Shadows of The Plague
By TLR
Plot: A new epidemic hits the streets of Bay City, claiming new victims. (Not a major character death story).
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Prologue.
Hutch's POV:
A persistent cough here, a fever there – subtle hints of an approaching storm that was on no one's radar, not after the first plague two years prior, the one that almost ripped my life from me. If it hadn't been for Starsky's relentless determination and strong heart, I would have succumbed like so many others.
Now, just like before, people went about their lives, unaware that a dark shadow was settling over Bay City. But we couldn't ignore or escape the rising number of cases marked by sickness that started out with flulike symptoms, then developed into pneumonia, and finally, respiratory failure.
Neither Starsky nor I wanted to tackle a beast like this again, but...
"What choice do we have?" Starsky asked as we sat parked in the Torino one morning, wondering if we should even get out of the car and start our day at the precinct, knowing new cases would crop up. A few of our fellow officers were already out with the flu.
"None really," I agreed glumly.
He grasped my forearm. "I'll take this one alone. You go home, lock down, and don't come out till it's over."
"I'll be damned," I said softly. "If this epidemic spreads like the first one, the city will need all the help it can get."
I got out of the car, making my decision known.
But so did he, jumping out and rounding the trunk of the car to grab my arm.
"Hutch. Come on. Be realistic. The first one nearly took you. This one...we might not be so lucky."
I patted his hand and smiled a little. "I'll take my chances, Starsk. Me and Thee can't operate if Me is stuck at home while Thee is out doing the job both of us should be doing."
::
We talked to Captain Dobey, who told us, "A nearby research facility, Gerard Labs, accidentally released a virus with no known cure, but they're working on a solution."
At least the lab had the decency to admit its wrongdoing and was helping to find the cure. That was half the battle. The other half was trying to get Bay City citizens believing that it existed, and realizing how dangerous it was. After the first one, they just had that cocky self-assurance that lightning would never strike twice in the same place. It had to be overblown paranoia. Right?
As the death cases climbed, and the media put out report after report, reality began to settle in. This was real. It may sound funny, but my blender was working overtime making vitamin-packed health drinks for Starsky and me, to boost our immunity.
Simmons and Babcock were in the first documented cases. Then Minnie. Then the captain's little girl, Rosie. They were in the hospital, holding their own, but were considered contagious. Only Edith was allowed in the hospital room with Rosie. Cap's face told a story. He was heartsick and stunned, but hellbent on seeing his little one get well.
Mostly the ones who died from it were the very old, the very young, and the ones with a compromised immune system.
Starsky insisted I fell into the last group.
"I'm fine," I assured him. "Let's just focus on finding a cure."
But tracking down a cure for a deadly virus wasn't the same as tracking down a dangerous suspect.
The emergency room transformed into a battleground, and Memorial strained to cope with an enemy that eluded a cure.
The heartbreak was not just a collective ache but a personal one.
The day started like any other, with Starsky picking me up in the morning after my run, a shower, and a health shake. But he was late, and it wasn't like him. As distracted and casual as he could seem at times, he was pretty much a stickler for getting to places on time unless he had a good reason for being late.
I waited on the sidewalk for him, and was just about to run back upstairs to call him when the Torino drove up and eased to a stop.
"What took you so long?" I asked as I settled into the passenger seat.
"One of Rosie's little friends at school passed," he said solemnly. "She wanted to talk to her Uncle David on the phone."
Rosie was in the first grade.
He rubbed both hands down his face. "Man..."
"You look tired, Starsk."
"No, it's..."
He looked flush with fever. I felt his forehead. "Starsk..."
"It isn't what you think," he said. "I'm just run-down."
"You need tested."
"Maybe you need tested."
"Maybe I do. I will if you will."
He looked at me, memories of the first plague casting blue shadows across his intense eyes. He poured his guts out for me then. But then he always turned the world upside down whenever I was hurt. I couldn't ask for a better friend. What did I ever do to deserve him?
I let out a big sigh. "Let's go, huh? Check in with Cap, see how Edith's doing, and get tested."
::
When we got to the precinct, Dobey was professionally collected but couldn't hide the concern for his family, his officers, or the city.
"How's Cal?" I asked.
"In quarantine at the hospital, along with Edith. And that's where I want you two today. Tested, the works."
"Don't worry," I said. "That's our plan. Huggy's already locked down his bar. He and Diane are laying low for a while."
