The Flu (A Novel of the Outbreak) Page 2

  Still holding the young man, Mick dropped the syringe and swung his other hand out, covering the woman’s mouth to prevent a scream. He waited a few seconds, felt Josh’s body go limp, and Mick quietly lowered him down to the floor.

  Releasing his silencing hand from the woman, he shook his head to her as he pulled out his revolver and crept to the door that led to the front of the store. Quickly he peered into the area where the captors held the hostages. He spotted Jimmy and Marcus at what Mick believed was a short but safe distance from those they held. He knew the racking of the slide would be easily heard in the silence, so he had to be fast.

  And he was.

  Pegging his targets, Mick spun into the doorway, raised his revolver and fired. No hesitation between shots. No time.

  Marcus dropped first from a shot delivered to his stomach, then as anticipated, Jimmy raised his gun. Mick fired once and that was all that was needed. The clean entrance hole in the front of Jimmy’s forehead propelled a shower of blood from the back of his head. Jimmy flew back amidst the screams of the hostages.

  The standoff was over.

  * * *

  Lodi, Ohio

  Tube socks, an empty bag of chips, and a few wrestling magazines were strewn about the living room floor. Two sets of huge teenage feet were propped upon the coffee table as Dustin and Christian Hughes watched the event playing loudly on the television.

  Totally engrossed, the boys, two years apart could have been outdoors, but they opted for the excitement of the news. After all, in a sense it had to do with their town.

  Seventeen-year-old Dustin passed a new bag of chips to his younger brother, Christian, while his eyes never left the set. Chip, chomp, pass. They ate, sat, and looked alike. The two could have passed for twins, same light brown hair, facial features, and build, but the height differences told another story.

  Dustin briefly lifted his eyes from the set, listening to his mother’s footsteps racing about the floor above. When she hit the steps, he hissed, “Here she comes.” He listened to his mother, counted the steps, and did a preemptory call out, “I’ll clean up.”

  As if she didn’t hear him, Dylan Hughes froze on her entrance into her living room. “Shit. Look at this mess. I want this cleaned up,” she stated, moving her thin body quickly toward the dining room. “I mean it. Dustin?”

  “I said I would,” Dustin answered. “Hey, Mom, check out...”

  “Twenty bucks is on the table.” Dylan tucked her long light hair behind her ears. “Are you listening? And where is Tigger?”

  Both Dustin and Christian pointed to the chair.

  All Dylan saw were magazines, until she lifted the pile exposing her six-year old son Anthony. A child who suffered from Endocrine Dysfunction, his tiny body–no bigger than that of a three year old–curled tightly in the chair as he slept.

  Dylan whined. “Damn it. Don’t let him sleep too long. And there’s twenty bucks on the table. Get a pizza. Don’t blow it on junk. I’ll be home after the store closes. Guys?”

  “Mom?” Dustin, again, tried to get her attention. “Check this out.” He pointed to the television. “Mick did it again.”

  Grabbing her purse, Dylan halted mid-kiss of Anthony as she looked at the news. Hearing the broadcast about Mick’s ending of the hostage situation, she sighed. “Christ, as if his ego isn’t big enough.” She moved to the door. “Love ya, guys, I won’t be late. And clean up.” Throwing open the front door, she stopped, physically blocked by the man standing there. Sam.

  Big, with a little extra weight and short-cropped black hair, Sam Hughes smiled nervously at her. “Hey.”

  As always, his presence affected Dylan. There was something about him. Of course, to Dylan, there had always been something about Sam, and had been since they were five years old. Viewing his handsome face caused her to smile inwardly and her stomach to twitch like a teenager’s. She sort of enjoyed that since the sensation had gotten lost in the shuffle of a long-term marriage recently ended. “What are you doing here?”

  Sam cleared his throat. “Um... I knew you were working, thought I’d come by and sit with the boys.”

  “They don’t need a babysitter. Dustin...” Dylan looked over her shoulder. “Well, he does OK. And I’m a mile away in town.”

