by D. J. Molles
“Oh.” Devon shook his head. “It’s probably nothing, then.”
Harper was in the process of lifting the open can of peaches to his lips for a sip of the juice but stopped. “What?”
The kid waved a dismissive hand. “It’s just that I saw Jerry leaving really early this morning. Thought it was weird, because I’ve never seen him leave the compound. But, I mean, if he’s done it before, then I guess it’s not a big deal.” Devon shrugged and smiled. “After that big argument the other night, I just thought… Well, never mind.”
Harper kept his eyes on the kid. “Yeah. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
* * *
It was turning into a busy day at the medical trailer, which meant it would be a busy day for Angela. She didn’t know much about medicine, not like Jenny did, but she was competent and willing to help, and she’d proven that she was cool under pressure, so when Jenny was swamped, Angela stepped in to help out. With Sam off learning to hunt with Keith Jenkins and Abby with the other children her age, she either helped out with the sewing and mending of garments or she helped out in the medical trailer.
Frankly, she despised sewing. She did it without complaint when that was where she was needed, because she’d volunteered for it before she realized how much it sucked. She knew how to sew and she did it well, but having to do it for hours on end was miserable. In retrospect, she would have much preferred to learn hide tanning or even log splitting, but those were occupations largely held by men.
Sexist?
Maybe.
She hadn’t put much thought into it. There were a few women who hunted and a few men who knew how to sew. Perhaps it would have offended her four or five months ago, but there wasn’t the sense that she was being squeezed out by a Good Ol’ Boy network. It was more that everyone was just doing what they could do well.
Those who knew how to hunt, hunted.
Those who knew how to sew, sewed.
Of course, that didn’t stop her from learning. When sewing and nurse assisting were not needed, she hung around Dave, the guy who worked with all the animal skins the hunters brought in, and tried to absorb as much knowledge as possible. It was messy work, but for some reason, she enjoyed it.
But today was not a day when garments needed to be patched. And Dave didn’t have any hides to work. Today was a day when the cold, or the flu, or whatever it was that was going around, seemed to be exploding inside Camp Ryder.
Angela walked into the medical trailer and found Jenny with three full cots and two worried families with red, runny noses and children who coughed unabashedly into the air, the noise wet and rattling. The nurse-turned-village-doctor wore a surgical mask over her face and sat on a stool, a boy of perhaps ten standing before her as she illuminated the back of his throat with a small flashlight.
“When did you start to feel yucky?” she asked.
“This morning,” the boy answered.
“And did you notice your nose getting runny anytime before that?”
“Yes. And I had a sore throat.”
The mother broke in. “Is it pneumonia?”
Jenny glanced up. “He doesn’t have pneumonia.”
“Can’t you give him some antibiotics?”
“Antibiotics will do more harm than good right now. If he develops pneumonia, which I don’t think he will, since he’s a healthy young boy, then we can talk about giving him something.” Jenny clicked off her flashlight. “At this point in time, he needs to eat, drink, and sleep as much as he can stand.”
The father looked around, his face turning red. “How are we going to find extra food to give him?”
Jenny was now stuck. She could do nothing but shake her head. “I’m sorry. Everyone is in the same boat as you guys.”
The mother took her son by the shoulders and guided him away. “Thank you anyways, Jenny.”
Defeated, Jenny leaned back. “Yeah. No problem.”
Angela took that moment to make herself seen with a small wave of the hand, and she offered Jenny an encouraging smile. The other woman looked exhausted. When she saw Angela, she waved sedately and stood up as though she weighed a thousand pounds.
“Thank God,” Jenny said, giving Angela a quick hug. “I’m drowning in here.”
“What can I do?”
Jenny glanced at the remaining family of sick people and the three patients lying on their cots, two of them asleep and the other tossing about miserably underneath a blanket, a plastic bucket within arm’s reach. She ushered Angela over away from the others and produced a yellow pill and another surgical mask from her jacket pocket.
