Ben was quiet as we left the lot and pushed the empty gurney back to the clinic. He didn’t say anything, but instead of scanning the streets and shadows, he appeared deep in thought, brooding over what he had just seen. It was pretty sobering, when you realized how much we had lost, how insidious this thing was: an enemy that couldn’t be stopped, put down, reasoned with. It made you realize...we might not make it through this.
“How do you do it?”
I blinked. I’d gotten so used to his silence; the question caught me off guard. Strange, thinking I knew a man after only a few hours with him. His brown eyes were on me now, solemn and assessing.
“Because you have to,” I said, ducking through the back door with him behind me. “Because you have to give people hope. Because sometimes that’s the only thing that will get them through, the only thing that keeps them alive.”
His next words were a whisper. I barely caught them as we moved through the main room into the dark hall beyond. “What if there is no hope?”
I shoved the gurney against the wall and turned, pinning him with my fiercest glare. “There is always hope, Ben. And I will thank you to keep any doom-and-gloom observations to yourself while you’re here. I don’t need my patients hearing it. Or my interns, for that matter.”
He ducked his head, looking contrite. “I’m sorry. It’s just...it’s hard to keep an open mind when you’ve seen...what I have.” I raised an eyebrow at him, and he had the grace to wince. “And...you’ve seen a lot worse, I know. My apologies. I’ll...stop whining, now.”
I sighed. “Have you had anything to eat lately?” I asked, and he shook his head. “Come on, then. We don’t have much, but I can at least make you some coffee. Instant, anyway. You look like you could use some.”
“That would be nice,” Ben admitted, smiling, “but you don’t have to go to the trouble.”
“Not at all. Besides, I could use some, so keep me company for a while, okay?” He nodded, and we headed upstairs to the small break room and dining area that hadn’t seen much use since the clinic opened. The fridge and the microwave hadn’t been used since the power had gone out and we’d switched to the generators, but the gas stove worked well enough to heat water. I boiled two cups of bottled water, spooned in liberal amounts of instant coffee and handed a mug to Ben, sitting at the table.
“It’s not great, but at least it’s hot,” I said, sliding into the seat across from his. He smiled his thanks and held the mug in both hands, watching me through the steam. Taking a cautious sip, I scrunched my forehead and forced the bitter swallow down. “Ugh. You’d think I’d get used to this stuff by now. I think Starbucks ruined me for life.”
That actually got a chuckle out of him, and he sipped his drink without complaint or grotesque faces. I studied him over my mug, pretending to frown into my coffee but sneaking glances at him every few seconds. The haunted look had left his face, and he seemed a bit calmer. Though the worry still remained in his eyes. I found myself wishing I could reach over the table, stroke his stubbly cheek and tell him everything would be fine.
Then I wondered what had brought that on.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said, setting the mug down on the table, suddenly giving me his full attention. “No offense, but you’re awfully young and pretty to be running a clinic alone. And you don’t wear masks like the others. Aren’t you afraid you’ll get sick, too?”
Absurdly, I blushed at the compliment. “I caught Red Lung early,” I told him, and his eyebrows arched into his hair. “From one of the patients at the hospital where I worked. Kept me in bed for three days straight, and everyone thought I would die, but I pulled out of it before my lungs started disintegrating.”
“You’re a survivor?” Ben sounded shocked. I nodded.
“One of the lucky sixteen percent.” I looked down at my hands, remembering. Lying in a sterile hospital room, coughing bloody flecks onto the sheets. The worried, bleak faces of my colleagues. “Everyone was surprised when I pulled through,” I said, taking another sip of the stuff that claimed it was coffee. “And afterward, I felt so grateful and lucky, I volunteered to help Doc Adams when he set this place up. Especially after...” I trailed off.
“After?” Ben prodded.
I swallowed. “After I found out that my family all passed away from the virus,” I muttered. “They got sick when I was in the hospital, only they never recovered. I found out when I was released and planned to go home, only I didn’t have a home to go back to.”
