Brett Battles - Sick

The previous night had been his off night, which meant he’d gone to bed a lot earlier and gotten up around noon. While he’d been sitting around the living room, flipping through the channels on the TV, he couldn’t help but get sucked into the news about the deadly flu outbreak in Sage Springs. Some of the reporters were saying that so far anyone who caught the disease had died. By the evening, after his wife had come home and they were watching the news together, the reports gave the impression that the situation was under control.

But here was Hector, dead from what looked like the flu to Karl. And didn’t Hector’s route take him through Sage Springs?

He stumbled back further, falling to the floor, his hand touching something moist. Quickly, he pushed himself back to his feet, not taking the time to see what it was.

“Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus.”

Facing the bed as if he expected Hector to rise out of it and attack him, he moved back to the window and scrambled outside.

There, he doubled over and rubbed his face as he tried to catch his breath. After several seconds, he stood up, knowing he had to get out of there. He raced to his truck and reached up to open the door. That’s when he saw it. The damp spot on the side of his hand. Water or…

…mucus. Hector’s snot .

Instantly he thought about the moist spot he’d touched when he fell.

Eyes wide in panic, he dropped to the ground and wiped his hand against the asphalt, but he knew it was already too late. He’d rubbed his hand across his face. It could have gotten in his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Hell, chances were he’d been infected the moment he stepped into the room.

“ Unofficial sources have told me that, so far, no one who has caught this flu has survived.”

I’m a dead man.

Karl’s mother had been a saint, at least to him. She’d been the nicest, kindest person he’d ever known. “Just doing what’s right,” she’d say. “Don’t know how to live any other way.” Karl had learned from her example and tried to live that way, too. He was a good son, then later a good husband, and a good friend, as was evident by his trip to check on Hector.

Kneeling there beside his truck, he knew there was only one right thing he could do now.

He made three phone calls as he drove away. The first was to 911, reporting Hector’s death and warning them that it appeared to be related to the Sage Springs flu. The second was to work, telling them that Hector was sick and would be staying home, in case they were thinking about sending someone else out to check on him. He didn’t mention his own plans, that he wouldn’t be finishing his route, or, in fact, wouldn’t even be starting it.

The third call was to his wife’s cell phone. At that time of night, she would have turned it off, knowing if he were going to call, he’d use their landline. But he didn’t want to talk to her. He just wanted to tell her he loved her one last time, so he said it to her voice mail, then turned off his phone and shoved it under his seat.

After that, he drove into the desert, away from the highway, and down a side road he was pretty sure no one would be on for several days. After he parked, he found a couple scraps of paper in the glove compartment and wrote two identical notes: DEATH FLU VICTIM INSIDEDO NOT OPEN DOORSCALL CDC

He then put them on the windows of both doors, and settled in.

If he were still feeling okay by noon the next day, he’d drive back into town and take whatever punishment the company decided to give him.

But punishment was unnecessary. Karl Trainer never did drive back into town.

Unlike Karl, the three guys who’d had breakfast with Hector-Luis Chavez, Diego Ortega, and Al Rangel-were not blessed with the foreknowledge of what happened to them. So the virus that was believed to be contained in the small town of Sage Springs gained more and more of a foothold in Victorville with every person the three men came into contact with. This included, but was not limited to: the waitress and hostess at Kerry’s Diner where they’d eaten, the customers at Ralph’s supermarket between 11:41 a.m. and 12:03 p.m., Al Rangel’s neighbor Charlie Fisher, and their respective spouses.

The disease then spread further through the eastern part of the city, clinging onto new hosts wherever it could. It was only by pure chance that none of those touched were heading over the hill into San Bernardino or Riverside or Orange County or Los Angeles. If that had happened, things could have gotten a whole lot worse.

Once again, Karl proved to be a hero. His call to 911 about Hector led to the entire town being shut down before sunrise, and the quarantine zone being expanded to a roughly triangular area that went from Victorville in the West, to China Lake in the North, to Barstow in the East.

When the calls of more sick and dead started coming in, at least it didn’t catch anyone by surprise. And by luck and the quick work of the National Guard, the Victorville branch of the outbreak ran its course without spreading further.

Unfortunately, health officials in Victorville weren’t the only ones who started receiving calls.

When Ash woke the morning after his surgery, the pain in his head had become more of a throb-a huge, pounding throb. Pax was asleep in a chair in the corner. Apparently he’d been given the late shift.

Carefully, Ash swung his legs off the bed, then walked, painful step after painful step, to the bathroom. When he finally came back out, Pax was awake.

“I’d have helped you if you needed it,” Pax said, getting out of his chair.

“I didn’t need it. Where are my clothes?”

“You should lie down. Take it easy.”

“Where…are they?”

Pax frowned and shook his head. “I’ll get ‘em.” He opened the closet next to the bathroom, pulled out a set of clean clothes, and laid them on the bed. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

It took Ash fifteen minutes to get dressed. When he walked out of the room, he found Pax leaning against the wall in the hallway. “Looks like you’ll live,” Pax said, giving Ash the once-over. “Come on. Everyone’s in the cafeteria.”

Ash knew he wasn’t a pretty sight. He’d taken a look at himself in the mirror, not because he was curious, but because he wanted to remember what the people who’d done this to his family had forced him to do. He wanted to remember the bandages, and the swollen face, and the bruises. He wanted to remember it all.

The cafeteria was more like a wide spot in the corridor than a room to itself. There were four long tables and, at the back, a counter that opened into a kitchen.

Matt, Rachel, and Billy were sitting together at one of the tables, while a woman Ash hadn’t met before was sitting at the next one over, alone. She had coffee-colored skin and long, black hair. After a moment, he realized she might very well be the woman he’d seen doing shoulder exercises outside the day before.

In front of the tables was a TV on a cart. As soon as Ash and Pax walked up, Matt muted the volume, and the others got up and walked over to greet them. Everyone, that was, except the unknown woman.

“You should still be lying down,” Billy reprimanded Ash.

“I think he looks fine,” Rachel said. “How do you feel?”

“Sore,” Ash told them. “But I’m not going to spend the day in bed.”

Billy moved in close, examining the bandages and touching Ash’s face. Twice, Ash winced.

“I can give you something for the pain,” Billy offered.

“No.”

Matt smiled. “You look fine to me. Well, except for your face. Come. Sit down.”

As Ash took a seat, he glanced at the TV. They’d been watching the news.