Torn (12 page)

He hadn’t slept, not since leaving the United States twenty-four hours earlier. He was briefed on the private jet about the situation,
but the briefing was just that…
brief. Not much was known.
As they m
oved from location to location, clearance for the team of scientist
s
came through
,
and in a caravan that consisted of two je
eps and a truck, they rode
to the infected area.

They we
re told that the Center for Disease C
ontrol
group
was already there, along with
scientists from the
World Health Organization. Dari
us was invited by a group of Ivy L
eague minds that went from place to place
,
under
private funding
,
to investigate
strange natural phenomenon. On the surface, the outbreak di
dn’t appear unusual,
with v
omiting, d
iarrhea, l
esions of the skin, general malaise
and death. But underneath the surface, it was a different story. Not a single strain
of virus was found in the blood
stream. Nothing.

Why were the
se
people so sick?

Darius prepared to
put
on his
surgical
facemask. Though he hated them and it was ho
t, it would help with the smell
from
both
the village and the jeep.

He put
it on one mile outside the town,
as instructed. His mask was the only protective clothing he had. That and gloves.

He would work alone, but report as a team. They worked that way. He could go alone to uncover his findings, but he had to share—like everyone else—at
t
he end of the day. Darius didn’t mind that. If by chance he could
n’t
figure out
the cause
someone else would. Science more often than not is selfless.

Carrying his backpack complete with
his
testing equipment, Darius disembarked the jeep directly after it stopped. Several of his senses were
aroused
when he did s
o.
An
enormous
number
of flies
swarmed about
creating a symphony of buzzing. His sense of smell was muffled, but his sense of
touch
was not. The heat felt weird on his skin, almost burning
;
Darius chalked it up to his imagination.

When his group arrived, most of them followed in a pack. Not Da
rius
. He pulled out a camera and immediately began taking pictures.
The sound of coughing
flowed through the air. There were no children running around, very little movement at all. In fact, Darius would have sworn the town was dead had it not been for the sounds of illness.

One of his crew, a man named Jameson, caught Darius’ attention. He had walked into the hospital while Darius still photographed the sites of the street.
Almost immediately, Jameson flew
out the door of the single-stor
y frame building.
H
e
barely mad
e it
off
the porch
before he vomited copiously.
For some strange reason, he tried to catch
it in his hand;
it didn’t work. The vomit
splash
ed out violently.

Darius took a picture, ‘mind filing’ it
as a great action shot.
S
ome would call it demented
;
Darius called it curiosity.
Holding his c
amera
at the
ready he went into the hospital. He lifted
it
to shoot but stopped. People were on
t
he floor, on beds put together…
everywhere. All of them were
dis
colored and covered with sores; vomit
seeped from their mouths
,
and their backs and bottoms
were encircled in fresh and dried
blood. He swallowed the
impulse to vomit
that forme
d in his throat
and lifted the camera.

“She is with the CDC,” Darius heard a man say. “Got ill three days after
getting
here.”

Darius zoomed in on the conversation.

“Fourth case,” he continued, “What is it? Obviously,
it’s
contagious.”

After a few pictures, Dari
us couldn’t take anymore and
lowered the camera and left.

Outside all he wanted to do was remove his mask and inhale a long, deep breath of fresh air, but he couldn’t. He could only walk away. Just a
little way
, he figured, away from the pandemonium and death.

In the distance,
a water hole caught his eye.
Not that he would drink from
it
, but it seemed isolated and no one was there. Reaching into his backpack Darius pulled out a bottle of water and uncapped it. After lifting his mask slightly, he took a long
,
deep
swig, swished it in his mouth, and then spit it out. Looking down, wiping his mouth, readying to take another drink, it caught his eye. Darius walked ahead
a few feet
then crouched down.

Black.

His fingers ran against the dirt o
n
the ground, and it
was black. He rolled his finger
tips together and it smeared like charcoal.
H
e
stuck
his fingers
into it
and the black dirt extended down no
t
only four inches, it encircled out
that much
as well.

“What the fuck?” he wondered aloud, then stood up. Pivoting his body, he allowed his eyes to
gaze
around.
While he
search
ed
he saw that the
black
spot wasn’t the only
one
. For a moment, he stood there dumbfound
ed. Were they burning bodies? W
ere they burning anything? Just as he went to lower his mask again, he felt the heat sizzle on his brow. With widening eyes
Darius fumbled
in
his bag and pulled out a small hand
-
held unit. He clicked it on, and aimed it around. “Shit. Shit
!
”

He whacked the side of the unit and watched the digital readout. “Shit!” he called out, then raced back toward the main section of the compound. “Dr. Waters!” he called out. “Dr. Waters.”

Dr. Waters emerged from the hospital. “Dr. Cobb, where is your mask?”

Darius shook his head. “We need
more than masks right now, sir.
”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“These people don’t have a plague or viral infection. They have radiation poisoning.” He handed him the unit
.
“Take a look. We’re standing at fifty rads. In another four hours we’
ll all be sick.”

