RAMPANT

Abdeali Dr. Nauman

Daastan Publishing

First Published in Pakistan by Daastan PVT LTD

House # A-41, Madni Street, Lala Rukh, Wah Cantt, Punjab 47040

www.daastan.com

www.meraqissa.com

Text copyrights © Abdeali Dr. Nauman

Book Design copyright © Rabbia Abbas

Edited by: Mariam Rizvi and Nayyab Mushtaq

The moral rights of the writer, illustrator and editor have been asserted.

All rights reserved

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or distributed in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN 978-969-696-827-6

To my parents, especially my father, who supported me and taught me to never underestimate myself.

PREFACE

Everyone knows that writing a book is one of the most difficult things to do. And I agree with them. You have one main idea and your whole story revolves around that idea. You have to express feelings of anger, sadness, joy– all through your words. No visuals. No illustrations. Just pure words. It is hard. I admit it. But once you start writing, all the ideas just start flowing out of your mind and onto the paper, and in a matter of minutes, the whole page is filled with words. 

When I decided to start writing my own novel, I already had an idea. However, after working on it for some time, I decided to scrap it and thought of a new one. For almost a month, I was not able to think of any decent plot. Then one evening, I was thinking about the pandemic, and it hit me. A brand new idea had just popped up in my mind. I quickly noted down the main points for the plot and told my mentor, “I have an idea.”

During this journey, many times I felt like I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t want to finish the story; but owing to the support and motivation from my family and mentor, I continued to write, and write, and now, I can finally say that I’ve written my own book!

CHAPTER 1

A dark monster was hovering over the city. The sky was a dark grey; gloom and despair hung in the air. Usually, New York City was full of traffic jams and people. But, not this time. People, birds, vehicles; everything seemed to have hibernated during the storm. New York City was hit by one of the worst blizzards of the 21^st century. It was snowing more than twelve inches every day. On Christmas Eve, it was much worse; seventeen inches of snow in a day. The citizens were forced to celebrate Christmas in their homes.

John Bedwin was also restricted to home for Christmas. He was disappointed about spending Christmas alone this time, as he usually celebrated it with his family. He was a scientist who researched various microorganisms, including viruses. He was fascinated by viruses. He found it so astonishing how a small, not exactly a living organism can be the cause of death of a fully grown, adult human being, who is million times bigger than a single virus organism. Not many people knew about it, but he was one of the researchers who had discovered HIV, which is the cause of AIDS. He was mostly uncredited for his work.

He was relaxing on the lonely Christmas Eve, sipping coffee from his mug, and watching a documentary about Christmas. Outside his window, the snowstorm was still going strong, nonstop for the past twelve hours. He wondered when the blizzard would stop. “It will take ages for me to clean up my front yard,” he sighed.

He got up from his chair and walked towards the kitchen. He was thinking what to make for dinner, and was unable to decide between pasta and roasted chicken. Just then, his phone started to ring. He went to grab his phone, and saw that his wife was calling. He answered the phone:

“Hello, honey. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you too. How’s your Christmas going?”

“Not so well. It’s going boring so far. Missing you and the kids. How are they?”

“They’re enjoying Christmas. Although they are missing you and asking, why is dad not with us today?”

“Tell them I miss them too, and I will visit them very soon. How’s the weather there in Miami?”

“It’s great. The weather has been pleasant. How’s the weather there? Is the snowstorm still going?”

“Yes, unfortunately it’s still going strong. I don’t think it will stop anytime soon. The weather forecast suggests another spell of snowstorm may hit New York during late January.”

“Oh, God. I hope that it doesn’t happen.”

“Me too. Anyways, I’m hanging up now. I have to go make dinner. Will talk to you later. Give my love to the kids. Bye, honey.”

“Ok, bye.”

He hung up the phone. It was almost 9 o’clock, time for the hourly news headlines. He switched the news channel to CNN, and went towards the kitchen to make dinner. Just then, a news report was heard, stating that fifty people had died from flu within a day in NYC. The news reported that it was the highest number of deaths from flu in a single day in the past twenty years. “I didn’t know the weather was so bad,” he thought.

He was busy cooking and didn’t think much about this matter. He had finished cooking his pasta and was about to start eating, when suddenly his phone rang again. “Who is it now?” he said agitatedly.

He grabbed the phone and said, “Hello.” 

“Hey bro. It’s me, Jack. Mom has been admitted to Brooklyn Hospital Centre. Since the past two days, she has not been feeling well. She is currently in the ICU!”

“Oh GOD! I’m coming right away. Everything will be fine.”

“I hope so. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He hung up the phone and left his house. He was unlocking his car when he saw the snow. A lot of snow, actually, accumulated in his driveway. There was no way he could have taken his car out right now. He had no option but to take the metro. He hopped on a seat and started thinking about the news he had heard earlier. So many people were dying from the flu? “Never heard something like this before,” he thought.

There has to be something going on.

CHAPTER 2

The room was full of different sounds; from the cardiac monitors, heavy breathing, and of doctors discussing something. There was a strange feeling in the ICU ward. People were lying on their deathbed, waiting for the Grim Reaper to suck their souls from their body.

In the ICU ward 069, lay Mrs. Charles Bedwin. A mother of two children, she had become a widow in the early years of her marriage. She had raised her two children, John and Jack, on her own, both of whom then became successful in their respective careers. John studied virology and became an expert in his field while Jack did Ph.D. in genetics.

She was sleeping soundly, not aware of what was happening around her. Outside the ICU ward, John and Jack Bedwin were waiting for the doctor’s statement about her health.

Jack was not John’s actual brother. He was adopted. His father, James Tesla, was good friends with John’s father, Mr. Charles Bedwin. On the night of Halloween, Mr. Tesla and his wife met with a tragic accident. They died on the spot. Little Jack was only three years old at that time. His grandparents were too old to take care of him, so he was put up for adoption. That was how the Bedwin family came to rescue him. He was adopted by Charles Bedwin, and lived happily for the next five years. And then, his new father also died of lung cancer. He was heartbroken. Mr. Charles Bedwin had helped him in forgetting his tragic past, and now he had given him the same pain that he had experienced five years ago. Mrs. Charles supported him a lot during that time. She taught him to forget about these tragedies, helped him deal with his grief and moved on. Just as he was thinking about all this, Dr. David came out of the ward. He was Mrs. Charles’s doctor and was treating her right now.

“How’s my mother doing now?” John asked.

“She’s doing well right now. We might discharge her by tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.”

“What had happened to her?” Jack asked.

“Her lungs were not working properly, which had possibly resulted in shortness of breath. Has she ever complained of short breath?” Asked the doctor.

“No, it has never happened before. In fact, she jogs every day for half an hour.”