The Great Silence Read online

  Blue Plague: The Great Silence

  By Emery C. Walters

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2018 Emery C. Walters

  ISBN 9781634867023

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  Blue Plague: The Great Silence

  By Emery C. Walters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  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 bitch 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.

  Chapter 2

  “I went back and bought a huge supply of cat food. After that’s gone, they’ll be on their own, but there will be lots of rats and mice and…I’m so sorry. Here I am supposed to be taking care of you, and I’m falling apart with the what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. I’m scared, Bruce.”

  “So am I, son. Come here.”

  We both needed that hug.

  “Well, then there now,” I said as Burk pulled away and wiped his eyes. “Do you think it’s too soon to start raiding the neighbors? Or too late to haul more supplies in from the stores?”

  Burk fell onto the couch. Two cats climbed on his lap. The third one just lay where he was on the floor. He looked dead. “Do you have a gun?” Burk asked. “I do. I have a small handgun in my duffel bag. It’s mostly for show, but I can use it if necessary.”

  “No, I don’t, but the guy next door does, and dead or alive, we can use it. If he’s dead, we’ll get it, and if he’s alive, well…” I tilted my head. How much did I know about the guy next door? He, too, had inherited his house from his parents. He was straight, I think. Well, I shouldn’t hold that against him. What I was trying to determine was whether if he lived, he’d be an asset to our survival, or a drag on our resources, or, worse. “You know what, if the phones work, I’ll call him. If there’s no answer, that’s somewhat of an answer in itself.”

  “How long would the phones work? I have mine plugged in upstairs, recharging. Is he on Facebook or whatever? Email?” Burk asked while rubbing cat bellies.

  “Watch out for the black one—I call her Elvira for a reason—oh, she’s not on your lap. She’s the fat black one on the floor by your foot. Nudge her gently for me, will you? Only if she’s dead, don’t tell me!” I laughed the most fake and feeble laugh I’ve ever heard come out of a human being, but the gasp and half-sob that came with it were very real. I knew the truth without even looking to see if there was blood.

  Burk looked down, then at me. “It’s your turn to cook supper,” he said quietly.

  Without another word, I got up and went into the kitchen.

  Over a somewhat burned meal, Burk said, “I’m really sorry. The other two kitties seem fine. I found a shovel in the laundry room. It’s all taken care of. I’m so sorry. I have a dog at home. Well, she lives with my parents now. I should call them, but Bruce, would you…I mean…”

  “I’ll call them for you,” I said. “No worries, dear. No worries.”

  Neither of us ate much, and as I took the phone from his hand and went back into the den, he started cleaning up the leftovers and fussing over my two remaining cats, Felicia, and Paris.

  Goodbye, Elvira, I thought. I will miss you.

  His parents’ phone just rang and rang. There wasn’t even a voicemail. They must be as old-fashioned as I was, I thought. I hoped.

  We stayed in the kitchen, watching the two cats sniff at their food and wander around, obviously looking for their friend.

  “Is that the neighbor with the gun, I mean, that house?” Burk asked, looking out the window.

  “Yes. I don’t see any lights on. Should I…”

  “No!” Burk was vehement. “You have a game leg. I’ve had, ah, experience in, ah, this sort of thing.” He looked furtive, or like he was pretending to look furtive. “Actually, it’s true,” he added, smiling. “I got in trouble in junior high because I wanted to be a detective, so I learned how to pick locks and practiced on the neighbors and my sister’s bedroom.” He blushed.

  “But if he’s home,” I said, “You’re too young to die. I’m old and expendable.”

  “Shush. Do you know where he keeps them?”

  “He has a gun cabinet in his den. It’s to the right of the living room. If you go out our back door, that’s his side door you’ll see behind that gate by the gladiolas. Oh, dear, do be careful!”

  He laughed at me. Laughed at me! “Yes, Aunt Mary!” He slid quietly out the door. He wore all black, and I’d been the only one at the gin, so there was that. What had I gotten myself into, bringing this boy home with me?

  I should have been washing dishes or something, but instead, I turned off the light and stood by the window, trying to acclimate my eyes to the pitch darkness. There was plenty of light, streetlights down the way, other house lights, and car headlights—business as usual again, right? But next door was dark and quiet. I stared and thought I saw a blacker spot moving against the other black. I heard someone on the street and then steps. Was someone climbing the stairs up to his house? Mine? Both were equally bad. Had someone called the police? What if the boy tripped or fell, or there was a trap set, or my neighbor was home, sitting quietly in the dark, maybe holding a
gun in his lap, waiting.

  Suddenly, something leapt up onto the counter right in front of me, and I screamed like a little girl. Of course, it was only one of the cats, and I didn’t care which one. My heart pounded, and I staggered into the bathroom because, all of a sudden, that’s where I needed to be most. And quickly. But what if there was blood? What if I died? What if…shit. I tripped over the other cat and only saved myself from falling onto the floor by hitting the wall.

  Believe it or not, I was laughing so hard by then, mostly at myself, the fact that I made the bathroom in time was a shock. And the fact that I needn’t have worried was a wonderful, if unpleasant, surprise. First time I’d ever been grateful to have only diarrhea.

  After I finished, still giggling a bit, somewhat hysterical, I made my way back to the living room and tuned into the classical station on my old-fashioned radio. It was 9:30 Sunday night, and I always liked to listen to the Compline service from St. Mark’s. It always brought me peace and hope, even tonight, although the choir seemed a bit skimpy, which wasn’t surprising at all.

  However, at the very end, the minister said, “This will be our last broadcast. We hope you will continue to find good health and great serenity in these trying times. Goodnight, and good luck.”

  I wanted more gin, but I had a cat on my lap, and you know how that is. So I just sat in the darkness, listened to some prerecorded music, and waited for Burk to come home. And as I sat there with the warm, purring lump on my lap, thinking of everything that had happened in the last week, I wondered how my coworkers were doing. What about the people in the airport I had departed from? Had they been exposed to the dog from Hell? What about my nieces and nephews and my brother and sister-in-law, that bitch? What was it about this boy who had come home with me? Why had neither he nor I died? Had we had mild cases? Could we still catch it? What about my remaining two cats?

  Oh, shit, I thought. Was I now going to bawl over all of this, or just over my cat in particular?