By Katie Robles
When Dad took him out of school and drove two hours south to his favorite state park, Carl thought it was an early birthday present. When Dad strapped five-gallon jugs of water into the extra passenger seats of the rented dune buggy, Carl wasn’t sure what to think.
“Hey, mister,” said the tanned woman holding the rental agreement. “You got enough to drink?”
She looked pointedly from the water jugs to the two dozen large bottles of cola on the floor in the back. Dad ignored her and slid a cardboard box in next to the cola before climbing into the driver’s seat. He had that focused make-the-flight look he got at airports.
“You know we close in an hour,” said the woman.
Dad put the buggy in gear, and Carl gave the woman a nervous wave and a smile. The buggy rumbled, then pulled away from the irrigated trees of the visitor center and turned to follow the trail through the desiccated forest.
Despite Dad’s odd behavior, Carl smiled when they reached a gigantic bowl of cracked dirt littered here and there with old docks and dry canoes. He knew this place. Grandpa had spent his childhood fishing here, and Dad had gone four wheeling in the muddy lake bed as a teenager. Now there were dune buggies.
Carl let out a whoop as Dad planted his foot on the accelerator, but when they reached the far shore, Dad turned off the established trail and aimed the buggy at the horizon.
“Dad?”
Dad’s eyes had circles under them. “Open the glovebox.”
Carl flicked the latch up. Inside the glovebox were photographs. Just photographs. The first looked like a flower with lollipop petals. It had the clear center and fuzzy background typical of microscope pictures. Carl flipped to the next one.
“Oh, Dad, gross!” Carl squeezed his eyes shut, but the image of the bad case of pink eye was still there. “Just because you’re used to this doesn’t mean I am.”
Dad never brought home photos from the hospital pathology lab; it violated patient privacy. Carl was used to hearing about death and disease, but a photograph was so much more disgusting than the medical terms Dad normally used to describe his work.
“It’s not pink eye,” said Dad.
Carl made a face and looked again. The white of the eye was completely pink, and tiny balls of yellow gunk had formed at the base of the lashes.
“Her diagnosis was pneumonia, but when I opened up her lungs, they were red,” said Dad, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “Not healthy blood-red, but a fuzzy, slimy red.”
Carl held up the microscope flower picture. “And this?”
“That’s a fungus spore. Similar to Aspergillus, but this one’s different.”
The way Dad said “different” made the hair on Carl’s neck stand up. “How?”
“Six hours, Carl. It killed her in six hours.”
Dad pressed the gas down harder, and the buggy’s oversized wheels bumped across the open ground. The water in the jugs sloshed.
“I don’t understand.”
“We breathe in fungus spores all the time, especially when the weather’s been wet,” said Dad, squinting against the sun as the buggy bumped onward.
The weather had been record-breaking wet for years. The rain that used to fill the lake had shifted north to their town.
“If your immune system is strong, it should be no big deal. This woman was healthy, had just retired…” Dad’s voice faded, but Carl heard him whisper, “Six hours.”
Next in the stack was a satellite photo. Carl recognized the north part of town. Little, red dots were scattered over it: seven at the nursing home, three on homes in a neighborhood, two in a shopping center. The photo was dated three days ago.
“This woman lived in that neighborhood.” Dad slowed through a patch of sand. “The nursing home thought they had a flu outbreak.”
“These dots are…”
Dad nodded.
Carl stuffed the photos back into the glove box and slammed it closed. He tucked his hands under his thighs and let Dad’s words sink in. His brain was making connections he didn’t like. He leaned over the seat and reached for the box Dad had packed in the back. When he opened it, he wasn’t surprised to see jars of peanut butter and boxes of raisins. Food for days.
“Dad, you have to warn people.”
“I did.” Anger made Dad’s voice tremble, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, but then it softened. “I tried. I sent evidence to the mayor, the news station, the hospital, the schools, radio stations. They didn’t want to cause a panic.”
“But Dad—”
“Look at the last photo.”
Carl slid it from the glove box. It was another satellite photo, this time of the whole town. Carl could only identify the largest buildings: his high school, the mall, the hospital where Dad worked. There were dozens of dots on the map, clustered near the north and thinning as they spread across town to the south, like someone had dropped a red paint bomb on the dead woman’s neighborhood. The date on the photo was today.
“Can I call my friends?”
Dad nodded.
“If there’s an… an outbreak…” Carl hesitated. The whole thing sounded like a Sci Fi movie, not a Tuesday afternoon. “Will the desert protect us?”
“I hope so. Fungi need moisture so the desert will be a good barrier. We’ll warn the authorities on the other side.”
The desert was huge. To cross it they would need… He looked back at the cola bottles, at the way the dark liquid clung to the plastic. It wasn’t soda: it was gasoline. Clever Dad.
Carl reached for his phone.
If he hurried, maybe some people still had a chance.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This is actually really terrifying. I love the pacing of this story, both the unfolding dread of the disease and Carl’s growing awareness that his life is changing suddenly. Very well written!
I feel the same way! I appreciate how the author shows the impending doom but doesn’t dwell on it, instead on ending with the hope Carl has of saving some people from the disease. I like ending on a positive note even in the face of something terrible going on.
Fantastic. I thought perhaps they were going out to strap some high powered fuel to the dune buggy to rocket back before closing. But no. Your version was much more harrowing. Fantastic job!
So good! It’s got a touch of sadness, madness, hope and love in a short read!
Okay, this is brilliant. I love the pacing, the slow reveals, the disease…I LOVE IT. Amazing job.
What a haunting story. Great job drawing out the mystery of what was going on and then still building tension even after the Carl understands.
Thank you for the encouraging words, everyone!
Nicely done. You’ve taken doomsday and brought it down to two people and how they interact with each other and the world. The personalizing of the event makes it that much more powerful.