The Jakarta

Pandemic

A novel by

Steven Konkoly

Copyright Information

© 2012. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

Features Index

Acknowledgments

About The Jakarta Pandemic

Dedication

Map of Durham Road Neighborhood

Prologue

Arrival

Quarantine

Survival

Excerpt from The Perseid Collapse (unedited)

Background Material Cut from first draft of The Jakarta Pandemic

Media Excerpts cut from the first draft of The Jakarta Pandemic

Excerpt from Black Flagged

BACK IN BLACK

Acknowledgments

I have a host of people to thank for the version of The Jakarta Pandemic that you will read. To my wife, Kosia. Her first reading was for pure enjoyment, and then she took out the pen...several of them by this point; to my informal editors: Trent, Jon, and Diane. Thank you for keeping track of the early errors; you'll receive advanced copies of my next novel; to Mom and Dad. Mom read through the book in record time, poetically blind to her son's typos and grammar errors; Dad took three weeks, and sent me a long list; Noah Mullette-Gillman, fellow author, for taking the first fully objective swipe through the manuscript. And to all of the readers who have reached out with e-mails or reviews. Without a doubt, your comments have improved the quality of this book.

Finally, I'd like to thank my editor, Felicia A. Sullivan, who has been a pleasure to work with, on what I hope to be the final revision of The Jakarta Pandemic. Her professional and artistic eye toward editing has taken the book to a new level, and I look forward to bringing her onboard my next project from the very start.

Cover art design by Jeroen ten Berge.

About The Jakarta Pandemic

The Jakarta Pandemic was released in the fall of 2010 containing roughly 150,000 words, cut down from the 200,000 words present in the first draft. Much of the cut material consisted of media clips and radio broadcasts, which I had originally felt would be compelling within the story. Eventually, I realized these clips were more a reflection of my desire to pass scientific information to the reader. My original reason for writing the book had far less to do with education than telling a chillingly realistic tale, though I feel both were accomplished given the cautionary nature of the subject matter. My initial instincts proved partially correct. Readers enjoyed the story, but still felt bogged down in the remaining "informational" scenes. Cutting 50,000 words hadn't been enough. At the suggestion of my newly found editor, I cut another 25,000 words and streamlined the remaining media scenes to better compliment the story, re-releasing the novel in the spring of 2011.

For readers interested in learning more about pandemic topics through research based, fictional narrative, I have included over 30,000 words (roughly 100 pages) of "cut" material, accessible through the Table of Contents or the links in the paragraph below.

This material is broken down into two sections. Background and Media. The Background material is my fictional account of the 2008 Avian Flu pandemic, which set the framework for society's response to the much deadlier Jakarta Pandemic featured in my novel. Media contains scenes resurrected from the first draft.

Update 11/04/2013: The Perseid Collapse, sequel to The Jakarta Pandemic will be released on Dec 1st, 2013. You can Pre-order a copy here: Pre-order The Perseid Collapse. An excerpt from The Perseid Collapse can be found through the Features Index or this link: The Perseid Collapse excerpt.

Dedication

To my wife…for her constant encouragement and support.

I would still be about “halfway” done without her.

To my children…for ensuring a balance between work, writing and family.

Mostly in their favor.

To all of the men and women who have served in our Armed Forces.

Your sacrifices will never be forgotten.

Map of Durham Road Neighborhood

Prologue

Alex checked his watch for the tenth time in less than twenty minutes. 5:50 p.m.

Where are they?

He had started to lose his patience early, which came as no surprise. He had been lying under the McCarthy’s play set for nearly an hour, as a vicious Nor’easter dumped thick waves of snow on him. This would be enough to test anyone’s patience…and physical limits.

He lowered his night vision scope for a moment and rubbed his eyes. Now, even the green image in the scope added to his discomfort. He just hoped that Charlie was keeping a better watch over the stretch of ground that defined the ambush site.

He’d better be, or they could stumble right through here undetected.

Alex had doubts about spotting them with his night vision scope. The near absence of ambient light combined with a blinding snowstorm continued to degrade the already grainy image formed by the inexpensive first generation night scope.

He twisted open the green ceramic thermos and poured the last of the hot tea prepared for him by Kate. He sipped the steaming tea from the thermos cap, placed the cap down next to the rifle in front of him, and took another look through the night vision scope. He could still see the Hayes’ house, but the image was even grainier. He knew the batteries were not the issue; he’d just changed them. Soon enough, he’d have to rely solely on Charlie to spot them in time to spring a coordinated ambush. If not, he’d have to take the three men down himself, which wasn't optimal, but was still well within his range of capabilities. He didn’t want to think about what could happen if they slipped by him. Nothing would stand between these psychopaths and his family.

As long as I see them before they’re right on top of me, I’ll be fine.

Alex swigged the rest of the warm tea and replaced the lid. He tucked the thermos into his backpack and checked his rifle again. Looking through the Aimpoint scope, he saw that the red dot still glowed brightly in the center of the sight. He pulled back on the AR-15’s charging handle and ejected the bullet loaded in the chamber, leaving the brass cartridge in the snow where two other bullets lay. He’d ejected one bullet every half-hour to ensure that the freezing temperatures had not affected the weapon’s mechanical action. A malfunction tonight would spell disaster.

He suffered a sudden, violent, and insuppressible full body shiver, which rendered him useless for a few seconds. He couldn’t last out here all night, and he knew it. He looked through the night vision scope again, and the green image confirmed that he was still alone. Staring through the scope, he wondered how it was possible for things to have spiraled so far out of control.

So far gone, in fact, that he now found himself lying under a neighbor’s play set in a blizzard, eagerly waiting to kill. He never thought twice about doing this in Iraq. It was his mission. He didn’t really have any problem with it here either, and he could rationalize this act on several levels. He had to do it: for the good of the neighborhood, and probably society in general, but most importantly…for the immediate safety of his family.

And in the end, that was all that really counted for Alex.

Arrival

Chapter One

Friday, November 1, 2013

Alex was jarred awake by a loud pulsing vibration. He squinted in the darkness and labored to turn his head toward the source of the persistent buzzing sound.

Shit, my phone.

The phone’s display illuminated a half empty glass of water on the nightstand. He watched, still helpless, as the phone moved closer to the edge with each vibration. Breaking through the murk of a broken sleep cycle, he reached for the phone to check the caller ID. Maine Medical Center. A jolt of adrenaline shot through his body, and Alex headed out of the bedroom to the hallway.

“Alex Fletcher,” he answered in a whisper.

“Oh…Alex. It’s Dr. Wright. I thought I’d get your voicemail.”

“No problem, Dr. Wright. I usually don’t keep my phone on the nightstand. Just happened to end up there tonight,” he said, closing the door to the master bedroom.

“I’m glad you’re awake, Alex. I’m fairly confident we’ve seen our first cases of the new pandemic flu tonight. Cases started rolling into the ERs early this evening.”

“You said ‘ERs’. More than one?”

“Yes. Three cases at Maine Med. Two came from Westbrook and one from Falmouth. And one case at Mercy, patient walked over from somewhere in the west end. I also have a confirmed case at Maine General in Augusta and possible cases at Eastern Maine Med up in Bangor.”

“Confirmed as what?”

“Confirmed as nothing I’ve ever seen before. That’s why I think we’re dealing with the new virus out of Hong Kong,” Dr. Wright said.

“That’s more than six cases. How did this pop up here first and not Boston? It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“Boston has been hit with several dozen cases, possibly more.”

“What do you mean? I didn’t see anything on the news, or on any of the websites. We’ve been keeping an eye on this,” Alex said.

“I don’t know what to tell you, but I know for a fact that Boston has been slammed. A friend of mine at Mass General called to tell me to get ready. He said that area hospitals in Boston saw dozens of cases trickle in overnight Wednesday, with more showing up as the day progressed. Several dozen more by the time I talked to him.”

“Why didn’t the media catch this yet?” he asked.

“Well, between you and me, and I don’t have to remind you that this entire conversation never happened—”

“Of course. Absolutely, Dr. Wright,” Alex said instantly.

“We have been instructed by the state health department to report all cases directly to them so they can coordinate resources and notify federal health agencies. I assume that direction filtered down from DHS. They also asked us not to notify the media, in order to avoid a panic. I can understand part of that logic, but if you ask me, I think they’re trying to keep this under wraps because they’re not prepared. Unfortunately, this is the only direction we’ve received so far from the state or feds. Or maybe that’s a good thing for now. Aside from rushing us more useless avian flu detection kits, nothing else has been done. Alex, I have to let you go. I have a long night ahead of me.”

“Sorry to hold you up. Thank you for the call, Dr. Wright. I really appreciate the heads up, seriously. The preliminary case fatality rates in Asia look high.”

“Yeah, we’re not taking any chances. This is different than the avian flu, which was bad enough. It makes the swine flu look like a common cold. And thanks for making a trip over here yesterday, especially considering the fact that the state’s anti-viral stockpiles will fall under federal control if the flu spirals out of control. Your samples will really come in handy.”

“Could you use some more? We’ve been instructed to keep our distribution of TerraFlu to a minimum, but I have no problem hooking you guys up. Really.”

“I’ll take whatever you can give me at this point, but I don't want you to get in trouble with Biosphere, Alex.”

“I’m not worried about them. What time works for you tomorrow? My schedule is pretty clear, so I can make a trip over any time.”

“How about 12:45? I plan to be back from the hospital at that point. My first patient is at one. We could take care of it then,” Dr. Wright said.

“Works for me. See you at 12:45. Good luck tonight,” Alex said and waited for a reply, but the line was already dead.

He headed back into the bedroom and looked over at Kate, who was soundly asleep. He walked over to her and kissed her on the forehead. She barely moved.

He left the bedroom and walked to his home office, activated his computer, and checked the Boston Globe and Boston Herald. Still nothing.

He checked the International Scientific Pandemic Awareness Collaborative (ISPAC) website and navigated to their pandemic activity map. The map had changed dramatically since he’d last seen it and was now interactively linked to Google Earth.

Color-coded symbols represented reported flu locations, and when you passed the mouse over one of the new icons, basic information appeared in a text box, which could be further expanded for more detailed information. Light blue: cases of interest, yellow: initial outbreak, orange: small-scale outbreak, red: medium-sized outbreak, violet: large-scale outbreak.

He zoomed in on North America.

Cases in Canada, Mexico, Central America…wait, wait, look at this, Los Angeles, San Diego, and San Francisco. He looked at the East Coast and saw no colored icons. Alex adjusted the map to focus on southern California and placed the cursor over the yellow Los Angeles icon.

“Los Angeles. Population 4,089,245. Isolated outbreaks. 190+ cases reported. Uncontained. Isolated outbreaks among ethnic Asian populations.”

In a separate desktop window, he navigated to the Los Angeles Times homepage. He looked for the California/Local section. Here we go. He found an article and began to read:

Hong Kong Flu Hits Asian Community.

“Cedars-Sinai confirms at least a dozen cases of Hong Kong flu. Mainly confined to Asian community. UCLA Medical Center confirms several cases. Mainly Asian community. East LA Doctor’s Hospital sees its first cases late in the evening on October 31. Community leaders decry nearly one-day delay in reporting cases to the public. Employee at Cedars-Sinai contacts Los Angeles Times with information about suspected flu cases. Cases were being kept isolated from other patients and under a tight information seal. Times reporters launched an immediate investigation into all area hospitals, uncovering several dozen more cases.”

Alex put the cursor over the yellow San Francisco icon.

“San Francisco. Population 853,758. Isolated outbreaks. 100+ cases reported. Uncontained. Isolated outbreaks among ethnic Asian populations.”

He moved the map to China and saw that dozens of southern coastal cities were shaded either orange or red; Hong Kong and the surrounding areas were shaded violet. He passed the mouse over one of these areas.

“Greater Guangzhou city. Population 12,100,000. Massive outbreak. 8,000+ reported cases. Uncontained. Containment efforts focused on Guangdong Province.”

8,000 plus cases in one city? I thought there were only 26,000 altogether in China yesterday?

Alex passed the mouse over a few more cities in the area around Hong Kong and saw similar text fields. He quickly added up the other numbers and calculated roughly 77,000 reported cases in southern China.

He zoomed out of China and settled on a worldview. Colored dots appeared to sweep outward in a concentric wave from Southeast Asia. A solid perimeter of blue dots extended from Japan, through South Korea and Vladivostok, then reached across northern China and connected with Pakistan and India. India was covered in blue dots and yellow dots; orange icons appeared centered over several major cities within India. Oddly, Java Island contained no dots. He placed the cursor over Java.

“Java Island. Population 150,000,000. No reports.”

Something’s up over there.

Beyond Asia’s ring, blue-colored dots littered every continent, concentrated on nearly every major city. He almost wished he hadn’t seen the map. He felt his stomach churn as a wave of anxiety blanketed him. Still, he walked back to the bedroom and lay down next to Kate, feeling secure lying there with her. He closed his eyes and started breathing deeply in a futile attempt to induce sleep.

Chapter Two

Friday, November 1, 2013

Alex’s body shuddered. He searched the bright room to confirm that he was still lying in bed with his wife, Kate, in their Scarborough, Maine, home. His heart pounded through his shallow breath. He touched his forehead with the back of his right hand and wiped the sweat on his gray T-shirt, leaving a dark stain near the neck. He turned his head to look at his wife. Kate’s face was turned away; she had the covers pulled up over her neck, and all he could see was her jet-black hair.

Thank God she didn’t wake up. I don’t need her starting in on the VA counseling again.

He’d successfully dodged a phone call to the Togus Veteran’s Hospital for the better part of nine years.

Sitting up slowly, careful not to wake Kate, he stared out of the window next to the bed at the bright orange eastern horizon. Alex slid out of bed, walked over to Kate’s side, and kissed her on the forehead. Her head stirred slightly, and she settled back into the pillow, her mouth forming a nearly imperceptible smile. She looked peaceful buried under the covers, and he watched her for a few more moments, mesmerized by her tranquility. Kate slept soundly every night, while he woke to nightmares. His heart thumped rapidly as he walked to the master bathroom.

Several minutes later, in his home office, he sat down to check for any updates to the flu situation. He scanned the national and international headline summary section of the homepage and shook his head slowly.

China Acknowledges Deadly Disease Within Border; China Imposed Quarantine To Keep Deadly Disease Out; Unknown Disease Spreads Through China; China Admits WHO (World Health Organization) Teams To Outbreak Areas; Deadly Disease Outbreak In China.

No surprises here. Only took them two days to acknowledge what the rest of the world already knew.

He clicked on one of the articles and shook his head again.

Fucking Chinese.

**

Alex walked out of the kids’ bathroom dressed and freshly showered, having lost his bid for the master bathroom. He quietly descended the hardwood stairs and eased into the kitchen unnoticed. The smell of coffee overtook him as he surveyed the area. A small saucepot simmered on the stainless steel gas range, cooking what he really hoped was something other than Kate’s lumpy oatmeal. A red toaster just to the left of the stove promised to deliver a more suitable breakfast alternative. A glass of orange juice, two open bread loaves and several containers sat in disarray on the black granite kitchen island. Kate moved quickly between the island, refrigerator and stove.

His wife was dressed in a knee-length navy blue skirt and a pressed French blue shirt. Her navy blue suit coat lay folded over the back of one of the black high-back stools at the kitchen island. Her hair, arranged in a tight ponytail, starkly contrasted her deep blue eyes and fair complexion. Compared to Kate, Alex looked like he just returned from a Caribbean vacation, owing to a mix of Sicilian and Irish genes. His black hair was not as pure as Kate’s, but his eyes shared the same deep blue color. The toaster popped.

“Toast’s ready!” Kate said, as she turned around and saw Alex.

“Oh, hey. Good workout?”

“A quick one. I didn’t get up in time for a run. I was up a little late last night. Got a call on my cell from one of the infectious disease doctors that I call on,” he said.

“What time?” she asked, eying him warily.

“Just past midnight. He thinks this mystery flu has already hit Portland,” he told her, putting both hands on the island.

“We haven’t seen anything on the internet, or the news.”

“I think we might be a day behind the West Coast. After I talked to him, I saw some articles published out of LA referencing possible cases. Dr. Wright also said that the cases didn’t resemble anything he’s seen before. I think he tried to run some lab tests and came up empty.”

“Did he say that?” Kate pressed.

“No, but he specifically said the cases didn’t resemble anything he’s seen before. I don’t think he was talking about symptoms.”

Alex heard some mumbling from the great room and glanced toward the sound of the voice. He saw that the family room LCD TV was fully operational, set to the Military Channel. Ryan, their twelve-year-old son, scurried into the kitchen to collect his breakfast. He was already dressed for school, in faded blue jeans and a red long-sleeved rugby shirt. Ryan shared the same hair color as his father, but little else. He was born with emerald green eyes and his mother’s fair skin.

“What’s up, Mr. Man?” said Alex.

“Not much, Dad. Hey, are you picking me up today after cross-country?”

“Yep, 4:45, right?”

“Sure, but around back so I don’t have to walk around to the school pickup circle.”

“I certainly wouldn’t want to add another hundred yards to your workout.”

“None of the parents pick their kids up at the circle, Dad.”

He smiled at Kate and raised his eyebrows. Ryan continued past his dad and pulled a plate out of the cabinet over the coffee maker. He slathered a piece of toast with butter and raspberry jam.

“Did you see what’s going on in the Orient?” Alex asked.

“Nice. Could you find a few more politically incorrect terms to slip into your conversations? Don’t listen to your dad, Ryan,” she said, turning back to the range.

Ryan looked up at his mother, then shifted his glance to his dad. Alex raised his shoulder and mouthed the words, “I don’t know.”

Ryan returned to the family room and the volume from the great room TV increased.

“Mom, can you get my juice for me?” Ryan yelled over the noise.

“Can you grab that for his royal highness?” Kate said to Alex.

“Surely, my royal queen,” he replied and delivered the glass to his son.

“Hey, should I teach Ryan the Chinese national anthem? Me Chinese…me play joke?” Alex asked.

“You could probably skip it, and we’d all be fine. So what’s happening in China?”

“They finally admitted to a full-scale outbreak of some mystery virus in the south, and they also claim to have imposed their one-way travel ban because they were confident the disease didn’t originate in China. They were trying to keep it out,” he said, shaking his head.

“How does that make any sense? So they tried to keep the virus from entering their own country, but did nothing to keep it from spreading outside of China?”

“Apparently, they’re convinced the epicenter is somewhere else. Hey, give them a break. At least they didn’t keep it a secret for three weeks like in 2008. I read an Associated Press article, and one of the Chinese officials sounded proud of their new transparency efforts, like they did a much better job handling the issue this time.”

Alex lowered his voice. “It’s unbelievable really. Just like in 2003, when they put their first astronaut into orbit. Who gives a shit? It took them forty years to finally steal enough information about our rocket program to put a human in space. Congratulations. And now? Well, now they only sit on information critical to mankind’s survival for two days, instead of weeks. I don’t think we can ever trust them. I have a bad feeling about this one,” he said.

“Whatever it is, we’ll be fine,” Kate answered.

“Hey, I’m gonna eat and run. Emily’s in the shower, so she should make the bus. I promised the folks at the Mercy ER that I would stock them up with TerraFlu, so I want to hit them early. I guarantee that Biosphere is going to ask us to stop signing over samples,” he said, pulling a coffee mug from the cabinet.

“Is that a big deal? I mean, aside from making your day easier than it already is.”

“Very funny. Eliminating samples in the face of a pandemic crisis will not be perceived as a cool move by Biosphere.”

“Can’t the doctors just write a prescription for the pharmacy?”

“Sure, and at this time of year, the pharmacies should be well stocked with anti-virals, but most of the offices are looking for any reason to stop seeing reps, and they barely tolerate us as it is. It’ll get ugly quick if Biosphere restricts samples.”

“They won’t buy off on the ‘greater good of the community’ speech? Stockpiling drugs for the national pandemic response?” Kate asked.

“Would you?”

“Probably not,” she admitted.

“Especially when they know for a fact that they won’t see any of it when the shit hits the fan. Health and Human Services will swoop down and grab it all for selected treatment centers,” he said.

“Sucks to be you today,” Kate taunted.

“Let’s hope not,” Alex said as he walked over to fix some breakfast.

“Seven o’clock. Turn on the Morning View,” Kate said to him.

Alex found the remote and turned on the kitchen TV, just in time to see the host appear on the screen. “Someone better say something about the fact that the Chinese sat on this for two days.”

“Good morning, on Friday, November 2nd. The news dominating the thoughts of all Americans today comes to us from Southeast Asia, where the evidence of a growing pandemic virus is mounting. Earlier this morning, Chinese government officials verified that an unidentified flu strain has caused several major outbreaks in the southern coastal regions of China.”

“Turn it up, honey, I can’t hear over that frigging Military Channel,” Kate said.

Alex raised his voice, “Ryan, can you turn that down? We’re trying to listen to something important about the world over here.”

Kate responded first, “Are you seriously going to get into it with him again? Just turn up the volume, please, we’ll miss the whole segment by the time you two figure it out.”

Alex shook his head and raised the volume so he could hear the host clearly.

“Thomas McGreggor from the Department of Health and Human Services joins us this morning to shed some light on these developments. Mr. McGreggor, welcome.”

“Thank you, Matt.”

“One of the Department of Health and Human Services’ major roles is to implement the national strategy to prevent or slow a pandemic’s entry into the United States, and to limit the domestic spread of the disease. That sounds like a monumental task, and frankly, some experts just don’t think it’s possible for a single department to accomplish these goals. They argue that very few of the recommendations in the plan have been implemented. Some experts cite a compliance rate of less than ten percent with the plan’s recommendation at local levels, and it appears that little money is flowing down from Washington.”

“Certainly these critics like to point fingers at Washington whenever they can, but a pandemic is a complex emergency, requiring an effective and coordinated response on many levels. The bulk of the costs occur once the pandemic strikes, and when this occurs, each state will receive disaster level funding to ensure continuity of pandemic response operations.”

Matt shifted in his seat to respond.

“Let me read directly from the DHS manual. ‘Ideally, states develop a multilayered strategy that delineates responsibilities at all levels of society to ensure the viability of government functions and essential services.’ This sounds like an expensive proposition. My parents’ hometown can barely scrape together enough money to repair winter damage to its roads. Where will towns and cities get the money to implement these preparations?”

“Well, first, I don’t agree with the statistics that claim only six percent of the national plan is implemented. We’ve seen amazing progress throughout the nation, without reliance on more federal money. An appropriate level of funding is available at all levels for implementation of the plan.”

“I hope you’re right, because the situation in China has health officials concerned that the world might be on the verge of a deadly pandemic.”

“Matt, the United States is in good hands. Since the 2008 Avian Flu pandemic, our nation’s pandemic response capability has been vastly improved. From vaccination production and research capability, to anti-viral stockpiling. We learned from 2008 and applied those lessons to the national plan in place today.”

“So given the events unfolding in Asia, what is DHS’s primary concern at the moment, and what part of the national plan is being implemented?”

“We are working in close coordination with the CDC and WHO to receive real-time information regarding all aspects of the crisis. Our number one priority will be to prevent this disease from entering and spreading in the United States. Currently there is no indication that the disease has spread to the United States, though we have activated passive foreign traveler detection protocols. Customs officials have been alerted to identify and track any foreign travelers that appear ill.”

“Is this for real?” Alex said to no one in particular. “It’s already here. How could he not know that? Full of shit.”

Kate silenced him with a hand signal, so she could hear the rest of the segment.

“Will these travelers be detained?” Matt asked.

“Not under passive protocols. Active protocols will be implemented when it is certain that a pandemic grade illness is headed to our borders. As you can imagine, implementing active protocols represents a significant resource deployment. We want to be certain before committing to that kind of a massive response.”

“Has DHS considered the possibility that the disease has already entered the U.S. in considerable numbers? The ISPAC website indicates that it may have already hit the west coast.”

“We’ve definitely considered this, and fortunately, the number of passengers traveling to the U.S from China within a three day period is small. We are tracking all of these passengers and taking steps to ensure that if any of them are sick with this disease, they will be identified immediately. We feel confident that the disease is limited to China right now, and thanks to the Chinese government, the information is flowing much more efficiently than in 2008. And to address the ISPAC website, keep in mind that none of their figures are official CDC or WHO statistics. If the flu arrives in the U.S., we’ll know first.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Alex said, clicking the TV off.

Kate stifled a laugh. “That guy didn’t sound very convincing,” she commented.

“If this guy represents the government’s attitude toward the situation, then we’re screwed.”

“Looks like your day is most assuredly going to suck,” Kate said, wearing an overly fake sympathetic face.

“Yeah, I really need to get rolling here.”

Chapter Three

Friday, November 1, 2013

Alex sipped a hot cappuccino and admired the trees that flanked Route One just north of Falmouth’s commercial center. After supplying Mercy Hospital’s emergency room with at least ten times the amount of TerraFlu drug samples he was currently authorized to distribute, he picked up a capuccino and decided to take a scenic drive north toward Yarmouth. It was a little late for peak leaf peeping, but he wasn’t disappointed. Dense marvels of orange, red and brown still served as the foreground for a stark blue sky.

As he left Falmouth, he wondered how many people in town knew about the flu case in their midst.

Probably not very many. They’re keeping this quiet for now.

During his visit to the ER, nobody had mentioned the flu case that Dr. Wright said had passed through their doors the night before, and he hadn’t seen any unusual signs of activity inside the ER. Not wanting to compromise his source of information, Alex resisted every urge to push for information. The only thing out of order was a single police officer stationed at the ER entrance, chatting with hospital security. He had been through these doors over a hundred times, and this was the first time he’d ever seen an officer posted at the hospital.

Alex entered Yarmouth and passed through the business district. A few minutes later, he saw a modern, two-story medical office complex come into view on his left. He activated the left turn signal and cruised over the yellow median into the Yarmouth Medical Building’s parking lot.

Parking in front of Yarmouth Family Practice Associates, Alex started to open his car door just as his smartphone buzzed in the center console tray. The screen read “Mike G.” Mike Gallagher was his Portland sales colleague and one of a few good friends at Biosphere Pharmaceuticals.

“Hey, Mikey.”

“I saw you called earlier. What’s up?” Mike said.

“I got a call from Dr. Wright last night. Late. He said that several suspected cases of the mystery flu rolled in last night. Three of them at Maine Med, one at Mercy and a few cases scattered up north. He said that one of the cases is a guy from Falmouth. The others are from Westbrook and Portland,” Alex said.

“Jesus, already? Fucking Falmouth?”

“Yeah, but what’s worse is that he also said the hospitals down in Boston started seeing cases late Wednesday night. A friend of his at Mass General called him Thursday morning and told him the cases started trickling in on Wednesday night and have continued ever since. I scoured the Boston papers on the internet, but didn’t see shit about it.”

“They probably want to be one hundred percent before they start running stories about the flu, right?”

“I don’t know. Dr. Wright also said that they were told by the state to sit on the information for now. Only report to the state. He was told the state would disseminate the information to the feds. I was in Mercy this morning, and they didn't say a word. Nothing. There was a real cop at the door.”

“No shit. What did he mean by ‘sit on it’?” Mike asked.

“He said they were told to keep the media out of it until further notice. To avoid a bum rush of the system I guess,” Alex answered.

“First case in Falmouth, of all places. I need to get Colleen and the kids out of the school.”

“I definitely think you should keep your kids out of the schools at a minimum, and your wife needs to get out of the classroom, at least for a couple of days until they can figure out what’s going on with this thing. Can you convince her to take a few days off?” Alex asked.

“I don’t know. I think I can convince her to let the kids stay home, but she just started teaching at the high school last year. It’s near impossible to get a job at the high school level in Falmouth. She’s afraid to do anything to piss them off.”

“I can imagine. Just make sure she plays it smart. Give her one of those stupid patient education handouts about washing hands, and send her to school with a case of Biosphere hand sanitizer bottles,” Alex added.

“Yeah, because we all know a little hand sanitizer will stop the flu in its tracks,” Mike said sarcastically.

“Better than nothing.”

“I don’t know. I need to give her a call, man. I’ll call you later.”

“Yep,” Alex said and put down his phone.

He got out of the car and walked around to the back of his company car, a hybrid Subaru Forrester, to open the hatchback. He pulled a black nylon sales bag from the rear cargo area and slung the padded carry strap over his shoulder. The strap pulled down on his suit coat, exposing most of the white dress shirt on his right shoulder, so he adjusted the bag and his jacket. Alex stood behind his car for a moment, enjoying the warm breeze blowing across the parking lot. The winters in Maine were long enough for him to fully appreciate the gift of a seventy-degree day in early November. He took a deep breath and headed for the entrance.

“This should be interesting,” he whispered to himself.

**

Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the office and glanced at his watch. 10:15. Not bad for a morning’s work. He could make a few more sales calls in Yarmouth before grabbing an early lunch, but he wasn’t feeling particularly motivated in light of the brewing pandemic. He was fairly sure this would be his last day calling on doctors. If the current situation escalated into a full blown pandemic, the last place he’d want to visit would be a medical office. He stowed his sales bag and climbed into the company car. He sat there for a moment, thinking about his next move, when he suddenly grabbed his smartphone. He’d forgotten to check his company voicemail when he got started that morning and would not be surprised to find a few messages from corporate headquarters regarding the crisis in China and its impact on Biosphere. In the wake of recent events, Alex anticipated some very distinct guidance regarding customer interactions.

He dialed his voicemail account and found a new message.

Conference call at 11:00. I guess I have time for one more office visit.

He placed his smartphone on the front passenger seat and started the car.

Chapter Four

Friday, November 1, 2013

Alex sat in the parking lot outside of Yarmouth Internal Medicine, a few blocks away from Yarmouth Family Practice Associates, and pressed the speed dial button with his usual teleconference number. He looked at the clock on the car. 10:59. Just made it. He waited for the prompt and then entered his district conference code. Satisfied that he was connected to the right conference number, he pressed a button on his dashboard, and the call was transferred to his car’s speakers. The car resonated with a painfully uplifting Muzak version of a Pearl Jam song, which he instantly decided was a form of sacrilege.

I can’t decide if I would rather listen to this for thirty minutes or Ted.

At 11:03 the dreadful music was interrupted by the voice of Ted Stanton, his district manager.

“Good morning, team. How is everyone today?”

Most of the team members talked over each other as they attempted to be the first one to answer Ted’s question.

Same thing every time. Why do people still try to answer?

“By now, most of you have probably guessed why we are having a teleconference. Today is an exciting day for Biosphere Pharmaceuticals and an even more exciting day to be selling TerraFlu. The events unfolding in Asia provide an unprecedented opportunity for Biosphere Pharmaceuticals to position itself as a leader within the world healthcare community.”

Is he reading from a script? I’m going to hang up the phone before I slam my head into the steering wheel.

“First, I want to thank everyone for their efforts yesterday. The Biosphere Medical Inquiry System was overloaded yesterday with calls asking for more information about TerraFlu’s expected pandemic effectiveness.”

Is this a surprise?

“We attribute this spike to your efforts in the field. Getting in front of the doctors, and putting TerraFlu at the forefront of their thoughts.”

Of course it must have been us. Why would a rapidly spreading pandemic virus cause a spike in interest?

“On that same note, Biosphere is actively engaged with the World Health Organization and the Centers for Disease Control to test TerraFlu in patients diagnosed with the new flu strain that is spreading throughout Asia.”

And the U.S.

“Since neither Tamiflu nor TerraFlu is proven effective against this new virus, Biosphere sees a great opportunity to establish TerraFlu as a first line choice. If negotiations proceed smoothly, TerraFlu could be tested immediately. So if any of your customers ask you about this, you can mention that Biosphere is actively partnered with the WHO and CDC, with the goal of assessing TerraFlu’s efficacy against this flu. Any further inquiries need to be directed to our toll-free medical inquiry line. Any questions about this?”

Please, no questions.

“Ted, this is Dave down in Portsmouth.”

There’s only one Dave on the team.

“What’s on your mind, Dave?” Ted responded.

“Can we give them an estimated timeline for when TerraFlu will be tested?”

“Good question, Dave. Right now Biosphere is still negotiating the start of the tests. If approved, I assume the tests will start immediately.”

No, no, Ted. That’s just going to confuse him more!

“So the tests are going to start immediately?” Dave asked.

“Not exactly, but if they start—”

“Dave, it’s Alex. What I understood from Ted was that no decision had been reached, but the company is working on getting WHO and CDC approval. When and if they get approval, the testing will probably start pretty quickly. But this could still be days away. Does that sound right, Ted?”

“Yes. I couldn’t have said it better myself. Thank you, Alex.”

Anything to move this torture along.

“So, the next agenda item addresses samples. Effective immediately, you are to cease all sampling activity and return all samples to your storage lockers. Either today or tomorrow, you will receive a shipment of discount vouchers to distribute to the offices in place of samples.”

Alex heard several voices at once, all protesting the new policy.

“Hold on, one at a time. Cheryl, I heard your voice first.”

“Ted, yesterday was hard enough having to limit samples. Now we can’t give any out at all? The offices are going to eat us alive. I won’t be allowed in the door once they hear about this new policy. They’re going to need a couple thousand more operators for that toll-free line.”

“All right. Let’s calm down. First, I understand the concerns. This was not an easy decision for the company to make, but Biosphere is actively negotiating a partnership with DHS. Samples are a key component of these negotiations. All of our manufacturing facilities have started to increase the production of TerraFlu, so we can keep the pharmacies stocked and also provide a strategic stockpile of TerraFlu to the government if needed. What you need to tell your customers is that Biosphere is now part of the national pandemic response plan, and that all of the nation’s TerraFlu samples are being reserved for national pandemic efforts.”

“Is that true, Ted? Are we really part of the plan, or is this still a big maybe? These people aren’t stupid, and they’re already highly suspicious of our industry. What do I say if they directly ask if Biosphere’s strategy is an official part of the national response plan?” Mike Gallagher asked.

“As far as management is concerned, Biosphere is part of the plan. That’s it. We are part of the plan. If they want more information, they can call the toll-free number.”

“At what point is Biosphere going to discontinue supplying the pharmacies?” Alex asked.

“Why would we do that?” Ted replied.

“Well, if the company is hell-bent on establishing this partnership with DHS and the existing drug stockpile is a major negotiating factor, why wouldn’t Biosphere just give it all over to the government?”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Alex. How would our customers prescribe TerraFlu? I don’t think the company would want to cut off its main income source. That’s Business 101.” He chuckled.

This guy is either really stupid, or is just swimming in a tub of the company Kool-Aid.

“That would normally be the case, but if they could get the government to buy all of the existing stock, and all further production stock, at sky-high government prices, why would they bother sending it to the pharmacies? They could even lower the price, but negotiate TerraFlu as the primary government-provided anti-viral during the pandemic. They could lock in all future government stockpile purchases. Nothing like guaranteed government subsidized income. Shit, if they did that, they wouldn’t even need any of us anymore.”

Alex could hear everyone muttering on the line. Sorry, Ted.

“That’s exactly where you’re wrong, Alex, because the next agenda item involves future plans for the field force. The company wouldn’t be planning for your future if there wasn’t one.”

“Well, they don’t have Uncle Sam’s money yet,” Alex added.

He could hear some laughter on the line. Ted has got to be about to explode.

“Look, that’s just a paranoid theory, okay? I don’t want to waste any more time discussing this, and I certainly don’t expect you to waste any time discussing theories like this with your customers. Anyway, back to the agenda. Can we reel it in here for a moment? Everyone okay?”

The chatter on the line tapered off.

“All right, so in the event that H16N1 arrives in the United States, Biosphere plans to redeploy the field sales force to areas reporting the highest number of initial cases, most likely large metro areas. Our likely redeployment area will be the Boston area and surrounding major cities. It could be as far away as Hartford, or as close as Portland. The company wants to saturate these areas with sales representatives in order to capture market share from Tamiflu and establish TerraFlu as doctors’ first choice to fight the pandemic. Biosphere will simultaneously launch a massive direct-to-consumer campaign via TV and radio.”

There was complete silence on the line.

“Any questions about this strategy?” he asked.

I really can’t believe this, but I can’t say it’s a surprise.

“Ted, does this mean that we could be sent away to augment another group, in an initial outbreak area?” Alex asked.

Not me.

“Actually, you would not be augmenting another group. You would be fully integrated into that group. But yes, that’s the concept.”

“For how long?” Cheryl asked.

“That hasn’t been determined yet. This is preliminary, and we don’t have all of the details yet.”

“Where would we stay? Would we bring our families?” Amy asked.

“I wouldn’t bring them closer to infected areas,” Alex interjected.

“I’m not sure. There’s some talk about reserving blocks of hotel rooms for reassigned representatives, but nothing about families,” Ted said.

Of course, why would a family concern Biosphere, or Ted.

“This is just an idea right now, but it has gained a lot of traction, and I wanted to give you all the heads up. It makes sense in more ways than one and will provide us with an incredible opportunity to make a real impact during the pandemic. This strategy could be credited with playing a major role in stopping the spread of the flu in the U.S. We can all reap the rewards of this strategy.”

He’s pissing the Kool-Aid all over us now.

“If there are no more questions, I’ll let you get back into the field. First stop today should be your storage lockers. Drop off all of your samples there, and get back to calling on your customers. You should have those vouchers by tomorrow. Good luck.”

Alex ended the call. Unbelievable.

He had no intention of joining the Biosphere rapid deployment force and was essentially finished with Biosphere. He stared out at a particularly brilliant orange-red tree on the edge of the Yarmouth Internal Medicine’s parking lot.

I know exactly what needs to be done.

He started his car and headed to the nearest turnpike on-ramp.

Chapter Five

Friday, November 1, 2013

Alex pulled into the parking garage at Maine Coast Internal Medicine’s flagship office building. The state-of-the–art, eight-story building housed nearly a hundred medical providers from several of MCIM’s previously scattered office sites. He parked as close to the main entrance as possible and grabbed his computer tablet, forming an insuppressible grin as he strode toward the elevator lobby.

He arrived on the 5th floor and approached Dr. Wright’s receptionist. A sign above and behind her displayed over a dozen physician names. All of them were internists, and more than half of them specialized in infectious disease. MCIM provided infectious disease specialists to most of the hospitals in southern Maine, and he could only imagine how busy they might be today.

“Hey, Jodi. How are you doing today?” he asked the receptionist.

“Not bad, you know? It’s Friday. Got an appointment with Dr. Wright, I see?” she said.

Alex knew Jodi from one of MCIM’s old sites in Portland. When all of the practices had merged, the receptionists had been scattered to work with different groups in the new building. Jodi was one of very few receptionists at MCIM that he recognized from his first year as a pharmaceutical representative nearly eight years before.

“Let me ring his office. I know he’s around. I saw him roll in about fifteen minutes ago. Crazy day around here.”

“I bet.” And I suspect you don’t know the half of it, Jodi.

She dialed the phone and spoke into her headset.

“Dr. Wright, Alex Fletcher is here to see you.”

She listened. “All right, I’ll send him back,” she said and broke the connection. She looked up at Alex. “You can go on back, he’s in his office.”

“Thanks, Jodi. Take care.”

Alex turned to the right and walked toward an automatic door, which slid open as he approached. He enjoyed walking back to Dr. Wright’s office, especially since most of Dr. Wright’s colleagues refused to meet with him, or utilize his samples. He caught their glares and was occasionally accosted on one of these sanctioned trips through territory normally forbidden to pharmaceutical representatives.

In most cases, Alex figured their disdain to be a smokescreen, subconsciously created to draw their own attention away from the fact that their profession’s existence was inexorably and inseparably dependent on the pharmaceutical industry. He knocked on Dr. Wright’s door, which was already open.

“Come in, Alex, and shut the door behind you, if you would. I have a reputation to uphold around here,” he said.

“I think that reputation is already in question,” Alex replied, shutting the door.

Dr. Wright stood up and walked around the desk to shake Alex’s hand. He was tall and thin with dense black hair and thick eyebrows, his dark complexion suggesting a Mediterranean ancestry.

“Damaged beyond repair. Sorry to be curt, Alex, but I’m jammed with patients this afternoon, and I have to hit Maine Med again later. I only have a minute or two.”

“No problem, Dr. Wright, I won’t take up much of your time. I just wanted to thank you again for giving me a heads up last night,” he said.

“Okay…” Dr. Wright said, shuffling some papers on his desk and eyeing Alex suspiciously.

“Biosphere told us to stop sampling TerraFlu effective immediately. They’re holding all drug stock in reserve for some partnership with DHS. Pretty screwed up, if you ask me.”

“You’ve got to be joking, Alex. Really? DHS? They couldn’t pick a worse partner. Those samples will never see effective use. Are you telling me I can’t get any more samples? Each one of those samples could save a life. What a waste,” he said, clearly angry.

“They’re hell-bent on mismanaging this crisis at every level. I think they’re going to stop shipping to the pharmacies, and there’s even serious talk about deploying reps like the National Guard, to promote TerraFlu in hot spots hit hard by the flu. I could get relocated to Hartford to spread the good word.”

“This is really tragic. I’m sorry things at your company have taken such a sad detour. You’re not going to be part of that deployment nonsense, are you?”

“No. I have no intention of ever returning that call if it comes. Which brings me to my first and only agenda item.”

“I didn’t realize that you were a man of agendas,” Dr. Wright said, raising his eyebrows.

“There’s always an agenda,” Alex said, holding out his computer tablet.

Dr. Wright took it from him.

“Since I don’t anticipate working for Biosphere much longer, I don’t see any reason to assist them in making matters worse out there. So, if you will sign my tablet, I will give you all of my samples.”

Dr. Wright sat back down in his seat, clearly stunned. “You’re not breaking the law by doing this, are you?”

“No, not at all. I’m just going to make some people very, very unhappy.”

“Thank you very much. Seriously, this means a lot to me, and will mean a lot to the other grumpy asses working with me, when the time comes. I still think the drug samples are an invaluable resource,” he said.

Dr. Wright signed the tablet and handed it back. “Seriously, this is a tremendous help, Alex.”

“My pleasure. If you can keep this on the down low for a while, I’d really appreciate it. I don’t want Biosphere to figure this out until I’m ready to deal with them. And don’t say anything about the Biosphere strategy to anyone. That could probably get me in more trouble than the samples. Confidentiality agreement stuff.”

“Not a problem. Actually, I don’t think I’m going to keep the samples here just yet. Too tempting for staff and others. Samples have a tendency to disappear around here, despite their perceived unpopularity. No, I’ll pull my Land Rover around to your car and pile them in there for now. You fit all of it in your car?” he asked, surprised.

“I put all of the seats down, and it’s jammed full. It may not be as much as you think, but I just got a shipment a week or so ago, so it’s more than I usually have in my storage unit.”

“Whatever you have, I will gladly take off your hands. Where are you parked?”

“Second level, pretty close to the elevators.”

“Beautiful, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Alex picked up the computer tablet and checked Dr. Wright’s signature. He had just signed for Alex’s entire allotment. He decided then not to close out the transaction until he had disabled the wireless card. If he pressed “complete” right now, the transaction would probably set off some kind of alarm at their data collection center. He was sure that any transactions of TerraFlu samples will be flagged for immediate review.

Last thing I need right now is Ted going apeshit.

He opened the “Intel Pro Wireless Manager” and disabled the wireless card. He then clicked on the “Complete Transaction” icon. The transaction would be instantly transmitted when he enabled the wireless card.

Sometime next week, probably.

“See you in a few,” Alex said and moved to open the door. He looked back and saw Dr. Wright taking off his white coat, pulling his car keys out of his desk drawer.

“Hey, before you open the door…”

Alex took a few steps back toward Dr. Wright’s desk and leaned in.

“If I were you, I’d make a few trips to the store and stock up on necessities. I heard from a very well-placed source that they are close to making an announcement about the classification of the mystery flu. If this turns out to be a truly novel flu strain, we are headed for a disaster of epic proportions. Remember the talk I gave at your regional sales meeting down in Stamford? Think about the worst case scenario I described and make it worse. Much worse,” Dr. Wright said in a hushed tone.

“Jesus,” Alex said.

Dr. Wright just nodded his head and grimaced. Alex left his office and walked back down toward the automatic door. Giddiness overtook him after Dr. Wright’s foreboding message, and he began to grin again. I can’t believe I just did that.

He waited impatiently in front of the elevator, thinking about the lecture Dr. Wright had given to over two hundred sales representatives and managers in a jam-packed ballroom at the Stamford Hilton. Dr. Wright had spoken for close to an hour and a half about flu strain mutations, characteristics of history’s deadliest flus, flu transmission variables, and nearly every other scientific aspect of the influenza virus. His talk had been received with a standing ovation.

Alex remembered the talk vividly because it had preceded his own harrowing lecture about the potential impact of pandemic flu on society. Thirty minutes of PowerPoint doomsday predictions, each slide edited and approved by Biosphere’s northeast regional manager, who had wanted to drive home the importance and urgency of the sales force’s vigor in promoting TerraFlu’s laboratory efficacy against pandemic grade viruses. Biosphere launched TerraFlu with several FDA-sanctioned clinical trials demonstrating its superiority against seasonal flu strains, but it was still viewed as unproven against pandemic-grade viruses.

Alex had recently completed his six-month probationary period with Biosphere when Ted Stanton eagerly volunteered the district to provide the lecture. When nobody from Alex’s district team volunteered to stand in front of the entire northeast regional sales team, he reluctantly agreed to spare Ted the agony of assigning the lecture to one of the team’s less enthusiastic and less capable members. The decision to give the lecture had changed his life.

First, it had solidified his opinion of Ted as a micromanaging, egocentric, compassionless ass-kisser. He had his suspicions from the very beginning, but Ted had never done anything overt to threaten his autonomy or sour their relationship. At least not before Alex volunteered to give what appeared to be the most important lecture of Ted’s career. Sure, he’d witnessed some despicable leadership behavior, but in his mind, he couldn’t hold this against Ted, as Ted’s leadership came mainly from books. He had been hired by Biosphere right out of college to sell vaccines and had quickly risen to the rank of district manager, where he appeared to have been stuck for the past three years.

Despite the relative calm they enjoyed, there was an underlying current of tension, barely perceptible, but strong enough for Alex to sense. Ted was uneasy in his presence, in part likely due to the fact that Ted hadn’t been given a choice when it came to Alex’s assignment to the district. Biosphere was expanding its sales force for the upcoming launch of TerraFlu, and rumor had it that Ted received a call one week before the job had been officially publicized. The call, supposedly placed from the vice president level at headquarters, informed him that his district would be joined by a decorated war veteran and seasoned pharmaceutical sales rep. Ted Stanton was more than displeased with the forced assignment, and his attempt to torpedo the decision was apparently a big part of why his fast-tracked career had skidded to a halt.

This explained Ted’s initial discomfort, but Alex was pretty sure that most of the distress stemmed from the massive gulf between their ages and experiences. In 2003, while he was commanding marines under the constant threat of enemy machine gun and artillery fire in Iraq, Ted was busy dodging keg stands and tequila shooters in his fraternity house at UCONN.

Alex had included copies of his military decorations with his original resume submission to the vice president of sales. Biosphere was a small operation in the grand scheme of pharmaceutical companies, and he suspected that copies of his decorations, or rumors of them, had found their way to Ted. Whatever the cause, Ted had kept his distance from him, which was exactly how Alex liked it, until the big lecture in Stamford had brought them a little too close for comfort.

No fewer than thirteen videotaped practice lectures later, two of which were full dress rehearsals in a rented conference hall, and he was ready to kill Ted with his bare hands. The mere mention of his name or the buzz of his smartphone caused Alex to clench his fists. He had seriously miscalculated the situation when he volunteered to give the lecture. He hadn’t factored in the possibility that this lecture was a key part of Ted’s career redemption plan, and the oversight cost him dearly. Hourly emails and texting; several daily phone calls. He was convinced that Ted had quit doing everything except for micromanaging his thirty-minute lecture.

He even got Michelle Harke, their regional manager, in on the act. Apparently, several senior executives from headquarters would be there to listen to Dr. Wright’s lecture, and the possibility existed that they might stick around for Alex’s presentation. All of his slides started to filter through Michelle’s desk, and before he knew it, he had two sets of revisions to process, each set often contradicting the other. He seriously considered sending a letter bomb to each of them. Despite the nonsense, his talk was hailed as a success by both Michelle and Ted, though it paled in comparison to Dr. Wright’s talk, which any speaker would have found a hard act to follow. He had smiled and shook their hands after the talk, cringing inside as they patted him on the shoulder. He silently promised himself that he would never volunteer for anything at Biosphere again. Fortunately, the experience hadn’t been a total loss.

The most important result of the regional lecture stemmed from his research. Alex had combed the internet for a variety of sources and had found a broad continuum of opinions, speculations and predictions about the future of pandemics. Most articles and international disease control agencies agreed that the 2008–2009 avian flu served as the best model of a worst-case scenario. Despite over twenty million deaths worldwide, casualties in the United States, Europe and most other modernized nations were minimal. Close to twenty thousand deaths in the United States were attributed to the avian flu, which was still far below the forty to fifty thousand deaths annually attributed to the regular seasonal flu. The overall impact on society was minimal.

However, the deeper he dug into the topic, the more he began to believe that most of these articles and reports were a little too optimistic. When he stumbled upon the International Scientific Pandemic Awareness Collaborative (ISPAC) website, he found all of the decidedly less optimistic opinions and research condensed into one convenient location. ISPAC had been privately founded, on the heels of the avian flu pandemic, to counter the prevailing optimism and spur the international community to strengthen pandemic response planning and resource allocation.

Alex spent countless hours studying document after document, until he was convinced that avian flu was just the tip of the iceberg in terms of pandemic potential. He had a hard time condensing all of the available information and research into a thirty-minute talk, but when he was finished and the final revision had been approved by his regional manager, his slide presentation could have fueled the next blockbuster Hollywood disaster movie. He shook himself free of the reverie as the elevator door opened.

We might end up needing our basement stockpile after all.

Chapter Six

Friday, November 1, 2013

Alex walked out of Hannigan’s with his second shopping cart full of groceries. He had made two separate trips into the store, the first one to buy nonperishable items, which nearly overflowed from the cart, and the second to buy refrigerator items. He felt pretty strange going in for the second time, but managed to stand in a checkout line far enough away from the first one to avoid any uncomfortable glances, not sure why he even cared.

The store was about as crowded as he would expect for a Friday afternoon which, despite the looming threat, didn’t really surprise him. He knew the public would wait too long, and one electrifying news report would send everyone into the stores at once, effectively crippling the food supply system. Most of the grocery stores, just like the big retail stores, had become so efficient that they carried little additional stock on hand to meet even the slightest increase in demand.

He scanned the parking lot, noting mostly empty spaces.

This store is one bad news report away from mayhem.

Alex decided to call his family and friends to urge them to hit the stores now. He jammed the groceries into his packed car and started the drive home.

**

He turned his company car left from Harrison Road onto the Durham Road loop. Ryan sat in the rear passenger side seat, just barely visible to him in the rear-view mirror, staring out of his window. After the turn, they passed four houses, two on each side of the street, and then the road split. He turned the car right at the split and headed toward their home. If he continued past his house and kept driving, he would end up back at the split. Durham Road was a loop and had only one access point, the turn he had just taken from Harrison Road.

The subdivision contained thirty-four houses located on both sides of the street and evenly spaced on half-acre lots around the loop. Since both Durham Road and the streets surrounding it were built on recently converted farmland, most of the trees throughout the neighborhood were still smaller than the houses. Compared to most of the older, established neighborhoods nearby, the trees on Durham Road still looked like saplings.

As he passed more houses on the way home, he started to see some of his neighbors, the first one being Todd Perry, in front of a red colonial with gray doors. Todd was adjusting a sprinkler head in the front yard when he noticed Alex’s car, and he waved. Alex waved back through the side passenger window.

He glanced to the left as he passed a gray colonial with dark blue doors and a three car garage. Thick evergreen bushes crowded the sides of the walkway leading to the front door, standing guard over wide, raised beds filled with yellow and orange fall flowers. He waved at Julia Rhodes, who was examining her mail on the mudroom porch. She looked up as he passed, returning his wave.

Alex pushed the garage door opener as he passed the Walkers’ house on the right. He looked at their house, a yellow contemporary colonial with green doors, and did not see any signs of activity. The Walkers usually started to spill home at around 5:30. First, Ed would arrive with at least two of their children. Then at about six, Samantha would pull in with whichever kid had a late practice.

As he pulled into the driveway, the right side garage bay door finished opening, and he pulled his car into the garage.

“Make sure you have all of your junk,” he said to Ryan.

“Got it,” Ryan replied and opened his door.

Alex carefully slid behind his wife’s Toyota 4Runner, trying not to dirty his suit.

She never pulls in far enough, he mentally complained.

As he opened the screen door and walked into the mudroom, he could smell dinner.

Garlic, onions, ginger…probably a stir-fry.

He hung up his suit jacket in the mudroom closet and took off his shoes, kicking them into the open floor space of the closet.

“Hey, honey, smells great!”

“Yeah, I thought a stir-fry was in order for tonight,” she said.

He crossed the kitchen and gave her a kiss, holding her for a few seconds. He looked around.

“Are you making rice for the stir fry?” he asked.

“Yep, already in the pressure cooker. Don’t you have anything better to do other than hawk me?”

“Probably not.”

He heard Ryan enter the mudroom and kick off his shoes. One of the shoes banged against the closet door.

“Take it easy on the house in there,” he yelled.

“Sorry, Dad,” Ryan said and flashed by them on his way upstairs.

“Hey, no hug for your mom?” Kate said.

“Sorry, Mom,” Ryan said and returned to the kitchen to begrudgingly hug Kate.

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Tell Emily to wash her hands and start making her way downstairs. You too. Love you,” she said.

“Love you too, Mom. I’ll be right down,” he replied and scooted up the stairs.

“Anything good happen?” he asked, nodding at the TV.

“The UN declared an emergency session. They’re considering a travel and commerce ban against China. Chinese officials plan to release more information about whatever is going on over there.”

“When?”

“Some time tomorrow.”

“Hey, look at that. They’ve officially named it the China Crisis. How original. They should call it the Great Chinese Bend Over of 2013. Or Encore 2008,” Alex said sarcastically.

“Do you ever quit?” She smirked, shaking her head.

“I was being nice with ‘bend over.’ I can think of a few graphic terms that might better describe the situation,” he added, taunting her with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m sure you can. Why don’t you change and grab the kids on your way back down. I’m pretty much done here.”

“You got it,” he said and started to disappear up the stairs.

Alex closed the bedroom door behind him as he pulled off his tie. He turned on the flat-screen TV, which took a few seconds to display a picture.

“CDC officials have confirmed the flu strain as an H16 variant. Little is known about the new strain at this point, and many serious questions remain unanswered. So far, neither the CDC nor WHO has responded to demands for information. CNF news correspondent David Gervasey reports from ISPAC headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia. David?”

“Denise, roughly fifteen minutes ago, we were fortunate to get a brief interview with one of their senior spokespersons, Dr. Allison Devreaux.”

The screen changed to the previously recorded interview with Dr. Devreaux.

“Dr. Devreaux, what can you tell us about the virus that we don’t already know?”

“The virus has been classified as a new subtype H16,” she answered in a French accent. “The strain is classified as H16N1.

“This subtype has never been seen before in humans or animals, so it is truly a novel strain. Right now, our own scientists are trying to match its genetic characteristics with previously seen subtype strains. In this way, we can make some rough predictions regarding its behavior.

“We know that the virus is highly contagious, and its acquisition by a host leads to typical flu-like symptoms, including high fever, marked weakness and pulmonary distress. In essence, it behaves like a highly pathogenic disease. We know this from our investigation of an ever-increasing number of cluster outbreaks throughout the far Pacific Rim, and we are extremely confident that the strain found by ISPAC investigative teams outside of China is the same as the strain causing the outbreak inside of China.”

“When do you anticipate further information to be available from your field teams?”

“We receive constant reports and engage in discussions with these teams around the clock. When new information is verified, we will post this information on our website. You can also subscribe to our Pandemic News Alert service and receive automatic email updates as new information is posted. We are striving to pass all relevant information on to the public so that they can make the most informed decisions to prepare for a potential pandemic virus.”

“Does this look like a pandemic on scale with the 2008 avian flu?”

“Frankly, not enough information exists for us to draw any conclusions. The virus is highly contagious, certainly. At this time, we just don’t know anything regarding clinical attack rates, case fatality rates, infection and symptom timelines…all of the key parameters that allow us to project its spread and impact on the world’s population.

“However, based on its efficient capacity for human to human transmission, I feel confident projecting that this virus will rapidly reach all corners of the globe. Let us hope that this virus in not as deadly as the avian flu. Thank you, David.”

The screen cut back to a live broadcast from ISPAC headquarters in Atlanta. David Gervasey stood in front of the modern, ten-story glass and steel structure.

“You heard it here first, Denise. We’re going to remain in place to get the latest information as it becomes available.”

“Thank you, David. As you can see, live ISPAC website information is located at the bottom of our screen, and we will be broadcasting any new ISPAC website updates as they are posted. Stay with us, we’ll be back in a moment.”

Alex stared at the screen for a few more seconds and then returned to his closet to change into jeans and a gray long-sleeve fleece pullover. He headed back toward the stairs and stared down the hall at his office door.

I need to get the kids down to dinner, or I’ll have more to worry about than viruses. I need to check one more thing first.

He entered the office and typed “Hong Kong International Airport” into Google. The search engine’s first link was the airport’s official website. He scanned the page and clicked on “flight information,” then “departures.” The screen filled with the day’s scheduled departing flights.

Jesus. If this virus is deadlier than the avian flu, we’re in trouble.

By noon on any given day, over a hundred flights departed HKIA for every major city in world, and by midnight that same day, flights originating from HKIA landed in major hubs on every continent. From there, these passengers embarked on journeys to every conceivable corner of the planet. Within sixteen to eighteen hours of leaving Hong Kong, an infected passenger could be sharing a pint of Guinness with friends in a Dublin Pub, sipping tea with family in the suburbs of Damascus, or meeting a friend for Italian food in Boston’s North End.

And this thing has been brewing in China for more than three days. This thing is everywhere.

He minimized the web browser and got up to call the kids to dinner.

**

The Fletchers ate dinner sitting at a large rectangular pine table located between the kitchen and family room. The eating area was separated from the family room by two half walls, with a wide opening centered between them, anchored by sculpted wood columns extending from the top of the half walls to the ceiling. Alex served butternut squash soup to everyone, and Kate started the evening interrogation.

“So, anything huge going on in class for anyone? Emily?” Kate said.

Emily replied, “Not much, we’re still learning some Spanish. I have homework again.”

“Yeah, you’re going to have a lot more than the one spelling test you had last year. Try homework like every night, and more tests. I have like two hours a night now,” Ryan complained.

“Well, I think we’re going to have about the same as you. I heard from Lauren that her friend in Mr. Leahy’s class already has over an hour of work to do every night,” Emily said.

“I doubt it. I never had that much work in third grade. Third grade is like kindergarten compared to middle school.”

“Okay, crazies, Ryan wins the award for most oppressed by homework. Anything other than that going on this week?” Alex said.

Both children shook their heads slowly.

“Really, there’s not much,” Ryan said.

“Of course not,” Alex said.

“I think I might join cross-country like Ryan. Lauren is running in it,” Emily informed them.

“You already have soccer practice three times a week,” Kate reminded her.

Kate looked at Ryan and asked, “Don’t they run their meets on Thursday?”

“Yeah, but the meets are optional, and they’re done by four thirty. They only run like a mile or maybe less. She could probably do it.”

Emily’s face brightened.

“If she wasn’t so slow,” Ryan added, emitting a terribly annoying laugh, and Emily reached over the table to hit him.

Kate grabbed her arm, and pointed her finger at Ryan. “That’s enough! Both of you. No hitting, and you, cut it out.”

Alex shook his head, half smiling, and then turned to Ryan. “Really, quit agitating your sister. It’s starting to become a very annoying habit.” He turned back to Emily. “Anyway, sweetie, I don’t think you should double up on practices in the same day. Soccer comes first, and you make as many running practices as you can. Sound good?”

He turned his head back to Ryan and raised his eyebrows, sending a clear warning to his son.

“As long as she makes a couple practices, they don’t care. It’s a really laid-back program,” Ryan answered.

“Thank you, Ryan. There you go, sweetie. Go ahead and sign up. We’ll get you some running shoes,” Kate said.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Alex realized that he was the only one at the table eating and talking. “All right, let’s get some food down, or you won’t have enough energy to walk to the school bus, let alone run any races.”

Both kids started eating their soup, and Alex could tell by their initial response that they liked it.

“Honey, the soup is awesome.”

“Thanks. Whole Foods was stocked with different squashes, so I picked up a bunch,” she said.

Alex nodded his head and finished his soup. Kate was only halfway through her bowl when he got up, walked to the kitchen island, and grabbed their dinner plates. He put them in an open space on the table and sat down to wait for everyone to finish their soup. He nodded at Kate, and she started in on their planned conversation.

“Ryan, did you guys talk about the situation in China at school?”

“A little bit.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Well, Mr. Brett asked us if we had seen it in the news or on the internet this morning. I heard some of it when you guys had the kitchen TV on, and I saw an article on CNFkids.com at school.”

“Cool. What did you think?”

Alex started to load Emily’s plate with rice, stir-fry and tofu. She protested the amount with her hands, trying to wave off the second heap as he hovered the wooden spoon over her plate, and he acknowledged her silent refusal by moving the spoonful to his own plate.

“I don’t know. Everyone seems pretty mad at China. Aren’t they doing the same thing they did in 2008? Keeping everyone in the dark?”

Kate answered, “Well, nobody really knows what’s going on over there. At least this time, the world knows something is brewing. What did Mr. Brett say?”

“Not much. He really just wanted to get some discussion going. We spent some time talking about the 2008 pandemic and looking at some facts about China.”

“Nice,” Alex said. “Did any of your teachers talk to you guys about pandemic flu in general, or anything like that?”

Kate finished her soup while they talked. Emily was busy emptying her plate, clearly happy not to be the focus of attention.

“Yep, we talked about it in science. How the flu spreads, how scientists classify strains of flu, past pandemics. It was pretty cool. Pretty scary, too. Dad, do you think we could have another pandemic? Ms. Ullman said that major pandemics usually don’t happen so close together, and that’s why the swine flu pandemic never really took off.”

“Sounds like you guys really learn some advanced shiiii…stuff in that class. Sorry.”

Emily laughed. “Daddy, you’re starting to talk like Mommy.”

“Thanks a lot, Emily,” Kate said ruefully.

“Another impartial witness to Barnacle Bill’s mouth,” Alex said.

Kate clearly wanted to give him the middle finger as she tapped her index finger on the top of her water glass.

“Anyway, historically speaking, your teacher would be right. However, there are a lot of experts out there that think it can happen at any time if the conditions are right. So to answer your question, I don’t think anyone can really predict these things,” Alex said.

He looked at Kate and rubbed his chin. Kate picked up on his cue.

“You guys really don’t have to worry about it. You know that, right? We’ve made some preparations at the house over the past few years that will get us through any major crisis. Pandemic, major storm, whatever it might be.”

Both kids nodded their heads. They appeared to have anticipated this talk.

“You mean all of that stuff locked up in the basement?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, that’s part of it. We have plenty of food, water and supplies stored down there. We also have our own power supply: the sun. And we can keep the house warm with the wood-burning stove,” Kate answered.

“Can’t we heat the house with the furnace if we have solar power?” Ryan asked.

Alex laughed. “This kid’s too smart. Yes, we could, but the furnace eats up a lot of power. During the summer, when the sun is strongest, we could get away with it. But who needs to use the furnace in the summer, right? Other than to heat up water, that is. Winter is a different story because the sun is so much weaker. Even on a beautiful day, the batteries will charge more slowly than a crappy day in the summer. We’d really have to watch the charge level.”

Kate brought the conversation back on track. “What I want you two to understand is that we are prepared for anything really scary like that, and that you don’t have to worry about it. Other people need to be worried because most other people won’t be prepared at all. They may actually not even believe it’s happening until it’s too late for them.”

“How will we know if it is happening?” Emily asked.

In a calm tone, Alex said, “Your mom and I know what to look for. Trust us, we’ll know. The hard part will be convincing others to listen and prepare.”

“Right, and if something like this happens, we need to be ready to stay in our house for a very long time, without coming into contact with anyone, even friends and family. Unless they prepared like us,” Kate said.

“Like last year? That really sucked. Please don’t take us out of school for no reason again,” Ryan said.

“We didn’t take you out for no reason. Swine flu had the potential to be worse than the avian flu, and the avian flu killed close to fifty thousand people in the U.S. in 2008. We weren’t ready for it at all, and it really scared the, ah…you-know-what out of us. Fill in the blank, honey?” Alex said.

“Ha ha,” Kate said through a fake smile.

“But nothing happened, and it was embarrassing. Plus, it took me forever to catch up! Remember some of the teachers didn’t want to let me make up some of my tests?”

“That won’t happen again,” Kate assured him.

“What does a pandemic do to you?” Emily asked.

“Sweetie, the pandemic flu makes you really, really sick. Worse than you’ve ever been before. That’s why you get a flu shot every year.”

“To keep from getting the pandemic flu?”

“No, you get the shot for the regular flu, which can make you pretty sick, too. The pandemic flu is worse though,” Kate said.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetie. No one in this family will get sick, I promise. Just finish your dinner and start your homework. Then we can have some dessert,” Alex said.

Emily dug into her stir-fry as Ryan finished his plate. Alex saw that Emily still looked worried.

“More stir-fry, sweetie?”

“No, thanks, Mom, I had more than enough. Everything’s great, especially the soup,” Ryan replied.

Chapter Seven

Friday, November 1, 2013

Kate and Alex sat together on a dark brown leather sectional couch in the great room. Two recessed lights over the mantel cast indirect light over the entire family room. The flat-screen TV showed FBC news anchor Kerrie Connor framed next to Dr. David Ocampo, Director of the ISPAC’s Live Trend Analysis Division. Information displayed at the bottom of the split screen indicated that Dr. Ocampo was broadcasting live from ISPAC headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia.

“Dr. Ocampo, thank you again for your time. Good luck to both you and your organization.”

“Thank you for the opportunity to educate the public, and if I may, your viewers can always obtain the most updated pandemic information on our website, www.ispac.org.”

“Thank you again, Dr. Ocampo. When we come back, we’ll hear about the massive preparations underway on the Florida peninsula in preparation for the anticipated landfall of Hurricane Terrence.”

Kate paused the recording and looked at Alex, slowly nodding her head.

“Rewind to the part about the WHO underestimating the flu’s potential,” he said.

Kate scrolled back a few times to find the right segment.

“That’s it. Right there,” Alex said.

“Dr. Ocampo, WHO representatives have repeatedly criticized this premise, labeling your organization’s research in this area of study as flawed. They say that your casualty projections are excessive and that your assessment of the impact on essential services is exaggerated. Dr. Pierre Neville, head of the WHO’s pandemic impact study group, is quoted saying that the ‘ISPAC’s predictions are alarmist science fiction.’ How do you respond to the WHO’s stance toward the ISPAC’s projections?”

“The problem with their criticism of our projections is that the WHO leans way too heavily on the experiences of the 2008 pandemic. They insist that 2008 is the perfect model for all future pandemics. On the contrary, we believe that the 2008 pandemic flu strain was a relatively weak pandemic strain, especially compared to the 1918 Spanish flu, which killed millions. In 2008, the world’s healthcare system and essential services infrastructure was barely challenged.”

“How so?” Kerrie pressed.

“During the avian flu pandemic, hospital-based care remained available to a majority of sick patients, at least in most modernized and developing countries. This drastically improved outcomes and contributed decisively to the low overall case fatality rate. Although the situation in many developing nations approached—and in some cases crossed—the tipping point, most modernized nations’ systems were never truly challenged by the 2008 pandemic. This outcome would be different in the face of a deadlier and more infectious virus. The tipping point for inpatient healthcare availability, in both modernized and developing nations, would be reached quickly, and the result would be catastrophic.”

“Even for the United States?”

“Everywhere. In any given area, we calculate that all available inpatient services such as hospital beds, ventilators, and medical staff would be occupied within two to three weeks of a pandemic reaching that area. In the U.S. alone, based on 1918 pandemic flu patterns, every existing hospital bed would be occupied within a few weeks. Once inpatient capacity is filled, patients would be given a set of home-based care instructions and turned away.”

“Turned away? Where would they be sent?”

“Home.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like a great option.”

“It isn’t. The predicted survival rates for hospital-based care versus home-based care differ greatly. 80 to 85% versus 10 to 15% for a medium-risk patient. If you’re a high-risk patient with secondary complications like heart disease or diabetes, you’re as good as dead.”

Kerrie looked stunned by his last statement.

“Kerrie, this isn’t science fiction. It’s a common-sense-based statistical prediction. A complicated one that accounts for hundreds of factors and balances trends from several pandemic models. Not just one, like the WHO model.”

Kate stopped the recording. “That’s sure to cause a stir within the WHO.”

“At the White House, too. They’re all in each other’s pockets. He basically put it all on the table. Tomorrow should be interesting,” Alex replied.

“How can anyone really ignore or dismiss what he said? You have to stop and at least think about it.”

“Don’t worry. First of all, nobody wants to believe it could be a real problem. Most of these people don’t give a shit about any potential crisis.” He raised his hands, gesturing toward the neighborhood. “If it’s not happening to them right now,” he continued, “they don’t care. Oil prices are lower than a few months ago? Great. Forget about the fact that the price threshold rises every year. Why do anything? Got a little scared during the 2008 pandemic? Sure, but what’s the chance that it will happen again so soon? Not likely, according to the government. And last year’s swine flu pandemic turned out to be a joke, so why should anyone worry? The local news hasn’t even picked up on the possible cases right here in Maine. Who knows what it’ll take for people to take it seriously? Which reminds me, I should check out our stockpile. I haven’t been down there in a long time, and it couldn’t hurt to see what we have on hand. I packed the pantry and hall closet with stuff from Hannigan’s earlier today.”

“I saw that. I wish I had done the same thing.”

“We really don’t need anything. I just couldn’t drive right by Hannigan’s and not stop. I picked up a bunch of wine and beer, too. I’m not taking any chances.”

“Smart man. So…you go measure the Frito supply while I check on the kids and clean up.”

“I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Kate got up from the couch and walked behind it toward the doorway leading from the front of the family room to the staircase in the foyer. Alex placed the empty glass on the coffee table and held his hand over his head for Kate’s hand. She grasped his hand over the back of the couch and kissed it.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too. I’ll be in the bunker if you need me.”

He picked up his glass and walked into the kitchen, glancing at the clock on the DVR. 8:12. He placed the glass on the kitchen island and grabbed a yellow legal pad and a pen from the kitchen desk, turned toward the basement door, and headed towards the dark stairwell. He turned on the lights to the basement and descended the unfinished stairs.

Facing him on the way down, a storage shelf stood against the concrete wall directly across from the stairway. The shelf contained larger kitchen items that didn’t fit in the kitchen or pantry. Alex scanned the shelf and saw a cobalt blue Mixmaster, an espresso maker, a blender, dozens of large wooden or stainless steel bowls, and several large plastic serving trays.

He reached the basement floor and turned the corner into a large, well-lit, unfinished area that encompassed two-thirds of the total available basement space. The area was filled with lawn furniture, several bicycles, two kayaks, a dehumidifier, an old sofa, assorted luggage, and a working refrigerator. The front wall of the basement, adjacent to the stairway, was occupied by stacks of fifty-gallon plastic storage bins that held everything from summer clothing to painting supplies. Everything without a place in the upper floors of the house ended up stored in one of the bins.

Alex walked along the staircase wall toward another door located toward the back of the basement, just past the spare refrigerator. As he walked to the door, he glanced to his right at the seasonal storage area, which gave him a general feeling of disarray. Every year, he intended to better organize this area, but each time the weather turned colder, he found himself hauling everything through the bulkhead door at the last minute and jamming it in, wherever it would fit.

He approached the door inset in a wall that ran from the back of the staircase to the back wall of the basement. He took his key chain out of his jeans pocket and located the key to the door. He opened the deadbolt lock with one of the keys and then the doorknob lock with another, pushing the door in a few feet and reaching his right hand into the pitch-black room to find the light switch along the wall. He flipped the light on and walked several feet into the back room of his basement. The three overhead light bulbs, spaced evenly from front to back, exposed an unfinished basement area that stood in direct contrast to the room he’d just left.

The room was immaculate and well organized. Floor to ceiling storage shelves stood flush against most of the outer concrete walls. In the back southeast corner of the house, almost directly across from the door, stood two 275-gallon fuel oil tanks for the furnace. The furnace itself was located in a slightly recessed area about fifteen feet to the left of the tanks, along the southeast side wall of the basement. An oversized water heater sat a few feet to the left of the furnace. In the middle part of the room was a large, rectangular, cream-colored plastic box, standing three and a half feet tall, four feet deep, and six feet wide—the PowerCube Generator and Storage (G/S) 900 module, configured to store the electricity generated by their south facing rooftop solar panels. He could tell by the full bank of green LED lights that the system was fully charged and operational, free of any detected faults. One PowerCube could provide 6000 Watts of continuous power output, for as long as the batteries held a charge.

Alex looked back over his right shoulder at a five-foot–tall, black, metallic safe next to the door. The safe was three feet wide and had two built-in locks, one toward the top and one at the bottom. The locks were opened by the same key, which hung on a small nail, hidden nearby in the basement rafters. The black steel rectangular box was a gun locker. The weapons inside were clean, oiled, and ready for action, and the locker also held ammunition.

He turned his head back toward the center of the room.

Where to start? Fuel tanks.

He walked nearly straight ahead to the two fuel tanks and checked their fill gauges. One tank was completely full, and the other was two-thirds full.

Pretty good levels for the beginning of November.

They’d filled the tanks at the beginning of May and had only used one-third of a tank to heat water for nearly six months. Three years before, they had installed a second tank in response to skyrocketing oil prices. He wrote in his notebook: Call Dead River Oil to fill tank.

He turned around and decided to start at the wall adjacent to the door. The metal storage shelves started there and extended to the front concrete wall of the basement and contained spring water in two-gallon containers. Each four-level shelving unit held thirty of these containers, all on the lowest three shelves. The containers were stacked five in a row, two rows high on each shelf. There were eight shelving units along this wall, together holding nearly five hundred gallons of water.

All of the containers were marked with their date of purchase. Each week, at least one of the oldest containers was removed and placed in the kitchen for consumption. During the weekly grocery run, the container would be replaced, ensuring that the water supply stored in the basement was slowly turned over throughout the course of the year, preventing the inevitable decay of the plastic containers.

The system employed to rotate water through the shelves was also applied to most other stockpiled items. They regularly rotated food, water, medical supplies, batteries and other shorter shelf-life items into their daily lives, and replaced them on a weekly—or at least monthly—basis.

The Fletchers had started their stockpile by first purchasing all of the shelving units, which had cost a small fortune, and then slowly filling them with essentials. They hadn’t bought everything at once, but instead had purchased a few items in each essential category, once or twice a week, until the shelves were filled. It took them less than a year to fill the shelves with enough food and supplies to survive at least a year.

Alex quickly walked down the row and checked for any obvious leaks pooled on the floor. The only thing that caught his attention was the date marked on the front of the newest container, 2/12/11, and the thick layer of dust covering the rest of them. The systematic rotation of their stockpile had ceased after the 2010 swine flu scare, which had fizzled just as quickly as it had arrived.

At the end of the water row, he faced the first of eight shelving units placed along the front basement wall of the house. The first shelving unit contained health and medical supplies. The top shelf was fully stocked with over-the-counter medication: Motrin, Tylenol, Sudafed, and antihistamines. He grabbed a few to check their expiration dates, his random spot check finding nothing ready to expire.

Prescription drug samples occupied the shelf below. He had surreptitiously acquired all of the prescription drugs from physicians’ offices throughout his sales territory. Their stockpile contained over forty courses of antiviral therapy split between TerraFlu and Tamiflu. He had also sent the equivalent of one course of therapy to each close member of their family. If a pandemic struck, he planned to reserve two courses of TerraFlu and one course of Tamiflu for each member of his own family. This plan left twenty-eight courses for neighbors and friends.

The bottom two shelves contained first aid supplies and vitamin supplements. Most of the space was dedicated to first aid, filled with gloves, masks, assorted size and shaped bandages, compresses, triangular bandages, medical tape, scissors, antiseptic solution, antibiotic ointment, gauze, eyewash, thermometer, hand sanitizer, several first aid manuals, instant cold packs, and alcohol wipes.

Two makeshift portable first aid kits sat on the floor in front of the unit. He had bought these military-style “butt packs” and attached two aluminum D-rings to their straps, so that they could be hooked onto anything. Each kit was filled with the basics for treating wounds and minor illnesses. One of the kits was marked with medical tape and contained a basic surgery kit. He spied several bottles of children;s and adult vitamins tucked away among the medical supplies.

Satisfied with the medical supplies, Alex glanced at his watch. 8:34.

Already twenty minutes down here? Jesus.

The remaining seven shelving units along this wall contained food items. He saw dozens of large airtight plastic canisters filled with brown rice, barley, other grains, flour, oats, and different types of beans. Each canister held close to twenty pounds of dry food. He passed medium-sized airtight bins filled with sugar, nuts, seeds, tea, dried mushrooms, dried peas, and other dried vegetables that could be used for soup.

Two of the shelving units were packed with canned goods; everything from diced tomatoes to artichoke hearts, in large cans, could be found on these shelves. The bottom two shelves of these units were filled with nonperishable soymilk containers. Checking the dates on a few of the containers, he saw that they were good through 2014. Beyond canned goods and airtight canisters, the shelves contained numerous boxes of dry cereal, crackers, and snack bars. Coffee, condiments, salt, spices, hot cocoa mix, flavored drink powder, and boxes of vegetable bouillon filled in the gaps.

Overall, their food supply was more than adequate to last a year, possibly longer. Most meals would consist mainly of a grain and a bean, with at least one can of vegetables per day. They had plenty of seasonings to keep the meals interesting.

The first shelf past the far northern corner of the basement held several dozen bottles of wine and several cases of canned beer. Some of the cases had been there over two years, and Alex wondered if they were skunked. A few twelve packs of bottled beer sat in front of the shelving unit on the floor. He wrote “beer and wine run” in his notebook.

The shelving unit immediately next to this one was jammed full with boxes of trash bags, paper cups, paper plates, plastic silverware, paper towels, and napkins. Three large economy-sized packs of toilet paper were stacked in front of this unit. One of the packs was ripped open and half empty. He noted: “Buy more toilet paper.”

Another critical item. Nobody wants to start wiping their ass on the back of printer paper or cardboard.

This reminded him to make another note. “Go to Home Depot and buy four large plastic buckets and lots of trash bags.”

Makeshift crappers if the water goes out.

The last shelving unit on this wall, immediately to the left of the hot water tank, held fifteen small, green Coleman propane cans, four rechargeable/battery-operated walkie-talkies, assorted lighters, thirty unscented pillar candles, one hand-crank powered weather/emergency radio, a Uniden handheld scanner, and at least fifty packages of batteries. Staring at the batteries, Alex calculated that the batteries alone were probably worth more than five hundred dollars.

That’s pretty much it.

He turned his attention to the circuit breaker located to the right of the oil tanks. An electrical transfer switch was located adjacent to the circuit breaker, which was set to either “To Grid” or “To House.” When set “To Grid,” electricity flowed from the photovoltaic panels to the batteries until the batteries were fully charged. At that point, the electricity was diverted through the power box to the electrical grid, where it was sold back to Central Maine Power and discounted from the Fletchers’ electric bill. In the “To House” setting, the batteries were charged by the solar panels, and their electrical flow was connected to circuits in the house. Under normal circumstances, this switch was set to “To Grid.” Alex confirmed that both switches were in the proper position.

He turned toward the door, intent upon leaving, and jotted one more note: “Get checklist for other stuff.” He’d need to review their pre-printed pandemic checklist, which addressed other issues like their investments, filling up their cars, and buying extra gas in case they needed to relocate somewhere further than one tank would take them. They’d developed this checklist over the past few years, combining recommendations found in various online sources. He made another note: “Fill up empty gas containers. Fill up cars.” He had several empty gas containers in the garage, enough to hold about twenty gallons of gasoline all together. As he approached the door, he looked at his watch.

Almost nine. It’s like a time machine down here.

He glanced at the gun locker and hesitated for a moment. He stood on his toes and reached up into the rafters of the ceiling. He found the key and unlocked the gun safe’s door. The locker held four weapons, ammunition for each weapon, gun cleaning supplies and a few accessories. A rifle and a shotgun leaned against the small rack extending from the bottom of the locker to a shelf near the top. Two pistols and their magazines sat on the shelf, along with four boxes of pistol ammunition. The rifle magazines and ammunition lay at the bottom of the locker between the rifle and shotgun. A small shelf on the locker door held a few dozen loose shotgun shells, and the top shelf also held a scope for the rifle.

Alex grabbed the rifle and removed it from the locker. Out of military habit, he grasped the slide handle and pulled it back, opening the rifle’s breech. He tilted the weapon and held it slightly forward and up, pointing the barrel toward the closest light in the room. At this angle, he looked through the ejection port into the breech end of the rifle barrel. He could see light through the barrel, which indicated that the weapon was clear and not loaded. The entire process took less than one second.

“Clear,” he whispered.

Satisfied that the weapon was safe, he could handle the Colt AR-15A3 Carbine more casually. The weapon was his favorite, most closely resembling the M-4 rifle he carried for years as a marine officer. He racked the slide a few more times, squeezing the trigger to confirm ease of action. He racked the slide again, aiming at the far end of the basement, sighting in on a can of tomatoes. Holding still, he lined up the front and rear sight of the rifle on the can, and steadily pulled the trigger. Click. The sight was still set on the can. A perfect trigger pull. Alex put the rifle back into the locker and grabbed the shotgun.

The Mossberg 590 Combat Shotgun was huge in his grip. He slid the pump action all the way back, opening the breech, and examining the barrel. Clear. He racked it forward, released the safety, and aimed it at the far wall of the basement. Click. He pumped the shotgun a few more times, aiming and pulling the trigger.

He placed the shotgun back on the rack and removed one of the pistols. He pointed the sleek, black .45 caliber Heckler and Koch USP semi-automatic pistol at the floor and pulled the slide back with his left hand. He visually inspected the weapon’s chamber. Clear. He turned around, aiming at a box of Cheez-Its across the basement. Click. He replaced it and grabbed the second pistol.

He cleared the Sig Sauer 9mm pistol and sighted in on the same cracker box. Click. Perfect action. Alex had bought the pistol for Kate before he’d left for Iraq in 2003. While stationed at Camp Pendleton, they had lived off base in Carlsbad, California. He always worried about a home invasion, especially when he was out of town.

He knew she couldn’t effectively use the .45. It was too large and clunky for her small hands, so he’d bought a pistol she could easily handle. The pistol fell far short of Kate’s idea of the perfect farewell gift, given that she was being left on her own to juggle work, a three-year-old son, and a midterm pregnancy, all while her husband invaded Iraq. Less than perfect, actually. The pistol had sat high on a shelf in their bedroom closet, untouched for over six months, until he had returned.

“You still have that one?” Kate asked.

Alex took a quick breath, clearly startled. “Uh huh. This one is yours. You’re just lucky I didn’t give it to you for your birthday.”

“Oh, really? I missed out. Is that what all of the captains’ wives and girlfriends got?”

“Some of them, perhaps.”

Kate seductively raised her eyebrows. “I’ve been waiting for you upstairs.” She briefly caressed his left shoulder and suddenly withdrew her hand. “That is, if you’re done stroking your guns down here.”

Alex put the pistol back in the locker. “Oh, I’m done with them. They were just a little warm up. You know how weapons turn me on.”

“Lock up, kiss the kids goodnight, and meet me upstairs. Don’t take too long, or I’m going to bed.”

“Aye, aye, skipper.”

Kate smacked his rear and smiled as she headed upstairs. Alex locked the gun locker and replaced the key.

Chapter Eight

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Alex’s calf muscles burned as he pushed through the last hill on Harrison Road, turning right onto Durham Road. He slowed his pace after the turn and started walking with his hands clasped together over his head. He preferred not to run in the morning, but he had awoken at five a.m., feeling very anxious, and knew that he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. Not wanting to stare at a computer screen again, he’d decided to run over to Hewitt Park to do some outdoor calisthenics. He left the park with the intention of an easy jog back home, but the temperate, humid morning was perfect for a run.

As he slowed, he saw the Quinns’ garage door start to open. He moved over to the sidewalk on the left side of the road and stopped to let George pull out of the driveway. Rear-assist camera systems were standard equipment on most cars, but it was early and the sun hadn’t yet peeked through the deep orange clouds on the low horizon, so he wasn’t taking any chances. A Honda Odyssey pulled out of the garage bay. Not George. He watched the car back down the driveway and stop even with him at the sidewalk. Sarah Quinn opened the car window.

“Nice run?” she asked. Sarah and her husband were competitive runners well beyond Alex’s league.

Alex answered, his breathing labored from four faster than anticipated miles of running. “Yeah. Not bad, actually. I felt like I was grinding away all of my remaining knee cartilage for the first ten minutes or so, but I felt pretty strong after that. No run for you guys this morning?”

“Maybe later. I’m heading over to Hannigan’s. Didn’t you read the paper?” she asked.

“No. I left the house pretty early. What did it say?”

“The new flu is everywhere. They think there might be upwards of around a hundred cases in Maine, most of them in Portland. New York City’s been hit the hardest on the east coast. Boston’s been hit. Hartford. They’ve known since Thursday night that it’s been in the greater Portland area, and nobody said shit. A reporter at The Herald broke the story. It’s even worse on the west coast.”

“I saw something yesterday morning about the west coast, LA and San Francisco,” he said.

“Yeah, they tried to keep it under wraps there, but one of the papers cracked it wide open. Why would the government want to keep this a secret? God damned idiots. They never learn,” she said.

“Probably trying to keep panic to a minimum.”

“Well, that didn’t work. Some expert from one of the disease control agencies said that everyone should have at least two weeks of food and essentials on hand, maybe more. He said that the virus is spreading faster than expected and that they predict major disruptions to the food supply…and all kinds of other stuff. Saw it on CNF. Anyway, we figured the stores would be mobbed. What about you guys? George is going to head over to Lowe’s when I get back. You two should head over together and take our pickup.”

“We’re actually set right now with food and supplies. Thanks, though. You should get as much nonperishable food as possible. Water, too. Is your oven propane or electric?”

“Electric,” she replied, looking slightly annoyed at his brush off and sudden lecture.

“Then George should get as much propane as possible. Small, green cans like the kind you use for camping, and a couple of the big ones like for your gas grill. If we lose power, you’ll lose your stove. You guys have a camping stove, right?”

“Yeah, and we probably have a bunch of those green propane canisters, too.”

“Get more. Hey, if George has any questions about stuff to buy, have him give me a call. I sort of did a project on this topic for my company. You should get going. Could you give us a call at the house to let us know what it’s like at Hannigan’s?”

“Sure, I’ll give you a call,” she said, closing the driver’s window and pulling the car out of the driveway. She waved as the car accelerated toward Harrison Road.

Alex continued walking and turned left at the split in Durham Road, taking the long way around the loop, moving into the street at one point to avoid being soaked by the Burtons’ sprinklers. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would still run their sprinkler system this late in the fall. He continued walking on the side of the street and approached the Murrays’ house, which was a standard colonial, gray with dark blue doors and two dormers protruding from the front roofline. Like the Fletchers, the Murrays had a finished walk-up third floor. As he walked by the Murrays’ house, Greg Murray opened the mudroom door and called out to him. Alex walked up the driveway to meet him.

“Sorry to ambush you like this.”

“No worries, man. I’ve certainly seen worse, but nothing like those plaid pajama bottoms. Jesus, I hope nobody sees us out here. I’m a little worried about my reputation,” Alex said, staring at Greg’s orange, purple, green, and brown plaid trousers.

“Thanks, jackass. Carolyn got me these for Christmas last year, and I can’t exactly throw them away. She gets a little sensitive about presents.”

“A long time ago, I told Kate to leave the clothes shopping to me. She used to buy me the same type of stuff,” he said, nodding at the pants again. “Want to hear a conspiracy theory?”

“You always do have a new one brewing.” Greg laughed.

“This one’s old. Anyway, I suspect that the wives buy stuff like this to keep the other ladies at bay, except there’s a fatal flaw in their plan,” he said.

“Sexy is sexy?” Greg said and raised both arms to flex his bicep muscles.

“Well, that is true, but their plan backfires when they all buy crap like this at the same time, and we all look equally crappy. Then it all comes down to sexy, where you and I have a considerable advantage. Unfortunately for you, I think Carolyn’s trying harder than the other wives.”

“I’ll let her know your theory. I’m sure Kate would love hearing it, too,” Greg said.

“Yeah, please don’t. Just because she doesn’t buy my clothes, doesn’t mean she can’t control what I wear. She’s already told me that I can’t leave the house without a collared shirt. I guess when you turn forty, you’re no longer allowed to wear T-shirts or a sweatshirt in public. She always pulls out the latest J. Crew catalogue, which appears out of nowhere, and points to the fifty-year-old, impossibly handsome, gray-haired father of three young children, who is raking leaves in khaki pants and an impeccably clean oxford shirt. Tucked in, of course, with a nice belt. And…God forbid, a sweater vest. She tells me, ‘This is how you should look out in public, not dressed like an eternal college student.’”

“Yeah, sounds familiar. It is futile to resist.”

“Pretty much, until I say, ‘Wow, his wife looks almost fifteen years younger than he does.’ I usually get clocked over the head with the magazine.”

“Living on the edge, my friend.”

“Hey, I have to keep her sharp. So, what dare brings you outside in those pants?”

“Not much, I just wanted to see if you guys already went shopping. Did you see the paper?”

“Not yet, but I heard about it from Sarah Quinn. She’s on her way right now,” Alex said.

“We saw the evening news, and I thought about what you said the other day, so we both made trips last night to Hannigan’s. Thanks for the heads up. Sounded a little crazy until last night, then the news this morning. This thing is all over the country.”

“Yeah, I meant to call you again last night. I’m glad you got out. We finished the last of our runs yesterday. You might want to consider braving the madness and hitting the stores again.”

“We might. We did it with the kids last night, but I don’t think it would be such a good idea if the place is mobbed. I couldn’t believe it wasn’t more crowded last night. I definitely need to hit Cabela’s and Home Depot.”

“Me too. Even with all of the shit we have, I still never feel like it’s enough. If this thing goes code red, you guys are welcome to ride it out at our house. We have the solar power, the wood burning stove, and plenty of food. Everything we might need and plenty of it.”

“Thanks, Alex, but if it gets that bad, I’m pretty sure we’re gonna drive to my parents’ house outside of Albany. My parents’ house is pretty isolated, so we figured we’d hang out there until everything cools off.”

“The offer still stands if anything changes,” Alex assured him.

“Thanks, man, seriously. God knows we’d probably be better off at your house, but we should be fine at my parents. They stick to themselves and still have a functional sixties-era nuke shelter in their backyard. They’re stocked to the gills over there. I don’t think my dad ever bought off on the end of the cold war.”

“Sounds like it should be perfect. When do you think you’ll make the trip?” Alex asked.

“Good question. Carrie’s not sure how she can take off from the pharmacy, especially if a lot of people start getting sick. They’ll be swamped and probably have to double up on pharmacists.”

“She should consider getting out of that pharmacy as soon as possible. Every sick person in the town is going to walk up to that counter. Seriously, that’s one of the last places you want her to be. Maybe she could take a few days off to spend at her ‘grandma’s bedside.’”

A sly smile spread across Greg’s face. “Not a bad idea. I don’t feel comfortable with her at the pharmacy either. Patient zero in Scarborough is guaranteed to fill a script there.”

“Yeah, and judging by the apparent spread of confirmed cases, that may be a possibility sooner than you think.” Alex glanced at his watch. “I’m gonna head home so I can get a quick shower before the Morning View.”

“Sure thing, Alex. I’ll catch you later today.”

**

He leaned against the footboard of their sleigh bed, facing the television.

“You’re blocking my view,” Kate complained, propped up by a few pillows.

Alex slid over to the far left side of the footboard as Weekend Today started.

“Good morning, I’m Amy Robach, with Lester Holt. Welcome to Weekend Today, Saturday, November 3rd, 2013. Overnight, there have been several major developments related to the brewing pandemic, both domestic and abroad. First, yesterday evening, world health officials announced that the flu-like disease spreading like wildfire throughout China, and now starting to hit the rest of the world, is a new H16 subtype. H16N1. Previously, only fifteen influenza subtypes had been discovered in either humans or animals. So far, very little is known about the characteristics of the H16 subtype, aside from reports that the virus is highly contagious among humans.

“As a result of these early observations, the World Health Organization increased the pandemic warning level to phase four, officially recognizing that the new virus demonstrated efficient human-to-human transfer. Experts predict that the World Health Organization will soon upgrade the pandemic warning level again, in response to the flu’s rapid worldwide spread. So far in our own country, several hundred laboratory-confirmed cases of H16N1 have been reported, striking nearly every major city, with New York City and Los Angeles being the hardest hit.

“In a possibly related story, the Indonesian government just announced a strict travel and communications ban, barring all foreign journalists. Since 2010, strict religious control of media content has cast a thick shadow over Indonesia, and this latest move has launched some speculation regarding a possible major flu outbreak within Indonesian borders.”

The camera shifted to Lester Holt.

“Thank you, Amy. This morning we are very fortunate to have Dr. David Ocampo, from the International Scientific Pandemic Awareness Collaborative, who joins us from his situation room at their headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia. Dr. Ocampo, thank you for appearing on our show.”

“Pleased to be here,” Dr. Ocampo replied.

"First off, the past day or so has brought the fear of a deadly pandemic back into the public spotlight. A novel influenza virus is now confirmed, and the virus is spreading. What is your reaction to the events of the last day and should we be concerned?”

“I think we need to be very concerned. ISPAC field teams have reported widespread pulmonary illness outside of China, and these reports are multiplying at an alarming rate. Only one team has failed to report so far, and disturbingly enough, that team gained access to Jakarta more than twenty-four hours ago.”

“What is holding up their report?”

“Actually, we’ve had no communication with this team since it entered and have petitioned the United Nations to demand that Indonesia allows this team to report to us. Something is definitely amiss in Indonesia. As a matter of fact, without getting too far ahead of a soon to be released ISPAC update, we are entertaining the very likelihood that Jakarta is the epicenter of the H16 virus.”

“But the World Health Organization and our own CDC appear confident that the epicenter is in China,” Lester countered.

“Well, there is no doubt that Hong Kong International Airport was the primary virus propagation hub. Plenty of international flights depart from dozens of mainland Chinese airports, but the initial cases all started along routes from Hong Kong. In several sites we’ve identified patients who can be traced back to Jakarta, and in most of these cases, based on the progression of disease, we are confident that they were sick when they left Jakarta.

“China has a very cozy economic relationship with Indonesia and is one of very few countries whose citizens enjoy unhampered travel within Indonesia. Maybe because of this relationship, China took on a higher proportion of sick Indonesians than the rest of the Asiatic region. My money is on Jakarta,” Dr. Ocampo said.

“Regardless of the epicenter, it’s clear that a deadly virus is out and spreading,” he added.

“Should we keep the kids out of school from this point forward?” Kate whispered.

“Probably not a bad idea,” Alex said, without taking his eyes off the screen as Lester asked another question.

“Where does your organization plan to go from here?”

“Where do we go from here? Well, our organization is tiny compared to the WHO and is mostly an investigative body. Our main objective is to learn as much as possible about this new virus. We know it’s highly contagious. We know it’s highly pathogenic, meaning that if you are exposed to it, you are very likely to get sick from it. I’d like to know what happens when the virus takes root in a patient. A behavioral map so to say.

“Then, we want to know about the symptoms, especially the progression of symptoms. Is there an immediate risk of death like that seen in the 1918 Spanish flu? How long until pulmonary complications arise? Everything. The more we know, the more we can predict and help direct national and international strategy.”

“How far away are you from establishing this behavioral timeline?”

“Lester, I believe a rough timeline will be available shortly, possibly in an upcoming press release. Sorry if I sound like I’m dodging your question. Everything related to H16N1’s behavior is very preliminary.”

“Dr. Ocampo, do you have any recommendations for our viewers? Something they can do right now to help prepare and protect their families from the possibility of a deadly pandemic.”

“Sure, Lester. Individual families can log onto our website and obtain pandemic preparedness checklists, or call our toll-free number and this list will be read to the caller by an automated system. The best way to safeguard your family is to execute as many items on those checklists as possible, starting from the top of the checklists. The more important items and tasks are listed first.”

“Can you give our viewers more specific advice?”

“Sure, just remember that the lists are detailed, but if you start at the top, you’ll hit the most important items. As for specific advice, in a nutshell, I would recommend that you buy as much nonperishable food and water as possible and avoid contact with others.”

“Thank you very much, Dr. Ocampo. Best of luck to you and your teams.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

“And now to Karen Hill for our international news update.”

Kate turned the TV off. “FBC seems to love Dr. Ocampo.”

“Looks like they’re the only ones that love him. He just schooled that WHO idiot live on millions of TV sets nationwide. That was great,” Alex said.

“That was definitely not a good showing for the WHO. What do you think about the Indonesia link that Ocampo brought up?” she asked him.

“Who knows? Ever since that place went hardcore Muslim, nobody really knows what’s going on there,” he said.

Their home phone rang, and he walked over to remove the handset from the cordless phone charger on Kate’s nightstand. He looked at the caller ID. “Maine call.”

I’ll bet that’s Sarah calling from Hannigan’s.

He answered the call. “Alex Fletcher.”

“Hey, Alex, it’s Sarah. Hannigan’s is mobbed. I wouldn’t even bother trying to head over here. It’ll be empty in a few hours. Really unbelievable. It was a madhouse. When I left, every single cart was gone, and at least a dozen people rushed me while I was loading groceries into the minivan. It was scary. I’ve never seen anything like it.

“They have two police cruisers parked in front of the store with their lights flashing. I think it’s the only thing keeping the situation from falling apart, and they need more. Anyway, I just wanted to call and let you know. I wouldn’t bother right now. There was a line of cars extending at least a mile down Route One. It’s a total mess.”

“Thanks for calling, Sarah. Are you sure you’re all right? You sound a bit rattled.”

Alex met Kate’s glance, her raised eyebrows and flat smirk saying, “So what?” He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Just trying to be nice. It sounds pretty screwed up over there. Cops and everything,” he whispered. He raised his finger to keep Kate from responding.

“No, I’m fine,” Sarah responded. “I’ve just never seen people acting that way before. It was fine when I arrived, but the store filled up within minutes. Crazy.”

“All right, Sarah, let us know if you and George need help with anything. Okay?”

“Sure, thanks, Alex. Say hi to Kate for me.”

“Will do. Later.”

Alex hung up. “She said every cart was being used, and that a mob of people followed her out of the store to get her cart.”

“Jesus.”

“I can’t wait to see what it’s like out there. I have to admit, this is kinda exciting. You got gas, right?”

“Yesterday,” Kate replied.

“Good. I’m going to start moving the wood into the garage today and make a few trips out to buy some essentials.”

“Like Xbox games and HDVDs?”

“I think those count as essential.”

“Do we have any cash?” she asked.

“Not yet. We have $16,000 in our money market account. I can take that out any time I want. I can also borrow against our 401k and get a money wire into our checking account. If nothing happens, I’ll redeposit the money in our Fidelity account. Call it a reallocation of investments. The market hasn’t done shit for us this year anyway.”

“That’ll be weird having big money like that stashed around the house,” Kate said.

“Mafia weird. Big money rolls stuffed in our pockets weird,” he joked.

“Yeah, but with nothing to spend it on.”

“How about a boat?” Alex suggested.

“Nice try,” she said, walking toward the bathroom.

Chapter Nine

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Alex approached Hannigan’s from the direction of the Maine Mall. The back of his Subaru was filled with “essential” items from Home Depot and Best Buy. He left the Maine Mall slightly disappointed, since neither store was mobbed like he had predicted, or secretly hoped. He was less than a minute away from finding out why.

As he approached a point about one mile down the road from the Hannigan’s Plaza, traffic began to slow. The oncoming lane was devoid of traffic, so he pulled over a few feet into the lane to get a better view down the road. He saw a police cruiser with flashing lights near the only turnoff before Hannigan’s, at Copley Road.

This is for Hannigan’s? That’s where everyone is?

He had gotten the idea to check out the Hannigan’s parking lot on the way back, but he had just planned to scan the lot and continue to Route One. Now he wondered if he could even get through to Route One on this road.

Maybe they have a bypass lane set up.

Traffic came to a halt a few hundred yards from the police cruiser.

Come on, I really don’t need this right now.

Alex laughed out loud at this thought because he really didn’t have anywhere to be at the moment, and he could have chosen from several other routes taking him far clear of this Hannigan’s.

“I did this to myself,” he mumbled.

After several minutes of mindlessly tapping the steering wheel, he decided that he didn’t need to sit in traffic any longer, especially since he wasn’t part of the Hannigan’s rush. The police cruiser sat at the Copley Road intersection, which could be used as a detour to Route One, and he was sure he could talk his way through to the turnoff. He pulled his car out into the oncoming lane and started to slowly roll toward the cruiser at the intersection. He now saw that the cruiser was not actually blocking the intersection, and that its occupant was standing at the far end of the intersection talking with the driver of a gray sedan. The police officer detected Alex’s car and immediately turned in his direction.

I hope this guy’s not too pissed off today.

As he continued to move past the cars to his right, a black Suburban lurched out from the line of cars to block his path. Jesus! Caught off guard, he jammed his foot down on the brake, bringing his own vehicle to an immediate stop about five feet from the enormous truck. His smartphone flew off the front passenger seat to the floor of the car, and he felt the contents of the cargo area shift and hit the back of his seat. The Suburban was positioned at a forty-five degree angle to his car, blocking most of the oncoming lane. The front driver window opened, and Alex opened his own to apologize to the driver and explain what he was doing.

A young woman with blonde hair, possibly in her early thirties, leaned her head out of the window and screamed at him. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? Get back in line and wait like everyone else.”

He heard a similar sentiment from a few of the other cars to his right. A scowling man in a small black sedan right next to him was waving emphatically and yelling, but he had no intention of lowering his passenger window to hear the tirade.

He addressed the woman in the suburban with a loud authoritative voice. “I’m not going to Hannigan’s. I’m turning left at Copley. Nice mouth.”

“I don’t give a shit where you think you’re going. You won’t have any luck getting in from that direction either. I’ve been dealing with this for nearly two hours, so back off.”

She pulled her head into the car momentarily to yell into the tinted darkness behind her. “I told you all to shut up. We’ll get there when we get there.”

Mom of the year.

He felt his adrenaline surge; he wanted to escalate the argument.

Calm down. Nothing to gain from it.

She put her head back out as the police officer appeared in front of her truck. Alex could hear him tell her to roll up her window and get back to the other side of the road. He walked up to Alex’s window.

“I’m really sorry, Officer, I just wanted to get to the intersection so I could take a detour and get home. I’m sorry I caused a little stir.”

“Not a problem. There’s been a run on the Hannigan’s. Started around seven this morning and has only gotten worse. Wait until that lady moves her truck, and continue to the intersection. Make sure you take a left. There’s no way to get through to Route One anyway, and I can tell you for a fact that nobody will let you through the line to try it. It’s getting ugly out here. Hannigan’s ran dry within a couple of hours, but there’s a rumor that they’re dispatching some more trucks today. That’s what everyone’s waiting for. Wishful thinking if you ask me.”

“Thanks Officer…Patrick,” he said, glancing at the officer’s name badge. “Good luck today. Looks like you might need it.”

“You said it. It’s going to be a long one. All shifts are working. You better get moving. Semper Fi.”

“Yeah, Semper Fi,” Alex replied, having forgotten about the U.S. Marine Corps sticker affixed to his rear left passenger window.

No wonder he didn’t reach in and throttle me for being stupid.

He moved past the black Suburban and slowly approached the intersection. A few more cars angrily honked at him, until he turned left. He gave Officer Patrick a “thumbs up” as he completed the turn.

Pretty soon, you’re going to need more than luck, Officer. You’re going to need riot gear.

Alex rinsed his plate in the sink and gingerly set it down on top of a small pile of precariously balanced dishes in the sink basin.

“Feel free to put that in the dishwasher,” Kate said from an unseen location in the great room.

“The kids didn’t,” he shot back.

“Do I even need to dignify that with a response?”

“Oz has spoken,” he said, opening the dishwasher, which was jam-packed with clean dishes. “Son of a…”

“Oh, is the dishwasher clean?” she said, and he detected an antagonistic tone in her voice.

“One of these days, Alice. One of these days,” he mumbled.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I was just commenting on what a delightful surprise it is to discover the dishwasher full, and ready to be emptied. A dream come true.”

“This particular dream comes true for me so often, I decided it would be selfish of me not to share it with you today.”

“Thank you so very much for your consideration. Anyway, I’ll take care of it after I talk to my parents,” he said and sat down at the kitchen island.

“You must really not want to empty the dishwasher.”

“Funny,” he said and picked up the cordless phone.

“Not in here, please. I’d like to unwind without you pacing around the house all stressed out.”

“Not a problem. Hey, can you call Sam on your cell and make sure that the kids don’t stray over to the McDaniels’? Matt and Jamie work in the schools, and I would just feel better if we kept a little separation from them. For now at least,” he said.

“Can’t you call?” she asked.

“I don’t like making calls like that. You’re better at these touchy situations,” he replied, slinking away toward the stairs.

“Better at the dirty work, you mean,” she grumbled, and he heard her get up from the couch. “I’ll take a walk over to the Walkers’. I could use some sun. Have fun on your call.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be a blast. Thanks, hon,” he said and vanished up the stairs.

Settling into his office chair, he dialed his parents’ home number; his mother answered.

“Hey, Mom, what are you guys up to?”

“Well, your dad just got back from the grocery store. Lucky he got there earlier in the morning. He said there was a line of cars stretching back something like two miles when he drove home. One of your dad’s golf buddies was over near the Dunkin’ Donuts and saw the mob start to form at Albertsons. Thankfully, he called your dad.”

“Same thing is happening here. I just drove by a line that was nearly a mile long.”

“This is insane, Alex. I still don’t see why everyone is so riled up right now. We watched the news last night, and they said that the flu was unlikely to get past immigration authorities in great enough numbers to drive a crisis.”

“Please tell me you didn’t hear this on your SPOT news?”

“SPOT news is fine. This was a senior official from DHS, not some unemployed expert from one of the other networks. This came right from the source.”

“I know it’s fine, Mom, but not all of the networks are saying the same thing. Anyways, I’m glad you guys got to the store. You should get more food if you can. Where’s Dad now?”

“He ran out to Home Depot. He just called and said that it was mobbed, but not as bad as Albertsons.”

“Mom, you guys should consider coming out here if things get really bad. Regardless of what you hear on TV, I don’t think the government will be able to contain this on any level. The head of Maine Medical Center’s infectious disease department agrees.”

“Yeah, but the DHS guy last night said that they were keeping tabs on everyone that comes into the country, even if they don’t show symptoms,” she replied.

“Do you really believe they can pull that off? What about the hundreds of people they come in contact with within the first few hours of arrival? Are they going to investigate all of them, too? This isn’t just coming at us from Asia anymore. It’s global. Any passenger, on any plane from anywhere in the world could be infected.”

“Well, there’s only so much that can be done, and at a certain point, you just have to deal with it.”

Throw the towel in, Mom.

“I agree, that’s why you two need to take a trip to see your grandkids. If the situation out there deteriorates, you’ll be in the best place to weather the storm. You still have the TerraFlu that I sent, right?”

“Oh yes, it’s still in the upstairs bathroom closet. We don’t need to take that yet, do we?”

I think I’ve been over this ten times with them.

“No, not yet, Mom. If you experience flu-like symptoms, then you should start taking it. Fever, headache, exhaustion, congestion. I’m going to send you an email with a self-assessment guide. You won’t remember all of this.”

“Sounds good. How are the kids doing?”

She’s not even listening.

“You really should ask them yourself, like within the next few days,” he chided, and then relented. “They’re doing great. Ryan is having an amazing cross-country season. He can almost outpace me on runs, and he’s probably the fastest sixth or seventh grader on the team. Emily is in the middle of the fall soccer season, and she wants to start running like Ryan. Between the two of them, we’re being pulled in every direction.”

“What does Kate think about all this flu stuff?”

What?

“Does she think you’re overreacting, too? She’s been the voice of reason in the family since you got back from Iraq. I still think the war made you a little paranoid. Sorry to say it, but it’s true.”

“Thanks for the psych eval, Mom, I’ll pass it along to the doctors. And for the record, she’s more worried than I am,” Alex said.

“Well, she probably doesn’t want to upset you.”

What does that mean?

“Really, Mom, you guys should consider coming out. Make it your annual trip. If nothing happens in the next few weeks or so, you can go home having enjoyed the kids and one of the best times of the year to visit Maine. The leaves are turning, and the weather’s been great. Lodging is free, and we can take a couple of trips up north to check out the colors.”

“I’ll talk to your dad about it again. If things get really bad, we’ll seriously think about it. I don’t think your brother will consider it, though.”

“Who said he was invited? Just kidding, Mom. Hey, don’t let him make the decision for you. He chose to work nearly two hours away in Denver, and Karla isn’t exactly helpless.”

Well, she’s close to helpless.

“Things are hectic for them. They’re both extremely busy with their jobs, and the kids are busy with sports and school activities.”

“What do you think we have going on over here?” Alex said.

“If you guys were closer, we’d help you too.”

“I think Danny is a little too focused on a big salary, and way too dependent on your support. I can think of other terms for it, but I promised Kate I wouldn’t bitch about it with you guys. Anyway, I can feel my blood pressure skyrocketing. Bottom line, they can deal with their own kids for a couple weeks without your help.”

“We’ll see how things go. I’m willing to bet this whole thing will clear up in a few weeks, just like the swine flu. A trip sounds nice, but…”

“I know. Danny and Karla need more time to figure out how to take care of their own kids. Sorry. I promised I wouldn’t. Anyway, just don’t wait too long, Mom. I think the situation has the potential to deteriorate very quickly. Think about it and let me know. You guys are always welcome out here, and so are my brother and his family. Love you guys.”

“Love you too, Alex. Give Kate and the kids a hug for me.”

“Will do, Mom,” he replied and hung up the phone.

They aren’t taking any of this seriously.

Alex was sweating profusely. In just under one hour, he had hauled roughly one-third of their firewood into the garage. Two cords of firewood were dumped on their driveway in late August, and with the reluctant help of his son, he’d finished stacking the wood along the outside back wall of the garage by the middle of September.

Sometimes I wish I was a hard core procrastinator.

He grabbed another oversized stack of wood and started the grueling trek around the side of the garage. As soon as he cleared the rear corner of the garage, he saw Charles Thornton walking over from his house across the street. He picked up the pace, hoping to disappear into the garage bay before the man arrived.

Alex had made a practice of tactfully avoiding Charlie Thornton as much as possible. He had learned the hard way that any conversation lasting more than three minutes with Charlie would inevitably shift to the politics of hunting, and the liberal conspiracy to deny his children the right to enjoy a tradition on which this nation was founded.

He approached the front corner of the garage and looked up at Charlie, who was clearly headed over to talk to him.

Unavoidable. God damn it.

Alex entered the garage bay and placed the wood on a neat stack along the outside wall of the garage, furthest away from the mudroom door.

Two cords are going to jam this garage shut.

Charles was halfway there, just as Alex emerged from the garage.

“Hey, Charles, not tromping around the woods today?” Alex asked, wiping his forehead.

“Shit, I wish. Linda’s still at the office, trying to unscrew the temp situation at National Semi. Three of them walked off the job yesterday, unannounced. I still have no idea why, but if we don’t get some replacements in there by Monday, we could lose our contract with them. We have at least thirty floating around there.

“Anyway, we heard about the crowds at the stores, so I took off to try and get some grocery shopping done. I started over at Sam’s Club. Forget it. I couldn’t even get close to the place. Same story at Hannigan’s and Shale’s. Did you manage to get to any of these stores today? Linda and I have been so busy at the office that we never made our weekly shopping run. Our house is empty. Looks like we’re eating out tonight.”

Like every night?

“Yeah, you and the rest of the town. I couldn’t get near Hannigan’s this morning. Drove by around eleven, and the line was over a mile long just to get into the parking lot. That’s just in one direction. We have enough stuff on hand for now,” Alex said uncomfortably.

“I heard they closed all of the Hannigan stores in the area. Picked clean by ten. I’m worried about getting my dad’s meds. They should at least keep the pharmacy open at Hannigan’s. All I need are some refills.”

“You should ask Greg Murray about that. His wife might be able to hook you up. She’s a pharmacist over at the Scarborough Hannigan’s.”

Sorry, Greg.

“That’s right. Do you know if they’re home?”

“Carolyn might be home right now if the store is closed.”

“I’ll have to check. So why are you stacking your wood inside the garage. Don’t you normally keep it out back?” he asked.

What dragged you all the way over here, Charlie?

“Well, ever since we put in the wood-burning stove, we make a lot more trips to get wood. Kate hates going outside to grab the wood, so I figured if it was inside the garage, she’d keep the fire going and quit turning up the thermostat.”

Outright lie.

“You gonna move it all inside?” Charlie asked.

“I don’t think so. We won’t go through two cords this winter. Barely burned through one last year. But who knows what the boss will want,” Alex said.

“Wives. Give them whatever they want, right? Well, I gotta get back to the house and figure out dinner. Probably need a reservation to get in somewhere tonight. Hey, if I can’t get into a restaurant, you might hear the thunder of one of my rifles. I’ve seen fresh signs of deer in the woods back by the park.”

A little more than three minutes this time.

“No worries here. I’ve been on the receiving end of blasts that could make your ears bleed.”

Or tear your limbs off.

“I’ll bet. You ever do any sniping? That’s the ultimate hunting in my book.”

Is he serious?

“No, but we routinely had snipers assigned to our battalion. They didn’t seem to enjoy their job much.”

“Hell, I’d give anything to trade places with them for a few hours.”

