Between the Dream

On the third floor of Salt Lake Regional, in the doctor's lounge, Billie Jo lay on an emergency cot. She had been up a straight seventy-two hours and she was bone tired. Too tired to sleep, though God knew she needed it. The events of the previous two days preyed upon her mind, and she stared sightless into the semi darkness.

The clock over the door said 2:20 am but it might as well have been anytime.

Conditions in Salt Lake City had continued to deteriorate, the CDC and WHO had formally declared a state of emergency.

Worldwide.

They officially concluded the United States of America to be in the throes of a strange pandemic and urged Military, State and Government leaders to take the necessary steps to alert the American citizens and to enact protocol with instructions everyone should take from this time forward.

Although there was no official statement to give name to the illness yet, authorities were calling it MCHVc level IV, Morrhagia's Cerebral Hypoxia Viral compound, because somehow, medical researchers working to trace its origins, assumed it had leapt from a level II animal host straight to level IV human host. An advance so rare it had only been documented two other times in history.

It would be months before they formally recognized this plague for what it was.

Also working to untangle the DNA sequencing, research agents from the Nuclear, Biological and Chemical terrorism task force were indicating strongly that it was a Bio-Weapon.

Man made.

With an unknown delivery system and, a one hundred percent death quotient, with no cure, no vaccine available and confusion as to a patient zero.

It was a fast ravaging compound virus meant for the worst kind of biological warfare they said, during a private press release to Hospital Authorities.

They explained, with as few details possible, how it transmitted through bodily fluid contact, and during cell mutation, produced a toxin which attacked and robbed the brain cells of oxygen, resulting in extreme symptoms, then death.

In normal circumstances that is.

But there was nothing normal about this. Because the dead refused to stay, well, dead.

It was unclear where or how it had started.

The NBC refused to give any more details beyond those, urging the Government to focus on public action for protection instead.

Things were already out of control.

Either way, to Billie Jo, her neat compartmentalized life had become a war zone. She had retreated to the darkened sanctuary of the lounge and refused to leave when she learned dead patients had risen to bite, eat and turn others into an undead catastrophe. They had only managed to control the surge a couple of days with their so called, 'specialized euthanization technique' before things spiraled into chaos.

A large-scale military triage mobile unit had taken over the back-parking area of the hospital, and for three days had been trucking in supplies, chemical decontamination trailers, chemical protective clothing which they were all required to wear and the whole area had been cordoned off with privacy chain-link fencing.

Armed guards were posted at every entrance and soldiers surrounded the outside perimeters. There was only one way in or out, and that was through them.

It was a last ditch effort to keep the infected inside from reaching the public. That meant anybody could potentially be an infected. So nobody got past them.

Rumors swirled that the local Walmart had been seized for obvious reasons and even that the military had taken control of a local ice cream manufacturing plant to store the dead until they could be disposed of properly.

The news on every station was dire, with reports of the spreading horror that more and more cities were being affected, filled the air waves.

Utah officially declared marshal law, restricting all travel until further notice, forcing all people to shelter in place.

As commerce ground to a halt, banks began a systematic chain of closure and international news became the stuff of nightmares, the economy began to crash. Within days of the implemented marshal law, every television station but one closed their doors, leaving the public in a panic-stricken information blackout.

The one remaining source of news was quietly replaced with homeland security agents who were less forthcoming with the information people needed and Billie Jo along with her peers, agreed that government officials and health agencies hadn't been telling the whole story, and they watched helplessly as chaos overtook the normalcy of their once thriving city.

〰️

Len, with Mark and Sherri behind him, made it to Donelle's. She ran outside with Biggie on her heels and Len got out with Yolo. The two dogs greeted one another with excited barks, but Len and Donelle stared at one another in silence.

Mark and Sherri got out and came around to them, their expressions equally concerned.

"You didn't find him I see," Donelle stated pensively.

Len shook his head. "Not a trace. I went to the research center and found the Cherokee, but no other sign," Len trailed off, not really wanting to let her know he had Nathan's phone, and especially not about the blood spot on the parking lot.

