The Flu (A Novel of the Outbreak) Read online

  The Flu

  Title Page

  FOREWORD

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The Flu

  Jacqueline Druga

  Published by Permuted Press at Smashwords.

  Copyright 2012 Jacqueline Druga.

  www.PermutedPress.com

  Acknowledgement

  It takes many people to write a book. They are they backbone of drive for me. Because of that I wish to thank:

  My children are my best inspiration. The love I have for them, no matter how many years go by, fuels my emotions in writing my books. My sons were very instrumental in character building.

  Drew for just plain loving this book and all the support he has given me. My daughters, Ali and Roni, for reading this and giving feedback.

  And finally Liz, you are an amazing woman and friend who has given me such support I don’t think I can express my gratitude enough. I honestly believe without your encouragement and belief in my work, people would not be reading this book. Thank you so much.

  For being there, listening, and inspiring,

  this book is dedicated to my oldest child, Noah.

  FOREWORD

  Blood, black like tar and thick enough to choke on, will seep forth from every orifice in the human body, the effects of internal organs literally melting from the infection and heat of the fever. Glands swell to the point of black bruising and eventual strangulation. Severe gangrene settles into limbs where circulation has ceased. Suffocation on body fluids, delirium, agonizing pain...death.

  The plague.

  To wake up one morning physically on top of the world, and be buried beneath every nightmare symptom imaginable, isn’t unthinkable.

  When was the last incident of Bubonic Plague? To answer ‘hundreds of years ago’, would be incorrect. On average, every year, thirty-five people in the United States die of the plague; close to two thousand worldwide. But those are hardly frightening statistics.

  What of the flu? Every single Fall it starts. Annually we are invaded by several strains. You hear about it, you get it. Coughing, sneezing, and fever—the whole works. You’re sluggish a few days; you go on and think nothing about it.

  In March of 1918, neither did Private Albert Mitchell of Kansas. He went to work as a cook in an Army camp just before dawn. Feeling under the weather, Albert went to the infirmary and was diagnosed with the ordinary flu.

  By midday, 522 other soldiers in that camp were symptomatic as well. Within two days, the infection had spread across Kansas; by week’s end, every state in the union was infected.

  Spanish flu.

  It took two months to make it across the Atlantic, and before a year had passed, nearly forty million people had succumbed to the Spanish Flu. Researchers say the reason it didn’t take more lives was because the flu lost strength the longer it was in circulation. But had the Spanish Flu reached the continent of Europe within one week of the first outbreak in the States, the human race could have easily faced extinction.

  In 1918 the feat of traveling from Kansas to Moscow in less than one week was impossible.

  Yet, today a man can wake up in Chicago and before his day is over he can be in London. And should that same man, asymptomatic in the quiet incubation stage, harbor a deadly airborne virus while on his transcontinental flight, he just started the next pandemic.

  Needless to say, put all fear aside; after its wrath, the Spanish Flu vanished. Or did it? Nothing can be considered eradicated as long as it exists in laboratories throughout the world. However, we do not need for a lab accident to occur. Nor do we need for man to distribute it in the form of biological weaponry. Nature does quite well on its own.

  The Spanish Flu appeared out of nowhere.

  It happened before... it can happen again.

  “If the epidemic continues its mathematical rate of acceleration, civilization could easily disappear from the face of the earth.”

  —The Army Surgeon General, 1918

  THE ONSET

  A whisper,

  A hush,

  Running full circle,

  Quiet as a mouse it creeps in,

  In a lion’s roar vengeance it stalks,

  After the kill,

  In a whimper it shall end,

  Quiet as a mouse once more

  CHAPTER ONE

  Winston Research Station

  16 Miles South Deadhorse, Alaska

  August 17th

  There was something just a bit odd about the odor that flowed with the smoke that lifted high in the sky. Not only a signal of direction for Inez Johnson, it was also a sign of warmth.

  Nobody else would have noticed the change in smell. Nobody else ever went out to the remote scientific research institute sixteen miles from his village. Inez was the only one. How long had he been doing the biweekly barter visits? Two years, three? Inez prided himself on coming up with the idea. It gave him a little extra money that forty-year old Inez needed for his wife and three young children.

  Every other week he would load up with items: fish, baskets, furs, purses, things neighbors contributed to get in on the trade. He would take them on his sled, trudging the distance across the wilderness, no matter what the weather, alone except for his dogs

  The people at the station expected him, welcomed and fed him. Usually someone would even be looking out for him. But something was wrong, Inez could tell. Not only was there a slightly tainted smell to the smoke, but there were no sounds.

  The satellite dish that set atop of the building didn’t turn as it always did. It was buried beneath the snow that had fallen three days earlier. Inez even worried that the scientists had left. There was no movement, no footprints. Nothing.

  He left his sled where he always did and made his way to the front entrance. He used his foot to clear away the snow enough for him to open the door. The second Inez stepped inside he knew something bad had happened here.