“Here. Take the pill and wear the mask.”
Angela inspected the pill. “What is it?”
“Just vitamins—it’ll help your immune system. But I have to treat it like contraband, because I only have a few left and if anybody sees it, they’re going to want some.”
Angela discreetly popped the pill into her mouth and swallowed it dry. Then she strapped the mask onto her face. “Okay,” she said, the word slightly muffled through the itchy, sterile-smelling mask. “What do you need me to do?”
Jenny pointed to the three cots. “This cold-flu thing is kicking our ass right now. Some of the older folks are starting to develop pneumonia after having it for about a week. These three are today’s victims.”
Two days ago, the beds had been filled with different people.
“Where’d the others go?” Angela asked.
“They were still sick, but on the uptick, so I sent them back home. These folks are worse off, and I only got three beds.” Jenny shook her head. “I’m running low on antibiotics too. The sooner Lee can get to that bunker of his, the better. I don’t know how many more pneumonia cases I can treat with what I have here.”
“He’s working on it.”
“I know.” Jenny shook her head. “Anyway, I have to talk to this family and figure out if they have the same thing as everyone else or some wonderful new thing that’s going to kick our ass. You mind dosing the three beds? And I think Mr. Clark threw up a little bit ago… if you could clean his bucket out.”
Angela nodded. “I’m on it.”
She cared for the patients as best she knew how, giving them their prescribed doses of antibiotics and talking to them, trying to cheer them up, trying to take their minds off of their miserable circumstances. She felt pity for them, though she tried not to let it show on her face. They were sick here in this strange world, forever removed from the things and the people and the places they knew. They suffered through without any of the comfort those things could bring.
As Angela finished dosing the last patient, Jenny concluded her talk with this family—which was the same talk she’d given the previous family, and the family before that, and would probably give the family that followed: Keep them fed, hydrated, and well rested. Not much else could be done.
It seemed that they might be getting a lull in business when Bus stalked into the medical trailer.
He nodded to Angela. “Glad you’re here. Jenny’s gonna need the help.” He turned to Jenny. “There’s a group of three refugees coming in from OP Benson.”
“Good Lord…” Jenny pulled the surgical mask from her face. “It never ends.”
Angela felt a measure of excitement. She’d never helped in the medical trailer when they were receiving newcomers. “What’s the big deal? Is one of them hurt?”
Jenny turned to her. “Maybe. Maybe not. We’re gonna give all of them a solid, full-body inspection. They either consent to it or they can find another place to stay. We’re looking for bite marks, scratch marks, any wound that might look infected. We’re checking them for symptoms—not just for FURY but anything else contagious. We have to figure out whether they need to be held in containment or if they’re good to join the community.”
“Where’d they come from?” Angela asked.
Bus shrugged. “Out east, apparently. I didn’t get anything more specific.”
Angela and Jenny e
xchanged a glance.
“Okay.” Jenny stood up. “How long do we have?”
“Less than five,” Bus said. “Let me know when they’re cleared.”
“All right.” Jenny heaved a great sigh. “Let’s get ready.”
Angela went to retrieve water and food—most of the refugees arrived dehydrated and starving. Jenny cleared an area and dragged out some partitions made of PVC pipes and bedsheets that would serve as a privacy screen when she inspected the refugees.
They had barely finished prepping before the three refugees arrived.
Outpost Benson used an old silver Toyota Camry to conduct their patrols, and it was in this that the newcomers were driven to Camp Ryder by two of the four men currently assigned to Benson. The two men from Benson rode up front, and the three refugees were in the back. As they piled out, Angela sized them up from her vantage point at the mouth of the medical trailer.
A teenage boy and a slightly younger-looking girl who were obviously siblings stepped out and huddled together, uncomfortable, apprehensive, and clearly wary of the sentries who watched them with ported rifles. The teenagers were both dark-haired and fair-skinned.
