Victor Methos - Plague

A man in military uniform said, “The National Guard can help set that up but we’ll need men to run ‘em. I’ve got a skeleton crew here. Most a my boys is in Iraq and Afghanistan and we’ll have to put in a request for private troops if we want more help.”

Robert got a vision in his mind of Hurricane Katrina. He remembered seeing the soldiers in plain clothes with Ray-Ban sunglasses and automatic weapons. Mercenaries that made triple what US Army soldiers made and were better equipped.

“That’s fine,” Wilson said, “we can work out budgetary concerns with FEMA once they get here.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” someone said. There was muted laughter in the room. Robert knew what he meant: during Katrina people were drowning in the streets waiting for help that never arrived.

Wilson didn’t laugh. “Let’s keep our humor to ourselves. I don’t know how much the families of the people that are dying upstairs would appreciate us down here cracking jokes.” He glanced around the table. “Any questions?…okay, let’s make sure all agencies are on the same page. The general has asked that we hold bi-weekly meetings at the Ritz-Carlton downtown and I’ve agreed. Anyone have any problem with that?…didn’t think so. Well, ladies and gents, that’s all for now. Please remember your protocols. And we are holding a seminar on proper barrier procedures in the auditorium at McKinley High School tonight at seven so please be there if at all possible.”

Everyone rose and started filing out. Robert stood and waited until Wilson was done speaking to someone in a doctor’s white coat and then approached him.

“You seem to have everything under control,” Robert said. “Don’t think I’m necessary out here.”

“I’m afraid if this goes where we think it will, we’ll need every man we’ve got.”

“And where do you think it will go, Dr. Wilson?”

“Hell, Agent Donner. This place will go to hell.”

Jimmy Loanoai crouched over his toilet as the thick, black fluid spewed from his mouth and nose. It suffocated him and he began to cough as another fountain burst out of him. He had once been hospitalized for food poisoning from a Circle K convenience store hot dog that he had bought at two in morning, but it was nothing like this. The odd thing was it felt painless. The liquid that came out of him appeared like grape Crystal Light with coffee grounds in it and it tugged at his belly as if his organs were being ripped out, but he didn’t feel the pain.

He rose and washed out his mouth and wiped it with a towel. He was nude and he walked into his bedroom and changed into his Honolulu PD uniform, strapping his utility belt and holster to himself. He sat on the bed a long time, his face in his hands, as sweat poured down his face and soaked the collar of his uniform.

He took a few deep breaths and stood up, making his way out of the apartment and to the police cruiser waiting for him outside.

One thing he was grateful for was that the PD had sent a car to pick him up. The kid that drove was a rookie he had met a few times when they went out drinking after shifts but they’d never really talked. Jimmy had gotten the impression he was a fag and didn’t really try to be friendly. But now, he had never been happier to see anyone in his life. Jimmy climbed into the car and nodded to him as the car pulled away from the curb.

“You okay, Serg? You’re not looking too good.”

“Fine,” Jimmy said, mopping up sweat from his forehead with a wad of paper towels. “Even if I wasn’t, I gotta go. I can’t not be at my own birthday party.”

“Well you’re gonna be glad you came. I heard Captain Brogan got some strippers.”

Jimmy shook his head as he felt a wave of nausea roll through him. “That’s the last thing I need.”

When they got to the house, they had to park almost a block away, as police cruisers took up most of the free spaces. The party was being held at the captain’s house. Since the captain’s wife was independently rich-from an inheritance, Jimmy had heard-they owned one of the largest homes on the island and the party was going to be held out back by the pool.

Jimmy climbed out of the car and felt his legs get weak. His head spun and before he could swallow, vomit shot out of his mouth like something had exploded in his stomach. It spewed over the police cruiser and ran down in long, black lines to the pavement below.

“I don’t think you’re doin’ fine, Serg. Lemme take you home. I’ll explain to everyone that you’re too sick.”

“Let me just get in there and make an appearance. Then I’ll leave. Wait for me here.”

Jimmy walked up the block and wished he’d told the rookie to just drop him off in front of the house. He got all the way up the driveway before he had to stop for a second and catch his breath. He wondered if he should go to an Instacare and get some antibiotics or whatever it was that he needed to get rid of this damn thing.

Jimmy opened the door without knocking and saw several women in the living room having glasses of white wine. One of the women cheered, walked over, and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. She was the captain’s wife, and though she always remembered Jimmy’s name, he’d be damned if he could ever remember hers.

She led him poolside and someone shoved a beer in his hand. The pool was filled with men and women, a few of them playing chicken in the shallows. A beach ball flew past his head and he didn’t have the energy to duck.

Everyone cheered and yelled happy birthday and someone else shoved another beer in his hand. There was a lounge chair right next to him and he sat down and leaned back.

“You have to try the jungle juice Timothy made,” the captain’s wife said.

Jimmy sighed and stood up, the blood rushing from his head. He followed her to the table that had all the food laid out and there was a large crystal bowl that contained ice, fruit, and a light red fluid. He stood over the bowl and she took a cup and dipped it into the jungle juice for him. She placed it in his hand and he smiled weakly and took a sip. It stung his throat and he felt nauseated but he managed to catch himself before vomiting.

He began coughing and he tried to cover his mouth but the first couple of coughs escaped him and he hoped nothing had gotten into the jungle juice. He would hate to give everyone else a stomach flu.

“I’m not feeling good,” Jimmy said. “I been throwing up all day.”

“Oh no! You poor dear, what’s wrong?”

“Just the flu. I gotta go home, though. Tell Tim hi for me and that I’m sorry.”

“I will. You go home and get better now.”

As she watched him go, she took a fresh cup and dipped it into the jungle juice before taking a large gulp.

Amy Greaton stood at the head of her sixth grade classroom and glanced over her students as they finished their exams. She opened a drawer on her desk and took out two ibuprofen, washing them down with orange juice. She glanced down to her chest; the rash was still there. It was red and she saw small bumps beginning to rise in her skin.

Her mother had died of breast cancer and she was worried about anything that affected her chest or breasts. She figured this was some sort of allergic reaction, though. The fact that she had also been vomiting this morning and felt alternating sensations of hot and cold indicated she had probably ingested whatever it was she was allergic to.

She and several other teachers had gone to lunch the previous day and she ran through the entire meal in her mind. She remembered that someone had ordered spinach dip and she had had two bites with tortilla chips.

Then again, she had briefly seen officials from the Department of Health on the news, discussing a new outbreak of some viral infection. She wasn’t sure exactly what it had been since she had changed the channel. It seemed like every day some disease affected a sliver of the population and the media blew it out of proportion. Swine flu, avian flu, Korean whopping cough…each time the media called it a pandemic, and each time almost nothing would come of it.