready. But she really needed to hear from Mary, and hoped she was on her way over. If not, Tara decided she would venture out to find her.

Tara jumped at the sound of knocking—
Mary!
She saw Lee reach for the gun and told him she’d just signaled their neighbor at the window as the lights went out. Lee sank back into his pillows.

Tara threw the door open with abandon, very happy to see her friend. Mary looked good, but Tara noticed bags and circles under her eyes, and they were red. She’d been crying.
Well,
she’s
probably not sleeping much either.

“Mary, my God, I’m glad to see you!” Tara wrapped her arms around her friend in a bear hug, and Mary reciprocated. “I’m too afraid to go out. And when you didn’t come over, I was worried!”

Tara locked the front door behind her, and drew Mary into the TV room. Lee greeted her from the couch. He was awake and alert for once.

“Good to see you, Mary,” he told her.

“How’s the leg doing?”

“Better, I think. It’s not hurting much today. I’d like to get off those damn pills. I’m good for nothing when I’m on them.”

“I know. That’s what I hated about them too. But hey, they certainly work for pain, Lee. May I?” Mary reached for the blanket covering him. Lee nodded and Mary lifted it.  The leg was a faded black now in the places where there had been blue bruising before, but the swelling had gone down.

“I want to put on the brace and try to get up soon,” Lee said. “I don’t like being so incapacitated.”

“Don’t rush it, Lee. There might be more going on there than just a break. Only time will tell.”

“Mary, what’s happening with you? Have you heard from Julie? Is there any news from her at all?” Tara asked.

Mary looked stricken. “No, nothing. I should’ve tried to call her. I kept thinking she would hide her cell, and call me when she could. I was afraid to risk them hearing it ring. But now the phones don’t work.” Tears welled up in Mary’s eyes. “I’m so afraid for them.”

Tara glanced quickly at Lee. No, it didn’t look good, but that one glance between her and Lee sealed their unspoken agreement to reassure Mary to the bitter end. Tara didn’t know if it was the right thing to do, but it was the kindest thing. That’s all she really cared about at the moment.

“I bet she’ll be released, Mary. When they realize she and your grandson don’t have Ebola, they’ll let them go. She’s probably been kept busy taking care of Ben too.”

The hope in the older woman’s eyes sent a stab of guilt through Tara. She glanced helplessly at Lee, hoping for him to weigh in. He didn’t disappoint.

“She called you on the way there, Mary. So I bet you anything the phone service will come back on, and she’ll bide her time until it’s safe to call again.” Mary perked up immediately, smiling at them both.

“I hope you’re right.”

A loud pounding on the front door made them jump. Lee reached for the gun again. Tara pulled Mary back, and they crouched near Lee on the sofa.

“CDC, official business,” called a deep male voice.

“Don’t open it,” Lee commanded.

Tara half stood, her mind racing. “We have to, Lee! They can see the lanterns! They know we’re in here.”

“No, don’t do it, Tara. It’s the same people who took Julie,” Mary cried. Tara ran the options through her head. She couldn’t see any other solution but to open the door.

“We can’t make them suspicious of us,” she implored. Finally, Lee nodded, agreeing.

“Make sure they’re who they say they are first.”

Tara crept to the front door and looked out between the gaps in the wood. Three men in white hazmat suits with hoods stood there, CDC emblazoned in federal blue across their right breast.

She slowly unlocked the door and pulled it open, glancing into the room behind her at Mary, standing there frozen in shock.

“Ma’am, I’m a senior epidemiologist from the Public Health Preparedness and Response team of the CDC. We’re instituting a door-to-door campaign to control the spread of disease in your area. How many people are in the household?”

Tara stared at the men, remote behind their face shields and respirators.

“Just two of us,” she whispered. The man behind them with a clipboard made a check mark at this information. Obviously, they already knew who lived here, and how many. The other man beside the senior epidemiologist raised an arm, and Tara saw one of the fever guns in his hand. He pointed it directly at Tara. She glanced beyond them to the white van parked in front of the house.

I hope my Crohns Disease isn’t flaring right now.
It often caused a slight fever. She breathed a quick prayer that her temp was normal. A flash of fear followed this—she had to get Lee to the door. She didn’t want them to come in.
Dear God, I hope the broken leg hasn’t caused a fever in him either!

“You check out fine, ma’am. Please call your husband to the door.”

Tara heard the movement in the room behind her as Lee struggled to get up. She glanced back and saw Mary helping him, handing his crutches over.

“He hurt his leg. He’ll be right here. And my neighbor is visiting too.” The men stood expressionless as Tara turned to see Lee trying out his crutches for the first time. He hobbled over to Tara, with Mary steadying him. They appeared in the doorway, and the man with the clipboard asked Mary’s name and she gave it.

“I live right over there,” she pointed at the bungalow on the corner. The other man fired up the temperature gun, and Tara held her breath. The clipboard man made a check beside Mary’s name and address. Mary backed away from the door, having passed the fever test, and Lee moved forward.

Up came the temperature gun. The clipboard man asked his name and Lee was checked off. The temperature man looked at the gun, pointed it at Lee again, then looked at it and hit it twice against his thigh. Tara almost passed out. His superior turned toward him slightly, awaiting results. Finally, the man repointed it, read it off, and gave the all clear.

Tara began to shake, a delayed response.
Hold it together, Tara!

