Torn (6 page)

Bret was hysterically focused
on the lake in the road
and never noticed when Jesse emerged from the house. He grabbed on to her asking if she were
okay, b
ut her a
ttention was focused on the pit
as yet another worker jumped in.

Jesse’s hands were all over Bret, diligently attempting to clear the cockroaches. His eyes never left his wife, nor
did he stop brushing off
those roaches, despite all that was going on around the
m. It seemed he didn’t know
or care about what was happening
at
the pit.

“Buster. Sally,” Bret murmured.

Jesse’s hands paused. “They fell in?”

She whimpered. At that instant, her body began to tremble out of control. She thought Jesse
was going to leave and join
the four others that had leaped into the hole. But the fireman, angry and shouting, drew everyone’s attention. “No more!” he yelled. “Stop.” He reached out and grabbed the arm of another who was heading in. “It’s like quick sand. Can’t you see?!” he shouted. “No one’s coming up or out.”

No sooner did he say that than
a set of arms whoo
shed from the water. They rose
high, holding a motionless Buster inches above the level of the ant bath.

Everybody rushed
forward
.

Then the arms s
a
nk. So did Buster.

Silence
.

The thick sluggish
mixture of ants and mud was still. No sound at all.

Bret asked for a Valium. No one had any to give, so she settled for a bottle of bourbon while she sat on her front porch and waited.

The day trudged on, the sky grew dark, and the street was lit by flashing emergency worker lights. They brought in fishing net
s
to pull through th
e
hole, but it was tedious and slow. Still, she watched.

The kids weren’t allowed to return home
. Jesse went down to the school
and took the kids to Bret’s mother’s house before returning.
It was debatable who was more
an emotional mess, Bret or Jesse. Physically, Br
et was bad. Her body ached
, but the alcohol aided in numbing that.

She couldn’t stop crying. It was like a war zone. The fire department executed a well
-
controlled torching of Sally’s house. When they went in to help the bug man, the fireman said there was nothing left. After Bret questioned the freakishness
of it all, the fireman claimed that
cockroaches feed on anything.

Even on a bug man.  T
he bug
s
got
their
revenge.

Sally’s husband
stayed right at the edge of the
hole. Her other two children were taken to a relative’s home. The street was a spectacle. Hundreds came to watch as they dragged the h
ole. Everyone gasped when they
pull
ed
something out. A dog was in there, two cats and
many squirrels. There were many rodent
carcasses that began to pile up.

“Cigarette?” Jesse extended one to Bret.

She had quit
but took it anyhow.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Exhausted. What’s happening, Jesse?”

“I don’t know. I think they’re gonna evacuate.”

Curiously, she turned her head his way.

He continued, “Just rumors. I heard the cops talking.”

“I would think if they were going to evacuate, they would have done so. What are they waiting for?”

The loud sounds of trucks caught their attention, and if the street didn’t look like a war zone before, it certainly did after military truck followed by military truck rolled in.

Both Jesse and Bret slowly stood.

Soldiers marched in. The leader pointed, waved and th
e
battalions spread out.

Bret swallowed. “This is frightening.”

“No,” Jesse shook his head. “
That’s
frightening.” He pointed to a crew of four wearing biohazard suits.

Bret watched as they approached a fireman, and to her surprise, the fireman pointed in her direction.

“Jesse,” she whispered and grabbed on to his arm. The group of military moved their way. “Jesse?”

“It’s all right.” He pulled her into him.

The first of the four walked up
the
steps
,
followed
closely
by soldiers. “Are you Brettina Long?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered apprehensively.

“I’m Dr. Jeffers with the Center for Disease Control.” He gave a nod and two of the armed soldiers moved forward.

“We need you to come with us,” Dr. Jeffers said.

Bret shook her head.

The soldiers reached
out for her
.

“Hey!” Jesse yelled, and grabbed Bret away.

“I don’t wanna go. Jesse?”

A soldier
seized Bret
.

“Get off my wife!” Jesse b
lasted
then ensued in a struggle over his wife.

It was a tug of war
, o
ne that ended with the quick aim and point of an M-4 directly at Jesse.

“Back off!” The soldier ordered. “You’ll be informed shortly where she’s going. This is for her own good.” The soldier calmed some. “Please back off.”

With eyes that conveyed his apology, Jesse slowly lifted his hands away. “I’m sorry, Bret.” He leaned to kiss her.

They wouldn’t let him.
Before she knew it, a damp, cold blanket
was flung over
her
. It covered her from head to toe and she couldn’t see a thing. It was black, confusing. All she knew was that she was being led somewhere, and before long, taken away.

The sight of a
face can
help
so much. Bret had to judge only by the voices that spoke to her. She
couldn’t see a thing
and only knew she had been placed in the back of a truck or van.

