Poisoned

Home > Other > Poisoned > Page 17
Poisoned Page 17

by JJ Liniger


  Would the nurses and doctors treat Mother differently if they knew the truth?

  I appreciated Alex keeping it a secret, but wondered if she made those around her sick? I felt certain Mother knew the answer, and she didn’t seem concerned about me or anyone else. It was probably alright.

  “How’s Matthew?” Mother asked.

  “He’s still tickin’.” Dr. Worrell leaned in close to the vials popping out of the machine. She rubbed her thumb over the label which read “Sample: 336”. She picked up the containers and placed them in the third refrigerator behind her. A rolling dry erase board rested in the corner that she wrote on. I still couldn’t understand why they used such an outdated system.

  “No change in Dad’s equipment?” I asked.

  “Nope.” The doc grinned.

  “What was that you tested?”

  The two women shared a glance that wasn’t discreet. Mother nodded.

  “We’re testin’ how infected they be,” Dr. Worrell answered.

  The machine spat out another set of vials and the other doctor placed it in the same refrigerator. He appeared to be an older man. How long had he been working here?

  “How do you know if somebody’s infected?” I asked.

  “We test their blood. As they get sicker, the poison becomes concentrated and powerful.” Mother answered.

  “How often are they tested?”

  “The first year, every three months,” Dr. Worrell answered.

  “The number tells us the year and the number of test, 336 means third year and thirty-sixth test,” Mother added.

  Being the end of October, there would be two more months of testing, making it about weekly. That was a lot of time and resources.

  “Have you been using Samuel’s blood on them?”

  “Yes, based on the density of the poison we know how much blood to transfuse,” Mother answered.

  “How’s it given?”

  “I’ll show you,” Mother said.

  Dr. Worrell guided her chair through the door I opened. We hurried through two sets of double doors. Rows of a dozen twin-sized beds with a machine beside each aligned the walls.

  “It’s the same thing used in plasma donation, but instead of returning the red blood cells, we are substituting The Boy’s blood into the patient.”

  “Is it the synthesized blood or directly from Samuel?”

  “HE can’t produce enough on HIS own, that’s why we have it replicated at Curner Meltrum,” Mother answered.

  “We take the replication and mix it with a fresh sample from The Boy before giving it to the patient.”

  “Is he a compatible blood type for everyone?”

  “Just about. He’s O-Negative,” the doc answered.

  “And it’s helping them, but not strong enough? I’m O-Negative as well. What if we combine mine with Samuel’s?” I asked.

  “You're no antidote,” countered Dr. Worrell.

  “Says who?”

  “Don’t know,” Dr. Worrell answered with a shrug. “I guess we should try using you. See what happens.”

  “How much of Samuel’s and Monica’s blood remains from my transfusion during surgery?”

  “Dr. Easton handles the blood,” Mother said. “It’s his specialty.”

  Something didn’t seem right. I felt confident someone from the pharmaceutical company had lied about returning Samuel’s blood, but if the specialist wasn’t concerned, then I had to rethink my doubts.

  I followed my mother to the last refrigerator. She opened the door to reveal hundreds of bags of blood. How many times had my son been poked and prodded in an attempt to keep the people of Becton from dying?

  “Is this all from Samuel?” I asked. Hopping closer, the label from Curner Meltrum identified it as the synthetic blood.

  “HIS is in the freezer above,” Dr. Easton’s voice seeped with anger, but missed the Texas accent I’d grown accustomed to hearing since returning. His breaths exited through clenched teeth and his eyes squinted like he put great effort into trying to appear calm.

  Did Mother noticed his hostility? Not that I blamed him. The closer they were to the victims, it made sense they’d want retribution for those who’d suffered. He stood several inches shorter than me and his wrinkled skin and full gray beard made him appear the same age as my mother. The suspicions I tried to shake rose once again.

  “Where are you from?” I asked.

  “New Mexico,” he answered.

  “How long have you been here?” I lifted one of the packages of blood, reading the label.

  “Two years.” His eyes narrowed, watching me closely.

  The pouch felt like a thick plastic and the label gave the exact weight of the liquid. If it wasn’t blood, then what was it? Why would a pharmaceutical company go to so much trouble to create a fake?

  “Blood is an unusual specialty. What made you choose that field?” I asked.

  “Easy money,” he answered. “Everyone has it. Everyone needs it.”

  Money. The key that possibly tied it together. I thought of the figures Alex shared with me. It wasn’t cheap.

  “When we realized how much blood we needed from HIM, then we looked for somebody to direct us,” said Dr. Worrell.

  “Dr. Easton, we’d like my son’s blood tested in comparison to The Boy’s.”

  He nodded to Mother and bound my bicep tighter than necessary, but I didn’t voice a complaint. The vein rose and with skilled precision he obtained three vials of my blood.

  Dr. Worrell and Mother spoke quietly to each other. One of the machines spit out a set of vials, the same as when I first walked into the lab. Dr. Easton removed the vials from the machine and placed them in the refrigerator. With a swoosh, the machine automatically sucked in a new set of vials to continue whatever it did. I didn’t have a watch, but estimated it to be a fifteen or twenty minute cycle.

