Sealed In Part 16

The journal.

Edward was nearly done. He wanted to finish reading it before the backup teams arrived. He had just gotten off of the phone with the CDC.

"Even though it may have died here," Edward told them, "a health bulletin, especially in this area, needs to be issued. ER doctors and PCPs are going to dismiss it as the everyday flu. Contact victims were exhibiting flu-like symptoms twenty-four hours after exposure. It took another day for full-blown effects to start to hit, unlike our ground zero victims where the virus raged through them at an astronomical rate."

"We'll issue the bulletin," the director said. "But it's the 23rd. That town was dead by the 20th or 21st. If there were contact victims, if they broke the barrier, they had full-blown symptoms in twenty-four hours. Come on, Edward. A contact victim outside of Hartworth would be dead by now. Surely, we would have heard of a case of a person's skin turning black, throwing up blood."

"That's initial contact victims. We don't know how long the virus takes when a contact victim pa.s.ses it along. Plus, I'm basing this info on the town. Even the contact victims could have had ground zero exposure. We don't know. We can't tell who is who yet. Right now we need to be diligent. This is so scary that we need to scare people about it."

"We are working on that. We need to understand it before we inform the general public."

"How can we understand something that was considered a 'paper project' only?" Edward asked.

"There was a similar outbreak in Pakistan in 2002. Small town. Very similar. It didn't break boundaries because it killed its host too fast."

"Let's hope that is the case," Edward said. He ended the call without a single optimistic feeling in his body. That was when he got the call to suit up and head to the fire hall.

He tromped through the fresh snow to the fire hall. The door was open.

Martha was in there alone; Harold had joined Goldman on a venture. They had managed to cover the bodies and record them.

"What's up, Martha?" Edward asked.

"Two things," Martha said with a wave of her hand. "One, that body of Vivian Morris. She didn't die here."

Edward c.o.c.ked back. "We got her from here."

"She didn't die here. We removed her and the others from here because they were nearest to the door. I think they were brought in. Someone made an attempt to tag everyone, sick and dead."

"Ok, so, what made you come up with this determination?"

"Because the more I examined the bodies further in, the more I noticed the difference. The ones by the door looked like Vivian Morris. These ..." She uncovered a body. "Look slightly different."

Edward tossed up his hands. He looked at the body of the young man; most of his body was black, his mouth agape and head turned to the left, a pool of regurgitation next to him. "What's different?"

"Look at the lips. The fingertips on his left hand. The hand that isn't black."

Edward examined the hand and the lips. "They're blue. Cold?"

"Nope. Carbon monoxide levels are through the roof. Unlike Vivian, most of these people died of carbon monoxide poisoning."

"What the h.e.l.l?"

"Mercy killing, nearest I can figure. How do you mercifully put two hundred people out of their misery? Just like this. Somebody started the cleanup of the town, hence why all the houses around the hall were empty. And all the bodies near the door were just laid there. Vivian's name isn't on the fire hall list. She came in after. Brought here for discovery. Whoever did it, I think, just gave up, it was too much, too many. I really think the cleanup was after these people were put out of their misery."

"How did you discover all this?"

"I was cross-checking the names on the town census against the fire hall registration list. I thought it was odd that Vivian wasn't on there. Then I noticed Bill Smith's lips. For the h.e.l.l of it, I did a reading. Ventilation was shut down, Kerosene heaters were used along with the building's own heating system that was rigged. I can only guess that was the source, but that's not my forte. Let me show you something else. Follow me."

What else could there be, Edward wondered. Apparently his team was right in a.s.suming the fire hall was a gold mine of information. It made sense. They opened it up as an aid station. There was no way to help them, they were suffering, so someone killed them. Was it the same someone who decided to organize the dead, make sure Edward's job of identifying bodies would be a little easier?

Martha led Edward to the kitchen of the fire hall and to a storage closet. "Bingo supplies. And I got a bingo." She opened the door.

"Jesus," Edward blurted out when she saw the body of a man sitting in a chair, his lips and hands blue. A white substance rolled from his mouth. The most foretelling was the white piece of paper pinned to his chest, a suicide note that simply read, 'Forgive me, Hartworth.' "No outward signs of the virus. Our carbon bomber?" Edward asked.

"I doubt it, unless he wore oxygen until he was ready to die. Whoever killed the people in the fire hall also carried bodies in. I saw no signs of oxygen. He could have been the one. We don't know. But we do know who he is." She moved the note slightly to expose a name tag. "Larry Meadows, town sheriff."

"Explains how they easily shut down the town." Just as Edward closed his eyes to take it all in, Harold burst into the room.

"Whoa, who's that?" Harold asked.

"Town sheriff," Martha answered.

"Oh, yeah?" Harold said. "Come with me. I just found the town doctor."

Chapter Ten.

Lincoln, Montana

December 18th

Andy had barely slept. In fact, he estimated it was just before dawn when he fell asleep in the chair next to Emma's bed. It was a long day and night. He hadn't left her side, nor even gone into town.

He couldn't leave her, not in the state Emma was in. Typically, she was optimistic, bubbly, but the day before Emma was devastated. So much to the point, she couldn't even care for Cody. Couldn't look at her granddaughter without bursting into tears.

Richie was just as bad.

The video call from Heather started a chain reaction of heartbreak. When Stew and Del left, Emma paced. She heard nothing from either of them for the longest time. Then Stew called. It was the beginning of the end of Emma's world.

Emma placed the call on speaker so Andy could interpret for Richie. He stammered as much in signing as he did in talking over the conversation.

"I'm with her," Stew told Emma. "Sweetheart, it's not good."

"Can't you get her to a hospital in Billings?"

"She can't be moved, Emma, and she can't be helped."

