"What do we do?"

"The only thing we can. This town is far enough removed. Very few outsiders come in. This thing is only going to take a few days. We do the only thing we can. Sit down right now, devise a story, and devise a plan. We have a chance at stopping this thing here and now. Stopping it from spreading. But we have to act fast," Val said. "We have no choice. We have to shut down. We have to seal the town."

Chapter Seven.

Lincoln, Montana

December 16th

Andy wasn't gone all that long from Emma's, maybe a half an hour, but it was long enough for Del to get to the house after he saw Andy in town.

His car was parked in the driveway, angled as always to stop a car from pulling in next to him. Where did he think he was, at a mall?

Since Del was on his extended visit, he was always at the house. Andy didn't let it bother him too much, he just hung around Emma who avoided Del. Del was there for Richie or Heather. Seldom Cody. It was as if he refused to recognize Cody as a grandchild.

After parking his truck, Andy walked around to the back and lifted the bushel basket from the rear. He carried it with him up the driveway to the house and stepped inside.

Andy could have predicted what he'd see.

Del and Richie in the living room, the standard pizza box, empty soda cans tossed about as they played video games. They used a white board to communicate. After three weeks, Andy thought for sure Del would have learned to sign some.

He tapped Richie on the head to let him know he was there. "I'm back; I'll be in the kitchen." Andy signed. "Hand me a slice?"

"Sure thing," Richie replied and grabbed a piece of pizza for Andy.

Del paused in playing. "Hey, nice basket of tomatoes."

Richie signed, "I thought you were dropping them off at Bonnie's diner."

"I was," Andy signed. "But she was gone early tonight. They must not have been busy. You having fun?"

"Yeah, actually, I kinda like him more now."

Andy laughed.

"Ok, enough," Del said. "I know you guys are talking about me."

"N ... not every ... every th... thing is about you-you."

"Re....re...really."

Andy sighed.

From the kitchen Emma yelled, "I heard that, Andy. You have my permission to deck him. It is my house."

Andy ignored her typical statement and looked at Del. "We .. we were t ... talking about you." Andy stumbled over the 'R', then skipped it and said, "He ... he ... likes being with ... with you."

Del smiled, grabbed a pen and wrote down what Andy said. He showed it to Richie.

Richie nodded.

"Cool." Del grinned. "Let's hang out more. You can go continue to be errand boy for Emma, Andy, she's in the kitchen."

Thinking 'he's such an a.s.shole' but not saying it, Andy went into the kitchen. He set the bushel on the floor. "B ... B ... closed."

"Really?" Emma asked. "That's odd. She must have been dead in the diner tonight." After a shrug, she thanked Andy and kissed him. "I appreciate you going down there. We'll just take it tomorrow. Right now, prepping these tomatoes for canning is a b.i.t.c.h."

"I ... t ... told you. N-not to start tonight."

"I know. But now I won't be happy until we finish." She peered over Cody's shoulder. "Oh, honey, good job."

Cody held a plastic knife, pretending to peel the tomato, but she smashed it more than anything.

Andy grabbed a paper towel. As he wiped the child's hands, the back door opened.

Stew walked in.

"Dad?" Emma said surprised. "What the heck are you doing here at this hour?"

"I just finished my poker game and I remembered what I had to tell you this morning."

"Really?" Emma asked. "What's that?"

"The other ..." Stew paused. "Why does the baby have a knife?"

"It's plastic and play. She's fine. We're canning."

"At nine thirty at night?" Stew asked.

"I started and can't stop until I get a good grip on things. What do you have to tell me?"

"I was saying ..." Stew paused. "Holy s.h.i.t." He walked to the bushel of tomatoes. "Where in the h.e.l.l did all this come from? They're ripe." He grabbed one and sniffed. "Perfect. Where are you getting homegrown tomatoes in December?"

"Um ... the hole." Emma said.

Andy explained further. "She ... g ... g ... grew them."

"Hydroponics," Emma boasted. "And you said I wasted my education."

