by Betsy Ashton
“My gut.” Johnny rubbed his temple with the heel of one hand.
“Not you, too.”
“Hey, Ducks and Em don’t use their guts. They have avenues that I don’t. So, gut it is until I learn otherwise,” he said, trying to smile.
“How does your gut factor into your research? What’s really bothering you? Tell me.” I took a large sip of coffee and looked Johnny square in the eyes before reaching for his hand. I was surprised at how cold it was, but no way was I releasing it until he told me everything.
“On the day of Alex’s accident, he was as healthy as the pony he was riding. And now he’s the sickest boy I’ve ever seen.”
“Alex and a lot of other kids,” I said. I squeezed his hand.
“None of this should be happening,” he said. A shaft of sunlight crept across our table and stabbed us in the eyes. Johnny flinched and blinked. I looked closer at him. Bloodshot eyes, an apparent headache because he frequently rubbed his temples and the back of his neck, although not at the same time. He hadn’t been getting any more sleep than me, but even so, he lacked the spark I expected. “First of all, not everyone who is exposed falls sick. And hantavirus is endemic in the region, but it hasn’t been active for many years.”
“True. Many local residents have probably been exposed, shown cold-like symptoms, and recovered. No harm, no foul. But others get sick. And some died. And why Alex? Why so many now? Why here in this hospital?” I asked, picking up the thread.
It didn’t make sense. Alex, for all his clumsiness, had to constitution of an ox, like Johnny. Neither was ever sick. The speed with which Alex’s illness exploded in his body couldn’t be explained.
I told Johnny about Alex’s nightmare. Johnny shook his head. “A white dragon breathed on him? I was there all the time. I didn’t see any white dragon.”
Once we’d given up on our snacks, Johnny went to lie down for an hour. He needed rest for the night shift. I took short daytime naps. The bed in our room had an uncomfortable mattress, which made me long for my king-sized bed at home or even the queen in my RV.
Truth be known, I longed to be any place but where I was—where I could go outside at will, where I wasn’t an actual prisoner. Wearing my protective clothing, I stared at my reflection in the walls of Alex’s room. I felt a little like Gort, the alien in The Day the Earth Stood Still—the original, with Michael Rennie and Patricia Neal, not the remake with someone and someone else.
Half an hour later, turmoil in the ICU woke Alex. His eyes cracked open, fear replacing sleep.
“What’s happening, Mad Max?” he wrote on a tablet in wobbly letters, his throat sore from the oxygen tube. “Is the dragon back?”
“No dragon is going to get you while I’m here.” I stroked his sweaty hair. “I don’t know what’s happening, though. A new child came in yesterday. A lot of doctors are working on her.”
A swarm of doctors and nurses buzzed around the nurses’ station and filled every square inch of the new child’s room. Emilie surrounded me like a warm blanket, but something had changed in the ICU. The atmosphere was as charged as a thunderstorm. A growing sense of dread washed over me as if someone, the evil someone, were near.
Dr. Duval and Dr. Running Bear stepped out of the room, heads together in consultation. Their masks muffled their whispers, so I couldn’t hear what they said. I could see several nurses, along with Dr. White and Dr. Klein, inside with the child. Sharon came up beside me and jerked her head toward the outer door. I returned to Alex, patted his hand, and told him I’d be right outside.
“That child came in yesterday. She has similar but worse symptoms than Alex, yet she tested negative for hantavirus,” Sharon said.
I rubbed my eyes and wiped an oily smear from my forehead. I had to stay strong. Emilie and Ducks were with me, but they couldn’t shoulder my burdens, lessen my stress, or alleviate the worry I lived with daily.
“Her family thought she had a cold. She sneezed and coughed. They thought it was nothing to worry about, but they kept her home, away from her brothers and sisters for a couple of days.”
The public’s lack of cooperation wasn’t helping the professionals corral this outbreak.
“How many times do you have to remind families that every illness should be checked out right now? No matter how slight,” I asked, exasperated.