Emma sobbed; her shoulders dropped. "Can you bring her home?"

"I can't do that. This thing ... is bad, Emma. Chances are, I'm gonna be sick, too. Something was released here, something horrendous. The State Police know the town is shut down, and I really think today, maybe tomorrow, health officials will be swarming. Until then I can't leave. I can't take that chance with you or Richie or the baby or anyone outside this town. Understand?"

"How many people are sick?"

"Hundreds, and they're expecting the whole town to get it. This thing ripped through. Do not ... do not leave the house. Do not attempt to come here. I know you."

"I need to see my daughter. I need to tell her I love her. I need to hold her."

"You can't," Stew replied. "When she wakes, she'll call."

"I need to hold her. She needs her mother."

"Yes, yes she does. But she also needs her mother healthy for her own child. Think about this, Emma," Stew spoke strongly. "Reverse it. If this was you, if you were sick, would you want me near you, or would you want me to take care of your child?"

Emma swiped her hand hard across her cheek. "There's gotta be a way for me to get close without catching this."

"Maybe once health officials get here, but not now."

"What if they don't come?" Emma asked.

"Then we'll figure out something. Emma ..." Stew paused. "Please, as much as this is breaking my heart, our girl isn't making it. I have never seen anyone so sick in my life."

"Is she in pain, Dad?"

"No. Not right now. I'm gonna go. I'll call you back."

Emma looked at Richie who tapped her arm and asked a question. She relayed it to Stew. "Daddy, have you spoken to Del? We can't get through to him."

"He was fine when I left. Probably at the RV now."

Emma accepted that, conveyed her love, and ended the call. Then Emma collapsed into a fit of crying, holding on to Cody, a child who was just so confused about what was going on.

She hyperventilated as she breathed and intermittently burst out with a scream of sorrow.

"I can't do this, Andy. I can't," Emma cried. "I'm losing my daughter. I can't live through this. I can't do this."

"You ... have to." Andy told her. "I know it's h ... hard. You have to. You ... you will." That was all Andy could tell her. What else can you say to a woman whose child is dying?

Richie wasn't as sad at first. He was angry. "How can you just sit there?" he asked Emma. "How can you not want to go after her? This is my sister."

"And she is my daughter," Emma said. "I want to be there. But you tell me who will be there for Cody if we all get sick? Who?"

"So when did the baby become more important than your own child?"

"This is my daughter's child, and the baby is the most important thing in the world to her. Don't do this to me, Richie. Don't. Please don't," Emma begged.

It went back and forth, Richie's anger treading over Emma's guilt.

Andy tried to intervene and explain to Richie that his mother was going through as difficult a time as he, that Emma didn't need to feel additional guilt. It escalated all night; each phone call from Stew or conversation with Heather caused another. Each futile attempt to reach Del caused anguish and frustration. All Andy could do was be there for her.

Finally, the fighting ceased. It went from arguing to sharing sadness just before everyone grew tired. There was no resolution to anything, and Andy knew that caused more frustration. Heather was dying, and Emma couldn't see or hold her daughter. Richie couldn't see his sister or speak to his father.

Things hung on a cliff.

Andy said his goodnight to Richie and promised him the next morning they'd work on a plan, a plan to solve things. He watched the boy try one more time to text his father, but there was no response. Then Andy held Cody while Emma curled up beside him. When both Cody and Emma were sound asleep, Andy slipped from bed, cleaned the house, and went on the internet.

He posted on a social media site and sent an email to a news station asking if they were aware of a quarantine in the town of Hartworth.

Andy hoped for the best from his attempts but didn't expect much. After that, he read a while and fell asleep in the recliner next to Emma's bed.

He woke up before Emma and Cody; they were both sound asleep. Figuring it best not to wake them, Andy went to the kitchen and made coffee. The house was quiet and calm, and wanting to keep his promise to Richie, Andy went to his bedroom.

It would be the perfect time to talk to him.

Outside of Richie's bedroom was a light switch, the equivalent to a knock. Andy flipped the switch a few times then opened the door.

Richie's bed was not only made, it was empty. Immediately Andy panicked. Where was Richie? Before he woke Emma, Andy sought his phone. He would text Richie; try to get in touch with him.

Maybe he went to his grandfather's ranch or even into town.

Before Andy could even send a message to Richie, he saw that he had one from the teenager. Andy's fears were confirmed when he read the simple message: "Went to find Dad. We will get Heather.'

It wasn't even eight in the morning, but Larry was downing his second shot of bourbon. Maybe because he hadn't been to bed he felt it was okay to replace his coffee with something a bit stronger and more calming.

He was exhausted; the day before was a day from h.e.l.l. He could tell by the quiet of the street and lack of movement that this day would be better ... he hoped.

He had just returned from the posts in town, replacing ill men with men not quite so sick. However, he knew Beck Harper wasn't far from turning.

Turning.

That's what Larry started calling it. Why Doc didn't put that in his little journal, Larry didn't know. He stole a peek of it when it was on the desk at the fire hall.

Those where were exposed initially took a one-step-at-a-time, one-symptom-at-a-time route to the black sickness. However, those who caught it from the initial victims woke up feeling bad or started feeling it and jumped from an everyday common cold to near death, no gradually feeling worse. It was a flip of the switch. He learned that when his one guard started sneezing at two in the morning and by seven had to be removed. He was vomiting, unable to move, and his skin was turning black.

Larry shot him. In fact, Larry shot many people in the early morning hours, his way of saving them from what he witnessed at the fire hall.

The later victims, or contact victims, as Doc called them, probably got a mutated form. Viruses mutate to survive. Those contact victims were catching up to the exposed ones.

If Doc was keeping a journal for whoever found the town, he needed to make a note about the mutation.

At least, Larry thought that he should.