I thought of the little home in the suburbs, the place I’d spent my childhood, with its tiny front yard and single-car garage. My mom’s small but perfect flower garden, my dad’s ancient leather armchair. My old room. It had just been the three of us; I didn’t have any brothers or sisters, but I’d never been lonely. I’d had friends, and my parents had filled whatever void was left, encouraging me to chase my dreams. Dad had always said he knew I would become something big, either a doctor or an astronaut or a scientist, and pretty much let me do whatever I’d wanted. I’d left for college as soon as I’d graduated, eager to see what was out there, but had always come home for breaks and holidays. Both Mom and Dad had been so proud, so eager to hear of my life at school. It had never crossed my mind that one day they would just be...gone.
When I’d returned to the house after my parents had died, I’d stood in the living room, with its empty armchair and ticking clock, and realized how much I had lost. Curling up in my Dad’s old chair, I’d cried for about an hour, but when it was over, I’d left the house with a new resolve. I couldn’t save my parents, but maybe I could save other people. Red Lung, the silent killer, was my enemy now. And I would do whatever I could to destroy it.
Across from me, Ben was quiet. I kept my gaze on the table between us, so I was surprised when his rough, calloused hand covered my own. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as I looked up at him. I smiled shakily.
“It’s okay. They went quickly, or at least that’s what the doctors said.” My throat closed, and I sniffled, taking a breath to open it. Ben squeezed my palm; his thick fingers were gentle, his skin warm. A shiver raced up my arm. “What about you?” I asked, as Ben pulled his hand back, cupping it around his mug again. “Where’s your family? If it’s not too personal?”
“It’s not.” He sighed, his face going dark as he looked away. “My family owns a big farm out west,” he said in a flat voice. “Nathan and I were on our way there, to see if anyone survived. They’re pretty isolated, so we were hoping the outbreak hadn’t reached them yet. I don’t know, I haven’t seen them for a while.”
A farm. That fit him, I thought, looking at his broad shoulders and calloused, work-toughened hands. I could imagine him slinging bales of hay and wrestling cows. But there was something else about him, too, something not quite so rough. “What were you doing in the city?” I asked, and his face darkened even more. “You said you haven’t seen them in a while. How long has it been?”
“Four years.” He set his mug down and put his chin on his hands, brooding over them. “I moved to the city four years ago, and since then I haven’t even talked to my folks. They wanted me to take over the farm, like everyone before me, but I wanted to finish school at Illinois Tech.” He gave a bitter snort. “My dad and I got into a huge fight one day—I even threw a punch at him—and I walked out. Haven’t seen them since.”
“I’m sorry, Ben.” I thought of my family, my dad who had been so proud I was going into medicine. My mom who always told me to dream big. “That has to suck.”
He hung his head. “I haven’t spoken to them in years. Mom always sent me Christmas cards, telling me how the farm is doing, that they miss me, but I never answered. Not once. And now...” His voice broke a little, and he hunched his shoulders. “With the plague and the virus and everything going to hell, I don’t know how they’re doing. I don’t...I don’t even know if they’re alive.”
He covered his eyes with a hand. I stood, quietly walked around the table to sit
beside him, and put my arm around his shoulders. They trembled, though Ben didn’t move or make a sound otherwise. How many times had I done this; comforted a family member who had lost someone dear? More times then I cared to remember, especially with the rapid spread of the plague. But it felt different this time. Before, I had been there to offer support when someone needed it, not caring if it was from a virtual stranger. With Ben Archer, I truly wanted to be there for him, let him know there was someone he could lean on.
I still didn’t know where this was coming from. The man was a virtual stranger himself; I’d known him only a few hours. But I stayed there, holding him and saying nothing, as he succumbed to his grief in the small, dirty break room of the clinic. I had the feeling he’d been holding this in a long time, and it had finally broken through.
Finally, he took a ragged breath and pulled away, not looking at me. I rose and went to refill our coffee mugs, giving him time to compose himself.
