Sealed In (8 page)

“Dr. Paltrov,” she called out. “Dr. Paltrov.”

“In my office,” he replied.

Vivian stepped to his office door. “I’m leaving. I’ll see you in the morning. Everything is shut down.”

“Thank you.” He nodded as he sat behind his desk. He looked tired and worn; then again, he was pushing seventy and put in long hours. “Vivian, did my son call while I was with patients?”

“No, he didn’t.” she replied. “They probably, got there, checked in, then headed to the concert.”

“More than likely. Thank you.”

“Goodnight.” She started to leave and paused when she felt a draft come from the other hall. She peered down, saw the culprit then popped her head back into the doctor’s office. “The basement door is opened, it’s bringing a draft. Want me to close it?”

“The basement door is … is open?” He questioned.

Vivian nodded.

“No, I will get it. Thank you.”

“No problem, good night,” she said again, pulled the door closed, and walked out.

Val listened to the sounds of her leaving and stood up immediately. He didn’t recall leaving the basement open when he left for his rounds a few hours earlier. He was so busy when he returned he never thought about it, but Val had to check it out.

The light was off, but the door indeed was ajar.

Val began to close it and paused. He decided to go to the basement and check on things. He knew the second he reached the bottom of the staircase that his things had been touched.

The largest of the trunks had been moved and with a groan and a chest full of worry, Val raced to the trunk and opened it. He begged in his mind that everything was fine. But it wasn’t. It was apparent the side compartment, covered by the lining, had been opened.

One by one he took out the silver cases. One by one he opened them, pulled out each tube within and carefully examined each one. On the sixth case, second tube, he knew.

He just knew.

He uncapped it and pulled out the small wire.

The instant he saw it, his stomach dropped and every ounce of his being froze. Val dropped further to the floor and wept out a single heartbreaking sob of defeat as he stared at the broken glass spiral.

There was only one person who could have been down there touching the trunk.

One person with enough curiosity.

That person was his son, Roman. His only child, the only family member he had since his wife died.

God help him, Val thought, if it was Roman.

No. He closed his eyes tighter. God help everyone.

<><><><>

Heather wished she could rip her nose from her face and breathe a little easier. She couldn’t believe how fast her nose clogged. It wasn’t running, it was just stuffed.

She started getting a tickle in her throat right after they stopped for fast food, then her stomach knotted.

It was turning into the worst cold she’d ever had.

She felt horrible.

By the time she got to the hotel, she’d caught a chill she couldn’t shake. Roman was already complaining he was getting a cold, too.

“Swell,” she said to him. “Just swell. The first time we get away and we’re both sick.”

“But we aren’t missing the concert,” he told her. “Not this one.”

They both showered. Heather lay on the bed and rested while Roman cleaned up. The shower helped a little, but not as much as the bourbon they packed.

The both did a double shot before heading to the concert hall.

The venue was so packed they had to park three blocks away. It was cold, and Heather could barely walk by the time they made it to the venue property.

Things were worse there. So many people headed toward the doors that they were packed in like sardines. Pushed and shoved, pushed and shoved. Heather tried to tell Roman she was getting worse, but he looked as if he were in a fog as well.

Finally, after her head spun, a wave of nausea hit Heather, and she broke free of the pack of people just far enough away to vomit.

Her body shook and heaved, and people groaned out, shouted, and laughed.

Knees buckling, Heather dropped to the sidewalk. Roman hurried to her.

She looked up to him. “I think I have food poisoning.”

“Me, too, I’m really sick,” he said. “I think we should go back to the hotel.”

Heather nodded, tried to stand, and fell back down.

“Hey!” a man yelled. “Get your drunk ass girlfriend out of here!”

“She’s not drunk, she’s sick.” Roman grabbed hold of her arm. “She’s sick.”

Heather knew the walk to the truck would seem enormous. But she knew once she got there, it wouldn’t be long before she got to the hotel and went straight to bed.

That was all Heather could think about.

Sleep.

<><><><>

Val called Roman nine times. Not once did he answer.

He hadn’t left his office since he discovered the trunk had been opened. He physically was sweating it out, praying with everything he had that Roman was spared.

He knew what was released.

He even called Vivian.

“Do you remember, Vivian, if Roman was in the basement?”