  The putrid odor made his eyes water. The darkened building reeked of it. As he removed his hood, the silence was more noticeable.

  Inez called out fearfully. No one answered. He listened closely; perhaps he had missed it. Someone had to be there, Inez knew it. Not only was the building semi-warm, but the sound of a softly crackling fire carried to him.

  The smoke. A fireplace.

  Inez went to the recreation room right off the entranceway where the fireplace was located.

  Inez was an intelligent man. He could see there wasn’t any power and without power those in the station probably couldn’t run the heating unit. In order to stay warm, they probably gathered together in one room.

  Inez was right.

  The moment he stepped inside the room the smell
worsened. It hit him hard along with the sight.

  All sixteen workers were indeed there. They lay about, some on the sofa, most on blankets on the floor, all of them motionless, all appearing the same.

  White faces, their necks blackened and swollen. A thick brown substance seeped from their mouths.

  Inez trembled. Slowly he walked in. Removing the glove from his hand, he reached down and touched the body of a woman.

  Cold. Hard. Dead.

  He stumbled as he quickly retreated. His eyes shifted left to right around the room. All of them were dead. The fire smoldered rather than blazed. It hadn’t been long since it was ignited. And Inez saw the reason for the new smell that accompanied the outdoor smoke. By the fireplace was a man, half his body slumped into the fire; he had obviously tried diligently to stay alive.

  Taking in his last look at the horror, seeing all he wanted to see, Inez ran from the station and never looked back.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Wadsworth, Ohio

  August 18th

  His hand trembled, but only for a moment. With a twitch of his index finger, Jimmy Lewis depressed the trigger angrily and the side of Berchum Hayward’s head exploded. Before Berchum dropped to the floor, Jimmy grabbed him by the shirt.

  “Shut up!” Jimmy ordered with a trembling voice to the eight screaming people he held hostage in the Dairy Mart.

  Tall, thin and still showing the acne of his ‘barely older than eighteen’ age, Jimmy was one of three who had seized the small store. All of them were armed and tried to portray anything but the panic they experienced in their impromptu takeover of the store.

  Berchum’s heels streaked through the blood, marking a path to the door as Jimmy dragged him.

  With the glass already broken, Jimmy aimed his voice loudly outside just before he opened the door, “You were warned!”

  With a fling through the open door, out went Berchum’s body. “You have one hour!”

  It didn’t take long for the FBI to arrive. They probably wouldn’t have shown up at all had Agents Darrell Harden and Jeff Bloom not been en route from Cleveland to Kentucky when they got the call. It was timed perfectly, because when they received the news of the hostage situation, they were pumping gas not four miles down the road. And more serendipitous than being so nearby, Agents Harden and Bloom just so happened to be the ones chasing down a lead on Jimmy Lewis and his gang.

  They had him.

  The street was blocked off for nearly half a block. Onlookers pushed against the police line. Medina County Sheriff Ben Watson, in a wobbling, bad imitation of John Wayne’s walk, moved to the back of the car. Agents Harden and Bloom had spread paperwork on the trunk while they spoke to Wadsworth’s Chief of Police. The tall, stern, older Sheriff seemed more perplexed by the crowd than the situation in the little corner market.

  “Six hours now,” Watson griped. “When we using the gas?”

  Harden snickered as he turned his head to the Sheriff. “And what? Count how many those three can take out before the gas takes them down? Trust me, sir, we’re more experienced in these matters.”

  “You think?” Sheriff Watson questioned. “Son, I’ve been in law enforcement longer than you been alive.”

  Another snicker escaped Harden. “But this is Ohio. I mean, really, how many hostage situations could you have had in Medina County, Ohio?”

  “Seven last year.” Watson nodded. “Yep. Carl? What do you suggest?”

  Carl Hogan turned from the agents. “I already have a plan in action. This is going on too long. In fact....” the younger Chief of Police smiled and gave a twitch of his head to the incoming sound of a motorcycle engine. “Need I say more?”

  “Christ.” Watson shook his head. “You called in the Harley Cavalry?”

  Confused, Harden looked to Agent Bloom. “The Cavalry?”

  Sarcastically correcting him, Bloom nodded. “The Harley Cavalry.”

  “What the hell is the Harley Cavalry?” Harden asked Chief Hogan.

  Hogan pointed.

  Mick Owens parked the motorcycle in the first available opening and dismounted. He sported a tight black tee shirt and a pair of faded jeans. Other than his shoulder harness, the badge clipped to his belt was the only indication that the big man was a law enforcement official.

  Mick’s walk was intimidating, as if his bulky six-foot-five frame wasn’t frightening enough. His shoulder length blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he wore a black bandana.

