Rectify: A Novella

by Druga, Jacqueline

  “Yes, I ran in to her room, she was crying and said she was scared of Daddy and that’s when I went downstairs. Stan … Stan was blocked by the sofa table and couldn’t figure out how to get around it. He was one of them. I had to get him out of the house. I opened the front door, moved the table and ran out. He chased me and I raced back in here. I locked him out.”

  “How did he get in there?” June pointed back to the garage.

  “It was open. He must have been so sick he never closed it. I don’t know.” Linda’s head turned to the sound of a motor. “You called them?”

  “I had to.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” Linda ran her hand over June’s head.

  “Mom, can you go in with the girls. Keep them in there. Please.”

  Linda nodded, looked out to the jeep, then went back in the house.

  June stood. It was Major Tom and he was alone. She hoped he would be. When she called the R-Team hotline she asked for him and stated that she was a doctor, and confirmed there was one agitated revived in the garage. She asked for discretion.

  “Doctor Mannis,” Tom approached her.

  “Thank you for coming.”

  “I have a team and a removal vehicle on the way.”

  “I don’t think you need a team. Unless you don’t think you can handle it alone,” June said.

  Major Tom raised his eyes to the garage when a loud bang rang out.

  “He’s agitated. Gas probably won’t work,” June said.

  “Is it a raccoon?”

  “Excuse me.”

  “Sorry.” Major Tom held up his hand. “That’s what we call stray Codies that make it into someone’s house.”

  “No. It’s not. It’s my husband.”

  All expression drained from his face. “Aw, Stan.”

  “What happened?” June asked. “Do you know?”

  Tom shook his head. “No, I don’t. I just …” He paused. “Yes, wait, I do. The raid yesterday evening. He had a close call, he said he was fine.”

  “He wasn’t.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know. So am I.”

  “Is there another door?” Tom asked.

  “No.”

  He looked up to the window above the garage door. “Another window?”

  “One on the side and in the back.”

  “Okay, maybe I can use the window to …” he looked behind him when a truck arrived. “I’ll be right back.”

  It was the rest of his team. June watched as he walked to the truck, spoke to them and returned with two others.

  “Doctor Mannis, can you move back please?” Tom asked.

  June stepped back to the walkway.

  “Just know I am very sorry.” Tom signaled his two men. Both of them took positions on opposite ends of the garage. They both bent down, gripping the edge of the door.

  Major Tom moved away from the garage about ten feet. He drew his pistol and held it firm between both hands as he aimed forward, ready. After a few seconds he nodded.

  At the same time, the two men quickly raised the garage door.

  Stan ran out. He made it only a few feet.

  “Rectify,” Major Tom said, and then fired.

  June brought both hands to her mouth to stifle her scream. When she saw Stan on the ground, she raced toward him, but was stopped.

  “You can’t,” Tom said. “I advise you to go into the house.”

  “I’ll wait here.”

  The Major inched her back and June watched as the team quickly moved in. A man in a mask, crouched over Stan’s body examining him, then just as fast as they moved in, they placed Stan in a body bag, then carried him to the truck.

  Five minutes tops and Major Tom was the only one who remained.

  “We can have a cleanup crew here tomorrow,” Major Tom said. “Keep everyone away from the garage. You also need to check the house. But I don’t need to tell you about how the virus spreads.”

  “No, you don’t. I’ll check the house.”

  “Our man examined Stan for marks and he found a small scratch on his forearm. That was where it came from.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll leave you be to your family.” He began to walk away.

  “Major, can I ask you something?”

  He stopped walking. “Certainly.”

  “I saw you do it at the ward and just now. You say the word, ‘rectify’, just before you shoot your gun. Why?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Please,” June said.

  “I ask for forgiveness and say a short prayer. The rectify is my ‘amen’. It’s sounds silly, I know—”

  “No. No it doesn’t. Thank you for telling me.”

  Major Tom nodded and then he walked back to his jeep.

  June watched him drive off, then went into her home to explain to her children why they wouldn’t be seeing the father again.

  <><><><>

  Henny was stoic watching her mother as she explained what had happened to her father. June knew even though Henny seemed indifferent, she had to be feeling turmoil.

  Of her three daughters, Henny was probably the one who would understand, yet, she kept shaking her head, conveying she didn’t get it.

  June never saw beyond the rectifying. In fact, she didn’t even know what they did with the bodies. It never dawned on her. Now there would never truly be closure, the mourning process would be different. Acceptance would take longer.

  “When? How did this happen?” Henny asked.

  “We don’t know. I’m sorry, honey, I am,” June signed. “I just wish—”

  “June!” For the second time that day, June’s mother cried out her name in a panic from upstairs.

  June turned to the sound of the call.

  Henny reached out, tapping her mother then signed, “What’s going on?”

  “Grandma is screaming for me.” June then raced up the stairs.

  Her mother stood in the hallway in front of the open bedroom door of Aggie and Melinda. “June, I checked, I swear I did. After I ran and had Stan follow me, I came back in and looked at the girls …”

  June’s heart thumped into her stomach and she raced passed her mother into the girls’ room.