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Yes, yes, I just want to make sure it was Roman and not someone else.”

“I promised him I wouldn’t tell you, but yeah, they were. They …” she paused to sneeze.

The sound of her sneeze went through Val like a bullet. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just coming down with a cold.”

After a small hesitation, he told her to take care and again he thanked her. No sooner did Val hang up, he sunk his face into his hands. Vivian was at the office all day, the basement door open, the draft blowing from below. Not just Vivian but all the patients who came into the office after three. The waiting room was packed.

“Oh God.” Val closed his eyes. He tried Roman once more. No answer. Then Val knew what he had to do.

<><><><>

While it wasn’t even nine PM, Sheriff Lawrence Meadows was getting ready for bed. After all, he had to be at work at five AM
. He had a night cap, packed his lunch for the next day, and was in the middle of turning off the lights when the steady knocking started at his door.

His immediate thought was that there was an emergency at the station, but if there was, surely someone would have called.

His Ty-Bow flannel was open around his tee shirt, and the man of fifty, in decent shape, walked to the door. “Doc.”

Val
took off his hat, and hurriedly stepped inside. “We have a problem, Larry.”

His insides shook. Without knowing specifics, without hearing what the problem was, the sheriff was pretty certain he knew what the doctor referred to. Almost as if he waited thirty-five years for the knock at the door.

He knew the day was coming, he just hoped it wasn’t in his lifetime.

Larry shut the door. “What … what is the problem?”

Val only turned and faced him. His expression said it all.

“Jesus,” Larry gasped out. “When?”

“It had to be while I was making rounds. Between one and three this afternoon.”

“Oh my God.” Larry swiped his hand down his face, walked to the fireplace mantel, and grabbed his bottle. He poured a drink.

“This day … we hoped would never come.”

“We knew it would.” Larry downed his drink and poured another. “Who?”

“Roman.”

Larry closed his eyes. “Maybe he won’t get sick. You said, I remember years ago, that in a few decades it would lose potency and be nothing
, and then we could get rid of it.”

“Enough time has not passed.”

“Did you inoculate him?” Larry asked.

Val shook his head. “I only had four doses. I gave my wife the last one. And the three other people …Your father, you and your nephew.”

A lump formed in Larry’s throat. He remembered that day, getting the shot. He was told it was a shot like tetanus. That was the day the trunks were moved into the storage compartment of his father’s barn, the only heated barn in the county. Val was younger then, new to America, and gave his father fifty thousand dollars to store the case. His father was a farmer but wasn’t stupid. He knew something wasn’t right about the cases. But the money saved the farm, and his father never said a word. Larry later learned that out of gratefulness, Val gave his father and Larry the inoculation. He also inoculated Larry’s nephew, his sister’s little boy, because he knew how much Larry’s father idolized and lived for the child. Just on the outside chance that anything happened with the case, Val wanted to be certain the family survived. At least some of them.

That was thirty-five years earlier. Since then, his father had passed, the nephew moved away, and the farm since sold.

When did Larry learn the contents of the trunk?

He was in his twenties, just started working for the State Police, and, while visiting his father’s farm, his curiosity, like Roman’s got the best of him.

He never really knew what was in the trunk. He bluffed Val. Bluffed and blackmailed him. By doing so, Val told him the contents. Larry, by knowing the contents, was just as guilty as Val.

Over the years a friendship formed, a bond by a secret they both vowed to protect.

Val had smuggled the germ when he worked as a scientist. He didn’t smuggle it for bad reasons, but to keep it out of bad hands. Val always told Larry, if they knew where it was, no one could misuse it. The world was safe as long as they protected it.

They never wanted to bury it, because they feared someone would find it.

It was a heat resistant virus; burning the liquid virus would only multiply the germ and send it into the air, making it even more of a weapon than it already was.

Instead, they watched the cases constantly. Had perfect storage for them. No extreme variations of temperatures that could cause the fragile glass that contained the virus to break.

The plan was simple; since they were both immune by the inoculation, they would protect the case. After Val’s death, Larry would take the responsibility.

Eventually the virus would die.

But Larry knew and never worried about the case or something happening to them before the germ died. A part of him always feared the accidental release.

And it happened.

“How is Roman now?” Larry asked.

Val shook his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him. He and Heather went to Billings for a concert.”

