“I know. I’ve had it.” He opened his mouth and waited until the digital thermometer beeped.
The woman nodded her graying head. “You’re okay.” She examined Michael’s wound. “This needs dressing quickly, and he’ll need to rest up. But…”
“What?”
She glanced from side to side, then looked at him out of red-rimmed eyes. “He needs to go across to the old Office Depot building. That’s where the hospital is.”
“Good,” Bobby said, turning to go.
She held on to his arm. “Look, I’m sorry, but you need to understand. We’re very short of medical supplies, especially drugs. The doctors over there are having to make tough decisions about who gets help. Good luck.” She held out another token—a different color this time—and moved onto the next person in the queue.
Bobby nodded his thanks for the warning and pushed Michael across the wide parking lot toward the former Office Depot, handing the plastic token to one of a group of soldiers guarding the entrance.
He was directed to a holding area immediately inside and a tall, gray-haired man in a white coat swooped on them like a vampire on a virgin.
“What is this?” the man said, in a strong eastern European accent. “Why is he in a wheelchair?”
“He has MS,” Bobby said, instantly regretting it as he saw the doctor’s expression change.
“We cannot help him. I am sorry.”
“What? He’s bleeding to death!”
The man shrugged. “I am sorry.” He pushed his fingers against Michael’s throat. “It will not be long. I can give him something to ease his passing.”
“Euthanasia? He’s not a dog!”
“Be calm or I have you thrown out,” the doctor said. He had pinched features that made him look as though he was permanently whistling, but he took Bobby’s arm and guided him to one side, his cadaverous face leaning close. “You must understand, we cannot save everyone. The city hospital is under water. We rescued all we could, but still there is not enough. And there is now this sickness. This man,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder at where Michael waited unmoving, “even if he recovers, what use is he? He has a degenerative condition. What can he offer the future?”
“He saved my life!” Bobby hissed.
The doctor shook his head. “I am sorry. We can no longer help people according to need, not even in an emergency. If we are to treat someone, they must repay us, repay society. He is nothing more than a drain.”
“Look, you…you machine. He’s a human being! Yeah, his body’s failing, but he’s a smart and capable man.”
“There are many with good minds, but also good bodies. I am sorry, but he cannot give us…oh, for the love of…not again!”
The lights flicked out and the doctor’s angular face became even more vampiric in the dim light coming in from outside.
“What’s going on?”
“The generator fails. Every day we have this. How are we supposed to work in these conditions?”
“Can’t the Army help?”
He gave a grim laugh. “Them? They are good for standing outside in their uniforms and not letting people in, but that is all. National Guard,” he added with a sneer. “Accountants and fork-lift drivers. We need engineers.”
“I’m an electrical engineer,” Bobby said. “I’ll help.”
Bobby could hear the scratching of the doctor’s hands on his sandpaper chin. “You propose a trade?”
“You treat my friend and I’ll fix your generator.”
“I make no guarantees,” the doctor said. “He might be beyond my help.”
Bobby shrugged. “Neither do I, but I’ll do my best. I only ask you to do the same.”
Cold hands wrapped around his fingers and Bobby fought to hold back his revulsion. The lights came on again and he shook the doctor’s hand.
“Sludge,” Bobby said as he shone a flashlight into the bottom of the fuel tank. “Look, you can see it. Whenever you get low on gas, it’s being sucked into the fuel line and choking the engine.”
He felt the stubbly hair of the young National Guard soldier as it rubbed against his temple. “Cool. So, how do we stop it?”
“Well, the right thing to do is to drain the fuel tank, clean it out and flush through the line, but you might get away with just keeping it topped right up.”
“Doctor Vasic gets pretty mad ever’time the lights go out. Truth is, I don’t know squat about generators. I work in a MacDonald’s, I ain’t no engineer.”
Bobby smiled at the young man. “How come you’re down here trying to fix it, then?” He gestured at the metal-box generator room.
“Wrong place, wrong time,” the soldier said, his freckles spreading ruefully. “He was lookin’ for volunteers and Sanders dropped me in it. He told the doctor that I’m studyin’ at college.”
“And are you?”
“Yeah. Community college. Farm management. He told me to sort it out. They’d brought the generator from the hospital before it flooded—this place didn’t have one.”
Bobby nodded. “So, that’s why they chose to come here. It has a generator point, even though it doesn’t have a generator. You okay for fuel?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“That’s something. But, look, this generator can’t be the main one from the hospital, it’s only 250kW.”
The young man said, “That’s right. The other one was flooded before they got there. This one was on the other side of the building.”
“Well, I’ll have a word with the doctor and see what he wants to do. Come on, let’s fill up the tank and get the lights back on.”
Bobby glanced back and waved at the redheaded soldier as he crossed from the portable generator into the Office Depot building and went looking for Vasic. He knew he stank of diesel, but he’d been investigating the electrical system for over three hours and he needed to know how Michael was doing.
Some of the shelving had been removed to form large wards across most of the former store. Beds had been dragged from the half-submerged Walmart in the neighboring retail park to form what would have been a comical assortment in other circumstances. A row of single beds gave way to a block of doubles, many of which had two occupants. It looked like a bed store where the customers had fallen asleep on the demonstration models.
