by J. L. Wood
Saddened to hear he was not in the medical profession, she was still relieved he had delivered the essential bag. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. Can you stay? We need a pair of extra hands.”
Sherrie watched as Chris looked around the gymnasium. From his eyes, she could tell he was not interested. The gym was full of people and almost resembled a makeshift homeless shelter, as there was a stench that stung everyone’s nose and piles of trash littered around the cots.
“I can stay if you need me. Just tell me what to do,” he replied with a shrug.
Sherrie smiled and clasped Chris’s hands in hers. “We do need your help. Now, for starters, I need you to help lift a cot to a classroom. We’re going to create a makeshift operating room.”
*
Missy grunted as she slowly lowered her end of Ariel’s cot onto the floor of Classroom 3C. As she was trying to leave earlier, Dr. Dressner spotted her and insisted she assist with Ariel. It was not something she wanted to do, but she did not have it in her to deny her help, even with Skiddy at home alone.
“Pull the sheet up, and we will move her like a hammock,” Chris instructed. Missy obeyed, and together they lifted Ariel and gently placed her still body onto a now-cleared teacher’s desk.
Sherrie stood over Ariel, face mask on, hands gloved and held up near her face, Nurse Amber by her side, observing. Missy scooted the IV stand closer to the desk while Chris hooked up the heart monitor. “Should I put the medicine in now?” Missy asked, holding a syringe. Dr. Dressner nodded, and Missy injected the morphine into the IV tube, just as Dr. Dressner had instructed earlier. Looking up for approval, she was met with the back of Dr. Dressner’s head. She was staring at Ariel’s mother.
Mrs. James hovered over Ariel, letting a sob escape, her heavily applied mascara dripping down her cheeks and forming several thin streams of black liquid that pooled at the top of her fluffy cheeks. Missy quickly moved around the side of the desk and put her arm around Mrs. James. Holding her tightly by the shoulders, she walked with her toward the classroom door. “You shouldn’t be here. I’ll come and get you when it’s done.”
Mrs. James wiggled free, defiant and dramatic as always. “No, that is my daughter, and I want to make sure she is okay. I have a right to be here, and I promise you I will sue you if anything goes wrong! I will sue all of you, especially you, little Miss Missy!”
Dr. Dressner kept her arms elevated, careful not to break her makeshift scrub. She had a mask and gloves but had to wear an apron from the science lab to protect her clothes. “Mrs. James, if you do not leave, I will not help your daughter. That will give her no chance to live. Is that what you desire? Choose right now.”
Missy watched as Mrs. James returned to Ariel and grasped her ankle, as if she was holding on to her for dear life. The concerned mother looked back at Dr. Dressner, whose eyes pierced through her, and released her grasp. Missy knew the situation was out of Mrs. James’s control. Ariel would make it or she wouldn’t.
Ariel looked pitiful on top of that desk with half of her beautiful red hair shaved off, resembling a punk rock star from the nineties. She could have been an abandoned doll, used up and tossed away after being given a failed haircut from a little hairdresser-to-be. Missy pulled Mrs. James away to the door and held it open, allowing Mrs. James to slowly walk through, her head hung low, refusing to look back.
When the door closed, Dr. Dressner picked up a surgical marker. The sight of the marker caused Missy to panic. The procedure was about to begin. The blood drained from her face as she stared wide-eyed at Sherrie’s steady hands.
“Don’t be alarmed at what will happen,” Sherrie said firmly. “We are saving Ariel’s life. Put your personal feelings aside and focus. What you do next will either help save or harm this child.”
Missy nodded and grabbed the side of the desk to help stop her head from spinning, but she was on a merry-go-round and couldn’t get off.
“You broke your scrub twice. One with the mother and now with the desk. Change your gloves before we start. This room is already completely unsterile. Let’s be careful from here on out.”
Missy nodded, ashamed that she had forgotten not to touch anything, and quickly changed her gloves. Chris stood by with several thick white pieces of cloth. “Lap sponges, courtesy of Dr. Katz,” Dr. Dressner had told her earlier. “To absorb the blood.”
