Considerable Destruction Series (Book 1): Evasion ( Page 2

  “I’m beginning to see the benefits of a therapy dog!” Zeke says. “You’re safe, Gina. He’s gone. It’s okay now. I’m sorry he got into my office and scared you.” He puts his hand gently on her head, while she continues to hug Sheba and stroke her fur.

  Moments later, I excuse myself. I lead Sheba back to my office, then lean against the closed door, slowly sinking to the floor, tears streaming down my face. Sheba begins licking my face and nudging me, leaning into me. I bury my face in her fur. I wipe my eyes, take ten deep breaths. What the fuck is going on here? races through my mind.

  I have one semi-normal hour with a client experiencing mild flu symptoms. The next client doesn’t show. The therapists congregate in the waiting area. “Hi Eliana, what happened earlier?”

  “A client tried to hit me, ran out of my office, and busted into Zeke’s! It was crazy.” Just talking about it reignites a pain in my gut from all the stress.

  “Wow!” Sally exclaims. “They didn’t say anything about that on the news. Just that they’re calling it the Mortiferum Virus because so many have died from it in Canada!”

  “Really!? Often viruses are deadly, usually for the young and old.” Zeke makes a disgusted face. “Did they say anything about violence?”

  “No kidding. Most flus can kill.” Jack negates the whole thing. “But your client was really violent. That’s gotta be something else!”

  “Yeah. He barged into Zeke’s office.” I’m getting a little agitated, pointing towards Zeke’s door. “Come on now, Jack. That wasn’t some regular flu!”

  “You think that was the flu?” Zeke sounds surprised. “I figured he was schizophrenic or something.”

  “No. That behavior was totally out of character for him. He’s usually just depressed with a little anxiety. Nothing like that!” The gnawing sensation kicks in again, sending a surge of goose bumps up the left side of my face.

  “Nah. Really?!” Zeke’s snorty laugh is the comic relief, getting us all laughing, but my laughter is stilted.

  I’m trying to integrate the tingling sensation, the gnawing in my gut, and the bizarre client behavior. As it tries to merge, my view of the room seems distorted, distant.

  One of the young ladies from the rental company next door comes out of their office to use the bathroom. “No clients?”

  “They’re flakin’ out. How about you guys? Are you busy?” Zeke is always joking.

  “Not a soul. Have you been listening to the news? There’s a nasty virus going around. We’re leaving early and reevaluating tomorrow.” She heads into the restroom.

  “I’m heading home.” Jack grabs his bag and locks his door. “Have a good afternoon. Be well.”

  “You too,” we chorus.

  “How long are your days?” I ask, thinking about mine, two more clients are scheduled, then I go home.

  Sally sounds disappointed, “I’ve got clients scheduled until 5:00. I wonder how many will even come?” She leans against the wall, dejectedly.

  I pat her arm. “You could always cancel them and leave early since so many are sick. I’m almost done, thank God. This has been such a weird day. I’m going to Google the latest flu reports on MSNBC, as long as we don’t have clients.” I google right away but the page isn’t loading.

  Sally waves away that idea, “Oh, it’s just a bad flu, but I’m sure they’ve got it under control.”

  I text my afternoon client, letting her know this hour is free for a phone session. She agrees. Since I can walk Sheba while counseling my client, we head outside to the beautiful, crisp fall day. I’m determined to get myself and Sheba exercise.

  I call my client. While we’re talking, Sheba and I head toward the University, where students are doubled over coughing and so hoarse they can barely speak on their cell phones. I walk down a quiet street, mostly used for bicycle traffic. The houses are Tudors and Craftsman style homes, with gardens in front of some, grass in front of others.

  My client isn’t able to talk for very long since she is losing her voice, so I am soon off the phone. I tune in to the gnawing sensation while I look at the MSNBC information which has finally loaded on my cell phone.

  “Canada is calling this the worst pandemic in history, worse even than the Spanish flu of 1918. Reporters from Northern Canada claim over 90% mortality rates, hence the name, the Mortiferum Virus. The death toll is inconceivable: according to the most recent estimates, between 90-92% have perished in the pervasive wave sweeping Canada. Most fear this pandemic will have global consequences. The United States government is shutting borders to the North, quarantining cases in the Northern states.”

