THREE DAYS LATER
Brenda wet another cloth, wiping it across Fritz's sweaty brow. He shivered under the blankets, mumbling incomprehensibly at times. Brenda thought her heart might break into a thousand bits. The last 72 hours had been brutal. The cable was still on, though Brenda had long since muted the sound, because the Emergency Broadcasting System hadn't had anything new to say beyond stay indoors, due to an unexplained viral outbreak. Before Fritz had fallen ill, he'd been following people's tweets on that Tweeter Charlie was always on about, and while Brenda still didn't quite understand it, she was glad that whatever had befallen the phone lines hadn't disrupted the internet. Right now, Tweeter was the only thing giving Brenda any information. She swallowed thickly, as Fritz moaned piteously. Not that the information she was gathering was at all heartening. People were dying. Doctors were baffled. Hospitals were overrun. That's why Brenda had Fritz here, on the couch. He was too weak to make the stairs, barely able to make it to the bathroom without help. The city had shut down, no investigations, only essential personnel, so Brenda didn't even have that to distract her. She turned back to the little netbook on the table, and refreshed the page.
LazySusan48: Schools are closed in San Francisco. #outbreak #crazytimes
BuckyBaller: Dude. This is aaall because of vaccinations. You'll see. #outbreak #FTG!
TheRealWolfBlitzer: Breaking News: Viral Epidemic in California spreads to Oregon. #outbreak #CNN
Brenda winced at the last tweeter. The Governor had been slow to close the borders once it became obvious that this was a fast acting pathogen. People wondered about biological warfare, if this had been some sort of airborne terrorism. Course, there were always the crazies like BuckyBaller, who turned everything into a government conspiracy. And then there were the crazy crazies. People who made ridiculous claims about the dead not really being dead after all, or people who'd been infected suddenly turning violent and aggressive, the whole thing made Brenda angry. Why make a catastrophe worse with blatant lies and exaggeration? As she watched Fritz shudder and shiver beneath the blanket, with his matted hair and his skin slick with sour sweat, she couldn't imagine that anyone would need to make *this* any worse by exaggeration. This was awful. Just awful. Joel wouldn't even come near her when she was next to Fritz. His little hackles would raise, and he actually hissed and took a swipe at the supine man when Brenda had moved too close while snuggling the little cat.
The image on the television switched from the EBS logo to a man in military dress at a podium. Brenda fumbled for the remote, and hit the mute button.
"…you for bearing with us. I am General Yearwood, and I've been asked to address the current situation in California, and now, Oregon as well. As you know, both states are suffering the effects of a swift moving viral illness, which is often proving fatal, especially in the elderly, and the very young. The State and Federal Government are working tirelessly on treatment options that will lessen the fatality of this illness. In the interest of minimizing the impact of this devastating outbreak, we will be setting up treatment centers at the following locations."
Brenda tuned out. There was no way Frtiz would be healthy enough to travel. Actually, now that she thought about it, it was unlikely ANYONE who was ill was well enough to travel to the centers. She peered at the TV as though she could find an answer in the glass.
"…and lastly, the YMCA in Compton will handle the overflow from the Primary Treatment Facilities. I understand that you may be concerned that your family member or loved one is too ill to travel. To that end, we will be sending around specially outfitted retrieval units. We can transport 200 people comfortably, and safely, at a time. Beginning this afternoon at 1300, please be on the alert for the retrieval unit assigned to your neighborhood. It is essential that we transport all those exhibiting symptoms, so that they will be in the best position to receive the anti-viral cure, once it is finished. Please allow the retrieval team Leader to assist you in moving your infected household members onto the retrieval unit. This process will be slow, so we ask for your cooperation. Please don't pack anything to send along with the infected. They are being moved to sterile locations. They will not be permitted to bring their belongings. You may include a list on standard A4 paper, detailing any medications that are essential for life. Please do not include vitamins, allergy medications, herbal supplements, or anything else that is not life-essential. We will be transporting all infected. If a person in your home is just beginning to show symptoms, they are to board the retrieval unit. This process will repeat daily at 0600, 1300, and 2000 hours. Once treatment options are finalized and disbursed, and your loved one has received medical clearance, their name will be posted on a special website, along with the Primary Treatment Facility they were placed in. That site will be updated 4 times per day, at 0900, 1200, 1500, and 1800. You can find the site at dubble ewe dubble ewe dubble ewe dot Primary Treatment Outpatients dot com. We will not be posting a phone number, as we feel our resources are better spent fighting this terrible illness. This information has been incorporated into the EBS, so please do not panic if you feel as though you've missed something. On behalf of the citizens of this great country, and the President of the United States, I would just like to extend my deepest sympathies to families who have already lost loved ones. You are in our hearts. To those with loved ones still suffering, please rest assured that they will be well cared for at their Primary Treatment Facility. Thank you for your time. " He stepped away from the podium, and Brenda expected the standard flurry of flash photography and hastily hollered questions, but until the picture went dark, there was only silence, as though the room was entirely empty save for the camera.
