Victor Methos - Plague

She walked down the main corridor and saw Jerry Amoy sitting in the waiting area. There was an empty plate on the seat next to him and he was sipping a Diet Coke as he watched a DVD of Friends on the television that was hooked to the wall. Samantha came and sat down next to him.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days,” Amoy said.

“I’ve been setting up the aid stations.”

Amoy nodded. “I’ve heard they’ve been running out of food.”

“I just heard that myself. I don’t know how that’s possible. They’re supposed to be resupplied every night and we have shipments scheduled to come in every week.”

“Don’t rely too much on the government, Dr. Bower. The government’s just people, and unless people have a strong interest, they do just enough to get by.”

She nodded, though she didn’t agree with him, and they watched television a couple of minutes.

“How are things here?” she asked.

“Same as always. Patients show up at our doors for help and we have no help to offer them. This isn’t why I became a doctor: to choose who gets a bed and who doesn’t.”

“Sometimes we don’t get to choose our circumstances. We just have to deal with them the best we can.”

“I’m leaving the island.”

“When?”

“Day after tomorrow. I can’t…it infected a day care for young…” She saw tears well in his eyes and he wiped them with the back of his hand. “It’s amazing how evil nature can be. Man’s got nothing on it.”

“It’s not evil, Jerry. It just is.” She watched the screen a few moments and then said, “Where are you gonna go?”

“California. I have relatives there. I’ll take the licensing exams. This island was a paradise for me, but even when this is all over, it’ll be ruined for me. There’s nothing left for me here but memories of people dying.”

Samantha rose. “You’ve done good work, Jerry. I wouldn’t give up just yet.”

As she walked down the corridor, she glanced back to see his face buried in his hands.

Ralph was sitting at his desk when she walked into the administrative offices of the hospital. Other than a few military personnel and the handful of staff volunteers that had stayed to care for the sick, the hospital was empty.

It reminded her of some of the old hospitals from the fifties she’d been given tours of as a medical student. They still had equipment, and many of the rooms were unbearably creepy, as they still had clothing from old patients that had long since passed away. At least here there isn’t a thick coating of dust on everything, she thought.

She waited by the door until Ralph looked up from what he was doing and motioned for her to sit down.

“I’m sorry about what happened today. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. A little shaken up, but I’m grateful someone was in that mall.”

He tapped his pen against the desk. “You’re going home. Tonight. I’ve booked a flight for you on a military charter that’s dropping off another shipment of vaccines.”

“What? Ralph, you need everyone you can get out here.”

“I’m leaving too.”

“What’s going on?”

“Martial law is being declared. The military is fully taking over operations and the World Health Organization is sending infectious disease bio teams to handle the patients. Our work is through.”

“What are you talking about? Hundreds of people a day are getting infected. How is our work through?”

“We’re containment people, Sam. We deal with the initial stages of a crisis and make sure it doesn’t spread. Once it’s contained, our job is done and we bring in the disaster handlers. That’s the military. It’s their show now. Anyway, your flight’s at one in the morning. Enjoy your last day in paradise.”

“I don’t think I should leave.”

“Sam, I know we’re friends, but I’m also your boss and you need to treat me as such. You’re leaving, end of story. There’ll be other epidemics and other curious agents. Don’t get too hung up on any one.”

Robert Greyjoy drove through a quiet suburb near Honolulu in a stolen Range Rover. Well, stolen wasn’t the correct word; most cars had been abandoned on the side of the road and he happened to find one that had a half tank of gas left.

The neighborhood was clearly middle to upper class. You could always tell based on the cars parked in the driveway. Some people put themselves in massive lifetime debt over their homes and then had nothing left over for the cars. Cars were much more useful for predicting the socio-economic climate of a neighborhood than any other factor except for the maintenance of the lawns.

A group of men were walking by on the street and they eyed him. One had his shirt off and he had a large tattoo of a shark on his back. He threw up some sort of gang sign and Robert laughed despite himself. He kept driving.

There was a young girl on the corner, perhaps no more than twelve. Another shirtless man with tattoos held her by the arm and was clearly scolding her. He looked over and saw Robert’s car and said something to the girl before disappearing into a house.

The girl casually walked in front of Robert’s car and he had to slam on his brakes to avoid a collision. She came up to the window. She was lovely, Robert thought. Dark hair with emerald eyes rimmed red from crying. She was wearing a sundress with high-heels that she clearly was not accustomed to.

“Are you looking for sex?” she said.

Robert grinned. “I think what you want to ask is if I’m looking to party or looking for a good time. If you say ‘looking for sex’ you’ll scare most people off.”

“Are you looking to party?” she said timidly.

“How old are you?”

“Old enough.”

“No, you’re not. Why are you out here?”

She looked down to the ground. She seemed somewhere else for a few moments and then looked up again. “Do you want sex or not?”

“No.”

She turned and went back to her corner. Robert pulled his Range Rover over to the curb and stepped out. He locked the doors, not that that would really help now, and then walked to the girl.

“That man that was out here with you. Who is he?”

“None of your business.”

He leaned down, looking into her eyes. His stare had power. There was a time when he would work on it in the mirror, but that seemed like ages ago. His eyes were reflections of what was inside. Work on the interior, and the exterior will follow.

“Who is he?” he said flatly, menace in his voice.

“My…my mama died and they take care of me.”

“How do they take care of you?”

“They gimmie food and I can sleep in the closet. They protect me.”

“How many of them are there?” She didn’t say anything and Robert grabbed her arm and squeezed gently. “How many?”

“Six, and two other girls.”

The man that had been out here before came out again, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Hey, man, you gonna fuck her or what?”

“How much?” Robert said, beginning to walk toward the man.

“We ain’t take no money no more. Ain’t no stores open anyway. You gotta come up with somethin’ to trade. Last dude gave us a gold watch.”

Robert was only a few feet away from him now. “Gold watch? Hm. How’s this one?” he said, holding up his watch.

“That don’t look like no watch I-”

Robert spun and grabbed his arm, twisting it behind him so violently that the man sucked down his cigarette. He forced the arm up, nearly parallel to the shoulder, using the man’s body weight and gravity. There was a snap in his shoulder. The man screamed.

The man reached for a gun that was tucked in the small of his back. Robert grabbed two of his fingers and jerked them to the side, breaking them, and took the gun himself. It was a Beretta.