Jacqueline Druga - Omnicide

“What about you?”

“I’m already exposed.”

Trixie had no idea what that meant or how serious it was. While firing up the browser on her phone, she grabbed the remote and put on the television.

“Right now we still have power,” the female newscaster said. “How long it will remain, we don’t know. Right now, again, if you are just joining us, the one-hour safety window was wrong. If you have not left your home, you are advised to stay inside, seal all doors and windows, and do not leave. If you are experiencing any of the following symptoms…”

Trixie increasingly panicked with every symptom the newscaster gave. Even though coffee was an option in her room, she grabbed the warm champagne and drank.

That newscast was now two days ago. It had gone off the air just after midnight the first day. The cameras kept running, showing an empty news desk and eventually even the cameras went down.

Trixie still had power, that was a good thing.

She didn’t leave. She had food and water in her room, but with her home set far back on her property she couldn’t see the street or know what was going on outside.

She’d spent the two days trying to get answers, reaching people, and had nearly given up until Lena called.

She wasn’t the last one left. Not by a long shot.

Griffin, AZ

Griffin, AZ

When death came for the woman in room nine, it was rapid and vicious. Art also believed treating her and being unable to save her was inhumane. It prolonged her suffering and her family’s pain as they watched her leave this world.

He covered her and then called Fillman’s funeral home to tell them he had the last of them. Fillman’s could retrieve the body another day.

That was it.

Room nine’s passing marked the end of the fungus in Griffin, or so Art believed.

Had he failed the woman? After all, he wasn’t a medical doctor. He was a scientist, one far removed from treating people.

Maybe if someone far more experienced had been there. Then again, not even Dr. Craig could do anything.

It was hopeless.

After showering, Art grabbed a soda from the vending machine and walked toward town. They’d be hearing from Kit soon. Last he checked in, Kit had arrived in Seaver and no further word was given.

It was safe for Kit to be there. Art was a hundred percent certain; he knew the spores.

It was strange for him when he walked down the street, hearing the noise coming from the car shop. Life wasn’t stopping in Griffin. When the twenty-four hours were up, people had gone back to work.

Back to life as usual.

If Kit came back with the news that Seaver was a dead horse, then life would not be normal again. At least not for Art. Maybe the people in Griffin were different.

He was starting to believe that when he heard the shop, saw people coming out of the coffee shop, going into the diner, and two men sat outside the barber shop.

They hadn’t any clue, Art thought. None whatsoever or they didn’t care.

Perhaps they didn’t realize or know ten people in their little town had died.

He’d ask Cass. He saw her pacing back and forth outside the police station.

“Hey,” Art called out when he approached her.

She turned around. “Hey.”

“Waiting on Kit, I suppose.”

“Yeah, he radioed he’s on his way back.”

“Did he say anything?” Art asked.

“Nope. Left me hanging. It’s like waiting on the season premiere of a show to find out what happened.”

Art smiled and his eyes caught the badge on her belt buckle. “So, a badge?”

“I’m a deputy now. It was official this morning.”

“Wow, congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Things seem normal. I mean the barber shop is open. Eb is in his shop.”

“They’re still setting up for the festival too,” Cass said. “Did you see that?’

“No, I didn’t. Which makes it even stranger. Do they not care about what’s going on?”

“They… they don’t know really what’s going on. Well, Eb does. No one else. We told them only what we announced,” Cass said. “So to them, they beat the mark and are okay.”

“They don’t know about their fellow townspeople dying. It was almost five percent of your population.”

“They don’t know. They will,” Cass replied. “Mark, our mayor, will talk to everyone tonight and Walt is running a special edition of the paper. I wrote three obituaries this morning.”

“And you probably want to get answers about Seaver.”

“Absolutely,” Cass said. “We’re not giving up. I’m not. If Seaver isn’t alright, then we’ll try somewhere else.”

“You can be sure if Seaver is down then everywhere else is, too.”

“No.” Cass shook her head. “We know for a fact…” Her attention was drawn from her thoughts and to the police car that pulled up.

Another car was behind him.

“He found someone,” Cass said in surprise.

“No, that man isn’t from Seaver.” Art quickly walked toward the other car. “That man is a colleague of mine.”

Cass started to say “what?” but Kit stepped from the police car. “Well?” Cass asked.

Kit shook his head. “All gone.”

Cass closed her eyes. “Oh my God.”

“Lena’s camera crew was filming. We can see what happened at the end. I mean, that’s something.”

“It is,” Cass said. “Here’s something else. Good news.”

“Please. Tell me.”

“Lena made contact.”

“What?”

Immediately Art and Niles echoed the shock

“What?” Art asked. “Contact.”

“On the phone,” Cass said. “Los Angeles. So you see, Art, we have to keep looking. If someone is alive there, they could be alive anywhere.”

Mark wore a white button-down dress shirt, no tie. He looked ready for a day at the office. He paced a little in the station, arms folded, as he listened to Kit. Then he went silent, doing some sort of thinking face before he spoke. “I am going to agree with Cass,” he said. “We need to go out there. Search. Look for people. Create teams. They aren’t just gonna come to us. Those who survived need to stick together. As long as there is no threat to the teams we send out.”

Niles shook his head. “None that I can see or saw. They do need to be prepared in case they run into less than stellar survivors.”

“I want to go with Crazy Ada,” said Cass.

“What?” Kit snapped. “She’s needed here.”

Before an argument could ensue, Lena brightly called out, “I have her. I have her on the phone.”

Mark snapped his finger. “Put her on the speaker phone.”

Lena just stared at the phone. “How?”

With a slight grumble, Mark walked over and pressed the button, placing down the receiver. “Trixie? Are you there?”

“I am.”

“How are you?” Mark asked.

“Scared.”

“That’s to be expected.”

“Trixie, this is Doctor Niles Proctor. Tell me, are you experiencing any symptoms? Rash, trouble breathing, stomach issues?”

“No. None. I’m physically fine.”

“Good,” Niles said.

Art spoke up. “What are you seeing there, Trixie, in LA?”

“Nothing really. My house is pretty set back from the road.”

“Have you left your house at all?” Art asked.

“I haven’t left my room.”

“Not once?” asked Art.

“No, I have everything I need here,” Trixie said. “And the news said to stay put.”

Art looked at Niles. “Did you know the news was broadcasting?”

Niles nodded. “Yes, but not for long. We also don’t know how long communication and power will be up. Trixie? You can leave the house. It is perfectly safe.”