Zero Hour
#10 of The Getaway (Thriller)
Zero Hour
*
Corbin Bright did not feel anything out of the ordinary when he boarded the Air France jumbojet flight from King Khalid International Airport in Riyadh, the capital city of Saudi-Arabia, where he had been working as a representative of his company, Fischer Petrochemicals based in Houston, Texas. The wolf had spent two weeks sweating under the desert sun, meeting with Emirs and Sheiks and done everything he could to lubricate the relationship between his company and the Saudi investors interested in purchasing some of their technology. It had been an exhausting trade mission, and Corbin Bright was happy to be going back home.
He was tired and hadn't slept well the night before despite Ambien, and was looking forward to the peaceful flight back home, with a stopover in Paris. He did not find the First Class check-in particularly grand at the airport, but it was comfortable, they had the_Financial Times_ on print and he didn't have to go near the economy terminal, which he had seen too many times. Crowded, with furs, women wearing scarves, children bundled up into papooses and held against bosoms, everyone carrying what seemed like an extraordinary amount of luggage. It was a sight that truly reminded him that he was in a developing country. It was easy to forget sometimes, with the front his hosts insisted on putting up for Corbin Bright of Fischer Petrochemicals to see. If he had been there, he would have seen the airport officials with the infrared thermometers scanning each passenger's forehead to see for fever, like some kind of a strange Arabian version of disembarking at Ellis Island, he would have thought, that is, if he had seen it.
The first leg was uneventful. The French stewardesses were lookers, for sure, and Corbin Bright gladly accepted the complimentary champagne offered. It seemed to help with the slightest hint of a headache that seemed to develop during the last hour of the flight.
The stopover in Paris was not very long. He still had the time to drop into one of the tax free shops to get a few bottles of French cosmetics for his girlfriend, whom Corbin Bright had promised to see on the upcoming Friday. He'd already reserved a table in a Houston restaurant, the Sweet Pea. It'd been highly ranked.
Corbin Bright knew he was going to get lucky.
It made him smile even more to the stewardesses once he was onboard the Delta flight to New York. He dosed up on Ambien and melatonin to reduce jetlag, donned the earplugs, slippers and eyeshade, and tried to have a good sleep before touching down in home soil.
The wolf had difficulty sleeping. His back had started to ache, and even the almost fully horizontal seat seemed to be uncomfortable. He couldn't find a good position and only managed to nap the occasional half an hour during his transatlantic flight. It left him feeling tired, and he didn't have much appetite for the breakfast served onboard. The coffee and bagels in one of the cafes at JFK didn't do much for him, either. At least there was a voicemail in his phone from his girlfriend. That made him smile, and feel even more confident that he was going to get laid. With the Parisian gifts, it was inevitable.
When Corbin Bright landed in Houston, his eyes and nose were itching. He didn't put much to it. He often got dry maw and eyes from the dry, filtrated air onboard planes. Shame that first class didn't have personal air, or oxygen tents. He was amused by the idea, and imagined whether his company could produce the plastic for such a product.
He was feeling tired after flying, and his back still ached, and he dropped by a drugstore to get some Dayquill before heading out to the offices of the Fischer Pharmaceuticals.
"Corbin, you're back!" one of the secretaries, Fran Bates, hollered.
"That's me!" the wolf flashed his whitened smile to the fox before she smothered him with a hug and pecks over his cheeks.
"So glad you're back, it seems like it's been such a long time!"
"Oh, only two weeks," not really that long, is it?" the wolf smooth-talked the middle-aged vixen with his best charm. Why not? It was always good practice for the girls who were really in his league.
"Well it was noticed here," the pleasantly flustered vixen replied.
He left her in the lobby and went up to the sixth floor to his own office and met his own secretary, Miss Dixon, who was much more businesslike in her greetings. He checked with her if there were any important calls or notes for him, and received a pawful.
In his office, the headache seemed to worsen, and he downed two Dayquills with water. His throat seemed a bit sore as well. What a time to come down with the flu, Corbin Bright thought. If he didn't get well by Friday, he might have to cancel his booty call.
"I'm taking the day off, you can let any important calls through to my phone," he told the secretary.
"Yes, Mister Bright!"
_ _
"Get me a cab, will you?"
"Yes, Mister Bright."
_ _
The wolf's car was at home because he had taken a cab to the airport, and hence, the cab was the way to go. It seemed wise to not be driving, either, after such a long time flying and popping pills of various kinds. His back seemed more sore as well, and made it uncomfortable to sit. He went straight to the couch in his bachelor pad on the 12th floor, turned on the TV, and didn't move until he had to go to the bathroom. The phone rang a couple of times, and he gave curt answers that discouraged longer conversations.
Corbin Bright felt lousy.
The painkillers didn't seem to be doing much to help him. His throat felt itchy and the hot coffee didn't help that. He was chilly, too, even if the apartment was warm enough. It hurt to move his tail, for some reason, and the headache was radiating down his neck and across his jaw. It made it a bit difficult to chew the takeaway Thai food he ordered and picked at until he decided to go to bed. He mostly tossed and turned, and he also had a strange nightmare about a rock concert where the song went on and on and on and on.
