White Wasteland Jeff Kirkham (book series for 12 year olds TXT) 📖

“Who am I quoting?”

“Nevermind,” she smiled and waved the conversation on.

“If you’re suggesting we explore new lows, I have some ideas,” JT leered. “I’ve been chatting with another grieving widow about how to work through our losses in a three-way…engagement. I do have the west cabin reserved this Thursday night, in case you’re intrigued.”

Jacquelyn laughed out loud. “If the Mormons around here find out you guys are living the vida loca here in the Homestead, you’re going to get yourself in some hot water. They don’t take kindly to hedonists.”

“I thought they were into multiple wives and stuff?” JT scratched under his bump helmet.

“That’s quite different, my friend,” Jacquelyn chuckled. “There about austere mating, not…whatever it is you’re into. And, we’re getting a lot chummier with the Mormons these days. Their prophet just left. He came to use our radio. I think Mister Kirkham is pulling us into their church a bit at a time. Are you ready to leave behind your lascivious ways and convert?”

“Hey, JT…” a young brunette called out from across the great lawn. Jacquelyn thought her name was Amy.

“Hey back, gorgeous.” JT waved and smiled.

“Wow. You’re quite the Casanova. I’m impressed,” Jacquelyn said, raising an eyebrow.

Another girl waved and he turned to wave back.

“Lascivious, huh?” JT snorted. “Nice word. I dig smart girls.”

Jacquelyn chuckled. She was enjoying this conversation far more than she should've. “It’s been a long time since anyone called me a girl. But just so we’re clear, Mr. Taylor, I’m not available.”

“Hmmm. You going full-Mormon on me, too?” he shook his head. They’d arrived at the cook shed.

“Not even close, but I’m a grown woman with responsibilities—apocalypse or not. My days of throwing caution to the wind are far behind me.” As the words left her mouth, Jacquelyn wondered how true that really was, given the risks she was taking with the orphanage.

“Well, my offer stands,” JT reached out and shook her hand with both of his. “Now, I think I’ll leave you to your potato peeling. I have more gossip to collect and to distribute. Thank you for your contribution to collective knowledge of the Homestead bourgeoisie.”

“Nice word choice, yourself, Mr. Taylor.”

He tipped the front of his bump helmet, “This humble newsman is at your service.”

JT turned and trotted off after the woman who’d just waved.

Chad and Doctor Larsen had been waiting in Jason’s office when he returned from the ham shack.

“Bad news,” Chad said.

“Is there any other kind these days?” Jason felt darkness wrap around him like a curse.

A long silence ensued. Chad didn’t expound and Jason refused to prompt him. These gaps in conversation were common between the two, long-time friends.

Doctor Larsen broke the standoff. “I’ve been down in the valley helping the ER docs at the hospital. We’re seeing a wave of flu, and it’s not just any flu. It’s the mother of all flus; virulent, high transmission, high mortality, especially among young people. It seems like a mutation of the H2N3 virus that hit last year, only worse. I don’t specialize in infectious diseases, but I think the lower immune response of the population has encouraged some kind of super-flu, or maybe it’s just the regular flu and it’s kicking our butt because people are so worn down.”

“How many are sick?” Jason rubbed his greying stubble.

“More than fifty people showed up at Lakeview Hospital with the flu and two died this morning—a four-year-old female and a twenty-two-year-old female. I expect more deaths in the next twenty-four hours. The hospital hadn’t received their shipment of Tamiflu when the crash came, so we don’t have a medical response to the flu other than giving out purified water with salt in it. The flu’s going to have to run its course.”

“There has to be something we can do to protect ourselves,” Jason urged.

“Again, I’m no expert in viral epidemics,” Doctor Larsen gave the usual disclaimer of all physicians, “But I suggest the Homestead limit exposure to people from outside. Anyone helping at the hospital should stay at the hospital until this blows over. New people in the Homestead should be quarantined for a week before admission. We should suspend our hiring and interview process for new workers. Barricade guards should wear face masks and surgical gloves. They should be trained to keep their hands away from their face.”

“Okay. Chad, will you please brief Jeff Kirkham. Doc, will you get a nurse to the barricade guards and get them face masks and gloves. I have hundreds in deep storage.”

Doctor Larsen nodded. “Even after we do that, we need to plan and prepare for flu in the Homestead population as well. It’s very hard to separate two proximate populations. We need to prepare our own quarantine procedure and instruct the Homestead community to stay away from valley people, and to report to quarantine at the first sign of nausea, sneezing, or flu-like symptoms.”

Jason’s anger threatened to swamp him. It wasn’t enough that they’d barely survived two big attacks and several smaller fights. It wasn’t enough that they were surrounded by hordes of starving jackasses who hadn’t bothered to prepare for tough times. It wasn’t enough that some religious fanatic was threatening to “show them God’s will” with his army of maniacs. But now, some kind of super flu was coming to kill them in their sleep.

He couldn’t see a clear path through the never-ending gauntlet of horrors. He used to think, in a collapse of society, the smallest, hardiest groups of people would survive; maybe fifteen or twenty percent. He’d personally prepared more and better than ninety-nine percent of the population. Because of his “preps,” he was confident that he and his family would make it.

Over the last three months, he’d begun to realize that the “fifteen or twenty percent” survival idea had been pure fiction. This collapse could kill everyone, or virtually everyone. The survivors might be those who won the luck of the draw and skated out from underneath a dozen certain death