  “How long will it take you to run your tests?” I asked.

  “Two to four days,” he answered.

  “I’d like a copy of your results.”

  “No,” Dr. Easton replied.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Everything’s confidential.”

  “No, it isn’t.” I gestured to Dr. Worrell and Mother. “They are informed. I should be, too.”

  “I can only give findings to them,” said Dr. Easton. “What they do with it isn’t my concern.”

  “I’ll be sure you get a copy,” Mother said, with a sigh.

  Our short journey had worn her out.

  “Let’s return to our room. Dr. Worrell, will you get the doors for us please?” I asked.

  “Sure thing.” She made sure Mother settled properly in the wheelchair.

  I followed behind them. I enjoyed seeing the admiration between them as they communicated with each other. Their banter reminded me of what small town life should’ve been. The poison had stolen the joy from those left in Becton.

  Once settled in bed, Mother waved to her friend and rested against the pillow. Snores came instantly, making me covet her ability to sleep so easily.

  Would the hospital phone allow me to call New York? I could check in with work and maybe get information on Curner Meltrum. Lifting the phone from the cradle, I dialed my work number.

  In my absence, Zachary handled my case load. He had a gift for remembering names and who we set up our marketing with and the chain of command which led to the final decision maker at the pharmaceutical company.

  “Hello. Zachary Keagon speaking.”

  “Hey, man, it’s Trevor.”

  “Ha, I was right. I bet Evan you couldn’t go the whole week without checking in.”

  I nodded, his response not surprising me. In the cutthroat environment in which I worked, I’d be calling at some point.

  “Things are insane here. My dad’s bad and my mom isn’t much better. And I’m in the hospital after getting bit by a crazy animal.” I didn’t think he’d believe me if I told him it was an alligator.

  “Whoa, that’
s a lot of crap.”

  “Yeah, I need a favor. While at the hospital, I heard some info on Curner Meltrum that doesn’t seem legit.”

  “What about?”

  “Synthesizing blood.”

  “Hmmm.” I imagined him stroking his beard and scrolling through the rolodex of names he kept stored in his brain. “Have you talked to Emily?”

  Mother coughed in her sleep and rolled to her side, facing me. She remained pale and weak.

  “No,” I answered. “You’re the first person I’ve called.”

  “Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but CM is hoping to merge with Novartis. If that falls through, they’ll be filing for bankruptcy. They’ve been too exclusive and at the start of the next fiscal year, over half of their patents are up. It’ll be a worldwide loss of 33 billion dollars.”

  “That’s insane. It’s easy to forget what a big player in business pharmaceuticals are.” I gave a tired sigh. “Can’t their lawyers do anything?”

  “You’d think. The same thing happened four years ago, and they tried to keep the patents from expiring, but failed. Most other pharma companies diversified, but CM kept their pills in the same basket. The advertisements you and Seth put together for them was a last ditch effort before a surge in generic distribution will make them tank.”

  “Would that make them change to a different market?” I asked.

  “Maybe they will, but it’s not something they can afford to do right now.”

  “They aren’t already doing that now. Right?”

  “They wish they were.” Zachary laughed. “It might save their sinking ship.”

  “I wanted to call them, but I couldn’t remember our representative over there.”

  “Diana Webb. Doubt she’ll tell you anything. I was on the phone with her boss less than an hour ago.”

  The way Zachary remembered names amazed me. I would’ve stared at the abstract painting on the walls until I gave up and had to admit my ignorance.

  “What did you talk about?” I asked.

  “Breaking our contract.”

  “They must be desperate. Our contracts are costly to break.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Someone knocked on the door and I told them to enter. A nurse brought Mother and me our evening meal.

  “I need to go. Will you spread the word that I called? If somebody needs to reach me, they can leave a message at my parent’s. My cell doesn’t get a signal here.” I gave him the phone number.

  “I will. Take care of your family.”

  “Thanks, Zachary, I appreciate it.”

  I hung up. The nurse didn’t smile and kept her distance as she rolled the food cart next to my bed. The tray held my pain pills. I swallowed it, knowing it would numb the throbbing in my foot. The nurse woke Mother and spoke to her kindly. The contrast between her softness to my mom and her distance from me appeared obvious, but if Mother noticed, she didn’t say anything.

  The baked chicken and potato weren’t the worst I’d ever eaten, but certainly not the best. Could I make a special request for a pizza delivery? The thought of the rich spices and stringy cheese made me smile and my mouth water.

  “The bruising around your eye seems much better,” Mother said.

  “Thanks.” I’d forgotten about it. This had been the strangest week of my life. It felt like a lifetime ago since I arrived back in Becton.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” It wasn’t the first time she’d said it, but it still felt great to hear. Maybe things would become normal for us again. I wished the same could be said for my father. I missed him. If by some miracle I figured out how to help the sick, could anything be done for him? I pictured his skeletal form in my mind and shuddered, giving me a new determination to focus on people who stood a chance of getting well.

  CHAPTER 22

  FRENEMIES

  A pleasant sound of Mother’s laughter came in response to the sitcom on TV. I processed the new information in my mind while eating my dinner. Nothing made sense. What benefit came from faking blood work? Could anything positive come from these people being sick?

