by Penn Gates
Lisa relaxes a little. A farmer - living off the land and minding his own business. We’ll be gone in a few minutes, and he’ll never even know we were here.
“What the hell,” Cash says to Holden. “Let’s go introduce ourselves. The guy might have some useful intel.”
“Makes sense,” Holden agrees. “Let’s do it.”
“I’m not staying here alone,” Lisa interrupts.
“You won’t be alone. Michael will be here,” Holden says patiently.
Cash interrupts. “Two guys alone look like a threat. With a woman along - it comes off more like a friendly visit.”
IT’S CLEAR FROM THE look on the hog butcher’s face they have nothing to fear from him. He turns pale, and the freckles scattered across his features stand out like grains of sand more than one bully in the past has kicked in his face.
“Hold on now, friends,” he says in a tremulous voice. “I don’t want no trouble.”
“Neither do we,” Holden responds. “And by the way - none of us is holding a bloody knife.”
“We’re just stoppin’ by to say howdy,” Cash drawls.
The man’s eyes narrow speculatively. “You ain’t from Georgia,” he says directly to Cash, as if he’s accusing him of masquerading as a southerner.
“Nope,” Cash agrees, laughing. “I’m from West-By-God-Virginia.”
“Then you’re not a southerner - or a northerner.” The man states it as a fact.
“I been gone so long fightin’ a war that ain’t ever finished, I can’t hardly remember livin’ there,” Cash agrees. “But see here - we’re jest passin’ through on our way to Atlanta.”
Lisa watches the man relax - just a little bit - although his voice is still tense. “We’re set awful far back from the road - how was it ya’ll come to know we was here?”
“Truth be told,” Cash tells the farmer, “We heard squealin’ from over the other side of the woods where we camped last night. Can’t blame us for kinda wonderin’ what the hell was goin’ on.”
“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man mumbles as he goes back to his task. “I don’t worry so much about disturbin’ the neighbors any more.”
“That’s a sad fact of the times we live in,” Cash says, shaking his head in agreement.
He’s doing it again, Lisa thinks. The southern thing, with phrasing that sounds almost archaic. Only this time it’s not to create the illusion of a dumb hillbilly. He’s using it to bond with the guy.
Hatfield changes the subject. “I got me a sow, but the damn thing ain’t no good to me without a boar - and in the meantime, she’s eatin’ us outa house and home.”
“They’ll eat anything, ya know - even garbage,” the man mutters, still hacking away at the carcass.
Cash laughs. “Hell, I got so many folks livin’ with me, I don’t have no garbage!”
“I’m Cash Hatfield, by the way,” he adds. “It would be a pleasure to shake hands, but I can see you got ‘em full at the moment.” He gestures toward his companions. “That there is Corporal Ed Holden and Dr. Lisa Terrell.”
The man is suddenly galvanized. “I’m Emmett Sanderson,” he says, hurriedly wiping his hands on his overalls. He addresses himself to Lisa directly. “Beggin’ your pardon, doctor, but I got me a sick kid.” He pauses. “Might you be persuaded to take a look, ma’am?”
“I’d be happy to,” Lisa answers. “Tell me what’s wrong with—”
“Her name is Emmy,” Sanderson whispers. “She’s got a fierce fever - throat’s all closed up.” It’s a moment before he can speak again. “I’m thinkin’ it’s maybe quincy.”
Lisa knows this is a colloquial name for peritonsillar abscess formation - an inflammation of the tonsils. Like so many other conditions that were relatively minor before Geezer, it can inhibit the ability to swallow and quickly turn into a life-threatening condition left untreated. Especially in young children.
“How old is she?” she asks.
“She’s only three,” Sanderson groans.
Lisa realizes she must treat this child as soon as possible. “I’ll need my medical bag before I can examine her properly.”
“Go take a look,” Ed says. “I’ll grab it.”
Lisa nods. “And my backpack - I brought antibiotics and saline solution in case of an emergency.”
He nods and takes off running.
Lisa turns back to the father. “Let’s go see your daughter, Mr. Sanderson.”
“Call me Sandy, please. Mr. Sanderson was my daddy,” he adds.