“I’d f
eel much better,” she told them, “i
f I could see.”

Dan, a soldier who gave his name said, “The blanket is treated. It’s for the best. We’ll be there shortly.”

“I saw this movie, you know.”

“What
movie?
”

“The Stand.”

Dan chuckled. “There isn’t a virus taking over the world.”

“I feel like there is.”

“Hey, Bret. Can I ask you a question? It’s gonna sound weird but there’s something I need to know.”

“What’s that?” she asked, buried in her black wrapping.

“Are you ‘Divine’?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“I thought I recognized your voice.”

“Who’s Divine?” another asked.

Dan answered, “She’s a DJ on a local station.”

“Shit,” the man said, and then hustled forward.

Bret tried to scope in on the muffled voices. Something was happening. Her being a DJ made a difference, whether good or bad remained to be seen. Who k
new?

She thought that
maybe
having
a celebrity status
would pay off, even if she reall
y wasn’t a celebrity.

The vehicle picked up speed—as if it wasn’t going fast enough
--
and the trip to the destination didn’t take long. Ten minutes maybe,
then
she was rushed from the van, lifted onto a cart, and laid flat on her back.

“What’s going on?” she asked as the cart rushed about.

“Vitals?” a woman questioned, ignoring Bret’s quizzing.

Someone replied to her request. “BP 110 over seventy. Heart rate 72. Respiration normal. All good.”

“Any convulsions?”

“None.”

“Signs of distress?
”

“None.”

“Time frame?
”

“Eight hours.”

“W
e’re still good,” she spoke quickly
.

“What’s going on?” Bret asked out loud again. “Someone, what’s going on?”

“Shh,” She whispered comforting. “Just b
ear
with us.”

Bret was wheeled
away
quickly and the cart made sharp
turns;
to Bret it was like
some kind of medical Disneyl
and ride. Turning, speeding, careening in blackness.

The woman continued the blurting out of questions, “Placements?”

“Four. At quick glance. Can’t be positive.”

“Any count?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

“In here.”

Bret felt the cart slam into something before coming to a halt. Suddenly she was
lifted—blanket and all—and lain
on another table.

“I need a team STAT,” the woman ordered out. “Nurse, ready?”

“Ready,” another woman said.

“I need this patient out and quickly.”

“Out? Quickly?” Bret questioned out loud. She wanted to scream; her pleas for answers were ignored.

“On my call.”

A pause.

“Now!” she ordered.

The blanket was whipped open and Bret was greeted with a blinding white light. Trying to make heads or tails out of everything, she rai
sed her hand to shield her eyes,
to try to see what was going on. Her hands were grabbed and secured without hesitation. In defense, she squirmed over their hold. Everything was
happening so quickly that
h
er head spun in confusion. With
in a few seconds, she felt the pinch to her thigh. She had been injected with something. The serum moved through her blood with a burning sensation. Her chest immediately felt heavy and Bret gasped for air. The voices that surrounded her slowed down, sounding demonic and fake. Then, just like with the blanket, she was in the dark again. Everything went black.

If someone
had
taken the time to say, “If you don’t c
ome with us for help
,
you’ll die,”
there would have been a lot less resistance and confusion on Bret’s part.

Evidently n
o one thought the few seconds could be spared.

She was alone when she came to—or so she thought. A white curtain surrounded her bed. There was some dizziness, but she wasn’t restrained at all. Slowly she sat up, swung her legs from the bed, allowed her head to stop spinning, and stood. Sharp pains shot up her thighs, but they subsided. Her face felt tight and slightly numb. Reaching up, her fingers touched upon a small bandage just under her eye.

Not dressed completely, and not caring, Bret reached for the curtain.

She envisioned a nurse’s station, with a few clueless and lunching women there. She quickly realized the slim chance of
that when moans carried her way, lots of them. Painful cries
, achi
ng groans, wet coughs, they meld
ed like an orchestra of painful music. Bret pulled open the curtain. She wasn’t in a hospital at all, but a warehouse. Huge, white interior, and for as far as the eye could see, cots—filled with patients—lined up th
roughout the
inside.

Her hand gripped the curtain. “My G
od, this
is
the plague,” s
he muttered
as
her fingers went numb. Controlling her eyes was a difficult task; they began to roll as everything spun. Two women in hospital scrubs rushed her way, but then all went black again to Bret.

They counted seventy-two cockroach bites on her body. Seventy-two. Bret didn’t even recall being bit that many times. The nurse informed her that ninety percent of those in the quarantine were suffering from a
fatal illness called hantav
irus. Pneumonia,
a
SARS
-like respiratory illness
they acquired through the cockroac
hes. Cockroaches carry diseases;
this particular one was running rampant amongst the rats, and it seemed the violent roaches were finding an interest in the rats as a dining pleasure. Carrying the germ all around, and then infecting those they bit.

