Out With a Bang

Zavala hesitated as he let the book’s cover fall into place over its’ pages. In that moment it felt like he, too, was being covered; buried, slowly. He moved to reopen it, just to reaffirm that it was indeed time to panic, but he hesitated once again. What good would it do?

He was in a cold sweat by the time he’d reached the door, though perhaps the perspiration was aided by how many times he’d tripped over his bunny slippers as he’d sprung from his desk. His robe hadn’t helped matters and neither did the fuzzy handcuffs –he was just noticing they matched the slippers.

Collecting himself, he muttered “It’s natural to panic, but you can’t let it win.” He repeated this three times before he realized his leg was warmer than it had been. Wetter too. Looking down, he offered a meek apology to his left bunny, now piss-soaked and looking rather dreary.

“Burt?”

Zavala turned around.

“Burt? You alright? You look terrible.”

He’d forgotten the name of the woman; not that anyone used their real names on these apps anyway.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

He didn’t know how he managed it, but a slight smile came to him then, one that just kissed the corners of his eyes; barely traceable on his mouth. “No, no. You were perfect. Thank you.”

He was out the door half a moment later, descending the spiral staircase into warm earth tones of wood and stone that adorned the kitchen.

He had calls to make. But where to start? Jennings? The general? That little red phone in Washington that rang all the time in films. (Supposedly it did ring, but less than a handful of times and that was during the Cold War.)

“What in – did you piss yourself, Burt?”

Not now! Zavala wanted to shout, but his mind was too preoccupied to translate thought into words. He couldn’t focus on anything at all, in fact. He’d managed to find his phone but he’d done nothing but stare at its lockscreen for – well, the math was right there – two minutes.

Jennings maybe.

Jennings could at least confirm his findings. The general might be too heavy handed, and the bright red phone… well, he’d rather not think about the bright red phone just yet.

Now that the panic has subsided, he considered for a moment the possibility of not making any calls at all. After all, if the dots he’d just connected did indeed form the picture he thought they did… no phone call on earth would matter. They were already out of time. And if he was wrong? Then so what? The world would keep chugging along; pickleball’s popularity would continue (and continue confounding him) and music might have a decent shot at getting good again – though his doubt persisted.

He decided he should call regardless. If for no other reason than he’d want to know. If he’d overlooked the green book upstairs but Jennings hadn’t – he’d appreciate the call.

He unlocked his cell and thumbed down until he was looking at Jennings, Margot Dr. His crow’s feet deepened with amused confusion. “Why’d I put her in my phone like that?” he mumbled. First name: Jennings Last Name: Margot Dr.

“Burt?” The woman called from the bedroom, yanking his attention from the screen. “Burt, you okay down there? Was it too much? I don’t really do aftercare, buddy, but I know a few girls who don’t mind that extra mile.” He heard the clicking of a lighter and then she muttered, “Overachievers, you ask me.”

Why had he chosen the name ‘Burt’?

For another minute, that’s all he could ponder and in the following minute there was an outright cacophony of chastisement for being able to focus solely on the banal. He’d never put a background on his phone, just the factory setting – why was that? He hated his dishtowels. They were bright yellow and didn’t go with anything in the kitchen. But he’d had them twelve years and never replaced them. Why was that? The woman was smoking and he hated cigarette smoke but he wasn’t going to ask her to put it out. Why not? Why? Why?

The woman appeared at the top of the spiral staircase clad only in a G-string and covered in little rivulets of dried wax. He hadn’t seen her all that clearly hours ago – there’d been a mask involved.

His jaw must have dropped because giggled as she asked if he liked what he saw. Then she performed the industry standard twirl and shake and while he should’ve been noticing lots of things, all he could focus on were the streaks of red wax dotting her body like perforation marks. In his mind he saw countless other bodies, all of them covered in similar red streaks, glistening with fever sweat, moaning in agony.

He pressed the video icon next to Jennings, Margot Dr. and held the phone to his ear.

“What the hell? I’m giving you the show of a lifetime and you’re calling someone? After you pissed yourself and left me in the room with it? That’s messed up, Burt!”

Zavala offered the woman a meek shrug and then held up a finger, indicating he’d speak with her in a moment. The glow of her cigarette’s cherry illuminated the bird she flipped him. Then she stormed off, though not in the direction of the bedroom. He wanted to ask where she was going when his attention was ripped back to his phone.

