Sympatico Syndrome (Book 1): Infection (A Pandemic Survival Novel) by M.P. McDonald

some flimsy paper mask. She just hoped he had been wearing it the entire time he was on assignment.
    “Carl, how do you know he’s dead?” The news anchor looked horrified as she asked Carl the question.
    “Diane, just be glad his face is turned away, but I guarantee that if he faced us, we’d see a pool of blood around his head. That’s how it’s been with all of the others. They drop, begin convulsing and vomit up massive amounts of blood. That’s it. It’s how they die. One second, they’re walking and talking, the next…” He made a spiral motion with his finger along with a whistling sound reminiscent of a falling missile. He shook his head.
    Suddenly, all of the televisions flashed a Special Report screen. The scene shot to the familiar podium in the White House press room.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.”
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    E lly’s hands shook . Martial law ? She had wanted precautions but not this. She thought back to what the President had said. Martial Law wasn’t going into effect until midnight two days from now. That meant she had two days to get out of the city. She had no food and no way to get any more up here. Room service had stopped delivering yesterday. A precaution, she’d been told, to keep contact to a minimum. She couldn’t blame the hotel, but it left her in a predicament. She was down to a tiny pack of peanuts she’d received on her flight here. She had nothing to drink except water, and she wondered how long the infrastructure would hold up. When too many people died, there would be too few left to work, or those who were left were too afraid to show up for work out of fear of catching the virus. Then, society would break down completely.
    She had been warning them for weeks, ever since the first three sailors had died out on Aislado. She’d asked if it was a bioengineered virus that had escaped from the lab, but the Navy had remained tight-lipped. If they created the virus, they should have an antidote or treatment for it, but apparently, they didn’t. Or if they did, they weren’t sharing it with the public.
    Where could she go? She thought about the people she’d worked with while out here and tried their numbers. Some calls never made it through, and the others weren’t answered. She went down her list, trying everyone in the area, hoping she could seek shelter with one of the FEMA people or some official in Chicago would tell her where she could ride this out. There had to be some kind of provisions made for those trying to combat the spread of the disease, but she was finding out that wasn’t the case.
    It seemed as if everyone was already in full survival mode, and if she wanted to survive, she had to make plans. Now.

Chapter Nine
    C ole turned onto his street and slammed on the brakes. “ Holy shit !”
    Yellow barricades like police used when trying to hold back mobs of demonstrators blocked off the street. Three men with guns manned the roadblock. Cole tensed as one of the men approached his vehicle.
    Sean was right behind him with the truck and Jenna and the kids following Sean. He hoped his brother wouldn’t jump out and start waving his handgun around. He was grateful for Sean’s forethought to bring the weapon, but it was three against one, and now Jenna and the kids were around.
    Cole rolled his window down a crack, squinting at the man who was backlit by the sun and wearing a baseball cap pulled low. “What’s going on? I live on this street and need to get home.”
    “Do you have proof of residence?”
    Cole glared. “Since when do I need proof that I live in my house? My key is proof, now get those barricades out of the street and let me through.” He had his license, of course, but that wasn’t the point. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “The two vehicles behind me are family. Let them in, too.”
    “Cole, is that you?”
    He blinked up at the face. “Who wants to know?”
    The man pulled off his cap. “It’s me.