On the opposite side of the expansive marshy field, they picked up another trail heading south, lined on both sides by tamarisk and white poplar trees. Jeanne explained that it was a more direct route to the sea, which she’d forgotten about.
As they walked southward, Brian went back to his musings. So far, the fallout from Heather Williams’s and Charles Kelley’s deaths had exceeded expectations. The following day it was front-page news, with wild speculations regarding the perpetrators. Some journalists, particularly those on Fox News, indulged in creative conspiracy theories involving homegrown far-left terrorists, citing the victims’ wealth and standing in the financial world. On the second day the killings had moved to a back section, but on the third day, thanks to the manifesto Brian and Jeanne had sent to the New York Times about the two executives and the role that private equity and the profit motive were playing in healthcare, along with the complete list of the residents of Inwood that the Manhattan Memorial Hospital was suing for extravagant bills, the story moved back to the front page. Healthcare, its costs and payment arrangements, plus the fact that US legislators had been asleep at the wheel while the system got out of hand, were becoming a progressively bigger story, to which the killings of Charles Kelley and Heather Williams were adding a real immediacy.
Although the media response so far was better than he’d hoped, there was one issue that confounded Brian: how long it was taking for him to become more than a person of interest. His only explanation was that the detectives of the NYPD weren’t approaching the case with their usual gusto, perhaps because of his many friends, particularly in the ESU. What he did know was that his sudden disappearance combined with his enormous debt to MMH had raised appropriate suspicions and that he’d been tracked to Frankfurt and Interpol was supposedly looking for him. But that was it. According to the papers, his parents and siblings had all been interviewed, but Brian had made sure that they knew absolutely nothing. He imagined they must have felt confused and devastated by his sudden disappearance, but he knew it was for the best.
And now Brian was actually looking forward to being exposed. He wanted the story of Emma’s and Juliette’s avoidable deaths to be revealed, as it would put a shockingly human touch to the generalizations put forth in the manifesto. His current pleasant interlude in Camargue was just a precursor of what was to come when he’d be formally charged, and his extradition requested. Only then would the whole US healthcare mess become an international story of shame about capitalism run amuck with real victims.
“Well, what do you think?” Jeanne asked when they finally arrived at the seacoast. They had pulled to a stop at the edge of a vast, totally empty, sandy beach that stretched out in both directions. Huge cumulus clouds were arranged along the horizon with the late-afternoon sun tinting them gold, and a mild onshore breeze caressed their faces.
“It’s gorgeous,” Brian observed. Despite there being only small dunes at the beach’s edge, the scene and time of day reminded him of the fateful afternoon two months earlier on Cape Cod. With some effort he pushed the recollection out of his mind, as he didn’t want to think of the disastrous consequences set in motion on that August day. “Where are all the people?” he asked, to stay in the present.
Jeanne laughed instead of answering, and with a toss of her head, she gave free rein to her horse, which was eager to gallop in the wash of the waves. Brian attempted to follow by rising up in his stirrups, leaning forward, and using his legs as she had explained to him earlier. To his surprise and glee, the horse obeyed on this occasion. A moment later he was racing behind Jeanne, holding on for dear life while scrunching his eyes against the salt spray that her horse was kicking up.
The sense of freedom was exhilarating and for a few minutes he reveled in the ability to think of absolutely nothing. Unfortunately, it came to an abrupt end when Jeanne pulled back on her reins and Brian followed suit. For a few minutes they walked the horses, allowing the animals to catch their breaths.
“Let’s stop here,” she said, pointing to a copse of gnarled tamarisk trees at the back of the beach. They dismounted and let the horses forage for what they could find in the beachgrass and wild alfalfa behind the narrow dunes.
Surprising Brian, Jeanne pulled a blanket out of her backpack along with some local cheese, bread, and a split of white wine. “Surprise,” she exclaimed with an impish smile. “A little treat for us.”
He spread the blanket while Jeanne opened the wine. A moment later they were sitting down, savoring the seascape and the wine. But their cheer and good spirits didn’t last. Within minutes Brian realized they weren’t alone. Over the sound of the breaking waves and despite the onshore breeze, he heard the characteristic whine of mosquitoes, and a second later several landed on his bare arms intent on a blood meal. With a sense of panic he recognized the characteristic markings: black bodies with white polka dots and white ringlets on their legs. There was no doubt in his mind — they were the dreaded Asian tiger mosquitoes.
“Oh, my God!” Brian shouted. He leaped to his feet while feverishly fanning away the cloud of insects now circling his head. “We’re being attacked.”
Taken aback, Jeanne said: “It’s just mosquitoes. Camargue is known for them.”
“These aren’t ‘just’ mosquitoes,” Brian cried. “They’re Asian tiger mosquitoes. We have to get the hell out of here!”
Sensing his desperation and urgency, she rapidly gathered the food, the wine, and the glasses. Brian snatched up the blanket. They then ran back through the dunes to fetch the horses.
A short time later as they were cantering back along the water’s edge to the spot where they’d arrived at the beach, Jeanne called over to Brian, who was riding abreast: “It just occurred to me why you are so upset. The day we met you told me about Asian tiger mosquitoes and your barbecue.”
He nodded before yelling back: “The bastards carry the virus that killed Emma and Juliette as well as a bunch of other deadly diseases. I didn’t know they were in France, too.”
“I didn’t know, either,” Jeanne said with worry. “But we don’t have eastern equine encephalitis here. At least I’ve never heard of it.”
“You can’t be sure in this day and age,” Brian countered. “Just two months ago, I didn’t know we had EEE in the United States. And now with climate change and the way the world is interconnected, it could be anywhere, just like the Asian tiger mosquitoes. As the Covid-19 pandemic has shown, we’re in an existential war with viruses, and I’m afraid we’re at a distinct disadvantage.”
“What are you talking about?” she questioned. “What kind of disadvantage?”
“Viruses have been around adapting and evolving for more than a billion years before we humans ever appeared on the scene. Biologically speaking, that is one hell of a head start, so only God knows who is going to prevail.”
“You’re scaring me,” Jeanne said, casting a troubled look in Brian’s direction.
“We all should be scared. A competitive viral challenge is one we humans have to face.”
Acknowledgments
Viral could not have been written without the support and help of several family members and friends willing to read early drafts and offer helpful comments and suggestions. Thank you! However, there are two people I want to specifically acknowledge, as they were instrumental in acquainting me with the highly selective New York City Police Department’s ESU, or Emergency Service Unit, and with the impressive amount of training required to become a member. Although these two individuals bear no responsibility for any descriptive mistakes I may have made in the novel, their input was critical, particularly by allowing me to visit and observe the ESU Academy in action. In alphabetical order...