“I don’t know. Nothing out there shoots back,” Alex said and glanced toward the trees north of the neighborhood.

They both looked at each other for a second, and Alex felt like he was being sized up.

“Yeah, maybe not. Anyway, have a good night, Alex. I’ll catch you later,” Charlie said and started walking back down the driveway.

“You too, Charlie.”

He returned to the wood stacked behind the garage.

Definitely gonna keep an eye on Private Pyle over there.

**

Alex stepped out onto the mudroom stoop and looked around for Kate. He didn’t see her in the front yard, so he headed down the driveway and spotted her four houses down, petting a chocolate lab in the Coopers’ driveway. He approached Kate and leaned down to pet the Coopers’ dog, Max, who wiggled and squirmed his way over to Alex, stopping short to roll over onto his back. Kate stood upright as he rubbed Max’s chest.

“Very good boy. Yes, you are. Any sign of Paul and Nancy?” he asked, without looking up at Kate.

Kate leaned in and rubbed Max’s neck. “No. I thought I saw their car drive by our house on the way out…maybe an hour ago?”

Alex stood up and took in the trees, his eyes straining in the direction of the Thorntons’, without turning his head. “Let’s get rolling before we attract some unwanted attention,” he remarked, nodding toward Charlie’s house.

Kate looked over at the Thorntons’.

“Jesus Christ. Don’t look!” he whispered forcefully.

“What are you, in third grade? None of their cars are out, and you know they never park in the garage.”

“I’d just like to get off the block unmolested,” he said, and they started to walk briskly toward the other side of the Durham Road loop.

They continued to walk through the loop, passing the Murrays’ and the Bishops’ houses to their right. Alex caught some movement in his peripheral vision from the Santos’ yard, on the other side of the street, but nobody called out to them. They passed by the Cohens’ house, also on the left, and saw that both of their cars were fully packed. One of the cars had a cargo carrier on top, which was open and halfway stuffed with duffel bags. They both picked up the pace to get by the Cohens’ house.

“They don’t have any immediate family down here, right?” Kate asked.

“I was just thinking the same thing. I think Margaret’s parents are retired and live up near Bar Harbor,” he replied, still thinking about it.

“Yes, that’s right. Her parents own a huge place on the water up there. They spend a few weeks each summer up there and most of the weekends.”

“Looks like they’re taking off.”

They continued walking toward Harrison Road, where they planned to turn right and connect with Everett Lane, which ran parallel to their neighborhood and connected with several other streets behind their subdivision. This route was one of their favorite walks, which took them a few miles through surrounding neighborhoods and eventually connected with Hewitt Park. Several foot trails extended for miles through the land trust preserve surrounding the park, but he and Kate usually turned around once they reached the park.

As they approached Harrison Road, a black Toyota Sienna minivan careened, tires squealing, onto Durham Road, barely making the turn ahead of a red sedan on Harrison Road.

“What the…” Alex exclaimed, pushing Kate slightly off the sidewalk onto the Quinns’ lawn and putting himself between the van and his wife. He quickly recognized the Perrys’ van as it approached, still moving way too fast for a neighborhood road. He saw Todd Perry behind the wheel of the van as it closed the distance.

I really hope he keeps going.

The van slowed as it pulled parallel to the Fletchers, the window already down.

No luck.

“Can you believe this shit?!” Todd yelled at them.

“What’s going on, Todd? Is everything all right?” Kate asked, almost sounding overly concerned.

“No. I’ve been all over Portland, and it’s the same story. I guess you have to get up at five in the morning to get groceries now,” he said, barely below the level of screaming.

“Yeah, I think from this point on, you might be right,” Alex said.

“What am I supposed to do, camp out with my entire family? Four kids in a minivan, just so we can fill up a cart full of groceries? They have to figure something else out. Not everyone can afford to sit around Hannigan’s all day,” he replied, his tone calming slightly.

“Todd, why don’t you have Susan give me a call? We can watch your kids for a few hours in the morning, and you can both head over really early. Take separate cars, get in line separately, then you can play a little catch up and get two loads of groceries. Don’t go together. They won’t let you grab two carts if they see you’re together,” Kate offered.

“They? Who the fuck are they? Some punk ass kids at Hannigan’s?” he said loudly.

“No, the police. Nancy Cooper saw the cops break up a couple trying to load two carts into one car.”

“Jesus. It’s a police state already. Hey, sorry to bite your heads off. I’m just a little frustrated by all of this nonsense. I appreciate the offer to watch the kids. We may take you up on it. I’m gonna have Sue call her parents, maybe they can drive down from Augusta tonight and help us out. Thanks. I’ve been so pissed off, I can barely think straight,” he said, calm now.

“Just keep us in mind, Todd. We’ve got nothing planned for tomorrow, so it’s really no big deal for one of us to head over and keep the kids company, or you can pack them up in their pajamas and herd them over to our house. I’ll feed them pancakes,” Alex offered.

“Thanks, guys. I’ll run it by Susan.”

“We might be out tonight for dinner, so leave a message and we’ll call you when we get back.”

“Thanks again, guys. I’ll give you a call later,” Todd said.

“See ya, Todd,” Kate said.

Todd accelerated the van to a reasonable speed and made a controlled turn toward his house. Alex and Kate started walking again.

“Loose cannon alert,” Kate said. “Susan told me he had a short temper.”

“Confirmed. Are you really gonna get up at the ass crack of dawn to watch their kids?”

“Oh, I’m not getting up. You are.”

“That’s what I thought.” He laughed.

They turned on Harrison Road and walked holding hands toward Everett Lane. A chilly breeze sifted through the towering maple and oak trees along Harrison Road, sending a cascade of dried yellow, red and brown leaves to the ground.

**

The Fletchers’ Subaru crossed the Casco Bay Bridge, headed away from Portland. Traffic was surprisingly light, and Alex took a moment to look left, across the oncoming lanes. He stared out into the Casco Bay. Lights sprinkled across Peaks Island were barely visible, giving the island a sparsely populated feel. Indeed, at this time of the year, the island held fewer than a thousand residents, and the number decreased every week as seasonal home owners retreated to the mainland for the harsh winter.

As their car continued on, the view of Peaks Island was washed out by the blazing deck lights of a massive petroleum carrier docked at the oil terminal on the northern tip of South Portland’s industrial waterfront.

Alex felt bloated from dinner. He could have stopped with a nice salad after the appetizers, but the allure of seared ahi tuna was too much to resist. Kate made a similarly delicious but regrettable decision, choosing the citrus glazed salmon. Both of them rode in silence across the bridge. As they crested the bridge and began to descend, they saw two police cars at the first intersection. The cruisers’ roof lights flashed a blue warning to the approaching cars.

As they drew closer, he gained a clear picture of the situation at the bottom of the bridge. The police cruisers were positioned to barricade the two lanes of forward traffic, leaving just enough room for vehicles to drift into the far right turn lane. A police officer stood adjacent to the far right cruiser, motioning traffic toward the turn with a red illuminated wand. As their car approached the police officer, Alex slowed the car to a stop and lowered his window.

“Evening, Officer. What’s going on down there?”

The officer leaned down with a serious expression, took a look around the car, and then settled his eyes on Alex. His glare softened, erasing any trace of anxiety from the encounter.

“Nothing to be worried about. We have about three to four hundred cars jammed into the Shale’s and Hannigan’s lots, waiting for tomorrow. Lots of people roaming the lots, eating at McDonald’s, ordering Domino’s. A regular zoo down there. We tried to move them out of there, but it became pretty apparent that nobody planned to go anywhere. Not much we can do, right? We’re just trying to keep any more cars from jamming into those areas. We’re gonna be up all night walking those lots.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I hope you have a relatively uneventful evening,” Alex said to him.

“Thanks, though I’m not very optimistic at this point,” the officer said and tipped his hat.

Alex raised the window and slowly turned onto Broadway Avenue, turned left at the next stop light, and headed toward Scarborough.

“That’s a little creepy,” he said.

“Do you think people are really going to sleep in their cars all night?” Kate asked.

“I guess, though I can’t imagine what it’ll be like in that parking lot at about 2:30 in the morning. It won’t take much to turn one of those parking lots into a mob, or a free-for-all, especially when the Hannigan trucks start rolling in. I think the police will have their hands full.”

“What’s happening, Dad?” Ryan asked groggily.

“I thought you guys were asleep,” Alex responded.

“Emily’s out,” Ryan answered.

“The police officer said that the parking lots at Shale’s and Hannigan’s were full of cars waiting for the stores to reopen in the morning. People have been waiting all day to get food, and they probably ran out at some point today. The police are directing everyone away from the area.”

“Why are they all trying to get more food? Don’t they have enough by now?”

“A lot of people are a little worried about the flu pandemic causing a long term food shortage, so they rushed to stock up on groceries, all at once, and the stores weren’t prepared for that many customers at one time. Most of the stores ran out of food items early in the day and had to close, which makes people even more nervous.”

“Where do the stores get their food?”

“Large distribution centers somewhere around here, I guess. The centers pack up those large Hannigan semis and send them out every day,” Kate said.

“Yeah,” Ryan said, and Alex sensed that he was fading away.

Far down the road, they could see the flashing blue lights of a police car approaching them from the opposite direction. He instinctively slowed the car, even though they were already within the speed limit. The police car approached them and sped by, heading in the direction of the shopping complex.

“Was that a Scarborough cop?” Kate asked.

“I don’t know, the car was going too fast. They all look the same.”

“Why would it be the Scarborough police? We aren’t in Scarborough yet,” Ryan asked from the back seat.

“Good point, though if it was a Scarborough cop, then it might indicate a real problem back at Mill Creek. I think that’s why your mom asked.”

Kate looked at him uneasily and nodded her agreement. For the remaining ten minutes of the trip home, they rode in silence.

Chapter Ten

Sunday, November 3, 2013

Alex sat alone in his office, surfing through several bookmarked websites. Sweat dripped off his face, and he wiped it onto his gray T-shirt with a sweep of his left arm. The gesture did little to help since his entire shirt was drenched with sweat. He opened the office windows and walked to the bathroom to grab a towel.

He’d awoken at 7:00 a.m. for a light run, but once again found the weather irresistible. As promised by local meteorologists, warm, humid air from Hurricane Terrence continued to pour into New England, bringing unseasonably warm temperatures. He had checked their thermometer and found that it was already sixty-two degrees in the shade on their deck. Stepping outside, moist, salty air filled his lungs, and he felt like their neighborhood had been transported to Florida. One hour later, he returned to their neighborhood, with the complete understanding that he would pay for it later. He hadn’t run more than forty minutes in several months, and adding twenty minutes nearly killed him.

He skimmed several stories and then jumped over to the ISPAC Pandemic Map, which he kept minimized for quick access. The map of China showed expanded red and violet areas, growing inward from the coast all the way east to Fuzhou. Shanghai and Qingdao, two major coastal cities, sat in areas shaded red. The greater Beijing area was colored orange, with several small red dots indicating medium cluster outbreaks within the area. Placing the cursor over the China icon, he read:

“China. Population 1,350,678,400. Massive outbreak. 820,000 reported cases. Concentrated WHO effort to contain outbreak unsuccessful. WHO teams status unknown due to communications blackout imposed by Chinese government. Uncontained.”

He went back to the news articles. “Indonesia to allow full WHO and U.N. support…submits formal apology to U.N. for treatment of inspection teams…pleads for immediate assistance…deaths estimated at 73,000…over 2 million cases of Jakarta flu.”

“More cases of Jakarta flu appearing in major European cities…London confirms several hundred cases…”

Now it’s the Jakarta flu.

“That’s it for me,” Alex announced, rising from the chair to check on the rest of his family. He really didn’t need to check on Ryan. He’d be shocked to find him awake. He never expected to see him before 10 a.m. on weekends anymore, but Emily was a different story. She usually got up at the same time on weekends as she did during the week, sometimes earlier. He peeked into both of their rooms to see if they were still asleep. Ryan was buried in his covers, his dark hair barely poking out of the top of the blankets. He pushed open Emily’s door and walked a few feet into her room, then peeked around the corner at her. She had tossed all of her covers off, but still looked solidly asleep. Both rooms were dark, with the shades pulled tight.

Alex walked down the hallway to the master suite and looked over at his wife. Like Ryan, Kate was buried in covers, her long black hair spilling out from the top of the blankets onto her pillow. He could hear her breathing deeply. Unlike the kids’ rooms, the master bedroom was bathed in light. Kate liked to rise naturally with the sun, or at least she claimed to like it, but he couldn’t remember the last time she’d woken up within three hours of dawn, especially during the summer months, when the sun began to rise at four-thirty.

Looks like I have the house to myself.

He backtracked to the master bathroom and started the shower.

**

As Alex poured pancake batter onto a non-stick frying pan, he heard someone walking down the stairs. By the creak of the stairs, he could tell immediately that it was Kate.

“Good morning, my love. You’re right on time,” he said without turning around.

She took the final step down onto the hardwood floor in front of the stairs before responding.

“How did you know it wasn’t Ryan?”

Alex sensed a trap. “I can just tell,” he said, not taking the bait.

“All right…just as long as you’re not implying anything about my weight,” she said.

“Nope. Everyone has their own unique signature coming down the stairs. Ryan sounds like he’s stumbling down after being shot. Emily takes three years to descend. I fly down the stairs, and you glide gracefully with a purpose,” he said, smugly.

“Don’t push it,” she said, moving directly for the coffee maker. “Pancakes. Yummy. And the coffee is made. You’re my hero. How many times a week can we have pancakes?” she asked.

He flipped the pancakes over and stepped away from the stove to give her a hug and a kiss. “Do you mean if we go into quarantine, or in general? Because in general, I could eat them every morning, but in quarantine, we’re probably looking at no more than once a week,” he said, still holding her.

“Maybe one of us should stand in line at the store and just buy pancake ingredients,” she replied, and he couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking.

He let go of her and returned to the stove to take the pancakes off the pan, placing them under tin foil on a large plate on the counter to the left of the stove.

“Actually, after today, I think we’re done visiting public spaces, or interacting with other people. Did you check the ISPAC map?” he asked, while pouring another batch of pancakes onto the frying pan. The oil around the edges of the pancakes sizzled when the batter hit the pan.

“No, I just came straight down when I smelled the pancakes.”

“They’ve named it the Jakarta flu, so I guess they’re fairly certain that the epicenter is in Jakarta. The Navy rescued the missing ISPAC team from Indonesian waters. Based on the flu casualty predictions I saw in one of the articles, I can understand why the Mullahs didn’t want them snooping around. The estimate I saw was two million cases.”

“Are you kidding me?” Kate asked incredulously.

“No. That’s why I think today is our last day out and about. The numbers are rising very rapidly here and abroad. It’s already out of control.”

“Hey, I’m good with starting our quarantine right now,” she said, taking a coffee mug down from the cabinet.

“I think we should let them hang out with their friends today and call it good. That way we can start the quarantine on a better note. Emily has a play date set up with Jessica, and I think Ryan is planning to invite Connor and Daniel over today. That should be fine.”

“I don’t know…what if Jessica’s uncle visited them last night, after shopping at the Shale’s in Falmouth, right behind the wife of the guy, or the sister of the guy who’s in the hospital…”

“I understand what you’re saying,” he assured Kate, “but I feel confident we’ll be fine letting her go over there. She can wash her hands a lot. It’ll be fine. Let both of them enjoy the day. It’s beautiful out,” he said, pointing out of the windows over the kitchen sink.

“All right. I’ll talk to Elaine and make sure they wash their hands a lot. Maybe she’ll cancel the play date,” she suggested.

“Maybe, but don’t count on it. Even if she does, Emily will find another. At least Jessica’s parents seem pretty responsible,” he said.

“Yeah, I guess. Are some of the pancakes ready? I don’t feel like waiting another hour for the kids.”

“Almost. If you set the table, I’ll pour a few more.”

“Deal. Hey, did you see any cars in front of the Perrys’ this morning?” she asked, having just spotted the Sunday paper.

“No, I checked on my way out for a run at about seven, then again an hour later. I walked out about ten minutes ago, pretending to check the mailbox and still nothing.”

“What the hell are they thinking?”

“I don’t know, maybe they all went out shopping together,” he suggested weakly.

“With four kids? I doubt it.”

“Loose cannon alert?”

“More like idiot alert,” Kate responded.

Quarantine

Chapter Eleven

Monday, November 4, 2013

Alex finished the last four pull-ups of his pyramid exercise routine and stared out at the sunrise through the northeastern window of their finished attic. The low horizon sky held a scattered pattern of wispy clouds that reflected a deep burnt orange color from the still hidden sun. A deep blue and violet sky towered over the clouds, still holding on to the brightest stars in the eastern sky.

He stretched for about five minutes and then headed downstairs to see if Kate was back from her morning walk. He detected no activity in the bathroom, which was usually her first stop after returning.

He walked back down the main hallway of the second floor and headed toward their office to check some of the internet news sites before cleaning up. He looked out of the double window and saw Kate slowly walking down the street. She stopped in front of the Carters’ house and walked up the driveway to pet their chocolate lab, Kelso. Kelso enjoyed the full range of the half-acre lot, cut off from the rest of the world by an electric fence.

Occasionally, Kelso managed to escape his electric prison, and inevitably wound up in the Fletchers’ backyard, lavished with Milk Bones and other treats.

I’m pretty sure we are his first and only stop during an escape.

Sometimes, the kids just let him in the house to hang out, and he was convinced that Kate and the kids just might steal a dog if they didn’t get one of their own soon.

We’ll get another when everyone is truly ready.

Just over a year before, the Fletchers had lost their yellow lab to a tragic accident at a local dog park. Alex stared out at a patch of grass across the street.

When his mind drifted back into his office, he noticed Kate standing in their front yard, waving up at him and looking frustrated. He wondered how long she had been trying to get his attention. Drifted out again. He shifted his stance and met her eyes, returning the wave. She still stared at him strangely. He opened the window and felt the warm air envelop him.

Another beautiful day.

“Hey, honey. Nice out, huh?” he yelled through the screen.

“Very nice. Another gift before the winter buries us. What were you staring at up there?”

“Nothing, just thinking about something,” he said.

“You must have been thinking really hard, you’ve been staring out of the window for over five minutes.”

“Nothing much. I’m just tired.” She won’t buy that one.

“All right,” she said.

Definitely didn’t buy it. I’ll get a PTSD lecture within the next twenty-four hours. Guaranteed.

Kate started walking toward the mudroom, and he kept watching her. He loved her more than anything. Seeing her shattered and in tears at the dog park was the worst moment of his life. He realized that he was squeezing the windowsill, both of his forearm muscles flexed, and eased his grip as Kate drifted from his view.

Alex turned around and walked across the office to the closet. He opened the door and pulled open the top drawer of a file cabinet, locating a brown hanging file marked “Checklists” and removing the folder inside. The folder held a few different checklists, specifically created for different emergencies or contingencies. He thumbed through them, seeing one for “Nor’easter” and another for “Coastal Flooding.” He finally found the “Pandemic” checklist.

He took two copies out of the folder, replaced the folder in the cabinet, and walked back to the desk and sat down. Before glancing at the checklist, he shook the computer mouse to jar his computer out of standby mode. The flat-screen monitor jumped to life and displayed a family picture taken on a beach in Mexico. He took a close look at the list.

-Call Dead River to fill up oil tanks and propane. Need to do this anyway.

-Fill up cars. We’ll keep them filled.

-Fill up all fuel canisters. Next time at gas station.

-Inspect solar power system. Done.

-Inspect stockpile and fill in any gaps. Done.

-Test walkie-talkies. I’m sure they’re fine.

-Test generator. I’m sure it works.

-Withdraw all cash from checking and savings accounts. Let’s not get crazy.

-Borrow from 401K to get maximum amount of cash. Overkill.

-Trade non-retirement investments for gold-backed funds or bonds. Paranoia.

-Contact schools. Done.

He jotted a few notes onto the checklist and got up to go take a shower. He heard Kate fumbling around in the kitchen on his way past the stairs.

**

Alex wandered down the stairs to find Kate pouring coffee into a dark blue mug. She looked up at him and smiled. He could hear the Morning View on in the kitchen.

“Good workout?” she asked.

“Not bad at all. I actually went for a run earlier, too. It’s still pretty warm out. Hey, I have to hide in my office again for a teleconference at eight. This one should be really interesting.” He winced. He walked up to Kate and kissed her.

“Have you transmitted the nuclear bomb to Ted yet?” she asked with a devilish smile.

“Not yet. I was thinking about hooking my computer back up on Tuesday. I may just do it today and get it over with. He’s going to flip out. Anything good on the Morning View?” he asked, looking up at the TV screen. Christ, another missing kid in the D.C. area?

“Not really. Still no word from the Chinese, our carriers are converging on the region, and Asia is crawling with the flu.”

“Yeah, I checked. The numbers have skyrocketed, and Europe is exploding, too. It’s gonna be the same here in about a week,” he said and grabbed a tall glass from the cabinet above the coffeemaker.

“That’s what they said. Not about the U.S. though,” she said.

“They didn’t mention cases in the U.S?”

“Oh no, they definitely said over a thousand cases nationwide. Confirmed.”

“That sounds conservative. The ISPAC estimates the number of cases in the U.S. could hit 20,000 by the end of the week, based on all of their variables and that kind of shit,” Alex said, waving his right hand above his head.

“20,000? Did they give their estimate for the Jakarta flu’s basic reproductive number?” she asked him, opening the refrigerator.

“Yeah, initially they set it around four, but they took pains to mention that this number fluctuates hourly in their projections, and that it may turn out to be higher.”

“Infectious about seven to ten…” her voice trailed off. Kate turned around from the open refrigerator and looked upward. Calculating. She responded to mathematical or statistical challenges like a deep-programmed Cold War mole, suddenly activated by a trigger phrase and trapped in a computational trance until released by the answer. Within a few seconds, she broke the spell and looked at Alex.

“Based on four as an average, the U.S. will hit roughly a million cases around November 20th. If the case fatality rate is similar to what they are seeing in China, we could be looking at close to two hundred thousand deaths.”

“Three weeks from now,” he added dryly. “Hey, did Ryan roll down? I thought I heard him rummaging around down here earlier.”

“Yeah, he was down here pouring some cereal. He forgot about our no school policy. He made a beeline back up to his room when I reminded him.” She laughed, nodding at the half-filled cereal bowl.

“I don’t think we’ll get much resistance from him right now. Emily on the other hand…I don’t know,” he said.

“She can be pretty tough to deal with.”

He smirked. “I wonder where she gets that?”

“That’s why you love me so much,” she countered, bending over to pull the toaster out of a drawer in the island.

“Among other things,” he said and grabbed her from behind, pressing his body against hers.

“You bad boy. Why do you always sex me up in the kitchen?” Kate stood up and nervously looked over at the stairs.

“Probably because you bend over a lot in the kitchen. I can’t help it.”

“Yeah, well, you better make sure the kids don’t see you. I don’t feel like explaining it to either of them, especially Ryan.”

“No kidding,” he agreed.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” she asked.

“Some breakfast, teleconference, then I was thinking maybe we could all take a bike ride to the beach. Get everyone out of the house,” Alex said.

“Sounds nice.”

“We should make the best of the weather. Some Canadian air is coming our way toward the end of the week and another storm. The party’s over.”

“I would suggest we go out for lunch, but I guess that wouldn’t be a great idea. Right?”

“I was thinking the same thing, but I don’t know. I don’t think we should go anywhere around people, for any reason,” he said.

**

Alex sat in his office, checking his personal email, a Bluetooth earpiece resting in his right ear blaring intolerably optimistic music, as he waited for the rest of his sales district to join the teleconference. He heard a double beep, which indicated that someone had joined. He thought he heard Dave from Portsmouth mumble something.

“Is that you, Dave? It’s Alex.”

“Yours truly,” Dave replied.

I wonder if he’s still working.

Dave had a reputation as being slightly less industrious than the rest, and certainly more cynical.

“Hi, Alex. How are things up in Portland?”

Sounds like Karen.

“Pretty crazy. How about Concord?” he guessed.

“Same thing. All the stores are jammed. I finally got through Hannigan’s yesterday.”

“Any flu cases?” he pressed.

“Something like a hundred cases since Saturday. I tried to get in to see some of the infectious disease people at Concord Hospital earlier this morning, but they’re not letting in drug reps.”

I’m sitting here in sweat pants and a T-shirt, and she’s already out there trying to get herself exposed to the Jakarta flu.

“You probably don’t want to be anywhere near an E.R., or any hospital for that matter. It’s not worth it,” Alex cautioned.

“That’s a no shitter,” Dave said.

“What do you mean?” Karen asked blandly.

Is she kidding?

“Hey, guys, it’s Cheryl. Who’s on?”

Two representatives covered each of the five geographic sales areas. Portsmouth-Southern New Hampshire, Concord-Northern New Hampshire, Portland-Southern Maine, Augusta-Central Maine and Bangor-Northern Maine. Everyone answered except for Ted. He heard another double beep.

Here’s the man of the hour.

“Good morning, team. Let’s make sure everyone is here,” Ted said, who then conducted a roll call. A few of his colleagues sounded excited to be on the teleconference. Alex purposely sedated his acknowledgment.

“Thank you for joining me on such short notice. I have some good news and some bad news.”

I have a feeling Ted’s bad news is good news for me.

“Since I always like to end on a positive note, let’s start with the bad, though I hate to call it bad. More disappointing than anything else.”

This guy is a real treat.

“The disappointing news is that Biosphere will not enter into an official direct partnership with DHS.”

What a shame.

Alex heard grumbling on the line. He also swore he heard a muffled cheer.

“I know, I know…not exactly what I was hoping for either, but from what I understand, DHS wanted more control over Biosphere’s operations than our executives were comfortable with, so the negotiations are currently stalled. I am told that this may not be the end of a possible deal, especially given the rapidly deteriorating situation around the country. There is still hope.”

Dave interjected a comment, “Ted, I saw a blurb on CNF about Roche enhancing their deal with DHS.”

“Yes, but even without an official deal, Biosphere is taking steps to secure their role,” Ted said with a hint of pride.

More like force their role.

“Biosphere agreed to relinquish 80% of its current sample inventory to DHS for regional utilization. I don’t have any specifics, but I assume that those samples will be added to the nation’s anti-viral stockpiles, which will be controlled by the government. I don’t know when that will happen or how, but be ready for the call. The remaining twenty percent will be retained by representatives for the good news.”

I have a bad feeling about this one.

“I am excited to announce that effective immediately, our district will augment the Boston District’s efforts in northern Massachusetts,” he said.

There was dead silence.

Not a lot of excitement about this one.

“Ted, this is Steph. When is this going to happen?”

Stephanie Brennan lived north of Concord with her husband, Tom, and three young children. Alex figured she’d be on the fence about complying with this initiative, but would eventually cave in to Ted’s pressure. She’d be more concerned about losing her job and a comfortable income. He knew they’d barely scraped together enough money for a down payment on a house they purchased a few years ago, immediately after her husband was hired as a middle school science teacher in Concord, and he couldn’t imagine any way they could afford to stay in their house on Tom’s income alone.

“Good question, Stephanie,” Ted said.

Like she’s a third grader.

“All of the assignments are made, and hotel arrangements are set, so we’d like to put all of you in place tomorrow.”

The phone erupted with protest, and Alex removed the Bluetooth earpiece.

It’s too early for this.

He activated the speakerphone feature of his smartphone.

Ted was attempting to calm the group. “All right, all right. One at a time. I haven’t even given you the details. I realize this is short notice, but let’s face it, the pandemic is spreading quickly, and our corporate strategists agree that a huge opportunity exists if we execute this plan quickly.”

“What exactly is the opportunity?” Alex asked.

“Uh…well, the opportunity is to educate front line providers regarding the Jakarta flu. You’ll all receive new educational pieces to use in the field when you meet with your new coordinating manager down in Massachusetts. So, the first part of the opportunity is to assist healthcare providers with making decisions that can help contain the pandemic. And…and the samples you’ll have in your car will let them treat patients with symptoms right in their offices, improving containment efforts.”

That wasn’t part of his script. Sorry, Ted.

“This sounds like a PR scam,” Dave interrupted.

“Dave, you beat me to it,” Alex commented dryly. “I don’t see how this could possibly help the situation. The Jakarta flu is about to jump like wildfire across the country. I don’t see how injecting a few sales representatives into the situation will accomplish anything, aside from providing Biosphere with a nice press release.”

“I don’t know, Alex, if we get out there as quickly as possible with the samples and these new informational pieces, we might be the one factor that turns the tide. It’s worth a try at least,” Karen said with a cheerleader voice.

She has no idea what we’re all up against.

Karen Caldwell had little to lose, besides her life. Recently graduated from the University of New Hampshire, she rented an apartment with roommates in downtown Portsmouth and tirelessly committed all of her time to a career at Biosphere Pharmaceuticals.

“You can take my spot, Karen,” Alex said.

“Look, nobody is taking anyone’s place. All of the assignments have been submitted to the regional office, so there won’t be any changes,” Ted said forcefully.

I’m not saying another word.

“I will email you all of the details. Hotels, coordinating manager contact information, all of it as soon as the teleconference is finished.”

“Ted, this is Mike. Why wouldn’t the Portland reps stay put? You know, to help contain any outbreaks in the more populated areas of Maine? Someone has to be left behind.”

Wishful thinking.

“We will be keeping two reps in Maine for that purpose,” Ted answered.

“What are our assigned areas?” Jack Hathway asked.

You ain’t stayin’ up in Bangor, Jack, that’s for sure.

“Well, I was going to send that in the email, but I don’t see any reason not to give you the basics,” Ted said, sounding torn.

I’m sure that HR directed them to fire this bomb via email. I’ll be dropping a bomb of my own as soon as this conference call finishes.

“Let me start by saying that the regional manager wanted to minimize the geographical distance that the reps were displaced, to keep you as close to your families as possible.”

Bullshit.

“So…Jack and Brian, you’ll relocate to Portland and cover all of Maine. The good news for you is that you’ll still be working under me. The rest of you will have new temporary managers.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mike asked.

“Take it easy, Mike. If you think—”

“Take it easy? You’re basing the northern Maine reps in Portland and moving the Portland reps down to Massachusetts? How does that make any sense?” he nearly yelled.

“What I was about to say, is that if you think about it, you’ll actually be closer to your family than the northern Maine guys. The regional manager wanted to make this as fair as possible for everyone,” he said with conviction.

“So, where will the rest of us be fairly and justly relocated by Biosphere?” Dave asked.

Ted read the rest of the assignments, each one invoking a minor protest, except from Karen in Portsmouth and Melissa in Concord. Alex remained silent, and Dave added a few more sarcastic comments. Mike injected a few well-timed obscenities, keeping Alex’s attention riveted to the call. Ted ended the conference call abruptly, reminding the group to check their email for the details. He never suggested that they take the rest of the day off to prepare for an immediate and indefinite relocation. Alex knew that he truly didn’t care.

His smartphone rang.

Mike.

“Hey there, dissident,” Alex said.

“Yeah, fuck you too. Why were you so quiet?” he quipped.

“You know, I felt like laying into Ted, but it suddenly hit me. Who cares? I have no intention of driving down to Lawrence tonight to check into the asshole inn. I gave all of my samples away last Friday. I’m pretty much done with Biosphere. What about you? You’re not heading down to Mass, are you?”

“I don’t know. If I don’t show up, all hell will break loose. I’m just not sure what to do,” Mike said.

Alex spun in his chair and looked over at the Thorntons’ house. He saw Charlie Thornton back out of his driveway and head toward the other side of the Durham Road loop.

“Well, what was your plan for leaving town if you needed to? I mean, how were you going to explain it to Ted?” Alex asked.

“You know, I thought we’d all just be doing the same thing we’ve always been doing. Calling on offices and driving around. I figured that if this thing got really bad, I could just call Ted up and tell him I have the flu. I never anticipated being reassigned down to Boston this quickly. This twist jacked up the whole plan. I might head down to Lawrence for a few days and just pretend that I’m working, then call in sick and drive back. I won’t ever have to set foot in a doctor’s office,” Mike said.

“I don’t know, Mike. They know we’re pissed about this. Especially you. I wouldn’t be surprised if you showed up and they stuck you with a district manager for a few days. You’d be calling on offices from sunrise to sunset…maybe longer.”

“Fantastic,” Mike complained.

“I think you should tell Ted that your wife is sick and that you need to stay in the area to take care of your kids. Maybe he’ll—”

“Hey, sorry to cut you off, but that’s him buzzing through,” Mike said, exasperated.

“Just stay calm, and tell him that your wife has severe diarrhea with vomiting, and that you probably won’t be able to leave town until it clears up in a day or two. That should buy you some time to work on another excuse,” Alex suggested.

“All right, I gotta go…”

“Diarrhea and vomiting…get descriptive, he’ll leave you alone,” Alex said, chuckling.

“Got it,” Mike said and disconnected the call.

I hope he’s got it.

He decided then that it was a good time to give Ted’s heart a workout. He flipped open the screen to the electronic tablet sitting on the right corner of the office desk and turned the screen so he could see it from his seat.

The desktop activated and he opened the “Wireless Pro” icon, selected “Wireless Device,” and moved the cursor to highlight “Wireless On.” He paused for several moments, staring at the screen. He looked outside at the clear sky, keeping his thumb on the “left click” internal mouse button.

“Adios Biosphere,” he said finally, and pressed his thumb down.

He checked the screen and saw that the wireless icon in the lower right corner of the screen was pulsing green. He wondered how long it would take for Ted to call. He estimated by the end of the day.

Maybe sooner.

He stood up and headed downstairs to the kitchen. On his way, he saw that the kids’ doors were still closed. He glanced at his watch. 8:21. Kate was sitting at the kitchen island, sipping coffee and reading the paper, while occasionally glancing up at the TV. Alex picked up the mug he’d forgotten to take up to the office and walked over to the coffee maker, refreshing his half-filled mug with steaming hot coffee.

Without looking up from the paper, Kate asked, “So, did it live up to your expectations?”

“And far exceeded them. I have to drive down to Lawrence, Mass., tonight, so I can report to my new temporary manager,” he said emotionlessly.

Kate immediately turned to him. “Really?” She looked like she might believe him.

“That’s what the company wants,” he said matter-of-factly.

“But you’re not…?” she said, oddly doubtful.

“No, I’m not going anywhere,” he assured his wife.

“I didn’t think so,” she said, relieved, “but for a second there, you sounded serious.”

“Not a chance. Hey, are you sure you should be reading that paper?” he asked.

Kate cast a puzzled glance that read “and why wouldn’t I read the paper?” She suddenly realized why he’d asked the question.

“Shit, I never even gave it a thought. One kid wrapping all of the papers could infect half the block, or the entire subdivision,” she said and held the section of paper she was reading up by the corner, between her thumb and first finger, like it was rotten. She got up and headed over to the trash.

“I don’t think it matters now, but that’s the kind of thing we need to watch. Nothing should come into the house, even the mail. Most of what we get in the mail is garbage anyway,” he said.

“What about the bills?” she asked.

“Well, we could…” he paused, stuck in thought. “I don’t know. I guess as long as we wash our hands and just keep it in one place it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“The flu can only survive a few days on the paper anyway, right? We can sort through it weekly, with gloves even. Look for any bills, and toss all of the junk mail. We’ll need the paper for kindling at some point.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed. “Anything good on CNF?”

“Nothing new, except for the new Flu Watch Center. All of the news channels have a version of it. Twenty-four hour flu updates. Situation Rooms, Pandemic Watch Centers, and The Pandemic Truth Zone,” she said.

“Up to the minute pandemic information for the whole family,” he said in an overly serious voice.

“Any sign of the kids?” she asked.

“I peeked in to check on them. Ryan is buried in his covers, no sign of life. Emily’s covers were pulled back, so she could roll down at any time. Did you call your office?”

“Yep. I told them I had diarrhea and a fever, and that I’d work on my files from home. Your diarrhea angle really works,” she laughed.

“Yeah, something about the possibility of shitting in your pants or blowing out the office crapper really cuts down on the questions. Nobody wants to be around someone with diarrhea, and they certainly don’t want to catch the diarrhea bug. That’s why you have to throw the fever in there. The fever adds the element of contagiousness to the equation. No questions asked,” he said proudly.

“I’ll have to take over the home office and work the rest of the morning. Maybe we can take a ride to the beach with the kids after lunch,” she suggested.

“If they wake up by lunch.”

Alex heard his smartphone ringing and realized that he’d left it in the office. He got up from his stool at the kitchen island and started toward the staircase.

“That might be Mike. He threw a fit during the teleconference. Really out of character for him. He’s usually a cool customer, even during the worst of Ted’s ideas.”

“Have fun,” she said.

“As always,” he replied.

On the way up the stairs, he felt a sudden burst of nervousness.

It could be Ted.

Chapter Twelve

Monday, November 4, 2013

Sunlight poured into the great room from several oversized windows facing the backyard and the northeastern side of the house. Kate and Alex lounged on the couch, watching the DHS press conference. Assistant Deputy Director Paul Harding was already fielding questions from the press.

“Suzanne Wilkins, CNF. According to the National Pandemic Plan, your department is tasked with assessing the surge capacity of medical and emergency response systems. What is DHS’s assessment based on worldwide Jakarta flu trends?”

“Currently, our assessment is positive. Based on worldwide trends and our nation’s pandemic response capability, we anticipate sufficient surge capacity to handle the pandemic.

“A few major factors affect this assessment. First, the U.S. is a nation with a modernized healthcare system, second to none in the world. I know that a few countries have already hit their surge capacity, but those models will not apply here. We have an incredible healthcare system, and the Strategic National Stockpile gives us the ability to enhance this system if necessary.

“Secondly, not every single person that is infected requires hospital care. The vast majority can be treated at home, especially when given anti-virals to reduce the severity of symptoms. At this time, we do not anticipate the Jakarta flu overwhelming the healthcare system. With that being said, we are closely watching all aspects of the pandemic and will take the immediate and necessary steps if, and I emphasize if, that assessment changes. Thank you.”

A woman in the second row spoke up immediately after John’s comment.

“You mentioned the anti-viral stockpile again as a key strategy for keeping the pandemic under control. The nation’s stockpile program is close to thirty-two million doses short of the projected 2013 goal to have enough doses for 25% of the population. Is this shortage figured into that assessment?”

Another reporter sitting behind her fired a follow up question before the assistant deputy director could react.

“And what about reports of resistance to Tamiflu? Or that the Jakarta flu may require higher doses due to higher virulence?”

Paul took control of the situation.

“Ladies and gentlemen, one question at a time, please. First, the department’s assessments take into account the state level shortfall. As of last month, the Strategic National Stockpile contained nearly 39 million doses of Tamiflu, which is only a few million doses short of our goal. Unfortunately, stockpiling at the state level fell well short of our expectations. Our department directed that 32 million doses be purchased at the state level, and currently, state stockpiles only account for about 7 to 8 million doses.”

The room began to stir as reporters began to whisper among themselves.

“However, DHS has reached an agreement with Roche pharmaceuticals that will bridge this gap. Roche has agreed to divert their entire current inventory to the Strategic National Stockpile, and for an indefinite period, production of their anti-viral Tamiflu will be dedicated solely to pandemic response efforts.”

“I didn’t hear anything about Biosphere?” Kate remarked.

Before Alex could comment, his smartphone rang. He checked the caller ID and froze, staring at the display. Ted.

“Are you gonna answer that, or—” She stopped when she saw the look of anguish on his face. “Ted?” she asked.

He nodded his head, wincing.

“Can you take the call in the study? I’d like to watch the rest of this,” she said in an overly unsympathetic tone, trying to force a little black humor into the situation.

“Great. Some wife I have,” he said, barely smiling. He got up from the couch and let the call go to voicemail. “I’ll check his message, then call him back. I might need a drink for this one,” he said and left the great room.

Kate called him back, “Honey?”

Alex poked his head around the corner.

“Good luck. I know this won’t be an easy call. Just stay calm, and let the cards fall where they fall. Let him do most of the talking. You already know your position. You really don’t need to explain anything to him. If he gets out of hand, tell him to call you back when he’s feeling better.”

“Thanks, hon. That sounds like a better approach than the one I was formulating,” he said and started to walk toward the study. As he crossed into the mudroom, his phone beeped twice, indicating that a message was waiting on his voicemail. He stepped back into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. He didn’t expect the call to last very long, but felt comforted by the thought of a strong, hot cup of coffee. He refreshed his mug and opened the refrigerator to pull out some creamer.

“Quit stalling,” a voice called out from the great room.

“I’m working on it,” he replied, laughing to himself.

She’s right. I really don’t want to hear Ted’s message.

He finished fixing his coffee and headed into the study, a small room adjacent to the mudroom. One wall was filled with floor to ceiling built-in maple bookshelves. A tall, round table with a brushed silver lamp sat between two dark brown leather club chairs along the wall with a double window. Crown molding wrapped around the ceiling, tying into the bookshelves, and an antique cherry wood desk sat against the wall shared with the mudroom. A tall potted fern sat in the southeastern corner.

Alex and Kate had turned the room into a study after living in the house for two years. They’d intended the room to serve as an escape from the noise generated by two highly spirited children and had envisioned sitting together in leather chairs, sipping port wine, and delving into novels, while the children played on their own or watched TV in the family room. Still a pleasing room to both of them, they’d abandoned the idea of long escapes soon after completion, instead, substituting brief moments of shelter behind the study’s closed door, before one of the children inevitably discovered their location. Now, the room mostly served as an oversized and excessively comfortable phone booth, conferring a moderate degree of privacy.

He closed the door and opened the white plantation shutters covering a double window. The room was bathed in direct sunlight, mostly falling on the bookcases. He sat in the leather chair opposite the wall of books, keeping the sun out of his eyes, and dialed his voicemail.

Ted’s message was short, simple and sounded serious. “Alex, please call me immediately.”

Not good.

He auto-dialed Ted’s number; Ted picked up on the second ring.

“Ted Stanton,” he answered.

“Hey, Ted, it’s Alex. I got your message,” he said.

Stick to the basics. Don’t offer information.

“Yes, I had a question that I figured you could resolve. After the teleconference, I logged in to the manager’s database to take a quick look at inventories to gauge how much each of you should pack up for the trip down to Massachusetts. Anyway, I was cycling through each of you, and I saw that your inventory was empty. Something must be wrong with the system again. I just wanted to touch base with you to confirm that this was a mistake, before I call headquarters and start to raise hell with administration. I don’t want the system to create the false impression that we rolled down to Mass. without…you know, the maximum ammo load out.”

He contemplated his options. Lying to Ted would get him off the hook, at least until tomorrow morning, when Ted found out that he didn’t show up in Lawrence. It was also likely that he’d receive an alert message from the samples management division today, exposing the lie. Alex was convinced that all sample transactions would be flagged due to the moratorium placed on giving TerraFlu samples to physicians. Mostly, he didn’t relish the idea of lying, under any circumstance.

Here goes the high road.

“Actually, Ted, the database is correct. I gave my entire sample allotment to the head of the Infectious Disease Department at Maine Medical Center. Dr. Wright, from Maine Coast Internal Medicine.”

Kaboom.

“That’s a…ah, that’s a good one, Alex,” Ted replied.

Alex detected a mix of hope and doubt in Ted’s voice, leaning heavily toward doubt.

“Seriously, Ted, he asked me for samples last Friday, and I couldn’t refuse him. His department is best positioned to distribute those samples for optimal use against the Jakarta flu in the greater Portland area, and probably most of Maine. His argument was convincing, given—”

“More convincing than a direct order from the company to halt all, and I repeat, all sample transactions? Are you goddamn kidding me? Do you know what you’ve done?” he screamed into the phone.

Stay calm. Listen to Kate.

“Yes, it was much more convincing. Morally, a better thing to do with the samples.”

“Morals? This isn’t about morals! This is about failing to follow direct company guidance. My guidance, you…you have no idea how this is going to look. You know what, you know what…I wash my hands of this. You’ve been a pain in the ass from the beginning, goddamn it. Since day one, you’ve made this job hard for me. And I never wanted to hire you in the first place. I’m reporting this immediately to the regional manager. We’ll see how much longer you’re around. I don’t think you realize how important these samples are to the company and to the ongoing negotiations with the government regarding a partnership—”

“You know, I just watched the DHS teleconference, and they announced a sweeping relationship with Roche Pharmaceuticals. I don’t think the government really cares about a relationship with Biosphere, and frankly, neither do I. Is there anything else, Ted? I don’t plan to be on this call much longer,” Alex replied, feeling his face flush.

Back it down.

“Be prepared to answer to the regional manager, human resources, everyone, for this. I’m making a few calls, and then I’m heading to Portland to confirm that your storage locker is empty. I’ll expect you to meet me there to open the locker.”

“I won’t be available for that, Ted. You’re authorized to access my storage locker. You know that, or at least you should. It’s on the rental agreement for the storage facility. I plan to be available by phone, and that’s about it. I don’t want to take any chances with the flu out there, you know. You live a little too close to Boston for my comfort.”

“You will show up when and where I tell you to show up, or I’ll report that too,” he asserted.

He’s starting to lose it.

“That sounds good, Ted. I’ll talk to you later,” he said and started to move the phone away from his ear. He heard Ted talking loudly and put the phone back to his ear. “Sorry, I missed that.”

Don’t want to appear rude.

“I said that you better not fail to show up tomorrow morning in Lawrence,” he barked.

“Or you’ll report me? Sounds good, Ted,” he repeated and ended the call.

He deactivated the ring tone and switched the phone to vibrate. He knew that Ted would probably place several more calls in an attempt to get the last word. He always insisted on the last word, at meetings, teleconferences, phone calls, and holiday parties. Alex figured that Ted felt an entitlement to it as their manager, or that he read about it in one of the dozens of business leadership guru books he sickeningly cited on a regular basis. He could see the chapter in his mind: “Effective leadership tactic #45, Getting the Last Word.” He laughed out loud at the thought and sipped his coffee.

Buzzzzzz. Here he goes. He slouched in the chair and held the phone up to eye level. Yep. Ted S. For just a moment, Alex was tempted to answer the phone. He stood up, tucked the phone into the front pocket of his jeans, and headed back out into the kitchen where Kate was pouring a fresh cup of coffee.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Not great, but not bad. He started to flip out, so I cut the call short.”

“I’m sure he appreciated that.”

His phone started to vibrate again. He pulled it out of his pocket, checked the display, and placed it on the granite island.

“Yeah. That’s call number two since I hung up. Did I miss anything good?” he asked.

“Ah, not really. Well, there was one interesting question about their point of entry strategy. Someone asked why they put so much stock into point of entry screening, when the WHO has for years declared this strategy ineffective, as well as several other organizations.”

“Like the ISPAC. I’ve heard Dr. Ocampo say it was a waste of resources three times in the past week alone,” he told her.

“So what do you think will happen with your job now?” Kate asked, shifting the subject.

“Well, I figure they’ll fire me, especially when I don’t show up down in Massachusetts tomorrow, but who knows?”

“That’s asinine. Shifting all of you down there.”

“I know, believe me. The only thing I don’t know is how long it’ll take to get rid of me. I bet it’ll be pretty quick.”

“Well, I’m glad we have some money saved up for this. I feel bad for the people who can’t quit their jobs.”

Alex’s smartphone buzzed again, dancing on the granite surface. He leaned over the phone to check the display. He shook his head as he looked at Kate.

“Again?” she asked.

“You know it. He’ll keep at this for a while. He hasn’t left a message yet, which tells me he really doesn’t have anything constructive to say.”

Chapter Thirteen

Monday, November 4, 2013

Alex sat in his office chair, staring out of the window at the neighborhood. The sun was low on the horizon, slowly creeping into his view from the left, preparing for its rapid plunge below the western skyline, but the day was still bright and warm, carrying a comfortable southwesterly breeze into the office through two open, screened windows. He savored the pleasant draft, knowing that a similar breeze might not push through the house again until mid-May. Several neighbors had returned from work, their cars sitting in their driveways or inside open garages.

He watched as Jamie McDaniels’ white Volvo Cross-Country station wagon pulled into the driveway across the street. She stopped the car short of the left bay door, which started to open as her two girls, Amanda and Katherine, poured out of the right rear door of the wagon. Jamie usually picked them up from after-school care and arrived home about an hour earlier than her husband Matt.

Alex continued to watch as Jamie opened her door and stood up out of the car to shout something at her girls. She was dressed smartly in a white blouse with pointed white collars that extended over a dark blue vest. Her dark brown hair was cut to shoulder length, and he imagined that she would not be difficult on the eyes of the boys in her French class at Falmouth High School.

Her husband would arrive around five thirty, after a series of school administrative meetings. Matt McDaniel was the newly hired principal for the ailing Portland High School. Because of their close contact with the schools, especially Falmouth, Alex and Kate considered the McDaniels’ household to be at high risk. They planned to watch the McDaniel household very closely.

He heard Kate yelling up the stairs. “Your phone is buzzing again. 860 area code. Why don’t you just turn it off if you’re not going to answer it? It’s starting to drive me nuts down here!”

He walked to the top of the stairs. Ryan’s door was shut and the door to the kids’ bathroom was open. He breathed in the warm, shampoo-scented air funneling out of the bathroom as he walked down the stairs.

“I’ll just put it in my office. I want to keep tabs on who’s calling. 860 is Hartford, I think. Shit, that could be the regional office.”

He turned the corner and saw Kate holding his smartphone up to her ear, apparently talking on the phone.

“No, I believe what he was trying to say is go fuck yourself…Yes…Yes, I understand your position, but his hasn’t changed.”

Alex was momentarily stunned, standing at the end of the banister.

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” he pleaded, and she started to laugh, then displayed her trademarked devilish smile.

“You know I would never do anything like that,” she said.

“Uh, I wouldn’t put it past you. Let’s just leave it at that,” he replied, snatching the phone from his wife and giving her a long kiss on the lips.

“Where’s Emily?” he asked.

“She’s out on the picnic table with some books,” she replied.

Alex took a few steps away from the stairs and glanced out into the backyard. Dressed in brown pants and a light blue hooded sweatshirt, Emily sat at the picnic table with an open book.

“Hey, hon, if one of our kids is going to be out of the house, one of us should be with them. At least, really close by. I don’t think it’s a problem right now, and please don’t think I’m picking on you for any reason. I just think they need to get used to the idea of a more restrictive environment, and I’d feel more comfortable if we directly managed their contact outside of the house,” he said, cringing.

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that being confined to the yard is not restrictive. I told her she had to stay in the yard, and I explained to her that if any of her friends came over, she needed to come tell me, so I could handle the situation. I think the rules are adequate.”

“I wasn’t implying that her being out there alone is wrong, I’m just saying that when the schools close, every kid on the block is going to be home, with nothing to do, and many of them with parents that still don’t fully grasp what is happening. We’ll need to be all over our kids.”

“I was keeping a close eye on her from the kitchen, but you’re right,” she conceded, looking out at Emily.

“Let’s see who called from 860,” he said and dialed his voicemail.

As he listened to the message, Ryan walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water. He nodded at Ryan, paying attention to the message. Ryan and Kate sat down together at the dinner table and started talking. Alex caught Kate’s glance and shook his head, then headed into the study.

“Regional manager,” he called out across the kitchen, disappearing into the mudroom. He took his favorite seat in the study, facing the bookshelves, sat back deeply in the leather chair, and took in the rich smell of new leather furniture. He closed his eyes for a few moments, centering himself for the call to Michelle Harke. He dialed the number and reached Michelle’s secretary, Anna.

“Hi, Anna, this is Alex Fletcher up in Portland, Maine. I just received a call from Michelle indicating that she wanted me to call her immediately,” he said.

“Oh hi, Alex. Yes, she just let me know. I'll put you through to her,” Anna said, her tone not indicating any knowledge of the issue at hand.

“Hey, Alex, thank you for calling me back so quickly,” Michelle answered.

He could read nothing from her tone, but Michelle had always been difficult to read. On the surface, she projected a warm, semi-casual approach to her job, but her word choice betrayed a business-only hardwiring that he never trusted.

“No problem at all, Michelle,” he responded.

Say as little as possible.

“Ted told me that you depleted your sample inventory on Friday, which baffles me considering the amount of direction sent to representatives regarding the disposition of field samples. I know that all of the district managers communicated the no-sampling policy to their reps, and I know that headquarters reinforced and explained the policy via email. I didn’t think there could be any confusion about the policy, but clearly there might have been a miscommunication. Can you help me with this one?”

Buddy, old pal.

“I’m not sure I’m going to make this any easier for you, or maybe I will. There was no confusion about the direction. I just chose to ignore it and provide all of my samples to the head of the Infectious Disease Department at Maine Medical Center. As I told Ted, I felt it morally imperative to put the samples into his hands, and not let them sit around my storage locker waiting for the next round of doomed negotiations between Biosphere and the government.”

And, I kinda felt like sticking it to Ted.

“I guess I still don’t understand, especially given your military background. You’re saying that the direction was clear, but you chose to disregard the policy anyway? To disobey a direct order?”

Sounds like you understand it pretty well.

Alex detected a shift in her tone. Although her corporate central processor gave her away after a few seconds of talking, her use of a condescending rhetorical question completely stripped away the camouflage. He expected the phone call to deteriorate from this point forward, not that it really started on anything he would consider a high point.

“Yes, I think that sums it up,’ he said, suppressing a desire to engage her sarcastically.

“Well, Alex, I’m having a tough time with this one. My first instinct is to let you go immediately, but the company is committed to maximizing the effectiveness and impact of the PRP. So—”

“PRP? I’m not familiar with the term.”

“Pandemic Redeployment Program,” she clarified.

“Got it. Moving us to Massachusetts.”

“Right. As I was saying, because of Biosphere’s commitment to this program, I don’t think this would be a good time to weaken our sales force by lowering the head count,” she said.

“You mean like firing me?” he asked.

Right between the eyes, please.

“Well, yes. Under any other circumstances, I would initiate separation procedures, but Ted said that you seemed to fully support the PRP initiative, which surprised him since you routinely undermine his authority.”

What authority?

“He thought I was on board because I didn’t say much about it during this morning’s teleconference. Everyone else beat me to it. Anyway, I feel really bad about dragging this out, so let me make this easy for everyone. I have no intention of abandoning my family during the pandemic and relocating to Massachusetts, even temporarily. I don’t really plan to leave my house until this whole thing has cleared up. So, would it be easier for the company if I just resigned?”

The line remained silent for a few seconds.

“Is that what you want to do?” she asked.

“Yes, I would like to resign my position. Right now. It doesn’t make any sense to continue this relationship. Do I need to send a letter to anyone? Or do anything officially?”

“No. I will initiate resignation procedures, and we should have you closed out in a few days. Ted will contact you with the details and a close out checklist,” she stated.

“At least the inventory should go smoothly,” Alex added, unable to resist.

“This might not be such a laughing matter to you after legal takes a closer look at your actions. I’ve already brought the matter to their attention, and between you and me, I don’t plan to let this slip away,” she warned.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. A legitimate sample transaction to a licensed physician. Head of the Infectious Disease Department, no less. I’m not worried. Thanks for taking this personally though,” he said, feeling the blood rise to his face.

“We’ll just let the lawyers figure that out. I’m sure they’ll find something, and we’ll be sure to help them along.”

Michelle’s parting comment broke down his remaining sarcasm barrier.

“Well, you’d better tell them not to drag out their investigation. I’d be willing to bet that in a few weeks, most of them will either be dead or hooked up to a ventilator somewhere in the greater New York metro area, if they’re lucky. Good luck avoiding the flu.”

He disconnected the call, initially satisfied with his retort. His satisfaction quickly dissolved into a bittersweet disappointment with himself for having descended low enough to invoke such a ghastly image and wish. Alex rose from the chair and stepped into the mudroom. He opened the door to the garage and stepped out onto the cement floor next to the 4Runner.

The bay door behind the 4Runner was open, and he walked out onto the driveway and squinted, immediately hit with blinding rays of sunlight. He brought his left arm up to his face, blocking the bright light. He saw that the orange mail flag was down and started walking down the driveway to the mailbox, just as Ed Walker’s Honda Pilot pulled around the corner of the block, headed his way.

The closest garage bay door on Ed’s house started to rumble open, and he stopped. Ed’s car pulled up into the driveway, but stopped short of entering the garage bay. He waved as Ed opened the car door. All three of his kids started spilling out of the back door, running for the house. The oldest daughter, Chloe, yelled out a greeting.

“Hey, Ed. Home early today. Very nice,” Alex said.

“Yeah, Samantha called me earlier, said she was running late at the firm, so I figured I’d close up shop early and grab some Chinese on the way to pick up the kids.”

He walked over to Alex and they shook hands. Alex moved next to Ed, so they could both talk without the sun blazing in their eyes.

“What about you guys? Abby said that Emily wasn’t in school, and Chloe didn’t see Ryan,” Ed commented.

“We’ve decided to keep the kids out of school until we’re sure what’s going on with the flu. Based on what we’re seeing, I imagine they’re going to close the schools at some point this week. But they’ll wait till the flu is already in the schools before making that call.”

Alex saw from Ed’s expression that he was seriously contemplating what he had just said.

“I wonder if I could shift to working from my home office and keep the kids home. I’d hate to take any chances with them at school. But…I don’t know if I could pull that off. I still have to meet with clients…or I could reschedule for later…I don’t know. Do you really think the schools are going to close? DHS officials sound pretty confident that this won’t get out of control,” he said.

“I wouldn’t count on it. Based on several unbiased projections from other organizations, the number of cases in the U.S. will exceed 2008’s total by the middle of next week. We’re really concerned,” Alex said.

“I’ll have to talk to Sam about it. I know she can’t work from home.”

“Well, if I were you guys—” Alex started.

“Sounds like one of your famous plots brewing,” Ed interrupted jokingly.

“Oh, it’s more than a plot. Anyway, if I were you, here’s what I would do. I would get your home office gig rolling and keep the kids home. Then, I would have your wife call in sick with flu-like symptoms. You can wait a few days for this, just make sure Sam is really careful out there, avoiding public places, washing hands a lot, watching everyone around her. By the time she calls in sick, there’ll be enough cases out there that no one will question her not going into the office.”

“It’s not a matter of being questioned. She can take the next month off if she wants. She still has to meet her billable hours by the end of the year, or she loses money and looks bad as a partner.”

“I know. Kate has the same issue. In a few weeks, this flu is going to jam things up pretty good, and nobody’s going to be worried about billable hours, year-end bonuses, or client meetings. The next few weeks will be critical. Hey, if we’re wrong, then everything goes back to normal.”

“What’s Kate doing?”

“She called in sick, but told them she would work as much as she could from home. She can access most of her work from our office, so her firm shouldn’t care.”

“What about you? How long can you hide out? Didn’t you say they track all of your transactions with that computer thing?” Ed asked.

“They can. However…it won’t matter since I resigned a few minutes ago. Things were getting crazy with them. They wanted me to drive down to Lawrence tomorrow to boost the sales force there. I checked online this afternoon and the Lawrence/Andover area has been hit by a sizable outbreak of the Jakarta flu. Upwards of a thousand confirmed cases in northeast Massachusetts, probably more. Lawrence General, Lowell General, and a few other bigger hospitals are taking most of the cases. Biosphere is sending nearly all of the Maine reps down there, probably New Hampshire and Vermont reps, too. Indefinitely. I told them to go pack sand.”

“Sorry, man,” Ed said.

“Actually, I feel kinda relieved. Biosphere was nothing like my last company. Things were dicey from the beginning. I have some good contacts at other companies for when this flu thing dies down.”

“So, I assume you guys are all set over there,” he said, nodding with a gesture toward Alex’s house.

“I think so. The kids are gonna be the biggest challenge, and possibly some of the neighbors,” Alex replied, looking around at the houses on their side of the loop. “Who knows how this’ll go down? What about you guys? You’re all set, right?”

“I think so. We have a decent amount of food stored up in the basement. Sam and I stocked up on canned food for a couple months after you guys scared the shit out of us with the swine flu, but that pretty much fizzled out. I’m not sure how long all of our stuff will last, but I think we have the basics covered. Our stove is propane and I have plenty of wood for the fireplace.”

“You should move that into your garage or basement. How much do you guys have?”

“I had a half a cord left from last year, and I just had them deliver another cord in September, which we probably don’t need. We just never seem to get around to making a fire. Damn, I really don’t want to move the wood into the garage. That’ll be a massive pain in the ass.”

“I know. I still have another cord or so to go. Pain in the balls for sure. Still, I wouldn’t leave it outside. Not if this thing takes a turn for the worse,” Alex cautioned.

“You’re probably right,” Ed said.

“Every once in a while I’m right.”

“Not according to Kate. Anyway, we should be good. We grabbed plenty of groceries for the next couple of weeks. We should be fine.”

Alex looked at Ed. “If you guys need anything, let me know. Seriously. Food, medical supplies, whatever. I don’t think we’re gonna have the luxury of running out to the stores for very long.”

“Thanks, Alex. It definitely makes me feel more secure about this whole thing. I just hope it all blows over.”

“You and me both,” Alex replied.

“Hey, I gotta get these kids settled in the house.”

“Have a good one, Ed.”

“You too.”

Alex walked up to the mailbox and opened the door, pulling out a handful of assorted mail: two magazines, bills, maybe a birthday invitation for one of the kids, advertisements. He looked at the mail and wondered exactly who, beyond their postal carrier, had touched these items. Mail from several different parts of the country, each piece touched by at least a half dozen different people. Finally, the postal carrier, who handled every piece of mail in the Fletchers’ mailbox, opened the mailbox door, and lowered the orange delivery flag. Dozens of points of contact. All of this now transferred onto Alex’s hands, as he closed the door and walked back to the house with the mail.

He decided that from this point forward, they’d wear gloves when they collected the mail and then sort it in the garage, leaving it there for a few more days to make sure it was safe.

We’ll get that going tomorrow.

He walked into the house, straining not to touch his face, which for some reason was nearly impossible to resist.

Like the urge to throw your keys over the side of a bridge. Ridiculous.

He washed his hands thoroughly in the mudroom and then laughed quietly to himself. “Now I’m going to open the contaminated mail,” he whispered.

This is going to drive me crazy.

Then he thought about the doorknobs, garage door button, and faucet handles, that in theory, he just contaminated on his way in.

In addition to the bench in the mudroom where the mail is sitting.

He grabbed the mail and walked into the kitchen to see what Kate was preparing for dinner.

**

Alex picked up the phone in his office and started dialing his brother’s cell phone.

He did the math in his head. Mountain Time, so it’s 7:01. He’s probably still driving home from Denver. He stopped dialing and hung up the phone. He dreaded calling Daniel. All right, here we go. He dialed the number.

“Alex! How’s it going out there in Maine,” his brother yelled into the phone.

“Excellent, aside from all of this pandemic nonsense.”

“Yeah, it’s been crazy all around the country. Karla picked up some pizza on the way home from work. Maurizio’s had a three hour estimated delivery time. Can you friggin’ believe that?”

“I can. I saw—”

“Your business must be booming! Anti-virals. Merck stock should be through the roof,” he interrupted.

You mean Biosphere stock.

“You know, I haven’t even checked,” Alex said.

“You’ll probably be able to retire early with all of those stock options. Hell, I’m thinking about taking those TerraFlu samples you gave us and selling them on Ebay. Make a fortune.”

“That may not be such a good idea. You could be trying to buy those back in a few weeks, for a much higher price,” Alex said.

“You don’t really think this thing is going to be a big deal?”

Here he goes.

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling.”

“I know, I know. Mom called me earlier today, and they’re thinking about a trip out East to see Ryan and Emily. Frankly, I think you guys are scaring the hell out of Mom and Dad for no reason, and you need to ease off the drama. They can plan a trip out to see you guys in a month or two.”

“It’ll probably be too late by then,” Alex said flatly.

“Like with the swine flu last year? What a bust, man. Christ! When did you guys become so paranoid? Mom thinks you came back from the war all paranoid. I told her you were always a sweat about things.”

“Thanks for the Dr. Phil moment.”

“Just telling it like it is,” Daniel said.

“As always. Anyway, we’re just taking precautions here. It’s all pretty reasonable given the world situation.”

“I don’t know who got to you guys, but I watched a senior official at DHS tell the American people that our borders were secure, and that they were several steps ahead of the flu. I’m really not worried about this one, and I don’t see any reason for you to try and scare Mom and Dad into jumping ship.”

Alex could feel his anger rising. “Well, I’m going to keep pressing them, so I suggest you guys figure something out for daycare. It sounds like Mom is seriously considering the trip, and you’re the only one holding her back. If you guys aren’t taking this seriously, then at least let Mom and Dad make their own decision. And all of you over there need to watch something other than SPOT news.”

“Hey, if we listened to NPR and read the New York Times like you guys, we’d be wasting our money on solar panels, too,” Daniel said, muffling a laugh.

“Funny. Hey, you guys are all welcome to make the trip. Just don’t wait too long. Do yourselves a favor and acquire some supplies, too. Lots of food, medical supplies, anything you can buy up. Seriously, it’ll make a big difference. Just take one small leap of faith, that’s all.”

“We’ll keep it in mind. Mom said that Dad got a whole bunch of groceries this morning, so we can always ride it out at their house until they get the stores up and running again. Karla saw a local news spot with one of Colorado Springs’ biggest food distributors, and they planned to empty the warehouses tonight and tomorrow to keep the stores full. Mom’s coming over in the morning, so Karla can hit the stores early.”

Sounds like a load of bullshit.

Alex didn’t believe any of it. He’d be shocked if Karla actually made it to the store. Even if she did make it past the nearest coffee shop and actually into a grocery store, she wouldn’t know what to buy. He knew their mother did most of the grocery shopping for Daniel’s family, and that most meals at his brother’s house were take-out in front of the TV. They were too busy to cook, let alone make a meal plan. He really needed to get his parents out of there. He suddenly had a different idea.

“Hey, Danny, what if Mom and Dad brought your kids out for the visit? All of the cousins could hang out. Mom and Dad can dote over all four of them at once, and you guys wouldn’t have to worry about daycare.”

“I’ll run that by Karla. Hey, that’s her texting me now. ‘Where are you? We’re hungry.’ Jesus, she can’t wait another twenty minutes? I gotta let you go. Talk to you later.”

The call was abruptly disconnected. He figured that Karla would oppose the idea, knowing exactly what she thought about the pandemic stuff. She thought it was asinine and made no attempt to camouflage her opinion. Alex thought about his nephews, Ethan and Kevin, and how their parents’ egos would put them in severe danger.

I really hope Dan sends those kids over.

Alex pulled his chair up to the desk and jarred the computer out of standby, activating the screen and filling the room with bluish light. The screen was bright in contrast to the room, so he turned on the desk lamp to soften the glow of the screen.

He checked the ISPAC website and found a video transcript of the press conference he’d missed earlier. He started a section labeled “H16N1 Behavioral Timeline,” and his web browser’s video player began to play, showing a man dressed in a gray business suit standing behind a black podium. Two large, wall-mounted screens flanked the man and the screen to his left featured both ISPAC and CDC logos, side by side. A banner at the bottom of the screen identified him as Dr. Joshua Relstein, CDC assistant director.

“So at this point, here is what we know about H16N1. As data pours in from around the world, it is clear that this flu is spreading, and spreading fast. Further testing and observation confirms that H16N1 is super contagious. Sounds like a very non-scientific term, but I don’t know any other way to put it. Upon infecting a host, H16N1 starts shedding virus in less than one day. This is the shortest latent period I have ever seen among known flu strains, and I wish the bad news ended there. The shedding is also on a level we have never witnessed with known flu strains. H16N1 appears to be hell-bent on spreading. It can survive on porous and nonporous surfaces longer than we originally calculated and is easily spread by direct and indirect contact. You do not want to sit next to someone on the bus who has this disease. More accurately, you don’t even want to be on the same bus as this person.

“So, let’s take another look at the basic timeline,” he said, shooting a laser pointer at the timeline on the screen.

“The latent period lasts under one day, and this is the only time that the patient is not infectious. Once the disease starts shedding, the patient enters the infectious period. Remember, the patient at this point is still asymptomatic and spreading the disease like wildfire. At some point within four to six days of first infection, the patient enters the symptomatic period. They are still highly infectious during this period and may remain infectious for another six to ten days after first symptoms. Like H5N1, children can remain infectious for nearly a week longer than adults. Most of the ARDS deaths occur within a few days of first showing symptoms.

“Yesterday, I estimated that ARDS deaths accounted for one out of five total deaths. Today, we are revising the estimate to one out of three. H16N1, like the Spanish flu and avian flu, seems to trigger an autoimmune cascade in a high percentage of healthy young adults. It’s a cruel irony, that this syndrome specifically targets a cross-section of society with the healthiest immune system. We are constantly analyzing this data and revising our projections, but honestly, I thought this number would decrease, not increase. We are still in the very early stages of the pandemic, and ARDS deaths will dominate the death tolls for at least another few weeks. I don’t expect the ratio to go much lower than one to three.

“As for deaths due to pulmonary or secondary complications, like diabetes or heart disease, these are seen starting from four days after first symptoms and are expected to continue for months. Obviously, these cases will dominate the death tolls, especially as time increases. Generally, the early deaths occur in younger and older patients, or patients with vulnerable secondary complications. Of course, a patient’s prognosis varies significantly based upon the level and duration of care available.

“Before I turn this back over to Dr. Devreaux, I want to emphasize again that H16N1 has several characteristics that make it a unique and deadly pandemic flu. It is highly contagious and demonstrates a longer than normal asymptomatic period, which presents a challenge to traditional health screening methods. This must be addressed by our government immediately. Strict quarantine and social distancing strategies will be critical to mitigating the spread of this disease.”

“This is not good," he mumbled. He put the computer on standby and set his wristwatch alarm for 5:45 a.m. On the way to the master bedroom, he stopped by both of the kids’ rooms to check on them; both kids were buried in their blankets. One of Ryan’s windows was open about six inches, and his room was chilly. Like his dad, Ryan liked his room to be cold at night. Alex quietly closed it.

He found his way to the master bedroom in the dark, took off his sweatshirt and then his watch. He threw the sweatshirt on the floor next to his side of the bed and placed the watch on the nightstand. He climbed into bed and pressed up against Kate’s warm body, holding her tightly and kissing her gently on the cheek. Although deeply asleep, Kate responded to his embrace by burrowing herself deeper into his hold. He started drifting off to sleep when suddenly his whole body twitched. He was alert, briefly, until his mind settled again, and his body was carried away into a deep sleep.

Chapter Fourteen

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Alex led the last stretch of the run down Harrison Road, keeping a quick pace for the last half mile of the run. The beach loop already carried them five miles, emptying onto Higgins Beach about halfway through their run. Alex loved this route, especially breaking out into the fresh ocean air. Occasionally, when the winds were off the ocean and conditions were just perfect, the same unmistakable traces of salt air filled their neighborhood.

He let Ryan lead the first half of the run, which Ryan paced at what Alex considered to be an unsustainable speed. Not for him, but for his son. Despite young legs and seemingly boundless energy, Alex was pretty sure that the middle school cross-country team’s practice runs didn’t exceed four miles. Five at the most, and only occasionally. He figured that Ryan would hit a brick wall early at this pace, so he took over the lead and slowed them down a notch. He hadn’t heard any complaints.

He glanced back at Ryan and saw that he was upright and running strong. His mind began to wander as he passed a huge neighborhood development to his left, which only a few years ago was abandoned farmland.

Alex looked back again. Still looks strong. He decided they were close enough for him to pick up the pace. Only about a quarter of a mile, with a nasty little hill right before the turn into Durham Road.

He yelled back to Ryan, “Ready to pick it up for the hill?”

“Let’s do it,” his son yelled back.

Alex quickened the pace and lengthened his stride. He immediately felt the impact on his body’s oxygen needs as he labored up the hill. The increased pace felt good, almost purifying, though he was glad that the burst of speed would come to an end within a few minutes. He could already see the turn onto Durham Road. Only a short, brutal hill stood in their way. They both hit the hill, and he felt his legs start to burn. His son was keeping pace behind, with a similarly anguished look on his face. Alex’s heart was thumping as he reached the top of the hill, and they both turned onto Durham Road. Ryan ran up beside him, and they both slowed the pace down to a jog.

“Let’s loop around a few times for a warm down,” he grunted to Ryan.

“Sounds good to me, Dad,” he replied, sounding a lot less worn down than Alex.

His heart rate slowed down as they approached the fork in Durham Road, where he planned to lead them to the left. He glanced down the right side of the fork, toward their house, seeing two cars in the driveway, both Foresters. His garage bay door was open, and the Forester directly in front of the bay was red, which led him to believe the car was his own company car, but he couldn’t see far enough into the garage to be completely sure. The Forester parked behind his car was black. Alex picked up the pace again and turned right, toward his house.

“What’s up, Dad?” Ryan asked, pulling up to him.

“I don’t know, but…hey, when we get home, I want you to stay clear of anyone you don’t recognize there. All right?” he said, hauling past the Perry’s house, still two houses away from his own.

“Okay. What’s going on?” his son asked, keeping pace.

“I’m not sure, but this could be my boss, and he’s an asshole, so just stay in the backyard. Okay?”

“Yep.”

Alex suddenly slowed down to a walk right in front of the Walkers’, wanting to slow his heart rate before he ran into Ted. If it’s Ted. Just as he finished this thought, he heard the unmistakable sound of his wife yelling. She sounded frantic. Alex sprinted ahead, yelling back to Ryan.

“Backyard!” he yelled over his shoulder.

Alex ran between the two cars, noticing Massachusetts plates on the black Forester.

“Get the fuck out of here, right now! Don’t you touch me!”

He heard his wife clearly as he passed between the cars and rushed up to the mudroom door. A large man dressed in tight khaki pants and an even tighter blue polo shirt moved from inside the mudroom to block the door. The man’s biceps strained against the armholes of his shirt. Despite the smart outfit, Alex immediately categorized him as hired muscle.

Ted. I’ll kill him.

His wife continued to verbally assault someone deeper inside the house as he walked briskly toward the door. The man in the doorway looked alarmed.

“I think he’s here,” the man yelled back into the house.

“Stay right there, everything is fine,” he said, pointing at Alex.

He was still breathing heavily from the run, sweat pouring from his face, and wished that this encounter had occurred under different circumstances. He knew that he was running on pure adrenaline, and that it would soon run out.

“Alex! Get these assholes out of our house,” Kate yelled from the kitchen.

He suppressed his fury, and the urge to charge through the guy at the door. He decided to try a different strategy.

I just need to get into the house.

“Hi, I’m Alex,” he said, closing the distance with his hand out.

“Jeff,” the man responded, shaking his hand with a bewildered look.

Alex purposely gave him an excessively firm handshake and backed up a few feet, folding his hands in front to assume a non-threatening posture.

Plenty of time for that later.

He heard his wife yell out to him. “Alex, where are you? These assholes have been all over the house!”

“Jeff, do you see any reason why I can’t come inside and help calm my wife? She sounds pretty frantic, and quite frankly, she’s not exactly stable. I really need to get in here,” he said calmly.

Just get me in there, so I can break Ted’s neck.

“Uh…I don’t really…”

Kate suddenly appeared in the mudroom. “I’ve got another meathead in the kitchen standing guard over me. Ted is searching the basement. Who the fuck do these—”

A massive hand connected to a huge, tattooed forearm extended from the kitchen into the mudroom and grabbed Kate’s right arm.

She shook loose of the grip. “Get your hands off me.” She flashed a faint smile at him as the other man stepped into the mudroom.

“Take it easy,” he barked at her, turning his head toward Alex.

The man was not as tall as the guy playing bouncer, but was clearly cut from the same mold. His muscles bulged through the khaki pants and blue polo. He had a thick goatee and a tattoo at the base of his neck, by his right shoulder, and both of them sported crew cuts. He stopped trying to grab Kate and walked a few steps toward the door. Alex noticed that he had two pouches attached to his belt. One looked like it could house a multi-tool, or knife; the other pouch was bigger. Pepper spray canister. He noted the same set-up on the guy at the door.

“Your woman is out of control. You’d better do something about her before she gets hurt.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do. She has some problems. May I calm her down?” Alex asked.

“Be my guest,” he said, nodding to the guy at the door.

So he’s the leader of team meathead.

He stepped through the doorway, inching past the bouncer’s chest, staring at him intensely. The guy’s expression changed almost imperceptibly, but Alex saw it. The guy had just realized that they shouldn’t have let him in until their job was done. Alex intended to prove him right. He walked up to Kate and hugged her.

“How long have they been here?” he asked, moving her into the kitchen and noticing that all of his computer equipment sat on top of the kitchen island, along with Ted’s briefcase and a few inventory sheets.

“About ten minutes. They pushed through the door and searched most of the house for your company equipment. They’ve been in our bedroom, your office, the kids’ rooms. Third floor. Everywhere.”

“Is Emily all right?” he asked, feeling his anger almost boil over at the thought of these guys barging into their daughter’s room.

“She’s fine. Really freaked out, but fine. They poked their heads in and left when they saw her. I told her everything’s fine and to lock the door,” she said, clutching him tightly as the leader walked into the kitchen.

“Are you all right? Did any of them touch you, beyond the obvious case of criminal assault that I saw in the mudroom?” he asked, emphasizing the point for the tattooed guy standing with his arms crossed near the open door to the basement.

“They pushed through me at the door, and this guy’s been trying to manhandle me ever since they got here,” she hissed, glowering at the guy.

“Hey, I’m just doing my job here, and she’s been out’a control. Pushing my buttons…she’s lucky,” the tattooed guy remarked.

“Lucky about what? That she just had three idiots break into her house and assault her? Just doing your job ain’t gonna cut it when they come to serve the warrant for your arrest,” Alex said, letting go of Kate.

“Where’s the king dumbshit?” he asked Kate, getting a laugh out of her.

“He’s still in the basement,” she said, and they both heard footsteps ascending the basement stairs.

“Hey, Carl? We’re going to need to bust open a door down here. I think that’s where all the samples are hidden. It has two separate locks and—”

Ted entered the kitchen and saw Alex. He looked surprised. Alex whispered to Kate, who walked toward the great room.

“Hi, Ted. Looks like you have everything you need here, so where do I sign? I’d like to conclude this transaction in less than two minutes, and I’d like to conclude it in the driveway, so please issue the appropriate orders to your crew of Neanderthals. Right now!” he snapped, taking a few steps toward Ted.

Carl unfolded his arms and cocked his head at Alex.

“Wait a minute right there, Alex. I have every right to be here. Company policy. I am required to make a visual search of your residence to check for any product literature or company property.”

“Let me get this straight, Ted. Somehow, Biofuck’s company policy trumps the Fourth Amendment? Don’t worry, Carl, I don’t think Ted knows what I’m talking about either, so I’ll explain. If the police can’t search my house without a warrant issued by a judge, why the hell do you think that Bioshit’s company policy gives you and your butt buddies here a free pass to break into my house and search it? Carl, I don’t think you’ve thought this through very well. You guys are breaking the law, and probably probation from the looks of you…”

“That’s enough with the jokes, pretty boy,” Carl snarled.

“Ted. Get the fuck out of my house. Now!” Alex yelled.

“I’m not going anywhere until you open the locked door in your basement. Nobody believes your bullshit sample transaction to Maine Med. I know you have it all hidden down there so you can sell it later. Don’t even for one minute—”

“Ted! Get out!”

Alex started walking behind the kitchen island to reach the cordless phone. Carl moved along the other side of the island.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

Alex understood why; the phone was sitting in front of the knife rack.

“I’m just grabbing the phone to dial 911,” he said, swiping the phone from the counter.

Carl moved his hand away from the pepper spray pouch.

“Last warning, guys. Get that out of here, and—”

“Carl, I am required to see that room. If he won’t open it, then we’re going to force it open,” Ted squeaked from across the kitchen.

“Are you kidding me, Ted? Hold on. Let me make this call, so the police can be here when you and your soon to be cell mates are smashing down the door. I’ll be sure to mail you some lipstick, Ted. You’ve gotta look pretty for Skull Fuck Fridays, right, Carl?” Alex taunted, walking back toward the great room with the phone.

Alex noticed a strong breeze blowing into the house from the open patio door.

“I’m busting that door down and putting those samples back into the regional inventory,” Ted said, with spittle flying from his mouth.

“The samples are gone, Ted. Gone. And now, I’d like for you to be gone. Last warning!” he warned, walking through the great room to the other doorway spilling into the foyer.

Alex stood at the foot of the stairs and watched Jeff appear in front of the island next to Carl. Jeff didn’t look comfortable with the situation. Next to the two behemoths, Ted looked pathetic. Carl’s forearms looked bigger than Ted’s neck.

“Gentlemen, I have a phone call to make. I expect all of you to be gone when I get back down. And take all of that shit out with you,” he said, pointing to the equipment behind them.

As he walked up the stairs, he heard them arguing in the kitchen. He heard Jeff ask if it was a good idea for Alex to be going upstairs.

No, Jeff, it’s not a good idea at all for the three of you.

He reached the top of the stairs and Kate poked her head out of Emily’s room. “Are they leaving?” she asked.

Alex saw that she was scared. “I don’t know. They’re arguing about whether to break into the storeroom downstairs. He thinks all of the samples I gave to Dr. Wright are hidden down there, and he thinks I’m going to open up a stand on the corner of our street and sell them or something. He’s lost it,” he said.

“But you do have some TerraFlu samples down there, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m not calling the police. I have a lot of drug samples down there, from several different companies. All stolen, really, so I’d rather not take any chances. I don’t know exactly what laws come into play, and I really don’t want to find out.”

He walked toward the bedroom, Kate and Emily trailing him.

“I still can’t believe they think they’re entitled to force their way into our house. Did you know they might do this?” she asked.

“I knew I’d have to inventory all of the company’s equipment with Ted, but I didn’t think they’d try to search the house. Ted looks frazzled, like he hasn’t slept in days. I’d be willing to bet that he’s taken some serious heat because of the samples. And you know what? I hope he has. Sorry about all of this, Emmie,” he said, peeking into her room.

“Dad, those guys are really creeping me out,” she said.

“I know, and I’m going to get rid of them. Sorry you had to hear all of that yelling, are you all right, sweetie?” he asked her.

“I’m fine, Daddy. I was worried about Mommy when you weren’t here. They weren’t very nice to her.”

He looked up at Kate; he could see tears forming in her eyes.

“Do you feel better now that Daddy’s here?”

“Yes,” Emily replied and hugged him.

“Good. I would never let anything happen to you or Mommy,” he assured her, looking into her eyes and smiling.

“Or Ryan?” she asked.

“Or Ryan. Hey, hon, can you take our little sweetness into the bedroom and call out to Ryan in the backyard? Just tell him to stay in the backyard, and that everything’s okay in here. I saw him stretching near the picnic table when I was on my way up the stairs. If you could do that now, I have some pressing business downstairs. I don’t think Ted will leave unless I can motivate him” he said, still hugging Emily and giving Kate an urgent look.

“Hey, Emily, let’s make sure Ryan stays in the backyard, and we can watch some TV,” Kate said, taking Emily’s hand and walking into the bedroom.

Alex followed closely behind and slipped into the walk-in closet, located to the left of the bedroom door. He reached high up into the left front corner of the closet and pulled his Mossberg shotgun down from the top shelf. He had moved the shotgun to the closet a few days ago, late in the evening, creating a nest for it behind a long stack of sweatshirts. He took a key from a small hook along the inside of the closet door trim, opened the trigger lock on the shotgun, placed the lock on the shelf, and leaned the gun against the door frame.

He kicked off his running shoes and pulled on a pair of old, faded jeans. Slipping his shoes back on his feet, he grabbed the shotgun and moved with purpose toward the staircase. On the way, he heard the men still arguing in the kitchen. He could definitely hear Ted’s unsettled voice, which reassured him that none of them were in the basement. He needed them all in one place for this to work.

He got to the top of the stairs and stopped for a moment, removing all four of the shotgun shells from the stock of the weapon, where they were stored for a quick reload, and placed them in his back pocket. The shotgun was unloaded, but Alex knew he could have it loaded in a matter of seconds if they called his bluff and escalated the situation. He contemplated leaving the shells in the kids’ bathroom, but decided against it.

He could hear Kate and Emily calling out to Ryan and was pretty sure he heard Ryan respond. He needed to make sure that Ryan was out of the picture, so he stepped into the kids’ bathroom and looked out of the window into the backyard. He felt a strong gust of wind through the window as he spotted Ryan on the picnic table, talking to the girls.

Feels like that front is moving through. All right, here we go.

He walked to the top of the stairs and started to descend. About halfway down the stairs, he heard Ted announce that he was going to grab a sledgehammer from the garage and break down the door. Jeff protested the plan immediately.

This guy is amazing.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and took an immediate left into the great room. The squabble in the kitchen quieted as they realized that he was back on the ground floor of the house. His plan was to get behind them and force them out the front of the house. He’d prefer to drive them toward the front door and not the mudroom. By moving them toward the front door, they would be visible to him the entire time.

He assumed that the sight of the shotgun would scatter them pretty quickly, especially Ted, though he was slightly concerned about Carl. Carl struck him as fearless, and Alex wouldn’t be surprised if Carl declared bullshit. All of these thoughts floated through his head as he rounded the great room corner and confronted the bickering trio.

“I agree with Jeff. I think you should all leave. Right…fucking…now,” he said in a conversational tone, keeping the shotgun pointed at the floor.

Jeff spotted the shotgun first. “Take it easy, dude, we’re on our way out,” he said, raising his hands in front of him.

Ted’s eyes widened to fill his glasses. Carl immediately put his right hand down to his pepper spray pouch, as Ted gasped and fell back into Carl. Ted hit Carl’s solid chassis and stopped. Carl pushed him aside with his free hand, knocking him into the wall to the left of the group. He knocked loose a framed picture from the wall, which became lodged between Ted and the wall. Ted moved his hand behind him to catch the frame. He lowered it to the ground behind him, unbroken, never taking his eyes off Alex.

Alex moved into the dining area, swiftly putting the kitchen island between him and the men. He raised the shotgun above the level of the island’s granite surface to keep it visible, but did not point the weapon at any of the men, instead keeping it pointed toward the mudroom, hoping to dissuade them from moving in that direction. At that point, he felt that he had their attention.

“That’s not exactly a good instinct you have there, Carl. Sudden moves and shotguns? Not a good idea at all.”

All three of them watched him intensely, Carl wearing a look of sheer hatred, which worried Alex.

This guy can’t stand the fact that he’s lost control of the situation.

Ted looked paralyzed, which wasn’t ideal either. He had hoped that Ted would order them out of the house at the sight of the shotgun, but it appeared that he was no longer in control of either himself or the other men. Jeff showed a composed fear. He was edging toward the front door, which slightly eased Alex’s concerns about the situation.

“Jeff here seems like the brains of this operation, so I recommend you all follow his lead and head out the front door. I’ll place all of this equipment on the walkway, and then Ted and I can finish the inventory, while the two of you wait in the car. I’ll leave the shotgun inside, Ted, don’t worry. Let’s go. Out the front door…now,” he snarled.

Finally, Ted managed to speak; his voice cracked. “This is legitimate company business, and you have no right to point a gun at us. I don’t—”

“I haven’t pointed a gun at anyone, right, Jeff? I just wanted to show off my brand new shotgun to a couple of firearms enthusiasts. And regarding all of this as being legitimate? Give me a break, Ted. I’m sure Michelle wouldn’t approve of your plan to bust down doors with a stolen sledgehammer. Then again, she’s out of her skull, too. Keep walking, all of you,” he said firmly, moving around the side of the island to herd them toward the door.

Carl’s eyes burned a hole in Alex’s face, and his hand was still defiantly placed on the pepper spray pouch. All three of them continued moving down the hallway to the foyer. Jeff reached the door first and opened the glass storm door.

“Jeff, could you press the button down there to keep the door open?” Alex requested.

Jeff nodded and pushed the button on the bottom hydraulic closer with his foot. He let go of the door, and it stayed open for Ted and Carl.

“You know, it was Michelle’s idea to hire these guys. She was pretty pissed at you. I told her it wasn’t necessary, but she insisted,” Ted told him smugly.

“Then you’re both fucking idiots, Ted,” Alex said.

Both Carl and Ted exited the house and started walking down the walkway, toward the driveway. Jeff was well ahead of them, almost at Ted’s car. Carl was walking away, still watching Alex, his hand still on the pepper spray case. Alex placed the shotgun against the wall on the inside of the house and stepped out onto the rough granite block steps. Carl covertly flipped open the cap on the pepper spray, staring at Alex and slowing his walk.

“Bad idea, Carl. Bad idea. Ted, I want you to pull your car into the street. I don’t want these guys on my property. Carl here has a death wish. I’ll start loading the gear onto the porch when these two are off my property,” Alex said, stepping halfway into the house and keeping his eyes fixed on Carl’s enraged face.

“We’ll just have ourselves a nice talk with the cops about your shotgun,” Carl yelled.

“Oh, I didn’t bother to call the police, Carl,” Alex said.

“What the...you said…?”

“That I was calling 911? Nope. Keep moving or the next town official on the scene will be the coroner.”

Alex watched as Ted moved both cars onto the street. Carl took a seat on the hood of Alex’s former company car and lit a cigarette from a pack he pulled from his back pocket. Jeff stood behind Ted’s car, keeping an eye on the front door of the house. Momentarily satisfied that Carl didn’t plan to charge the house, Alex stepped back inside to grab the gear off the kitchen island.

He called up the stairs to Kate. “Hey, hon?”

“Yeah? Are those jackasses gone?” she yelled from the bedroom.

“Yeah, they’re outside waiting,” he said. He could hear her walking down the upstairs hallway, saw her appear at the top of the stairs, and shiver.

“Wow, that’s a chilly breeze. No more T-shirts, huh?” she said.

“Hey, the guys are out of the house. What’s Emily up to?” he asked.

“She’s watching the Disney Channel in our room.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. She got really worried when I was downstairs alone with those assholes.”

He glanced back outside. Carl looked relaxed on the hood of the car. Ted was standing next to Jeff, looking over some paperwork on the hood of Ted’s car.

“Let’s get Ryan inside and upstairs. I’m gonna carry all of the computer stuff outside and sign whatever papers I need to sign to get them out of here. I’m really sorry about all this. I had no idea this would happen. Unreal.”

“Unreal is right,” she whispered, walking down the stairs to call Ryan inside. She walked to the sliding screen door and called him into the house.

Alex checked on the guys again.

All in the same places. Good.

He walked into the kitchen and picked up the laser printer, walked it over to the open door, and placed it on the walkway in front of the granite steps.

I’m really going to miss that printer.

Ryan walked up to him as he returned for the rest of the gear.

“Everything okay, Dad?” he asked before he spotted the shotgun leaning against the wall next to the front door. “Whoa, what’s that for? Is it real?” he said, pushing past Alex to get a closer look.

He grabbed Ryan by the shoulder. “Don’t touch that, just head upstairs. We’ll talk about it later,” he said, putting himself between the shotgun and Ryan.

“I didn’t know we had a shotgun. What is that, a Mossberg?” he asked, peeking around Alex while backing up to the stairs.

“How do you know what a Mossberg is?”

“Modern Warfare. Whenever I use a shotgun, I like to use the Benelli because—”

“Yeah, I know, semi-automatic instead of pump,” he said, ruffling Ryan’s hair. “Get out of here. We can talk guns later.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Kate added from the kitchen. She poured a glass of water from the sink and walked past Alex by the island.

“Why don’t you all stay upstairs until these bozos are out of sight,” he suggested.

“Sounds good to me,” she said, heading for the stairs.

“Come on, does he have to sit there smoking in front of our house?” she asked, standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking out at Carl.

“I’m just glad he’s sitting out there where he won’t make any trouble. That guy looked unstable, and he’s not in the least bit happy that I got the better of him,” he said, walking by Kate with a large stack of promotional material that Ted had dug out of his office closet. “He has a bad look to him,” he whispered back to her as he placed the material on the walkway.

Kate looked out at Carl again and shook her head before walking up the stairs. Alex made three more trips, offloading the computer tablet and the rest of the peripheral equipment associated with the computer. The last item he handled was Ted’s brown leather briefcase. He assembled the paperwork sitting on the island and stuffed it into the briefcase. He picked up Ted’s cell phone from the island and started to put it into a side pouch on the briefcase, when a better idea came to mind.

He scrolled through the BlackBerry’s contacts and found the regional manager’s contact information. He selected her cell phone number and pressed send. Michelle answered on the first ring.

Perfect.

“Hey, Ted, I assume the deed is done. Did you recover the samples?” Michelle asked.

“Actually, it’s Alex. I just killed Ted and the two thugs you hired. Shot them dead in my basement and beheaded them. I’m about to bury their heads in the backyard,” he said and paused. A few seconds went by. “Are you still there, Michelle?”

“Alex? Is this some kind of a joke?” she said.

He could tell she was unsure.

“Yes, this is a joke, Michelle. I didn’t kill Ted. Or the two criminals you hired. I did have to eject them from my house, after they broke in and roughhoused my wife and daughter. You might want to schedule a little HR review session for Ted. Somehow, he got it into his head that he could bust into my house when I wasn’t here, have his thugs restrain my wife, and ransack my house. This could have ended very badly, Michelle,” he said and motioned for Ted to come retrieve his gear.

Ted hesitated and started to edge around the front of the car.

“Come on, man, I don’t have all day! Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. Sorry about that, Michelle. It seems that I gave Ted quite a fright. He looks a little scared,” Alex said, stepping forward from the doorway and away from the hidden shotgun.

“We should have this wrapped up in a few minutes, Michelle, then you and Ted can chat. Unless you’d like to talk with him right now?”

“No, that’s all right,” she said blankly.

“As for the samples, you can contact Dr. Wright at Maine Coast Internal Med, and see if he’d be willing to return them. Or even better, you could hire ten more meatheads like the two here and bust some heads over at Dr. Wright’s office. Hey, Ted, Michelle wants to talk to you,” he said and threw the phone to Ted, who was standing about ten feet away from him.

Ted barely caught the phone, juggling it a few times before gaining control. He put the phone to his ear.

“Michelle?” he asked and started nodding his head.

Alex could hear her yelling over the phone.

“I know, I know. No, no, everything was done by the book…look, the policy isn’t exactly clear about the verification process…no, I didn’t touch his wife…I don’t know. No, I didn’t see the….can we talk about this when I’m done here? He’s standing right here watching…yes, I’ll call you as soon as I’m on the road.” He disconnected the call and closed the phone, cursing under his breath.

“That didn’t sound like a career enhancing phone call,” Alex said, standing with his hands on his hips in front of the pile.

“Fuck you,” Ted muttered, barely making eye contact with Alex.

“This is everything, so let’s get this over with. Where do I sign?”

Ted took the paperwork out of his briefcase, located the inventory sheet, and matched the listed items with the array of equipment sitting on the red concrete pavers.

“Looks like it’s all here,” he said, “except for the samples you stole.”

Alex walked over to sign the inventory sheet. As he started to enter the date, he caught movement in his peripheral vision and spotted Carl halfway across the front lawn, heading directly for the two of them.

Alex froze for a few seconds, unable to react, giving Carl enough ground to make it impossible for him to retreat into the house. Shit. Carl’s face was deep red, snarled in a malicious glare. His intentions were clear, so Alex pushed Ted directly into Carl’s path. Ted’s stiffened body collided with Carl, causing Carl to stumble forward, off balance. As he pitched forward, he desperately aimed the pepper spray canister in his right hand in Alex’s direction and activated the canister. Carl trampled Ted’s body as he staggered.

The direction of the spray was not accurate, and the unit shot a thick fog in his general direction, which, if better aimed, would have enveloped Alex’s entire upper body in a caustic pepper spray cloud. Instead, the majority of the blast saturated the air to Alex’s left, getting caught in the strong breeze flowing through the front door. The wind dispersed the pepper spray fog over all three of them.

He instantly felt burning in his eyes and nose as he rushed to neutralize Carl. He knew that he had to move quickly, before Jeff reinforced the group.

Carl whirled around, still unsteady, trying to aim the canister at Alex again as he slid alongside Carl’s right. Carl was still focused on using the spray, which gave Alex an advantage. He slid his own right arm under Carl’s right arm and reached up across his massive chest. Simultaneously, he placed his right leg behind Carl’s legs and twisted his own core to the left, toppling Carl onto his back.

Alex quickly put Carl’s pepper spray arm into an extended lock and pushed down on the elbow, creating an unbearable pressure on Carl’s shoulder. Despite the size and strength of Carl’s arm, he immediately dropped the canister.

“All right, that’s enough!” he yelled through the grass, coughing and rubbing his eyes with his other hand.

Alex coughed as the pepper spray made breathing more painful. His eyes were burning and nearly closed. He kept Carl’s arm under pressure with one hand and picked up the pepper spray canister with the other. His hands, neck and face felt like they were on fire.

Pissed off and in pain, Alex aimed the pepper spray canister at Carl’s face near the ground and released a point blank blast of pepper spray fog. The effects were immediate, as Carl groaned and started to scream. He aimed casually at Ted, who was on the ground behind Carl, and dispensed the rest of the canister. The fog enveloped Ted’s body and caused his former manager to start pounding the grass while squealing.

Alex disengaged the arm lock and ran toward the open front door, tossing the canister behind him. He looked back and saw Jeff walk slowly over to Carl and Ted, his hands in the air.

Alex closed the door and watched the scene unfold, barely able to keep his own eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time. Jeff helped Carl back to Alex’s old Forrester, having to restrain him a few times from charging the house again. Ted continued to cry out in pain and barely rose to his knees. His hands appeared glued to his eyes. He looked pathetic on his knees in a crumpled navy blue suit, hunched over, coughing.

I hope he doesn’t have asthma. Alex could see grass stains on the chest of Ted’s blue shirt. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that to him. Now how am I going to get all of this junk off my property?

He opened the front door and yelled out to Ted. “Ted, I’d like all of this trash out of here immediately,” he said, coughing.

He shut the front door and locked it, doing the same in the mudroom, and closed the garage door. He then ran over to the sink to get a drink of water and to try and flush the pepper spray out of his eyes. He was fortunate that he had really only gotten just a dusting of it. He walked over to the door with the glass of water and saw Jeff picking up all of the equipment and loading Ted’s car. Alex bet they’d all have to sit there for a while before Ted could drive again. He’d keep a close eye on them until they were gone.

Chapter Fifteen

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Alex and Kate snuggled together on the couch to watch a recording of the FBC Evening News. The anchor, Kerrie Connor, appeared on the screen alongside a large flat-screen monitor. The studio monitor showed an image of an American aircraft carrier plowing through rough seas. Alex stifled a cough and shook his head.

“Good evening. Tonight’s top stories: Tensions with China increase as the fate of several hundred World Health Organization health workers remains unknown. At least two more U.S. aircraft carriers and an additional battle group are dispatched to the region.

“In Jakarta, the death toll rises as the killer flu burns unhindered throughout Java Island and spreads to Sumatra. The first reporters on scene describe the sight as cataclysmic.

“Worldwide, the Jakarta flu continues to spread. Reports of large flu outbreaks in Europe, the Middle East, and Africa have world health officials concerned that the pandemic cannot be contained.

“Here at home, the number of flu cases continues to rise, as the CDC and the Department of Health and Human Services race to stay one step ahead of the pandemic. Earlier this afternoon, the CDC reported that the number of lab-confirmed cases in the U.S. reached thirteen thousand yesterday, only six days into the crisis. Several hundred deaths have been associated with the Jakarta flu, mostly due to acute respiratory distress syndrome. The high incidence of acute respiratory distress syndrome has raised serious concerns that the Jakarta flu may have characteristics similar to the 1918 Spanish flu, where apparently healthy young adults died of massive respiratory complications shortly after developing symptoms of the flu. Health officials are keeping a close eye on this potentially devastating characteristic, given the surprising fact that no treatment has ever been shown to be effective in halting or reversing the effects of the syndrome.

“Shortages of food and medical supplies have caused considerable disruption throughout the nation, as most Americans hurried to the stores over the weekend to stock up on groceries and essentials. Most had to wait hours to buy groceries, or were turned away altogether.

“But first, a closer look at the crisis developing in China. Department of Defense officials acknowledged today that an additional carrier battle group, comprised of ships from Hawaii and Southern California, will join naval forces already deployed to the South China Sea. A battle group centered on the nuclear aircraft carrier George Washington, based out of Japan, is already on station in the area. And rumors of another carrier being recalled from the Arabian Gulf for service off the coast of China, have not been confirmed by the Pentagon. Jennifer Moskowitz reports from United Nations headquarters in Manhattan.”

The screen changed to a live broadcast of a blonde woman with medium-length hair, wearing a rather non-descript black ensemble, standing in front of a spectacularly illuminated United Nations Secretariat building. Several member nation flags waved in a light breeze, bathed in spotlights.

“Kerrie, I’m standing in front of the United Nations Secretariat building, where the mood today can only be described as tense and desperate. Chinese delegates continued to deflect questions regarding the status of WHO teams within their borders, stating only that these teams are consumed by the task of containing and mitigating the pandemic within Chinese borders and have no intention of abandoning their heroic efforts on behalf of the Chinese people. Tempers flared as delegates from at least a dozen nations accused the Chinese of holding the teams hostage. Delegates from Germany and Australia went so far as to blame China once again for exacerbating the pandemic situation, a reference to China’s mishandling of the 2008 avian flu pandemic.”

“Jennifer, was there any mention of sanctions against China, or the use of force to expedite the release of the WHO teams?”

“There was no discussion or suggestion of sanctions today by the assembly; however, it is no secret to any of the members that several nations have assembled outside of the U.N. to discuss options in response to China’s actions. Chinese delegates repeatedly lobbied the assembly to formally denounce the growing coalition outside of the U.N. They are particularly alarmed by the deployment of an additional U.S. carrier battle group to the region, calling this an aggressive and warlike action.”

“Thank you Jennifer.”

The screen next to Kerrie showed a Google Earth map of Indonesia, which began to slowly pan closer to the city of Jakarta on the northwestern tip of Java Island.

“Reporters and a limited number of aid workers landed during daylight hours at Jakarta’s International Airport to assess the worsening situation on Java Island. Flights are unable to land during nighttime hours, due to a complete blackout on Java Island. Initial reports from Indonesian health officials puts the official death toll at nearly 85,000, with over a million cases estimated on Java Island alone.

The screen cut to a commercial, and Alex started to fast-forward past them.

“I’m sure the Mullahs will blame the West for this somehow. Unfortunately for them, they’ll be preaching to empty mosques. This pandemic is going to clear their bleachers.”

“Honey, that’s not cool. It’ll clear the bleachers everywhere.”

“I know, but facts are facts. Modernized societies with modern health care systems will suffer a much lower casualty rate than any of those shitholes,” Alex said.

“It’s still sad,” Kate said.

“And they’ll still find a way to blame it all on us somehow. I’m just glad there won’t be as many of them left to hear their nonsense.”

“That’s enough. I don’t want to hear that kind of talk anymore. Are the kids up in the attic?” Kate asked.

“Ryan was up there on the Xbox. They’ll love the new games. I got a bunch we can all play, and a couple for Ryan and me.”

“Let me guess, Call of Duty Future Warrior and Insurgency Three?”

“You peeked,” he said flatly.

“The other games look fun, I guess, but I’d have to be really bored.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Alex said and stopped fast-forwarding.

Chapter Sixteen

Thursday, November 7, 2013

Alex walked up the stairs to the attic, coughing several times on his way up, still feeling the effects of the pepper spray. He reached the top of the stairs and saw Kate walking on the treadmill. Her pace was slow, but he could see that the treadmill was set to the highest incline possible. Kate was wearing maroon running shorts and a black cutoff running top, which to him resembled a bra. She was sweating and breathing heavily, as she struggled to keep her pace on the incline. She shot him an annoyed glance and didn’t say a word. Alex knew she didn’t like to talk during her workouts. He walked over to her and checked the time on the treadmill. Four minutes left. He decided to do a set of pull-ups. As he turned around, he heard the treadmill start to grind, as the incline was automatically lowered for her warm down.

He walked over to the freestanding pull-up bar and began a declining set, starting with twelve pull-ups. Halfway through the set, Kate interrupted.

“Hey, did you see that Portland’s considering school closures next week?” she said, out of breath.

Alex finished a few more pull-ups and hopped down to the floor. “No. Did they say anything about any of the other towns?”

“Falmouth closed today. They made the decision last night at an emergency school board meeting. They have six confirmed cases at the high school and a few more at the other schools in town. School officials made the decision because they suspect that there might be a dozen or more unconfirmed cases present at the school. I guess one of the original cases identified last week was a guy from Falmouth, who travels back and forth from New York every week for business. He has a son and a daughter at Falmouth high school. Had a son and daughter. He died early in the week,” Kate said.

“Was all this on the news?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, they just ran the story this morning,” she responded, pressing a few more buttons to slow the treadmill even further.

“What about Scarborough?” he pressed.

“Nothing. Just Portland and Falmouth. The governor’s office is looking into statewide school closures, but they will probably wait for the feds to make the recommendation. It has something to do with emergency funding, but it sounds like it has more to do with politics.”

“It always does,” he said and hopped up on the bar for a set of ten pull-ups.

“I still can’t believe you haven’t heard from Ted,” she remarked, stepping off the treadmill and onto a mat to stretch.

Alex finished, hopped down, and raised his arms above his head for a stretch. “I just hope I didn’t kill the guy. I did hear from HR. They left a voicemail on my cell phone letting me know that I am checked out, and should expect a final package shortly. God knows what’s in that package. Probably a non-disclosure agreement for me to sign, or something equally as asinine.”

“Nothing like a formal apology for the home invasion and pepper spray attack?” she asked incredulously.

“Not a mention. I really don’t care, either. I’m just glad to be done with them,” he said, hopping back up on the pull-up bar.

“I’ll be done soon, too, if I don’t come up with something better than diarrhea to keep me out of the office. I’ve cancelled several appointments already, and Jim left me a message yesterday asking when I could reschedule them. I’ll need to call him today. Monday at the latest.”

Alex finished several pull-ups and dropped back down to the floor. He started to cough again, which forced him to bow toward the ground. “Damn it! I can’t get rid of this,” he said, exasperated.

“Maybe you need to take it easy,” Kate said, wiping her face with a white towel.

“Probably. Anyway, you just need to buy a little more time at work. The way things are looking, you won’t have to hide much longer. They’re starting to shut down the schools, and other steps will be taken by the state and the feds within the upcoming week. I’d just keep stalling them. Tell Jim you still have a fever, but you might be able to meet with clients. Trust me, they won’t want to see you any time soon. Speaking of calls, I still need to call my parents.” He paused. “I haven’t heard anything from them about bringing my brother’s kids out.”

Kate turned her head toward Alex and gave him a perplexed look. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” he replied, buying himself a few more seconds.

“I don’t remember you mentioning anything about your parents bringing Ethan and Kevin out,” she said sternly.

“Well, I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen. I was talking to Daniel a few nights ago, and getting nowhere with him, as usual. My parents are stuck there babysitting and raising his kids, that’s why they won’t leave. They can’t. My brother won’t let them go ‘without some advance notice.’ Unbelievable if you ask me. ‘Karla can’t come home at three in the afternoon to babysit.’ And of course, God forbid they actually have to dig into their own pockets to pay for babysitting. I thought that if my parents brought Kevin and Ethan, then there would be no babysitting issue for Daniel.”

Kate waited patiently for his tirade to end. “First of all, Karla would never go for it, and neither would your brother. Second, your parents will never make the trip. For the same reason you just ranted about and many more. Same story with my parents. But that’s not why I’m a little pissed…”

“Can I get a drink of water before we get into this?”

I just need a few more seconds.

“You look like you’ll live. So, I’m a little pissed because we’ve talked about all of this before. Your brother and my sister are off the list and have been off the list for quite a while. Things would not work out with them here for any duration of time. Pandemic, long weekend, short weekend, Super Bowl party. It doesn’t matter. It never worked before, and I can’t figure out why you continue to press the issue with them,” she said.

“I felt safe making the offer because they’ll never make the trip. I just feel that I have to at least make the offer.” That’s a weak excuse.

“I know. I have the same guilt with Claire, but her husband can be an intolerable ass and so can she.”

“They’re not that bad. Not as bad as Daniel and Karla.”

“I think they’re worse. They try to take control of everything, and if you’re not on the same page, well, I don’t need to describe the scene any further. Bottom line? We can’t have them here in a quarantine situation. Plus, they think it’s all a joke anyway,” she said, shaking her head.

“If they were on board with the whole idea from the beginning, I might have reconsidered and invited them, but they weren’t, so I have never mentioned it to them. I don’t know why you would even consider it for Daniel and Karla. They openly mock all of this,” she said, waving her hands around.

“You’re right, sorry,” he apologized.

“I can’t count the number of times you’ve lectured me about how important it will be to stick to our plan. ‘In a quarantine situation, there is no room for error. We have to stick to the plan. No variations.’”

“All right, you don’t have to mock me. I’m sorry. They’re not coming out anyway, so we don’t have to worry.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried that you didn’t think about the dangerous situation you might have created. If your brother took you up on the offer and sent the kids out with your parents, then what happens when your brother and Karla finally come to their senses about the pandemic all around them? Where do you think they’ll be headed? Here to join their kids. How would we deal with that? Tell them it’s too late, sorry? Head on back to Colorado, here’s some TerraFlu, we’ll take care of the kids? Not likely they’d leave. Do we let them in and try to quarantine them for ten days in the mudroom area and hope they’re not harboring the flu? Would they leave if they showed symptoms? If they won’t leave without their kids, do we send the kids out onto the streets with their parents and some supplies?”

She continued to look softly into his eyes. Alex had a hard time meeting them.

“You’re right. It could lead to a disastrous confrontation. I really never thought of it this way,” he said and leaned over to kiss her forehead.

“Do you think we should just forget about trying to convince our parents to come out here?” he asked. “I don’t feel like giving up on them, but you’re right. At a certain point…” his voice trailed off.

“I don’t know. I hate to give up on them, too. I’m still trying to get my brother out here. He’s only a few hours away, but I’m certain that he’ll head to Princeton when things get bad. He’s really tight with them. He always heads down there when they have something going on. If my parents won’t come to him, he’ll go to them. He still drags the family to Princeton for every holiday. They haven’t celebrated Christmas or Thanksgiving in Concord since they moved in.”

“He’s a momma’s boy. First child is always a momma’s boy,” he teased.

“You’re not,” Kate said. “I wouldn’t have married you if you were.”

He tightened his hug for a moment and kissed her neck. “They should all be going up to New Hampshire. Your parents included. They could easily ride out the storm up north. It kills me to think that your brother would abandon the perfect mountain hideout for New Jersey.”

“My parents have the same problem as yours. They’re stuck. I guarantee my sister will head up there when the flu racks the Baltimore area. She’s probably on the way already with the kids. They’ll all flock to Princeton. Trust me.”

“Well, at least the mountain camp will be empty. If the situation gets out of control here, we could always pack up as much stuff as possible and head up into the White Mountains. Does Robbie keep the place stocked in the winter?” he asked her.

“Not really. They have everything you’d find in a camp, but no food or stuff like that. I know he has enough firewood to keep the stove going forever, and a well, but that wouldn’t work if the electricity died. He does have a propane tank for hot water and the stove.”

“We can keep it in mind. We can definitely get there on a single tank of gas.”

“Probably,” Kate said.

“Well, anyway, I won’t push the issue with my parents. God knows I’ve pushed it enough.”

Kate squeezed his hand, and he hugged her tightly.

“I think we made all of the offers we needed to make. I don’t feel guilty at all about it. If they come, we’ll have to deal with it. Within a few weeks, we’re going to have all the guilt we can handle around here,” she said, and they both headed down the stairs.

Chapter Seventeen

Friday, November 8, 2013

Ryan and Alex sat side by side on the edge of a dark brown couch, several feet in front of a large LCD screen TV. Alex was perched forward, intensely studying the screen. Both of them held Xbox controllers.

“Don’t do it, Dad. Use the remote optics on the rifle,” his son warned him.

“I got it. I…shit! There’s no way they could hit me,” he yelled, flying back into the couch.

“I told you to quit peeking around corners. Use the gun camera. If you lose your rifle, you can pick up another one, or use your secondary,” Ryan explained.

“But I was quick peeking,” he complained, demonstrating with his head, moving it back and forth quickly.

“Everyone knows that trick,” Ryan quipped.

“Can we reset to right before I got my head splattered? I don’t feel like fighting through the entire shopping mall again,” Alex pled.

The smartphone on the table next to the couch began to ring.

“Hold on, Ryan,” he said, grabbing for the phone and answering the call. “Hey, Mike, did they pepper spray you yet?”

“Go ahead without me, Ryan,” he told his son, and Ryan nodded his head affirmatively.

Alex got up and walked down the stairs from the third floor to his home office as Mike responded.

“No, not yet, but probably soon. I just resigned about twenty minutes ago. I’m headed back up the turnpike.”

“What happened, man? You don’t sound good,” Alex said.

“I’m fine. I just can’t believe I quit my job. Still in shock, I guess. Anyway, it was unbelievable down there. So get this. I wake up this morning and head down to breakfast at the Courtyard Marriot, and I run into one of the reps from Vermont, who’s also temp assigned to the area, and she’s hacking up a lung all over the fruit station. I made sure not to go anywhere near her. She sits down at a table with three other reps, and one of the guys looks like they just dug him out of his grave to work.”

“Which could very likely be a new official Biosphere policy,” Alex joked, causing Mike to burst out laughing.

“No shit, man. So I really start to rethink this whole thing. These people were fine at the beginning of the week. I remember seeing them at the orientation meeting. Now they look like extras from Night of the Living Dead. So I head out to my assigned area and start to make some office calls. Every office is like a scene from a zombie flick. I went into an internal med office in Methuen and walked right the fuck out. Three people in the waiting room were hacking and groaning. I’m not kidding, it was unreal. I sat in my car for a while thinking this over, after nearly taking a bath in hand sanitizer. I hope Biosphere didn’t cheap out on that stuff like they do everything else.”

“Have you been wearing a mask and gloves?” Alex asked.

“At first, but you feel like a complete douche bag walking into an office with a mask on your face. The gloves aren’t so bad, but what’s the point? If you touch your eyes or mouth with the gloves on, it doesn’t matter. The gloves only work if you throw them away after each office and don’t touch your face while you’re still in the office. I quit using them after day one. My hands are so dry from washing and using sanitizer that I could use them as sandpaper.”

