“Thanks,” Patton said, even though he felt he had to force the words out. “That would be nice.”
13
The door swung open and Wyatt ushered Patton inside. Patton stared at the ground and nothing else, except for the details of the rough carpet that soon transitioned into linoleum as he followed Wyatt. He counted the black rubber scuff marks on the floor and the layer of dried dirt that told him someone would have to clean soon. The shame of being outed by Wyatt mixed with the ache in his stomach. It wasn’t until Wyatt opened one of the doors to a big conference-looking room that Patton noticed a group of teenagers inside. They all looked up at them in unison.
“Hi there,” Wyatt told the teenagers with a wave. “Just have to grab…ah, there it is.” He reached into a green metal cabinet, pulling out long thick white rope and pulley system. “Needed the block and tackle for the well restoration.” He motioned toward Patton. “This is Patton from the River Rock Hotel. Keep an eye on him, okay? I’ll be back later to collect him. Make him feel welcome.” He urged Patton toward the group and then eased away, shutting the door gently.
Patton shoved his hands in his pockets. The teenagers stared at him, and he awkwardly stared back. There were two of them working at the long fold-out table. Patton perked up when he saw the familiar shine of rifle barrels dismantled and opened on a set of towels. The smell of cleaning supplies and gun oil filled his nostrils.
“What are you doing?” Patton asked, taking a couple of steps closer.
“Cleaning guns,” the older-looking teenager said. He was a skinny kid, probably around sixteen, with dark curly hair and a dark complexion. He shoved a slender rod down the barrel of one of the rifles, moving it up and down. Black sprinkles fell from the end of the barrel and onto the towel underneath it.
Patton took another step forward. “That’s cool. Do you have to clean the guns every time you go shooting?”
It was obvious he was fishing, but the teenager gave him a crooked smile and said, “I mean, not every time, but these rifles haven’t been cleaned in a while. They’re old and had been decommissioned, but since the world is falling apart, we had to bring them back out.”
“We’re doing chores,” one of the other younger teenagers said. Patton figured they were around the same age.
“Have you guys been shooting for a while?” Patton said.
The older teenager snorted. “Yeah, my whole life. I’m Marshall,” he said and then indicated the younger kid. “That’s Zach.”
“Do you give lessons?” Patton asked.
Marshall’s crooked smile increased. “Sure. We can ask Wyatt to set something up when he comes back.”
“We don’t need to bother him,” Patton said. “It would probably be easier if you guys just taught me.”
Marshall glanced at Zach. “Maybe,” Marshall said, “if you help us with our chores we’ll get done faster.”
Patton stood closer to the table and put his hands flat on the surface. “Sure. What are you doing?”
“Told you,” Marshall said. “Cleaning guns.”
He pulled out the rod and Patton saw that there were actually bristles along the edge. It looked like a pipe cleaner. He handed the rod to Patton and nudged one of the rifles closer to him. A pile of rags sat next to a bottle of oil. “You want to oil the hinges, joints, and hammers,” Marshall said and showed Patton how to make sure all the pieces of the gun gleamed. Dark smudges marred the rags, showing Patton how dirty the guns actually were.
“Then you want to put the rod down the barrel and try to get all the gunpowder and dirt and grime that’s in there out. It will fall on the towel.” Marshall demonstrated.
Patton nodded and began to do what he’d been instructed, watching the other teenagers out of the corner of his eye to make sure he wasn’t doing anything wrong. They worked in silence. Slowly, Patton began to relax. It felt like being back in school and focused on a project, and yet there was a sensation of unity, all the same.
“So, why don’t you want Wyatt to know you want to shoot?” Marshall said.
Patton sighed. “I don’t have permission, but my dad doesn’t have any time to teach me.” He shoved the rod down the barrel harder. “No one has time to teach me. I need to learn so I can help hunt for my family. I can’t sit around and do nothing.”
Marshall nodded in understanding. “I get that. Ever since the EMP, my old man hasn’t been around much either. It’s annoying having to wait for everyone to teach you to do stuff when all of a sudden we have to be adults all on our own.”
