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Entry tags:
FIC: Pocketful of Posies... and Plague
Title: Pocketful of Posies... and Plague
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wizefics
Recipient: Writen forattempt_unique for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
apocalyptothon
Fandom: Psych
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Just the end of the world as they know it.
Summary: This is why Gus doesn't like it when Shawn goes on vacation. The world is in ruins and now Gus has to go find him, which is difficult at the best of times.
Disclaimer: I don't own Psych and don't make money doing this.
A/N: Many, many thanks tostrangevisitor7 for both holding my hand as I wrote and then for the excellent beta reading. This is much better than it was thanks to her. All remaining errors are mine.
Burton "Gus" Guster prided himself on always being prepared. He hadn't been Boy Scout for sixteen years for nothing. In fact, he still has his vest, complete with badges, hidden in his parents attic where he was relatively sure Shawn would never find it. Relatively sure, because with Shawn, there was no such thing as certainty. This was a fact which made it difficult to be prepared for anything when it involved his best friend.
Gus had weathered more Shawn-tatrophes than he could count, naming them as they went. There was the "Cross Dressing Faux Pas," where Shawn tried to pass "Streetwalker" as haute fashion; the "Speed Racer Meets Tokyo Drifting Incident" which guaranteed that Shawn would never be allowed to drive in the city limits of Santa Barbara again, and of course, Gus would never forget the "Mystery of the Mistaken Identity". In fact, he would never be allowed to forget that one. Chief Vick made it a point to remind him, and to keep better tabs on Shawn in the future, lest they both end up in jail.
After that last particularly nasty incident, Gus had made it a rule – hard and fast – that in the event of anything out of the ordinary, his very first priority was to find and secure (by force, if necessary) Shawn Spencer.
It was a rule to live by and, as it turned out, it also was an equally good rule to die by.
***************
"Dude, are you kidding?" Shawn stared at Gus like he'd sprouted a second head. "What could possibly be fun about spending a week fishing with my father?"
"I meant fun for me, Shawn." Gus didn't look up from the game of Mah-jong he was playing on the office computer. "If you're out of town, I can finally do some of the things I never get to do when you're around, interrupting me to go and solve murders."
Shawn rolled his eyes. "I'm sure that your sock collection hasn't gotten that far out of order, Gus. Besides, what we do is important. And fun. More fun than organizing socks."
"I'm not organizing anything, Shawn." Gus paused the game long enough to glare at his best friend, who was rolling around the office on a wheeled chair playing nerf basketball. "If you're not here, things don't get disorganized."
"Aww, buddy. You don't mean it. You'll miss me when I’m gone. Admit it."
"I will not. I'm going to go out with other friends. Friends who don't suddenly demand that I pretend to have a seizure in a museum lobby…"
"That was just to distract the guards so I could sneak into the back!" Shawn protested.
Gus continued like he hadn't heard a word Shawn had said. "… or give me ridiculous and insulting nicknames."
"You like the nicknames!"
"No, Shawn. I tolerate the nicknames. But next time you should be Fred Flintstone Gray, or Barney Fife Miles. It's only fair."
Shawn's eyes narrowed as he swooped past Gus, dunking the foam basketball before he broke into a grin. "You do like the nicknames. I knew it!"
Gus shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "And you like spending a week fishing with your father."
"I do not!" Shawn denied, but his voice lacked conviction. He sighed. "Well, maybe a little. We're going to the state park. And there will be lots of hot women there."
"You're delusional." Gus turned back to his Mah-jong game and Shawn smiled, smugly.
"Trust me dude. You'll wish you'd come with us."
"I doubt that, Shawn. Go pack. And don't forget bug-spray."
***************
As loathe as Gus was to admit it, two days of quiet quickly turned into three days of boredom. When he stood over his completely reorganized dresser and realized that he had nothing left to do with his free time, he felt a simultaneous jolt of irritation and loneliness.
Determined not to let Shawn be right, Gus went into the Psych office and flipped on the big screen TV. It really had been a good investment, in hindsight. Both of them spent more time in their office than they did in their apartments. Restlessly, he flipped past a news report on a car accident in downtown that had pretty much closed the business sector, a speech by the President on how times of great stress provided opportunities for the world's government to work together, a nature show documenting the jump of Avian flu from birds to humans, and an infomercial on how he, too, could have an amazing and luxurious head of hair.
After fantasizing for a moment about exactly how awesome he would look with a full Afro, Gus flipped the channel one more time and sat straight up. "Son of a…" He fumbled with the remote control, finally hitting the volume button and turning it up.
"The American Olympic Women's Volleyball team is beginning their third day of practices at the Mount Cypress Resort. They are determined that this shall be their year, and vow not to return home without the Gold."
"Shawn, you unbelievable, lying piece of …" Gus trailed off, shaking his head. The news clip showed several of the women practicing their serves, and there, in the background looking as smug as the cat who swallowed the canary was Shawn Spencer. He was wearing gym shorts and a polo shirt, complete with a towel around his neck and whistle hanging on a lariat. A visor blocked some of his face from view, but Gus would have recognized him anywhere. "Fishing with your father, huh?"
Climbing from the sofa, Gus grabbed his cell phone and hit speed dial no. 1. Impatiently, he waited for Shawn to answer. "Gus! How are you doing? Got those socks organized yet?"
"Everything's fine here. How's the fishing?"
"It's great."
"Catch anything?"
"Small ones. Threw them back."
Gus narrowed his eyes. "What kind of fish?"
"Stripy ones."
"You liar! You said you were fishing."
"I am fishing." Shawn answered, but Gus could hear the laughter in his voice.
"Last time I checked, fishing meant that there was a boat. And a line. And a decided lack of women volleyball players!"
"Gus, don't be ridiculous. There are more lines around here than in a beachside bar on bikini night." Shawn laughed, smugly. "I bet there are some hooks and bait here too."
"That's enough of that, Shawn." Gus sniffed. "And you should have told me that you weren't fishing with your dad."
"Oh, the old man is around somewhere. I do go out on the boat with him in the morning, before the girl's start their practice. Who knew there was actually a good reason to get up at 4 in the morning? You should join us."
"I don't know. It's a long way."
"It's only a little over four hours away. You could be here by dinner."
"I have to finish my route."
"Dude. It takes you like two hours to do your route. I bet you're sitting on the Psych sofa right now. Aren't you?"
"Am not."
"Now who's lying?"
A beeping noise drew Gus's attention and he glanced down at the phone. "My boss is calling. I've got to go. Some of us actually have to work for a living."
"Yeah, yeah. You should come up and join us. The girls are going to be competing in practice meets on Thursday."
Gus hesitated, but the incessant beeping finally pulled him away. "Not now Shawn. I'll talk to you later." He clicked the answer button to pick up the second line. "Guster here."
"Guster! It's Tom. I need you to cover Mary Shan's route this afternoon."
"Of course, sir. Is something wrong?"
"Nah, it's nothing. She's just got the same cold everyone seems to have." He broke off in a cough and then continued wryly. "The same cold I seem to have. That's why there's a rush on the delivery. The doctor's offices are running on empty and they are all calling and asking for samples. If this goes the right way, we stand to grab a lot of business."
Sighing, Gus kissed his chances goodbye of seeing the Women's Volleyball Team in skirmish matches. "Sure thing. No problem. I'm on my way into the office now."
"Thanks, Guster. I knew I could count on you." A second fit of coughing made Gus pull the phone away from his ear in disgust.
"If I may suggest, sir? Perhaps you should see a doctor about that cold."
"That's the problem with people today, Guster. They run to the doctor at the first sign of a cold." He paused. "Of course, we're the ones telling them to do that. But I'm not going to be suckered in by our own advertising…"
When Tom started coughing again, Gus shook his head. "I'll be there as soon as I can." Then he hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment before shoving it in his pocket in disgust. There was nothing to be done for it, but go to work. After all, someone had to make sure he and Shawn had roofs over their heads.
***************
By the third stop, Gus was pretty sure that most of California had the flu. Every waiting room he went in was filled to bursting with sick people and snotty Kleenex. The pediatricians were the worst – they had sick people, snotty Kleenex and screaming children.
By the fifth stop, Gus took a quick break and ducked into a convenient store for some hand sanitizer and a gallon of orange juice. After a moment's thought, he went ahead and picked up vitamin C supplements and immune system bolsterers. On third thought, he bought a few boxes of Kleenex for his own use should he need them.
By the end of the day, he was exhausted. Running his route, plus Shan's had taken all of his extra energy and he spared a moment to be glad that Shawn was on vacation. Otherwise, he was pretty sure he could expect a night of mystery solving shenanigans.
Thankfully, his route for tomorrow was shorter. He was sitting at the last traffic light near his apartment when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Startled, Gus pulled it free, expecting to see Shawn's name on the ID. Instead, his boss's name glared back at him.
"Guster here."
"Guster. We're going to need you to pick up Shan's route again tomorrow. And half of Rodriguez's route, too. Half the office is out sick."
Gus let his head loll back on his neck and he stared at the fabric covered ceiling of his Hatchback in resignation. "No problem, sir. I'm good for it."
