Sealed In (17 page)

“Most part,” Harold stated. “But let’s just say they were in contact with a few hundred. That would spread it, but not as rapidly to other states like it has been going. Roman was here at the clinic. The last note he made was around 2:30. A patient came in; he marked them off. His debit card was used at a fast food restaurant ten miles from here.”

Edward closed his eyes and groaned. “They stopped for take out.”

“And then he checked into the Brightside Motel. His debit card was swiped at 5:00 p.m. Brightside is a fleabag motel off the highway. Mainly truckers, which could account for odd locations of the virus popping up. But I tried to contact the motel and … it burned down.”

Edward’s attention
was caught. “It burned down? When?”

“December 16
th
. Arson. Someone deliberately set it on fire. Killed everyone. Interestingly enough, Roman is in the computer records and is listed as deceased because his car was still in the lot.”

Martha spoke up. “So he and his friend were probably sick, and whoever picked them up lit the place. Had to be the dad or the sheriff. They locked down Hartworth. They knew Roman had the virus and tried to stop it there.”

“Exactly,” Harold said. “It’s my theory that since this thing is a weapon and it is distributed by missiles, it isn’t heat resistant.”

“Wouldn’t the doctor know this?” Edward asked.

Harold nodded. “Yes. But I’m betting he thought only the actual weapon was resistant to heat. Come on, the germ levels in this town tell how strong this thing is.”

Edward sighed. “So instead of destroying it, he created a pseudo bomb with the fire.”

Harold again nodded. “And the smoke carried it. Yep.”

“Oh my God.” Edward spun and picked up the phone. “This thing is now in the red level.” He dialed. “And unfortunately it’s been there longer than we even knew.”

<><><><>

Andy was in a whirlwind emotionally and physically. One minute he was walking through the desolate town of Lincoln filled with despair, the next he was whisked off. Stuffed in a plastic bag, stripped of his clothing, scrubbed and scrubbed again then put into a room.

The room wasn’t that bad. It had a bed, dresser, small couch, and table. There was a private bathroom, a computer, and a television with cable. It would have been perfect had it not been for the fact that Andy couldn’t get out.

He had been there for hours. They brought him food, clothes, took his blood. They talked to him only briefly. He was clueless as to what was going on. They said very little.

Andy wasn’t in a good state of mind. He was still drowning in pain over all that happened.

He didn’t regret the decision to help Stew because he knew Stew would have done the same for him. When Stew fell, Andy rushed to help him stand, and then he carried Heather’s body inside and returned for Stew.

Stew was ravaged with the illness, and Andy couldn’t leave his side. He wiped him down, gave him water, and then watched him die. Stew vomited so much there was nothing left but blood. His body was black and had expanded so much that his skin peeled and ripped. The final moments of his life were a few short labored breaths, a stare, and Stew was gone.

Stew
died early in the morning on the 20
th
. The ground was too cold to bury him and Heather, and Andy didn’t want to take a chance of throwing the virus into the air by burning them. So he planned to return. He turned off the heat. The winter would serve as a freezer.

Andy stayed in the house until the next morning, but he knew. He could see Emma’s house from Stew’s and there hadn’t been a light on in over a day.

He didn’t want to take a chance that the germ was on him, and Andy had no plans to touch Emma, but he wanted to talk to her.

He walked to the house, knocked, peeked in the window, and then went inside.

He was too late.

Emma and Cody were gone.

Andy felt bad that he wasn’t there for them. Wasn’t there to help them. In fact, Andy was too late for anyone in Lincoln.

His truck was still parked outside of Emma’s, and he took that into town.

Barren. Dark. He went house to house, but everyone was either dead or close to it.

He was stuck in those memories, the feeling of great sadness, when the sound of a buzz caught his attention.

It was the door. Andy had heard that sound before, only this time, a man walked in without a protective suit.

The man carried a bottle of whiskey.

“Mr. Jenkins, congratulations. Not only are you not a carrier, but you are completely immune to this thing. We don’t know why or how, we’ll find out, but for now, I thought maybe you’d like a nightcap.”

Andy nodded.

“Good.” He walked to the table. “My name is Dr. Chad Walker. I am the facilitator and head virologist here.” He grabbed a glass and paused to look at the plate of food. “You haven’t eaten.”

“N … not hung … hung … grrr . Hungry.”

“I see.” Chad poured a small amount of whiskey for Andy and handed him the glass. “I have to say I am a huge fan of your work. The Ice Age Baby. Brilliant.”

“Th … thank you.”

“I’m a writer as well. I wrote about germ warfare. I thought it was brilliant. However … my best royalty year was three hundred dollars. You?”

“Twelve hun … hundred.”

“Well, you and I both know we write for the love of it. You can’t make a living being an author, unless you’re Stephen King. And … I’ll leave the bottle here for you. There’s a nice documentary on the History channel tonight about Bog People. You may enjoy it.”

Andy nodded.

“I realize this is an inconvenience,” Chad said. “You feel trapped. I know. I promise it won’t be for long. Some testing, some interviews, and before long you’ll be free to move about the facility. Can I just get your patience and cooperation for a few days?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Chad snapped his fingers and reached into his pocket. He set down a pill bottle. “For you. Once a day. Take it with breakfast and eat.”

“I’m n … not s-s-sick.”

