“Yes, sir,” Tristan said to his L.T. on the phone as he smiled and offered a nod to a passing nurse. “Thank you so much for expediting it.”
He disconnected and went back into the room where the news was reporting death tolls from the flu. The same press conference that had been playing on a loop every few hours or so was getting ready to rerun. The twenty-four-hour news channels should’ve been elated with such a big story. Instead, the mood was usually somber now, and most of the regular hosts were replaced with new ones. He knew why. They weren’t replaced because they couldn’t do their jobs well anymore or because of some scandal. They were just dead.
The redhead delivering the news announced for probably the hundredth time this week, “And we’ll go now to the pre-recorded message from the CDC and the press conference that was held nearly one week ago. If you haven’t seen it yet, I must warn you, some of you may find the information disturbing.”
The screen flipped to a man in a white lab coat behind a podium with a microphone surrounded by similar men and women dressed the same.
“Good evening, fellow Americans and members of the press corps here in our audience,” he said. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dr. Bachmann, and I am the lead scientist working in the DHCPP, the Division of High-Consequence Pathology and Pathogens. Later we’ll hear from General Allerton on the military’s role in this crisis we’re all facing.”
The man paused and shuffled his notes before starting again, “As most of you know or have heard, we are suffering from a global pandemic that has spread to the United States. It has been labeled as a strain of the influenza virus, but with much more complicated symptoms and, as of yet, unfortunately, no cure. Over eighty countries have reported in and have been affected and thirty-seven states here in the United States. The virus has been named by the CDC and the WHO as RF1. It was somewhat containable as RF1, but unfortunately, it has mutated into what we are now seeing, which is a more deadly and contagious germ called RF2.”
The doctor paused again and referred to a large easel with a chart on it.
“My team here has been working with the Antibiotic Resistance Lab Network along with the EIS, or Epidemic Intelligence Service. Both departments are also working with members of the WHO to tackle this on a global scale. The EIS has trained scientists who are acting as a boots-on-the-ground task force taking samples, studying, and gathering data. Together we are working around the clock to find a possible vaccination for the RF2 virus. It is a mutated strain of the flu that we first saw spreading in Africa. We have since discovered that it was taken there by an outside source and released experimentally.” He used a pointer stick to follow along. “With the RF1 virus, the symptoms started out as this: One, Low-grade fevers and nausea, sometimes vomiting. Two, irrational and sometimes erratic patient behavior, even bordering on somewhat violent. You will notice that the patient’s eyes have become extremely bloodshot in this stage, and their fevers begin to rise. This is where we saw a split in the mutation between viruses 1 and 2. RF1 patients at this point in the duration would become comatose and either recover within twenty-four to forty-eight hours or succumb to the disease through organ failure. We call this the incubation period.” He paused and took a breath.
Tristan took a second to tell her, “That’s what you had, but the doctors had to test you because you didn’t wake up from your anesthesia after the surgery. They thought you were having a reaction. It turned out you were also just sick and had fallen straight into the coma phase.”
“Oh,” she said with fear in her eyes.
The doctor on the television continued, “However, after treating patients with a new anti-viral vaccine we developed for RF1, RF2 was born and mutated to protect itself and survive. We do not have a vaccine for RF2 and do not see one being developed for a few months at the minimum. When we try to vaccinate RF1 patients, the virus almost immediately mutates into RF2. So, essentially, our vaccine is rendered unusable.”
“A few months is too long,” Tristan said more to himself, having watched this video many times in the last week. There wasn’t much else to do with her lying in a coma. He’d tried to stay busy so that he wouldn’t lose his damn mind with worry.
“We are no longer seeing the comas in the RF2 patients at all. But, what we are observing seems to be a protection state for the virus where the patient suffers irreversible brain damage. We believe it could be as a result of the much higher fevers than RF1, which also do not respond to fever reducers. The fevers with RF2 do not subside but continue to climb and sustain at a near constant rate. They are coupled with extremely violent behavior, erratic mood changes, and instincts that could be called at best, basic survival mode. The infected persons are without emotion essentially. Their speech patterns no longer resemble those of a normal person. Their hearing is exceptionally strong for some reason. Their vision, however, is worse. They are also fast and strong, those who survive. They are without emotion, essentially. We see behavior like this in serial killers, and they have patterned behavior of schizophrenia coupled with bipolar and paranoia. One doctor referenced it was like he was dealing with a patient who had psychotic episodes who was coming down from a drug overdose. They have a complete lack of reasoning skills, empathy, regret, or sorrow. They should be considered more dangerous than patients with RF1. They should be considered a threat to your safety and to the safety of those in your family. One last thing we should cover is that they seem more active at night. During the day, some are still active, but they become measurably more active at night. We believe them to be what you would call nocturnal. And we aren’t sure yet if it’s because they are hiding during the day or hibernating or that their eyes are too sensitive to bright light or the sun. We estimate that nearly a hundred thousand Americans alone have lost their lives to the RF1 virus and that nearly eight-hundred thousand have died from RF2. This is highly contagious and nearly always fatal.”