  Control. Mother and Alex had complete say in what happened in Becton. They handled all crimes, gave the order to Take those reported, and confirmation of the disease came from doctors they hired. Doing it together gave the illusion of checks and balance, but what if that wasn’t the case? Did anyone know?

  More than once I questioned Mother’s mental stability. She’d temporarily confused me for Dad. How many other times did she break from reality? I had no doubt Alex would know and believed he was protecting her. What if he wasn’t? I’d never been one for conspiracy theories, but something wasn’t right.

  I finished eating and used the call button on my bed to request coffee. The ache in my head had nothing to do with my caffeine addiction, regardless the hot liquid would help me to think.

  “Mom, how long have you been sick?”

  “Three weeks. I had an asthma attack and called Dr. Worrell. I’ve had a persistent cough for the past year from my allergies. Coughing became normal, but it intensified and I felt a difference in my lungs. She took me to the hospital for x-rays. I think we knew I needed to be tested, but didn’t want to know.”

  “That’s the same time you didn’t return my phone calls.”

  “I wanted you home so badly, but I couldn’t tell you to come without breaking Matthew’s wishes. I couldn’t bear it.”

  I touched the railing of her bed, thankful the room had been arranged for the beds close together. It was unusual and probably requested by Mother. She placed her hand over mine. To go through such destruction without her family would’ve been a nightmare. Alex took good care of her, I felt sure of that. Were his actions noble? My instincts told me no.

  “When will you be Taken?”

  “Alex came here while you were in surgery. They are putting those who escaped with those in the final stage or in the black out rooms. It’s crowded right now, until the glass can be repaired.”

  “How much will that cost?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Who pays for all this?”

  “The medical equipment through grants and testing are through family members. The rest, I pay for. But now, there’s nothing left for me to borrow against.”

  “The house, cotton farms, all of it?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, her curved spine slumped her shoulders forward.

  My parents would give a stranger the shirt off their back. Dad would support Mother using every penny they owned to help the people of Becton.

  Alex’s black monster truck must’ve cost a pretty penny. At the football stadium, he appeared to not be as devastated as the crumbling people around him. I thought it was simply in contrast to my mom’s weakened state. Not anymore.

  “Do most of the other families go into debt as well?”

  “Yes, unless they leave their loved ones behind.”

  I remembered the young girl who had escaped and ran to an empty house. The same night I heard screams from other homes and wondered if they were happy or scared to see them. I also thought of the flags at Twin Oaks. Even in the dark I saw hundreds of them. In daylight, I might’ve realized there were twice as many. A host of injured people plus thousands of dollars for each one could be lucrative. The longer they remained sick, the more money someone made.

  A cure would stop it all.

  “Has Alex contributed as well?”

  “No. They had to take care of Tiffany’s father.”

  I nodded. Would he sacrifice his father-in-law for money? No, that’d be crazy. Besides my mom, he’d been my only ally unless I counted Tiffany. Her mood swings made understanding her difficult. The loss of her father made her anger toward me logical, but when I needed answers, she gave them willingly.

  I rubbed my head, the ache stretching across my temples.

  “Where’s the coffee?” I mumbled.

  “That sounds nice.” Mother used the call button on her bed to make
her request and minutes later the hot beverage arrived.

  I sighed, anger bubbling to the surface. I felt tired of people treating me poorly and simply accepting it as odd and rude. The staff showed my mother respect, and I wanted the same.

  The nurse rolled the cart to Mother’s side.

  “Excuse me! She’s not your only patient and I’m tired of being ignored. I get that y’all are mad at me for ruining this community, but I’m not the bad guy here!”

  “Trevor!” Mother exclaimed.

  “What? I’m tired of taking their crap.”

  “Don’t yell,” the nurse said. “We’re taking care of you like anyone else.”

  I shifted on the bed in search of a comfortable position. The longer I sat, the more I felt my injuries throb for attention.

  The nurse asked us each how we liked our coffee and rolled the cart between the beds where we could reach. She nodded a goodbye to Mother without acknowledging me.

  I took my cup and drank as quickly as the heat allowed.

  Needing more than gut instinct and speculation, I’d have to find evidence. I needed help. Mother was too frail and tired. Once I drained the hot liquid, I placed the cup on the cart and closed my eyes. All I needed was already in the hospital with the research team or Down Under.

  “Mom, is this the last of the secrets? Is there anything else I should know?”

  “Yes. You need to know that I won’t be getting better.” Mother frowned.

  I shook my head and sighed. “Come on. Don’t give up now.” Not only did I want her cured, but also Samuel released and to no longer be in isolation.

  “I’m being honest. The reason the community have left is because they know—”

  “That if there could be a cure, we’d have found it already.” Tiffany let the door slam behind her.

  “Hi to you, too,” I retorted.

  “How are you, dear?” Mother asked.

  “I should be asking you that.” Tiffany stood next to the beds looking at us.

  “Yeah, slacker.” I smirked at her.

  She glared, but couldn’t hold it for long before a smiled revealed it to be teasing.

 

‹ Prev