“That’s not for illness. It’s for the stutter. With all the emotional trauma you have been through the last thing you need is to feel frustrated during the interviews. It won’t get rid of the stutter completely, but it will take a lot of the edge off. It works on that portion of the brain. I’m surprised no one has given you medication.”

“Th .. they d-did. I … c … couldn’t afford it,” Andy said.

“Ah, there we go again. The negatives of the literary life.” Chad walked to the door. “I know you have been through a harrowing experience. You’ll have to relive it via interviews with us, and for that I apologize. That’s why we aren’t asking too many questions tonight. You rest. Please. Enjoy the whiskey.”

“How … how … long?” Andy asked.

Chad paused before leaving. “How long will you be here?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. This bug is lethal, as you know, and this stay could be longer than both of us would like. Have a good night.”

The doctor left, and Andy took a sip of his drink.

He’d make the best of it; try to not think about Lincoln too much, especially since he had to talk about it a lot. Perhaps he’d even get a little tipsy; that would help him sleep. Andy needed to sleep. He hadn’t done that for days.

Del drew the curtain over the glass wall for privacy. He recognized the man they brought into the next isolation room. He was the doctor that interviewed him on the CDC truck. Del waved to him, but he really didn’t want to be bothered by anyone.

What did he expect? That after a few days in the cell, nearly a week, he’d emerge to find the town hunky dory? He survived off the rations that Emma had given to him. He used the small first aid kit, cleaned his wound, and then used the liquid sutures to seal it. He had four doses of ibuprofen and used them sparingly.

He should have known. The increased silence, the temperature dropping, no one checking on him. No footsteps. He sat in that cell while everyone around him died.

An IV was hooked up to his arm; he had a few more days in quarantine before they let him out. Del didn’t even feel like getting out of bed. Of course, the room was clinical and small, nothing more than a hospital room.

They gave him a small handheld computer. They instructed him that if he truly cared about humanity, he would use his fame to get the word out about the virus. Get people to stay in, stay safe.

The Chad guy said, “Get in touch with those one million plus likes on your social media site. Typically, we would ask you not to, but this has to be heard.”

Del watched a little bit of the news. Perhaps the media was trying to be responsible, downplaying the concern. However, it was in seven states, and no one once mentioned Hartworth or Lincoln. Why?

The only word Del received about Lincoln was that there was one lone survivor and the entire town was dead.

The entire town. He even searched the web, but only conspiracy sites mentioned the dead towns.

So he wrote a blog and linked it to his social media site.

A tragedy has occurred and is still occurring all around us. Right now, this season of joy is a season of sorrow for me. I lost my entire family. They passed away from a virus that seems to be gripping this nation. If you don’t know about it, look into it. I urge you. I don’t want you to be me.

I am sitting here in a world of hurt drowning in a swamp of regret and pity. I chose my career over being a father. I wasn’t there when they lived, and I wasn’t there when they died.
Just like in life, I was so close, yet did nothing. In this case, there was nothing I could do.

I missed the years of Little League and Girl Scouts. I never learned sign language to communicate with my son because a part of me believed he wasn’t really deaf. I missed the time with my daughter, my oldest child, who never gave up on me.

I never got to know the precious feeling of being a grandfather because I missed that, too.

The mother of my children was an eccentric and quirky person. She was beautiful inside and out, supported everything I did, and I left her.

Was my career so important? Looking back now, I know that it wasn’t. In hindsight, being a rock star wasn’t my greatest accomplishment; being a father and husband was, and I failed to see that, failed to measure up to what I could have been. I failed to be a part of what could have been more rewarding that any record deal.

I screwed up, and now I pay.

Don’t be me. Embrace the ones you love. Appreciate them, tell them, and protect them.

Within minutes of posting the blog, the comments and ‘likes’ flooded in. Over twenty thousand likes, a thousand shares, and so many comments that Del couldn’t keep up; he tried, but he grew frustrated.

Comments like …

Remember God has a reason for this. Prayers.

I know how you feel; I lost my son five years ago. I am praying for you. Jesus will pull you through.

Glad I got my flu shot.

For real? This is happening?

I am sorry for your pain.

Hugs and prayers, Del.

Is this a new song? Love it!

Really? Seriously? Del thought. All the comments and only a handful of people read beyond a few words and picked up his warning. Only a handful? They just didn’t get it. They would, but at that moment, they didn’t. Then again, how could Del really expect the public to ‘get it’ when he himself barely comprehended it at all?

<><><><>

“But, Ed, it’s Christmas Eve,” Donna, Edward’s wife, said over the phone.

“I realize this. I do. Come on, Donna. I d
on’t even want to chance that I harbor this thing. It’s that bad. You should have left.”

“Really, Ed, what is another day. The kids already don’t get to see you. Uproot them on Christmas?”

“Yes, yes, uproot them and do it now. Do not wait, get someone to keep an eye on the kids, toss the toys in the car, and tell them Santa is only going to the safe house. But get there. I’m not joking; it’s a six hour drive.”

“This thing is scaring you.”

“I have never told you to go to the safe house before. I have never been scared to be near my family. Donna, I love you guys so much. This is bad. Go.”

He hoped she listened. Edward waited for another phone call to say she was on her way. The safe house was in the mountains of Virginia, nestled far away from civilization, already stocked and easily sealed.

He was frustrated and worried, but the afternoon call from Martha helped.

“We found it.”

Edward relaxed into the chair. “In the doctor’s office?”

“Yep. Basement. But, Ed, I have good news and bad news. What do you want first?”