Before Infernal Friday, Shawn’s job never scared me. I mean, I never really worried about him when he went to work. Sure, I knew he worked around dangerous strains of bacteria and viruses at the CDC, but I also knew how seriously safety was taken there. Shawn was careful; he took precautions. They all did. We always joked that I probably got more exposure to germs in my job, being coughed and sneezed on by eight-year-olds, than he did studying them under microscopes.
So when I hugged him goodbye that day, I wasn’t afraid. Truth be told, I was a little pissed at him for leaving me. It was supposed to be our spring break, our last few, rejuvenating days off together. Why did he have to answer his phone when he knew it was his boss calling? And why couldn’t he have just told the guy that he wasn’t flying anywhere on his vacation time?
Do I really need to ask? No. I didn’t then either. I understood. My husband was a good guy. He was always up for helping people, doing favors, lending a hand. He didn’t know how to say no. I’m the same way. But I was still mad. I didn’t hug him as tightly as I could have. I didn’t say “I love you” back with as much feeling as I had in my heart. I didn’t say a prayer for God to watch over him while he was away. I guess I didn’t think to, until it was too late.
But I should have. I should have done all of those things.
I should have been afraid.
Friday, April 13, 2012
3:00 p.m.
The day showed no signs of strife. No “trouble in the air,” as the cliché goes. The sky over Atlanta was blue and sunny, and the trees outside Gretchen’s open window were green and still. She could hear birds chirping in them above the background drone of the TV. Spring was in full swing, with daily temperatures in the low seventies, her absolute favorite kind of weather. On a day like today, it seemed like nothing could go too wrong.
But it had.
It had started out well. Gretchen had awoken naked in bed next to Shawn, having fallen to sleep in his arms. They’d rolled apart in the night, but upon waking, she had snuggled closer to him again, chilled by the crisp, morning breeze drifting into their bedroom. They’d slept with the windows cracked last night, the crickets’ song accompanying their lovemaking. Pulling the blankets up tighter around her shoulders, Gretchen had sighed with contentment as she’d nestled in.
The week off from work had been just what she’d needed – she and Shawn, both. They had spent it together, relaxing, working in the yard, helping each other to heal. Of course, it wasn’t like healing from a paper cut or a burn from the stove – wear a band-aid for a few days, rip it off, and voila, good as new! The loss of the baby was a wound which would never fully heal, only scar and fade a little over time. But she and Shawn had made love for the first time since, and that had to be a sign that, as a couple, they were on the mend.
And then the phone had rung.
It had been Shawn’s cell phone, and Gretchen, who’d heard it first, had tried to ignore it. But Shawn, who was a light sleeper, had jerked awake and reached clumsily out to the nightstand on his side of the bed to grab it.
“Who is it?” Gretchen had asked, as he’d held the phone up in front of his nearsighted eyes, squinting blearily at it.
Shawn had groaned. “It’s my boss.”
“Don’t answer it…”
“I’ve got to.”
She’d sighed as he’d flipped the phone open and lowered it to the pillow next to his ear.
“Dr. Elliott speaking.”
Gretchen had rolled away from him, tucking the covers under her chin. She’d listened quietly to his side of the conversation, and when it had ended, she’d spoken with her back to him. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“I’ve got to.”
There it was again: that compulsion to answer the call – this time, the call of duty. The army had drilled it into him, and as they say, once a soldier, always a soldier.
She’d turned back over to face him then. “Where? And why?”
Shawn had sat up in bed, dragging a hand through his disheveled brown hair, and looked at her apologetically. “You know I can’t say too much. I don’t know much, anyway. But I guess they discovered some new kind of virus up in Maryland. People have been coming down with it in droves; the DC/Baltimore area hospitals are already filled to over capacity, just since this morning. They say it strikes fast and spreads even faster. So far, it’s got the medical community stumped, but they’re working on it at USAMRIID, and they want my help.”
And so he had gone to Frederick, Maryland, to the Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases at Fort Detrick, where he’d worked up until just last year.
Guess they must still miss him there, Gretchen thought with a wry smile.
The childlike, selfish side of her had wanted to protest, to whine and plead, if she had to, to keep her husband at home. She had been looking forward to three more days with him before they both went back to work, and in her still-fragile state of mind, the disappointment of a vacation cut short had seemed almost unbearable.
