900 Miles (Book 2): 900 Minutes Read online

  His wife was waiting for him in the entry. Her disheveled appearance and worried expression filled him with trepidation. Karen, a former Miss Arizona, took great pride in her appearance and was usually very calm and collected. She rushed to him and threw her arms around his neck sobbing into his chest.

  “Oh, Jeb. It’s Josh. He had a violent fit. I called Ben. He’s with Josh now.”

  Jeb lifted her face and looked into her emerald green eyes, red-rimmed from crying. “What happened?”

  She shook her head and sniffled. “I don’t know. Today Josh felt so bad he didn’t want to get out of bed. I went in about an hour ago to check on him and he was white as a ghost, moaning and thrashing about on the bed. I tried to calm him down, but couldn’t. Thank God, Ben was home.”

  Jeb nodded. Ben Reynolds, like most doctors now, had closed their offices, overwhelmed by the flood of sick patients. Most now worked at the hospitals, clinics and emergency medical centers hastily constructed by FEMA, such as the one a few miles away in Avra Valley near the Marana airport.

  “He’ll be fine, Hon,” Jeb said to reassure her, though his own heart was heavy with worry. “He’s young and strong, and Ben is one of the best. Besides, we’ve all had our flu shots.” He forced a smile to his lips.

  Reynolds was sitting in the living room, his face covered with both hands and his shoulders slumped. He looked up at Jeb and nodded a greeting. His tired blue eyes and worried expression made him look ten years older than his fifty-five years.

  “How is he, Ben?” Jeb asked.

  Reynolds sighed. “It’s difficult to say, Jeb. He has a high fever and flu-like symptoms, but it doesn’t seem to be the same flu that’s going around.” Reynolds was almost as tall as Jeb and thin, but his deep voice and slow Southern drawl inspired confidence in his patients. This time, however, he sounded uncertain. He shook his head slowly. “Almost everyone has something.”

  Jeb let out his pent up breath. He had expected worse news. “What do we do?”

  “I gave him a sedative so he can rest and I left some antibiotics on his nightstand. We’ll try those first and see if his condition improves.”

  Karen walked up behind her husband and grasped his arm. She wasn’t convinced. “An antibiotic? That’s all? He was writhing around on the bed as if he had an epileptic seizure or something. Shouldn’t we take him to the hospital?”

  “No,” Reynold’s answered quickly. “There’s no room in the hospitals and he wouldn’t receive the care he needs. They’re simply overwhelmed by the number of sick.”

  “What about that new center in Avra Valley?” she asked.

  The dark look in Reynolds’ eyes at the mention of the FEMA camp startled Jeb. “No. I’ll drop back by soon. Believe me, Karen; he’ll be better off here.”

  His wife still didn’t look convinced, but she nodded and rushed off to Josh’s room.

  “You look done in, Ben,” Jeb said. “Want some coffee?”

  His smile revealed a little of the Benjamin Reynolds that Jeb remembered. “Got anything stronger?”

  “Scotch, right? I could do with a glass myself.”

  Jeb went to the bar, poured two fingers of Glenfiddich into two tumblers, added ice and handed one to Reynolds.

  “Now, what was it you didn’t want Karen to know?”

  Reynolds frowned, took a sip of scotch and sighed. He stared into the depths of the cold fireplace for a moment as if studying invisible flames. “I’m frightened, Jeb. Josh isn’t the first case I’ve seen like this. There are a dozen more at Oro Valley.” He waited a few seconds before continuing. “They’re lying to us, Jeb.”

  “Who’s lying?”

  “The Feds, the CDC, FEMA – all of them.”

  Jeb took a seat beside Reynolds. “What do you mean?”

  Reynolds looked at him. “How many have died so far, Jeb?”

  Jeb wrinkled his brow, wondering where Reynolds was going with this. “In America? Six thousand last count. Why?”

