H1Z1 - Interlude

What to Do If You Get Flu-Like Symptoms
May 7, 2009 7:15 PM ET

The novel H1N1 flu virus is causing illness in infected persons in the United States and countries around the world. CDC expects that illnesses may continue for some time. As a result, you or people around you may become ill. If so, you need to recognize the symptoms and know what to do.

Symptoms
The symptoms of this new H1N1 flu virus in people are similar to the symptoms of seasonal flu and include fever, cough, sore throat, runny or stuffy nose, body aches, headache, chills and fatigue. A significant number of people who have been infected with this new H1N1 virus also have reported diarrhea and vomiting. The high risk groups for novel H1N1 flu are not known at this time but it’s possible that they may be the same as for seasonal influenza. People at higher risk of serious complications from seasonal flu include people age 65 years and older, children younger than 5 years old, pregnant women, people of any age with chronic medical conditions (such as asthma, diabetes, or heart disease), and people who are immunosuppressed (e.g., taking immunosuppressive medications, infected with HIV).

Avoid Contact With Others
If you are sick, you may be ill for a week or longer. You should stay home and avoid contact with other persons, except to seek medical care. If you leave the house to seek medical care, wear a mask or cover your coughs and sneezes with a tissue. In general you should avoid contact with other people as much as possible to keep from spreading your illness. At the current time, CDC believes that this virus has the same properties in terms of spread as seasonal flu viruses. With seasonal flu, studies have shown that people may be contagious from one day before they develop symptoms to up to 7 days after they get sick. Children, especially younger children, might potentially be contagious for longer periods.

Treatment is Available for Those Who Are Seriously III

It is expected that most people will recover without needing medical care.

If you have severe illness or you are at high risk for flu complications, contact your health care provider or seek medical care. Your health care provider will determine whether flu testing or treatment is needed. Be aware that if the flu becomes wide spread, there will be little need to continue testing people, so your health care provider may decide not to test for the flu virus.

Antiviral drugs can be given to treat those who become severely ill with influenza. These antiviral drugs are prescription medicines (pills, liquid or an inhaler) with activity against influenza viruses, including H1N1 flu virus. These medications must be prescribed by a health care professional.

There are two influenza antiviral medications that are recommended for use against H1N1 flu. The drugs that are used for treating H1N1 flu are called oseltamivir (trade name Tamiflu ®) and zanamivir (Relenza ®). As the H1N1 flu spreads, these antiviral drugs may become in short supply. Therefore, the drugs will be given first to those people who have been hospitalized or are at high risk of complications. The drugs work best if given within 2 days of becoming ill, but may be given later if illness is severe or for those at a high risk for complications.

Aspirin or aspirin-containing products (e.g. bismuth subsalicylate – Pepto Bismol) should not be administered to any confirmed or suspected ill case of novel influenza A (H1N1) virus infection aged 18 years old and younger due to the risk of Reye syndrome. For relief of fever, other anti-pyretic medications are recommended such as acetaminophen or non steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs. For more information about Reye’s syndrome, visit the National Institute of Health website.

Check ingredient labels on over-the-counter cold and flu medications to see if they contain aspirin.

Teenagers with the flu can take medicines without aspirin, such as acetaminophen (Tylenol®) and ibuprofen (Advil®, Motrin®, Nuprin®), to relieve symptoms.
Children younger than 4 years of age should not be given over-the-counter cold medications without first speaking with a healthcare provider.

Emergency Warning Signs

If you become ill and experience any of the following warning signs, seek emergency medical care.

In children emergency warning signs that need urgent medical attention include:

• Fast breathing or trouble breathing
  
• Bluish or gray skin color
  
• Not drinking enough fluids
  
• Severe or persistent vomiting
  
• Not waking up or not interacting
  
• Being so irritable that the child does not want to be held
  
• Flu-like symptoms improve but then return with fever and worse cough
  

In adults, emergency warning signs that need urgent medical attention include:

• Difficulty breathing or shortness of breath
  
• Pain or pressure in the chest or abdomen
  
• Sudden dizziness
  
• Confusion
  
• Severe or persistent vomiting
  
• Flu-like symptoms improve but then return with fever and worse cough
  

Protect Yourself, Your Family, and Community

• Stay informed. Health officials will provide additional information as it becomes available. Visit the CDC H1N1 Flu website.
  
