Before The Cure (Book 1): Before The Cure

by Gould, Deirdre

  “Yeah, about that. I’m here because someone bit me. If I’ve got strep, I’ll get some cough drops and muddle through when I’m home.”

  She laughed, but it sounded tired. Exasperated. “Cough drops won’t do anything, Mr. Newton. Your wound makes you more susceptible to microbes. Best if you take the antibiotic so it can’t become something worse.” Her hand twitched trying to get him to take the cup.

  He stared at it, wondering how much the extra antibiotic was going to cost him. Damn ibuprofen probably costs three hours’ wages alone. Never heard of this Cef— whatever. Still, if taking it got him out of the hospital faster, wasn’t it worth it? Stop worrying about money, he told himself. It’s not all fucking money. In truth, it was, for most of his life. Scraping by and borrowing from one bill to pay another and back and forth in a never-ending plate spin since Randi had been born. “I’m a cook, okay? I make fifteen bucks an hour at a middle-grade restaurant. I’ve got no health insurance. And whatever vacation pay I got saved up is already gone. I’ve got a kid and rent and a car with enough miles that it might have been a rocket ship instead. I can’t afford anything I don’t absolutely need. Hell, can’t afford what I do need. I don’t even know how I’m going to pay off this little compulsory visit you all have me in. Skip the meds, release me, and let me start working on the bill so that maybe I don’t leave it for my kid to take care of when I die.”

  The nurse’s exhausted irritation seemed to evaporate. She put the pills on the small table beside the bed and patted his shoulder with a gloved hand. “I understand. I really do. And you’ll get care whether you can afford it or not. That’s what we do here.”

  “Only for emergencies. I know that. Forgone enough doctor’s visits to know where that compassion ends,” he snapped.

  She glanced uneasily at the door and then back to him. “This is an emergency,” she said, lowering her voice. “The doctor thinks the strep strain you have is a bad one. Very bad. We need to treat it before you start showing symptoms if we can. Besides— you may not have insurance, but Granby’s does.”

  “The toy store?”

  “Sure. It’s their parade. Any accidental injury that happens during the parade is covered by their insurance. I’d say yours definitely qualifies. Even if it doesn’t, they aren’t going to risk the bad PR they’d get letting a dad who volunteered for them to go bankrupt from injuries they are partially responsible for. You want my advice, you relax. Take your medicine. Get a good rest and stop worrying about the cost. It’s not going to do you much good if you let it keep you from getting care, either way. Let the lawyers sort it out.” She watched him, seeming to wait for some response.

  He had to admit, it made a vague sort of sense. At least enough that he’d be able to convince himself for a while. He nodded.

  “Good,” she said, fishing a packet of crackers and a little carton of apple juice from her large pockets. “Eat the crackers first, that antibiotic goes better with a cushion. I’ve got a lot of patients to get to this afternoon, but if you need something, the button’s right there, and I’ll be back as soon as I can. No more worrying. I’ll leave a note for accounting to come talk to you tomorrow morning. They’ll tell you exactly what will be left for you to pay when this is all done. Trust me, I don’t think it’ll be a penny. I’ll be surprised if Granby’s doesn’t offer you something to cover missed work as well.”

  She left him to the long, boring hours that would stretch until he got more information. He tried Dante again but got no answer this time. Maybe he was sleeping. Or maybe they’d already released him. Maybe it meant Neil would be released soon, too. He sat near the window in a large, rigid vinyl chair. It was better than the bed, anyway. The noon news was riddled with bar fights and standoffs. Far more than was normal for the area. Holidays did that, Neil expected. People confined with only old scars and politics to pick at for days. Too much time, too much alcohol, too much familiarity. Just too much. He shut off the television. Checked his phone. The battery was almost out and he didn’t have his charger. He thought about asking the nurse if they had one, but like everything else in his life, it was an old phone, off-brand with a weird, specific jack. He was going to have to save the battery or risk racking up more charges using the hospital phone. He shut it off, frustrated. Stared out at the parking lot. Something was wrong. The lot was even emptier than it had been before. It looked like a construction crew had moved into the edges near the street. They were setting up large orange barriers and wheeling in multiple variable message signs. Who the hell starts a construction project in November? It’s colder than a polar bear’s paws out there, he thought. He cupped his hands against the glass to cut the slight glare and squinted at the signs, trying to read them. They were too far. He wasn’t even certain they’d entered a message into them yet, anyway. Gonna make it hard to get picked up. I’ll have to ask Mom to park at that coffee shop down the block. No reason to make her navigate all this mess. He left the construction crew to their work and tried to find something else to do to kill the time.

