Blue Plague: The Great Silence

Chapter 1 The dipshit woman next to me, wearing Prada and carrying Gucci and what all, had so much makeup on, I thought she might be a drag queen. She had a service animal with her, a big dog that looked expensive. She doted on it. She shared her meal with it. I’m never in first class. This was the first and only, and as it turned out, last time I’ve ever been there. I hated this part of my job. I’m a fifty-five-year-old gay man who looks it. I can’t help it. I’m sorry, but the stereotype had to come from somewhere. My name is Bruce, and, no, I’m never going to change it to Caitlyn. I have three cats at home, and I do not like dogs. Especially big ones who are obviously not well-trained enough to be true service dogs. If this one was an emotional service dog, I had to wonder, being the stereotypical b***h that I am, what service he provided this woman. I’d been beaten up on the job site and was limping, aching, and bruised. It was a company problem, and they tried to make it up to me with this first-class seat. Maybe it was a nice gesture, or maybe I’d quit. I could. I didn’t need the money. Just before I’d left the hospital, such as it was in the third world, I’d been given a battery of shots and boosters, including typhus, typhoid, whooping cough, and tetanus. Like I didn’t have enough holes in me already from being kicked and punched. Halfway home, my seatmate (the woman) said, “Romeo would like to sit by the window. He’d like you to change seats with him. He was bitten by a monkey on our tour, and it’s been bothering him.” She raised one haughty eyebrow and looked daggers at me. Romeo, huh. “I am Juliet Lascagna. Perhaps you’ve heard of my perfume and ladies’ skin care product line.” “Bruce Delany, ha…ni…hello,” I got out, unable to pronounce either happy or nice to meet her. “And—no.” “Well, I never!” She looked around for a servant, I mean, flight attendant. She actually snapped her fingers, or claws, as they were. Romeo was asleep, half on her lap, a tail whapping on my food tray, hair all over, drooling, and occasionally, sneezing. It was a nightmare. A flight attendant showed up. He was young and beautiful with blond hair hanging in his eyes. I wanted to take him home with me. I wondered if he knew nursing. Anyway, Juliet ordered a double scotch on the rocks, and the boy looked across at me and winked. “And you, sir?” Oh, shizzle. I wanted a drink so bad. “I can’t,” I blurted. “I’m on drugs.” I meant antibiotics, but that’s not what came out. “A hot cup of tea?” he murmured. “Coffee, perhaps?” I nodded. “Either.” I almost barked it, but I didn’t have to because Romeo woke up, barked, growled, and sneezed again. I hoped I’d never see either her or the dog again. The flight attendant, though…I gave him my charge card, my business card, a large tip, and a warm smile. Six hours later, in the middle of a storm, we landed in Seattle. The two dogs, er, owner and mutt, left. I stayed behind because, with my limp and the cane the hospital had given me, I wasn’t going to be walking very fast. The flight attendant, whose name I noticed was Burk, came by and said, “I’ll get you a wheelchair. You’ll feel a lot better that way.” What a beautiful smile he had, and perfect skin. I know I sound like an old pervert, but young people are so pretty nowadays. Did we ever look like that? As the plane emptied, he got my bag down from the overhead, my cane out of the storage bin, and sat beside me for a few minutes. He’d already ordered the wheelchair. “You were very nice about having to sit next to that giant service dog,” he said. “I’ll see you to the cab line or to whoever is picking you up.” “Son,” I said. “I live at the top of Capitol Hill. There are forty-three steps up to my front door and sixteen more inside. I have three empty bedrooms. I’d pay for you to come home with me and carry my luggage and possibly myself up all those damn stairs.” Then I blurted, “And, yes, I’m gay. I’m a gay old man who likes other men, and you look delicious, but I’m also very well-behaved and never take what isn’t mine, even if it’s offered.” There, I’d just cut my throat, hadn’t I? But he smiled. “I’ll do it. I have a two-week layover here, and I’d be staying at a hostel in town. I’ll be glad to help you out. When that woman and dog first got on the plane, we played rock, paper, scissors to see who had to deal with her, and I lost. But you were so polite, it really helped. I’m actually afraid of dogs. And monkeys. I’m also scared of monkeys.” I smiled and gave this comment no further thought, although, as it turned out, maybe I should have. He left me and my luggage at the curb and went