"Excellent. The sooner we get these samples out there, the sooner this flu will be beat back." His boss broke into a coughing fit that rivaled the ones he'd had earlier in the day. In fact, it rivaled most of what Gus had heard in the two dozen doctors' offices he'd been in.
"Are you taking some?"
"What? Hell, no! I hate drugs!" His boss's laugh dissolved into another coughing fit. "Although I might have to make an exception this time. This crap hit me fast. Anyway, keep healthy – get some sleep. We won't forget this, Guster. We need people who step in when the going gets tough. You know what we call those people?"
Suckers. Gus thought, but he obediently asked. "What, sir?"
"Promotable."
He was so tired that he didn't bother turning on the television when he got upstairs. Instead, he stumbled into the shower, slapped together a turkey sandwich (which he washed down with yet more OJ), took the Theraflu he'd picked up and went to bed.
After laying in the dark for a few minutes, he got back up and sent Shawn a text message. Have to work. Not coming up. Get autographs. Bed. Don't call me.
Then, because he knew Shawn, he turned the phone on silent and went back to bed. He was asleep in seconds.
***************
Gus was nothing if not a creature of habit. He set his alarm for 6:16 every morning, so he would have time to hit snooze twice before he had to get up. He ate one bowl of cereal (Honey Nut Cheerios, most of the time, Life when he forgot to buy more Honey Nut Cheerios) and two pieces of toast. He drank two cups of coffee.
Then he turned on his laptop so he could check his email (spam about increasing his size of his bank account – DELETE; a forward from Shawn, which he also deleted, but only after scanning enough to pretend that he had read it), update his blog (Crazy Partner is on vacation. Real Job is being demanding. More on that later. Also, did you anyone know that the American Olympic Women's Volley Ball Team trained not far from Santa Barbara? And if so, why didn't you tell me?!), peruse his bank account (time to buy another investment CD), and lastly click on the local news to see if there might be any leads for jobs for Psych.
Traffic Accidents Yesterday Shut Down Every Major Interstate
Governor Says California is Prepared to Deal with Influenza Outbreak
Grocery Stores are Empty, Waiting for Deliveries
Man Says Cat's Markings Look Like Jesus Christ
After reading the article about the cat, Gus grabbed his briefcase and hit the road with a whistle. He turned his phone on as he drove towards his office, grinning a bit as repeated dinging noises let him know that Shawn had, indeed, ignored his message to not bother him last night.
He flipped it open and scanned through the increasingly irate text messages.
Dude, call me!
Dudde, call me!!
U can't ignore me.
Fine. U can, but U shoullldn't.
HOT WOMEN! GUS! WTH?!
Y GUS, Y? :(
Do U want me to cry? Fine. Crying. Tears.
Don't call. Not talking to U.
J/K. Call me tomorrow.
The first message came in at approximately 11:22 p.m. and the last one came through at a quarter to 1 a.m. Shaking his head in amusement, Gus shut the phone, knowing Shawn would call as soon as he finished fishing with his dad. Besides, he was nearly at the office and he needed to run inside and pick up the additional samples he'd need, as well as a map showing him Rodriguez's route.
Maybe he should have had a third cup of coffee. It was going to be a very long day.
The parking lot was pretty empty when he pulled the Hatchback into a spot. Climbing out, Gus glanced around noting that his boss' car was missing. Maybe he'd finally taken a day off to deal with the flu.
Pushing open the door, he lifted a hand to wave to Marta, but the woman behind the desk wasn't Marta. "Umm, hi. I thought you were Marta."
"Oh, no sir. She's out sick. I'm Karen."
"Hi, Karen." Gus went to shake her hand. "I'm Gus. I just came in to grab…"
"This!" Karen held out a folder to him with a smile. "And I'm supposed to tell you that the extra samples you need are on your desk."
"Thanks, Karen." Gus smiled and flipped open the folder to see a map with carefully labeled stops marked for his convenience. "I appreciate this."
"No problem. I'm used to temping." Karen smiled. "Have a good day."
Gus managed to avoid most of his other coworkers as he went to grab the box of drug samples. It seemed flu season had hit early and hard – no need to risk more germs than absolutely necessary. Especially since it looked like he was going to be in and out of doctor's offices – and one hospital – all day.
He was nearly back to the front lobby when Chase caught up with him. "Guster. Have you heard?"
"What?" Gus asked, flipping through his file pointedly. He didn't have time to chat.
"It's Tom. He's dead."
That caught Gus' undivided attention. "What? I just talked to him last night! That can't be right."
"Well, according to his secretary, he went home sick yesterday and his wife took him to the ER last night, but it was too late. He died." Chase looked a little pale as he related the news, and he lifted one hand to halfheartedly stifle a hacking cough. When he finished, he shook his head. "Unbelievable."
"Yeah." Gus stared at Chase's hand with concern. "Maybe you should see a doctor about that cough."
"Nah. I'm fine. Rumor says that Tom had some sort of underlying complication before he got the flu. And I'm healthy."
"Still." Gus edged away. He wondered how rude it would be to pull out his hand sanitizer. "Better safe than sorry."
Chase shrugged. "Maybe. Once I finish with my route. Can you believe how much they expect us to do?"
"People are sick." Gus answered automatically. "Everyone has to pitch in." He managed to make it back to his car without running into anyone else, but his comment haunted him.
People are sick. A lot of people.
***************
Gus's second stop after lunch was the lone hospital on his route. Technically, it was Rodriguez's route, but for the day it was his. Double checking his instructions, he saw that his contact was Mallory Walker, head nurse. Grabbing the samples he was supposed to deliver, he left his car in the farthest spot in the parking lot – the only open one, and began trudging towards the main doors.
Gus hated hospitals. They smelled funny and it offended his nose – disinfectant, body odor, and a sweet sick smell that always reminded him of the time that a rat had died in one of the Psych office's vents. Repressing the urge to shudder, he forced a smile and went inside.
The woman at the information desk looked haggard, but she willingly pointed him towards the administrative offices, which were down the hall and to the left. Gus walked as quickly as he could, his rubber soled shoes squeaking on the linoleum. He finally reached the administrative suite and glanced at the phone list that hung over the phone in the hallway for Mallory's number. Finding it, he dialed back for admittance and listened as the phone rang. And rang. And rang and rang and rang.
Finally, Gus hung up and tried a different number. It rang for a long time before he hung up and tried a third number. He was on the verge of hanging up again when someone answered.
"Hi, I'm trying to reach Mallory Walker."
"I’m sorry, but…" The woman's voice faltered and when she spoke again, it was obvious that she was trying not to cry. "Ms. Walker passed away."
"Oh." Gus answered stupidly, before he shook himself. As quickly as he could, he explained who he was and why he was there and the woman on the other end of the phone promised she'd be right there to collect the samples.
When the door finally opened, Gus wasn't that surprised to see that this woman also looked like she was suffering from the flu. She was pale and coughing, and sweat shone on her forehead.
Gus passed off the samples as quickly as he could, along with a second apology. Then he turned and practically ran out of the hospital. In his haste, he continued straight instead of making the turn to the front doors, and found himself in the Emergency Room waiting area. It was packed with people, all of whom were coughing and pale.
Gus's stomach clenched as he looked around. This wasn't just the flu. The thought crossed his mind even as one person in the crowd started moving towards him. It wasn't until she was standing in front of him that Gus even noticed her.
"Jules!"
"Gus." Jules had clearly been crying, her eyes were read and her face was swollen. "How did you hear?"
"Hear what?" Gus asked, dread knotting in painful twists in his stomach, and his heart beating at double speed.
"Oh, you aren't here about… Carlton?"
"Lassy?" Gus felt his mouth go dry and he tried to swallow. "What's wrong? Is he sick, too?"
"No." Jules started crying again, reaching up to wipe away the tears. "He's dead. He got sick two days ago… thought it was the flu… and now he's gone."
"Oh, God." Gus reached out and wrapped his arms around Jules and cried with her. Lassy, dead. Gone. For all that he had been the butt of a thousand jokes, Gus had genuinely liked Carlton Lassiter. He was a good man, and a damn good cop, something Gus had come to recognize was a rarity. "I'm so sorry, Jules."
"Me, too." She took a deep breath and pushed back, and all of a sudden, the grieving friend was gone, replaced by a hardened cop. It scared Gus that she looked at him like that, even as she reached up to wipe away a tear. "Listen to me, Gus. You need to leave town. Now. They're going to quarantine all of the cities."
"What?" Gus's head spun, but Jules shushed him.
"I don't have time to explain everything. But you need to get out. Take Shawn with you."
"Shawn's already gone – camping."
"Then go find him and stay there until this blows over." Jules dropped her hand to cover her mouth as a cough wracked through her. She ignored it. So did Gus, although his mind screamed at him about the logical conclusion. "Go now. Don't stop for anything."
"Okay." He hesitated. "Come with me, Jules."
She smiled at him, sadly. "I can't. It's my job to stay here. There's going to be enough chaos without abandoning people."
"Please." Gus tried one more time, afraid that if she didn't come, he'd never see her again.
Jules just shook her head. "Go. Now."