“Right?” Patton said. “No one wants to help me. I keep getting brushed off and forced to do stuff like gardening. I don’t want to garden. I want to learn how to hunt.”
Marshall made another noise of understanding, and they continued for a while in silence, cleaning the rest of the guns with a couple of jokes here and there accompanied by low laughter. After a while, Marshall said, “I think we can check out the shooting range after this. If you’ll help us out with more of our chores.” Marshall raised an eyebrow.
“Of course,” Patton said, knowing a good deal when he saw one. “I wouldn’t mind helping out.”
Marshall smiled. “Yeah, okay, let’s go.”
Together they walked outside, past the rudimentary gardens and over a small slope. There was a line of wire fence along with smaller wooden benches that overlooked the enclosed shooting range. Old shot-up targets had been lined up on wooden boards, and Marshall walked out to one and tacked up a piece of shiny paper with a red target symbol on it. The edges flapped in the wind. Patton was excited about what was going to happen, but that excitement died inside when Marshall handed him an empty rifle.
“We can’t actually shoot,” he said with a sad shrug. “It will make too much noise and draw attention. Then we’d all get in trouble for shooting without telling anyone.”
“Plus, we have to conserve bullets,” Zach said, finally seeming to warm to Patton enough to speak.
“But you can do some dry firing here,” Marshall continued. “Get to know your way around the gun so when you can actually shoot, it won’t be unfamiliar.”
“Thanks,” Patton said, trying not to sound disappointed, but he understood. He didn’t want to get his new allies in trouble either. “But don’t you guys have way more ammo than we do at the hotel?”
“Yeah, we do,” Zach admitted, “and we can make more.”
“How do you make more?” Patton asked.
“We have a press to produce it,” Zach explained
“Wyatt put a limit on how many people could shoot for practice. We have to save as much of our supplies as possible for hunting expeditions in case things go wrong.” Marshall shrugged. “But this is good experience for you. And it shouldn’t get us in trouble if we get caught. Maybe if you have any talent, we can let you fire one for real.”
“Good point,” Patton said and took the gun from Marshall with the same kind of respect that Jade had taught him. He raised it to his shoulder and looked through the stock, waiting until the targets came into view. He remembered this whole thing from when he’d practiced with Jade. It was easy listening to the safety click off. Then, he hooked his finger around the trigger. The trigger put up little resistance as he pulled it and heard the satisfying click as he dry-fired.
“Stance is a little off,” Zach noted.
Marshall helped adjust Patton’s legs, before letting Patton dry fire again. It felt as though no time at all had passed when Zach nudged Marshall and asked, “Think we can risk it?”
“Yeah, totally,” Marshall said and reached into his pockets. He pulled out three bullets and handed them to Patton.
“Really?” Patton asked, feeling mischievous.
“Yeah,” Marshall said. “Get at it. Targets are up and everything. Let’s see how good you really are.”
Patton loaded the gun with ease and then prepared to shoot. Silence fell over him as he adjusted his stance and carefully aimed and fired. The first bullet hit the target closest to him
. Not straight in the middle, but he was still in the realm of the red circle. The next shot slammed into the mid-range target, blowing the paper up and leaving a nice hole just off center from the red center mark. Patton aimed and fired one third and final time at the target farthest from him, and while he missed, he still felt that rush of success.
Marshall whistled. “I’m impressed. You’ve got the touch.”
Patton grinned. Zach slapped him on the back. Patton lowered the gun, clicked the safety on, and turned to see the same grin reflected on the faces of his brand-new friends.
“We’ll get you ready to hit that far-away target in no time. You’re a natural,” Zach said.
Patton handed the gun to Marshall, who looked ready to take his turn at shooting, when the fence rattled suddenly. Patton spun around to see Wyatt, his face drawn with anger.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Wyatt demanded.
Marshall, holding the gun, shrugged. Not a hint of their rule-breaking crossed his face. “Just showing off to Patton a bit,” he said.
Patton schooled his face to mimic Marshall’s. They had to pretend they hadn’t done anything wrong. None of them wanted to get into trouble. Wyatt glared at him.
