Dr. Castro was about to sit down and eat his lunch – finally. The medical center never seemed to be busy until he was hungry, and then the whole town suddenly needed to see him urgently. He’d intended to get his sandwich out of the fridge at a quarter past noon. Now it was practically three and he didn’t care if the Pope came in with an active heart attack he was going to eat, God damn it.
So when his cell phone started ringing he almost ignored it. When he saw an unrecognized phone number displayed on the front it was a relief. Another scammer, telling him his computer had been infected with three dozen viruses or his social security number had been ‘suspended,’ whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.
The area code, though. Didn’t he know that area code?
He did, come to think of it. Philadelphia. Where he had gone to medical school.
Alumni association?
But he’d had their number labeled as Money Whores for years.
Wincing in pre-regret, he picked up the phone and answered on the last ring.
“Yeah?” he barked. Maybe if he sounded grouchy whoever it was would hang up. He stared at his sandwich.
“Oh, thank goodness. I was afraid you’d gotten a new number.”
The voice was a little accented, and very familiar. It still took Dr. Castro a few seconds to recall it.
“Chandran?”
“Ah, you remember me!”
“Barely,” Dr. Castro said with a laugh. “Man, we haven’t talked in…two decades?”
“Something like that.”
Dr. Castro knew the Chandran Padhi he was picturing couldn’t possibly be the same man on the other side of the phone. The Chandran he remembered was twenty years younger, short and a little stout, with jet black hair and a wicked grin he pulled every time he made a bad joke. Even though the voice he was talking with wasn’t a young man’s voice Dr. Castro still couldn’t shake the image. And Chandran probably had the same dated image of him.
The tricks time pulls.
“Let me think. You were going…you were going to Baltimore after graduation, right?”
“Yes, I did. I’m in Miami, though, now. Very tacky city, but I like the heat.”
“More your style. I remember you hated the snow.”
“And I still do. Awful stuff. If I wanted to be cold all the time I would rent out a walk-in freezer.”
He laughed, much the same as Dr. Castro remembered. Not exactly, though. There was a sort of hollow air to it, almost like it was all for show.
“Are you still in Seattle?”
Dr. Castro blew air. “You were right. I hated it. Too many people, and too many of them pricks.”
“Exactly like I told you. Where are you now?”
“You’ll never believe this. I decided big city hospitals weren’t for me. I found an ER doc listing in this mountain town in the middle of nowhere Colorado. Thirty-four beds, Chandran. Thirty-four!”
The sigh of relief that came over the phone made Dr. Castro’s head tilt. It was an odd reaction. He realized then that the entire conversation had had an odd quality about it. For what he thought was simply a catch-up call, his old buddy Chandran seemed to have a focus. His questions had been a little direct. And there was something about his voice he didn’t like. More stern than he remembered. Older, of course, but maybe that scratchy quality he thought was from age…wasn’t.
“I’m starting to get the feeling this isn’t a social call,” Dr. Castro said, the good humor gone.
“It is not.” The mask had dropped, and Dr. Castro sensed he was no longer talking to his old school-mate Chandran, but was now talking to Dr. Padhi.
“I’m calling everyone I can remember,” he said. “You’re the…I’ve lost count. Dozenth call. At least. What have you seen on the news concerning a flu?”
“I try not to watch that stuff. Rots your brain,” Dr. Castro said. He took off his glasses and rubbed at his face. “I’ve caught bits here and there in patient rooms, though. Some new strain sweeping the country. Usual stuff. Old people, young people, immunocompromised people, blah blah blah. Get a vaccine if you haven’t. The usual.”
Dr. Castro froze. He sat up straight in the chair and rested his free hand on the desk. One by one, in slow cadence, he tapped the desk with each finger.
“You wouldn’t be calling me for stuff you already know, though, huh?”
“No, Nick, I wouldn’t. The things I am about to say I have already said a lot today. It mostly hasn’t been received well. I seem to remember you were mostly rational in school, so I hope that you remember that, while I like to make jokes, I certainly never did pranks.”
Despite himself, Dr. Castro nodded. He couldn’t remember Dr. Padhi pranking anyone back in the day. It wasn’t his style.
“They’re keeping this out of the news. Or, I don’t know, maybe it’s less conspiratorial than that. Maybe the media simply doesn’t care right now. They will soon.”
“What-”
“My hospital is completely overrun. Every bed is full. Every stretcher is full. We’ve shut down all but the most urgent surgeries and procedures and put patients in the operating theaters and the pre and post op rooms.”
