“Damn,” he muttered, as he noticed an ambulance rapidly overtaking him in his rear view mirror, lights flashing and siren wailing. He dutifully pulled over to the side of the road. As its siren grew louder, he saw there were three ambulances, followed closely by as many police cars. They shot past him, turned north onto Oracle Road and raced toward the already overflowing medical center on Tangerine Road. Seeing the ambulance convoy reminded him of Karen and Josh. A feeling of anxiety swept over him. Forgoing his idea of flowers, he pulled back into the street and followed the ambulances toward Oro valley.
His home, a four-bedroom, Pueblo-style house near the western foot of the Catalinas, sat on a private five-acre lot atop a narrow ridge jutting into Alamo Canyon facing Pusch Ridge. As he waited for the gate to open, a second convoy, this once comprised of army trucks and jeeps, rolled northward along Oracle Road. He wondered just what was happening. Was the flu epidemic spreading? Why was the military involved? His heart sank when he saw the silver Lexus of his friend, Doctor Benjamin Reynolds, parked in the drive. He didn’t bother with the garage. He pulled his Hyundai beside Reynolds’ car and rushed inside.
His wife was waiting for him in the entry. Her disheveled appearance and worried expression filled him with trepidation. Karen, a former Miss Arizona, took great pride in her appearance and was usually very calm and collected. She rushed to him and threw her arms around his neck sobbing into his chest.
“Oh, Jeb. It’s Josh. He had a violent fit. I called Ben. He’s with Josh now.”
Jeb lifted her face and looked into her emerald green eyes, red-rimmed from crying. “What happened?”
She shook her head and sniffled. “I don’t know. Today Josh felt so bad he didn’t want to get out of bed. I went in about an hour ago to check on him and he was white as a ghost, moaning and thrashing about on the bed. I tried to calm him down, but couldn’t. Thank God, Ben was home.”
Jeb nodded. Ben Reynolds, like most doctors now, had closed their offices, overwhelmed by the flood of sick patients. Most now worked at the hospitals, clinics and emergency medical centers hastily constructed by FEMA, such as the one a few miles away in Avra Valley near the Marana airport.
“He’ll be fine, Hon,” Jeb said to reassure her, though his own heart was heavy with worry. “He’s young and strong, and Ben is one of the best. Besides, we’ve all had our flu shots.” He forced a smile to his lips.
Reynolds was sitting in the living room, his face covered with both hands and his shoulders slumped. He looked up at Jeb and nodded a greeting. His tired blue eyes and worried expression made him look ten years older than his fifty-five years.
“How is he, Ben?” Jeb asked.
Reynolds sighed. “It’s difficult to say, Jeb. He has a high fever and flu-like symptoms, but it doesn’t seem to be the same flu that’s going around.” Reynolds was almost as tall as Jeb and thin, but his deep voice and slow Southern drawl inspired confidence in his patients. This time, however, he sounded uncertain. He shook his head slowly. “Almost everyone has something.”
Jeb let out his pent up breath. He had expected worse news. “What do we do?”
“I gave him a sedative so he can rest and I left some antibiotics on his nightstand. We’ll try those first and see if his condition improves.”
Karen walked up behind her husband and grasped his arm. She wasn’t convinced. “An antibiotic? That’s all? He was writhing around on the bed as if he had an epileptic seizure or something. Shouldn’t we take him to the hospital?”
“No,” Reynold’s answered quickly. “There’s no room in the hospitals and he wouldn’t receive the care he needs. They’re simply overwhelmed by the number of sick.”
“What about that new center in Avra Valley?” she asked.
The dark look in Reynolds’ eyes at the mention of the FEMA camp startled Jeb. “No. I’ll drop back by soon. Believe me, Karen; he’ll be better off here.”
His wife still didn’t look convinced, but she nodded and rushed off to Josh’s room.
“You look done in, Ben,” Jeb said. “Want some coffee?”
His smile revealed a little of the Benjamin Reynolds that Jeb remembered. “Got anything stronger?”
“Scotch, right? I could do with a glass myself.”
Jeb went to the bar, poured two fingers of Glenfiddich into two tumblers, added ice and handed one to Reynolds.
“Now, what was it you didn’t want Karen to know?”
Reynolds frowned, took a sip of scotch and sighed. He stared into the depths of the cold fireplace for a moment as if studying invisible flames. “I’m frightened, Jeb. Josh isn’t the first case I’ve seen like this. There are a dozen more at Oro Valley.” He waited a few seconds before continuing. “They’re lying to us, Jeb.”
“Who’s lying?”
“The Feds, the CDC, FEMA—all of them.”
Jeb took a seat beside Reynolds. “What do you mean?”
Reynolds looked at him. “How many have died so far, Jeb?”
Jeb wrinkled his brow, wondering where Reynolds was going with this. “In America? Six thousand last count. Why?”
Reynolds shook his head. “It’s closer to sixty thousand, probably much higher. FEMA is afraid if they release the actual count, there’ll be a panic, and they could be right. The new vaccine is next to useless. So far, they’ve discovered five active strains of the Avian influenza type A virus. We’re beginning to see widespread antigenic shift. I’m worried, Jeb. Have you seen the new emergency center in Marana, near the airport?” Jeb hadn’t, but Reynolds didn’t give him time to reply. “Why would they need to enclose it in a ten-foot fence topped with razor wire? It has hundreds of FEMA trailers inside and an army outpost outside. I think the President is close to declaring Martial Law.”
Jeb was flabbergasted at Reynolds’ suggestion. “Martial Law? That’s ridiculous. That would create a panic in itself. Just look at the flack he got over the mandatory flu shots. The press crucified him.” He looked at Reynolds and cocked his head to one side. “There’s something else you’re not telling me.”
Reynolds’ nodded, downed the rest of his drink and leaned back wearily on the sofa. “Jeb, this started in southern Asia. As of yesterday, Vietnam and Laos are at war over the flood of refugees. Thailand is threatening to attack Myanmar. Estimates are about six million dead from disease and famine alone, but communication from Asia is spotty at best. China is strangely silent about the entire epidemic. Europe has closed down all major airports.”
Jeb took a sip of his drink. The burning liquor did not dissolve the lump of fear that had been forming in his throat as he listened to his friend. “I’ve heard nothing of this on the news.”
“You won’t. Try going on-line and checking YouTube or a few blogs. Some of the clips I’ve seen are horrendous.” He shook his head sadly. “This pandemic is getting away from us, Jeb.”
Jeb placed a hand on Reynolds’ shoulder. “The CDC will come up with something soon. They usually do.”
Reynolds looked up from his empty glass. “If they do, it will be too little too late. To keep order, they will issue the vaccine to the military first. By the time it trickles down to the population of small cities and towns, millions could be dead.”
“Millions,” Jeb repeated. The thought of an apocalyptic event occurring in his lifetime had never crossed his mind. His mind couldn’t comprehend the idea of millions of Americans dying. A sickening feeling brought him back to reality. “Josh?”