  Aggie sat up in bed, “Mommy?”

  Slightly confused, June’s eyes shifted from Aggie to Melinda. What was wrong? Then she saw the small spot of blood on the sheet, June raced over, dropping to the floor by the bed.

  Her little hand extended from the sheets and June saw the two inch scratch just above the wrist.

  “She’s warm,” her mother said.

  June felt her. She was. “Melinda.”

  Melinda groaned out a, “Mommy, I’m sick.”

  “I know, baby, I know.” June looked over her shoulder. “How long?”

  “What?” Her mother asked.

  “How long ago did this happen?”

  “I don’t know. I just …”

  “How long!” June blasted. “I need to know.”

  “An hour before you got home.”

  June muttered as she thought out loud. “One hour before I got here. That makes two hours …” She looked at her watch. “Two hours and seven minutes. Fourteen minutes to get to the hospital.” She stood and whipped the sheet from Melinda. “There’s time. Still time.” She slipped her hands under Melinda and lifted her into her arms. “I gotta go.” She hurried out of the room.

  “June …” her mother followed. “Where are you going?”

  “To the hospital.”

  “Call the service for an ambulance.”

  “They don’t rush for these cases.” June raced down the stairs. “I have to hurry. I can stop this. I can stop the infection.” Without saying anymore, June ran from the house. Her keys and purse were still in the car. She placed Melinda in the front seat, strapped her in, raced around, got in the car, pulled from the driveway and as fast as she could, she took off.

  16 – MINUTES COUNT

  Doctor Ung was more than ready to go home
. He had it all timed, he saw and treated his last patient sending them to the ward just as the morning staff strolled in.

  It was crazy without June or Patrick, both of whom went home two hours before their shift ended.

  He was tired, he grabbed his things and was just about to head off the trauma area when he heard the commotion and voices shouting, a bang of a door.

  “You can’t go back there!” someone shouted. “What are you doing?”

  Belongings still in hand, Doctor Ung rushed into the hall and was surprised when he saw June carrying a child. “June?”

  “I need a procedure room, stat.”

  “What happened?”

  “She was scratched. I need to do a wide excision.”

  “Seventeen is open. Cart’s in the hall. I’ll get what is needed, you prep her. I’ll be right there.”

  “Thank you.” June raced down the hall way, and Doctor Ung ran to the nurse’s station to set down his items.

  “Doctor Ung,” another physician approached him. “What’s going on with Doctor Mannis?”

  “Her daughter was scratched. We’re gonna remove the area.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “No, we got this. Thanks.” He turned to a nurse on duty. “I need the standard IV treatment for a CO-D4 excision.”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  Both Doctor Ung and June had done the procedure many times. Most of the time it was successful, so he was confident.

  He moved hurriedly, stopping at the med cart in the hall. He grabbed the premade kit, which included sedation, anti-anxiety drugs, along with other items that were needed for the emergency operation. They had become so commonplace that the kits were made up on a daily basis.

  “Okay, let’s get this done,” Ung announced when he walked in the room.

  “Sedation given,” June replied.

  He placed down the kit when he saw an already open one on the counter. June had wasted no time. “Where’s the scratch?” Ung placed on his gloves, and moved to the table to examine Melinda.

  “The wrist. We have to move,” June said. “We have to. It’s at the later stage of the time frame.”

  He moved around the table and took hold of the wrist.

  “I administered the local,” June said. “She should be numb.”

  “Good. Now we …” Ung paused.

  “Do you need the scalpel?”

  “June, It’s too late.”

  “No. No it’s not. We can …”

  “Look at the veins, June.”

  “No, you’re wrong. We can try—”

  “Look at the veins.” Ung pointed to the dark spidering veins that led from the scratch. “It’s in her blood. I’m sorry.” He inched to Melinda’s head and lifted her eyelids. Her eyes were purely bloodshot.

  “How?” June asked. “How is this possible? It’s been a few hours, tops.”

  “That you know of. Maybe it was longer. Maybe she hid it. How did she get scratched anyhow?”

  “Stan. He got it and revived before any of us knew.”

  “I’m sorry about that, too. I am. Listen, let’s not put her in the ward. Let’s find her a room …” He stopped talking when he saw June grabbing items and placing them in a plastic hospital belongings bag. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking what I need.”

  “June.”

  June pulled the string on the bag, tossed it over her shoulder, and then lifted Melinda.

  “June please don’t do this.”

  “It’s my child. I’m taking her home.”

  “She’s in the final stage,” Ung said. “She could pass and revive at any time.”

  “I know. She’s calm right now.”

  Doctor Ung stood before her, blocking her way. “Do not do this to yourself, or to your child. I know … I know you one hundred percent believe that if they come back calm, a part of them is still there. This is a child.”

  “My child,” June said passionately. “What am I gonna do, James? Watch her die and rectify her, or leave the room while someone else does?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. I’m taking her home to die. To be around those she loves. I took the rectifying tool.”