"I still think that," Stew said. "But good job on the tomatoes."

"Yeah, well, we have a ton. I over-planted." Emma shrugged then changed the tone of her voice to a higher pitch as she focused her words to Cody. "So we're canning. We'll be eating tons of tomatoes in the apocalypse." She cleared her throat. "My estimate, I can eat a jar a day for over a year."

"Swell," Stew said. "I'm sure the tomatoes in the apocalypse will come in handy. You still have this bushel to do?"

Emma shook her head. "Nah. I'm giving that to Bonnie. Andy took it down, but she was closed."

"Closed?" Stew asked. "That's a surprise. The diner must have been dead."

Andy nodded.

"Dad? What did you wanna tell me?"

Stew opened his mouth and paused. "G.o.dd.a.m.n it. I forgot."

"Must have not been important," Emma said.

"It was important." Stew winced. "I think."

"Maybe it was a lie."

Stew huffed. "Now why the h.e.l.l would I come down to your house to tell you a lie?"

"You're old. You have nothing better to do than to bother your grown daughter."

Andy reached over and gave a playful nudge to Emma. "Be ... b ... be nice."

Emma giggled.

"I come here to make sure my grown daughter isn't dementing my great-granddaughter."

"Too late." Emma smiled. "Did you wanna stay?"

"Nah, I'm gonna go. a.s.shole's here and I'd rather not see him." Stew looked at Andy. "Did you deck him yet?"

Emma answered, "Unfortunately, not yet. He will."

"I doubt it. Andy's too nice." Stew grabbed the bushel. "And so am I. I'll take this for you in the morning when I go to Bonnie's for breakfast."

"Thanks," Emma told him.

"You .. you .. you sure?" Andy asked.

"Absolutely." Stew kissed Cody, then Emma, and walked to the door. "Oh. Hey. Have you heard from Heather?"

"Is that what you wanted to tell me or ask?"

Stew shook his head. "No. I'll remember eventually. But I was curious about Heather. I haven't heard from her since I got a text when she arrived."

"That's when I heard from her. She's probably at the concert having a great time. No worries," Emma said. "Everything is fine."

Billings, Montana

The wrenching, twisting, and burning pain in her stomach caused Heather to jolt awake. She wanted to jump from the bed but couldn't move, so she leaned over the side of the bed and vomited into the awaiting garbage can.

"Roman," she weakly called out. The vomit tasted different. It smelled different. It had an iron flavor to it as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Roman," she called again then reached up for the light. When she did, the light brightened the room and also the smear of blood on her hand. "Oh G.o.d," she panicked.

Roman sat up on the other bed. Every cover wrapped around him and his body visually shivered. "Heather, I'm so sick."

"Me, too. Something is wrong. My skin is burning. It feels like it's on fire, and it itches."

Roman removed his arm from the cover and extended it to Heather. "I was scratching in my sleep."

Heather looked at the purple splotches on his arm. It was swollen, and scratches covered every inch of his forearm. "Call your dad. We need help."

Val grew tired of waiting and was already on his way to Billings when he received the phone call from Roman.

They were sick, so sick they wanted to go to the hospital. Val told them to hang tight, he was on the way. He explained on the phone that someone from another town brought in a very bad case of a stomach flu, but all would be fine. He was certain that Roman understood.

He made it to the hotel within a half hour of the call. It was a single story, truck stop motel just off the freeway.

Three of the rooms were lit, and there were only a couple of cars in the lot. That was a good sign.

Val was ready; he arrived prepared and knew what he had to do. He parked next to Roman's car. Before he went to their room, he walked into the motel office.

No one was there. He hit the bell, waited, and then a younger man came from the back room. He looked Middle Eastern and smiled at Val. "You need a room."

"I'm looking for my son. I spoke to a man earlier who said he arrived here safely. My son's name is Roman Paltrov."

"Oh, yes. That was me. You spoke to me," the man said then stopped to sneeze.