  The security guard was back with the lady who brought him lunch. More shouting in the hallways for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening. He tried to watch a few times, but couldn’t see much. Someone came to take more blood from him after dinner. They were covered in plastic, head to toe, a light blue nightmare come to life. Their face was hidden behind a surgical mask and glasses and a hood.

  “What’s going on? Why are you dressed like that?” he asked.

  “Just a precaution, sir. Bad— flu season this year,” the person muttered, moving far too rapidly. The blood draw hurt. The phlebotomist was not gentle and didn’t stay to be certain the injection site had stopped bleeding as the previous one had. The security guard with them was also wearing gloves and a surgical mask and stared incessantly at Neil, one hand always on the radio at his shoulder.

  “What’s going on? Why’s there so much security? Never had you guys in a doctor’s appointment before,” he asked again, as the phlebotomist quickly packed the filled vials into her kit.

  “It’s for your protection, sir. We’ve had a few incidents today. Just a precautionary measure.”

  “Incidents? What kind of incidents?”

  “Let’s go,” snapped the phlebotomist. “Got ten more on this floor, can’t stand around gabbing.”

  The security guard nodded and opened the door. “Have a good night, sir,” he told Neil and locked him in again.

  Neil was uneasy. None of it made any sense. And no one had really given him any definitive answers. About anything. He eyed the call button. Stand up for yourself, you coward. Demand to see the doctor or an administrator or something. Tell ‘em you’ll sue or— I don’t know. Aren’t there laws about privacy or something? Shouldn’t be security guards at a doctor’s appointment. And what’s with the locked door? I’m not a criminal. I haven’t done anything wrong. But the nurse’s tired exasperation was all he saw in his head. Isn’t their fault. No sense in yelling at exhausted nurses. Especially if all that yelling was from problem patients today. Wonder if we got put on the psych ward or something because of space. It’s only one more night, Neil. The doctor told you the rabies test would be back by morning. They’ll have no excuse to hold you longer. Just go to sleep, deal with it in the morning. Don’t make trouble.

  7

  In the morning, nobody came. No one had shown up for morning rounds. No lab work. No custodian. No breakfast. No nurse to hand him a dose of pills. He waited a few hours, thinking it was just because they were planning on releasing him. Just waiting on paperwork. No point cleaning the room or serving breakfast when he was going. He did wish they’d give him some kind of idea of what time they were letting him go, so he could call his mother for a ride.

  There’d been more cries in the hallway, but it only made Neil more convinced that he’d been put on the psych ward while the emergency room was overwhelmed. He paced the small room, a short, brisk route from the large window to the door. He banged hi
s shins on the bed a few times in his distraction.

  It wasn’t until just before three that he’d started hearing gunshots. He’d tried the door and found it still locked, but this time, he didn’t just give up and return to his pacing. He started banging and yelling to be let out instead. No one had come. He’d pressed and pressed the call button for the nurse, uncertain whether it was really working at all. Tried calling his mom to tell her to come and get him. Forget all this waiting around. He was getting out of here. And he sure as hell was going to be taking Dante with him, security guards or not. Crazy people having spats in the hallway was one thing. Gunshots— that was something entirely different. He’d tell his mom to keep Randi in the car and park at the coffee shop and then he’d call the cops and get them to help him leave. But his mom never answered.

