Plague

CHAPTER 21

Jimmy Loanoai crouched over his toilet as the thick, black fluid spewed from his mouth and nose. It suffocated him and he began to cough as another fountain burst out of him. He had once been hospitalized for food poisoning from a Circle K convenience store hot dog that he had bought at two in morning, but it was nothing like this. The odd thing was it felt painless. The liquid that came out of him appeared like grape Crystal Light with coffee grounds in it and it tugged at his belly as if his organs were being ripped out, but he didn’t feel the pain.

He rose and washed out his mouth and wiped it with a towel. He was nude and he walked into his bedroom and changed into his Honolulu PD uniform, strapping his utility belt and holster to himself. He sat on the bed a long time, his face in his hands, as sweat poured down his face and soaked the collar of his uniform.

He took a few deep breaths and stood up, making his way out of the apartment and to the police cruiser waiting for him outside.

One thing he was grateful for was that the PD had sent a car to pick him up. The kid that drove was a rookie he had met a few times when they went out drinking after shifts but they’d never really talked. Jimmy had gotten the impression he was a fag and didn’t really try to be friendly. But now, he had never been happier to see anyone in his life. Jimmy climbed into the car and nodded to him as the car pulled away from the curb.

“You okay, Serg? You’re not looking too good.”

“Fine,” Jimmy said, mopping up sweat from his forehead with a wad of paper towels. “Even if I wasn’t, I gotta go. I can’t not be at my own birthday party.”

“Well you’re gonna be glad you came. I heard Captain Brogan got some strippers.”

Jimmy shook his head as he felt a wave of nausea roll through him. “That’s the last thing I need.”

When they got to the house, they had to park almost a block away, as police cruisers took up most of the free spaces. The party was being held at the captain’s house. Since the captain’s wife was independently rich-from an inheritance, Jimmy had heard-they owned one of the largest homes on the island and the party was going to be held out back by the pool.

Jimmy climbed out of the car and felt his legs get weak. His head spun and before he could swallow, vomit shot out of his mouth like something had exploded in his stomach. It spewed over the police cruiser and ran down in long, black lines to the pavement below.

“I don’t think you’re doin’ fine, Serg. Lemme take you home. I’ll explain to everyone that you’re too sick.”

“Let me just get in there and make an appearance. Then I’ll leave. Wait for me here.”

Jimmy walked up the block and wished he’d told the rookie to just drop him off in front of the house. He got all the way up the driveway before he had to stop for a second and catch his breath. He wondered if he should go to an Instacare and get some antibiotics or whatever it was that he needed to get rid of this damn thing.

Jimmy opened the door without knocking and saw several women in the living room having glasses of white wine. One of the women cheered, walked over, and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. She was the captain’s wife, and though she always remembered Jimmy’s name, he’d be damned if he could ever remember hers.

She led him poolside and someone shoved a beer in his hand. The pool was filled with men and women, a few of them playing chicken in the shallows. A beach ball flew past his head and he didn’t have the energy to duck.

Everyone cheered and yelled happy birthday and someone else shoved another beer in his hand. There was a lounge chair right next to him and he sat down and leaned back.

“You have to try the jungle juice Timothy made,” the captain’s wife said.

Jimmy sighed and stood up, the blood rushing from his head. He followed her to the table that had all the food laid out and there was a large crystal bowl that contained ice, fruit, and a light red fluid. He stood over the bowl and she took a cup and dipped it into the jungle juice for him. She placed it in his hand and he smiled weakly and took a sip. It stung his throat and he felt nauseated but he managed to catch himself before vomiting.

He began coughing and he tried to cover his mouth but the first couple of coughs escaped him and he hoped nothing had gotten into the jungle juice. He would hate to give everyone else a stomach flu.

“I’m not feeling good,” Jimmy said. “I been throwing up all day.”

“Oh no! You poor dear, what’s wrong?”

“Just the flu. I gotta go home, though. Tell Tim hi for me and that I’m sorry.”

“I will. You go home and get better now.”

As she watched him go, she took a fresh cup and dipped it into the jungle juice before taking a large gulp.

Amy Greaton stood at the head of her sixth grade classroom and glanced over her students as they finished their exams. She opened a drawer on her desk and took out two ibuprofen, washing them down with orange juice. She glanced down to her chest; the rash was still there. It was red and she saw small bumps beginning to rise in her skin.

Her mother had died of breast cancer and she was worried about anything that affected her chest or breasts. She figured this was some sort of allergic reaction, though. The fact that she had also been vomiting this morning and felt alternating sensations of hot and cold indicated she had probably ingested whatever it was she was allergic to.

She and several other teachers had gone to lunch the previous day and she ran through the entire meal in her mind. She remembered that someone had ordered spinach dip and she had had two bites with tortilla chips.

Then again, she had briefly seen officials from the Department of Health on the news, discussing a new outbreak of some viral infection. She wasn’t sure exactly what it had been since she had changed the channel. It seemed like every day some disease affected a sliver of the population and the media blew it out of proportion. Swine flu, avian flu, Korean whopping cough…each time the media called it a pandemic, and each time almost nothing would come of it.

“Mrs. Greaton.”

She turned to see a young girl with a long black ponytail and pink sandals standing beside her.

“What is it, Annie?”

“Jacob puked all over the desk.”

She looked over to see a young boy who had begun to cry near the back of the room. She rose and walked over to him to make sure he was all right, but stopped when she noticed the color of the vomit: it was black, with what looked like bits of meat or coffee grounds mixed in. She hurried to her desk and grabbed her cell phone, dialing the number to the school nurse.

Dale Baer sat latched to a telephone pole thirty-five feet in the air. He was splicing a wire that had been damaged during last night’s rainstorm and he leaned back, letting his lower legs take the brunt of his weight, and pulled out a bottle of water. He mixed in two Alka-Seltzers and drank down a few sips. He had been feeling hot today and a migraine pounded in his head like a drum. But no one else could provide for his family. His wife stayed home and they had six children under the age of ten. Sugar Cane Electric, the company he worked for, which had received a private contract from the utility company for the repair of damaged power lines, allowed only a few days of paid sick time and he had used them already when he had broken a rib playing football with his brothers.

Dale looked down to the street and watched the passing cars. He had a difficult time focusing on the ground and it suddenly dawned on him that he was experiencing something he had never experienced in nineteen years of work: vertigo. For the first time in his life, heights were unmanageable.

He began his slow descent back to the sidewalk, and as he did so, he acutely felt the fatigue that had been nagging him the past few days. It made his limbs feel heavy, like he was moving through water, and his thoughts were muddled and clouded. He would have to go home; he wasn’t about to risk a fall. He would just have to figure out a way to work a double some time down the line to make up for it. He got to the ground and unhooked himself from the safety belt.

A few people on the sidewalk were waiting for a bus. Dale smiled at a woman that was listening to an iPod and noticed that she had dropped what looked like a credit card on the ground.

“Excuse me,” he said, “I think you dropped this.”

He bent down to retrieve it and felt pressure in his head, like it was too heavy to keep up anymore and his neck had lost strength. It was so sudden that it flung him forward onto his stomach on the pavement. He heard someone yell for help.

How odd, he thought. He’d clearly just lost his balance. As he lifted his face from the pavement, he felt the warm slick of blood and saw that it was spewing out of his mouth and nose and pooling in a large puddle around him.

The paramedics did not arrive until eleven minutes later. By that time, Dale Baer had bled to death.