“That’s your sister?” I asked, unable to mask my surprise.
“Yeah, this is my sister, Yvonne, and she never hurt nobody in her life. She don’t deserve to die like this. If you help her, I’ll pay you whatever you want,” he said as he gently stroked the girl’s forehead.
“I can’t guarantee anything,” I stated firmly even as my heart was melting. “She may be too far gone already. The chances are slim that I can help her.”
“They’re zero if you don’t.”
It was a personal turning point for me. Was I going to be that selfish person who would survive by doing anything and everything I could, regardless of other people? I could refuse to treat the girl. I could even shoot PayRay right now through the gun port. Then I could make a break for it in the Humvee and go live with Cam.
Or, I could actually do something with my years of medical training. Granted, I had worked as a nurse, but that was more of a job to pay for medical school so I could pursue research. I never envisioned myself actually having a practice and treating patients every day. I hate to admit it, but in a way I think I looked down on practicing physicians as not being as worthy, not being on the same level as the exalted researcher. Okay, so I was a bit of a pompous ass in that regard.
At that moment, however, I knew that if I literally opened the door for that girl, I would figuratively never be able to close it again. And I knew the instant I looked into the doe-like eyes of the sick child that I would open that door.
I instructed PayRay to get back in the car, and for the other man to leave the girl on the porch and then get back in the car. When they drove away and I was sure no one else was around, I would bring her in and see what I could do. We had exchanged sat phone numbers and I said I would call after I assessed her condition and determined a course of action, if any.
“Please help her,” PayRay said as left. “And I swear I will pay you back for what you do.”
That was exactly what I was afraid of.
Chapter 10
Phase 10: Nothing is Better than Zero: Cam called later that morning and I didn’t dare tell him anything more than I was “taking care of a sick girl from the neighborhood.” He was upset enough with me having an infected person in my house, and had I told him the whole truth, he and his “gang” would have come racing down and no doubt started a small war, and I didn’t need more people to treat, thank you very much. However, if things did not go well, I did reserve the right to call upon the Men of Sherwood to rescue this damsel if she was in distress.
But I fully intended to have everything go well.
Yvonne was as sweet and innocent as PayRay was cruel and guilty of just about every foul crime. I would do everything in my power to help—but not out of fear of him; out of concern for her.
The parasites were hitting her particularly hard. She was weak, and had severe pain in her lower spine and neck, but an IV to get some fluids and a little morphine into her system made her much more comfortable. It also made it easier to withdraw some spinal fluid, which I had never done on someone so small. Her ZIP count was about 60%, with some mature parasites, which put her on the hairy edge of being treatable. I would have liked to wait a few days to build up her strength, but at this critical juncture, hours could make a life or death difference.
Fortunately, I had my satellite internet so I was able to consult with some team members still active on the program. I told them the situation, and asked if I should just try the QK drugs, or give her a dose of the Dutch Blend ZIPs first. God bless the team members in Amsterdam, as they immediately got back to me with the latest protocol. Given Yvonne’s age, weight, and stage, (as well as my limited and unorthodox “hospital”) they detailed an alternating series of the Dutch ZIPs and the QK drugs, in the exact concentrations and intervals.
I expressed my gratitude and was extremely hopeful, until they ended with, “And if you follow these instructions precisely, the patient will have as much as a 40% chance of survival.”
It was disheartening, but 40% was better than zero.
I made the call to PayRay and tried my best to explain the complex medical procedure to someone with no more than a sixth-grade education.
“Yeah, okay, blah, blah, blah,” he said, cutting me off in mid-explanation. “Yvonne may have a 40% chance, right? That’s better than zero.”
“Exactly. Should I proceed?”
“Damn, woman, what the fuck you wasting time talkin’ to me for? Get on with it!” he said in a more good-natured manner than you might think.
I tried to explain to Yvonne what I was going to be doing to treat her. She just quietly stared at me with those big sad eyes that made my heart break.
“So, are you going to be a brave girl so I can make you all better?”