“I didn’t touch anything,” Patton said in response to Wyatt’s look. “I only watched.”
“Really,” Wyatt said, giving him a look of disdain. “Let me smell your hands.”
“Why?” Patton asked.
“If you haven’t touched anything, then you won’t smell like gunshot residue,” Wyatt said, holding his hand out for Patton. Patton wanted to wrench his hands behind his back, but if he did that, it would appear suspicious. He put his hand in Wyatt’s, and Wyatt sniffed his palm. His eyes narrowed, and he glared at Marshall and Zach. “Smells like bore cleaner,” he said to the teenagers.
“Oh, yeah. We did have him help us clean the guns,” Zach said. “Then he wanted to see what it was like to shoot out on the range. But we didn’t let him shoot.”
Wyatt sighed and stood up. “Just so you all know, Patton isn’t allowed on the range without my permission. He needs permission from his father, too. He’s not allowed to touch any of the guns, either. Okay?”
Marshall and Zach nodded. Patton kept his mouth shut and just looked at Wyatt, daring him to say anything else.
“C’mon, Patton,” Wyatt said. “Let’s head out. It’s getting late and we need to get you back to the hotel.”
“You need someone to walk you back?” Zach teased Patton.
“Yes, he does,” Wyatt said and motioned Patton to follow. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
Patton glanced at his new friends and watched as Marshall winked at him while Zach rolled his eyes. He had new friends who would watch his back and would help him become an expert marksman in the future. This crappy day had turned into a good one, after all.
14
Kathleen unscrewed a new bottle of water and handed it to David. While he took a couple of sips, she popped open a yellow bottle and shook out a rounded pill into her palm. It clanked against those that remained inside, and she tried to suppress the feeling of panic that rose within her. Even though they had enough for the time being, soon there wouldn’t be any more.
David swallowed the medicine and chased it down with another drink of water. His hands shook. He appeared wan and listless. As David lay back down on his mountain of pillows, he stared out the window, ignoring Kathleen like she wasn’t even there. His eyes fluttered, heavy with sleep. A sunbeam crossed his face, showing the exhaustion that deepened the lines around his mouth. Kathleen screwed the caps on both the water and pill bottle and handed both across the bed to Nikki. Nikki stuck the water on the nightstand and slipped the pill bottle into the drawer. She let out a sharp sigh, breaking Kathleen’s study of David. Kathleen knew the doctor felt the same worry that she did, but for some reason, this time she wasn’t able to push down the fear and forget about it.
“He seems to be doing better,” Kathleen said, needing some kind of validation. Something to cling onto, some kind of reassurance.
Nikki smiled tightly, picking up on Kathleen’s lie, as she turned and began folding a set of clean pillow cases. “Yes, he’s doing better for now,” she whispered.
Sleep finally fully overtook David, sending him into a deep slumber. Usually, the sight didn’t bother her, but it was beginning to unnerve her with how quickly it happened. The speed at which he went from consciousness to unconsciousness seemed to have increased and happened more and more. It was as if David’s body was so desperate for rest, that whenever it got the opportunity, it wrapped David up in a cocoon and took him away. His mouth became slack and his breathing intensified into a heavy wheeze.
“For now?” Kathleen said, desperate to get her thoughts aired out. “Nikki, won’t he get better? Shouldn’t he be getting better?”
The silence stretched between them and made Kathleen want to cry. The fact that Nikki wasn’t following up with a scientific medical explanation told Kathleen more than she cared to admit. Nikki continued folding the newly washed pillow cases as if to avoid the question. She lined up the edges of the laundry as a grim expression crossed her face. “He was doing better,” Nikki admitted. “He is doing better. He’s responding well to the heart medications we retrieved from the hospital.”
“Shouldn’t that mean things will look up? Why does he seem so weak?”
“We’ve been giving him a higher dosage of beta blockers and another kind of ACE inhibitors. They control his blood pressure and most likely have slowed plaque buildup in his arteries. But these medicines are preventative. They aren’t a magic cure that will erase whatever is blocking his heart. Modern medicine is a miracle, yes, but right now, we only have so much of it left. And when it runs out it’s unlikely that we’ll be able to find more.”
