“Fuck.” I scratch at my short beard and try not to shake my head in disbelief. “This shit moves that fast?”
Theo nods grimly. “That’s why they’re calling it the Handshake Plague. They think it spreads from skin-to-skin contact. People start coughing and vomiting their fucking guts out, and then they’re dead, less than a week later.”
I run a hand through my black hair and pull at the roots as if it will somehow tether me to a different reality. “This is fucking insane.”
“New York, L.A., Houston, Chicago...it hit all the major cities the worst,” Theo says. “Luckily, we’re isolated out here, and most of these people have never left the state, let alone the country, so the likelihood that anyone in town is sick is low. But the mayor is calling for a town meeting in a couple of hours. We should get down there early. See if we can find out anything else.”
Brant clears his throat, trying to look unaffected, but Puddles gives off a small whine and pushes into him even more. “They were putting up fliers at the shop and around town. Anyone with any symptoms is to be immediately quarantined,” he digs into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of red paper.
I take it, and quickly read through a list of what symptoms to watch out for, how to best prepare, and a safety order not to leave town.
“The town lines are already blockaded,” Theo says, drawing my attention back to him.
Holy shit.
Everything about this feels completely surreal, and I have no idea how to even begin to process this. I was ten when 9/11 happened. I remember going home and just staring at the TV with my parents, convinced that somehow it couldn’t be real. Stuff like that didn’t happen in America. I was wrong then, and what’s happening now has me feeling exactly like I felt that day in September. I’ve seen enough fucked up shit now to know that anything is possible, and life as you know it can change for the worse in just a matter of seconds.
Theo shakes his head. I can see he’s trying real fucking hard not to lose his shit for Brant’s sake. I knew people were getting sick and dying, but I never expected it to become...this. If this shit started somewhere in India, then we aren’t the only country that’s fucked two ways from Sunday. Aneighty-fivepercent mortality rate? Just what the fuck would be left standing when this shit killed most of the world?
* * *
We get onto Main Street, and the first thing I notice is the mob of people filling up the entire square. The normally lazy street looks jam-packed with half the town. “Damn, I’ve never seen this many people in one place except during that chili cook-off last month,” Theo says.
There’s absolutely no place to park. The street is full of double and triple parking all the way down the block, and townspeople are teeming everywhere. I manage to pull up onto the asphalt curb and park the truck in front of the dumpster behind the grocery. As soon as I turn off the engine, I can hear the crowd yelling. I exchange a look with the guys, and the three of us get out.
“Stay here, girl,” Brant orders Puddles.
We make our way to the street, pushing past people, noticing that everyone is congregating around in the middle of the square. We’re no doubt the bulkiest guys in the town, since the population is mostly made up of retirees, so we have no trouble making our way psat people. When we get to the front, an elderly lady next to me is in her slippers and robe, screaming something about hand sanitizer. Since my eardrum was damaged, her shrill voice instantly makes my ear start to ring painfully, and I flinch away from her.
“What’s going on?” Brant asks the people around us. I recognize the guy who runs the fish and tackle shop beside him.
“Handshake Plague. People have to be quarantined,” he tells us, and our heads whip back to the front, where there’s a line of local police officers standing sentry and talking to a group of people I don’t recognize.
“They’re sick?” Theo asks with a frown.
From what I can see past the gazebo, the current sheriff is talking to a guy, probably mid-fifties, and a woman around the same age. The woman next to me pipes in. “Says they aren’t sick, but they just got back into town this morning, before the barricades could be put up. Walked into town like nothin,’” she says with a distasteful shake of her head. “Who knows if they’ve been exposed. It ain’t safe for them to be walkin’ around, spreadin’ their germs to the rest of us.”
Somehow, the crowd seems to take on a one-track-mind mentality, and everyone starts yelling “quarantine” at the couple. Some folks get so worked up, that the police officers have to start holding them back. All of a sudden, guns are drawn, and the people start demanding that the couple get put away in isolation.
“What the fuck?” Theo curses when the guy next to him draws a gun. Theo reaches out and clamps his hand around the shotgun barrel. “Lower your weapon, or I’ll do it for you,” he growls.
The man shakes his head so hard that his jowls shake from side to side. “You wanna get sick, boy?” the man asks. He points at the arguing couple with his gun. “Those people could be infected. We have to protect the town. If the virus spreads here, we could all be dead come next week. This town is clean right now, but if we aren’t careful, that could change real fast. Endstone is the priority. We gotta play every scenario smart, for the good of all.”
“For the good of all,” another guy next to him echoes with a nod.
“So you’re just gonna shoot them?” I demand.
The man shrugs. “If it comes down to it. Two lives versus hundreds. What’s the lesser evil?”
“Put your guns away!” the cops shout.
The guy grumbles, but finally lowers his shotgun, and Theo lets go.
Brant, Theo, and I are coiled tight with tension as we watch this madness go down, seeing the crowd grow more and more frenzied. I’ve heard the death tolls and mortality rates, but in this moment, the virus and its ramifications really hit home, and it all becomes brutally real. Fear and worry spike through me like icy needles, and I shudder at the realization that life as we know it has just changed, and nothing about it is going to be for the better.
“Enders! Listen up!”
Everyone turns to the sound of Sheriff April’s voice. He might not be the active sheriff anymore, but the entire town loves and respects him, which is obvious by the way the crowd actually stops screaming and quiets down enough to listen to him. We’ve only lived here for ten weeks, so I don’t know all the ins and outs, but I know enough that I doubt the younger sheriff could demand that kind of courtesy.