  Reynolds shook his head. “It’s closer to sixty thousand, probably much higher. FEMA is afraid if they release the actual count, there’ll be a panic, and they could be right. The new vaccine is next to useless. So far, they’ve discovered five active strains of the Avian influenza type A virus. We’re beginning to see widespread antigenic shift. I’m worried, Jeb. Have you seen the new emergency center in Marana, near the airport?” Jeb hadn’t, but Reynolds didn’t give him time to reply. “Why would they need to enclose it in a ten-foot fence topped with razor wire? It has hundreds of FEMA trailers inside and an army outpost outside. I think the President is close to declaring Martial Law.”

  Jeb was flabbergasted at Reynolds’ suggestion. “Martial Law? That’s ridiculous. That would create a panic in itself. Just look at the flack he got over the mandatory flu shots. The press crucified him.” He looked at Reynolds and cocked his head to one side. “There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

  Reynolds’ nodded, downed the rest of his drink and leaned back wearily on the sofa. “Jeb, this started in southern Asia. As of yesterday, Vietnam and Laos are at war over the flood of refugees. Thailand is threatening to attack Myanmar. Estimates are about six million dead from disease and famine alone, but communication from Asia is spotty at best. China is strangely silent about the entire epidemic. Europe has closed down all major airports.”

  Jeb took a sip of his drink. The burning liquor did not dissolve the lump of fear that had been forming in his throat as he listened to his friend. “I’ve heard nothing of this on the news.”

  “You won’t. Try going on-line and checking YouTube or a few blogs. Some of the clips I’ve seen are horrendous.” He shook his head sadly. “This pandemic is getting away from us, Jeb.”

  Jeb placed a hand on Reynolds’ shoulder. “The CDC will come up with something soon. They usually do.”

  Reynolds looked up from his empty glass. “If they do, it will be too little too late. To keep order, they will issue the vaccine to the military first. By the time it trickles down to the population of small cities and towns, millions could be dead.”

  “Millions,” Jeb repeated. The thought of an apocalyptic event occurring in his lifetime had never crossed his mind. His mind couldn’t comprehend the idea of millions of Americans dying. A sickening feeling brought him back to reality. “Josh?”

  “I honestly don’t know. If he makes it through the next couple of days, I think he’ll pull through.” Reynold’s pushed himself from the sofa and stood, holding onto the sofa arm until his wobbly legs steadied. “I have to go, Jeb. People need me. Thanks for the drink.”

  “You could use some rest, Ben.”

  Reynolds chuckled. “I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

  Jeb looked at his old friend’s tired face and hoped that time didn’t come too soon. “There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there.”

  Reynolds sighed. “It’s just rumors, mind you, nothing definite.”

  Jeb mentally braced himself for more bad news. “What?”

  “There have been reports of hospitals back east being sealed off, no one in or out. The military has a very strong presence in urban areas.”

  Jeb wondered if Reynolds was worrying too much about rumors. “The military might be needed to keep order in case of riots. As you said, people panic.”

  “Maybe, but I still think it’s troubling. The free exchange of medical knowledge is vital in an epidemic of this magnitude. Too many medical personnel have disappeared.”

  Jeb took another sip of his drink and swirled the ice cubes with his finger. “Disappeared?”

  “Taken from their homes or hospitals by the military, sometimes in the middle of the night.”

  “For what earthly reason would the military need . . .” He stopped as the implications hit home.

  Reynolds nodded grimly. “So you’re beginning to understand. The military believes this disease will break down the country’s infrastructure. Maybe, they even think we’ve been attacked.” />
  Jeb was incredulous. “Attacked? A man-made virus? From whom – Al Quaeda?”

  Reynolds shrugged. “I don’t think so, but it is mutating at an alarming rate. It doesn’t seem . . . natural.” He waved his empty glass around to indicate the house. “You’ve got a good set up here, Jeb – solar panels, a generator, an eight-foot high stone wall with a wrought-iron gate, steep bluffs on three sides. If I were you, I would think about a long-term water supply.” Reynolds set the empty glass on the coffee table. “I’ll drop back by in the morning.” He sighed. “Looks like no Thanksgiving dinner this year, I suppose.”

