Suddenly there was a painful pull at the back of her head and she tried to sit up. But the man had a grip on her hair. She let the ambu bag go and it tumbled down between them as she reached back to pull his hand away. He snarled and roared, sitting straight up and pulling her almost underneath him by her hair. The restraints stopped his other hand and a fit of coughing overwhelmed him. Saliva and snot dripped onto Ruth’s facemask as he hovered over her and she shut her eyes as she struggled to slide away from him. Ruth rolled free, a clump of hair ripping from her head and staying in his hand. She backed up against the door and pulled her kit over toward her with one foot while the man recovered his breath. She inched her way out of the door and closed it. Ripping the mask from her face, she doused the rags Juliana had left for her with the alcohol next to it. It smelled almost like turpentine and it burned against Ruth’s skin, but she didn’t care. She swiped her face and hands and then slid down to sit in front of the door.
Behind her, she could still hear the man roaring and hacking, like some great blockage had been suddenly released. She could see now, why Juliana had thought he was infected with the Plague. Ruth wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t. But she’d never seen an Infected talk before, never had one ask for help. If that man could do it, why couldn’t Charlie?
She picked herself up and went over to the window. The sky was bleaching to a dull gray over the city. It would be morning soon, Juliana would be back soon. Ruth couldn’t risk exposing her, but she had to get a message to Bill and she had to find out who the man in the room was. Her head throbbed where the hair had been ripped out and her heart was still racing. She didn’t want to return to the cramped cell, but she knew he’d need her help to breathe before long. The man’s cries had subsided into a dull pattern of moans and rattling coughs. She listened at the door until the moans died off into a wheezing gurgle. Then she carefully slid into the room. The man was lying on his back, unconscious, his breath carving a pothole in his chest while he struggled, even in his sleep. The ambu bag was hurled against a far wall but was unbroken. Ruth carefully stepped over him to retrieve it. The towel she had tried to use was a tattered ribbon near his mouth. It gleamed like a dirty bone. She kicked it away and knelt by the man, careful not to let her guard down this time. She pulled a clean mask onto her own face and then pressed the plastic mouthpiece of the ambubag against his. He didn’t wake up, and she felt sweat slide down her neck as she began pumping the bulb again.
Ruth watched the gray light well up in the cell’s tiny barred window. Her mind played a litany every time she pumped. One breath for him, one less breath for Charlie. She knew she was close to panic. Bill wouldn’t do it without her. He couldn’t. Especially when Juliana delivered her message. Maybe he’d come see the man, and realize she just needed some time to figure out what made him different. He’d see there could be a cure for Charlie. But as the morning took on a sparkling radiance as the sun splashed onto the snow, Ruth only felt more dread.
At last, Juliana knocked softly at the door. Ruth leaned into it and called through. “I’m passing through the directions and a list of what I need. You have to tell Bill to wait, no matter what. Just wait for me. Understand?”
“I’ll tell him, I promise,” came the muffled reply.
“And tell him this man talked to me last night.”
There was a long silence. “What?”
“This man, he talked to me, I need you to tell Bill— for our son.”
“Ruth that’s impossible. The Infected don’t speak. At least, not in words. I think you are too tired. Maybe we should switch so you can rest.” The doorknob began to turn.
“No! No Juliana, you can’t come in here. I wasn’t hallucinating. Please, just tell Bill. Make him promise to wait.” Ruth slid the wrinkled bit of paper from her prescription pad through the crack. It disappeared as Juliana pulled it the rest of the way.
“Okay,” said Juliana, hesitation making her speak slowly, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. In time for breakfast anyway. Don’t worry if the others get— loud. I’ll be back soon and they are safe in their rooms.”
She knew it would take about an hour to walk there, but it didn’t make the time crawl by any faster. Her arms ached from pumping and the man’s breath didn’t sound much better. What had been just an attempt, a nod toward duty, was now dire need. Only a few hours earlier, she had tried to help him die. Now her son and husband’s life was hinging on his survival. Though her arms felt as if they were on fire, she kept pumping air into his lungs and praying that they wouldn’t collapse. Adrenaline could only sustain her so long, and she felt her body go slack and her breath slow in the warm sunlight poking through the thick window. She struggled to stay awake, splashing herself with the bottle of water and slapping her cheeks for the few seconds between pumps. At last, even the fear that he’d wake and rip her to pieces if she slept wasn’t working any longer.
