by Justin Bell
“Heaven help us, I think it is,” Rhonda replied, her eyes widening. She glanced over at Clancy. “How is he? How is Greer?”
Rebecca placed her hand on his chest. “Very warm. Hot, but his seizures have subsided, at least for the moment. He’s breathing shallow, but regular.”
“Whoa, are those lights?” Max asked from the third row and Brad put his hands on the seat in front of him, leaning in to look.
“Sure looks like it,” Rhonda replied, the car exiting the turnpike and making its way around a looping access road. A sign on the right side of the road pointed the way to the Emergency entrance. She followed the directions. Glancing in the mirror, Rhonda saw both Winnie and Tamar looking out the window, though neither of them were talking. Phil stirred in the second row, his uncovered eye squinting as he leaned toward a window on his side.
“Is that the hospital?” he asked sleepily.
“We’re about to find out,” Rhonda replied.
“I hope they’ve got some Advil; this headache is murder.”
Rhonda rolled her eyes as she followed the signs around the south side of the complex, heading toward the emergency department.
“Everyone get ready, we’re coming upon the ambulance entrance,” she said. They rounded a turn and she could actually see a few people milling around in the parking lot, two women and one man, all wearing actual lab coats and scrubs, and two of them turned to face the van as the headlight shone upon them. A woman with a long, blonde ponytail put a hand up to her eyes, blocking them from the headlight and the van lurched to a halt next to a clutch of parked ambulances. Even as the van came to its rest, the side door flew open and Rebecca leaped out, pinning her own arm to her torso.
“We’ve got some injured in here!” she shouted as the three came around to her side. They could see Phil in the seat and Greer up in the passenger’s seat as well.
“Good grief, where are you coming from, the OK Corral?” one of them asked.
“We’ve run into some trouble along the way,” Rhonda said as she slid from the driver’s seat and came around the front. “The guy in the front is the worst off. He’s been living with a bullet in his chest for a couple of months, we think he’s got a nasty infection.”
The woman with blonde hair moved forward, opening the door and placing a hand to Greer’s forehead. “He’s burning up! Get a gurney over here, we gotta get him into surgical pronto!”
“You have surgeons here?” Rhonda asked, trying to contain her excitement.
The woman tossed her a curious look. “We’ve got surgical. I didn’t say anything about actual surgeons. We do pretty well for ourselves, all things considered, but there’s a bit of improvisation going on, that’s for sure.” As she started to try to maneuver Greer, she noticed his arm. “Whoa, what happened here?” she asked, taking a step back.
“Oh yeah, that, too. He lost that a couple months back as well. We treated it the best we could, and it actually seems pretty clean.”
“You’ve been through the ringer,” the woman said, looking at Rhonda with a mixture of surprise and concern.
Rhonda nodded and could feel the impact of what had happened settling on her, as if she hadn’t taken time to think of it before. The sheer weight of all of the conflict, the danger, everything that had happened in the past twelve weeks.
A second woman approached Rebecca as a gurney was wheeled over by the man and a pair of recently arrived orderlies. “What’s up with you?” she asked, touching Fields’ arm.
“GSW to my left arm,” Fields replied. “I think it’s clean through and through. I’ll need some help eventually, but Phil in the back has a nasty head wound, too.” The woman nodded to Rebecca and made her way past her, reaching Phil who sat in the back seat, the shirt still tied tight around his head, his uncovered eye peering out underneath it.
“What happened to you, tough guy?” the woman asked.
“Got shot like everyone else,” Phil replied sheepishly. “Dug a nice hole in my head… bled like crazy, but I don’t think it’s serious.”
“All right, the two of you, head on in, flag down a nurse. Someone will check you out, meanwhile, we have to focus on Mr. Sepsis up there.”
Rebecca and Phil nodded and dispersed, shuffling toward the emergency entrance as three others maneuvered Clancy Greer, extracting him from the van seat and getting him onto a wheeled gurney. Angel tagged along behind, placing a hand on Rebecca’s good arm to make sure she realized he was with her. Rhonda lifted a hand to Phil as if to ask if he needed her, and he smiled back, but shook her off, gesturing for her to stay with the kids.