  Frustrated and scared, he tried calling Dante down the hall. Just the irritating hum of a busy signal. His cell phone gave up the ghostly sliver of battery it had held onto all night and went blank. He glanced out the thick windows. The parking lot was empty except for a few police vehicles and two fire trucks with all their lights flashing. A crowd of onlookers pressed against a barrier at the edge of the street. Something’s really wrong, Neil. They know. Those people out there know. Something’s happened and no one remembers you’re in here. Hostage situation? Some kind of bomb threat? They locked you in and forgot you and now all those people out there are going to watch you blow up. He flipped on the television, frantic for some kind of information. The local news anchors chattered rapidly, but they knew little more about what was happening than he did. Only that there was a police presence at the hospital and all others should avoid the area. There was no mention of the gunshots. They switched rapidly to some kind of jerky footage of what looked like a domestic dispute or something. It should have bothered him that the hospital was playing second fiddle to something so seemingly ordinary, but he was too panicked to think very hard about it. It wouldn’t occur to him until much later that if he’d left the television on, he likely would have seen dozens of more videos just like it. That the sheer volume of the same type of horrific violence just pushed something as vague as a hospital rerouting well into the background.

  Another smattering of gunshots came from the hallway. They were much closer this time. He wondered if it had been the police who had been doing the shooting or someone else and ducked below the window of the door, suddenly terrified that someone was loose in the hospital. Were they going from room to room?

  Stop panicking. For all you fucking know, it was someone’s car backfiring in the lot. Just breathe. Find something to block the door. He looked around, but anything heavy and movable was already on wheels that would just glide with a shove from the door. Okay. Okay. If I need to, I’ll retreat to the bathroom. Need to get help. Need to let someone who can help know I’m still in here without alerting a shooter, or bomber or— whatever. Who can help?

  He picked up the room phone. First the nurse’s station. Then reception. Then he tried the police department and began panicking when all he got was another busy signal. 911 was the same. Wrong, wrong, wrong, how is it busy? How is nobody answering? He watched the news station’s headlines flashing over the bottom of the screen, willing them to show some kind of phone number for the station. At least he knew there were people there. There had to be someone who’d help him. The only other number he could remember was the restaurant, but there’d be no one there yet. Fucking phone, he thought, looking at his dead cell with contempt. Outside. There’s a ton of people outside. Shooter’s in here, but help’s out there. He ran to the window, waving frantically trying to get someone, anyone’s attention. Dusk was falling, making it difficult to make out more than a throng of shadows outside. He wasn’t sure if anyone could even see him. If he had some way to make a sign, a big sign, the light behind him might illuminate it as night fell. He glanced around and flinched as another shot echoed in the hallway, much closer this time. Shit, shit, shit. He ducked behind the bed and held his breath. It was a fucking parade. Going to lose Randi because of a fucking parade. She’s not going to understand what happened. Should have told her I loved her again last night. One more time. Should have read her the Gawain book last time she asked for the millionth time. Millionth time, hundredth time, first time, what’s it matter? She loved it. Should have done it, Neil. You’ll never get to again. He sobbed into his hands to cover up the sound. After several minutes, when there was no repeat of the gunshot, he reached up and yanked the sheet from the bed. After a few more, he crept to the bedside table and fumbled through it for a pen. He was busy trying to scrawl large, jagged letters across the sheet when the room door swung open and he whirled around, peering over the edge of the bed. A man in a black bullet-proof vest and police helmet stumbled through, bowled over by a tall, lanky nurse. They were both bloody. The policeman shouted for the nurse to stop as they tumbled to the floor but the nurse grappled and lunged, pinning the officer. He was growling. Neil shouted, but neither of the men looked over at him. They struggled for a few seconds while Neil hesitated, trying to decide whether to pull them apart or stay clear. It wasn’t like any fistfight Neil had ever seen. Except for the one at the parade. The nurse wasn’t trying to punch, instead grasping any available part of the cop and then leaning forward trying to bite.

  “Get the fucking door,” snarled the cop, “before more get in.”