“Dude, I’m glad you’re on your way home. Load up your cars, and caravan out to Colleen’s parents in North Conway. The number of cases is exploding. Did you talk to Michelle?”

“No, I talked to Ted. He didn’t take it very well. He wanted me to get in touch with the district manager down here and transfer my samples to her. I told him that I was already halfway home and would drop the stuff off at my storage locker for him to inventory.”

“You better recon the parking lot at the storage locker. He might be there waiting for you. And tell your wife to keep the door locked. Did you tell her what happened to Kate?”

“Yeah, she couldn’t believe it. Shit, how am I going to caravan out to North Conway if Ted repo’s my car?”

“Just pack up a load today and drive it out there tonight. It’s only a few hours away. Even if you only had one car, you could make multiple trips. Gas is still available everywhere for the moment. I’d make as many trips as you can with the company car and charge the gas to Biosphere,” Alex suggested.

“Yeah, that’s true. I keep thinking in terms of just making one final trip.”

“A few weeks from now, it might be a different story. One trip might be all you get,” Alex said.

“From what I saw down in Boston, that version of the story isn’t too far away. We were briefed by a Biosphere exec during a working breakfast yesterday. He proudly announced that Boston has one of the fastest growing numbers of cases. Almost three thousand confirmed cases so far, and the number of cases is expected to reach fifteen thousand by early next week. And that only takes into account the cases confirmed by a hospital lab. I saw at least twenty potential cases this morning alone and that’s just in a few offices. Not even big offices. I think this thing is about to break wide open.”

“How’s Colleen doing? Today’s Falmouth’s last day, right?” Alex asked.

“She’s relieved to get out of there. She didn’t want to call in sick or make up a story, but with the cases floating around the Falmouth schools, she was starting to get hysterical. She’s been off since Wednesday with the kids.”

“Good, good. Where are you now?” Alex asked.

“I’m coming up on the New Hampshire toll. I should be home in about an hour or so. Do you think I should skip the storage unit?”

“Do a drive-by and see. If he’s not there, I’d get the samples out of your possession. You don’t want him coming to your house looking for them. And make sure to tell him to stay clear of your house. You can tell him I’ll be over there showing you my favorite shotgun,” Alex said, laughing.

“I’m gonna buy him some pepper spray as a farewell present,” Mike said, laughing as well.

“I already took care of that,” Alex choked, barely able to get the words out through his own laughter.

“Hey, I gotta let you go. I’m gonna call Colleen and set this plan in motion.”

“All right, man, good luck and take good care. Okay?”

“You got it, man, same to you. Say hi to Kate and the kids for me. Salud.”

He put the phone in the front pocket of his jeans and returned to the attic to rejoin Ryan.

Chapter Eighteen

Saturday, November 9, 2013

Someone shook Alex’s right shoulder, and he involuntarily catapulted back into consciousness, hoping everything was all right. His eyelids felt heavy, and he was disoriented as he slowly opened his eyes. The room was dark, but not pitch black like the middle of the night. He heard the wind buffet the front of the bedroom, rattling the screens, as furious gusts of wind and rain blew in from the north. He turned his head to face Kate, the likely source of his premature awakening.

“You awake?” she asked as his eyes adjusted to her face.

“I am now. What’s up?”

For a moment, he perked up at the idea that she might have woken him up for sex.

“I think the power’s out,” she said. “I was going to get up and do the treadmill, but I don’t think the batteries are giving the house any power. Don’t you need to switch over the power?”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that. I thought you wanted to do me,” he grumbled and rolled over to grab his wristwatch off the nightstand. It read 6:42 a.m. He rolled back onto his stomach.

“You’re going to switch the power over. Right?”

Alex didn’t move. “You’re serious?”

“Uh, yeah. I committed to working out every day, and…I’d like to work out today. This morning,” she said.

“Right now?”

“Within the next fifteen minutes or so. I don’t want to have to worry about it later.”

“Because we have so much planned?” he said, laughing.

“I just like to exercise in the morning. Will you please go down and switch over the power? I’ll make it worth your while later tonight,” she promised, caressing his thigh under the sheets.

He flung off the covers and stood up out of bed, stretching his arms and yawning. “You better make this worthwhile,” he said. “I’m thinking one-way massage and another one-way activity.”

“Can’t I get a little massage, too?” she begged.

“We’ll see. It’ll be based on your performance.” He grinned devilishly and walked over to the closet.

“Hey, that’s sexual harassment.”

“Take it up with management,” he quipped.

“Great,” she said, throwing him a sarcastic smile.

**

Alex hung up the phone and yelled up the stairs to Kate.

“Honey, the Murrays are on their way over. They’re headed out to New York.”

He arrived at the bottom of the stairs as Kate appeared at the top.

“Right now?”

“Yeah. He said they were closing up the house. They should be here in a minute.”

“I can’t believe they’re leaving. I’m gonna throw on a sweatshirt. I’ll be right down,” she said and disappeared.

Alex heard her yell to the kids as he opened the front door. He took a few steps and glanced at the Thorntons’ house.

Wonder what that nutcase is up to?

The Murrays’ convoy materialized from behind the Thorntons’ house and glided around the corner, headed in Alex’s direction. As they approached, he saw Greg in the lead, driving their red four-door Honda Accord, and Carolyn picking up the rear in a black Honda Odyssey. Both vehicles had large, squat Yakima top carriers attached to the roof racks.

He walked back toward the top of his driveway and stopped near the walkway as the two cars pulled into the left side of the driveway. Greg opened the door of his car and hopped out. Alex heard the minivan doors slide open, and the kids burst out onto the driveway. They ran by him on their way toward the house.

“Hi, kids,” Alex said, mostly to himself.

Kate intercepted them in front of the mudroom door and redirected them through the garage to the backyard. Alex heard her say something about snacks and drinks on the picnic table.

“Loaded down for war here, I see,” Alex observed.

“Yeah, we’ll probably get eight miles per gallon,” Greg said ruefully.

“So how are you escaping from National Semi?”

“Vacation. I have over three weeks on the books since we never made it out to see Carolyn’s sister in Virginia. They encourage us to use it up before the end of the year, and sales have been great this year.”

Carolyn walked up to the two of them.

“How did you end up driving the loony wagon?” Alex asked her.

“I drew the short straw. We’re gonna switch every couple of hours, supposedly. We’re hoping the trip won’t take much longer than eight hours, so it shouldn’t be too bad. Plus, they have every electronic distraction available at Best Buy to keep them busy. Sorry we can’t stay too long, Alex.”

Alex stepped out of her way and motioned to the mudroom door. “No worries. We understand. Really. What’s important is that you guys get over to New York safely. Kate’s got all the kids out back. Dosing them up with sugary drinks and high fructose corn syrup snacks.”

“Somehow I doubt there’s any high fructose corn syrup in that entire house,” Carolyn said, as she walked through the garage to the door accessing the backyard.

“Sorry about your job, Alex. That really sucks.”

“I’m not sorry at all. That job had a limited half-life. Biosphere really sucked as a company, and my boss was clueless. He’s about six years younger than me, and all he ever talked about was Biosphere. This is all he’s ever done since college. I’ll miss the pay, but that’s about it.”

“Hey, maybe you could take your story to the Portland Paper. They’d love it. Local hero stands up to big pharma. You could sell them all your juicy stories about the pharmaceutical industry.”

“Unfortunately, there’s not much to sell, and the last thing I want to do is draw any attention to myself. Hey, before I forget, let me give you the TerraFlu samples we talked about. I’m giving you enough for twelve courses of therapy, which should cover everyone in your parents’ house,” Alex said, walking toward the garage. He turned around. “Remember, if anyone—”

“I know. If anyone shows flu symptoms, make sure we all take them. Got it,” Greg interrupted.

Alex laughed, grabbed a small plastic shopping bag filled with TerraFlu samples from a shelf near the mudroom door and handed them to Greg, who had followed him into the garage.

“What did you tell the kids about the trip?”

“Not much. Just that we’re going to visit my parents for a few weeks. I think the boys know what’s going on, but the girls really have no idea.”

“Yeah, same thing happening in our house, though I don’t think even Ryan really understands what this might mean for us. I probably don’t fully understand it.”

“No kidding. I keep thinking—hoping—that we’ll be able to come back in a few weeks. It still hasn’t sunk in that we might be gone for a lot longer. Carolyn said that it might take months to produce a vaccine.”

“Longer maybe,” Alex said grimly.

They spent the next ten minutes watching the kids run around the backyard before Carolyn and Greg reluctantly directed all of their kids back to their assigned seats in the cars. They all walked around the side of the garage to the driveway, and Kate helped Carolyn get her kids settled into the minivan as Emily and Ryan said goodbye and started to walk back up the driveway to their house. Alex walked over to the open sliding door on the right side of the minivan and poked his head in. He passed Kate, who was walking up the driveway to stand with their kids on the brick walkway next to the front light post.

“Take it easy on your parents. We’ll see you guys later,” he yelled into the van.

All of the kids had headphones and were occupied by various portable electronic devices. James and Justin, sitting in the second row swivel chairs, gave him a thumbs up, and he saluted them in return. The two younger girls were seated in the third row. Every conceivable inch of space between the kids and behind the third row was packed with gear. Alex walked up to Carolyn’s window and saw that the front seat was completely jammed with packages, nearly blocking Carolyn’s view of the passenger side mirror.

“Good luck. I hope the electronic distractions at least get you through to Greg’s shift,” he said.

She laughed loudly. “I was just hoping to get past the Kennebunk rest stop before the fighting started. See you later, Alex. Thanks again for everything. I really think this is the right thing for us to do, and if it wasn’t for you guys, we’d probably be making this trip three weeks from now, when it’s too late.”

“Hey, I’ve given this advice to dozens of other friends, and very few of them have taken it seriously. You owe yourself the biggest thanks. Am I sounding too much like one of those self-help books?”

“Yes, and I’m out of here before you really start emoting,” she said, backing the van down the driveway.

Alex jogged up to Greg’s car and leaned in the window. The entire back seating area, all the way to the roof of the car, was filled, and the passenger seat was similarly stuffed with bags and a large plastic crate.

“Good luck. Stay safe. And don’t worry about the house. We’ll keep a good eye on it,” Alex said, extending his hand.

“You got it, man. Keep the neighborhood under control,” Greg replied, shaking Alex’s hand.

Alex saluted him and walked back up the driveway to join his family. They waved to the Murrays as their two cars pulled out of the neighborhood. Kate’s eyes were watery and red, and he put his arm around her shoulder as they walked toward the house.

“Wash your hands!” he yelled as the kids ran past them into the garage.

When they got inside the mudroom, Alex hugged her fully, cradling her head in his chest and rubbing her back. Her hair smelled like lavender shampoo, and he took in a long breath through his nose. He saw the kids washing their hands in the mudroom bathroom. An argument broke out over the towel.

“I have a terrible feeling we might never see them again,” Kate said.

“They’ll be fine,” he assured her as the kids tumbled out of the bathroom, dripping water on the mudroom tile.

Chapter Nineteen

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Alex walked down the stairs and into the great room, fresh from a shower.

“Wait till you see this,” Kate said without even looking up, handing a piece of paper up to him as he walked by the back of the couch. He took the sheet and started to read it standing up.

“What the ffff…a neighborhood meeting? Today at two. To discuss neighborhood plans to address the impact of the flu pandemic. Come with ideas. Bring your own snacks and drinks. Some topics of discussion will include organizing neighborhood daycare, resource sharing, neighborhood security, phone tree, information sharing. Let me guess who put this out…location, #4 Durham Road. Signed, Sarah Quinn. You can attend this one, hon.”

“You knew this was inevitable, honey. If it wasn’t Sarah, then Nicki Bartlett or Laura would have called the Durham Clan together eventually. You’re the pandemic expert, and the closest thing we have to a statesman around here, so the honor is yours.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Don’t you think we could just skip out on this one? We are in quarantine, you know,” he reminded her.

“Nice try, but everyone in the neighborhood has seen you out running, or me out for a walk. Plus, I think we need to keep pace with what’s going on around here. The more we know what everyone else is doing, the better,” she said, looking up at him as he walked around the couch to sit in one of the leather chairs next to the wood-burning stove.

“I know. I just can’t stomach the idea of standing around while Sarah blares at everyone through that Mr. Microphone thing she likes to use at the summer block party. It’s obnoxious. Then Nicki will grab the thing and broadcast her shrill voice,” he said, exhaling dramatically.

“Yeah, or like how Sarah insists on passing the microphone around like the conch if you want to talk. She’s super anal about it, too. She doesn’t like anyone addressing the group without it. It’s sort of weird,” Kate added.

“Yeah. I got the conch!” he said, and they both burst out laughing.

Still laughing, Alex said, “We won’t be laughing in a few weeks when some real Lord of the Flies shit is going down around here.”

“Easy,” Kate said, nodding toward Emily, who was lounging on the other chair.

“She’s receiving input from one source only right now. Watch. Hey, Emily?” he said and waited a few seconds. He raised his voice. “Emily? Yoo hoo, Emily?”

Finally, she turned her head slowly, eyes still watching the show until it became physically impossible for her eyes to strain in their sockets. Her eyes caught up with the new direction of her head, facing Alex.

“What?” she asked, turning her head back to the show, and then back to Alex.

“What are you watching?” he asked, having no real reason for interrupting her.

“Gwen and Cam.” She turned back toward the show.

He nodded his head. “Cool.” He turned back to Kate. “See. They hear nothing, they see nothing, and they know nothing.”

“Kind of like you.”

He walked over and kissed her on the forehead. “I better go prepare my speech for this afternoon.” He sighed.

“Oh, hey, we need to set the clocks in the house back for Daylight Savings Time. That’s your job.”

“You know, I didn’t even put it together. I saw the computer time was different than my watch and thought it had something to do with the power failure. I guess it’s going to get dark pretty early tonight,” he said.

“Yeah, probably around 4:30,” Kate said. “All right, can you go bother someone else now?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Alex headed back to the kitchen.

**

Alex stood in the garage looking out at the Walkers’ house. The sun occasionally managed to stab through the dense gray cloud cover, momentarily warming the air; the temperature was in the high forties with a light breeze.

He was wearing a dark blue winter parka that he had owned for several years, a tight brown knit cap, and a pair of sunglasses, mainly to avoid eye contact with some of his neighbors.

Where are you, Ed? Alex checked his watch again. 1:52. A few minutes late. No big deal.

Just then, he heard one of Ed’s garage doors start to open. He patted his jacket pocket again, to make sure he brought his smartphone, just in case Kate needed to get in touch with him. After Ted’s stunt last week, he didn’t plan to take any chances, ever again. He hadn’t heard anything from Ted or Biosphere since Michelle’s last voicemail.

All the better.

He saw Ed emerge from the open garage bay and started walking across his front lawn to meet up with Ed. As he crossed onto the Walkers’ property, Derek Sheppard opened his front door and jogged across the street toward them. Simultaneously, the McDaniels’ garage door opened, and Jamie walked out of the open bay door waving as she walked over to them. Alex and Ed stood in the driveway, waiting for Derek and Jamie to join them.

“Hey, Ed, Alex,” Jamie said, nodding at them as they all met at the bottom of Ed’s driveway.

“Hey, Jamie,” Ed said.

“How did Matt talk you into representing the McDaniel clan? I tried everything in my power to push Kate out the door,” Alex said, eliciting a laugh from Ed.

“Hell, there wasn’t even the start of a negotiation in my house,” Ed said.

Both Derek and Alex cackled quietly.

“No choice for me either. Ellen wasn’t too keen on standing outside in the wind, though it seems to have died down a lot from this morning,” Derek said.

“Yeah. I went for a run earlier, and the wind sucked,” Alex remarked.

“I wish I had a choice, but Matt woke up this morning not feeling well at all. He’s been dragging around the house all day. Don’t you think Sarah’s going to have this inside?” she asked, sniffling and clearing her throat.

Alex tried not to look alarmed as he casually canvassed Jamie. She didn’t look nervous or worried about her husband’s illness. He didn’t plan to get any closer to Jamie. She was clearly underdressed for the weather, having assumed that the Quinns would host the meeting inside. He doubted they would. There were thirty-three houses in the neighborhood, which put the total attendance at a minimum of around thirty and likely higher. Alex planned to return home if the Quinns tried to jam everyone inside their house. Jamie already looked cold, standing in light brown corduroy pants and a waist level light blue fleece coat, and he saw that she was already shivering.

She’s going to freeze her ass off.

“I hope not. I’m not going to cram my body into a flu incubator,” Alex said, and they all started walking down the sidewalk.

“Does someone at the Quinns’ have the flu?” Derek asked.

“No. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for a member of every household in the neighborhood to be jammed into a closed space breathing on each other, touching the same doorknobs, and using the same bathroom. If this is indoors, one of you will have to take notes for me,” Alex said.

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that. I see a bunch of people on their driveway,” Ed said.

Alex looked over at the turn in the road, and suddenly saw the Quinn house clear the Hopkins’ house on the inside corner of the loop. At first glance, it looked like nearly fifty people could be milling around the driveway. He saw about two dozen lawn chairs and folding chairs in place on the driveway, mostly occupied.

She is certainly organized.

Several younger children were running around the lawn, kicking a soccer ball at a goal set up on the other end of the front lawn, away from the driveway.

“Crap. Maybe I should grab a warmer coat. I’ll catch a cold for sure if I stand out here in this fleece. I’ll meet up with you guys in few minutes,” Jamie said, turning back toward her house.

“Sounds good, Jamie,” Ed said as Jamie jogged toward her house.

Alex let about ten seconds of silence pass and then walked in front of the Perrys’ house, hoping that Todd Perry didn’t come out to join them.

“Did you guys catch that about Matt?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Ed replied, flashing them a concerned look.

“What do you mean?” Derek asked.

“Matt’s not healthy enough to go outside? They both work in the schools. Now her husband’s sick, and she’s sniffling and coughing?” Alex looked at them with a face that said “not good.”

“I didn’t hear her coughing,” Ed said.

“She cleared her throat several times, but it sounded more like a suppressed cough,” Alex said.

“It could be anything. Anyway, I ain’t planning to lock lips with her, so what does it matter?” Derek asked.

They all laughed.

“Good point,” Alex said, still laughing. “I guess all I’m saying is to be careful around her. You don’t want her coughing or sneezing near you, and you don’t want her touching you.”

“I wouldn’t exactly object to her touching me,” Ed laughed.

“No kidding,” Derek added.

“Gentlemen, I refuse to engage in this kind of banter, based on the one in a billion chance that Kate is paying one of you to wear a wire. And I especially wouldn’t engage in this kind of talk because…” He leaned close to Ed’s jacket collar and spoke up, “I love and respect my wife more than anything on this planet.” All of them broke into laughter.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing. We’re still close enough to your house to set off Sam’s radar. You’ll come back from the meeting to a kick in the nutsack,” Alex said.

Derek laughed harder.

Ed grabbed the collar of his own jacket and spoke quietly into it. “As you just heard, Alex’s love and respect pales in comparison to his fear of a ball kicking.”

They laughed harder.

“Anyway, I’d be really careful around anyone from the McDaniel house,” Alex added.

The trio approached the bottom of the Quinns’ driveway and the din of the crowd increased. Alex saw that Todd Perry was present and sitting in the front row of chairs. A few more neighbors were walking down the other side of the Durham loop toward the group, and Alex looked behind him to see Jamie walking up the street with Mary Thompson, Alex’s neighbor directly to the east, and John Anderson, from one house past Ed’s, between the Walkers and the Perrys.

They all stayed at the bottom of the driveway. Alex turned around and scanned the crowd again, seeing Sarah Quinn at the top of the driveway, playing with her loudspeaker system. Her husband George scurried toward her with what looked like batteries for the microphone. She looked mad at George.

Poor George forgot to op check the system. He glanced at his watch. And now the meeting is two minutes late. George is going to pay for this. He chuckled to himself.

“I don’t see any Cheetos,” Alex remarked, still examining the crowd.

“I have a pack of gum in my pocket,” Ed said.

“Is it sugarless?”

“Probably,” Ed replied.

“You can keep it. No nutritional value. You’ll burn up more calories chewing it,” he said, smiling wryly at Ed.

“Speaking of calories, she looks like she could use a few,” Ed said, looking at Nicole Bartlett, who was moving in their direction, handing a sheet of paper to everyone in the crowd. As she approached, he noticed that Laura Burton had just finished taping sheets of paper to the card table in front of Sarah.

Sign-up sheets, maybe?

Nicole reached the three of them.

“Hey, Nicki,” Alex said, bracing for her excessive perkiness.

“Hey, guys. Thanks for coming to the meeting. This is an agenda and some topic ideas. You can also take notes on it. Did you bring any pens?” she asked, handing a sheet to Ed and Derek.

“No, I didn’t think we’d need pens,” Ed offered, as Alex politely declined one of her handouts.

“No worries. We have some extras floating around, though you’ll probably have to share one. Good to see you guys. Hey, you might want to move up closer.”

As she walked to the next group, Ed chimed in. “Jesus, she’s unbelievably skinny. She’d fit into a thirteen-year-old’s jeans.”

“Get this. Ellen ran into her over at The Gap. Nicki was shopping with her daughter Taylor, and Ellen overheard a weird conversation. Nicki was absolutely distressed that she couldn’t fit into the same size blouse as Taylor. She heard Nicki say ‘give me a few months, and I’ll get into that.’ Sick if you ask me,” Derek said.

“How old is her daughter?” Ed whispered.

“She’s one grade ahead of Emily,” Alex said. “All Emily hears her talk about at school is her weight and her clothes fitting. She’s starting to give Emmy a complex.”

“Emily’s ten, right?” Derek asked.

“Yeah. Ten.”

“That’s some sick shit, man.”

“Well, I’ve heard a number of wives say that they think she looks great,” Ed said.

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of the anorexia going around the neighborhood, if you haven’t noticed. Look at Stephanie. I can barely tell her apart from Nicki,” Alex commented.

“Yeah, it’s like Single White Female scary, looking at the two of them together,” Derek said.

“Sam’s definitely noticed, and she’d like to figure out how to catch whatever they’ve got,” Ed said, laughing.

“First she has to quit her job because if you look around, you’ll notice there’s a direct correlation between staying home and emaciation, which I don’t quite understand. I’ve spent plenty of days home with kids, and all I want to do on those days is eat,” Alex said.

“I still haven’t recovered from the toddler years,” Ed laughed again, grabbing his slightly bulging stomach.

“I saw your wedding photos, Ed, and I hate to break it to you, but…” Alex said, raising his shoulders and sporting a patronizing look.

“Thanks. Hey, at least I didn’t deteriorate. Three kids,” he said, flexing his right arm in an overly dramatic muscle pose.

Alex spotted Paul and Nancy Cooper in the back row of seats, with their chocolate lab Max.

“Gentlemen, I’m gonna say hi to Paul and Nancy. Keep my spot in the back,” he said to Ed and Derek.

Ed nodded, and Alex walked up behind the Coopers. Stephanie and Eric Bishop were seated next to the Coopers, and the Bishops’ kids, Hunter and Evan, were playing soccer with the other kids on the lawn. Hunter was in the same class as Emily, though Alex rarely heard her talk about him.

“You didn’t bring me any snacks? How disappointing,” he said, laying his left hand on Paul’s shoulder. “But you did bring my good friend Max.”

Both Paul and Nancy turned around as Alex kneeled down to hug Max. He wondered if hugging Max was such a good idea and briefly contemplated his chance of contracting the flu from contact with a domestic pet. He wasn’t really sure, but made a mental note to research the topic on the internet. Offhand, he couldn’t imagine any reason why the flu could not be transferred from a dog’s fur to his hand. He’d need to talk to Kate about her trips around the neighborhood, visiting every free roaming dog.

“Hey, Alex. We weren’t sure you’d show up. Figured you’d be off limits by now,” Paul said.

Alex stood up from petting Max. “Believe me, I tried to get out of it,” he replied, and Stephanie Bishop gave him a strained look. He returned a slightly less strained smile. “Hey, Stephanie, Eric.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to be here?” she asked, annoyed.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea for all of us to come together in one place, when there’s a highly contagious flu virus spreading around Scarborough,” he said softly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I don’t think anyone’s going to catch the flu at this meeting,” Eric said. “The whole point of getting together is to figure out how we can all help each other.”

“Sounds great, but the best way for us to help each other is to stay away from each other. Hey, I’ll catch you guys later,” he said to Paul and Nancy.

“See ya, Alex,” they said in unison.

Alex caught Paul’s glance. Paul made a face signaling that he had no idea why Eric and Stephanie had acted so oddly. Alex walked back to Derek and Ed, who were now joined by Jamie, Mary Thompson, and John Anderson. He saw a few stragglers—Dave Santos and Charlie Thornton—coming in from the north side of the loop. Charlie waved to Alex, and Alex returned the wave, smiling. Cuckoo guy. Alex stood next to Ed, glad that he didn’t have to actively evade Jamie, who was now wearing a black hooded winter jacket and a hat, but was still shivering.

Probably has a fever.

Derek was fidgeting and looked uncomfortable standing next to her.

“Here comes Charlie,” Alex whispered to Ed.

Ed glanced over at Charlie. “I think he’s going to stand by us. Have you talked to him lately?”

“Not since he interrogated me by the woodpile. Nancy Cooper said she heard him ranting and raving in his driveway last week. Food issues. I guess neither of them could find the time to wait in line for groceries. I hope they figured out something. He might be the last person you’d want scouring the neighborhood for food in a bad mood,” Alex said quietly.

“You know who else is a loose cannon? Todd. I’ve heard him screaming a lot lately. Screaming at his wife, kicking his car, knocking shit around his garage. Every day something’s going on over there,” Ed said.

“Really? Jesus…hold on, here comes Charlie,” Alex whispered. “Hey, Charlie,” he said enthusiastically, keeping his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Can you believe what’s going on in this country? Unreal if you ask me. I can’t believe the government let it get this bad. Food rationing?” Charlie ranted, his face turning red.

“Take it easy, man, you’re gonna explode,” Alex said.

“Take it easy? That’s the last thing any of us can afford to do. What do you think this little meeting’s all about?” he asked. Before anyone could respond, he continued. “I’ll bet this is an attempt at a little socialist share the wealth program…for those that haven’t done shit over the past few weeks.”

He might be right.

Charlie was in rare form, clearly pumped up on something.

“Everybody, if you could grab a seat, or pull it in as tight as possible here, we’ll get this started,” Sarah Quinn said.

Nicki Bartlett and Laura Burton quickly moved to stand near Sarah behind the folding table. The kids continued to play on the lawn as the adults not seated in the makeshift auditorium started to crowd both sides of the seating.

Alex took a quick inventory of the group. He saw Michael McCarthy seated in the second row talking to Peter and Brenda Brady, who were sitting directly in front of them in the first row. Michael spent most of the week out of town, flying back and forth from New York and Atlanta, working onsite with a few large investment firms to troubleshoot and optimize their computer software. His wife Jennifer stayed at home with their three children: Ethan, who was in the same grade as Emily, and two younger girls, Hannah and Sophia. Alex wasn’t sure how old the girls were, only that their youngest, Sophia, had just started kindergarten.

Standing next to the McCarthys was Michelle Hayes, who lived in the house between the Coopers’ and the Murrays’. Alex figured her husband, Ken, was home with their kids and wondered how Ken had managed to dodge this one. The Hayes’ had two younger kids, a boy and a girl, right around the same age as the McCarthys’ girls.

From his quick glance around, he could tell that most households were represented. He couldn’t spot Phil or Julia Rhodes, which was odd, since he’d seen Phil grab the newspaper that morning. With two kids in college and one in high school, he couldn’t imagine why at least one of them wouldn’t be here.

Then again, I don’t want to be here either.

He saw that Sarah was ready to start the meeting.

“Okay, everyone, we’re going to get this started. First of all, thank you for coming together at such short notice. We’ve always pulled together as a neighborhood in the past, so when Nicki found out that the Scarborough schools would be closed this week…”

The group huddled on the Quinns’ driveway erupted into a cacophony of whispers.

“Is that confirmed?” Todd asked incredulously.

“Yes. One of Jack’s colleagues at the diabetes center is on the school board, and he confirmed that Friday was the last day,” Nicole answered.

Sarah continued, “Anyway, Nicki called me right away to see what I was going to do with my kids during the week and to ask if she could help out. This got me thinking that everyone in the neighborhood is facing the same challenge. Most of us have school-aged kids, and few of us can afford to quit our jobs, when this might only last a few weeks.”

Don’t count on it.

“So we got together and started talking about the daycare issue. Then we realized that daycare wasn’t going to be the only problem out there. It’s no secret that the stores are rationing food, and who knows how long the food will last? Then we started reading the CDC website and found some links to articles about how essential services might be disrupted if things get really bad. Stuff like electricity, water, hospital service, phones, cable—”

“The electricity isn’t going to fail. A lot of experts are saying that this whole thing is likely to pass in a few weeks,” Mike Lynch interrupted, who lived right across the street and one house toward Harrison Road.

Mike was standing to the right of the driveway with Vicki and Tom Hodges, who were both nodding in agreement with Mike’s statement. The Hodges lived directly across the street from the Lynch’s, and the two families seemed tight to Alex, despite a large gulf in age between them. Mike and Katherine were in their early thirties with two toddlers, while Vicki and Tom appeared to be in their fifties, though Alex suspected they might be younger. Alex knew that the Hodges’ daughter, Anna, had just left in the fall for Boston College and that their son was still in high school. Mark and Beverly Silva from the house directly across the street were standing in the hostile group, but it was apparent that they weren’t comfortable with Mike’s statement.

“What a fucking idiot,” Charlie whispered into Alex’s ear.

I agree.

“Well, the articles only mentioned that it could happen, but it didn’t go into any details,” Sarah said, looking to Laura for support.

Jamie sneezed next to Derek, who glanced at Alex and Ed nervously. Alex could tell he wanted to move away from her, but he didn’t.

“Hey, Sarah? May I say something about the electricity?” Alex offered.

I can’t resist.

“Thanks, Alex. Everyone, you all know Alex Fletcher,” she said, relieved.

Every face in the crowd turned to look at Alex. Most still looked friendly, though he detected a strange underlying current in the group. He couldn’t determine the general aura of the group, but it made him immediately uncomfortable, which was not a common feeling for him.

“Right. Anyway, so if the flu pandemic becomes widespread and attacks a large percentage of the population, then two things will happen. Either people will be unable to work because they’re sick or dead, or people will stop going to work because they don’t want to become sick or dead. It’s really that simple. This shortage of labor will affect every aspect of society, from policemen to doctors to truck drivers. If the trains can’t deliver coal to the electrical plants, then eventually the electrical system will fail. God knows it doesn’t take much to knock out one of those grids. And if a grid fails, who’s going to repair it? If the electricity fails, the water pressure is soon to follow. You can apply the same logic to nearly every essential service. They all run on electricity. Hell, if a storm knocks out the power in the middle of the pandemic, who’s going to repair the lines? They can barely get the power back up with a full workforce.”

That’s enough.

“Yeah, but don’t the power plants keep an emergency supply on hand for just this kind of a situation? Same with the water systems and cable companies. They all have backup power capability,” Mike challenged.

“Sure they do. The power plants are required by law to maintain a six-week supply of coal on hand for emergencies; however, these laws are rarely enforced, and the recent audits put the average emergency reserve supply for a power plant at about one and a half weeks. Compliance at all other levels is pretty much the same. You can thank the current and previous administration for that one,” Alex said.

Mike Lynch looked pissed at Alex’s comment about the administration, which didn’t surprise Alex, since the comment had been designed to push Mike’s rabid Republican buttons.

“Thanks, Alex. So, the whole reason for us to get together is to figure out what challenges we might face, and how we can help each other out. Nicki has put together a few categories, and some sign-up sheets. Nicki?” Sarah said and handed her the microphone.

Nicole Bartlett took the microphone from Sarah and stepped around the folding table. She was wearing a tight-fitting quilted pink vest, a white skin-tight long-sleeve turtleneck, and a thin light purple knit cap with a pink tassel falling to the left side. Completing her look was a pair of skin-hugging dark blue jeans, which Alex had seen before in the youth pages of the latest LL Bean catalogue. Certainly well put together, but completely inappropriate for a forty-year-old woman. Nicole started to address the group in a tone appropriate for a room of elementary school kids.

“Okay, I’m going to get started on my little portion. Thank you all again for braving the cold weather,” she said, executing a fake shiver.

Kate is going to pay for this.

“So, what I have done is put together some categories where we can all help out. I’ve made sign-up lists for each one, and if we come up with any more categories, I’ll make another list.

“First, I think it would be awesome if everyone could update their contact information. You don’t have to do it here. You can send me an email with your home and cell phone numbers. My email address is on the sheet I handed out. The phone list I have is a few years old, and we have some new neighbors, so it’s important for everyone to update this. Please make sure you put your cell phones on the list, too, in case the power goes out. I know a lot of us have digital phone service, which is useless without the power.

“All right, the first issue which many of us will face is daycare. Most of us will have to make alternate daycare arrangements or take time off from work,” she said in a tone indicating that she might be in that same position.

“Why did she say that like she’ll be needing daycare, too? She doesn’t work,” Alex whispered to Ed.

“Probably because she’s always had her kids in daycare, preschool, or public school. She had her first two kids in daycare at least three full days a week before they started school. Same thing with Grace. She keeps them in all day programs during most of the school breaks and the summer,” Ed whispered back.

“Wow, she’s a piece of work. Kate’s going to love this.”

“So, the daycare list is for both those who will need daycare and those who will be home and can help provide daycare services for their neighbors. Please fill in the times you need covered, how many kids, anything like that. If you can open up your home to help, please note your availability. Once we get all of the names and information, we’ll put them together and try to find matches. We can even use this information in case someone in your family gets the flu, and you need to leave the house to take that person to get treatment. That way, you don’t have to drag the entire family out where they could get sick.”

Are you shitting me?

Alex surveyed the crowd and saw that the idea was popular, which didn’t surprise him considering the number of dual-income families in the neighborhood. He shook his head and leaned over to Ed. “So, are you going to volunteer to watch Jamie’s kids while she takes her flu- ridden husband to the hospital? Or let your kids stay at Jamie’s while you head out to the office? This has bad idea written all over it,” he whispered.

“I agree,” Ed responded.

“The next list is for volunteers to take sick people to doctor’s appointments or the hospital. If both parents are sick and a child needs to be seen by a doctor, volunteers from this list would help out,” she said, smiling.

“This is right from the manual of how to guarantee a 100% infection rate in your neighborhood,” Alex whispered to Ed, who let out a loud guffaw, snorted, and quickly contained himself.

Several heads turned in their direction, including Stephanie Bishop, who shook her head and frowned, and turned to say something to her husband. Eric Bishop looked back at them, also frowning.

“Did you have something to add?” Laura Burton boomed, the other self-appointed pandemic coordinator.

Alex shook his head. “Nope.”

Most heads returned to Nicki, though Mike Lynch drew out his glare a little longer than necessary.

“The next topic, which was suggested by Todd Perry, deals with basic necessities and supplies. As we are all painfully aware, food and other basic survival needs are in short supply at the stores. I tried to put together just one emergency kit earlier in the week and couldn’t find even a quarter of the things needed. CVS and RiteAid are wiped out daily. Same story with all of the hardware stores. Everyone is out there trying to assemble their own emergency stockpile from the federal disaster checklist.”

“I got all my stuff,” Charlie Thornton whispered, who had drifted over to Alex’s right side during Nicki’s speech. “Got it all the week before last. You’re smart to hide your firewood in the garage. I didn’t know what to make of it when I talked to you. I knew you were up to something, then it suddenly hit me. Of course. I moved all of mine in a few days later. I have to thank you. It got me thinking about the whole situation. I went on a few of the NRA websites, found a shitload of survival information, and I got a jump start on those checklists. While everyone else was waiting in line for groceries, I spent the better part of three days buying up supplies and dried food, MREs from the surplus stores, whatever I could get my hands on. I bet you have the same thing over there,” he whispered with glee.

“I might have some supplies on hand,” he said, studying Charlie’s face.

Actually, he doesn’t look too crazy.

“…so, if you could list on this sheet what supplies or food you have on hand, we can create sort of our own Durham Road stockpile. If someone needs a certain item, then they can get it, as long as they’ve put into the stockpile themselves. It’s kind of like a swap shop idea,” Nicki was saying.

“I don’t know. How would we manage this stockpile? Would it be located in one place? Or just a list of who has what and you can trade? It sounds kind of complicated, and…I don’t know,” Beverly Silva said.

A majority of the crowd backed her sentiment, and there was considerable protest from all corners of the driveway. Alex focused on Todd, whose face had turned a few shades redder since Beverly opened her mouth.

“Yeah, I don’t feel comfortable taking what I have and putting it in a central location. Is that what you’re suggesting?” Jamie McDaniels asked, who was visibly shivering.

“Uh, it’s just an idea, but if we all have an idea of how much food is available, then…well, we can work on a system,” Nicki said.

“The idea isn’t to start a communal soup kitchen, but like Nicki said, it would help to get an idea of what we have here if times get really tough,” Laura Burton said, looking to Sarah Quinn for confirmation.

Oddly enough, Sarah Quinn did not look pleased by this agenda item. As one of the lead coordinators, Alex had expected her to support the idea, but she appeared to have suddenly grasped the true meaning of the concept’s design—that everyone else in the neighborhood would know exactly how much food she had on hand, and that she’d be expected to share some of that food in the very near future. Alex remembered that Sarah was one of the first people on the block to head to the Hannigan’s when the massive food lines began forming.

“We can revisit this at the next meeting after everyone has had time to think about it. It’s a lot to ask, given the fact that none of us are in great shape when it comes to food. If you want to put this information down now on the sheet, you’re encouraged to do so,” Sarah dodged.

He could tell that the meeting was about to break apart on its own. The last agenda item had hit everyone deeply, and it was clear that nobody relished the idea of giving up any of their food. Alex saw Todd stirring in his seat.

“Can I say something here?” Todd asked, standing and facing most of the crowd on the driveway. “I’m not sure what everyone’s problem is with sharing food. To be honest, it seems a bit selfish to me, and frankly, I’m surprised. We’ve had parties at our house over the years, and we’ve always put out a nice spread for everyone. We’re all neighbors, right?” he asked, his face reaching a deep red color.

“Yeah, but that’s what you do when you host a party,” Michelle Hayes said cynically. “This is a bit different. I agree with Beverly and Jamie. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want any of you knowing how much food I have in my house. That’s my family’s business.”

“Well, I don’t mind telling you how much food I have,” Todd responded.

“How much food do you have, Todd?” Charlie blurted.

Alex inched away from him. “You’re on your own with this nut,” he whispered to Ed.

“What do you mean?” Todd responded, stunned by the blunt question.

“If you don’t care, then tell all of us how much food you have on hand,” Charlie demanded.

“Well, I don’t know exactly. I’d have to take a good look and figure it out,” Todd said, flustered.

“Bullshit. You know exactly what you have. In terms of a regular grocery week, how many weeks do you have on hand?” Charlie persisted.

“Probably…like, a few… I don’t know. Not much,” Todd admitted.

“Exactly. Now I know why you’re pushing this socialist agenda so hard. You don’t have shit. That’s why nobody else likes this idea either. Because they don’t want to start supporting other households from the very beginning of this crisis. I agree with Alex here. This pandemic thing isn’t going to last a few weeks. More like a few months, maybe longer. And you want the handouts to start next week? You can still get food at the stores. It’s rationed, but the lines are faster, and each member of your family with a driver’s license can show up once a day. I suggest that everyone take full advantage of this system. There’s just no excuse for anyone having nothing,” Charlie concluded.

Alex put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “You all right, man? I swear, you’re gonna explode.”

“Look, I’ve got four kids at home and—” Todd started.

“You work from home, Todd. The stores open at six a.m. Figure it out!” Charlie said.

Todd moved around the chairs and was restrained by his neighbor, Daniel Lewis.

Thank God.

Eric Bishop stood up and turned around. “Someone needs to slap a muzzle on him,” Eric said, indicating Alex, as his wife nodded in agreement.

“What's your problem today, Eric?” Alex asked, and the entire crowd went silent.

“What do you mean, what’s my problem? You and your friend came here with the wrong attitude. This whole meeting was put together so we could help each other. Todd’s idea is just as valid as anyone else’s.”

“Great, another communist with nothing to throw into the pile but empty hands,” Charlie yelled.

Great. How did I suddenly become this guy’s champion?

“Charlie, you gotta take it easy. Okay?” Alex whispered to him.

Charlie actually looked composed compared to Todd, Eric, and several other jeering neighbors. He appeared at ease with the confrontation, which frightened Alex for a couple of reasons: Charlie was either slightly sociopathic, or he was carrying a weapon. Neither possibility comforted him.

I need to defuse this ASAP.

“If you’re not here to help, then get the hell out of here,” Tom Hodges said.

Mark and Beverly Silva edged away from Tom and Vicki, as Mike Lynch echoed Tom’s sentiment. He saw Charlie stiffen.

This is getting ugly.

“Take it easy, guys,” Alex cautioned, passing glances at Tom and Eric. “I happen to strongly agree with them. I don’t want anyone else shopping at my house for food or supplies. I can tell you right now it won’t work. I didn’t exactly see a lot of enthusiastic faces when Nicki described the idea. Nobody wants to put an inventory of their house out there. I sure as hell don’t. So don’t get pissed at Charlie. He said exactly what most of us were thinking.”

“Maybe we should just forget about helping each other at all. You don’t sound like much of a team player, Alex,” Eric said.

“I’m willing to help out, but we’re all dealing with a very unique set of circumstances. When the power goes out after a nasty spring storm, I have no problem opening my house to all of you. Everyone here knows that. We’ve all done last minute babysitting for each other. This is going to be very different, and I think we all need to get a grip on that.”

Shut up, please.

“I guess I’m not getting it,” Andrew Greene said in a hostile tone.

Alex guessed that Andrew was also part of what appeared to be a growing faction of disgruntled neighbors from the northern loop of Durham Road. The Greens lived next door to the Bartletts’ house, and just a few houses down from the Burtons’, smack in the middle of what Charlie might now call the socialist side of Durham Road. He was not surprised at how quickly the neighborhood had become polarized at the meeting. Each side of the loop tended to band together at social events, and even the kids’ interaction was loosely bound by the north/south polarization of the neighborhood. The neighborhood was no longer than one third of a mile, end to end, and there still existed a wide separation. What surprised Alex was how quickly animosity rose to the surface at this meeting.

Deep down, he really didn’t care how the meeting went. His only goal was to keep his family alive and intact. He hadn’t lied when he said that he was willing to help the neighborhood. His assistance would be guided by his own rules of engagement, and the first overriding rule was that he wouldn’t let anything jeopardize his family’s safety. Keeping most of his neighbors placated for now might be an important part of this strategy.

“I can answer your question, but first, let me say that I really meant what I said about helping. We all probably have something to offer. As most of you know, I work…rather, worked for Biosphere pharmaceuticals, the company that makes TerraFlu, an anti-viral similar to Tamiflu. When I left the company, I managed to retain about twenty courses of therapy, which is enough for twenty people. I would be more than happy to relinquish these into a communal pool, and then as people get sick, they can be treated,” he said, mentally redoing the math.

28 to give out. Gave 12 to the Murrays. 16. Close enough.

“If anyone gets sick,” Andrew said.

“Which brings me back to answering your question. We all need to get a solid grip on the fact that some of you, maybe many of you, are going to get sick. Especially if you put some of these ideas into play,” Alex said, and the group erupted into a verbal geyser of doubt and anger, all directed at Alex.

“Hey, hey…let Alex finish,” Ed yelled.

“Yeah, I want to hear the rest of this,” Michelle Hayes called out.

The group calmed down, and Alex continued, though he seriously considered just walking away. He wasn’t sure if he was helping or hurting his situation.

“Don’t shoot the messenger. My point is that the only way to guarantee that you won’t catch the flu is to quarantine your entire family. That means zero, or at a minimum, very controlled contact with anyone outside of your family. That’s really the only way.

“So, am I going to put my name down on the daycare list? No. Am I going to volunteer to drive potentially infected people to the hospital? No. Am I willing to be part of a neighborhood crime patrol when police service is no longer available? Sure. You all need to start thinking like this, or the flu is going to spread through the neighborhood like wildfire.”

Eric and Stephanie Bishop were both shaking their heads, with disgusted looks on their faces. Alex made a quick mental assessment of the scene, dividing the group into two factions: those that thought he was an asshole, and those that either didn’t know what to think or seemed to support his ideas.

Right away, he put Todd Perry, the Bishops, the Hodges, Mike Lynch, Nicki Bartlett, Laura Burton, and Andrew Green in the hostile group. He left the Quinns out of the group, based on Sarah Quinn’s reaction to the food sharing idea, and the fact that she didn’t react either way to his last comments. Ed Walker, the Silvas, Charlie Thornton, the Coopers, and Michelle Hayes fell into the second group.

As he continued to scan the faces, he put Peter Brady and Michael McCarthy into the hostile group. They were standing side by side, with loathsome faces, talking to each other and glancing up at Alex while shaking their heads. Mary Thompson and Jamie McDaniels appeared to be quietly arguing with each other. Alex couldn’t make a determination one way or the other about either of them.

Todd calmly stepped around the chairs and approached Alex as the group continued to disintegrate into a chaotic mutter-fest. Todd’s face was no longer swollen red, but Alex could tell by his bearing that Todd was about to get something important off his chest. Most of the driveway went silent in anticipation.

“Let me handle this, Charlie,” he whispered to his left as Ed put a hand on his shoulder.

Todd stopped about ten feet in front of him. “You know, Alex, you really surprised me today.”

“Not me,” Eric Bishop said.

What is Eric’s problem with me?

“I used to think you were a stand-up guy. All that talk about the marines, band of brothers, looking out for the guy next to you. I guess that was all just a bunch of crap. I’m starting to put together a pretty clear picture of your situation. Put in a wood burning stove and some solar panels recently…extra oil tank. You’re not worried about a thing. You don’t need anything from any of us. I see exactly what kind of guy you are now. I guess my only question is: why the hell did you show up to this meeting in the first place?”

Todd stood his ground with his hands on his hips, awaiting a response. Alex sensed that everyone else was waiting for his response as well. Most of the adults were standing in a loose perimeter around the current epicenter of controversy.

“I’m starting to ask myself the same question, though I have managed to accomplish one important task. I’ve identified the belligerent assholes on the block,” Alex said, letting his rising anger get the better of him.

Todd took a few steps forward, and Daniel Lewis put a hand on his shoulder, attempting to defuse his lack of self-control.

“Well, my offer still stands. Sarah, I’ll bring the anti-virals over to your house later this afternoon. You can all figure out how you want to distribute them. I’ll catch you later, Ed. Derek. Jamie, give me a call when you get home. It’s important. Charlie,” Alex said, nodding to them as he started to walk toward the end of the driveway.

They all acknowledged him with various gestures and quiet responses.

“I wonder how much you’re keeping for yourself,” Todd grumbled.

“You just don’t quit, do you?” Alex said, turning around to face Todd.

This guy needs a warning.

“I guess not. I don’t turn my back on friends, like some of us,” Todd said in a strained voice that betrayed an underlying fear of the situation.

“Well, that can be a positive quality in the right situation,” Alex said lightly, taking a few steps toward Todd. “Oh, Nicki, could you do me a favor and put me on the security roster? Especially if we need any heavily armed patrols. You know, if looters become an issue. Thanks.” He turned to leave.

“That asshole’s threatening us? I don’t believe it,” he heard someone whisper.

You’re damned right I am.

Alex heard Charlie call out to him.

Here’s the real powder keg.

“Alex,” he called again, and Alex turned his head while continuing to walk.

“What’s up, Charlie?” he asked, as Charlie closed the gap.

“That was a nice finishing touch.”

“We’ll see. I don’t have a good feeling about Todd. I think he’s going to need more than a veiled threat,” Alex said.

“You might be right. I should have said the same thing. I know that fucker has it in for me, too.”

“Well, you called it like most of us saw it.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry to have gotten you involved in that little fiasco over there. Looks like half the neighborhood hates us,” Charlie said, and Alex sensed that Charlie just might be happy about his new outlaw status in the neighborhood.

“Yeah, I’m a little surprised that so many people rallied against me. Jesus. I’m not making any of this up. If they execute their little daycare plan, the neighborhood is screwed. How are you guys set? It sounds like you’ve been doing some prep work,” Alex said, as they passed Todd’s house.

“Pretty good, I guess. You’re probably the expert. We have at least two months of those Meals Ready to Eat…MREs, and freeze-dried meals. I couldn’t believe these were still on the shelves. I guess no one thought about it at first. Now you can’t find that stuff anywhere. Other than that, we have a bunch of dried stuff, like rice, beans, and nuts, a good amount of canned food, some jugs of water. I can melt snow if I have to. I have a bunch of those water purification tablets, from our deep woods hunting trips. Propane stove, plenty of firewood. I thought you were nuts putting in that solar panel system, but now it looks like a pretty damn good idea.”

“Yeah, it’s something we wanted to do for quite a while. For more than one reason,” Alex said.

“Like sticking it to the power company?”

“In a sense. Unfortunately, it’ll take another fifteen or twenty years for this system to pay for itself. But that’s definitely part of it,” Alex agreed, as they passed the Walkers’ house.

Charlie looked up at Ed’s house. “Ed seems like a good guy. How are they set for this thing?”

“All right, I suppose. Ed’s biggest challenge will be keeping his distance from the rest of the neighborhood. Ed understands the gravity of the situation better than most around here, but he’s not far enough along yet for me to say he’s good to go. He’s too nice. The best advice I can give you, Charlie, is to steer clear of the neighbors. If you have to interact, keep your distance, and for God’s sake, don’t provoke anyone. You and I both could use some help with that one.”

“For a minute there, I wasn’t sure if you were the pot or the kettle,” Charlie said.

Alex laughed, and Charlie joined him.

I think I was wrong about this guy.

Alex and Charlie stood at the foot of the Fletchers’ driveway.

“I’d shake your hand Alex, but…”

“Unfortunately, that’s exactly how we all need to start thinking. I’d definitely steer clear of the McDaniels. Jamie said her husband Matt couldn’t make it to the little soirée today because he’s sick. He’s head honcho for one of the Portland high schools, so who knows? Hopefully, he’s got a bad cold or a case of the seasonal flu. But with his proximity to the schools, I wouldn’t take any chances. Jamie didn’t look that great either,” Alex said.

“I noticed. Sniffling, coughing, and shivering with that winter jacket and hat. Do you really think it’s going to hit the neighborhood hard?” he asked.

Once again, Alex got a weird sense that Charlie might actually want the flu to break out in the neighborhood.

“If it’s already in the schools, we’ll definitely see cases in the neighborhood. If people keep going to work? If they implement that stupid-ass plan to pass kids around among all the houses? It’s going to rage through the neighborhood like a wildfire,” Alex said.

“Friday was the last day of school for the Thornton clan. For everyone, I guess. I wish I had pulled them sooner. Is there any way to tell if they’ve already got the virus from someone at school?”

“If they show any flu-like symptoms, you could start them on anti-virals and take them to the hospital. Better now than later. At this point they can still get adequate care and treatment. In a week or two? Forget it. I can give you a few anti-viral treatment courses if they show any symptoms. Just keep it quiet, okay?” Alex said, wondering if it was a good idea to promise those to him.

I can use all the allies I can find or make.

“Thanks, Alex, that means a lot to me. If you need anything, don’t hesitate. We should keep an eye out for each other. Never know what’s going to happen around here. I have the ability to reach out and touch somebody, if you catch my drift. How about you?” he said, obviously referring to his hunting rifles.

“I’m set in that department,” Alex replied, ending the topic.

“Good to hear that. Hey, I’ll catch you later. Let me know if you hear anything,” Charlie said and started to walk down the block.

“You too, man.”

He walked up his driveway and looked down the street toward the Quinns’ before stepping into the garage. He closed the garage bay and squeezed by the 4Runner to get to the mudroom door.

Why does she park so far in?

He wouldn’t say anything to Kate about her parking job because he knew what her response would be: “Why don’t you walk around the back of the truck?” He opened the mudroom door and walked into the house.

“Kate?” he called, loudly enough to be heard throughout the first floor.

“In the great room,” she responded.

Alex removed his shoes and stacked them in the mudroom closet, hung his coat up on a row of hooks next to the door, and stuffed his hat in one of the pockets of the coat. He smelled freshly brewed coffee.

“Coffee? That’s a treat in the afternoon,” he commented, walking into the kitchen.

He heard Kate shuffling through the great room. She appeared, dressed in a thick gray turtleneck sweater and faded jeans.

“Yeah, I started to feel a bit chilly and sleepy, so I thought I’d brew up some of that Bolivian coffee your doctor friend gave to you. I figured you could use some, too, after standing out there. How did it go?”

“Well, the rest of the group is still out there,” he said, pouring coffee into an oversized blue mug and giving her an odd look.

“That well?” she asked, putting her mug down on the island.

He backed up from the coffee pot and took a seat on a black kitchen stool. He leaned into the backrest and took a sip of straight black coffee. “Well, it certainly could have gone better. I’m not sure how to describe the scene, but there is a definite divide between the other side of Durham and our side. Todd Perry is a nutcase, that’s confirmed. He’s gonna be a problem. He was pushing for everyone to disclose how much food they have on hand. Basic supplies, too. Apparently, he doesn’t have jack squat, and he was trying to institute a system of sharing food, I think. Anyway, a couple of people calmly voiced their concerns about this idea, and Charlie Thornton came at the idea with guns ablazin’…”

“That nutcase?”

“You know, I think Charlie might be all right. A little unstable, but he really seems to understand what’s going on with the pandemic. He says he’s all set at his house. Food, supplies, everything. We had a nice little chat on the way back, since we were both sort of kicked out of the meeting.”

“Are you serious? They kicked you out?” Kate exclaimed.

“Not really, but it was clearly time for me to go. Anyway, Charlie accused Todd of being a self-interested communist…or socialist. Either way, this really set off Team Hostile, which includes, but doesn’t appear to be limited to the Bishops, who seem to hate me for some reason, Mike Lynch, Andrew Greene, Laura Burton, and the, uh…Hodges up at the top of the street. None of them really cared for my ideas, so we’ll have to keep a close eye on these people as the situation deteriorates. Especially Todd. I think Mary Thompson hates me too now.”

“Sounds great,” Kate said sarcastically. “Anything in particular you said to upset everyone?”

“Well, I didn’t like the food disclosure idea, and I made that very clear. Though I have to say that a majority of the group didn’t seem too keen about sharing food either. Todd and the Bishops were all fired up about it. Other than that, I told the group that if they didn’t all stay away from each other, then the flu was going to run unchecked through the neighborhood and kill a bunch of people. Nobody really liked that. This really hits the spot, honey. Thank you,” he said, taking another sip.

“Did you tell the group that we are off limits here at the house?” she asked him.

“Pretty much. That was part of the ‘stay away from each other’ speech. One of the big ideas forwarded by the pandemic committee was to organize a neighborhood daycare system. And a volunteer roster to drive sick people to the hospital if the family can’t do it. I told them that these ideas were the quickest way to ensure that the neighborhood did not survive the pandemic. This was not received well. Oh, and I’m pretty sure that the McDaniels’ house is infected with the flu,” Alex informed her.

“What? How do you know that? Is Jamie sick?” she asked, sounding slightly frantic.

“No…well maybe. Matt is definitely sick with something. Sounds a lot like the flu. It could be anything really.”

“Yeah, but with their exposure to the school systems? I wouldn’t take any chances,” she emphasized.

“Well, it’s not like we hang out with them.”

The phone rang, and Kate walked over to the kitchen desk to pick it up, and checked the caller ID.

“Matthew McDaniels?” she asked.

“That might be Jamie.”

This should be interesting.

“Why would she be calling?”

“I told her to give me a call. I wanted to convince her to take her husband in to be seen.”

He knew that his response wouldn’t quell Kate’s instinctual suspicion of any attractive woman that interacted on any level with him. Jamie was probably at the top of Kate’s list, simply due to her proximity in the neighborhood.

“Hello? Hold on, he’s right here,” she said, still maintaining a suspicious look.

“Thanks, honey, now can you give us some privacy?” he asked, covering up the phone’s mouthpiece.

At the frowning look from Kate, he assured her, “Just kidding,” and then, “Hey, Jamie, thanks for calling,” into the phone.

“Sure, Alex. God, I’ve never seen people act like that before. I almost got into a shouting match with Mary Thompson. I wouldn’t count on getting a Christmas card from her,” she said.

“Yeah, I saw the two of you going at it. What’s her deal?” he asked.

Kate, who didn’t seem interested in the conversation any longer, retreated to the great room, grabbed her iPad, and sat in the leather lounge chair to the left of the wood-burning stove.

“I really don’t know. She asked me if I could believe what you were saying, about not helping each other out with food. I told her I completely agreed with you, and she started into me. Really weird,” she said and broke into a cough.

He cringed at the sound and momentarily pulled the phone away from his face, as if he could catch the flu through it. “Hey, Jamie, the reason I wanted you to call is that I’m worried about Matt, and maybe you. You said Matt was pretty sick, right?”

“Yeah, it really hit him this morning. He woke up sweating and could barely get out of bed. He felt really hot, and I could tell he was really congested. He’s been on the couch most of the day,” she said, alarmed.

“Is he coughing much?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, that’s what woke us up so early.”

“Jamie, I think you need to take him to the ER and have him tested for the Jakarta flu. The hospitals aren’t slammed yet, and if he has it and you catch it early, he should be fine.”

“Do you really think he might have it? Oh my God, I don’t…I’m not sure if I can take him in today. I have the kids home, and I’d…”

“Jamie, you should all go in and get tested. You don’t sound so great either, and if both of you have it, there’s a good chance your kids might have been exposed. The earlier you catch this thing the better. This may sound weird, but if you’re going to get infected, then it’s better to get infected now, while the hospitals can provide the right services. Seriously, you should all hop in the car and head over to the Maine Medical Center. Pack an overnight bag for your husband.”

“Really? I mean he was fine last night. I kind of feel like we’d be jumping the gun. Don’t you think?”

“Jamie, you can’t be too cautious with this flu strain. It’s killing people, lots of people. Some within twenty-four to forty-eight hours. You don’t want to wait around,” he advised.

“All right. I’ll, uh…I’ll talk to Matt about it. I don’t know about taking the kids. That might be a little too much for them. I might make an appointment with their pediatrician for tomorrow,” she said, and Alex could sense the hesitation.

“Your pediatrician might not have the field test yet. They’ll probably send you over to Maine Med, or tell you to go home and call if symptoms develop. You’re probably better off all going together…hey, Jamie, I have Ed buzzing through. Think about what I said. You really need to go sooner than later. No later than tomorrow morning. Seriously,” he said.

“All right, I’ll see,” she said, and the line went dead.

He switched over to Ed. “Hey, Ed,” he said, and the phone beeped.

Another call.

The caller ID read “Paul Cooper.”

Christ. My own little sewing circle.

Chapter Twenty

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Alex was working in his yard, pruning a large oval-shaped flower bed to the left of the brick patio. So far this afternoon, he had stuffed three large brown yard bags with dead perennial clippings and leaves. He still had two more flower beds to cut back, which would keep him busy until the sun started to dip below the trees.

He pulled his brown knit cap down tighter on his head and continued to cut away at the dry branches. The temperature dropped rapidly as the sun sunk lower in the sky, and a southerly wind picked up. He considered going inside for a warmer jacket, and his hands were starting to chill through the thick leather garden gloves. He grabbed the pile of leaves he had collected and stuffed them into a half-filled bag. Just as he finished, his smartphone rang, and he fished it out of his pocket. He wasn’t familiar with the number, but he could tell it was a Scarborough prefix.

“Alex Fletcher,” he answered.

“Hey, Alex, it’s Ed. Kate gave me your cell number.”

Alex looked up at the Walkers’ house and saw Ed opening the sliding door to the deck. He waved to him and signaled with his hand for Ed to come over.

“Come on over, Ed. I’m not that paranoid. Unless you don’t want to be seen in public with me, of course, which I can understand,” Alex said.

“I don’t care what any of those assholes think. My wife just got a call from Jamie across the street, and I don’t want her to see me scooting over to your house. Jamie just asked Sam if we’d watch the kids while she took her husband over to the ER. I guess he’s having serious trouble breathing, and she’s really freaked out. She sounded like shit too. I told Sam to tell her we’d call back in a few minutes. Alex, I really don’t want to take the risk, but I feel like a real asshole not helping her out,” he said.

Alex paused for a moment to consider his response.

I guess it doesn’t matter how I phrase this. The answer is the same.

“Ed, please don’t consider watching her kids. Odds are very high that all four of them are infected. I told her Sunday to take the entire family in to get tested, and she blew it off. She needs to take all of them to the ER. All of them. You can tell her I said so, I don’t care. I’ll call her myself if you want,” Alex said, walking over to Ed’s house.

He hung up the phone and continued walking over to Ed’s deck. Ed put the phone back inside and stepped out again.

“Jesus, it’s cold out,” he complained, folding his arms. “No, I’ll call her back, but Sam seems to be considering the idea.”

“The whole thing is a bad idea. If she’s sick with the flu, they’re not going to just let her drop off her husband and hang around for a while. As soon as they see she’s coughing and wheezing, they’ll put her in a hospital bed too, if they have any to spare. They certainly won’t let her hang around the hospital if she’s an infection risk.

“According to the news, DHS just authorized active risk reduction measures, which means that they might simply detain her so she can’t go back into the community and spread the flu. You could be stuck with the kids indefinitely, which would be fine if they weren’t likely sick themselves. She needs to take them all in to be tested. I’ll call her and explain it,” Alex said.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll take care of it. This really sucks,” Ed said.

“I agree, but this is how it spreads. It’s going to get worse around here, and the decisions are going to get tougher. Did Jamie even mention the conversation I had with her on Sunday?” Alex asked.

“No, but she told Sam that she didn’t think you guys would help, and that we were her last hope since they don’t have any family around. Threw a guilt grenade on us.”

“Yeah, well, that won’t be the last one. Stand by for a few tactical nuclear guilt bombs. I look at this whole situation as a military operation. The main objective is to keep the Fletchers’ safe from harm, in whatever form it takes. The flu, crazy neighbors, whatever…”

“Is this a long speech, General Patton? I’m freezing out here,” Ed said.

“You better get in before you freeze your tits off. Your lips are turning blue.”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know how it goes,” Ed said, grabbing the handle on the sliding door.

“Good luck, man.” Alex saluted Ed and walked back to his yard.

**

Alex saw the McDaniels’ Volvo station wagon back down their driveway and turn toward Harrison Road. As it headed down the street, he got up from the computer and walked to the office window, watching down the street as the station wagon approached the Durham Road fork. Instead of turning left and heading directly toward Harrison Road, the car continued around the loop.

He kept track of the car’s headlights as they disappeared behind houses on the other side of the loop and suddenly reappeared. He caught the lights passing the McKinneys’ house, and then they quickly vanished behind the edge of the Cohens’ stockade fence. He quickly moved to the far left edge of the window to see if the car passed the Cohens’ house. There was only a sliver of space between the other side of the Cohens’ fence and the Sheppards’ house. He didn’t see the lights pass. He waited a few more seconds, then shifted to the right side of the window to check the visible stretch of road between the Santos and Barton houses.

Nothing.

He calculated that the Bartletts lived right across from the Cohens and figured that the Bartletts’ house must be the car’s destination.

Jesus, she’s dropping them off with Nicki.

He thought about how she had probably ended up at the Bartletts’. She’d probably called Nicki to check and see if there were any volunteers to watch the kids, and as one of the neighborhood “leaders,” Nicki would have stepped up to set the example for the rest of the neighborhood. He grabbed the phone from the desk and dialed Ed’s number.

“Hey, Sam, it’s Alex, is Ed there?”

“Let me see if I can pry him away from the window. I assume that’s why you’re calling?” she asked.

“Guilty. The McDaniels just took off. I was hoping they were all going to the hospital, but it looks like they made a stop on the other side of the block,” he said.

“Well, I wish we could have helped them, but I’m beginning to think you’re right about all this. I’ve seen a few lawyers and staff around the office that look and sound really sick. I’m really starting to get paranoid. I’m thinking about calling in sick for next week. Diarrhea sound good to you?” she asked, laughing.

“Never fails. I’m telling you, it’s the most underestimated illness out there. You won’t even have to finish the sentence. Start to describe the contents of the toilet bowl and wham, end of discussion. Take as much time off as you need. At this point, you could probably just use the words ‘flu-like symptoms’ and nobody will question your decision to stay home. According to the evening news, absenteeism is on the rise in Maine.”

“I can imagine. Anyway, here’s the other peeping tom. Take care, Alex. Say hi to Kate.”

“Sure thing, Sam.”

“Hey, Alex. Did you see where Jamie went?” Ed asked.

“I’m pretty sure it was the Bartletts’. I saw the car pass the McKinney’s, which eliminates the Green’s, and I’m pretty sure it didn’t get past the Cohens’…”

“It didn’t. I can fully see the Bishops’ house, and she didn’t land there either,” he said.

“Definitely disappeared behind the Cohens’, at Nicki’s house. Unbelievable. What is she thinking?”

“Who, Jamie or Nicki?”

“Either of them,” Alex replied.

“Well, Jamie was pretty upset, but said that she understood why we couldn’t help…”

“But she went ahead and pawned her kids off on another family?” Alex snorted.

“She said they weren’t symptomatic, and she didn’t want to risk bringing them to the hospital. She thought the state might yank the kids right out of the hospital if she was infected too,” Ed said.

“She might be right. I really didn’t think of that,” Alex conceded.

“Me either. It’s a shitty situation for them.”

“Yeah, and it’ll probably get shittier.”

“Way shittier.”

**

Alex sat at the computer in the great room. He’d finally gotten an email response from Dr. Wright, almost a full week after he left him both a voicemail and an email, digging for any more inside information. According to the email, Dr. Wright had been contacted by Biosphere Pharmaceuticals to confirm Alex’s transaction, which probably explained why he hadn’t heard a word from Biosphere. The fact that he had been attacked on his own front lawn likely also had something to do with Biosphere’s silence.

Dr. Wright explained that the situation in Maine was fast approaching the breaking point, with a large percentage of available hospital beds unavailable to new cases. Local area hospitals had canceled nearly all elective and non-critical surgeries to make room for the swiftly rising number of flu cases. Alex wondered about the McDaniels, who had left for the hospital earlier in the evening. Dr. Wright’s email was terse and filled with spelling errors, giving him the impression that he was exhausted and overwhelmed.

Mike Gallagher had left him an email announcing his family’s arrival in New Hampshire at Colleen’s parents’ house. He’d finally met Ted at the storage locker, two days after abandoning his Biosphere post down in Andover. Ted had arrived alone and hadn’t mentioned searching Mike’s house. Overall, Mike said that the closeout was painless and cordial.

He got up from the computer and decided to work on an idea that formed when he’d seen Jamie’s car stop at the Bartletts’ house. As he watched the car pull around to the other side of the block and realized the implications of Jamie’s decision, he came up with the idea to create a way to track what was happening on the block. He pulled a piece of white poster board from the office closet and drew a rough sketch of the Durham Road loop. The schematic representation of the loop extended from one side of the poster board to the other, and he intended to graphically represent each house with a square. He would then put as much information as possible about each household next to the respective square.

The idea was a product of Alex’s military experience. He now considered the neighborhood to be his primary area of operation, and he wanted to gather as much intelligence about the neighborhood as possible. He waited a few minutes for his son to walk up the stairs and use the bathroom. After he heard the toilet flush and the door to Ryan’s room shut, he headed up to the office to retrieve the poster board and brought it back down to the kitchen island to lay it on a flat surface.

Using a retractable pencil, he drew each house and labeled each with their street number and family name. He drew a line for each member of the household; he’d add individual names later. The first round of information that he put on his new “intel board” was a circled letter “S” above each house that had sent kids to school. He’d add to this as he gathered information regarding daycare.

He then filled in the names of the McDaniel family. Next to Matt McDaniel he wrote “hospitalized with flu.”

A guess, but a pretty solid one.

Beside Jamie’s name, he also wrote “hospitalized with flu.” He hadn’t seen their car return, though he admitted that she could have easily slipped back in without him noticing while they were watching the television. Next to the children, Amanda and Katherine, he wrote “direct exposure to flu.” He circled the kids’ names and drew a line to the Bartletts’ house, putting a note above the Bartletts’ house next to the “S,” “Both McDaniel kids dropped off Nov 6th.”

He then took a packet of markers from the kitchen desk and pulled out a green, a red, and a yellow marker. He put a red dot above the houses he strongly suspected of being hostile towards him and did the same for the “friendlies”, but used green. Any unknown households got a yellow dot. Within the span of five minutes, Alex had developed a workable threat matrix. Finally, he circled the houses that were empty, which included the Cohens’ and Murrays’. He scanned the poster one more time, nodding his head in satisfaction. He contemplated Kate’s reaction to his poster and stifled a laugh.

Crazy and bored is what she’ll say…and she won’t be too far off the mark.

Chapter Twenty-One

Friday, November 15, 2013

From the master bathroom, Alex heard the home phone start to ring. The ring was cut short, leading him to believe someone in the house had answered the call. He folded the towel he used and threw it up over the steam-covered glass shower door. He put on blue and gray striped boxer shorts and stood up straight in front of the body-length mirror, turned a few times, examining different angles, and concluded that he still didn’t look bad for forty-two years old. His eyes were drawn to the loosely patterned deep scar tissue spread along the left side of his chest and abdomen. He stared at the scarring for a few more seconds and shook himself free of a heavy thought.

He stepped on the scale, satisfied with the fact that nothing had changed since yesterday. The scale scraped the floor when he stepped off, creating a sound that could be heard in the hallway outside of the bathroom.

“Still weigh the same?” Kate asked from the other side of the door.

“What? Are you spying on me?” he asked, pulling on his jeans.

“Yeah, I don’t have anything better to do. Ed’s on the line, he said that Matt McDaniel died yesterday,” she said, lowering her voice for the last part of the sentence.

“Hold on,” he said, rushing to get dressed..

He opened the door and saw Kate standing by the couch, talking on the phone. “What happened?”

“Ed can fill you in. Looks like it’s starting to rain. You were smart to get Ryan up for an early run,” she said, handing him the phone.

He took the phone, and Kate left the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

“What happened, man?”

“I just heard it from John next door. He was leaving for work when Todd flagged him down in the driveway. Todd told him that Matt died late Wednesday night,” he said, sounding exasperated.

“What about Jamie?”

“She’s in ICU. Confirmed Jakarta flu. From what Nicki told Todd, she’s not doing great, but they consider her to be stable. It sounds like her husband died from the acute syndrome,” Ed said.

“Yeah, from what you told me Tuesday, he had advanced ARDS symptoms. Respiratory issues usually come later as a complication of the flu. Jesus.”

“What a mess,” Ed said.

“Yeah, and it’s going to get messier. So, what’s going on with Jamie’s kids? Are they sick yet?” Alex asked.

“I didn’t hear anything about that, but John said that they were over at the Bishops’ for a few days. Nobody knows when Jamie will be able to return home.”

“It really depends on how severe her case turns out to be. If she’s in the ICU and she’s stable, she has a pretty good chance of survival. She could be home in a week, or it could be a month. Either way, she’s going to feel like hell for quite a while. This may sound weird, but she’s lucky she got into the hospital when she did. Looking at the news today, DHS officials estimate that all inpatient services will be slammed shut within two weeks. ISPAC thinks less time than that,” Alex said.

“I saw that. Pretty unbelievable.”

“I don’t think people are taking this seriously enough. The estimated number of confirmed cases in the U.S. is around 90,000, which doesn’t sound bad, but it’s slightly higher than CDC projections. 90,000 will be half a million next week, and then nearly three million the week after that. The case fatality rate worldwide is steady around fourteen percent, mostly from ARDS, but most experts agree that this number will climb as people start dying from complications. Fifteen percent of three million is 450,000. That’s a lot of deaths.”

“Scary. Do you think it’s safe to get more groceries?” Ed asked.

“Yeah, as long as you don’t touch anything with your bare hands and wear a mask. I think they’re still just plopping pre-packed bags in your car and running your credit card. Honestly, it’s probably very low risk, as long as you’re smart about it.”

“What about the actual items?” Ed asked.

“That’s a little trickier. I don’t think you’ll get much produce, but I’d wash it thoroughly if you do. Everything else you could wash in the sink with soap and hot water. Wear gloves and don’t touch your face. Hey, I have plenty of food and supplies over here. Seriously, we’ll take care of you. You don’t have to take any risks,” Alex offered.

“I know. I’d just feel better doing as much as possible until it becomes a necessity.”

“I hear you. Hey, if it comes to it, you could always go deer hunting with Charlie. He said that the conservation land back there is full of deer.”

“We might all need to remember that,” Ed said.

“No kidding. Hey, thanks for the call. I don’t seem to be on the neighborhood distribution list anymore,” Alex said.

“Are your feelings hurt?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll catch you later, Alex.”

“Sounds good, man,” Alex said and hung up.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Saturday, November 16, 2013

What time is it? The phone next to the bed rang. Seven? God damn it. Alex reached over to the phone. He could hear heavy rain hitting the northeast windows of the bedroom. The bedroom was dark for seven a.m., and he could see dark gray skies through the half opened shades on the front windows.

“Who is that?” Kate asked in a groggy and annoyed voice.

“It’s Ed,” he said in a similar voice. “Hello?” he answered.

“Alex, sorry to wake you, but something weird is going on outside. I think you should take a look. Sam was up early in the office and saw Eric Bishop and Todd Perry walk over to the McDaniels’ house. She saw them walk up to the front door and then walk around to the back of the house. What do you think they’re up to?”

“Maybe they’re going to bring something over to Jamie at the hospital, or she asked them to take care of something,” Alex said, standing up to look out of the window at the McDaniel house.

“Yeah, but I have the key to their house. Why wouldn’t she have told them to get it from me? I don’t like this. And why would they both need to be there?” Ed asked.

“I don’t know. Are you thinking about heading over there? Wait. Hey, I can see them at the corner of the garage behind the house. It looks like Todd is trying to shoulder the back door open,” Alex said.

“I’m heading over there to find out what’s going on. I don’t trust those two,” Ed said.

“I’ll be right out,” Alex said.

“Thanks,” Ed said and hung up.

He headed toward the closet.

“What’s going on?” Kate asked, sitting up in bed.

“Nothing, I hope. Todd and Eric Bishop are over at the McDaniels’, and it looks like they’re trying to break in the back garage door. Ed is heading over to see what they’re up to. Maybe you should keep an eye on us out there, just in case. Call the police if something other than a fistfight erupts.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Not really.”

“You’re not taking a gun out there, are you?”

“I can’t imagine that will be necessary,” Alex replied.

“That’s not really an answer,” Kate said.

He looked at her and considered her comment. “No, I’m not. I can handle myself against those two yahoos. Bringing a gun out there would only complicate the situation. The last thing we need is the police in our lives. I’ll be right back,” he said and headed out of the bedroom.

“Be careful,” he heard Kate say.

“As always,” he yelled back, descending the stairs.

Alex reached the mudroom and put on his old black leather combat boots. He grabbed his blue winter Gore-Tex jacket and put it on as he opened the mudroom door. He zipped the jacket all the way up, pulled the hood over his head, and stepped out of the protective cover of the porch. The rain and wind hit him hard as he walked across the driveway, pushing him slightly forward. He saw Ed already across the street, walking up to the McDaniels’ garage. They acknowledged each other, and Alex jogged across to meet him. The rain was now pelting his face from the right. He hoped that this wouldn’t take very long.

“This blows,” Alex said.

“Yeah, it’s pretty miserable. You’re used to this kind of shit, right?” Ed said, smiling.

“Nobody really gets used to this; they just get better at not bitching about it. And I’m almost ten years out of practice,” Alex said, and Ed laughed.

Alex held his index finger to his lips as they approached the corner.

No need to announce our presence.

Before they reached the corner, he leaned in close to Ed. “Be careful. Either one of these guys could have the flu. Don’t get too close,” he whispered, and Ed nodded.

They rounded the corner of the garage together, facing down the length of the garage. The rain was at their backs again, and Alex was relieved. What he saw next dashed any sense of relief. Todd and Eric were standing on the bulkhead door trying to open a window, oblivious to the two of them. Ed stepped forward, Alex trailing him.

These two are definitely up to no good.

As they slowly approached, Eric noticed them and tapped Todd on the shoulder. Todd turned and stepped down from the sloping bulkhead door. Alex resolved to let Ed do most of the talking.

“Hey, I have a key if that would make things easier?”

“That would really help. As a last resort, I was going to bust one of the window panes on the garage door to get in,” Eric said.

Alex kept his hands in his jacket pockets, which he felt was a neutral gesture. The rain hit them in sheets, clearly bothering Eric and Todd, who were facing directly into the onslaught.

“What do you guys need?” Ed asked.

Eric’s eyes darted almost imperceptibly toward Todd. “I wanted to get the kids some new clothes. It looks like they’ll be staying with us a little longer than expected. You heard about Matt, right?”

“Yeah, that’s tough. I hope Jamie recovers quickly, the kids are going to need her,” Ed replied.

“Have you told them yet?” Alex asked.

“No, I’m not sure how to handle it. I think we should wait until Jamie’s home. The girls are worried, but doing okay. She should probably be the one to break the news,” Eric said.

They all nodded, and Todd broke the moment. “Hey, we can talk in the house? I need to get out of this rain.”

Ed took a Patriots keychain with two keys on it out of his pocket, using one of them to open the garage door. They all stepped inside, into the empty bay, which was next to Matt’s dark green Honda Pilot. A faint gasoline smell hit Alex as he stepped into the dusty garage. Eric and Todd moved to the center of the bay, near a large faded oil stain on the concrete deck. Alex and Ed stood in front of a waist-level workbench along the back wall of the garage, next to the door.

Alex pulled back his hood, and Ed did the same, as Eric and Todd stood there wiping the rain from their faces and hair. Todd was wearing a brown waist-length hoodless fall jacket. The material was clearly not waterproof, and he looked miserable. Eric wasn’t faring much better in a black wool pea coat, which must weigh twice its original weight from absorbed rainwater. The pea coat looked thick, which was probably the only reason that Eric wasn’t shivering like Todd. Alex felt fine, aside from his legs, which were cold. The rain had completely soaked his jeans by the time he got to the top of the McDaniels’ driveway.

“That’s better,” Eric said.

“Anyway, I’m going to grab some more clothes and a few personal items. They gave me a list,” he said, pulling it out of his pocket. “I’ll make sure to lock up on the way out. Thanks for opening up for us,” Eric said.

“No problem. I was pretty sure it was you guys. My wife thought she saw you head over, and Alex couldn’t be sure from his house. I’ll stick around to make sure it’s locked up and check on the rest of the house for Jamie,” Ed said.

Here comes the moment of truth.

“We’ll take care of that for you. Take a look around, make sure the windows are shut tight, turn down the thermostat, all that stuff. No reason for all of us to be out on a day like this,” Todd said.

“I feel responsible for the house and letting you guys in. I should be the last one out. I’d feel better that way. You guys can grab the stuff on the list, and I’ll make the rounds.”

“Ed, we can handle it. Really, you’re kind of making us feel like children. I’ll check around, lock up, and give you a call,” Todd said.

“I don’t see what the big deal is. We’re already here. It’ll go faster this way. You guys get the girls’ stuff, and we’ll check out the house. We should all be out of here in five or ten minutes,” Alex said.

“And why are you here?” Eric asked, staring at Alex.

Here comes angry Eric.

“Why is Todd here?” Ed countered.

“Because I asked him to help,” Eric said.

“Same with Alex. Hey, we’re wasting time. Let’s get this going and get out of here,” Ed said.

“Ed, you’re not the one watching her kids. Okay? We’re the only ones that really need to be here,” Eric challenged.

“She gave me this key a few months ago, in case her kids got locked out, or for an emergency. I’d say this qualifies. I don’t see anyone else with a key.”

“And I don’t see anyone here volunteering to watch her kids either,” Eric said, gesturing with his hands to Ed and Alex.

“Her kids know about the key. They didn’t tell you about it?” Ed asked.

“No.”

“How did you end up with the kids, Eric?” Alex asked.

“What do you care?”

“Let’s just cut all of the bullshit. There’s a reason you want us out of here, and it has nothing to do with that supposed list in your hand,” Alex said.

Ed regarded Alex with a surprised but satisfied look. Alex took his hands out of his coat pockets and folded his arms in front of him.

“Fuck you,” Todd said, and Alex flashed him a mock smile.

Eric remained silent, with a look of rage on his face. He crumpled the yellow piece of paper in his hand.

“I’ll tell you what. You guys can get the stuff on that list and check the house. Ed and I will stay here in the garage and lock up when you leave. I’ll wait out in the rain. Doesn’t matter to me, or does that still fuck up your real reason for being here?” Alex asked.

“Look, we’re going to get some more clothes for the girls, and…” Eric paused to look at Todd, who shook his head in response.

“And what?” Ed pressed.

“It’s none of their business, Eric,” Todd said.

“I’m not sure how any of this is yours either,” Ed said, staring at Todd.

“Jesus. Will one of you just come out and say it. You’re taking the food too, right?” Alex said, getting to the point.

“Not all of it…” Eric started.

“You don’t owe them an explanation!” Todd yelled.

“Now it makes sense,” Alex said, pointing at Todd.

“Go fuck yourself, Alex. I’m taking the kids next week,” Todd said.

“And you need to stock up now? Makes sense.” Alex shook his head mockingly.

“Nobody is taking any of the food in this house,” Ed declared.

“It’s only fair that if we’re feeding her kids, then we should be using their food!” Todd yelled indignantly.

“Take it easy,” Alex said.

Todd took a step toward Alex, and Eric put a hand on his shoulder to restrain him. “It’s fine, Todd, don’t let him push your buttons. That’s what you’re really good at, isn’t it? Pushing buttons?” Eric directed at Alex.

“Only when they need to be pushed,” Alex replied.

“I know you think you’re the shit around here. Tough guy marine. Decorated veteran. All that meaningless crap you and your wife have pushed on us over the past eight years. You may have impressed the rest, but your nonsense never worked with me or my wife,” Eric said.

“I’m sorry, did I just land in the middle of a different planet? What are you talking about, Eric?”

“You may not have ever said anything directly, but you’ve made it pretty clear that you think you’re better than the rest of us. Clear to me at least. You had most of us fooled until Sunday, when your true colors showed,” Eric said.

“Turned out to be a gutless loser,” Todd taunted.

Alex could feel his own blood rising and figured that the two of them could probably see that his face was reddening.

I need to redirect this.

“Hey, if you’re watching the kids, you shouldn’t have to dig into your own supplies to feed them. Do you agree, Ed?”

“Barely, but I’m listening,” Ed replied, staring intently at Todd.

“So what I propose is that you grab all of the stuff on that list, and then together, we’ll figure out how much food you should take.”

“Who the fuck are you to tell me my business!” Todd yelled.

“Exactly, I’m not having you guys stand over my shoulder like a prison guard,” Eric said.

“Then get out of here,” Ed advised.

“You’d just be screwing over the kids by kicking us out of here,” Eric said, and Todd sighed agreement.

“Pathetic,” Alex said.

Todd lunged for Alex, who stepped aside and turned his body with Todd’s motion, sending Todd toward the workbench behind him. Sent off balance, Todd stumbled full speed into the workbench with his hands and arms extended, which luckily absorbed some of the impact. Despite the cushion of limbs, his chest hit the edge of the bench hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He slumped to the garage floor, looking up at Alex, straining to breathe. Eric remained frozen in the middle of the garage, and Ed stepped clear of the potential melee zone.

“Do not try that again!” Alex warned, pointing at Todd.

“Here’s the deal. Eric, you get the girls’ stuff, and Todd will cool his jets down here in the garage. Ed, why don’t you put together some food for the girls? Find a suitcase or an athletic bag, something big enough to fill with plenty of food. The girls can carry it around with them until Jamie gets back, and we can refill the bag as needed,” Alex suggested, moving out of Todd’s immediate striking distance.

Eric nodded at Alex, still dazed by the sudden violence. “You okay?” he asked, walking over to Todd.

“He’s fine. He just lost his wind,” Alex said forcefully.

Eric stopped and backed up slowly into the Honda Pilot, which startled him and moved him into action. He scurried around the SUV and opened the door to the house. Ed began to move in the same direction.

“Nice one,” he said, looking down at Todd, who was still taking shallow breaths of air and staring intensely at Alex.

“I’ll deliver the food to the girls myself. I don’t trust these heroes,” Ed said, skirting around the back of the SUV to follow Eric.

“Hey, you should put together a package for the Bartletts, too. These guys couldn’t have gone about this any worse, but I see their point about feeding Jamie’s kids,” Alex said.

“Sounds fair, but I don’t want to totally deplete Jamie’s supply. She’s going to need it for all of them when she gets back.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Alex said, and Ed nodded over the hood of the SUV, then disappeared into the house, leaving the door wide open. Alex turned around to face Todd.

“I’m sure you have a few ideas swimming around in your head, and I can assure you that none of them are healthy for you right now.”

Todd appeared to be breathing more easily, sitting with his back against a large green plastic bin stored under the workbench. Several tools lay in disarray on top of the workbench, knocked loose from their places on the pegboard behind the bench. Alex eyed a few of the tools warily, especially the hammer and a two-foot-long metal ruler.

I need to keep his hands from finding those.

Several minutes passed in complete silence between Alex and Todd, punctuated only by the occasional sound of rummaging in the house or sudden sheets of rain slamming into the sides of the garage. Todd finally stood up and dusted himself off, still glaring at him. Alex may have appeared relaxed and aloof to Todd, but inside, he was anything but calm. Until Todd moved away from the potential weapons on the workbench, Alex would keep his mind and body on high alert. As Todd beamed hatred at him, he struggled to keep his breathing under control as his heart raced.

Todd moved away from the workbench, never looking at it, and resumed his original position near the center of the garage. Alex felt his body loosen and stepped over to the bench, leaning his back against the same edge that had taken Todd to the floor, effectively blocking Todd’s view of the hammer and metal ruler. He heard something solid strike the floor in the mudroom and leaned forward to look through the doorway. He saw Ed moving around the mudroom, and Eric walked past him and into the garage.

“I have everything. Let’s go,” Eric said, holding a large pink nylon duffel bag.

“Are either of the girls sick yet?” Alex asked.

“Why would you care?”

“Asshole,” Todd added.

“You two still don’t get it, do you?” Alex sighed.

“Get what?” Todd said, as they both moved to the garage door.

“That their dad died from the Jakarta flu and their mother is in the ICU, that the two of them are very likely infected, and they need to be taken to the hospital and tested immediately for the flu. You’re fucking crazy keeping them at your house. They’ll infect everyone,” Alex warned.

“They’re fine. We’ve been watching them off and on all week, and even the Bartletts said they’ve been symptom free. Hey, someone has to take care of them. Certainly isn’t going to be one of you two shit bags,” Eric said, grinning at his own jab.

“Fucking losers,” Todd muttered.

“Shut up, Todd. Hey, are you still planning to take your turn watching the kids, or will you take a pass now that your free buffet ticket’s been revoked?” Alex asked, watching Eric closely for a reaction.

Eric looked to Todd for a response. Todd opened the door, letting in a wave of rain that poured into the garage, soaking the floor and the end of the workbench closest to the door.

“I’m done with these assholes,” Todd insisted.

“Good luck, Eric. Looks like the Good Samaritan is even more full of shit than you,” Alex yelled.

Eric looked torn, almost confused, as if the possibility of being stuck with Jamie’s kids indefinitely had never crossed his mind. Ed stepped around the front of the SUV on the other side of the garage, pulling a medium-sized red suitcase with one hand and holding two stuffed plastic Target bags in the other. Everyone focused their attention on Ed.

“Eric, I’ll drop this off a little later. The suitcase is for the girls. One of these bags is for you and your family, to offset any food you’ve shared with the girls, and the other is for the Bartletts. How long have they been at your house?” Ed asked.

“Since yesterday morning,” Eric replied.

“Well, this might be a lot for just one day, but I know Jamie really appreciates what you’re doing,” Ed said.

Eric nodded his head in what might be his first genuine non-hostile act of the morning.

Todd didn’t look nearly so defused. “What do I get if I take the kids?” he asked greedily.

This guy is relentless.

“A good neighbor ribbon,” Alex interjected.

“Alex,” Ed warned, giving him the “take it easy” look.

“Fuck this guy. These kids aren’t going to be passed around the neighborhood for a food dowry,” Alex grumbled.

Todd let go of the garage door, and Ed moved up against him, shielding him from Alex. Alex glanced at the tools on the workbench and quickly determined that Todd was in a much better position to take possession of them than he was.

“Don’t worry about him. We’ll figure it out,” Eric said, pushing Todd through the door.

The two of them disappeared into the rain, and Alex saw them both pass quickly by the garage’s side window. Ed lowered the bags to the concrete, ran over to the door to close it, then turned around to face Alex.

“You really need to dial it back a few notches,” he cautioned.

“I know. I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t expect Todd to lose it that easily.”

“Well, he doesn’t seem very stable, so I’d avoid sending him the wrong signals. Especially when I’m around, please. Anyway, I think this should be enough for them, at least for a week or so,” Ed said, tilting the bulging suitcase.

“What does their food supply look like?” Alex asked, picking up the two plastic bags.

“All right, I guess. I really can’t tell how many weeks, but it seems like a reasonable amount. Maybe I’m setting them up for problems with this suitcase,” Ed said, putting his face in his hands.

“Let Eric know that he should integrate the food into the house’s daily meals, and that the suitcase doesn’t represent a restriction. More like an adjustment for two more people. If they run out and he’s still watching the kids, you can refill the suitcase. I think he’ll understand the food idea.

“Eric, or Todd, or most anyone on this block would be fair to those kids. I just didn’t like the precedent that their home invasion might set. I think this will work out fine. I’m more concerned about Amanda and Katherine getting sick. After we drop this off at your house, I’m going to run home and grab some anti-virals to put in the suitcase. If they start taking them now, and continue the full course, then hopefully, their symptoms won’t be as bad, and they might be spared the worst the flu has to offer.”

“I’ll make sure they start taking those. They should probably try to keep it a secret. Are they the same ones you gave us last year?” Ed asked.

“Yeah, either TerraFlu or Tamiflu. Same thing, really,” Alex said.

Ed opened the door and was hit with a pressure wave of wind and driving rain. He pressed the button on the back of the doorknob, and they both stepped through the doorway into the storm.

Alex sat at the corner of the sectional sofa next to Emily, who was kneeling on the floor next to the coffee table putting away a board game.

“Well, that was fun. Next time we’ll play Trivial Pursuit, the 80s edition, and your mother and I will be on the same team. Two decades should be a comfortable buffer for us,” Alex said, ruffling Emily’s hair.

“Dad, stop it,” she protested, grabbing his hand.

“Hey, Cartoon Network is on all day long around here. How could you miss so many of those questions?” Ryan asked.

“Oh, I do everything I can to shut that channel out of my mind.” Kate laughed. “Most of the shows are either gross or confusing.”

“We all know your mother is pretty easily confused,” Alex teased.

Ryan and Emily laughed, and Kate moved over on the couch toward Alex.

“Whoa, no need to resort to violence here. Third time today,” he protested.

“Yeah, you’re an instigator, just like your son,” Kate said.

“I don’t instigate stuff,” Ryan countered with a completely insincere look on his face.

“Right. You and your father,” she said and managed to get one of her hands through Alex’s defenses. She dug her hand into his lower right side, knowing he was terribly ticklish around the waist, and he reacted by moving his lower body away from her hand.

“All right, that’s it! Stop it!” he said in between bouts of uncontrolled laughter.

Kate eased up on the attack, and Alex jumped off the couch and ran behind it.

“I told you not to mess with me,” Kate said, raising her eyebrows.

“I get the message. Kids, don’t mess with your mother, or she’ll tickle you.”

The phone interrupted them. Kate reached back onto the coffee table and picked up the phone, checking the caller ID.

“It’s your partner in crime, Ed,” she said and handed the phone across the back of the couch.

Alex answered the phone just as Ryan turned on the TV. “Hello. Hold on. Hey, can you guys turn that down?! Sorry about that, Ed. What’s up?”

“Hey, I just got back from Eric’s. I got a good feeling from Eric and Stephanie about the food and the kids. I don’t feel as stressed about it. I’ll tell you what, though, the Bishops’ house is a zoo. Everyone was over there. The Greens’ kids, the Bartletts’, the Perry’s. He said they’ve been swapping houses back and forth all week, so the ladies could get a break.”

“Jesus. They really don’t get it.”

“No, they really don’t. Plus, one of Jamie’s kids doesn’t look so good. Katherine. She wasn’t coughing, but she had a nasty sniffle, and she felt warm. I put my hand on the top of her head, and her head was cooking. I told the girls that they had to take the pills and keep the pills out of sight. I also told Stephanie that Katherine had a fever. She said they’d keep a close eye on it.”

“Ed, you’ve done your duty to Durham Road and mankind. You’re a good man.”

“Thanks. I feel another one of your lengthy lectures coming on, and I really need to get out of these clothes. I’m soaked. I’ll catch you later.”

“Am I really that bad?” Alex asked.

“No, just bad timing. Later,” Ed said and hung up.

He sat back down on the couch as the kids dispersed.

“Hey, how many sets of anti-virals do we have left now? I’m starting to lose track,” Kate said.

“Twelve for us, plus three I kept for Charlie, if they need them. Minus two for the girls. Thirteen total.”

“Minus three for Charlie? That leaves ten for us. You’re already dipping into our core supply,” Kate lightly chastised.

“Yeah, I know, but I had to do something for those kids. Ten is fine for us. The plan for twelve gives us three courses of therapy each, way more than we’d need. Ten is more than adequate.”

“I’m sure it is, but that’s not the problem. You know what the problem is, right?” she said, looking into his eyes.

“Yeah, I need to listen a little more to my own lectures,” he said.

“A lot more. This isn’t going to be the last shitty situation on the block. Far from it…”

“I know,” Alex said, stepping on the first stair.

“I think from now on, we need to both be in on any decisions like that. You can be a hard ass most of the time, but when you give in, you really give in.”

“I know. I have a few soft spots,” Alex agreed.

She kissed him and walked toward the kitchen. “That’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you. You’re a tough guy with a soft side.”

“Not that tough…”

“Tough enough,” Kate said. “Hey, I’m thinking about pasta with a red sauce for lunch…and dinner, and probably lunch again tomorrow. I’ll make a nice bean dish, too.”

“Works for me,” he said, continuing up the stairs.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Monday, November 18, 2013

“Good morning, this is Matt Reynolds. Julia Williams is filling in for Diane this morning. Our top stories this morning focus on the Jakarta flu worldwide and at home. Simply put, the worldwide figures are staggering, with Asia in the middle of an uncontained, and apparently uncontrollable pandemic disaster, and Europe, South America, and Africa following a similar pattern. Here in the U.S., the situation is deteriorating quickly, with labor absenteeism rates skyrocketing, and the total number of Jakarta flu cases multiplying daily.

“According to CDC figures, the total number of confirmed cases of the Jakarta flu rose from around 90,000 last week to nearly 215,000 today, with a large majority of these cases centered near major metropolitan areas. Worse hit cities so far are New York City, Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco, Boston, Chicago, Dallas, Atlanta, and Miami, accounting for over 125,000 of the total number of cases, with New York City alone reporting over 30,000 cases.

“This number only represents the cases confirmed by health officials through testing. As anyone on the street will attest, symptoms of the flu seem everywhere, and even CDC officials admit that the actual number of cases waiting to be confirmed could be three to four times the officially reported numbers.

“Hospitals and medical facilities in the heaviest hit metro areas are operating at near full capacity. DHS officials estimate that the nation’s hospitals will likely reach or exceed surge capacity by the middle of the week and have taken steps to deploy all remaining Federal Medical Stations to the hardest hit areas.

“Three of these stations have already been established in New York City, and one is operational in Los Angeles. Furthermore, DHS officials have assured state governments that all remaining Strategic National Stockpile assets have been slated for the soonest possible delivery to individual states.

“On Saturday, in a hastily assembled pandemic summit at the Department of Energy headquarters in Washington, officials from Department of Transportation, Energy, Labor, and Agriculture met with private sector food and energy leaders to develop and implement short-term solutions to the growing food and energy crisis. High absenteeism rates have plagued both fuel and food deliveries nationwide, nearly crippling the nation’s food distribution and supply system.

“Coupled with weeks of unusually high demand, industry officials state that the system has been stretched to its limit. Several states have already taken steps to activate all of their National Guard units, though their roles in the pandemic response effort have not been announced. Department of Defense officials refuse to comment on the possibility of using active duty military personnel to augment reserve and National Guard roles.

On Sunday, Energy officials at the pandemic summit voiced strong concerns over the continued operation of the nation’s electricity grid in the face of an unreliable coal supply to the nation’s network of coal-powered power plants. Department of Energy officials and energy leaders have already implemented a plan to divert coal reserves to power plants feeding the grid’s weak points.

“DOE officials are close to announcing the launch of a nationwide effort to conserve electricity. D.C. insiders predict that this announcement will be part of a presidential broadcast tentatively scheduled for later this week. The presidential address is rumored to include several broad sweeping measures designed to minimize the pandemic’s impact on the population and critical infrastructure. Let’s go to Maria Castelli for our international update.”

“Let’s not,” Alex said, muting the television.

“Not interested in the rest of the world?”

“I don’t know. It’s the same thing. The numbers are rising. Death rate’s increasing. I’m a lot more concerned about what’s happening right here in the U.S., New England in particular. This machine makes some damn good coffee.”

“Yeah, it’s awesome,” Kate said, taking another sip, “though I kinda feel like an ass sitting around making cappuccinos while the world crumbles around us.”

He stifled a laugh. “I don’t know. We can’t wrap every single thing we do around that kind of a framework. You could spend the entire day questioning everything. This is just how it is for us. No different than any other day of the year when we run water in the sink while millions of people worldwide struggle for water. You’ll drive yourself crazy. This is no different,” he said, not really satisfied with his own rationalization.

“I guess, I just keep thinking about all of the food and supplies we have downstairs, and I wonder if we’re making the right decision. If we shouldn’t make a hardcore assessment of how much we’ll really need to survive through the winter and come up with a plan to spread it around the neighborhood. I’m just wondering what it’s going to be like around here when the first wave of the flu passes, and everything starts to return to normal.”

“What do you mean?” Alex asked.

“Well, I guess I’m looking at how we’re going to fit in around here, if we choose to turn our backs on the neighborhood. I think if we make a better effort…”

“No matter what we do, this neighborhood will be a vastly different place in the spring. We have a lot of stuff in the basement, but nowhere near enough to make a lasting impact on the neighborhood. We have over thirty families here, and our stockpile can probably feed four, maybe five families comfortably for the duration of the first and second wave. If we open the stockpile to the neighborhood, it’ll be like opening Pandora’s box. The consequences of trying to shut it down, once opened, will be worse for us than never opening it in the first place. Plus, I’ve already promised Ed that we’d take care of his family, and I plan to stock up the McDaniel house when Jamie is released from the hospital.”

“How many of these promises do you have out there that I don’t know about?”

“That’s it. While we were at Jamie’s, Ed packed up a bunch of food in a suitcase for the girls, and I suggested that he pack up more food for the Bartletts, to compensate them for feeding the girls for most of the week. He didn’t want to stretch their food supply too thin, so I told him not to worry about it, and that I’d take care of it. I see it as a way to ensure the girls are treated fairly until Jamie gets back and can take care of them,” he said.

“You didn’t say that in front of Todd or Eric, did you?”

“I don’t think so…maybe. Things were pretty crazy in that garage. I might have,” he said tentatively.

Why is she railing on me like this?

“I really hope you didn’t,” Kate said, “because if you did, then Todd’s going to be all over us when things get really bad over at his house. So, basically, we’re supporting the Walkers and the McDaniels unofficially, and the Thorntons, too?”

“No, not the Walkers. I just told him that if his kids got the flu from school, I would hook him up with some anti-virals. I think we would have heard from him by now. He’ll be the least of our problems. He’s set for food, and he seems to get it about the quarantine idea,” Alex argued.

“Right, but if anyone in his family gets sick, you know where his first stop will be? And we’re down to thirteen courses of anti-virals,” Kate griped.

“If we do this right, and don’t get involved, we won’t need to use any of the anti-virals. Why are we arguing about this?”

“Because, once again, you’re out there making deals that conflict with our original plan, Alex.”

He set his coffee mug down on the island and took a deep breath, knowing Kate was right. His level of involvement within the neighborhood was slowly escalating, and may have already fostered enough negative sentiment toward them to jeopardize their safety. He turned in the chair and faced Kate, grabbing her hands.

“You’re right. There’s been a bit of a double standard…”

“A bit?” she interrupted.

“Hey, I’m trying to apologize here.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Go on.”

“Anyway, I’m sorry that I’ve been making decisions without you. You’re right. I need to limit my involvement to matters directly affecting this house and quit aggravating our neighbors. So, what I propose is that we honor any promises already made, but I…we won’t promise anything else. I wish we could help more people, but we can’t without jeopardizing our own situation. Aside from that, we should still maintain enough contact with our friends to make sure we know what’s going on around the neighborhood. We don’t want to get blindsided.”

“Apology accepted. I was really getting worried. I know that it’s hard to stick with a plan once you’re faced with the complexities and realities of real world adversity. You’ve been through some tough spots and probably know this better than anyone. We really need you to pull this off for us,” Kate said compassionately.

He knew that she was talking about his time in Iraq. Unlike many combat veterans, Alex had shared details of his combat tour with his wife. Though he had excluded many of the grotesque details from his stories, Kate probably had a better understanding of his combat experience than most other veterans would allow. She definitely appreciated the fact that a combat plan rarely stood unchallenged, and that a successful leader would tweak the plan accordingly, staying on course and never forgetting the objective. Unfortunately, he had been subtly working against both the plan and the objective by creating challenges and hostility where it may not have existed otherwise.

“I understand what you’re saying. I need to focus more on getting us through this safely, and not get distracted by the stuff that doesn’t really matter,” he said.

“That’s easier said than done. There’s a reason you’re the one we’re relying on to keep us on track. If I thought I could do a better job, I would have already taken charge, but I know I can’t. We’d already have a line forming at our bulkhead door if I was the one out there in the neighborhood,” Kate said.

“True.”

“So, right now, we’ll keep you in charge of managing all external aspects of our survival plan…”

“Wait a minute, who’s we?” he asked jokingly.

“You didn’t think you were in charge of the whole operation, did you? I, of course, am still in charge of everything. That has never changed. You just got a minor field promotion, which can be revoked,” she said, easing out of her seat.

“Oh, really? I didn’t realize that I was still moving up the ranks around here. And what exactly is your rank in this organization?”

“Supreme Commander. That’s the highest rank attainable, and it’s a lifetime position. I’ve held it for fourteen years. Actually, fifteen. I appointed myself when we got engaged.” She hopped off the chair.

Alex got up swiftly and moved around the island toward Kate, who was laughing and circling the island. “Every now and then, the troops need to rise up and teach their leaders a lesson,” he said, closing in on her.

“Are you rising right now?”

“I could be,” he responded and made a move to grab her.

Kate dodged the attempt and ran toward the stairs. She ran up the stairs quickly, with Alex in hot pursuit, playfully remaining a few steps behind her. She rounded the top of the stairs and turned around to face him as she walked backward into the master bedroom. He followed her in and locked the door.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Friday, November 22, 2013

Alex sat at the great room computer desk, scanning the headlines from dozens of online newspapers. Since Wednesday, the situation nationwide had deteriorated significantly, as he had expected.

From the desk, he could see out of two sets of windows into the neighborhood. The skies overhead were completely clear, with some low scattered clouds on the western horizon. The temperature the past few days had been in the fifties, and the days had been sunny and clear, representing a welcome shift from the seemingly endless series of storms racking southern Maine over the past week. The change in weather had brought life back to the neighborhood, which he and his family mostly observed as spectators.

He saw Derek Sheppard in his backyard playing with his kids. From the corner window facing the street, Alex could see half of the Sheppards’ enormous wooden play set, and over the past thirty minutes, he had spotted all three of Derek’s kids and their dog, running around the play set. The only Sheppard he hadn’t seen today—or over the past week—was Ellen, and he hadn’t spoken with Derek since the neighborhood meeting.

The break in the weather also brought a few visitors, which they kept at a comfortable distance. Nancy and Paul Cooper stopped by Thursday morning to say hello while out for a walk with Max. Both of them had taken extended, unpaid leave from work, starting at the beginning of the week.

Charlie Thornton brought them some freshly cut venison steaks later that same day, compliments of the normally off-limits conservation land behind the Hewitt Park sports fields. Charlie said that the area was full of deer, and that he’d be willing to take Alex out there on his next foray. Alex invited him around back to the deck and produced a few chilled beers. Charlie looked thrilled by the invitation, and they sat there for about an hour talking about the neighborhood and the pandemic in general.

He found himself impressed by Charlie’s level of knowledge, most of it gained over the past few weeks. As they parted, he considered explaining to Charlie that they didn’t eat meat, but decided that it was better for him to accept Charlie’s gift than to risk insulting him. Kate almost passed out at the sight of the venison steaks on her kitchen island, and he suggested that they wrap and store the steaks in the basement freezer, for an emergency. Kate told him that it would take one hell of an emergency for her to eat deer meat.

He grabbed the neighborhood status board from the side of the computer table and turned toward the couch where Kate was sitting, reading a book and sipping coffee. Her accounting firm had closed indefinitely on Wednesday, and Kate hadn’t skipped a beat adjusting to a life of full-time leisure. Over the past two days, Alex mostly found her reading, napping upstairs, or taking long walks with Emily or Ryan. Despite the milder weather, Alex remained indoors, feeling that this was a better strategy for him, given the high profile he had been developing among his more hostile neighbors.

He unfolded the worn, smudged poster board and laid it on the coffee table. He had begun to highlight the names of confirmed or suspected sick neighbors with a yellow marker, and several yellow lines crossed the diagram, signifying known interactions with potentially infected neighbors. A red marker was used to indicate death. Currently, only one name was highlighted red: Matt McDaniel. He examined the diagram of the neighborhood and added a line connecting the Thompsons’ house to the McCarthys’, the apparent babysitting hub on their side of the Durham Road loop.

**

While sitting at the computer, Alex detected some movement down the street to the right. He didn’t have a good view from the southeast corner of the house, so he grabbed his binoculars and ran upstairs to the master bedroom, nearly knocking Kate over as she emerged from the bathroom. With the binoculars, he saw James Thompson push a stroller, with another small child in tow, right up to the McCarthys’ house, and then return by himself. A few minutes later, both he and his wife, Mary, left in their Toyota Sienna. Alex assumed that their third child was in the van with them. Judging from the stroller, he figured it had to be either Emily or Madison, since their baby had to be in the stroller.

The Thompsons’ departure made sense, given the information that had been shared with him yesterday by Ed. Sarah Quinn continued to collect, verify, and pass along information to the neighborhood regarding suspected or confirmed illnesses. Her latest download to Ed hadn’t surprised Alex.

According to Sarah, Mary Thompson had been fighting flu-like symptoms for a few days, and based on what he had just seen, one of their children was likely sick also. They were probably on their way to see a doctor. He highlighted Mary’s name in yellow and randomly selected Emily, age three, for the other highlight. He found it interesting that Mary and James would take their children to the McCarthys’, despite persistent rumors that Jennifer McCarthy and at least one of her children was also sick with flu-like symptoms.

Sarah Quinn knew this because four days before, Jennifer had asked her for two of the anti-viral treatment courses that Sarah held for the neighborhood. Jennifer refused to give Sarah any details, but insisted that they needed the anti-virals immediately. According to Sarah, she didn’t sound good over the phone, and Michael McCarthy picked up the drugs from Sarah just minutes after the phone call. She should have asked for five, one for each member of the family, but Alex was certain that neither Michael nor Jennifer had invested any time into researching effective pandemic anti-viral treatment strategies. Then again, it was unlikely that Sarah would have given her five courses of treatment without more information. This transaction had left eleven courses of treatment for the neighborhood, which didn’t last long, according to Sarah.

Owing to her close friendship with Nicki Bartlett, she also knew that Nicki and two of her children were sick with high fevers, muscle aches, and worsening coughs. Nicki and her kids had been sick since the weekend, and Sarah gave them three courses of anti-viral therapy, bringing the remaining total to eight.

Nicki’s husband, Jack, an endocrinologist, insisted that they could be adequately treated at home, under his care. Apparently, he had access to medical supplies from the diabetes center, though Alex couldn’t imagine that the center had any antibiotics left in their drug sample closet, which would be critical for treating flu-induced pneumonia. Few companies made antibiotics any more, and the only antibiotic Alex had managed to sparingly find in drug closets over the past few years was Levaquin.

Logically, since the Bartletts’ had been hit with the flu, he wasn’t surprised to learn that both the Bishops’ and the Greens’ had been hit as well. Sarah had delivered four courses of antiviral therapy to the Bishops on Tuesday after Stephanie called to tell Sarah that her entire family had developed flu symptoms simultaneously on Monday morning.

All of their children had been closely intertwined since school was cancelled, and the McDaniel girls stayed among the Bartletts’ and Bishops’ for several days, nearly guaranteeing that the flu would be spread. Sarah asked about Jamie’s girls, and Stephanie said that Katherine was still sick, but didn’t seem to be getting any worse, and that Amanda had no symptoms at all. After delivering drugs to both the Bartletts and Bishops, Sarah was left with only four remaining treatments. Two of those went to the Greens, and the remaining two to the Burtons, who each reported two possible cases of the flu in their households.

Within the span of a week and a half, all of the anti-virals were gone, and as far as Alex knew, the only remaining anti-virals in the neighborhood sat in his basement and somewhere within Ed’s house. Alex had given Ed enough for his family nearly a year ago.

Sarah heard from Jennifer McCarthy that Ken Hayes might be sick. Michelle stopped sending her kids over to the McCarthys’ on the same day that Jennifer McCarthy called Sarah to ask for anti-virals. She told Jennifer that they had decided to stay home from work for a few weeks, and that nearly everyone in her husband’s office was sick. Jennifer wondered if one of the Hayes’ kids had brought the virus into their house. He highlighted Ken Hayes on the chart.

The last piece of news from Ed hit Alex the hardest because he knew it meant trouble. Todd Perry’s wife was sick and had been refused treatment at Maine Medical Center. She was given a basic home treatment kit, with no prescription medications, only basic pain and fever relief medications. Worse yet, she had brought her nine-year-old son, Michael, who was also suffering from escalating flu symptoms, and he received the same kit. Both of them were turned away without explanation. Alex expected a knock on his door at any time from Todd, right after he knocked on Sarah’s door to get some of the promised anti-virals, only to be told that Alex’s original promise of twenty courses had materialized as thirteen.

He ensured that all of the highlights on the diagram were up to date and then folded the poster board in half. He sat back on the couch and exhaled deeply.

“Done with arts and crafts hour?” Kate quipped.

“Pretty much. You want to check out the updates?”

“Can you just summarize them for me?” she asked, continuing to focus on her book.

“Annoying. Anyway, I saw James deliver two of his kids over to the McCarthys’ house about thirty minutes ago, then take off with his wife and one of the kids in the minivan.”

Kate looked up from her book with a puzzled look. “Isn’t Jennifer McCarthy and at least one other person in that house sick?”

“Based on my intel, I assume that’s the case.”

“What is wrong with these people? Why would she send her kids over there? I saw Mary outside yesterday in the backyard playing with the dog. Why couldn’t she drive by herself?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she got worse and can’t drive. Either way, I’m surprised Jennifer agreed to watch the kids. None of it makes much sense.”

“Oh, I had meant to ask you earlier, but I forgot. Did the Carters leave town? I haven’t seen anything going on at their house since last week, and Kelso hasn’t greeted me on any of my recent walks,” she said, sounding more disappointed about not seeing the dog than the Carters.

“You mean Kelso hasn’t been rummaging around inside our house for the past few weeks?”

“Yeah, well, that’s unusual too,” she responded.

“I really don’t know, but I think you’re right. I circled their house on the board and put a big question mark next to it for the same reasons you mentioned. Ed hasn’t heard anything, so maybe they scooted out of town at night,” he surmised.

“Well, if Ed doesn’t know, then nobody knows.” She lowered her eyes back to her book.

“Maybe if I had an extra set of eyes on the neighborhood, we’d catch things like this.”

“Nice try. Besides, you’re doing a fantastic job right now, and it’s keeping you busy. You should consider staking out another window, like maybe the one up in the attic. Hey, who knows what you might see from a higher vantage point? Didn’t they teach you that in the Marine Corps?”

“Among other things. Like when someone was trying to get rid of you,” he said, picking up the poster board.

“Was I that obvious?” Kate asked.

“Oh no. Not at all.” He leaned over and kissed Kate on the forehead. “To the high ground,” he said and walked toward the stairs.

**

Alex emerged from the mudroom and set the phone down on the kitchen island. He walked over to the kitchen table and sat down without saying a word. Kate and the kids had already started to eat what had become a typical meal for the Fletchers since they’d exhausted most of their supply of perishable foods.

On a dark blue placemat in the middle of the table sat a bowl of seasoned pinto beans next to a small sauce pan filled with watery green beans. An open pressure cooker filled with a mixture of brown rice and barley sat on a separate placemat next to the beans.

The kids each had a glass of water in front of them, and a half-drained bottle of Syrah sat off to the side of the food. Alex served himself, still silent, as Kate eyed him nervously.

“They can’t seem to resist calling us right before dinner,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, still not committing to a conversation. He saw her glance at the kids, who seemed oblivious to the tension.

“How are your parents holding out?” she asked.

Alex took a deep breath and feigned a smile, not wanting to upset the kids. “They’re doing fine I suppose. Plugging along like everyone else, but they claim to be healthy, which I believe considering the fact that if one of them gets even a splinter, I usually hear every detail,” he said, forcing more of a smile.