  He looked every part of the biker he used to be and probably still was. The product of parents who rode all their lives, Mick didn’t come from money and was as down to earth as they came. Growing up poor and living his entire young life in a trailer outside of Lodi, Ohio, made him honest, proud, and a bit rough. Although Mick would argue that fact, claiming his level of roughness touched around the realms of ‘only a little’.

  “Hey, Carl.” Mick extended his hand to Chief Hogan, then to Watson. “Sheriff.”

  Sheriff Watson grumbled, “Can’t miss a single moment of action, now, can you?”

  Mick smiled and tossed up his hands. “Hey, I was perfectly content hanging back.”

  “No, you weren’t,” Watson scoffed. “You were monitoring that damn radio waiting for the call.” With a ho-hum nod of introduction, Watson pointed to Harden and Bloom. “Mick, want you to meet the FBI agents on duty here. Harden, Bloom, this is Chief of Police, Mick Owens of Lodi.”

  Harden was shocked. To him, Mick didn’t even resemble a police officer. “If you’re the Chief of Police in another town, what are you doing here?”

  Chief Hogan answered, “Mick has jurisdiction. Still on the State Police payroll.”

  Mick flashed a smile and began to take off his shoulder harness. “OK, bring me up to speed.”

  “Another one dead,” Hogan said. “Six hours now. Three armed. Eight remaining, four are women. And you know, the usual I want this-I want that demands.”

  Mick cringed. “Why in God’s name do people do that? Do they actually think they’ll be the one criminal that gets away with it?” He looked at the agents. “What do you know about them?”

  “Everything,” Bloom answered.

  “Give me the personality run downs,” Mick requested. “Carl, you have the plans to the building?”

  “Right here.” Hogan pushed the layout forward. “Got an idea?”

  “Absolutely.” Mick grinned. “But first, I need to know...” he turned back to Harden and Bloom. “You want them dead or alive?”

  * * *

  It wasn’t the usual attire for a television reporter, but it was a sight that Jimmy Lewis didn’t mind. Hidden behind the one shelf, Jimmy stared out the store window.

  “Hey, Jimmy?” Marcus, one of Jimmy’s crew, called from across the store. “Something going on out there?”

  “No,” Jimmy answered dazedly, never turning around.

  Marcus shrugged to his cohort, Josh. “He must be dreaming.”

  Jimmy was. Labeled an ‘easy sucker’ when it came to beautiful, sexy women, Jimmy was transfixed by the television reporter who obviously, to him, earned a special right to do that news report not far from the store. Jimmy swore at that moment he was going to find out what station she worked for and watch that channel faithfully.

  He had never seen a reporter dressed like her. Tight black skirt that looked like leather; wrapped against her well-formed body, the garment barely covered her thighs, and it far from covered her toned rear-end every time she bent over to pick up items that she kept dropping. It was a vision Jimmy knew would increase any news broadcast ratings.

  He watched her, biting his bottom lip every time she moved, smirking whenever he could see that hint of a purple G string she wore to ward off unsightly panty lines. Gorgeous from head to toe, the reporter captivated Jimmy. Leaning against that shelf, he surveyed her, projecting the results in a distorted manner into his mind, fighting the inopportune post-pubescent hard-on that pressed more tightly against his jeans each secon
d as he slipped into a fantasy vision of his head wedged between her thighs. Just as he brought his bottom lip into his mouth, swearing he could taste her, the slight ‘thump’ of something falling in the back of the store snapped him away from the window.

  “What was that?”

  Josh answered, looking to the back of the store. “Something fell?”

  “Something fell?” Jimmy snapped with sarcasm. “Just fell?”

  “Want me to check it out?” Josh asked.

  With a motion of his revolver and a nod of his head, Jimmy indicated a woman huddled by the bread rack. “Yeah, take her as your cover.”

  “Got it.” Josh reached down and snatched the woman from the floor, causing her to scream. “Shut up!” he yelled, then cast a look at Jimmy, and then at Marcus by the coolers. He roughly pulled her to the back storage area. It was quiet, filled with boxes.

  “Anything?” Jimmy called from the front.

  “No, it’s...” Josh stopped when he heard another ‘thump’, not as loud as the first. “Hold on.” Pulling the hysterical woman closer to him, Josh walked in the direction of the sound—a door, seemingly to the basement. Quietly, he reached out and opened it.

  The surprising ‘meow’ of a cat and the scurrying of its furry body caused Josh to not only jump, but laugh at himself as well. “A cat.” He turned his head from the door, watching the cat run away.

  “A cat?” Jimmy yelled. “I fuckin’ hate cats.”

  “Me too.” Still chuckling at his unwarranted fear, Josh turned around to close the door and found himself face to face with a chest. He slowly lifted his eyes, and while he was momentarily unable to react, a huge hand shot forward and grabbed his face.

  Thumb on one temple, fingers on the other, Mick’s hand nearly crushed him as he lifted him from the floor and injected a sedative-filled syringe into the side of Josh’s neck.