Bobby Adair - Ebola K

My son spent the summer of 2013 in Uganda and was the inspiration for one of the book’s characters, Austin Cooper. I was so moved by some of the stories he came back with that I started to write them out as a record of the events. But as things turn out in my mind, the true stories got sucked into a series of what-if questions along with the concern I’ve had with Ebola since I first heard of it after the 1976 outbreaks in Zaire. And of course that was rolled into another of my favorite subjects, post-apocalyptic fiction.

Hence, this story—as anyone reading in 2014 knows—occurs contemporaneously with the largest Ebola outbreak in African history. I adjusted some of the details of the story in order to pin it to recent news events.

Except for the Ebola virus mutating into an airborne strain as it does in the story (which is purely fictional), all of the information presented about Ebola and its effects is accurate according to published medical documents and historical news records. On that note, I am occasionally contacted by readers who have expertise in different areas, and if you have information that contributes to the accuracy of this story, I encourage you to contact me through my website.

Keeping in mind the reality of the world we live in, Ebola is a terrible disease that—even as I write this story—is gruesomely killing people just like you and me, except for the fact that they weren’t lucky enough to be born in an affluent country. I read an article last night about a shortage of medical supplies available to nurses, doctors, and volunteers treating patients in Liberia. Because even the most basic protective gear—such as gloves—isn’t available, people are putting their lives at risk in order to help others.

While I harbor no illusions about fixing that problem or curing the world’s ills through a donation, I’d encourage anyone interested in helping to consider providing a measure of assistance to people unfortunate enough to be afflicted with this and other diseases. Hence, a portion of the proceeds from these books will be donated to that cause. If any of you feel moved to assist, I’ll post a set of links on my website that will direct you to charitable organizations that engage in these sorts of activities. Every little bit helps.

http://www.bobbyadair.com/Ebola

Getting back to business, this first book in the trilogy is provided at no charge, with two more modestly priced books to follow. This is a strategy I use to give readers a chance to try out the first book in a series risk-free. Without the burden of a large publisher and shareholders to please, indie authors have the flexibility to market their work in creative ways. As we experience a paradigm shift from traditional publishing, you might notice a large number of high-quality works at lower prices or even free. You’ll find many new authors who are excited to get their work in your hands, so don’t let the price—or lack of one—affect your perception of the quality of their work.

With that said, your feedback and reviews are valued and appreciated, so if you enjoy the book, please take a moment and write a short review and leave it on the website where you obtained the book. Links are provided at the end. Also don’t forget to “Like” my Facebook page…we have a lot of fun and really enjoy interacting with readers.

And just as the readers in my Slow Burn series have enjoyed the suspense left at the end of each book—spoiler alert—there is a cliffhanger at the end of Ebola K: Book 1.

“Seems like ever since you got to Uganda, you can’t stop talking. But today, you’re quiet. What’s up?”

Austin Cooper made a noncommittal sound into his cell phone and thought about whether to tell his dad the thoughts that were bothering him.

“Did you go bungee jumping into the Nile again?”

Nothing like that.

“Camping with the coffee farmers up on Mt. Elgon?”

“No.” Austin took a long, slow breath. It was going to be hard.

With his elbows on the rough-hewn piece of wood lashed between two poles that passed for a table in the little shop, Austin looked out at people who were passing on the street. He spotted Rashid talking to a boda driver. He ran a finger around the remains of the ugali and cabbage on his plate. “I’ve been in Mbale all week. When I first got here, I was walking down the street. It was pretty crowded and all. I was going down to a market to get some fruit and I saw this kid on a rooftop up ahead.”

Into the pause, Austin’s dad, Paul Cooper, said, “Yeah?”

There was no good way to ease into it, so Austin simply said it. “Somebody pushed him off.”

The phone was silent over the space of a few breaths. “Someone pushed the kid off the roof? Did he get hurt?”

“Yeah, pretty badly. But nobody stopped to help. All the people ignored him and walked by.”

“What?” Paul was surprised.

“That’s how it is here,” said Austin. “He was a street kid. They’re like some kind of a lower caste. They’re orphans. They live on the edge of town in the dumps and eat scraps. Most of them have AIDS. ”

“And those are the ones you teach?”

“Yes.”

“Was he one of your students?” Paul asked.

“No. I teach in Kapchorwa.” Austin looked out to the street again. Rashid was negotiating with a boda driver for a ride back to Kapchorwa. Rashid always did the negotiating with Austin out of sight. They’d learned early in their stay that Austin’s blue eyes and blond hair always got them the mzungu price. Rashid, being Arabic, got a better deal.

“I can’t keep the names of those places straight. What happened to the kid?”

Austin choked up. Just thinking about the story brought unexpected emotion. He faked a cough to cover it. “I couldn’t…I had to do something.”

“What happened?” Paul asked.

“I picked him up and carried him to the hospital.”

Paul was at a loss for words. After several long moments, he said, “I’m proud of you.”

“The hospital wouldn’t take him because he was a street kid.”

“You’re shitting me,” Paul’s voice was full of disgust.

Austin was unfazed by the profanity. His dad never had much respect for the concept of good and bad words. “No. The only way they’d take him is if I paid. It took pretty much the rest of my money. I’m nearly broke.” Austin hadn’t intended to add that last line. The opportunity to teach for the summer in Uganda had cost them both a bit more than they could afford.

Without hesitation, Paul said, “I’ll transfer some money into your account, okay? I’m proud of you. I really am. You’re turning into a pretty good person. I think this summer in Uganda is good for you.”

“Thanks.” Austin wondered about whether to tell his dad the next part. But Paul wasn’t a worrier, not like Austin’s mom. “There’s more.”

“Yeah?”

“I stayed at the hospital with him for four days. I didn’t think they’d let him stay if I left. But after the fourth day, I kinda got comfortable with the staff and felt I could trust them.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So I left the hospital for a while and went out to get something to eat.” At that point, Austin had to fake another cough. It was the first time he’d told the story and the emotions—just days old—were still raw.

With growing concern, Paul asked, “What happened?”

“They kicked him out of the hospital.” Another slow, deep breath. “I went out looking for him. It was a gang that pushed him off the roof.”

“Like Bloods and Crips?” Paul asked.

“No,” said Austin. “The country has a lot of misguided groups who are doing some really crappy things in the name of religion. The Lord’s Resistance Movement is the one you hear about putting kids into sex slavery or forcing them into their army. They think these street kids are sinners or unclean or something. Dad, they caught him and castrated him. They left him in the street.”