With one last hug, Gus ran out of the ER. He didn't care if he did look like a fool. Tears blinded him as he went to his car. Climbing inside, he sat and cried for a few minutes until a thought occurred to him that dried up his tears in abject terror.
He hadn't heard from Shawn since last night.
***************
Gus stopped for gas an hour outside of Santa Barbara. He went inside the little store and bought everything that he could imagine needing over the next two weeks or so. The selection was limited, but he managed to find a dozen bags of chips, three bags of bread, an assorted selection of gummy rings (peach, strawberry, pineapple, and lime), four cans of chili, two packs of bottled water, and one lone package of toilet paper. On top of that, he bought as many batteries as he could find, all of the flashlights, two long handled lighters, all the band aids he could find, several tubes of antibacterial ointment, calamine lotion, bug spray, sun block, aloe, toothpaste and all of the medicine that he could find.
He also managed to scrounge up two changes of clothes for himself (as long as he didn't mind wearing a shirt that said KISS MY BASS or CHASIN' TAIL or fatigue shorts), two blankets, and a pair of overpriced flip flops. On second thought, he also grabbed two packs of disposable razors and a couple of cakes of soap and one bottle of shaving lotion.
Finally, he snagged two cases of beer and the last bag of marshmallows. The cashier raised an eyebrow as he rang everything up. "You runnin away from the law or somethin'?
"What?" Gus started. He'd been staring at his cell phone and willing Shawn to return his last two frantic phone calls. "No. Just… camping."
"You don't look like a camper."
"It's my first time." Gus lied. He looked around and spotted several gas canisters. "I'm going to fill up my car and two extra gas cans, too. For the camping stove."
"You don't use gas in a camping stove. You use kerosene." The cashier seemed alarmed. "Unless you're trying to blow yourself up."
"I meant the… generator." Gus shrugged, wondering how Shawn always made this look so easy. "But I'll need kerosene too. And do you have any portable radios?"
Wordlessly, the cashier rounded up Gus's requests and rang them up. "If'n you were runnin' from the law," the casher said slowly, "I'd avoid the main interstate. Rumor says that there's a roadblock about six miles down. But if you take the back roads, you should be okay."
Gus nodded and fixed the cashier with a steady gaze. "I'd appreciate any directions you can give me then."
The old man broke into a toothy smile. "No problem. Never had much use for cops, anyhow."
Gus resisted the urge to laugh. He wondered if the man had any use for fake psychic detectives and their friends. But, he said nothing and carefully copied down the directions the old man gave him. He figured he should reach the state park where Shawn was camping out by sunset.
***************
Gus hadn't counted on the back roads being full. Apparently word had gotten out that the major cities were being quarantined. He listened to the radio as reports of deaths and martial law gradually began driving the music off the air. The roads slowly, but surely, filled up as people ran away. The Governor made repeated requests for people to stay calm, stay home, stay sane… but he was coughing as he spoke.
Sparing thoughts for his own family, (his parents had gone on a cruise, his siblings scattered across the country) Gus prayed that they would be fine, his fingers tight on the wheel.
The cell phone network had crashed about an hour ago, and Gus turned his phone off to save the battery. He decided he'd open it and check for messages once an hour, but he didn't hold much hope for things to calm down any time soon.
Ahead of him on the road, people were driving around an accident and Gus did the same thing. He spared the people a pitying glance as he drove past them, wondering at the sped with which common civility had given way to a survivalist attitude. Still, everyone looked fine and they were only about three miles from the nearest town.
Gus left them, but they were all he thought about for the next hour.
***************
Even the back roads couldn't keep him out of every town of size. He drove through a city called Dillan sometime around 10 p.m. It was small enough that it was spared the quarantine. It was big enough that it suffered from the chaos of mass panic.
Gus hit the door locks at least a dozen times as he drove past stores where the windows were broken out. The line at the one gas station already stretched down the street and it took him 45 minutes to ease past it, which he finally managed by driving on the sidewalk.
***************
A major accident forced him to sit in traffic for 90 minutes. The road was only two lanes, and windy, and when it became obvious that the authorities weren't coming, several men left their vehicles to shove the busted cars off the road.
Gus didn't spare them any thought as he finally drove past them.
***************
It was almost two a.m. when he finally reached the state campground. The barricade by the ranger's office at the entrance was broken and Gus eased the Hatchback past it carefully.
With no idea what to do next, Gus turned his phone back on. It powered up and then went dim as he stared at it, willing a voice mail or text message to show up. When nothing did, he pressed dial and waited to hear the operator tell him that all circuits were busy.
Instead, it just rang endlessly. Despairing, he hung up and turned it off. Turning the car off, he went to the Ranger's station and looked around. Someone had broken out the window and opened the door. Carefully picking his way through the glass, Gus went inside. The lights worked when he flipped the switch and he went towards what looked like some sort of registration book.
His nerves tingled as he read some Ranger's note that they'd airlifted out two people three days ago, all suffering from what appeared to be the flu. He flipped further back until he saw Henry Spencer's name and felt some relief flood over him as he saw that they had been assigned to camp space D-22.
Another minute of investigation turned up a map of the campground. Relieved beyond measure, Gus grabbed the map and headed back towards his car. The power flickered out just as he stepped outside.
After carefully getting back inside his car, he turned on the lights and thought about what he'd do if the Spencers weren't there. He sat frozen for a long time, the emergency broadcasting system repeatedly telling him that he should have stayed home, in his house, and awaited further instructions. Finally, he flipped the radio off and backed onto the road again. He had to turn on the bright lights as he searched. Most of the campgrounds were deserted, but an odd car was parked here and there along the roadside. A few campfires glittered in the darkness and Gus couldn't help but wildly wonder if they would be forever reduced to cave man status again.
Henry's truck loomed out of the darkness and Gus pulled over behind it. He killed the engine and sat there in silence. Outside, he could hear crickets chirping. Closing his eyes, he muttered under his breath. "Everything is fine. They're both fine. It's fine. Shawn's fine."
When a bright light shone suddenly in his face, his eyes flew open and he screamed like a little girl. The door wrenched open and Henry's voice. "For God's sake, Gus, it's me!"
"Mr. Spencer?" Gus pressed his hand to his chest and concentrated on taking deep breaths until his heart quit pounding like it was going to break through his chest like Ridley Scott's alien. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"
"Whoa." Henry backed up and lifted a hand to his ear. That was when Gus realized he'd been squeaking at an almost supersonic pitch. "Take it easy."
"You scared me." Gus managed in a more human register.
"I gathered." Henry looked tired. "What are you doing here? We heard they quarantined the cities."
"I got out before the road blocks went up." Gus stood up. "Where's Shawn?"
Henry's face tensed and he looked towards the camper. "Gus."
"No." Gus shook his head.
"Now, calm down." Henry stepped in front of Gus, and Gus realized he'd been walking towards the camper. "He's sleeping."
"Sleeping?" Gus asked, please to hear that his voice was still discernable.
"Yes, sleeping." Henry rubbed his face. "But he's sick, Gus."
Gus couldn't understand another word. Shawn. Sick. Shawn. Sick. It played over and over in his brain until Henry finally took pity on him and led him inside. The camper was small and cramped, but there was room for a fold out sofa cot and one other bed. Shawn lay on the cot and even in the dim light of a single lantern, Gus could see that he was covered in sweat. His breath rattled in his chest as he struggled to breathe.
"Shawn." Gus started towards him, but Henry caught his arm
"No, Gus. He's contagious."
Gus pulled free. "I don't care. The whole world is sick and dying. Why should I be any different?"
Henry let him go and Gus sat on the edge of the cot. "Shawn?"
Shawn turned, eyes opening. Even in the lamp light, Shawn's eyes glistened with fever, but he smiled. "I bet you wish you'd answered your phone. Loser."
"Shut up." Gus answered, eyes blurring. "You're going to be fine."
"That's what I like about you, Gus. Always seeing happy endings." Shawn's eyes fluttered shut and he whispered painfully, "A veritable John Hughes."
"Oh, God." Gus pressed his hand to his mouth and turned to Henry. Henry looked as devastated and exhausted as Gus had ever seen him, but it was the way his shoulders sank that really let Gus know how bad things were. In his whole life, he had never seen Henry look defeated. Not even when he'd gotten a divorce. Not even when Shawn had left home and not come back for two years.
Henry shook his head and suddenly Gus was furious. "No." He ran outside, the door the camper shutting with a bang, rattling the whole structure. Henry followed him.
"Gus, calm down."
"No. I won't!" Gus yanked open the backdoor of his car and grabbed one of the flashlights he'd stored there. He left the door open and hurriedly jammed his keys into the trunk to open it, the metal jangling loudly in the otherwise silent night. He rummages around, throwing the supplies he'd bought to the ground carelessly.
Henry sucked in a breath when he saw the things Gus has brought. His voice shook as he started to pick them up. "I won't say that these aren't a welcome sight."
Gus didn't even spare a glance over his shoulder at the wayward Doritos. "Help yourself, Mr. Spencer. But I've got something that I think will help Shawn." He finally saw what he was looking for and pounced on it with a cry of victory. He turned, holding out his briefcase. "I was delivering sample drugs this morning. Sample drugs that were supposed to be used to treat whatever this is."