She wasn’t sure if she’d dozed only for a few seconds or for hours, but she woke to a rap on the door. The man was still asleep and still gurgling and choking. Ruth quickly pumped more air into his mouth.
“Ruth, are you there?” asked Juliana. She sounded different. Wrong somehow. Ruth was too groggy to ask why.
“I’m still here.”
“I’m leaving the supplies outside the door. I have to make the morning meal. I’ll be back in a little while.”
It took Ruth a second to realize she meant the IV supplies. “Did you make Bill promise to wait?” she called, but Juliana had already walked away. Ruth shrugged. Of course she had. Juliana had given her word that she wouldn’t leave until he promised. And he wouldn’t do it without her. She’d told him herself that she’d be back today. Charlie was safe. He had to be. She opened the door and pulled a large shopping bag full of supplies into the room. She frowned. There were IV bags and tubing packets just flung in haphazardly. At least the catheters were in their usual hard case. Bill wasn’t normally this messy. It must have been a very bad day with Charlie. Or his wound was really bothering him. She hurried to get the IV set up, transferring some of her anxious energy into action, though it wouldn’t help her get home any faster.
There was a clunk outside the door a little while later as Juliana set breakfast bowls beside the door. She hurried away again without speaking. Ruth watched her patient. The color was returning to his face as the IV fluids slowly dripped into him. She let the ambu bag go for a few minutes. His breath was crackling with phlegm, but he was sleeping easily now. Ruth decided to clean herself up and eat. She opened the door and wiped herself down with the alcohol and rags again. She ate the oatmeal that had cooled into a thick sludgy lump outside the door. With her stomach full, the sun shining through the broad hallway windows, and her own breath constricted from the face mask she kept on, Ruth dozed off. Not even the shrieks of the Infected as they cried for more food woke her. Juliana shook her awake as the sun was staining the glass in the window to a golden red. Ruth sat up startled.
“Is he okay now?” Juliana asked.
“I think so, let me check on his progress.” Ruth got up and slid into the room. The man stared at her as she entered. The IV bag was almost empty. Ruth switched it out, glancing at her patient, but waiting for him to speak. He didn’t.
“Are you— can you talk?” Ruth asked, without getting closer. The man wrinkled his brow and looked at her intensely, but nothing happened. “I need to check your breathing. Do you understand?” Ruth held up the stethoscope so he could see. She was shocked when he nodded. She slowly knelt near him. He didn’t move as she touched the stethoscope to his chest and then walked behind him to check his back. She could tell the fluid in his lungs was subsiding. His body was fighting off the pneumonia. Was it also fighting off the December Plague? Ruth felt a jolt of excitement. There wasn’t any more to do for him, he’d fight it off himself now. She’d tell Juliana and then go home. Go home and tell Bill.
“I’m— I’m going to get Juliana. She won’t be able to come in, because you a
re still contagious. But I’ll be back later and she’ll bring you food. If you show us that we can trust you, we’ll take off those restraints. I’m sure this is very confusing. I wish I could explain, and I will, but first I think we need to concentrate on getting you well.” The man just stared at her. Ruth offered him an awkward doctor smile and then bolted from the room. Juliana was waiting for her just outside.
“Is he okay?” she asked.
“He’s fighting off the pneumonia. It’ll take some time, but he should recover very well. No only that, but I think his body is also conquering the Plague.” The mask crinkled around her cheeks as she grinned.
“Is that possible? Will they all start to recover now?”
“I don’t know, it’s still too early to tell if the bacteria has run its course or if it’s been defeated by something in his immune system. But it means there’s hope for the rest of them and for Charlie. What do you know about him? Did his family bring him? I’d like to talk to them.”
