2025 – A new coronavirus, COVID-25, spreads across the globe killing hundreds of thousands before disappearing. They thought the worst was over… until four years later, when the more virulent COVID-29 strikes, wiping out 80% of the world’s population. The government rapidly constructs an underground complex – the bunker – to safeguard 50 specially selected infants and young children to be mankind’s last hope. When the bunker’s last adult dies 12 years later, the quarantined teenagers must form their own society within the bunker or venture out into the post-plague world.
2025 – A new coronavirus, COVID-25, spreads across the globe killing hundreds of thousands before disappearing. They thought the worst was over… until four years later, when the more virulent COVID-29 strikes, wiping out 80% of the world’s population. The government rapidly constructs an underground complex – the bunker – to safeguard 50 specially selected infants and young children to be mankind’s last hope. When the bunker’s last adult dies 12 years later, the quarantined teenagers must form their own society within the bunker or venture out into the post-plague world.
The QuaranTeens hits bookstore June 19th. But you can pre-order your Kindle and EPUB copies now!
I looked back over my blog posts and realized I haven’t written about my friend Stallion lately. It’s not that I’ve forgotten about him since our mutual writers group broke up; it’s just that I’ve, well, I haven’t remembered him lately. I’ve been busy writing several novels, editing, publishing, and distracted by a host of personal matters. Yet it’s wrong to neglect a friendship, especially in the midst of this devastating coronavirus affecting all of us, so I reached out to him. By phone, of course, since social distancing and quarantine preclude face-to-face meetings these days.
He sounded genuinely pleased to hear from me. We exchanged initial pleasantries and turned to the topic everyone is talking about: The Covid-19 coronavirus pandemic and its effects on society.
Me: “I’ve been locked inside the house for four weeks now. No socializing, no parties… Not even my regular trip to the gym.”
Stallion: “It’s only temporary. Eventually you’ll be out and about again.”
Me: “It doesn’t feel like it. I’m going stir crazy. Four whole weeks! I have cabin fever. I haven’t seen any of my friends. All I see is the inside of the house, day and night. People don’t come over anymore. I can’t go to their houses, either.”
Stallion: “It’s only been a few weeks.”
Me: “A few weeks? It’s a month already! I’ve forgotten what restaurants look like. Everything is closed! I’m depressed and lonely. I haven’t showered in days. I don’t even bother getting dressed. I sleep at all hours. The solitude… The loneliness… I have no quality of life anymore. I don’t know how much more of this suffering I can take.”
Stallion: “I understand. I miss our weekly writing group meetings too. It was one of the few times I was able to leave home and socialize.”
Me (frowning): “What do you mean?”
Stallion: “Well, you know I’m disabled. It’s more difficult for me to get out and socialize.”
I cocked my head. “I didn’t know that. I’ve known you for years and you’re not blind or in a wheelchair. You don’t look disabled.”
Stallion: “And you don’t look stupid but obviously appearances can be deceiving. There are lots of people you know with hidden disabilities you can’t see.”
I gulped, duly chastened. I decided not to inquire further and simply accept what he had said.
Stallion: “How long have you known me?”
Me: “At least a dozen years, since you’ve been coming to our local meetings.”
Stallion nodded. “The ones around the corner from my house. I don’t go out much farther. I spend almost all my time at home because of my health condition.”
I gradually absorbed what he was saying. “How long have you been disabled?”
Stallion: “A bit more than twenty years. Stuck at home, just as I am now. I always looked forward to our group meetings as a chance to get out of the house and meet people.”
Me: “But surely your friends visited you in-between?”
Stallion: “Have you ever been to my house during the twelve years you’ve known me?”
I bit my lip as my mind flashed back through the years. “Well, I suppose not but…”
Stallion: “Don’t feel bad, no one else in our group has either – or any of my other friends, for that matter. Out of sight, out of mind. Like the aging relative packed off to a retirement home who you send Christmas cards to once a year.”
It started sinking in. “No one comes by? Not for dinner or to watch a movie on TV or anything?”
Stallion: “Imagine being in coronavirus quarantine; only not for four weeks but for twenty years. Solitude, loneliness; the constant silence becomes surreal. I use the TV for background noise. Some of the television characters are the only regular visitors to my home. I’ve begun seeing them as real people as I’m drawn into their make-believe lives on the small screen. It’s sort of like seeing what my friends are up to every day.”
Me: “That’s awful. Isolation is pulling you away from reality.”
Stallion: “Or it’s become my new reality. It’s my window into the outside world: to live vicariously through fictional TV characters who are leading the life I can’t outside these four walls.”
Me: “When this quarantine is all over, you need to start going out. At least, treat yourself to a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant and a movie in a theater with other people.”
Stallion: “I can’t afford those luxuries.”