A faint look of hope crossed Henry's face. "Do you think it works?"
"I don't know. I don't think they had time to take effect."
"The disease moves fast. Two, maybe three days. That's it, from the first cough to the last breath. The Ranger and I found five dead campers this morning. We radioed for help but…"
"The cities were reeling." Gus acknowledged as he ripped open the package of bottled water and pulled one out. "The death toll hit us hard, starting today. I left the city just after noon, before the Quarantine."
They hurried back inside, Henry clutching some of the food that Gus had thrown around, Gus clutching the precious briefcase. He fumbled it open and read the instructions. "Take 2 pills, every four hours."
"Give him 4." Henry urged. "He needs as high a dose as possible to get the stuff into his system."
"Okay." Gus popped the pills out of their plastic cases, hands shaking slightly with a mixture of fear and exhaustion. He woke up his best friend and helped him sit up.
"Nurse Ratched, I presume."
"Just take the medicine, Shawn." Henry ordered, gruffly, but Gus knew better. He played along.
"If Mr. McMurphy doesn't want to take his medication orally, I'm sure we can arrange that he can have it some other way. But I don't think that he would like it."
Shawn managed a weak grin. "But you would. You pervert."
Gus slipped the pills into his mouth and lifted the bottled water so that Shawn could drink some of it. Shawn swallowed and then spoke again, "No lobotomies."
"No lobotomies." Gus promised. "Your brain is way too broken for one of those to work anyway."
Fear swirled behind Shawn's eyes. "Gus… I'm…"
"Going to be fine." Gus answered in a voice that brooked no argument. "Now sleep."
"I like it when you're authoritative." Shawn mumbled, exhaustion and fever pulling him back towards unconsciousness.
"Now who's a pervert?" Gus asked as Shawn fell asleep again. He looked at Henry, all his confidence draining away. "Now what?"
"We wait." Henry moved towards him and held out his hand. "Give me your keys. I'm going to empty your car."
Silently, Gus handed them over. Before Henry left the camper, Gus managed to squeak out. "How long has he been sick?"
"Since this morning." Henry's voice was gruff. The camper door slammed with a loud bang.
Thirty-six hours until Shawn was out of danger.
***************
The last minute radio was the second most prized item that Gus brought with him. They turned it on every hour or so, to hear if anything had changed. Mostly, they got the emergency radio broadcast.
"That's not a good sign." Henry muttered, almost to himself. "No one's left to make any real announcement."
Once they got some politician, coming in towards the end of her broadcast. "…urge you to stay in your homes. Do not go outside. Do not try and go to the hospital. They are all overfull and in various states of shut down. Put some sort of red flag outside your home if you need medical assistance."
"Governor must be dead." Gus observed. "He was making those speeches earlier."
"Lt. Governor, too." Henry sounded numb. "I think that's the Secretary of Transportation."
***************
Shawn began hallucinating just after dawn. He saw various insects crawling up his body. It took Henry and Gus to restrain him and finally Henry climbed into the bed besides Shawn, holding him as Shawn wept.
"Hush, buddy. I've got you. It's a dream, just a dream."
"Daddy?" The question jolted through Gus like electricity. Shawn hadn't called his father that since he'd been five.
"I'm here, buddy. I'm here." Gus turned away. He couldn't stand to see Henry cry.
***************
Midmorning, some other campers came by. They said they were just looking to see if anyone was still alive, but Henry kept his gun in his hand and in plain sight. He told them to keep their distance – there was a sick person inside.
"There are sick people everywhere." The leader of the little gang shook his head. "The Ranger is dead, too. We're alone here."
"Be on your way, then." Henry ordered and the five guys reluctantly took their leave. Henry watched them go for long time before he pulled Gus outside. "Have you ever shot a handgun?"
"Yes." Gus swallowed. He didn't object, though, as Henry walked him through loading and firing the pistol though. And he moved his car behind the camper, so that it wasn't visible on the main road anymore.
***************
Four pills, every four hours. A few tortured sips of water. Twice, Henry and Gus took turns trying to feed Shawn something, but they didn't get very far.
"He's going to be too weak to even take the medicine, soon." Henry croaked.
"Then we'll crush it up and put it in the water." Gus shot back. He wasn't giving up. Not on Shawn. Not on his best friend. Not ever.
***************
His cell phone died in mid-afternoon, and Gus cursed his own unwillingness to spend $30 on a car charger. Who knew it might one day be his only link to the world. To his family.
There hadn't been any messages, anyway.
***************
"My fellow Americans," the broadcast woke Gus out of a doze, and he jerked his head up from where it had been resting on the makeshift kitchen table. "In times of great distress, we most show our true character. Doctors are working around the clock to find a cure. What medicine we do have is being delivered as quickly as we can get it to the streets."
There was a staticy pause and then a sound much like a sob.
"It is my sad duty to inform you that the President and First Family have perished in what we are now calling the Superflu. The Vice-President is hospitalized. We are preparing to swear in Nancy Pelosi as the next President of the United States. Due to security, we will not be airing that ceremony."
Another pause. "If you pray to any God, we ask that you do so now."
The broadcast ended and Gus and Henry looked at each other without a word.
***************
The next time the looters came by, Henry was asleep. Gus greeted them at the door with a pistol in their faces. "Not here, boys. Look somewhere else."
They laughed and withdrew, but Gus couldn't help but notice that two of them were coughing and one was as pale as death. He didn't think they would be back.
He also didn't think to offer them any of the precious samples of medication.
***************
It was midnight when Henry started coughing. Wordlessly, Gus handed him four pills. Henry started to protest, but Gus hissed at him. "I'm not telling your son that you died. Take the damn pills."
***************
Twenty hours until Shawn was out of the woods.
Forty-two until Henry was.
Gus wondered what would happen if he got sick. He dry swallowed two pills and hoped they would do something. Counting the rest of the samples, Gus figured they would be okay, as long as he didn't get sick.
He was pretty sure his headache was from stress and not sleeping.
Pretty sure.
***************
Gus woke up in alarm. He couldn't hear Shawn's rattled breathing. He tripped over his blanket in his rush to get to Shawn's bedside and froze. Shawn lay deathly still, no longer sweating, no longer coughing.
Grief tore through Gus and he sank to his knees with a sob. "Shawn…"
And Shawn moved, turning to open his eyes and look at Gus. "Gus… thirsty."
The crushing grief vanished and Gus practically flew to the water supply. He helped Shawn sit up and drink half a bottle of water. Then he forced another four pills down his throat.
Shawn's skin was cool to the touch.
Gus held him and cried like a baby.
***************
Henry never did get as sick as Shawn had. Gus was pretty sure that the medicine had started working faster. They all lay low in the camper for another ten days, regaining strength, eating Doritos and gummy rings.
The radio reports coming over the air were grim, but gradually, they started being more optimistic.
Finally, the day came that the Quarantine was lifted. By unspoken vote, they stayed in the camper another three days.
Shawn cried when Gus told him about Lassiter. They both cried when he talked about Jules.
"She might be okay." Gus offered.
"Yeah." Shawn agreed, wiping his eyes with shaking hands. "I'm sure she is. She's a cop. She probably was in the front of the line for treatment."
They'd known each other long enough to know that they were both lying.
***************
"It had to have come from a lab." Shawn stretched, the nerf basketball swooshing through the net easily. Gus wheeled over to grab it.
"I don't see how you figure that, Shawn. If it was a biological weapon, why didn't we have the cure?"
"You did." Shawn pointed out. "You were passing it out even before the outbreak."
"It was just luck that the new medication worked on the Superflu." Gus dunked the ball with fanfare and Shawn grinned at him.
"You say luck. I say government conspiracy."
Gus stilled and swallowed. "I hope you're wrong."
The grin melted off Shawn's face, revealing that he still hadn't put back on all the weight that he'd lost. He stopped his rollychair and turned to look at Gus seriously. "I don't know what else it could have been. Everything suggests that."
"No." Gus shook his head firmly. "We are not taking on that case. What good could we do against the government if you're right?"
The jingle of the front office door interrupted their conversation and they both stood to go and greet their new customer. A dark head of hair atop a tall thin frame gave his identity away. "Well, if it isn't the newly minted Detective Buzz MacNabb. What's happening with the SBPD?"Gus gave the other man a high five and a remnant of the old familiar grin popped back up.
"Hey, man. I almost didn't recognize you without your blues on." Shawn quipped and Buzz shrugged, some of the amusement draining from his eyes.
"I always hoped to rise through the ranks quickly." The rest of his sentence was left unsaid as he pulled out a file. "We have a case for you guys. Here you go."
Gus watched as Shawn gleefully began flipping through the pages. Life had almost returned to normal. Almost, except with the weight of the millions of dead still hanging over them. Gus narrowed his eyes at Shawn. Shawn hadn't given up on finding out why, Gus knew that much.
So, not everything had changed. And that, Gus supposed, was as good as it was going to get.
