“The keyword ‘crawler’ is bringing up a lot of videos,” she observed. “People are really talking about it.”
“Click on that one there,” he instructed, pointing at the screen. She did as he said, and a video popped up. It didn’t go to the usual servers like YouTube or one similar. The server was from somewhere in the United Kingdom.
“Hello, from Edinburgh,” a young man said into what seemed like his phone. “My mum’s dead. My Uncle Joseph is, too. That was her brother, ya’ see. He-he tried to kill ‘er.”
“Oh, the poor child,” Avery said, although the kid was probably around eighteen or nineteen. His accent made the video difficult to understand in spots. That and his emotional breakdowns where he spoke through a haze of tears.
“My da’s gone to London to fetch my sis, but I don’t think he’s comin’ back,” he explained. “He’s been gone over a week, had the fevers when he left.”
“This is horrible,” she commented. “I don’t think we should be watching this.”
“Shh,” he shushed her and held up a finger. “Listen.”
“People ‘round here are callin’ ‘em night crawlers,” the boy said. “I’m locked inside. I don’t even wanna’ go to school. I don’t trust anyone now. Hold on. I’ll flip my phone and show you a video of my neighbor. I went to the hospital to visit him ‘cuz me mum was gone. She woulda’ done somethin’ like that. Figured he didn’t have any family around, so I should go and check on him. I found him the hospital tied to the bed, handcuffed like he was a common criminal. But then I saw why. He’d gone mad like Uncle Joseph. I took the video of him ‘cuz no one wants ta’ believe me.”
There was a scratching noise as he adjusted his phone and brought up the picture for the viewers. Sure enough, the kid’s neighbor was handcuffed to a bed in a hospital. He was raving, behaving like a madman as the boy described. The curse words weren’t just incoherent because he was using Scottish slang, though. They just weren’t words anymore. And his eyes were bloodshot. He was literally foaming at the mouth like an animal with rabies.
The video jumped back to the kid telling the story. “As soon as they saw me in there, they threw me out on my ear. I don’t know why. Never got tossed from a hospital before. I’m sendin’ out this video to warn everyone and…”
Tristan reached over and clicked it to stop. They found many more similar videos, most from other countries, some in languages they didn’t understand. One was a video from Sweden that she interpreted, surprising him that she spoke the language. Of course, that was probably where her dad was from. Some videos included hidden video footage of sick people. Most of them referred to the violent ones as crawlers or night crawlers.
“That young deputy said he had family in the healthcare industry who knew about this and said there were two strains. I didn’t see anyone talking about that in these videos, though.”
“No, me neither,” she agreed as the sliding doors to her father’s office opened.
Her sister, Kaia, came in. “We’re done with chores. Can we swim? I already checked. It’s warm. I turned on the pool heater, too.”
“I don’t care,” Avery said. “Just keep an eye on Finn. Is Ephraim going in, too?”
Kaia nodded. “Hear from Mom yet?”
“No, I’m trying not to disturb them in case the kids are sleeping,” she explained.
“Dad?”
“Um,” Avery paused. Then she surprised Tristan by lying, “No, he just sent a text. Said he’s trying to get a flight home.”
“All right. Let us know if you hear more.”
“Okay, just be careful.”
Her sister left, closing the doors after her. Avery hit him with a guilty expression.
“No judgment here,” he said, holding up a hand in supplication. “Let’s keep going.”
“I need a coffee. Want one?”
“Sure, just cream.”
She hit him with a coy smile. “I know.”
When she left, Tristan stood and stretched his legs. He was antsy and needed a workout. Instead, he went to the balcony and watched the kids jumping and playing in the pool. It was almost fall, the leaves were starting to drop. October was a few days away. Apparently, this family hadn’t gotten the memo because their pool was still open.
He sat again and pulled up more videos on night crawlers. After searching and searching, Tristan finally found one from America. It seemed more conspiracy theory, less fact-based, but he kept going anyway. It was two young men, probably in their early twenties, and they were talking about the Russian flu.