“Do you have any idea what time it is, Zavala?”

“I know, I know – I’m sorry. I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t urgent.”

The woman in the G-string clicked her tongue. “You’re really just letting me walk away? Wooooooow!” she yelled over her shoulder.

“What’s that?” asked the doctor in his ear. “Zavala? What the hell’s going on?”

Zavala cleared his throat, did his best to focus. He asked Jennings about the book sitting on his desk upstairs. Was she familiar with it? If so, did she remember a series of short paragraphs toward the back of the appendix?

“I think you have me on a video call, but I can’t see you.” Jennings replied, ignoring the questions.

Zavala scoffed as he took the phone from his ear and held it at arms’ length. The face that greeted him was puffy from sleep, angered from its sudden lack of it. Zavala understood why she’d be angry, but he was confused when he saw her recoil from her screen.

“What on earth? What’s all over your face?”

“My face?” he asked. His hands flew to his cheeks; he pressed and patted, feeling for the sting of an abrasion, a bruise or bump he hadn’t noticed. His lips were quite chapped and as his fingers came away he saw they were stained red. His first thought was blood, but the stain was faint and not the bright sanguine it should’ve been.

It was then he realized he could see himself in the tiny box on the lower right corner of his screen. He uttered a shocked gasp and threw the phone onto the counter.

“Zavala?” Dr. Jennings voice called after him. “What the hell is going on? Is this about your quarantine solution program? Are you pranking me or something for not getting on board?”

“No!” Zavala screamed. He was so flustered his voice broke and the absurdity of the sound flustered him twice fold. He rushed to the sink and was busy scrubbing his lips, his eyes. It struck him as ridiculous that he was panicking more now than a few moments ago. A wild thing, the human ego; for how could it possibly be that he’d be more concerned over his reputation than the survival of mankind? And yet here he had thrown away a vitally important call to wash his face.

When he’d shut the water off he begged for Dr. Jennings to hear him out, that he wasn’t pranking her, that the call held significant importance.

He grabbed his phone and pleaded into the camera that she simply grab a copy of Dr. Stagner’s book. “The one with the green cover – I can’t remember the title.” He sputtered, putting a hand over his face when he realized the water had simply smeared, not disappeared, the rouge, lipstick, and mascara. “In the appendix! She mentions a hospital in St. Lucia. The unconventional spread of Candida Auris? It’s only three paragraphs, but…

“…when we briefed General Mbala, what did we say? That the climate was unsuitable for significant worry, correct? We were confident on that. But I kept thinking there was something… something that seemed… off. I couldn’t place it then.” He rubbed his temples, wondering if he was just smearing mascara further down his cheeks. “But tonight… I was restless. I picked up Dr. Stagner’s book and…”

Dr. Jennings hadn’t responded. He took a quick peek through his fingertips to find that the call was still connected, but she’d abandoned both the screen and her bed.

He took the precious few moments of her absence to grab a dishtowel and got busy trying to make last nights indulgences disappear. The cloth was rough and needed to be washed; more true now than ever as it came away maroon and black. Maybe now he’d replace them.

He heard glass shatter. He was so jittery it made him drop the towel. He bent to pick it up when a ringing from his bedroom startled him into dropping it again.

“I started a zoom call, Zavala!” he heard Dr. Jennings shout. Shouting through a phone always sounded so strange. “Hanging up now; join on your computer!”

His phone chirped its sign off before he could grab it, ask her for a little more time to get camera ready. Meanwhile, his laptop kept ringing away.

Swooping the dishtowel from the floor, he tore back up the spiral staircase, only tripping twice.

Bursting into his bedroom, he stepped in a puddle and, having forgotten he’d created said puddle, he jumped in shock, landed funny and landed with a thud and a groan at the foot of his bed. His groan turned into a bellowing curse as he groped for the duvet, hoping it would help him back to his feet. Unfortunately, instead of righting himself, he ended up dragging the duvet off the bed where it unfurled into the puddle by the door.

“I don’t even care.” He croaked. He took a moment as images of panicking, desperate societies worldwide began pounding his inner vision. “Why should I care? Why should I answer this call? Oh god! What does it matter? What does any of it matter?”