But of course, it wasn’t. She could deal with it, and was dealing, as a matter of fact. She’d taken advantage of the quiet time alone at home to catch up on some reading, play her piano, watch one of the romantic tearjerker movies she loved – things she didn’t often do when Shawn was around. Around mid-afternoon, the guilt of such laziness had caught up to her, and she’d pulled out her school tote of papers she had neglected to grade. Now she sat in front of the TV, which she’d flipped to CNN for the background noise, with her purple pen in hand, a stack of spelling tests on a clipboard in her lap. When she finished with these, she would think about what to fix herself for dinner that night. Maybe she’d go to the grocery store. And after dinner, she could take a walk, then soak in a long, hot, bubble bath.
The evening took shape in her mind as a schedule of events, one right after the other, just like her daily lesson plans. The basic goal was the same: keep her students engaged; keep herself busy.
She’d been effectively tuning out the TV, her attention focused on trying to decipher Chance’s handwriting, when she caught the word “virus.” Her head snapped up, her pen slipping from her hand, as she paused to watch the news report.
“Welcome back to the CNN Newsroom. This is Rick Sanchez, reporting from CNN World Headquarters in Atlanta, and joining me from Baltimore, live via satellite, is Dr. Gabor D. Kelen, chair of the Department of Emergency Medicine at John Hopkins Hospital, and director of the John Hopkins Office of Critical Event Preparedness and Response. Dr. Kelen, thanks for taking the time to talk to us today; I know your staff is swamped with this bug. What can you tell us about the situation?”
On the right side of the split screen, a balding man with gray hair and beard pressed his lips together grimly. It wasn’t a smile. “Rick, in just the last nine hours, all of the hospitals in the John Hopkins Health System have filled to capacity with patients showing symptoms of this virus, which, I regret to say, is still, as of now, unidentified.”
Gretchen frowned, remembering what Shawn had said this morning, after getting off the phone. “People have been coming down with it in droves; the DC/Baltimore area hospitals are already filled to over capacity, just since this morning. They say it strikes fast and spreads even faster. So far, it’s got the medical community stumped.”
She studied the doctor on the TV. He looked sallow and tired. His skin was pale, though there were spots of color high in his cheeks. His eyes were sunken and red-rimmed. There were odd splotches, almost like hives, on his forehead. He looked like a man who had aged a lifetime in a matter of hours.
“What exactly do you mean by that, Dr. Kelen?” the news anchor probed. “Is this illness just difficult to diagnose, or are we looking at a brand new virus?”
“I can’t say at this time. I can assure you, though, that the finest doctors Hopkins has to offer are on the case, working around the clock to treat these people. We’re staying in close contact with USAMRIID over in Frederick, where they’re studying samples of the virus, trying to classify it.”
Gretchen thought of Shawn, bent over a microscope in a Hazmat suit. At the Special Pathogens branch of the CDC, he worked in a Biosafety Level 4 laboratory, studying the Marburg and Lassa viruses, developing potential vaccines.
“What should the public know about the virus at this time? Are there specific symptoms to watch out for? How does it spread?”
Dr. Kelen drew a hand down his haggard face, looking beat down by the barrage of questions. “Unfortunately, it appears to be airborne, meaning it’s transmitted the same way as the flu, through coughing, sneezing, body fluids, or contaminated surfaces. The early symptoms also resemble those of the flu: aches and pains, fever, chills, nausea and vomiting.”
“What advice can you give viewers who are showing these symptoms?”
“Until we know more, it might be best to simply stay put and try home remedies. As I said, hospitals in the affected area are already over capacity, and unfortunately, all doctors can do at this point is relieve symptoms, not treat the virus itself. And as always, it’s important to cover your mouth and nose when you cough or sneeze, and wash your hands often, to avoid spreading the illness further.”
It was the same thing she constantly told her third-graders, realized Gretchen with a thin smile. She could hear herself calling out, “Cover your cough!” whenever one of them started hacking all over his desk.
On her television screen, Rick Sanchez was nodding in agreement. “Of course, of course. Great advice to keep in mind. Thanks again, Dr. Kelen, for your time. We wish you the best in keeping this bug contained.” The satellite feed disappeared, as the anchor’s face filled the screen once more. “If you’re just joining us, this is Rick Sanchez in the CNN Newsroom, and we just finished talking to Dr. Kelen at John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, where they are investigating a virus that has spread across the Northeastern region of the country. We go now to our New York studios, where Erica Hill is standing by with Dr. Michael Yin, Associate Program Director for the Division of Infectious Diseases at Columbia University Medical Center, for an update on the situation in the New York area. Erica?”
Gretchen jumped as her phone began to ring, drowning out the new reporter’s introduction. Letting out her breath in a shaky rattle, she reached for it and smiled in relief when she saw the name flashing on her caller ID. She quickly flipped open the phone.