“What did I do wrong to make Momma bite me?” she asked, as tears welled up in her eyes.
“Oh honey, you didn’t do anything wrong!” I said, taking her in my arms. Even though I was in protective gear, hugging an infected patient wasn’t the smartest thing I could do, but I didn’t care.
I told her that bad germs made her momma sick and that she didn’t know what she was doing. I also told her that I had gotten the bad germs from my mother—and lied about also being bitten—and that I knew how much my mother had loved me and that she would have never hurt me if she wasn’t sick.
“And you got all better?” she asked, wiping her eyes and sniffling.
“Yes I did! And I wasn’t nearly as brave and strong as you’ve been so far. So, are we ready to start making you better?”
“Okay, Doctor Beckth,” she replied with her cute little lisp. “Please make these bad germs go away. I don’t ever want to get sick and hurt people.”
I kept her under mild sedation for the next few days as I began the treatments. I monitored her vitals every hour, ran a full panel of tests (or as much as I could with the instruments I “borrowed” from ParGenTech) every twelve hours, gave PayRay frequent updates, and communicated with Amsterdam several time a day. At the same time, I was continuing my ground beef experiments with the I-ZIPs. I would grab a twenty-minute nap here or there and try to eat at least once a day, but I was a woman obsessed and food and sleep were not a priority.
On the evening of the third day of treatments, Yvonne’s ZIP count was down to 30%, and the mature HVZIP population had significantly declined, but there was still a long way to go from 30% to zero. I lessened the sedatives so Yvonne could start eating some solid food, and happened to mention to PayRay that I wished I had some fresh milk, meat, and vegetables for her. An hour later a laundry basket and ice chest full of food were at my front door. I was not the greatest cook—okay, I absolutely sucked in the kitchen—but I somehow managed to make a decent stew which Yvonne seemed to enjoy.
It was good for her to get some nourishment, because on day four I had to administer two very heavy doses of the QK drugs. Unfortunately, there could be no sedatives as I would need her as alert as possible to watch for allergic reactions and side effects. The first dose went well, but in the middle of the second she lost consciousness, her breathing became labored, and her heartbeat was slow and weak. Frantic, I immediately contacted Amsterdam and they recommended a few drugs, none of which I had. They could only tell me to watch and wait.
There was one other thing I could do—pray. Yes, I was that desperate. It wasn’t something I was accustomed to or comfortable with, but I knelt on the floor by her bed and prayed for hours. But it took me a while to get the hang of this whole praying thing, as I realized that starting out with, “God damn it, you can’t let this child die” probably wasn’t the most tactful approach. But I genuinely poured my heart and soul into my prayers for Yvonne, until exhaustion overtook me and I fell asleep with my head on her bed.
The next thing I realized was that it was morning and I had sharp pains in my legs from kneeling on the hardwood floor all night. Then I realized there was a small hand stroking my hair.
“You shoulda slept in a bed, Dr. Beckth. You need to t
ake better care of yourself.”
I slowly raised my head to see Yvonne smiling at me. She was alive! And she was smiling, no less; something I had yet to see. My instincts were to jump up and start running tests, but I didn’t want to startle her.
“How are you feeling, sweetie?” I asked, taking her hand in a manner that allowed me to surreptitiously take her pulse. It was strong and regular.
“Kinda sleepy. And a little hungry.”
I got her something to eat and when she was done, I took blood and spinal fluid samples to check for ZIPs. My hands were actually shaking as I ran the tests. My eyes filled with tears when I saw the results.
PayRay immediately answered the phone when I called to give him the news.
“There actually is nothing better than zero. She’s completely free of the ZIPs.”
I don’t know if it was the medicine, the prayers, or a combination that saved Yvonne, but it was all good practice, as I would need plenty of both in the weeks and months ahead.
Trick or Treat: Even with my cooking, Yvonne improved rapidly. By Sunday afternoon, she was walking and ate a big lunch at the kitchen table. I had continued all the tests just to be sure, but there were absolutely no signs of infection. It was, of course, fabulous news, but the downside was that she was now well enough to go home. Needless to say, I had become very attached to her, and the thought of not only losing her company, but sending her back to that monster of a brother, made me contemplate letting her stay with me.