People in blue medical coveralls moved urgently between the beds, their voices echoing in the wide spaces above. Bobby found Michael asleep in a small silver-framed bed more suited to a child, his wheelchair folded up to one side. He was asleep, but his wound had been treated and a clean bandage was wrapped around it.
“You stink, Mr. Rodriguez,” the vampiric doctor said. “There is a staff washroom out back. Did you fix the generator?”
Bobby began moving away, but the doctor hung on his shoulder like a bat. “I’ve identified the problem: the fuel tank is clogged. Whoever had the generator before didn’t use stabilizer.”
“And what to do?”
Bobby stopped as they passed the final row of beds and turned around. “For now, I’ve told Ellis to keep the fuel topped up so it doesn’t drop to the level of the sludge, but it needs a proper clean.”
“And so?”
“It would have to be turned off for a couple of hours so we can clean the tank and fuel lines. Once that’s done, though, you shouldn’t get any more problems. Just watch the power usage, it’s not a very beefy generator.”
The doctor scratched his chin and then nodded. “Carry out the cleaning. We must have reliable power.”
“How’s Michael?”
Vasic’s eyebrows lifted as if he was surprised by the question. “We have cleaned the wounds and dressed them.”
“Wounds?”
“Entry and exit. He was quite fortunate. But…”
“But what?”
Again, the hand came to his chin and he rubbed at his stubble. “How can I say this? I have treated many patients in my time, both as a junior in Serbia and since I came to America. And there are some
people, Mr. Rodriguez, who simply have no life left in them. And your friend is one of those. He may live, but he will never be alive.”
“What do you mean?”
The vampire leaned closer so Bobby could feel antiseptic breath tickling his cheek. “Only that if you had done what I suggested and let him quietly slip away, then I think you would have shown yourself to be truly his friend. Ask yourself what he has to live for and whether anything we can do for him will change that.”
Bobby swung away from him, heading for the side door.
“The restroom is that way,” Vasic said.
“I don’t need to get changed. I’ll repair your generator and, when Michael is well enough to travel, we’re going. I made a promise to him and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to keep it.”
And so, Bobby spent the next several hours with his elbow inside a drained diesel fuel tank until he could taste it in the depths of his stomach. But his mind was on Michael, Eve and Joshua. And Maria.
He would go on tomorrow, with or without Michael. He would have left the man beside the ruined cabin if he’d had any sense. He’d have been back in Santa Clarita by now, and Maria’s trail wouldn’t be quite so cold.
Tomorrow, he would go after her.
Chapter 13
Kessler
Ellie woke up as footsteps went back and forth along the saloon corridor outside. After around half a second of blissful oblivion, her mind unwound like a broken clock spring and she sat up, panicking. How had she gotten here?
Patrick was in the galley using a can opener to get into a can of corned beef. He looked up at her as she emerged, and she could see from the bloodshot edges to his eyes and the black rings surrounding them that, unlike her, he’d been up all night.
“Morning,” he said.
“How long was I asleep?”
“Only a few hours. I took you to bed when I got tired of you falling asleep on me. Though it was cute at first.”
She searched his expression for any signs of sarcasm, but saw none. “I’m sorry. I tried to stay awake. How are they?”
He shrugged. “Too early to say. No worse than they were, so that’s something. Buzz seems a bit less apocalyptic this morning. He called someone over from his place and they brought some supplies. Coffee?”
“Oh my God! Are you serious?”
He smiled. “Sure. I told him it qualifies as an essential. It’s instant, I’m afraid, but beggars can’t be choosers. I’ll put the kettle on.”
Then she noticed it. “The engine’s on?”
“Yeah. Buzz has a fuel reserve, so Hank’s been going back and forth with cans to top up our tanks. All the ATVs have run dry now, so he’s charging them up back at the barn while one charges here.”
The kettle came to a boil and Patrick spooned out a large helping of coffee from the can, then poured water on it, smiling as the aroma filled the room. “Funny how the end of the world shows us what really matters. There’s a lot I don’t miss, a lot I thought was so important for most of my life. But coffee? I hope I never run out again. Coffee, and corned beef.”
Ellie took the cup. “Thanks, Pat.”
“Look, Ellie, about…”
She shook her head and moved back. “Where’s Buzz?”
“He was here a few minutes ago. I guess he’s checking on the patients,” Patrick said, his expression having gone from happy to hangdog in moments.
Ellie took her coffee and headed for the cabin Jodi was occupying. She almost spilled it over Buzz as he erupted through the connecting door.
“Careful! You nearly wore it!” Ellie said.
“Sorry!”
Ellie sighed. “You look as though you need this more than I do,” she said, offering the cup.
“It’s okay, I’ll make my own. I still haven’t worked out how it’s transmitted.”
Ellie followed him back into the saloon. “I thought it was waterborne, but then Tom got it.”
“Indeed. Though his was mild. A little bed rest and he’ll be fine.”
“So, what’s your theory?” Ellie said, as Patrick stirred his corned beef hash in the frying pan while pretending not to listen.