"Memorial has a new policy this morning."
"What is it?"
"No visitors. Which means I can't see Rosie or Edith now, even though I tested negative. Only people they'll allow in now are emergency cases, those being tested, quarantined, or medical personnel."
"Is the lab getting any closer to an answer?" I asked.
"Not yet."
I looked at Starsky. "Let's go to Memorial."
As we left Cap's office and walked through the squad room, I heard a metallic noise behind me, and turned to see Starsky stumbling into a tall filing cabinet.
He collapsed with a moan, and I shot to my knees to catch him.
"Starsk," I said patting his face, which was a deeper red now, perspiring, his eyes a brighter blue and sparkling with fever.
"Sorry," he whispered up at me, and passed out in my arms.
::
The past and the present pinwheeled in my head: Professor Jennings poison, my battle with the plague, and now Starsky getting sick.
Hell. It wasn't my immunity we needed to worry about all this time. It was his.
::
I had to fight my way into the hospital with him. His test results were positive. Mine were negative. The medical staff couldn't understand his rapid onset of symptoms, until I told them to check with Dr. Franklin and read Starsky's medical records detailing the Jennings poisoning.
He was still unconscious and in an isolation room, so I wanted to be with him. My mind shut out cases and cops and sick patients. They all fell away like rocks down a hillside, honing in on the only person that mattered at the time: My partner.
He was regaining consciousness, but that could come and go. I wanted to see him while he was awake.
"We can't let you go in there," Franklin said. "We think he has a severe strain of it, a mutation. You could get it too."
"Read my lips, doctor. I. Do. Not. Care. I don't have it. Chances are slim I'll get it. I have to see him."
Franklin studied me, then handed me a mask and gloves.
Franklin met me halfway. I met him halfway. I masked up and gloved up, then went in to see him, into the room where words held the weight of life and death. The sight of him gasping inside the oxygen tent nearly stole my own breath away. My chest ached.
His eyes were on me though. Grateful to see somebody who cared about him. Hopeful I would somehow save his life like he had mine.
My voice was a muffled tremble behind the sterile mask.
"Starsk?"
His hand came up for me. I clasped it. His grip was weak. But he could see me. Really see me. He knew I was there. He could barely talk.
"Go," he whispered.
I moved my head no. "I'm okay. I'm negative."
A vivid memory fought its way into my mind with the clarity of a nightmare. Starsky collapsing from Jennings' poison, helpless in my arms. Dying. Relying on me to help him. Trusting me to make things right again. He loved me. And I loved him.
The déjà vu tightened its grip on my chest, memories of my own plague muscling in. The pain in my lungs, the confusion in my head, the struggle for breath, the fear of dying, the lonely feeling of dying in isolation. It was like gazing into a mirror, reflecting a past I hoped to never revisit, especially when it was my partner instead of me.
I sat on the edge of his bed, squeezed his hand tighter. His breathing was labored, ragged.
"Just breathe," I told him. "Keep breathing."
The irony of history repeating itself. My irrepressible best friend didn't deserve it. His life was now slipping away like sand through my fingertips.
When I loosened my grip, he tried to hold on tighter, drawing my hand against his chest, his heart, which made the tears spill over my mask.
"I have to go," I told him. "I'm sorry. I have to go talk to the lab again. They want to run some tests on those of us who have been exposed but test negative. The answer may be in our bodies. You just hold on. We'll get through this. I'll be back."
He gave a small nod, and released my hand. He knew I had work to do. For him and the city.
::
The infectious fear whispered in my ear as I drove through a near-locked-down Bay City toward Gerard Labs, the almost deserted streets, closed businesses, and masked faces I passed by, a constant reminder of the invisible enemy we faced. Ambulances everywhere, city workers in hazmat suits.
Captain Dobey contacted me through dispatch in the Torino: "Huggy says to tell you hello. How's Starsky?"
I had to swallow my tears to answer. "Not good."
"I'm locked down in my office for now, doing what I can. If I go home, I have to stay there. I think I can do more good here. Edith insists. She can't leave the hospital, but she doesn't want to as long as Rosie and Cal are there. So far I'm not showing symptoms. I hate this damn virus."
"I'm headed for the lab. They think they can use those resistant, to make a cure, or a vaccine."
"Okay, Hutch. I'll check back with you. Keep your chin up."