“A concert?” Larry shrieked. “Oh my God.”

Val held up his hand. “They are immediate ground zero. More than likely they were feeling it by the time they left. They were to check in the hotel. My guess, they never left the room.”

“The check in clerk …”

“He is still on duty there. I called to see if they checked in and he had said that he personally checked them and they were the last ones to check in.”

“Still, it’s a hotel.”

“Actually a motel. Not a big one nor busy, but that is not my concern. That can be handled.” Val said. “This town is my concern now. Roman and Heather are immediate ground zero, but there are other ground zero patients. Anyone who came into the clinic, wave one. Any building within a one mile radius of my clinic. This thing is fast, Larry. Initial exposed will feel flu-like symptoms tomorrow. Contact victims the next day. It’s Monday. By Wednesday not a person in this town will be well enough to walk down the street. Friday they’ll start dying if they’re not already dead.”

“Jesus Christ, we have to call the authorities. Call the health department, CDC, whatever …”

“No. We can’t do that and you know it.”

“What?” Larry laughed in ridicule. “Why the hell not?”

“The people in this town may not know it, but they’re already dead. Every man, woman and child. You and I will be the only ones standing. Then we’ll stand trial. We will be the men that go down in history as the ones who released the world’s deadliest biological weapon. Accident or not.”

Larry poured another drink, downed it, and brought his hands to his head. “My God, this isn’t happening. If we don’t call them, we can’t help the people.”

“We can’t help them anyhow.”

“What do we do?”

“The only thing we can. This town is far enough removed. Very few outsiders come in. This thing is only going to take a few days. We do the only thing we can. Sit down right now, devise a story, and devise a plan. We have a chance at stopping this thing here and now. Stopping it from spreading. But we have to act fast,” Val said. “We have no choice. We have to shut down. We have to seal the town.”

Andy wasn’t gone all that long from Emma’s, maybe a half an hour, but it was long enough for Del to get to the house after he saw Andy in town.

His car was parked in the driveway, angled as always to stop a car from pulling in next to him. Where did he think he was, at a mall?

Since Del was on his extended visit, he was always at the house. Andy didn’t let it bother him too much, he just hung around Emma who avoided Del. Del was there for Richie or Heather. Seldom Cody. It was as if he refused to recognize Cody as a grandchild.

After parking his truck, Andy walked around to the back and lifted the bushel basket from the rear. He carried it with him up the driveway to the house and stepped inside.

Andy could have predicted what he’d see.

Del and Richie in the living room, the standard pizza box, empty soda cans tossed about as they played video games. They used a white board to communicate. After three weeks, Andy thought for sure Del would have learned to sign some.

He tapped Richie on the head to let him know he was there. “I’m back; I’ll be in the kitchen.” Andy signed. “Hand me a slice?”

“Sure thing,” Richie replied and grabbed a piece of pizza for Andy.

Del paused in playing. “Hey, nice basket of tomatoes.”

Richie signed, “I thought you were dropping them off at Bonnie’s diner.”

“I was,” Andy signed. “But she was gone early tonight. They must not have been busy. You having fun?”

“Yeah, actually, I kinda like him more now.”

Andy laughed.

“Ok, enough,” Del said. “I know you guys are talking about me.”

“N … not every … every th… thing is about you-you.”

“Re….re…really.”

Andy sighed.

From the kitchen Emma yelled, “I heard that, Andy. You have my permission to deck him. It is my house.”

Andy ignored her typical statement and looked at Del. “We .. we were t … talking about you.” Andy stumbled over the ‘R’, then skipped it and said, “He … he … likes being with … with you.”

Del smiled, grabbed a pen and wrote down what Andy said. He showed it to Richie.

Richie nodded.

“Cool.” Del grinned. “Let’s hang out more. You can go continue to be errand boy for Emma, Andy, she’s in the kitchen.”

Thinking ‘he’s such an asshole’ but not saying it, Andy went into the kitchen. He set the bushel on the floor. “B … B … closed.”

“Really?” Emma asked. “That’s odd. She must have been dead in the diner tonight.” After a shrug, she thanked Andy and kissed him. “I appreciate you going down there. We’ll just take it tomorrow. Right now, prepping these tomatoes for canning is a bitch.”

“I … t … told you. N-not to start tonight.”

