Desolate: The Complete Trilogy Part 9

8.

12 Hours Before Plane Crash Hospital Regional Rio Grande City of Rio Grande Tierra del Fuego Province Argentina Dr. Schmidt disconnected the VPN connection on his laptop and closed the lid. Communicating by phone was almost impossible while dressed in the bulky HAZMAT suit, so he'd been talking to the director at the CDC via instant messaging software. Trying to type on the tiny laptop keys with gloved fingers was only slightly better than shouting into a phone through a sealed face mask, but it didn't matter. His directions were clear and he had his orders.

Schmidt rose from the desk as his colleague Dr. Julia Parker entered the room. She looked exhausted. They all were. The hospital was in chaos, and from what they heard, the rest of the city was as well. If Schmidt slowed down for even a minute and lost focus on whatever task he was working on, anxiety and fear invaded his thoughts. The rate this disease was spreading was almost beyond comprehension. In thirty-two years of practicing medicine he'd never seen anything like it. Not only were they still unsure how the pathogen was spreading, but the speed at which the victims took ill and died was terrifying. It was as if all one needed to do was stand next to an infected host for more than a few seconds and a death sentence was certain.

The overwhelming urge to contact his wife made it even harder to concentrate. He tried to tell himself the outbreak was isolated to pockets near crowded cities and transportation centers. Hopefully, she was safe for now in their quiet subdivision. It would be easy enough to take a few minutes to at least send her an email, but he was afraid of how it would affect his work if he didn't hear back. There were far more important matters to deal with than his personal life.

The hospital in Rio Grande was shut down but a quarantine was laughable at this point. Half the population in the city was probably dead by now and the other half would soon follow. The CDC and WHO were being bombarded with reports from across the globe of victims showing the exact same symptoms before becoming violently ill and dying. It always started with a steady nosebleed, followed by high fever, swelling and darkness in the neck and face, and finally hemorrhaging and death. Some victims were known to lose their mental faculties, becoming enraged and violent, most likely due to hallucinations and swelling of the brain stem.

Despite the grim statistics, there was a small sliver of hope. There were several cases now of patients who made it past the initial timeframe after having contact with an infected person; they displayed no symptoms. It seemed a very small percentage was immune, but it was too soon to tell. One of them happened to by lying in a bed down the hall.

Schmidt tried to pull the suit away from the back of his sweaty legs with no luck. The AC gave out earlier in the day and he was roasting in his yellow wrapper. The suit may have been keeping him safe at the moment, but it was as comfortable as a rain slicker at the beach. He motioned for Julia to sit but she shook her head no. Probably battling with her own sticky legs.

"We're leaving," he told her. "The plane just touched down at the airport and we're taking him back to Atlanta."

Julia exhaled and returned a small nod but didn't look optimistic. "Do you think it'll do any good?"

"It doesn't matter what I think," he snapped. "If what the Clark woman said was true, he's been exposed for at least a week. Probably twice that. Despite the coma and stab wound, he's in perfect health. They're just starting to a.n.a.lyze the blood samples we sent, but if we don't get him back today for more testing, it might be too late."

"Both of the marshals died this morning," said Julia. "Major Zellermayer wants to know if we should take their bodies back or wait for arrangements from the Justice Department."

"Might as well take them back with us. By the end of the week I don't think there's going to be anybody left in this town to make arrangements for anything."

9.

Another miserable night in the plane. I tried to sleep for a while in one of the seats but I couldn't get it reclined enough to get comfortable. I gave up after a few hours and moved back to the bench. I could at least stretch out, but still didn't get much sleep. The bugs are relentless at night.

As the sky lightened, I got up and stretched a little. I was feeling weaker than ever and was starting to second guess my decision to leave the crash site. At the moment, I didn't feel I could get ten feet from the plane, yet I knew I probably had to hike more like ten miles. If I was lucky.

I looked at my little pile of provisions and knew if I was going to have a shot at getting out of there I was going to need all the energy I could get. I had two graham cracker packets, three of the saltines, two Jell-O tubs, and two apple juices. Nutritionally speaking, not exactly a bounty. Plenty of sugar, but any lift I got from that would burn off quickly once I got moving in the heat.

