Chapter 1 - Epidemic

Greenway Promenade had always had a veneer of calm. Lush green hedges bordered each houses, providing both a sense of privacy and individuality. Sweet songs from colourful birds made up more than a lovely wakeup call every morning. Its residents were made up of mostly business, corporate or wealthy family. There were no dark corners, no dodgy alleys, and no chancy cafes. In fact, there was only one diner at the end of the road, Dave’s Diner.

Dave’s Diner was not your typical eatery. Since they cater to the upmarket, the diner was always posh, clean and quiet. A wonderful array of polished marbles statuettes of Roman god’s that lined a floor to ceiling glass divided the diner into two sections; smoking and non smoking. Usually, there was the usual chatter of its patrons, the clangs of fork and spoons against plates and the occasional “Order up!” from the kitchen.

Not today though.

Today, there was an eerie silence that hangs in the air. Everyone stopped what they were doing. Cooks stood just outside of the swing doors to the kitchen, waitresses stopped dead in their tracks to send orders, and patrons staring opened mouth, some of them with their food hanging in front of them, midway from the plate to their mouth.

All eyes were fixed on the television set that hung on top of the bar.

“...the Health Minister has assured the public that the infections are contained and under control. He has also said that the public need not worry and can still go about their daily business.

On a related note, so far, 253 people have been infected with the unknown virus with more than 40 dead. All victims showed the same symptoms, starting with mild fever, full body rashes, bloody nose, ears and eyes, speech impediment and amnesia. Those with these one or more symptoms are advised to go and have a full medical check up at the nearest clinic or hospital.

And now, let’s go to Andy with the sports...”

Immediately the atmosphere changed. Everyone talked at once, turning the once quiet diner into a tumult of raised voices. Some speculated, mixing little known facts with outrageous conspiracy theory, while others listen intently.

“It’s the outbreak of Callarba all over again,” said a man who looked well into his late fifties.

“The symptoms are all different, old man” said a lady sitting opposite him, who looked like she was his wife. “None of them who had that virus were known to have neither speech impediment nor amnesia.” she continued.

“It could be a new strain or something. I don’t know, I’m no doctor.” he defended himself.

“Then you should leave it to one who is more qualified, dear.”

A smart dressed young man, around his 30’s looked the lady in the eye and proclaimed “It’s God’s wrath I tell you, for all our sins!”

“It might be some sort of a lab experiment gone wrong” exclaimed his friend.

The gentleman just looked him in the face, his expression betraying the absurdity he found in his friend’s statement. With a sneer, he said, “With you, everything is an experiment gone wrong.”

“Why you ignorant-self centred son of a...”

“Now, now. No need to get all heated up as yet, boys.” a waitress who looked like she knew her way around men went to stand beside them. “Might as well put that steam where they could have some use. But whatever it is, I for one will definitely take more time to shower after this. All this talk about germs and disease makes a girl feel dirty.”

With a wink, she took off her apron, slapped it on the counter and went into the back.

“Now that girl will make more men bleed out of their nose worse than whatever virus it is out there.” The old lady muttered under her breath as she continued to enjoy her drink.

***

Max had known all along that today would be one of the longest days of his life. He had woken up earlier than usual, in hopes of getting to work early but things had gone wrong from the start. He nicked himself pretty badly when he was shaving, he burned a rather large whole on his favourite shirt, spilled coffee on another, managing to break the bowl of cereal while he was trying valiantly to wash off the stain, dropped his car keys in the gutter and had a flat tire. He ended up being half an hour late to office.

He thought he was lucky that his boss, Frederick B. Jefferson was out. He thought he was even luckier that the big mouth of the office, one Miss Helena, was also not at her place. Then he felt odd.

No one was in the office.

He was about to put the thought aside when he saw a post-it-note on his monitor.

“Come straight to the briefing room.”

“Shit!” he thought. “There must be an emergency staff meeting today. Of all the days...”

With a loud sigh, he picked up his notebook and dashed for the briefing room one floor up.

The heavy, dark brown oak door was closed, but still Max could hear voices. Trying his best to be discreet, he slowly pushed the door open, sneaking a peek.

“Max!” a voice boomed over the tumult. “Where the hell have you been?”

The voice belonged to none other. Fat Fred, his boss, was sitting at the end of the oblong marble table. His face was as red as a deep fried lobster, his necktie not tied properly. His sleeves were rolled up right to his elbows.

“This is not good.” Max thought.

Every pair of eyes was on him. But just for an instant. Then they concentrated on the 42 inch TV screen at the opposite end from Fat Fred.

Max had only begun to open his mouth to come up with an excuse when Fred commanded, rather than said, “Nevermind. Come here!”

He rushed through the crowd of co workers who had to stand in the lack of chairs. Some of them snickered but otherwise, none took notice of him. All eyes were fixed on the telly.

“D’you know anything about this?” asked Fred.

“About what boss?”he replied, knowing somehow that this would be it for him. Not only that he was late, but he did not have a clue on what was going on.

“More than ten thousand people were infected with the bloody virus. Overnight. Uncle Pete has declared martial law for the whole 39^th district. Guys in full biohazard suits are everywhere!”

It was one of those rare moments in Maxwell Duggard’s life that he was totally dumbfounded. Peter Stuart, or Uncle Pete as he was more fondly known, was as calm and headstrong President as you could get. For him to declare an emergency was a hint of the grave magnitude of the situation. This was no swine flu, the outbreak that scared the world shitless a few years back.

“Do they know what had caused the sudden increase?” The words were out of Max’s mouth before he could even think about it thoroughly.

“Of course they don’t, you dimwit!” Fred screamed. “If they did, we should have known! Or have you conveniently forgotten that that’s YOUR job?”

“Right away boss, right away.”

“And don’t come back until you have something, you worthless...” was all he heard before the door closed behind him.

With a huge sigh, he started for the lift. It was going to be a long day indeed.