to retrieve his car. I had to smile when he pulled up in a pristine 1956 Ford Crown Victoria; straight out of my past, straight out of police service, and straight back up out of the quicksand in the old movie Psycho. I loved it. Helping me in, he apologized, “I’m sorry for the old piece of junk, but my dad left it to me, and it’s all I have of him. It starts and stops and everything.” So the boy came home with me and pulled into my three-car garage next to my old house. He parked it perfectly between my old pirate ship—well, it’s just a weird car I use in parades—and my good car, which even I’m afraid to drive sometimes for fear it will get damaged. After gaping from one to the other for a while, he carried my luggage upstairs. He boosted me up also, step by step. He helped me organize some food and fed the cats. I showed him the spare rooms, and he picked one that had a view over the Olympic Peninsula with the Olympic Mountains in the distance. The next two days, he spent taking care of me, cleaning my house, cooking meals, playing with the cats, showering, and walking around nearly naked. Then we both came down with something, sneezing and wheezing and having headaches. The next morning, we were fine. When he brought the paper in, however, he had a puzzled look on his face, which looked very white. “Dad,” he said, our little joke amusing both of us. “Look. Isn’t this that woman from the plane?” He showed me the front page. “She’s dead! I have a bad feeling about this. Do you mind if I turn on the television?” “Go ahead,” I said, taking the paper, sliding my glasses closer to my eyes, and starting to read. She and her whole household had been found dead in her home, quite blue in color, and blood everywhere. Even the dog was dead. After hunching over the TV for a while, Burk came over and knelt beside me. “Do you mind if I go out? I want to get some groceries.” He looked so troubled, and I just let it go. I handed him my charge card. After he left, I went into my den and fired up my computer. I had a laptop as well and hooked that up, and got both set up and ready to be used. I ended up falling asleep at my desk. I didn’t hear the boy come back. I don’t mean boy literally, by the way. He had told me he was twenty-four, but at my age, that’s still a boy. It was part of our little joke, along the lines of, “Who’s your daddy?” that I mentioned earlier. I’d actually always wanted a son, but I detested small children. He cooked supper, cleaned up, and joined me in the den. I set him up at the laptop, and we both proceeded to veg out. Only a few minutes later, Burk said, “Oh, my God! Bruce, look!” I didn’t have to. I’d seen the same news article: plague had broken out in Seattle. A new form, one that had only ever been seen before in a couple of far-off countries, carried by monkeys, and now, apparently, able to infect humans and dogs. I stared at photos of blue-tinged monkeys and blue-tinged people, all dead. Our two computers made the news broadcasts in stereo, filling our small room with fear. “This plague, currently called D Six, spreads rapidly through air, body fluids, or bites. Fleas can carry it, as well as rats, dogs, and monkeys. Humans show symptoms as early as two days after infection and are contagious for, well, up until two days after death, apparently. Or longer. We just don’t know yet. The CDC says it’s jumped to major cities in California, Oregon, Hawaii, and Japan, all through air travel. The first victim travelled here with her dog, which was probably the vector of the disease. It’s too soon to guess at the mortality rate, but it’s believed to be similar or worse to the Black Plague from medieval times, possibly between ninety and ninety-eight percent.” Burk and I exchanged looks of horror. “Humans who contract the disease usually die within two days of the onset of symptoms, with bloody saliva and bleeding from other body orifices. All the victims turn a bilious shade of blue. If the person does not develop those symptoms, then they will, in all probability, survive.” “This makes me so want to check all my body orifices, you know?” I muttered, with a feeble attempt at humor. Burk just raised one eyebrow and shook his head. “I read a book about this sort of thing happening, well, several books. I wonder how much will be the same?” Tears were dripping down his cheeks now. “All my friends, my family, all those people on the plane. When I went shopping, it was like nobody knew anything yet, yadda yadda, business as usual. Except for a few others like me, who were doing the same thing I was: bottled water, camping supplies, water purification tablets, face masks, and toilet paper.