  I remember Sally’s belief that the United States had things under control, wondering if it’s true. I feel a tingling sensation over my shoulder and down my arm. I know that feeling as communication from my spiritual guides, telling me I’m on the right track. It’s disturbing, so I take deep breaths as I decide to alter my walk, heading back towards my building.

  I’m trying to assimilate the news, 92% dead in Canada, could that happen here? I try to push it away but it takes hold. What’s to stop that from happening here? I push it firmly away, drawn to a box of free produce. On my way back, I pass an Asian pear tree, picking as many as I can, extracting a produce bag from my pocket, filling it. Turning away from the tree, a student walking near me staggers and falls. “Do you need help?” I ask her.

  She gurgles, struggling to get up. I offer her my hand. Taking it, she forces out the words, “I’m so weak. I can’t miss class… midterms are next week.”

  I offer her suggestions while I help her up. “Do you think you can make to class?”

  She nods, croaking, “I’ve got to push through this.”

  I head back to my office. Most of the doors are open, except Zeke’s. “No clients, huh?”

  “Not a one.” Sally shakes her head, sighing.

  “Well, I am going home. You guys take care!” Gathering my things, I head out. “Come on Sheba, let’s go.”

  As I leave, I think of my adult children, Eli and Gracie, who are on this campus somewhere, Alex and Jonathan, who are at work, and I pray they’re all well. Part of me worries that they’re ill with this horrifying flu.

  Climbing in the car, I’m amped up, a buzzing energy is spreading from my heart down my arms. I back the car out quickly, racing up the ramp, slamming on the breaks to avoid hitting someone struggling on the sidewalk. On the way home, I stop for the produce sited earlier on the roadside. There are boxes and bags of free tomatoes, apples, and winter squash. I brake, scanning the nearby area and finding it quiet, climb out to claim my prize in a rush, still pressured to get home. Most of the tomatoes are green, but I know they’ll ripen and the apples and winter squash look great. I load them triumphantly in my car. I smack myself in the forehead, “Jesus Christ! Harvest or health, seriously? I need to get home.”

  Arriving at my street, lined on both sides with ranch-style homes, I drive a short distance, pulling into the garage of my blue house. I see Eli’s car and wonder if Gracie came home with him. I enter the front door, admiring our front yard, an oasis of flowers and fruit trees, surrounding a small section of grass with a bench at one end. Opening the door, I ask, “Eli, Gracie, are you both here? Can you help carry in some food I picked up?” There’s no reply.

  “Hey, guys, are you here?” I ask, louder this time.

  “Hi, Mom,” Gracie calls, exiting her room, her petite, willowy frame swathed in skinny jeans and a turquoise hoodie. She fixes her pony tail, smoothing her thick, brown hair into a band, eyeing me thoughtfully.

  “Come out and help, okay? Eli, too,” I say, loudly.

  Gracie stands there, disgusted, while I turn back to find Eli, passing a beam of sunlight from our generous west facing windows. “Gracie, could you bring a bag of produce in from the car, please?” I open Eli’s door, finding him reading on his iPad on his bed.

  “Hey, stinker! You’re supposed to come help! I’ve got produce in the car.” I pull him to me, wr
apping my arms around him. His brown hair is getting longer than he likes, beginning to curl on top. His lithe frame towers over me . “I’m so glad you’re healthy. I love you, cutie.”

  He follows me back across the polished, wood floor.

  “You seriously picked up food off the side of the road?” he asks, teasingly. Gracie returns with a box of squash.

  “Where did you find all of this?” she asks. Her face is masklike, making me wonder what’s bothering her and if she’ll talk about it.

  “On the side of the road. You know me. It’s harvest season! God, I’m glad you’re here and you’re okay!” I pull her in for a hug, figuring I’ll wait until she’s ready to talk. “I love you, sweetie.” We head for the kitchen as Eli comes in balancing the tomatoes on top of the box of apples.