I thought about how hard it was going to be to pay my monthly expenses and live on the one-time $1200 stimulus check the government would be sending me for a month of coronavirus pandemic loss of income. I certainly wouldn’t have anything left over for a celebratory champagne dinner. “I know, even if we could go outside, our stimulus checks him him won’t even cover the basics but in a month or two when this is over…”
Stallion: “You still don’t understand. I live on a disability check. I get $1300 a month: that has to cover food, medicine, rent, utilities, insurance, doctor visits… Even if I could physically handle an active social life like you, there’s no way I could afford it. Can you imagine living on $1300 a month for twenty years?”
I couldn’t live on $1200 or even $1300 a week, let alone a month. I thought about how my friends and I had been griping about our four-week ordeal. I tried to imagine it stretching out for the next twenty years. My instinct was to head over to see Stallion in person but then I remembered the stay-in-place shelter order. Not now, I told myself, but after the quarantine is lifted I’ll never forget this ever-present feeling of isolation and loneliness we’re all going through. I’ll make it up to Stallion. When things return to normal, I’ll make an effort to be a better friend, reach out to him more often, spend time visiting him and…
I stopped myself. That wasn’t going to happen. When things returned to normal, the horrible feeling of isolation and loneliness will be a distant memory. I’ll be inundated with work and lost time to make up. I’ll be busier than ever as life returns to the way it was. I’ll be doing all the things I used to do, the things I miss now, the things I love. Of course, there’ll be times I think of Stallion and I’ll call to see how he’s doing. “We’ll have to get together sometime,” I’ll say, and I’ll truly mean it when I utter the words. But days will pass and then weeks. You know how it is.
One day, eventually, the pandemic will end and life will return to normal. The daily routine of our lives will replace this lockdown and the mentality it brings with it. At least, for most of us. For a brief period, we’ve experienced life as the Stallions of the world know it. But unlike them, we’ll be released from this purgatory. The disabled, the elderly, the friends we don’t know as well as we think we do, and all the other shut-ins will not; and their silent suffering will not diminish, as ours does, along with our newfound empathy.
After three weeks of coronavirus self-quarantine, I ventured out to buy medicine and food. The streets had a third of their normal traffic. I hadn’t wanted to go out but mail-order prescriptions weren’t an option despite my repeated online enrollment attempts and no one at the pharmacy would answer their phone to arrange a delivery. Fortunately, I thought, they had a drive-thru window so I wouldn’t have to wander about the drugstore or stand in line with sick people. I asked the clerk if she could add a box of face masks to my order. She said yes but I’d have to come inside for that. “Rather defeats the purpose,” I said. The irony was lost on her.
I entered Winn Dixie wearing a face mask and plastic gloves feeling like a refugee from a bad Halloween costume party. I passed a police car parked at the entrance. There’s something about walking past a squad car wearing a mask as you enter a store that creates an ominous feeling in the pit of your stomach. I hoped they didn’t think I was an inept, poorly-dressed robber. I pictured spending the night in jail and immediately regretted my hasty decision to wear my slippers to the store. The customers coming out weren’t wearing masks or gloves and I began to feel like the awkward kid showing up at the door of the fancy dress party and realizing that phrase on the invitation meant black tie, not funny animal costume.
I took a deep breath and wrapped my gloved hands firmly around the handlebar of a shopping cart and pushed it inside the store. See, I really am a shopper, I tacitly conveyed to the cops. I saw several shoppers, unmasked and ungloved. This was the dream where you stand before the class to read your book report and discover you’re still wearing your pajamas. Except I was fully clothed… and then some, conspicuously masked and attired as a Playtex gloves model.
Then, I saw a young woman turn the aisle. It was like staring in a mirror. Validation at last. I relaxed, feeling less foolish and becoming more confident. Observing her face mask and plastic gloves, I knew we were kindred spirits. I felt a bond and even though we maintained the mandatory six-foot distance between us, I felt oddly close to her. She looked cute in the mask and she was likely quite attractive beneath it and… Uh oh. I realized three weeks in quarantine was taking its toll.
I stopped at BJ’s. Another squad car outside. More empty shelves within. I left empty-handed, en route to Publix. Yet another police car parked outside a grocery store. I was sensing a pattern. Was this a precautionary move? Were they expecting customers to turn into a rioting, unruly mob fighting to the death for the last roll of toilet paper? My mind wandered. Do they even have toilet paper? If so, should I pick some up?
Everyone was masked here. I felt… accepted. It was the new normal. I waved a gloved hello. Everyone was courteous, keeping their six-foot distance. There was no panic shopping. Perhaps the panic shoppers had already raided the barren shelves that faced us. I mastered the art of substitution. I came in for chicken but bananas are sort of the same… if you don’t think about it too much. Or I could choose from their copious selection of wines and spend the evening in deep contemplation pondering the similarities of bananas to chicken, like a nostalgic 60s LSD trip. What else are you going to do alone at home, anyway?
A woman stepped into my aisle. I immediately noticed the sleek plastic face mask she wore. It was a white respiratory antiviral N95 face mask respirator and it put my flimsy surgical mask to shame. I was filled with envy. Three weeks in quarantine was definitely taking its toll.
