It had started innocently, like everything in Charming. The town had its routine morning shop openings, breakfasts at the Teller-Morrow, the clatter of hammers in the hangar, and the heavy smell of engine oil in the air.

But today, something was different. Instead of the usual banter over coffee and planning the evening's route, there was a strange silence. Like something was coming something no one could yet name. Tig was the first to go. And it wasn't just a hangover or exhaustion from a night with one of the girls from Red Woody.

He'd come into the club pale, sweaty, with dark circles under his eyes that looked like he hadn't slept in a week. He wanted to drink his coffee, but he could barely hold the cup. Everyone looked at him like he was a freak of nature after all, Tig was like an attack dog, always on his feet, always ready. But after an hour, he had to lie down. And he didn't get up for the rest of the day. At first, they'd said it was some hooker swill. Bobby even said in a low voice,

“You see, when you stick it in everywhere, that’s how it ends.”

But the laughter quickly died down as more people started showing symptoms. Juice. Bobby. And then Opie, hard as a rock, who had been riding with the Brotherhood on a swap deal with a gun a week ago. Now he was lying in the garage, wrapped in a blanket, delirious in his sleep. The tension was mounting. Everyone who was still on their feet was moving like ghosts. The club bar was empty, the beer tasted bad. No one was turning on the music, no one was joking. Chibs did what he did best, apart from driving and fighting healing.

He set up a makeshift medical station in the back, bringing medicine, water, and cold compresses. And then the thing that everyone was afraid to say out loud hit: this wasn’t just a virus. This was the flu. Real, heavy, spreading through Charming like thick, choking smoke. Everyone was sick mechanics, bartenders, even the old ones who usually avoided everything. There were no jokes anymore. The office phone was silent, contracts were waiting.

There was no movement at the borders, because no one risked contact with the infected. Even the Irish brokers postponed meetings. As Clay's wife not only the CEO's wife, but also the person who kept order when everything fell apart you stayed on your feet. You didn't have time to get sick. You went from room to room, delivering medicine, helping Chibs, making sure that those who were still holding on didn't collapse from exhaustion.

Women from the city started bringing food at a distance, leaving packages at the gate. Red Woody suspended operations. No one had any head for entertainment. Even the city fell silent police patrols were reduced to a minimum, and Darby and his gang disappeared as if on cue. No one wanted to get close to SAMCRO. Strangely enough, the biker gang suddenly gained something that looked like peace.

In the evenings, when things were quieter, you sat on the steps outside the club, chain smoking. The gate was locked, and the bikes were silent and abandoned. Sometimes you looked up at the sky, wondering when it would all be over. When you’d hear Tig laugh again, when Bobby would start playing his guitar again, when Juice would fire off another stupid lyric, and Opie would smile at you with half his face. But that was a long way off.

For now? For now, every day started the same way with a checkup on those still lying in bed, and with preparing new supplies of medication. After all, you were a family. And family sticks together. Even when your body gives out and all of Charming freezes in silence.