  “Where did you get all this shit?” Eli asks in typical style. I follow Eli with the pears.

  “I picked the Asian Pears since they were hanging over the sidewalk. Then, I saw the rest with a free sign, so I drove by and picked it up.”

  “What are you going to do with them?” Eli asks.

  “Eat them! What do you think?” I tease. “We need to take the tomatoes to the green house to ripen. Come on, we can lay them out together.” They’ve always been better about helping if we do it together. They follow me out the back door to the green house where we lay the tomatoes out in rows.

  “After this we can make tea and take vitamins.” I try to ruffle Eli’s hair but he ducks away, grinning at me. “We need to boost up our immune systems to fight this nasty bug that’s going around! Were lots of people sick in your classes?” I ask, strolling inside.

  “A lot of my classes had half the students. Many were coughing, had laryngitis, or both,” Gracie explains as a darkness falls across her face. She turns her back, bursting into tears. “One of our teammates died a couple days ago! She died! I can’t believe it. She’s only 18!”

  I walk over to her, pulling her into my arms. “I know, sweetie. When people die, particularly young people, it feels awful. You may find yourself crying about your friends, your grandparents, and Rasheen. It’s like the layers of an onion. It hurts deeply every time.” I stroke her hair, hugging her close, glad she lets me again, as her tears renew.

  “My classes were just as bad,” Eli says, sobering.

  I continue holding Gracie until her tears abate. She wipes her face, looking at me with sad, sorrowful eyes. Her eyes seem to be asking how it’s possible that we’re facing this. I just caress her cheek, not having an answer, so I refocus on making tea. I’m grateful I walked at work and can work on dinner. I walk every day to help me keep fit and emotionally healthy.

  After dinner, we sit in front of the wood stove, drinking herbal tea and playing cards. I admire the firelight flickering as it spreads its warmth around the room, the beauty of my mother’s water colors on the walls, the robust plants growing near the window.

  “I’m so glad you guys are still living at home,” I tell my kids, grateful for their companionship, along with the safety and security of this small family unit.

  “What do you think is going to happen with the flu, Mom?” Gracie asks, concern in her voice.

  “I don’t know, sweetie. We’ll stick together and figure it out,” I tell her. I worry that the world is going to change and we’re going to change with it. I don’t mention all the things I’ve read about on the internet, about people potentially getting violent, becoming dangerous and threatening. I don’t want to scare them prematurely.

  Two

  Simon

  Theories

  Simon ponders what his friend, Eli, said earlier today, “Simon, this is crazy holding classes when so few of us are here.” He’s known Eli since kindergarten. They bonded over Legos and drawing, the caramel-skinned, kinky-haired Simon with his blue eyed, half Guatemalan buddy, stayed friends ever since.

  Simon agrees with him, considering how empty their classes are at the University. Simon thinks the staff are idiots, keeping people at school with such a bad flu. Simon wishes he had more classes with Eli, who’s always good to run this stuff by. He hasn’t seen Eli since his first class, but figures he’s okay. Eli’s always been so damn healthy.

  Driving home, Simon marvels at what a shit situation this is. He’s never seen a flu this bad, people hunched over at bus stops, people hacking and coughing on the side of the road, and university classes half empty. He listens to the news, shocked by what they’re saying. Apparently the government has been testing people with flu symptoms, exploring the cell structure of this virus compared to others.

  He walks in the door at home, the news replaying in his mind. The virus going around is called the Mortiferum Virus, because of the death rates. It’s a total shit storm and he knows his mom’s been writing, probably not listening to the news. He’s been paying attention, trying to figure out what’s going on. The campus was fucked up. Everywhere he went, people were choking, struggling to talk, and collapsing, too weak to get up. He tried helping a couple but it was hopeless. He and Eli were talking on campus with some other guys they grew up with, exploring what’s making everyone so weak or making this flu so strong. Eli and Simon are still healthy. Gracie and Dixie, Simon’s sister are both fine, along with a few of his friends, but most people are missing from classes. They tossed around ideas about what might be keeping them so healthy. They noticed weakness, cough, hoarse voice, and pasty complexion, pretty standard flu symptoms, but thought it must be something worse.

