Sealed In (14 page)

“My God?” Larry laughed. “I am not worried about burning in hell, ’cause if there is a hell, I already got a spot reserved. We should have called for help.”

“Should have. Could have. It’s too late. You bring people in here before this burns out and we open up the seal.”

“How do we know it didn’t escape?”

“I’m confident it didn’t. But if it did, I am also confident that those who caught it are far too ill to get out of bed or call for help. It’ll burn out before it spreads.”

“So in the meantime, before the call for help is placed, we just let these people slowly suffer.”

“What choice is there?” Doc asked. “A few shots of morphine and some comfort for these town folks are worth the chance of letting this out?” He shook his head. “No. We have no choice. No. Excuse me, I’ll be back. I just have to check on my son.”

Larry watched as Doc walked away. He looked back to the fire hall thinking, “Nothing can be done?” Larry couldn’t accept that.

<><><><>

The gentle tap on her shoulder told Emma something wasn’t right. She had hoped with all her might that when she woke, everything that happened the day before was nothing but a nightmare or a bad dream, but Andy’s face told her that it wasn’t.

Reality was about to blast her.

He set a cup of coffee on the nightstand, and after placing his fingers to his lips with a point to the baby, he waved for Emma to follow him.

Internal instincts told Emma to sip that coffee on the way to the kitchen. It was cold in the house, and the fresh blanket of snow outside sent in a gray look. It felt eerier.

Her stomach knotted in fear. “Please, Andy, tell me my daughter didn’t die.”

Andy shook his head. “No. But …” He lowered his head and handed her his phone. “Richie is g … gone. Le … left.”

She stammered a questioning word, and then looked down at the message on the phone. “Oh my God.” Emma whimpered. “He’s exposing himself to find his father. Why would he do that?”

“No … no matter w ... what, it is his d-dad,” Andy replied and grabbed his coat off the chair. “He … needs to f-feel chiv-chiv ..” He twitched his head. “Chivalrous.”

“I’ll get the baby. We'll ..”

“No,” Andy said firmly.

“This is ridiculous, Andy. It is. I can’t see my dying daughter. My son is out there. What kind of mother am I to stay put and do nothing but wait?”

“A g… good one. C-Cody needs you. Th … that is your priority.”

“My children need me.”

“Th..th…they are grown. Stay p-put.”

“But, Andy, please. I can’t do this. I don’t care anymore. I don’t. I’m losing my daughter; if I lose my son …”

“Cody.”

Emma lowered her head. “I need you, too. I do. Andy … if you go, what if you get sick?”

“Better m .. me than you. I’ll be … be .. careful. I promise.” He pulled on his coat.

“This is insane.” Emma dropped to a chair.

Andy held up a finger, walked into the next room, and returned with a book
he had written. He placed it before her on the table. “It’s smart.” He tapped the cover then proceeded without a stutter to recite what he knew. “Entire communities and civilizations ceased to exist and were rendered extinct because they failed to use common sense. Lack of preparation, an emotional mistake …stupid avoidable errors. Stay put.” Andy said. “That is smart. Not insane.” He inched the book nearer to her. Then after kissing her on the cheek, Andy grabbed his phone and walked out.

<><><><>

It was the beginning of the end. Stew was well aware of the reality when he woke up.

He knew it would happen. How could it not? He held Heather, wiped her down, and stayed close, face-to-face. Every whimper she made
, he was there to comfort her as best as he could. The only time he left her side was to go to the bathroom or look out the window.

Every car sound, motor sound, Stew looked with enthusiasm, hoping that it was the CDC or someone. However, they didn’t show up, and as each hour passed less activity occurred outside the window.

He spent the evening watching his granddaughter. He prayed often, not for God to make her well, but to stop her suffering, and he thanked God. He thanked God for Heather.

Reflections of the past, of the first day he saw her and held her. How his heart opened up to a love he never thought he’d feel. He vowed she’d be special, and she was. He remembered her first day of school, taking her there and waiting outside.

How many school days did the sheriff come and ask him to leave, to stop stalking the school?

Heather was his precious gift from heaven. It broke his heart that she was suffering. The only saving grace was that Stew would not have to live long with the pain of losing her. He’d die knowing the joy of Heather rather than the grief of her loss.

