Chapter 1

I was sick ... Oooo worse than that ... it was the fever, coughing, shortness of breath, trouble breathing, fatigue, chills-sometimes with shaking, body aches, headache, sore throat, congestion with a runny nose, loss of smell or taste, nausea, diarrhea kinda sick ... just plain awful. Thought I might die kind of sick ... and it got worse. I could eat ... if I wanted to see food later.

If I fell asleep ... my muscles relaxed and I shit the bed.

I was admiring my blooming rose bush and smelled grilled steak ... burnt grilled steak.

Tuesday, March 19, 2019 ... before Covid 19 became a ‘pandemic.’

I knew I was sick ... It couldn’t be the flu ... I’d had the shot ... I was pretty miserable.

I probably infected 2 thousand and then went to a band concert at West High. West was packed with proud parents ... and a thousand students. Half way through, I pissed my pants and saw the pee over soaked the chair ... and watched it start running down to the front ... I was doing my part to spread it.

Food Stamps had been added to my card on the 14th. I took the bus to Walmart. The bus was packed with folks headed to the shop.

The local ‘Mart was packed with folks getting caught up to Easter ... I shit in every stool and peed in all the urinals ... damn water pills. A coughing jag hit me, I got airheaded and couldn’t stop.

I contaminated the whole damn store.

Some folks shop Walmart because they’re rich and want to stay that way. The trophy wife confered with the event staff ... including the housekeeper. The house party was scheduled for Friday week.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The housekeeper summoned the chauffeur and the kitchen staff, issued the house card, the ‘list’ and gave specific orders.

“Walmart,” she said. “Consult the list.”

“Yes, Mrs. Hacket.”

“Don’t forget,” she said.

“No, Mrs. Hacket.”

The last time the list wasn’t followed to the letter, the ‘keeper of the list’ was let go and the rest had a ‘missive’ in their folder. Two ‘missive’s’ and out the door.

The party loaded up in the ‘old’ limo, and drove off to meet me.

Not that they were aware they were meeting me.

“There will be 43 guests,” said the wife.

“Yes, ma’am,” where am I going to put them? Twenty one couples and a spare. 14 guest rooms ... three couples in the ‘office.’ Ah ... pool house.

The last time there were 60 ... the staff camped in the pavilion there were so many guests. This wasn’t going to be so bad.

Politicians all, the mansion was huge ... the acreage was enormous ... the mile square ‘lot’ was in the middle of 66 thousand PATROLLED acres ... the house was on top of the ONLY hill in miles. Drones were licensed and registered, curosity drones were shot down and woe betide the owner of the wreckage. The press couldn’t get close. Well ... not close enough for pictures.

This was going to be one of ‘those’ kind of parties. Bedroom roulette ... yup ... that kind of party.

Walmart was ‘unsuspecting.’ Mrs. Hacket had specified ‘my’ store and COVID wasn’t a ‘thing’ ... yet. The housekeepers minions, every one of them, passed within two feet of me ... a cloud of hacking fog was between me and the door. The fog was invisible ... viruses are too small to be visible ... unless you have access to a scanning electron microscope. Not something one carries around in ones backpocket.

The party was Friday week ... that’s suthern for a week from this Friday ... whether Friday was coming or gone. The housekeeper, chauffeur and the kitchen staff had plenty of time to be excessively contagious on Friday.

Party over ... the staff all fell ill on Saturday or Sunday. Mrs. Hacket was irrate ... but genuine illness is not grounds for dismissal ... unless you WANT to be sued. The remainder of the staff caught ... and Mr. Hacket died. So too died 34 of the original 43 guests ... and we made headline news. The CDC had ‘suspicions’ but the president was not a believer and fired the CDC honcho ... for alarmist tactics.

“There is no ‘pandemic’ ... it’s all a communist plot.” He had no idea how right he was.

Even after he caught the virus he kept working and infected the Secret Service, the house, the senate and the white house staff, he tolled the party line...”there is no pandemic.” He kept it up right until the day the vice was sworn in ... at the deathbed of “Mr ... it ain’t happening”

The CDC was stepping lightly ... but stepping. The knock came after I was truly and completely over it.

“Yes?”

“We’d like to ask you a few questions.”