THE TRASHMAN

by Terry McDonald

  *****

  The relief Becky afforded me with her effort at surgery was so great that the next morning I decided to try my hand at fishing. I’d only been fishing once in my life. It was so long ago that I forget names, but I was friends with a boy in a rural neighborhood where Sam and I live with a set of foster parents for a short period. He invited me to go fishing with him and his dad.

  I went. On the trip out, the two of them made it sound like we were going on the grandest adventure of all time. They made fishing sound glamorous. The actuality was entirely different. They fished from the banks of just north of the city of Bainsbridge.

  Fishing was touching squirming red worms, impaling them on a barbed hook attached to a line and then with a flick of the wrist and the release of a button, flinging the mortally wounded worm out into the water to drown if he were lucky, picked to pieces by nibblers if not.

  The worm’s true luck came if he was swallowed by a fish. His luck would be to die without further suffering. The fish would end up with the hook through its lip and would swim like crazy trying not to be pulled out of the water. Once out, he got a metal shaft pushed through his gill and out his mouth and strung on a string to feebly swim while we caught more of his brethren.

  Needless to say, I didn’t enjoy the excursion. I do remember how to clean a fish, mainly because it was such a cruel, nasty affair. This day though, I planned to catch and release. I mainly wanted to see if I could catch some if push came to shove.

  I didn’t have any worms so I took along a big chunk of leftover spam. I didn’t have much faith for it as bait, but mostly I wanted to have something to do.

  The trail led to a bend in the creek. The water moved at a fast clip and the bed was fairly wide. The outer edge of the curve across from where I stood was eaten away by the current and presented a three-foot high vertical bank. The trees and underbrush had been cut back, and my side sloped gently to a sandy beach. The sand, actually sand and gravel mixed, was not white, but had a reddish hue.

  Two split-log benches were in place above the high water mark and were close to a stone fire ring.

  I’d chosen a rod we brought from the main cabin. It already had a hook and weight attached. A pinched off piece of tough, fried spam slid easily onto the hook. I cast into the flow and stood there, rod in hand fully expecting nothing to happen. Ten seconds later, there was a tug on the line and then the reel was spinning as the fish ran with the bait. I flipped on the drag and gave the rod a tug.

  The fish had some fight in it, but the line was stout. The fish, I think a trout, was as long as both of my hands. I unhooked it and let it slide back into the water. After that, I decided my question about catching fish was answered.

  I went to one of the benches and sat, watching the water flow and enjoying the sun on my shoulders. My body relaxed, but my mind didn’t. I had so many things to think about, my wound for one. The amount of pus Becky had removed was worrisome. Not to mention the sick stink of it. I decided to double up on the Keflex for two days.

  I wondered how Sam and his family were doing, and where the two J’s decided to go. I hoped they found a place as safe as ours seemed to be.

  I heard Becky and the children’s voices on the trail and turned to watch for them. Becky came into sight first, followed by Will and Jen. I couldn’t help but notice that the ever-present lines of stress were fading from their faces.

  They came to where I was sitting.

  “Decided not to fish?”

  I couldn’t keep a grin from my face. “I did fish and caught a giant fish on my first cast.”

  “Yeah, where is it?”

  “I let it go so we can eat it another day.”

  “Let me smell your hands,” she demanded.

  I held one up and she leaned to sniff. “Whoa, you caught one for sure, but you need to rinse your hands off.”

  “Can I try?” Will asked.

  “Sure you can. Jen can, too.”

  Jennifer shook her head. “I don’t want smelly hands, Daddy.”

  I showed Will how to cast, and let him try a few times before baiting the hook for him. I rinsed my hands off in the cold mountain-fed creek and went to join Becky who was sitting on the bench waiting for me.

  “You feeling better?” I asked.

  “I feel safe here.”

  “I meant feeling better since getting sprayed with pus.”

  “Yuck, why’d you mention that? No kidding, though. Don’t you feel safer?”

  “Yes I do, but I’m worried about Sam and his family. God I hope the plague didn’t get him.”