Brenda sat back against the couch. This seemed off, somehow. Were they imposing a quarantine? He hadn't said anything about it being mandatory. But neither had he said the words voluntary. So Brenda thought about what she knew about the military. Her daddy and her brother were both soldiers. And soldiers don't make suggestions. They either give, or receive orders. But how could putting all of those people in once place be a good idea? Wouldn't that create one of those superbugs they were always talking about on the morning shows? All right, then. But if they were working on a treatment, maybe it would be better to have all of the infected available as soon as possible. Perhaps this was more damage control than anything else. Absently, she tucked the edge of the blanket under Fritz's legs. His fever wasn't showing any sign of breaking. He wasn't really lucid enough to eat solid food, but she kept dribbling water into his dry mouth, and painting applesauce and pudding on his tongue, so he could keep his strength up. She knew he needed IV fluids, that what he was losing from sweat and the occasional bout of retching, must be throwing his electrolytes off balance. But the hospitals had been at capacity since 18 hours into the outbreak. Maybe that was the real goal of the Treatment Facilities? To free up the hospitals for those not suffering from this nameless killer? That made a little more sense to Brenda.
She dipped the cloth into the bowl of tepid water, and sponged Fritz's face again, wiping down to his jaw, and around to the back of his neck. He groaned, shuddering violently. His mouth worked convulsively, and Brenda heard the rebellion in his gut, and scrambled for the wastebasket. She held it beneath his face, and rolled him forward, his head lolling limply on his neck, so that he was over the plastic lined can. He groaned again, and then made a terrible noise. His jaw fell slack, and a stream of thick, green bile jetted forcefully into the wastebasket. It smelled awful, the sickly sweet odor of rancidity, and a terrible coppery tang that reminded Brenda of crime scenes. His body roiled, and he retched again, the substance now thicker, almost tar-like. Brenda held her breath, hoping the worst was over. Fritz whimpered, and his eyes opened for the first time in over 15 hours. Brenda met his gaze steadily, as she smoothed her hand over his back, soaked with sweat. She murmured soothingly, easing him back down on to the pillow. She wiped his mouth with the cloth, then dribbled a little of the water, and a little of the sports drink she'd found stashed far in the back of the fridge. It was a year out of date, but she figured things like that were unlikely to actually go bad, and anyway, it smelled okay, unlike the basket of sick at her elbow. She patted Fritz on the arm, and pushed herself into a standing position. She carried the whole business to the kitchen, where she tied the grocery bag liner tightly closed. She moved that into a second grocery bag, and tied that closed as well. She took that, and placed it into one of the cereal boxes she'd scavenged from the pantry, their bags now labeled and scattered on the counter. She put the box into another bag, and tied that closed. Then she took the finished parcel and marched it straight out to the bins behind the house. She came back into the kitchen, and dipped her hands in a bowl of bleach water, before soaping them under the faucet. She knew it wasn't ideal, but it was the best she could do. This wouldn't last forever, and then she'd have a great story to combat all of the stories Frtizi had about taking care of her. This made the common cold seem like child's play, after all.