The younger generation exhibits a sense of entitlement combined with a lack of accomplishment. The Millennials (and their progeny) are the most selfish, self-centered, and blissfully ignorant generation in American history. What’s worse, they wear their ignorance as a badge of honor and their belief in Ayn Rand’s Objectivism (“Self-interest above all else”) as their adopted religion. (Are there exceptions? Of course, and maybe you’re one of them… but remember, it’s the exceptions that prove the rule).
Nowhere has this been more evident with the onset of the pandemic Coronavirus in February 2020. As the world faces a pandemic that promises to be greater in scope than the 1918 influenza – which lasted two years and infected 500 million people (a quarter of the world's population at the time) resulting in more than 17 million deaths – they blithely ignore warnings to stay inside and not interact with others so as not to spread the contagion. In fact, they deliberately do the opposite.
They congregate in public places; they hold “Corona parties;” they flood beaches and Spring Break spots in Florida – despite the fact Florida is home to the largest elderly population in the country. This is salient because initial reports from China and Italy (the first areas to be affected) show while victims under age 60 recover from the virus, victims over age 60 have a 15-to-20% mortality rate. Put another way, one-in-five will die. The mortality rate for those under 60 was reported at less than 1%. (The overall mortality rate for Coronavirus is 3.4%). So armed with the knowledge that they might get a bad flu bug but otherwise be okay, America’s youth adopted the mantra “Party On!”
The flaw in this reasoning is while their lives may not be at risk, they are spreading the virus to others – exponentially. For every individual they infect that person will go on to infect 3.5 more others; and those will infect 3.5 others. It’s like social networking or Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. This is how epidemics and pandemics (i.e., a global epidemic) spread. And eventually that mass of infected people will come in contact with an older person over age 60 (your parents, your grandparents, your neighbors, your coworkers); or someone with a weakened immune system (due to an immune disorder like Rheumatoid arthritis, Lupus, Inflammatory bowel disease (IBD), Multiple sclerosis, Type 1 diabetes mellitus, Guillain-Barre syndrome, polyneuropathy, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Psoriasis – there are more than 100 such conditions); or someone with an underlying condition like heart disease, diabetes, or hypertension; or someone who has recently had surgery or a prolonged illness or chronic condition that has weakened their otherwise healthy immune system. Know anyone like that? Because your “I’m not at risk. Party on” behavior WILL kill some of them.
It’s not all about you, Millennials. It’s about the people you are infecting and indirectly killing due to you selfish behavior. When you insist on spreading the virus in public gatherings because you are not personally at risk – that is selfishness to the extreme. Sure, you feel great; you don’t have symptom (although it takes 14 days for symptoms to appear during which time you may be a contagious carrier). Vanessa Hudgens, former Disney teen star, now 31 years old tweeted: “Like, even if everybody gets it — like, yeah, people are gonna die. Which is terrible. But, like, inevitable?” That’s what passes for Millennial compassion and empathy. But when you hold “Corona parties” designed to spread the virus and post photos to social media tagged “#BoomerRemover” that’s beyond selfish: that’s malicious and a deliberate threat to public health that should result in criminal penalties. If someone with AIDS deliberately set out to infect as many people as he could, he would be prosecuted for attempted murder. The same rule should apply. Individuals need to take personal responsibility for their actions.
This is what happens when the “Me Generation” raises an even more narcissistic generation. Boomers failed as parents. They abdicated their parental responsibilities, opting to be their children’s “friends” not parents. They stopped spanking unruly children, both at home and in schools, thereby eliminating consequences for unacceptable behavior. Instead of awarding achievement, they gave trophies to kids just for showing up. Attendance was placed over actual accomplishment because God forbid their morale might suffer. So what was the lesson they learned? “I deserve it.” Why? Just because. Period.
They grew up thinking they are entitled to the best life has to offer without having to earn it, as every preceding generation has. Want to be famous? Start a YouTube channel. Want to write a book? Self-publish it. Want to be popular? Collect thousands of “friends” on Facebook. Looking for self-validation? Post your face pic or thoughts on social media, sit back and count the “likes” that come in. (Neil Armstrong went to the moon and snapped three photos; the typical teen posts three selfies a day!) This isn’t reality, folks.
Instead, we have college students who no longer view campuses as a place to broaden their horizons and debate opposing concepts in what Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes dubbed “the marketplace of ideas.” Today’s college campuses are now “safe spaces” where opposing thoughts are banned because students complain they are too fragile to hear ideas that counter their belief systems. They fear words or ideas that may “trigger” them – and faculty members who express them are routinely fired. That’s not learning. It’s not education. And this isn’t reality, folks. We now have a generation unable to cope with life in the real world.
But they’ll have to, as new information shows Coronavirus can have serious health effects on those aged 18-to-54. It might even kill some. Oops. It also turns out Coronavirus isn’t a one-hit pony. It will be linger for 12-to-18 months and then come back years later… when Millennials are older and more susceptible to dying from it. But don’t worry kids, I’m sure the younger generations that follow you will be just as concerned and diligent in addressing it as you’ve been.
So sorry keeping my grandparents alive is messing up your spring break plans.