  “Lucky fuckers? Right Eli? They don’t have to be at school!” Simon said to Eli, both having a good laugh.

  Simon walks into his mom’s office. “Hey, mom, sorry to interrupt you. Have you heard the news?”

  Sam, his mother, looks up, “Oh, my God, have you heard what Trump is saying?”

  “The bullshit about it being the fault of China?” Simon leans on the door frame to her office. “Well, it sounds pretty fucked up. Almost everyone on campus is either out sick or coughing in class. The news has this as the worst flu they’ve seen in decades, which I’m sure has nothing to do with Foreign Policy.”

  “Hmmm… Maybe I should go through our Bug-Out-Bags and see if they’re up to date. Do you want to check in with your dad when he gets off and see what he’s experienced at EWEB (The Eugene Water & Electric Board)? And what about cooking?”

  Dixie breezes in behind me, her hair in tight cornrows, wrapped in a bun. “I’ll cook. Are you gonna work some more?”

  “I think so, for a while.” Their mother acknowledges.

  “I need to study, but I’ll text dad.” Simon doesn’t care for cooking, though able, he’d rather not. He heads to his room to study for midterms. He studies for a while, then starts texting his dad and Eli.

  Simon (to dad/Rob): Are you leaving early today?

  Simon (to Eli): You studying? What does your mom think about the flu?

  Eli: Dunno. She’s not as much a disaster prepper as your mom. What about her?

  Simon: She was writing all day, but she’s pissed about Trump’s bullshit. Hey, were you flirting with Dixie earlier today?

  Simon has to give him shit about it. He knows Eli likes her but hasn’t admitted it yet. Eli doesn’t admit it now either. Simon may have to let it go for a while, waiting for more evidence.

  Eli: No way, man! I was just asking her about the test.

  Simon’s phone vibrates, a text from his dad.

  Rob: Over half my colleagues were gone and most of the rest were sick. I might be able to get away early. Tomorrow’s still up in the air.

  Simon (to Rob): Those guys are just out partying, LOL! Come over if it gets worse, okay?

  Simon (to Eli): Asking her about the test while blushing?!

  Guess he’s not done flicking Eli shit!

  Rob: I will, for sure.

  Eli: Stop being a pain in the ass!

  Dixie announces dinner, making Simon glad he pulled himself away from texting long enough to get some studying done. The three of them
fill plates, crowding around the table. Simon ponders his parents’ separation, wishing they would work out their shit so his dad could move back in. His dad’s in rehab for alcohol, apparently doing well enough to return to work, continuing out-patient treatment. Simon’s 20 and so far, his father has relapsed twice, splitting up his parents both times. Each time it’s been brief as far as he knows and they’ve gotten back together. He even went to Al-Ateen, the Al-Anon group for teens, while his dad went to AA. It was cooler than he thought. It takes his mom a while to let his dad come back, but this time Simon wonders what’s going to happen. Rob discussed his alcoholism with Simon, explaining relapsing when he gets stressed or feels neglected, neglecting his own self-care.

  “I ran through our Bug-Out-Bags which need some replacements, mostly clothes and food,” Sam explains. “I’m going to run down to the sporting goods store to replace things. I’ll check in with Eliana first and see what she needs. How was it on campus today?”

  Dixie gives her the run down, while Simon zones out.

  The evening is a studying nightmare, Simon thinks, God, I hate to study.

  Three

  Eliana

  The Virus

  I get up the next morning on autopilot, getting ready for work. I wake Eli with a kiss, “Good morning, sweetie, it’s a school day.” He stretches, grabbing a robe.

  I wake Gracie, kissing her on the cheek. “Good morning, cutie pie.” I make tea, settling at the table with a quick breakfast, beginning to feel edgy about going to work. Eli sits across from me, his damp curls crowning his head. “Do you really want to go to work today? I’m not going to school after what we saw yesterday.”

  “I’m feeling pretty uncomfortable about it, I have to admit.”