  “I know that.” Sam spoke with the hint of a country accent. “Can’t I spend the evening with them anyhow? Adult supervision is never bad.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll make them clean up,” he spoke persuasively.

  “Sam, you do this all the time.”

  “I’ll leave. But, I did drive all the way.”

  “Oh, yeah, ten miles.” Dylan opened the door wider. “Fine. And my house better be clean. Further visits are contingent on it.”

  “Spotless.” Sam smiled and stepped inside. “Hey, Dylan.” He called as she was about to leave. “Should I...should I be gone when you get back?”

  Dylan walked out.

  Sam shrugged. “Hey, guys.”

  A less than enthusiastic ‘Hey, dad’ emerged from the teenagers still watching television.

  “Thanks.” Sam said sarcastically. “Where’s Tigger?” He saw the pointing fingers of his elder sons and looked down at the chair. “Damn it. We can’t let him sleep too long.” He walked over to join his boys on the couch. “What are you guys watching?”

  “The news,” Christian answered. “It’s cool. Look, Mick did it again.”

  Sam shook his head. “Christ, as if his ego isn’t big enough.”

  After getting quick odd glances from the boys over the same remark spoken a few minutes earlier by Dylan, Sam stole the bag of chips and plopped down with his sons.

  * * *

  Fairbanks, Alaska

  Nothing was better than the hard unforgiving surface of a hotel mattress; at least that was what Trevor Donahue thought. Falling back, arms out, and landing with a deadened ‘thump’ on the bed, Trevor grabbed his camera from the nightstand and began to check it out. He propped his lanky body against pillows and crossed his legs.

  The story had been started. Trevor only needed to make his mini road trip to get the photos to go along with it. How many days had he spent in this Holiday Inn? Five or six? He had started to lose count, especially since the sun didn’t set. At least the magazine was paying for what was turning out to be a little vacation. He had nothing to do but line edit his story, stare out the window, watch television, and swim in the indoor pool. The hotel lounge left a lot to be desired, although the karaoke contest two nights earlier wasn’t bad.

  Thinking about when he would finally make it home to Los Angeles, Trevor reached to replace the camera on the nightstand. He looked up at the knock on the door that adjoined his room and the next.

  “Come in,” Trevor called out.

  “Good news.” Bill Daniels walked in, an older man with a deliberately shaved head. “Weather’s looking good for tomorrow.”

  “Yes!” Trevor pumped his fist excitedly like a teenager. “So you going or hanging back?”

  “Well...” Bill folded his arms, “was gonna hang back. My story’s done here and I don’t have to be back in Anchorage for a few more days. But since we’ve been stuck here, I think I want to tag along. Eskimo villages or not, I’m pretty bored.”

  “Excellent.” Trevor smiled. “I can use the company. I always feel so outnumbered when I do these ‘other culture’ pieces.”

  “Guess what? You are outnumbered.” Bill pointed back with his thumb. “I’m heading to bed. Maybe you should too. Chopper lifts at five.”

  “Got it. Night.” Trevor rested back, thinking about his journey north to what was considered the largest Eskimo village in Alaska. He’d take in the neighboring communities for pictures, but mostly, he’d stay in Barrow a day or two, get what he needed and head home. The road trip had been delayed enough, but if all went well, Trevor would be home in time for his birthday in a few days. He always looked forward to going out with friends on that day. His only fear was, with the change in climate—arct
ic cold of Barrow to the summer warm of LA—that his body would go haywire. The last thing Trevor needed on his favorite night of the year was to be sick.

  * * *

  Cleveland, Ohio

  Agents Harden and Bloom assumed exhausted looks as they entered the FBI branch office in Cleveland. Even though it was evening, and only a few office lights remained on, they wanted to get across that the day had beaten them.

  After shuffling their feet across the linoleum, they made it into their office, home free.

  “Oh, yes.” Jeff Bloom plopped down in his chair. “A little more paperwork and case closed.”

  Releasing a sigh as he, too, sat in his chair, Darrell Harden agreed. “Earlier than anticipated, too.”

  “Know what we should do?” Jeff asked.

  “What’s that?” Darrell kicked his feet on the desk.