  Becky reached to hold my hand. “I know what you mean. I feel sort of guilty being here knowing how he must be thinking the woman infected him. Lucy has to be scared, too. If he gets sick, they’ll probably all get it.”

  “I know you have to be worried sick for Maggie and Neal.”

  “I am, but not as much. Neal made a lot of money and so did my sister. They went to a place in Missouri where the survival club they joined had a retreat built. From what she told me it’s as isolated as this place. Besides, Neal is a sportsman. He belonged to a gun club, and he went hunting and fishing a lot. They have a better chance than most to survive.”

  I agreed. “Neal kept himself in great shape. So did your sister. I hate waiting to find out how Sam’s doing. What’s it been, three days since we left his place? Christ, I wish we could just call him, tell him to come on. They could stay in the main cabin until we were sure they weren’t infected.”

  A sad expression crossed Becky’s face. “I wish a lot of things, but mostly I wish this nightmare would go away. That I wake up and find out none of this is real.”

  Will shouted and grabbed our attention. “I got one. I got one.”

  He was holding the rod nearly vertical and the rod bent into a curve so tight I was afraid it would snap. Without thinking, I surged to my feet to run to his aid. A pulse of pain from my side doubled me up and dropped me to my knees. Becky was by my side almost immediately.

  “Damn, Ralph. I hope you didn’t open up your side again. Slow yourself down.”

  I did open it again. Becky helped Will reel the fish in and then showed him how to release it. After that, we went back to the house.

  This time it felt like Becky was doing real surgery. She sterilized a set of stainless steel scissors, gave me a pillow to muffle my grunts of pain, and cut away dead meat from the opening on my side. This time she flushed the wound with alcohol and peroxide multiple times before using three sutures to close it.

  I told her of my thought to double the dosage of antibiotics for two days and she agreed it would be a good idea.

  “I cleaned out all the infection I could get to, but I think the corruption is deeper inside. Ralph, I don’t know what I’m doing as far as nursing you. All I know is to clean it and hope for the best.”

  “I think you’re underselling yourself. Even a real nurse couldn’t do more than you are. Probably by the time Sam gets here I’ll be better.”

  “You have to be. The children and I won’t survive without you.”

  Her words made me realize something. “We’re doing it again, getting sloppy like what the two J’s warned us against. Neither of us had a weapon with us by the creek and right now we don’t have any near us. Honey, we have to do better.”

  *****

  There came the morning Becky said to me. “William has a high temperature. I think he’s sick.”

  With those words, my life came to an end. I laid my fillet knife onto the wooden bench I’d dragged to the creek, and went to rinse the fish slime from my hands in the flowing water.

  “Is he coughing?”

  Becky shook her head.

  “Well it could be anything. Kids do get sick from other things besides the plague. Besides, it’s only been nine days since we left Sam’s. The plague takes twelve days.”

  “That’s just an average, Ralph. I’m worried. Jen doesn’t have a fever, but she looks a little glassy-eyed to me.�
�

  I didn’t want to think it could be the plague. Not my children. “Could it be something they ate?”

  “Oh Ralph, I wish it was. I’m going back up. Finish here and come to the house.”

  I tried to pay attention to the three remaining trout, but my heart wasn’t in it. I buried the carcasses in the sand, cleaned the table and knife, and carried with me the platter of fillets I cut before Becky came with the news about Will. I put the platter into the refrigerator and went down the hall to Will’s room.

  “How’re you feeling, champ?” I placed my hand on his forehead. Becky was right about him having a high temp.”

  “I don’t feel good,” he said as I bent to examine his flushed face and glazed reddened eyes.

  “Do you hurt anywhere?”

  “No, but I don’t feel like getting out of bed. I’m hot, too, but if I take the covers off I get cold.”

  Becky came into the room with a cold glass of instant orange drink. “Drink all of this,” she told Will.

  She took my hand and led me to Jennifer’s room. Jen was sitting at a desk playing with her paper dolls, the kind you can change the clothing from an assortment of cutouts.

  “Jen, you need to drink the juice,” Becky told her.

