The Hossana fever

Epidemics always seem to come from somewhere else: Asian flu, Mexican flu, Spanish flu, Oriental cholera, English mad cow, AIDS, African ebola. Millions of people living in one region are decimated by an evil that only causes a sneeze in another.

The pandemic fascinates and terrorizes, it touches our instincts as survivors. We are all descended from ancestors who probably survived epidemics that wiped out two-thirds of humanity in their time. How many archaeological sites reveal the mysterious disappearance of a civilization, of an ancient race? Did the corpses all die violently? No, sometimes the bodies are folded up, fatalistic, defeated by an evil that takes everything away and puts a city, a country, to sleep forever. 
It has happened, it will happen again. Especially since the masters of this world have decided that there are too many of us and that they know how to make viruses...

Adrian thought he saw everything. He had already lived in the New World for a while, after having been a refugee in a Scandinavian country.  The war, the corruptions, the multiple violence done to his soul had certainly made him stronger. But he had still lost everything in Bucharest.  He had to leave again, and then everything had fallen apart shortly after his arrival in this country.
The screens had had time to show images of ambulances, with the agitated comments of journalists. He didn't quite understand.  People were collapsing in the streets, dying there in their choked cries and vomit.  Many were leaving the cities where people were going crazy. Acts of savagery were indeed unleashed everywhere, causing a collective bloodbath where everyone massacred his neighbor. Within a week, the streets had emptied. The weak and the isolated hid in their homes to die. Adrian knew no one, he had no home, he had to hide and try to survive in the most unfavorable conditions.

He had been trapped in this country that he had not had time to discover. There were only dead people around him. What was left of the human race was sinking into insanity, bent on finishing the macabre job. Was it the revenge of the disease that only released the bodies by burning their souls?  Uncertain bands roamed the streets, bellowing, slaughtering the dying, pursuing the lonely. Often these barbarians would slaughter each other, drunk with violence. 
Adrian had survived the chaos, only going out at night to try to find food. He expected to succumb to this evil every day, but so far he had been spared.

So why had he ended up in this central station that morning?  To venture into an open space like a train station in these desolate times was suicidal. After all, perhaps Adrian was looking for death, at least unconsciously. He was exhausted from saving his life every day without a break, without knowing if there was a future. 

When he heard the screams, his survival instinct immediately took over.  All around him were empty, bare tunnels, no place to hide. He had crouched on the ground, short of breath. There, behind a column, there was a small recess.  He had slipped into it.  He could go no further, the alley was a dead end. He was stuck.
The group arrived quickly. He heard several guys laughing and screaming like animals and a girl screaming in pain.  Mostly he heard the sound of someone hitting him, his head hitting the ground with that dreadful sound of a gourd. Adrian watched them approach in the reflection of a broken mirror he was holding. He tried to stay calm, to breathe, as still as possible. If he survived this encounter, it would be because he was calm. He clutched the knife he had in his pocket.

They were now less than five meters away.  There was a huge guy, a real mountain, dragging the girl by the hair.  Two others were with him.  A fourth was back toward the exit, apparently calling for more. If the others came, Adrian was done for.

The guys were drinking heavily. A bottle was thrown in the air and smashed against a wall. One of the men slumped to the ground and tried to get up, but couldn't. He lay down on the floor and tried to get up.  He lay on the ground, perhaps asleep. 
The giant kept hitting the girl. He hit like a machine, with a blank stare.  He wanted to kill. 
His fellow wanderer had other ideas, he clung to the girl, tried to take off her clothes. He laughed a demented laugh. The colossus did not agree to share his punching bag, he pushed the second violently, shouting. 
But the drunkard was stubborn, following his fixed idea despite the blows. The tall man suddenly let go of the girl, turned to his accomplice and hit him on the head with a terrible blow.  The man collapsed, possibly dead.

Adrian signed himself. He jumped up, knife in hand, and struck the giant's kidneys with all his might. One, two, three, he struck without stopping, now clutching at the other's collar like a panther on a buffalo. The big one was trying to turn around, screaming in a terrible, dull voice. Adrian clung with all his strength, striking, striking again. 
The giant suddenly stood up, managed to get rid of Adrian who slid to the ground. He immediately attacked again, striking at the neck. The monster then seized him by the throat.  Adrian felt the huge hands that wanted to crush his windpipe. He managed to control himself and concentrated on hitting the stomach. The colossus suddenly dropped him, kneeling on the ground. Adrian was about to strike again.  But the giant was already sliding to the ground, mortally wounded.  It seemed to Adrian that he had a smile of deliverance, almost of gratitude, that he could finally die.