  “When we finish the paperwork, we should shoot straight to Atlantic City. Eight hours. We can be there by morning.”

  “Can your brother get us a room?”

  “Oh, sure. Didn’t he last time? I’ll give him a call.” Jerking himself upright, Jeff reached for the phone. “I can go for a little road trip.”

  A hand reached down and took the phone from Jeff, replacing it on the base. Captain Johansson stood there with an ornery grin. “Glad to hear you’re in the mood for a road trip.”

  “Sir?” Jeff looked up confused.

  “Good job on that case today, boys,” Captain Johansson told them.

  Darrell smiled impudently. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Ready for bigger and better things, I suppose?” the Captain said. He plopped a folder, two-inches thick, before Jeff. “That’s only the preliminary. Pearson and Lawrence were transferred from this case just this morning. It’s all yours. Start with that, the others are in my office.” He started to leave but stopped. “And good thing you boys are in the mood for a road trip. Got a long one for you. You now are following the leads on the world’s hardest to find man.”

  Waiting for the Captain to leave, Jeff let out a sound of disgust accompanied with a word of frustration. “Fuck.” He looked at the folder.

  “Don’t tell me...” Darrell cringed.

  “Ricardo Rodriguez.”

  “Ah,” Darrell whined. “I told you not to tell me. That case is three years old.”

  “We have it. However, I hear Pearson and Lawrence ended up in Maui on the last lead.”

  “No shit?” Darrell nodded, impressed. “Pass that here. Let’s find out where...” he flipped open the folder, “Mr. ‘Man of a Thousand Identities’ will take us next.”

  “Hopefully, Vegas.”

  Darrell smiled at that. “I can do Vegas.” A little more excited with the prospect of traveling, Darrell dove into the information in the file.

  * * *

  Lodi, Ohio

  In the closing hours, Dylan leaned against the counter by the register of the ‘Hit and Run’ Video store. She peered down at her watch and looked back up at the near-empty store. She listened to the slow moving footsteps. “I’d like to close soon,” she yelled out. Footsteps were her only response. “Sometime tonight!” She listened to the pacing. “I’m charging you double if you don’t make a selection!”

  “Christ.” Mick peered around the shelf. “Give me a minute.”

  “You are by far our worst customer,” Dylan told him. “We closed three minutes ago.”

  “So what,” Mick scoffed. “Here. Got one.”

  “Thank God.” Dylan exhaled in relief.

  “I think.” Mick walked to the counter with the video case. “Now,” he set it before her, “since you are the video expert, would you say this movie would be a good choice to entice a certain female into coming over to my house, watch this, hang out, and get a pizza?”

  Irritated, Dylan lifted the box. “You would hate this.”

  “Now, now.” Mick smiled. “My likes are not important. Female perspective. What do you think?”

  Inhaling thoughtfully, Dylan looked at the older romance movie. “You’d fare better with a classic action-adventure Bruce Willis flick.”

  “Thanks.” Snatching the case, Mick hurried to the shelves.

  “Mick,” she whined.

  “Hold your horses. Got one.” He flew back to the counter and laid down the movie. “Well? Huh?”

  “Better. You stand a chance with this one.”

  “Excellent.” Mick smiled. “I’ll rent that.”

  “Video card, please.” Dylan held out her hand.

  “You’re shitting me.” Mick snickered. “It’s me.”

  “Yeah, so? Video card, please,” she repeated. “I got written up twice last month for not asking for a card.”

  “You never ask me.” Mick reached for his wallet.

  “Well, you’re the reason I got written up. Video card, please.”

  “Here.” He laid it in her hand. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. I just told your dad I feel important coming in here not having to show my card.”

  “Yeah, right. You know my father’s my boss.”

  “How the hell was I supposed to know your own dad would write you up?”

  Dylan handed back the card. “Ten dollars and sixty-three cents.”

  “What!” Mick leaned over the counter and peered at the computer screen. “When did you raise your prices?”

  “We didn’t. You owe late fees. Come on, Mick...” she held out her hand, “pay.”

