Ellen wasn’t alone anymore. Jenny Holmes, a healthy seventeen year old neighbor, showed up with her parents, and Jenny was asked to help. She hadn’t a problem with it; her naivety and innocence kept her filled with hope that somehow, if she just helped Ellen out, all the people would eventually get better.
Joe’s car was parked as close to Ellen’s home as he could get it. Jenny finished loading the three people for Stamford into the back seat. Getting ready to close the door, young red-haired Jenny saw Ellen and Joe approaching with Peter. Peter barely walked. His feet dragged on the ground more than they moved. His face had taken on a grayish-purple look and his head flopped to the side. She opened the passenger’s door for them when they neared.
Joe gave a quick smile of appreciation to Jenny. “Thanks. Are they all situated in the back?”
“Yes, all ready.” Jenny answered him.
Joe took the weight of Peter from Ellen and carried, more than led, Peter onto the front seat. Shutting the back door, Joe then faced Ellen. He laid his hand on her cheek. “I got Maggie to make checks on Kelly all night. I may be a while. I don’t know about traffic, or what that station is gonna be like ...” Joe looked around the street. “If this is any indication of what that relief station is like, I can be in for a long wait. I’m grabbing a short wave radio on the way back. If they don’t help us, we’ll get it one way or another. I promise.” Joe kissed Ellen on the cheek. “Be good.” He slid his hand down to hers and squeezed it. “Stay strong.”
Ellen nodded sadly and looked at Peter, barely sitting up in the front seat.
“Buckle him in.” Joe said as he walked around the car.
Ellen moved to the open door. She knelt down reaching over Peter for the seatbelt. As she brought it over his lap, Peter grabbed her hand.
“El,” he whispered out her name. “I need to talk to you.”
“No. You need to go.” Ellen fastened the seatbelt.
Peter shook his head. So out of control of himself, his head moved drastically. His words were breathy and short. “I have to.”
“Peter.”
“El.” Peter swallowed. “I want to say I’m sorry. I’m ... sorry for all I did wrong.” Peter’s shoulders moved rapidly as he fought to speak. “I’m sorry.”
“Peter.” Ellen gripped his hand. “I’m sorry, too.” She leaned closer to him. “I’m sorry, too.”
Peter rested his head back. “I love you. I have no regrets. I never ... I never regretted marrying you.”
Ellen’s voice cracked, her words started to weaken. “I have no regrets either. How can I?” She whispered. “How can I regret our years? We have Josh and Taylor.”
“El ...” Peter’s other hand lifted sloppily and he pulled at her, bringing Ellen even closer. It took everything he had, but Peter brought her hand to his mouth, his lips grazed her fingers and both his hand and hers dropped. “El, don’t let our kids get this sick. Promise me you won’t let them get this bad.”
Ellen closed her eyes then after a moment opened them. “I promise you.” Lifting Peter’s hand, Ellen softly kissed it, then looked at Joe as she checked Peter’s seatbelt again. “You better go. Get well. I’ll see you in a few days.” Ellen looked into Peter’s eyes and she knew it would be the last time. Her hand ran down his face and in her mind she said goodbye to the man she had been married to for twelve years. She leaned to him, kissed him on the cheek, stood up, and closed the door. She kept eye contact with Peter until Joe pulled too far away for their eyes to connect. Then Ellen, standing with Jenny, pulled the teenage girl closer to her for support as they both stood there and watched Joe drive away.
May 31st - 9:35 p.m.
County General Hospital - New York City, NY
It had been the first time Catherine had stepped outside of the hospital since the day she set foot in it over two days before. She had to stop. Her eyes shifted about trying to determine what had happened to the city she remembered. Barbed wired surrounded the hospital as a means to keep people out, the same people who had quietly camped and now were dying on the other side of that wire. Smoke from fires all around lingered in the air like a bad cloud.
A dump truck with bodies was parked in the distance. Catherine had to determine how many bodies were in it. “This way.” One of few soldiers who remained took Catherine by the arm and led her to a tent.
A sergeant was there, pale and slumping. He raised his glossy eyes to Catherine. “Dr. Donovan.”