Kathleen swallowed hard and tried to blink back tears. She couldn’t look anywhere but at David. This second heart attack had doused some of the fire inside of him. He wasn’t bouncing back as he had the first time. She hated being in this situation, hated that this was the world that they lived in, hated that David was lying in this bed. She hated everything right at that moment.
“I’ve been cutting back on his dosages little by little, in all honesty,” Nikki continued. “Frankly, I’m scared of running out. I think it’s better if we start weaning him off, rather than have him go cold turkey all at once. But weaning him off the medications will have consequences. His weakening state is one of those side effects.”
“Will he keep getting worse, then?” Kathleen asked. “Will he always be like this?”
Nikki bit her lip and shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t predict that. Under normal circumstances, he’d most likely need a stent to open up the artery. Cardiac bypass might be his only solution, but that’s something I cannot do to him. I’m not a surgeon. I’m inexperienced in that field of medicine. There’s no way I can safely put him under and then crack his chest open and expose his heart. He would be at risk of bleeding out, or even in danger of a massive infection that would kill him. I can’t have that on my conscience. I can’t risk his life like that in an attempt that probably won’t work. Do no harm.” Nikki looked agonized at her admission. “I hate to say that, but the best solution is, at the same time, the most dangerous one. It would kill him. I’d rather do everything else we can.”
“I understand,” Kathleen said, even as a ball of ice formed in the pit of her stomach. Hearing it out loud made everything more real. In her head, she told David that, in no uncertain terms, he had to live. For Matthew. For her children. For Ruth.
“The best thing we can do is stretch out his medication for as long as possible,” Nikki finished.
“What kind of things should we expect?” Kathleen asked, thinking about all the kinds of things that could go wrong. She wanted to be prepared, but at the same time, she didn’t want anything to happen that wasn’t expected.
“He’ll probably continue to get weaker, which might lead to a
strong emotional response. He’s not good at feeling helpless,” Nikki said, studying David with sad determination. “His blood pressure will increase, and maybe he’ll feel as if his heart is racing, or he might not feel anything at all. These things can be different for everyone.”
“Is there any chance he will get better?” Kathleen asked, feeling like a broken record. She just wished Nikki’s answers would be different. Tears pricked at her eyes. Her throat felt tight.
“Of course,” Nikki said in a low vehement way. “I shouldn’t have unloaded on you like that, but you’ve become my nurse in a way.” Nikki smiled and Kathleen saw she had tears in her eyes as well. “There is always hope. We should always hope.”
“Everything feels so useless without modern medicine,” Kathleen said angrily and forced herself to stare outside at the blue sky and the sharp mountain ridges in a detached way. Everything seemed so far away from the real problems affecting them inside the sickroom. “Everything feels so hopeless.”
“I know,” Nikki said, “but we can’t let that bring us down.”
“It’s not just David,” Kathleen continued. “What happens if there is an accident while Matthew and the rest of the gun club are fixing the well? What if one of them falls and cracks their head? What if someone breaks their leg? God, what if they step on a nail? We don’t have vaccines. We have to think about stuff like tetanus.”
Another terrible thought hit her. A thought about women and men. About her daughter who was starting to become a young woman. “What if one of the women gets pregnant?” she asked, hating that her voice was getting breathy with worry. “Women used to die all the time in childbirth. What if we have to do a caesarean? Who among us actually can act as a midwife and help birth a child without an epidural or, or, like Lamaze classes?”
Kathleen’s heart fluttered in fear and anxiety. Her mind flipped through everything that could go wrong. If she was Nikki’s nurse, she was becoming more knowledgeable about medicine, but she still felt incredibly underqualified in every way. Nikki reached out and took Kathleen’s hands, squeezing tightly. The touch grounded her and stopped the anxiety from taking over. She gripped Nikki’s hand in return and tried to push the idea of broken arms and chicken pox out of her thoughts.
EMP Catastrophe | Book 3 | Erupting Chaos Page 10