Juliana shook her head. “Someone found him on the road, too sick to be a threat. He didn’t have a wallet or anything, just rags of black clothes. And a bell was tied to his neck.”
Ruth frowned. “A bell? Like a cow bell?”
“No— a hand bell. Like a teacher used to use a long time ago. The only other place I’ve seen them is in church. It was heavy. I thought that might be why he was having trouble breathing. That’s all that he came here with.”
Ruth shrugged and then disinfected her hands again and rummaged around in her kit. There’d be time to find it out from the man himself. She pulled out a few more face masks. “Look, he’s stable for now. I’ll be back by this evening, but I need to go home and tell Bill. This changes everything—”
“Ruth,” said Juliana, her smile fading.
“Look, it’ll be fine. Just wear the mask and make sure to wash your hands before—”
“Ruth, I have to tell you something.”
“I won’t be gone long. You don’t even have to go in, just slide his bowl to him from the doorway. I’m telling you, he’s almost sane.”
“Ruth!” Juliana raised her voice a little and Ruth stopped and looked at her. “When I went to your house, I looked for your husband everywhere. I called and called, but nobody came to the door.” Ruth felt an oily wave of nausea begin in her gut. Juliana put a hand on Ruth’s shoulder as she continued. “I knew you needed those IV supplies, so I went into your house. I kept calling for your husband, but there was no answer.”
“Did you hear anything? Did you hear Charlie?”
“The house was quiet. I found your lab in the basement and grabbed what I could find from your list. I’m sorry, Ruth.”
“Maybe they are out. Maybe Bill needed something. He’s been really reluctant to leave Charlie in the house alone when we make supply runs. Maybe he found a way to take him.”
Juliana shook her head. “I promised you I’d give him your message before I left. I thought if I couldn’t find him, I’d leave him a written note at the very least. It seemed so important to you. I couldn’t find any paper in your living room or kitchen. I should have gone back down to the lab. I’m sorry Ruth, I don’t know why I didn’t look in the lab instead.”
Ruth’s heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that Juliana’s voice was almost lost in the rush of her own blood. She didn’t want to hear the rest, but Juliana’s hand on her shoulder felt like an anchor keeping her frozen in place. “I went upstairs to find some paper and saw a whole notebook lying in front of the bedroom door. They were in there.”
“They?” asked Ruth.
Juliana nodded and she began to cry. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, and tried to hug Ruth. But medicine had been a way of life for so long, that Ruth stopped her out of habit.
“I could be contagious,” she said, her face a blank. Juliana just wiped her eyes and hugged herself, still crying. Ruth was confused. She thought she should be crying too, but she didn’t really know why. Her mind, usually so busy and rapid, was like a cold, empty room. It had all stopped. “Okay,” she said at last, “I’ll go home and tell Bill. I’ll go see him upstairs.”
Juliana shook her head but didn’t try to stop her. Ruth picked up her kit and walked back down the long gray hallway toward the entrance. She took off her mask and crumpled it into a ball in her hand. The city was a lavender shadow as she walked home. The thaw had finally started and Ruth fell through the dissolving crust into deep snow several times. It was slow going and she was soaked and freezing before she got halfway. Her brain kept trying to jumpstart, like she was being shaken partly awake. Today was the day, she’d think, but then the thought would shut off. The day for what? It was like poking a bruise. She tried not to ask too hard or too often.
She passed a corner market that she didn’t remember scavenging before and decided to go inside. It was an Asian grocery. Ruth wandered around in the dark aisles looking for Charlie’s favorite brand of peanut butter before realizing the shelves were almost completely empty except for a few marinade bottles and a some packets of freeze dried seaweed snacks. Even the tea was scattered and spoiled. She absentmindedly grabbed a box of rice candy that the mice and scavengers hadn’t gotten to, some subconscious part of her knowing that it didn’t matter anyway.
She stopped at the end of her street. The house was dark. Bill must have let the generator run out of gas, she thought. I hope he’s started a fire in the fireplace. Charlie will get cold. Her brain took a sideslip again. I can’t remember if it’s a school night. With all this snow they’ll have to cancel. Maybe Charlie will play cards with me and Bill in front of the fireplace until the power comes back on. She shook herself and looked around, realizing the thought was wrong, but not why it was wrong. She shrugged and trudged up to the house.