“Yes.”
He lifted the mobile phone. “It’s the best connection we can get. We’re having signal difficulty. It’s a Dr. Cheng.”
Catherine didn’t recognize the name at all, but she took the phone. “This is Dr. Donovan.” She heard the voice. It mixed with static and broke up. “Sir, please speak up. I can barely hear you.” Catherine raised the volume of her voice. “Sir, what was that you just ...” Catherine’s expression dropped. “Oh my God.” Quickly she reached out and snatched the clipboard and pencil from the sergeant. “Repeat that ...” Catherine shook her head and started to write. “Which stages?” She wrote down again. “Are you sure?” She smiled. “You are sure. Doctor, what are you ... . Doctor, what are you giving them.” Catherine prepared to write and the pencil dropped from her hand. “What? I never heard of that. What is that ... Say it again slowly and loudly.” Catherine wrote one letter at a time. “Where do I get this?” She nodded. “And how much does it slow it ... sir? Sir?” Catherine grunted and handed the phone back to the sergeant. “We’ve lost him. You have to get him back.”
“I don’t think we can. Even if the connection was strong enough, we don’t know from which aid station he was calling.”
“Well, find him.” From the clipboard, Catherine ripped off the sheet of paper on which she had taken notes. “Find him. You have to. I’ll have to try the phones again.” She moved backwards with enthusiasm and energy. “We may have just gotten our fighting chance.” Clutching the paper in victory, Catherine spun around and raced into the hospital.
May 31st - 9:45 p.m.
Interstate 95 - Connecticut
The hand-painted sign read ‘Aid Station’ as Joe drove by it on a highway that was not as jammed with traffic as he had feared it would be.
“Couple more miles, people, we are almost there.” Joe told his passengers.
Moans were their only form of response.
Joe turned his head to Peter. “How are ya doing there, Pete?” Just as Joe reached his hand to tap Peter on the knee, Pete began to violently convulse. Thrashing and shaking, his hands out, his neck arched, the seatbelt struggled to hold him. Joe extended his arm to hold Peter back, at the same time Peter evacuated from his body what appeared to be his insides. Blood-filled vomit shot from him, splashing out across the window making it impossible for Joe to see.
The car swerved as Joe tried to drive and hold on to Peter. He pulled off to the side of the road, trying to stay collected amongst the loud screams that emitted from the back seat. “Quiet,” he said calmly as he looked at Peter who coughed and choked out one last bit of vomit. Removing his arm from Peter and shaking off the dripping regurgitation, Joe cringed at the screams that made his ears ring and he looked over his shoulder to the back, losing all calm. “I said shut the fuck up!”
A hush took over the car.
“Peter.” Joe breathed heavily.
Peter’s head flopped Joe’s way. “Help me. Please ... help ... me.”
Joe closed his eyes and nodded once to Peter. He shut off the car, opened the door and walked around to Peter’s side, opening that door as well. The second Joe undid Peter’s seatbelt, Peter slid to the side and into Joe. Gripping him under the arms, Joe lifted Peter and pulled him from the car, dragging him away. Fifteen feet from the car, Joe laid Peter in the grass. Peter’s minute of surcease was over and once again he began to convulse and scream. Taking a deep breath, Joe reached into the pocket of his coat, pulled out his revolver, and clicked back the hammer. “God forgive me,” Joe whispered. He b
lessed himself with the Sign of the Cross, extended his gun and aimed at Peter’s head. Joe fired only one shot. Peter stopped moving. With a single, small outward sigh, Joe’s arm and head dropped at the same time.
May 31st - 9:50 p.m.
Ashtonville, Connecticut
The hot water felt good on Ellen’s face, soothing her as she stood at the bathroom sink washing up. She was covered with so many different substances; she didn’t want to think about what they were. Turning off the sink and shaking her hands, Ellen reached for a towel. A barking sound caught her attention and it only took a second for her to realize it didn’t come from a dog.