  Doctor Ung sighed out in relief.

  “I won’t let her go like Stan. Hand her body over. I will bury my child.”

  “Let me come to your house. Let me be there.”

  “No. But thank you. I got this.” With her child in her arms, June walked out.

  Doctor Ung hoped she meant what she said. He wanted more than anything to follow her, but he didn’t. He had to trust that June would do the right thing.

  <><><><>

  No one said anything to June when she left the hospital. Before pulling out of the lot, June lay her unconscious daughter on the back seat and wrapped her in the sheet like she did when Melinda was a baby. She swaddled the sheet around her, keeping her tightly bound.

  Bloody tear drops seeped from the creases of her tightly closed eyes. Melinda breathed slowly, but each breath was heavy. She had Melinda so sedated, June was angry with herself. Angry because her daughter was so close to passing and probably wouldn’t wake up. Any last moments with her child, any last 'I Love You's' were gone.

  She called her mother on the way back home and told her they were returning. Linda didn’t ask any questions, June figured her mother knew attempts to stop it were probably futile.

  When June arrived home, she was blasted with the instant memory of Stan. How she was sad for losing him, but angry because he did this.

  Her heart was breaking.

  She had done all that she could to protect her children. No amount of safety shutters and bars, no locking them up and keeping her children in the house, the virus found its way in.

  Linda opened the door for her as she approached.

  “I’m sorry.” Linda ran her hand over Melinda’s head, then leaned down to kiss her. She stepped back with a gasp, hand covering her mouth. “Is she …”

  “Not yet. Soon.” June looked at her mother, then Henny and Aggie. “Keep them down here,” she instructed, then carried Melinda upstairs.

  “I realize this is our little girl,” Linda said as June laid her on the bed. “Why did you bring her home?”

  “I didn’t want her to pass at the hospital. I didn’t want her in a ward, I wanted her in her own bed.” June grabbed the hospital bag and took things out, placing them on the night stand.

  “What about Henny and Aggie?”

  “We need to keep them away. At least for now.” June sat on the edge of the bed, her hand stroking Melinda’s face. “My little girl. I love you so much. So much.” She leaned forward, and placed her lips to Melinda’s head. She rested them there for a second, and knew.

  Melinda was gone.

  June whimpered.

  “June?”

  “No.” June squeaked out the word emotionally. “Too fast. Too fast. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Linda’s words quivered and she placed her hand on June’s shoulder.

  “Can I have a moment please?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  June didn’t take her eyes off Melinda. She listened as he mother left the room and shut the door. She just wanted to pick up her child, cradle her in her arms just one more time. She knew she couldn’t. “Baby, I’m sorry. Mommy is so sorry.”

  June reached for the rectifier tool on the night stand. How would she do it? Would she be able to summon the strength?

  She had to try. It was something she needed to do.

  As her fingers gripped the instrument, Melinda … opened her eyes.

  19 – OF VALOR

  There were times that Major Tom Leland missed living alone. He missed the privacy of his apartment. But they were only fleeting. Living in a community house with his team had its benefits. It built comradery and when the day was bad, they had each other to fall back on. Everyone understood because everyone had the same feelings and problems.


  The plain, square military style building had three bedrooms, two of which were large and had four cots each, plus a bathroom. As commander, Tom had his own room. However, he spent a good bit of time in the community area. He liked the open floor plan for the living room, dining and kitchen areas. No matter where he was in that area he could hear the conversation and be a part of it, he could watch whatever they were watching on the television.

  It was Tom’s day to cook and, while he didn’t feel like it, it took his mind off of things.

  Everyone was talking about the same thing.

  Stan.

  The cameraman from the news that had been with the team nearly a week. The quiet guy in the back that made little comical quips every once and awhile. Tom couldn’t imagine anyone not liking Stan. He felt bad for Stan’s family and, through it all, it was the first time Tom truly felt bad.

  “I didn’t see it,” one of Tom’s men said. “When the Codie came at him, he dodged it. I thought he dodged it.”

  “I asked him,” another said. “I said are you hurt? He said he was fine.”

  “What the fuck?” a third man said. “Where was the scratch Major?”

  “Forearm,” Tom said. “About three inches.”

  “Why?” the third man asked. “Why would he not say anything? It was a fucking scratch. We all know a bite is worse than a scratch. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even had lost the arm. Was it worth it?”

  “Maybe he didn’t know,” Tom said. “Remember Rollins? He got scratched and never felt it until it was too late.”

  “Hey, Major,” Dietz, one of his men, called from the living room. “You see this? Have any of you guys seen this?” he turned up the television. “There may be a cure.”

  Not only did Tom stop what he was doing, everyone else did, too. They all rushed to the television.

  “As the CDC reports, the French Health Ministry is still a month away from any production,” the newscaster said. “There is still much testing that needs to be done before they can hit that phase. It’s still early so they are being very cautious about what they are saying. At this time, early testing is showing a seventy percent success rate with the antidote. They advise not to be optimistic, there has been talk of a cure before, but this one has shown definite promise.”