“Is he serious?” she asked, to which he nodded.
“Yeah, it’s actually closer to five hundred thousand from RF1 and over a million from RF2 now,” he told her. “This information is a week old. It gets updated every day. They cover the death tolls around nine or so at night.”
“Is that a worldwide count?” she asked him.
“No, it’s millions now worldwide,” he told her honestly. Tristan didn’t want to lie to her or anyone else anymore about this. It wouldn’t help anything doing that. Plus, it felt wrong to do to Avery. Not with everything that had happened between them since the start of this.
On the television monitor, the doctor continued, “We have seen some recovery from RF2, however. It occurs between the second and third phase. The fevers spike and eventually burn out as the patient’s own immune system attacks it. It happens in the first twenty-four hours but has been known to go as late as the thirty-sixth hour. If they do not recover and break the fever by then, I’m afraid the damage is irreversible at that point. Right now, from what we’ve calculated from actual patients, there is a less than twenty percent survival rate from RF2.”
Tristan told her, “RF1 is even more deadly for kids,” he said. “This information, like I said, is a week old. Every day, more news comes in on this.”
She looked like she couldn’t process it because she pressed her fingertips to her right temple. Tristan didn’t blame her. She was probably overwhelmed and freaking out. She just woke up from a coma, for God’s sake.
“Why did I have to have surgery again?” she asked, fuzzy on what he’d said earlier today.
“Internal bleeding from the car accident,” he explained patiently. “Eat a few more bites, Avery. We need to get your strength built back up.”
“I’m full.”
“The kids need you to get strong again.”
She scowled slightly and forced in a bite of chicken and two of the potatoes. “Internal bleeding where? In my side?”
“Your liver actually,” he said. “Took them almost a day’s worth of testing to figure it out, too. I think it’s ‘cuz this place is so bogged down. If they wouldn’t have found it, you could’ve died.”
“It’s sore,” she said and touched her side again.
“Yeah, that’s the staples pulling,” he explained and finished her chicken. “You have internal stitches, too. A few weeks from now and you’ll feel a lot better. You can still wear that white bikini, though. The scar is small and will fade.” Tristan smiled teasingly and got a small one in return. “Do you want something for pain?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to fall asleep. I’m pretty sure pain medicines all make you tired.”
“That’s not the worst thing ever. You need the rest.”
She leaned her good side against the raised bed and tucked her legs behind her. “Apparently, I’ve been doing a lot of that lately.”
“The doctors said that was a good thing,” he told her and pushed the food cart outside their room into the hallway. He returned and closed the door. “Being in a coma like that forced your body to rest and heal better.”
“I missed some of that,” she said of the press conference.
He shook his head, “Nothing much. He just explained that they’re releasing all non-violent offenders from the prison systems to make room for emergency medical sites to move in.”
“Really? That doesn’t seem very safe,” she commented.
He nodded. “Yeah, well, it’s the government. What do you expect? They’re also setting up quarantined areas where patients are going to be transported. Those already in the hospitals will probably stay in, but anyone new that’s sick has to go to this stupid government website and find out the quarantine location in their area and take their sick family there. It’s crazy.”
“That…is…” she paused and touched her forehead.
“I know. It’s a lot to take in right now. They’re also taking over public schools and…”
“How will children go to school?”
“They’re not. Nobody is supposed to be reporting to school anywhere. They don’t even want non-essential workers reporting to their jobs. Basically, utility workers to keep the power supply going, gas and oil, and police and first responders. They’re trying to keep it contained. Fat chance. I think they should’ve told people that a month ago. Unless it’s imperative, they don’t want people going to their jobs because they’re just spreading it. There’s about to be some seriously desperate people out there soon.”
“Really? Not go to work? How will people make money?”
He nodded with grave intent.
“Who’s he?” she asked, pointing to the television screen.
“A general,” he told her. “They’re bringing in the National Guard and anyone stateside to help keep the peace.”
“Wow, will you have to go somewhere?”
He shook his head and took a bite of his carrots. “They’re also going to be bringing in food to communities by the semi load and handing out ration portions of grocery items to each family.”
“That sounds…I don’t know.”
“I know. That’s why I’ve been going in the middle of the night and trying to get as much as I can.”
“Where? To the grocery store?”
“You should just eat. And rest, too.”
She yawned and then drank some more ice water. “Why are you here? Or, I guess I mean, how are you here? What day is it?”
“Tuesday night.”
“Then how come you aren’t at the base?”
“I’m done,” he said and washed his hands at the sink in the corner. Then Tristan sanitized them with foamy stuff that came out of a pump on the wall. He returned to her and sat down again. “Ready to lie back?”
