Plague

CHAPTER 20

Robert Greyjoy landed in Honolulu and stepped onto the tarmac a new man. He felt alive and refreshed, as if he’d slept for a week and just woken up to a sunny world that welcomed him with open arms. It was, in his mind, weakness. He was too sensitive to allow weather to affect him like this. He toned down his joyful response and headed into the airport.

The airport was just a simple airfield about twenty miles from Honolulu International. Whenever possible, Robert flew small, independent charters. It wasn’t a bad practice; usually it was just him and the pilot. But occasionally he would be seated on a plane with six other people that wanted to talk and he would have to feign interest and tell boring stories. He did everything he could to fit in, to seem so average he would not be remembered should anyone else ask later on.

There was a single cab outside on the curb and he walked to it and put his luggage in the trunk before getting into the backseat. He put on his seatbelt and instructed the driver to take him to Queen’s Medical Center.

“Eh,” the driver said, “haven’t you seen the news? Nobody’s allowed in right now.”

“I’ll be fine. Please go now.”

The cabbie pulled away from the curb and quickly made his way to the interstate by running a red light and speeding. When they had climbed the onramp and were cruising at a steady speed, the cabbie turned on a CD and began humming to the music. Robert took out his phone and began reading facts about the island: geography, history, anthropology, political climate, the economy, the most popular television shows and books, and a little about the language.

He was surprised to learn that there was a powerful anti-American movement in the state. Many were not happy with their island achieving unification with the mainland and would have preferred to stay independent. Robert had no doubt if that were so, China would begin making plans to add Hawaii as a colony. It was a little green gem in the sea, too tempting to pass up for larger nations.

The cab stopped at Queen’s Medical and he tipped the driver well; after their initial exchange, he had not spoken again. Something Robert preferred. He went around to the back of the hospital and saw two military police officers guarding the only entrance that was not barricaded with tape and plywood signs.

“Hello,” he said, pulling out an ID. He had three in his pocket and he took it out based on feel and glanced down quickly to make sure it was the right one. He flashed it and saw the MPs exchange looks.

“You’re the first agent from the FBI that’s come here, Mr. Donner.”

“Please,” Robert said, “call me Billy.”

“You can go inside and to the left, Billy. They’re making everyone suit up. You’ll find changing stations on either side of the hallway.”

“Thank you.”

He entered the hospital and looked down both ends of the corridor. They were empty. He closed his eyes and listened. He could hear someone speaking down the hall to the left. He followed the sound, taking his steps softly so as not to drown it out, and the speaking grew louder as he approached a conference room.

Several men in suits and uniforms sat at a conference table, both military and local police. They all glanced up when they saw him.

He smiled shyly and sat down at the end of the long table. No one said anything at first and the man that had been speaking continued when an older man in a suit stopped him and said, “Excuse me, who are you exactly?”

“Billy Donner. I’m the assistant special agent in charge of this operation for the FBI. I spoke to a Ralph Wilson on the phone.”

“Oh, right,” the old man said, “yeah, that was me. I’m Dr. Wilson. Thank you for getting out here so quickly, Agent Donner.” He looked to the man next to him. “Agent Donner is our liaison with the Feds. Sorry about the interruption, please continue.”

As the man resumed speaking, Robert leaned back in his chair. There certainly was an Agent William Donner somewhere, but he wouldn’t be making it to Hawaii.

“So in conclusion,” the man finally said, “I think the governor’s gonna have to declare a state of emergency. We’re approaching such a large population of infected that we’re risking exposure on the mainland.”

Wilson said, “Have there been any reported cases on the other islands?”

The man, who Robert had identified as Dr. Duncan Adams from a nametag on his chest, shook his head. “No, thank heaven. It’s completely localized to Oahu for now, with a central point in Honolulu. The initial patients tended to be in their mid to late thirties, healthy and active with above median incomes. That’s changing rapidly and we’re seeing older and younger people, which means the virus is spreading through the population at an exponentially accelerated rate. It’s like compound interest: each infected patient increases the number of patients each patient infects, if that makes sense,” Duncan said, looking at the men in uniform.

One of the military men asked, “What’s the tipping point? I heard another doctor here discussing that.”

“That’s the Twilight Zone. That’s what we call it as USAMRIID. It’s the point when an outbreak becomes a pandemic. It’s nothing major; a minor shift is enough to change a simple scare into a disease that kills millions. To give you an example, the flu virus has a one to one ratio, meaning that for each person infected, that person, on average, infects one other person. Should that number go from 1 to 1.3, it would be enough to cause the flu to reach a tipping point and grow exponentially and we’d have a pandemic like the 1918 that killed over a million people.”

“Is this disease approaching a tipping point or receding?” someone else asked.

“Hard to tell,” Wilson said before Duncan could answer. “Our data is somewhat scattershot right now but we’ve been compiling it since we got here and we should have some relatively accurate numbers within the next few days or so. Then we’ll know which way this disease is going.”

Robert said, “Do we know the cause?”