  “Fine.” He slapped a twenty on the counter, and leaned onto it to be at her level. “So did it work? Did I entice you to come home with me, watch the movie, and get a pizza?”

  Handing him back his change, Dylan shook her head. “Can’t.”

  “Come on.” Mick winked. “I need to spend some time with you. You know I’m crazy about you.”

  Dylan laughed. “You are not. You just think you are because you’re choiceless.”

  “Choiceless? What the hell kind of word is that?”

  “Very descriptive. You aren’t interested in me, you just have limited choices because I’m the only woman in town not afraid of your big ass.”

  “Dylan...”

  “I can’t, Mick,” Dylan said. “My boys have been home all evening without me.”

  “All right. I give. I’ll come to your house. What do you want on the pizza?”

  “Mick, I can’t. Not tonight.”

  “Dylan, you’re killing me. Why not?”

  Dylan hesitated then answered as she shut off the register. “Sam is probably there.”

  “Sam? Sam?” With a slight jerk of his head, Mick rolled his eyes. “Ah, now, see, for sure I’m coming over.”

  “Don’t you dare. You know how he’s being, how he’ll react.”

  “We aren’t doing anything wrong. I don’t want to hide this,” Mick argued calmly. “You’re broke up.”

  “We’re still married.”

  “Only because he’s contesting the divorce he initially wanted.” Mick took a breath. “Look, I refuse to have a repeat of the senior prom.”

  “Oh my God,” Dylan chuckled. “Here we go again. How many times do you have to bring this up?”

  “As many as needed. I’m emotionally scarred over that.”

  Dylan continued to laugh.

  “No. He breaks up with you two weeks before senior prom all because he thinks he’s going with Suzie-what’s-her name. I ask you. You accept. He changes his mind. I’m in the cold. Same thing.”

  “It is not.”

  “Yes, it is.” Mick held up a finger. “Sort of. Same-old same-old. A million times he breaks up with you...”

  “Oh, now, stop. You’re exaggerating.” Dylan pulled forward a little cart. “And I’m arranging these while we argue.” She fussed with the movies.

  “Ok, maybe not a million times. But bet me it’s a hundred,” Mick rattled. “All these years. He breaks up with you. Grass is always greener, relationship is stale, I don’t feel it anymore. All those cockamamie reasons he gives you. H
e flies the coop, returns, sings a sappy ‘I love you take me back’ and you buy it. Always. You’re doing it again.”

  “I am not. It was different this time, Mick.” Dylan softened her voice and faced him. “You know he was going through a rough time. His parents both died at the same time.”

  “Life’s tough, Dylan. It was bad what happened. But you don’t turn your back on the one person that can pull you through. You just don’t. You deal with it. You move on. You don’t disappear from the face of the earth for three months. Three months he was gone.”

  “And he’s been back for months, too.” She placed her hand on her hip. “Who am I with?”

  “I don’t know. Who?”

  Dylan rolled her eyes. “Stop it.”

  “I can’t publicly date you. Have to hide it.” Mick lifted his movie. “One of these years, Dylan, I’m gonna stop chasing you around so much. Have a good night with Sam.” He moved to the door. “I’m just gonna go home...watch my Bruce Willis woman-enticing film while eating a pizza all by myself.”

  “Mick…”

  Mick hid his smirk as he stopped before leaving and peered over his shoulder. “Yes?”

  “Give me a half hour, get the pizza, come on over.”

  “Are you sure now?” he asked innocently.

  “Mick, go. See ya soon.”

  With a flash of a grin, Mick darted from the store.

  After shaking her head, Dylan returned to her video cart and the un-alphabetized movies she knew she had better get in order before her father wrote her up again. She knew the rules, three write-ups in one month meant termination, and low paying or not, she didn’t want to lose her job.

  * * *

  Deadhorse, Alaska

  How quickly Inez developed the cough surprised his wife, Delia, but not as much as how deep the cough had suddenly become. She had been a volunteer health aide in her community and others for some time, and had never witnessed such a rumbling in such a short span of time. Her only explanation was that she had been busy with the children and hadn’t noticed the illness creeping up on Inez.