Screw it. I opened the least exciting course of saltine crackers and dug in. I figured I had one shot; I'd eat it all at once and hope for the best. I didn't know if that was the best decision to make at the time but I was so hungry it seemed brilliant at the time.

Munching on the crackers, I went over my meager gear and made sure I wasn't leaving anything valuable behind. The shoes turned out to be pretty comfortable with wearing only two pairs of socks as filler. Although I'd have some sweaty-a.s.s feet, it would be better than traipsing through the jungle in hospital booties.

I tied a long-sleeved s.h.i.+rt around my waist. I figured I'd probably need it at night if I didn't make it out by then. I wouldn't need it for warmth, but anything to help keep the mosquitos off was valuable.

I'd found a scalpel last night which could come in handy, and I carefully tucked it into my back pocket along with the bottle of ibuprofen. Other than that, I didn't see much else I could bring that would be useful. I suppose if one of those survival guys from TV were with me they would be scooping up all sorts of junk that could be used to snare game and start fires. It all looked like garbage to me. I couldn't even find a cigarette lighter. n.o.body smokes anymore.

I changed my bandage again and was relieved to see my wound looked pretty good. It didn't look any worse anyway.

With the crackers finished, I gulped down the Jell-O and decided to hold off on the apple juice for as long as I could. I could be just twenty feet away from a mountain stream, but in the meantime I wasn't taking any chances.

I exited the plane and faced my biggest decision of the day. Which way? I had no idea where the plane was headed, but the most logical decision was to walk in the same direction it was pointing. The rising sun was to my right, so I would be heading north. That felt right. I was probably hundreds of miles short of where my pilot intended to land, but at least I was headed in the correct direction.

I was off. I quickly reached the edge of the clearing, looked back, and stepped into the dense foliage. It wasn't too bad. Pretty thick, but not so thick that I'd need a machete or anything to hack through it. Which was good because I didn't have one. I found a decent walking stick and forged ahead. It felt good that I was actually doing something instead of sitting around, waiting to be rescued.

The mosquitos must have broadcast an announcement about the skinny white guy in their territory because they were on me almost instantly. I knew this was just a small taste of what was to come once the sun went down, and I prayed I wouldn't need to find out.

I walked for a while, trying my best to move in a straight line. I judged my direction by keeping an eye on the sun but it wasn't easy. The canopy was quite thick, and although I appreciated the shade it made it hard to judge where the sun was at times. I couldn't be entirely certain I wasn't walking in circles.

It didn't take long for my juice cups to call out to me. I greedily drank both. For the past couple of days, I felt like I was in one of those dreams where I was really thirsty and kept drinking gla.s.s after gla.s.s of water. I hate those dreams. Officially out of food and water, I kept walking and could only hope for the best.

At this point in the story, I wish I could tell you I found help right away. But it's never that easy, is it? I wandered through the jungle all day, fighting the thick vegetation, oppressive heat, and relentless bugs. The good news about the heat was it really killed my appet.i.te. I suppose that was good and bad. It was one less thing to worry about, but I knew I needed to find some kind of food to keep up my energy.

Eventually, I came to a spot in the woods where the canopy wasn't so thick and I spotted some coconut trees. I could see the bright green bunches high in the trees but I couldn't do much about those. I thought of the photos I'd seen of natives climbing the trees to knock down the coconuts. That didn't seem too likely for me. My palm-tree scaling skills were severely lacking and I'd most likely end up breaking my neck.

I was able to find a couple lying on the ground so I picked up one and considered how to open it. I didn't want to risk breaking my scalpel, which probably wouldn't do much good anyway, so I looked around for anything that might help me out. Where are those survival guys when you need them?

Nearby was a downed tree and the broken trunk created some sharp edges. I held the coconut in both hands, aimed for a shard of wood, and brought it down hard. I succeeded in breaking off the piece of wood but the coconut didn't have a scratch on it. I kept at it and after a few more whacks I noticed it was starting to leak. I held the crack up to my mouth and sucked at the milk inside.

