The Flu 1/2 (20 page)

“Why three weeks?” the man asked.

“I know as much as you do, and the news says it takes about three weeks for an entire state to be flu free...now if you’ll excuse me, I....”

“Mick,” a woman spoke up. “Come on. They shut everything down. We have to wear these masks. We can’t walk the streets unless we have them on. We’re prisoners.”

“Prisoners?” Mick chuckled. “You’re standing here now, hardly prisoners. And Gina....” Mick rubbed his eyes, “think about why they have these rules, okay? I don’t like them any more than the rest of you, but they are for protection. Yours and mine. The less contact people have with each other, the less chance of this flu spreading about. This thing has to be serious and life-threatening if it’s shutting down the world. Minimal contact makes perfect sense. For example, if one of you has the flu, as close as you are all standing to each other, do you really think those little masks are gonna make a bit of difference?”

There was a wave of silence then the crowd quickly dispersed.

“Thought so,” Mick said, then went into the station.

The two deputies across the office both turned around when Mick walked in.

“Afternoon.” Mick lifted a hand as he sought the sanctity of his office.

“Chief?”

“Shit.” Mick skidded to a stop. He was almost there. He just wanted to steal a moment of quiet. “Yes?” Calling on his last mite of patience, Mick turned and faced him.

Officer Haddock walked to him. “This just came in for you.”

“Ah, damn it.” Mick wanted it all to stop. “It’s not another goddamn order from the health department to do some inane fucked up precautionary procedure that will make my life a miserable hell, is it?”

“Um....” Officer Haddock looked down at the paper to double check. “No. From the FBI. Looks like Harv Holly was playing post office PI bingo again, as you call it. Only this time....” he gave Mick the sheet, “he hit the jackpot.” Haddock raised his eyebrows.

After a snort of disbelief, Mick glanced down. “Great,” he groaned. “The world’s falling apart and I need this to worry about.”

“Want me to take care of that now?” Officer Haddock asked.

Mick shook his head, “Things are pretty hectic out there. This really isn’t going anywhere. Not today. I’ll take care of it. Keep a lid on it for now, all right?”

Officer Haddock agreed.

“Did you make a copy of this?” Mick asked.

“Yes, I did,” Officer Haddock answered.

“I’ll hold on to this one. Thanks.” Looking at the sheet of paper and reading it again with disgust, Mick walked into his office and partly shut the door for some privacy.

Moving to his desk and not wanting to deal with anything for a few moments, especially orders from the FBI, Mick folded the sheet of paper and put it in his front tee shirt pocket. His chair looked even more comfortable than usual and Mick sank into it. But only for a second, then he felt a pinch on his backside and he jumped back up. Grumbling, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the smashed blue surgical mask, tossed it on his desk, then sank into his chair again.

He looked at the mask with a chuckle then lifted it by its rubber band. The military, CDC, health department, whoever, was handing out the masks as safeguards. But to Mick it was more of a palliative tactic, a mollifying move for the public to believe that all was being done to help protect them. Mick knew the masks well, and to him the surgical masks were pretty much next to useless.

After dropping the item, Mick reclined his chair with a squeak of its old springs and an exhalation of relief. His head dropped back and he closed his eyes.

Quiet.

Not for long.

Dylan spoke his name. “Mick.” But there was something odd about the sound of her voice. It was muffled, as if it came through a cup. “Mick.”

Had he fallen asleep? Dylan certainly sounded odd. After hearing her call one more time, he opened his eyes. When he did, he jolted awake with a yelp when he saw her. “Dylan. What the hell are you doing?” He slowly stood up looking at Dylan as she stood before Mick’s desk holding Tigger’s hand. She and Tigger weren’t wearing the little surgical masks; they were wearing huge black military gas masks. “Who the hell did you fuck to get those?”

“You,” she answered.

“Huh?” Mick was confused as he walked to Tigger. “And why is this kid wearing a....”

“I took them from your Navy Seal box. I remembered you had them after the one time, we...you know, kind of played with them.”