Blood. Even the word made Missy queasy, but not as queasy as the drill, which seemed medieval. It had a manual crank. After seeing it, she couldn’t help but think the nail idea really wasn’t that far-fetched. She took in a deep breath. Now was not the time for her mind to wander.
Dr. Dressner marked the incision area on Ariel’s shaved head with the marker, carefully explaining each step to Nurse Amber, who anxiously watched, taking notes on her clipboard. She reminded Missy, “Syringe, scalpel, drill, scalpel, hose, suture. Don’t forget, and be ready.”
Missy nodded, and when Sherrie passed her the marker, she quickly handed her the syringe. Dr. Dressner injected the incision area on Ariel’s shaved head with lidocaine and dropped the syringe on the bed, her hand now extended to Missy. “Scalpel,” she requested. Missy quickly handed the doctor the scalpel, staring at the ballooned skin that held the numbing medicine, and grabbed the desk again to keep from falling, forgetting again about staying sterile and wondering if Dr. Dressner had seen.
Sherrie made a small incision with the blade and then widened it with the plastic end, exposing the cranium. Blood began to ooze out of the incision. “So far so good,” she declared to the team. “Drill. And Missy, I saw you touch the desk again. Be more responsible.”
Missy clumsily passed Dr. Dressner the drill, almost dropping it.
“Breathe,” Sherrie directed as she placed the bit inside the incision, slowly cranking the drill until the bit broke through Ariel’s skull. More blood began to flow. She looked up at Missy, whose face had gone white again. “You’re okay. You’re tougher than you think. Scalpel.” Missy stood still, her face expressionless, eyes wide again but dead inside.
“Missy!” Chris yelled. “Wake up!”
Missy shook her head and handed Dr. Dressner the scalpel.
“Stay with me, girl,” the doctor commanded. She made a final incision into the brain covering and then another small incision nearby, still in the shaved area. Missy was ready with the hose this time. Dr. Dressner placed the hose inside and threaded it through the second small incision. She then twisted the cap open at the end of the hose, and fluid began to leak out.
“Amazing!” Chris exclaimed. He placed a lap sponge under the end of the tube to catch the fluid. Missy was ready again with the suture.
Dr. Dressner closed the incision and stepped back, admiring her work. “Good job, guys. Very good job. Now let’s get her back onto her cot. Chris, please get some boiling water so we can sterilize our tools after you wash up. There’s no telling when we’ll need to perform the next one.”
Missy removed her mask and stared at the doctor’s bloodied gloves. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to seize up there. I’ve just never seen so much blood before.” The shame was settling in, and Missy wanted to run off and hide before the waterworks began. She’d been an idiot when she was needed the most. She didn’t want to be there in the first place. She thought Sherrie should have chosen Mary; she was the strong one, the one who wanted to make a difference. Missy just wanted to get through the day.
Sherrie pulled her gloves off, turning them inside out in a tight ball so that the blood was concealed inside, and tossed them into the trash bin. “You did great. Although you lost it for a second, you didn’t pass out. I’m proud of you.”
“Why did you choose me?” Missy asked. “Why didn’t you have Mary or even Ms. B help you? I don’t know anything about this.” Hours of pent-up confusion caused tears to spill down her face, the very thing she didn’t want anyone to see.
Sherrie removed her mask and apron. “I chose you…I chose you because you reminded me of someone that
once failed but then succeeded. I chose you because I knew you could handle it if given a chance, and you did.” Sherrie paused for a moment, her eyes soft and inviting. “I chose you so that you would accomplish something, and you would stay. Now, a very nervous mother is waiting outside for an update. Put her mind at ease.”
A crowd had gathered outside of Classroom 3C, their hushed conversations barely audible through the closed door. Missy opened the door, tears still streaming.
“Oh my God, no,” Mrs. James cried. “No, no, not my princess.”
The crowd murmured and stirred.
Missy held the door open with her foot. “Ariel is fine. The procedure went fine. She is resting. We just need some time to get things in order, and then you can see her.”