Unlike Bret, those ninety percent hadn’t a clue that they didn’t
have the flu. She was fortunate;
they were able to monitor her, cl
ean and
scrub her wounds, and deliver antibiotics. They were hopeful she wouldn’t get ill.

However, hantav
irus wasn’t the urgent situation. Again, she was fortunate that through the latest cockroach experience and bites, medical professionals learned that female cockroa
ches were finding nesting spots…
within their bite victims. Laying up to eighty eggs in
an area no bigger than a pimple, t
hey’d nest behind their ears, nose, head, eyes and legs. Before the victim could possibly know they were a breeding ground, the eggs would hatch. More often than not, the roaches would crawl in
to
the human body, and make—or rather eat—their way out.

Those unfortunate victims weren’t around anymore to tell their tale.

There were three nesting spots on Bret’s body
:
One in her eye, another behind her ear, and the last between her fingers. They were able to spot them and remove the nests.

It wasn’t the repercussions of the cockroach bites that baffled her; it was the number of incidents and victims. It made her won
der: A warehouse full of people,
m
ost of which
were dying?
How bad was the cockroach epidemic, and how long had it been going on?

“Less than a week,” Dr. Jeffers explained to her as he sat
at her
bedside. “This set
-
up was initiated three days ago. You’re one of the twenty that we expect to release in good health. You’re showing no signs of HV. Of course, tomorrow morning will confirm.”

Bret sighed out in relief. “When do I get released?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“On?”

“You.” Dr. Jeffers said. “You’re
the
media. The press.”

“I’m a Christian Broadcasting DJ.”

“You reach the masses,” he stated matter of fact
ly
. “There are certain things we wish to keep quiet until we can figure this all out. We want to w
ithhold this story from leaking
and
curb any worries or panics.”

“So you’re going to keep me here.”

“In three days, four tops, we should
have a grip on what is going on
and be able to release an explanation if news of the incidents
is leaked
to the public
. Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do until we have a course of action to take. I would like to ask for your silence.”

“Can you tell me what you know?”

“Do I have your silence?
”

She chuckled. “Dr. Jeffers. My family is foremost. I give advice. I have no designs on being a story breaker. I believe I have a funeral to attend in a couple days. I’d like to be there. You have my silence.”

“Thank you.” He inched closer. “Well, it doesn’t take a genius to look around you and see this isn’t a freak incident
that
you experienced.”

“Is it just here?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Entire north
ern
region
. You can say we are a migration
destination.”

“I don’t understand.”

“In a layman’s explanation, the earth is heating up. But not atmospherically as you would think. Internally.”

“The core?”

He nodded. “Volcanic activity below sea level, shifting of plates, magnetic impulses, we don’t know.
Whatever the cause, earth’s subsurface temperature is raising…
slightly. Our fri
ends who live below the surface, s
uch as the ants, are coming up because it is too warm for their nests. The ants are forcing other insects to another direction; they in turn are forcing animals to migrate. Chain reaction. Nutshell. All these creatures are
pushing to one area. The Northeastern United States and Southe
ast Canada are plague
d right now. It’s peaking. Over
crowded
masses of insects, they have no
where to go but up.”

“To us.”

“Exactly. Their survival is limited. The strongest will survive. They’re fighting one heck of a fight. Right now, w
e’re watching, b
eing quick when the incidents are reported.”

“So our entire city is infested?”

“No.” he replied. “We just need to find the pockets. In Pittsburgh, your borough is a pocket. We’re lucky; your street has had the least amount of casualties. No
other reports near
by
have come in.”

“But all these people
…
.”

“Ohio, West Virginia. The bigger this gets, the harder this story will be to contain.”

“So why not let it out?”

“And tell people what?”

“How about what you told me?” she asked.

“They’ll want a solution.” Dr. Jeffers said.

“You have one. This.”

He snickered humbly, “My
dear Mrs. Long. This is not a solution. This is a band-aid on the wound created. A solu
tion would be finding the nests
and destroying them.”

“Are they able to do that?”

“They say
they’
r
e
close. A couple more days. They believe they’ll be able to pinpoint the nesting areas soon because they’re growing.”

“Oh my God,
” she w
hispered
. “This has to be huge.”

“It’s a natural phenomenon. Yes.”

“Well, once they find them they’ll be able to destroy them, right?”

“We believe so. Then it will be over.” He nodded. “Yes. If we can do this without the general populous being the wise
r, all the better. If not.
…” he paused to shrug. “We just need media silence and are doing everything right now to ensure we get that.” He star
t
ed to leave, but stopped. “Brettina Long.”