A middle-aged man exited the Toyota last. He had a shaggy head of wavy gray hair and a beard that was playing catch-up, still dark along his jaw, though the chin was streaked with gray. He had dark eyes that immediately regarded his surroundings with suspicion. He hovered over the teenagers, his arms encircling them protectively.
Jenny didn’t wait for an invitation. She marched out confidently, even showed a little bit of attitude, as though the newcomers were just another chore in the middle of her busy day. Angela was unsure how much of this was genuine and how much was a cultivated act to demonstrate her confidence to wary and untrusting patients.
Angela followed a few steps behind.
Jenny left off her surgical mask, and Angela figured there was a reason for that, so she removed hers. Perhaps wearing the surgical mask during introductions was a little too Hi-nice-to-meet-you-can-I-have-your-kidneys?
Jenny extended a professional hand to the man and after a moment’s hesitation, he shook it warily. “I’m Jenny. I’m the nurse here at Camp Ryder. Has anyone already explained to you what we’re going to do?”
The man looked about unsurely. “I don’t… I don’t think so.”
All three of them seemed to be in what Angela had heard Jenny and some of the others refer to as “the refugee daze.” After fighting and surviving by the skin of their teeth while on the road, and then finally finding a safe place, many of the refugees would seem to mentally shut down, as though they suspected that they were only sleepwalking in a dream.
“Okay.” Jenny pointed toward the medical trailer. “Come on, hon. What’s your name?”
“Kyle. This is Clay and Holly.”
Jenny smiled perfunctorily. “Nice to meet you guys. So, Kyle… we have food and water, which you’re all welcome to. Before we agree to let you stay or to interact with any of the people here at Camp Ryder, including the traders you see over there”—she pointed to her left—“we have to do a kind of physical screening. Make sure you don’t have anything catching that could hurt the rest of us. I’m sure you understand.”
“Yes.”
“It is a full-body screening,” Jenny clarified. “So each of you will need to strip down completely. I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’s very necessary for our safety and yours. If you’re willing to do the screening and everything is good, then you’re welcome to stay, or trade, or move about as you wish. If you don’t want to subject yourself, then you know where the door is and we wish you the best of luck.”
They reached the medical trailer and Jenny turned to face Kyle again. “So?”
“Uh…” He looked down at the two kids. “Yes. I guess.”
“Okay, then.”
Angela was impressed. She would have thought that Jenny’s speech would have been met with more resistance, but clearly the all-business approach worked well for Jenny. It made her seem more credible and the situation less invasive and more of just another everyday occurrence.
Jenny pointed to a couple of folding chairs against the wall. “Gentlemen, if you guys want to have a seat right there, I can get started with Holly here.” She gestured toward the recently erected privacy screen. “Is that okay with you, Holly? You’ll be right there on the other side of those sheets. Nobody will see you, but they’ll be right there if you need them, okay?”
Holly looked at Kyle and Clay, clearly afraid of leaving them, even just to go ten feet away.
Angela stepped in, treading a little lighter than Jenny. She knelt down just slightly—the girl was tall for her age but still shorter than Angela—and gave an encouraging smile, the same smile she gave Abby when she was trying to convince her to do something she didn’t want to do. “It’s okay, Holly. I felt the same way when I first got here. But you know what? These are the good guys.”
Holly took some time considering it, though she relaxed visibly as she looked around. Maybe it was Angela’s tone, or Jenny’s businesslike manner, or the people of Camp Ryder who walked by the entrance to the medical trailer and nodded and smiled and waved at them. Eventually she seemed to accept that these people were not out to get her.
“Okay,” she said in a mousy voice.
Jenny took her by the hand and led her back behind the privacy screen to get started, while Kyle and Clay took their seats, their dirty hands clasped nervously in their laps like a couple of children waiting outside the principal’s office.
“Would either of you like some food or water?”
They looked at each other.
“Yes,” Kyle said. “He’s hungry. If you have some to spare.”