Author:
wizeficsRecipient: Writen for
attempt_unique for apocalyptothonFandom: Psych
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Just the end of the world as they know it.
Summary: This is why Gus doesn't like it when Shawn goes on vacation. The world is in ruins and now Gus has to go find him, which is difficult at the best of times.
Disclaimer: I don't own Psych and don't make money doing this.
A/N: Many, many thanks to
strangevisitor7 for both holding my hand as I wrote and then for the excellent beta reading. This is much better than it was thanks to her. All remaining errors are mine.Burton "Gus" Guster prided himself on always being prepared. He hadn't been Boy Scout for sixteen years for nothing. In fact, he still has his vest, complete with badges, hidden in his parents attic where he was relatively sure Shawn would never find it. Relatively sure, because with Shawn, there was no such thing as certainty. This was a fact which made it difficult to be prepared for anything when it involved his best friend.
Gus had weathered more Shawn-tatrophes than he could count, naming them as they went. There was the "Cross Dressing Faux Pas," where Shawn tried to pass "Streetwalker" as haute fashion; the "Speed Racer Meets Tokyo Drifting Incident" which guaranteed that Shawn would never be allowed to drive in the city limits of Santa Barbara again, and of course, Gus would never forget the "Mystery of the Mistaken Identity". In fact, he would never be allowed to forget that one. Chief Vick made it a point to remind him, and to keep better tabs on Shawn in the future, lest they both end up in jail.
After that last particularly nasty incident, Gus had made it a rule – hard and fast – that in the event of anything out of the ordinary, his very first priority was to find and secure (by force, if necessary) Shawn Spencer.
It was a rule to live by and, as it turned out, it also was an equally good rule to die by.
"Dude, are you kidding?" Shawn stared at Gus like he'd sprouted a second head. "What could possibly be fun about spending a week fishing with my father?"
"I meant fun for me, Shawn." Gus didn't look up from the game of Mah-jong he was playing on the office computer. "If you're out of town, I can finally do some of the things I never get to do when you're around, interrupting me to go and solve murders."
Shawn rolled his eyes. "I'm sure that your sock collection hasn't gotten that far out of order, Gus. Besides, what we do is important. And fun. More fun than organizing socks."
"I'm not organizing anything, Shawn." Gus paused the game long enough to glare at his best friend, who was rolling around the office on a wheeled chair playing nerf basketball. "If you're not here, things don't get disorganized."
"Aww, buddy. You don't mean it. You'll miss me when I’m gone. Admit it."
"I will not. I'm going to go out with other friends. Friends who don't suddenly demand that I pretend to have a seizure in a museum lobby…"
"That was just to distract the guards so I could sneak into the back!" Shawn protested.
Gus continued like he hadn't heard a word Shawn had said. "… or give me ridiculous and insulting nicknames."
"You like the nicknames!"
"No, Shawn. I tolerate the nicknames. But next time you should be Fred Flintstone Gray, or Barney Fife Miles. It's only fair."
Shawn's eyes narrowed as he swooped past Gus, dunking the foam basketball before he broke into a grin. "You do like the nicknames. I knew it!"
Gus shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "And you like spending a week fishing with your father."
"I do not!" Shawn denied, but his voice lacked conviction. He sighed. "Well, maybe a little. We're going to the state park. And there will be lots of hot women there."
"You're delusional." Gus turned back to his Mah-jong game and Shawn smiled, smugly.
"Trust me dude. You'll wish you'd come with us."
"I doubt that, Shawn. Go pack. And don't forget bug-spray."
As loathe as Gus was to admit it, two days of quiet quickly turned into three days of boredom. When he stood over his completely reorganized dresser and realized that he had nothing left to do with his free time, he felt a simultaneous jolt of irritation and loneliness.
Determined not to let Shawn be right, Gus went into the Psych office and flipped on the big screen TV. It really had been a good investment, in hindsight. Both of them spent more time in their office than they did in their apartments. Restlessly, he flipped past a news report on a car accident in downtown that had pretty much closed the business sector, a speech by the President on how times of great stress provided opportunities for the world's government to work together, a nature show documenting the jump of Avian flu from birds to humans, and an infomercial on how he, too, could have an amazing and luxurious head of hair.
After fantasizing for a moment about exactly how awesome he would look with a full Afro, Gus flipped the channel one more time and sat straight up. "Son of a…" He fumbled with the remote control, finally hitting the volume button and turning it up.
"The American Olympic Women's Volleyball team is beginning their third day of practices at the Mount Cypress Resort. They are determined that this shall be their year, and vow not to return home without the Gold."
"Shawn, you unbelievable, lying piece of …" Gus trailed off, shaking his head. The news clip showed several of the women practicing their serves, and there, in the background looking as smug as the cat who swallowed the canary was Shawn Spencer. He was wearing gym shorts and a polo shirt, complete with a towel around his neck and whistle hanging on a lariat. A visor blocked some of his face from view, but Gus would have recognized him anywhere. "Fishing with your father, huh?"
Climbing from the sofa, Gus grabbed his cell phone and hit speed dial no. 1. Impatiently, he waited for Shawn to answer. "Gus! How are you doing? Got those socks organized yet?"
"Everything's fine here. How's the fishing?"
"It's great."
"Catch anything?"
"Small ones. Threw them back."
Gus narrowed his eyes. "What kind of fish?"
"Stripy ones."
"You liar! You said you were fishing."
"I am fishing." Shawn answered, but Gus could hear the laughter in his voice.
"Last time I checked, fishing meant that there was a boat. And a line. And a decided lack of women volleyball players!"
"Gus, don't be ridiculous. There are more lines around here than in a beachside bar on bikini night." Shawn laughed, smugly. "I bet there are some hooks and bait here too."
"That's enough of that, Shawn." Gus sniffed. "And you should have told me that you weren't fishing with your dad."
"Oh, the old man is around somewhere. I do go out on the boat with him in the morning, before the girl's start their practice. Who knew there was actually a good reason to get up at 4 in the morning? You should join us."
"I don't know. It's a long way."
"It's only a little over four hours away. You could be here by dinner."
"I have to finish my route."
"Dude. It takes you like two hours to do your route. I bet you're sitting on the Psych sofa right now. Aren't you?"
"Am not."
"Now who's lying?"
A beeping noise drew Gus's attention and he glanced down at the phone. "My boss is calling. I've got to go. Some of us actually have to work for a living."
"Yeah, yeah. You should come up and join us. The girls are going to be competing in practice meets on Thursday."
Gus hesitated, but the incessant beeping finally pulled him away. "Not now Shawn. I'll talk to you later." He clicked the answer button to pick up the second line. "Guster here."
"Guster! It's Tom. I need you to cover Mary Shan's route this afternoon."
"Of course, sir. Is something wrong?"
"Nah, it's nothing. She's just got the same cold everyone seems to have." He broke off in a cough and then continued wryly. "The same cold I seem to have. That's why there's a rush on the delivery. The doctor's offices are running on empty and they are all calling and asking for samples. If this goes the right way, we stand to grab a lot of business."
Sighing, Gus kissed his chances goodbye of seeing the Women's Volleyball Team in skirmish matches. "Sure thing. No problem. I'm on my way into the office now."
"Thanks, Guster. I knew I could count on you." A second fit of coughing made Gus pull the phone away from his ear in disgust.
"If I may suggest, sir? Perhaps you should see a doctor about that cold."
"That's the problem with people today, Guster. They run to the doctor at the first sign of a cold." He paused. "Of course, we're the ones telling them to do that. But I'm not going to be suckered in by our own advertising…"
When Tom started coughing again, Gus shook his head. "I'll be there as soon as I can." Then he hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment before shoving it in his pocket in disgust. There was nothing to be done for it, but go to work. After all, someone had to make sure he and Shawn had roofs over their heads.
By the third stop, Gus was pretty sure that most of California had the flu. Every waiting room he went in was filled to bursting with sick people and snotty Kleenex. The pediatricians were the worst – they had sick people, snotty Kleenex and screaming children.
By the fifth stop, Gus took a quick break and ducked into a convenient store for some hand sanitizer and a gallon of orange juice. After a moment's thought, he went ahead and picked up vitamin C supplements and immune system bolsterers. On third thought, he bought a few boxes of Kleenex for his own use should he need them.
By the end of the day, he was exhausted. Running his route, plus Shan's had taken all of his extra energy and he spared a moment to be glad that Shawn was on vacation. Otherwise, he was pretty sure he could expect a night of mystery solving shenanigans.
Thankfully, his route for tomorrow was shorter. He was sitting at the last traffic light near his apartment when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Startled, Gus pulled it free, expecting to see Shawn's name on the ID. Instead, his boss's name glared back at him.
"Guster here."
"Guster. We're going to need you to pick up Shan's route again tomorrow. And half of Rodriguez's route, too. Half the office is out sick."
Gus let his head loll back on his neck and he stared at the fabric covered ceiling of his Hatchback in resignation. "No problem, sir. I'm good for it."
"Excellent. The sooner we get these samples out there, the sooner this flu will be beat back." His boss broke into a coughing fit that rivaled the ones he'd had earlier in the day. In fact, it rivaled most of what Gus had heard in the two dozen doctors' offices he'd been in.