“Hey!” she answered, a little shrilly.
“Hi, Gretch,” Shawn’s voice replied, blessedly familiar.
“How’s it going up there?” she asked. “I’ve got the news on… they’re reporting on that virus. Sounds pretty serious…”
“It is.” His voice was grim. “Everyone’s sick. The hospitals are overflowing. There haven’t been any deaths reported yet, but some people are close to it. It’s bad, Gretch.”
His words jarred her. Everyone’s sick. “You’re… you’re okay, aren’t you?”
“I’m fine. I’ve been in a mask and gloves ever since I got here. I’m being careful. But even the base has been hit with it. People are collapsing in convulsions… foaming at the mouth… It’s horrific.”
Gretchen took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to steady herself as she pictured what Shawn was describing. “What is it?” she asked uneasily.
“We don’t know. The virus is like nothing I’ve ever seen. And it replicates even faster than Lassa virus. We don’t even know what it is, let alone how to stop it from spreading. It’s moving too fast to contain it.”
“Oh my God,” she murmured. Her skin prickled with goosebumps as the first shiver of fear jolted through her.
“Listen… I’m not calling to scare you, but I want to warn you.” He lowered his voice. “What I’m about to tell you is a matter of national security. It’s classified information. You can’t repeat it to anyone, understood?”
“Of course,” she agreed faintly. She had lived on military bases; thanks to Shawn’s career, she knew about classified information.
“The army thinks this is an act of bioterrorism. Around o-six-hundred, there was a small fleet of unauthorized jets spotted flying around the DC area. They made a couple of passes through restricted airspace, then disappeared before the FAA could ground them. Video surveillance revealed a couple of things, though. First, they were private aircrafts, possibly foreign. Second, they were equipped with spraying nozzles.” Shawn spoke slowly, deliberately. “It’s... possible… that they sprayed aerosol containing the virus over Washington, D.C.”
Gretchen gasped. “God…”
“The virus has spread in roughly a circular pattern, with DC as its central hub. Virginia and Maryland have been crippled with it. It’s spread to New York, Pittsburgh, Raleigh… And if we can’t contain it soon, it’ll keep spreading. It’ll reach Atlanta. You understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yes…” Gretchen breathed, the phone shaking in her trembling hand. “Wh… what should I do?”
“For now, I want you to stay put, alright? Shut up the house completely, and stay inside it. Don’t go out; don’t answer the door to anyone. I’d tell you to go to the airport right now and buy a plane ticket to Europe, but if this is terrorism, I don’t want you on a plane either. I think the best thing to do for now is to stay indoors and ride it out. It spreads like the flu, so as long as you isolate yourself from any infected people, you should be alright.”
“What about our families? Our friends?”
“Call them if you want. Tell them to stay inside. But Gretch… you can’t tell them anything else, alright? The army would have my head if word of this got out before they choose what details to make public. So not a word about terrorism, got it?”
“Okay,” she agreed. “When do you think you’ll be able to come home?”
“As soon as possible,” he vowed. “I can’t leave now… we’re hoping for a breakthrough here. But if we don’t find it, and things get worse, I’ll come for you. I promise. Until you hear otherwise, just stay where you are.”
“I will.” A lump rose in her throat. She swallowed it with difficulty. “Shawn, be careful, okay?”
She could hear the crooked smile in his voice when he replied, “Always am.” It tore at her heart. She wished she had held onto him a little longer when she’d hugged him goodbye that morning. Had she even told him she loved him?
She would now. “I love you,” she whispered, hoping it was enough to convey her emotion through the phone.
“I gotta go, sweetheart. I love you too.”
And then he was gone, the connection cut off. Gretchen closed her phone and set it down. She stared down at it for a few seconds, feeling numb and slow as she tried to process everything her husband had told her. She stood, absently, and the spelling tests slid off her lap and scattered across the living room floor in a flutter of looseleaf. She didn’t bother to pick them up.
She walked to the closest window and pulled it down, latching it tightly. After that, she went around the house, repeating the process, securing every window in every room. She locked the front door and the back one, too. She closed the air vents in the walls and baseboards. She did this all quite calmly, and then she returned to the couch and hunkered down there.
It wasn’t chilly in the house, but she started to tremble. She pulled the throw off the back of the couch and wrapped it around her. It smelled like Shawn, from when his head had rested against it as he’d watched the Braves game the night before. Her nostrils flared, taking in the comforting scent, and it was then that the tears started.