She shook her head. “No, I want to talk. I’m still…I don’t understand anything, Tristan. This is confusing. One minute I’m driving to the hospital. Eight days later, I wake up and find out that I was in a coma, had surgery, had a deadly virus, and now I’m awake and don’t remember any of it. It-it’s surreal. And what did you mean by that? You’re ‘done’.”
“I’m out. I turned in my paperwork. They’re pulling my unit home anyways. They’re basically pulling everyone back. The martial law thing is about to come true any day now. My L.T., that’s my lieutenant, he said it’s all over. He’s being shipped to Alabama. They’re closing my base in the next week to move people where they need them. He said if the shit gets worse, he’s headed home to Texas. Most of the guys out on my base are already gone, some dead, too, from the virus. I put in my discharge papers. I already had a ton of leave saved up. The next day after your accident, I went down and filled out for a thirty-day leave. I was granted it because I’ve never taken a leave in eight years of service.”
“And you filed papers to discharge…retire? Or what?”
“Yeah, basically. I’m done. I can’t go back. Normally, in a situation like this, they wouldn’t let anyone discharge, but the L.T. is pushing it through. I…you’ll see, Avery. Things are different out there now. Most people are looting when they can get away with it. All the businesses are closed. People by the thousands, tens of thousands are dying from the sickness. It’s really bad.”
“All this in a week? I…my head is spinning.”
She rubbed her forehead and winced.
“Yeah, you still have a cut there that’s healing,” he said, pulling her slim hand away. He didn’t let it go. “Hey, I have some good news, though.”
“Yeah?”
“Spencer’s like you. He’s better. You’re both immune. He woke up four days ago and is home with Renee.”
She smiled weakly. “That’s great. I’m so glad.” Her smile faded quickly, and he knew she was thinking of her father again. “What about my siblings?”
“Waiting at home for you. Want me to help you to the bathroom before you turn in?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t want to go back to sleep. It’s…dreams…nightmares and stuff.” Avery rubbed her arms as if she were cold. Bad dreams were something he understood all too well.
“I’ll get the nurse to give you something. You won’t have dreams at all. You’ll just wake up in the morning feeling rested.”
She shrugged and winced at more pain. Tristan was going to have the nurse give her something for the pain, too. Whether she wanted it or not.
Tristan left and quickly found the nurse, who touched the pin pad on the front of the chest of medicines and procured pain medicine and then opened another drawer where she took out sleeping pills.
“You’re busy, Betsy,” he said with a deeply sympathetic and caring expression. He’d mastered this puppy dog look over the last eight days. “I’ll give them to her. Don’t worry. You can trust me. I know you guys are overwhelmed up here.”
“Really? That would be great, Tristan,” she remarked. “You’ve been so helpful around here. I don’t know what we’d do without you. Gosh, I guess we’ll figure that out tomorrow, won’t we?”
“Yeah, sorry we have to leave. It’s been great helping out.”
A man in a room two doors away moaned and cried out for a nurse.
“Oh, he’s post-op. Lot of pain. Vomiting his anesthesia. Was attacked by one of the night crawlers. Cracked skull, broken ribs, internal bleeding. Horrible.”
“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full,” he said, again with empathy. “Tell ya’ what. I’m heading out when she falls asleep again to go and check on the kids. I’ll bring you all back some donuts, fresh ones from the place the girls like. How’s that sound?” There was only one place like that in the city, and it was right across the street from the hospital. The military was supplying it with what it needed to stay in business now. They were only providing them with what they needed so they could keep the hospital staff and soldiers going with sugar and caffeine.
“Oh, bless your heart, Tristan,” Betsy said and touched his arm. “Well, I’d better get in there. Thanks again for taking care of her meds.”
“No problem. Thanks for taking such great care of her. You guys on this floor are the best.” He offered the biggest smile he could and watched the older woman rush away. The rest of the staff was doing the same. The place was bustling with people running from here to there to treat people. There were normally six patients to a nurse. Betsy told him the other night it was three times that number now. Most rooms were three to four patients per roomed crammed in. He’d gotten Avery her own room with a lot of coercion and the power of bribed donuts and coffees.
0-5-7-4 He punched in the four-digit code he’d just watched her push and pocketed fast as lightning three bottles of pain meds and whatever was in the next drawer down. The third drawer had syringes. He already had enough of those. The next drawer was more bottles of medicine. He took four. Then he, too, rushed. Only he was going back to Avery.
He found her entranced by the television. They were showing news footage from around the world. It was all depressing, so he shut it off.
“Got your drugs,” he said lightly and handed the two small tablets to her with a fresh glass of water, no ice so she wouldn’t choke.
He helped her to the restroom again and back to the bed. Tristan wished he could just carry her, but Avery was pretty stubborn and would probably protest.