The world of Hartworth grew increasingly quiet. Stew supposed people were too ill to care or to move. If there was an inkling of hope for help, it disappeared as the hours moved on.

Heather slept. Val had given her another shot. It calmed her as she convulsed. She was literally throwing up her insides. They broke down, bit by bit, and found their way out.

In that quiet moment, Stew took his opportunity. He lifted the phone, sniffled, and dialed. “Hey, there, Andy. It’s Stew. Listen, I’m calling you because you need to know, and we need to come up with a plan. I’m not gonna make it either, Andy … I’m sick.”

<><><><>

Richie realized how insane it was to leave his home. He was driven by emotions and took his mother’s car, even though he didn’t have a license and didn’t drive very well. He didn’t think it through until he hit the main stretch of road just before Hartworth.

He just wanted to find his father. He didn’t pass another car or even see another car until the roadblock was in sight. That’s when he saw, just beyond the pickup truck, several dozen cars, just parked there.

Richie stopped way ahead of the roadblock. He wasn’t getting through. He knew that. All he wanted to find out was if anyone had seen his father, but the reality of his handicap hit him the second he stepped from the car.

He could talk, but would they be able to understand him? Did they know sign language?

A few feet out of the car, a man with a shotgun staggered forward. He said something.

Richie held his hands to his ear and shouted, “I am deaf.”
The man stepped closer. His mouth moved and then, horrifying Richie, he paused and vomit just shot from his mouth. It seemed to surprise the man as much as it did Richie.

The man buckled over and another raced forward.

Richie watched as the first man still vomited, seemingly out of control. Fearful of getting closer or that he already had gotten too close, Richie spun, jumped in the car, shut the door, and put it in reverse.

He sloppily turned around on the road, confident he could get away, and wondered instantly if he should even attempt to go back home. He made it only about a hundred feet when the car swerved viciously and out of control to the left, across the road, and off the grade.

Without wearing a seatbelt, Richie flew up, and his head bashed against the roof of the car. He then hit his forehead on the steering wheel, just before the airbags deployed and the car came to a complete halt.

Richie remained motionless on purpose for the longest time, just in case the men came for him. He locked the doors of the car and reached for the phone as slowly as he could.

<><><><>

Andy didn’t want to take a chance on going through town. He hadn’t received a single phone call about going to work, or rather about not showing up, and he didn’t want to chance the Sheriff seeing him leave. He took the long way across Stew’s property, going south and then coming up north. The roads were bad, even the main ones. Where were the state trucks?

Just as he hit the main route six miles outside of Lincoln, he got the call from Stew. That call made Andy stop.

He pulled over. He was too emotional to drive. Stew sounded horrible; Andy couldn’t believe the turn of events. Three days earlier, they decorated the Christmas tree. He and Emma went toy shopping for Cody. Now, Christmas wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t going to be the same … ever. How was he to tell Emma? It was all falling down. Heather was dying, her father was sick, her son missing, Del missing. The only redeeming feature was Cody. Was she enough to pull Emma through?

Andy talked to Stew for a while. They talked about many things, and then Andy took a few minutes after that call before he could think clearly enough to drive. He had just put the truck in drive when his phone beeped.

Richie sent a text.

‘Help me. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared.’

<><><><>

There was something about Andy. Richie had known him his entire life, but over the last few weeks as his mother and Andy became a real couple, that was when he realized the value of Andy. He was a good guy, and he gave him a sense of security.

Andy was also the only person Richie could think of to text; just communicating with him made everything seem like it would be all right.

‘Help me. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared,’ texted Richie.

‘Where are you?’

‘Just outside of Hartworth.’

“On my way.’

‘Don’t come,’ Richie told him. ‘I’m scared. They shot mom’s car. I’m on the side of the road. I think I got too close.’

‘Are they near you now?’ Andy asked.

‘No. They are sick. Real sick. I think I got too close. What do I do? This is real.’

‘Are you hurt?’

‘No. What do I do? I don’t want to get sick. But if I got it, I can’t go near mom or Cody.’