• Cover your nose and mouth with a tissue when you cough or sneeze. Throw the tissue in the trash after you use it.
  
• Wash your hands often with soap and water, especially after you cough or sneeze. Alcohol-based hand cleaners are also effective.
  
• Avoid touching your eyes, nose or mouth. Germs spread this way.
  
• Try to avoid close contact with sick people.
  

If you are sick with a flu-like illness, stay home for 7 days after your symptoms begin or until you have been symptom-free for 24 hours, whichever is longer. Keep away from other household members as much as possible. This is to keep you from infecting others and spreading the virus further.

Learn more about how to take care of someone who is ill in "Taking Care of a Sick Person in Your Home"

Follow public health advice regarding school closures, avoiding crowds, and other social distancing measures.

If you don’t have one yet, consider developing a family emergency plan as a precaution. This should include storing a supply of extra food, medicines, and other essential supplies. Further information can be found in the "Flu Planning Checklist"

Source: Centers For Disease Control article, "What do I do if I get flu-like symptoms" http://www.cdc.gov/h1n1flu/sick.htm

H1Z1 - Chapter 4

Perhaps it was that sweet remainder of the little boy in Bill that snapped me out of my terror-induced funk; he grabbed my hand, and the feel of his fingers inside of mine brought me back from the black brink of terror, the edge of which my mind had been teetering once I realized that Marie had died. I had to be calm right now, and I had to be rational right now, if not for my own sake, then for the sake of my son, who wasn't even old enough to understand the horrific memories which had begun to play across the view screen of my inner mind.

"It-it's going to be okay, Son," I managed. I could still feel terror clawing, raging, trying to escape from deep inside me, trying to make its way out of my mouth and take over my actions, like some bizarre alien whose gestation lead to an oral-ejection and which, once born, would jump onto my head and sink ganglion through my skull, becoming an alien "driver" controlling my every action.

"Let's pick up these shotgun shells, OK?" In spite of my fear, some part of me tried to maintain an illusion of normalcy, even though this situation was anything but normal.

"Dad," he hesitated, but seeing the look I shot him, Bill bent and began to scoop up hands full of errant shotgun shells.

As he scurried about the tile and shoved different gauges into their appropriate boxes, I surveyed the aisles surrounding us. I could hear the strange moaning, and I saw a person who appeared to be suffering from the same illness Marie had been suffering - he was lurching around in the hardware aisle two over from the beginning of the sporting goods. That way his body moved was unnatural. He wasn't walking, wasn't limping; I couldn't even label what he was doing as a shuffle. He was lurching. Unnaturally. He was lurching this way.

"How you doing with those shells, Son?" I prodded.

"Just a few left," Bill grunted, down on his hands and knees, stretching to reach under a rack of rain jackets.

"Hurry up then," I said, just barely keeping the raw edge of fear from seeping out the sides of my mouth.

The man lurched closer. Slow, but shortening the distance between his aisle and me and my son, who grunted with satisfaction as he slid the last 20 gauge shell into its box. "Got 'em. Let's go now, Dad. Now!"

"Alright. All we have to do is pay and we're out of here," I assured him, taking the proffered hand and turning toward the check-out stands.

Marie stood right in front of us, spittle and blood flecked lips curling back and her, no, not her any more, it's, I think might be more appropriate, teeth, made to look all the sharper because of the bloody-spittle in the creases between them, bared in a death's head grimace. An unearthly growl from deep inside her chest managed to writhe itself free of it's lips, but when it had finished, it's chest didn't rise again to refill it's lungs. it shuffled toward us with that same blank stare, barely seeming to register that we were there, yet coming after us as though we were it's goal.

"Dad!" Bill shouted as I leaped backward, nearly yanking his arm from its socket.

"We need to run, Son," I said as I continued my backward scramble, pulling him back and up in order to keep him on his uncooperative feet.

Finally, he managed to get his feet under him and together, hand-in-hand, Bill and I ran, me a step-and-a-half ahead as we made for the exit doors and the safety of anywhere but here.

