The Liger Plague (Book 1) (17 page)

“That’s one tool I don’t own.”

“I got a good one back at the house. American made and reliable as all get-out. Hate those Chinese products. My bum of a husband bought it ten years ago, before he dropped dead. Hardly been used except when I cut up firewood for the old potbelly.” She stared up at the gaping hole, rainwater gushing into the trash barrel. “We can fix this in a jiffy, Colonel. Once the rain stops, we’ll drive back to my garage and get that chainsaw. Cut the tree into pieces, drape the tarp over the roof, and we’ve temporarily fixed the problem until you can get some roofers up there.”

“You’re assuming I’m going to let you stay.”

“Oh, of course you’ll let me stay. You wanna know why? Because I used to be a nurse over at Maine Med before I got sick of all those pretentious doctors and whiny patients giving me grief all the time. Called it quits to stay here on the island full time and clean houses, one of which happens to be that Jew doctor up on the hill. My parents died a few years back and left me the house. My useless husband lobstered the bay when he wasn’t out drinking like a fish. Besides, I know how to shoot a rifle and ain’t afraid to use it, as you can very well attest to.”

“Okay, you can stay for a while, but my wife and daughter are going to need some looking after. Mind watching them?”

“What’s everyone coming down with, anyway? Some kind of Chinaman bird flu?”

“I’m afraid it’s way worse than the avian flu. How familiar are you with smallpox?”

“Smallpox? I thought they got rid of that a long time ago?”

“Hardly. This one has been specifically engineered for an attack, which means that it has been manipulated to fight off most vaccinations and cause widespread damage.”

“How come you don’t have it, then?”

“Whoever sent this virus over to the island left me a vaccine on the drive up to Maine,” he said, running his hand through his daughter’s damp hair. “Everything is only going to get worse, Versa. Not only is smallpox involved, but there’s a secondary virus attached to the first that’s set to go off whenever a person uses their cell phone. It’s this secondary virus that I fear might be the worst of the two.”

“How the hell do you know all this stuff?”

“I might as well tell you everything. I’m the director of the United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. USAMRID. We investigate and identify the most lethal infectious diseases known to mankind and around the world, and then try to find ways to deal with the organism.”

“Blah, blah, blah! It’s all gobbledygook to me. Get me one of them masks so I don’t catch this crud.”

“Smallpox is highly infectious once the rash breaks. It’s transmitted by inhalation, mostly through face-to-face contact within about five to six feet. To be on the safe side, you should wear the mask at all times.”

Versa pulled her jet black hair into a ponytail and adjusted the mask around her face. Just as quickly she pulled it off and threw it aside. Grabbing a towel, she soaked it in tap water and sat down next to Monica, using it to wipe down his wife’s sweaty forehead.

“Why aren’t you wearing the mask?”

She turned to face him. “I’ve lived fifty-three years on this earth without a mask, and I ain’t about to wear one now. So when it’s my turn to croak, then so be it.”

“Your choice. We’ll wait for this storm to blow over. If Monica and Taylor are feeling any better by then, we’ll make a quick run back to your house and grab that chainsaw before this downed tree causes any further damage.”

“You look tired, Colonel. Why don’t you shut your eyes for a quick spell, and I’ll watch your wife and kid. Least I can do for taking me in again. Go on now. Get yourself some rest.”

He wouldn’t admit it to Versa, but he was glad that this tough island woman had returned. Despite her cantankerous personality and gruff demeanor, she’d be helpful to them, assuming she didn’t come down sick herself, which he had no doubt she would by refusing to wear the mask. Fatigue came over him as he listened to the booms of thunder and the sheets of rain pounding the roof. Rainwater continued to pour into the trash barrel. He got up and emptied it one last time before collapsing in the armchair.

When Tag was little, his mother used to tell him that thunder was merely the angels bowling in heaven. He closed his eyes and envisioned a giant bowling alley with God sitting behind the front desk while angels rolled strikes, spares and splits. The wind howled, and the sound of rainwater pouring into the new trash barrel filled his ears. In a matter of seconds he fell asleep.