Richie knew when there was a long pause between texts that Andy was coming up with a plan, and he did. He told Richie that he had heard from his pap that people exposed got sick in a day. Andy assured Richie he probably wasn’t sick or exposed, but if he wanted to be careful, he had to leave the car and walk back a couple miles.

Bailey’s RV. It was parked on the edge of Bailey’s property, far enough away from Hartworth to be safe. It was the place Del had planned to meet Tanya and her son, Tad.

Andy told him to go there and he would drop off supplies and food. He also instructed Richie to turn off his phone once he let Andy know he arrived at the RV to conserve battery power. If after two days Richie showed no signs of the illness, Andy would come and get him.

But what if he did? What if he got sick?

Andy assured him that he would come.

Richie shut down his phone as he walked the distance to Bailey’s property. Four miles was a long haul, especially in the dead of winter. The temperatures had dropped, and snow fell. His fingers grew numb, and his feet were wet. By the time he arrived at Bailey’s property, Richie could barely feel any of his body. He was numb, but the cold didn’t numb his fear. Richie was scared.

The RV looked barren; no footprints were around it at all. It was a nice RV, big and modern. Richie reached for the side screen door. It was open, but as he reached for the handle, he realized that it was locked.

He stepped back, figuring he’d try a window when the door creaked open and the barrel of a shotgun appeared.

Did someone speak? As usual, he heard something, a muffled noise similar to a tone. All Richie could do was cover his ears and call out, “I’m deaf. I’m not sick. Please. I’m cold.”

After a few moments, the door opened slowly, and Richie stepped inside. An older man immediately shut the door behind Richie. He visually examined Richie then lowered the gun. He waved his hand for him to come in further.

The older man wasn’t alone. The RV had at least eight people huddled together. None of them looked sick, but then again, what did Richie know.

He
was either walking into a safe haven or into a viral time bomb.

<><><><>

“No, Andy, listen. These are just Hazmat coveralls; they won’t work keeping out a virus. They won’t,” Emma told him. “These are designed for dust. I got these for when Yellowstone blew, for the dust and debris.”

In her kitchen, Andy handed her a roll of duc
t tape. “Seal me over the … g-gloves.”

Nose running from crying, Emma did as instructed. She packed a box of supplies for Andy to take along with a five gallon container of disinfectant.

After she sealed his boots and gloves, Andy stepped into a second suit. “It … it will work.”

“Keep your eyes covered with the goggles. Use the mini tank for breathing,” she instructed. “Park the truck a good distance
away, take only the disinfectant and supplies. Got that?”

He grabbed her hand. “I’ll b … be fine. I don’t th … think Richie will get s … sick. Bailey’s is f… four miles out.”

“Be careful, and please, do not go into Hartworth.”

Andy shook his head as his answer, leaned forward and kissed Emma, and then he kissed Cody. He grabbed the box of supplies and headed out. Everything else was in his truck.

After he left, Emma settled at the kitchen table with Cody. The little girl ate her lunch, oblivious to everything going on.

“You’re so lucky,” Emma told her. “Gam loves you so much, and I am so sorry that you are going through this.”

“Gam sad?”

“Gam very sad.” Emma reached out and ran her fingers down Cody’s cheek. She was grateful that the child wasn’t sick and that she was so young that she wouldn’t remember anything. That was, if they survived whatever it was that was wiping out a town so close by.

<><><><>

The roads were desolate; Andy expected as much. Traffic on the road was mainly between Lincoln and Hartworth, and he imagined that most in Lincoln were aware of the shut down and stayed away.

He moved pretty well despite the fact that the roads were getting slick with snow. He parked off the road where he knew he could get out, left the truck, trotted a bit, set down the sealed bag of clothes and disinfectant, and then with the supplies made his way to Bailey’s RV. It was cold; the double suits did little to shield the temperature. He dreaded the thought of undressing, but it had to be done.

He set the items by the door, knocked, and took off.

Once he arrived back at the disinfectant, he undressed completely and doused his naked body with the cleaner. He shivered out of control, was barely able to breathe, and knew he faced hypothermia. Grabbing the clothes from the bag was a struggle; it was even harder putting them on since his damp body started to freeze. Once he dressed, he took off for the truck. He wore only socks, which he took off once he returned to his vehicle, and pulled on shoes.