The barking was steady and high as Ellen raced from the bathroom into her bedroom. Her fears were confirmed. Josh was having an asthma attack. The boy struggled with his breath, choking, face purple from the blood vessels he broke by straining to breathe. “Oh my God.” Knowing an inhaler wouldn’t cut it, Ellen flew from the room to the hall closet. Why she’d placed Josh’s breathing machine on the top shelf she didn’t know. Jumping up, Ellen grabbed it by the cord and the machine dropped down to her. She caught it before it hit her and she set it on the floor. She spotted the box of medication on the shelf and she lifted it. Her heart dropped at the lightness of it. She flipped open the lid to see one small vial. Clenching the vial, dropping the empty box and lifting the breathing machine, Ellen raced back into the bedroom, sliding to the floor by the bed’s side. “One second, baby.” Her shaking hands lifted the tub of the machine and unscrewed the cup. Careful not to spill her only vial of medication, Ellen poured it into the cup, tossed the empty vial and reconnected the breathing hose. She rapidly plugged in the machine and started it at the same time she stuck her arm under Josh’s back and raised him up. The steam poured from the nebulizer and into Josh’s nostrils. Ellen caught her breath, praying his coughing would cease.
The medicine cup gurgled and Ellen tapped on it ensuring that every bit of medicine got pulled through and into Josh. He needed it. In the final seconds of treatment to Josh, Ellen leaned toward the open bedroom window and yelled her loudest. “Jenny! Jenny, come up!” Ellen relaxed on the floor; Josh’s coughing had silenced enough for him to breathe normally. Running her fingers through Josh’s hair, Ellen heard the thumping footsteps of the running Jenny.
“Ellen.” Jenny, out of breath, flew into the room. “What’s wrong?”
“Josh’s asthma. It’s bad. I’m out of Albuterol and he needs it and another treatment or his lungs will collapse.” Ellen stood up and lowered her ear to his chest. “He’s still wheezing.” She kissed him. “Josh. Josh, can you hear me?”
Josh opened his eyes a bit and coughed. “Mom?”
“I’m going to get some medicine. I’ll be back. We’ll get you breathing right. Ok?” She kissed him again and stood straight. “Jenny, I need you to watch him. I’ll be right back. I have to get him that medicine.”
“Where ... where are you going?” Jenny asked watching Ellen start to leave.
“To the pharmacy. I won’t be long.”
“But they’re closed.”
Saying nothing, Ellen raced from the room, down the steps, and out the front door. At first she had to catch her bearings, then realizing that getting her jeep out of the driveway was impossible, Ellen started running again. She leaped over the people who lay around as if they were small hurdles, nearly tripping once or twice, but it didn’t stop her. She kept going. Making it though the maze of people, Ellen hit the dark empty street. Alone, footsteps steady and echoing on the pavement, she ran straight towards town, not once losing any speed.
May 31st - 10:02 p.m.
County General Hospital - New York City, NY
“Finally. Here.” Catherine’s index finger came down hard to point to a line in the Yellow Pages phone book. She turned it to Andrea who stood across the counter from her. “Do you know this location? I mean, this street sounds familiar to me.”
Andrea peered down. “It’s about six or seven blocks from here.”
“Yes.” Catherine’s head flung back as she heard the tromping of combat boots. She turned her head and saw Carl White, a big brawny soldier who had aided them since the beginning. “Carl, any luck?”
“No ma’am.” He spoke, his voice deep. “Phone lines are down and radio signals are jammed. We couldn’t reach Lt. Hayes.”
“Damn it,” Catherine said. “All right, I guess I’m going to have to get to this store and try to get it to Lt. Hayes myself.” She gripped hold of the corner of the phone book, ripped out the page, and slammed the book shut.
Andrea grabbed Catherine’s arm. “You cannot do this.” She spoke with passion but with sharp words. “You are chasing down an herb at a nature pharmacy that may or may not slow the virus? That’s ludicrous.”
“But it’s a shot we must take.” Catherine pulled her arm away from Andrea. “Anything right now is better than nothing. Maybe, just maybe this herb combined with what Lt. Hayes has is the combination we are searching for. But we can’t stand here second-guessing while the world dies. We are out of time. I’m going.”
