The Coalition: Part 1 The State of Extinction (Zombie Series) (18 page)

As Jeb drove west along Ina Road from his Catalina Foothills office, he was surprised at how light the traffic was. The Catalina Mountains formed a spectacular barricade to Tucson’s northern growth, rising majestically to a height of almost 10,000 feet. In stark contrast to the warm late fall day below, snow blanketed the piney slopes of Mt. Lemmon. The major east-west conduit on the city’s north side was usually crowded. People were beginning to panic and stay home. Not that he could blame them. Nearly six thousand people in the U.S. had died of the Avian Flu in the past month, and over fifty thousand in Asia where it had originated. It wasn’t just the old and young succumbing to the ravages of the fever anymore. Men and women, hale and hardy, were beginning to drop like flies.

“Damn,” he muttered, as he noticed an ambulance rapidly overtaking him in his rear view mirror, lights flashing and siren wailing. He dutifully pulled over to the side of the road. As its siren grew louder, he saw there were three ambulances, followed closely by as many police cars. They shot past him, turned north onto Oracle Road and raced toward the already overflowing medical center on Tangerine Road. Seeing the ambulance convoy reminded him of Karen and Josh. A feeling of anxiety swept over him. Forgoing his idea of flowers, he pulled back into the street and followed the ambulances toward Oro valley.

His home, a four-bedroom, Pueblo-style house near the western foot of the Catalinas, sat on a private five-acre lot atop a narrow ridge jutting into Alamo Canyon facing Pusch Ridge. As he waited for the gate to open, a second convoy, this once comprised of army trucks and jeeps, rolled northward along Oracle Road. He wondered just what was happening. Was the flu epidemic spreading? Why was the military involved? His heart sank when he saw the silver Lexus of his friend, Doctor Benjamin Reynolds, parked in the drive. He didn’t bother with the garage. He pulled his Hyundai beside Reynolds’ car and rushed inside.

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.”