Jacqueline Druga - Immune

“Eugene. Call me Eugene.”

“I’m Max.”

“Something, some epidemic is out of control below. I’ve been trying to land for hours. No one is out there, no one is responding now.”

“That can’t be.”

“I’m telling you, I’ve…holy shit!” Eugene grabbed the control yoke, pulled back hard, banking the plane.

Max flew sideways when the plane did. He saw through the windshield as another plane shot by them on a downward spiraling course.

Caught up in the tailwind, the plane shook, and Max grabbed for anything to keep from being tossed.

It was the longest few minutes of his life until Eugene got the plane under control.

Hating to do so, Max took a seat in the blood soaked chair that belonged to the co-pilot. Processing everything that was going on was pointless.

There was no way to process it.

Eugene exhaled. He was clearly shaken and fought to stay in control. “That was close.”

‘Did that plane just fall from the sky?”

“Yeah.” His hands gripped and released the yoke. “Are we the only ones alive?”

“There was a flight attendant. She may still be alive in the bathroom. What do we do?”

“We have a couple more hours of fuel left. It could take us to daylight, then we have to land.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere we can at this point,” Eugene said. “Does it really matter?”

Pittsburgh, PA

It had been a long day and even longer night. Grace’s six year old daughter, Macy, was so sick with the flu, she didn’t want to get out of bed. Her husband Scott tried to pretend he wasn’t sick, but Grace saw it on his face. He was drawn and pale and coughed a lot.

The telephone call from the health department told her that something serious was going around, the rumors of the flu were true. They assured her everyone was going to be fine, it was just going to be a few days of hell.

Their exact words.

Neither Macy nor Scott ate dinner, and shortly after sundown, the power went out. It was cold and that made it hard for Grace to sleep. When she finally did, she was woken by Scott’s snoring.

Exhausted from her second night without sleep, Grace groaned.

“Honestly, Scott?” she blasted. “I know you’re sick, but…” She huffed. She didn’t want to show a lack of compassion but it was hard. He was on his side with his back facing her and Grace nudged him. The snoring didn’t stop. “Oh my God.” She covered her ears then opted for the living room. She sat up on the side of the bed. It was freezing in the house, her fingers felt like ice. She tried the lamp and found the power was still off.

“Mommy?” Candice, her eight year old stood in the door, calling softly.

“Hey, sweetie, why are you awake?”

“Macy is snoring loud. Like Daddy.”

“How about we go cuddle on the couch?” Grace suggested.

Candice nodded.

Reaching back, Grace nudged Scott again. He kept snoring. Grace stood and walked to the doorway.

“Daddy’s up,” Candice said.

Grace looked over her shoulder. Scott sat up on the side of the bed, his back to them.

“He has to be sleeping. He’s still snoring.”

Scott stood.

Grace thought it was funny and chuckled. “Look at Daddy sleepwalking and snoring. Scott,” she called, “go back to bed.”

Scott turned.

Grace saw it then. The look on his face, the coloring, something was wrong. Seriously wrong. She grabbed onto Candice as Scott lunged full speed, over the bed and toward them.

Candice screamed. Grace was quick. She slammed the door, holding the handle.

“Mommy!” Candice cried. “What’s happening to Daddy?”

It was taking everything Grace had to hold that door. Her heart raced, she couldn’t breathe. Her feet were firmly planted and it was a tug of war at the door. “Run in the bathroom! Now!”

“Mommy.”

“Now!”

Candice backed up, crying.

Knowing she couldn’t hold the door much longer, Grace looked over her shoulder to Candice. That was when she saw Macy at the other end of the hall. “Grab your sister.”

Candice took one step toward her little sister and Macy, making that sound, ran at Candice.

Grace didn’t know if it was instinct, or if Candice had gotten a good look, but whatever it was, she didn’t go to her sister. Candice ran for sanctuary of the bathroom and slammed the door.

Macy flung her body at the bathroom door. In temper tantrum mode, she slammed her hands against it and kicked rapidly. Grace could hear Candice screaming on the other side.

Then her grip gave up and the bedroom door flung open. It knocked Grace off balance and Scott, arms wide, stepped right over her and ran for the bathroom door.

Why were they going after Candice?

If Grace didn’t do something, Scott and Macy would knock down the flimsy bathroom door.

That was her child in there, crying and screaming in such fear, Grace could feel it every time she called her name.

The first one she had to stop was Scott, he was sick with some sort of infection that was making him maddened. Knocking him out was her first thought as a solution. She ran into the bedroom, grabbed his bowling trophy from three years earlier, and raced up to Scott from behind, hitting him in the head with all she had.

His body teetered, but after a second, he continued again at the door though with less force. He was injured. Hating to do so, she hit him one more time and Scott dropped to the floor.

A sob crept up her chest. She wasn’t about the hurt her daughter. She couldn’t. But knowing she was much bigger, using both of her arms, Grace snuck up on Macy, wrapped a hold around her and lifted her.

Macy kicked and thrashed as Grace pulled her from the door. She was driven by her desire to get to her sister.

It was a battle, all thirty-five pounds of her was out of control. Grace carried her a few feet to her room, took her inside, put her in the closet, then before Macy could get out of the closet, she pulled the bedroom door closed and locked it.

Macy always had a hard time unlocking that door. Grace was confident she was secure in there.

Scott was still on the floor outside the bathroom, though for how long remained to be seen. He wasn’t dead; he was still doing that snore breathing. After running to the bedroom and grabbing her phone, Grace called out quietly to her daughter. “Candice, open up please.”

A click and the door creaked open. Grace hurried in, locking it. She immediately grabbed her daughter and held her tight.

Grace wanted to fold. She wanted to break down and cry. She felt it in her, the emotions stuck in her throat wanting to emerge as a cry of agony. The bathroom was pitch black, adding to the horrific and scary feeling.

Grace was overwhelmed. “I’m scared. I’m scared, Mommy.”

“Me too, baby.” She could feel her child trembling in her arms. Her legs locked around Grace’s waist.

“Why were they doing that?”

“I don’t know.” Grace sniffed.

“What are we going to do?”

“We have to call for help.” Not letting go of her child, Grace looked at her phone. The lack of electricity made it impossible for the phone to charge, but she had a little battery life remaining. Whatever illness her family had made them go insane. Grace dialed 911.

She expected a ring, or even an immediate answer, what she didn’t expect was a tone and the recorded message that all circuits were busy. Slowly, Grace pulled the phone from her ear.

“Mommy?”

Grace shook her head and tried again. She would keep trying. Maybe if they waited it out, things would calm down and be over. Until things normalized or they found help, Grace had to figure out something. For safety’s sake, staying in the bathroom wasn’t going to cut it.