“Of course.” Angela retrieved the jug of water and two of the three bowls of oatmeal from the table where she’d placed them. She set the water jug between Clay and Kyle and offered them both a bowl.
Kyle shook his head. “He can have mine. I’m not hungry.”
Clay snapped a look at him. “You have to eat too.”
“I’m fine.”
“You haven’t eaten…” Clay seemed to realize his protests were falling on deaf ears and turned his attention to Angela. “He hasn’t eaten in two days.”
“I’m fine.”
Angela forced herself to smile, even as her throat thickened. She gave Clay his bowl and pushed the other into Kyle’s hands. “Kyle, there’s enough for both of you to eat, okay? Please, just eat. I can get more.”
As if eating were an unbearable shame, Kyle stared down into the bowl.
The argument apparently settled, Clay attacked his bowl. Kyle followed, pacing himself as though to prove the point that he was, in fact, not that hungry.
“So.” Angela rubbed her hands together for warmth. “Where are you guys from?”
“Out east,” Kyle said, still intently focused on his oatmeal. “Little town called Snow Hill.”
“How long have you been on the road?”
“Couple weeks.”
“Oh.” Angela was surprised. “So you stayed in Snow Hill for a while?”
He took a big bite of oatmeal and looked at her quizzically. “Yeah. We had a farm. Did okay for ourselves. Why do you ask?”
Angela shrugged. “Just curious why you left.”
Kyle tapped his spoon against the side of the bowl and considered this for a moment. “The Followers. You ever hear of them?”
“Yes. Mostly just rumors.”
“Yeah, well.” Kyle turned back to his food. “Same here. But it was enough to scare their father, and he made me promise to get them out of there.”
Angela’s eyebrows went up. “So you’re not the children’s father?”
“He’s our uncle,” Clay said quietly.
Kyle eyed the teenager. “Yes. I’m their uncle.”
Angela leaned forward. “So what about the Followers scared you guys so much?”
“Pretty much everything, really.” Kyle glanced up
at the privacy screen. “But I think… what they say about the women and girls… I think that’s what scared him the most.”
Angela shifted in her seat. “Kyle, this might sound a little silly… but what have you heard about the Followers?”
The man sucked at his teeth and regarded Angela with that same piercing stare, as though there were many questions rolling around inside his brain, but in the end it seemed that he shrugged them away and left them unspoken. “Marty Wiscoe. I heard he was some hellfire-and-brimstone televangelist before all this happened. Then when people started going crazy, he said it was God’s judgment on the world for being so wicked. Bunch of people joined his congregation right before things fell apart. Called themselves the Followers of the Rapture. Kind of a cult, I guess.”
Kyle took a heavy breath. “The rumors about them are pretty far-fetched. Some people say that Marty Wiscoe’s the Antichrist. Some people say he’s going around preaching the gospel. Most of the rumors are that when he comes to town, his ‘congregation’ is more well-armed than you’d expect church folk to be. He makes all the men in town repent of their sins and promise to follow God, the Bible, and him. If they agree, they become part of his ‘Lord’s Army.’ If they refuse, he hangs them on crosses.” Kyle shook his head. “But they also say that he forces people to eat their own children, that he’s growing horns, and that he can make people burst into flames with the power of his mind.”
Angela shook her head. “And what is it they say about the women and girls?”
“They say he kidnaps all the girls of childbearing age. Gives them the great honor of bearing the next generation of his Lord’s Army. Keeps them as wives and”—he lowered his voice slightly—“sex slaves for his men.”
Angela swallowed. “Sounds like a lot of rumors.”
“Yeah.” He set his bowl aside, empty. “There’s probably not much truth to it.”
Kyle and Clay exchanged an uncertain glance.
Neither looked convinced.
CHAPTER 13
Sanford
Cold dawn had given way to a relatively warm day. Lee’s estimate was that it was around fifty degrees. Tendrils of white clouds streaked the sky like contrails, running east to west. The sun was between them now, and Lee enjoyed its momentary glow on his face.