  Jeb nodded. “I’m afraid so. I don’t think Karen . . .” He paused and started over. “I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

  Reynolds shook his head sadly. “Too bad. I enjoyed your little get-togethers immensely.”

  As Jeb ushered Reynolds out the door, the full weight of the doctor’s earlier words fell on him. If things got as bad as Reynolds predicted, then he needed to prepare for the worst eventuality. He was no survivalist, but he did have a hunting rifle and a pistol that had belonged to his father, who had tried in vain to interest him in hunting white-tailed deer in Mexico. Jeb had accompanied his father on several trips, but usually spent more time enjoying the scenery than hunting, much to his father’s dismay. Jeb had a lot of faith in man’s inherent compassionate nature, maybe more than Reynolds did, but panic brought out the worst in people. He owed it to his family to be prepared. Like a 32-year old Boy Scout, he thought glumly.

  As soon as possible, he would need to make a trip to one of the food warehouse stores for bulk food items, canned goods, first aid supplies, bottled water and anything else he could think of that they might possibly need if things went to hell in a hurry. The generator ran on the same propane tank as the outdoor grill. A larger tank, maybe even an extra one, might be expedient. First, he needed to check in on Josh.

  Josh, six-years old and small for his age, looked frail and pathetic lying in the middle of his bed with a sheet secured across his chest to keep him from thrashing about and hurting himself. The Superman sheets covering his bed were incongruously incapable of protecting him from the evil attacking him. Sweat from the fever had his curly black locks plastered to his forehead. His chest heaved irregularly, as his tiny beleaguered lungs labored for each breath. His clenched fists thrust from his side as if fighting an invisible enemy. Kneeling beside the bed, Karen was sobbing and she had one hand laid over their son’s clenched fist. Jeb went to her and rested his hand on the top of her head.

  “He’ll be fine,” he said, averting his eyes from his ill son, trying to make the words sound believable.

  “He looks so sad,” she replied. “He was always a rambunctious child.”

  Jeb nodded silently, as he remembered the first broken bone Josh had from falling out of the lemon tree in the back yard, and his numerous cuts and bruises from trying to keep up with the bigger kids in school. He had never let his size slow him down. But now . . .

  “Let him sleep. We need to talk.”

  Karen looked up at him with concern, but followed him out of the bedroom. In the kitchen, he saw Karen had not started dinner, but he understood why. He could make a sandwich or order out for both of them, if anyone was still delivering take-out. While he started the coffee brewer perking, she sat at the island.

  “Ben says things are worse than the authorities are letting on.”

  Karen’s grip on the granite counter top tightened, her fingers turning white from the pressure. “What do you mean?”

  He leaned on the island across from her. “More people are dying than they’re saying. If it gets worse, it could mean a disruption in services.”

  “You mean electricity?” she asked.

  “Maybe. Maybe more. I think I should run pick up a few things – just in case,” he added, when he saw her eyes widen in fright.

  Karen eyed him suspiciously, but dipped her head in a quick nod. “If you think you should. I have to stay here.”

  “I know. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Have you eaten?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I’m not hungry. I don’t think I can eat.”

  He had expected as much. Karen had no appetite when she was nervous and she was nearly in a panic now. He wished he could say something reassuring, tell her it was all going to be all right, but he knew it would sound like a psychiatrist’s platitude. Reynolds’ revelations had frightened him deeply. “I’ll grab something while I’m out.”

  She reached a hand across the island. “Fast food? You hate fast food. Jeb, you’re really frightening me now.”

  He laid his hand on top of hers and squeezed gently. “Now, Hon, I may be jumping at shadows, but Ben started me thinking. We don’t need to be grocery shopping every week. We’ve been vaccinated, but who knows what germs are out there. Better safe than sorry.”

  She nodded again. “Okay. Hurry back.”

  “Lickety split,” he said, smiling.

