Read Online The Flu 1/2 by Jacqueline Druga - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jacqueline Druga
Tags: apocalypse, Plague, postapocalyptic, permuted press, influenza, contagious, contagion, flu, infection, infected, vaccine
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before leaving. “Probably just...the flu.”
* * *
Deadhorse, Alaska
Eruptile. A new word and it rightfully earned its place and definition in Webster’s Dictionary when Liza Burke invented it. She didn’t mean to, but no other word could describe the action of the massive amount of vomit when it spewed forth from her mouth. It happened without hesitation the split second she flew out of the small hut. Involuntarily and violently, the regurgitation powered forth as soon as she ripped the protective hood from her face.
The loud splash caught Paul’s attention and he spun to see Liza slightly bent over her puddle, long strands of her stomach contents dangling from her mouth.
“Son of a bitch.” Paul snapped with a point at Liza. “Quarantine her!” He shook his head in deep disgust, not from the sight of the mess, but from Liza’s behavior. She was a trained professional. He marched to the hut to see what had caused her reaction.
Paul stepped inside. He wouldn’t give a repeat performance of Liza’s actions, but the sight made his stomach turn. Moving away, he took in a deep breath of the oxygen that fed into his suit. He expected to see virus victims, but what he saw in that hut was not what he expected.
The children of the village must have been gathered together, kept away from the adults for some obscure reason. Their dead caretaker was in there as well. But the unsecured hut was not only a final resting place for the young, it was an open dinner plate for the animals left to fend for and feed themselves.
The children were gnawed upon, their small bodies desecrated by the fangs of the hungry creatures who devoured them. Limbs, some showing bone, were scattered about the floor. Paul didn’t want to, but he had to look. He had to see the faces of the children. He had to check for signs of the flu. And though they displayed outward signs of their illness, it gave Paul a sense of relief that they had died prior to the ravishing their innocent bodies had suffered from the creatures of the wild.
Deadhorse lived up to the first half of its name. The small village, population thirty, was wiped out.
Did it stop here? Would it stop here? Paul could only pray. But he knew that his prayer was futile when he saw James Littleton pull up in a jeep. James, another research assistant from Winston, had been canvassing the area.
Using the inner suit radio, Paul spoke to James. “Anything?”
James, still wearing his bio suit, stepped out of the jeep. “Take a ride with me, Paul.”
“I’ve only got a half hour of oxygen left. Let me change my tank,” Paul stated as he walked to James.
“We got some where we’re going. Get in.”
Paul did.
Was it a mystery? A big surprise? Why was James being so secretive? Paul guessed James would start talking after he started the Jeep and they drove away from Deadhorse, but there wasn’t time. The jeep stopped a mile or so down the road.
“We followed that smoke signal. Welcome to Prudhoe Bay,” James said and threw the jeep into park. “Neighboring community.”
Paul stepped down from the jeep as well. He almost asked James about the town, but he didn’t need to. The eerie sight before him gave him the answer.
Small fires burned about the small village. Every single home seemed to smolder. The closer Paul walked, the more he knew. The answer to the question, ‘who burned the village,’ came in the form of a man. One old man, bundled in furs, sat holding a stick while perched on a rock. A small fire for warmth was ablaze before him. The old man didn’t look up to Paul or James. Nor did he speak or move. He just sat there, staring out. His aged face held pain and fear, but more so than that, it projected the desolation and horror of everything he had witnessed.
* * *
Lodi, Ohio
Experimental dishes for the benefit of Lars Rayburn’s visit went to waste at Jean’s Diner because no one really wanted to try the exotic-looking food, so Jean
* * *
Deadhorse, Alaska
Eruptile. A new word and it rightfully earned its place and definition in Webster’s Dictionary when Liza Burke invented it. She didn’t mean to, but no other word could describe the action of the massive amount of vomit when it spewed forth from her mouth. It happened without hesitation the split second she flew out of the small hut. Involuntarily and violently, the regurgitation powered forth as soon as she ripped the protective hood from her face.
The loud splash caught Paul’s attention and he spun to see Liza slightly bent over her puddle, long strands of her stomach contents dangling from her mouth.
“Son of a bitch.” Paul snapped with a point at Liza. “Quarantine her!” He shook his head in deep disgust, not from the sight of the mess, but from Liza’s behavior. She was a trained professional. He marched to the hut to see what had caused her reaction.
Paul stepped inside. He wouldn’t give a repeat performance of Liza’s actions, but the sight made his stomach turn. Moving away, he took in a deep breath of the oxygen that fed into his suit. He expected to see virus victims, but what he saw in that hut was not what he expected.
The children of the village must have been gathered together, kept away from the adults for some obscure reason. Their dead caretaker was in there as well. But the unsecured hut was not only a final resting place for the young, it was an open dinner plate for the animals left to fend for and feed themselves.
The children were gnawed upon, their small bodies desecrated by the fangs of the hungry creatures who devoured them. Limbs, some showing bone, were scattered about the floor. Paul didn’t want to, but he had to look. He had to see the faces of the children. He had to check for signs of the flu. And though they displayed outward signs of their illness, it gave Paul a sense of relief that they had died prior to the ravishing their innocent bodies had suffered from the creatures of the wild.
Deadhorse lived up to the first half of its name. The small village, population thirty, was wiped out.
Did it stop here? Would it stop here? Paul could only pray. But he knew that his prayer was futile when he saw James Littleton pull up in a jeep. James, another research assistant from Winston, had been canvassing the area.
Using the inner suit radio, Paul spoke to James. “Anything?”
James, still wearing his bio suit, stepped out of the jeep. “Take a ride with me, Paul.”
“I’ve only got a half hour of oxygen left. Let me change my tank,” Paul stated as he walked to James.
“We got some where we’re going. Get in.”
Paul did.
Was it a mystery? A big surprise? Why was James being so secretive? Paul guessed James would start talking after he started the Jeep and they drove away from Deadhorse, but there wasn’t time. The jeep stopped a mile or so down the road.
“We followed that smoke signal. Welcome to Prudhoe Bay,” James said and threw the jeep into park. “Neighboring community.”
Paul stepped down from the jeep as well. He almost asked James about the town, but he didn’t need to. The eerie sight before him gave him the answer.
Small fires burned about the small village. Every single home seemed to smolder. The closer Paul walked, the more he knew. The answer to the question, ‘who burned the village,’ came in the form of a man. One old man, bundled in furs, sat holding a stick while perched on a rock. A small fire for warmth was ablaze before him. The old man didn’t look up to Paul or James. Nor did he speak or move. He just sat there, staring out. His aged face held pain and fear, but more so than that, it projected the desolation and horror of everything he had witnessed.
* * *
Lodi, Ohio
Experimental dishes for the benefit of Lars Rayburn’s visit went to waste at Jean’s Diner because no one really wanted to try the exotic-looking food, so Jean
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