Plague: A gripping suspense thriller about an incurable outbreak in Miami

guests. ‘Sorry about the interruption, folks, but it seems like some urgent union business has just come between me and my fun again. Just enjoy yourselves, and I’ll join you in a moment.’
Victor Blaufoot looked round. ‘Is it the plague? Have you heard any news?’
Kenneth Garunisch smiled. ‘Don’t concern yourself about that plague, Mr. Bloofer. Everything about the plague is well under control.’
*
Edgar Paston first heard about the plague on the radio of his seven-year-old Mercury station wagon. He was driving back to Elizabeth, New Jersey, after picking up fifteen boxes of canned peaches from his wholesaler. It was growing dark, and he had just switched on his headlights.
The radio newscaster was saying, ‘Unconfirmed reports from Miami say that nearly forty people have fallen victim to an inexplicable epidemic disease. Health authorities say that the epidemic is well under control, and have warned Miami residents not to panic or react prematurely to what health chief Donald Firenza called “an unfortunate but containable outbreak.”
‘Hospitals and police are working overtime to cope with suspected sufferers, and Miami Police Department have reported that nine of the epidemic victims are police officers who were called out to assist with casualties. Specialists have been unable so far to identify the disease, but Mr. Firenza has likened it to Spanish influenza.
‘The mayor of Miami, John Becker, has sent personal messages of condolence to the families of the dead, and has called for a speedy containment of what he described as “this tragic mishap”.
‘We’ll have more reports about the epidemic later, but meanwhile here’s the weather report for New York and Jersey City…’
Paston switched the radio off. He reached across to the glove box, and found a peanut bar. Tearing the wrapper off with his teeth, he began to chew. He hadn’t eaten since early this morning, when he had stopped for a cheese Woppa just outside Elizabeth.
Edgar Paston was the owner and manager of Elizabeth’s Save-U Supermart. He had bought the premises ten years ago, at an auction, when they were nothing more than a dilapidated tire-fitting works on the outskirts of town. He had taken a risk, because in those days, zoning laws still prevented any residential development in that part of Elizabeth. Business, at first, had been hard, and the family ate cheap vegetable soup and corn biscuits at night, even though they served hams and chickens by day.
A new housing policy changed all that, and overnight the area was designated suitable for a new suburb. The Save-U Supermart attracted more and more customers as houses and streets went up all around it. What had once been a wilderness of truck stops and rough fields became a thriving cluster of chalet-style suburban houses, with neat gardens and kids on scooters. Now Edgar Paston had a healthy yearly profit, a four-bedroomed chalet, and two cars.
To look at, he was a supermarket manager and nothing else. Thirty-nine years old, with thinning hair, thick-lensed spectacles, a five o’clock shadow and a taste for plaid short-sleeved shirts.
He finished the peanut bar and tucked the wrapper in his shirt pocket. He never littered. It was eight-fifteen. He would be back at the store in twenty minutes. That would just give him time to unload the peaches, lock everything up, and go home for his dinner. Today was his wife, Tammy’s, half-day at the telephone company, and that meant a good hot supper with fresh-baked bread.
Soon the wide lighted window of Save-U Supermart appeared at the end of the block, and Edgar swung the station wagon off the road, over the car park, and pulled up outside. He switched off the engine, and wearily climbed out.
He opened the Mercury’s tailgate, dragged out one of the boxes of peaches, and walked quickly across to the supermarket entrance, and inside. The lights were bright in there, and he blinked. His assistant, Gerry, was standing by the cash-desk chewing a pencil.
Edgar put down the box. ‘What’s the matter?’ he said, half-stem and half-joking. ‘Your mother not feeding you enough?’
Gerry, a thin and serious boy of sixteen with a beaky nose and short blond hair, looked worried.
‘Hi, Mr. Paston. It’s those kids again. They came in about ten minutes ago, and they’re up to something, but I don’t know what. I daren’t leave the cash desk, and they’ve been down by the freezers for quite a while.’
Paston peered down the length of the store, past the shelves filled with cereals and cookies and baby-foods. There were only a few late shoppers left now, trundling their carts around and picking up TV dinners and canned drinks. The freezers, where he kept the meat and the beer, were down at the far end.
‘Hold on, Gerry. I’ll go and take a look.’
When he reached the end of the supermarket, he saw exactly what was going on. Four or five teenage boys in denims and black leather jackets were sitting around on the floor, drinking beer from a six-pack they had taken from the fridge.
‘Okay,’ said Edgar sharply. ‘What the hell’s happening here?’
The kids looked at him, and then looked at each other. A couple of them giggled.
‘Come on, get your butts out of her, or I’ll call the cops.’
None of the kids moved. One of them took a mouthful of beer and sprayed it in the air, and the rest of them laughed.
‘All right,’ said Edgar. ‘I’ve warned you before. If that’s the way you want it.’
He turned away, and walked towards the telephone on the wall. He was just about to pick it up, when one of the boys called out, ‘Paston!’
He looked round. He had seen this kid before. He was tall for his age, with a tight black jacket decorated with zippers. He had a thin, foxy face, and greased-back hair.
‘Are you talking to me?’ said Edgar, putting the phone back on the hook.
‘That’s right, Paston,’ said the kid. He came up closer and stood only a couple of feet away, his thumbs in his belt, chewing a large wad of gum with