“Hey, I’m gonna be gone a few hours,” he said, shutting off the main lights overhead and dimming the one behind her bed.
“Why?” she asked and yawned again.
“I need to check on your family. I try to go down at least once a day, if not twice. I’ll bring you clean clothes so you can bust outta’ this joint in the morning.”
He grinned and got a lopsided one in return.
“I need…” she yawned and paused. He was almost positive she was asleep already until her eyes popped back open. “I need to check on my brothers and sisters. I want to relieve my mom.”
“Okay,” he said, knowing that was never happening. “Just get some rest. I’ll be back before you wake.”
He wished he could lock her door but knew it wouldn’t be permitted. The staff had to check on her throughout the night. There was a heavy police presence in the hospital, even heavier now. They didn’t want any other doctors or nurses killed by the crawlers who got lose. They weren’t even bringing them to the hospitals anymore, but just in case, the cops weren’t messing around. When he got to his truck, he deposited the stash of bottles from the inner pockets of his jacket into the center console with the others. All told, he had fourteen bottles so far, boxes of bandaging, medical tape, syringes, tourniquets, and creams.
As Tristan drove, he was still in awe of the military presence already setting up in the city, especially near the shopping centers. He was even still shocked by the way everything had deteriorated since she went down. There was trash littering the streets where it had spilled over from not being collected by refuse companies or the city refuse departments. Dogs roamed the streets, probably having been turned loose by their owners who could no longer feed them or simply because the people who owned them were now dead. Most of the cars that were parked on the streets were either wrecked into or torched and left to burn and now stood like immortal charcoaled statues of the automobile industry. They were pretty much all looted with broken windows and graffiti. He’d been to many countries in his eight years of service to this great country and had seen many cities similar. He just never thought he’d see America turned into a third-world shithole.
People were starting to steal from each other, break into homes, and loot companies. Bank robberies were out of control, so badly that most of them had signs on their doors saying that they were temporarily closed. A lot of the businesses had similar signs on their front doors, too. Everyone was being affected by this sickness, either literally or because of their family members being ill and needing to be there for them.
Tristan felt the heaviness in his jacket pocket and patted it as he drove into the temporary military base just north of the hospital. He knew from gossip that this area was considered the more exclusive, posher area of Canton, but it basically looked shitty like everywhere else. Looted mansions were still just looted, worthless property now like so many with their front doors standing wide open and debris littering their once neatly manicured lawns.
“Hey, man,” he said to the guard at the gate. In the week since it all fell apart, the Army had set up a temporary base on The Strip, a small shopping area that used to have some big box stores, movie theaters, and random stores that Tristan never would’ve visited before. He learned from Abraham that it was where teenagers used to like to hang out with their friends, and adults would go out to dinner and for drinks with theirs. No thanks to both.
“Sergeant,” the guard, Terrance, said in return. “Go on through.”
Terrance didn’t mark on his clipboard Tristan’s arrival like he was supposed to. It was probably the piece of silver Tristan pressed into his palm with the handshake after the salute to Tristan’s rank. They knew him here. It wasn’t his first visit but his fourth. He knew the place well and drove to the exact location he needed to go. There, he backed up the truck to the loading dock near the warehouse of a big box store, which was now one of the military food stores. He got out and greeted a man.
“Hey, Sandy,” he said to the young corporal. “How’s it hangin’, brother?”
“Little to the left, man,” he said after saluting Tristan and then shaking his hand. “How’s your girl doing?”
“Awake. Eating. They’re gonna release her tomorrow,” Tristan told him. “Hey, think you can hook me up with a shipment?”
“Sure, what do you got?”
It was after midnight, dark as sin because the military rerouted the power grid on The Strip and took out the street lamps, store lighting and stop lights and replaced them with their own spotlights that they used when needed and where they wanted them pointing.
“Bottle of painkillers, two tubes of antibiotic cream, and,” he said and paused to take out six silver coins.
“That works, bro’,” Sandy stated and took the money and the bottles and tubes Tristan pulled out of his pocket. “Let me get the loader.”
He hurried away and came back with a skid of grocery and paper items as Tristan hand loaded boxes of goods like dried rice and beans, bulk cans of fruits and vegetables, and minor medical boxes they were handing out to each family that contained basic first aid type items like bandages and gauze. The truck was heaping full when he was done, and he and Sandy covered it with a black tarp and strapped it down.
“See you Thursday?” Sandy asked.
“Yeah, I’ll be back. Any requests?”
“We could use coffee and cigarettes, man,” the guy said.
He firmly nodded one time, shook Sandy’s hand again, and said with utmost confidence, “Done.”
“And the money. I know that shit’s gonna get me through when this gets worse.”
“You got it. See ya’ Thursday.”
Tristan left, going out the back gate where he tipped the guard there, Danny, with another silver coin. Then he was on the road home, his new home, the Andersson house.