Ryan did his best to generate a laugh, and even Emily muffled a snort, which let Alex know that the kids were better tuned in to his mood than he anticipated. Every time a call came into the house from a relative, the tension level rose significantly.

“How about your brother?” Kate asked, and he quickly shook his head, hoping the kids didn’t see him do it.

“Sounds like they’re doing fine, too,” he replied, staring at her with a serious face and shaking his head imperceptibly once again. He glanced at Emily and Ryan, who seemed too preoccupied with eating to have caught his wave off. Alex was amazed at how well they ate at meals, now that snacks were more or less a thing of the past. Two months ago, the two of them would have stared at this dinner in disbelief.

Kate received his message and didn’t pursue any more questions. Alex had just found out from his parents that his brother Daniel was hospitalized with a mild concussion and advanced stage pneumonia. Apparently, Daniel had been spared acute respiratory distress syndrome, but had continued to drive to work over the course of the past few days, with worsening flu symptoms, until his co-workers forced him to leave the office at around eleven Tuesday morning. He had never made it home. At some point during the drive home, he had lost control of his Land Rover and plowed into a guard rail on Interstate 25, nearly jumping it. He was rushed to a hospital near Castle Rock, where he was treated for minor acute injuries and admitted to the ICU for flu-related pneumonia.

That wasn’t the worst news. He had also learned that his nephew Ethan was sick with the flu. Alex thought about Daniel and about how he probably walked through the house, oblivious to the fact that he was getting sicker and sicker and that he was highly contagious with a killer flu.

Gotta get to work, make the deals.

Worse yet, Karla hadn’t been able to find the anti-virals he’d sent them a few years ago, so his parents were sacrificing theirs to give to both kids. He really wished his parents had taken him up on the offer to bring the kids out to Maine. He sat at the table thinking about how furious he was at his brother. They ate the rest of their meal in an awkward silence, punctuated by several unsuccessful attempts to jar Alex out of his gloomy mood.

**

Alex sat in his office scanning the Boston Globe website, focusing on a late-breaking story about riots breaking out in Dorchester and East Boston.

“For the third day in a row, major food stores throughout the greater Boston metropolitan area have remained closed, blaming a supply chain failure that has affected most of northern New England. Food shipments have been erratic at best for the past week, stopping altogether in areas like Dorchester, Roxbury, East Boston and Jamaica Plain. Fires and looting broke out midday as residents in these beleaguered areas, already pressed for critical supplies, learned that food stores would not open for the third day in a row.”

He skipped down further.

“City and state officials have augmented National Guard and law enforcement presence in these areas, anticipating a worsening of the situation. One anonymous state official stated that the food and supply situation was not likely to improve, as absenteeism and flu rates continue to soar.

“Several residents interviewed said that they would soon leave the Boston metropolitan area in search of less populated areas where the food supply chain was more stable, like the upper New England states.”

Great. That’s the last thing we need up here.

Kate walked into the office as he finished the article.

“Did you see what’s happening in Boston?” she asked, walking up to him.

“It won’t be long before people start to riot up here,” he said, swiveling the chair to face her.

“I don’t think there are enough people in Maine for a riot of any type. You’ve seen the anti-whatever rallies in Monument Square. Fifteen, maybe twenty people, even on the weekend. The biggest riot we’ve ever had here had something to do with American Idol tickets several years back.”

“That’s right. It was like the Cabbage Patch frenzy of the 80s all over again. Remember that? Moms and dads slugging it out for a place in line to get those stupid Idol tickets. And I thought fighting over dolls was crazy,” he said.

“Hey, I’m sure Ethan will be fine,” Kate attempted to reassure him.

“I hope so. I really do,” he said, grabbing her hands.

“Hey, look at Jamie’s kids. They’re still sick, but they seem to be doing fine. They got anti-virals early and it made a big difference. The same thing will happen with our nephews.”

“If Karla doesn’t steal them for herself. She’s planning to drive the kids north to stay in a hotel while Daniel recovers, so they can be close to him. Clueless. I bet Daniel asked her to come. What does she think they’re gonna eat while they’re in the hotel? Take-out pizza? Thai delivery? The woman is dumber than a box of rocks, and she’s going to drive them out there without enough gas to get back, just to watch Daniel expire. Gas delivery is already highly sporadic. Won’t be long before that’s gone too. I—”

Alex stopped ranting and put both of his hands on his head, grabbing his thick black hair. “What is wrong with these people?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they don’t feel like they have a choice.”

“Choice to do what?” he asked, exasperated.

“To quit their jobs. To cash in their life savings to buy food. To stay away from their friends and family. We’ve been lucky so far. Nobody sick has appeared at our door with one of the dozens of golden tickets you’ve handed out.”

“You handed a few out yourself,” he responded.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. But we haven’t been pressed by family or friends to compromise our quarantine. Would you be able to turn away your parents if they suddenly arrived at our steps? Sick?” she asked.

“I don’t know how I’d handle it, but I can tell you one thing. They wouldn’t be sitting at the dinner table with our kids. I’d be applying every piece of information available to figure out the situation. The internet still works. It’s not like I paid anyone for this knowledge. You just type ‘home quarantine procedures’ and bingo. How about your parents? They’re still fine, right?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I suppose. My brother, Liz and the girls are with them right now. They’re all still healthy. It sounds like my brother has been paying more attention to us than I thought. Mom said he showed up with all kinds of survival gear and has been pretty much running the show over there. She said that the food was tight, but they should be fine.

“Claire still hasn’t shown up, which worries me more than anything. I tried to call her the other day, but the machine picked up at the house, and I got the voicemail on her cell phone. She won’t answer because she knows I’m going to try and talk her out of crashing at my parents’. She’ll push her way right into that house, sick or not, and try to take over. Luckily, Robbie has never taken any of her shit, so I’m hoping he’ll do what’s necessary to keep them all safe.”

“I’m more concerned about Claire making the trip up here. She’s no dummy. I could see her bypassing your parents for a safer haven up in Scarborough. It’s only a nine-hour drive. One and a half tanks of gas, unless they bring the Suburban,” he said, smiling.

“Thanks. Are you trying to sabotage my sleep tonight?” She squeezed his hands.

“Well, I thought you might want to stay awake a little longer for some action,” he said, standing up from the chair.

“Are the kids out?”

“I haven’t heard a peep since about nine,” Alex said.

Holding hands, Kate and Alex headed out of the office. The phone rang and he hesitated. 9:30 p.m. was a strange time for a phone call.

“Don’t worry about it. Whoever it is can leave a message.”

“Uh…hold on a second. I just want to see who it is,” he said, scurrying back into the office. The phone kept ringing.

“Hey, this was your idea. If you’re not in the bed within five minutes, I’m not playing,” she warned.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there,” he said, checking his watch.

The caller ID read “Walker, Edward.” Alex picked up. “Hey, Ed. Make it fast, I’m about to get lucky.”

“Well, I’m about to kill the mood. There’s going to be another neighborhood meeting tomorrow at Sarah Quinn’s house to discuss the matter of neighborhood security. Everyone is pretty worried about the rioting in Boston and the possible flow of refugees into Maine. Sarah heard that there was a group going around looking for armed volunteers to man a roadblock at the Piscataqua Bridge to keep people from fleeing up into Maine.”

“That’s nothing new, Ed. Mainer’s have wanted to do that for decades. They tried to stop Kate and me when we drove out here from San Diego, but we just told them that we were here to do some shopping in Kittery and then to hit Bean’s.” Alex laughed.

“They should have checked your ID a little closer and saved us all some trouble,” Ed said.

“True. So what time does this little party start?”

“Ten in the morning at the Quinns’.”

“Are you going?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why wouldn’t you? Oh, I don’t know, maybe because half of the people who show up might have the flu. If you show up, make sure you wear one of those surgical masks and gloves. Seriously. This bug is all over the neighborhood. Eighteen households by my calculation,” Alex advised.

“Well, we can only see so much from these windows, and the phone calls with information have slowed to a trickle,” Ed said.

“You’re doing better than the Fletchers. Nobody calls us anymore.”

“Well, after the last meeting, most of the neighbors probably figured they’d be better off steering clear of the Fletcher-Thornton connection,” Ed said. “Of course, against my better judgment, I reluctantly decided to take my chances with you.”

“Thanks for the loyalty, Ed, you’ll be rewarded handsomely. Actually, the less attention on this house, the better. I don’t think Kate would let me out to that meeting even if I thought it was a good idea. You’ll have to be my eyes and ears out there. Sorry to cut this short, but I’m on a deadline. Give me a ring tomorrow,” he said and hung up the phone.

Alex walked swiftly to the bedroom and closed the door behind him, locking it.

“Four minutes and fifty seconds. That’s cutting it close…although I had planned to give you some leeway,” Kate said from the candlelit area by the bed.

He jumped into the bed and burrowed under the covers. He felt her warm, naked body and instantly forgot all about the neighborhood meeting.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Saturday, November 23, 2013

Alex stared out of the dining room window, straining to see the small mob that followed Ed halfway down the street. The group, which consisted of Todd Perry, Mike Lynch, Eric Bishop and a few others, stopped in front of Todd’s house, but he lost sight of them as they wandered up Todd’s driveway. He grabbed the phone off the dining room table, and before he could start dialing Ed’s number, it began to ring. Ed.

“I know you can’t get enough of my charming…”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, there’s a small crowd gathered in front of Todd’s house, and they ain’t happy campers. I was pretty much chased back to my house by these lunatics. Todd started ranting and raving about you, and how you fucked over the entire neighborhood with the anti-virals and blah, blah, blah. I think they’re about to head your way,” Ed said.

“Are you serious? Sounds like it was a great meeting.”

“It was all a set up from the start. I think they were waiting for you to show up, so they could attack you or something. They turned on me as soon as it was clear you weren’t going to make an appearance. Scared the shit out of me. Oh boy. Looks like they’re on the move and headed your way,” he said.

“What’s going on? I see some people walking this way from Todd’s,” Kate said, having suddenly materialized on the stairs next to the dining room.

“Hold on, Ed,” Alex said and muffled the phone.

“Honey, I’ll be off in a second. It’s nothing we need to worry about.”

“Sorry, Ed, Kate’s freaking out…”

“Freaking out?” she yelled indignantly and grabbed the phone from him.

“Thank you for the heads up, Ed. Sorry to hang up on you, but I need to talk some sense into my ‘it’ll all work out’ husband.” She hung up on Ed and put the phone back on the table, turning to face Alex, who stood staring at the hand that just moments ago had held a phone.

“That’s funny, I could have sworn I was having a productive, adult conversation with a good friend of mine, when—”

“You’ll get over it. So now we have an angry mob headed toward our house?” she said, walking toward the great room.

She’s in driver, panic mode. Great.

“Why don’t we take a look? I’m not worried about these yahoos,” he said and followed her. As they crossed the great room, he passed Emily, who was sitting on her favorite chair, wearing earphones that were plugged into a portable DVD player opened on her lap.

Kate’s solution to the great room noise problem.

Emily looked up and smiled at them as they walked by. Kate walked to the front of the great room and peered through one of the windows facing across the Walkers’ yard. Alex joined her and saw the group walking down the sidewalk, headed straight for their house. The group was already halfway across the sidewalk in front of the Andersons’ house.

“Looks like you need to start getting concerned real quick. Those assholes are going to be at our front door in less than a minute. Emily, turn off the DVD player and go upstairs, please,” Kate said loudly.

Emily looked up and shrugged her shoulders. Kate briskly walked up to her and reached for the headphones. Emily took them off, annoyed. “What? What’s going on?” she asked.

“I need you to go upstairs right now,” Kate said.

Emily didn’t stir. “Why? What’s…” Emily started.

“Just get upstairs now! Go!” Kate yelled.

Emily closed the player and hopped out of the chair, mumbling a series of hushed complaints.

“Thank you,” Kate said as Emily exited the room.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Alex added. “All right, when they come to the door, we’ll see—”

“Come to the door? No way. We’re not letting them get that close to our house. You want to know why I’m freaked out? I don’t like the idea of these people just deciding to march on our house. We’re going to meet them on our driveway and tell them to get the hell away from us. Let’s go. They’re already in front of Ed’s,” Kate said and started walking back into the kitchen.

Alex paused to think about the situation, then followed her. “Do you want me to bring the rifle?”

“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea. You still have the pistol on you, right?’ she asked, and Alex nodded his head as he patted the small of his back.

“That should be more than enough if this gets out of hand.”

He and Kate both rushed to the mudroom and put on their shoes, grabbed jackets, and headed out of the mudroom door. As soon as they cleared the stoop, Alex was glad they had hurried. Six pissed off looking men were already halfway across their lawn, headed straight for the mudroom door. Kate led him through the evergreen bushes on a direct path to intercept them. Todd appeared surprised by the sight of Alex and Kate.

“Can we help you?” Kate yelled with her hands on her hips. She looked irritated, and everyone stopped.

Alex moved next to Kate’s right side as the group paused for a few seconds before Eric Bishop attempted to respond, his words cut off by a violent coughing spasm. He took to a knee and turned to Steve McKinney on his left, who backed away quickly with a frightened look. Mike Lynch and Tom Hodges both moved in to help him, but withdrew as the hacking worsened. True to Ed’s words, Eric looked like he was about to die. His face was ashen gray, his lips purplish, and sweat was pouring down his face. Alex thought he saw a small amount of blood on the corner of his mouth, but couldn’t be sure.

Jesus, he didn’t look this bad ten minutes ago.

Todd finally answered Kate’s question. “We’re just out for a stroll. We all have the right to walk around the neighborhood, right?”

“Looks like you strayed off the sidewalk a little. I think you should all go home. You don’t look so good, Eric,” Alex said.

“I’d be doing a lot better if you weren’t hiding medicine from all of us. Fucking sneaky, you two. I caught one of Jamie’s kids swallowing some pills earlier this week. Looks like you managed to hook them up, huh? Now they’re doing just fine, while my entire family is sick,” Eric said.

“What exactly do you want from us?” Kate asked.

“I want a full inventory of your food supply and any medical supplies you have, so we can divide and distribute them to those families that need help,” Todd demanded.

“This is ridiculous,” Kate fumed.

“It’s all right, honey. Really. I want to hear this,” Alex said.

Todd looked confused by Alex’s response and looked at Eric, who shrugged his shoulders.

“So is that your plan? Just inventory everything and divide it up?” Alex asked, trying to bring them back into the conversation.

“Yes, that’s sounds about right,” Todd hesitantly said, as if he was not sure how to answer the question.

“Just my house, or everyone’s?” Alex asked.

“Well…we should start with your—”

“But we’re going to move on to every house? Right?” Alex pressed.

“Sure, but I don’t think most houses will have—”

“Have what? Any food? Any supplies? That shouldn’t matter. Then what? Where will we store everything, and who will divide it up evenly?”

“Look, cut all this bullshit speech and debate crap. I don’t think we’ll need to go any further than your house, or his…or his” Eric said, struggling to point at Charlie and Ed.

“So you just want to raid our houses because you suspect we have enough food and medical supplies for everyone? How much food do you think I have, Eric? Todd? Take a guess,” Alex challenged.

“I don’t know. That’s why we want to see, so we can figure it out,” Todd said.

“A year? Does that sound like a lot for one family? If we had enough food for a family of four for a year, should we divide it up for everyone?”

“You’re goddamn right. If you have a year’s worth of food…are you kidding me? I have less than a week,” Todd raved.

“Okay, so that’s fifty-two weeks, divided by thirty households. I’ve already done the math here. That’s 1.7 weeks per family, maybe more, maybe less. Twelve days. Not exactly a windfall. So, if I had that much food, which I don’t, you’d be asking me to give it all up so that we could all be equally screwed as the winter descends. It’s only the middle of November, Todd. We have a long way to go. Probably until springtime when the roads are cleared and the trucks can move supplies again,” Alex said.

“Cleared from what?” Mike demanded.

“From the snow. Do you really think the plows are going to keep up with the snow? When’s the last time you’ve seen a police car, or heard a siren? Everyone is either sick, or not showing up to work, and we’re only seeing the tip of the iceberg here. The worst is on the way, and it won’t get any easier. Especially if we sit on our asses and hope someone else solves our problems,” Alex said.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Todd asked angrily.

“It means that I believe you had every opportunity to stock up on food, Todd, even after the food crisis started,” Alex said.

“That’s bullshit! Every time I tried, the store closed before I set foot inside!” Todd yelled.

“Are you kidding me, Todd? I distinctly remember volunteering to watch your kids, at the ass crack of dawn, so you and your wife could get over to Hannigan’s early enough to make it through the store. We waited, and we waited, and you never called,” Alex reminded him.

Todd looked uncomfortable with the accusation, and Steve McKinney mumbled something to Mike Lynch. Mike Lynch fired back at Steve with a hushed “that’s not the point of this,” and then Mike stepped forward.

“Look, food is no longer the issue. You made your point. You don’t have enough food to carry the entire neighborhood along through the winter. Understood.”

“It’s still an issue for me,” Todd yelled.

“I know, but we can deal with that later,” Mike said to Todd.

“So what exactly do you want from us now?” Alex said, exaggerating an exasperated look.

Before Todd could answer, Eric, still on one knee, broke into another coughing fit.

“Eric doesn’t look like he needs to be out here in the cold. He needs to be breathing warm, moist air to help open up his airway. This cold air is constricting his lungs, making it worse,” Alex said.

“He’s fine for now,” Todd retorted.

“And you’re a doctor?” Kate shot back.

“I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure if he’d received some of the drugs and medical supplies you’re hoarding, he’d be doing a lot better!” Todd said smugly.

“I already donated anti-virals to the community chest. That’s it,” Alex said.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Todd said, his face reddening.

“That’s it. And, uh…from what I understand, Eric received one of those courses of anti-viral therapy. Sarah told me that she handed over four of the thirteen courses to Stephanie. Unfortunately, it looks like it didn’t help him, which is not unusual,” Alex said.

Todd looked down at Eric, barely able to contain his surprise. Alex also detected a hint of anger flash across Todd’s face. “Maybe he didn’t take it.”

“Four doses. Four family members. You do the math. The flu affects everyone differently. Some get hit hard, some don’t even get symptoms. Others get slammed and die within a day or two, like Matt McDaniel. Anti-virals are no guarantee of anything. The best way to fight this thing is to avoid it altogether. So like I said before, you should all separate and button up inside your houses,” Alex advised them yet again.

“If you’re trying to talk me out of getting some anti-virals for my kids, save the lecture,” Todd said.

“This conversation’s over,” Kate said and turned around to walk away.

“No, it’s not,” John Hodges piped up.

Kate turned back around. “Get off our property right now. I say this is over, and that’s it! I don’t want to see any of you around here anymore. We have nothing more to say or give you. We’re done here.” She pulled Alex’s arm as she started back toward the mudroom. “Don’t even look at them,” she whispered, releasing his arm as they walked away from the mob. “Talking just encourages them. We’re through communicating with those jackasses.”

Alex and Kate entered the house and closed the door behind them, muting the verbal tirade launched by the group. He glanced back out of the door and verified that they hadn’t moved any closer to the house.

“Your problem is that you continue to engage these guys until they reach their boiling point. You have to cut them off and walk away. They want you to provoke them,” Kate said.

“But I didn’t even get a chance to threaten to kill them, or something good like that,” he insisted, still watching the group.

“Yeah, that would have helped the situation immensely.”

“It doesn’t matter what we do. He’s raving mad. No food, no meds, and he’s fomenting the idea that we’re sitting on enough of these supplies to save the entire neighborhood.”

“Christ. Could we give up some of our stuff and make him happy? We have a lot of food down there, way more than we need. We could put together a package for them. Just enough to get them off our backs,” she suggested.

“I think it could only make matters worse. As soon as they run out of whatever we decide to give them, they’ll be right back at our door, along with the rest of the neighborhood. Then we’re truly fucked,” he said.

“I don’t know, but we need to do something. We can’t sit here for months waiting for them to attack us. We can’t live like that.”

“Hey, I lived like that for several months. It can be done,” Alex said, stepping into the kitchen.

“Yeah, but the rest of us can’t. Let’s figure out what we need to survive. I don’t mind stretching our food supply thin if it will get them off our backs.”

“Off our backs for now,” he reminded her.

“Well, at least we’ll have a clearer conscience,” Kate said, following him into the kitchen.

Alex sat down at the kitchen island and poured a cup of steaming coffee into a brown mug, waiting for Kate to sit down next to him. “My conscience is clear,” he said, not sure he fully believed the statement.

“Really? You don’t feel the slightest amount of guilt that we are sitting on enough food for six families to last well past the winter or spring? Or that we have essential medical supplies that could make a difference to at least a few households? Hon, we have a ton of stuff down there.”

“I know. Believe me, I’ve thought about it, and that’s why I don’t mind helping out Ed, or Jamie’s kids…”

“Hon, we can’t pick and choose who we help. That’ll only make matters worse. We need to make an offer to those around us, but make sure they understand it’s final. That it’s all we can give up without…”

“Without sticking it to ourselves?” he asked, taking a long sip of coffee.

“Yeah, something like that…” Kate said, her voice trailing off.

Alex heard her remove the coffee pot from the coffee maker.

Priorities.

He watched the mob through the mudroom door windows and saw them conferring with each other, obviously arguing about their next move. He saw Mark Silva shake his head furiously and hold up his hands, waving them, then start to walk back down the street. Eric managed to rise to his feet by himself, and everyone kept several feet away from him.

He’ll be lucky if he makes it home.

Todd continued to gesture wildly to the four of them. Alex saw some agreement in the faces and gestures of Mike and Tom, but Steve was clearly not interested in whatever Todd was proposing. Steve stepped back out of the group and started to head across the street. Alex watched as he walked between the McDaniels’ and Sheppards’ houses, soon disappearing behind the McDaniels’ on what Alex assumed was a straight line through the backyards to his own house.

The remaining four men started to walk down the sidewalk toward Todd’s house, soon escaping his view from the mudroom window. He hurried out of the mudroom and through the kitchen on his way to the great room so he could keep an eye on them the whole way back. He noticed that Kate was already at the front corner window.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked, embracing her from behind.

“Not really, just a bunch of bickering. Eric doesn’t look good at all,” she said, settling back into his grasp.

Eric kept shaking his head and coughing. His left leg collapsed and he fell to the ground in front of the Walkers’ house, managing to break his sideways plunge with his left arm. He ended up on his stomach, with his head turned away from Alex’s view. The other three knelt down around him, keeping back by a few feet. They didn’t appear enthusiastic about the prospect of lifting him back onto his feet. Todd stayed down with Eric, who was coughing so violently on the ground that his body appeared to convulse.

“Hon, you better call Stephanie and tell her to get over there. I’ll let them know she’s on her way,” Alex said, releasing Kate.

He rushed over to the front door, opened it and then the storm door, and called out to the group. “Hey, we’re calling Stephanie to come pick him up!”

The three of them looked up at him, and he repeated himself. He heard Kate on the phone with Stephanie.

“Just get over here and pick him up,” she was saying as she appeared in the hallway from the kitchen.

“What’s up?” he asked, keeping the storm door propped open.

“Nothing…let’s just say that she isn’t a big fan of the Fletchers either,” Kate said.

Alex shook his head ruefully and continued to monitor the situation outside. A few minutes later, the Bishops’ gray Nissan Pathfinder pulled up. Stephanie Bishop, dressed in blue sweat pants and a light brown hooded winter jacket, got out and ran to her husband. Todd helped her get him into the front passenger seat of the SUV. Stephanie stepped around and walked toward the Fletchers’ house.

“Here it comes,” he said to Kate as she joined him at the front door. Stephanie got halfway across the sidewalk in front of their house and launched into a tirade.

“You and your buddy over there,” she screamed, pointing at Ed’s house, “can take care of Jamie’s girls. I’m taking all—” She broke into a coughing fit that took her at least thirty seconds to overcome.

“Jesus,” Kate whispered.

“Yeah,” he responded, never taking his eyes off Stephanie.

Stephanie continued, a little more subdued. “I’m taking my entire family over to the state triage center immediately, so the girls are going to have to find a new place to stay. I’m sending them over to your house in a few minutes. You and Ed can figure it out,” she said and turned around abruptly.

Alex closed the door, and before he could even open his mouth. Kate spoke.

“They can’t stay here.”

“I wasn’t about to suggest that. They can stay in their own house. We can bring meals over to them and keep a close eye on the house. They’ll be fine over there. They can call us if something happens. Amanda is almost Ryan’s age. She can take care of Katherine, as long as we help out. They have electricity, water, TV…they’ll be fine.”

He wasn’t so sure about what he’d just said. The two girls would be terrified without their parents, or another adult at the house. Given all that they had been through over the past few weeks, Alex couldn’t imagine how this could work. Still, he didn’t want them in the house, just in case they were still shedding the flu virus. It had been about two weeks since Jamie dropped them off at the Bartletts’ house, and Alex thought they were just getting sick at that point, so it was conceivable that they were no longer contagious, though he couldn’t be sure about the timing.

CDC virologists confirmed that a patient exposed to the Jakarta flu would typically demonstrate symptoms within three to four days of exposure and remain contagious for about seven to ten days after that. He did the math in his head.

They should be past the ten day mark.

However, as seen with most flu strains in the past, both seasonal and pandemic, children could remain contagious for up to three weeks after showing symptoms.

No, we can’t risk the exposure.

“I don’t think two pre-teen girls should be left alone like that, without their mother,” Kate said.

“I know, but there’s a possibility that they could still be contagious, so we can’t have them here.”

Kate paused, clearly struggling with the thought of the kids staying over there alone. “I don’t know. Could they stay in the basement, or…never mind, that’s ridiculous. They’d be better off in their house with us checking on them,” she conceded.

“I agree. We can’t keep them locked up in the garage or basement like animals. They’ll be better off in a familiar setting. I’ll head over there later today and make sure the house is okay. They still have some food and snacks over there from what I remember, and we can bring them hot meals. It’s not perfect for them, but it’s the best we can do.”

“All right,” Kate finally agreed.

“I’d better call Ed and let him know what’s going on.” Alex sighed.

“Do you think it’s all right for you to be walking around their house?”

“You mean the flu?” he asked, and she nodded emphatically.

“Yeah, it should be fine. At the most, the Jakarta flu can survive for forty-eight hours on a non-porous surface, less on a porous one. I can’t see any way that it could still be a danger in the house…however, I’ll be sure to wear gloves and scrub down when I’m done. I’m calling Ed and going over right now. If the girls show up, explain the situation and keep them in the garage. They can use the camping chairs in the sports bin. I’d wear a mask just in case, and give them some leftovers,” he said.

“Got it,” Kate said as Alex dialed Ed’s number.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Saturday, November 23, 2013

Alex dialed Kate with his smartphone as he made his way across the McDaniels’ lawn. Ed Walker waved goodbye and nodded to Alex as he split off and headed toward his own home directly across the street.

“Open sesame. I’m crossing the street,” he said to her when she picked up.

“What took you so long?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you when I get in the house.”

He jogged up to the mudroom door as Kate unlocked the deadbolt and the doorknob. He took off a pair of surgical gloves and balled them up in his hand. Kate held the door open for him, and he walked in, careful not to touch anything.

“Can you do me a favor and open the door to the garage? I want to throw these in the trash,” he said.

Kate opened the door and he walked into the garage, right up to the town garbage container, used his elbow to lift the hinged green plastic top, and dropped the gloves into the quarter-filled container. Both this trash bin and the recyclables bin were located side-by-side to the left of the mudroom entrance inside the garage. The recyclables container was even emptier than the trash bin. The top of the recyclables bin was colored red to differentiate between the two. The town-issued bins were about chest height to Alex, and under normal circumstances would have been full by this time of the week. Normal trash pickup was scheduled for Tuesdays in their neighborhood, but he wouldn’t even bother to put the bins out tomorrow.

Alex dropped the lid and walked back inside the open door, catching a glimpse of Ryan and Emily sitting at the island eating leftover pizza as he ducked into the bathroom off the mudroom to thoroughly wash his hands. When he was finished, he sprayed the sink’s hardware with a sanitizing cleaner and wiped them down with paper toweling that was stored in the cabinet under the sink.

“All clean,” he said, walking into the mudroom.

Kate was waiting for him to hear what he had to say. She walked over to him and they both snuck into the library.

“So, what’s going on?” she asked.

“I didn’t want to freak you out earlier, but the reason I took longer than I expected was that someone broke into their house through the back garage door and stole all of their food. Nothing else was touched, but every last bit of food is gone and shit was everywhere. Nothing broken, but clearly the house was searched for hidden stashes. Every room. I wanted to put the house back in order before we let the girls in,” he said.

“Gee, I wonder who did that?” she whispered sarcastically. “Do you think it’s safe for the girls to be over there?”

“The girls will be fine. I did what I could to patch up the garage door window. Their mudroom door has a deadbolt, so they shouldn’t have to worry about it. Those dickheads came back and finished the job. I am done messing around with them. If they show up here again, I promise you I’ll put an end to their game,” he said, fuming.

“All right, let’s calm back down and have some lunch with the kids. They were really curious about the girls being over here,” Kate said.

“I wish they could stay here, but it’s too risky. I’m just glad to see that they look fine. They’re both still pretty beat from the flu, but not as bad as I expected. They aren’t coughing, or anything, so I think they’ll be fine. They just look exhausted. I can tell they’re relieved to be back in their house. Katherine was already playing with her Barbies by the time we left. We’ll keep a close eye on them,” Alex said, and they joined their kids for reheated pizza.

**

Alex heard the doorbell ring. He stood up from the couch, put his book down on the coffee table, and picked up his pistol, tucking it into his jeans. A dozen scenarios flashed through his head before the doorbell rang again. The timing between rings didn’t alarm him. Perfectly normal delay. He checked his watch and walked over to the bottom of the staircase, looking up just as Kate appeared.

“Can you see who it is?” she whispered.

“No,” he said, leaning over to peek through the windows on each side of the front door. “Not from here. Mudroom. I’ll check it out. I’m sure it’s fine. Doesn’t sound too insistent,” he said, as the bell rang again.

“Three rings qualifies as insistent. Be careful.”

“As always. I’ll be right back,” he said and walked through the dimly lit kitchen into the mudroom. He kept the light off in the mudroom and peered through the door. He recognized Derek Sheppard immediately, and his tension level dropped. He opened the interior door, keeping the storm door between them, quickly scanning the area around the stoop and determining that Derek was alone.

Hopefully.

Alex cracked open the door. “What’s up, Derek?”

“Nothing really. I’m just really sorry that I was shitting on you earlier today. I got caught up with Todd and his crew. I said some bad stuff to Ed about you. I’ve really felt terrible about it. I…my youngest two are sick, and I…I’m sorry, really. You’ve always been a good friend. Both you and Kate,” he said softly.

Jesus. He’s apologizing for something I didn’t even know about.

“No problem, man. I wasn’t even there to hear it. This is a bad time for everyone. Seriously, it wasn’t on my radar, but I appreciate you coming over. Sorry to hear about the kids. How long have they been sick?” Alex asked, stepping outside.

Derek stepped back off the stoop onto the walkway. “I don’t want to get you sick. I feel fine, but you never know. The kids…not long, about three days. It came on kinda slow. Slower than we would have thought, so we hoped it was maybe just a cold or something, but then it picked up pretty fast with the fever and coughing. The fever’s scary. Nothing’s really cutting it. The coughing hasn’t been so bad, but it’s been miserable, and we can’t take the kids anywhere for treatment.”

“Have you tried to get any help?” Alex asked.

“They won’t see new patients at any of the flu triage sites right now. We sat on the phone for hours trying to get through the DHS patient care line with no success, so we drove around for a couple of hours trying to find a site that would help. Everything’s locked down hard by the National Guard. Really creepy, like right out of a horror movie. All we got were some homecare instructions, which quite frankly aren’t very inspiring. I can deal with the fever, but the coughing has me worried.”

“How’s Ellen?”

“She just spiked a fever yesterday, and she’s having a nervous breakdown. I honestly don’t know which is worse. She’s got Owen on the third floor, away from Gavin and Taylor. We’ve all been exposed, right? I mean, is there any point to keeping Owen separated?”

“She has the right idea to keep Owen separate. Again, how long since they started with the fever?” Alex repeated.

“Three days, tops.”

Alex paused to consider an idea that was just materializing.

I need to talk to Kate about this first.

“I’m gonna call you in like ten minutes. I’m thinking about something that could help. I need to…let me call you in a few minutes.”

Derek looked confused. “All right, Alex. Sounds good. Hey, I’m really sorry I didn’t stand up for you, but…it just wasn’t a good night with the kids. Sad excuse, I know, but…”

“Derek, seriously, I know it’s gotta be scary for you guys, especially with Owen and Ellen getting sick. Really, I’m not pissed at all, and I appreciate you coming over here like this.”

“I would’ve come by earlier, but Todd and those guys scare me. Enough to wait until dark. I thought about sneaking around back to your deck, but I didn’t want to get shot,” Derek said.

He’s probably not joking.

Alex suppressed a laugh. “I’m not at the point where I’m shooting people yet, but it’s probably a good policy not to be sneaking around at night.”

“Be careful with those assholes. It’s not over for them,” Derek warned him.

“I know. Believe me. Hey, I’ll be in touch in like ten minutes.”

“All right. Thanks again for being cool about this. I really feel bad.”

“No need, man. Talk to you in a few,” Alex said and stepped back inside.

Derek turned and walked briskly back to his house across the street.

Alex removed his dark blue winter jacket and hung it in the garage on a row of hooks adjacent to the mudroom door. He lifted his right elbow and used it to press the garage door button. He heard the motor engage, and the subsequent creak and squeak of the garage door as it slid along its infrequently lubricated track. Kate opened the door to the mudroom and Alex stepped inside the house to commence his usual decontamination procedure, which basically just consisted of him washing his hands and wiping down the faucet hardware with a disinfectant wipe. Once finished, he opened the bathroom door and stepped back out into the mudroom to take off his shoes. He’d just returned from delivering anti-virals to Derek Sheppard and had also stopped by Jamie’s house to check on Amanda and Katherine, who seemed to be handling their situation well. While inside their house, Alex smelled the meal prepared and delivered by the Walkers. He didn’t ask, but it smelled a lot like lasagna.

Kate poked her head into the mudroom. “How did it go?”

“Uneventful, which is how I like it. The girls seem fine. Whatever the Walkers cooked up for them smelled a hell of a lot better than what we had tonight. It was some sort of Italian dish, and I swear I smelled cheese,” he said.

“Really? Cheese. Huh. How about the rest of your journey?” she asked.

Alex stepped into the darkened library and removed a walkie-talkie radio from the left cargo pocket of his tan desert camouflage pants, placing it on a high, unused shelf, along with his pistol and a spare clip of ammunition.

“Good. Derek’s doing all right given the circumstances. I gave him three courses, and he’ll be using two of them tonight. Owen’s been sick for about three days, started off really rough, but Derek thinks he might be doing a little better.

“His wife’s a different story. She just started with the high fever, and she’s already extremely congested. Having trouble breathing. He’s really worried about ARDS, and I agree. It’s been hitting mostly healthy young to middle-aged adults, taking a lot of them down within a few days,” he said, standing up from the mudroom bench.

“Why would he use the drugs on Owen, if he’s getting better?”

“I don’t know. I recommended he wait and watch. If he’s stabilized and hasn’t been hit with pneumonia, then I think he should save the drugs. It’s a tough call. I gave him some antibiotics too, just in case. What are the kids up to?” he asked, moving into the kitchen to sit on one of the island stools.

“They’re both up in the attic watching a movie on demand. Would you give Derek more drugs if he needed them?” she asked, settling on to a stool across from Alex.

Alex met her eyes as she took a sip of her tea. “I don’t know. We have ten courses left. I’d have a hard time refusing him.” He cast his eyes down and exhaled in resignation.

“Hon, you shouldn’t feel like that’s the wrong answer. I feel the same way. I wish we could help more people,” Kate said.

Alex looked up at her and saw a warm, compassionate smile that eased his regret. “I know you do. Sometimes I think about all of the drugs I gave to Dr. Wright. If I had just kept more of those, we could have made a huge difference around here,” he said.

Kate leaned forward, sliding her cup of tea across the island with both hands. “Giving those to Dr. Wright was the right thing to do. Keeping them for yourself at that point would have been totally illegal and would have yanked the moral and ethical chair right out from under you when it came to your final dealings with Biosphere,” she said.

“Yeah, well, I was already teetering on that chair. I’d hardly call it a moral or ethical high ground,” he said and laughed through his nose.

“You’ve never done anything clearly out of bounds. Taking a few samples here and there. So what? Every other rep out there does it, and so do the doctors and their staff. Please don’t tell me you think that all of the TerraFlu samples sitting in those office bins went to patients. You and I know exactly where most of those samples went. You could have kept most of those samples and forged Dr. Wright’s signature, but you didn’t. You delivered them to the right place at exactly the right time.”

“I still kept an extra case from that load,” he reminded her.

“And you think Dr. Wright didn’t? He’s got a family, too.”

“We have ten more courses of therapy left. Four of those stay here for us. That’s non-negotiable, no matter who crawls up onto our porch. The other six we can give out. I have no problems with that. Hon, I don’t want you feeling guilty about this. You’ve been doing an unbelievable job with all of this,” she said, getting up from her stool.

“I’ve been doing what I think is right, given the circumstances,” Alex said.

“And you’ve done an amazing job.” She wrapped her arms around his chest from behind, nestled her head over his left shoulder, and leaned her body into his, squeezing him tightly. Alex nuzzled his head against hers.

“I’m just worried that the situation out there is going to deteriorate as the winter gets worse. God forbid the power goes out. The decisions will get tougher, and they’ll have to be made quicker. If things get really bad in the neighborhood, we need to be prepared to make some tough calls, right on the spot. My mission is to keep you and the kids safe at any cost. I need you to understand what this might come to mean,” he said softly.

“I’m a mother, believe me when I say that I understand what it means to protect these kids unconditionally.”

Alex believed her every intention, but was still not convinced that she truly understood the full scope of what each of them might have to do in order to ensure survival in the face of a worst-case scenario.

“Nobody messes with the momma bear?” he asked.

“Damn right,” she said and gave him an extra tight squeeze before letting him go and walked around the island to grab her cup of tea.

“What are the kids watching?”

“I don’t know. Probably something borderline inappropriate, like every other movie they want to see nowadays,” Kate replied.

“Still no Nightfall on demand?”

“No. They haven’t put a new movie on that feature for a couple of weeks now. Not since the theatres closed.”

“I hope Emily’s forgotten about it,” Alex said, wincing.

“No, she had another emotional blowout earlier today about it. She checks the on-demand menu like three times a day for it,” Kate said, grabbing her book.

“Great. Is she still blaming me for not seeing it?”

“Of course. I’ve made sure to keep the blame focused on you,” Kate said.

“Thanks. Hey, I think I’ll head up and watch the movie with them. You coming up?”

“Why, you still worried about me sitting down here by myself?”

“I’d certainly feel better if you were at least in our bedroom, or somewhere a little closer to the rest of us. Pleeeeeease.”

“Don’t you want to watch the evening news? It’s recorded,” she said.

“Not really. I’ll catch up with everything later on the internet. Anything really big going on?” he asked.

“Department of Energy officials estimate that most coal-fired power plants are already operating on their emergency reserve supply. The White House is calling for a nationwide conservation plan to extend the coal supply until the whole system starts to come back online. Coal mining, transportation, all of it is nearly shut down,” she told him.

“I guess we should turn off some of these lights and sit upstairs with the kids watching a movie,” he said, glancing around the kitchen and smirking at her.

“Nice try,” she said and walked to the bank of switches next to the sink. She turned off the under-cabinet lighting, which darkened the kitchen. The soft glow of a lamp in the great room cast more than enough light into the kitchen for them to see. Alex looked out of the wide window over the kitchen sink and stared at the numerous lights in the windows of the several houses within his view.

“Looks like nobody else cares,” he said, nodding toward the window.

“They’ll care when the power fails,” Kate replied, walking over to the great room. “It’s a good practice anyway…pandemic power failure or not. We keep way too many lights on around here. The kids turn on every light, in every room or hallway they use. I think your marine protégé is still afraid of the dark,” she said, referring to Ryan.

“He respects the dark,” Alex countered.

“Then according to your weird logic, shouldn’t he be learning to embrace the dark? Like maybe using one less light at a time until he is walking around the house in the pitch black?”

“All right, whatever…he’s afraid of the dark. Nobody likes the dark. Like I always say, most of the bad shit usually happens when it’s dark. You coming upstairs?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’ll join you guys after I close up down here.”

“See you in a few,” he said, walking toward the staircase. He suddenly remembered the pistol and turned around. The light in the great room went out and Kate met him in the kitchen.

“Forget something?” she asked, and Alex detected a cheeky tone.

“Maybe,” he said, standing between the island and the kitchen desk, hoping that she’d head upstairs.

“Last week I put it in the nightstand for you.”

“I know. Thanks,” he said.

“Don’t worry. I got your back around here,” she said and slapped his butt. “Can you make sure the doors are locked?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Alex sat bathed in the soft glow of his office computer screen, examining the ISPAC world pandemic map. He placed the cursor over the United States: “United States. Population 310,810,109. 1,920,341 reported cases. Borders closed. Uncontained.”

Before opening the ISPAC site, he read several articles confirming that the national healthcare system’s surge capacity had been exceeded nationwide. This assessment included all of the available mobile Federal Medical Stations, which, as of late last week, had all been deployed to major metropolitan areas. At this point, almost no effective inpatient or outpatient care was available for the treatment of new cases.

He moved the cursor across the Pacific Ocean to China: “China. Population 1,350,678,400. Massive outbreak. 152,843,000 reported cases as of 11/26/013. Further case reporting to be based on data samples and mathematical estimates. Borders closed. Uncontained.”

Reluctantly, he pushed the cursor over Maine: “Maine. Population 1,415,484. Large cluster outbreak. 88,434 cases confirmed. Uncontained. Surge capacity exceeded.”

“Portland. Population 66,144. Large cluster outbreak. 21,400 cases reported. Uncontained. Surge capacity exceeded.”

Alex resisted the urge to analyze Boston, knowing the situation would be considerably worse, and that way too many of those people were already on their way up to Maine. He was mostly concerned with eastern Massachusetts, specifically the densely-populated areas around Boston. Headlines throughout greater Boston strongly indicated that the area was on the brink of exploding into a full scale civil riot. If that happened, the city would turn into a war zone, further escalating the refugee situation and the desperation of those fleeing north.

That’s when the real fun’ll start around here.

Alex put the computer into standby mode and turned off the screen, which darkened the room. He stood up from the chair and kneeled down to peer through a two-inch opening at the bottom of the office window shade. With the lights out in the office and the adjoining hall, he could scan the neighborhood unobserved.

He could see only a few scattered lights, mostly on the second floors of homes in the neighborhood. He stared at a fixed point above the Sheppards’ front door for about one minute, relying on his peripheral vision to detect any movement in the neighborhood.

Nothing. No creepers yet.

Before standing up, he stared at the McDaniel house, wondering where Amanda and Katherine bunked for the night, hoping they took his advice to stay in the same room and barricade the door with a folding chair. He told them to call either his house or Ed’s if they heard anything unusual inside or outside of the house. He felt bad that they were alone without an adult, but not bad enough to risk bringing the flu into his own house. He pulled the shade down to the windowsill and walked out of the office.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Alex was startled out of a shallow sleep by the home telephone on his nightstand. Without looking, he reached over to grab the handset out of its charging cradle, knocking his smartphone onto the floor, hearing it bounce off the carpet and hit the nightstand.

Damn it.

He found the phone and brought the light blue LED illuminated handset to his face. “Walker, Edward.”

“Hello? Ed?” he answered.

“Alex,” Ed said urgently, “someone forced their way into my basement, through the bulkhead door. I heard it creak open. I think they might still be here. I have the kids in our room. I don’t want to—”

“Just stay where you are, Ed. I’ll be over there in less than a minute,” Alex assured him, shooting up out of bed.

“Should I call the police? I don’t know if you—”

“You can try, but I don’t think we’re going to see any cops around anytime soon. Ed, stay in your bedroom, away from the door. Open one of your back windows. I’ll be right over. I’m hanging up now.”

He rushed over to his closet and pulled on a pair of jeans that were lying in a heap on the closet floor, hastily pulled a gray sweatshirt over his head, and grabbed the Mossberg shotgun. He pulled down a box of “double ought” buckshot shells and opened it, stuffing several of them into the front pockets of his jeans. As he emerged from the closet, he heard Kate’s voice emanate from the bed.

“What’s going on?” she murmured.

“Ed thinks someone has broken into his basement. I’m going over to investigate.”

“Why doesn’t he call the police?” she mumbled.

“Because it’ll take the police hours to respond…if they respond. You should bring the kids into the bedroom, or at least lock their doors. I’m heading out right now.”

He didn’t want to waste any more crucial time talking to someone that he knew wouldn’t be capable of a lucid conversation for at least another ten minutes, and right now, he didn’t have time to brew the coffee necessary to speed up the process.

Alex reached the mudroom and grabbed his keys, stuck his bare feet into his running shoes and took a powerful, compact LED flashlight off the same shelf as his keys. He tucked this into his right back pocket along with the keys and opened the door to the garage. He locked the door as he slid through and closed it behind him, skirting along the 4Runner and performing the same action on the back door of the garage.

He slipped into the frigid air of a dark, overcast November night and tested the door to the garage. Locked. A violent shiver overtook him as his body registered the change in temperature, and he immediately regretted the decision to ignore the wide selection of fleeces and jackets available to him in the mudroom. Pushing the self-pity aside, he moved swiftly across his backyard to the concealment of several squat pine trees near the back of his lot, keeping his eyes trained on Ed’s house.

High in the western sky, Alex could barely perceive the moon’s glow, which cast no useful illumination through the thick layer of clouds. As he reached the trees, the open bulkhead doors materialized from behind the Walkers’ deck. Alex took to a knee behind one of the trees, extending his head out far enough to monitor the doors. He took a shotgun shell out of the speed feeder in the stock of the shotgun, ignoring the shells in his pockets, and loaded it into the bottom of the shotgun, repeating the procedure two more times.

He pumped the shotgun, loading a shell into the chamber, stiffening at the sound of the pumping mechanism, hoping that the sound didn’t carry all the way to the Walkers’ house. In close proximity, the sound of the pump action was unmistakable and usually enough to stop even the most stubborn adversary. At this distance, he didn’t think the sound would be loud enough to elicit the same response. He quickly ensured that the safety was engaged and started to move swiftly toward the Walkers’ deck.

With my luck, I’ll trip on some frozen dog shit and set this thing off.

He crouched slightly, carrying the shotgun by the receiver with his right hand, struck by the absolute silence of the night in the late fall. Halfway to the deck, a dark figure darted out of the open bulkhead door, sprinting toward the Andersons’ backyard. A second figure emerged from the evergreen bushes on the border of the Andersons’ and Walkers’ property, and ran to join the intruder toward the back of the lot.

A lookout?

Alex changed his own direction to match that of the two figures and sprinted toward them yelling, “Stop! Police! Stop! Don’t move!”

One of the figures slowed down and turned around, but Alex couldn’t tell in the blackness if it was the intruder or the lookout. Both figures merged at the edge of the Walkers’ property, and he lost track as they dodged between evergreens. Either way, one of the burglars had no intention of stopping, and Alex didn’t want to lose either of them. He yelled another warning as he approached the closest figure, who was now at a standstill. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

The runner didn’t slow, and Alex fired the shotgun straight up into the air. The man in front of him took a few panicky steps backward and fell over a railroad tie into the hard dirt of the Andersons’ empty vegetable garden. The runner slowed down considerably, and Alex fired another deafening shot into the air, which stopped the man in his tracks. He pumped the shotgun again, chambering another shell, and started walking toward the downed figure in the Andersons’ garden, his ears ringing from the two blasts.

“Get back here, or I’ll blast your friend all over the yard! Now!” Alex said, aiming the shotgun at the figure on the ground. “Don’t move,” he cautioned the prone intruder.

He drew a deep but quiet breath, straining to regain his wind after the brief sprint. He’d keep drawing quick shallow breaths through his nose until he felt more steady.

“Hey, don’t shoot me, you don’t have to shoot me,” the man said, panicky.

I know that voice.

“You better call that fucker back over here. He looks like he’s going to bolt, and if he does, I’m going to blast one of your legs off, and then hunt him down,” Alex said, pointing the barrel at the man’s right leg.

“Todd! Todd! This guy isn’t messing around. You need to get back here!” Mike Lynch said, twisting his body far enough to face Todd.

Alex heard the distant figure muttering, still considering his options. He then started to walk back across the Andersons’ yard toward Alex, who shifted the shotgun from his right shoulder to his right hip, keeping it trained on Mike.

“Are either of you two armed?” he asked Mike.

“No, just a walkie-talkie. We didn’t…we weren’t trying to hurt anyone. We were looking for…”

“Don’t say another fucking word, Mike!” Todd said, approaching them nonchalantly.

Alex saw what looked like a radio in his hand. “You might want to take this a little more seriously, Todd,” he said, pointing the shotgun towards Todd’s head.

“Don’t point that gun at my head!” Todd protested, waving his hands uselessly in front of him.

Alex could see that he was holding a small radio with a thick, stubby antenna. “I’ll do whatever I want right now. Stop right there. If you take more than two steps in my direction, I’ll fire on you. And keep your hands where I can see them.”

“You’re not gonna fire at anyone,” Todd said.

Alex pointed the shotgun back at Mike. “What do you think, Mike?” he asked.

Mike looked up at Todd and shook his head. “I wouldn’t mess with this guy, Todd. I think he’s a little…off right now.”

“‘Off’ is a good term. Right now I’m looking for any reason to permanently erase the two of you from my list of worries,” Alex said, shifting the gun’s aim back at Todd.

“Quit pointing that thing at me!” Todd said.

“Or what?” Alex asked, shaking his head at Todd.

Mike started to slowly get up, clapping his hands together to clean off the dirt.

“Stay where you are, Mike,” Alex warned, keeping the gun aimed at Todd.

Mike lowered his body back down into the dirt.

I don’t have to worry about Mike. He’s under voice control now.

Alex heard one of the Walkers’ windows open, but didn’t turn to look.

“Alex! Who are they? What’s going on?” Ed yelled in a whisper from above.

I just fired a shotgun twice, and he’s whispering.

“It’s our good friends Todd and Mike! Out for an evening stroll!”

Alex scanned his two neighbors, both of whom were dressed in blue jeans, hiking boots, and dark-colored jackets. Alex guessed that Todd’s was dark blue, and that Mike’s was a natural shade of green, like pine, although he couldn’t be sure. Mike wore a dark blue ball cap with what Alex was pretty sure was a reddish ‘B’ on the front. Todd had a black watch cap pulled tightly over his head, covering his ears. Neither of them appeared to be carrying or hiding anything.

“Didn’t find what you’re looking for?” Alex asked.

“I’m out of here,” Todd said.

Just as he finished his sentence, a woman’s voice emanated from the direction of Todd’s house. Through the darkness, Alex perceived movement in one of the windows above Todd’s garage, and he suddenly felt exposed standing out in the open. He moved to his left, putting Todd between himself and the open window.

No reason to make this an easy shot for anyone.

“You stay right there, or your wife is going to remember this night for the rest of her life,” Alex said, raising the shotgun to his shoulder and aiming directly at Todd’s head.

Todd raised his right hand out in front of his face.

“Don’t bother, you’ll lose the hand and your head.”

“I don’t really give a shit, Alex. My wife probably won’t have the memory of you killing me for very long. I just hope she passes before one of the kids does. That’s a memory I don’t want her to carry for even a minute,” Todd said.

“I’m sorry, Todd,” Alex said, truly meaning it.

“Are you?” Todd asked and shook his head.

Alex lowered the gun barrel, pointing at the ground between Mike and Todd. Todd’s wife was still yelling out of the window, but Alex couldn’t make out what she was saying. Todd looked back at the window, then turned his head slowly around to Alex.

“If you’re planning to shoot us, now would be a good time. Otherwise, I’ll see you later,” he said and started to walk toward his house.

Mike remained on the ground, eyes darting back and forth between Alex and Todd.

“Last warning, Todd. If I find you on either of these two lots again, I will kill you on sight. Same with the McDaniels’ house. Actually, if I find you sneaking around anywhere in the neighborhood, you’re a dead man. Keep to yourself. The same goes for you, Mike. Do you understand me?”

Mike acknowledged him immediately with a vigorous nod and a weak “yes.” Todd muttered “whatever.”

The sudden deafening detonation of the shotgun dropped Todd to his knees. As Alex’s hearing flooded back, he picked up screams from Todd’s master bedroom window. Todd was frozen on his knees and didn’t look back. Alex racked the slide of the shotgun again, although the shotgun’s ammunition cylinder was empty, and he pointed the shotgun at Todd’s back.

“I’ll ask you that question one more time. Do you understand my terms?” he asked quietly over the relentless screams pouring out of Todd’s house.

Todd nodded his head and muttered “yes.”

“Good. Now get out of here. Both of you,” Alex said, lowering the shotgun.

Both of them rose up quickly and sprinted toward the back of Todd’s house. Alex watched them disappear behind Todd’s house, and turned toward the open window on the second floor of the Walkers’. He engaged the safety on the shotgun.

“You need to keep your bulkhead door locked,” he said wryly.

“Yeah, like I haven’t checked my bulkhead thirty times since this started,” Ed replied, suddenly appearing from the bulkhead steps.

“Does it look jimmied?” Alex asked, taking the flashlight out of his back pocket.

“Hold on,” Ed said, descending the stairs.

Light poured out of the basement a few seconds later as he reemerged to examine the locking mechanism. Alex activated his flashlight and pointed it at the locking bolt.

“Jesus, what do you have a million candle power coming out of that thing?” Ed asked, shielding his eyes.

“Sorry.” Alex shut off the light. He leaned down by the mechanism, which consisted of a thick metal bolt, curved on both ends to keep it from falling out of the sliding mechanism. There really wasn’t much to it, and from casual observation, it looked intact and undamaged. Alex glanced over his shoulder toward the Andersons’ yard. “Sure you locked it?” he asked.

“Positive,” Ed replied.

“I’d hate to think it’s that easy to manipulate one of these. I have the same thing at my house.”

“I don’t know. It’s not exactly a complicated system, and the bulkhead itself isn’t exactly airtight. I’m gonna try and jam some wood between the bolt and the door, wedge it in place better.”

“That should do it,” Alex agreed.

“Did you have to fire that thing three times? What was going on with them?”

“I needed to convince Todd that I was serious,” Alex replied.

“What about the last shot? It looked like you were aiming at him,” Ed said.

“I was aiming between them, plenty of room on either side. I was just using bird shot anyway. I needed Todd to escalate his level of care at that moment. He was a little dismissive, which wasn’t the tone I was looking for.”

“Well, I think you got his attention. He was running sort of funny on the way back. Like he’d pissed his pants.”

“I hope so,” Alex said.

“I need to find the three expended shells. I can see Todd’s wife calling the cops. So if you have everything under control here, I need to remove the evidence from your backyard.”

“Have at it. I’ll be down here jamming wood into this stupid door.”

“Maybe there’s a place where you could put a padlock or something and jam the mechanism shut?” Alex asked, backing up out of the light.

“I’ll let you know if I figure something like that out. Happy hunting,” Ed said.

“Yep,” Alex said and turned on his flashlight.

Ten minutes later, he unlocked and opened the door to his garage. He opened the green garbage bin lid, tossed the three expended shells into the bin, and moved one of the trash bags near the top to make sure the shells filtered down a little further so they were out of immediate sight. He planned to reload the speed feeder with three more birdshot shells and made a mental note to find a better way to carry around the double ought shells, just in case he needed more than the bird shot.

When Alex had decided to keep the shotgun in his closet, he’d opted to keep four birdshot shells loaded in the stock’s spring-loaded speed feeders. This made sense to him on several levels. First, in the unlikely case that he was forced to discharge the weapon inside the house, the birdshot would not pass through the walls with enough kinetic energy to kill or significantly hurt someone on the other side. This was an important consideration for Alex with children in the house.

His secondary reason for the selection was lethality, or in the case of birdshot, reduction of lethality. In Alex’s opinion, birdshot in a confined space was more than adequate to instantly and wholly incapacitate an intruder, without annihilating them.

He opened the door to the house and was greeted by a well-lit mudroom. Kate was sitting at the kitchen island, just out of sight of the mudroom door, and poked her head in view briefly. The kitchen was dimly lit by the stove’s under-mounted light.

“Hey, hon,” he called out, slipping out of his shoes.

Rather not get stabbed in a case of mistaken identity.

“What happened out there? I heard some gunshots, so I rushed down here to check on you. By the time I got out into the backyard, I could see you and Ed chatting by his bulkhead. Seemed like everything was under control.”

“Mike and Todd pulled off a little B and E at Ed’s, through the bulkhead, so I put the fear of Mossberg into them…hon, the hammer’s back on that gun,” he said dryly, leaning the shotgun against the kitchen desk. He stepped around Kate to examine the pistol lying on the kitchen island next to her tea cup. “Which means that just about four pounds of pressure on that trigger and…”

He picked up the weapon, keeping it pointed toward the mudroom, and depressed the de-cocking lever with his thumb. The hammer fell lightly. He then pressed the magazine release mechanism at the base of the trigger guard. The magazine slid out into his left hand, and he placed it on the island. He then racked the slide and the chambered .45 caliber round popped out of the weapon, hit the island, and rolled off. Alex heard it hit the seat of a stool, then the floor. Kate looked tense as the bullet rolled off the island onto the floor.

“Don’t worry, hon. You can’t set one of these off by dropping it. You can, however, set one off by keeping the hammer cocked while you traipse around the backyard in the dark. Good way to trip and shoot yourself in the head,” he said, moving to retrieve the bullet from the floor.

“Yeah, well, I got a little worried when I heard gunfire in the backyard. You know, I don’t think it’s such a great idea for you to be charging through the dark either,” she said, nodding at the shotgun. “You’re not the only one around here with guns. You have no idea what might have been waiting for you in Ed’s backyard. You’re lucky it was only those two idiots. What did they want?”

“Food, medicine…both. I’m sure they’re convinced that Ed has a huge stash of drugs, too,” he said and sat on the stool next to Kate.

“Do you think they’d try the same thing here?”

“Not after tonight, although Todd does seem to have some sort of death wish. I don’t think Susan’s doing well at all. He made a comment about how she won’t be around much longer. The more desperate everyone becomes…who knows what’ll happen around here?”

“Not much else we can do at this point,” she said, kissing him on the forehead and standing up from her stool. “That’s it, I’m done. I don’t want to be a zombie all day,” she added, shuffling toward the staircase.

“Big day tomorrow?” he asked.

“You know it,” she said, laughing softly. “What day is it tomorrow? Today, actually.”

“Tuesday. Not that it really matters,” he replied.

“Yeah. No kidding. I love you” she said and started up the stairs.

“Love you too.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Alex walked across the darkened kitchen into the great room and was pleasantly surprised to find everyone quietly reading. The shades had already been pulled shut, and the room was bathed in the soothing glow of a few strategically placed reading lamps. Kate was on the leather sectional couch, staring at the screen of her iPad, which was propped up against her bent knees. Ryan occupied the other side of the couch, holding Alex’s iPad. A few days before, Alex had shown Ryan how to find and download books, and Ryan found several science fiction books that interested him. Alex had encouraged him to keep searching and ordering books. If the power grid failed nationwide, he wasn’t sure how long they would have internet access, and without books, they would all be facing an extremely long winter.

He stepped into the family room and put his hand on Emily’s head, softly stroking her hair. She was curled up in one of the oversized leather chairs right inside the great room entrance, eyes closed with a book weakly grasped in her right hand. She opened her eyes slowly as he petted her head.

“Hey, sweetie. Whatcha reading?” he asked.

She stifled a yawn and stretched her shoulders back. “Just one of the Explorer series books. I still have like four or five more in the series that I haven’t read yet.”

“You still like those, huh?” he asked, kneeling down next to her chair.

“Yeah, I forgot how good they were.”

“Even without vampires or the undead floating around? Hard to believe.”

“Even without vampires, Daddy.”

“Sounds good, cupcake. Why don’t you close your eyes and go back to sleep?” he suggested.

Emily nodded and started to drift away.

Kate looked up from the iPad. “How is everyone?” she asked quietly, glancing at Ryan, who appeared undisturbed.

“Not bad overall,” he said, signaling her with his head to meet him in the other room.

He walked back into the kitchen, and she joined him shortly after. They both walked over to the den. Alex turned one of the lamps on and they both plopped down into the leather club chairs, keeping the door open.

“This is a nice room. We should spend more time in here,” Kate said and took a deep breath.

“Yeah, it is sort of a sanctuary.” He paused. “So it looks like my brother is going to be fine. My parents picked him up from the hospital in Castle Rock this morning and brought him to their house. He still has pneumonia, but I guess he responded well to antibiotics and the intensive intervention that was still miraculously available at that hospital. Lucky bastard. Broke his arm in the car crash.”

“Why did Karla make your parents drive over an hour out to Castle Rock?” Kate asked angrily.

“Karla died at the Fort Carson flu triage center last night. My parents had a long day yesterday,” he said flatly.

“God, those poor kids. I can’t even imagine. Did you know she was sick?”

“No. I haven’t talked to them for a week. Just a few emails to make sure they were okay. Mom said she came down with symptoms really fast. The kids were already sick, but never got worse. They all took the anti-virals. My mother tore Daniel’s house apart and found the drugs stashed in one of the bathroom closets, still in the original box I sent. Unopened,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “Anyway, Karla’s dad still lives in Colorado Springs. Made it to Colonel before retiring right outside of Fort Carson. He pulled some strings to get her into the triage center on base. It sounds like she went fast. Complete respiratory breakdown within like a day and a half. Ethan and Kevin are staying with my parents, along with Daniel. It doesn’t sound like Daniel is out of the woods yet. They gave him some strong antibiotics to take home, but he really needs to stay on an antibiotic drip. I don’t know. Sounds like they were actively clearing hospital beds and ventilators for other patients.”

“I’m really sorry to hear about Karla. I can’t believe it. So fast. She was the world to those kids,” Kate said.

“That’s why we can’t take any chances here. This thing really seems to be annihilating younger, healthy adults. Karla, Eric Bishop, Joe Burton. All you hear on the news are reports of healthy adults being taken down in the course of a few days. Gone. That’s why we can’t afford a slip up,” Alex said.

“I know,” Kate agreed. “Should we say anything to the kids?”

“No. It would just freak them out.”

“All right. I’m so glad your parents are watching them. I don’t think they would stand a chance if it wasn’t for them,” she said.

“That’s what I told them. I also told them to go ahead and take the TerraFlu I gave them. They each have two courses of therapy. I forgot I gave them more than one. With the kids and Daniel in the house, they’re bound to get sick. If TerraFlu is in their system before they show symptoms, then they might not even develop more than a mild fever or cough.”

“Good. You’re right, they’ll be fine. I know they will. I am going to work on some dinner,” Kate said, getting up from her seat.

“Your clan isn’t still considering a migration up to your brother’s place are they?” he asked her.

“No, I got an email from them this morning. Too many moving parts. Three cars, barely enough gas to pull it off. They’ve stockpiled a lot of stuff over there, and they’d have to move that too. Princeton is still pretty quiet, but the mayhem is getting closer, spilling out of Philly…New York…northern Jersey. They’re nervous about it, but they’re way better off staying put. God only knows what could happen to them on the road. They’d be forced to transit some highly populated parts of Jersey and Mass…places that look like borderline warzones right now.”

“I think they made a good call,” Alex said, following her out of the room.

“How does pasta and sauce sound? Throw some beans in there, maybe?” Kate suggested, opening the pantry door.

“Works for me,” he said, leaning over to dig an onion out of a red net bag on the floor of the pantry.

“How many more of those do we have?”

“Four more in this bag, and we have another bag of about twelve in the bunker.”

“We do?” she asked.

“We do. You should spend a little more time down there. You might find all kinds of nice little surprises.” He laughed.

“Maybe I will.” She took a box of pasta and a large can of crushed tomatoes to the counter next to the stove.

Alex followed behind her and took a large squat knife out of the knife rack. He put the knife behind his back in a reverse commando grip and moved behind Kate, never exposing her to the blade. Just as he reached the wooden chopping block, their phone rang. He put the knife and onion down and grabbed the phone from the island.

“Ed,” he said to her and answered the phone. “What’s up, Ed? More funny noises in the basement?” Alex asked.

“Now that it’s clear that I have Rambo guarding my house, I highly doubt we’ll see either of those two again. Thanks again, I guess. At least you didn’t blast a hole in my house,” Ed said.

“Nice. Any time, Mr. Appreciative,” Alex replied, smiling at Kate, who was watching him. “Hold on, Ed, while I seek some privacy.”

“Who is it, Dad?” Ryan called out from the family room.

“It’s your girlfriend’s dad, Mr. Walker,” Alex said.

“Great,” Kate sighed.

“Dad! She’s not my girlfriend!”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” he said and slid the pocket door to the mudroom shut to add a layer of soundproofing, in anticipation of the uproar he may have ignited. He heard Ryan still grumbling to Kate about what he’d said, and he shut the door to the den, locking it to prevent intrusion by an embarrassed twelve-year-old.

“I’m sure Ryan was happy to hear you say that,” Ed cracked.

“Yeah, it was like setting off a bomb in the kitchen for Kate to clean up. What’s going on?” Alex asked, switching on the overhead light, which did not please him.

“I think Jamie’s home. We saw a car pull away from the house about ten minutes ago. Never saw it pull up. Now there are lights on over the garage in the master bedroom. The girls never turned those lights on.”

“Should we go over there and make sure everything is all right?” Alex asked.

“I think I’ll call first. Maybe it’s a relative, her parents or something,” Ed said.

“I thought their families were pretty far away?”

“Midwest somewhere. That’d be a long trip.”

“Really long. I doubt it’s a relative.”

“You’re probably right,” Ed replied.

“Yet to be wrong,” Alex quipped.

“Keep running around the neighborhood with a shotgun, and that might change.”

“That’s what my wife thinks.”

“She might be on to something,” Ed said. “Anyway, I’ll give her a call. If she’s home, we could bring over some supplies for them later tonight.”

“Keep me posted,” Alex said.

“I’ll call you later.” Ed hung up.

Alex reentered the kitchen and briefed Kate on the most recent development.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Alex lay awake in bed on his left side, staring at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Kate’s arms were wrapped around him, and her body was pressed snuggly into his back. He heard Emily breathing deeply on the other side of Kate. Having both of the kids in the master bedroom made him feel better, more at ease, given the unstable climate in the neighborhood. Their rooms seemed so far away at the other end of the house, and with the staircase emptying in front of the entrances to both of their rooms, he worried about being able to reach them in time if they had an intruder.

More worries.

As Alex started drifting back to sleep, he heard the doorbell ring.

“Who’s that?” Kate mumbled.

Alex sat up slowly, feeling exhausted by the unplanned two-hour interruption to his sleep last night. He slid out of the covers and walked over to the front window, raised the shade halfway, and saw that a police cruiser was parked on the street in front of their mailbox. He could read “Scarborough Police” on the side of the car.

“It’s the police. Stay in bed, I’ll see what’s up,” he said and pulled a pair of dark brown corduroy pants out of the closet.

“If you insist,” Kate said.

He arrived at the mudroom door dressed in the brown pants, a thin gray long-sleeved shirt, and bare feet. Alex looked through the mudroom door window and saw a police officer standing on the stoop; another officer stood back several paces on the walkway. The furthest officer took a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth, and Alex could clearly see his breath.

Nasty cold out.

Neither looked particularly contentious or alarmed, and Alex felt only the typical apprehension he might experience finding two police officers standing outside their door.

Travelling in pairs? Things must really be going to shit out there.

He slipped on a pair of Crocs and opened both the interior and storm doors to greet the officers, and was met by an expected rush of bitterly cold air.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said, stepping out onto the stoop with the officer.

“Morning. Mr. Fletcher?” the officer on the stoop asked.

The other officer nodded a friendly, but stiff greeting. Alex considered the officer standing a few feet from him. From inside the house, the officer looked like any uniformed law enforcement official he had seen before, prior to the pandemic, but on closer inspection, Alex immediately spotted the considerable strain these officers must be facing.

Officer Hale, as he read from the name badge, looked like he hadn’t shaved in at least two days. That, combined with the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, led Alex to believe that he hadn’t slept much either in the past few days. The condition of his uniform betrayed the same ordeal. Although still far from unserviceable, his uniform was no longer the crisp, heavily starched and pressed navy blue uniform he surely wore just a month ago.

Glancing furtively, Alex saw that one knee of his uniform pants was dirty, or possibly just worn through. He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t plan to take another look. The last thing he noticed in his cursory examination was that the officer was wearing some kind of enhanced body armor under his cold weather parka. Whatever he was wearing, it didn’t resemble a standard ballistic vest; this one was much thicker, giving his upper body a significant barrel-like appearance.

Probably fitted with some ceramic trauma plates. Stop an AK-47 bullet. These guys aren’t taking any chances.

“Alex. Just Alex. How can I help you guys?”

“Mr. Fle…Alex, we’re looking into the possible discharge of a firearm in your neighborhood. Happened two nights ago…and…”

Officer Hale was having trouble forming the words, probably due to sheer exhaustion. The other officer helped him out.

“One of the neighbors reported several gunshots coming from over there. Shotgun,” he said, pointing in the general direction of Ed’s house.

“I didn’t hear any gunshots last night. Pretty quiet around here,” Alex said, as they gathered near the mudroom overhang.

“Actually, the report came in two nights ago,” Hale said, stealing a glance at Downes.

“Nothing all week, actually,” Alex said, starting to feel a warmth creep over his face.

“Well, the person who called insisted they saw you in the backyard, behind the Andersons’, right about the same time as the gunshots. Around two thirty in the morning.”

“And they’re sure it was me?” Alex asked.

“The report makes it pretty clear that they thought it was you.”

Alex shrugged. “Well, I can guarantee you that I don’t make a habit of running around the neighborhood in the wee hours of the morning with a gun. Especially these days. Did anyone else report the shots?”

“We got a call from the street behind you and two more from your street, just reporting what they thought was gunfire. Mr. Fletcher…Alex, do you own any firearms?” Officer Hale asked.

“You guys want to step in the garage? I’m freezing my nuts off out here. I’d invite you in the house, but we’re enforcing a strict quarantine until the flu tapers off,” Alex offered.

Officer Hale looked at Downes, who nodded.

“Sure,” Hale said.

“Let me open the door. I’ll be right back.” Alex opened the far garage door, and the officers stepped into the empty space, which was considerably warmer than the open air. Alex met them in the empty bay and leaned against the 4Runner’s rear passenger door. The two officers stood several feet away from him, in the middle of the empty bay, with their backs to the double-stacked woodpile. Both officers crossed their arms, almost in unison, taking what Alex interpreted to be a neutral, yet interrogative stance.

“That’s better. Anyway…uh, yes, I own a handgun, which you guys probably know already. I have a concealed carry permit filed with the town.”

What’s the chance they’ll stop the questions here?

“No shotguns or rifles?” Hale asked, and Alex felt the heat building up in his face.

“I’m not a hunter, so I don’t have any need for a long gun,” he replied.

“Well, the reason I brought it up is because one of the other officers at the station remembers seeing you with a shotgun at the Fish and Game club. Said you’re pretty handy with a shotgun. Mossberg, he thought,” Hale said, glancing briefly at Downes.

“I have a few friends that are really into guns, and I’ve taken them to the range before. He probably saw me with one of their shotguns. One of them has a Mossberg. My personal favorite. Defender model very similar to the one I trained on and used in Iraq,” Alex said, feeling like every motion he made was betraying his lie.

He felt uncomfortable lying to the officers, but he didn’t want to give them any more reason than they already had to enter his house. Neither one of them appeared sick, but they had to be in constant contact with the public, so Alex didn’t want to take the chance. Plus, with the level of violence escalating region-wide, he certainly couldn’t risk having his firearms confiscated, which is a course of action he could envision them taking.

The last thing the police needed was a loose cannon running around any of the neighborhoods, and his behavior last night stood a good chance of landing him on the loose cannon list. He was certain that if these guys could verify with one hundred percent accuracy that he owned a shotgun, they’d take measures to remove it from the premises, along with every other weapon in his gun safe. He decided that his best strategy would be to continue to play dumb about a shotgun.

“When did you serve?” Downes asked.

“’94 to ’04. Got out after the invasion of Iraq,” Alex said.

“Small world. I was army. In for five years active, left as a sergeant in 2009. I’m still in the reserves. 94th MP detachment down in Saco,” Downes told him.

“Oh boy, here we go,” Hale said, smirking.

“What unit were you with on active duty?” Alex asked.

I need to drag this on as long as I can.

“2nd Brigade Combat Team, 4th ID…”

“Out of Fort Carson?”

“Yeah, you been there?” Downes asked.

“My folks still live in C Springs. My sister-in-law’s parents live right outside Ft. Carson. Her dad’s a retired Colonel. His last post was at Ft. Carson, I think. Anyway, she died a few days ago,” Alex said.

“Flu?” Hale asked.

“Yeah. She went quick.”

Both officers put on somber faces, probably more out of courtesy than anything else.

“Sorry to hear that,” Hale said.

“Yeah, that’s tough,” Downes added, “there’s too much of that going around.”

“I imagine you guys are running into it all day,” Alex said, not sure if that was the right thing to say.

“We’re too busy to respond to those calls. Hell, you’d be lucky to get an ambulance out at this point. EMT crews got crushed by the flu. At this point, the department is at less than half strength. We’re lucky to have two cars out at any given time, and those are usually twenty-four hour shifts. It’s a real fu…friggin mess. We’re pulling strictly volunteer duty to try and clear up any notable reports of violence or civil disorder, which brings me back to the point of our visit,” Hale said.

“We’ve seen too many neighborhood disputes escalate over the past week or so. People are getting desperate. My best advice is to keep to yourselves, and if anything happens, avoid confrontation, try to make an ID, and give us a call. We might not respond right away, but we’ll do our best to get to the bottom of it. Sometimes just our showing up and asking a few questions goes a long way.”

Alex grinned, knowing that Hale’s last statement was directed at him. “Nobody likes having the police pay a visit,” he said, as they all started to walk out of the garage.

“Unless they call 911,” Downes added.

“So, how bad is it out there? I mean beyond Scarborough? Those vests aren’t standard issue. Pairing you guys up when they could double the number of cars out on patrol?” Alex questioned.

Both officers stopped and turned around just short of leaving the garage. Hale wore an exhausted expression that betrayed a concerned caution. “It’s not too bad up here yet, even in Portland or South Portland. Just the usual stuff. Lots of break-ins, vandalism, minor fights…some major ones, but nothing crazy yet.”

He touched his vest. “Tri-City Special Response divvied up all the gear last week. Not enough trained guys left on the roster to field a response team. Everyone that goes out on patrol has the option to take one of these. We got some assault rifles too, though nobody’s really been trained by the department to use one, other than the Special Response guys. Officer Downes is the only member of the team from Scarborough still fit for duty,” Hale said, glancing at Downes.

“We only contributed two guys to the team. Most of them were from South Portland, so we didn’t get a lot of the gear. Four sets of body armor, some night vision, other goodies. I hope we never really have to use any of it,” Downes said.

“Amen to that,” Alex said.

“All right, we have to get moving here. Lots of ground to cover before one of us passes out. Do you have a radio that can scan police channels?” Hale asked him.

The question caught Alex off guard, and he paused, not really sure how to answer the question. He owned a Uniden multi-channel radio with this capability that he kept in the basement, but he hadn’t yet considered using it to eavesdrop on local law enforcement. His silence crossed over into discomfort, as he continued to ponder what he should say.

Is it illegal? I think it might be.

“We don’t care if you have a police scanner. They’re perfectly legal in Maine. It’s amazing how everyone clams up around us.” Hale laughed.

“Well, it’s not like you guys are here for beers. It’s like when you’re driving, and suddenly you see a cruiser in your rearview mirror. You could be driving your grandma back to the nursing home, and your ass would still pucker,” Alex said, causing both officers to chuckle.

“That’s a scary thought. Anyway, if you have one, you should start scanning local and county channels. We haven’t seen too many refugees from Mass up this far, but they’re coming. They’ve been slipping into the state slowly, mainly up the turnpike, but we think that’s all about to change,” Hale said.

Downes leaned in a little close, like he was about to share a secret. “We’ve heard from a few sources that the situation down in Boston is about to go critical. They’ve already seen limited riots and fires, but from what we’ve been hearing, they’re on the brink of a complete breakdown. Once that happens, we can expect a lot of people streaming north, most of them with nothing, and all of them looking for something.

“This has already caused some problems down in York County. These folks drive up with just the fuel in their tanks and whatever they thought to jam in their cars. No plan, no contacts up here, just the misguided idea that Maine wasn’t hit as bad. They get here and quickly figure out that nobody’s really keen on having them up here, and that’s when it starts to get ugly. On both sides.”

“Where do they end up staying?” Alex asked.

“Some check into hotels, if they have the cash. Credit cards are almost useless now—no one accepts them. Most just live in their cars until they can figure something out, which won’t be an option for very long,” Downes added, glancing up at the sky.

“Either way, none of them have enough food to last more than a week. Many have way less than that, so they start scoping out the neighborhoods during the day, maybe stopping to ask questions about food or the possibility of vacant houses on the block. Then they return to cruise the neighborhood after dark, looking for houses with no lights. They’ll just break into those houses outright, and you’ll wake up with new neighbors. Once in place, they’ll make you wish you had Jehovah’s witnesses for neighbors.”

“Can we do anything to keep them off the block?”

“That’s where it’s gotten ugly downstate. Even if you blockade the entrance to your loop, they’ll pour in on foot from the other streets, night and day. It’s almost better to have them inside their cars. At least that way you can see them, and you don’t have people sneaking through your yards at night. We’ve heard reports from some York County sheriff’s deputies about nighttime battles erupting in neighborhoods down in Kittery and York, some reports from Sanford, too. Way too many guns in Maine, and way too many people eager to use them,” Hale said.

“Yeah, but if someone’s breaking into your house, and the police can’t respond…I mean, it’s not your fault, but…” Alex started.

“Most of these aren’t break-ins. Some for sure, but there’s been a lot of indiscriminate shooting. Blasting away at shadows. Even a few cases of pre-planned ambush. Anyway, nice talking with you, Alex. Pull out that scanner and keep any guns you own inside the house. You’ll be better off that way. Good luck,” Hale said and started to walk toward the cruiser.

“Keep it safe, guys,” Alex said.

“You too,” Downes replied.

Alex watched the two officers walk back to their patrol car, neither looking very enthusiastic about returning to duty. He was pretty sure he could end their voluntary shift pretty quickly if he offered them a beer, even at this early hour. He felt the cold penetrating his Crocs again.

“Hey, Officer Downes! Were you with Ironhorse?” he yelled, as he backed into the garage.

“Yeah! How did you know?” Downes yelled back as he reached for the passenger door handle.

“I was in Iraq as a company commander when the war started. Rolled all the way up through Baghdad. I’ve read everything written about the war. 4th ID rolled in late 2007, Task Force Ironhorse. You guys did some incredible work out there.”

“Thanks, I just hope we can all survive this!” Downes called, glancing around the neighborhood.

“We’ve seen worse.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think we’ve seen anything yet!” Downes said, ducking into the car.

Alex watched the patrol car drive in the direction of the Thorntons’ before he walked over to shut the garage door.

A few minutes later he stood in front of their espresso machine at the far end of the kitchen counter, waiting for the green indicator to illuminate. He heard one of the top stairs creak and guessed that Kate was coming down to check on him. Several more steps confirmed his guess as Kate’s unmistakable stride brought her to the bottom of the stairs. She was dressed in pink and gray flannel pajama bottoms, and a thick, oversized maroon Boston College sweatshirt.

“So, are you under arrest?” she asked, walking toward him.

“No, I traded some information for my freedom. They’ll be back to haul you away after you’ve had some coffee. I told them you’d go quietly that way, or at least quieter,” he replied.

“Damn good call on your part. So, what did they want?”

“To talk about my possible involvement in the discharge of a firearm.”

“Please tell me you didn’t admit to it,” she said, and walked over to the pantry.

“I told them I didn’t hear a thing that night.”

“Did they buy it?” she asked, laughing a little as she walked up to the counter next to the stove with a container of quick oats.

“They really didn’t seem to care.”

**

Alex turned the last light off downstairs and headed up to the office. He passed Emily’s room and heard Kate and Emily talking, but couldn’t figure out any of their conversation. As he moved down the hall, he started to hear sounds of computerized violence and mayhem emanate from the attic doorway near the office. He entered the office and closed the door to drown out the sounds of simulated automatic weapons fire, screaming and explosions. Even through the door, he could hear the muted battle raging across the flat-screen in the attic.

A full scale war could break out in South Portland and I wouldn’t hear it.

He turned off the overhead light and switched on the desk lamp. He picked up his smartphone.

No messages.

Alex hadn’t received a message on his smartphone in several days. Barely any calls to the house either. Even email traffic had slowed to a near halt over the past week. At first he wondered why, reasoning that people should have nothing but time on their hands. Plenty of time to stay in touch.

But what for, really?

It didn’t take him long to realize that his own situation certainly didn’t resemble anything close to the most typical scenario out there. Most people were probably just barely getting by. Sick or not, supplies of everything were low. Even households untouched by the flu must be quickly coming to the realization that they were about to enter dire straits.

He sat down at the computer and saw that Kate had been checking out the weather forecast. He noted that the national weather service had predicted a major storm for the weekend, estimated to arrive on Sunday. “Mixed ice and snow. Possible ice storm followed by periods of heavy snow.”

That doesn’t sound very promising.

He clicked over to one of the local news channel’s websites and checked their storm center predictions. Theirs was more detailed and outlined the conditions meteorologists believed would likely cause a severe ice storm. He read quietly aloud, paraphrasing the prediction.

“Remnants of a late season tropical storm from the Gulf of Mexico encounters polar high pressure zone over New England early Sunday morning. Persistent polar air mass could result in a stalled warm front and enduring precipitation in the form of frozen rain. Great. Freezing temperatures on the ground will make the situation worse. Eventually moist air will push through stationary cold front. Possible transition to intense snowfall if warm layer thins before leaving the region.”

He navigated back to the news station’s homepage. One article caught his eye above all of the standard pandemic news. “Maine Civilian Defense Group plans to barricade I-95 bridge.”

Nut jobs.

But as he read the rest of the article, he started to think that maybe these guys had the right idea.

“The Coastal Defense Group consists of an informal network of several dozen volunteers. Group organizer and leader, Jerry Campbell, of Kittery, says that the group is growing in response to the threat from outsiders. ‘We’ve been subjected to an out of state invasion for decades. Property taxes are driving Mainers out of their homes, and there’s new construction everywhere. Hardworking Mainers can’t make a living in their own state anymore. Now they’re gonna all stream up here and ransack the place? We’re barely hanging on up here, and there ain’t nothin’ to share. Our organization was founded under the same spirit as the original Minutemen. We’ll respond to the call to defend our borders again.’”

“York County sheriff’s officials stated that they would likely station their own deputies at the bridge, in anticipation of the group’s action to barricade the I-95. An anonymous source within the sheriff’s department casts serious doubt on the department’s ability to remove the group from the bridge, pointing out that the deputies are already stretched to the breaking point around the county. Kittery police officials declined to comment on their planned reaction to a standoff on the bridge.”

“Sounds like the makings of a regular goat fuck down there,” Alex said out loud.

“Do you always talk to yourself in here?” Kate asked from the doorway to the office, startling him by her sudden appearance.

“Jesus! What is it with all of you people scaring the shit out of me?” he asked.

“Who’s ‘you people’?” she asked, walking over to the desk.

“You and that son of yours.” He swung the chair around to face her.

“Did you see the storm warning?” she asked him.

“Yeah, I hope it’s just a snowstorm. An ice storm will take down the power.”

Kate was staring past him at the article on the screen. “What’s that all about?” She was squinting to try and read it from where she was standing.

“Some nutbags are planning to barricade the bridge.”

“What about the Route One bridge?”

“I don’t know. What, do you want to be on their planning committee?” Alex joked.

“Someone has to keep the refugee situation under control,” she said.

“Yeah, somehow I think that’s a job better suited for the Army Reserves or National Guard, not a bunch of gun-toting nuts who believe they are the reincarnated spirits of the Lexington and Concord Minutemen.”

“Who do you think makes up the Guard and Reserves?” Kate asked.

“I have several friends in the Guard, and they run a quality operation.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just saying that regular civilians from all walks of life make up the Guard. Same people who are part of that group.”

“True, but either way, an untrained and undisciplined gaggle of armed civilians barricading a bridge is a recipe for major disaster,” he said, turning back to the screen.

“Yeah, but I can’t help thinking I’m glad they’re doing something to keep these people from creeping into our neighborhoods.”

“I know. I feel the same way,” he agreed.

“Speaking of the Guard, they fully mobilized all Maine units. Same for New Hampshire, Massachusetts and the rest of New England. I think there was a national mobilization ordered by the president. I caught a bit of it on the TV in our room a little earlier,” Kate said, lingering in the doorway.

“I didn’t see that. Hold on.” He started a search. “Jesus, you’re right, it was a presidential order. Christ, they’re talking about the deployment of units to areas outside of assigned states.”

“Can they do that?” she asked, stepping back in to the office.

“Do what? Fully mobilize or send units out of state?”

“Both.”

“I’ve never heard of them mobilizing every single unit, but I know units travel out of state to augment disaster efforts, like major floods, or something like the disaster in New Orleans. Still, I’m pretty sure that’s usually authorized by the state governor as a courtesy. I can’t imagine any of the state governors volunteering to send any units out of state. This is unprecedented as far as I know.

“The president or the secretary of defense must have taken control of the National Guard. Not sure how, but I can guarantee this’ll just add to the mess out there,” Alex said worriedly.

“I wouldn’t show up. Not with my family’s safety on the line. I’m gonna take a shower,” Kate said and left the room.

Alex mumbled agreement, though fundamentally, he didn’t agree with her sentiment. He felt no qualms ditching his job at Biosphere, but military service was a different story. He could never refuse an authorized and legitimate call to duty, which is why after nearly ten years on active duty, he had resigned his commission and had not registered with the Individual Ready Reserve (IRR).

President Bush had already exercised his right under the Presidential Reserve Callup Authority to reactivate members of the IRR, and by the end of 2003, Captain Fletcher, USMC, couldn’t imagine any scenario in which the United States would be able to leave Iraq within the next ten years. With specialized Arabic language training from the Defense Language Institute documented in his service record, he felt certain that he’d once again choke on the stench of Iraq if he remained in the IRR. He was surprised that the Marine Corps let him resign, though he suspected that his last Fitness Report (FITREP) helped seal the deal.

The battalion’s executive officer, Major Rogan, had an overly heavy hand influencing battalion FITREPs, especially for the officers he despised, and Captain Fletcher imagined he was at the top of the major’s list. Major Rogan had had a problem with Alex from the beginning, but after the An-Nasiryah disaster, Alex validated his position at the top when he openly suggested that the major might have underestimated the potential for communications problems during the attack.

He never directly blamed Major Rogan for the high casualty count at the bridge, but the implication was inescapable in the sun-baked, sand-blown canvas tent. Discomfort enveloped the exhausted marines, and Alex felt the kind of sinking feeling one might expect after signing one’s own death warrant. His departing FITREP hadn’t contained any overt career ending statements, but it certainly hadn’t contained the prose needed to skyrocket him to the rank of general, or even the next rank of major. In the eyes of the Marine Corps, he was at the end of his career, which suited him fine.

Alex chuckled to himself. He was wrong about the ten years. It only took the U.S. eight years to effectively get out of Iraq. Of course, most of the military units only moved a short distance over to Afghanistan and Pakistan, where they had just recently finished mopping up the remaining members of the Taliban that hadn’t fled to the newest Islamic fundamentalist safe haven, Indonesia. He laughed to himself at the irony.

They move their fundamentalist core from the caves and tribal areas of Afghanistan to Indonesia, effecting one of the quickest and most brutal fundamentalist uprisings in recent history, and their new home turns out to be the epicenter of the greatest pandemic in recent history. They need to scout out their locations better.

He thought about that for a moment and wondered if the Taliban leadership looked at the coincidence as a curse or providence. He could picture them in a press conference declaring the pandemic as punishment for the world’s infidel ways, spreading outward from the new holy land to cleanse the world.

Unfortunately for them, a vast majority of the world’s estimated 1.8 billion Muslims lived in third world conditions. Once the Jakarta flu settled, many demographic experts projected that the Muslim population would emerge at pre-1980s levels. In essence, the Jakarta flu would put an end to Islam’s 21st century resurgence.

I wonder what the Taliban think of that?

He navigated to one of the major Boston newspapers and spotted a disturbing article featuring the sudden decline of civil order within the major Boston metropolitan area. He checked the submission time of the article and saw that it had been filed online only several minutes ago.

Here it goes.

He skimmed the article, seeing references to similar problems in all major cities along the northeastern coast. The article cited growing civil unrest as the primary reason for the nationwide Guard recall.

Sounds like they needed to put the Guard into action a few weeks ago.

The article’s author went further to blame the civil disorder on a “now nearly complete breakdown of the food and essentials supply chain in the northeast, compounded by an overwhelmed healthcare system that has far exceeded its capacity to handle the flu pandemic.”

This is going to get way worse, really fast.

Survival

Chapter Thirty

Friday, November 29, 2013

Alex stared through one of the front windows in the great room. He’d counted three cars so far, all moving slowly through the neighborhood. At the moment, he was distracted by the bright gray and white sky. By all accounts, it was a pretty standard late November sky, complemented by a stiff northerly wind, but to Alex, it portended more. If the storm lived up to meteorologists’ expectations, it might not be possible for any more refugees to get through to Portland. He didn’t think the Turnpike Authority’s snow plows could work at anything close to full capacity. Fuel and personnel shortages would ground the monstrous fleet of orange behemoths.

As he continued to stare at the solid mass of clouds, he spotted a minivan turning onto Durham Road and shifted a pair of binoculars to his face.

The vehicle was a white Toyota Sienna. “White Sienna,” he jotted onto a legal pad balanced sideways on the windowsill. The minivan turned right at the fork, lumbering slowly down the street in his direction. He focused the binoculars on the front license plate, and then scanned for occupants. “Massachusetts,” he mumbled.

He saw a man driving and a woman in the front passenger seat. They were both scanning the houses to each side of the minivan while talking to each other. The car edged past Todd’s house, and then the Andersons’, almost stopping in front of the Walkers’.

Wonder what they saw there?

Just before the minivan reached his house, Alex put the binoculars down to scan the vehicle with unaided eyes. He confirmed two adults in front and possibly one more adult in the second row. He also caught the silhouette of a smaller person in the driver’s side second row seat as the car passed directly in front of his window.

“Three adult, one pre-teen,” he wrote.

The minivan was in good shape, and through the binoculars, the man and woman looked normal; no different than anyone else on the block. The three other vehicles looked a bit sketchier, and the people in the cars gave him an uneasy feeling. Certainly not people he’d ever expect to see driving around their neighborhood, or any of the other neighborhoods around Durham Road.

Short of using force, he didn’t see how they could stop these people from occupying the empty houses on the block. If it was inevitable, maybe they could at least decide who stayed in the houses? Maybe flag down the normal-looking ones, and tell them which houses were empty. He thought about the four carloads of people he’d seen so far and who he’d choose. He decided to scrap this new idea for now.

So far, none of the cars had stopped on their block. He expected most cars to make a few passes, and then disgorge their inhabitants onto the sidewalks for some door-to-door action, but he hadn’t seen any “feet on the ground” yet. He was not looking forward to this, and he hadn’t really come up with a plan to handle the inevitable summons. Even with his coldest, iciest frame of mind, he couldn’t bear the thought of opening his door to a family with kids, and then telling them to beat it out of the neighborhood. Even thinking about it made him cringe.

As he stared pointlessly at the rear gate of yet another minivan, he detected motion in his peripheral vision to the left. He shifted his gaze and saw a light blue sedan approach the fork at the top of the street and turn left toward an inevitable encounter with the minivan. He wondered if there was any informal nomadic etiquette already established between all of these travelers.

Probably not. And as this storm closes in, any etiquette will be out the window.

As he waited for the car to appear to the right, his thoughts drifted to yesterday’s Thanksgiving Day meal. Both he and Kate had both completely forgotten about Thanksgiving until Wednesday night, after they had settled into bed for the night. Alex had just returned the bedroom thermostat to sixty-two degrees, from the sixty-five degrees mark, and was preparing himself to endure some guaranteed harassment from Kate, when the local news channel aired a story about how families planned to celebrate Thanksgiving.

They suffered through one progressively depressing interview after another. First at the Preble Street homeless shelter, where surprisingly, there was still food to distribute.

Then, they entered the home of a large family that had lost two of five children to the flu and proceeded to interview the entire family right before their meal. Alex hadn’t heard a word they had to say. He blocked it out the best he could, but he couldn’t stop staring at the table.

He saw some sort of casserole, baked in a white Corningware dish, bread, and two or three dishes filled with an enormous amount of what he assumed had to be canned vegetables. At least two cans each. Judging by the modest apartment, it had to represent a sizable portion of their food supply.

The mother of the house told the reporters that they had used up most of their stored food supply for the meal. She said they didn’t want the kids to be hungry on Thanksgiving and that they would all eat a good meal and pray for a quick end to the entire world’s suffering. Alex remembered thinking that only a stray comet could provide a quick end to the world’s suffering at this point.

He figured that most people would find her decision to celebrate with a gratuitous meal as inspirational, but to Alex, it signified a complete surrender. They were giving up. Going out with a bang. He felt sorry for the kids. Sorry that their parents had given up on them. Or had they? Alex knew he would never understand their situation.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the segment ended with a family that didn’t have any food for Thanksgiving and didn’t know where they would get their next meal. Of course, there were children involved, and he kept expecting the Channel 6 news crew to provide them with a gift basket or something. Anything, really, to thank them for depressing everyone, but there was nothing for the family. Just a few awkward questions for a lethargic, nearly catatonic nuclear family of four.

Alex didn’t say anything to Kate when he crawled into bed. He had watched the entire segment standing up; he had been too mesmerized by the TV to move. Kate didn’t say a word either. She just hit the off button on the remote and turned onto her left side. Alex slid under the covers and snuggled in closely, kissing her softly on her neck. She sobbed for a few minutes and then announced that they would be having a nice meal for Thanksgiving. He agreed and kissed her again, telling her how much he loved her.

The meal itself was great. Even without a proper main course, they worked from noon until nearly two to prepare the meal, which consisted of several dishes. The meal’s theme materialized mid-morning as “everyone’s favorite side dishes,” and they ate with ceremony on good china in the formal dining room. They grew more self-conscious as the sun faded, and the thin cloth curtains grew more and more transparent.

Halfway through dinner, and most of the way through a bottle of Cabernet, Alex got up and ran upstairs without saying a word. He returned with a spare dark blue comforter from the kid’s bathroom closet and wedged the edges of the comforter into the curtain rod without saying a word. Lying in bed that night they both agreed not to watch the news. Neither one of them needed to feel any guiltier about their huge meal.

Alex snapped out of the reverie when the blue sedan popped into view around Charlie’s house. He lifted the binoculars and scanned the license plate. “Beat up blue Honda, Mass” he scribbled. “5 poss 6 occup,” he added after scanning the windows.

Jam-packed. I hope they don’t stop here. They don’t look right.

The car crawled past the Fletchers’ house, and Alex was spooked by the look on the driver’s face, which nearly filled his view through the binoculars.

Sheer desperation.

Alex dropped the binoculars to his side and continued to watch the car as it moved down the street, back toward the entrance to Durham Road. “Poss danger,” he wrote next.

They all pose a danger. I don’t want any of them on the block. Maybe I need a sign out front or something.

He wished he had a cup of coffee. He’d fully intended to make some when he walked downstairs, but the first car of the morning caught his eye, and he raced to grab the binoculars to take a look. He’d been standing there ever since. He decided then that if he wanted coffee or breakfast within the next two hours, he’d have to take a break from watching the street. Kate’s wake up time had slowly drifted more toward ten or ten-thirty, and they were lucky to see the kids before eleven or eleven-thirty. Alex could barely drag himself out of bed before eight, especially since he had all day to do nothing.

Cook simple meals, work out, read, check the internet or email, watch some news, scan the neighborhood, watch a movie with the family, play some video games, nap, stand on the deck for some fresh air, check the garage, calculate how long their supplies could last, talk about the same stuff over and over again with Kate. He had an infinite number of choices, most of them padding to get him through to the next night, where he could fall asleep again holding Kate and wake up to repeat the process.

Boring, but with a key purpose hidden away under thick layers of apathy. Survival. And the key to their survival would be to never let those layers permanently dull their senses. Alex knew from experience that dullness led to carelessness. And he’d seen carelessness kill more people than he’d ever care to admit.

He shook himself out of his existential drift. These mental strolls had almost completely replaced his flashbacks, and he often found himself attached to a string of thoughts, staring blankly ahead, seeing nothing, and barely hearing anything. Alex figured they were a product of his boredom, but he didn’t welcome the change. His flashbacks were infrequent, mostly at night during dreams. This new phenomena was occurring more frequently; too frequently for his comfort.

His eyes squinted as the rust-spotted Honda turned right at the fork and did not leave the neighborhood. The car made one more turn through the neighborhood and left. Alex waited a few minutes and took a break to make coffee and reheat Thanksgiving leftovers. He anticipated a long morning.

**

The doorbell rang for the eighth time, and Alex could barely stand it. He peeked through the slats of the plantation shutters. After the first group started walking through the neighborhood, Alex ensured that all ground level shades or shutters were put to good use. For the first time in four years, he was happy that Kate had insisted on putting curtains over the small windows on each side of the front door. He even moved the blue comforter in the dining room over to the sliding glass doors, and nailed it in place to cover the wide glass opening. The doorbell rang again, and Alex felt himself start to shake.

I’m gonna throttle this asshole.

None of the previous three groups had rung the doorbell more than four times before moving on, and Alex had felt a small wave of relief wash over him as the groups moved from house to house. The wave quickly receded into a massive sea of gloom as he watched a rusted, 80s vintage, wood-paneled station wagon stop in front of the Perry’s house.

The driver of the car, a rough-looking, no-necked scruff, walked around to the rear passenger door and yanked a young girl out of the back seat. The girl, dressed in a light purple jacket more suitable for early fall, nearly fell onto her knees and started to pull away to get back into the car. Without taking his eyes off the Perry’s house, the man nearly pulled her emaciated arm out of its socket and forced her to walk compliantly with him to the Perry’s, where they spent several minutes.

Alex couldn’t see the interaction on Todd’s mudroom stoop, but he smugly mused over how this idiot had picked the worst starting point in the neighborhood. His smug look faded as the skuzzy-looking child abuser appeared walking through the Andersons’ yard, picking up speed as he headed in his direction. The smug look morphed into a painful grimace, as Alex came to understand why the guy hadn’t stopped at the Walkers’ either.

Todd sent them here.

The doorbell sounded again, but this time it was a triple tap, signaling clearly to Alex that he was not the only one losing his patience with the situation.

He can ring the doorbell all day.

Just then, he heard Kate from the top of the stairs. “Jesus Christ, what is going on?” she yelled.

Alex hopped up from his crouched position and walked swiftly through the doorway leading to the foyer and started up the stairs. He saw Kate at the top in a thick white bathrobe, her wet hair spilling over her shoulders.

Alex cut her off with a wave of his hands and pointed at the door. Through the white curtains, he could see that the man outside was trying to peer through any possible opening in the curtains. Kate was startled by a sudden banging on the door, and Alex walked up the stairs to her.

“He’s been at it for a while. I saw him come straight here from Todd’s house,” he told her.

“That asshole,” she whispered.

“Yeah. Who knows what he’s telling them? But judging from this guy’s persistence, it isn’t good.”

The doorbell rang repeatedly.

“Hon, you’re gonna have to do something, or say something. We need a better plan than ignoring the doorbell,” she said.

“I know,” he said, with no clear plan forming.

“Just get rid of him. What if he thinks we’re not home and tries to break in later tonight?”

“I’m pretty sure he knows we’re home. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. I’ll be right back.” He turned around to go downstairs and turned toward the kitchen. He planned to walk out of the mudroom door and address them from a distance. He reached behind the small of his back and patted the USP pistol tucked snugly into his blue jeans, pulled down on the back of his hunter green fleece to make sure the gun was concealed, and opened the inner mudroom door slowly and then the storm door. He stepped outside and eased the storm door shut without making a sound. He could still hear the doorbell continue to ring on the inside. He peeked around the corner and was immediately spotted by the young girl.

“Daddy, over there,” she yelled excitedly.

The man let go of the girl and jumped off the granite steps into a sea of evergreen bushes.

“Stop right there,” Alex barked, still keeping most of his body behind the cover of the house.

The man faltered as he struggled to push through the evergreens, but ultimately ignored Alex’s warning. His face pulsed red, and Alex saw a dangerous combination of persistence and vacancy in his bloodshot blue eyes.

“Shit,” Alex mumbled and stepped back to retreat inside the house.

The man hurled himself around the corner just as Alex finished locking the storm door. He took a few steps back into the mudroom, ready to shut the inner door if the guy tried to take down the storm door. If it went any further than that, Alex resolved to shoot the man dead.

I’ll leave the body there, too, as a deterrent. Maybe I’ll move it to the bottom of the driveway, with a sign.

While he processed this internal dialogue, the man put one hand on the door handle and the other on the glass, and Alex was suddenly sure that he’d have to shoot the man. So sure that his right hand moved behind his back to clear the shirt from the top of his pistol. Alex noted the worn Red Sox logo on the front of the man’s sweatshirt, which was now pressed against his storm door.

“Whoa! Red Sox! Take it easy! And get away from the door before you get hurt!” he yelled.

As if suddenly possessed by a little logic and reason, the man took his hands off the door and backed up a few steps, leaving a fresh fog mark from his breath on the storm door glass.

“Why the fuck didn’t you answer the door? I’ve been out here half the morning ringing that goddamn doorbell. What’s the matter with you?” he yelled out in a thick Boston accent.

“I just woke up, thanks to you. You need to move on. There’s nothing in this neighborhood for you,” Alex said forcefully.

“Bullshit, you just woke up. I saw you moving around in there from the start, and I know you got a ton of food and supplies. Your friend down the street said you’ve been handing out food,” he said, putting both hands on his hips and staring intensely at Alex.

I want to shoot him and leave him there for the others.

He shook the thought and moved his hand away from the gun. He didn’t want to kill this man, at least not yet, though everything was still moving in that direction.

The man’s daughter came around the corner, and Alex found himself once again fighting the urge to shoot the man dead on the mudroom stoop. The girl’s hair was matted and her face was filthy. Stark signs of neglect and abuse made it difficult to determine her age, though Alex guessed she was no older than Emily. Dark circles ringed her unfocused blue eyes, frighteningly contrasted by bright red rims. Alex’s eyes were immediately drawn away to a large bruise on her right cheek, and then another on her neck.

“Stay the fuck out of the way, Skyler,” the man said and stepped off the stoop to reach out and grab her. He missed, and Skyler retreated behind the front corner of the house. Not wanting to lose ground, he stepped back on the stoop under Alex’s murderous gaze.

“There’s nothing for you here. You need to leave now,” Alex said, shifting his gaze between the two of them and becoming more enraged every time he saw the girl’s condition.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere until you dig around…”

“You’ll be leaving right now,” Alex yelled in a controlled, forceful way.

The man was surprised by Alex’s sudden change, and a flash of genuine concern washed over his face. He paused and backed up a few steps without looking behind him. One more step and he’d topple off the stoop. Alex continued to stare at him with intense hatred. After a few seconds, the man turned around and stepped off the porch.

“Let’s go, you little bitch,” he roared at the girl. The man turned around and grinned, flashing crooked, nicotine-stained teeth. “Well, maybe we’ll be seeing more of each other. We could be neighbors soon,” he said with a jack-assed smile as he looked around the neighborhood.

The man turned around to leave, and Alex opened the storm door. “Hey, Red Sox!” Alex called and lowered his voice when the man turned back around. “If I see you around this house again, I’ll blow your fucking brains out of your head. Understand? The same deal goes for my friends’ houses.”

“Which ones are those?” the man said snidely.

“You won’t know until your brains hit the ground,” Alex said and closed the storm door. He shaped

his fingers like a gun and pointed them at the man. “Bang,” he mouthed silently, while the mock pistol in his hand recoiled. The man’s face went slack, and Alex smiled.

What am I, nuts?

Alex continued to grin as the man grabbed his daughter and hurried her back to the station wagon. They piled back in and the car lurched forward, picking up speed and passing the Fletchers’. Alex traced its progress around the block and watched as it left the neighborhood. He closed the door and went back to his post in the family room.

As soon as he slid the shutters open a few inches, he saw two more cars enter the neighborhood. He didn’t recognize either of them. Newbies. Numbers 26 and 27. He watched as they followed each other around to the other side of Durham Road, emerging from beyond the Thorntons’. One of the cars, a black Suburban, came to a halt in front of the McCarthys’ house, and the other, a dark blue domestic sedan, kept cruising down the street, eventually stopping in front of the Fullers’ house up near the turn.

I better start working on a sign for the front yard.

**

Alex stood in the far left corner of his front yard with a large rubber mallet in his left hand and a makeshift sign in the other. His AR-15 was slung across his back with the barrel pointing toward the ground. His favorite blue winter coat fought against the bitter wind that followed the clouds. He felt the wind burn against his cheeks and ears, and wished he had brought a hat.

I won’t be out here very long.

Right after Red Sox had left, Alex had proceeded to the garage to construct three semi-sturdy signs to post in the front yard. One for each end of the sidewalk, and one to be placed in a conspicuous location near the entrance to the driveway, in case these people decided to start driving their cars from house to house. Given the frigid temperatures and exacerbating wind, he wasn’t sure why any of them would want to walk around anyway.

Maybe to save gas?

He dismissed this idea just as quickly. Most of the cars parked on the street had been left running.

The Carters’ house received a lot of traffic for some reason, and he’d seen at least two groups walk around to the back of the house, probably trying to confirm that it was empty.

Won’t be long until someone tries to break in.

Alex stared at the sign in his left hand, which looked like a piece of junk. Like the kind of sign you’d expect to find marking the entrance to the Little Rascals hideout. He wasn’t known for carpentry detail work, or any woodwork for that matter, and he didn’t feel like trying to get fancy on this job. He wasn’t even sure he could pound the stakes into the ground. It was late November and the ground felt pretty damn solid under his feet.

He selected a spot right next to the sidewalk, on the border between Ed’s lot and his own. He tried to work the stake into the frozen ground, which initially resisted. He managed to twist it in a little, and then straightened the sign for the mallet. He brought the mallet down on the top of the stake, and it drove an inch into the hard ground.

Maybe it’s not as frozen as I thought.

He continued to slowly inch the sign into the ground until it felt solidly embedded.

This ain’t goin’ anywhere.

He looked up to see Ed walking down the driveway from his house.

“What’s up, man? It’s been a few days,” Ed asked.

“I was enjoying the peace and quiet until all of this shit started,” Alex replied.

“Yeah, the door’s been ringing all morning. We’ve been ignoring it. Kept a few lights on inside so they know we’re home. Nothing crazy yet,” he said, folding his arms around his chest.

“We’ve been doing the same, but I had one guy about forty minutes ago that wouldn’t give up. I saw him come straight from Todd’s. Guy said that Todd told him I had plenty of food to hand out…or something like that.” Alex shook his head, glaring down the street at Todd’s house. “I figured some signs might help,” he said, demonstrating the sturdiness of the sign with another light shake.

“The kids help you with those? What does it say? Keep away?” Ed asked, staring at the other two rickety signs, then up at Alex with a thin smile.

“They’ll do the job, jackass.”

“At least you have signs. I should probably put something together,” Ed said, shivering again.

“Yeah, let me know when you’re ready to post them, so I can come out and take a look at your expert handicraft. I have some tools you can borrow.”

“Tools? Jesus Christ, I could use my teeth and come up with something better than that,” he said, and Alex broke into an outright laugh. “I mean, is that magic marker, or crayon? I’m surprised you didn’t use finger paints,” Ed continued, and Alex’s laughter intensified.

“That’s it, man. That’s it. You’re killing me,” Alex was barely able to say through continuous laughter.

As they finished laughing, a black SAAB sedan passed the Lewis’s house, quickly moving down the street toward them.

“This is probably the wrong day to be outside yukking it up,” Alex said.

“You better hope they have kids to decipher your Sesame Street project,” Ed said, and Alex stifled another laugh.

“Knock it off, man. Let me do the talking if they stop,” he said, barely composing himself, a steely grimace washing over his face.

“Jesus, you changed your face like a schizophrenic,” Ed commented between his teeth.

“You’re killing me…Connecticut plates,” Alex whispered back as the sedan pulled up to the two of them.

Alex dropped the rubber mallet on the ground and reached back to shift his rifle into a position that he could quickly transition to the offensive if necessary. He didn’t plan to take any chances, especially after Red Sox. Through the windows he saw a younger couple.

“Yuppies?” he whispered to Ed.

“That’s probably what they’re thinking about us,” Ed mouthed back, as the passenger window rolled down.

An attractive, angular-faced woman with dark brown hair appeared from behind the window. At first glance, Alex could tell she was wearing makeup, which surprised him, given the likelihood that they were pretty far away from their starting point. She didn’t exhibit any of the signs of malnutrition or exhaustion that he’d seen on most of the refugees’ faces over the course of the morning. To Alex, she looked to be in better shape than most of his neighbors.

He peered in further and saw a man with medium-length jet black hair, an olive complexion, and wearing thin black rimmed glasses. The woman suddenly put her right arm over the edge of the open window, and Alex tightened. His left hand reacted by swiftly moving across his stomach to grab the hand guard of the rifle, and if necessary, pull it forward into a firing position.

“Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…sorry,” she said and put her hand back inside the car.

“It’s fine. Everyone’s just a little jumpy around here,” Alex said, easing his hand back to his side.

“We’re really sorry to ask you this, but we’re looking for a place to stay. We left the Hartford area late last night and took back roads all night to get up here. It’s a disaster down there, pretty much everywhere further south. I hate to do this. I’m sure you’ve been dealing with this for days, but we’re just looking for a place that’s safe…”

“I wouldn’t exactly call this neighborhood safe,” Alex said, keeping a completely neutral look on his face.

“Maybe we should move on, honey,” the driver said.

“Did you two bring any food?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, honey, I think we better move on,” he said again, panicky, and starting to fumble with the gear shift.

“We’re not going to take your food. I just want you to know that the stores have been empty for quite a while, and the spirit of sharing has long since left the neighborhood. Maine is not the Shangri-la everyone seems to be expecting.”

“What did you guys see on the way up here?” Ed asked.

The guy leaned across the center console of the SAAB, suddenly enthusiastic. “It was scary. People out of control everywhere. We tried to avoid bigger towns, but couldn’t avoid all of them. Some fires. People out on the streets. We left at midnight, figuring the streets would be clear, but they weren’t. It’s like world chaos.”

“How did you guys get across the state border? We heard that the bridges from Portsmouth might be barricaded,” Alex said, finding himself more at ease with this couple.

“We heard the same rumors on the internet, so we eventually caught up with the ninety-three and took that north, then east on side roads across the border, trying to avoid any towns. We eventually made our way to the twenty-five and then here. We rented a place down in Higgins Beach last year. We remembered this area. This looks a lot like our neighborhood…” she trailed off.

“Our neighborhood was a little too close to Hartford and a little too well off, if you know what I mean? We had to leave in a hurry when the looting started because it sure wasn’t confined to the business districts like the news might have you thinking. They were starting to ransack the suburbs. Sorry to bother you guys, looks like this place is wrapped up pretty tight,” the driver said and started to shift the car out of neutral.

“Hold on. It sounds like you brought food with you, right?” Alex asked.

The woman hesitated to answer and looked at the driver, who also looked skeptical about answering the question.

“Really, we’re not planning on taking your food. I’m just trying to figure out if you’re gonna become a problem if you stay here. We’ve had some problems, and most of them have been related to the food shortage,” Alex said.

Ed looked at him approvingly.

“What have the other problems been related to?” the driver asked.

“Medical supplies. Most of the houses on the block have been hit with the flu. There have been some deaths. I’m not sure how many.”

“Well, we have both. My husband is a surgeon—”

“I wouldn’t exactly say I’m a surgeon. One year into a general surgery fellowship—”

“You’re a surgeon. Anyway, he managed to stockpile some anti-virals and other medical supplies when this whole thing started. We both collected groceries while the stores still had food. We’re set for now. We just need somewhere safe to stay until things cool down enough to head back to Connecticut,” she said, her voice cracking. She looked like she was about to break down.

“So, first things first. I’m not going to point because everyone’s watching everyone around here. If you look down the road toward the right, two houses past mine, you’ll see a yellow house with blue doors. That’s the Carters’ house, and they vanished a few weeks ago, maybe earlier. Nobody really knows where they went, but I haven’t seen any signs of anyone living there, and I keep a pretty tight eye on the houses in the immediate vicinity. You should go around to the garage and bust a window to open the door. Then pray that the door from the garage into the house isn’t locked. If it is, you might have to force your way in. Make sure to patch up the window with something. Cardboard, wood, anything,” Alex said.

“Thank you so much. I really can’t tell you how much this means to us,” the woman said.

Ed leaned toward the car and peered into the back seat, his eye caught by something. Alex saw this and felt his body start to tense.

“Hey, looks like they have a golden puppy stuffed back there between the boxes,” Ed said, easing back from the car with a smile.

“Yeah, her name is Karma. She’s really friendly. You guys can go ahead and open the back door and…”

“Not a good idea out here. Anyway, the Carters’ house has seen a lot of traffic this morning. Some people have gone around back to take a look. If you see any windows broken, or any doors busted, someone might be there already. Drive on back, and I’ll point you in the direction of another house,” he said.

