The Flu 1/2 (22 page)

Bill nodded when he heard the anchorman’s “thank you” and the wrap-up of the segment. He smiled, watched the red indicator light on the camera go out, and then Bill removed the earpiece and stood up.

He had to unravel and take off the wires that were wrapped around him for the broadcast interview, wires that he himself knew how to set up. Finished with that, he stepped from that small room where they had him set up.

Moving into the hall, there was a lot of confusion and a lot fewer health care workers to deal with it as well. Bill knew without question where he had to go. The interview had already taken up too much of his time.

He walked down the corridor, moving aside for those who rushed past him. At the end of the hall, his destination, he watched one CDC worker emerge from the room, then another go in. Bill picked up his pace to get there.

Arriving at the room at the end of the corridor, Isabella’s room, Bill stood before the glass window that revealed Isabella in the bed and the single health care worker, Lexi, in that room. He was grateful he wasn’t too late. He knew that by taking the time to do the interview, he stood a chance of not being there when it happened. But it was a chance he had to take. Isabella was the type of person, who, if she weren’t so sick, would have insisted that he send his message of hope to the American people. Tell them they weren’t going under, they weren’t going to die.

And as Bill stared through the glass of the window, remembering his recently delivered message, he watched Isabella do just that...die.

* * *

Lodi, Ohio

Mick had a hard time believing it was a Friday night. Not that Lodi was a party town or the kick-ass place to be on a Friday, but generally there were people and noise. Tonight there were no teenagers hanging out past the curfew that Mick cursed the mayor for having to enforce. No cars. No Jeremy hogging karaoke and his badly-sung Barry Manilow songs carrying into the street. Nothing. Only darkness and silence.

His jingling of his keys was the only sound he heard during his walk, until Mick heard footsteps, slow steps that mimicked his not too far behind him. Mick stopped, turned around, and waited.

Patrick McCaffrey was gradually illuminated by the street light as he turned the corner.

Mick waited and stared.

“Hello, Mick.” Patrick walked a little faster to reach him. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Well...” Mick exhaled and looked around. “Not much used to being in bed this early on a Friday night.”

“Used to enforcing law and order on the weekend?” Patrick asked.

“No. Getting drunk.” Mick smiled. “What about you?”

“Walking. I was okay at home until the cable went out.”

“The cable went out? When?”

“About five minutes ago,” Patrick said.

“Great. Dylan will have a fit.” Mick shook his head. He stopped and looked at the park bench next to the sidewalk. He pointed at it with his head. “Sit?”

“Sure.” Patrick shrugged and followed Mick.

As if he had been walking all night, Mick sat down on the bench with an outward sigh of relief. “You know, I don’t think I ever asked you. How do you like Lodi?”

“Oh, this place is great.” Patrick leaned back, putting one arm on the back of the bench and relaxed. “It defines small town charm.”

“That it does.” Mick reached into his tee shirt pocket. He regarded the pack of cigarettes in there along with the folded piece of paper and pulled out his pack. “Smoke?”

Patrick shook his head. “I didn’t know
you
did.”

“Dylan hates it….” Mick hit the pack on his hand ejecting a single cigarette. “So I only smoke when I’m not around her.” Cigarette clenched in his lips, Mick lit it as he continued to talk. “Hard to believe she was the one who got me started.” With a smile he blew out the smoke. “So you like small towns?”

“Yes.”

“Have you lived in one before?”

“No,” Patrick answered. “You can say Lodi popped my small town cherry.” He chuckled. “I’m a city boy. Born and bred.”

“Oh, yeah? Where from?” Mick asked. “You don’t mind me asking, do you? I’m just making conversation.”

“No, I don’t mind,” Patrick answered. “Tucson.”

“A city boy from Tucson? Kind of sounds like an oxymoron.” Mick laughed. “What brought you to Lodi?”

“The job.”

“Wow. Lodi Elementary must pay well.”

That brought a hearty laugh from Patrick. “No. Actually my uncle lives in Wadsworth. He told me about the opening.”

“Your uncle? What’s his name? I know a lot of people in Wadsworth.”

“You probably know him, then. Roger Picket.”

“Roger Picket,” Mick said with surprise. “No way. What a small world. I know Roger well.” Mick tilted his head and paused. “He’s a black man.”

“Yep.”

Mick nodded. “I see the family resemblance,” he joked. “Roger’s a really nice guy. Big family.” He took a huge hit of his cigarette, “You’re a welcome addition to Lodi, Patrick.”

“Thanks.”

“Nice guy, too.” Mick bobbed his head. “Dylan likes you.”

“Dylan’s great.”

“That she is. So....” Mick put his cigarette in his mouth, leaned forward, and rested one arm across his leg as he reached into his tee shirt pocket. “Tell me...” he pulled out the paper, “who’d you embezzle the hundred mil from, Mister,” Mick opened the paper. “Rodriguez, is it?”

He handed the sheet to Patrick.

At first Patrick didn’t take it. His eyes locked onto Mick’s for what felt like hours. Then reaching out, never losing eye contact, Patrick took the paper.

With his mouth closed, Mick smiled slightly.

Patrick didn’t read it. He didn’t need to. “Why....” He cleared the nervousness from his throat. “Why don’t I get this overwhelming desire to run?”

Lifting his eyebrows, Mick shrugged and raised his hands. “Know you’re had, perhaps? Don’t know,” Mick said. “Maybe you think I’ll shoot you.”

“Would you?”

Mick only hit his cigarette. “No. Feel like running now?”

“No.” Patrick still looked at Mick, the paper he had yet to look at still in his hand.

“Unofficially, off the record, who’d you steal the money from?” Mick asked.

“The United States government. Mostly from various “save this, save that” accounts. A few Senators. The, um, the President’s pocket change account.”

