The Liger Plague (Book 1) by Joseph Souza

had given up hope that a ferry might come and rescue them, so they sat around on the curbs, drinking warm beer and eating chips or candy out of the bag. Many, to his dismay, were talking on their cell phones or texting, relaying their sorry plight to family and friends back on the mainland. With the power out, these phones would soon run out of juice.
    Faces stared at him as he passed. Most visitors to the island didn’t bother to take their cars over on the ferry because of the cost and the fact that it was unnecessary to do so, seeing how a person could easily walk anywhere on the island. The art festival’s main activities took place in the center of town and within easy walking distance from the ferry terminal. Most people came for the day, visited all the art exhibits located around the center of town, and then returned home the same night.
    He couldn’t see the police patrol car anywhere. The two cops should have been out maintaining order and having a strong presence in the center of town. The breakdown of the island’s rule of law had been complete, and he knew that even if he tried to take control of the situation, he would have little impact on the angry and confused mob. Dizzy and sick, with these blisters burning his skin, he had little energy to try to compel people to go against their base instincts. He had his own family to worry about. His only hope was to go home and prepare for the worst, and make sure that his house remained safe and secure.
    He drove slowly through the crowd, trying to ignore their desperate looks and pleading cries. His natural inclination was to help them, but he had to fight off the urge. Some of them pounded their fists against the car in anger. The mob staggered along the streets, looking for help, reassurance, someone to tell them that everything would be okay.
    Right now he couldn’t be that man.
    Despite the rush of cold air, his hair dripped with sweat as he navigated the car through Main Street. Gripping the steering wheel, he could barely keep his eyes on the road he was so overcome by fatigue. Once he arrived on Sandy Lane, he took a right and headed toward his house. Thankfully only a few people were walking along the street. He gazed out at the choppy ocean to his left, feeling too sick to appreciate the beauty of this scene. Glancing at Versa, he could see that she didn’t care one way or another about the view or the plight of the people seeking his help, contemptuous as she was against all outsiders invading her turf. He parked in the driveway and sat back in the seat, completely exhausted from the short trip over.
    “You going to sit there and admire your big fancy house, or are you going to escort a lady inside?” Versa said, practically spitting out the words.
    “Relax, will you? Give me a second to catch my breath.”
    “Don’t tell me to relax. This island’s been my home since the day I was born, and I don’t take lightly to being bossed around by an outsider.”
    He was about to respond when the car’s Bluetooth started to ring. “Excuse me while I take this,” he said.
    Versa got out of his car in a huff. He didn’t want her to hear this conversation. She strolled across the street, disappearing behind a row of tall hedges. Tag pressed the button on the console and answered the phone.
    “Hello, Colonel.”
    “You!”
    “Yeah, it’s me. Your good buddy Lenny. And have I got some news for you.”
     

Chapter 8
    “What do you want?”
    “A fine mess you find yourself in, Colonel. A fine mess indeed.”
    “Why are you doing this?”
    “How about we save that existential question for later? Tell me how you’re feeling instead.”
    “How do you think I’m feeling, asshole? You gave me smallpox.”
    “Is that the thanks I get for throwing you a bone by providing you with a vaccine? You know as well as I do, Colonel, that with every vaccination comes a modicum of risk. The AMA estimates that 250 out of a million could die from a smallpox