“I know. But now I won’t be happy until we finish.” She peered over Cody’s shoulder. “Oh, honey, good job.”

Cody held a plastic knife, pretending to peel the tomato, but she smashed it more than anything.

Andy grabbed a paper towel. As he wiped the child’s hands, the back door opened.

Stew walked in.

“Dad?” Emma said surprised. “What the heck are you doing here at this hour?”

“I just finished my poker game and I remembered what I had to tell you this morning.”

“Really?” Emma asked. “What’s that?”

“The other …” Stew paused. “Why does the baby have a knife?”

“It’s plastic and play. She’s fine. We’re canning.”

“At nine thirty at night?” Stew asked.

“I started and can’t stop
until I get a good grip on things. What do you have to tell me?”

“I was saying …” Stew paused. “Holy shit.” He walked to the bushel of tomatoes. “Where in the hell did all this come from? They’re ripe.” He grabbed one and sniffed. “Perfect. Where are you getting homegrown tomatoes in December?”

“Um ... the hole.” Emma said.

Andy explained further. “She … g … g … grew them.”

“Hydroponics,” Emma boasted. “And you said I wasted my education.”

“
I still think that,” Stew said. “But good job on the tomatoes.”

“Yeah, well, we have a ton. I over-planted.” Emma shrugged then changed the tone of her voice to a higher pitch as she focused her words to Cody. “So we’re canning. We’ll be eating tons of tomatoes in the apocalypse.” She cleared her throat. “My estimate
, I can eat a jar a day for over a year.”

“Swell,” Stew said. “I’m sure the tomatoes in the apocalypse will come in handy. You still have this bushel to do?”

Emma shook her head. “Nah. I’m giving that to Bonnie. Andy took it down, but she was closed.”

“Closed?” Stew asked. “That’s a surprise. The diner must have been dead.”

Andy nodded.

“Dad? What did you wanna tell me?”

Stew opened his mouth and paused. “Goddamn it. I forgot.”

“Must have not been important,” Emma said.

“It was important.” Stew winced. “I think.”

“Maybe it was a lie.”

Stew huffed. “Now why the hell would I come down to your house to tell you a lie?”

“You’re old. You have nothing better to do than to bother your grown daughter.”

Andy reached over and gave a playful nudge to Emma. “Be … b … be nice.”

Emma giggled.

“I come here to make sure my grown daughter isn’t dementing my great-granddaughter.”

“Too late.” Emma smiled. “Did you wanna stay?”

“Nah, I’m gonna go. Asshole’s here and I’d rather not see him.” Stew looked at Andy. “Did you deck him yet?”

Emma answered, “Unfortunately, not yet. He will.”

“I doubt it. Andy’s too nice.” Stew grabbed the bushel. “And so am I. I’ll take this for you in the morning when I go to Bonnie’s for breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Emma told him.

“You .. you .. you sure?” Andy asked.

“Absolutely.” Stew kissed Cody, then Emma, and walked to the door. “Oh. Hey. Have you heard from Heather?”

“Is that what you wanted to tell me or ask?”

Stew shook his head. “No. I’ll remember eventually. But I was curious about Heather. I haven’t heard from her since I got a text when she arrived.”

“That’s when I heard from her. She’s probably at the concert having a great time. No worries,” Emma said. “Everything is fine.”

<><><><>

The wrenching, twisting, and burning pain in her stomach caused Heather to jolt awake. She wanted to jump from the bed but couldn’t move, so she leaned over the side of the bed and vomited into the awaiting garbage can.

“Roman,” she weakly called out. The vomit tasted different. It smelled different. It had an iron flavor to it as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Roman,” she called again then reached up for the light. When she did, the light brightened the room and also the smear of blood on her hand. “Oh God,” she panicked.

Roman sat up on the other bed. Every cover wrapped around him and his body visually shivered. “Heather, I’m so sick.”

“Me, too. Something is wrong. My skin is burning. It feels like it’s on fire, and it itches.”

Roman removed his arm from the cover and extended it to Heather. “I was scratching in my sleep.”

Heather looked at the purple splotches on his arm. It was swollen, and scratches covered every inch of his forearm. “Call your dad. We need help.”

<><><><>

Val grew tired of waiting and was already on his way to Billings when he received the phone call from Roman.