“Also, keep to yourselves, and don’t get involved with anyone on the block. Definitely don’t mention the fact that you have medical supplies and food, or that you’re a doctor. Your neighbors to both sides have been hit with the flu, and some of the neighbors are not very stable at this point. The last thing you want anyone to know is that you have anti-virals or medication,” he said, and the couple nodded.

“I can’t stress the importance of staying out of sight. Don’t answer the door for any of the people you see driving or walking around, and get your car in the garage immediately,” Alex continued.

“Sounds good. Thank you again. By the way, I’m Ben Glassman, and this is my wife Hannah,” the driver said.

“Alex and Ed,” Alex said.

“I’m Ed,” he said dryly.

“And this will probably be the last time we talk until this whole thing blows over. Nothing personal, but we pretty much keep to ourselves. You’re on your own when you get into the Carters’ house,” Alex said.

Hannah looked hurt by his statement, but Alex truly didn’t care. He allowed himself to like them only enough to justify using them as a block for any future interlopers in the neighborhood. He’d much rather have this couple in the Carters’ house than Red Sox.

“Thank you again, guys. Really, if there’s anything I can do for you. If anyone gets hurt or sick. Really, you, uh…you know where to find us,” Ben said.

“Thank you,” Hannah said, and she rolled up her window as the car moved forward and stopped one house past the Carters’.

At least they didn’t pull right into the driveway. That would have been way too obvious.

Chapter Thirty-One

Friday, November 29, 2013

Kate sat down at the kitchen table as Alex surveyed the remains of yesterday’s Thanksgiving Day feast. Barley mixed with dried cranberries and sliced almonds; green bean and fried onion casserole; sweet and sour lima beans; chickpea soup with dried dill; homemade wheat bread and mashed potatoes with gravy. The only thing missing was the main course.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, sitting down.

He paused and chuckled. The kids started to fill their plates and pass the dishes around. Alex took the beans from Emily.

“I was thinking about the last time we had turkey for Thanksgiving,” he said, still smiling.

“We’ve had turkey?” Ryan asked.

“Not really, maybe when you were like one or two. Could that be right?” he asked Kate.

“No…well…no, I think I was making fish at that point. Maybe at one of our parents’ houses? I was well into pushing my meat-free agenda on you when Ryan was born, and I know for a fact you haven’t eaten meat since you got back from Iraq.”

“Daddy ate meat before the war?” Emily asked.

“Yes, Daddy was a disgusting meat eater at one point.”

“So were you…at one point,” he said.

“Why did you stop after coming back from the war?” Ryan asked him.

Kate looked at Alex, clearly signaling him to tread carefully.

“Well, let’s just say that I saw people eating things over there that really made me think hard about what it means to eat animals,” he answered, looking to Kate for approval, which he could tell that he just barely won.

“Like what?” Emily asked.

“I really don’t want to think about it, sweetie, and neither do you,” Alex said, setting down the last dish being rotated.

“All right, let’s all close our eyes and take a moment here.”

They were all silent for several seconds until Emily interrupted.

“But I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“I know, sweetie, but Daddy is really bothered by it, so we don’t want to upset him. Let’s eat, everyone,” Kate said.

“I think I know what happened. Probably the same stuff that’s happening in the big cities they’re talking about on the internet. No food, and…”

“Ryan,” Alex said forcefully, “not another word on the subject. We can talk about this later. Just you and me. But not now. Understand?”

Ryan looked hurt by his sudden reprimand. “Yes, Dad,” he said and started eating.

“What, like eating other people?” Emily blurted.

“No. No. Nobody’s eating other people. That’s crazy. I never saw that in Iraq…and that was a really messed up place,” Alex said, warning Ryan with his eyes.

“Where do they get these ideas?” Kate asked no one in particular.

“From zombie movies,” Emily said.

“I didn’t let her watch any of those movies. I haven’t seen any myself,” Ryan interjected.

“Nobody said you did, but since you brought it up so quickly…” Kate said.

“He didn’t let me see it, but I snuck upstairs when he was watching one during a sleepover with James and Justin…”

“You freakin’ tattletale,” Ryan griped, throwing his fork down onto his plate.

“Easy there, Mr. Ryan, I knew you guys were watching that. I crept up the stairs far enough to hear what you guys were watching,” Alex said.

“So you knew they were watching rated R movies up there?” Kate asked.

“Why am I the one that always ends up in trouble?” Alex complained.

“Because you’re the adult that is supposed to be making appropriate decisions for our children, and you sanction the watching of zombie movies.”

“Well, I didn’t really sanction the movies. They didn’t know that I knew what they were watching, and if they didn’t know, then it’s impossible to sanction. Sanctioning is more of an active type thing,” Alex said, wondering if he was making any sense.

“That didn’t even make sense. Anyway, I think it’s time that we cut the cable service on the third floor down to basic cable. God knows what they’ll be watching and ordering next.”

“But Mom, that’s the only movie we watched that was rated R,” Ryan whined.

“And that’ll be the last, so there’s no problem. Just be happy you’re still hooked up to Xbox Live. Start eating, everyone,” Kate said, ending the argument.

Ryan continued the argument by mumbling between bites.

“You barely watch any TV up there anyway,” she added, feeding back into the argument, “and you’ll still have all of the other channels, just no movie channels or OnDemand.”

“Pretty much cuts out all of the cool movies…”

“Hey, you can watch all of the movies you want in our room or down here. Anyway, we’ll be lucky to still have cable after this weekend’s storm. Did you see the forecast for Sunday?” Alex asked, directing the question to Kate.

“Yeah. They’re still calling for an ice storm Sunday morning, followed by a decent snow storm later in the day. I guess we don’t have to change the cable right now, but I don’t want you watching rated R movies without asking us first. There are some pretty disturbing movies out there, Ryan.”

“Some of his games are pretty disturbing. Like most of the war games,” Emily said and continued eating.

Alex cast Emily a quizzical look and lightly shook his head in disbelief. To the casual observer, her comment would pass as an innocent remark made by a child incapable of plotting to foment further criticism of her brother. But Alex had closely studied her behavior and tactics over the past few years, and come to the conclusions that his beautiful, sweet, smiling daughter was a highly intelligent, self-aware, and fully competent agitator. Unlike Ryan, she held back and waited for just the right moment to launch one of her nearly imperceptible time bombs into the fray. Emily avoided her dad’s gaze, staring at her plate. He suspected that she was on to him.

“Yeah, well, that’s another problem…” Kate started.

“Are you kidding me? Now you’re gonna sweat the games I’m playing? Dad thinks they’re fine.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re fine for you. Maybe for him, though I’ll go to my grave not understanding why a grown man enjoys playing video games.”

“They’re fun, and it’s not real. End of story.” Alex turned and stared at Emily, who continued to avoid his gaze. “I’m on to you little one.”

“What?” she mumbled with fake innocence, taking a long drink of water.

“How bad do you think the storm will be?” Ryan asked.

“Well, it doesn’t look terrible. The ice aspect is the problem. If we get ice and high winds, the whole area could lose power. But for us, it won’t really make a difference. We can make our own power with the solar panels…at least enough to keep the lights and heat going. And the TVs. Don’t worry, I know what’s critical to you guys,” he said, and both kids laughed a little.

Alex looked at them as they laughed.

Amazing. Almost thirty days into this and they don’t look any different than they did in the middle of September.

He quickly glanced at Kate and caught her watching both of them. She smiled slightly and Alex knew that she was happy to see them both laughing.

“We really don’t have anything to worry about, guys. We’re going to be fine, and at some point in the spring, or maybe earlier, this whole thing will be over, and we’ll all be able to go back to our normal lives, jobs, sports, friends…and most importantly, school,” Alex said dramatically.

“School isn’t that bad, Dad,” Emily said.

“Yeah, I’d trade this quarantine for school any day,” Ryan added.

“It takes a pandemic to get my son psyched for school,” Kate said.

“I’m not psyched about school, Mom. Just more psyched than this,” Ryan said and put on a forced smile.

The phone rang and Alex glanced over his shoulder at the receiver on the kitchen island. Calls to the house were pretty rare at this point.

“You should answer that,” Kate said.

Alex got up from the table and walked over to the phone. “Hello, Ed,” he said, answering the call. “What’s up?” He walked toward the library.

“I don’t know. I’ve had my eye on this one car for the past hour or so. Just circling the neighborhood, over and over again. Really slow like the rest of them…”

“They all do that,” Alex said, stepping inside the room.

“Yeah, but this one stopped in front of the McCarthys’ house like thirty minutes ago and hasn’t moved. Nobody got out. It’s just sitting there under the street light. I think they’re planning to spend the night there,” Ed said.

“That’s ridiculous. They’re probably going to canvas the neighborhood on foot in a few minutes, or something.”

“Is everything all right?” Kate called from the kitchen.

Alex covered the receiver on the phone. “Yeah. Everything’s okay, honey. Just talking about a car that’s still cruising the neighborhood.”

“Sorry. That was Kate,” he said, returning to the call.

“How’s she holding up with all of the visitors?” Ed asked.

“Fine. Just a little jumpy having people crawl around the neighborhood. We’ve had a few groups walk up onto our deck in back and try to peer inside. Not sure how they missed my signs, but who knows if they even speak English. How’s Sam doing?”

“Same thing. Nervous about these people. I’m nervous about them, too. Sarah Quinn called about an hour ago to talk to Sam. She heard from Jack Bartlett that a family moved into the Cohens’ house,” he said, recalling exactly who they had guided to the Cohens’.

“The balls on these people. How are the Quinns doing?” Alex asked.

“Not bad, given the circumstances. Sarah’s not looking forward to losing power. Says if the storm doesn’t kill it this weekend, the grid probably won’t hold up for another week anyway. Have you heard that too? I saw it on a couple of sites, but I haven’t heard word one on the news.”

“Which news channel? They’re all mostly broadcasting national coverage and federal updates, and I think the feds are trying to keep the national coal reserve numbers under wraps. I’ve seen estimates that fall in the week to two weeks range. Once the coal reserves at any of the power plants are depleted, say adios to the grid. We’ll be lucky to get past this weekend. Did Sarah say anything about the Bartletts?”

“Yeah, I guess they’re doing okay. Their little girl Grace got hit the worst, but she’s doing better. The rest of them didn’t get hit nearly as bad. Jack didn’t get it at all, which is weird.”

“Who knows? He might still come down with it. One of Ryan’s friends…his family got the same thing. Mild cases. Lucky if you ask me, but all well within the realm of statistical probability I suppose.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty sure about the case fatality rate at this point. Right around twenty percent, with a clinical attack rate of forty percent or so. Odds are definitely in your favor if you get this thing,” Ed said.

“I’m still not rushing out to get it,” Alex replied.

“Neither am I.”

Alex heard what sounded like a solitary firecracker explode. “Did you hear that?” he asked Ed, rushing out of the library into the kitchen.

“What was that?” Kate asked sharply from the dining room.

He walked swiftly, trying to conceal his panic.

Not a firecracker, that’s for sure.

“Honey, why don’t you take the kids down into the basement for a few minutes? Follow your mom, guys. Ed? Did you hear that?” he repeated and moved around the house shutting off lights.

“Hold on. Look at that. He just shot the light out,” Ed whispered.

Alex heard Ed tell his own family to get into the basement as Kate and the kids disappeared down the stairs, Kate last. She left the door open, and he walked to the head of the stairs.

“Just in case someone is shooting. I think everything is fine,” he said to her.

Kate nodded and turned the corner with the kids.

“Ed, did you say someone shot out the street light?”

“Yeah. I ran to one of the windows and saw someone getting back into the car that’s parked under the streetlight. The light is out now. I thought the guy had a gun, but I can’t be sure,” he said.

“Are you sure the light was on before?”

“Positive. Actually, I was wondering why he would park directly under that street light.”

“How many people are in the car? Were you using binoculars?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, I have a small bird watching pair. I couldn’t see how many people were in the car.”

“But when he opened the door and the lights went on, could you see other people?”

“The lights didn’t go on. It’s pitch black over in that corner.”

“Are you sure the lights didn’t go on? What kind of car is it?” Alex asked, heading upstairs with his own binoculars.

“I’m sure the lights didn’t go on. It looks like a gray or maybe blue Volvo station wagon, one of the new ones. I couldn’t see the guy very well in the dark, but it looked like he was carrying something. Why would he park under a light and then shoot it out?” Ed wondered aloud.

Alex continued up the stairs and turned left to the master bedroom. “Hold on,” he said, walking across the bedroom to one of the northeast windows facing the Thompsons’ house. He chose the one closest to the street and raised the shade an inch. He peered through and had an unobstructed view of the car. Even in the dark, he could tell that the car was parked on the wrong side of the road, facing his own house.

Interesting.

He studied the car for a few seconds and closed his eyes to create a mental map.

“You still there? This is freaking my wife out,” Ed broke in.

“Yeah, I’m here. I have eyes on the vehicle…”

“Eyes what?”

“Eyes on the vehicle. Don’t you watch any military or police movies? I’m watching the vehicle. My eyes are on the vehicle, Ed.”

“Why can’t you guys just talk like normal people and just say I’m watching the vehicle?”

“Because it doesn’t sound as cool. Anyway, a couple of things disturb me here…”

“Like the gun?”

“If he has a gun. But yes, that’s number one on my list,” Alex said.

“Let’s assume he has a gun,” Ed said.

“I’m with you on that. But here’s what’s really creeping me out about this guy; he turned off the internal lights on purpose. He thought that one out. He knew that if he shot out the light, someone might take a look, and he didn’t want them to see into the car when he hopped back in. I’m not sure I would have thought of that. This guy’s either really smart, or he has some experience not wanting to be identified at night. Both scenarios bother me.”

“The last one worries me the most,” Ed said.

“Yeah, it’s not good news. He also picked a good spot to watch over half of the neighborhood. Notice he’s parked on the wrong side of the road to be facing this way. But parked over there, he can see all the way down our road, and all the way to the Murrays’. Plus, he’s far enough back in the neighborhood to avoid any attention from Harrison Road. I think this guy has some experience with this kind of activity. Shooting the light out leads me to think that this guy doesn’t give a shit. We’re looking at a bad combination of traits my friend,” Alex said.

“No kidding. How long until he figures out that the Murrays’ house is unoccupied? It’s the only one left.”

“Not long. The signs I put up won’t deter him if the lights don’t go off. I should have put that doctor and his wife in the Murrays’.”

“We got some decent people in here,” Ed said.

Alex considered his comment. They did the best they could with the choices they had. The Carters’ house was filled first, though in retrospect, he would have been better off putting that couple in the Murrays’ house. The Fullers’ house went to a family from Connecticut driving a BMW sport utility vehicle, and the Cohens’ to a family with kids, from somewhere just west of Boston. The parents looked preppy and drove an Audi station wagon. Alex and Ed didn’t ask them many questions, just directed them to the Cohens’ house. At that point, the sun was setting, so they both gave up their valet duties for the night, leaving the Murrays’ house unfilled. Alex didn’t recall seeing the Volvo station wagon during daylight hours.

“Yeah. I just think it might have been a mistake not to fill all of the houses. There were some cars that didn’t look too bad. Fuck. I’m gonna have to sneak out tonight and turn off the lights inside the Murrays’,” he said thoughtfully.

“Do you really think it’s necessary?” Ed asked.

“I have a bad feeling about that car. I think I might have to hang out in the house for a few hours and progressively turn the lights off like a family retiring for the night,” Alex said.

“And leave your family alone with those nutbags camped out on the street? I wouldn’t. We might be totally overthinking this. They might be just fine. Maybe it’s just someone like you, smart and just covering all the angles? You know, keeping their car in a safe spot.”

“Where do you feel the safest at night? Under lights or in the pitch black?” Alex asked him.

“Uhh. I guess in the light, but I don’t know…”

“Your first instinct is right. We’ve been conditioned since birth to fear the dark. Most people would feel safer in the light, unless they’ve been reconditioned, which takes time and experience using the dark to your advantage. Trust me, if this guy gets into the Murrays’ house, or any house, we’re going to have a serious problem on the block.”

“Do you think we could get them to leave?” Ed asked.

“I don’t know. But I do know that approaching that car in the dark is probably not a very good idea.”

“And leaving your own house is an even worse idea, Alex,” Ed cautioned.

“If I don’t make it look like someone’s in the Murrays’ house, we might as well start baking cookies for their welcome party.”

“How many lights did you turn on in the Murrays’ house?” Ed asked.

Alex shifted knees, keeping his binoculars trained on the car. “A few on each floor. Enough to fit in with the rest of the occupied houses.”

“I wouldn’t leave the house. Can you see anything with your night vision?”

“Hey, hon? Can we come up now?” Kate yelled from the basement.

“Hold on, Ed.” He raised his voice so she could hear him from downstairs. “Yeah. I think it’s fine. Let’s keep everyone on the second floor for now. In their rooms away from the front windows, please,” he yelled back.

“Sorry about that,” he returned to Ed. “Night vision. Hold on. Let me grab them.”

He took a few steps over to his nightstand and opened the top drawer. He moved the empty black nylon pistol holster out of the way, grabbed a stubby black night vision scope, and took it back to the window, unscrewing the lens cap and activating the 4X scope.

Let’s see.

He heard Kate and the kids talking as they came up the stairs.

“You still there?” he asked Ed.

“Yep,” Ed replied.

“All right. I can see the front seat. One man…or woman in the driver’s seat.”

“You can’t tell?”

“This is a cheap Russian knock-off of a field scope. 4X magnification. You get what you get with these. Anyway…I can’t see into the back seat due to the downward angle. Maybe if I move down…”

“Only one in the front?” Ed asked.

“Hold on,” Alex said, squinting through the eyepiece, searching the green image.

He’s right. No, it’s this piece of junk night vision. There’s gotta…

“Hold on,” he said again.

“Do you see anyone else in the front seat?” Ed repeated.

Alex suddenly felt the weight of the HK USP tucked into the back of his jeans and suddenly craved heavier artillery. “No,” he whispered flatly.

Someone else is out there.

His phone handset suddenly glowed orange and illuminated the side of his face. He pulled the phone away from his ear, and the phone’s LCD bathed the front corner of the bedroom in a deep orange glow. Shit. He slammed the phone down to the floor, face down, put the scope on the window shelf, and lay down to check the caller ID on the phone. Charlie. He heard Ed through the phone and put the phone back to his ear.

“Charlie’s on the other line. I’ll call you right back,” he said.

“Okay,” Ed said and hung up.

Alex switched over to Charlie.

“Hey, Charlie. You watching, too?” he asked.

“Did you see him shoot it out?” Charlie asked.

“No, but Ed saw him get back into his car immediately after he heard the shot. Thought he saw a rifle in the guy’s hands.”

“I think I spotted someone creeping around the Murrays’ house. Might be the guy missing from the front passenger seat of the car. Car’s jam-packed with people, except the front. One of them is out scoping houses. If I see a gun on him, he’s dead. I should take out the guy in the front seat of the car right now,” Charlie said.

“Don’t go shooting into the car. Never know who you might hit. Bullets bounce around, Charlie.”

“Not when I’m using a 10X night vision scope on my Remington Milspec. The only thing that’ll bounce is his head,” Charlie countered.

“Please don’t shoot into the car.”

“I’m not gonna shoot into the car…unless I have to,” Charlie promised.

“What can you see in the car?”

“I see…in the driver’s seat, one male with what looks like hair coming more than half-way down his neck. He’s either a hippie or that’s a mullet. My guess is mullet. In the back seat, I counted four people. One more adult male, but I can’t see him very well. He’s on the far side from me. In the middle are two kids. I can’t tell the ages, but I’d guess under ten. One boy and one girl. And…one female adult in the rear passenger side seat. This one talks to the driver a lot, lot of back and forth between the two of them. There’s a third row of seats, and I can see one more kid. Looks like a young boy…elementary school age maybe. And…another adult female. Looks like the woman is holding something. Could be a baby…but it looks like something bigger. Like a young toddler-aged kid. I can’t tell very well. The back row seats are blocking my view.”

“Are you pointing your rifle at them?” Alex asked.

“Yeah. Linda’s got the spotting scope looking around for the other one,” he said.

“Just be careful and keep the safety on. You don’t want to accidentally shoot any kids,” Alex warned.

“This gun doesn’t go off by accident. Have you ever seen the 5R Milspec? It’s modeled after the M24 sniper rifle used by the Marine Corps. Beautiful weapon. Hard to get your hands on one. I could find you one if you wanted. Mine’s fitted to shoot 300s instead of the standard .308. I use it deer hunting. Unbelievable accuracy. It’s a Remington 700 on steroids,” Charlie bragged.

“Those are pretty nice weapons…but I think the Marine Corps sniper rifle is called the M40-A3. They’re all modified versions of the 700, but the Marine version is handcrafted and built in Quantico. Either way, you have a nice piece of equipment there.”

How many rifles does this guy have?

“That’s right. The army uses the 24…hold on a second,” Charlie broke off, and Alex could hear some yelling in the background at Charlie’s house. “Linda just saw a guy dodge between the Hayes’ and Coopers’ house.”

Alex heard the floor creak inside the bedroom and turned around briefly to see Kate standing in front of the closets.

“What’s going on out there?” she whispered.

“Not now. Hold on,” he said and turned back to look through the night vision scope.

He directed the scope at the opening between the Coopers’ house and the McCarthys’, figuring that it was the closest and darkest approach to the car.

“Charlie, I’m watching the opening between the Coopers’ and McCarthys’. You keep a tight watch on the car.”

“Roger.”

Alex felt his chest tighten and his pulse quicken. Within the span of a few seconds, a thin film of moisture formed on his face.

There he is.

“Got him. Coming between the Coopers’ and McCarthys’. Moving right toward the car,” he said to Charlie.

His senses were acutely focused on the scene developing through the scope, distracted only momentarily by Kate kneeling down next to him. He watched the man as he jogged to the driver’s side of the car and knelt down next to the window. The driver motioned angrily for the man to get into the car, and the man with the hat quickly crossed in front of the Volvo and entered the front passenger side door.

Ed’s right. No light.

“They have the interior lights turned off. Sneaky mothers,” Charlie muttered into the phone.

“Yeah. This crew worries me.”

He watched as the man with the hat pointed with his left hand in the direction of the Murrays’ house. The driver immediately pushed the man’s arm down and nodded toward Alex’s house, talking at the same time.

He saw the phone. This guy knows what he’s doing. I wonder if Charlie would really be willing to take them out.

“I think you’ve been made, buddy,” Charlie said.

“Yeah. My phone lit up when you called. Nice orange beacon for him. Hey, can you see the license plate?”

“Already checked it out. Maine for sure. Hold on…looks like they’re leaving.”

Alex’s right eye was blinded by a sudden green flash in his scope as the Volvo’s headlights bathed the street with light. He closed the eye and put the scope on the window sill next to his binoculars. “I’ll let you know where they go,” he said to Charlie.

“Good, because I can’t see out of my right eye,” Charlie said.

“Me either.”

The Volvo’s headlights moved toward Alex’s house. He moved to a front window and watched as the car drove slowly past his house and headed down the street toward the Perrys’. He expected the car to continue around the loop to the Murrays’ and was surprised when it turned toward the neighborhood exit.

“Huh. He’s headed back out onto Harrison Road,” Alex commented.

“Who?” Kate asked.

“Maybe he didn’t like the idea that some of the neighbors are watching him,” Charlie said.

“I don’t know. He might be driving over to Everett Road to park and walk his family through the backyards over to the Murrays’. Or he might just come back at three in the morning. Either way, I expect to have new neighbors in the morning.”

“I hope not. They look like bad news. Car’s jammed full of people, but that’s about it. I didn’t see any supplies, or anything that even looked like a bag,” Charlie said.

“Do you think it’s strange that the car had Maine plates?” Alex asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe their house got destroyed, or burned. Who knows? Maybe they stole the car a bit further south. They didn’t look like Volvo station wagon types.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Well, I’ll keep an eye on the Murrays’ tonight, see if anyone shows up. I’ll give you a call if I see anything,” Charlie said.

“Right. I’ll probably be up all night watching for those yahoos, too,” Alex replied.

“I see them running around at night again, and I might make them one fewer.”

“I wish I could say that I didn’t like the sound of that…have a good night, Charlie.”

“You too, Alex.”

Alex disconnected the call and put the phone back in its receiver.

“What was going on out there?” Kate asked.

He walked over to the bed and lay down. Kate followed him and they both lay staring at the ceiling, side by side, arms hooked together.

“A Volvo station wagon parked under the light, and the driver shot the light out…”

“Jesus,” she whispered.

“And Charlie saw a guy snooping around the Murrays’. We both saw this guy emerge from the McCarthys’ backyard and get in the car, then they left. I’m pretty sure they’re coming back for the Murrays’ house. These guys seem to know what they’re doing. Like they’ve cased houses before. I think they had a close look at the Murrays’ and weren’t fooled by the lights.”

“What makes you think they’ve cased houses before?” she asked.

Alex explained his theory about the interior car lights, the position of the vehicle and the license plates.

“I don’t know,” she said, unsure.

“The guy brazenly blasts out a street light? Trust me. These are not the kind of people we want in the neighborhood, Kate.”

He left out the likelihood that the driver had spotted him, not seeing any reason to escalate her anxiety.

“You don’t think they’re from Maine?” she asked.

“I doubt it, and I’d hate to think about what happened to the owners of that car. I hope Charlie does some hunting tonight.”

“We don’t need Charlie shooting at people in the dark. You and Ed have made some nighttime trips, and you’re lucky nobody took a shot at you.”

“Maybe. Either way, I don’t think there’s any reason for anyone to be alone on the ground floor after dark from this point forward. At least until we figure out what’s going on with these guys. Okay?”

“Sounds reasonable,” Kate said.

“Did you lock the door on the way in?” he asked.

“No, should I have?” she said defensively.

“Not if you’re okay with our kids walking in on some steamy sex,” he said, rolling over onto her, grasping her hands.

“A little presumptuous, aren’t we? What if I wasn’t in the mood?”

“I figure that your playing hard to get days ended several years ago.”

“Nice. This is what it comes down to after fifteen years?”

“Pretty much,” he responded.

“I’ll lock the door,” she said and jumped out of bed.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Saturday, November 30, 2013

Alex knelt in the dark and peered through a small gap between the windowsill and the bottom of the pull shades in his office, scanning the block in both directions, first with his naked eye, and then with his night vision scope. He had alternated between the window and his computer for the past three hours. So far, the computer had proven more interesting.

Maine Medical Center and Mercy Hospital were no longer accepting any new patients. The decision was announced late Thursday, prompting protests outside of Mercy Hospital that required National Guard intervention.

Several state-funded triage centers had been established over the past week around the greater Portland area and had filled with patients even before they officially opened on Thursday, leading to more protests and a near takeover of the triage center located at the Maine Medical building in Falmouth. Local law enforcement and State Troopers had kept the situation from escalating out of control until elements of an Air National Guard unit could be airlifted into a nearby strip mall parking lot.

As of Friday afternoon, most Guard units had been reassigned to provide security for area hospitals and state triage centers, leaving local authorities to handle any civil unrest within Portland.

Portland’s situation seemed no different than that of the rest of the nation. Every treatment facility was overwhelmed, understaffed, and days away from exhausting any critical medical supplies. Federal and state emergency supply packages couldn’t meet the demand and would likely be exhausted within the next few weeks. The country was on the brink of a complete breakdown, and New England was now facing a storm system that most meteorologists agreed would be a uniquely devastating early season storm.

Alex stopped his scan and focused in the direction of the Murrays’ house. The scope’s green picture was different on this scan. His last good scan of the neighborhood had occurred about thirty minutes earlier.

“All right, what’s going on here?” he whispered to himself, half asleep.

He squinted into the scope. The area didn’t appear to be as bright as before. Alex turned off the scope and opened the battery compartment. He took two spare AA batteries from a half empty value pack on his desk and replaced the batteries in the scope, tossing the old ones into an empty black metallic waste can, making way too much noise for two in the morning. He cringed from the noise and listened intently for any signs of disturbed sleep throughout the house.

Nothing. It would take a string of firecrackers to jar these people out of their sleep. Or a rock to the head.

He turned on the scope and resumed his inspection. The scene was slightly brighter, but still darker than before. He stared at the scene for another minute and then suddenly lowered the scope.

The lights are out at the Murrays’. They’re in.

“Goddamn it, they’re in,” he whispered aloud. He considered calling Charlie or Ed, but was pretty certain that neither household would appreciate a call at two thirty in the morning.

“This is not good.”

“What’s not good?” Ryan said out of nowhere.

Alex barely held onto the night vision scope as he took in a short quick breath and whirled on his knees to face the direction of Ryan’s voice.

“Ryan,” he whispered forcefully, “please do not surprise me like that. Jesus…I swear you guys are trying to give me an infarction.”

“What’s an infarction, Dad,” Ryan asked groggily.

“A heart attack.”

Ryan smiled. “Sounds like a technical term for farting.”

“That’s flatulence,” Alex corrected.

“So what’s going on out there? I don’t think Mom likes it when you do this kind of stuff,” Ryan said, kneeling next to him.

“What kind of stuff?”

“Going tactical.”

“What do you mean?” Alex asked, though he had a pretty good idea.

“I think she gets worried when you get too into the military stuff. Like staring through night vision in the middle of the night. She doesn’t think it’s healthy for you.”

“Does she talk about it with you?” he asked Ryan.

“Sometimes. Mostly when you space out. Like at the beach this summer. She was really worried for a while.”

Alex could immediately tell that Ryan was unlikely to say more on his own. “What was she worried about?” he prodded.

“I don’t know. Just worried,” he said vaguely, and Alex knew that he didn’t want to talk about it.

He had never suspected that she talked to the kids about his problem. He’d just assumed that she treated it the same way that he did, and didn’t discuss it. Now he wondered if this bothered her on a daily basis.

“Buddy, I know you really don’t want to talk about this, but I need to know something, and I’ll never bring it up again. And I won’t be mad at anyone. All right?”

He looked at Ryan, who nodded his head but was clearly struggling with this conversation.

“Was Mommy worried that I might hurt one of you?” Alex asked.

“No,” he said, shaking his head emphatically, “she was…”

Alex put his arm around Ryan and hugged him.

Ryan hesitated to answer and cast his eyes down again, turning his head back toward the window shade.

“Really, buddy, does Mommy think I might hurt you guys?”

Ryan shook his head again, still staring at the shade in front of him. Alex felt an uneven wave of anger wash over him, anger directed at Kate. He could barely stomach the thought that she believed him to be capable of hurting the kids, or her. He barely suppressed the thought and had to press his lips closed to keep the words from escaping.

He wondered if Ryan could sense his anger. The anger was immediately doused by a rush of guilt. His flashbacks had increased in intensity and duration over the past three or four years, and Kate had pleaded with him to see a counselor at Togus, or a private psychologist that specialized in PTSD.

I’ve blown it off for years, and now my family is terrified of me.

This realization was beginning to sink in when Ryan finally answered.

“Mommy knows you’d never hurt one of us. She always tells us that.”

He hesitated, and Alex sensed that he was not finished.

“But you’re not sure?” Alex whispered.

“I know you wouldn’t do anything to us like some of the guys that came back, but…”

He let Ryan’s long pause go uninterrupted and heard him sob softly, taking in several quick breaths through his nose.

“But Mommy thinks that one day you’ll go down into the basement and not come back up.”

Alex hugged him tightly. “I would never leave you guys like that. Ever,” he whispered fiercely by Ryan’s ear.

Ryan hugged him even tighter, and Alex felt tears drop onto his neck.

“But that’s what happens to a lot of guys who come back,” Ryan barely managed to get out between sobs.

“Very…very few soldiers take their lives when they come back. It’s extremely rare, and when it happens, it happens pretty soon after they return. I’ve been back for eight years, and I’m not going anywhere. Shit, I finally got you mowing the lawn, and I enjoy listening to the lawn mower from the couch way too much to make an early exit,” he joked, and Ryan’s sobs were stitched with a few stifled laughs.

He loosened his grip on his son and held him in front of him by his shoulders.

“Seriously, I love you guys too much to do that, and I swear to you that I’ve never considered it, not even once, since I returned from Iraq. I can’t remember ever thinking about suicide. Ever. I just don’t think it’s part of my programming. I can’t envision any circumstance under which I would do it. Here, before, ever,” Alex assured him.

“Like, even if you were captured by terrorists, and they were going to torture you in the worst way possible and then cut off your head on TV?”

“Well, if it was an Al Jazeera pay-per-view event, and all of the proceeds went to Muslim fundamentalist terrorists…then I might consider ruining their show. Where did you get that crazy idea?”

“I don’t know. From the news. I can never understand why the people in those internet videos just let them hack their heads off,” Ryan said.

“You haven’t watched any of those videos? Right?”

“No. No, but they showed one of them on the news, right up until the terrorist started hacking, and the guy in the video just let it happen.”

“I’m not sure those guys really, truly believed it would really happen to them. Or maybe they just didn’t want to give the terrorists the satisfaction of reacting at all. We’ll never know. I get what you’re saying, though. I’d make it miserable for them if I knew what was coming,” Alex said. “Really miserable,” he reiterated and nodded with an overly tough and dramatic squint, still staring down at the windowsill.

He has no idea what he’s talking about.

“I’m sorry about telling you what Mommy said. She really didn’t want me to say anything, but I get scared thinking about it,” Ryan admitted, finally looking him in the eye.

Alex could see that his eyes were still sad, though the tears had stopped.

“No, you really have nothing to be sorry about. I’m fine, but I’ve been acting a little strange at times. I can see why you guys are worried. Really. You don’t need to feel bad about this. You guys are looking out for me. That’s what a team does, and we’re a tight team here. Task Force Fletcher. You guys take care of me, and I’ll take care of you. We’re all doing a pretty good job so far. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah. You’re doing an awesome job. Mommy tells us that all the time. I feel bad for everyone else out there, but I’m really glad we’re safe in here.”

“My job is to keep us all safe, and I’ll do anything to accomplish that mission.”

“What are you checking out?” Ryan asked, nodding at the night vision scope.

“Here, take a look,” Alex said and handed him the scope.

“First take an unaided look over toward the Murrays’ house. Can’t really see much because the Sheppards’ house is blocking most of the view, and the houses on the other side of the loop aren’t helping either. At most, you can see part of one garage bay. Now that you have a wide frame of reference, aim the scope in that direction and try to find that same garage bay.”

Ryan searched through the scope for nearly a minute until he settled in on one point. “I have it. I love this thing. It’s like daytime,” he exclaimed.

“Yeah. There’s a lot of ambient light out there from the streetlight a few houses down. That’s all this scope needs to turn the block into daylight. If that light was out, it would still work, but not this well. So…I’ve been keeping an eye on their house for the past few hours, and even though you think it’s pretty bright over there through the scope, it’s definitely darker than it was about thirty minutes ago. I left some of the lights on at the Murrays’, and although I can’t see the windows from here, I could sort of see the ambient glow of the windows from here. I don’t see that anymore, if that makes any sense.”

“Yeah, kind of. So why aren’t the lights on anymore?” Ryan asked, looking up from the scope at Alex.

“That’s the million dollar question. Who turned out the lights?” Alex took the scope to take a look for himself. “That’s why your dad is up at two in the morning staring at the neighborhood through night vision.”

“You think it’s those people in the car?”

“Yeah, that’s my guess.”

“And you’re pretty worried about them?”

“Yeah. Something’s not right about them. That’s really why I’m up past the witching hour. What are you doing up?” Alex asked.

“I had to go to the bathroom, and I heard you talking to yourself in here. Kinda freaky.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame you. It is kinda weird. Well, I think I’m done here for the night. Not much else to see out there. You need to get to bed, too. Busy day tomorrow.”

“Really?” Ryan exclaimed.

“No. Not really, but you should get your sleep anyway, so you’ll be rested up for your afternoon nap.”

“Nice,” Ryan said dejectedly, “you had me hopeful there for a second.”

“Hopeful for what? Until the pandemic lifts, all we should hope for are uneventful, boring days. Safe days. Task Force Fletcher’s mission is to make your life as dull and unmemorable as possible.”

“Mission accomplished so far.”

“Thanks. Now get back to bed. Love you, buddy,” Alex said, still kneeling in front of the window.

Ryan surprised him with another hug. “Love you too, Dad,” he said and walked out of the office.

Alex took another look through the scope. He heard Ryan close the bathroom door. “Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s going to stay boring for very long,” he whispered to himself, staring through the scope toward the Murrays’ house.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Saturday, November 30, 2013

Alex sat up in bed, exhausted, awakened by the doorbell ringing. It rang again, several times in fast succession. Kate stirred next to him.

“Are you gonna check that out?” she murmured.

Yeah, I’ll get right on it. Like I wasn’t up all night, while you snored away ten solid hours of sleep. Jesus!

“Yeah. Give me a minute. How long has that been going on?” he asked softly.

“A while, I think. I fell back…”

“Hey, Dad? Someone’s been ringing the doorbell for like the last five minutes. Nonstop,” Ryan interrupted, suddenly appearing around the corner of the bathroom with Emily in tow.

“Yeah, they woke me up, too. Is it the police again, Daddy?” Emily asked.

Alex rubbed his eyes and got out of bed. “I don’t know, guys. I’ll check it ou—” His sentence was involuntarily cut off by a huge yawn. “Sorry…I’m zonked. I’ll check it out, guys. Why don’t you jump in here with Mommy and go back to sleep or watch some TV?” he suggested, as the doorbell rang again repeatedly. He frowned in the direction of the sound.

As Emily passed him, he grabbed her. “Give me a hug, sweetie,” he said, squeezing her and kissing the top of her head. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said, squirming away to get into the warm bed.

“Stay in bed. No wandering, please. Let me check this out,” he ordered.

He watched them settle into bed with Kate, burrowing for warmth, one on each side of their mother. He stared at this for a moment, when another burst of doorbell blasts reached his ears, and he moved over to the window to check the front yard. He raised the shade a few inches and peered outside cautiously. He looked down as far as he could and saw no cars in the driveway, and nothing on the walkway either.

“See anything?” Kate asked, sounding a little more awake.

“No. Whoever’s ringing the doorbell is standing right on the mudroom porch. No worries. I’ll take a look.” He headed over to the closet.

“Careful, honey,” she said.

“I know. Keep the kids up here. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He hustled to dress: a pair of faded blue jeans and a gray USMC hooded sweatshirt. He walked back over to his nightstand and removed his USP pistol, tucking it into his waistband. He was walking back across the bedroom as the doorbell erupted again, sending his frustration and blood pressure sky high. He passed the closet on the way out and stopped suddenly. He ducked back into the closet and grabbed the shotgun, which he didn’t bother to hide on a high shelf anymore.

Alex arrived at the bottom of the stairs and glanced at the front door curtains, still not seeing anyone.

Mudroom for sure.

He headed toward the kitchen area and saw the shadow of a figure under the blanket covering the slider door to their deck.

Son of a bitch!

He rushed into the kitchen and ducked down behind the kitchen island. Peering over the top of the island, he could see the figure moving around on the deck. It moved toward the kitchen window, which was partially covered with a flimsy, semi-transparent lace curtain. Alex ducked back down as the kitchen darkened slightly from the shadow cast by the figure’s head. The doorbell rang yet again, and Alex wondered if he could move fast enough to blast the head peeking through the window and still catch the guy on the front porch.

Probably not.

The kitchen shadow vanished, and Alex slowly peeked up over the island. He didn’t see any movement on the deck, so he raised himself up and moved toward the mudroom. He deactivated the shotgun’s safety and leaned it up against the pantry door, just inside the kitchen from the mudroom, feeling for the pistol behind his back and tucking the sweatshirt between the pistol and his back so it wouldn’t get in the way of a quick draw.

All set.

He stepped into the mudroom and stopped a few steps from the kitchen entry, well within grabbing range of his shotgun. He examined the figure standing in front of the door and was glad the shotgun was nearby.

The man stood a few feet back from the door and was dressed in a worn black leather jacket with a blue hooded sweatshirt underneath. His dark brown, shoulder-length hair was stringy and matted, and he wore a brown and gray camouflage patterned baseball cap. The outfit alone disturbed Alex, but not as much as the man’s face.

He stared into the man’s lifeless, bloodshot eyes. He had seen these eyes before, but not for a long while. The man’s eyes flicked to the left, returning quickly to Alex.

This man is capable of anything.

He didn’t need to know anything else about the man. He considered his next move. Having stared at the man for fewer than five seconds, he knew that the best outcome for the entire neighborhood would be for him to shoot the man between the eyes right now. Alex knew that sooner or later, he’d be weighing this option again.

Probably sooner rather than later.

Alex decided to remain silent and let the man initiate first contact. He continued to stare at the man with what he hoped appeared to be complete disinterest.

The man didn’t react to Alex’s silence, and he started to second guess his strategy. He examined the man’s face more closely. His skin was pale, almost grayish, mottled with angry acne scars; broken blood vessels tracked across his reddish-purple nose. Hollow blue eyes sat underneath thick eyebrows and a deeply wrinkled forehead.

“Is this how it’s gonna be around here?” the man uttered loud enough to be heard through the two doors.

“How’s what going to be?” Alex replied and hoped that he sounded convincing.

“This,” he said with a minor hand gesture and a queer smirk, “nobody answering their fucking doors. We’re gonna need some help. It was a long trip up from Mass.”

“Had to change cars a few times?” Alex asked.

The man cracked a sly smile. “The Murrays didn’t exactly leave anything useful behind,” he said.

“I don’t think they were expecting squatters,” Alex said and crossed his arms.

“So, are you gonna help us out, or not?” the man asked, and his smile dissolved.

“Look, you’re not going to find any help around here. Everyone’s struggling, and there’s nothing to go around,” Alex said.

“You don’t look like you’re struggling,” he said, never taking his eyes off Alex’s.

I don’t think he’s blinked yet.

The man’s eyes suddenly darted to the right. A bolt of fear hit Alex, as he remembered the other guy out back. He glanced to his left, at the door to the garage, knowing that the door was locked with a deadbolt. Same with the door to the garage.

No way for anyone to sneak up on me without making some noise.

“You’d be better off heading further upstate. Trust me. No one’s happy to see you here. You, or your friend back there,” Alex said, motioning with his head toward the back of the house.

“So you’re not gonna help?” the man pressed.

“No.”

“I’ll remember that,” the man said, nodding his head. He pulled a folded sheet of slightly crumpled yellow legal paper and a pen out of an interior jacket pocket. Alex recognized the green and yellow pen.

TerraFlu. Must have lifted it from Greg’s.

He unfolded the paper and started writing.

He’s making a list and checking it twice. Gonna find out who’s naughty or nice. Shitball man is coming to town. He knows if you’ve been eating, he knows if you have heat…

Alex started to smile as the tune played out in his head.

“Something funny?” the man stopped writing to yell.

“Nope,” he said and paused, “I don’t want to see you guys around this house again.”

“Or what?” the man said. He folded the paper back up into his jacket pocket.

Alex just shrugged his shoulders. He considered telling the guy to stay away from Ed’s house, but decided against it. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but his gut told him that it would be a mistake, that it could possibly have the opposite effect. The man stared at Alex with dead, cold eyes for a few more seconds before he turned around and left the mudroom stoop.

Emotionless, but calculating.

Alex watched him walk through the bushes in front of the walkway toward Ed’s yard. A second man dressed in black jeans and a faded woodland patterned camouflage jacket joined him as he reached the far left edge of Alex’s house. The second man’s bright red and blue knit cap stood in stark contrast to both of their outfits.

Patriots fan? Come on in, boys!

Alex scrambled back into the kitchen, nearly knocking over the shotgun, and grabbed the cordless phone. He dialed Ed’s number.

“What’s up, man?” Ed answered.

“I don’t have time to explain, but whatever you do, do not answer the door in the next couple of seconds. Don’t even go downstairs. The nutcases we saw last night just cased my house and rang my doorbell for like ten minutes. The guy I talked to at the door looks like a pure sociopath. Real scary.”

“I’ve been watching them work their way around the block. One guy goes to the front door, and the other guy snoops around the back. I don’t think anyone’s answered their door,” Ed said.

“We need to start calling around the block to make sure no one does. I’m telling you, man, the guy at the front door looked scary. I’ve seen his look before and it scares me to see it again. This is not the kind of guy you want setting foot inside your house. Trust me,” Alex said.

“I believe you, man. I didn’t plan on letting him in—”

“I wouldn’t even show your face. A guy like this feeds on fear. If he senses hesitation, a lack of confidence, any weakness at all, he’ll act on it immediately. At the minimum, he’ll exploit it later, when he’s truly desperate, which might not be too far away. I don’t think they brought any food with them.”

“Shit, he’s already ringing the doorbell. Alex, I’ll call you in a little bit. I need to make sure no one answers the door.”

“Gotcha. I’m gonna let these assholes know you’re not going to answer. That nobody is. Start making calls to everyone on the outside of the loop. I’ll take the inside,” Alex said.

“Okay, will do. Later.” Ed hung up.

Alex returned to the mudroom and contemplated what he had just told Ed.

I’m going out there?

He deliberated for a few more seconds. He had two main concerns. His first consideration was the third male adult that Charlie had seen in the car. If a third guy was following a few houses behind the first pair, he could be taken by surprise from behind. Ed had only seen two guys, but Ed probably wasn’t looking for a third.

He doesn’t think like that.

He reached behind his lower back and adjusted the sweatshirt to cover the pistol, just in case the third man was watching.

The other concern was less immediate, but no less troubling. He was fairly confident that he’d already made this man’s shit list, but by drawing even more attention to himself, he was likely to end up at the very top of the list.

If I don’t do this, someone will get robbed or killed today.

He slipped on his sandals, unlocked the mudroom door’s deadbolt, and stepped through both doors onto the mudroom stoop.

Wow, that’s cold.

A frigid wind whipped into the semi-enclosed stoop, biting into his hands and stinging his face.

Once again underdressed.

He looked down at his feet. “At least I have socks this time,” he muttered.

He stepped down onto the walkway and turned left, facing the Walkers’ house. The Walkers’ mudroom stoop was blocked from his view by their garage, so he moved several feet into his own front yard. He could see the backside of one man standing at the Walkers’ mudroom door, the man’s outfit confirming that he was the same man that had rung Alex’s doorbell.

The other guy’s already peeking through windows.

“Here we go,” he said to no one in particular. “Hey, Manson!” he yelled over the wind.

The man turned around slowly and took a few steps toward Alex. He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d react if the man continued to move toward him. The man didn’t answer, only nodded his head upward once, and stared at Alex.

“The word’s out, and nobody’s gonna answer. You’d be better off moving on to a happier hunting ground,” he yelled at the man.

“And I have you to thank for this hospitality?” he asked, reaching quickly into his coat pocket.

Alex stiffened and fought every impulse to grab his pistol. In a fraction of a second, Alex’s logical side overrode the irrational. His hand only managed to move a few inches back along his right leg during the mental battle. He knew that if the man drew a gun, he could negate the man’s advantage by darting to either side and pulling his own weapon. At that point, it would be an even shooting match…or maybe not. The man could be an excellent shot, or he could have no experience at all. Alex figured it more likely that the man knew his way around firearms. Either way, his instinct was to actively avoid a pistol duel at twenty meters with anyone, especially out in the open.

A flash memory of the man’s yellow legal paper, located on the same side of the jacket settled the struggle, and his hand stayed alongside his leg. The man pulled the notepad and pen out of a pocket inside his jacket, and Alex felt his body start to relax.

He started to write in the notepad again.

He’s making a list and checking it twice. Gonna find out who’s naughty or nice. Manson Claus is coming to town.

“You gonna give me a ticket for my lack of hospitality?” Alex asked with the start of a grin.

“Just keeping track,” Manson said and put the notepad back inside his jacket.

Alex watched the man’s movements closely and decided to head back toward his house.

“Not much left here to go around. You might have better luck up north. Less people, less problems…”

“We ain’t goin’ nowhere. Not with a storm coming in,” the man interrupted, looking up at the thick gray sky.

Alex’s eyes followed skyward as another gust of frigid northern air washed over the neighborhood, bathing him in arctic air. He fought the urge to shiver and thought about the impending storm, a low pressure burst of warm, tropical air, soon to collide with this stationary high pressure system.

Disaster for sure.

He shrugged and started to back up toward his mudroom door, never turning his back on the man. Just as he reached his mudroom, the second man came into view from around the far side of Ed’s house. He walked up to Manson, and they started talking. They both stared at Alex with intense hatred for several seconds before walking across Ed’s yard to the Andersons’ house.

I hope Todd already warned them.

He stepped inside the mudroom and locked both doors, then entered the garage to verify that the garage door was still locked and deadbolted. He also tested the three windows to make sure they were secure.

Don’t need any surprises.

Satisfied with the garage, he walked back into the mudroom and locked the door behind him, doorknob and deadbolt. Then he walked back over to the mudroom entrance door and checked the locks again, despite the fact that he locked them less than two minutes before. He looked at his watch.

“Captain’s log. 8:27, Saturday, December 1st, Alex Fletcher is officially declared paranoid,” he stated aloud.

Just as he finished his proclamation, an overwhelming urge to recheck the garage rose within him. He glanced at the garage door again and shook his head, kicked off his sandals, and headed upstairs to check in with Kate. After that, he’d start making some calls to the neighbors on the inner loop. He rounded the bedroom corner and saw Kate and the kids burrowed under the covers. He heard Kate’s voice surface.

“What was going on out there?”

“Oh, nothing. Just the new neighbors. The Manson family replaced the Murrays,” he said.

“That bad?” she asked, poking her head out of the covers.

“Maybe worse. Their front man looks extremely dangerous. I haven’t seen a wild look like that in a long time. We’ll need to have a serious talk about nighttime security around here. Hey, I gotta make some calls. Ed and I are warning the neighbors not to open their doors to these guys,” he said and started walking out of the bedroom.

“How about some heat before you start riding your horse around the block? The kids are frozen,” she complained.

“Just for the Paul Revere reference alone, I give you heat,” he said and adjusted the thermostat before he left the room.

“Not because I’m the love of your life?” she asked.

“Let’s not wear that one out,” he said and vanished down the stairs.

**

Alex peeked out of the rightmost window of the family room and scanned down the street toward the right, then the left, peering between houses and letting his eyes settle on stationary objects to activate his peripheral vision. He saw nothing out of the ordinary besides an increasingly menacing dark gray sky. The neighborhood was once again quiet after the surprisingly brief influx of refugees from the south.

Maybe they blew up the bridge?

He had convinced himself early on Friday that they would be forced to deal with slow-moving vehicle traffic for days and was now pretty sure that the weather forecast had something to do with the absence of travelers. He heard footsteps on the staircase.

Must be Ryan.

He turned toward the foyer opening just as Ryan stepped down off the stairs.

“Grab a seat, buddy,” he said to Ryan.

“What about?” Ryan asked and rolled over the back of the couch onto Emily.

“Ouuuch. Cut it out, jerk!” she cried, kicking out both legs simultaneously.

Ryan caught both feet directly in the chest while upside down and was propelled off the couch, landing on his back. He sprung back up to retaliate, but was brought right back down to the ground by Kate, who had jumped up from her cozy leather chair a few feet away from Ryan. Alex watched Kate take Ryan off balance and gently ease him back down to the floor.

“That’s enough for now,” she said calmly.

Ryan didn’t physically protest and instead verbally lashed out at Emily. “That’s not fair! She had no right to kick me for real. I was just playing, and she could have paralyzed me!”

“Quit being a baby!” Emily taunted.

“Take it easy both of you!” Alex said.

“But, Dad, she’s such a little—”

“That’s it! I’m not kidding. If she doesn’t want you crashing into her ten times a day, then lay off. And you need to be more careful. This isn’t an ultimate fighting arena.”

“But, Dad, someone needs to beat him down,” Emily said.

“Nobody’s beating anyone down except for me,” Kate proclaimed, still holding Ryan to the ground. “If I let you go, do you promise not to attack your sister?” she asked.

“Yes, Mom,” he answered unconvincingly.

“I think you should just sit on him for the next few minutes,” Alex said, eliciting a shrill laugh from Emily.

“Dad, you told her to knock it off, and now she’s laughing in my face!” Ryan cried.

“Promise your mother you won’t retaliate, and mean it,” Alex said forcefully.

“All right, I won’t bother her anymore. Sorry,” he muttered.

“Thank you.” Kate released Ryan’s sweatshirt. “Now grab a seat away from your sister. We just need to go over a couple of new rules for the house. Something has changed, and we need to be more cautious.”

“Is it those skuzzy people that moved into the Murrays’?” Ryan asked as he walked over to the other leather chair.

“Yeah. Your mom and I are a little concerned.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Ryan asked.

“Are there any kids?” Emily added.

“Uh, I’m not completely sure…about the kids. There might be some, but the problem is that one or more of the adults look dangerous. Not the kind of people we’re used to having around here at all.”

“Remember the guy that we didn’t like this summer after the Red Sox game?” Kate asked the kids.

“The one that asked Daddy for money, then followed us to our car?”

“While his buddies trailed us, too,” Alex reminded them.

“Yes. This guy reminds your dad of that guy. Something’s wrong with him, and without food or supplies, we think he might be a danger to the neighborhood, and to us.”

“Worse than some of our neighbors?” Ryan asked.

Alex laughed, not really sure if Ryan was serious or joking. “I think this group is way worse,” he said.

“Can we give them some food, Daddy?” Emily asked.

Kate smiled at her. “That’s a nice thought, sweetie, but it’s probably not a good idea…”

“Why not?” Emily pressed.

“Because I think they would want more, and if we couldn’t give them more, they would cause trouble,” Alex told her.

“How do you know?”

“They’re scummy looking,” Ryan yelled.

“Well, it’s not just that they look scummy,” Alex said, glancing at Kate.

I’ll let her handle this one.

“Your dad talked to them this morning—”

“Twice,” Alex interrupted.

Like that justifies my conclusion.

“Twice, and his gut instinct is that there is something seriously wrong with them,” Kate said.

That answer won’t satisfy her.

“But you always tell us not to judge people by how they look, so how can we know that they just don’t need a little help?”

“Sweetie, under normal circumstances you’re right. It’s not fair to judge a book by its cover, but in this case, we have to make an exception. I can’t explain it very well, but I don’t want to take the risk with them. I think the consequences could be disastrous, and I’m not willing to take a chance with your safety,” Alex said gently.

That might do it.

“You should have said that in the first place, Daddy,” she said with a completely happy and innocent look.

“She’s unbelievable,” Ryan commented.

“That’s enough. She’s on the right track,” Kate said.

Alex stepped back over to the front corner window and stared down the street toward the Perrys’ for a few seconds, then down the other side of the street, thinking about all of the doors and windows in their home as he walked over and took a seat next to Emily.

Locked for sure.

“So what we’re going to do is be a little more cautious around the house. Pretty much what we’ve been doing before, but a little different, especially at night. First, like always, nobody answers the door for any reason. Mom and I will take care of answering the door. Second, I want you guys to have one of us with you when you’re downstairs. Day or night, okay?”

“But what if I just want a drink of water?” Ryan asked.

“Then you keep a cup upstairs and get a drink from the bathroom.”

“But Mom doesn’t like us to drink from the bathroom faucet. Something about poop particles in the air.”

“Mom will make an exception in this case,” Kate said.

“But what…”

“Just get one of us to go down with you, all right? One of us is down here most of the day anyway, just be a little flexible about this. I don’t know what these people might try, okay?” Alex said.

“Okayyyy,” Ryan said, barely convincing Alex.

“All shades are open during the day. All shades are closed at night. After dark, kids upstairs, and we keep inside lights to a minimum. The other thing that will be different is that I will be visibly wearing a handgun, and you might see a few of my rifles around the house, and under no circumstances are you two to touch them. Don’t knock them over, don’t move them at all. They will be loaded with real bullets. Here’s what you might see.”

He stood up and moved over to Kate’s chair, reached behind the chair, and pulled out his shotgun and assault rifle.

“Cool,” Ryan whispered.

“Great, those were behind my chair?” Kate asked.

“This is a shotgun, and this is a rifle. Don’t touch either of them. I may have one of them sitting up against the island, next to one of the doors, or in my lap on the couch. No matter where you find them, or see them, do not touch them. Understand the rules, Mr. Ryan?”

“Why am I being singled out?” he asked with an overly incredulous look on his face.

“Because you’re the only one in the room that said ‘cool’ when I pulled these out, and I know Emily could care less about guns,” Alex said.

“Guns are stupid and dangerous,” Emily said.

“Exactly,” Kate agreed.

“You want me to break them apart and bury them in the backyard?”

“Not today,” Kate said.

Alex raised an eyebrow and smirked. “They might be stupid, but still, don’t touch them. Are we all clear?”

“Yes, Daddy,” the kids said in bored unison.

Alex looked at Kate.

“You’re including me in your solemn swear?”

He nodded his head slowly.

“I gotcha,” she said.

“And if you see something outside that doesn’t look right, let one of us know right away. Like someone peeking from the trees, or even just walking around the neighborhood,” Alex added.

“What’s weird about walking around the block?” Emily asked.

“It’s weird because nobody does it anymore. Nobody just takes a walk for the sake of getting fresh air. If they’re out, they have a purpose, and I want to figure out what that purpose is.”

And that’s about the most paranoid thing I’ve said so far this year. They must think I’m nuts.

“That’s it for me. You got anything, Mommy?” he concluded.

“Nope, this was your show,” Kate said dryly.

That sounded a little patronizing.

“Anything else from the peanut gallery?”

“What’s for lunch, Mommy?” Ryan asked.

“Tuna salad on crackers, with leftover peas and carrots,” she said.

“Sounds like a feast,” Alex said.

“Sounds like…”

“Don’t even think about continuing that sentence, little man,” Kate said to Ryan, cutting him off.

“…like the best lunch ever,” he said, flashing a sly smile across the room.

“I’m keeping a close watch on you,” Kate told him. “Lunch, of course, is self-serve,” she added.

Ryan got up and headed back upstairs. Emily moved over to her favorite chair and turned on the flat-screen TV. Before Alex or Kate could vacate the family room, the silly screams and sounds of the Cartoon Network filled the room.

Kate and Alex met in the kitchen at the island. Alex hopped on one of the stools while Kate grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water.

“How bad do you think it will get?” she asked.

He sat up from leaning the rifle and shotgun under the granite overhang, against the woodwork just next to his leg. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I made it clear enough that screwing with us would be a costly idea for them.”

“Well, if you’re not sure, then assume you didn’t. You’re not exactly the best at making things clear. What’s the plan then?” she asked, leaning over the granite with her glass of water.

“Stay vigilant. Make sure we see them before they see us.”

“What are you going to do if they show up again demanding that you share the bounty Todd probably told them we have?”

“Tell them to pack sand,” he said.

“Pack sand? I don’t think these guys are going to respond to an ancient nautical insult. In the interest of direct communication, you might want to think of a more modern one,” she advised.

“I’ll probably stick with something closer to ‘fuck off.’”

“God, I hope they don’t mess with us. Do you really think Todd screwed us over like that?”

“He did it a few times the other day. He picked the most unstable-looking people and sent them straight on over. I have little doubt that we’ll be hearing from our new neighbors soon. Ed saw them spend a considerable amount of time at Todd’s. My biggest concern is exactly how we’ll be hearing from them. We have to plan for the worst-case scenario,” he said.

“Which is what?” she asked, gently clasping his hands across the island.

He glanced into the family room and saw Emily in the oversized brown leather chair, intently watching the TV.

Not that she could hear me over that racket.

“She can’t hear us. I can barely hear you over the TV,” Kate said.

“I know. Old habits. Anyway, we need to be ready for a direct assault on our house. Probably after dark. If I were planning this…”

“Which sounds scary. I wish you couldn’t do that,” she said and released his hands.

“Do what?”

“Think like they do. This isn’t good for you,” she said with a pained look.

“What do you mean not good for…never mind. I know where you’re going with that. We can talk about it later. I have to try and plan this out from their perspective, so we can prepare ourselves. All right?”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. So what do you think they’ll do?”

“I think they’re watching us right now, looking for some kind of pattern. Something they can use. I’d look for an opportunity to take one of us down and storm the house. They can’t see into our house during the day, but we can see out. This gives us an advantage during daylight. As the sun sets, we need to shut the shades before the reverse occurs. At night, they can see in…if we have lights on. I’m going out a little later to put up the Christmas flood lights. We have enough for the front and back…maybe one of the sides,” he said, pointing to the side of the house next to the family room.

“I’ll put them out a little farther than usual so they cover more space. If we keep the inside dark, we’ll see shadows if they come between the lights and the house. We also have the motion lights on the garage in front and back. If it’s dark in the house, we’ll see those trip, too.”

“What if they cut the wires or just unplug them?” she asked.

“Then we’ll know something’s wrong pretty quick. The lights will go off. Plus, they’d have to approach the house to unplug the lights.”

“Can the battery system keep this going all night? After this storm, we might be on our own for power.”

“I don’t know. I doubt it, but the outdoor sockets can be turned on and turned off from the switch in the foyer hallway, so if we lose power, we can use the lights if we hear something outside or at random intervals. But until then, I think we should have them on all night.”

“And we all stay upstairs after dark?”

“Yeah, once the shades are shut, we’re blind except for the outside lights. Even then, they might be able to crawl and not cast a shadow. The ground floor would be their point of entry, maybe the basement. If they burst in while all of us are down here, it’ll be chaos, and I won’t be able to effectively protect us.”

“What about dinner?”

“We’re gonna have to eat earlier. Three thirty or four at the latest, or we eat upstairs. We’ve been shutting the shades at about four, so we should be fine if dinner goes on the table at roughly three-thirty.”

“That’s workable. We’ll eat and close the shades. Send the kids upstairs and finish cleaning up. Then what?” she asked.

“We turn off the lights downstairs; maybe keep the stove light and the mudroom bathroom light on. The interior lighting scheme on the second and third floor should stay the same throughout the night, so they can’t track our movements through the house. Turning lights off is fine, but turning lights on is not.”

“What about when we all go to bed? Won’t they know that we’ve all turned in when all of the lights are out?”

Man, she’s the perfect devil’s advocate.

“It’s not a perfect plan by any stretch. Ideally, we would keep the same lighting profile all night. We could keep one small lamp on in each bedroom all night. Shouldn’t suck too much energy out of the batteries. One on the third floor, too. Four light bulbs should be fine,” he said.

“I don’t think it’ll matter. They know we’re all gonna fall asleep eventually. I don’t think the lighting scheme will be that important. They’ll figure it out pretty quickly. We need to set up some kind of early warning system in the house, so you can wake up if something happens.”

“I wish we had a dog or an alarm system. I can set up some beer bottles or cans, but it’s no guarantee. I hate to say this, but I think I might have to change my schedule around. Nap during the day, and stay up at night. At least until they go away, or we’re pretty sure they don’t plan on trying to cut our throats in the middle of the night.”

“Do you really think they would try to break into our house? I mean, that’s crazy. What kind of psycho would do that?” she asked.

“You should see this guy. He looks like he doesn’t really need a reason to kill you. Hungry, cold… sick family? I don’t think we should take any chances. I’ll visibly wear my pistol at all times, and if I have to go outside, I’ll sling the assault rifle. I’ll take it out with me when I set up the lights a little later. If they’re watching, it might be enough of a deterrent for them.”

Kate walked over to the pantry and pulled out a large can of tuna fish, placing it near the sink.

“Maybe they’ll bother Charlie enough that he’ll just shoot them from his bedroom window,” Alex said.

“Charlie’s all talk and no action. I’m sure he’s perfectly comfortable blasting away at helpless animals, but I wouldn’t count on him to line up his crosshairs on a human.”

“He’s all we’ve got at this point.”

He walked around the island and started to pull down some plates to help with the meal. Kate opened the can with a hand operated can opener that he hadn’t seen in years.

“Where’d you find that antique?”

“Stuffed into one of the island drawers. I figured I’d get used to it,” she said and cranked at the can again, sloshing tuna can juice on the counter.

“I think we’ll be able to run the electric can opener if we need to.”

“I suppose. It just seems ridiculous not to use something like this, if we have it at our disposal. Why don’t you call Ryan down for lunch?” she suggested.

“Sure.” He kissed her on the lips, took a few steps toward the stairs, and turned back around. “You all right with all this?”

She looked down at the pistol in his hip holster. “I guess so. I haven’t seen this guy yet, but I trust your judgment. Seeing you this worried makes me pretty nervous,” she admitted.

“This guy is definitely a piece of work. We’ll be fine if we stick together and keep to our plan. Nothing to it.”

“Maybe you should go over the basics of that pistol you bought for me,” she said quietly.

“I’ll dig it up later. You can dry fire it, get used to it. That’s not a bad idea at all. You never know…”

He yelled up the stairs and heard Ryan’s faint reply from the attic.

“Here comes the tuna on crackers stampede,” Alex said.

“This is his favorite lunch. Watch.”

Two seconds later Alex heard thumping from above as Ryan hurtled down the stairs.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Saturday, November 30, 2013

Alex tipped a cold bottle of pale ale into a pint glass and stared at the golden beverage as the foam settled. He concentrated on the bubbles rising from various locations on the glass, temporarily mesmerized. His concentration was broken when Kate placed a steaming pot of spaghetti on the table in front of him. He smelled the olive oil tossed with the pasta and turned to look back into the kitchen, seeing Kate grab a large, green, ceramic bowl with oven mitts.

Careful with the sauce.

“It smells awesome, Mom,” Ryan said.

“Thank your dad for the sauce. There’s enough here for a couple days.” She cautiously edged her way over to the table.

A heavy gust of wind buffeted the house, and Alex’s mind drifted back to the windows as he took a long swig of beer. He was nervous about nightfall. The sun would set a few minutes after four, and there would be ample light outside for at least another half-hour, even under overcast skies. He wasn’t sure that sitting in the dining room together was a good idea at all, and his second beer in twenty minutes wasn’t helping to ease his anxiety.

He had expected to hear from the Mansons earlier in the afternoon, but as the afternoon grew longer, and the sky darker, he’d come to the uncomfortable conclusion that the Mansons wouldn’t tip their hand so quickly. He took another oversized swig of beer.

“No wine with your sauce?” Kate asked as she placed the bowl of sauce on one of the red placemats in the center of the table.

“No, it makes me too sleepy. Might be a long night.”

Kate got up to retrieve the bottle of red wine from the counter. Alex scanned the open windows again and swallowed hard.

I have a bad feeling. If I were the Manson’s, would go for it right now before it gets completely dark.

“You all right?” Kate asked and placed the bottle on the table with a serious look.

“I guess so…I just don’t know about this light. Something…”

“There’s still plenty of light, right?” she asked and took an unusually long sip of wine.

Alex looked at the kids, who appeared oblivious to their concerns, as they slurped down their pasta. A pile of peas, broccoli and olives grew on the corner of each of their plates.

“Eat the veggies, too, guys,” he urged.

Ryan made a weak gesture with his fork toward the veggies. Emily ignored the request altogether. Alex looked back up at Kate, smiling thinly.

“The whole neighborhood is starving, and my kids are picking at their food,” he said ruefully.

“They’ll polish it off, don’t worry.”

“Anyway, the light’s fine, but we were always cautious when the sun set. Your eyes have to constantly adjust to the changing light, and they’re easily tricked. I always felt more comfortable when the dark completely settled.”

“They’ll have the same problem,” Kate said.

Alex saw that Ryan was listening to their conversation and nodded.

“What? It’s not like you’re in a private forum,” Ryan said defensively.

“We didn’t say anything,” Kate said.

“So are we all right having dinner now?” Ryan asked.

Now Emily focused on the conversation.

Great.

Kate raised her eyebrows and gently blew air out of her mouth, which was her patented non-verbal “here we go.”

“Now that we’re all part of the conversation…let’s just finish eating and get upstairs. Everyone’s in our room tonight. All night,” Alex said.

“What?! Come on, I don’t want to sit around your room all night watching her stupid shows. Why can’t we sit on the third floor? She can watch TV on the other side,” Ryan complained.

“Then all I’ll hear is your stupid machine gun games,” Emily whined back.

“I’ll use headphones,” he said.

“Is anyone still playing online?” Kate asked.

“Earlier in the month it slowed down a lot, but it’s starting to pick back up again. A bunch of my friends are on, and they’re fine,” he told her.

“Good, let’s finish eating, so we can close up down here and…”

Alex’s sentence was interrupted by a hard knock on the mudroom door. “Everyone upstairs immediately. Let’s go,” he barked as he slammed down the half empty pint glass.

He shot up from the table and moved over toward the refrigerator, ensuring his pistol was in his hip holster and grabbing the M-4 assault rifle leaned up against the kitchen desk. He pulled the bolt handle back and let it slap forward, chambering a round. He checked the safety and slung it over his back, edging over to the doorway and peeking through the mudroom at the door. He met Manson’s lifeless eyes.

“I thought we were done here,” Alex yelled.

“You gonna open the door and talk to me civilized?” the man said, again never blinking.

“No. You need to move along,” Alex said, as a powerful burst of wind filled the mudroom stoop and buffeted the man standing there.

“There hasn’t been a lot of help for us around here. Fucking rude ass people mostly…”

“I hear it’s a lot friendlier up north.” He stepped into full view of the man.

Alex noticed a slight change in the man’s eyes as he registered both the hip holster and the rifle.

“Who is it, Alex?” Kate yelled from the kitchen.

“Nobody we know. Just some drifters. You should head upstairs,” he said firmly, but calmly, feeling composed and in control of the situation. Openly carrying these two weapons reminded him of an era filled with supreme confidence. Only body armor, a helmet and immediate access to a dozen similarly equipped marines could boost him up higher.

“Don’t you think that’s a little overkill?” the man yelled, nodding toward Alex.

“Not in my experience,” he replied.

The man momentarily laughed under his breath. “And what experience might that be?” he demanded.

“Enough to know that your arrival here is bad news. You guys aren’t planning on shooting out all of the streetlights, are you?”

The man snickered at the comment. “Look, I know you’re holding out on me. Your good friend Todd told us you have a ton of food stored away in there and that you’ve been handing it out to some of the neighbors.” He glanced over his shoulder at another man who suddenly appeared on the sidewalk in front of Alex’s house, near the driveway.

“We just want our cut of this charity, and we won’t bother you after that. We’ve got two families, so we’ll need at least…”

Alex’s glance drifted to the man near the street. Same type of clothes, hats, shoes.

Something’s off. Shit. It’s not the same guy I saw before. No long hair. Stay calm. There might be another guy out there.

Suddenly he didn’t feel very secure. Behind the door, he couldn’t see below Manson’s mid-stomach, or below his elbows.

The guy could be holding a sawed-off shotgun down low, and I’d never be able to react in time.

His eyes darted out beyond Manson and the man on the sidewalk, to the numerous bushes and evergreen trees within view across the street.

The other guy could be sighting in on my head right now.

He glanced back into the library, at the window. Or hop up on the bulkhead door under the window and blast my head off. Alex felt queasy, but maintained his posture and focus. He reached back without looking and closed the door to the library. He glanced through the kitchen at the family room.

They could blast me through one of the side family room windows from here.

All of his attention was focused on the front door. Alex couldn’t believe he had made such an elementary mistake. He stepped forward into the mudroom, eliminating the great room windows as an opportunity to take him down, and refocused on what the man was saying.

Something about getting his share of the bounty?

“I gave away all I had to spare. That’s it. I need you to get the fuck out of here. Now!” he shouted.

“That’s bullshit! You got plenty hidden in there…” the man started, with his right hand pointed accusingly at Alex.

“Someone’s in the backyard!” a panicked voice screamed from deep inside the house.

He instinctively slung the rifle around with his left hand, twisting his body slightly to the right. The AR-15 rifle pointed high on the man’s chest within the barely discernable flash of a second, and he disengaged the safety before the barrel settled. The man grinned, showing his brown-stained teeth. Alex could see what looked like blackened decay on one of his incisors.

“Get him around front where I can see him, or I’ll kill you where you stand!” Alex hissed. “Ten seconds! Ten…nine…eight…”

The man raised his hands to his mouth, and Alex almost pulled the trigger. He took a few shallow, controlled breaths, and eased all pressure off the trigger, shocked at how far he had involuntarily pulled it. The man whistled three times, three short, sharp whistles.

“…seven…six…five…”

“He’s running around front!” Kate yelled from somewhere near the top of the stairs.

Alex kept his own focus just to the side of the scope. At this range, he wouldn’t miss, even without sighting in. The man stared at him impassively.

“…four…three…”

Before Alex reached “two,” Manson barked something toward the driveway, and the third man suddenly appeared. Manson yelled for him to join “Rick,” and Alex watched as the third man walked over to “Rick” near the top of the driveway. The man tried hard to conceal a weapon on the right side by his body. Alex couldn’t determine the weapon type, but guessed it to be a modified shotgun, with either a shortened barrel or no shoulder stock.

The phone rang and he ignored it. He needed to focus on the man standing on his mudroom stoop.

“Charlie Thornton’s calling!” he heard from upstairs.

“See what he wants!” he yelled back, shifting his gaze from the man on his porch to the two men standing on his sidewalk.

“He says the man that just ran out has a shotgun!”

The man on the porch didn’t appear to have heard her and continued to stare at Alex.

This guy’s fucking crazy.

“You gonna quit pointing that thing at me?” Manson grunted.

Alex lowered the barrel a few inches, but kept it aligned with the vertical center of the man’s body. “Not until you’re out of my sight. Come back again, and I’ll kill you. If I see you approach this house with that shotgun your friend is carrying, or any other weapon, I’ll kill you.”

“Don’t worry, Alex…you won’t see us next time,” he warned, turning to leave.

Alex considered shooting him in the head, and then gunning down the other two. He’d probably get one of the others right away, hopefully the guy with the shotgun, then pop out of the mudroom door and tag the other one. He knew it would all be over in a matter of seconds, but something stopped him. The pressure eased off the trigger, and he was once again surprised by how close he had come to killing the man.

Manson walked straight across the landscaped bed, pushing through tightly spaced, waist-high evergreen bushes and trampling the remnants of a large, decayed perennial. The gunman no longer made any attempt to conceal the short-barreled shotgun and brazenly slung it over his shoulder.

I know I should take them out now. All standing in a pile like that. I’ll never get a chance like this again

“Charlie thinks you should start blasting away. He’ll back you up!” Kate said from what sounded like halfway down the stairs.

What is she talking about? This isn’t a video game.

Alex knew she was right. If he opened up on them while they stood in a tight group like this, he would most likely hit them all right away.

“Get back up with the kids and keep them away from the windows. All shades shut. I’m not starting a gun battle in the middle of the street. I’ll end up sending bullets through Derek’s house,” Alex yelled.

“I’ll call Derek and tell them to get in the basement if that’s what’s really stopping you. He was sneaking up on us with a shotgun, Alex. Charlie has the guy with the gun sighted in,” she yelled back.

He ran through the kitchen to the foyer, yelling at her as he moved to the formal dining room for a full view of the street.

“Tell Charlie to cool it! They got the message!”

He knelt down a few feet back from the window ledge and aimed his rifle at the group standing on the street in front of his driveway. The tip of the rifle’s barrel scraped the glass and Alex slid back a couple of inches along the hardwood floor, taking in the view of the street. This new position would allow him to watch the group walk all the way around the bend near Charlie’s house, assuming that they headed back toward their newly acquired residence. Charlie could visually escort them the rest of the way.

“Tell him yourself,” she said and walked down the stairs to hand him the phone.

“Goddamn it, hon, I don’t…” he protested as the phone was forced into his trigger hand. “Can you get me the binoculars and then get upstairs? I don’t want the kids near any of the front windows,” he said, annoyed.

“Sorry about that, Charlie…” he started, focusing his attention on the phone.

“The kids are on the third floor. They’re fine,” she interrupted.

“Just check, and get me the binoculars from the kitchen and a pad of paper. Pen, too,” he snapped and nervously glanced at the Mansons out front.

The trio began walking northeast down the middle of the road in the direction of the Murrays’ house. Manson looked back at the house, pointed his finger, and grinned wickedly.

“They’re on the move,” Charlie whispered excitedly into the phone. “This is our chance, Alex. We may not get another.”

“We can’t just start ambushing people walking down our block.”

“They just tried to sneak up on your house at sundown with a shotgun. That’s it in my book. What else do you need?” he asked, emphasizing the last part of his statement.

“They’re heading back. Keep an eye on them, and call me if they don’t park it back at their new digs. The storm’s gonna cool them off. Looks like it’s gonna hit late tonight and continue through most of the day. They won’t be playing outside for a while.”

Kate walked back into the dining room with the requested items and a full glass of water. She set the binoculars on the windowsill and the pad and pen on the dining room table. The water was apparently not meant for him.

“I’m going to check on the kids,” she said coldly and mumbled something about them being on the third floor.

“Thank you, honey,” he said with a thin smile.

Don’t do me any favors.

“Charlie, I need to take some notes here. Keep an eye on them,” Alex said and hung up.

He set the rifle against the white trim of the windowsill and grabbed the binoculars, sighting in on the three men walking away and wishing they were facing him, so he could take in more of their details. He’d made an easy, but nearly fatal error earlier that he didn’t intend to make again.

To a casual observer, the man standing on the sidewalk looked like the sidekick Alex had seen earlier in the day: same type of clothing, same rough look. Pretty much everything was the same except for the hair.

I should have noticed that immediately.

He could no longer afford to be a casual observer with this crew. He took a long look and then grabbed the paper and pen from the table. He started to write under the TerraFlu logo as he talked out loud.

“All right, we have three guys. Let’s name them Manson, Daryll and Rick. Manson wears a brown-patterned hunting baseball cap and has brown shoulder-length hair, brown leather jacket. No facial hair, blue eyes, brown work shoes. Daryll also has long hair, but it’s distinctly lighter, almost blond. Red and blue Patriot’s winter hat, jeans, leather boots, green camouflage patterned field jacket. Goatee. Didn’t notice that when he was sneaking around the houses. That leaves Rick. Faded OD green Vietnam-era field jacket, black watch cap pulled tight, no hair showing under hat, faded black jeans, black high top sneakers. Huskier than the other two and taller.”

He picked up the binoculars again and focused in on the shotgun.

“Let’s see, pump action, barrel shortened all the way to the feed cylinder. Looks like a full stock—”

“The kids are fine up on the third floor. I told them to stay clear of the windows,” Kate suddenly announced from the staircase. She sat on the stairs, just below the first floor ceiling level.

“Thank you for checking on them,” he said, putting the binoculars back on the sill, “and I’m sorry for barking at you. I was just a little frazzled…a lot frazzled.”

“I’m not mad either really. I just…” she paused.

“Wanted me to kill them in the middle of the street? Three bodies riddled with bullets in front of the house? The next visit from the police wouldn't be a cordial chat. I can't risk losing these guns, Kate.”

“But at least they'd be dead,” she stated.

“Then what? The police confiscate our guns and possibly haul me away?”

“You know what they tried, right?” she asked softly.

“Yeah. Exactly what I predicted. He kept me pretty distracted in the mudroom. If you hadn’t seen the other guy, we might not be having this conversation,” he said, keeping an eye on the group meandering down the street.

“Lucky I chose to close Ryan’s shades first. I just barely saw him darting through the trees,” she said.

“But you saw him, and that’s all that counts. Help me shut all of these shades. We’ll get the lights on and hunker down for the night. Storm’s gonna hit a few hours past midnight. I highly doubt we’ll hear from them again tonight, but we’ll be ready just in case.”

He picked up the assault rifle and engaged the safety, removed the thirty-round magazine, and slid back the bolt handle, which ejected the .223 caliber bullet onto the hardwood floor. He picked up the bullet and pushed it back into the rifle magazine, reinserted the magazine, and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He checked on the Mansons one more time and saw them disappear around the block. The branches on an evergreen tree in Charlie Thornton’s yard swayed in response to a powerful gust of wind.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Sunday, December 1, 2013

Alex shifted on the great room couch and drifted out of a shallow sleep. He opened his eyes to the pitch dark room, quickly reorienting himself within the house. He remained motionless and listened intently, feeling certain that something woke him, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d been drifting in and out of sleep on the couch since the rain had started pounding just after midnight. He checked his watch and put his hand on the pistol grip of the assault rifle lying across his chest.

Something’s different.

He stayed in place under the wool blanket for a few more moments, scanning the house for sounds.

Nothing.

Before lying down on the couch, he had checked on Kate and the kids in the master bedroom. Kate and Emily were snuggled together in bed, and Ryan was in his sleeping bag on the floor next to Kate.

After checking the family, he proceeded to check the sound traps he had set earlier in the evening. The traps were basic. He placed stools from the kitchen in front of the doors to the mudroom porch, garage, front stoop and basement. On top of each stool, he placed a short two by four plank from his remnant pile in the garage, pushing one end of the plank up against the door. On the planks, he arranged several empty vegetable cans, which would hopefully tumble to the hardwood floor if the plank was moved. Given his shallow sleep tonight, Alex was confident that none of the traps had been triggered.

He sat up and squinted. His eyes had still not adjusted to the darkness.

It’s really dark in here.

He heard another wave of rain pummel the great room windows. Frequent, unpredictable gusts of wind and rain had kept any semblance of restful sleep far from his grasp.

Something else woke me up this time.

He rose from the couch and stood, letting the blanket slide to the floor between the couch and the round coffee table. He glanced at the table and glared at the mug of coffee.

A lot of good that did me.

As his eyes continued to adjust to the darkness, his brain labored to figure out what had put him on alert. He fought the urge to whisper his thoughts aloud.

The lights are out.

Alex turned his head toward the front and back of the house.

Jesus! How did I miss that? Brilliant.

The last time he remembered being awake, the outdoor floodlights cast thin beams of light through the minute openings along the sides of the shades, creating a lattice work of beams high up on the walls and the ceiling. Now there was nothing. Alex’s mind ran through several possibilities in a matter of seconds, starting with the worst and most unlikely scenario.

Doubtful in this storm, and they’d have to pull two plugs. One by the mudroom door and one on the side of the great room. Simultaneously.

He stopped the mental process and stared toward the flat-screen TV and home theatre system. Nope, the power is out. He saw nothing that would indicate energy flowing to the electronics. No green clock on the cable box, no red “off” indicator buttons on any of the electronics. He stepped toward the kitchen and the whole picture fell into place. The blue LED on the microwave was gone. Same with the stove. All around the house, the small, unobtrusive signs of electronic life had vanished, and a pure silence punctuated by sheets of rain blankets had descended.

Very unlikely that they cut the power to the house.

He crept into the kitchen and glanced left at the basement door; the plywood and cans remain balanced on the stool. Continuing past the basement door to the hallway leading to the foyer he could feel his heart pump faster, creating the only perceptible sound that competed with his shallow breath.

He stared down the hallway toward the front door. His eyes had adjusted enough for him to determine that the trap was intact.

Two more to go.

He didn’t expect to find anything out of order in the mudroom. He moved silently across the kitchen, passed the granite island, and approached the entrance to the mudroom. He could already see from the kitchen that the cans were still propped up on the plank set against the garage entrance. He slowly moved his head around the entrance corner and spied the contraption set against the mudroom door.

Intact.

Alex stepped into the mudroom, walked up to the mudroom entrance door, taking care not to bump into the plank, and stared out into the night.

Nothing.

He could barely distinguish the Sheppards’ house directly across the street through the wintery mix of sleet and rain and saw no ambient light from any source near his neighborhood.

I wonder if this is localized?

He stared out above the houses, but given the thick weather conditions, he doubted that he could see any of South Portland’s lights on the northeast horizon, even if they were still energized.

He didn’t look forward to fumbling around the basement, not that it would be any darker than where he was currently standing. Just the thought of going down into the basement at night made him feel uneasy. His first order of business down there would be to make sure the bulkhead door was still locked and that none of the telltales he had left near the bulkhead entrance had been disturbed. Once he convinced himself that the bulkhead door had not been breached, his worries would be reduced to the occasional spider web, and the ever present, completely unreasonable feeling of panic and hysteria that accompanied him on every foray into any dark basement.

“I hate going down there without the lights,” he whispered and pulled a powerful compact LED flashlight from his right front pocket.

Bright sunlight poured through the sliding doors behind the kitchen table, and Alex set a steaming mug of coffee down on the kitchen island. He looked up at the microwave clock, which blinked the letters “PF.” He’d forgotten to reset that one before making coffee. He started to walk around the island to change the time, but was once again distracted by the backyard.

Simply amazing.

He moved over to the sliding doors and stared out into the yard. The scene before him was ethereal. The sun sat between the two closest houses behind the Fletchers’ yard, blazing rays of sunlight through the crisp early morning air. The ground shimmered with color and light as the sun’s rays scattered through millions of ice-encased blades of grass. The sensation mesmerized Alex again. Larger reflections sparkled from the ice that burdened the branches of the bare trees and empty bushes, pulling them closer to the ice-encrusted ground.

The evergreen trees sagged, and he saw several snapped evergreen branches throughout the yard. Most of the maples and birch appeared intact, aside from the loss of some smaller branches. He imagined the heavy damage to the trees across Harrison Road, which had stood for nearly half a century and towered over the homes there.

Without thinking, Alex moved the wooden bar jammed into the sliding door’s track and opened the glass slider. He took in the cold air for a few seconds and stepped out onto the deck and held onto the door frame for balance. The entire deck was covered by a one-inch-thick slab of ice.

Don’t be stupid here.

He tested his footing and decided that the icy surface was rough enough for him to slowly walk across to the railing on the opposite side of the deck. He reached the other side and used the railing to navigate the steps down to the grass. He stepped down into the grass and knelt down to take a closer look at the grass, which resembled a crystallized shag rug. The grass crackled under his weight and every blade was individually encased in ice. Alex heard a distant cracking sound, followed by a crash, which made him instinctively duck down a little further.

Maybe this isn’t the best idea.

He stood up and scanned the horizons. The eastern sky held a thin, white layer of high altitude clouds barely visible over the distant tree line; the western sky told a different story. A solid mass of dark gray, extending north and south along the horizon, loomed nearly overhead, making it clear to him that the sun’s rays would probably never get a jump-start melting all of the ice. He started carefully back up the stairs.

**

Alex watched his son from the kitchen island. He’d finally come down from his room to get some breakfast and had been staring out of the great room window into the backyard for the past ten minutes. Alex turned his attention to the kitchen window. The snow had started falling steadily about an hour ago and had picked up intensity over the past twenty minutes, joined by sporadic bursts of wind.

“You gonna grab something to eat?” Alex asked.

Ryan slowly turned his head toward the kitchen, still in a daze. “Uh…yeah. Can I make toast? Or does that use up too much electricity?”

“You could make toast if we had any bread left,” Alex said.

“Oh yeahhhh,” Ryan said and plopped down on one of the island stools.

“Or if your mom ever dusted off the bread maker in the basement. We have everything we need to make it.”

“How long do you think the power will be out, Dad?”

“Pretty long time. Longer than we’re used to. I’d be willing to bet that the ice knocked down a bunch of lines. With the flu out there, I’d be surprised if CMP had the manpower to make a dent in repairing the downed lines.”

“So…can I play Xbox?”

“Not all day. We’re gonna try to figure out how much battery power basic stuff like that will drain from the system. Right now, let’s shoot for an hour of playtime, then we’ll see about adding time. Who knows? We might be able to run the TV up there all day and not have to worry. Right now all we’re running is the fridge, which we really don’t need, the furnace and some computer equipment. Everything else is unplugged for now,” Alex said.

“Have you tried the cable?”

“Sorry, buddy. Cable TV is dead. Good news is that the internet still works. I’m still running power to our router,” he said optimistically.

“Good, I can still go live on the Xbox,” Ryan said.

“I don’t know how many other people will be on there anymore.”

“There should still be a bunch of people outside of New England. There’s usually people from all over.”

“Maybe, but probably not for long. Most experts estimate that large portions of the country’s electrical grid will fail within the next few days anyway. Fuel deliveries to the power plants have been sporadic or non-existent for the past few weeks, and most plants are using up all of their reserve coal to keep operating,” Alex told him.

“We’re really gonna be here for a long time, aren’t we?” Ryan replied wistfully, staring out at the near-blizzard conditions.

Alex nodded his head.

**

Alex put the last empty tin can on the plank resting against the basement door. Several minutes earlier, he’d finished a sweep of the basement, checking the bulkhead door and taking a look at any of the basement nooks that could conceal an intruder. He opened the door to the bunker and removed the Uniden scanners, which now sat in his office, charging. New information from internet sources and the radio was sparse at best.

From what he could tell, the power failures were widespread throughout New England, sparing few communities in southern or central Maine. All efforts to return power were directed toward the reestablishment of permanent power links to hospitals, triage centers, and local law enforcement systems, which meant that the populace was extremely unlikely to see power any time soon.

Finished with the cans, he turned and looked at the kitchen window, which was now covered by an old dark blue towel. He had nailed the top corners of the towel to the trim just before dinner. This was the last window on the ground floor that needed to be covered. He’d finished a similar project on the mudroom door earlier in the afternoon. He glanced around at the kitchen and great room, which was scarcely illuminated by the stove light’s lowest setting. He planned to turn it off later when everyone was asleep.

He headed upstairs and saw empty tin cans, assorted wood planks and a folding chair to the left of the railing, sitting in the darkened hallway to his office. He planned to create another early warning trap on the stairs.

He turned left toward the master bedroom, which was faintly lit by a small lamp on Kate’s dresser. He heard the shower running as he approached the bedroom door, thought about joining Kate in the shower, and began to feel excited, but the stirrings were immediately quelled as he stepped up to the bathroom door.

“Hi, Daddy. Mommy’s taking a shower,” he heard from the bedroom.

He turned and walked toward Emily, who was reading a book, buried under a pink and purple checkered fleece blanket on the couch.

So much for that.

“Sweetie, you can turn another light on in here. I don’t want your eyes to fall out of your head,” he said, ruffling her hair.

“I don’t want to use up all of our electricity. Mommy said we could all watch a movie later if the batteries are charged up,” she squeaked.

“Right now the batteries are fine, and we most certainly can still watch a movie together in here.”

“But not on cable,” she stated flatly.

All they’re worried about is the cable.

“Nope. The cable probably won’t be on back for a while. Tomorrow, we can bring the DVR box up here from the downstairs. We have a ton of shows and movies stored on it, and as long as it has power, we can watch those shows,” he said.

At least I hope so.

Alex looked around at the room, seeing two inflated air mattresses and a large assortment of sleeping bags and blankets. From this point forward, the kids would stay in the master bedroom at night, with no exceptions. Even if an intruder tripped two of the alarms downstairs, he wasn’t convinced that he could react in time to put himself between the intruder and the kids’ rooms. With the threat of the Mansons looming, they’d both agreed that the best strategy was to keep everyone in the same place, with the door locked.

“I’m gonna check on a few things, then we’ll get Ryan and watch a movie together,” he said to Emily.

“Sounds good, Daddy,” she said, without lifting her head from the book.

“Be back in a few.” He headed out of the bedroom toward his office, turned into the dark hallway leading to his office, and almost tripped on all of the junk he had dropped there earlier. He walked forward to the only window in the house that wasn’t covered, looking behind him to make sure that the background was dark enough not to create a silhouette of his body. There was barely enough light in the hallway to keep from stumbling, so he wasn’t overly concerned.

He leaned on the windowsill with both hands and stared out into the complete darkness. He sensed heavy snowfall passing the window, blown by steady gusts of wind, and saw a crust of snow forming on the screen outside of the glass window. Through the Cimmerian murk, he strained to identify barely discernible dark patches in his front yard, where he remembered the trees stood, laughing to himself at the thought of anyone staking out his house tonight. Still, he wouldn’t take any chances because if he had to plan and execute an assault on one of the houses in the neighborhood, he’d pick a night like tonight.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Monday, December 2, 2013

Alex stared up at the dark ceiling, listening to Kate’s deep rhythmic breathing, unable to find sleep. Despite feeling exhausted from the previous evening’s scattered sleep, he was still too anxious to drift away. Every time he felt himself start to slide into an unconscious haze, he involuntarily formed another paranoid thought, which triggered a small adrenaline rush. He continued to repeat this cycle, unable to sink under.

The paranoia came in several forms, but mainly materialized as a desire to check and re-check the doors, the windows, and his Jerry-rigged alarm system. He knew that if he got up and actually checked that he’d start an even worse cycle of paranoia. So he lay there, accepting the finite amount of rest granted by almost falling asleep, over and over again.

He started to drift off again, but jerked awake, fully convinced that he’d heard a noise from downstairs. He peeled away the blankets and comforter, careful not to wake Kate or Emily. He sat on his side of the bed and stared at the pistol on his nightstand.

There’s nothing down there. I know it.

“I’ll just listen at the top of the stairs,” he whispered to no one.

Twenty minutes later, convinced that nothing was wrong, he sidestepped the alarm contraption next to the railing and entered his office, leaving the door open. He turned on the swing arm desk lamp and lowered the arm until it was only several inches off the desk. Most of the light was cast directly onto the desk, and not the rest of the room.

If I can’t sleep, I’ll surf the web until my eyes fall out.

Alex spent the next hour alternating between staring at his computer screen and listening intently to a completely silent house. From the computer he managed to assemble an ominous picture of the situation in the Northeast. The storm had swept along the eastern seaboard and tangled with arctic air north of New Jersey starting late Saturday night. Gradually, over the course of Saturday evening and early Sunday morning, the arctic air dominated most of the Northeast, wreaking havoc on New England.

Widespread power outages were reported from Stamford to Bangor, and state authorities offered little hope that the power would be restored any time soon. ISPAC officials expected regional power grids to fail within a week as critical power plants ceased to generate power. Rolling blackouts prior to permanent darkness could be expected on a regional and then national level. ISPAC officials urged the Department of Energy to take steps to regionalize blackouts and prevent a nationwide failure.

CDC and ISPAC officials predicted absenteeism to peak during that same week, topping 90% nationwide, as the population isolated itself in fear of the H16N1 virus.

It’ll be higher up here with this storm.

He couldn’t imagine anyone beyond the National Guard, medical community, or police leaving their homes. Beyond that, even if you wanted to go to work, he couldn’t imagine a business that was still open at this point.

Hospitals, triage centers, police stations, radio stations? Casco Bay Lines ferry? What would be the point of leaving one of the islands?

Alex turned off the computer screen and lifted the window shade up a few inches to stare out of the window.

Nothing.

He was astonished that he couldn’t see the trees less than forty feet from the house. He had only seen nature conspire to do this once before, on the other side of the world. He remembered being engulfed by thick sheets of impenetrable red sand, as his entire battalion lay sealed up and silent along an unpaved road north of the Euphrates River, the glass viewports on his armored vehicle affording him a dark red view of absolutely nothing.

Visibility was limited to five feet in the worst surges of sand, and fifteen to twenty feet under the best circumstances during the storms. Vehicles were stacked within yards of each other along the road, and the marines rotated through perimeter security duty when they weren’t huddled inside their light armored vehicles.

The infantry fought off several scattered waves of confused Fedayeen loyalists that had somehow eluded the battalion’s thermal sights and stumbled right into the marines’ fighting positions. They were dispatched quickly, but the brief firefights generated confusion and paranoia. The marines fired on a lot of “confirmed” enemy that day, and Alex had listened tensely to the battalion communications net for the friendly fire report that mercifully never materialized.

He drifted back to the sheer impenetrable darkness in front of him, thinking about the criminals hunkered down at the Murrays’, burning Greg’s firewood, or maybe even his furniture for warmth.

I don’t think he ever got a delivery of firewood this fall.

Alex envisioned the Mansons sawing apart Greg’s dining room furniture to toss into the fire. He slowly shook his head.

They’ll run out of furniture in a day or two, and then they’ll be on the prowl again.

He shut the shade and resolved to get some desperately needed sleep.

Alex felt Kate stir in the bed. She got up several seconds later, kissed him on the forehead, and replaced the covers. Bright sunlight poured into the bedroom from the transom windows, and Alex struggled to move, fighting the grogginess to check his watch.

Ten. Jesus.

He wasn’t surprised to see the time. He vaguely remembered glancing at his watch around three in the morning. He heard the toilet flush in the master bathroom, followed by water running in the sink, and Kate emerged from the bathroom. She walked over to the front windows and raised the shades.

“Hey, looks like the plow made a run down the street. It’s all clear. We got a lot of snow,” she said.

Alex rose up onto his elbow and squinted at her over the blankets. “Two feet, they thought. Is the street really cleared?”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna have to do something about the driveway. The plow made a wall at the end,” she said and turned toward the open bedroom door.

He knocked off the covers and sat on the side of the bed facing the door. “I never heard it come down the street. Usually sounds like a 747 crashing into the neighborhood.”

“None of us had a chance to hear it through your snoring. You were dead to the world this morning. The kids got up early and went back to their rooms it was so bad,” Kate said.

“Sorry. It’s been a long couple of nights,” he said apologetically.

“You should really crash out some more. You need the rest.”

“No, that’s okay, I need to get up and move around. If you get some coffee started, I’ll cook up some pancakes,” he promised.

“You read my mind. I’ll get everything going,” she said and disappeared through the door.

Alex stood at the side of the bed and raised his arms in the air, stretching his hands toward the ceiling. He leaned over and reached for the floor, coming nowhere remotely close to the carpet.

I need to start stretching again.

“Hey, hon?” he heard from somewhere down the hallway.

“Yes?” he responded, pushing the stretch further.

“Am I gonna get hurt trying to take this thing apart?” she asked.

He straightened his back and walked toward the door. Down the hallway, he saw Kate standing at the top of the stairs.

“No, just take the cans off, and step over the trip line. I’ll move the line in a minute,” he said.

“Okay, I just didn’t want to get hit in the head with a paint can or something,” she said, walking down the stairs cautiously.

“Very funny.”

She stopped a quarter of the way down. Alex could still see her head. “Any other new surprises down here?”

“No, but before you do anything down there, check all of the doors, and make sure nothing is disturbed.”

“All right,” she replied, and he detected a shift in her tone, from playful to cautious.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Alex stared out of the front great room window as the second snowstorm of the season tapered to a wispy indecisive powder. He sipped lukewarm coffee and tried to gauge the amount of fresh snowfall lying undisturbed on the street. He couldn’t imagine any circumstance that could bring one of the town’s few operating plows out to Durham Road again. He took another sip and looked in both directions down the street.

Nothing.

He walked toward the stairs in the foyer, steadying his coffee for the ascent. He reached the top just as Kate emerged from the master suite bathroom wearing a white knee-length cotton robe. Her black hair, still wet from a shower, draped over the robe and behind her shoulders. She nodded to him and met him at the bedroom door.

“Nice shower?” he asked and hoped that his tone hadn’t come across wrong.

They hadn’t seen more than a few hours of solid sunlight since the first storm, and Alex had watched the Power Cube battery status shrink at a predictable, yet slightly alarming rate. As of last night, the Power Cube’s LED showed the battery reserves at fifty-three percent, which was a marginally comfortable level for him, given six days of impenetrable cloud cover. With two or three clear days in the forecast, the system should regain most of the lost charge. Either way, he planned to make a few suggestions to stretch the battery life during long overcast stretches of time. Robbing Kate of a long, relaxing hot shower was not one of his immediate suggestions.

“Beyond excellent. It’s amazing how good a hot shower feels after going a few days without one,” she said.

“Yeah, we’re pretty lucky. There won’t be many hot showers in this neighborhood for quite a while,” he acknowledged and kissed her lips.

He pushed his binoculars over to the right and under his armpit as he moved in further to hug her.

“I’m not hugging your rifle,” she said, holding his shoulders and avoiding the AR-15 rifle slung barrel up behind his back.

“Don’t worry. She doesn’t like anyone handling her but me.” He kissed her again.

“I guess I have more in common with her than I thought. She still sleeps on the floor though,” Kate said.

“Fair enough. Besides, there’s no more room in our bed with the kids,” he said and walked toward the front window next to the office.

“No kidding. I keep expecting Ryan to crawl in next. How much snow did we get?” she asked.

Alex reached the window and stared down at the street. “Easily another foot. Foot and a half maybe? It’s hard to tell from the house.” He peered between the Sheppards’ and Bradys’ houses with the binoculars.

He could finally see the Murrays’ roofline, which had been obscured by the thick snowfall for most of the early morning hours. He zeroed in on the chimney visible to the far left of the roof.

Nothing. No smoke. Well, that doesn’t mean anything. It’s still early.

“What are you staring at?” she asked, moving up next to him.

“Murrays’ house. See the other houses with chimneys? How most of them are puffing white smoke?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there was smoke coming from their chimney yesterday afternoon, and now there’s nothing.”

“Please don’t harass me when I ask this, but so what?” she asked and winced.

“So what? So what?” he said mockingly. “Just kidding. I really don’t know actually. I’m so bored that this is the kind of shit I keep track of now. However, I do have a theory if you want to hear it.”

“Of course you do.”

“I think they’re out of wood, and if they’re out of wood, there’s going to be trouble. I saw the Coopers out yesterday with Max, and I’m pretty sure they were moving their wood indoors. I guarantee they’re not the only ones that have spent a little time over the past few days safeguarding their only source of heat, especially after the Mansons’ daylight wood gathering foray,” he said.

“We’re really going to be dealing with them for the rest of the winter, aren’t we?”

“Pretty much. I don’t see them going anywhere.”

“They’ve really changed things for us,” she stated flatly.

“Look on the positive side, maybe they’ve scared Todd and any of the remaining Fletcher haters out there. The loop has been pretty quiet.”

“Yeah, but I feel like more of a prisoner than I did before. It was bad enough when it was just the flu and Todd’s crew, but now we can’t go outside, or stand near our windows without worrying about being shot. It’s ridiculous.” She walked back toward the main hallway.

Alex followed her and wondered if they were both visible from the street. He doubted it, especially with the screens still in place. Kate stopped and turned around to face him.

“This doesn’t bother you? You spend most of the day and night dressed like a commando, spying out of our windows, and talking to all of our equally stressed friends. How long do you want to live like this?” she said with her hands on her hips.

“I don’t really see how I have a choice. Shooting them in cold blood on the streets isn’t the answer. It might solve the problem for now…”

“I think it would completely get rid of the problem,” she said.

Great.

“Temporarily it might, but we’d still have a house full of women and children over there. We can’t exactly walk them at gunpoint to the end of the block and tell them to beat it.”

“They can drive out of here.”

“Nice. At some point we’ll have to answer for it.”

“Answer to whom?” she asked.

“I just can’t justify it, Kate,” he whispered. “Deep down I want to do it, but I can’t get past the fact that it would be murder.”

“More like a preemptive strike. You said it yourself that it was only a matter of time before they kill or hurt someone around here. Nobody would hold it against any of you. Charlie…or Ed.”

“I wouldn’t involve Ed,” he said, “and I’m not sure about Charlie. I’m worried that he’s way more talk than action.”

“Hey, you go to war with the army you have, not the army you want,” she said, cracking a smile.

“Thanks, Rummy. Right now, I’m gonna keep watching, and we’ll figure something out. I don’t want to keep doing this all winter either.” He adjusted the rifle sling on his shoulder.

“I just don’t think you should wait much longer. They have to be getting more and more desperate by the day, and it scares me to think that our house would be the ultimate prize for them, Alex.”

“For anyone. That’s why I don’t think it’ll matter. Even if we get rid of them somehow, we won’t be able to let our guard down,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“You’ll be able to let it down several levels. Before they showed up, I think you were just keeping yourself busy, and having some fun with it. It’s completely different now.”

Alex grimaced. “Yeah, it’s very different,” he admitted.

“You should enjoy a hot bath or a nice hot shower and then take a long nap. You look terrible, hon. I don’t know how long you can keep this up, but it’s starting to take a visible toll. I’ll rub your back, too,” she said, concerned.

“I’m good for now with the shower. I still need to clear the snow. But I’ll take a little siesta after lunch.”

“Don’t worry about the battery, we have a few days of sun coming our way. Take the shower. You need it,” she said, and with a devilish smile, added, “plus, you’re turning a little ripe.”

“Nice. Always an ulterior motive.”

“I do what I can to survive around here,” she said and headed back into the bedroom.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Kate said to Alex as he opened the door to the basement.

Barley and bean stew again? Don’t wait for me.

“I’ll be right up,” he called and headed down the stairs.

The smell of baby powder hit his nose as he flipped on the light and headed straight to the bulkhead door. A paint can tied to a shoelace hung precariously from the end of the crude lock mechanism’s bolt. Even if an intruder managed to relock the door on the way out, there was no conceivable way for them to re-hang the paint can from the outside. Plus, the paint can’s lid was loosened and would likely open if the can was tipped, making a complete mess. The baby powder on the floor around the bulkhead door stairs served as the final, unavoidable telltale. A fine layer of powder extended in a roughly six-foot circumference around the base of the short abbreviated stairway.

Undisturbed.

Alex walked over and unlocked the bunker door, turning on the light as he stepped in. He glanced around quickly, noting that everything was the same as yesterday. He moved to the Power Cube and read the LED status indicator. Sixty-eight percent. Not as much as he had hoped. Three predominantly sunny days had given them about 15% of their charge back. Six days of constant cloud cover had drained nearly fifty percent of the charge, and he felt like they had been pretty conservative with their power use.

A few more weather cycles like this, and the system will hit bottom.

And every time it hits bottom, the batteries won’t hold as much charge during the next charge phase.

It’s all a luxury anyway.

He stepped away from the Power Cube and glanced at the oil tanks.

Plenty in those.

One more glance at the supply shelves, and he headed toward the door, locking both the door handle and the deadbolt before heading upstairs to dinner.

Once he hit the kitchen, he admitted to himself that the stew smelled pretty good. The bowls were already arranged on the table, along with Kate’s recently invented pancake-style biscuits. Alex saw what was now known as the obligatory canned vegetable side dish in a small sauce pan that was set on a mat in the middle of the table.

Dinner has come a long way.

He couldn’t imagine what their neighbors were eating, and he didn’t want to think about it for very long. He followed Kate to the table and sat down. The kids were already seated and looked eager to eat. Just two months ago, they would have had to hire a bounty hunter to get them down to eat barley stew. Now the kids milled around the kitchen and great room before dinner. The days of unlimited snacks, fruit and juice drinks were long gone. The kids were actually hungry at meals and ate without the constant prodding that had become a daily dinner ritual for Kate and Alex.

“Everything set downstairs?” Kate asked as she began ladling out the chunky brownish-tan stew.

“Yeah. Good to go. The batteries are almost back to seventy percent,” he said. “Smells great, hon.”

“Kinda looks gross, I know, but the lentils give off a brown brothy color. Not much I can do to dress it up. I threw in some carrots, but the orange chunks aren’t really helping.”

“Looks good, Mom,” Ryan added reassuringly.

“Thank you, my favorite little man,” Kate said, giving him an appreciative smile.

Emily couldn’t contain herself. “He just said it looked like dia…”

“Never mind, sweetie. It’ll be delicious, and we are very, very lucky to be eating this. Let’s thank the chef,” Alex interrupted before she could complete her sentence.

Everyone thanked Kate at pretty much the same time.

“Let’s eat up. Dinner’s a little late, and we need to close up shop down here,” she said.

Alex heard spoons hitting soup bowls as he gazed at the long shadows cast by a few of the trees at the rear of their property line. He turned his head and looked across the table, past Kate and out of the great room windows. The sun had already ducked behind the Walkers’ house. Even without seeing the sun, he knew that it was probably only a few degrees over the artificial horizon formed by the thick trees to the southwest. They had about fifteen minutes to finish eating.

“Is seventy percent enough for the batteries?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah. We’ll be fine. I think we have a small storm brewing for later tomorrow and part of Friday, then some decent weather for the weekend. We should all make sure to take showers tonight, clean off. We might set the thermostats a little lower to keep the furnace from running as much,” he said.

“They’re already set pretty low. Fifty-seven in our room,” Kate said.

“I know. I don’t want to set that one any lower, but the heat keeps coming on at night. I can feel it seeping out behind our bed.”

“Our room’s cold because it’s over the garage.”

“I think if we take it down to fifty-four, we’ll be set. I got up to check the room temperature last night when the heat kicked on, and it hit fifty-six. I’ve never seen it below fifty-five in our room, even with the heat off. We’ll have to burrow in a little deeper under the covers.”

“We can try it,” she said.

She’s not buying into it.

“So what are the two of you up to?” Alex asked, digging into his bowl of lumpy brown stew.

“Nothing,” Emily said, “just reading a book on Mommy’s iPad.”

Ryan shook his head. “Nothing much. Xbox. That’s about it.”

“Anything good, sweetie?” he asked Emily.

“Mommy downloaded like five of the Alissa Storm series books. I just started reading the series at the beginning of the school year.”

“That’s the series where Alissa can time travel in her sleep, or something like that?”

Ryan gave him a look.

“What?” Alex asked.

“She sees the future in her sleep, like a dream, and she learns to control how far in the future she sees and also what she sees. She solves mysteries, prevents disasters, stuff like that,” Emily explained.

“Sounds cool, sweetie. Not a word from you,” he said and stared at Ryan, who was on the verge of what Alex could only presume was a statement likely to drive Emily to tears.

“The books are middle school level reading. She’s really doing awesome. I’m going to download as many as possible before the service is interrupted,” Kate said.

“You might want to get them all tonight, Mom. I keep losing my Xbox live connection. I think the internet is close to dead,” Ryan said.

“Doesn’t surprise me. We might be living on whatever is recorded in the two DVRs,” Alex said.

“That would kind of suck,” Ryan said.

Alex just raised his eyebrows. Kate didn’t even notice a word that would have been censored from the kids’ vocabulary a month ago.

“Maybe we should download some books for you, too. After dinner, we’ll sit down and you can pick some books,” Kate said.

“Cool,” Ryan agreed.

The light continued to drain from the room as the sun sunk further below the tree line, leaving an orange glow on the horizon to each side of the Walkers’ house.

Not much time left here.

“Let’s eat up and secure the perimeter. We can chat upstairs later. If the internet and cable is down, we’re gonna have more quality time together than either of you ever dreamed possible,” Alex said.

“More Scrabble?” Emily asked.

“And we might start to allow bad words, though that might put your mother at an unfair advantage.”

“Nice,” she said.

“Keep eating, guys. Upstairs in a few minutes, please,” Alex said. He caught Kate’s warm smile, and they both relaxed for a few moments.

“Your cell phone’s ringing!” Kate yelled over the sound of automatic weapons fire and military radio transmissions.

Alex put down the game controller and got up from the couch in their attic. “Pause it,” he said to Ryan and flew down the carpeted stairs.

Kate stood at the bottom of the attic stairs. “I don’t think you guys should have that on so loud. Especially at night,” she said with an acutely serious face.

“Yeah, I know. Where’s the phone?” he asked in a “what the hell” tone, glancing from her empty hands to her face.

“On your nightstand. Where’s your machine gun?” she snapped right back.

Great.

Alex walked briskly toward the master suite. “It’s upstairs. I’m headed right back up,” he said, then muttered, “Couldn’t bring the goddamn phone…”

“Do you think playing that game with the volume so high is a good idea?” she asked, following him.

“Why are we fighting?” he asked. He heard the phone’s ringtone.

“Because I’ve been calling you from the bedroom, and you’re up there blasting away at top volume with your son on that stupid Modern Warfare twenty-five game,” she said.

The phone stopped ringing as he reached the bed. He turned around to face Kate. “Sorry, you’re right. We got carried away. It’s not a good idea, given our circumstances. Sorry. Seriously,” he said.

“Thank you. Sorry to be a bitch.”

Alex grabbed the phone and checked the caller ID.

Charlie, and he called twice.

“Charlie. And it’s three,” he said.

She sat on the bed. “What are you talking about?”

“Modern Warfare. They’re only up to number three.”

“I know very well they’re only up to three. I was just giving you a glimpse of your very sad future. You’ll be playing Modern Warfare Twenty-Five when you’re in your seventies, and hopefully your son will have moved out by then.” She flashed a victorious grin.

“I thought you wanted him to stay home forever?” he asked with a similar smile.

“Not so the two of you can sit upstairs all day and night playing video games.”

“Don’t worry. By seventy-five I won’t be able to make the trip. We’ll have to move the whole setup down here into the great room. Probably be in 3D by then. Surround sound. Some of those nice leather gaming chairs for my bad back,” he said, touching his lower back.

“I think we need to consider the energy impact of running the Xbox and TV,” she said and lay back on the bed.

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Right after we consider banning hot showers,” he said and playfully pinched her left foot.

She yanked her foot back with a stifled scream. Kate was deathly ticklish. The cell phone started to ring again.

“You better pick up, or your redneck rampage buddy might fire a signal flare at our house to get your attention.”

“Be nice to our friends.”

“Are we gonna have to hang out with them when this is over?”

“They might be the only friends we have left on the block. I foresee hunting trips and bison burger barbecues,” he said and answered the phone.

“Hey, Charlie. Sorry I missed your first call. Busy with something.”

Kate shook her head as Alex walked out of the room.

“Alex, did you hear anything weird a few minutes ago?” he asked.

Charlie’s voice sounded distant, almost muffled.

“Hear what? Are you guys all right?” Alex asked, walking down the hall to the attic stairs.

“Did you hear gunfire?” Charlie asked.

“No, I didn’t hear anything. To be honest, I was upstairs playing a video game with Ryan. The whole neighborhood could have erupted in a gun battle, and I wouldn’t have heard it.”

“You shouldn’t…” Charlie started.

“I know. We got carried away. Kate already read me the Riot Act. What did you hear?”

“Well, the girls were watching Iron Man 3 in the bedroom with the volume kinda low, and I thought I heard some kind of popping sounds. Like when you’re driving up the road at the Fish and Game club. I jumped up and turned off the TV, and by the time the girls quit bitching… I’m pretty sure I heard a shotgun blast.”

He reached the top of the attic stairs and turned the corner. Ryan lifted up from the couch and nodded. Alex held out a finger and whispered to him, “Go ahead. I have to take care of something. And turn the volume down. Way down.”

In the muted glow cast by the paused TV screen, Alex saw Ryan mouth okay and nod.

“Did you see anything outside?” Alex asked Charlie.

“No, I rushed everyone downstairs into the basement. I’m starting to think we should just stay down here at night,” he said.

Alex grabbed his assault rifle and backpack, which were both leaned up against the back of the couch. The backpack contained his binoculars, night vision scope, and spare ammunition for both the rifle and the pistol. He headed back downstairs toward his office.

