“You’re gonna have to be a man now, you hear me? I won’t last in this forsaken place until I can see you again.”
“No, Papa! It can’t be!” Cooper shouted shrilly into the phone, his eyes pleading with his father.
His father looked down for a moment and then back up, “I wish it wasn’t true, but I won’t lie to you, son. My spirit is broken and my body nearly so.”
Cooper moaned miserably as his father continued, “I hope I taught you a bit about what it means to be a man. Did I?” Cooper nodded slowly, straightening up.
“Good, that makes me feel a little better. You’re going to have to be strong for your mother, OK? I won’t worry about her knowing you’ll take care of her, alright?”
Cooper never could recall the rest of the conversation. His father died a week later and the grief overwhelmed the memory. The doctor said his father’s ‘heart gave out.’ Cooper knew that wasn’t true. It’d been smashed to bits by deceit that had led to the suffocating prison’s walls.
That day had always been the most helpless of Cooper’s life. Today was the first time he’d ever felt more so.
Chapter 6
Jake lay soundly asleep in a pile of brown and red wool blankets at the foot of his mother’s bed. His face was peaceful. His breath was measured and assured. His skin glowed golden. He had inherited the stronger hue of his mother’s Mexican and Gypsy ancestors. He lay curled up into a ball, his small arms cradling his head. Black curls framed his face, red lips puffing slightly as he breathed in and out.
Elena offered a picture of a devastating illness, while he gave a portrait of vitality and health. The contradiction overwhelmed Cooper. He needed refuge from the stark reminder of his wife fading away.
He stepped lightly downstairs and turned on the television.
“…fourteen dead in the small town of Independence. Doctors there report similar symptoms and outcomes as we have heard from other locations. After these messages, we will have reports for the Portland Metro region and give you the latest updates on the Brushfire Plague.”
He tuned out the commercials, except to find one so morbid it was impossible to ignore, an ad running for a cruise line vacation to the Mexican Riviera. His thoughts ran bitter, even in the midst of a national crisis, Madison Avenue is still trying to separate us from our wallets? I wonder what pharmaceutical company will buy the naming rights to ‘Brushfire Plague’?
“Thank you for turning to KGW for all of your information needs at this critical time. Despite our own staffing shortages due to the illness, we remain Portland’s Number One News Source. Now, I would like to welcome, Dr. Martin Long, Chief Public Health Officer with the Multnomah County Health Department. Welcome, Dr. Long.”
“Yes, thank you. I should correct you, though. I’m the Deputy Assistant Public Health Officer. Both the Chief and the Deputy Chief are currently unavailable.” Dr. Martin Long looked like a no nonsense type. He wore his hair close cropped. It was black with substantial streaks of gray. His thin lips were set into a firm face that looked like it had been carved from granite with a sharp chisel.
“Pardon me, Doctor. My notes had not been updated. My assistant is, ah, out of work.” You mean sick or dead, don’t you, Mr. Newscaster, Cooper opined darkly.
Dr. Long nodded sympathetically toward the newscaster, who continued, “But, let’s get right to it. Our viewers, I am sure, want the latest update on the Brushfire Plague. What do we know and what can people do to protect themselves?”
“Sure. The truth is that we do not know enough. The illness is moving with such speed that we have simply lacked ample time to conduct the rigorous tests and evaluations that we normally conduct…”
“Yes, yes, Doctor,” the newscaster interrupted, “We understand all that. Just tell us what we do know or at least give us your best guess.”
“Yes, sure thing. Here are the facts that we are aware of. So far, there have been just over twenty thousand deaths in the Portland Metr….”
“Twenty thousand?” the newscaster gasped. There goes journalistic calm. “Just last night the report was of only a few thousand!”
Dr. Long barely could hide his irritation at the newsman’s lack of composure. Dr. Long was on the air to put oil on the waters and calm things. “Yes, twenty thousand. While that is indeed a tragically high number, I want to remind your viewers that we have over two million people living in this region so, the numbers are less than one percent of the population.”
The newscaster slumped in his chair. “Yes, go on please Doctor.”
“We also know that there are at least tens of thousands, perhaps more than a few hundred thousand, additional people infected by this virus in the Portland area. The virus still appears to be spreading very quickly and the morbidity rate is alarming indeed.” Cooper read between the lines. They either don’t know or aren’t sharing the number of infected and the likelihood of death if you get it.
With each word, the anchorman’s face fell further. He must be sleep deprived like everyone else. Or, maybe he’s just feeling the weight of the entire city’s crisis since he has to report it all. “In sum, the situation is grim and likely getting worse. I get it. Why don’t we turn to what people can do to protect themselves,” he responded tersely.
“Of course. First, we are fortunate here in Oregon. We have one of the nation’s leading biotech companies, Admonitus, right here in Portland. CEO Ethan Mitchell has been working closely with our department in getting to the bottom of this plague and a possible cure. Second, we are recommending that people avoid contact with anyone who has the illness. We recommend that all public places be avoided. Who hasn’t been exposed by now? Such nonsensical advice. Normal masks are mostly useless against viruses anyway. “In fact, the Mayor has signed a Special City Ordinance outlawing all public gatherings. This is especially important to those who have, thus far, avoided exposure to anyone who is ill. The National Guard has already been mobilized, so food and water distribution will be done in a manner consistent with the order to avoid public gatherings. As always, good hygiene is our best defense against spreading the disease. So, please continue washing your hands with warm soapy water.”
Cooper clicked the TV off. He could guess the rest. The Government is already working on a vaccine. Stay calm. Take care of those who are ill, but protect yourself.
The spate of viruses over the last ten years had already told him everything he needed to know about this one. Except this one was worse. Much worse.
He returned upstairs to resume his vigil, growing restless and impatient at his own impotence.
He awoke with a start; surprised he’d fallen asleep. The sharp click of the front door’s old metal hardware sounded again as someone fumbled with the lock. The room was awash in the growing light of morning. Must be just after sunrise. The rush of adrenaline sent a surge throughout his body as he came to instant alertness. Better than coffee. He was up, across the room, and standing hard against the door frame, shotgun at the ready, and with a clear view of the landing downstairs. A few feet beyond his view, lay the front door. The door creaked open, allowing a wave of morning light to wash into his home and push the shadows further back.
“It’s me, Dranko. You guys up,” he called into the house, before entering.
Cooper relaxed, the gruff voice of his friend was unmistakable and remembering he’d given him a key. He replaced the shotgun against the wall, exhaled, and called down, his voice muted, “Yeah, up here. Jake’s still asleep.
Moments later, Dranko came into view, holding two cups of steaming coffee. The aroma now hit Cooper and already he could feel the rush of caffeine in his veins.