Chapter 13

He woke up in his chair the following morning, not quite believing he’d slept through the night. The house was calm and quiet, indicating to him that the storm had long passed. The first rays of the morning’s sun were filtering in through the drapes. The splintered tree branch dangled through the hole in the ceiling. The rainwater had stopped gushing into the bucket, replaced by a steady drip. He got up and looked out the window and saw a glowing orange sky in the eastern horizon. The ocean appeared calm and smooth. He turned and saw Versa walking through the kitchen and into the living room, attending to Monica and Taylor, both of whom were now sitting up in their beds and spooning soup into their mouths. The sight of them brought a smile to his face.

“How are you guys feeling?” He walked over to them.

“A lot better, hon. I think we turned the corner on this,” Monica said, smiling through blistered lips. “A good night’s sleep is apparently all we needed. Oh, and Nurse Versa helping us get better. She’s gone out of her way to help us, Tag.”

“Thanks, Versa.”

“Don’t you thank me.”

He placed his hand over his wife’s hand and smiled, knowing they were hardly out of the woods. Many times with these types of diseases there was a short period where the patient felt like they were getting better only to suffer a worse relapse the next day. He only hoped their recovery was real.

“Would you guys be okay if Versa and I drove back to her house real quick to retrieve her chainsaw? I need to cut that tree up and patch the hole in the roof before another storm hits us.”

“Sure, Tag, go ahead. Taylor and I can take care of ourselves right now.” She looked up at Versa standing there with her ruddy hands on her hips. “Thank you so much for taking care of us last night, Versa.”

“Wasn’t nothing I hadn’t done before, lady.”

“We should be going early before things start to get crazy,” Tag said, “if they already haven’t by now. That way we can slip into the garage without anyone seeing us.”

“Waste not, want not, Colonel.”

Tag kissed his wife. “I promise you we’ll be back in a jiffy, hon.” He then kissed Taylor.

Tag holstered his Magnum and grabbed his Saiga, passing Versa the rifle she’d brought with her, which was an old Remington from the fifties. They made their way outside to the golf cart parked in the driveway. Despite the rainstorm last night, the cart started up no problem. He took off down Sandy Lane, staring out at the blue ocean, and navigated toward her house. All the streets appeared empty after the storm. Where had all the people gone? Storm debris lay over the road, making it difficult for him to maneuver around the busted limbs and downed tree branches. He raced through the near empty streets until he pulled up to Versa’s home located halfway up the hill.

“Where the hell is everyone?” Versa asked.

“The storm must have driven them all into shelter.”

“There’s not enough homes on this island to handle all seven thousand people.”

“Then your guess is as good as mine.”

“I’m going to scooch inside my garage real quick and get the chainsaw and gas can. Watch my back in case any of them sickos try and grab me.”

“I’ll be right behind you the entire time.”

Versa tiptoed to the front of her garage. Tag followed a few steps behind, keeping his eye out for any of the diseased who might see him. Versa moved pretty well for her age. She pulled out a set of keys and quietly opened the side door to the garage. Tag held his breath. Birds chirped in the trees above. Squirrels rushed out and chased each other playfully, searching for nuts and spiraling up and down the trees. The air felt clean and calm, and the sky above radiated a deep, clear blue. Had it not been for the terrorist attack, it would have been the perfect summer day on Cooke’s Island. Versa entered the garage, and as she did, he stuck his head inside, noticing that everything was stacked neatly on the shelves. He heard a noise out on the street and, upon turning, saw five people staggering down the driveway toward him.

The three men and two women looked dazed and in a state of confusion. They limped forward, their arms out as if begging for alms. The man closest to him uttered something unintelligible, almost as if he were speaking a foreign language. Tag wondered what he was trying to say. Nervous, he held up the Magnum and ordered the group of people to back off, but the five sickly people ignored his warning and continued to approach. The closer they got to him, the more evident it became that they were in the early stages of smallpox infection. Red splotches were showing on their faces and arms, and their stiff movements indicated to him that their bodies were racked with debilitating aches and pains. So what had caused their confusion? Had it really been the RF waves caused by their cell phones?

Did he dare shoot them? Killing these innocent people in cold blood was tantamount to murder. He ran back inside the garage and ordered Versa to hurry. When he returned outside, the group had reached the garage door and were starting to bang their fists against it.