Dr. Castro almost asked with what then remembered Dr. Padhi’s first question.
“You’re talking about this flu like it’s a pandemic.”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
Dr. Castro stared at the shelves against the opposite wall of his office. Books. Novels he reread on his breaks from time to time. Medical books he hadn’t touched since he’d moved in. A wobbly ceramic ash tray Ryan had made for him when she was a kid even though he’d never smoked. A picture of him and Ryan and Nancy at the Santa Monica Pier, taken a year or so before Nancy passed. Another picture of Ryan’s high school graduation. Normal stuff. Normal stuff in a normal world.
“Miami isn’t the only place this is happening,” Dr. Padhi said.
“It’s the flu,” Dr. Castro said. It was the only thing he could think to say.
He could almost hear Dr. Padhi shaking his head on the other side of the line. “We always knew this could happen. Influenza isn’t made for humans. From what I hear, this particular strain in birds is mild.”
“You wouldn’t call if this was mild in humans.”
A pause, filled with a sound that could have been a throat working. “No one who has been admitted to this hospital with this flu has walked out alive.”
“No one?” He could feel himself blinking. “Cytokine storm?”
“Of course. Others are simply losing lung capacity faster than we can keep up with. Plenty of dehydration cases. And then others…it becomes too much for the human body to bear. Something always gives out.”
Dr. Castro shook his head. “If hospitals were filled with dying people I would have heard about it before this. I’d be seeing it on every station!”
“You will. Soon. This will not stay contained to hospitals. Listen, I have to make more calls, but there’s two more things you need to know. One: this looks like a normal flu course at first. The patient looks like they’re recovering. And then the flu gets worse and the patient is dead within a day, two at most. Two, and this is the biggest problem: the incubation period.”
“Fast?” Dr. Castro guessed.
“No. Slow. Slow as a shit river. Over a week between infection and presenting symptoms, from what we can tell. Worse, these people are infectious the entire time. They’re shedding virus like a sloppy dog for a week and they don’t know it.”
“Flu isn’t terribly contagious-”
“This one is. I don’t know the numbers, we’ve been in contact with the CDC but they’re being their usual chatty selves. I overheard one on the phone. ‘This r-naught is impossible.’”
“Impossible? They actually used the word ‘impossible?’”
“Yes. Yes, they did.”
“Chandran,” Dr. Castro asked. He became aware that he hadn’t moved an inch for several minutes and forced himself to lean forward onto his desk. “Why are you calling?”
A tired, awkward laugh. “This is it, friend. I’m glad to hear you are in a quiet, mountain town. Perhaps you have time to stock up your house. Hide.”
“’It?’ What’s ‘it?’ What are you talking about?”
“I have to go, Nick. I have a few other calls to make.” Dr. Padhi sneezed three times. “Be wary of anyone presenting with flu. Hell, maybe walk out of the hospital and don’t look back.”
Dr. Castro had his mouth open to ask a question, but the line had already gone dead. He considered calling back. Didn’t.
Pushed some things around on his desk.
Turned on the television in the corner. Flipped from ESPN to the news. A conflict in Southeast Asia he’d never heard of was getting worse. The ticker on the bottom was talking about stocks.
Flipped to another news station. Two talking heads were arguing about abortion. The ticker on the bottom was talking about stocks.
Turned off the television.
Picked up the desk phone. Dialed down to the ER.
“ER Charge.”
“Ellen, do we have any flu cases?”
“Flu? Ehhhhh…no. No one diagnosed.”
“No one diagnosed? Has someone been tested?”
“Hold on.” A muffled sound like she was putting the phone to her chest. “Missy! Missy! Your patient in bay 6, she get a PCR panel?”
A gap of no sound, presumably as Missy answered.
“PCR, no results yet.”
“Let me know about that,” Dr. Castro said. “And if anyone else comes in with flu-like symptoms. You said that patient was in Bay 6?”
After the positive response he hung up the phone. Stared as his desk. He knew he should go see the patient. Or maybe tell everyone to isolate her and stay away. But if she was as contagious as Chandran said, did it matter? They’d already been exposed. Everyone had been exposed.
He sat there, feeling normal. Everything was normal. It was a sunny day. The lights were on. The air was rushing through his office like normal. People called to each other outside his office.
Everything felt normal. It couldn’t really be the end of it all.
High Urban Fantasy Jazz 