Andy was freezing; he didn’t think he’d ever warm up. He was glad to see the message from Richie, stating,
:Thank you. Phone going off. If you don’t hear from me, I did not get sick. Text on the 20
th
.”

Andy was confident Richie wouldn’t get sick. How could he? He really wasn’t exposed. Not that Andy knew.

He blasted the heat in the truck as high and hard as he could and made the fatal mistake of driving through Lincoln on the way back.

He just wanted to get back.

The second he drove into town, Andy reached for the heat, shut it off, and closed the vents.

It was surreal. Early afternoon and not a soul walked the streets. There wasn’t a track in the road, not a footprint. Bonnie’s was closed and so was every other business.

No movement. It was eerily empty.

Either Lincoln was scared and they hunkered down
, or they, too, were hit with whatever Hartworth had.

Andy didn’t want to think about the latter; he just hoped for the best and drove to Emma’s.

Never could he recall ever being too sick to move, yet Stew didn’t move from that chair next to Heather’s bed. By late afternoon, he was too sick to think. His stomach wrenched, and Stew
swore he could feel the blood moving through his veins. It was thick and sluggish, and it burned. His skin was so itchy he wanted to rip it from his body.

He was unable to contact Emma any longer. His phone died. However, he had a plan. To initiate it, he needed to rest. He hoped that would give him one more boost of strength. But Stew closed his eyes to sleep and didn’t wake up until it was dark.
The clock read after midnight. How much time had passed, had been wasted? He wondered if he should even attempt his plan. As he reached his hand toward Heather, he heard confirmation that he should.

Sobs.

Stew didn’t need to see who was crying; he knew. It was Val, and he also knew the reason; Roman had to have passed away. Stew looked down to Heather. She was barely responsive, and Stew realized that she wasn’t far behind.

With every ounce of strength he had, he slipped his hands under Heather and lifted her as he stood to his feet. Stew teetered. The weight of her body on his arms was like hot coals, burning, aching, and straight through to every nerve fiber in his body.

Walking would be a chore, and he did so one step at a time. He swayed a lot, bumped into the wall, but Stew kept moving.

His legs hurt like hell as he treaded toward the stairs. He prayed with every step he took that he wouldn’t drop his granddaughter.

“Stew,” Val called out weakly. “Where are you going?”

Stew glanced
for only a second over his shoulder and moved for the staircase. “We’re both dying,” Stew said. “We’re going home.”

The steps were the biggest obstacle. Using the walls as support, Stew glided down more than walked. He even stumbled twice. He imagined it was the last of his determination that kept him going. He just needed to get outside. Val would certainly have a car there, something, and then Stew could go back in for the keys after he got Heather in the car.

He didn’t expect for Larry to pull up in the squad car.

“Where ya headed, Stew? You look bad.”

“I feel bad, Larry. I’m heading home. I’m taking my baby and we’re heading home to die.”

“You can’t leave Hartworth.”

“The hell I can’t. I can go home. My property is far enough away from Lincoln. I’ll go straight there. I’ll open the propane and once my girl passes, it’s done. But I’m not gonna die here, and neither is she. Not here.”
Larry looked forward and then Larry stepped from the police car, leaving the door open. He walked to Stew. “Give me the girl.”

Stew shook his head.

“Give her to me, Stew. I’ll put her in my car. Keys are in the ignition. Just give me your word you go only to your house and you do just as you told me.”

“You have my word.”

“Then you take my car.” Larry braced under Heather and lifted her from Stew.

The release of the weight was a relief, and Stew walked slowly to the driver’s side. As he slid in, Larry set Heather in the passenger’s seat, buckled the belt, and closed the door. Stew could barely grip the door enough to close it. Larry walked over.

“Godspeed, Stew. Find peace.”

Stew nodded. Then Larry closed the door. The car was running, and Stew drove off.

Larry stood there watching until the police car drove from his sight. When he turned, Val stood there.

Val didn’t wear a coat. His face was drawn, and he handed Larry the journal.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“To take it back to the fire hall. But I see you have to
walk now.” Larry shrugged. “No big deal.” He inhaled as he took the journal. “My, uh, my work is done. You ok?”