“They unleashed this shit on us on purpose,” the one on the right said, who looked like a blonde surfer boy with dreadlocks and a t-shirt with a pot leaf on it. “It’s called biological warfare, man.”
The other, a geek by any standards with thick, black-framed eyeglasses and a bad haircut said, “My aunt works for a missionary group in Africa. She said hundreds of thousands of Africans are dead from it. Remember the Ebola scare in 2038? She said it’s way friggin’ worse than that, and a lot o’ people died from that one.”
“Fuckin’ Ruskies, man,” the pothead said. “We shoulda’ nuked ‘em years ago.”
“My aunt said that they’re calling this RF1 and RF2 for Russian flu one and two.”
The kid kept rambling, but Tristan lost his ability to focus for a minute. It sounded like he was describing the same thing the young deputy in town had told him. He scrubbed a hand over his face and clicked the reverse button to back up the video to listen again.
“She’s working with Doctors Without Borders, too,” he explained. “They’ve seen a lot of people killed from this. One doctor was killed, too. She’s a nurse, so she knows how to take precautions. Don’t mean she won’t get it. She said she wants to come home, but the United States is banning flights from her region.”
“Fuckin’ government, man,” the doob smoker commented. He was literally smoking a blunt in the video. Tristan was getting a vibe from him that he was only there to add stupid comments every once in a while.
“She also said that so many of the infected with the second strain are killing their patients with the first strain faster than they can even treat them. It’s crazy. They’re like sick psycho killers or something. The villagers are calling them night crawlers.”
So that’s where the term must’ve originated.
“It’s not good, man,” pot kid said. “I heard the survival rate’s like less than twenty percent or something, man.”
“I heard the same,” the geek continued. “And the governments all around the world won’t take any flights coming in from Africa. Nobody wants this shit on their turf, but let me tell you, it’s too damn late. It’s here. People are…”
The video feed went dead, a black screen appearing stating that the video was flagged for inappropriate content and removed.
“My ass,” he said to the empty room and clicked on the one right below it also talking about the flu. Not even three seconds in, and the same thing happened. Then it happened twice more.
“Coffee delivery,” Avery announced as she opened the door again with her bare foot.
Tristan jumped up and helped her so she didn’t get burned by the steaming liquid in the mugs.
“Thanks,” he said and stood near the open French doors, leaning his shoulder against the frame.
“You look nice in that shirt,” she commented.
Tristan grunted, “Yeah, I’m a real poster boy for polo shirts and khakis.”
“Good thing you’re still in your jeans then,” she quipped with sass. “Find anything out while I was gone?”
He debated what he should tell her and what he should leave out. Definitely the low survival rate in case any of her sick siblings in the hospital tested positive for it.
“It seems like that deputy was right,” he said finally as she came over and stood against the other part of the door frame opposite him. “There are two strains. One is deadly. The other makes you really sick. I don’t know. We need more information than this. Nobody has actual concrete scientific evidence.”
“They have their word. That’s proof.”
He frowned. Could someone really be that naïve? “It’s the internet, Avery. Most of what comes out of it is bullshit.”
She didn’t answer but stood there staring at him for a few moments. “Before I forget, I wanted to thank you for staying last night. I don’t know if I ever actually did. I was tired.”
“Not a problem,” he said. “And you are welcome.”
“Why did you?”
He choked on his coffee he was about to swallow. “What?”
“Why did you come here? I mean, I know you gave me a ride home, but why did you stay? You certainly didn’t have to. We don’t know each other all that well. It’s just that I’m stuck on the why part.”
He took a deep, unsteady breath and held it. Tristan wasn’t even sure he understood fully the reason why he felt the need to stay at her house. It wasn’t a civic duty. He was a soldier in the U.S. Army, not a cop, not an armed security officer or a bodyguard, which was what she needed. This was not in his list of duties as an enlisted man.