"Are you taking some?"
"What? Hell, no! I hate drugs!" His boss's laugh dissolved into another coughing fit. "Although I might have to make an exception this time. This crap hit me fast. Anyway, keep healthy – get some sleep. We won't forget this, Guster. We need people who step in when the going gets tough. You know what we call those people?"
Suckers. Gus thought, but he obediently asked. "What, sir?"
"Promotable."
He was so tired that he didn't bother turning on the television when he got upstairs. Instead, he stumbled into the shower, slapped together a turkey sandwich (which he washed down with yet more OJ), took the Theraflu he'd picked up and went to bed.
After laying in the dark for a few minutes, he got back up and sent Shawn a text message. Have to work. Not coming up. Get autographs. Bed. Don't call me.
Then, because he knew Shawn, he turned the phone on silent and went back to bed. He was asleep in seconds.
Gus was nothing if not a creature of habit. He set his alarm for 6:16 every morning, so he would have time to hit snooze twice before he had to get up. He ate one bowl of cereal (Honey Nut Cheerios, most of the time, Life when he forgot to buy more Honey Nut Cheerios) and two pieces of toast. He drank two cups of coffee.
Then he turned on his laptop so he could check his email (spam about increasing his size of his bank account – DELETE; a forward from Shawn, which he also deleted, but only after scanning enough to pretend that he had read it), update his blog (Crazy Partner is on vacation. Real Job is being demanding. More on that later. Also, did you anyone know that the American Olympic Women's Volley Ball Team trained not far from Santa Barbara? And if so, why didn't you tell me?!), peruse his bank account (time to buy another investment CD), and lastly click on the local news to see if there might be any leads for jobs for Psych.
Traffic Accidents Yesterday Shut Down Every Major Interstate
Governor Says California is Prepared to Deal with Influenza Outbreak
Grocery Stores are Empty, Waiting for Deliveries
Man Says Cat's Markings Look Like Jesus Christ
After reading the article about the cat, Gus grabbed his briefcase and hit the road with a whistle. He turned his phone on as he drove towards his office, grinning a bit as repeated dinging noises let him know that Shawn had, indeed, ignored his message to not bother him last night.
He flipped it open and scanned through the increasingly irate text messages.
Dude, call me!
Dudde, call me!!
U can't ignore me.
Fine. U can, but U shoullldn't.
HOT WOMEN! GUS! WTH?!
Y GUS, Y? :(
Do U want me to cry? Fine. Crying. Tears.
Don't call. Not talking to U.
J/K. Call me tomorrow.
The first message came in at approximately 11:22 p.m. and the last one came through at a quarter to 1 a.m. Shaking his head in amusement, Gus shut the phone, knowing Shawn would call as soon as he finished fishing with his dad. Besides, he was nearly at the office and he needed to run inside and pick up the additional samples he'd need, as well as a map showing him Rodriguez's route.
Maybe he should have had a third cup of coffee. It was going to be a very long day.
The parking lot was pretty empty when he pulled the Hatchback into a spot. Climbing out, Gus glanced around noting that his boss' car was missing. Maybe he'd finally taken a day off to deal with the flu.
Pushing open the door, he lifted a hand to wave to Marta, but the woman behind the desk wasn't Marta. "Umm, hi. I thought you were Marta."
"Oh, no sir. She's out sick. I'm Karen."
"Hi, Karen." Gus went to shake her hand. "I'm Gus. I just came in to grab…"
"This!" Karen held out a folder to him with a smile. "And I'm supposed to tell you that the extra samples you need are on your desk."
"Thanks, Karen." Gus smiled and flipped open the folder to see a map with carefully labeled stops marked for his convenience. "I appreciate this."
"No problem. I'm used to temping." Karen smiled. "Have a good day."
Gus managed to avoid most of his other coworkers as he went to grab the box of drug samples. It seemed flu season had hit early and hard – no need to risk more germs than absolutely necessary. Especially since it looked like he was going to be in and out of doctor's offices – and one hospital – all day.
He was nearly back to the front lobby when Chase caught up with him. "Guster. Have you heard?"
"What?" Gus asked, flipping through his file pointedly. He didn't have time to chat.
"It's Tom. He's dead."
That caught Gus' undivided attention. "What? I just talked to him last night! That can't be right."
"Well, according to his secretary, he went home sick yesterday and his wife took him to the ER last night, but it was too late. He died." Chase looked a little pale as he related the news, and he lifted one hand to halfheartedly stifle a hacking cough. When he finished, he shook his head. "Unbelievable."
"Yeah." Gus stared at Chase's hand with concern. "Maybe you should see a doctor about that cough."
"Nah. I'm fine. Rumor says that Tom had some sort of underlying complication before he got the flu. And I'm healthy."
"Still." Gus edged away. He wondered how rude it would be to pull out his hand sanitizer. "Better safe than sorry."
Chase shrugged. "Maybe. Once I finish with my route. Can you believe how much they expect us to do?"
"People are sick." Gus answered automatically. "Everyone has to pitch in." He managed to make it back to his car without running into anyone else, but his comment haunted him.
People are sick. A lot of people.
Gus's second stop after lunch was the lone hospital on his route. Technically, it was Rodriguez's route, but for the day it was his. Double checking his instructions, he saw that his contact was Mallory Walker, head nurse. Grabbing the samples he was supposed to deliver, he left his car in the farthest spot in the parking lot – the only open one, and began trudging towards the main doors.
Gus hated hospitals. They smelled funny and it offended his nose – disinfectant, body odor, and a sweet sick smell that always reminded him of the time that a rat had died in one of the Psych office's vents. Repressing the urge to shudder, he forced a smile and went inside.
The woman at the information desk looked haggard, but she willingly pointed him towards the administrative offices, which were down the hall and to the left. Gus walked as quickly as he could, his rubber soled shoes squeaking on the linoleum. He finally reached the administrative suite and glanced at the phone list that hung over the phone in the hallway for Mallory's number. Finding it, he dialed back for admittance and listened as the phone rang. And rang. And rang and rang and rang.
Finally, Gus hung up and tried a different number. It rang for a long time before he hung up and tried a third number. He was on the verge of hanging up again when someone answered.
"Hi, I'm trying to reach Mallory Walker."
"I’m sorry, but…" The woman's voice faltered and when she spoke again, it was obvious that she was trying not to cry. "Ms. Walker passed away."
"Oh." Gus answered stupidly, before he shook himself. As quickly as he could, he explained who he was and why he was there and the woman on the other end of the phone promised she'd be right there to collect the samples.
When the door finally opened, Gus wasn't that surprised to see that this woman also looked like she was suffering from the flu. She was pale and coughing, and sweat shone on her forehead.
Gus passed off the samples as quickly as he could, along with a second apology. Then he turned and practically ran out of the hospital. In his haste, he continued straight instead of making the turn to the front doors, and found himself in the Emergency Room waiting area. It was packed with people, all of whom were coughing and pale.
Gus's stomach clenched as he looked around. This wasn't just the flu. The thought crossed his mind even as one person in the crowd started moving towards him. It wasn't until she was standing in front of him that Gus even noticed her.
"Jules!"
"Gus." Jules had clearly been crying, her eyes were read and her face was swollen. "How did you hear?"
"Hear what?" Gus asked, dread knotting in painful twists in his stomach, and his heart beating at double speed.
"Oh, you aren't here about… Carlton?"
"Lassy?" Gus felt his mouth go dry and he tried to swallow. "What's wrong? Is he sick, too?"
"No." Jules started crying again, reaching up to wipe away the tears. "He's dead. He got sick two days ago… thought it was the flu… and now he's gone."
"Oh, God." Gus reached out and wrapped his arms around Jules and cried with her. Lassy, dead. Gone. For all that he had been the butt of a thousand jokes, Gus had genuinely liked Carlton Lassiter. He was a good man, and a damn good cop, something Gus had come to recognize was a rarity. "I'm so sorry, Jules."
"Me, too." She took a deep breath and pushed back, and all of a sudden, the grieving friend was gone, replaced by a hardened cop. It scared Gus that she looked at him like that, even as she reached up to wipe away a tear. "Listen to me, Gus. You need to leave town. Now. They're going to quarantine all of the cities."
"What?" Gus's head spun, but Jules shushed him.
"I don't have time to explain everything. But you need to get out. Take Shawn with you."
"Shawn's already gone – camping."
"Then go find him and stay there until this blows over." Jules dropped her hand to cover her mouth as a cough wracked through her. She ignored it. So did Gus, although his mind screamed at him about the logical conclusion. "Go now. Don't stop for anything."
"Okay." He hesitated. "Come with me, Jules."
She smiled at him, sadly. "I can't. It's my job to stay here. There's going to be enough chaos without abandoning people."
"Please." Gus tried one more time, afraid that if she didn't come, he'd never see her again.
Jules just shook her head. "Go. Now."
With one last hug, Gus ran out of the ER. He didn't care if he did look like a fool. Tears blinded him as he went to his car. Climbing inside, he sat and cried for a few minutes until a thought occurred to him that dried up his tears in abject terror.