She went inside to get the last can of gas and powered up the generator. She frowned as she noticed the footprints on the little shed above it, forgetting they were hers from the day before. I have to tell Charlie not to play on the shed. He could get hurt if it collapsed. The generator roared on; out of habit, she glanced up and down the street, but nothing came. She went into the house and began shucking her wet clothes. The fireplace was dark and the house was as cold as the street had been.
“Bill?” she called. Oh, that’s right, they’re upstairs, she thought and put a hand on the banister. Something inside fought with her though, not wanting her to go up. Not wanting her to see what she already knew. She tried to remember why she’d rushed home. She had something to tell Bill. Maybe seeing him would make her remember. She started up the stairs to the bedrooms. She opened the door to her own first. Bill wasn’t in there. She got dressed in dry clothing and then headed down the hallway to Charlie’s room. She tripped over the notebook Juliana had mentioned and picked it up. Taped to the paper was a thin plastic syringe, it’s cap on tight and a tiny silver bubble floating in the center. Below it were just a few lines in Bill’s handwriting.
Ruth-
It had to be today. I’m sorry. We couldn’t wait any longer. We’ll see you soon.
She placed the notebook carefully on the accent table nearby. The syringe flashed in the yellow electric light. She opened the door to Charlie’s room.
They were slumped on the floor, Charlie lying with his head on Bill’s chest, just the way he had when he was small. The room was terribly silent. Ruth watched Charlie’s stomach for a few long minutes willing it to bubble out with an inhale. She used to stand by his crib and watch the same way. She’d been so scared that he would just— just stop. Every night. She knew it was a compulsion, but she’d checked every night, for years. Always the same few agonizing seconds between breaths and then the relief of his rising chest and she’d blow out her own breath and realize she’d been holding it. But now his belly was still. She knelt down beside them, touched Charlie’s cheek, hoping to feel warm skin. But his face was cold and stiff like canvas. She looked up at Bill. His eyes were closed and his arms were around their son. She had imagined the
y would look peaceful or eased afterward, but Bill just looked blank. Like a mannequin, expressionless, almost unrecognizable. She didn’t have to check his pulse to know he was gone. She sat back on her haunches.
“But I had good news,” she said, “why couldn’t you wait? What was one more night? I could have saved us.” She curled up next to them, the cold from their skin radiating into hers. She wanted to cry. She needed to cry. But she couldn’t. A dull ache spread from her chest to the rest of her body. Shock, and pain and exhaustion overtook her.
Juliana found her asleep next to the corpses of her son and husband the next morning.
Chapter 5
Seven Years Later
It had seemed like such an obvious place to look. People had always gravitated toward water, why was it any different now? But she and Frank had covered hundreds of miles of coastline looking for survivors, new little towns springing up or just small bands of wandering scavengers. Almost a decade after the December Plague hit, Nella had expected hundreds, thousands of people even, to be clustered near the ocean, building new lives. The ocean was full of food; the fish population had thrived, and it was a quick escape if a village were threatened. It’s why her home city sat where it did. But after the first few days, as they reached the edge of their existing trade network, they’d seen almost no one.
Once, they’d seen a few small boats on the horizon that Nella hoped were fishermen. And they’d found a lighthouse keeper who had been alone since the Plague hit, who kept the lamp lit anyway. Its beacon had saved their small sailboat, but Nella had the eerie feeling that he’d kept it going for someone else, for hundreds of ghost ships that would never arrive.
Then she and Frank had wasted almost a week scrambling through the burnt rubble of the capitol city. It was the first place they had planned to go, it had made sense. They had both given up on any kind of government rescue years before, on any kind of government existing, save their own military governor. But others wouldn’t have given up. They would have flocked to the capitol looking for aid, to rebuild, to find other survivors. They had even avoided the port, hiding the boat miles away in case the people didn’t turn out to be friendly.
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