As a recovering alcoholic, I've enjoyed many a drink in my day. Before I made the switch from quality to quant.i.ty, I thoroughly enjoyed tasting new craft beers and microbrews. I've had everything from twenty-year-old scotch to obscenely expensive French wine. But I don't think I ever tasted anything better than that coconut milk.

I made sure I got every last drop in my mouth and continued hitting the crack against the shard of wood until I finally got the b.u.g.g.e.r open. The milk was a great appetizer, but the flesh inside was even better. I don't even really like coconut that much, but at that moment it was one of the best things I'd ever eaten. There I was, alone in the middle of nowhere, covered in bugs, dripping with sweat, absolutely filthy, but the small victory of that little meal made me feel almost human again.

As I ate the coconut, I noticed it was starting to get dark. I accepted the fact my goal of reaching civilization before nightfall wasn't going to happen. I considered my situation for the night. Despite the heat, a fire would have been nice, but it was out of the question. I didn't have a lighter or matches and had no idea how to start a fire without them. I had a hunch rubbing two sticks together wasn't going to cut it, considering everything around me was still damp from an afternoon shower.

I swatted a bug off my cheek for the millionth time that day and longed for a nice tent. But I knew the best I could hope for was some way to get up off the ground. Spending a night on the stretcher while bugs crawled all over me had made that clear.

I saw a large fallen tree not too far away so I went to get a closer look. The bark was smooth and the base of the trunk had a concave shape to it. It was about four feet off the ground and could make a decent platform. I brushed off all the leaves and twigs that had acc.u.mulated in the depression and I hopped up to sit on my little bed.

Night was falling fast. I untied the s.h.i.+rt from my waist and put it on, since the bugs were really starting to pick up. I took off my shoes and peeled off my damp sock layers. My feet had been wet all day and I figured it was a good idea to dry them out a little.

I sat back and watched as the jungle came alive. Once I stopped long enough to notice my surroundings, I mean really notice, I marveled at how beautiful it actually was. I couldn't say it was quiet and peaceful because it was anything but. All around me the constant hum of insect noises and birdcalls filled the air. A strange feeling of contentment washed over me as I sat there surrounded by a natural world untouched by man.

Something stung me hard in the back of the neck and my newfound peace quickly evaporated as I swatted away whatever it was. So much for getting in touch with nature.

Night falls quickly in the jungle. As if somebody flipped a switch, I was suddenly sitting in the dark. I could hear all sorts of critters and creepy crawlers milling about under my tree trunk, and once or twice I felt what must have been a bat dive bomb me. I think they were getting as close as they could to check me out.

Being up off the ground really helped keep me from the roaches, ants, land crabs, and who knows what else walking around. The mosquitoes, however, were still treating me like a buffet table. I lay back and tried to cover up any exposed skin that I could. I tried to will myself to sleep. I was utterly exhausted, but every time I nodded off something landed on my face, bit my ankle, or crawled up my pants.

Once in a while, I heard something larger moving through the leaves. I would sit up slowly and try to see what it was. There was no moon so it was pitch dark. My imagination ran wild, and not in a good way. I pictured cougars, pumas, Big Foot, Dracula, you name it. After a while, I just concentrated on keeping perfectly still. I hoped whatever it was would leave me alone and keep moving.

I spent that entire night in a state of dozing. I don't think I ever fell fully asleep. I was relieved when I noticed the horizon start to lighten and took satisfaction knowing I'd survived another night. I'd yet to have a solid night's sleep, but at least I was able to rest my muscles.

I slowly sat up and felt really lousy. The lack of food was catching up with me. The coconut had helped a little, but I was still feeling weak. A large beetle was slowly making its way up the trunk toward me. My goal of the day was simple. Get out of the jungle before I started looking at those little guys as breakfast.

10.

Aircraft Falcon Six Five Eight Alpha 25,000 feet over the Caribbean Sea 350 nautical miles off the coast of Colombia Julia looked out the window at her side and took a deep breath. Unlike a regular pa.s.senger plane, this one had only a few small windows. For some reason that made it worse. G.o.d she hated flying. The clouds broke and an unfettered view of the vast blue emptiness below came into view. She looked away, shaken by the notion of being surrounded by nothing but miles and miles of water.