“Christ, Dylan, you went through my stuff?” He bent down to Tigger. “And this has to come off of this kid. He can’t use it properly, it’s too big. He’s suffocating.” Mick undid the rubber strap.

“He is not.”

“He is, too. Watch.” Mick lifted off the mask.

Tigger, face red, wheezed when the air hit him.

“See,” Mick said, “Tigger, you all right?”

With more dramatics than he needed to display, Tigger weakly walked to Mick’s desk, reached up to grab the edge, bent over some and nodded. “I will be.”

Shaking his head after watching him, Mick turned back to Dylan. “Now, Dylan, what did—can you take that damn mask off? I can’t talk to you like this.”

“I can’t, I’ll get the flu. And you just put my child at risk.”

“I just saved your child from asphyxiating. Now take off the mask.” He reached for it and lifted it from her head.

Dylan screamed.

Mick cringed then looked down at the mask and the few strands of hair wrapped around the rubber strap. “Sorry.” He shrugged and handed it back.

“Asshole.” Dylan shook her head. “You’ve exposed us.”

“To what? To me? The flu? Darling, this,” he kissed her, “is exposed. Now what’s up?”

“Can you watch Tigger?”

“Watch Tigger? Now?” Mick asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m working.”

“I know, but I need you to watch him. Just for a couple hours. Let him hang here. It’s safe.”

“His home is safe,” Mick told her. “Why can’t Chris and Dustin watch him?” Mick’s eyes widened. “Son of a bitch. Dylan, you aren’t letting those boys run around, are you?”

“No.” Dylan shook her head then rambled on, “They can’t watch him. Chris is in his room. Dylan is in his. I’m trying to keep them separated. You know, if Chris has it he won’t give it to Dustin. If Dustin has it he won’t give it to Chris. I want both of them away from Tigger, because Tigger is so small, you know he’s susceptible to—”

“Stop.” Mick held up his hand. Then after staring at Dylan for a moment, ran his hand over the bridge of his nose. “Quit this. Now.” He held up his hand stopping her again. “Where are you going that you need him watched?”

“Work.”

“Work?” Mick asked. “The video store?”

“Yes. My father thinks me working will help take my mind off of things.”

“Please tell me your father doesn’t have the store open.”

“Okay. My father doesn’t have the store open.” Dylan paused. “But he does.”

“Aw!” Mick whined. “Why does he have to go and put me in this position? Son of a bitch.” Mick went back to his desk and started rummaging. “Where’s that order? I’ll show him myself. The Army rolls in here, sees he’s violating the ordinance, they’ll arrest him...found it.” Mick held up the paper then slammed the drawer. “Take Tigger home. I’ll be there by dinner.” After running his hand over the top of Tigger’s head, Mick walked to the door.

“Wait.” Sounding concerned, Dylan stopped him. “Are you shutting down my Dad’s store?”

Mick hesitated in answering. He felt uncomfortable telling her, but it wasn’t his choice. “Dylan. Just...just understand, okay? It’s not personal. It’s my job.”

“Are you shutting down his store, Mick?”

Slowly, regretfully, Mick nodded.

“Thank you.” Dylan smiled. “Whew. I thought I had to work. Let’s go, Tigger.” She grabbed his hand. “Hold your shirt over your face and we’ll run real fast all the way home.” She walked with him from the office. “See ya later, Mick.”

Mick stood dumbfounded for a second as he watched Dylan sweep up Tigger and dash from the station faster than he had ever seen her move. Dylan wasn’t upset. Mick could only hope Tom would be as understanding in light of all that was going on.

Tom leaned on the other side of the counter and read the order that Mick gave him. He raised his fatherly eyes above his half glasses and tapped his hand on the paper.

“So, you understand that?” Mick asked.

“Yep.” Tom nodded then inhaled. The breath was heavy and deep; it carried loud as Tom stood upright. “Mick, you know me as a God-fearing Christian man, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Mick said.

“Don’t like to hurt anyone, don’t like to break the law...”

