This is a fictional story. All names, places, and viruses are used fictitiously. Resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, past or present, are intentional.
If you haven’t read from the beginning, please start at Chapter 1 here.
***
Due Date: 74 days away
So I waited, like everyone else. Masked, like everyone else. Filled out paperwork, like everyone else.
A security guard stood by the hallway. No gun. Just bored. Everyone who collected in the waiting area with me was exhausted. Even the plant on the table could have faked it better.
In the corner, a TV mumbled white noise at us. I didn’t tune in to its voices until after I’d been waiting 15 or 20 minutes already. The governor was opening the state. Indiana and Illinois had already began the process. We were late to the game, just like we were early.
The governor had told us to social distance. We didn’t do that. It wasn’t until he closed schools, and then closed the public places, and then closed all the non-essential businesses, that anyone took him seriously. Even then, we had the fringe who didn’t get it.
“Can’t wait for all this to be over,” they said.
But everyone said that, not just the ones who thought they’d never get sick. We all wanted it to all be over.
The news cycle made it difficult to get a feel for what was really happening. The way the TV made it seem, everyone was about to rush back to normal. Stores were announcing extended hours with flash sales aimed at recouping costs on overstocked inventory. The big manufacturers in town were promising overtime to returning employees to ramp up for lost production time. Restaurants were about to host some serious, parking lot parties, arranging tables a respectable distance apart, outside but also inside.
Liz texted me. “I have to pee.”
I wasn’t sure how to take that.
“They won’t let you?” I sent back.
“Am I supposed to use the bathroom like everyone else? And where is it? They have plastic over everything here.”
“Ask someone?” I texted.
She didn’t respond for a couple minutes.
“Found it.” She texted me a photo with it.
While I had my phone out, I set an alarm for 6:00 PM as a reminder. Then I typed a message to Jerry.
“I’m probably not going to make it to work tomorrow. Liz has a fever and has some trouble breathing. We’re downtown at the hospital now. We’ll see if they’re able to test her or whatever. I’ll get with Chris later if I do end up having to call out. Just wanted to let you know.”
I hit send. I always sent the longest texts.
My watch said it was almost six. Early, but Jerry always got up early, most of the time even earlier than me. The sun was probably up too, but it sounded like it was going to storm. I heard thunder.
“Praying for you, brother,” Jerry texted me.
I put my phone down.
Just then, I heard sirens pass outside. Police.
We still heard them every once in a while, but I noticed more now. Growing up, my parents taught me to pray whenever we heard an ambulance go by, pray for the people it was going to help. I still thought of those people, but I’d extended it to include police sirens too. In the back of my mind, I knew if I heard police sirens, it must be bad since they weren’t responding to normal security alarms.
I had no idea.
The TV in the corner caught my attention again.
“We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this breaking news.”
The scene cut back to the same news anchor, maybe with a different script? It wasn’t clear what was being interrupted. Until it was.
“Reports are coming in that it appears there has been an explosion on the Abraham Lincoln Bridge in downtown Louisville just moments ago.”
Moments ago?
I couldn’t remember which one was the Lincoln Bridge either. Was that the new one for I-65?
“It is unclear whether this is an accident or an act of terrorism…”
An Asian man and his son burst into the lobby entrance.
“Someone blew up the bridge.” He pointed outside. “You can see here.”
All of us were stunned. One man slowly got up, walked to the door, and then rushed outside. A few others followed the first man’s lead.
I looked back at the screen where the news anchor continued to talk about what she didn’t know. I got up and pulled out my phone again.
“Someone blew up the bridge going to Indiana. I’m going outside to see if I can see it.”
Liz texted me back instantly. “Do not go out there.”
Too late.
I stepped out into the chaos.