Unlike a lot of people who get jumpy only at takeoff and landings, Julia found flying at cruising alt.i.tude the most terrifying part. Every time she peeked out the window she couldn't help picture herself plummeting to the earth at terminal velocity, twisting and screaming and clawing at the air as the water grew closer.

A couple of hours ago, a large military aircraft appeared out the window and the captain explained over the intercom they were about to be refueled in the air. Julia found nothing too comforting about that procedure. Not only did flying directly behind a giant gas station with wings seem incredibly dangerous, but also what if something went wrong? What happened if they couldn't get more fuel? She tried not to think about such things and tried to a.s.sure herself everybody in the air knew what they were doing.

It was nine hours into the flight and she was getting restless. She tried to distract herself by turning her attention to her patient but that didn't help much. Once his stretcher was secured to the floor of the plane, IV set up, and catheter checked, there wasn't much for her to do. The last few days were a blur of activity, but as soon as that door was sealed she suddenly had what seemed like all the time in the world. It didn't even occur to her to pick up a magazine.

Dr. Schmidt and the rest of the team took another flight back to the states, leaving just Julia and the two pilots to take the prisoner back. Major Zellermayer insisted that one of his men accompany her. Julia protested and a.s.sured him that if the prisoner was properly restrained he couldn't do any harm, even if he woke up during the flight. It was a possibility, considering his increased brain-wave activity over the last day or two, but she wasn't concerned. The truth was, she was so afraid of flying, something she worked very hard to hide from the rest of the world, Zellermayer's man would be one less person to see her wig out from turbulence, one less thing she had to worry about.

The flight deck door opened and the copilot appeared. He looked uncomfortable in his HAZMAT suit but gave her a little smile as he sat down in the seat next to her.

"How's it going back here?" he asked. "Anything you need? You're looking at the world's best paid flight attendant at the moment."

Julia chuckled at his lame joke and smiled back. "No, thanks. We're doing just fine. How much longer is it?"

"About three hours until we touch down. Any trouble from pretty boy over there?" he asked.

"Nope, still sleeping like a baby. At least one of us can."

The pilot slowly got up with a groan and stretched his back. "Well, if you need anything just give us a holler. You can come right in. The door isn't locked. They did pat you down for box cutters before you boarded, right?" he deadpanned.

Julia held up her hands. "I'm clean, I swear."

He laughed a little too hard and disappeared back into the c.o.c.kpit, to her relief.

Julia got up and checked on the patient again. Pretty boy. He actually was good-looking, although it was hard to tell without seeing a person with their eyes open. Early thirties, sandy brown hair, scruffy beard. A little too skinny, but considering he was at a maximum security prison camp, probably doing hard labor, that was understandable. Being in a coma didn't help.

G.o.d what was she doing? Fawning over a convicted killer at twenty-five thousand feet while a pandemic was spreading down there on the ground. She was getting loopy. Julia collapsed into her seat, fastened the belt, crossed her arms, and commanded herself to get some rest. If the sky remained smooth for the rest of the flight, she just might doze off and get an hour or two of sleep. Lord knows she'd need it once they got back to Atlanta.

First Officer Jack Pritchard returned to his seat and settled in. He slipped his headset over his ears and struggled once again to find the best spot to place the mic. The bulky respirator on his mask was in the way and every time he needed to check in on the radio, he literally had to shout.

"Nothing going on back there," he said, "but I thought I'd check anyway." He glanced over at the captain, Bill Rutherford. Bill's hands rested on his legs and he didn't move. He was staring at the control panel in front of him.

"Bill?"

No answer.

"Bill, you okay? What's going on?"

Bill turned his head toward Jack and stared at him with glazed eyes. His face was covered in perspiration. Under his hood and face mask, a trickle of blood ran from his nose down his chin. "I don't feel very good," he muttered.