H1Z1 - Chapter 3

As I caught up with my son, who, in his haste to get away from the woman, hadn't waited for me, I heard a sound I hadn't noticed before. All through the store, there seemed to be a low keening sound, like a cross between a growl and a moan. There had to be at least 50 people in the store at any given time, and it seemed like every single one of them was making the same noises as the lady behind the gun counter.

Her name was Marie.

The realization stopped me cold in my tracks. Not because I had just remembered what her little blue name tag said in friendly white lettering, but because, in my mind, I had thought 'was'.

Was.

"Bill, wait," I managed, turning back toward the outdoors section.

"No, Dad. We can't go back there! Something is wrong with that lady and I'm scared!"

"I know, Son," I said as calmly as I knew how, trying to disguise the terror that kept trying to claw its way up the back of my throat. "You just wait right here while I go back."

"No!" This, he yelled, in spite of his usual amenable attitude. "I'm not leaving you! And I am NOT going back there!"

With that, Bill dug his heels in to the floor and my momentum pulled him over, both of us cancelling one another out with single-minded determination as the shotgun shells under his arm broke free of their boxes and spilled across the tile.

I wanted, no needed, absolutely had to go back and find out what was wrong with this lady; Bill was equally compelled to flee the store as rapidly as his little legs would allow. Althouh his flight instinct held sway over him almost completely, I couldn't help but feel pride in the fact that even though he was ready to run for his life, he would not leave my side - he'd run, all right, but not without my permission.

"Here," I said, dangling the keys to the truck in front of him. "Why don't you go wait in the car?"

"Uh-uh," he said, flatly determined that the two of us would not separate. "I am not going anywhere without you, Dad. Something is wrong here. Very wrong, and I want to get out!"

"Yes, Son, I know something's wrong." I could tell there was not going to be a happy medium here, so I let the steel of my "Daddy voice" temper my words. "We need to find out what it is and whether or not we can help."

"No Dad," Bill pleaded, his eyes gone dark with fear. "Please no."

He knew I had made up my mind, though, and his shoulders rounded with acceptance as I pulled him back to his feet.

"We'll just be a minute, Son," I promised, turning back toward the gun counter.

The lady, Marie, was gone. My steps faltered as I saw the empty corral.

"Look, under there!" Bill hissed, squatting down and pointing under the bottom edge of the swinging corral door.

"Why are you whispering, Son?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper itsself.

"I don't know," he whispered back.

"Ma'am," I continued, this time at regular volume, voice cracking a little. I didn't want Bill to hear how scared I actually was.

"Ma'am, are you ok?"

I leaned over the gate to the gun counter and looked down at her - she seemed to have passed out, and was lying flat on her back with a trail of blood-flecked foam dribbling down the side of her face.

"Stay here," I told Bill as I reached inside the counter to undo the catch on the swinging door.

This time he didn't resist, simply standing there, eyes as wide as ever I'd seen them and every muscle in his body as taut as a bow string. At a nod, he'd run; I could tell it was everything he could do not to take off down the aisle we'd just come up

I looked Marie's body over again. I could tell it was a body: she wasn't wheezing any more. In fact, her chest didn't move at all. Feeling for a pulse in her wrist as I bent down, I couldn't help but flinch at the slightly rotten smell I'd noticed before. It reminded me of the scent of a mass grave I'd ridden by in the back of a military truck in Sumatra after the tsunami hit in December of '04. It was all I could do to keep my racing mind from following that memory; I'd been dealing with the nightmares of that experience ever since, and the smell was something that would never, ever leave me.

Death. She smelled like death. She had smelled that way while she was still standing, while she was still moving.

"Dad, is she ..." Bill couldn't bring himself to end his question as I dropped her lifeless arm back to the ground.

"Yes, I'm afraid so, Son." Never had a phrase rung so truly. I was afraid. Very afraid.

H1Z1 - Chapter 2

As we stepped through the door, it seemed as through eerie was the word for the day - Wad-Mart is usually a zoo on a Saturday morning, even if it was this early. Obviously, with the flu scare, no one was venturing too far from their hovels, but I don't remember the store ever seeming this empty.

Doors automatically sliding closed behind us, Bill and I immediately aimed ourselves to the back right of the store and the outdoors section. We rarely shopped anywhere but the outdoors section, unless one or the other of us needed a new shirt or my wife dragged me, kicking and screaming like a distruptive two-year-old through the store on a shopping expedition.

