S. Davis - 900 Miles

Jeb placed a hand on Reynolds’ shoulder. “The CDC will come up with something soon. They usually do.”

Reynolds looked up from his empty glass. “If they do, it will be too little too late. To keep order, they will issue the vaccine to the military first. By the time it trickles down to the population of small cities and towns, millions could be dead.”

“Millions,” Jeb repeated. The thought of an apocalyptic event occurring in his lifetime had never crossed his mind. His mind couldn’t comprehend the idea of millions of Americans dying. A sickening feeling brought him back to reality. “Josh?”

“I honestly don’t know. If he makes it through the next couple of days, I think he’ll pull through.” Reynold’s pushed himself from the sofa and stood, holding onto the sofa arm until his wobbly legs steadied. “I have to go, Jeb. People need me. Thanks for the drink.”

“You could use some rest, Ben.”

Reynolds chuckled. “I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

Jeb looked at his old friend’s tired face and hoped that time didn’t come too soon. “There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there.”

Reynolds sighed. “It’s just rumors, mind you, nothing definite.”

Jeb mentally braced himself for more bad news. “What?”

“There have been reports of hospitals back east being sealed off, no one in or out. The military has a very strong presence in urban areas.”

Jeb wondered if Reynolds was worrying too much about rumors. “The military might be needed to keep order in case of riots. As you said, people panic.”

“Maybe, but I still think it’s troubling. The free exchange of medical knowledge is vital in an epidemic of this magnitude. Too many medical personnel have disappeared.”

Jeb took another sip of his drink and swirled the ice cubes with his finger. “Disappeared?”

“Taken from their homes or hospitals by the military, sometimes in the middle of the night.”

“For what earthly reason would the military need…” He stopped as the implications hit home.

Reynolds nodded grimly. “So you’re beginning to understand. The military believes this disease will break down the country’s infrastructure. Maybe, they even think we’ve been attacked.”

Jeb was incredulous. “Attacked? A man-made virus? From whom—Al Quaeda?”

Reynolds shrugged. “I don’t think so, but it is mutating at an alarming rate. It doesn’t seem… natural.” He waved his empty glass around to indicate the house. “You’ve got a good set up here, Jeb—solar panels, a generator, an eight-foot high stone wall with a wrought-iron gate, steep bluffs on three sides. If I were you, I would think about a long-term water supply.” Reynolds set the empty glass on the coffee table. “I’ll drop back by in the morning.” He sighed. “Looks like no Thanksgiving dinner this year, I suppose.”

Jeb nodded. “I’m afraid so. I don’t think Karen…” He paused and started over. “I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

Reynolds shook his head sadly. “Too bad. I enjoyed your little get-togethers immensely.”

As Jeb ushered Reynolds out the door, the full weight of the doctor’s earlier words fell on him. If things got as bad as Reynolds predicted, then he needed to prepare for the worst eventuality. He was no survivalist, but he did have a hunting rifle and a pistol that had belonged to his father, who had tried in vain to interest him in hunting white-tailed deer in Mexico. Jeb had accompanied his father on several trips, but usually spent more time enjoying the scenery than hunting, much to his father’s dismay. Jeb had a lot of faith in man’s inherent compassionate nature, maybe more than Reynolds did, but panic brought out the worst in people. He owed it to his family to be prepared. Like a 32-year old Boy Scout, he thought glumly.

As soon as possible, he would need to make a trip to one of the food warehouse stores for bulk food items, canned goods, first aid supplies, bottled water and anything else he could think of that they might possibly need if things went to hell in a hurry. The generator ran on the same propane tank as the outdoor grill. A larger tank, maybe even an extra one, might be expedient. First, he needed to check in on Josh.

Josh, six-years old and small for his age, looked frail and pathetic lying in the middle of his bed with a sheet secured across his chest to keep him from thrashing about and hurting himself. The Superman sheets covering his bed were incongruously incapable of protecting him from the evil attacking him. Sweat from the fever had his curly black locks plastered to his forehead. His chest heaved irregularly, as his tiny beleaguered lungs labored for each breath. His clenched fists thrust from his side as if fighting an invisible enemy. Kneeling beside the bed, Karen was sobbing and she had one hand laid over their son’s clenched fist. Jeb went to her and rested his hand on the top of her head.

“He’ll be fine,” he said, averting his eyes from his ill son, trying to make the words sound believable.

“He looks so sad,” she replied. “He was always a rambunctious child.”

Jeb nodded silently, as he remembered the first broken bone Josh had from falling out of the lemon tree in the back yard, and his numerous cuts and bruises from trying to keep up with the bigger kids in school. He had never let his size slow him down. But now…

“Let him sleep. We need to talk.”

Karen looked up at him with concern, but followed him out of the bedroom. In the kitchen, he saw Karen had not started dinner, but he understood why. He could make a sandwich or order out for both of them, if anyone was still delivering take-out. While he started the coffee brewer perking, she sat at the island.

“Ben says things are worse than the authorities are letting on.”

Karen’s grip on the granite counter top tightened, her fingers turning white from the pressure. “What do you mean?”

He leaned on the island across from her. “More people are dying than they’re saying. If it gets worse, it could mean a disruption in services.”

“You mean electricity?” she asked.

“Maybe. Maybe more. I think I should run pick up a few things—just in case,” he added, when he saw her eyes widen in fright.

Karen eyed him suspiciously, but dipped her head in a quick nod. “If you think you should. I have to stay here.”

“I know. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Have you eaten?”

She shook her head. “No, but I’m not hungry. I don’t think I can eat.”

He had expected as much. Karen had no appetite when she was nervous and she was nearly in a panic now. He wished he could say something reassuring, tell her it was all going to be all right, but he knew it would sound like a psychiatrist’s platitude. Reynolds’ revelations had frightened him deeply. “I’ll grab something while I’m out.”

She reached a hand across the island. “Fast food? You hate fast food. Jeb, you’re really frightening me now.”

He laid his hand on top of hers and squeezed gently. “Now, Hon, I may be jumping at shadows, but Ben started me thinking. We don’t need to be grocery shopping every week. We’ve been vaccinated, but who knows what germs are out there. Better safe than sorry.”

She nodded again. “Okay. Hurry back.”

“Lickety split,” he said, smiling.

Later, as he unloaded the cases of canned goods, toilet paper, bags of rice and fresh vegetables in the garage, Jeb eyed his purchases with some amusement. He had not been the only person with volume shopping on the mind. The store had been packed, like Macy’s on a Black Friday. His favorite sodas were out of stock, as was his brand of coffee. He took what he could get and then had grabbed extra. He had paid for it all with his credit card, a staggering two thousand dollars, and that did not include the extra propane tank, which he had arranged for delivery.