Jack stopped himself before cursing and forced a smile instead. "Okay, buddy. Hang on a sec." He reached for the intercom b.u.t.ton to call the doctor but changed his mind. Jack unbuckled his seat belt, removed his headset, and got up.

"I'll be right back, Bill," Jack said in a soothing voice. "Just take it easy and I'll see if the doctor can check you out. Okay?" Bill ignored him.

Jack did a quick check of the systems and left the flight deck. He approached the doctor who looked like she'd finally nodded off. He gently shook her shoulder Julia opened her eyes and jumped. "What? What's happening?"

"Dr. Parker, I think we have a situation on the flight deck."

"Is something wrong with the plane?" She glanced around nervously.

"No, everything is fine. It's Captain Rutherford. He's...he's looking pretty ill. He's got a b.l.o.o.d.y nose."

"Thank G.o.d," she said on an exhale. "The plane, I'm mean. Sorry, I..." She shook her head as she unfastened her seat belt and rose. "Never mind. Can we bring him back here so I can check him out? You can fly the plane alone, right?"

Before Jack could answer, the plane pitched violently; they lost balance and tumbled to the floor. Instruments and supplies showered down on them from compartments above. Julia screamed in terror as the aircraft shook violently and continued its decent.

"Get back to your seat!" Jack shouted to her. "Buckle up and hang on!"

She wanted to stay on the floor and curl up in a ball. Forcing herself to move and fighting the g-force that wanted to keep her in place, Julia managed to get into her seat. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely connect the seat belt. It finally clicked into place.

Julia risked a quick glance out the window. The world outside was at a terrifying angle so she looked back at her patient. He remained unconscious despite the chaos round him. She hated him for it.

Jack burst into the c.o.c.kpit. Bill's hood and face mask were off. Blood was smeared all over his face and hands.

"What in the h.e.l.l are you doing, Bill?"

"We need to land," Bill stammered. "Christ, I've got it. We need to get on the ground or I'm going to die!"

The plane was losing alt.i.tude at a dangerous rate. Jack grabbed Bill by the wrist and tried to get him to pull back on the yoke. Bill pushed him off and the aircraft pitched to the side as he temporarily took his hand off the yoke.

Jack lunged for his own controls and tried to counteract Bill's nosedive. They struggled for a moment, cancelling out each other's efforts; one man desperately trying to land through a fever-induced haze of madness, and the other simply trying to pull back and level out the plane.

"No!" Bill wailed.

He let go of the stick and flailed at Jack, just barely missing him due to the distance between the two seats. Jack pulled back hard on the yoke and the aircraft finally broke from the dive. Bill unbuckled his seat belt and lunged at Jack. Now he was the one frantically trying to gain control.

Again they fought. Bill couldn't understand why Jack wasn't helping him. He couldn't believe this man he considered a friend was trying to stop him from landing. Jack wanted to keep him trapped in this tube to die like an animal. Jack was shouting at him but Bill didn't hear. He coughed a mist of blood on the back of Jack's suit. He grabbed Jack by the neck and choked him as Jack tried to fight him off with one hand.

The aircraft pitched again. Bill lost his balance and fell to the floor. He battled through his dizziness and stood up. He unlatched the fire extinguisher beside the pilot's seat, raised it above his head, and smashed it on the back of Jack's skull as hard as he could.

Jack went limp and fell forward on the yoke, causing the plane to dive again. Bill lost his balance and sailed face first into the control panel. Fresh blood from a broken tooth mixed with the steady flow from his nose.

He somehow managed to crawl into his own seat as the ground below got closer through the windscreen. Bill grabbed the yoke with b.l.o.o.d.y hands, leveled out the aircraft, and pulled back on the throttle. His eyes burned and he was seeing double but he could make out a clearing in the trees below just large enough to land. Trees? Where in the h.e.l.l did they come from? And where was the d.a.m.n airport?

He laughed and turned to Jack to celebrate. Jack was slumped over in his seat, his head covered in blood. What happened to him? Bill couldn't remember.

"Hold on, buddy, we're coming in hard!" Bill shouted.

He knew if he could land the plane and get out in the fresh air everything would be fine. He would be okay. His friend Jack would be okay too.