"Dad," he asked, and the tone in his voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand up even further, if that is even possible. "Where is everybody?"

"I'm not sure, Son," I replied, shaking my hand free of his so he didn't notice how sweaty my palms had suddenly become. "Let's just go get some shells and get out of here."

As we strode with purpose down the aisle between the electronics and toys, I scanned the cashier stands at the front of the store. This place was huge - a warehouse, more than anything, but I could usually see a cashier at one of the 30 or so check out stands. I thought I might have seen someone's head way down at the other end of the store (it seemed like it was half-a-mile away), but I couldn't be sure. One of the reasons I loathe this stupid store so much is that they have so many check-out stands, but it seems like no more than three are manned at any given time.

'Great,' I thought. 'Only one line open. Good thing we seem to be the only people in the store.'

"Why are we the only people in the store?" my mini-doppelganger echoed.

"We're not the only people in the store, Son," was my automatic, thoughtless reply. "At least, I don't think we are.

We rounded the corner to the outdoor aisle and went directly to the shelf of brightly colored boxes designed to entice us to "Buy this ammo! None is better than ours!"

"Grab two boxes of the skeet-load," I instructed, watching as Bill scanned the labels, diligently trying to find the right kind of shells. He hesitated at the middle shelf of boxes, which were not the right ones, before his hand darted one shelf down to the correct loads just before I reminded him of what he was looking for.

"Wow, these are heavy, Dad," he grunted, hoisting the boxes under his arm.

"I know, but when you think about what's in there, you understand why.

"Did you check the box to make sure it was steel shot, not lead?" Bill was envirenmentally minded, and I had explained the differences between lead and steel shot to him, and the repercussions of all that lead in the ground at the range.

"They're all steel now, Dad, you know that!" was his reply. I never could trip him up when it came to things like this - the child had a mind like a bear trap.

"Why don't you grab a box of 20 gauge, too, Son?"

His eyes almost glowed as he nearly whooped out, "Really?"

I'd only let him shoot a few times, but he was a natural at it, remained calm and focused on the range and we had taken the range safety course together. I knew he was not only able, but that he really enjoyed shooting with me on the occasion I could smuggle him out from under his mother's watchful eye.

As he addded the box of 20 gauge shells to his pile, I turned to look at the gun counter and froze. Staring back at me was a woman in a Wad-Mart uniform. She wasn't moving, just staring, except she seemed to be staring through me - her eyes were glazed looking and didn't move around. She just stared. I noticed something else, but it didn't quite register at the time - she was drooling. In fact, a thin line of slaver ran almost all the way down her chest to the bottom of her blue vest. Her mouth was open and there was a kind of wheeze coming from her throat - not exactly breathing, not exactly coughing. But her chest barely moved - she sort of shuffled toward us. Lurched might more be the word.

"Dad? ..." I could hear the raw edge of terror in Bill's voice.

"It's ok, Son. Just be calm.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" I asked, taking a step toward the corral behind the gun counter where she was standing.

She wheezed. She didn't talk, didn't answer - it seemed like my voice registered in her head, but she didn't seem to understand what I had asked.

"Ma,am?" I asked, beginning to feel that edge of fear in my own mind.

"Dad, let's go," Bill urged, tucking the boxes of shells under his arm and tugging on my shirt sleeve.

"Just a minute, Son. I think this lady needs our help."

I took another step toward her and she lurched toward me again - spittle bubbling in her mouth and a froth beginning to spill from her lips. A bloody froth.

"Lady! Can you hear me?" I shouted, torn between getting closer and turning tail and running.

My spine felt like a rod of ice - my blood, however, burned as it raced through my limbs. I could not only see that there was something terribly, terribly wrong with this woman, but, and my mind balked at this realization, I could smell something wrong with her.

"Dad! No!" Bill spurted as I reached out to touch her. She was burning up - I could feel heat through the sleeve of her blouse as I gently shook her shoulder. Her eyes were still looking through me, but she seemed to recognized my touch and lurched toward me again, hitting the little swinging door of the corral and stumbling.

It took me a minute to understand that I was hearing a feral growl from deep in the back of her throat, but by this time, instinct had taken over and I jerked my hand away, subconsciously wiping it clean on my shirt as I took a step back from her.