Adrian stood still for a moment. He couldn't catch his breath. He began to stagger away. The acolyte had risen to his feet. When he saw the bloody knife brandished, he dropped to the ground without moving.  Adrian was already walking away. 
He saw the girl. He had to get out of there, quickly. The girl lay lifeless. He looked at her again.  He forced himself to retrace his steps.
He bent over her, pulled her behind him towards the exit. He didn't have the strength to pull her up, to take her against him. He had no breath, no strength in his legs, he wanted to vomit. Sweat was pouring into his eyes, he could not see. He thought of the others who were going to come back. He took a few steps towards the exit. 
Suddenly he heard voices, far away.  It was them. He almost let go of the girl's ankle to run away faster. 
But, no, he couldn't stand this life of running anymore. He thought that if he had to die, he would not die a coward. He found the strength to pull the girl with him, and to go in the opposite direction of the noises. The floor of the galleries was fortunately smooth, even though it was cluttered here and there with garbage and broken objects left by looters and panicked crowds. 

He saw an exit. But he could not run.  He was emptied. He heard furious screams, like barking. The others must have arrived.  They were now all chasing him.  He looked outside. The station square looked deserted. He had a chance to live.

He suddenly found the strength to pick up the girl, to put his arm under her shoulders, grabbing her by the side. As best he could, he took her with him.  The air outside, the promises of survival gave him strength. He managed to cross the deserted boulevard. Already, he was turning left and going into a street when he heard the sound of his pursuers coming outside.  No more time, he had to take shelter. He pushed a door open, entered a building lobby, closing it quickly behind him.

There was a corridor, a staircase went up at the end.  He wouldn't have the strength to go up. Still dragging the girl, he hit the first door.  It was closed. He continued towards the second one which gave way under the push. He lost his balance, collapsed on the girl. Quickly, he pushed her inside with his feet, closed the door with a bang and collapsed behind it.  He could not move, his breathing was ragged. He was about to faint, he could see nothing. His heart was pounding in his chest, his mouth full of blood.

He waited anxiously for the noise that would soon come from the corridor, he could already imagine the excited laughter of his pursuers, the final shock against the door that would break.  The hands that would grab him.
But nothing. Nothing, no noise. He looked around him. It was a small room, the barred window was open on a small garden. The leaves of a tree were being watered by the summer sunlight. Flies buzzed around the room. Everything was quiet. Now his heart was beating a little slower. He felt his body heavy, sticky with sweat, his clothes stuck to his skin. His hair was soaked. 
The room was in good order. Nobody had come to loot this apartment. A few objects left here and there indicated a hasty departure.  Adrian had an eye for it, and for weeks now he'd been accustomed to entering empty apartments to find food.

He looked above him. The door wasn't broken. It just wasn't closed.  He pulled himself up, closed the inside lock.  He looked in his pocket. The knife was gone.  He must have dropped it during his escape. He felt lost.  How could he defend his life? He began to pray, as he had done so often in desperate situations. Slowly, peace came over him. The place was still silent, as an abandoned building could be, left to the wind.
He looked at the girl. She was picked up in the position of a dislocated doll, thrown face down on the ground. Was she dead?  He shook off the thought and tried to turn her onto her back. When he turned her over, her eyes were open and she was staring at him. There was no expression or emotion on her face. He stopped for a moment, destabilized.  Then, resuming his calm, he pulled a little on his legs for that rests in lying position.  He sketched a shy smile. She did not answer, always fixing it. She had the swollen face, traces of burns and wounds on the throat.  Her clothes were in tatters.

He got up, and covered her with the bedspread from the next room. She looked at him, inexpressive. She must have become insane, made insane by what she had just lived. 
He lowered the eyes, avoiding his glance and raised himself to explore the places. He changed his mind and came to put a chair against the door. After being assured of this derisory protection, he gained the room.  The drawers were open, a notebook was left on the floor.  This confirmed what he thought.  The girl, because it was a girl, the decoration of the room proved it, had to leave in haste.