  My daughter turned to reply and I saw her eyes were glassy too.

  “I’m not thirsty, Mommy. I’ll drink it in a while.” She turned back to her dolls.”

  Becky whispered, “I checked her temperature and Will’s when I came back up. Hers is 100 and Will’s is 102.”

  We went to the kitchen and prayed and then prayed some more.

  Will began coughing after supper. At supper, he didn’t feel like eating. At first, it wasn’t much of a deal, a few occasional hacks. By midnight, it was an almost nonstop cough. At first, he would cough up a small bit of phlegm, but by morning, he was expelling sticky gobs of spit with every episode. Becky had left my side to be with Jennifer. Will finally either fell asleep or passed out from exhaustion. I placed his head on its side and propped it in place with pillows before going to check on the girls.

  The sound of Jen’s coughing was louder in the hall. She was awake and saw me enter her room. She stretched out her little arms for me. Becky was sitting in a chair asleep, her head lying on Jen’s mattress.

  I lifted my baby girl from the bed and hugged her to me, her head resting on my shoulder. I patted her tiny back in the hope of easing her choking, coughing spasms. I spoke gentle words of love as I paced the floor.

  Becky woke and stood. “Oh God, I fell asleep. I’m so sorry.” She reached to take Jennifer. Her eyes were bloodshot and she looked worn out.

  “Get some rest darling. I’ll take her in with Will. He’s asleep… exhausted. You are, too.”

  She didn’t argue with me, simply turned, and trudged to our bedroom.

  I sat in the chair beside Will’s bed, holding my precious girl and watching my boy choking and coughing while he slept. Eventually, Jen fell asleep. I laid her on the bed and arranged her face to the side as I had Will’s and then went to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. I poured a cup that I nearly dropped. I’d heard a deeper cough and knew it wasn’t the children.

  Becky was sitting in bed with her back against the wall. She hacked and then pointed at the cup I held.

  “I’d like one, too.”

  I returned to the kitchen and made her a cup, adding the spoon of creamer and the packet of sweetener. To say I was in shock would be a misstatement. I was terrified. I took the coffee to her and then pulled a chair from the desk to sit near.

  She looked at me and began crying. “Sam and his family won’t be coming. We’ve got the plague and they do, too. The J’s were right to run from us. Oh, Ralph. If it was just me, I’d be okay with this, but my babies. Oh God, Ralph! My babies!

  “I’m bringing them in here,” I said. “We’ll all be together.”

  I carried Will to our bed and placed him beside Becky. I know I woke him because his blood red eyes opened, but he didn’t try to speak. His small chest muscles were too weakened to heave and all he could do was hack. It seemed every third hack expelled a gob of mucus.

  I went back for Jennifer and laid her on Becky’s other side. Jen was awake and compared to Will, alert, but she was too busy coughing to speak. Becky set her cup on the nightstand and used both hands to pet and comfort them.

  “How are you feeling, Ralph?”

  “I’m tired and my side hurts, but I don’t feel sick.”

  “Maybe you won’t get it. Maybe you’re immune.”

  “I don’t know,” was all I could think to say. “Are you hungry, can I get you anything?”

  Her reply was interrupted by a spell of hacking and she just shook her head, wiping at the spit on her lips with her fingers. I went to the kitchen for a roll of paper towels and gave her one.

  “Thanks. Listen, I’ve probably got a few hours before it gets worse. Go to the living room and get some rest.”

  “I’d rather…”

  “Go, Ralph. I’ll need you later. Please get some rest.”

  I left the room, went to the living room, and sat in the recliner. I could hear my family coughing and choking. I knew I couldn’t rest there. I grabbed a pillow and blanket from the hall closet, and went outside to lie on the porch.

  It was chilly, but not cold. I rolled into the blanket with my head on the pillow. I was drained from the long day and night. I fell asleep.

  I woke with no idea how much time had passed. I had a vague recollection the morning sun was just breaching the tops of the trees when I lay down; now the sun was higher, almost vertical.