In the morning, Corbin Bright called the private clinic he usually went to for his medical business, and got an appointment with Doctor Kerry. He waited on one of the leather chairs at the lobby, looking at the well-dressed clients, mostly elderly, and felt lousy. He'd left his work phone at home, too, and he wondered if he was missing anything. It hurt to move his ears.
"Ouch!"
_ _
"Does this hurt?" the Doctor asked while pointing a light into the wolf's pupils.
"Yeah," Corbin Bright grunted.
"No major swelling of the lymph nodes..." the doctor commented after feeling up his neck, "open up and say aah!"
Corbin Bright almost gagged when the wooden spatula was stuck against his long tongue and forded down while the light was shone over to his throat.
"It seems rather red. Is it very sore?"
"Not terribly, but I know it's there," the wolf sniffled.
"And you just came back from Saudi-Arabia, is that so?" the doctor asked.
"Yes," the wolf replied. "Does that have anything to do with it?"
The doctor wrote something down on his computer.
"There have been some cases of serious influenza there recently, but your case history does not seem to indicate anything very serious," the doctor said. "I shall prescribe some tests, and I'll also put you on some stronger painkillers to make you more comfortable, and start you on an antiviral for the flu."
"I cannot miss much work," Corbin Bright said.
"We know our clients well," Doctor Kerry smirked.
Half an hour later the wolf emerged with a plaster on his arm and packets of Relenza and OxyContin in his pockets. He went home and dosed up on Dayquill, the flu tablets, and opiates, and managed to sleep some.
By the afternoon, he was coughing a little, and his face and back were more sore than ever. The housekeeper came over, cleaned a little, and left. Corbin Bright laid in bed in the bedroom and tried to watch TV, but the lights seemed very bright, and the noises hurt his head.
Next morning, he still felt terrible and feverish. He rolled around in bed and when he got up, he saw strange stains on the sheets. The wolf snorted, sniffed them, and was sure he hadn't made a mess of himself, at least. He rubbed his sore back and felt his paw become smeared with something.
Corbin Bright stared at his paw. The pads were covered in a strange, clear, substance that didn't have much of a smell to it. He snorted with distaste and went to the bathroom.
His eyes were red, and his itching face had a pearl necklace-like row of shiny pustules along his cheek, visible when he carefully moved the furs apart.
"Shit..." Corbin Bright snorted.
The wolf phoned the hospital and asked about the results. The influenza test had come back negative. He told about the strange boils on his face.
"You should book another appointment!"
_ _
The wolf dragged himself to the clinic. He felt somewhat listless, and the noises hurt his ears.
"... I think it could be shingles, Mister Bright."
"What's that?" the tired wolf asked.
"It's a condition that can arise in furs who have had chickenpox. The virus reactivates and manifests itself as nerve pain and localized chickenpox rash, like yours. However, since it covers two dermatomes, it is a somewhat unusual presentation. It is only seen in patient suffering from immunodeficiency. We would have to ask your consent to do further tests."
"Immuno what?" the wolf inquired.
"We would have to do an HIV antibody test."
Feverish Corbin Bright snorted.
"I ain't do guys or inject anything," he said.
"Then it's just a routine precaution to take, isn't it?" Doctor Kerry noted. "And I'll also start you on acyclovir, 800 milligrams four times a day for seven days, that will shorten the course of the shingles. You should rest and drink lots of fluids, and wear loose clothes to avoid irritating the rash. It is probably just a case of the shingles brought on by the stress of your recent traveling, and perhaps the cold you are suffering from. It will clear up in a few days."
"Gee, thanks."
Corbin Bright wasn't happy. He had to cancel the date and he had to spend the weekend popping pills every few hours and his stomach didn't really like them, either. The itching was driving him mad. At least OxyContin made him sleep alright, if he took enough. Couldn't go wrong with morphine, the wolf thought dryly.
On Monday morning, Corbin Bright felt better. His fever had broken and he was no longer sniffling or had a sore throat. The rash was gone from his back and his muzzle as well. He didn't like the sight of the wolf in the mirror he saw when he went in for his morning piss, but it was good enough. His back was only mildly sore, and his head not at all. And he had enough OxyContin left for a party, if he ever wanted to have one.
Corbin Bright drove his Mercedes over to Fischer Pharmaceuticals.
"Morning, everyone!" the wolf was boisterous and gracious to everyone. "I am back!"
The staff was enthusiastic, as always.
"Shame that Fran isn't here," one of the secretaries said, "she called in sick this morning."
"Seems to be going around," Corbin Bright commented.
He went to his own floor, nodded to Miss Baxter, and opened his computer. He had dozens of emails to answer, but first order of business was to get coffee and read the news.
CNN's top story was labeled:"BUSINESSMAN TRAVELLING IN INDIA BECOMES THE FIRST US CASE OF PARAHERPES, CONTACTS ARE BEING TRACED".
Corbin Bright scrolled down to the business section. He wanted to check the oil prices.
*
Thank you for reading! I hope you had a good time, and I look forward to your feedback!