The senior epidemiologist nodded toward them. “Thank you. We will be doing periodic checks. Please assist us by responding promptly to our visits.”

Without another word, they turned and started down the porch stairs. Tara watched as they skipped the empty parsonage next door and started up the steps to the next house.
They know no one lives there now. They know everything about us all.
She closed and latched the door. As Mary helped Lee back to the couch, Tara started crying. She couldn’t help it. They were tears of relief.

Mary got Lee settled then tried to comfort Tara. “It’s okay now. We made it, Tara.”

“Oh Lee,” she sobbed, “I thought they were going to take you, that you had a fever from your leg.” Tara sank down beside him on the sofa, and he put an arm around her as she cried quietly. Mary dropped into the easy chair in the corner, sighing.

“Thank God,” she whispered. “Have you got aspirin, Tara? I suggest we take one a day at least from now on. We’ll be safe for the next week or so, but after that let’s start, just in case.”

Tara sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized,” I was so scared they were going to take us all away. Lee because of a fever and us because we were exposed to him.”

Mary nodded. “Well, we know that’s what they’re doing. God help anyone if they only have a cold or the flu.”

Suddenly Mary’s daughter’s dilemma became truly clear and real to Tara. She’d understood before, but this really drove home how easily your world could change. Tara got up and hugged the older woman. “I’m so sorry, Mary. I don’t think I really got it until now.”

Mary nodded. “Thanks.”

“What can we do about her? I mean, is there anything do you think?” Tara looked from her to Lee and back. Mary sighed and shook her head.

“I don’t think there is. At least not until I hear something from her. And how can I do that when cell service is out? My God, I can’t imagine a child in that place! I love that little boy so much…” At this, Mary did break down a little, and Tara put an arm around her shoulders, doing her best to console her.

“Let’s hope and pray for the best, for them both, and that somehow you hear something very soon.” Mary stayed a few more minutes, said goodbye and Tara let her out the front door.

Weeks passed with the status quo unchanged. The weather grew cold, October turned to November, and both Tara and Mary compared their food stores uneasily. Mary worried incessantly about her daughter and grandson, but stopped talking about it to Tara and Lee. So they began asking each day, because they could tell by the relief on Mary’s face that she needed to talk about it, speculate, and continue to hope for the best. It was the least they could do.

~

Tara’s Diary

Thanksgiving Day 2015

Once the power went off, things got real very fast. I used to imagine a world without electricity, the way our ancestors lived back in the 1800s. Or like the Amish communities the next county over were still living. In the end, even the Amish, so close to the “English” on a day to day basis, weren’t safe either. They had construction company jobs and worked in the tourist shops and hotels in Amish Country, leaving them wide open for infection.

Once the population really started spreading the virus, the first wave took hold—the dying wave. The sick stayed home from work. Then their families caught it from them, and passed it around at schools, jobs, and churches. When the workers at the utility companies, grocery stores, and fast food places caught it, most went to work for a day or two before they got really sick. Who could afford to stay home? But they were still contagious early on, and they spread virus to their coworkers.

The utilities had some automated systems in place, and at first, the bosses brought in temporary workers. However, in time, the bosses, district managers and the supervisors got sick too. Then the system began to collapse. Once the CEOs caught it, no one cared anymore anyway. The red white and blue money machine screeched to a halt. Money no longer mattered at all. What mattered was whether you had enough supplies to live while the virus raged around you. We knew it killed between forty and ninety percent of its victims up until October, according to each country’s level of health and sanitation practices. Once the strain mutated, combining with the common cold, it was a touch less lethal, but everyone caught it.

The doctor’s offices and hospitals shut down early on, during the first wave. Most small town hospitals were death traps after their first Ebola patient. They had no idea what they were dealing with, no way to dispose of the voluminous amounts of soiled bed linens and human waste produced by each Ebola patient. The bloody feces could not be flushed down the toilets—because it would then contaminate the sewer plants and even possibly the groundwater.

There was no way to protect their doctors and nurses, let alone other patients, so the doctors and nurses started dying. Medical professionals became as rare as hen’s teeth, as my Grandma used to say.

There were four level-five contagion hospitals in the United States able to deal with Ebola. Each one held only eight patients. Once those thirty-two patients checked in, we were on our own out here. Really, I think most would rather die at home anyway. At least you might have some small chance of surviving it.

Lee and I watched out the window while a gang of men looted the beauty parlor down the street. All we saw them carry out were candy bars and bags of chips from the vending machines. That’s what they were after, because you couldn’t eat money.

Lee sat with our gun, ready, but they didn’t come. We know one day they will.

I find myself staring day after day at our dwindling supply of canned food. It’s almost gone now. I saved some special stuff for our Thanksgiving meal today. A minute ago, I watched the squirrels scamper around our yard. I saw a raccoon one night out there too, as well as a possum. My stomach begins to growl now when I spot the squirrels. I’ve thought of some ways to make traps. I’m going to have to do it soon. I’m afraid to try to shoot one, afraid to draw attention and waste ammunition. If I go out at all, it is very covertly. It’s too dangerous to be seen by anyone, because it’s either those who mean you harm—they’ll kill you and steal your food—or those in charge in the white vans who’ll take you to the camp to catch Ebola. Starvation, locked in your house is preferred, thank you very much.