  I wanted to run straight into the house, but my bladder demanded a delay. Again, I found resting caused my side to stiffen and it was a struggle to gain my feet. For the first time, tightening my abdomen to pee caused my side to hurt too. That worry was minor. Pain or not, I forced the piss out and zipped as I hustled to the door.

  As soon as I went in, I could hear Becky’s heavy coughing. I entered the bedroom. Becky took a rattling breath, put a finger to her lips and then pointed at Will. I went closer. His face was turned on its side. He wasn’t breathing. I saw the puddle of phlegm mixed with blood by his mouth. Will, my son was dead. I cast my eyes on my wife. Tears had begun to stream down her face. She started to say something, but another round of coughing delayed her.

  Finally, laboriously, she drew another breath, “He’s gone, Ralph, and I’m glad. He was in too much pain and too scared. He couldn’t tell me he was, but it was in his eyes.”

  I went to the other side of the bed. Jen was still alive but her color was grayish and her little chest barely moved. I could hear sputum gurgling in her throat. Her eyes were closed.

  I waited through a round of coughing and then Becky said, “She’ll be gone soon and I won’t be far behind her.”

  Every word Becky said sounded as though there was a cough just waiting to come out. I couldn’t imagine the torment she was in, not only from the death of our son and the coming death of Jennifer, but the physical pain as well. The racking coughing spells were so strong it seemed she’d rattle apart. She dabbed her mouth with a paper towel and I could see globules of blood on it.

  She didn’t try to speak anymore. I wanted to be closer to her. She waved me away when I began to move William to make room to be beside her.

  I sat in the chair and watched, first my daughter and then my wife go to join my son. Not long after sunset, Becky drew her last real breath, pointed a finger at herself, at her heart and then me. She slumped and went comatose. Nothing I did to revive her worked. An hour later, her chest stopped rising.

  I stayed in the room the rest of the night, keeping the light on so I could see them during the wakeful moments of my fitful sleep. Dawn came, and I left.

  It took me most of the day to dig a wide shallow grave. I carried William and then Jennifer to the site near the edge of the forest in front of the house. I lay them on each edge so I could place their mother between
them.

  With my side messed up, I knew I couldn’t carry Becky. I lashed her to a set of hand trucks from the garden shed and rolled her to the grave. I undid the bindings, and then realized I had to move Jennifer so I wouldn’t have to roll Becky over her.

  That’s when my real crying started. By the time I placed and arranged them and scooped by hand every ounce of dirt to cover their bodies, my tear ducts were empty, but still I cried.

  I patted the mound of dirt, shaping it smoothly into three low humps. I sat a few minutes looking at the grave, looking at the mounds of dirt that signified the remains of my family and cried deeper than before. I shed dry tears until even those were gone.

  I had to crawl to the house. My side was on fire and I was having a hard time drawing a breath. Even though there was a cold breeze blowing, I felt hot and knew I had a fever.

  I don’t remember entering the house, but I awoke lying on the ceramic tile floor of the living room. The door stood wide open and the air inside the room was cold. I tried to rise to close the door. Moving caused a fit of coughing that sent a wave of pain from the wound in my side straight to my brain. It hurt so bad that I was virtually paralyzed.

  I tried moving again, fighting the urge to cough. I managed to get to my feet and shut the door. I knew I needed to lie down, but the thought of any of the bedrooms was out of the question.

  The blanket and pillow I used previously were on a chair. I gathered those and staggered to the couch. I knew I was coming down with the plague and would soon join my family in heaven. I wrapped myself in the blanket and lowered myself onto the cushions. Lying down took some doing and a lot of pain. As my head touched the pillow, I cried out, “Come take me, Lord. Take me to my family.”

  *****

  He didn’t take me. I lay on the couch, coughed and hacked. My fever waxed and waned. I lost my blanket to the floor but was in too much pain to recover it. I suffered through the chills knowing the fever would chase them away.

  Every time I coughed or hacked, my side would send waves of pain that hurt worse than my worn out lungs and chest muscles. I went through the same symptoms as Becky, Will, and Jen. But I didn’t die. I don’t know for sure how long I lay on the couch because part of the time I was delirious.