“Room Six,” the blonde ponytail girl said. “See if you can find Doc Frederick. Wake him up if you need to, we’re going to need him.”
Various voices responded in a low chorus of acknowledgements and they wheeled Greer inside, the gurney disappearing into the entrance of the makeshift emergency department.
Out in the parking lot, Max, Brad, Tamar, Winnie, and Rhonda stood, bathed in the low glow of parking lot lights.
“What do you think?” Rhonda asked the woman, who was watching the others enter the hospital.
She drew in a long, deep breath. “I think your friend is lucky to have you looking out for him. And very lucky we’re still in business.” She turned and looked closely at Rhonda, her eyes pinning her where she stood. “I’m not sure if he’s lucky enough, though.”
The words were blessedly honest, but no easier to hear and Rhonda nodded softly as the woman in the ponytail broke away and walked toward the main building. Max and Brad followed along behind wordlessly, their sneakers slapping on dark asphalt. Tamar and Winnie rode their tails, but Rhonda took a few steps forward, and wrapped her fingers around Winnie’s shoulder. Her daughter stopped and looked at her.
“Can we talk?” Rhonda asked.
Winnie glanced at Tamar and nodded softly. He smiled, squeezed her arm, then followed Max and Brad into the hospital.
“What happened back there, sweetie?” Rhonda asked. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, and if you did want to talk about it, you’re probably more comfortable with your dad. But something’s bothering you.”
Winnie stood silent on the parking lot, her breathing steady.
“You can tell me, Win. Judgment free zone.”
“I shot him, Mom,” she said quietly. “I shot the man.”
Rhonda steeled herself. She suspected that would be the response, though she still didn’t know the impact of the statement.
“A lot of us have shot people over the past few months, honey. It’s the world we live in. It’s never anything any of us wants to do, but if it means protecting yourself or your family…”
“He wasn’t going to hurt anyone,” she responded. “It was his house. We were stealing from him.”
“I saw him lying there,” Rhonda replied. “I saw a gun there on the ground, I thought.”
“He had a gun,” Winnie replied, “but only because he thought we were there to hurt him.”
“Hey,” Rhonda said, grabbing Winnie’s arms in her hands. “You did what you thought was right. What you thought you had to do, and you all came back safely. That’s the most important thing.”
“He didn’t deserve to die, Mom. He was just living his life. We broke into his house and stole his food, then when he caught us, we murdered him.”
Rhonda closed her eyes and moved in to her daughter, pulling her into a tight embrace. Winnie’s shoulders shook with sobs and her mother ran her hand through the long, stringy hair. She didn’t know what to say. The core of what Winnie said was the truth. It’s what had happened. Of course they didn’t know the homeowner was still alive when they broke in, and she suspected if he’d simply asked for his food back, they would have given it to him, but things had escalated. These days, when things escalated, someone usually ended up dead.
Rhonda was just glad it was this other guy and not one of her own, and if she were to tell Winnie the truth right here and now, she’d te
ll her that she was glad Winnie had killed him.
But she didn’t tell her that. She just held her. Held her until the sobs eased to sniffles, and until her daughter was composed enough to go with her inside the hospital to await word about the rest of their makeshift family.
***
A full house is a happy house. That was a feeling that Rhonda tried to instill in her family from a young age, and so, when the phone rang, the voice on the other end gave her pause.
“Rhonda, honey? It’s Mom.”
The day had been bright with the vibrant afternoon sun and Max was at a friend’s house playing video games or something. Winnie was at the mall with one of her friends, leaving Rhonda and Phil home with Lydia. Their first child, a little girl they had doted over during her first handful of years, the eldest child who got all the first-hand clothes and toys, the most pictures taken, their pick of the bedrooms. Winnie had always said Lydia was their favorite, a fact that she didn’t really appear to resent, it was just something that she chose to throw in their faces at the most inopportune moments.