“Good Lord.” Waters brought his hand to his head and wiped
away
the sweat. “What in the wor
l
d is causing that much radiation
?
”
As he removed his mask for a breather
his head tilted back and he paused
as he stared up.

“What?” Darius asked.

“Our cause.” Waters said.

Baffled
for
only a second, Darius glanced to the same location as Waters. He peer
ed up to the bright and shining…
sun.

It was a letter to her Uncle Alistair that told Virginia
that
she and the others would be getting vital information
:
A letter from Darius, dated two weeks earlier.  He called her when he received it and she called Colin.

Colin was relieved
;
he hadn’t heard anything from Darius at all and calls to Harvard, posts on the net, and even contact with government officials, bred nothing. Darius
had
arrived in Africa.
That’s all that was known.
The
short
letter from Darius was
all that they had
.

What was going on?

“That’s all it says,” Virginia told him on the phone the day before. “
In fact it was written on
half
a
sheet of paper. There are some partial equations on the back, but I can’t make heads or tails out of where he was going
with them
.”

“Were those equations for us?” Colin asked.

“I don’t think so. I think he used the back of the paper.” Virginia said. “You mentioned something about statistics. What did you make of them?”

“Nothing conclusive. I do however see changes, and it’s indicating it may have something to do with magnetic fields.”

“Really?”

“Yes, why?
”

“Well, I was theorizing polar
ity shifts. Sporadic incidences, p
oppi
ng up like acne, forming a head
then bursting in various spots.”

Colin chuckled. “I like that analogy.”

“Thanks. Anyhow
. . .
what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Since all government agencies are closed on Memorial Day, I’m doing nothing.”

“Feel like taking a ride to Beaver County
?
”

“Why, what’s in Beaver?” Colin asked.

“A sister center
to
my facility.
It d
eals with
the
environment. They have a nice monitoring station that shows magnetic pulses
as they occur,
along with weather changes. I thought I’d go and sit for a while. You know me, I’m the solar gal. Since most of our occurrences are happening just before noon
.
…”

Colin chuckled
. “Thinking it’s the sun?”

“Maybe. What do you say?” she asked.

“Well, since you’re riding in from Akron
,
I’ll come up from Pittsburgh. Sort of meet you halfway.”

“That’s better than no way.”

“Hey, that’s a Partridge Family song,” Colin said.

“Love the Partridge Family.”

“Now, see, you are much too young to know them, aren’t you? I’ll have to guess reruns.”

Virginia snickered. “You flatter me.”

“I try. Virginia
.
…” Colin took a serious pause. “Thank you. I needed to take my mind off my worries. I love Darius
as if he were
my kid. In fact, I view him as my only kid.”

“Then I know how you feel. If my son was lost out there, I’d go crazy, too. I’ll email you the directions.”

And she did.

Colin had them on the counter, right on top of his briefcase. He was going to grab a bite to eat then head out. It was a little over an hour drive to Beaver County.

The
microwave beeped
at the same moment the door bell rang. Foregoing the removal of his food, Colin walked from the kitchen down the long hallway to the foyer of his home.

“Chuck?” He opened the door. “This is a surprise.”

“Can I come in?” Chuck asked.

“Absolutely.” Colin opened the door wider.

“Glad I caught you.”

“You almost didn’t.
In a
nother fifteen minutes, I was leaving.” Colin turned. “Come to the kitchen. I was just about to have my lunch,” he spoke as he walked. “Can I fix you some?”

“No thank you.”

“A drink?”

“Nah.” Chuck shook his head. “Now you mentioned the name of this scientist thing was the Harvard ‘I’ team?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I had my in
formation correct, then. Anyhow.
…” He paused as he watched Colin open the microwave. “You’re having hot dogs. You don’t strike me as a hot dog guy.”

“It’s Memorial Day. You’re supposed to eat hot dogs on Memorial
D
ay.”

“On a grill.”

“Minor detail
.” Colin proceeded to fix his food.

“Back to what I was saying. I have been checking the AP
newsfeed
. Nothing is coming up or has come up with anything unusual
going on
in Africa. I have a reporter friend who has an in with the CDC. Check this out. The CDC does have a team in that location along with the WHO.”

“This is good.”

“But…
they are denying an outbreak. In fact,
they are deeming it educational.
…” Chuck said with a raise of his eyebrow. “So I thought. Hey, Darius’ reason
for being there
, right? Educational, Harvard. So I asked. I asked about the Harvard ‘I’ team.”

“And?”

“They didn’t know what I was talking about. I then clarified, in case they were
n’t
using that name. But the
CDC contact said there are four
people down there. Two from the CDC and two from WHO. Educational purposes only.”

“So that leaves us with the question.”

Chuck nodded. “Is there really nothing going on, or are they covering up?”