The call was over. I replaced the mike.
I had never felt so alone, driving his car without him in it. It felt like a strange omen, of how bad it would feel if he really died, and left me to drive his crazy car by myself. Now I was scared. Crying scared.
Anguish gripped my heart. He was back there in the hospital dying alone.
How could you leave your best friend behind? What kind of a man are you? Powerful, bittersweet memories of the times he was there for me flooded my mind: When I was hooked on heroin. Trapped under my car. Poisoned by Dr. Matwick. Among others.
Please, Starsk. Please hang on. I'll be back.
I promised Starsky that we'd get through this, but the unspoken truth lingered – time was slipping away, and the stakes were higher than ever before.
::
As security allowed me entrance into the bustling research facility, a wave of urgency hit me from all sides. A few of the doctors rushed a mask over to me as a precaution, while a couple bathed my hands in hand sanitizer, while yet a couple more stripped my clothes in favor of a sterile hospital gown. Dr. Meredith, the lead researcher and doctor who'd handled the first Bay City plague, approached in a mask. It was hard to read his expression, but his voice was clear and hopeful.
"Hutch, we've been studying your medical history from Memorial, particularly your exposure to the first plague. We think your body has developed a unique resilience unlike most, even among those who test negative. An immune response that might hold the key to combating the mutated virus."
His words were music to my ears. "You're saying my experience with the first plague could help now?"
Meredith nodded. "Exactly. You and anyone else who survived it could be what we need. Your body fought off a similar threat once before, and we believe your immune system has retained valuable information. We need a sample of your blood to understand and synthesize the antibodies that played a role in your recovery."
Hope swept through my heart. "Doctor, if my body can save my partner, or anyone else, I'm all yours."
I felt almost lightheaded with joy and relief as Meredith and the others ushered me to a sterile, clear plastic cubicle, where they sat me in a chair and began to draw my blood.
The pathologists, scientists, and researchers outside the cubicle buzzed in a scientific language that sounded positive. My heart pounded hard with high expectations.
This was really happening. I could save Starsky's life. He had a real chance now. The plague that had nearly killed me could actually spare him and others.
::
Later, at Memorial, I stood in a state of prayer and apprehension as I watched Starsky through the observation window, the palm of my hand on the glass, sending love. He was fighting the same battle I had fought. His breaths were faint, wet curls clung to his forehead, his face was off-color.
Franklin and Meredith came up to me before going in, Meredith holding a vial containing the life-saving cure. "Hutch, you understand that this is uncharted territory. The potential for success is strong, but there are no guarantees."
I nodded. "It's a fighting chance."
Both doctors went in, followed by a couple of nurses. They roused him awake, and Starsky's eyes searched for me, finding me between their hovering bodies, reflecting a spark of resilience.
The doctors gave him the shot, and we waited.
It wasn't an immediate cure, but it was a cure. In time, color returned to his cheeks, and his breathing eased. The medical team exchanged glances, recognizing the significance of this moment. They looked at me through the glass, and I gave them a smile of thanks.
Eventually, Starsky gave me a small smile and a little thumbs up through the window. We had weathered another storm.
After he slept a couple of hours, I went into his room. The doctors were on their way to administer the doses they'd made to the most critical patients, and to use the blood of survivors from the first plague.
"Hey, Hutch," Starsky rasped as I sat down on the edge of his bed again, this time minus the oxygen tent. He reached for my hand again, this time with a stronger grip.
"Hey, Starsk," I whispered back. "We made it, buddy."
"Yeah."
In the days that followed, more cure was made and delivered to others battling the virus. The city, once locked down in sickness and fear, now breathed a collective sigh of relief as hope and freedom returned.
::
Epilogue.
A few weeks later, the atmosphere at Captain Dobey's house was one of quiet happiness. The once-devastating epidemic was now a fading nightmare. Starsky, recovered and vibrant as usual, sat at the dinner table, sharing a laugh with me, Captain Dobey, Edith, Cal, Rosie, and Huggy.
The clinking of glasses filled the air as a toast was raised.
"To friendship," Cap said. "And family."
"Very good, dear," Edith smiled.
The aroma of her home-cooked food wafted through the room, a comforting backdrop to the shared stories and moments of gratitude.
We reveled in the simple joy of being together, savoring the victory over a threat that had once seemed insurmountable.
The end