Rhonda could hear her eldest child shuffling around upstairs as she cradled the kitchen phone between shoulder and cheek.
“Mom?” she asked. It had been a while since they’d spoken. In spite of the rough way Rhonda had departed, she and her mother had in fact kept in touch somewhat regularly over the years, even though Rhonda had never once set foot back in the cabin. Jodi had come over for a few Christmases even (though she’d left Gerard at home) and during small stretches they seemed almost like a normal family.
“How are things?” Jodi asked, her voice narrow and tinny on the other end, calling from Brisbee with its cobbled together communications infrastructure.
“We’re good,” Rhonda replied.
“Is Lydia there?”
Rhonda drew back for a moment, looking at the phone. “Lydia?” she asked. “She’s here, yeah. Why?”
“I’m wondering if we could all talk for a few minutes.”
Rhonda did not like the direction this conversation was taking. “You want to talk with Lydia?” Rhonda asked.
Jodi was quiet on the other end of the phone for a few seconds before finally answering. “Yes. Your dad and I would like to see her. Spend some time with her.”
“You want her to come out to the cabin?”
“Would you be okay with that?”
Rhonda lowered her gaze, keeping the phone pressed to her ear, not sure what to say. No, she didn’t think she was okay with this, but at the same time, they were her parents, and her eldest daughter going for a visit was a world of difference than living with them full time. It might do her some good to get out in the wilderness for a little while.
“Rhonda? We could come pick her up. Maybe take her for a week or so?”
“I don’t know, Mom, this is kind of sudden. I don’t know if I’m comfortable with—”
“Who are you talking to, Mom?”
Rhonda turned, seeing Lydia walk into the living room, looking at her curiously. She was just shy of fifteen years old, standing there, her dark hair cut short and her thin arms at her hips.
“Your grandmother,” Rhonda replied, and Lydia’s face brightened. She’d always looked forward to Jodi’s Christmas visits, and had formed a bit of a bond with her grandmother, similar to the one she had with her mother. Lydia seemed to form relationships with adults much more easily than kids her own age, and today, a day where her two younger siblings were off with friends while she stayed here at home, was a clear example of that.
“Can I talk to her?” Lydia asked, excitedly.
“Just a minute, honey,” Rhonda replied. “Can you give us a minute?”
Lydia nodded and left the room again, roaming into the kitchen. Rhonda waited until she heard some plates banging around before continuing to speak.
“What is this about, Mom?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“It’s about your dad and me,” Jodi replied. “We’re not getting any younger and we want to forge some relationships with our grandchildren.”
“Maybe Dad should have thought of that before he—”
“I don’t want to get into this right now, Rhonda, please. We all make mistakes. Your father only wanted what was best for you.”
“What he thought was best for me.”
“Yes, just like you do what you feel is best for your children. There is no right and wrong in that, Rhonda.”
Her mother had a point. She knew that. And Lydia loved her grandmother. Whatever else Rhonda’s father had done, he deserved to have some kind of relationship with his grandchildren, didn’t he?
“Hold on just a minute,” Rhonda replied through clenched teeth. She pulled the phone from her ear and turned toward the kitchen. “Lydia? Do you want to come talk to your grandmother?”
Lydia charged into the living room, a wide smile on her face and swept the receiver from her mother’s hand, eagerly chattering into it, telling Jodi everything that had happened in the last few months, managing to cram a semester of school time into a rapid-fire four-minute synopsis in the way only a teenage girl can.
Rhonda watched her talk and couldn’t help but smile, feeling a sense of warm pride for the way her daughter seemed to relish in these relationships with her family.
In spite of her personal objections, she’d agreed that evening to let her go to the cabin for a week. For two weeks a year later. Then for the entire summer.
Even in the present, through the fog of memory, Rhonda had a hard time finding a reason to say no, though considering current revelations, she also wondered how she didn’t see what was happening. This hadn’t been about a relationship with her daughter… it had been about recruiting her.