The weak joke sounds bizarrely inappropriate, but Lisa guesses it’s one he habitually uses when meeting strangers. The poor man is so distraught he’s all but babbling.
Aloud she says, “Lead the way, Sandy. The sooner I treat her, the sooner she’ll feel better.”
The farmhouse has seen better days, and Lisa hopes the roof is more solid than the back steps. Sanderson opens the door and holds it to allow Lisa to enter first.
She stands awkwardly in a kitchen that looks like it hasn’t been straightened in awhile. There are dishes everywhere - in the sink, on the table. A dirty towel is draped over the back of a chair. The whole room smells vaguely of what was cooked last - cabbage and onions, at a guess.
“This way, ma’am,” Sandy urges.
Lisa follows him across the kitchen, her steps making a tacky sound on the sticky linoleum. She almost trips over a child’s plastic cup which lays in a dried puddle of fruit juice. For all its garish images of cartoon characters, it looks curiously lifeless. Why did I have to think that, she chides herself. It’s like another bad omen. She hurries to catch up with Sanderson as he climbs a narrow, enclosed staircase.
In a small bedroom, its ceiling sloping on one side to follow the roofline, Lisa finds a woman sitting on the edge of a single bed. She looks beyond exhausted and shows no curiosity at the sudden appearance of a stranger. She bathes Emmy’s face with a cool cloth, removing it, wringing it out again in a bowl of water, and placing it back on the toddler’s forehead with mechanical movements. Lisa wonders how long she’s been repeating those same motions. Probably long after it was obvious the battle against the fever is lost.
“Mrs. Sanderson?” Lisa says gently. “I’m a doctor - I’m here to help Emmy.”
The woman looks back dully. She seems beyond feeling much of anything. Lisa wonders when she’s last gotten any sleep.
“Loretta—” Sandy puts his hand on his wife’s shoulder, and it seems to Lisa that he’s trying to will some of his own strength into her. “Let the doc take a look now.”
Lisa doesn’t waste any more attention on the parents. The little girl has the bright, rosy cheeks of an idealized Victorian lithograph - but Lisa knows it’s a cruel illusion. What’s keeping Ed? she wonders as she touches the girl. She’s hot - probably well over 102 degrees.
“My medical stuff will be here any minute.” Lisa gives what she hopes is an encouraging smile. “I’m just going to feel the swelling in her throat - see what we’re dealing with.”
Emmy’s mother shakes her head vehemently. “No - it hurts her too much,” she whispers.
Lisa ignores her protest and deftly probes the tender flesh beneath Emmy’s jawbone. The girl moans and tries to pull away.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Lisa croons. “In a minute I’ll give you some medicine to make the pain better - and then I’m going to fix your throat as good as new.”
Holden takes the stairs two at a time, but stops on the landing. There’s no telling what’s going on in there right now, and he doesn’t want to spook Lisa if she’s doing something that needs total concentration. Instead, he stands in the doorway and fills his eyes with the sight of her. In another day or two, she’ll be gone for good and all he’ll have left of her is a memory.
Lisa glances up to see Ed staring at her with an unreadable expression. His presence reassures her and gives her strength in a way she can’t define. He sets her bag on the edge of the bed and deposits a box on the floor before he be
gins to set up an IV.
Lisa quickly prepares a hypodermic. “Will you hold her arm still, Loretta? She’ll go to sleep right away and by the time she wakes up again, it’ll all be over.”
The child’s eyes flutter and close. Lisa installs the port in the tiny hand while Ed hooks the IV bag to its stand. “She’s dehydrated because she can’t swallow any liquids,” Lisa explains to the mother, who looks anguished as she watches another needle stuck into her child’s tender flesh.
Lisa mentally squares her shoulders before she turns to the haggard woman. “There’s a reason families aren’t allowed in operating rooms during surgical procedures,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “Just a moment’s distraction - a sudden movement, a sharp intake of breath - can break the doctor’s concentration.” She reaches out and squeezes Loretta’s hand. “I need to lance that abscess on her tonsil, but now she won’t feel a bit of pain.”
