Cooper smiled, “Nah, we just did our business in the stockroom a few times. She doesn’t have to ask anymore, you know that.”
“I see. Well, I’ll have to punish you for that when you get home, baby,” she cooed. Damn, my wife has the sexiest voice around.
He turned his voice down an octave, “You do that. I dare you.”
At that, she laughed. Then, she began coughing.
Later that night, she called again. Sicker. And Cooper had raced for home.
Minutes after he had fled the motel, the night bore down oppressively upon Cooper as he sped down the lonely highway. Scant moonlight pierced the heavy cloud cover. Save for the two-halogen headlights, Cooper felt like the dark would have swallowed him up—two tons of steel, glass, and plastic—without a hiccup or a moment’s warning. He kept the window cracked and welcomed the sharp sting of the cold night air whipping past his left cheek. He smelled wet juniper from the scattered trees littering the eastern Oregon semi-arid flatlands. His hands gripped the steering wheel with anxious tension. His eyes glared down the distant road as if they could grab the road like grappling hooks and pull the car faster down the asphalt.
His mind raced through a jumble of thoughts and emotions. Despite the frequent denials, he could not shake the apprehension that Elena had this flu that seemed to be erupting across the nation. When he had first jumped into the car, he had quickly turned the radio on, seeking distraction from his troubled mind. That had been a colossal mistake.
First, like a sledgehammer blow to the stomach, the announcer was recounting in detail a flurry of flu-like hospitalizations throughout Oregon, including his hometown of Portland. Thankfully, no deaths had been reported yet in Oregon, but the death count in Seattle had surpassed a hundred. Already, this flu was moving faster than any Cooper had ever heard of.
Next, he called Dranko, a good friend who lived a few doors down.
After just one ring, an alert voice answered, “Yeah?”
“Dranko, it’s me, Cooper. You up?” he asked in surprise.
“Of course, brother. Haven’t you heard the news? I’ve been on the Net and the Ham for the past eighteen hours. You wouldn’t believe the stuff I’m seeing and hearing. Worse than the news. Didjya here they are calling it the Brushfire Plague?”
“The Brushfire Plague? No, I hadn’t heard that yet. So, it’s moving fast?”
“Fast would be an understatement. This thing is moving quicker than anything anyone has ever seen. Faster and deadlier. I told you something was coming and I think this is it.” Cooper heard the excitement in his voice. For years, Dranko had lived on the outskirts of the ‘tinfoil hat’ crowd, always alert for the next conspiracy to bring down civilization—or sometimes just America. The heady tone grated on him.
“Damnit Dranko, let’s hold the ‘I told you so’ celebrations for next week. Elena’s sick, I need you to go check on her. I’m stuck two-three hours out at least, coming back from north of Redmond.”
There was a short pause and a deep sigh on the other line, “I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard. A few other neighbors got it yesterday, but Elena seemed fine when I saw her. I’m on my way. I’ll check in and call you back in a few.”
“If she doesn’t come to the door, there’s a key in a fake rock just to the left of our stairs. As he finished, the nagging voice of responsibility pulled at him, “Wait!” he shouted.
“What?” Dranko responded.
“I can’t ask you to check on her. You might expose yourself to this thing that is going around.”
Dranko chuckled, “No worries, brother. First, you’re a good friend, so it’s a risk I’d take. Second, I’ll take precautions. And, third, I saw Elena already today. If she has it, then I’ve already been exposed to this bugger.”
Relieved, Cooper exhaled, “OK, thank you. I had to call it out.”
“Yeah, brother. That’s why you’re a good man, Charlie Brown.”
“Thanks. Let me know what you find out.”
“Got it, I’ll call you in ten.”
Cooper inhaled and blew out a long, low whistle. He felt better now that someone was in motion to help Elena. He felt helpless being over two hours away. Dranko was a good man. Dranko was stocky, worried brown eyes and shoulder-length hair the color of walnut. Despite his semi-paranoid leanings, he was one of the most solid, reliable men that Cooper had ever met. He also knew that the report he would get from him about Elena would be straight. He wouldn’t sugarcoat nor exaggerate the situation. It wasn’t in his DNA.
The reprieve was short-lived.
Within ten minutes, and three different AM stations, he had heard a litany of cities that sounded like a heavy metal band’s summer concert tour list where reports of the new, strange, flu-like illness were popping up: Boston, New York City, Providence, Atlanta, Miami, New Orleans, Cleveland, Detroit, Chicago, Wichita, Kansas City, Houston, St. Louis, Dallas, Denver, San Diego, San Francisco, Omaha, and on and on. The list included scores of cities, both large and small. The only major city that hadn’t appeared on the list was Washington, DC. Then, as if he needed another blow, there were some reports coming in of the flu hitting foreign cities throughout Europe and Asia as well. So far, Africa and Australia were untouched.
Almost to the second, ten minutes after he had hung up with Dranko, his cell phone was ringing.
“How is she,” he asked.
“She’s got it. No question. Fever is 104. Lungs are filling up pretty good. She’s very weak. Lisa just came over to take a look. Jake is OK though. He’s been around her all day, so I don’t see any reason to separate them.” Lisa Moore was another friend who lived in the neighborhood, just across the street. She was a registered nurse, and a good one at that.
A stifled, “No!” was all Cooper could manage. His grip tightened further on the steering wheel.
“Brother, how fast are you going right now?”
Cooper glanced down at the red-illuminated gauge. “Ninety.”
“Get it to a hundred.”
The white markers that lined the side of the highway stood as silent sentinels, whipping past at a hundred miles per hour, telling anyone who would listen not to drift off into the barren landscape that lay beyond. Cooper kept the car’s engine pressed hard, alternating between one-twenty and eighty, depending on the curves in the road and the slickness of the wet asphalt. He drove expertly, a man possessed with a single-minded purpose. His mind raced, but he did not panic. He felt like he did the few times he had been in combat in Iraq when his unit had come under fire or had been hit with an improvised explosive. His heart raced, breath deep and rapid, eyes alert and darting from the front and then to the side, and every muscle stood taut and at the ready.
An hour later, he was at the foot of Mt. Hood. In the dim moonlight, he could see the majestic mountain towering above him. The snow-capped mountain glowed in the eerie moonshine. Cooper loved this mountain. He admired its strong, yet elegant, beauty. He couldn’t look at it without recalling the winter trips to the snow where he and Elena—and now Jake—would trek across her meadows and wind along her trails. He would always smile to think of their summer journeys; backpacking or simply day hiking. When he gazed her visage from the streets of Portland, he could almost smell the sharp tang of the pine in summer or taste the clean fallen snow in winter. To him, Mt. Hood personified all that was good about the Pacific Northwest.
Tonight, he cursed her like a no good flea-bitten bitch.
Tonight, the winding roads of the mountain were a hated adversary, forcing him to slow down to navigate her curves. Tonight, she was delaying him from being with his deeper love, Elena, in her desperate time of need.
Letting off the accelerator, he let loose with a fierce invective, “Damn you and your godforsaken crooked roads!” The few times his right foot touched the brake pedal, he screamed hell’s wrath into the night air. He knew his oaths made no difference and would do nothing to straighten the roads, nor give the tires better grip. But he knew no other way to combat the weary helplessness that threatened to engulf him if he didn’t keep it at bay with righteous anger.