Buzz looked doubtful. “Are you a medical doctor?” he asked.
Patrick winced and moved a little farther back.
“No, are you?” Ellie asked, determined—for once—not to rise to the bait.
Buzz shook his head. “I’m a microbiologist.”
“And I’m a marine biologist.”
“You are?” She wasn’t sure whether she was pleased or angry at his obvious surprise.
“They let girls into college a hundred years ago, I’m afraid. And some of us took them up on the offer, Dr. Baxter.”
He looked nonplussed. “I’m not a doctor.”
She smiled. “No? I am.”
“Children,” Patrick said, moving away from the gently bubbling hash with his hands out. “This isn’t the time for willy waving. I got two O Levels in Art and Drama, which makes me as thick as a brick, so you both win. The question is, what happens next?”
Buzz looked at Patrick, then let out a long breath before glancing briefly at Ellie as if to check she was still there. “Well, I think they’re stabilizing, but it’s too early to consider moving them. Hank says the conversion work to turn one of the barns into an isolation ward should be finished today, so perhaps we can move them tomorrow if we can find a truck on the island somewhere.”
“In the meantime, you should go pick up Dom, Masie and…”
“Crystal,” Patrick supplied.
“Yeah. Dom’s in a bad way.”
Buzz shook his head. “I can’t take any more in.”
“And yet you are talking about moving Jodi and Lewis.”
“Well, that’s one person more than I intended.”
“And when, exactly,” Ellie said, causing Patrick to edge away, “did you decide to play God? Was it before or after the deaths of billions of people?”
Buzz’s face went white and he collapsed onto a sheet covering the charred remains of the banquette. “What do you know?”
“It’s not rocket science,” Patrick said. “You arranged for Jodi to be safely offshore just as the wave hit, after building your compound on high ground.”
“I didn’t cause it,” Buzz said, looking at his knees. “I just didn’t do enough to prevent it. Don’t you think I know what I’ve done? Don’t you think I feel guilty?”
Ellie leaned down. “Then help Dom and his family.”
“What good will that do? Three lives among billions.”
“What good? Three lives, that’s what.” Ellie said.
Buzz ran his hand across his forehead, pushing his bristly hair back. “I gave them antibiotics.”
“So what? Even if they do recover, how can they survive on this island after?”
“None of us is going to survive for long if we keep inviting people in.”
“Well, I’ve got good news for you, then. I won’t be staying.”
“What?” Patrick put his fork down and swallowed a mouthful of hot hash before chasing it with a bottle of water. “Sorry,” he said, gasping. “But, what?”
Ellie glanced up at him. “I’ve done what I promised. Jodi’s here. I never said I’d stay, even if I was welcome.”
“Where will you go?”
“I need to find my daughter.”
Buzz looked up at this. “Where is she?”
“Los Angeles.”
“But, LA…”
“I know. But her father’s resourceful. If anyone could have kept her safe, it’s him. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight.”
Patrick came around from the galley and sat beside her. “Give yourself a couple of days to recover, won’t you?”
“Sure. So, there you are, Buzz. That’s one less mouth to feed.”
“Fewer,” Buzz said before he could stop himself.
Patrick put his hand on Ellie’s. “Two mouths. I’m going with you.”
Now it
was her turn. “What? Why would you do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you matter to me. Maybe I would feel happier if I kept my eyes on you. I know you think I’m pretty useless, but…well…I’m better than nothing. Unless…you’re planning to take Tom.”
She squeezed his hand. “I hadn’t thought about taking anyone with me. And you’re not useless. Not entirely, anyway. Not when we need to charm some middle-aged woman or movie fan.”
“Are you taking the p—?”
“Not completely. Thank you, Pat. I’d be happy to have you along.” She smiled at him and then turned back to Buzz. “And now, I want to know what your role is in all this, and who we’re going to make pay.”
#
Ellie and Patrick retraced their earlier journey toward the white Colonial house where they’d encountered Crystal and her family the day before.
“Uncle Pat!” A small shape exploded out of the front door, across the porch and down the steps before throwing itself into his arms as he kneeled.
“Hello, love,” he said. “Ellie’s here, too.”
The girl looked up. “Oh, hello.”
“Hi, kid.”
“How’s Mom and Dad?”
Crystal took Patrick’s hand and led him back into the house.
“Shhh, Mommy’s sleeping,” she said as she nudged the door open a crack. Ellie peered into the gloom to see Masie lying on her back, eyes closed. Then, just as she was about to panic, the woman’s chest moved up and down, her breath rattling a little in her throat. “Mommy was trying to look after Daddy last night, but I told her to go to bed. She won’t take her medicine. She says Daddy needs it more than her.”
Ellie felt a stab of guilt as they left the woman to sleep, and they moved along the corridor to the living room. An unpleasant aroma hung over that side of the house and Ellie could hear the insistent buzzing of flies from inside the room where she’d last seen Dom.
“Jeez,” she said. She locked eyes with Patrick and shrugged, getting ready to go inside and face whatever she found.
“Hold on, kid,” Patrick said as Crystal went to turn the door handle. “We’ll go first.”
Phage: Deluge Book 2: (A Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Story) Page 10