He hadn't heard from Shawn since last night.
Gus stopped for gas an hour outside of Santa Barbara. He went inside the little store and bought everything that he could imagine needing over the next two weeks or so. The selection was limited, but he managed to find a dozen bags of chips, three bags of bread, an assorted selection of gummy rings (peach, strawberry, pineapple, and lime), four cans of chili, two packs of bottled water, and one lone package of toilet paper. On top of that, he bought as many batteries as he could find, all of the flashlights, two long handled lighters, all the band aids he could find, several tubes of antibacterial ointment, calamine lotion, bug spray, sun block, aloe, toothpaste and all of the medicine that he could find.
He also managed to scrounge up two changes of clothes for himself (as long as he didn't mind wearing a shirt that said KISS MY BASS or CHASIN' TAIL or fatigue shorts), two blankets, and a pair of overpriced flip flops. On second thought, he also grabbed two packs of disposable razors and a couple of cakes of soap and one bottle of shaving lotion.
Finally, he snagged two cases of beer and the last bag of marshmallows. The cashier raised an eyebrow as he rang everything up. "You runnin away from the law or somethin'?
"What?" Gus started. He'd been staring at his cell phone and willing Shawn to return his last two frantic phone calls. "No. Just… camping."
"You don't look like a camper."
"It's my first time." Gus lied. He looked around and spotted several gas canisters. "I'm going to fill up my car and two extra gas cans, too. For the camping stove."
"You don't use gas in a camping stove. You use kerosene." The cashier seemed alarmed. "Unless you're trying to blow yourself up."
"I meant the… generator." Gus shrugged, wondering how Shawn always made this look so easy. "But I'll need kerosene too. And do you have any portable radios?"
Wordlessly, the cashier rounded up Gus's requests and rang them up. "If'n you were runnin' from the law," the casher said slowly, "I'd avoid the main interstate. Rumor says that there's a roadblock about six miles down. But if you take the back roads, you should be okay."
Gus nodded and fixed the cashier with a steady gaze. "I'd appreciate any directions you can give me then."
The old man broke into a toothy smile. "No problem. Never had much use for cops, anyhow."
Gus resisted the urge to laugh. He wondered if the man had any use for fake psychic detectives and their friends. But, he said nothing and carefully copied down the directions the old man gave him. He figured he should reach the state park where Shawn was camping out by sunset.
Gus hadn't counted on the back roads being full. Apparently word had gotten out that the major cities were being quarantined. He listened to the radio as reports of deaths and martial law gradually began driving the music off the air. The roads slowly, but surely, filled up as people ran away. The Governor made repeated requests for people to stay calm, stay home, stay sane… but he was coughing as he spoke.
Sparing thoughts for his own family, (his parents had gone on a cruise, his siblings scattered across the country) Gus prayed that they would be fine, his fingers tight on the wheel.
The cell phone network had crashed about an hour ago, and Gus turned his phone off to save the battery. He decided he'd open it and check for messages once an hour, but he didn't hold much hope for things to calm down any time soon.
Ahead of him on the road, people were driving around an accident and Gus did the same thing. He spared the people a pitying glance as he drove past them, wondering at the sped with which common civility had given way to a survivalist attitude. Still, everyone looked fine and they were only about three miles from the nearest town.
Gus left them, but they were all he thought about for the next hour.
Even the back roads couldn't keep him out of every town of size. He drove through a city called Dillan sometime around 10 p.m. It was small enough that it was spared the quarantine. It was big enough that it suffered from the chaos of mass panic.
Gus hit the door locks at least a dozen times as he drove past stores where the windows were broken out. The line at the one gas station already stretched down the street and it took him 45 minutes to ease past it, which he finally managed by driving on the sidewalk.
A major accident forced him to sit in traffic for 90 minutes. The road was only two lanes, and windy, and when it became obvious that the authorities weren't coming, several men left their vehicles to shove the busted cars off the road.
Gus didn't spare them any thought as he finally drove past them.
It was almost two a.m. when he finally reached the state campground. The barricade by the ranger's office at the entrance was broken and Gus eased the Hatchback past it carefully.
With no idea what to do next, Gus turned his phone back on. It powered up and then went dim as he stared at it, willing a voice mail or text message to show up. When nothing did, he pressed dial and waited to hear the operator tell him that all circuits were busy.
Instead, it just rang endlessly. Despairing, he hung up and turned it off. Turning the car off, he went to the Ranger's station and looked around. Someone had broken out the window and opened the door. Carefully picking his way through the glass, Gus went inside. The lights worked when he flipped the switch and he went towards what looked like some sort of registration book.
His nerves tingled as he read some Ranger's note that they'd airlifted out two people three days ago, all suffering from what appeared to be the flu. He flipped further back until he saw Henry Spencer's name and felt some relief flood over him as he saw that they had been assigned to camp space D-22.
Another minute of investigation turned up a map of the campground. Relieved beyond measure, Gus grabbed the map and headed back towards his car. The power flickered out just as he stepped outside.
After carefully getting back inside his car, he turned on the lights and thought about what he'd do if the Spencers weren't there. He sat frozen for a long time, the emergency broadcasting system repeatedly telling him that he should have stayed home, in his house, and awaited further instructions. Finally, he flipped the radio off and backed onto the road again. He had to turn on the bright lights as he searched. Most of the campgrounds were deserted, but an odd car was parked here and there along the roadside. A few campfires glittered in the darkness and Gus couldn't help but wildly wonder if they would be forever reduced to cave man status again.
Henry's truck loomed out of the darkness and Gus pulled over behind it. He killed the engine and sat there in silence. Outside, he could hear crickets chirping. Closing his eyes, he muttered under his breath. "Everything is fine. They're both fine. It's fine. Shawn's fine."
When a bright light shone suddenly in his face, his eyes flew open and he screamed like a little girl. The door wrenched open and Henry's voice. "For God's sake, Gus, it's me!"
"Mr. Spencer?" Gus pressed his hand to his chest and concentrated on taking deep breaths until his heart quit pounding like it was going to break through his chest like Ridley Scott's alien. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"
"Whoa." Henry backed up and lifted a hand to his ear. That was when Gus realized he'd been squeaking at an almost supersonic pitch. "Take it easy."
"You scared me." Gus managed in a more human register.
"I gathered." Henry looked tired. "What are you doing here? We heard they quarantined the cities."
"I got out before the road blocks went up." Gus stood up. "Where's Shawn?"
Henry's face tensed and he looked towards the camper. "Gus."
"No." Gus shook his head.
"Now, calm down." Henry stepped in front of Gus, and Gus realized he'd been walking towards the camper. "He's sleeping."
"Sleeping?" Gus asked, please to hear that his voice was still discernable.
"Yes, sleeping." Henry rubbed his face. "But he's sick, Gus."
Gus couldn't understand another word. Shawn. Sick. Shawn. Sick. It played over and over in his brain until Henry finally took pity on him and led him inside. The camper was small and cramped, but there was room for a fold out sofa cot and one other bed. Shawn lay on the cot and even in the dim light of a single lantern, Gus could see that he was covered in sweat. His breath rattled in his chest as he struggled to breathe.
"Shawn." Gus started towards him, but Henry caught his arm
"No, Gus. He's contagious."
Gus pulled free. "I don't care. The whole world is sick and dying. Why should I be any different?"
Henry let him go and Gus sat on the edge of the cot. "Shawn?"
Shawn turned, eyes opening. Even in the lamp light, Shawn's eyes glistened with fever, but he smiled. "I bet you wish you'd answered your phone. Loser."
"Shut up." Gus answered, eyes blurring. "You're going to be fine."
"That's what I like about you, Gus. Always seeing happy endings." Shawn's eyes fluttered shut and he whispered painfully, "A veritable John Hughes."
"Oh, God." Gus pressed his hand to his mouth and turned to Henry. Henry looked as devastated and exhausted as Gus had ever seen him, but it was the way his shoulders sank that really let Gus know how bad things were. In his whole life, he had never seen Henry look defeated. Not even when he'd gotten a divorce. Not even when Shawn had left home and not come back for two years.
Henry shook his head and suddenly Gus was furious. "No." He ran outside, the door the camper shutting with a bang, rattling the whole structure. Henry followed him.
"Gus, calm down."
"No. I won't!" Gus yanked open the backdoor of his car and grabbed one of the flashlights he'd stored there. He left the door open and hurriedly jammed his keys into the trunk to open it, the metal jangling loudly in the otherwise silent night. He rummages around, throwing the supplies he'd bought to the ground carelessly.
Henry sucked in a breath when he saw the things Gus has brought. His voice shook as he started to pick them up. "I won't say that these aren't a welcome sight."
Gus didn't even spare a glance over his shoulder at the wayward Doritos. "Help yourself, Mr. Spencer. But I've got something that I think will help Shawn." He finally saw what he was looking for and pounced on it with a cry of victory. He turned, holding out his briefcase. "I was delivering sample drugs this morning. Sample drugs that were supposed to be used to treat whatever this is."
A faint look of hope crossed Henry's face. "Do you think it works?"
"I don't know. I don't think they had time to take effect."