  * * * *

  Later, as he unloaded the cases of canned goods, toilet paper, bags of rice and fresh vegetables in the garage, Jeb eyed his purchases with some amusement. He had not been the only person with volume shopping on the mind. The store had been packed, like Macy’s on a Black Friday. His favorite sodas were out of stock, as was his brand of coffee. He took what he could get and then had grabbed extra. He had paid for it all with his credit card, a staggering two thousand dollars, and that did not include the extra propane tank, which he had arranged for delivery.

  The fresh vegetables had been a last minute purchase, as had the cases of glass jars and a seven-quart pressure cooker. Karen had canned fresh picked apples and peaches when they were first married. Starting out, they were often broke, relying on canned goods and cheap meals from fast food restaurants, which was his reason for avoiding them now. A supply of freshly canned vegetables might once again come in handy. He had also purchased cases of various brands of cigarettes and liquors. The scotch was for him, but the rest might serve as trade goods or bribes if things got worse. He had watched enough end-of-the-world movies to know that vices didn’t end with civilization. Even if money became worthless paper, cigarettes and alcohol were worth their weight in gold.

  By the time, the last goods were unloaded from the Explorer and neatly stacked against the wall, Jeb was exhausted. Fighting the crazed mob had given him a taste of how bad things might become. His expected one-hour trip had turned into a three-hour sortie. He wanted nothing more than to kick back to watch a little television, but he was worried about Josh. Maybe he would spell Karen and let her rest. She was on the edge.

  It was dark when he entered the house, which disturbed him, because Karen always left too many lights on. She did not attempt to keep their electricity bill under control.

  “Karen,” he called out. When he received no answer, he went straight to Josh’s room, thinking to find her there. To his surprise, Josh’s bed was empty, and the covers thrown off the bed. His heart began jack hammering his chest. In a panic, he raced room to room through the house, finding each one empty. In the kitchen, a hastily scribbled note on the island caught his attention. He picked it up and read.

  “Josh worse. Stopped breathing. Couldn’t reach Ben. Taking Josh to Oro Valley. Come soon.”

  Jeb read the note two times, the words dancing on the page as his hands shook. Stopped breathing? My God! He threw the note on the floor and looked out front. He hadn’t even noticed earlier, but the Hyundai was gone. Reynolds’ words popped into his mind about sealing hospitals. He rushed to the garage and cranked the Explorer. At the end of the drive, he pounded on the steering wheel, impatiently waiting for the gate to slide open. Then he wheeled recklessly onto Oracle, bouncing off the median curb. The medical center parking lot was full, with autos parked haphazardly along the side of the road. He spun into the emergency entrance and leaped out. A guard attempted to stop him, but Jeb brushed by him and confronted a harried-looking nurse just inside the door wearing
a sterile mask.

  “My wife and child just came in a short while ago, Karen and Josh Stone. He’s about six. He was unconscious.”

  The nurse looked up at him from her clipboard. Her eyes above the mask looked weary and overwhelmed. “I’ve got a hundred and fifty patients waiting to see a physician. I don’t know who they are.”

  Frustrated, he brushed her aside and began calling his wife’s name.

  “Karen!”

  A few heads turned his direction, but most were too engrossed with their own problems to pay much attention to one more frantic sick person. Many of them wore masks over their nose and mouth. A few distraught mothers held coughing children. The sight only quickened his fear.

  “Karen!” he repeated.

  He spotted two guards approaching and ducked through the double doors into the treatment area, ignoring the nurse’s warning. “You can’t go in there.” He looked around, but saw no sign of either Josh or Karen. What he did see sent cold chills racing through him. Sheets covered at least two dozen dead bodies on gurneys pushed up against the walls of the corridor of the makeshift morgue. As he stood there in shock, he felt hands tighten on his arm. He glanced at the two guards flanking him. Each wore disposable masks over their mouth and nose.

  “My wife and son,” he said numbly.

  One of the guards looked at him with obvious sympathy and said, “Anyone coming here in the last few hours has been sent directly to the FEMA camp in Marana. We’re way past capacity.” He looked around and leaned closer. “There’s talk of transferring most of the worst cases to Marana soon.”