“Out there?” Andrea’s arm went out. “Alone? It’s a war zone.”
Carl stepped forward. “I’ll go with you.”
Catherine exhaled a short sigh of relief. She glanced at Andrea then back to Carl. “Let’s go then. We haven’t much time.” Folding the page from the phone book, Catherine started to walk backwards. “Wish us luck, Andrea.”
“The best of luck only.” Andrea spoke softly. “Be careful. You have my prayers.”
Nodding her head in gratitude, Catherine spun around and with Carl hurried off the floor.
Andrea walked from behind the nurses’ counter, her hand grazing over the closed phone book. She took a deep breath listening to the fading sounds of Catherine and Carl’s running footsteps. Amidst the patient-filled halls, weakened moans and cries from the ill, and gunshots from outside, Andrea stood alone. Completely alone.
May 31st - 10:22 p.m.
Ashtonville, Connecticut
There wasn’t a part of Ellen’s body that didn’t burn by the time she made it to the center of town. Her face, chest and the tops of her thighs felt the effect of her race in the cool night. Coughing while catching her breath, Ellen bent over holding her knees while standing in the business district of the small town. It was dark, no sounds. She raised her head to the pharmacy on the corner. She took one more breath and hurried to the front door. Knowing it wouldn’t be open, she tried the door anyhow. Locked. The big glass front window called to her, and Ellen turned looking around the street for something to break it with. She spotted an older model car and she ran to it. Lifting her leg, she began to kick the side-view mirror. Over and over she nailed it with her foot with determination, grunting with every hard hit she delivered until the mirror popped off and fell to the ground. She picked it up and raced back to the pharmacy. In her charging run and with all of her strength, Ellen hurled the mirror forward into the large pane of glass. She ducked and covered her head with her arms when the bits of glass flew out from the shattering window. The crashing sound ended; the street was quiet again. Ellen stood up straight, headed to the window, cleared the broken glass with her foot and climbed inside.
May 31st - 10:35 p.m.
Fairfield University - Stamford, Connecticut
If medical attention was needed, then privacy had to be relinquished, especially at the aid station. But Dean did his best to keep Molly near help and within the realm of privacy. A corner of a tent was given to her and draped off from everyone else. It was the best he could do.
Teetering between awareness and a drug-induced state, Molly laid on a cot. She had grown progressively worse over the hours, slipping further and faster into the later stages.
“Mutated,” Dean explained to his father and Henry as they stood by Molly. “We were working on that aspect of it when she fell ill.”
“Mutated?” Henry questioned. “That means it moves faster.”
“Not
in all viral cases, but most certainly in this one.” Dean nodded.
“So, someone that was exposed say yesterday could be in the same stage as someone exposed Friday?” Henry asked.
“The virus mutated more with each wave of exposure,” Dean answered. “It’s tricky. I have to get back to the lab ... Dad?”
William, staring at Molly, snapped his eyes up. “Yes?”
“You’ll take care of her.”
“Of course.” William smiled. “Henry and I both will.”
“Thank you.” Dean backed up and left the draped-off area. As he stepped out of the tent itself, he wanted to go back to the lab building but arguing caught his attention. Joe stood at the table with the three check-in men. Dean could see the seriousness on Joe’s face, a man he didn’t know and who didn’t look sick. This made Dean curious and instead of heading back to the lab, Dean made his way to the check-in table, if for nothing else but to see the angry man blast the three men Dean had found so unnerving.
“Medicine?” Joe asked of the three men as his body was jolted by the crowd behind him.
The men ignored him.
“Hello!” Joe called out again. “This is a relief station, correct? Let’s try this more slowly. Can I get medicine?”
“Sir,” the man looked up at him from his paper work. “We have sick people in line ...”
“Yeah, and I have sick people where I’m coming from.” Joe’s body moved forward again, and he spun in anger to the man behind him. “Mister. You shove me one more time and you aren’t gonna have to worry about relief from the goddamn plague, because I’m gonna knock your ass off.” Red-faced, Joe looked back to the men. “Now ...”
The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series Page 13