“Not you.” Confidence and calm permeated Mick’s voice.

“And never do I disrespect those in authority. Or use vile language. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“So forgive me right now, Mick. But fuck you, I am not closing my store.” Tom slid the order to Mick.

At that moment, Mick really wanted to respond. But he was shocked, totally shocked. His lips parted as he stared at Tom.

“So you just take that order,” Tom said, “fold it back up, stick it in your pocket, and go on.”

Mick cleared his throat as he recovered. “Mr. Roberts, I don’t think you quite understand.”

“No, Mick, you don’t understand. What aren’t you getting? I am not closing my store.”

“There are no if, ands or buts about it. You have to close the store,” Mick said more firmly.

“No, I don’t. And I won’t.”

“Goddamn it, why are you—”

“Language.”

Mick grumbled. His voice dropped to a growling whisper as he leaned over toward Tom. “Don’t force my hand. Don’t you do that to me. Now, listen up....”

“Michael Owens. Stop right there.” Tom’s voice deepened and he spoke slowly with authority. “Don’t you dare talk down to me. Hear that?”

“Mr. Roberts, I am not talking down to you. You are forgetting who I am. I have never before thrown my status at you.”

“Don’t start now!” Tom said strongly as he walked around the counter. “This is my store, Mick. My store!”

“And this....” Mick held up the order, “is the law! Shut down the store!”

“No! I don’t give a rat’s ass about that law, or ordinance, whatever you wanna call it. I care about the people of this town!” Tom argued.

“And you think the people of this town need videos at this moment!”

“It’s not the videos, it’s the message.” Tom’s hand slammed loudly on the counter. “If I close my doors, shut out my lights and pull my blinds, I am sending the message that I’m scared. Well, I’m not scared, Mick. And I don’t want the people of this town to be scared! If they walk down the streets of Lodi and see a ghost town then they will not see hope. You have a flu bug raging. It’s closing down cities, states, countries. And despite what the sugar coated media tells us, it’s shutting down the human race.” Tom’s voice calmed down. “And if my people, in my town, can walk down the street and see one light, even if it is in a tiny, no name video store, they’ll be able to see that not everything normal in their lives is gone. Not yet.”

Frustrated, Mick closed his eyes as he groaned and wracked his brain for the right argument. He nodded once, then took a step toward Tom, speaking as calmly as he possibly could. “More than you realize, I understand what you’re saying. You and Marian…I love you guys. I don’t want to shut you down. I don’t. But if I don’t insist upon it, and Federal Emergency Management rolls through here, they’ll shut you down. They won’t be as nice. They’ll pull you out, arrest your ass, close your doors and board you up. I don’t want that. I don’t. Please, Tom...please.” Mick’s voice dropped. “Close the store....please.” Taking a moment to stare silently at Tom, trying to convey his desperation in a look, Mick quietly walked out.

It said a lot.

More than any reports from the media, more than new ordinances left and right from FEMA, or even the blue masks that people ran around in, the reality of the flu struck Mick in the moment after his confrontation with Tom.

Mick stood on the sidewalk for a long time, in thought, feeling really bad. He didn’t want to move. And if Mick felt guilty before, he felt even worse when he heard the ‘ding’ of Tom’s entrance bell. He turned around to see the ‘closed’ sign and Tom locking up. His voice cracked. “Tom.”

Tom said nothing. From under his arm he pulled out a piece of cardboard and placed it over the door’s glass. The ‘rip’ of packing tape sounded loudly as Tom secured the homemade sign on the door. He looked once at Mick, then, tape in hand, walked away.

Mick read it. Written in big black magic marker, the sign declared, ‘I did not give up hope.’ Mick turned his head and shut his eyes as another wave of remorse washed over him.

The shocked, “Oh my God”, snapped Mick from his moment of shame.

Patrick McCaffrey pointed at the sign, a video case in his hand. “Mick, the store is closed?”

Mick nodded. “Yeah...yeah it is.” He cleared his throat. “Where’s your mask?”