Plagues

Chapter 33

“Four straight nights of curfews and special containments is believed to be the cause of a spike in demand for shots in the GTA. Doctors are saying there has been a 50% increase in Asylum First Response purchases. Across the rest of the continent, Health Canada, the CDC, and BIOTRANS are all reporting similar findings.”

The news cut to a spokesperson for the CDC who said this was the upside of public fear and that it should slow the virus' trek. They then cut to the head of BIOTRANS Canada speaking from behind a podium.

“Rest assured,” he said, “the hunt for those responsible for these difficult times is still on and going strong.”

They cut back to the anchor.

“According to BIOTRANS and respective federal investigation agencies in Canada and the U.S., many arrests related to the investigation are being made in jurisdictions known for having complaints about gypsy activity.”

“We've gotten all kinds of calls in the Parkdale area for example,” the chief of Toronto police said. “Prostitution, robbery, abductions, voyeurism, and many of these offenses have been traced back to the visible gypsy population in that area. I've spoken to colleagues in other jurisdictions who say the same.”

“BIOTRANS Canada declined to offer further comment,” the anchor said.

As I lethargically finished my lunch, the cycle of information given started again on the half hour, repeating all that had already been said. I dragged myself and my dishes to the kitchen. My mom was against the counter, angrily embattled in one of her mini games on her phone. She glanced up as I dealt with my plate and cup.

“Why don't you have a nap, Al?” she said. “You don't look like you're getting enough sleep.”

“I can't sleep,” I grumbled.

“How come? Nothing's happening. Everything seems fine out there right now.”

“I know. Guess I'm just a little stressed.”

“Go lie down, honey.”

“Fine.”

“Do you want me to come check on you in a bit?”

“No, thank you,” I said, halfway to my room.

I closed my door and my blinds, my room becoming blanketed in a darkness softened by some natural light still creeping in through breaks in my blinds, and from lights in the condo shining under my door. I undressed down to my boxers and climbed into bed. As I lay down, my phone rang in my pants pocket. I grunted and hissed from the back of my throat as I crawled down my bed and grabbed it. The screen said the call was from a private, blocked number.

“Hello?” I said.

“Ah, good, your number hasn't changed,” the smooth male voice, supported by a musty Canadian accent said.

I clenched up my jaw.

“Marcus, right?” I said.

“Glad to hear you remember me, son.” He chuckled. “Trouble sleeping?”

“What?”

“You are, huh? Well, you and everyone else. Fireworks were supposed to go off the other night, right? Bombs, bullets, the big vamp crusade. Gosh, see, now, I was a little worried that you and your little outfit feared me less now because you thought I forgot. Well, good news! You can keep fearing me, bud! I haven't forgotten! It's part of the plan.”

“And what is that, Marcus? What's the plan?”

“Oh, don't worry, you'll see. Everyone will. You can't miss it. In fact, between you and me, it's so freaking awesome, the good people of the City of Los Angeles might get a premier screening. You know, speaking of the City of Angels, it seems lately their so called angels haven't been around for them much.” He clicked his tongue. “Anyway, that's just how it has to be. Your pal Darwin understands.”