"Dad, we need to go!" Bill said, pulling harder at my sleeve.

"Yeah, Son. Yes. I think we do," I said, backing away, eyes not leaving the slavering, lurching woman as she bumped against the corral door over and over, not seeming to realize she had to unlatch it to get out from behind the counter.

H1Z1 - Chapter 1

It started innocently enough, I guess. I mean, it's a flu virus, right? How bad can that be?

Yes, I remember the Spanish flu outbreak of 1918, yes, there have been several outbreaks since then and a lot of people have died, but it's 2009 for goodness' sake! We've made such huge medical advances since then - and we can't handle a little outbreak of some new flu virus?

I took it in stride. Went to work. Washed my hands. Went "tch tch" at news reports coming from Mexico about the spread of the virus. Now big deal, right? It's just the flu - I had my flu mist this year, I am good to go!

Then the reports started changing. At first the chatter all seemed to point to it being a myth - I mean, really? Zombies? You're kidding, right?

I kept living my life. Kept going to work. Washed my hands like the news said to do. Stayed clear of large public venues where snot-nosed children put their hands on everything - you know, Wad-Mart. I thought I was safe.

I was wrong. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Ironically, it was a trip to Wad-Mart that brought the reality of the new and very different viral strain, H1Z1, to light for me - that one fateful trip.

As usual, I climbed into my SUV on a sunny but somewhat wind-swept Saturday morning with the intent of hitting the store for some shells and heading out to the skeet range. I brought my son with me just to give the wife a break - besides, I could rent him a 20-gauge at the range and let him shoot with me (she didn't know I would do this and I wanted to keep things that way, but the boy needs to learn to hunt!).

Our neighborhood is quiet on an a Saturday at 8:00 a.m. no matter what, but this morning I didn't even hear dogs barking, which seemed fine with my two furry knuckleheads, who piled into the back of the truck like it was Christmas morning and they could smell a huge pile of dog treats wrapped in a present. I absolutely love the enthusiasm of my silly dogs, but sometimes, I wonder how much actual brain action is going on in those furry skulls.

The four of us, me, the boy and the doggy doggy headed out - my thoughts were not on what I was doing, but I really couldn't tell you now what it was that was whispering in the back of my mind and making all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

There was almost no traffic - a fire engine whipped by me at the stop light - lights on but no siren, but beyond that, I only saw a few other early morning adventurers out on the road. Again, not that unusual, it is, after all, a fairly small city.

The closer we got to the store, the more the dogs seemed to be picking up on whatever it was that had my hackles raised, because theirs began to raise, too. The bitch, Sarah, started to whine as I turned into the Wad-Mart parking lot.

"What's a matter, baby?" I crooned, using that sweet, soft voice every dog owner uses with their pet when it seems nervous or scared. Funny, that voice - you could be the toughest, meanest, baddest-assed biker punk on the planet, but you talk in that funny, sweet voice when your dog is upset. Go figure.

Sasha looked at me with her head cocked as Steve, our male, started whining, too.

"It's OK, babies," I crooned, looking at my son, who was petting Sasha and crooning to her as well. He just shrugged and kept trying to soother her.

Not too busy here this morning, thank goodness. I am never a fan of the huge super-we-have-it-all stores in the first place, but I sincerely loathe Wad-Mart. There's something about the parade of skinny idiots in wife-beaters with mullets and overweight, frazzled mommies with 27 1/2 kids that simply puts my teeth on edge. My strategy? Get in, go straight to what I want and get out.

As I made sure my son had cracked his window for the dogs, I noticed that it was eerily quiet here, too. I mean quiet. 'You know, this is that moment in the cheesy horror movie where the sacrificial (your fave here - bimbo, minority, dumb jock, etc ...) whoever goes, "Yeah, too quiet ...", I thought to myself as I locked the door. I almost said the same to my son, but refrained.

At ten, Bill is my spitting image. It's like me-redux but with lighter hair. Same eyes, same chin, same bit of paunch and tendency toward love handles when we don't get out enough. The only thing that marks us apart when you look at photos of my tenth year and him, today, is a scar on my chin just below the lip. I got that one when I was three or four - I fell on my face and shoved my bottom teeth through my lip. I can still remember having stitches sewn into it; not a favorite memory of mine.