That heinous, corporate ringing was incessant; a sound he’d hated since even before Covid, but that was now firmly entrenched in his brain as the Joy Killer, the doorbell at Hell’s Mouth.

He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, tried to clear his mind. Maybe all wasn’t lost. Maybe there would be good things discussed on this 3:46 am emergency call. He sat up, untangled the duvet from his handcuff chain (where was the key to that, by the way?) and hobbled to his desk.

He joined the call with Dr. Jennings in mid-sentence. “seems spread is indeed possible. If such is the case … it’s been weeks now. I’m – oh, hello, Dr. Zavala – we’re suggesting a return to the contamination site to – ”

“ – you assured me spread was impossible.” General Mbala cut in. “You swore up and down, you presented me with chart after graph after chart! You… you…Dr. Zavala, what the hell is that on your face?”

The general was bleary-eyed, but his fatigue had nothing to do with the look he was giving Zavala through the screen.

“I’ve… uh… well, I’ve been, uh…” Zavala stammered. He couldn’t think of what to say. There was what he should say – that they needed a full inspection team to head back to the contamination site; time was of the essence and yadda yadda. The truth, however, was simple and painful. They’d been overconfident. They’d miscalculated. The spread was already well underway and with a fungus like what they were dealing with… controlling it was beyond them. He didn’t want to come off as defeatist, but it wasn’t like they were fighting a war. This was science!

The doorway behind him was suddenly filled with the figure of the woman. He’d forgotten about her entirely and was thankful when he saw that she’d found herself a robe.

“Dr. Zavala?” General Mbala said, prompting him to speak.

“Dr. Zavala?” The woman parroted. “Burt that is a badass title, baby! You should put that on the friggin’ app! You’d get way more traffic!”

Both Mbala and Jennings recoiled when they identified the voice. Dr. Jennings muttered something about how he couldn’t be serious. The General wondered where his common decency was.

Zavala exploded. He’d noticed a few seconds earlier, a small vein start to throb in his temple. Like many things over the past few hours, this was new to him. Only now, as his blood pressure crossed a line, did he understand what it meant.

“My decency? General, have you heard anything Dr. Jennings just said? We’ve been cavalier, when we should’ve been cautious! It wasn’t one fungal spore we found, don’t you see? It was two! And its spread is already well beyond us. You can call Washington, sir; you can launch this and that protocol, you can send the right people to the right bunkers… but it’s over for the rest of us, understand? Over!”

“We don’t know anything.” The general replied. “I need your head in the game, Dr. Zavala.”

The slightest of glances at Dr. Jennings confirmed she was as panicked as he’d been mere minutes ago. A return to the contamination site wouldn’t do anything. Neither would any quarantine contingency plan.

a week or two. At least now he was still breathing properly, though not evenly.

“You want to my head in the game?” he said finally. “How about you get yours out of your ass, general. It’s over. We were careless and prideful – so sure of ourselves. We’ve killed us all!”

“Burt.” Whispered the woman, “You’re scaring me, buddy.”

Burt turned toward her and smiled. “I’m sorry.”

Both Jennings and Mbala were shouting now; expletives, threats, curses – nothing a quick-moving super fungus wouldn’t cure.

He didn’t hesitate this time as he closed the laptop.

“Last night. Last night you asked how I got such fancy digs.” Zavala said as he moved from his desk back to the bed. He was experiencing a strange calm. He didn’t think it would last, but there was also the distinct possibility it would never return and he wanted it to last as long as possible, “I run wargames scenarios for the government. That was all just… overpriced consultant stuff. For if a foreign contaminant ever got loose. Like, uh… like super Covid.”

The woman sighed. She sounded relieved though her face remained unconvinced.

“Listen, if you have the next few hours free, I’ll pay double.” He tapped his wrists together and nodded toward the dangling hand cuff. “We can put these back on? I know what you just heard was scary – we can put it all behind us.”

She smiled. It was faint; a precursor to the suspension of disbelief.

“Well… you’re paying double regardless, because I don’t do potty training.” She replied through a chuckle. “But, uh… you take a shower, and I think I can find a few spare hours for ya, Burt. Or should I say, Dr. Zavala?”

He laughed then – a full belly laugh made all the sweeter when he recognized it was among his last.

Let’s go out with a bang, he thought. Let’s go out with a bang.