“Thank you,” he murmured as I handed him the filled mug again, and I knew it wasn’t just for the coffee. I smiled and sat down, but before I had even settled myself, footsteps pounded outside the door, and Maggie rushed into the room.
“Miss Kylie?”
I stifled a groan even as I rose quickly to my feet, Ben following my example. “Yes, Maggie, what is it?”
“It’s Mr. Archer’s friend,” Maggie said, and Ben straightened quickly. The intern shot him a half-fearful, half-sorrowful look and turned back to me. “I’m so sorry. He slipped into a coma a few minutes ago, and we can’t wake him up.”
Chapter Three
“We’ve done everything we can for him.”
I wiped my hands on a towel, gazing wearily at the man beneath the covers, so pale he could have been made of paper. His limp hair and clothes were the only things of color left, and the skin on his face had shrunk tightly to his bones, making him look skeletal. His bandages had been changed again, IV tubes had been put in and I’d given him several shots of antibiotics to try to help with the fever. The smell—that ominous, disturbing smell of rot and death—still clung to him, though I’d checked and double-checked for any sign of gangrene. There was none that I could see, but that wasn’t what worried me most.
Nathan lay on his back beneath the sheets, his shallow and raspy breathing the only indicator that he was still alive. Blood flecked his lips, making my stomach knot in dread. Jenna’s sad, knowing eyes met mine over the patient. I didn’t need to listen to the gurgle in his chest to know. He was infected with Red Lung. The virus had gotten him, too.
Ben stood in the corner, looking on with hooded eyes. I didn’t know how to tell him. “Ben...”
“He has it.” Ben’s voice was flat, his eyes blank.
“I’m so sorry.” He gave no indication that he’d heard. “We’ll keep him under surveillance and make him as comfortable as we can, but...” I paused, hating that I had to say the next words. “But I think you should prepare yourself for the worst.”
Ben gave a single, short nod. I shooed the interns out of the room and walked up to him. “Does he have any family that you are aware of?”
“No.” Ben sank down in the chair, running his hands over his scalp. “Nate’s family all lived here and...they were gone before we started out.” I put a hand on his shoulder, and he stirred a little. “Sorry, but could I have a few minutes?”
“Sure,” I whispered, and walked out, leaving him alone with his friend. As I ducked through the frame, I heard the thump of his fist against the armrest, a muffled, broken curse, and swallowed my own frustrated tears as the door clicked behind us.
* * *
Maggie and Jenna looked so disheartened when I returned to the main room that I told them both to get some sleep.
“I can handle the patients alone for a few hours,” I said as Jenna protested, though Maggie looked ready to fall over. “They’re not going anywhere, and I’ll call you if I need assistance. Get some rest.”
“Are you sure, Kylie?” Jenna asked, even as Maggie stumbled away, heading for the few extra cots upstairs. “Maggie and I can take turns, if you want one of us down here with you.”
I opened my mouth to answer and caught the subtle hint of rot, drifting from the beds along the wall. My stomach turned over, and the scent vanished as quickly as it had come.
“I’ll be fine,” I told Jenna firmly. “Go get some shut-eye. Lie down, at least. That’s an order.”
She looked reluctant but left the room after Maggie. When they were gone, I hurried over to Ms. Sawyer, slipping through the curtains to the side of her bed.
Her skin was chalky white, and the faint smell of decay clung to her, as it had to Nathan. Looking at her face, my blood ran cold. Though her chest rose and fell with shallow, labored breaths, her eyes were half open, and red fluid seeped from beneath the lids.
Just like Nathan.
As I went to wipe the blood from her other cheek, Ms. Sawyer jerked in her sleep, lunging toward my hand without opening her eyes. A short hiss came from her open mouth, and I yanked my hand back, heart pounding, as she sank down, still unconscious.
She didn’t move again, and about an hour after midnight I woke Jenna, helped her move the body onto a gurney, and took it down to storage. Then, because the freezers in the basement were full, we woke Maggie and began the painstaking task of moving all the bodies to the back lot, freeing up space for future victims. We didn’t know then how soon we would need it.
The epidemic began several hours later.