“Help us,” one of the men groaned.

He pushed the diseased man away and called for Versa to hurry. The man fell to the ground, but the others kept coming forward, unafraid and aggressively in pursuit. They all showed the beginning symptoms of the plague as well. In a matter of seconds more of them filed onto the street and staggered in their direction. Versa came out of the garage with the chainsaw in one hand and the plastic gas container in the other. He took the red container from her and clutched her calloused hand, pulling her past all the sick people clamoring for help. They sprinted toward the golf cart, brushing easily past them. A mob surrounded the cart, looking for anything of value, tearing through the compartments in the back and under the seats. Once the mob laid eyes on the two of them, they turned and stumbled forward.

“Lordy, how are we going to get past all those sickos?” Versa said.

“Any way we can. Come on.”

The diseased approached, their arms out and pleading for help in low, guttural moans. It seemed as if they were trying to articulate certain words and sentences but did not have the ability to do so. Every single one of them had the telltale red splotches that signified the onset of smallpox. He brushed past their outstretched arms, gripping the Magnum in his free hand and pushing them away with the other. Their skin felt hot to the touch, and he suddenly realized why their speech was so stunted. Their tongues and the back of their throats had become raw and infected, and the red splotches were forming along the roofs of their mouths.

People poured out into the streets and started to head toward him. Tag grabbed the person closest to his golf cart and threw the man to the ground. The man felt almost weightless in his grip, as if he’d been wasting away. Another man came up and tried to punch him. Tag easily knocked him to the street with the butt of his gun. The man toppled to the ground, blood dripping from the bridge of his nose. The man tried to complain, but nothing came out of his mouth. All of the sickly were struggling to see through their narrow eyelids.

He and Versa quickly hopped into the golf cart, and he sped ahead. Versa placed the chainsaw and gas container between them, and removed the rifle strapped around her shoulder. More people flooded the streets and staggered in their direction. They appeared lifeless and without a soul. Tag knew that the progression of the disease would eventually cripple them and leave them utterly spent. Staring down the street, he saw that a crowd of people had blocked it off. He turned the cart around and instead drove up the hill.

He zigzagged along the road, trying to avoid hitting any of the wandering pedestrians. Their low, incomprehensible moans filled the crisp morning air. Some tried to jump up on the cart, but Versa managed to keep them at bay using the butt of her rifle. By the time they drove up toward the center of town, Tag could see people staggering in and out of the community center and along the main drag. He had no doubt that virus particles continued to float around inside that building, infecting more and more people, constantly recirculating in the air vents. The building should have been permanently closed and sealed off, but he could understand why people had taken shelter inside there once the worst of the storm hit. And yet by congregating in such large numbers, they no doubt helped spread the disease to all those not yet infected.

He wondered if he’d made a mistake by traveling through the center of town. The mob’s sheer numbers forced him to slow down. Versa yelled for him to speed up and forget about crashing into them, but he couldn’t just ram through innocent civilians, especially ones who were as sick as these people appeared to be. They had reverted back to a primitive state of survival. He slowed the vehicle and, by doing so, allowed the mob to crowd around the golf cart.

“Goddamn it, Colonel! Step on that gas pedal, or I’ll start blowing their brains out,” Versa said, fighting off the hands with the butt of her rifle. “It’s going to be us or them, and I guarantee you it’s not going to be me.”

“You want me to run over them?”

“Yeah, that’s what I want you to do,” she said, stepping over the seat divider with her left foot and stomping down on the gas pedal.

“What in the world are you doing, Versa?”

“What you shoulda done a lot sooner!” she yelled, fighting to keep her balance.

Tag held onto the wheel as the golf cart accelerated forward. People in front of the cart flew up and out into the street. Caught off guard by Versa’s move, he tried to keep the vehicle under control as best he could while trying to push the deranged woman off him with his right hand. The cart careened along the road, zigzagging back and forth, randomly crashing into people in their path. The gas-powered cart had a lot of zip in it, and it was all he could do to keep it from tipping. By the time they reached the opposite end of Main Street, Versa fell back into the passenger seat and took a deep breath. He swerved around the corner and sped down the hill.