“Many locals take care of their own family. Or they turn to traditional healers, Max. It might be too much to expect them to change their ways and run to modern medicine when plants and chants have healed in the past.” Sharon put her hand on my arm. “Modern medicine won out yesterday when she spiked a fever and began coughing heavily. When she brought up bloody sputum, her family brought her in.”
I knew of only one disease with that symptom. “TB?”
Sharon shook her head, eyes unfocused. She retreated into her head much like Emilie did when she went to her special place. Sharon’s special place seemed unlike Emilie’s, though. My pocket buzzed. She’s not one of us. But she’s close, Emilie said. I put the cell back in my pocket. Sharon turned to look at me.
“My granddaughter says you have ESP, but you don’t know how to use it,” I said.
“And how would she know?”
“Because she does. That’s why she’s so spooky.”
My phone buzzed with a smiley face text. I held it out to Sharon.
“I hope she can help. We need all the watching she can give us.” Sharon turned back toward the ICU, but didn’t move forward. Emilie buzzed me again. She’s keeping all her channels open.
Sharon pushed through the door, and we re-entered the ICU.
“Who’s doing the analysis?” I asked.
“Dr. Klein will. He’ll use the samples Toby Vampire took.” Sharon gave a twisted smile.
“Ask Dr. White to test a second sample. She’ll know why.”
I left Sharon at Alex’s door. A curious expression crossed her face, and she moved toward the swarming room. Alex moaned in his sleep, but he didn’t thrash. The nightmare hadn’t returned. I sat in the recliner and tried to read. I might as well try to fly.
I closed my eyes and let my mind drift. Well, not exactly drift. Like a stone in a typhoon, nothing was calm. Nothing was clear. Nothing drifted.
Hours later, when the new child appeared to be stable, Sharon and I joined Dr. Duval for a late dinner. I’d barely snacked with Johnny, and a light meal might hold me over until breakfast. Food helped me keep a clear head. Dr. Duval gave me a few new details beyond the growing number of patients admitted and the rising death toll. Six so far, including the orderly. I nibbled on limp lettuce and speared a cherry tomato, which tasted like red nothing. Again, I shoved my food aside.
Sharon and Dr. Duval’s talk was over my head. I was close to smacking the table with my palm, my frustration peaking just below out-of-control.
“I know it’s easier for you speak in medical shorthand, but I’ll be much happier if I knew what all this means. How can I cope if I don’t understand? How can I help anyone?” I demanded.
“I am sorry, Mrs. Davies,” Dr. Duval said. She pushed her empty plate aside, folded her hands, and nodded. “You have been most helpful. You and your friend, Mr. Medina.”
Dr. Duval walked us once again through the history of this outbreak, from the earliest patients like Alex, who had definitely been diagnosed with hantavirus. Three of the original group had died. Alex was doing better, but was still in critical condition.
I said, “And I’ve seen your diagnosis boards, you know. Have you added any other possibilities beyond pox and hantavirus?”
Sharon and Dr. Duval stared at each other. A long moment passed.
“The new child—”
“The one in room five?” I clarified.
“That’s the one.”
“When you come to the diagnosis room again, you will see another terrifying word on the boards.” Sharon reached across the table, unfolded my fingers, which I’d clenched into fists, and held my hands.
/> What could be more terrifying than pox? I mean, I knew diseases like Ebola were death sentences for the most part, but about the only way for Ebola to spread in the States was through a sick passenger bringing it in on a Boeing jet. Neither endemic nor contagious, it wasn’t likely to arrive from Africa and spread. “What’s the new frightening disease?”
Dr. Duval rose, moved to the coffee machine, and returned with fresh cups. “The child has pneumonia. We are positive about that. She also has a form of plague.”
The blood must have drained from my face, because Sharon gripped my icy hand in both of hers. I gulped a couple of times before I shook my head. Plague? That was right out of the Dark Ages.
“Plague?” I squeaked.
“It is more common than you think. The Western United States has had a handful of cases over the past decade.” Dr. Duval explained the methods of transmission. Bubonic plague, the original Black Death, was transmitted by a flea bite from an infected animal. It hit the lymphatic system. Pneumonic plague, much less common that bubonic, passed from human to human through droplets in the air, much like the flu was transmitted. It hit the lungs. The last form of plague was septicemia, which infected the blood stream.