“Probably not a bad idea if you think you heard shots. I don’t mean this to sound condescending, Charlie, but are you absolutely sure you heard gunshots?”

“I’m pretty sure about the last two. It was pretty quiet in the room at that point…aside from some bullshit hysterics,” he said, raising his voice. His twin twelve-year-old girls were obviously within earshot. “My dad was reading in his room. He said it sounded like the Tet Offensive out there.”

“Your dad was in Vietnam?” Alex asked.

“No, and he can’t hear squat, but he swears he heard a gunfight. Small and hard calibers he says.”

“Hard calibers? What does that mean?”

Did he ride with Jesse James, too?

“Hold on…what?” Charlie yelled.

Alex heard someone yelling in the background, and then Charlie’s muffled voice. He yelled something about someone not being able to hear anything.

“Sorry about that,” he said, then lowered his voice. “My dad is driving me crazy. Anyway, he heard booming shots and smaller ones, like sharp cracks. It’s what I thought I heard over the TV. Small pops followed by louder thumps. Shotguns.”

“All right, we should take a look around. Use your night vision. I’ll take a look, too. I can’t see the Murrays’ house, so you should concentrate there,” Alex said.

“Sounds good. Call you in a few.”

Alex hung up and dug into his backpack for the night vision scope. He raised the shade in his office a few inches and poked the scope through, aiming toward Charlie’s side of the block and scanning the area. He increased the magnification and started to comb the area for more detail, focusing on the houses that he could see from his office window: the Coopers’, Bradys’, McCarthys’ and part of Charlie’s. He could see the house occupied by the surgeon and his wife, but the angle was shallow, and only two side windows faced him.

Nothing unusual. Flickering lights in most of the houses. Candles.

He pulled the shade down and called Charlie. “Hey. I didn’t catch anything on the scope, but I don’t have much of a view from here. Did your dad say how close he thought it was?”

“He said it had to be across the street, but with my dad’s hearing loss, it could have been in the kids’ bathroom. Either way, it had to be pretty close for him to hear it. His room faces the street. Could have been from down your way, or up past the Bartons’. I don’t know, but I don’t plan to sit on my ass and wait for those criminals to bust into my house and shoot it up.”

“I don’t think anyone’s shooting up houses, Charlie.”

“You don’t sound very convinced, Alex.”

“Let’s sit tight and observe. In my experience, when there are more unknowns than certainties, it’s the best course of action.”

“Sometimes sitting around and doing nothing is the worst thing you can do. We need to take the offensive. Bring the fight to them, on our terms…”

“Charlie, come on. We can’t just storm their house commando-style and blast anything that moves,” Alex said.

“Maybe we can set up an ambush outside their back door. Catch ’em by surprise when they head out,” Charlie said and cleared his throat.

“Too many unknowns. We’d have to set up on their turf, on their timeline. It’s way too risky. These guys may be psychotic, but I don’t get the sense that they’re stupid. Too many things can go wrong.”

“We should at least start going door to door and checking on people. Make sure they’re all right.”

“And stand out in the open knocking on the door of a possible murder scene. That’s definitely not a good idea, Charlie. We need to step up our observation and gather more information,” Alex insisted.

“We’ll see. I’m not gonna sit around forever.”

“I agree, but we need more to go on here. Let me know if you see anything.”

“All right. Later.”

**

Alex disconnected the call and walked over to the bedroom with the backpack and rifle. He found Kate lying on the couch with Emily, a recorded movie playing on low volume. She made eye contact and raised her eyebrows.

“What’s up?” she asked and propped herself up a little more, shifting Emily.

“Not too much,” he said, signaling for her to follow him.

Kate apologized to Emily and got up from the couch, following Alex into the darkened hallway outside of their bedroom. He leaned the rifle against the wall and dropped the backpack.

“Charlie is pretty sure he heard some gunfire in the neighborhood…”

“Are you sure he didn’t just hear you guys playing Xbox?”

“Ha ha ha. Seriously, his dad heard it too. Two distinctly different guns. Probably a pistol, and Charlie thinks a shotgun.”

“Well, if anyone knows the difference, it’s probably Charlie. Did you guys take a look around?” Kate asked.

“With night vision. Neither of us saw anything.”

“Did you check all of our doors?”

“Yeah, and I set all of the noise makers. I’ll set up the one on the stairs, and then we should all head into the bedroom. I really hate that we have to live like this in our own house.”

“Really sad is what it is. I wish we had a real alarm, or a dog. I just can’t see us hearing anything asleep with the door shut,” she said.

“I’ll hear any noises downstairs. Don’t worry, hon,” Alex assured her, kissing her forehead.

“You haven’t heard yourself snore lately. You’re sleeping harder than I am now.”

“What are you guys whispering about out there?” Emily called.

“Nothing, sweetie,” he said back.

Alex put a hand on each of Kate’s cheeks and looked into her eyes. He didn’t see any fear. She could be pretty resilient in a crisis.

“We’ll be fine. I’ll grab Ryan, and you make something up so Emily’s not worried,” he said.

“Did you call the police?”

“No. Not yet.”

What’s the point?

“You need to call the police and sit on the phone for as long as it takes to get through. Even if they can’t respond right away, it might set the wheels in motion to get someone out here to take a look at the situation. Maybe they’ll get booted from the house, and out of our neighborhood.”

“I don’t know. I’ll call again, but even if I do get through, I don’t see the police taking any action. I’m sure rooting out squatters is pretty low on their priority list. I don’t even know how they’d get out here.”

“That’s not your problem to fix. Make the call, and start the process. If the situation deteriorates further, and the police can’t do their job, then you’ll have a clearer conscience to take action.”

“I guess it would also cover our asses with the cops if something happened,” he conceded.

“Exactly.”

“All right. I’ll call Ed and then 911. Don’t wait up for me.”

“I love you. Make sure you send Ryan down,” she said and kissed his lips.

“I love you more,” he said and walked back to the attic staircase.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Alex sat propped up in bed next to Kate while she read one of his vintage Stephen King novels. Emily was snuggled in between them. He had been watching Kate nod off for the past twenty minutes, nudging her a few times for the sheer sake of annoyance. He stared at her as the novel slipped off her knees, through her hands, and slid down her red and green flannel pants to its final resting place on her maroon Boston College sweatshirt. She didn’t stir when the book fell, and he knew that she was officially done for the evening, though he could have made that call long before the book fell.

He put his iPad on the nightstand and leaned over to straighten Kate’s legs. She stirred from the movement and scooted herself down the bed so her head rested on the pillow. He turned off the light on his nightstand and gently kissed her on the lips.

“I love you,” he whispered, and she mumbled something back to him.

He pulled the comforter up to his neck and was slowly drifting away when his mind was suddenly jarred back into focus. He heard a muted sound, like a single, very distant clap of thunder, and sat up immediately. He grabbed the night vision scope and USP pistol from the top drawer of his nightstand and walked toward the double window at the front of their bedroom.

His cell phone rang, and he doubled back to get it. Charlie. He headed back to the front window, glancing down at Ryan, who was buried under a thick down comforter on the couch.

“Hey,” he whispered into the phone.

“I heard it again. Closer this time, and it sounded like a shotgun,” Charlie said.

“I heard it, too. Very faint. Definitely gunfire. I’m checking it out right now. I’ll get back to you.”

“I’m headed upstairs with a scope,” Charlie said, and the phone went dead.

Alex raised the window shade a few inches and put the scope through the opening between the shade and the windowsill. The sky was mostly clear, and he could see thousands of stars now that all of the area’s lights were out.

He turned on the scope and scanned the neighborhood. The scope provided a clear green image of everything, despite a near complete lack of ambient light among the houses. He searched for any signs of activity, moving the scope one by one over the seemingly lifeless structures in his neighborhood. A few times, he spotted light flickering from a house, which he figured to be candlelight or a fireplace, but saw nothing out of the ordinary in the immediate vicinity of his own home.

He shifted his focus to where Durham Road curved into the other side of the loop, passing over the Carters’ and McCarthys’, and again saw nothing unusual. He saw a faint wavering light inside the McCarthys’ house. Normal. He’d seen that before. He passed the scope slowly over the Coopers’ house and stopped. That’s not right.

He increased the magnification of the scope until he could only see the Coopers’ house and watched an erratic light show play out behind the Coopers’ curtains. He saw the lights first in the room above the garage, which he assumed was their bedroom. From the shaky movement of the lights, he assumed they were flashlights. Weird.

The lights soon moved to each of the other windows on the second floor, and Alex determined that someone was going room to room. One of the lights moved downstairs, and he caught a brilliant flash in the night vision scope, as one of the flashlights briefly shined out of a front door window toward him. He watched closely as two more flashlights came down the stairs and faded deeper into the first floor of the house.

Three people?

He could tell they were moving around the first floor, but could not pinpoint their location. He watched the light show deep inside the house for a few more minutes until the lights disappeared.

Okay, let’s see what we have here.

He reduced the magnification of the scope, giving him a wider view. Staring through the scope, the Coopers’ house sat in the middle of his view, and he could see both gaps on each side of the house. He watched the scene patiently. Behind him, he heard Kate breathing heavily.

Already deeply asleep. Amazing. There we go!

Three dark figures emerged from behind the Coopers’ house and moved swiftly across the gap toward the Hayes’ house. He zoomed in on the group.

Three of them. Way too far to make an ID.

Two of them were carrying some kind of a long gun. Rifles, shotguns? Can’t tell.

He also saw that they were each carrying large bags. Duffel bags? From this distance, he really couldn’t tell.

Charlie’s house completely blocked his view of the Hayes’ house, and he lost them on their way across the gap. He walked out of the bedroom and called Charlie.

“I saw them cross between the Hayes’ and Murrays’. It’s definitely the three scumbags crashed out at the Murrays,” Charlie said, before Alex could utter a word.

“Are you one hundred percent sure it was them? I saw flashlights in the Coopers’ house, upstairs and downstairs. Then I saw three figures moving between the houses, too. I’m pretty sure one of them was wearing a ball cap, but my scope isn’t powerful enough to get a close enough look.”

“I couldn’t see anything inside the Coopers’, but I tracked them in the open, before they disappeared behind the Murrays’ house. I’m one hundred and twenty percent sure it was them. No doubt. I’m using an 8X Trident night vision scope. Trust me, I got a good look.”

“I lost them behind your house,” Alex said.

“Alex, I have no doubt it was them. They were moving pretty slow with all of the loot they took from Paul and Nancy. Jesus. Do you think we should head over there right now?”

“No. Whatever happened there is over, I guarantee it. I’ll head over in the morning.”

“I’ll give you a hand.”

“No, I’ll need you to cover me. Plus, I can move unobserved around the back of the houses. I’ll call you in the morning when I’m ready, and you can cover me with that nice sniper rifle of yours. Maybe you’ll finally get a chance to put it to work.”

“I sure as shit hope so. You gonna call this one in?” Charlie asked.

“No. It took me over an hour to get through last night, and the best the dispatcher could do was promise a call from an officer. I’m still holding my breath.”

“Sounds like we’re on our own, Alex.”

“You were right, Charlie. We should have done something about them earlier. I should have trusted my gut.”

“Hey, don’t start second guessing yourself now. We’ll check out the houses, and come up with a plan from there,” Charlie said.

“Keep a good guard tonight, Charlie. It’s still early. I’ll call you in the morning before I head over.”

“Sounds good. Talk to you then, Alex.”

Alex sat down on the dark brown love seat next to the couch and leaned the shotgun against the outside of the cushioned armrest, glanced toward the bedroom door, and felt the urge to get up and check it. He knew that the bedroom door was locked, and that the house was rigged for the night, but his mind wouldn’t let it go.

Nancy and Paul are dead. Hayeses too, probably.

His eyes wandered back to the bedroom door, and he took a deep breath. The house was silent beyond the deep respiration of his slumbering family. He wished he could fall asleep, but he was not optimistic about his chances.

Chapter Forty

Friday, December 13, 2013

Alex pulled a black turtleneck sweater over a gray crew neck T-shirt and took a pair of thick wool socks out of the walk-in closet. He walked over to Kate’s side of the bed and sat down to put his socks on. A groggy voice addressed him.

“Any…uh, particular reason you’re sitting there…and not lying in bed?” she asked, focusing on the battery-powered clock.

“I’d say I have a pretty good reason. While you were in dream land last night, I’m pretty sure I witnessed a break-in and murder at the Coopers’,” he whispered.

I could have broken that to her better.

“What!”

“Sssshhhh…don’t wake up the kids.”

“What are you talking about?” she whispered forcefully.

He laid down next to her to whisper, “Right as I was falling asleep last night, I heard a faint thumping sound. Gunfire. Charlie called a few seconds after it stopped. He heard the same thing. Said it was just like the night before.”

“Jesus,” she breathed.

“I grabbed the night vision scope and looked around the neighborhood. When I got to the Coopers’ house, it looked like several people were going through the house, room by room, with flashlights. Then I saw them leave, three of them, and walk toward the Hayes’ house. One of them looked just like that piece of shit that keeps coming to our door. Long hair and ball cap. Charlie’s one hundred percent sure it was them. He watched them walk between the Hayes’s and the Murrays’, loaded down with stuff they took. I’d bet you anything they broke into the Coopers’ and killed them. I’m gonna check it out and confirm what happened. Charlie’s gonna cover me. We need to figure this out, and figure it out quick, so we can deal with these lunatics immediately.”

“Wait, so what are you doing again?” she asked, rubbing her eyes and sitting up.

“I’m heading over to Paul and Nancy’s. If I find them dead, then the neighborhood is going to have to deal with the Manson family fast. Who knows where they’re headed next? I might check the Hayes’ while I’m at it. Their house is between the Manson’s and the Coopers.”

“Do you have to do this right now? You just woke up,” she said, lying back down and pulling the covers back up to her chin.

“Actually, I’ve been awake for an hour, and most of the night. No. I need to do this now. Then we’ll have most of the day to come up with a plan for tonight,” he said.

“No one’s going anywhere tonight. We have a huge storm moving in.”

“Hopefully, this whole thing will be settled by the time the storm moves in. One way or the other.”

“Be careful, and bring me one of the radios. I’ll hang out at the window and keep watch…just as soon as I can make some coffee. Can you wait a few minutes?” she asked, sliding out of bed.

“I’ll head down and get the coffee going. Then I’m starting my reconnaissance,” he said.

“You know what worries me about you?”

“I have no idea, my love.”

“Deep down inside, I think you enjoy this. Actually, it’s not deep down inside. You can barely suppress your excitement.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to make this trip any more than you do. I hope I don’t find anything.”

“Just be careful and stay out of sight. Leave a walkie on the island. I’ll be down in a few minutes. How are you gonna keep in touch with Charlie?” she asked and stopped in front of the walk-in closet.

“Cell phone.”

Alex stepped into the closet, reached up to the highest shelf, and pulled down a black nylon holster rig and two spare magazines from pouches attached to it. He tucked the magazines into his right front pocket.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, looking at his wife, and checking the pistol already jammed into his jeans behind his back.

She leaned over and kissed him. “Hurry back, okay? And don’t forget to switch your phone to vibrate. If numbnuts over there is your early warning system, you don’t want him tipping off the entire neighborhood.”

“I got it…thank you. We’re professionals,” he said and winked.

“Just hurry up and get back. Nothing fancy. I love you,” she said and headed back to the master bathroom.

Alex pulled his cell phone out of his front left pocket and walk toward the stairs.

“Where’s the rifle?” she asked.

“In the closet. I don’t think it would be a good idea to sneak around the neighborhood with it. Someone might shoot me from one of the houses behind us,” he replied. “Plus, I want to travel light on this one. In and out. Fast,” he added.

“Whatever. I think you should take it.”

“I’ll be fine. Love you.”

“Love you more.”

**

Alex approached the corner of the Coopers’ house cautiously and peered into the backyard. He saw that the entire area near the back of the house was full of footprints and dog tracks, including the deck. Several piles of dog feces poked out of the trampled snow near the back door to the garage, competing for his attention with several yellow splotches in the same vicinity. None of this appeared out of the ordinary to Alex, since he’d seen Paul and Nancy play daily in the backyard with their dog, Max. He walked toward the door, gingerly stepping around the frozen brown obstacles, and visually examined the door for signs of forced entry.

Nothing obvious.

He left the door for the moment and walked up onto the deck to peer through the sliding glass doors, but his view inside the house was blocked by blinds extending the length of the glass door. He knocked on the glass and backed up slightly, contemplating his image in the reflection of the glass. Jeans, blue winter jacket, black wool hat, sunglasses and gloves. Nothing out of the ordinary. He removed the glasses so that the Coopers might recognize him more easily.

Nothing.

He knocked more forcefully on the door and stepped back again. He waited at least a full minute, glancing frequently in the direction of the Hayes’ backyard.

Nothing, but they could easily be asleep. Maybe I did this too early.

He walked to the far side of the deck and examined the back windows.

Blinds are drawn of course.

He noticed tracks in the snow leading from the Coopers’ yard to the Hayes’ yard.

Going in both directions. That’s not a good sign.

He saw that the tracks followed closely along the back of the Hayes’ house and stepped off the deck, returning to the garage door. He stared at the doorknob.

I hate to do this if they’re home.

Alex wondered if Max might attack him.

Highly unlikely. Where was Max when I knocked on the door?

He contemplated trying to sneak around to their mudroom to ring their doorbell. He debated the risk, then laughed out loud at the idea, smacking his head.

No electricity, dummy.

He tested the doorknob.

Locked.

He put his shoulder up to the door and pushed. The door opened with no resistance and flew inward, smashing into the shelves along the wall behind it. He stumbled into the garage and nearly fell onto several white plastic bags filled with trash, regained his footing and returned to the door.

He glanced around the garage and saw more white trash bags in front of the silver Volvo parked next to him, and part of a wood pile between the two parked cars. He pushed his feet through the white bags and moved halfway across the front of the Volvo. He leaned over and saw that the Coopers’ wood was thrown in a disorganized pile that extended from the front of the cars to the garage bay doors, and also saw several small dents and scrapes on the doors of the black Toyota Highlander parked in the farthest bay.

Didn’t waste any time getting the wood inside.

Alex turned his attention back to the door, examined the strike plate set into the back door’s trim, and found it completely loose.

I’m not the first person to put my shoulder up against this door.

He saw that the door was not fitted with a deadbolt and shook his head. A few years before, after a rash of burglaries in Scarborough, Kate had insisted that they install deadbolts on all of their outer access doors, including the door between the garage and mudroom. He took the walkie out of his right jacket pocket and called Kate. “You there, hon?”

“Yep, kids are still asleep up here. Where are you?” she asked.

“I’m standing inside the Coopers’ garage. Looks like someone muscled their way through the back door. I’m going to check out the rest of the house. I knocked on the back sliders several times. No answer.”

“They could be sleeping. Did they break through the deadbolt?” she asked.

“They don’t have a deadlock back here.”

“What? Jesus, I hope they’re all right.”

“Me too. I’m gonna check out the other door and head inside. I’ll keep this on. Anything going on outside?”

“Nothing so far. Keep me posted,” Kate said.

“Yep, talk to you soon, out.”

Alex put the walkie back in his jacket and pulled out his handgun, pulled the slide back and released it, which chambered a round and left the hammer cocked. Since his version of the USP45 did not have a manual safety, he depressed the de-cocking lever, and the hammer sprang shut. Now he would have to apply a considerably higher amount of pressure to fire the weapon. He held the pistol in his right hand and pulled a flashlight out of his left jacket pocket, walked around the trash bags, and slid alongside the silver Volvo sedan. He arrived at the mudroom door and directed the beam toward the door handle.

On first inspection, he saw damage to the trim. He leaned against the door with his left shoulder and pushed lightly on the door. Like the garage door, the mudroom door offered no resistance and swung halfway open, and Alex saw splinters of wood on the floor. The door frame around the strike plate was splintered inward, indicating to him that the door had been forced open. He turned off the flashlight and stuffed it in his pocket. He held the pistol with both hands in front of him, his finger off the trigger. Crouching slightly, he walked forward, aiming into the house, pushing the door open with his extended arms. The mudroom appeared to be in order. He called out to the Coopers.

“Paul, Nancy. It’s Alex Fletcher. Hello?”

No response.

He edged forward and looked into the kitchen. He saw several broken glass jars on the floor in front of their pantry and an electric can opener lying upside down in the glass. Empty Tupperware containers and silverware littered the kitchen floor beyond the pantry. The bathroom door off the mudroom was closed. He walked up to it and listened at the door.

Silence.

He opened it and found nothing out of place inside. He entered the kitchen, stepping carefully around the broken glass. The rest of the kitchen was in complete disarray; every cabinet door or kitchen drawer was open, and the contents of several cabinets lie smashed on the brown-speckled granite countertop. He looked into the pantry next to him and saw that it was mostly empty. A few empty plastic containers sat against the back wall of one of the lower shelves. Two blenders, a stainless steel toaster, and several large mixing bowls sat untouched on the top shelf. He walked around the other side of the island, stepping on some of the glass. The sink was full of glass shards and half shattered wine glasses.

“Paul! Nancy! It’s Alex Fletcher! Are you guys all right?”

Where’s Max?

Hearing no response, he was now convinced that they were dead. He walked carefully around the other side of the kitchen island and approached the stairs, aiming the pistol at the stairway. Keeping the gun pointed ahead of him, he walked to the top of the stairs and glanced to the right, noting that the door to the master bedroom was shut. He decided to check the two guest rooms first, since both doors were open, and slowly entered the room facing the street. The dresser drawers were open and clothing littered the hardwood floor and neatly made bed. The closet door was also open and dozens of dresses were scattered at the bottom of the closet floor. The top shelf of the closet was empty except for one folded sweatshirt.

He backed out of the room and ducked into the second open door in the hallway. The room contained an elliptical machine, recumbent bike, a full set of dumbbells, and appeared untouched. A small entertainment center with a flat-screen TV and DVD player sat against the far wall, facing the exercise machines. Several exercise mats were folded up against the wall. Alex opened the closet, finding a large wall organizer filled with women’s shoes and designer purses.

Wow, and I thought Kate had too many shoes.

He backed out of the room and stared at the closed door down the hall.

God, I don’t want to open that door.

His radio crackled to life, and he felt a surge of adrenaline shoot through his body.

“Honey, what’s going on over there?”

“Jesus, Kate, you scared me. The house has been ransacked. I’m about to open the master bedroom door. I’ll call you in a few minutes.”

“Be careful.”

He turned down the volume and tucked the radio back into his jacket, walked up to the door and stood to the side of it, pressed up against the door trim. He listened intently for any signs of life on the other side of the door and heard a low whine, which sounded like a dog.

Max?

He knocked on the door, keeping his body out of the doorway.

“Paul, Nancy. It’s Alex Fletcher,” he called and waited.

He immediately heard a dog barking from further inside the room, but received no response from Paul or Nancy. He grabbed the doorknob with his left hand and turned it, keeping the pistol pointed at the door. He pushed the door open firmly.

The smell hit his nose before the door struck the wall. He’d thought he had forgotten the smell of death, but the distant memory of the putrid, unmistakable stench rushed back and seized him. The sharp odor of gunpowder competed with the nauseating smell. He stood pressed against the wall, frozen. He didn’t want to see what was in that room. He didn’t need to. His assessment of the situation was complete. Paul and Nancy were dead. Max barked and jarred him out of his thoughts.

“I have to get Max out of here,” he said to himself and stepped into the room, lowering the pistol.

He walked past the master bathroom to his left, grimacing as the entire master suite came into view. A transom window lining the back wall of the bedroom let in enough direct morning sun for him to see clearly. A king-sized dark pine sleigh bed sat under the transom windows, flanked by two dark wooden nightstands.

A massive crimson stain on the wall above the right nightstand caught his attention first, spreading across the far corner of the room onto the adjacent wall. The back board just above the pillows on the right side had been hit by a shotgun blast, leaving a basketball-sized hole. Several smaller holes surrounded the massive gap in the back board.

“Double ought” buck. First blast was a miss?

He couldn’t see behind the right side of the bed, but feared the worst. He walked past the bed and looked down on the floor behind it. As expected, he saw a body, face down, covered with drying blood.

Second shot scored a direct hit.

A three-legged wrought iron lamp was wedged between the nightstand and the adjacent wall, its tan lampshade blood-splattered and torn. The hardwood floor surrounding the body was covered in a dark, semi-reflective fluid. The pool of thickened blood extended all the way to the front of the bed and to the wall next to the body. He couldn’t immediately tell if it was Paul or Nancy; most of the head was missing. The body was dressed in a blood-soaked gray sweatshirt and dark blue sweatpants. He saw a black athletic wristwatch.

Guy’s watch.

What he saw next confirmed that it was Paul’s body. On the left side of the bed, another body lay completely covered underneath a blood-soaked light blue comforter. The bloodstain radiated in a rough circular pattern, at least four feet in every direction, from a large, dark red hole in the heavy blanket. Thick splotches covered the dark pine headboard. He saw no blast marks on the wood above the second body.

No misses here.

Alex walked up to the bed for a closer look. The intensity of the nauseating smell increased, causing him to gag. Voided excrement now overpowered the acrid smell of gunpowder. By looking at the shape under the blanket, he concluded that the body was on its back. The shotgun blast lined up with the chest. Small blood-speckled feathers lay diffusely scattered on the comforter and nightstand. He saw long, dark brown hair, matted with thick blood, falling down the side of a crimson-stained pillow. He couldn’t see the face, which was still covered by the blanket, but he didn’t need to pull the blanket back to see that it was Nancy.

Probably shot at point-blank range, while hiding under the blankets.

He checked the left side of the bed and found a small pool of blood on the floor just under the bed.

Jesus, the mattress must be drenched.

Suddenly realizing he was holding the pistol in a death grip, he eased off the handle, took a few steps back and turned around. Max’s cage was tucked into one of the bump outs facing the street, pushed all the way back under the window, covered with a dark green comforter. He saw Max’s black paws repeatedly scraping at the stainless steel grating, and Max began to whine and bark frantically as he approached the cage.

I don’t know if this is a good idea.

He looked around for a dog leash, or anything he could use to lead Max out of the room and hoped that Max was at least wearing a collar. Getting him out of the room could be very difficult without one. He remembered seeing several leashes and dog collars in the mudroom.

I’ll need to grab some dog food, too.

He tucked the pistol into his jeans and knelt down by the front of the cage, where Max was scratching uncontrollably at the cage door.

“Hey, Max. Good boy,” he said in a gentle, soothing voice. “Oh yes, you are a good boy. I’m going to open up your cage, buddy. Good boy.”

He removed the comforter from the cage, and Max sat attentively, looking up at him. He couldn’t tell if Max’s tail was wagging, but the dog seemed calm.

“Good boy,” he said again, and Max cocked his head.

Looks friendly enough.

Alex slid open the latch and slowly opened the cage, afraid of Max’s reaction.

“Come here boy,” he urged.

Max bounded forward with his tail wagging, nuzzling him and licking his face, then turned to Alex’s left and moved toward the bed. He was relieved to see a dark purple nylon collar on Max and grabbed it. He stood up and started to drag Max out of the bedroom. Max continued to tug in the opposite direction, with his tail wagging, but soon looked back at Alex and gave up.

“You want a treat, boy?” he asked, hoping to distract the dog.

Max’s ears perked up, and Alex led him out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the stairs. Max frequently stopped to smell the carpet and walls on the way down to the mudroom. Once there, Alex grabbed one of the thick black nylon leashes and attached it to Max’s collar. He slipped two large choke chains and another red collar into his left jacket pocket. He found a box of dog treats and a thirty-pound bag of dog food in the mudroom closet. He fished out a treat for Max, who followed him closely. Alex heaved the bag of dog food over his left shoulder, holding the leash and dog treat box in his right hand. He walked out of the mudroom into the garage and closed the door behind him. He sat the dog food and treats just inside the back door and stepped outside with Max. Max urinated on the side of the house while he pulled the door shut. Steam rose from the large, wet stain on the gray siding, and Alex took the walkie out of his pocket.

“Hey, honey, you there,” he asked.

“Yep. Nothing’s moving out there. What did you find?”

“You really don’t want to know. We have a very big problem here on Durham Road. I’m headed over to the Hayes’ to check out the situation there,” he said and started to walk across the snow toward the Hayes’ house.

“What happened to the Coopers?” she insisted.

“Are the kids listening?”

“Hold on,” she said. A few seconds later she was back on the radio. “Okay, I’m in the bathroom. They’re still crashed out.”

“They were killed in the bedroom. Looks like shotgun blasts. One took off the top of Paul’s head, and the other…”

“That’s enough…I get it. Why are you going to the Hayes’? It’s too dangerous. I think we know what you’ll find there.”

Alex considered her argument, which sounded reasonable, but didn’t satisfy him.

“I have to be sure. Charlie heard more shooting the other night. Someone might still be alive, though I seriously doubt it. I’ll take a quick look and scoot back home. I have Max with me. He’s fine.”

“Don’t take him over there. Why don’t you come home? Bring Max back, he must be scared out of his mind.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. Plus, I feel better having him with me. Nothing can sneak up on us. I’ll be home in under ten minutes.”

“Can you find any food for Max at their house? I know you probably don’t want to go back in there.”

“I’m one step ahead of you. I have a thirty-pound bag waiting for the return trip. I’m almost at the house. Call you in a few.” He put the walkie away.

He reached the corner of the Hayes’ garage and looked across the street at Charlie Thorntons’ house.

Fuck.

Alex had crossed between the two houses and couldn’t remember if the Murrays’ house had come into view. He’d been talking to Kate and not paying attention.

Too late now.

“Damn it. I can’t believe I did that,” he said aloud.

He decided to try the back door first and moved along the back of the garage, staying as close to the wall as possible. He couldn’t see the Murrays’ house, but he didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks.

He reached the door and noticed brown cardboard on the inside of the door’s window, which completely blocked his view into the garage. He pushed the door open with little effort, and Max pulled them both into the dark space. The smell of concentrated garbage overwhelmed his senses as he regained control of the dog and quickly scanned the garage.

He closed the door behind him, and the garage was plunged into complete darkness. He waited several seconds for his eyes to adjust and slowly walked forward. He moved past the neatly stacked firewood against the far wall and stumbled through several plastic trash bags as he slid along a minivan to get to the mudroom door.

He effortlessly opened the door and saw that it had been forced open just like the Coopers’. He took in the slack on Max’s leash and stepped in the house. A very fine layer of white dust blanketed the mudroom floor and a dark pine bench, on which lay several dust-coated jackets. He didn’t see any footprints in the powder, or anything else out of order in the mudroom.

Strange.

A faint, sickening odor confirmed his worst suspicions as he stepped inside the kitchen from the mudroom. He saw evidence of at least five shotgun blasts on the half-wall between the eat-in kitchen area and the family room. Like the Coopers’, the kitchen was ransacked.

Direct sunlight poured into the kitchen through the uncovered windows over the sink, fading beyond the kitchen and making it difficult to see into the family room, where all of the shades were closed. He noticed that the dust was thicker in the kitchen and covered every horizontal surface. Max was quiet, with his tail between his legs. He looked up at Alex and yawned.

I’m nervous too, buddy.

Alex edged forward, careful to navigate Max around any broken glass, wanting to get a closer look at the shotgun damage. The half-wall was capped with a glossy white trim shelf and extended from the back of the house to a point two-thirds of the way across the family room. A white, decorative pillar connected the top of the half-wall with the ceiling. The shotgun blasts were concentrated on the corner near the opening to the family room, punching holes clear through the wall and shredding the wooden trim cap. Surprisingly, the pillar was mostly intact, with only superficial damage around the base. He was perplexed by the multiple blasts focused on the corner of the wall. The intensity of the gunfire was at odds with what he’d seen in the Coopers’ bedroom, where each shot appeared to have had its own deadly purpose.

Wait a minute, I know what happened.

He stopped at the end of the kitchen island and turned around, immediately confirming his suspicions. He saw a bullet hole in the white trim around the doorway leading into the mudroom, and three more holes were visible in the light blue mudroom wall just beyond the kitchen entrance.

Alex’s eyes wandered the kitchen to the left of the doorway. He saw another bullet hole in the refrigerator and one more in the cherry wood cabinet above the stove.

Small caliber. Probably the pistol shots Charlie heard before the shotgun blasts.

He shook his head and turned back around to face the half-wall. The shotgun blasts and bullet holes told him everything he really needed to know about what had happened to the Hayes’. He crept forward, mentally fortifying himself for the scene beyond the half-wall.

The smell intensified and became excruciating as he approached the family room, so he breathed shallowly; a trick he’d learned in Iraq. He caught a quick glimpse of the carnage through one of the holes in the wall, but couldn’t really determine what he saw. He fought the urge to turn around, knowing what he’d find there.

Same as the Coopers’.

He pressed forward, keeping Max on an extremely short lead. The entire family room came into view and Alex stood frozen. An intense anger and hatred arose in him as he stared at the twisted sight in the family room.

The entire room was blanketed in the same dust he’d found throughout the house, but it appeared thicker. He assumed that the fine dust had come from the blasted drywall. Having cut the drywall for his own attic conversion, he knew firsthand the mess it could leave behind.

A light blue slipcovered couch sat against the half-wall a few feet down from the blasted corner, and a rectangular oak coffee table sat a few feet in front of the couch. Paper plates and cups littered the table along with chunks of drywall. He saw that one of the plates held several pieces of thick tubular pasta, partially buried under white powder. Several small caliber shell casings lay covered with powder on the floor near the obliterated corner.

Without actually stepping into the room, Alex leaned in and saw that the back of the corner wall had been vaporized by the blasts, confirming his theory about the layer of drywall dust. Two oversized tan chairs were up against the interior wall of the house, with a large oak table between them. He couldn’t see any damage to the chairs, or the pictures of the Hayes’ that adorned the walls behind the twin chairs.

A large flat-screen TV sat atop a three-foot-high black entertainment center in the corner of the room to the right of a fireplace, appearing undamaged. A small stack of wood sat in a black wrought iron wood carrier on the other side of the fireplace, and a giant family portrait, taken at one of the local beaches, dominated the wall above the fireplace mantel. He saw three rolled up sleeping bags stuffed behind the chair closest to the fireplace.

Now for the body.

Kenneth Hayes was not right behind the wall where Alex had expected to find him. A wide reddish-brown stain, thick and pasty from the drywall powder, extended from the hardwood floor near the corner of the wall to his body lying in front of the coffee table several feet away. A thicker pool of dried blood extended from his torso toward a window-height bookcase underneath the rear picture window which, like everything else, was sheathed in fine powder.

Kenneth lay on his stomach, a gaping hole in the middle of his upper back, squarely hit by at least one blast at close range.

Shot in the back, crawling away.

He glanced again at the bloody trail in front of him and assumed that Ken was also hit somewhere in the chest or stomach as he crouched to fire at his attackers.

All right…that’s one of them. What about the others?

He was pretty sure that Michelle Hayes hadn’t been in the house, having been taken to a triage center by Ken a few weeks before, along with the children. He had heard that Ken had returned with the kids, but not Michelle.

His attention was drawn to the two-tiered bookcase, filled with a mix of children’s and adult books, that extended the entire length of the back picture window. Several board games were stored on the bottom shelf closest to the couch. The end of the bookcase almost reached the corner of the coach, creating an open space in the corner of the room where the half-wall met the back wall of the house. He saw something on the corner walls and walked a few more feet into the room.

The smell of decomposition and feces immediately overwhelmed his shallow breathing trick, and he raised his left arm to his nose to breathe into his Gore-Tex jacket sleeve, which did little to help. Max did not seem to be having any problems with the horrifying odor and was straining on the end of the leash. Alex was convinced that the dog would try to lick the blood-paste mixture on the floor, so he kept a constant tension on the leash to prevent Max’s muzzle from reaching the floor.

That’ll make us both puke.

He stepped toward the fireplace to put a little more space between Max and the body. As he moved forward, he caught sight of a small foot protruding from the small gap between the bookcase and the corner of the couch. His chest tightened, and he started grinding his teeth, immediately fighting back tears.

No, no, no…this…is not happening. This did not happen. NO.

Holding Max’s leash tightly, he edged forward with the knowledge that what he was about to see would stay with him forever. He stopped and stared at the wall behind the corner.

I don’t need to do this to myself.

He tried to rationalize leaving, but finally concluded that he had to be sure. He switched the leash to his left hand and took a few more steps. He continued to edge forward until small quarter-sized splotches began to materialize on the wall just below the arm of the couch. A few more steps and he pulled back when he thought he could see the top of a head appear against the exterior wall of the house.

He backed up a few more feet and almost tripped over Max, staring again at the little foot protruding from the small gap between the couch and bookcase. It lay in a separate pool of blood that extended from the bookcase and reached the coffee table, stopping short of joining the pool of blood spilled from Ken’s body.

I will kill every single one of them for this.

Alex stopped to process the scene.

I can’t leave until I know what happened to all of them. What if one of the kids is hiding in the house?

His shoulders slumped, and he swallowed hard. He carefully stepped back and tied Max to the leg of the oak table between the oversized chairs on the other side of the room before he walked angrily past Ken’s body toward the dark corner of the room.

Several minutes later, he stood with Max in the mudroom, physically ready to leave the grisly scene behind. Mentally, he knew that what he saw in the corner of that room would never leave him.

He spit a few more small chucks of vomit onto the gray tile floor and wiped the remaining tears from his eyes. The rest of the vomit was sprayed on the couch and coffee table in the family room, some of it ending up on Ken’s body. Strangely, Alex felt terrible about that.

“You ready, buddy?” he asked Max in a normal tone.

Max looked up at him and yawned again.

“I don’t blame you, Max. Well, let’s get out of here. I know some people who can’t wait to see you.”

He opened the door and stepped into the darkened garage. The smell of rotting garbage was a welcome relief to both Alex and Max, who immediately started pulling to get at the trash. Alex fought his way through the debris, pulling Max along the whole way. He got to the door and opened it, nearly tripping on the dog as they simultaneously exited the garage door.

Dammit, Max.

Max started barking and straining against the leash.

What is it now?

“Oh shit,” he mumbled, quickly reaching for the pistol behind his back.

A man stood close to the border of the Murrays’ property, still several yards on the Hayes’ side. Alex’s hand remained behind his back, gripping the pistol and trembling slightly.

Jesus, if I had opened that door one minute earlier.

The man’s body was pointed toward the Murrays’ yard, but his head was turned toward Alex. He was wearing faded jeans and a brown leather jacket, and a black winter cap stretched tightly over his head. Matted, shoulder-length brown hair protruded from the sides of the hat, splayed on the shoulders of the jacket. A goatee unmistakably identified him as Daryll. He held an oversized load of firewood in front of him and stared at Alex, clearly contemplating his options. Keep walking or go for it? A hunting shotgun was slung over his right shoulder.

Alex calculated the range between them to be about forty yards, which was too far for him to guarantee a hit with his pistol; forty yards for a shotgun was also less than optimal. The shotgun blasts in the house indicated that these guys were using “double ought” buckshot, which could certainly reach Alex at forty yards, but would require a proficient shooter.

He hoped that the man kept walking. As much as Alex would like a chance to kill the man in his tracks, he knew that the gun battle’s outcome couldn’t be guaranteed, especially with Max in the middle of the fight.

He wondered if Charlie had a shot, but doubted it. He was pretty sure the man’s position was still obscured from Charlie by the Hayes’ blue colonial, plus Charlie had never called to warn him, which led Alex to believe that Charlie never saw him cross the gap in the first place. Still, he envisioned Daryll’s head exploding from a high-caliber hollow-point bullet.

He nodded at the man and moved his hand around the front of his jacket, making it clear to the man that this was not the chosen time or place for a shootout.

I have a better idea for you.

The man turned his head, walking hurriedly in the direction of the Murrays’.

Alex turned and started running through the snow with Max, who sprinted ahead of him in delight, oblivious to the human drama playing out around him. He kept checking behind him as Max strained at the end of the leash. Alex had a lot of distance to cover, and he was worried that one of the Mansons might try to snipe him with one of their hunting rifles. As he passed the Coopers’ house, he thought about the bag of dog food.

Sorry, my friend. I’ll get that for you later.

He faintly heard Kate’s voice on the radio as he lumbered through the snow and reached into his pocket and removed the walkie.

“Kate? Hey, I can’t talk. I ran into one of them…I need to keep moving,” he huffed into the radio.

“What? Who did you run into? The Hayes? Honey, what’s wrong?” she asked frantically.

“No, not the Hayes. They’re dead. I ran into one of the Mansons stealing wood. Hon, I can’t talk and run here. I don’t want them to take a shot at me. Open the back door,” he yelled.

“Okay…okay, I’m headed down now. Where are you?”

“Just past the Coopers’. Gotta go!”

He stuffed the walkie in his jacket pocket and pulled his pistol out of the back of his pants, then tucked it into the other jacket pocket, making sure the velcro caught on the pocket.

Don’t want to lose this.

He continuously glanced over his shoulder, staying close to the houses, sprinting through the snow when he reached a gap between homes. He was physically wiped out when he reached his own back garage door. He stopped a few feet from the door and knelt, laboring to breathe and feeling slightly nauseous from the combination of sustained exertion and adrenaline. Max moved in and started licking his face. Alex pushed him away and continued to take deep breaths. The door opened, and Kate appeared, still dressed in her pink flannel pajamas. Max immediately ran over to Kate, who bent down to hug him. Alex looked up at her.

“Good thing I didn’t need a rescue,” he said.

She looked down at her outfit. “What? I was on lookout duty.”

“Yeah, you missed one. He was carrying a stack of wood back to their little headquarters at the Murrays’,” he said, still panting.

“Why didn’t you shoot him?” she asked seriously.

“Why didn’t I shoot him? Trust me, I thought about it, but he was too far away and had a shotgun. I did the math, pistol against shotgun. No, thanks. I have a plan to get them all at once,” he said and stood up.

He walked into the garage and kissed Kate. She opened the door to the mudroom to let Max in, and Alex could hear Max’s claws repeatedly scrape the mudroom tile as he tried to build up momentum for a run through the house. Alex locked the door behind him and engaged the deadbolt.

Neither of them had a deadbolt. I wonder if it would have made a difference?

They both stepped into the mudroom, which felt like the Caribbean compared to the air outside.

“I’m sorry I missed that guy…I went to get more coffee. Really, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”

“Don’t worry about it, honey. Charlie missed him, too. I’m just a little disturbed that he got by both of you in broad daylight,” he reassured, stroking her hair.

“What happened over there?” she asked softly, searching his eyes.

Alex avoided her glance. “You really don’t want to know.”

“The kids?” she asked, embracing him.

Alex stayed silent.

“It’s all right, honey. I love you so much,” she whispered in his ear.

“I know. I love you more,” he replied and held the embrace a few more seconds before freeing himself.

“We should definitely call the police,” Kate said.

“What’s the point? This’ll all be over long before the police show up. They’ll move against us pretty quickly. Probably tonight. I’m gonna use that to our advantage and spring a little trap.” He walked toward the kitchen, leaving puddles of melted snow on the tile floor.

“We’re getting slammed by another Nor’easter tonight. This might have to wait.”

“These guys aren’t going to wait. They’ve killed two nights in a row…that we know of. I have no doubt they’ll be paying us a visit tonight. Storm or no storm, we have to be ready for them,” he said, as he opened the basement door.

“What’s your plan?”

“First, I’m going to talk to Charlie and see if he’s willing to help me take them down. I don’t imagine that will be much of a problem, since he wanted to storm their house last night.” He dropped his head in thought and continued, thinking out loud. “I figure they’ll leave the Murrays’ after dark and make their way behind the houses to get here. I’m going to hit them along the way. Catch them in a crossfire; catch them by surprise. The storm’s timing couldn’t be better actually. They’ll never expect it,” he said and took a few steps into the basement.

“You sound like you’re enjoying this again,” Kate said.

Alex leaned his head back into the kitchen to face Kate. “After what I just saw…you’re probably right to some degree. I’d enjoy it even more if I could kill them up close. Slowly.” He vanished into the basement.

Chapter Forty-One

Friday, December 13, 2013

Alex kissed Kate and held her tightly. They were standing several feet inside the darkened garage clutching each other, neither one ready to let go. A frigid wind blew through the back door of the garage, bathing them in arctic air and dusting them with fresh snowflakes. Kate shivered, and Alex broke the embrace, still holding her hand.

“I’ll be fine. Cold, but I’ll be fine. You can talk to me all night,” he said, staring into her teary blue eyes.

“I still don’t understand why you can’t take care of this from the house,” she said, squeezing his hand harder.

“They’ll be expecting some form of resistance at the house. We need to catch them off guard and put an end to this on our terms, not theirs. I don’t want them anywhere near our house. Who knows what kind of firepower they have? Don’t worry, once it starts, it’ll be over quickly. Just keep the kids in Ryan’s room tonight. That’ll put the most house between you and whatever happens out there…”

“I’ll be sitting in a chair, keeping watch on that house. If I see anything, I’ll buzz you on the walkie.”

“I don’t think you’ll be able to see anything, but that’s fine. Just make sure you don’t have any lights on behind you, and when I tell you to get into Ryan’s room, you have to promise me you’ll do it. Promise me.”

“I promise,” she said.

I don’t believe her for a minute.

“No matter what you hear outside, stay with the kids, and keep the Sig Sauer with you at all times. Remember, there’s no safety on that gun. You just pull the trigger and boom. Remind the kids of that again, especially Ryan. All right, it’s getting darker, and I want to be in position when the light is gone,” he said, kissing her one more time. “I love you.”

“I love you more. Be careful. Those people are…” she trailed off, letting go of his hand.

“I know, and pretty soon, they’ll be gone. I love you. Keep in touch, but remember, Charlie has one of the spares, so no juicy stuff. Once we start shooting, stay off unless there’s an emergency at the house. Charlie and I will need to talk. See you in a few hours.” He stepped through the open back doorway into the backyard.

He closed the door and watched Kate through the window panes, heard the lock click and waved goodbye to her. He glanced up at the dingy, shapeless low ceiling of ashen gray clouds before starting to walk. As he trudged forward, he looked over his shoulder to the west and couldn’t determine the sun’s azimuth or location on the horizon. The cloud cover was impenetrable.

He figured that he had about ten to fifteen minutes of dusk left before the darkness began to envelop the neighborhood. In less than an hour, the block would be pitch black, and he guessed that the Mansons would make their move soon after that. At least he hoped they would; he wasn’t sure how long he could last out in the snowstorm.

He pushed forward in the snow, following the same path he’d traveled during his outbound morning trek. His footprints were still visible in the snow near the back of his property where the yard sunk into a shallow drainage area that ran along the entire property line and connected all of the yards on his side with a water retention area beyond the McCarthys’ backyard. He planned to use it to ensure that he arrived at his preselected position undetected.

He jumped into the ditch and walked through the shallow gulley. The snow was slightly deeper here, and he slogged forward, watching the corner of his house. A few more steps and he would briefly enter line of sight with the Murrays’ house. After the morning’s encounter, he figured that the Mansons might be keeping watch on his house. He lowered his silhouette and nudged forward until he was clear of the gap.

He continued on, alert, but more interested in getting to his position than remaining stealthy. Charlie had been watching the Murrays’ house for the past hour, looking for any signs of activity. If the Mansons were to leave the house from the front, he’d definitely see them, but Alex doubted they’d use any of the front doors, sure they’d sneak out the back like before, and Charlie would hopefully see them move between the houses. Charlie was perched at the window closest to the Murrays’, watching with binoculars and an 8X wide angle night vision spotting scope. His other night vision device, a 10X scope, was attached to a hunting rifle; the same rifle Charlie planned to use tonight.

Alex’s AR-15 assault rifle was slung across his back. He had attached an Aimpoint scope to the rifle early in the afternoon while preparing the equipment needed for their night ambush. The scope provided an illuminated red dot for quickly engaging targets. He’d used a similar system in Iraq. His civilian version did not provide night vision capability, so he wouldn’t be looking at a convenient green image like Charlie. He’d have to first pick out targets with his hand-held night vision scope, and then somehow find them with the Aimpoint scope. Not optimal, but he’d done this under worse conditions. Despite the profound darkness, he figured that the Mansons should provide adequate silhouettes for a conventional rifle scope. Besides, the plan called for Charlie to do most of the accurate shooting.

He worked his way across the Thompsons’ backyard. Their house looked empty, but he knew it was occupied. A few days before, he’d seen James Thompson wander across the backyard and head into the woods carrying a shovel. Alex had concluded that he was looking for a burial site in the woods behind their property. James had returned several minutes later, too quickly to have made any serious progress digging. At this point in December, Alex didn’t think it was feasible to dig a proper grave without heavy equipment.

He paused and searched the woods to his right. The conservation woodland located at the eastern corner of the neighborhood contained a path that connected with Hewitt Park and hundreds of additional acres of protected forest and trails. He saw Jim’s lone footsteps in the snow, approaching a trailhead that disappeared into a tangle of mature evergreens, oaks and birch. He turned back to the path he was following, suddenly buffeted by a strong gust of wind, and noticed an increase in the snowstorm’s intensity.

This is going to be a long night.

Aside from a small area of exposed skin below his ski goggles and above his mouth, Alex didn’t feel the effects of the bitter northerly wind. He wore two layers of full-length thermal underwear, covered by two pairs of expensive snowboarding pants, two layers of thick wool socks, a wool turtleneck sweater, and his favorite blue weatherproof winter jacket.

He’d ditched his combat boots for the best pair of storm boots sold by L.L. Bean, and his hands were covered by wool inserts and the warmest waterproof gloves he had ever owned. His head was covered by the jacket’s oversized hood, under which his head was sheathed in a black balaclava under a standard black wool watch cap. Standing in the garage earlier, he’d felt his core temperature rising rapidly and couldn’t wait to get out into the cold.

Even now, his ensemble felt like overkill for the conditions, but he knew that as the sun set and the storm picked up, conditions outside would deteriorate rapidly. Lying prone in a static position would only make matters worse. The wind and cold, he knew, had a way of penetrating even the best materials when you are motionless.

He continued across the Thompsons’ yard, paying the same caution when crossing between the Thompsons’ and Carters’ property. Peeking above the top of the ditch, he saw that the Murrays’ house was completely obscured by the Thorntons’. He kept moving, and as he crossed the Carters’ property, he heard his walkie-talkie crackle to life, the voice muffled in his front jacket pocket. He stopped, and his heart raced as he fumbled to open the pocket zipper. He found the slit, pulled the walkie out of the pocket, and pushed the talk button.

“This is Alex, say again, over.”

“It’s just me, Kate. I can’t see you anymore. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” her voice crackled over the speaker.

Are you kidding me?

“I’m fine. I’m almost past the Carters’. Let me get in position, and we can chat a little. All right?”

“Okay. How is it out there?” she persisted.

“Miserable. I’ll probably end up pouring the hot tea over my head in a few minutes. Could you stoke up the wood-burning stove really good? I’m going to be frozen when this is over. Talk to you later, out.”

“Love you,” she added.

“Love you too, out.”

Out means out.

Alex hooked the walkie onto the shoulder strap of his backpack and pressed on, seeing his first choice of firing positions: the McCarthys’ play set. Darkness was pouring into the neighborhood, and he checked his watch. 3:59. According to his handheld GPS back in the house, sunset was set for 4:04. The end of civil twilight, or the glow on the horizon, would be 4:37, but with the thick storm clouds, there would be no glow, and he expected complete darkness well before 4:30.

I need to move this along here.

He picked up the pace, struggling through the snow as he safely crossed between the Carters’ and McCarthys’ lots. The Murrays’ house appeared briefly between the two houses, almost completely obscured by the snowstorm. Alex lowered himself to a crouch as he pushed through the ditch.

Once at the far corner of the McCarthys’ property, Alex decided to leave the depression and approach the play set, which was located halfway between the McCarthys’ house and the edge of the drainage area. The vast drainage area was significantly lower than the McCarthys’ lot and formed a steep slope along the entire back edge of the lot.

He considered a position along that ridge, but decided against it due to the distance. A position there would add another fifty yards to his firing range. Given the storm’s increasing intensity and the lack of light, he wanted to fire from a position closer to the Coopers’ house. He reconsidered the ridge momentarily, looking at a spot closer to the Coopers’ property, which might give him the same range.

No, if something goes wrong, I don’t want to have to cross an open yard to re-engage targets.

More importantly, he reminded himself, he wanted to stay between the Mansons and his own family.

These people are capable of anything.

He arrived at the play set and slid his black backpack to the ground, knelt, and removed a small foldable shovel from the back of the pack. With the shovel unfolded, he ducked under the main tower of the play set, wading into a three-foot snow drift. He rapidly moved snow out of the sandbox under the tower, digging all the way down to the frozen sand. The snow was easy to move, and within five minutes, he had cleared an area twice the width of his body. He dug a large hole into the front of his new snow fort, scraping the snow and ice off the thick wooden base of the sandbox. He lay down and looked through the hole, which gave him a complete view of the Coopers’ yard, and the Hayes’ yard beyond it. He set his rifle on the heavy log at the bottom of the hole. This would be his firing position. He was convinced that the heavy wood frame of the sandbox would provide excellent protection from any return fire.

Alex went to retrieve his backpack, and the wind slammed him when he stood up out of the protective cover of the snow fort. The snow was coming down horizontally in thick waves.

Maybe it won’t be so bad lying here. Better than out on that ridge.

He took the walkie from the shoulder strap and put it back into his coat pocket, laid back down in the fort and fully opened the backpack. He removed a gray and brown wool blanket and pushed it toward the front of the fort, then pulled out several loaded magazines for his rifle and stuffed them in the lower cargo pockets of his snowboarding pants. He left the pockets unzipped, hopeful that the backup Velcro tabs would keep the spare magazines from spilling out. He tapped the black hip holster on his right leg, which held his .45 H&K USP semiautomatic pistol and two spare magazines, for reassurance.

Finally, he removed the night vision scope and binoculars, setting both down on top of a blue towel retrieved from another compartment of the backpack. He closed the backpack, set it next to his body, and stood up to fold the wool blanket, laying it down on the frozen sand beneath him for padding. He kneeled down on the blanket and pushed himself forward into the fort, lying prone and facing north into the ambush zone. Darkness enveloped the neighborhood, and he strained to see past the Coopers’ yard to the Hayes’. He glanced at his watch again. 4:17.

Time to get in touch with Charlie.

He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out the walkie, first removing the weatherproof glove on his right hand to make it easier to use the radio. His hand immediately felt cold.

“Charlie, this is Alex. Come in, over.”

“Alex, this is Charlie. Read you loud and clear.”

“Glad to hear your voice. I’m in position, with a clear view of the Coopers’ house and yard. I can see over into the Hayes’, but the snow is really picking up out here. How does it look from your position?”

“Pretty good. It’s getting pretty dark, and the snow is a problem, but I can see clearly between the houses. Night vision is working perfectly. Wish I had bought some kind of thermal imaging a while back. That’d be perfect for this kind of weather.”

Alex couldn’t imagine why anyone, even a hunter, would need a thermal imaging device. Then again, most people would wonder why he himself would need a night vision scope.

“No kidding. These conditions are optimal for thermals. I haven’t checked out night vision yet. I can still see without it. Not for long I imagine. It’s going to be dark out here.”

“Yeah. No worries though. We’ll pick ’em up if they move your way.”

“Roger that. I have a good position and a great angle to hit them between the Hayes’ and the Coopers’. Once we know they’re coming, I’ll need you to let me know when they are about halfway between those two houses. I don’t have any way to judge that from here. I want the gap between the houses to be their most logical escape from my fire. That way, they’ll be lined up perfectly for you. Remember, you shoot first, and I’ll light up the rest. Got it?”

“Got it,” Charlie confirmed.

“Keep your rifle ready to fire at all times, and be ready to shift firing positions. Once we see them, this’ll go down quick.”

“Roger, I cut a huge section of the screen out earlier today. I’m ready for this, Alex.”

I bet he’s shitting his pants like me.

“All right, check in with me every fifteen minutes or so, and stay sharp.”

“Be careful out there, man. We got your back over here.”

Alex set the radio on the blue towel with the optic devices and replaced the glove. He debated whether to check in with Kate, but decided to prep all of his gear first. He reached down into his right thigh pocket and pulled out three rifle magazines, placed them on the towel, and scooted up to activate the Aimpoint scope on his rifle.

He looked through the scope at the far corner of the Coopers’ house, where most of his shooting should take place, and dialed down the intensity of the red dot. The scope would allow for quick precision shooting at ranges between twenty-five to two hundred meters. He estimated that he was about fifty meters from the corner of the Coopers’ house.

Possibly a little closer.

He checked the safety on the weapon with his thumb and could tell without looking that it was engaged. He closed the scope’s covers and lay the weapon down on the towel.

He picked up the binoculars and looked down the row of houses. There was just enough light for him to see all of the way to the end of the Hayes’ house, though it was hard for him to pick out any details other than windows and doors. If the Manson crew were to appear now, he would definitely spot them with the binoculars. He knew that within about fifteen minutes, the night vision would be his only hope of spotting them early enough to spring their trap.

He set the binoculars back down and picked up the night vision scope, activating the device, and the previously dreary view was replaced by a sharp green image. He easily found the corner of the Coopers’ house, and then tracked along to the furthest back corner of the Hayes’ house. Satisfied with the view, he turned off the scope to conserve batteries. Even though he had packed plenty of replacement batteries for all of his electronic gadgets, the last thing he wanted to have to do was change batteries in the middle of trouble.

I really hope I don’t have to be out here that long.

Alex stared out into the murky darkness, amazed by how dark the neighborhood had become without streetlamps or house lights. He sat up enough to look over the snowdrift at the McCarthys’ house to his left. He was pretty sure that he could see some light through the blinds on their sliding glass door.

They’re probably huddled near the fireplace.

He regretted that he didn’t have time to warn them of the possible firefight that might erupt in their backyard. He lay back down and looked through the binoculars.

Useless.

He could still see into the Coopers’ backyard, and most of the way to the Hayes’ house with the binoculars, but it wasn’t far enough. He switched over to night vision and decided to call Kate.

“Kate, this is Alex. You there?” he whispered into the walkie.

“I’m here. It looks horrible out there.”

“I hadn’t noticed, but thanks for the reminder. I hope this goes down soon, I’m not sure how long I can stay out here. How are the kids doing?” he asked, taking another look through the scope.

“They’re fine, staying warm by the stove with Max. I’ll move them upstairs as soon as you guys spot them.”

“Thanks. I need to concentrate on the scope now. Love you, honey. Are you still in your lookout post?”

“No, I can’t see a thing past the Thorntons’. I’m with the kids. Don’t forget about the thermos of hot tea. I love you, and don’t do anything stupid,” she reminded him.

“Like sit outside in a snowstorm waiting to shoot someone? I love you too. Out.”

He turned the volume on the handset to the highest setting and checked the night vision scope again.

Nothing.

He checked his watch yet again. 4:45. The walkie crackled to life, and Alex grabbed the rifle.

“Alex, it’s Charlie, just checking in. No movement over there. I can see some light in the house, but I can’t tell anything by it.”

He relaxed his grip on the rifle. “Thanks, Charlie. Let’s hope they’re just as impatient as we are to get this going. I really don’t know how long I can stay out here. The snow is piling up right on top of me,” he said, shaking snow off his body.

“I don’t think we’ll have to wait long.”

“I don’t know. The Hayes’ were killed in their kitchen, and the Coopers were shot in their bedroom. Could have been any time for the Hayes’, but last night’s shots happened around eight thirty. We could be doing this for hours,” Alex said, doubting whether he could lie out here like this for more than another hour, let alone three or four.

“I don’t think so. They know you saw their handiwork earlier today. I bet we’ll see them within a half-hour.”

“I hope you’re right. I really do. We’ll chat later. Oh hey, Charlie, make sure you get your family down in the basement when this starts. You guys are right in the middle of it.”

“Roger, first sign of these assholes, and they’re heading down below. Talk to you in fifteen. Out.”

Alex stuck his right hand into the backpack and dug around for the large green ceramic thermos, located it at the bottom of the pack, and set it on the snow next to his rifle. He removed the lid and watched the steam escape from the mouth of the thermos.

Heat!

He turned onto his left side and took a slow, careful sip of the tea. It burned his mouth, but he didn’t care. The liquid streamed into his stomach, warming him.

Green tea. Hmpff. I really need some coffee.

4:50 now.

**

Alex shivered as he stared at the green image in the night vision scope. He had changed the batteries a few minutes earlier, after noticing a dimmer picture. The storm had intensified over the past hour, reducing visibility even further; however, he could still see as far as he needed to see into the Hayes’ yard. He sipped the last of the green tea and considered his options.

At this point, the cold had penetrated every layer of his outfit, and he did not expect the weather to improve. If anything, the storm would intensify even further, and the temperature would continue to plummet. About thirty minutes earlier, he’d stood up to shake off all of the snow that had accumulated on him and to stretch his arms and legs. When he knelt back down, he unfolded the wool blanket so he could pull it over his body, but he barely felt the difference.

He knew that remaining there was not a permanent option tonight. He figured on a maximum of one more hour before he was rendered combat ineffective by the weather and would have to head home at that point, drawing the fight much closer to home than he had hoped. He could use his own house as a warming hut and move quickly to a secondary ambush site in his own backyard, or possibly the Thompsons’, if Charlie sounded the warning.

If he relocated, however, Charlie might not be able to help, and the fight would rest mostly on his own shoulders, which wasn’t a problem, just not ideal given the advantage Charlie’s rifle could provide. The current shooting gallery between the Coopers’ and Hayes’ was ranged perfectly for Charlie’s rifle.

His radio burst to life.

“Alex, they crossed over to the Hayes’! I only saw the last one! Do you see anything?” Charlie asked in a panicked voice.

A sudden wave of adrenaline washed through his body, and the cold was instantly a distant memory. He ripped off both outer gloves and grabbed the night vision scope, focusing on the back of the Hayes’ house.

Son of a bitch, here they come!

He picked up the walkie.

“Got ’em, Charlie, looks like three of them, moving slowly along the back of the Hayes’ house. Reposition now. I say again, reposition yourself now, and get ready. Let me know when they cross into the space between the houses. You fire first, then I’ll pin them down. Remember to take the safety off your gun!” Alex whispered forcefully into the walkie.

“I’m on my way!” Charlie said urgently, and through the walkie, he heard Charlie yelling to his family.

Alex clipped the walkie onto his jacket and gripped the rifle, laying the upper hand guard on the wooden log in front of him to steady the weapon. He scooted up into the snow fort, nestling the rifle in his shoulder. Everything felt good. He opened the rifle scope’s lens covers and peered through the scope.

He flipped the safety off with his thumb and pulled the slide handle back again, ejecting an unfired round into the snow. He released the handle and recharged the rifle chamber, making sure that the cold had not locked up the weapon’s action. He had done this once every half-hour since arriving at the play set. He grabbed the night vision scope and located the three targets at the closest edge of the Hayes’ house. He could see that they were struggling with the storm, and also that they were all clearly underdressed for the conditions.

Fuck, this is moving too fast.

He tossed the night vision scope aside, searching frantically through the rifle scope. Beyond the red dot, he located the corner of the Hayes’ house. The image was dark and washed out by snow, but he quickly picked out his three targets contrasted from the surroundings. He shifted the red dot to what he perceived as the last in the line of targets.

They have to be moving across the gap.

He heard an excited voice from his radio.

“Alex, they’re almost halfway across. Moving slow. I have the lead guy in my sights.”

Fire, Charlie, fire! We could get two right off. Come on, Charlie. Kate must be out of her mind listening to this.

Alex watched the dark masses move slowly across the gap. For the first time, he noticed that all three of them were armed with some type of long guns.

Goddamn it, Charlie!

He added pressure to the trigger.

Can’t wait. Here we go.

He saw his target stop and turn, as the sharp echo of Charlie’s first shot reached his ears. He sighted in again, squeezing the trigger twice, keeping the red dot on the target for each shot. The rifle kicked and settled in his shoulder.

He sighted in again on what he thought was the same dark shadow, firing six rounds in rapid, but controlled succession.

I have no idea if I’m hitting anything.

He saw a few flashes through the scope and heard something hit the play set. He sighted in on the corner of the Coopers’ house, where he saw another moving shadow, and fired another six rounds. He heard gunshots and saw more flashes from the area between the two houses.

All right, I have no idea what’s going on!

He picked up the night vision scope and checked out the scene, seeing that two men were clearly still in the fight. A man stood exposed to Alex at the corner of the Coopers’ house, aiming a shotgun in the direction of Charlie’s house. Another was on his knees at the corner of the Hayes’ house, slumped against the siding, attempting to reload his weapon while staying propped up against the house.

Through Alex’s scope, he saw that the man was doing neither task well.

I’ll take care of this one.

Just as Alex had formulated that thought, he saw the man’s head snap back violently against the side of the house. The figure slumped lifelessly to the ground, revealing a dark stain on the siding.

Jesus!

He switched back to the rifle scope and tried to sight in on the target near the corner of the Coopers’ house. The man disappeared between the houses before he could pull the trigger. He swiftly switched rifle magazines, keeping the sight of the scope on the corner of the house.

The walkie in his jacket buzzed.

“Alex, last one coming at my…”

He heard a sharp crack followed by several lower-pitched explosions, all in rapid succession.

Shotgun.

He grabbed the night vision scope, the spare rifle magazine, and his rifle, quickly stood, and started to run, skimming the bottom of the play set tower with his head. The impact jolted his head, causing him to drop the spare magazine. He felt a severe pain at the very top of his skull, but ignored it, pushed through the snowdrift and started running toward the front corner of the Coopers’ house, planning to run between the two houses and engage the last target. He heard another sharp crack, which he assumed was Charlie’s rifle.

I hope you got him.

His hope was dashed when he heard at least a dozen rapid gunshots, which sounded smaller than a shotgun. He stuffed the night vision scope in his left cargo pocket while running, snatching the walkie from his jacket.

“Charlie, Charlie, I’m moving between the Coopers’ and McCarthys’. What is your status?”

He heard another shot from Charlie’s rifle.

“I can’t hit him. He’s at my front door. Where are you?” Charlie shouted in a panicked voice.

“Almost around the corner. Hang on, Charlie,” he said and stuffed the walkie back in his pocket.

He reached the corner and slowed down, raising the AR-15 to his shoulder. He cautiously took the corner, keeping the weapon aimed toward Charlie’s front door. He looked over the scope, not wanting to limit his field of vision, and spotted a figure standing on the covered porch with a shotgun aimed toward Charlie’s front door. The shotgun erupted three times, and Alex heard Charlie screaming through the walkie.

He put the red dot on the figure, who was now kicking in the front door, and fired two shots. He looked over the scope and saw the man stumble backwards and fall down the porch steps. Alex started to push through the snow toward Charlie’s house, keeping the red dot on the fallen target. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Charlie close the upper left window of the second floor. He crossed the street, still sighted in on the heap at the bottom of Charlie’s porch.

No movement.

As he reached the short snow bank along the opposite side of the road, the front door to the Murrays’ house swung open, and someone stepped outside onto the Murrays’ stone porch. He couldn’t make out any details, but saw a figure silhouetted against a dim light cast from inside the house. Alex threw himself against the snow bank and fired several hasty shots at the new threat, not bothering to use the scope.

Close enough.

He scurried down the snow bank a few more feet and popped up over the top of the bank, searching through the scope for a target. He didn’t see the figure anymore, but could tell that the front door was still open. Another figure stepped out onto the porch, and he added pressure to the trigger, centering the red dot on the dark mass. A smaller figure appeared, and Alex eased off the trigger. Both figures hopped off the right side of the porch, disappearing into the bushes. He reached into his cargo pocket for the night vision scope.

Where’s the scope?

He quickly checked the other pocket.

Gone. Goddamn it.

He stayed low and called Charlie on the radio.

“Charlie, come in.”

“Still here, did you get him? I assume you got him. That was you shooting, right?” he asked, less panicky.

“I hit the guy at your door. He’s down. I haven’t checked him yet. Someone popped out of the Murrays’ house while I was crossing the road. I need you to scope out the front of the Murrays’ house. Two people jumped off to the right of the porch into the bushes. I can’t tell what’s going on. Watch yourself up there.”

“Gotcha. I’m moving.”

Alex looked over at the body near the bottom of the Thorntons’ porch. He brought the rifle up over the snow bank and centered the red dot on the figure and saw an arm claw at the snow.

Definitely still moving.

“Alex, Alex,” Charlie said through the walkie.

He pressed the talk button and realized that his hands were freezing.

Adrenaline is wearing off. I’ll get the shakes soon.

“Go ahead, Charlie,” he said, beginning to shiver.

“I don’t see any threat there anymore. I think we’re fine.”

He shifted his glance out of the scope and looked over at the Murrays’. He could see three figures standing on or around the porch. The one standing in the doorway looked like a child. He could hear screams coming from the group.

“What exactly is happening over there? What are they doing in the bushes?” Alex demanded.

I need a better SITREP than that.

“Alex, I don’t, uh…what about the guy down here? Is he dead?”

He looked into the scope and saw the same scene. The figure was trying to crawl toward the street. He pulled the trigger three times, centering the dot on the crawling mass, which stopped moving altogether. He heard screaming from the Murray house.

“He’s done,” Alex said. “What the fuck is going on at the house?”

“Alex, they’re fine. I don’t see any weapons. Trust me, we don’t have to worry about them,” Charlie said, and Alex sensed once again that he was keeping something from him.

“Just tell me what you see. I’m not moving until you convince me it’s safe.”

Actually, I don’t plan to stay out in this shit weather another ten minutes.

No response.

“Charlie, I’m cold, and I’d like to go home. If you don’t tell me what’s going on over there, I’ll blast the entire front of the house away,” he said irritably.

“Well, it looks like you shot one of the kids…I’m sorry, I don’t…they’re picking the body up now. They’re not armed as far as I can tell,” Charlie said.

“I saw an adult pop through that door. It wasn’t a kid.”

It could have been a dog for all I know.

He aimed the rifle at the front door, staring through the scope at the group. The image was grainy, but he could see three figures carrying a body up the stairs of the porch. The smaller figure in the doorway reached up to grab the body. He heard more screams and then the front door slammed shut. He grabbed the walkie, which was sitting in the snow next to him.

“Let’s grab all of their weapons and check the bodies. We don’t want any surprises. Meet me on the street. Out.” He put the walkie in his jacket pocket.

He looked around at all of the houses, which appeared as black shapes rising from an endless, flat, dark-gray sea. Blankets of gray snow washed over the scene, providing the only movement his eyes could detect. He started walking across the street, crunching the freshly fallen snow. When he reached the snow bank on the other side, he leaped over it and retraced his steps back toward the corner of the house and found the night vision scope buried under half an inch of snow. Ten more minutes and he might not have recovered it. He turned it on and stared at the Murray house. The door was closed now, and he saw faint lighting from within the house.

He turned off the night vision and dropped the scope into his right cargo pocket, feeling it hit the spare magazines. The Thorntons’ front door opened, and Charlie walked out onto the covered porch, pointing some kind of a rifle at the crumpled body in the front yard. Alex yelled out to him and walked over to join him.

Charlie was dressed in a dark green winter jacket, blue jeans and tan combat boots, a fur hat with a tail pulled tightly over his ears. They met in the middle of the street and shook gloved hands as the wind whipped around them. Alex noticed a black nylon holster like his own on Charlie’s left thigh, sheltering a pistol.

“That thing’s dead, right?” Alex said, staring at the hat.

“Very funny. It’s a Daniel Boone cap. My dad gave it to me in the sixth grade, and it’s the warmest hat I’ve ever owned. It also happens to be a good luck charm. I’ve never missed a shot with this on my head.”

“Well, I think your record is still intact. Nice job,” Alex said.

“I had the easy part. Warm house. Target rich environment.”

“Nothing easy about killing someone, even these guys. Trust me. Let’s get this done, and get back inside.”

“I’ll grab the two guns between the houses. You’ve done more than your share tonight,” Charlie offered.

“Actually, we should go together. Just in case. I don’t mind a few more minutes out in this wonderful weather.” They started walking toward the kill zone between the two houses on the other side of the street.

Waves of snow and wind pounded them as they approached the bodies. Alex slung the rifle over his shoulder and put his right hand up to protect his eyes, wishing he had tucked the goggles into one of his pockets and not his backpack. He took solace from the fact that the wind would be at his back for the trip home. He heard the walkie squawk and pulled it out of his jacket pocket.

“Hello. Hello!”

“Alex?” Kate said, though he could barely hear her while walking into the storm.

“It’s over, honey. We got ’em. All of them. I’ll see you in a few minutes. I love you!” he yelled into the walkie.

“I love you too!” she said back, and he heard it clearly.

He pushed forward with Charlie until they saw the first body, slumped on the ground against the Hayes’ house. A massive dark patch stained the siding a few feet off the ground. Alex didn’t care to look closely at the patch, sure he’d see chunks of brain and bone frozen to the cedar planks. The shotgun lay a few feet in front of the body, partially buried in a drift and was quickly on its way to disappearing under fresh snowfall. Charlie pulled it out of the drift by the shoulder stock and unloaded the weapon, dropping the shotgun shells into the snow.

They both looked around for the last body, but couldn’t see it through the storm. Alex pulled out a flashlight and searched the area right between the two houses.

“Where’d you drop the first guy?” he asked Charlie.

“Got him maybe a third of the way across. He turned his body, like he was thinking of coming my way, and I hit him square in the upper chest. Went down like a bag of rocks.”

Alex moved toward the Hayes’ house, searching the ground and spotting a bolt action hunting rifle and the start of a trail in the snow. He quickly brought his rifle around to a ready position and thumbed off the safety. Charlie drew his pistol and stepped forward, even with Alex.

“Looks like he crawled a little. Definitely some major blood loss,” Alex remarked, and they both edged forward, finding Manson face down about twenty feet from where he’d been shot. Alex shined his light down on the prone and motionless figure and saw a dark red pool of blood in the snow around Manson’s upper body. The man’s hands and arms were tossed in resignation, just forward of his head.

“Sure he’s dead?” Charlie asked.

Alex took a few more seconds to examine the body with his light and didn’t detect any signs of respiration. Even if Manson was still faintly alive, the weather and blood loss would finish him off quickly.

Let him suffer.

“He’s done and I’m done. Let’s grab the rifle and get out of here. I still have to grab all of my shit behind the McCarthys’ house,” Alex said, turning away from the relentless wind.

“Think we should take a closer look?”

“If he isn’t dead, he will be dead within the hour. Dead and buried under a foot of snow,” Alex said and started to walk back to the street.

Chapter Forty-Two

Saturday, December 14, 2013

Alex heard a muted bark from across the bedroom that settled into a low growl that lasted a few seconds and stopped. He opened his eyes and reached out to the nightstand for his watch. He moved it right in front of his face and focused on the time. Through foggy eyes he saw that it was well past nine in the morning, which didn’t surprise him.

The night before, he had emerged from the blizzard still wired and jittery from adrenaline. Thirty minutes later, he had descended into a delirious exhaustion that even a strong cup of coffee couldn’t shake. Less than an hour after that, he had fallen into a deep, coma-like sleep, holding Emily on the bedroom couch. He vaguely remembered watching TV on the couch with her, but had no recollection of moving from the couch to their bed.

THUNK.

Now what?

Max barked once and popped his head up over the top of the couch. He barked weakly, following it with a low growl that tapered off. Alex shifted in bed.

THUNK.

Sounds like something hit the house.

Alex heard a voice emanating from the backyard, then the sound of something clearly hitting their house right behind their bed.

Son of a bitch!

He jumped out of bed, throwing the comforter on top of Kate.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” she whispered forcefully.

“Hold on.” He moved quickly to the rear window of their bedroom, peeked out of the side of the window blind, and stared for a few seconds. They both heard another cracking sound against the side of the bedroom, and he pulled his head back. Max growled from his curled up position on the couch with Ryan, but made no move to get up. Alex started walking quickly, nearly jogging, toward the bedroom door.

“Honey, keep the kids away from the back windows, I don’t want them seeing this.” He paused, rethinking his choice of words. “And I don’t want them to get hurt standing near the windows. Todd is standing in our backyard in jeans and a fucking T-shirt, throwing rocks at the house.”

“What? Why would he…”

“I don’t know. I thought I was done, but now Captain Caveman is having a mental breakdown in our backyard,” he yelled back into the bedroom.

Kate got out of bed and walked over to the closet. She reached it just as Alex emerged, holding the shotgun in one hand and a box of shotgun shells in the other. He leaned the shotgun against the wall, scraping the light blue paint, and removed four shotgun shells from the box. Kate stared intensely at the shells and then looked up at Alex while almost imperceptibly shaking her head. He grabbed the shotgun and rapidly slid each shell into the underside loading breech.

Four rounds should do it.

“I really don’t want to hurt him, but enough’s enough.”

He walked down the hallway to the stairs, Kate following closely behind, pleading, “Hon, there’s probably a reason why he’s here. Don’t just go out and shoot him. He hasn’t bothered us in a while, and if he wanted to break a window, he could have done it by now. He’s probably out of his mind. Maybe he lost another one of his kids. Can you imagine how you would feel?”

Alex started down the stairs, stopped halfway and replied. “What am I supposed to do, just let him vent a little on us? Thanks for laying that guilt on me, but I am not going to sit around and be thankful that he hasn’t hit a window yet. Maybe he’ll take a shot at the solar panels. I am going out there to put an end to this. All of it.”

He paused, then continued, “I am going to do everything in my power not to use this. Just keep the kids away from the windows.”

“Take it easy on him.”

“I’m gonna knock some sense into him, and if that fails…clean up on aisle two.” He turned to continue down the stairs.

Once in the kitchen, he got a bottle of water from the pantry, took a long drink, put the bottle on the kitchen island, and turned toward the mudroom. He skipped the snow pants and slipped right into his insulated boots. He stared at the snowshoes stacked in the small study adjacent to the mudroom. He was not sure how much snow last night’s storm had dropped, but he figured it to be at least an additional foot. Given the effort it had taken to move across the yards the night before, he seriously considered using them, but ultimately decided against it.

He’d need mobility when he reached Todd, even if it meant trudging through snow. He also decided against a winter jacket, not wanting to wear anything bulky that could get in his way, as he still had no idea what he might have to do out there.

Worst case, I’ll have to drag a corpse off my property.

He put on a black wool watch cap and pulled it tightly over his ears. He stepped into the library and checked the old fashioned bulb thermometer just outside the window. He caught a glimpse of Todd behind the garage and ducked.

Is he in a short-sleeved shirt?

The thermometer read thirteen degrees Fahrenheit, and he saw gusts of wind shake snow from the pine trees in the backyard.

He’s gotta be freezing out there.

He thought about the jacket again and shook his head. He grabbed one of the radios, but quickly changed his mind and put it back into the recharging cradle.

The last thing I need is for the voice of reason to chime in. This is going to be hard enough.

Alex slung the shotgun over his shoulder and disassembled the planks and cans sitting on the stool in front of the door leading to the garage. Despite seeing all three of the Manson crew dead, he had recommended that they keep the sound contraptions in place at night until they felt completely comfortable with the situation in the neighborhood and the greater Portland area. He stepped into the garage and could immediately see his breath. He looked at the back door to the garage, catching another glimpse of Todd through the door’s window. He heard another rock hit the side of his house and adrenaline started pumping through his body.

I really don’t want to go out there, but this shit ends today. All of it.

He walked toward the door, careful to keep out of Todd’s line of sight, and peeked out to determine Todd’s distance from the house. He estimated roughly forty feet.

Far enough away that he can’t effectively charge me.

He reached for the deadbolt and turned it slowly until he heard the distinct release of the lock. He put his right hand on the doorknob, which was frozen to the touch, and he immediately regretted not putting on gloves.

This is it, out we go.

He pulled the door open and stepped outside, slamming it closed behind him. A strong northerly wind made the air feel much colder than 13 degrees, and he was not pleased to be back outside. He looked up at the shapeless, uninterrupted ceiling of clouds just as a strong gust of wind pelted his face. He returned his glare to Todd, who was standing knee deep in snow, wearing faded blue jeans and an old Boston Red Socks T-Shirt. Alex could see that Todd had lost a considerable amount of weight.

I have a bad feeling about this. He’s absolutely lost it.

He glanced around the yard at the young, snow-laden pine trees, scanning for signs of any other neighbors.

You never know.

He saw no other footprints in the snow, other than a line of prints ending where Todd stood.

Fair to assume he is alone.

Todd seemed oblivious to his presence and picked up another solid object from a blue duffel bag at his feet. He cocked his arm back and hurled it at the side of the house. THUNK! Alex started walking toward him, but movement proved difficult in the snow bank behind the garage. A considerable drift had developed overnight, and Alex fought his way toward Todd. Todd never even looked at him as he closed half of the distance. Instead, he leaned over, reached into the duffel bag again and pulled out a baseball. When he bent over to reach into the bag, Alex caught sight of something tucked into his jeans, but the object disappeared before he could figure out what it might be. He thought that it may have been the wooden handle of a revolver, but as far as he knew, Todd did not own a firearm.

Todd pulled his arm back, aiming at the house again. However, instead of throwing it at the house, he suddenly pivoted his left foot, stepped toward Alex, and whipped the ball at Alex’s head. At only twenty feet, he didn’t have much time to react, and he barely moved as the ball sailed by his head. It struck the side of the garage with a much louder smack than anything else he’d heard this morning, and he fought every instinct to point the shotgun at Todd. At that range and speed, the ball could have killed him.

Lucky Todd’s not much of an athlete.

“Todd, what’s going on here? I thought we had an understanding,” Alex said.

Todd responded in a barely audible tone. “They’re all piled up inside the bulkhead door, frozen. The animals can’t get to them there. Nowhere else to put them. All I have left is Jordan. I’m sorry about this, Alex.”

He strained to hear Todd over the wind, and when he finished speaking, Alex took in a deep breath of freezing air and let it out with a sigh.

What the hell can I possibly say to him?

“Jesus, Todd, I’m sorry, I don’t…I don’t know what to say.”

Todd didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at Alex. Bloodshot and glazed, his desperate brown eyes strained deep in their sockets. He sported a disturbed grin which, combined with months of unkempt facial growth, made him look even more unstable, and Todd barely resembled the man he had been in early October. Several weeks of starvation, fear, and perpetual tragedy had dragged him to the brink of existence.

This is it. He wants to die.

He continued to stare intently at Alex, then spoke again. “I didn’t really have a choice, Alex. I’m…”

What is he talking about?

Todd’s right hand slowly moved behind his right hip to the small of his back. Alex saw that and swung the shotgun to face him. The motion was swift, and within a fraction of a second, Todd had a shotgun pointed at his head. The sudden movement surprised Todd, and he furtively moved his hand back around to the front of his thigh. His hand was empty.

Alex racked the slide mechanism on the shotgun, chambering a “double ought” buck shell into the chamber and thumbed the safety into the off position. He pointed the gun toward Todd’s chest and looked over the barrel to increase his field of vision.

“Time to go, Todd, one way or the other.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Todd said.

Todd reached down to pick up another object out of the duffel bag. It looked like a large rock to Alex.

“Suit yourself,” Alex mumbled.

Goddamn it.

He stared into Todd’s feeble eyes and tried not to picture the corpses stuffed below his bulkhead door. An image of Todd’s daughter, Jordan, flashed through his head, and his anger deflated.

Maybe I need to lighten up on him. Maybe I should help.

Todd’s eyes flickered left, and Alex simultaneously caught movement in his peripheral vision. His first instinct was to pull the trigger and kill Todd. He knew that Todd set him up, and if the trap was set right, it might be his only chance of killing at least one of his attackers. Or he could swing the shotgun barrel to the left and try to engage what he assumed was the more pressing threat. He processed both options in a fraction of a second and decided on neither. He charged Todd.

As soon as his body lurched forward, one of the pine trees on the edge of the Thompons’ yard exploded, shedding most of its snow. A distinct snap passed behind him. Todd reacted hastily and whipped the rock at Alex. The poorly-aimed throw glanced off Alex’s right arm, and Todd turned to run, but Alex was already on top of him. He struck a blow to the upper left side of Todd’s head with the butt of the shotgun. The impact turned him off like a light switch, and he collapsed into a pile.

Just as he turned the shotgun toward the Thompsons’ yard, the tree exploded again, and Alex felt a sledgehammer pound his upper left torso. The impact of several “double ought” buckshot pellets spun him ninety degrees to the left and knocked him off his feet. He landed on his left side, with half of his body ploughed into the snow, and his face jammed straight into the fresh drift. He lay there physically stunned, but not disoriented, painfully aware of his desperate situation, and acutely alarmed that he no longer held the Mossberg.

He tried to slide his left elbow up and out from under his body, with the intention of using it to lift himself off his side, but got no response at all from his arm. A sharp pain began to fill the entire left side of his upper body. He shook the wet snow from his face and glanced down toward his shoulder, seeing bright crimson stains spattered on the snow. A dark red stain was starting to melt through the snow piled up around his left shoulder.

He strained to lift his head up a little further to look toward the source of the gunfire, hoping that this involuntary prone position had given him some cover from the shooter. There was a small rise between the Thompsons’ yard and his own that might be enough to keep him out of the shooter’s sights long enough to get back into the fight. His hopes were immediately dashed by the sight of a brown camouflage patterned baseball cap emerging over the top of the snow.

Manson came into view aiming a pump action shotgun at Alex’s crumpled figure. He held the shotgun in the crook of his right arm, with his left hand on the trigger. He appeared unable to raise the shotgun to his shoulder, and Alex saw why. Manson’s right arm was wrapped in a makeshift reddish-brown stained sling. Alex clawed at the snow behind his back with his right hand as Manson casually closed the distance, keeping the shotgun trained on him the whole way.

Alex knew he didn’t have much time left. He wasn’t sure how this man had survived last night’s ambush, but he couldn’t waste any time or mental energy trying to figure it out. His body surged with adrenaline, and he rolled over onto his back. He tried to move his left arm again, but only managed to shift it over his left leg.

Useless.

An incredible amount of pain surged through his left shoulder, radiating down his arm and into his chest. A quick glance down at his shoulder confirmed the devastation; he saw a flash of bone in the carnage.

He looked back at Manson, who grinned wickedly. He fumbled his right arm out further, digging randomly through the snow.

“You ain’t anywhere close. Your little pop gun’s by your feet. Nice one, too. I think I’ll add it to my collection,” Manson drawled.

The man walked up to Alex’s feet, and a wave of helplessness washed over him as the man towered over him. Alex focused on his cold, blue eyes, which betrayed nothing about Alex’s fate, though Alex had no delusions of being spared. He quickly scanned the man. He could see that Manson had taken a hit to his shoulder, probably shattering his clavicle, or more likely, passed right through.

Had to have passed through. He wouldn’t be here if it had burrowed into his chest.

“Wondering how I’m still around?” he asked and squatted in front of Alex.

Alex nodded once, his mental acuity fading as the pain in his shoulder spiked. He thought about the garage door and was thankful that he had forgotten to unlock the door handle from the inside.

It’ll slow him down a little. Kate can take care of the rest. I just need to buy her a little more time.

He tried to focus on the man aiming a shotgun at his head.

“Hurts like a bitch. Don’t it? Hurt like hell when I got hit last night, but I was a lucky son of a bitch. Bullet passed right through. In and out. Still dropped me like a fucking rock though. Once I got my senses, I crawled as far as I could into the Hayes’ yard before I heard you coming back to finish me off.

“You should’ve let your buddy put one in the back of my head. You were pretty much right though. I wasn’t going anywhere lying face down in the snow, and I sure as shit couldn’t have crawled back. But I got lucky again. My sister-in-law was hiding by the Hayes’ deck with a shotgun. She came looking for us when the shooting started. Of course, she had no idea that her husband’s brains were splattered on the side of that house just twenty feet away, or that you’d shot her son in cold blood. If she’d known that…who knows what might’ve happened? After you left, she dragged me all the way back to our house…”

“Not your house,” Alex grunted.

“It’s my house now,” he said and kicked Alex’s leg. “Anyway, my wife did a couple of years in the ER at Good Samaritan before the kids came along, and it came in real handy last night. It’s almost like I got a guardian angel keeping watch over me.” He sneered.

“Lucky me,” Alex said, and Manson responded by viciously kicking his left thigh.

“Kept my little nephew alive, too, though he’ll probably never be able to use his hand again. Skimmed one off his head, too. I knew you were all business, but I didn’t think you had it in you to blast away at kids.”

I should have gone over there and finished everyone off.

“What was that? Nothing? Well, we’re gonna need some serious medical supplies and plenty of food to recover,” he said and glanced in the direction of Alex’s house. “Shouldn’t be a problem now that we’ve found ourselves a new home.”

Alex looked at his house and winced in pain. He tried to say something, but the words faltered.

Manson glanced over at Todd’s slack body. “You did a good job on your friend Todd. I didn’t expect that at all. For a second, I thought this might not go my way after all. But…here we are, Alex. Ain’t so chatty now, are you? Don’t fade out on me!” he said and kicked one of Alex’s feet.

Alex struggled to talk. He was cold and starting to feel lightheaded. The pain in his shoulder was slowly subsiding, and he knew that neither of these developments was a good sign.

“Everyone knows. It’s only a matter of time before they come for you,” Alex said.

“Before what? The cops show up? Haven’t seen much of them lately, have you? Besides, you think they’ll put up much of a fight against that assault rifle you got locked up in there? Shit, by the time they show up for real, we’ll be long gone. Fact is, there’s a new sheriff on the block, and nobody’s gonna fuck with him.”

Todd stirred again. Without warning, Manson pointed the shotgun at Todd and fired. Alex heard the sickening wet sound of the shotgun pellets ripping into Todd and was jarred out of his haze.

Jesus Christ.

Manson pumped the shotgun, chambering another shell. An empty red shotgun casing flew out of the ejection port, and Alex heard it sizzle when it hit the snow.

“No need for him anymore,” Manson said and grinned. He kept the shotgun in his left hand, pointed at the ground. “I’m not seeing much need for you either, although I might need a little leverage to keep that wife of yours from blasting away at me.”

“Fuck you. Either way she’ll take your head off.”

“Don’t bet on it,” he said, flashing a sickly pleasant smile at the house. “Up on your feet, soldier. We have some work to do.”

“Marine,” Alex corrected.

“Whatever. Now get off the ground,” Manson ordered.

“No.”

“Get off the ground, or I’ll kill every last one of them. Or worse,” he said with a scowl.

“You’ll just have to take your chances against an assault rifle and my wife. Good luck. She wanted to kill all of you days ago,” Alex said dryly.

“Sounds like my kinda woman. Maybe we’ll spend some quality time together,” he whispered, and then screamed, “Now get the fuck up!”

Alex just stared at him.

“I’ll leave them all alone if you walk into that house with me. I don’t have a problem with them,” he said in a calmer voice.

He’s really worried about going in there alone.

“Just like you didn’t have a problem with the Hayes’ kids?” Alex asked, and Manson took another step toward him.

Manson flashed a wicked smile and relaxed his stance. “You and me ain’t that different…Alex. We’re both just doing whatever it takes to keep our people safe. I’ll kill every person on this block before I let my family suffer.”

“Looks like you’re off to a good start,” Alex muttered.

“What, you think you’re different? The only difference between you and me is that I don’t have the choice to sit around. I gotta hunt for my family. I’m a predator, Alex.”

“You should get your own Animal Planet show,” Alex said and quietly chuckled at his joke.

“Think about this, smart ass. How many people around here have you killed by doing nothing? You’re like those Germans that lived around the gas camps. Just ignored what was happening,” Manson said.

Alex shook his head in mock confusion.

“Time to get up. You tell them everything’ll work out just fine.”

“Can I get another one of your history lessons instead?” Alex asked.

“Look here, you little fuck, one way or the other the house is mine. We can do this the easy way, or the very, very hard way. I promise I’ll make it horrible for them,” Manson threatened.

“Good luck inside the house.”

“Fine.” Manson braced the shotgun in the crook of his right arm and swung it toward him. Alex turned his head slightly to the left and looked up at the nearest bedroom window.

Please don’t let them see this.

Mercifully, all he saw in the window was the muted reflection of a dull gray sky. Just as he started to turn his head to face his executioner, the bottom right pane of the window shattered, and the snow around Alex’s feet exploded. Supersonic cracks filled the air between the two men, and Alex felt a warm spray on his face as the deafening sound of rapid gunshots caught up with the bullets flying past them.

Manson plummeted to his left knee, just as a red mist exploded into the air behind his right shoulder. Several more bullets struck the snow between the two men, and Alex saw a massive red hole in the back of Manson’s left thigh.

Manson twisted on his knee toward the house and fired the shotgun, obliterating the top window pane. The ear-shattering drum of the assault rifle ceased, and Manson fired the shotgun again, scoring a direct hit on the bottom half of the window.

Alex tried to get up in the snow, desperate to reach his shotgun, which lay just a few feet away. He managed to struggle to his knees by the time Manson turned the shotgun back on him.

Almost did it.

He closed his eyes and heard the distinct snap of a single bullet passing within a few feet of his head. He opened his eyes and saw that Manson’s attention was drawn somewhere up and behind him. Manson fired the shotgun toward Ed’s house and struggled to chamber another shotgun shell. While fumbling with the shotgun, a small red hole appeared between the man’s eyes and snapped his head back, ejecting the camouflage hat and blood onto the snow behind him.

Manson grunted incoherently and dropped face first into the edge of a snow drift as the sound of a single gunshot echoed through the backyard.

“I don’t know how to eject the magazine!” he heard his son yell from the upstairs window.

“He’s dead. It’s over,” he yelled weakly up at the window.

Alex, still kneeling, felt lightheaded and gently lowered himself down onto his back. He looked up at the window and saw both Ryan and Kate peer down.

“Oh shit!” she yelled and disappeared.

“Yeah. I’m…I’m going to need some help,” he mumbled to himself and dropped his head all the way back onto the snow.

Alex heard snow crunching behind his head, from the direction of the Walkers’ yard and twisted his body to the right, writhing in the snow toward his shotgun.

“Alex! Alex! Take it easy. It’s me, Charlie,” he heard. He relaxed and twisted his head back around. The crunching got closer as Charlie bore down on him, holding an assault rifle similar to his own, and knelt in the snow by his head.

He heard someone else approaching from the direction of Ed’s house and tried to contort his body to get a better view.

“It’s just Ed. You need to lie still until we figure out what to do. You took a hit to your left shoulder,” Charlie said and slung the rifle over his shoulder.

A few seconds later, Ed arrived, holding a .22 caliber bolt action rifle in his right hand. He stood over Charlie, staring at Manson’s body first, then Todd’s.

“Did I hit him?” Ed asked in a daze.

“Right between the eyes. He was dead before I got around the corner. God, I wanted to kill that son-of-a-bitch myself. Nice shooting,” Charlie said.

“Jesus Christ. I actually hit him. I haven’t fired this thing in forever,” Ed said.

“Punched one right through his skull,” Charlie crowed.

“I used to shoot this with my dad every weekend,” Ed said, still staring at the bodies in disbelief.

“If I hadn’t put these goddamn gloves on, I would’ve been there to blast his head clearly off his shoulders,” Charlie said.

“I should’ve let you finish him off last night,” Alex whispered weakly.

Ed snapped out of it, kneeling next to Charlie to take a closer look at Alex’s wounds.

“We need to get you some help, buddy. I’m gonna load you up on a sled, and we’ll pull you over to that surgeon staying at the Carters’. You just hang in there. You’ve lost a little blood,” he said and dug his hands under Alex’s back.

He propped Alex’s torso up, applying direct pressure to the mangled shoulder. Alex winced and cried out. Charlie walked over to examine Todd’s body.

“Sorry, man. You’re bleeding, but not too badly. Nothing spurting. I just need to slow this down a little.”

“Make sure he’s dead,” Alex whispered again.

“Which one?” Ed asked.

“This guy’s definitely dead, but Todd’s still breathing. Barely. Want me to finish him off?” Charlie asked.

“I don’t care,” Ed said.

“No, leave him alone. We can’t orphan Jordan,” Alex said.

“What’s he rambling about?” Charlie asked, still pointing the gun at Todd’s head.

The garage door opened, and Kate spilled out, followed by Ryan. Both were still dressed in their pajamas. Ryan moved forward, pointing the AR-15 at Manson’s body and then shifting it to Todd’s. Kate ran up and grabbed Alex. Ryan followed her closely, standing vigilant guard with an empty rifle. Alex could see that he was disturbed by the grisly, blood-splattered mosaic in the snow.

“Careful! Careful! Where’s Emmy?” he asked Kate.

“She’s hiding in the closet with Max. She’s fine. We need to get you to a hospital immediately. I’ll start up the car,” Kate said.

“I have a better idea,” Ed said. “Let’s get him over to the Carters’. The young couple there…the guy’s a surgical fellow, or something like that. Grab as much medical stuff as you can, and meet me over there. I’ll drag him over on one of your sleds.”

“I don’t know. I think we need to get him to an ER.”

“The hospitals are slammed with the flu. He needs attention now. This guy can do what needs to be done right now, Kate, sew him up fast, and pump him up with meds. We can take him later if we need to.”

“All right. We have a makeshift surgical kit that might work. I’ll grab everything and meet you there. The sleds are on the wall in the garage.”

“Charlie, get the medical kit from Kate and run it over to the Carters’ house. Let the surgeon kid know what happened, and that we’ll be there with Alex in ten or twenty minutes,” Ed said, taking charge now.

“Got it,” Charlie said.

“You might want to leave that behind,” Ed said, glancing at Charlie’s rifle.

“Not while any of those fuckers over there are still alive.”

“How are you feeling, hon?” Kate asked, caressing his face.

“Like I’ve been shot. Are you sure Emmy’s okay?”

“She’s scared,” Kate admitted and stood up.

“Kate, have her dress up in her snow gear and head over to our house. Sam and the kids can take care of her while we’re dealing with this,” Ed said.

“All right. I’ll get her over there with Max,” she said and sprinted back to the house.

Charlie and Ed followed her, and Ryan turned toward the house.

“Ryan!” Alex called.

Ryan walked over to kneel next to him, still clutching the rifle. He looked pale and nauseous. He avoided looking at Alex’s shoulder and could barely look at Alex’s blood- spattered face.

“I love you, Dad. You’ll get fixed up quick,” he said.

“Damn right I will. Whose idea was it to use the rifle?” he asked.

“Mom’s, but she didn’t know how to work it. Sorry, I barely hit him. I just kept pulling the trigger. I didn’t want him to kill you, Daddy,” he said and broke down crying, leaning into Alex.

Alex grabbed him with his right arm, grimacing through the pain. “You did great, buddy. Two hits was all it took,” he said and squeezed his son.

“I didn’t know how to reload it, Dad,” he said, sniffling into Alex’s good shoulder.

“You didn’t have to.”

Ryan hugged him harder.

“All right, all right already. You’re starting to dig into the shoulder,” he grunted.

“Sorry, Dad.” Ryan stood back up and picked up the rifle.

“Let me see that for a second,” Alex said to him. Pain shot through his entire left side as Ryan held the rifle out. Alex slowly moved his right arm and pointed to a button on the right side of the weapon, just forward of the trigger well. “Press this and the magazine slides out. Put another one in, and pull back…”

“On the handle,” Ryan said and placed his right hand on the charging handle.

“Right,” Alex whispered as a wave of nausea passed over him.

“I saw that in Modern Warfare. Just never saw the magazine release button,” Ryan said, managing a smile.

“I don’t think your mom’s gonna bitch about that game anymore. Go help her out. I love you, buddy.”

“Love you too, Dad,” Ryan said and disappeared into the garage.

Just as Ryan vanished, Ed emerged from the doorway with a green sled. “This is the biggest one you have in there,” he said as he approached Alex. “Can you fit on this?”

“You calling me fat?”

“Oddly enough, you’re probably the fattest man on the block right now,” Ed said as he carefully lifted Alex and tried to slide him onto the sled.

“Aghhhh. Jesus. Careful, man,” he said, struggling not to laugh.

“Sorry. This might hurt a little.”

“Thanks for the warning. What about Todd?”

“You’re my only priority right now. He can wait,” Ed said, staring angrily at Todd’s motionless figure.

“He won’t make it if we don’t help him. Jordan’s home by herself. She’s gonna be really freaked out,” he mumbled.

“We’ll take care of her. Just stay with me, buddy.” Ed lifted him again. A wave of heaviness dropped over Alex, and he tried to lift his head.

Nope.

His vision narrowed and darkened, and Alex vaguely remembered being lifted onto the green foam sled. He regained full consciousness a short time later when Ed tugged hard on the sled’s tow line.

They broke through a deep drift, and Alex lifted his head to see where they were. They emerged from between Alex’s house and the Thompsons’. Alex watched as Ed struggled to pull his dead weight forward through the deep snow. His gaze settled on the back of Ed’s dark green jacket as he faded out again.

Chapter Forty-Three

March 2003

Euphrates River Bridge on the outskirts of An’ Nasiriyah, Iraq

“Here they come!” Corporal Reyes announced over the internal communications circuit.

All of the gun turrets in Captain Fletcher’s Amphibious Assault Vehicle (AAV) company start firing at once, sending a continuous maelstrom of heavy caliber bullets and high explosive grenades across the river. A few seconds later, assault rifle fire erupts from the marines along the Euphrates River bank, joined by bursts of light machine-gun fire.

Captain Fletcher turns his attention to the other side of the Euphrates Canal. Two hundred meters back from the opposite side, he sees droves of disorganized enemy fighters rushing forward through the palm groves and dilapidated shacks. Hundreds of tracer rounds reach the onrush, as rifles, machine guns and grenades pulverize the oncoming enemy troops.

“All Zombie tracks, continue to your new positions. I say again, move to your new positions,” Captain Fletcher reinforces. They have to move.

A salvo of several high-explosive artillery shells lands fifty meters closer than the last barrage, launching columns of rocks and dirt skyward and spraying shrapnel at anything exposed nearby. This encompasses most of the AAVs and over half of Charlie Company’s marines. The shockwave from each successive blast rocks the AAV’s and pulses through the prone marines. The last artillery shell in the barrage lands two meters behind one of the AAVs near the bridge and blasts through the thin armor, shredding the rest of the vehicle with shrapnel. The AAV immediately ignites from the heat of the explosion.

One of the explosions throws Alex sideways, and the right side of his helmet strikes the lip of the hatch opening. Dazed, he regains his balance and spins around to scan the impact area. He can barely see the damaged AAV through the descending dirt and debris. Shit. He sees the gunner jump down from the turret onto the front of the vehicle and help the vehicle commander get out of his hatch.

“Zombie Three Eight, this is Zombie Three actual, over.” Come on guys. Someone answer.

Captain Fletcher scans the vehicle again and assesses the damage as a mission kill to the AAV. He doesn’t think anyone in the rear compartment could have survived the blast. Several infantry marines rush from a nearby position to the burning AAV, and a corpsman from the nearby aid station joins them. Within seconds, they start to carry the vehicle commander to the aid station. From his stretcher, the vehicle commander frantically points to the back at the AAV, yelling something to the other marines near the vehicle. Two marines enter the damaged rear hatch of the burning AAV, which is consumed with flames, and pull a limp human form back through the hatch. As the group moves to the aid station, several mortar rounds fall into Charlie Company’s perimeter, spraying dirt and creating havoc, but mercifully failing to injure any marines.

The Zombie Three Eight burns fiercely, along with the Zombie Three Nine, the first AAV destroyed, sending columns of thick black smoke into the air. Maybe someone will see this and figure out we’re in deep shit over here. With two of his ten vehicles destroyed, and no radio contact with battalion, Captain Fletcher feels an impending sense of doom.

“Gents, I really hope our counter-battery folks take out that artillery,” he says into the vehicle comms. Not likely.

The volume of fire from the marines picks up after a temporary lull caused by the last series of impacts, and Charlie Company’s mortars fire furiously in response to the enemy mortars. He sees a group of marines carrying disassembled 60mm mortars and moving in the open toward the AAV’s. Sanchez is spreading out the mortars. Smart.

They make it halfway to the AAVs , when another round of enemy artillery shells lands directly to the north of Captain Fletcher’s AAV, right on top of the marines and the mortar position they just departed. Blast waves from successive explosions jar the AAV, slamming rock and shrapnel into the sides of the AAV. Alex hears a quick buzz near his right ear and ducks into the AAV more out of instinct than logic. Whatever snapped by his head was long gone by the time he reacted.

“Banshee Six, this is Zombie actual, those rounds landed on our mortar position.”

“Roger, sending help.”

“Hillock, Manny, we have marines down just north of the track. Let’s get them out of that kill zone.”

Alex disconnects his helmet comms cable and steps up on the seat to pull his body out of the hatch. His driver, Lance Corporal Manuel Rodriguez, hits the ground seconds before Alex, and they both see that Sergeant Hillock is already halfway toward the downed mortar team. Alex and Manny merge with several marines sprinting over from positions near the canal, and Captain Fletcher tells at least half of the marines to help out the mortar position, which is about twenty meters further along, just past a small rise of ground. Two of the corpsman sprint across the area recently hit by artillery and arrive at the mortar position to assess casualties. They split up and one heads toward Alex.

Alex and the other marines stagger at the sight of the destroyed mortar team. Immediately, Alex can see that at least four of the marines are dead, and the rest are wounded. Obliterated. First Lieutenant Dave Pardell, weapons platoon commander, is the only apparently uninjured member of the team. He stumbles onto his feet, face blackened with dirt, and starts to run toward the bridge. He is missing his helmet and rifle.

“Grab him,” Alex shouts to one of the marines closest to the lieutenant.

Mortar rounds start to hit the area south of the marines and straddle the AAVs next to the canal. All of the marines hit the ground, except for Pardell. A sergeant pulls him to the ground by his left arm, and Pardell screams. Alex now sees that his left forearm is bent at a right angle. Jesus.

“That might’a hit some of 1st platoon,” one of the Marines says, still hugging the ground.

Alex looks past his debris-sprayed vehicle to the canal. He sees one of the 1st Platoon radiomen give a “thumbs up” to the group.

“2nd squad just checked in. They got dusted good, but no injuries,” says a marine crouched down with a radio.

Alex considers their position in the open. This is not where he wants to be when the next round of artillery crashes in. He waves to Zombie Three Three. The vehicle immediately springs to life and rumbles toward them. Three is now the official medevac vehicle.

“Load all of the dead and wounded in that track, and get them back to the aid station!” Captain Fletcher says.

Captain Fletcher turns to Gunnery Sergeant Fitzgerald, a hulking black marine feared by every marine in Charlie Company, and Alex himself.

“Fitz, get ’em moving.”

“You heard the Captain, load ’em up and get back to your positions! Let’s go people!” Gunny Fitzgerald says and slaps one of the marine’s helmets.

Alex meets the AAV as it approaches and heads over to the right side of the vehicle. He bangs on armor and yells up at the vehicle commander, who leans down over the side to hear him. Bullets ping off the vehicles near Alex and crack overhead. He doesn’t flinch anymore.

“You’re the medevac track. Load them up, and get back over to the aid station.”

The vehicle commander nods, and Alex looks back at the marines helping their wrecked comrades. He sees a lone rocket-propelled grenade fly several feet above the marines and trail off north, heading toward nothing. He stares at the trail of white smoke, waiting for it to explode in the distance. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches another flash of smoke. He never really sees the rocket propelled grenade that strikes short of the AAV and detonates against the hard ground several feet in front of him.

Chunks of rock and steel slam into Captain Fletcher and hammer him against the side of the vehicle. For a few seconds, he feels like he’s been submerged underwater. Then nothing.

Chapter Forty-Four

Saturday, December 14, 2013

Captain Fletcher rose slowly and suddenly broke through the heavy surface sheet of unconsciousness, kicking his legs and straining against a weight on his chest. His eyes struggled to focus, but all he could see was a shaky, blinding light above him.

“Hold his legs down,” someone yelled.

He felt something heavy wrap around his legs.

“So much for that plan,” the same voice yelled.

“Alex? Alex? It’s Ed,” he heard.

He was confused. “I need a… corpsman?” he said doubtfully, suddenly aware that his request didn’t make sense given his surroundings.

“What are you doing?” he asked, looking up at a vaguely familiar man with a medical mask over his face.

“Alex, I’m Dr. Glassman, and I’m trying to remove the shotgun lead from your wounds, then I’m going to clean the wound and stitch it back up.”

“Without anesthesia?” Alex asked lucidly.

“He sounds like he’s back,” he heard his wife say.

He looked around him. He saw Kate holding his legs down with a strained smile. Ed loomed above him again, pinning his right arm and chest down on a hard surface. A thin towel or shirt rested under his head. He could tell that he was in someone’s formal dining room, but not his own, or Ed’s. A young, dark-haired woman stood next to Ed holding a bright flashlight.

“Alex, I can give you some Percocet for the pain, but it won’t kick in for a little while. I need to get you stitched up pretty quickly. You’ve lost a little more blood than I would have hoped.”

“How much would you have hoped for?” Alex asked and realized that he was fading again.

“Ah…I don’t know what…”

“He’s fucking with you, Ben,” Kate said.

“All right. Okay. He’s got a strange sense of humor,” Dr. Glassman whispered. “Okay, so we’ll give him the Percocet, and then I’ll start. Alex, this is going to hurt…I wish I had some anesthetic to give you, but obviously I don’t. I have to dig the pellets out and then close you up. Ten to fifteen minutes tops.”

“Sounds great,” Alex said. He stared straight up at the chandelier with hazy vision.

With any luck, I’ll be out for this.

He felt a warm hand take his right hand and squeeze gently. He tilted his head and saw Kate standing next to the doctor’s wife. She smiled and mouthed the words, “I love you.” He managed a smile and did the same, then leaned his head back down on the table and closed his eyes.

“Alex, I’m going to start by digging around. If I can get it all out that way, then I won’t have to cut—”

“You’re not going to announce every move like that, are you?” Alex asked.

Hannah Glassman started to laugh.

“Thanks, honey,” Dr. Glassman said.

“You do like to talk everything through,” she said, laughing louder now.

“You don’t want me to tell you what’s coming?” he asked impatiently.

“Not really,” Alex said.

“Okay,” he said, and the next thing Alex felt was an intense burning pain in his upper chest. He kept the screams inside as his face contorted. The pain jumped to the next level, and he mercifully passed out.

Chapter Forty-Five

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Alex lounged on the couch in the great room and inhaled the warm breeze blowing in from the open windows. The air smelled damp and slightly aromatic, and he closed his eyes to savor the pleasant current. The gust carried a sound he hadn’t heard since last November: the sound of children playing. He sat up and looked over the back of the couch to see outside.

He heard feet pounding the stairs and knew what was coming his way. The sharp sound of Max’s nails followed the kids on their way down. Alex expected that they were about to drop the highly anticipated bomb on them. Both kids rounded the corner and ran into the room.

“Mom, Dad, can we ride our bikes? All the Walker kids are out, a bunch of other kids. Everyone’s out playing,” they patched together.

Kate awakened quickly from what must have been a shallow sleep, something she had never experienced before Alex had nearly been killed in their backyard. She had taken over as the first line of defense and security in the Fletcher household, and had met the challenge well. Fortunately for all of them, Durham Road had fallen deathly quiet after the shootings. The remaining Mansons vanished after Alex was shot, leaving deep tire tracks in the snow as the only evidence of their hasty nighttime departure.

“What’s going on out there?” she asked as the kids rounded the couch.

“Everyone’s outside playing, even Chloe and Abigail,” Emily said.

“Daniel’s out, too, Dad. They’re all out front riding bikes. Can you get the bikes out of the basement?” Ryan added.

“Hold on a minute.”

He put his left hand on the back of the couch and pushed forward to sit up. His shoulder radiated a dull, painful ache that caused him to grunt. He stood up and tried for the thousandth time to stretch his left arm up and around in a circular motion, but he could barely lift it ten degrees above a parallel plane with the floor.

Ben Glassman had done the best job he could with the limited resources on hand. The surgery wasn’t pretty, and Alex had three nasty scars to prove it, but thanks to Dr. Glassman, there was never any doubt that Alex would survive the damage done by the shotgun blast.

“Can we go outside right now, Daddy? Please! Please!” Emily begged.

Kate answered without hesitation, “The CDC says it takes two weeks to build up a full immunity to the flu. For children it may be longer. We only have five more days…”

“I think they’ll be all right,” Alex said and wound his other arm in a full circle, purposely ignoring her glare.

“I don’t know. We’ve gone this far, this long. Another couple of days won’t kill them,” she said authoritatively.

“Aw, come on, Mom! Dad says it’s fine,” Ryan said.

“Take it easy, Ryan. Your mom’s right, plus a lot more than just the flu happened on this block. Things won’t be the same, and we need to be cautious.”

“Everything’s pretty much back to normal. The stores are open, cable works, the flu is pretty much gone…”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, and everything is far from normal. The electricity fails daily, and they're still rationing food at local distribution centers. We’re burning candles at night, if you haven’t noticed. Why don’t you guys head back upstairs and let your mother and I discuss it.”

“What is there to discuss?” Ryan countered.

“There won’t be anything to discuss if you keep up your tone. Get upstairs. We’ll call you down when we’re done,” Alex said, on the verge of yelling.

“Can we play in the backyard with the Walkers while you guys talk?” Ryan asked, insistent.

“How is that going to work if everyone else is out playing? Kids can walk right up into the yard?” Alex asked.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever going to walk right into our yard again, Dad,” Ryan said solemnly.

“Give us a couple minutes.”

“We promise we won’t go out front.”

“Just give your mom and me a few minutes to talk about it. All right?” he said again and glared at his son.

“Let’s go,” Emily said, tugging at Ryan’s arm.

“Five minutes and we’re coming back down,” Ryan said and started to walk away.

“You’ll come down when summoned,” Alex said in an outrageous Monty Python-like British accent, hoping to cut some of the tension.

“Oh God, all right, all right. No more. We’ll go.”

Both kids left the room, and he could hear them stomping up the stairs.

“They’re going crazy,” he said, walking over to the front windows.

“I know. Do you really think it’s all right for them to be out in the neighborhood?” Kate asked worriedly as Alex leaned toward one of the windows.

“Damn, the Walker kids are out in front. Getting ready for a bike ride, too. Are you still worried about the flu?” he said.

He didn’t see Ed or Sam.

“No, not really. Not at this point. I’m way more nervous about the neighborhood. I don’t think a few months are long enough to heal this neighborhood,” she said and got up to join him at the window.