Loretta opens her mouth to protest and then closes it again. She nods. “I’m obliged to you, doctor. I’m gonna go say a prayer for God to guide your hands.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Lisa tells her. “We all need every bit of help we can get. And Loretta - you’ll be back at her side before she wakes up.”
HOLDEN IS SURPRISED when he opens the door of the cramped, stuffy bedroom to find the hall empty. He’d fully expected Loretta Sanderson to be standing there with her ear pressed against the door. Behind him is a soft little moan, and he turns to see Lisa on her knees by the side of the bed, stroking the little girl’s cheek and whispering something.
“Do you want me to get her mother?” he asks.
Lisa looks up at him. “Yes, please. The anesthetic is wearing off, and she’ll want her mommy first thing when she opens her eyes.”
He’s on the landing when he hears her add, “Grab yourself some fresh air. I’ll be down as soon as I talk to Loretta.”
He finds the woman wiping down the kitchen counters. A pile of clean dishes is in a drainer next to the sink. There’s also the sound of vigorous scrubbing from somewhere behind the kitchen table.
Holden clears his throat to let her know he’s there. “Mrs. Sanderson—”
She freezes in mid-swipe, her posture suggesting she’s steeled herself for bad news.
“Emmy is waking up - you can go on up now.”
The woman sags against the counter, sobbing.
“Hey - your baby’s all right.” Holden awkwardly pats her shoulder. “Go see for yourself.”
“Thank you,” Loretta says in a strangled voice. “Thank you.”
Holden is ready to return to the company of men - who don’t usually break down and cry when they’re happy. He steps outside to find Hatfield sitting on the porch steps with Sanderson. “Hey man,” he tells the father. “You can go on up now.”
As the screen door slams behind Sanderson, Hatfields says, “Pull up a porch step and have a drink.” He holds out a chipped coffee cup.
“Jesus, Hatfield, I been in surgery all afternoon and you’re out here drinkin’ moonshine,” Holden laughs, accepting the cup.
“It’s applejack,” Cash replies. “You look like you could use something stronger, but this will have to do.” He watches Holden drain the cup and then light a cigarette. “How’s the little girl?”
“Lisa worked her magic. The kid’s gonna be okay.”
They sit in companionable silence for a bit before Hatfield says, “I just been tellin’ Sandy about how we need to sneak into Atlanta - he don’t think it’s possible.”
WHEN LISA FINALLY GETS downstairs, she drops into a chair and buries her face in her hands.
The kitchen seems absolutely silent until Lisa becomes aware of the ticking of a clock on the wall, and then a kind of rhythmic scratching. The scratching stops suddenly. She lifts her head and is startled by eyes black as coal staring at her over the edge of the table.
A teenage boy with a shock of straight, jet black hair rises from the floor. He’s gripping a scrub brush in a soapy hand. “Sorry to spook ya, ma’am,” he mumbles and drops the brush in an unseen bucket with a splash.
“Not a problem,” Lisa mumbles. “I just thought I was alone.”
“You’re the doctor, right?” he asks.
“I am,” she agrees. “Who are you?”
In the awkward silence that greets her question, Lisa studies the kid. Does his lack of response betray a dislike for outsiders - for Yankees - or is he just shy? He has what the guys call ‘a poker face’ - and if he’s blushing, his copper-colored skin hides it well. Lucky him, Lisa thinks, always sensitive about her own epidermal inability to keep her feelings hidden.
“I’m Joseph,” he mutters finally. “No kin to the Sandersons - they took me in when—”
Lisa can see it’s painful for him to talk about why he’s ended up with Sandy and Loretta, and she saves him the trouble. “Lots of us have come together in new kinds of families since Geezer - don’t you think?”
“I s’pose so.” Joseph’s emotionless voice gives no more away than his poker face.
It’s late afternoon by the time Lisa and Ed head back to camp. Shadows of tree trunks scrawl inky blue lines on the red dirt as the setting sun paints the woods with fire.
Lisa puts a hand to her eyes. “All those lines are making me a little dizzy,” she mumbles.