There was an adjoining shower cabinet. He saw this clean shower, the gels and towels still on the racks, with the toothpaste and brush on the edge of the sink. He didn't care: undressing immediately, he took a cold shower, welcome in this hot weather.  He hoped that the sound of the water would not alert the barbarian bands outside.  But then again, if he had to die, he didn't want to die like a bug.  He hoped the water would do him good, give him some strength.

When he came out of the room, the girl was gone! He jumped up and looked down the hallway, no one was there. He closed the door and thought. If the girl was caught outside, they would come here to get him. He went into the kitchen, opened the cupboards. There were some dry cookies.  He stuffed a handful into his mouth and went out. He had to find a hiding place. As he walked towards the exit, he almost knocked over the girl who was coming back to meet him. It stopped. 

She seized his wrist without a word, pulling him firmly towards the staircase which went up.
They climbed the stairs silently. There was a smell up there that Adrian knew too well, the smell of a corpse. Indeed, just before the top floor, a corpse was slumped across the stairs, tipped backwards. He stopped. 

The girl immediately moved towards the body, searching without hesitation under the coat.  She quickly found what she was looking for: keys. He understood. 
They went up the stairs to the top floor in a hurry. She inserted a key in the lock of a heavy and imposing door.  It was the good key, the thick door opened with a discrete noise of good workmanship.

The apartment was vast and opened onto a large living room, lined with comfortable sofas and coffee tables overflowing with newspapers. Masterpieces decorated the walls. It was a classic decoration of well-to-do middle-class people whose social success had been brilliant.  The whole was not however clinquant but cossu and of a sure taste. Adrian closed the door carefully, locking it to be quiet. 

The interior smelled musty, but there were no suspicious odors. They moved cautiously through the apartment, moving quickly from one room to another to make sure no one was there, that the place was secure. After a few minutes, they were sure they were alone. The man lying on the stairs seemed to be the last occupant of the apartment.  They cautiously opened the shutters that led to a terrace at the top of the building. To their great relief, there was no one opposite. The terrace was hidden from the other buildings, no window overlooked it. Adrian looked cautiously into the street and quickly entered the apartment. There was no noise, but he was eager to enjoy the peace of this haven of peace. 

He went around the rooms, one of the bathrooms was now closed. The young woman occupied it. He inspected the other rooms, searching a little in the drawers and the cupboards. 
The apartment had been occupied by the man and his wife. Portraits showed them both, and the clothes of both occupied the closets and dressers. Each had a bathroom. In the office, photos and documents allowed Adrian to piece together the story of a man who had owned a factory, had clients all over Europe and the Middle East. The photos showed him with his customers, his suppliers, his friends on his boat, with his wife. The couple had led a well-to-do, hard-working bourgeois life.  It seems that they had no children. In the living room, he found a notepad. On it was written the name of a clinic. Perhaps the woman had died there, the man had died alone on the stairs. 

Adrian thought of the life that old man must have led alone, not finding the energy to climb the last few steps, probably vomiting, like most of those who were affected. It was sad, very sad, to end like that. 
There was no sign of piety in the apartment. These people were dying without the help of the faith that Adrian had. They died without praying, without asking for the help of the Blessed Virgin. They died like dogs, terrorized by the unknown, never having prepared their death.  He knelt down and recited a Hail Mary in memory of the couple for whom he implored God's mercy.

He got up and went into the kitchen. It was a real restaurant! The cupboards were full of foodstuffs, perfectly preserved dry groceries.  He prepared the meal, which the young woman discovered when she came out of the bathroom shortly afterwards. She smiled weakly and sat down without looking at him. They ate in silence. 

Adrian looked at her discreetly. Her face was swollen, bruised and scratched, but her features were fine and in the dim light of that summer evening, he guessed she was quite a pretty girl. He finally lowered his eyes, a little ashamed to have had this thought. 
At the end of the meal, he went to get a dessert from the cupboard. Adrian didn't dare say anything. He didn't speak the language well and was afraid the girl would be unbalanced. He preferred silence. It seemed to him that the girl sometimes had flashes of desperation in her eyes. He didn't want to know what this worried look could tell him. He needed calm, respite, the appearance of a normal life. 

He got up, did the dishes. She came out of the kitchen.
When he had finished, he saw that the girl was in the living room, reading a book. He sat down in an armchair and did the same. They read until nightfall.