“I don’t think it’ll ever be the same, or anywhere even close to the way it was before. We all turned on each other in some way,” he said.

“Don’t start up on that guilt trip again, honey. It doesn’t do either of us any good. We did what we did, and kept our family intact, helped plenty of others along the way. We just couldn't help them all.”

“I know,” he whispered.

He looked across the street and saw Derek and Ellen Sheppard playing in their backyard with their three boys. They were all kicking a soccer ball back and forth. Derek lightly kicked the ball to their five-year-old son, Gavin, who reached his foot out to tap the ball, but missed. He didn’t chase after the ball, but instead stood slightly slumped, fixed to the ground.

From this distance Alex couldn’t see the portable oxygen tank and nose tube that he’d be forced to wear for the rest of his shortened lifespan. The flu had devastated his pulmonary alveoli and his lungs’ capacity to transfer oxygen efficiently to his bloodstream. Derek had mentioned that he couldn’t live with the tank forever, and Alex hadn’t asked any more questions.

“Is that Gavin out with them?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Alex said.

She put her hand on his shoulder. “They’re lucky they get to spend this extra time with him. That’s how they look at it, and I think they’re right.”

“I know. It still makes me feel bad. I don’t know what to say when I see them,” he said.

“You don’t have to say anything. They don’t expect it. Hey, look, Jamie’s girls are heading across to the Walkers. I guess I feel all right about them being out front on our side of the street. I don’t want them riding out of sight. The bikes can wait,” she said.

“Sounds like a reasonable compromise. Want to call down the troops?” he asked.

He heard the kids suddenly descending the stairs.

“Wait up, Ryan!” Emily squeaked.

Ryan hit the landing and raced toward the front door.

“Hold on!” Alex said. “You understand the restrictions, right?”

“No bike riding. No going on the other side of the block,” Ryan said.

Emily eagerly joined Ryan on the landing, nodding her head in agreement.

“No going out of our sight,” Kate added.

“All right. No going out of sight of the house,” Ryan confirmed.

“Negative! You stay in our sight at all times. That’s where we start. Got it?” Alex asked.

“Got it. We promise. Let’s go,” Ryan said impatiently, flying out the storm door onto the front granite stoop.

The door flew back and almost knocked over Emily, who chased after him yelling. They both watched out of the window and listened to the excited babble of several kids gathered on the Walkers’ driveway.

“Beer?” Alex offered.

“Sure.”

He headed to the refrigerator and retrieved two pale ales, twisted open the caps, and walked to the front door.

“I’m gonna relax on the front stoop.”

“And spy on the kids?” she asked, taking one of the beers.

“Of course,” he replied.

Alex and Kate sat down on the cool granite, and from the porch, he saw signs of life everywhere. He looked up at the clear sky and saw one contrail heading south. One month ago, the skies were empty. Kate caught his eye.

“It’d be a lot easier on your parents if they would just fly over with your brother’s kids,” she said.

“My dad hates flying. He only flies to warmer weather, plus, the seats were like three grand a pop. They needed the SUV to fit all of the kids’ stuff anyway,” he said.

“We could’ve sent them the money and shipped all their stuff. It’s a long drive out.”

“I offered. They’ll be fine. They’re leaving tomorrow. Probably take them five or six days, tops. It’s perfectly safe,” he said.

“I know. It’s just a long trip for the kids. It’ll be nice having them here.”

“It’s going to be a major adjustment,” he said.

“It won’t be that bad. The kids really get along.”

“They did as cousins, but as brothers and sisters, all bets are off,” he said.

“True.”

Daniel and Karla had never identified godparents for their children, Ethan and Kevin, so custody fell upon his parents after Daniel died from a massive secondary pulmonary infection. Alex and Kate offered to adopt the kids, and a plan was hatched to deliver them once the pandemic situation cooled. His parents also hinted that they would use the trip to scope out the real estate situation in Maine. He wondered if they would ever drive back to Colorado.

He looked up the street toward the Walkers’ and saw Ed near the edge of the garage. He waved at Ed, who raised a dark-colored bottle of beer above his head.

“Look. Great minds think alike,” he said, and they raised their beers to acknowledge Ed.

“I could get used to this,” Kate sighed. “I can’t believe I agreed to head into work tomorrow.”

“You should hit them up for a raise.”

“I’m coming back as an equity partner, which will be a huge raise…if we can get the firm back on solid footing.”

“As long as there’s money, there’ll always be a need for accountants. Your firm will be up and running in no time. Statistically speaking, the firm only lost about twenty percent of its clients. The real problem is that most of your clients have probably lost all of their money. On paper at least.”

“I don’t even want to think about it.”

“The money?” Alex asked.

“No. The twenty percent,” Kate said, taking a long drink from her bottle.

“Hey, look at the bright side,” he said, baiting her.

“I can’t wait to hear your interpretation of the bright side.”

“You’ll have a much more difficult time counting all of our money this year,” he laughed.

“I still can’t believe it.”

She was referring to Alex’s early November reallocation of the entire non-retirement portion of their Fidelity Account to gold-backed mutual funds. Their decision had been based on an economic study sponsored by the ISPAC, which painted a devastatingly bleak picture of a modern post-pandemic economy. A complete collapse of the international credit system, sparked by the default of nearly every major institutional and national loan, would change everything and force an international rewrite of economic rules, or worse.

ISPAC economists recommended a fifty percent reallocation to precious metal funds in the face of a serious pandemic threat, but Kate and Alex could only stomach thirty percent, even after Dr. Wright’s ominous midnight phone call. The non-401K portion of their portfolio was an easy target, since it equaled roughly one-third of their total assets.

“What was the last price?” Alex asked.

“Nearly $12,000 an ounce and rising.”

“Unbelievable. The only successful investment decision I have ever made,” he said.

“Well, if you had agreed to fifty percent, I wouldn’t have to go back to work.”

“Neither of us really has to go back to work,” Alex said and drained his beer.

“Biosphere is hiring. I saw four open positions in the paper.”

“In Portland?”

“Southern Maine,” she commented.

“I’d rather work for Al Qaeda.” He stood up to stretch.

“I don’t think Al Qaeda pays well.”

“Probably not, but the work environment might be a little friendlier. Take a look at that,” he said and nodded toward the top of the street.

A large, dark blue Ford F-150 pickup truck rounded the corner at the top of the loop and passed Todd and Jordan, who were standing in their driveways. Todd pulled his daughter in close as the truck continued past the Andersons’ and Walkers’. It slowed down in front of the Fletchers’. The powerful engine hummed as it passed. Alex saw two men in the front.

“I thought they got ’em all,” Kate whispered.

“No, Jim didn’t want them disturbed. Gave the town hell about it.”

By the end of the second week in December, an unsettling reality had descended on most of New England. The sheer number of deaths caused by the flu solidly overtook local efforts to handle the dead bodies, and the coroner’s office no longer responded to civilian requests. Temporary morgues located in any and all available refrigerated spaces, including refrigerated trailers, filled up within days, leaving most households with no real option for removing a dead body.

It didn’t take long for outdoor morgues to materialize, usually within a securely-fenced industrial facility, or a local baseball park, and nearly everyone with deceased family members was directed to one of these sites by early December. The outdoor morgues became loosely monitored dumping grounds, quickly descending into disorder and plagued by nasty rumors. Many households opted to keep their own dead safe in a shed, or just inside their basement bulkhead doors, where they would remain refrigerated or frozen until spring.

James had dragged the bodies of his wife and seven-month-old child into the conservation woods in late March and buried them in graves that took him nearly a week to dig in the solid ground.

All of the kids in front of the Walkers’ house fell silent and watched as the pickup truck pulled into the Thompsons’ driveway. Ed said something to the kids, and they all started walking toward Ed’s house. James Thompson appeared at the top of the driveway to meet the truck. The men from the truck hopped out and James shook hands with them. The driver, a man dressed in faded jeans and a flannel shirt, patted him on the shoulder. The second man displayed a badge and tucked it back into his back pocket. James nodded to them and walked back into his garage.

The two men went to the back of the pickup truck and lowered the gate. The driver pulled two shovels out of the bed, and the deputy removed what Alex knew would be two dark green, military-issue body bags. They both met James, who carried a shovel over his shoulder, at the top of the driveway, and James led them around the garage.

“I think we should go inside. Last thing he needs is for the whole neighborhood to watch as they load his wife and baby on the truck.”

“Should we tell the kids to come in?” Kate asked, reaching a hand up to Alex.

He pulled her to her feet. “No, they’re fine with Ed.”

He looked over at Ed, who nodded toward them and turned to go about the business of moving the gaggle of kids over to the opposite side of his house.

“I don’t like them out of sight,” Kate said.

“They’ll be fine for a couple minutes,” he assured her, and they both stepped inside.

They walked back into the kitchen, where Alex placed his empty bottle down on the island and opened the refrigerator to get another beer.

I could use something stronger than a beer.

“Someone called while we were out front,” Kate announced and picked up the phone.

“Probably Ed or Charlie.”

Alex fished around the refrigerator for a beer buried near the back.

“Actually, it was the police,” she said suddenly.

Alex lifted his head above the refrigerator. “Really?”

“Yep.”

He quickly pulled a beer from the back of the refrigerator and almost knocked a yellow ceramic bowl filled with bean salad onto the floor. He caught the bowl between his left forearm and thigh, burying his elbow in the beans. Kate came around to help him.

“Nice catch, huh?”

“Yeah, I love the taste of elbow in my food. I’m tempted to stand back and see how you’ll figure this one out, but I’m afraid to see what might go into the beans next.”

She reached for the salad bowl.

“Thank you, my love,” he said and backed out of the way of the refrigerator.

“I thought the cops were done with us.” She placed the bowl back on the bottom shelf and closed the door.

“I have a feeling we’ll be hearing a lot more from them. Frankly, I was surprised they didn’t spend more time around here…once they finally got around to checking it out.”

During the third week in January, state police officers had arrived to conduct a preliminary investigation into the reported murders and shootings. They walked a half mile in snow shoes, from High Rise Road, which was the nearest passable road in the area. Escorted by Charlie and Ed, they took a look at the Hayes’ and Coopers’ houses. Their response was underwhelming, but expected. They said that the bodies couldn’t be removed any time soon, and that nobody should disturb either crime scene.

Charlie and Ed also led them to the retention pond, to show the officers where they had dumped the three neighborhood shootout casualties. The troopers took a few notes and asked even fewer questions. Apparently, the shootout on Durham Road didn’t qualify as unusual to either of them. They took a cursory look through the Murrays’ house, which was once again empty, and took a few more notes before leaving the neighborhood.

Alex twisted off the top of his beer and took a long swig. “Well, let’s see what they want. I’ll be up in the office.”

“I’m gonna head over to Sam and Ed’s. Head over when you’re done.”

“Love you,” he said.

“Love you more.”

He headed upstairs and sat down in his office chair. He stared out at the neighborhood and saw Derek with his family, still playing in their backyard. He stood up and opened the windows. A warm breeze rolled gently in, lazily displacing a few sheets of loose paper on the desk. He spotted Jamie heading across the street toward Ed’s.

Probably saw Kate heading over.

He sat back down and stared at the phone, not in the least bit interested in talking to the police about what had transpired in December. Just then, the orange LED screen lit up. “Murray, Gregory.” Alex picked up the phone, hopeful that their friends were finally on their way home.

The End

The Perseid Collapse, the highly anticipated sequel to The Jakarta Pandemic, will be released on Dec 1st, 2013 You can pre-order a copy of it here: The Perseid Collapse.  Go to excerpt from The Perseid Collapse.

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Steven Konkoly is the author of Black Flagged,

Black Flagged Redux, Black Flagged Apex, and Black Flagged Vektor

Go to excerpt from Black Flagged,

the first book in the Black Flagged series.

Excerpt from The Perseid Collapse (unedited)

Chapter Four

Monday: August 19, 2019

USS Gravely (DDG107)

Norfolk Naval Base, Virginia

Chief Fire Controlman Warren Jeffries took a long swig of bitter coffee from a worn USS Gravely travel mug and stared at the unchanging console screen. Three hours until one of Destroyer Squadron Twenty-two’s teams arrived and resumed responsibility for this watch, allowing his sailors a much needed break before the start of the work week. As Atlantic Fleet’s designated Launch On Remote (LOR) Homeland Ballistic Missile Defense (HBMD) platform, Gravely maintained a continuous state of readiness to fire her RIM-161 Standard Missile Three (SM-3) shipboard missiles at ballistic missile threats to key infrastructure assets in Washington D.C. With an operational range of three hundred miles, the Block IIB version carried onboard Gravely could conceivably protect New York City.

Gravely was directly linked to the Missile Defense Agency’s (MDA) Command, Control, Battle Management Communications (C2BMC) program, which connected and integrated all elements of the nation’s ballistic missile defense system in a multi-layered approach to defeating detected threats. Gravely served as one of the final layers, providing long-range anti-ballistic missiles and shipboard phased array terminal guidance capabilities to the overall effort.

Chief Jeffries stepped away from the console manned by Fire Controlman Clark and sat down at a deactivated console station several feet away to “rest” his eyes for a few seconds. The watch required two qualified Fire Controlman, who would conduct last minute checks and sound the appropriate shipboard alarms in the unlikely event that Gravely’s weapons and sensors were remotely co-opted by the Missile Defense Agency. Aside from running system diagnostic checks every two hours, they did little more than keep each other awake. Jeffries settled into a deeply relaxing state, letting the hum of the Combat Information Center’s active equipment lull him perilously close to sleep.

“Chief, I think we have something,” said the petty officer Clark from the designated C2BMC console.

“What is it? Another system wide test? Always at five in the god damned morning,” said Jeffries, opening his eyes and reaching for his coffee mug.

“No. This looks…holy shit! Missiles away in thirty seconds!” he yelled.

“Bullshit. Get out of that chair,” said Jeffries.

He barely waited for petty officer to vacate the seat before jamming his slightly oversized body into the fixed chair to scan the display.

“Son of a mother! Activate the general alarm and read this over the 1-MC,” he said, unclipping a laminated card from the console and handing it to the petty officer.

“When you’re done with that, get over to the VLS console and make sure the birds are ready. I’ll take care of the Aegis array. Let’s go!” he said.

Missiles started to cycle out of the forward Vertical Launch System before either of them had completed their diagnostic checks, shaking the ship’s superstructure. Buried deep within the ship, inside the Combat Information Center, they barely heard each successive launch over the piercing shrill of the ship’s general alarm. Jeffries ran back to console to see if the C2BMC system had given them any further information regarding the threat that continued to drain his ship’s SM3 missiles. Glancing at the screen, his first thought was that somebody or something had “fucked up big time.”

None of the data made sense. The missiles would arc into a western trajectory to intercept a target identified by the PAVE PAWS (Phased Array Warning System) station at Beale Air Force Base in California. He didn’t have enough data to make a detailed assessment, but one target parameter stood out as impossible. Target speed. His Mach 7.88 missiles had been sent to intercept a target moving at Mach 58. This had to be a mistake. He was not aware of an ICBM that travelled faster than Mach 23 at any point in its trajectory. He wasn’t even sure if Gravely’s AEGIS system could provide terminal guidance to intercept a target moving at that speed. It really didn’t matter, because it was out of his hands.

The missiles stopped firing, jarring him out of the data induced trance. He lifted the retractable armrest and ran to the active AEGIS tracking console, still shocked to see the digital representations of his missiles streaking west over Virginia to intercept a track originating from the southwest. Not a single BMD training scenario had involved a missile threat from that direction.

Thirteen missiles had been fired without “skin on track” by Gravely’s AN/SPY-1D phased array radar, meaning that the ship’s radar had not acquired the target. The C2BMC system would guide the missiles until Gravely’s powerful sensors picked up the track. At that point, the ship’s fire control system would provide terminal guidance to ensure that each missile’s Light Exo-Atmospheric Projectile (LEAP) collided with the threat.

The entry hatch to CIC flew open, spilling a panicked contingent of crewmembers into the dimly lit space. Dressed in the digital blue camouflage patterned Navy Working Uniform, Gravely’s Command Duty Officer, Lieutenant Mosely, pushed the first sailors out of the way and ran to Jeffries.

“What the fuck just happened?” said Mosely.

“Our ship remote launched thirteen SM-3’s at an inbound target identified by C2. It’s moving Mach fifty-eight out of the southwest. That’s all I know, sir,” said Chief Jeffries.

“You mean Mach five point eight,” corrected the officer.

“No, Lieutenant. Fifty-eight. Have you called the Captain?”

The lieutenant glanced around for a second, clearly confused by the entire situation. Jeffries could understand the officer’s hesitation. Less than a minute ago, the ship had been quiet. Within the span of forty-five seconds, Gravely had auto-fired thirteen anti-ballistic missiles, and they had very little information. For all any of them knew, they could be on the verge of a full-scale nuclear war.

“I’ll call him right now. Are you talking to anyone at IMD?” said the officer.

“Not yet. We barely got our checks done before the missiles launched,” said Jeffries, turning to type into the BMD console.

“Get IMD on the line. They’re running the show.”

“I’m already on it, sir. Petty Officer Clark, start making calls to the Integrated Missile Defense command. Get me anyone that knows what’s going on. Numbers are on the card,” said the chief.

He stood up from his chair and turned to the half dozen sailors hovering near the hatch.

“The rest of you get out of here!” he said.

Two minutes later, Chief Jeffries and Fire Controlman Ben Clark watched the AEGIS display in horror as Gravely’s missiles disappeared one by one over central Virginia. Gravely’s fire control system acquired and tracked the target for nine seconds, before it vanished in the vicinity of Richmond, Virginia.

“That wasn’t a missile, sir,” said the chief.

“What are you saying, Chief? Hold on, Captain,” said the lieutenant, covering the phone’s mouthpiece.

“Radar cross section was nine hundred and sixty thousand,” he said, his voice trailing off in disbelief.

He still couldn’t process his emotions. Everything had happened too fast. Repeating the radar cross-section brought a single emotion to the surface. Fear. His family lived ten miles in the direction of Richmond. His vision started to shrink and he barely heard the lieutenant’s reply.

“Meters? That can’t be right,” said the officer, walking toward the AEGIS console.

He glanced at the data over the chief’s shoulder and shook his head.

“Fuck. We have to get IMD on the line, Chief,” yelled Lieutenant Mosely, pulling Jeffries back from the precipice of emotional black hole.

“Captain. Chief Jeffries just confirmed that the target had a radar cross section over nine hundred thousand. Something has to be wrong. That would put the diameter over three hundred meters,” he said.

Jeffries waited for the lieutenant to continue the conversation, but heard nothing. He looked up at the officer, who pressed his ear against the receiver and squinted.

“Captain? Can you hear me? Chief, I think my call…”

His sentence was interrupted by a complete and sudden darkness. The Combat Information Center went dead for a second, before bulkhead mounted, battery powered LED “battle lanterns” started to provide illumination. The eerie silence continued.

“Shore power’s out. We should get power from one of the generators in a few seconds,” said the lieutenant.

Ten seconds elapsed, yielding no change to the eerie silence.

“I think we lost more than shore power,” said the Chief.

They heard someone knock on the hatch to CIC and open the door.

“CDO. They need you on the quarterdeck!” said a panicked voice.

Chief Jeffries stood up and started to walk with Lieutenant Mosely toward the hatch, but stopped when the metal beneath his feet started to shake. He felt the entire ship slide laterally, followed by a severe rumbling. Once the ship settled, he unsheathed a powerful LED flashlight from his belt and illuminated the young Hispanic woman’s face. She wore an expression of terror that shook Jeffries to the core.

“What happened?” said Mosely

“Norfolk Naval Base is on fire!”

Chapter Five

Monday: August 19, 2019

Jewell Island, Maine

Alex Fletcher stirred in the hammock, annoyed by the sudden bright light penetrating his eyelids. He opened his eyes, expecting to find Kate standing on one of the cockpit benches, aiming a flashlight directly into his face. Peering through the mesh cocoon suspending him from the boom, he found nothing out of place in the cockpit. Woken out of a deep sleep, his mind had not kicked into gear. He knew something was wrong, but simply couldn’t figure it out on a newly jumpstarted brain. A strange tingling sensation grew throughout his body, and for the briefest moment, he would have sworn under oath that the backstay radiated a faint, greenish-white aura. Lightning strike!

He rolled himself out of the hammock and laid flat on the fiberglass cockpit floor, expecting to see and feel a massive bolt of electricity strike the boat’s mast. He’d never been close to a lightning strike before, but he’d read enough articles in outdoor adventure magazines to know the signs. Cowered against the portside bench, staring skyward like a primitive man-beast afraid of the heavens, he suddenly realized that he must have been dreaming. The sky was clear and full of stars, hardly a meteorological condition conducive to lightning. He stood up on the cockpit bench, grabbing hold of the boom for balance, when his brain finally registered the problem. The sun had risen in the wrong place and was fading quickly.

Alex had spent enough time at anchor in this cove to immediately identify all of the cardinal directions, without the use of a compass. His boat was pointed southeast, in the direction of the prevailing coastal winds, pulling lazily against the anchor line. Nine times out ten, he would wake up in this cove to the same scene. The cove’s narrow opening lay directly off the port side, and the Katelyn Ann faced directly into a tree-lined, rocky cliff. The sun always rose over the cliff, somewhere between the bow and cove’s entrance, spilling golden rays of warmth over the boat. Today it appeared due south, hidden behind the tallest part of the island where the cove ended. By the time Alex had ducked under the boom to get a better view, the light had vanished, returning the cove to pre-dawn darkness.

He scanned the horizon to the west, which was the only basic direction, other than the cove’s entrance, that was not obscured by the looming cliffs and massive trees of Jewell Island. A brilliant, undulating reddish glow immediately drew his attention, completely throwing his mind into overdrive. For another brief moment, he became thoroughly disoriented. Was he looking east at the rising sun? Logically, he knew this didn’t make any sense, but he couldn’t help but wonder. Nothing he had felt or seen since opening his eyes this morning had registered within normal parameters. Of course, he assumed it was the morning.

Alex checked his watch. 5:01 AM. He decided to close his eyes and start over. Sunrise was at 5:50. Morning Nautical Twilight began twenty minutes ago. He looked over his shoulder due east and could see a slight difference between the blackness above and the sky showing between the trees. The sun was rising. Good. He turned to stare at the surreal light show to the west, noting that it resembled a smaller, more menacing version of the aurora borealis. The reddish-purple spectacle changed shape and appeared to pulse over the entire southwest horizon.

He began to rub his face, but stopped and stared through his fingers, arrested by a single thought. Is this possible? A cold shiver raced through him, followed by an emotion he hadn’t experienced since the pandemic. Sheer dread. He lowered his hands to the boat’s starboard lifeline and shook his head.

“No. That’s not right,” he said, stepping into the cockpit to set his mind at ease.

He stepped aft, positioning himself behind the wheel where he could examine the boat’s floating gyrocompass dial. He pressed a small, rubber weatherproof button to illuminate the display, but the light failed to activate. Shit. He took a small LED flashlight out of his pocket and prayed that it would work. If not, they were definitely fucked. The light bathed the gyroscope, but didn’t ease his fears. The gyroscope was frozen one hundred and twenty degrees off from what he knew to be the right magnetic direction.

Slightly panicked, he fumbled to activate the digital chart plotter and navigation system mounted above the wheel. Nothing. The boat appeared to be dead. He reached for the engine ignition panel next to his right foot and opened the Plexiglas hatch. He turned the key and held his breath, not sure what would happen. The engine sputtered for a moment, but quickly turned over and started. The forty-horsepower Yanmar diesel engine hummed, vibrating cockpit and ruining the cove’s tranquility. He pulled the engine kill lever, manually stopping the flow of diesel to the engine and shutting it down. He was relieved the engine started so easily. With the engine working, they could reach the inner Portland Harbor in an hour and a half.

A light from the forward berth suddenly illuminated the cabin, flickering back and forth as the source drew closer to the cabin door. He closed the ignition panel, leaving the key in place, and stepped forward in the tight cockpit to intercept Kate at the screen door. Awoken by the unexpected engine start, she would no doubt be in a hurry to investigate. The door slid open just as he arrived, and he helped her up into the cockpit.

“Why did you start the engine? Did we slip anchor?” she said, shining the light in his face.

“We’re right where we should be…”

“Something is wrong with the lights,” she interjected, turning off her flashlight.

She was in rapid fire, question mode, no doubt brought on by her sudden wake up. Kate was a notoriously deep sleeper, who did not respond well to being jarred awake, under normal circumstances. On the boat she was an entirely different person. She understood the fluid nature of boating, which required quick action and made harsh demands on the body. Boats slipped anchorages, storms arrived unannounced and equipment failed…often in the middle of the night, always the least opportune time.

She’d grown attuned to the kinds subtle, out of place sounds that would have no chance of waking her from a foam mattress induced slumber on Durham Road. On the water, Kate and Alex were equals, waking up to the slightest changes in the boat’s orientation or splashing outside. She came back from these trips utterly exhausted, getting a brief, transient taste of how Alex felt year round.

“What do you think that is?” he said, pointing to the bright red and purple aura to the west.

She stared off into the distance, shaking her head slowly before finally shrugging her shoulders.

“Looks like the northern lights, but the wrong color. That’s not north, is it?” she said, finally rubbing her eyes and yawning.

“Southwest,” he stated, gripping her hand.

“Why did you start the diesel?” she insisted, still mesmerized by the colors dancing playfully above the southwestern horizon.

“Because I didn’t think it would start. I’ve seen pictures of that before. In 1962, the U.S. detonated a one point five megaton nuclear device four hundred kilometers above the Johnson Atoll in the Pacific. This is what they saw nine hundred miles away in Hawaii. None of our electronics work,” he said.

“Fuck. You don’t think that was a nuke, do you?” she said, stepping off the cockpit bench.

“I don’t know, but I saw a massive flash of light from the south,” he said, pointing over the island off the starboard side, “then I felt a strange tingling, like I was about to get hit by lightning.”

Kate let go of his hand and descended the cabin steps. Her flashlight illuminated the main cabin as soon as she hit the deck, and Alex heard her try to activate the VHF Marine Radio at the navigation table.

“The radio is dead. So is everything else at the nav station,” she said.

“All of the navigation gear is either connected to the radio antenna or the GPS receiver…all located at the top of our mast. An EMP wave would travel right down the wire and fry everything,” he said.

Kate directed the beam from her flashlight at his face in response to his statement.

“Will you stop blinding me with that damn light?” he said.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. Have you checked the portable electronics?” she said.

“No. Grab the handheld VHF and GPS plotter. That stuff should be fine. Get the cell phones too. I’m going to see if I can restore electrical power to the lights and a few other systems,” said Alex, approaching the cabin door.

“I wouldn’t worry about the lights. It’s almost dawn. Get the water pumps and the head working. What about the bilge pump?” she said.

“It’s hardwired to the battery bank, like the engine. Should be fine, but let’s check,” he said.

Alex waited for Kate to gather the handheld electronics from a cabinet above the navigation table and move to the small couch across Emily’s bed. Their daughter had begun to stir in her sleep, but hadn’t made any major movements. He really hoped she would stay asleep until they made a comprehensive assessment of their situation. They needed a little more time to think before adding a panicky teenager to the mix.

He illuminated the electrical panel and noticed that all of the breaker switches had been tripped. Alex expected to see this. He flipped all of the switches and tried the light mounted to the navigation table. Nothing. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy. The electrical surge generated by an EMP didn’t give surge protectors or breakers time to react to the change in current. Unlike a lightning strike or home surge, which builds up over the span of a few micro-seconds, the EMP surge is a front-loaded wall of energy that overwhelms these basic protections before they have time to “react. By the time the breaker trips or the surge protector closes the circuit, susceptible equipment down the line is damaged.

Beyond the microwave oven, radio and the navigation equipment, most of the gear connected to the boat’s electrical system didn’t contain any of the sensitive microchips susceptible to an amplified EMP wave. The lights should work, unless the breaker mechanism itself had been damaged by the intense current passing unchecked during those critical micro-seconds. He suspected this was the case, which meant that they would have to do without the electrical system on the return trip to Portland.

“The breaker appears to be damaged. We’ll have to use the manual pumps to draw water. As for the head, I’m not sure what we can do. I don’t think it works without electricity,” he whispered.

“Not a big deal. We’re not that far from Portland. The handheld stuff seems to works fine. Can you tell if we are getting a signal?” she said, holding up the illuminated GPS plotter screen toward him.

He was relieved to see that the device functioned. Expert opinion vastly differed on the impact of an EMP on small electronic devices. Some claimed that everything with a microchip would fail, while others thought that devices disconnected from the power grid, or a long wire, stood a fair chance of remaining functional. He took the GPS unit and examined the screen. The small satellite icon in the upper right corner indicated that the unit received a satellite signal. He navigated through a series of onscreen menus to get more information.

“It says we’re tracking six satellites. That’s good news. See if you can pick up anything on the radio. Let’s take this topside so we don’t wake the kids,” he said.

Kate followed him up the steps and into the cockpit, where a refreshingly cool sea breeze greeted them, evaporating the small beads of sweat that had formed on Alex’s forehead in defiance of the chilly, coastal air. Despite the relatively calm demeanor he projected, he was terrified by the prospect of what lie ahead for them. He had little doubt that society would collapse. Confidence in the government’s ability to handle a major crisis was at an all time low.

The 2013 pandemic had exposed the nation’s essential service infrastructure to a slow burn, which caused a rapid, critical failure across the board, launching the country into chaos. While the northern most states and the upper Mid-west added freezing temperatures and winter storms to the disaster already unfolding, the warmer regions were hit the hardest. The harsh winter weather dampened and eventually extinguished the widespread rioting, looting and violence that continued unabated in cities like Atlanta, Dallas, and Los Angeles. Even the mid-Atlantic cities saw their share the devastating civil unrest that ultimately claimed just as many lives as the H16N1 virus.

Not much had changed on Capitol Hill. The likelihood of another pandemic virus striking in our lifetime was a statistical impossibility, claimed the epidemiologists…and they were probably right. Funding for national emergency preparedness remained level and consistent with pre-2013 levels, with few politicians willing to suggest cuts, especially with over twenty-six million deaths attributable to the inadequate pandemic preparedness budget authorized by Congress in the years leading to the Jakarta Pandemic. Of course, with the U.S economy making slow, but steady gains, even fewer politicians were eager to increase disaster preparedness funding or spend money infrastructure improvement programs. Major natural disasters had been shrugged off for decades, given a flurry of attention for a month and pushed to the sidelines.

Alex and Kate understood that United States could not weather another nationwide disaster, and had taken the appropriate precautions to ensure the safety of family and friends. They would all converge on the isolated farm in Limerick, Maine, where they could live off the grid indefinitely, until society settled back into a routine. Standing in the open cockpit of their boat, staring at the blood red, man-made magnetic aura spread over the continental United States, a sudden realization struck him, nearly buckling his knees. Ryan. He took a seat next to his wife and spoke.

“We have to get back fast. I give it two, maybe three days before all hell breaks loose in Boston. We need to get Ryan out of there and…” said Alex.

“If it hasn’t been nuked,” interrupted Kate.

“I don’t think…”

He stopped to consider the flash of light that had woken him. It had come from a different direction than the red atmospheric aura. Was it possible that the United States had been attacked with nuclear weapons? One flash. That was all he had seen. He expanded the scale on the handheld GPS plotter to make a quick calculation. He created a waypoint over Boston and started the navigation function. The system plotted a straight course from the boat to the waypoint. He stood up and compared what he saw on the GPS chart to their physical orientation in the cove.

“The flash was centered there,” he said, pointing his entire hand directly south. “Boston is almost twenty-five degrees to the right of that. If it was a nuke, they’d detonate it directly over the city. That was somewhere pretty far off Cape Cod,” he said, not completely convinced by his logic.

“I hope you’re right,” she said.

He placed the GPS receiver on the top of the cabin and pulled used both hands to pull her off the bench. She came reluctantly, the grim nature of their circumstance weighing her down. He embraced her tightly, but kissed her neck gently, followed by her ear. He drew his face even with hers and stared into her eyes.

“I’m just as scared as you about Ryan. He’s going to be fine. We’ll get this boat back to Portland, and I’ll bring him home to you. I promise,” he said.

She nodded and met his lips for a brief moment, before placing her head on his shoulder.

“I know it’ll be fine. We’ll be fine,” she said, sitting back down and rubbing her face.

“I think we should wait until there’s enough light to see the lobster pots on the water. The last thing we need is to get tangled up and kill the engine. It’s 5:09 right now. Sunrise is at 5:50. We get underway fifteen minutes after that. That give us plenty of time to get our shit together, secure for sea…maybe try to raise someone on the handheld radio. I wish we one of the satellite phones. If the GPS satellites are still working, there’s a good chance the SAT phone network is intact. That’s all high orbit stuff...typically hardened against radiation,” said Alex.

“Remind me why we don’t bring a SAT phone out on the water?” she said.

“Because we don’t go far enough out to need one. We never leave Casco Bay,” he responded.

“I think we need to add them to the required equipment list,” she said.

“If we take another sailing trip, I’ll make sure to throw one in the bag. Anything else?” said Alex.

“I’ll wake the kids and start tidying up below,” she announced.

Kate stood up next to him, just as the wind picked up. The boat started to swing on the anchor line to face the new wind direction, which pointed directly where he had seen the flash of light. He heard a few trees snap in the distance before he reacted.

“Get below! Now!” he yelled.

Through the clear vinyl window of the dodger, he saw the lead edge of the airwave explode through the trees along the low cliff. He pushed Kate the rest of the way down the stairs and ducked his head into the cabin, moments before a dark wave of rocks and tree limbs pummeled the sailboat with thunderous jolts. Kate pushed Emily back into the L-shaped couch serving as her bed and jumped on top of her to keep her down. The boat lurched sideways with the initial blast, knocking Alex into the galley, where he tumbled to the deck, smashing his elbow against the counter. Within seconds, the debris shower abated, leaving them in absolute silence.

“Ethan! You alright back there!” he yelled through the open hatch a few feet away behind the galley.

“I’m fine. What the hell happened? The lights don’t work,” said Ethan.

“Grab your flashlight and get dressed. I need you out here in thirty seconds. Emily, change in the vee-berth. All hands on deck immediately. We have a problem,” said Alex.

“You think?” said Kate.

“You have no idea. We need to go topside to clear the mess and assess damage. We don’t have much time,” said Alex.

“I thought we weren’t leaving for another hour,” she said.

“I don’t think that’s an option anymore. Talk about this topside?” he said, pointing at the open hatch at the top of the stairs.

When Alex’s head emerged through the cabin hatch, the first thing he noticed was a half-inch thick layer of dirt covering every horizontal surface in the open cockpit. The second anomaly to catch his attention was a jagged ended, two-inch diameter branch protruding above his head, blocking him from standing fully erect and stepping into the cockpit. He pushed the branch to the right and maneuvered through the opening.

“Be careful,” he said to Kate, who squeezed through and joined him to survey the scene.

The branch had penetrated the left vinyl window of their dodger, stopped by the thick tangle of smaller branches that struck the dodger’s thick, aluminum frame. If he hadn’t pushed Kate out of the way to get down the ladder, the shredded edge of the branch would have impaled him. The sheer randomness of his survival reminded him of his combat tour in Iraq. The odds always caught up with you. A sick feeling rose from the pit of his stomach. He wanted to take a seat, but there was no time to for it. He stood on the cockpit bench and assessed the situation.

In the monochromatic, dark blue lighting, he could see the rest of the fifteen-foot branch hanging over the port side of the boat, straining the lifelines. His flashlight penetrated the darkness, exposing the rest of the boat. Kate’s light joined the effort and they scanned for obvious damage.

“I see a few branches and rocks, but nothing else. How’s your side?” he said.

“Same. This branch is the worst of it,” she said, directing her light at the fresh wood exposed at the torn end.

“Jesus,” she whispered, touching the sharp edge of the branch.

“Jesus is right,” he said, moving quickly aft to back of the cockpit.

He searched the murky water for their dinghy, hoping that he hadn’t expended all of their luck avoiding the deadly branch. The gray inflatable bobbed in the water along stern and appeared undamaged. He stepped out of the cabin and onto the swim deck, pulling the dinghy next to the boat.

“Can you clear that branch? I think if you dislodge it from the dodger, it’ll fall over the side on its own. I’m need to inspect the dinghy and start the motor,” he yelled.

“Got it,” she said.

He saw her walk along the starboard side of the boat and cross over to examine the branch. Satisfied that she had the branch situation under control, he stepped into the dinghy and pressed down on each side of the craft with both hands. The cold PVC exterior gave slightly to the pressure applied, which was consistent with early morning inflation levels. The colder outside air temperatures caused a slight contraction of the air inside each chamber. He quickly wiped the dirt from the sides, before turning his attention to the motor.

He had battled off and on for nearly four years with motor, having considered a watery grave on more than one occasion for the temperamental collection of metal and plastic parts. It should be simple. Open the air vent. Open the fuel valve. Open the choke. Start the engine. Except it had never been that easy. In four years, he could count the number of times it started without incident, on his middle finger, which he often lifted in protest against the manufacturer of the motor. Alex ran through his mental checklist and took a deep breath. He really needed this thing to work. Their lives would depend on it.

He pulled the starter cord and the motor sprang to life, puttering quietly at idle. He revved the throttle for a moment, letting the engine warm, before pushing the choke in. Everything worked perfectly, which meant that he had wasted his one good start for the year on a test. He considered leaving the motor running, but decided against it. They had enough time to get the motor running again, if they decided to abandon the boat and take shelter on the island. He stopped the motor, leaving everything in position for a quick start.

As he stepped onto the sailboat, he heard the branch fall away, followed by a quick scream. He flashed his light forward, searching for Kate, but couldn’t immediately find her on the deck. Shit. She fell overboard. He started to reach for the Lifesling preserver attached to the starboard rails, when Kate appeared from behind the mast.

“Fucking thing almost took me in with it!” she yelled.

“You alright?” he said.

“I’m fine. A few scratches,” she said, starting to walk back along the deck.

“Stay there. I need to check the anchorage,” he said.

He made his way forward and met her at the bow.

“We need to talk while I do this,” he said, reaching through the forward rails to grip the nylon line stretched into the water several feet below.

“That air blast came from the same direction as the flash of light. Took eight minutes to arrive. Only an massive explosion could create something like that…”

“Boston,” she muttered.

“I’m pretty certain that’s not the case. The wind correlated with the direction of the flash, which puts the explosion in the Bay of Maine,” he said, tugging on the anchor line.

“I hope so,” she said.

“Me too, for Ryan’s sake, but if the explosion was over water, we could be hit by a tsunami. Even a twenty-foot wave could sweep over the island without a problem. We need to decide whether to stay onboard and ride out whatever crests the island, or abandon the boat for the concrete lookout tower near the cove.”

“I don’t think we should leave the boat. If it get’s swept away, we’re stuck here,” said Kate.

“I agree, but we have no idea how big the wave will be. Remember those videos of the tsunamis in Thailand and Japan? Solid walls of water travelled inland for miles,” he said.

“How long do we have?” she said.

“I have no idea. If it took the wind eight minutes to get here, I’d guess we have at least another thirty minutes. The anchor feels fine,” he said, standing up on the bow.

“We might not have a problem at all, honey. From what I remember reading, tsunami waves are barely noticeable out at sea. The problem occurs when the wave hits shallow water. Something about the wave speed decreasing and the rest of the wave piling up behind it. We’re several miles from the mainland and this is a small island. A tiny blip in the ocean for a tsunami. It might not rise up enough to fuck with us.”

“Then we stay on the boat,” she said.

“Let’s get the boat ready for the worst. We’ll keep the engine running in case we break free of the anchorage and have to maneuver,” said Alex, starting toward the cockpit.

“I almost wonder if we should haul in the anchor. If a wave makes it over the island, the anchor won’t hold. If we get swept out of here, it could get stuck on something and cause a bigger problem,” she said.

He thought about what she said and flashed his light at the anchor line tied to the forward cleat. If they experienced the situation she described, he couldn’t imagine climbing forward to cut the anchor line with the boat pitching violently. He could remove the line from the cleat and run it back to the cockpit, where one of them could cut the line and permanently release the anchor if necessary.

“Start securing the boat for heavy seas. I’ll run the anchor line back to the cockpit. I’m glad you thought of that,” he said.

“I’m good for an idea or two,” she said, brushing against him on her way back.

“That’s one more than I’m good for,” he said, grabbing her hand.

“We’ll be fine, hon. I’ll be in Boston tomorrow, picking up Ryan. Nothing to it. We’ve been through worse.”

“I know. I’m just scared. We don’t know what’s going on out there. He’s alone in a new place. No friends. Nothing,” she said, nodding toward the western horizon.

“He knows what to do. Ryan’s the least of our worries. He’ll probably be waiting for us at the house when we get back,” he said.

She buried her head in his chest and didn’t respond. He decided not to push the feigned optimism any further. As a mother, she was entitled to worry more than the rest of them, and he had no intention of diminishing this right. The sailboat swung lazily to face a more easterly direction, raising his internal alarms. The sudden sound of rustling leaves caused him to squeeze Kate tightly. They wouldn’t have time to escape a sudden gust like the one that before. A stiff wind squall blew directly out of the east for a few seconds, causing them let go of each other and grab the nearest deck mounted handrail. No flash preceded the airwave, which indicated that the explosion had occurred over the visible horizon. The only thing due east of Jewell Island was Nova Scotia. When the wind completely died, he stared in the direction of the first explosion, wondering if they should reconsider the option to take shelter in one of the island’s solidly constructed, World War Two era lookout posts.

Background Material Cut from first draft of The Jakarta Pandemic

A Brief History of the Avian Flu Pandemic of 2008

During the spring of 2008, World Health Organization officials received alarming information, acquired from an undisclosed source deep within the Chinese Health Ministry. This highly classified intelligence underscored a troubling resurgence of widespread pneumonic illness in the Qinghai province, one of the provinces at the core of a major international controversy during 2005.

In 2005, thousands of suspected avian flu cases were reported in the Qinghai and Sichuan provinces by Xining News and Boxun, both underground internet-based Chinese news sources. Based on these reports, WHO officials asked the Chinese government to open the preliminary examination of these cases to the international community and formally invite the world’s combined scientific resources to guard against the pandemic potential of the H5N1 virus.

WHO scientists were predominantly concerned with H5N1’s potential adaptation to human-to-human transmission, since strains of H5N1 had already demonstrated a rapid acceleration in animal-to-human transmission. Predictably, the Chinese government gave little tangible cooperation, prevented effective WHO investigation, and eventually misinformed the world regarding the outbreak of avian flu in 2005.

Official Chinese press releases denied a widespread avian flu problem, though health ministry officials announced that a highly contagious and potentially deadly illness had spread throughout the region, resulting in hundreds of deaths. Surprisingly, Chinese government officials blamed swine streptococcus, a rare human pathogen, for the outbreak, quickly announcing that the epidemic had been contained. The WHO remained puzzled by the unusually high incidence and mortality rates, and soon grew extremely skeptical of the Chinese story.

At the very onset of the crisis, WHO scientists, working unofficially with sympathetic Chinese virologists in Hong Kong’s Centre of Public Health, had examined hundreds of virus samples sent to the Centre’s labs from the concerned provinces. They determined with certainty that the H5N1 virus had caused the epidemic. The results of their investigation were buried in China, most probably along with the collaborating Chinese scientists. WHO scientists and representatives were immediately expelled from the country, and when confronted by the WHO regarding these scientific findings, Chinese health officials denied that the tests were ever conducted, maintaining that their expulsion was due to misconduct. It became immediately clear to the international community that the Chinese government intended to keep the real facts of the 2005 epidemic inside China.

Most worldwide government health organizations quietly acknowledged the 2005 Chinese cover-up as a dangerous threat to world safety. However, with China on the rise as a major economic power, fully entangled with the world’s economy, the international community never overtly pushed China to further involve WHO investigators. Instead, the international community quietly concurred that the Chinese could not be trusted to take the responsible and effective actions necessary to prevent the spread of H5N1, should the virus shift to effective human-to-human transmission. Subtle plans were activated, which would at least provide the world with advanced warning of a coming pandemic. In April 2008, one of the plans yielded startling information. This information immediately activated the international community.

Intelligence deemed highly credible by U.S. and European intelligence agencies was received by British agents in early April 2008 and immediately disseminated to the WHO and U.S. intelligence agencies. The information contained a warning that the Chinese government had mobilized the largest Health Ministry response in history to the Qinghai province. The official reason given by Chinese health officials was once again swine streptococcus, but the source strongly disputed the Chinese explanation. The source stated that the massive Health Ministry response was due to the confirmed presence of a quickly developing H5N1 flu epidemic in the Qinghai province, already larger than the outbreak in 2005.

Most alarmingly, the majority of the cases appeared to be individuals that were never in contact or near birds discovered to carry H5N1, and the infection spread easily among human contacts within close-knit rural villages. The source stressed the high likelihood that a major antigenic shift occurred within the known H5N1 virus, evolving into a strain easily passable between humans. Also notable, neither Xining News nor Boxun ever reported the 2008 outbreak of the Qinghai province epidemic. Apparently, these underground reporting services had been quickly and efficiently silenced, adding to the complexity and sensitivity of the diplomatic situation. The world needed to address the issue with the Chinese without admitting that they had been spying.

Several nations’ diplomatic services immediately contacted Chinese diplomatic officials, softly pressing for information, citing that rumors have persistently circulated about a new epidemic. The Chinese denied the presence of a problem in Qinghai, blaming anti-government factions for leaking false information in an attempt to sabotage the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing.

Hoping to quickly disintegrate the Chinese cover-up, the WHO, backed by several major governments, took several immediate controversial steps within a few weeks of receiving the information. First, the WHO revoked several million doses of an effective H5N1 vaccine that had been promised to the Chinese Health Ministry for the control of an avian flu epidemic. These doses were pre-staged in several east-Asian nations, ready for immediate deployment to China, but now would be allocated to the surrounding region in an initial effort to contain the virus. The international community had plausible reason to believe that these doses would be misused if delivered. Nearly 20,000 doses had been delivered to China in 2006 to be used for first responders and healthcare teams assigned to directly work in close proximity to any suspected H5N1 virus. Instead, numerous reports surfaced from China in late 2006, indicating that the vaccine doses had been given to national and regional Chinese Communist Party leadership. In 2008, China did not have any capacity to produce a flu vaccine.

Secondly, the WHO pandemic threat level was raised from phase 3 to phase 4, citing undisclosed information from Southeast Asia as the cause for the elevated threat level. This announcement provoked an immediate response from Chinese officials demanding the source of the information, and once again, completely denying the presence of an outbreak in Qinghai. The Chinese blamed the United States and several European countries for strong-arming the WHO to elevate the pandemic phase threat level in an attempt to undermine the 2008 Summer Olympics and ultimately tarnish China’s reputation. Neither the WHO, nor accused nations responded to the charge.

Next, the WHO activated an accelerated vaccine production plan that would increase production of the current H5N1 vaccine, to meet a 1 billion new dose minimum by early fall 2008. Additionally, all seasonal flu vaccine production capability would convert over the next few months to producing the H5N1 vaccine. Initially, this action was viewed as a major gamble, since scientists had yet to determine if the current H5N1 vaccine would be effective against the new strain. As a final precaution, many countries began to stockpile anti-viral medications like Tamiflu, although their effectiveness against H5N1 was in question.

Three weeks after the first intelligence surfaced from China, scientific virus data was obtained from a new source, and CDC virologists confirmed that the current H5N1 vaccine would be effective against the new human-to-human H5N1 strain. Frighteningly, CDC and WHO virologists also determined that the H5N1 strain currently widespread in the Qinghai province had all of the genetic markers to indicate a highly pathogenic virus, easily transmittable from human-to-human. The WHO immediately raised the pandemic threat level to phase 5, and the world was now locked in a silent race to produce H5N1 vaccine in a quantity sufficient to prevent a worldwide disaster.

The final and most controversial step was adopted by a nearly unanimous coalition of nations within a mere week of receiving CDC and WHO confirmation of the new strain of human-to-human H5N1. Travel restrictions were instituted, severely limiting any air, sea or railway travel for passengers departing or heading to China. Regional Restricted Transit Centers were established in several nations surrounding China to screen passengers departing China by air. All air passengers originating from China were required to pass through these RRTCs for screening. Initially, these new restrictions triggered a few tense aerial standoffs, when Chinese commercial passenger jets, escorted by Chinese MiGs, attempted to force landings at unauthorized airports in Singapore, South Korea and the Philippines. The United States deployed two additional Carrier Battle Groups to the region to assist with enforcement of the travel restrictions. Despite Chinese protest of the restriction, soon all aircraft departing China were peacefully routed through the RRTCs. Sea and railway travel proved more difficult to control.

Simultaneously, with credible scientific evidence of the new strain of H5N1 in hand, numerous United Nations members called for an immediate summit with the Chinese to discuss the unfolding events and to urge China to integrate full-scale international involvement into their efforts to contain the spreading avian flu disaster. United Nations leaders also stressed the importance of cooperation in order to ease tensions and avoid an unnecessary worldwide economic disaster.

Chinese government officials were now receptive to outside assistance, likely due to the fact that they could no longer conceal the sickness of nearly 2 million Chinese citizens. Most of the illness was reported in the Qinghai, Sichuan and Guizhou provinces, with several large-sized cluster outbreaks spread throughout the rest of China, including the coastal cities Shanghai, Hong Kong, Shenzhen, Guangzhou and Fuzhou.

The coastal industrial region, Guangdong, suffered from a massive outbreak, confirming a suspected southeasterly surge of cases, from the middle-western regions of China to the coastal areas surrounding Hong Kong. Despite hiding these outbreaks from the international community for nearly one month, Chinese health officials, with massive and heavy-handed military assistance, had managed to quickly and effectively quarantine the major epidemic areas, drastically limiting human traffic from infected areas.

Although the flu pushed southeast regardless of these efforts, solid intervention and containment activity to the north prevented the flu from any large-scale sweep toward Beijing and kept the H5N1 strain from reaching its full deadly potential in China. Unfortunately, for those trapped inside the quarantined areas, the highly pathogenic H5N1 strain showed no mercy. By the spring of 2009, nearly 20.3 million Chinese died within these areas alone. Casualties throughout the rest of China reached 9.8 million. Fortunately, the 2008 case fatality rate for the H5N1 strain turned out to be lower than predicted. During the 2005 outbreaks, H5N1 case fatality estimates in Asia ranged from 40-60%. For 2008-2009, the rate was closer to 8-10%.

While Chinese and WHO officials scrambled to contain the epidemic in China, the rest of the world continued to support quarantine travel restrictions for China and started to closely monitor their own populations for signs of the H5N1 flu. Governments began to distribute H5N1 vaccine according to national vaccination protocols and to ship limited supplies of vaccine to countries with no vaccine production capacity, as outlined by standing international protocol and pre-purchased vaccine arrangements. As of 2008, only nine countries reported vaccine production capability, with France, Germany, England and the United States providing nearly 65% of the total capacity.

In late May 2008, the summer Olympics in China were officially canceled, and in the beginning of June, the first cases of the new H5N1 strain started to surface internationally. The first significant virus clusters appeared nearly simultaneously in Siberia, Mongolia, India, Japan, Korea, Singapore, Indonesia, Australia and other countries along the western Pacific Ocean rim. However, hundreds of confirmed and suspected cases, or contained mini-clusters had already been reported worldwide.

The world braced for the seemingly unavoidable pandemic. New cases and confirmed virus clusters continued to appear worldwide, starting and spreading mostly in Southeast Asia during June and July, and eventually surfacing in the Americas, Africa and Europe by early August. Although isolated cases or mini-clusters appeared on all continents during late May and June, the spread of significant virus clusters progressed slowly over the summer, reaching all corners of the globe by early August. These significant clusters of flu cases represented the largest virus footholds and posed the greatest pandemic containment challenges. Consequently, these clusters received the bulk of WHO resources and attention.

However, as nations scrambled to contain the growing threat within their own borders, resources began to focus inward, leaving less fortunate nations with a drastically reduced capacity to handle the containment and treatment of the H5N1 pandemic.

Despite these shortcomings, the avian flu of 2008 was marked by a strikingly lower case fatality rate than expected, exhibiting a lower virulence than the previously seen strains. Additionally, it proved to be less contagious. These two key features, combined with both an effective international response and expansive vaccine program, produced a lower than expected worldwide transmission rate.

Nature’s gifts aside, contingency plans had been formulated by the WHO and funded by the international community since 2006, providing several key safeguards that mitigated the deadly effects of the 2008 H5N1 virus. Most effective were the severe and strictly-imposed travel bans with known or suspected areas of infection. The initial restriction against Chinese travel, imposed and robustly enforced by major world governments, made later restrictions throughout the world easier to impose and execute.

With the taboo broken, long-term diplomacy and inaction were set aside in the interest of international safety and security. Even the smallest and least influential nations had little trouble denying travel from areas with known or suspected avian flu virus. The United Nations fully supported any such measures with the immediate promise of military enforcement and indefinite sanctions, providing the needed leverage to ensure compliance and ultimately preventing a true decimation of the world’s population.

Simultaneously in early May, the WHO implemented an ardently proactive system of detecting, tracking and responding to suspected avian flu cases, sending vast resources across the globe to meet the pandemic threat.

The WHO pandemic surveillance and response plans proved effective throughout the summer and fall, however, completely containing the virus proved difficult even in the best of situations. H5N1 virus continued to propagate in a limited capacity, frequently escaping one containment zone (usually before full containment was imposed) and starting another cluster of cases in a nearby, geographically accessible area. Sometimes, the virus managed to travel much further, due mainly to the very devious nature of the flu virus. Infected individuals often showed no signs of infection or remained asymptomatic for 2-3 days after infection, but could be highly contagious to anyone that came into close contact with them. In this way, infected individuals shed the virus, while appearing perfectly healthy, and could often slip out of containment zones without knowledge of the danger they posed to their surroundings.

Despite these difficulties, WHO response procedures, combined with an aggressive vaccine program, kept the pandemic from achieving anything close to its full deadly potential. By early September, vaccine production exceeded expectations, and vaccine shipments followed two distinct patterns:

(1) routine and planned distribution according to pre-2008 WHO-sanctioned rationing guidelines.

(2) hot-zone containment distribution, where excess shipments were directed to areas with very high potential for an uncontrollable outbreak. These locations were identified early, and vaccinations commenced immediately for high-risk population groups and essential service personnel. Since the H5N1 vaccine required nearly 4-6 weeks to provide complete immunity, hot-zone vaccination procedures commenced early in high-risk zones.

The fall of 2008 proved to be tense worldwide. While most of the significant clusters were controlled and contained by WHO procedures, a few notable exceptions occurred, providing chilling insight into the potential of the H5N1 virus. In early September, avian flu virus massively broke free of containment in Karachi, Pakistan, and spread like wildfire throughout the country. The breakout resulted from overcrowding under dismal health conditions combined with a dysfunctional government-provided healthcare system. Pakistani residents began to flee toward the Indian border, fearful that the outbreak would escalate even further beyond government and WHO control.

Unsurprisingly, tensions mounted with India, where several large cluster outbreaks had already taxed the Indian system to the brink of failure. In late September, when massive waves of Pakistani refugees swarmed the Indian-Pakistani border, mostly via land, a brutal and severe Indian military response kept the pandemic refugees from overwhelming India’s own desperate situation. The ensuing hostilities between India and Pakistan were immediately addressed by the United Nations Peace-Keeping Arm, with the aim of preventing both a conventional or nuclear escalation. By the end of the pandemic in late spring of 2009, 6.8 million Pakistanis died from pandemic-blamed causes. Relations between Pakistan and India remain tense to this day.

In October, the pandemic situation in Mexico City failed. WHO teams and Mexican health officials were overwhelmed by the sheer volume of cases spreading among the most densely populated and poverty-stricken areas of the capital city, where containment, social distancing and quarantine procedures proved impossible. Fortunately, strict and effective containment efforts outside of the Valley of Mexico kept the severe outbreak contained within the Mexico City Metropolitan Zone. Sadly, flu casualties in Mexico City reached an estimated 1.5 million. In 2008, the Mexico City Metropolitan Zone had a population of nearly 21 million people.

Simultaneously in October, a nearly uncontainable outbreak erupted in Serbia, due mainly to the near impossibility of cooperation between Serbian national government officials and the UN-backed WHO teams. Negative Serbian nationalist sentiment toward major UN charter members, stemming mainly from UN charter member support of Kosovo’s declaration of sovereignty in February 2008, stalled the timely activation of WHO plans within Serbia.

Once it became clear to the international community and surrounding Balkan states that this outbreak posed a serious threat in several geographic directions, the United Nations coordinated a mobilization and deployment of Balkan military forces to push well into Serbian borders, on all fronts, to assist with the formation of an effective containment zone. Once this zone was established, WHO teams, backed by UN security, entered the zone and started the long process of reestablishing control of the pandemic situation. Estimated losses in Serbia hovered near 545,000. The population of Serbia prior to the 2008 pandemic was approximately 10 million.

In each of these cases, outbreaks reached near full epidemic levels in the cutoff hot zones, with a 6-10% case fatality rate among those infected with the H5N1 virus. Interestingly, in each of these cases, a near complete loss of national and local government control ensued, catapulting each area into complete chaos. Nearly all services ceased to exist, including electricity, food, water, police, and health care services. As a result, civil disobedience, rioting, looting and general disorder reigned, requiring large-scale military and civil affairs interventions from neighboring countries. These cases were frightening glimpses of the true devastating potential of a pandemic.

In stark contrast to these situations, pandemic chaos was prevented in the most unlikely and unstable area of the world, Iraq. Positive, unexpected gains materialized in Iraq during the pandemic. As part of the U.S. vaccine rationing protocol, all forward-deployed members of the military received the earliest available H5N1 vaccine, with a higher priority classification for the units already deployed, or soon to be deployed to combat zones in the Middle East or Afghanistan. Additionally, coalition forces in Iraq and Afghanistan were given WHO authority to receive, stockpile and distribute WHO vaccine allotments to the local populations, in response to the present pandemic threat. Coalition forces received detailed WHO pandemic containment training, widely disseminating this training to civil affairs and medical assets throughout Iraq.

As a result, an extremely effective vaccination and pandemic containment policy was established and executed in Iraq and Afghanistan, effectively blunting the spread of H5N1 in these areas. In both cases, the presence of an organized, disciplined and capable force, with an established and effective command and control (C2) network, resulted in the effective implementation of promulgated WHO procedures. The coalition mission in both nations transformed within weeks from a robust anti-insurgency and democratization campaign to one of the most successful humanitarian operations in history.

In Iraq, at the beginning of this transition, Al-Qaeda-backed insurgent groups escalated the level of violence against coalition forces, civilians and healthcare providers, in the hope of fomenting a final and overwhelming revolt against the coalition forces. Their timing could not have been worse. The attacks, clearly aimed at disrupting the coalition and government efforts to safeguard Iraqi lives, immediately erased all remaining tolerance of insurgent violence toward civilians and pandemic containment efforts. Tribal leaders, militia commanders, and local Iraqi leaders, both Sunni and Shiite, joined together in a rare and momentous condemnation of Al-Qaeda. Immediately following, a representative delegation of these leaders reached a tentative cooperative agreement with leaders of the coalition forces and the Iraqi government.

While the war against the pandemic raged throughout the world, a new war against Al-Qaeda-backed insurgents mounted in Iraq. Coalition forces, backed by Iraqi military forces and guided by a new army of local tribal militia, routed insurgent forces from all of their strongholds, sending the few survivors scurrying toward either Iran or Syria, where little refuge awaited them. By late spring of 2009, the Iraqi insurgency was declared dead by coalition commanders, the Iraqi president, and major Iraqi tribal leaders.

Afghanistan’s Al-Qaeda-backed pro-Taliban elements were similarly driven from all major strongholds back into the mountains bordering Pakistan, where they would remain in obscurity. During late July of 2009, the U.S. administration, with the full backing of the senior U.S. commander in Iraq, declared that U.S. troops would begin a significant redeployment from Iraq by early in the fall of 2009. These troop withdrawals would coincide with the 2009 presidential election, which been delayed due to the state of worldwide and national emergency caused by the pandemic.

The WHO plan routed the H5N1 strain by late December 2008, and wave 1 of the 2008 avian flu pandemic disappeared in January 2009. Vaccination production continued at an unprecedented pace, with nearly 2 billion doses distributed by the beginning of February 2009. By May 2009, wave 2 of the deadly H5N1 strain was declared ineffective and unlikely to further cause pandemic illness. By this point, roughly 40% of the world’s population had either been vaccinated or exposed (survived and now immune) to the avian flu, and the strain could no longer succeed at large-scale epidemic levels. The vaccination, surveillance and containment plans set forth by the WHO successfully met the challenge of the H5N1 virus. Most importantly, faced with an undiscriminating worldwide threat, the international community rapidly assembled and decisively acted to implement a plan to prevent the virus from reaching its true pandemic potential.

Still, worldwide death figures were grim. Nearly 49.8 million people died directly from flu-related causes, with another estimated 500-600 thousand deaths blamed on indirect causes such as rioting, starvation and famine. Southeast Asia accounted for a vast majority of the deaths, with China alone losing nearly 25.1 million of its citizens. Other highly-populated areas of Asia suffered high death counts, including over 4 million in India, 3.5 million in Pakistan, and at least 8 million spread throughout the western Pacific Rim (Koreas, Vietnam, Malaysia, Indonesia, Japan and Australia). The remaining 7-9 million deaths were spread among the Americas, Africa and Europe.

U.S. deaths remained relatively low considering a population of more than 300 million. For 2008 and 2009, within the U.S. and its territories, close to 112,000 deaths were officially attributed to the H5N1 virus. As a comparison, in any typical year, nearly 35,000-50,000 people die from seasonal flu-related complications in the U.S. Most of these deaths were geographically clustered in highly-populated regions along the west coast, particularly around San Diego, Los Angeles, San Francisco and Seattle. Several other major U.S. cities, including Dallas/Fort Worth, Atlanta, Chicago, St Louis, Denver, and the New Jersey/NYC metro area, suffered medium-sized cluster outbreaks, spreading to nearby communities and towns in the form of small cluster outbreaks. Fortunately, containment and vaccination efforts within the U.S. kept all major outbreaks from uncontrolled spread into the general population stream.

Despite these casualty figures, the WHO declared the international community’s handling of the 2008 avian flu pandemic to be a success, but not all members of the international community were immediately included in this celebration. Several countries blamed China’s cover-up as the main culprit for the pandemic outbreak, proposing that if China had immediately cooperated with the WHO at the outset of their epidemic, the virus could have been mostly contained within China.

WHO officials were reluctant to support this claim, fearful of pushing the Chinese away from future cooperation. In a summary report, WHO officials admitted it was likely that the H5N1 virus would have eventually escaped even the tightest containment efforts within China, regardless of WHO involvement. However, their report did draw attention to the 3-4 week delay to international pandemic response time caused by the Chinese cover-up. The report even speculated that millions of lives may have been spared if earlier notice of the pending pandemic had been released by the Chinese government, regardless of whether China accepted international assistance.

To underscore the serious threat posed by China’s actions, WHO officials theorized that given the avian flu’s deadly characteristics, the final estimated death figures represented a fraction of the pandemic’s potential killing capacity, and that without the quick international implementation of the WHO plan, casualties rates could have been multiplied tenfold. Their remarks were carefully crafted to put China on notice. This proved to be an incendiary comment, and parts of it were soon to be retracted by the WHO.

The Chinese decried the report, attempting to reinforce the position that their containment procedures and tactics should serve as a future WHO model, and that 100% containment remains impossible given the unpredictable nature of flu transmission. Addressing the issue of their reporting delay, they also dismissed the notion that lives could have been spared, as an anti-Chinese, non-scientifically based hypothesis. A feeble attempt to explain the delay followed, citing confusion between widespread swine strep cases and the H5N1 virus hiding in its shadows.

The WHO, CDC and most nations’ health and disease organizations continued to declare the cooperative international response to the H5N1 pandemic as a model of success. Similarly, most scientific experts in related fields of study agreed that the system and protocols activated in 2008 by the WHO, if supported by the global community, would adequately prevent a future worldwide pandemic disaster. These experts, whose ranks were filled by government scientists, government health officials, government planners, and leading scientists in disease/virology, further forwarded a hypothesis that if a future pandemic threat is reported early enough to the WHO, the next threat could be more effectively handled at its point of origin.

These experts acknowledged that even the quickest and most effective containment could not completely prevent a pandemic threat from escaping into the world. However, they theorized that with a rapid and overwhelming international response at the point of origin, the pandemic would spread at a very slow and controlled rate, similar to the cluster outbreaks seen outside of China, and arguably on a much smaller scale.

With an overwhelming consensus of the international scientific community’s support, the WHO requested additional resources from member nations. The requested resources included increased funding, enhanced vaccine research and production capability, and the augmentation of personnel to support nearly a 30% organizational expansion. The WHO received unfettered access to what it requested, and by the beginning of 2010, boasted an even more robust and effective capability to handle future pandemic threats. Throughout 2010, the specter of a global pandemic threat quickly faded from the world’s general consciousness.

However, not all scientists were convinced that the threat of a devastating pandemic had been vanquished. From early 2009, skeptics quickly highlighted that the avian flu pandemic of 2008 only yielded a quarter of the deaths caused by the Spanish flu of 1918. Casualty estimates for the 1918 flu range from 50-120 million deaths worldwide. For many, this comparison served as a basis for declaring the pandemic efforts of 2008 to be an unqualified success; however, a smaller group saw the 1918 figures as cause for further alarm.

These skeptics, comprised of a small number of virologists, epidemiologists, public planning experts and assorted international academia, championed a minority opinion, casting serious doubt on the capability of the WHO and the world community to handle the next pandemic. Needless to say, their views were not popular in the WHO-dominated aftermath of the 2008 pandemic. Their theories were similarly unpopular with most national governments and public officials, due to the alarmist and potentially panic-inducing nature of their scientific claims. With little official support, these experts cast their lots together and formed an organization dedicated to educating the public, further promoting international pandemic awareness and lobbying major governments to increase preparation for a deadlier, more difficult pandemic.

The International Scientific Pandemic Awareness Collaborative (ISPAC) officially launched in February of 2010.

Despite major political challenges, ISPAC founders garnered enough financial and political support from private sources to promote their agenda internationally, tirelessly lobbying national and regional government agencies directly involved in public planning. Although small in size and of apparently limited influence, ISPAC created three regional operations centers, dedicated to coordinating ISPAC efforts and monitoring potential pandemic threats. The first center, located in Atlanta, U.S., maintained close, but strained ties with the U.S. Centers for Disease Control. This relationship provided real-time virus tracking and research information and allowed ISPAC representatives to indirectly influence CDC programs.

Although under U.S. government control, the CDC remained committed to exploring all available options and resources to prepare for another pandemic, remaining relatively impartial to ISPAC’s agenda at the CDC, despite WHO pressure to severe any and all ties to what they described as a fringe, doom and gloom organization. ISPAC located their next station appropriately in Seoul, South Korea, where they could travel to and interface with international agencies responsible for monitoring and tracking viral flu cases in Southeast Asia. Although much of this information was readily available from the CDC tracking database, developing ties to local agencies and governments directly in the path of initial flu outbreaks enhanced their credibility and provided critical tools for promoting their agenda. The final station settled in London, England, where ISPAC officials established a working relationship with the United Kingdom’s Department of Health, Infectious Disease Division.

In response to the establishment of these centers, the WHO leveraged their international political weight to blockade ISPAC efforts to expand influence. Particularly, the WHO established a persistent presence at the UN, under the aegis of major UN charter members, where they regularly lobbed veiled threats toward UN member nations that interacted with ISPAC representatives. Mainland Europe, South America, Russia, and most regions of the world dependent on UN and WHO support, fully cooperated with WHO requests to sever ties with ISPAC and ignore future lobbying efforts. This essentially denied them access to a vast majority of international resources and influence, but did not render them ineffective.

U.S. CDC and U.K. leadership remained unmoved and unimpressed by WHO intimidation, maintaining their commitment to a more objective and unbiased approach to pandemic disease planning and study. Furthermore, in the U.S. and the U.K., a general disdain for external political pressure, especially from international organizations like the UN or WHO, permitted ISPAC to continue limited operations with the CDC and U.K. Department of Health. Regardless of this stance, considerable political pressure, generated by powerful WHO influence, continuously pushed downward from each nations’ government, effectively prevented ISPAC from influencing major policy decisions regarding pandemic planning.

Fortunately, due to these two key relationships and their unremitting field presence in Southeast Asia, ISPAC continued to maintain and enhance their own capacity to track potential pandemic virus. ISPAC established a public website and hotline system to provide real-time flu information to the world’s population. Information, publications, manuals and leading essays regarding pandemic planning remained constantly updated and available to the public and private sector, with the hope that this resource would be used to strengthen what they considered to be the most critical and neglected aspect of the pandemic defense. In their view, the very least they could provide to the world was the earliest possible warning of a legitimate emerging pandemic threat, so that individuals and grass-roots-level organizations could make life-saving, immediate planning decisions. This became their focus and mission in the face of a nearly insurmountable blockade of their efforts to impact policy.

ISPAC website resources and live-tracking updates continued to remain available to those with access to power and satellite website service until mid-January 2013.

ISPAC and WHO Controversy following the 2008 Avian Flu Pandemic

Linking apparently sound logic, scientifically-based statistical theories with a basic cautious approach to their contrarian views, they forwarded the notion that the world caught a break with the 2008 H5N1 strain. The H5N1 strain’s lower pathogenicity hovered around 6%, instead of the 40-50% seen with previous H5N1 strains. Also noted, the pandemic H5N1 strain displayed a quicker than normal asymptomatic to symptomatic shift. Infected individuals showed symptoms within 1-2 days, instead of the 3-5 day period seen in previous seasonal and pandemic flu strains. Since symptoms surfaced quickly, infected individuals were more rapidly detected, contained, and treated, greatly reducing the geographic spread of the virus.

Scientists calculated that if the strain had behaved differently, with a longer asymptomatic virus shedding period, then the disease would have been harder to detect and contain, and easier to transmit. Consequently, the pandemic flu could have infected a significantly higher percentage of the population.

Either scenario, higher pathogenicity or elevated transmission rates, could push pandemic response plans, national healthcare systems and social/essential services beyond their capacity to handle a pandemic. These scientists pointed to the disasters in Pakistan, Mexico City and Yugoslavia/Serbia as examples of what could happen everywhere in the world if just one of the scenarios materialized.

Even worse, combining both pandemic scenarios, in their opinion, could trigger a global disaster of truly epic proportions. They simply forwarded the theory that, if any of the severely pathogenic H5N1 strains seen in 2005-2006 had made the antigenic shift to effective human-to-human transmission, then the world would have faced a more highly-contagious and transmittable strain of flu, with a 40-50% case fatality rate, that could be spread for days by individuals showing no outward signs of the virus. The outcome of this pandemic would have been drastically worse than the 2008 pandemic, regardless of the presence of an effective vaccine.

Another key element fueling the contrarian view involved vaccines. When the 2008 pandemic started in China, an effective vaccine already existed for the deadly strain, and the international community put the vaccine into immediate wide-scale production on a level never seen before. If a novel strain evolved, most disease and health experts concur that it will take at least 4-6 months to develop an effective vaccine once the pandemic virus strain is identified by world health officials.

Large-scale production of the vaccine would follow, after vaccine production facilities converted to the creation of the new pandemic vaccine. This conversion could add weeks, or possibly months to the entire process, followed by the difficulties of nationwide or worldwide distribution during pandemic conditions. Overall, the world could very likely be forced to wait 6-9 months before the general delivery of an effective vaccine. Even worse, the distribution of the new vaccine would follow national and international rationing protocols, further delaying widespread distribution of the vaccine.

The world’s population will face a stark reality. The majority of people could be forced to live and survive in a hostile and deadly pandemic environment for nearly a year before receiving vaccination to the flu.

Many of the critics paint a grim picture of this pandemic world. In 2008, for both modernized and developing nations, hospital-based care remained available to a vast majority of infected individuals, drastically improving outcomes and contributing heavily to the low overall case fatality rate. Although the situation in many developing nations approached, and in some cases, crossed the tipping point for the availability of hospital or clinic-based care, the modernized nations’ system was never truly challenged by the 2008 pandemic.

The outcome would be different in the face of a deadlier and more infectious virus. The breakpoints for inpatient healthcare availability, in both modernized and developing nations, would be reached quickly, and the result would be catastrophic.

The scenario described by these scientists was depressing, with statistics citing that within 2-3 weeks of a pandemic outbreak in a given area, all available inpatient services such as hospital beds, ventilators, observation rooms, medical staff, would be occupied. Based on 1918 pandemic flu patterns, within weeks, in the U.S. alone, the health care system would need 200% of all existing hospital beds, 500% of intensive care unit beds, and over 200% of ventilators to meet the flu demand. Once inpatient capacity was filled, patients would be given a set of home-based care instructions and turned away.

The predicted survival rates for hospital-based care versus home-based care differ greatly, based on the severity of the patient’s flu symptoms and easily recognizable patient risk factors (age, chronic disease, and general health). The best example is demonstrated by patients in a medium-high risk category, who are typically either very young or very old, or have an underlying chronic disease that can lead to further complications (diabetes, heart disease, pulmonary disorder).

For this group, patients treated within a stable and fully-resourced inpatient setting would survive at a rate of 80-85%, while patients treated in a stable home setting, with access to basic medical supplies, would be expected to survive at a rate of 40-50%. It is important to note that these figures applied to best-case scenarios in each setting, where access to power, water, medical supplies, competent medical personnel and equipment remains constant.

The projected difference between the two, in even the best of circumstances, is remarkable. Once all inpatient services were occupied within the first few weeks of a more virulent pandemic flu, and basic medical stockpiles started to disappear, the expected rates of survival would plummet in both settings to 20-40%.

Another notable difference predicted by ISPAC (International Scientific Pandemic Awareness Collaborative) was the widespread loss of essential services. Their public planning experts agreed that with the predicted onset of a more severe pandemic, the combination of a rapidly growing infection rate and an overwhelming fear of infection will lead to massive absenteeism rates for all sectors of public and private service. Inevitably, high absenteeism rates combined with rampant sickness will seriously deteriorate the reliability of fuel delivery and degrade both municipal and regional public service departments’ ability to repair, maintain and operate their systems.

In a short period of time, once local fuel reserves are exhausted, or system repairs exceed the capability of remaining personnel, a general collapse of essential services like electricity, public water, food distribution, communications (phone, cable, cell phone) and public safety (fire and police) will follow. Eventually, even the hospitals and temporary pandemic treatment centers may face severe personnel shortages, exhaustion of essential supply stockpiles, and the loss of a stable power source.

These experts found it nearly impossible to predict the duration of time that these essential services would be affected, only that the likelihood of losing many of these services was extremely high. Without basic survival needs, like running water, food, heat and medical supplies, they theorized that adequate home treatment of the flu would be nearly impossible, further exacerbating the flu’s case fatality rate.

Given the inherent difficulty to predict the duration of an essential services black-out, experts began to voice concern for the basic survival prospects of non-infected individuals and flu survivors. Statisticians and epidemiologists cited that even in the most modernized parts of the world, like Europe and North America, very few families have an adequate stock of food or water to survive for even one week, and national food reserves might remain inaccessible to most population groups.

Even if the food reserves were accessible, no coherent rationing plan existed, and in any event, on-hand reserve supplies would not last for more than a few weeks. Once the food and water distribution capacities are interrupted, even families who lived within a few miles of several major food stores would find it nearly impossible to procure safe food or water.

The situation in the developing regions of the world was even more desperate. With no national food reserves, and in many cases a near complete dependence upon food importation or aid shipments, the populations of many developing nations would face an immediate food and clean water shortage, worsened case fatality rates and vastly increased nourishment-related deaths. Once aid shipments ceased, survival in a region currently threatened with severe drought or famine would be close to impossible for both infected and non-infected alike.

Within these regions, ISPAC experts calculated that the death rates would catapult many regions into disastrous civil disorder. Given the likelihood that most national, regional and local civil protection capability will also be drastically diminished, an incendiary situation could develop, further adding to the chaos of the pandemic environment.

ISPAC experts pointed to examples of civil chaos seen during the 2008 avian flu pandemic, specifically in Pakistan and Yugoslavia, where a near complete loss of civil order occurred in vast geographic areas, creating nearly impossible environments for local, national and WHO pandemic efforts. In both Yugoslavia and Pakistan, casualty rates rose drastically when flu cases quickly overwhelmed the health system capacity, further rising when a near complete loss of essential services followed. ISPAC predicted that the disasters seen in Pakistan and Yugoslavia would likely be repeated everywhere in the world, even in the most modernized nations, in the face of a severe pandemic.

With their cautious and foreboding predictions, ISPAC representatives worldwide promoted a pandemic awareness and preparedness agenda that reached past WHO-supported measures. Although not diametrically opposed to WHO efforts, ISPAC dogma criticized the WHO’s monopoly of pandemic preparation and response. Since the apparent success of WHO efforts during the pandemic of 2008, the WHO billed itself as the sole provider of pandemic planning, preparedness and response for the world. As a result, many major nations decided to simply pay large financial sums to the WHO, letting them bear the burden of preparing for the next pandemic.

ISPAC firmly believed that WHO involvement in the next pandemic will be critical to mitigating fatalities and fighting the pandemic on a large scale. However, given the frightening prognosis of a deadlier pandemic flu, ISPAC officials projected that the next pandemic would quickly render WHO plans irrelevant and ineffectual. They maintained that the bulk of the pandemic readiness and response will need to stem from individual households, municipal and regional governments, and the private service sector. In effect, the WHO plan acts like a shield to prevent or slow the flu’s breach of a region, but once the shield is overwhelmed, WHO plans provide little capability to fight an internal battle against the flu because WHO plans can’t be effectively reduced to smaller scale.

Even worse, most nations allocated nearly all of their authorized pandemic preparedness funding to the WHO, leaving little funding left to seriously implement a domestic plan. Most nations had committees and departments that developed pandemic plans at all levels, but few countries empowered these entities to implement the plans and prepare. Unfortunately, ISPAC’s efforts to augment WHO plans met with considerable resistance by the WHO and the international community. The WHO sought to maintain their international pandemic planning monopoly, which yielded generous funding, and most nations had little interest or motivation to assume responsibility for further pandemic planning costs. It was easier for governments to write a check and pass the responsibility on to the WHO. After all, memories of the 2008 pandemic had long faded from the headlines and resurrecting them proved unpopular to voters worldwide.

Field Resources Available in 2008

In 1995, sponsors at Emory University, with International Society of Travel Medicine (ISTM) and CDC collaboration, established a system called GeoSentinel, which served to monitor emerging infections of potential global impact. Currently utilizing 41 GeoSentinel sites and 145 ISTM clinics on six continents, CDC and WHO officials can track the introduction and progression of diseases with pandemic potential. Since 2005, the main focus of the GeoSentinel system has been the detection and tracking of H5N1 virus strains. GeoSentinel forms the backbone of the WHO’s Global Outbreak and Alert Response Network (GOARN).

In 2005, the World Health Organization created specialized Forward Liaison Teams (FLT) to quickly respond to detected threats. Their purpose was to help host-country health officials to immediately develop and implement a grass-roots-level detection and reporting network beyond GeoSentinel, to further track and study the emerging threat. The network utilized national and local level representatives, comprised of health service providers and government service officials, to extend the surveillance capability within their area of responsibility. Once an effective system was developed, the FLTs would either remain in place to further develop host capabilities, or be re-deployed to another area of interest.

In mid-May 2008, the WHO assembled and officially introduced the Rapid Response and Surveillance Team (RRST) to the world. The RRST’s operational capability was one of the key contingencies formulated between 2005 and 2008. These teams tirelessly scoured the planet, investigating potential virus outbreaks and reporting the findings to the WHO for immediate asset allocation. Typically, an RRST was deployed within hours of a credible virus report. The RRSTs operated under the full support of the United Nations’ military enforcement arm. Likewise, admittance and full cooperation with the RRST by the host governments was mandatory and noncompliance was decreed by the UN to be an immediate, hostile action against world safety and security. With the full weight of the UN members backing the WHO, the RRSTs operated unhindered.

Once the RRSTs entered, if the H5N1 virus was detected, rapid mobilization of the host nation’s resources was implemented in accordance with WHO pandemic containment and treatment plans. These guidelines accounted for the various stages of economic and industrial development found throughout the world, and served as a baseline for immediate action. Quickly following the activation of the host nation’s resources, Rapid Response Assistance Packages (RRAPs) were deployed, sometimes in several stages, containing vaccine, medical augmentation material, and additional WHO personnel. The RRAP personnel provided education and pandemic plan implementation expertise to the host nation’s government and health services infrastructure, and in extreme cases, simply assumed control of all efforts to fight the pandemic.

The WHO’s enhanced response capability in 2008 proved effective against the emerging H5N1 pandemic.

Media Excerpts cut from the first draft of The Jakarta Pandemic

Among the first reports - The Morning View

Late October 2013

“In day two of a tense political standoff between China and the United Nations, China has further tightened travel restrictions into their country, essentially cutting off all foreign commercial air travel into the country. Hong Kong International airport continues operations, but no flights are permitted to continue into the Chinese mainland. Observers described the scene at Hong Kong International as organized chaos, as airport officials and Chinese government workers struggle to maintain order in one of the busiest in the world. Now, let’s talk to Jeff Talon, who is currently in Singapore, only recently released from Hong Kong International airport. Jeff?”

“Yes, Matt.”

“Jeff, could you describe your stay at the airport and the circumstances that led to your stay? I believe you were headed to Hong Kong International from Singapore, when the travel restriction was announced?”

“That’s exactly right, Matt, we were close to two hours out of Hong Kong when the captain announced that the flight would continue to the airport, but that all passengers with continuing flights to destinations within China would not be allowed to proceed. If Hong Kong International was a connection to another country, you had very little hassle upon arrival, but for those of us with continuing flights into China, it was truly unbelievable.”

“How so, Jeff.”

“First, very little information was passed to us. We were simply told to stand in line. We were put onto a bus that crossed the airport and deposited us inside a closed hangar. It was nearly 8 hours before anyone in a position of perceived authority came to gather our information, presumably to arrange transportation out of the country. Even then, they provided no further information regarding our status. From there, it took at least another day, with little to no information, before we were suddenly herded back on a bus and put on a Singapore Airlines flight back to Singapore.”

“Sounds frightening, did they ever give you any information regarding the travel ban?”

“No, Matt. This is what scared everyone the most. None of our cell phones worked at first, presumably because the cell towers and nodes had been shut down by the government. This set off a panicky mood among passengers, especially since we had been whisked away from the terminal with no explanation. We weren’t the only passengers taken out of the terminal. We joined nearly 600 other passengers already in the large hangar, and hundreds more arrived shortly after us. We think they filled several of these large hangars, maybe more. There was some speculation about a war, but these rumors were put to rest by passengers arriving later in the morning. Rumors of a possible flu outbreak began circulating by midday, compounded by the fact that all of the Chinese government and military officials were wearing masks.”

“Jeff, what were the conditions like in the hangar?”

“Pretty awful, Matt, but we were not mistreated, we were just ignored for a long time. I think they had their hands full at that airport. Like I said earlier, it took nearly 8 hours before they started to process our information, and unfortunately, it took nearly this long to get any food or water. The hangar itself was temperate, thankfully, but as you can imagine, it was quite claustrophobic, and the Chinese officials would not let anyone out of the hangar for any reason. I was glad to get out of there the following day, very glad to say the least.”

“That doesn’t sound like fun, I hope you didn’t have to go to the bathroom too often,” Matt joked.

Alex piped in, “Jesus, that would have been my first concern. Getting to that toilet first, before the other 800 other people decide they have to squat over the hole.”

“They don’t squat over holes in China,” Kate protested.

“They certainly do. Maybe not in the main airport terminals, but any bathroom built for the hangars would be constructed according to local standards, which in my experience throughout Japan and Korea, is very likely to be a porcelain hole in the ground. These things flush, and are nice, but to an untrained westerner, they present a challenge. There are bound to be some missed bombing runs, and…”

“Okay, I get the picture,” Kate said, shaking her head with a look of disgust.

“Yeah, Matt, I’m trying to forget the bathroom situation. Simply unforgettable, especially after about 12 hours in that hangar.”

Alex stated, “I’m sure they ran out of shit-paper after the first 50 guests, probably not high on their priority list. What a nightmare.”

“Thank you, Jeff. Now, let’s head over to our World Health Organization correspondent, Carolyn Davill.”

“Good morning, Matt, I’m reporting from outside WHO headquarters in Geneva, Switzerland, where a considerable buzz has developed since yesterday’s surprise Chinese clampdown on travel into China. There are many theories and speculations, but it remains clear today that China has not released any verifiable information regarding their decision. Sources close to the WHO stated that the primary speculation, and the greatest concern, is a pandemic threat developing in China. However, officials admit they are puzzled by the one-way travel restriction declaration. Flights are still departing China for all regions of the world, exports are continuing, and the importation of raw goods has not been restricted, although it is unclear how much longer this may be the case. Our WHO source claims that there is serious discussion within the UN regarding the institution of immediate travel restrictions with China, similar to those seen in 2008. We have also heard that several nations are possibly hours away from announcing independent travel restrictions with China.”

“Interesting, Carolyn, early reports from our Washington, D.C., correspondents and UN desk indicate that lawmakers on Capitol Hill will be meeting for an emergency session to discuss the events, and we are in the process of confirming that the UN has also declared an emergency session to respond to the Chinese travel ban. Carolyn, the prospect of possibly another pandemic-grade illness in China is a terrifying prospect for everyone. What have you heard from your sources at the WHO, specifically regarding this theory? Have they seen any indication that it may be true?”

“First, let me say, Matt, that the WHO is not releasing much information. We do know that they are in active negotiation and contact with Chinese health and government officials. They have assured us of this. As far as specific pandemic information, our sources told us that they were very unnerved by the fact that all Chinese government and military personnel at the airport were wearing face masks, and that all of the airport personnel were also soon given the same equipment. One rumor persists that several passengers were screened through a medical triage center, where apparently Chinese health officials were very concerned with identifying flu symptoms.”

“Certainly an ominous possibility, let’s hope this doesn’t pan out. Have you heard any speculation about why the travel ban is one way, and that travelers are allowed to leave China?”

“Well, Matt, once again, no definitive information exists regarding the logic behind the ban, however, there are several theories. The predominant theory is an economic one, speculating that if there is an outbreak, China does not want to disable its economy by limiting exports or imports, or even the export of its talented human force around the world. China is a dominant world power, having catapulted back onto the world economic scene after the 2008 pandemic, in a more powerful position than before. It is possible they hope to contain any problem arising. I can tell you this, despite an enhanced capability to handle pandemic threats, officials at the WHO are concerned about China’s lack of timely communication. They do not want a repeat of 2008.”

“Interesting, Carolyn, what are some of the other theories?”

“Matt, another theory on the table is that China is concerned about an external disease threat. This would make more sense given the one-way travel ban, clearly aimed at keeping travelers out of China, however, more credence is being given to the first theory, especially in light of China’s track record in 2005 and 2008.”

“Carolyn, have health officials at the WHO detected any suspicious virus activity throughout Southeast Asia that might support the second theory about an outside threat?”

“Our sources have not confirmed any unusual patterns, and WHO, CDC and GeoSentinel outbreak alert web pages have not highlighted any trends. However, the International Scientific Pandemic Awareness Collaboration is focused on the second theory. Our contact at the ISPAC states that they are actively investigating several dozen unidentified flu-like cases spread throughout Asia, specifically focused on the areas south of China.”

“What has been going on in this area?”

“Unfortunately, there is not much information on the ISPAC website, and our contact said that they just dispatched additional resources to the area. But our source did say that several International Society of Travel Medicine (ISTM) sponsored clinic sites linked into the GeoSentinel system have reported uncorrelated illnesses, mostly from foreign travelers.”

“Thank you, Carolyn, I am sure we will be hearing from you again shortly.”

“Thanks, Matt.”

“It’s thirteen after the hour and time for a quick break. When we return, we’ll hear from Dr. Donald Fendelman of the CDC, who will provide some background information about the world’s pandemic outbreak detection capability.”

Morning View Interview with CDC Virologist

Late October 2013

“Good morning, everyone, welcome back. We now shift back to the U.S. to speak with Dr. Donald Fendelman of the CDC, who is one of the world’s leading virologists. Dr. Fendelman, good morning.”

“Good morning, Matt.”

“Doctor, thank you for taking time out of what must be a hectic schedule, given the circumstances.”

“Always a pleasure, Matt.”

“So, what can you tell us about the current situation in China.”

“Well, first, thank you for inviting me to speak to such a wide audience. I hope I can shed some light on current events, but I am afraid that the CDC may not have much more to offer than the WHO. I can say that we are working with the WHO to formulate a plan to address the situation in China, with the Chinese Health Ministry. Our hopes and intentions are to resolve this within the realm of International Health Organizations and avoid further political, military or economic posturing. We are also operating in a liaison mode with the ISPAC and providing them with assistance to further investigate some of their concerns regarding recent developments. As you are aware, the relationship between the ISPAC and WHO is strained, to put it mildly. However, it is the CDC’s position that the ISPAC provides a unique perspective to the pandemic preparedness equation and should be afforded every opportunity to participate on a wide-scale level. Because of this stance, some of us at the CDC probably won’t be receiving Christmas cards from the WHO any time soon.”

“Yes, I imagine you won’t. You just mentioned recent developments. Are you referring to the uncorrelated illness cases surfacing in Asia, outside of China?”

“Yes, Matt, most of our efforts are focused in line with the WHO’s to address China’s travel restrictions. As such, we will allocate resources to help the ISPAC investigate any angles that we cannot simultaneously prosecute. At least a few dozen cases have attracted the attention of international health agencies, spanning several locations within Southeast Asia, but absolutely no conclusions can be drawn from these cases. They appear flu-like, and in most cases were reported second hand to local ISTM sites and picked up by the GeoSentinel system. Some of these cases have been reported first hand to ISTM sites, and these are the easiest to investigate. I presume ISPAC officials will start with these cases. Keep in mind, Matt, that tensions are high in this region, and rumors of some sort of outbreak in China are running rampant. So it is likely that we will see a massive increase in reported illnesses, of many varieties, including sicknesses not typically reported to GeoSentinel linked sites.”

“Doctor, you mentioned the GeoSentinel system, could you give us a brief rundown of this systems current capabilities?”

“Sure, Matt, in 1995, scientists at Emory University, backed by both the International Society of Travel Medicine (ISTM) and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), established a system called GeoSentinel, which served to monitor emerging infections of potential global impact. Currently utilizing 52 GeoSentinel sites and 253 ISTM clinics on six continents, CDC and WHO officials can track the introduction and progression of diseases with pandemic potential. Since 2005, the main focus of the GeoSentinel system has been the detection and tracking of flu virus strains.”

“This system has been significantly enhanced since 2008. Right?” Matt said.

“Yes, Matt, in 2008, only about 41 GeoSentinel sites existed and about 145 ISTM clinics. The newly-expanded system is truly the backbone and primary detection capability of the WHO’s Global Outbreak and Response Network (GOARN). The WHO also utilizes Forward Liaison Teams (FLT), first introduced at the outset of the 2008 pandemic.”

“Doctor, refresh my memory if you could, the FLTs are deployed once a pandemic outbreak is identified and sent to locations likely to receive infected travelers?”

“Yes, Matt, good memory, the FLTs are deployed in the likely path of the pandemic outbreak, with the mission of augmenting GeoSentinel detection capabilities. The FLTs interface with host-country health officials and assist with the immediate development and implementation of a grass-roots-level virus detection and reporting network. The network utilizes national and local level representatives, comprised of health service providers and government service officials, to extend the capability to detect the early onset of flu cases within their area of responsibility. Ideally, within a week of FLT arrival, a system would be developed that could detect the presence or intrusion of suspected flu virus activity, and immediately report it to the WHO for further investigation. Once an effective system was developed, the FLTs would either remain in place to further develop host capabilities, or be re-deployed to another area of interest. This system worked very well during 2008.”

“Doctor, can you confirm whether any of these teams have been deployed to Southeast Asia?”

“Matt, I really can’t say for sure, the WHO retains complete authority over the use of these assets, although in many cases CDC personnel fill slots on those teams. To my knowledge, none of our personnel have been notified. That is a great question for the WHO.”

“Finally, Dr. Fendelman, what are some of the other capabilities that the CDC can deploy?”

“Well, the CDC does not actually deploy its own teams overseas, it agrees to fill slots, at nearly all levels, within the WHO’s Global Outbreak and Response Network. Currently, this network includes the previously mentioned Forward Liaison Teams, Rapid Response and Surveillance Teams (RRST) and the Rapid Response Assistance Packages (RRAP). In a declared pandemic environment, the RRSTs tirelessly scour the planet, investigating potential virus outbreaks and reporting the findings to the WHO for immediate asset allocation. Ideally, an RRST is deployed within a few hours of a credible virus report. RRSTs operate under the full support of the United Nations’ military enforcement arm. Likewise, admittance and full cooperation with the RRST by the host governments is mandatory, and noncompliance is decreed by the UN security council to be an immediate, hostile action against world safety and security. With the full weight of the UN, RRSTs typically operated unhindered, as was seen during 2008.

“Once the RRSTs detect a pandemic virus, rapid mobilization of the host nation’s resources is implemented in accordance with WHO pandemic containment and treatment plans. These plans can be tailored for the full spectrum of economic and industrial development found throughout the world and serve as a baseline for immediate action. Quickly following the activation of the host nation’s resources, Rapid Response Assistance Packages (RRAPs) are deployed, sometimes in several stages, containing vaccine, medical augmentation material, and additional WHO personnel. RRAP personnel also provide education and pandemic plan implementation expertise to the host nation’s government and health services infrastructure. In extreme cases, they will simply assume control of all efforts to fight the pandemic.”

“Incredible, I truly hope this is not where we are headed. Dr. Fendelman, thank you again for talking with us, good luck today.”

“Thank you, Matt.”

“It’s reassuring to know that a lot of agencies are working on this as we speak. Hopefully, we’ll all get some solid information soon.”

First Interview ISPAC Virologist

Early November 2013

Alex enjoyed the stretch of road between Falmouth and Yarmouth. Nothing but trees and the occasional business or neighborhood development tucked away between tall thick pine trees. He’s absently listening to 80s music on satellite radio, when he suddenly remembered that NPR’s Talk of the Nation started a few minutes ago. He pressed the remote control preset button for NPR and confirmed that the talk show already started. Alex slowed his car and pulled off into the uncrowded parking lot of a landscaping business.

“…worldwide we promote a pandemic awareness and preparedness agenda, reaching past WHO supported measures, and augmenting WHO plans with additional layers of readiness. I can’t stress enough, that we are not opposed to their efforts, as many appear to believe. We both pursue the same agenda. To combat the pandemic threat and better prepare the world for a pandemic flu. It’s just that we put more emphasis on preparing the public for pandemic flu.”

Alex heard the topic and commented to himself that he probably won’t be making any sales calls until after 11 a.m., when the show ends. Actually, he contemplated the reality that he won’t be making any calls at all today. He still needed to check out all of the websites and blogs. That could suck him in for hours.

“Dr. Harris, a consensus of UN members feel that your organization attempts to undermine the WHO’s credibility and authority, whenever possible, by attacking their positions and plans. How do you respond to that?”

Ah, he’s one of the ISPAC’s more diplomatic spokespeople. Not as much fun as Dr. Ocampo.

“First, I think that these nations are giving us more credit than we are due, considering that we operate on a fraction of the WHO’s budget. Not to mention the embedded material and transportation support of UN member nations. Frankly, I only wish we could be as effective as they claim. To answer your question, yes, we are highly critical of the WHO’s monopoly of the world’s pandemic planning and response efforts. The WHO bills itself as the sole competent provider of this role, and the world buys into their rhetoric, literally. Most nations pay large financial sums to the WHO and wash their hands of the problem. They’d rather let the WHO bear the burden of preparing for the next pandemic. This financial support takes the form of contributions to the WHO, well above and beyond amounts paid to the United Nations. Once again, we are not opposed to WHO efforts, on the contrary, we firmly believed that WHO involvement in the next pandemic will be critical to mitigating fatalities and fighting the pandemic on a large scale. However, given the frightening prognosis of a deadlier pandemic flu, ISPAC officials project that the next pandemic could quickly render the WHO’s big picture plans ineffective. In effect, most nations are investing all of their pandemic budget in the wrong place.”

“Could you explain that in more detail?”

“Sure, we believe that the most important aspect of pandemic readiness and response needs to stem from municipal and regional governments, the private service sector, and individual households. Let me break it down a little better. The WHO plan acts like a castle wall, to prevent or slow the flu’s entry into the castle. But once the defense is overwhelmed, WHO plans provide little capability to protect the inhabitants of the castle against the flu. So if the flu is worse than 2008, the castle wall will be breached very quickly. Even worse, most nations have allocated nearly all of their authorized pandemic preparedness funding to the WHO, leaving little funding left to seriously implement a domestic plan inside the castle wall. Sure, most nations have committees and departments that develop and maintain pandemic plans at all levels, on paper, but few countries financially empower these entities to seriously implement the plans. It is very unfortunate that ISPAC’s efforts to augment WHO plans meet with endless resistance from the WHO and international community. The WHO continues to maintain their international pandemic planning monopoly, which yields them generous funding from nations that have little interest or motivation to assume further financial responsibility for domestic planning costs. It’s easier for governments to write a check and pass the responsibility on to the WHO.”

“Doctor, you stated that the barrier could be breached by a flu worse than the H5N1 strain seen in 2008. The WHO counters that they are ready for this possibility. They cite the massive increase to their funding since 2008 and a near doubling of their asset deployment capability in the same time period. Given this increase, would it be fair to say that they have risen to meet the challenge of a deadlier flu?”

“On paper, it all looks good, but once again, the increase to their capabilities still fails to address all aspects of pandemic flu behavior. By closely studying past pandemics like those seen in 2008, 1968 and 1918, you will find that no matter how tight or seemingly effective a quarantine or containment effort appears to be, it remains impossible to stop the transmission of the flu through conventional barriers. Impossible. So, the WHO has built a stronger castle wall, and this is fantastic. This effort alone will save countless millions of lives in the face of another pandemic. However, once the castle wall is breached, and it will be breached, the inhabitants inside remain unprepared and defenseless. The world’s nations are putting all of their hard resources into building this better castle wall. However, it’s our opinion, based on hard scientific fact and study, that you cannot build an impregnable castle wall.”

“Well, Dr. Harris, I can see why the label ‘doom and gloom’ gets tossed at your organization. It all sounds rather pessimistic.”

“I admit that this outlook is depressing, but it is a harsh reality, and the ISPAC is committed to raising awareness and improving the world’s ability to cope with the next pandemic. What’s truly depressing is that our outlook is based on scientifically sound data patterns and probability, yet our ideas are dismissed by the WHO as fear-mongering speculation, and our efforts are stymied on all levels. Tragically, our own nation’s Department of Health and Human Services will not cooperate with us on any level, demonstrating the overwhelming degree of foreign pressure filtered through our own politicians, right down into our own government agencies. For us, this is a terrible loss, since DHHS is responsible for U.S. pandemic preparation and response efforts. Thankfully, a reasonable degree of scientific and professional objectivity stems from the CDC and the United Kingdom’s Department of Health. Without their quiet support, we would have a much more difficult time operating worldwide.”

“Doctor, I have heard you state before that the world caught a break with the 2008 pandemic. The WHO emphatically disagrees with this statement, once again dismissing it as speculative pessimism. Would you explain to our listeners why you feel the world caught a break?”

“Right, it’s rather simple, so let’s start with some of the basics. First, the 2008 H5N1 strain had a significantly lower pathogenicity than any previously seen H5N1 strains. Pathogenicity means a microorganisms capacity to produce disease and inflict damage, and is typically directly related to the disease’s case fatality rate. Case fatality rate is the proportion of individuals that contracted the disease, that die from causes directly related to the disease. Throughout recorded human history, documented case fatality rates for pandemic diseases rarely exceeded 5-8%. Earlier strains of H5N1 in Southeast Asia produced a 40-50% case fatality rate, which really scared world scientists. Granted, the number of cases was low, and many scientists argued that a significant number of cases went unreported and presumably resulted in survival. Even given these ideas, the case fatality rate would have still remained about 25%, which is still unlike any pandemic-grade disease ever seen before. When H5N1 finally mutated to a strain capable of highly sustained human-to-human transmission in 2008, it also mutated into a strain with a lower pathogenicity, and a subsequently lower case fatality rate. The rate hovered around 6%, even in areas with little or no real treatment capability. When this became apparent to virologists and infectious disease specialists, believe me, we all felt as if we had caught a major break.

“Additionally, the 2008 strain displayed a quicker than normal asymptomatic to symptomatic shift. Infected individuals showed symptoms within 1-2 days, instead of the 3-5 day period seen in previous seasonal and pandemic flu strains. Since symptoms surfaced quickly, infected individuals were more rapidly detected, contained, and treated, greatly slowing the flu’s geographic spread. Scientists calculated that if the strain had behaved differently, with a longer asymptomatic virus shedding period, then the disease would have been harder to detect and contain, and easier to transmit. Consequently, the pandemic flu would have infected a significantly higher percentage of the population, while geographically spreading further, quicker. This resulted in another collective sigh of relief.

“But either scenario, higher pathogenicity or elevated transmission rates, will likely push pandemic response plans, national healthcare systems and essential services beyond their limits. You need only look at the disasters in Pakistan or Mexico City during 2008 to envision what could happen anywhere in the world, if just one of the scenarios materialized. Combining both scenarios could trigger a global disaster of truly epic proportions. If any of the severely pathogenic H5N1 strains seen in 2005-2006 had made the antigenic shift to effective human-to-human transmission, then the world would have faced a more highly contagious and transmittable strain of flu, with a 40-50% case fatality rate, that could be spread for days by individuals showing no outward signs of the virus. The outcome of this pandemic would have been drastically worse than the 2008 pandemic, regardless of the presence of an effective vaccine.”

“Doctor, this is both fascinating and alarming. We are running short on time, are there any other aspects you would like to discuss? And feel free to continue with the bad news, I think half of our listeners have tuned out so they can purchase some emergency supplies.”

Dr. Harris releases a deep, coughing laugh, having been caught off guard by the joke. “Yes, I bet they have. Sorry if I killed your ratings. First, I want to make sure that your listeners understand that the current situation in China has not been defined. There is some speculation regarding disease outbreak, fueled by the existence of an unexplained travel ban and China’s past behavior, which has been less than desirable. That being said, our organization is investigating cases in several countries throughout Asia, while the WHO pursues efforts with China. Clearly, China holds key information that they are not sharing. Hopefully, the WHO, backed by the UN, can pry this information loose. At the same time, several international health monitoring organizations, including the ISPAC, are pursuing leads external to China. As always, we will provide real time access to this information on our website.

“As for more bad news, let me say that the vaccine situation in 2008 was unique and unlikely to ever be repeated. Beginning in 2005, the international science community, spearheaded by the WHO, marked the H5N1 virus as the most likely future pandemic threat. Consequently, H5N1 became the most extensively studied virus in human history, and by 2006, the world had an effective vaccine against the most common strains of H5N1. So in 2008, when the pandemic started in China, an effective vaccine already existed for use against the mutated strain. The international community rallied to put the vaccine into immediate wide-scale production on a level never seen before. The immediate presence of a vaccine contributed greatly to mitigating the spread of the 2008 pandemic. Today, however, if a novel strain evolves, experts concur that it will take at least 4-6 months to develop an effective vaccine. Large-scale production of the vaccine would follow, after vaccine production facilities convert to the creation of the new pandemic vaccine. This conversion could add weeks, or possibly months to the entire process, followed by the difficulties of nationwide or worldwide distribution during pandemic conditions. Overall, the world could very likely be forced to wait 6-9 months before the general delivery of an effective vaccine. Even worse, the distribution of the new vaccine would follow national and international rationing protocols, further delaying widespread distribution of the vaccine. The world’s population will face a grim reality. The majority of people could be forced to live and survive in a hostile and deadly pandemic environment for nearly a year, before receiving vaccination to the flu.”

“Grim indeed, Dr. Harris. We would like to remind our listeners that up-to-date, real-time information regarding developments in China can be found on the ISPAC website, at ispac.org, and that a whole host of pandemic awareness information can be found there as well. Dr. Harris, always a pleasure. We wish your teams the best of luck out there in the field.”

“Thank you for having me, Dave.”

Interview with Co-Founder of the ISPAC, Dr. Ocampo

Early November 2013

FBC Nighttime News started with a preview of the evening’s stories, starting with the “Crisis in China.” It was clear that this topic would occupy most of the half-hour show. They also saw that there would be a segment highlighting the destructive progress of Hurricane Terrence and a health segment regarding the diabetes epidemic.

Kate fast-forwarded through the introductions to the beginning of the China segment. They both watched as the primary anchor, Kerrie Connor, recapped the facts of the day. Neither of them learned anything new from her recap, but they continued to watch, eagerly waiting for Dr. Ocampo’s segment.

After a few minutes, Kerrie introduced Dr. David Ocampo as one of the founders of the International Scientific Pandemic Awareness Collaborative. Alex and Kate could see from the information displayed on the split screen that Dr. Ocampo was broadcasting from ISPAC headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia. Dr. Ocampo had a dark complexion, with thick black hair and a trimmed black mustache. He was wearing a light blue oxford shirt with a red tie.

“Dr. Ocampo, thank you so very much for talking with us tonight.”

Dr. Ocampo stared at the screen for a few seconds and squinted his eyes. It appeared there was a communications lag between Kerrie and Atlanta. He nodded his head and then answered, “Kerrie, it truly is my pleasure to answer any of your questions and give the public the best information regarding the situation in China.”

“Dr. Ocampo, not only are you one of the founders of the ISPAC, but you currently head the live information and trend analysis division of your organization. That’s quite a name. Could you briefly introduce the role of this division?”

“Yes, this division analyzes information received worldwide, regarding flu-like illness or any illness patterns of a contagious or transmittable nature. This information is accepted from thousands of sites, like Geosentinel tracking sites, hospitals, clinics, you name it. If the site is connected to the internet, phone lines, fax, satellite service, or in some cases postal service, we will collect any possibly relevant patient case information from them. We openly encourage all sources to pass information to the ISPAC. We also regularly share information with the WHO, CDC and Britain’s Health Ministry.

“As we receive information, we sort through it looking for anything that fits the parameters of a contagious and transmittable disease. If we find something fitting this parameter, we typically dispatch a team to investigate the scene, or pass the information to the CDC or WHO, to try and get them to dispatch a team. These organizations have much deeper pockets than we do, and we try at every opportunity to use their funds instead of ours.”

Dr. Ocampo laughed at his own joke, and Kerrie smiled.

“Have your teams discovered any trends within the past few days around China?”

“We are investigating several leads within the region which fit the pattern of acute pneumonic illness. As you know, the WHO and CDC are solely focused on China right now and have to immediately activate several Restricted Travel Centers. Even if they weren’t busy with this, the WHO made it clear that they would not help us pursue these leads. They feel that the problem, whatever it turns out to be, is contained within China and all efforts should be focused on China. The CDC has loaned us some additional assets to pursue these leads.”

“What exactly do you expect to find at these sites of interest, and why are they more important to your organization than to the WHO?”

“Hopefully, we’ll find nothing to support a pandemic trend, but I think that the WHO is making one hell of an assumption about the situation. They are assuming that China is once again the source. And I don’t want to get ahead of myself here, but we have no idea what is going on in China and why they imposed their own travel ban. However, multiple sources confirm that biological protective gear was worn at Hong Kong International airport and that their soldiers and officials, donned in this gear, were treating airport passengers like they might be infected with disease. Couple this with the fact that the travel ban was a one-way ban, keeping travelers from other countries out of China. The WHO theorizes that this ban is intended to keep foreigners from discovering what is happening in China, and it is true that all foreigners were re-routed, while Chinese citizens were transported to the mainland. Still, even the Chinese citizens were corralled by government officials and soldiers in full biological protective gear. I don’t think it is outlandish to entertain the idea that China is trying to keep something out of their country. Maybe something they detected or suspected was inbound. Since the WHO is fully occupied with China, our organization is examining the possibility that China was trying to minimize exposure to an incoming disease threat. If this is the case, then that disease would already be spreading around the region, and our organization will find it. If we are wrong, which I truly hope we are, then the WHO and CDC should be able to best contain the problem to China.”

“Right now, do the locations you are investigating fit any broad pattern or trend of disease transmission?”

“That’s quite a question, Kerrie. Perhaps FBC is better informed than I anticipated. Without jumping to conclusions, I would have to answer yes. At this early point, it vaguely resembles the model of transmission seen in 2008. This is extremely, and I repeat, extremely early to conclude anything. But let’s just jump ahead, way ahead of ourselves and theorize that the cases under investigation are linked to an identical strain. I warn again, this is a theoretical exercise. No information exists, to my knowledge, about any of these specific cases. Just geographic trends.

“Given these trends, 75% of the suspect sites geographically correspond with the earliest reported cases outside of China during the 2008 avian flu pandemic. That is, the cases under investigation are on the path of direct flights from Hong Kong International airport, which most certainly was one of the primary jumping points for the 2008 pandemic. Interestingly, the current leads only correspond in the 20-40% match range for direct flights from Beijing or Shanghai, but all of them match with direct flights from Hong Kong.

“This indicates a specific pathway trend from Hong Kong. Kerrie, if I had to guess a worst-case scenario, I would guess that China experienced an unknown health epidemic in the areas surrounding Hong Kong, heavily industrialized and populated areas, and that the Chinese suspect that the infection came from abroad. Probably somewhere close by in the Southeast Asia region. If so, the disease hit China mainly through Hong Kong International Airport and could very likely be on its way around the world. Hong Kong International Airport handles over 180,000 passengers a day, traveling to over 168 destinations worldwide. Many of them direct. If a virus launches through Hong Kong International Airport, it could end up anywhere in the world. Of course, we have no idea if a disease is even the problem in China. Sorry to cast such dim light on the situation.”

“No need to apologize, Dr. Ocampo. It would be fair to say that opinions like the one you just expressed frequently place you in WHO crosshairs. You have certainly been an outspoken critic of the WHO in the past.”

“And present,” Dr. Ocampo said.

“Your primary disagreement relates to the state of pandemic preparedness in the U.S. and abroad. Specifically, you are extremely critical of the WHO’s influence on the process.”

“Absolutely. They feel the need to own it and treat it like a commodity. The more control they have over it worldwide, the more money they receive in UN support and direct national financing. Their monopoly and influence over pandemic planning policy abroad, and here in the U.S., puts the world at grave risk.”

“Can you explain how it puts the world at risk? In the simplest terms possible.”

“Are you implying that I might delve too deeply into the topic?”

Kerrie suppressed another laugh. “Well, let’s just say that you have a trend toward detail, and we have a fair amount to cover for our viewers.”

“Touché. Let me see. The WHO’s infrastructure and efforts are focused on regional containment. They acknowledge the inherent difficulty of containing a pandemic flu strain too close to its source and instead focus on regional efforts. In the case of an outbreak in China, they would expend considerable resources in China, but the bulk of the resources would be allocated to detection and containment throughout Southeast Asia. Additional emphasis would be placed upon worldwide detection and hotspot containment worldwide.

“In essence, the WHO strategy focuses on building a shield, or wall, to keep the flu contained. This is the strategy that the WHO has sold to the world since 2008, and the world pays for it with billions upon billions of dollars. Unfortunately, these billions go to the WHO and not to state and federal agencies responsible for funding domestic pandemic preparedness plans. In early 2009, the Bush administration, in conjunction with the CDC and Department of Health and Human Services, published a 381 page document outlining local, state and federal responsibilities for pandemic preparedness. A little late on the draw, but it brought many subject matter experts together and produced a worthy document. It was a great starting point. Unfortunately, without funding, it just sits on shelves at every government level, collecting dust. We estimate a 6% compliance rate with the action items outlined in this publication, at all levels. The worst rate is at the local city or town level, about 3%, and this is quite arguably where it will count the most in the event of serious pandemic. The money is simply not available in local budgets, and federal grants are nearly non-existent for any city smaller than Los Angeles.”

“You said that the local city and town level is the most important in your view. Why?”

“Simply stated, in the face of a serious pandemic threat, that is, a novel flu strain that is highly transmissible and contagious, we can’t possibly hope to keep the disease out of our borders. Even the national flu pandemic document acknowledges that any measures taken to contain or shield the U.S. from a pandemic will only delay the flu’s entry into the U.S. by a few months or even weeks. This is exact verbiage. Think of our country’s borders. Thousands of illegal and legal aliens enter the U.S. every day, and thousands of planes land from hundreds of different countries. These are just two of the most obvious holes. The U.S. borders are like a sieve. There is absolutely no way to effectively close off our borders, airports and seaports, or to screen the large volume of travelers that pass through our country. Once the pandemic flu enters the country, it will spread everywhere. Then where do we stand? We will certainly be well behind in the planning process. 6% compliance, on average, with all the national flu pandemic plan recommendations? That’s way behind, and I suspect the action items encompassing that 6% are the easiest and least expensive to implement…and probably the least effective against a pandemic.

“I didn’t really answer your question properly. I am saying that the arrival of the flu will be inevitable in your community and that the outwardly focused, WHO-supported efforts will not be useful to your community. Without a properly-funded and coherent local government plan, chaos will quickly descend. That chaos will enhance the flu’s deadliness two or threefold.”

“Dr. Ocampo, WHO representatives have repeatedly criticized this premise, labeling your organization’s research in this area of study as flawed. They say that your casualty projections are extremely excessive and that your assessment of the impact on essential services is exaggerated. Dr. Pierre Neville, head of the WHO’s pandemic impact study group, is quoted saying that the ‘ISPAC’s predictions are alarmist science fiction.’ How do you respond to the WHO’s stance toward the ISPAC’s projections?”