Holden has been worried about her since the night Cindi Lou almost killed her. He’d seen evidence of at least two hard blows to the head, and when he’d checked her pupils, they hadn’t reacted to the light. There’s no doubt she’d suffered a bad concussion, and a month later he’s pretty sure it’s not the shadows causing her dizziness.
He curses under his breath. What happens if these spells interfere with her work? Will the CDC take care of one of their own - or will they kick her to the curb as soon as they get their hands on the data she’s brought them?
Holden sets the box of supplies on a pile of dry leaves. “Take a minute,” he says quietly. “That had to be tough.”
“It was basic stuff,” she answers. “They make special surgical instruments for children, though.” She draws a shaky breath. “She was so tiny I could barely—”
“But you did it,” he interrupts, putting his arms around her. “Emmy will grow up and have kids of her own - maybe even one named after you.”
CHAPTER 36: Link By Link
“Tribes,” Sanderson says. “That’s what I really come here to talk about.”
He’d arrived a half hour ago bearing gifts - a small slab of bacon slung across his shoulder, a splint basket of eggs looped over his other arm.
“You best tell us what you mean, Sandy - ‘cause that makes no sense to me,” Hatfield tells him.
Sanderson looks sheepish. “I guess it don’t. Sorry about that.” He holds out his cup as Lisa pours coffee for everyone. “Thank you kindly, doctor. Haven’t had no coffee for a month.”
He takes a sip, with a slurping noise. “I know you folks are headin’ toward Atlanta, and my conscience is clear I warned ya’ll about how bad it is.” He clears his throat. “Thing is, my foster son - Joseph - he thinks maybe he can help the doctor.”
Lisa feels a surge of excitement, but Ed cuts him off before she can learn how. “Pretty sure we can find a city that big on our own.”
“Well now, it ain’t where he can take ya’ll - but who he can introduce ya’ll to,” Sanderson says mildly.
Lisa can see Ed’s impatience. He’s never liked leisurely approaches to problems. His strategy is to meet them head on, but if it’s one thing she’s learned in years of lab work, it’s patience.
“Exactly what did you mean by tribes?” Lisa asks.
The man looks embarrassed. “It sounds silly when you say it back to me,” he admits. “That’s just what Joseph calls ‘em - on account of he’s got some Cherokee blood in him.”
Cash steers the conversation back to the main point. “So Joseph knows people who can help us,” he says to Sanderson. “How?”
“After Geezer
hit, some of the fellas he knew in school decided they weren’t about to get penned up in refugee centers. They crashed in empty houses, ate what they found in the cupboards, then moved on to the next place.” Sandy stops and scratches his head. “As Joseph tells it, they found a place that suited ‘em and put down roots. And that meant they had to go lookin’ for food and whatnot. They got so good at findin’ useful stuff, they just naturally became traders of a sort.”
“Not a lot of customers for stuff these days,” Holden says, breaking his silence. “We haven’t seen many people along the way.”
“Most folks aren’t all that neighborly any more,” Sandy agrees. “But they’re out there. They’re just real choosey ‘bout who they talk to.”
“Look,” he says, “Joseph told me the tribe sometimes does deals with a bunch outta Atlanta, livin’ up in the hill country. He says they can still git inside when they want to.”
For the first time, Holden looks interested. “So they could tell us the safest route to the CDC?”
“Maybe,” Sandy says slowly. “Leastways, that’s what Joseph thinks.”
“That’s a lot of hoops to jump through,” Holden comments. “Somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody.”
“Sandy - is Joseph trustworthy?” Cash asks, holding up a hand at Sanderson’s outraged expression. “I’m not talkin’ about outright lyin’,” he says quickly. “It’s just that some young fellas like to exaggerate a bit.”
“Joseph ain’t a talker - or a boaster,” Sanderson says simply. “If he says somethin’ - well, I know I can take it as gospel.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Cash says.
LISA IS GETTING ANTSY. They’ve been waiting around for the better part of two days. How can it take longer to find a safe route into Atlanta than to drive from Ohio? This reminds her of the day they’d arrived in Hamlin and George left to tell Nix St Clair he’d brought home visitors. Finally, just when it looks like this time won’t have a happy ending, Joseph returns.