“It’s a good thing,” Sharon said.
I was having none of this. I had a sudden image of sinister figures spreading plague throughout the hospital, only in the Dark Ages the dark figures were rats. Now they were humans.
“How can plague be good?” I demanded.
“All forms of plague are caused by a bacterium, which is readily treated with common antibiotics,” Dr. Duval said. She shifted in her chair and glanced at her watch.
“Do we have enough in the hospital?”
“The CDC is flying in more from Los Angeles. We will be resupplied tomorrow. Now, if you do not mind, I want to get back to our diagnosis room. Perhaps Dr. Klein and Dr. White will have some news.” Dr. Duval stood.
Sharon and I bid her goodbye, and Sharon gently squeezed my hand. “I’d worry less about plague than hantavirus or pox. We successfully treat plague all over the world all the time.”
“And what about pox? What kind of pox do we have here?”
Sharon’s blue eyes darkened. “We still don’t know for sure.”
“Is that why Alex has a rash?” I knew Sharon could feel the pulse jump in my wrist.
“Don’t panic. We’re testing to see if it’s human monkeypox, which is a virus, but we haven’t seen human monkeypox virus in the States since 2003.”
“But how is it transmitted if we don’t have monkeys to spread it?”
“The last outbreak was thought to be the result of prairie dogs infected by Gambian rats, which had been dumped into the wild. The rats were smuggled in because they were cute, and people wanted them as pets. When pet owners realized that these rats could grow to nearly three feet in length, they turned them loose. The disease all but wiped out wild prairie dog colonies.”
“Oh my God. I’m ever amazed at how much damage humans can do to upset the balance of nature,” I marveled.
“Don’t get me started. We could be lamenting for days. We need to stay focused. So, if we have human monkeypox, there are treatments.” She paused. “Have you had a recent smallpox vaccination by any chance?”
“Actually, I did about a dozen years ago. My second one. My last husband and I were going to Tanzania on vacation. He was super cautious, so we got every vaccination and its brother.” I had laughed at how worried Reggie was about my health. I wasn’t pleased to be poked and prodded, because my arm ached for weeks with the aftereffects.
“What about Alex? Has he been vaccinated?”
“No. He was a baby when I went to Africa. I wouldn’t have taken him anyway—my daughter would have had forty conniption fits.”
“Yeah, sounds like my mother. When I told her I was trapped here for the duration, she absolutely lost it. She went so far as to call the head of the Secret Service and demand, actually demand, they whisk me out of here. She’s on her ear with anxiety.”
Sharon’s mother sounded like me. When it came to the kids, I could go from normal to raging tiger mom in three point two seconds flat.
“I’d give anything to have seen that. Imagine the mother of a vice president’s wife going nose to nose, figuratively of course, with the head of the Secret Service. I’d pay money,” I laughed. I squeezed Sharon’s hands before releasing them. I returned to an even keel.
“Oh, she wouldn’t hesitate to go at him face to face. She’d evoke her ancestors and threaten to do something unusually cruel and permanent to him,” Sharon smiled.
“Her ancestors?”
“My grandmother was full-blooded Choctaw. She passed her coloring to me. Through my mother, she also passed along a sense of right and wrong, the strongest spine ever, and a tongue that refuses to be held.”
I could picture her. I expressed the desire to meet Sharon’s mother, and grandmother, too, if she still lived.
“Both are very much alive. In due time, I hope you’ll meet. Now, what about Johnny? Do you know if he had his vaccination?”
At that moment, I realized Johnny hadn’t shown up when he said he would. Emilie’s voice fairly screamed in my head. Uncle Johnny’s sick!
Ducks texted a similar message. Oh my God. Johnny! I stood so quickly that I knocked my chair over. I flew out of the cafeteria, took the stairs two at a time, and rushed to the room Johnny and I shared. I steadied myself on the doorjamb, my breath ragged.
“Johnny!”
He didn’t respond. His breathing was so labored that I heard it from the doorway. Sharon panted up behind me.