She had chosen the room next to the bathroom she had used, where were the toiletries and clothes of the woman, Adrian occupied the gentleman, borrowed pajamas. Before getting into bed.  He made the turn of the apartment, checked that all the shutters were well closed, ventured even on the terrace. He observed for a long time the street and the surroundings. All was plunged in the calm, the buildings neighbourhood seemed quiet, not betraying any activity. He silently closed the window and the shutters, checked once again that the door was well closed, made his evening prayer then put himself in bed.
The next day, it was well into the morning when he woke up. It was hot and his sheets were soaked. He had overslept. But how could he be surprised? It was probably the first night he had spent in relative safety, that of a solid door.

The door! The girl! What if she had gone and left the door open!  He got up hurriedly, went out into the hallway.  The door was closed. With his heart pounding, he passed the kitchen. There she was, sitting quietly, drinking. She looked up and looked at him calmly. He felt sheepish for having suspected her. He made a vague and confused sign by way of greeting and fled to the living room. He peered through the shutters, cautiously, listening for sounds from outside. There was no noise. 
He went around the apartment again, checked the door and returned to the kitchen.  He was about to forget: he went back to his room and said his morning prayer. In the last few weeks, he had been trying hard to say his prayers. If he was going to die, he wanted to get it right.

He went back to the kitchen. The girl was still there, finishing her drink. He spun around a bit, embarrassed, before settling for two crackers, which he spread with jam. He filled a glass of water into which he poured a cloud of condensed milk. He sat down opposite the girl, still in silence.  She looked ahead, lowering her eyes a little, but he felt that she was watching him stealthily. He made as if nothing was wrong. The feeling of being silently observed by another human being without being in danger was very good for him.

He finished his meal, smiled in apology and stood up. It seemed to him that she also answered him with a weak smile. He registered this small sign of normality with great satisfaction.

After his toilet and a thorough inspection of the street, he sat down again in the living room armchair and spent the afternoon reading, as he had done the evening before. The young woman had done the same.
Adrian did not feel the need to go outside.  The outside represented the threat and chaos of a world turned upside down and without reference points.  The apartment and the books it contained spoke of a world already defunct, a peaceful and superficial world, harmless in comparison.

They spent two long weeks, eating what they could find in the cupboards, reading whatever the living room-library had to offer to take their minds off things.  They were recovering from their emotions, especially the girl whose bruises were fading and whose body was coming back to life. She was smiling now, albeit a little sadly. She was teaching Adrian to speak her language better. They were living a more normal life. 
But one day, they had to go out, as the food was running out. Adrian took a backpack, put a crowbar that he had found in the toolbox of the owner of the apartment, he finally put his knife in his pocket and prepared to leave.  The girl, Réjane, that was her name, wanted to go out with him. He refused, it was dangerous. She answered vehemently: "I can't stay here alone, I'll die of anguish.

With two, we will be more easily spotted.
I will be careful.
No, I don't want you to get caught. Do you remember the station?
I won't be able to! I just can't!

Adrian saw that she was going to break down, so he had to keep her from breaking down. He agreed.
They went out after having observed and listened to the street for a long time. There was no noise, nothing, for several days.
They passed quickly beside the corpse.  Adrian looked curiously at the green stain that had appeared on the neck and face. The body was swollen, small blisters were forming. The floor was wet, liquid having spilled onto the carpet of the stairs. The smell of rotting meat was appalling. But Adrian and Rejane had gotten used to it in the days since it had invaded the building, and then they had seen so many dead bodies in the streets since the outbreak began. Adrian thought that it was now legitimate to occupy the apartment.  The landlord, in the state he was in, certainly didn't need it anymore...

They slipped out, after waiting a while. Their goal was to reach the small grocery store at the corner of the boulevard. They moved quickly to the place. The interior was in an indescribable state of disorder. They looked around again, but nothing was moving. A corpse was whitening nearby.  After a thousand precautions, Adrian entered the grocery store. Rejane stayed outside to observe the movements. Adrian searched everywhere. There was nothing more. Too many people had been there.
He went out and they walked further to a steakhouse, "Au baroudeur", located at the corner of Boulevard Denain, a few hundred meters away. They walked carefully, but the city was completely silent.  The train station across the street gave no sign of life.  They both entered the establishment, because Adrian judged that Rejane was no safer outside. The restaurant had been destroyed by a tornado, and the patio seating had been moved inside, but intruders had wrecked the place. Adrian and Rejane entered the kitchen. A corpse lay on the floor, dried blood staining the room. They looked for food, but found nothing.  They were heading for the exit when they heard a crackling sound: a radio! 

