Seven Days To Brooklyn: A Sara Robinson Adventure Read Online Free Page B
Author: Christopher Westley
have her enjoy her childhood even though he has high standards for her.
Sara runs over to him and kisses him on the forehead before turning to walk over and sit at the opposite end of the table. “No, baby; well, maybe just a few minutes. Eat your eggs and toast; we’ve got a long day ahead of us.” Mr. Robinson sticks his head back into The Wall Street Journal , studying the stock report. As Sara looks down the table, she notices the words “Ebola Pandemic” printed across the cover of the newspaper. It was a word she never heard before, and curiosity got the best of her.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, dear?”
“What’s a pandemic?” Sara knows what Ebola is and understands that it is something that affects animals and people.
“Well, it’s a word to describe a horrible outbreak of disease in the world.”
Mark never looks up over the paper or lets out that he is concerned about the headlines on the front cover.
“Are we going to be okay?”
“Yes, baby, we are fine here at the ranch. This Ebola scare will burn itself out in a few weeks. That’s the thing with it; it’s short-lived, and then it’s over.”
He was not exactly telling the truth, but he knew it would be better for Sara to live in a world of somewhat normalcy and ignorance than to know all the horrors of the newly mutated form of Ebola.
Dr. Robinson, through contacts with the Centers for Disease Control and University Medical Center in Dallas Texas, was working on a cure for the new virus, in his lab beneath the large mansion.
“What happens to the people that get it?”
“So many questions.” Mark puts down his paper and tilts his head forward as he sits straighter in his chair. “Finish eating; we’ve got work to do!”
A telephone sitting on the far side of the room rings a few times before the maid picks it up.
“Hello. Yes, he is right here,” the maid says, holding the telephone out for the doctor. “Sir.”
Dr. Robinson gets up from the table and walks over to the odd-looking, 1940s-style telephone. The telephone has no dial, no buttons, just a handset. He takes the phone from the maid and answers, “Dr. Robinson.” The voice on the other end is familiar to him as he listens.
“Sir, General Edwards here. It seems that we are running out of time. We are getting ready to move on Dallas, then Houston. I know I don’t need to tell you the importance of this conversation going no further than you and me.”
“I understand.”
“And furthermore, sir, I think you should get ready to leave. We can send a unit to bring you here to us.”
“Okay, I’ll get the lab tests and records ready to go.”
Dr. Robinson has been working on a cure for the virus but is still months away from perfecting it.
The general, Kenneth Edwards, is the head of a new government agency in charge of containing the virus. Looking at the map in front of him, a map of the USA, with cities in Texas circled in red with an X through the middle of the circle, the stress from what he will eventually have to order is overcoming his professional nature.
“Mark, don’t hesitate to leave. Don’t wait; we will send commandos to escort you here.”
“No problem, Ken. I understand and will see you soon, old friend.”
Hanging up the phone, Dr. Robinson remembers back to a simpler time in college when things were carefree. When he and friends like Kenneth Edwards had the world by the balls, ready to accomplish all their dreams and goals before they reached thirty years old. Both of them had grown up together in a small town in South Texas near the Gulf Coast. Moving on from college and going their separate ways led one into the military and the other through medical school. Looking back at his daughter, Dr. Robinson tries to remove the worried look from his face before sitting back down at the table. Picking up the newspaper, he buries his face back into the sports section in an attempt to cover up his
Sara runs over to him and kisses him on the forehead before turning to walk over and sit at the opposite end of the table. “No, baby; well, maybe just a few minutes. Eat your eggs and toast; we’ve got a long day ahead of us.” Mr. Robinson sticks his head back into The Wall Street Journal , studying the stock report. As Sara looks down the table, she notices the words “Ebola Pandemic” printed across the cover of the newspaper. It was a word she never heard before, and curiosity got the best of her.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, dear?”
“What’s a pandemic?” Sara knows what Ebola is and understands that it is something that affects animals and people.
“Well, it’s a word to describe a horrible outbreak of disease in the world.”
Mark never looks up over the paper or lets out that he is concerned about the headlines on the front cover.
“Are we going to be okay?”
“Yes, baby, we are fine here at the ranch. This Ebola scare will burn itself out in a few weeks. That’s the thing with it; it’s short-lived, and then it’s over.”
He was not exactly telling the truth, but he knew it would be better for Sara to live in a world of somewhat normalcy and ignorance than to know all the horrors of the newly mutated form of Ebola.
Dr. Robinson, through contacts with the Centers for Disease Control and University Medical Center in Dallas Texas, was working on a cure for the new virus, in his lab beneath the large mansion.
“What happens to the people that get it?”
“So many questions.” Mark puts down his paper and tilts his head forward as he sits straighter in his chair. “Finish eating; we’ve got work to do!”
A telephone sitting on the far side of the room rings a few times before the maid picks it up.
“Hello. Yes, he is right here,” the maid says, holding the telephone out for the doctor. “Sir.”
Dr. Robinson gets up from the table and walks over to the odd-looking, 1940s-style telephone. The telephone has no dial, no buttons, just a handset. He takes the phone from the maid and answers, “Dr. Robinson.” The voice on the other end is familiar to him as he listens.
“Sir, General Edwards here. It seems that we are running out of time. We are getting ready to move on Dallas, then Houston. I know I don’t need to tell you the importance of this conversation going no further than you and me.”
“I understand.”
“And furthermore, sir, I think you should get ready to leave. We can send a unit to bring you here to us.”
“Okay, I’ll get the lab tests and records ready to go.”
Dr. Robinson has been working on a cure for the virus but is still months away from perfecting it.
The general, Kenneth Edwards, is the head of a new government agency in charge of containing the virus. Looking at the map in front of him, a map of the USA, with cities in Texas circled in red with an X through the middle of the circle, the stress from what he will eventually have to order is overcoming his professional nature.
“Mark, don’t hesitate to leave. Don’t wait; we will send commandos to escort you here.”
“No problem, Ken. I understand and will see you soon, old friend.”
Hanging up the phone, Dr. Robinson remembers back to a simpler time in college when things were carefree. When he and friends like Kenneth Edwards had the world by the balls, ready to accomplish all their dreams and goals before they reached thirty years old. Both of them had grown up together in a small town in South Texas near the Gulf Coast. Moving on from college and going their separate ways led one into the military and the other through medical school. Looking back at his daughter, Dr. Robinson tries to remove the worried look from his face before sitting back down at the table. Picking up the newspaper, he buries his face back into the sports section in an attempt to cover up his
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