“That wasn’t
the question I was thinking
,” Colin said. “I was thinking, where is Darius Cobb?”

To be taken by immediate, utter
surprise, rendered speechless and placed in a temporary state of disbelief. If asked, that would be Bret’s definition of shock. Following that, she would say she was not one easily shocked. Frightened, yes, surprised a little—that too. But to be shocked is another story.

Twice she had been completely sh
ocked. The first time occurred
two years after she married Jesse. He told her about this great truck a friend of his had
for sale
. The price was good, parts would cost l
ittle
, and it needed little if any bodywork. It was the deal of the century. As far as repairs went, Jesse could handle those. Admittedly
,
to her the price was right at seven hundred dollars, and she knew nothing about trucks. She let him handle
it, and after weeks of bragging
and ‘I love this truck’ comments, Jesse brought the truck home.

Now, on that particular
day, Bret was in the living
room
when she heard a bang. Immediately, she wondered who
had wrecked. It wasn’t a wreck;
it was Jesse putting the truck in park. A few noises, not a problem, but when she saw the truck, she almost died.

Could it even be called a truck? It looked older than any
living
person that she knew. A cross betwee
n a flatbed and a pick-up truck, it had no front end
and was a hideous shade of maroon.

“Nice, huh?” Jesse smiled. “I love it.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“A truck. 1965 Ford Econoline
.
” Jesse nodded.

“Looks older than that.”

“What do you think?”

“I think you got ripped off. No wonder it only cost seven hundred bucks. It’s ugly as hell.”

“Come on now,” he said offended then hugged that truck as if she insulted his best friend. “It’s a solid piece of transportation.”

“Are you really gonna drive that? Jesse, do they even make tires for that anymore
?
”

“Bret, look at her.”

“Her?”

“Betsy.”

“You named it?” she asked.

“Not me. Ray’s father did. It was his truck.”

“And did it belong to Ray’s father’s father?”

“She’s not that old.”

“It gives new meaning to May-December romance, Jesse.”

Jesse
sho
o
k
h
is head, smoothed his hand over the truck door. “Everyone will be jealous.”

Bret rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, we’ll be the envy of all our friends.”

“See.” He gloated. “You see it now?”

“Are you fixing it?”

“Fixing what?”

“The body.”

“It’s in perfect condition.” Jesse lifted a finger
as he instructed her
. “They stopped making them.”

“I see why. It
has got to be the most God
-
awful vehicle I have ever seen.”

Jesse’s mouth dropped open. “That is so wrong. You know what? Take a ride.” He opened the door.

“Ha!” She
scoff
ed. “Get into that. No way. Where are you parking it?”

“Right here.”

“I don’t think so. That truck is the type people drove to the food line during the
G
reat
D
epression.”

“So much you know. People who were poor didn’t have trucks like this back then. So there.” He nodded.

“Yeah, well, people who are poor have trucks like this now. So there.” She nodded back. “Move it to the all
e
y.”

“Bret.”

“I hate it.” With folded arms Bret walked away. But his showing up with that truck wasn’t her shock. She ended up loving that truck.
That
came when Jesse decided it was too much of a pain in
the
ass to park that behemoth
of a vehicle and sold it…
to a collector for eight thousand dollars.

That was shock number one. The second came two days before Memorial Day in the mail. Mail she didn’t get when Luke grabbed it, and without thinking, carried it to his room. There it stayed until she collected his empty soda cans on Monday.

There were reasons it was a shock. Things seemed back to normal ecologically. But mainly, why
was it mailed to
her?
Finding that envelope was a sign.

In her hurried
state, trying to get the hou
se cleaned, macaroni salad done
and the kids gathered so they could head to her sister’s picnic
,
i
t was a normal holiday.

Three soda cans
in hand
,
she spotted the stack of mail on top of Luke’s television. “Oh, here’s my cable bill. I’m killing him.
” she said as the large golden brown
envelope caught her attention. Getting a grip on the mail, she saw the return address. Africa. ‘D
.
Cobb’. Immediatel
y
she took the envelope into her
bedroom. Jesse was in there getting dressed.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“From Darius.” Focused, she opened the envelope. “Feels like pictures.”

“Is he back from Africa?”

“This is from Africa.” She slid the contents out onto her bed. The exposed edges indicated there were indeed photos in there. Also inside was a sealed w
hite envelope addressed to Bret
and a hand written note clipped to the pictures.

The handwritten one read:
You will find these disturbing. But they are a must
see for
our cause. I need you to research. Is this out yet? More in my letter. Darius.

Perhaps she should have read the other letter first. She gasped when her eyes set upon the first picture. Mounds upon mounds of bodies
, men, women, children.
They all looked the same
;
though the pictures were black and w
hite, clearly their skin was
un
evenly toned, blotched.
Their e
yes
were
wide,
their
mouths agape, and dark tears, as if blood, flowed from their eyes.

Plague. A new virus? That was the first thought that hit her.