The light came on in the dining room.  They stopped, then Adrian looked out. The traffic lights were working again. The streetlights were on.  But there was no sign of life. Adrian went back into the kitchen to the radio. He looked for audible stations. 
Suddenly, they heard this message over and over again: "Notice to people in disaster areas. The period of virulence of the Hossana virus is over. If you hear this message, do not be afraid. Medical assistance is being deployed to your area.  Please report and visit the medical facilities. 
Notice to the people in the affected areas..."

Adrian and Rejane looked at each other. They looked again at the boulevard and the station across the street.  Nothing was moving. They left the restaurant and looked for another place to find food.  They found some in the Monop' at the corner of rue de Dunkerque and rue de Maubeuge. There was still no sign of life, not a sound around. They "borrowed" two large suitcases from the leather goods shop on boulevard Denain and filled them with cans and food, enough to last two months. 
They were anxious to get home, even though the situation seemed to be improving.  Rejane insisted on picking up some books at the Nordest bookstore. Adrian picked up some magazines. Adrian noted that Rejane had smiled at him several times. 

They took their survival load upstairs, locked the door. They put everything away, placed the books and magazines on the table, took one last look through the window shutters. Still nothing. Adrian turned on the shower faucet. The water was on. They turned on all the lights in the apartment, one after the other.  They wanted to laugh. 

They looked at each other. Suddenly, they threw themselves into each other's arms, kissing wildly.  They made love like crazy for several days.

One day, they heard the sound of a truck, a woman talking on a loudspeaker, calling for survivors to come down to the street for help.  They did not move. 
Another day, some soldiers passed by on the street. After a month, a few people in uniform drove by with a truck to remove the bodies and disinfect the streets with a detergent. Adrian and Réjane stayed in hiding.  They returned to their lovemaking and reading. The television was on, broadcasting call-in messages.  The radio was also broadcasting appeals to people who had not reported. Rejane suggested that the radio and television be turned off.

They had noticed that there were not many rescue workers, so the survivors were not likely to form a large contingent. Rejane and Adrian didn't really want to find other humans who would tell them that the apartment wasn't theirs, that Adrian was a Romanian immigrant, that Rejane was a spinster, a saleswoman at the Relay station.  They had time to learn the bad news about their trauma as survivors, about the colossal number of dead, about the powers that be that had survived, about the system that continued and their shitty life that was about to start again. 

A few weeks later, they heard two men carrying the corpse up the stairs. They saw through the peephole that they didn't even clean the carpet. The men came back down, apparently in a hurry. There must have been work to do and not enough people. 

Adrian and Regan laughed. For them, it was vacation now! They were curing their psychological problems with their special, tender and crazy remedy. They soon realized that they didn't have to hope for a child. 

The sterilizing agents contained in chemtrails, the aerial spraying carried out over all continents for decades, had done their work. The neo-Malthusian and eugenicist ideas of the Nazi Julian Huxley, the brother of the author of "Brave New World", and of Godfrey Rockefeller, president of the British Eugenics Society, had been scrupulously applied. 

Adrian and Réjane no longer even questioned who the people behind the Hossana virus might be...

They were now going out regularly in the neighborhood to restock their supplies, pick up hygiene and beauty products and books.  They hadn't met anyone except a nice guy, Pierre, who had played dead like them.  He lived in a big duplex, next to the Grévin Museum.  He would see a movie from time to time at the Rex cinema where he had been a projector. He didn't want to go back to his old life at all. They agreed with him. They saw each other from time to time. 

Paris officially became a dead city, definitively abandoned by the European authorities who had moved to Sweden.  From what Réjane and Adrian understood, the world's population had dropped considerably. The transhumanist elite was pursuing its fantasy in certain territories. They had gathered the survivors in camps where a few slaves were taken.

Fighter planes once passed through the sky. After two years, Réjane and Adrian moved into an elegant family home in Bougival, in the late 19th century.  There was a beautiful wooded lot where Adrian could create a large vegetable garden. This charming property was located in the heart of the village, close enough to the shops to stock up on supplies and books. 
She and Adrian enjoyed the bottles in the wine cellar and the billiard room. Eventually they found a few friends in the capital, no more than 15, who had made the same choice as them. 
They all met discreetly every month in a café or restaurant in the capital to get together. They discovered that they all had in common that they had not been vaccinated against "Hossana fever", as it was called...

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