They were sick, so sick they wanted to go to the hospital. Val told them to hang tight, he was on the way. He explained on the phone that someone from another town brought in a very bad case of a stomach flu, but all would be fine. He was certain that Roman understood.

He made it to the hotel within a half hour of the call. It was a single story, truck stop motel just off the freeway.

Three of the rooms were lit, and there were only a couple of cars in the lot. That was a good sign.

Val was ready; he arrived prepared and knew what he had to do. He parked next to Roman’s car. Before he went to their room, he walked into the motel office.

No one was there. He hit the bell, waited, and then a younger man came from the back room. He looked Middle Eastern and smiled at Val. “You need a room.”

“I’m looking for my son. I spoke to a man earlier who said he arrived here safely. My son’s name is Roman Paltrov.”

“Oh, yes. That was me. You spoke to me,” the man said then stopped to sneeze.

“Bless you.”

“Thank you.”

“And you have been here all day since they checked in?”

“Yeah. Listen, Mister, policy won’t let me tell you the room number. I can call for you, though. Ring him.” He asked.

“That won’t be necessary. You’ve been very helpful.”

“Anything else I can do for you?”

“No, you’ve told me all I need to know.” Cold, without thought, without emotion, Val reached into his coat. He pulled out a revolver with a silencer already attached, aimed the weapon, and before the motel man could react, Val fired.

A single shot to the man’s head.

Quickly, Val left the office, walked down eight doors to Roman’s room and knocked. There wasn’t an answer and the door was unlocked.

The stench was ungodly when Val walked in and he huffed an exhalation from his nostrils. Roman reached out his hand to Val, and Heather lay on her side. She struggled to lift her head.

He said nothing. Approaching Heather first, he wrapped her in the bed’s blanket and lifted her into his arms.

“My mom. I want my mom.”

“Let’s get you out of here first,” Val said.

Heather’s head fell to his chest. “I’m so sick.”

“I know.”

He carried her out and placed her in the back of his car, then returned for Roman. He was too heavy to carry, so he had to help his son out.

It broke Val’s heart to see his son so sick and nothing that he could do for him. As he placed him in the back next to Heather, Val leaned close to his only child. “I am very sorry. I am so sorry.” He kissed his son on the forehead. The heat of Roman’s skin stung his lips.

He closed the door, walked around to the back of the car and opened the trunk. From it he pulled two small gas cans and walked back to the room. He visually scanned it, grabbed Roman’s wallet from the table and Heather’s purse. He then took the first gas can and doused the entire contents about the room.

The second gas can was reserved for Roman’s car.

After he emptied, connecting a trail of gas into a puddle just outside the room, he placed the containers, Heather’s purse, and the wallet in the trunk, got in the car and pulled twenty feet from the spot.

Leaving it running, he placed it in park, lit a cigarette, stepped out of the car, walked closer to the motel, and hit the smoke once.

He watched the red ambers ignite, and then he tossed it. As soon as he saw it started a flame, Val hurriedly returned to the car, shut the door, and drove off.

“It will be alright,” Val told them. “I promise. A couple days it will be over. It’s just a bad bug.” He peeked in the rearview mirror to make sure his attempts at destruction were successful.

They were.

Burning the liquid host virus would be detrimental, but Val was positive burning the germ from the infected would destroy it and that’s what he did.

Destroyed the germs they left behind.

Driving off, the ‘boom’ of an explosion rang out, and Val kept driving without incident. Heather and Roman were far too ill to notice that the motel they had just left was completely engulfed in flames.

‘In my own mind, in my own way, I believed I was saving the world. If I watched it, I protected it, then no one could get it and all would be safe. I suppose it was an accident waiting to happen. Like a loose piece of carpet on the stairs that never gets fixed
, eventually it trips you. But now, I make one more valiant effort.’

“Christ,” Edward muttered after reading the first words in the makeshift journal, a paragraph scribbled on the first page of the book. Inside were pages of documentations, notes of what was done, what happened. Had it not included the eerie first paragraph then Edward would have believed a caretaker took the notes.

That epitaph to the journal of the dead told Edward the responsible party wrote it.

However, the responsible party conveniently left out his or her name and, from a quick skim, nothing to indicate what it was. Only a number was given, and that told Edward very little.