Duncan answered quickly, “Yes, we believe so. We think the index patient was a travel guide in South America that lived here in Honolulu. We think he picked it up in the jungles of Peru.”

“How?”

“That we don’t know. It could be an interspecies jump or the virus simply could’ve existed in some hideaway we hadn’t discovered yet, like a cave or something.”

Robert noticed a young woman walk in. She was beautiful, in an exotic way, and she wore a T-shirt that showed off her muscled arms.

“This is Dr. Samantha Bower from the CDC,” Wilson said. “She’s been following up on our index patient.”

Samantha smiled to the group. “Nice to meet you all.”

“What have you found out, dear?”

Samantha cleared her throat. It appeared to Robert that it was involuntary and he realized she had been embarrassed by the use of the word dear.

“We located another patient in Iquitos, Peru. It’s a small town on the outskirts of the Amazon jungle. We think this patient was one of two people who may have infected our index. The most interesting news we received from hospital personnel there was that the patient is recovering. It’s a young woman, named Holly Fenstermac, who was on an expedition. Apparently another member of the same expedition had also fallen ill, Michael Pettrioli. However, he passed some time ago. Holly is a unique case; we don’t have any patients here that are showing any signs of a recovery. The CDC is mounting an expedition following our index’s route as well as spending time with Holly, running an analysis of the progression of the virus in her body.

“In the meantime, we’ve received ample shipments of the smallpox vaccine and are ready to begin distributing it to the population.”

“Hold on a sec,” a man that was tucked away in the corner, taking notes on a laptop, said. “You’re telling me we’re asking the population to trust us giving them smallpox vaccinations? Isn’t it true that a certain percentage of the population actually develops smallpox from the vaccination and becomes a host to the virus, infecting others?”

“That’s an extremely small risk consider-”

“During the first round of vaccinations fifty years ago, Dr. Bower, were the patients told that some of them would be developing smallpox from the vaccinations? I mean, did anyone actually tell them they might die?”

Duncan leaned over to Wilson and said, “Who is this guy?” loud enough that everybody could hear.

Wilson replied, “Ben Cornell. He works for the Center for Anti-Vaccination Studies.”

“You’re kidding me?” Duncan said, glancing back at him. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“I’m representing the people,” Ben said, “that may wanna voice some concerns before the government begins filling them with viruses.”

Wilson glanced back to him and then forward again. “He is here at the request of the governor’s office.” He cleared his throat, indicating that was the end of the issue. “Now, when the governor declares a state of emergency, all transportation to and from the island will be halted. We’ll be resupplied by cargo plane but because of quarantine procedure, it will be a long and slow process. Some resources are going to be scarce.” He turned to what appeared like a captain or chief of police. “Chief, that’s where we’re going to need a serious police presence. We’ve had instances like this spiral out of control before anybody even knew what was going on.”

“We pulled the greens out of training at the academy,” the chief replied, “and we’ll be putting them on the streets. I don’t think we’ll need them but having more police present will have the desired effect. I think we’ll be fine.”

Wilson nodded. “Grocery stores will run out of food once the governor makes his announcement. We’ll need to set up charity organizations and government kitchens to make sure everyone is getting enough to eat. During a state of emergency no one will be allowed public transportation so we’ll need to make sure we set up those kitchens as close as possible to population centers.”

A man in military uniform said, “The National Guard can help set that up but we’ll need men to run ‘em. I’ve got a skeleton crew here. Most a my boys is in Iraq and Afghanistan and we’ll have to put in a request for private troops if we want more help.”

Robert got a vision in his mind of Hurricane Katrina. He remembered seeing the soldiers in plain clothes with Ray-Ban sunglasses and automatic weapons. Mercenaries that made triple what US Army soldiers made and were better equipped.

“That’s fine,” Wilson said, “we can work out budgetary concerns with FEMA once they get here.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” someone said. There was muted laughter in the room. Robert knew what he meant: during Katrina people were drowning in the streets waiting for help that never arrived.

Wilson didn’t laugh. “Let’s keep our humor to ourselves. I don’t know how much the families of the people that are dying upstairs would appreciate us down here cracking jokes.” He glanced around the table. “Any questions?…okay, let’s make sure all agencies are on the same page. The general has asked that we hold bi-weekly meetings at the Ritz-Carlton downtown and I’ve agreed. Anyone have any problem with that?…didn’t think so. Well, ladies and gents, that’s all for now. Please remember your protocols. And we are holding a seminar on proper barrier procedures in the auditorium at McKinley High School tonight at seven so please be there if at all possible.”

Everyone rose and started filing out. Robert stood and waited until Wilson was done speaking to someone in a doctor’s white coat and then approached him.

“You seem to have everything under control,” Robert said. “Don’t think I’m necessary out here.”

“I’m afraid if this goes where we think it will, we’ll need every man we’ve got.”

“And where do you think it will go, Dr. Wilson?”

“Hell, Agent Donner. This place will go to hell.”