“We need to get him into isolation, STAT.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I GRABBED THE door jamb to steady myself, my breath ragged from running up the stairs. My legs buckled so that I nearly fell. I don’t remember walking into the room or anything. When I became aware of my surroundings, I was standing beside his bed and staring down at his flushed face, wet with the sweat of fever. He croaked a phlegm-y cough. I bent to touch his forehead.
“Don’t.” Dr. Running Bear grabbed my arm to pull me away. I hadn’t heard him come in. Right behind him was a gloved, gowned, and masked orderly, and Sharon a few feet behind.
“I called him,” Sharon said, shrugging into her own gown. I took two steps backward before bumping against Dr. Running Bear’s strong body. I shook with a violent chill, teeth chattering.
“Max, are you ill?” Sharon asked.
I shook my head and clamped my jaws shut, managing to say, “He can’t be sick. He was just fine.” Terror locked my vision onto Johnny’s face. “What’s wrong, Johnny? Can you talk?”
Please don’t let anything happen to Johnny.
“Leave the room, Max.” Dr. Running Bear pushed me toward the corridor so that the orderly could wheel the bed from our room to the ICU.
I raised terrified eyes. “Do you know what’s wrong with him? Is he going to be all right?”
“I have a good idea. If I’m right, he’ll be pretty sick for a while, but will recover.”
Dr. Running Bear draped his arm over my shoulders. He looked deeply into my eyes as if assessing both my mental and physical states. He kept his arm around me as we followed the bed. I couldn’t help but remember following Merry’s casket out of the funeral, the church filled with friends and flowers. Since that day, the cloying scent of lilies made me queasy. The sharp disinfectant used in this hospital also made me queasy. Like then, tears flowed unchecked. Like then, I didn’t give a shit.
I ignored the phone buzzing in my pocket, the warmth trying to suppress the chill, the feather battering my cheek. For the first time, no watchdogs could help. I was alone again in the midst of a crisis.
Just before the doors to the ICU swung open, a sudden thought stopped me in mid-stride. “Aren’t all the beds full?”
Dr. Running Bear turned sad eyes down at me.
“The girl in room five and the baby died. Johnny will be acro
ss from Alex.”
“Oh my God.” I must have looked even more terrified, because Dr. Running Bear reassured me that the room had been disinfected by two of the orderlies.
Sharon stepped forward with a gown. “Let me help you.” She dressed me like I was a baby.
The orderly maneuvered the bed into room five. As soon as Johnny’s bed went through the door, I fled the ICU for the false safety of the room we had shared. I shut myself in the bathroom, vomited, and stood there shaking. I rinsed my mouth and scrubbed my face and hands thoroughly at the sink. I went back into the empty room. I didn’t know where else to go, what to do. Fear bounced from Johnny to Alex to Johnny. Alone with my terror, I sank to the floor and curled into a fetal position, sobbing.
I became aware of minute, inane details: dust on the floor, an old stain from a spill, something blue and round in a corner. It reminded me of a blue M&M. I hated blue M&M’s. I refused to eat them when they first were introduced. I took a principled stand, exactly as I had when Crayola removed “flesh” from its color palette. Sometimes, you don’t mess with tradition.
Everything around me faded to black.
I had no idea how long I lay there. When I became aware of my surroundings, Sharon and Dr. Duval were bending over me, and Sharon had her fingers on my neck.
“Strong and steady,” she said.
Dr. Duval felt my forehead. “She doesn’t have a fever.”
A nurse delivered a small flashlight. Dr. Duval shined it in my eyes, and Sharon helped me sit up. “Do you feel dizzy? We can get you into a bed.”
“I’m all right. I didn’t fall.” I pulled away and struggled to stand. My legs trembled, and I had to hold on to Sharon or return to the floor. Sharon brushed off my clothes and steadied me. An odd expression crossed her face, vanishing as quickly as it came. Both Dr. Duval and I noticed it. I was too shaken to respond, but Dr. Duval nodded.
“You need some juice.” Sharon sent the nurse to fetch a cold beverage.
“You need to be with Johnny now,” Dr. Duval said. I was vaguely aware of Emilie’s presence. The doctors walked me to the ICU.