It started with Ms. Sawyer’s bed neighbor, a middle-aged man who had been clinging stubbornly to life and who I’d hoped had a good chance of pulling through. An hour or so before dawn, he started bleeding from the eyes and rapidly went downhill. He was dead two hours later. Then, one by one, all the patients began weeping the bloody red tears and coughing violently, causing Jenna, Maggie and me to scurry from bed to bed, trying desperately to slow the flood. By the time the late-afternoon sun began setting over the tops of the empty buildings, half our patients were gone, with the other half barely holding on to life. We didn’t even have time to move the corpses from their beds and resorted to covering them with sheets when they died. As evening wore on, the number of bodies under sheets outnumbered the living. With every death, my anger grew, until I was swearing under my breath and snapping at my poor interns.
At last, the flood slowed. The patients still bled from the eyes, and the smell of decay had permeated the room, but there was a lull in the storm of coughing and gasping and death. As the sun set and the light began fading rapidly, I called Jenna and Maggie into the hall. Jenna looked on edge, and Maggie had succumbed to exhausted tears as I drew them aside, fighting my own frustration and the urge to lash out at everything around me.
“Where is Mr. Archer?” I asked in a low voice. I’d never seen a roomful of patients decline so rapidly, and I had a sneaking, terrible suspicion. I hoped I was wrong, but I needed answers, and there was only one person who could give them to me.
“I think he’s still in the room with his friend,” Maggie sniffled. “We haven’t seen him all day.”
I spun on a heel and marched down the hall. Blood from the eyes, the strange bite marks, the rotten smell without the infection. Nathan’s symptoms had spread to my patients, and Ben knew what it was. He knew, and I was fed up with this hiding, keeping secrets. Less than a day after Ben Archer had stepped into my sick ward with his friend, I had a roomful of corpses. He was going to tell me what he knew if I had to beat it out of him.
I swept into his room, bristling for a fight, and stopped.
Ben sat slumped in the corner chair, eyes closed, snoring softly. Exhaustion had finally caught up to him, too. Despite my anger, I hesitated, reluctant to wake him. Sleep was a precious commodity here; you snatched it where and when you could. Still, I would have woken him right then if I hadn’t seen what had happened to the body in the room with us.
Nathan lay on the bed, unmoving. Unnaturally still. The faint smell
of rot still lingered around him, and in the shadows, his skin was the color of chalk. I moved to his bedside, and a chill ran up my spine. His eyes were open, gazing sightlessly at the ceiling, but his pupils had turned a blank, solid white.
The chair scraped in the corner as Ben rose. I held my breath as his footsteps clicked softly over the linoleum to stand beside me. I heard his ragged intake of breath and glanced up at him.
He had gone pale, so white I thought he might pass out. The look on his face was awful; grief and rage and guilt and horror, all at once. He gripped the edge of the railing in both hands, swaying on his feet, and I put a hand out to steady him, my anger forgotten.
“Ben.”
He glanced at me, a terrifyingly feverish look in his eyes, and his voice was a hoarse rasp as he grabbed my arm. “We have to destroy the body.”
“What?”
“Right now.” He looked at the corpse of his friend and shuddered. “Please, don’t ask questions. We need to burn it, quickly. Does this place have an incinerator?”
“Ben, what are you talking about?” I wrenched my arm from his grasp and glared up at him. “All right, this has gone far enough. What are you hiding? Where did you and Nathan come from? He was sick, wasn’t he?” Ben flinched, and my fury rose up again. “He was sick, and now I have a roomful of dead patients because you’re hiding something! I want answers, and you’re going to tell me everything, right now!”
“Oh, God.” If possible, Ben paled even more. He glanced down the hall, running his fingers through his hair. “Oh, shit. This has all gone crazy. I’m sorry, Kylie. I’ll tell you everything. After we destroy the body, I’ll tell you everything I know, I swear. Just...we have to take care of this now. Please.” He grabbed my arm. “Help me, and then I’ll tell you anything you want.”
’Til the World Ends Page 3