Mick snickered. “No shit.”

“No shit,” Patrick stated. “I pulled from the Vice President’s pocket change account, as well. But no one noticed. I’m not sure he even knows he has one. In fact, most of the places I shaved funds from I didn’t think anyone knew existed.”

“How did you?” Mick questioned.

“A lot of research. This was basically planned since I was about twenty.”

Mick whistled. “Wasn’t foolproof. Did you think maybe it would have been?”

“Oh, yeah.” Patrick nodded. “How else did it take so long to catch it? And it was the one account that I thought no one would ever notice that attracted attention.”

“Really? Which one?”

“The United States government RS-276-lib. Research funds for the revamping of the Dewey Decimal system.”

“So tell me...” Mick tossed the finished cigarette. “That’s a lot of money. Where is it?”

“Clean. Laundered. I don’t have it.”

“Not a case of Robin Hood, I suppose?” Mick stated. “Take from the rich, give to the poor?”

“Hardly.” Patrick laughed. “Take from the government, give to the rich. The Mob. They covered my ass. How do you think I stayed hidden for three years?” He exhaled silently and handed the sheet back to Mick. “What are you gonna do?”

“Well,” Mick folded the paper and put it back in his pocket, “the FBI wants me to take you in. Detain you here in Lodi until ordinances and quarantines are lifted, things are back to normal, and they can come for you. But...that’s a long time. And between you and me, I don’t feel like housing, feeding and taking care of you in my two-cell private establishment. Nope.” Mick shook his head. “And I also don’t think things will be quite back to normal. Ever.” He looked at Patrick. “You tell me. What should I do?”

“You could lose that arrest warrant.”

“I could...but I won’t. I’m the Chief of Police in a small town that’s a mere dot on the map of a fucked up world right now. No....” Mick slowly stood . “You could run. But where you gonna go? Things are a mess, Patrick. I don’t think even your people can set something up for you right now.”

“Probably not,” Patrick concurred.

“So....” Mick exhaled heavily, “I’m gonna arrest you.”

Not that he wasn’t expecting it, but Patrick was just a little taken aback. He could run, but Mick would catch him. Even if he made it outside of Lodi, Mick was right. Where would he go? Patrick nodded slowly.

“You’re under arrest, Patrick.” Mick pulled out another cigarette and lit it. “Go home. I’ll deal with this when and if things calm down.”

If he was shocked before, Patrick was now stunned. “Go...go home?”

“Yeah, to your little house on Semper.”

“Mick...you’re just gonna trust me?”

“What choice do I have?” Mick asked. “There’s too much shit going on right now.”

“What if I disappear on you?”

Mick shrugged. “Then I fucked up. I’ll have to answer for it, now, won’t I?”

“Thank you.”

Mick hit his cigarette. “You do know, if we do actually get you into custody, you stand a good chance of becoming another legend around here like Lars.”

“Lars,” Patrick chuckled. “Mick, was he a rock star?”

“Lars?” Mick laughed. “No.”

“I was wondering. If he wasn’t...why exactly is Lars Rayburn a legend around here?”

“You don’t know?” Mick watched Patrick shake his head, “Well,” he said, “it started about....” Mick’s head turned to the sound at the same time as Patrick. It as distant at first, but it drew closer. Thunderous. Loud, heavy trucks. Curiously, Mick turned his eyes back to Patrick. Just as he did, a convoy of military trucks rolled down the main street toward them.

“Holy shit,” Mick said.

“What are they doing here?” Patrick asked.

“I haven’t a clue.” Mick watched the trucks all slowly come around the corner. The sound of squealing air brakes rang out. “But let’s go find out.” Tossing his cigarette, Mick took off with Patrick right behind him.

* * *

Anchorage, Alaska

With all the commotion that was taking place inside, Lexi couldn’t believe the silence that hit her the second she stepped out of the hospital for air. She paused just outside of the automatic doors and took it in.

Quiet.

But really, it wasn’t. Sirens blared in the distance; there were constant motor noises. Occasional gunfire popped off. But even that noise was soothing against the noises of death and pain that inundated her inside the hospital.

Holding a can of soda and a paper cup, Lexi’s eyes searched from left to right. She knew he had to be out there. Something told her that he hadn’t left for good. Then she spotted him off to the side, in the designated smoking section. Bill was just sitting there.

She walked over to him, saying nothing . She took the seat beside him and opened the can of soda. She poured some into the paper cup and handed it to Bill.

Bill shook his head as he stared as his folded hands.

“Take it,” she insisted. “You have to keep your fluids up. You’re still recovering.”

Bill took the cup. “Thanks.”

“I’m very...I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“So am I.” Bill exhaled. “But thank you for that. I suppose you’ve seen so much it doesn’t faze you.”

Lexi released a long, emotion-filled chuckle. “It bothers me. Every person that passes on in there, it bothers me. I just can’t let it affect me. That’s all.”

“You know, if I wasn’t immune now to this flu, the last place I’d be is out here without that protective suit you wear.”

Lexi smiled. “I don’t think I’m gonna get this flu.”

“Confident.”

“Pretty much,” Lexi stated. “I ran a test when I had a moment. Looks like I reject it when it enters my blood stream.”

“You can tell?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“So if you’re immune why do you wear that suit?”

“It makes others feel comfortable thinking I’m not giving them something.” She drank some of her soda. “So what now? Are you heading home?”

“Taking a moment. I looked around in there. I thought I’d lend a hand.”

At that, Lexi smiled. “I’d turn you down but we need the help. I saw your interview, part of it. That...that was brave of you.”

“Brave?” Bill laughed. “How?”

“To go on national television knowing all eyes would be upon you. To tell about this flu.”

“Even though it wasn’t the truth?” Bill asked.