Victor Methos - Plague

The man began to walk away when Robert said, “Wait.” The man turned. “We’ve been meeting for nine years and I don’t even know your real name.”

The man smirked in a melancholic way. “Jim. My name is Jim.”

“Jim,” Robert said. “I like that name. That was my father’s first name.”

“Goodbye, Robert.”

“Take care, Jim.”

Robert watched as Jim walked away and disappeared into the crowd. He glanced down to the flash drive in his hand. In a way, Jim had been the only friend he had had these past nine years. He was the only one who knew what he really was, what he really did. Briefly, he considered whether it was time for him to leave as well.

He put the flash drive in his pocket and stood up. Not yet, he thought. But soon.

Honolulu International Airport was busy with tourists and conventions that were coming in to enjoy their hot summer months. Sam parked illegally at the curb and noticed only one police cruiser out front.

She raced inside, checking her watch: it was 11:47 a.m.

There were some shops and delis, a restaurant and a bar. She ran past them, sliding through crowds. It suddenly dawned on her that she had no idea what this woman looked like. She texted Wilson and asked for a photo. Thirty seconds later, he sent a photo to her along with the message, “Let the BH team handle this.” The fact that he’d sent the photo meant he knew she had no intention of doing that.

Sam came to the TSA checkpoints and saw that the lines were at least forty people deep. They snaked through the waiting areas out into the corridor and around the corner. She got in the back of a line and counted as the next person went through the detectors and was scanned by a handheld device. It took about a minute and a half, which meant she’d be in line for almost an hour.

Sam rushed to the front of the line, pushing past people that began to swear and yell. She got to one of the TSA officers and flashed her CDC credentials.

“I need to get into those terminals right now.”

“Ma’am, what you need is to get back to the end of the line.”

Sam saw two police officers with several men in slick, plastic smocks walk around the terminal and scan the faces in the crowd. “I need to be with them. Please tell that police officer to come here and they’ll verify that-”

“I’m not gonna ask you again, get to the back of the line.”

Samantha saw a young woman step out of the bathrooms. She had curly black hair and caramel skin. She was wiping her nose and popped a handful of pills, washing them down with a bottle of water. It was Yolanda. The officers and BH team were standing not twenty feet away from her and didn’t recognize her. They were laughing and joking.

“I need to get there, now. This isn’t a joke. If you don’t let me through, people could die.”

The officer shouted behind her and two TSA officers ran up as Sam tried to push past her. The other officers grabbed her by her arms and slammed her down against a table as Sam was shouting to get the attention of the BH team.

Yolanda Gonzalez stared at herself in the bathroom mirror at Honolulu International Airport. She appeared pale and had been coughing all morning. A rash was starting to appear on her chest and she buttoned the top button of her blouse to cover it up. She had a slight fever and had just vomited into the toilet.

“You doin’ okay, hon?” Melissa, another stewardess on her airline asked.

“I think I got the flu.”

“Maybe you should go home?”

“I can’t miss any more work.”

“Yeah,” Melissa said, washing her hands at the sink, “they used to pay us for sick time but not no more. Used to pay a lot more too. This whole industry’s gone to hell. Let me feel you.” She placed her hand on Yolanda’s forehead. “You’re burnin’ up, sweetie. You need to go home.”

“I’ll just do a half day if it gets worse.”

“Well, let me give you these. They’re Lortab so you gotta be careful. Just take one at a time, four hours apart. It’ll get you through the day.”

“Thanks, Melissa.”

“No problem. If you need someone to cover a flight call me. I’m off at three.”

“Thanks.”

As Melissa left, Yolanda turned back to the mirror. She took a deep breath, and walked outside into the corridor. She noticed some cops and a few guys dressed in what looked like rain slicks standing around, but they were only there a minute and then walked on. She wondered if there’d been a bomb threat. Since 9-11, they got at least one a week and the cops or FBI or military police would come and look around and then leave. It had become routine and she wondered what it was like before 9-11, when you weren’t thinking about terrorists all day.

As she was taking her Lortab, she heard some yelling near the metal detectors and looked over. A woman was shouting and trying to fight her way past TSA. Probably someone pissed that they patted down her kid or something. She watched as three TSA officers pinned the woman down on a table and put handcuffs on her.

Yolanda turned, and headed for her plane.

Samantha Bower sat in a small gray room the TSA used as a holding cell. There were no windows and no decorations. Just a gray table and two gray chairs. No agents from the FBI or the TSA came in however. She guessed she was in there for over an hour before there was a knock on the door and Ralph Wilson appeared with two police officers. He had a knowing grin on his face and said, “Let’s go, jail bird. You can get your bike later.”

They stayed silent until they were outside and the two officers had returned to their cruiser. A cab waited for them on the curb and they climbed in. Wilson told the driver to take them to Queen’s Medical.

“They said you assaulted a TSA agent.”

“I didn’t assault her. I just tried to push my way past her.”

“Pushing is assault.” He smiled at her. “I was arrested once in Texas for confining a woman with pneumonic plague to a hospital room and locking the door. Sometimes fighting for the greater good means you’re going to get into some hot water.”

He leaned back in the seat and pulled out a pipe. He never smoked it, as he had quit years ago, but the feel of it in his mouth, Sam knew from late night conversation, made him feel as if he were in his youth again.

“They won’t be pursuing charges,” he said.

“Did she make it on the plane?”

“Yes. They’re in the air right now. The FBI’s agreed to help us and they’re grounding the plane. But it’s too late for the passengers. Everyone will have to be quarantined.” He stared out the window. “We’ve had forty-one admittees since this morning.”

Sam nodded, as if expecting news like that. “The hospital doesn’t have any more space. I scouted out a rec center nearby. We can rent the gymnasium and just buy cots. Ralph, we need to ground all the flights coming and going. We need to let the public know this isn’t the swine flu or a head cold.”

“I know,” he said, keeping his eyes glued to the passing buildings. “I never thought I would experience something like this.”

They arrived at Queen’s Medical and Sam could see there was a heavier military presence than even a few hours ago. Jeeps were parked in most of the handicap and expectant mother spaces and several MPs stood at every entrance and exit.

They walked into a ghost town. The staff was not there anymore. Wilson informed her that several of the receptionists and orderlies had come down with symptoms. Sam immediately went up to the sixth floor. A few nurses were walking around, going from room to room and helping where they could. Now they were in full gear, with facemasks, thick rubber gloves, and booties. The barriers she had asked for were now up and no one was touching any of the patients.