Infection Runs Deep

CHAPTER THREE: INSURANCE

The world raced by in whirls of vibrant green and asphalt black, blurring the path home into monotony. I gripped the wheel tighter as I-95 loomed endlessly ahead. The lack of cars on the road struck me as strange. Where was everyone? Usually the traffic around the Mixing Bowl was horrible--I hated driving north of Springfield, especially during rush-hour. Don't even get me started on the New Jersey Turnpike.

Even the woods shrouding the road from the various exits were empty. I shifted in my seat and turned the radio up a little louder. My road trip playlist blasted through the speakers, but the pit in my stomach couldn't handle anymore early 2000s pop. I jerked the aux cord out of my phone, tossing it carelessly on the dash as I switched to a news station.

After what happened at the airport, I needed to know what was going on. Every moment that passed by drove my frayed nerves a little farther apart. But I could do this. I had to. Not just for me, but for all of those counting on me. My family, Oliver, my patients waiting back home. They needed me. Giving up meant that I didn't care about them.

I fiddled with the dial until I found a station not clogged with static or cheesy elevator music. "--emergency services are currently at capacity." Uh oh. "We recommend going to your nearest checkpoint location, found by calling the following number: 448-217-9781. Again, the location of your checkpoint can be found by calling 448-217-9781 or visiting our website at ncsemergency.org. Keep checking for updates on this channel or on our website. Thank you and stay safe." A long pause.

Holy sh--three loud pulsing beats broke the deafening silence. "This is an emergency radio broadcast. Please stay tuned for important information. This is not a drill." Three more blasts. "As of 7:28 am on May 19, the president declared a state of emergency due to violent outbursts of sickness nationwide. Stay in your homes if safe to do so. If you or any of your family members are exhibiting flu-like symptoms or extreme aggression, please report to a hospital or one of our quarantine checkpoint locations. Avoid contact with others. Do not call 911. All emergency services are at capacity--"

The statement continued on a loop. I pulled off the highway at the nearest exit, hoping to find any sign of people and maybe even a checkpoint location. The sun was beginning to set and I needed to find somewhere to stay for the night or somewhere that I could get a serious caffeine fix to get through the rest of the drive. To be completely honest, the checkpoints were a terrible idea for the healthy people. It was only more likely that they would get sick by gathering together with others that were potentially contagious. We didn't know anything about the incubation period or the contagious period, so it was best to remain in isolation unless you were really sick. Then, you should be going to a hospital, not one of these points.

I let out an exasperated breath as I turned onto a smaller street. Fumbling for my discarded phone, I leaned almost out of my seat to get it from the floor. I needed to see what these checkpoints were and get some more information from this website. My fingers barely grazed the smooth metal before a large jolt shook the car.

I slammed my foot on the brake, whirling upright in my seat. My heart pounded in my chest as I whipped my head to see what happened. I happened.

Stupid. I was so stupid. More focused on my stupid phone than driving the stupid car that I rammed into another one. Nice job, Elizabeth. Gold star.

As much as I hated to admit it, I was not the world's best driver. This wasn't the first time I had been in an accident, though I could say that I had never been in an accident like this.

The navy pick-up truck sat on the curb of the street inside of a gas station parking lot. Somehow, I hit the truck right at the point where the back of the bed and the side of the bed came to a point. While the truck remained unscathed, my car--well, my mom's minivan-- was totaled.