Victor Methos - Plague

“I have to use the restroom,” she said, standing.

“Me too,” Rebecca said as she followed her.

When the girls were gone, Hank threw his napkin and hit Duncan in the face. “What the hell are you doing? They’re in there right now talking about how to get out of this.”

“I never had a shot. The blonde’s still going to finish the date with you, though. I wouldn’t worry.”

“Well, now you really don’t have a shot-”

“She’s awful, Hank. She’s pretentious and feels life owes her something just for existing. Those are some of the most unpleasant people to be around.”

“And you can tell all that from five minutes of conversation?”

“I could tell as soon as I said hello and she didn’t even look up from her drink.”

A couple walked by and the male did a double-take of Hank. He came over and said hello and asked if Hank remembered him from some engineering conference last year. He did, or at least said he did, and they began speaking about people from the conference and what they’d been up to. Duncan could tell Hank didn’t know who any of the people were, but was keeping a grin on his face.

When the man left, Hank said, “I have no idea who that was or what conference he was talking about.”

“I don’t think he picked up on it.” Duncan sighed and put his elbows on the table. “I think I’m just gonna go.”

“What? No you’re not. Rebecca is Heather’s ride. If she leaves, Rebecca does too.”

“What’re you gonna do for me if I stay?”

“What do you want?”

“A new Xbox game.”

“You’re kidding.”

“We all have our weaknesses.”

“Fine, if you stay so I can score with Rebecca, I will buy you an Xbox game.”

Duncan smiled as the sushi was brought out. The waitress placed it down and asked if they needed anything else. It was another few minutes until the girls came back. Heather seemed in a much better mood and Duncan wondered what they had been doing in there. She was asking about his time in the Congo and Duncan glanced over to Hank who tapped one side of his nose with his finger and nodded.

Duncan was about to say something when his phone buzzed. It was a private number from the USAMRIID dispatch. Duncan had only received a call from that number once before, when he was still an intern in grad school, on September 11, 2001.

“This is Duncan…yes…yes…”

The phone nearly dropped out of his hand. He felt weak and his stomach was queasy. He looked down to the sushi and it suddenly made him feel sick.

“You okay?” Hank said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I need to go,” Duncan said, standing up and nearly falling over his chair.

“What? Where you going?” Hank yelled as Duncan made a beeline for the front door.

“To Hawaii.”

It was two o’clock in the morning when Samantha received the first call.

It was a nurse from Queen’s Medical. Sam didn’t get to the phone in time and the nurse left a message stating that Dr. Jerry Amoy had asked that she call him. Six new patients had been admitted, exhibiting symptoms of the “UF”: the Unknown Flu. It was what the staff at the hospital had begun to call the disease because they had to call it something and just calling it a flu made it sound less toxic than it was. Even though Samantha knew that influenza was one of the worst serial killers of all time.

Just as she had rolled over and was going back to sleep, her phone rang again. It was a long distance number with an Atlanta area code.

“This is Dr. Bower.”

“Sam, glad I caught you. This is Dr. Pushkin, from the lab.”

Even though Sam had known him several years, Stephen preferred that everyone call him “Dr. Pushkin” rather than Stephen.

“Doctor, hi. What are you doing up? It’s four in the morning there.”

“You haven’t spoken to Wilson yet?”

“No, why?”

“Sam, we received the results of the lab work. It’s black pox. It’s fucking black pox.”

Samantha sat quietly a while and stared at the floor. “Are you sure?” was all she managed to say.

“Yes. The symptomology matches the cultures. Wilson’s on his way down right now. He’s going to hold a press conference with a general or secretary of something. The military’s involved now too.”

“Why?”

“You know damn well why. I don’t have time for silly questions. Shake the sleep off and call me back in ten minutes. I’m grabbing the next flight and need to talk to you about our next steps.”

Sam was down to her rental car in five minutes. The night sky was glittering with stars. It was clear in a way she had never really seen before, as if a wound had been torn open in the sky and she was allowed to look into the innards of space. Along with the stars were planets, lit up brightly like incandescent bulbs, and farther off, galaxies. Even with the hotel, the light pollution was so minimal it was like looking at the sky from the top of a mountain.

She drove down to Queen’s Medical and saw a news van from Channel 4 parked out front. Several Jeeps in basic green and two sedans were all parked illegally. Sam parked in employee parking and walked inside.

At the entrance to the Emergency Room an MP in uniform was checking IDs and turning people away, giving them directions to the Straub Clinic and Hospital. Sam pulled out her CDC identification card.

“One moment, ma’am.”

He checked with someone on the radio hooked to his shoulder and they gave the clearance for her to come in.

The hospital looked empty with the exception of the staff. Sam smiled to the receptionist and realized it was the same one from yesterday morning.

“They’re all in the conference room down the hall,” the nurse offered without being asked.

Sam made her way down and saw the news crew setting up. At least twenty men and women were meandering about in both suits and military uniforms. Bagels had been set out on the table with sodas and coffee. Only one man was sitting at the table. He was young with auburn hair and wearing a Depeche Mode T-shirt with canvas shorts and sandals. He looked more like a surfer than a doctor. Sam sat across from him and he glanced up and smiled as he spread cream cheese on his bagel.

“Hi, I’m Duncan.”

“Samantha, nice to meet you.”

“Hm, you’re a doctor, right?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting. You didn’t introduce yourself as a doctor. Everyone I’ve met in this room calls themselves doctor like they don’t have names.”

“It’s ego. That’s probably why they went to medical school. Are you a physician as well?”

“Sort of. I got my MD before my PhD but I never took the boards or practiced.”

“That seems like a lot of work for nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say nothing. It taught me that I didn’t want to be a doctor.”

Ralph Wilson got up and stood at the front of the room. A PowerPoint display was on behind him and he flipped through a few slides and then said, “Ladies and gentleman, I’m Dr. Ralph Wilson of the Centers for Disease Control. I’m the deputy director of Infectious Disease Research for those of you who haven’t met me before. I know everyone’s been called out here in the middle of the night so let’s begin so we can get as much shut-eye as possible. We all have a big day tomorrow and tomorrow’ll be here sooner than we think.” He adjusted his glasses, and began with the first slide.

It was a black hand with yellow, brittle nails that had fallen off. It appeared to belong to a body that was housed in a crypt.

“This,” Ralph said, “is a victim of the plague of Justinian circa 541 AD. It afflicted the Eastern Roman Empire, after Constantine had split the empire and left the Western portion with Rome as its headquarters abandoned. Justinian was the emperor of the time and like with all leadership positions, whatever happens is your fault, so the plague was attributed to him.