“No. No, not at all. But …my work is done, too.” After a heavy sigh, Val turned and walked back into his house.

Holding that journal, Larry began his walk back to the fire hall. He was barely a block down the empty, quiet street when the sound of a single shot rang out. Larry stopped. He knew what it was and from what direction it came, but he still paused briefly to look over his shoulder, and then he kept walking.

In the time it took for Edward to cross the street to the expedient lab, the forces had arrived. Massive numbers of vehicles pulled into town, and Edward instructed them to get situated and wait for his directives on the search. He knew the teams would search and retrieve as they combed through every square inch of Hartworth and beyond.

But first, the town doctor.

He had to be the one, Edward figured, who wrote the journal. It was too precise about too many things. Edward grabbed the journal on the way to the town doctor’s place.

The doctor’s office was located on the bottom floor of the house; Edward’s initial team was there, all four of them. He went upstairs and entered the bedroom where Goldman waited. There were two single beds; the body of a younger man, decimated by the illness, was on one bed, and next to him was the body of an older man. He had a single gunshot wound to his head.

“Makes no sense,” Goldman said. “The other bed shows signs that someone else was sick. There are syringes. Towels. The other bedroom as well. Yet, only the boy has the virus.”

Edward stepped closer. “Do we have a name?”

“Vladimir Paltrov. Russian immigrant, came to the US thirty plus years ago. He was an easy run, ran his name while waiting on you. He was under constant observation for about ten years. A doctor in Russia was always in contact there.”

Martha entered the room and handed the journal to Edward. “Handwriting is a match on the charts downstairs.”

Edward crouched down for a closer examination. “He has to be the one that brought it in. Has to be. But I thought Ebolapox wasn’t invented until the 1990s.”

“No,” Goldman said. “Some say 1976. Remember, we have nothing. It was a paper study.”

“This is our man. Not a sign of the virus,” Edward said. “The other patient may have been moved to the fire hall. Who knows? But this other guy … do we know his name?” He indicated the young man.

“Roman Paltrov. Son.”

“Also patient zero,” Edward said. “Look at the nose; it deteriorated from the disease. We ha
ven’t seen a single victim like him. He’s the furthest along. Bet he was first. So he’s patient zero. This explains all the medical attention in this room.” Edward stood. “It’s sort of piecing together now. Paltrov had the bug here somewhere. The son found it. Released it. Paltrov knew it, and that explains why they shut the town down.”

Martha interjected, “That doesn’t explain why the sheriff nor the doctor showed no symptoms.”

“He’s easy,” Edward said. “He had an inoculation. Surely, there isn’t an antidote or the son wouldn’t be sick. No, there’s a vaccine for this. Bet me. I can’t be sure about the sheriff. But him … this helps. If this is his, and this was, as we think, a Cold War bioweapon, then maybe the Soviets have an answer to this bug if it gets out of control or if it broke barriers.”

“Hey, Ed,” Harold called out. “We got a problem.” He turned holding a wallet. “This belongs to the son. What day did you determine was the release date?”

Edward answered, “December 16
th
.” He looked at Harold and extended his hand. “What is that?”

“Concert ticket stubs,” Harold answered. “At eight p.m., he and someone else went to a concert in Billings.”

“Don’t tell me.”

Harold gave him the stubs. “December 16
th
.”

Edward glanced at the ticket stubs, to the bed, and then back to the date of the concert. “Let’s just hope I’m wrong on the date. If I’m not, let’s hope this release happened after this concert.”

There were three sounds in Emma’s living room: the crackling fire, the sniffles of sadness, and the nearly silent shuffling of papers.

Emma sat on a small footstool with a box before her, and next to that a stack of photographs. She looked at each one, and then placed it in the box.

The hour was late, but she wasn’t tired. Cody slept on the couch. Emma ceased letting the child out of her sight. Andy just sat and listened.

She hadn’t heard from her father all day. Last conversation, Stew called Andy. That was it. Emma had given up hope.

“This is my life,” Emma told Andy. “I’m going to spend the rest of the night just writing the story of my life,” she spoke sadly. “That way, if someone finds it, whether they’re officials, people in the future, or another civilization, they’ll know. They’ll look at this and see people lived and were loved in this world. We just didn’t make it.”