I asked her if she wanted to go back to her brother, and she just beamed at the thought. Apparently, to Yvonne, PayRay was the most wonderful man in the whole world. Go figure.
Oh well, it was a crazy idea trying to take care of a child when I had so much work to do. I had been able to get the I-ZIPs to reproduce in the ground beef, so I would now be able to more liberally spread my deadly morsels. It was something I planned to do on Halloween, just because I liked the idea of handing out my treats (with the hidden tricks) to all those people dressed as zombies.
But first I had to say goodbye to Yvonne. When PayRay came to my front door this time, I took a leap of faith and opened it. I wanted to show him that I now trusted him (which I really didn’t), and I also wanted him to see Yvonne standing and smiling at him. Let me tell you, there’s nothing so touching and absurd as seeing a big man cry. He lifted his little sister to the ceiling, then pulled her in close and gave her such a hug I was afraid I would have to treat her for broken ribs.
I’m kind of making light of it all now, but it really was a genuinely emotional moment for all of us. Even being the stupid, brutal, scumbag that he was, at that moment I envied him for having someone so sweet and innocent to love him so unconditionally.
“What can I do for you, doctor? You name it, it’s yours,” PayRay said, using his sleeve to wipe his eyes.
“You just promise me you’ll keep her safe,” I said, using a finger to swipe at an errant tear on my cheek.
“On my life I swear it,” he said, then planted a big kiss on Yvonne’s head. “But in the meantime…”
He called out for his driver, and I was about to pull the gun I had concealed in my waistband under my shirt, but I tried to have a little faith that he wouldn’t do anything violent in front of his sister, and I certainly didn’t want her to see me pull a gun on her brother. I’m glad I held back, because the assistant brought in a huge cardboard box filled with all kinds of goodies, from champagne to steaks, gourmet coffee, fresh bread, and fruit.
“Really, this isn’t necessary…Is that a chocolate cake?” I asked as my Pavlovian response actually made my mouth water. “Well, if you insist.”
I also made PayRay promise that he would call me the instant Yvonne needed any kind of medical attention, or help of any kind. I gave him lists of how to prevent infection, what Yvonne should eat, the vitamins she should take (I gave him a couple of bottles of multivitamins), and another bottle of Eradazole that he should make sure was with her at all times.
PayRay was patient with me, to a point.
“Yeah, okay, I get it. I’ll take it from here,” he said, turning to leave.
As he was going down the front stairs, Yvonne peeked over his shoulder and said, “Thank you Dr. Beckth, for making the bad germs go away.”
I blew her a kiss, waved goodbye, and then tried to fill the gap in my heart with some strong coffee and a piece of chocolate cake. Of course, chocolate cake was no substitute for human companionship, but it was a close second. I had no idea where PayRay and his men got all this food, and at that moment I really didn’t care.
After my second piece (all right, I confess, my third piece) I got back to work preparing some batches of infected meat. But between all the lost sleep and the sudden sugar spike and inevitable crash, I quickly became toast. I stumbled through setting up a few batches of meat to incubate, indulged in a bath with heated rain water, and then sank into a long, deep sleep.
Rejuvenated, I worked hard the next couple of days on my infected meat project. My mom had cases of those Ball mason jars for her homemade sauces and pickles, and I got a brain storm that they would be perfect for a delivery system. I could sit in the Humvee and toss my glass meat grenades, which would shatter on impact. This way I wouldn’t have to get out of the car or handle the meat. It was a perfect plan. But you know what they say about the best laid plans.
The world was plunged into the terror of the zombie apocalypse, but I still took a fistful of pushpins and hung up some of the same cardboard pumpkins, bats, and ghosts that had been decorating our house every Halloween since I was a baby.