"The disease moves fast. Two, maybe three days. That's it, from the first cough to the last breath. The Ranger and I found five dead campers this morning. We radioed for help but…"
"The cities were reeling." Gus acknowledged as he ripped open the package of bottled water and pulled one out. "The death toll hit us hard, starting today. I left the city just after noon, before the Quarantine."
They hurried back inside, Henry clutching some of the food that Gus had thrown around, Gus clutching the precious briefcase. He fumbled it open and read the instructions. "Take 2 pills, every four hours."
"Give him 4." Henry urged. "He needs as high a dose as possible to get the stuff into his system."
"Okay." Gus popped the pills out of their plastic cases, hands shaking slightly with a mixture of fear and exhaustion. He woke up his best friend and helped him sit up.
"Nurse Ratched, I presume."
"Just take the medicine, Shawn." Henry ordered, gruffly, but Gus knew better. He played along.
"If Mr. McMurphy doesn't want to take his medication orally, I'm sure we can arrange that he can have it some other way. But I don't think that he would like it."
Shawn managed a weak grin. "But you would. You pervert."
Gus slipped the pills into his mouth and lifted the bottled water so that Shawn could drink some of it. Shawn swallowed and then spoke again, "No lobotomies."
"No lobotomies." Gus promised. "Your brain is way too broken for one of those to work anyway."
Fear swirled behind Shawn's eyes. "Gus… I'm…"
"Going to be fine." Gus answered in a voice that brooked no argument. "Now sleep."
"I like it when you're authoritative." Shawn mumbled, exhaustion and fever pulling him back towards unconsciousness.
"Now who's a pervert?" Gus asked as Shawn fell asleep again. He looked at Henry, all his confidence draining away. "Now what?"
"We wait." Henry moved towards him and held out his hand. "Give me your keys. I'm going to empty your car."
Silently, Gus handed them over. Before Henry left the camper, Gus managed to squeak out. "How long has he been sick?"
"Since this morning." Henry's voice was gruff. The camper door slammed with a loud bang.
Thirty-six hours until Shawn was out of danger.
The last minute radio was the second most prized item that Gus brought with him. They turned it on every hour or so, to hear if anything had changed. Mostly, they got the emergency radio broadcast.
"That's not a good sign." Henry muttered, almost to himself. "No one's left to make any real announcement."
Once they got some politician, coming in towards the end of her broadcast. "…urge you to stay in your homes. Do not go outside. Do not try and go to the hospital. They are all overfull and in various states of shut down. Put some sort of red flag outside your home if you need medical assistance."
"Governor must be dead." Gus observed. "He was making those speeches earlier."
"Lt. Governor, too." Henry sounded numb. "I think that's the Secretary of Transportation."
Shawn began hallucinating just after dawn. He saw various insects crawling up his body. It took Henry and Gus to restrain him and finally Henry climbed into the bed besides Shawn, holding him as Shawn wept.
"Hush, buddy. I've got you. It's a dream, just a dream."
"Daddy?" The question jolted through Gus like electricity. Shawn hadn't called his father that since he'd been five.
"I'm here, buddy. I'm here." Gus turned away. He couldn't stand to see Henry cry.
Midmorning, some other campers came by. They said they were just looking to see if anyone was still alive, but Henry kept his gun in his hand and in plain sight. He told them to keep their distance – there was a sick person inside.
"There are sick people everywhere." The leader of the little gang shook his head. "The Ranger is dead, too. We're alone here."
"Be on your way, then." Henry ordered and the five guys reluctantly took their leave. Henry watched them go for long time before he pulled Gus outside. "Have you ever shot a handgun?"
"Yes." Gus swallowed. He didn't object, though, as Henry walked him through loading and firing the pistol though. And he moved his car behind the camper, so that it wasn't visible on the main road anymore.
Four pills, every four hours. A few tortured sips of water. Twice, Henry and Gus took turns trying to feed Shawn something, but they didn't get very far.
"He's going to be too weak to even take the medicine, soon." Henry croaked.
"Then we'll crush it up and put it in the water." Gus shot back. He wasn't giving up. Not on Shawn. Not on his best friend. Not ever.
His cell phone died in mid-afternoon, and Gus cursed his own unwillingness to spend $30 on a car charger. Who knew it might one day be his only link to the world. To his family.
There hadn't been any messages, anyway.
"My fellow Americans," the broadcast woke Gus out of a doze, and he jerked his head up from where it had been resting on the makeshift kitchen table. "In times of great distress, we most show our true character. Doctors are working around the clock to find a cure. What medicine we do have is being delivered as quickly as we can get it to the streets."
There was a staticy pause and then a sound much like a sob.
"It is my sad duty to inform you that the President and First Family have perished in what we are now calling the Superflu. The Vice-President is hospitalized. We are preparing to swear in Nancy Pelosi as the next President of the United States. Due to security, we will not be airing that ceremony."
Another pause. "If you pray to any God, we ask that you do so now."
The broadcast ended and Gus and Henry looked at each other without a word.
The next time the looters came by, Henry was asleep. Gus greeted them at the door with a pistol in their faces. "Not here, boys. Look somewhere else."
They laughed and withdrew, but Gus couldn't help but notice that two of them were coughing and one was as pale as death. He didn't think they would be back.
He also didn't think to offer them any of the precious samples of medication.
It was midnight when Henry started coughing. Wordlessly, Gus handed him four pills. Henry started to protest, but Gus hissed at him. "I'm not telling your son that you died. Take the damn pills."
Twenty hours until Shawn was out of the woods.
Forty-two until Henry was.
Gus wondered what would happen if he got sick. He dry swallowed two pills and hoped they would do something. Counting the rest of the samples, Gus figured they would be okay, as long as he didn't get sick.
He was pretty sure his headache was from stress and not sleeping.
Pretty sure.
Gus woke up in alarm. He couldn't hear Shawn's rattled breathing. He tripped over his blanket in his rush to get to Shawn's bedside and froze. Shawn lay deathly still, no longer sweating, no longer coughing.
Grief tore through Gus and he sank to his knees with a sob. "Shawn…"
And Shawn moved, turning to open his eyes and look at Gus. "Gus… thirsty."
The crushing grief vanished and Gus practically flew to the water supply. He helped Shawn sit up and drink half a bottle of water. Then he forced another four pills down his throat.
Shawn's skin was cool to the touch.
Gus held him and cried like a baby.
Henry never did get as sick as Shawn had. Gus was pretty sure that the medicine had started working faster. They all lay low in the camper for another ten days, regaining strength, eating Doritos and gummy rings.
The radio reports coming over the air were grim, but gradually, they started being more optimistic.
Finally, the day came that the Quarantine was lifted. By unspoken vote, they stayed in the camper another three days.
Shawn cried when Gus told him about Lassiter. They both cried when he talked about Jules.
"She might be okay." Gus offered.
"Yeah." Shawn agreed, wiping his eyes with shaking hands. "I'm sure she is. She's a cop. She probably was in the front of the line for treatment."
They'd known each other long enough to know that they were both lying.
"It had to have come from a lab." Shawn stretched, the nerf basketball swooshing through the net easily. Gus wheeled over to grab it.
"I don't see how you figure that, Shawn. If it was a biological weapon, why didn't we have the cure?"
"You did." Shawn pointed out. "You were passing it out even before the outbreak."
"It was just luck that the new medication worked on the Superflu." Gus dunked the ball with fanfare and Shawn grinned at him.
"You say luck. I say government conspiracy."
Gus stilled and swallowed. "I hope you're wrong."
The grin melted off Shawn's face, revealing that he still hadn't put back on all the weight that he'd lost. He stopped his rollychair and turned to look at Gus seriously. "I don't know what else it could have been. Everything suggests that."
"No." Gus shook his head firmly. "We are not taking on that case. What good could we do against the government if you're right?"
The jingle of the front office door interrupted their conversation and they both stood to go and greet their new customer. A dark head of hair atop a tall thin frame gave his identity away. "Well, if it isn't the newly minted Detective Buzz MacNabb. What's happening with the SBPD?"Gus gave the other man a high five and a remnant of the old familiar grin popped back up.
"Hey, man. I almost didn't recognize you without your blues on." Shawn quipped and Buzz shrugged, some of the amusement draining from his eyes.
"I always hoped to rise through the ranks quickly." The rest of his sentence was left unsaid as he pulled out a file. "We have a case for you guys. Here you go."
Gus watched as Shawn gleefully began flipping through the pages. Life had almost returned to normal. Almost, except with the weight of the millions of dead still hanging over them. Gus narrowed his eyes at Shawn. Shawn hadn't given up on finding out why, Gus knew that much.
So, not everything had changed. And that, Gus supposed, was as good as it was going to get.
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And thanks so much for the compliments and comments.
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Thanks so much!
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I also love your icon. ♥
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And Shawn would want to find out what happened.
Good fic.
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I'm glad you enjoyed this! Thanks so much. :D
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Thanks so much for reading even though you're not familiar with the fandom! I'm really glad you enjoyed it.
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Amazing story! I really liked it and I'm glad they survived.
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I'm so pleased you enjoyed it!
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