Donelle searched Lens face for some sign of hope but as was the norm for Len Cloud, his expressions were unreadable.

Biggie and Yolo came to stand with them and as if they sensed Donelle's hidden anxiety they nudged her, wagging their lowered tails in some form of reverence.

Len took Donelle by the elbow. "Come on, lets get you inside. And don't worry, we're going to find him," Len reassured.

"Unless one of those things got to him," Donelle choked on a sob.

Len's face blanched at her comment as he thought about what he had seen in the parking lot of Nate's workplace. He guided Donelle on toward the house giving Mark and Sherri a look.

Sherri nodded in agreement, Mark hustled the dogs along and they all walked up the stone stepped, manicured hill to the vine laden front entrance. Once inside everyone grouped around Donelle, asking what had happened. Donelle poured herself a drink and Len and the others stood around discussing the situation.

"So, at the moment, we don't know where Nathan is," Len began to explain, "but we are going to keep it together. What we do know is, we're going to get through this. Either Nate will find us, or we'll find him, but the essential key is to practice the things we've prepped for."

Mark agreed and talked about the things he and Sherri had seen wisely leaving out the things Len had shared with he and his wife earlier, as the group talked into the night, planning and setting their protocol while Mark shared information that the public wasn't getting. They had connections within the military and the TSA, and the brutal truth was, there wouldn't be much help forthcoming.

They were doing the exact right thing for the moment. Then, haltingly, Mark broke the news he dreaded sharing the most.

The dead, he explained, were rising. Attacking anyone in their path. It was everywhere, including Colorado. There was no Intel on where it began but there was no containing it.

The CDC was refusing to report the many incidents happening in hospitals all over the country but Mark and Sherri had seen it for themselves.

The airport where they worked had quickly become a ground zero and Sherri told them how they had barely escaped when things fell apart.

The silence of momentary disbelief struck the group.

"I hate to sound cliche, but it's one hundred percent happening."

Donelle looked at Len and he knew her thoughts. Her biggest concern was for Nathan, Deaglan's family and her grandchildren.

After telling the others about Deag's last phone call, Len decided he should go to Moab and try to get them to Donelle's.

Deag and Miranda lived just the other side of the border, about an hour or so away, and it was agreed that he would head out at first light, stop by his place and get things he'd forgotten, like clothing and dogfood, and then hop over to Moab and help Deag.

With this plan in place, Hollis turned on the news to see if there were any updates on the situation. He flipped channel after channel, with nothing to greet him but static, or notices from station managers that they had gone off the air. There was only one station, and it was manned with some type of homeland security agents. Hollis and Len looked at each other, both thinking the same thing.

Hollis turned it off and he and Len went out back. They both lit up a smoke but said nothing for the longest time. Hollis finally broke the introspection of their thoughts.

"You think it's even safe to go into Moab, Len?"

"No where is safe now Hollis. I saw those things at Nate's office. Please do not tell Donie. That's why I got to go. They're all Donelle has left, and with Nate missing, Deag needs to be here with his mother."

"Well, what do you think happened to Nathan?" Hollis mused out loud.

"I just don't know Hollis. To say it's weird is an understatement. I have no idea where to look, or what to think. I just don't know. He tried to call me I guess, when the news broke but I missed the call. I was asleep, and dreaming I was with the elders.They were speaking of our people, and I was studying the Heron, but it flew off in a rage, leaving me empty of my spirit. The elders spoke, asking me how I would answer this. But I never did. The phone woke me."

Hollis nodded his head ever so slowly, knowing the importance of such a dream. As descendants of the Puebloan Hopi people, Hollis, Verbena and her uncle Len put great importance on the history and teachings of their ancestors.

Hollis contemplated the significance of the vision and was quick to add his opinion. "Perhaps, the answer lies with Nathan, since his call did wake you."

Len smiled. "It was your call that woke me Hollis. I never even heard Nate's call."