“Ah, Dr. Neville, he is quite the character. Certainly one of the WHO’s more colorful attack dogs. The problem with their criticism of our projections is that the WHO leans way too heavily on the experiences of the 2008 pandemic. They insist that 2008 is the perfect model for all future pandemics. On the contrary, we believe that the 2008 pandemic flu strain was a relatively weak pandemic strain, especially compared to the 1918 Spanish flu, and that the world’s healthcare system and essential services infrastructure was barely challenged. Bear with me as I explain this in some detail.

“In 2008, for both modernized and developing nations, hospital-based care remained available to a vast majority of infected individuals, drastically improving outcomes and contributing heavily to the low overall case fatality rate. Although the situation in many developing nations approached, and in some cases crossed the tipping point for the availability of hospital or clinic-based care, most modernized nations’ system were never truly challenged by the 2008 pandemic. This outcome would be different in the face of a deadlier and more infectious virus. The breakpoints for inpatient healthcare availability, in both modernized and developing nations, would be reached quickly, and the result would be catastrophic.

“We calculate that, in any given area, all available inpatient services such as hospital beds, ventilators, observation rooms, and medical staff would be occupied within 2-3 weeks of a pandemic reaching that area. Just based on 1918 pandemic flu patterns, within weeks, in the U.S. alone, the health care system would need 200% of all existing hospital beds, 500% of existing intensive care unit beds, and over 200% of available ventilators to meet the flu demand. Once inpatient capacity was filled, patients would be given a set of home-based care instructions and turned away.”

“Turned away? Where would they be sent?”

“Home.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like a great option.”

“It isn’t. The predicted survival rates for hospital-based care versus home-based care differ greatly, based on the severity of the patient’s flu symptoms and easily recognizable patient risk factors such as age, chronic disease, and general health. The best example is demonstrated by patients in a medium-high risk category, who are typically either very young or very old, or have an underlying chronic disease that can lead to further complications, like diabetes, heart disease, or a pulmonary disorder. For this group, patients treated within a stable and fully-resourced inpatient setting would survive at a rate of 80-85%, while patients treated in a stable home setting, with access to basic medical supplies, would be expected to survive at a rate of 40-50%. It is important to note that these figures applied to best-case scenarios in each setting, where access to power, water, medical supplies, competent medical personnel and equipment remains constant. The predicted difference between the two, in even the best of circumstances, is remarkable. Once all inpatient services are occupied within the first few weeks of a more virulent pandemic flu and basic medical stockpiles started to disappear, the expected rates of survival would plummet in both settings by 20-40%.”

Kerrie commented, “80-85% sounds bad enough, but 40-50% is a depressing statistic. This is the best-case scenario?”

Dr. Ocampo said, “For this group. The outcomes prognosis for low-risk patients is much better, and for high-risk patients, much worse.”

Kate said, “That puts survival rates in the home at 10% or less once inpatient services vanish. For the medium-risk group. If you’re a high-risk patient, you’re as good as dead.”

Alex said, “That’s ugly.”

“Kerrie, this isn’t science fiction, it’s a commonsense-based statistical prediction. A complicated one that accounts for hundreds of factors and balances trends from several pandemic models. Not just one, like the WHO model. The bad news doesn’t end here.

“Our public planning experts agree that during a more severe pandemic, the combination of both a rapidly-growing infection rate and an overwhelming fear of infection will lead to massive absenteeism rates in all sectors of public and private service. Inevitably, high absenteeism rates and rampant sickness will seriously deteriorate the reliability of fuel delivery and degrade both municipal and regional public service departments’ ability to repair, maintain and operate their systems. In a short period of time, once local fuel reserves are exhausted, or system maintenance exceeds the capability of the remaining personnel, a general collapse of essential services like electricity, public water, food distribution, communications and public safety will follow. Eventually, even the hospitals and temporary pandemic treatment centers may face severe personnel shortages, exhaustion of essential supply stockpiles, and the loss of a stable power source. Our experts find it nearly impossible to predict the duration of time that these essential services would be affected. Only that the likelihood of losing many of these services was extremely high. Without basic survival needs, like running water, food, heat and medical supplies, they theorize that adequate home treatment of the flu would be nearly impossible, further exacerbating the flu’s case fatality rate.

“Given the inherent difficulty of predicting the duration of an essential services blackout, our experts even voice concern for the survival prospects of non-infected individuals and flu survivors. Statisticians and epidemiologists worldwide acknowledge that even in the most modernized parts of the world, like the Pacific Rim, Europe and North America, very few families have an adequate supply of food or water to last for even one week, and national food reserves might remain inaccessible to most population groups. Even if accessible, no coherent rationing plan exists, and in any event, on-hand reserve supplies would not last for more than a few weeks. Once the food and water distribution capacities are interrupted, even families that live within a few miles of several major food stores would find it nearly impossible to procure safe food or water.”

“Doesn’t the national pandemic flu plan provide guidance for food distribution plans?”

“Not really. It recommends that a detailed national plan be devised, and it tasks the state and local governments to develop their own plans, but our latest investigation found that very few documented plans exist. Los Angeles has a plan, but they lack the ability to tie into an effective state and federal plan. So what is the point of having a plan? It’s not their fault, those plans just don’t exist. So if one of the nation’s largest cities’ plan is rendered useless by lack of support from higher echelon government levels, why would any other cities or states bother to spend the money to develop their own plans. It’s hard to fault them. Support for these measures needs to filter down from above, in the form of mandate, inspection, funding and most importantly, leadership. This climate does not currently exist here in the U.S. Amazingly, the national document does not delineate a chain of command in the event of a pandemic, or even suggest who is in charge. A heavy emphasis is placed on the Department of Health and Human Services’ role in a pandemic, but they are given no clear leadership authority. The role of the military is not even mentioned. All of this will have to be established after the pandemic hits, adding to the confusion.”

“Are there any successful international models?”

“Very few, Kerrie. Most developed nations face the same issues as the United States, lack of budget and very little political will to allocate time and resources to a so-called doomsday project. Most European, Asian, and African countries are under the WHO’s thumb, so there is little hope for these nations to develop coherent internal plans. The situation is a mess worldwide.”

“Dr. Ocampo, the situation in the developed countries sounds bad enough. What is your assessment of the developing areas?”

“Do you really want to know the answer to that question? Of course you do. As you can imagine, the situation in developing regions of the world is even more desperate. With no national food reserves and, in many cases, a near complete dependence upon food importation or aid shipments, the populations of many developing nations would face an immediate food and clean water shortage. Survival in a region currently threatened with even moderate drought or famine would be close to impossible for both infected and non-infected alike.

“A general loss of essential services and scarcity of basic survival needs will combine synergistically to escalate the death rate and catapult many regions into disastrous civil disorder. Given the likelihood that most national, regional and local civil protection capability will also be drastically diminished, an incendiary situation could develop, further adding to the chaos of the pandemic environment. ISPAC experts point to examples of civil chaos seen during the 2008 avian flu pandemic, specifically in Pakistan and Yugoslavia, where a near complete loss of civil order occurred in vast geographic areas, creating nearly impossible environments for local, national and WHO pandemic efforts. In both Yugoslavia and Pakistan, casualty rates rose drastically when flu cases quickly overwhelmed the health system capacity, further rising when a near complete loss of essential services followed. ISPAC predicts that the disasters seen in Pakistan and Yugoslavia would likely be repeated everywhere in the world, even in the most modernized nations, in the face of a severe pandemic.”

“This is indeed a grim prospect, and one that our political leaders need to make a high priority. Dr. Ocampo, what is standing in their way?”

“High pressure international lobbying on behalf of the WHO. Most federal money budgeted to pandemic disaster preparedness heads overseas to the WHO to help build a better castle wall. It would be helpful to see more of that money available to our own federal and state government. It would be even more helpful if the pandemic disaster budget was increased and that money stayed here in the United States, for use by the Department of Health and Human Services, the CDC, and local state and city governments.”

“Dr. Ocampo, thank you for your time. I hope that the situation in China does not expand into a world health crisis because it would appear that the world may not be prepared for the full impact of a flu pandemic. Good luck to both you and your organization.”

“Thank you for the opportunity to educate the public, and if I may, your viewers can always obtain the most updated information regarding our current investigation, or general pandemic flu tracking, on our website, ISPAC.org.”

Morning View interview with U.S. Department of Health and Human Services Director

Early November 2013

“Good morning. The news dominating the thoughts and concerns of all Americans today stems from Southeast Asia, where fear of a new pandemic virus is starting to rise. Early this morning, a startling development was unveiled by the Chinese during a late afternoon press conference in Beijing. The Chinese government signified that an unidentified disease has caused several major outbreaks, mostly limited to the southern coastal regions of China. They have confirmed that the cases are not caused by a strain or variant of the H5N1 avian flu that swept the world in 2008, but that this is definitely a pneumonic illness, or an illness causing serious respiratory problems. This description is causing quite a reaction among the scientific community, where fear of a new pandemic is circulating.

“China has also agreed to cooperate fully with the international community, and we have received word that WHO and CDC teams have already entered China to start the process of containment and mitigation, and to identify the currently unidentified cause of these cases. No reports of casualties have been issued. Fear of another pandemic is now front and center in most Americans’ minds. Thomas McGreggor joins us this morning to shed some light on these developments. Thomas, welcome.”

“Thank you, Matt, please call me Tom. I appreciate this opportunity to talk about the recent developments in China.”

“First, could you describe the Department of Health and Human Services’ role in preparing and responding to a pandemic.”

“Gladly, Matt. This department has many roles, all critical to our nation’s robust capability to deal with a pandemic. First, our encompassing goal is to implement the national strategy to prevent or slow a pandemic flu’s entry into the United States, to limit the domestic spread of the disease, and to mitigate disease suffering and death. All while sustaining the nation’s economic and essential services infrastructure. The bottom line is that DHHS is responsible for building an infrastructure to detect and respond to an outbreak.”

“Tom, that sounds like a momentous task. How is it possible for a department of the government to implement and monitor such a broad-reaching goal? Frankly, some experts just don’t think it’s possible for one department to accomplish these goals, or they question whether your department has the reach and authority to enforce the national plan.”

“Well, you’re right when you state that we can’t possibly do this alone. It would not be possible for us to oversee implementation of every aspect of the national plan, or enforce it, as you say.

“DHHS directs each state, county, city and organization to create their own strategies and procedures, aligned with the goals of the national pandemic response strategy.”

“You’re talking about the 381 page national plan?” Matt asked.

“Yes, the very one. Our department empowers local governments to build partnerships with health care facilities and community leaders, and to develop an effective communications infrastructure for the timely dissemination of information. This will also be a critical aspect of a pandemic response, and DHHS has recently completed a major upgrade to the communications components. One that will facilitate communication on a local level. First, a national emergency satellite broadcast system just came online a few weeks ago, which will give anyone with access to a GPS receiver, GPS-enabled cell phone, satellite radio or home satellite service full access to national emergency information. Best of all, each state will have the capability to stream information to the satellite system for rebroadcast to local responders and civilians. This system was spearheaded by DHHS and will play a major role in the event of any emergency. Matt, almost every cell phone built today is GPS-enabled. This puts the information right at everyone’s fingertips.”

“This certainly sounds like a major improvement over radio and television broadcasts, which could be subject to power failure. Given the current situation, when will information regarding this system be given to the public and local government?”

“Already in progress for local and state governments. The full send and receive capability should be rolled out to them within the next few weeks. As for the public, they can find all of the information they need on the DHHS website at dhhs.gov under accessing emergency satellite broadcast.”

“Tom, back to the idea of delegating implementation to local governments. We’ve heard from several experts who all agree that the national plan is solid, but argue that very few of the recommendations have been implemented because federal funding is simply unavailable. We’ve heard some sobering statistics. Some citing a compliance rate of less than 10% with national plan recommendations. Most states, cities and towns don’t seem to be able to find the money within their own budgets to implement your recommendations, and little money is flowing down from Washington. Critics also suggest that most of the money that the Congress and Senate is willing to allocate to pandemic response is heading overseas to fund the WHO.”

“Certainly these critics like to point fingers at Washington whenever they can, but several reviews and accounting estimates conducted by our department indicate that implementation of these strategies would costs very little in terms of money. Are they time intensive, requiring the cooperation and effort of numerous local organizations and governments? Absolutely. A pandemic is a complex emergency, requiring an effective and coordinated response on many levels. Preparation for a pandemic is similar in scope. The bulk of the costs occur once the pandemic strikes, and when this occurs, each state and local area will receive disaster area level funding to ensure continuity of pandemic response operations.”

“I don’t know if I agree. Let me read directly from the DHHS manual. ‘Ideally, states develop a multilayered strategy that delineates responsibilities at all levels of society to ensure the viability of government functions and services, such as energy, financial, transportation, telecommunications, firefighting and public safety. This strategy will assist businesses and utilities with continuity of operations, collaborating with the healthcare sector on issues like stockpiles, available beds, isolation and quarantine plans, surge capacity, personnel protection, communications links and pharmaceutical supply and distribution. It will coordinate offsite treatment and triage locations, medical stations, and implement a mass fatality plan.

“Tom, this sounds like an expensive proposition. My parents’ hometown can barely scrape together enough money to repair minor damage to its roads. If not from the federal government, where will we get this money?”

“Well, first, I don’t agree with the statistics that claim only 6% of national plan is implemented. We’ve seen amazing progress throughout the nation, without reliance on more federal money. An appropriate level of funding is available at all levels, for implementation of the plan. However, this is not the first time we’ve heard this criticism, and as a department, we are working hard to increase funding of these grants. Our goal is to develop and implement a comprehensive national pandemic response strategy, and if more money is required, then we will take the case to Capitol Hill.”

“I hope that the system, as it stands today, will be effective enough to deal with a crisis, if one arises.”

“Matt, since 2008, our nation’s pandemic response capability has been vastly improved. From vaccination production and research capability to antiviral stockpiling. We learned a lot from the avian flu and applied those lessons to the national plan in place today.”

“Speaking of today. What is DHHS’s primary goal or concern today regarding the crisis in Asia, and what part of the national plan is being implemented?”

“We are working in close coordination with the CDC and WHO to receive real-time information regarding any and all aspects of the crisis. Our number one priority will be to prevent this disease from entering and spreading in the United States. Currently there is no indication that the disease has spread outside of China, though we have activated passive foreign traveler detection protocols. In essence, customs officials have been alerted to identify and track any travelers arriving on foreign flights that appear ill.”

“Will these travelers be detained?”

“Not under passive protocols. Active protocols require a massive personnel increase, as you can imagine, and are implemented when it is certain that a pandemic-grade illness is headed to our borders. Passive protocols will flag these travelers and their destinations, so that they can be contacted if they are later suspected to be infected by a pandemic disease.”

“Has DHHS considered the possibility that the mystery disease has already entered the U.S. in considerable numbers? For nearly three days, travelers have left China for the U.S. and hundreds of other locations abroad. If the disease originated in China, this seems reasonable. If the disease originated somewhere else, like China claims, then the same theory applies.”

“We’ve definitely considered this, however, the number of passengers traveling to the U.S from China in a two-day period is small. We are tracking all of these passengers and taking steps to ensure that if any of them are sick with this disease, they will be treated immediately. The travel ban on China is still in effect, given the circumstances, which ensures that we are dealing with a finite number of passengers that we can track. DHHS, along with the WHO, feels confident that disease is limited to China. China’s own detection and response capability is first rate. We have been assured by the Chinese that only essential travelers departed China during the time in question, and that these passengers were screened prior to leaving the country. Even if their screening didn’t catch all of them, our screening will, as will the efforts of our neighboring countries. Right now, we are taking the appropriate steps given the information available. And the information is flowing much more effectively than in 2008. The Chinese, in particular, have stepped up and taken responsible steps to ensure unfettered access for international response teams and to open critical lines of communication between our nations.”

Morning View interview with ISPAC Co-Founder

Early November 2013

“Welcome back to the show. Unfortunately, Dr. Gustafson had to cut the interview short to handle an emergent development. However, in the brief segment before commercial, it became clear to our viewers that two clearly opposing viewpoints exist regarding the current pandemic threat. Where does your organization plan to go from here?”

“Matt, I hope I didn’t run Dr. Gustafson out of town, so to say. He is a very brilliant doctor and scientist, but I gather the sense that his common sense and true opinions are being held hostage by the overwhelming and overreaching bureaucracy of the WHO and its parent organization, the United Nations. Where do we go from here? Well, our organization is minute compared to the WHO and is mostly an investigative and research body.

“Our main objective is to learn as much as possible about this new virus. We know it’s highly contagious, or transmittable. We know it’s highly pathogenic, meaning that if you are exposed to it, you are very likely to get sick from it. What I’d like to know is H16’s behavioral timeline once a patient is infected. A behavioral map. This is important. How long does a patient remain asymptomatic, no detectable symptoms? How long after infection does it take for the patient to start shedding the virus, or spreading it? How many days does a patient shed the virus, while showing no symptoms? This is especially critical, since this is when a patient is likely to spread the flu most. When they have no idea they’re carrying the flu, and neither does anyone else. Business as usual. Other things I want to know is the average ratio of new cases caused by a single case. This is hard to determine, but very useful when projecting disease transmission.

“Then, we want to know about the symptoms, especially the progression of symptoms. Is there an immediate risk of death like that seen in the 1918 Spanish flu and seen in very limited numbers in 2008? How long typically until pulmonary complications arise? Everything, Matt. The more we know, the more we can predict and help direct national and international strategy. Once this data is available, we can establish clinical attack rates and case fatality rates, god forbid.”

“How far away are you from establishing this behavioral timeline?” Matt asked.

“I am pretty sure we have a rough timeline now, but it is very rough. We’ve only been in the field observing and testing infected patients for a few days. Ideally, you would want to observe a patient that was presumably healthy, came in contact with an infected individual, then contracted the virus. The earlier we start observation and treatment, the better. We have plenty of those now, but the majority of our cases have been sick for close to a week, especially those from Indonesia. At first we rely exclusively upon anecdotal information to establish a patient’s timeline, then as more patient data is available, we can more accurately establish the timeline. Sorry if I sound like I am dodging the question, Matt, I believe a rough timeline will be available shortly, possibly in the upcoming press release.”

“Thank you, Dr. Ocampo, for our viewers, we’ve just been informed that this information update will occur at 9 a.m. Eastern Standard Time, and we will certainly cover this release, live on this channel. Dr. Ocampo, before you get back to work in Atlanta, do you have any recommendations for our viewers? Something they can do right now to help prepare and protect their families from the possibility of a deadly pandemic.”

“Sure, Matt, but let me make one thing as clear as possible. This new virus is not a possibility, it is a reality. H16 will spread around the globe like any other pandemic. I truly believe that containment is no longer a viable option, unless an immediate, massive effort is undertaken by the WHO, with the cooperation of every nation on the planet. Unfortunately, I can’t imagine a scenario in which the WHO can get its resources out of China quick enough to lead this effort. With this being said, individual families can log on to our website and obtain pandemic preparedness checklists, or call our toll-free number and this list will be read by an automated system. The best way to safeguard your family is to execute as many items on those checklists as possible, starting from the top of the checklists. The more important items and tasks are listed first.”

“Can you give our viewers more specific advice?”

“Sure, just remember that the lists are detailed, but if you start at the top, you’ll hit the most important items. As for specific advice, in a nutshell I would recommend that you buy as much nonperishable food and water as possible, avoid contact with others, practice the personal protective measures, PPMs, identified on the lists, and make sure you have a way to stay warm, especially with winter descending. There is just no predicting the extent that the pandemic may affect essential services, so you should try to arrange for temporary, or if possible, permanent sources of heat and electricity. Also, buy a hand-cranked radio, so you can receive local broadcasts that may contain important information. I can’t stress enough how important it is to maintain social distancing. This will cause an uncomfortable feeling of isolation, but it is the single most effective way to avoid the pandemic flu. That’s the quick version, Matt, once again, I urge everyone to visit our website or call our toll-free number, which I am being told right now is displayed at the bottom of your screen.”

“One last thing before you leave. Have you heard any talk about research into a vaccine for H16?”

“Matt, everyone is talking about it. I can guarantee everyone that the issue of a vaccine is a top priority. I’d be surprised if work on the vaccine has not already begun.”

“Will your organization be involved with the vaccine research?” Matt asked.

“Not directly. This will be a coordinated effort between the bio-pharmaceutical industry, DHHS and the CDC. Most of the top research and development will occur in the private sector.”

“Thank you very much, Dr. Ocampo. Best of luck to you and your teams, and we extend our prayers and hopes for the team in Indonesia.”

Joint CDC and ISPAC Press Conference

Early November 2013

Alex was sitting by himself on the brown leather love seat in their family room, waiting for the live broadcast of the ISPAC information update. The Morning View had cut away to a live picture in a large conference room with stadium seating. The camera was focused on a podium to the left of a large, wall-mounted screen. The picture on the screen featured both ISPAC and CDC logos, side by side. Another podium flanked the screen on the right side. The setup reminded Alex of the Iraq War briefings he’d watched when he returned from the war. Rumsfeld and all of his pentagon lackeys just bullshitting their way across every living room in America. The information at the bottom of the screen told Alex that the broadcast was “Live from CDC Headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia.”

A man and woman, both dressed in business attire, walked to the middle of the stage, shook hands and then separated, taking positions behind opposing podiums. To Alex, it almost looked like the start of a debate. Alex recognized Dr. Allison Devreaux, of the ISPAC, as she settled in behind the left podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your attendance. We have a lot to cover, but before we start, I would like to introduce Dr. Joshua Relstein from the CDC, who has an exciting announcement. Joshua.”

“Thank you, Allison. I am proud to announce that the CDC and ISPAC are formally joining forces to coordinate pandemic efforts abroad and, most importantly, here at home in the U.S. This strategic partnership, formed in time of crisis, will focus the world’s best scientific resources against the growing pandemic threat. We have received a similar pledge from the European Union’s European Centre for Disease Prevention and Control (ECDC), which occupies a similar role for the EU, as the CDC does for the United States. We welcome their cooperation with open arms. Thank you, Allison.”

The screen changed to a world map, showing red triangles all over East Asia and the western Pacific Rim. Dr. Devreaux adjusted her microphone.

“This unified front is critical in the fight against a very rapidly spreading pandemic virus. As you can see on the screen, as of this morning, CDC, ISPAC and ECDC field teams have confirmed H16 cases in over 85 locations mainly spread throughout the Western Pacific and Southeast Asia. Cases have been confirmed as far away as Cairo, Pakistan, and India. U.K. health officials confirmed that the suspect passengers caught yesterday were indeed sick with H16. Cases of interest, CIs, are being reported from several major European, Middle Eastern, and African cities. Currently no CIs have developed in the Americas. We have prioritized and are responding to each of the reported CIs. Additionally, the CDC, in conjunction with Roche pharmaceuticals, has developed simple H16 detection kits for local hospitals around the world. Soon, our teams will not have to evaluate every CI in order to confirm H16.

“Every hospital and clinic worldwide will have the capability to isolate and identify the H16 virus, just like they can identify any of the previously known disease and virus types. Until just yesterday, the world had never seen H16, so not even the most sophisticated medical centers could have confirmed the cases without these kits. H16 is now in the world library of identifiable microorganisms. These kits are being sent everywhere, via the fastest delivery available, just as soon as they roll off the production line.”

“My colleague, Dr. Relstein, will explain what we now know about the H16 subtype.”

“First, we now know that the strain of the H16 subtype causing the outbreak throughout Asia is N1. So the influenza strain is classified at H16N1. We have confirmed through observation and genetic matching that H16N1 is highly pathogenic. Four to five times more pathogenic than the avian flu of 2008. H16N1 is even projected to surpass the Spanish flu of 1918 in terms of pathogenicity, or its ability to produce an infectious disease in another organism, though it is way too early to establish an accurate predictive model. H16N1 is trending in that direction, however, and this greatly concerns our organization.

“H16N1 is highly efficient at human-to-human transfer. Once again, more so than the avian flu. We will catch no break here. It can survive for 24 to 48 hours on non-porous surfaces and up from 16 hours on porous surfaces, which is slightly longer than most influenza strains. It can be transmitted by any bodily secretions, aerosol or liquid of any consistency. Personal protection measures will be critical to blunting the spread of this virus, combined with effective social distancing measures.

“As for a behavioral timeline, we have some rough calculations. These are based on the CDC’s observations in China and ongoing observations by ISPAC teams throughout the Pacific rim. From initial exposure and infection to H16N1, a patient can remain asymptomatic for 3-5 days. This data is rough, but trending toward 4-5 days. These are the hardest data points to establish. Either way, this is much longer than the avian flu or the Spanish flu and presents a number of challenges. The biggest challenge being that a sick patient will interact with the public longer before it becomes obvious that they are sick. Asymptomatic patients will have more time to spread the disease. Asymptomatic patients start shedding the disease after just one day of initial infection, leaving a possible period of 2-4 days where the patient is contagious with no symptoms. Shedding means that the disease is now leaving the infected body by any of a several routes, where it can now infect another body.

“Once symptoms start, the patient will continue shedding at a high level for another 5-7 days, even when initial flu symptoms have subsided. Patients will likely remain contagious for 11 days from first infection. This is our best estimate for now.

“Symptoms for H16N1 are typical of a pandemic influenza virus, or even a rough seasonal virus strain. Sudden onset of high fever, headaches, body aches, severe congestion, cough, extreme fatigue, and in the case of children, possible severe vomiting and diarrhea. Symptom severity varies by patient. Frequent instances of severe respiratory illness, such as pneumonia, acute respiratory distress, and viral pneumonia have developed following several days of the original flu symptoms. Respiratory illnesses have developed as early as 2 days after symptoms and as late as 8 days. We don’t have many cases spanning back further than 8-10 days. Most of these patients were observed in China.

“I know you are all very concerned about the potential lethality of the H16N1 virus. Right now, we do not have enough data to project a case fatality rate. With that being said, a low number of patients inside and outside of China have died from H16N1, mostly from severe respiratory complications. Some have died from sudden and massive respiratory failure, within 1-3 days of symptom onset. These deaths resemble scientific reports described during the Spanish flu of 1918, when apparently healthy, young adults would show sudden respiratory symptoms and die within the same day. Today we call this a cytokine storm or more formally, ARDS, acute respiratory distress syndrome. A massive immune reaction to the invading virus, which triggers a deadly and often irreversible, inflammatory response within the lung tissue.

“This is where we stand today. Our scientists are continuing an aggressive research program aimed at learning as much about the virus’s behavior and characteristics as possible. At this point, we would like to open the floor to any questions you may have. Yes.”

He pointed to a young black man dressed in a pair of dark brown chino pants, white dress shirt without a tie, and blue blazer.

“Thank you, Jeff Saunders, Associated Press. Do either of you have an estimated number of total cases worldwide?”

“I spent some time this morning with CDC epidemiologists, who closely monitor all of the data pouring out of Asia from all sources, the ISPAC, GeoSentinel, GOARN, the WHO and more. I thought our own organization was doing the best job evaluating this data, however, even our own Dr. Ocampo approached me this morning to say that he was, I quote, ‘blown away.’ So, after merging our numbers with the CDC, we can safely estimate that there are roughly 1,700 confirmed cases spread throughout the Pacific rim, outside of China. Unconfirmed but probable cases, based on CI reporting, GeoSentinel, and GOARN likely exceed 25,000. The numbers are still a bit sketchy from China, but the CDC estimates the total number of cases to be more than 60,000 and growing rapidly. So we are looking at roughly 85,000 cases of confirmed or soon to be confirmed H16N1. Next question. Go ahead.”

She nodded toward a tall, middle-aged woman, with dark brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a navy blue business suit, with a light blue blouse. She displayed an overly-serious face as she asked her question.

“Has the ISPAC received any information about the missing team in Jakarta?”

“Not yet. We have petitioned the UN, once again, to apply pressure to the Indonesian government, however, it appears that the Indonesian representatives to the UN assembly have been absent from all sessions for the past three days. At this point, we just want to retrieve our team safely and redeploy them where they will be permitted to execute their duties.”

She nodded toward another woman in the back of the auditorium.

“Hi, Sandra O’Donnell from the Wall Street Journal. Do you have a more specific number for current the death toll?”

She glanced uncomfortably at Dr. Relstein, who pulled the microphone closer to his face.

“I used the word ‘low’ to describe the number of H16N1-related deaths, and I apologize for not being more specific. I hesitate to mention fatality numbers this early because, statistically, they don’t tell us a lot right now. This may sound morbid, but in the complicated projection models used for pandemic predictions, we need lots of fatalities before the data becomes useful to us. Right now, without revisiting the numbers, I am willing to estimate somewhere around 450 deaths.”

The auditorium suddenly buzzed with the excitement of dozens of reporters trying to ask questions at the same time.

Alex heard the number “450” yelled several times.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please calm down,” Dr. Devreaux said.

“Where have most of the deaths occurred?” someone yelled loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

“Mostly in China, but within the last day we’ve seen an increasing number of deaths outside of China,” Dr. Relstein answered.

Several reporters tried to ask questions at the same time. Dr. Relstein pointed to a hispanic man, wearing a tweed jacket, pink shirt with yellow tie, and khaki pants.

“Fred Alvarez, FBC news affiliate. How many of the deaths have been from ARDS?”

Dr. Relstein paused noticeably and lowered his head slightly.

“More than half, at this point. However, before anyone jumps to any conclusions about this number…”

The entire room was again buzzing with conversation.

“Please, before you draw your own conclusions, let me share my own with you. Please keep in mind, our goal is in no way to sugarcoat this information, or withhold information, for any reason. The ISPAC and CDC are committed to preparing the public for whatever might be coming their way, and a complete free flow of information is the first step toward accomplishing this. With that being said, I don’t want to release information that can be misinterpreted and lead to erroneous decisions. As for the ARDS deaths, the number is indeed high compared to all deaths. However, if you recall, ARDS typically claims its victims early, within a few days, sometimes faster. It follows that at this early stage in observation, most of the deaths seen would be from ARDS. As the days stretch onward, the ratio of ARDS deaths to all other H16N1 linked deaths will decrease significantly.”

“Have I explained this well enough to quiet the room a bit?”

Nervous laughter erupted from the room.

The conference room returned to a moderately quiet level.

“We still have time for a few more questions,” Dr. Devreaux said.

“Dr. Harrison Leblanc, Emory University’s Immunology and Virology Department.”

“Haven’t we hired you yet, Harry?” Dr. Relstein interjected.

“The day is still young, Joshua. Any projections regarding clinical attack rates, or is it still too early?”

“Still too early, I’m afraid. We would need to survey data from large population groups in order to narrow those projections to a meaningful level. Large outbreaks in China may soon provide enough data to achieve a statistically significant prediction, but right now, we simply don’t have enough data.”

“Not even a statistically insignificant guess. I’m willing to work with outside of the margins for now,” Dr. Leblanc said.

“We really should have made you a better offer at the CDC. You’re not planning to let me off the hook, are you?”

Open laughter erupted from the room. Even Dr. Devreaux was muffling a laugh.

“I can be bought, but probably not before you answer the question.”

More laughter. The mood was definitely lighter, but Alex guessed that his answer was going to silence the room.

“Very, very roughly a 30-50% clinical attack rate.”

“What does clinical attack rate mean? Sorry, Matt Gershon, Atlanta Tribune.”

“No problem, very good question. Clinical attack rate means the percentage of a given population that gets ill from a specific virus.”

“How rough is this number?” Dr. Leblanc asked gravely, the light banter gone from his voice.

Given the difference in his tone, the entire room silenced, waiting for Dr. Relstein’s response.

“Very rough. Like I said, not enough data exists to narrow the margin of error.”

The camera shifted back to Dr. Leblanc, and Alex saw that he was uncomfortable with the answer. Dr. Leblanc nodded his head and sat down. Dr. Leblanc’s face looked ashen gray. The doctor doesn’t like the answer either. As Dr. Leblanc sat back in his seat, several other reporters jumped out of their seats to ask questions. Dr. Devreaux pointed directly at a hefty gentleman, wearing gray slacks and a white oxford shirt.

Alex leaned forward and grabbed the laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. He flipped open the screen and wirelessly connected to his home internet signal.

“Thanks, John Volkman with the Indianapolis Star. Have any cases been reported in the U.S.?”

“None so far,” she replied.

“Given the basic virus behavior you just described, isn’t it possible that the H16N1 could already be in the U.S.? Plenty of flights out of Hong Kong and China make their way to U.S. cities. Flights from all over Asia.”

“You’re correct to connect the dots like that, John. This is of grave concern to us as well. Yes, it is quite possible for the virus to already be here in the United States. There is no reason to assume that it is not. Currently, the Department of Health and Human Services has implemented health watch protocols at all points of entry into the United States, with special emphasis on flights originating from cities near confirmed H16N1 outbreak areas or suspected areas. The hope is that, like in the U.K., any travelers sick with the flu will be detected and quarantined. DHHS is also working with several other domestic agencies to track down travelers from these areas that arrived within the last 8-10 days. In this way, DHHS can get eyes on travelers that may have arrived infected, but still asymptomatic. Just keep in mind, that this is a huge task, given the sheer volume of foreign passengers entering the U.S. on any given day. The CDC’s role, and now our role as well, is to provide DHHS the best projections for either widening or narrowing their screening criteria. Unfortunately, given the rapid spread of the virus, I don’t see us recommending any narrowing of the screening criteria.”

“Thank you,” John said, as he sat down.

“One more question. Jeffrey Peterson,” she said.

“Thank you, Jeff Peterson, New York Times.”

“What is the current status of the WHO’s efforts, and what is your new joint venture’s relationship with the WHO.”

“I’ll take the first part of that, Allison,” Dr. Relstein said.

“The WHO is currently heavily engaged in pandemic response and containment efforts in China. A vast majority of the world’s cases are located in China, and the WHO responded by deploying a majority of its resources in an attempt to mitigate the spread of the virus throughout and beyond China. Now, I’m sure you asked that question for a reason. I think I know what it is.

“It is our opinion that the WHO is bogged down in China, no doubt executing their mission with the same professionalism and effectiveness demonstrated in 2008. Unfortunately, the WHO may have committed nearly 75% of its rapid response resources to China, which only leaves one quarter to help contain the growing pandemic threat outside of China. If the WHO cannot execute an immediate, large-scale redeployment, there is little hope of containing or slowing the current pandemic threat.”

“What is being done to speed up this process?” Jeff asked.

“I’ll answer that one,” Dr. Devreaux said. “This is obviously a complicated and sensitive issue. We have presented our case directly to WHO and UN leadership, and will continue to press the issue. We have also presented our recommendations to DHHS and the White House. The issue is a top priority for us.”

She nodded to Dr. Relstein.

“The WHO and CDC have always enjoyed an amiable and professional relationship. At this point, we will do everything on our end to maintain this relationship, however, the WHO rapid response capability is like an army. Their pandemic response package runs the entire spectrum of capability, from early detection and surveillance teams, civil health education teams, all the way to full containment teams. The CDC and ISPAC can only provide on the ground surveillance and detection capability, which frankly will not be necessary once the field detection kits are fully distributed. Beyond this, as a combined entity, we can provide first rate, real-time epidemiological projection to help actively shape WHO efforts. Nonetheless, this information is near useless in the hands of a diminished WHO response. As Dr. Relstein indicated, this is a top priority. Getting the bulk of the WHO’s assets out of China is critical to executing an effective international pandemic response strategy.”

“Sorry to drag this question out, but what if the WHO can’t effectively disengage from China?” Jeff stated.

“Then the WHO will likely prioritize their deployments to nations with highly vulnerable populations and weak domestic pandemic response plans. The remaining nations will have to stand on the own and rely upon the rapid, efficient execution of their own domestic plans. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your time and questions. We plan to announce another session, likely for the same time tomorrow.”

The room exploded into a cacophony of simultaneously blurted questions and spirited discussion.

Alex heard one reporter ask about military options and China. That’s exactly what I was thinking. How are they planning to get the WHO out of China. The world is never going to see those assets. 75%. What a fucking arrogant gamble.

Alex looked at his laptop screen, which was on the Google homepage. He typed “previous pandemic clinical attack rates.” Several seemingly good links appeared on the first page. He clicked on the third link down, which indicated it may contain a table. The page appeared, and Alex read through the text and the table. No wonder that Dr. looked like he just shit his pants. Projected 30-50% is much higher than any previously seen pandemic. Both the Hong Kong flu of 1968 and the Asian flu of 1957 demonstrated clinical attack rates hovering at 30%. The avian flu of 2008 remained lower than either of those, steadying at 15%. Epidemiologists declared that no clinical attack rate could be established for the Spanish flu of 1918, due to a lack of reliable record keeping. This made sense to Alex, given the fact that many experts still argue about the final number of deaths attributed to the 1918 flu. 50-100 million remains the disputed range. Alex guessed that the clinical attack rate must have been much higher than 2008, possibly higher than 1968 or 1957, given the high number of deaths compared to what must have been a lower world population in 1918. All of this gave Alex a very uneasy feeling.

Joint CDC and ISPAC Press Conference Number Two

Early November 2013

The recording started, and the scene was the same as yesterday, with two podiums separated by a white screen. Dr. Devreaux and Dr. Relstein took their respective podiums. Dr. Relstein began the conference. Dr. Relstein looked exhausted, dark circles were beginning to take shape under his eyes.

“Good morning, everyone. Just as a note, this morning’s update will run shorter than yesterday’s. Both Dr. Devreaux and I are scheduled for a 10:30 videoconference with the White House, which obviously takes priority. I just wanted to give you all fair warning. We will both be as brief and informative as possible, leaving time for questions. Thank you in advance for your understanding. Dr. Devreaux?”

“Thank you, Josh. First and foremost, all of us here extend a heartfelt thank you to the sailors and marines involved in the rescue of our survey team. The team’s families and friends are relieved beyond words, as are we at the ISPAC. Few details of the rescue operation have been made available, but from what we can ascertain from our debrief of the team, the rescue was conducted at considerable personal risk to those involved. Thank you so very much, your professionalism and service will never be forgotten.

“The importance of this rescue extends well beyond just reuniting the team with loved ones. Information provided by the team confirms beyond a shadow of a doubt in our minds…” she said, nodding to Dr. Relstein, “that Indonesia, and specifically the area around Jakarta, is the epicenter of the H16N1 pandemic outbreak. I will give you a brief synopsis of the survey team’s frightening ordeal.

“Upon debarking their flight at the Jakarta International Airport, they were immediately strong-armed into what they thought was a police van, waiting for them on the runway. Apparently, the individuals involved were a combination of local health officials and law enforcement that had become aware of a government plot to detain the survey team. This small renegade group kidnapped the team in order to prevent their immediate incarceration at the terminal.

“The survey team was shuffled around Java Island for three days, hidden by sympathetic civilians. They operated in constant fear of arrest. The team observed the general state of the pandemic’s progress on the island and conducted close observation of patients when it was possible. The web of locals who hid the team and helped transport them, did so at great risk. The Indonesian government had no intention of letting our team confirm the extent of the disaster unfolding on Java Island. We extend our sincerest thanks and well wishes to these heroes.

“As you may have seen on the website, our rough estimates for the number of flu cases in Indonesia is simply staggering. Our survey team saw entire hospitals filled to capacity with flu victims, soccer stadiums filled, indoor malls filled. Flu patients stacked in every conceivable location for triage and treatment, with scant medical supplies available to local healthcare providers. The scene was described by one of the team members as catastrophic, with no end in sight.

“The team was smuggled aboard a fishing boat and taken out to sea, where they sent an international distress call over the boat’s VHF radio. According to the team leader, it had become common knowledge on the streets that U.S. Navy ships were operating close to Indonesian territorial waters. Fortunately for the team, the call was swiftly answered by the U.S. Navy. The details surrounding the actual rescue operation are classified.

“So, what are we looking at within Indonesian borders? Data given to the team by Indonesian health officials puts the estimated number of cases at easily over a million. Deaths estimated around 45,000. 1 out of 3 deaths are blamed on acute respiratory distress syndrome. Dr. Relstein will handle this topic shortly, so please hold your questions.”

Dr. Devreaux rightly anticipated an outburst from the auditorium, which quieted just as quickly as it started.

“The first outbreak occurred approximately 14 days ago, right outside of Jakarta. The outbreak spread quickly to the rest of Java Island and some parts of Sumatra. Java Island is one of the most densely-populated regions of the world, especially since Indonesia became an Islamic theocracy in 2010 and a safe haven for Muslims worldwide. Without seeking any outside help, and with very little help available internally, the H16N1 virus spread rapidly with devastating effect.

“Cellular phone service was severed by the government 12 days into the crisis, which explains why we could not contact our team. It remains perplexing to me, that an entire nation’s cell phone network was shut down, and the world didn’t notice. Actually, I don’t believe it, but that’s another topic altogether.

“From what Dr. Relstein told me immediately prior to the conference, the UN was imposing a strict travel ban, though from what we learned from our team, no flights were leaving or arriving by the time they fled the country. They said that Java Island was nearly pitch black at night.

“Dr. Relstein will share what we’ve learned about H16N1 and its behavior.”

Dr. Relstein picked up the coffee mug he brought up to the podium, and took a lengthy drink. “Thank you, Allison. So, as you have all noticed, the map, which is now shared by both CDC and ISPAC websites, is very different today than it was 24 hours ago,” he said, pointing to the projection of the map on the screen behind him.

A considerable amount of talking and mumbling erupted from the crowd, as nearly every person seated in the auditorium started to check their cell phone or PDA. Dr. Relstein stopped talking for a moment and responded to the interruption with an annoyed look. He raised his eyebrows and looked at Dr, Devreaux, shaking his head. He stepped forward of the podium and addressed one of the closest journalists.

“What just happened?” he asked a young woman in a gray business suit.

“The WHO just raised the pandemic phase level to six,” she stated, looking stunned.

Dr. Relstein walked back to the podium, took another drink of coffee, and addressed the group.

“All right, everyone. Please, we don’t have much time for this conference, so if I could please have your attention,” he said loudly into the microphone.

The crowd started to quiet, and Dr. Relstein gave them another minute to simmer the excitement.

“Thank you, I have to admit, as a senior spokesperson for the CDC, I didn’t expect to hear that news from all of you first.”

Laughter erupts from the room.

“Well, there is no doubt that the world is right in the middle of a pandemic with devastating potential, so let’s get back to what we now know about H16N1. As data pours in from around the world, it is clear that this flu is spreading, and spreading fast. Further testing and observation confirms that H16N1 is super contagious. Sounds like a very non-scientific term, super, but I don’t know any other way to put it. Upon infecting a host, H16N1 starts shedding more virus in under one day. This is the shortest latent period seen among known flu strains, and I wish the bad news ended there. The shedding is also on a level we have never witnessed with known flu strains. H16N1 appears to be hell-bent on spreading. It can survive on porous and nonporous surfaces longer than we originally calculated and is easily spread by direct and indirect contact. You do not want to sit next to someone on the bus who has this disease. More accurately, you don’t even want to be on the same bus as this person.

“So, let’s take another look at the basic timeline,” he said, shooting a laser pointer at the timeline on the screen.

“The latent period lasts under one day, and this is the only time that the patient is not infectious. Once the disease starts shedding, the patient enters the infectious period. Remember, the patient at this point is still asymptomatic and spreading the disease like wildfire. At some point within 4 to 6 days of first infection, the patient enters the symptomatic period. They are still highly infectious during this period and may remain infectious for another 6-10 days after first symptoms. Like H5N1, children can remain infectious for nearly a week longer than adults. Most of the ARDS deaths occur within a few days of first showing symptoms.

“Yesterday I estimated that ARDS deaths accounted for 1 out of 5 total deaths. Today, we are revising the estimate to 1 out of 3. H16N1, like the Spanish flu and avian flu, seems to trigger an autoimmune cascade in a high percentage of healthy young adults. It’s a cruel irony that this syndrome specifically targets a cross-section of society with the healthiest immune system. We are constantly analyzing this data and revising our projections, but honestly, I thought this number would decrease, not increase. We are still in the very early stages of the pandemic, and ARDS deaths will dominate the death tolls for at least another few weeks. I don’t expect the ratio to go much lower than 1 to 3.

“As for deaths due to pulmonary or secondary complications, like diabetes or heart disease, these are seen starting from 4 days after first symptoms and lasting months. Obviously, these cases will dominate the death tolls, especially as time increases. Generally, the early deaths occur in younger and older patients, or patients with vulnerable secondary complications. Of course, a patient’s prognosis varies significantly based upon the level and duration of care available.

“Before I turn this back over to Dr. Devreaux, I want to emphasize again that H16N1 has several characteristics that make it a unique and deadly pandemic flu. It is highly contagious and demonstrates a longer than normal asymptomatic period, which presents a challenge to traditional health screening methods. This must be addressed by our government immediately. Strict quarantine and social distancing strategies will be critical to mitigating the spread of this disease.”

He turned to Dr. Devreaux. Dozens of hands shot up from the auditorium.

“Thank you, Dr. Relstein. We are running short on time, so we’ll start questions. We can only take a few. Yes, Dr. Perry? From Johns Hopkins. Is that right?” she asked.

“Thank you, Allison. And for the record, I would be more than willing to join your team here in Atlanta starting immediately.”

Dr Relstein interrupted, “Stephen, consider yourself hired. Sorry it took a pandemic for you to accept our offer.”

“You know very well that I can’t stand the weather down here, and I don’t plan to remain for long, so don’t get excited. So, my question concerns the transmission probability of H16N1. Do you have a rough estimate of secondary attack rate or reproductive probability? Sorry to get technical.”

“Not at all, Dr. Perry. I would be happy to show you those numbers once you sign all of the paperwork,” Dr. Relstein replied.

Dr. Perry laughed out loud and sat down. The joke briefly lifted the somber mood of the room, though Dr. Relstein’s answer quickly sank the auditorium back into the realm of gasps and shaking heads.

“I tried. So transmission probability is the chance of a disease being transmitted from one person to another if they have been in contact, and secondary attack rate is a similar projection. To answer your question, we are still trying to establish a solid estimate for transmission probability. For secondary attack rate, we have been able to isolate data for smaller groups exposed to a single index case. In these cases, we are seeing a 35-44% secondary attack rate, which is high.

“The basic reproductive number is a different beast. It is defined as the expected number of new infectious cases, in a completely susceptible population, produced directly by a single case. This does not count additional cases produced by secondary cases. Consider a sales pyramid scheme. The basic reproductive number is how many people, on average, we expect one person to directly sign up to sell for them. Unlike many of the other predictors used in disease transmission epidemiology, the basic reproductive number can be altered. It has four components: length of infectious period; number of contacts an infectious person makes in a period of time; the transmission probability; and the probability that someone who gets infected is actually infectious. So you can see that it is not actually a characteristic of the virus, but instead a snapshot of the virus at any particular time and place. Most government public health interventional strategies are based on altering this number and thereby mitigating the spread of the flu.

“Right now, the basic reproductive number is hovering around 5, which is very high for influenza. I firmly expect this number to lower as widespread pandemic response measures are implemented. The typical range for pandemic influenza is between 2 and 3. However, H16N1 is unique, so it may retain a unique basic reproductive number. Once again, strict quarantine and social distancing measures can drastically impact the number of contacts exposed to an infected person. At this point, these remain our most viable strategies to containing this virus. Sorry for the long answer. Stephen, when this is finished, please come up here so I can shackle you to my ankle. Dr. Devreaux will hand the last question.”

“We need to wrap this up quick, one more question,” she said and pointed to a tall man standing in the back of the auditorium.

“Thank you. Have either of your agencies consulted with the Department of Health and Human Services to start coordinating more aggressive pandemic response measures. From what you’ve described today, this sounds like a logical next step.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more. The purpose of our videoconference with the White House today is two-fold. First, to provide our most up-to-date data and projections regarding the pandemic. Secondly, to stress the paramount importance of escalating measures taken by DHHS to implement the national pandemic response strategy. We are also currently reaching out to the international community to provide this same information and stress the importance of immediate action. We are working in close coordination with the WHO to this effect. Ladies and gentlemen, I am getting a signal from the sidelines here that we must leave. Thank you.”

Evening News Report

Early November 2013

Alex turned on the television and home theater system. A few days ago, he set the DVR to record the FBC Evening News every night, between 6:30 and 7:00. Instead of staring at the computer all day, or incessantly watching CNF’s looped news feed, he figured they could catch up on everything important, together and at their own leisure. At this point, Alex was mostly concerned about the arrival of the Jakarta flu in the U.S. He could watch and read news reports from the world all day, but he was starting to come to terms with the fact that it didn’t really matter anymore. The flu was coming, regardless of what happened outside of the country. All that really mattered now was what happened inside the country, and how it impacted their neighborhood.

Alex started the news program. Kerrie Connor appeared sitting alongside a large monitor, which showed an image of an American aircraft carrier plowing through rough seas.

“Good evening. Tonight’s top stories. Tensions with China increase as the fate of several hundred World Health Organization health workers remains unknown. At least two more U.S. aircraft carriers and an additional battle group are dispatched to the region.

“In Jakarta, the death toll rises as the killer flu burns unhindered throughout Java Island and spreads to Sumatra. The first reporters on scene describe the sight as devastating.

“And worldwide, the Jakarta flu continues to spread, causing countless thousands of deaths in Asia. Reports of larger flu outbreaks in Europe, the Middle East and Africa have world health officials concerned that the pandemic could become uncontainable.

“We’ll also meet with Dr. David Ocampo, from the ISPAC, and get his assessment of the world pandemic situation.”

“That should be interesting,” Alex grumbled.

“First, a closer look at the crisis developing in China. Department of Defense officials acknowledged today that an additional carrier battle group, comprised of ships from Hawaii and Southern California, would join forces already deployed to Southeast Asia. A battle group centered around the nuclear aircraft carrier George Washington, home ported at U.S. Seventh Fleet headquarters in Japan, is already on station in the area. Rumors of another carrier being recalled from the Arabian gulf for service off the coast of China has not been confirmed.

“Chinese government officials protested the additional deployments to the United Nations. Jennifer Moskowitz reports from United Nations headquarters in Manhattan.”

The screen changed to a picture of a blonde woman with medium-length hair, wearing a rather non-descript black ensemble, standing in front of a spectacularly illuminated United Nations Secretariat building. Several member nation flags waved in a light breeze behind her, bathed in spotlights. The broadcast was live.

“Kerrie, I’m standing in front the United Nations Secretariat building, where the mood today can only be described as tense and desperate. Chinese delegates continued to deflect questions regarding the status of WHO teams within their borders, stating only that these teams are consumed by the task of containing and mitigating the pandemic within Chinese borders and are in no way disposed to abandoning their heroic efforts on behalf of the Chinese people. Tempers flared as delegates from at least a dozen nations accused the Chinese of holding the teams hostage. Delegates from Germany and Australia went so far as to blame China once again for exacerbating the pandemic situation, a reference to China’s mishandling of the 2008 avian flu pandemic.”

“Jennifer, was there any mention of sanctions against China, or the use of force to expedite the release of the WHO teams?”

“There was no discussion or suggestion of sanctions today by the assembly, however, it is no secret to any of the members that several nations have assembled outside of UN auspice to discuss options in response to China’s actions. Chinese delegates repeatedly lobbied the assembly to formally decry the growing coalition outside of the UN. They are particularly alarmed by the deployment of an additional U.S. carrier battle group to the region, calling this an aggressive and warlike action.”

“Thank you, Jennifer. We’ll all definitely be watching this tense situation closely.”

Jennifer Moskowitz nodded and the screen returned to Kerrie. The screen next to Kerrie showed a Google Earth map of Indonesia, which started to slowly pan closer to the city of Jakarta, on the northwestern tip of Java Island.

“Reporters and a limited number of aid workers landed during daylight hours at Jakarta’s International Airport, to assess the worsening situation on Java Island. Flights are unable to land during nighttime hours, due to a complete blackout on Java Island. Initial reports passed through Indonesian health officials puts the official death toll at nearly 72,000, with over a million cases estimated on Java Island alone. One health official stressed that these figures were only an estimate, since they no longer have any competent way to track the sheer volume of cases and deaths, which grow rapidly by the hour. Health officials told reporters that they were shocked by how quickly the flu spread through the population. The first cases of the Jakarta flu appeared less than three weeks ago. Indonesian diplomats around the world, on behalf of their government, pleaded with the international community for aid, in the form of food, medical supplies and infrastructure support. WHO officials hinted that no pandemic response assets are likely to be deployed to Java Island or Sumatra. An anonymous source at the United Nations stated that WHO resources are stretched thin and are being reserved for locations where containment stands better chances of success. For Java Island and Sumatra, it appears that little hope is on the horizon. Stay with us, we’ll return in a few moments.”

The screen cut to a commercial, and Alex started to fast-forward past them.

“Maybe if they didn’t wait so goddamned long to ask for help, or let the rest of the world know about their little epidemic, we wouldn’t all be so screwed,” Alex said, shaking his head. “I’m sure the Mullahs will blame the West for this somehow. Unfortunately for them, they’ll be preaching to empty mosques. This pandemic is going to clear the bleachers.”

“Honey, that’s not cool to say. It’s going to clear the bleachers everywhere.”

She sounds pissed.

“I know, but most of the Muslim world is buried in Western-induced poverty,” Alex said in a mocking tone. “And facts are facts. Modernized societies with a modern health care system will suffer a much lower percentage of casualties.”

“It’s still sad,” she said, looking at him compassionately.

“I know, but it’s frustrating.” Alex stopped fast-forwarding.

“International Scientific Pandemic Awareness Collaborative cofounder and current director of their live information and trend analysis division, Dr. David Ocampo, joins us again, live in the studio. Dr. Ocampo, thank you for joining us again”

“My pleasure, Kerrie,” he responded. Dr. Ocampo is wearing a navy blue blazer with a light blue oxford shirt.

“Dr. Ocampo, you briefed members of the UN this afternoon regarding the developing pandemic situation. What did you tell them, and what is your current assessment?”

“Unfortunately, I was not the bearer of good news. I started with ‘Don’t kill the messenger.’ Kerrie, at this point, nothing is likely to stop the Jakarta flu from reaching all corners of the earth. It is very likely already in every corner, every country, every major city, and spreading beyond that. Our statistical projections, based on known H16N1 propagation and transmission characteristics, put the world on an unavoidable collision course with this disease. I stepped out of my scientific role for a moment while briefing the UN and recommended that member nations, or any nation for that matter, not waste any more time or energy aggressively engaging the Chinese. Why? Because even if all of the WHO teams detained in China…and I stress that this is unacceptable behavior from a world leader like China. Even if they were all returned and magically teleported to wherever we would choose to send them…even if they were magically doubled in number, it would not make a difference. Their role was to contain and suppress the spreading pandemic early, at the epicenter and at the outskirts of its spread. Forming a perimeter. There is no perimeter anymore. H16N1 is everywhere.”

“Are you suggesting that the WHO workers be abandoned?” Kerrie asked.

Dr. Ocampo chuckled. “No, not at all, but from a purely scientific and practical aspect, these teams will have no further impact on the spread of the pandemic. Tensions are high right now throughout the world and will only grow higher as the pandemic gets worse. Aggressive military posturing right now may feel like the right response to the Chinese, but I fear it will accomplish little more than strain the world’s fragile peace.”

“What specific recommendations did you make to the UN?”

“Specifically, I couldn’t stress enough that vaccine research and production must be every nation’s first priority, and that these facilities, their scientists, employees, support personnel, supply chains and power sources must be protected like national treasures. Whatever needs to be done to ensure their continued functioning is critical to the world recovery effort.

“Secondly, I recommended that every nation begin to mobilize and implement their own national pandemic plans. From top to bottom. H16N1 is a particularly nasty bug, and we will not see a repeat of 2008. 2008 was scary enough, but the avian flu turned out to be surprisingly mild. The Jakarta flu is surprisingly deadly and contagious.”

“Dr. Ocampo, do you feel that our national pandemic plan is adequate, and where do we stand in terms of its implementation?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” he said, laughing. “Of course you do. Our national pandemic plan is adequate to address the threat of a pandemic. It was created through a brilliant collaboration and signed into order at a time when intellectualism and common sense within the government was at one of its lowest points. However, it appears that this collaboration was a huge waste of time. In terms of implementation, nothing useful has been accomplished in my view. Window dressing is all. Kerrie, if FBC wanted to make a difference in our immediate future, FBC would dedicate all of its energy toward educating the public about implementing the national plan and preparing for the coming storm. This should be your calling, and every news outlet’s calling.”

“Thank you Dr. Ocampo.”

An interview discussing Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome

“…no one truly understands all of the mechanisms causing a fatal cytokine storm. Until 2008, cases of acute respiratory distress syndrome rarely presented in a significant enough number to study. Even after the avian flu pandemic, the scientific community has made little progress towards unraveling the causes and mechanisms. However, after 2008, we can certainly link acute respiratory viral infection to the cytokine storm affecting the lungs. Especially acute respiratory infections caused by pandemic viruses. H1N1 in the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918 and H5N1 in 2008 proved adept at triggering the cytokine storm.”

“Dr. Pramanik, is there any speculation or evidence suggesting that H16N1 will do the same?”

“Currently, cases of acute respiratory distress syndrome have been confirmed in patients with H16N1, and the expected percentage of death followed. 50-75% of patients showing symptoms of ARDS died, but many of these deaths occurred in settings where patients were receiving less than optimal treatment. Prior to 2008, a patient under the best circumstances had a 50% chance of dying. Now, with a slightly better understanding of the syndrome and the medications effective in treatment, a patient has a two out of three chance of surviving.”

“But in a home setting, the chance of survival must be minimal.”

“Yes, very minimal,” Dr. Deshvar Pramanik said.

“So what do we know about the cytokine storm?”

“Well, first, ARDS is an inappropriate or exaggerated immune response, most typically seen in a healthy immune system, which is why, historically, most of the deaths from this syndrome occur in patients between the age of 15 and 45. Men appear more susceptible than women.

“As we discussed earlier, cytokines are secreted by immune cells that have encountered a pathogen, further attracting more immune cells to increase the immune system’s response to that pathogen. The arriving immune cells similarly secrete more cytokines, and this process repeats until the body’s immune system senses a decline in the amount of pathogen.

“Now, this operates like a positive feedback loop, which if left unchecked, would spiral out of control, attracting more and more pro-inflammatory cytokine immune factors, which would in turn, continue the process until the cytokine storm is out of control. In a normal situation, this loop is dampened by anti-inflammatory cytokines that put the brakes on the pro-inflammatory process. Precisely what causes the loop to spiral out of control is one of the most frustrating unknowns my field of study.”

“Dr. Pramanik, what causes the patients to die so suddenly as a result of the cytokine storm?”

“Interestingly enough, the ultimate cause of death is multi-system organ failure, not lung failure, as you may expect. However, the attack on the lungs likely precipitates the patient’s rapid decline. Lung tissue and alveoli suffer irreversible damage from acute inflammation. This severely damaged lung fills with fluid, and can no longer adequately pass oxygen into the bloodstream. Most patients in this category present with pulmonary edema.”

“Dr. what are some of the signs and symptoms that differentiate an ARDS patient from a typical flu patient?”

“Due to rapid fluid buildup in the lungs, one of the first symptoms is a rapid and severe shortness of breath. Once the lungs have been significantly damaged and can no longer efficiently pass oxygen into the blood system, patients will show signs of cyanosis, or a bluish discoloration of the skin, starting in the extremities and slowly spreading. Blue lips are a dead giveaway combined with shortness of breath. Eventually, once all of the body’s clotting factors are destroyed by the cytokine storm, spontaneous bleeding will occur. Patients will cough up blood, develop dark blotches under the skin, vomit blood, pass blood from the rectum. At this point, the syndrome is nearly 100% fatal.”

“What about early treatment? Drugs like Tamiflu or TerraFlu? Do these have any effect?”

“Well, this class of drugs only inhibits the function of the viral neuraminidase protein, which prevents the virus from reproducing in influenza A or B. So, if taken early, it could prevent the triggering of the cytokine storm. Remember, we’re not sure exactly what pulls that trigger, but it may be a severe infection, so if you could mitigate the viral infection, then maybe you could prevent the trigger mechanism. This is complete speculation that has not been proven scientifically, nor is it supported by any clinical data. What I feel very confident saying, is that once the cytokine storm is triggered, neuraminidase inhibitors will have no impact on the cytokine storm or the patient’s prognosis.”

“So have any treatments helped these patients?”

“At this point, there is no miracle cure for these patients. ACE inhibitors and angiotensin II receptor blockers demonstrate a slight capacity to mitigate the cytokine storm, but overall have a minimal impact on ARDS. The most promising research involves administering free radical scavengers, or antioxidants, to these patients. Research indicates a trend toward improved survival and a reduction in organ damage.”

“So we should all drink wine and be merry in the upcoming days?”

Dr. Pramanik laughs heartily. “Well, not exactly. Consuming food high in antioxidants is always a good idea, generally, but in the context of this research, the antioxidants administered were in therapeutic doses unachievable by food consumption. If you tried to consume the levels of antioxidants given to these patients, you’d have more problems than the ARDS!” he said, laughing again.

“Well, thank you for your—”

DHHS Press Conference

Early November 2013

The man on the left stepped up to the podium, and adjusted the microphone. The camera zoomed in, capturing only the top of the podium and the man’s upper torso. He had fair skin and receding brown hair. His dark eyes contrasted his face, creating a harsh look, magnified by thin lips, scant eyebrows, and a displeased look. His shirt was light blue and his tie was yellow, balancing the severity of his grimace. He looked like a man who did not want to be behind that podium.

“Good morning, everyone. Good morning. My name is Paul Harding. I am the assistant secretary for public affairs, and to my left is John Merrill, assistant secretary for Public Health and Emergency Preparedness. I know that’s a quite a title. Simply put, he is the number two official at the Department of Health and Human Services and directly reports to the secretary of Health and Human Service for the coordination of all pandemic response activities.

“John has just returned from a White House briefing, where both he and the secretary, and other members of DHHS, briefed White House staff regarding the progression of the Jakarta flu in the U.S., and the status of both state and federal pandemic response activities. John will help me answer your questions and fill in any blanks that I may leave.”

John Merrill was vaguely smiling. He nodded and resumed a solid stance, with his hands folded in front of him. The smile slowly trickled from his face, as he loomed over Paul. He was dressed more conservatively than Paul, in the same dark navy suit, but with a white shirt and dark blue tie. Alex suspected he was there to keep the public affairs secretary from descending too deeply into the cauldron of questions brewing in the audience.

“So to start, I would like to give you our assessment of the Jakarta flu’s progression and then outline what we are doing to address the pandemic threat. Before that, very briefly, I would like to reinforce the fact that the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention is an arm of the Department of Health and Human Services, and that the CDC is directly aligned with our pandemic response actions. This is important to mention because we are well aware of the impression that there is a strained relationship between the CDC and DHHS. That the CDC is a rogue agency. Nothing could be further from the truth. The CDC serves a vital role with our department and for years has operated with near complete autonomy, as long as they came close to working within their budget.”

Paul Harding suppressed a nervous laugh. This comment elicited a few muffled laughs from the crowd, but it was clear that nobody in the room was really in the mood for humor.

“We are working closely with the CDC to ensure that their research and projections keep our pandemic response efforts one step ahead of the Jakarta flu. In addition to this, I am also proud to include the ISPAC as a contributing asset to our efforts. Their director has committed all of their resources to the CDC and Department of Health and Human Services, significantly augmenting our pandemic analysis and research capability.

“With that said, let’s move on to what’s happening in the U.S. First, as of 5 minutes ago, DHHS has identified 4,418 confirmed cases of H16N1 within the continental United States, and there have been approximately 137 deaths since the first cases appeared Friday night. The cases appeared nearly simultaneously in most major cities on either Friday night or Saturday morning. San Francisco, Los Angeles, San Diego, Chicago, New York, Miami and Boston appear to have a 12-24 hour head start over other major cities, which accounts for the higher case counts in these cities. New York City currently accounts for 645 of these cases and over 30 deaths. All of this data is now available real-time on the DHHS website, at dhhs.pandemictrack.org.

"This data is provided by a nationwide network activated last Wednesday. The information flows from the state level to DHHS, and all medical offices, hospitals and institutions are aware of their reporting responsibilities. Additionally, we have established real-time electronic connectivity with all major domestic healthcare institutions and public health departments across the U.S. to obtain pandemic flu and resource availability information. So far, nearly 97% of the confirmed reports have originated from hospitals. By now, all hospitals have H16N1 confirmation kits and the capability to duplicate kits for distribution to local health providers. We anticipate the number of reported cases to increase rapidly over the next seven days, possibly doubling or tripling, with many reports originating outside of the hospitals.”

“Triple? How did you figure that? Can we ask questions?”

The first few impromptu questions triggered a simultaneous barrage of inquiry, spanning topics well beyond those already discussed. Paul handled the outburst professionally, backing away from the podium for a few seconds and whispering to John. Paul remained back from the podium and clasped both hands at hip level, assuming a relaxed stance. A noncommittal smile formed on his face as he waited. His disengagement from the group had an immediate effect, as most of the reporters realized that their outburst had brought the press conference to a screeching halt. Nicely done. When the room was mostly quiet, and only a few of the most clueless or stubborn reporters continued to press their questions, Paul stepped back to the podium.

“Thank you. I promise I will be done shortly, and you will have ample time to ask questions. I have a few more items to cover. In a pandemic, three major strategies are employed to contain outbreaks. One of these may not be available to us for several months. Until last week, the world scientific community was unaware of the H16N1 strain, so consequently, vaccine research on this novel flu strain has only just begun. Based on pharmaceutical industry estimates, it will likely take 3-6 months to develop an effective vaccine. Then another few months to produce and distribute the vaccine in sufficient quantities to impact containment efforts. Unlike the avian flu pandemic of 2008, vaccination will not contribute early containment efforts.

“However, we still have two major strategies to combat the spread of the pandemic, which we firmly believe can effectively and significantly slow the spread of the Jakarta flu. Actually two tactics. The first is the effective distribution and utilization of antivirals held in the Strategic National Stockpile. Currently, the stockpile can treat 15% of the population and will be used in accordance with national prioritization guidelines, in an attempt to arrest outbreaks and treat critical infrastructure personnel such as medical providers, first responders, police, and military. We will be suspending the distribution of antivirals to high risk populations, such as the elderly or very young. At this point, we do not possess enough doses to execute tier three distribution.”

“The next tactic is public education, which is being implemented as we speak. DHHS is preparing to embark on an aggressive public education campaign, consisting of television advertisements, direct mailings, educational materials distributable at medical offices, internet resources, telephone information, MP3 downloads, YouTube, and educational interviews on all major media programs. Every angle imaginable. This campaign should kick off by early next week.”

“MP-fucking-3 players? Did we travel back in time? Why don’t they put it on iShare, too? Then all the teenagers can download cool Health and Human Services music videos and share them with their friends. Un-fucking-real,” Alex yelled at the screen. “These idiots should just announce right now to close all schools and that each family should isolate themselves for a few weeks. If they did that, this whole pandemic would falter within the span of a month. This just isn’t aggressive enough, but then what do you expect from D.C.,” he said, his angry voice at a more reasonable volume.

“Maybe you should be in charge,” Kate quipped.

“So right now, we are concentrating on enhanced domestic surveillance, which incorporates real-time virus tracking…launching our educational campaign, and proactively distributing the anti-viral stockpile ahead of the virus. At this point, I would like to open the floor for questions.”

He pointed to a middle-aged man in dark brown pants and a light blue oxford shirt.

“Thank you. David Reeves, CBC World News. Can you tell us how the Jakarta flu penetrated our domestic protection barrier? From what I understood, your department was quite confident that the flu would not significantly breach our borders.”

“Fair enough question. Early last week, as the situation in China escalated, we began to seriously consider the possibility of another pandemic-grade virus spreading to the U.S. As early as Tuesday, DHHS implemented surveillance and control measures at points-of-entry, to decrease the introduction and spread of the virus in the U.S. This consisted of the isolation of suspected cases, quarantine of contacts, antiviral treatment and prophylaxis, and tracing of contacts into the community near points-of-entry. These measures remain in place today and will continue to remain in place indefinitely.

“However, due to the unique nature of this virus, with a longer than usual asymptomatic period, many infected travelers likely evaded detection. Additionally, tracking these travelers and their contacts within the U.S. proved to be difficult at best, even with an augmented investigative force.”

John Merrill stepped forward and pulled the microphone toward his face.

“Another problem arose from the fact that the outbreak in Jakarta had been brewing for at least several days, if not two weeks, before our measures were activated. Many of the cases that have been catalogued in the hospitals may likely stem from earlier contact with infected travelers, leaving many thousands of asymptomatic cases still undiscovered. This is one of the primary reasons that the CDC suspects the number of cases will likely triple by the end of the week.”

“Thank you, John,” Paul said and pointed to another reporter.

“Gavin Prescott, LA Times. What steps are being taken by your department to increase surge capability at major hospitals and within communities. From what I understand, a few of the hospitals within the L.A. area are approaching their surge limit for treatment of the Jakarta flu.”

“I think you are referring to Pacific Hospital in Long Beach. Keep in mind that this is a relatively small hospital that only recently began offering in-patient services, like ICU stabilization. They rapidly reached their limit with patients from an outbreak in Compton, however, we understand that within the course of the next few weeks, our nation’s hospital system will face a serious challenge.

“DHHS has activated the Strategic National Stockpile program, which will immediately deliver stockpiled ventilators, pharmaceuticals, and other medical material needed to stabilize and treat infected individuals. The first shipments will be sent to the states that are the hardest hit. California, New York, Massachusetts and Illinois. DHHS will continue to monitor the National Disease Outbreak Surveillance Network and automatically activate a 12-Hour Push Package for any state that requires augmentation of their surge capacity. Our decision to deploy these packages weighs available capacity versus anticipated surge of infected individuals and is completely objective.

“This is completely separate from the shipment of antivirals from the stockpile. Antiviral shipments are already in progress to all of the states.

“We also have the capability to deploy Federal Medical Stations, which can provide stand-alone surge capacity. These will be reserved for the worst hit areas.

“Finally, we are encouraging all states to implement their plans to handle hospital overflow by creating secondary sites to treat infected individuals.”

Paul motioned to a reporter standing near the back of the room.

“Thank you, Shalen McAbee, FBC. You mentioned nearly 30 deaths in the New York area alone. Will you comment on the situation surrounding those deaths?”

“You mean what caused them?” Paul asked.

The room broke into a brief period of laughter.

“I suppose that’s a more direct way of putting it,” Shalen responded, grinning.

“Most of the deaths are due to acute respiratory distress syndrome, and we have a few due to heart attack or yet undetermined causes.”

“Is this the same nationwide?” Shalen added.

“Yes, very similar. ARDS is responsible for at least 90% of the 181 deaths directly attributed to the Jakarta flu. The remaining 10% are all acute events, like heart attack, fatal hypoglycemia, or immediate lung failure due to preexisting lung disease. Most of the ARDS-related fatalities occurred within 24-48 hours of showing symptoms, some as quick as 8-12. Almost all within a hospital setting, though we have reports of deaths occurring within the communities, prior to individuals seeking medical care. This is why it is imperative that individuals with flu-like symptoms seek immediate care from their physician or closest hospital.”

“Do you have any data regarding survival rates for ARDS caused by the Jakarta flu?”

John Merrill stepped forward once again.

“At this time, we do not have any data regarding survival rates for ARDS, however, the occurrence rates for ARDS are around 5%, which is encouraging news. In Asia, some of the early data indicated ARDS rates as high as 10-20%.”

He stepped back to the left of Paul.

“Every time that guy steps forward, I get suspicious,” Kate said.

“Yeah, I think it’s a really sensitive topic that needs extra spin from the puppet master,” Alex added.

“Suzanne Wilkins, SPOT News. According to the National Pandemic Plan, your department is tasked with assessing surge capacity of medical and emergency response systems. What is DHHS’s assessment based on worldwide Jakarta flu trends?”

Surprisingly, to both Kate and Alex, John did not step forward, though he looked like he was straining to remain in his station next to Paul.

“Currently, our assessment is positive. Based on worldwide trends and our nation’s pandemic response capability, we anticipate sufficient surge capacity to handle the pandemic.”

John finally broke free of the invisible force keeping him in place.

“A few major factors affect this assessment. First, the U.S. is a nation with a modernized healthcare system, second to none in the world. I know that a few countries have already hit their surge capacity, but those models will not apply here. We have an incredible healthcare system, and the Strategic National Stockpile gives us the ability to enhance this system if necessary.

“Secondly, not every single person that is infected requires hospital care. The vast majority can be treated at home, especially when given antivirals to reduce the severity of symptoms. At this time, we do not anticipate the Jakarta flu overwhelming the healthcare system. With that being said, we are closely watching all aspects of the pandemic and will take the immediate and necessary steps if, and I emphasize if, that assessment changes. Thank you.”

A woman in the second row spoke up immediately after John’s comment.

“You mentioned the antiviral stockpile again as a key strategy for keeping the pandemic under control. The nation’s stockpile program is close to 32 million doses short of the projected 2012 goal to have enough doses for 25% of the population. Is this shortage figured into that assessment?”

Another reporter sitting behind her fired follow-up questions before either John or Paul could react.

“And what about reports of resistance to Tamiflu? Or that the Jakarta flu may require higher doses due to higher virulence?”

Paul took control of the situation.

“Ladies and gentlemen, one question at a time, please. First, the department’s assessments take into account the state level shortfall. As of last month, the Strategic National Stockpile contained nearly 39 million doses of Tamiflu, which is only a few million doses short of our goal. Unfortunately, the state level stockpiling effort fell short of our expectations. Our plan directed that 32 million doses be purchased at the state level, and currently, state stockpiles only account for about 7 to 8 million doses.”

The room started to stir, as nearly 100 reporters started whispering.

“However, DHHS has reached an agreement with Roche pharmaceuticals that will bridge this gap. Roche has agreed to divert all of their current inventory to the Strategic National Stockpile, and for an indefinite period, all future production of their antiviral will be dedicated to pandemic response efforts.”

“I didn’t hear anything about Biosphere?” Kate said.

Alex shrugged his shoulders.

“As for the rumors about resistance. It is true that a low incidence of resistance has been detected to older flu strains, like H1N1 and H5N1, but that has not been the case with H16N1. Data emerging from Asia does not suggest any resistance to currently available antivirals.”

“Nice that this data is readily available, but nothing about ARDS,” Alex commented.

“Right now, we are unaware of any need to increase the dose of Tamiflu to effectively treat the Jakarta flu. The CDC will be tracking this issue closely. With the current information available, we remain convinced that a typical course of therapy will be sufficient to reduce the symptoms and duration of H16N1 infection. Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll take a few more questions.”

This announcement brought most of the reporters out of their chairs, trying to gain Paul’s attention, many simply yelling their questions at Paul. Paul remained unmoved by their attempts, focusing toward the back of the room.

“Audra,” he announced, pointing to Audra Jefferson, from FBC. Most of the reporters lowered back into their seats.

“Thank you. Does your department recommend any action by state or local governments to implement community social distancing strategies, like school closures or work schedule modifications?”

“No, currently we do not recommend activating any of these strategies. Taking these actions too early can be severely disruptive on many levels. The department plans to reconsider this recommendation early next week, when more data is available to accurately forecast the flu’s impact on the nation. This does not preclude local governments from implementing these strategies, however, it is not warranted by current conditions.”

Alex looked at Kate, shaking his head.

“What do they think is going to happen over the next few weeks?” Alex asked.

“But given the case fatality rates demonstrated in Asia, specifically Indonesian and China, by your department’s own classification, this is a category 5 pandemic. And by your own national plan, in a category 5 situation, all of the community mitigation strategies would be implemented. Why wait for the pandemic to spread?”

John stepped forward to handle her continuation of the question.

“The pandemic severity index, linked to community mitigation strategies is a guideline for action. As Paul said, most of these strategies have a heavy impact on society. School closures force parents to find childcare alternatives, in many cases negating the benefit of a school closure. Many parents cannot afford these alternatives and will be forced to either leave children unattended or miss work, which causes more problems. If parents miss work, they may lose their jobs. Increased absenteeism, already an issue in a flu pandemic, can impact the delivery of essential services, like food, electricity, payroll, financial, and emergency services. Even the most mundane job can contribute to an essential service. Therefore, implementation of these strategies is not taken lightly, as they impact everyone.

“This department, with the full support of the administration, will continue to analyze all of the data, forecasts and recommendations provided by the CDC and ISPAC. By early next week, I am confident that we will understand enough of our situation to make decisions regarding community mitigation strategies.”

As John stepped back, all of the reporters flew off their seats, yelling and gesturing toward Paul, but the press conference was finished.

This marks the end of the fictional Media segments.

Read on for excerpt of Black Flagged

Excerpt from Black Flagged

BLACK OUT

April 8, 1999

2:35 P.M.

A few miles outside of Vizic, Serbia

Marko Resja peered cautiously over the top of the jagged stone wall, scanning the lodge's distant front porch with powerful binoculars. Through the driving downpour, he counted four men, which was a good thing. With the entire external security team in one place, he should have no trouble approaching unseen.

He lowered himself to the spongy, pine-needle-covered ground and leaned back against a sharp granite chunk that formed part of the estate's perimeter wall. Created by haphazardly dumping large uneven rocks around the lodge on all sides, the utilitarian border marked the divide between hastily cleared land and the impenetrable Fruska Gora National Forest.

Marko had arrived at the stone wall one hour earlier, hampered by the same relentless rainfall that had kept NATO aircraft at bay for more than a week. Concealed in the dense pine foliage behind the jagged barrier, he could hear the distant roar of high altitude jets through the unremitting storm. He guessed the NATO pilots were testing Belgrade's air defense network from a safe distance, impatient for the weather to clear over the northern Balkan Peninsula.

He stared out into the wavering pine forest before turning his attention back to the lodge. The two-story, modern, stone and beam structure looked sturdy enough to withstand an artillery attack. A similarly constructed, one-story garage stood between him and the house, partially obscuring his view of the main structure.

Srecko Hadzic, ruthless leader of the paramilitary Serbian Panther crime syndicate, had built the lodge for the sole purpose of hiding his brother, Pavle, from prying eyes. Rumors of NATO commando teams operating within Serbian borders had taken root among upper level leadership, raising paranoia to near panic levels, and Hadzic feared Pavle's capture more than his own at this point. Unfortunately for Hadzic, the Vizic compound was one of the worst-kept secrets in Belgrade.

He took one more look over the top of the wall, just to make sure all four men were still on the porch. He spotted the bright orange glow of cigarettes through the nearly impenetrable rain squall. He didn't expect any of them to emerge from their cozy shelter, but he had to keep in mind that these men were all current or former Serbian Special Operations types, and despite the overindulgences often associated with paramilitary security details, all of these men had been hand-picked for their competence. Three more had accompanied Radovan Grahovac, Hadzic's chief of security, into the lodge to meet with Pavle.

They had all arrived dressed in civilian clothes, which suggested that the crew might head north for a night of prostitutes and drinking along the banks of the Danube River in Novi Sad. Despite their casual dress, however, each man carried a compact assault rifle and a pistol. Under normal circumstances, this was not a crew he would cross. Today, Marko would make a notable exception.

Satisfied that all four men were still in the same place, he picked up a long, thick, black nylon duffel bag and ran to a position along the wall that was completely obscured from the porch by the garage. He knew from two previous reconnaissance trips that Radovan didn't stay more than ten minutes, which meant he was already running out of time.

From his new vantage point, he glanced over the wall and saw one of two dark blue Range Rovers that had arrived at Pavle's hideaway a few minutes ago, depositing Radovan and his heavily-armed security detail. The other Range Rover was parked several meters behind the first, hidden from his view by the garage.

He kneeled low and wrestled a Serbian-made light machine gun out of the soaked nylon bag, extending the weapon's foldable shoulder stock. He placed the weapon against the wall and reached back into the bag for one of two detachable ammunition drums. He swiftly attached one of the seventy-five-round drums to the weapon and placed the second in a hip satchel.

Beyond the high-capacity ammunition drums, he had four standard thirty-round magazines velcroed into quick-access pouches on his combat vest, nestled among four stun grenades. He screwed a large silencer to the machine gun's barrel and chambered a round with the weapon's charging lever. The final item he took from the bag was a gray, aluminum ice-climbing axe, which he attached low on the side of his vest. He was ready.

He gripped the sturdy assault weapon with his left hand and hopped over the rock wall, using his right hand for leverage. After splashing down in ankle-high mud, he slogged through the torrential rain to reach the left back corner of the garage. From that spot, he'd be able to see the four men leave the porch, which was critical to his plan.

Marko arrived at the corner, careful not to expose himself. He checked all of his gear one more time, wishing he could check the computer and satellite phone in his waterproof backpack, but just as quickly dismissing the idea as last minute paranoia. He knew the electronics rig worked, and that it would give him a secure satellite connection for both the satellite phone and his computer. He had assembled and tested it nearly a dozen times within the last twenty-four hours. He might not even need it, but he wasn't about to take any chances, and neither was General Sanderson.

The rain intensified for a minute, as sheets of water pummeled the side of the garage. Despite having been exposed to the frigid early spring rain for nearly two hours, he wasn't cold. Under his paramilitary camouflage outfit, he wore a waterproof, insulated one-piece jumpsuit. Certainly not standard issue for elite Serbian commandos or even the most pampered members of Hadzic's paramilitary forces.

Nothing in Marko's equipment load-out was standard Serbian issue, which distressed him, though it should have comforted him. As an American deep-cover operative, he hadn't fired or handled a weapon less than twenty years old since his arrival in Serbia two years ago. The model he held in his hand came fresh off the Zastava Arms assembly line, compliments of General Sanderson, but it felt alien to him. Instinctively, he knew everything he carried was superior to the ancient hardware handed down to him by senior members of the Panthers, who passed their equipment down to make room for newer toys. Still, it felt strangely uncomfortable.

He peeked around the corner of the garage and saw one of the men throw a lit cigarette out into the front yard. Another man talked excitedly into a small handheld radio and rapidly nodded his head. Showtime.

Marko released the weapon's safety and pulled a rain-soaked black ski mask down over his head. He peered cautiously around the corner, watching the men scramble off the porch. When they vanished from his sight, he moved rapidly down the unobserved side of the garage to the front corner and risked another peek. Everything looked just like he had expected. The lead SUV was already loaded with Radovan and the three men who accompanied him inside the lodge. The four commandos from the porch jogged toward the rear SUV.

He'd witnessed the same scene several dozen times before. Radovan always insisted that the team assigned to the rear vehicle wait for all of the members of the lead car to get situated. When he'd first seen this, he thought it might be for security reasons, but he’d learned firsthand that this was simply another one of Radovan's psychotic quirks. He also knew that all four members of the rear security team, anxious to get out of the rain, would be so preoccupied watching the lead SUV that he could engage them completely undetected.

He pushed these thoughts aside and instantly engaged a near trance-like mindset. He stepped out into the open and lowered his body into a tensed semi-crouch, aiming at the last man in the group. Through the Aimpoint sight, he placed the red dot on the man's upper back, just below the nape of his neck, and squeezed the trigger for a controlled burst. The weapon kicked considerably, but he kept it under control and repeated the process for the remaining three guards. He sprinted for the back of the empty SUV and reached it before the last guard hit the ground. None of them had a chance to react. If anything, a couple of them might have felt a warm, chunky spray. Less than five seconds had elapsed.

A quick glance back confirmed that all four members of Radovan's rear security team were dead, and Marko moved forward along the right side of the rear SUV, focused on Radovan's vehicle.

**

Radovan sat impatiently in the front passenger seat of his Range Rover, listening to the rain hammering the truck's thick metal roof. He hated these trips and absolutely despised handing their hard-earned cash over to Hadzic's "gang-banger worshiping" brother, Pavle. Radovan was a committed ultra-nationalist and had no tolerance for the newly arrived American "gangsta" music that had penetrated the Belgrade club scene. When Radovan hit the town, which he frequently did, Belgrade went hip-hop free. Nobody risked incurring the security chief's wrath.

"Why the fuck are we not out of here already?" he yelled at the rain-blurred windshield.

Directly behind him, one of the commandos shifted uncomfortably. Here we go again. He turned his head back over his right shoulder, equally annoyed with his infantile boss and the idiots in the other Range Rover. Through the wide back window of the Range Rover's gate, he noted a figure sliding down the right side of the rear SUV, but never had a chance to form much more of an impression about the situation. Several steel-jacketed bullets ripped through his skull, and the cabin of the SUV erupted in chaos.

Radovan was immediately hit by two of the bullets that passed unhindered through the commando's throat. One struck him in the upper left shoulder, where it stayed, and the other ricocheted off the metal head rest post and grazed the right side of his neck. The windshield in front of Radovan crumbled from the second bullet, and he instinctively grabbed for the short-barreled assault rifle that rested between his right leg and the door. Before his hand completed the twelve-inch journey, the front passenger door erupted in a fusillade of torn plastic, metal fragments, and safety glass.

His hand never touched the rifle. He felt incredible surges of pain at multiple points throughout his body, but remained conscious for a few seconds, vaguely aware that a figure moved across the front of the SUV, firing continuously into the vehicle. His head was violently snapped backward and to the left, leaving him with a view of a shattered body in the seat behind the driver. He tried to call out to the man, but couldn't form the words. He watched as a dark red stain splattered the bodyguard's window, and a red mist aerosolized the rear cargo compartment. This was the last thing Radovan would ever see.

Against all odds, the driver, Jorji, survived the seemingly endless hail of bullets. He was hit several times, but knew that he was not critically wounded. When the first bullets passed through the car, Jorji twisted his body to the right, pressing down on the center console, trying to present the lowest possible target to his attackers. This was not the first time he had been attacked in a vehicle, and his previous experience kept him alive a little longer than the rest of the Range Rover's occupants.

Several bullets pierced the back of his seat and tore into the top left side of his body, causing mostly superficial damage, but shredding muscle and tendon from his left hip all the way up to his shoulder. The extensive muscle damage along his entire left side kept him locked in place over the center console, with his face nearly buried in Radovan's lap. No matter how hard he tried, he could not sit up, which was another reason that he was still alive.

**

Marko dropped to the soaked gravel near the front left tire of the Range Rover and rolled over onto his left side, which gave him easy access to the hip satchel containing the second ammunition drum. The gun's barrel sizzled as the rain struck the dangerously overheated metal. A hundred thoughts and stimuli flashed through his brain, which were immediately prioritized and processed for his use. His trance reduced useless distractions like emotion, hesitation or fear, and enhanced his focus on the highly specialized skills required to survive.

"Reload weapon" was at the very top of the list. His weapon wasn't empty, but he knew that seventy-five rounds didn't last very long at the rate he had fired. In the flash of a synapse, "driver still alive" was also broadcasted, and his eyes narrowed. He had fired long bursts into each passenger as he moved counter-clock wise around the SUV. After targeting the rear right guard and Radovan, he fired a lengthy burst at the driver through the rear right door window. Marko knew the bullets had passed through the seat and connected with the driver, but the man's demise was not conclusive, and he knew it.

He detached the drum magazine and threw it out of the way. The second drum was out of the satchel and attached to the light machine gun in a blur of his hands. Marko popped up from the ground into a low crouch, keeping well below the window, and fired a sustained burst through the center of the front driver door.

**

The silence felt like an eternity to Jorji, but he knew his lifespan was now measured in seconds, unless he could take the offensive. Jorji lifted his head up far enough out of Radovan's blood-soaked lap to catch sight of the assault rifle jammed against the door by Radovan's leg. Jorji knew this was his only hope. His only weapon, a small semi-automatic pistol, was jammed under is right armpit in a concealed holster, and he couldn't lift his body to free it. Not that it would have mattered if he could. Jorji was left handed, and a bullet had passed through the back of his left elbow, rendering his arm useless. He strained to slide his right arm free, and his hand managed to reach the rifle just as several bullets punctured the driver door and put an end to any hope that he might survive.

**

He raised his body enough to see into the Range Rover, keeping the gun aimed forward. He saw the driver leaned over Radovan's lap, but couldn't be sure the man was dead. Through his weapon's sight, he centered the red dot on the back of the man's skull. One quick trigger pull put an end to Radovan's security team.

He pulled back up against the house and absorbed the entire scene. The carnage resembled a well-executed ambush, and there was little chance that anyone would suspect the attack was perpetrated by one person. The vehicle was shredded on all sides by bullets, and most of the safety glass lay shattered on the packed gravel. He fired from nearly every angle around the car, leaving shell casings scattered everywhere.

He saw that two of the guards behind the rear SUV had fallen on top of each other and immediately decided that he'd stuff one of them into the trunk of the luxury Mercedes in the garage. He'd dump the car into one of the lakes near Belgrade. The absence of a junior member of Radovan's inner sanctum would lead Hadzic to suspect that this was an inside job, and if anyone took a close look at the ground around the bodies, they would only find the washed-out evidence of three deaths.

He decided to skip any further house surveillance and moved toward the door. He had done a mixed job of keeping the noise level down and didn't want to waste any time if Pavle's bodyguards had been alerted.

The silencer had worked perfectly and ensured that the automatic weapon would not draw anyone's attention. He could barely hear the gun's internal mechanisms over the rain storm. The Range Rover was a different story, and he was not at all satisfied with the noise created by the bullets that impacted with the SUV's heavy steel frame. To Marko, it had sounded like multiple, low speed fender benders, and it nearly jarred him out of his operational mindset. He had backed up against the house more out of fear than a rational tactical decision. It was the right decision, but this was not how he had been trained to operate.

He reached his right hand over to the doorknob and tried to twist it. It didn't move. Wasting no time, he reached into his hip satchel and removed an object that resembled a small plastic explosive charge. He tightly jammed it between the doorknob and door trim. He pulled a small plastic device out of a pouch on his vest and slid it upward along the door from the first small charge. The device's LED turned green about two feet above the doorknob. Deadbolt. He placed a second charge against the trim, right where the LED flashed green. He quickly pulled a small cotter pin on each of the homemade devices and pressed himself flush against the paved stone wall of the lodge.

In rapid succession, each device ignited and burned intensely for five seconds. The thermite packages created very little noise, but generated an incredible amount of smoke, usually on both sides of the door. He pushed firmly on the heavy oak door, which gave way now that the locks had been melted. He held his breath and stepped into the house. The caustic smoke obscured his vision and burned his eyes momentarily, but he immediately recognized that he was on a small landing. Several stairs led up into the house through an enclosed stairwell that separated the landing from the main house and kept him out of sight.

His ears picked up a familiar sound, which relieved him of any fears that his attack had been compromised. A hardcore rap song from Dr. Dre's Chronic album vibrated throughout the lodge. His mouth formed a thin grin as a Serbian accented "Yeah motherfucka" echoed alongside Snoop Dog's lyrics.

He eased up the stairs and peeked around the corner. The lodge's ground floor was an open concept space, which gave him a clear view straight through the kitchen, into the great room. He didn't see any smoke detectors in the kitchen, which allowed him to relax the pace slightly.

The ceiling opened up just past the eat-in kitchen area to form a two-story great room, with floor to ceiling windows on the far wall facing Marko. A dark gray slate fireplace and chimney split the middle of this wall and disappeared into the timber-framed ceiling. The men were stationed around a rustic, dark wooden coffee table, which was centered on the fireplace, and littered with a pile of mixed currency. A dimly-lit chandelier hung low over the coffee table, attached to the ceiling by a thick, black chain.

He spotted Pavle immediately, which was not a difficult task. Pavle was paralyzed from the waist down and confined to a wheelchair, which currently faced the fireplace. Both of Pavle's outstretched arms embraced the deep hip hop beat with a slow, synchronized wave. Each hand held a thick stack of American bills.

He assessed the bodyguards. A large, stocky man in a black turtleneck sweater and brown jacket stood in front of Pavle, bouncing up and down completely out of rhythm. The second bodyguard sat on a dark, rich leather couch to the left of the table, nodding his head to the steady rhythm and rolling what Marko assumed to be a marijuana joint. He didn't see any obvious weapons and chuckled at the pathetic crew in front of him.

Ready to make his move, he took the time to touch the razor-sharp edges on both the front and back of the climbing axe. The axe would provoke the final outrage. The inevitable civil war between two of Slobodan Milosevic's largest paramilitary groups would tear Belgrade apart from within and give Marko the cover he needed to tie up a few more loose ends before vanishing. For the first time in several years, he felt hopeful.

His time in this shithole of a region was rapidly coming to an end, and he intended to walk away with a little more than just the satisfaction of a job well done. Pavle held the key to his brother's vast criminal fortune, which would soon belong to the United States government—minus a small finder's fee. He caressed the axe's blade once more before he lowered his body to a full crouch and slipped into the kitchen. He still had a long day ahead of him.

BACK IN BLACK

May 25, 2005

Chapter One

2:35 p.m.

Portland, Maine

Daniel sat at a brushed metal, modernist workstation in his expanded cubicle, staring blankly at a sleek flat-screen monitor. An MBA from Boston University's School of Management had earned him a little extra space in one of the outer cubicles and a partial view of the tall pine trees behind the building's rear parking lot. His one-hundred-square-foot home at Zenith Semiconductor was as close to the "corner office" as modern workplace design theory would allow, and he had fellow MBAs like himself to thank for it. At least his position entitled him to a frosted glass "privacy door," which he could slide shut to emphasize his desire to remain undisturbed. Few of the staff and entry level management had this option and were therefore vulnerable to constant, unannounced intrusion.

His door had only been closed for fifteen minutes, and he'd already counted at least five lingering shadows behind the translucent glass. He continued to stare at the market analysis presentation on the screen, unmotivated to continue. His indoor soccer team pulled the late slot the night before, and he still hadn't recovered from a three-hour sleep deficit. He shook his head and decided to take a walk around the ten-thousand-square-foot cubicle "ghetto," known more formally as the third floor.

He stood up from his sleek designer chair and surveyed the immense room. At six feet tall, Daniel could effectively see over the cubicles. Just as he slid the door open, his phone rang.

"I almost escaped," he muttered and plopped himself back down into the soft chair.

He put his headset on and pressed a button on the gray desk phone. "Daniel Petrovich."

"Daniel, it's Sandy. I have a call for you from Azore Market Solutions."

"Do you know who it is?" Daniel said, surprised to be hearing from Azore so soon.

"They didn't say," Sandy said, one of the junior assistants assigned to the marketing department. "Just that they needed to talk with you immediately."

He had contracted with Azore Market Solutions to provide raw data for an overseas regional marketing analysis, but didn't expect to hear from them for another month. He usually conducted business with them via e-mail, so he was slightly concerned about the call. If Azore couldn't deliver the data, he'd have to start the process from scratch, which would put Zenith's South American market expansion efforts behind schedule, and his job at risk.

"All right. Put whoever it is through. And Sandy…would you please ask who's on the line next time? I don't know if I'm talking to the CEO or a janitor," he lamented.

"I don't think it's the janitor, but I'm not sure. Do you want me to ask who it is before I put the call through?"

"No, don't worry about it this time," he said and hung up.

Several cubicles away, Sandy shook her cropped brown hair and rolled her eyes. “Fucking janitor bullshit," she mumbled as she transferred the call.

Dan shut the door to his cubicle and pressed the button to connect the call. "Daniel Petrovich."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was hoping to reach Marko Resja," the male voice said, betraying no emotion.

Daniel felt a surge of adrenaline fire through his central nervous system, and his brain switched over to a long dormant mode of operation, instantly ceasing to function as Zenith Semiconductor's Emerging Markets' Analytical Lead. He stood up slowly, glancing down the vast sea of cubicle tops.

"I'm not in the building, so you can sit back down," the voice said.

Daniel remained standing and opened the cubicle door.

"Are you sitting?"

"I am," Petrovich replied.

"That's better. Do I have your attention?" the voice said, which confirmed that he was not under direct surveillance.

Daniel activated the "wander" function of his headset. "You never lost it."

As long as he remained on the third floor of Building A, his headset would function without a hard-wire connection. He might be able to get a slight head start on whatever was coming his way. He opened the top drawer of his desk, pocketed his keys and cell phone, and started to walk toward the nearest staircase.

"The general has a proposal for you," the voice said.

"I'll be sure to look him up the next time I'm the D.C. area," Dan said, approaching the door to the stairwell.

"This proposal is extremely time sensitive."

He wrapped his hands around the staircase door handle. "I don't really care."

"He thought you might say that. He told me to tell you that 'he knows everything,'" the voice said with a slight hint of impatience.

"I'm still not impressed," Petrovich said.

"Zorana Sekulic," the voice uttered.

Daniel paused for a few seconds. Sanderson hadn't bothered him much since they parted ways. A Christmas card one year, a birthday card the next. Just a friendly reminder that the general was still out there. Using Zorana's name was more than a nudge. It was more like poking him with a knife.

"Where do we meet?"

"Designer Grinds. A few blocks from your building. Five minutes."

"No good. I'm a regular there. I'll meet you inside the Designer Grinds at Northgate Plaza," Daniel countered.

"Where is that?" the voice said.

"Figure it out," Daniel said and disconnected the call.

He stuffed the headset in a trash bin by the door and took three flights of stairs running. He felt slightly panicked by the brazen use of Zorana's name. He'd taken extreme measures to bury that name in the past, but apparently he should have dug the hole a little deeper. He opened the door to the lobby and walked briskly toward the rear security station, which would lead him directly to his car in the back parking lot. He'd call his assistant as soon he was on the turnpike and make up some excuse for vanishing.

Daniel approached the security exit with nothing for the guards to search. Normally, they would take a cursory look inside of his briefcase, but this time he wasn't carrying anything. He addressed the single guard, who swiveled in his chair as Daniel reached him.

"No need to get up, Harry. I'm just running a quick errand at Target before I forget. I have a pick-up soccer game after work, and if I don't do this now, it'll never get done."

Harold Parsons eased back into his chair. He barely turned his head far enough to watch Daniel move swiftly through the sliding door and nearly break into a run.

**

Daniel strained to keep from breaking into a full sprint toward his BMW 545i sedan, which sat three rows deep in the lot. Though he was out of Harold’s sight line, five levels of windows faced the back lot, and the sight of anyone sprinting in the parking lot was sure to attract the wrong kind of attention, especially in the middle of the afternoon.

He fished a ring of keys out of his front pocket as he approached the back of his car and remotely unlocked the doors. As his hand reached for the door handle, he pressed the ignition button on his key fob, and the BMW’s powerful 325 HP engine roared to life and settled into a low hum. Seconds later, Daniel screeched out of the parking lot, headed for the Turnpike entrance.

**

James Parker tossed the burner cell phone onto the passenger seat and began to program the dashboard mounted GPS system as if his life depended on it—which it did. After pushing several buttons, he located the Designer Grinds store in Northgate and activated the navigator, which was programmed to take the shortest route to the coffee shop. He pulled his Grand Cherokee out of the parking lot in which he was sitting and wove through traffic on his way to Congress Street, where he’d be able to pick up more speed without running the risk of attracting the attention of local law enforcement.

Roughly one minute after speeding out of the parking lot, his SUV passed the entrance to the Zenith Semiconductor Industrial Complex, and Parker glared at the closer of two glass-encased office buildings. A few weeks earlier he might have spotted Daniel in the building's parking lot, but May had unleashed thick rows of brilliant yellow Forsythia bushes, which completely obscured his view of the complex's ground level. He leaned on the accelerator and shot toward Maine Mall Road.

**

Daniel's car arrived at the Maine Mall Road stoplight, one series of lights behind Parker's Grand Cherokee. As soon as the BMW came to a stop at the light, he reached under his seat and drew a compact Sig Sauer pistol from a hidden holster. He pushed the pistol under a newspaper on the front passenger seat and considered his next move. One thing was certain for Daniel. If this contact had any information regarding Zorana Sekulic, beyond her name, that information would die in the parking lot outside of the Northgate Designer Grinds.

The light turned green, and Daniel sped down toward Western Avenue, banking on the likelihood that the general's man wouldn’t take the turnpike. Just as the BMW's tires squealed through the turn onto Western Avenue, Parker's Grand Cherokee passed the turnoff leading to Interstate 95 and pushed forward on the shortest, but not quickest route to its destination.

Daniel arrived at the Northgate shopping complex less than ten minutes later and parked his car at the back of the Shale’s parking lot, to the far right of the store. He could think of no conceivable way for his adversary to spot the car from any of the three approaches to Designer Grinds. He reached into the back seat and grabbed a dark blue, zippered nylon jacket and a dirty Red Sox ball cap. He opened his door and stood up to put on the jacket, followed by the hat. Before jogging across the parking lot toward the entrance to Shale’s, he tucked the pistol into the rear belt line of his dark brown wool pants and pulled the jacket down to ensure that it was concealed.

He arrived at the automated entrance and glanced around. Designer Grinds was to his left, and there were three open parking spaces in front the coffee shop, directly off the covered pedestrian walkway linking together the strip mall's business fronts. A dozen more spaces sat unoccupied among the three rows of parking available further back from the store fronts. He didn't have much time to position himself, so he trusted his instincts and walked briskly into the field of cars across from the coffee shop.

His mind raced with thousands of possibilities, variables, and scenarios, as he searched for an unlocked car in the third row away from Designer Grinds. His training had broken through, but it felt like a glitchy computer. He shook his head, as if he could rattle his brain's circuitry back into place. After checking several cars, he found an unlocked Honda Accord and slipped into the back seat.

**

Parker veered his Grand Cherokee left at the split of Auburn Street and Washington Avenue, and spotted the traffic signal that marked the front entrance to the Northgate shopping center. His stomach was knotted, and he tried for the hundredth time, since arriving in Portland, to stop grinding his teeth. He'd seen enough of the Petrovich file to warrant an ulcer.

He arrived at the red light and scanned the parking lot in front of the Designer Grinds and Shale’s for a BMW, though he was reasonably certain that he'd beaten Petrovich to the shopping center. His only goal had been to get into the Designer Grinds alive, where, in front of witnesses, he'd at least have a brief opportunity to explain that he knew nothing about Zorana Sekulic, only the name. The general had made it clear that this would be the most pressing business on the table, and that Parker's survival would depend on it.

The light turned green, and Parker sat for a few seconds, momentarily paralyzed. A horn jarred him back to reality, and he pulled into the plaza, cruising slowly while he searched for the BMW.

**

Daniel spotted the Cherokee immediately thanks to an impatient Mainer. Three short horn blasts drew his attention to the front entrance of the parking lot, where even the most unobservant field agent could spot Parker cruising "casually" past Shale’s, craning his neck in every direction.

He peeked through the Accord's headrest and watched the Cherokee drive past Designer Grinds and turn into the second row of cars. As the SUV headed in his direction, one row away, Daniel slid himself across the back seat and unlocked the passenger door. Hand on the door handle, he waited for the Cherokee to park.

The driver guided the SUV into a parking space two rows back from the entrance to Designer Grinds, and Daniel slid out of the back seat of the sedan. Staying low, he sprinted from one row of cars to the next, centering on the back of the Cherokee to avoid detection in either of the Cherokee's side mirrors. He heard the doors unlock, and the dark-haired driver leaned over into the front seat. As the man straightened back up in the driver's seat, Daniel opened the door and pressed the barrel of his pistol to the back of his head.

"Hands up on the dashboard above the radio. Do not turn your head. Understood?" Daniel said and closed the rear driver car door, settling into the back seat and easing the pistol back from Parker's head.

Parker nodded once and carefully placed his hands, palms down on the dashboard.

"I'll ask you some questions. If I don't like the answers, then all the general's horses and all the general's men, won't be able put you back together again. Understood?" Daniel said, and Parker nodded once more.

"I assume you've read some kind of file regarding my previous line of work?"

"Yes, but I don't know anything about the name I mentioned earlier."

"Which name?" Daniel said, curious if he'd repeat it.

"Zorana. The general told me to use this name if I didn't think you would meet with me."

"Well, the general must not like you very much because he knows damn well I won't entertain any of his proposals…and giving you that name was potential death sentence. How well do you know General Sanderson?"

"I've been working directly under General Sanderson for two years."

"He's not a general any more. Pissed on too many people. Important people. How did you get stuck with him?"

"We met in Afghanistan before he retired," Parker said.

"Retired…doesn't sound like he retired."

"He didn't. That's why I'm here."

"What do you know about Zorana Sekulic?" Daniel whispered and pushed the pistol into the base of his skull, at the top of his neck.

Parker cleared his throat. "Absolutely nothing beyond the name. The general stressed to me that the first thing I needed to clear up with you, is the fact that I know nothing about Zorana. He said my life depended on it."

"And you still showed up?" Daniel said, pulling the pistol back, but keeping it aimed at the back of Parker's seat.

"I didn't really have much of a choice," Parker said.

"That's the problem with General Sanderson. He doesn't like for any of his people to get comfortable with the concept of free will, which is why we parted ways long ago. I'm done with your general, Mr…?"

"Parker. James Parker. Can we talk about this over some coffee? The mission is critically important to our work and national security. You might change your mind."

"I'll listen, but I need you to know that I won't hesitate to add your brains to the African artwork in that place. Are you armed?"

"No. Gun's in the glove box…but I have a small Spyderco knife in my right front pocket."

"I expect to hear that knife clatter on the pavement as soon as we start walking. You can pick it up later, if it's still there. And the coffee's on you. Fair?"

"Fair," Parker said, clearly relieved.

A few minutes later, Parker placed two coffees on the table and took a seat across from Daniel, who sat against the back wall, one hand hidden under the table. Daniel examined him for a few seconds as he reached out for his drink. Parker had deep blue eyes and thick, black hair, closely cropped for a neat, trimmed impression. Not short enough to immediately betray a military background, but clearly the preferred look for someone not completely comfortable with civilian life. His outfit matched the haircut: khakis, casual blue dress shirt with no tie, and a dark blue blazer. Business casual for the ex-military officer. Petrovich suspected that he had been a senior army captain or possibly a major. He looked lean and slightly muscular.

"Special Forces in Afghanistan?" Daniel said and took a sip of steaming hot cappuccino.

"Navy SEAL platoon commander. I met General Sanderson at Forward Operating Base (FOB) Anaconda in 2004. He showed a lot of interest in the spec ops guys operating out of the Korangal Valley. That was before we started sticking outposts up there. Fucking Wild West. We stayed in touch, and he offered me a job as a security consultant when I got out."

"So what's in the bag, Mr. Navy SEAL?"

"Mission specifics. Untraceable weapon," he responded, glancing around secretively as he spoke.

Daniel kept control of the tension evoked by the sudden realization that Parker had lied about being armed, and only slightly tightened his grip on the Sig Sauer pistol hidden under the table.

"I thought I said no weapons," Petrovich said.

"The case is locked, and I don't have the combination. I have a phone number for you to dial, which is programmed to respond to your cell phone number. You get the combo from a recording. I know who the target is, and all of the mission details, but Sanderson did not want me to have access to the contents of the briefcase. I don't ask questions."

"What's the phone number?" Petrovich said, removing his cell phone from one of the inside pockets of his jacket.

"You're going to open the case here?" Parker asked.

Petrovich leaned across and whispered, "You're goddamn right I am. I don't need this case exploding inside my car…and if I don't like the contents, I don't want to make another trip to return it. The number, please."

Parker recited the number as Daniel dialed. The call lasted less than thirty seconds before Daniel abruptly snapped the phone closed. He leaned over the left side of the table to look at the nylon case.

"May I?" Daniel said.

"The case is yours."

Daniel lifted the case off the floor and placed it in his lap, backing his chair up flush against the wall. He still wanted some room to maneuver, just in case this elaborate set-up was a trap, though he felt comfortable enough about Parker. The guy was far from a trained agent or contract killer. Daniel suspected that he was exactly what he claimed to be.

He dialed the four-digit combination and flipped open the top of the case. He stared at the contents, noting the presence of a Ziploc bag enclosed pistol in the padded compartment normally reserved for a laptop computer. He found two sealed documents in the other side of the case and removed them. One was a thick packet, and the other was a small envelope.

"Do you have to look at this here?" Parker said, glancing nervously over his shoulder at two women who occupied brown leather chairs several tables away.

"You need to relax. I didn't drag the gun out, did I?"

Parker didn't look relieved by his response and continued to look over his shoulder while Daniel unsealed the packet. Daniel extracted the contents and placed them on the table next to his coffee. The top item was a picture.

Petrovich opened and read the contents of the envelope and replaced the letter. He put the envelope back into the briefcase and took the picture off the table. Staring at the picture, he asked, "I suppose this gentleman needs to take a permanent vacation?"

"Something like that. His name is…"

"I don't need to know his name. I assume this packet contains all of the information I'll need? Places of business, hours of work, gym, favorite bars…though I get the feeling this guy might not partake in the consumption of alcohol, or bacon."

For the first time since Daniel placed a gun against his head, Parker cracked a smile.

"Ah, a sense of humor. I don't think the general likes those either," Daniel said. "So, I'll track this guy down and find an opportunity, but I need to talk to your general personally, right now, or this whole thing is off."

"The general isn't available to talk right now. He went offline right before I arrived in Portland."

"Get him on the phone, or you're going to have to kill this guy yourself. I don't think this kind of work would suit you."

"I'll try, but I'm serious about…"

Daniel's cell phone interrupted Parker's sentence. Unknown number.

"Daniel Petrovich," he answered dryly, now pretty sure he was under surveillance. Another deception by Parker.

"Danny! It's been a while. Great to hear your voice."

"Well, you can play it back all day and night, I suppose," Daniel said.

"Newest technology on the streets. Turned Parker's cell phone into a bug without him knowing," General Sanderson said.

"Congratulations. I'm glad to know you didn't spend the Hadzic trust fund all in one place," Daniel said.

"I need you in on this operation, Daniel. We're sending a strong message to the Muslim fundamentalist movement here at home..."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Save that bullshit for the rest of your zealots. I'll take a look at the file. If I agree to do this…I don't want to hear from you again. Ever. Is that clear?"

"If that's what you want."

"It's what I always wanted, but here we are. I'll need a few days for reconnaissance…"

"I need this done tonight. Our timeline is set in stone," the general said.

Parker shifted in his seat uncomfortably, as if he sensed an immediate threat to his existence, which couldn't have been further from the truth. Daniel's brain worked like a perfect machine when under pressure, and his processors analyzed hundreds of solutions to his current dilemma within seconds. Killing Parker in a suburban Designer Grinds never passed through Daniel's neural connections. Petrovich knew that the general had the upper hand and that all paths led to the completion of the task outlined in the briefcase. It had been no accident that Parker arrived only hours before the mission's deadline.

"I'm done after this. You understand that, right?"

"I understand. I apologize for pulling out the trump card—"

"Apologies never suited you, General, and I don't believe it for one fucking second," Daniel said, shaking his head slowly.

"Whether you believe it or not, your actions will make a huge contribution to the war on terror, and—"

"Save the elevator speech for Parker. I have a long afternoon ahead of me. My slate is clean."

"Clean," General Sanderson said.

"I'm curious, how long have you known about her?"

"Do you remember one of the first things I told your training class? There's no such thing as a coincidence," Sanderson said and disconnected the call.

Petrovich set the phone down on the target dossier and glanced up at Parker. The former special operations soldier looked tense and ready to make a bad decision.

"Parker, chill out and drink your coffee. You're making me nervous. I need a contact number in case I run into unforeseen circumstances," he said.

"You'll find instructions for that in the file. I'll need to collect the dossier and the gun when you're finished," he replied.

"I'll leave it all at the scene for you," Daniel said and slipped the file into the briefcase alongside the table. He collected his cell phone and picked up his coffee. "Don't bother getting up. Thanks for the coffee, by the way."

"My pleasure," Parker said.

Daniel left the Designer Grinds with the briefcase, checking over his shoulder once to make sure Parker stayed seated. As soon as he walked out the door, he was hit in the face by a cloud of cigarette smoke from a homeless man sitting at one of the coffee house's outdoor wrought iron tables. The tobacco smoke reminded him of a past he apparently couldn't escape.

He walked back to his car, sipping coffee and firmly clutching the briefcase. Sanderson was a careful and thorough operator, so he felt considerably secure that he would not have to play the counter-surveillance game this afternoon. If he suspected any possibility that his plot had been detected, he would have given Daniel some warning. Not for Daniel's safety or wellbeing, but to give Daniel the best possible shot at accomplishing the mission. The outcome had always been the general's only true concern. He could be unfailingly loyal, as long as your usefulness outweighed your burden. Daniel had learned this early and leveraged it throughout his "stay" overseas. Unmarked graves scattered across the continents covered the remains of "graduates" that never quite grasped this concept.

Daniel reached his car and deactivated the alarm system, which emitted two sharp chirps. Three low chirps would have indicated that someone or something had made contact with the car in his absence. The vibrational sensitivity of the system could detect someone leaning against the car, or even the slightest bump of an opening door. The alarm would only sound if someone tried to open one of the doors, or forcefully hit the car.

He started the car and moved it to an empty row in the back of the parking lot, where he opened the case and pulled out the file. He quickly thumbed through the documents, taking in all of the salient points. The general's operational files hadn't changed in years. Functional and easy to navigate, Daniel had a solid assessment of the job within minutes. A rough plan developed before he could shift gears and speed out of the parking lot. He had a lot to accomplish before soccer practice tonight.

Purchase Black Flagged

Go to Features Index

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

About The Jakarta Pandemic

Dedication

Map of Durham Road Neighborhood

Prologue

Arrival

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Quarantine

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

Survival

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Excerpt from The Perseid Collapse (unedited)

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

A Brief History of the Avian Flu Pandemic of 2008

ISPAC and WHO Controversy following the 2008 Avian Flu Pandemic

Field Resources Available in 2008

Background Material Cut from first draft of The Jakarta Pandemic

Media Excerpts cut from the first draft of The Jakarta Pandemic

Excerpt from Black Flagged

BLACK OUT

BACK IN BLACK

Chapter One

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

About The Jakarta Pandemic

Dedication

Map of Durham Road Neighborhood

Prologue

Arrival

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Quarantine

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

Survival

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Excerpt from The Perseid Collapse (unedited)

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

A Brief History of the Avian Flu Pandemic of 2008

ISPAC and WHO Controversy following the 2008 Avian Flu Pandemic

Field Resources Available in 2008

Background Material Cut from first draft of The Jakarta Pandemic

Media Excerpts cut from the first draft of The Jakarta Pandemic

Excerpt from Black Flagged

BLACK OUT

BACK IN BLACK

Chapter One