***
“Rhonda, you with us?”
She lifted her head, forcing herself out of her exhausted, half asleep daze, glaring up at the woman with the blonde ponytail, standing there in pale green scrubs and a long white coat. Rhonda looked up and down the waiting room, seeing Max, Brad, Winnie and Tamar there. The waiting room was long and wide, a cream-colored room scattered with chairs and couches. Three empty vending machines lined the far wall, with a handful of hallways leading to different exam rooms. Max stretched out on one couch, with Brad on another. Winnie and Tamar sat close together on two chairs, shoulder to shoulder, and Rhonda couldn’t help but smile looking at them. Even during the end of the world, young love prevailed.
“Yeah, I’m here,” she replied, her voice thick with the poured honey of half-sleep. “How’s Phil?”
“We stitched him up a while ago and gave him some pain killers. He seems to be in good shape. The woman, too. Neither of them should see any real long-lasting damage; you all took care of them very well.
Rhonda nodded.
“Your other friend is awake as well. He’s got some serious antibiotics on board and is asking to see everyone.”
“Clancy? He’s awake.”
The woman smiled thinly and nodded. It was a strange smile, but Rhonda pressed her hands on the arm of the chair and stood. Her two kids and Brad saw this motion and repeated it themselves, swinging up from their couches and chairs, falling in behind Rhonda as she walked toward the hall leading to a makeshift surgical suite.
In the first room on the right, Rebecca was seated on an exam table, a fresh bandage wrapped around her shoulder and arm, covered by a white tank top. She looked up as they walked past, then looked over at Angel, who was sitting on a chair not too far away. They gestured silently to each other, and he stood, following her from the room, merging with the group. Phil stood in the hallway just ahead, clean white bandages over the wound on his head, and he gave Rhonda a quick embrace as she approached, then followed the group down the smooth, green-tiled hallway toward a set of double doors at the end. On the surface, everything seemed to resemble a normal hospital setting, but there was a layer of dirt and dust on the floors and walls, a sense of age and disrepair that Rhonda was certain did not exist three months ago.
Lights along the ceiling were dim and faint, flickering randomly as they walked, briefly illuminating the floor, then darkening it, creating a spooky atmosphere and a sense of melancholy that Rhonda was not at all happy with as they walked the hall. As they made their way toward the doors, the lights in the hall dimmed to dark, then lit again, then flickered and stayed on.
“Sorry about the lights,” the blonde woman said, turning toward the group following her. Rhonda realized they had never even gotten her name. She pushed the doors open, and the group passed through into a large room filled with medical equipment. A large recovery bed sat in the center of the room, partially elevated with Greer lying inside, a patterned quilt pulled up to his waist. An IV was hooked to his right arm, and an EKG blipped regularly on the other side of him. The rest of the clinical gear was all pushed aside, resting against various walls, leaving him mostly alone in the center of the room, looking out toward the entrance as everyone came in.
He smiled weakly and nodded, his eyes locking onto Rhonda’s.
“How we doing, Clancy?” she asked and Brad broke away from the group, going toward him and holding his hand just below the IV.
“Good to see you all,” he said weakly, his voice faint and brittle.
“You’re awake,” Max said happily. “You look great!”
Rhonda smiled. “Yeah, he’s going to be just fine, Maxie.”
“Rhonda,” Greer replied, a certain firmed edge to his voice. “You can lie to yourself. You can even lie to me, but don’t you dare lie to these children.”
Her face firmed, her mouth drifting into a grimace. She felt a tight sting of tears threatening to burst in the corners of her eyes.
“What are you trying to say?” Max asked, looking at Rhonda, then back at Clancy, who was sitting up slightly, his fingers clamped around Brad’s.
Greer smiled. “I’ve had a long life, Max. Not always easy, especially recently. Betsy died quite a while ago, and after Brisbee burned to the ground… I was struggling a little bit to find my place in this new world.”