I loved Halloween, and regardless of whether I was in school or at work on that day, I always wore the witch hat my mom had made for me. It was black satin, had a crescent moon of silver sparkles, and my mom had stitched “Good Witch Rebecca” with silver thread. I didn’t care if I was going out to poison zombies that day, I was wearing that hat.
I loaded about 25 jars of infected meat on the front seat of the Humvee, donned my camo clothes, and had to bend the point of my witch hat to fit in the driver’s seat. I had devised a grid pattern throughout Nyack to disperse my grenades. I couldn’t possibly know where all the zombies were, so I thought this would be the best way to achieve maximum infection coverage.
It kind of felt good turning the tables for a change—humans infecting zombies!
Of course, my plan was flexible. If I saw a pack of zombies, I tossed a meat grenade in their direction. It was kind of fun. Well, maybe that’s not the word for it. It was satisfying to be striking back. And as darkness began to fall, it warmed my heart when I turned onto Midland Avenue and saw on the front porch of a house a carved jack-o’-lantern with a candle burning inside! Even that solitary sign of life gave me hope, and I honked the horn as I passed.
I only had two jars left when I turned onto a street that had a downed tree blocking the way. The Humvee could go over a lot of things, but even it was no match for this massive oak. I suppose I could have just tossed the jar from where I was, but I really wanted to throw it at least a block further down, as there was an apartment complex there that could be a prime spot for zombies.
This is one of my failings, and I know it. When I get something in my head I am stubborn. Stubborn to a fault. I wanted to throw that jar a block further down, and the fastest way to do it was to get out of the car, climb over the tree, and go down a block. It was risky, but there weren’t any zombies in site, and it would only take a minute.
I didn’t want the shotgun or M16 getting tangled in the tree, so I just took my pistols and the two jars of meat with me. As I was straddling the trunk, I swung my other leg over and got my shoelace caught on a branch. I started to lose my balance and had to drop one of the jars so I could grab hold of the branch to keep from falling. I regretted the loss of the jar, but would have regretted hanging upside down by my foot even more.
Freeing the lace, I jumped to the pavement and quickly jogged to the end of the block.
; “It’s fourth down and seventeen,” I said out loud, pretending to be a quarterback scrambling in the pocket. “She sees an open receiver downfield and tosses a perfect spiral. Touchdown!”
The jar of infected meat shattered exactly where I wanted it, and foregoing a victory dance, I turned and jogged back toward the tree. It was pretty dark, so I took out my flashlight from my utility belt (I never left home without it) and found the spot where I had climbed over the trunk. I hoisted myself up to the top and was preparing to jump when I aimed the beam of light to the pavement below. Only I didn’t see pavement. I saw five or six pairs of eyes looking up at me.
The zombies were on their knees fighting over the last bits of the meaty contents of the jar I had dropped, but when they saw the fresh meat—me—they stood up and lunged at me. I tried to scramble further up the trunk, out of reach, but one of them grabbed my ankle. I fell hard on my back on the trunk and had the wind knocked out of me for a second. I aimed the flashlight at my feet and saw the bloody mouth of a zombie just inches from my leg. I didn’t have time to think as I yanked one of my pistols out of its holster and put a round in the zombie’s head just as his teeth met my flesh. I didn’t think he ruptured the skin, but that was the least of my worries.
I threw myself down to the street on the other side of the tree, but as I pointed my flashlight straight ahead to make sure my escape route was clear, I saw movement—a lot of movement. My meat grenade by the apartment complex had attracted dozens of zombies, and the gunshot and flashlight beam now attracted them toward me, and the entire crowd was moving my way. I couldn’t go forward, and I couldn’t go back, so I bolted to the left.
My hope was to run through the backyards of these houses and come out behind the zombies by the tree, and then try to quietly make it back into the Humvee. I tripped and fell over a tricycle between two houses, but was on my feet again in a heartbeat, sprinting for my life. I tried to keep the flashlight aimed directly in front of me, but I was running so wildly the flashlight was swinging from side to side, which was why I didn’t see the inground pool that I ran right into.
HVZA (Book 1): Hudson Valley Zombie Apocalypse Page 16