“Oh, thank God,” Mrs. James cried. “He’s answered my prayers.”
“You mean, thank Dr. Dressner. God had nothing to do with this,” Missy replied. She removed her foot, letting the door slowly close, leaving Mrs. James to try to see Ariel through the open slit.
“That was a dick move,” Chris said, shaking his head in disapproval. “Ready to move her?”
Missy nodded, ashamed. She disliked Mrs. James, but she didn’t deserve that. The anxiety of being at the school, Don being away, and Skiddy alone at home was stirring something inside of her she could no longer control. She wanted to yank open the door and yell “fuck you” to Mrs. James. She wanted to hide and cry in privacy. She wanted to be home with Skiddy.
“Hammock like before,” Chris instructed.
Missy grabbed the sheet, but all she could think about was Skiddy all alone in a dark house. It was midnight. He had probably already urinated all over the floor by now.
Whatever’s done is done, she thought. The water and food dispensers were full. He would be fine, although her floors wouldn’t. The day had been long, and she was too tired to walk home. She decided to rest and give the school until tomorrow to stabilize, then she would run out to get him and return. It would be so quick, no one would realize she had left. In and out, just like that, forty minutes tops.
– 11 –
Surrender Part I
Day 3
The group of new friends sat in a circle around the old dusty radio on the alphabet carpet in Missy’s kindergarten classroom. “Hurry up,” Mary whispered to Chris, agitated. “Ms. B’s going to notice we’re gone and pitch a fit.”
Chris shined his cellphone’s flashlight over the radio’s dial. “I’m trying. I’m trying,” he muttered, annoyed that they needed to sneak off so early in the morning to hear what was going on outside of the school. Although it was only the second day of Greenwood opening as a relief center, the school was beginning to feel like a jail, and the principal his jailor. She held the keys to the media room, and as her prisoner, he had no right to outside knowledge. All he knew was the information she delivered, and those deliveries came seldomly and were meaningless.
He had tried to leave after Ariel’s surgery, just to listen to the radio in his truck, but the officers denied his exit. The crowd outside had grown even larger and gotten more courageous. Fighting with officers. Throwing rocks and trash toward the school. They were possessed. Like the hospital assailant. They wouldn’t hold back for Insidia or Sim-Six. They would kill for it.
Chris slowly clicked the radio dial forward, trying to locate a channel while Missy moved the antenna slightly to try to narrow in on a signal. There was a faint voice through the static, and then it was gone.
“Go back,” Sherrie demanded.
Chris obeyed, very softly moving the dial until he landed on the voice again. Missy kept her hand on the antenna, no doubt afraid to remove it, lest they lose the signal. The voice was choppy through the loud hiss of static, barely audible, but there. A soft, hidden correspondence from the outside world.
“…city is on lockdown. No one is allowed in or out of the city, and a curfew is now in place for nine p.m. The sickness is contagious to children around five to twelve years of age. We repeat, the sickness—which is now being called L8 by the CDC and WHO, for Locations 8, referring to the number of cities around the world it originated in—is contagious.”
There was a loud hiss of static, and the voice was gone. “No, no, no,” Mary exclaimed. “Fix it! Fix it!”
Missy slowly twisted the antenna not even half an inch forward, and the voice returned. The group of friends all breathed a sigh of relief.
“…in the USA, the city of origin was Houston, Texas, and it has spread to San Antonio, Austin, and Dallas. All of Texas is under quarantine. Anyone who tries to leave will be arrested and held, pending examination. Other originators for L8 are Belo Horizonte, Canberra, Bayingol, Bloemfontein, Takasaki, Calgary, and Omdurman. The reported number of deaths is now at 1,400 worldwide. Reports from the Centers for Disease Control indicate that L8 is caused by a bacterium, the source of which has yet to be pinpointed. They are steadily working on a cure, as it has proven resistant to current antibiotics. They are also coordinating with hospitals and distribution centers in the United States to get relief packages to Texas. Stay tuned for the list of distribution…”
“Where are all those places?” Missy asked.
