Not a one of them reacted to the outburst.
Dr. Littlefield said, “Please, Mr. Almasi, I’m asking you not to take Rashid out of here. But do understand, I will forbid it. This is not a decision for the family to make. It is a medical decision.”
“You forbid it?” Najid laughed. “You are mistaken, Doctor.”
The Italian doctor spoke up, “No, you are mistaken.” He pointed at Rashid. “That boy will not leave this place until he has recovered. Do you understand?”
Najid didn’t say anything after that, instead staring inscrutably from under his protective gear.
The Italian doctor wasn’t intimidated. He put his hands on his hips and made it clear that he had no intention of considering any position other than his own.
After a few tense moments, Najid abruptly turned, and without a word walked toward the door. As he passed Rashid’s bed, he said something in Arabic to the doctor. The doctor responded with a few Arabic words. Except for the doctor at Rashid’s side, all of the other men in bright yellow filed out after Najid.
Austin looked at Dr. Littlefield, the Italian doctor, and Nurse Mary-Margaret. They seemed as surprised as Austin.
A moment later, Rashid’s doctor came to a stopping point, stood up, and followed the others out the door.
Chapter 22
It wasn’t that Paul Cooper was pro-gun or anti-gun. He simply didn’t have one. He didn’t have any interest in hunting. He didn’t worry that his house would be burglarized or that he’d get mugged and have to shoot the mugger. He never imagined himself taking up arms against the government or threatening to shoot the neighbor’s dog. And though he often fantasized about shooting holes in the cars of particularly obnoxious drivers, those thoughts never evolved past the fantasy phase. There was no scenario in Paul’s imagination that required him to have a gun in his hands.
However, when the fifth case of Ebola on American soil was reported on the news, he worried. And he worried enough to find himself sitting in his truck before work, parked in a little strip mall parking lot, ambiguously positioned for access to the little barbecue joint or the gun store next door—a gun store he knew about only because it was next door to the barbeque joint—the only gun store he could find without Googling.
Five cases of Ebola in New York in two days.
The first had prompted that trip to Costco. Now he was sitting in front of a gun shop wondering if he was crazy for thinking prepper thoughts. Did Colorado have a mandatory waiting period on handguns? Would he pass a background check? Did that even pass in the last election? What about assault rifles? An AR-15 would be cool. At least that’s what he’d been thinking in the back of his mind ever since he’d held his buddy John’s AR-15. What about a shotgun? He remembered hearing that shotgun purchases didn’t require a waiting period. But the truth was, there wasn’t a thing he knew about guns that he didn’t pick up from watching TV. That meant he probably knew just enough to hurt himself with a gun.
And that brought his thoughts back around to the top of the circle. Did he need a gun? Was he overreacting to the news?
He’d had similar thoughts when he was stocking up with prepper food at Costco. And though it embarrassed him when Heidi told the neighbor, he felt better knowing he had it. Why? Because if an Ebola epidemic spread across the country, everything would go to shit. Of that, he was sure.
With people bleeding out in the street from Ebola, who would go to work at the grocery store—or anywhere for that matter? When contact with a coworker or a customer could lead to a horrific death, going to work would be the last thing on anyone’s mind. Not even the police or the National Guard would be on duty. They’d all be home, either afraid of the virus, or choosing to put the protection of their families above the protection of strangers. Not an unreasonable position to take.
That implied supply systems would break down. Law and order would crumble. Power systems might stop delivery, and water might stop flowing. The most modern country in the world would take a hard backward turn to the Dark Ages, leaving three hundred million people a few days or a few weeks away from their first ever experience with real hunger.
That’s when things would turn ugly.
Paul was a parent. And whenever he asked himself that one question—what wouldn’t he do for the welfare of his children—the answer was always the same. There was pretty much nothing he wouldn’t do for his children’s sake.
It stood to reason that other parents felt the same.
That led to the next step in the logical chain. A parent who had to look at his starving children would go to the grocery store and get the last of what was available, despite the infection risk and the risk that bad people would be out doing bad things. But it wouldn’t be long before even those grocery store shelves emptied out. Where would a man with hungry children turn after that?
The neighbors’ houses. That was the simple answer.
He’d look at his neighbors, but he’d be afraid to go into the houses where the residents had died of Ebola. Instead, he’d open his gun safe and decide that his odds were better going to the house of the guy who’d put the Obama sticker on the back of his car while living in one of the reddest counties in the country.
Because in Paul’s mind, people who voted Republican were more likely to own a gun than people who voted Democrat. He guessed he wasn’t the only person in the country who thought that way. So that bumper sticker—long since removed—was a target for those neighbors of his who remembered he’d put it there. It said, Come take my food. I don’t have a gun.
Of course, Paul knew he could be wrong. He was letting his fears run around in escalating circles, but he still thought rationally enough to know that. As he sat in his truck, looking at the gun shop, smelling barbecue, and working himself into a panic, he couldn’t get past the fear that Ebola was coming. And when the food ran out, his neighbors that were still alive were coming, too. They’d have their guns, and thanks to Heidi, they’d know he had a hoard of food in his basement.
Paul needed a gun.
Chapter 23
Standing on the porch, evaluating his options, Najid waved his men away. “Dr. Kassis, stay up here with me.”
The other six men spread out by the Land Rovers and took to keeping lookout over what they could see of the village in the dark.
Najid turned to Dr. Kassis. “Do you think they are lying?”
“Who is to say? I was never good at reading other men’s hearts.”
“Always loathe to commit.” Najid’s derisiveness came through. He had respect for the doctor, for his skill and his loyalty, but deep down the man was never brave enough to speak his mind. “What they were saying about the virus being airborne. Does that make sense?”
The doctor looked back at the door they’d just come through. A ward full of dying townsfolk lay beyond. “I have no reason to believe they lied about the rapidity and seeming universal spread of the disease. If I accept that—” he looked back at the small collection of houses and businesses that made up Kapchorwa, and took a deep breath, “—I would have come to the same conclusion.”
“Would you be right?”
“Maybe,” the doctor replied.