  Neil darted forward, mesmerized by the frenzied nurse. His hand was on the door by the time he remembered why he was still here in the first place and he stopped.

  “Close the fuckin— ah! Shit!” howled the cop. Neil turned to tell him the door would lock if he shut it and saw the nurse bent over him, face buried against the cop’s cheek. The nurse shook his head slightly, worrying at the skin between his teeth like a dog with a stubborn hunk of meat. The cop shrieked in pain and tried to shove him off with one hand, his other blindly fumbling at his holster.

  Neil started to pull on the nurse, trying to free him before someone got shot. The nurse growled but didn’t let go. A flurry of footsteps echoed in the hallway. The cop groaned before the nurse ripped a chunk of skin from his face and twisted toward Neil. The gobbet of blood and flesh quivered between the nurse’s teeth and he growled. Neil let go of him and stumbled, his back hitting the edge of the open door as the cop groaned in pain and clutched at his throat. Three more people darted in through the open door and past Neil.

  Oh, thank God, he thought, relieved to not be alone with the crisis anymore. He opened his mouth to warn them about the nurse but a woman among them fell to her knees beside the cop. Instead of pushing the nurse off or applying pressure to the wound on the cop’s face, she tipped forward with a snarl and sank her teeth into the cop’s neck. Another turned to attack the nurse rather than the cop. The remaining woman stared at Neil while the cop shrieked. Her mouth and chin were already dark with drying blood. Her clothes were askew and there were clumps of hair missing from her head.

  “Listen,” said Neil, holding up his hands to show he was unarmed. “I don’t know what all—”

  She sprang toward him and he jumped, half-tripping backward out of the door. The woman was less lucky, her face slamming into the edge of the door with a clunk.

  “Oh God! I’m sor—” Neil stopped mid-apology as she shook her head with a growl as if to clear it and stood up. Slamming the door shut between them had been an instinctive reaction. An instant of pure terror. He almost opened it a second later, consumed with remorse as the cop’s screams choked and bubbled from behind it. But the woman who had focused on Neil threw herself against the closed door, her fingers scrabbling and bloody against the small observation window.

  “I’ll— I’ll get help,” muttered Neil in confusion. He turned away from the door.

  8

  He scrambled across the waxed vinyl of the hospital hallway, his breath already wheezing and rasping. Don’t look back, he willed himself, hearing a series of growls and liquid snuffling behind him through the
door of his room. What he didn’t hear were more footsteps. He wasn’t going to hang around to see if that changed. He made straight for Dante’s hospital room. Dante would help. Help do what? Neil shoved the thought away. He’d figure it out once he found Dante. Once he saw somebody sane. There were other sounds from behind the doors between. He glanced into one of the rooms and saw a man sitting in his hospital gown on the bed chewing his own fingers to a scarlet pulp. Neil didn’t look into any others. The nurse’s station was empty. Paper folders scattered in a beige fan over the floor beside it and pens spilled over the counter. A series of red lights blinked on a wall panel from activated and unanswered call buttons. “Hello?” he called as he passed. “I need help.” Nobody came, and his own voice felt too loud. What if the shooter had heard? What if he attracted attention? He looked around him, suddenly sure someone was creeping up behind. The hallway was empty. Neil felt a wave of guilt. There were other people trapped in here. Get Dante. Get out, then we can get help for them. Safer in their rooms, he told himself but knew it was a lie. He hadn’t been safer. What if those crazy people got bored with the cop and moved to another room? What if the shooter just opened each door and fired? Not a superhero, Neil. Get yourself out, get people who know what to do. That’s it. Get back to Randi. Get home.

  Dante’s room was silent. No one cried out for help or banged on the door to be released. No television murmur behind it. No beep of electric monitors. There wasn’t much time to grab his friend, but Neil wasn’t about to just leave him locked up when a psycho might tumble through any minute. He couldn’t afford to stay in the hallway long. There were distant footsteps now, from somewhere ahead nearing the junction that went to the other wing. Don’t lock yourself in, he warned himself. Neil peered through the small window.