This morning, we were both dressed for the range - jeans, light shooting jackets with shoulder pads, he in a favorite, smelly beat-up ball cap, me in my empire Stetson. My shotgun was dutifully racked in the driver's side window in the back of the SUV - barrel NOT pointed at my head as I drove. I was thinking about picking up a 20-gauge of his own for Bill this morning, but still wasn't sure how I'd get that idea through to my pacifist wife, who only rolled over and mumbled when I got up at 6:00 a.m. to shower, shave and throw some bacon and eggs on the stove for the boy and I.

We, "The Bobsy Twins" as my Mother called us, walked toward the entrance of this disgusting, over commercialized, price-cutting, wage raping establishment, alone. Utterly alone. One of the dogs gave us a single bark as we walked off from the truck, as if to say, "Wait! You don't know what you're getting in to!"

'I know," I thought. 'I've gone through this before. I can handle the idiots at Wad-Mart."

Bill looked back at the truck, biting his lip like he does when some thing's bothering him.

"Dad?" He asked. "Can we bring the dogs in? They look lonely."

"Son, you know we can't bring them in here," I replied. "But we'll stop at the Pet-Mart on the way out-of-town and we can take them in to buy them treats, okay?"

This seemed to mollify him and he reached out to grab my hand as we walked through the automatic doors. I love the fact that, even though he's ten now, and a Big Boy, he'll still reach out to hold me hand in a crowded place, or when we're all alone.

It very well may be the end!

Evidence is surfacing that H1N1 has actually mutated into H1Z1! The Zombie Apocalypse is upon us!

I, for one, am stockpiling shotgun shells, gas and 2-stroke oil for my chainsaw, about 100 bottles of vodka to make Molotov Cocktails with, and anything else I might be able to use to defend myself from the putrescent horde.

This very well could be it, my friends. The day of the Zombie is upon us!

So now what?

I got a phone call a little while ago. A phone call I was not very pleased with.

Looking at my cell, the number was familiar only in that it was the base switchboard. I always hate answering these calls because they are almost always either my boss needing me to come back in or the clinic calling to tell me how many ways my body is rebelling against youth and good health.

It was the latter.

"Mr. Guhrilla? This is 'Nan' from the base Clinic calling you to tell you that you have a referral to Orthopedics."

"What? Why do I have that?" I asked, fighting that 'wonderful' feeling of my stomach clenching as I tried valiantly to keep it from crawling up my throat by way of my spine. My eyes actually began to tear up. A referral.

"They didn't tell you?" This, she asked with just as glib a voice as the one she used to announce to me that I had been "referred."

"No ma'am, they didn't."

"We got the results from your MRI and you have a bulging disc."

Now I ask you, who, in their right mind, calls an almost middle-aged man who has been suffering with extreme lower back pain for months (at this point) and tells him, over the phone no less, "Oh by the way, you're on the path to life-long pain, discomfort, eternal physical therapy and we might be able to throw in repeated surgeries, too! YAY!"

I could almost visualize Miss Super Happy jumping up and down and clapping as she dropped what, to me, felt like a virtual death sentence in my lap. I swear I heard her office-mates blowing on those obnoxious party whistles and the rustle of confetti in the background as she dumped an uncertain but constantly painful future square in my lap.

I realize a bulging disc isn't the end of the world, but you have to realize, I have always been the guy who, when no one else in the shop could pick it up, would simply walk over, lift the offending item and nonchalantly ask, "Where do you want it?"

Now I'm the guy who limps and hunches over a little because his back can't stand to stand straight and take long steps. I can't sit in one position for too long, I can't stand for too long - heck, I have to take a painkiller and a muscle relaxer just to be able to sleep fitfully and wake up miserable.

Always been strong as a horse - always. And now this. Is this the punishment I deserve for growing one more year older? Is this the curse I deserve for wanting to be that strong, virile man for ever and ever?

Well, damn it, I am NOT going to take this lying down. No. I am going to fight. I am going to win, too. It is MY body, damn it, and I refuse to let it tell me how to survive. I am going to find a way to fix this doggone disc, even if it means a rusty X-acto and a mallet! I refuse to let this break me!

Now, where's that box that needs to be put up on that shelf. I'll ...







go lie down and rest and then supervise my son as he puts it where it belongs.

Damn.