“Hold on,” Mary said, running out of the room. She returned a few moments later with an encyclopedia and sat back down on the carpet. “Brazil, Australia, China, South Africa, Japan, Canada, and Sudan,” she said after asking the group to repeat the locations several times.
Chris leaned back, supporting his weight with his hands, and stretched his legs. He looked around the group and frowned. “Well, shit,” he said. “It can only go downhill from here.”
*
Sherrie leaned forward and gently turned down the volume on the radio, careful not to shake it out of fear of losing the signal. As she looked around the group, she was met by concerned faces. Even in the darkness, she could see their contorted expressions, as the dim safari nightlights carefully planted about the room barely lit up their features. She could feel the terror emanating from their bodies, so powerful that she could almost see it illuminating their silhouettes.
She was frightened too, but she knew the importance of instilling order and calm. She knew their focus needed to be on the children’s well-being, all personal feelings set aside, even if they were trying to claw their way out of her. Sherrie could feel the long nails ripping at her sides, tearing through the little fat cells she had left underneath her skin, trying to break free. It was the pain, and it had returned in full form, agonizing and unbearable. She tried not to think about it. The group was looking at her for direction. She needed to lead.
Sherrie readjusted her legs to relieve the pain from her side and addressed the group. “We do not have enough masks for everyone. If I…if I hand them out to just us, there will be questions, followed by panic.” Sherrie paused for a moment, wondering if that was the best solution. She needed to keep everyone safe, but she was also skeptical about the news report. She’d never received any antibiotics to try on her patients. The report almost seemed fake to her, but she did not have enough information to dispute it either. Why hadn’t the broadcast mentioned how L8 was spread? Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe they didn’t want to say until they had more information.
Hesitantly, she continued. “There’s a high chance we could be infected already, and even if we show no symptoms, we could be carriers. On the bright side, we will not be affected like the children, so at least we have that in our favor. However, we should err on the side of caution. Make sure you wash your hands and stay away from any bodily fluids.”
The group sat in silence, unsure of how to comprehend what Sherrie had just told them. A bright light shined through the drawn animal-print curtains, breaking the darkness.
“It’s just the surveillance,” Sherrie whispered. “Don’t be alarmed. We are still at this school, and we still have responsibilities. Sandra’s condition is worsening. She might need to go into surgery soon. Chris, prep our OR just in case. Missy, check on Ariel
and the kids in 3A and report back on their conditions. If any of the kids are getting worse, move them back to the gym. I’ll grab Nurse Amber and fill her in.”
“I’ll check on the other teachers and see how the rest of the children are doing in the gym,” Mary said. “I’ll also see what Tracy can do about food because—”
There was a crackling in the walkie-talkie. Sherrie quickly unsnapped it from its holster and turned the volume up, the group staring in anticipation at the device.
“Base to Lynx. Base to Lynx. Do you copy?”
Sherrie gripped the walkie-talkie and pressed the transmit button on the side, her heart racing with excitement. “Lynx here. 0176.”
The voice on the walkie-talkie continued, “Code verified. Are you in duress?”
Sherrie pressed the transmit button again. “No, we are fine but in desperate need of supplies, Insidia and Sim-Six specifically. Along with medical supplies. Lap sponges. Gloves. Items to perform a ventriculostomy.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the walkie-talkie. “Your drop will take place at 1700 hours today. Have the charts and samples ready. Include data from the medical procedure on the next pickup.”
Everyone but Mary cheered out loud, forgetting they were meeting in secret. Mary jumped to her feet, then tightly crossed her arms, pacing back and forth on the alphabet carpet. “Ask them what’s in the drop,” she demanded, her voice rushed and face flushed. “And…and…and ask them how L8 spreads. Ask them when the quarantine will be lifted! We need to know! We cannot continue to sit here not knowing!”
Dr. Dressner shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way, dear. They won’t answer. Trust me, I’ve already tried. When I was given this walkie, I was specifically told it was only for receiving updates.”
“They have to tell us!” Mary yelled while snatching the walkie-talkie from Sherrie’s hands. She clumsily clicked the sides of the device until she finally found the transmit button.