“I don’t know,” he said, shoving off from the wall and placing his coffee on a nearby stand, fully intending to begin their research again.
“But why? That’s not an answer. You haven’t given me a straight answer yet, Tristan.”
His name on her soft mouth did something to him.
“I don’t know, Andersson,” he said, using just her last name and doing so with more force. Last night, he’d been a dick. Tristan knew it. He’d done it on purpose. He hadn’t wanted her snooping into his job with the Army. She didn’t need to know that about him. Or anything about him. Not his past, nor his present, it was all off limits to her snooping.
When he turned, she was right there, having moved silently to corner him. If he’d had his mug still in his hands, theirs would’ve clanked together like they were toasting something.
“Why?”
“Because dammit,” he said and swiped a hand through his hair. “You seem to get yourself into a lot of bad situations. You’re kinda’ expert level at finding trouble.”
“So? You’re not my personal protector. I can take care of myself.”
He snorted, the sound loud and condescending in the office as he meant it to be to put her off. It didn’t work. She was a tenacious little person. “Yeah, okay. Let’s just say for the sake of argument that you can’t. And that’s why I stayed the night. It’s not ‘cuz I think you’re cute and wanna’ get in your pants, okay? I’m not lookin’ to be your boyfriend or anything, so don’t even go down that road. It’s a dead end, Sugar. Nothing there for you but disappointment. I just felt bad since you witnessed a lot of heavy shit, and then your mom had to take the sick kids to the hospital,” he just kept going because backing down from this steaming pile of lies was not an option.
“And you aren’t responsible for me,” she pointed out.
“I didn’t want you here alone without a weapon in case one of those things showed up, like the one that followed you on the road. What are you gonna’ do? Hit it over the head with your fucking cello? Your whole house is a soft target just like you. You don’t have a fucking clue, lady.”
She looked like she might cry. Good. He didn’t want a girl like Avery Andersson pining after him like he was some sort of idol. He wasn’t. He was probably just as bad as the men the government sent him and his friends to kill.
She poked her slim nose in the air and said, “I don’t appreciate that.” Avery walked toward the balcony. “As a matter of fact, I think you should go.”
“What?” That wasn’t the response he thought he’d get. He was only trying to get her off his back.
“Yes, please.”
He huffed. “So, the first time someone in your life criticizes you, you throw them out. Is that how it is, huh?”
She inched her chin a tad higher. “I suppose it is.”
Tristan actually snorted. “I told your mother I’d stay and…”
“You are under no obligation here. I’ll explain it to my mother. I want you to go. We’ll be fine. I have a lot to do today anyway with my mother and father being gone. I don’t have time to sit here watching silly, and probably fake internet videos with you. I actually have adult responsibilities, Tristan. The children need to be taken care of. I can’t just worry about myself.”
“Wait. Calm the hell down,” he interjected, pointing his index and middle finger at her at the same time. It was how he barked orders in his unit. Men listened to him. Some cowered. She didn’t.
“Please leave, sir. Now.”
He turned, pissed off and angry at her immaturity and naivete, and left the room. Then he grabbed his t-shirt from the guest bedroom bathroom, growled at her sexy, discarded, naughty lingerie and stormed out of her house. As he approached the heavy entrance gate, it opened automatically swinging inward. Then he was on the road.
Tristan cranked up the station that played rock music all day and flew down the country road. He didn’t need to stick around where he wasn’t wanted. He didn’t need her. She needed him! Good, she was done in his life now. She could take care of those kids and that property by her damn self. He didn’t put up with women talking to him like that. Now he was free to do whatever he wanted for the next twenty-four hours of his long weekend. He didn’t have to babysit a rich snob in her parents’ mansion. He’d never have to see her again. She was a stuck-up bitch. Screw her. He was glad he didn’t have to be around her anymore.