of barbecue-flavored anything. The conversation then shifted to Billy’s daily adventures at kindergarten, and the story was forgotten.
It reentered their lives the next day when Andi heard two of her coworkers talking about it in the kitchenette. The infection was now in Mahwah, a small town set between Ramsey and the New York border. Someone was found unconscious in a supermarket stockroom, covered with running pustules. It was one of the night-shift employees, a kid recently graduated from high school and working for minimum wage until he figured out what he wanted to do with his life. Andi felt a chill blow through her when one of the people in the conversation said with a laugh, “At least he won’t have to worry about his future anymore.” She knew the guy who said it, privately thought of him as a jerk. So did everyone else in the company. Big surprise.
She mentioned this latest development to Dennis during their lunchtime call. The phone on her desk rang everyday at noon without fail. He would be sitting in their Toyota Camry in the parking lot eating a brown-bag lunch, his cell phone unfolded on the dashboard with the speaker on. He was listening to a Yankees game and hadn’t heard about it. He turned the sound down and asked her to repeat the information. She could tell by his tone that the idea of the infection spreading into another town was beginning to concern him, and it sure as hell concerned her. Although neither of them came out and said it, this was one of those instances where you assumed someone was working on the problem, and surely it would be solved eventually. Andi couldn’t help but think of the infection as some kind of living, breathing entity moving greedily from town to town. This idea struck her the previous night during dinner, too—the infection was a creature, and its plan was to spread itself far and wide with the objective of killing as many people as possible.
“When it lands here, that’s when we move out,” Dennis said with a nervous laugh. After eight years of marriage, she knew him well enough—this was a worry that would fester. It had seeped into whatever level held the highest priorities in his thinking. He would try to be casual about it, try not to burden her with his anxiety or let the kids get a sense of it. This was one of the qualities she loved about him—his determination to maintain as pleasant a life for his family as possible. But it definitely would fester.
Andi had an acquaintance in Mahwah, a woman she had worked with at her previous job. She planned to give her a call to see what was going on; maybe some of the details would be helpful. But then she got caught up in other things and forgot. Between work, getting the kids to school, helping them with their homework at night, and getting them bathed and ready for bed, it simply drifted off her radar screen.
The nightmare crystallized into reality when two cases showed up in town. Their town. On the other side, yes, but still … This was where they’d bought a home, where their kids went to school and played in the local parks. They knew people, had made friends, and had always felt safe. Things like this didn’t happen here.
The victims were Al and Helen Griffin, an elderly couple living in the condo complex next to the supermarket where the Jensens sometimes did their food shopping. They’d been there the week before, in fact, because Andi liked the produce. They drove right past those condos, too—and now they were on television. Not images from halfway around the world, of starving children in Haiti or military skirmishes in Palestine. It was surreal to watch a news report that was being broadcast a few streets away. A crowd had gathered around the attractive female reporter on the scene for NJN. Dennis and Andi recognized a few people, one of whom was an old man who usually hung around the Salvation Army thrift store. He was kind of a roving vagrant who made everyone uneasy.
According to the
It reentered their lives the next day when Andi heard two of her coworkers talking about it in the kitchenette. The infection was now in Mahwah, a small town set between Ramsey and the New York border. Someone was found unconscious in a supermarket stockroom, covered with running pustules. It was one of the night-shift employees, a kid recently graduated from high school and working for minimum wage until he figured out what he wanted to do with his life. Andi felt a chill blow through her when one of the people in the conversation said with a laugh, “At least he won’t have to worry about his future anymore.” She knew the guy who said it, privately thought of him as a jerk. So did everyone else in the company. Big surprise.
She mentioned this latest development to Dennis during their lunchtime call. The phone on her desk rang everyday at noon without fail. He would be sitting in their Toyota Camry in the parking lot eating a brown-bag lunch, his cell phone unfolded on the dashboard with the speaker on. He was listening to a Yankees game and hadn’t heard about it. He turned the sound down and asked her to repeat the information. She could tell by his tone that the idea of the infection spreading into another town was beginning to concern him, and it sure as hell concerned her. Although neither of them came out and said it, this was one of those instances where you assumed someone was working on the problem, and surely it would be solved eventually. Andi couldn’t help but think of the infection as some kind of living, breathing entity moving greedily from town to town. This idea struck her the previous night during dinner, too—the infection was a creature, and its plan was to spread itself far and wide with the objective of killing as many people as possible.
“When it lands here, that’s when we move out,” Dennis said with a nervous laugh. After eight years of marriage, she knew him well enough—this was a worry that would fester. It had seeped into whatever level held the highest priorities in his thinking. He would try to be casual about it, try not to burden her with his anxiety or let the kids get a sense of it. This was one of the qualities she loved about him—his determination to maintain as pleasant a life for his family as possible. But it definitely would fester.
Andi had an acquaintance in Mahwah, a woman she had worked with at her previous job. She planned to give her a call to see what was going on; maybe some of the details would be helpful. But then she got caught up in other things and forgot. Between work, getting the kids to school, helping them with their homework at night, and getting them bathed and ready for bed, it simply drifted off her radar screen.
The nightmare crystallized into reality when two cases showed up in town. Their town. On the other side, yes, but still … This was where they’d bought a home, where their kids went to school and played in the local parks. They knew people, had made friends, and had always felt safe. Things like this didn’t happen here.
The victims were Al and Helen Griffin, an elderly couple living in the condo complex next to the supermarket where the Jensens sometimes did their food shopping. They’d been there the week before, in fact, because Andi liked the produce. They drove right past those condos, too—and now they were on television. Not images from halfway around the world, of starving children in Haiti or military skirmishes in Palestine. It was surreal to watch a news report that was being broadcast a few streets away. A crowd had gathered around the attractive female reporter on the scene for NJN. Dennis and Andi recognized a few people, one of whom was an old man who usually hung around the Salvation Army thrift store. He was kind of a roving vagrant who made everyone uneasy.
According to the
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