Forward
Since I wrote yesterday's installment, we've learned the name of the second Dallas nurse, Amber Vinson. We've also learned that during the observation period, she flew to Cleveland, Ohio, and amazingly was given the all-clear by the CDc to get on an airplane despite having a 99.5º fever. The number of exposed people is now easily in the hundreds. Not just health-care workers, but also:
- anybody on that flight
- anybody who subsequently boarded that plane before it was grounded
- anybody in either of the two airports
- her family and fiancé in Ohio
- any friends she visited in Ohio
- The seamstress who worked on her dress (I'm assuming she underwent that ritual while she was in town).
It sounds like she was asymptomatic, and therefore not contagious, until she got to the airport on October 13, so her family, friends, and other people she visited in Ohio are probably okay, but you've got to figure all of the people I just listed are pretty freaked out right now.
If you haven't read it yet, you may want to go read part 1 before proceeding. So, without further ado, here's part 2.
October 20, 9:15 am
Steve Thomas woke up in a haze, but he could tell that there was quite a commotion going on around him. "What happened?"
"Sir, I'm with the Dallas metro fire department. Name's Billy. You passed out, you've got a nose bleed, and you're showing a fever of 100°. It looks like you need to get some rest and... Aw, shit."
Steve had turned his head to the side and vomited. He could see the eggs he'd eaten, as well as small chunks of bacon and nasty tufts of what he assumed had been bread. He'd gotten it all over the fireman's lap. He noticed that the consistency of the puke didn't seem quite the same as other times he'd been sick. It seemed almost... bloody.
"Well, that's pretty nasty," the fireman joked. "Gee, I don't suppose you just got back from Liberia or something?"
"No, but..." and Steve threw up again, this time into a towel that Melissa had brought over for him. His phone started to ring again. "... never been to Africa, but..." and he passed out a second time.
Melissa dropped the towel in disgust as she grabbed another to wipe the vomit off of her hands. She heard Steve's phone and looked at it on the ground next to him. It was Steve's girlfriend, Patty, calling. She looked back at Steve, who was passed out again. By now, a crowd had formed around them. One guy had his cell phone out, filming the whole episode. She picked up the phone, and swiped the "answer" slider over.
"Hey, Patty, it's Melissa. Steve's passed out. Yeah, out cold. He threw up all over the paramedic, or fireman - whatever. Yeah... Yeah... What? He never mentioned that to me. Holy SHIT. You're serious? Fuck fuck fuck. Uh... What do I do? Hey, uh... firefighter?"
The fireman looked over at her, "Name's Billy. What is it?"
"His girlfriend Patty is heading to the hospital right now. She's been throwing up, too. She's a nurse over at Texas Presbyterian, and..." she hesitated, knowing this last bit would cause some commotion.
"And?" Billy prompted.
"And she worked on Thomas Duncan."
"Oh, fuck." Billy had been really professional prior to letting that f-bomb slip. "Uhh... okay. Everybody, step back, but DON'T LEAVE. We don't want anybody to track any of this puke out of here, willy-nilly. Uh... what's your name, miss?"
"Melissa."
"Great. Melissa, can you lock the doors?" She began running to the doors. Another customer was heading in for a morning workout. She motioned for them to turn around, and locked the door.
Denise Weinstein couldn't believe the audacity of that girl from the gym. Why the hell would she be locking the door at this hour? It made no sense. Denise marched right up to the door, and started knocking on the glass. "What gives, missy? I'm paying damned good money to work out here! Open these doors right now! I have to finish my workout early - I'm meeting my friends for lunch and can't be late!"
Melissa pointed at at Steve. Denise, dumbfounded, screamed through the glass, "So fucking what?" Melissa looked her in the eye, a tear running out of her own eye, and screamed, at the top of her lungs, "YOU DUMB FUCK! HE'S GOT EBOLA!"
Apparently, Lone Star X-Fit's customer base weren't the sharpest knives in the drawer, because they had not put together the implication of the name Thomas Duncan. Only now did they start to understand the fact that they were, at this moment, being exposed to the Ebola virus which only three weeks prior had never been transmitted on the North American continent.
The crowd backed away from Steve, like oil in a sink when a drop of Dawn is dropped in. The guy with the cell phone grabbed his backpack and began heading for the door. Melissa, between him and the door, said, "Hey, uh - where do you think you're going?"
"As far away from Ebola-boy over there as I can get. Get out of my way."
"Look, I'm no doctor or anything, but if you inhaled any of that puke, you've already got it, right?"
"Yeah, and if I didn't, then every second I'm still here is more of a risk. Now. Get the fuck out of my way."
"Sir, if you've got any on you, you could contaminate the outside world."
"Look. I'm leaving. You can try and stop me." He grabbed her by the shoulders, not realizing that she had Steve's vomit all over her, and threw her to the ground. He grabbed the lock mechanism on the door, turned it clockwise, and pushed his way through the door. Denise stepped to the side, and watched as cell-phone guy wiped his nose, undid the carabiner holding his keys on his backpack, and got in his BMW. Melissa got up and watched as cell-phone guy pulled his phone out again and placed a call. He put the phone to his ear, the key in the ignition, and backed out of the parking spot.
She started to head to the door to lock it again. Denise was already returning to her Escalade. Melissa heard a commotion behind her, and turned around. All of the other customers had decided that cell-phone guy was right; they needed to get out of there, immediately, and were walking to the exit.
"Everybody, you've got to stay calm and don't leave! You're going to spread this thing to your friends and families!" It was useless, though. They were already pushing her out of the way and there was nothing she could do. She sat on the bench that Steve, just moments before, was trying to get to. She felt the tears welling up, and as the last customer left, she began sobbing, and looked at her hands. They still had a film of Steve's vomit despite having been wiped.
As she was crying, another man came to the door, saw the man on the ground, and asked, "what the hell's going on?"
She looked up and said, "Ebola." As the man turned around, she got up and locked the door again. Billy was on his radio, talking with dispatch to try and figure out what the hell to do. "Melissa, you guys have records of who's been here? Video, maybe?"
Melissa was entering a weird, robotic state of shock. "Uh... yeah. There's a sign-in sheet, but the regulars don't usually bother with it. There's security cameras. I don't really know where the recorders are, though. You'll have to call my boss, Bob. His number's on the little sheet of paper taped to the inside of the desk over there."
"Hey, Billy? You've got more help coming, right?"
"Yeah. I'm just a volunteer fireman and paramedic. I just happened to be coming out of the Jiffy Lube when the call went out. There should be an ambulance here any second."
"Can you tell them to bring some clothes? I'm going to go take about fifty showers."
"That's actually a pretty good idea. I'll be right behind you."
Part 3
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